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mournaeve · 1 month ago

Text

❝ almost, always ❞

paring : yeon si-eun (weak hero) × gn!reader

genre : fluff, mild angst/hurt-comfort, emotional miscommunication, slow burn

warnings : mentions of emotional exhaustion/burn out, emotional whiplash but make it quiet and poetic, excessive eye contact with a emotionally constipated boy, 9/10 confession (where's the last 1, no one knows)

synopsis : Two people, both quiet in different ways, six missed chances, one almost-confession—and a love that grows in the silence between what’s said and what’s meant.

joy speaks : hi, and welcome to my first fic <3 genuinely hope you like it. don't be a silent reader!

1. The first time you met Si-eun, you were stealing Baku's snack and threatening to bite Gotak. Not seriously, of course, but with the kind of conviction that only came from a lack of shame and too little sleep.

Your mouth still tasted like instant noodles and regret. Your hair was a chaos theory. Your hoodie?—stolen from Baku, smelled faintly of laundry detergent and sweat, like a boy who lived his life in motion and never washed anything properly and also had a giant yellow pikachu on the front.

You didn't notice him at first.

No, at first you were too busy lying on the classroom floor, narrating your slow descent into madness because Gotak had, in your words, 'emotionally betrayed you' by siding with Baku over what was clearly your bag of chips. Baku, naturally, just sat on your back and told you to accept death with dignity.

Then you saw a pair of shoes. Clean, white, very still. Not fidgety like Gotak's or scuffed like Humin's.

You tilted your head up, squinting from the floor like a raccoon caught under fluorescent light, and there he was.

Expression unreadable. Face sharp in that quiet way—like something drawn in pencil and not yet colored in. Si-eun. Yeon Si-eun. You knew his name only because Gotak had once whispered it like he was talking about a ghost who might hear him.

He didn’t say anything. Just looked down at the mess on the floor, you, mostly, and blinked.

You, still on your stomach, gave a small wave.

"Hey. I swear I'm not usually like this."

He didn’t laugh. Not even a twitch of the mouth. But you swore later, swore, that his eyes lingered for half a second too long. Like he was trying to decide whether to ignore you or classify you as some new species.

Maybe both.

That was the first time. You didn’t know yet that it would become a pattern—him appearing silently, you saying something ridiculous, the two of you orbiting each other like mismatched planets with slightly wrong gravity.

But in that moment, on the floor of a classroom you barely stayed awake in, with Baku sitting on your back and Gotak looking vaguely concerned for everyone’s sanity—

—you thought, 'huh'

He’s kind of cute when he looks confused.

◎⫘◎

2. You didn't expect to see him again. Not so soon, not without the buffer of Baku's laughter or Gotak's nervous commentary or the chaos of you being your usual, spiraling self. But there he was, outside the convenience store, earphones in, staring at the gum rack like it had personally offended him.

You stopped short. He didn't look up.

And for reasons you couldn’t explain even under emotional duress, you didn't keep walking. You hovered.

Like an idiot.

"Didn't peg you for a mint guy," you said finally, voice casual, like you hadn’t just debated crossing the street to avoid standing next to him and his inexplicably intense aura.

He looked up, slow. Blank expression unreadable. Those same pencil drawn beautiful eyes.

Then, flatly, "I'm not."

You blinked. Looked at the gum in his hand. "You've been holding that for like three minutes."

"I was spacing out."

"Oh."

Beat.

You nodded, like that explained the universe, and turned to grab a bottle of water. Behind you, you could feel his silence — not heavy, just… neutral. Like air that hadn’t decided if it was humid or cold.

"I wasn't following you, by the way," you added without being prompted, twisting the bottle cap as you rejoined him at the register. "In case your survival instincts kicked in."

Another pause. He looked at you.

"I didn't think you were."

You laughed — too loud, too fast — and instantly regretted it. "Right. Cool. Great. Just clearing that up, y'know, for the record."

"I don’t think about you that much."

And there it was.

You froze mid-step, plastic bottle crinkling in your hand. A second too slow, your brain tried to patch the damage: he didn't mean it like that. Probably. Hopefully?

"Oh," you said, smile cracking just slightly. "No offense taken. I also don't, like, catalogue your whereabouts or anything. That would be psychotic."

He gave you a look, like he was either very confused or wondering if you were having a stroke.

You both stood there, the cashier watching, deeply done with both your energies.

Si-eun finally paid for his gum. That he definitely didn’t want.

And you stood holding a bottle of water and the first bruise of misunderstanding, shaped like a boy who said things without malice but still managed to dig a little too deep.

Later that night, Baku asked why you were chewing mint gum with a dramatic sigh.

You told him it was an aesthetic choice. You didn't mention Si-eun. Not yet.

◎⫘◎

3. It happened because Gotak's mom called.

Loudly. On speaker. In the middle of the table, right as he was halfway through explaining some physics concept that sounded like witchcraft. He panicked, unplugged his charger wrong, and blew the socket.

And just like that, the lights went out in Baku's room.

Chaos. Swearing. Baku tripping over a dumbbell. You, laughing until your ribs hurt. Gotak apologizing to the socket like it had feelings. Juntae being all flustered while trying to keep the others in check.

Eventually, they both left to 'buy snacks and air out their humiliation.' You were too tired to follow.

And Si-eun didn't leave.

He stayed sitting on the floor, back against Baku’s bed frame, eyes unreadable. You weren’t sure if he didn't move because he was comfortable or because inertia had claimed him.

You sat across from him, the silence sitting with you like a third presence. It wasn't uncomfortable. It just… was.

You cleared your throat. "You always this quiet?"

He didn’t answer immediately. Then: "Do you always talk this much?"

Your jaw dropped. "Are you saying I talk too much?"

"No," he said, and blinked, slowly, "I'm saying I wasn't aware human lungs could handle this level of dialogue per minute."

You gawked at him.

He didn’t look smug. Or mean. Just… factual. As if he were reading weather data.

You threw a pillow at his face.

He caught it with both hands, unimpressed.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes," you muttered, curling into a cross-legged huff.

Silence again.

You should’ve let it drop. But something in you always needed to make sense of things. Of people.

"You don't like me, do you?" you asked.

He looked up at that. Not startled. Just puzzled.

"Why would you say that?"

You mentally snorted 'I wonder why."

"I don't know. The gum comment. The lungs comment. The general 'I'm enduring your presence like a particularly inconvenient fire drill' energy."

His brows furrowed slightly.

"That's not what I meant," he said. "I don’t dislike you."

"But you don't like me."

He looked at you for a moment too long.

"I don’t not like you."

It was the kind of answer that made your brain run into a wall. You opened your mouth. Closed it.

"…Wow," you said. "Poetry."

He frowned faintly, clearly confused why you sounded so sarcastic.

You didn't push it. But when Baku and Gotak returned and flopped dramatically into the room with ice cream and shame, you laughed louder than you meant to.

And you refused to meet Si-eun’s eyes for the rest of the night.

◎⫘◎

4. You were wearing another hoodie.

Not Baku's this time — a different one. Slightly too big. Worn in the elbows. Charcoal gray with a weird bleach stain near the zipper. Not your usual look.

Si-eun noticed it immediately.

He didn't say anything, of course. He just stared.

You were too busy trying to untangle Gotak's wired earphones (how did they still exist?) while sitting on the cafeteria bench, ranting about something inconsequential — probably the school vending machine robbing you again. Baku was making jokes, as usual. Gotak laughed too loudly, as usual. Juntae was swinging his legs adorably like a child waiting for his mother to provide him with candy.

Then a boy walked past. Said your name. Smiled.

You looked up. "Oh—hey. Thanks again for the hoodie."

Si-eun's gaze didn't shift. He didn't ask. He didn't need to.

You caught it in the twitch of his fingers, the flick of his eyes, the way his entire body went very, very still.

Later, in the hallway, he stopped next to you. Not with you — next to. A detail you couldn’t unfeel.

"Is that your boyfriend?" he asked, tone flat.

You blinked. "Who?"

"The guy. With the hoodie. The one you smiled at like he invented oxygen."

You snorted. "No. He just lent me this when I spilled coffee on my shirt this morning."

He nodded. Slowly. You waited for a follow-up. It didn’t come.

Instead, he walked away with his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, that silent wall rising like it always did when he didn't understand what he was feeling.

You stared after him, eyebrows pulled together.

You weren't his. He wasn't yours.

But still, you wanted to yell down the hallway,

'I would tressure your hoodie, if you ever offered it.'

��⫘◎

5. It was raining the way it only rains in cities—sideways, rude, unforgiving. You hadn't meant to forget your umbrella. You were just late, and your brain had been full of other things. Like him. Like the hoodie thing. Like the way he hadn't spoken to you in two days. You were treading recklessly on the thin line between friends and strangers who know each other because of their mutual friends. No matter what you tried, attempted at, maybe to bring you both closer and not be strangers or just be his friend- he would always retract. Push you away with words or build walls around his heart that were too big and impossible not to notice.

You were soaked through by the time you reached the courtyard gate. Shoes squeaking, hair clinging to your face, hoodie (not his, not anyone's) weighing you down like a wet dog sweater.

Your heavy wet eyes widened at the sight before you.

Si-eun.

Standing under a small blue umbrella like the sky had personally chosen to leave him untouched.

You stopped. He didn't wave, or smile, or call out. Just lifted the umbrella a little higher.

You stared. Your heart twisted sideways.

"…Are you offering me that?" you asked, cautious.

"I wouldn't be standing here if I wasn't."

You blinked. Walked over. Shoulders tense.

He didn't say anything. Just turned slightly, so the umbrella covered half of your body. His half was still mostly dry. You were dripping.

After a minute, you exhaled. "You didn’t have to wait."

"I know."

"…I thought you were mad at me."

"I'm not."

"I thought you didn't want to talk to me anymore."

"I do."

You were quiet.

Then you whispered it. Half a joke, half a plea:

"So this is... pity, huh?"

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you, eyes sharp and unreadable.

You couldn't hold the silence.

You stepped out from under the umbrella. "Forget it. I'm fine."

Rain hit your skin like needles. Cold. Fast. Real.

He didn't follow. You didn't look back. And by the time you got home, soaked to the bone and furious with yourself, it was too late to ask him what he really meant.

◎⫘◎

6. It was late.

Too late to be in the library. Too late for the lights to still hum this way, for the floor to be cold against your knee pits as you sat between shelves with your hoodie bunched up beneath you like a failed pillow.

You weren't crying.

But you were close. That tight-throated silence. That wet weight behind the eyes that made everything feel distant. The kind of sad that didn"t have a name. The kind that didn't explode — just leaked.

He found you anyway.

You didn't ask how.

Si-eun stood there, backpack still on, hair a little rumpled, shirt collar tugged loose like he'd either run or paced in circles before finding you.

He didn’t ask what was wrong. He just sat beside you. Close, but not close enough to touch.

After a long, long moment, he said, low,

"I'm not good at this."

You blinked. "At what?"

"This. Talking. Reading people. Knowing the right thing to say."

You looked at him, sharp, surprised. His voice didn't waver, but it wasn't calm. It was something else — strained. Steady, but brittle at the edges.

He went on, "I don't realize when I'm being too blunt, or too distant. I've… ruined a lot of things that way."

You didn’t speak.

He stared at his hands.

"I used to think it didn’t matter. Not anymore. That being quiet kept things simple. But you—"

He stopped. Swallowed. "You confuse the hell out of me."

Your breath hitched.

"You talk like your words are racing to escape you. You say things I don’t know how to answer. You make me feel like I’m always three steps behind and—and I hate it."

The silence rang.

Then, quieter:

"But I hate it more when you're not around."

You didn't move.

You didn't say anything.

Your brain tripped over itself. Every version of you — the loud one, the jokey one, the brave one — went silent. And in that stretch of hesitation, Si-eun stood.

He didn't look at you.

"I shouldn't have said that," he murmured. "I knew it would come out wrong."

He walked away before you could tell him it didn't.

Later, lying in your bed, face buried in a damp hoodie, you whispered it,

'But it didn’t come out wrong at all.'

◎⫘◎

6. It started with silence.

Not the usual kind — not Si-eun's quiet that felt full of thinking, full of weight. This was emptier. Distant. Clean, like someone had wiped the board.

He'd stopped showing up to group study sessions. Stopped responding to your messages. Left early from lunch. Didn't make eye contact in the hall.

You told yourself he was just busy. That midterms had fried his brain. That he'd drop a deadpan one-liner in your DMs any second now.

He didn't.

When you finally cornered Baku and asked what was going on, he just shrugged — unconvincingly.

And so, armed with indignation and mild sleep deprivation, you found Si-eun after school, outside the campus gates, hoodie up, hands in pockets, looking like a ghost of himself.

"You’re avoiding me," you said.

His eyes flicked up. Then away. "No, I'm not."

"You are." You laughed — humorless. "Jesus, Si-eun, at least lie with conviction."

He was quiet for a beat. He exhaled quietly, "I thought you might want space."

"From you?"

"You looked uncomfortable. Last time. When I said… all that."

You stared. Mouth open. Head buzzing.

"That’s why?" you whispered. “You thought I was uncomfortable?”

He didn’t meet your eyes. "You didn't say anything. So, I figured I'd made things weird."

You exhaled, slow. Almost a laugh. Almost a scream.

"You idiot," you said, soft.

He flinched — just slightly. Gazing up with his eyes, 'god damn his eyes, were they always this beautiful?'

You looked away before your voice could crack. "You didn't make it weird. I did. I didn't know what to say, but that doesn't mean I didn't want to say something."

He didn't answer.

The wind was cold. The sky was turning gray, like it couldn't make up its mind.

You looked at him again.

"You always do that," you said. "Assume how people feel and then act like it's confirmed data."

"It's easier than asking."

"Well, maybe next time, ask."

He looked at you then.

Like he heard you for the first time.

But still, he didn't move. And neither did you.

The moment passed like a train that didn't stop.

You both walked away feeling like you’d missed something important.

Because you had.

◎◎⫘◎◎

1. It didn't happen at some climactic hour, in some big cinematic way.

There was no rainstorm this time, no bruised hallway lighting, no tension humming between the inches of silence.

Just a classroom. Late. Empty. Gold evening light spilling sideways through the windows, dust drifting in slow motion. The kind of warmth that didn't burn — just sat in your bones like an old memory.

You hadn't meant to fall asleep.

You'd only meant to rest your eyes. Just for a second. But the warmth got to you — the sunlight, the still air, the safety of a quiet room without anyone needing anything from you. You drifted.

When you opened your eyes again, Si-eun was there.

Sitting on a chair beside the desk. Back against the wall. Book in his lap. Head tilted slightly toward you.

Not watching. Just being.

Your first instinct was to speak. Crack a joke. Break the softness with your usual deflection.

But for once, you didn't. You just looked at him. Let the quiet stretch.

He closed the book.

"Bad dream?" he asked, voice like a whisper folded in linen.

You blinked the sleep out of your eyes. "Not really. Just... weird."

A pause.

"Felt like I was floating."

He nodded. Like he understood.

You sat up slowly, wincing a little at the crick in your neck.

He reached into his bag and passed you a water bottle without a word.

You took it. Sipped.

He didn't fill the silence. He didn't shrink from it either. Just sat there with you, like he had nowhere else to be, no one else to become in that moment.

And then—"Thank you," you said.

He looked at you, eyebrows lifting just slightly. "For what?"

"For... not leaving."

It came out so softly you weren't sure it even reached him.

But his eyes held yours, steady.

You took in his eyes, his eyes were a study in contradiction — sharp in thought, but soft in shape, always watching like they were learning you in real time. Slightly wide, dark, and quietly luminous, like they held whole libraries of things left unsaid. They didn’t flicker much when he spoke — they lingered, honest in a way his voice never quite managed.

And when he looked at you, really looked, it felt like standing barefoot in the middle of something sacred.

Like silence could be tender. Like you could finally stop explaining yourself. Those eyes didn’t ask for words. They just understood.

Then he added, not quickly, but like it had been waiting:

"I wasn't going to."

Nothing more. No sudden hand grabs, no confessions, no dizzying declarations. Just that.

For the first time, there was nothing to correct. Nothing to fix.

You both stayed there. In the gold-lit quiet. In the stillness that didn't ask for answers. Just presence.

And this time — finally — you both understood.

◎◎⫘◎◎

2. It was dark by the time the rooftop emptied out.

The others had gone. Baku, Gotak, Juntae— loud footsteps, louder laughter, the crunch of snack wrappers left behind. The kind of after-school chaos that made everything feel alive. But now it was quiet. That dusky, hush-hour kind of quiet, where even the wind didn't bother to speak.

You stayed behind to clean up. He stayed behind for... something else.

Neither of you said it.

Si-eun was leaning against the railing, hood pulled halfway up, hair catching in the breeze. You were stacking drink cans into neat, metallic towers and pretending not to feel the weight of his gaze on your back.

"You always do that," he said.

You blinked. "Do what?"

"Stay behind. Fix things no one notices."

