#i caught her looking at me a few times and while i was trying not to sob i looked up and saw her staring very intently at me

[seumyo]

Idia never thought he’d be the type to have a muse. Inspiration wasn’t something he sought—it either struck at odd hours between gaming marathons or never came at all. You, on the other hand, were the complete opposite.

You were effortlessly poetic, weaving words together like they were spun from moonlight and ink. You had a way of finding beauty in things he never noticed about himself, piecing together metaphors and prose that made him sound like something out of a fairytale.

A writer who’s ultimate weapon is a pen and paper.

You write like a poet who can never run out of words.

Effortlessly so.

The first time you showed him one of your poems, he had expected it to be about something grand and abstract—love, nature, time. Instead, it was about him.

It wasn’t grandiose or overly sentimental. It was simple. Soft. A quiet sort of admiration captured in careful lines—how his hair burned like foxfire in the dark, how his voice curled around words like an autumn breeze, how the glow of his screen reflected in his yellow eyes like constellations trapped in glass.

He had read it once, then twice, then a third time, his heart hammering so hard he thought it might short-circuit his entire nervous system.

God, it’s like reading a declaration of love from years ago.

“I-I… um… wow…” he had stammered, his fingers twitching at his sleeves. “You… wrote this?”

You simply laughed.

“Of course I did. Who else would I write about?”

He didn’t know how to answer that.

So instead, he drew.

A few days after your conversation, that is.

Idia had always been good at art—sketching was second nature to him, a quiet hobby he indulged in when he needed to clear his head. But now, every idle doodle, every sketch in the margins of his notebooks, was of you.

The tilt of your head when you peered into his screen. The way your eyes softened when you looked at him. The delicate curve of your fingers as you held your pen, lost in thought.

He didn’t show you at first. It felt too raw, too personal. Like, if you saw it, you’d know just how much space you had carved into his thoughts, how easily you had settled into his world without even trying.

Maybe that was the point.

To show you how much you meant to him.

But then, one evening, as you sat together in his room—you’re lost in your writing, your boyfriend sketching absentmindedly—you caught a glimpse of his notebook and gasped.

“Is that me?”

Idia tensed, his fingers twitching as if to slam the book shut. But you had already leaned over, your gaze locked onto the pages, your eyes wide as you traced the lines of your own face on the paper.

“You’re insane,” you whispered, your voice filled with awe.

“This is amazing.”

He hunched his shoulders, his hair flickering between shades of pink and blue. “It’s not a big deal…”

“It is to me.”

Your fingers brushed against his, and Idia felt the warmth of your touch settle deep in his chest.

“You write about me,” he muttered, his voice quiet.

“I guess… this is how I write about you.”

You smiled, nodding. “Then I guess we’re even.”

His heart pounded, his fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie.

“Y-Yeah… even…”

But you weren’t done looking. You turned the pages slowly, taking in every sketch. Some were detailed, inked carefully with soft shading that made your features stand out, while others were simple pencil sketches, quick and loose. Some had little notes scribbled in the margins—things like Her smile was really pretty today or I think she’d like this outfit—and the further you flipped, the harder it became for Idia to breathe.

“You’ve been drawing me this whole time?” you asked.

Idia swallowed hard, feeling like his soul was about to eject from his body. “I-I mean… you’re… I like drawing you.”

You hummed, shaking your head. “No one’s ever drawn me before,” you admitted. “And definitely not like this. It’s like a commissioned self-portrait.”

He ducked his head against his desk. It’s all too much for him, and yet, he yearns for more.

“Well… no one’s ever written about me before either.”

You reached for your notebook and flipped to a page filled with fresh ink. “I wrote something new,” you told him. “Do you want to hear it?”

Idia hesitated, but he nodded.

You took a breath, then began reading.

Your voice was steady and soft, weaving words like magic.

You spoke of constellations hidden in the depths of golden eyes, of firelight that flickered and burned but never consumed. Of hands that danced over sketchbooks, creating entire worlds with nothing but ink and quiet devotion. Of a boy who lived in shadows and blue-tinted neon, who never realized he shone just as brightly as the screens he spent hid behind on.

By the time you finished, Idia was gripping his sketchbook so tightly his knuckles were almost turning white.

“…T-That’s—” His voice cracked, his throat dry. “That’s… about me?”

“Of course, Idia.”

His mind was racing, his chest aching with something he didn’t know how to name. He didn’t understand how you saw this side of him—a version of him that is raw—in ways he had never expected. And for once, instead of wanting to hide, he wanted to let you see more.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached for his pencil and turned to a fresh page. “C-Can I draw you again?”

Your smile grew, and you leaned into his side, your fingers resting over his. “Only if you let me write about you again.”

Idia let out a shaky breath, his heart pounding.

“Deal.”

But somehow, he knew he would never stop drawing you. Even if time catches up to him and he could no longer hold a pencil. There will always be a way for him to draw his muse.

Just as he knew you would never stop writing about him.

Two halves of the same story—lines and words, ink and paper, art and poetry intertwined.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[notlhecxzsa]

And I Will Hold On To You - N.R

Summary: A story isn't complete without its challenges. But, this time, the challenge seemed to be so much more than what Natasha had thought. It seemed to affect her so much more than what she had thought. History comes resurfacing, how will Natasha reshape the future? Their future.

Author's Note: I got a little excited here mweheheheheh I mean, who wouldn't? Horny and simp beefy Natasha is just 👌🏻ANYWAYSS, I hope you'll enjoyyy!

Warnings: Masturbation, Nat getting caught red handed by her little housewife, swearing, Nat seeing red getting drunk and coming home all soft to her girl, mention of physical and emotional abuse

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Natasha's POV:

"Fuck..." Throwing my head back as I fastened the motion of my hands, the other gripping the sheets as I spread my legs wider. "Just like that, baby. Yes, just like that." My knuckles turned white as I balled my hand around my cock.

The sun rays are invading my room little by little, I knew I had to get up soon before the girl with me inside this house could get up. I promised her that I would take her out in the park so we could have a morning walk, but last night's masturbation wasn't enough for me. Fuck, nothing is enough.

I can't find it in myself to go out and take someone, not once for the past couple of months. The flashes of a certain face came running through my mind. God, how her legs shined while wearing the shortest dolphin short I've ever seen, how she looked bending down to get something out of the stove, and how her tank top showed just enough cleavage—fuck.

I urged myself to get rid of the same thoughts that put me to my mercy in circumstances like this. I've never felt so weak.

"Fuck, yes, yes..." Moaning out, I felt the coil in my lower abdomen build up as I grip my shaft. "You like that, huh? Fuck, I'll fill you up so good, detka. Gonna knock you up and make you my little cumdump, hmm..." I knew I wasn't gonna last a few more seconds so I braced myself.

The hand gripping the sheets until it crumpled underneath my hand went to reach and squeeze the sac beneath my wood that didn't even fit in my large hands. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..." Closing my eyes as I became lost to my senses. My ears ringing as my mind made up things I knew that I would feel guilty after. "Yes, yes, yes, Y/n. God, yes, take all of it. Take all of me." With one last movement, I felt the liquid spurting out and falling everywhere, specially on my abdomen as my packs flex and my thighs spasms.

With still my eyes closed, I moved a few more times before letting the long shaft go as I push my legs back down flat on the bed. Getting back my bearings, I breathed in and out and one of my hand went to glide through my hair.

There was a beat of silence before a thump made me look up and snap my eyes open, immediately setting on the figure by the door.

Fuck.

"Y/n!" Sitting up, I scrambled to cover myself up, a little grateful that I still have my sports bra on. "Fuck, sweetheart." I rolled on the other side to quickly put on my pants, not bothering to find my boxers.

Her hair was messy, face puffed and a certain sleepiness visible in her wide eyes while there is a blush in her cheeks. "I-I'm s-sorry! I'm- I'm so sorry, I- I didn't..." Her eyes avoided my gaze as I approached her hesitantly, but I noticed how it kept gazing coyly to what I was playing earlier. "I-I thought something happened to you..."

She gripped the teddy bear she was holding a little more tighter each seconds. I could only imagine what I looked like.

"No... No, detka. It's-..." I cleared my throat and swallowed an invisible lump, not knowing what exactly to say. Only if I could command the ground to swallow me. "It's fine. I'm so sorry, I don't—I didn't hear you. I- I uh..." I rambled as my hand unconsciously went to cover my cock, feeling it hardening once again as I caught her trying her best not to stare at it.

Fuck, how much did she saw? Oh god, how much did she hear?

"How about you go get ready, hmm?" I immediately said, taking a hold of the doorknob, meaning that I'd have to take a couple of more steps towards her. I reached out to pat her head, putting my body sideways so that the door is covering my lower body. "Don't bother making breakfast, we'll eat at the park, see you later, darling." Closing the door as soon as I can.

As soon as it closed, I leaned my back towards it and let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. My eyes looked down and saw how hard I became once again.

Throwing my head back, I groaned.

"Fuck this life."

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As soon as I sprayed enough perfume, I went outside my room, my eyes quickly averting to look at the room across mine, wondering if she's done getting ready. I made my way to the living room where my question has been answered. By the balcony is where she stood, wearing the dress I bought for her the last time we went out which is 5 days ago.

The past few days has been nothing but... a breath of fresh air. Everything felt like a life I never once knew I needed, but now it's all I could think about. From morning walks around the landscape of this penthouse, late night movies, board games in the middle of a boring afternoon, and delicious foods she'd make.

It felt surreal, but it is something that I hold deeply. Something that no amount of money could ever replace.

Something that made me feel that I have something to hold on to.

"Detka, you ready?" I asked, and she turned just in time a gush of wind softly hit her figure. Her dress flowed just as her hair that was into a half ponytail waved through the air.

"Uhh, y-yeah..." She looked at everywhere but me as she approached. "I hope this- this is fine..." She motioned to the simple baby pink dress she was wearing, a thin strap on her shoulder, and a ribbon by the chest. She paired it with a white comfortable beach sandals.

"You look beautiful, baby." I reached and pinched her cheeks slightly, smiling down at her.

She perked up shyly, a faint blush visible on her cheeks. "Y-You look beautiful too, Natalia." I grinned at her, before sliding my hands down to take a hold of hers.

"I did my best." I shrugged, chuckling, making her giggle.

I put on a denim pants and plain black t-shirt, a sunglasses hanging by the neck line. As we went outside and into the elevator, there was an invisible weight around the atmosphere, but it doesn't feel uncomfortable, just a certain tension hanging between us.

I have no doubt it was because of earlier. Which, I have no idea how to bring up about—not that I have any plans to do so.

"What do you want to eat for breakfast, doll?" I asked, putting a hand on the small of her back as we approached my car, lined up with the others.

"Whatever is fine. You can pick." She said, getting in as I opened the door for her.

I went to the other side and got it. "Hmm, I was thinking of crocodiles." I catch in my peripheral vision how her head snapped towards me, making me chuckle. "Just kidding, detka. Come on, tell me. Would you like to go to that pancake house? Or that one where you like their fruit shakes the most?" I offered her options, knowing how hard it is for her to pick and decide.

Something that I am silently trying to help her overcome. Something I could only wonder how come she acts that way.

"Hmm, would you like some fruit shakes?" I turned to look at her with a smirk of amusement. A chuckle bubbling up inside me.

"We could do the fruit shakes one." I said while nodding.

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"What do you want, sweetheart?" I asked, sharing the menu with her as I leaned towards her.

One of the things I've learned about her is she tends to get nervous and a little overwhelmed in public, especially in crowded places. Once, it got so much that she requested me to sit next to her. And, I did, with no hesitation. From then on, I got used to sitting by her side. I'm not even complaining, not even a bit—for someone who hates letting anyone inside her personal space, as what Clint had described it.

"Can I have the strawberry milkshake, please?" She looked up at me, I shook my head a little and smiled at her, my hands automatically reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

"That again?" I asked teasingly, I watched as she immediately looked down at the menu, scanning it once again. It took her longer than the first pick, and as soon as I caught her thumb picking the side of the cardboard, I spoke.

"You could do that, detka, if that's what you want. Don't worry." Sending her a smile while my hand caressed the back of her waist. I flipped the page of the menu with my other hand, going over to the entrees before I started telling the waitress what we will be having for drinks.

"Can you pick for me, Natty?" She asked, looking up at me with her usual doe eyes. Fuck, not now, baby.

I don't even know what is up with me. When we started getting closer, I just couldn't help it. I felt so guilty everytime I would fantasize about her. God, I would ruin everything about her, and I know I could, but I chose not to.

Gazing away, I nodded, pulling away my arm that is around her, clenching it on my lap, underneath the desk. "How about frittata? Along with some bacons then we could do some croffles, hmm?" I felt her nodded as I heard her small hum.

"Yes, we could do that." She responded quietly.

I told the waitress what we were ordering, and as soon as the woman went away, I felt her shoulder relaxed at my side. Silence enveloped us, the tension still cutting the atmosphere that surrounds us.

"Y/n..." I called out to her, my hands automatically reaching to settle on the pale skin of her thighs. "Look..." I looked at her in the eyes, only to look down as hotness spread from my neck up to my cheeks. "About earlier... I uh..." Trying to find the right words to explain what I did, and what I said while doing it. For sure, she heard me scream her name.

She's looking up at me with expecting eyes, laced with confusion and so much innocence. "It's okay, Natty..." She started before I felt her hand holding mine ever so gently, only putting the weight of hers on mine. "Y-you... you have needs..." She looked sideways, as if shying away from my gaze. "I know what you were doing." She looked back up at me.

My heart skipped a bit. "I learned about it once and it was mentioned on one of my lectures back then. And, I..." Again, she looked away, pulling away from my hand as she did so. "I also know that... partners—husbands and wife help with each other's need—but, I—..." Looking back up at me. "I didn't know that... you- you have..." She looked back down at my crotch for a few second before looking up at me.

Hotness seemed to have found a home on my cheeks as the feeling of it lingered and seemed to become more stronger each seconds. "I-I'm sorry I didn't—It didn't crossed my mind that you'd figure out that way, I really didn't intend you to. What you see—what you heard, everything, I apologize for it. I know none of it appropriate." I rambled, only to be met by her hand holding mine, somehow urged me to stop.

"It's okay, Natty. Really." Her eyes were so soft, her voice mimicking the sound of a lullaby as it reached my ear. There was a faint movement in her lips as a faint scarlet hue started to spead on the apple of her cheeks. "I'm your wife..." She started and once again, I felt my heart stopping in a beat. "You could have called me to help you—not that I know much but I—I'm ready to learn." Once again, she looked up, her eyes doe and her soft lips tight, as if shying from the information she just expounded.

Words left my mouth as my mind became so empty. I didn't know what to say and I couldn't keep my mind straight. Not that I know much, but I'm ready to learn. Fuck.

"Detka..." I started but got cut off when our order started piling up, the tension that was once in the air now gone. I was left with only a heart beating so fast and a mind in chaos.

I'm your wife.

Fuck, how could she have this affect on me?

This is absolutely not allowed.

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Y/n's POV:

"Maria." I heard Natalia called out from behind me, I averted my attention from the kids who was talking to me and towards her to see that she's in call with Maria.

I turned back towards the kids who was talking to me, asking if I could help them take the ball that was sent flying in the pond. It wasn't that far, and I could surely do the favor, so I stood up only to be held back by Natalia on the wrist.

I saw how sharp she turned her gaze at the kid, laced with curiosity and question as she held the phone on her ear. I reached and pointed towards the ball that was floating in the pond.

I watch as her brows furrowed, shaking her head as she stood up. "You did? Very well, meet us in the penthouse, we'll be coming back now." She said over the phone before she hung up.

"Please, please, go get it!" One of the kids pleaded, and I offered him a small reassuring smile, opening my mouth to talk.

"I know, sweetheart, wait-" Once again, Natasha tugged my arm.

"Hey, no. Don't mind them. Come on, we gotta head back home." She stated, looking around the scenery.

"B-but—wait, let me just get the ball for them." I started to pull away only to be tugged back by her again.

"What? No way you're going to get that. Come on, baby." She tried walking away while pulling me with her once again, but in return, I tugged her back.

"Wait! I promise it'll be fast. Look at them..." I gestured at the kids who are pouting. They've been playing in front of us the moment we took our seats on the bench by the park. They waved hello and sent smiles in our way. One of them even complimented me and the dress I was wearing.

Natalia took a glance behind me, where the little kids were and she rolled her eyes. She took a glance on the ball, and looked back down at me. "I'll get it, stay here." Grumbling, she pulled away and approached the pond.

I smiled while the kids cheered. "Go Natty!"

She started leaning in, but before she reached out to the ball she looked back up at me. The wind blew, so I held my dress down as I smiled up at her.

She shook her head and started reaching, as soon as she got a hold of the ball she tossed it to the ground, scowling as she did so before the kids ran up to her. Two of the girls hugged her legs while the other cheered gratefully.

I laughed and clapped. "Superhero in sight!" I yelled playfully.

She averted her attention from the kids with a scowling face and up to mine. It relaxed as soon as she met my eyes. Her eyes held weight in them, something I've gotten used to and became grateful for ever since we started becoming closer to each other. But, her face held no heavy expression, as if the slight upward motion of the side of her lips was only for me to notice.

Her gaze held mine for almost a minute before she started pulling away from the kid, as soon as she did so she started walking to me. "Dirty little—" I narrowed my eyes at her and she stopped mid sentence as she patted her pants, as if trying to get off an invisible dirt. "...animals." She finished before taking a hold of my hand.

"Come on, we should get going." Now that she's closer, I noticed the certain softness in her features. Something I've never seemed to notice before. Maybe, it's just because of the sunlight hitting all the right places in her face.

I felt a pool of something unfamiliar circling around my lower abdomen—the same one I felt earlier when I accidentally... saw her. And, just like earlier I ignored it and nodded as I let her pull me away from where I stood.

I waved goodbye to the kids who also did the same, reciprocating the plastered smile on my face. "Hurry up, baby, come on." I heard Natalia called out. I muttered a few apologies and caught up to her pace.

1 step of her is multiplied by 3 with mine. She's so fast and tall, maybe that's why.

"Can I eat the strawberry chocolates you bought yesterday, Natty?" I asked.

She chuckled, her arm draping across my waist, as if to help me pick up with her pace, but she slowed down a little. "We're not even home yet, you're already thinking about that?" She replied jokingly, but hotness spread across my cheeks.

"Oh... I'm sorry..." God, does she think I eat a lot?

"Don't worry baby, it's all yours, yeah?" A kiss was left on my hairline as I felt a squeeze on the skin of my waist.

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"Maria!" I almost ran towards her, jumping on my tippy toes waiting for her to spread her arms, silently asking for a hug so I won't make her uncomfortable.

Just as always, she did with practiced ease as a welcoming smile spread her face. She's one of my favorites!

"Hey, angel." She greeted before we pulled away.

Looking up at her face, I noticed how she glanced towards Natalia behind me, a hollow expression evident in her eyes as the smile faded away. I stepped aside immediately, looking back at Natalia, just in time for her to say something.

"Doll, how about you go to the kitchen and eat the strawberries? Me and Maria just gotta talk about something important." She smiled at me, approaching as she reached out to caress the skin of my forearm, pulling me until she encaged me with both of her arms before pushing me towards the kitchen.

"Oh—okay. Would you guys like something to eat also?" I asked thoughtfully.

"No, we're fine. We'll get to you if ever." Natalia replied with finality, kissing my forehead before she led Maria by the balcony.

My gaze lingered at them for a moment before walking away, excited to eat my strawberry chocolate!

Natalia said I could have all of it, but I will leave her some.

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Maria's POV:

I glanced as Natasha closed the sliding door. I pulled out my laptop and put it on a table, a USB already intact. "What did you find?" She pulled out a chair and sat, glancing towards my laptop.

Our gaze met, but still I couldn't find enough courage to say anything. I couldn't even form the words bit by bit. Being by her side for years, I know for one that a look in the eyes is enough for her to tell something. Pulling my gaze away, I started pulling out files after files.

I pushed the laptop towards her, making sure that the screen is facing her. Soon enough, the same sound of agony that encouraged me to dig deeper filled the air. I was quick to lessen the noise and check back inside the house.

"Fuck..." I heard her mutter underneath her breath. Glancing at her face, and then towards the laptop to see a girl trembling in the hallway. Looking away, I started to talk.

"I managed to get inside their system. It wasn't that hard, Bucky helped me. I only got a hold of a couple of... footage..." Taking a glance at her, I watched as she tensed her jaw, her eyes darkening in a shade that I know too well. Too well. "I figured that there's a lot more than that." Reaching out to my bag, I pulled out mulitiple files.

I put down 2 files, arranging them so she could see the information and pictures about the 2 people. "Arthur and Robert, they are her personal bodyguards way back before. I think they know more than what we'll—you'll need. But, after doing some more digging, I found out that Arthur had resigned a couple of months ago."

Pulling out 1 more file, I took a deep breath, gaze watching the redhead's face intently. "Lucille Lopez..." I started and Natasha paused the video, which might be the second footage I've found.

Where Y/n is being beaten in the middle of their living room.

She took a hold of the paper, almost tearing it with how she's gripping it. Her face held no emotions, but I could see a certain recognition crossing her eyes. "She's her caregiver, from the day that she was born up until... Y/n left and went here. But, just like Arthur, she resigned the same day that Y/n left." Putting all the other files that were left in my hand on the table, I took a deep breath.

"The last video there..." I reached to pull out the video, now in the kitchen. "That was... the day before Y/n went here. Something real tells me that's where she got all those... marks and bruises from, Nat." I almost cringed at the thought of seeing those raw marks in her pale skin.

Something I never thought would be implanted into her innocent skin.

"These..." Clearing my throat, I continued. "These are hospital records. All from different dates but only one institute." She looked up at me with a questioning gaze, only then did I notice how red her eyes were starting to become. "It was all I could pull out from... the hospital that her parents are big stakeholders of." I finished.

A certain sound coming out from the laptop caucaught her attention, and after hearing and watching this for the nth time, it still caught mine too. An agonizing scream, almost as if trying to relieve the situation that the world has sucked her into. It felt like a screeching sound in my ear, my heart tightened at the sound, just like it did while gathering all this data.

I could only imagine what Natasha might feel.

She slammed the laptop shut and breathed heavily through her nose. She reached towards the medical files, her eyes almost getting out of their sockets with how fast she's scanning the papers.

"Fuck..." She cursed again, but now I could hear how her voice wavered. Almost breaking as it did so. She almost sent the files flying with how she threw it on the table. "Fuck, Maria." She whispered underneath her breathe, her hands going over to silde it up and down her face aggressively.

She quickly stood up, putting both of her hands on the table as if it would ground her. The screeching sound of chair made me pulled a face, thankfully the sliding door is soundproof. "Fuck, that's why she flicnhes at the slightest touch. At the fucking slighted touch, Ria." She pointed out, I stood up and put a hand on her shoulder.

"I know, I know, sit down and calm down. Come on—" I was cut off when she aggressively pulled away and started pacing.

"No! How can I fucking do that? Did you see that?" She motioned towards the things around the table. "She jumps at the slightest loud sound, she's scared asking the simplest question—hell she can't even make her own decisions without having this—without looking like a fucking child!" She walked towards the edge, holding onto the railing.

I followed her, checking to see that Y/n still haven't check up on us. "Fuck, Maria, I don't think—I don't..." I analyzed her.

Bucky and Steve owes me and Clint their 100 dollars.

I have seen her in a distress condition, mulitiple times. But now? I feel like I'm looking at a very different person. Her emotions are resurfacing, flowing through the edge. Her expression hollow, empty but her eyes held so much. Redness spreading from her next up to her cheeks, her knuckles almost turning white with how tightly she gripping the railings.

"Lucille..." She started. "I need you to reach out to her. Bring her to me as soon as possible." She continued, her breathing almost becoming audible with how heavy she's breathing.

Only if a stare could kill, the world would burn before her.

"Tell the boy to handle everything with the company, in and out." She added and I frowned.

"What?" I asked, confused. She stayed silent. "Nat..." I called out.

I waited and waited for response. We stayed stilent for a couple of minutes. The atmosphere is heavy with things I can't name.

"I should've come back—" A small choke stopped her. She faced away from me.

It took me a few seconds before it hit me.

The drunken story she shared when I asked her about the old worn out teddy bear inside her office in the mansion.

The paintings she did with her own hands, plastered on the rich walls of her company's building and inside the mansion.

"Do you know what makes me confused, tho?" Clint asked as we sat on the rooftop of the company, beers in our hands.

"Hmm?" I turned to look at him. "What?" I questioned.

"Natasha didn't seem to put much of a fight—I mean, she did try, you know. She stood up. It's just..." He trailed off, as if finding the right word to put his thoughts on.

"Different?" His gaze snapped towards me, and nodded.

"Yeah, but it's not just that..." We held our gaze for a few seconds, as if digging deeper with our silent thoughts connecting with each other. "It's Natasha we're talking about. You know her, Maria."

"The kid... I mean, the young woman. What's her name again?" I asked.

"Y/n."

"Hmm..." Trailing off, I stared into nothingness. "It's the same one, isn't it?" I asked, and he nodded with finality, looking at me with talking eyes.

"The only one."

"I'm done with this game." She stood up straight, composing herself. "Leave now, I want what I requested before this week ends. Take everything that you need." She finishes with finality.

"What are you gonna do?" I asked, only for my question to be left hanging in the air.

She started walking, leaving me at the balcony.

I could only fear for what's to come to those people.

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3rd Person's POV:

For the nth time, Y/n glanced at the door from where she was sitting on the sofa. It's been hours since she watch the red head walked so fast out of the house, only getting a response from Maria when she called out for Natasha.

"Let her be. Something's... not right with work. She'll come back, don't worry."

But, how can she not worry?

How can she not worry for the person whom showed her...so many things. Made her feel so many things.

It was almost time for dinner, she made sure to cook Natasha's favorite, making sure that the strawberries she left for Natasha are left in the fridge to keep it as fresh as possible when consumed.

She didn't know how long she was staring absentmindedly at the television. How long her heart seemed  to be beating its way out of her chest. Soon enough, she heard the most awaited sound of the door opening. The sound of footsteps soon followed, but this time, she could hear it loud and clear—heavy. Not the same one that Natasha would usually and normally do.

"N-Natalia?" She stood up, hesitant to approach the figure.

She looked... stressed, but still beautiful. Her hair is frizzy but still the same one that Y/n seemed to love, her eyes are dark, a void that Y/n couldn't find her reflection into like how it usually does this past couple of weeks and days. She's also... flushed, and it sure as hell not because of the thing you'd get when being complimented on.

"Are you okay?—I cooked dinner." Y/n started, looking into Natasha's half lidded eyes that is boring into hers.

"What are you doing?" Y/n stopped in her tracks at the voice of Natasha. It seemed different. It swayed with every word, it was slurred.

"W-what?" Y/n asked, looking up at her. Then, there was a flash that crossed Natasha's eyes, something that cannot be ignored. "I was just watching— wait...I-I don't understa-" God, how Natasha smelled like liquor.

Y/n almost flinched at the sudden movement. Natasha didn't just hug her. She engulfed her. Huge hand that cradled the back of her head and the small of her back. There, Y/n couldn't think of any place that she felt safe in.

She's never been so... physically close to Natasha. Not like this.

