#the aftermath left me feeling shattered

[coffeeandinsanityy]

There's a big difference between fake it till u make it and lying to yourself just so u can feel better and people often forget that.

[maxtermind]

absolutely loved ‘baby, would i still be your lover’, everyone single one got me in my feels! i was wondering would you consider doing a part 2? whether it ends in angst or fluff

I'll tell you the truth, but never goodbye

★ : summary :: when he accidentally insults you during an argument- aftermath ★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris ★ : genre :: hurt/comfort, hints of angst ★ : word count :: 4.3k ★ : a/n :: thank you so much for the love on part 1 💓 some of these have open ending so you can pick whether you'd like to forgive them or not as a reader!! feedback is appreciated :)

( part 1 )

Max Verstappen

You sighed as you sat down to have your morning tea as usual, trying to pretend that nothing was wrong. As if you hadn't spent all night long getting your phone spammed with calls that you were ignoring.

After mindlessly roaming around for a bit, you eventually decided to crash at your best friend’s place. You lazily waved at her as she frantically got ready to leave for work. However, you were on your tiptoe as soon as the door opened.

A body that was possibly sleeping while leaning against the door fell inside and you heard curses that you were quite too familiar with. Your heart clenched at the sight of your boyfriend - or perhaps now, your ex-boyfriend - on his knees, nursing the wound on his head. The ache of seeing him in pain reignited the anguish you thought you had left behind.

“Okay,” you heard your friend murmur. “I'm gonna let you guys get to it.” She was out the door a second later.

You looked at the closed door instead of the man who was desperately trying to make eye contact with you.

“How long have you…” You trailed off before deciding that you didn't want to know.

“As soon as you turned your phone off, Y/N! I've been here since last night.” "Why?" you choked out, the words barely escaping your lips as tears threatened to overflow. His brows furrowed before he ran his hands over his face and got up to sit right next to you. You saw his hand itching toward yours and instinctively pulled it towards your body. "Because I needed to see you in person, to talk." He took another deep breath and you later realized that he was trying to stop himself from crying. “I realize I messed up, baby. I.. I never should have let you walk out.” But his attempt to mend the shattered pieces of your relationship only served to reopen the wounds, your walls instinctively rising in defense,"Talk? You think a talk is going to fix everything?" Max's eyes were filled with a mix of regret and desperation as he reached out for your hand, his fingers trembling slightly. "No, I don't think a talk will magically fix everything," he admitted, his voice raw with emotion.

"But it's a start. I need you to know that I'm truly sorry for what happened. I hate myself for hurting you, for making you doubt how much you mean to me."

You couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze, the pain of the previous night still too fresh in your mind.

“How can I trust you again, Max? How can I be sure that this won't happen again?" Your voice was barely a whisper, filled with the ache of betrayal.

Max's grip on your hand tightened, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I know I've messed up, Y/N. But I'm willing to do whatever it takes to earn back your trust. I'll work on my temper, I’ll be better to you, I'll do anything you ask of me. I just need you to give me another chance." “You know you’ve always been the best to me, right? I just can’t believe that instead of talking it out yesterday, you straight up skipped to breaking up wit-” Fresh tears started falling down your cheeks. Max immediately leaned forward to hold you in his arms and you let him because you needed him. But how could you trust him again? How could you be sure that history wouldn't repeat itself? That he won’t throw away your whole relationship just because the anger got a hold of him? As Max held you close, you felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over you. Part of you wanted to push him away, to scream and shout at him for causing you so much pain. But another part of you craved his warmth, his touch, his presence.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," Max whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I know I messed up, and I hate myself for it. I never meant to hurt you, I swear."

You buried your face in his chest, the tears soaking through his shirt as you struggled to make sense of your feelings.

“I just don't know if I can do this anymore, Max," you admitted, your voice muffled against him. Max tightened his embrace, his arms wrapping around you protectively. "I understand," he murmured, his voice gentle. His admission eased your thumping heart a bit, you were glad to have him back. The storm within you finding a momentary calm.

"I made you feel like our relationship was disposable, like breaking up was no big deal. But that couldn't be further from the truth. You're the most important person in my life, baby and the thought of losing you terrifies me. I'll do whatever it takes to make things right between us, to show you just how much you mean to me. I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust if you still want me."

Lewis Hamilton

The weight of Lewis's words hung heavy in the air, suffocating you as you retreated into the sanctuary of your bedroom. Tears streamed down your cheeks unchecked, your heart aching with a pain you couldn't quite comprehend. How had a day that started with such a promise turned into this? You buried your face in your hands, the sting of Lewis's words feeling like acid running through your veins.

Outside the door, the silence was deafening, broken only by the muffled sound of your sobs. Lewis stood frozen in place, his mind racing as he replayed the exchange in his head.

He couldn't believe the words that had escaped his lips, couldn't fathom how he had allowed his frustration to morph into such hurtful remarks.

Minutes stretched into eternity as Lewis grappled with the weight of his actions, the gravity of his words settling like a lead weight in his chest.

He wanted to reach out to you, to apologize and make things right, but his feet remained rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the magnitude of his mistake.

Inside the bedroom, you were consumed by a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Anger, hurt, betrayal - they all swirled together into an ugly monster, threatening to engulf you whole.

How could the man you loved, the man who had always been your rock, turn on you with such venom?

But beneath the anger and hurt, there was a flicker of doubt, a gnawing fear that maybe Lewis's words held a grain of truth. Maybe you were too insecure, too needy, too demanding. Maybe you were asking for too much, expecting him to be there for you when he had his own priorities and responsibilities. Maybe-

The sound of a soft knock on the door snapped you out of your thoughts, and you looked up to see Lewis standing there, his expression wrought with regret and guilt. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of the unspoken apology hanging heavy in the air. Looking at him distraught made your chest feel worse. How could he make you feel ten fold worse than this and not feel a thing? 

"I'm sorry," Lewis finally whispered, his voice barely audible. "I didn't mean what I said. I was out of line, and I know I hurt you. Please, let me make it right." He rushed through the words.

His words pierced through the haze of your pain, and you felt a bit of heaviness leaving your body. He crossed the room in a few strides, dropping to his knees in front of you, his eyes pleading for forgiveness. 

"I don't know what came over me," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion before your boyfriend took your hand away from your face and kissed your cheeks. "I was so caught up in my own frustrations that I lashed out at you, and I hate myself for it. You don't deserve to be treated that way, especially not by me."

You studied his face, searching for any sign of insincerity, but all you saw was genuine remorse and regret. And despite the pain still raw in your chest, you couldn't deny the love you felt for him, the longing to mend what had been broken between you. “You hurt me,” you whispered but didn’t push him away as he laid down with you, holding you close to his chest. Some of your resolve wavering when you felt his fast heartbeat. “I wanted you there so much.” He nodded as he shushed you, his own eyes dropping tears. “I’m so so sorry, baby. I can't even begin to express how deeply I regret the way I acted the whole day, I know you deserve so much more but-” You shifted slightly, knowing all that you wanted right now was comfort, you didn't want to forgive him or minimize the weight of his actions. "I don't know if I can right now," you replied, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions.

Lewis's eyes brimmed with tears as he whispered, "Please don't shut me out. I can't bear the thought of losing you."

You felt a pang of guilt at the pain evident in his voice. "I just need some time to process everything," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I understand," Lewis replied, his tone filled with sorrow. "But please know that I'm here whenever you're ready to talk."

You nodded, silently acknowledging his words as you allowed yourself to be enveloped in his comforting embrace. 

"I promise to make it up to you," Lewis vowed earnestly, his voice laced with determination. "I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust."

"I want to believe you," you admitted quietly, your heart heavy with uncertainty. Everything was a little too raw right now and your emotions were all over the place.

"I'll spend every moment proving it to you," Lewis declared, his eyes locking with yours in a silent vow.

“I was thoughtless and cruel today, and I never should have let those words leave my lips. You are not insecure, you are strong and resilient, baby. You deserve so much better than the hurtful words I spoke. Please know that I can’t lose you, Y/N. I will work tirelessly to regain your trust and rebuild what I have so carelessly shattered. You mean the world to me, and I will spend every moment striving to be worthy of your love.”

Carlos Sainz

As you sat nervously in your childhood home, the familiar sights and sounds providing little comfort, your mind raced with thoughts of disappointment and hurt.

For the third time, Carlos had failed to join you in meeting your parents, leaving you to face their questioning looks and unspoken concerns alone. You had rehearsed what you would say to them, how you would explain his absence, but each time, the words caught in your throat, choked by a mixture of frustration and sadness. For the past few days since you walked out of your apartment, you had been ignoring Carlos’ attempts to reconcile with you. The calls and texts he spammed you with were ignored and curses left your mouth as soon as your mind went back to the day of the argument, bringing unwanted tears to your eyes.

In the passing, you saw a Ferrari conference being conducted and as much as you wanted to reach out and talk it out with him, your heart did flips that you were sure you should have visited a doctor for.

Your parents, ever perceptive, noticed your unease as you fidgeted with the napkin in your lap, casting worried glances in your direction. You tried to muster a reassuring smile, but it faltered, betraying the turmoil within you.

How could you explain to them that the man you loved couldn't find the time to meet them, despite his promises and assurances? "What's wrong, sweetie?" your mom asked, concern evident in her voice.

You sighed, hesitating for a moment before replying, "It's Carlos... He like…"

Your dad's brow furrowed. "Is everything okay?"

You tried to muster a reassuring smile. "Yeah, he said that he got caught up with work. You know how busy he is with his racing and all..." Your dad’s brows furrowed when you trailed off, about to ask you what exactly you meant but just as you were steeling yourself to broach the subject, the doorbell rang, startling you from your thoughts.

Your heart sank as you realized it was likely a neighbor stopping by to meet you since you don’t visit that often, you stood up to go greet them. But then, to your disbelief, you heard his voice drifting through the door, before you saw your boyfriend standing right behind it. Your head titled in confusion and you drew a breath that took most of the stress from the previous days away from your body.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, his tone apologetic yet determined. Carlos took your hand and kissed it lightly,"Traffic was a nightmare." “What about the conference that you-” “You’re the most important person in my life, Y/N.” He cut you off before pulling you in and walking to the dining room that was in his vision. As if that was the answer to your question.

You turned to face him, your eyes wide with surprise and a flicker of hope. There he was, looking slightly disheveled but undeniably earnest, his gaze that locked on yours was as if it was seeking forgiveness. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the regret etched in the lines of his face.

Your parents exchanged a glance, their expressions softening as they took in the sight of Carlos standing before them. 

Despite their reservations about his repeated absences, they couldn't deny the genuine affection that Carlos held in his eyes when he looked at you.

Before you could find the words to respond, Carlos took a step forward, his hand reaching out tentatively. "I'm really sorry, both of you," he said, addressing your parents directly.

"I know how important this is to you, and I should have made more of an effort to be here on time."

His words hung in the air, a silent acknowledgment of his shortcomings and a pledge to do better. You felt a surge of emotion welling up inside you, a mixture of relief, gratitude, and a glimmer of renewed faith in your relationship. "Well, we're just glad you could make it," your dad said, offering Carlos a handshake.

"Thank you for coming, Carlos," your mother said, her voice warm yet cautious. "We understand that life gets busy, but it's important to make time for the people who matter most."

Carlos nodded, his expression earnest as he met her gaze. "I couldn't agree more. Family means putting in effort, I promise to make it up to all of you."

As you sat down to dinner, the atmosphere was tinged with a sense of reconciliation and hope. Your hand still intertwined with his as you saw him charm your family. Despite the rocky start, Carlos's presence brought a newfound sense of unity and understanding to the table. And as you shared stories and laughter, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the opportunity to mend what had seemed irreparably broken.

In that moment, you realized that love wasn't just about grand gestures or sweeping declarations—it was about the everyday moments of connection and compromise, the willingness to forgive and grow together.

And as you looked at Carlos, his eyes filled with determination and affection, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, hand in hand.

Charles Leclerc

Charles had apologized right after he had said those words and though you had both fallen back into routine, the underlying bitterness and resentment was still present. You weren’t the one initiating any kind of affection from your side and every time Charles was initiating anything, you half assed your way out of it. Was it childish? Probably. But you were still not comfortable with how easily you had forgiven Charles, burying your hurt just to avoid conflict once again despite knowing deep down that he has hurt you probably more than anyone else ever has. These thoughts were running through your head as you sat beside Charles, your heart still heavy with the weight, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air. Especially because Charles seemed distant, his mind preoccupied with thoughts, that you couldn't help but wonder what exactly they were. Why had he even asked to go on a date today? To break up with you? Suddenly, Pippa appeared, her presence causing the knot to form in your stomach to get tighter. She approached with a confident stride, a charming smile gracing her lips as she greeted Charles with a hug.

"Hey, Charlie!" Pippa exclaimed, her eyes flickering briefly in your direction before returning to Charles. "Long time no see!"

Charles returned her hug, though his embrace seemed somewhat forced. "Hey, Pippa. Yeah, it's been a while." 

You observed their interaction closely, your unease growing with each passing moment. Pippa's presence always seemed to unsettle you, and you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to their friendship than met the eye. Was he gonna break up with you in public and confess his years long feelings for Pippa? Charles glanced at you, his expression softening as he reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. "I was just out with Y/N today."

You couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth at his actions, his affectionate gesture soothing some of the tension that had been building between you.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N," Pippa said, offering you a friendly smile. "Sorry I didn’t see you next to Charlie."

You returned her smile, though it didn't quite reach your eyes and managed to reply without gagging. "Nice to meet you, Pippa." Charles tightened his grip on your hand, silently reassuring you of his presence and support. "We were just grabbing a coffee," he explained, his gaze flickering between you and Pippa. "Care to join us?"

Pippa hesitated for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced at you before turning back to Charles. "Actually, I was hoping we could catch up alone, if that's okay."

You felt a pang of anxiety at her words, a sense of foreboding settling in the pit of your stomach. Despite your reservations, you nodded, forcing a smile as you released Charles's hand. It was better to walk away yourself than to have Charles dismiss you.

"Of course," you said, though your voice sounded strained even to your own ears. "I'll wait for you outside."

Charles shot you an alarmed look as you stood up,”I’ll see you in a few.” Charles’ hand lingered on yours for a moment longer before you reluctantly let go and made your way to the door.

You leaned against your car and enjoyed the wind for a second. You couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of the exchange between your boyfriend and his best friend sitting inside.

You were half scared to find them kissing or something but, instead a sense of confusion washed over you as you watched the way Pippa was angrily point a finger at Charles and scream at him.

It was a second later when she stormed out before making her way towards you.

"Is he doing this because of you?!" Pippa's accusatory tone sent a shiver down your spine, her words hitting too close to home.

Before you could even process what was happening, Charles emerged from the cafe, his expression determined as he approached you and Pippa.

"Go home, Pippa," he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument as he intertwined his hand with yours.

Pippa's eyes blazed with anger, her fists clenched at her sides as she glared at Charles. "You will regret this, Charles!" she spat before storming off, leaving you both standing there in stunned silence.

Once Pippa was out of sight, you turned to Charles, your heart pounding in your chest. "What was that all about?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

Charles sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked at you with apologetic eyes. "I'm sorry you had to witness that, Y/N. Pippa has been... difficult lately."

You frowned, your mind reeling with confusion and frustration. "Difficult how?"

Charles hesitated for a moment, his gaze searching yours as if trying to find the right words. "She's been pushing boundaries, trying to come between us. But I won't let her." 

"Hey," he continued, taking your hand in his. "I told Pippa that I wouldn't be spending time with her alone anymore. If she can't accept you, then it's better for us to not be friends at all."

You blinked in surprise, a rush of gratitude flooding through you at his words. "Really?"

Charles nodded, squeezing your hand gently. "Really. You're the most important person in my life, and I won't let anyone come between us."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. "Thank you, Charles. I appreciate you standing up for us."

He smiled softly, squeezing your hand reassuringly. "I'll always stand up for us, Y/N. You mean everything to me."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you threw your arms around him, holding him close. Despite the lingering bitterness and resentment, you couldn't deny the overwhelming love you felt for him in that moment.

Lando Norris

As you stepped out of the taxi, the cool night air enveloped you, offering a moment of respite from the whirlwind of emotions that had engulfed you throughout the evening.

Your heart still felt heavy with the weight of Lando's hurtful words, but beneath the pain, a numbness resided- knowing deep down that you might’ve just broken up with your boyfriend.

Before you could take another step, you heard the sound of hurried footsteps approaching from behind. Turning around, you saw Lando rushing towards you, his eyes filled with remorse and his expression wrought with sorrow. Your hand instinctively went to your chest, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart.

"Y/N, please wait," he called out, his voice pleading as he reached your side, breathless from his haste.

You pulled your face to meet his eyes, uncertainty and wariness etched into your features as you met his gaze. Part of you yearned to turn away, to shield yourself from the pain of his words, but another part couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, he was sincere in his apology.

"Lando," you said softly, your voice tinged with a mixture of hurt and apprehension. You wanted to say more but the damn ball in your throat stopped you doing so.

He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours as he searched for the right words to express the depth of his regret. "I know I messed up, Y/N. I hurt you, and I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am for that."

His words washed over you like a soothing balm, offering a sliver of comfort. But still, you couldn't bring yourself to let go of the hurt that lingered in your heart.

"I should have been there for you tonight, supporting you and showing you how much you mean to me," Lando continued, his voice filled with genuine remorse. "Instead, I let my own selfishness and insecurities get in the way, and for that, I am truly sorry."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to him, the sincerity in his voice echoing the ache in your own heart. You were sure you’ll regret letting go of this amazing relationship without at least attempting to work on it.

Despite the pain he had caused you, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to rebuild what had been broken.

"I don't expect you to forgive me right away, Y/N," Lando said softly, his hands shaking and showcasing the intensity of his vulnerability.

"I know I have a lot of work to do to earn back your trust and your love. But please, just give me a chance to make things right. I promise to do whatever it takes to show you how much you mean to me, every single day for the rest of my life."

His words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity and remorse, leaving you torn between the desire to hold onto the pain of the past and the hope for a brighter future. As you gazed into his eyes, searching for any hint of insincerity or deceit, all you found was raw honesty and unwavering devotion.

With a heavy heart and a flicker of hope, you reached out to take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. "I don't know if I'm ready to forgive you just yet, Lando," you whispered, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

Lando takes a step closer, gently cupping your face in his hands. "I'll spend every moment proving I'm worthy of your love, Y/N. Let me show you how much you mean to me, starting from this moment. I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust, even if it means giving you the space you need. Just know that I'm here for you, whenever you're ready."

( writing masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request ) ©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

[rootedinrevisions]

Enough for You

SUMMARY: Heavily based on/inspired by Enough for You by Olivia Rodrigo. After months of chasing storms and harboring unspoken feelings, the moment of truth finally arrives. When Tyler returns to the team with someone new by his side, it shatters the hope you secretly held onto. In the aftermath of his abandonment, you're left grappling with heartache, wondering why you were never enough for him. As Tyler tries to make amends for leaving, the conversation takes a painful turn when he confronts the feelings he never knew existed. But some apologies can't fix what’s been broken, and all you want is to go back to the way things were—before you let him into your heart.

WARNINGS: Angst. Unrequited love.

WORD COUNT: 6.3k (sorry, not sorry)

Note: This is angsty as hell! I've been going through some heavy stuff in my personal life that has me feeling extra angsty. This fic is filled with angst and heartbreak so just be aware. This is how I'm coping with what I'm dealing with in my own life. Hope you enjoy xx

TAG LIST: @omgbrianab I @shanimallina87

The bathroom mirror reflected a version of yourself you’d rarely put on display. Your hair was curled just the right way, and your makeup, while subtle, was meticulously done. You hadn’t planned on going all out like this initially, but after scrolling through pictures of girls Tyler had been seen with—girls with flawless hair and expertly done makeup—you couldn’t help but wonder if that was what it would take for him to notice you.

Tyler Owens. The name that had taken up too much space in your mind for the past several months. He was more than just the leader of The Wranglers team or your boss; he was the man you’d fallen for. Hard. And you didn’t just want him to see you as a friend anymore.

The rest of the team was downstairs already, probably gearing up for the day’s shoot. Normally, you’d be there early too, grabbing coffee with Boone or discussing ideas with Lily. Today, though, you needed these extra few minutes. Maybe, just maybe, today was the day Tyler would finally notice you.

You gave yourself a final look, smoothing down your shirt, and headed out of the room. By the time you reached the lobby, the team was already gathered, discussing plans for the day. 

Boone was the first to see you, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Whoa! Look at you! You clean up nice,” he teased, though his tone was genuinely complimentary.

Lily turned at the sound of Boone’s voice and smiled. “You look amazing! What’s the occasion?”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but you shrugged it off. “No occasion. Just felt like switching things up.”

The compliments kept coming. Dexter, who was typically more reserved, gave you an approving nod. But the one person you hoped would notice? He hadn’t said a word.

Tyler stood off to the side, his focus on something entirely unrelated, fiddling with his storm-chasing gear on his truck. He didn’t even glance your way, and your heart sank a little.

Boone, always quick to read a room, smirked and nudged Tyler’s shoulder. “Hey, man, what do you think? She’s looking good today, right?”

Tyler paused for a brief moment, barely looking up from his equipment. His expression didn’t change as he muttered, “I’m not really the compliment type, Boone.”

Your stomach dropped at his response. You had been hoping—no, counting—on some kind of reaction, but his indifference stung more than you’d expected. You tried to brush it off, hiding the hurt with a forced smile, but inside, the disappointment was palpable.

Lily shot you a sympathetic look, sensing the tension. 

Boone, never one to let an awkward moment slide, gave Tyler an exaggerated look of disbelief. “Not the compliment type? Man, give her something. She looks great.”

Tyler shrugged as if the whole thing didn’t matter. “She always looks fine,” he said simply and then turned his attention back to his gear.

Fine.

The word echoed in your head, and for the first time that morning, you felt foolish for trying so hard. You had put in all that extra effort to be noticed, to be something more in his eyes, but apparently, "fine" was all you were.

You forced yourself to join in the conversation with the others, but the sting of his words stayed with you. As the group began to move toward the parking lot to load up the vehicles, you fell into step beside Lily. She bumped her shoulder against yours lightly.

“He’s an idiot,” she whispered, offering a small, supportive smile.

You tried to laugh, though it came out hollow. “Yeah, well, I knew that already.”

But knowing it didn’t make it hurt any less.

The Wranglers’ convoy made its way out of town, the early morning sun casting a golden hue over the horizon. The team was running on fumes, both literally and figuratively, so when Boone pulled into a gas station, everyone seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. While the others went about refueling the vehicles and stretching their legs, you spotted a small coffee shop across the street.

