#like what are you doing?? how are you living like that? where did you find that innate certainty and where can i get some

[summertimesadnessirl]

This is adorable. The kids are good.

But no. They don't care about China.

Or... not really.

I will say... China has a greater vested interest in you being financially successful than the USA does.

Chinese companies make money when Americans have disposable income.

The US government benefits from citizens not being able to afford college so they join the military, big companies paying for campaign contributions that want their employees in debt so they can't quit their jobs, etc.

I think about that a lot.

But mostly, the USA has a history of funding art and media specifically to prevent people from doing communism.

https://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/modern-art-was-cia-weapon-1578808.html

And the USA has a history of anti intellectualism.

Then of course we have a history of the news in the USA being manipulated by the government in various ways.

None of this is a secret.

Just like it's not a secret that they gave black men syphilis in the 60s and 70s to see what would happen or that people in mental institutions were the subject of experiments around the same time or that they gave out tons of lsd to hippies in the 1960s, including to the Manson family after an experiment where a normal agent unalived after taking it.

Google and Amazon have defense contracts.

The government is always up Zuckerbergs ass because he doesn't.

That's why he's so nervous and went to see Trump suddenly.

Last time he was in office there was no tiktok and they tried to throw the book at him for Cambridge Analytica even though it was Steve Bannon and some people in the UK who did that.

The thing is that FB as a whole isn't innocent. There was a settlement with some other people a few years before this where they gave a bunch of people depression using the timeline just to see if they could.

But as soon as tik tok goes down, Zuckerberg goes to performatively kiss Trumps ass because he's not dumb.

I actually do believe they think that if they let people openly attack LGBTQ people more it will create sympathy. I don't think I think that's a good idea, but I could see how a panel of nerds could be like "we are sick of trying to find new ways to squish all the euphemisms for all these hate groups what if we just let all the people dogpile these people for being openly bigoted until they log off?"

It's because if the government wants to use tiktok to maintain the US status quo narratives for their citizens, they have to do it by paying China. Otherwise, China might actually be incentivized to care more about your well being because people with a lot of disposable income who mostly don't care about brand names and have a lot of free time will buy more things from China and use the things and post videos where they use them.

People who are too busy working and being stressed out about work and pushed into the idea that everyone else is doing okay and structural problems are their fault are good for the united states.

They don't do China any good.

China doesn't care how many hours you work if you buy the same amount of painting supplies or earbuds that translate languages or cake molds that make little valentine shaped bundt cakes or led light up stickers that detect motion and light up when you pass by or whatever.

So as long as people buy stuff from temu or shein or whatever they don't really care to try to use their algorithm to prioritize certain messages about how people should live over others and people can talk to each other more freely.

There need to be more social media sites not controlled by the USA. We should not have one nation with a bottleneck of social control over other nations with propaganda. That's not conducive to a healthy society.

Nope now it’s at the point that i’m shocked that people off tt don’t know what’s going down. I have no reach but i’ll sum it up anyway.

SCOTUS is hearing on the constitutionality of the ban as tiktok and creators are arguing that it is a violation of our first amendment rights to free speech, freedom of the press and freedom to assemble.

SCOTUS: tiktok bad, big security concern because china bad!

Tiktok lawyers: if china is such a concern why are you singling us out? Why not SHEIN or temu which collect far more information and are less transparent with their users?

SCOTUS (out loud): well you see we don’t like how users are communicating with each other, it’s making them more anti-american and china could disseminate pro china propaganda (get it? They literally said they do not like how we Speak or how we Assemble. Independent journalists reach their audience on tt meaning they have Press they want to suppress)

Tiktok users: this is fucking bullshit i don’t want to lose this community what should we do? We don’t want to go to meta or x because they both lobbied congress to ban tiktok (free market capitalism amirite? Paying off your local congressmen to suppress the competition is totally what the free market is about) but nothing else is like TikTok

A few users: what about xiaohongshu? It’s the Chinese version of tiktok (not quite, douyin is the chinese tiktok but it’s primarily for younger users so xiaohongshu was chosen)

16 hours later:

Tiktok as a community has chosen to collectively migrate TO a chinese owned app that is purely in Chinese out of utter spite and contempt for meta/x and the gov that is backing them.

My fyp is a mix of “i would rather mail memes to my friends than ever return to instagram reels” and “i will xerox my data to xi jinping myself i do not care i share my ss# with 5 other people anyway” and “im just getting ready for my day with my chinese made coffee maker and my Chinese made blowdryer and my chinese made clothing and listening to a podcast on my chinese made phone and get in my car running on chinese manufactured microchips but logging into a chinese social media? Too much for our gov!” etc.

So the government was scared that tiktok was creating a sense of class consciousness and tried to kill it but by doing so they sent us all to xiaohongshu. And now? Oh it’s adorable seeing this gov-manufactured divide be crossed in such a way.

This is adorable and so not what they were expecting. Im sure they were expecting a reluctant return to reels and shorts to fill the void but tiktokers said fuck that, we will forge connections across the world. Who you tell me is my enemy i will make my friend. That’s pretty damn cool.

[mayakern]

In light of finding out that there's actually people out there being jerks to you in your inbox, I wanted to tell you how much joy you've brought into my life without even knowing about it! My girlfriend introduced me to your art and your clothing and I've been a huge fan ever since! Your art makes me feel more comfortable in my own skin and see beauty where I hadn't thought to look before, and watching you succeed puts a smile on my face. I wish you and your wife a long and happy life full of joyful memories and interesting stories!

aw thank you, this is so incredibly sweet 🥺🥺🥺

we did have a couple ppl being weirdly combative at the combo of me asking why ppl hadn't purchased from the canada store (this was a genuine question to see if there were issues we didn't know about, which there were) and then me talking about what a rough position the business is in currently, but largely people have been nothing other than extremely kind and supportive and wonderful.

i think it often comes down to the sad reality that when a small brand like us, which is more expensive than fast fashion in large part because we use certified ethical labor, talks about our financial/sales issues in a time when most people are struggling, people sometimes get defensive.

even if i am not being aggressive or mean or blaming our customers--i am also a non-wealthy person who lived through 2024, i have not at any point been unaware of just how difficult things have gotten and i don't blame anyone for their financial situation--because of the type of business i run, seeing me or the business fail can make people feel guilty. because even tho a lot of people try not to think about it, when you buy a fast fashion shirt for $5--or when you buy several, knowing that they'll fall apart after just a few wears--there are so many "invisible" costs. knowing that you can afford a shein clothing haul because someone was, at best, paid pennies to make the garments wears a person down. knowing, too, that that piece of clothing that was made by exploiting other humans is going to end up in the trash relatively quickly also takes its toll.

for a lot of people, fast fashion is all they can afford. and also for a lot of people, they have convinced themselves that buying a higher quantity of cheap garments that will fall apart quickly is more affordable or a better deal than saving up for one more expensive piece that will last them multiple years. after all, buying a single garment that you'll wear for years doesn't give you nearly as much of a dopamine hit as getting an entire clothing haul that costs the same amount up front.

and i think because of this--because a lot of people make this choice and do not feel proud of it--when they see me or my business struggle, they project their own feelings of guilt and assume that i must be blaming them personally. that i am figuratively breathing down their neck and haunting their closets.

the truth is, i know the path i have chosen is not the easy one. i could probably make a lot more money and live a lot more comfortably if i operated on a business model that more closely resembled fast fashion. but for as long as i can afford them, i would like to stick to my ideals. and i don't blame other people for not being able to do the same.

[urno1luv]

Can you please make the puppy gf yunjin into a full fic/imagine including the things you already said in the short you posted? 🙏🙏🙏

encountering a clingy puppy hybrid called yunjin and falling in love with her, despite her weird and often creepy antics -◇

tags: clingy yunjin, breaking in, she's lowkey a creep (but not a perverted one), obsessive?, desperate sex (gp and non gp versions)

The first time Yunjin noticed you, her world tilted. Her floppy ears perked up, her pupils dilated, and her tail wagged in excitement. Something about you—the way you smiled shyly at your friend, the way your voice carried across the room—made her chest ache in ways she didn’t understand. It wasn’t love at first sight. It was more than that.

From then on, Yunjin became a shadow in your life, always lingering just a step behind, like a lost puppy. At first, you thought it was sweet. She’d always find you during breaks, showing up with your favorite snacks or insisting on walking you to your next class, her arm in yours. Her presence was magnetic—warm, comforting. You didn’t notice how tightly her fingers gripped your arm when she pulled you closer, or how her smile faded the moment someone else tried to talk to you.

But then, the texts started.

“Where are you?”

“Who are you with?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?”

You’d barely reply before your phone buzzed again, another question, another demand. The messages came at all hours, and when you didn’t respond, she’d call—her voice breathless, almost panicked.

“I was worried,” she’d say, her tone dripping with sweetness, though there was an edge to her words that made you uneasy.

One evening, as you were heading home, you spotted Yunjin waiting outside your door. She wasn’t supposed to know where you lived...😰

“Yunjin?” you asked, trying to mask the surprise in your voice. “What are you doing here?”

She smiled, holding up a bag, her canines shining through her genuine smile. “You mentioned you weren’t feeling well, so I brought you soup. I just wanted to take care of you.”

It was a thoughtful gesture, but the way her warm eyes bore into yours made your skin prickle.

“Thanks, but… how did you know where I live?”

Her smile widened. “Oh, I asked around. It wasn’t hard.”

You didn’t have the heart to turn away such a sweet girl, but as she followed you inside, something about her presence felt suffocating. She hovered too close, her eyes flicking to every detail in your home as if she were memorizing it. You noticed how she made sure to rub her cheek on your neck... was she scenting you?

That night, after she left, you found a strand of her hair on your pillow.

Days turned into weeks, and Yunjin’s behavior grew more intense. She started showing up unannounced more often, always with an excuse—she’d forgotten something at your place, or she just wanted to see you. She knew your schedule better than you did, waiting for you after classes, walking you home, always there, always watching. Her yearning gaze would follow you in a way that made your stomach twist.

When you tried to set boundaries, Yunjin brushed them off with a laugh, acting as if you were joking.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” she teased, but her tone was laced with something darker. To make a point, she suddenly bit your wrist, hard enough to leave a mark, giggling at your yelping.

One day, you decided to take a different route home, hoping for a moment of peace. But as you turned the corner, you found her waiting at the end of the street, her smile too perfect, too knowing.

“You didn’t think I’d lose track of you, did you?” she asked, tilting her head. Her voice was light, but her eyes burned with something that made your heart race.

You tried to brush it off, but Yunjin’s presence only became more suffocating. She started leaving notes in your bag, little love letters written in her elegant handwriting.

“You’re mine,” one read.

“We belong together,” said another.

---◇

The final straw came when you woke up one night to find her sitting on the edge of your bed.

“Yunjin?!” you gasped, scrambling back against the headboard.

She tilted her head, in pure puppy fashion, her expression unnerving you. “You left your window unlocked,” she said, as if that explained everything. “I got worried when you didn’t text me back. I couldn’t sleep not knowing if you were okay.”

Her fevour and devotion for you sent a chill down your spine. You tried to steady your voice. “Yunjin, this… this isn’t normal. You can’t just come into my house like this.”

Her smile faltered, and for a moment, something flickered in her eyes—hurt, anger, desperation.

“I’m doing this because I love you,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “Don’t you see? You’re my everything. I can’t… I can’t lose you.”

You didn’t know what to say, your mind racing as you tried to figure out how to get her to leave. But before you could speak, she leaned closer, her hands softly holding your face, her warm hands and heavy breathing soothing your panic slightly.

“You don’t have to be scared,” she whispered. “I’ll always take care of you. Always.”

Her words sounded more like a promise than reassurance, and as she stood to leave, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from over.

The door clicked shut behind her, but her presence lingered—an invisible weight pressing down on you. You stared at the window she’d used to sneak in, your heart pounding as you realized she would never let you go.

when you fall in love ---◇

- despite her overwhelming presence, Yunjin’s softer moments make your heart flutter. the way she looks at you, like you’re her entire world, becomes addictive.

- her obsessive attention to detail feels flattering at times—she remembers everything about you, from your favorite coffee order to the way you like your books organized.

- when she clings to your arm or rests her head on your shoulder, you feel a strange sense of comfort, like you’re her safe place.

- her determination to always take care of you becomes endearing, especially when she shows up with things you didn’t realize you needed, like an umbrella on a rainy day or soup when you’re sick.

- you catch yourself smiling when she texts you goodnight every single night without fail, her messages filled with warmth and affection.

- the intensity in her gaze when she talks to you makes your stomach flip—it’s like she’s silently telling you how much you mean to her.

- over time, her possessiveness starts to feel less threatening and more like she’s terrified of losing you, which makes you want to protect her in return.

- her vulnerability during emotional moments tugs at your heart; the way her voice shakes when she says, “I can’t lose you,” makes you realize how much she needs you.

- the little notes she leaves for you, filled with sweet words and doodles, make your chest feel warm. you keep them tucked away, unable to throw them out.

- one day, when she shyly confesses how deeply she feels for you, her honesty is so raw and sincere that you can’t help but fall for her too. And now you're girlfriends let's gooo🗣‼️

how sex with yunjin is like (non gp version) -◇

- she NEEDS close contact,so she makes sure to have you extremely close when fucking. any position where she doesn't see your face? she's NOT doing it, always whining and grumbling in your ear when she fucks you with her favourite navy blue strap from behind, but you suggested doing it in front of a mirror, and that was the best day of her life. the mascara running down your face, drool running down your chin, and it turns out it's not so bad!!! bc she can lean down and mark your back whenever she wants!! your sessions always end in you flinching in pain when you feel her bite marks, but yunjin won't let you sit in pain for too long!! no no!! she has the BEST aftercare in the world🤞🤞

- praises you ALL the time. she hates degrading you, doesn't like the idea of even disrespecting you, even if you want it😭she definitely says stuff along the lines of:

"C'mon baby, just one more, give me one more doll, i know you can. I know you can do it for me."

"You're so pretty underneath me like this, d'ya know that?"

"Ugh, you feel so fucking good, you're so fucking wet for me, you like that, y/nnie?"

- certified service dom, and ur her lucky pillow princess

- she will scream and throw a tantrum if she doesn't get to taste you on her tongue for at least 2 hours a day. yunjinnie begs all day for you, following you around your house. even at college she would ask to have you. "please, pleaseeee? you're not being a good girlfriend right now."

- when she doesn't get what she wants she wants talk to you at all, until you give it to her. and so you reluctantly do, and that was a mistake. she doesn't let you go until she's positive that you can't walk or talk and your brain scrambled. when there's saliva everywhere, and your clit is sore and an angry shade of red, the 9th orgasm gushing out of your pussy, and your body limp?? she's accomplished her life's purpose.

(gp version) -◇

- desperate as fuck. her breeding kink is absolutely uncontrollable. she would bend you over the kitchen counter, smacking your ass while pulling your panties off (you dont bother wearing clothes around her because shes going to rip them off anyway). she'd push her dick into your pussy, and when she feels you clench around her tip, she already feels like she's in heaven. she wpuld pump her hot, thick cum into you until youre gripping the edge of the counter, panting heavily.

- marking you everywhere. your neck, your waist, your belly, your shoulders, your wrist, your thighs, your pu-

- she lives for the sound you make when you gag on her fat cock... quickly thrusting deep, so that your nose is pressed against her tummy, and her heavy balls slap against your chin as she repeatedly fucks your face without warning

- like the non gp version, she prefers to see your face, and positions like mating press are the best in her opinion!! that's where her cock hits the deepest, and filling your pussy up with her semen is the only thought in her mind rn🤞🤞

[accessible-tumbling]

ID: Four screenshots of Reddit posts. The first screenshot is of a Reddit post on "r/harrisonburg" by "u/MarkWestin", titled: "Need a fake kid to piss off my wife".

The post reads:

"My wife and I are watching Elf together and we saw the part where Buddy (Will Ferrell)'s real dad (James Caan) tells his wife about Buddy, and his wife (Mary Steenburgen) gets excited about this surprise adult kid that pops into their life from a time before they knew each other.

I point out to my wife that it's a little unbelievable that she (Mary Steenburgen) would immediately be on board. I then comment that she (my wife) would actually be mad at me in this situation, even if I genuinely did not know this kid existed and it was conceived before I had met her.

She denies it, but I know my wife.

We're in our early 40s and have been married 10 years (together for 12). So, I need a 20ish kid to knock on the door and tell me they're my kid and that they just wanted to meet me. Gotta be convincing and really talk about how your mom and I were once really happy before she died of something tragic (dealer's choice).

Job pays $100."

The next three screenshots are of another Reddit post, by the same user, in the same subreddit, titled: "Fake Kid/Pissed Wife: Epilogue".

They read:

"TLDR: My wife enjoyed the prank, but I was wrong, she wasn't mad that I had a kid before her, she was actually just as stoked as Mary Steenburgen was in the movie.

First off, I am STILL married and my wife thoroughly enjoyed the prank (I didn't even have to sleep on the couch).

So, to the very dramatic naysayers (one of which compared my prank to spousal abuse, several diagnosed me with a number of mental illnesses and at least as many said I was childish and cruel) to you i say, "You're probably right, however... nah nah nah-booboo, stick your head in doodoo."

We've been married a decade. We know each other well enough to know what's over the line and what's funny.

That said, it was harder than I thought to secure a fake child. Sure, I had a large number of interested parties and even a couple fabulous candidates (one of which actually looked enough like me that I started wondering if one of you got to my wife and we're pulling the ultimate Uno Reverse Card on my prank).

Unfortunately, "interested" and "committed" are two very different things. Multiple potential sons and daughters made it to the planning stage and found one reason or another to bail out.

Let me be clear, I do not blame these folks at all.

I don't think l'd have the courage to send the first DM, let alone actually go through with the prank orchestrated by a complete stranger. But I did find a suitable actor with the courage to come through and I still think it was money well spent.

So here's a synopsis of how it played out (no, there's not a video):

Saturday afternoon, my doorbell rang. My dog lost his mind, as he is one to do, and my wife answered the door since I had pretended to take a call moments earlier.

"My son," looking about 20 to 25, taller and better looking than I, asked if I was home. My wife motioned to me (I had conveniently just ended my fake phone call) and I came to the door.

"My son," who even shared my first name (his idea, not mine) said he had something "kind of strange" to talk to me about. I asked if he wanted to come in (which literally almost blew the whole thing because I would sooner saw off my own foot than invite people in my house) but my wife didn't think much of it.

We came to the living room, I offered him a drink, he declined.

"My son" is an excellent actor, by the way. He would later say it was the anxiety of the situation and not wanting to mess up that made his "nervous demeanor" so convincing. This is from memory, but it's pretty much everything.

I'll let "my son" chime in with details should he feel like outing himself."

""Do you remember, 'Old Ex Girlfriend I Mentioned At Least Once In My Ten Year Marriage In Front Of My Wife?"

"Yeah..?"

"That's my mother..."

It was my wife who reacted first with "Oh no way!"

So I looked at her, feigning ignorance and then back at my son and said, "Is she ok?"

"Yeah she's fine, that's not why l'm here." My wife was nearly busting out of her chair, totally engrossed and completely. consumed with two strong theories...

1. Her husband had a long lost son.

and more importantly

2. Her husband hasn't figured out yet that he has a long lost son.

So I say, "Out with it kid, what's going on?"

"I'm 22 years old.."

My wife's eyes essentially bugged out of her head, having now confirmed her theories in her mind. She looks at me, seemingly annoyed that I hadn't put these obvious puzzle pieces together and INTERRUPTS my fake kid (nearly laughed but l held it together).

"I think he's telling you that he thinks you're his father."

My acting is not so great but I gave it a shot with "Wait, what?" My look of shock could use some work, but it played for the audience.

"My son" looked at me. "She's right. And I'm not here to ask for anything, in fact I don't have a lot of time to stay, but I just wanted to meet you and maybe exchange numbers?"

Me: "This is a lot to take in... I knew your mother a long time ago and she never said, I mean, I didn't know."

Him (I'm paraphrasing, but this kid deserves an Oscar): "She never told you. She only told me on Christmas morning. She didn't say anything bad about you, just that it was over and she was already dating my dad when she found out she was pregnant with me."

Me: "Wait, does you dad know?""

"Him: "Of course! And I've always known he wasn't my biological father. He's a great dad but lately l'd been wondering who my real father was so I asked mom and she told me."

Me: "Wow" (I freely admit, I had the easy part) My wife: (not saying anything, just taking it all in)

Not much else to tell in terms of the production.

We exchanged numbers, then he got his own fake phone call reminding him he was late for something or other and I walked him out.

The rest of the production was just my wife and I. I came back to the living room, doing my best "bewildered" act. We talked about it (covered things like paternity tests, etc.) and it turns out...

I was waaaaaaaaaay wrong. My wife wasn't mad, miffed or even slightly annoyed. She was full-on amazed, excited and entertained by the whole thing. I waited a few hours before I fessed up, but before I did, she kept saying how "cool" it was that I might have a son.

And then when I told her it was all a bullshit lie I made up to prove a point, she laughed. A lot.

I can't decide what amused her more... the effort I put into the ruse or the fact that I ended up proving her right in the process.

Here a couple gems from wife after I told her the truth.

"Where the hell did you find that guy?" "I'm glad your son wasn't a serial killer." "I might have been mad if he came here looking for money." "Next time you can save $100 and just assume you're wrong." "You know l'm going to get you back, right?"

That last one has me a little worried. :)"

End ID.

[gaypirate420]

Crawling back to you// Jayce Talis

S2!Jayce Talis x AFAB!reader.

Summary: He's been away from you far too long.

Do I wanna know?- Hozier cover.

Smut/Angst/Fluff.

Everything is loud. Chaos surrounded him as he found his way away from the commune, images still flashing through his mind like a painful, torturous reminder of what he saw, of the hell he lived in for gods-knows how long.

His hammer suddenly felt heavy, he made a promise but now it weighted on his shoulders. He whimpers under his breath as his feet dragged him out of the war zone that suddenly arrived at the commune.

Jayce didn't have a destination in mind, well, maybe deep in his subconscious he did, but it was so hard to think, he can barely find his way out of the undercity. He stumbles and has to stop every couple of minutes to catch his breath, the Man of Progress reduced to a panting and stumbling mess, a man beat out of every last drop of sanity, a shell of himself.

He walks and walks, every step more erratic and desperate than the other, he wants to go home, to sleep, to wake up tomorrow and make sure all of this was a nightmare, Jayce comes to a stop, he's arrived wherever his body has taken him, leaning against a wall with shaky pants for breath and a small electric bolt of pain coming from his leg. His tired eyes look up, his mind and body in it's haze has found its way to your cottage.

He freezes, taking deep shaky breaths like he's about to have a panic attack but then he sees your shadow on the second floor, your back as you dusted off something near your window, unaware of the poor inventor that can barely stand on his feet.

But he stares, dazed hazel eyes drowning in the domestic scene, like he hasn't come from an alternate reality where you, everyone, everything was gone. Like he didn't just come from blowing a hole in the chest of his best friend. He feels like he's coming home, like those days he'll check out earlier from the workshop and come visit you and have a nice home made dinner and a well earned cuddly nap.

Jayce stumbles forward, his calloused hand pushes the little door of your fence, his hammer dragging next to the flowers of your garden. The sound of your gate opening made you jump, you turned around and gasped loudly at the sight of your missing lover. You ran, flew, probably, down the stairs frantically searching for your keys as you unlocked the door, you swan it opened and there he was.

"My love..." You whispered, your throat feeling tight. He drops his hammer and stares at you for a couple of seconds, his eyes wide and pupils blowing, you're the first one to move, bare feet stepping out of the door frame and cup his face. He froze, he hasn't been touched for so long.

Jayce broke down in an instant, his broad frame trembled as tears quickly pooled and fell from his eyes, leaving a clear trail in his dirty and scarred face. He wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face on your neck, a loud ugly sob breaks from his throat.

Your own tears threaten to fall down, one of your hands runs down his back, trying to comfort him. His legs finally give out, making you and him fall to the wooden floor of your porch. Jayce keeps sobbing, repeating your name over and over like a prayer.

"I'm right here, puppy." You whispered softly, your fingers running down his hair, his face was deep in your neck, your skin muffling the cries and whines that come out of him.

You just whisper that same phrase every time he calls your name, you answer that you're right here with him, reassuring him that he hasn't gone mad, he's not a hallucination and you're real. It helps both ways, he feels real, he's here too, back in your arms after so long. His sobs die down after a couple of minutes, small hiccups left as a reminder of how hard he cried. Jayce slowly lifted his head from your neck.

"Hm..ngh-.."He tries to talk, to say something more than your name, but he can't not yet at least, his eyes are hazy and dull, he's back home physically but not mentally.

"Shhh, it's alright, my darling. Let's get inside." You whispered softly, he nodded slowly, you helped him stand up, letting him let some of his weight on you instead of his injured leg.

