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cowboyschumi · 3 days ago

Text

MUSE

Summary: Oscar is known for being bad at padel, which is why he tries other hobbies, like photography. Now, he clearly needs something to take photos of.

Author's note: Oscar trying to play paddel 🤏

I'm a huge fan of taking inspiration from songs, so you can listen to this. Don't forget to enjoy the reading and show some love. <3

Warnings: None ig.

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Oscar had to be grateful for being that good of a driver. Man, he was really bad at other sports. Everyone pointed it out and made fun of him, some people even pitied him or found it cute. He even tried golfing, but that racket was his last straw. He was a bit frustrated, but Oscar wasn’t the type to get frustrated and give up. He just accepted the fact that he wasn’t gifted enough.

His Instagram was— for his luck because he wasn't a media guy— managed by a social media professional, who made him posts and even took charge of taking pictures. Yes, none of his dumps, captions, or stories were posted by his own hands, which was crazy. He wanted some sort of control over that, after all, he had a voice and a platform. Not taking advantage of that would be a shame, besides there was no fun and genuine part if he wasn't the one behind his Instagram. So he decided to take it more seriously, it made his brain hurt in the most untolerable ways but he started to post more, engage with his fans.

Instagram dumps are such a religious thing for some people, he wasn't in that group until now. Having a picture perfect Instagram would let people have more connection with the places, his interests— perceive him differently and not some boring and flat boy with not much to say.

Like any driver, he had a stylist, a PR team, and other fancy stuff—which he didn’t like much because the main focus was on him, physically. His content was different now; it was full of sunsets, yachts, cars, and food pictures. He had to thank his team for lending him a professional camera—it made the quality ten times better.

"It's a lost cause." Oscar spoke as he carelessly dried his hair with a towel.

You vividly remember the first time he stepped into one of your classes—the typical shy kid who barely spoke. Other drivers came along with him, doing most of the talking, but they weren’t consistent in attending. For them, padel was just a way to kill time. Oscar, on the other hand, wanted to know everything about it—from the size of the court to executing the perfect shot with his racket. A few weeks after his first class, he started booking lessons on his own, demanding more focus and dedication.

He came around twice a week, and seeing him so often, you quickly grew close. So it wasn’t surprising to find him frequently emerging from the showers at the padel club. You had even learned to tolerate his wannabe tennis grunts when he hit the ball. At this point, you had already seen the worst of him.

"You’re just being hard on yourself. Not everything has to be perfect."

Like in any common locker room, there was a bench where people placed their clothes after showering. You sat there as you two talked.

No matter how comfortable you were around Oscar, you respected him, so you made a point of not looking at his shirtless torso.

"Don't give me a pity speech. I’ve heard enough of that." He really did sound tired of hearing it. But it was true—no one should be too hard on themselves for not meeting their highest expectations. Striving for perfection in everything wasn’t normal. Oscar’s mindset was too rigid, and being optimistic felt like an impossible task for him.

"Webber told me you started… photography? He even sounded worried about what you might do with that." Chuckles and laughter echoed through the warm changing room.

"Yeah, I mean, it’s pretty great. Still got a lot to work on," he admitted sincerely, making that classic uncertain face he always did when he wasn’t sure about something. His facial expressions were always amusing. "I got bored of photographing the plants on my balcony at home. Took some photos of Lando, and Hattie doesn’t even want the lens near her."

Laughter filled the room again—it felt like a comedy show at this point. But when it faded, you exchanged a tense glance, as if communicating telepathically. A mischievous smirk lit up his face.

"No." Your answer was immediate and firm, anticipating what was coming.

"I haven’t even said anything!" He raised his hands in mock innocence, his guilty smile still in place. Oh, you knew him too well.

"I won’t. I’m not photogenic."

"Please, just one time."

Oscar always swore on one-time things. But when something felt good, you tended to repeat it. He knew exactly how to take advantage of your kindness, always asking for harmless favors—because, in the end, you never said no to him.

————————————————————————

And there you were, in his Monaco apartment, on a morning when rain was pouring outside. Oscar always pointed out the differences between his current lifestyle and the one he had in Australia, the daily longing for home. That small place in Europe had its charm, and he wouldn’t complain, but he missed the wide-open spaces, the warmer weather, and even his mom’s cooking. Now he lived on the highest floor of the busiest avenue, in a cramped apartment so small that he barely had space to walk around.

"I brought donuts and coffee," You announced while cleaning your boots on the entrance mat.

"Cool, thank you. Would you mind sitting by the window? The light is majestic." His attention was focused on his camera, probably adjusting some tricky settings.

"Already bossing around?" Unbelievable. The kid already thought he was a professional photographer, giving orders and having the worst attitude.

You had a big trench coat on, surprisingly still soaked after the unstoppable rain. And it kept coming—people still struggling with their umbrellas, cars almost floating down the street. That’s what you could see from how high his apartment was.

The brown-eyed boy placed his face behind his huge, intimidating camera, yet somehow, you didn’t feel intimidated by it—after all, he was the one taking the photos. But then, an unexpected expression of discontent crossed his face, confusing you. Your brows furrowed instantly, maybe you weren’t pretty enough to be photographed. You relaxed your body, stopped posing—that was it. At least you tried.

"Take it off." Oscar’s index finger pointed at my jacket, his face continued hidden behind the camera. The view was limited, but his expression remained unreadable—no emotion, all seriousness. Clueless.

"It's freezing cold outside, you're insane." Despite your protest, you did as he told you—just like always, hating yourself for it. Your body leaned against the nearly immense open window, the breeze sneaked through with ease, making your skin shiver. Your face card wasn’t your main attribute, maybe your toned padel body was. Still, you couldn’t quite grasp why he chose you, considering all the contacts and friends he had. Favors were an unbreakable thing between you two, but, of course, you never owed him a thing.

A few more adjustments, and his camera was down again, poker face still tattooed all over him. With slow, measured steps, he walked closer until he stood right in front of you. His mannerisms were always soft and gentle, like he had been written by a woman. Not exactly naive, but delicate enough to make you feel safe and comfortable in his presence.

Oscar set your coat aside, draping it over his vintage couch. His whole place had that aesthetic. You especially loved the Abu Dhabi carpet that stretched across the floor, its deep reddish tones were delightful. His eyes couldn’t help but dart down your slim silhouette. Your white sleeveless shirt, drenched from the rain, clung to your curves, turning entirely translucent against your skin.

Finally, your eyes connected, and you desperately searched for answers, whether in his gaze or through words. The driver was entirely focused on his task, calculating angles, observing the natural lighting, and analyzing your body. Over-analyzing your body.

You knew that look—the one men gave when they stared too long, leaving a disgusting feeling. But Oscar wasn’t like that. Yes, he was staring, but with such admiration and adoration that, for once, you didn’t mind. For the first time in a long time, you felt pretty. Feminine. Reaching that level of femininity wasn’t easy. Padel and sports had always shaped your image, conditioning you to appear tough, stereotypically masculine. But under his gaze, all of that melted away.

You broke eye contact as the staring became too overwhelming for your liking, exceeding your daily dose of attention. You couldn’t just escape him because he was there, and you were working, or something like that. Your breathing hitched, and you involuntarily let out a low gasp at the feeling of his fingers brushing against your skin. His touch was cold, just like your body. The only warmth came from the fire igniting in your cheeks. His fingers hooked around one of your white straps, which had fallen out of place.

God, you wished you could say a word, anything, but you were petrified.

“You look gorgeous.”

“You just say that hoping I’d say yes to another photoshoot. Your guinea pig.” The back-and-forth banter and sarcastic flirting didn’t end, but now you were playing silly enough to avoid any heartfelt compliment. You didn’t like those types of things because you never knew how to react, especially when they came from him. His contagious laughter filled the room and your world turned upside down.

Something always lingered between you two, and it was the expectedly obvious, taking into account the amount of time you spent together—padel mornings or sometimes afternoons, dinner nights if class ended late, and when he actually managed to wake up to his multiple alarms, cycling together. But it was casual because you never knew what could cross a man's mind; spending a whole day together could mean nothing to them, maybe he even saw you in a sisterly way. So you tried to chill, not giving it much importance—because, again, a compliment could mean nothing.

His free hand found its way to your nape, resting his palm there, barely cradling it. You had no choice but to regain eye contact; he had you cornered with his gaze—physically, too. Any cold once brought by the winter weather had vanished. Your skin was hot, almost burning. Oscar's gaze didn’t reflect frenzy or desire; he looked lost, even stunned.

“Let me kiss you, please.” He murmured hopelessly, his words caressing and sweetening your ears in the most shivering way.

“Oscar, professionally is not the best to-” It was just a matter of seconds before he silenced you in the most cliché way possible. His kisses mirrored his personality—timid and shy, as if he were afraid to go too far. Yet, at the same time, they were sweet and innocent, like a first kiss, completely inexperienced.

Something that you clearly weren't used to.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him even more close, letting each other feel how you teetered, how you edged by just a kiss. Your consent gave him more confidence, turning the encounter into something deeper, sloppier. His lips parted against yours with more urgency, the hesitation melting away as the two of you let each other get lost in the moment. His breath was uneven, intoxicatingly mixing with yours. The kiss grew needier, desperate, and hungry. The sound of your teeth crashing messily together was secondary as his tongue brushed against your lips, savoring, tasting, before he dared to explore further. The slick warmth, the breathy sounds between kisses, the way his body pressed against yours—it was thrilling in the best way.

“I never really liked padel that much, nor was I good at it. There was no chance of improving. But you know why I kept coming back.” Oscar's smile emerged in the middle of the kiss, his tone playful, hinting that he knew he’d been doing something wrong just for the fun of it. Paying for extra classes just to see your face more than once a week? Genius move.

“Oh, I'm so gonna kill you.” You warned him, still in disbelief, that he’d been such a fool, especially since you would’ve said yes to any date prior if he’d only had the courage. There was no need for this extreme and unnecessary padel. But, still, seeing him struggle was part of your routine—and you enjoyed it. Not wanting to hear any lame excuses, you pulled him in, deciding to stay glued to his lips for a very long time

#f1 #f1 fandom #f1 drivers #formula 1 #formula one #f1 x reader #f1 fic #cowboyschumi #cowboyschumi writes #formula one fic #op #op81 x reader #op81 #op81 fic #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri fluff

192 notes · View notes

ressjeon · 15 hours ago

Note

I tried to make something cohesive.

Date: Yoongi

Genre: Pragma

Row: 9, Seats 2 & 8

Snack: Sour Patch Kids

pairing: prince!yoongi x witch!reader

summary: his return to the kingdom brought many surprises but nothing could've prepared Yoongi the moment he met you.

genre/au: angst, fantasy, drama, soulmate!au, romance

warnings/content: suggestive themes, implied smut, mentions of alleged witch hunts

a/n: and i appreciate you very much for doing so 😭 i badly need to turn this into a oneshot, i was battling on how to shorten this for the longest time so i apologize for it being this late. today is also the 25th birthday of my dearest @agustdakasuga, ilysm bb 🥺

☞ part of @btsgoldnetwork’s two hearts, one love valentine’s day event in 2022 🎞💓

🍿 bangtan theatre presents: impossible 🍿 purchases for movie tickets and snacks are now closed!

For the longest time, Yoongi refused to believe in soulmates. It didn't matter when the people around him seemingly found their match. His older brother, the crown prince, has wedded right away as soon as he found his soulmate. Meanwhile, Yoongi hasn't found his, leading him to believe that it must've not been real at this point.

More like he gave up on waiting for his own soulmate.

The thought of finding his perfect match used to daunt Yoongi since he was little. Even if his parents were also united through the bond, Yoongi was having a hard time believing it was through being soulmates alone. There has to be another way but at that time, he was pretty open to the idea.

His parents have talked a lot about how they met, how they felt the instant connection even before the marks appeared on their skins. It used to excite Yoongi a little because both his parents and his brother found theirs quite early on in life.

As time goes on and Yoongi still hasn't found his soulmate now that he's in his late adulthood, his hope of finding her decimates.

"son, do you have any good news now that you're back here in the kingdom?" his father queries, curious if Yoongi had found his other half while travelling across foreign lands.

"no, father" he tries to sound indifferent but his father quickly recognized the defeated look in his eyes.

"perhaps it's time to consider other options?"

The king had no ill intent but it had an effect on Yoongi, pronouncing his current predicament to the table. His mother looked at him with worry so he smiled at her curtly, hoping it's enough of a response for now.

"if you'll excuse me, i'd like to explore beyond palace grounds"

His father nodded and Yoongi immediately exited the throne room. He feels suffocated all of a sudden, wanting to be away from the palace for a breather. He hopes that exploring the rest of the kingdom will ease his mind for the time being until he figures out his answer to his father's question.

Agreeing to take over your aunt's stall for today means that you'll have the chance to see the town market once and for all. She had prohibited you to leave anywhere farther than the house for the fear of your life.

Because of what you are.

Your aunt is the same and has trained you since your gift came into fruition when you were a child. She raised you like her own when your parents passed, part of the reason why she's overprotective over you. Up to this day, you had suspicions that it may be related to your mother being a witch but your aunt has rebutted your theories each time you ask.

That was probably why she tasked you to look over her stall while she's away for an important trip to the neighbouring kingdom. She didn’t give any details but you saw the fear in her eyes and the urgency in her voice.

Everything has been great so far. You've lost count of how many people you've met since you opened the stall. Regulars of your aunts came by to visit and were pleased to finally meet you. Some customers are tourists who are looking for immediate herbal remedies to refill their supply.

However, one particular customer has caught your attention while attending a group of travellers. He's wearing a cloak but your eyes are glued to his form due to the way he's moving seamlessly through the crowd.

It's also because you felt a slight sting on your left rib as soon as your eyes spotted him. He couldn't possibly be..?

"are you alright, miss?" one of your customers asked and a feigned smile graced your lips.

You've finished up the transaction at a lighting speed, eager to talk to the hooded man from afar even though you have no idea how to approach him. You'd have to check where the pain is to make sure but by doing so, you could lose track of the man and you can't let that happen.

Yoongi sees someone approaching him and curses internally, hoping the person would not recognize him. It shouldn't be possible unless they work with his family since Yoongi does not leave the palace grounds often growing up.

"would you like to try our new herbs today? it's of no cost" the woman smiled at him and Yoongi was taken aback. You don't recognize him or maybe you do and this is just a pretence.

It’s a common tactic but there would be no harm to take one if it would get you off his back. Besides, he's here to explore his own kingdom and has never noticed the stall you’re in until now.

He didn't say a word and followed you, asking him to try other herbs on display and he nodded. He has not really looked at you again since your first encounter, noticing that he avoids eye contact even when you converse with him.

"i'll fetch something from back if you don't mind"

"not at all" he replied curtly, scouring the glass bottles on the pile.

You hurriedly look for a mirror, untying your corset to check your left rib. There you find a fresh mark on your skin, a sign that you have found your soulmate and it could be the man waiting for you outside.

Immediately rushing to go back and invite him to return went better than you expected.

"we have a new brewery every week so feel free to visit again!" you smiled enthusiastically, hoping he'll accept your invitation. This is the only way you'll get to know him without outright telling him that he's your soulmate.

You don’t want to scare him. He smiled at you for the first time and relief pours through your veins.

"i will"

Yoongi has visited the stall every week ever since. He doesn't even know why but it's a good excuse to get out of the palace whenever his parents corner him about his next plans. You don't ask why either and he feels comfortable with you, finding it fascinating how you have so much energy in everything but never seem to point it to his way.

As for you, convincing your aunt after he returned from the said trip had not been easy. There are unspoken rules you follow but you can’t be cooped in your hut any longer.

You've argued but in the end, she lets you be despite her fear.

"there must be a reason why you suddenly want to take over the market now" your aunt teases but you dismiss her. You want to keep the whereabouts of your soulmate as long as possible. The time will come when they will meet, not while you’re still testing the waters.

When he revealed his name to you, that's when you knew that it's the proper time to show him how you feel. You're hoping that you haven’t been that obvious but Yoongi's little smirk when he thinks you're not watching tells you otherwise.

"i haven't been honest with you" you start as you pour the tea on Yoongi's cup.

It's been a few weeks since you first met him and the both of you developed a routine of having tea time after he chooses the herbs for the week.

"as am i" he declares after finishing his cup. There is hesitance in his face and the waver in his voice only increases the swirling thoughts in your mind.

"what.." you reply, a bit nervous that you almost dropped the porcelain teapot that Yoongi brought as a gift.

"why don't we both say what we need to reveal at the same time?"

You nodded and took a deep breath after placing the teapot on the table. Looking straight into Yoongi's eyes, the fear of him finding out what you truly are diminishes when you see the nervousness in his gaze.

"i'm a witch"

"i'm a prince"

Silence rules after the declarations of your true identities to one another. You're just staring at each other's eyes, your gazes doing all the talking. The eyes are windows of one's soul so you hope that Yoongi can clearly see what he means to you. His eyes were unreadable at first but as the silence went on and the familiar gummy smile appeared on his handsome face, you realized that nothing will change between you.

Yoongi's dreading meeting you today. He couldn't say no when you sweetly ask him to meet somewhere to have a proper brunch other than the areas around the market. He should’ve felt the opposite of what he’s feeling but instead, his chest tightens of what he’s about to do.

"i won't be able to meet you anymore" he whispers and the smile on your face vanishes.

“is it because i am merely a witch, your highness?” your defeated voice threatens to break Yoongi's composure. He knows how his words hurt people. He never should’ve let it go this far.

He's already trying to hold himself up because of the stinging he feels on his shoulder.

“n-no. forgive me but i must go” he mutters, his face wincing and in any other circumstances, you'd notice right away but you're too broken to do so after hearing his scathing words.

He's leaving you because of what you are. Being a witch must be the only reason because you genuinely thought he felt the connection too. Granted he was distanced at first which is valid and you understood more after knowing he’s a prince.

Had you known that your soulmate would eventually break your heart with the truth, you should've held on to the truth longer.

You’ve clearly misread him, thinking he was different, that he saw things eye to eye and understood that being a witch was not something you chose to be.

“you cannot even look me in the eye?”

Yoongi can't because not only will he take back his words but his focus is on the person he recognized from the palace staring at you both. He spotted them right before telling you what he’s here for. He cannot let his parents find out that it could be you, not even this way.

This is what he feared since giving up on waiting for his soulmate.

Why he was hesitant to confirm the connection in the first place.

"i am to be wed fortnight as of today. that was the reason why i wanted to talk to you" he rushes as he stands up, clutching his upper arm and that's when you notice.

That’s also the other reason. He’ll be dragging you with him if he keeps holding on you and that will put your life in danger. He hasn’t even met your aunt yet, the one who you talk to him about often and he’s already exhibiting an unpleasant impression.

"meet me again once last time, a sennight from now before the bell rings, then i'll leave you be"

Without giving any indication if he'll show up or not, Yoongi leaves and you finally break down into tears. It crushes the prince to leave you but he knows right then and there that he has to leave you for your safety.

He hopes that you know him truly by heart, what his answer is. He had to leave that way to make sure you won't leave first. Who knows how many people from the palace are around witnessing the two of you together.

Yoongi enters his room right away as soon as he arrives, tearing his clothes off and sees the mark on his shoulder, confirming his suspicions. If that person reports to his parents what he saw then..

"your highness, his majesty, the king and the queen request your presence in the throne room" the guard outside his chambers announces and he closes his eyes.

He was too late.

Knowing his parents, there's a slight chance that they already figured out Yoongi's secret. His mother can read him like an open book and even though he’s been avoiding them, the Queen sees that as an answer to their questions.

"who is she?" his father starts and Yoongi keeps his face collected.

"someone i commissioned for a recipe, father" his voice was void of anything but that’s clearly not enough.

None of his parents obviously bought his excuse and Yoongi's running out of things to say.

"what family is she from?" his mother adds.

"i do not know, mother"

"enough of this talk. we shall have your wedding sooner to avoid any of these nonsense rumours circulating around”

The new date is more than a week from now, which means a day or two after the time you asked to see him. Yoongi knows that he'd have to marry the princess from the neighbouring kingdom but he doesn't know what to do.

All he wants right now is to see you.

"i shouldn't be here" he grunts, finding it hard to stop himself from roaming his hands around your body.

Yoongi is scared. He has been since he locked eyes with you the first time you met. Even before the mark on his shoulder emerged, he knew that the only way for him to be married with another is for his soulmate to die.

The bond had to be broken and his parents began the hunt as soon as Yoongi refused the offer. He tried his best to intercept the information being delivered to his bride to be’s family but he overheard from the servants that his father ordered to confine him in his chambers.

That’s when he knew that he had to flee to make sure you’re safe.

"hey, you're here with me alright?" you tug him to bring his attention back to you.

He’s worried no matter how much he hides it. The bond doesn’t exactly pinpoint but you feel the weight in his chest and that was enough.

"it'll be alright my prince. answer me one thing"

"anything"

"do you feel it?"

"since the day i first met you"

Your heart melts to know that he felt the same thing when you first saw him. Maybe that’s how soulmates are supposed to work, to feel that instant connection on your first meeting.

He accepts what you are. He didn't think lowly of you like you initially thought.

You’re sleeping soundly beside him and Yoongi couldn't stop staring at your face. It's a miracle that he's even here with you, he got lucky that he escaped the palace grounds tonight with the help of servants that held an affection for him.

He rakes down your bare figure, committing everything in his memory just in case he won’t be able to see you again. His eyes continue to roam until they spot the marks on your ribs. With his callous fingers, he traces it delicately, causing you to squirm a little.

He waits until he hears your breath even again, afraid that his touch woke you up.

"then be with me" you groggily call out to him, fighting your slumber. Your ears caught some rustling and woke up out of instinct, finding Yoongi preparing to leave.

Again.

"i can't"

"why? you don't know what i can truly do. i can protect us, i'm powerful enough so we can go far away from here yoongi" you try to convince him but he won't meet your eyes.

Yoongi has broken too many royal rules by meeting with you again so he's torn with your offer to elope.

But how would the two of you live then? His parents are going to retaliate by punishing you and your aunt. They won't even have to do it directly because aside from the bounty, revealing your true nature of being a witch would make townspeople do the job themselves without a cost.

And Yoongi wouldn't be able to do anything but watch.

He has to make a choice, to be selfish or to be selfless? Can your soulmate bond truly withstand all the challenges that you're both going to face together? It’s not that he undermines your abilities but you’d essentially be running for your lives, desperately yearning for that freedom to be together.

“with or without your powers, i am with you always”

He’ll always be terrified of what tomorrow may bring but none of it matters so long you’re by his side.

e/n: fr i might re-write this and expand cuz 😩 thank you regardless for reading!

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xylianasblog · 2 days ago

Note

Big big big ask 👉🏻👈🏻 teehee….. 🤭

So like, what if reader was a scientist that worked alongside Norm and Grace that grew to have a crush on human Jake, she watches as he is ecstatic to go to every lesson he’s getting from Neytiri and reader dies a little on the inside because she believes Jake to have grown feelings for Neytiri….

She doesn’t say anything to him or anyone for that matter, but Grace or Norm (or maybe even Trudy?) can tell that something is bugging reader? (If they have a one on one is up to you? But if not thats okay too!)

Fast forward to reader wearing her mask (since she doesn’t have an avatar) to watch as Jake’s consciousness gets transferred over to his Avatar body and she see’s Neytiri planting soft kisses on his eyelids- but to Neytiri all of this is a show of how close she grew to Jake as friends, nothing more.

Reader has to go have a cry and grows distant from Jake, only for him to come by (kind of in a rush because he didn’t expect to run into her during his Olo’eyktan duties) but ditches his duties to fix her attitude with his 🍆??

‼️Feel free to completely disregard this ask if you’re not up to it, but if you do end up writing it, I thank you and appreciate your hard work! 🤩

More than meets the eye.

Pairings: Jake x FemHuman Reader

Summary: You only saw surface level, never trying to see deeper than what you could.

Warnings: MDNI, mentions of sex, mentions of p in v, creampie, uhh uhh sex?? Like.. Fhsudhsj just.. lemme know if I missed anything 🥺👉🏽👈🏽

A/n: there are probably a lot of grammatical errors and mistakes, it’s not entirely beta read.. sooo i apologize. I worked so supper hard on this because I wanted it to be just right! I really hope you al enjoy this 💕

꒦꒷❀꒷꒦❀✿❀꒦꒷❀꒷꒦MDNI꒦꒷❀꒷꒦❀✿❀꒦꒷❀꒷꒦

There had been all kinds of different people who came into the avatar program but definitely not one like him.

Jake Sully.

A crippled man who seemed to have it all figured out, well at least a little bit. Seems like most times he was really just winging it, and while some would find that stupid you thought it to be admirable. Mostly due to the fact he seemed to be doing the impossible, plus it was pretty cool that he was able to get a chance to do something this cool.

What you hadn’t expected was to start to fall for the dim-witted marine.

He was simple yet you could see just how hard working and serious he was. The more you got to know him the more you fell for him, however you weren’t the only one to notice. Grace knew and she never pestered you about your feelings, never even pushed but she did seem to hover on occasion.

You were so happy for him, Jake enjoyed being in Pandora. He loved his avatar you knew that getting to use his legs again was a god sent gift for him. Each time he spoke it was of nothing but excitement and admiration for the world and life that Pandora held, however that also meant that his teacher held such a high value for him as well.