A chance to bring back some caffeine, but more importantly, a chance to do something for Tyler.

Without thinking twice, you hurried across the road, the familiar smell of roasted beans hitting you as soon as you stepped inside the shop. The bell above the door chimed, and the barista greeted you with a smile. You rattled off two orders: one for yourself and one for Tyler—black coffee, extra shot of espresso. You didn’t even need to ask what he wanted; you’d known his usual for months, committing it to memory in a way that only someone who cared a little too much would.

Within minutes, you were heading back to the gas station, clutching both cups in your hands. A tiny flicker of hope sparked inside you—maybe this would be the moment Tyler noticed. Maybe the fact that you remembered his drink order without needing to ask would mean something to him.

You spotted him leaning against the truck, his arms crossed as he waited for the tank to fill. His focus was elsewhere, probably already thinking ahead to the day’s chase, completely oblivious to the fact that you were heading his way with a small gesture of care.

“Here,” you said, holding out the cup toward him.

Tyler looked down at the coffee, momentarily confused before taking it from your hand. He raised an eyebrow, almost as if he hadn’t expected it.

“Black coffee. Extra shot of espresso,” you said softly, your heart picking up speed as you recited his order, hoping the words would register with him. Hoping that he’d realize you didn’t need to ask because you already knew.

He paused for a moment, his eyes flickering to yours briefly before he gave a slight nod. “Thanks,” he muttered, bringing the cup to his lips and taking his first sip.

That was it. Just a nod. No smile, no acknowledgment of the fact that you’d remembered his exact order, nothing. The flicker of hope you’d felt moments earlier dimmed into something closer to disappointment.

You stood there, feeling a bit like a fool for expecting anything more. After all, this was Tyler Owens—the same Tyler who never gave out compliments, the same Tyler who always kept his emotions locked up tight. Why had you thought this would be any different?

You shifted on your feet, holding your own cup a little tighter. “I thought you might need a pick-me-up,” you added, trying to keep the conversation going, hoping for... something.

He nodded again, glancing back toward the others as Boone finished filling up the tank. “Appreciate it,” he said flatly, his focus already shifting away from you and back to the task at hand.

You forced a smile, though the sting of his indifference was hard to ignore. You weren’t expecting grand gestures, but maybe just a little more than a nod. With the wind knocked out of your sails, you turned and headed toward the other side of the truck, sipping your own coffee, the bitter taste mirroring the feeling settling in your chest.

Lily caught your eye from where she stood talking to Dexter, and she shot you a questioning look as if to say, How’d it go? You gave her a small shake of your head and shrugged, silently communicating that it hadn’t gone the way you’d hoped.

The team loaded back into the vehicles, ready to hit the road again, but as you climbed into your seat, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of it all. The weight of always trying, always hoping—only to come up short.

And the worst part? No matter how much it stung, you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop caring, couldn’t stop hoping that maybe, one day, Tyler Owens would notice you the way you’d been noticing him all along.

The Wranglers team hit the open road, the small town shrinking behind them as fields stretched out on either side of the highway. You sat in the front passenger seat of Tyler’s truck, a map spread across your lap, though you both knew you wouldn’t really need it. Tyler had been storm chasing for years, and he could practically navigate these roads in his sleep. Your job as navigator was mostly just for show, a formality, but you took it seriously nonetheless—just like being the DJ.

Tyler drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console between you, his gaze focused on the road ahead. The rest of the convoy followed behind, the team moving as one unit, always in sync, always chasing the next storm.

You unlocked your phone and scrolled through your Spotify library, stopping at the playlist you had saved specifically for moments like this. The one titled simply “Tyler.” A collection of his favorite songs, the ones you’d spent months curating, learning the words to, and playing on repeat just to feel a little closer to him.

You had watched him during countless drives, noting which songs made him tap his fingers against the steering wheel, which ones he hummed along to, and—on rare occasions—which ones he’d actually sing under his breath. The playlist was like a map of his soul, each song a clue to who he was beneath the surface.

You pressed play, the first song filtering through the truck’s speakers, a familiar beat that you knew he liked. Your heart raced a little as you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, wondering if he’d notice.

The music filled the space between you, the silence replaced by lyrics you knew by heart—not because they were your favorite songs, but because they were his.

Tyler’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t look over, didn’t comment. He just drove, his eyes fixed on the road as if the music were simply background noise.

You shifted in your seat, trying to hide your disappointment. Maybe he hadn’t realized yet. It was still early in the playlist, after all. You tapped your fingers against your knee, silently mouthing the words to the song, hoping that at some point, he’d notice. That he’d realize you weren’t just playing random songs—you were playing his songs. The ones that made him smile or relax, the ones that you knew by heart because of him.

Another song began, this one more upbeat. You couldn’t help but glance at him again, waiting for some kind of reaction—a nod, a hum, anything to show that he recognized the playlist as his own.

But if he noticed, he didn’t let it show. His face remained unreadable, his focus unbroken as the miles ticked by beneath the tires. He was calm, in control, as always.

You felt the familiar pang of disappointment settling in your chest, but you pushed it down, telling yourself not to get your hopes up. Tyler wasn’t the type to express things outwardly. You knew that. You’d known it from the beginning, but still... a part of you had hoped that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

You swallowed the feeling, keeping your gaze out the window, watching the landscape blur past. The music continued, your playlist running through the songs you’d carefully chosen, each one holding a piece of him. You wanted to believe that, at some point, he’d hear it. That he’d realize how much you’d been paying attention all along.

But for now, the road stretched on, and Tyler remained as distant as ever, his silence louder than the music that filled the truck.`

A week later, after a long day of chasing storms, the team had found their way to a small bar on the outskirts of town. The neon lights flickered in the windows, casting a soft glow over the worn-out booths and the dartboard that had seen better days. You followed them inside, but your mind wasn’t on the drinks or the games of pool and darts that the others had already started.

You slipped into a booth in the corner, away from the noise, with your bag slung over your shoulder. From it, you pulled out a book—the book. It was a self-help book you’d noticed Tyler reading last week when he thought no one was watching. You had immediately ordered a copy, telling yourself that it was purely out of interest, but deep down, you knew why. You hoped that if Tyler saw you reading it, he’d think you were smart. Maybe even that you shared the same interests. Maybe he'd even come over and talk to you about it.

The cover felt smooth under your fingers as you opened it, pretending to lose yourself in the words, but really, your eyes kept darting toward the team as they laughed and played darts a few feet away. Tyler stood at the dartboard, one hand gripping a beer, the other lazily aiming for the bullseye. His concentration was unwavering, just as it had been all day on the road, but you couldn’t help but glance his way every few minutes, hoping—wishing—he’d look over and see you.

You settled back against the worn leather of the booth, opening the book to where you’d bookmarked a random page. The words blurred slightly, not because you weren’t capable of understanding them, but because your mind wasn’t truly on the text. Instead, it wandered to the what-ifs, the scenarios where Tyler would walk over, slide into the booth across from you, and ask what you thought of the book. Maybe he’d smile, that rare but breathtaking smile you’d seen a hundred times, and the two of you would actually talk. Not just the usual team banter or logistics about the next chase, but really talk.

But as the minutes passed, the background noise of laughter and clinking glasses felt like a reminder of just how far away that possibility was. Tyler was still over by the dartboard, chatting with Boone as they took turns tossing darts. He hadn’t even glanced in your direction since they’d arrived at the bar.

You tried to focus on the book again, reading the same line twice before finally giving in and glancing at him once more. Nothing. No flicker of recognition that you were there, no acknowledgment of the effort you had put into reading his book, hoping it would make you stand out.

A soft sigh escaped your lips, and you leaned your elbow on the table, resting your chin in your hand. Maybe you were trying too hard. Maybe all the little things—the playlist, the coffee, the book—were just things he’d never notice. Or maybe, and this thought stung the most, maybe you were invisible to him in that way. A friend. A coworker. But nothing more.

You looked down at the book again, reading a few more lines as if they could somehow distract you from the tight knot forming in your chest.

A few minutes later, Boone called out to you, holding up a pool cue as if inviting you to join their game. You shook your head, waving them off with a small smile, holding up the book as an excuse. Boone shrugged and turned back to Tyler, who was lining up his next throw.

For a split second, Tyler’s eyes flicked toward you. Your heart jumped, but before you could even process it, he threw the dart and turned back to the game as if the moment had never happened.

The diner was warm, the kind of warmth that came from too many bodies crammed into small booths and the lingering scent of coffee and fried food in the air. You sat across from Boone, your hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that had gone cold, staring blankly at the chipped rim. The conversation around you was a low hum, drowned out by the thoughts racing through your head.

Tyler had left without a word this morning. Just gone. No explanation, no heads-up. Just a quick exchange with Dexter about her—Kate. The girl from Storm Par. The girl who’d seemed to have swept Tyler off his feet in the last two days. You hated to admit it, but the jealousy gnawed at you, each thought of them together, of him abandoning the team, felt like another crack in your resolve.

Boone nudged your arm, drawing you back to the present. “You alright?” His voice was low, concerned, but you just nodded, forcing a smile.

“I’m fine,” you lied.

Across from you, Ben, the British journalist tagging along with the team, was flipping through his notebook, occasionally scribbling something down. You could tell he was enjoying the chaos of American storm chasing, but his eyes kept flicking toward the empty seat next to you, the one Tyler should have been occupying. Everyone had noticed his absence, but no one had said much. Not directly, anyway.

Lily leaned over, her elbow brushing against Dani as they huddled together over their phones. “He’ll call,” Lily said with forced optimism, glancing at you. “Tyler sometimes does this—goes off on his own for a bit. He’ll be back.”

Dexter and Dani nodded in agreement, but Boone wasn’t so convinced. You weren’t either. Tyler wasn’t just gone. He was with her, and it stung more than you cared to admit.

Night came, and still no word from Tyler. You’d tried calling him once, your stomach twisted in knots, but there was no answer. No response. You wanted to believe Lily and the others, that he would come back, but every passing hour chipped away at that hope.

The next morning, the skies had shifted. Clouds churned ominously in the distance, the kind of promising sight that normally would have Tyler barking orders and loading up the gear. But today, there was just a quiet, palpable tension as the team stood in the parking lot of the motel, debating whether to head out without him.

“I don’t know,” Boone muttered, arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the horizon. “Feels wrong going out without Tyler.”

You felt the same. It felt like a piece of the team was missing, the driving force behind it all, but the skies were waiting. And so was Ben. You glanced at the journalist, who had been watching you closely, eager for the action he’d come all the way from England to document. You couldn’t let his time go to waste.

“We have to go,” you said, your voice steady, even though your insides were anything but. “We’ve got the van and the RV. We can still get some good footage, even without Tyler’s truck.”

The team exchanged glances, unsure. But you stepped forward, taking the lead. “Lily’s drone can get us the close-up shots we need, and we’ve still got the cameras. We can’t afford to wait. We’ve got to keep the channel going, and we need content.”

Dexter raised an eyebrow, impressed by your sudden shift into leadership, but Boone still looked hesitant. “What about Tyler?” he asked, voicing what everyone else was thinking.

You forced a calm you didn’t really feel. “Tyler will catch up with us when he’s ready. Right now, we can’t just sit around. The storm’s not going to wait for us.”

Boone finally nodded, and with that, the decision was made. You piled into the van with Lily and the rest of the crew, leaving behind the uncertainty of where Tyler was, or when he’d come back. Ben hopped in last, his camera at the ready, his excitement barely contained as you pulled out onto the open road.

As you sat in the passenger seat, guiding them toward the brewing storm, a familiar weight settled in your chest. You were used to being the one behind the scenes, managing social media, making sure the team’s content reached the masses. But now, as the makeshift team lead in Tyler’s absence, you couldn’t help but wonder—if he ever did come back, would things ever be the same between you two?

Your fingers hovered over your phone, tempted to try calling him again. But instead, you locked the screen and turned your focus to the skies ahead. You had a team to lead now. Tyler’s absence hurt, but it wasn’t going to stop you.

The morning air hung heavy, thick with the kind of heat that settled into your bones. You were leaning against the side of the van, arms crossed over your chest, trying not to let the frustration bubbling under your skin show. Boone stood beside you, his phone buzzing on the dashboard where he’d tossed it. You both glanced at the screen as Tyler’s name flashed across it.

Boone let it ring, his jaw clenched tight. After a few seconds, it went to voicemail. Neither of you said a word, but the tension between you spoke volumes. Tyler was trying to reach out, but neither of you were ready to hear him out just yet.

Moments later, Lily’s phone chimed. She didn’t hesitate, picking it up and putting it on speaker before Tyler had a chance to duck out. "Hey, Tyler," she greeted, her voice neutral.

"You ready for the next chase?" she asked, her tone deceptively light, but you could hear the undercurrent of curiosity.

But before she could say anything more, Tyler cut her off. “No, we’re gonna need you guys for something.”

Lily raised an eyebrow, and Boone shot you a sideways glance, his brow furrowing in confusion. You mirrored his look. We’ll? What did Tyler mean by that?

Lily pressed, “Do we need to drive all the way to Sapulpa?”

Tyler’s voice was quick to respond. “No, no. We’ll come to you.”

That we echoed in your mind, sinking deeper with each moment of silence that followed. You exchanged another look with Boone, but neither of you said anything. There was an uneasy feeling settling in, but none of you knew exactly what to make of it.

Minutes later, a text from Tyler buzzed through to your phone. You looked down to see the name and address of a trailer company. “What is this?” you muttered, sharing the text with Boone and the others.

“I guess we’re about to find out,” Dexter said, climbing into the van with a shrug.

When you arrived at the lot, confusion still lingered in the air as the team climbed out of the van. The parking lot was full of trailers, rows upon rows of them in every size and shape imaginable, glinting under the afternoon sun. The purpose of being here was still unclear.

Then you spotted Tyler’s truck pulling in. The familiar hum of the engine sent your heart rate spiking, but it wasn’t just him that got out.

Kate. She emerged from the passenger side, her face lit up with that same easy smile she’d been wearing ever since the two of them had met.

You felt the knot tighten in your stomach, the same one that had been there since she’d entered the picture two days ago. Dani was the first to break the silence. “You finally made it,” she called, a hint of relief in her voice.

Tyler gave her a smile as he stepped up to the group. “Ben, you stuck around,” he greeted the journalist, shaking his hand as Ben nodded.

“Turns out there’s more to this story than I thought,” Ben said, eyeing Tyler with curiosity.

Tyler grinned. “We got a new ending for you.”

Meanwhile, Dexter raised his hand in a mock salute toward Kate. “Look who it is. City girl.” He shot her a grin that was almost welcoming. Almost.

Lily wasn’t far behind. “What’s up, Kate?” she asked, sounding a little too casual as she strolled over to them.

Kate smiled, sliding easily into conversation with Dexter and Lily like she had been part of the crew all along. You watched as they started chatting about storm footage, Lily showing her clips on her phone from the chase the team had gone on without Tyler and Kate. It wasn’t just that they were talking, though. It was the way Kate’s eyes lit up at the footage, the way she leaned in closer, asking about Lily’s drone.

"Can you rig that drone to collect data?" Kate asked, her interest piqued.

Lily nodded, explaining how Cairo, her drone, worked and all the modifications she’d made. Watching Kate take such an interest in the team felt like watching her slip further into Tyler’s world. A world that, for so long, had felt like yours.

Tyler, meanwhile, was making his way over to Boone, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, buddy," he began, his voice sincere. "I’m sorry."

Boone didn’t look at him, his jaw set. "Man, you abandoned me," Boone muttered, his voice tight with hurt. "I don’t know nothin’ about no makeup-"

Tyler cut him off with a smirk. “How about we launch some new rockets?”

Boone’s expression shifted, the tension breaking as he perked up. "You said rockets?" His tone was a mix of surprise and cautious excitement.

Tyler nodded, a grin forming. “I did.”

For a moment, it felt like the old Tyler and Boone—the way they always found common ground no matter what. But that still left you.

Tyler turned toward you, taking a few steps in your direction, his face softening. "I’m sorry," he began, but before he could get out anything more, Dani and the salesman walked up.

The apology hung in the air, unfinished, as you stood there, watching him. He hadn’t called you, hadn’t reached out directly. And now, standing in front of you with Kate by his side, the apology felt... hollow.

The van's engine hummed steadily as you followed behind Tyler’s truck, the road stretching endlessly ahead. You hadn’t spoken a word since leaving the trailer lot. The silence between you and Lily was thick, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. Outside, the sky was bruised with the remnants of a setting sun, casting long shadows over the landscape. But inside the van, it felt like the world had dimmed.

Your eyes were locked on the truck ahead, on the faint silhouette of Tyler’s head just visible through the back window. You knew Kate was sitting there, right beside him, and the thought twisted in your chest like a knife. You blinked, trying to hold it together, but the tears came anyway, silent and hot as they slid down your cheeks.

Lily glanced over at you, her brows knitting together in concern. She didn’t say anything at first, just watched you quietly, giving you space. But you could feel her eyes on you, the way she hesitated before speaking.

“Hey…” her voice was soft, cautious. “You okay?”

It was a ridiculous question, really, but it was all she could say. You shook your head slightly, trying to wipe the tears away with the sleeve of your jacket, but they kept coming, harder now.

Lily sighed, her hand reaching across the seat to give your arm a gentle squeeze. She didn’t need to say it—you both knew. She had been the only one who knew. The only one you had confided in about how you felt about Tyler. She had believed, just like you, that maybe he’d wake up and see what was right in front of him.

But now... now it was clear. He had found someone else. Someone more exciting, more interesting. Someone like Kate.

The tears fell faster, and you pressed your fist to your mouth, trying to keep the sobs at bay. But your mind wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t let you escape from the reality of it. Tyler hadn’t just left you behind. He had abandoned you without a second thought, without even realizing how much it hurt. One second he was there, and the next he was gone. Gone like you meant nothing.

And you were left wondering what you’d done wrong. Why you were never enough.

Lily’s voice broke through the whirlwind of thoughts. “You know… none of this is your fault, right?”

You let out a shaky breath, but didn’t respond. How could it not be? You must have done something—been something—wrong for him to walk away like that, like you didn’t even matter.

“He’s a fool, you know,” Lily continued, her voice firmer now. “I really thought he’d pull his head out of his ass eventually. Realize what’s right in front of him.”

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “He never even saw me.”

Lily didn’t argue, and you were grateful for that. Because it was true. Tyler hadn’t seen you—not the way you wanted him to. You had spent so long hoping, waiting for him to notice, to realize that you loved him more than anyone ever could. But he didn’t. He found someone else instead, someone new and shiny like Kate.

Your thoughts spiraled further, the pain gnawing at you from the inside. You could barely breathe through it. God, Tyler couldn’t have cared less about someone who had loved him more. Loved him with everything you had.

“I’d say he broke my heart,” you whispered, your voice trembling, “but I think he broke a lot more than that.”

Lily’s hand was back on your arm, squeezing tighter this time. “You deserved better. You still do.”

You nodded, though it didn’t feel like that right now. All you’d ever wanted was to be enough for him. Just enough to be seen, to be cared for the way you cared for him. But that had been too much to ask.

The miles passed by, the road stretching endlessly ahead, just like this ache inside you. You watched the truck in front of you, the taillights glowing faintly as Tyler drove on, oblivious. You couldn’t help but wonder if he ever thought of you at all—or if he was too caught up in Kate’s orbit now to even notice the wreckage he’d left behind.

You turned to look at Lily, her eyes full of empathy. “I don’t think I ever stood a chance, did I?” you asked quietly.

Lily’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she shook her head softly. “No. I don’t think it was ever about you. He’s just… lost. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

You nodded, feeling that hollow truth settle in your bones. You weren’t sure what hurt more—the fact that he didn’t see you or the realization that you might have been waiting for someone who was never really yours to begin with.

The air was still, thick with the calm before the storm. The team had scattered, gathering near the RV to eat lunch and regroup before they moved on. Laughter echoed from where Dani, Dexter, and Lily sat in lawn chairs, enjoying the brief pause in the chase. Ben, Boone, and Tyler stood near Tyler's truck, their conversation drowned out by the low hum of the wind sweeping across the open field.

But you weren’t with them. You hadn’t been all day.

You sat alone in the van, the door open, your legs pulled up to your chest as you rested your forehead on your knees. Your eyes were closed, trying to block out the ache that had settled deep inside your chest. The tears had dried, but your face still felt tight from the tracks they left behind. You just wanted to disappear, to not feel the way you did.

Tyler’s laughter drifted over from where he stood with the others, and the sound made your heart twist painfully. He had no idea, no clue what was going on inside you.

Until Lily caught his eye.

She saw him glance toward the van, saw him hesitate, his body half-turned as if he wanted to approach but wasn’t sure if he should. She knew it was only a matter of time before he’d find out—before your carefully hidden feelings were laid bare. The thought of you sitting there, hurting like this, was eating her alive.

With a deep breath, Lily made the decision. She walked over to where Tyler stood, tapping him on the shoulder.

“Tyler, can we talk for a second?”

He glanced down at her, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

Lily glanced toward you in the van, then back at Tyler. Her voice dropped to a more serious tone. “It’s about her. I think... I think you need to know something.”

Tyler’s expression changed instantly. His eyes followed hers to where you sat, and he felt the weight of her words before she even said them. “What is it?”

Lily sighed. “She’s not just upset about the team. About you leaving. It��s more than that.” She hesitated, then spoke more quietly. “She’s been hurt by you bringing Kate on board. Especially without saying anything.”

Tyler frowned, confusion flickering across his face. “Hurt? Why would—”

“She cares about you, Tyler,” Lily interrupted. “More than you realize.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He stood there, frozen for a moment, processing what Lily had just told him. “Wait… you mean…?”

Lily nodded. “She’s had feelings for you for a long time. And when you left, it broke her. Then when you came back… with Kate...” Lily trailed off, not needing to finish the thought. The silence said enough.

Tyler felt the weight of it all settling on his shoulders. Guilt gnawed at him, the realization sinking in. He looked back toward you, sitting alone in the van, your back to him.

“Damn…” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know.”

“I know,” Lily replied softly. “But now you do.”

Tyler gave her a nod, his jaw clenched as he turned and started walking toward the van. His footsteps were slow, hesitant. The closer he got, the clearer it became—he hadn’t just hurt you by abandoning the team. He’d hurt you far worse without even realizing it.

He stopped halfway to the van, watching you. He could see it now—the tension in your shoulders, the way your head was bowed like you were trying to hold everything inside. It gutted him. But he wasn’t sure if approaching was the right thing to do.