She could feel how well her body is molded with Natasha's. She could feel her hot breath on top of her head, the curved of Natasha's lips and the gentleness that seemed so different. It has weight in it, something she couldn't pinpoint.

"I'm sorry." It was a choked statement. Y/n frowned, feeling the arms that are wrapped around her getting much more tighter each seconds. "I won't—fuck." She heard Natasha whispered. "I'm sorry... forgive me, baby." Y/n tried pushing the red head away, but she was too strong for Y/n's petite body.

"Why—why are you apologizing? What happened, Natalia?" With the given nickname, something that she only let one person call her, Natasha sobbed, pulling away to look at the younger one's face.

As if needing some assurance that she really is here.

In her arms.

Reaching out a hand to cup Y/n's face, she gazed at her so intently, tears flowing freely out of her green eyes, making the growing worry inside Y/n's chest grow. "Why are you crying?! Oh my god, are you hurt? Let me see!" Rambling, Y/n once again tried to check on Natasha, but to no avail, Natasha kept her hold tight.

Even with the tears, Natasha smiled. It was a stretch of her skin—just like the others she wore with Y/n—that felt so real in years.

"I'm fine, angel..." She chuckled throught the tears, caressing Y/n's cheeks still. "You're here, I'm fine." Confusion grew in Y/n's mind, but Natasha continued, even though she, herself, couldn't even comprehend anything that she's saying now. All she knows is she's saying what she's thinking what she's feeling.

"Better than I have ever been in years." With eyes locked into each other, Y/n's heart grew in ways she couldn't understand deeply, but one answer was enough.

It might be new for her, but nothing has been clearer than what she feels for Natasha. The attentiveness she receives everyday, the feeling of being seen, heard and prioritized—something she had never been familiar with all her life, Natasha gave those to her.

Natalia gave everything she never knew that she is deserving of.

"Better than I will ever be." A soft wet kiss on her forehead snapped her out of her trance.

Natasha watched as Y/n looked up with those same innocent doe eyes that she would never admit to herself to have fallen for many years ago. The same one she would thought of before going to sleep at night and the first thing she would remember whenever she wakes up in the morning.

Then, she looked down at the same soft lips that only knew the kindest words to ever exist. The same one where the voice that grounds her comes from. "I will never—" Looking back up to her eyes, she tighten her hold on Y/n, pulling her in more as her hands angled her head to get a better look on her. "I will never let them hurt you ever again..." Tears started brimming up once again.

"I will never leave you again, my angel." Y/n's eyes seemed to imitate Natasha's. She could feel the heaviness of those words, the past coming back. Only did she realize how different it has been ever since she got here.

Natalia never hurt her.

She did scream, but out of worry.

She cared for her. With the same hands that held her many years ago as far as she can remember.

Lucy's right.

Friends do come back.

She sniffled, feeling her own hot tears being wiped away by the calloused hands that held her in ways no one has every done. "I don't like them..." She started, not knowing what to say or how to express what she's feeling.

God, how can a broken child express herself when she was never given the chance to all her life?

"I only like you..." She continued. "I only want to stay here." She said with finality in her tone.

She didn't know if she's saying it for herself or for Natasha. But, the red head smiled, so soft, and that was enough. "T-they're..." Natasha watched intently, analyzing the complicated expression of her girl's face, her thumb automatically caressing the skin where it lays on her cheeks. "You're good." Oh how much Natasha's heart ached.

Good was far from what she is.

From what she was and what she will be.

"You're kind." Y/n added thoughfully, her eyes deep in thought as Natasha watched her with eyes that glints with surprised and... love—something Y/n and Natasha has yet to understand.

Once again, Natasha pulled her in. Holding her with intensity that Y/n could never ignore.

"Nobody's gonna take you away from me, angel. You'll stay here, don't worry."

Shame on their parents for gifting the devil the only thing that could bring her to her knees.

For now, only time will tell everything.

°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^

Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed it! Heheheh, angst here we come!

[itsnesss]

I love your blog 💖 my request is for sensei Wolf, where the reader is Miguel's older sister and has a baby, since Barcelona Wolf has an interest in her, and when the tournament returns to the All Valley Wolf approaches and you decide the ending

𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 | sensei wolf × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | intense gaze and implied attraction, soft romantic moments, light suspense, mild references to past relationships, vulnerability

word count | 2.0 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The hustle and bustle of the Sekai Taikai filled the All Valley. The bright lights shone intensely, the cheers of the spectators echoed through the stands, and the sharp sound of blows on the tatami set the rhythm of each match. Everything felt so familiar that, for a moment, you felt trapped in déjà vu. It was as if Barcelona had never ended, as if those chaotic and exciting days were happening all over again before your eyes.

But this time, something was different.

You were carrying your baby in your arms, wrapped in a soft blanket, as you walked through the gym hallways, trying to find a quiet place to calm him down. Being Miguel’s older sister had already made you a familiar figure in the karate world, but now, being a mother made you feel even more visible. You received curious glances, some filled with tenderness, and others, like the one you had felt from the first day, filled with something deeper.

You knew exactly who it was.

You hadn’t forgotten his intense gaze since the tournament in Barcelona. Even then, when your whole world revolved around supporting Miguel, you couldn’t ignore the way he looked at you. Like you were a mystery he was dying to solve. But back then, there was no room for distractions. Your baby was on the way, and everything else faded into the background.

You didn’t expect to see him again, much less here. But there he was, on the other side of the tatami, leading his students with that calm authority that defined him. And every time you looked up, you found him watching you.

The first day you managed to avoid him. Between taking care of your baby, supporting Miguel, and dodging awkward questions, you kept your distance. But at the end of the day, when the stands were starting to empty and the noise was fading away, his voice caught you by surprise.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”

You turned slowly, finding yourself face to face with him. He was even more imposing than you remembered. Tall, with his slightly messy hair and that lopsided smile that felt like a challenge.

“Me neither,” you replied cautiously, adjusting your baby’s blanket.

Wolf took a step toward you, never breaking eye contact.

“May I…?” he asked softly, gesturing towards the little one sleeping in your arms.

You hesitated for a moment but nodded. He approached carefully, observing the baby with a tenderness you didn’t expect from someone like him.

“He’s beautiful,” he whispered. “Just like his mother.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile escaped your lips before you could stop it.

“Always so direct?”

“Only when I’m sure of what I want,” he replied without hesitation.

A shiver ran down your spine. You remembered too well the feeling of his intense gaze, but now there was something more. Something you didn’t dare name.

“I have to go,” you murmured, walking away quickly before he could say anything else.

The next few days felt like a silent game. Every time you walked past him, you felt his gaze following you. Every time you tried to focus on something else, his image crept back into your mind. And every time you thought about getting closer, you reminded yourself that your life was no longer just yours.

But Wolf didn’t seem willing to give up.

One afternoon, while you were walking through a quieter area of the gym to calm your baby, you found him leaning against a wall, as if he had been waiting for you.

“Are you avoiding me?” he asked with that smile that made you nervous.

“I’m not avoiding you. I’m… busy,” you replied, trying to sound firm.

“I understand. You have a lot going on in your life now. But… can I take you to dinner after the tournament?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head.

“Dinner? With a baby? Doesn’t sound very practical.”

“I don’t care about the circumstances,” he said, stepping a little closer. “I only care about you.”

Your heart pounded loudly. You wanted to say no, that it was too complicated. But part of you longed to feel seen, desired… loved.

“I’ll think about it,” you finally said, walking away before he could press further.

The night of the tournament’s final day arrived faster than you expected. Miguel was focused on his final match, and you were trying not to think too much about Wolf. But it was impossible. Every time you looked around, you found him nearby, watching you with that intensity that made you lose your breath.

During a short break, Miguel approached you, frowning.

“What’s going on with you? You’ve been acting weird the whole tournament.”

“Nothing’s going on,” you lied, avoiding his gaze.

“Does it have something to do with that guy?” he asked, discreetly pointing at Wolf across the gym. “I’ve seen him watching you the whole time.”

You were speechless, surprised that Miguel had noticed.

“It’s nothing, Miguel,” you tried to reassure him.

“If he hurts you, I’ll knock him out,” he joked, though you knew he meant it.

The final match ended, Miguel won, and the gym started to empty out. You were gathering your things when you felt a presence behind you.

“Have you thought about it?” His voice was soft but determined.

You turned to find him closer than you expected.

“My life isn’t simple. I have a baby, responsibilities… I don’t know if I can do this.”

Wolf nodded, as if he had already considered it.

“I’m not asking you to leave everything behind. I’m just asking for a chance.”

You bit your lip, unsure. But when he reached out and gently caressed your baby’s cheek, something inside you gave in.

“Okay,” you whispered, almost not believing it.

Wolf smiled, a genuine smile you hadn’t seen before, and for the first time in a long time, you felt that maybe, just maybe, you deserved to be happy.

He took a step closer, so close that you could feel the warmth of his presence, the weight of his gaze. For a moment, the noise of the gym disappeared, and all that existed between the two of you was that charged atmosphere, full of unspoken promises.

"So, when will we see each other?" he asked softly, his tone as gentle as the brush of a warm breeze.

You could feel the knot in your stomach, the mix of emotions you had always managed to control, but now they seemed to flood out like an unstoppable torrent. The idea of letting someone into your life, of allowing Wolf to have some kind of access to you, terrified you. But at the same time, there was something in the way he looked at you, something in his stillness, that told you it could be different. That maybe what he was offering wasn’t a distraction, but something real.

"I promised I'd think about it," you replied, your voice trembling a little, but you managed to keep it steady.

Wolf didn’t insist. Instead, he simply nodded with that calmness that always surrounded him.

"I know. I just don’t want you to think I’m pressuring you. Take your time, okay?"

A small sigh escaped your lips. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, and that, more than anything else, made you lower your guard a little. You were used to being alone, to facing everything by yourself, but in that moment, you didn’t know what was happening, but you didn’t want to reject the idea of being with him.

"I’ll see you later," you said with a slight nod before turning and walking toward the lobby, where your baby was starting to move in your arms, as if the little one had something to say.

The afternoon passed in a whirlwind of emotions. Every step you took brought you closer to a point of no return. On one hand, you thought about your child, about what he needed, about what you needed. Were you ready to open your heart to someone else after so much time keeping the world at a distance?

And yet, something inside you told you that maybe you were. Maybe it was time to take the risk.

When night fell, and the place emptied of the last wave of spectators, you found yourself face-to-face with him again. He was there, as if he had been waiting for you, in a corner of the gym, surrounded by the lights that were slowly turning off.

"I think I’ve made a decision," you said, looking at your feet for a moment, taking a breath before raising your gaze to meet his.

Wolf raised an eyebrow, interested but not pressing you. He knew that what you were about to say was important, and you could see that in his expectant look.

"And... what is that decision?" he asked, his voice low and smooth at the same time, sending a shiver down your spine.

You smiled slightly, with that insecurity you only felt when you didn’t know what the future held.

"I think I’d like to... have that dinner after all." Your words were like a revelation, something that had been locked inside and finally came out.

Wolf took a step toward you, and the world seemed to stop for an instant.

"Then, will you let me do things right?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper as his hands, firm yet gentle, took your baby’s hands, giving you space to make the decision you had already made in your heart.

Without thinking twice, you nodded, feeling like you could finally see the possibility of something beyond your fears.

Wolf smiled, a smile that wasn’t one of triumph or satisfaction, but a warm, understanding smile, as if he had understood every piece of uncertainty that had been swirling in your mind. It was the first time you felt truly seen, as if everything you had kept inside, everything you had feared, had found a place where it could fit.

"So, when will we see each other?" he asked again, but this time there was no urgency in his voice, just a longing you secretly shared.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, but instead of resisting, you decided to let that feeling surround you. You didn’t have clear answers, nor did you know what the future might bring, but something told you that, at least for a moment, you could allow that small spark of hope.

"Tomorrow?" you answered almost without thinking, as if you had been waiting for that response in some corner of your being.

Wolf nodded, his gaze fixed on yours with a soft but unwavering intensity. The noises of the gym, the flickering lights, everything faded into the air, as if time had stopped just for you to be here, in this space, in this possibility of what could be.

As you walked toward the exit, your steps slowed, as if the weight of the decision was taking form in your feet. The little one in your arms adjusted, breathing peacefully, his small face calm, unaware of the internal battle you had fought.

You reached the door, and before stepping out into the cold of the night, Wolf stopped. He turned to look at you, his expression serious but filled with something you couldn’t quite identify, something that invited you to come closer, to trust.

"I promise you won’t regret it," he said, his words simple, yet carrying a weight that made you believe them.

Without thinking, you nodded. Because sometimes, what you needed wasn’t to have all the answers, but to know that someone, even if just for a moment, was willing to walk alongside you, not pressuring you, not demanding anything more than being there.

With one last look, he said goodbye with a simple gesture, a promise without words.

[the-winter-spider]

Yours, Always | Part Three

Steve x reader, bucky x reader

AU

Word count: 6.8k

Warnings: Loss, angst, grief

A/N: i'm just flying through these edits lol every fic i write i usually have a song i listen to with it and i cant seem to find one for this one.

Masterpost

---

The room smelled like cheap coffee and old paper and dust.

It was the kind of place that always felt too bright and too dim at the same time, fluorescent lights flickering overhead, casting shadows in the corners. The folding chairs were arranged in a rough circle, some occupied by people who had been coming here for years, others by people like you, newcomers who didn’t know how to speak without choking on grief.

You had been coming for weeks, your therapist said it would help, it hasn’t but maybe that's because you had yet to say a single word but how could you? Just thinking about him stung you couldn't imagine talking about him.

You sat in the same chair every time, arms crossed, eyes down, listening but never participating. The others would share their stories, their regrets, their pain, their grief. They would talk about the people they lost, about how they were learning to move forward, about how they weren’t okay but trying to be. They would talk about the memories they were holding onto.

And you would sit there, feeling like a fraud. Because you weren’t trying to move forward. You weren’t trying at all. You had been drowning for years, and you weren’t sure you even wanted to come up for air.

Tonight was no different, it never was.

You had listened in silence as a woman spoke about losing her husband, how some mornings she still reached for him in bed before remembering he wasn’t there, how she decided to get a smaller bed to see if it would help. You had listened to an older man talk about the son he lost in a car accident, how he still swore he heard his voice in the house sometimes.

And then there was him.

Steve Rogers.

You didn’t know his name at first. You only knew his voice, low and, steady, careful, like he was trying to hold something fragile in his hands. He had been coming for a while, longer than you, but he didn’t speak often. When he did, it was always about her.

Natasha.

“She was fearless,” he had said once, a small, sad smile on his face. “Braver than me. Smarter than me, too.”

He never went into details. Never explained what happened, how he lost her. But you could see it in his eyes, the weight of it, the way grief lived in his bones.

You never spoke to him, not inside the group, not before and not after.

Until tonight.

The meeting had ended, people filtering out slowly, lingering near the coffee table, murmuring quiet goodbyes. You had stood, already reaching for your bag, ready to disappear into the night like you always did, to go back to barely getting by.

“Hey.”

You stopped, stunned because that voice was close, almost like it was talking to you. So you turned.

Steve was standing a few feet away, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, looking like he wasn’t entirely sure why he had stopped you in the first place.

He hesitated before offering a small, almost shy smile. “I, uh—” He exhaled, glancing away for a second. “I know you don’t really like to talk much in there.”

You raised an eyebrow, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder.

“I just… figured maybe you could use a friend.” He cleared his throat, like he was out of his comfort zone but still pushing forward anyway. “And I know I could use one.”

You blinked, caught completely off guard. No one had tried with you before, no one wanted to really be around you anymore. So it surprised you.

You had spent so long building walls, keeping people at arm’s length because it was easier than pretending you were fine, easier than admitting you weren’t.

But here was this guy, this stranger standing in front of you, offering something simple but real.

“Do you want to get some coffee? Or tea?” he asked, shifting on his feet. “No pressure, just… figured it might be nice to talk to someone who gets it.”

You should have said no. You wanted to say no, you almost did. But then, for some reason, you didn’t.

Instead, you nodded. “Okay.”

And just like that, everything changed.

The coffee shop was small and warm, the scent of roasted beans and vanilla filling the air. You sat by the window, the streetlights outside casting long shadows across the sidewalk.

Steve stirred his coffee absentmindedly, gaze flicking to you every so often, like he was waiting for you to say something.

You didn’t, not at first at least.

So he started. “Natasha she was uh my fiancée.”

Your eyes lifted to his, surprised at the bluntness of it.

His fingers tightened slightly around the ceramic mug. “She was… incredible. The kind of person who could walk into a room and just—” He exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “She could hold the whole damn thing in the palm of her hand.” There was so much love in his voice, but so much grief, too. “She died during childbirth.”

You inhaled sharply.

“I didn’t know how to do it, you know?” he continued, his gaze distant. “Raising Lily alone. I thought, I thought I was going to break under it. But she saved me. My daughter. She… she saved me.” He paused. “But it's still been hard, the life we had together, the friends we shared, I just can’t seem to get through that part, my therapist suggested this group, making new friends.”

You stared at him, unsure of what to say, unsure if you even could. And then, after a long moment “His name was Bucky.”

Steve’s eyes lifted.

It was the first time you had said his name out loud in years. It felt foreign. Like something you weren’t supposed to touch anymore. You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around your mug. “He was my best friend, my everything… I lost him too.”

Steve didn’t push. Didn’t ask for details.

He just nodded, offering you that same small, quiet understanding smile. “I’m really sorry.”

“I’m sorry too”

---

You don’t think about where you’re going at first.

You just walk.

The streets of your hometown are quieter than you remember. The houses, the storefronts, the familiar cracks in the sidewalks, they all feel smaller now, faded with time, like a dream you’re trying to hold onto but keeps slipping through your fingers.

The leaves crunch beneath your boots, brittle and dry, autumn curling in at the edges of summer. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting everything in a golden glow that almost makes it feel warm. Almost.

You don’t drive. You could, but something in you needs to do this on foot. Needs to take the long way.

Maybe because it feels wrong to drive past these places when every memory you have of them was made walking next to him.

Your breath is steady, but your heart isn’t.

The town looks the same.

It’s you that’s different.

The corner store is still there. The one where Bucky used to steal candy when he thought no one was looking, even though he was the worst liar in the world.

“You think Mr. Lee doesn’t know you’re stuffing your pockets?” you had whispered once, watching him slide a Snickers into his jacket like he was pulling off some elaborate heist.

“I’m stealthy,” he had shot back, grinning like a damn fool.

Seconds later, Mr. Lee had coughed loudly, shaking his head. “Barnes, just pay for the candy before I call your mother.”

Bucky had groaned dramatically, rolling his eyes as he slapped a crumpled dollar bill onto the counter. “You gotta stop ratting me out, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t say a word!”

“Yeah, but you gave me away with those big, guilty eyes.”

“Bucky, you literally tripped over the display stand.”

He had laughed, that carefree, beautiful kind of laugh that made everything feel lighter.

Now, as you pass by, the store window reflects back a face you barely recognize.

Your own eyes aren’t big and guilty anymore.

They’re just tired.

The library is still there, too. The one where he used to help you study, even though he hated school, hated math, hated anything that required him to sit still for more than five minutes.

“Why do I have to learn this?” he had groaned, slumping onto the table. “When am I ever gonna need to find x?”

“I don’t know, Bucky, maybe if you ever decide to have an actual plan for your life?”

“Rude,” he had muttered, but his lips had twitched like he was holding back a grin.

Still, he stayed. He always stayed..

Because even if he didn’t care about math, he cared about you.

You step past the entrance, the faint scent of old books drifting out as the doors open for someone else.

The diner is the worst.

You almost turn around before you get there, before the weight of it hits too hard, but your feet carry you forward anyway.

It looks exactly the same.

The red vinyl booths. The neon sign flickering slightly. The old jukebox in the corner that barely worked, but Bucky still kicked it every time, swearing he could get it to play without paying.

It’s where the two of you used to split a milkshake because neither of you ever had enough money for two.

“You always drink more than me,” you had complained once, shoving his arm playfully.

“I have a bigger stomach,” Bucky had grinned, completely unapologetic. “And besides, I’m doing you a favor. You don’t need all that sugar.”

“Excuse me?” you had scoffed, snatching the glass back.

He had only laughed, watching you with that stupid, lopsided smile, like you were the funniest thing he’d ever seen.

“I mean, because if you drink it all, you’re gonna go off the charts and make me get you out of some stupid idea of yours.”

You had rolled your eyes, taking a long sip just to be petty. “None of my ideas are stupid, thank you very much.”

He had smirked, shaking his head.

“That’s because your mind is beautiful.”

A pause.

Then, softer.. “Just like you.”

Your breath catches. You blink, and the diner is nothing more than a blur as you pass.

The memories come faster now.

The sidewalk where he first held your hand.

“What are you doing?” you had whispered, staring at your intertwined fingers.

“It’s late,” he had said, so matter-of-factly it made your stomach turn. “I don’t need anyone kidnapping my best friend.”

You had rolled your eyes, even as heat crept up your neck.

But you hadn’t let go.

Neither had he.

The alley behind the school, where you and Bucky had hid from the cops after sneaking into the school pool at midnight.

“If we get caught, my mom is going to murder me,” you had hissed, pressing yourself against the wall, your pulse pounding.

“Relax,” Bucky had said, grinning like an idiot. “They won’t find us.”

Flashlights clicked on.

“Barnes, Y/L/N I swear to god you two get out here now.”

You had turned to him, wide-eyed. “I thought you said—”

“Let me do the talking, I got this,” he had whispered confidently.

Then, stepping forward, “Evening, officers—”

He did not have it.

You both got grounded for two weeks.

Your breath comes shorter now, your chest tight, aching, heavy. You try to push it down, push it away but the memories cling to you, dragging behind like a shadow you can’t shake.

The weight in your chest grows heavier as you turn down the familiar path that leads to the cemetery.

You haven’t been here in years. Not since the service. Not since they gave Winnie the folded flag and called it closure because there was never a body.

Not since you stood in front of that cold stone, staring at his name etched into it, unable to accept that someone could be gone without ever saying goodbye.

Your fingers curl into fists inside your coat pockets. You don’t know why you’re here now. Maybe because you feel like you owe him this.

Maybe because it’s the only place you can go where it feels like he might actually hear you. Because there are so many pieces of him here. So many pieces of the life you had with him, the plans you had made with him, the dreams you shared.

You step through the cemetery gates, the crunch of dead leaves beneath your feet the only sound in the stillness.

And then, suddenly, you’re standing in front of him.

James Buchanan Barnes.

The name is carved into the marble, smooth and permanent, a name that once belonged to someone so alive that seeing it here feels like a cruel joke.

The lump in your throat thickens. You stare at the stone, the grass growing around the edges, the flowers left by someone else already beginning to wilt.

“Hey, Buck,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the wind.

Your knees hit the damp earth before you even realize you’re sinking down.

The silence around you is deafening. For a long moment, you just sit there, staring at the name, tracing the letters in your mind.

“I—” Your voice catches, and you clear your throat, blinking rapidly. “I don’t know why it took me so long to come back here. I guess I just… I couldn’t.”

The wind is biting, sharp against your skin as you kneel in the damp grass, fingers curled into the earth like it might somehow anchor you. But nothing can ground you, not when your insides feel like they’re unraveling, not when you’re staring at his name carved into stone, a name that shouldn’t be here.

“I hate myself,” you whisper, the words falling from your lips like they’ve been waiting years to be spoken. “God, Bucky, I hate myself so fucking much.”

Your voice cracks, and a sob rips through you before you can stop it.

“I should have written back. I wanted to…God, I wanted to. So many times, I sat there with a pen in my hand, reading your letters over and over again, telling myself, ‘This time. This time, I’ll do it.’ But I never did. And you wanna know why?”

Your breath shakes, and you clench your fists, nails digging into your palms.

“Because I wanted you to hurt.”

The confession burns on the way out, and it makes you sick to even say it.

“I wanted you to know what it felt like to be left behind, to be ignored, to feel like you weren’t enough. And it was so fucking selfish, Bucky, because you were in a war zone, and I was safe at home, and I thought punishing you would make me feel better.”

A broken laugh leaves you, bitter and sharp.

“But it didn’t. It just made me sick. It made me this, this empty thing that kept pretending I didn’t care when all I did was care. I read every single letter you sent me. Every goddamn one except the last.”

You reach into your coat, pulling out the envelope, the one you’ve stored away for years but never opened.

“This one.” Your voice wavers as you hold it up. “I couldn’t do it, Buck. I couldn’t read the last thing you ever wrote to me, because then it would be real. It would mean you were really gone, and I wasn’t ready for that. I’m still not, I don’t think ill ever will be.”

You stare at the envelope, the edges frayed from where your fingers have traced over it hundreds of times.

“I waited for you.” Your voice is barely a whisper now. “I bet you think I didn’t, but I did. I told myself I wasn’t, but I was. I waited, and I waited, and when they told me you were missing, I still waited. And when they told me you weren’t coming home, I still waited. And then one day, I realized I wasn’t waiting for you anymore, I was waiting for it to stop hurting.”

You suck in a shuddering breath, pressing the letter against your chest. “But it never did.”

The sobs come harder now, shaking your whole body, and you press your forehead against the cold stone.

“I almost joined you, you know.”

The words barely leave your lips, but the weight of them is suffocating.

“After they declared you MIA… I thought about it every day. The only reason I didn’t was because I was too much of a coward. Because I thought, maybe, one day, you’d come back, and I’d have to be here. I’d have to be here to tell you I was sorry. To tell you I loved… that I love you.”

Your chest heaves as you pull back, staring at the letters carved into the stone.

“I met someone,” you whisper, brushing your fingers over his name. “Five years ago.” You sniffle, trying to catch your breath. “Steve. His name is Steve. He’s… kind. Steady. He loves me, and I love him. I think you’d like him, you complete opposites but y’know what they say..”

The words taste strange, spoken here, in this place, but you force yourself to keep going.

“He was a single dad when I met him. His little girl, Lily…her mom, Natasha passed away.. She never got to know her and Steve… he did it alone. He raised her for two years before I came into the picture. And then, two years ago, after we eloped, I officially adopted her. She’s mine, Buck. My daughter.” You pause “She looks so much like her Mother, she’s beautiful. I think that's why Steve and I work so well, we both know great loss…”

You let out a watery breath, rubbing your hands over your face.

“I love them, I do so much. But no matter how much I try, no matter how perfect it looks from the outside… I don’t feel happy.”

Your hands tremble as they drop back into your lap.

“There’s always something missing. Some darkness that lingers in the back of my mind, whispering all the what-ifs. And I hate it, Bucky. I fucking hate it. Because Steve deserves someone who doesn’t have a hollow space carved into her chest. Lily deserves a mother who isn’t always wearing a mask. And I try, I try so hard to be what they need, but it never goes away. I know I should tell Steve how I’m feeling he would do everything to help…”

Tears stream down your face, hot and unrelenting. “I hate you for leaving me.” The words are sharp and ragged. “I hate you for making me love you so much that no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake you. I hate that I never got to say goodbye. I hate that I don’t know what really happened to you. I hate that you promised me you’d come home, and you didn’t.”

Your fingers dig into the dirt, your shoulders shaking. “And I hate myself for still loving you after all this time.”

“I hate that the universe never truly gave us a chance, I hate myself for trying to let you go.” You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your fists against your forehead.