You smiled — crooked, tired. "Someone has to."

Silence again. Not heavy. Just full.

"I used to think I was fine alone," he said. Quiet. Almost to himself. "That being alone meant being safe. That silence meant control."

You straightened. Slowly.

He didn’t look at you. Just kept talking, eyes on the horizon where the sky bled orange into navy.

"But it’s not quiet when you're gone. It's louder. It’s—"

He cut himself off. Bit his lip. Exhaled sharp.

You waited.

"I don't know how to say it right," he admitted.

"You don’t have to."

"I want to," he said. "I—"

He turned then. Finally looked at you.

"I think about you. All the time. In the middle of things that don’t matter. Like math problems and weather reports and the noise in the hallway. You just show up. In my head."

Your throat tightened.

He stepped forward — one pace. No more.

"If you asked me what we are," he said, "I don't have the word. But I know what I want it to be."

You didn't breathe.

"-and if you don’t feel the same, that’s fine. I'll try to not think of it" His voice cracked slightly, "But I don't want to keep pretending this is nothing."

You looked at him.

"I feel it too."

He smiled.

Actually smiled.

Not the polite curl of the corners of his lips he wore in passing, but the real one, the one that came slow and reluctant, like it wasn't used to being let out. It broke across his face like sunlight through fog, fleeting and precious, the kind of thing you only caught if you were paying attention.

Now that it happened, everything softened: the edges of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the guarded quiet in his eyes. It was a smile that felt like a secret, like you’d been trusted with something he didn’t give away easily. A quiet admission that, for a moment, he let himself feel joy — and let you see it.

And in that soft rooftop dark, with cans clinking quietly in your hands and the wind threading through your sleeves, you realized something simple:

There was no misunderstanding anymore.

There was just you.

And him.

And everything you hadn’t said — finally, beautifully heard.

◎◎⫘◎◎

@mournaeve 2025, I don't allow translations or reposting of my work however reblogging is fine :)

#weak hero class 1 #weak hero class x reader #weak hero #weak hero x reader #weak hero class two #yeon sieun #yeon sieun x reader #ahn suho x reader #weak hero class 1 x reader #weak hero class 2 x reader #fluff #oneshot #mournaeve

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solxamber · 4 months ago

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Mission: Emotionally Compromised || Jamil Viper

Jamil’s greatest failure as a spy? Falling head over heels for the person he was meant to destroy.

this one is for @chocolatebearstrawberry who made the divider i use here!! i love you <3

As the CEO of one of the most powerful tech companies in the world, you’ve always prided yourself on two things: your razor-sharp business acumen and your ability to sniff out deception from a mile away.

Your competitors, on the other hand, have prided themselves on one thing: trying (and failing) to steal your technology.

For years, you’ve played a high-stakes game of corporate cat and mouse, batting away industrial spies like a bored housecat knocking expensive wine glasses off the counter. You’ve watched billion-dollar corporations sink millions into elaborate heists, only for their agents to fail spectacularly. Frankly, it's getting a little embarrassing for them.

But now, thanks to the untimely departure of your longtime secretary (who swears their early retirement has nothing to do with being bribed into luxury exile), you suddenly have a vacancy.

And judging by the pile of applicants currently waiting in the lobby, every single one of them is a spy.

The Parade of Intelligence Failures™:

First up is Agent Steve (probably not his real name), whose résumé is written in Comic Sans and lists "lockpicking" under "special skills." When you ask him about his previous administrative experience, he stares at you blankly for three full seconds before blurting out, "I can type… very fast?"

Next is Ms. Definitely-Not-Wearing-a-Wire, who keeps touching her ear like she’s communicating with someone. Midway through the interview, you distinctly hear a whisper from her earpiece: "Ask about the security systems."

Then there’s Tech Bro #5, who brings a USB drive and, while maintaining full eye contact with you, tries to plug it into your computer. Your computer. The one sitting on your desk. Right in front of you.

By the time Mr. Fake-ID Falls Out of His Wallet stumbles in, you’re fighting the overwhelming urge to launch yourself out the nearest window.

This is getting pathetic.

You’ve sat through twenty interviews of barely competent corporate espionage, and you’re ready to set up a PowerPoint presentation titled, "How To Spy Without Immediately Getting Caught: A Workshop For Morons."

Do they think you built a billion-dollar empire by being stupid? Do they think your years of fending off corporate espionage haven’t honed your bullshit detector into a finely tuned death laser?

You start debating whether to just hire a golden retriever and call it a day—at least dogs have loyalty.

And then he walks in.

Enter: Jamil Viper.

The moment he steps into your office, you know this one is different.

For one thing, his résumé isn’t riddled with typos or hilariously obvious red flags. His credentials? Flawless. His demeanor? Polished and professional, with just the right amount of charm—not so much that it feels like he’s trying to butter you up, but just enough that you actually want to keep talking to him.

And his entrance exam? He aces it. Perfectly.

Too perfectly.

There is no way in hell that someone this competent just happens to be looking for a secretary position. You know he’s a spy.

But unlike the human disasters before him, Jamil Viper is actually good at his job.

And if someone is going to try and infiltrate your company, wouldn’t you rather it be someone who at least has the decency to be competent about it?

You lean back in your chair, watching him carefully as he sits across from you, his expression unreadable. You wonder how many layers of deception he’s hiding behind that composed facade.

Slowly, a smile creeps onto your lips.

This could be fun.

Because if Jamil Viper thinks he’s going to outmaneuver you, then clearly, no one has warned him that you love playing with fire.

You slide the contract across the desk, extending your hand.

"Congratulations, Mr. Viper," you say, amusement dancing in your voice. "Welcome to the company."

His fingers are warm when they clasp yours in a firm shake. His gaze, sharp and assessing, lingers for just a second too long.

And just like that, you hire a spy to be your personal assistant.

This is either the smartest or the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.

And honestly? You can’t wait to find out which.

Jamil has never questioned his assignments before. His role has always been straightforward—he is given a task, he completes it with precision, and he collects his payment. There is no room for personal involvement, no need for unnecessary complications.

This particular job should have been no different. His directive was clear: infiltrate one of the most formidable tech companies in the industry, assume the role of a secretary, gain the CEO’s trust, retrieve the necessary proprietary data, and exit without raising suspicion.

A simple, methodical process. He estimated it would take no more than a month, perhaps two if the CEO proved particularly cautious.

However, the moment he steps into your office, Jamil recognizes that this assignment will not proceed according to the standard operational model.

You are perceptive. That much is clear from the outset. Your interview questions are sharp, carefully constructed to gauge more than just his administrative skills. You are watching him—not just listening, but studying, assessing. There is a calculating glint in your eyes that suggests you have already categorized him in some way, and he does not yet know whether that categorization is in his favor.

Then comes the moment that shifts the trajectory of his expectations entirely.

You lean back in your chair, fingers steepled as you regard him with an almost amused expression. "So, Mr. Viper," you say, voice laced with something close to mischief, "are you a spy?"

The question is absurd in its directness, yet the casual way you pose it makes it clear that you are not expecting a confession—you are testing him. A lesser operative might have faltered, might have hesitated for the fraction of a second that would betray uncertainty. Jamil, however, meets your gaze evenly, offering a measured smile.

"If I were," he replies smoothly, "would I admit it?"

You laugh—not a dismissive scoff, but an actual, entertained laugh, as if you are thoroughly enjoying this game. And that is what makes Jamil's stomach twist slightly. Because he is beginning to suspect that you already know.

The contract slides across the desk, a silent challenge. He watches as you extend your hand, the motion deliberate, expectant.

He has been in the industry long enough to recognize a trap when he sees one. And yet, despite every internal alarm warning him to be cautious, he shakes your hand.

He has taken on countless assignments in his career, but this time is different.

This time, he is not just infiltrating a company. He is stepping into a game.

And for the first time in his life, Jamil wonders if he is the one being played.

Jamil Viper is, quite frankly, the best thing that has ever happened to you.

You have run this company for years, clawed your way to the top with sheer wit and willpower, and in all that time, you have never known peace. Your life has been a never-ending cycle of fires to put out, idiotic employees making mistakes, and backstabbing business partners who think “compromise” means “stealing your ideas and pretending it was a collaborative effort.”

But then Jamil arrives.

Jamil, with his quiet efficiency and terrifying competence. Jamil, who doesn’t ask you to repeat yourself because he actually listens the first time. Jamil, who doesn’t need reminders because he remembers everything, down to how you like your coffee and which pens mysteriously go missing when your CFO visits.

For the first time in your career, you are leaving work at a reasonable hour.

You actually saw the sunset yesterday. The sunset. Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve seen anything but the dim glow of your office lights at midnight? You don’t. You’re afraid to check.

Your skin? Clear.

Your inbox? Organized.

Your sleep schedule? Still questionable, but at least now it’s due to personal choices and not business emergencies.

You are so overcome with gratitude that you nearly burst into tears when you realize you no longer have to threaten your vendors personally because Jamil handles it all with a few well-placed emails.

He is better than any assistant you have ever had. Possibly better than some of your business partners. Hell, at this rate, you wouldn't be surprised if he could run the company better than you.

Which is exactly why you can’t afford to let him go.

You know why he’s here. You are not naïve. He is undoubtedly a spy, sent to steal your technology, your secrets, your life's work. But the problem is that he is too good. You cannot afford to lose him.

So, you make a decision.

You will convert him to your side.

It’s not just about protecting your company anymore. No, this has become personal. Jamil Viper is yours now. He just doesn’t know it yet.

The numbers didn’t make sense.

You were good at numbers. Numbers were the only thing in this world that didn’t lie. Numbers were solid, unyielding, completely immune to human deception. And yet.

Your CFO had to be skimming. You’d suspected it for a while—no one bought that many first-class flights for “business conferences” that didn’t exist—but now that you finally had the time to actually dig into the company’s finances, you could feel it in your bones. There was money missing. Not a lot at once, just enough that a lazier CEO wouldn’t notice.

But you noticed. And now, sitting in your dark office, practically feral with frustration, you were going to find it.

Jamil peeks into your office, and you see his brows furrow in irritation. He steps inside without invitation, eyes flicking to your desk, to the stacks of papers, to you, hunched over and pulling at your hair like a mad scientist on the brink of discovery.

“…Why are you still here?” His voice is level, but you detect the judgment beneath it. “I made sure your schedule was clear. You should have been home by five.”

You make a vague, distressed sound—somewhere between a whimper and the dying gasp of an overworked CEO. “I have a mouse to hunt,” you say, still frantically flipping through documents. “A very cunning mouse.”

Jamil, to his credit, does not roll his eyes. He does, however, step forward and pluck the file from your grasp before you can protest. His sharp eyes scan the pages, his fingers flipping through them with practiced ease.

You watch as his expression shifts into something thoughtful, his lips pursing slightly, his brows furrowing in deep concentration. You can see his mind working.

Jamil is infuriatingly intelligent. He always has been. You knew it the moment he walked into your office for his interview and answered every question with precision so perfect it was almost suspicious.

But this—this is something else. His eyes flick from one line to another, scanning, calculating, searching.

And then it hits you.

His hair.

His stupidly perfect, annoyingly silky, meticulously styled hair.

The way it’s always just slightly different every day. Some days it’s neater, tied back with care. Some days it’s looser, like he didn’t have time to properly tame it. Some days it’s so perfect it looks effortless, which means it probably took him ages to get it like that.

Your brain connects the dots.

Your CFO’s expenses had fluctuations that made no sense at first glance. But what if—what if the embezzlement wasn’t consistent? What if he only siphoned money on certain days—days when he needed to make the numbers look normal, like a fluctuation in operational costs?

Like how Jamil’s hair was slightly different depending on how rushed he was in the morning.

Your eyes widen. You grab Jamil’s arm.

“It’s the payroll processing days,” you say, the revelation clicking together. “The numbers don’t match on payroll weeks because he’s hiding them within the irregular adjustments! He’s only stealing when payroll is being processed because that’s when the accounts fluctuate naturally.”

Jamil blinks, then looks back at the files, and you see it—the exact moment he finds the irregularity, the way his eyes sharpen, the way the corner of his lips twitch in mild irritation.

“…Huh,” he says, flipping back to double-check.

You beam at him. “Jamil, I could kiss you.”

He does not react, but his ears turn slightly red. He hands the file back. “Don’t. Just fire your CFO.”

“Oh, I will.” You grin, stretching your arms behind your head. “And then I’m going to have so much fun ruining his career.”

Jamil gives you a look. You pretend not to see it.

Jamil has worked for a lot of powerful people before. He’s seen how they act—detached, ruthless, calculating. People who don’t say thank you unless there’s an audience, people who treat loyalty as a transaction rather than a virtue, people who see their employees as numbers on a spreadsheet rather than human beings.

And then there’s you.

You, who smile at every single employee as if they’re the most interesting person in the world.

You, who face betrayals with an easy grin, as if it’s just another puzzle to solve.

You, who refuse to be jaded, as if the sheer weight of your responsibilities isn’t trying to crush you every single day.

Jamil has worked as a secretary before, long enough to know that this is not normal. It’s not normal for a CEO to approve leave requests without question, to cover all medical expenses without a fight, to sit down at the employee cafeteria and listen to people’s grievances like a normal person.

It’s definitely not normal for you to turn to him at the end of a long, grueling day—after uncovering a massive embezzlement scandal in your own company—and say, “Let’s get dinner. My treat.”

Jamil expects a high-end restaurant. The kind of place where the portions are offensively small, the food is questionably pretentious, and the bill alone could sustain an entire household for a month. The kind of place where people like you—people with power, people with money—go to flaunt their superiority.

Instead, you take him to a tiny, hole-in-the-wall restaurant run by an elderly couple who clearly know you on a first-name basis.

“Ah, welcome back!” the old woman greets you warmly, eyes flicking to Jamil with curiosity. “And who’s this? A date?”

Jamil chokes on air.

You laugh—loudly—and wave off the comment. “Nah, just my secretary! He helped me catch a mouse today.”

Jamil doesn’t bother correcting you.

The menu is scrawled in barely legible handwriting on a whiteboard near the counter. You order the greasiest, most artery-clogging meal he’s ever seen in his life. Jamil orders something safer, something that won’t take five years off his lifespan.

When the food arrives, you practically vibrate in your seat, taking a bite with the enthusiasm of a child eating their first piece of candy.

Jamil stares at you in mild horror. “You eat this every day?”

You grin, already halfway through your meal. “Yeah.”

Jamil doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

But he eats. He eats, and he listens to you ramble about ridiculous workplace rumors, and he watches you laugh so hard you snort when you make a terrible joke.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, Jamil finds himself laughing too.

Not because your joke is funny—because it isn’t. It’s awful, actually.

But maybe because your eyes shine too brightly in the dim light.

Maybe because you seem so human right now, so painfully, vividly human.

Maybe because he knows he’ll have to leave you behind soon, and yet here he is, eating unhealthy food and smiling at you.

Jamil has never questioned his jobs before. He gets paid, he gets the work done. Simple.

So why does it feel so different this time?

Jamil has worked for some eccentric people before. Billionaires with more money than sense, CEOs who thought meditation on top of a glass skyscraper would give them divine insight, a director who once insisted that his morning coffee had to be stirred exactly 72 times counterclockwise or the stock market would crash. He’s seen it all. Or so he thought.

And then there was you.

You were a genius, of course. No one could deny that. You had single-handedly revolutionized an entire industry and kept your technology locked down so tightly that even the best corporate spies had walked away empty-handed.

But you were also—how to put this nicely?—completely, utterly unhinged. Eccentric was too mild a word. You were like a mad scientist and a particularly stubborn golden retriever had been fused together in a tragic yet strangely effective laboratory accident.

Jamil has had a front-row seat to your absurdity for months now, but today? Today takes the cake.

He enters the office expecting chaos, but he still isn't prepared to see a bouncy castle taking up the center of the room. It is massive. Garish. A primary-colored monstrosity that clashes violently with the sleek, modern aesthetic of your office. It is also, for some reason, fully inflated.

Jamil watches as you bounce in deep concentration, your tie undone, your shoes discarded somewhere in the corner. Your movements are precise, like each jump is a carefully calibrated equation.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Dare I ask?”

You pause mid-bounce, floating for a second in the air like some kind of enlightened acrobat before landing gracefully and turning to him with a grin. “I needed to think.”

“…So naturally, you brought a bouncy castle.”

“Of course.” You wave a hand, as if this should be obvious. “Sometimes, when my brain gets stuck, I just need a little kinetic stimulation. You know, shake up the neurons.” You jump again, flailing slightly before catching yourself. “It’s like—have you ever had a word on the tip of your tongue, and then you do something completely different and suddenly it comes to you? Same concept. Except instead of drinking water or taking a walk, I jump on an inflatable castle like a responsible adult.”

Jamil stares. His headache is already forming. “You’re going to break your neck.”

“Nope! Tested the weight limits. We’re good.” You bounce again, then stop abruptly, eyes widening. Your entire posture shifts, shoulders straightening, expression sharpening. You scramble off the castle, grab a nearby notebook, and start writing furiously.