When Jake first began his lessons you listened intently to the knowledge that he shared, his experiences, and his time. You loved the radiant look in his eyes, the way they seemed to sparkle with happiness for his new found life. “Today she taught me how to track the animals, and to tell which animal is which by scent.” Jake said and your eyebrows raised, you couldn’t imagine how badly it would make you feel seeing how much he enjoyed his time with his teacher.

Each time was the same he’d show so much enthusiasm, he changed in more ways than one. While his human body was slowly deteriorating his avatar body was prospering. The changes were evident and even you could compete with that, with the life that Neytiri could possibly give him.

The distress you felt was palpable, easy to dismiss but the remnants lingered on your features. That also meant that Grace being the ever observant woman she is noticed the turmoil you seemed to face.

“You haven’t even fucked him and you’re moping around. If you like him why not say something?” Grace sauntered over her lab coat swaying with each step she takes closer to you.

Your eyes widened at the manner of her speaking to you and you couldn’t help but flush. “Grace it’s..” you stumbled over your words, face flushed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Grace scoffed lightly as she placed a hand on your shoulder. “Anyone could see how just how much you like that marine, everyone but him apparently.” Grace looked over your face intently and for a moment she was quiet. “Just speak to him. You won’t know unless you use your words. You’re smart you’ll figure it out.” With one last pat to your shoulder Grace walked away leaving you to your thoughts.

It had been a few weeks since your talk with Grace. Her words playing over in your head, her encouragement yet truth, and while you wanted to let Jake know how you felt you saw just how much he longed to be in his other body. His better body.

As his human body deteriorated you watched as his avatar body became his hold, the way he prospered in the world of Pandora. Instead of interfering you distanced yourself, putting Jake in the deepest depths of your mind. This should have been easy you couldn’t be hurt anymore or bothered by thoughts of him and Neytiri.

You were sure your suspicions were true the moment he transferred bodies for good. The kiss Neytiri bestowed upon his eyes seemed more intimate than anything, and the pain itself was deeper than you were prepared for.

The once dull aches that faded now felt like stabbing pains against your chest. Each time one faded a new one took its place, the cycle continued over and over and the distance grew greater. You were certain that you were depressed, all motivation for things you once loved gone, they no longer brought you the joy and comfort. It was easy to forget the pain but now it all seemed like a waste of time the ache never really seemed to fade anymore.

Once Jake really took part in his role as the clan chief the crippling feeling of sadness was never ending, it always seemed to linger larger the ache harder. Neytiri was by his side proudly whenever you’d visit the clan. Deep longing had now settled within your aching heart, you wanted him first, you had liked him first.. but you stayed silent on your own, never speaking your words of love.

You made sure to avoid Jake like the plague always turning and leaving or making up excuses so you both never crossed paths. You knew Neytiri wasn’t fond of humans and you wish to not get on her bad side. You always managed to get luckily in avoiding him until today.

The one time you weren’t quite aware of your surrounding you vaguely heard your named being called, your brows rose in surprise as you looked up to see Jake coming your way, his famous smirk settled nicely in his lips. Without much thought you dropped everything you had and turned to walk away. That meant you weren’t to focused in your surroundings while you tried to make your escape, you always didn’t think about the the fact that since he was taller than you he could easily catch up to your small frame.

You stiffened the moment you felt his large hands wrap around your waist, his hold firm yet gentle. He didn’t turn you around and you didn’t dare make any moves. It was silent, just the sound of your breathing and his, slow and steady.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you since after the war. Why have you been avoiding me?” You could tell by his tone that he was serious, he wanted to know, needed to know. You hesitated maybe a bit too long because without warning he picked your body up, hoisting you up over his shoulder as he began walking deeper into the forest.

You watched the way his tailed swayed idly with each steady step he took. “Jake..” you began only to be shut up by a slap to the ass, the resounding ‘CLAP’ had your yelping. “Shut up, Y/n” there it was again the firm tone you couldn’t help but sigh as you stayed quiet. Each step he took had your mind racing yet you still trusted this Navi male with your life.

After a moment he came to a stop, his free hand resting on your thigh before slowly gliding up until his hand covered your ass. “You’ve been avoiding me and don’t lie and say it’s because you’ve been busy, you haven’t.”

Jake set you down your feet sinking into the soft moss on the ground, your toes digging into the ground beneath you as you nervously fidgeted with your fingers. Feet shuffling as you worked up the courage “Well.. you’re mated with Neytiri so I thought it was better to keep my distance.. especially..” you mumbled just loud enough for Jake to hear.

Jake’s ears perked up and his eyebrows raised in confusion, his head tilted slightly to the side. “Me and Neytiri aren’t mated. She’s with Tsu’tey.” You looked up at him just as he crouched down, though he wasn’t entirely at your level it was less strain on your neck. “Why did you think that instead of asking me?”

At this moment you didn’t answer instead you looked away to hide your embarrassment, the slight flush of your cheeks had Jake smiling. “It doesn’t matter, you two always looked so cozy.. umm.. besides you two seemed really..” your words were cut off by a soft gasp that left your lips just as Jake’s lips covered yours.

One of his hands moved to hold your face still as his other gently began to rub and caress your body. He deepened the kiss just a bit before trailing kisses from your lips to the side of your neck muttering a soft, “silly girl.” He continued to press kisses against your neck as his hand began to knead and rub at your thighs. “Fuck.. you smell so good.” You let out a small moan as his fingers brushed against your covered cunt. “It’s about time that I make up for all the lost time.” There was no way you’d refuse, especially now that you knew he never mated to Neytiri.

Without much else being said between the two of you, clothes went flying, being discarded left and right until you both were naked. Left exploring each other’s bodies. Gentle touches, open mouthed kisses, getting ost in the overwhelming pleasure.

Ignoring the the fact that he had duties to attend Jake focused on ravaging your body, each thrust of his member into your sopping went cunt sent his reeling. He couldn’t get enough, being able to walk was one thing but being able to take you over and over until his hearts content was another.

Once he was satisfied with the use of your body, you lay beneath him body full of and covered in his seed. Your dazed, fucked out expression had him hardening once again, his semi hard length resting against your stomach. “I hope this is a lesson.. ask questions next time, babygirl.”

꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺꒦꒷❀꒷꒦༻❀✿❀༺ ꒦꒷❀꒷꒦

Taglist: @xstarsdiary @etherial-moon-blog @neteyamyawne @torukmaktoskxawng @quicktosimp @anemonelovesfiction @erenjaegerwifee @cardi-bre91 @maniisplxnet @pandoraslxna @rivatar @thepeonysbackup @tallulah477 @eywaite @luvv4j4ybe11

#⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ xylianas asks ♡ ✧˖*°࿐#jake sully x y/n #jake x you #jake smut #avatar fic #avatar jake sully #human Jake sully #jake sully x fem reader #jake sully x human reader

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cherryfyre · 1 day ago

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┃rafe cameron accepting charity? or is his charm more formidable than he thought?

The Midsummer’s Night Gala at the Island Club was the kind of event people spent weeks preparing for. Girls in the Kook world planned their dresses months in advance, held trial runs for hair and makeup, and booked photographers to capture their ‘spontaneous’ moments by the twinkling string lights. You? You’d pulled your look together three days ago and still managed to outshine every one of them.

The pale blue silk dress hugged your figure perfectly, the plunging neckline just shy of scandalous and the high slit on your left leg a subtle middle finger to the prudes circling the crowd. Your gold strappy heels, a last-minute splurge, glimmered under the chandeliers, and every step you took on the cobblestone patio sounded deliberate. You felt the eyes. You always did. But tonight, only one gaze mattered.

Rafe Cameron.

He was leaning against the bar, an untouchable picture of wealth and arrogance in a crisp white suit. His collar was open just enough to give a glimpse of his tanned chest, and his light brown hair looked purposefully messy, like he’d run his hands through it after some girl told him it was sexy. He hadn’t taken his eyes off you since you walked in, his lips curved in that half-smirk that made you want to slap him or kiss him, depending on the day.

You were standing with a group of your parents’ friends, humoring their compliments about how “grown-up” you looked, when you felt him approach. It was impossible to ignore Rafe’s presence. He didn’t walk—he prowled, his movements deliberate, like he knew the universe revolved around him.

��Martini,” he drawled, and you cursed the way your stomach flipped. “You look… breathtaking.”

You took a slow sip of champagne, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “Wow, Rafe. Two whole syllables. Impressive.”

His smirk deepened as he slipped his hands into his pockets, looking you over with an intensity that should’ve felt invasive but somehow didn’t. “I aim to please.”

“You aim to annoy,” you shot back, your voice light but cutting.

“Maybe,” he admitted with a shrug, stepping closer. He was too close now—close enough that his cologne wrapped around you like a warm, dangerous hug. “But admit it, you missed me.”

You tilted your head, arching a brow. “Missed you? Rafe, this party is one of the highlights of the summer. Why would I waste my time thinking about you?”

“Because I’m the most interesting thing here,” he replied without missing a beat. His hand brushed against your arm, just enough to make your skin tingle.

“You’ve got a funny way of showing interest,” you quipped. “Staring at me from the bar for an hour? Bold move.”

“I wasn’t staring,” he said, feigning innocence. “I was… admiring. Big difference.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Rafe Cameron, admitting admiration? What’s next? A sincere apology?”

“Don’t push it,” he teased, his blue eyes glittering. “But you do look good, Martini. Like, ‘steal the crown and run the kingdom’ good.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” you replied, but your lips twitched despite yourself.

“Won’t it?” He stepped even closer, the space between you nearly nonexistent now. “Dance with me. Or are you too scared?”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Scared? Of you?”

“Of what’ll happen when you let yourself have fun,” he shot back smoothly.

You hated him. You hated how charming he was, how his cocky grin made your heart race, and how much fun it was to spar with him. Most of all, you hated how he always knew how to push just enough to get you to say yes.

So, against your better judgment, you let him take your hand and lead you to the dance floor.

The band had shifted into something slower, sultrier, and Rafe wasted no time pulling you close, one hand on your waist and the other holding your hand. “This isn’t so bad, is it?” he murmured, his lips close to your ear.

“You’re lucky I’m in a charitable mood,” you replied, but the warmth of his hand and the way he moved so effortlessly with you made it hard to sound convincing.

As the song played and his thumb brushed small circles against your hip, you found yourself forgetting the crowd, the party, and the fact that Rafe Cameron was supposed to be nothing more than an overconfident headache.

“You’re full of surprises,” he said softly, his eyes meeting yours in a way that felt too genuine.

“And you’re full of something else,” you shot back, but your voice wavered just enough to betray you.

Rafe grinned, his hand tightening slightly on your waist. “Guess that’s why you can’t stay away.”

You opened your mouth to fire back, but he spun you out and pulled you back in one smooth motion, making the world spin for just a moment.

Damn him. Damn him and his perfect suit and his perfect smirk and the fact that, for tonight at least, he felt like the most dangerous kind of fun.

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the-jam-to-the-unicorn · 2 months ago

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New Year's Greetings from Ze

Dear People!

Behind me stands Mother Ukraine. Ukraine that stands firmly on its feet, does not bow its head, looks ahead, believes in its future and victory over all the evil that Russia has brought us. Ukraine that is capable of achieving a just peace – having a shield and a sword. Defending its people, its colors, its Independence. Today I address all those who value Ukraine, cherish their state, and lovingly call it “Mine.” I thank you for 2024. Our people who endure all difficulties with dignity. People for whom being citizens of Ukraine is a source of pride. And for me, it is a pride to be the President of such people – Ukrainians who prove that no cruise missile can defeat a nation that has wings.

Throughout this leap year, we have proven it every day. And we saw it yesterday. When we were uplifted with happiness because 189 Ukrainians returned from captivity to their native land. Because they will celebrate the New Year at home. Because we are bringing our people back. 1,358 people this year. 3,956 Ukrainians during this time. And I’m giving not estimates but precise numbers, because each one represents a person, our person, a very important person. And with each return – we bring life back to Ukraine.

And every time this happens, we all cry. It doesn’t matter if it’s a moved mother, or it’s a child who finally has their father back, or the President of Ukraine – we all cry because we are all human, and we have kept the light within us.

And it helped us endure through over 1,000 days. To be brave when it was needed most. To be strong when it was so vital. As did our teachers, our medics, our power engineers, our transport workers, as did all our air defense personnel, mobile fire groups. The guys who brought down 1,310 cruise and ballistic missiles this year, and 7800 Iranian “Shahed” drones. Bravo! We are proud! Thank you! We lived through this year together. We overcame everything 2024 brought together. Victories and setbacks. Joys and challenges. Tears of happiness when we succeeded. And tears of pain when our hearts were wounded.

July. Morning. Okhmatdyt. That’s how weaklings and cowards strike. And we will never forget those children’s eyes. We will never forgive them for this! When evil brings death, our response is a human chain. This is what the strength of Ukrainians looks like. And that unity of ours could be seen from space. God saw it. He saw what kind of people we have. What kind of children we have. And I will never forget those incredibly mature and strong eyes of the boy from Okhmatdyt. How much life is in him, energy and dignity! And how much stronger this child alone is than Putin! How much stronger all our children are than their entire evil. Ukrainian boys and girls who are winning this war, gaining knowledge online and even in underground schools, winning global science competitions, raising funds for our army, and inventing technological solutions that help with our defense. You are a phenomenal generation! This is who we are fighting for. This is who our heroes, our warriors, protect above all. Those who stand firm and carry Independence on their shoulders. Where freedom and valor fight every day – even now, on this New Year's night. On all our fronts. On all of them. In the east, where it’s extremely, extremely difficult and challenging right now. But we believe, we know: you will stand strong. Our guys will stand strong. Your spirit and courage will stand strong. All the things that helped you not to surrender our Sumy and Kharkiv, our Kherson and our Zaporizhzhia this year. And the Russians wanted it so badly. But instead – you paid the occupiers back, bringing the war back home to Russia. And the one who sowed evil on our land received it on their own. In the Kursk region and in other places where our response, our justice, came this year.

Justice. Just one word, but behind it stand hundreds of thousands of our people. Our defense industry and our science. Whose minds and work have made us stronger, because 30% of everything our guys had on the battlefield this year – all this was made in Ukraine.

And at one of these facilities, I asked a young engineer: "How did you manage to achieve so much? How were these people able to do all of this?" And the young man joked: "They're not just people, they're missiles."

And you know, at that moment, I felt ashamed as a citizen that since the 90s, the state hadn’t noticed such people of ours. And I am proud, when meeting them throughout the year I hear: they are happy to be needed by Ukraine. And that Ukraine is once again building its own, its own missiles. And for the first time, it produces over a million drones in a year. Forcing the enemy to learn Ukrainian. Palianytsia, Peklo, Ruta. Making them tremble at the words Neptune and Sapsan. All these are our missiles. Ukrainian. Hor, Vampire, Kolibri, Kamik, Liutyi, Heavy Shot, Firepoint. All these are our drones. Ukrainian. And all these are our arguments, the arguments for a just peace.

It is achieved only by the strong. And we have proven time and again that we are strong. Our athletes. Oleksandr Khyzhniak, our Tank. Olga Kharlan, Yaroslava Mahuchikh, all our Olympians and Paralympians, for whom we cheered, worried, and screamed with joy and pride when the blue and yellow flag was raised. We took the hits and fought back alongside Oleksandr Usyk. All of this is about something bigger than just sports. It’s about our character. It’s about who we are and what we are capable of. It’s about meanings and symbols. It’s about Sashko’s fights, like Ukraine’s daily battles, showing us: it doesn't matter how much bigger the enemy is compared to you, what matters is how much bigger your will is. Then it takes the breath away of the whole world! And all the leaders told me frankly: "We've never seen anything like this – when a full hall of Notre-Dame de Paris is applauding." And those were applause for you. For all our people. This is what respect for Ukraine sounds like. This is what Independence is.

It’s when we don’t give up what’s ours. And when we don’t forget our people. Those who are in captivity. And we will fight for every person who, unfortunately, is still there. And we will fight for all those whom Russia has forced into occupation; but couldn’t occupy their Ukrainian hearts. And no matter how many passports evil hands out at gunpoint, our people say: "You are not our kin, you are temporary." And all those imposed weeds will not take root on our land, will not defeat the natives. I always recall the story about one of our Ukrainian elderly men, whom the occupiers asked: "What time is it?" And he answered: "Time to get off our land." This is what the inner will is, which simply cannot be occupied. And I turn to all those who carry this will in their hearts on the temporarily occupied territories. Dear Ukrainians! I know you are celebrating the New Year according to our time, and now you hear these words. In our Crimea, in Donbas, in Melitopol, in Mariupol – everywhere where Ukraine is awaited. And where, one day, Ukraine will return to be together. And the only thing that will divide Ukrainians is a generously laid table.

I know that all our people will be at this table. Those who are now abroad but have kept Ukraine in their hearts. So today, in the first minute of the New Year, in Warsaw, New York, or Buenos Aires, "Shche ne vmerla…" will sound. In Berlin, Prague or Tokyo, people will say today: “Glory to Ukraine!” And the world will respond: “Glory to the Heroes!” Because Ukraine is not alone. Because we have our friends with us. Since the first minutes of this war, America has stood with Ukraine. I believe that America will also stand with Ukraine in the first minutes of peace.

I remember my conversation with Joe Biden after the Russian invasion. I remember my conversation with Donald Trump after he was elected. All the conversations with Congressmen, Senators, ordinary Americans, with all those who support us in the US, in Europe, and around the world – in those many and varied conversations, there was always unity on the main point: Putin cannot win. Ukraine will prevail.

I thank all Americans for proving these words with deeds. I have no doubt that the new American President is willing and capable of achieving peace and ending Putin’s aggression. He understands that the first is impossible without the second. Because this is not a street fight where you have to calm down both sides. This is the full-scale aggression of a mad state against a civilized one. And I believe that we, together with the United States, are capable of exerting that force. Of compelling Russia into a just peace. That means not forgetting, and not erasing everything Russia has done. Bucha, Olenivka, Avdiivka, all our destroyed towns and villages. This is why a truly just peace cannot be based on the principle of “let’s start with a clean slate.” Because the score is not 0:0. The score is thousands, thousands of Ukrainians whose lives Russia has stolen.

And today, the heart of Ukraine is covered with scars. These are the names of our fallen heroes. May God protect every family in the world from experiencing such losses. I would not wish any leader in the world to experience these feelings – the moment you hand over awards posthumously. You see the eyes of a mother, a wife, or a child of a warrior who gave their life for Ukraine, and you hear them say: "Please, let it all not be in vain." Thousands of our guys and girls have not faded into oblivion. They are with us, they are by our side, always, they are watching over us from the heavens. And we have no right to let them down, and we cannot betray their feat and memory.

And every day in the coming year, I, and all of us, must fight for a Ukraine that is strong enough. Because only such a Ukraine is respected and heard. Both on the battlefield and at the negotiating table.

I thank everyone who has stood by us this year. Our partners, allies, friends, leaders. Leaders indeed, not because it is customary to call them that, but because they prove their leadership by their actions. Those who were not afraid to come to Ukraine, knowing how valuable it is to see us standing shoulder to shoulder. With whom, despite the distance and time difference, we worked together, found solutions and achieved results. Patriots, IRIS-Ts, NASAMS and ATACMS systems, F-16s, SCALPs, Storm Shadows. The Czech initiative and a million shells. The Danish model and hundreds of millions in our domestic production. 27 security agreements and 40 billion to support our army. The European Union and 50 billion to support our economy. The G7 and the decision on 50 billion dollars of frozen Russian assets. This is our great international work. This is our great international victory. I thank our partners, thank you for this; I thank our team. The Army, the Government, the Office, the Parliament, the regions, the communities, the volunteers. All those who strengthen our country from within and care about people.

I thank everyone thanks to whom Ukraine is standing and will stand. It will overcome its path to peace, to a strong Ukraine. And to a European Ukraine. And these are not just words, but a reality that began this June with the opening of negotiations on Ukraine's accession to the EU. And this is a historic result. And this path is irreversible. And Ukraine will be in the European Union. And one day Ukraine will be in NATO and will strengthen the Alliance. It will strengthen the stability of the world. The unity of Europe, which determines the destiny of every nation on the continent. And this unity must be respected by all. By both Budapest and Bratislava. I know the Hungarian and Slovak peoples are actually with us, with Ukraine, with Ukrainians, on the side of truth. The authorities of these countries should also acknowledge the truth. There is no need to be afraid of Ukraine being in Europe. We must do everything to prevent Russia from being in Europe. Its tanks, its missiles, and the evil it will surely spread further if Ukraine does not withstand. If Russia shakes your hand today, it does not mean that tomorrow, it will not start killing you with the same hand. Because Russians are afraid of the free people. Of what they are not familiar with. They are afraid of freedom. They were born under Putin, went to school under Putin, joined the army under Putin and are dying for his sick ideas.

And that is why it is so crucial today to support all peoples who defend freedom. Those who refuse to give it up in Chișinău. Those who are fighting for their future in Tbilisi. And I am sure that the day will come when we will all say: "Long Live Belarus!"

Dear Ukrainians!

May 2025 be our year. The year of Ukraine. We know that peace will not be given to us as a gift. But we will do everything to stop Russia and end the war. This is what each of us wishes for.

Behind all of us stands Mother Ukraine. And she deserves to live in peace. I wish this to all of us. And as the President of Ukraine, as well as a citizen, I will do everything to achieve it in the coming year. Knowing that I will not be alone. I know that you stand shoulder to shoulder with me – millions of Ukrainians. Strong. Free. Beautiful. Independent.

Happy New Year, dear people!

Happy New Year, Ukraine!

Glory to Ukraine!

youtube

#ufffff #UFFFFFFF #i didnt expect his new year greetings to be THAT emotional #and personal #very very VERY touching speech #and so many great parts and quotes #i also wasnt prepared for ze looking like he might cry every moment (and sounded like)#and despite it being so emotional it felt a bit more hopeful than last year #i wouldnt say optimistic but definitely hopeful #the few persona notes in it really hit me #no matter if the “i cry too about our returns” or the being proud to be the president part #or the last part - as president and civilian doing everything #like he isnt already doing everything possible and impossible to bring this war to an end with a just peace #of course a lot of praise and admiration and cheers belong to the brave people of ukraine for all kind of achievements #but a lot of things ze mentioned in his speech did only happen because of him #and he deserves way more credit for it #even though he would never give himself the credit and would always direct it to the other people #and yeah sure he has a team who works with him #but its also him and his face and strength and endurance #i hope one day he will be able to look back at this and feel that he did enough #that he did everything #that he can be proud and happy and doesnt have to doubt himself or chases impossible high standards #on another note #the part with USA was brilliantly played #in general they do lot of right steps at the moment when it comes to trump & US this whole situation might play out in favor for themselves #and on another side note #the picture is amazing #Youtube

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mossbabie · 2 months ago

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🪗

#man. if anything at all is worth not having him in my life #it's the life that i have now #and i kinda reject what would be an easy narrative to tell which is that i needed to lose him to gain what i have now #because i do think i was limited by that relationship but it's more complicated than that #and i genuinely believe a lot of it was just coincidence #but! my life has so much good in it i am literally flanked on all sides by family #of origin and of choice #and creative pursuits that I actually have cognitive space to care about #because all my creative energy is no longer being funneled into frantically trying to make that relationship work #people matter to me in ways that felt impossible when i was with him because he felt like the only person that mattered #and if i loosened that grip i was scared he'd disappear #spoiler alert he disappeared anyway #and lucky little me that void got filled with just. so much love and laughter and fulfillment and truth #thanks for listening diary

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jungwnies · 2 months ago

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wreckage - charles leclerc

୨ৎ : pairing : charles leclerc x wife!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : after a heated argument with charles, you watch in horror as his car crashes during a race

୨ৎ : genre : angst ୨ৎ : tws : car accident/injury, arguments/conflict, anxiety/panic, trauma, medical trauma. ୨ৎ : wc : 1318

part one | part two | part three | part four

They say life can change in the blink of an eye. One second, everything feels steady, solid, like the ground beneath your feet couldn’t possibly give way. And then it does. Maybe that’s the irony of it all—you never see it coming. Not really. You think you’re prepared, think you’ve braced yourself, but you’re never quite ready for the moment it all falls apart.

You fought this morning. Not just a little spat about something trivial—no, this was one of those fights that echoed louder than it should have. The kind that lingered, thick in the air, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth even hours later.

It wasn’t about anything catastrophic, either, but somehow, with Charles, the small things had a way of snowballing. His schedule. Your schedule. The time you didn’t have together. The things he didn’t say and the things you did.

“I’m trying, okay? You think it’s easy for me?” he’d snapped, his accent sharpening the edges of his words. “You know what this life is like.”

“Yeah, Charles, I do. But I also know you don’t get to use it as an excuse every single time something gets hard. I’m here, too, and I’m trying to make this work just as much as you are.”

His jaw had tightened, his gaze flickering to the ground before meeting yours again. “Sometimes it feels like no matter what I do, it’s never enough for you.”

You’d felt the sting of those words, like a slap across the face. But you weren’t one to back down, not even when the weight of his frustration pressed heavy on your chest.

“You don’t get to say that to me, not when I’m the one waiting, worrying, wondering if this is ever going to feel… stable. Do you know how hard it is to love someone who’s never really here?”