You don't want to hear about what happened, not yet at least, not after he just cried unconsolably for almost ten minutes. Jayce made it to the couch, you laid down with him, he returned to his previous position, curled against you with his face on your neck.

Jayce could feel your pulse, it was a little faster, he could feel your skin, your soft skin he loved to touch, how his fingers used to brush mindless patterns against it while you slept. Your hair, your beautiful hair he loved to bury his nose in. He takes a deep breath, the familiar smell of your perfume and shampoo hitting him, the inventor whimpers and holds you tighter, almost like a child clinging to a toy.

"ngh- mised ya- so much." The inventor whispered against your skin, his chapped lips trembling slightly, your fingers brushed the back of his neck, he shivered and buried his face further, the feeling of your skin against his feels so grounding.

"I missed you too, I thought I wouldn't see you again." You whisper back into his hair, feeling a small knot forming on your throat from all the bottled emotions, you gasped softly as he placed a soft kiss on your neck. Your lover sighed, his breath hot and ragged against your skin, you were clean and soft a sharp contrast with his muddy and scarred skin.

His shaky hands have a death grip on your waist, but they relax after a couple of minutes, his breathing slows down and his fingers start roaming around the sides of your waist, feeling you. His lips continue the small and featherlight kisses on your neck, you tilted your head out of instinct.

"...miss...so much..." Jayce whispered against you again, for him it feels like he can't get enough of these words, he needs to tell you how much he missed you and he needs for you to reassuring him over and over again. Your fingers run down the back of his neck making him gasp and shudder against you.

"Shhhh, you're back home, beloved." You whisper back, his body curls closer, a soft moan leaves his lips and a small gasp leaves yours when you feel something bumping your thigh.

"m'sorry, doll...m'so sorry..." He whined against you, you can feel how he's stopping himself from grinding against you, that second, that small movement sends an electric shot right through his spine and into his brain.

"That's quite alright, handsome." You spoke softly, he nodded but a small needy whine left his trembling lips.

"ngh- m'sorry...been so long, sweetheart, your fingers, you feel- ngh-" He couldn't finish his sentence because his hips betrayed him and moved on their own, a small roll against your thigh, he shivered and moaned, for such a small action, the sound that escaped him was uncharacteristically lewd.

Your hand cups his face, he leans in like a stray cat getting a pet for the first time ever. It makes your heart ache, how broken he returned, but it's also quite pleasant to hear his little breaths and whine.

"Want a hand, puppy?" You ask softly, he closes his eyes taking deep breaths as your words sink, he nods frantically.

"...please..." Jayce whines again, he tries to nuzzle closer but a shot of pain curses through his leg, making him teary eyed and bury his face back on your neck with a pathetic whimper.

"Oh, my beautiful love....shhh..." You whispered, stroking his hair to try and calm him down again, still, his need is growing impatient, he rolls his hips again, slower this time.

"I think our attention should be focused on something else, stud." You whispered pressing a soft kiss on his hair, he whined and shook his head, his big hands gripping against your sides.

"pl- nghh- please, dot, don't leave me like this..." Jayce whines against your skin, there's a sense of guilt behind the shiver that ran through your body, but it's starting to be watered down by his hands starting to wander around your waist.

"Only because you're begging so nicely." You whispered against his ear, the tall man moaned deliciously against you and nodded, he likes to beg, to cry until you give in and reward him.

Your hands went to his shoulders, pulling him away, he gasped and latched onto your waist.

"Shhh, don't worry, my love...let's just get you more comfortable." You said gently, trying to hold a chuckle as the sight of such a tall man holding onto you like a cat would be its favorite toy was quite funny. He nodded slowly, you lay him down on the couch, prepping a cushion on his head and making sure his injured leg was spread and comfortable. He didn't resist, didn't even whine in discomfort.

"Good boy, off to a great start." You whispered with a soft smirk, Jayce felt his member throbbing just from your words, he swallowed and looked up at you with glassy eyes. You leaned down, your lips meeting his forehead, then his brow.

"How I missed you- missed kissing your pretty face." You spoke against his skin, he gasped softly with each kiss, like he forgot how your lips felt and was experiencing them for the first time.

"...missed kisses too..." He whispered softly, you smiled softly, cupping his jaw, your fingers running through his beard, he sighs softly, tiling his head to give you more access to his neck.

"I like this." You whisper with a smirk, Jayce, like a puppy, tilt his head and stare at you.

"you d-do, doll?" He whispered, a little wide eyed, you nodded.

"I like it a lot." You whispered biting your lip as your smirk transformed into a mischievous grin. Jayce felt his cheeks heating up, he nodded at your words.

"I'll ke-keep it then, ngh-." Your lover mumbled, you chuckled softly, the sound of your laughter was so foreign to him but so familiar, he's been hearing it in his dreams for so long, in his delusions and hallucinations it lingered along with blurry memories of your face. His scarred lips turned into the smallest of smiles. With a slow and gentle movement, you got on his lap, your knee just below his aching member, you didn't dare to sit completely, not wanting to lean your weight on his bad leg by accident. Your face leaned closer and locked your lips with his.

It was like being lost in the sea and finally being found. Like the first rain after a hot summer.

Jayce moans against your lips, his hands holding onto you like a life line. He's hungry, starved for so long and finally is allowed to have you. His lips are rough, chapped and his beard makes the intense kiss a brand new experience. You've kissed him with some stubble before but this is a whole different level. And you're loving it.

His cock is hurting, pulsing with need, his hand wanders down to your free hand, he can't talk, his brain is going mushy with all this affection and need, you let him guide your hand, your fingers teasingly brush against the small patch of wetness on his pants.

Jayce lets out a wet and completely lewd sound, his whole body shudders and throws his head back into the cushion. You shudder with excitement, biting your cheek as your fingers undo his pants and finally release his throbbing and leaking cock from his boxers. He moans softly as your fingers brush against his bare skin.

"Nghh- d-doll, please, please, hurts-" He manages to whimper out, his eyes flutter as your hand wraps around his cock, the slow movement makes him whine.

"Good boy, I'll go slow." You whispered softly, leaning back down to meet his lips again, this time the kiss is slower, more soft, he pants and moans against your mouth as your hand moves up and down, stroking his sensitive length.

"s-sweetheart..." He called between gasps and pants, you pulled away slightly, your hand still stroking now a tad faster.

"Yes, baby?" You whisper, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead, making his eyes flutter a little bit. Some small shots of cum start leaking already, but you keep stroking, he opened his mouth to talk but only moans came out as you speedy your rhythm, his eyes roll back, his leg started shaking.

His eyes widen, his fingers burying on your skins as he throws his head back, a long shot of cum spitting out of his throbbing cock painting part of your arm white.

"ngh-! Hmmm! D-doll oh!" Tears form on his hazel eyes as another load of his cum shot, he moans against the cushion.

"Good boy, there you go, my lovely." You whispered, peppering kisses on the side of his face. He pants desperately, almost gasping for air, a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead. The praise goes straight to his brain, his cock still hard and throbbing against your hand.

"Inside you, please, beautiful." He muttered, his hands clinging to your sides like a life line. You stare at him, as you ponder his request, your thumb wiping the tears off his face. You would be lying if all this moaning and crying didn't leave you needy for more.

"Want to be inside me, baby?" You asked softly with a smirk, he nods frantically with a whimper, he mumbles 'please' over and over rapidly, like a prayer. You shushed him by pressing soft kisses on his lips, with a couple of smooth movements your pants and underwear were off. He stares up at you, scanning your features, every little thing that was slowly becoming foggy on his memory when he was in that cave.

Jayce's eyes roam down at your fingers rubbing onto your sensitivity, your soft moans filling your ears as you make yourself wetter, he leans in and steals a couple of kisses, making you gasp softly and smile softly.

"Mhm...pretty..." He whimpered out between pants, your hand returned to his cock, stroking again as you positioned yourself better.

"Wanna taste you..." He adds with a whine. You shushed him gently, cupping his face.

"Another time, my love." You whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, his fingers buried deep on your skin, the neediness and strong cling onto you was making you feel so good already. With a soft gasp you went down, his aching member sliding into your wet folds pretty easily. Jayce moaned softly, his healthy leg moved slightly to find a better position, the small movement was enough to bury himself deeper and make you whimper in pleasure.

It's been so long since he filled you so nicely, but you two were like puzzle pieces, perfectly fitting.

"Oh- mhm- I missed you so much, puppy." You gasped softly before starting rocking your hips, his eyes roll in the most delicious way, his mouth slightly open as he pants and moans softly with the slow rhythmic movement.

Your whole body tingles with pleasure, this is slower and far gentler than you've ever been with each other, but after such a long time it felt so good. Almost as good as the first kiss, the first time his hands wandered around your body.

"s-nhg- so good." He mumbled almost mindlessly between moans, his hips moving alongside yours for a couple of seconds. Jayce was exhausted, incredibly so but he needed this so badly. The way you felt around him, your soft sounds and movements made the tiredness dissipate for a moment. He can pretend he's just with you, there's nothing wrong, not when you're with him, your lips touching every inch of his face and your hands caressing him.

Unsurprisingly, the pleasure became too much, his hands gripped around your hips harder and pushed you down, making you moan and tug on his hair involuntarily. With a couple of pushes from his, his leg started to shake, tears built again around his eyes.

"Doll-"

"I know, puppy, you can come." You panted softly, biting your lip as his hips become a little faster and aggressive. A small sob breaks through him before morphing in with a moan, he gasps and leans his head back on the cushion, his seed shooting inside you, the grip on your hips weakness. It felt so heavenly, the gentle throbbing along his sweet sounds were enough to leave you satisfied, Jayce was whispering curses to himself as he finally found relief.

"G-good boy- so good, my love." You whispered shakily, leaning down to rest your forehead against his, some droplets of sweat trailing down his face. His thumbs ran gentle circles against your skin, just feeling you and grounding himself back to reality.

"Love y'so much." Jayce murmurs softly, the pooled tears falling down silently along his cheeks.

"I love you too, puppy." You whispered back, you pulled away from his forehead and tried to untangle your from his body.

"No, pl-please, sweetheart." Jayce murmurs, his voice thick and a little sleepy, he tugs you back in, making you chuckle and nuzzle your face on his chest.

"Just a minute more." He says, keeping himself inside you, one of his hands traveling up to your hair, his chapped lips resting on top of your hair.

"Just let me feel you."

Taglist: @pickuptruck01 @sseleniaa

A/N: IM SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG, I hope y'all like it, I went in deep with the feelings instead of the smut I'm so so sorry.

[azzibuckets]

sweet [part five]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count: 3.1k

masterlist | sweet masterlist

It’s fleeting, the hardened look that passes over Azzi eyes. If Paige wasn’t so familiar with even the subtlest shifts in Azzi’s body language, she would’ve missed it. The squint of her eyes, the tenseness of her jaw; Azzi’s not just upset, she’s furious. And Paige has always felt bad for the people Azzi’s felt this way towards, the silent anger radiating off a face that was normally bright with a dimpled smile. She’s always thanked God that it was never her, that between them it’s always been a back and forth of shy smiles and blushes.

But now Azzi is staring at her as if she doesn’t even recognize her, and Paige is at an utter loss of what to do. “It’s always just sex with you, isn’t it?” Azzi says wryly. She pushes harshly away from Paige, wiping her neck, as if trying to erase the marks already bruising her skin. “I’m going to bed.”

“Wait, Azzi.” But Azzi ignores her, flipping to her side and pulling the sheets tight over her rigid body.

Paige knows there’s no use in arguing. It seems like hours that she stares at the ceilings, scared to even move. Tears gather at the corner of her eyes. Furious at herself, she scrubs them away. And she’s almost asleep, the physical and the mental exhaustion from the day creeping up on her, when she hears sniffles coming from the other side of the bed. And then Azzi is crying, and it takes everything in Paige to not turn around and take the other girl in her arms.

Azzi makes it a point to ignore her the entire time during rehab the next day and on the drive home. As soon as they return to Storrs, she locks herself in her room with Micaela, making it clear that she wants nothing to do with Paige.

But after a week of sleepless nights, Paige has had enough. She can’t stand the thought of living in a world where Azzi can’t even bear to look at her. Knowing Azzi won’t respond to any of her texts or calls, she takes it upon herself to check her apartment, but the younger girl’s room is empty, looking a little bare. Confused, she runs to Werth and checks the gym, the media room, and finally the kitchen, only to find Amari and Caroline the only ones there. “Where’s Azzi?”

Amari and Caroline exchange concerned looks. “She left,” Amari says gently. “She didn’t tell you?”

“Left?” Paige’s head spins. “Where’d she go?”

“Back to Virginia. She said she’s gonna finish out her rehab there.”

“What? Did she tell you guys?”

Amari looks at her, worried. “She told all of us last week, the day y’all came back from New York. We thought you knew?”

The day they came back from New York. “Fuck. How long is she gone for?”

“Probably past the end of season, maybe even the end of the semester,” Amari says, her eyes rounding in worry as she observes Paige’s increasingly frantic state.

“Fuck,” Paige repeats, massaging her temples. “She left and she didn’t even tell me?”

“You kinda deserve it,” Caroline says pointedly, always Azzi’s biggest defender.

Paige tries to muster up a glare at the brunette, but she’s exhausted, and she knows she has no one to blame but herself. “Yeah, I know,” she finally mutters dejectedly.

“So what’re you gonna do?” Amari questions.

Paige slumps into a chair beside them, kicking at the leg of the table. “I don’t fucking know. She doesn’t even wanna talk to me anymore.”

“Then make her.”

“What?”

“Go to Virginia. Apologize and make things right,” Caroline says, her voice hard. “I’m sick and tired of hearing you two pine over each other.”

In a daze, Paige walks the entire way back to her apartment. By the time she unlocks the door, she’s already bought a plane ticket for the same night. She startles when hands touch her shoulder and spin her around. “What’s up? You look pale.”

“Azzi went back home,” Paige responds distractedly, tapping at her screen as she texts Tim asking if he can pick up her from the airport.

“Home?” Ella laughs. “Well, she finally listened.”

That gets Paige’s attention. Looking up from her phone, she squints. “What?”

“I asked her to give you space,” Ella cocks her head. “She said she would, but you guys went to fucking rehab together last week. But now she’s gone, so I guess she really did listen.”

A knot of something painful starts to form at the base of Paige’s head. “You- what? Why the fuck would you ask my best friend to give me space?” she demands.

“Dude, you’re always so fucked up worrying about her. Even now, you look like you just fainted.” Ella regards her coldly. “Excuse me for wanting us to go on one date without you thinking of her.”

When Paige stares at her, her mouth agape, Ella steps even closer, wrapping a hand around her bicep. “Come on,” she purrs. “We can have so much fun now that’s she gone.”

“We’re over.” Ella has the audacity to look surprised.

Paige grabs her purse from the coffee table and pushes it roughly into her chest, causing the girl to stumble back. “Now get the fuck out of my apartment.”

Paige is already in her room by the time the door slams shut. She stuffs things haphazardly into her backpack as her mind reels. Azzi had left. Azzi had thought Paige didn’t care about her. The mere thought of Azzi thinking she could ever be a burden makes Paige feel sick with fury. God, she had said all those things to Azzi, just for her best friend to think she was doing her a favor?

••

“Thank you for picking me up on such short notice.” Paige fiddles nervously with the straps of her backpack. “I’m not sure if coming here was a good idea but-”

“Paige,” Tim interrupts her train of thought, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. “You know you’re always welcome. But, just a warning…Azzi might not be the happiest that you’re here. But give her some time, and she’ll cool down. She always does.” Tim’s unwavering confidence should give Paige a boost of the same energy, but it only shakes her up more. Everyone’s expecting them to make up like they always do after every petty fight, but what if they can’t make it through? What if this is it? Paige has never fucked up like this, never hurt Azzi so much that the younger girl felt the need to put multiple states between the two of them.

When Tim pulls into the driveway, Paige asks for a moment. The older man gives her a comforting hug before heading up to the house first, giving her space. Taking a deep breath to try and calm her racing heartbeat, she fluffs up the flowers, attempting to make them look prettier. She adjusts and readjusts the envelope placed in the middle of the petals. She runs her hands through her hair and scrubs at the stain at her sweater but to no avail. Paige is going to apologize to Azzi, and she’s going to make it right. Rolling her shoulders, she steps out of the car and marches to the front door.

Before she can even reach for the handle, the door swings open. Paige blinks.

“You’re here,” Jon sighs in relief, throwing his body at her. Paige balks for a moment before returning the hug.

“Were you watching me?”

Jon smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, but you were taking so long. Why were you looking in the mirror so much? You look fine.”

Paige blushes and pushes him away. “Stop stalking me.”

Jon beams at her again, before his smile drops suddenly. “Uh, just so you know, her girlfriend’s here too.”

And just like that, all the confidence Paige has spent the last fifteen minutes gathering disappears. Paige clears her throat, not sure if she heard him right. “Micaela’s here?”

“They were calling for a long time yesterday night. And she showed up this morning.” Jon pauses, looking at her meaningfully. “With a suitcase.” Then his smile is back, just as bright as it was before. “I talked to her a bit. She’s cool. But you’re Paige.” He pushes her towards the staircase. “Go.”

Azzi’s door is opened a crack, and Paige peeks through. Micaela and Azzi are on her bed, Azzi snuggled in her arms. They’re watching something on the TV. Micaela kisses the top of Azzi’s head, and Azzi looks up at her and laughs.

Fuck. Paige can’t do this. She backs away from the door. Micaela, she treats her so well. She puts Azzi first. And Micaela hasn’t hurt Azzi like Paige has. This is the biggest Paige has seen Azzi smile in months - her best friend is finally happy.

In that moment Paige decides that she needs to let Azzi go. She sets her bouquet of flowers down outside the room as quietly as possible. She takes the envelope, crumples it up and puts it in her pocket. She was stupid for ever thinking that flowers and a letter would make up for all the shit she’s put Azzi through.

“Where are you going?” Paige is halfway out the front door when a firm voice stops her.

“Home.”

“Come in and close the door.” Paige wants to tell Katie that she isn’t her mother and that she has no right to tell her what to do. But Katie has been there for her when her own mother hasn’t, has welcomed her into her home for months at a time and still checks up on her every week over text. So she closes the door and faces the older woman, unable to look at the eyes so similar to the ones she’s fallen in love with.

Katie beckons for her to sit, and she follows suit. “As her mother, I don’t think I’m supposed to say this,” Katie says slowly. “But don’t give up, Paige.”

“She’s literally sitting in there with her girlfriend.” Paige’s bottom lip trembles. “I’m too fucking late, and I can’t even blame anyone but myself.”

“I know it feels like there’s no solution. But-”

“With all respect, you don’t understand, Katie.” Paige cuts her off. “I don’t think we can ever go back to the way we were.”

“And that’s the problem. You’re so focused on trying to return back to normal but is that what you really want? Maybe it’s good you guys can’t ever be the same again. Maybe it’s good you two take the risk to become something more.”

Paige stands up, resolute this time as she reaches for her duffel. “I can’t,” she says. “I can’t ruin this for her.”

“Stay,” Katie urges. “If not for Azzi, at least for yourself. I just checked the weather. There’s going to be a blizzard. It’s not safe for you to travel.”

Paige is about to open her mouth to protest before a familiar voice rings out. “Mom?” Azzi bounds down the stairs, a smile on her face. Micaela is close behind, reaching for her waist and laughing. But then Azzi’s eyes shift to where Katie’s looking, and she sees Paige. Her face drops immediately, and the action is enough to send Paige’s stomach hurdling. “Paige?”

Paige lifts a hand, forcing a weak smile onto her face. “Hey.”

Katie glances between the two of them. “Azzi, sweetie, Paige is here to stay for a few days,” she says lightly.

Azzi scoffs, disbelief etched onto her face. “Like hell she is.” She walks up to Paige, jabbing a finger in her face. “You can’t just show up at my house and expect everything to be fine, you asshole.”

“She can’t go home right now,” Katie says gently. “The snow’s six feet thick outside. It’s not safe.”

“We’ll find a way to make it work,” Micaela says softly, grabbing Azzi’s wrist in an effort to calm her down. “Let’s go, Az.”

Paige burns. No one calls Azzi that but her. Azzi glares at Paige one last time before following her girlfriend back upstairs. Katie’s eyes follow them, worried, until she heaves a sigh and faces Paige again. “Come on, hon,” she says. “You can stay in the guest room.”

Before now, Paige has never stepped foot in the guest room. It’s always gone without saying that whenever she stayed over, Azzi’s room became hers. Their clothes would mix in heaps on the floor until Paige would return home with a suitcase full of items half hers, half Azzi’s. The scent of lavender in the room would, for a few weeks, be overtaken by the more woodsy scent of Paige’s cologne. Now, the guest room is clean and airy, and it smells like lilacs.

Paige doesn’t like it.

But she sets her stuff down and texts the group chat to let them know she won’t be home for a few days.

Dinner is a silent affair, with Tim trying but failing to crack jokes to lighten the mood. Paige occupies herself with Jon and Jose, asking them about their basketball season and school, while Azzi talks in low tones to Micaela from across the table.

Paige is picking at the food on her plate when Micaela’s voice brings her out of her thoughts. “So, Paige, how long are you here for?”

Paige swallows her broccoli a little bit too quickly and coughs. “However long it takes for the storm to die down and my flight to clear.”

“And what were you here for?”

To finally confess to your girlfriend that I’m in love with her. Paige stabs another broccoli with her fork. “Just had some stuff to do in the area.”

“No use paying for a hotel when we have an extra room here,” Katie pitches in, saving her from having to lie even more. And while it’s clear neither Micaela or Azzi believe her, they don’t prod any further, leaving Paige to finish her food in silence.

••

“Can’t sleep?”

Paige turns around, surprised to see Micaela standing there, her expression clear. She leans back against the counter, tipping back her drink. “Something like that.”

“Mind if I join?”

Paige’s first instinct is to say no, but she realizes with a start that this is the girl Azzi loves. And if Azzi loves her, and she loves Azzi, there must be some part of her that can get along with Micaela. So she nods. “There’s grenadine and lemonade in the fridge.”

Micaela rummages through the fridge before returning with a concoction of her own. They stand in silence for a while, each of them sipping their own drinks, until Micaela says, “I’m not stupid. I know something happened between the two of you when you went to New York.”

Paige stares down at her glass, tracing its rim with her thumb. “Look,” she finally responds. “I fucked up with Azzi. I hurt her, a lot. I didn’t wanna come to terms with my feelings because I was a pussy. But don’t make that same mistake. I see you with her,” Paige pauses. “And she looks like how she used to. Before her injury. And if you’re the one who can bring her back to that, then I’m gonna help you.”

Micaela nods, taking everything in. “You still love her.”

“I don’t think I’ve admitted that to myself yet.” Paige finishes off her drink. “She was - is my best friend before anything else. I know that she knows I’ll die for her even if we never end up talking again. And I think I can be okay with that. That as long as she knows that I have her back, that there’s someone who’s always on her side, then I’ll be fine.”

Micaela tilts her head, studying her carefully. “Thank you,” she says softly.

Paige turns away, her eyes burning. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for Azzi.”

••

Paige stays true to her word. She sends Micaela Azzi’s rehab schedule and at-home therapy treatments. She carefully compiles a list of her comfort movies and shows and texts them to Micaela. When Azzi has a particularly rough day at rehab, Paige spends the entire time she’s gone building a pillow fortress on the couch in the basement. When Azzi’s in a mood, she likes feeling like a child again - it makes her worries a little smaller, a little easier to deal with. So Paige lays out blankets, fluffs up pillows, and buys popcorns and caprisuns from the store.

When Azzi comes home and hugs Micaela, raving about how cute it is and how much she appreciates it, Paige lingers near the stairs of the basement. The sound of Azzi’s giggles, even if not aimed at her, put a smile on her face.

She looks up as Tim passes by. He fixes her with a stern look. “Just so you know, I don’t approve of anything you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?” Paige tries to look innocent.

“You’re only going to hurt yourself doing this, Paige,” he warns.

Paige bites down on her lip, the skin there already tender from all her worrying. “As long as she’s happy,” she says stubbornly.

“Stop hiding,” he says lowly. “Show her you love her.”

But Paige can’t.

So she continues to love Azzi from afar. She makes sure there’s always multiple ice packs in the freezer. She prays every night before bed that God will take Azzi’s pain away and speed up her recovery process. She texts Azzi’s old high school friends, letting them know she’s back in town and to drop by to say hello when they can.

It’s 12 am and she’s cutting up strawberries when she hears steps and heavy breathing from behind her. Turning around, she’s surprised to see Azzi glowering at her.

“I found out.”

“Found out what?” Paige’s mouth is dry. This is the first time Azzi’s addressed her directly since the day she arrived, and to say she’s nervous is an understatement.

“Everything.” Azzi clenches her jaw. “The pillow fortress? The ice packs? The fucking strawberries you’re cutting that will magically end up in my lunch bag with Nutella tomorrow?”