Jamil watches, baffled, as you tear through an entire page with equations and diagrams, the kind of thing that would take a normal person weeks to conceptualize. And then you stop, beaming like a kid who just cracked open a piñata full of gold.

“I GOT IT,” you declare, spinning the notebook around as if Jamil has the clearance—or the desire—to understand whatever ridiculous breakthrough you just had. “This is going to make everything ten times more efficient! Jamil, this is genius.”

Jamil, who has not slept properly in three days because of this mission, who has already accepted that this job is going to either kill him or make him reconsider every life decision he has ever made, just sighs. “Great. So was the bouncy castle necessary?”

You turn back to him, eyes bright, smile wider than he’s ever seen. “Absolutely.”

And the worst part? The part that truly makes him question if he’s losing his mind?

He almost believes you.

Meetings like this made you wonder if you could get away with legally replacing the entire board with three possums in a trench coat. These relics in overpriced suits had two working brain cells between them, and one was currently occupied with nursing last night’s hangover.

They thought that their decades of mismanaging money somehow gave them wisdom. You would almost find it impressive, the way they clung to their illusion of relevance, if it weren’t so unbearably tedious.

You could fire them all, of course. You could clear this room in five minutes, clean house with a snap of your fingers, but you had held back out of sheer pity. They were close to retirement—one foot in the grave and the other on a luxury cruise.

Let them ride out their last few years clutching their outdated business strategies and egos. It wasn’t like they actually did anything.

But today? Today, you were at your limit.

Jamil was standing behind you, stone-faced, but you could tell he wanted to be anywhere else. His exhaustion mirrored your own. You’d been sitting here for an hour while they droned on about numbers they clearly didn’t understand.

Internally, you begged for something—anything—to spontaneously combust just so you’d have an excuse to leave. A small fire? A sudden, mysterious blackout? A divine intervention from the heavens themselves?

And then, as if the universe had heard you and decided to throw you a different kind of entertainment, one of them made a mistake. A grave mistake.

“—not that it matters to someone like you,” one of the old fossils sneered, voice soaked in condescension. “You just sit there and look pretty. Maybe that’s why you keep your secretary around—eye candy to brighten your day, hm?”

Silence.

Jamil felt the shift before he saw it. The room, which had been filled with the usual underhanded comments and the shuffling of papers, went utterly still. The air thickened, tension snapping tight like a bowstring.

You moved, slow and deliberate, sitting up from your languid position and resting your elbows on the table. Then, with a sharp crack that echoed through the room, you slammed your hand against the polished wood. Jamil was pretty sure he saw the surface splinter.

And then, you smiled.

“Say,” you said, your voice honey-sweet, “how’s your son’s wedding prep going?”

The man blinked, startled by the sudden shift in topic. “Uh—fine?”

“That’s wonderful.” You laced your fingers together, tilting your head like a benevolent ruler addressing a particularly stupid peasant. “I hope he has a strong savings account. And you, too, for that matter.”

His confusion deepened. “Why would—?”

“Because as of right now, every single one of you is fired.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

You stood, straightening your sleeves, your expression as calm as if you’d just commented on the weather. The rest of the board gaped at you, struggling to process what had just happened.

“Pack your things,” you continued, tone still sickeningly pleasant. “Security will escort you out. Your pensions will remain untouched—I’m not a monster—but your presence is no longer required. Effective immediately.”

Then, without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and strolled out of the room.

Jamil took a moment to savor the stunned expressions, the way the old man who had made the comment looked like he was trying to compute his own downfall in real time. He had seen you be cunning, eccentric, absurd, even, but this was the first time he had seen you wield your power properly. It was—

Well.

He wasn’t about to admit it was impressive.

Or flattering.

Not even as he followed you out the door, suppressing the smallest, most insufferable urge to smile.

You’re good at reading people. That’s what makes you such a good CEO. You can tell when a business partner is about to backstab you. You can spot a bad deal from a mile away. You figured out your CFO was embezzling money based on a hunch and a particularly sleepless night.

So why the hell can’t you figure out what’s going on with Jamil right now?

Your day is over. Your work is done. You’re walking out of the building, feeling suspiciously well-rested for once, because Jamil is the best damn secretary you’ve ever had.

And there he is.

Standing near the exit, very much still here, despite having clocked out hours ago.

You stop. Blink. “Jamil? What are you doing here?”

He startles like you caught him committing a felony.

Which, honestly, makes you even more confused.

Jamil is the picture of composure in any situation. He could talk his way out of a hostage negotiation, probably. He could charm a boardroom full of old, corporate sharks into agreeing with his terms.

And yet, right now, he looks like he wants to evaporate.

You tilt your head. “What’s up? You good?”

Jamil scowls like you’ve offended his ancestors. And then, without meeting your gaze, he thrusts a box at you.

"Eat properly," he grumbles. "Heaven knows you can afford it."

And then he turns on his heel and almost sprints out of the building.

You stare at his retreating figure. Then you stare at the box in your hands.

What just happened.

You consider yourself a genius. You built an empire with your own two hands. You have patents worth billions. You have business rivals who would kill to know what goes on in your head.

And yet, this one interaction has you completely, utterly lost.

It’s only when you get home that you actually open the box.

Inside is a clearly homemade meal. Balanced, nutritious, and suspiciously catered to your exact tastes.

You crouch down. Laugh a little.

And then you pull out your phone.

You: thank you <3

Meanwhile, In Jamil’s car:

He hears the message notification. Opens it. Sees your text.

And immediately slams his forehead into the steering wheel.

The honk that follows is so obnoxiously loud that a street cat outside lets out an ungodly scream and scrambles away like it just witnessed a murder.

Jamil exhales sharply. He grips the wheel like it personally wronged him.

You’re going to be the death of him.

Jamil does not get sick.

It is a fact as ironclad as his ability to keep a secret, as certain as the sun rising in the east and setting behind your ridiculous office where you concoct new ways to stress him out.

Jamil does not get sick because sickness is a weakness—an opening in his otherwise airtight, bulletproof existence.

And yet.

Here he is.

Dying. Absolutely, irredeemably, spectacularly dying.

His body betrays him completely, weighed down by a fever that could probably fry an egg on his forehead. Every muscle aches as if he has been tossed into a meat grinder, his throat is raw, and his head is a battlefield of pain and regret.

He barely manages to lift his phone and call you, the only person who needs to know why he’s breaking protocol and skipping work for the first time in his entire life.

The phone rings. Once. Twice.

And then—

“Jamil! What’s up?”

Too loud. Why are you always so loud? He winces, nearly drops his phone on his face.

“I… I can’t come in today.” His voice is hoarse, unrecognizable. Disgusting. He clears his throat, which only makes it worse. “I’m sick.”

There is a long, stunned silence.

Then, very, very slowly—

“You’re what?”

Jamil closes his eyes. He does not have the strength for this conversation.

“Sick,” he repeats, barely suppressing the urge to just fade out of existence right then and there.

Another pause. Then, in a tone that is so soft he almost doesn’t recognize it coming from you—

“…Oh.”

Something about the way you say it makes his stomach twist—though that could also be the fever.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” you say, genuinely concerned. “Rest, drink water, and if you need anything—”

He does not hear the rest.

Because he blacks out.

Jamil is sick.

Jamil, your unshakable, hyper-competent, borderline immortal assistant—the man who somehow pulls miracles out of thin air while looking vaguely unimpressed—is sick.

You expected betrayals, corporate espionage, elaborate counter-strategies in your ongoing war to get him on your side.

You did not expect this.

And worse—he sounded awful.

Not just tired. Not just mildly inconvenienced.

You sit at your desk for approximately three minutes, trying to convince yourself that it’s fine, that Jamil is a grown man who can take care of himself.

Then you Google “how to care for a sick employee” and make the deeply logical decision to immediately drop everything and go check on him yourself.

Which is how you end up outside his apartment, ringing the doorbell like a maniac.

There is no response.

You ring again. And again.

Nothing.

A small, horrible thought creeps in. What if he passed out? What if he hit his head? What if he—

Just as you're about to kick down the door in a move that would absolutely get you arrested, it creaks open.

And Jamil is standing there.

Barely.

He looks terrible.

His usual sharp, careful composure? Gone. His hair is an absolute wreck, his eyes are dazed, and his entire body is actively betraying him by swaying on his feet like a tragic willow in a storm.

You are horrified.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, stepping forward before he can literally collapse. “Jamil, you look—”

Like death. Like the very concept of suffering incarnate.

But you do not say this out loud, because you are a good person.

Instead, you step into his space and grab him before he keels over.

“You’re burning up,” you mutter, steadying him. “When was the last time you ate?”

Jamil blinks at you very slowly, like his brain is buffering at dial-up speeds.

“…Food?”

That is not an answer.

You curse under your breath and haul him back inside, which is a feat of great strength because he is all lean muscle and fever deadweight.

How did this happen? Why did this happen? Who let this happen?

Oh. Right. Him.

Jamil is going to die.

Not from the fever, no. That would be merciful.

He is going to die from sheer embarrassment because you—his boss, his greatest headache, his most infuriating problem—are here, in his apartment, fussing over him like some kind of divine punishment.

He barely registers you pulling out a thermometer and shoving it into his mouth with all the grace of someone who has never done this before.

The numbers blink back at you ominously.

“You’re burning up,” you mutter. “Okay, I’m ordering soup. And you are not moving until you eat something.”

Jamil tries to protest. He does.

But then you press a cool towel against his forehead, and—

Oh.

Oh, that is nice.

His body betrays him once again by relaxing into your touch.

By the time the soup arrives, he is too weak to even lift the spoon properly.

So you—without hesitation, without a single ounce of normal human shame—just feed him.

Like a child.

Like he is some helpless, pathetic creature.

Which, okay, maybe right now, he is.

But still. This is humiliating.

It is also the best soup he has ever had in his life.

Jamil finally falls back asleep.

And you sit there, staring at his peaceful, fever-flushed face, wondering how the hell this became your life.

You were supposed to be running a company, not playing nurse to your best-paid spy.

You should not care this much.

And yet.

You check his temperature again. Still high, but better.

You sigh, raking a hand through your hair, and grab your phone.

“Okay,” you mutter into the receiver, pacing the room. “But what do I do if he wakes up and refuses to rest?”

A pause.

Your voice drops, quieter. “Yeah, I know. I just don’t want him to push himself again.”

Behind you, Jamil shifts.

You do not notice.

But he notices you.

Your hair is mussed, your usual sharp, teasing grin replaced with something softer.

You look worried. For him.

Jamil stares, something twisting in his chest.

Oh.

Oh, he is so incredibly doomed.

You always knew Jamil was a spy. That much was obvious.

The way he answered every question perfectly in his interview? Suspicious.

The way he executed his tasks with military precision? Suspicious.

The way he didn’t try to subtly flirt with you or brown-nose like all the other incompetent spies before him? Extremely suspicious.

But he was competent. So stupidly, ridiculously competent. And you’d rather keep an enemy that made your life easier than deal with another incompetent fool.

Besides, you like playing with fire. So you decided to see how far you could push him.

So tonight, you left your office unlocked. Oh no. What a terrible mistake. If only someone didn’t sneak in and steal your files.

And to make things more interesting, you left some semi-important files open on your computer. Documents that looked serious enough to be tempting but wouldn’t actually do much damage if leaked.

Right before you left, you made sure to sigh dramatically in front of Jamil and say, “Ugh, these files have been keeping me up at night. I sure hope they don’t get leaked or anything.”

Then, you went to your surveillance setup, made yourself some popcorn, and watched.

Because of course Jamil was going to take the bait.

And sure enough, there he was.

You watch as he sits down at your desk. Silent. Focused. The very picture of efficiency.

You lean forward as he navigates to the files. Click. Click. Scroll. His fingers hover over the copy button.

And then—

He just… stops.

Your eyebrows shoot up. Oh?

Jamil stares at the screen like it personally insulted his honor. His fingers twitch over the keyboard, hesitating.

Your interest piques. He should’ve copied them by now. He’s supposed to be a professional, isn’t he?

He clicks out of the important files.

Your jaw nearly drops. What.

He clicks out. He clicks out. He actively chooses not to take anything of worth.

Instead, you watch as he scrolls past all the confidential reports—

—bypasses all the juicy, corporate secrets—

—ignores all the schematics—

—and copies a single folder labeled “raccoons_for_a_rainy_day.zip.”

You almost choke on your popcorn.

Jamil pauses. Stares at the screen for a long, long moment.

Then, as if committing a terrible crime, he ejects the USB, tucks it away, and swiftly leaves your office.

You sit there, stunned.

Because out of everything in your company’s database, out of all the valuable information he could’ve stolen—

He took your emergency raccoon meme collection.

You blink. Once. Twice.

And then, slowly, a grin spreads across your face.

Oh. Oh, this is delightful.

You knew you were converting him to your side, but this? This is proof.

Jamil, the competent, efficient, dangerously intelligent spy, had a perfect chance to complete his mission. And instead of betraying you, he chose to betray his employer instead.

For you.

How flattering.

You had dealt with a lot of strange things in your life. A lot. But this? This was definitely one of the stupidest.

Your old secretary—the one who took a bribe and fled like a rat from a sinking ship—was currently sitting in front of you, begging for her job back. Why? Who the hell knew. You had been certain that the bribe she took would have lasted her a few years, maybe even bought her a cute little vacation somewhere far away, but apparently, money couldn’t buy wisdom. Or, in her case, common sense.

You leaned back in your chair, fingers steepled together, watching her ramble through increasingly desperate justifications. I’ve changed. I’ve grown. I’ve learned from my mistakes. You doubted it.

Jamil stood beside you, completely unreadable, but you knew him well enough by now to recognize the signs of his barely contained fury. His shoulders were stiff, his posture rigid, and—most damning of all—his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

Oh, interesting.

Obviously, you weren’t rehiring her. She wasn’t even ten percent as competent as Jamil, and unlike her, Jamil wasn’t stupid enough to take a bribe when you were the one offering him far more than money. But this? This was a perfect opportunity to test something.

So you sighed, long and dramatic, before rubbing your temples as if this decision physically pained you. “I’ll consider it,” you said finally. “I’ll call you back once I’ve made my decision.”

Her face lit up, all eager gratitude, and she left the office with a bounce in her step.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, you stood, intending to grab a file from your cabinet—but you didn’t get far.

Because Jamil blocked your path.

You blinked at him, more amused than anything, but your amusement flickered into something softer when you saw his face.

He looked wrecked.

Not in an angry way, not even in a controlled, simmering fury. No—this was something else entirely. His eyes searched yours like he was trying to find some sort of answer, his breath slightly uneven, his expression utterly betrayed. He looked like you had punched him in the gut.

You had seen Jamil irritated, seen him exasperated, seen him indulge in rare moments of smugness when his plans went exactly as intended. But this? This raw emotion spilling out of him like a dam breaking—this was new. And you couldn’t stop the way your heartbeat stuttered at the sight.

“Why?” His voice came out hoarse, like he barely trusted himself to speak. “Why would you… Why would you even consider hiring her back?”

You tilted your head, keeping your voice light. “Why does it bother you so much?”

Jamil’s mouth opened—then snapped shut. You could practically see his thoughts racing, running too fast for him to catch up, but something cracked inside of him, because once he started speaking, he couldn’t stop.

“Did I mess up?” he demanded, voice sharper than he probably intended. “Was I not good enough? Did I do something wrong? Why would you—” He cut himself off, exhaling shakily, his hands twitching at his sides like he desperately wanted to reach for you. “You know she isn’t competent. You know she isn’t better than me.”

You hummed, tilting your head in faux thoughtfulness. “Of course, I’ll give you a different position,” you mused. “No need to worry about job security.”

Jamil broke.

Before you could even register the movement, he grabbed you.

His hands found your face, his fingers curling against your skin like he needed to ground himself, like he needed to prove something—and then, he kissed you.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t polite. It was desperate, burning with frustration and something deeper, something so much more vulnerable than you had ever expected from him.

And then, hypothesis proven, you kissed him back.

For a moment, you simply blinked.

Jamil pulls away like he just touched something scalding, his breath uneven, his eyes wide with something close to terror. You watch as realization sets in—his own actions hitting him all at once, like a dam finally bursting and drowning him in the consequences of his own emotions.

“I—” His voice is hoarse, almost shaky, but he’s trying to regain control, trying to salvage something, anything. “I’m not who you think I am.” He says it like a confession, like a last-ditch effort to make you see reason, to make you step back and realize that you shouldn’t want him, that you shouldn’t choose him. “I was hired to—”

“My dear, sweet spy,” you interrupt, voice dripping with amused affection, “won’t you be mine?”

Jamil freezes.

You can see the exact second it dawns on him. The way his expression shifts from confused horror to pure, unfiltered disbelief. You knew. You always knew. Of course you did. He should’ve realized it sooner. You were too sharp, too perceptive, too you to have been in the dark about something so crucial.