The silence that followed was deafening, his features a mix of hurt and anger, like he didn’t know which to lean into more. And then he’d said it.

“Maybe it’s hard because you don’t trust me enough to believe that I’m doing my best.”

You hadn’t answered, and maybe that was the problem. The fight ended there, not because either of you wanted it to but because there was no time to fix it. Not when he had a race to prepare for, and you had to pretend like none of this was tearing you apart from the inside out.

When you arrived at the paddock, it felt impossible to mask the weight of the argument. You greeted a few people with forced smiles, but you could see some of them watching you a little too closely. It didn’t help that Charles seemed just as tense, his jaw set and his usual ease nowhere to be found.

Carlos was the first to pull you aside, his brown eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned closer. “¿Qué pasa, eh? You look like someone stole your churros, and Charles… well, he looks worse. What happened?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “It’s fine.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Amiga, por favor. I know you, and I know him. Whatever this is, it’s not nothing.”

You sighed, glancing over your shoulder where Charles was talking to his engineers. “We just… had a fight this morning. It’s not a big deal.”

Carlos gave you a skeptical look. “Not a big deal? You’re both walking around like someone cancelled Christmas. If you’re not okay, neither is he. You should talk to him before the race.”

You hesitated, the memory of this morning’s argument still fresh in your mind. “I don’t want to distract him. He needs to focus.”

Carlos clicked his tongue, shaking his head with a small smile. “Tch. If you think he’s focusing now, you’re wrong. You being upset is a bigger distraction than anything else. Go.”

Reluctantly, you nodded and made your way toward Charles. He was still in deep conversation with one of his engineers, but when he saw you approaching, his expression softened—just slightly.

“Hey,” you said quietly, folding your arms across your chest.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice lower than usual. There was a pause, the tension between you lingering like a storm cloud.

“Good luck out there,” you finally said, your voice steadier than you felt. “I mean it. Be safe.”

Charles studied you for a moment, his green eyes searching yours. Then he nodded. “And… I’m sorry. For earlier.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, someone called for him, signaling it was time to get ready. He gave you one last look, then turned and walked away, leaving you standing there with words unsaid.

The race began, and for a while, the roar of engines and the blur of cars distracted you. Charles was in good form, holding his position, making clean overtakes. You found yourself exhaling with relief every time his car flashed across the screen.

But then it happened.

It was almost too fast to comprehend. One moment, Charles was rounding a corner, perfectly in control. The next, there was smoke, debris, and the sickening crunch of metal against metal.

Your heart stopped.

The commentators’ voices rose in panic, their words a jumbled mess that barely registered in your mind. “Oh no, that’s Leclerc… that’s a big one.”

Everything else faded—the noise of the crowd, the hum of your thoughts—until all that remained was the image of his car, mangled and still.

“Red flag,” one of them said, and that’s when it hit you. They’d stopped the race. It was bad.

Your hands trembled as you gripped the edge of the table, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening.

The minutes crawled by like hours, every second another layer of dread settling in your chest. You kept your eyes glued to the screen, desperate for any sign, any update, anything to tell you he was okay.

When they finally cut to the scene, you saw the medics surrounding his car, moving quickly but carefully.

“He’s conscious,” one of the commentators said, and you felt a rush of air leave your lungs, but it wasn’t enough. Not until you saw him. Not until you heard him.

You thought back to the fight, to the last thing he said to you, and it made you sick to your stomach. This couldn’t be the last memory you had of him, the last words you exchanged. It couldn’t.

You were already reaching for your phone, dialing his team, someone, anyone who could give you more than the vague reassurance of the broadcast.

“Please,” you whispered, the word barely audible over the pounding of your heart. “Please let him be okay.”

It’s strange, how quickly everything can unravel. You think you’ve got it all figured out, that the argument was just another bump in the road. But in the back of your mind, there’s always that voice whispering, telling you that things might never be the same.

And now, with every second that ticks by, your thoughts spiral, faster and faster, until you can’t breathe. What if this is it? What if those were the last words you ever said to him?

You close your eyes, trying to steady yourself, but all you can see is that image of his car, broken and still. Your pulse races. You told him you loved him today, but did he really hear you? Was he ever truly certain, or was that last moment of tension, the words left unsaid, enough to make him doubt everything?

You hate this. You hate the fear gnawing at you. You hate that you're sitting here, helpless, as he’s out there fighting for his life. That feeling of powerlessness—it’s unbearable.

Please, you think again, clutching the phone like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. Please, don’t let this be the end.

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rose24207 · 2 months ago

Text

Just a Salesman

Summary: Your perfect world shatters when a furious stranger bursts into your home, accusing your loving, devoted husband of being a monster responsible for countless deaths.

Genre: angst

TW: swearing, mention of death

A/N: Posting sm today wow. English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Pt.2

Masterlist

You always believed in the goodness of people. Growing up in a small, close-knit town had shaped you that way.

You’d been the type to bake cookies for the elderly neighbor down the street, rescue stray animals, and donate whatever you could to people in need. When you met your husband, it felt like a gift from the universe.

He was everything you thought you’d never deserve: charismatic, attentive, and so gentle with you it made your heart ache. He would listen intently to your rambles about work, surprise you with your favorite pastries from the café downtown, and hold you close on cold nights when the world seemed too overwhelming.

You hadn’t known much about his work—“sales” was all he ever said—but it didn’t matter. He always came home to you, and that was enough. You admired how he seemed to understand people so easily, reading emotions and desires with an almost uncanny precision. He was your safe harbor, and you were his soft place to land.

But what made your marriage unique wasn’t just the way he made you feel; it was the way you balanced him. Where he was logical and composed, you were emotional and empathetic. If he brushed off a stranger’s plight with practicality, you’d step in with a warm smile and offer help. He often teased you about your boundless kindness, calling you “his little bleeding heart,” but his tone was always fond.

“You’re too good for this world,” he’d whisper sometimes, brushing your hair behind your ear. You’d laugh, kissing his cheek.

“And you’re my world,” you’d reply, never missing the way his gaze softened.

You were blissfully unaware that the man you loved and trusted so completely was hiding a shadowy part of himself, one that was entirely at odds with the person you knew.

It was a chilly winter evening when your life began to unravel. You’d just finished preparing dinner, humming to yourself as you set the table for two, the flicker of candlelight adding warmth to the cozy living room.

Your husband had called earlier, saying he’d be late, but you didn’t mind waiting.

The knock at the door came suddenly, jolting you out of your thoughts. Expecting it to be a neighbor or a delivery, you opened it with your usual bright smile, only to find a man standing there, his face lined with rage and exhaustion.

“Can I help you?” you asked kindly, though his expression unnerved you.

“You already have,” he muttered darkly, stepping inside uninvited. “Where is he?”

“I’m sorry—who are you talking about?” you stammered, retreating a step.

“Your husband,” he spat, his voice trembling with barely contained fury. “Where is that bastard hiding?”

“I think you’ve made a mistake,” you said gently, though your hands were shaking. “My husband hasn’t hurt anyone. He’s just a salesman.”

“A salesman,” the man repeated with a bitter laugh. He fished a small card from his pocket and slammed it onto the table. You glanced at it, confused by the cryptic design.

“He gave me this,” the man continued. “And because of him, I had to watch people die. Because of him, my friends are dead! You’re married to a killer!”

The words pierced through you like shards of ice. “That’s impossible,” you whispered. “My husband would never—”

“Open your eyes, lady!” he shouted, making you flinch. “Do you even know who you’re married to?”

Before you could respond, the door creaked open again. Your husband stepped inside, his eyes immediately locking onto the stranger.

“Gi-hun,” he said calmly, closing the door behind him. “It’s been a while.”

Your heart sank as you turned to your husband, his usual warmth replaced with a cold, calculating smile you’d never seen before.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“Go to the bedroom,” he said softly, but there was an edge to his tone that made your blood run cold.

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “Not until you tell me what this is about. Why is he saying these things?”

The room was tense, the air thick with unspoken truths. Gi-hun’s fury burned hotter as he stepped closer.

“She doesn’t even know, does she?” he sneered. “You’ve been lying to her this whole time.”

Your husband’s jaw tightened. “This isn’t her concern.”

“She’s your wife! She deserves to know the kind of monster she’s married to!”

“Enough,” your husband snapped, his voice firm but not raised. He turned to you, his expression softening just slightly. “Go upstairs, sweetheart. Please.”

You stood frozen, torn between obeying the man you loved and demanding answers. The tears in your eyes blurred your vision as the image of your perfect life began to crumble around you.

Thank you for reading!

#squidgame 2 #squid game s2 #squidgame x reader #squid game imagine #the salesman #salesman x reader #the salesman x you #the salesman x reader #seong gihun #angst #netflix #squid game #squid game x reader

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littlelamy · 3 months ago

Note

Rafe taking care of Reader who goes through a depressive episode. She’s feeling like she is a burden and feels like everyone would be happier with her gone. Maybe things are pretty new between them, only gone on a few dates so she obviously (like most) isn’t going to tell him anything and doesn’t think she matters to a guy she has gone on a few dates with anyway, so she just stops responding to his texts

a/n: thank you for requesting!⭐️ i hope i wrote it appropriately to what you requested 🙂💗part 2 is up!

the first time rafe noticed something was off, it was subtle—just a missed text here and there. maybe a delayed reply. nothing unusual at first. he probably told himself you were busy. everyone has those days where life gets hectic.

but when hours stretched into days and your replies went from short to nonexistent, he started to feel that quiet pull of worry.

“hey, you okay?” he texted the day before, after his third unanswered message.

you saw it pop up on your screen. his name glowed against the darkness of your room, and for a moment, your heart ached with the idea of answering. but then the thought crept in.

he’s just being polite.he barely knows you.he’s probably relieved you stopped answering anyway.

so you let the screen go dark.

you told yourself it didn’t matter. it wasn’t like you two were serious. you’d only gone on a handful of dates, and even though every moment with rafe had been sweet and effortless, there was no way someone like him could actually care.

you’d been wrong about people before.

the weight in your chest had only grown heavier over the past few weeks. even getting out of bed felt impossible some days, let alone pretending to be okay for someone like rafe cameron. so, you didn’t bother. you shut your phone off, buried it under a pillow, and let the world fade into static.

the knock at your door startled you.

at first, you thought it might’ve been a neighbor or a delivery driver, someone just passing through. but then it came again, louder this time, more deliberate.

“y/n?”

you froze, your breath catching as his voice carried through the door.

“it’s rafe.”

you stared at the door like it might open on its own. the last thing you wanted was to face him, especially like this. but hearing his voice made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“i, uh…” he hesitated, the sound of him shifting his weight audible through the thin walls. “i just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

you stayed silent, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. but deep down, you knew rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to just walk away.

“you don’t have to let me in,” he added, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “just… let me know you’re alright.”

you clenched your fists, trying to will the lump in your throat away. how were you supposed to explain that you weren’t alright? that you hadn’t been alright in weeks?

the knock came again, gentler this time.

“i’m not leaving until i know you’re okay,” he said firmly, though there was no anger in his voice. only concern.

you sat frozen for what felt like forever, listening to the silence on the other side of the door. maybe he’d given up. maybe he was walking away right now, realizing this wasn’t worth his time.

but then your phone buzzed from where it lay buried under the pillow.

you hesitated before reaching for it, your hands trembling as you unlocked the screen.

rafe <3: hey, i’m outside your place. not trying to bother you, i just wanted to check in. if you need space, i get it. just let me know you’re alright, okay?

your chest ached as you read the words. there was nothing demanding about them, nothing that made you feel guilty or trapped. he wasn’t asking for anything except to know you were safe.

and that made it worse somehow.

because you weren’t.

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mephisto-reporting · 3 days ago

Text

Hearbreak Anniversary with Zayne

Summary: It was your anniversary with Zayne. One year of togetherness. But what if he does not show up when you expect him to? What if he was spending it with MC? Pairing: Non MC! Reader x Zayne Note: MC in this fic goes by the name Lina (my name... so if you are angry, you can be angry at me :3). This oneshot was based on this request. I will write this for the other LADS men too. Also I don't think any of these men would ever be the type to actually willlingly forget it. Especially Zayne. So I had to adapt the request a bit. Content Warning: injuries, panic, insecurities, self worth issues, Zayne POV

Rafayel version |

Zayne’s apartment smelled like him—clean, crisp, and faintly of the eucalyptus-scented candles he kept on the shelves. You sat on the edge of his couch, smoothing the fabric of your dress down your thighs, nerves making your fingers tremble slightly. The dim light of the chandelier cast a soft glow over the room, illuminating the carefully planned surprise you had for him —flowers, his favorite treats, elegant scarves, and jackets you had spent weeks picking out. The final touch was the flexible weekend getaway tickets, somewhere warm and far from the sterility of hospital walls. A place where he could finally rest.

You had gone all out for tonight. The garden-themed restaurant was supposed to be the perfect setting—a quiet, intimate place where vines curled around twinkling fairy lights, and the soft scent of fresh blooms would fill the air. And you had dressed accordingly with something elegant, something that made you feel beautiful for him. The deep navy-blue dress you wore clung to your form just right, the intricate lace details at the sleeves soft against your skin. You had taken your time getting ready, styling your hair to perfection, slipping on a pair of delicate earrings he once admired absentmindedly. A spritz of white jasmine perfume, the one he once said reminded him of spring mornings. You wanted to look like someone worthy of being by his side. You wanted to be beautiful for him, for the man who had somehow, impossibly, fallen for you.

Because, truth be told, there were times you weren’t sure you were.

you still didn’t understand how this happened—how Zayne, the prodigy, the man who could save lives with his hands and mind, had chosen you. He was brilliant, disciplined, and deeply compassionate. And you? You were just… you. Ordinary in comparison. He never made you feel small, never belittled you, but standing beside him you felt you were just lucky to be there. His world was one of brilliance, filled with extraordinary people—Lina, the fearless Deepspace Hunter; his late friend Caleb, a DAA pilot whose loss still lingered in hushed conversations; his esteemed mentors and fellow doctors who spoke in a language you could only ever grasp at the edges. Compared to them, compared to him, you felt so small.

But tonight, none of that mattered. Tonight, was supposed to be about the two of you.

You had fallen for him in the quietest of ways—through the gentle cadence of his voice, through the moments he noticed things others didn’t. How he’d pull a chair out for you before you could do it yourself, how he’d check the temperature of your tea so you wouldn’t burn your tongue, how he’d listen, really listen, to your ramblings even after a 48-hour shift. He had nestled himself into your heart without you even realizing it.

And tonight, he had insisted he wanted to be with you, even with the chaos of the hospital weighing on his shoulders.

The call came two hours before your reservation. You already knew what he was going to say the moment you saw his name flash on your screen.

“Hey, sweetheart…” Zayne’s voice was warm, familiar, but there was an edge of exhaustion to it. “I’m so sorry. I can’t make it tonight.”

Your heart sank, but you swallowed it down, forcing your voice to remain even. “It’s okay, Zayne. I know you’re busy.”

“It's been a long shift, and the surgeries…”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll cancel the reservation. Take some breaks and rest, okay? You sound tired…”

“I am fine, sweetheart. I’ll make it up to you,” he promised. “I swear.”

"It’s fine, Zayne." you whispered, even if it wasn’t. “We’ll just celebrate it another day. No big deal.” Even though it felt like one at the moment.

Still, you weren’t upset. Not really. You understood. You always understood.

You hung up and exhaled slowly, pressing your palms against your lap. It wasn’t his fault. He was working back-to-back shifts, saving lives, doing what he was meant to do. And yet, you couldn’t quite keep the disappointment from settling in your chest.

You exhaled slowly, stripping away the dress you had so eagerly put on just hours ago. You slip into into one of Zayne’s oversized sweaters instead, the one that still smelled like him, the sleeves swallowing your hands. You wear leggings underneath and slip on your shoes. You took your time packing the gifts back into the car, moving slowly, as if dragging out the moment would make it hurt less. Maybe when he was finally done, you could pick him up from the hospital. At least you’d get to see him and surprise him. This was what occupied your time for the next three to four hours.

Once everything was back in the car, you plopped yourself on his plush but ergonomic couch. You scrolled through your phone while waiting, mindlessly tapping through social media, until one post stopped you cold.

Lina’s story.

A picture of her sitting across from Zayne in a small restaurant outside Akso hospital, the caption lighthearted:

When you have to drag out your doctor because he won’t follow his own advice about resting. (-_-)

Zayne looked amused in the photo, tired but still composed, his lips slightly curved in a small, rare smile. He looked… content. His gaze focused on her as if she had just said something ridiculous.

Your fingers trembled as you stared at the screen.

It was stupid. It was so stupid to feel like this. Lina was his childhood best friend. She had never given you a reason to be insecure, and yet, the sting of it hit you like a slow, creeping ache. He had time to go out for a meal with her. He had time to smile like that, even after canceling on you. You knew you were being irrational, that he had only stepped out for a quick bite in his busy shift, yet you felt betrayed.

Tears pricked at your eyes before you could stop them. You wiped them away quickly, but they kept falling, silent at first, then turning into quiet, shuddering sobs. You felt pathetic. Childish. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. You knew he wasn’t. But it hurt anyway. Because you would have taken anything—just a few moments, even just a simple meal at that tiny restaurant, if it meant spending time with him today.

It hurt in a way that made your chest feel tight, made the lump in your throat impossible to swallow. The sting of it crept under your skin like a wound you hadn’t realized was open, raw and aching. The disappointment bled into something uglier, something heavier. Why, after everything, did it feel like you were always on the sidelines of his life? No, Zayne never made you feel that way. It was your own spiraling thoughts.

A loud sob choked its way out, your hands gripping the fabric of his sweater as if that would somehow ground you. You wanted to hate yourself for crying over something so petty. He was saving lives. He was exhausted. He didn’t mean to hurt you.

But it hurt.

You needed to go home. You needed to collect yourself before the ugly thoughts swallowed you whole. You stood up, tears streaming down your face, as the weight of it all seemed too much to bear. You didn’t want to sit here anymore. You didn’t want to wait. You needed to go home, to clear your head, to get away from the overwhelming sense of inadequacy.

You sniffled, grabbing your keys and heading out. The highway would be the fastest route home—less traffic, a straight shot. You rerouted, pressing your foot on the accelerator, trying to breathe through the tightness in your chest. You wiped at your tears quickly, trying to focus on the road.

The road stretched out before you, a wide expanse of concrete and asphalt that felt like it would swallow you whole. The tears wouldn’t stop, and you wiped them away, trying to steady your hands on the wheel, trying to focus on the road ahead. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that you understood, that you were rational about his work. The reality of it, the empty seat next to you, the disappointment of seeing Zayne happy in a photo with someone else, it all felt too much.

And then—

Headlights. Too close. Too fast.

A car jumped the signal, trying to merge into the highway.

You slammed the breaks, the scream of tires against pavement rang in your ears.

The impact was instant. A violent, sickening jolt that sent your body forward, the seatbelt snapping against your chest, the airbag exploding in front of you. The windshield cracked, splintering into a spiderweb of broken glass. Your vision blurred, the world spinning.

Pain.

Your chest burned, lungs straining to catch a breath. Your limbs felt heavy. You reached for the seatbelt, your fingers fumbling, but it was jammed.

Fuck.

Your head lulled forward, resting against the deflated airbag. Your head was heavy, your thoughts slipping away like sand through your fingers. The distant wail of sirens reached your ears, but they felt so far away.

Your vision swam, the edges darkening.

I hope the other person is alright.

The thought barely had time to settle before everything faded into black.

ZAYNE'S POV

The fluorescent lights of the hospital buzzed faintly, casting an artificial glow over the chaos of the emergency room. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and the undercurrent of blood—familiar, almost routine, yet tonight it gnawed at Zayne's nerves in a way he couldn't quite shake. He hadn’t left since he stepped through those doors, yet somehow, the guilt weighing on him had nothing to do with the lives he saved today. It was you.

He was tired. God, was he tired. His body screamed for rest, his temples throbbed from the strain of back-to-back shifts, but the hospital was understaffed, and there was no room for exhaustion when lives were at stake. As a cardiologist, his expertise lay in the intricate mechanics of the human heart, but duty demanded flexibility—especially in the ER. Cardiologists weren’t meant to be dealing with blunt force trauma and lacerations, but tonight, none of that mattered. They needed doctors. He was a doctor. So, he worked.

Even through the fatigue, his mind kept drifting back to you. He could still hear your voice from the call earlier, soft and understanding despite the disappointment laced beneath it. You didn’t deserve this. You had every right to be upset, to be frustrated that he had broken his promise, yet you didn’t even complain. That hurt more than if you had yelled at him

God, he loved you. And he hated himself for testing that patience again and again.

His hand tightened around the pen he was holding. He had plans—plans to make it up to you. The necklace in his office drawer, nestled in a velvet box, had been meant for tonight. Something small, perhaps, compared to everything you did, but a token of his devotion nonetheless. He could still salvage this. Maybe he could call you later, ask if you were still awake—

His device beeped, pulling him back to the present.

MVA on the highway. ETA: 5 minutes.

Multi-vehicle accident. Paramedics on site, victims en route.

Zayne exhaled sharply, shifting into work mode. He stepped into the ER just as the first stretcher was wheeled in. The radio chatter from their comms filled the space.

"Female, mid-to-late twenties, restrained driver, T-bone collision from a vehicle that ran a red light. Airbag deployment, but impact trauma to the chest from seatbelt. BP slightly low, likely from pain response. Tachycardic at 112. GCS is 14. Possible wrist fracture, mild concussion. No signs of internal bleeding from the ultrasound, but needs further imaging to rule out any complications."

He nodded briskly, slipping into the detached, clinical efficiency that had been drilled into him for years. It was only as he stepped forward, pulling the curtain aside, that his breath caught in his throat.

His world stopped.

There, on the hospital bed, was you.

Lying on the hospital bed, your hair disheveled, your skin pale against the stark white sheets. His breath lodged in his throat, the world narrowing to a pinpoint focus on the rise and fall of your chest. He couldn't move. Couldn't think. There was dried blood at your temple, your lower lip swollen where you must have bitten down upon impact. The sight of the IV line in your arm, the faint bruises forming along your collarbone—he couldn’t breathe.

No. No. No. No. No.

"Dr. Zayne…" Yvonne’s voice cut in, sharp and urgent. A warning. He was frozen. This wasn't just a patient. This was you.

He blinked, his hands suddenly trembling as he reached for his gloves. Breathe. He had to focus. Had to push past the sheer, gut-wrenching fear threatening to paralyze him.

This is her. She was waiting for me. She—

"Dr. Zayne!!" Yvonne pressed, handing him the updated chart. "She needs you."

That snapped him out of it.

The moment his hands touched you, they were steady again. His voice was even as he examined you, the motions automatic, controlled. He checked your pupils, gently palpated your ribs to assess for fractures. He was a doctor. He was your doctor right now. He had to move. Focusing, he reached for his stethoscope, pressing it against your chest to listen for abnormalities. The rhythm of your heart was steady, but your breathing was just slightly labored—likely from the seatbelt trauma.

"You’re going to be fine." he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

You were stable.

"Her left shoulder—check for AC joint separation," he murmured, voice steadier than he felt. "Get a CT to rule out any internal injuries. And…" He swallowed. “Get me images from the crash site.” He needed to see how bad the collison was. He had to.

The hours blurred. He monitored your scans, adjusted your IV, checked your vitals more times than necessary. Each time his eyes drifted to you; his chest ached. He had seen the accident reports—your car, your windshield shattered, the crumpled hood. And the contents scattered across the scene…

You had planned everything.

For him.

And he wasn’t there.

Zayne clenched his jaw. Flowers were scattered, crushed against the upholstery. The pastries you must have picked out for him were ruined; their boxes torn open from the force of the crash. And gifts. There were so many gifts. He hadn’t even known you had planned all this.

He felt like he was going to be sick.

You had so much waiting for him. And where had he been? At a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, eating with Lina because she forced him to take a break. He had been smiling in that photo while you were—

God.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling shakily as he sat by your bedside. He should have been with you. If he had just—

The monitor beeped steadily, a quiet reminder that you were alive.

Now, he sat beside you, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest, fingers curled into his palms to keep them from shaking.

"Wake up, sweetheart." he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "Please, just wake up."

And for once, Zayne—brilliant, composed, always in control—felt utterly powerless.

The beep of the heart monitor was steady, rhythmic, but Zayne found himself gripping the edge of his chair every time you stirred, waiting for that moment when your eyes would finally open. His body was stiff from staying in the same position for hours, but he didn’t dare move. He didn’t want to miss it.

Then, a small shift in your breathing. A twitch of your fingers.

Zayne leaned forward just as your lashes fluttered, your eyes cracking open, only to squeeze shut again at the harsh fluorescent lights. You groaned softly, shifting against the sheets. Instinctively, you tried to sit up.

"Hey—stay put," Zayne said immediately, pressing a hand against your shoulder to keep you down. His touch was gentle but firm, his fingers warm even against the hospital gown. "Don’t move too much yet."

Your body resisted for a moment, muscles tensing as if you wanted to argue, but the disorientation dulled your fight. Your gaze finally settled on him, hazy with the remnants of sleep and confusion.

Then you frowned.