After a moment, he made the choice. He walked the rest of the way to the van, coming to a stop just beside the open door. You didn’t look up at first, didn’t acknowledge his presence. But you knew he was there.

He sat down beside you, careful not to sit too close. The silence between you was thick, heavy with everything unspoken.

“I’m sorry,” Tyler started, his voice low. “For leaving. For abandoning you guys. It wasn’t fair to put all that on you.”

You still didn’t look at him, but he saw the way your hands tightened around your knees.

“I saw the footage,” he continued, trying to offer something, anything that might make it better. “You did great. You really stepped up. Led the team better than I could have.”

You said nothing, just kept your gaze down, the ache in your chest only growing with each word. None of this was what you needed to hear.

Tyler let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look… I talked to Lily. She told me…”

At that, you finally lifted your head, your heart lurching at the sound of those words. She told him. You felt the sting of betrayal—Lily had said too much.

“Tyler, don’t,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

But he didn’t stop. He needed to say it, needed to acknowledge it. “I didn’t know, okay? I didn’t know you felt that way. And I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

You closed your eyes, your breath shaky as you tried to keep it together. “Please… just don’t.”

But he pressed on, his voice softer now. “I do care about you. I really do. But not in the way you want me to.”

Those words felt like a slap, and you swallowed hard, fighting the tears that threatened to fall again.

“I don’t need your apology,” you finally said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay strong. “I don’t need your pity either.”

Tyler’s brows furrowed. “It’s not pity. I just… I want to make things right.”

You shook your head, letting out a bitter laugh that was more of a sob. “You can’t fix this, Tyler. You can’t just… say you’re sorry and make it all go away.”

He watched you, pain flickering in his eyes. He hated that he had done this to you, hated that his actions had caused you this kind of hurt.

“I never asked for much,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I just wanted to be enough. Enough for you to notice me. To see me.”

Tyler looked away, guilt settling in his gut like a lead weight. “I’m sorry.”

The words fell flat. Meaningless.

You turned away from him, trying to gather the pieces of yourself that felt so shattered. “It was just a stupid crush anyway,” you muttered, forcing a small, hollow laugh. “I’ll get over it.”

But both of you knew that wasn’t true. It wasn’t just a crush. It had been so much more than that. And now… now it felt like you had lost something you couldn’t get back.

Tyler sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. “If there’s anything I can do—”

“There’s nothing you can do,” you interrupted, your voice firmer now. “I just want to go back to before. Before I met you. Before I let myself believe there was a chance.”

He stayed silent, not knowing what else to say. He had broken something inside you, and no amount of apologies would fix it.

You wiped your eyes, standing up from the van. “I’ll be fine,” you said quietly, though it was more for yourself than for him.

And with that, you walked away, leaving Tyler sitting there, watching you go, knowing he had lost something he didn’t even realize he had.

[won4kiss]

── ❝ ꒰ 𝒲𝐻𝐸𝑁 𝒴𝑂𝑈 𝐻𝑈𝑅𝑇 𝒯𝐻𝐸𝑀 𝐷𝑈𝑅𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝐴𝑁 𝒜𝑅𝐺𝑈𝑀𝐸𝑁𝑇 .ᐟㅤ ៸៸﹙ 엔하이픈 ﹚ ᶻ𐰁

GENRE ៸៸ angst ៸ hyung line ﹔ SYPNOSIS┆in which the aftermath of a harsh argument takes place .ᐟㅤ ꒰ WORD COUNT﹕0.5k-1k per member ꒱── 𝓦ARNING(S) not edited ៸ arguing ៸ skinship ៸ a bit repetitive:c ៸ . ݁ ✦ ݁ . ⊱ LIBRARY . . . ﹕LUNA 💭 — srry for inactivity:( imy guys<3 𖥔 ݁˖

୨୧ ‎이희승 ── 𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆

after the argument, heeseung locks himself in his room, a common behavior you’ve come to expect when things get tense between you.

usually, he just needs a moment to cool down, but this time, it feels different—like there’s a deeper wound you’ve left behind.

you stand outside his door, taking a breath before knocking gently. "heeseung, can we talk?"

for a second, there’s only silence— then, you hear the soft creak of the bed, but no answer.

you hesitate before turning the knob, stepping into the dim-lit room.

he’s sitting at the edge of his bed, staring at the floor, his hands clasped tightly between his knees.

you felt your heart break at the sight— he looked lost, his usual playful warmth replaced with a heavy sadness.

you quietly sit next to him, the air between you feeling fragile.

“heeseung,” you whisper, your voice soft, “i’m really sorry. i never meant to hurt you.” ─── 𝘔𝘖𝘙𝘌 𝘜𝘕𝘋𝘌𝘙 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘊𝘜𝘛 !

he doesn’t say anything at first, his lips pressed into a thin line as he exhales slowly.

when he finally speaks, his voice is low and filled with vulnerability.

“you say that, but… it feels like you don’t think before you speak. like… you don’t care how it makes me feel.”

his words hit you hard, and tears prick at your eyes. “i do care, hee. i care so much. i just—”

you take a deep breath, feeling the guilt swell in your chest.

“i was upset, and i let my emotions get the best of me. i don’t want you to feel like i don’t care. you mean everything to me.”

heeseung finally looks at you, his eyes softer but still guarded.

“i don’t like fighting with you,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

“it makes me feel like i’m losing you.”

the vulnerability in his voice shatters the distance between you, and without thinking, you reach for his hand, holding it tightly.

“you’re not losing me, heeseung,” you murmur, tears threatening to spill.

“i’m not going anywhere. i love you, and i’ll do better, i promise.”

for the first time, a small, hesitant smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

he squeezes your hand back, his grip warm and reassuring.

“i love you too,” he whispers, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours.

“let’s not do this again, okay?”

you nod, closing your eyes as you lean into him, the weight of the argument fading as his arms wrap around you. “okay. i promise.”

୨୧ ‎박종성 ── 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆

jay stands in the kitchen, his back to you as he rinses a dish in the sink.

his movements are slow and deliberate, and the tension in the air is thick.

he hasn’t said much since your argument, and it’s killing you inside.

jay is rarely ever angry, but when he is, it’s a quiet kind of anger that makes the silence feel unbearable.

you approach him cautiously, feeling the weight of your words hanging between you.

“jay…” you begin softly, reaching out to gently touch his arm.

he stiffens for a moment but doesn’t pull away.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. “i didn’t mean to hurt you.”

jay turns off the faucet, placing the dish down with a soft clink before turning around to face you.

his expression is calm, but his eyes are clouded with hurt.

“it’s not just about the argument,” he says quietly. “it’s the way you said things… like you didn’t even think about how it would make me feel.”

his words make your heart sink, and you immediately regret everything you said in the heat of the moment.

“i was upset,” you murmur, tears gathering in your eyes.

“but that’s not an excuse. i’m so sorry, jay. you didn’t deserve that.”

jay’s gaze softens as he sees the tears welling up in your eyes, and he takes a step closer, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear.

“i know you didn’t mean it,” he says quietly, his voice more gentle now. “but it still hurt.”

your heart aches at the sadness in his voice, and you reach up, gently cupping his face in your hands.

“i’ll do better, jay,” you whisper, your thumb brushing over his cheek.

“i love you, and i never want to make you feel like this again.”

jay lets out a small sigh, his shoulders finally relaxing as he leans into your touch.

“i just… i don’t want to fight with you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “i hate it.”

you shake your head, stepping closer until your forehead is pressed against his chest.

“me neither,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “i love you too much to fight like this.”

jay wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“we’re okay,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“we’ll always be okay.”

୨୧ ‎심재윤 ── 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐌

jake sits on the couch, his arms crossed as he stares blankly at the tv.

the usually vibrant energy between you two has been replaced by a heavy, painful silence.

you hate it when things are like this—when jake shuts down and distances himself after an argument.

you sit beside him quietly, your heart racing with guilt and regret.

“jake…” you begin softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “i’m really sorry.”

he doesn’t say anything for a long moment, his jaw clenched as he looks away from you.

his silence makes your heart ache, and you feel the weight of your words sinking deeper into your chest.

“i didn’t mean what i said,” you continue, your voice trembling with emotion.

“i was upset, and i said things i shouldn’t have. but i didn’t mean any of it.”

jake finally turns his head slightly, his expression softening as he hears the sincerity in your voice.

“you always say you didn’t mean it,” he mutters, his voice quiet but filled with hurt.

“but it still hurts me, you know?”

tears prick at your eyes as you reach for his hand, grasping it tightly.

“i know it does,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

“and i’m so sorry, jake. i never want to hurt you. i love you so much, and i hate when we’re like this.”

jake’s expression softens even more as he hears the crack in your voice.

he finally turns to face you fully, his gaze filled with a mixture of frustration and affection.

“i just… i don’t like it when we fight,” he admits quietly, his voice barely audible.

“it makes me feel like you don’t trust me.”

your heart breaks at the vulnerability in his voice, and you immediately wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“i do trust you, jake,” you whisper, tears falling down your cheeks.

“i trust you with everything. i’m so sorry for making you feel like i don’t.”

jake lets out a small, shaky breath as he leans into your embrace, his arms wrapping around you in return.

“i just want us to be okay,” he murmurs against your shoulder, his voice soft and shaky.

“we are,” you whisper, holding him even tighter.

“we’re always going to be okay— no matter what, jake. i love you.”

jake pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes filled with warmth despite the lingering sadness.

“i love you too,” he whispers, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“let’s not fight again, okay?”

you nod, resting your head against his chest as you both sit in comfortable silence, the warmth of his embrace melting away the tension.

୨୧ ‎박성훈 ── 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍

sunghoon sits by the window, his arms wrapped around himself as he stares out at the lively city below.

his usual calm, collected demeanor has cracked, and you can see the hurt in his eyes even from across the room.

he’s quiet, too quiet, and it makes your heart ache.

you take a deep breath and approach him slowly, unsure of how to break the heavy silence.

“sunghoon?” you whisper, your voice soft and hesitant.

he doesn’t even turn to look at you, his gaze fixed on the window.

“what?” he mutters, his voice colder than usual, but you can hear the hurt underneath it.

“i’m really sorry,” you say quietly, sitting down beside him.

“i didn’t want to hurt you.”

sunghoon lets out a small, bitter laugh, shaking his head slightly.

“you say that,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “but it doesn’t stop it from hurting.”

your heart tightens at the vulnerability in his voice, and you reach out to gently take his hand.

“i know,” you whisper, squeezing his hand lightly.

“and i’ll do better. i don’t want to make you feel like this, sunghoon. you mean everything to me.”

he stays quiet for a moment, his fingers twitching slightly in your grasp. when he finally speaks, his voice is softer, more vulnerable.

“it just… it feels like you don’t think before you say things. like you don’t care how it makes me feel.”

tears prick at your eyes as you realize how much your words have hurt him.

you gently cup his face with your free hand, turning him to look at you.

“i do care, sunghoon,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “i care so much. i love you, and i’m so sorry. please don’t shut me out.”

sunghoon’s eyes finally meet yours, and the walls he’s put up seem to crumble.

he lets out a small, shaky breath and leans into your touch, his forehead resting gently against yours.

“i just don’t want to lose you,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

“you won’t,” you murmur, your glistening tears rolling down your cheeks.

“i’m not going anywhere, sunghoon. i promise.”

he closes his eyes, letting the tension drain from his body as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close.

“i love you, even though you can be a bit much..” he whispers, his voice soft and teasing.

“i love you too,” you whisper back with a grin, holding him tightly as the hurt between you fades away, replaced with warmth and understanding.

© won4kiss 2024

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[littlelamy]

the aftermath of the fight: s1!rafe x reader

the tension in the cameron estate was thick, almost suffocating, clinging to every corner of the house. the echoes of raised voices were still fresh in your ears as you made your way down the corridor toward rafe’s room. the fight between him and ward had been explosive—a storm of bitter accusations, angry words, and the unmistakable sound of glass shattering. both men had walked away from it bruised, emotionally and physically.

you’d hesitated for a moment, but the silence that followed the chaos made your decision for you. rafe was volatile after moments like this, and the thought of him alone in that headspace made your heart ache.

the door to his room was slightly ajar. you pushed it open softly, stepping inside. the sight before you was both heartbreaking and infuriating. rafe sat on the edge of his bed, fists clenched tight, knuckles white. his face, usually sharp and full of confidence, was clouded with something darker—anger and pain, mingled with exhaustion.

“hey,” you called softly, keeping your voice gentle. “you need anything?”

his head snapped up, eyes meeting yours with a mix of frustration and something softer, more vulnerable. “what the hell are you doing here?” he snapped, voice rough and raw.

you took a deep breath, swallowing the sting his words left. “i’m here to help, rafe. i heard what happened. you’re hurt.”

he scoffed, turning his head away, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “i don’t need your pity.”

ignoring his harshness, you crossed the room and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. he flinched at your touch but didn’t pull away. “i’m not here to pity you,” you said softly. “i just want to make sure you’re okay.”

you knelt in front of him, taking his hands into yours, carefully turning them over to inspect the bruises and cuts that marked his skin.

“shit,” he muttered, wincing as you gently touched one of the scrapes. “this is a mess.”

“i know,” you replied, your tone soothing despite the tension in the air. “but we’ll fix it. let me help.”

he stared at you for a long moment, the frustration in his gaze slowly softening into something like resignation. “why the hell do you put up with me?” he asked quietly, voice barely audible. “i’m a mess.”

you sighed, reaching for the antiseptic. “because i care about you, rafe. and you’re more than just the anger or the pain.”

he looked away, the faintest blush creeping up his neck, shame weighing heavy on his expression. “i just wanted to prove something to him,” he mumbled. “i wanted him to see i’m not just some...”

you waited, dabbing the cloth on one of his cuts. “not just some what?”

“not just some disappointment,” he finished, the words heavy in the quiet room.

you shook your head, continuing to clean his wounds. “you’re not a disappointment, rafe. you’re just... hurting. and that’s okay. it doesn’t make you any less.”

he let out a low groan, eyes squeezing shut in frustration. “i hate this,” he muttered. “i hate feeling so...so weak.”

you paused, looking at him with a firmness he needed to hear. “you’re not weak. it takes strength to admit you’re struggling. and more to let someone help you.”

his hands trembled slightly in yours, and you could see the cracks forming in the walls he always built so high. the vulnerability in him was raw and real, and it tugged at your heart.

“why are you always so damn good to me?” he muttered, half exasperated, half grateful. “i don’t deserve it.”

you finished bandaging the worst of the cuts, sitting back on your heels. “maybe you don’t think you deserve it, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need it.”

he looked at you, eyes filled with something between frustration and relief. “you really mean that?”

you nodded, leaning up to pull him into a hug. his hesitation lasted only a moment before he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight, almost like he was scared to let go. the embrace was intense, charged with emotion—his anger, your care, and a shared understanding.

as you pulled back slightly, your gaze locked with his, an unspoken tension hanging in the air. the kiss that followed was slow at first, your lips barely brushing his. but then, it deepened, the softness giving way to something more passionate, more urgent. his hands found your face, holding you close as he poured everything into that kiss—his regret, his need, his longing for something more than what his life had been up to now.

when you finally pulled away, both of you were breathing heavily, the intensity of the moment still lingering between you. rafe’s eyes were softer now, a little lighter, like the weight he carried had lessened, even if just a little.

“thank you,” he whispered, his voice quiet but sincere. “for being here... for putting up with me.”

you smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “i wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

for a moment, the world outside faded away. the fights, the pain, the weight of everything that had happened—it didn’t matter. in that small, quiet space, it was just the two of you, connected in a way that made the chaos of life feel a little more bearable.

[salaimoi]

𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 — 𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝒆𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉

[˚୨୧⋆. 𝒔𝒚𝒑𝒏𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒔] after his wife’s death, you became toji fushiguro’s only reliant shoulder. however, unbeknownst to you, your deceased friend’s ex-husband had ulterior motives in mind when he began to pursue you.

[˚୨୧⋆. 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆] angst

[˚୨୧⋆. 𝒘𝒄] 2.k

[˚୨୧⋆. 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔] yellow is reader’s pov, blue is toji’s pov. it might sound repetitive and rushed bc i just wanted to get this out of my drafts. i know billie’s song came out like ages ago so it wouldn’t make sense to release this any later than it already is

𓂃 ོ𓂃 Things fall apart, and time breaks your heart. I wasn't there, but I know.

toji always reassured you a million times; he wasn’t heartbroken over his split with his ex-wife, not in the slightest. he rarely opened up about his past, let alone his previous relationships. and yet, deep down, you knew he hadn’t properly processed their rupture.

the most he ever disclosed to you was the fact that there was nothing left to salvage in his old relationship — so he moved on, and so did she. 

but was that the entire truth? 

you noticed the prolonged glances he would take when opening his wallet. the empty look behind his eyes when he stared down at his naked ring finger. even the faint sniffling at night that he tried convincing you were nothing more than allergies. but you knew he was silently mourning her. 

her – the real love of his life.

She was my girl. I showed her the world, but fell out of love and we both let go. ⋆࿐

i made it my life goal to tend to her happiness. the only reason for my very existence was to see that she had everything she could ever want. hell, that’s the only thing i’ve ever been good at.

i never kept anything from her — except my line of work. i couldn’t bring myself to tell her the man she fell in love with was a deadbeat mercenary who bathed in the blood of others for a living. as much as i tried to protect her from that side of my life, she eventually went digging her nose where it wasn’t needed. 

the aftermath of her discovering the truth about my hidden agenda came at the price of our relationship. 

she couldn’t withstand the constant pain of being by my side any longer, to turn in bed only to see a bastard by her side. she wholeheartedly believed that the man that now stood before her was no longer the one she fell in love with. 

somehow i didn’t blame her.

She was cryin’ on my shoulder. All I could do was hold her.

i still remember it so vividly — how her body trembled against mine like a leaf. tears coursed down her cheeks as she clung to me like a lifeline, seeking comfort in the midst of her anguish. as selfish as it may sound, the weight of her sorrow became almost too much to bear. 

i couldn't offer excuses or apologies; these were empty gestures that wouldn't alleviate the agony she felt at that moment. instead, i stood there, silently holding her, offering my presence as the only comfort.

the guilt washed over me in waves as i cradled her, feeling her heart shatter a little more with each sob. i knew i was the cause of her pain, yet i couldn’t tell her the whole truth. all i could do was hold her, wishing i could undo the past.

𓂃 ོ𓂃 Only made us closer until July.

the moment he began pursuing you when enough time had gone by, it immediately felt wrong. he was your friend’s ex-husband, after all. toji had never looked at you twice before, and now, he suddenly had lustful eyes for you? 

you eventually conceded because you wanted to be there for him, giving him the benefit of the doubt that he had no ulterior motives. but one way or another, every conversation at dinner circled back to her. 

“oh she loved mashed potatoes.” 

“fun fact, she had a strawberry allergy.” 

“did you know this brand of vanilla ice cream was her favorite?”

and as much as it pained you, you became a reliant ear for him — someone who would listen to all the little details he swore he had forgotten the day she divorced him. even if every bone in your body wanted to run in the opposite direction, far, far away from him, you stayed. 

maybe all he needs is time, you told yourself.

right?

Now I know that you love me. You don't need to remind me. I should put it all behind me, shouldn't I? ⋆࿐

your affection always remained a constant in my turbulent world, like a gentle rain that falls softly even amidst the storm. but the longer the internal storm went on, the more ravenous the regret and guilt raged on. i found myself unable to fully comprehend the depth of your love for me, but deep down, i knew that your love was unwavering. 

i knew that in order to truly move on, i had to let go of the past and embrace the present; you represented that fresh start i so urgently needed. but the thought of her still lingered, a constant reminder of what once was but should no longer be. it was as if i was being consumed by my own memories, unable to break free. as if a part of me still longed for the past. 

the weight of my conflicting emotions burdened my every waking moment, leading me to push you away with no explanation. feelings for the both of you coexisted, and i couldn't fully commit to one without betraying the other. every time i looked at you, guilt would wash over me for putting you through this hell.

 likewise, every time i looked at her picture, i felt like a traitor for ever moving on as soon as i did.

But I see her in the back of my mind all the time. Just like a fever, like I’m burning alive, like a sign. ⋆࿐

beneath the mask of indifference, i was plagued by shame. it was hard to accept that the girl who once consumed my thoughts was no longer part of my life, and looking at you, i realized that your love knew no bounds; that wasn’t enough for me. 

i hadn’t stopped loving her. 

it felt like a fever that never broke. an unrelenting heat that burned deep inside me, reminding me of the girl who dwelled in the back of my mind all those years ago.

every word about my past, every little detail about my ex, felt like a confession at church – a church where my sins would be revealed to the world. 

talking about my past wouldn’t magically absolve me of my past, now would it? redemption was never an option for me, and i wasn’t asking for it. instead of trying to cleanse myself of my history, i decided to leave it all behind like a forgotten box in an attic. 

𓂃 ོ𓂃 Well, good things don't last, and life moves so fast. I'd never ask who was better 'cause she couldn't be more different from me.

he told you to let it go — to let it die like she did that fateful day. it was no use keeping her memory alive, he said, but if that was the case, why did he take her last name months later? 

not to mention they spent years together — even conceived a child together; a child he named after her, but that detail never seemed to make its way to you. 

everyone told you to stop comparing yourself, but how could you not? she was everything you weren’t even after death: soft spoken, graceful, gentle, patient, loving. 

you didn’t dare ask such a redundant question so you didn’t voice it, but your continuous comparison to her was eating you alive; toji noticed it. you hadn’t slept with him in almost a month, internally afraid he’ll blurt out her name instead of yours.

𓂃 ོ𓂃 And I know that you love me. you don't need to remind me.

he went out of his way to send more ‘i love u’ messages than before; they seemed forced, just like your relationship. 

she had previously informed you of things that found their way to the most profound recesses of your mind. you didn’t flinch at the time, because you were mesmerized that he did such things for her, but it affected you later on. 

you learned bitter truths that made you doubt his love for you. and when you finally realized he didn’t do any of the things she spoke of, it dawned on you; toji didn’t love you. 

not like he loved her. 

𓂃 ོ𓂃 You say no one knows you so well but every time you touch me, I just wonder how she felt.

you’d stay up late at night countless times wondering what toji’s affectionate touch actually felt like. it was something only she ever knew, and you’d do anything to get a semblance of that feeling. 

but it was obvious no one knows the real him — not like she did.

despite everything, you decided to give this relationship one last try by booking a hotel for the both of you. everything inside you screamed that it was a horrible idea, but you did it anyway.

𓂃 ོ𓂃 Valentine's Day, cryin’ in the hotel. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, so I kept it to myself.

and he finally did it. he mistakenly blurted out her name on the most romantic day of the year. 