And yet, here you were. Choosing him anyway.

His lips twitch. His shoulders shake. And then, he laughs.

Not a small chuckle, not a bitter scoff, but a real laugh, something rare and unguarded, something so genuinely light that it catches even him off guard. He laughs so hard that he nearly doubles over, his forehead dropping against yours as he exhales shakily, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

You feel his breath ghost against your skin, feel the warmth of him so close, and yet, there is no hesitation anymore, no careful, measured distance.

He shakes his head, still breathless from laughing, and when he finally meets your gaze, his expression is something unreadable, something painfully soft.

And this time, when he kisses you, there’s no fear left.

“…Fine,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard it. “I’m yours.”

You wake up to the warmth of an arm draped over your waist, the steady rise and fall of a familiar chest behind you. It’s a rare thing—to wake before Jamil. He’s always been the early riser between you, slipping out of bed before the sun has even had the chance to settle into the sky. But today, for the first time in two years, you’re the one watching him sleep.

Two years since his terrified confession. Two years since you pulled him into the kind of love neither of you had ever expected to find. Two years of whispered promises, stolen kisses, and a loyalty that runs deeper than any mission, deeper than any past betrayal.

The early morning light filters in through the curtains, soft and golden, catching on the matching rings on your fingers. A quiet proof of what you’ve built together. The sight makes something tender settle in your chest, and you press a kiss to his forehead, gentle and lingering.

Jamil stirs, brow furrowing for just a moment before he instinctively pulls you closer, his grip tightening around your waist. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, voice thick with sleep as he murmurs, “Why’re you awake so early…?”

You smile, carding your fingers through his hair as you whisper, “Go back to sleep.”

And as the warmth of him lulls you back into slumber, a thought drifts lazily through your mind—

"You sleep too," he grumbles, but it’s lazy, half-hearted. You can already feel his breath evening out, his body relaxing against yours once more. You keep stroking his hair, slow and rhythmic, feeling the last bits of tension melt from his frame.

Maybe playing with fire was the smartest move you ever made.

Masterlist

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #jamil viper x reader #jamil x reader #jamil #jamil viper x you #jamil viper #twst jamil

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ducksido · 5 months ago

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Jamil Viper's Valentine

(ngl that beetle looks yummy)

If there was one thing Jamil Viper didn’t expect on Valentine’s Day, it was to have free time.

Scarabia was normally bursting with chaos, thanks to Kalim’s extravagant celebrations. But, miraculously, Kalim had been so caught up in planning a Valentine’s party for the entire dorm that he hadn’t given Jamil a long list of tasks to complete.

So here he was—standing outside Ramshackle Dorm, a small, carefully wrapped gift in his hand, debating whether this was a good idea or a terrible one.

He barely had time to think before Y/N opened the door, blinking in surprise.

“Jamil?” they tilted their head. “What are you doing here?”

He exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off his hesitation. “Kalim is busy. I had time. And… I wanted to give you something.”

Y/N smiled. “Oh? Is this a gift?”

Jamil clicked his tongue but handed it over nonetheless. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

Y/N took their time unwrapping it, revealing a small box of handmade sweets. They picked one up, sniffing it curiously. “Did you make these?”

“Who else would?” Jamil huffed, crossing his arms. “I know you don’t always eat properly with how busy you get, so I made sure these aren’t too sweet—just enough to keep your energy up.”

Y/N’s chest warmed at the thoughtfulness behind it. Taking a bite, they hummed in delight. “Jamil, these are amazing.”

A faint dusting of red crept up his neck, but he only shrugged. “Hmph. Of course they are.”

Y/N smirked, recognizing his embarrassment. “Are you sure you don’t want me to make a big deal out of it? Because I’m really grateful.”

Jamil narrowed his eyes at them. “...Don’t push it.”

Still, he didn’t pull away when they stepped closer, smiling softly.

“Jamil.” Their voice was quieter now, more genuine. “Thank you. Really.”

For a moment, he just looked at them, something unreadable in his expression. Then, before they could react, he leaned in, pressing a fleeting kiss to their cheek.

Y/N barely had time to process before he pulled back, clearing his throat and looking anywhere but at them. “There. Now we’re even.”

They blinked. “...Even?”

Jamil turned on his heel, already walking away. “Forget it.”

Y/N laughed, watching his retreating figure.

#twst x reader #twst #twst wonderland #twst yuu #jamil viper x reader #jamil viper #y/n is done #twst jamil #twisted wonderland jamil

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zoe535 · 13 days ago

Text

What We Never Said

Chapter 3

---

The rooftop bar pulsed with music and low lights, the Dallas skyline glowing around them. The team relaxed with all different types of drinks in hand.

NaLyssa pointed her straw at Azzi. “So, you and Paige. All that fire in practice. You hate each other, or is it something else?”

The table laughed. Paige lifted her glass lazily. “Azzi just can’t help but be obsessed with me.”

“Obsessed with cooking you,” Azzi shot back, her smile sharp.

“Oh, is that what you call those bricks you’ve been laying?” Paige teased.

The banter teetered on the edge of something else. Flirting or fighting. No one could tell.

The team loved it.

Azzi loved it too (she would never admit that), until Paige’s attention slid elsewhere.

A girl. Short, brunette and wearing something that could barely be considered clothes approached their table. Confidence oozing from her.

“You’re Paige Bueckers, right? Saw your highlights. You’re even hotter in person.”

Azzi’s throat clenched.

Paige smirked, leaning back. “Yeah? 'preciate it.”

The girl brushed her hand over Paige’s arm. “You got time to grab a drink? Maybe a little one-on-one later?”

Paige flicked her eyes to Azzi briefly. Calculating.

Azzi didn’t react. Not outwardly. But something inside her bristled.

Paige gave the girl a slow smile. “Yeah. Might have time.”

Azzi’s stomach twisted, but she focused on her drink, willing herself not to care. Not to show it.

NaLyssa nudged her, grinning. “Damn, rookie. Better step up your game. She’s pulling tonight.”

Azzi forced a shrug. “Plenty of fish in the sea.”

But her grip on her glass tightened.

Paige didn’t leave with the girl, not right away. She lingered just long enough to keep Azzi on edge, then finally let the girl lead her away.

Azzi called it a night, stepping outside early, the air sharp in her lungs.

She was scrolling through her phone, debating whether to call an Uber, when Paige’s car rolled up.

The window lowered. “You good? I’ll give you a ride.”

Azzi hesitated. “Aren’t you busy?”

Paige shrugged. “Changed my mind.”

Azzi slid into the passenger seat, silence pressing in as Paige pulled into traffic.

They didn’t talk much.

But it wasn’t nothing.

The air crackled between them, thick with all the things they wouldn’t say.

Azzi stared out the window. “That girl. You into her?”

Paige’s grip on the wheel tightened for a split second. “Maybe. Why?”

Azzi shrugged. “Just making conversation.”

Silence.

Then Paige’s voice, soft, dangerous. “Why? Would it bother you?”

Azzi’s pulse stumbled. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Paige smirked. “Wasn’t flattering. Just asking.”

The rest of the drive was quiet, but the tension screamed.

Paige parked outside Azzi’s building.

Azzi unbuckled slowly. “Thanks.”

Paige’s gaze flicked to her, unreadable. “Anytime.”

Azzi hesitated. For a second, she thought maybe—maybe Paige would say something else. Maybe she would reach out, bridge the gap, tease her again, make her heart twist.

But Paige just drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and let her go.

Azzi climbed the stairs two at a time, slammed her door behind her, and leaned back against it, exhaling hard.

---

The next morning, they were both early again.

Paige leaned against the scorer’s table, bouncing the ball lazily. “Morning.”

Azzi grabbed a ball, didn’t respond.

Paige chuckled. “Still mad?”

“Not mad.”

“Jealous?”

Azzi shot a glare sharp enough to cut. “In your dreams.”

Paige moved closer. “You don’t have to hide it, Fudd.”

“There’s nothing to hide.”

Paige tossed her the ball. “Good. Let’s play.”

They spent the next hour in a heated one-on-one, the competition brutal, the score close, the sweat dripping, the touches lingering.

Paige’s defense got tight.

Azzi’s drive got reckless.

They collided under the basket, landing hard, tangled limbs and sharp breaths.

Paige’s hand pressed against Azzi’s hip to steady herself.

Neither moved.

Azzi’s heart pounded in her throat.

Paige’s eyes flicked down to Azzi’s lips.

Azzi jerked back like she’d been burned, scrambling to her feet.

“We’re done here,” she snapped, grabbing her stuff.

Paige’s voice followed her. “Scared to finish the game?”

Azzi didn’t look back. “Scared of nothing.”

But her hands were shaking.

And the worst part?

She couldn't stop thinking about what would happen if she never moved.

---

Azzi didn’t see Paige the rest of the day. Not in the gym. Not in the recovery room. Not even in the parking lot when she finally slipped out and drove home with her music cranked as loud as possible, trying to drown out thoughts she couldn’t afford to have.

But it didn’t work. Paige had settled in her head like a song stuck on repeat, playing louder the more she tried to ignore it.

She wanted to text Jose, but what would she even say?

'Hey, what does it mean if the girl you’re supposed to hate can make your skin burn with one touch?'

Yeah. That would go over well.

She threw her phone face down on the couch and didn’t pick it up for the rest of the night.

---

The next morning, she was early again, lacing her shoes with sharp, focused movements like maybe she could tie her feelings down just as tightly.

Paige showed up late this time, hair messy, still sipping her protein shake as she tossed her bag down.

Azzi tried not to look, but her eyes betrayed her.

“You always this intense before a shootaround?” Paige asked, sitting down and casually tying her shoes, as if the weight of their last collision wasn’t still hanging between them.

“Always,” Azzi lied.

Paige grinned. “Sure.”

They moved through drills with the rest of the team, but it was obvious to everyone that they were tuned into each other in a different way now.

Coach Koclanes called for split workouts that afternoon. Paige and Azzi were assigned to solo shooting reps.

Together. Again.

The gym was mostly empty, the sound of bouncing balls and squeaking sneakers echoing off the high walls.

Paige passed to Azzi without looking. “Let’s go. You miss, you run.”

Azzi set her feet, nailed the jumper. “You first.”

Paige drained hers.

Back and forth. Corner to corner. Elbow to elbow.

Paige stepped closer as the drill tightened. Her fingertips brushed Azzi’s wrist on a pass, the contact light, almost deliberate.

Azzi’s stomach flipped.

Paige handed her the ball next, a little too slowly. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“Your pulse is racing.”

“You wish.”

Paige’s eyes flicked to her lips again. “Maybe.”

Azzi’s heart slammed in her chest.

She shoved the ball into Paige’s gut a little harder than necessary. “Take your shot.”

Paige didn’t back off. “I am.”

The gym felt smaller. Hotter.

Azzi’s next shot clanged off the rim. She cursed under her breath.

“Run,” Paige reminded her, smirking.

Azzi sprinted to the opposite baseline and back, cheeks burning, but not from the sprint.

Paige waited, dribbling lazily. “Thought you’d make that one.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Azzi’s breath hitched. She wasn’t sure if Paige meant the words or the heat lacing them, but she wasn’t going to ask.

“Another round,” Azzi barked, picking up her pace.

Paige followed, pushing her just a little further each time. A brush of the shoulder here. A hand lingering on a pass there.

Cautious touches.

Testing boundaries.

Azzi’s muscles ached by the end, but she barely felt them. Her body was on autopilot, her mind stuck on Paige’s grin, the way she bit her lip after a tough shot, the way she lingered just close enough to blur the lines.

When they finally called it, Paige draped a towel over her shoulders. “Want a ride again?”

Azzi hesitated. “Yeah.”

Paige’s car smelled like mint gum and cedar. The windows down, the breeze warm.

“You driving me home now?” Azzi teased, trying to sound casual.

Paige shrugged. “Unless you want to walk.”

Azzi cracked a small smile. “I’ll survive.”

The silence settled again, but it wasn’t awkward. It buzzed. Alive with the weight of unsaid things.

“You gonna text that girl back?” Azzi asked, too quickly.

Paige glanced at her. “What girl?”

“The one from the rooftop.”

“Oh.” Paige’s mouth twitched like she was fighting a smile. “She was boring.”

Azzi’s heart thumped harder. “You don’t even know her.”

“I know when someone’s boring.”

“Maybe she’s exactly what you need. Someone simple.”

Paige’s jaw flexed. “You think I want simple?”

Azzi swallowed. “I think you should.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Paige stopped at a red light, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. “What about you? You into simple?”

Azzi looked out the window, voice low. “Simple’s safe.”

“Sounds boring.”

Azzi’s lips curved. “Maybe I’m boring.”

“You’re not.”

Silence.

Paige’s fingers tapped again. “You like being around me?”

Azzi’s throat went dry. “Sometimes.”

Paige’s gaze flicked over, sharp. “When?”

Azzi’s pulse spiked. “When you’re not talking.”

Paige smirked, satisfied, then turned back to the road. “Guess I’ll shut up then.”

They didn’t speak for the rest of the drive, but the silence wasn’t empty.

It was packed with tension, with questions Azzi wasn’t ready to answer.

Paige pulled up to Azzi’s place again. Azzi unbuckled slowly but didn’t get out right away.

Paige’s hand drummed lightly on the steering wheel. “You want to come out with us again tonight? Team’s hitting that new spot.”

Azzi hesitated. “You going?” Paige arched a brow. “Would it matter?” Azzi pushed the door open. “I’ll think about it.”

Paige watched her go, biting her lip to fight a grin. Azzi’s phone buzzed before she even made it up the stairs.

Paige: You’d miss me if I wasn’t there.

Azzi stared at the screen, heart racing.

She didn’t text back.

But she knew Paige was right.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics #paige and azzi #paige bueckers fanfic #paige bueckers fanfiction #azzi fudd fic

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httpsdana · 10 months ago

Note

Hey!! Could u write a jamal x reader with promt 90 and 14 where they're in a relationship (like literally everyone knows it) but like jamal acts so cold to reader in public like he doesn't know her which makes reader feel like he's just with her cuz he bored or something (idek what I'm saying atp 😭 but basically angst BUT ends in fluff)

Anyways Thank you!!!!🤍(Btw LOVE LOVEE ur writing i literally eat it uppp 😽😽)

Protector~Jamal Musiala

*Pictures are from Pinterest*

thank you sm for your sweet message 😙🫶🏻 enjoy <3

request from here

master list -> part 2

players/drivers i write for

14-"I missed you"

90-"honestly? I am so fucking tired of being your secret."

She was used to the cameras, the flashing lights, and the whispers that followed whenever she was with Jamal. Dating him, a rising football star, came with a lot of attention, but it was something y/n thought she could handle. However, what she couldn’t handle, what weighed on her heart more than anything, was the way Jamal acted in public.

In private, things were perfect. He was sweet, thoughtful, and made her feel like the only person in the world. But the moment they stepped out together, it was like he put up a wall between them.

Jamal barely acknowledged her presence when fans or teammates were around, and it made her feel invisible. y/m tried to brush it off at first, telling herself he was just being professional, that he was trying to protect their privacy. But as the days passed, doubt started to creep in.

Maybe Jamal was only with hrr because he was bored. Maybe she was just a distraction from his busy life. Those thoughts kept spiraling in her mind, making her chest ache with insecurity.

They were out with his friends at a casual gathering, the kind where everyone was laid back, just hanging out and enjoying each other's company. y/n stood near Jamal, but he didn’t even glance her way.

He laughed and joked with his friends, and while she tried to engage in the conversation, it felt like she was on the outside looking in.

Her heart sank as she watched him, a knot forming in her stomach. Was this it? Was this what their relationship had become, just her standing there, waiting for him to notice?

y/n excused herself from the group, needing some air, and headed out to the quiet balcony. The cool breeze brushed against her skin, but it did nothing to calm the storm of emotions brewing inside her.

Maybe he wasn’t as into her as she thought. Maybe she was just something to pass the time, a phase he would eventually get over. The thought made her throat tighten with unshed tears.

She loved Jamal, but she couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine when he didn’t even acknowledge her in public.

She leaned against the railing, trying to gather her thoughts when she heard footsteps behind her. She turned to see Jamal walking towards her, his expression unreadable.

“Hey,” he said softly, standing beside her.

“Hi,” she replied, her voice a bit sharper than she intended.

He glanced at her, eyebrows knitting together in concern.

“Is everything okay? You’ve been quiet.” he asked

y/n let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “That’s funny coming from you.” she said, her voice sharp and cold

Jamal’s face fell, confusion flashing in his eyes. “What do you mean?” he asked clueless

She bit her lip, debating whether she should even say anything. But the hurt inside her had been building for too long, and she couldn’t keep it in anymore.

“Do you even notice me when we’re out?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with pain.

“Because I feel like you don’t. I’m always just… there, but you never act like I matter when we’re in public.” she murmured, looking away from him

Jamal’s eyes widened in surprise. “What? That’s not true.”

She sighed, turning to face him fully.