Paige drops the knife on the counter, as if that would make her look any less guilty.

“Why do you have to make things complicated?” Azzi says, her voice hoarse as if she’s been crying. “I think I’m finally over you and then you show up to my house and you start making me feel things for you that I shouldn’t feel.”

Paige takes a cautious step forward. “Why can’t you feel them?”

“I have a girlfriend. And aren’t you scared? Right now we can still go back to being us. We can be friends. But this-” Azzi’s voice cracks. “We’ve caused each other so much pain and we’ve never even been together that way. Imagine if we actually dated and we broke up. God, Paige, that would fucking wreck me. At least when we’re friends I can rest with the fact that you’ll always be there somehow.”

“So you don’t even wanna try?” Paige’s tone is incredulous.

“Do you have any idea how much power you have over me?” Azzi chokes out.

Paige closes her eyes briefly. “I would never hurt you.”

“How can you say that?” Tears leak from Azzi’s eyes. “How can you say that when you already have?”

“Azzi.” She reaches for her hand. “Let us try. You know - you know I love you? I know I’ve been an ass, and I’ve fucked up over and over again. But I can’t-”

“Stop.” Azzi shakes her off, walking backwards as if even being near Paige is physically hurting her. “Please don’t make this hurt more then it has to.” She crosses her arms over her chest, withdrawing into herself as she shivers. “I thought I finally found it. Micaela - she’s perfect. Was perfect. Doing all these things that only one person before has ever done for me. Then we get into an argument and I find out that you’re behind all this shit? That my girlfriend has been lying through her teeth this entire time? God. When am I ever gonna find someone that actually cares about me?”

“Azzi, I just need one chance. Please.” Paige watches Azzi back away, and every fiber in her being is screaming at her best friend to stop running away her. “I care about you. And I found out what Ella said. She couldn’t have been more wrong. Fucking hell, you’ve never been a burden to me, Azzi. How could you ever think that?”

“It’s not gonna work out, Paige. It won’t.”

“So that’s it?” Paige spreads her arms, lets then fall helplessly by her side. “You’re just gonna give up before we even try? Like a fucking coward?”

“You have no right calling me a coward,” Azzi laughs bitterly. “Not when you used me for sex and dipped whenever the conversation got too serious.”

“You’re the one who always left first, not me,” Paige grits out through her teeth. “You’re the one who suggested being friends with benefits. You are just as much guilty as I am.”

“Well, I regret it.” Azzi’s words come tumbling out before she can stop them. “I regret everything.”

“You regret everything?” Paige repeats back, shaking her head in disbelief. “I might be an asshole, but you’re even worse than I am. I can’t even believe you right now.”

“Go home.” Azzi turns her back, and her body shudders, as if she’s sobbing. “I don’t want you here. You should’ve never came.”

“Gladly,” Paige spits out. “I fucking hate you for this.” And as she stands there, chest heaving with the arrows she’s thrown, chest hurting with the hurt of everything said and unsaid, she knows that she’s lying. That she could never hate Azzi, as much as she tried. But everything hurts too fucking bad, and Azzi is looking at her as if she’s the worst thing in the world. And when Paige goes home and looks at herself in the mirror, she thinks that maybe Azzi isn’t too far off.

••

Azzi walks into the guest room. She lies on the bed, inhaling the faint scent of Paige still lingering in the air. She turns on her side, burrowing her face into one of the pillows when she hears something crinkle. Confused, she reaches into the bedsheets and finds a worn, crumpled card. Her heart skips a beat when she flattens it out and sees familiar handwriting scrawled messily across the paper.

Dear Azzi,

I talk a lot. But I think you know me well enough that I show my feelings best through actions, not words. I’ve said hurtful things to you. I don’t know how to verbalize myself in a way that makes sense.

But I care about our relationship, so I’m writing this letter to try and finally put into words correctly the way I feel about you, because it’s the least you deserve - something honest, and something real from me. I know if I try to say this all in person, I’ll fuck it up somehow. So here is my letter, to you, that I’ll probably read and rewrite a million times.

I love you. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it. But I do. And I know now that no one has ever made me feel what you do.

I know now that you were frustrated with me because you thought I never saw you beyond a friend with benefits. But I swear that everything I’ve done, everything I’ve hurt you with, was because I was trying to protect myself from the pain of realizing that you have always been more than just a friend. It has never been because I saw it as “just sex.” I saw it as more, I wanted it as more, and I was too immature to deal with it in a way that was kind to you. I’ll regret that forever.

I have never not loved you. I don’t think I will ever stop loving every single thing about you. And I keep repeating myself, but I really am sorry. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to give you everything that you deserve, but still, I want to try. Hence why I’m coming here like a sap with all the flowers and shit tryna win you back.

But if somehow everything goes wrong and we never end up speaking again, just know that I’ll think about you every night before I sleep, just like I do now. Just know that I’ll always give us a second chance. I think we are inevitable. (I hope i spelled that right)

And if hopefully everything goes right and you forgive me and I somehow am able to be a part of your life after everything, then I promise I’ll work every day to show that I am serious about us. No other person, no other distractions, nothing else. Just you.

But no matter what happens, whatever decision you choose, as long as you’re happy, I’ll find a way to be happy.

Love,

Paige

[beyondthetemples-ooc]

I took it for my OCs because this just has Such a Good Exploration of Their Aesthetics and Motivations that I wanted to see what they'd get!

Dove:

(wait how did Dove get the same result as me, I think all of her answers were different???) Anyways:

a ring

you’ve made the band simple and beautiful, and inlaid just the details needed to make it special. not too gaudy, not too plain. it’s a ring meant to last forever, meant to be worn forever; when you put it on someone, it wraps around their finger perfectly, delights them. you’ve tried to make it something that people will keep. you needn’t have worried: no matter who you put it on, with time, it starts to wrap tighter around their finger. starts to cling. starts to constrict. you can’t take it off of them, when they beg you to get them free; their skin starts to redden, to bruise, to go black. the only time they manage to get it off is when the finger goes with it. as a sign of devotion, it leaves a strong impression. nobody that you pledge yourself to leaves without a mark.

(This result is weirdly fitting for her, considering she spends a solid 3 chapters fretting that her husband choosing to live his life with her is costing him his health and may well cost him his life. And the sad thing is, she's not entirely wrong.)

--

Srentha:

statue

bit by bit, you carve away the shape of a person, a figure that starts to feel more real the more material that you cut from around it. you make the legs, the arms, the torso, the head; this is your masterwork, your galatea. as you are carving the face, something slips; your hand, maybe, or a fault in the material, a defect in your tool. it leaves a slight chip across the figure’s smooth cheekbone. it has already been carved. it cannot be removed. you finish the rest of the statue. it is wonderful, by all accounts; if you can muster the ability to show it to others, they tell you that it’s a beautiful piece of art. you can’t take your eyes off the chip, though. the mark. no matter where you are in the room, your gaze finds it again, unerringly. you stare at it for hours. you dream of it at night. no matter how lovely the figure may be, no matter how beautiful the face, the imperfection haunts you. you start to hate what you’ve made. hate the mark. hate the figure as a whole. when you are alone with the piece, your fingers start to twitch. when you look down at a pile of smashed stone, you can’t tell if you are still caught in one of your desperate dreams. one of your hopeful nightmares. in the rubble, you can see a piece of the face. the chip still remains.

(So the pride in his creations is ABSOLUTELY Srentha! Being haunted by one mistake... It's not canon, but I could see it being so in his nightmares.)

--

a doll

you’ve made it to be as approachable as you can. a comely face, a soft body, made to be held and be played with and be loved. it looks a bit like you; the way that all things look like their creators, you suppose. you offer it to someone else. they smile with a polite amount of teeth and no warmth when they decline your offer. you give it away. you find it on your doorstep again, days later, slightly damaged. stepped on. no matter who you hand it to, no matter who you entrust with it, it ends up in your arms again, worse for wear every time. that is the conclusion that you have to come to. you are the only one who will hold it gently. the only one who will keep it. but even you don’t really want it anymore, do you? you resent it and feel your heart break for it all at the same time. it’s hard to love a thing that nobody else will. it’s hard not to think that there’s a reason it continues to be discarded. you know this better than you know how to say.

(...oh that would HURT her. She's an oddball, quirky to the point of being disconcerting sometimes, but she struggles to find her place in the world. Having a doll that also struggles to find its place would make it like she put eerily much of herself into it...)

--

Kary:

a sword

it’s a beautiful thing, truly. the edge shines, razor-sharp, and the hilt gleams with polish. it looks like something that only you could have created. it looks like a part of you, made metal and melted into a blade. every detail and decoration along the hilt makes it really and truly yours. when you use it, it works just as any sword should, right up until the final hit; and then it fails. the final stroke through the dragon’s neck. the final strike against the chains. the final slice through an enemy. right as you need it, truly, it slips. or it catches against something. or it breaks. it fails you, in the end, and through the disaster, you’re not sure if you’re glad to see the dreadful thing finally shatter or heartbroken that it couldn’t stay.

(Imagine the sword is Kary's self-reliance and It's Absolutely True.)

quiz enjoyers! i am now inviting you to come create something in my workshop❕

[unacknowledgeable]

Yan!batfam x Reader x TMNT (can you tell what I’ve just watched?)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm not really sure what this is i wanted a lil break from the overwhelming angst from my SK!Reader series, kinda just plot points for this idea that I wanna lay out and explore later more in depth, mostly based of 20018, loosely based off the 2012 Turts, the turtles aren't yandere in this, it’s just the general protectiveness of their family lol :p 

The typical neglected batsibling lol, shows up to the manor at age 5, after the disappearance of your mother, 2 years after Bruce adopted dick

Alfred had really put his foot down on you knowing about bruce's “nightly excursions”, citing the different backgrounds and skill sets as to why Dick was allowed and you weren't even told

So, there's already distance, such a huge secret and constant dangerous activities

Someone who didn't have that drive for justice, and two who needed it like air

That, and that bruce didn't really know how to deal with not just some kid, but his kid that wasn't really supposed to exist at all

You were a complete accident, bruce didn't even remember who your mother was without digging into decades old new articles of his past relationships, years after you had already left the manor

On a lighter note, you meet the turtles pretty early on, which definitely saved you in the long run, despite the rocky start

Three years after arriving at the manor, at the age of 8, you run into the turtles while playing (unsupervised, mind you) by gotham harbor

You heard them in one of the sewer drainage pipes, and after some talking, you asked them to play (you didn't actually expect them to say yes, no one ever did)

They were hesitant, they can't just show themselves willy nilly! They got so lucky with April, but that was April, who saw them first and had to ask questions later

But you had asked questions first, so you’ll get to see them later 

You saw their silent hesitation, and at the risk of looking desperate because you were  you offered to blindfold yourself, so you wouldn't see (don't ever do this, y/n’s dumb and 8)

And they agreed! They actually agreed! You’d been so excited! So excited you barely noticed just how many times you fallen, because the boys played a little rough but you were determined to keep up

So when the time came when you had to leave, you were covered in bruises and mud

Alfred wasn't exactly pleased, but you were smiling and happy, so he wouldn't look a gift horse on the mouth

After that you kept going back, day after day, to play by the waters edge, with people you couldn't see but saw you, instead of staying cooped up in the manor, where you saw everyone and were seen be none

Of course, being batman's kid, you were able to deduce that these kids where some type of mutants, you can only get get knocked over so many time before realizing what you're running into is a hard shell and the hands helping you up only having 3 fingers

So eventually, you find out just exactly what they look like, what kinds of turtles they are etc

This totally doesn't spark a near life long love of turtles, leading you to decorate your entire childhood room with the reptiles, nope no way

You meet April later, since she lives a lot further than the turtles do, and while you could get away with sneaking off to the harbor for 1-2 hours just fine, it was a bit difficult finding a time lapse of time long enough before Alfred grew wary of where you ran off too

The turtles think your dad is some kind of bat mutant or vampire, because you talked about overhearing Barbra and Dick talking about bruce being this “batman” once

No they don't realize they were talking about THE batman until they are way older lol

Otherwise they don't really think anything of it bc their dads a rat like, it’s normal for them

Reader definitely is like, super buff in this bc you've been roughhousing with 4 mutant superhuman turtles since childhood, OF COURSE your gonna be buff

Plus your older than them so losing is just a non option for you, your far too competitive for that

You bring Donnie whatever gadgets you can from the house for him to take apart and use

You’ll bring Mikey spray paints and tag the abandoned theme parks together

You get Raph high quality bedding to stop his spikes from ripping them

You taught Leo how to play chess, and you have a running score on whose won, going back yeaaars

You and April end up going to the same school, (you begged Alfred a lot) so you had a pretty active social life outside the manor and you help her with her job searches a lot

I can't decide if I want Gotham and New York to be sister cities, or just treating them as the same place, I'm still figuring that out lol. I just find the hijinxs of the turtles vs. the angst of the batfamily to be so funny and the worms agreed sooo.

[moonlitwitchdaisy]

bodyguard!toji was a man who stood out wherever he went.

there were plenty of reasons for this. first of all, he was a genuinely big guy. with a build like that, it wasn’t surprising that heads turned the moment he stepped into any place. he was basically made for the job. the other reason? well, he was just ridiculously handsome.

after the latest scandal, your father had to take control of the family’s image. naturally, the most logical solution was to find a bodyguard who could actually keep you in check. you’d had bodyguards before, but none of them could handle your recklessness and carefree attitude.

but this mysterious man, so much older than you, was honestly a nightmare.

wherever you went, he was there. shopping? he’d be by your side even if you walked around for five hours. heading to a club? he’d show up to snatch your drink out of your hand if you drank too much. you’d tried to escape a few times, but it usually ended with him showing up in front of you by the tenth second, saying, “running away won’t work, ma’am,” and sticking to you like glue again.

in short, there was no escaping this man.

worse yet, he never said a word to you beyond the usual “good morning, ma’am,” “good evening, ma’am,” or “where are you headed, ma’am?” you weren’t in a position to be friends. for one, he was your bodyguard. and he was much, much older than you. the kind of age gap where having anything in common seemed impossible. not that you wanted friendship anyway. all you wanted was to feel like you weren’t completely alone.

“do you have friends, fushiguro?” you asked him as you sat in the car on the way home from meeting up with your friends.

“i can’t disclose any information about my personal life, ma’am,” he replied, short and to the point.

you laughed and teased, “it was just a simple question.”

your bodyguard turned his expressionless, intimidating face toward you. “please focus on deciding what you’ll wear for tonight’s gala, ma’am. your father requested you wear a navy-blue dress.”

“that old man controls everything about my life. what century does he think we’re living in? and why are you telling me this now?” the fact that your father had informed your bodyguard instead of you about what you should wear annoyed you.

“i mentioned it yesterday morning, ma’am.”

shit, did he? you didn’t remember a thing. “you can call me by my name, fushiguro. you’re older than me, after all.”

his face remained unreadable. “noted, ma’am.”

you frowned at his stubbornness. “didn’t you just hear what i said?”

in his usual stern tone, he responded, “i heard you, ma’am.”

“gosh…” you leaned back against the leather seat, looking out the window. “you’re never going to stop calling me ‘ma’am,’ are you, fushiguro?”

“never, ma’am.”

once again, you were reminded that having anything close to a normal conversation with this man was hopeless.

that evening, as you applied your makeup for the gala, your eyes wandered to the navy-blue dress hanging in your dressing room closet. it was just as your father wanted. the velvet, sleeveless gown was elegant and definitely gave off the impression of being “the daughter of one of the most important families in the world.” you actually loved the dress. what you didn’t love was your father dictating even the color of your outfit.

after one last look in the mirror, you headed to your dressing room to get dressed. shrugging off the satin robe, you slipped into the gown that lightly tickled your skin. your hand reached for the zipper at the back, trying to pull it up.

but that’s as far as you got.

no matter how much you tried, the zipper refused to move. it must’ve gotten caught in the fabric. grumbling to yourself about having to take the dress off to fix it, a knock at the door interrupted your thoughts. that familiar stern, respectful voice called out.

“ma’am, are you ready?”

you would be. if the zipper would cooperate, you’d definitely be ready.

“uhh, just a second! i’m having a minor fashion emergency.”

“is everything all right, ma’am?” this time, his voice sounded concerned.

“yeah, yeah, i just… my zipper’s stuck, but i’ll handle it. please wait a moment, fushiguro.”

there was a brief silence. while still trying to fix the zipper without taking the dress off, you heard him again. “ma’am, if you wish, i can assist you.”

honestly, help sounded really good right now.

“a little help would be great!” you called out in relief, and the door slowly opened.

toji stepped in, wearing his perfectly tailored black suit. of course, he was always in a suit. come to think of it, you’d never seen him in casual clothes.

his sharp eyes scanned the room before landing on you, standing by the mirror in your dressing area, holding up the gown to keep it from slipping. without wasting a second, he walked over, stepping behind you. his hands hovered over your loose hair, silently asking for permission before gently moving it to the front.

you regretted asking for help immediately because now your heart was racing.

you couldn’t understand why. sure, he was handsome, muscular, and incredibly mature, but you’d never been this flustered around him before.

toji’s large hands quickly fixed the stuck zipper, but he didn’t pull it up right away. you weren’t sure why he hesitated. he should’ve just zipped it and ended this. stealing a glance in the mirror, you saw your handsome bodyguard swallowing hard, as if he was battling some inner turmoil, like he thought he was doing something wrong.

his thick fingers finally gripped the zipper, pulling it up slowly. you dropped your gaze to the floor, feeling every slight touch of his fingers against your skin. the slow movements only made things worse, as if he was deliberately savoring the contact.

this was definitely wrong. you shouldn’t have felt butterflies in your stomach. your heart shouldn’t have raced faster with every light graze of his fingers against your back. in fact, he shouldn’t have been the one helping you at all.

when he finally zipped the dress up to the top, his fingers lingered on the zipper. you kept your eyes down, but you could feel his intense gaze through the mirror.

“you look beautiful, ma’am. your father will be pleased with your choice,” he said in his usual deep, stern tone, though it was softer than usual.

“thank you.” your eyes flickered to the mirror, locking onto his green ones. for the first time, his usually stoic and unreadable eyes seemed to hold something unsaid.

“you’re welcome, ma’am.” his hand moved away from the zipper, but not before his fingers brushed against the bare skin of your arm. his movements were deliberate, as if he wanted to savor the warmth of your skin for just a second longer.

you kept staring at him through the mirror. when his fingers reached your wrist, they paused. his calloused fingertips traced small circles there, and without breaking eye contact, he leaned slightly toward the side of your exposed neck.

“every color you wear suits you, princess, but this one… this one’s the best yet.”

you forgot how to breathe. how to speak. all you could do was stand there, frozen, feeling his calloused fingers brush against your wrist and the weight of his words settle into your chest.

then, just like that, he stepped back, severing all contact. “please put on your shoes. i’ll be waiting downstairs, ma’am.”

even after he left the room, you stood there in front of the mirror, completely still. whatever had just happened, you couldn’t make sense of it. was it the way he touched your skin, or was it the compliment? you didn’t know. all you knew was that you stood there like an idiot, reliving the moment.

but the thing that stuck with you the most? it wasn’t the touch, the compliment, or the lingering gazes.

it was the way he’d called you “princess.”

so many people had called you that before, but hearing it from bodyguard!toji felt entirely different. it was like indulging in something you weren’t supposed to have. a sinful kind of pleasure.

for the first time in your life, in a world where you despised being controlled, you found yourself wishing to be held back by someone.

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

[kkai-zen]

ᯓ★ oh damn, i feel like a HOTSHOT

──── featuring ITOSHI SAE.

summary: what happens when your famous pro-soccer player boyfriend ITOSHI SAE finds your Tumblr fan account for him?

contents: 18+ nsfw! MDNI. fem!sub!reader, dom!sae, p in v, porn w plot, established relationship, reader nicknames (sweetheart, pretty thing, dirty girl, slut, love), degradation, exhibitionism, mile high club!, fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex, overstim, creampie

a/n: second work for this series! it's kinda similar to the previous work i did for itoshi rin, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless!

wc: 1.6k

✰ .ᐟ your pro-athlete boyfriend ITOSHI SAE . . .

finds out about your Tumblr fan blog, "sae-dreams", on the private jet he booked to Spain when he gets curious about the nonstop notifications you're receiving.

your phone is constantly buzzing with all the interactions on your latest post—a smutty fanfic featuring sae himself, of course!

he scrolls through your blog when you leave your phone unattended for a moment.

he immediately gets cocky when he reads through your endless posts, everything from "fluffy bf!itoshi sae hcs" to "18+ NSFW possessive sae smut".

feels proud that he's got you that down bad for him. (aka, Sae loves how obsessed you are with him.)

drops subtle hints that he knows about your blog when you come back, but doesn't outright say it until after he's fucked you senseless.

Bzzt. Bzzt. Bz-bzzt. Bzz-

Sae narrows his eyes at your phone. 

You’re too preoccupied admiring the stunning view outside the window of the private jet to notice, though. Humming to yourself, you tap out some rhythm on the armrest of your very comfortable seat, daydreaming about Spain.

“Aren’t you excited for Spain, Sae?”

“I’ve lived there for so long, so it doesn’t feel too special."

“Really?”

“Mm…yeah, I guess so,”

Sae murmurs, teal eyes still glaring at your vibrating phone. 

You pout. “Aw, c’mon, at least you’ll be able to relax in Spain instead of just training!” Standing up, you stretch your back and his gaze flits to you. “M’ gonna go use the bathroom,” you yawn, slipping through the spacious aisle and out of Sae’s view.

He watches your back vanish from sight before returning his gaze to your phone—which is still buzzing away. Who’s texting you so much?

Curiosity gets the better of him, and he slides your phone across the in-flight desk towards him before picking it up. Turning on your phone and flicking through the numerous notifications, he’s surprised to see that it's not texts, but rather:

sae-luvr-032, churchofitoshi, and 48 others liked your post.

stan-itoshi reblogged your post.

sae-sunshine started following you.

holywaterneeded, re-al-fan, and 50 others liked your post.

saeswetsock reblogged your post.

Eyebrow arching, Sae quickly swipes your phone open (because of course he knows your password), and taps open Tumblr. His eyes widen the slightest bit. What's all this?

Some time later, you crash back into your seat next to Sae (after exploring the way too luxurious bathroom). Your phone is placed exactly where you’d left it, but it’s not like you would’ve noticed otherwise—your attention is only drawn to it when you finally notice the incessant bzzt-bzzt-bzzt! of the notifications.

Picking it up, you blush the faintest pink at the reminder of your most recent blog post— [NSFW 18+] joining the mile high club with itoshi sae!

You quickly turn on 'do not disturb', deciding to check on your blog after you land in Spain; but naturally, Sae notices. 

“Who’s texting you?” He asks, a small smirk playing on his face.

You freeze. “N-nothin’, just a group chat,” you stammer unconvincingly.

“M’kay,” he hums, but there’s something suspicious simmering under his voice. 

“Y’know, I’ve really been into my fans’ social media accounts recently,” Sae muses. “They actually write a bunch of real interesting stuff,” he continues, leaning his head on his hand.

“Oh, yeah?” You force out a small laugh. “Mhm. Especially on Tumblr.” He forces down a chuckle at your barely-masked expression of panic. “Tumblr? Really?”

You can’t hide the disbelief in your voice. Itoshi Sae? The genius midfielder? On Tumblr?? There’s a thousand thoughts swirling in your head right now, and you don’t even notice the devilish smirk spreading on his face as he responds: “Yup. Tumblr.”

What if he finds my account? No, no way, right? Besides, it’s anonymous! He wouldn’t- he couldn’t possibly know it’s me, right?? You toy with your phone nervously as Sae watches, debating on what to say. But before you can open your mouth, Sae grabs your waist and lifts you onto his lap, facing him.

“Sae? What are you- hey!” You gasp as Sae dips his hand under your shirt, sliding his cool palm up your torso before pulling your bra up to expose your breasts. He doesn’t respond, only tilting his head up to admire your expression as he teases your nipples, already stiff from his ministrations and sticking out from your shirt. 

“A-ah, Sae, wai- mm!” Biting back a moan, you can’t help but grind against his erection as he squeezes at your nipples. He grunts at the friction, eyes closing for a brief second before he tears your shirt off and turns you around on his lap. 

Back pressed flush against his muscular chest, you whimper when a hand comes up to grab one of your tits, groping the soft flesh. The other hand other pops open the button of your pants and slips them off with ease before diving into your panties, already soaked with arousal. 

Sae bullies two fingers into your sopping hole, the pads of his fingers brushing and prodding at your most sensitive spots. In an attempt to muffle your whines, you slap a hand over your mouth—only for Sae to grab your wrist and pin it behind your back. 

“Ah-ah, sweetheart,” he purrs. “Wanna hear you make all those pretty sounds for me.” 

“B-but Sae- ah!” You cry out. “We-we shouldn’t do this- ah- on the plane- ngh!” Your cunt throbs as Sae starts massaging your clit in quick circles. He chuckles, breath tickling your ear. “Hm? You’ve really never thought about this before?” 