“…You look tired,” you murmured, your voice soft, still groggy. “How long have you been here?”

Zayne’s heart clenched so tightly it hurt. Even now, even when you were the one lying in a hospital bed, barely recovered from an accident, your first thoughts were about him.

His throat felt tight, but he exhaled sharply, forcing himself to speak. “You should look at yourself first, sweetheart.”

Your gaze flickered down, taking in the IV in your arm, the bruises along your wrist, the faint soreness that no doubt ached across your body. Zayne exhaled sharply and reached out, his fingertips tracing the side of your face before cupping your cheek fully. His thumb brushed lightly against your skin, as if grounding himself with the warmth of you. His eyes were moist, though no tears fell.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low, raw in a way that stripped away every layer of his usual composure.

You parted your lips, breath hitching as if you were about to reassure him—to do what you always did, to let him off the hook, to tell him it wasn’t his fault.

But he didn’t let you.

“No,” he cut in firmly, shaking his head. “Not this time. This is the one time you shouldn’t be so understanding.” His jaw clenched, something bitter twisting in his expression. “I should have been there. We should have been celebrating our relationship. End of discussion.”

Silence settled between you.

After a beat, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair before looking at you again. “Why didn’t you demand my time?” His voice was quieter now, tinged with regret. “You had every right to.”

You hesitated, glancing away. “…I didn’t want to bother you.” Your fingers twisted into the hospital blanket, grip tightening slightly. “You’re important, Zayne. You save lives. I didn’t want to pull you away from that.”

Something in him snapped.

He let out a sharp breath, then reached for your hand, gently prying your fingers from the blanket. His grip was warm, grounding.

“Shh… And you think you’re not?” he murmured, shaking his head. “Don’t ever say that again.” His gaze bore into yours, unwavering. “You are important to me.”

"You’re important to me," he repeated, voice steady but almost desperate. "Just like my work makes demands of me, you are more than entitled to make demands of me, too."

Your eyes searched his, uncertainty flickering beneath the lingering haze of exhaustion. But Zayne’s gaze didn’t waver.

"I know I should have been there," he said again, quieter this time. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before brushing a thumb over the edge of your jaw, tilting your face slightly. “When I saw you on this bed when I entered the ER… pale, unconscious… I haven’t felt fear like that before," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not in all my years of doing this. Not like that."

You didn’t say anything, but your hand came up slowly, resting over his.

He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling.

This—this was what he almost lost.

His jaw clenched, then loosened as he exhaled. “I don’t want to ever feel it again.”

Another pause.

Zayne inhaled deeply, steadying himself. His hand still cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against your skin, as if reassuring himself that you were still here. That you were warm. That he hadn’t lost you.

“I know I say I’m sorry a lot… and it probably has lost meaning to you.” he murmured; his voice rough with emotion. His lips pressed into a thin line, as if struggling to put his feelings into something more tangible. “I should have been there. And I will be. Every step of the way until you’re fully recovered and after....”

His eyes flickered downward, scanning you like the doctor he was, but this was different. This wasn’t just clinical analysis—this was personal. "You got lucky," he admitted, exhaling through his nose. "Blunt force trauma to the ribs, a mild concussion, and a broken wrist. Some lacerations on your arm and leg, but nothing deep enough to require surgical intervention. The worst was the head trauma, but the scans came back clear. No bleeding, no swelling. That’s the only reason I’m not having a complete breakdown right now…" His fingers ghosted over your arm, careful not to apply pressure. "Nothing life-threatening or with lasting consequences. But still… you shouldn’t have had to go through that alone." His jaw tensed. "Not when you have me."

You gave him a small, tired smile at that, and something inside him twisted.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to reach into his pocket, his fingers closing around the small velvet box. He’d gone to his office to clock off for the day to be beside you when he picked it up from his drawer. The very box he wanted to give you today. The one that was supposed to be given in a far more joyful setting. This was supposed to be today. A night spent celebrating the two of you—not this. Not hospital beds and IV drips and the hollow fear that had nearly swallowed him whole.

But none of that mattered now.

What mattered was that you were here. And this… this was still yours.

His throat felt thick as he flipped it open, revealing the necklace inside—a delicate silver chain holding a white jasmine pendant, smooth and polished, its petals carved with intricate detail. And behind it, barely visible, were his initials.

His fingers trembled just slightly as he took it out.

"I was supposed to give this to you today," he admitted, voice lower now, almost guilty. "Before all of this. Before I let my own priorities get in the way of what really mattered." He glanced up at you, and for the first time in a long time, he looked vulnerable. "I don’t want you to ever think that you come second. Because you don’t. You never have."

Gently, he reached around your neck, his touch featherlight as he fastened the clasp. The cool metal of the pendant settled just above your collarbone, resting against your skin. His fingertips lingered there, just briefly.

Then he let out a slow breath, tilting your chin up just slightly with his knuckles. His mind still reeled with everything that had happened, with everything he should have done differently.

"I love you," he said, and this time there was no hesitation, no wry smirk to mask his emotions, no half-hearted deflection. Just honesty, raw and unguarded. "Even when I do a crappy job at showing it." He didn’t need you to say it back—he just needed you to know.

For a moment, silence stretched between you. Then, his lips quirked, just slightly, into something softer. "And since I’m apparently on mandatory bedside duty, I hope you’re ready to be completely spoiled. I’m talking fresh coffee, extra pillows, a ridiculous number of medical advices—"

A small, breathy laugh escaped you, and Zayne felt something in his chest loosen at the sound. Then, slowly, you lifted a hand, brushing your fingertips over the pendant before reaching up to cup his cheek.

Zayne leaned into your touch instinctively, exhaling softly. He smiled, finally, pressing his forehead lightly against yours. "Yeah," he murmured. "We’ll be just fine. I've got you sweetheart... I'll always be here for you."

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Rafayel version |

Taglist: @cordidy, @natimiles @leighsartworks216 @notisekais @raining4food @fallthelong @pomegranatepip @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @krystallevine @lemurianmaster @nenggie @loverindeepspace @sinsodom

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justwonder113 · 21 days ago

Text

Drunk Chan confessing to you

Warnings: Cursing as always. Chan's Pov. Reader is gender neutral. Chan is whipped! Chan thinks reader is dating someone. Childhood friends to lovers. Misunderstanding with a happy ending. Chan is drunk but not that much, more like tipsy. word count-3.4k A/N- Sorry this took me ages to write but I hope you'll enjoy reading. Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated.

My masterlist.

If you like my work you can buy me coffee❤️

Chan felt like he was about to lose his mind and weirdly enough it wasn’t because one of the boys did something to either piss him of or to just to be a general menace. No his distress was caused by a whole another thing or better say someone. It was beyond him how in the world was it possible for someone look this gorgeous, so ethereal and breathtaking on a regular fucking Friday?!

He knew he was whipped for you. He had made peace with that simple yet not so simple fact years ago. He also knew that he found you absolutely beautiful. Whenever he tried to think of something beautiful your image always popped up before anything else. It was simple as that for him, like the fact that the sky was blue, the grass was green, and you were definition of a words beautiful and bewitching for him.

God, he felt pathetic. He was thinking about all this as if he stood a chance with you in the first place. You always had looked at him and saw him as a friend. Maybe there was a moment there and there where it seemed that there could be something more. Where the line between friendship and something entirely different became blurry. But your relationship although the years had been strictly platonic. He had given up on hoping for something more years ago.

Maybe it was a little bit of alcohol he had drunk earlier affecting him, maybe he just fell for you even harder right now (if it was even possible). But right now, as he watched you talk with the boys about god knows about what, he thought that you were the definition of the word beauty. He didn’t know if he wanted to stare at you for as long as possible and bask in your beauty and presence. Or if he should go to Hyunjin and ask him to teach him paint so that he could capture just how beautiful you looked. But knowing himself, even if it was possible to capture all of it on paper... Chan liked to think of himself as a selfless person, or at least he tried to be, but he was also an honest man. If it was possible to capture how captivating you truly were, he would just keep it to himself. He would become the most selfish man in the world. And maybe he was. All he could think about right now was that your attention wasn’t on him, that you paid your mind to someone other than him. It didn’t matter that “someone” was his friends, the people he considered his family. He wanted all your attention on him, he wanted you to look only at him. God he was losing his mind. When did he become so needy and desperate for your attention? He felt pathetic. How would you even look at him when he acted this way? He reminded himself something he had done for years. That you deserved way better than him, you deserved someone who would give you the world, someone who would cherish you the way you deserved. Even though he would do absolutely anything for you, even though he would make impossible possible for you, even though he would let the world burn for you, you deserved someone who would do even more and more importantly would always be there for you. He wasn’t worthy of you, not with the type of relationship he had with his work. God, it killed him whenever he had to cancel plans with you and couldn’t be there for you because he had to work. As much as he loved what he did for a living, the same love turned into hate because it kept him away from you. There were even times where he considered to just fuck it and quit, but what would he even do in life? There was literally nothing else he could see himself as. Without a job without a passion what worth did he have? What could he do?

He had come with peace with the fact that he couldn’t be something more for you. Maybe it was for the good. You could live your life to the fullest. He was fine loving you from afar...

God, all he could think about was how cute you looked. Your hair was still messy, because you rushed here when you noticed that all of them were quite drunk when you called to check on them, and you were wearing that way too big hello kitty hoodie with the matching black pants Chan got you as a joke that you kept wearing because it was really comfortable. Your whole look today screamed that you only cared about being comfortable and that you were grumpy that you had to get up in the middle of the night to get your silly friends. Still in Chan’s eyes you looked like you hung the stars yourself.

God he was obsessed with you. There was no better way to describe the feeling really. Even now the moment your gaze shifted to him and you gave him that sweet smile... He felt like he couldn’t breathe. His body felt warm all over yet he felt his lungs were frozen in place making him unable to breathe.

“How are you feeling Channie?” You asked him with that sweet voice of yours. In seconds his mind was swarmed with all the possible lyrics he could use to write yet another song dedicated Soley for you that he kept hidden in his laptop. Well, hidden was a nice word. All of the boys knew of that file and Chan was more than few times relentlessly teased for his crush on you. They kept pestering that he should just confess, or at least show you all the songs he had written for you and let them do the job for him, but he just couldn’t.

“Better now that you’re here.” He slipped before he could even stop himself. What if he made you feel uncomfortable? You two flirted from time to time, but lately he had this rising suspicion that you were seeing someone and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. All he knew was that he would rather die than make you uncomfortable with his silly little crush.

Thankfully for him and his heart you chuckled and immediately his whole heart was filled with joy. “Well, I’m glad. I’m here to bring you home, because little birdie here told me that you had been asking for me all night.” You mused all sweetly. Chan’s head immediately snapped towards Minho, who grinned at him all triumphant. He would have to have a word with him later.

“God I will kick his ass later. You didn’t have to come. I had no idea he told you to get here. You must have been tired.” Chan only stopped rambling when he felt you place your hand on his shoulder. You looked at him with eyes shining brighter than all the stars combined. It was his words yes and he would stand by it.

“Calm down Channie.” Your voice was calm, soothing. If there was one thing he had to choose to listen to till the end of his life he would, without a thought, choose your voice. Your kind, beautiful, soothing voice. He loved whenever you showered him with affection and complemented him. Hell, love wasn’t strong enough of a word to describe how he felt, he was on the cloud nine whenever you said even something sweet to him. But the thing about your voice and presence to him was that, even if you weren’t complimenting him or just being sweet. Even if you were just telling him about how your day went, he felt this serenity, this calmness. Whenever he was with you his mind always just shut down. It went silent. And he could actually enjoy living in a moment and enjoy his life to the fullest. Would there even be time when he would be able to convey in words just what you meant to him? Maybe then he would actually stop and be proud of himself as a lyricist.

“Do you want me to be here?” Your teasing tone quickly bought him back to reality.

“What kind of question is that? Of course I do!” Chan was quick to protest which made you chuckle. God there it was, that beautiful sound. Suddenly everything felt all right.

“Whipped!” He heard Minho cough into his fist. He would really have to kick his ass later.

Chan was about to ask you about how you were, how your day went, mundane stuff like that when he heard your phone ring. “Sorry Channie one second.” You quickly checked your phone. The slight furrow of your brows was quickly replaced by a gentle smile. You quickly raised your finger to give you time and went a few steps away to talk on your phone. He couldn’t really decipher what you were saying to that person but your voice... You sounded do genuinely happy talking to that person.

The ringing in his ears raised in volume when he caught you call that person “babe”. Did he fully lose you? Did you really start seeing someone? Was the distance between you so big that you didn’t even tell him you were seeing someone? Did he mess up so bad that you didn’t even feel comfortable confiding in him?

The rest of the night was a blur. He didn’t even remember how he got into your car. Or the road you took. The last thing he remembered was how he saw you hug that man goodbye. Good thing that man wasn’t accompanying you that day and he returned to his friend group shortly after. He wasn’t sure he was ready to be introduced to your boyfriend. Not that he would ever be.

Too caught up with the turmoil in his head he didn’t even notice for a moment a figure approach you. When he brought his gaze on you, you were talking with some man. Sweet smile adorning your face, your eyes shining brightly. Was it that someone? You weren’t talking on the phone anymore. The way you were talking to him you clearly knew him. It also didn’t help him at all that the man you were talking to was objectively really handsome. There was no way he could compete with a person like him. God, he felt like a joke. There wouldn’t even be a competition. He should be able to face reality now. He had spent years helplessly yearning for you. He should know by now that he didn’t stand a chance with you. God, he felt like crying.

**********************************************

It was funny how one moment you could be having time of your life and the next second it could be ruined by one single thing. Chan barely felt like talking, let alone smile or anything of that sort. And as it turned out his mood was contagious. The whole ride was quiet. Chan couldn’t even remember the time where all of them were in the same space and it was actually quiet.

However, why you were silent and didn’t talk at all was a mystery to him. Did that man upset you? If that was the case, he would gladly murder someone. No one got to mess with you, not on his watch.

“Channie?” Your voice brought him back to reality. He must have zoned out again. That two extra shots he drank as you talked with that man really messed with his head. As if he wasn’t already tipsy enough. “Are you okay?” You sounded worried. Was it this apparent he was sad? What was he even supposed to say?

“I’m just tired.” He managed to mumble out after a second or two.

“What do you think about sleeping over at my house? We haven’t hung out in a while. I can not be deprived of my best friend for too long you know that.” You whined all cutely making his heart flutter uncontrollably. But he quickly got reminded of the fact that you were not his. And the small smile that wanted to break through got quickly replaced by a deeper frown. He also now realised that you two were alone in your car now.

“I don’t think we should.” It brought him physical pain to utter these words to you.

Now it was your time to frown. “Why is that?” God, you sounded so sad. It killed something inside him knowing he was the one causing you pain. You quickly backed down. “I mean if you don’t feel like it it’s totally fine. We’re almost at your house too. We’ll be there in few minutes.” You laughed awkwardly.

God he hated this. Since when did things get weird between you? When did things change? Would things get even weirder and would the distance between you two grow as your relationship with your new boyfriend progressed?

“Wouldn’t your boyfriend mind?” He hated how he couldn’t ask one question without mumbling like a sad little kid.

Without even saying a word you quickly pulled over and turned on hazard lights.

“Channie what the actual fuck?” You tried to sound calm but your voice betrayed you.

“What? What did I do wrong?” This was weird, he was the one (okay unfairly, yes, but) upset with you, how were you the one scolding him? What did he even do? He didn’t remember upsetting you. Did he forget something? Did he do something and then forget?

“What did you do wrong? Dude what is up with that question?” You sounded so appalled like he asked the most ridiculous question ever. “What boyfriend?”

“You broke up?” When did you even manage to do that? Weren’t you all lovey-dovey with someone minutes ago? Did you break up with him via text? No, you wouldn’t do that right? Also why would you break up with him? The dude seemed perfect.

“There was no one to begin with?” You stared him for a second, you seemed unsure of something. “Is this why you were sulky all evening? You think I’m dating someone?”

Did he misread the whole situation? He didn’t right? He didn’t just make an absolute fool out of himself,right?

God, he did! He wanted to dig a hole to crawl into and never get out. He really felt like crying now.

“I’m not dating anyone.” You sighed out after few seconds of numbing silence. “God Channie what even made you think that?”

Chan hadn’t even noticed he started fidgeting with his fingers. He only stopped when you placed your hand on top of his, only then he was able to feel the sting or the small self inflicted wound. To think of it you always gently held his hands like this whenever he was nervous and started fidgeting with them. You never really scolded him, you just always gently stopped him. This was one of the countless things he loved about you, how you just read him like a book. How you knew what he needed without him even saying anything.

Chan took a deep breath. Here went nothing. “You had been smiling at your phone and texting a lot too. You’re always busy too. And when you were on your phone you called someone babe. And the man at the bar too!” Really, how could he not think you were dating someone?!

“I’ve been texting my friends that’s all. We’re planning a birthday party and I guess I’ve been running around a lot for it. Now listen carefully before I smack your beautiful idiot head! I call my friend babe, you have seen me do it millions of times, you even joked about how you could get jealous about it!” You quickly ranted to him, elevating Chan’s worries bit by bit, word by word.

“What about the Guy at the bar?” Chan didn’t back down. He had to know. He had to know the truth.

“Why does it matter if I have a boyfriend?” You looked at him with determined eyes.

“What kind of question is that?”

“The kind I want answer to. What does it change if I have a boyfriend?”

Chan felt his face get warmer, how was he supposed to answer that question?

“Come on, you know it changes everything!” No matter how hard he tried to hold it in, the desperation in his voice clearly showed.

“What Chan? What does it change?” You raised your voice. Why were you prying like that?

He couldn’t take it anymore.

“For fuck’s sake how will it not Change everything? How can everything stay the same when I have been in love with since I remember? How can I just watch you go to another man just like this? You’re everything I have ever wanted and loved. You’re my everything! How can you not see that? Every song I have written is about you, every thought I have is about you, my heart simply beats just for you! How will it not change anything? It will kill me to see you with another man! I would do anything in this world for you but not let you go. I could never let you go!”

God, he said it. He really said it. He finally admitted just what he felt for you. Well yelled would be more accurate word to describe it. But yeah... He finally admitted his feelings. It was like weight got lifted off his chest but as the seconds passed in absolute deafening silence, maybe it was better to keep it in.

He couldn’t even look you in the eyes. He was such an idiot. He should have kept it to himself. Why didn’t you say anything? Were you that disgusted? Would you stop being friends with him now? Did he just lose you?

Your lips were soft as silk and so warm and you kissed him so tenderly! Almost hesitantly. How cute... As if a dam broke inside of him, he quickly opened his seatbelt and brought himself closer to you. There was no way he could hold himself back now that he got to know how you taste. Biting down on your lip gently he could feel your lips part. He immediately deepened the kiss. God he loved it, how you tasted, how you clung onto him, how soft and pillowy your lips were. His whole mind was consumed by you. He was overwhelmed in the best waynpossible. All he could feel was your lips caressing each other, your warmth surrounding him, your cold fingers that held his face gently, your sweet scent that was making his mind go numb. God, it was like he could feel how he was slowly getting more and more addicted to you.

He couldn’t even fully grasp what happened. One second he heard a clink of a seatbelt opening and next second your lips were on him. The lips he had dreamed of tasting for years were now kissing him.

Did he just die and wake up in heaven?

When you leaned back for air he couldn’t help but as he tried to chase your lips but you stopped him giggling. God did you have any idea what you did to him? He was at your feet at your mercy, did you even realize that? The power you held over him.

“Of course I love you. God I adore you! You’re definition of perfection, live representation of love and beauty for me. I don’t think there’s even a universe where I don’t love you!”

“Since I have to spell everything out for you today you beautiful dummy, I have been in love with you for years! I just didn’t think you felt the same way." As if unpleased with something youq quickly shook your head. "Okay, there were times I did, but like... You always backed down! And today, seeing how sulky you got over me talking with a coworker who was with his boyfriend by the way. I thought that maybe this was the day I could finally get to the truth. Thankfull, you return my feelings, because... If you didn’t I don’t think I would ever be able to get over you.” Chan physically couldn’t let you finish talking. He leaned in and captured your lips in another searing kiss. As much he loved your voice and listening to you talk, he had just realized that he loved kissing you more. Also, to think that you thought that there was a possibility that he didn’t love you... He just had to stop you.

Hearing you giggle made his heart leap in joy. “God you’re such a sap Channie.” Gently bringing him closer to you by his shoulders you gently pecked him. Chan couldn’t help but mirror your grin as he wrapped his arms around you, basking in your presence, enjoying living this moment with you.

“You’re one to talk.” He couldn’t help but tease back before leaning in to quickly peck your nose which made your smile widen.

“We’re a perfect match then.” You mused, clearly satisfied.

“Yeah, we really are.” Chan smiled to himself and hugged you closer feeling finally at peace. Finally feeling whole.

Reblogs and feedback are gretly appreciated^^

If you like my work you can check my Masterlist or you can buy me coffee ;)

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght @notastraykid @annie-boleyn

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erensfeed · 3 months ago

Text

Everyone wished they had a relationship like yours and Zayne’s.

You were the kind of couple people watched with faint fond smiles, whispering to each other on how deeply in love you two looked.

The way Zayne’s steady calmness balanced with your playful energy, and how he’d give you soft smiles whenever you teased him, made nearby people admire you both dearly.

What was there not to like?

With what is said on opposites attracting? You were the perfect example because the two of you effortlessly made the impossible look easy wherever you went.

Zayne’s coworkers had noticed the change first—the way he’d started smiling more when his phone buzzed, or how he didn’t mind when they teased him about whatever text you’d sent that left him blushing.

He hadn’t been like that before. You didn’t know how much you’d pulled him out of a shell most people assumed he’d never leave. You could say you had some idea but not the full extent.

Whenever you would come visit, his coworkers would joke in a quiet, almost reverent way, about how different Zayne had become since he started dating you. At work, he’d always been that quiet guy who only spoke when he was spoken to. But after you? He was different. He smiled and even laughed more, even at jokes he would never. Genuine, full laughs that were so warm and inviting, prior to his cold and stoic reactions — until one got to know him at least.

Hanging out with both you and Zayne always felt like something also worth remembering.

There was a time at your favorite ice cream shop, you’d invited Greyson and Yvonne to tag along with you both. It was supposed to be a casual quick dessert hangout after work, but you thought it would be one of those moments that would be better shared with others.

Zayne had just finished a quick call that cut through your light conversation a bit, and you’d barely waited for him to put his phone back in his pocket before you sneaked your spoon toward his ice cream dish. With an instinctive and quite effortless flick, he caught you in the act, his spoon blocking yours.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t think I would catch that?” Zayne narrowed his eyes at you, as he was watching your face shift into a shocked expression with a small smirk.

You’d almost forgotten that your boyfriend had such a sweet tooth and you were playing a dangerous game.

“Hey, I was testing the quality control!”

“Oh, really?” While you were distracted by looking at him, he took advantage of the opening and scooped a generous bite from your bowl instead. “How’s this for quality?”

You watched, even more amused, as he took a chunk of your ice cream with a tiny victorious smile. “You did not.”

As his smile grew, he shrugged innocently, the spoon sliding back into his mouth before you decided to go for an even bigger scoop from his. But he caught you again, once more blocking your move with such swiftness.

“No, you are so gonna pay for that,” You laughed as you basically just declared a dessert war on him, making everyone at your table laugh along.

What followed was a tiny duel of clinking spoons, your mock battle ever so intense, that your friends couldn’t help but watch with endearing smiles. It didn’t matter if their own desserts would melt because they didn’t mind. They loved seeing Zayne like that.

They loved seeing you both like that.

｡𖦹 ° . ⋆

Zayne glanced down at his phone on the same restaurant’s table, the lock screen lighting up with a picture of you lovingly pressing a kiss to his cheek, staring back at him. A notification buzzed through—perhaps something mundane—but he couldn’t bring himself to open it.

It’d been a year.

Nothing could ever be as important.

Even though the ice cream didn’t taste the same anymore since he lost you, he finished it in silence anyway. Before leaving, he left a generous tip on the table, then stepped out into the autumn drizzle.

The air was crisp, cool against his face, and tinged with rain.

This was the exact kind of weather you used to love.

The kind you would’ve shared a kiss in, or maybe even played around together with him in, until you caught a cold when it started raining and he had to take care of you, despite his warnings about how terrible of an idea it would be.

At the thought, the ghost of a smile tugged at his lips before it slowly vanished again.

As Zayne slipped into his car, the rain began to pick up, hitting the windshield in a familiar, rhythmic pattern. He glanced at the passenger seat, the space you used to occupy still empty, making him look ahead once more as he started the car.

He drove aimlessly for a while, the streets blurring in the rain. He passed the street where you’d first bumped into him, spilling your drink all over his jacket in the most chaotic yet loveable way. He remembered how embarrassed you were, how quickly you apologized, how beautiful you were when flustered.

How he…

He trailed off in his thoughts. Then he let out a shaky exhale before swallowing hard, trying to think of any other thing. He couldn’t help himself as he looked outside the window.

You really would’ve loved the weather today.

Gloomy yet soft, with just the right amount of rain to make you sigh contentedly and lean into his warmth.

He knows you would have.

He would’ve also loved the chance to experience that moment with you.