“Jamal, every time we’re with your friends or around other people, it’s like I don’t exist to you. You act like I’m not even there, and it makes me wonder if you’re just with me because you’re bored.” she argued, letting the anger in her out

His expression shifted from confusion to hurt as he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to touch her arm. “I would never do that to you.”

She looked down, not wanting him to see the tears that threatened to spill over.

“Then why do you act like that? Like you’re embarrassed to be with me or something.” her voice weak as she spoke

Jamal’s grip on her arm tightened, and he gently pulled her toward him, his other hand lifting her chin so she’d look at him. His eyes were filled with a mix of guilt and sadness.

“I’m not embarrassed,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was making you feel like that.”

y/n shook her head, pulling away slightly. “Then why? Why do you keep pushing me away when we’re around other people? honestly, I'm so fucking tired of being your secret” she said, her voice cracking at the end

Jamal let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“I thought… I thought I was protecting you. I didn’t want you to get dragged into the spotlight because of me. I know how crazy the media can be, and I didn’t want to make things harder for you.” he said, his voice sofr

She blinked, the knot in her chest loosening slightly as his words sank in.

“But I don’t care about the media, Jamal. I care about you. I just want to feel like I matter to you, even when we’re not alone.” she said

He stepped closer again, cupping her face in his hands, his touch gentle but firm.

“You matter more than anything to me,” he said, his voice low and serious.

“I’m sorry I’ve made you feel like you don’t. I guess I thought by keeping some distance in public, I was protecting what we have, but I didn’t realize I was hurting you in the process.” he said gently, his voice sincere and honest

y/n swallowed hard, the sincerity in his eyes breaking down the walls of doubt she had built.

“I just need to know that I’m not some temporary thing for you.” she said, her voice barely above whisper

Jamal’s thumb brushed against her cheek, wiping away the tear that had finally fallen. “You’re not temporary. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” he smiled softly

His words made her heart skip a beat, and for the first time in days, the ache in her chest began to ease. Jamal pulled her into his arms, holding her close, and she rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I’ll do better,” he promised, his lips brushing against her hair. “I’ll make sure you never feel like that again.”

She stayed in his arms for a few moments, letting his warmth soothe the lingering hurt.

"I missed you" she mumbled against his chest, making his heart clench at her confession, not aware of the distance that has formed between them because of his actions

"I missed you more baby. I'm sorry about everything I've done" he mumbled back, his hand running down her back as a soothing gesture

When she finally pulled back, she looked up at him with a small smile.

“I love you,” she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Jamal’s face lit up, his eyes softening as he leaned down to kiss her, slow and tender.

“I love you too,” he murmured against her lips, his arms wrapping around her tighter.

In that moment, all the doubt, all the insecurity, melted away. Jamal’s love for her was real, and despite his mistakes, he was willing to do whatever it took to make things right. y/n knew that the two of them could get through anything as long as they were together.

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darlingsblackbook · 9 months ago

Text

Shattered Trust

Rafayel x Reader

Summary : Rafayel had decided to love and trust you again, even knowing how dire the consequences had been in the past. What happens when history repeats itself and he's betrayed yet again?

Wordcount : 5k

Warnings : us being a untrustworthy ho, betrayal, sad fish, angst, violence against us ( free us ). Drugging!

°•♡•° Masterlist °•♡•°

The underground club was a labyrinth of dark corners, shadowed faces, and winding pathways lit only by the occasional flicker of neon signs overhead. I could feel Rafayel’s steady presence beside me as we pushed deeper into the crowd, his arm brushing against mine each time someone jostled past us. In this city, trust was scarce, and this place was a dangerous testament to that fact.

“Stick close,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper under the bass-heavy beat pounding through the walls.

I nodded, glancing around for any sign of the dealer. Our target, someone rumored to be deep in the trade of the elusive Aether Core, had told us to come here alone. But, despite Rafayel’s calm demeanor, I could sense the tension simmering beneath the surface. He had been by my side for a long time now, through more than one dangerous mission, and I knew his watchful eyes were taking in every shadow, every suspicious figure.

It wasn’t long before we were pulled apart by the ebb and flow of the crowd. I felt his arm slip from mine as someone stepped in between us, and when I turned to look for him, he’d already been swallowed by the sea of people.

I hesitated, debating whether to look for him, but then my gaze landed on the far side of the room. There, seated in a dimly lit booth surrounded by a few guards, was the dealer.

He was watching me, his expression unreadable, but he inclined his head ever so slightly in invitation. My stomach twisted, but I pushed forward, ignoring the itch of unease crawling up my spine.

I approached slowly, keeping my posture relaxed despite the knot of apprehension in my chest. As I neared the table, the dealer’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he gestured to the seat across from him. The air around us felt suffocating, like the walls were closing in, but I forced myself to stay calm.

“You’re here about the Aether Core,” he said, his voice as smooth as ice. He didn’t bother with introductions; his gaze was sharp, calculating. “But before we discuss anything, I have terms.”

I nodded, keeping my expression neutral. “I assumed as much.”

His lips curled into a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You see, I know exactly who you are. A hunter, with a certain… reputation.” His eyes flicked toward the crowd. “And you’ve come with a companion, yes? The man with you?”

“Why do you ask?” I replied carefully, feeling my pulse quicken.

The dealer leaned back, steepling his fingers. “Because I don’t trust anyone who comes looking for the Aether Core,” he said, each word heavy with implication. “If you want to deal with me, I need a guarantee. That companion of yours… he will stay with my guard. If you’re trustworthy, you’ll get him back by the end of our business. If not…”

My stomach twisted. “And if I refuse?”

The dealer’s smile widened, a dark, predatory gleam in his eyes. “Then you’re free to walk away… without the information you seek. But let me assure you, anyone looking for an Aether Core is usually in no position to be picky about terms.”

He was right. This was the only lead we had, and walking away would mean throwing away weeks of progress. I clenched my hands under the table, weighing my options.

Rafayel would never agree to this if he knew. If I explained it to him, he might resist, and this was too important to risk failure over. I took a steadying breath, feeling a pang of guilt as I nodded my agreement. “Fine. I’ll make sure he doesn’t resist.”

The dealer looked satisfied, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. “Then it’s settled.” With that, he pushed himself up from the table, gesturing to his guard.

“You know where to find me. Once your friend is under control, we’ll meet upstairs.” He disappeared up a narrow staircase to the VIP section, his figure fading into the shadows above, leaving me alone with the weight of my decision.

I weaved back through the crowd, my mind racing. The truth was, I had no idea how I was going to pull this off. Rafayel trusted me—trusted me to have his back, not to turn on him. But if he found out, if he even sensed what I was about to do…

I spotted him near the bar, his back turned as he scanned the room. When he saw me approach, his expression softened slightly, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

“Got a bit lost, didn’t you?” he teased, his tone light as he leaned against the bar. “This place is a maze.”

I forced a smile, my heart pounding as I stepped closer to him. “It’s… crowded in here.”

He chuckled, oblivious to the turmoil churning inside me. “Yeah, I noticed.” He glanced back at the dance floor, watching the swirling lights and shadows. “So, did you find him?”

“Yeah,” I said quietly, my hand slipping into my pocket to retrieve the small vial I’d hidden there. “He’s upstairs. But… there’s something I need to do first.”

He turned to face me, brow furrowing slightly, a hint of curiosity flickering in his eyes. “What’s that?”

My fingers brushed the edge of the vial, my pulse racing as I met his gaze. “I need you to trust me.”

He raised an eyebrow, the faintest trace of concern creeping into his expression. “Since when have I ever doubted you?”

His words only made this harder. With a deep breath, I moved closer, placing a hand on his shoulder to steady myself as I uncapped the vial.

Before he could react, I pressed it to his lips, tilting it back as he inhaled in surprise. The liquid took effect almost instantly, and his eyes widened in confusion as he staggered slightly.

“Y/N… what are you…?” His words slurred, and he reached out to steady himself, his grip tightening on my arm as he struggled to stay upright.

“I’m sorry, Rafayel,” I whispered, watching as his eyes began to glaze over, his expression turning from confusion to betrayal.

The dealer's guard stepped up from the shadows and grabbed onto each of his arms as he slumped forward. Rafayel raised his head up one last time, looking at me as I just stood there as he was being dragged away. Just before my sight of him was blocked by the partying people around us I saw his eyes roll back as the drug finally took him out.

°•♡•°♡•°♡•°♡•°

I stood at the bar of the busy club, staring at the staircase leading up to the VIP section where the dealer had disappeared. My pulse pounded in my ears as I took a shaky breath and I walked over and forced myself to climb.

I reminded myself this was for the greater good—Rafayel is safe, he would not be harmed. But the look in his eyes as he’d passed out, the betrayal there… it stayed with me, eating away at my resolve.

Two guards waited at the top of the stairs, stone-faced as they eyed me. One nodded and stepped aside, pushing open a heavy door, revealing a room filled with shadows. In its center, the dealer sat alone at a polished table, glancing over his shoulder with a faint smirk.

“Please, come in,” he said, gesturing to the seat across from him. “Don’t look so tense.”

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to cross the room and sit. The tension in my chest only tightened as I settled in. The walls here were lined with dark velvet curtains and the faint, musky scent of incense filled the air, adding to the suffocating atmosphere.

The dealer studied me for a long, silent moment, and the smirk on his face twisted with satisfaction. “So, you made the right choice, it seems.”

“You have what you wanted,” I replied coolly, barely keeping my voice steady. “Let’s get down to business.”

He chuckled, a cold sound that echoed in the empty room. “Straight to the point, I see.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “So. What is it that drives you to chase after something as dangerous as the Aether Core?”

I frowned, not expecting him to question my motives. “That’s not part of our deal.”

“But I’m curious,” he pressed, the gleam in his eyes growing sharper. “The Aether Core is no ordinary artifact. To be here, asking questions about it, means you’re either desperate or foolish. Which is it?”

I kept my expression blank, refusing to rise to his bait. “We didn’t come here to share life stories. We came for information.”

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. “Very well. Let’s discuss terms, then. You’re aware that acquiring the Aether Core requires more than simple inquiries, yes?”

“I assumed as much.”

His smile widened, but it was anything but friendly. “The Core’s current whereabouts are… precarious. Guarded by people who’d just as soon kill you for even mentioning it. And I don’t usually put myself in harm’s way for such reckless causes.”

“Which is why we’re offering compensation,” I said sharply, my patience thinning. “Name your price.”

He gave me a pitying look, as though I were a child asking for the impossible. “This isn’t as simple as money, little girl,” he sneered, tapping his fingers against the table. “But you must know that already. That’s why you brought him along, isn’t it?”

The subtle threat made my heart skip, but I kept my face unreadable. “What does he have to do with this?”

“Oh, more than you’d like him to, I imagine.” He laughed quietly, the sound grating. “A shame, really, dragging someone so… capable… into this. But collateral, as we discussed, is a necessary evil.”

I clenched my fists, feeling the urge to lash out, but I kept my composure. “Are you trying to change the terms now?” I asked, my voice barely controlled. “You said as long as I played along, no harm would come to him.”

“Relax,” he drawled, waving a dismissive hand. “I’m just being realistic. After all, accidents happen.” He looked at me with mock sympathy, watching my reaction as he added, “It’d be a pity if your companion ended up as collateral damage.”

The threat sent a chill through me, but I forced myself to hold his gaze, refusing to let him see how much he’d gotten under my skin. “You have him exactly where you want. Just keep your end of the deal, and we’ll leave. Simple as that.”

He chuckled again, amused by my defiance. “And that is where you’re mistaken, dear. You think you can just walk in, take what you need, and walk away? This Core is far more valuable than you seem to realize.” His tone dropped, laced with something dark. “One wrong move, and I could make sure you both disappear without a trace.”

I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to stay calm despite the fire building in my chest. “If you so much as touch him—”

“Ah, but that’s entirely in your hands, isn’t it?” he cut me off smoothly. “If you want his safety, perhaps you should show me a bit more… gratitude. After all, I’ve been very accommodating.”

I could feel my control slipping, anger flickering through me. “Gratitude?” I repeated, my voice shaking. “We had a deal— and now you're threatening him because I dared to ask questions - just for what do you want gratitude?”

“Watch your tone,” he warned, his voice icy. “Or you might find yourself without a bargaining chip at all.”

My heart pounded, the urge to rip that smug look off his face almost overwhelming. But I couldn’t risk Rafayel’s safety, not when he was already at their mercy- because of me. I swallowed, forcing myself to take a deep breath.

“So, what do you want, then?” I asked quietly, doing my best to sound composed. “You’ve already made it clear you’re not giving up the Core without something in return.”

The dealer leaned back in his chair, studying me with a calculating gleam. “Information, of course. About you, your little companion… your hunting methods.” He smirked. “Perhaps a demonstration.”

I felt my stomach twist, disgusted by the insinuation in his tone. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“No,” he agreed lightly, feigning innocence. “But deals evolve, especially when one side has so much to lose.” He paused, his eyes narrowing as he watched me. “Don’t test my patience, girl. I am not a man who tolerates insolence.”

I glared at him, fury boiling inside me, but I knew I was backed into a corner. Every instinct screamed at me to fight back, to demand Rafayel’s release and just have the dealer give me what I need- but I couldn't and I was starting to regret my decision.

Now the dealer had me in the palm of his hand and Rafayel's safety hinged on my cooperation. I couldn’t risk pushing this man too far.

“I’ll answer your questions,” I replied, barely managing to keep my voice steady. “But only about me. Rafayel has nothing to do with this.”

He scoffed, a mocking smile curving his lips. “How noble. But you’re not in a position to make demands. If you want to keep him breathing, you’ll answer anything I ask.”

My heart raced, but I kept my expression calm, even as dread sank deep into my bones. The dealer’s smug smile was infuriating, but I couldn’t afford to push him.

“Fine,” I said quietly, my voice laced with barely restrained anger. “What do you want to know?”

He leaned forward, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he studied me. “Tell me, hunter, what drives you to chase after power you don’t understand?”

The dealer's question lingered in the air, a taunt woven into the shadows around us. I could feel his eyes on me, waiting, enjoying every second I struggled to keep my composure.

Part of me wanted to lash out, to tell him exactly what I thought of his games. But the memory of Rafayel’s limp body, his gaze dimming as the guard dragged him away, kept me grounded.

I took a slow breath, forcing the words out. "I’m here because I need it," I said, my tone low but steady. "Not for power—nothing like that. I’m here because lives depend on it."

The dealer raised an eyebrow, an amused glint in his gaze as if I’d just told him a fairy tale. "Lives?" he echoed, his tone dripping with disbelief. "So noble, and yet here you are, bargaining with a man like me. Sacrificing a friend in the process." He tilted his head, eyes narrowing with feigned pity. "Doesn’t sound very noble to me."

A spark of anger flared in my chest. “This was your choice,” I snapped. “I agreed to your terms. Don’t pretend this is anything other than what it is: a threat.”

He grinned, clearly enjoying my frustration. “A threat, perhaps,” he replied smoothly. “But an effective one. You see, I like control—and people like you, hunters so used to playing saviors… you need to understand that nothing comes without cost.”

My jaw tightened, but I forced myself to nod, staying calm. “So then what do you want from me?”

He leaned back, folding his hands in front of him as he studied me. "Cooperation. And patience. You ask me to hand over something precious, and yet you withhold honesty." He let his eyes drift over me, the calculating look in them unsettling. "If you want the Core, you can have it. Of course, it however does not come for free."

I couldn't help think of Rafayel again, trapped somewhere within this den, a wave of guilt crashed over me- what had I done?

I could almost hear his voice, laughing as we had entered the club together, blissfully unaware of what I would do later on. Of how I would betray him. Even now, I could feel the weight of that betrayal pressing down on me.

“So what do I need to do?” I asked, barely able to keep the exhaustion from my voice.

The dealer tapped his fingers against the table, his gaze never wavering. “For a start, I want to know why you’re willing to risk his life so carelessly. You claim this is for the greater good, but somehow, I doubt that’s all there is to it.” He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with dark curiosity. “What did you really come here for?”

My throat tightened, but I forced myself to keep steady. “The Aether Core has information—a map hidden within it. I need it to stop something dangerous, something that could destroy entire sectors if left unchecked.”

“A noble cause, then,” he murmured, though his expression suggested he was far from convinced. “And yet, you didn’t tell him, did you? You brought him here, then drugged him, using him to get what you want...” He tilted his head, an amused smirk pulling at his lips. “What does that say about your precious ‘greater good’?”

I felt the sting of his words, and the guilt I’d been trying to suppress rose to the surface. “I did what had to be done” I said quietly, the words tasting hollow even to my own ears.

The dealer scoffed, clearly unimpressed. “Is that what you tell yourself? You know, I have eyes and ears anywhere, I know...you two have been playing more than just bodyguard and artist. Oh, how much it must hurt to be betrayed by his love. Maybe, you did not even have to do it like this, maybe you could've just told him about my terms and he would have willingly walked away with my guards. I mean, I never said you had to drug him!"