You moan, bucking your hips into his fingers, and when he promptly pulls out of you, you whine. “That’s what I thought,” he breathes, placing a soft kiss behind your ear. A pathetic croak slips out of your mouth as your dripping hole clenches around nothing, desperate for stimulation. 

You twist around, slamming your lips onto his with a bruising force, teething clacking together as your tongues clash. Your hands find the waistband of his pants, slipping them down to reveal his twitching cock standing straight and erect against his abs, drooling precum from the angry red mushroom tip. You’re panting for breath when you drag yourself away from his lips, but seeing your boyfriend’s flushed, uncharacteristically disheveled face makes it worth it. 

You almost smirk at him—but when he hooks his toned arms under your knees to pull your thighs to your shoulders, your eyes widen.

Oh-

Oh. 

Now, Sae’s the one smirking at you. “What’s wrong, my love?” He asks, and you can hear the amusement in his voice. “T-this position- I- mmm- fuck, Sae!” you damn near scream when he slams his rock-hard length into you, bottoming out in your wet heat. 

“Shhh, pretty thing,” Sae murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear, and you think it’s absolutely criminal how he sounds perfectly relaxed. “Can’t be screaming and crying yourself stupid on my dick right now…not here.” 

You clench around his cock at his words. “But you like this, don’t you?” Sae teases, rolling his hips into you, andthe sound of your slick rubbing and sticking to his cock is so lewd that it has your head spinning. “We could be caught any second, with you moaning like that. Dirty, dirty girl.” He tsks, before driving the rest of his shaft into you. 

“Mmpf- Sae, s-slow do-o-o-own!” You’re sobbing, moans slipping out in choppy rhythms as Sae drives himself into you at a punishing pace.

You want to tell him to stop, afraid that some unsuspecting flight attendant could walk by any second, but he feels so delicious inside of you, the stretch of his cock stirring your insides up in a way that has you seeing stars.

The thrill of it makes your pussy flutter around him, dripping even more beads of slick down onto his length. “You really are a slut for my cock,” Sae groans, and with one more vicious thrust, you can’t help but cry out his name as you hit your climax with a violent shudder, squirting over his bare thighs.

Waves of euphoria crash into you, puffy hole trembling as Sae’s cock spurts hot, thick ropes of cum into you, distending your stomach. Your head is thrown back, drool leaking out of the corners of your mouth as you writhe in pleasure.

Gasping for air, chests heaving with exertion, and a fine sheen of sweat sticking the two of you together, you both slowly come down from the high of your orgasms.

You bask in the afterglow, still shivering as Sae pulls his softening length out of you. Cum drips out of your cunt, threatening to spill out onto the expensive seats, but Sae takes two fingers and presses the cum back into your overstimulated hole.

Moaning softly, your head falls back onto Sae’s shoulder as you try to catch your breath. “U-ugh, Sae,” you gasp. “You- coulda warned me, y’know…”

He lets out a breathless laugh, fingers still buried in your twitching hole. “Mm, but that’s not how you wrote it in your blog, right?”

You whip around, jaw dropping open. “So you did know!” You accuse, poking a finger into Sae’s chest. A smile curves at the edges of his mouth, and he brings a hand up to ruffle your hair.

“Let me read the rest of your posts, love.”

“No way!”

“…”

“…fine.”

[ihaznoclue]

Pool Day

This basically came to my mind when I went to the pools TWICE (one at night and one during the day)

Pairings -> Shadow The Hedgehog x Reader

Warnings -> None just Shadow being a jealous boy~

Note -> You and Shadow decided to go to a indoor pool but never knew so many guys would be there | ALSO SHADOW IS A HUMAN IN THIS BEACUSE ITS MORE EASIER THAT WAY

Genre -> Fluff

Shadow The Hedgehog

You had to think of something to do to keep yourself occupied because it was so hot, but you couldn't do much in the heat.

Sitting in front of a fan, you and Shadow were sweating terribly as you tried to come up with a plan for something to do together that would relieve the heat.

"Oh! I know!" You were sitting on the bed besides Shadow when you abruptly got up, this caused Shadow raised an eyebrow at you.

"What Is it Love?" He questioned

"How about we visit the pools? We would spend the most of our time in a cool pool, which would help with the heat."

"Good idea, let's start getting ready then," said Shadow, nodding. Then, with excitement, you hurried out of the room to prepare for the short trip to the pools.

It was going to be interesting because you had never visited a pool with Shadow before. Normally, you would go with your family or friends, but this time, you were happy to be going with Shadow.

You gathered everything you would need, including a bag to hold your hairbrush, towel, and extra clothing for when you exit the pools.

All you had to do now was put on your bathers underneath your T-shirt. Thankfully, you had a pair of pool shorts and a one-piece bathers.

You finished getting ready as you now waited for Shadow to change into his own, you were finally prepared. As you waited, placing your bag on the living room couch

You spent some time on your phone when Shadow emerged with a bag that looked like it belonged to a gym and probably contained his belongings.

"Come on let's go" He opened the door and went outside to walk to the car he drove here.

Basically, Shadow decided to come over and keep you entertained because your family was gone for the day as you didn't want to go. He likely drove over here. Well duh of course he did

It was only a little drive as you two made it in a couple of minutes. Surprisingly not much cars were there so you guys got a car park.

You hopped out of the car as you closed the door behind you, Shadow doing the same as you two grabbed your stuff and headed to the entrance of the indoor pools.

Once you went inside thought the open slide doors, you could see some swim suit and bathers, some drinks and ice-creams and googles displayed

Shadow was paying as you looked through some stuff until he called out to you, you quickly walked over to him as you both went through a open door and into the main lobby where a cafe was but sadly it was closed, a vending machine and some changing rooms

You could also see a big pool and the other side was the warm pool so you guys decided to go to the bigger and cooler pool. There wasn't much people but later there will be

Finding a spot as you went to the other side of the room since the pool was big and you both wanted to go to the deep end, putting your stuff on the floor near a wall and where you guys would be in the pool just in case

Shadow just needed to take his shirt and shoes off as he already had his swim shorts on, but he waited for you which was so sweet

You took of your shoes first then your t-Shirt to reveal your one piece black bathers, you also had you swim shorts on so you were ready to hop in the pool

Grabbing Shadows hand as you two walked to the edge of the pool, feeling the water with your feet, it felt cold but you thought of an idea to do

You grinned as you looked at Shadow, pulling him in front of you as you pushed him in the pool

A huge splash was heard and water sprayed on you as he was pushed in, you were laughing so hard you didn't realised that Shadow was coming close as he took a hold of your hand as he pulled you in with a smirk

You yelped as you went into the water, everything was muffled as you swam back up to the surface as you shook your head and wiped your eyes

You then splashed Shadow as he chuckled

"Jeez the water is freezing" You spoke, shadow swam around but not to far from you, you were kicking your legs since you could reach the bottom of the pool since you both were on the very deep part of the pool which had not much people here

"You'll warm up soon" Shadow required as he pulled you with him as he pulled you to the edge of the pool to hold on

Your hair and face was dripping wet from basically getting pulled in but that was your karma since you pushed Shadow in the pool earlier.

You stayed at the edge of the pools, arms crossed on the platform you are holding on, Shadow was beside you as he wanted to stay by your side

In a couple minutes a bunch of boys came, more and more. This made you a little bit nervous as they were mostly boys

You didn't realised that a firm grip was on your waist underwater, looking over at Shadow as he glared over at them

You rolled your eyes as you knew Shadow was jealous, so you wrapped your arms around his neck, the water splashing a little by the movement of your arms

"Do you want to go to the other pool?" You asked, making sure that Shadow was comfortable in this pool

"Sure we can go to the other pool for a bit" Shadow softly spoke, swimming to the ladder to get out, pulling you with him as you also got out

Water dripping onto the ground, Shadow picked up all of your stuff as you picked up the shoes, walking carefully as you didn't want to slip

Walking past all of them as they stared making Shadow glare back at them, you then gave them a ick face as you continued

You both now walking to the main lobby as you walked to the other side to go to the other pool where some kids were and some adults

"This is a little bit better" You said as you walked behind Shadow as he placed down the stuff on a bench

You placing the shoes underneath the bench as you both went back into the water

The water felt nice and warm but not too hot, you then swam a little to the corner as Shadow followed behind

The water wasn't deep as you could easily stand without drowning, Shadow kept a hand on your waist as he backed into the corner pulling you near him as he rested his chin on your shoulder

You could hear a lot of children screaming and having fun, you could see some adults on the benchs or in the pool playing with the kids or watching them

You were glad that going to the pools was the best option for a hot day like this

OR else you and Shadow will be stuck at the house sweating your asses off

Now it's been an hour or two as it was nearly time to close

You got out of the pool before Shadow as he came out after you, it was quite freezing now after being in the warm pool for a while

Shadow wrapped a towel around your shoulders as you thanked him now it was time to change as shadow was going to as well

It took you a while as you had a little shower in the changing rooms making your hair a little bit better than being tangled, brushing your hair as it took a while to detangle

But eventually you finished getting ready as you walked out of the changing rooms to see Shadow already out waiting for you

"Alright I'm done!" You smiled, linking arms with Shadow as you two went out the exit door and outside back to the car

This day was the best as you and Shadow should do this more often instead of staying inside all day.

I'm literally back from my hang out with my friend as we went bowling and now we are gonna go to the pools on Thursday!

-A<3

[therogueflame]

Through Storm and Silence

Hi my darlings,

I have decided to post my new Cregan x Reader fic a day early because I have started to hate it the more I look at it. I did change it since posting the teaser, so my apologies to everyone that is expecting that beginning. This fic is long, sad, and DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, READER'S DISCRETION IS ADVISED!! (Please let me know if this makes you feel things, my prozac stops me from knowing if this is Actually Sad)

Summary: The loss of your first pregnancy has you shattered in unspeakable ways, and Cregan does his best to comfort his Lady Wife.

✨My Masterlist✨

WC: 13.4k

Warnings: Pregnancy loss, depression, fem!reader, isolation, intimate care, just sad fluff

Cregan Stark x Wife!Reader

MDNI!!!

The fire in your chambers had long since burned out, leaving the hearth cold and lifeless. Its ashes, once bright with promise, were now a bleak monument to what had been lost. The flames that had warmed you, like the fragile spark of life that had stirred within you, were extinguished, leaving nothing but emptiness behind. Shadows sprawled across the stone walls, bending and twisting in the faint moonlight that filtered through the frost-covered window. The light was weak, just enough to sharpen the edges of the cold that seeped into the very bones of Winterfell—and into yours.

The chill wasn’t just in the air; it lived in you now, settling deep in your chest, pressing against the raw, hollow ache that had taken root there. This cold wasn’t the familiar bite of winter—it was sharper, crueler, born from the absence of the life you had carried. The fragile hope that had grown inside you, so small yet so powerful, was gone. Its absence left a void so vast it consumed you.

You couldn’t bring yourself to move from the high-backed chair by the window, where you sat motionless, staring into the dark expanse of night. The frost on the glass distorted the view beyond, transforming the swaying trees into ghostly silhouettes, their barren limbs stark against the sky. They reminded you of how you felt—stripped bare, fragile, and exposed to the harsh winds of grief.

The gown you wore clung to your body, its once-delicate fabric now feeling oppressive. Days ago, it had been chosen with care, a garment meant to hold the quiet anticipation of the life you carried. Now, its weight pressed against you like an accusation, its seams digging into your skin, sharp and unforgiving. It didn’t just hang on you—it felt as though it was marking you, reminding you of the absence that had replaced what you once held so dear.

You hadn’t changed out of it. The thought of doing so felt too heavy, too meaningless. To strip it away would be to acknowledge the finality of what had been lost, and you couldn’t face that yet. The woman who had smoothed its fabric with pride, who had worn it with a small but steady joy, was no longer there. All that remained was the crushing weight of who she had become—a shadow wearing the remnants of something she could no longer be.

Your trembling hands rested in your lap, fingers curling into the fabric as if trying to find something to hold on to. A faint breeze stirred from the window, its icy touch brushing against your skin like a cruel reminder of the emptiness inside you. You shivered, but still you remained frozen, the weight of Winterfell pressing down on you, heavy and unyielding.

The world outside went on, its voices and footsteps distant and indifferent. The quiet of the castle was unbearable, the oppressive stillness broken only by the occasional creak of wood or the faintest sigh of wind. It was as if the walls themselves conspired to remind you of your solitude, of the storm raging within you while the world beyond carried on, oblivious.

Tears slid silently down your cheeks, warm against the icy stillness of your skin. You made no effort to stop them, nor could you if you tried. They came endlessly, flowing in a slow, aching rhythm that mirrored the grief clawing at your chest.

You were alone with the memory of what had been—a fragile, fleeting spark of life that had slipped through your fingers. And now, with nothing but the cold to hold you, it felt as though you might never be whole again.

The rhythmic thud of boots against stone drifted faintly from the courtyard below, a distant murmur of life pressing onward. A horse’s whinny cut through the air, joined by the indistinct hum of voices carried on the wind. The world beyond was alive, indifferent, ceaseless. But none of it touched you. It all seemed unreal—muted fragments of a life you could no longer claim, slipping through your fingers like mist. You stood at the edge of it all, a silent shadow, severed from the world that churned on without you.

Time had abandoned you, or perhaps it had conspired against you, trapping you in this endless moment while everything else moved forward. The castle walls, so full of life, seemed oblivious to your sorrow. Their quiet betrayal, their unshaken permanence, was unbearable.

Inside the room, the silence pressed down on you, thick as the weight in your chest. It should have been a comfort, this room. Once it had been. But now its quiet corners and heavy drapes felt suffocating, its walls tightening around you with every passing hour.

You clenched your fists, the delicate fabric crumpling beneath your trembling hands. Tears welled, spilling before you could stop them, tracing hot, aching paths down your cheeks. You couldn’t stem the tide, nor did you try. The gown bore the stain of your despair, but it was nothing compared to the jagged wound that bled unseen within.

The whispers were always there, clinging to the edges of your thoughts no matter how desperately you tried to banish them. They were cruel and unyielding, slipping into every quiet moment, lurking in the shadows of your mind. Their voices were soft but sharp, cutting deeper with every repetition. You should have done more. You should have been stronger. You should have saved him. This is your fault.

They weren’t Cregan’s words, nor the maester’s, nor anyone else’s. They belonged to you, born from the hollow ache in your chest and the guilt that had taken root there. They poured through your mind like a poison, insidious and unrelenting, twisting everything they touched. You could almost hear them in the silence of the room, louder than the crackle of a distant hearth or the sigh of wind through Winterfell’s ancient walls.

No matter how tightly you closed your eyes, no matter how fiercely you tried to silence them, they persisted—a constant, merciless drumbeat. Each word struck like a blow, reverberating through your body, the weight of them pressing down on your chest until you could barely breathe. The air felt thinner with every beat, as though the whispers were siphoning it away, leaving you gasping in the darkness.

You tried to fight them, tried to find some small thread of reason to grasp onto, but they always returned, louder and sharper than before. And the worst part was, some part of you believed them. You clung to the guilt like a lifeline, as though holding yourself accountable might make the loss hurt less. It didn’t. It only sank you deeper into the suffocating pit that you couldn’t seem to climb out of.

They weren’t just whispers. They were chains, binding you to the pain, and no matter how much you struggled, you couldn’t make them let go.

The knock shattered the oppressive silence, a sharp, jarring sound that cut through you like a blade of winter air. For a moment, you froze, the sudden noise startling you out of the haze that had enveloped you for days. The weight in the room, in your chest, had been so heavy, so all-encompassing, that you’d almost forgotten the world outside existed. The knock was a cruel reminder that it did, and that it still demanded something of you.

You stiffened, every muscle tightening as though bracing for an unseen blow. Your breath hitched, thick and shallow, your throat closing as if even the act of breathing might betray you. You didn’t want to answer. You couldn’t. What could you say to him? What could you possibly offer, except more of this broken, hollow shell of yourself?

The knock came again, softer this time, a gentler plea that only seemed to make the silence more suffocating. And then his voice followed, threading through the stillness. The voice you had once found so reassuring, so unshakably warm, now felt like a ghost of itself—steady, deep, but laced with something unfamiliar. Fragility. Desperation.

“It’s me,” Cregan said, his words low, insistent. There was a trembling edge to his tone, a quiet urgency that twisted in your chest. “Please, my love. Let me in.”

The sound of his voice sent a fresh wave of pain coursing through you, tightening around your throat like a vice. You clenched your hands in your lap, your nails pressing into your palms, the sharp sting grounding you in the only way you could manage. The guilt, the grief, the weight of it all threatened to crack you open. If you could just keep still, hold yourself together for one more moment, perhaps the pieces wouldn’t scatter completely.

But the truth was, you didn’t know how to answer him. You didn’t know how to let him in—not into the room, not into the space where your grief lay raw and unguarded. He hadn’t come before. Or maybe he had, and you had been too lost to hear him, too consumed by the darkness to recognize the sound of his voice. You didn’t know which possibility was worse—that he had stayed away, honoring the space you had begged for, or that he had tried and failed to reach you.

Neither was kind. Neither was something you could bear.

His knock had stirred something inside you, but it wasn’t hope. It was the sharp, aching reminder of how much you had pushed him away—and how much you had wanted to. Because if he saw you like this, if he saw how fractured you had become, you weren’t sure you could survive it. And yet, even as you tried to steel yourself against the sound of his voice, it lingered, wrapping around you, pulling at the frayed edges of the wall you had built between you.

“I’ll wait as long as I need to,” Cregan’s voice broke through the silence, quiet yet unyielding, like the steady strength of the man you had once leaned on without hesitation. “I’m not leaving you alone in this.”

His words were meant to soothe, to offer comfort, but they only deepened the ache in your chest. The tenderness in his tone was unbearable, like a hand reaching out to touch a wound too raw to bear. The sting behind your eyes flared, tears threatening to spill over once more. But you refused to let them fall. Not again.

You had cried enough—alone, in the suffocating stillness of the night, when the walls of Winterfell seemed to close in and the weight of your loss crushed you in the darkness. You had let the tears fall in those moments when no one could see, when no one could judge you for the depth of your grief. What good had they done? They had left you feeling even emptier, as though each tear carried away a piece of yourself until there was nothing left.

What would tears accomplish now? They couldn’t undo the pain that had carved itself into your soul. They couldn’t bring back what you had lost, couldn’t fill the gaping void that echoed inside you. They wouldn’t erase the crushing guilt that clung to every breath you took, whispering that you should have been stronger, that you should have done more.

The words you longed to say lodged in your throat, trapped beneath the weight of your grief. Cregan’s steady presence was a balm, but it felt undeserved—a kindness you couldn’t allow yourself to accept. The part of you that ached to let him in warred with the part that wanted to push him away, to protect him from the broken, fractured pieces you had become.

But still, he waited. And still, you remained silent, the battle within you raging on.

The door remained closed, an unyielding barrier between you and Cregan, the space between you stretching into an insurmountable chasm. Your lips stayed pressed tightly together, as if the very act of speaking would shatter the fragile hold you had on yourself. Words felt dangerous, too revealing, too raw. So, you stayed still, frozen in the quiet, every part of you locked in place. You didn’t move. You didn’t breathe. You didn’t respond.

Maybe if you stayed silent, he would leave. Maybe if you sank deep enough into the well of your grief, the guilt would loosen its grip on your chest. Maybe if you let the silence consume you entirely, the pain would finally relent. But even as the thoughts flitted through your mind, you knew they were lies. The grief, the guilt, the unbearable ache in your chest—they weren’t things you could escape. They were woven into you now, so tightly that nothing—not time, not distance, not even silence—could unravel them.

Deep down, you knew nothing would ever be the same again. The fragile thread of hope that had once connected you to the world had snapped, leaving you untethered, adrift. No amount of hiding, no fortress of silence, could change that.

The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating, pressing against you like the cold that had seeped into your very bones. It wrapped itself around you, a crushing weight that left no room for breath or thought. It wasn’t just in the room—it was in you, winding through every broken part of yourself.

Cregan’s steps broke the stillness, each one deliberate, careful, as though he feared his presence might break you further. The sound of his boots against the stone was soft, almost hesitant, but it still felt too loud, too intrusive in the suffocating quiet. He was close now. You could feel his steady presence, warm and grounding, even through the chasm you had built between you.

But still, you didn’t move. You didn’t turn to meet his gaze, didn’t even lift your head. Your heart was too heavy, weighed down by guilt and sorrow so profound it felt like a physical ache. You couldn’t bear the thought of looking at him, of letting him see what you had become—shattered, broken, unrecognizable even to yourself.

You were afraid. Afraid of what he might say. Afraid of the gentleness you might hear in his voice, the love you might see in his eyes, when you felt you deserved neither. Afraid that if he saw you like this, saw the depth of your ruin, he might try to put you back together. And you weren’t sure you could survive being pieced back together only to fall apart again.

He paused, his boots just inside the door, hesitating as though waiting for you to make the decision he couldn’t. As though he wasn’t sure if crossing the distance you had carved between you would help—or only deepen the divide. The silence between you was palpable, stretching wide and unyielding, a vast chasm neither of you knew how to bridge. For a fleeting moment, it felt as though the entire world was holding its breath, caught in this fragile, suspended moment.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, he stepped forward. Just one step, careful and deliberate, the sound soft against the stone floor but carrying a weight that echoed in the quiet. His presence, once a comfort you had never thought to question, now felt too close and yet too far all at once. He moved with a kind of reverence, each step slow and measured, as though approaching something sacred—and fragile.

It was almost unbearable, the way he moved toward you as if you were still the woman he had once known. As if you hadn’t been hollowed out, stripped of the light you had carried, replaced by a grief so consuming it felt like you were drowning. You couldn’t look at him. You didn’t dare. But you felt him, his quiet strength radiating through the cold space, the air between you shifting, growing warmer as he drew closer.

“My love…” His voice was soft, a gentle murmur that carried through the silence like the brush of a hand against frayed fabric. There was a weight to his words, though—something raw and aching, unspoken but undeniable. His concern was threaded through every syllable, tangled with the love he couldn’t seem to put into words. It was the kind of love that refused to be turned away, no matter how fiercely you tried to shut it out.

Still, you didn’t answer. You didn’t even turn toward him. Your eyes stayed fixed on the floor, unblinking, unseeing, your breath shallow and uneven as if even acknowledging him might break the fragile hold you had on yourself.

But his presence pressed gently against the edges of your grief, like a tide brushing against jagged rocks, refusing to retreat. You couldn’t face him, couldn’t let him see the ruin you felt you had become. To turn to him would mean letting him see the cracks, the unbearable weight of your sorrow—and you didn’t know if you could survive his gaze.

Your gaze remained fixed on the frosted window, your eyes tracing the jagged, crystalline patterns of ice etched into the glass. They spread like fractures, distorting the world beyond into blurred shapes and muted shadows. The courtyard below lay buried beneath a thick blanket of snow, its stark silence mirroring the hollow stillness inside you. It looked untouched, serene, as though the world itself had withdrawn, retreating from the weight of your grief. But the chill that gripped you had nothing to do with the winter outside.

This cold was deeper, more insidious. It had rooted itself in your chest, in the fragile places you had once protected. No fire, no warmth, could touch it. It wasn’t a chill of the skin but of the soul, spreading through every part of you, leaving you numb yet unbearably aware of the ache it carried.

Your fingers moved restlessly, pale and trembling as they tugged at the fabric of your gown. The motion was small, unconscious, but relentless. You picked at loose threads and seams, tearing at the delicate material with a quiet desperation. It was all you could do. The stillness of your body demanded an outlet, something to echo the storm raging within you. Each thread pulled free, each tiny rip in the fabric, felt like a hollow attempt to give shape to the suffocating emotions you couldn’t put into words.

You couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. The motion kept the grief from swallowing you whole, even as it frayed the edges of your gown. The tears in the fabric mirrored the fissures in your heart, small and splintering, growing with every passing moment.

Each movement, each tug, was a silent rebellion against the unbearable weight that threatened to crush you. The storm inside you had no outlet, no escape, and the restless motion of your hands was the only way to keep from falling apart completely. Rest felt impossible. Stillness only amplified the ache, the sharp-edged sorrow that had taken over every part of you. Rest would mean surrendering to it, drowning in the pain you weren’t sure you could survive. And so, you tore at the fabric, as though unraveling it might somehow loosen the tight grip of grief around your chest.

But deep down, you knew it wouldn’t. Nothing could.

Cregan didn’t press you, though his silence was as heavy as the grief that hung between you. He didn’t demand answers, didn’t push for words you weren’t ready to give. Instead, he moved closer, his footsteps slow and measured, each one deliberate, as though the air itself might break beneath the weight of his approach. It was as if he were walking through a fragile dream, afraid that one wrong step might shatter it entirely.