At work, his coworkers had long noticed it. They’d started whispering again too. They’d noticed how he’d stopped smiling again, how the sharpness in his eyes had returned, how he barely spoke unless absolutely necessary. How he was here but not really here.

It was now like every part of him had locked up.

For good this time.

They had never seen him like this before—not even before you. He’d really shut himself off completely, the only thing left of him being the rigid, distant exterior he had perfected in the years before you ever came into his life.

“Dr. Zayne?”

Greyson’s voice pulled him back to the present as he held the coffee cup he got him. Greyson’s eyes searched his face for a sign of recognition, but all he found again was the same cold, empty look Zayne had been wearing for months now.

“Oh, thank you,” he accepted the drink, stiffly, then gently settled it down on his desk, never meeting Greyson’s worried gaze.

Greyson watched him for a beat too long, waiting for something — maybe a sign that Zayne was still in there somewhere. But Zayne didn’t meet his eyes. He couldn’t.

If he looked… if he acknowledged the concern there, it might break him.

So instead, he focused on the screen in front of him, typing mechanically, anything to drown out the silence between them. Taking that as a cue to leave, Greyson softly nodded and did so, knowing that any attempt to try to talk would once again be a fail.

When Greyson walked outside, he met the eyes of the hospital coworkers gathered outside Zayne’s door. They shook their heads, exchanging sad, disappointed glances.

Another day without a full conversation with Zayne.

Another day of keeping everyone out.

Another day without you.

Zayne knew it all and it hurt him.

But he also knew that it was easier this way. Easier to keep everything locked down. Easier to pretend he didn’t feel the ache in his chest every time he thought of you, especially after they asked how he was.

Easier to be the Zayne everyone used to know, the one who never showed any sign of vulnerability.

And yet, he also knew that you wouldn’t have wanted this for him. You wouldn’t have wanted him to shut the world out. Not for you.

You always believed in him, knew how strong he was. How mentally stronger than he thought he was. You’d never quit reminding him in all your moments together.

But now, as he sat there in the silence, it felt impossible to hold onto any of that.

The truth was he didn’t know how to do this — all this anymore.

He didn’t know how to keep pretending.

The moon was out again tonight, the same one you used to talk to him under, on those long, quiet summer nights when you two would lie on a blanket in the grass in your backyard, your head resting on his chest.

He hated how it felt to look at it now.

So far away, so unreachable.

He remembered how you used to compare him to the moon, even though he felt otherwise. He always thought of you as his light in the dark, which made him start calling you his moonlight too.

At the memory, he stared into the serene night sky as the moon cast a pure pale glow, his eyes glimmering, holding back the storm of emotion within.

“I miss you,” he managed to whisper, his voice breaking on the words. “So much.”

But the moon didn’t respond.

And for the first time in a long time, Zayne wasn’t sure he could keep going without you.

It’d been a year, after all.

A year since he lost his moon.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace zayne #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads zayne #zayne x reader #lnds zayne #lads angst #lnds #lads #zayne x mc #zayne #zayne fluff

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ikkyfics · 2 months ago

Note

may i req a remus fic? maybe smtg angsty? like hes dating the r for a bet? i lovee u anyways, I'll devour whatever remus fics u decided to write my love

Sweet Lies

Remus Lupin x f!reader

Summary: Remus had come closer to you. He had said the right words, held your hand, kissed you with a tenderness that felt so real. But it was all a lie. All part of a stupid bet.

Warnings: angst

A/N: honey, I hope you like it and you are so sweet, saying these things that make my heart race - thank you so much <333333 I really hope this doesn't just sound like a stupid cliché

Masterlist - Consequences

Remus Lupin entered your life like a comet: unexpected, bright, and impossible to ignore. It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment when you stopped seeing him as just another quiet student from your house and began to notice the quiet strength he carried. There was something in the way he seemed to notice the details that everyone else missed—a book you liked to carry with you, the slightly frustrated tone in his voice when someone interrupted you during a heated discussion about spells. He didn’t just see you, but seemed to understand the parts of you that no one else bothered to unravel.

You had always been calmer, more reserved. In a castle full of extravagant personalities and voices echoing down stone corridors, you were the type of person who preferred to observe. But Remus changed that. Not in a grand or obvious way, but with small gestures that slowly began to dismantle the walls you had built around yourself.

“You’re always so focused here,” he commented once, sitting beside you in a quiet corner of the library. His brown eyes shone with something that seemed like genuine admiration. “It’s like the world could end outside, and you wouldn’t even notice.”

You had laughed, trying to look away, but he didn’t give you room to escape. “Maybe because the world is calmer in here,” you replied, closing the book you were reading. “There aren’t as many distractions.”

“Is that so?” His tone was curious, almost challenging. “And me? Am I a distraction?”

He was. From the first moment he pulled a chair next to you, from the first time he asked if you needed help with that complicated spell in Defense Against the Dark Arts. His presence was a constant distraction—and one you didn’t want to escape.

Now, as you both walked across the school grounds, the night air bringing with it a chill that made the sky look even more starry, Remus held your hand gently. His fingers were long and slender, marked with scars he never fully explained, but which you had learned to recognize as an essential part of him.

“Are you cold?” he asked suddenly, stopping in the middle of the path to look at you. The moonlight danced on his brown hair, tousled by the wind.

“Not really,” you lied, not wanting to break the moment.

Remus raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smile you knew was reserved for when he was about to challenge you. “You’re not a very good liar, you know that?”

Before you could answer, he took off the scarf he was wearing and carefully wrapped it around your neck. The touch of his fingers brushing your skin made a pleasant warmth rise on your cheeks.

“All set,” he said, adjusting the scarf as if it were the most important thing in the world. “Now, no cold can get to you.”

You didn’t respond, simply pulling him by the collar of his robe, making him lean closer. Your lips met in a slow, peaceful kiss, a perfect reflection of how Remus made you feel. He was everything you didn’t know you needed: secure, warm, and a little broken, but somehow whole when he was by your side.

When you pulled away, his eyes searched yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “If I could, I’d stay here forever,” he whispered, his voice deep but soft. “Just the two of us. Nothing else matters.”

"Remus," you called, hesitantly.

He turned his head toward you, his brown eyes shining with that familiar mix of curiosity and patience. "Hm?"

"Do you think people can really change? I mean... not just change on the outside, but on the inside too?" Your question slipped out before you could stop it, and for a moment, you almost regretted saying something so vulnerable.

Remus furrowed his brow, a subtle gesture you had learned to recognize as a sign that he was thinking deeply. "I think so," he replied carefully. "But it’s not easy. Changing means facing parts of yourself you’d rather ignore. And not everyone is willing to do that."

You looked at him, noticing how the moonlight seemed to soften the lines of his face, making him almost ethereal. There was something comforting in the way he spoke, as if he understood things that no one else could.

"I’m asking because..." You paused, the hesitation tightening around your throat. Part of you wanted to pull back, keep what you were about to say hidden, like you always had. But his presence had a way of making you feel safe, as if nothing could hurt you while he was by your side. "Because sometimes, I feel like I’m... not enough. Like I’ll never be good enough for anyone."

His eyes met hers with an intensity that was almost unbearable. "Why do you think that?"

You shrugged, trying to keep a light tone that contradicted the pain in your words. "I don’t know. Maybe because I’ve never been the one people choose. I’m... comfortable, but not memorable."

The silence that followed your words wasn’t empty. It was heavy, filled with something you couldn’t name. Remus squeezed your hand, and when he finally spoke, his voice carried an emotion you hadn’t expected.

"That’s not true," he said, almost in a whisper. "You’re so much more than you think you are. And if other people can’t see that, the problem is theirs, not yours."

The warmth in his words warmed something inside you, something that had long seemed dormant. You looked at him, searching for a clue in his brown eyes that always seemed to be full of secrets. He knew how to say the right things, but there was something in that response—a hesitation, a slight tremor in his voice—as if he carried an invisible weight.

"Do you really think that?" you asked, your voice filled with a vulnerability that was hard to admit.

Remus hesitated, just for a moment. It was such a small gesture that, if you weren’t paying attention, it could’ve gone unnoticed. But you did. The pause was brief, but enough for something inside you, something very small, to stir.

"I do," he finally replied, his voice firm now, as if he wanted to bury any doubt that might have arisen. "You’re incredible. And I want you to know that."

You believed him. There was no way to doubt him when he said things in that deep, conviction-filled tone. So, you let the moment pass, preferring the security of the present to questioning what might have caused his hesitation.

When he leaned in toward you again, pressing his lips to yours, you allowed yourself to believe that this was all that mattered. The kiss was calm, unhurried, but filled with something you couldn’t name. Maybe a silent promise.

The next few days passed like a dream for you. Everything seemed to align in almost a magical way. Remus was always around, with that soft smile and the eyes that seemed to see straight into your soul. He had a way of making even the simplest moments—like studying in the library or walking through the halls of Hogwarts—feel special.

You couldn’t help the smile that appeared whenever you thought of him. He made you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered, like everything around you could fall apart, and yet you’d be safe as long as you were with him.

That afternoon, you were leaving the charms classroom when you heard familiar voices coming from a nearby corridor. The sound of laughter was the first thing that caught your attention, followed by the unmistakable tone of Sirius Black.

"You have to admit, Moony, it was brilliant," Sirius was saying, his voice full of amusement.

"I don’t know if brilliant is the right word," Remus replied, but there was a light tone to his voice, as if he was trying to hide something.

Curious and with a smile on your face, you made your way toward the voices. It was always nice to see Remus with his friends. He seemed so at ease with them, so different from the introspective Remus you knew. And you liked Sirius—he had that easy charm that made you laugh even when you didn’t want to.

But when you got close enough to see them, you stopped. They were facing away from you, meaning they hadn’t noticed your presence. Remus was leaning against a wall, arms crossed, while Sirius gestured animatedly.

"I still can’t believe you pulled it off," Sirius continued, laughing. "You know, of all of us, I thought you’d be the last to take a bet like that."

The smile on your face froze.

Remus sighed, looking uncomfortable. "It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Sirius."

"But it was, and it worked," Sirius insisted. "Thanks to you, Prongs finally got what he wanted. Lily agreed to go out with him. All because you got our friend here to think you were interested."

You couldn’t move. It was as if the ground had disappeared beneath your feet.

"I..." Remus hesitated, and for the first time, his voice sounded heavy. "It’s not that simple, Sirius. She... she trusts me. I didn’t want it to be like this."

"But it was," Sirius repeated, now with less enthusiasm. "And don’t tell me you didn’t know from the start that this was a bet. You agreed, Remus. And now... well, you know it’s not going to last forever."

You wanted to say something. You wanted to shout, cry, demand an explanation. But the words were stuck in your throat. Everything around you seemed to spin. The air was cold, but it felt like you were suffocating.

Remus had come closer to you. He had said the right words, held your hand, kissed you with a tenderness that felt so real. But it was all a lie. All part of a stupid bet.

Without realizing it, you took a step back, and the sound of your movement echoed down the corridor. They both turned immediately, and the expression on Remus’s face when he saw you was enough to break your heart.

"You heard," he whispered, his voice full of something that seemed like regret.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t trust your own voice. All you could do was look at him, your eyes filled with tears you refused to shed there, in front of them. The air felt heavy, almost suffocating, and the pain in your chest was so intense it felt impossible to stay there for another second. So, you turned away, without saying a word, and began to walk, your steps quick and awkward, desperately trying to put distance between you.

"Wait!" Remus’s voice echoed down the corridor, full of urgency.

You didn’t stop. Not for a second. The tears burned in your eyes, threatening to fall, but you blinked furiously, determined not to let him see how much he had hurt you.

"Please, just... listen to me!" Remus insisted, now closer. You could hear the sound of his footsteps, hurried, as he tried to catch up with you.

"Leave me alone, Remus!" Your voice came out louder than you intended, broken by the knot in your throat. But you didn’t care. All you wanted was to disappear, to flee from that nightmare that seemed to be sucking the air from your lungs.

But he didn’t give up. Before you could take another step, you felt his hand grabbing your arm. The touch was firm, but not aggressive, as if he were afraid of hurting you even more.

"Please, listen to me," he pleaded, his voice low now, almost begging.

You turned toward him with a sharp movement, pulling your arm from his touch. "Listen to me?!" Your voice trembled, filled with hurt and disbelief. "What else can you say, Remus? That it was all a bet? That I was just a joke to you and your friends?!"

He shook his head so forcefully that his brown hair fell over his eyes. "It’s not like that, I swear! It wasn’t supposed to be like this..."

"It wasn’t supposed to be like this?!" You took a step back, as if his proximity was too much to bear. "Then tell me, how exactly was it supposed to be, Remus?!"

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His silence was like a direct blow to your chest. You saw the conflict in his eyes, the pain, the guilt... but also the truth.

"It was real," he finally said, his voice hoarse, almost inaudible. "What I feel for you... it’s real. I know I messed everything up, but I need you to know that."

You laughed, but the sound was empty, almost cruel. "Real? You think that matters now? After everything? You got close to me to help James get a date with Lily, Remus. You used me. How... how can you say that’s real?"

He took a step toward you, his eyes pleading. "I know it seems unforgivable, but please, believe me. I never meant to hurt you. I... I don’t even know when I started feeling this for you. But I do. I feel it so much it hurts."

"Well, congratulations," you shot back, your voice heavy with sarcasm and pain. "At least we’re on the same page. Because it hurts, Remus. It hurts so much that I can barely breathe. And you’re the reason for it."

The words came out before you could think, but they were true. He looked at you as if every syllable had been a blade. "I just wanted a chance to explain..."

"There’s nothing to explain," you interrupted, your voice quieter now, almost a whisper. "You’ve already said everything you needed. And I... I was foolish enough to believe in you."

You didn’t wait to see his reaction. Turning, you ran, ignoring his calls behind you. The tears finally fell, a cascade of pain you couldn’t contain any longer. And as you ran, you realized that no matter how fast your feet moved, there was no escaping the feeling of having entrusted your heart to someone who shattered it.

The following days were a blur of pain and emptiness. You felt like you were moving through life as a shadow of yourself, desperately trying to rebuild the walls you had torn down for him. Every brick you laid felt too heavy, as if the hurt and betrayal had drained all your strength.

Avoiding Remus was harder than you’d like. Hogwarts suddenly felt too small, with hallways that always seemed to lead him to you. But you refused to look into his eyes, to give any sign that he still had power over you. It was always the same: turn into another hallway, enter an empty room, or simply lower your head and keep walking.

You felt his gaze on you sometimes. Not insistently, but present. Like a shadow. He didn’t confront you directly, didn’t call your name out loud, but you knew he was there, at a distance, trying to find a moment when you weren’t so broken.

But you weren’t ready. Maybe you never would be.

Remus, on the other hand, seemed more worn out with each passing day. He clung to the routine like a man adrift, trying not to drown in the sea of guilt that consumed him. He knew he had no right to approach you, not after what he had done. But he also knew he couldn’t just leave things as they were.

He tried a few times, hesitantly, to approach you in the hallways. "Please, just a minute..." he had started on one occasion, but the way you ignored him, as if he didn’t exist, was worse than any response.

Other times, he simply watched from afar, waiting for a sign, anything that might indicate that you were willing to listen to him. But nothing came.

He threw himself into his studies, trying to find a distraction, but even that was useless. The words in the books seemed to dance, and he couldn’t focus for more than a few minutes. Every time he closed his eyes, the memory of how it all started haunted him, cruel and relentless.

James had presented the idea casually, almost as a joke. "If you get close to her, Remus, I swear Lily will go out with me. She said she’d only agree when our grumpy friend finally had a boyfriend."

Remus remembered Sirius laughing when he heard the plan, how he had crossed his arms and commented on how impossible it would be to win you over. "She’s not the type to fall for tricks, Prongs."

But James, with that confident smile and unshakable determination, insisted. And Remus, for reasons he didn’t even fully understand at the time, agreed. Maybe it was James’s persistence, or the need to help his friend get what he wanted so badly. Maybe it was curiosity. Or maybe, deep down, he already knew there was something about you that intrigued him.

At first, that was all it was. A simple, almost harmless plan. He would get closer, gain your trust, and then James would have his chance with Lily. But nothing went as he expected.

You were different. From the very beginning, Remus realized there was something about you he couldn’t ignore. The way you spoke, with a calm tone but filled with passion for what mattered to you. The way you laughed, a sound that seemed to light up any room, even though it was rare. The way you looked at him, as if you saw beyond the scars and the calm facade he tried to maintain.

He started with small gestures: sitting next to you in class, starting casual conversations in the hallways. And every time you smiled at him, something inside him melted. He liked being the cause of that smile. He liked hearing you laugh, seeing your face soften when he made some silly comment to ease the tension.

And then came the kiss.

Remus would never forget that moment. He didn’t know exactly how it happened—maybe it was the way you looked at him that afternoon, the sun setting and bathing your face in golden tones, or maybe it was the way your soft laugh filled the silence between you. But he knew he couldn’t resist anymore.

When your lips met his, it was as if the world had stopped. There was no bet, no guilt, nothing but you. He felt his hand tremble slightly as it touched your face, but when you returned the kiss, when your fingers found their way into his hair, Remus knew that was the best moment of his life.

And that was why he couldn’t confess.

Every time he thought about telling you the truth, the fear paralyzed him. He knew he had started it all for the wrong reasons, that he had lied to you, but now... now you were the most important thing to him. He didn’t want to lose you. He couldn’t lose you.

But the weight of the guilt was unbearable. Every smile you gave him, he felt the knot tightening in his throat. Every intimate moment, he hated himself a little more. He wanted to believe that what you had was strong enough to survive the truth, but a part of him knew that the revelation would destroy everything.

And now, as he walked through the empty hallways of Hogwarts, trying not to think about the sound of your broken voice, Remus knew he had made the wrong choice. He should have been honest. He should have told you everything before it was too late.

But he didn’t. And now, he didn’t know how to fix what he had broken.

The reunion happened days later, at the end of a quiet hallway near the library. You had gone there to find a moment of peace, away from curious glances and whispers that seemed to follow you wherever you went. But, as if the universe insisted on testing your strength, he was there.

Remus was leaning against the wall, his face marked by exhaustion, his brown eyes fixed on the floor as if carrying the weight of the world. When he heard your footsteps, he lifted his gaze, and the air seemed to vanish from the space.

"I... I didn't know if I should be here," he started, his voice rough, as if he had rehearsed those words a million times and still didn’t know how to say them. "But I needed to see you."

"Why?" Your voice was cold, distant, but inside, everything was in ruins. "What more could you possibly say, Remus? What’s left to explain?"

He took a step towards you, but stopped when he saw the way you instinctively stepped back. The pain on his face was almost tangible, but it was nothing compared to what you felt.

"I know I messed everything up," he said, his voice breaking. "And I know it's selfish of me to want to talk to you after everything. But I can’t... I can’t just let you go without trying, without telling you how much you mean to me."

"Mean to you?" You repeated, laughing without humor. "Remus, I was a bet. I was just a means to an end. And now you want to tell me I mean something?"

He shook his head, his eyes pleading for understanding. "It wasn’t like that... it’s not like that. Yes, in the beginning, it was because of James. But from the moment I truly got to know you, everything changed. You changed everything. I know this doesn’t erase what I did, but... I love you."

"Don’t say that," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Don’t make this harder than it already is."

"But it’s true!" He took another step, and this time you didn’t back away, even though you wanted to. "I love you. I loved you from the moment I realized you were different from anyone I’ve ever met. From the moment you let me into your life, even when I didn’t deserve it."

You stared at him, your heart racing, and the pain you had tried to suppress overflowed. "And that’s what makes it worse, Remus. Because, despite everything, despite the lie, despite the betrayal..." Your voice faltered, but you gathered all the courage you still had to say the words you feared the most. "I still love you."

The silence that followed was deafening. Remus seemed to freeze, his eyes wide as he absorbed your words.

"You have no idea how much this hurts," you continued, your voice barely a whisper. "I love you, Remus. And that’s what’s destroying me, because I know I can’t trust you. I know that every time I look at you, I’ll remember that it all started with a lie. And I don’t know how to deal with that."

"I didn’t want to hurt you," he said, his voice filled with desperation. "If I could go back in time, if I could change anything, it would be this. I never would have been part of that bet. I would have gotten to know you for you, not because of James’s stupid plan."

You laughed, but it was an empty sound, devoid of joy. "That doesn’t change anything. You made a choice, Remus. And now we both have to live with the consequences."

He approached slowly, as if every step was a silent plea. "Then tell me what I can do. How can I fix this? Because I can’t imagine my life without you."

"There’s no fixing it." Your voice was firm, even as your heart seemed to shatter. "Some things, Remus, can’t be repaired. Some things just break, and all we can do is accept it."

For a moment, you stood in silence, the world around you fading as you looked at him, trying to memorize that moment. Because you knew it would be the last.

"I wish things were different," you finally said, your voice so low you could barely hear it. "But they’re not. Please, just... go away."

His gaze shattered, and for a moment, he looked as if he was about to say something more. But then he simply nodded, the heavy silence settling between you before he turned away, his footsteps echoing through the empty hallway.

You waited until he disappeared before letting the first sob escape, as painful as the feeling inside you.

#remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #no use of y/n #remus j lupin #remus john lupin fanfiction #remus john lupin #remus x reader #remus x you #remus x y/n #writers on tumblr #ao3 writer #fanfiction #angst #angst ending #writing #marauders era

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lila-lou · 3 months ago

Text

✨Peanut✨

Summary: Stuck in a safe house with Soldier Boy is a test of patience—and nerves. He’s sharp-tongued, cocky, and impossible to ignore, pushing your boundaries just to see you flinch. You try to keep your distance, but he has a way of getting under your skin. You’re supposed to keep him in check, but the real challenge might be keeping yourself together.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, Nickname, Shy!Reader, MENTION!Reader was touched without consent, Ben being as cocky as ever, some kind of fluff i guess

Word Count: 10523 (long ass shit here, lol)

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

The room felt heavy, like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for him to make the next move. Soldier Boy—Ben, as Butcher had instructed you to call him—sat at the battered wooden table in the middle of the safe house. He was grinding pills into powder with the flat of his knife, muttering to himself, the motion aggressive and precise. Every scrape of the blade against the wood sent shivers down your spine.

You kept your eyes fixed on the television, not really watching whatever rerun was playing. It didn’t matter. Nothing could drown out the weight of his presence. The way he dominated the space even when he wasn’t speaking. Even when he wasn’t looking at you.

You didn’t know why he tolerated you. Out of all the people who’d tried to babysit him since Butcher hauled him out of whatever Russian nightmare he’d been buried in, you were the only one still standing. Maybe it was because you didn’t push him. Or maybe it was because you were too afraid to even try.

Two years ago, your fear of supes had been planted like a landmine in your chest. One night, one supe, one scar across your soul. That was all it took to change you forever. Now, being in the same room as one, especially him, felt like walking barefoot through a minefield. One wrong step, and everything could go to hell. Literally, in his case.

Ben scooped the powder into a neat little line, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. “You don’t have to sit there like a deer in headlights, you know”, he drawled, not looking up. His voice was gravelly, tinged with a roughness that made you want to shrink further into the couch. “Not gonna bite”.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the edge of the couch cushion. “I’m fine here”, you said quickly, your voice thin and brittle.

“Sure you are”. He leaned back in his chair, his shirt unbuttoned enough to show a glimpse of the skin of his chest. That chest. The one that could, and had, turned entire blocks into ash. He tapped his nose twice before snorting the line with practiced ease, sighing as he leaned back again. “You’re terrible at pretending, you know that?”.

Your breath hitched, and you cursed yourself for it. He noticed everything. “Pretending what?”, you muttered, eyes glued to the TV screen.

“That you’re not scared shitless of me”, he said, his tone almost amused now. “It’s cute. Kind of pathetic, but cute”.

Your stomach twisted. The urge to snap back at him rose like bile, but you shoved it down. Provoking him was the last thing you wanted to do. Instead, you focused on keeping your voice steady. “I’m not scared of you”.

Ben laughed—deep, low, and sharp enough to make you flinch. “Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart”.

You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as you tried to keep your breathing even. This was your job. This was what Butcher had asked of you. Watch over him, keep him in line, don’t let him blow anything up. Easier said than done when every fiber of your being was screaming to get the hell out of there.

Ben finally looked at you, his green eyes narrowing slightly. “Relax. I’m not gonna hurt you”. His tone softened—just barely—but it still sent a shiver down your spine. “Not unless you give me a reason to”.

That didn’t exactly inspire confidence, but you nodded anyway, not trusting yourself to speak.

He reached for another pill, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You know”, he said, his voice quieter now, “it’s exhausting, being treated like a goddamn bomb all the time”.

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, his gaze fixed on the table as he rolled the pill between his fingers. For a moment, he almost seemed… human. Vulnerable.

But you didn’t know what to say. Didn’t trust yourself to say anything. So you just stayed where you were, curled up on the couch, watching him out of the corner of your eye and praying you wouldn’t be the one to set him off.

Ben tossed the pill back, swallowing it dry like it was nothing before reaching for the whiskey bottle on the table. He took a swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and stood up. For one fleeting second, you thought he might leave the room, give you some space to breathe. But no—he grabbed a bag of popcorn from the counter, ripped it open with his teeth, and made his way to the couch.