He shook his head, laughing loudly. “I wish I could see his reaction when he finally wakes up. That is, if he ever wakes up to tell you.”

The threat sent a spike of panic through me, but I kept my face neutral. “You said you wouldn’t harm him if I cooperated.”

“And I won’t,” he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But you’re walking on a very thin line. Push me too far, and even I can’t guarantee what might happen.”

I clenched my fists under the table, the tension tightening in my chest. I could only imagine what Rafayel would think if he woke up now—chained somewhere, alone, believing I’d left him to fend for himself. “Fine,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Just tell me what you want.”

The dealer’s eyes glinted, victorious. “It’s simple, really. I want loyalty. A taste of that hunter dedication you so freely hand out to those who don’t deserve it.”

“What do you mean?” I asked warily.

“A small task.” He leaned back, a satisfied smile stretching across his face. “There’s a rival in the sector—a thorn in my side. I want him… removed. Quietly, discreetly. And in return, I’ll give you the Core.”

The implication made my stomach twist. “You want me to kill him some guy for you.”

“Such an ugly word,” he said, shrugging. “But yes. You should be thankful this is all I am asking. An Aether Core is worth much more than a measly life, don't you think?"

The idea of being manipulated further made my skin crawl. I glanced toward the heavy door, feeling the weight of the situation pressing in. If I accepted, I’d be walking into a trap of my own making- who am I kidding? I had walked into the trap as soon as the thought of hurting Rafayel occured to me.

This was all the consequences of my own doing, now I had to deal with it.

He watched me, the anticipation in his gaze like a predator cornering its prey. I felt my resolve harden. I had no choice- if I disagreed, weeks worth of careful investegation of the Core would go to waste and most importantly, Rafayel....

I had to play the dealer’s twisted game—for now.

Swallowing hard, I forced myself to meet his gaze. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

His grin widened, satisfied. “Good. I knew you’d see reason.” He rose from his chair, giving a nod to the guard near the door.

"The instructions will be sent to you later. Remember—any hesitation, any slip-up, and I will find your precious friend and the consequences will be severe.”

I didn’t flinch, even as his warning settled heavily in the room. With one last glance, he motioned to the door, dismissing me like I was nothing more than an obedient pawn.

°•♡•°♡°•♡•°♡°•♡•°

The door closed behind me, the dealer's words still echoing in my mind, heavy with implications. Each step away from him felt like I was sinking deeper into quicksand, every choice leading me further from what I wanted and closer to something darker.

The hallway stretched long and empty before me, dimly lit by pale neon lights that flickered intermittently, casting my shadow in jagged, broken patterns along the walls. Somewhere behind these walls, Rafayel was likely about to wake up, groggy, confused, and furious.

I felt the weight of what I'd done gnawing at me. I'd justified it, telling myself it was for the greater good, that it was a necessary evil for something bigger.

But had it really been necessary?

I clenched my fists, trying to suppress the tremor in my hands. He would understand. I’d explain it to him, it will be fine.

Turning the corner, I was met with another dimly lit hall, punctuated by the murmurs of voices and the steady, dull bass from the music overhead. I walked briskly, half-aware of the curious glances from people lingering in the shadows, assessing, judging.

But they didn't matter right now. All that mattered was getting to Rafayel.

Down this hall, through the double doors, and into a storage area, Rafayel was supposedly held. I forced myself to move with purpose, brushing off the anxiety twisting in my stomach. The dealer's warning lingered—any hesitation, any slip-up—and I knew he would go after Rafayel again to ensure my compliance.

I pushed open the doors, stepping into a dimly lit room with high walls and rows of crates stacked haphazardly. My gaze swept the room, searching for Rafayel, my heart thudding as I spotted a figure slumped against one of the crates, shackles around his wrists, barely visible in the shadowed light.

"Rafayel." His name left my lips before I could stop myself, rushing toward him. Relief flooded me when I saw his chest rising and falling, even as his face remained turned away, his eyes closed.

The silence in the storage room felt stifling, pressing down on me as I knelt beside him. Relief washed over me just seeing him breathing, but it was tempered with a heavy dread.

“Rafayel…” I whispered, my voice barely audible as I reached out, resting a trembling hand on his arm.

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, a glaze of confusion softening his usually piercing gaze. His brows furrowed, and his gaze wandered, trying to find something to latch onto in the murky space around him.

“Y/N?” he murmured, his voice thick with grogginess. His eyes met mine, and in that brief moment, he softened, searching my face like he was seeking comfort, an anchor in the haze of whatever I'd given him.

I felt my heart clench, guilt and relief warring within me as I touched his shoulder lightly.

“Rafayel, you’re okay,” I said, voice trembling with a gentleness that even surprised me. “You’re safe.”

He blinked, trying to focus, and I watched as fragments of realization flickered across his expression.

He moved sluggishly, bringing a hand to his temple as if to fend off a dull ache, his breathing slow, still heavy with the drug’s lingering effects.

For a second, he seemed almost vulnerable, a shadow of the man I knew. And then, slowly, I watched him piece it together—the confusion clearing, the warmth in his eyes fading as memory returned with devastating clarity.

“You…” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. “You did this.”

The words were soft but weighted, sinking into the space between us, and I saw the shift in his gaze, the creeping betrayal overtaking what little gentleness had been there moments before.

He tried to sit up, his muscles straining with the effort, and I instinctively placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to steady him.

“Please, let me explain—”

But he flinched at my touch, a sudden tension stiffening his posture. He didn’t shove me away, but the distance in his eyes felt far worse. The confusion had settled into something darker, something twisted in hurt.

“Explain?” he asked, his voice a quiet, bitter rasp. There was no anger in it yet, only the raw, open wound of betrayal. He was still dazed, his hand trembling slightly as he reached for the chains around his wrists, feeling the cold metal, the indignity of it.

My throat felt tight as I tried to find the words. “They… they wouldn’t meet with me otherwise. They needed you as collateral. They promised me you would be safe.”

“Safe?” he repeated, the word heavy, almost mocking. He looked up at me, eyes glassy with disbelief, and something else—something that looked like heartbreak.

“l trusted you and you drugged me! You my stripped me off my powers and left me vulnerable- left me to be locked up, used as some bargaining chip for your deal!"

He breathed heavily, "And what?" He spread his arms "You thought that was okay? B-Because they pinky promised that I would be safe...?”

The disbelief was slowly giving way to fury, an anger that simmered just beneath the surface, barely held back by his lingering weakness. His eyes searched mine, as if trying to reconcile the person he thought he knew with the one who had betrayed him.

“I didn’t mean....” I said, hating how small my voice sounded, the desperation woven into each word. “I just- I wasn't thinking… I didn’t know what else to do.”

He laughed, a broken, quiet sound. “You didn’t know what else to do,” he echoed.

His gaze hardened, as if he couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. “So your solution was to knock me out and hand me over?” His voice cracked, raw with hurt. “You didn’t think maybe, just maybe, I’d do anything to help you achieve something so important to you?”

He took a step forward, “Tell me, Y/N—how many times do I have to be betrayed by you before it finally stops hurting?”

The words stunned me. Betrayed by me? I didn’t understand—he was speaking as though this wasn’t the first time, as if there was some history between us I couldn’t grasp. “What are you talking about?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “I have never...betrayed... you before…”

He looked at me then, his eyes clouded with a pain that ran far deeper than I could have imagined. “You don’t even remember, do you?” His voice was filled with quiet devastation, his words dripping with bitterness. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

The soft glow of the storage room lights flickered, casting Rafayel’s face in sharp, angular shadows. “You betrayed me,” he hissed, the words slicing through the silence like a weapon. “How could you do this... again?”

My pulse quickened as I looked up into his storm-gray eyes, clouded with a mixture of hurt and rage. My mind whirled, scrambling to understand his anger, but all I could feel was the confusion gnawing at me. Something I had done had triggered a memory in Rafayel that I couldn’t recall, a past betrayal that still bled through his soul.

“Rafayel, please, listen to me,” I began, my voice trembling as I fought to keep calm. “I don’t remember…but..today.. I really didn’t mean to hurt you.”

I wanted to reach out, to tell him that whatever he remembered, it wasn’t like that this time—that I didn’t even remember any of it.

But the venom in his eyes made me pause. He wasn’t seeing me as I was now; he was seeing a ghost from his past, a woman who’d betrayed him over and over, leaving scars that never healed.

But it was too late.

Rafayel’s face twisted with pain and fury. “You don’t remember? How convenient.” His power surged around him, a dark aura that seemed almost tangible.

He took a step forward, his hands trembling with barely restrained energy. “Do you have any idea! What it’s like to be betrayed over and over again! To be killed and left behind! Then have to watch you pretend as if nothing ever happened?”

My heart pounded, each word of his like a fresh wound. I could feel his anger intensifying, his power leaking out uncontrollably as the memories overwhelmed him.

The lights flickered again, and I felt a sharp chill crawl down my spine as the air crackled with his energy.

“Rafayel… I’m sorry,” I managed, my voice breaking. I reached out, hoping to calm him, to make him understand that I was different now. “Please, don’t do this.”

But he flinched away from me, his gaze cold and unyielding. “Every lifetime, you find some new way to tear me apart. And every time, I let you back in.” His voice was barely a whisper now, thick with bitterness and betrayal. “But not this time. This time, I’ll make sure you feel the pain you’ve put me through.”

Before I could respond, he raised a hand, his power flaring up. I barely had time to gasp before the wave of energy pulsed toward me, raw and unforgiving, knocking me back. Pain shot through my whole body like an electric shock as I collided with the wall, my vision blurring.

I looked up at him, eyes wide with shock and hurt. For a moment, his expression softened, as if he realized what he had done. His hand trembled as he lowered it, and just for a fleeting second, I thought he might reach for me, might offer me the comfort I so desperately needed.

But he turned away, his face once more a mask of hardened resolve. “Stay away from me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. And with that, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving me alone with the crushing weight of his anger and the millions of pieces of my own shattered heart.

A/N : This one really made me feel mad at us for Rafayel. I feel like he deserves so much better, poor fish, he and all the lemurians had to suffer bc of us and now he is being betrayed again. The fact that he is willing to even try again in the game-✋🏻🥲 please you deserve better, pookie.

Some might not like that he hurt the reader at the end but honestly? I kind of see the possiblity that it might happen, imagine the pain and hurt he has carried for so many years. Unlike the others, he had the worse thing that could happen, happen to him. Imagine still trying to open your heart again because you just love someone so much and they betray you once again.

Anyways, meow.

#lads x you #lads spoilers #lads x reader #lads angst #lads #lads rafayel #love and deepspace angst #love and deepspace #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel angst #rafayel x mc #rafayel x you #rafayel x reader #rafayel #rafayel x y/n #lads x y/n #lads x mc

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rafecamerons-national-anthem · 7 months ago

Text

𝐵𝒪𝒩𝐹𝐼𝑅𝐸 𝒞𝒪𝒩𝐹𝐸𝒮𝒮𝐼𝒪𝒩𝒮-𝑅𝒜𝐹𝐸 𝒞𝒜𝑀𝐸𝑅𝒪𝒩

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪 On a summer night filled with laughter and music, Y/N finds herself caught up in the lively chaos of a beach bonfire party. Everyone seems to be enjoying the carefree vibe, except Rafe Cameron.

✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮

The music thumped loud enough to feel in your chest, mixing with the sound of waves crashing against the shore. Flames from the bonfire licked at the night sky, throwing warm hues across the sand and the faces of the crowd gathered around it. You held a red plastic cup in your hand, though you hadn’t touched it much, too busy scanning the scene, half hoping and half dreading to see him.

He was impossible to ignore, even in a crowd this big. Something about him drew attention, whether it was the sharp angles of his jaw, the effortless swagger in his walk, or the air of danger that clung to him like smoke. You spotted him leaning against a driftwood log near the fire, a beer in hand, his face shadowed and unreadable.

Your heart sank a little. He looked distant, like he wasn’t really part of the crowd despite standing in the middle of it. You were still debating whether to approach him when he caught your eye.

Before you could decide what to do, he pushed off the log and strode toward you, weaving through clusters of laughing people. His gaze was intense, and you couldn’t quite tell if that was a good thing.

“You got a minute?” he asked, his voice low, the hint of a plea buried beneath the usual bravado.

You hesitated, glancing at the group you’d been standing with. “Uh… sure.”

Without another word, he turned and started walking down the beach, away from the firelight. You followed, your curiosity outweighing your caution. The noise of the party faded, replaced by the rhythmic sound of the waves and the crunch of sand beneath your feet.

When he stopped, you were far enough from the bonfire that it felt like a different world. The ocean stretched out before you, moonlight reflecting off its surface. Rafe stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared out at the water.

“What’s up?” you asked gently.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he kicked at the sand, his jaw tightening. You were about to speak again when he finally said, “You ever feel like…no matter what you do, you’re just screwed?”

The question caught you off guard. You frowned, stepping closer. “Rafe, what are you talking about?”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. Forget I said anything.”

But you weren’t about to let it go. “Hey,” you said firmly, touching his arm. “If it didn’t matter, you wouldn’t have asked.”

He turned to you then, and the rawness in his eyes made your breath hitch. For once, he didn’t look like the untouchable, arrogant Rafe Cameron everyone knew. He looked like someone who was barely holding it together.

“People think I’ve got it all,” he said, his voice trembling. “Money, power, the perfect family. But it’s all…fake. None of it means anything. And no matter what I do, I just…I can’t fix it. I can’t fix me.”

The vulnerability in his words stunned you. This wasn’t the Rafe who threw his weight around, who smirked and acted like he owned the world. This was someone desperate for something real, someone drowning.

You didn’t know what to say, so you did the only thing you could. You stepped closer and placed a hand on his cheek, forcing him to look at you. “Rafe,” you said softly, “you’re not broken. And you’re not alone.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his eyes searching yours. Then he leaned into your touch, closing his eyes like he was afraid you’d disappear if he opened them.

The waves kept crashing, the fire burned in the distance, and for once, Rafe Cameron let his guard down.

Rafe stood there, leaning into your touch as though it was the only thing anchoring him. His breath hitched, his lips parting slightly, and for the first time, you saw something fragile in him, something human and raw.

“I don’t know how to stop,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

Your heart ached at the admission. You wanted to tell him it would be okay, that things would get better, but the words felt too simple for the storm inside him. Instead, you let your thumb brush lightly against his cheek, grounding him.

“You don’t have to figure it out all at once,” you said softly. “But you don’t have to do it alone either.”

Rafe opened his eyes then, and they locked onto yours, his expression shifting from despair to something you couldn’t quite place. He searched your face as though looking for a lie, but when he found none, his shoulders relaxed slightly.

“I don’t deserve this,” he muttered, stepping back just enough to create space but not enough to sever the connection completely. His hand brushed against yours, hesitating before he gently clasped it in his.

“Don’t do that,” you said firmly, squeezing his hand. “Don’t push me away because you think you’re not good enough. I’m here, Rafe. If you let me be.”

He stared down at your intertwined hands, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You’re not afraid of me?” he asked after a long pause, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Sometimes,” you admitted, not wanting to sugarcoat it. “But I’m more afraid of what’ll happen to you if no one’s there for you.”

The honesty seemed to knock the wind out of him. He took a shaky breath, his grip on your hand tightening like it was a lifeline.

“Y/N…” His voice trailed off, and he looked down at the sand, struggling to find the right words. When he looked up again, his eyes were glassy, full of unspoken gratitude and fear. “I don’t know how to be what you need.”

“I’m not asking you to be anything except yourself,” you said, stepping closer. “The real you. Not the Rafe everyone else expects you to be.”

He let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair. “The real me? You might regret saying that.”

You gave him a small, reassuring smile. “I don’t think I will.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, the sound of the waves filling the silence. Then, almost tentatively, Rafe pulled you into a hug. It wasn’t the kind of smooth, confident gesture you might have expected from him, it was awkward, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he had the right to hold onto someone like this.

But you didn’t let him pull away. You wrapped your arms around him, resting your head against his chest, and felt his tension slowly melt away.

“You’re not alone, Rafe,” you whispered again, your voice muffled against his shirt. “Not anymore.”

He held you tighter, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like he believed it. At least a little.

Rafe held onto you like you were the only solid thing in his crumbling world. His arms wrapped around you with a desperation that made your chest ache. The sound of the waves rolling in and out, coupled with his steadying breaths, made the moment feel suspended in time.

After what felt like forever, he pulled back slightly, his hands lingering on your arms as he looked down at you. The raw emotion in his eyes was still there, but now there was something softer, something that felt like hope, even if just a flicker.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice quiet but laced with genuine confusion.

You tilted your head slightly, giving him a small, sad smile. “Because I see you, Rafe. The real you. And I think…I think you just need someone to remind you that you’re worth fighting for.”

His jaw clenched, and he looked away, like he couldn’t fully absorb the weight of your words. But he didn’t let go of you.

“You really think I can change?” he asked after a long pause, his voice trembling. “After everything I’ve done?”