Each careful step spoke of his restraint, his quiet struggle to respect the space you had carved out for yourself, even as it tore at him to see you like this. To see the woman he loved, his steadfast, fierce-hearted wife, lost in a pain so profound that even the strength of his presence couldn’t seem to reach her.

He stopped a few paces away, his form solid and steady against the shadows that filled the room. For a moment, he said nothing, the silence stretching again between you, an invisible barrier neither of you knew how to cross. And then, his voice came again, softer this time, carrying a tenderness that wrapped around you like a quiet plea.

“I know you’re in pain,” he murmured, his words low, heavy with the weight of his own helplessness. The emotion in his voice twisted in your chest, each word landing with quiet precision, like drops of water against a stone worn thin. “But I can’t help you if you won’t let me in.”

The pause that followed was almost unbearable, his voice trembling just slightly as he added, “Please, look at me.”

The plea lingered in the air, hanging between you like a fragile bridge you weren’t sure you could cross. His words carried no demand, only a quiet yearning, a love so raw it pressed against the edges of your sorrow, threatening to unravel the fragile defenses you had built around yourself. But you stayed where you were, frozen, your gaze locked on the frost-covered window, as though the jagged patterns of ice could hold you together in a way that his love couldn’t.

You didn’t move. His words reached for you, a lifeline cast across the vast, aching distance between you, but you couldn’t take it. You couldn’t meet his gaze, couldn’t let him see the broken pieces of who you had once been. Not when those fragments felt so sharp, so jagged, that even you couldn’t bear to look at them. The woman who had once stood beside him, who had promised him a future filled with light and hope, was gone. In her place was this hollow shell, weighed down by grief so consuming it left no room for anything else.

Your hands fell still in your lap, the nervous fidgeting replaced by an unnatural rigidity, as though any movement might crack the fragile dam holding everything inside. You stared down at your trembling fingers, clutching at the fabric of your gown not to tear it, but to stop them from betraying you further. The storm within you churned violently, and the stillness felt like the only thing keeping you from falling apart entirely.

The ache in your chest grew sharper, a suffocating pressure that made it hard to breathe, hard to think. It wrapped around you like a vice, pulling you deeper into yourself, away from the voice that tried to reach you.

The air between you felt heavier with each passing second, thick with unspoken words and the weight of all you couldn’t bring yourself to say. It pressed down on you, isolating you further, trapping you in this cocoon of silence where your grief felt too vast to share, too all-encompassing to explain.

You could feel Cregan’s presence, his unwavering patience like a quiet flame, waiting for you to let him in. But that only made the guilt burrow deeper, sharper, as though it might carve you out completely. He was waiting for you to open the door you had closed so tightly, waiting to shoulder the pain you were too afraid to show. But you couldn’t.

You couldn’t let him see you like this—shattered, hollow, and drowning in the sharp edges of your grief. If you turned to him now, if you let him see the raw ruin of what you’d become, you weren’t sure you could survive it. And so, you sat there, silent and unmoving, unable to cross the distance that had grown between you.

Your shoulders trembled, the motion small at first, barely noticeable, before it grew into a tremor that rippled through your entire body. Without warning, your head dropped, your face cradled in your trembling hands. The tears that had lingered just beneath the surface for so long finally broke free, spilling over in a torrent that you couldn’t stop. They came hot and unrelenting, each one carving a path down your cheeks, a relentless reminder of just how much you had lost.

You tried to stifle them, swallowing sobs that clawed their way up your throat, desperate to hold onto some semblance of control. But the tears came anyway, unchecked and unforgiving, a flood that swept away the fragile walls you had tried so hard to build. The warmth of them against your skin felt like a cruel mockery, a vivid contrast to the hollow, icy ache in your chest. You resented them—resented how powerless they made you feel, how impossible it was to push them back, to push any of it away.

You couldn’t. The grief was too deep, too consuming. It wrapped around you like a tide, pulling you under, dragging you further and further away from everything you had once been.

Behind you, Cregan watched, his gaze softening as his heart broke for you in ways he could neither stop nor fully understand. He stood frozen, torn between the overwhelming need to comfort you and the fear that his touch might only deepen the chasm that stretched between you. The sight of your shoulders trembling, of your body folding in on itself as though the weight of your sorrow was too much to bear, left him helpless.

He had always been your shield, your steady foundation, but now he could do nothing but stand there, watching as the woman he loved was consumed by a pain he couldn’t ease. It was a kind of helplessness he hadn’t known before—a sharp, piercing ache that left him stranded on the other side of the distance you had placed between you.

He wanted to reach for you, to do anything to pull you from the storm that raged inside you. But every tear that fell, every breath that shuddered through your frame, seemed to widen the gulf between you both. It felt as vast as an ocean, deep and unbridgeable, leaving him stranded and uncertain, his love for you a light that couldn’t yet pierce the darkness of your grief.

He moved toward you, each step slow and deliberate, as though afraid that even the slightest misstep might shatter the fragile thread tethering you both. The air between you felt heavy, charged with unspoken words and the raw ache of your grief, but he pressed on, his presence steady and unyielding.

When he reached you, he didn’t speak. Words would have felt too small, too inadequate. Instead, he sank to his knees beside the chair, his movements careful, reverent, as though kneeling at an altar. His presence alone was a quiet comfort, a steady flame in the storm of emotions that had consumed you.

His hand reached out, large and calloused, yet impossibly gentle as his fingers brushed against the delicate skin of your trembling hand. His touch was grounding, warm, and steady—a reminder of the life that continued outside the walls of your sorrow. He didn’t force you to respond, didn’t demand anything from you. His hand simply rested over yours, offering a quiet strength that asked for nothing in return.

The restless motions of your hands stilled beneath his touch, the anxious picking at your gown coming to a halt as his warmth seeped into your skin. It wasn’t much—just the smallest of shifts—but it was enough. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the unbearable weight of your grief seemed to loosen, if only by the slightest degree.

It was as though his presence alone could hold some of the pieces of you that had fallen apart, his touch a silent promise that you didn’t have to bear the weight of your sorrow alone. But still, the distance between your heart and his felt vast, the walls of your grief too high to climb. And yet, his quiet persistence, his unwavering love, pressed gently against those walls, searching for a way in.

“Let me be here for you,” Cregan said quietly, his voice a low murmur that carried more weight than the loudest declaration ever could. There was a raw tenderness in his tone, so unguarded and sincere that it pierced straight through you, cutting past the walls you had so carefully constructed around your grief. His words were a balm, gentle against the fractured pieces of your heart, but they also undid you, unraveling the fragile composure you had clung to.

The echo of his voice lingered in the heavy silence, filling the space between you with a quiet plea that wrapped around you, impossible to ignore. Each word was steeped in a love so deep, so unshakable, that it made your chest ache with its enormity. A breath caught in your throat, sharp and jagged, as the storm inside you began to crack open.

Before you could stop it, a sob clawed its way out, raw and ragged, tearing through the stillness. You tried to fight it, to swallow the sound of your brokenness, to hold on to what little control you thought you had left. But it was too much. The weight of it all—the loss, the guilt, the unbearable isolation—pressed down on you with crushing force, and you were helpless against the tide.

Your chest constricted, each breath uneven and shallow as the cry escaped you, desperate and guttural. It shook you to your core, your entire body trembling under the force of the emotion that had been building, unrelenting, inside you. The sobs came like waves, relentless and consuming, each one pulling you deeper into the grief you had tried so hard to bury.

And yet, through it all, Cregan stayed. His presence didn’t waver, his quiet strength anchoring you even as you fell apart. His hand remained steady over yours, grounding you against the tempest within, silently reminding you that you weren’t alone—even when it felt like the weight of the world rested entirely on your shoulders.

“I’m here,” he repeated, his voice a balm against the deep, raw wound carved into your soul. The words were so simple, yet they carried a tenderness that made your heart ache even more. His free hand rose slowly, his fingers brushing the damp strands of hair from your face with the lightest touch. His fingertips grazed your skin like a soft whisper, gentle yet steady, a silent promise in every motion. He wasn’t going anywhere. He would stay, even as you unraveled before him.

“You don’t need to hide from me,” he said softly, his voice unwavering, even as the weight of your sorrow seemed to hang heavy in the air between you.

You didn’t respond. His words settled around you, warm and grounding, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak. There were no words left, no explanations to give, no answers to offer. Only the tears that fell, unrelenting now, streaking down your face like a flood that had been held back for far too long.

The dam inside you had finally burst, and the grief poured out in waves, racking your frame with sobs so raw they felt as though they were tearing you apart. Each shuddering breath brought fresh pain, the ache you had buried beneath layers of guilt and restraint now laid bare. It was unbearable, and yet, in this moment, you didn’t try to stop it. For the first time, you let yourself feel the full weight of the loss, the overwhelming ache that had been clawing at you from the inside out.

And through it all, Cregan stayed. His presence didn’t falter, didn’t try to pull you from the depths of your grief. He didn’t offer empty reassurances or platitudes meant to fix what couldn’t be repaired. Instead, he stayed steady, his hand a constant anchor against the storm inside you, his touch firm yet gentle. He held you in your brokenness, without expectation, without judgment, simply letting you break.

For the first time, the room didn’t feel suffocating. The walls that had seemed to close in on you, threatening to crush you beneath their weight, now felt less oppressive. The silence wasn’t a void anymore; it was filled with something warm, something alive. His presence was like a steady flame in the cold, a quiet reassurance that you didn’t have to carry this alone—not in this moment, at least.

And for the first time, you felt the faintest flicker of relief. It wasn’t enough to banish the grief, not even close, but it made the unbearable weight just a little easier to carry. For this fleeting moment, you weren’t drowning alone.

Cregan watched you as you wept, his heart breaking with every sob that tore from your chest. Each tremor that shook you felt like a blow to him, a pain he couldn’t bear to see yet refused to turn away from. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t speak. He simply stayed, his presence steady and unwavering, a quiet anchor in the storm of your grief.

His hand remained gently over yours, grounding you without words, offering a silent reassurance that you hadn’t asked for but desperately needed. His touch, so steady and sure, was a lifeline in the chaos of your emotions, speaking the things he didn’t need to say aloud: I’m here. You’re not alone.

As your sobs began to slow, the tears that had flowed so freely now reduced to quiet streams, Cregan shifted slightly. His hand lifted from yours, the motion so soft it felt like a whisper. And yet, there was an undeniable strength in it, a quiet promise that he wasn’t leaving, that he wasn’t going to let you fall alone.

“Come on, love,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, a balm against the raw ache in your chest. The words, though simple, carried a weight of their own—love, patience, and an unshakable tenderness that wrapped around you like a warm embrace.

He didn’t rush you. He didn’t pull you from the chair or try to force you to move before you were ready. Instead, he stayed close, his presence a steady flame against the cold emptiness that had consumed you. Every quiet movement, every gentle word, was filled with care. He was waiting—not for you to be whole, not for the grief to pass, but simply for you to take the next breath, the next small step forward.

Cregan felt it all—the weight of everything you had been carrying, the unbearable burden that had pressed down on you for days. He felt the tremble in your body, the exhaustion etched into every line of your frame, and the grief that seemed to radiate from you like a storm that refused to pass. It was heavy, but he bore it willingly, silently vowing to carry it with you, no matter how long it took, no matter how much of himself it demanded.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with concern, each word carrying the weight of the thousand unspoken emotions he didn’t know how to name. There was no rush in his tone, no expectation—only a gentle insistence, a quiet plea wrapped in love.

His hand stayed firm against your back as he guided you across the room, his movements slow and deliberate, each step careful, as though afraid that anything too sudden might undo the fragile calm that had begun to settle between you. His touch was steady, grounding, a tether to hold onto as the overwhelming weight of your grief threatened to pull you under again.

When you finally reached the bed, he guided you to sit, his movements steady yet hesitant, as though reluctant to step away. His hand brushed lightly over your shoulder, the touch brief but deliberate—a fleeting attempt to offer something words couldn’t convey. But as his eyes lingered on you, seated and so visibly burdened by your grief, something shifted in him. It wasn’t pity—it was a deep ache, an unspoken understanding that settled heavily in his chest.

He forced himself to take a step back, his instincts warring with his restraint. He wanted to stay close, but he knew this moment wasn’t about him. You needed space, even if only enough to draw a breath, to navigate the depths of what weighed on you without intrusion.

“I’ll be right back,” Cregan said softly, his voice low, a quiet murmur that carried more emotion than he could name. His gaze flickered to you, filled with a concern so raw it nearly stopped him in his tracks. “I’ll have a bath prepared. You need to rest—and take care of yourself.”

You didn’t answer. There were no words left, only the faint hum of your breath as you sat still, your hands resting in your lap. As he turned, the smallest movement caught his eye—a barely perceptible nod, as fragile as the first stirrings of a winter thaw.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it spoke volumes. It wasn’t permission, nor surrender, but something quieter. A thread of trust, unspoken but present. And though the gesture was small, it was enough for him to continue, his steps quiet but purposeful as he left the room to prepare what was needed.

As Cregan stepped toward the door, the soft click of the handle as it closed behind him seemed to echo through the room, sharp and final. The sound sliced through the oppressive stillness like a cold wind cutting across bare skin. For a fleeting moment, everything seemed to hold its breath. The door’s finality hung in the air, and with it, an even deeper silence settled around you.

The space he left behind felt vast, as though the room itself had stretched in his absence, a yawning chasm you couldn’t cross. You slumped against the headboard, your body sinking further into the mattress, drained of the strength to do anything but exist in the quiet. The exhaustion in your bones was total, a kind of weariness that no amount of sleep could touch.

You had hoped for peace in the quiet, but it wasn’t peace that came. It was weight—heavy, stifling, pressing down on your chest, pinning you to the bed. The room around you seemed to breathe with the creak of old wood beneath you, a low, familiar groan that filled the silence alongside the soft hum of your own breath. And yet, none of it filled the aching void that stretched endlessly inside you.

It wasn’t that you wanted Cregan to return. His presence couldn’t undo what had been broken, couldn’t turn back time or mend the wound that had hollowed you out. But his absence carried its own kind of pain, sharp and relentless, a reminder that life would never return to what it had once been.

Still, you stayed where you were, motionless, surrendering to the stillness that wrapped around you. The weight pulled you deeper, like a tide dragging you under, but you couldn’t summon the energy to fight it. Your body was too tired, your mind too spent, and so you simply let yourself sink into the waiting quiet, waiting for nothing in particular, only the endless passing of time.

Cregan’s footsteps echoed through the stone corridor, quick and determined. The chill of Winterfell’s air was sharp, seeping through the heavy walls, but he barely noticed it. His thoughts were focused elsewhere, running over what needed to be done and how little he could seem to do to ease the storm inside you. Each step carried the weight of his resolve, even as his chest tightened with the ache of seeing you as you were—exhausted, hollow, a shadow of the woman who had once met life with unshakable strength.

He reached the servants’ quarters, his broad frame filling the doorway as his voice broke the relative quiet of the space. “Prepare a bath,” he ordered, his tone low but firm, brooking no hesitation. “And make sure it’s hot. Bring fresh linens, too.” He paused for a moment, his hand pressing briefly against the rough stone wall beside him as he steadied himself. “And food,” he added, glancing between the startled faces of the servants. “Simple, but warm—and enough to sustain her.”

The urgency in his voice was tempered by the restraint he’d forced upon himself. He didn’t bark the commands, but the sharp edges of his words made it clear how quickly he expected them to act. The servants, accustomed to the steady, measured demeanor of their lord, exchanged quick glances before hurrying to carry out his instructions.

Cregan lingered for a moment as the scurry of footsteps and murmured acknowledgments faded down the hall. He stayed still, his hand curling into a loose fist at his side, his breathing measured but heavy. The weight of the past days bore down on him like the snowdrifts against Winterfell’s walls. He could feel the strain of it in his chest, in his shoulders, in the way his jaw ached from holding his emotions in check.

He replayed the image of you sitting on the edge of the bed, your shoulders slumped under a grief that seemed to consume you whole. The tremble in your hands, the distant look in your eyes—it was enough to twist something deep inside him, a pain he couldn’t name and couldn’t shake. But he couldn’t allow himself to falter. Not now.

Straightening, he turned on his heel, his boots striking the floor with purpose as he made his way back through the dimly lit corridors. His thoughts remained focused, calculating what else could be done to make this moment, this night, a little less unbearable for you. He couldn’t take away the grief or the pain, but he could ease the harsh edges of it, if only for a little while.

When he passed another servant, he stopped briefly, his voice softer but no less insistent. “Make sure there’s firewood brought to the hearth. I want the chamber warm.” The servant nodded quickly, moving to comply, and Cregan pressed forward, his steps quickening as the ache in his chest deepened.

As he neared the door to your chambers, his hand brushed the rough stone of the wall beside him, grounding himself in its cool solidity. He paused for the briefest of moments, drawing in a breath to steady the emotions that threatened to spill over. The bath would be ready soon, the food prepared and brought, but none of that felt like enough.

Nothing ever felt like enough.

With one final breath, he opened the door quietly, stepping back into the room where you waited, fragile and silent, the weight of your grief filling the air. He didn’t say a word as he crossed the threshold, his steps careful, his presence steady, bringing with him what little he could offer.

The servants were already hard at work preparing the bath, their quiet movements echoing softly in the background, but none of it mattered to Cregan. His eyes found you the moment he stepped into the room, and the sight of you—the broken posture, your head bowed, shoulders slumped—made his breath hitch in his chest.

You sat so still, as though the grief had hollowed you out and left only a fragile shell in its place. Your movements were barely there, faint and withdrawn, blending into the dim shadows that seemed to wrap around you like a second skin. To him, it felt as though you were slipping further away, piece by piece, retreating into a darkness he couldn’t fully reach.

Cregan didn’t speak right away. He didn’t ask you to move, didn’t press you for words or force you to acknowledge him. The silence in the room was heavy, thick with the weight of everything unsaid, but it was yours. It was the only thing you had chosen in days, and he would respect it, even as it clawed at his chest to see you like this.

But respect didn’t mean standing idly by.

He stepped toward the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, each one measured with a care that spoke of his understanding. Your pain was something fragile, delicate, and he approached as though the wrong move might fracture the brittle calm you had managed to hold onto. When he reached you, he knelt down beside the bed, lowering himself to your level.

His hand extended toward yours, palm up—a quiet offering, an invitation to let him in, to let him share some small part of the burden you carried. His fingers lingered, close enough to touch but not forcing contact, allowing you the choice to accept or reject the gesture.

“Let me help you,” he murmured, his voice low, filled with a quiet but unshakable determination. Each word was gentle but carried the full weight of his resolve. He wasn’t asking for much; he wasn’t asking for words or answers. He was simply offering himself.

“I’m not leaving, love,” he continued, his tone soft but firm, the steadiness of it cutting through the stillness. “Not until you’re taken care of.”

There was no flourish to his words, no attempt to dress them up. He had never been a man of many words, but the ones he chose always carried meaning, each syllable weighted with purpose. He couldn’t fix what had been broken, couldn’t mend the wound that had torn through you, but he could do this. He could stay. He could make sure you were cared for, even if you couldn’t bring yourself to do it alone.

His hand stayed where it was, steady and patient, waiting for you to decide.

His words lingered in the air, their quiet warmth brushing against the edges of your sorrow. Cregan didn’t press you, didn’t rush you to respond. Instead, he simply stayed where he was, his steady presence a quiet assurance that you wouldn’t be left adrift in this moment.

After a few breaths, he gently helped you to your feet, his hand firm at your back as he guided you toward the chair by the hearth. “Let’s sit here for a while,” he murmured, his tone calm and patient, as though the rest of the world could wait.

The flames in the hearth flickered faintly, their light casting soft shadows across the walls. You sank into the chair with a heaviness that seemed to seep into your very bones, your gaze falling to the fire as it crackled softly. The minutes stretched on in silence, broken only by the occasional creak of the old floorboards and the muffled sounds of the servants working quietly in the background.

The faint hum of their activity filtered through the stillness. Logs were added to the hearth, the fire growing brighter and stronger, its warmth beginning to fill the room. The linens on the bed were stripped and replaced with fresh ones, their crisp folds smoothed with precision. The rhythmic sound of water being poured into the bath drifted faintly from the adjoining room, mingling with the scent of lavender as steam curled softly into the air.

Time passed slowly, each moment marked by the subtle changes around you. The room grew warmer, the air lighter, as the servants completed their tasks and slipped out with quiet efficiency. Through it all, Cregan remained close, his movements purposeful but unhurried, his gaze flicking to you every so often to ensure you were still with him, still grounded.

When everything was ready, he returned to your side, crouching down beside you. His hand found yours again, his touch steady and sure as he said, “The bath is ready.”

With deliberate care, he helped you to your feet once more. Each step toward the steaming tub was slow, measured, and supported by his arm at your back, his presence grounding you as you moved forward. The weight of exhaustion still clung to you, but the quiet warmth of the room and the promise of rest seemed just within reach.

The room was a haven of comfort, a stark contrast to the cold, oppressive silence that had held you captive for so long. Flickering candlelight danced across the stone walls, casting soft, shifting shadows that softened the room’s edges. The gentle sound of water filling the bath added a steady rhythm to the quiet, a soothing backdrop that eased the weight pressing against your chest. The warmth of the room wrapped around you like a long-forgotten embrace, the promise of relief so close you could almost feel it seeping into your bones.

But it wasn’t just the room that brought this fragile sense of solace. What truly began to thaw the ice that had settled in your heart was Cregan. His presence, steady and grounding, was a force that anchored you without demand or expectation. His eyes, unwavering and filled with a tenderness you hadn’t thought yourself capable of receiving, never left you as he guided you forward. Every movement he made carried with it a quiet purpose, an unspoken promise that you were not alone in this moment.

When you reached the edge of the bath, Cregan’s hand was firm yet gentle against your back, steadying you as you lowered yourself into the water. He moved with the same deliberate care, as though the slightest misstep might shatter the fragile calm that had begun to form around you. The warmth of the water enveloped you immediately, wrapping around your tired body like a soft, tender embrace. The heat seeped into your aching muscles, melting away the tension that had clung to you for days, while the chill rooted in your skin seemed to dissolve into the bath.

Yet, even as the water soothed you, it was Cregan’s presence that truly began to untangle the knot in your chest. His quiet care, his unwavering devotion, and the unspoken promise in his every action brought with them a peace you hadn’t known in what felt like a lifetime.

As you soaked in the warm water, something deep within you began to shift. The tears you’d been holding at bay for so long finally began to fall again. But this time, they were different. They weren’t the sharp, jagged tears of grief that had torn through you in your solitude. These were softer, quieter—tears of relief, of release. They came hesitantly at first, as though testing the safety of the space around you, before flowing freely in an unbroken stream. It was as if the warmth of the water and the quiet strength of Cregan’s presence had unlocked something within you, giving you permission to let go of the pain you had carried for so long.

Cregan didn’t speak as you cried. He didn’t try to comfort you with words or fill the silence with empty platitudes. Instead, his hand rested gently on your shoulder, his touch warm and steady, an anchor amidst the wave of emotions overtaking you. His silence was filled with understanding, speaking louder than anything he could have said.

Cregan moved with deliberate care, his touch light but steady, as though the very act of tending to you required all the patience and gentleness he could muster. He reached for the soft cloth resting at the edge of the tub, dipping it into the warm water before wringing it out with precise, measured motions. His movements were purposeful, each one imbued with the quiet reverence he reserved for the things that mattered most to him—things that needed protecting, things that needed care. And in this moment, nothing mattered more to him than you.

You sat there, unmoving, as though the water had become an extension of the emptiness within you. It felt as though you had become hollow, a presence without weight, without purpose. Your eyes, distant and unfocused, stared into the space beyond the water, seeing nothing, feeling nothing. The grief had settled so deep within you that it had worn you down to a mere shadow of the woman you once were. The person who used to laugh freely, who found joy in the smallest of moments, felt so far removed from you now. It was as though the agony had stolen her away, leaving only an echo, faint and fragile, drifting somewhere beyond your reach.

Cregan’s movements didn’t falter, even as he watched the faint tremble in your hands, the distant look in your eyes. He began at your shoulders, the warm cloth brushing over your skin in soft, soothing strokes. His hand followed the curve of your neck, careful and unhurried, as though afraid that anything more abrupt might fracture the fragile calm around you. The heat of the water and the rhythm of his touch seemed to melt some of the tension in your body, loosening the weight that clung to you, though you still felt adrift.

The silence between you remained unbroken, filled only with the faint crackle of the fire and the soft ripple of water. It wasn’t oppressive; it was gentle, a quiet space where words weren’t needed. Cregan’s hands, rough from years of work yet impossibly tender now, moved down your arm, washing away not just the remnants of the day but the faint traces of neglect that marked your solitude.

When he reached your hands, he paused, his fingers brushing over the places where anxious picking had left their mark. His thumb lingered on those faint lines, his touch featherlight, as if trying to soothe both the physical signs of your grief and the deeper wounds that lay unseen.