“i-i’m sorry.” toji rushed to apologize, grabbing a hold of your arm so you wouldn’t walk out the door.

“I wonder, do you see HER in the back of your mind, in my eyes!?” was the only thing you could force yourself to reply in that moment, breaking away from his grip in the process.  

“i do,” toji dejectedly admits with a hint of sorrow behind his voice. or was it indignity?

he pauses, absentmindedly digging his nails into the tender flesh of his balled up fist as he grapples with his conscience. all along, he knew the day to finally hold himself accountable would come, but he didn’t think it would’ve been like this. 

his mind involuntarily wandered, and in the depths of your gaze, he saw glimpses of his deceased wife — a ghost that lingered in the back of his subconscious even after all this time.  

memories of her flood his mind, and for a brief moment, the both of you merge into one — his past and present colliding into one. the familiar shade of your irises, the identical shine behind them, the bright glimmer of light behind them when you smiled — all of it brought a pang of bittersweet nostalgia to him. 

silence overtook the room like a storm, and with it, your heart. so he does see a reflection of his dead wife when he stares into your eyes — the eyes he promised captivated him to no bounds. 

“was all of it a lie, then?” 

“no.” 

“how was it not a lie, toji?”

“it wasn’t a lie, doll-“ 

“don’t call me that.” you interrupt him with words almost sharp enough to cut him, a slight tremble behind your voice. 

tears immediately welled up in the delicate corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment. his expression softened at the sight; however, his reluctance to approach you remained. he knew he was the reason behind your hurt, just like he was the cause of hers all that time ago. history does indeed repeat itself, doesn’t it? 

he wished he could find the words that would help ease your pain — the exhaustion and heartache you felt. to take it all away with a mere sentence, that would be quite incredible. but that’s not how life works.

“okay.” he finally whispered, inhaling a deep breath in a mix of defeat and remorse before continuing. “i promise none of it was a lie; i meant every word. i really meant it when i said i adored your eyes…” 

he dry swallows a couple of times, as if doing so would suppress the sorrow lodged in his throat. his eyes darted around the room, as to not meet your own out of the unbearable guilt that simply refused to be consumed. 

the hesitation behind his subtle actions was a telltale that there was a ‘but’ hidden underneath the surface-level flattery. and with an equal amount of incertitude and delay behind your own words, alongside with a hoarse voice, you brace yourself for the moment he finally admits this so-called love of yours was nothing but an illusion.

“but?” 

“…but they’re not her eyes.” 

part 2 here.

[igotanidea]

Run baby, run: AK!Jason x reader

part 2 to Somebody's watching me.

She looked so peaceful. So innocent.

And completely oblivious to the fact that the casual outing she went to with her friends was carefully observed by a pair of eyes, hidden under a metal helmet.

Or was she-?

He was like a predator.

Waiting for a single mistake of his prey to take a change and lunge at the opportunity fate presented him with.

Whatever the mistake may be in this case.

But sooner or later she was gonna make one.

Part ways with her friends.

Get drunk and bibulously let some guy touch her.

Dance to the music to the point of exhaustion and end up on the couch in a stranger’s house.

And he would be there to prevent the aftermath of that.

***

For the last week she was going crazy.

Ever since that one night when she saw a silhouette on the rooftop it felt like someone has been following her every move, ever step, lurking in the dark, so close to her and yet, just beyond reach. However, when she tried to tell her friends about they look at her like she was making a joke. So obviously she stopped doing as much as even mentioning it, cause the last thing she wanted was to be abandoned by the only people in her surroundings.

Even if those friends didn’t really deserve the name.

But still – those were the only one she had.

Incomparable with the Waynes she used to spend her time with years ago, before all went to shit. But Jason’s disappearance left an everlasting scar. The only thing she wanted was to forget it all, and yet – the only impossible thing in her life seemed to be letting go of the past. And being in the company of Dick, Tim, Babs and the rest of the clan was making her skin burn and her stomach twist and turn with the incoming, checkless panic attack. Like her entire body and mind felt the pressure of the past on her fragile conscience and damaged soul.

And the only thing she felt like doing in the Manor was either screaming or crying. 

So she moved on, or so she tried to convince herself of.

***

Mistake number one was left her drink unattended when she went to the toilet.

Rookie move with the possible grave consequences.

But it was gone when she came back. Only fueling her paranoia.

Mistake number two was letting her eyes off her companionship and being left alone by the exit with some drunken and already horny guys.

But when with shaky hands she pulled out her phone, desperately searching through her contact list for a potential backup, those men were already dragged into the nearest dark alley and knocked down.

But her worst mistake was not calling the cab and deciding on actually walking home. In her opinion it was a way to get some air and calm her rapidly racing heart, but she freaking forgot it was Gotham.

Like a freaking fool.

Under any other circumstances she would never and the fact that the though of going on foot even crossed her mind was the perfect reflection of her shattered mind spinning like a freaking Ferris wheel.

Something was wrong.

Something was awfully wrong and she felt like she was a main character in some horror movie.

Like that girl, who you watch on the screen, screaming at her to not go to that creepy attic from where the most suspicious sounds come, and then do the exact same thing when faced with a threat.

A ruffle of the leaves. The sound of an empty soda can rolling on the street. The flap of bird’s wing.

It all made her feel like a Freddy Krueger was coming after her.

And maybe she was not so far from the truth.

Her pulse was over the moon, heart running out of her chest, breath quickening, legs starting to move faster and faster and faster as she started running. Not really watching where as long as it was forward and away from whatever imaginary individual was chasing her.

With wild hair, tears in her eyes and blurry vision.

She was so stupid. So fucking stupid and mental, belonging in the mental institution due to her damaged brain refusing to stop dwelling on the past trauma.

“WATCH OUT!”

Before she was hit by a car a strong pair of arms grabbed her by the waist pulling her back to the pavement. She closed her eyes in fear letting whoever her savior was hold her trembling form. As weird as it was, for some reason being in this embrace felt… good. And familiar. Like she belonged there.

And if it was another wave of schizophrenic images coming from her brain she refused to accept it, freezing at the spot and waiting for it to pass.

But the stranger’s seeming grip on her body did not falter. For a longer while that seemed both like an eternity and like a second.

“Y/N….”

It must have been a wind. It must have been a wind. It must have been a wind.

“Y/N…”

The second the voice hit her ears again she turned around abruptly, but there was no one there.

She was going crazy.

With wide terrified eyes, slowly coming back on earth she finally took in her surroundings.

Realizing, to her undeniable terror, that she was right next to Dick’s house. And even worse – noticing the lights in his windows. Which meant he was here and not in Bludhaven. And not patrolling. Which was an uncommon, if not impossible conjuncture.

The past finally caught up with her.

“Y/N?!” Dick noticed her outside and opened the window, holding back the instinct to just jump outside (from 3rd floor) like an acrobat he was. “Y/N?! What are you doing here? Are you ok?”

“No…” she sobbed “No, I’m not okay…” she finally broke down in the middle of the night, on the empty street.

“Damn!” a few minutes later Grayson was downstairs holding her for dear life. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Whatever happened, you are safe with me now, I promise.”

She couldn’t hold back her tears anymore. Crying from fear and stress and helplessness.

“Shhh… come on, let’s get you upstairs and cleaned up. I got you.”

When Dick was slowly guiding her to his apartment, the same predatory red eyes were focused on the pair and the sudden need for vengeance sprouts buds, growing roots deep into the long-petrified heart, crushing down the ice it was covered with.

No one was going to take her away from him this time.

Edit:

part 3 : Smooth criminal is up!

@vaniasagitaa @gone-batty-fics @astrelz @not-herexo @deans-spinster-witch @calicocat45

[aventurineswife]

Two Hands, One Home

Summary: After an abyss attack destroys your home, Kinich, who values independence and self-reliance, offers you a place to stay. Though he presents it as purely practical, his actions reveal a quiet, genuine care. Over time, you settle into a peaceful routine together, finding comfort in his reserved kindness and the small gestures of care he provides, learning that beneath his cold exterior, Kinich has his own way of showing affection.

Tags: @m1nella, Kinich x Reader, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Reserved Kinich, Found Family, Quiet Moments, Pragmatic Romance, Subtle Affection, Soft Kinich.

Warnings: Implied Loss Due To An Abyss Attack, Mild Angst.

The aftermath of the abyss attack was devastating. Your home, once a place of safety and comfort, had been reduced to rubble, its walls shattered and roof torn asunder. The shock of losing everything you had worked for in an instant left you feeling hollow, adrift in a world that had suddenly turned cold and uncertain.

But amid the chaos, there was an unexpected offer. Kinich, with his usual stoic expression, had come to you with a quiet proposal. “You can stay at my place while your house is being repaired.” he said, his tone as dry as ever, yet beneath it was something softer, something genuine.

You were hesitant at first—Kinich was a private person, and you knew his past hadn’t been easy. Still, the practicality of the offer, and the simple fact that you needed somewhere safe to stay, won out. You nodded, grateful but unsure of what to expect.

The day you moved into Kinich’s house, you couldn’t help but be surprised by how… normal it was. The inside was modest, a far cry from the grandeur of the mansions you’d seen in the past. But it had a warmth to it, an unspoken coziness. The walls were lined with handmade furniture, small knick-knacks that spoke of a life lived with care and attention, even if it wasn’t a life of luxury.

Kinich showed you around, his gestures efficient but not unkind. “This is the kitchen,” he said, pointing to a simple stove and a small table. “If you need anything, just ask. And, uh… don’t go near the shed out back. I keep some of my… tools there.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Tools?”

His lips twitched in what might have been a smile, though it was hard to say. “I’ve got a lot of things to fix. You’ll see.”

You followed him to the living room, where a modest fireplace crackled. The scent of wood and something faintly herbal hung in the air, and Kinich, ever the practical one, was already setting up a small cot by the wall for you.

“Don’t make a fuss about it,” he said as he smoothed out the blanket. “It’s not much, but it’ll do for now.”

You couldn’t help but feel touched. For someone who valued independence so much, Kinich was surprisingly attentive in his own way. You sat down on the cot, still a bit unsure of what to do next.

Kinich cleared his throat and turned toward the kitchen. “I’m making dinner. It’ll be ready in about an hour. You can relax until then.”

As he worked, you took a moment to look around the room. It wasn’t much, but it was his—his space, his home. The absence of his usual sharpness, the subtle kindness of his gestures, made you feel a little less alone. Even if he didn’t show it often, Kinich had a way of making you feel like you mattered.

Dinner was simple, a warm stew that smelled of fresh herbs and hearty vegetables. Kinich placed a bowl in front of you, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there was something softer in his eyes, a flicker of something more than just duty.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you said, quietly breaking the silence. “Let me help with something.”

Kinich paused for a moment, his hand still on the pot as he glanced over at you. “It’s fine,” he said with a shrug. “I’m not doing it for you. Just… don’t let the food go to waste.”

You chuckled softly, nodding. Kinich’s words were as blunt as always, but the care in his actions was something you couldn’t overlook. As you sat together at the table, eating in comfortable silence, you couldn’t help but think that, despite everything, you had found a place here—a place where, for the time being, you could heal

Over the next few days, life at Kinich’s house settled into a quiet routine. You’d help with the small tasks around the house—cleaning up, organizing things—and in return, Kinich would share bits and pieces of his life with you, small snippets of knowledge or skills that he’d learned over the years.

One evening, as the sun began to set, you found Kinich in the garden, tending to some plants in the fading light. You hadn’t realized how peaceful the house could feel when it was just the two of you, sharing this simple life together.

“Need help?” you asked, walking over to him.

Kinich glanced up, his face softening slightly. “If you want. I could always use another pair of hands around here.”

You knelt beside him, taking a small gardening trowel and gently digging into the soil. There was a strange comfort in working alongside him, the silence between you both not awkward but companionable, as if you were partners in something greater than just survival.

“Why do you do it?” you asked, looking up at him. “Tending to all this, I mean. I would’ve thought you’d want to leave it all behind.”

Kinich paused, the question catching him off guard. His eyes flickered briefly, almost hesitant, before he answered. “Because it’s mine. It’s the one thing in this world I can rely on. People… they come and go. But this? It’s real. It stays.”

You smiled at his answer, understanding him a little more than you had before. Kinich didn’t offer grand gestures or flowery words, but in the little things—like the way he cared for his home, or the way he offered you a place to stay when you needed it most—you saw his quiet strength.

And, despite his belief in self-sufficiency, you couldn’t help but wonder if, maybe, for just a moment, you could be the one thing he’d allow himself to rely on, too.

That night, as you both sat by the fire, Kinich spoke again, his voice quieter than usual.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.” he said, not looking directly at you but still offering the words with sincerity.

You nodded, your heart swelling with gratitude. “Thanks, Kinich. I… I really appreciate it.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “It’s not charity. It’s just… practical.”

But the warmth in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

[reidology13]

I tell someone I love them (just as a distraction)

Spencer Reid x fem famous!reader

Summary: In the depths of his addiction, Spencer finds someone who needs an escape as much as he does. cw: talk of addiction, allusions to sex (no actual smut), angst no happy ending

Part 2 here!

Meaningless whispers of ‘I love you’ mumbled between laboured breaths and cold kisses in an apartment that doesn’t feel like mine. The sheen of sweat that coats his body is nearly constant these days, it has nothing to do with physical exertion. The glaze over his hollow eyes is the furthest possible thing from pleasure, although by now he might have his wires crossed. His face is beautiful, and I can see myself marrying it in another life, one where my chest isn’t as hollow as his cheeks. A life where I don’t have to ignore the fresh scars in the crook of his elbow as I pull his shirt off.

I am not in that world, and neither is he, a reality that I cannot grieve because this is what I asked for, what I have been working for since before I can remember. The parties that leave me empty and sick, the performances that start the moment I leave the stage, the new friends who tag along for my name. I love him because he doesn’t care about any of it, if only because he’s too high to care about much at all.

I don’t feel anything when I finish, I’m not sure he does, either. I watch as he disappears from my side, already scrambling to his bag, searching through it until he finds what he needs. He slips into the bathroom, finally taking his chance to feel something after the numbness of the night. He has his escape, he used to be mine. I wonder if one day the chemicals he defiles his veins with will stop calming his ever racing mind, or if I just need a higher dose.

When he comes back, I pull him close to me, dragging him back down into the bedsheets and sweat. It works this time, my skin alight with every electrifying touch as his fingers dance gracefully across my body. His hands shake as they move, a feeling that makes my nerves sing as a lump forms in my throat and my heart sinks to my stomach. He looks up at me with those brown eyes that would be so gorgeous if they held any emotion, anything but that violent hunger for a craving he should have satisfied moments earlier. He can’t up his dose as easily as I can, can’t pull his vice back to bed without the risk of never waking up. He doesn’t bother saying that he loves me this time, we both know it’s not true. Or maybe it is, but there are things he loves much more, and telling me he loves me debases one of the only pure things left in the world. I’m glad he doesn’t try this time.

He holds me afterwards, his trembling body not yet ready to stand up, or maybe he knows that the moment he does he’ll be back inside the bathroom. I turn my head away, and as he buries his face in my shoulder, I pretend I don’t feel the apology he mouths against my glass skin. He runs a hand down my upper arm, his touch tentative and light, scared that I’ll shatter into a million pieces. My heart does. If he knows about the tear that runs down my face, he ignores it, and I’m not surprised. Ignorance is what we’re good at, after all.

When I wake up, he’s gone, slipped into the early morning, or called into the job that he shouldn’t be doing in his condition. I crawl out of my cold, damp sheets, the disgusting aftermath of our night. The sick feeling that perpetually sits in my gut, loosening under him, twisting tighter under the sun of the next day. 

Slowly, I peel back the layers of sticky fabric, watching how they cling to my skin and each other as I force them into the washing machine. I turn it on.

Fresh sheets are laid out on my bed, sheets that haven’t yet witnessed the tornado of us, still clean and untainted by tears and sweat and words that never mean anything. I lay the sheet over the mattress, fighting to wrap it around all four corners as it perpetually escapes one, always sitting just slightly wrong. I place the pillows down carefully, fighting the urge to punch them like I’ve been wanting to punch his face every time he shows up at my door.

I can see myself marrying him in this world, too, getting him the help he needs and staying with him through it all. He would be able to be there for me when I need it, not an escape from, but support through the other parts of my life, a person to love and talk to about the hard things. But I know that is still impossible. One day, he will sober up and disappear, or I will be an uninvited guest at his funeral. There’s no option that ends well for both of us, the best we can do is take it as it happens and ignore everything.

I watch as the last blanket floats down over the bed, carelessly adjusting its corners. It looks exactly the same.

[alchemistc]

visions are seldom all they seem

an: warning for a hint of dubcon hidden in amongst tommy's memories

They say when you die, your life flashes before your eyes.

That's a fucking fairytale if he's ever heard one. Tommy's had enough friends brought back from the brink, enough experiences of his own, to know that it's a crock.

When you die, you...die. You're there, and then you're not.

Tommy's legs are pinned, and there's smoke filling the cabin, and the last thing he'd said to Evan before he walked out the door was "Tell your father thank you, but I'm happily involved with a younger man."

There's something poetic about all of this, Tommy thinks, as he watches Garrett stumble to his feet, just beyond the door he'd managed to break loose to Tommy's left. Tommy hates poetry. Not necessarily as a general rule, but there's a lot of pretentious shit out there, and this feels pretentious. Maybe that's just the smoke inhalation.

"Kinard!"

Garrett's coming around the other side, lopsided and limping, but still pushing.

Thank fuck they hadn't been carrying passengers. He's pretty sure one of the blades had sliced clean through the hull behind him. He can't really look - there's something caught in his belt, pinning his back to the seat, and he's got one arm too fucked to reach for the blade strapped to his hip, and another that wouldn't reach if he tried. He's losing blood, he's losing time. He's done the math.

"Kinard!" Garrett's not having much luck with Tommy's door, which makes sense. The landing skid had done good work with the whole right side of the bird. Tommy's pretty sure the aftermath of that piece of work is the reason he can't move his fucking legs.

There are tools, somewhere nearby, that might have been useful, if Tommy hadn't used Garrett's clear concussion against him in an effort to get Garrett the fuck out.

It's funny, though. Funny that this is the way he goes. Not in the initial crash, which they'd somehow both survived. Not even from the blood loss, though Tommy guesses the coroner will have something to say about that being a mitigating factor. Probably won't even be the fire, which Garrett seems to have banked, a bit, with the extinguisher he'd scrounged from - somewhere. No. Four tours and a dozen plus years as a firefighter and it's the smoke that's gonna get him.

The windscreen is cracked. If Tommy wasn't in the midst of dying, he'd probably be thinking up the most professional way to tell his superiors that his windscreen isn't supposed to fucking spiderweb out like that, but -

Garrett's got the extinguisher in hand again, which is a nice thought, except he'd watched him drain it earlier. But he's not -

Tommy flinches when the canister makes contact with the windscreen and it cracks a little more.

He wishes he'd texted something better to Evan than a thumbs up emoji in response to his "Be safe" text. Gonna look real fucking ironic in a few minutes, here.

The glass webs out further when the canister makes contact again, and over the crackle as the flames kick back up, Tommy realizes that Garrett's yelling at him. Has been, for a while now, most likely. He can't really hear it, or contextualize it, but he's definitely yelling.

Something cracks. A few shards of glass sprinkle on down towards his knees. Garrett's voice gets louder. "--uckley's gonna kill me if I fuck up your pretty blue eyes, fuckhead, so close them right fucking now, Kinard!"

It's not like he has anything better to do than take orders. He follows his instructions.

The windscreen doesn't shatter - it's built not to - but a second later Garrett's got something wedged into the seal, tearing at it now that the things mangled enough not to be airtight, and Tommy isn't sure where he'd gotten a crowbar, or how the fuck he'd climbed the nose with a bum leg, but he's a little glad he'll be too dead to get the lecture from Garrett's wife on making sure his copilot doesn't do dumb shit.

"-kill you to - little leverage wouldn't - 'mon Kinard - 'mme something to work -"

Tommy's flagging. He can't really breathe, anymore. There's chance the impact shattered a rib or two.

The windscreen actually folds, under the leverage from outside, but Garrett still doesn't know Tommy's pinned. He'd have had a better chance if Garrett had just worked the fire, but Tommy doesn't plan to tell him that. As it is, he sucks in smoke and blinks through the haze as Garrett folds the windscreen farther back. "Hold on, Kinard!"

Tommy laughs. "Not going anywhere," he says, which aren't the last words he'd have chosen for himself, an hour ago, but - seems fitting, anyway. He gets a feeble cough out, and then things go blurry.

"Fuck you, Tommy," isn't the last thing he ever expected to hear, either, but - well. Today's been FUBAR since he took the chopper up, so.

Fuck you, Tommy it is.

---

The field behind his grandparents house is loud, in the soggy twilight - frogs and crickets and cicadas, a cacophony of noise.

Oh, Tommy's absolutely gonna be pissed if all his friends just didn't get far enough into dying for the flashbacks. It's not like he could have asked any of the ones who'd actually kicked the can, of course, and Tommy'd never been actually all the way dead before. Just - on the brink.

This isn't anything like Evan had described.

Tommy turns. And there's nonna, in her sapphire blue muumuu, flicked with gold trim, grey hair permed within an inch of its life. He can smell the romas she must have brought in from the sun at dusk, and the espresso poured into her fancy china next to her porch chairs - a rocking chair he'd never had a chance to fix up for her before she'd been gone, the Adirondack he'd stopped fitting into when he sprouted six inches the summer between sophomore and junior year.

Nonna grins.

Tommy watches a firebug flit by him.

He blinks, and Nonna raises an eyebrow at him - the same way she'd done the first time he tried to lie about where he'd gotten the bruise on his chin, or why his knuckles were scabbed over, or what he thought of the model on her favorite set of dog eared bodice rippers.

Tommy isn't sure what he could possibly be lying about right now, but he doesn't get a chance to ask. Between one blink and the next the night, the frogs, and Nonna's back porch are gone.

---

Tommy fucking hates Dorian Gray. The reasons had changed, over the years, but even more than being wedged into this fucking deathtrap of a desk, with it's lose nuts and bolts and the arm on the wrong side of his fucking body (because Tammy Pritchard always got the lefty desk in every fucking class and not a single one of his teachers had ever thought to wonder why his handwriting on his homework had better penmanship and an incredibly unsubtle smear of ink when compared to his in-class assignments): even more than the scent of Heather Chester's perfume and the reek of weed and Cheetos coming off of Barry Trott, in the seat in front of him; even more than the squeak of chalk against the blackboard as Mrs. Henderson posits the question of the day (What is so horrifying about the painting?); Tommy hates this fucking book.