“I love you.” It falls from your lips like a prayer, over and over again. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

The wind howls around you, but it doesn’t carry his voice. There’s no answer.

Just silence.

Just the weight of your grief pressing into you, making it harder and harder to breathe. “What am I supposed to do, Buck?” you whisper. “How do I keep going when I never got to say goodbye?”

The sky is darkening now, the sun dipping below the horizon, and you realize you’ve been kneeling here for hours.

Your body aches. Your heart aches worse.

You reach for the white lily you brought, smoothing your fingers over the delicate petals before placing it at the base of his headstone.

“I should go,” you murmur, though the words feel wrong. You don’t want to go. You don’t want to leave him here.

But he’s already gone. And this, this is just stone.

Your fingers linger on the cold marble one last time. “I’ll come back,” you promise, even though you don’t know if you will. “I love you, Bucky, always.”

-----

The weekend is over, you should have left an hour ago.

But something about leaving feels too final, like once you pull out of the driveway, once you cross the town limits, the past will start to fade again. And this time, you’re afraid it might never come back because you don't know if you will.

So you move slower than you should, your hands careful as you pack.

The sweater goes first, the one Bucky gave you all those years ago, the one that still smells like him if you breathe in deep enough. You run your fingers over the fabric, thumb brushing the frayed hem, before folding it and placing it in your bag.

Then the box.

The old, worn shoebox that you haven’t been able to stop thinking about, the whole reason you made the short trip down.

You hesitate before picking it up, your fingers ghosting over the lid. The weight of it is heavier than it should be, filled with letters, photos, pieces of him you spent years pretending didn’t exist. But this time, you don’t leave it behind. You tuck it into the passenger seat before closing the door.

When you step back inside the house, your mother is waiting for you in the kitchen, a dish towel in her hands, the scent of coffee still lingering in the air.

“You all set?” she asks, her eyes warm, searching.

You nod. “Yeah. Just about.”

She walks over, smoothing a hand down your arm. “Good.” She pauses briefly “When was the last time you saw Winnie?”

Your body locks up before you can stop it. Your mother notices. She always does. “Mom—”

“I think you should stop in and see her before you leave.”

You stare at her. “I—”

“Y/N.” Her voice is soft, but firm, the same way it was when you were little, when she was trying to get you to do something she already knew you wouldn’t like. “I think whatever you’re searching for, whatever journey you’re on… she’s going to be a part of it.”

Your throat tightens. “Mom, I—”

“You weren’t the only one who lost him.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest. You swallow hard, looking down, your hands gripping the counter. Because she’s right.

You haven’t seen Winnie since the funeral. Since that hollow, unbearable day when you stood beside her, both of you drowning in grief, both of you holding onto each other because neither of you knew how to stand on your own.

And then, after that, you just… stopped. Stopped calling. Stopped visiting. Stopped letting yourself think about her at all.

Because it was easier. Because seeing her meant seeing him, and you know that if somehow he knew that you hadn't seen or spoken to his mom in years that he would be disappointed and you two would definitely fight about it.

And you didn’t think you could handle that.

Your mother steps forward, cupping your cheek gently. “Go see her.”

You inhale sharply, your eyes burning. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything. Just go.”

You bite your lip, nodding once.

She presses a kiss to your forehead, her thumb smoothing over your cheek. “I love you, baby.”

You close your eyes for a second, steadying yourself before whispering, “I love you too.”

She gives you a small smile, then steps back, reaching for her coffee. “Next time, bring my granddaughter.”

You let out a small, breathless laugh, shaking your head. “I will.”

But as you step out the door and get into your car, all you can think about is Winnie Barnes.

And how you don’t know if you’re ready to see her, but you know you owe it to her and to him.

--

You don’t get out of the car right away. You just sit there, staring at the house.

Bucky’s childhood home looks exactly the same. The paint on the porch railing is chipped in the same places, the sun catcher that Winnie always loved still hangs from the eaves, swaying gently in the late afternoon breeze. The hydrangeas in the front yard have withered with the season, their color faded, petals curling at the edges.

It’s all the same and that’s what makes it worse. Because nothing is and he’s not here.

Your fingers tighten around the steering wheel, your pulse hammering as you take slow, measured breaths.

You glance at the house again, chewing your lip, your fingers hovering over the door handle. You could leave. You could just… drive away.

But then you hear your mother’s voice in your head—“You weren’t the only one who lost him.”

And that’s what finally makes you move. You step out, your legs a little unsteady as you walk up the front steps. The wood creaks under your weight, just like it always did.

You lift your hand and knock once.

It’s barely a knock at all. Just a light, hesitant tap. The kind that you hope goes unheard, that gives you an out if no one answers.

But before you can even take a step back the door swings open. And there she is.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. She stares at you, her mouth parting slightly, her breath catching in her throat.

And then her face breaks open with something raw and beautiful, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “Sweetie…oh my God.”

Before you can react, her arms are around you, pulling you in like she never once resented you for leaving. Like no time has passed at all.

Your breath shudders as you fold into her, your arms tightening around her shoulders, your face burrowing into the familiar scent of lavender and fabric softener.

The first words that slip from your lips are the only ones you can manage. “I’m so sorry.”

Winnie pulls back just enough to look at you, her hands coming up to cradle your face, her thumbs wiping away the tears, the action makes it worse because her son used to do the same thing.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Her voice is soft, thick with emotion. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Why are you apologizing?”

Your lips tremble as you shake your head, trying to find the words. “I should have come sooner.”

She just smiles through her tears, shaking her head. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

She steps aside, ushering you inside and that’s when you see it.

The walls, the photos, they’re everywhere. Bucky at five years old, beaming at the camera, two missing teeth in the front.

Bucky at ten, mid-laugh, his arms thrown over your shoulders, the two of you grinning at something off-camera.

Bucky at eighteen, standing beside you at your high school graduation, his arm around your waist, holding you close like you belonged there.

The air leaves your lungs, the weight of all those years collapsing in on you all at once.

“I—” Your voice catches, your gaze still scanning the walls, the shelves, the remnants of his life frozen in time. “I wasn’t ready for this.”

Winnie’s face softens. She reaches for your hand, giving it a small squeeze. “Neither was I.”

You turn to her, your eyes still burning.

“How did you do it?” you whisper. “How did you live with it every day?”

She sighs, her gaze drifting to one of the photos, a candid shot of Bucky, laughing at something out of frame, his head tilted back, his eyes bright and full of life.

“I didn’t have a choice.” She swallows thickly, blinking away fresh tears. “He was my son. My boy, I couldn’t let myself forget him.”

Your heart twists painfully. “I tried to forget.” Your voice breaks.

Winnie shakes her head. “No, sweetheart. You tried to survive.”

You stare at her, your breath shaky, your chest aching in ways you don’t know how to put into words.

She cups your face again, the way only a mother can, her expression full of nothing but understanding.

“Tell me everything, Y/N.” Her voice is so gentle. So full of love. “Everything you want to say about my son.”

And for the first time in ten years, you do.

You don’t know how long you’ve been talking.

Time doesn’t feel real in this house, in this space filled with him, his laughter frozen in pictures, his presence lingering in the worn-out cushions, in the scent of old books and home-cooked meals.

Winnie listens.

She listens the way only a mother can with a patience that doesn’t rush you, with an understanding that doesn’t demand explanations, with a love that somehow makes the grief feel softer.

You tell her about the letters. About how they kept coming for two years, how you read every single one but never once wrote back. About how you wanted to, God, you wanted to but every time you sat down with a pen in your hand, all you could feel was anger, betrayal, heartbreak.

“I thought ignoring them would make me feel better,” you admit, your voice hoarse. “Like… if I could just make him feel even a fraction of what I felt, then maybe—”

You stop, shaking your head, pressing the heel of your palm against your forehead.

“But it didn’t. It never did. And now he’s gone, and I never got the chance to tell him I was sorry.”

Winnie reaches across the table, wrapping her hands around yours. Warm, steady, forgiving.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

Your throat tightens. Your hands tremble. Your fingers spin your wedding ring absentmindedly, twisting the metal over and over again, as if wrestling with a truth you don’t know how to say aloud.

“I still haven’t opened the last one.”

It’s barely more than a whisper, barely more than a confession, but it shatters the air between you.

Winnie inhales sharply, her gaze flicking down to the letter clutched in your other hand, the one you’ve been gripping so tightly in your pocket that your knuckles have gone white.

Her expression stays soft. Understanding.

“Why?” she asks gently.

You shake your head. “Because if I open it… then it’s real.”

Winnie nods. Because she understands that, too.

Your breath shudders as you try to pull yourself together. “I met someone.”

She tilts her head slightly, watching you carefully.

“Steve.” Your voice wobbles. “His name is Steve. I met him in a grief support group. He… he lost his wife, Natasha, when she gave birth to their daughter, Lily. She was just a baby.”

Winnie’s lips press together, her eyes full of something deep and knowing.

“Steve was—” You pause, shaking your head. “He was good to me. He is good to me. He picked up the pieces when I didn’t know how to. And Lily, Winnie, she’s my whole world. She’s the kindest, sweetest little girl, and I love her like she’s my own. I adopted her two years ago, and… I love them. I love my family.”

You exhale shakily, but it doesn’t feel like relief. It feels like a wound splitting open.

You fidget with your ring again, twisting it around your finger, pressing your thumb against the engraving on the inside: Forever & Always.

“Am I horrible to wish it was him?”

The question escapes before you can stop it, and as soon as it does, your breath hitches, your face crumbling as you wipe away a tear.

You can’t look at her. You don’t want to see the disappointment, the judgment, buit never comes.

Instead, Winnie reaches out again, gently tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet her gaze.

Her eyes are soft. Understanding.

“Y/N,” she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s hard to grieve a love that you never got the chance to explore. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t love.”

Your chest tightens painfully.

Winnie stands, stepping away for a moment. You watch as she moves to a cabinet, kneeling down to pull out something heavy, something old. And when she turns back around she's holding a stack of letters.

Your stomach drops.

She places them on the table between you, smoothing her hands over them like they’re something sacred.

“These are mine.” Her voice is quiet, reverent. “Every letter James ever sent me while he was gone, I’m sure you have twice as many.” She smiles softly.

You can’t breathe.

She swallows hard, blinking back tears. “And do you know what the common thread within them are, sweetheart?”

Your fingers tighten around the fabric of your sweater.

Winnie rests a gentle hand on the letters. “You.”

Your whole body locks up.

“Every single one of these, every single letter he ever sent me, he talked about you.” She gives a tearful, shaky laugh. “Stories about you. Memories of you. How much he missed you. How much he hoped you were doing okay. He never stopped, Y/N.”

A sob builds in your throat.

“So don’t you ever doubt for a second that my son didn’t love you. And don’t you ever doubt that you didn’t love him, too.”

Tears spill over, slipping down your cheeks, and Winnie catches them, her thumbs brushing over your skin like a mother would.

Winnie’s hands are warm as they cradle your face, her thumbs gently brushing away the tears that won’t stop falling.

“You don’t have to let him go, sweetheart,” she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion. “I never want you to let him go.”

Your breath hitches, sharp and uneven, like your ribs are caving in around your heart. Your hands tremble where they rest in your lap, gripping onto nothing.

“Then what do I do?” The words come out small, broken, like you’re afraid of the answer, like you already know it won’t be enough.

Winnie smiles, but it’s the kind of smile that holds years of grief, of understanding, of learning how to live with an ache that never really fades.

She strokes your hair back, gentle, motherly, the way she used to when you were younger, when you and Bucky would collapse onto the couch after running around all day.

“You learn how to coexist with it.”

You close your eyes, a fresh wave of tears slipping down your cheeks.

“Write to him, darling,” she continues softly. “Talk to him. He’s still with you, I know he is. And if I know my son, which I do, there is no doubt in my mind that he’s never left your side." She takes a deep breath, smiling softly "And read that god damn letter."

You let out a shaky, tear-soaked laugh, pressing your fingers against your lips to hold in the sob that threatens to escape.

---

You don’t remember how you got here. One second, you were fine or at least, you were pretending to be.

The next, your world cracked open like shattered glass, and suddenly you were running. Through the streets, past the houses, past the lights. Running until your lungs burned, until your chest ached, until the betrayal in your stomach twisted so deep it felt like it was going to swallow you whole.

Then you ended up here at his door.

Your hands were shaking when you knocked.

You weren’t sure if he would be home. Maybe he was out, maybe he was already asleep, maybe…

The door swung open.

And the moment you saw him the moment his blue eyes met yours, the moment his face creased with instant concern. The dam inside you broke.

“Y/N?” His voice was soft, but his eyes were already searching, already scanning you for the thing that had destroyed you tonight.

But you couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t do anything but choke on the sob clawing its way out of your throat and Bucky, he didn’t hesitate.

He stepped forward, pulled you inside, shut the door behind and instantly his arms were around you.

Warm. Solid. Safe.

Like home.

“Hey, hey—” His voice was barely above a whisper as he held you. “I got you, sweetheart. I got you.”

You buried your face in his chest, your hands gripping his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.

And you sobbed.

Not just the quiet, muffled kind. The real kind. The kind that shakes your whole body, the kind you can’t stop, the kind that feels like it’s never going to end.

Bucky didn’t say anything.

He just held you tighter, one hand on the back of your head, the other rubbing slow, steady circles against your back.

Like he could take the hurt for you if you just let him.

After a long time after your sobs turned into quiet sniffles, after your chest stopped heaving, after the storm inside you settled into something a little less suffocating, Bucky pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands.

His touch was gentle, careful, grounding.

His thumbs brushed against your damp cheeks, wiping away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling, like he could erase them if he just tried hard enough.

“Tell me what happened.” His voice was low, steady, but there was something underneath it, something sharp, something restrained, something barely hanging on by a thread.

You sucked in a breath, but it felt like razor blades down your throat.

Your heart was still raw, aching, torn open and bleeding, and the words tasted like bile as they climbed up your throat. “He—” Your voice broke.

You shook your head, pressing your lips together, trying to swallow the truth back down, but it was too late. “He cheated, Buck.”

Bucky’s body went completely still.

You barely had the strength to look at him, but when you did, when you saw the way his eyes darkened, the way his shoulders tensed, the way his entire frame locked up like he was holding himself back.

You knew.

You knew he was already picturing all the ways he could kill him.

But you weren’t done. And this, this was the part that you could barely say aloud, the part that felt like it had carved you open from the inside out.

You forced yourself to say it anyway. “He said it was my fault.”

Bucky blinked. “What?”

“Because I wouldn’t—” Your breath hitched, and suddenly your skin felt too tight, your chest too heavy, your lungs too small. “Because I wouldn’t have sex with him.”

His entire body went rigid, every muscle tensing with barely contained rage. His fingers twitched against your skin like he had to physically restrain himself from tearing something apart.

“That fucking asshole.” His voice was low, seething, his jaw so tight you thought he might break his own teeth.

His hand dropped from your face, curling into a fist at his side. “I’m going to kick his ass, Y/N.”

You ignored him, shaking your head frantically.

“I—” Your lip trembled.

The anger didn’t matter. The betrayal didn’t matter. The burning hatred in Bucky’s eyes didn’t matter.

Because the only thing that mattered was the way your chest ached, the way your stomach twisted, the way your voice cracked as you whispered, “I thought he loved me.”

His entire expression crumpled, the fury draining out of him in an instant, leaving behind nothing but grief, nothing but heartbreak, nothing but the sight of you completely unraveling in front of him.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, his hand already reaching for your face again, his touch so much softer now, so much gentler.

You tried to look away, but he didn’t let you.

“Look at me.” His fingers tilted your chin, forcing your eyes to his, and what you saw there made your heart stop.

Rage. Sorrow. Love.

“That wasn’t love, Y/N.”

Your throat tightened.

“He didn’t love you. He didn’t even know how.” His voice was softer now, but no less certain. “You could give someone the entire goddamn world, and if they don’t deserve it, they’ll still throw it away.”

His thumb brushed away a fresh tear.

“And you?” His voice dropped, barely above a whisper. “You are the whole damn world, sweetheart.”

Your lips parted, another sob threatening to break free.

“Nobody deserves you less than him.” His forehead pressed against yours, his hands cradling your face like you were something precious, something worth protecting, something worth more than any of this pain.

“You are everything, Y/N.”

Your breath caught, your heart hammering against your ribs, because he meant it.

He meant every word.

“And don’t you ever—” His voice broke, just slightly, just enough to shatter something inside of you. “Don’t you ever let another person make you feel like you’re not.”

[jayparked]

thinking about boyfriend jo...

GENRE: fluff WORD COUNT: 1.1k WARNINGS: jo soft hours are lethal somebody hold me pls SNAIL TRAIL: hi i wrote this a few days ago at like 9am when i should have been asleep so it's pure fluffy brainrot. thank you @dazzlingjaeyun for working so hard to push jo further up my bias list and i'm pretty sure she hypnotized me to start writing for &team so this is all her fault 💛

₊✩ˎˊ˗ bf!jo who loves holding your hand, no matter if it's in public or private. feeling the way your fingers interlock with his brings him a huge wave of comfort, grounding him in place. he'll mindlessly play with your fingers, especially if you're waiting in line for something. he loves the feeling of spacing out while also being grounded by your touch

₊✩ˎˊ˗ bf!jo who likes to walk behind you so he can just watch you skip around in front of him. loves watching you get distracted by different things and loves it even more when you excitedly turn around to him with a big smile on your face, pointing to something that caught your attention that you want him to see

₊✩ˎˊ˗ bf!jo who's touch is always so gentle and savoring. the way his fingers ghost over your skin, especially when they're absentmindedly moving up your arms or legs. or when he's playing with your hair. his movements are slow and intentional, just loving the way your skin feels against his

₊✩ˎˊ˗ bf!jo who can't help but smile every time he sees something that reminds him of you. his camera roll is filled with photos of things to send you: items in your favorite color, things he finds pretty, songs he wants to share with you, pictures of the sunset etc. he's always buying you little trinkets and leaving them on the dinner table for you to see when you get home

₊✩ˎˊ˗ bf!jo who finds a new thing he loves about you everyday. each thing being the topic of his obsession from morning until dawn. you yawned cutely? he's not shutting up about it. in fact, he's trying to make you yawn even more by saying the word over and over again, making sure you're nice and cozy just hoping you'll do it again or even fall asleep against his chest. or if he sees you do something kind for a stranger, he won't stop bringing it up. "you're so sweet, why are you so sweet?"

₊✩ˎˊ˗ bf!jo who will always carry anything you have in your arms whether it be a bag, books, drink etc. he's not even asking. just either taking it from you or holding his hand out, eyebrows quirking up if you try to refuse. he'll even thank YOU once you give it to him, leaving a soft kiss on your temple as he does so

₊✩ˎˊ˗ bf!jo who always shares his food with you, subtly adding more to your plate when you're not looking or even holding bites in front of your mouth. he'd even open his own mouth wide, like someone would do in front of a baby to get them to mimic the action, and smile fondly once you've taken the bite

₊✩ˎˊ˗ bf!jo who leaves sticky notes for you to find in random places. some with small drawings, others with quotes he likes or just words of encouragement. he loves when you find them when he's around because he gets to hear you giggle and the sound of your feet running towards him to give him a hug and a kiss

₊✩ˎˊ˗ bf!jo who loves when you pepper his face with kisses until he's laughing so hard he can't breathe. sometimes he even needs to physically hold you back at arms length just so he can catch his breath. but once he does, he's leaning forward to kiss the tip of your nose or on the side of your cheek, slowly working his way up into his own retaliation smooch frenzy

₊✩ˎˊ˗ bf!jo who keeps a list of everything you love in his notes app. from your favorite snacks, favorite songs, favorite stores etc. even though he has the information memorized like the back of his hand, he likes seeing the list compiled physically in front of him and loves adding to it. it shows him how he's still learning new things about you everyday. and one day he feels like his heart is going to burst when he sees his name at the end of the list, wondering just when you managed to sneak that in

₊✩ˎˊ˗ bf!jo who loses his breath when he sees you in the sunlight. he takes a few moments to admire you from afar before you see him, watching the way the sunrays make your hair shine. his stomach feels full of butterflies that only worsen when you finally see him, calling out his name excitedly. when his hand naturally finds yours he feels like the luckiest man in the world, still not sure how he got so lucky to have you as his partner

₊✩ˎˊ˗ bf!jo who will confront anyone who makes you upset. a stranger was rude to you? he's going to point it out. even if his voice wavers slightly, he's going to make sure you're okay and let that person know he's not going to let that happen again. if the waiter gets your order wrong and you don't feel comfortable speaking up? he will easily. your comfort and needs always eclipses his shy introvertedness

₊✩ˎˊ˗ bf!jo who loves taking candid pictures of you, even if you don't like having your picture taken. he tries to be subtle about it, but doesn't try to deny it when you catch him. stating he's just admiring the view.

₊✩ˎˊ˗ bf!jo who does grand gestures for special occasions like valentines day, your birthday, or anniversary. breakfast in bed, balloons everywhere, a handwritten note with an array of flowers and treats on the table. he'd also print out all his favorite photos of the two of you together, attaching them to the strings of the balloons. later that night when you're on the couch watching a movie you'd both be scrapbooking the pictures together. decorating with stickers, silly captions, and reminiscing about the memories

₊✩ˎˊ˗ bf!jo who will let his mind wander and think about his future with you a lot, even getting embarrassed or shy by his own thoughts. he often catches himself rambling about things to you like "do you think when we get married we'll do stuff like-" / "when we live together-" he just gets so caught up in the moment

₊✩ˎˊ˗ bf!jo who just loves you sososososo much he sometimes doesn't know what to do with himself but always tries his best to make sure you know you're loved and cared for. sometimes feeling guilty that you're able to love him so effortlessly so he tries really hard to express that same effortlessness to you. he's so fond of you, is so endeared and just can't imagine not having you in his life

♡ pls like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed! ♡ masterlist ♡ all rights reserved jayparked 02/20/25 do not copy, repost, or translate. if you're inspired to create something similar to my work, please credit me

[pattisl0ver]

Joan Ramsey x Fem! Reader~

~Enchanted~ Pt.1

A/N- Y’all this is my first fic in a looong time, so apologies if it isn’t the best, but I am trying to get back into the gist of things. Please message me if you have any recommendations or requests!! This will be a multi-chapter fic. 🫶🏼

Enjoy~

Miss Robichaux’s academy for Exceptional Young Ladies had only recently welcomed you within its ranks, well, welcomed being a loose term, you were sent away there by your father, so there wasn’t much choice in it. He had been forgiving of your witchcraft for a while, putting you to use in the garden in order to keep the flowers in bloom. However as soon as he found out lesbianism had become a feature within you, despite it having nothing to do with your craft, his religious convictions led him to believe your witchcraft to be a devils curse thrust upon you.

The garden outside of the academy was withered and sorrowful, the few plants that remained barely holding on. Cordelia, the headmistress of the academy had assigned you to cater for the garden, she had said that you were a “green witch,” whatever that meant, and so here you were, standing in the blistering heat, overlooking a mound of dirt the academy claimed to be a “garden.”

After around an hour of tilling the dirt and picking the weeds, you head inside for some lemonade. The other girls are there, chattering away, most likely arguing, paying no mind to you. They hardly acknowledged you, not that you wanted them to. The lemonade was cool, sweet, and you hummed softly as you sipped it. Glancing out the window, you spotted new neighbours moving in… a teen boy a little younger than the girls at the academy, accompanied by a woman who must’ve been his mother, shifting furniture inside the Victorian home next door. The others quickly caught on to what you were looking at, and they began to ogle at the teen boy, practically drooling as he took off his shirt in the heat. You however, were more focused on the woman; who seemed to direct the movers, holding a sense of authority over them as she told them where to place the furniture. She was short, only around 5”2, at most, and her chestnut coloured hair was pinned up elegantly, keeping it away from her eyes. She seemed as though she kept herself seperate from the rest of the world, at a safe distance so as to not reveal her true colours.

A few moons later, after gathering some seedlings, you returned to the garden, sowing the seeds tenderly, hand hovering over the mulch whilst you whisper soft enchantments. The teen boy who had just moved in next door smiled softly at you from the window… polite waves were exchanged before his mother pulled him away from the window. You frown softly, confused. The woman shoots you a scowl through her curtains, as if wary of you. Despite this, you give her a soft smile and a wave. Something within you told you she was divined to be close to you, and so you were determined to make it happen. You spent the night baking, another hobby of yours, though this one not made better by your witchcraft, or was it? Who knows.. However, you prepared some raspberry jam tarts, moulding them into shapes of flowers. The real challenge was not in making the tarts, but rather the self restraint of not eating them yourself.

The next morning, you reheated the tarts to perfection, displaying them on a wooden plate, adorned with powdered sugar, before bracing yourself to walk next door. After several more minutes of procrastination you gave in, picking up the plate, and making your way over to the house beside the academy. The garden was already almost pristine, hedges trimmed, not a weed in sight. You hummed in appreciation and stepped up onto the porch before ringing the doorbell, and studying the stained glass windows framing the door. Without much of a wait, the woman you had been examining from afar for around a week opened the door to greet you.

“Hello ma’am. I- uh, my name is Y/N. I live next door.” You spoke softly, your confidence wavering as her eyes met yours.

“Y/N. You’re.. at the academy you say?” She eyes you up and down, taking in your cream coloured lace dress, and your long hair, cascading around your shoulders. Opposing her dark blue, almost conservative dress, and her usual elegant hairstyle, pinned up, fringe straightened. “What can I do for you?” Her voice was smooth, clear, it made you unsure of yourself.

“I- well I just wanted to give you these tarts, they’re raspberry jam, and freshly made, just to… welcome you to the neighbourhood.” You hold out the plate of tarts on display, she examines them and hums in surprise.

“Thats awfully kind of you.” She nods, accepting the tarts and taking the plate. However she eyes you condescendingly. “These weren’t really meant for me were they? They’re for my son are they not?”

You frown slightly and chuckle, thinking she is joking, though this seems more awkward than funny. “Uh- no ma’am, they are for both of you.”

She rolls her eyes. “There is no point in lying to me, I’ve seen how you girls eye my boy. I will not let you seduce him or corrupt his mind.” Her voice is stern, so sure of herself, and yet she couldn’t be more wrong.

You however, didn’t have the courage to challenge her accusation, and so you stammered away. “I- I apologise Ma’am. I didn’t mean to-“

She waves a hand dismissively. “Look Y/N, I’ve dealt with this before, and I’ll likely have to do it again. Just stay away from my boy.”

Confused immensely, yet afraid to disagree, you nod softly. “Yes ma’am.” She nodded in approval and then closed the door behind her, taking the tarts inside, leaving you stranded out on her porch. That was not how this was supposed to go. You needed to prove to her that you weren’t after her son, but how?…

[ghostchems]

infernal - terzo x f!reader - part eight

art by @piaart !!!

author’s note: 18+! mdni! it's been months!! it's scary posting this ahhh!! hope you guys enjoy it, tho ;) part one/two/three/four/five/six/seven. ao3 link.

The floorboard creaks beneath your feet, shifting your weight as your eyes adjust to the darkness. Worn candles are lit along the floor, guiding you to the basement. You’re in Terzo’s foyer but have no memory of driving here, of even entering his house. Something carries you forward, floating to the door that creaks further open the closer you get. Is he down there? Does he need help with something? You try to think, to remember any kind of detail but there’s nothing you can grasp. The door swings open wide now, a red fog beginning to roll across the foyer’s carpet.