He continued with the same deliberate attention, his focus unbroken. The cloth moved down your back, across your legs, each motion slow and purposeful, as though he understood that rushing would rob this moment of its meaning. This wasn’t just about cleansing your body—it was about showing you, without words, that you were still cared for, still seen, even in your most broken state.

As he finished, he set the cloth aside, his hand lingering at the edge of the tub for a moment. His gaze softened as he looked at you, his expression full of unspoken tenderness. “Take your time,” he said quietly, his voice low and steady, a quiet reminder that there was no need to rush, no expectation beyond this moment.

And as the warmth of the water embraced you and the quiet intimacy of his care settled around you, the faintest flicker of something stirred within. It wasn’t enough to mend the hollow ache or restore the woman you once were, but it was a start. For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of your grief wasn’t all-consuming. In the stillness, in the warmth of the water and the strength of Cregan’s presence, you felt a fragile sense of being held—not by words, but by the simple, steadfast care of someone who refused to let you drift away.

You opened your mouth, desperate to speak, to give voice to the storm tearing through you. But the words wouldn’t come. They caught in your throat, heavy and sharp, refusing to escape no matter how much you willed them to. Every syllable you might have spoken was swallowed by the weight of everything you carried inside—the guilt, the loss, the crushing sense that you had failed not just yourself, but everyone who had ever cared for you.

Your chest tightened, the pressure rising until it felt as though you might shatter under it. Your lips closed again, trembling as the turmoil inside you deepened, the ache in your heart becoming more unbearable with every passing second. The silence stretched on, not a reprieve, but an oppressive reminder of how the words remained out of reach, leaving you trapped, drowning in the depths of your own sorrow.

Cregan, kneeling beside you, felt the subtle shift in your body—the faint tremble of your shoulders, the way your breaths grew shallow and uneven, as though your grief threatened to tear you apart from the inside out. He paused, his hands still resting gently on your back, not pressing, not rushing, but simply waiting. He gave you the space to feel, to process the rawness of the emotions tearing through you, even if you couldn’t find the words to name them.

The room was still, save for the faint crackle of the fire and the soft rhythm of your breathing. The quiet wasn’t empty; it was filled with the weight of your sorrow, heavy and palpable in the air between you. Cregan’s gaze stayed fixed on you, his dark eyes steady and filled with a resolve that didn’t waver.

It was as though, in that silence, he was speaking to you without words, telling you that it was okay to feel this, okay to break. His presence didn’t demand anything of you—there was no impatience, no expectation. Only the quiet assurance that no matter how many tears you shed, no matter how fractured you felt, he would stay.

His hands, roughened from years of labor but impossibly gentle now, remained steady on your back, offering a constant, grounding support. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. He simply stayed, his warmth a quiet contrast to the storm raging within you.

Without a word, Cregan reached for the towel resting beside the tub. His movements were deliberate, his hands steady as he prepared to help you. He extended his hand, firm but careful, guiding you to stand. The water rippled softly as you rose, the warmth slipping away as cool air wrapped around you. Without hesitation, Cregan wrapped the towel around your shoulders, covering you fully before helping you step onto the soft rug beside the tub.

He led you to the nearby stool, lowering you gently into the seat. The towel stayed draped around you as he knelt and began drying you, his hands purposeful and precise. Starting at your shoulders, the soft cloth moved over your skin in slow, even strokes, absorbing the water that clung to you.

He worked silently, dabbing at your arms, your back, your legs, each movement unhurried. When he reached your hands, his touch was impossibly light, the towel brushing carefully over the faint marks left behind by your anxious picking. He dried your feet last, the warmth of the towel a small barrier against the cool air around you.

Once he finished, Cregan reached for the folded nightclothes he had set aside. He unfolded the soft fabric, his hands moving with the same deliberation as he slipped the robe from your shoulders. He held the nightgown open, guiding your arms into the sleeves with gentle care. The fabric fell over you, light and soft against your skin, as he carefully smoothed it into place.

Leaning closer, he adjusted the ties at the neckline, his fingers working deftly but without haste. He paused briefly, ensuring the gown fit comfortably, before retrieving the thicker robe that lay nearby. He draped it over your shoulders, its weight heavier and warmer, securing the belt loosely at your waist.

The room was silent save for the faint crackle of the fire and the rustling of fabric. His hands lingered briefly at the edges of the robe, tucking it into place, before he stepped back. He didn’t speak, his focus solely on ensuring you were fully dressed and shielded from the cold.

You sat still, your gaze fixed downward, the weight in your chest as heavy as ever. A tear slid down your cheek, but you didn’t move to wipe it away. Another followed, your breath hitching as the sobs that had been building broke free once more, shaking your frame.

Cregan knelt again, his hands steady as he adjusted the robe around you, the simple action wordless but full of purpose. When he was done, he rose quietly, leaving the space untouched by words, as if to respect the unspoken weight of the moment. The room held only the sounds of your breathing, uneven and raw, and the faint crackle of the fire as the night stretched on.

As Cregan helped you to the bed, his movements were slow and deliberate. One hand stayed steady at your back, the other guiding you by the arm, each gesture careful, as though ensuring you wouldn’t falter. When you were finally seated, he lingered, his hand resting against you for a moment longer than necessary. His gaze flickered briefly to your face, searching for something—perhaps assurance that you were steady, perhaps something unspoken. He didn’t rise, didn’t retreat. Instead, he knelt before you, his broad frame folding quietly to the floor, his presence grounding without intrusion.

His hands reached for yours, large and warm as they wrapped gently around your trembling fingers. His touch was firm but cautious, like cradling something that had already been cracked too many times. His thumb traced over your knuckles, the slow, deliberate rhythm neither asking nor expecting anything. It was a touch that seemed to say everything he didn’t—an offering without pressure, a steadiness that didn’t waver.

The silence between you was dense, weighted by everything that had been left unsaid, yet it didn’t press for answers. The faint crackle of the fire filled the air, mingling with the sound of your uneven breaths, each inhale and exhale catching on the edge of a sob. Your hands trembled beneath his, the effort of holding yourself together visible in every small movement, threatening to break apart at any moment.

When Cregan finally released your hands, it wasn’t to leave you. He moved quietly, rising to retrieve the small plate of food that had been left on the table beside the bed. Without a word, he brought it closer, setting it gently on the mattress within your reach. His movements were careful, unhurried, as though even this simple act demanded the same precision and attention as everything else he did.

Your gaze fell to the plate, and for a long moment, you simply stared at it. Its simplicity felt almost cruel, a stark contrast to the enormity of what weighed on you. Your hands trembled in your lap, the act of reaching for the plate feeling like an impossible task. When you finally lifted your hand, it hovered uncertainly, your fingers stiff and unfamiliar as they wrapped around the fork with halting movements.

The food sat heavy on your tongue, its taste muted and distant. The mechanical act of chewing felt disconnected, each motion foreign and wrong. When you swallowed, a sharp twist gripped your chest, the weight of the action pressing against you with suffocating force. It wasn’t just the food—it was the reminder that you were still here, still breathing, still alive, when everything inside you felt hollow and undone.

A sob tore from your throat, sudden and raw, breaking the fragile quiet of the room. It came without warning, jagged and unrestrained, and with it came the tears—hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks in an unending torrent. Each one dragged something deeper, more painful, to the surface, leaving you trembling in their wake.

The plate sat untouched as your body folded in on itself, your hands gripping the edge of the bed as though it might keep you tethered to the ground. The sobs wracked through you, your breaths coming in uneven, shallow gasps, and then the words came—soft, broken, slipping from your lips before you could stop them.

“I failed him…”

The words lingered in the air, cutting and bitter. They twisted in your chest like a blade, the weight of them sharper now that they had been spoken aloud. Saying them didn’t ease the ache—it only made it heavier, more real. The truth of them pressed against you, unrelenting, as though it might suffocate you entirely.

Cregan knelt again, his movements measured as his hands returned to yours. His fingers curled around them, their warmth a quiet counterpoint to the trembling in your own. His grip was steady, firm without being constraining, and his thumb resumed its slow, deliberate strokes across your knuckles. The rhythm was calm, offering no pressure, no demand—only an unspoken reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“You didn’t fail him,” he said softly, his voice low and even, the words carrying the weight of his certainty. “You loved him. That’s all anyone could ask. And I will love you through this, no matter how long it takes.”

The words hung between you, unshaken and sure. But as they reached you, they didn’t sink into the places they needed to. They echoed faintly in your mind, the edges of them dulled by the roar of guilt that refused to be silenced.

Your gaze lifted to his, and his eyes reflected nothing but tenderness, a love that was steady and unflinching. But in their reflection, all you could see was your own brokenness, your own failings laid bare. The ache in your chest twisted sharper, the weight of your perceived failure pressing harder with every breath.

And in that moment, as your heart shattered once more beneath the unbearable weight of everything you had lost, it felt as though the grief might crush you entirely. It pressed against your chest, unrelenting, a force that hollowed you out further with every passing second. The ache seemed endless, a constant presence that had carved itself so deeply into you that it felt inseparable from who you had become.

But even within the depths of that pain, there was something else—something faint yet immovable. It wasn’t hope, not exactly, nor was it solace. It was Cregan. His hands on yours, his steady presence, the quiet certainty of his care—it didn’t lessen the weight of your sorrow, but it didn’t waver either. It was simply there, an unspoken truth that remained even as the grief threatened to consume you.

It didn’t ease the ache in your chest or silence the voice in your mind that told you you’d failed. But in the pit of your broken heart, you knew his love was unyielding, something that had existed long before this moment and would remain long after. It wasn’t a cure for the grief, but it was steady, something that wouldn’t falter, no matter how deep the sorrow ran. And though you couldn’t yet bear to hold it fully, it lingered, waiting in the quiet.

Cregan sensed the shift in you before you could fully grasp it yourself. His gaze softened, the faintest flicker of understanding reflected in his eyes. He didn’t push, didn’t demand anything from you. His hands remained steady, his touch gentle as his fingers brushed along the curve of your cheek in slow, deliberate strokes. The motion was rhythmic, unhurried, an unspoken promise that he would stay—not to fix you, not to pull you from the depths, but simply to be there, however long it took for the storm inside you to rage.

The plate of food sat nearly untouched on the bed, a quiet acknowledgment of his respect for what you needed in this moment. He made no move to bring it closer, no effort to coax you into eating before you were ready. Instead, he let it rest there, unobtrusive, as though understanding that the weight of even that small act might be too much to bear.

The silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t cold or empty. It was a silence that held no expectations, no pressure. It was gentle, patient—a space that allowed you to exist as you were, unfiltered and raw. In that quiet, there was no demand to explain, no urgency to heal. You could simply be.

And though the grief remained sharp, unyielding in its hold, there was a small comfort in that silence, in his steady presence. It didn’t take away the ache, but it gave you permission to feel it without pretense. To sit in the heaviness of your sorrow without the burden of pretending to carry it differently..

As you sat there, wrapped in the quiet warmth of the room, the rest of the world seemed so far away. Yet the overwhelming weight of everything began to creep back in—a steady, suffocating pressure that settled heavily in your chest. The plate of food that had once felt distant now sat in front of you, an unwelcome reminder of what you had lost, of everything you hadn’t been able to protect. It wasn’t hunger that repelled you—it was what the food represented. The simple act of eating felt trivial, almost offensive, in the face of the emptiness that consumed you. The ache within you was too vast, too deep, to be touched by something so mundane.

Your hand moved almost instinctively, pushing the plate away with a motion so gentle it was barely perceptible. It wasn’t defiance or rejection—it was an admission of what you couldn’t give yourself. You couldn’t force yourself to be whole, couldn’t pretend that eating would fill the void left inside you. The untouched plate sat between you and the world, its presence quietly mocking.

Cregan sat beside the bed, his broad frame still and his posture calm, as though any sudden movement might disturb the fragile balance of the moment. His hands rested lightly on his knees, his thumbs tracing slow circles against the rough fabric of his trousers, his gaze fixed on you. He didn’t try to convince you to eat, didn’t say a word. His silence wasn’t empty—it was full of quiet understanding. There was no expectation in his eyes, no disappointment, only a steady acceptance of what you couldn’t yet bring yourself to do.

He didn’t judge you for it. There was no reproach, no impatience. His gaze, steady and unflinching, carried only a gentle acknowledgment of your pain. In the quiet of that moment, his presence eased the sharp edges of your self-doubt, not by removing them, but by offering a space where you didn’t need to fight against them. He had seen you at your strongest, at your best, and now, as he looked at you, he saw you at your most vulnerable. Even here, raw and fractured, he looked at you with the same certainty, the same unwavering care.

He didn’t reach for you. He didn’t touch you beyond the occasional flicker of his thumb brushing against your hand where it rested near your knee. Yet even without words or gestures, his presence spoke volumes. It wasn’t a love that sought to fix you or erase the weight of your sorrow. It was a love that existed without expectation, without conditions—a love that offered itself freely, regardless of how broken or fragile you felt.

Cregan’s gaze didn’t falter, even as you pushed the plate away, even as your breaths grew uneven under the weight of it all. He sat beside you, offering nothing more than the certainty of his presence, the quiet assurance that you didn’t need to be anything other than what you were. In that silence, his love wrapped around you—not as a solution, but as a quiet anchor, holding you steady when everything else felt like it might slip away.

The tears that had once flowed relentlessly began to slow, though the ache in your chest remained—a constant, gnawing presence. It wasn’t something that could be banished or fixed with time or words. It felt woven into the very fabric of your being, an ache that refused to be soothed.

Cregan rose from his seat beside the bed, his movements deliberate as he reached for the plate that sat untouched. He lifted it gently, carrying it away and placing it back on the small table with care, as though even this small act deserved respect. When he returned, his attention shifted to you. He stood quietly for a moment, his gaze steady and unhurried, silently asking for permission as he helped you lie back against the bed.

He lingered as he pulled the blanket up over you, tucking it lightly against your shoulders before stepping back. Without a word, he began to undress, his movements slow and deliberate, as if the weight of the moment demanded nothing less. Once ready, he slipped beneath the covers beside you, the mattress dipping slightly as he settled into place.

At first, Cregan didn’t reach for you. He allowed the space between you to remain, as though giving you time to decide how close you wanted him to be. When you shifted toward him, seeking his warmth, he responded without hesitation. His arm wrapped carefully around your waist, drawing you closer with quiet purpose. His chest pressed against your back, solid and steady, a barrier between you and the cold emptiness that lingered at the edges of the night.

Though the ache in your chest didn’t fade, with him beside you, it felt a little less suffocating. His presence didn’t erase the grief that had hollowed you out, but it steadied you in a way you hadn’t expected. Slowly, you began to let yourself rest, the weight of his arm and the quiet rhythm of his breath coaxing you into a fragile kind of calm.

Your forehead came to rest gently against his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat grounding you. The rise and fall of his breathing guided your own, slowing the uneven rhythm that grief had imposed. His warmth surrounded you, cocooning you against the chill of sorrow that still lingered in your heart.

Cregan’s arm tightened slightly, his hand resting against your back as though shielding you from the weight of your pain. He didn’t speak or try to fill the silence with empty reassurances. He simply held you, his presence unshaken, offering quiet strength without demand or expectation.

He could feel the tension in your body, the stiffness that came from holding too much inside. The way you tensed against him spoke of the struggle to keep your grief contained, as though letting it spill out would unravel you completely. He wished he could take that weight from you, even for a moment, but he didn’t ask you to let it go. Instead, he held you tighter, his warmth enveloping you, a silent shield against the sorrow that pressed so heavily upon you.

After a long stretch of stillness, Cregan’s voice broke through the quiet. It was soft and low, almost as if he were speaking to himself. His words carried a thoughtfulness, the weight of a memory he had been holding close, now offered to you in the stillness of the night.

“I remember a time when I was a boy,” he began, his voice low and tinged with nostalgia. “It was a winter, much like this one. We were up in the mountains with my father. The cold was so sharp, so bitter, that even the wolves sought shelter in the trees.” He paused, his fingers gently tracing a slow, absent rhythm on your arm, as if anchoring himself in the memory. “We were hunting, tracking a stag, but my father—he always taught me that you don’t chase after something just because it’s there. You have to be patient. You wait for the right moment.”

His words hung in the air, deliberate and weighted, as though each one carried more than just a memory. It wasn’t about the hunt, or the bitter cold—it was about something deeper. About waiting. About endurance. About knowing that some things take time, even when the waiting feels unbearable, even when the pain seems endless.

You kept your gaze on him, watching as the memory unfolded in his eyes. It wasn’t just the words he spoke—it was the way he offered them, the quiet conviction in his tone. A simple story, yet it carried the quiet strength of patience and resilience, a lesson that reached beyond the moment. It wasn’t about fixing what was broken. It was about surviving. Enduring. And as you listened, you began to understand that this was a truth he had carried with him for a long time—a truth he was now sharing with you.

Cregan’s voice softened even further as he paused, the weight of his words settling into the quiet around you. His hand rested lightly against your back, steady and warm, as though trying to shield you from the storm of your thoughts. His gaze met yours for a moment, unflinching, before drifting away again as he spoke.

“I didn’t get it then, not fully,” he murmured, his tone thoughtful, each word carefully chosen. “But now… now, I think I do.” He exhaled softly, his breath brushing gently against your face, the realization in his words carrying the weight of years. “There are moments in life that feel like they’ll break us. Moments where we feel like we’re lost, as though nothing we do will ever be enough. And in those moments, it’s not what we do to fix it that matters most. It’s how we endure. How we wait through the pain, knowing that, eventually, it will pass. It’s about having the patience to let the hurt come—and the patience to let it leave when it’s ready.”

Cregan’s next words came slowly, each one deliberate, heavy with the weight of his love and the quiet strength he offered. It was as though he were trying to bridge the chasm between your pain and his desire to hold you together, even in the brokenness that surrounded you.

“I won’t pretend to understand the full depth of your sorrow, or the weight that rests in your heart,” he said, his voice low and steady, thick with meaning. The tenderness in his tone was undeniable, each word chosen with care. “But I do know this—you are not carrying it alone.”

He paused, letting the words settle between you. They hung in the air like a fragile thread, something so delicate yet so vital, connecting the raw edges of your grief to the steadfastness of his presence. His gaze remained fixed on yours, unwavering, as though willing you to believe him.

“We are here together,” he continued, his voice softer now but no less certain. “And I’ll stay beside you through it all—no matter how long it takes, no matter how much time you need.”

As he spoke, his arm tightened around you, just enough to make his promise tangible, to emphasize the truth of his words. It wasn’t a solution, wasn’t meant to erase the pain that clung to you so fiercely. But it was constant, unyielding—his presence a silent vow to remain with you, no matter the weight of the sorrow that bound you both to this moment.

You could feel the steadiness in his voice, the raw honesty behind each word. It wasn’t just a story he told—it was a promise, woven into the quiet strength of his presence. It was a reminder that grief, with all its weight and anguish, was not something you had to face alone. And though the journey through it would be long—perhaps longer than you could imagine right now—he would wait with you. Just as he had waited patiently that day in the mountains, not rushing the hunt but trusting that, in time, the right moment would come. Cregan understood the power of patience, the way it shaped everything, even in the darkest of times.

The warmth of his body and the quiet strength of his words began to settle in your chest, providing a fragile comfort amidst the storm of your grief. The ache didn’t vanish—it gnawed at you still, sharp and relentless, pulling at the edges of your heart. But his presence offered something more, something small yet significant: a sense that you didn’t have to face this alone. You were still broken, still lost in the enormity of everything you had endured, but in his arms, there was a flicker of solace. Not hope—not yet. But the smallest inkling that, with time, the pieces might begin to mend.

Cregan wouldn’t ask you to hurry through this pain. He wouldn’t demand anything you couldn’t give. He would wait beside you, steady and unwavering, until the day came when the ache didn’t feel so suffocating. He would wait for you to heal, not by rushing you forward but by standing with you through every difficult step.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself rest. You loosened the tight grip you’d kept on your grief, just enough to lean into him, to let his arms hold the weight you no longer could. In this moment, with him, you didn’t have to be strong. You didn’t have to understand what came next. You only had to exist, to breathe, and to trust that in the silence between you, the promise of healing was waiting, just like the moment Cregan had waited for in the mountains.

[putiflowy]

Seong Gi-hun x fem! reader

Summary: On your way home you are being chased by a strange man in a suit. No place seems safe until you run into an old friend, Gi-hun.

Warnings: I'm a yapper (word count: 2.5k). Also, sexy time (masturbation, oral, teasing, praising, sex toys, unprotected sex, a lot of talking during sex, penetration, creampie, fluff).

Walking alone at night has always been a terrifying experience and even more when you were being followed by a mysterious dark figure. You held your purse strap tightly and played with it between your fingers to calm your nerves. In case the man showed up, you were prepared to hit him with it. In the best case scenario, he wouldn't follow you afterward. However, worse situations crossed your mind. Therefore, you decided that the best thing to do was to find a place to hide.

Not so far from you there was a bright neon light coming from a pink motel. Although you had lost sight of the creepy man, you decided it was best not to risk going home. As you approached the doors, you realized that everything was darker and less welcoming than you had expected. Still, you pressed the doorbell as many times as you could and waited for an answer. Your knocks had not gone unnoticed. What you didn't know was that a camera had been zooming in to get a closer picture of you.

"Fuck it." You sighed and decided to walk away, trying to find a safer place so the freak would get tired of following you. Near the motel, there was a convenience store that still had light. You greeted the tired cashier and she forced a smile in return. As you checked out the products through the various food sections, you kept an eye on the window, just in case the man appeared. Once in the drink section, you took your time inspecting all the products.

“Coffee with milk… no… aloe vera juice… no… boba tea… hmmm…”. Staying focused on the juices was also a way to release the pent-up stress. However, this new task had made you oblivious to your surroundings. Suddenly, a finger poked your shoulder. It was a polite touch, but still, it sent shivers down your spine. You had goosebumps everywhere. Was it him?

"You seem to be lost." A familiar voice spoke from behind you.

"Gi-hun?" As soon as you saw that lanky figure of your childhood friend, your fear was replaced by nostalgia and excitement. You couldn't contain your happiness and immediately jumped up to give him a bear hug.

"(Y/n)!" He exclaimed and quickly returned the embrace. From the tightness of his grip, you could tell he had missed you too. After breaking away from the hug, you put your free arm around his and he gently caressed the hand you had offered him. Despite the dark circles under his eyes, his face glowed with joy.

"Gi-hun, it's so great to see you again. It's been ages, where have you been hiding?" Curiosity took hold of you. A lot of questions needed to be made.

"I could say the same, (Y/n)! We have a lot to catch on." You walked the short aisles of the store as if you were a young couple strolling through the mall.

"Tell me, tell me! Are you living here in Seoul?" The latest update you had on his life was that his daughter was a very good student and that he was having frequent arguments with his wife.

"No, no, I moved recently... work related." He scratched the back of his head and broke eye contact with you for a moment.

"Oh! Are you living here with... Ga-yeong? How is she anyway? She must be so tall by now. Just like his dad!" You mentally high-fived yourself for being able to remember his daughter's name.

"Ugh... She is actually with Eun-ji and her husband, in the US." He lowered his head for a moment, as this was a difficult and personal topic.

"I did not know-"

"Don't worry! Things happen. So, how are you? And what brings you to Seoul?" He quickly changed the subject to focus on you. After all, there was a reason he came here.

"Oh not much. Well, actually, I went for some drinks with my coworkers and they all left. I was trying to get to my house, but-"

"I saw you on the camera of the motel. Are you okay?" His grip on your hand tightened.

"Are you... working there?" Your head was not focused on the problem that brought you to this place.

"I'll explain it later, but yeah. Now tell me, are you in danger?" The joy on his face faded, revealing an expression of concern. That was the real intention that brought him here, despite wanting to see you.

"I think... I think a guy is following me." You started to remember the details of the night. "I was at the club and, as I was about to have a drink, a man in a suit offered to pay for it. He got closer to my ear and asked me if I wanted to play a game. I said nothing and went back with my coworkers. Then, sometime during the night, he came up to me again and started saying some scary shit like…." Gi-hun listened as he breathed deeply, worried about the suited man.

"What did he say?" He asked, his hand still gripping yours.

"He knew my name and surname. Also my debt. It was so weird. I decided to walk away from that place as fast as I could. I'm scared, Gi-hun. I don't want to go to my house in case he follows me, but maybe he already knows where I live."

"Don't worry, (Y/n). I'll stay here with you. You can stay at my house if that's what makes you feel safer."

"Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks, Gi-hun." On your way back to his home, you did not expect him to be living on the pink motel. Even less expected: he was the owner. The door to his room was reinforced and had various latches. The inside was quite messy with papers all around, yet he kept the place pretty clean. As you inspected the room, you quickly took notice of the different screens that showed various locations of the motel. He had cameras almost everywhere. This made you worry more about his situation than yours.

"There are many thugs around here. I like to keep an eye on them." Gi-hun sat confortably on his bed, leaving a space for you to sit beside him. You decided to sit in front of him in a wooden chair, ready to get all the answers.