You tensed immediately. There were at least three other places he could sit, but no, he dropped himself right beside you. Not just close—touching. His thigh pressed firmly against yours, the heat of him seeping through the fabric of your jeans like a live wire.

Your body locked up, your heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe. If he noticed your discomfort—and of course, he did—he didn’t let on. He shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth, his eyes flicking toward the TV screen before turning to you.

“Whatcha watching?”, he asked casually, his voice a little softer now but still holding that rough, unshakable edge.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just… whatever was on”.

He snorted. “Riveting choice”. Another handful of popcorn disappeared into his mouth, and he leaned back, spreading out like he owned the place. Which, let’s face it, he kind of did. Every room he entered felt like it bent to him, like the walls themselves were trying to make room for him and his ego.

As the minutes dragged on, he kept up the small talk. About the shitty popcorn, the weather, the ancient couch springs that squeaked every time one of you shifted. His tone was light, conversational, but his eyes… his eyes were anything but.

He wasn’t looking at the TV anymore. He was watching you. Really watching you. The way your shoulders hunched in on themselves like you were trying to make yourself smaller. The way your hands fidgeted with the hem of your hoodie. The way your legs were pressed tightly together, like you were trying to disappear into the cushions.

“You’re tiny”, he said abruptly, almost thoughtfully, his gaze dragging up and down your frame. “Like, seriously. How are you even a person? You’re what, a buck twenty soaking wet?”.

You stiffened, your face flushing. “I’m… normal-sized”, you mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes.

He chuckled, low and gravelly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Normal? Sweetheart, if I even looked at you wrong, you’d probably snap in half”.

Your stomach churned at the words, at the casual way he said them. Like it wasn’t a threat, just a fact. And maybe it was. He wasn’t wrong—he could break you without even trying. Supe or not, he was built like a goddamn tank, and you… well, you weren’t.

His gaze lingered on you, sharp and appraising, like he was trying to figure you out. “What’re you so scared of, huh?”, he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less dangerous. “You think I’m gonna hurt you?”.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The lump in your throat was too big, your fear too loud.

“Relax, doll”, he said, leaning a little closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “If I wanted to crush you, I wouldn’t need to waste my time sitting here talking to you, now would I?”.

That didn’t make you feel any better. In fact, it made your skin crawl. But you nodded anyway, because what else could you do?

Ben smirked as he leaned back, stretching his arm casually over the back of the couch. He popped another piece of popcorn into his mouth, chewing slowly, his eyes never leaving you.

“So”, he drawled, cocking an eyebrow. “Got a boyfriend, Peanut?”.

The word caught you off guard, and you glanced at him sharply, your confusion momentarily outweighing your fear. “P-Peanut?”, you stammered, the nickname so unexpected it almost made you forget how close he was.

He grinned, his teeth flashing white against his scruffy beard. “Yeah, Peanut. You’re tiny, right? Probably weigh, what, eighty-five? Ninety pounds tops? I could pick you up with one hand, and you’d barely be a snack”. He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, like he found the whole thing hilarious. “Peanut fits”.

Your face burned with embarrassment, but you didn’t say anything. What could you say? He wasn’t exactly wrong, but hearing it said out loud—especially by him—made you feel smaller than ever. You tucked your legs up under you, trying to create some kind of barrier between his imposing presence and your body.

“C’mon”, he said, his voice lighter now, teasing almost. “You seriously don’t have some guy waiting around for you? Someone to take care of you? Feels like you’d need a bodyguard just to make it through the grocery store”.

You shook your head, your voice barely audible. “No boyfriend”.

He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your skin crawl. “Huh. Surprising. A thing like you? I’d think guys would be lining up”.

His words weren’t comforting. They weren’t meant to be. They carried an undertone that made your stomach twist, a reminder of how easily he could take you if he wanted to. You shifted uncomfortably, pulling your hoodie tighter around yourself like it could somehow shield you from the heat of his gaze.

“What’s the matter, Peanut?”, he asked. “I’m just making conversation. You don’t have to look so freaked out all the time”.

“I’m not freaked out”, you lied, your voice trembling just enough to betray you.

He snorted, clearly not buying it. “Sure you’re not”. He leaned forward suddenly, resting his elbows on his knees, bringing himself closer to you. The smell of whiskey and faint cigar smoke clung to him, mingling with something sharper, something distinctly him.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. Told you already, didn’t I?”.

You nodded again, but the tension in your body didn’t ease. If anything, it grew worse as his eyes traveled over you again, lingering in ways that made you want to sink into the couch and disappear.

“Man”, he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re wound up tighter than a fucking spring”. He reached for the popcorn bag again, the casual motion a stark contrast to the intensity of his words. “I don’t know what the hell Butcher was thinking, sticking me with you. You’re not exactly intimidating”.

You bristled at that, a tiny flicker of indignation breaking through your fear. “I wasn’t supposed to intimidate you”, you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just… here to keep an eye on you”.

He laughed—loud and abrupt, the sound startling in the otherwise quiet room. “You’re supposed to keep an eye on me?”. He leaned back again, throwing one arm across the back of the couch again and grinning down at you like he’d just heard the best joke of his life. “Fuck. That’s rich”.

You didn’t respond, biting your lip to keep the words locked in. You couldn’t afford to snap, couldn’t afford to give him a reason to escalate. Not with how close he was. Not with how easily he could overpower you.

Ben’s laugh faded into a low hum, almost as if he were talking to himself, but the words were loud enough to reach you. “You know”, he muttered, swirling the last of the whiskey in the bottle before setting it on the floor, “I could help you relax. You’re all wound up like a little bird that flew into the wrong fucking cage”.

The comment made your stomach tighten, your pulse spiking as you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. His gaze wasn’t on the TV. It wasn’t even on the popcorn anymore. It was on you. Slowly, deliberately, like he was working through some kind of internal checklist, his eyes dragged from your face, to your neck, to the way your hoodie hugged your body.

“Yeah”, he said, his voice dropping lower, rougher.

“I’d probably crush you. Tiny little thing like you. But…”. He leaned his head back against the couch, as though considering something deeply. “I could figure it out. Work on my self-restraint”. He exhaled sharply through his nose, almost like a laugh, but it didn’t carry any humor. “Not sure you’d survive, though”.

Your throat went dry, and your mind raced for something—anything—to say to steer the conversation somewhere less terrifying. But the words wouldn’t come. It was like your brain had shut down entirely, overwhelmed by the weight of his presence and the dark, unsettling undertone to his words.

“I mean, shit”, he went on, almost lazily, like he was just idly musing. “It’d be a tight fit, no doubt about that. But I’d manage”. He turned his head toward you, one eyebrow quirking as though he was waiting for some kind of reaction. “What d’you think, Peanut? Think you could handle me?”.

Your heart felt like it might explode. You shifted slightly, trying to put even an inch of space between you, but the couch offered no escape. He noticed, of course he noticed, and the smirk on his face only widened.

“Relax”, he said again, though this time it sounded more like a command than a suggestion. “I’m just messing with you”. He leaned back again, popping another piece of popcorn into his mouth like the last thirty seconds hadn’t just happened.

But the tension in the air didn’t dissipate. His words lingered, sinking into your mind like oil, staining everything. You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe too loudly, your entire body coiled as tightly as a spring.

Ben glanced at you again, his expression unreadable now, the grin gone. “You really gotta lighten up, Peanut”, he said, almost absently. “You’re making me feel like a fucking monster”.

You wanted to tell him he wasn’t making it easy. That his very presence was suffocating. That every word out of his mouth only fed the gnawing pit of fear in your stomach. But you couldn’t. So you stayed silent, staring at the TV and praying that he’d get bored soon. That the night would end without him pushing any further.

Ben shifted slightly on the couch, the springs groaning under his weight. He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling as if lost in thought, but you could feel his attention still anchored on you, heavy and unrelenting.

“You know”, he started, his voice low and casual, “I heard Butcher and that cum-guzzler talking about you”. He popped another piece of popcorn into his mouth, chewing slowly as though giving himself time to savor the words that would follow. “Something about why you’re so jumpy around supes”.

Your heart clenched, and you went rigid. You hadn’t realized Butcher had told him—why would he? What purpose would it serve, giving Soldier Boy ammunition? You glanced at him sharply, trying to gauge his intentions, but his expression was frustratingly neutral, save for the slight quirk of a smirk playing on his lips.

He chuckled, low and gravelly, shaking his head. “Can’t say I blame you”, he continued. “Sounds like you had a real shitty time of it. Some asshole supe gets a little too handsy, decides he’s owed something just because he’s got powers. That about right?”.

The knot in your stomach tightened, but you didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat felt like it was closing, the weight of his words pulling every horrible memory to the surface.

Ben didn’t seem to need a response. He let out a long breath, his smirk fading as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees again. “Here’s the thing, Peanut”, he said, his tone quieter now, almost contemplative. “Guys like that… they give the rest of us a bad name. Not that I give a shit about my reputation, but, you know, principle and all that”.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Why… why are you bringing this up?”.

He shrugged, the motion casual, but the intensity in his eyes betrayed him. “Just thinking out loud. If that’s the only experience you’ve got with supes… well, no wonder you’re scared shitless. That’s the memory you’re stuck with”. His gaze slid to you, sharp and probing. “But maybe I could fix that”.

“Fix it?”, you echoed, your voice trembling. “What… what does that mean?”.

He smirked again, leaning back and stretching his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing just a hair’s breadth away from your shoulder. “I’m just saying”, he drawled, “maybe if you had a different kind of experience, you wouldn’t be so fucking scared all the time. Replace that shitty memory with a fucking awesome one”.

The implication in his words was crystal clear, and your stomach churned violently. Your fingers curled into the fabric of your hoodie, your nails digging into your palms. “That’s not…”. You trailed off, your voice barely above a whisper. “That’s not how it works”.

He tilted his head, studying you with a mixture of amusement and something darker. “You sure about that? Sometimes all it takes is one good memory to wipe out the bad. One moment to make you forget the rest of the bullshit”.

You shook your head, your pulse hammering in your ears. “I don’t think—”.

“Calm down, Peanut”, he interrupted, his voice dropping into that low, commanding tone again. “I’m not saying I’d do anything. Unless, you know, you wanted me to”.

Your breath hitched, and you pressed yourself further into the couch, as if the cushions could somehow swallow you whole. His gaze was piercing, unrelenting, and you could feel the weight of his words pressing down on you, suffocating.

“But hey”, he continued after a moment, his tone lightening again as he grabbed another handful of popcorn. “It’s your call. I’m just saying… I could make it worth your while”.

You didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. Your mind was racing, your body frozen in place.

The safe house was quiet except for the distant hum of the water running in the bathroom. Ben was in the shower, and you were stuck on the couch, your nerves coiled tighter than ever. It had been weeks since that first night, weeks of this strange, unbearable dance between the two of you. He hadn’t pushed things too far, but he hadn’t stopped either. The teasing, the lingering touches, the weight of his gaze—it was constant, suffocating, impossible to ignore.

And now, as you sat there waiting for him, you hated yourself for the stupid summer dress you’d chosen to wear. It was hot, unbearably so, and the safe house didn’t have air conditioning. The dress had seemed like a practical choice at the time—lightweight, easy to move in—but now it felt like a mistake. The fabric clung to your skin and you couldn’t help but feel exposed. Vulnerable.

You shifted uncomfortably, pulling the dress down as far as it would go and wrapping your arms around yourself. It didn’t help. The room felt stifling, and the faint sound of the shower only added to the tension. You couldn’t stop your mind from wandering, couldn’t stop the little voice whispering in the back of your head: What’s he going to say this time? What’s he going to do?

The shower shut off, and your breath caught. You stared at the TV, not really seeing it, your heart pounding as you heard the sound of the bathroom door creaking open.

Moments later, Ben emerged, a towel slung low around his hips and his hair damp, water droplets trailing down his chest. He was a vision of raw power and confidence, and he knew it. The smirk tugging at his lips told you as much.

“Hey, Peanut”, he said casually, like this was the most normal thing in the world. He grabbed a second towel and ran it through his hair, his muscles flexing with the motion. “Didn’t think I’d keep you waiting, did you?”.

You swallowed hard, your eyes darting back to the TV. “I wasn’t—”, you started, but your voice faltered. “I mean, I’m fine”.

“Sure you are”, he said, chuckling under his breath. He crossed the room, tossing the towel onto a chair as he made his way to the couch. You felt his presence before you saw him, the heat of him, the sheer weight of him, as he sat down beside you. Close. Too close. Again.

His eyes flicked to your dress, lingering for just a moment before he leaned back, draping his arm over the back of the couch. “Nice dress”, he commented, his tone light but his gaze sharp. “Didn’t know we were getting all dressed up today”.

Your face burned, and you tugged at the hem again, wishing it were longer. “It’s just… it’s hot”, you muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

“That it is”, he agreed, his smirk widening. “But you didn’t have to go all out for me, Peanut. A little effort goes a long way, though, so… thanks”.

You clenched your jaw, your hands twisting the fabric of the dress in your lap. “I didn’t—”.

“I’m just messing with you. Don’t get so wound up”, his voice dropping into that familiar, teasing drawl.

You wanted to snap back, wanted to tell him to knock it off, but you couldn’t. You just sat there, frozen, your heart pounding as he shifted slightly closer, the edge of his thigh brushing against yours.

The problem wasn’t just that you were afraid of Ben anymore—though that fear was still there, lurking beneath every breath, every glance, every word. The problem was that, over the past few weeks, something else had crept in, something worse.

Attraction.

You hated yourself for it. Hated the way your pulse quickened when he smirked at you, the way your thoughts lingered on his voice, deep and rough like gravel underfoot. And now, as you sat beside him, that stupid towel slung so dangerously low on his hips, it was taking everything you had to keep your eyes on the TV.

But you failed. Of course, you did. Your gaze flicked toward him out of the corner of your eye, drawn like a moth to a flame. The towel clung to his hips precariously, the line of dark hair below his navel trailing downward, disappearing beneath the fabric. And lower—your breath hitched—the outline of him was visible, faint but undeniable.

You quickly looked away, your cheeks burning, your heart hammering in your chest. What the hell is wrong with me? you thought, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it almost hurt. This was Soldier Boy. Ben. The same man who teased you relentlessly, who could crush you without a second thought. A damn supe. And yet…

“You’re quiet, Peanut”, he said suddenly, his voice breaking through your frantic thoughts. His tone was casual, but you knew better than to believe it wasn’t deliberate. He always knew how to needle you just enough to get under your skin. “I mean, you’re always quiet, but today? What’s the deal?”.

You didn’t respond, your throat too dry to form a coherent excuse. You tried to keep your eyes locked on the TV, pretending to focus on the images flickering across the screen. But you could feel him watching you, the heat of his gaze sliding over your profile, lingering far too long for comfort.

“C’mon”, he pressed, his voice dropping an octave, rich and deep enough to make your stomach do an unwelcome flip. “You’re the only action I’ve got in this shithole they’re hiding me in. Least you could do is talk to me. I’m bored as hell over here”.

Your hands twisted in your lap, gripping the fabric of your dress like it was the only thing anchoring you to reality. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, not with the way his words made your skin flush and your heart pound.

“I don’t know what to say”, you mumbled finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ben leaned back against the couch, his towel shifting just slightly. “You don’t have to say much, Peanut”, he drawled, his smirk audible in his tone. “Just give me something. Anything. Hell, even a complaint about how much you hate being stuck with me. I know you’ve got those”.

You glanced at him for just a split second, and that was your mistake. He was sprawled out, all lazy confidence, the towel still clinging low on his hips, the light from the TV casting faint shadows over his chest. The sight made your stomach twist, and you quickly looked away again, your cheeks burning.

“I don’t hate you”, you blurted out, immediately regretting it.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Don’t you now?”. His smirk deepened, and he leaned in just slightly, the arm draped over the back of the couch brushing your shoulder. “Could’ve fooled me with the way you can’t even look at me half the time”.

You swallowed hard, your fingers knotting into the hem of your dress. “I just…”, you stammered, unsure how to explain without giving away too much. “You make me nervous”.

Ben tilted his head, his smirk softening into something almost curious. “Nervous, huh?”, he repeated, his voice quieter now, like he was mulling over the word. “Why? You still think I’m gonna hurt you?”.

“No”, you said quickly, though the fear still lingered at the edges of your mind. “It’s not that”.

“Then what?”, he asked, his tone deceptively gentle, but his gaze was sharp, unrelenting. “What is it about me that’s got you so wound up?”.

You didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Your silence only seemed to amuse him further. He let out a low chuckle, leaning back again, his fingers lightly drumming against the armrest.

“Shit, Peanut”, he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re like a puzzle I can’t quite figure out. Makes me want to push, see how far you’ll bend before you break”.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but you forced yourself to keep your breathing steady, to keep your focus anywhere but on him. You didn’t know how much longer you could keep this up, this fragile pretense of calm, but you knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t going to let this go. Not tonight.

The tension in the room was suffocating, and you couldn’t take it anymore. Your hands trembled as you placed them on your thighs, pushing yourself up from the couch. “I… I need some water”, you mumbled, not daring to look at him. You didn’t wait for his response—if he even had one—and walked quickly toward the little kitchen tucked into the corner of the safe house.

Your footsteps felt too loud against the worn wooden floor, the tiny kitchen offering no real reprieve from his presence. You grabbed a glass from the cupboard, your fingers trembling slightly as you filled it from the tap. You told yourself the sound of running water would drown out the pounding of your heart, but it didn’t.

The quiet click of his footsteps behind you made you freeze.

“Thirsty, huh?”, Ben’s voice came from far too close, his tone casual but laced with that ever-present teasing edge. He was right behind you now—you could feel him, his heat radiating like a furnace, the space between you barely a breath.

“I just needed some space”, you said, your voice quiet and shaky, gripping the glass like it was a lifeline.

“Space?”, he echoed, like the word was foreign to him. You heard him shift, his hand brushing lightly against the counter as he leaned against it. “Still can’t handle being near me?”.

You froze, the glass trembling slightly in your hands as you felt him step even closer. His body was right behind yours now, close enough that you could feel the faint brush of his chest against your back every time you shifted.

“You look really pretty today”, he murmured, his voice softer now, quieter, but no less unsettling. His words sent a shiver racing down your spine, and you gripped the glass tighter, your knuckles turning white.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your hair, playing with a loose strand like it was the most natural thing in the world. The movement was slow, deliberate, as if he were testing your reaction.

“Didn’t think a little dress like that could make someone so…”. He trailed off, his fingers gently tucking the strand behind your ear from behind, his touch warm against your skin. “Sweet. You do surprise me, Peanut”.

Your heart pounded, your breath catching in your throat. “Ben, please…”, you whispered, barely able to get the words out. You didn’t know what you were asking for—for him to stop, to step back, to leave you alone—but your voice carried the weight of your unease.

“Oh c'mon now”, he murmured, his tone dipping into that low, velvety register that always made your stomach twist. “I’m just saying you look nice. No harm in that, right?”.

His hand lingered for a moment longer, brushing lightly against your shoulder, before he stepped back just enough to give you a fraction of space. But it didn’t feel like enough. The air around you still felt heavy, charged with his presence.

“You don’t take compliments well, do you?”, he asked, the faintest hint of amusement in his voice as he leaned casually against the counter. “What’s so scary about me telling you you’re pretty?”.

“Nothing”, you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ben’s gaze dropped, shamelessly traveling down your body. You could feel it, the weight of his eyes lingering on your legs. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips, and you caught the faint movement out of the corner of your eye. It sent a fresh wave of heat through your face, your stomach twisting into knots.

“You know”, he murmured, his voice low and teasing, almost contemplative, “it’s been quite a while for me.” He leaned a little closer, his arm brushing lightly against yours as he rested it on the counter beside you. “And with you here, looking like that, acting all shy and innocent…”.

He trailed off, his smirk widening as his gaze dragged back up to meet yours. “It’s really hard for me, Peanut”.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and your breath caught in your throat. Your grip tightened on the edge of the counter, your knuckles white as you fought to keep yourself grounded. “Ben, stop”, you said softly, your voice barely audible, but there was a tremble in it you couldn’t hide.

“Stop what?”, he asked innocently, though the glint in his eyes betrayed him. He wasn’t innocent, not even close. “I’m just being honest. You don’t want me to lie, do you?”.

You turned your head to look at him, your heart pounding as you met his gaze. His smirk was maddening, equal parts charming and infuriating, and the way he was looking at you—like he was sizing you up, deciding just how far he could push—made your pulse race for all the wrong reasons.

“I’m not… I’m not doing anything”, you stammered, your words tumbling over themselves. “I’m just—”.

“Just standing there, looking all sweet and pretty”, he interrupted, his tone playful. He straightened slightly, his height and presence towering over you as he leaned a little closer. “You have no idea, do you? How hard you make it for me to keep my hands to myself?”.

Your breath hitched, and you stepped back instinctively, the counter digging into your lower back as you put as much distance between you as you could in the small space. But he didn’t move closer—he just stayed there, watching you, his smirk softening into something almost… curious.

Ben’s smirk deepened as he watched you, his eyes narrowing slightly, like he was peeling back every layer of your defenses. “You know”, he murmured, his voice soft but still carrying that teasing edge, “I think you actually like me, Peanut”.

Your eyes widened at his words, and you shook your head quickly, your back pressing harder against the counter. “That’s not true”, you said, your voice trembling with the effort to sound convincing.

But he didn’t seem fazed. If anything, your reaction only amused him more. His hand darted out, slow and deliberate, resting gently on your hip. It wasn’t forceful, wasn’t threatening—it was almost careful, like he was testing the waters, giving you a chance to stop him.

Your breath hitched, and your body tensed under his touch. The heat of his palm burned through the thin fabric of your dress, the weight of his hand grounding you and overwhelming you all at once.

“You’re not pushing me away”, he said softly, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. His fingers flexed slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you he was there. “That’s gotta count for something”.

You opened your mouth to say something, to deny it, to tell him he was wrong, but no words came out. You were frozen, caught in the weight of his gaze, the closeness of him, the way his presence consumed every inch of space around you.

His other hand came up slowly, brushing against a strand of hair that had fallen into your face. He tucked it behind your ear, his touch featherlight, his green eyes locking onto yours. “You keep telling yourself you’re scared of me”, he murmured, his tone quiet, almost tender. “But I think you’re scared of something else”.

“Ben, I…”. Your voice cracked, and you trailed off, your hands clutching the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

“Shh”, he whispered, his hand on your hip shifting just slightly, his thumb brushing against the curve of your waist. “You don’t have to say anything, Peanut. Not if you don’t want to”.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was your uneven breathing, the faint hum of the refrigerator in the corner. His touch wasn’t rough or demanding, but it was firm, grounding, impossible to ignore.

And then, slowly, he leaned in, his face close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. “Just… Push me away if you want me to stop. Promise I won´t be mad”, he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, his lips so close to yours you could feel the ghost of their presence.

Your heart pounded, your mind racing with conflicting emotions—fear, confusion, and something far more dangerous bubbling beneath the surface. You hated how much you craved his attention, hated how much his touch made your body betray you. But even as you stood there, frozen, his words echoed in your mind: Push me away.

Would you? Could you?

The choice was yours.

Bot you didn’t push him away. You stayed still, your breath hitching as Ben’s smirk deepened. He took your silence as permission—or maybe just a challenge he was eager to win.

Without a word, his hands slid more firmly around your waist. Before you could even process what was happening, he lifted you effortlessly, like you weighed nothing. The glass of water slipped from your fingers, landing with a dull clink on the counter as he set you down atop it. The cool surface against the back of your thighs made you shiver, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from him.

He stepped closer, pressing himself between your legs, his movements deliberate and unyielding. Your legs opened instinctively to accommodate him, the fabric of your dress sliding up as you shifted. The hem bunched high on your thighs, and your stomach dropped when you realized how exposed you were. The little triangle of fabric between your legs was on full display, and Ben’s gaze dropped to it immediately, his lips curling into a wolfish grin.

“Well, would you look at that”, he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, the faintest edge of amusement making it all the more dangerous. His hands trailed down to your knees, his thumbs brushing against the inside of your thighs, sending a shock of warmth through your body. “Peanut, you’ve been holding out on me”.

You squirmed, your hands gripping the edge of the counter as if it could anchor you against the storm of his presence. “Ben…”, you whispered, your voice trembling, unsure if it was a plea for him to stop or to keep going.

“Shh”, he said softly, his hands sliding higher, spreading your legs further apart. “I told you, I’m not gonna hurt you”.

But the way he looked at you—the hunger in his eyes, the possessive way his hands claimed your body—made your pulse race for entirely different reasons. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your neck as he pressed his hips against yours, his body firm and unyielding.

“You have no idea”, he whispered, his voice rough and thick with desire. “No idea how hard it’s been. Watching you, waiting for you to stop running, stop hiding. But now…”. His lips brushed against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Now I’ve got you right where I want you”.

Your heart pounded, your mind spinning as his hands continued their slow, deliberate exploration of your body. You hated how your body reacted to him, how the heat pooled low in your belly, how your breathing quickened despite yourself. Hated how much you wanted him, even when you knew you shouldn’t.

And Ben—he knew it, too. You could see it in his smirk, in the way his eyes burned with triumph. He was in control, and he knew it. You wanted him, and that he sure knew too.