Something’s wrong.

A crash comes from down the stairs, discordant piano cords ringing in your ears. You want to run, torn between away and down to see if he was okay. But all you can do is take measured steps, your hand gripping the rail to keep you steady as you descend. There’s a dim red glow in the center of the room, unable to make it out from the ever thickening fog. A jaunty tune fills the room as if to guide you along. It’s becoming clear that Terzo isn’t here — he would have made his half-dressed self known by now. You walk toward the light, your body only allowing calm steps while your heart thunders in your chest.

The tip of your foot hits something and the whole room clears of fog, leaving you in front of a piano. Your heart clenches, a chill traveling up your spine as you take in it’s appearance: painted bright red with intricate wood carved decorations in black. The same as the rotary phone. You reach for it, fingertips drifting along the smooth wood. It’s warm to the touch. You try to will yourself away but you’re stuck, your feet glued to the floor and your eyes unable to look at anything else.

Your breath catches as your fingers drift down to the keyboard cover, an overwhelming urge to press the keys taking hold. Just has you reach it, it snaps open on it’s own, a claw wrenching from beneath it and catching you by the wrist. A scream rips from your throat, your body finally responding to the danger, lurching back but you’re caught. The tips of the claws are golden, the rest of it scaly and black, burning your skin. It tears into your wrist, blood spilling from the wound as it nearly rips your hand clean off.

“PAPA!” You scream as you wake, lunging forward in your bed. Sheets and blankets are twisted around your limbs, trembling and breathing heavily as you realize where you are.

It was a dream.

The day is a blur. You find yourself unable to focus on one thing for very long until your mind wanders. To him. To your time together. How he touched you. Then your nightmare. How the claw that grabbed you resembled his gloves, the ones he wore when he forced you to drink, when he kissed you so hard that you saw stars. More often than not you find yourself with your head in your hands, wondering how you let yourself get into this mess. You hooked up with your obviously unwell boss.

But you liked him.

You’re really in it now, aren’t you?

“You know, you could have let him know you aren’t interested anymore,” Catherine says pointedly. Your gaze falls to her, eyes wide and your eyebrows raised. Oh, that’s right. You’re out to dinner.

“I… I’m sorry, I really am… I’ll shoot him a text.” You murmur and take out your phone, only to see a message from Terzo. “The last few days have been a blur…” Voice trails off as you open the message.

You've plagued my thoughts since yesterday... I can still taste you on my tongue. Come to me soon, ‘fetta. I need you again.

Your phone drops from your shaky hand.

“Dude, what is going on with you? You’ve looked like a ghost this entire time,” Erica snaps, frustration in her voice but the concern in her eyes is real. Your head falls into your hands, shaking it slowly. No, no — you shouldn’t tell them, should you? Lifting your head, you see the concern in both of their eyes and know you can’t keep it from them.

“I… hooked up with my boss.”

Silence falls over the table. A fry falls out of Catherine’s mouth. It’s unbearable. You feel embarrassed, you want to curl up and disappear into thin air and leave them to have a normal dinner without you.

“Well, are you going to tell us what it was like or are you just going to sit there looking crazy?” Erica finally asks, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. Catherine mirrors her position, both of them waiting with bated breath for you to spill the details. You feel your face heat up but you are actually able to smile.

“He kissed me… on Thursday before the date,” you pause after Catherine gasps, “he thought I was dressed nicely for him. It was… awkward to tell him I was going on a date. There’s been tension this whole time, I think. But the kiss was good. Not to be weird about your brother, but he uh… he’s not a very good kisser.”

“Gross,” Catherine grimaces.

“Sorry. He wasn’t really what I thought he was.”

“I could have told you back. So was… Terzo, right? Was he upset about the date?”

You drum your fingers on the table, thinking on how to answer. There are some things you shouldn’t go into details on. “He wasn’t happy, that’s for sure. Gave me the cold shoulder for most of Friday but… then we made out. And Saturday morning, we…”

Erica looks like she’s going to jump out of her seat, like this is the most exciting thing she’s ever heard. “Oh my god. Is he packing? He was in a band, right? Usually that means… you know.”

“I… I mean… Okay, this doesn’t leave this table.” Your voice drops and the both of them lean in to be able to hear. “We haven’t had sex yet but he fingered me and I thought I was going to lose my mind from how crazy it felt.”

They’re squealing now and you laugh, feeling at ease and normal. Just a chat amongst gals. This is what people do, right? The back of your mind buzzes despite the anxiety that bubbles just below the surface. You’ve made it this far in this new world but tomorrow you were due back to his house for work.

Dinner ends with warm hugs and words of encouragement from your friends — along with playful threats about what they'll do to Terzo if he hurts you. A weak smile spread across your face. Deep down, you know he’s capable of things you don't fully understand.

You drive home in silence. Both hands on your steering wheel, eyes ahead and focused while your mind wanders. Seeing your friends was good for you. A reminder that there’s more to life than just him despite how all encompassing he feels, even when he’s not around.

*****

You let your bag drop to the ground, slinging it from your shoulders as you enter his foyer. Sunlight spills through the stained glass windows, illuminating the room. There’s no fog, no candles burnt all the way down to the floor and no piano music. Nothing like the nightmare you had. You clear your throat and lean over to your bag, unzipping it to pull out your laptop.

Twinkling sounds floats through the floorboards causing you to freeze.

Piano.

The color drains from your face as you drop your bag, your laptop with it. Terzp doesn’t have a piano. The thought repeats in your mind over and over again. You nearly trip over your feet as you make your way to the basement door, open just a smidge. It swings open with ease just as the playing picks up again, light and dainty. Hesitating for a moment at the top of the stairs you recognize the song - Your Mother Should Know. It’s been years since you’ve even thought of it but it’s unmistakable. You half expect to find Terzo in all-white and a tailcoat.

It’s a pleasant thought but you’re expecting the worst. Your nightmare. Is there a creature in the basement? One with scaly, sharp claws? Did it get Terzo?

Your steps quicken, nearly running down the stairs. He has to be here, nothing could ever happen to him, right? Your vision is blurring from how shaken you are, your legs like jelly as you force yourself down until you reach the bottom of the stairs. Your heart nearly stops. The piano that wasn't there before but appeared in your dream, is in the center of the room. Black and red. Shiny. Just like that phone—manifesting out of nowhere, as if conjured. Did you dream of it’s arrival? Are you the one that brought it here?

You must be losing your damn mind.

“‘Fetta?”

Your eyes dart to him, startled by his voice to find him seated at the piano bench. Your breath catches at the sight of him. He slowly stands and he’s in an immaculate white suit adorned with delicate golden details with a matching vest completing the ensemble. He Is. You’ve watched the music video (more than once) but seeing him wear it is a whole new feeling. All he’s missing is the tailcoat. The pristine white fabric seems to make his face paint and mismatched eyes sharper. With a serious look, he moves swiftly toward you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tightly against him in an embrace.

"I was worried you wouldn't come back," he gasps against your hair, his voice thick with emotion.

“What?” You manage a chuckle, finally feeling like you can breathe again. “We’ve been flirting through text all weekend.” The piano has already faded from the forefront of your mind, swept up in him and only him.

Terzo’s arms squeeze around you, and he lets out a sigh against your neck. "I thought maybe you'd change your mind," he confesses softly. "That maybe the weekend gave you time to think better of it." He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression vulnerable.

You're speechless. All your earlier fears dissolve as you realize he'd been wrestling with the same doubts. Before you can respond, his lips find yours in a tender kiss that quickly deepens with need. His hands slide up to cradle your face as he kisses you like he's been starving for it, like those two nights apart were an eternity. You melt against him, your knees going weak as he steals the air from your lungs. The world narrows until there's nothing but the press of his lips, the warmth of his hands on your face, and the thundering of your heart in your chest. Your eyes slowly open, the piano catching your gaze again.

“Where did this come from?” You whisper against his lips. Terzo leans back but his large, gloved hands stay on your cheeks, thumbs stroking the delicate skin beneath your tired eyes. Both of you shift your gaze to the grand piano.

“It’s a gift… eh, from a former bandmate.” Not exactly a lie. The truth is it appeared in the basement with a thunderous explosion of keys after he avoided the hell phone for a full night. “I like to noodle, you know.” He’s slipped into his charismatic self, lips curled into an easy smile as he presses his forehead to yours.

Concerns about the piano fade and to be honest, it’s impossible to focus on anything other than him when he’s like this. Terzo’s nose brushes against yours, his gaze expectant and intense. You find yourself kissing him this time, your fingers drifting up the golden details of his jacket. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you flush against him with a soft rumble that makes you shiver.

You break away reluctantly, breathing hard. "The contractor's coming any minute," you whisper against his lips.

Terzo groans, throwing his head back in dismay. "What are they doing todaaay? Don’t they know that… ehhh, that I’ve spent two lonely evenings without you?” He whines as his lower lip juts out in an exaggerated pout. You slip free of his grasp and start for the stairs.

"They’re working on the porch, Terzo. Don’t you want a nice swinging bench to lounge on?" You stop midway to let him catch up with you.

"Only if you're there with me," he purrs, stalking behind you. He nearly grabs you again but you manage to wriggle just out of reach. A knock at the door makes you both jump apart, and Terzo lets out another dramatic groan.

"I'm making coffee," he grumbles before hurrying you up the stairs with a playful pat to your backside. Reaching the top, you watch him disappear into the kitchen as you run your trembling fingers through your hair with an unsteady sigh. He’s gotten you a tad worked up. A quiet, more urgent knock jobs your memory of the contractor. You put on your most friendly face despite your rosy cheeks and greet them.

Terzo pushes the button to start the drip as he listens for you. As soon as he hears the front door creak shut he is slinking to the foyer. Your faint voice mingles with the contractor’s, bright and friendly. He holds his breath, taking careful steps until he’s at the stained glass window beside the door. Your figure is blurred through the glass but he still cannot look away, transfixed on you and the way you interact. The last two nights were torture — yes, the both of you texted but he yearned to hear, feel and see you again.

He wasn’t going to let you out of his sight, not for a moment.

His hip bumps the entryway table as he tries to get a good view, knocking a few things off of it. Growling, he leans down to clean up only to come face to face with his severed head. Anger sears through him as he snatches up the magazine, his tight grip crinkling the pages. His other hand traces the jagged scar along his neck as bile rises in his throat. The photoshoot had been out of sight out of mind for a while now, his focus solely on you, but just seeing his father and the Cardinals taunting him again sets something alight inside.

“What are you doing?”

Terzo spins around quickly, shoving the magazine back onto the table with a barely contained rage that turns into something else at the sight of you. Your cheeks are rosy just from the look he gave you, your eyes wide and eyebrows raised in surprise. He was caught, so why not confess.

“I like to watch you, mio toppolino,” he purrs, slinking closer to you. “Shouldn’t be much of a surprise at this point, eh?” The suspicion in your expression tickles him. You truly are the cat to his mouse - willing to play the part and continue the game.

You shake your head, trying to focus on work instead of his flirting. "The contractor needs to discuss some details with you about the porch. Something about wood types?" But Terzo is already moving closer, his gloved hands finding your waist.

"Mmm, very important business indeed." He nuzzles against your neck, making you squirm. "But first..." His lips brush your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

You manage to wiggle free of him again, convinced that he likes it as much as having you in his arms. "Work first! Then we can... discuss other things."

The rest of the afternoon passes in a pleasant haze. Terzo hovers near you as you work, finding excuses to touch you - a hand on your lower back as he peers at your laptop screen, fingers brushing yours as he hands you coffee. The contractor comes and goes, and you make decent progress on mocking up the renovations you’ll pitch for the guest room.

But every time the piano's melody drifts through your thoughts, unease settles in your stomach. His old bandmate? You've never heard him mention anyone from his music days, not once. The piano seems just as aware of your presence as you are of its. You catch Terzo watching you sometimes, his expression unreadable behind that charming smile. There's something he's not telling you. But as his arms wrap around you from behind and he presses a kiss to your temple, you push the doubts aside. For now.

“Let me play you something, ‘fetta,” he murmurs, “anything you want to hear.”

"Play me something from your past," you say softly, curiosity getting the better of you. "Something you wrote, maybe.” Terzo goes stiff behind you, slowly drawing his lips away from the side of your head. He gives a low hum and starts to walk toward the piano, his shoulders slumped.

“I wasn't much of a writer," he admits, lingering in front of it before gently pressing some keys. "I only wrote one song during my time in the band and even that’s difficult to find. Perhaps for good reason, must not be very good.” Terzo’s eyes flicker to you, the hurt and sadness in them evident. You swallow thickly. This has been a topic of his life that he has avoided speaking to you about. In fact, he’s gone out of his way to not answer questions, diverting your attention to something else.

Terzo sits at the bench, fingers suddenly dance across the keys with practiced confidence, playing a haunting melody that fills the basement. You listen to it carefully, unable to place it after a few moments — even though you’ve listened to his offerings on repeat since viewing the acoustic performance.

“It’s nice, though,” you hum, crossing your arms as you near him. Terzo’s face breaks into a smile, dimpled cheeks and bright eyes looking back at you. It’s impossible not to smile back, not to bask in the light of his attention. You shuffle over to him, practically skipping, and end up hovering by him at the piano. “Did you ever play on stage?”

His lips twitch, eyes darting away from you to focus on the keys in front of him. “Ah, no… no, I did not. My job was to frolic and sing, you know this, mio toppolino,” he says, shifting on the bench as he starts another song: Absolution. You watch his fingers dance across the keys with practiced ease. Terzo’s earlier hesitation seems forgotten as he loses himself in the music, those mismatched eyes half-closed in concentration. The song builds, and you find yourself swaying slightly, entranced by both the music and the man playing it.

His eyes snap open and there's something wild and magnetic in his gaze, filled with such raw desire that it makes your head spin. “I think I would… quite like you kneeling between my legs while I play, ‘fetta.” Heat floods your cheeks at his words, but you can't deny the thrill that runs through you at the suggestion. His fingers continue to dance across the keys as he watches you with dark, hungry eyes. The melody shifts to something slower, more seductive. You recognize it: Cirice.

Knowing how much you enjoy this game, he parts his legs to make space for you as you sink to your knees. Your hands slide up his thighs as you settle between them, his fingers never missing a note. The haunting melody continues to fill the basement as you look up at him through thick lashes. His mismatched eyes are fixed on you as he plays flawlessly from memory.

"Go on… you know what I want," Terzo purrs, his voice barely audible over the piano. Your fingers work at his belt buckle, tugging it free with deliberate slowness, careful with his fancy outfit. His growing arousal is evident beneath his tailored pants, straining against the fabric. You palm him through the material, his fingers stumble on the keys, the melody faltering for just a moment.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve fantasized about this.”

"I've wanted this since my second day working here," you confess between heavy breaths.

"Really?" His eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise, a delighted grin spreading across his painted face.

"Mhm. I mean, most days you would wander around in a robe which didn’t leave much to the imagination..." You trail off, blushing.

"So was that what made you want to get on your knees for me, ‘fetta?" His tone is playful but his eyes betray genuine curiosity. "My sculpted body? Or was it my devilishly handsome face? My charming personality?" He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

You can't help but laugh at his antics even as heat rises to your cheeks. He’s being ridiculous but it’s this that draws you to him most.

"All of it," you admit with a soft smile. "The way you make me laugh, how dramatic you can be, your confidence... even if half of it is just for show. I like every part of you."

“Does this really appear to be for show?” Terzo’s voice drops dangerously low, his eyes flickering down at his lap.

You glance down pointedly at the obvious bulge straining against his pristine white pants. "No, that definitely seems quite real to me," you say with a teasing smile. His fingertips move to brush along your chin before pressing his thumb to your bottom lip.

"Perhaps I should stop talking and let you get back to work, yes?" The way his thumb presses against your lip makes your pulse quicken, and you can't help but dart your tongue out to taste the fabric of his glove. His sharp intake of breath at the action, only fueling your desire to please him. Your hands run over his thighs as you inch closer, settling on his zipper. Unzipping them, he springs free with a rumbling groan. Even his cock is beautiful - thick and elegant like the rest of him.

His breath hitches as you take him into your mouth, the piano melody growing more erratic as you work. Your tongue swirls around his length while your hands grip his thighs, feeling the muscles tense beneath your fingers. The music stops completely when you take him deeper, replaced by a deep moan. His gloved hand tangles in your hair, guiding your movements as you bob along his length. His other one grips the edge of the piano bench, the wood creaking beneath his fingertips.

You press your tongue to the underside each time you reach the head, then swipe it along the tip, savoring his taste. Your grip on his thighs tightens as you feel him twitch in your mouth. The sounds he makes only fuel your enthusiasm - you're enjoying this as much as he is, thighs pressing tightly together. His gloved fingers tighten in your hair as his hips start to thrust shallowly, unable to control himself any longer. "Dio mio, tesoro..." he pants, his voice strained and desperate. The sound of his pleasure echoes off the basement walls, making you moan around him in response.

His hips buck up sharply, forcing himself deeper into your throat. You gag around him but don't pull back, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you take his full length. The sound of your choking only seems to drive him closer to the edge, his moans growing more hoarse. With a final thrust, he spills down your throat with a strangled cry of your name, his body trembling beneath your hands.

You slump forward, resting your forehead against his thigh as you catch your breath. His gloved hand gentles in your hair, stroking soothingly as you both come down from your high. After a moment, he tilts your chin up to look at him, his painted face soft with affection.

A deafening crash behind you makes you yelp, jumping straight into Terzo's arms. The piano keys slam discordantly as something heavy falls against them. Before either of you can react, the basement is plunged into total darkness as the power cuts out with an ominous hum.

"Merda," Terzo hisses, his arms tightening protectively around you.

"What was that?" you whisper against his chest, heart pounding.

"The piano, it's, eh, it’s... very old. Sometimes the pedals stick, the hammers fall." His voice is strained as he speaks, one arm still wrapped around you while the other fumbles in his pocket. "Let's go upstairs, tesoro. No reason to stay down here in the dark."

Before you can protest, he's scooping you up into his arms. You catch a glimpse of his face in the dim light from his phone screen - his jaw is tight, eyes darting around the darkness behind you. You want to ask more questions, to point out that falling hammers don't explain the power outage, but something in his expression makes you hold your tongue. His secrets. He would always have them, wouldn’t he?

There’s been something off about Terzo from the start and you ignored it. You continue to ignore it.

He carries you swiftly up the basement stairs, kicking the door shut behind him with perhaps more force than necessary. You drop from his arms with ease, feet finding the ground to steady yourself. Terzo's hands roam your form possessively, fingers digging into your hips.

"You couldn't possibly leave now, tesoro. I would be all alone in the dark." His voice is playful but there's an edge of desperation beneath it.

A sudden whoosh makes you both jump as the fireplace roars to life, flames leaping high and hot. You stare at it in shock, but Terzo merely glances at the fire before turning back to you, acting as if nothing unusual just happened. The questions bubble up in your throat - about the rotary phone in the guest room, the piano, all the strange occurrences in this house. But would asking push him away? Make him shut down completely?

He presses a soft kiss to your cheek, seemingly oblivious to your inner turmoil. "I'll figure out dinner, eh? And fix us some drinks." Terzo voice is forced, an underlying unease that he can’t quite hide. There's fear in his eyes. You see it for the first time - raw and unguarded, a flash of genuine terror before he masks it with his usual charm. It makes your stomach twist.

He gives your hips one final squeeze before releasing you.

You feel dizzy. Sinking to your knees on the plush rug, you watch the inexplicably lit flames dance in the fireplace. The heat washes over you but does nothing to warm the chill that's settled in your bones.

[holdmytesseract]

moodboard by the wonderful @chennqingg <3

Bloodline

[EoH Universe]

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader feat. Teddy Dixon

Summary: When Daryl loses his brother, you try to be his tower of strenght.

Warnings: angst? sadness, grief? fluff, dad!Daryl, major character death (mentioned), sad Daryl hours

The Prison Era!

Word Count: 2,2k

a/n: It's been a while since I lastly posted something for this AU, so... 🤗

EoH Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

You were outside in the inner courtyard together with Teddy, Beth and little Judith. While Beth sat with the infant on her arm on one of the benches, Teddy practised to use the slingshot his father had crafted him. For now, he was shooting small rocks against an old, rusty steel sheet.

You sat beside Beth; enjoying the warmth of the sun, but also always keeping a watchful eye on your surroundings. Especially at these times it was important to stay attentive...

Watching your son with his red bandana and way too big clothes trying his best to hit the target was adorable. The way his small fingers worked to draw the slingshot; the way he moved; how concentrated he was. His tongue poked out between his lips as he aimed. You smiled. There was no doubt who his father was.

Of course you knew that training Teddy in using weapons was important. Even though he was only four years old. It could save his life after all.

"You saw that, momma?" Teddy called out to you; blue-greyish eyes shining and a big smile stretched on his face. You nodded; giving him an encouraging smile. "I did, yeah! You're doing amazing, baby! Keep on practising!" Teddy's smile widened, before he turned around to pick up the next small rock.

As Judith released a cute little coo, you turned to face Beth; noticing that that baby girl woke up again. "Ohh, look who's awake again," you giggled and cooed; gently stroking Judith's chubby cheek. "Hey, Jude. You awake, huh?" The sweet moment you shared with the newest member of your group got suddenly interrupted by the sound of a creaking door. You immediately looked up and saw Daryl exiting the corridor which led to the C-Block and strolling straight into your direction; crossbow slung over his shoulder. The look on his face told you that something was up. Most likely nothing good.

He stopped quite a few meters away from you - and out of his son's sight; biting his bottom lip and silently gesturing for you to come over.

You released a breath you didn't know you were holding.

Exchanging a short look with the young girl sitting beside you, you stood up and quickly made your way over to the archer.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" You immediately questioned your man; a concerned frown on your face while you crossed your arms over your chest. "I ain't s'pposed to tell ya, but... This Governor offered Rick a deal. If we are willin' to deliver Michonne, he'll leave us be." "What?" Your frown deepened. "And Rick truly believes that? He wants to take that shot?" Daryl swallowed; head lowered for a moment, before he lifted it again with a grunt. "Wanted to. Me, Rick 'n Merle, but Rick decided against it."

"Thank god. Honestly, Daryl, that wouldn't have been the right decision..." "I know," he huffed in agreement, but started to nibble on his bottom lip again mere seconds later. "Merle's gone 'lone. Captured her 'n left."

Your eyes widened at his words. "Merle did what?!" Your long-term boyfriend nodded. "Gonna go after him 'n try ta stop him. He's my brother. 'S on me." You blinked; needing to process his words. "You want to go after him? Alone?" He nodded and you started to shake your head vehemently. "No, Daryl. No. What if he's already brought her to the Governor? I-I don't want you to get caught in the crossfire!" The archer took a step closer to you; his calloused, yet gentle hands reaching for yours. "I ain't gettin' caught in the crossfire, sunshine. I promise." He gave your hands a firm, reassuring squeeze. "But I gotta do this. He's my brother..."

You took a deep breath, "I know, sweetie - and I absolutely understand that, but... Alone?" You gazed with worry swimming in your eyes into Daryl's; freeing a hand from your man's grasp and lifting it to let your palm rest on his chest. He nodded. "Yeah. Gotta do it alone. Rick can't track for shit 'n the rest ain't havin' a single clue - 'n am certainly not taking Hershel. He's been through 'nough." "I'm going with you then," you stated firmly; giving him a stern look. But Daryl immediately shook his head and scoffed. "Hell nah. I ain't takin' ya with me, darlin'. I ain't putting ya in danger." "Daryl, I-" You tried to stand your ground, but he cut you off immediately. "Nah, Y/N. I need ya to stay here. The group needs ya here, 'kay? If things go south 'n the Governor attacks..." You could see the trouble in his eyes. "Teddy needs his momma. You gotta protect our son."

You held his gaze for quite a while; thinking about Daryl's words. And the longer you thought this through, you realised that he was right.

So, you nodded. "O-Okay, yeah... I... I guess you're right." Daryl sensed your worry, of course and immediately cupped your face in his calloused palms; gently rubbing his thumbs over the apples of your cheeks. "I'll be back 'fore ya know it, sunshine. I love ya, you hear me?" You nodded; giving him a soft smile. "I love you, too. Be careful, yeah?" Daryl nodded and pressed his lips in a firm kiss against your forehead, before he let go of you and went on his way to find Merle and Michonne.

Your eyes followed him; worry still carved on your features.

Small feet on the grey asphalt getting closer to you, caused you to turn your head; seeing how Teddy ran up to you. Of course he had noticed by now that his father was leaving. "Momma? W-Where's daddy going?" Your son asked as he reached you; his sweet face overshadowed by confusion and fear. You knelt down to be on eye-level with him. "He'll be back soon, sweetheart. He has to look after your uncle Merle." The four-year-old frowned. "Uncle Merle is out there alone?" You nodded and gave him a reassuring smile. "He's going to find him."

You knew pretty well, that Teddy was always afraid to lose either you or Daryl, when one needed to put themself in danger. "Your daddy will be back before you know it, bud. Go practice some more, huh?" You said; tucking a curl of his long, chestnut brown hair out of his face and adjusting the red, loose bandana around his neck. "I bet daddy'll be excited for you to show him what you learned." The little boy smiled brightly and nodded; seemingly reassured. "Uh.Huh!" You returned his smile and pressed a kiss on his cheek. "Now go." Teddy nodded once more and stormed off; keeping on practising to use the slingshot.

It was silent for a moment, until Rick's voice urged to your ear once more. "You can take a break, y'know? I can take over." You immediately shook your head; denying Rick's offer. "No. I'll stay here and keep watch." The sheriff had no other choice than to accept your decision. He had learned in the past months that arguing with you in such situations wasn't an option. "A'right," Rick simply said and left you alone again.

It got late. There weren't many hours of sun left and Daryl wasn't back yet. At least Michonne was. Merle had let her go. You were kinda happy about that, but it didn't cease your worries to exist.

"They ain't back yet?" A familiar voice asked you, while you were on watch; hiding behind the wooden plates and steel wire. You turned your head to face Rick; rifle still on aim. "No..." The former sheriff nodded; worry and regret reflecting on his face. "I'll give 'em another hour. If they're not back then, I'm goin' after them." You swallowed hard and bit your lip. "Is Teddy alright?" Another nod from Rick. "Yeah, he's with Carl." "Good." You nodded and turned back around; watching the area closely through the gunsight.

You weren't sure how much more time passed, but by now the sun started to sink and the uneasy feeling within your chest to raise. You knew you couldn't stay out here for much longer, 'cause you wouldn't see a thing. Sighing deeply, you took a last check of the area, then shouldered your rifle and turned to leave. You already wanted to step through the steel door - internally planning to talk Rick into letting you go with him, when you suddenly collided with a firm body, which caused you to stumble backwards. Before you could kiss the ground, two arms reached for you and prevented your fall... Daryl's arms. You blinked; still a bit shocked and looked at the man in front of you. Then it clicked.

"Daryl!" You breathed out relieved and immediately threw your arms around him; "Thank god you're back." hugging him close. The archer didn't say a single word; just engulfed you tightly. Tighter than usual, as you noticed and your brain signalled you instantly that something must be wrong - and suddenly you had a very bad feeling...