"What's going on here, Gi-hun? How did you get all the money to pay for this motel and... well all of this?" The worry in your eyes was notorious. What had this man gotten himself into?

...

The hours went by quickly. You shared laughs, talked about recent losses, struggles, reminisced about childhood memories. The fear dissipated. Had a few. The attraction you felt for him was slowly more and more obvious. You got up the courage over drinks and decided to flirt with him. Gi-hun seemed to be into you by the way he laughed at all of your jokes and how he touched your arm from time to time.

"Hey, if I go into the bathroom. There won't be cameras watching me, right?" You warned him by tugging firmly on his shirt collar. The corner of his mouth trembled trying to hide his laughter.

"No, don't worry, (Y/n)." He raised his arms in an attempt to prove his innocence.

"Good." You pointed the leather bag that was on his bed and he brought it closer to you. "Thanks." With a last dangerous but flirtatious glance, you left the room.

The bathroom was not anything out of this world, yet it had a very nice bathtub with a purple curtain. You checked your face on the mirror to reapply mascara. Your lipstick was long gone but as you were anticipating a lot of making out for this night, you did not put any on. For an extra spicy touch for the night, you took your panties and bra off, hiding them in your bag. Now you were only wearing a tight dress that left no room for imagination. Once you were ready, you walked back to the room. An entertained and slightly drunk Gi-hun was waiting patiently on his bed.

"You look different." Gi-hun's hand was resting near his crotch and the other one was holding his weight.

"You like it?" He was enjoying your moves as you showed him your dress. You left the bag on the floor and walked enticingly towards him.

"(Y/n), you look amazing." You sat on his lap facing him, with your expossed crotch pressing on his clothed member. Gi-hun's jaw was relaxed and all you could hear were his heavy breaths, filled with desire to have you.

"You should have told me that a long time ago." You cupped his cheeks between your hands. His face looked pretty funny all squashed up.

"I'd never thought a woman like you would like someone like me." Your hands were impeding Gi-hun from speaking properly.

"You want to fuck me then?" Your direct question caught him off guard, so you took the chance to explore his body. Your index finger caressed softly his cheekbone, admiring his handsome features. You then moved to his shoulders, massaging them and pulling his shirt down. As you started touching him, his hands travelled from your back to your butt, pressing his nails softly. When he noticed you were not wearing panties he gave you a dirty look that let a loud laughter escape from your lips.

"You little freak." This just made him want you more. His movements became more savage, exploring with more passion and leaving no room for shyness. You could feel his clothed erection pressing between your thighs.

"You look so hot when you're horny." You complimented Gi-hun enjoying his facial expression. You also teased him with some wet kisses.

"(Y/n). You can't even imagine how much I want to fuck you." He brushed his fingers over the hem of your dress, lifting it slowly to reveal more skin.

"Me too." He squeezed your ass cheek, still waiting for permission to touch in between your thighs. As it was quite difficult to reach to your parts in this position, you laid down on the bed. You opened your legs widely, making it clear that you wanted him.

"You are quite impatient, aren't you?" He said as he grabbed your thighs firmly. As his head lowered down in between them, you traced with your fingers along the strands of his hair. You could feel his hot breath in your pussy sending shivers throught your entire body.

"Touch me." You ordered but he ignored you. He kept massaging all the places around your pussy to make you crave his touch even more.

"I'm sorry, darling. You will have to beg for it." He licked his lips softly caressing around your folds with his fingers.

"Please, Gi-hun. I need you." You pleaded and he seemed to be satisfied. His index finger found you clit and started rubbing circles against it. You took advantage of the fact that you were holding his hair and you lowered his head to your pussy. In no time, his lips were sucking on your clit, making you shiver and pant even faster. He changed the motions and pace from time to time, which made you go crazier for him. Your vagina was pulsating, wanting him to penetrate you desperately. Gi-hun took notice of this and moved his hand closer to your entrance. He slipped a finger inside of you and in return, you gave him a satisfied smile as he pumped it in and out. Then, he pulled one finger more, still sucking and licking on your clit.

"Is this what you want?" His face was now not so many inches away from yours and his finger still pumping in and out of you.

"I need you Gi-hun, please. Fuck me." You said that last one making eye contact with him flirtatiously. He pulled out his wet fingers out of you for a moment and moved to a drawer to get something.

"You see. When I bought this place it came with some free toys. I still have not had the chance to use them. Wanna try?" He revealed a vibrating bullet and turned it on, showing you the different modes and intensities it had. You gave him a quick 'yes' with your head. He pressed the toy on your clit and a loud moan escaped from your lips when he inserted his fingers back. He enjoyed every bit of it.

"Gi-hun!" You exclaimed grabbing his hand with force. The sensations were becoming overwhelming.

"You look so beatiful like this." He complimented as you panted heavily. "I wonder what you would look like with my cock inside of you." Gi-hun grabbed your wrist guiding it to the vibrating bullet. Now you were the one in control of the modes and intensities. As his fingers were no longer inside of you, you decided to try with a different mode. While you were playing with the vibrator, Gi-hun's hand hooked under your thigh and pulled one of your legs over his shoulder. The other hand unzipped his pants and pulled down his boxers to reveal his throbbing erection.

"You like that?" He asked rubbing the tip of his penis in your entrance. Seeing your facial expression of pure pleasure and the moans you gave in response were more than enough for him to keep going.

"I want you, Gi-hun." The sound of his name in your lips made him groan. The moment you said you wanted him, he pressed his dick slowly inside of you.

"You feel so good on my dick." His size filled your vagina and he waited a moment for you to adjust before thrusting. Once you were ready he started thrusting in and out slowly. Then, his eyes dropped down to your bouncing boobs.

"Like what you see?" You moved the hand that wasn't holding the vibrator to your boob and gave it a gentle squeeze. Even if he liked it, he decided to take a more dominating role. He grabbed your wrists and pulled them over your head.

"What about this? You like it?" You smiled in return and crossed your legs around his waist so he would keep thrusting deeper. With his dick inside you and the vibrator, you wouldn't last long.

Looking at Gi-hun, he would not last any longer either. His movements became more erratic and his moans louder. Your breaths quickened and your vagina tightened as you were reaching orgasm. Gi-hun took notice of this and kept the pace even if he was almost there too. You could feel everything with even more intensity now. His lips kissing yours and the wet sensations. His moans. His one day beard tickling your face. The tight grip on your wrists. His dick pressing in and out. Your vagina walls tightening. Your breath going faster. You soon came on his dick and his mouth muffled your moans. Your fluids lubricated his member which made it easier to penetrate you.

"Keep going." You told him still feeling some pleasure even if it was less intense. He pumped his dick in and out a few more times before spilling his cum inside you. Once he was done, he pulled his dick out and the cum spilled out of your vagina.

"That was amazing." He said with a satisfied smile laying beside you on the bed. He brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead and gave you a soft peck on your lips.

"Yeah, we should hang out again some time. You almost made me forget about that guy."

[elixirfromthestars]

CAIT! THIS! WAS! SO! ADORABLE! 🥹🩷🩷🩷 You had me smiling the entire time omgggg 🥰 You might’ve just influenced me to buy a lights projector 👀💖

As always, all my reactions under the cut ✉︎ᯓᡣ𐭩

First off, a secret santa, a cheesy Hallmark rom-com, and a yummy Christmas morning breakfast potluck??? Sign me up please!!!! 🥰❤️ I haven’t eaten breakfast yet, so this made me hungry lol 😂🩷

Something I always love about your fics is how you incorporate everyone with all these little details that make it feel so natural and real. Like I read these little things and I’m like yeah Sam would be impatient about finding out his secret santa, Peter snd Sam would be the first to finish eating to get the present exchange started, and oh yeah Nat would totally have the best Christmas wrapping skills. Do I make sense? I hope so 😂🩷

"What'd you get?" Sam asks. You don't respond at first, taking in the packaging of the box. A northern lights projector.

-> Omg, what a cute gift 🥰 (I said before reading the flashback.)

-> OMG ARE YOU KIDDING ME THATS THE SWEETEST GIFT EVER 😭❤️❤️ (I said after reading the flashback)

I don’t even know where to start with this cute little flashback 🥹🩷 The mission moments you write are always so good 🫶🏼💕

Even though he won't say it, you know he wants to see the northern lights as badly as you do. He's made it obvious by the way he glances out the window every so often to check.

You've been hoping that they'd make an appearance for him as much as for yourself. He's technically seen them before - decades ago. But never as himself. Never as Bucky.

^ Brb, I’m going to go cry for a bit 🤧 Never as Bucky?? UGH 😭

As someone who has eaten shit many times with black ice before, I feel her pain 🥲 Black ice is no joke 🤧

You're over three thousand miles from New York, but it doesn't feel like you're far from home at all.

Bucky and you have been mission partners for quite some time now, and he has a way of making you feel like you're at home, no matter where you're actually at. His presence is familiar and comforting - whether you're at the compound, or in a different country, or in Alaska - the familiarity and comfort of home is there, as long as he is.

^ EXCUSE ME? 🥹🩷🩷 HOME IS WHERE HE IS, YES I AGREEEE 😭🩷🩷

The fact that he sprinted inside all excited to tell her about the lights and help her up to go see them, oh Bucky Barnes the man that you are 🥹🩷🩷🩷 And the northern lights in the background was just like the prettiest visual ever 🌌✨

"I'd give anything to be able to see this where we live," you breathe. You glance up at him to find him already looking at you. "Wouldn't you?" You ask him. "I really would."

^ He. Was. Already. Looking. At. Her. Ahhhh, my heart 🥹💗

I love that she got him such a personal gift, and he did too for her because it just speaks so much to how well they know each other 🥺🩷 And the way he switched with Nat, so he could give her the gift cause he was all nervous ahhh 🥹🩷

It had been a fleeting thought when you stared into his eyes under the colorful Alaskan sky - how beautiful it would be to kiss someone under such a serene and mesmerizing sky. How beautiful it would be to kiss him, here. It was a thought that you shoved down, out of fear for crossing a line and making yourself look like an idiot.

It's a thought that is once again at the forefront of your mind, sitting beside him in your bedroom under the imitation aurora. Under the true northern lights, or under your bedroom ceiling in New York - it doesn't matter. You think kissing him would be beautiful anywhere. And so you do.

^ 1000% I agree. A kiss from Bucky anywhere would be beautiful 😌💖💖 Mhm. 😌🩷🩷 And the kiss that follows is such a sweet moment under the projector lights!! 🥹💗💗 And not him asking if that’s was his present 😂❤️

"My ma used to have one just like this," he murmurs in awe. He grabs your hand in his and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Thank you. It's perfect."

He turns to place it behind him on your mattress before pulling your face to his once more. It's shorter than the kiss before, but just as tender and sweet. "But just so you know, you could have just given me a kiss, and I would've been just as thrilled."

^ This was so sweet omg 🥺 It probably brought so many memories back for him 🥺🩷 What a way to end it 🤧💕

Cait, you gave us such a beautiful mutual pining/friends to lovers fic and I cannot thank you enough for sharing such lovely stories with us 🥹💖💖 You write friends to lovers so wonderfully and I will always be there to relish every word written 🫶🏼💕

starry eyed

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3.2k

summary: reader gets a special gift from her secret santa

warnings/tags: mostly just fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers, avenger!reader, no use of y/n, one minor injury, language, kissing and some sensuality

author's note: short little feel good christmas fic! everyone is alive and happy because i say so. i originally got the idea for this fic last winter, but i hadn't got back into writing at that time. happy that i was able to put it into words finally.

my masterlist

“So, whose name did you draw?”

You shove your hand into an oven mitt, grabbing a large dish out of the oven. Everyone had been assigned to bring a different breakfast food to the Christmas morning potluck.

Sam brought chocolate chip pancakes, Steve brought a shit ton of sausage links, and Sharon brought a giant fruit platter to name a few. You figured that the easiest, cheapest way to help feed a group of a dozen people is a couple tubes of Pillsbury cinnamon rolls.

“That kinda takes the secret out of Secret Santa.”

Bucky leans on the island in the middle of the compound’s kitchen, drinking his second cup of coffee of the morning. His breakfast dish of choice? A sack of two dozen McDonald’s hash browns.

“I was just testing you,” Bucky jokes. “You passed. Do you want to know who got your name?”

“No!” You whack his stomach with the oven mitt and he feigns injury. “I do not. Have I passed all of your tests?”

“I’m proud,” Bucky says after a big gulp of coffee. “You’re stronger than Sam, at least. He’s been asking everyone who drew his name for the last week.”

You roll your eyes. “He does that every year and no one ever tells him.”

Your friends begin filing into the kitchen, everyone grabbing plates and piling them high with all of the food scattered across the island. After making your plate, you retreat to the living room and nestle yourself between Natasha and Sharon on the couch.

Everyone is so occupied with stuffing their faces that there’s hardly any conversation. You halfway pay attention to the Hallmark Christmas rom-com playing on the television as you devour a stack of pancakes and hash browns.

Truthfully, you had hoped to draw Bucky’s name from the hat. You had a gift in mind for him already, and if you’d gotten his name then it would have presented you with the perfect opportunity to give it to him without any pressure for him to give you a gift in return.

You ended up drawing Sharon's name, but you decided to get the present for Bucky, anyway – a vintage tabletop phonograph from the forties that you’d snagged for an incredible deal on eBay. You didn’t put it under the gargantuan Christmas tree with all of the other gifts. It sits in your bedroom, waiting for you to give it to him later today when you’re not surrounded by all of your close friends.

To no one’s surprise, Sam and Peter are the first people to finish eating and immediately begin handing out all of the presents under the tree. You’re still finishing up your breakfast when Peter practically throws a small box wrapped in snowmen print paper towards you.

It's addressed to you, from your Secret Santa. Right off the bat, you’re sure that the gift didn’t come from Natasha – you know how much pride that she puts into gift wrapping. Not that this gift is wrapped poorly, but compared to Natasha’s typically extravagant bows, you’re confident that she wasn't the one who wrapped this present.

You also notice that the handwriting appears to be more on the masculine side. It looks familiar, though you can’t say with confidence who it belongs to.

“Alright, who wants to go first?” Sam says loudly enough to quiet all the chatter going on. “No one would spoil my gift for me and I’m getting impatient.”

You and Bucky share a knowing glance and eye roll at his words. He sits in a recliner directly across from you, holding the gift from his own Secret Santa.

“I’ll go first,” you offer excitedly, giving the box in your lap a small shake that gives nothing away.

You carelessly tear at the wrapping paper until it’s in pieces by your feet on the floor.

“What’d you get?” Sam asks.

You don’t respond at first, taking in the packaging of the box.

A northern lights projector.

You feel warmth spread across your cheeks and you can’t help but smile down at the gift in your hands, no longer having any doubt about who this gift came from.

One Month Ago

“These Spaghettios expired a couple weeks ago. Do you think we should risk it?”

You stand in the small kitchen of the Alaskan safe house, rifling through the limited options in the pantry. Some instant oatmeal packets, a few cans of Beanee Weenees, and the aforementioned expired Spaghettios are tonight’s dinner choices.

You can’t say you’re surprised – you’ve been doing this job for a while, and poorly stocked safe houses are pretty much the standard in this line of work. It doesn't help that this is the fifth night that you and Bucky have spent in this particular safe house, and you've eaten through all of the better options at this point.

“If you want to risk getting food poisoning in addition to that sprained ankle, then you go for it. I'll be sticking to the oatmeal.” Bucky reaches around you, grabbing a packet of maple and brown sugar oatmeal from the shelf that you stand in front of.

He's right. The oatmeal is the safest option.

One more night of this, you remind yourself. Tomorrow night, you'd be back in the comfort of your room, where you can DoorDash Chinese food.

You sigh, grabbing the remaining packet of oatmeal.

“You know, I wouldn't even mind the food situation nearly as much if I could just see the lights. Five nights here and nothing,” you grumble.

It’s your first time in Alaska, and you had high hopes for being able to see the northern lights. Each night so far, after long days of recon, you’ve stayed up past the point of exhaustion checking to see if they’re visible.

So far, the weather had been nothing but rainy and dreary, making the sky close to impossible to see at night. The clouds finally let up some today, but you've still seen no hint of an aurora. Just inky blackness, a crescent moon, and a steady downpour of snow that began a few hours ago.

“You could always get one of those projectors,” he teases with a shrug. “Northern lights, galaxies, constellations… all right there on your bedroom ceiling.”

Even though he won’t say it, you know he wants to see the northern lights as badly as you do. He's made it obvious by the way he glances out the window every so often to check.

You’ve been hoping that they’d make an appearance for him as much as for yourself. He's technically seen them before – decades ago. But never as himself. Never as Bucky.

“Those are neat,” you agree glumly. “I've just always wanted to see them in person. Kinda a bucket list thing.”

Getting to witness them with him would be the cherry on top, but you don’t add that part.

Bucky insists that you sit down on the couch and ice your ankle while he prepares the instant oatmeal for the two of you. You’re too tired to protest, so you retreat to the sofa and flip through the limited number of channels on the old TV with your foot propped up.

Fucking black ice. The last day of this mission and everything had gone swimmingly up until you slipped on a patch of clear ice earlier today, twisting your ankle.

You’re just thankful that it happened in front of Bucky, and not Sam. You can only imagine the teasing that would have ensued if it had been Sam that saw you eat shit.

The two of you eat by the warmth of the dwindling fire while watching a Seinfeld re-run.

You’re over three thousand miles from New York, but it doesn’t feel like you’re far from home at all. Bucky and you have been mission partners for quite some time now, and he has a way of making you feel like you’re at home, no matter where you’re actually at. His presence is familiar and comforting – whether you’re at the compound, or in a different country, or in Alaska – the familiarity and comfort of home is there, as long as he is.

“I’m gonna go get some more wood for the fire before bed,” Bucky says when he finishes scarfing down his food. You give him a quick nod, your mouth still crammed full of oatmeal. “You stay here and try not to sprain anything else,” he teases with a glance at your foot that’s elevated on the coffee table in front of you.

You shoot him an obscene gesture once his back is to you. “You act like my leg got cut off,” you grumble as he exits the house.

No more than ten seconds pass before you hear him call your name from beyond the front door. You look over your shoulder with wide eyes and he all but sprints back into the house with an animated expression.

“What? What is it?”

“The lights. They’re visible,” he exclaims. He walks over to the couch, taking your bowl from you and sitting it on the end table next to you before you can process what’s happening. He offers his flesh hand to you in an attempt to help you up.

“Holy shit, really? You better not be messing with me.” You push yourself up off the couch, momentarily forgetting all about your ankle.

“I’m not messing with you,” he snorts. “Come see for yourself.”

Bucky wraps his arm around your waist and you throw yours over his shoulder, helping you walk to the porch without putting too much pressure on your injured foot. You lean into him, his body heat providing a nice reprieve from the night air as you step outside.

You don’t pull away, and neither does he.

Side by side, you stare up at the seemingly endless expanse of swirling rivers of blue and green. The auroral rays seem to dance across the sky, electrifying the night with the shimmering veils of color.

“Wow,” you whisper in awe. Wow doesn’t begin to cover how ethereal the phenomenon is, but you’re at a loss for words. It’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen.

You're acutely aware of the bitter chill of the cold wind. If it weren't for the fact that Bucky feels like a personal space heater, your teeth would be chattering. But with the view before you, you find it hard to care.

“I’d give anything to be able to see this where we live,” you breathe. You glance up at him to find him already looking at you.

“Wouldn't you?” You ask him.

“I really would.”

Present Day

“Oooh,” Natasha coos beside you, snapping you out of your memory. “A northern lights projector. I wonder who that could be from.”

You can tell by her tone of voice that she knows exactly who it’s from – even if you hadn't blatantly told her about seeing the northern lights on your mission with Bucky last month, she's too smart to not be able to figure it out herself.

You playfully elbow her in the side, silencing her teasing but the smirk on her face remains.

“Thank you, Santa,” you say with a glance at Bucky. “I love it.”

The rest of your friends open their presents one by one. You try your hardest to pay attention, but all you can think about is how perfect you think the gift that Bucky picked out for you is. He could have just given you a gift card, or a generic gag gift, but what he gave you is personal, and sentimental, and thoughtful.

When all of the Christmas morning festivities have come to an end, you retreat back to your bedroom with your presents. Despite getting many great gifts from your friends, the one from your Secret Santa is by far your favorite.

You unbox the projector and set it up on your nightstand before plugging it in. As soon as you press the power button, the ceiling of your room is covered in shades of blue and green that mimic the natural hues of the northern lights that you had witnessed first hand just a month prior.

You flick your light switch off, making it easier to envision yourself standing under the Alaska sky. Of course, there’s nothing like seeing the real thing, but it’s still pretty, and the meaning behind the gift is what makes you happier than anything.

Smiling to yourself beneath the undulating ribbons of turquoise and emerald, you can’t help but replay the memory of standing under the aurora with Bucky.

How he got so excited when he went outside and realized the lights were visible, the contrast of his warm body against the cold night air as he helped you stand on your hurt foot, and the way that he was smiling at you instead of taking in the scene before him –

Your phone chimes from your back pocket, drawing you back to reality.

A projection probably doesn’t really compare to the real thing, huh?

You smile at your phone, sitting down on your bed. You think of how you should respond when you remember the present you bought for Bucky that sits in your closet.

Come and see for yourself, you respond.

With his room being just a short distance down the hallway, it’s only a few moments before you hear a soft knock against your door.

“Come in,” you say softly.

You’re suddenly overcome with a wave of nerves, and you tell yourself it’s because you’re antsy about giving him the present you'd picked out for him.

Bucky eases into the room, closing the door behind him. He takes in the display across your ceiling with his hands shoved in his pockets – a nervous habit of his that you’ve noticed many times before, though you can’t pinpoint why he’d be nervous right now.

“Pretty cool,” he admits. He takes a seat in front of you on the edge of your bed and finally meets your gaze. “Can’t say it quite compares to the real thing, but at least it’s a whole lot warmer here.”

“The food is considerably better here, too,” you joke. “But really, thank you. It’s definitely the best Secret Santa gift I’ve ever received,” you add, cringing when you remember the toilet shaped coffee mug that Sam had gotten you two years ago.

You use it regularly, of course. But you like Bucky’s gift far more.

“And I got you a present, too,” you add in a small voice before you can chicken out. “I know I wasn’t your Secret Santa, so I hope you don’t think it’s weird. It’s okay if you don’t like—”

“Can I tell you something?” He interrupts you. He’s grinning big – the kind of grin that brings out the lines around his eyes. You snap your mouth shut and answer with a quick nod.

“I wasn’t your Secret Santa originally,” he sighs. “Natasha was. But I convinced her to switch names with me.”

“But why—”

“I got your present as soon as we got back from Alaska, but then I started overthinking it… just thought it would be easier to give it to you if I had the excuse of being your Secret Santa,” he shrugs.

You’re momentarily stunned. It dawns on you – he’d been worried about the exact thing you had. You’d been so worried about him being weirded out by you getting him a gift that you waited until you were alone to give it to him, and he’d been so worried about getting you a gift that he convinced someone else to let him have your name in Secret Santa.

How silly of both of you, you think.

He sits by you on your bed, waiting for your response with a patient, albeit uncertain expression. Your eyes flicker from his eyes to his lips.

It had been a fleeting thought when you stared into his eyes under the colorful Alaskan sky – how beautiful it would be to kiss someone under such a serene and mesmerizing sky. How beautiful it would be to kiss him, here. It was a thought that you shoved down, out of fear for crossing a line and making yourself look like an idiot.

It's a thought that is once again at the forefront of your mind, sitting beside him in your bedroom under the imitation aurora.

Under the true northern lights, or under your bedroom ceiling in New York – it doesn’t matter. You think kissing him would be beautiful anywhere.

And so you do.

Or he does – you’re not actually sure who leans forward first. But you are sure that he still tastes faintly of maple syrup and coffee from breakfast, and that when he cups your face in his flesh hand and tilts it to give him a better angle to sweep his tongue along your bottom lip, your brain turns to static white noise.

You let him set the pace – it’s slow and soft, like he’s trying to memorize the map that his tongue draws inside your mouth. You place one of your hands on the back of his neck, intertwining your fingers in the short tufts of hair.

Still holding your face in his hand, he pulls away with a gentle tug of your bottom lip between his teeth and looks at you in the blue-green glow of the projector’s illumination.

“Was that my present?” he smiles, rubbing his thumb across your cheek. You laugh, reeling in the afterglow of the kiss.

You drop your hand from his neck, and hold up a singular finger to him, indicating for him to give you a moment. You walk over to your closet, retrieving the large gift bag containing the phonograph.

When you walk back over to your bed, you turn on your bedside table lamp for a bit more light before handing him the bag.

He smiles, blushing faintly as he pulls the tissue paper out of the gift bag. He eases the package out of the bag slowly, as if he’s scared the contents will break. You watch as he takes his time with the unboxing, now feeling a fresh wave of nervousness at the anticipation of him seeing the gift.