You nodded without hesitation. “It won’t be easy, and it won’t happen overnight. But, yeah, I think you can. If you want to.”

Rafe let out a shaky breath and took a step back, running a hand through his messy hair. He looked up at the sky for a moment, as if searching for answers in the stars. Then, his gaze dropped back to you, and something in his expression shifted.

“I don’t deserve you,” he muttered, shaking his head.

You crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow. “That’s not your call to make, Cameron.”

His lips twitched, almost forming a smile. Almost. “You’re stubborn.”

“Someone has to be,” you shot back, stepping closer. “Especially with you.”

He chuckled under his breath, and it was the first time you’d heard genuine amusement in his voice all night. It was fleeting, but it gave you hope.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted finally, his voice softer now. “But if you’re willing to stick around, maybe I can figure it out.”

Your heart swelled at the tentative promise in his words. You took his hand again, lacing your fingers with his. “I’m not going anywhere, Rafe. But you have to want this too. For yourself.”

He nodded, his grip on your hand firm but gentle. “I think…I think I do.”

The two of you stood there for a moment longer, the night wrapping around you like a blanket. The bonfire crackled in the distance, the faint sounds of the party still carrying on, but none of that mattered.

#rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe x reader #obx x reader #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe outer banks #obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron outer banks

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deathbxnny · 1 year ago

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Alright! After debating which characters i want to use for this idea, i chose Lyney! So can i request Lyney x reader where he and reader does a ballroom dance under the moonlight. The Merry Go Round of Life ost is honestly a perfect song for a ballroom dance so i have to request a ballroom dance! Also this ask is kinda similar to your Furina post, but..

Let me explain:

So the reader is Lyney’s crush and Lyney is also the reader’s crush. Their love for each other is mutual but both of them have yet to confess. The reader is wating for Lyney to be the one to confess while Lyney… Lyney plans to never confess to them. Despite really wanting to, he can’t. He won’t because if he does that would mean getting the reader involved in the Fatui which he vehemently does not want to happen. So he trapped the both of them in this dance of Will They or Wont They because while he doesnt want to be actual lovers for their safety, this dance will at least let him believe an illusion that they are one. He knows the reader will get tired of this dance but that’s fine with him. He will enjoy every second of this dance until the reader eventually finds a new dancing partner lover.

But until then, he will let himself believe this illusion as it lets him forget all his problems and be in love for once.

(I should probably mention that i have yet to play Fontaine so idk how accurate Lyney is in this request but even if he does date someone, i still think he wouldnt be too keen on having his S/O involved in his Fatui business. Am i right on that assumption?)

- Flower Anon 🌸

I love your brain, Flower Anon! This is such an interesting idea, but I might change it up a little, so I hope you like it anyways and I thank you for your request!<33

(Part two)

Content: Heavy angst?, Mutual pinning but no confession, hurt/kind of no comfort, ballroom dancing, hints of depression, Lyney is a bit of a liar, sfw Reader has no metioned pronouns!! ((Not fully proofread))

《No happy endings. (Lyney x Gn!Reader)》

In a way, Lyney always knew his love for you would backfire eventually.

Whether it was due to his own actions or his family's "business," he knew this couldn't ever turn out the way he wanted to. That eventually, he'd have to pull away from you for good. But he was selfish for way too long, perhaps even in denial. He ignorantly thought he could manage his many lies with the same ease he balanced his magic tricks on stage. And yet, it all came to a head the day "Father" told them of their important mission.

A mission he knew would end in nothing but heartbreak and loneliness.

He ofcourse tried to prolonge his doom for as long as he could, mainly because he just couldn't let go of you. He didn't want to, and it was so painfully obvious to everyone around him. It didn't help that he knew that you loved him back, too. Neither of you ever dared to confess, however, something he was thankful for until now. It made things a little easier, or at least it did, until you one day visited him at one of his street shows with a letter in hand, inviting him to a grand ball in the theater.

You were glowing under the bright sun, your smile wide enough to make him breathless. Lynette gave him a glance, an unreadable one he still understood anyway. After their last meeting with their "Father", she had bluntly asked him what he was going to do with you now. This wasn't the first time she had asked him this either. But everytime she did, his words would dry out in his mouth and he'd be left there speechless, unable to come up with a solution.

The issue was clear as day, however. It's either he confessed to you or he didn't. For a while, he entertained the idea of doing so, just so he can finally hold you the way he so desperately wanted to. But Lynette wasn't letting him dream anymore. If he confessed, then he'd have to lie to you about everything. And it was inevitable that eventually, one day, you'd find out about their real identities. Would you stay then? Freminet quietly shaking his head at his older brothers question was enough to make him finally wake up to the reality of the situation.

No, ofcourse you wouldn't stay, because he had deceived you for so many years. Perhaps you'd be able to look past the Fatui aspect, but not the lies.

He hadn't been the same since and everyone noticed. Even you, who was so desperate to cheer him up from the unknown issue that was clouding his mind. Always so ready to help him through everything, despite not knowing you were the cause of his plight. And he regrettably loved that about you the most.

"You... want to go to the ball with me? Ah... I-" "-Please? I've been wanting to go with you for a while, and I'm sure it will do us some good to catch a break." You said quickly, afraid of his rejection when you haven't even tasted the beginning of it yet. The blonde man bit his lip, his eyes meeting Lynette's for help, who simply looked away stubbornly. She had warned him of this. At this point, she wondered who's feelings she was really trying to save. Her twin brothers or her dear friends? She didn't know and hoped it would all just come to a quick, painful end.

Lyney sighed softly, unable to ever say no to you in the end, as he forced a smile to grace his lips. "Why ofcourse then! Let's make the night count!" He said in his usual grandiose tone, his heart fluttering as you gave him an excited giggle and hugged him, quickly taking your leave with a gleeful thanks. The twins watched you round a corner, the young man deflating with every step you took.

He pressed a hand against his face the moment you disappeared, his breath a little uneven and shaky. His smile wobbled until it finally dropped entirely. Even smiling had become too exhausting to do. Lynette simply stared before she shook her head and crossed her arms tightly. Someone had to be the responsible one here, and as much as it hurt her... she had to be the one to push him over the edge. "You'll end it after the ball. You have to." She whispered to him, leaning in close enough to notice the teary, near empty gaze glinting in his eyes.

He always loved too hard.

"I... ofcourse I will. You're right." He muttered in a near daze as he gathered up his cards off the floor from a previous performance. He looked so small, all his pride and grandiose having been shattered the moment he realised that his life and free will never belonged to him to begin with.

---

The days flew past him afterwards and by the time the night of the ball arrived, it was like he had woken up from a bad fever dream. He stood in the now crowded theater room, dazed and dressed in a lavish suit he only barely remembered to have put on with his siblings' help. He had attempted to stall having to come here, but his "father's" dark glare from the door way made it clear that she wasn't going to entertain his "distraction" being around him anymore either.

Fountaine's whole existence stood on the line, so how dare he hesitate? How dare he care about being heartbroken, when people are going to die?

His hazy mind nearly didn't recognize your radiating form when you approached him in absolute glee. Your hands took his gloved one's, tightly grasping them, as you spoke of your happiness to be here with him. You had dragged him outside onto one of the massive balconies, the moonlight mirrored in your beautiful eyes, and for a moment, everything around him disappeared. He could hear your words slow down, the panic kicking in full force when he realised what you were attempting to do, his mouth moving faster than his heart could stop it.

"Lyney, what I want to say is that I lov-" "-Let's dance. Let us please dance." He whispered breathlessly, his head spinning as he grasped onto your hip and took your hand into his. He couldn't process the hurt in your eyes, the way you pressed your lips together, tried mentally reasoning with yourself that he hadn't indeed just bluntly rejected you.

But he was quicker, the music filtering outside from the grand ballroom and mingling with the warm night air, as Lyney waltzed with you to it's melody. His mind was racing with so many thoughts and possibilities, his brain and heart tearing at his soul into opposite directions. He was hesitating. Despite knowing exactly what he had to do, the words just couldn't spill out yet. He gave himself time until the end of the song, his face flushing with a misplaced sense of excitement for being so close to you at last.

Yet you knew something was off about him. Perhaps it was the way he danced so clumsily. Perhaps it was the growing anxiety in his eyes that couldn't look into yours, and maybe it was the way his breath was so painfully labored, as though something was weighing down on his heart, suffocating him. Whatever it was, it made you slowly become frustrated.

Years of showing your affection to the magician seemed to have been brushed off and forgotten in that moment. And you weren't foolish enough to believe that he didn't feel the same for you. So what was he waiting for? What was holding him back? You couldn't understand, and so, when he spun you out, his hand only weakly keeping you from getting away from him, you finally uttered the words that burned on your tongue.

"Why are you hesitating?"

He looked at you for the first time since the waltz began, his eyes widening with unshed tears as he gulped, his throat so painfully dry. The melody was about to end, the orchestra leading up to it with suspense, somehow fitting for what he was about to do. He was happy that, despite everything, he was able to delude himself into thinking you two can be one, even for a single night. So perhaps his only regret was to not have been born in the right time and world for you.

"Because I can't love you. Not in this life. But I promise that nothing will stop me in the next."

The music came to an end, the wild and near deafening roar of the crowd in the ballroom filling this sobering silence between you two. It was his best performance, his best final magic trick, in which he'd make his own heart vanish. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your hand, unable to look at your shocked and tear-filled expression.

Lyney had made peace with himself and the situation in that moment, even when you wordlessly pulled away from him and quickly ran past him. He stood under the moonlight, still bowed, his hand reaching for nothing until he summoned his hat from thin air and elegantly put it on his slicked back hair. The blonde turned to look behind him as he did so, only barely seeing you vanish in the thick crowd as you wiped away your tears.

And somehow, he had it in him to smile, not out of amusement of what he had done to you, but rather at the realisation that he truly always did belong to a puppet show in a way.

What a shame that the script had no happy ending from the start.

Alrighttt... I hope this was okay for you, Flower Anon! And sorry for taking so long, exam season is not for the weak...

#genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact x reader #genshin lyney #genshin lyney x reader #lyney x reader #lyney #lyney x you #lyney x y/n

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bentaygas · 4 months ago

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Marked by Fire (Chapter 5, 3/3)

Chapter 5 - The Devil You Know (Part 3)

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Alina Vaughn (OC)

Summary: Dean Winchester has seen his fair share of trouble. He’s hunted monsters, tangled with demons, and stared down the end of the world more times than he cares to count. But when a job leads him to a black-market dealer with a reputation for selling supernatural artifacts to the highest bidder, he finds himself caught in something far more dangerous than he expected. Alina Vaughn doesn’t do favors. She doesn’t trust easily, doesn’t take unnecessary risks. But when the Winchesters come knocking, looking for an Enochian sigil amulet that shouldn’t even exist, she gets pulled into a game of power, secrets, and dangerous men who don’t take no for an answer. What starts as a business transaction quickly spirals into something bigger—something neither of them can walk away from. Because in this world, knowledge is power, and power is always dangerous. And for Dean Winchester and Alina Vaughn, the real question isn’t just whether they can survive what’s coming. It’s whether they can survive each other.

Tags: slow burn, enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers, age gap, UST (unresolved sexual tension), unresolved romantic tension, Dean Winchester has feelings (and hates it), angst (sort of)

A/N: Honestly, I don't know what this is. I just know that I needed to get this story out of my head and that it's been literally driving me insane for months. All the names and incidents are fictitious. All the coincidences are accidental.

This will probably take a lot more chapters than I initially planned it to be.

You can find this work on AO3: Marked by Fire

Do NOT copy, steal, or republish my work anywhere. Thank you.

࣭ ⭑⚝ YOU CAN FIND THE CHAPTER LIST HERE ࣭ ⭑⚝

The room had settled into a kind of stillness—not peaceful, but charged, like the air before a storm, thick with something unspoken yet inevitable. A slow, creeping tension coiled through the space, suffocating in its weight.

Alina hated it.

She had stood in the presence of dangerous men before, men who thought they held all the cards, who reveled in their perceived control over any given situation. Normally, she could navigate those encounters with precision—tilting the balance, shifting the power dynamics in her favor with a well-placed word or an unreadable smirk.

But this?

This was something older. Something deeper.

Because an angel was standing in the room. Because Makarov had an Enochian relic that could open doorways. And because, apparently, Dean freaking Winchester had sent Castiel to keep her from doing something ‘reckless.’

Alina exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down her face before fixing Makarov with a sharp look, her patience razor-thin.

“Alright,” she said, voice smooth but laced with irritation. “You’ve had your fun, Viktor. Now why don’t you tell us what you actually want?”

Makarov smirked faintly, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking a slow sip. He held onto the silence a little too long, reveling in the attention, in the subtle weight of control he thought he had.

“You assume I want something,” he mused finally, voice lazy but deliberate.

Alina huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You always want something.” Her tone was cool, but edged with calculation. She tilted her head, eyes sharp. “And whatever it is, it’s bigger than money.”

Makarov didn’t deny it.

Instead, he merely tapped a single finger against the polished armrest of his chair, his gaze flickering between her and Castiel as if debating whether or not to indulge them. Then, finally, he exhaled, setting his glass down with a quiet clink against the mahogany desk.

“There’s a door,” he murmured, his voice deceptively soft. “Locked centuries ago. Buried beneath time, beneath faith.”

Alina’s stomach dipped.

Because she had read those stories. The legends of celestial gates—not just to Heaven, not just to Hell, but to places between . Places that shouldn’t exist. Places that weren’t meant to be opened.

Her lips parted slightly, but she didn’t speak.

Makarov, however, noticed the shift in her expression. His smirk widened ever so slightly, like a man pleased to find a worthy chess opponent.

Angel's voice sliced through the heavy quiet, low and unwavering.

“You cannot open that door.”

Makarov turned his attention to him, the amusement never quite leaving his face. “And why not?”

Castiel’s blue eyes were cold, unyielding. “Because it was meant to remain closed.”

Makarov chuckled, exhaling through his nose like this was all a game. “Ah. So you do know which one I’m speaking of.”

Alina’s pulse kicked up slightly, but she forced herself to remain composed.

Because this wasn’t just a collector’s obsession. This was something else. Something bigger .

Makarov exhaled through his nose, rising slowly from his chair. He was tall, but his presence had never been about physicality—it was in the way he carried himself, in the way his voice curled around words like silk concealing steel. He moved toward the display case, the dim light catching the sharp lines of his face as his fingers trailed along the glass encasing the amulet.

“This isn’t about destruction,” he murmured, watching the artifact like a man regarding a sleeping dragon. “It’s about understanding . About what lies beyond the veil.”

Castiel’s expression darkened. “You speak of things you do not comprehend.”

Makarov’s smirk remained. “And you speak as if humans were never meant to know.”

Alina’s fingers twitched slightly at her sides, and she forced herself to exhale slowly, controlling the sharp prickle of unease traveling down her spine.

Because this was bad.

This was so much worse than she thought.

She had assumed Makarov wanted power, that he wanted to hold the amulet as leverage, as a piece of something valuable.

But no.

He wanted to use it. He wanted to pull something through .

Alina exhaled sharply, tilting her head. “What’s on the other side of that door, Viktor?”

Makarov glanced at her, his smirk widening faintly. “Now, wouldn’t we all like to know?”

Alina clenched her jaw.

Because he didn’t know.

He was blindly reaching, grasping at something he didn’t understand.

And that?

That was how people died .

Castiel took another step forward, the weight of his presence shifting. “This ends now.”

Makarov chuckled. “I don’t think so.”

And then—

The lights flickered. The air thickened.

And Alina felt it.

A shift. A pulse. The power rippling through the room, weaving into the very foundation of the estate.

Her breath hitched slightly.

Because this wasn’t just wards .

This was something deeper.

Something already moving .

Her eyes snapped toward Makarov. “You activated it.”

Makarov smirked. “Of course I did.”

Alina’s stomach dropped.

Because he had planned this.

From the very beginning.

The second she walked through that door, she had already been a part of it.

Castiel moved first.

In an instant, his hand was on Makarov’s chest, pressing him backward, shoving him against the desk with a force that rattled the whiskey glass, sending it toppling to the floor.

Makarov grunted, but he didn’t struggle. Didn’t even look surprised.

“You’re too late, angel,” he murmured, voice laced with something almost amused.

Castiel’s grip tightened. “I will stop this.”

Makarov laughed . “Then by all means,” he whispered. “Try.”

And then—

The entire house shuddered.

The walls groaned , the floorboards creaked , the glass in the display case rattled violently .

Alina moved .

Without thinking, without hesitating, she pivoted sharply, reaching into her coat, fingers brushing over the cool steel of her knife.

But it wasn’t enough.

Because something was already shifting .

The amulet— the damn amulet —was glowing .

Not bright.

But enough .

Enough for Alina to feel the air bend . Enough for her to know that something was coming through .

Her pulse spiked .

She had seconds to act.

So she did the only thing she could.

She moved .

Fast.

Reaching, twisting, grabbing the amulet before the glow could fully intensify.