You ran your hand through his steadily growing hair; trying to give him some comfort and reassurance - as far as you could, given the circumstance. All you wanted was to be his tower of strength.

"Daryl..." You quietly spoke up after a few endless moments; thumbs starting to caress the clothed skin on his back. "Sweetie, what's wrong? Didn't you find him?" Another few beats of silence passed, in which Daryl had to swallow hard and fight the tears - unbeknownst to you.

"M-Merle's dead," he choked out; causing a wave of shock to ripple through you. You retreated from the hug and cupped Daryl's cheeks; seeing the tears glistening in his blue-grey eyes. "What? H-How?" A heartbreaking sob left the usually so tough and collected man. "D-Dunno... Found him at the meeting place with the Governor. I think tha' asshole killed 'im 'n let... Let him turn." "You... You had to put him down?" He nodded; silent tears running down his cheeks. Your heart broke for him.

"Oh, Daryl..." You immediately wrapped him up in another hug; letting him bury his head in your shoulder and cry. Merle was how he was. You had cursed him more than once for the power he held over Daryl and the influence on his thinking and acting. The older Dixon may have been an asshole - but he was still blood. He was his brother. One of the most important people in Daryl's life. He loved him, without a doubt - and now he was gone.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie... So sorry..." You mumbled into his hair. Daryl just clung onto you and you let him; still holding his body close. "Do the others know?" He nodded against your neck. "A-And does... Does Teddy know?" Now the archer shook his head and slowly retreated from the hug; eyes slightly red from crying. "Nah. Didn't see him yet..." You stood on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss against his lips, before gently taking his hand in yours. "Come." Daryl gave your hand a squeeze and followed you wordlessly.

Teddy sat at one of the tables in the makeshift canteen; eating whatever Carol had cooked for dinner. Everyone you passed by on the way gave Daryl a compassionate look; knowing very well how much he just lost.

Once Teddy's eyes landed on you and his father, the boy was quick to jump to his feet; spoon clattering to the table.

"Daddy!" Teddy shouted and immediately ran over. Despite everything that happened in the past few hours, Daryl couldn't help himself but to smile. He may have lost his brother, but he also got a little boy which loved him to the moon and back. Just like he did.

The archer bend his knees; ready to catch Teddy in his arms - which he did with a grunt; picking him off the ground and hugging him close. "Hey, buddy." The four-year-old old wrapped his arms around his father's neck. Daryl squeezed Teddy's smaller body against his, affectionately ruffling his hair, before he let him down again gently, until both his feet touched the grey prison ground. "Did you find uncle Merle, daddy?" Daryl swallowed hard and proceeded to squat down to be at eye-level with his son. "Yeah, I... I did, buddy, but..." Daryl put both his hands on the boy's small shoulders; blue-grey eyes gazing into his equal ones. "Buddy, he... Your uncle Merle, I... I couldn't save 'im. He's gone, Teddy."

Teddy's young brain needed a moment to process Daryl's words and put one and one together. His face contorted; tears starting to gather in his eyes. The boy always got along so well with Merle. "Uncle Merle is... dead?" Daryl nodded sadly. "'M sorry, buddy."

Merle's death definitely left a scar behind on both, Daryl's and Teddy's heart and soul. It would need some time to heal, without a doubt. Unfortunately, there wasn't much time to grief, since the dangerous threat which was the Governor lurked already behind the next corner...

For another moment, Teddy tried to suppress the tears; tried to be a big boy and don't cry, but he quickly lost the battle. He was just a child after all. Throwing himself into his dad's arms again, he cried. Like you were Daryl's tower of strength earlier, was Daryl now Teddy's tower of strength. He kept holding the boy tightly; not letting go.

You watched the scenes unfold for a while, until you found yourself wiping a tear away as well and squatting down beside your family and joining the hug; wrapping both arms around your men.

Tags: @angelwings-crossbowstrings @belitoxx @lou12346789 @fictive-sl0th @marvelcasey05 @loz-3 @whore4romance @stitchintimefan @bigbaldheadname @making-the-most-0f-it @erebus-et-eigengrau @km-ffluv @0-aubrie0 @sweetz1919 @mikaela-granger @secretsicanthideanymore @dilfdixon @txtttttttttttttt @dixons-sunshine @stiveroon @cakesandtom @mayday2007 @dixonsdarkelf @huntedmusicgardenn @ffsjustletmesleep

[mirandasidefics]

But Home Is Nowhere- Chapter 14

Pairing(s): Lucien x Plus Size Reader, Azriel x Plus Size Reader, and Ruhn Dannan x Plus Size Reader.

Summary: Reader finally learns what information the Prison holds. Instead of this trip helping to alleviate her fears, it confirmed the worst of them. There is no going home for her now.

Word Count: 6.1 K

Warnings: More spoilers for Cresent City 3. If you haven't read this series, or this book I highly recommend that you do. This entire fic is my version of CC3 and ACOTAR6.

Author's Note: Aine is pronounced "Aw-nya" and is from Irish/Celtic mythology. There is also heavy inspiration from Irish mythology throughout this fic, but more so in this chapter and future chapters when we learn more about the world Reader comes from. Thank you everyone for sticking with this story! I can't believe that it's been a YEAR since I started to share it with everyone. I feel like I've only now gotten to the real good parts of this story. I hope everyone is enjoying this, even though it is slow paced. There is still so much more to go!

As always, a HUGE thank you to my beta reader @hardcoremarvelfan for all her help!

Series Masterlist Divider by @/tsunami-of-tears

Previous: Chapter 13 Next: Bonus Chapter #2

The frozen mountain side of the prison was the same as the last time you had been on the island nearly four years ago. Snow swirled around you, Bryce, and Ruhn as you all made your way to the front entrance of the Prison. The large carved doors loomed in front of your small group. You scanned over the intricate design, a seamless slab of…your breath caught in your throat. The doors were made of bone. You followed behind Bryce as you approached the entrance, Ruhn’s hand in yours. The warmth of his fingers interlaced with yours helping to calm your nerves. There was really no telling what you may find in the chamber where Bryce had claimed the piece of starlight power from Silene. While Bryce had not been a direct descendant, she already held the inherited power of Silene’s mother, Queen Theia.  

You had your suspicions of what this trip could reveal, of course, but you still needed to see the chamber where so much power had laid dormant for millennia. Bryce waved her hand, and the pale off-white hue gave way to a depthless darkness as the gates groaned. Your body was immediately hit with a wave of heavy despair. The unmarked entrance you had been pushed into all those years ago did not have this intense level of energy attached to it. The darkness beyond the bone doors seemed entirely lifeless. 

“Stay close,” Ruhn reminded you, his grip on your hand tightening. “Try not to touch the walls either. We don’t know if you getting past the barrier in that unmarked entrance was a fluke or not.” The male looked down at you, his half smile intended to help relax you, but you could see the worry in his eyes. 

“You tell me this now?” You looked up at him, eyes wide with your growing anxiety. “What if I can’t get back out? You really think that-”

“Relax,” Bryce commented as she began to walk forward. “You think I want to piss off some of the only people that are willing to help save my world? If there was any real reason to worry I wouldn’t have agreed to bring you here without anyone from that stupid ‘inner circle’.” You eyed both Starborn heirs wearily. Ruhn tightened his hold on your hand in reassurance. 

“You’ll be fine, baby.” Ruhn reassured, “Bryce and I have entered and exited easily over the past few years now.” With a deep steadying breath, you took the first step across the threshold. You weren’t sure what you had expected to happen once you entered, but you had expected something. Instead, you were greeted with silence and stale stagnant air. 

“I told you.” Bryce smiled, obviously pleased that she had been proven right yet again. 

The fact that the three of you were able to easily enter the massive former palace solidified that you had some degree of blood relation to Rhysand, or even worse Bryce and Ruhn. You blanched, holding back the slight bit of bile that burned the back of your throat. The mental reminder that you had kissed and wanted to have sex with a potential relative made your skin crawl. Even if you were literally from different worlds, and different species, and your ancestry lines diluted by thousands of years. What made it all worse was that a part of you still found yourself attracted to the male Starborn heir. You loathed dwelling on the idea any further, and instead hoped that you were more closely related to that stupid selfish prick calling himself a High Lord.  

The winding staircase that led down to the depths of the prison grew impossibly darker with each and every step. Even with Bryce using the starlight from her chest to light your path, the surrounding darkness felt oppressive. As you all came to what you assumed was the bottom landing of the massive staircase another set of towering double doors greeted you.  This time Bryce didn’t pause before waving her hand again, magically opening the barrier between you and whatever secrets lay beyond. Swallowing down the nervous lump in your throat, you entered the chamber. 

The chamber was a massive circular cavern. Darkness filled a majority of the space. The only light source was a distant hole in the ceiling. The trace amount of light formed a singular beam illuminating an empty pedestal in the center of the floor. After a few moments, your eyes adjusted to the change in the visibility and more of the chamber came into focus. However, the far end opposite of where you stood with Bryce and Ruhn remained shadowed in a pitch black shroud. Stone walls rose high above your head. Columns and intricately carved arches highlighting walkways going up at least 5 floors. Along the sides of the bottom floor were panels of carved images. You had remembered one discussion with Azriel about the images he, Nesta, and Bryce saw in the tunnels underneath the Hewn City and leading towards this very room. But no one had ever mentioned anything about the panels you currently found yourself inexplicably drawn towards. 

Your feet pulled you towards the closest of the panels of their own volition. Despite the rapid throbbing in your chest, your blood froze with primal fear. Tears began to brim your eyes as images of crying and pleading figures all reaching towards a single point rattled a deep seeded guilt within your bones. Despire, pain, and terror etched in perfect, precise detail in each face. Limbs protruded from bodies at odd angles. Flames and rocks and tree branches intermingled with the figures of the dying.  A tear slipped down your cheek as you tore away from the carvings , instead granting your vision a reprieve by focusing on the blank center of the panel.  After blinking back any additional tears, you could faintly make out a dark crack running through the center of the blank space. 

“Baby?” Ruhn gently tugged on your hand. “Everything alright?” Concern laced his warm tenor and tore your attention away from the cracked wall. 

“Huh? Oh, Yeah,” You lightly shook your head to clear it of the jumbled feelings that were settling in your stomach. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Your eyes started to scan the rest of the space as Bryce walked towards the center of the room. That was when you noticed the raised carvings on the ground and your heart stopped, freezing again as you took in the sight of constellations and a two dimensional rendering of a seven planet solar system. Your voice cracked as you whispered, calling out to Bryce. The air in the chamber felt suffocating, constricting your throat further. The air was so stagnant and oppressing, not even Bryce’s hair moved as she turned to face you. 

“What is it?” The same concerned tone laced Bryce’s voice as she took in your ashen face “(Y/N)? What’s wrong?” The only movement you could force from your body was the extension of your index finger, pointing it at the designs on the floor surrounding the pedestal. 

“W-what are…” The half-fae female followed the line where you pointed. Her perfectly arched brows furrowed together as she continued to examine the pallor taking over your features.  

She didn’t move her attention from your face, her voice taking on the slightest edge of hesitation as she answered, “Why do you…You recognize them, don’t you?” You could barely register if you had acknowledged or answered her question. Your gaze was glued to the raised markings as you checked off the constellations that you instantly recognized. “These are the constellations of Midgard,” Bryce finally supplied before walking you through and naming each configuration of stars. 

“Scorpio and Sagittarius,” Your voice shook as you whispered the names of the constellations as you knew them. Eyes filling with tears as you walked across the map of the heavens. “The Big Dipper…Orion… Pisces.” Giving voice to each connected pattern of stars broke you down. Knees giving out you fell to the floor and the silent tears began their descent. The constellations you had grown up observing nearly every night with your father, were an exact match for the constellations that Bryce and Ruhn had grown up with as well. 

This couldn’t be possible. It wasn’t possible. Your eyes turned back to the panel and your feet moved again of their own accord. With a trembling hand you reached toward the stone, fingers tracing over the ears. Rounded ears. The scream lodged itself in our throat as you realized what the image truly depicted. You had been told of Silene’s message and of Nesta’s brief vision when she first touched the Harp. How Silene left dozens of Fae to their deaths at the hands of the Asteri and their army as she traveled through a portal back to her home world. Your eyes scanned the other panels in the chamber. Walking from one to the next you saw the story unfold as you moved from one panel to the next. A group of Fae with ears going from pointed to rounded arches. The opening of a portal where the land was lush, and the sky depicted the same constellations as the chamber floor. The altered Fae traveling through the portal, various items crossing the threshold to include a small cauldron, a sword, a spear, and some kind of stone. Again your heart raced, as your mind put together what the images really depicted. This was not a rendition of Queen Theia’s departure to Midgard. Nor were the violent images a depiction of Silene’s return and permanent closing of the rift to Midgard. Each and every one of the surrounding panels depicted a portal to your world. 

“Baby?” Ruhn was by your side instantly. “I’m serious, what’s wrong?” The cavern felt like it was closing in and sucking the life out of you. His hands, warm against your rapidly cooling skin, were the only things that reminded you of life. Blood pounded in your ears, drowning out all sound. Your vision began to tunnel, the edges growing darker than the blackness that surrounded you. Your throat dried out with each rapid inhalation. You couldn’t get a breath as your chest felt like it was going to collapse. 

You knew that if you didn’t get a hold of yourself you’d pass out. You forced your eyes to move away from the constellations, instantly being drawn to the depiction of the sun surrounded by various raised decals. The replica of Midgard’s solar system. A system of seven planets as opposed to the nine you had grown up knowing. The stark difference between the known number of planets pushed forward the reality of what you feared the most.  

“The names…”  You breathed, not daring to move your focus off them. “What are the names of the planets?” Your nails dug into the grit as you tried to ground yourself. Bryce named each one, pointing at the images representing the Gods they were named after. Names so similar and yet different to the Norse Gods of your world. The final nail in the proverbial coffin of what you had wondered for years now. It was no mere coincidence that Bryce and Ruhn were from a planet named Midgard, meaning it was no mere coincidence that your world had such large similarities. Bryce pointed to each of the markings, the first few were unfamiliar, but the remaining names dissolved all your remaining doubt. 

“Odin, Loki,” Your whisper echoed off the large cavernous stone walls, “Thor and Freya…” Your voice cracked as the name for the Goddess left your lips. “It can’t be…oh Gods.” Your stomach rolled. You mentally kicked yourself for not asking more about the pre-existing religion of Midgard prior to the Asteri and Vanir arrival. It suddenly made sense, though, why Bryce couldn’t use the Horn to open a portal to your world. The contents of your lunch made a second appearance. 

You could feel Bryce and Ruhn’s eyes as they stared at you. For a split second you wished you could hear the mind to mind conversation the two were sharing. Then again, you probably wouldn’t have been able to hear anything over the sound of the blood rushing through your ears. You knew Ruhn was doing whatever he could to soothe you through your existential crisis. The weight of his hand felt solid on your back, rubbing small circles. 

“This was a mistake,” You looked at the male crouched next to you. The knowledge this trip had already revealed was overwhelming. “Get me the fuck out of here. Please.” You rose to your feet, your body fighting between its desire to flee and the heavy leadened weight of the truth. Even if the truth should not have been realistically possible. 

“Bryce,” Ruhn glanced towards his sister. You followed his gaze when there was no response. Bryce’s amber eyes glared at you, the gears obviously spinning inside her head. Was she putting it together too? Was she on the verge of figuring out where you really came from? The only question you had was how did your Earth factor into all of this if it wasn’t even part of this universe?  

“No,” Bryce stated firmly as she stepped closer to study the panic in your eyes. “You need to see the rest.” Bryce moved to the center of the chamber and stood on an eight pointed star. A small flash of light revealed an image of a young Fae female. The image reminded you of holograms from sci-fi movies. 

The female identified herself as Silene, daughter of High Queen Theia. The hologram recounted the details of the Asteri’s- the Daglan’s-rule in Prythian, the corruption of the Cauldron through the making of the Dread Trove, how the Daglan were then driven out of this world, and the rise of the first and only High Queen and King of Prythian. Silene talked of how the Fae followed the High Queen and her two daughters into Midgard. The war with the Asteri, which resulted in Silene’s ultimate return to Prythian. The cries of the Fae left behind had long gone silent within the recording. You looked over to Bryce, her expression dark with the resurgence of her loathing for what Silene had done. Ruhn’s expression held a similar level of contempt. You could only guess that the memory was supposed to make Silene’s actions justified. A female in mourning with decisions meant to benefit the greater good. Something deep in your bones empathized with her. A sense of knowing that had you been in her position, you would have made the exact same ones. Your eyes traveled to the blank stone, the spot where the portal of Silene’s escape had once been. Swallowing, you resisted the instinctual urge to approach that empty wall. The image of Silene, as she was curled upon the ground crying over the loss of her sister Helena and mother, shimmered, drawing your attention back to the moment. The once cold and silvered hue specter gave way to a warm and golden glow. 

“What the fuck…”Bryce’s voice trailed off. The image of Silene shimmered again as a loud groaning could be heard. Ruhn immediately pushed you behind him as he scanned the room. The sound bounced around the chamber making it nearly impossible to pinpoint where it originated. It took you all a few moments to realize that the sound came from the magical recording, where a new voice was heard calling softly. 

“Who’s there?” The muffled feminine voice cut through Silene's mournful wailing. The darked haired female’s head swiveled up to look towards the opposite end of the room, presumably the direction of where the voice and groaning originated.  

 “S-Sil?” The warmth the voice exuded mirrored the coloring of the image. “Mother above, Silene!” The owner of the voice rushed into view and sank down to her knees. Your own knees suddenly wanting to do the same. Something about the female’s timber sparked a deep seated memory. One that was familiar and elusive simultaneously. Ripples of silvery-white fabric billowed as the new female’s arms hovered near Silene. Long, thick golden blonde hair obscured most of the unknown female’s upper body. The few instances where her face should have been visible, was instead blurred. 

“Aine?” Silene lifted her head, taking in the second female’s appearance before allowing herself to be wrapped in her arms. Silene continued to sob as Aine continued to sooth her. Minutes went by, the image flickering until Silene’s soft voice broke the silence. “Aine, I failed…I-I lost them.” You weren’t certain if Aine responded as the image faded. Your body trembled, an overwhelming sense of familiarity at the exchange. The air felt like it was ripped from your lungs as sudden realization hit you. You had witnessed this interaction before, in the form of a dream when you were a teenager. 

Your hands began to shake as you tried to remember the rest of that dream from so long ago, but the details remained cast in shadow. The scene of the two females was quickly replaced, the blueish-gray toned image of Silene reappearing. The older image of Silene explained how the prison came to be, which then resulted in the death of the land her mother and sister once called home.  

“That…” Bryce swallowed nervously. “What the fuck was that? She-Aine, was not in the original message.” The back of your throat burned as stomach acid rose up. You prayed to whatever Gods would listen that your face remained neutral as Bryce’s attention rounded on you. You were well aware that Bryce, Ruhn, and Rhysand had reviewed that message dozens of times. There had never been any mention of Aine. Just as there had been no record of her in the Night Court’s documents pertaining to lineage. It was possible that Aine wasn’t ever a member of the Night Court. All you did know at this moment was she was close with Silene. 

“How’s that possible?” Ruhn’s question was directed towards his sister, but his eyes were on you. Almost as if he too had rationalized that the only differing factor on this trip was your presence in the chamber. Everything about that scene between the two females made it clear that the memory was not Silene’s, but Aine’s memory. Every part of you knew you were meant to see that memory play out, but you had no idea why it would be relevant. Unless it had something to do with your dreams…

“Bryce? ” Ruhn called out again, his attention now on his sister.

“How the Hel should I know? It’s magic.” Irritation saturated Bryce’s tone. “And unless it’s some weird ass tech from another world, some kind of spell protected this part of the message. It clearly was not intended for just anyone to view.” Bryce looked toward you then. Her amber gaze almost seemed to burn despite the fact that she didn’t inherit an ounce of her father’s fire magic. 

“What?” Your defences rose, fighting against your instinct to flee as she glared at you. 

“What about your world?” Bryce asked, a hint of accusation coated her voice. “You claim there is no magic there, but are you being honest about that?” Her eyes continued to stare you down but you remained silent. You couldn’t definitively say that your world didn’t have magic, but if magic existed it wasn’t the same as the magic they had grown accustomed to on Midgard or in Prythian. “Because it’s not like your world has tech capable of creating a projected image like that. Especially if it is as similar as you claim it is to what we’ve got in Midgard.” Bryce continued, slowly making her way to where you stood next to Ruhn. 

“No.” Your statement was simple. “My world doesn’t have that technology.”  Bryce narrowed her eyes. You steeled your nerves and met her stare, back and shoulders straightening. “But it doesn't have magic either, as I’ve said many times before. If my world had any capability of creating something like that I’d be ecstatic at seeing the same thing here.”

“Just like you were ecstatic at seeing the constellations from your world on the floor?” The half-fae’s tone was unrelenting as she continued to stare you down. It was as clear as the Night Court’s skies that she knew you were holding back information. You couldn’t blame her for getting pissed at you. You weren’t exactly lying, but you also weren’t forthcoming with any theories you had on why or how you stepped through that portal. Your arrival was still the biggest mystery that honestly prevented anyone from making moves against the Asteri or investigating Koschie.  

“Bryce, that’s enough,” Ruhn’s warning tone was entirely ineffective given by the rolling of her eyes towards him. 

“You don’t have to believe me,” Your own irritation grew, matching Bryce’s energy, “but I have no reason to lie about it. The differences my world has to yours does not mean th-”

“What?” Bryce tilted her head in mocking innocence. “That your world has no connection to this one or Midgard? That’s what you want everyone to believe, isn’t it? You're just this poor victim of some higher power. Who are you to go against fate?” You bit the inside of your cheek as you stared the female down. You had to give her credit, she knew exactly which buttons to poke and prod; attempting to trick you into revealing the information you had kept locked away for years. 

“Careful Bryce,” You hoped you sounded stronger than you felt. Bryce’s penetrating glare made you feel exposed. As if she could see the truth of where you came from written all over your face. 

“Or what exactly?” Her bemused smile only showed that she was enjoying this little spat. “It’s not like you’re at all special right? You’re constantly insisting that you aren’t. So what is a weak, helpless, and hopeless human going to do to me?”

“Shut up,” You demanded, gritting your teeth. Her words found their marks as she cut into your insecurities. You weren’t special. You were reminded of that fact every day. The only human living in a land of mythical beings that were significantly stronger, prettier, and more important in the lives of those around them. You were none of those things, and it was slowly eating away at you. 

“Then be honest with me (Y/N). You recognized those constellations, you recognized names of the planets,” Taking a few steps closer to you, Bryce’s smile grew wider. “Yet the Horn couldn’t open a portal to your world. How am I supposed to interpret that information, hmm? Lying isn’t a good look for you. Especially when you want our help.” 

“Damn it Bryce just-” Ruhn moved to stand between the two of you, but you were faster. Your scream and Bryce’s near manic laugh drowned out his words. Tackling the half-fae, you both fell to the ground. 

“Fuck you!” The breath in your lungs burned from the sudden exertion. “Fuck you Bryce!” Said female was pinned to the cold stone floor by your knees on her stomach and her forearm. Your own forearm pressing against her windpipe, tears of hurt and anger in your eyes. “You fucking bitch. I told you how I felt in confidence, and you fucking use it against me!” The grin on Bryce’s face remained plastered to her features as she looked up at you. 

“I knew there was more to you than meets the eye,” Her voice rasped through her slightly constricted airway. “Tell me, just between us girls, you’re a human from Midgard. Only you’re from a different time. Before the Asteri arrived aren’t you?” Her words shocked you, causing you to loosen your grip and sit up. That’s when you felt Ruhn’s hands wrap around your waist and lift you up and over his shoulder. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you two?!” You couldn’t see his face as he screamed, but you could hear just how pissed he was. You and Bryce began to protest at the same time, drowning out each other’s excuses. “Both of you fucking shut up. We’re going back to Velaris.” Ruhn kept you slung over his shoulder as he turned and began to leave the large chamber. Bryce stood back up and followed as she brushed the dirt off her clothing. 

“Put me down Ruhn,” You protested, wiggling around in an attempt to get him to loosen his grip around you. However, your movements only had the opposite effect as he tightened his hold of your waist and one of your thighs. You held still as the hand on your thigh became dangerously close to your center. 

“Hold still and be quiet,” He ordered. “We don’t need to attract unnecessary attention.” He continued to carry you all throughout the ascent back up through the Prison. The second you all walked out of the enormous bone doors you resumed your demands to be put down. With the blink of an eye, you found yourself surrounded in the warmth of the town house. Ruhn continued to ignore you and merely carried you upstairs to the bedroom. 

“I’ve calmed down,” You tried to placate, but you knew that your tone wasn’t as convincing as it should be. 

“Yeah, sure, but I’m keeping you two separated until you tell me what the fuck that was all about,” Ruhn kicked the door closed behind him, one of his shadows flicking the lock as he practically flung you onto the bed. You internally cursed yourself as your body hummed with excitement. A split second later you bit the inside of your cheek as a reminder to keep your hormones in check. The last thing you needed was for him to smell any tinge of arousal from you. Pushing away the impure images that sprung into your mind, you looked up at the male as he towered over you. 

“What the hell is your problem?” You demanded, calling your irritation back to the surface. You hoped that you sounded more pissed off about his behavior rather than your own. His glare sent a shiver down your spine, one that had you biting the inside of your cheek a second time. Your back hit against the wall, however, the solid mass felt like ice. The last time you felt anything like that was from Azriel’s shadows during the week he tortured you. Your pulse quickened as you quickly glanced around, horrified that it was Ruhn’s own shadows blocking your path from retreating backwards. Terror slowly gripped at your chest. Ruhn’s shadows had never once made you feel afraid. Their typical soothing warmth shifted to ice as he continued to box you in. 

“You attacked my sister,” His usual warm tenor was now stony and calm. “I don’t care that she said some shit to antagonize you. You had no right to pin her to the ground.” His piercing blue eyes rooted you to the spot. The glacial brush of a shadow across your skin adding to your growing distress. You tried to suppress the tremors in your hands as your own eyes surveyed his face. You couldn’t move, couldn’t even think as his intense stare bore into you. If he was capable of becoming this cold towards you, there was no way you could trust him with the truth. Your instincts told you it would be safer to try and diffuse his anger towards you. 

“I know,” Your admission was soft. Intrinsically you recognized that regardless of what fueled your actions you had behaved childishly. Responding irrationally to the panic being in the Prison chamber brought. Bryce was smart and merely put together the pieces of a puzzle. Only she didn’t have all the pieces. Honestly, you didn’t either. Yes, you now had the answer as to why you couldn’t find any information about your world, but it left you with so many more questions. Having more questions than answers made you feel stressed, and it wasn’t fair to take your stress out on someone that was only trying to help. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes and sighed. “Seeing the familiar constellations and the carvings scared me. I lost my composure and that wasn’t right. She could have been trying to calm me down and I would have lashed out.” Ruhn remained silent for a few moments before calling back his shadows. Reaching his hand forward, he gently hooked his fingers with yours. Flinching at his touch, you pulled your hand away and took several steps back. 