Ben’s smirk deepened as his hands slid higher, his thumbs brushing teasingly against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. His touch was firm but not rough, as if he were savoring every moment. He leaned back slightly to get a better look, his eyes darkening as they locked onto the little triangle of fabric barely covering you.

“You know”, he murmured, his voice low and full of heat, “I’ve been imagining this for weeks. But it’s even better than I thought”.

You opened your mouth to respond—to say something—but the words caught in your throat once more as he hooked a finger under the fabric. His gaze flicked up to meet yours, a wicked gleam in his green eyes as he gave you - again - just enough time to stop him.

But you didn’t.

With a sharp, controlled movement, he ripped the delicate material apart, the sound of tearing fabric echoing in the quiet kitchen. The force of it sent a jolt through your body, but it didn’t hurt. It was more of a shock—both from the action itself and the way his eyes devoured the sight before him.

Your breath hitched as the ruined panties fell away, leaving you bare to him. His hands stilled for a moment, his gaze fixated on your glistening, perfectly shaven lips. A low growl rumbled in his throat, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on your thighs.

”Fuck peanut”, he muttered, his voice rough with desire. “Look at you”.

Ben’s grip on your thighs tightened as his eyes darkened, roaming over every inch of you like you were something he was about to own. He let out a low, gravelly chuckle, shaking his head with that familiar smirk—cocky and unapologetically lewd.

“Is this what chicks are doing these days? All shaved, all fucking spotless?”. His thumb traced lazily along your inner thigh, teasing just close enough to make you squirm. “In the ’80s, everyone had a damn jungle down here. Didn’t matter who you were, movie star or some chick at a dive bar—hair everywhere. But this?”.

His thumb slid lower, brushing over the seam of your closed, glistening lips. The slickness made his touch effortless, his rough hands stark against your softness. “This is a whole fucking upgrade”, he murmured, almost to himself, his tone filthy and raw. “Smooth as hell… fuck Peanut, you’re like a fucking dream”.

Ben’s eyes stayed glued between your legs, completely enthralled, like he was witnessing something unreal. The pad of his thumb pressed further, parting your slick lips with almost lazy confidence. He slid it down to your entrance, where he paused, testing the way your body reacted to him.

“Fuck me”, he muttered under his breath, his voice gravelly and thick with lust. “You’re soaked, Peanut. Look at this. Look at you”.

Your breath hitched audibly, your chest rising and falling as his thumb pressed lightly against your entrance, his other hand tightening its grip on your thigh to keep you exactly where he wanted you. His touch was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the moment.

“You’re fucking perfect”, he murmured, half to himself.

Ben’s thumb dipped just barely inside you, and the moment he felt how tight you were, he froze. His breath hitched, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips as he pulled his hand back. His grip on your thigh tightened, grounding himself as he muttered under his breath, “No fucking way. Not with my fingers. I’m not wasting this on anything but my dick”.

His green eyes flicked up to meet yours, filled with a dark hunger that sent a shiver racing down your spine. He took a deep breath, his smirk returning as he dragged his hands up the outside of your thighs, pushing the fabric of your dress higher as he went.

“You’re something else, Peanut”, he growled, his voice thick and unapologetically filthy. “This body, this tight little hole… it’s all mine”.

He grabbed the hem of your dress, tugging it upward with slow, deliberate movements, giving you every chance to stop him. But you didn’t. Instead, you lifted your arms instinctively, your breath catching in your throat as you helped him pull the dress over your head. The fabric slipped away easily, pooling on the floor beside the counter, leaving you bare except for your trembling body beneath his gaze.

Ben stepped back slightly, just enough to take you in, his eyes roaming over every inch of your exposed skin with raw, unfiltered desire. He let out a low whistle, his lips curving into a grin that was both predatory and approving.

“You’re even better than I imagined”. His hands moved back to your waist, firm and possessive as he pulled you closer to the edge of the counter, positioning you exactly where he wanted you.

“You don’t even realize, do you?”, he muttered, his hands trailing over your hips, your stomach, your thighs, like he couldn’t get enough of touching you. “How fucking perfect you are. How fucking lucky I am”.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he growled, “I told you, Peanut. You’re mine now. Every inch of you”.

With one swift motion, Ben pulled the towel from his hips and tossed it carelessly to the side, revealing himself fully. Your eyes widened the moment you saw him—huge, heavy, and impossibly intimidating. A gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it, and you instinctively pressed your hands against his chest, trying to push him away.

But he didn’t budge.

Your heart raced, panic and uncertainty flooding your senses. You weren’t a virgin, but this… this was different. The sheer size of him made your stomach twist with both fear and something else you didn’t want to name.

“Whoa there, Peanut”, Ben murmured, his voice low and teasing, but there was a glint of smug satisfaction in his eyes as he glanced down at himself, then back at you. “Scared already? Thought you said you weren’t afraid of me”.

“I just…”, you stammered, your palms pressing harder against his chest, but he didn’t move. He stood there, unyielding, his muscles firm under your touch as he watched you with that same maddening smirk.

“Relax”, he said again, his tone dipping into that familiar mix of amusement and raw lust.

Your voice came out in a shaky whisper, your eyes wide and fixed on him. “This… this won’t fit. No way”.

Ben’s smirk deepened, the gleam in his eyes turning even more smug, like your fear only fed his ego. He let out a low chuckle, his broad chest rumbling under your trembling hands. “Won’t fit, huh?”, he repeated, his tone dripping with amusement. “You really think I’d let that stop me?”.

Your breath hitched, your fingers curling slightly against his chest as you tried to pull back, but his hands on your hips held you firmly in place. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. “Don’t sell yourself short, Peanut. You’ll take it. You just need a little… encouragement”.

Your stomach twisted at his words, a mix of fear and heat flooding your senses. “Ben, I—”, you started, but he cut you off, his hands sliding slowly up your sides, strong and possessive.

“I’ll make it fit”, he murmured, his voice low and dripping with confidence.

One of his hands moved between your bodies, and your breath hitched as he grabbed himself, his cock heavy and intimidating in his hand. His green eyes flicked up to yours briefly, watching your reaction.

“Just.. relax, Peanut”, he said softly, almost mockingly, as he positioned himself. “This is gonna feel real good. Trust me”.

You bit your lip hard as you felt the tip of him slide through your slick lips, the slow, deliberate motion making your body jolt with unexpected pleasure. The contrast of his roughness and your softness was overwhelming, your hips twitching instinctively as his thick head dragged against you.

“Fuck”, he muttered under his breath, his eyes locked on where your bodies touched. “You’re already soaking for me. You feel that, Peanut? That’s your body telling you it wants this. Wants me”.

A shaky whimper escaped your lips, and you hated yourself for the sound, for how much you wanted him. The warmth, the pressure, the way he moved—it was too much, too intense, too consuming.

Ben chuckled, his thumb brushing over your thigh as he kept guiding himself against you, letting his tip tease your entrance but not pushing in just yet. “Look at you”, he muttered. “Already whining, and I haven’t even given you the real thing yet”.

You bit your lip harder, trying to stifle another whimper. His free hand slid up your side, gripping your waist possessively as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Don’t hold back now, Peanut", he growled. “I want to hear every little sound you make. Wanna know how much you’re feeling this”.

The heat pooling low in your belly was unbearable, your body trembling as he continued his slow, torturous motions. He wasn’t even inside you yet, but the weight of him was enough to leave you breathless.

Ben’s cocky smirk softened just slightly as he began to nudge himself inside you, his movements surprisingly slow and deliberate. He pressed forward an inch at a time, giving you room to adjust to his size. His hands gripped your hips firmly, keeping you steady as he worked himself in, his gaze locked on your face.

“Fuck, Peanut”, he muttered under his breath, the usual arrogance in his tone giving way to something deeper, rougher. “Tight as hell. I knew you’d feel good, but this? Fuck”.

You winced at the stretch, your body instinctively tensing around him as he pushed in further. The sensation was intense, overwhelming, and you couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped your lips.

“Shh”, he murmured, his voice low and almost soothing as he paused, letting you adjust. “I know, baby. It’s a lot. But you’re doing good. So fucking good”.

Your hands gripped his forearms, your nails digging into his skin as he slid another inch deeper, the burn of the stretch making you gasp. “Ben��, you whispered, your voice trembling, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

“I’ve got you”, he said, his voice steady and firm, his thumbs rubbing small circles against your skin in a rare gesture of comfort. “You’ll get used to it. Just breathe”.

You tried to focus on his words, on the way he moved so slowly, giving you time to adjust to every inch of him. The stretch was still intense, still bordering on too much, but as he eased in further, your body began to relax, the pain giving way to a different kind of pressure.

“That’s it”, he murmured, his lips quirking into a small smirk as he watched you. “See? I told you you’d take it, Peanut”.

You couldn’t form a response, your breath hitching again as he pushed in another inch. He groaned softly, his head falling forward briefly, his self-control evident in the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

Your body trembled, the overwhelming fullness leaving you unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer. He stayed still, his hands firm on your hips, his gaze softening just slightly as he gave you a moment to adjust.

“You’re doing so good, Peanut”, he said, his voice low and almost gentle, though the hunger in his eyes hadn’t faded. “Just a little more, and then I’ll make you feel real fucking good. I promise”.

Ben pushed in further, inch by inch, until he finally bottomed out, his hips pressing flush against yours. The sheer fullness, the stretch, was almost too much, and a breathless moan escaped your lips, mixed with a high-pitched whine that you couldn’t suppress. The sound seemed to drive him wild.

“Fuck”, Ben groaned, his head dropping forward to rest against your collarbone as his hands tightened on your hips. His breathing was ragged, and his entire body seemed to tense as he fought to keep himself in check. “You feel… Fuck, Peanut. You’re so fucking tight”.

You trembled under him, your hands instinctively clutching his broad shoulders as you tried to adjust to the overwhelming sensation of him filling you completely. He was so big, stretching you to your limits, and every inch of him pressed against places you didn’t even know could feel like this.

“Ben”, you whispered, your voice shaky, unsure if you were pleading for him to move or to give you more time to adjust.

“I know, baby”, he muttered, his voice gravelly and low, muffled against your skin. “I know. Just… fuck, just give me a second”. He groaned again, a deep, primal sound that vibrated through your chest, his hands gripping your waist like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You’re perfect”, he murmured, lifting his head slightly to press his forehead against yours. His green eyes burned into yours, dark with lust and something deeper, something almost reverent. “Fucking perfect. You don’t even know what you’re doing to me”.

You let out a shaky breath, your body slowly relaxing more around him as he stayed still, letting you adjust to the fullness. His hands moved to cradle your thighs, spreading you wider as he groaned softly again, his lips brushing against your jawline.

“Breathe, Peanut”, he said, his voice softening for a moment as his thumbs rubbed gentle circles into your skin. “Just breathe. You’re taking me so damn well”.

The praise sent a rush of warmth through your body, making you shiver against him. Slowly, he began to pull back just an inch, testing, watching your reaction with sharp, hungry eyes. The drag of him against your sensitive walls made your breath hitch, and his smirk returned as he groaned again.

“Yeah”, he growled, his voice thick as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re gonna love this, Peanut. I’ll make sure of it”.

Ben groaned deeply as he began to move, the drag of his length against your tight walls slow and deliberate. He pulled back just enough to make you feel every inch before sinking back in, his hips pressing flush against yours once more. The stretch still made you wince, but the intensity of the sensation was quickly mingling with something warmer, something almost unbearable.

“Shit”, he muttered against your collarbone, his breath hot and ragged. His lips grazed your skin, his teeth scraping lightly as he fought to keep his pace measured. “You’re squeezing me so damn tight. Like you were fucking made for me”.

A breathless whimper escaped you as he thrust again, a little deeper, a little harder. The fullness was still overwhelming, but with every slow, calculated movement, your body started to adjust, to mold to him. Your nails dug into his shoulders, and he smirked against your skin, clearly enjoying the way you clung to him.

Ben’s thrusts grew harder, his hips snapping into yours with more purpose, more force. The sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, raw and intimate, but you bit your lip, desperate to keep quiet.

But Ben noticed. Of course, he noticed.

“Peanut”, he growled, his voice low and commanding, roughened by pleasure. He angled his hips just slightly, hitting a spot that made your back arch involuntarily. “Don’t you fucking hold back on me”.

A soft whimper escaped you, and his smirk returned, wicked and dangerous. “That’s more like it”, he muttered, his hands gripping your hips even tighter as he thrust again, harder this time. “I want to hear you. Every. Fucking. Sound”.

You clenched your teeth, your nails digging harder into his shoulders as you fought to keep quiet, but it was no use. His pace was relentless now, each movement deliberate, dragging pleasure and desperation out of you with every stroke.

“C’mon, baby”, he murmured, leaning in close, his lips brushing against your ear. “Don’t be shy. I want to hear how much you love this. Want to hear you beg me for more”.

You shook your head weakly, trying to resist, but when he thrust again, deeper than before, a moan slipped past your lips, raw and unrestrained. Ben groaned in response, the sound rough and guttural as he rocked into you harder.

“Fuck, that’s it”, he growled, his teeth scraping against your neck as he buried himself to the hilt again. “That’s the sound I’ve been waiting for. Knew you couldn’t stay quiet forever”.

Your breath hitched as he moved faster, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. His hands moved up to grip your waist, holding you steady as he claimed every inch of you, his lips grazing your skin as he spoke again.

“You feel that?”, he muttered, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Feel how perfectly you’re taking me? That tight little body of yours was made for this, Peanut. Made for me”.

You couldn’t hold back anymore, your soft moans turning into desperate whimpers as he pushed you further and further. His words, his touch, the sheer intensity of him—it was too much, too overwhelming. And Ben—he soaked in every sound, every tremble, every gasp, his grin widening as he kept driving into you like he couldn’t get enough.

“That’s my girl”, he murmured, his hands sliding up to cup your face as his eyes locked onto yours. “Now stop holding back and let me hear it all”.

Ben could feel it—the way your body tightened around him, your walls fluttering as you approached the edge. His pace didn’t falter; if anything, it became sharper, more deliberate, each thrust angled perfectly to drive you closer to unraveling completely.

“You’re close, aren’t you, Peanut?”, he murmured. “I can feel it. You’re squeezing me like you don’t wanna let go”.

You whimpered, your nails raking against his shoulders as the pressure in your core built to an unbearable intensity. Your head fell back, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps, but Ben wasn’t about to let you hide from him.

“Uh-uh”, he said sharply, his hands gripping your hips harder as he slowed his thrusts just enough to regain your attention. “Don’t you fucking look away”.

Your eyes fluttered open, your gaze hazy and unfocused as you tried to meet his. His green eyes burned with intensity, dark with hunger and something possessive that made your stomach twist. He leaned in, his forehead pressing against yours, his movements deliberate and unyielding as he pushed you closer and closer.

“When you come”, he growled, his voice rough and commanding, “you look at me, Peanut. Got it?”.

You nodded weakly, unable to form words, your body trembling as you teetered on the edge. He thrust harder, deeper, his rhythm relentless now, each motion pulling soft cries from your lips that you couldn’t control.

“That’s it”, he muttered, his gaze locked on yours, unyielding. “That’s my girl. Let me see it. Let me see you fall apart for me”.

The final thrust sent you over the edge, your body clenching tightly around him as your release crashed through you. Your eyes locked onto his, your vision blurring with the intensity of it, and Ben groaned deeply, the sound rough and raw as he watched every second of your undoing.

“Fuck, Peanut”, he muttered, his voice strained as your walls gripped him like a vice. “You’re so fucking perfect like this”.

Your body trembled as the waves of pleasure coursed through you, and even as you came undone beneath him, Ben didn’t stop. His movements slowed just enough to let you ride out your high, his hands firm and steady on your hips as he kept you exactly where he wanted you.

“Fucking beautiful when you come. Told you I’d make you love this”, he murmured, his smirk returning as he leaned in to brush his lips against your ear.

Ben wasn’t close to being done with you—not by a long shot. After a moment of catching his breath, he scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you to the couch and sitting down with you straddling his lap. His hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you as he eased you down onto him again. The stretch made your breath hitch all over again, but your body had already molded to him, making it easier this time.

“You’re not done yet, Peanut”, he murmured, his voice low and smug, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “Not until I’ve had my fill”.

You didn’t know how much more you could take, but your body responded on instinct, your arms wrapping around his neck as he thrust up into you, slow and steady. Every motion sent shivers through you, the pressure building again despite how spent you already felt. His hands roamed your body, gripping, caressing, holding you steady as he moved beneath you.

Time blurred. You lost count of how many times he made you come—how many times your body tensed, shook, and fell apart in his arms. Ben took his time, alternating between hard, commanding movements and surprising moments of gentleness, as though savoring every second. His voice was a constant in your ear, filthy and possessive, coaxing every moan, whimper, and gasp out of you like they belonged to him.

By the time you collapsed against his chest, your body spent and trembling, you couldn’t even think straight. Your breaths came in soft, shaky gasps, your cheek resting against his chest. Ben’s hands moved to your back, stroking gently now, his touch grounding as you slowly came down from the overwhelming high.

“Shh”, he murmured, his voice softer now. “You’re done, baby. You’ve earned your rest”.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you securely against him as he leaned back into the couch. The tension in your body eased, and you felt your eyelids grow heavy, the steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his body lulling you into a daze.

Surprisingly, Ben didn’t push for more. He simply held you, his rough hands surprisingly gentle as they traced lazy circles on your back. His cocky smirk had softened into something almost content, his head resting against the back of the couch as he watched you drift off.

“Guess I wore you out”, he muttered, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest as he shifted slightly to make you more comfortable. “Can’t say I blame you, Peanut. You did good”.

You didn’t respond—couldn’t respond—as sleep overtook you. Completely spent, your body went limp against him, your soft breaths warm against his skin as you passed out in his arms. And for once, Ben didn’t press or tease. He just stayed there, holding you close, his gaze lingering on you with something almost resembling pride.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

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#jensen ackles #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #the boys #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys soldier boy #soldier boy x you #ben x reader #ben x you #ben #the boys fanart #the boys amazon #the boys tv

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stxrvel · 4 months ago

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disclosure (6)

series summary. the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life? pairing. platonic ot7 x f!reader for now content. first of all, english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes! curse words, angst, reader becomes sus, fighting (in the wrong way), angry and mean jin? self-doubt. a/n. hi guysssssss!!! sorry it's taking me this long always, but i finally finished this part! i actually just finished it and it's almost 2am and i have to go to work in fivehours. i'm publishing this part as it is and maybe tomorrow if i have the time i'll look at it again, bc i'm really exhausted right now. and also please forgive me if there are any mistakes in the text;((((. but i hope you guys enjoy this 7k monster of a chapter and i'll see you next time!!

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The fourth book of your saga was a reflection of everything you had gone through when you moved with your family to the capital. You finished the third book when you had barely been in the city for a month and maybe that's why it didn't have a happy ending and why everyone who had read the trilogy had been devastated with that ending. It wasn't something you had planned from the beginning, but it wasn't something that ruined the plot either. It was actually much better than you had planned.

And when you finally finished with the trilogy, starting to write again wasn't hard, especially with so many mixed emotions and so much repressed pain coming back to the surface uninvited.

Maybe you hadn't been in connection with your strong feelings since then, when the city constantly reminded you that you had lost the only people you considered your true friends and the pain of their absence and the harsh reality was a knife burying itself in your chest over and over again. You hadn't felt this much since the moment you realized that they were able to live their lives without you, but you had to go through the mourning of losing them.

You hadn't felt this much since then, until that moment when, having been just a day since you had decided you would take the path of healing, you had to reopen the draft of your fourth book and find all those angry paragraphs, spit out words, piled up letters and whole pages filled with pure rage and pain; of disappointment and realization… of betrayal.

“Are you going to start again already? Don't you think you deserve a break?”

The words Yuna had spoken to you that morning were echoing in your head from the moment you read the first words of this draft and the memories began to well up, emotions making your hair stand on end and your throat close up.

It was almost funny to remember how incredibly angry you were when you first arrived in the city.

The city, with posters of Jungkook's face on every corner, with his performances on some screens or just teenagers talking about him and whispering about his music, it was practically impossible to escape it. The city, with radios blaring Yoongi's songs, in a cab or on public transportation, interviews blaring on TVs in shopping malls. The city, with the international news, which echoed so much, about the spectacular promises of modeling. The country couldn't be prouder to have representatives of that caliber, because the moment Taehyung and Jimin overtook the West and broke the international barrier, it was only a matter of time before the others followed suit and completely changed the idea of entertainment and media in the country.

The first months in the city were nauseating, when you had to get used to and overcome your emotions the hard way, fighting against the aggressive tide that all the time tried to drown you, and that was noticeable in every word and every scene of that book, and you were almost sure that if any of them read it, they would know immediately. If they wanted to know anything about you, if they were really interested, there would be no better way than through your books; in no other situation would you be so vulnerable.

You wondered, for a moment, if any of them would have read any of the books by now. If Namjoon would remember when you asked him for strange words to describe emotions and now they were captured in those impressions, or when you asked Jin and Hoseok for their opinion about the complex construction of your world and each of their peculiar and crazy details can be found in those pages. Just as your books had all the pieces of you, it also had crumbs of them, and you wondered if they would notice if they read it.

Don't you think you deserve a break?

Maybe you do. That's why you had decided to close that cycle once and for all, and there was no better way to do it than to finally start with the edition of this book. Of this fourth book, so strong in its toughness and determination, so vulnerable in its rage and palpable pain.

It was the cleanest and purest and truest version of you.

But as much as you deserved it, it felt more like punishment. Reliving those emotions and evoking those memories caused you more anguish and you didn't know if you could face a kind of shock therapy like that to finally let go.

“The editors said you'd be here.”

You saw Choi Dohyun standing, leaning against the door frame above the computer screen that still displayed the title of the first chapter of your fourth book. On a Wednesday at barely eight o'clock in the morning, the great CEO decided to set aside a few minutes of his busy time to gratify you with his presence.

His calm, serene and carefree expression was the contrast to the swirl of emotions that ran through that room, rising from the crown of your head. You could almost tell he wasn't venturing into the office because he could feel the tension radiating from your position at the desk. He must have even seen it on your face.

You sighed and barely waved at him, running your hands over your face, trying to ease your tense muscles a little.

“Is there a specific reason why you don't want the editors to read the book?”

Choi Dohyun was a mystery. You only knew about him from the three-hour conversation you had the day before, besides the strange looks he cast at Yoongi from his office entrance. He had shown himself to be a very open person and it was clear that he was an expert at making things work his way. You knew he had agreed to many of your conditions because what he would get in return was bigger than what it would cost him, which really wasn't too much, just enough to maintain a level of creative freedom that would allow you to access editorial support when you saw fit —because you knew that once you handed it over, it would no longer be entirely yours—and often businessmen reflected their own personalities in how they negotiated a deal.

Dohyun tried to come across as a fairly personable person; he tried to be understanding, communicative and open-minded, so much so that he reminded you of the comfortable security of an older brother. However, you could tell in that meeting that he held back too much; that he had hated the way Yuna used to interrupt him to ask him questions or how your brother would put too many buts in his mouth and try to get information out of him that he shouldn't give away. You could tell he was impatient, that he really expected the meeting to last less than twenty minutes because he was sure you would sign the contract blindly as soon as you saw the profits you'd gain from the distribution and sale of your books. You also noticed, in case it wasn't obvious already, that he preferred to be in control as long as the situation and the people around him allowed it, for his convenience. If he gave in on several occasions, you knew it had been because he was very, very aware of everything that benefited him.

There were two options: Choi Dohyun wore a mask constantly, or Choi Dohyun was a fraud.

“I just wanted to read it one more time… before handing it over. I won't take long.”

“It's okay. No problem.” Dohyun finally walked into the room, the office he had handed you for whenever you decided to go to his publishing house. You didn't even know writers had that option; you didn't know if it was common, but he allowed it. He had also offered you a writing kit that included a typewriter that looked quite expensive, and although you hadn't accepted it, there it was in one of the corners of the office. Dohyun sat across from you, glancing at the few things you had brought from home to make the place a little more pleasant. “I understand that sometimes it's hard to separate yourself from your work. It's a part of you, after all. A kind of vulnerability that not everyone sees.”

That was the kind of thing that kept Dohyun's true nature a mystery. His stoic expression as he blurted out words of comfort. It almost felt like running sandpaper over cement. Not that you needed to figure him out, because at the end of the day he was a boss of sorts and you two were bound by a contract with mutual economic benefits —technically, you were each there for a benefit of your own— but it was something you wanted to be aware of, watchful of, informed of, because you had no way of knowing this guy wouldn't try to take advantage of some situation later, in any possible scenario.

“Yes…”

“Take as much time as you need. The demand for the trilogy is still pretty high, after all.”

You nodded at him in response, wary of his attempt to lighten the mood. If he was the kind of person you thought he was, he surely knew you didn't feel an ounce of trust towards him.

“In just two days you must have quite a bit of work to do with that,” you tried to continue the conversation, interspersing your gaze over the letters on the screen and his dark eyes.

“But it's a very welcome work. Aren't you glad your books were so well received?”

“Yes,” you answered without hesitation, momentarily remembering the proud look on Yuna and your brother's face when they finally got you to see the reactions and opinions of your books on social media. “It's comforting. For your work to be appreciated, recognized… moreover, that it allows you to make a living from it. It's amazing and a very great privilege.”