He sort of wishes this memory had taken him back to freshman year instead - at least he could articulate why Holden Caulfield had been a whiny little bitch.

It's not like he could say -

Well.

Actually.

This is Tommy's death rattle. So.

"It's a mirror," Tommy says, like he hadn't all those years ago. No one notices that Tommy's a few decades too old and more than a few inches too wide to fit in his desk. "It's an indictment on everyone who ever had a hand in creating such a beautiful monster."

Mrs. Henderson doesn't look up. Tommy doesn't know why he expected she would.

She'd never listened to him before, either.

---

He'd been expecting his dad, next, which is his own damn fault.

Captain Turner's zipping his pants back up.

Tommy rises from his knees.

The paperwork is there on his desk. A glowing recommendation for the flight training he's been denied twice already. Tommy's throat feels gummy. He can't remember when Turner stopped using condoms.

This isn't how it happened.

"Open your eyes, Kinard."

Tommy's eyes are already open.

---

"I'm proud of you, son," Gerrard says, and Tommy would very much prefer it if he was just dead, already.

The thing is - the thing is Gerrard looks genuinely pleased to see him - a rare enough thing in general, rarer still because this is the older Gerrard, the one he'd shut the fuck down in front of the very first chance he'd been given to tell him exactly how rank Tommy really thought he was.

"You know when to give up," Gerrard continues. And.

Oh.

Well.

Did he have a choice?

"Of course there's a choice. Make the right one. Keep on making it, Kinard."

---

Pain.

Christ. Tommy's had shrapnel under his skin for decades, now - he's been blown up, and shot, stabbed once, although that was a grazing blow, really.

This is so much worse. He feels like he's hemorrhaging, like his lungs are constricting, like -

"You're no son of mine."

Yeah. That'd been worse than the IED by far.

"Dad," he says, but the damage is done. His room is in shambles, which Tommy thinks is overkill - his dad'd probably found the Blueboy Tommy had tucked under the mattress a long while before he had swept all his football trophies off the shelf and emptied what looked like the entire contents of his wardrobe onto the floor.

On the plus side, it looks like he'd actually ripped his annotated copy of Picture of Dorian Gray in half, too, so small favors.

Only.

This hadn't happened. This was his nightmare scenario, the horrific dream he'd had every day for six years until he got out of basic and the nightmare scenarios turned physically violent, instead. If his dad had ever known an inkling of Tommy's inclinations he'd ignored it until the day Tommy made him stop ignoring it.

He'd never found his dirty magazine - just the one, because he'd been too fucking terrified of having a second one lying around somewhere.

Those words he'd reserved for something else entirely.

His dad had thrown a bitch fit when Tommy'd enlisted in the Army instead of the Marines, but those words - those were the words he'd gotten when the father he hadn't spoken to in three years learned that Tommy'd gone for turnouts instead of a gun and badge.

How do you emulate your father and rebel at the same time?

"Love you too, pops," Tommy says, and waits for the blink.

---

"Oh," Tommy says, and blinks open his eyes. Keith smiles back. It's a charming little grin, the first thing that had caught Tommy's eye across the bar three months before this night. And it's not - the room is all wrong, and it'd been midday, not evening, six hours between shifts and the first time their schedules lined up in weeks. Keith is all lithe muscle and smeared makeup, barely an hour out from his latest shoot.

"Don't say it," Keith says, and shifts his weight against sheets that aren't even the right color.

Tommy had wanted to say it, though. Thirty-odd years and he'd never had the courage to say it to anyone who might say it back in a meaningful way, but Keith -

They'd been all wrong for each other. Conflicting schedules, conflicting lifestyles, conflicting expectations. Keith would spend the next six months flying back for hookups, jet setting around the world on a campaign for Dolce & Gabanna, and then text Tommy to let him know he should get tested and never reach out again. Tommy would fly his chopper over the aftermath of a tsunami and wonder how it felt to drown.

The hands on his skin are wrong - rough with calluses, working hands. Tommy slides his thumb across the palm of one and thinks it feels like home.

"Don't go back to sleep," Keith says. There's something playing on Tommy's TV, which had never been in his room when he was with Keith.

That had been a recent development, actually, and technically it wasn't even his TV, but when Evan's lease had been up it had just made sense to the both of them to -

"Monster truck rallies, really?" Keith says, but the volume on the TV is too loud to make out what he says next. His mouth moves, and the words don't make it to Tommy's ears, and when he blinks again he thinks he can hear sirens.

---

The chicken barely moves as Bobby passes it off to Officer Grant, and there's some sort of significance to this moment, Tommy knows, but Sal is too busy making smooching faces at Tommy, his laugh deep and bracing, for Tommy to figure out what that significance is.

Eddie is staring at him from the passenger seat when he swings up into the rig.

"You need to come back," Eddie says, and that stupid fucking mustache twitches. "You stupid bastard, you have to come back."

---

"Just like that?" Tommy asks, staring at the transfer papers, and Nash looks at him like he knows too much.

"Have you changed your mind?"

Tommy's uses his middle and ring finger to pull the transfer papers closer to himself. Bobby hums, satisfied. "Good. I've got my eye on one of the new kids in training - hate to pass up on him."

Tommy shakes his head. "You still haven't replaced Sal. Who's even gonna train this new guy?"

Bobby's in his civvies. He's holding his rosary beads. Did he start out like that, or is this death knell just fucking with him now? "Not your time, yet," Bobby tells him, and Tommy doesn't -

---

"Just a little something I learned at the 118," Donato says with a grin, while Jerry eyes the blown up photo of Tommy and Evan kissing in the hospital lobby that's been hung up on the announcement board right next to Jill's kids butterbraid order sheet. One of the nurses must have taken it. Donato must have bribed one of the nurses to take it on the ride to the hospital. "We're, like, a base and a half away from wiener cousins, you know," she sing-songs, and Tommy tilts a raised brow her way.

He's still staring at the picture. When had Evan's hand made it that far into his turnout?

"I'm just saying, having been on the your end of those lips - congrats."

"Does it smell like smoke in here to you?" Jerry asks, and Tommy tries to swallow, tries to respond, but there's something stopping him from -

---

"Hey," Evan says. He's on nonna's rocking chair. The cicadas and the frogs are loud, against a backdrop of misty fields. It still smells like sundried tomatoes, but there's an antiseptic scent underneath it. There's a firebug perched on Evan's birthmark. "I'd, uh, really hate it if the last conversation we ever had was about my dad's weird obsession with you."

Tommy would also hate that. He goes to say so and can't speak. His chest is on fire, and his leg feels like it might give out if he takes a step forward. Evan's too far away, but he can still feel the calluses on Evan's fingers on his wrist, steady against his pulse.

"So, if you could just. If you could just open your eyes. Twitch your fingers. Um. I have a ring, and a speech, but I'd settle for like, you waking up to tell me you're leaving me for Andrew Garfield."

He's thinking of Andrew Lincoln, but Tommy can't get his throat to work to tell him so, or to remind him that Tommy actually hates that plot in Love Actually. Now Colin Firth...

The fingers slide from his pulse point to his ring finger. His leg screams. The cicadas drown out whatever Evan says next.

---

The lights in this room are too fucking bright. It smells of sterile metal and the cedarwood soap Evan uses. His hand is stuck to the bed.

"Tommy."

Tommy's pretty sure he's imagining the firefly perched on Buck's brow as he slides into his sight line, but the rest of him is real, and solid - his ridiculous fade and the curls askew atop his head and the slow blooming smile across his face, the hand sliding up his arm and the suddenly wet corners of his eyes.

"ey," he says, or tries to say - it comes out as croaky as the frogs that'd guided him through whatever strange dream he'd been having. He's losing the edges of it already, trying to grasp details even as they slip way. Evan's going to be so fucking disappointed they can't trade coma dream stories.

Evan hovers while a nurse looks him over, demanding ice chips from someone out in the hallway, and Tommy can't stop looking at him. He'd been dead. He'd been sure this was it, this time.

Tommy gets three ice chips down before he's allowed to speak.

"Why's the chicken important?" Which is - great. They've got him hooked up to good drugs. He'd meant to start off with the basics - I love you, and don't propose to me in a hospital room I know it's a Buckley special but I'd like to limit our significant moments here until they actually dedicate a wing in your honor. "Did Eddie shave the mustache while I was out?"

Jesus Christ.

Evan's laugh is wet, and his hand is wrapped around the cup of ice chips, instead of around Tommy's, which seem unnecessarily cruel.

"I love you," Evan says.

They say when you die your life flashes before your eyes. Evan informs him, eventually, that he'd crashed twice on the med-evac and been gone for a total of one minute eighteen seconds ("There's no significance to that. A coincidence," Tommy tells him. Evan doesn't fight him on it. Not then, anyway.) The flashing thing is still a crock of shit. Tommy's lost most of it before Evan gets around to 'you'.

Tommy finally gets Evan close enough to grasp his hand - slide his finger over the rough pad of his thumb, dig a nail into the forking lifeline in his palm. "Hey," he says, when Evan's grip goes tight, and tears well up in his eyes again. "Were you watching monster trucks while I was out?"

[throwaway-things]

In the silence

The gentle hum of the BAU office buzzed around you, blending with the rhythmic typing of keyboards and the occasional murmur of conversation. You sat at your desk, your heart betraying a steady pace as you stole a glance at Spencer Reid. He was absorbed in a file, his brows furrowed in concentration, fingers tapping lightly on the edge of his desk. You admired how his mind seemed to race, faster than anyone else’s, solving problems in a way that felt almost magical. And yet, as brilliant as he was, you could never imagine him knowing your secret.

You had been harboring feelings for Spencer for longer than you cared to admit. The connection, at least on your side, had grown deeper over time. He was kind, intelligent, and so utterly unaware of the effect he had on you. You were careful—so careful—never to give any hint, knowing that revealing how you felt could change everything. Your heart was fragile enough without risking his rejection.

But Spencer Reid was not like everyone else. He saw things others missed, read people like they were open books. And though you had perfected the art of hiding, you knew, deep down, that no secret was safe from him forever.

One afternoon, while working together on a particularly difficult case, you noticed Spencer watching you out of the corner of your eye. It wasn’t the usual friendly glance, but something more intense. You tried to ignore it, focused on your work, but the sensation of being scrutinized sent your nerves into overdrive.

"Are you okay?" His voice startled you, gentle yet probing. You looked up to find his eyes—those deep, observant eyes—studying you. He wasn’t just asking if you were tired or stressed. It felt like he was asking about something deeper, something unspoken.

"Yeah," you replied quickly, too quickly. "Just focused on the case."

But Spencer didn't let it go. "You've been… different lately," he said softly, almost to himself. "Your body language, the way you avoid eye contact sometimes, the way your voice changes when you're talking to me— its noticeable"

Your heart stopped. He was analyzing you. You’d been so careful, so guarded, and yet, in that moment, you realized it was pointless. Spencer Reid had already figured it out.

"I… I don’t know what you mean," you lied, trying to hold onto the last vestiges of control. But the tremble in your voice gave you away. Spencer leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.

"You don’t have to say anything," he said, his tone so calm, so gentle. "I know."

It was like the world shifted beneath your feet. The secret you had carried for so long, that you had convinced yourself could never be known, was out in the open. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly terrified. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you forced them back. You refused to cry in front of him.

Spencer shifted awkwardly in his seat, his face flushed with discomfort. "I'm sorry," he began, his voice soft but laden with regret. "I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression. If I’ve done anything to make you feel—" He hesitated, clearly trying to find the right words. "I care about you, but… not in the way you might want."

The words hit like a physical blow. You were mortified, frozen in place as the blood rushed to your cheeks. Your worst fear had just materialized—he had figured it out, and now he was apologizing. It was worse than any rejection you had ever imagined.

"I—" you stammered, the words dying in your throat as shame engulfed you. You had never meant for him to know. You had never intended to put him in this position, to make things awkward or uncomfortable. But now, there you were, standing in the aftermath of something you had desperately tried to avoid.

Your heart broke, a quiet shattering that left you feeling hollow. Spencer was kind, as you always knew he would be, but it didn’t soften the pain. If anything, it made it worse. His apology wasn’t cruel, but it was final. You wished you could disappear, that you could take back every lingering look, every subtle sign you thought you had hidden so well.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, voice barely audible. You couldn't bear to look at him, the embarrassment too overwhelming. "I… I never meant for you to find out. I never wanted you to know."

Spencer’s brow furrowed, and for a brief second, you thought you saw a flicker of empathy in his eyes. "You don’t have to apologize," he said gently. "I just don’t want you to feel hurt because of me."

But you did feel hurt. Hurt, ashamed, and humiliated. You swallowed hard, willing yourself not to cry, not to let him see how devastated you were.

Before you could respond, the door to the conference room opened abruptly. Hotch stood there, clipboard in hand, looking between you and Spencer with a slightly raised eyebrow. "Briefing in five," he said, his tone all business as usual. "We’ve got a new case."

You felt a wave of relief wash over you. This was your escape. The interruption couldn’t have come at a better time.

"Thanks, Hotch," you mumbled, quickly rising from your seat and gathering your things. You didn’t dare look back at Spencer, afraid that any more eye contact might make your carefully held composure shatter completely.

As you stepped past Hotch, you could feel Spencer’s eyes following you, but you kept walking, grateful that the professional nature of the job had given you a way out. You needed distance—space to breathe, to process what had just happened without falling apart in front of him.

The hallway seemed longer than usual, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the silence. You blinked back the burning sensation in your eyes, your breath unsteady as you hurried toward the briefing room. There was no time to fall apart now. Work was calling, and you had to focus.

When you entered the room, you were greeted by the usual buzz of the team preparing for the case. Morgan, Garcia, and JJ were already seated, chatting about something you couldn’t quite focus on. You forced a smile and took a seat next to JJ, trying to look as though nothing was wrong, as though your heart wasn’t still aching from the conversation with Spencer.

“Hey, you okay?” JJ asked quietly, giving you a gentle nudge.

You nodded quickly, too quickly. "Yeah, just... a long day."

She smiled sympathetically, but thankfully didn’t press further. You were grateful. The last thing you needed was more questions when you were barely holding it together.

Moments later, Spencer entered the room, taking a seat across from you. You could feel his presence immediately, your pulse quickening as you glanced down at your notes, doing everything you could to avoid looking at him. He, too, seemed more reserved than usual, his expression unreadable as he set his file down.

Hotch began the briefing, and for the next hour, you did your best to focus on the case. It was difficult—your thoughts kept wandering back to Spencer, to his apology, to the crushing embarrassment of knowing that he was aware of your feelings. Every time he spoke, the sound of his voice sent a pang of sadness through your chest, a reminder of what could never be.

The following days passed in a blur. You immersed yourself in the case, using work as an escape from the overwhelming swirl of emotions you were struggling to contain. You avoided Spencer as much as possible, though it became increasingly difficult with every passing moment. The BAU was a tight-knit team, and it was impossible not to interact with him. Each time you had to speak to him or work alongside him, the tension was palpable, the weight of your unspoken feelings hanging between you like an invisible barrier.

Spencer, for his part, remained kind and professional. He didn’t treat you any differently, but the subtle shift in your dynamic was undeniable. He seemed more cautious, more distant, as if he, too, was trying to navigate the awkwardness without making things worse. You wondered if he regretted saying anything at all—if he wished he had kept his analysis to himself.

But it didn’t matter now. The damage was done, and you were left picking up the pieces of your broken heart in silence.

--

Late one evening, after another long day of avoiding eye contact and burying your emotions in paperwork, you found yourself alone in the office. The dim lighting and quiet hum of the computer were a welcome respite from the chaos of the case, but your mind kept drifting back to Spencer. You had tried to push your feelings aside, to forget about that conversation, but it was impossible. The pain lingered, raw and unrelenting.

Just as you were about to pack up and leave, the sound of footsteps approached from behind. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Hey,” Spencer’s voice was soft, tentative.

You inhaled sharply, your heart racing. "Hey," you replied, keeping your eyes fixed on the papers in front of you, pretending to be busy.

There was a long pause. You could feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy. Part of you wanted him to leave, to let the silence stretch between you until things faded back into some semblance of normalcy. But another part of you—one you hated to admit—wanted him to stay.

“I, uh… I just wanted to check on you,” he said quietly, stepping closer. "I’ve noticed you’ve been… distant lately."

You let out a bitter laugh, finally turning to face him. “Distant? Yeah, well… I guess I thought that might be for the best.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed, his expression filled with concern. "I don’t want things to be like this," he admitted. "I never wanted to hurt you."

Spencer looked at you, his eyes filled with that same empathy, and it only made things harder. "I understand if you need space," he said softly. "But I don’t want you to feel like you have to avoid me."

But you weren’t ready for this conversation. You weren’t ready to confront the tangled mess of emotions that had been suffocating you for days. You couldn’t handle Spencer’s kindness, not now. Not when the wound was still so fresh.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, your voice a little too sharp, a little too defensive. You turned back to the papers on your desk, pretending to be engrossed in work. "There’s nothing to talk about."

Spencer hesitated, clearly not buying your attempt to brush things off. "I know this has been difficult—"

“Spencer, I said I’m fine.” The words came out harsher than you intended, and you winced at the coldness in your tone. You couldn’t look at him, not now, not when the shame was still burning in your chest.

There was a long, tense silence. You could feel his eyes on you, searching for something, but you kept your gaze glued to the papers in front of you, refusing to meet his. You wanted this conversation to be over, for him to stop trying to dissect your feelings like they were just another puzzle to solve.

"I don’t want to push," Spencer said quietly, taking a small step back. "But I can tell you’re struggling. If there’s anything I’ve done—"

“Spencer, please,” you cut him off, your voice almost pleading now. "Let’s just leave it."

You didn’t want to elaborate, didn’t want to give any hint of what was really going on. You were desperate to keep everything vague and impersonal, to avoid the emotional discussion that was weighing on you. You needed him to walk away, to let the moment pass without probing further.

Spencer stood there, clearly not fully convinced but respecting your wish to drop the subject. "Okay," he said softly, his eyes filled with concern. "If that’s what you need."

You nodded, still avoiding his gaze. "Yes, that’s what I need."

There was a heavy silence between you, the weight of your unspoken truth hanging in the air. You could feel his disappointment, the unspoken tension that lingered, but you couldn’t bring yourself to face it. Admitting how you really felt would only make things worse. It would only prolong the pain, and you couldn’t afford that.

Spencer lingered for a moment longer, as if he was about to say something else, but then he nodded quietly. "I’ll let you get back to work," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. You simply kept your eyes down, waiting for the sound of his footsteps retreating as he left the room. When the door finally closed behind him, you exhaled sharply, the tension in your body releasing all at once.

You felt sick. Sick with the weight of your own unspoken truth, sick with the realization that you had just pushed him away. The idea of him knowing—of him seeing how much it hurt—was unbearable.

And so, you sat there in the empty office, your heart heavy with the truth you couldn’t bring yourself to say, knowing that, in the end, you were only hurting yourself more.

--

The following days were still a struggle. You continued to immerse yourself in work, using it as a way to avoid confronting your feelings. Spencer was courteous but distant, respecting your need for space. Every time you saw him, the old familiarity was tainted by the unspoken tension.

One afternoon, as you were sorting through case files in the bullpen, you felt a presence behind you. You turned to find Spencer standing there, a hesitant look on his face.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Do you have a minute?”

You nodded, though your heart was pounding. “Sure, what’s up?”

Spencer took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m here if you ever want to talk. I don’t want you to feel like you have to go through this alone.”

You felt a lump form in your throat. The sincerity in his voice was both comforting and heartbreaking. You had spent so much time trying to distance yourself from him, but here he was, offering support in the most genuine way.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I really appreciate that.”

He smiled, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Anytime.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there with a mixture of relief and melancholy. You realized that while you couldn’t bring yourself to discuss your feelings openly, knowing that Spencer cared enough to offer support was a small comfort. It was a reminder that even though things had changed, there was still kindness and understanding between you.

As you went about your work, the ache in your heart was still there, but it was slightly eased by the knowledge that you didn’t have to go through it entirely alone. The journey of healing would take time, but Spencer’s gesture gave you a glimmer of hope that, perhaps, things might eventually find a way back to a semblance of normalcy.

[moonselune]

heyo! your writing is phenomenal and I thank you for sharing it with us!

If you're still open to prompts/requests, would you consider writing a matching piece for the Bg3 male companions reacting to no ability to revive their partner? If not, that's okay!

Thanks again for your writing and for sharing your talents!

Goddamn this hit me hard in the feels writing this x thank you so much for your support and thank you for reading it xox

Gale:

The battle had been fierce and unrelenting, the ground littered with the bodies of fallen enemies and friends alike. In the heat of the chaos, Gale had fought with all his might, casting spell after spell to protect his comrades and turn the tide of the fight. But despite his best efforts, he couldn't save you.

When the dust settled and the reality of your lifeless body sank in, Gale's heart shattered. He rushed to your side, his hands trembling as he cradled your head in his lap. Your eyes, once so full of life and love, stared blankly into the void. He could feel the warmth leaving your body, and with it, his own will to fight on.

"No, no, no… this can't be happening," Gale whispered, his voice breaking. He frantically searched his pack for a revivify scroll, but found none. The last one had been used in a previous battle, and now he was left with nothing but despair.

Desperation clawed at his mind as he looked around at the others. "We need a damned scroll, something, anything!" he shouted, his eyes wild with panic. But the somber faces of his companions told him what he already knew—they were out of options.

"I won't accept this," Gale muttered, his determination hardening. "I will find a way to bring you back. I swear it."

Despite the protests from the others, Gale refused to listen. He cast a gentle preservation spell over your body, ensuring that it would remain untouched by decay. He would find a way, to bring you back, to bring you back to him, no matter the cost.

As he carried your preserved form back to camp, his mind raced with possibilities. Ancient rituals, forgotten tomes, divine intervention—he would exhaust every option. Gale's heart ached with the loss, but his love for you fueled his resolve. He would bring you back. He had to.

Astarion:

The battlefield was eerily quiet, the sounds of clashing steel and agonized cries fading into a haunting silence. Astarion's sharp eyes scanned the aftermath, searching for any sign of you. When he finally spotted your lifeless body, his heart plummeted into an abyss of despair.

"No!" Astarion screamed, his voice echoing across the blood-soaked ground. He sprinted to your side, collapsing beside you. His hands shook as he desperately tried to find a pulse, a sign, anything that you were still with him. But there was nothing.

"Please, no… you can't leave me," he whispered, his voice choked with tears. He tore through his own pack, then yours, searching frantically for a revivify scroll. When he found none, he turned his fury on the others.