“(Y/N)?” Ruhn felt his brows scrunch in confusion. He watched as she backed away, her hands clasped together tightly. To stop them from trembling. He felt his expression shift to horror with the realization of what his actions caused. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Fuck, I’m so sorry.” Ruhn reached back out to her, and while he saw her muscles tensed, she did allow him to touch her this time. He gently took hold of her hands, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on the backs of her hands. The last thing he ever wanted was for her to not feel safe in his presence, yet the anger he felt at the fight she had with his sister overrode all sense. Much like how her fear had overridden her own when Bryce started talking shit. He knew Bryce wasn’t in the right to have antagonized her the way she did, but he had been curious about (Y/N)’s reactions as well. 

“Just…” She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. “I understand the instinct to protect your sister. I’d have the same reaction if someone launched themselves at one of my siblings. But…keep your shadows away from me when you’re mad. They get cold…and the cold reminds me of Azriel’s…” Ruhn looked at her apologetically.

“I’m so sorry. Really I am.” His apology was sheepish, even to his ears. His gaze looked over her form, noting the slight trembling in her hands. As he continued to look her over, he noted that her entire body was as tense as any of the moments after her nightmares. A part of him knew that even with him present in the room tonight she would be reliving her time in that cell in her dreams. 

She moved to sit back down on the mattress, her arms folded cold to her stomach.His heart lurched as he realized she was instinctively guarding the most physically vulnerable part of her body as her mind began to tunnel down into itself. He knew that if he didn’t get her out of her mental spiral he’d have two very angry males threatening to remove his favorite appendage. 

“You need to get warm, baby,” Ruhn kneeled in front of her, his hands on the outer parts of her thighs, gently rubbing circles to warm her up. “How does a hot bath sound?” The woman looked up at him, nodding her agreement as she allowed him to help her stand up from their shared bed.

“Is there any more of that bath oil you bought?” Her voice was tentative as they walked to the ensuite bathroom together. Ruhn nodded and made his way to the wicker basket that was lined with various bath oils and salts he had gotten her for Winter Solstice. 

After collecting her favorite scents from the basket, Ruhn walked over to the large tub and turned on the tap. The sound of rushing water drowned out the silence between them. It was only then that Ruhn was able to think back on the day’s events and the way she had behaved in the large Prison’s chamber. 

“You really did recognize the constellations, didn’t you?” He mused, the tension beginning to slowly diffuse. She nodded tentatively, sitting on the edge of the bathtub as she met his gaze. Steam filled the air, but he had yet to see her shoulders relax. 

“We have different names for them,” Her voice sounded automatic, lacking any natural inflection. “Some names are similar, but not identical. Fifteen thousand years is long enough to account for that. The positioning of stars takes millions if not billions of years to change from the perspective of the Earth’s surface, but the linguistics behind the names-” 

“You’re not from a different time,” Ruhn matched her matter of fact intonation, effectively cutting off her rambling. “It doesn’t fit. Midgard’s technology-the style that you are also familiar with-was only developed within the past 20 years. Even with the Asteri’s bullshit narrative about Midgard, there was absolutely no record of any of the human settlements having that type of tech. The humans that were there, well they were much more…primitive.” She turned her head, giving him an incredulous look. 

“Primitive?” The rest of her body towards him, “Even if that-” Ruhn held up his hands in surrender. 

“Bad choice of words. I’m sorry,” His smile was soft, barely tugging at the corner of his lips. He watched her eyes immediately fall on the faded scar on his lower lip. The spot where his lip ring used to reside before it had been ripped out in the Asteri dungeons. “I simply mean the humans didn’t have the skills for that kind of tech just yet.” This seemed to placate her ire from resurfacing. Though, if he was honest, any anger he incited was allowing her to slowly come back. 

“You are on such thin ice, Ruhn.” Her lips pursed trying to suppress the slight smile. With a slight shake of her head she turned her attention to the running water. “What makes you so sure that I’m not from a different time? You have to admit that the similarities are…” He watched her eyes flash with some type of realization.  “There are similarities, but there are differences too.” 

“Exactly,” Ruhn smiled, he loved watching her expressions as she put pieces of information together. “The Asteri would have just improved upon the tech had it existed when they arrived. So it doesn’t make sense for you to be a pre-Asteri Midgard human.”

“No, no that’s not, well yes that makes sense, but that’s not what I meant,” She quickly stood up from the edge of the tub, bath entirely forgotten as she rushed out into the adjoining bedroom. “The difference is in some of the gods and goddesses of your world. The planets in your solar system have names similar to Gods and Goddess of just ONE pantheon in my world. There are hundreds of different belief systems that have spanned across the past 15,000 years in my world.” Ruhn watched as she paced back and forth, the movement seemingly helping her collect her thoughts. 

“Okay…” He waited patiently for her to continue. 

“Your surname is Danaan correct? Is that a name from the homeworld of the Fae, this world?” She halted mid stride just to race over to the small writing desk in the far corner of the room. 

“I..um…I think so, I’m not sure.” His brows furrowed as she hastily took about a scrap of paper and began to scribble down something that appeared like a list.

“When do you go back to Midgard?” She didn’t bother to look up at him as she continued to write. 

“Next month,” He answered, a slight pang in his chest at having to leave her again so soon. 

“I need you to find out whatever you can about the origins of your surname,” She turned back towards him, folding up the paper as she took a few steps back towards him. “See if any relatives have these first names. Also, see if any of them had the items on the list with them.” He unfolded the torn scrap of paper, looking over the names, none of which he immediately recognized.

“Who are these people?” His blue irises scanned along the list. “I don’t think I could even pronounce half of these.” Placing the folded paper into the pocket of his jeans he began to search her face. Her gaze remained distant, a clear indication that her thoughts were racing. 

“I have a theory,” She admitted, “But since Rhysand won’t let me go to Midgard myself, I need your help. Please Ruhn? You’re…you’re the only one I can trust with this.” He stood there, gazing into her pleading expression. 

“Of course, baby.” He smiled softly, pulling her into a hug. “Of course I’ll help you. You can trust me.” 

General tag list: @loving-and-dreaming

Series tag list: @jenniferpendragon @impossibelle @sweet-chai-amore @myheartfollower @iimichie

@fightmedraco @nikkitch0703 @eerievixen @ang-taylorsversion

@randomness-it-is @thehighlordishere @rachelnicolee @hardcoremarvelfan @awkardnerd @sundayysunshine

@jpgtae @cheneyq @morganwdarius @latinxbipride @catharticlovewriter

@mis-lil-red @rcarbo1 @celmentine111002 @abacteriamicroorganismsalmonella @julesvanslutta

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Everybody Talks Too Much

I'm Bright Baby Blue, Falling Into You

Chelsea!Roy Kent x Coach's Daughter!Reader 1.1k words Warnings: Language, no Ted Lasso characters except for Roy, extremely protective and angry father, mean girls being mean girls

By the time Chelsea’s next match rolled around, your dad had cooled down. Not completely, of course, but as cool as he was capable of being while his only daughter continued to defy him and date Roy Kent. He’d even begrudgingly revoked his decision about benching Roy. Since you planned on wearing your number six kit, you opted to drive with your mum and brother to the stadium; seeing you with KENT emblazoned on your back, as if you belonged to the gruff midfielder, might have your dad consider driving into oncoming traffic.

As you followed your mother towards your family’s usual seats, a friendly hand landed on your shoulder. When you turned around, Katie was grinning at you, wearing a T-shirt with Jules’s number on it.

“Hey! I’ve got a spare ticket again. Come sit with me.”

Butterflies suddenly filled your stomach as you shook your head. “It's alright, I'll sit with my-”

Katie raised her eyebrows and smirked at you. “Wives and girlfriends stick together,” she teased. She reached out for your hand. “Let's go.”

Trying to fight back a silly grin to match the one your friend wore, you allowed Katie to link arms and offered your mum a little wave, which she returned with a knowing smile. Katie led the way to where the wives and girlfriends all sat, clad in their Chelsea gear and sporting expensive handbags and accessories with designer names you knew you’d mispronounce. While you were greeted by more than a few familiar smiles on the faces you’d known for years, your anxious attention was drawn to lipsticked smirks and raised eyebrows that followed you to your seat.

At least Katie’s eyes were friendly as you plopped down beside her. “Sooooo,” she murmured in a painfully sing-songy voice, “how are things?”

You instinctively narrowed your eyes at her sugary tone. “What did Jules tell you?”

“He didn’t have to tell me much,” she said as she slid her sunglasses over her eyes. “The tabloids did most of the telling.” She reached out and grabbed your hand. “Sorry about that. Seriously, if Jules and I had known-”

“Don’t,” you protested, giving her hand a squeeze. “Roy and I were adults who made our own choice. You and Jules have nothing to be sorry about.”

She nodded, keeping your hand in hers. “I’m still sorry you two got caught,” she insisted. She gave a small, friendly squeeze as she lowered her voice. “If It makes you feel better, Jules made sure your dad knew the truth about that incident with Drew.” She scowled, clearly also a member of Drew's Not-a-Fan Club. “Told him that Drew was talking about you- no details, your dad couldn't handle that- and that Roy was defending you. Some of the other fellas confirmed it too and convinced your dad to let Kent play today.” An uncharacteristically smug expression appeared on her face. “Too bad no one felt like speaking up for Drew.” Her gentle smile returned as she looked at you. “The point is, despite your dad’s temper and threats, there’s people around here who’ve got your back. Jules and I especially.”

Touched by the affection in her voice, you leaned your head on her shoulder. “Thanks, Katie,” you murmured. The two of you stayed like that, hand in hand, until the team came out onto the field, eliciting cheers and shouts from the crowd that filled the stadium.

Despite knowing it wasn’t your most brilliant idea, you couldn’t stop yourself from leaping to your feet when Roy was announced, clapping your hands with delight and bouncing up and down.

“Let’s go, Roy-o!” you called, wearing what you knew was your dopiest smile. Beside you, Katie let out a small chuckle, probably rolling her eyes how clearly besotted you were with the midfielder. 

Apparently you weren’t the only one willing to throw caution to the wind; a smile appeared on Roy’s face as he looked up in your direction, offering a little nod and a wink that was caught by the cameras and projected onto the stadium screens for everyone to see. 

“Daddy’s not going to like that,” a snide voice behind you hummed as you resumed your seat.

When you turned around, you recognized one of the models who usually either paid you no mind or sneered at you. She was currently choosing the latter, gazing at you over the top of her designer sunglasses with a coolly raised eyebrow.

Beside you, Katie whipped around. “You’re just mad your boyfriend’s always on the bench,” the usually reserved editor snapped. “So why don’t you hush and let us enjoy the match, hmm?” With a protective arm around your shoulder, Katie urged you to turn back around and face the pitch. “Don’t pay her any mind,” she assured you quietly, giving you a squeeze before taking her arm back, gripping your hand again. “She’s just mad because she was interested in Kent before settling for her second-stringer.”

A snort flew out of your mouth as you settled comfortably in your seat, eyes glued to that familiar number six on the pitch. “Thanks, Katie,” you murmured.

“Anytime.”

~

Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea.

The two little words kept floating in your mind as you stood next to Katie, waiting outside the changing room. You knew you were pushing the boundaries, probably more than you ever had before, but you couldn't help yourself. Not after the ninety minutes you’d just spent watching Roy Kent run up and down the pitch in that beautiful Chelsea blue.

Your heart fluttered when Roy walked through the door, his hair still damp from his shower and his t-shirt clinging deliciously to his skin. His eyes sparkled at the sight of you and- oh dammit- he bit his lip as he took in the sight of you in your Chelsea kit. There was something mischievous in his expression as he approached you, tentatively laying a hand on your waist and tugging you to himself.

“You enjoy the match, princess?” he teased, leaning down to peck your lips chastely.

“Uh huh.” It should have been embarrassing, how high-pitched your voice came out. But you couldn't feel anything but complete affection as you gazed up at Roy, with his little smirk and flushed cheeks.

He gave your waist a playful squeeze before letting go. “D’you want a ride home?” It was a loaded question, dripping with expectation that you'd be going to Roy's home- and his bed.

Before you could happily accept the offer, an icy voice cut through your happy little bubble.

“Time to go.”

Over Roy's shoulder, you spotted your father and his stoney expression and crossed arms. Embarrassment flooded through your body as you reached down and lightly touched Roy's hand, your heart skipping a beat when he let his fingertips linger against yours. He gave you a firm nod, silently letting you know he understood your abrupt departure.

Still, your stomach sank as you turned away from Roy so you could silently follow your father through the stadium to his waiting car.

Taglist:@gee72sstuff@book-of-roses@kissykissymouth@emmy2811 @hart-kinsella @klaine-92@dearvoidgoodnight@misshall14@issieruby@royal-sunflower@kissmekent@itswhateveripromise@slaymybreathaway@darkmagazineblaze@larascorneroftheworld@infinetlyforgotten@caught-the-feels@rae4725@sisinever@cskidjgsjaoaknayan52782@dd122004dd@veryprairieberry@spacecluster@dark-academia-slut@her-fandom-sanctum@wosokirby@mmmgl29@aadu2173@her-fandom-sanctum@wosokirby@mmmgl29@honey-dew-woo@harpsichord93@samstopsecrets@wosokirby@kitcat599@emma-is-a-nerd@amieinghigh@sisinever@jeffswh0re@radiantactions@esw1012

[rizzmura]

under your skin; we can't stay away

enemy!niki x fem!reader

warnings: strong language, mild sexual tension, suggestive themes, enemies-to-lovers dynamic, light teasing/flirting, angst, heated banter, emotionally charged moments

w.c.: 3.1k

chapter five synopsis: after pulling back for a while, you and niki can’t seem to stay apart. the tension is too much, and the desire to be close to him is overwhelming. this time, it’s not a fight—it's passion. but just as things start to make sense, old wounds and insecurities threaten to tear you apart again.

you told yourself you wouldn’t let him get to you again. you swore you were done playing whatever game this was. but despite your best efforts, the moment niki walked into the café again the next day, you felt that same electric pull, as if the universe itself was conspiring against you.

he didn’t sit down right away. instead, he lingered near the counter, ordering his usual before casually glancing over at you, like he just happened to notice you sitting there—like he wasn’t here for a reason.

you rolled your eyes, determined to ignore him. you had work to do, actual things to focus on that didn’t involve his smug face or his frustratingly charming smirk. but ignoring niki was like trying to ignore a storm brewing in the distance—you could pretend it wasn’t there, but you knew it was coming for you regardless.

sure enough, a few moments later, he slid into the seat across from you, setting his drink down with an infuriating amount of confidence.

“morning, sweetheart.”

“do you have to call me that?” you muttered, not looking up from your screen.

“would you rather i call you something else?”

“i’d rather you not talk to me at all.”

niki chuckled, completely unfazed. “too bad. i like talking to you.”

you exhaled sharply, refusing to meet his gaze. “i have work to do.”

“so work.”

“that’s the plan.”

“fine. i’ll just sit here quietly, then.”

you knew that was a lie. niki? quiet? impossible. yet, for a few minutes, he actually didn’t say anything. the silence between you was unnerving, almost worse than his usual teasing. you could feel his eyes on you, the weight of his presence pressing against the edges of your focus, making it impossible to concentrate.

finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. you looked up, narrowing your eyes at him. “what?”

he grinned, like he was waiting for you to break first. “nothing. just enjoying the view.”

your face heated, and you hated how easily he could fluster you. “you’re insufferable.”

“and yet, you haven’t told me to leave.”

that shut you up. because he was right. you could have told him to go. could have walked away yourself. but you didn’t. and you hated the realization that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want him to.

a heavy sigh escaped you as you leaned back in your chair, rubbing your temples. “what do you want, niki?”

he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, his gaze locking onto yours with a quiet intensity that caught you off guard. “you really don’t know?”

your breath hitched, and for a moment, you didn’t have a snarky response. because, deep down, you did know. you just weren’t ready to admit it.

niki smirked, sensing your hesitation. “take your time, sweetheart. i’ll be here when you figure it out.”

and with that, he stood up, grabbing his drink before walking away, leaving you there—heart pounding, mind spinning, and no closer to understanding what the hell you were supposed to do about him.

you were finally done with your work, heading home when you saw it through a window leading to a restaurant. niki. his usual swagger was in full force, but there was something different—something that made your stomach twist. he was with someone. a girl.

you knew her. she was in a couple of your classes, but that didn’t matter. what mattered was the way niki was looking at her.

he was smiling. that smile—the one that you recognized. the same one he’d worn when he’d kissed you. and the way his hand was resting on the back of her chair—it was all too familiar.

your heart dropped, a knot forming in your stomach. you quickly looked away, pretending like you hadn’t seen them. but the truth was, you couldn’t stop staring. couldn’t stop noticing how easily niki seemed to slip into this casual intimacy with someone else. it made your chest ache in a way you weren’t prepared for.

you knew you shouldn’t care. you had no right to feel anything about it. you weren’t together. hell, you weren’t even sure what you were. but there it was—the sting of jealousy, sharp and unexpected.

you watched them for a few more moments, trying to control your breathing, trying to ignore the way your emotions were all over the place. you told yourself it was nothing, that niki didn’t owe you anything, that you had no claim over him.

but still, it hurt. more than you cared to admit.

and then, just as you were about to look away and leave, you saw it.

niki leaned in. his lips brushed the girl’s lips, a soft kiss that was more tender than anything you’d ever shared with him. it was the kind of kiss that spoke volumes—a kiss of affection, of care, of something deeper than the quick, heated moments you’d shared in the past.

it hit you like a freight train.

for the first time since all of this began, you felt truly… insignificant. it was as if the bubble you’d been living in had burst, and the reality of the situation hit you full force. you weren’t the one he cared for. you weren’t the one he was looking at when his eyes softened. you weren’t the one he wanted.

it didn’t matter how many times he kissed you. it didn’t matter how much you had almost let yourself believe something real was happening between the two of you. he was clearly looking for something else. something—someone—else.

niki turned and looked out the window, looking straight at you. his smile dropped and his eyes softened.

without thinking, you grabbed your bag tighter, leaving the overwhelming mix of emotions behind.

later that night, you couldn’t stop replaying the scene in your head. the smile. the kiss. how easy it had been for niki to move on to someone else. you couldn’t wrap your mind around it. how had you let yourself get so caught up in this mess?

you stared at your phone, willing yourself not to text him, to ask him what the hell that was supposed to mean. but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. you didn’t have the right. you weren’t even sure what you wanted to hear.

still, as you scrolled through your messages, you saw his name pop up. it had been a while since you’d heard from him. you considered ignoring it. you considered pretending like nothing had happened. but then your thumb hovered over the message, and for a split second, you thought maybe, just maybe, you could find some kind of closure.

please can we talk…

you hadn’t spoken to niki in days—not since that night. not since you saw him kissing someone else. the memory burned in your mind, an endless loop of betrayal and frustration. you told yourself it shouldn’t hurt, that it didn’t mean anything. you weren’t together. he wasn’t yours.

so why did it feel like he had ripped something from you?

the ache settled deep in your chest as you sat in your usual spot at the café, staring blankly at your laptop screen. you were supposed to be working, but your mind refused to cooperate. instead, it replayed every moment between you and niki, from the first time he walked into your life to the last time he walked away.

and then, as if summoned by your thoughts, he was there.

niki slid into the seat across from you without a word, his presence an immediate disruption to your fragile sense of peace. you refused to look up, keeping your eyes locked on the screen. maybe if you ignored him, he’d get the hint and leave.

but of course, niki never took the hint.

“are you seriously going to pretend like I don’t exist?” his voice was low, testing.

“yes.”

he sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “look, i know you’re pissed at me.”

“pissed at you?” you let out a dry laugh, finally meeting his gaze. “why would i be pissed? you can do whatever the hell you want, right? it’s not like we’re anything.”

the words tasted bitter on your tongue, but you forced yourself to say them. niki, however, didn’t look convinced. his eyes darkened, and for the first time, he looked almost... regretful.

“it wasn’t what you think,” he murmured.

“oh? so you didn’t kiss her?”

he hesitated. “i did.”

“right. so it’s exactly what i think.”

you pushed your chair back, grabbing your bag. you weren’t going to do this. you weren’t going to let him sit here and try to make excuses for something that shouldn’t even matter to you.

except it did. and that was the problem.

but before you could walk away, niki reached out, his fingers wrapping around your wrist. the touch sent a shock through your system, and you hated how easily he affected you.

“let me explain,” he said softly.

you stared at him, torn between wanting to pull away and wanting to stay. the look in his eyes was different this time. less cocky. more... desperate.

“i didn’t want to kiss her,” he admitted. “i was pissed. i was trying to distract myself.”

“from what?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

his grip on your wrist tightened slightly. “from you.”

the air between you grew thick, heavy with unspoken words and buried emotions. your heart pounded so hard it hurt, but you couldn’t look away from him.

“you drive me insane,” niki continued, his voice rough. “i don’t know what to do with you. i don’t know how to stop wanting you.”

your breath caught, every defense you had built up threatening to shatter. this wasn’t just a game anymore. this was real. raw. terrifying.

“then stop,” you whispered, but even as you said it, you knew you didn’t mean it.

niki shook his head. “you and i both know that’s not happening.”

and before you could process what was happening, his lips crashed against yours.

this time, there was no hesitation. no anger. just need. pure, undeniable need. your hands found their way to his hair, fingers tangling as he pulled you closer, as if he was afraid you would disappear if he let go.

and maybe, just maybe, you were afraid of the same thing.

because no matter how much you fought it, no matter how hard you tried to push him away...

you couldn’t stay away from him either.

《》

@ramenoil @strawberrynull @si3rren @rikidaze @yangjungwonnie @hehabi @ijustreallylike2read

[goblin-jr]

Tell me, where’s your hiding place?

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

Summary: The documentary starts taking over Clark’s life. The similarities between Kal and Clark take up Y/N’s

part 1 . part 2 . part 3 . part 4

part 5 (the final part) coming soon

words: 7.3 k

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Clark adjusted his tie and exhaled slowly, willing himself to stay calm. The meeting room at Y/N’s record label was ridiculous. He had covered government briefings, sat across from world leaders, been inside courtrooms filled with corruption and power, but somehow, this was the most aggressively expensive space he had ever stepped into.

The walls were lined with plush acoustic panels, the chairs looked custom-made from imported leather, and the sleek, black conference table stretched so far across the room that Clark was sure it cost more than his Metropolis apartment. A skyline view loomed beyond the towering windows, and even the water bottles on the table had gold-embossed labels.

It was excessive.

It was exactly what he had expected.

The executives sitting across from him, however, weren’t as predictable.

They were measuring him, trying to figure him out just as much as he was trying to figure out a way to get through this as quickly as possible.

“So, Mr. Kent,” one of them finally said, folding her hands neatly on the table. She was poised, professional, the type of person who had perfected the art of sounding polite while still managing to look like she could fire you in an instant.

“You don’t typically cover entertainment.”

Clark nodded. “That’s correct.”

“Then why are you here?”

It was a fair question.

One Clark did not want to answer.

He almost said, Because I was blackmailed into it, but that didn’t seem like the kind of thing Perry would appreciate him admitting out loud.

“I was requested,” he settled on, keeping his tone professional.

A few of the execs exchanged knowing glances.

One of them, an older man with silver-rimmed glasses, leaned forward slightly. “By Y/N.”

Clark resisted the urge to shift in his chair. He kept his expression neutral. “Yes.”

Another exec, a younger man who had been quiet up until now, leaned back in his seat, appraising Clark. “Are we sure about this guy?” he asked, not bothering to lower his voice. “No offense, but Y/N is a global superstar. This documentary is going to be deeply personal. Are we sure we want someone who doesn’t know the industry?”

Clark’s fingers curled slightly against the table. This was his out.

If the label didn’t think he was a good fit, then he wouldn’t have to do this.

And he really, really didn’t want to do this.

Before anyone could press further, his gaze drifted down to his bottle of water. A familiar emblem caught his attention. A small bird, wings spread wide, embossed elegantly into the label.

Clark felt something cold settle in his chest.

His mind flashed back to the silver guitar mounted in Y/N’s apartment.

The same delicate bird decal, etched near the strings.

His pulse kicked up.

It was the same symbol.

But before he could process it, the woman across from him noticed his gaze. “You’re hesitating,” she observed, tilting her head slightly.

One of the other execs smirked. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what that is?”

Clark glanced up, masking his reaction. “It’s… her logo.”

The table went silent for a moment before someone actually laughed.

“Wow,” the younger exec muttered, shaking his head. “You really didn’t do your research, huh?”

Clark fought back a sigh.

“What am I missing?” he asked, his patience thinning.

The older man adjusted his glasses. “That’s ‘The Songbird.’ Y/N’s entire brand. Her fans call her that, the press calls her that—hell, it’s in half her album titles.”

Clark swallowed, forcing himself to nod as if this was brand new information and not something that had just rattled him to his core.

Before anyone else could comment, the door swung open.

“Sorry, sorry—I got held up.”

Y/N swept into the room like she had been here the whole time.

She was completely unbothered by the tension hanging in the air, her presence immediately shifting the energy in the room.

She slid into the chair beside Clark like they were old friends, flashing him a grin.

“Happy to see you, Clark,” she said casually.

Clark blinked.

That… threw him off completely.

“I—uh. You too.”

Y/N didn’t seem to notice his hesitation. Instead, she pulled a thick folder out of her bag and set it down in front of her, flipping it open.

“Alright,” she began, brushing her hair over one shoulder. “I have a lot of thoughts about this documentary.”

Clark tilted his head slightly.

She actually prepared for this?

For some reason, he had expected her to be casual about the whole thing, like she had picked him on a whim. But the folder in front of her was full of notes. Highlighted, color-coded.

She was serious.

Even the execs seemed surprised.

“I want this to feel real,” Y/N continued, flipping a page. “No sugar-coating. No weird, PR-polished version of my life. Just me, my music, and how I got here.”

Clark blinked.

This was already not what he expected.

Then, she said something that made him stop completely.

“And I want all proceeds from the documentary to go to organizations that help survivors of domestic violence.”

The room went still.

Clark paused mid-breath.

That…

That was unexpected.

One of the execs adjusted their suit jacket. “Y/N, that’s incredibly generous, but are you sure—”

“Yes,” she said simply.

Clark looked at her then, really looked at her.

She was still Y/N, still the playful, teasing person who had wreaked havoc on his newsroom, but there was something steadfast in her expression.

She wasn’t just throwing out a random good deed. This mattered to her.

Clark felt something shift.

For weeks, he had been trying to avoid this, trying to convince himself that this was just a nuisance assignment.

But maybe…

Maybe this wasn’t about her at all.

Maybe it was about the people this could actually help.

Y/N must have caught something in his expression because she tilted her head, studying him.

Then, with a small smile, she leaned back in her chair.

“I’m not gonna force you to do this, Clark,” she said. “If you don’t want to be here, you can walk. No hard feelings.”

Clark hesitated.

She meant it.

This was his chance to leave.

But instead, his gaze flickered down to the songbird logo.

The same one on her guitar. The guitar that had once been played by a girl he used to know.

The feeling nagged at him, but he pushed it aside.

Right now, the decision was in front of him.

Helping people.

That’s what this was.

Not about his past.

Not about her.

Just a project that could actually do some good.

Clark exhaled slowly.

“…Alright,” he said, resigned. “I’m in.”