His smile only grows once he realizes what it is.

“My ma used to have one just like this,” he murmurs in awe. He grabs your hand in his and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Thank you. It's perfect.”

He turns to place it behind him on your mattress before pulling your face to his once more. It’s shorter than the kiss before, but just as tender and sweet.

“But just so you know, you could have just given me a kiss, and I would’ve been just as thrilled.”

••••••

thanks for reading!! i had fun writing this cute little piece ♡

[katerinaaqu]

helloooo so im not a fan of greek mythology or classics or anything like that, but something about the suitors of penelope caught my eye so i just wanted to ask if there are any other suitors named in the odyssey that arent antinous, eurymachus or amphinomus? (i forgot how to spell the last guys name)

+ and if youre willing enough, did any of them have characters / personalities and maybe even the slightest bits of stories of their own, outside of the whole yknow. "trying to make penelope marry and kill telemachus" thing? if thats too much though i completely understand, lovely blog!!

I mean it would be great if you were Anon! Hahahaha but that's fair.

Of course there are several names that appear in the Odyssey. Of course the most known ones are Antinous, Eurymachus and Amphinomus but there are several names that appear in the Odyssey as you remember from my post about Antinous where I mention the misconceptions around the Odyssey,

you see the name of Leiodes. Other names rescued are:

Leocritus, Agelaus, Amphimedon, Elatus, Eurynomus, Euryades, Demoptolemus, Peisander, Polybus and Ctesippus.

Unfortunately most of the names of the suitors are not mentioned in the Odyssey however we have other scoliasts and future writers, for example Apollodorous who also makes a list of several other names in his book "Epitome":

From Dulichium came fifty-seven: Amphinomus, Thoas, Demoptolemus, Amphimachus, Euryalus, Paralus, Evenorides, Clytius, Agenor, Eurypylus, Pylaemenes, Acamas, Thersilochus, Hagius, Clymenus, Philodemus, Meneptolemus, Damastor, Bias, Telmius, Polyidus, Astylochus, Schedius, Antigonus, Marpsius, Iphidamas, Argius, Glaucus, Calydoneus, Echion, Lamas, Andraemon, Agerochus, Medon, Agrius, Promus, Ctesius, Acarnan, Cycnus, Pseras, Hellanicus, Periphron, Megasthenes, Thrasymedes, Ormenius, Diopithes, Mecisteus, Antimachus, Ptolemaeus, Lestorides, Nicomachus, Polypoetes, and Ceraus.

And from Same there came twenty—three: Agelaus, Pisander, Elatus, Ctesippus, Hippodochus, Eurystratus, Archemolus, Ithacus, Pisenor, Hyperenor, Pheroetes, Antisthenes, Cerberus, Perimedes, Cynnus, Thriasus, Eteoneus, Clytius, Prothous, Lycaethus, Eumelus, Itanus, Lyammus.

And from Zacynthos came forty—four: Eurylochus, Laomedes, Molebus, Phrenius, Indius, Minis, Liocritus, Pronomus, Nisas, Daemon, Archestratus, Hippomachus, Euryalus, Periallus, Evenorides, Clytius, Agenor, Polybus, Polydorus, Thadytius, Stratius, Phrenius, Indius, Daesenor, Laomedon, Laodicus, Halius, Magnes, Oloetrochus, Barthas, Theophron, Nissaeus, Alcarops, Periclymenus, Antenor, Pellas, Celtus, Periphus, Ormenus, Polybus and Andromedes.

And from Ithaca itself the suitors were twelve, to wit: Antinous, Pronous, Liodes, Eurynomus, Amphimachus, Amphialus, Promachus, Amphimedon, Aristratus, Helenus, Dulicheus, and Ctesippus.

However one must bear in mind that all these names do not appear in the Odyssey so it is unclear whether Apollodorous has mentioned these names out of other sources or if he came up with a few of them himself! Hahaha especially since Apollodorous seems to be raising the number of the suitors from the standard 108 to much more than that!

But yeah that is food for thought as well even if Apollodorous lived several centuries after Homer.

As for the last part yes of course there seems to be several of character development to the suitors that at least are named in the Odyssey for as you see from the post that I made,

Antinous is the leader of the suitors in one way. He is as you see the most outspoken and one of the most arrogant ones and the way I read the passages of his it seems almost as if he is constantly intoxicated. I find it no coincidence that he died when he was ready to get a drink! I also love it, as I mentioned to another post of mine, how his name seems to mean "against all reason" aka "madman"

Eurymachus strikes me as the guy who is the "rich brat" in one way if I am allowed the comparison. He seems to be the richest of them all and he seems to be the one Icarius prefers the most for his future son-in-law because his own wedding gifts were the richest. Eurymachus seems to be a smooth talker and he often gets in the middle between Antinous and Penelope (for example Penelope goes on a full attack on Antinous accusing him and Eurymachus gets in the middle) but in a more slithering way, if that makes any sense. He is also the one who throws Antinous under the buss when he sees Odysseus is up for the kill to them all. He says that Antinous who is just killed was the root of all evil in there and that Odysseus needs to do nothing more. He also suggests they would pay back what they ate. He strikes me as the rich kid that thinks he can solve stuff with money. Eand wine .urymachus also seems to be confident with himself because he seems to have a close relationship with Odysseus and the royal family or at least his family does since Eurymachus mentions how Odysseus used to place him on his knees when he was a child, feeding him roasted meat and wine

Both Eurymachus and Antinous seem to be though capable athletes (they were the best at throwing the javelin and the discus while they were playing together) and like Antinous he seems to have knowledge on weapons such as bows and arrows.

Amphinomus is more of a diplomat material. In fact Homer states that out of all the suitors Penelope liked him the most because he was a smooth talker and he seemed gentle. In fact Amphinomus prevented the suitors from killing Telemachus TWICE in the Odyssey. He didn't deny the suggestion of the kill per se (so that he wouldn't lose the support of the other suitors) but he said that they need to first make sure that the killing was agreeable to the gods as well (in a way he also seems to try and prevent the killing altogether). He said that if gods wanted that then he would kill Telemachus himself but if they do not it is a sin and it shouldn't be followed. He is also one of those who encourages the others to stop mistreating Odysseus (disguised as a beggar) and encourages them to let Telemachus treat him as his guest given that this is the right thing to do. It seems that even Odysseus noticed he has kindness in him for he is the only suitor he actually doesn't only test in order to save him from doom but he ACTUALLY warns him to escape doom but Amphinomus doesn't heed the warning and remains. He also seems to be the suitor that at the end of the day didn't try to harm Odysseus out of hatred but he ran towards him with his sword trying to get him out of the way towards the exit so basically he tried to run away. Telemachus killed him with a spear through the back (his first kill for that day) and again I find it interesting and ironic that his name means "between two rules/shares" because he seems to be in a limbo state between the suitors and Telemachus and in the end he dies between two rulers (Odysseus and Telemachus). Amphinomus strikes me for a good guy that ended up with bad companies. In one way he seems to be in a way reflecting Odysseus too since he does try to persuade others with his words and navigate his way through stuff (plus the fact that Penelope liked him more than the others because of the way he speaks with logic AND Odysseus seeing the potential in him and actively trying even more to save him compared to others).

Leiodes was also called "soothsayer". It was said that he was one of those who was head over the heels in love with Penelope and he genuinely wanted to win her hand. He seemed to be a gentle guy or at least gentler than the rest who really wanted to earn Penelope. He was also the first to protest against bending the bow, realizing the impossible of the task thus earning the angry reaction of Antinous (see at my post that I link). It is also arguably the most shameful out of the killings Odysseus performed given that Leiodes managed to clasp Odysseus's knees begging for his life and also saying that he never bothered or bedded any of his slave girls, according to the customs of employing ritual, Odysseus couldn't refuse him the favor and he should normally spare him his life as he requested (in this case this doesn't apply classically given how Athena was there encouraging). Odysseus though was furious for Leiodes's notion to marry Penelope and he cut off his head.

Leocrtitus strikes me as someone who thinks too high of himself. His name appears technically once in the Odyssey and that is when he fights against Mentor (Athena in disguise) and claims that even if Odysseus himself were to show up in the palace, Penelope would have no joy upon seeing him because they would more or less kill him. Leocritus seems more like the guy that boasts a lot from that line or that is certain of himself when things are certain but only when he is certain that nothing would go wrong. He speaks with certainty they can take Odysseus when he is most certain that Odysseus would never show up because he thinks he is dead.

Agelaus seems to be similar to Amphinomus here for he too seems to have some humanity inside him (although arguably one can also say that he is pretending of that he has his reasons behind it) since he also speaks to the suitors and advises them to stop tormenting the stranger (Odysseus in disguise) or stop bothering the slave girls in the hall (most likely the women who were unwilling to serve the suitors) and he even said that "he hoped Odysseus would come back but that doesn't seem likely" (the latter seems to be more a pretend wish than anything but that is up for interpretation) but he keeps trying to sooth-talk Telemachus to tell his mother to choose the one that brought her the best gifts to which Telemachus says that he "doesn't want to force her and that he hopes the day will never come". Agelaus also strikes me for a very calm fellow for even in the chaos of battle after Antinous, Eurymachus and Amphinomos are dead Agelaus still calls for Melanthius and makes the assumption that Odysseus doesn't have enough shafts for them all and that they should sound the alarm or something and try to find their way out and apparently he was right because Telemachus accidentally left the door to the weaponry open so Melanthius came back holding some weapons for some of the suitors. So yeah that too seems like a great thing not mentioned enough. Also even amidst the chaos he tries to find allies for he turns to Mentor (Athena in disguise) and tries to persuade him not to be swayed by Odysseus's words unknown to him that he is speaking to Athena and when he sees that "Mentor" is not helping, he is showing leading skills and he gathers around the best remaining of the suitors to organize themselves and fight back. The latter gives a meaning to his name as well given how Agelaus means "leader of people"

Eurynomus has no lines in the Odyssey but I find it interesting that Homer decided to share with us that Eurynomus is one of 4 brothers out of whom one of them accompanied Odyssus to the arduous trip, Antiphus, and he was in fact one of his comrades that died in the hands of Polyphemus and in fact he was the last to be eaten by him so Eurynomus for me signifies the visual representation of the people who are left behind and possibly their complicated psychology. His father Aegyptius who was mourning for the death of his son (for he had stopped hoping to see him again) and the other two brothers that helped his father at the farm. Somehow makes me wonder was Eurynomus TOO EAGER to make his father proud? Perhaps he stopped caring? Did he have any recollections of his own brother or not? How was his relationship with his other brothers? Was he, if I may make a random comparison, an "edgy teenager" who just didn't care anymore? And arguably Homer also names him as "one of the best" of the suitors so that shows he did have plenty of potential. Who knows indeed

Amphimedon and Demoptolemus are also not having any lines and are mentioned once and twice respectably in the Odyssey but both were some of those that Homer names "the best" that Agelaus brings close to him again showing their potential.

Euryades is only mentioned when Telemachus kills him so not much is known on him.

Same goes with Elatus who is also mentioned only when he is killed by Eumaeus and nothing else is very much known of him

Peisander is mentioned during the wedding gifts process when Agelaus gathers him close to him as well (again one of those that were praised for their potential) and when he is killed by Philoetius.

Polybus now seems to be mentioned as "wise" but I also see the name being associated as the father of Eurymachus more often. There is only mentions of Polybus as a suitor and that is when Agelaus is gathering around him the best he can find in chaos and when he is killed by Eumaeus. Most likely we talk about two different people that just share the same name. I don't think both father AND son are competing for the hand of Penelope unless Polybus was there just to make sure that Penelope would marry in their family but that doesn't seem likely to me given how Eurymachus gives gifts that are said to be the best so if his father was also there I would expect them to have similar gifts and that Icarius might as well approve of the father as the husband to his daughter plus the fact that the suitors are named as young makes me doubt that Polybus the father of Eurymachus and Polubus the suitor are the same person. But here's some food for thought!

Ctesippus is the one that is mentioned from moment 1 that he has "lawlessness in his heart" so he seems like the most violent or potentially viscous of them all. He stands up and says that he wants to offer a "guest gift" to the "stranger" (Odysseus in disguise) one of the slave girls that belong to Odysseus. He even proceeds on taking an ox's hoof from his plate and throw it to Odysseus but Odysseus dodges it. The move causes the reaction of Telemachus and his reaction also brings forth Agelaus who also says to the suitors to stop abusing the stranger. Ctesippus doesn's seem to be a very potent spearman for he manages to graze the shoulder of Eumaeus in the battle but his spear was deflected by the swineherd's shield so either he is not as good in battle or he was drunk or panicking for he lost his weapon like that.

I hope that helps a little at a small interpretation/analysis on the suitors of Penelope as presented in the Odyssey plus an extra list of Apollodorous even if I do not fully allign with it, I just placed it here for the sakes of the encyclopedic knowledge! Hehehehe!

But thanks for the question Anon because it is important to remember how complicated all the homeric characters are! Even those that are supposed to appear brutes, they have also secret sides that Homer did let us known they existed!

Also yay this is my 5000th post!! 🥳 🎉 🪅 🎊

I deeply apologize if I forget someone and I shall elaborate more to reblogs and/or comments if there is one that I missed or forgotten etc.

[esouliie]

AND I’LL STILL SEE IT UNTIL I DIE.

(natasha romanoff x reader) (wanda maximoff & reader)

summary | In a world that’s only even been bleak, Natasha was your anchor, your light in the storm. But now she’s gone, her final act a selfless sacrifice to save a future you’re not sure you can face without her. The shadows are closing in, and so, you’re left with an impossible choice: to succumb to the weight of your loss or to find the strength to honour her sacrifice by living on — for yourself and for her.

warnings | angst, hurt/comfort, open ending, natasha is dead, reader is borderline suicidal, wanda is a good friend.

notes | i am sorry for this lol… but you guys must share my pain and im currently in a lot of it. i miss natasha too much. also, i wrote this as i listened to loml by taylor swift, do i wanna know? by hozier and for good by wicked on repeat so if it’s all over the place, that’s why lmao.

dedicated to @historyofstoriesendingsadly ⊹♡

It was quiet on the edge of the lake. Too quiet for someone who knew Natasha Romanoff. For someone like Natasha Romanoff. It’s odd how this was her favourite place. The stillness doesn’t suit her. She was never the type to bask in silence; she thrived in moments where chaos and calm intertwined, where danger and peace blurred. But here, now, there’s only the still, glassy surface of the water reflecting the overcast sky. It felt wrong, to be out here alone, but you knew there’s no other way this could be done.

No one could’ve done what she did.

You tightened your grip on the small bouquet of wildflowers in your hand, their stems damp against your palm.

It was better this way.

Natasha would have hated the theatrics of a big funeral.

She wouldn’t want everyone standing in line, shaking hands, and trading formal condolences. She saw how personally informal of a funeral Peggy had. She was pretty sure nobody there even knew of the woman. No, this—the quiet, intimate setting, the lake she would sit by as she watched the sunset during your visits—felt more like her. More honest.

You set the flowers down on the wooden dock and sit cross-legged beside them, staring out at the rippled water. “I miss you.” You murmured, your voice barely breaking the silence. “And this is stupid. I’ve never even been to a funeral so I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know that you’re not here and I couldn’t just …”

Your words faltered, and you glanced down at your hands, trying to find something, anything, that won’t make you fall apart.

But it’s impossible.

The flowers beneath your fingers begin to crumble under your strength.

You twirled the wedding ring on your left hand.

…

You remembered the first time you officially met her. Her sharp wit sliced cleanly through the tension in the room, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as if she already knew she’d win you over. And she did, effortlessly. She had a way of making herself the most intriguing person in any space, her words both a challenge and an invitation. Even then, you couldn’t help but be drawn to her. She was fire wrapped in silk, a paradox that made her impossible to ignore.

And there was the first mission in Prague, where she saved your life in more ways than one. It was an extraction mission, deceptively simple on paper but riddled with complications the moment boots hit the ground. The target was heavily guarded, and you, fueled by adrenaline and an unshakable drive to prove yourself worthy, pushed ahead despite Natasha’s warnings to wait for backup.

You could still hear her voice in your earpiece, sharp and edged with frustration. "Don’t be stupid, Agent. Stick to protocol." But plans fell apart quickly in the chaos, and before you knew it, you were cornered in a crumbling alleyway, blood trickling from a fresh gash on your forehead, and your weapon lying just out of reach.

But like a ghost in the shadows, she was there. And she moved with a precision that was almost frightening, taking down your attackers in the blink of an eye. By the time the dust settled, you were still catching your breath, slumped against the cold brick wall, while she holstered her weapon and crouched beside you.

"Had enough of the reckless heroics?" She teased, her tone light but her gaze assessing the wound on your forehead. You were expecting a harsh reprimanding for your huge mess up.

Natasha gently brushed a curl away from your face stuck to your open wound. "You’re just as reckless as I was at your age, and trust me when I say, that’s not a compliment."

That night, after the mission was complete and the adrenaline had worn off, you found yourself perched on a sink as she dabbed a damp cloth against you, cleaning the hardened blood from your face.

"I thought I had it under control.” You admitted, wincing as she pressed the cloth a little too firmly against the cut.

"You thought wrong.” She replied without missing a beat.

“I wanted to prove to you that I handle it.”

At first, she seemed at lost for words.

“In this world, you must think first. Act second.” She placed the cloth back into the sink, seemingly done with her aid.

“And most importantly, you must listen to me… you’re no good to anyone if you get yourself killed."

There was a pause, a heaviness in her voice that made you glance up at her. For all her sharp edges and cutting remarks, there was something unspoken in her expression—a flicker of concern she didn’t bother to hide with you.

She cared for you.

It was then you noticed how green her eyes were.

You remembered the way she let her walls down for you. It wasn’t immediate, that trust. Natasha Romanoff was a fortress, her defenses honed through years of abuse, loss, and survival. She didn’t let people in easily; you knew that from the start. Yet, for some reason, she chose you.

Or maybe you chose each other.

Either way, it was at a slow and tentative pace.

There was the night she told you about the Red Room. Not all of it—she never gave you all of it—but enough to make your chest tighten with insurmountable anger. She’d stared at her hands as she spoke. The first time you had ever seen her so frail as she spoke, and yet, her voice was so even it almost sounded detached. But you saw the way her fingers trembled and you reached over to take her hand.

She tried to pull away, but you didn’t let her.

“I’m so sorry life has been so cruel to you.” You had said softly.

She didn’t respond, just looked at you with those green eyes that embraced you tight with each glance.

She held your hand the entire night.

Dismantled piece by piece, you found the woman behind the spy: the one who only watched bad movies, liked to share coffee with you that was way too strong, and carried more guilt than anyone should.

Loving her was simple.

And you remember Vormir. The dreaded decision. And the way her choice was made before you even realised what was happening. Clambering for a grasp on her as she headed for the cliff’s edge, your heart pounded like war drums, drowning out everything except the sound of her voice. That trembling voice, steadier than you could ever be in that moment, told you it was okay. That this was her way of making things right.

But it wasn’t okay.

It would never be okay.

You begged her, pleaded with her, but the determination in her eyes was unshakable. You’d seen Natasha resolute before, but never like this. You needed her, but the world needed her more. Her gaze softened when she looked at you, her lips twitching into the faintest, bittersweet smile.

Natasha had never been scared of dying.

But now, she was scared of what this would do to you.

Tears blurred your vision as you fought for her hold, your fingers clawing desperately against hers. Her own wedding band cutting into your skin. “Don’t you dare, Romanoff.” You choked out, voice battling against the rush of wind. “It’s not your time!”

Despite her confidence, you could see the subtle fear. You saw the cracks in her armor, the little girl that was once trapped in the Red Room shining through. The one who had told you once that she never thought she’d make it out of this fight alive.

And now here she was, proving herself right.

Her lips parted to speak, but she didn’t say goodbye. She wouldn’t let herself say it for she knew she wouldn’t be able to follow through. To do what is needed. Instead, she just looked at you as if you were the last good thing she’d ever know, and her hand trembled in yours once more.

“I love you.”

And then, it slipped.

Too quick enough for you to readjust.

You screamed as she fell, the sound of it tearing through your throat, breaking you in ways unimaginable. Time slowed, and yet it wasn’t enough to catch her. You watched as the green in her eyes disappeared as her body struck the rocks below, your world cracked wide open.

You didn’t even notice the tiny red stone appear in your hand as you cried her name into the wind.

It was Natasha Romanoff who had sacrificed her life that day, for the hope of a better future, but in truth, both of you had died at the bottom of that cliff.

…

The tears came suddenly, hot and unwelcome, but you didn’t fight them. You’d learned to let them fall and embrace their sharp sting, as if it were the only way to keep her memory alive.

You heard the crunch of footsteps behind you, faint at first, growing louder with every measured step. Your breath hitched. You didn’t turn around immediately. You couldn’t. Part of you desperately hoped it was her—that this was all some cruel mistake, and when you turned, she’d be there. Natasha, with her arms crossed, a wry smile tugging at her lips, would tease you for sitting out here in the cold, lost in thought. She’d say something dry and sarcastic, like she always did to lighten the mood, and everything would be fine again.

But it’s not her.

It will never be her again.

“I thought I might find you here,” came a quiet voice behind you. Wanda’s Sokovian accent became a lot more prominent over the years.

You had found out she was also grieving the love of her life. Vision didn’t make it off the battlefield in Wakanda.

You didn’t look at her, not at first. Unable to tear your gaze away from the ripples of the lake, you wasn’t ready to face someone else’s pain, not when yours was already so unbearable.

But when she sat beside you, her presence a hushed comfort, you finally glanced her way. Her eyes were rimmed red, an exhaustion in her expression that mirrored your own. “I didn’t… know her as long as you did,” she said, staring out at the water. “But she meant so much to me. She was always so kind. Even when she didn’t have to be.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “That’s right. She didn’t let a lot of people in, but once she did…she’d do anything for you.”

Wanda let out a small chuckle before admitting, “She would’ve hated seeing you like this.”

The two of you sat in silence for a long moment, torn between speaking the truth and keeping it all inside. You wanted to tell her she should have thought about it before throwing herself off that cliff—before willingly abandoning you, knowing that even if the war was won, life would never be the same for you.

You let the anger wash over you.

“I should have been stronger.” You whispered, voice cracking before you could finish. “I should have stopped her.”

Wanda turned to you sharply. “You can’t blame yourself. She made her choice. She believed in what she was doing. You know that.”

It was the truth. You had always known that. Wanda didn’t have to be a mind reader to understand that. Natasha was always the one to make the hard choices, to carry the burden so others didn’t have to. But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

You closed your eyes, swallowing back the tears that threatened to spill. You had promised her, at the start of your relationship, that she wouldn’t have to carry that burden anymore. You had sworn to her that she deserved better than what the world had ever given her, and that you would be the one to show her.

For the rest of your life.

Until death do you part.

But in the end, she had still done what Natasha always did—she put everyone else before herself.

Wanda reached out, her hand brushing against yours. “She’s still here,” she said softly. “We carry her with us in everything we do until we meet again. She wouldn’t want us to let this break us.”

You wiped your eyes, taking a shaky breath. “She was my everything.”

“And she knew that.” Wanda replied, tightening her grip. “She felt that, and you gave her more than you’ll ever know.”

“I don’t know what to do without her. I don’t think I can survive like this.” You admitted outloud for the first time.

It had been eating at you. Your life had abruptly lost all meaning, the colours dulled, the vibrancy stripped. Deep down, you didn’t even want to try to going, to find purpose in the chaos she left behind.

Nothing would work.

Nothing, and no one, could fix it.

Could fix you.

You needed Natasha to carry on living. Without her, you were only half a person, stumbling through a world that no longer made sense.

How cruel the world was to let you taste the sweetness of her love, only to rip it away from you so mercilessly.

Wanda stood by the edge. She reached out with a quiet patience, guiding you to your feet with a gentle touch. The dock creaked beneath your shifting weight, but neither of you spoke as she crouched to pick up what remained of the wildflower bouquet. Cradling the bouquet in both of your hands, she looked at you with an expression that was both solemn and soft. She had always been so kind to you. Her eyes glimmered and she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, motioning for you to toss the flowers into the water.

“You live. You live for her.” And the simplicity of her words felt like a balm, a truth you hadn’t realised you needed to hear.

You hesitated for a moment, fingers trembling slightly against the delicate stems. But then, with a deep breath, you let them go. The flowers tumbled from your hands, spinning in slow motion before they touched the surface of the lake.

“For her.”

The water rippled as the bouquet floated away, carried by the slow current, and swallowed by the horizon. Neither of you said anything after that. There wasn’t anything left to say. The silence was filled with the soft lapping of water against the wood and the distant hum of crickets waking for the night. The orange and pink hues of the sunset reflected on the lake, painting the scene with a warm glow. The air grew cold but Wanda’s hand in yours pressed warmth deep within.

The green of the flower stems caught the fading light, and for a fleeting moment, they reminded you of Natasha’s eyes once more.