"Where is it? Where's the damned scroll?" he demanded, his eyes blazing with a mix of rage and sorrow. He tore through their packs, heedless of their attempts to stop him. "There has to be one! There has to be!"

But there was nothing. No scroll, no hope. Astarion's strength gave out, and he collapsed onto your body, sobbing uncontrollably. His tears mixed with the dirt and blood on your face as he held you close, his heart breaking with each passing moment.

"I'm so sorry… I should have protected you," he murmured between sobs, his voice filled with guilt and anguish. "I can't… I can't do this without you."

Astarion's cries echoed through the battlefield, a haunting reminder of the love and loss that war brings. In that moment, all he could do was hold you, his tears falling like rain, and call out to every god- every devil, for a miracle that would never come.

Wyll:

The battle had been brutal, the toll high, but the true cost was only just being felt. Wyll had fought valiantly, as he always did, his heart and sword guided by a desire to protect those he loved. But it hadn’t been enough. He found your lifeless body amidst the carnage, your eyes forever closed to the world.

"No… no, this can't be happening," Wyll choked out, his voice trembling with grief. He fell to his knees beside you, his hands shaking as he cradled your head in his lap. Tears streamed down his face, unchecked and unstoppable, mingling with the dirt and blood on your skin.

"I should have been better," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I should have fought harder. This is all my fault."

Wyll's sobs grew louder, his body wracked with grief. He clung to you, his heart breaking with every passing second. The others watched, helpless and heartbroken, knowing there was nothing they could do to ease his pain.

In the back of his mind, a dark thought began to take root. What if he made another pact? What if he sought out a devil, any devil, who could bring you back? The idea terrified him, but the prospect of living without you was even more horrifying.

"I can't lose you," he murmured, his tears falling onto your still face. "I can't do this without you."

Wyll's sobs echoed across the battlefield, a haunting sound that spoke of a love lost too soon. He held you close, his mind torn between his grief and the desperate, dangerous hope that he could find a way to bring you back.

Halsin

The silence that followed the battle was deafening. Halsin stood amidst the fallen, his eyes scanning the field until they found you. His heart clenched painfully in his chest as he approached your lifeless body, his expression a mask of stoic calm.

He knelt beside you, his large hands gently lifting you into his arms. The others watched in silence, their grief palpable, but it was Halsin's reaction that truly frightened them. There were no tears, no cries of anguish—just a terrifying, emotionless silence.

Halsin stood, cradling your body as if you were the most fragile thing in the world. Without a word, he turned and began walking towards the forest. The others called out to him, their voices filled with concern and confusion, but he did not respond.

He walked deeper into the forest, the shadows closing in around him. The sounds of the battle faded away, replaced by the quiet rustle of leaves and the distant calls of woodland creatures. Halsin's face remained impassive, but inside, a storm of emotions raged.

He carried you to a secluded glade, a place of peace and beauty. Gently, he laid you down on a bed of moss, his hands lingering on your face as he memorized every detail.

"I have failed you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I should have protected you."

Halsin knelt beside you, his heart heavy with sorrow. He knew he would never return to the camp, never face the others again. His place was here, with you, in the quiet solitude of the forest.

Ngl when I did Halsin's all I could think about was him never being seen again and it developing into some kind of myth/legend about the druid in the woods forever mourning his beloved.

mwhahahaah

Hope you all liked it ! - Seluney xoxo

[lila-lou]

✨His second exception - Pt. 12/?✨

Summary: The moment Ben found out you were pregnant was probably the happiest moment of his life. However, happiness proved fleeting. Now, he is faced with the aftermath of his shattered dreams. Of what is left of you, and what is left of him.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, teasing, kinda kinky, Language, fluff

Word Count: 7454

A/N: This is the sequel to “His only exeption” - and Part 12 of "His second exception".

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

It wasn’t until three weeks later, in the middle of the night, that Ben came home from another mission. Even though you didn’t like him going on missions, you knew it helped him stay less on edge.

You had just finally fallen asleep, having been pretty tired all day.

Ben tried his best to be quiet, even opting to shower in the guest bathroom to avoid waking you up. He knew how grumpy you could get when woken up unexpectedly. But as he walked into the dark bedroom, with only a towel around his waist, he stumbled against one of the three big moving boxes placed randomly in the middle of the room.

He cursed quietly, the sound just loud enough to stir you from your sleep. “What the fuck…”, he muttered under his breath, trying to regain his balance.

You groggily sat up, rubbing your eyes. “Ben? Is that you?”, you asked, your voice thick with sleep.

“Yeah, it’s me”, he replied, sounding a bit frustrated. “What’s with these fucking boxes in the middle of the room?”.

You yawned and stretched, blinking as you tried to wake up fully. “I’ve been sorting through some old stuff”, you explained. “I didn’t realize you’d be back so soon, or I would have moved them out of the way”.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his grumpy and annoyed face as you turned on the soft bed lamp, casting a warm glow across the room. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to turn our bedroom into an obstacle course”, you teased, the amusement clear in your voice.

Ben grumbled good-naturedly, shaking his head as he moved around the boxes to reach you. “Next time, leave me a fucking map or something”, he said, his irritation melting away as he saw your sleepy smile.

You patted the spot next to you on the bed, and he dropped the towel before slipping under the covers. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. The familiar warmth and scent of him brought an immediate sense of comfort and security.

“I missed you”, you murmured, resting your head against his chest. “How was the mission?”.

Ben sighed, his voice filled with a mixture of exhaustion and relief. “Too long”, he mumbled, his hands already moving to unbutton your silk pajama shirt. As he found your bare skin, he pressed his face between your breasts, seeking the comfort and closeness he had missed.

You chuckled tiredly, running your fingers through his hair. “Ben”, you murmured softly, a smile playing on your lips.

But he had no intention of stopping. “You’re already awake”, he said, his voice low and filled with a teasing edge. “Might as well make the most of it”.

Without waiting for a no—knowing full well it would come since you were quite tired—Ben’s lips closed around one of your nipples. He sucked gently at first, then bit down a bit harder, just enough to send a jolt of sensation through you. It was a calculated move, one he knew would rouse you more fully.

You gasped, your eyes widening as the sharp pleasure-pain combination made your heart race. “Ben”, you protested weakly, though you could feel your body responding, waking up to his touch.

He smirked against your skin, his tongue flicking out to soothe the slight sting. “See? Much more awake now”, he murmured, his hands moving to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples.

Despite your initial protest, you couldn’t deny the growing heat between your legs. Ben’s hands and mouth worked their magic, his touch both commanding and tender. His lips traveled lower, leaving a trail of kisses down your stomach.

You arched your back, your fingers tangling in his hair as he continued his journey downward. “Ben, please…”, you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of need and exhaustion.

He paused, looking up at you with dark, hungry eyes. “Please what?”, he teased, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your thighs.

“Please… don’t stop”, you admitted, your voice barely more than a breath.

His grin widened, a triumphant glint in his eyes. “I wasn’t planning to”.

He took his time, savoring every inch of you as his lips continued their descent. His fingers maintained their gentle, teasing circles on your thighs, coaxing your legs apart. The anticipation built with each passing second, your breath coming in shallow, eager gasps.

His mouth finally reached your core, and he nuzzled you gently, inhaling your scent. “You’re always so responsive”, he murmured, his voice vibrating against your most sensitive spot. The sensation made you shiver.

With agonizing slowness, he began to tease you with his tongue, tracing light, featherlike patterns over your folds. You moaned softly, your hips instinctively arching towards him, seeking more of his touch. His hands tightened on your thighs, holding you firmly in place as he continued his slow, deliberate exploration.

“Ben…", you gasped, the need in your voice unmistakable.

He responded by pressing his tongue flat against you, dragging it from your entrance to your clit in a long, deliberate stroke. The sensation was electric, sending a surge of pleasure through your body. You moaned louder, your fingers tightening in his hair.

He circled your clit with his tongue, each movement precise and calculated to drive you wild. The intensity of his focus, the way he knew exactly what you needed, was almost overwhelming. You could feel the pressure building inside you, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter with every flick of his tongue.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, Ben added his fingers to the mix. One slid inside you easily, curling upward to find that perfect spot. He moved slowly at first, matching the rhythm of his tongue, but gradually increased the pace, driving you higher and higher.

Ben continued his exquisite torture, his fingers and tongue working in perfect harmony to drive you to the brink of ecstasy. Just as you were about to topple over the edge, he suddenly pulled away, leaving you gasping and trembling with unfulfilled need.

You let out a frustrated whine, your eyes flashing with a mixture of desire and annoyance. “Ben”, you protested, your voice breathless. “Why did you stop?”.

He smirked, clearly enjoying your frustration. “Just reminding you how easily I can make you come”, he teased, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your inner thighs. “But only when I want to”.

You glared at him, your body aching for release. “You’re such a dick”, you shot back, though there was no real venom in your words.

Ben’s smirk widened at your frustration. “Oh, come on now”, he said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Isn’t this fun for you too?”.

You let out a low growl, your body trembling with the need for release. “Ben”, you begged, your voice cracking with desperation.

He laughed softly, the sound both infuriating and intoxicating. “I love seeing you like this”, he murmured, his fingers ghosting over your heated skin, never quite giving you what you craved. “So needy, so desperate for me”.

You couldn’t take it anymore. With a burst of frustration and determination, you pushed against his chest, catching him off guard. He stumbled back, falling onto the mattress beside you, a look of surprise and amusement on his face.

Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, you climbed on top of him, straddling his hips and pinning him down. “You want to tease?”, you challenged, your voice low and throaty. “Let’s see how you like it”.

Ben’s eyes darkened with desire, his hands instinctively moving to your hips. “Oh, I like this side of you”, he murmured, his voice filled with appreciation.

You smirked down at him, the rush of power intoxicating. “Do you now?”, you mocked. “Let’s see how much you like it when you’re the one begging”.

His eyes flashed with a mixture of amusement and challenge. But your words had struck a nerve, and you saw a flicker of something darker in his gaze. He gripped your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your skin with a force that made you gasp.

The pressure was almost painful, but you could see the struggle in his eyes as he tried to balance his strength and control. “Careful now”, he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re playing with fire”.

You leaned down, your breath hot against his ear. “I can handle the heat”, you whispered, your tone filled with confidence.

Ben’s grip tightened even more, and you felt the sharp bite of his fingers against your flesh. The pain mingled with pleasure, sending a shiver through your body. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the bruising of his massive ego battling with his desire to dominate.

“Is that so?”, he challenged, his voice rough.

With a sudden, forceful move, he flipped you onto your back, his body hovering over you. The change in position was so swift it left you breathless, and you found yourself pinned beneath him, his weight pressing you into the mattress.

He stared down at you, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and lust. “You think you can handle this?”, he demanded, his voice a low growl.

With those words, Ben thrust inside you with a forceful motion, knocking the air out of your lungs. A sharp pain shot through you, mingling with the intense pleasure that followed. You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as you tried to steady yourself.

“Ben”, you breathed, a mix of pain and arousal coloring your voice. Despite the initial discomfort, you couldn’t deny how hot it felt, the raw intensity of his need mirroring your own.

He smirked down at you, his eyes dark and intense. “Told you”, he growled, his hips pulling back before driving into you again with the same unrelenting force.

Your body arched beneath him, a cry escaping your lips. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and pain that left you trembling. “Ben…please…”, you gasped, though whether you were begging for more or for mercy, you couldn’t be sure.

His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers leaving bruises you knew you’d feel later. “I’m not stopping”, he muttered, his voice rough and filled with determination. “Not until I’ve fucked that attitude out of you”.

You knew how to push his buttons, and despite the force of his thrusts, you found the strength to meet his gaze with a defiant smirk. “Is that the best you can do?”, you taunted, your voice breathless but challenging. “I thought you were stronger than this”.

His eyes darkened further, a dangerous glint appearing as your words struck a nerve. He growled, the sound low and primal, and shifted his grip, one hand moving to your throat. The pressure was firm but not enough to cut off your air, just enough to remind you of his power.

“You really want to test me?”, he snarled, his hips driving into you with even more intensity. The hand on your throat tightened slightly, enough to make your breath hitch but not to truly harm. “I can fucking break you”, he warned, his voice a mix of anger and arousal.

The pressure around your throat, combined with the relentless force of his thrusts, sent a shiver of both fear and excitement through you. You knew you were pushing him to his limits, and it thrilled you. “Do it”, you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath.

He didn’t know why he couldn’t hold back as well as he usually could with you. Maybe it was the way you pushed him, the way you taunted him, or the way you looked at him with such defiance and desire. And you, you didn’t understand why you wanted him to fuck you this hard, to push you to your limits. Maybe it was the thrill of the danger, the raw power and intensity he exuded, or the way he made you feel alive.

Both of you knew that if his control slipped completely, he could easily hurt you, even kill you. But right now, you were lost in the heat of the moment, consumed by your need for each other.

Ben’s thrusts became even more powerful, each one driving you further into the mattress. The pressure on your throat increased just enough to make your breath hitch, but still not enough to truly harm you. It was a delicate balance, one that he maintained with surprising precision even in his heightened state.

“You’re mine”, he growled, his voice filled with a primal possessiveness. “Only mine”.

Your response was a breathless moan, your body arching up to meet his thrusts. “Yours”, you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “Only yours”.

The admission seemed to fuel his desire even more. His movements became more desperate, more intense, driving you both closer to the edge. The room was filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing, the slap of skin against skin, and the occasional low growl from Ben.

The pleasure and pain blended together into a whirlwind of sensation. Every thrust, every squeeze of his hand around your throat, every brush of his skin against yours sent you spiraling higher and higher. You could feel the tension building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with each passing moment.

Finally, the pressure became too much to bear. With one final, powerful thrust, Ben sent you over the edge. Your orgasm ripped through you, a wave of intense pleasure that left you trembling and gasping for breath. Your vision blurred, your body shaking with the force of it.

His thrusts remained powerful, unrelenting, each movement drawing him closer to his climax.

“Look at you”, he growled, his voice husky and breathless. “So desperate, so needy for me”.

You could only respond with incoherent moans, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Your nails raked down his back, leaving red trails in their wake, but Ben barely noticed. His focus was entirely on you, on the way your body reacted to him.

“You love this, don’t you?”, he continued, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to make your breath hitch again. “You love being mine".

You nodded weakly, your eyes meeting his. “Yes”, you whispered, your voice trembling. “I love it. I love you”.

The admission sent a fresh wave of desire through Ben. He drove into you harder, faster, his control slipping further with each thrust. “Good”, he growled, his breath hot against your ear. “Because I’m never letting you go”.

With a final, powerful thrust, he reached his climax, his release spilling into you with an intensity that left you both breathless. He held you tightly, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm.

For a few moments, neither of you moved. You were both too spent, too overwhelmed by the intensity of what had just happened. Ben’s body pressed heavily against yours, his breath warm and ragged against your neck. You felt the rapid thudding of his heart against your chest,

Slowly, Ben’s grip on your throat loosened, his fingers trailing gently down to rest on your collarbone. He raised his head slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. The dark, intense desire had softened, replaced by a tender concern. “You´re okay?”, he asked, his voice a hushed whisper filled with sincerity.

You nodded weakly, a satisfied smile spreading across your lips. “Yeah”, you whispered back, your voice hoarse but content. “More than okay”.

Ben’s expression softened even further, and he leaned in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. His lips lingered there for a moment before he pulled back, his eyes searching your face for any signs of discomfort. Seeing none, he let out a relieved sigh, his shoulders relaxing as he held you close.

Gently, he eased himself off of you, careful not to cause any more discomfort. He settled beside you, pulling you into his arms. The warmth of his body enveloped you, and you nestled into his embrace, feeling safe and cherished.

His fingers traced soothing patterns on your back, the gentle touch a stark contrast to the intensity of moments before. “You really drive me fucking nuts, you know that?”, he murmured, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

You couldn’t help but smile at his words, your own chuckle blending with his. “I could say the same about you”, you teased, your voice a gentle murmur as you nestled closer to him. “But I think that’s part of what makes this work, don’t you?”.

Ben’s eyes sparkled with a mixture of amusement and affection. “Yeah, it definitely keeps things interesting”, he agreed, his fingers continuing their soothing patterns on your back.

You traced a lazy pattern on his chest with your finger, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths.

"You know”, he began, his tone teasing, “you could have just asked nicely if you wanted to get fucked harder”.

You rolled your eyes, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “Oh, please”, you mumbled, shaking your head. “You never do that because you’re always afraid of hurting me”.

Ben’s smirk softened into a more thoughtful expression. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I don’t have good reason to be careful”, he replied, his fingers continuing their gentle movements on your back.

“By the way”, you whispered, pulling away from him. You slipped your arms into the sleeves of your pajama shirt but didn’t bother buttoning it up, knowing Ben would likely unbutton it anyway after what you were about to show him. Holding your shirt closed with one hand, you walked towards the bathroom, the anticipation building.

Ben watched you curiously, his eyes following your every movement. “What are you up to now?”, he asked, his tone a mix of amusement and intrigue.

You emerged from the bathroom holding a small bag, your heart pounding with excitement and nerves. Ben’s eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity as you walked back to the bed, holding the bag out to him.

“What’s this?”, he asked, sitting up and taking the bag from your hand.

“Just open it”, you said softly, your voice trembling with anticipation.

Ben carefully opened the bag, his eyes widening as he pulled out the positive pregnancy test.

For a moment, he just stared at it, his expression shifting from confusion to realization and then to pure, unfiltered joy.

“You’re…?”, he began, his voice thick with emotion.

You nodded, tears of happiness welling up in your eyes. “Yeah”.

Ben’s face lit up with joy, a wide smile breaking through as he processed the news, but the mood shifted almost instantly. In a spontaneous reaction, he pushed against your shoulder. It was meant to be a light, playful shove, but his strength sent you tumbling back into the pillows. “And you let me do this to you?! The fuck is wrong with you”, he grumbled, a mix of worry and confusion in his tone, referencing the intensity of your fucking just minutes ago.

You looked up at him, biting back a laugh at his exaggerated concern. “Ben, relax. It’s fine… We’re fine”, you reassured him, trying to soothe his sudden surge of protectiveness.

He wasn’t entirely convinced, his brows knitting together as he hovered over you. “You’re not getting fucked for a long time for this”, he declared, raising a finger sternly. But his attempt at seriousness faltered, his lips twitching into a smile that he couldn’t quite suppress.

You laughed, reaching up to pull him down for a kiss. “Is that supposed to be punishment or protection?”, you teased, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Ben chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Maybe a bit of both”, he admitted, his voice softening.

With a gentle but firm motion, he pulled you onto his lap, his hands settling protectively on your stomach. His large palms nearly covered your entire belly, and he closed his eyes, concentrating deeply. You watched him, curiosity and love mingling in your gaze.

After a few moments, his eyes opened, and a wide, genuine smile spread across his face. “There it is”, he murmured, his voice filled with awe. He could feel the faint, delicate heartbeat of your baby, just beginning its journey of life.

"You can sense it?".

Ben’s eyes sparkled with joy and pride as he looked at you, his hands still resting gently on your stomach. “You still doubt my abilities?”, he asked, raising an eyebrow playfully.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “No, I never doubted you. I just… I didn’t expect you to be able to feel it so soon”, you admitted, your voice filled with wonder.

He grinned, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not your average guy”, he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed your amusement. “I guess not”, you replied, leaning in to kiss him softly. “You’re extraordinary in so many ways”.

Ben leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. The warmth and tenderness of the moment enveloped you both, making everything else fade into the background. As he pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, he murmured, “Mmhmm, tell me about it”.

You laughed softly, your breath mingling with his. “Well, let’s see”, you began, your voice filled with affection. “You’re strong, protective, and you have this incredible ability to make me feel safe and loved no matter what”.

His grin widened, his eyes sparkling with joy. “Keep going”, he urged playfully, his hands gently squeezing your hips.

You shook your head, a mock exasperated expression on your face. “You’re also incredibly stubborn and a bit of a show-off”, you teased, poking his chest lightly.

Ben raised an eyebrow and whispered against your lips, “Uh-uh, wrong way, baby. Turn around”, referring to you getting back on his good side.

You laughed, the sound bubbling up from deep within you. “Okay, okay”, you conceded, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You’re also incredibly charming, unbelievably handsome, and you have this annoying way of making me fall in love with you more every day”.

His eyes softened, and he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. “That’s more like it”, he said, his voice filled with warmth.

You felt a surge of emotion as you looked into his eyes, knowing that despite his tough exterior, he had a heart that beat just for you. “I love you, Ben”, you whispered, your voice filled with sincerity.

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks. “I love you too”, he replied, his voice steady and unwavering. “More than anything”.

There was a comfortable silence between you, the warmth of the moment wrapping around you like a soft blanket. Ben’s fingers gently traced patterns on your back, his touch light and reassuring.

Then, breaking the quiet, he mumbled, “You never told me how it really was for you”.

You looked up at him, a questioning gaze meeting his. “What do you mean?”, you asked softly.

He smirked slightly. “You know, when I took your little precious virginity”, he teased, his voice a playful growl.

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and nostalgia. “Oh, that”, you said, trying to mask your shyness with a playful tone.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not letting you off the hook that easily. “Yeah, that”, he said, his voice dropping to a more serious, inquisitive tone. “I never asked because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I’ve always wondered. Was it okay for you? Did I hurt you?”.

You sighed, your mind drifting back to that night. It had been intense, overwhelming, and filled with a whirlwind of emotions. “It was… a lot”, you admitted, your voice honest. “You were intense, but you were also incredibly tender and careful. I was nervous and excited, and you made me feel safe. It was perfect in its own way”.

Even though you just told him it was perfect, the words before lingered in his mind and he wasn’t quite satisfied. “A lot”, he repeated, his tone thoughtful. “That doesn’t sound like it was all good”.

You bit your lip, sensing his concern. “Well, Ben, your… size isn’t exactly average”, you admitted with a shy smile. “And being a virgin, it wasn’t as smooth as I might have hoped. But you were so patient and gentle when I needed you to be”.

Even though Ben never was the type to be gentle or considerate, he had made an exception for you and continued to do so.

But he would never completely admit to it. You looked up at him, seeing that he was still processing your words. You sighed softly, cupping his face in your hands.

“Ben”, you said gently, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You were amazing, okay? You still are. I wouldn’t change anything about that night, or any night since”.

His eyes softened slightly, but there was still a flicker of doubt. “I just want to make sure I’m not hurting you”, he murmured, his hands resting on your hips, his touch tender.

You smiled, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “You’re not hurting me. I trust you”.

He sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing a little. You watched him closely, still cupping his face, and asked gently, “Where is this coming from, Ben?”.

He pressed his lips together in a tight, almost reluctant smile. His eyes flicked down to your belly before meeting your gaze again. “If this is gonna be a girl”, he said, pointing toward your belly, “I’m gonna lose my fucking shit”.

You blinked in surprise, then a smile broke across your face. “Why?”, you asked, amusement lacing your tone.

Ben’s eyes softened, and he seemed to be wrestling with his thoughts. “I just… I want to protect her. I know how the world can be, especially for girls”. He paued. “And if she’s anything like you… I don’t know if I can handle it”, he mumbled.

“Like me?”, you raised an eyebrow, grinning.

“Yeah”, he said, his voice a mix of frustration and admiration. “Choosing someone like me, a fucking supe with a tendency to lose control for her fucking first time ever. That was a fucking stupid idea”.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Ben, it wasn’t a stupid idea. It was the best decision I ever made. I love you, and I wanted my first time to be with someone I trust completely”.

“You really mean that?”, Ben asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of doubt.

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him softly. “Yes, I really mean that. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way”.

Ben’s expression softened further, and he pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours. “I just… I know I can be a lot to handle”.

You chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “You are a lot, but that’s part of why I love you. You’re passionate, strong, and you care so deeply. And you’ve always been so careful with me, even when you’re being intense”.

Ben pressed his lips against yours, the intensity of his emotions flowing through the kiss. It was as if he couldn’t handle the depth of your dedication, the sincerity of your words. You felt his hands tighten around you, pulling you closer, needing the physical connection to ground him.

The kiss deepened, filled with a mixture of passion, gratitude, and a fierce protectiveness. Ben’s fingers threaded through your hair, holding you to him as if he never wanted to let go. You responded in kind, your arms wrapping around his neck, drawing him closer still.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless. Ben’s eyes were dark with emotion, his voice husky as he spoke. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m not letting go. Ever”.

You smiled, your heart swelling with love. “And I’m not going anywhere”, you whispered back, your fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw.

With that, Ben gently pressed your head against his chest, his strong arms wrapping around you protectively. You could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, a comforting rhythm that grounded you both. “We’re gonna have a fucking baby”, he mumbled, still in awe at the reality of it. The wonder in his voice made your heart swell even more.

You snuggled closer, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours. “Yes, we are”, you whispered, your voice filled with a mixture of excitement and tenderness.

Ben held you tightly, his hand moving to rest on your belly once again. He was still processing the enormity of the news, the joy and the concern intertwined in his mind. He would never admit it, but a part of him had been worried that maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t get pregnant again after the loss you both had endured.

But here you were, a new life growing inside you. The thought filled him with a fierce determination to protect you both, to ensure that nothing would harm you or the baby.

As the minutes passed, the emotional intensity of the moment began to ebb, replaced by a deep sense of contentment. Your eyelids grew heavy, the exhaustion from the day and the overwhelming emotions finally catching up to you. Ben’s hands continued their gentle caress on your belly, the repetitive motion soothing and comforting.

Gradually, your breathing slowed, matching the calm rhythm of his. Ben noticed the change, a tender smile spreading across his face as he realized you were falling asleep in his arms. He adjusted his position slightly, making sure you were comfortable without waking you.

The room was quiet, the only sound the gentle hum of the night outside and the soft rustle of the sheets as Ben shifted to hold you more securely. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there as he whispered, “I love you”.

You mumbled something unintelligible in response, already halfway to dreamland. Ben chuckled softly, his heart swelling with love and pride. With you nestled safely in his arms, Ben allowed himself to relax, his own eyes growing heavy.

The following week felt like an eternity as you and Ben waited for your first appointment at the Vought hospital. Ben’s overprotectiveness reached new heights, as he tried to shield you from any possible work or stress. While his intentions were pure, his constant hovering drove you nearly crazy. He did try his best to give you some space, finding tasks that didn’t require physical effort for you to do, but it was still a delicate balance.

Today, however, was the day of your appointment. As you prepared to leave for the hospital, Ben’s concern was palpable. He made sure you were comfortable in the car, fussing over every little detail.

The drive to the hospital was quiet, both of you lost in your thoughts. Ben’s hand never left yours, his grip firm yet gentle. When you arrived, he helped you out of the car, his protective instincts kicking in once more as he guided you into the building.

The familiar surroundings of the Vought hospital brought back a flood of memories, some bittersweet, but you pushed them aside, focusing on the hope and excitement of the present moment. The receptionist greeted you warmly, and after a short wait, you were led to the examination room.

Dr. Collins quickly joined you, a soft smile on her lips. “It’s good to see you both again”, she said gently, her eyes kind and understanding. “How have you been?”.

You exchanged a glance with Ben, who gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. “We’ve been alright”, you replied, your voice steady. “Just really looking forward to today”.

She nodded, understanding the mix of anticipation and nerves that came with this visit. “Well, let’s get started then”, she said, motioning for you to lie down on the examination table. “We’ll need to do an internal ultrasound to confirm the pregnancy and check on everything”.

A wave of nervousness washed over you as you began to undress from the hips down. Ben noticed the anxiety in your eyes and leaned in close, his voice low and teasing. “Don’t worry, babe. I’m sure Dr. Collins has seen plenty of asses, but none as fine as yours”.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, his attempt at easing your nerves working slightly. “You’re impossible”, you murmured, giving him a playful shove as you folded your clothes neatly on a nearby chair.

As you settled onto the examination table, your heart raced. The cold air of the room made you shiver slightly, and you felt exposed and vulnerable. Ben stayed close, holding your hand firmly in his, his presence a steady comfort.

Dr. Collins adjusted the equipment, her movements professional and reassuring. “Alright, this might feel a bit uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t be painful”, she explained as she prepared the ultrasound probe. “Just take deep breaths and try to relax”.

Ben leaned down, whispering in your ear. “You’ve handled worse, trust me. Remember that one time in the kitchen?”.

You shot him a look, half-annoyed, half-amused. “Ben, now is not the time”, you hissed, though his words did manage to distract you a bit from your anxiety.

As Dr. Collins began the procedure, you focused on the feeling of Ben’s hand in yours, his thumb gently stroking your skin. The initial discomfort eased as you took deep breaths, your body gradually relaxing into the process.

After a few moments, the screen flickered to life. Dr. Collins moved the probe with practiced ease, searching for the tiny life growing inside you. “There it is”, she said softly, turning the screen so you and Ben could see. The tiny, flickering heartbeat was clearly visible, and the sound of it filled the room. "Not hiding this time".

Tears welled up in your eyes, a mixture of relief and overwhelming joy washing over you. Ben’s grip on your hand tightened.

“Everything looks perfect”, Dr. Collins confirmed, her voice warm and reassuring. “The heartbeat is strong and healthy”.

Ben let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, a smile breaking across his face.

Dr. Collins continued the examination, her eyes focused on the screen and her hands moving expertly. She filled out your file, noting the strong heartbeat and other vital details. Then she turned to you, her expression gentle but professional.

“How have you been feeling?”, she asked, pen poised over your chart.

You took a deep breath, glancing at Ben before answering. “Mostly just really tired”, you admitted. “I’ve been exhausted all the time”.

Dr. Collins nodded, jotting down your symptoms. “Fatigue is common in early pregnancy”, she explained. “But it’s good that you’re mentioning it. We want to monitor everything closely, especially given your history”.

She paused, her gaze shifting between you and Ben, her tone becoming more serious. “I also want to talk to you about V medication”, she said. “Given that he", she nodded ftowards Ben, "is a supe, we need to be vigilant for any symptoms that shouldn’t be present in a normal pregnancy, or if you start experiencing typical symptoms much too early or too intensely”.

Ben’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, his protective instincts kicking in. “What kind of symptoms should we be looking out for?”, he asked, his voice steady but concerned.

Dr. Collins sighed softly, her expression somber. “Things like extreme pain, rapid weight gain or loss, abnormal bleeding, or any unusual abilities manifesting”, she listed.

Ben and you nodded, absorbing the information and letting Dr. Collins finish her tests. As she worked, you shared what your parents had revealed about the V traces in your blood, explaining the unexpected discovery. Dr. Collins listened intently, her interest piqued.

“That’s very interesting”, she said, taking note. “We should run some additional tests to get a clearer picture of how this might impact your pregnancy”. She quickly gathered a few blood samples, labeling them meticulously.

After completing the tests, Dr. Collins turned to a small printer beside the ultrasound machine. “I’m going to print out some ultrasound pictures for you”, she said, her voice warm. As the images emerged, she handed them to Ben with a smile. “These are for you two to keep. It’s always special to have these early moments captured”.

Ben took the pictures, his eyes softening as he looked at the tiny life growing inside you. He handed one to you, and you both marveled at the image, a tangible proof of the new life you were creating together.

Dr. Collins then handed you a pregnancy journal. “I want you to document everything you’re feeling, every symptom, no matter how minor it may seem”, she instructed. “We’ll need to monitor you closely, so I’m ordering you to come in for a check-up at least once a week. And if anything strange or unusual happens, you need to contact me immediately”.

You nodded, feeling a mix of reassurance and responsibility. “We will”, you promised, your hand tightening around Ben’s.

Dr. Collins smiled warmly. “You’re in good hands. We’ll take every precaution to ensure a healthy pregnancy for both you and the baby”.

As the two of you stood in the elevator, Ben’s hand rested gently on your lower back. His presence was a constant source of reassurance and warmth. He glanced down at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and curiosity. “Mind if I check on the team?”, he asked.

You smiled, shaking your head. “Of course not. Let’s go”.

When the elevator reached the top floor, you walked together towards the meeting room. As you approached, Butcher walked in your direction, a smirk already forming on his face. Just as he was about to make a comment about Ben finally showing up again, his gaze shifted to you, lingering on your belly for a few seconds before he grinned widely.

“Congratulations, mommy”, he teased, his voice dripping with amusement.

Ben rolled his eyes, raising a hand in disbelief. “We’re trying to keep it a secret for a few more weeks”, he grumbled.

Butcher chuckled, clearly enjoying the moment. “Ah, don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me”, he said, though his smirk suggested otherwise.

“How are you even doing this, Butcher?”, you grumbled, your own irritation surfacing. It was supposed to be a private moment for a little while longer, and Butcher’s keen observation had cut that short.

“Just have a knack for noticing things”, Butcher replied, his tone almost too casual. He then turned serious for a moment. “But, seriously, congratulations. Hope everything goes smoothly”. Then, with his usual irreverence, he added, “If you need anything, don’t ask me”, before he stepped inside the meeting room, followed by you and Ben.

Frenchie, who was already seated, looked up and raised both hands dramatically. “Mon Amie, why are you doing this to me?”, he exclaimed, directing his theatrical lament at Ben. “Giving Butcher the lead again!”.

Ben smirked, giving Frenchie a knowing look. “Someone’s gotta keep you all in line while I’m busy with other important things”, he said, his hand still resting protectively on your back. You and Ben hadn't been to the tower for a week.

Frenchie sighed theatrically, but there was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “Fine, fine. Just don’t blame me when he makes us do something insane”.

The rest of the team chuckled, the atmosphere lightening up a bit. Ben took his seat at the head of the table, motioning for you to sit beside him. As the meeting commenced, the team discussed various missions and updates.

As the discussion moved forward, you found yourself stealing glances at Ben, feeling a deep sense of love and admiration for him. His focus and determination were evident, but there was also a gentleness in the way he kept a protective eye on you, ensuring your comfort and well-being throughout the meeting.

As the meeting drew to a close, Annie looked up from her notes, her eyes filled with curiosity and concern. “So, when will you two be returning full-time?”, she asked, her tone gentle but insistent.

Ben leaned back in his chair, glancing at you before responding. “Next week”, he said firmly. “We just needed some time to get things in order”.

Annie nodded, accepting the answer without pressing further. It was clear she had her suspicions, but she respected your privacy. Ben had made it clear that the news of your pregnancy was to be kept a secret for a little while longer.

After the meeting, Ben insisted on getting you home. Despite your protests that you could stay a bit longer, he was adamant. “You need your rest”, he said firmly. Reluctantly, you agreed, knowing he was right.

The ride home wasn’t that long, but it was long enough for you to drift off to sleep. The pregnancy was already taking its toll on your body, leaving you constantly tired. Ben had jokingly but lovingly referred to you as “fucking narcoleptic”, always with a sarcastic smile that betrayed his genuine concern.

Ben glanced over at you as you slept, his expression softening. He marveled at how quickly you could fall asleep these days, and it made him all the more determined to protect you and the life growing inside you. The exhaustion etched on your face tugged at his heartstrings.

When you arrived home, Ben gently lifted you in his arms, careful not to jostle you too much. As he cradled you against his chest, you stirred, blinking awake, completely disoriented.

“Ben?”, you mumbled, your voice groggy and confused. “What’s happening?”.

“We’re home”, he said softly, his tone reassuring. “You fell asleep in the car”.

You blinked a few more times, trying to shake off the haze of sleep. “I can walk”, you insisted weakly, though you made no move to leave his arms.

Ben chuckled, a soft, rumbling sound. “I know you can". He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his grip secure and comforting.

You just nodded, allowing yourself to relax into his embrace. As he carried you inside, you marveled at how easily he could lift you, his strength a constant source of both awe and comfort. He navigated through the house with ease, making his way to the bedroom.

Once there, he gently laid you down on the bed, carefully arranging the pillows and covers around you. “There you go”, he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Comfy?”.

You nodded, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips. “Thank you.. I think I’m going to take a nap”, you added, your voice trailing off. But before you could finish your sentence, your eyes fluttered closed, and you were already drifting back into sleep.

Ben watched you for a moment, before he carefully pulled the covers up to your chin, ensuring you were snug and comfortable.

He quietly left the room, deciding to take care of a few things around the house while you rested. But he kept the door ajar, so he could hear if you needed anything.

As he moved through the house, his mind kept drifting back to the sight of you sleeping soundly, the knowledge that you were carrying his child filling him with a profound sense of purpose.

A couple of hours later, he peeked into the bedroom to check on you. You were still sleeping soundly, your breathing steady and peaceful. He decided to join you for a nap, carefully slipping into bed beside you. As he wrapped his arm around you, you instinctively cuddled closer.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think. 🥰

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Part 13

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Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch@mimaria420@kaz11283@uncle-eggy@jackles010378@vxnilla-hxrddrugs @meowmeowyoongles@sarahgracej @zemosdarling228 @leila22rogers @mostlymarvelgirl@emily-winchester @blacknoirr @onlyangel-444@seasonofthenerd@staple-your-mouth@artemys-ackles@selfdestructionandrhum@mystic-mara @kat-nee @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @star-yawnznn @me1501 @CheyNovaK @faephoria @hobby27 @baby19sthings @fitxgrld @winchesterwild78 @uddiifiigj @libby99hb @urgogodancer @urinternetmom

[moriwood]

Buzzer Beater Heartbeat — l.hs

lee heeseung x male reader fluff with a lil bit of angst 4k words

Heeseung shattered your belief that straight men could not be friends with gay men, even if he were a star basketball player and you were an editor in your university’s student publication. At one of his standout games, an old flame of his arrives, making you question if your feelings for him could truly remain platonic. In the aftermath, both of you grapple with the blurred lines between friendship and something more.

includes: college setting again woops, a homo and a homie dynamics, aespa’s karina is the drama (???) warning: n/a

Squeaking sneakers. Cheering crowds. Rhythmic thuds of a basketball against hardwood. Despite the cacophony, you carefully adjust the lens of your camera, capturing every highlight of an intense college basketball game. You focus on your best friend Heeseung, who just scored a three-pointer, already earning his team more than half of their points.

Heeseung blurs past the defenders, making shot after shot with little help from his teammates. You can’t help but feel pride swell within you as he pauses amid the game’s pressure to flash your camera a peace sign and a confident grin. His team is now ahead by over twenty points, and all signs point to another landslide victory for your college. As you lower your camera, you join the crowd’s chants, feeding into the infectious spirit of the moment.

The buzzer signals the end of the first half. You toss Heeseung his raggedy towel as he jogs over to you on the sidelines, hair sticking to his glistening sweat. He catches it with precision and gives you a cheeky wink.

“How’s the game so far?” Heeseung pants. 

“Killing it, man. I’ve got way more photos of you than anybody else,” you laugh. 

“Good! My baby’s eyes should only be on me and nobody else,” he huffs, taking a swig of his water jug before heading back to the coach. Your pulse quickens at the term of endearment Heeseung loves to use on you.

As Heeseung returns to the team, your attention is drawn to a group of girls entering the court. Their ID lanyards reveal them as students from the opposing college, and oh. There’s Karina. Karina, who Heeseung once fervently pursued but had been rejected by, came to the game. Seeing her stirs something bitter within you, knowing how broken she had left Heeseung months ago. You glance at your best friend, who seems to have noticed the new presence as well, offering her an awkward wave across the court. She politely waves back, flicking her hair back as she takes her seat.

The second half begins, and it’s as if a different Heeseung is dribbling the ball. His shots miss their mark, passes go astray, and he almost trips on his own feet. The opposing team has long recovered from the score gap Heeseung initially set, overtaking your college. Your heart sinks as you watch Heeseung’s confidence waver, attention divided, distracted.

You continue to take photos, albeit with less enthusiasm. Your photos now tell a different story from the first half. Heeseung was solely focused on the ball earlier, but now he keeps on glancing elsewhere. His eyes so easily drift towards Karina, and it is painfully clear that Heeseung is far from having moved on. 

The final buzzer reverberates amid the crowd’s silent disappointment and frustration. The game was over, and your best friend just had a monumental loss.

Karina celebrates with her friends, holding hands with a player from her team — you assume her boyfriend. Heeseung looks utterly defeated, shoulders slumped and eyes downcast. The coach is livid, his teammates sympathetic, and you awkwardly sit and wait by the sidelines as people exit the gym. Stowing your camera away, you make your way towards Heeseung as the coach dismisses them.

“Hey,” you softly say, placing a comforting hand on his back. 

Heeseung could only nod. “I messed up big time.”

“It’s just one game,” you reassure him. “You’ve got a lot more coming. Besides, your first half was phenomenal.”

He sighs deeply, packing his bag. “It’s not just the game… You saw her too, didn’t you?”

“Karina? Yeah.” You nod in understanding, trailing behind Heeseung as the two of you leave the gym. “Didn’t get to talk to her though. I think she’s got a boyfriend, she was holding hands with him after they won.”

“Oh, cool,” Heeseung mutters.

“Come on, man,” you gently chide, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Plenty of women out there. Karina isn’t the end of the world.”

Heeseung looks at you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “That’s not what I meant, but alright.”

You grin, trying to lighten the mood. “Did you know that there are about fifteen thousand students in our university?”

Heeseung furrows his brows with the sudden trivia. “No?”

“And only three thousand have voted in the student council elections as of three hours ago?”

Heeseung finally lets out a laugh. “What’s that got to do with anything? Suddenly remembered your unfinished drafts?”

“I’m telling you there are thousands of students walking around campus and I don’t think I even know a hundred people here. I’m saying you probably haven’t even met the right one yet.”

Heeseung knew far more people than you did, that was obvious. A fact that he has casually told you countless times is the number of women (and men) that he has rejected. You fear that soon enough, you’ll be one of them.

“You always know what to say,” he whispers as if you weren’t meant to hear it. The tension eases as he squeezes your hand. “I don’t even know what to do without you.”

“Maybe you should date me instead,” you blurt out, hoping your sincerity goes undetected.

“Oh yeah? Why should I?”

“I’m a great listener, I’ve got your back, I take awesome photos, and I’m definitely writing an article drooling about your gameplay.”

“I love you too much," Heeseung chuckles, a sparkle in his eye. “You’ve got me pretty convinced. No take-backsies if I take you up on that offer.”

You could not ignore the bittersweet ache in your chest, conflicted by how to interpret what Heeseung could say so nonchalantly. You wanted to prod further, to ask if any of those words meant anything else, but you kept your mouth shut. Your best friend needed comfort more than you needed clarity. Knowing he loves you as a friend had to be enough. As you drop off Heeseung at his dorm, you can only wish that someday, someone could care for you as deeply as he did for Karina. 

—

The crushing defeat brought Heeseung to longer workouts and practices, more determined than ever to redeem himself. Meanwhile, the school paper’s hustle never slowed, keyboards clacking over student politics and the recent elections. In the whirlwind of it all, the two of you find solace in your late-night rendezvous at the university’s 24-hour café, almost like a daily routine for both of you.

Tonight, the café is quieter than usual, with the only customers at the moment being you and Heeseung. Sunoo, the friendly barista you both have come to know, greets you with a warm smile as you settle into your usual corner booth.

“Remember the first time we came here?” Heeseung asks, taking a long sip of his iced coffee. 

“Yeah,” you hum, not looking at Heeseung, busy typing away on your laptop. “You were so nervous about your first big game, fidgeting after three slices of chocolate cake.”

Heeseung grins, teasingly poking your warm mug from across the table. “Then I almost spilled your mug ‘cause of the jitters.” He rests his head on his hand. “But it worked. You stayed up all night with me and I played my best the next day.” 

That was a fond memory. Your suave friend became skittish out of nowhere, and you distracted him with endless conversations about everything and nothing. “I’m your lucky charm, after all,” you wink.

Heeseung had finished training an hour ago, and here he was, accompanying you as you rush revisions for an article draft for next week’s publication. You told him that he should sleep early tonight for his game tomorrow, but he insisted, still believing in some superstition that you calm his nerves before matches.

“Because of you,” he murmurs, dazed from his drowsiness. “Because of you, I play well.”

You pause, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Because of you,” you echo, thinking about how much Heeseung meant to you. Over the few years you’ve had in college, your bond has only grown stronger, and it was becoming harder to ignore that this could all fade away once you both graduate — or that this could all be lost to a foolish confession. 

“You gave me a reason to keep taking photos and writing articles,” you fondly conclude. “I enjoy my job most when it’s about you and your games.”

“I badgered you into joining the school paper, you mean,” Heeseung points out. “It was the only way to make you go to my games!”

“It was,” you clarify, “but now I don’t have to. I can easily start sending out someone else to take the photos now.”

“But you still come, even when I’m not doing my best. So thank you for that.”

Heeseung meets your gaze with a derpy smile plastered on his face, and a comfortable silence sits between the two of you. 

You sip your coffee, savoring its warmth against the café’s muffled music. Despite your attempts to keep your feelings hidden, you know you haven’t been that discreet. The lingering glances, the way your face lights up whenever he is around — people have noticed. As a well-known basketball player, the speculation was inevitable. Whether it was one-sided or mutual, whispers around campus painted a picture of your relationship that was hard to ignore.