–

Clark Kent was back in the shiny marble elevator.

It was eerily similar to his first visit—the same polished chrome walls, the same soft chime of expensive convenience, the same sensation that he didn’t belong in a place like this.

He adjusted his tie, exhaling slowly as the elevator glided upward, carrying him toward yet another long afternoon in Y/N’s world.

It was bizarre how quickly things had escalated.

A week ago, he had been actively avoiding this assignment. Now, he had production schedules in his inbox, a research folder getting thicker by the day, and an artist who had personally chosen him to dig into her life.

Why him?

The question still sat uncomfortably in the back of his mind.

A soft ding signalled his arrival, and the elevator doors slid open into the same vast, pristine penthouse that had greeted him last time.

Everything was exactly as he remembered it.

Marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the skyline, furniture that looked like it was meant to be admired, not actually used.

Cold. Luxurious. Empty.

And then Y/N appeared, barefoot, wearing sweatpants, and grinning like she didn’t live in a billionaire’s museum.

“Welcome back, Kent.” She gestured dramatically like she was unveiling a grand ballroom. “Try not to look so thrilled.”

Clark sighed. “I’m containing my excitement.”

“Good, because I am so ready for some serious brainstorming,” she said, already turning on her heel. “Come on, we’re working in the studio.”

Clark followed her through the polished, impersonal space—past the cold, modern furniture, the carefully curated décor, the spotless kitchen that looked like it had never actually been used. His eyes lingered on the silver guitar still hung in her living room. 

And then, she opened a door.

And suddenly, everything changed.

Clark stepped inside and immediately felt the shift.

This wasn’t like the rest of the penthouse.

This was lived-in.

If the label’s conference room had been a corporate temple to capitalism, this space was the complete opposite. Warm lighting, a deep-red vintage rug, and walls filled with music memorabilia. Handwritten notes were pinned to a cork board, some half-finished lyrics, others just chaotic reminders to herself ("BUY MORE TEA" / "DON’T FORGET TO SLEEP, DUMBASS" / "FIND WHERE I LEFT MY BRAIN").

The air smelled like faint lavender and old paper, and in the corner, there was an oversized couch that had clearly been used as both a seat and an occasional bed.

Clark’s gaze flickered to the grand piano in the corner, its surface covered in loose sheet music and half-empty tea mugs.

This was her space.

Not the penthouse. Not the labels or the awards or the PR-perfect image.

This.

This was where she actually existed.

Y/N dropped onto the couch with zero grace, stretching her arms above her head. “Alright, Clark. Time to build a documentary.”

Clark pulled out his notebook and took the chair across from her. “We need a structure.”

“We need vibes,” she corrected, grinning.

Clark ignored that.

He clicked his pen, scanning his notes. “We should start at the beginning. Childhood, early influences, your first introduction to music.”

Y/N nodded, tapping a pen against her knee. “Yeah, that makes sense. Then signing my first deal, what that was like.”

Clark noted the lack of deeper childhood talk. He didn’t press.

Not yet.

“Where do you want it to end?” he asked.

She considered for a moment, then shrugged. “Where I am now, I guess.”

Clark looked up. “And where is that?”

Y/N paused, blinking once like she hadn’t actually thought about it. Then she laughed. “Wow. That’s… a really good question.”

Clark tilted his head, waiting.

She exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. “I mean—I’m still here. Still making music. I took a break, but I’m back. And now I guess I’m letting you write a deep-dive into my soul.”

Clark smirked. “Good life choices.”

“Terrible life choices,” she corrected. “But we’re already here.”

Clark nodded, scribbling something down. “So, early childhood, signing at nineteen, and then present day.” He looked at her. “Are we skipping the in-between years?”

Y/N leaned back against the couch. “No. Just… let’s save the childhood deep dive for later.”

Clark studied her for a second, then nodded. “Okay. Nineteen, then.”

Y/N let out a breath. “Ah, yes. The Signing.”

Clark raised an eyebrow. “Dramatic.”

“You have no idea,” she muttered, flipping through her notes. “I was nineteen, thought I was on top of the world. Had no idea what I was walking into.”

Clark leaned forward slightly. “How did it happen?”

Y/N tapped her fingers against her knee, remembering.

“My first album was doing well, and labels were circling like sharks.” She smirked. “I thought I had all the power.”

Clark nodded. “And did you?”

Y/N let out a small, dry laugh. “Absolutely not.”

Clark wrote something down. “What changed?”

She exhaled, shaking her head. “I realized pretty fast that they weren’t signing me. They were signing an idea of me. And I let them.”

Clark glanced up. “Because you wanted the opportunity?”

She nodded. “I was nineteen, Kent. The dream was right there. So I made the deal.”

Clark tapped his pen. “And?”

Y/N smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “And then I had to figure out how to survive it.”

Clark felt something settle in his chest.

She was still talking like it was a funny story, still delivering everything with the same offhanded charm. But there was weight underneath it.

The unspoken. The things she wasn’t saying yet.

But she would.

Eventually.

She ran a hand through her hair, shaking it off. “Anyway. That’s the dramatic backstory. You’ll love it. Full of bad decisions and good music.”

Clark gave her a look. “I’m sure.”

Y/N grinned. “So? Are we officially making progress?”

Clark glanced down at his notes—childhood (later), signing at nineteen, the industry (learning the hard way), and present-day (figuring it out).

A rough map. A starting point.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “We’re getting somewhere.”

Y/N clapped her hands together. “Fantastic. I vote we celebrate with food.”

Clark sighed. “You just want an excuse to take a break.”

“Absolutely,” she said cheerfully. “You’re catching on, Clark.”

Clark shook his head, but there was a small, unwanted warmth in his chest.

This was going to be a long process.

And, for the first time, he wasn’t sure if that was a bad thing.

–

The first time Y/N showed up at the Daily Planet, it had been a little funny.

The second time, it had been mildly disruptive.

By the third, fourth, and fifth time?

It was routine.

Clark wasn’t even surprised anymore.

She had taken over his space just as much as he had taken over hers. If they wanted to fit the documentary into their already packed schedules, they had to work in whatever spare moments they had—whether that meant late-night recording sessions or early-morning strategy meetings at the Planet.

It had started as a necessity.

Now?

It was just what they did.

Clark sighed as he walked into the newsroom, coffee in hand, only to find Y/N already sitting on his desk, cross-legged, flipping through his notes like she had editorial authority.

"Morning, Kent," she greeted without looking up.

Clark exhaled slowly. “Why?”

Y/N finally looked up, grinning. “Deadlines, Kent. I thought we established this.”

Clark set his coffee down, rubbing his temples.

It was too early for this.

Across the room, Lois and Jimmy were watching.

Lois, because she found the whole thing hilarious.

Jimmy, because he was still processing the fact that Y/N was just… here. All the time.

Lois raised a brow. “She practically works here now.”

Y/N grinned. “I like to think of myself as an honorary journalist.”

Clark sighed. “You are not a journalist.”

“I interview you constantly.”

“That’s—that’s not the same thing.”

She waved him off. “Details.”

Lois was clearly loving this. She turned to Jimmy. “Did you ever think you’d see the day when Clark had a famous best friend?”

Jimmy shook his head, still slightly starstruck. “No. And I definitely didn’t think it’d be her.”

Y/N leaned over Clark’s desk, grinning. “Aww, you think we’re best friends?”

Clark took a long, slow sip of his coffee. “I’m thinking of filing a restraining order.”

Y/N gasped, dramatic. “Clark, don’t be mean.”

Lois snorted.

Clark sighed deeply.

This was his life now.

–

Clark Kent had never given much thought to how music was made.

He’d always assumed it was simple enough—write a song, record it, release it. But sitting in a high-end recording studio, watching Y/N work, he realized how wrong he’d been.

The room buzzed with controlled chaos—soundboards blinking, cables tangled across the floor, producers tweaking levels, musicians waiting for cues. And in the middle of it all was her.

Y/N, in the booth, headphones on, building something.

She wasn’t just singing. She was stopping, adjusting, running through the same verse over and over with slight variations, searching for perfection. Every take mattered.

Clark, used to fast deadlines and breaking news, sat back in his chair. I didn’t know this much effort went into this.

David, the lead producer, adjusted a dial and sighed. “She’s a perfectionist.”

Clark glanced at him. “Yeah?”

David nodded, watching through the glass. “She hears things the rest of us don’t. We’ll think a take is perfect, and she’ll go, ‘No, I can do it better.’ Drives us insane, but she’s always right.”

Clark looked back at Y/N, who was mouthing lyrics between takes, brow furrowed in concentration.

He believed that.

The track started again, her voice flooding the speakers—clear, powerful, precise. Clark had heard her songs before, but he had never really listened. There was something raw about it, something that made the room still, even though everyone here had probably heard this song dozens of times.

David hit a button. “That one felt good. What do you think?”

Y/N pulled off her headphones, grinning. “Terrible. But I’ll pretend I liked it so we can move on.”

David chuckled. “Classic.”

Clark smirked, jotting something down.

Y/N – terrible critique when it comes to her own work.

Clark had been here too long.

What started as a quick afternoon session had stretched into eight hours.

A sound engineer clapped him on the shoulder as he walked by. “You hanging in there, Kent? How’s your crash course in the music industry?”

Clark exhaled. “Eye-opening.”

The guy laughed. “Yeah, it’s not all fancy award shows, huh?”

Clark shook his head. “Definitely not.”

He’d underestimated all of it—the layers of harmonies, the tiny adjustments no one would notice but that made all the difference. It was art, but it was also relentless work.

And Y/N?

She wasn’t just talented. She was leading all of it.

Clark had assumed—wrongly—that an artist at her level just showed up and sang. That the producers handled the rest.

But every decision, every adjustment, every fight over what made the final cut went through her.

She wasn’t just the face of her music.

She was the architect.

Clark made another note.

Y/N – has full creative control, even when it would be easier to let someone else take over.

–

Clark Kent had spent years keeping his worlds separate.

But now, somehow, Y/N had slipped into his life so seamlessly that he wasn’t sure where the lines had been drawn in the first place.

It had become routine.

Some days, Clark was in her world—recording sessions, photoshoots, interviews, late nights spent in her studio as she played with lyrics and melody, making small adjustments no one else would ever notice. Between the Daily Planet, the documentary, and his actual responsibilities as Superman, there had been very little sleep lately. 

They were always working, always talking, always finding time between their packed schedules to fit in just one more meeting, one more round of edits, one more conversation about where this documentary was going.

And now, after another long day—this time, an industry event that had required Y/N’s presence but none of her interest—they sat in the back of a quiet car, watching the city lights blur past the windows.

Clark had his notebook open on his lap, but he wasn’t writing.

Y/N sat beside him, slouched against the seat, staring out at the city, fingers lightly tapping against her knee in time with some silent rhythm.

For the first time all day, she was quiet.

Clark didn’t say anything.

Not yet.

There was something about the way she sat there—not tense, not restless, just still. Like she was waiting for something.

And then, in a voice so soft he almost missed it, she said—

“I ran away when I was seventeen.”

Clark stilled.

She wasn’t looking at him.

Her gaze was still fixed on the window, but her voice was steady.

“My mom had just died,” she continued, each word measured, like she was placing them down carefully in front of her, piece by piece. “And I left. Took a bus to Metropolis and never looked back.”

Clark’s fingers curled slightly around his pen.

She had never talked about this.

She had dodged the questions before, skimmed past the details, treated her early years like they weren’t important.

But now, finally, she was saying it out loud.

“My mom was a victim of domestic violence,” Y/N said, inhaling slowly. “And for years, I knew—I knew—she was never going to leave.”

Clark’s chest felt tight.

“I used to think, If I can just make it to eighteen, I’ll get out.” She let out a soft, humorless laugh. “I had a plan. I was going to finish school, save up, and then leave for good.”

Clark had spent his whole life trying to save people.

But no one had been there to save her.

Her fingers tapped against the seat again, but this time, it felt less like a melody and more like nervous energy.

“But then she died first,” Y/N said, her voice quieter now. “And suddenly, I didn’t have to wait anymore.”

Clark felt something heavy settle in his chest.

He thought about seventeen-year-old Y/N, alone, stepping onto a bus with nothing but a bag of belongings, heading toward a city she had never lived in before.

A kid, leaving behind everything she had ever known because there was nothing left to stay for.

Clark swallowed, forcing his voice to stay even. “Where did you go?”

Y/N shook her head. “We’re not getting into that part tonight, Kent.”

Not yet.

Clark nodded, accepting that.

But the weight of it still pressed against him, still sat in the silence between them.

Y/N exhaled, tilting her head against the window. “Music wasn’t allowed in my house,” she admitted after a moment.

Clark frowned. “At all?”

“Nope.” She popped the ‘p,’ a flicker of her usual playfulness slipping through, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Too loud. Too self-indulgent.”

Clark didn’t move, didn’t even blink.

She had loved music her entire life. And she had to hide it.

“I used to steal radio time when I could,” she continued. “Learned chords in secret.”

Clark didn’t realize how tight his grip on the pen was until his knuckles started aching.

“The silver guitar,” he said, realization settling in.

She let out a breath, nodding. “I saved for it for years. Had to hide it.”

Clark swallowed. “And when you left—”

“It was the only thing I brought with me,” Y/N finished. “That, and some cash.”

Clark looked at her, and for the first time, he truly saw it.

The silver guitar wasn’t just an instrument.

It was the only thing she had ever owned that was truly hers.

Not just something she had worked for—something she had fought for.

Clark felt something twist inside him.

And suddenly, everything clicked into place.

The proceeds from the documentary. The decision to donate every cent to organizations supporting domestic violence survivors.

Clark had assumed it was just a cause she cared about.

But now, sitting here in the dim light of the car, hearing the exhaustion in her voice as she talked about a childhood spent hiding the things she loved, saving for an escape she wasn’t sure she’d ever get—

Now, he understood.

This wasn’t just a cause.

This was her.

Clark exhaled slowly, staring down at the blank page in his notebook.

The questions he had wanted to ask didn’t feel relevant anymore.

He knew why she was telling him this now.

He knew why, after weeks of skimming past it, deflecting, dodging—

She had finally let him in.

Because she trusted him.

Because somehow, in the mess of studio sessions and late-night edits, stolen coffee and newsroom banter, him showing up in her world and her barging into his—

Somewhere along the way, they had become friends.

Real friends.

The kind that tell the truth, even when it’s ugly.

The kind that don’t have to fill the silence.

Clark didn’t say much after that.

Just sat there, letting her words settle.

Letting her breathe.

And for the first time, Y/N didn’t rush to fill the quiet either.

She just let it stay.

—

Y/N wasn’t crazy.

She wasn’t.

But spending this much time with Clark Kent was messing with her head.

At first, she had been sure they were nothing alike—Kal had been sharp edges and reckless grins, a boy who didn’t belong anywhere but carried himself like he belonged everywhere. Clark was careful, steady, the kind of person who made people feel safe just by existing.

And yet, the more time she spent with him, the more she saw it. The way he carried himself, the rare moments where he let go of the professional act and grumbled under his breath, the way he always knew what was happening in a room before anyone else did. It was Kal. Or at least, it felt like him.

But that wasn’t possible.

And it was driving her insane.

There was only one way to prove herself wrong.

She needed to see Clark���s chest.

Kal had a brand on his skin—a jagged scar in the shape of a crest that he had always refused to talk about. It had been there since the day she met him, burned into his skin like a permanent mark of something he couldn’t escape. If Clark had the same scar, then… well.

But if he didn’t—then she could finally let this go.

But how the hell was she supposed to get Clark Kent to take his shirt off?

The perfect opportunity fell into her lap.

A Vogue cover.

–

It had started out fine.

Y/N had landed a Vogue cover shoot, a big deal even by her standards. Since Clark had to ask her a thousand questions for the documentary anyway, it had been decided that he should just tag along, catching moments between outfit changes, hair touch-ups, and the endless chaos of high fashion.

Clark hadn’t been thrilled about it, but in comparison to the other ways Y/N had tormented him lately, it had seemed… manageable.

He had been wrong.

Because thirty minutes into the shoot, disaster struck.

The first sign of trouble was the sharp gasp from Jacques, the artistic director.

"Mon dieu!" Jacques clutched his pearls—well, his Gucci scarf, but the reaction was the same. "Where is Antoine?!"

A frantic assistant rushed over, whispering something.

Jacques gasped again, dramatically pressing a hand to his forehead. “NON!”

Clark, who had been standing quietly in the background, frowned. “What’s going on?”

Y/N, now mid-pose in some ridiculously expensive gown, grinned. “Sounds like our male model is missing.”

Jacques began pacing. "This is a disaster. A catastrophe! We cannot proceed without ze vision!"

Clark, already sensing where this was going, took a slow step back.

Jacques snapped his fingers. “Your bodyguard! He will do.”

Clark froze.

Y/N lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Oh, absolutely,” she said immediately.

Clark’s stomach dropped. “No.”

“Yes.”

"Non!" Clark tried.

"Oui!" Jacques countered, waving his hands. "He is tall, strong, handsome in a very serious way. This will work!"

Clark turned to Y/N, desperate. “Fix this.”

Y/N beamed. “Oh, no. I think this is perfect.”

Clark gritted his teeth. “I am not modeling.”

Jacques clapped his hands. "Into wardrobe! Immediately!"

And before Clark could react, three assistants descended upon him like vultures.

This was happening.

And Y/N?

Y/N was thrilled.

Clark was getting shoved into a dressing room, and all she had to do was wait for him to take his shirt off.

This was foolproof.

Or at least, it should have been.

Except then, at the last second, a horrible thought entered her mind.

What if Clark was sensitive about the brand on his chest? It seemed painful and Kal never talked about—what if he didn’t want people seeing him like that?

Guilt immediately punched her in the gut.

What the hell was she doing?

This was Clark. She teased him, sure, but she never wanted to actually make him uncomfortable.

If he didn’t want to take his shirt off, he shouldn’t have to.

And so, she did the only responsible thing.

She burst into the dressing room.

"Clark, wait—"

She froze.

Clark, halfway through unbuttoning his shirt, froze too.

There was a long, agonizing beat of silence.

Clark’s chest was bare, and it was a good chest, and Y/N had zero shame admitting that to herself.

But that wasn’t what mattered.

What mattered was that there was no scar.

No brand. No mark.

Her stomach sank.

Clark blinked. “Why do you look disappointed?”

Y/N snapped out of it, clearing her throat. “No! No, of course not. You look… great! Fantastic. Just. Uh. I remembered something wrong. That’s all.”

Clark narrowed his eyes. “Right.”

“Anyway!” She backed toward the door, smiling a little too wide. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to! I totally get it, some people are weird about—um, stuff. So if you wanna back out, I’ll tell Jacques.”

Clark exhaled, relieved. “Thank you.”

“Unless, of course, you want to—”

Clark exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. "Listen, if I—if I do this, my face cannot be in it." He leveled her with a firm look. "I’m serious, Y/N. No full shots. No close-ups. No tragic, longing stares into the camera."

Y/N pressed a hand over her heart, gasping in mock offense. "Clark, would I ever betray your trust like that?"

"Yes," he deadpanned.

She grinned. "Alright, fair. But don’t worry, I’ll personally make sure they only use the anonymous, artsy ones. Shadows, silhouettes—the mystery will drive people wild."

Clark sighed, rubbing his temples. "Thank you."

–

Y/N was a little disappointed.

Just a little.

Because, okay, maybe she had let herself believe it for a second. Maybe she had spent too much time looking at Clark and seeing someone else. But the proof had been right there—his chest, completely unmarked. No scar. No brand. Nothing.

Clark Kent was not Kal.

And yet, even as she told herself that, something still felt off.

But she wasn’t stupid.

If this was a dead end, fine. She could live with that.

But there was no way in hell she was letting a golden opportunity pass her by.

Because Clark Kent—stoic, serious, perfectly put-together Clark Kent—was about to model for Vogue.

And Y/N?

Y/N was going to make this the funniest experience of her life.

"Clark, are you having fun?"

Y/N's voice was sweet, teasing, her eyes bright with amusement as she adjusted the delicate lace sleeve of her gown.

Clark, standing stiff beside her, dead inside, muttered, “No.”

She beamed. “Oh, but you look so good.”

Clark closed his eyes.

The shoot had started only fifteen minutes ago, and he was already in hell.

Jacques circled them, adjusting angles, barking instructions.

"Intensity!" he cried. "Longing!"

Clark bit back a sigh.

He had faced literal supervillains with less dramatic energy.

Y/N placed a hand on Clark’s chest, tilting her head up toward him, her lips just inches away from his jaw. “Like this, Jacques?”

Jacques sighed dreamily. “Perfection!”

Clark, frozen, could only stare straight ahead, praying for death.

Y/N’s fingers curled slightly against the lapel of his suit.

Then, in a low, amused whisper, she said, “Don’t worry, Kent. I’ll make sure your first time is so good.”

Clark choked.

Jacques clapped his hands. “YES! That energy!”

Clark was going to combust.

His ears burned as Y/N grinned up at him, clearly thrilled.

“That’s not what I—”

“Shhh,” she whispered, patting his chest. “Let me take care of you.”

Clark wasn’t going to survive this.

"Closer!" Jacques called. "You are lovers, doomed by fate!"

Clark exhaled sharply. “This is ridiculous.”

Y/N, clearly thriving, hummed. "I think it's fun."

Clark sent her a flat look. "Of course you do."

Jacques suddenly gasped. “I have it!” He turned to the photographer, wildly gesturing. "We need the hands!"

Clark frowned. “The what?”

“THE HANDS, MON AMOUR!” Jacques clutched his chest. “The gentle, reverent touch!”

Y/N, eyes glinting with pure mischief, took both of Clark’s hands and placed them firmly on her waist.

Clark immediately stiffened.

“Oh, don’t be shy, Kent,” she teased, leaning in slightly.

Clark’s jaw locked. “I hate you.”

Y/N smirked. “No, you don’t.”

Jacques sighed dreamily. “Magnifique.”

"Now, the final shot!" Jacques cried. "The one Vogue will remember for centuries!"

Clark mentally prepared for impact.

Y/N, however, was clearly in her element.

Jacques paced for a moment, then suddenly pointed at Clark. "Lie down!"

Clark blinked. “What.”

"LIE DOWN, MON CHÉRI!"

Clark was too exhausted to fight it. He carefully eased onto the ridiculously soft velvet chaise lounge, feeling utterly ridiculous.

Jacques turned to Y/N. "Now, you, on top of him."

Clark's brain blue-screened.

Y/N perked up. “Oh, finally.”

Clark shot up. “Absolutely not.”

Y/N pushed him back down. “Oh, relax. It’s art.”

Clark exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I hate this.”

Jacques gestured wildly. “More passion! More tragedy! You are soulmates torn apart by destiny!”

Y/N, now draped effortlessly over Clark, sighed dramatically.

“You hear that, Kent? Soulmates.”

Clark groaned.

Y/N rested her chin on his chest, smiling innocently. “You wanna hold me tighter? Really sell it?”

Clark turned his head toward the ceiling. He was in hell.

The flashbulb went off.

It was done.

And Clark Kent was never going to live this down.

–

Clark was used to people coming and going.

It came with the job—stories started, stories ended. He met people, learned their lives, wrote their truths, and then moved on.

That was how it worked.

And yet, as he sat at his desk, fingers hovering over his keyboard, staring at the final draft of the documentary plan, he couldn’t help but feel…

Weird.

Tomorrow morning, his involvement would be mostly over.

After months of following Y/N through her world—recording sessions, tour rehearsals—the bulk of his work was done. The structure was set, the story complete, the interviews wrapped.

By all accounts, he should be relieved.

And he was.

Sort of.

Because his secret was intact.

For all the time they had spent together, for all the questions Y/N had asked, she had never once connected the dots.

She had let it go.

And that should have made Clark feel safe.

But instead, as he sat there, staring at the screen, he felt something he hadn’t expected.

Something that felt an awful lot like…

Regret.

Because against all logic, he had gotten used to having her around.

Her constant presence at the Daily Planet, her shameless ability to steal his desk, the way she dragged him into conversations he had no business being in.

Her stupid little nicknames, the way she teased him, the way she could pull a smile out of him even on his worst days.

She was a good friend.

And he wasn’t used to losing those.

Clark sighed, leaning back in his chair.

This was good. It was.

Everything had worked out.

So why did it feel like something wasn’t finished?

He rubbed his hands over his face, exhaustion settling deep in his bones.

The day had been long—an oil rig fire had kept Superman out past midnight, and Clark still had to be up early.

He should have gone to bed.

But then his phone rang.

And when he saw the name on the screen, something in his stomach dipped.

Y/N.

He answered immediately. “Hey.”

She didn’t waste time.

“Can you come over?”

Clark frowned, sitting up. “Right now?”

“Yeah.” She sounded… different. Not frantic, not upset, just… off.

Clark’s shoulders tensed. “What’s wrong?”

There was a pause.

Then—

“There’s something missing from the plan,” she said finally. “I know what it is.”

Clark exhaled slowly.

And just like that, the weird feeling in his chest got worse.

Because after months of this, after learning everything about her—her childhood, her music, her fears— there was still one thing she had never talked about.

Her stay in Metropolis.

She had glossed over it entirely.

She had told him everything else, but somehow, the part where she had arrived in the city—broke, alone, lost— had disappeared from the story.

And he had let it go, because maybe she had just… forgotten.

But now, sitting there, phone pressed to his ear, he knew.

She hadn’t forgotten.

She had been choosing not to say it.

Until now.

Clark closed his eyes briefly. “I’ll be right there.”

He grabbed his coat and left.

–

Y/N grabbed a bottle of wine from the counter, uncorking it with an ease that told him she’d done this a thousand times before. She poured herself a glass, took a slow sip, then turned to face him, tilting her head slightly.

"You drinking?"

Clark shook his head. "Not tonight."

She hummed, swirling the glass in her hand before setting it down on the coffee table. Then, with a small smile, she gestured to his recorder.

"Go on, then. Let’s finish this."

Clark pulled the device from his bag, placed it between them, and pressed record.

Y/N’s eyes flickered toward the blinking red light.

Then, softly—

“I never told you about the first person I met in Metropolis.”

Clark stilled.

He kept his expression neutral, but his pulse picked up.

She had never said this before.

She had told him about her childhood. About her mother. About running away. But she had never said what happened after.

Not once.

He leaned forward slightly, pen poised over his notebook. "Go on."

Y/N exhaled, settling back into the couch. “I was seventeen. I stepped off a bus with a few hundred bucks, a guitar, and no clue what the hell I was doing. I didn’t have a plan. Didn’t know where I was gonna stay. And the city—” she huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. “Metropolis is a lot, even when you have money. When you don’t? It eats you alive.”

Clark nodded, staying quiet, letting her tell it in her own way.

“I was barely holding it together. I didn’t sleep much. Kept telling myself I’d figure it out. Then, one night…” she trailed off for a second, eyes distant, like she was looking at something just beyond his shoulder.

Then, quieter—

“There was a guy.”

Clark gripped his pen a little tighter.

“His name was Kal. He found me,” she said simply. “Or maybe I found him. I don’t know. But he let me stay with him. No strings attached, no expectations. Just gave me a place to sleep, something to eat, and never asked for anything in return.”

Clark swallowed, his throat dry. “Why are you telling this now?”