Dohyun shook his head in assent, interlacing his fingers over his abdomen. From his nonchalant way of taking a seat across from you, slumped over the chair almost as if he was an old friend from college and not practically your boss, and from how his voice reflected that sense of calmness and confidence, you could almost tell he was perfectly selling the facade of the most trustworthy person in the world.

But ultimately it was your feeling and your need to automatically distrust anyone you met because you didn't know at what point they would try to take advantage of you or turn their back on you, and maybe Dohyun wasn't as bad a person as you wanted to paint him in your head. Maybe you would even accept that his presence was a bit comforting and that he actually reminded you of someone you used to know in the past and of whom currently, if you knew he was still alive, it was by sheer luck. That personality, that sense of security he conveyed and that way he had had of expressing himself to you in that meeting that showed a different and more mature kind of wisdom, indeed reminded you of someone else.

Dohyun was very, very much like Jin.

“Can I… ask you something?” you hesitated, alternating your gaze between the screen and his dark eyes, not quite sure if you wanted to go down that path, but aware that you would get something in return if you did, and perhaps the risk would be worth it. “But it's not related to… this.”

As you pointed to your computer and the rest of the office, you couldn't decipher what expression Dohyun sketched. Trying to read him like you did everyone else, it seemed he entertained a specific train of thought in his head and was sparked by your question, but you couldn't probe much further because he agreed, tilting his head to invite you to ask bluntly.

“How do you know Min Yoongi?”

Dohyun then lifted his chin and his lips curved into a sort of small smile that could more accurately be described as a grimace. With his eyes on the window, with the beautiful view of the city and its busy streets, Dohyun took his time to answer and his pleased and almost satisfied look gave you to understand that your question was not a surprise at all. Dohyun could take it simply as healthy curiosity, for after all Yoongi was a celebrity and there weren't many people around the country who couldn't recognize him and you literally saw him face to face.

However, of course, there was something about his attitude that felt different. He wasn't surprised by your question, it was true, but maybe not for the reason you thought.

“He's a friend of my best friend.” Dohyun finally answered, returning your gaze, a glint of amusement highlighting his dark eyes. “I met him a couple of years ago through him, who is also his best friend. Otherwise, I doubt we would've ever met.”

Ah, Dohyun had a best friend who was best friends with Yoongi. That could only mean one thing.

“Ah. Then your best friend is part of the seven kings.”

Dohyun raised his eyebrows, clearly amused by your choice of words and the permanence of that haunting smile and the glint in his eyes should've been warning enough. He had the posture, demeanor and speech of a person who knew he was in control of the situation. Whatever his purpose was in entertaining this conversation, you already knew you were involved in that reason, indirectly.

Dohyun knew something about you that you had no idea about.

“Yes, indeed. It's Kim Seokjin. We met in college.”

As you guessed, of course. That's where the similar traits you could find in his personality came from.

But then Yoongi wasn't directly friends with Dohyun, and they couldn't be that close because of the nonchalant way he referred to him, so the question of why he was here yesterday, precisely when you came, would remain unanswered. It could be a coincidence? Of course, and you could remain in doubt, or you could…

“Wow. You two really are a powerful duo.”

Dohyun let out a laugh, nodding, looking so comfortable with himself, as if you were asking all the questions you should be asking.

“I love my job and I know I'm good at what I do, but Jin is simply on another level.”

You nodded, getting into his game of pretending, with a half smile on your face.

You knew that if Yuna knew what you were doing she would shake her head and tell you that you were crazy; that you should try to be less hard on other people and that's why you had never been able to hit it off with the other co-workers in Sol's cafeteria.

“Yes. I hear he's a great surgeon. He was top of his class, wasn't he?”

“That's right.” Dohyun nodded, determined not to look away from you. “But you're close to them too, aren't you? I saw Taehyung's Instagram stories when he uploaded your books.”

You blinked. Once. And again. He had already figured you out, and now he wanted to reverse the table and get some kind of reaction or information from you that you didn't know what kind of mystery it would solve in his head. The best option was to feign a bit of surprise, which was what you did, as if you didn't expect him to suddenly bring that up.

“Well, we studied together in school, but we were never that close.”

You lifted a shoulder, trying to downplay the subject, as if on cue, and Dohyun nodded slightly processing the information, averting his gaze over the dark carpet on the floor. He seemed to be tying up loose ends in his head and had more questions, the way he squinted his eyes as you gave him his space to think.

You had no idea what he was getting at. You had already brought out to him that he was close friends with Kim Seokjin and that, basically by extension he knew Yoongi. You could almost say it was a bit of an ordinary, almost trivial topic, not overly suspicious. Unless, of course, he knew something else that raised his curiosity and made you look suspicious in his eyes for asking such questions.

It seemed the most certain theory.

“And through him you must have met the others sometime, right?”

And it seemed you were right, too.

You had to deny his assertion, you knew, but it seemed you had taken half a second too long because he beat you to the word, shaking his head in a nod, and then said:

“That explains a lot.”

“Huh?”

Play dumb, play dumb.

Dohyun cracked a big grin, looking almost like a predator in the midst of its hunt, and from that alone you knew he'd already put his puzzle together.

“Well… actually, now that we're being honest, Jin was the one who recommended me to read your books.”

Wow.

Okay.

Jin… told Dohyun about you? About your books?

That doesn't explain anything. In fact, more questions popped up in your head than you could control and you were sure Dohyun could see the question marks moving over your irises.

“He told me that there could be a great opportunity if I published you and he was really right. I don't regret sending you that offer.”

Dohyun leaned back against the backrest and stretched one of his arms over the chair next to him. His posture was a little more relaxed than before and you couldn't help the feeling of anger that ran through you because you had given him just what he wanted, but you couldn't concentrate too much on that because you were too surprised by what he had just blurted out, as if it was nothig.

Of all the things you could've imagined, you would never have considered that this huge and prestigious publishing house had offered you a contract just because one of the CEO's great friends had recommended it to him. I mean, if Jin had never talked about it, would you have had any chance of getting this offer? Of signing this contract? Would you have been recognized on your own merit and not because you were linked to the mouth of a close friend?

None of that made any sense. Why had Jin told Choi Dohyun about you? His best friend being the owner of the most prestigious publishing house in the country, clearly knowing the implications of his actions, why would he do that? Maybe he didn't count on his friend throwing him overboard someday for gossiping and because he has an ego bigger than his own head? Maybe he thought it would be an anonymous job forever? And for what reason? On what grounds? What kind of emotions moved him to make that decision? Maybe it was simply an altruistic desire. Maybe he was moved by the same thing that moved Taehyung, the one who started all this. But was it something premeditated or not? Was it something he had previously discussed with Namjoon? Would the others know about it? Would they have agreed? Would they not have cared?

In the midst of that mental stupor, the very idea of healing seemed stupid to you. The immense confusion and anger that was coursing through your blood had no place for this group of fools to continue to meddle in your life as if they were playing a fucking election game on their computer. Why? Why? Why?

You wanted to get out of a simple doubt with Dohyun, to know what kind of connection he had with Yoongi and that everything that had happened was a coincidence, and you had ended up with a thousand more questions, with a hundred confusions and even more mixed emotions.

And Yoongi… would he have been in his office yesterday for something related to that?

“At first I thought Taehyung had asked him, but Jin is quite careful about such things. He wouldn't hint something like that to me even because his brothers ask him to, unless it was someone he could vouch for. So you knew Jin too, right?”

You didn't try to deny it, but you didn't give him the reason either. Amidst a sea of questions and confusion, incredulous and angry, you just shook your head and crossed your arms.

“I'll bring the first draft tomorrow.”

Dohyun took his time, drumming his fingers on the wood of the chair, sending you a look as if he wanted to get more answers out of you because your attitude raised more doubts than he initially had. Maybe you let go of a wolf's leash or this would be a one-time occurrence, you had no idea. But he said nothing more. Finally he got up, said goodbye and left.

Don't you think you deserve a break?

You should've listened to Yuna.

The next day, when you finished editing the draft of your fourth book amid tears, several cups of coffee and an excruciating pain in your wrist, you finally handed it in to the editors with a heavy heart and an hour of sleep in your body. It had officially ceased to be yours. The revelation that Dohyun had actually offered you all of this because Jin had asked him to do so kept going round and round in your head and made you revise and edit that draft more harshly than you would've done before.

Maybe you added a few extra curse words.

“If you don't finish that pasta, I'm going to steal it from you.”

Yuna hadn't even finished her own plate and was already eyeing yours, her brow furrowed and her own fork stabbing the ceramic of the deep dish you'd served your friend in as she crossed the threshold of the front door. You had been stirring the food with your fork for a while, thinking, reflecting, theorizing, trying to figure out what you really wanted; trying to recognize and accept the emotions inside you that were upsetting you.

Your parents had left early and Seojun was back in his college dorms, so you invited Yuna to lunch because you knew she loved the pastries your mom made and because you thought it would do you good to have some company after turning in the draft of your book. But, really, you were more overwhelmed than before. Yuna's presence didn't stop the thoughts in your head from racing, nor did it erase from reality what had happened.

“Y/n?”

You raised your head.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded, and tried to focus on eating lunch before rambling on.

“Is it because of the book?”

“No, no. Everything's fine. I was just thinking.”

“Do you think you should've waited a little longer to turn it in?”

You shook your head. “No.”

It wasn't an order from Dohyun or anything like that. You decided to get started on editing the next book because it was a bit desperate to have nothing to do. Before you could focus on the whole operational and logistical process of delivering the books, but now that was taken care of by a separate company and all you had to do was verify that the money was coming into your account and that was it. Not that it was bad, but you were not used to just sitting idly by. So you thought that continuing with the pre-publication editing of the next books might be a good way to pass the time.

You didn't expect, of course, the statement you heard the day before, let alone that it would knock down your motivation like the wind to dry leaves. After that conversation with Dohyun, you decided that the best thing you could do was to turn in that draft and give them as much work as possible as a distraction so that you wouldn't have to go back to that building for at least a couple of weeks. It wasn't a healthy activity, of course, because at the time you were only functioning to keep Yuna from questioning if there was something wrong with you. Well, she probably did, but she preferred not to comment on it, because you hadn't been giving her too many answers to her questions lately.

Having decided that Dohyun was an expert manipulator, you could only worry about the possibility that he might decide to comment something about that conversation to Jin or just stir up a conversation about the possible existence of a friendly bond with him during school time. You didn't know what could trigger that; with everything that had happened up to that point you could no longer be sure of anything or trust anything.

“No. I thought I'd turn it in now so I'd have more time to read the next books. I know that one isn't too bad. I revised it too many times while I was writing it and even after.”

“And it's pretty long, isn't it?”

You nodded, finally tasting another mouthful of pasta. “Seven hundred pages.”

“Holy Christ,” Yuna put a hand to her forehead and sketched a worried expression. Then her excited exclamation echoed throughout the house. “What a thrill! I can't wait to read it!!!!!!”

Yuna returned to work an hour later and you spent the rest of the afternoon between shifts of lying down staring at the ceiling and watching more videos about your books on social media, which you hadn't been able to leave since you saw them with your whole family in the living room. It still seemed surreal to you that you could search the name of your books on the internet and you would indeed get the results you expected. Clearly not all the opinions were praise, but you were willing to take all of that and learn, implement and consider it for the next stories you were willing to tell. For now, you were going to focus on keeping the editors busy enough that they wouldn't have to ask about it or demand your presence for any reason. This trilogy really was quite a lengthy saga, so when they finallt finish editing the fourth book, you'd have the fifth waiting, and so on. At least until you had another amazing idea for a new story.

Now, on the slightly more disturbing topics, you still had more loose ends to tie up than you had initially thought. As you still had those particles of anger running through your body and you were still convinced that there was still no room for healing and overcoming, you could only think about what Yoongi's presence in Dohyun's office was about and if it had to do with what Jin had done.

That was the first line of thought. The second one sounded more like Yuna with her serious voice trying to talk some sense into you and tell you that you were seeing into it too much, that surely it was all just a coincidence and that Yoongi's presence was just some kind of crossfire.

But… yet… how many more times did something like this have to happen before you stopped chalking it up to coincidence? How many more times would you say it was a coincidence until everything started to connect to a purpose? Did they even have a purpose? Did they have a reason for all this, for all this unnecessary drama? And was their reason worth it to compensate for the instability you were going through? Having pent up emotions, confusion, lots of doubts and zero answers was about to drive you crazy.

However, maybe seeing things from another approach would allow you to understand.

Because, honestly, you saw it as too complicated to be able to leave them behind in this way, when it seemed that, on purpose or not, you would keep finding them in your soup. Adopting a slightly more objective approach, even though your emotions were always running high when it came to them, could give you the resolution you were looking for and the answer to the questions you were asking yourself. And there would be nothing more than that, because it would be impossible to restore the friendship you once had. Perhaps the truth would be painful, but you would accept it as it was and move on. Now, as old as you were, it would not be as hard as it was ten years ago when in the midst of confusion and desolation you could only cry.

Now, you had already gone through the mourning and made peace with the distance, the absence and the betrayal.

Maybe, if you tried a little harder, you could bring real closure —and soon, hopefully— by finding the answers on your own.

Kim Namjoon used to believe that he was good at dealing with any kind of problem. In his head, which he was spinning around like a huge sphere and he was a hamster, Namjoon was sure that he could fix any situation and solve any misunderstanding, any fight or at least come to an agreement that would make everyone feel comfortable enough to move forward.

In his head, Namjoon was a three thousand dollars conflict-solver. Seeking solutions from reason and objectivity was basically how he kept his company afloat, that company he had inherited from his parents and had turned into the economic juggernaut it was today. All that success was summed up in the capacity for resolution that Namjoon had in his super head and, of course, his strategic capacity that allowed him to read his opponents and know exactly what they wanted, how they wanted it and when they wanted it.

However…

The whole table was still silent.

And Namjoon could only look at the faces of each of his friends, his best friends, practically his brothers, while they shied away from his gaze or directly ignored him, while he clasped his hands on the edge of the chair and tried to keep his composure because he no longer knew what to do.

Kim Namjoon, the three-thousandth troubleshooter, had a factory defect and could not fix the one thing he had always been able to fix with ease.

When Hoseok had walked into his office two nights ago with that stern and serious expression, Namjoon knew that there would be more problems to solve. But if he had to be honest, even before that moment he knew it wasn't working out well. Maybe it was because of the delicacy of the subject or the crudeness of his friends to address it, but Namjoon was losing the important ingredient of patience and that was something that hadn't happened to him before.

But then again, how could they all be so insensitive?

“Doesn't anyone have anything to say?”

Hoseok had been the only one to be spared from this discussion, though his presence was required at the table and tension radiated from his body in equal amounts. The others were directly attacked by the three thousandth (broken) problem-solver and despite Namjoon giving them a space to try to explain the situation, the table was still silent and with each passing second the pressure cooker containing Namjoon's anger was beeping louder and louder.

“I don't think there's much to say.”

It was Jin who finally broke the silence and Namjoon let out some air.

“Ah, thank you, Jin. Why do you think so?”

With his arms crossed, the older sent him an incredulous look.

“We've had this conversation three times already, Namjoon. Why do you think it's necessary for us to keep repeating ourselves?”

Hoseok had told Namjoon that he was concerned about the coexistence in the pent-house and that perhaps the elephant in the room was not being addressed in the right way; that more and more misunderstandings were being created between everyone and that it was making for an untrustworthy environment for the youngers. Namjoon agreed halfway through; if he had to be honest, none of it would've gotten to that point if none of them had been so irresponsible and daring to do all that they had done. And Jin had the least right to dismiss the issue as he had.

“Because you all don't seem to have listened to me at all, especially you.”

Jin snorted and turned his head away. Jungkook beside him barely winced at the hostile exchange.

“And what did I do?”

“What did you do? Jin, how can you be so inconsiderate?”

“I only rushed an exchange that was eventually going to happen, what the fuck is wrong with that?”

Namjoon tried not to look so surprised by the fact that the conversation he had had with him two nights ago and Yoongi had basically gone in one ear and out the other. Namjoon had no idea if it was an occupational hazard or a personality trait, but Jin was having a kind of stubbornness that bordered too much on his pride and desire to be right.

And right now it wasn't about who was right or wrong. It was about the fact that they had all made a promise and now they were breaking it as if it was worthless. Worse, as if the only ones affected by it were them and not a third party.

“Didn't you stop to think how she would feel if she found out that was how things went down?”

Jin rolled his eyes, but didn't answer him.

“Why do you all do all these things without believing that they will have consequences beyond your own feelings? That's all I'm asking you to consider!”

Taehyung and Jungkook at least had the decency to actually look embarrassed, avoiding Namjoon's gaze. Jimin was still convinced that he had done nothing extremely wrong and Yoongi simply demonstrated his sorrow through indifference. Namjoon knew that Yoongi was just as frustrated as he was with the way things were going, because they were the only ones trying to fix the messes the others had been thoughtlessly causing. And Jin… well, it was obvious that he didn't see any big implications beyond having to be scolded by Namjoon.

“Guys…” Hoseok started, sitting to Namjoon's right with a tired and defeated expression. If Namjoon and Yoongi were looking out for the integrity of the third party concerned, Hoseok was the one who was most concerned about the bonds that were breaking between them and that was why he had gone to Namjoon to have a group meeting again and set the boundaries once and for all. “You guys know that Namjoon is not just talking for the sake of talking. Jin, you don't need to get defensive. I understand that you tried to make the connection in good faith, but you have to understand that it was a very high risk. And while Dohyun is your friend, you know he's not very trustworthy.”

Jin grunted then, despite the kind tone Hoseok used to address him, and the others at the table only sent him a surprised look.

“Sure, now it's all my own damn fault. Not only do I have to deal with the stress of work, now I have to come to my supposed time off to deal with this too?”

“Hyung,” Yoongi called after him and frowned at the rude tone the older had used. “No one is saying it's your fault. We all have a part in this.”

“I don't care, Yoongi. Whatever's going on right now you know who's really to blame. And there's nothing you can do about it anymore.”

“Jin,” Namjoon called back and the aforementioned turned to look at him with daggers in his eyes. “You made the promise too.”

“Yes, one I never agreed to and you know it.”

Hoseok sighed and ran his hands over his face. “This is not the time to apportion blame, okay? I only wanted this space because I want us to fix this lack of communication and all this hostility that is affecting our living together.”

Namjoon turned to look at the table, finding the younger ones sealed in silence. None of them raised their heads and they showed signs of nervousness and anxiety, even if they tried to hide it under the tablecloth on the table.

There were too many things Namjoon wanted to control; there were too many things he wanted to solve; there were a number of other things that drove him mad and others that made him feel hopeless. Understanding all these emotions, his own or others', was wearing him down and perhaps that was why he was increasingly losing an ounce of patience. However, no matter how hard it was for him, Namjoon had to be sure that his priority was right in front of him. He had chosen to do so a couple of years ago and he could no longer turn back time.

“Hey, I'm sorry, okay?” Namjoon started once again and although Hoseok tried to shush him to calm down, he continued, “I know how I've acted during these days since everything started and I have not been very open to dialogue. For me it was… it was like crossing a forbidden boundary and I couldn't understand how you guys could jump over it without a second thought. It made my hair stand on end and I didn't… I didn't… I didn't know how to contain those emotions, I didn't know how to control them and clearly I didn't know how to express them. And the truth is that it worries me. I understand that you don't, because otherwise you wouldn't have done any of that, but I would like you to try to do that because this is not a unilateral action that will only affect you and will only be in your memories. You are affecting her too, and very much so. We were not good, not even friendly or cordial, so I need you to understand that all these things she will not see them as you think. Jungkook, you experienced it first hand. She hates us.”

Jungkook jerked on the chair and Taehyung was the one who reached over the table to take his intertwined hands. Jin sighed, finally letting the anger dissipate and Yoongi mimicked him, a little calmer as he watched his elder relax. Hoseok shook his head in assent, noticing the tension at the table dissipate a bit and how the young men held each other.

“And rightly so, because we made an inexcusable decision. And not only that, but she will now believe that it was a simple Tuesday for us and it's not. We made the promise for a reason and anything related we were supposed to consult first as a group. Sure, life happens and we get busy with a lot of things and have too much on our minds, but this was all inexcusable and we owe her more than forgiveness. We probably owe her our lives.”

“Hyung, I'm sorry…”

Jungkook was the most regretful. Since that harsh encounter, for which he dared to risk his presence in public and for which he believed it would be worth a try, Jungkook had never regretted something so much since the day of the promise. He still remembered the hatred your voice exuded and shivers ran down his spine. He had been unconscious, that was true, and he didn't know what he had let consume his body to have made that decision or to have simply acted without thinking. The possibility of seeing you again simply…blinded him. But that was never an excuse.

And Namjoon knew that. It was Jungkook who acted worse than everyone else, but he also couldn't deny to himself that had he found himself in the same predicament, with the same opportunity, he wouldn't have done the same. Maybe that's why he was so demanding of others, because that's how he reminded himself that he had no right to even think about it, much less act on their emotions, when they had taken away your choice as if they had any say in it.

“We can't erase what has already happened and what you have already done. All I ask is that you don't make it worse.” Namjoon implored, closing his eyes in silent prayer. “At this point there is no way to fix anything, and if every day we do things like this we are only inflicting pain on someone who doesn't deserve it. So please, for the love of God, leave her alone.”

The whole table was still silent, but this time Namjoon could clearly see everyone's face and notice their emotions right away, as he had always been able to do. He still didn't understand what had moved them to do all that; to Taehyung, to Jungkook, to Jin, to Jimin, despite everything they had discussed before, and he didn't understand how he hadn't been able to foresee their intentions from the beginning. But he could no longer focus on what had happened, but on what was happening and what he could still fix.

For that which had already been broken for years, Namjoon doubted too much that any of it could ever be fixed, no matter how hard he tried. And boy, would he have wanted to try.

“I'm sorry,” Jin mumbled, and it almost seemed like he had ripped the words from the back of his throat, but Namjoon took it with all his being and considered it the first victory on this new path.

When he finally dispatched everyone, Jimin remained seated to his left.

“Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

The blond looked disgruntled, and though it was clear that the tension was gone from his shoulders, in his gaze was that longing that Namjoon hadn't seen in years and certainly didn't allow in himself for all that he had previously exposed.

“Do you really think it's impossible to fix it?”

Namjoon hated knowing that the gleam in Jimin's eye had no future. At least not the one he wanted to believe. Namjoon, like everyone else, had spent sleepless nights thinking, remembering, reflecting and considering that they were never brave enough nor necessarily tough enough to earn that friendship once again. It had all gone to waste and it had been because of them.

“Yeah, I don't think that's possible.”

Jimin passed his saliva harshly, as if his mouth was dry, but he had to control and keep his emotions in check. Namjoon knew his every emotion and mainly knew how sensitive this whole issue was for Jimin, who from the beginning never agreed with him on anything and never hesitated to let him know. In fact, it took a couple of years before Namjoon could finally have this close relationship with Jimin again, until the blond decided to forgive him.

“It's silly to hope at this point, right?”

Namjoon also knew that Jimin struggled a lot to stop pointing blames, as Jin still did. He knew that, had Jimin had the opportunity in his hands several years in the past, he would have taken it and perhaps left them behind if he could. It was an extremely complex and long process to get the blond to trust Namjoon and those on his side again, which was one of the reasons why Hoseok was so insistent on talking and communicating and keeping everyone on good terms. It had cost them so much to re-form their trust that he couldn't allow it to crack once again.

Jimin nodded at his words when they were met with silence, for there was nothing Namjoon could say to comfort him. It was simply a heartbreaking situation.

“Tae and I will be with Jungkook.” Jimin assured Namjoon as he stood up. “Thank you… for trying.”

Namjoon only nodded, pressing his lips together in an attempt at a smile. Things would not automatically go back to the way they were before, as Namjoon's sternness in dealing with this issue on previous occasions was what initially caused this whole fiasco of miscommunication and hostility. He was heartily grateful that likewise Jimin took him into consideration, because he didn't know if he would be able to sleep knowing that everyone in that pent-house hated him. He didn't know if being the reason for the constant discord would allow him to have a respite of peace of mind at some point, when he was simply trying to do what he thought was best for everyone and what suited them on a sentimental level.

Kim Namjoon used to believe that he was good at dealing with any kind of problem. In his head, over which he circled as if it was a huge sphere and he was a hamster, Namjoon was sure that he could fix any situation and provide a solution to any misunderstanding, any fight or at least come to an agreement that would allow everyone to feel comfortable enough to move forward.

However, at that moment, the past tense wording was the most accurate.

Namjoon used to believe.

Jimin stopped halfway up the stairs, transfixed, and Namjoon watched him curiously. Then, the blond half-turned on his heels and Namjoon got front row view of Jimin's pale face and his exaggeratedly expanded eyes as he looked at his phone.

“Hyung…”

Namjoon came striding over, intrigued as well as concerned by the expression on the blond's face.

Jimin had his Instagram open, specifically his direct messages. There was the message there that had made Jimin stop dead in his tracks and all blood dropped to his feet, but Namjoon didn't understand what the reason for his surprise was until he saw the sender, and then his eyebrows disappeared into his hair.

y/n Let's meet

omg🙊🙊

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