Even then, Heeseung seemed unfazed. If anything, the growing rumors had driven him to become more intimate with you. He reaches out to you more often, finding excuses to spend even more time with you like drinking coffee together at absurd hours. The idea of possibly meaning so much to Heeseung terrifies and excites you at the same time.

“You know, I realized something after the last game,” Heeseung breaks the silence. “You mean so much to me, yet I don’t think I’ve ever really shown you how much.”

“Is that why you’re here with me half-awake?” you jest, but Heeseung does not respond. He fiddles with his fingers, hesitating.

“Maybe I just don’t want you finding company in someone else,” he sighs. “What if you come here with Jay instead—”

“Or Jake. He’s asked me out here before,” you butt in, recalling when Jake desperately asked you to help him write an essay here a month ago. “He looked so cute begging—”

Heeseung slams a hand on the table, startling you. Sunoo glances over, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “See! I look away for a second and Jake starts pouncing,” he huffs. “I told him you’re off-limits and—”

“Off-limits? Why would you even say that?” you question, voice wavering in disbelief. “Imagine if I were his boyfriend, oh God, the whole campus would be talking! It’s an explosive headline waiting to be written.”

“Well, you deserve more than a guy like Jake,” Heeseung defends himself, and something tells you this was sincere and not another one of his misleading jokes. “He’s a red flag, trust me.”

“Who should be the standard then?”

“Of course, it’s me!” Heeseung exclaims and you can’t stop yourself from blushing a little bit. 

He reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. His touch was so warm, as warm as his body that is now so close to you. His eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that sends shivers up your spine. “If we win tomorrow… I’ll show you what I mean,” he earnestly promises, voice low and full of conviction. Your heart beats to the echoes of hope and fear within you. 

“Wear my jersey later,” he requests. “It sounds silly but it would mean a lot to me.”

It’s always like this with Heeseung, always delicately dancing between friendly banter and something more. None of it makes sense.

“Okay, cut that off,” you warn Heeseung, withdrawing your hand. “Go to sleep, you’re saying weird shit.”

“Alright, alright.” Heeseung leans back, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “But I meant what I said,” he says, tone still serious. “I’m gonna take a nap here. Wake me up when you’re done.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “I meant you should go to sleep. Back at your dorms. I’m fine staying here alone.”

Heeseung stretches, yawning. “If I leave you here now, you’re gonna stay here again until the wee hours. If I need rest, then so do you. If you stay up late for me, then I stay up late for you. I’ll wait for you to finish here.”

You give him a half-smile, having nothing else to say to your best friend. “Thank you,” you mutter, hoping you mask the tumult of emotions swirling inside you.

—

Somewhat against your wishes, you are now wearing Heeseung’s old jersey over your shirt as you wait for the game to begin. It smells faintly of Heeseung’s usual fabric conditioner, a comforting scent that makes you feel all fuzzy and warm. It worries you though, how something as minor as this could be interpreted by the gossiping crowds.

The atmosphere is once again electric, seats rapidly filling with students. You’re already in your usual spot, your camera neatly placed on your lap, ready to capture every moment. As the team warms up, you notice a familiar face making her way toward you. Karina… again. You hope Heeseung won’t be affected by this again.

She cheerfully greets you, but her eyes are fixated on the jersey you are wearing. 

“Which side will you be supporting tonight?” you ask, curious where she’ll sit as her college isn’t playing. 

“Heeseung’s side, duh. We both know he’s ahead of everyone else here,” she replies, then pauses. “Nice jersey. Heeseung gave it to you?”

“Yeah… He asked me to wear it today,” you reply, keeping your tone neutral. 

Karina nods, a genuine grin spreading across her face. “Heeseung finally pulled his head out of his ass, huh? Congrats to the two of you.”

You nod back, unsure how to respond. “I’m sorry, what do you mean by that?”

“Wait, I thought— Well—” Karina stutters, eyes shifting between you and the players on the court, most likely Heeseung. “Did he just tell you to wear his jersey and nothing else?” she asks, leaning towards you.

You blink, having no clue what Karina was talking about. After an awkward moment of silence, you slowly nod.

“Oh, never mind what I said. That dumbass,” Karina mutters, and nothing else. She excuses herself to find a seat elsewhere, leaving you to your brewing thoughts. You can’t shake the feeling that there is something that she and Heeseung know that you don’t, and it bothers you.

The game finally starts and Heeseung seems to be more determined than ever, so focused you doubt he has even noticed Karina’s presence yet. Both teams play aggressively, points accumulating on both sides as the ball bounces across the court like a match of ping pong. You raise your camera and right on time, Heeseung shoots the first three-pointer. His gameplay hasn’t changed much, but his focus is different. Every time he scores, he looks at you, as if he were seeking your validation. It’s as if you wearing his jersey is driving him to play even better.

The first half ends with a tight scoreline, proving tonight’s opponent is tougher than the last. “Sub?” you hear Heeseung ask the coach, calling to be substituted for the start of the third quarter. He then jogs to you, seemingly giddy. “Am I doing good?” he asks you, panting.

“Unbelievable,” you say, passing him his jug. “You’re doing so great, but the score is too close!”

“It’s tough when Jake’s being a dead weight right now,” he whines, sweat dripping into his eye. He sits beside you on the bench, catching his breath.

“They’re really pushing us,” you comment, glancing at the scoreboard. “You just gotta keep up the pressure and they’ll crumble.”

He rests a hand on your leg. “I will. We’ve got this. I got you, baby. I’ll win this for you.”

You beam, feeling a surge of pride for your best friend. “Lean back, I’ll take a photo of you with my phone,” you tell Heeseung, not entirely sure why you need it, other than to have another personal snapshot of him that belongs only to you.

Heeseung reclines slightly, flashing you a confident grin despite his evident exhaustion. The gym’s warm lights cast a golden hue on his sweat-slicked skin, making him look every bit the star athlete he is. You quickly snap a few pictures, capturing the intensity and resolve in his expression. 

“Perfect,” you say, looking at the photos. “You already look like a champion,” you add, showing him the shots. “Might make it my wallpaper.”

“That makes me your champion, you know,” Heeseung mindlessly murmurs, voice soft.

“I don’t think your fans would appreciate me claiming you,” you laugh, aware of the inquisitive crowd behind the two of you.

“Tell them to stay jealous,” he whines. “You’re the one wearing my jersey, not them. That should be enough for them to back off.”

Unable to respond further, the second half begins, and Heeseung is called back to court in no time. The crowds gasp with each shot he makes, your heart pounding along the back and forth of the crowds chanting. Still, Heeseung’s energy is limitless; everything is a blur around him with each shot you take. He is at the center of it all, his relentless aggression dictating the pace of the game.

With a few minutes left on the clock, the tension is unbearable. Heeseung is everywhere — blocking shots, making steals, and driving the ball forward wherever he can. While the scoreboard shows a slim lead for your side, the game is far from over. The opposing team pushes back harder, desperate to close the gap by constantly attempting to shoot three-pointers.

The minutes turn to the last few seconds and the teams are back to being tied. The noise of the crowd has gone downright deafening, but Heeseung has the ball, and he has ten seconds left to stop overtime from happening. In the chaos of it all, on the small screen of your camera, his eyes meet yours.

Heeseung makes his move, dribbling to the three-point line like lightning then he jumps, releasing the ball. The crowd falls silent, the ball sailing through the air as the players watch in anticipation. Finally, the ball swishes through the net just as the buzzer calls for the end of the game.

The crowd explodes, students leaping to their feet in celebration. Heeseung’s teammates swarm him, a barrage of expletives praising him for cleanly closing the match. You navigate through the throng of ecstatic fans flooding the court, capturing shots of Heeseung engulfed by his teammates. As you finally reach them, the coach beckons you over.

“Take a photo for the team, would you?” he requests, voice barely audible over the commotion. You nod, waiting as the players line up in front of you. You then snap a series of shots, capturing the raw joy on their faces. After you take the last shot, you feel a finger tap on your shoulder. You turn around and catch an ecstatic Karina.

“Take one with Heeseung too, just the two of you,” she suggests, snatching your camera out of your hands without waiting. Heeseung catches the scenes and steps forward, eyes twinkling with excitement. He excuses himself from his team and immediately puts an arm around your waist.

“Good evening, Karina. Doesn’t he look cute in my jersey?” Heeseung says with a playful smile. You knit your brows together as you glance between the two, feeling something off.

“Shut up,” she deadpans, positioning herself to take the photo. “Before you pull some shit like this, make sure you’ve already confessed—”

“Okay, Karina, you can take the pic any time now!” Heeseung cuts her off, tone urgent as he pulls you even closer.

Heeseung leans, his breath warm against your ear. “May I kiss you?” he whispers. You turn your head towards him, your surprised eyes meeting his earnest ones. 

Karina’s voice counting down turns muffled, and the crowd around you seems to disappear. For a moment, it’s just you and Heeseung, suspended in time. “Yes,” you breathlessly reply, and his lips meet yours in a soft, fleeting kiss. You hear your camera click, capturing the intimate moment, and preserving it forever. 

You pull away and the cacophony in the gym floods back in. Heeseung’s teammates swarm him again, and you’re left standing with Karina, who approaches you with a knowing smile.

“I think that’s enough for you to put two and two together,” she says, handing your camera back to you. “I think you’ve got more than just a winning shot there. Congrats again, I’m rooting for the two of you.”

Heeseung is being hounded by his teammates for the stunt that he just pulled, but his eyes keep drifting back to you, a silent promise that the night has yet to end for the both of you. As the celebration continues, he finally breaks away from the team with his bag and runs to you.

“Let’s get out of here,” he huffs, taking your hand. “I need to talk to you.”

You let him pull you out of the gym, stepping out into the cool night air. You find a bench under the glow of a street light. You both sit, and you wait for Heeseung to catch his breath.

“I need to tell you something,” he begins, tone apprehensive but determined.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about it. Being more than friends. About me dating you instead.” He pauses, searching for the right words. “I’ve heard people talking, and I can’t find myself disagreeing with them. In the times we have spent together, I’ve felt something I’ve never felt before.”

Heeseung grabs your hand and holds it tightly. You find yourself speechless, struggling to parse the scene that is unraveling right now.

“It’s new and it’s confusing. You’re the first guy I’ve ever felt this way about,” Heeseung confesses. “I want to be more than just your best friend. I want to be your boyfriend.”

He looks down, gathering his thoughts before continuing. “Karina… she was the first one to tell me outright that I might be feeling something for you — that I treated you more than just a close friend. At first, it bothered me, because I value our friendship so much. Thinking about it more, she wasn’t wrong.”

You offer him a reassuring smile. “Heeseung, we can take it one step at a time,” you begin, voice soft but firm. “But people will talk. More than ever. Are you ready to face that with me?”

Heeseung nods, his gaze unwavering. “I don’t care. If it means being with you, I think it’s worth it.”

“I— I feel the same,” you reply. “For a while, I’ve tried not to fall for it. I’ve tried so hard not to misinterpret your actions, but it has become so difficult when I keep hearing about it from others. I had already given up before even trying because it felt like such a pipe dream for someone like you to see me as more than just a close friend.”

Heeseung smiles, relief washing over his face. “I want to be your boyfriend,” he repeats as if savoring the word. “Just to clarify, I, Heeseung Lee, see you as more than my best friend. There’s a reason why I always call you my baby.”

“Always been your baby, but this time it’s official,” you chuckle. Heeseung then leans in and steals a kiss, resting his head on your shoulder.

“I want you to call me that too. You never call me that way,” he teases. 

You respond with a kiss on the crown of his head. “Good game, babe. I’m so proud of you,” you whisper.

You feel Heeseung grin wider on your shoulder and he pulls you even closer in a tight embrace. “I love the sound of that. I’m looking forward to a lot more of that.”

author’s note: belated happy pride month with my longest fic ever! i said i’d stop with the college setting but i had to write this one down first… because………………………………….. uhh... real life experiences 😭

— moriwood.

[brookghaib-blog]

Kaiju n8 : The secret of Hoshina pt.2

pairing: hoshina soshiro x reader

summary: The beggining of the story between Y/N and Hoshina

an: pls be free to warn me about any mistakes in my writing

previous chapter

—

Years before Mina Ashiro assumed command of the Third Division, the unit thrived under the leadership of Captain Y/N. Known for her tactical brilliance and compassionate leadership, she was a beacon of hope and resilience for her team. Vice-Captain Hoshina Soshiro, a master swordsman and strategic genius, was her right-hand man, his loyalty to Y/N evident in every mission they undertook together.

Their relationship began strictly professional. Y/N admired Hoshina's dedication and his ability to remain calm under pressure, while Hoshina respected her leadership and the way she inspired everyone around her. As they worked together, their bond deepened, forged in the crucible of countless battles and shared hardships.

It was during a particularly harrowing battle with a massive kaiju that their feelings for each other began to surface. The kaiju had attacked a civilian area, and the Third Division was dispatched to neutralize the threat. Y/N and Hoshina led the charge, coordinating their team with precision and bravery. In the heat of battle, they moved in perfect sync, their trust in each other unwavering.

As the battle raged on, Y/N found herself in a precarious situation, surrounded by debris and with the kaiju bearing down on her. Hoshina, sensing her peril, fought his way to her side, his sword slicing through the enemy with lethal efficiency. Together, they managed to bring down the kaiju, but not without sustaining injuries.

In the aftermath, as they caught their breath amidst the ruins, their eyes met. For the first time, they allowed themselves to acknowledge the deeper connection that had been growing between them.

"Soshiro," Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper, "I don't know what I would have done without you."

Hoshina stepped closer, his usually stoic expression softening. "You never have to find out. I'll always be here for you."

Their relationship blossomed in secret, hidden from the rest of the Division to protect their positions and avoid any potential distractions. They cherished their stolen moments together, finding solace in each other's arms amidst the chaos of their duties.

Months later, Y/N discovered she was pregnant. The news brought a wave of joy and hope for both of them. They began making plans for a future beyond the battlefield, dreaming of a life where they could raise their child in peace, where they eventually organized a very secretive wedding to celebrate their love and become official in the eye of heaven itself, hoping to be blessed with happiness and the health of their baby.

One evening, after a long day of training, they sat together in their secret haven, a small, secluded part of the base garden that few knew about. The stars were bright above them, and the air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers.

"Soshiro," Y/N said, leaning against him, "I've been thinking about names."

Hoshina smiled, wrapping an arm around her. "Oh? Do you have any favorites?"

She nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips. "If it's a boy, I was thinking of Kaito. And if it's a girl, maybe Aiko."

"Kaito and Aiko," Hoshina repeated, the names rolling off his tongue with warmth. "I love them."

Their happiness, however, was short-lived. During a routine patrol, a new and unusually aggressive kaiju attacked. The battle was fierce, and despite their best efforts, Y/N was gravely injured. In the chaos, she lost their baby, a devastating blow that left her physically and emotionally shattered.

Realizing she could no longer continue in her role, Y/N made the painful decision to resign from the Third Division. She needed time to heal, and the memories of what she had lost were too painful to bear in the place where it had all happened.

The night she told Hoshina of her decision was filled with tears and heartbreak. They sat together in their secret garden, the weight of their grief heavy between them.

"Soshiro," Y/N said, her voice trembling, "I can't stay here. Every corner of this place reminds me of what we lost. I need to leave."

Hoshina held her tightly, his own heart breaking. "I understand," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I wish I could come with you, but the Division needs me. Promise me you'll stay safe."

"I promise," she whispered, clinging to him as if trying to imprint his presence into her memory.

Y/N's departure was a quiet affair, known only to a few trusted members of the Division. She left behind a legacy of strength and sacrifice, her absence felt deeply by those who had served under her. Hoshina, in particular, felt the void she left behind, her absence a constant reminder of their shared pain and the future they had lost.

Years passed, and Mina Ashiro took command of the Third Division. Hoshina continued his duties, carrying the weight of his loss in silence. He never forgot Y/N, cherishing the memories of their time together and the love they had shared. He often found himself in the secluded garden, looking up at the stars and remembering the nights they spent dreaming of a brighter future.

Despite the pain, their story was one of resilience and hope. It was a reminder that even in the darkest times, love could endure, giving strength to face the challenges ahead. And though they were apart, the bond between Hoshina and Y/N remained unbroken, a testament to the enduring power of their love.

Every year, on the anniversary of the battle where they lost their child, Hoshina would visit a small memorial he had built in the garden. He would lay a single white flower on the stone and stand in silent remembrance, his heart heavy with both sorrow and gratitude for the time they had shared.

And though being separated by distance only, the memory of their love continued to guide Hoshina, inspiring him to protect those who couldn't protect themselves, just as Y/N had always done. Their love story, was marked by both joy and tragedy, both hoping that their healing would allow them to be together again.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Omg I am in love with your writing, I want to eat it-

A humble request for a Soap Drabble-

In the aftermath of a mission where Reader is kidnapped and tortured for information (the 141 saved them) Reader seems like her usual sunshine self, like she wasn’t just beaten within an inch of her life. Some accident happens while everyone is hanging out that triggers a flashback. Reader feels like she has to escape the base facility where she’s being held and the 141 chases reader, not knowing that it’s making it worse-

Basically a PTSD episode that leaves reader going all Rambo and Soap calms her down- lots of Hurt/Comfort and hugs :)

—Find Me

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [You're finally back in One-Four-One's hands, but that doesn't mean you're saved. Johnny tracks you down after a violent episode.] ❞

The worst part is that you don’t even remember most of it. By whatever coping mechanism that you’d been cursed with, all you can bring forward is snippets. The doctors tell you it’s a blessing in disguise, of course—if you remembered how they had broken you over, and over, and over again, you would be…unrecognizable. 

But not knowing and having this paranoia in the back of your skull was far worse than guessing where the new scars started and ended; how they got there in the first place. 

It was like everything was one second away from falling apart again. 

Sitting in the rec room on base, you may have managed to fool the therapists and pass through the medical evaluation, but you can’t, not for one minute, fool Johnny. 

It started with a casual comment.

“We don’t have to be here, y’know?” The Scot had said. “Let’s just go someplace a bit quieter, aye, Dearie? It’s gettin’ late out.”

You had sent him a side-eye, your arms crossed. It had been wrong to ignore the pound of your heart like that—to ignore how your skin was sweaty and your voice shook as you spoke above the laughing of fellow soldiers. 

But you had to keep the act up. Even with him. 

“It’s nothing, Soap,” you ease. “We’re all here to have a good time. I’m fine.”

Those cobalt blues were tight, worried. Every part of his face was tight with concern as his feet shuffled, elbow moving back to the table behind the two of you.

“You’re not actin’ right, Little Lady,” he mutters, his jaw clenching as he watches you closely. “There’s no shame in it—”

“Would you just quit it, Johnny,” you snap, looking over sharply. “God, I’m not gonna break apart like some weak bitch, okay?” 

He’s quick to clarify, hand moving up in a display you would use for a feral animal. “I never meant it like that.” 

Your head turns away, and you roll your eyes. Simon and Price watch closely from the corner of the room, their conversation from previous falling silent.

But you couldn’t have accounted for the way Gaz strolled past, or how the soldier was walking back over from the pool table, swinging his cue stick in some wide arch to mess around with his friends.

But you also couldn’t have accounted for the sudden flash you’d have to the breaking of bottles over your head—of glass being ripped out of your shredded flesh and thrown to the ground. 

Your body seizes up as Gaz’s cup shatters, and your eyes all at once go far away. 

Johnny’s shocked face had snapped to the scene in front of him, blinking quickly as he stood and was about to go get a broom.

“Best watch where you’re swingin’ that thing there, eh?” He says to the soldier who looks highly embarrassed, Gaz frowning down at the remnants.

“Oi!” Everyone’s eyes dart to Ghost’s outburst, but he’s not addressing anyone left in the room—the Lieutenant dashes out of the hallway, Price hot in his heels. 

Johnny turns back and you’re gone.

Racing away, your blood is hot and rabid, taking corners with record speed; the pounding feet behind you don’t help, the shouts. Every moment you try to get your head under control the sounds make it worse. 

You end up outside, lost in the trees as the branches slap your face and body—running with no destination, no thoughts. And you just keep going. Panting, your stomach is stuck in knots, and your aching legs shake until you fall over and heave into the grass; sobs breaking through. Your lungs can’t get air down.

You don’t know how long you were out there, you don’t know how long it took for Johnny to find you, but when he did you heard his quick call of your name—his desperate plea for you to breathe when he grappled for your shoulders. 

Your eyes stare blankly at him, gone to all else but your ringing ears.

Hands cup your cheeks. 

“Hey, it’s me, Bonnie,” he rubs along your flesh, petting your skin with his thumb. You’ve never seen his eyes so afraid before. “Hey now, hey. Come back to me, we’re both right here—just focus on me. You’re back home, then, aye? Back with me on Base. There’s nothin’ that’s going to happen to you long as I’m here. I made that promise, yeah? I intend to keep it.”

His voice is grounding for you—for your failing body as your addled mind tries to calm down. 

Johnny. 

You pull on that shred of remembrance of when he’d found you, beaten within an inch of your life. His tiny pupils, stuck in a sea of deep blue. His callouses holding you to him as he raggedly breathed into your hair, screaming for med-evac.

“That’s it, Dearie,” right here, right now, you sag forward. Widened eyes quiver as your lower face is pressed into his shoulder, Johnny’s hand hard on the back of your head. “That’s it—it’s just Johnny.” The man is shaking just like you are, even when your wheezed sobs make his chest tighten painfully. How your hands weakly grasp at his shirt in desperation; clawing for purchase. 

“It’ll always just be me.” Soap breathes, swallowing the saliva in his throat. “I’m gonna get you all the help you need….you bet on it. You’re going to be better, and I’m going to be with you through all of it.” 

The side of his face nuzzles into yours as you breathe in his scent, choking on the air but slowly starting to get it down.

“No one fights alone.” 

“Johnny,” you gasp.

“Shush, now,” he whispers, wrenching his eyes shut. “I’m here. Breathe. I’m here.���

“It hurts.” Your tears soak through his shirt, and his arms hold you tighter until he reminds himself to be gentle.

All he can do is try to hold back his own tears, his throat raw from his mad dash after you—he’d never run that fast in his life besides the moment he’d found you alive. 

“I know,” his voice cracks, rocking you back and forth like a child. “I know, m’sorry, Dearie. I’m so, so sorry.” 

“Don’t let go,” you plead. “Please don’t let go.”

“Never,” he growls. “Never in my life.” He says it with every ounce of goodness left in him.

“I’m never lettin’ you go ever again, aye? They’ll have to pry me off you.”