Y/N’s gaze met his, steady. “Because people should know that good people exist. That when you think you’re out of options, sometimes the right person finds you. That help is out there, even when you don’t believe it.”

Clark’s jaw tightened.

Because she was saying this for them.

For the kids who had nowhere to go.

For the ones who would watch this documentary and see themselves in her.

For the ones who needed to know that hope was real.

Clark took a careful breath. “And what happened to him?”

Y/N’s fingers traced the rim of her wine glass. “He left.”

The words landed heavier than he expected.

“He was gone before I realized I didn’t want to leave him behind.” She smiled, but it was small, almost sad. “I never got to thank him.”

Silence settled between them.

Clark forced himself to stay still. To keep his face blank.

But inside?

His heartbeat was a war drum.

She had just told him everything.

Then, finally, Y/N turned to him.

Her voice was soft. Certain. “You remind me of him.”

Clark’s chest tightened.

“That’s why I asked for you.”

Clark didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Because if he let anything slip—if he gave her even an inch—she would see it.

So instead, he forced a noncommittal expression, nodding slightly.

Y/N watched him. Closely.

And then—

She caught it.

A flicker. A millisecond of hesitation.

Clark barely even felt it happen, but Y/N did.

And that was all she needed.

She reached forward and turned off the recorder.

Clark’s stomach dropped.

The room suddenly felt too quiet.

Y/N set her wine glass down carefully, then looked him straight in the eye.

“Are you?”

Clark’s throat went dry. “…Am I what?”

Her gaze didn’t waver.

“Are you him?”

Clark’s heart pounded against his ribs.

His mind raced.

He had gotten so good at lying. So good at burying the darkest parts of himself, making sure no one ever got too close.

But this was Y/N.

She had seen him at his most human.

And now—

She had seen past it.

Clark swallowed, forcing himself to breathe evenly.

Then, carefully, he gave her a small, almost amused smile.

“That’s a hell of a question,” he said lightly.

Y/N tilted her head, studying him.

Clark held her gaze, keeping himself calm, unreadable.

And after a long moment—

She let out a quiet chuckle, reaching for her wine again.

“Guess it is,” she murmured, taking a sip.

And just like that—

The tension broke.

Clark exhaled, leaning back slightly, believing, for just a second, that he had gotten away with it.

But as Y/N swirled the wine in her glass, a small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

Because she knew.

And Clark Kent had no idea.

–

Bonus

–

Clark had barely stepped into his apartment when his phone rang.

Mom.

He sighed deeply. He’d spent all day following some dead-end lead about a corruption case. It had been a few weeks since the documentary proposal wrapped up and the lull of his regular life had gotten a bit tiring without having Y/N glued to him at every moment. 

Bracing himself, he picked up. “Hey, Mom.”

There was a long pause. A terrifying, mom-sensing-bullshit-from-a-mile-away pause.

Then—

"Clark. How do you know Y/N?"

Clark blinked. “Uh—what?”

From the background, Jonathan Kent’s confused voice: "Martha, what are you talking about?"

More rustling. The sound of a magazine being handed over.

And then—

"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!"

Clark winced. “Oh, no.”

Jonathan was losing his mind. “CLARK. SON. WHY ARE YOU ON THE COVER OF VOGUE WITH A POP STAR?!”

Clark immediately went into defense mode. “What? That’s not me.”

Silence.

Then, Martha, voice calm but lethal: "Clark Joseph Kent, do not lie to me."

Jonathan, scandalized: “YOUR HANDS ARE ON HER WAIST, BOY.”

Clark rubbed his temples. “Dad, that's not me, you can’t even see the face of the model.”

Martha let out a long, knowing sigh. “Clark. I raised you. I know what my own son looks like.”

Jonathan was still yelling. “YOU THINK A LITTLE SHADOW IS GONNA FOOL ME?!”

“IT’S FOR WORK!”

“YOU WORK AT A NEWSPAPER, CLARK. NOT A RUNWAY SHOW.”

Martha, now flipping through the magazine, humming thoughtfully: “Hmm. These are very… romantic poses.”

Clark groaned. “Mom—”

Jonathan, in horror: “THIS LOOKS LIKE A MARRIAGE ANNOUNCEMENT.”

Clark felt his soul leave his body. “It is NOT—”

Martha, now in full investigative mode: “You know, dear, Y/N seems like a lovely girl. I like some of her songs.”

Jonathan, gripping the pages like they personally offended him: “A LOVELY GIRL WHO IS LOUNGING ALL OVER OUR SON LIKE HE’S HER PERSONAL CHAISE.”

Martha, ignoring him: “Clark, do you… like her?”

Clark nearly dropped the phone. “MOM.”

Jonathan, STILL LOSING HIS MIND: “SHE’S TOUCHING HIS HAIR IN THIS ONE, MARTHA. HIS HAIR.”

Martha, studying the spread: “Oh, I like this one. Very soft, very intimate.”

Clark was having a full breakdown. “WHY ARE YOU ANALYZING THE PHOTOS?!”

Jonathan threw the magazine down like it physically burned him. “BOY. I THOUGHT YOUR BIGGEST SECRET WAS THE SUPERMAN THING.”

Clark was ready to die. “IT IS.”

“WELL, NOT TODAY.”

Martha, still way too amused: “Clark, honey. If you weren’t planning to tell us about Y/N, you could’ve at least warned us before you ended up in a fashion magazine.”

Clark felt faint. “BECAUSE THERE’S NOTHING TO TELL.”

Martha: "Mmm."

Jonathan, muttering: “Son, I swear, I have spent my whole life worrying about people finding out you’re Superman, and now I gotta worry about Y/N’s fans hunting you down too—”

Clark was seconds away from launching himself into the sun. “I HAVE TO GO.”

“Clark—”

Click.

[mymindisneverhere]

Double Team

warning: 18+ smut, mndi!, threesome, oral sex, explicit language, use of the N word, dirty talk, completely consensual, a little angsty (Terry and David are mean/intimidating)… forgive me if I missed any. 

Kelvin Harrison Jr. as David 

Aaron Pierre as Terry

summary: Terry invites his best friend David over to chill while he’s in town. After noticing his “girlfriend” Ava’s fondness for David, Terry lets Ava give his friend a happy ending before he leaves. 

a/n: my first time writing a threesome… let me know what y'all think! 

“Did you need anything else before I go back to the room?” Ava asked, trying to get Terry to give her some sort of attention. He had been so caught up in spending time with his friend, he wasn’t paying her any mind at all. 

Terry and David spent majority of their time catching up, sharing stories and playing a few rounds of 2k. They were so busy enjoying each others company, Ava had simply been background noise.

“Nah I’m good.” Terry responded, keeping his eyes locked on the tv screen. 

“David, you need anything?” Ava asked, turning her attention to his friend. She knew what she was doing. Purposely going out of her way to be of service to another man in Terry’s presence just so he could have a reason to acknowledge her. 

“I’m good, thanks!” David replied, meeting her eyes as they stared at his lips. 

“You can leave now, Ava.” Terry said, watching her while she stared at David. This was his third time catching her somewhat in a trance as she looked at his friend. 

He kept his eyes on her as she walked back to his bedroom and instantly got an idea, one that would truly test the “connection” between he and Ava.

David had also noticed how much she stared at him all night, his lips in particular. Even when he wasn’t talking directly to her, her eyes never left his mouth. He’d lick his lips on purpose just to see if she’d lick hers as well and just like clockwork her tongue would peek through before pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth. 

David and Terry were very similar, especially in the way that they loved to see women almost drooling in desperation just to get an ounce of attention from them. It was always the pretty yet easy ones that clung to them no matter where they were.

“Ava!” Terry called. 

Ava appeared once again, waiting for him to let her know what he needed from her. 

He sat quiet for a few seconds, just to watch her fidget with her shorts. He loved the fact that he intimidated her. She was always constantly worrying if she was doing anything that would completely turn him off. She stood there, eyebrows slightly raised as she waited for his instruction.

After a few more seconds he began to speak. Terry gave Ava some bullshit story about him accidentally leaving his phone in the car and not wanting to be a horrible guest by leaving his friend unattended. So he asked Ava to run downstairs to retrieve it for him and she did just that without contest. 

While she spent the next twenty minutes searching for the phone that was in his pocket the whole time, he let David in on the plan he had. Since she wanted so badly to be all in his friend's face he figured he’d give her the “green light” to go all the way if that’s what she wanted to do. 

Terry told David all about his escapades with Ava; how well she’d take him into her throat without struggle, how good she was at following directions, but most of all how desperate she was to please him. 

Terry could say jump and Ava would ask “How high?” and proceed to jump beyond his expectations. She was almost like his personal ‘pet’, there to do whatever he asked, whenever he asked. 

He didn’t care much about her feelings and had made it very clear to her that he had no plans in doing anything past fucking her. However, out of all of the friends he introduced her to, she had only reacted to David in the same way that she would react to Terry.  

Terry was feeling a bit of jealousy but he would never admit that to a girl like Ava. Instead, he wanted to see just how far she’d go just to make him proud… even if that meant fucking his best friend on command. 

Once it clicked to her that his phone wasn’t in his car, she quickly made her way back up to his apartment. The gray jacket from the tracksuit Terry had bought her a few months ago hung off of her shoulder as she pressed the button on the elevator. She folded her arms over her chest and leaned against the back wall. Crossing one leg over the other, she could feel the wetness in between her thighs that clung to the thin shorts she wore with no panties. 

Thoughts of her kissing David had been swirling in her mind since Terry had introduced them. While she was working hard to get Terry to finally commit to her, it was hard for her to not be attracted to his best friend. She wanted so badly to feel his lips on hers… and her lower set too. 

“Ugh, I wish David would hurry up and leave already! I cannot be thinking about fucking him right now.” She said to herself. 

When Ava entered the apartment, the living room was empty. The TV was turned off, the PlayStation remotes were placed on the charging station and it was strangely quiet.

She shut the door behind her and walked deeper into the apartment, peeking her head around the corner until she saw David sitting on Terry’s bed. 

“Get in here.” Terry demanded. 

Ava walked slowly into the bedroom until Terry came into view. He sat in the corner, arms folded and legs spread as if he was preparing to scold her about something. David sat on the edge of the bed leaning forward on his knees as he stared up at her. Both of their stares were so intimidating. She chewed the inside of her jaw as her eyes switched back and forth between Terry and David. 

“You think I don’t know what’s been going on in your mind all night?” Terry asked, voice extremely calm. 

Ava frowned a bit, confused as to what he was referring to. “What?”

Her gaze continued to shift between the two men, both burning holes in her face. She could sense the tension in the air. She could see the hunger in both of their faces even though they tried to hide their desires with blank expressions. 

“Don’t play with me Ava.” Terry eyed her from her head to her feet, licking his lips to keep himself calm. “You thinkin’ about fuckin’ David?”

Ava’s breath caught in her throat as the question left his lips. She was hoping her moments of staring at his friend had gone unnoticed by Terry, but he notices everything about her whether he brings it to her attention or not. She stood quietly as she fiddled with the bottom of her shorts, trying to predict what could possibly come next. 

“Go ahead.” Terry calmly instructed, resting both arms on the sides of the chair. 

Ava swallowed the lump in her throat, unsure of what exactly he wanted her to do. She was thinking that he was simply testing her. After all, the only man she’d been with in the past two years was Terry. 

Once again, her mind swirled with so many thoughts; was Terry going to call it quits and end whatever this was between the two of them if she did this? Or would he end it all if she said no?

She didn’t know the right decision to make at that moment, so she decided to do what she truly wanted to do. 

‘Fuck the consequence.’ She thought. 

Ava turned her attention to David, licking her lips as she stared down at his. He licked his once more, teasing her as he watched her eyes twinkle. He stayed still, waiting to see what she was going to do to please him for the evening. She smirked a bit, feeling a small sense of control as she studied his face. 

David had been a sweetheart all night. The slight look of innocence in his face had her feeling more confident than ever. Ava knew she’d be able to break him down, one thing she had failed to do with Terry.

She took a few steps forward before he stopped her in her tracks. 

“Strip.” David instructed, his gaze never leaving hers.

Ava looked over to Terry who said nothing. His empty expression let her know that he didn’t feel any kind of way about what was happening right before him. He wasn't going to tell his friend what to do with her or how to do it. She had permission do what she wanted and so did David.

She turned her head back to face David and the smirk that she once wore, quickly faded. She pulled the zipper down on her jacket, letting it fall off of her shoulders and onto the floor. Pushing her shorts to the ground, she stepped out one leg at a time. 

Terry licked his lips as he eyed her. Her body was always his favorite thing about her. He shifted in his seat a bit and adjusted his sweatpants, not wanting to poke through his pants just yet. 

Ava took a few steps forward and was stopped once again at the sound of his voice, deep and demanding. 

“Knees.” Terry said, still staring blankly at her. 

She slowly lowered to her knees, one knee touching the soft carpet before the other. Her eyes landed on David's lips once again, full and moistened from his tongue. Her heart was beating so fast, a combination of anxiousness and excitement swirling throughout her body. She placed her hands on his knees to try to find her balance, unsure if she wanted to kiss him softly or shove her tongue down his throat.

“This what you wanted right?” Terry’s voice boomed from the corner of the room. “You’ve been starin’ at the nigga all night, don’t act shy now.”

Ava leaned up a bit and pressed her lips into Davids, moaning from the touch alone. He tilted his head to the side in an effort to deepen their kiss. The sounds of their lips pulling from the other filled the room, making Terry lean back further into the chair. 

David purposely eased himself back a bit in between the kiss, causing Ava to lean forward. The desperation alone was amusing to him. She’d lean in even more and he’d pull his head back even further. 

Eventually her attempts at feeling his lips on hers again had her full breasts rubbing against his hands. He squeezed them tightly, pinching her nipples while he stuck his tongue in her mouth. 

Ava instantly caught onto what he was doing and moaned into his mouth, enjoying the game he was playing with her. He toyed with her nipples, wanting to feel her moan against his lips again. They wrestled with each other, kissing as if they had both been dying to find out what the other tasted like. 

“Scoot back on the bed.” She whispered against his lips. 

He eyed her as she leaned back a bit, just enough to give him room to push his body further onto the large bed. She stood and climbed on top of him, returning her lips to his. The way her body sat above his, the arch in her back, the slight movement of her ass as she made herself comfortable, had Terry’s eyes low but focused solely on her. 

Ava placed kisses down David’s chin until she reached his neck. Sticking her tongue out, she licked his skin before taking it into her mouth. This moment alone had David’s hips lifting slightly off of the bed. The thick bulge in his pants rubbing against her stomach let her know that she had found his sweet spot. 

She walked herself back a bit, coming face to face with his crotch. David lifted his head off of the bed to watch her pull at his joggers. After a quick second, his dick bounced from the loose fitted pants and she bit her lip at the sight of it. 

Ava could sense Terry’s uneasiness from where he sat. He always did a good job at keeping a poker face but she knew it was taking every bit of his strength to keep himself from joining in too soon. 

Grabbing a handful of David’s dick, she ran her tongue up the side as her eyes landed on Terry’s. Both the look of innocence and lust filled them as she took his best friend into her mouth. 

“Fuck.” David spat. 

Ava sucked him slowly with intention in every move she made. Her eyes still never left Terry’s. She knew he’d love to see her be someone else’s bitch at the snap of his finger. The way she moaned while sucking David’s dick was almost as if she was the one being pleasured. It was her way of communicating with Terry without words. If this is what he wanted to see, she was sure to let him know much fun she was having. 

Spit ran down the length of David’s dick, dripping down into the crack of his ass. Ava rolled her head around, slurping and humming as she sucked him. David was impressed and at the same time turned on by her willingness to make a mess, even if she looked crazy doing it. 

‘You can’t worry about bein’ pretty when you tryin’ to suck a nigga soul out.’ Terry would tell her when they first became involved with one another. Just like that, he had taught her what to do and how to do it well. 

Terry couldn’t stay in his seat any longer. He stood up from the chair and walked to the side of the bed. She watched as he approached, already aware of what he wanted from her. 

Using the spit that had poured from her throat, she stroked David with her left hand while pulling at Terry with her right. With a slight tug at his sweats, his dick sprang up, ready to receive whatever she had to give. She took him into her mouth, already salivated from throating his friend a few moments ago. 

Both men were caught up in the moment, enjoying the pleasures they were receiving from this one woman. Terry reached down to push her hair off of her shoulders, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck to pull her even further onto his dick. The sounds of him hitting her throat instantly filled the room right along with the sticky sounds of her stroking David. 

“You got her trained well.” David said, eyebrows bent as he watched her work. 

“I told you.” Terry replied, watching his dick disappear then reappear again and again. 

After a few moments, David removed her hand and stood up from the bed. Dropping his shirt to the floor, he stood at the foot of the bed. Terry popped himself out of her mouth for a split second as David grabbed her hips and placed her on her back. 

Without any hesitation, David’s lips latched onto her clit, sending shockwaves through her body. It wasn’t very often that she’d get to feel the pleasure of being sucked on in this way. Terry would make her jump through hoops just to get this treatment. 

Ava sat up on her elbows and looked down to watch David eat her, biting her lip and moaning at the sight. However, this was a set up and she didn’t even see it coming. 

Terry grabbed the back of her head and guided himself back into her mouth. He knew it would be a challenge for her to suck him properly while having David’s head in between her legs. 

“Swallow my shit.” Terry demanded. His eyebrows bent as he looked down in slight frustration. He kept his hand at the back of her head, bringing the tip of her nose to his abdomen. 

Her eyes rolled into her head as she spit up on herself. Terry pulled her head back, relieving her for just a few seconds before pressing her face against his stomach once again. Terry knew that every time she’d gag on his dick, her juices would flow more and more. 

Ava’s body was experiencing so much at once, aching from ecstasy. She was moaning and whining out of pure satisfaction and agony. The thoughts she had about David earlier, all of the assumptions she made about him were all correct.

He sucked on her clit, using his hands to spread her lips further apart so he could give even more attention straight to her middle. His tongue lapped all of the juices that spilled from her entrance before locking his full lips onto her clit again.

Terry yanked her head back once again and stared down at her while she tried to gain her composure. He licked his lips at the sight before him. Her brows were curled as she stared up at him, trying to keep her eyes open as she enjoyed David’s tongue. 

“Who taught you how to be this nasty?” Terry asked, tilting his head a bit. 

“You did.” Ava responded, hiccuping in between her response. 

Gripping the back of her neck tighter, he thrust himself back into her mouth. The sounds of spit escaping her throat fell into a rhythm while the noises from David’s lips playing in her essence blended in. Ava’s moans grew louder as she felt herself cumming, eyes shut tight as her body shook. 

“Yeah, enjoy that shit while it lasts.” Terry teased dryly. 

David stood and licked his lips. He slapped her ass, signaling her to assume the position, all fours. Ava immediately flipped her body over, placing her hands and knees onto the bed, never freeing Terry from her lips. 

Terry’s head fell back as he pushed himself in and out of her mouth. Lifting the bottom of his shirt up to his lips, he gripped it in between his teeth and placed his other hand on her head. Keeping her in place, he pushed his hips forward, not caring about how rough he was being. 

David stood behind her and ran the tip of his dick through her slit, collecting all of the juices that dripped from her hole. He toyed with her clit, slapping his tip against it just to watch her body jerk from the sensitivity. Smirking to himself, he entered her slowly in an effort to brace himself for the grip Terry had mentioned to him. 

“Fuuuuck, this shit tight.” David groaned through gritted teeth.  

“Loosen her up.” Terry joked, still fucking her face relentlessly. 

David slapped her ass a few more times, watching it jiggle against his lower abdomen. He gripped her hips to make it easier for him to fall in exactly how he wanted to. In a matter of seconds, both men were stuffing her from both ends. Using her to chase after their own satisfactions.

Ava felt like a ping pong ball being tossed between two opponents. The clapping of her ass against his stomach and the gargling of her throat was music to all of their ears. The way her breasts bounced from the force coming from both sides, had Terry in a trance. 

While spit dripped from her mouth, covering her chin, her pussy creamed all over David’s dick. Moans, grunts and curses bounced off of the walls as they took their time enjoying themselves. 

To prevent himself from cumming too soon, Terry pulled out of her mouth and lifted her chin up to take in the damage they had done so far.  

“This what you wanted?” He asked, smirking at the tears that covered her face. 

Ava nodded, unable to keep her eyes open from the feeling of her orgasm peaking through. 

The way she struggled to catch her breath after deepthroating him while simultaneously being fucked so well from behind turned Terry on even more than before.

Her body weakened as she came. If Terry didn’t have such a tight grip on her chin, her face would’ve hit the mattress. She cried out in intense pleasure as David continued stroking her past climax. Terry tapped her cheek with his fingers until she opened her eyes, looking up at him as his piercing green irises stared down at her. 

“If we don’t get a nut, it’s gonna be a long night for you.” Terry said before telling David to switch. 

It had already been an hour and the two men were still having their way. Orgasm after orgasm, Ava was damn near worn out. They tossed her around like a rag doll, tag teaming her as if she were their opponent. Terry had taken over, throwing her into the position he wanted without hesitation.

“You’re my slut, right?” 

“Yes!” Ava yelled.

“I know you are.” Terry said, pushing her thighs back as he dug deep into her. 

Ava’s head hung slightly off of the bed where David stood. It was now Terry’s turn to fuck her how he chose to and quite frankly, Ava had no complaints. The sounds of his thighs slapping against her ass had taken over the room. Terry bit down on his lip as he stared at her breasts, watching them bounce as a result of his movement.

“Open up for me.” David instructed. 

Opening her mouth, Ava stuck her tongue out. David dipped his thickness into her mouth, placing his hands on her breasts for leverage. The two men had fallen right back into their rhythms, filling her holes, not leaving much room for her to move.

David played with her nipples once again, aware of the fact that it drove her crazy. The enjoyment they both got from watching her struggle to fight against the pleasure in order to please them properly was the best part of it all. Her moans, the way she scratched at Terry’s forearms, the sounds of her gargling spit as David filled her throat, was marking a night they’d all remember. 

“Why this pussy so wet, huh? You like gettin’ fucked like this, don’t you?” Terry asked. 

“Mhmmm.” Ava moaned, unable to fully respond. 

“This a dirty bitch.” David said, gaining a chuckle from his friend. 

The two best friends had their way with her, making sure to keep her stuffed through the entirety of this session. 

Ava’s moans were the loudest sound in the room. She had been completely taken over by all of the pleasure happening at the same time. Hearing Terry’s deep voice as he grunted and growled while he fucked her and hearing David’s curses of shock and admiration had her cumming back to back. 

A thick ring of cum settled right at the base of his dick and he loved to see it. He pulled out, rubbing his tip up the crack of her ass to gather the creaminess that spilled from her then dug right back into her as if he never stopped. 

“Fuck!” Terry spat, feeling his own nut rise to the surface. 

“Mmmmm.” Ava hummed. 

David’s hips jerked a bit from the vibration of her throat around his dick. His mouth fell open a bit as he watched her throat stretch then shrink from his view. 

“Oh shit, I’m bout to nut.” David announced, as he fucked her face with a bit more force, desperately chasing his desire to cum. 

Both men picked up their pace, increasing the momentum as they felt themselves preparing to bust. 

David pulled out of her mouth and stroked himself as thick strings covered her face. Ava stuck her tongue out, trying to catch whatever she could in her mouth as he came. 

Not too far behind him, Terry let out a deep grunt as he stilled himself deep inside of her, letting every drop of his seed fill her walls. After a few seconds, he pulled out, watching his cum mix with hers as it oozed from her hole down to her ass. 

Their heavy breathing could be heard from another room as they brought themselves back down from their sexual highs. David placed his hands on his hips as he fought to catch his breath. Terry slapped her ass a few times, his way of telling her that he enjoyed it. 

“Did I make you proud daddy?” Ava asked, sitting up on her elbows, face still covered in cum. Her brows were lifted in anticipation as she awaited his response. 

“Hell yeah.” Terry responded breathlessly. “Go get in the shower.” 

Ava stood up from the bed and walked to the bathroom. 

The two men immediately got dressed and made their way to the living room. Both shaking their heads in surprise and satisfaction, they turned to one another, slapping hands as they laughed. 

“Mannnn.” David began. “I was just complaining about making this trip but it was worth it.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” Terry laughed, walking his friend to the door. “Let me know when you’re in town again, maybe she’ll be down for another round or two.” 

(Please excuse any mistakes! 🩵) 

taglist: @saltburnsworld @saturnville @kykylovesblog @ovohanna24 @notapradagurl7 @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @blackmoonchilee @blckblossom @kaylaahisthebestest-

If you wanna join the taglist pls comment and I'll be sure to add you from here on out. 🩵

[remindingpersephone]

Undercurrents

I just realized I haven't posted anything substantially my own (other than birthday wishes for the wonderful @ohhelloholly) in a while. Lots of reblogs or screenshots of other people's wisdom. And I love that and put it here because I want to remember the inspiration and the beauty. I mean, come one, there is nothing quite like Winged Victory. I stand by everything I post, even the complaints about weird ads.

But this tumblr is not what it used to be. I used to write almost daily. Nothing that was going to win a Pulitzer, and was mostly just for me. It was me talking to you all, making connections, giving and feeling love.

I know a lot of the lack of posts has to do with time. I just don' t have the time I did 14 years ago. But if I'm being honest, I spend too much time scrolling. Some days I'm better at stopping before I go on autopilot. Some days I ignore the ads on Instagram for things I don't need. Some days, I don't. A package of new makeup I've never tried is arriving in a few days. Nobody's perfect. But am I that busy I can't write a few sentences? I do try to visit my friends blogs and heart bomb them as much as possible.

I think it's less about time and more about the fact that I don't know what to say. There's no way I'm talking politics, that shit is exhausting. I decided long ago not to be the asshole-whisperer, trying to convince some dick why he's wrong. I used to post a lot about music, but I listen to music from the 80s and 90s, so there's nothing current or relevant there. Movies and TV shows: there have been a couple good movie trailers recently, but not much else.

Then I realized: as much as it's me, it's also February. My Mom's birthday was February 9th, the first one without her. And she passed away February 28th last year. The one year mark of that day is coming soon and it's a day I am currently dreading. It's the undercurrents of loss that are having an effect right now.

I'm not good at just sitting with things. I am a fixer. I am a person in motion, mentally if not always physically. Go, do, see, reflect, analyze, write, move on. Grief demands stillness and patience, two things I am really not good at.

Trying to recapture something: a habit, a routine, a feeling from 14 years ago is a fools errand. Life changes, we change. Can we hold on to the things that really mean something to us? Sure. But we cannot be who we once were. We have to move on, even without the people who once meant the most to us.

I know I'm conflating my tumblr blog's ancient past with the more recent death of my mother. They are not the same things by a long shot. But there is a common theme here. Things change and we have to change with them. To stay stuck, stagnant, caught between what we've lost and where we're meant to go, is no way to live.

This post did not end up where I started, but that's writing for you. It does it's own thing and I'm just the conduit.

Anyway, I hope you are all doing well - as well as we all can these days - and that you keep moving on in your own way, at your own pace. Keeping looking forward, because there is no going back.

[sharkieboi]

just finished the Broken Earth trilogy and ngl I’m never gonna be the same

[anonymusbosch]

sometimes i feel like extending the kindness you can, when you can, is the only thing there is