And the second her fingers closed around it—

Everything snapped back into place.

The air stilled .

The shaking stopped .

And then—

Silence.

Deep. Deafening. Silence.

Alina’s breath was ragged, her chest rising and falling in uneven gasps as she forced herself to stay still. The adrenaline still thrummed through her veins, but it was nothing compared to the weight in her palm—the amulet, its edges sharp against her skin, its presence impossibly heavy. She was gripping it too hard, her knuckles white, but she couldn’t loosen her hold. Wouldn’t. Not yet.

Makarov, still pressed against the desk by Castiel’s unrelenting grip, let out a slow exhale. His expression remained unreadable for a moment, his sharp eyes flickering between Alina, Castiel, and the now-dimmed amulet. Then—

He laughed.

It was soft at first, a quiet chuckle that grew, a sound that sent a cold shiver along Alina’s spine. It wasn’t the laugh of a man who had lost. Not the bitter, angry amusement of someone bested. No—Makarov’s laughter was knowing. As if he had just witnessed something unfold exactly as he had foreseen.

Alina forced herself to breathe, her pulse pounding in her ears. She met his gaze, and the realization hit her like a blow to the ribs.

He wasn’t mad.

Because he had expected this.

Because he had let it happen.

A sharp twist coiled in her stomach. She didn’t let her expression falter, but she could feel the weight of his smirk pressing against her like an unseen force. The bastard had played along. And that? That meant whatever just happened—whatever he had planned—wasn’t over.

Not even close.

She exhaled sharply, shoving the amulet deep into her coat pocket, feeling the cool metal settle against the fabric as if trying to burn its way through. Then she turned, her voice steady despite the unease clawing at her ribs.

“We’re leaving.”

Castiel didn’t move immediately. His grip on Makarov remained firm for a second longer, as if considering the weight of restraint versus action. Then, finally, with a slow, measured movement, he released the man.

Makarov straightened, adjusting his suit with an air of unbothered elegance. His fingers smoothed out an invisible wrinkle on his sleeve before he looked back at her, amusement flickering across his features.

“Well played, дорогая (darling),” he murmured, his voice dripping with something that made Alina’s skin prickle.

Alina didn’t reply. She refused to give him the satisfaction.

Instead, she felt Castiel step closer, his presence suddenly at her side. Before she could react, his hand settled on her shoulder—a firm but controlled touch, grounding and unmistakably resolute.

And then—

The air folded around them. The world tilted, not with motion, but with absence, as if the space they had occupied simply ceased to exist.

And in the blink of an eye—

They were gone.

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rrenzwrld · 1 year ago

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secreto de amor XI

chapter 11! read chapter 10 here

ever since jean came home you thought things would go back to normal and your feelings you thought you had for connie would subside. but they didn’t. in fact, it seemed as if they got stronger in the midst of his absence around the house because he wasn’t coming around as often as he was before. you didn’t know what changed on his end but today would be the first time you cared enough to find out.

“hey,” jean looked up from his laptop as you walked into his room.

“hey, what’s wrong?”

“did you and connie like…fall out or something? he doesn’t come over like that anymore.”

“no we’re still cool, we just haven’t been talking as much. i hope he’s okay though, why?”

“just wondering, bye.” you left before he could ask you anything else. you had work later on that day but all you could think about was connie. it was like something in you ached for him and his presence and you hated it. you haven’t felt this way about anyone since your ex and you saw how that turned out.

but then you remembered you still had his number so you texted him and got a response immediately.

he was coming over after his shift and you hoped you’d be off work by then but then you had to get your thoughts straight because the only reason you were hoping to be off was to see a man. emotions and feelings genuinely scared you.

but unfortunately connie came by while you were finishing your shift at work so you didn’t get to see him. but you didn’t trip over it because you knew you’d see him some other time even if it was months from now until he showed up at your job while you were closing. you didn’t even remember telling him where you worked or what kind of hours you had.

“wassup.” connie walked in greeting you.

“aye man, we closed.” your coworker announced.

“i’m with her..” connie gestured to you, finishing up your task and walking over to him. from connie’s perspective, he didn’t know if you were happy to see him or not because your face was so unreadable.

“how’d you know what time i got off?”

“jean told me. went to see him today, remember?”

“right right, i forgot.”

“forgot? your memory is actually terrible.” he laughed and earned a playful shove from you in response.

“so you gonna introduce us or keep cupcaking in front of us like kids?” you introduced connie to your coworkers and gathered a great response to him collectively. since you’ve been working at your job for a while, your coworkers were like your friends because you talked to them whenever you had the time in between work tasks about whatever and they did the same to you.

when everyone exited the space for the night, you and connie were conversing by your car.

“i’m sorry for being gone for so long. i hope you didn’t think i was ghosting you or anything.”

“i just assumed you were busy anyway, it’s cool.” you lied. it wasn’t all that cool for you but of course you wasn’t gonna mention that to him.

“why do you do that?” he looked at you inquisitively

“do what?”

“brush off how you really feel. because i know it wasn’t cool that i just stopped talking to you like that.”

you debated on whether or not you should’ve told the truth about how you really felt for a change or if the situation was even serious enough.

“you’re right, it wasn’t cool. plus you stopped talking to jean too and

he—“ connie grabbed your hand, holding it softly like a delicate flower and caressing it with his fingertips.

“this isn’t about jean. you know that.” how he was looking at you really didn’t help your feelings outside to either. even in the dark, slightly brightened up by dimly lit street lights in the area, you could follow connie’s hazel eyes as they roamed you.

“then what is it about?” you pulled you hand away.

“you. how you feel.”

“it doesn’t matter. you’re talking to me now, right?”

“yeah—“

“then there’s nothing more to discuss. i’m just glad you saw jean today, i’m sure it gave him a peace of mind.”

“i’m glad i saw you today.” if you were a few shades lighter, the blush on your cheek would be more than visible.

“good…you going home right?”

“yeah, i was gonna ask if you wanted to come over my place.” you stared blankly at him.

“for what?”

“i don’t know, just to chill out i guess. i know you’ve never been so…” he was right. you barely went anywhere outside of your own space, let alone another man’s house.

you hummed before answering with words. “sure. i’ll follow you out.” a bright smile appeared on connie’s face which made you begin to wonder if there was a reason why he wanted you to come over.

you followed connie to his apartment, got out and went inside. you didn’t know what to expect but you hadn’t expected it to look so neat. even though it was a smaller space fit just enough for him, he didn’t make it look cluttered at all.

“¿te gusta?” he turned to you but you looked at him with confusion because of the spanish.

“what?” he laughed.

“do you like it?” you nodded.

“yeah. cleaner than i expected.” connie was visibly offended.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he crossed his arms.

“i expected you to be messy and unorganized. proved me wrong, i guess.” you shrugged.

“you guess…” connie plopped down on his couch and your body moved to follow him. “you’re so nonchalant. like have you ever given a fuck in your entire life?” no one has ever said anything like that to you before. you’re so used to people saying the opposite so this was a new observation.

“i have. and i’m not nonchalant, i just don’t be having a lot to say.” your voice got quiet towards the end of the sentence as you looked down at your hands.

“i understand. you just seem like you don’t really care for a lot of things.”

“i don’t.” you said bluntly

“but you just said you weren’t nonchalant.”

“that’s different.”

“no it’s not.”

“yes it is.”

“well…do you at least care about me?” connie looked at you as if he was making sure you wouldn’t escape his question, using only his eyes.

“in what way?” you met his gaze.

“any way.”

“any way?” you didn’t know if it was you or connie but your bodies were drawn closer to each other to the point where your nose nearly touched his and you could point out every freckle on his face.

“yeah.”

“i do…” connie’s hand moved up to gently caress your cheek. without even touching the rest of your body, that one movement shot bolts through you. you haven’t felt anything like that in a long time and you wondered how long it would last. why it was happening.

“really?”his voice adopted a softer tone as his face moved closer to yours. “show me.” as if it was on instinct, your lips moved to connect with connie’s. the kiss felt as magical as your first one was supposed to feel but then you realized that you might actually really love connie. more than you’ve ever really loved any man outside of family. his lips were soft like small peaches on his freckled face and his tongue swiped over yours effortlessly, as if any of this was meant to happen. at the time, neither of you had a care in the world and you wanted this moment to last forever but…nothing lasts forever.

“shit..” you picked up your ringing phone to answer jean. connie watched as you had a small conversation with your brother and hoped that you’d have enough balls to tell him you were staying longer instead of feeling guilty about upsetting him. now that he finally had a taste of you, he wasn’t sure he was willing to let it go.

“i’m gonna go…” a pout formed on connie’s face and you instantly felt bad. “jean was bout to worry himself to death when i didn’t call him when i got off. i’m sorry.” you gathered your things and stood up off the couch, walking towards the door with connie following behind.

“i understand, i’ll see you again tomorrow right?” you weren’t too sure.

“i don’t know, connie…” he grabbed your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours, gazing at you with pleading eyes.

“please?” you playfully rolled your eyes before standing on the tips of your toes to place a kiss on connie’s cheek.

“you’re such a child.”

“love you too. drive safe, text me.” you nodded before getting in lola and driving off.

love?

#aot #aot x reader #aot x black reader #black reader #connie springer #aot connie #connie springer x black reader #connie springer x black y/n

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little-cherry-bean-baby-witch · 5 months ago

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All That I was, All That You Are (Pt 4)

Author note: Getting this out before class. Haven't really looked it over too much. Sorry for the lack of colors, but Enjoy!

---------------------- The rain had started falling by the time he turned his back on Satoru. It wasn’t heavy, not yet-just a light drizzle, cold against his skin. Soaking into the fabric of his uniform. He didn’t rush to get out of it. He barely noticed it at all. Satoru had hesitated. For the first time, he actually hesitated. Suguru had felt it, had seen it in the way Satoru’s body shifted, the way his fingers twitched at his side like he was debating whether to reach for him. But he hadn’t.

Of course he hadn’t.

Suguru told himself it didn’t matter. That it wouldn’t have changed anything. That Satoru had already chosen this world. The weight in his chest didn’t agree. He should have gone home. He should have found somewhere warm, should have changed out of his rain-soaked clothes, but instead he walked. Through the streets, through the city, past people who didn’t know his name and never would. Past people he had saved. None of them looked at him. And the ones that did? Their eyes lingered just a second too long.

Wariness

Hesitation

Like standing too close to him would make them unclean. Like they were afraid. Suguru clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

Why did they deserve saving?

That thought, that dangerous, quiet thought, crept in before he could push it away. He exhaled sharply and forced his hands open. He was tired. That was all this was. Just exhaustion. He went home. Locked the door behind him. And when the room was quiet, when there was no one left to pretend for, he let himself sink into the silence.

---------------------------------------

His phone buzzed. Suguru ignored it at first. He was stretched out on his bed, one arm draped over his eyes, the other resting loosely against his stomach. The room was dark, the only light coming from the soft blue glow of his phone screen, casting faint shadows against the walls.

Another buzz

Than another

He let out a slow breath before finally shifting just enough to glance at the notifications.

Shoko: “Hey, idiots. You alive? Let’s grab some food.”

A few seconds later.

Satoru: “Hell yeah. I’m Starving”

Satoru: “I swear, if we don’t get ramen, I’m disowning you both.”

Suguru stared at the messages, his thumb hovering over the screen. He knew what he was supposed to do.

Say yes

Go out

Pretend

Pretend that everything was fine. Pretend that he hadn’t been avoiding them. Pretend that he didn’t feel like something inside of him had already started to rot. Instead, he typed:

Suguru: “Busy.”

A lie

A simple one

They’d see through it, but neither of them would call him out for it. Not yet. The phone sat heavy in his hand as he stared at the screen, watching the message lingering there. Unread for only a few seconds before the typing bubble appeared.

Satoru: “Damn, you’re really dodging us, huh?”

Satoru: “What’s the deal? Too busy meditating in your cave?”

Suguru should have laughed. A few months ago, he would have. He could almost picture it; Satoru’s smug grin, the way he always leaned back in his hair like he owned the entire damn world. His fingers hovered the keyboard. What was he supposed to say? That he didn’t have the energy? That he was tired in a way sleep couldn’t fix? That he didn't know how to sit across from them anymore without feeling like he was drowning? Instead, he settled for: Suguru: “Tired.”

It was true.

Not the full truth, but true enough. Another pause. Longer this time. Then:

Satoru: “Yeah? Or are you just avoiding me?”

Suguru inhaled slowly. Satoru was starting to see it. Not all of it. Not yet, but enough to start asking questions. Suguru turned his phone over, screen down. Letting Satoru sit with the silence for once.

#fanfic #ao3 fanfic #geto suguru #geto x gojo #gojo satoru #tw depressing stuff #tw depressing thoughts #jjk #jjk angst #angst

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kathlare · 5 months ago

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the race she won't run

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: During a quiet family dinner in Mexico, Amelie is faced with a simple question about her plans for the upcoming F1 season.

Wordcount: 1.2 k

Warnings: none

December 27th, 2021 - Riviera Maya, Mexico

Amelie sat near the middle of the table, sand still dusting her tanned legs from a long afternoon spent playing with her nieces and nephews on the beach. She wore a simple white dress, her damp hair braided over one shoulder as she picked at her ceviche, pretending not to notice the way Stella and Elysia were exchanging glances across from her.

Checo, sitting at the head of the table with a cold beer in hand, leaned back in his chair. —So, Amelie,— he said casually, though everyone knew where this was going. —I need to start sorting out the passes for next season. Which races do you want to go to?—

It was a simple enough question. Everyone expected Amelie to rattle off a list—she had always loved going to races, whether it was to support Checo, watch the sport she’d grown up around, or simply enjoy the chaos of the paddock.

But instead, she twisted her fork in the half-eaten ceviche and said, without looking up...

—I'm not going to any this year.—

The table went silent. Even the kids, too busy with their coloring books and dessert, seemed to pick up on the shift in the air.

Checo frowned. —Ninguna?—

Stella raised an eyebrow. —Not even Monaco?—

—Not even Monaco,— Amelie repeated, reaching for her glass of agua fresca like the conversation wasn’t happening.

Jack let out a low whistle, while Elysia stole a quick glance at their father, Elias, whose expression remained unreadable. Their mother, Victoria, looked concerned but didn’t push.

—Amelie, that's kinda weird,— Jack said, elbowing her lightly. —You love going to the races.—

—Yeah, well. Not this year.—

Callum, who had been mostly silent up until now, narrowed his eyes. —Why? —

Amelie could feel everyone watching her, waiting for an explanation that she wasn’t going to give. The truth was, it would have been easier if she just told Callum, the only one at the table who didn’t know what had happened with Lando. But that wasn’t a conversation she was ready to have.

She could see it in Stella’s expression—her older sister knew exactly why she wasn’t going. So did Checo, Elysia, and Jack. But they didn’t say anything, didn’t press. Because even though she wasn’t speaking about it, they all knew.

Because Amelie, who had spent all of 2021 pretending she was fine, wasn’t going to races this year for one very simple reason:

Lando Norris.

—What about Mexico?— Checo tried again, like he was giving her a chance to change her mind. —You always go to Mexico.—

—Not this time,— Amelie said, forcing herself to take another sip of her drink.

Checo sighed, rubbing his forehead, clearly debating if he should push further. Stella shifted in her seat, placing a hand over her baby bump like she was bracing herself for the argument that might break out.

—Amelie,— Callum pressed, his voice firmer now. —Why?—

She could lie. Say she was too busy, that her schedule was packed, that she had too many projects in the works. And some of that was true, she had spent the last few months balancing rehearsals, press, and her music. But it wasn’t the real reason, and they all knew it.

Well. Almost all of them.

—I just don’t feel like it this year,— she said, keeping her tone light, but Callum wasn’t buying it.

—Bullshit.—

Elysia groaned. —Cal, let it go.—

—No, because this makes no sense!— Callum gestured around the table, looking for backup, but everyone else seemed to be avoiding his gaze. —She’s been going to races since she was a kid, she loves being there. Now suddenly she just ‘doesn’t feel like it’? What the hell happened?—

The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. Amelie’s grip tightened around her glass.

Jack, always the peacemaker, let out a forced laugh. —Maybe she’s just sick of watching you drive like an old man, Checo.—

Checo smirked, but the tension didn’t ease.

—It's not a big deal, Callum,— Amelie said, her voice deliberately even. —I just have other things I want to focus on.—

Callum scoffed. —Other things? Amelie, you’ve literally built your life around this sport. You skipped red carpets to go to races, you’d fly across the world just to spend one weekend in the paddock. And now, what? You’re just over it?—

—Callum.— Victoria’s voice was quiet but firm, the way only a mother’s could be.

It worked, but only for a moment. Callum inhaled sharply, then exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked at her again, softer this time.

—Ames, if something’s wrong, just tell me. Did something happen?—

She could feel the weight of her family’s stares, waiting, wondering if she would finally say it. If she would tell Callum that the real reason she wasn’t going was because she didn’t want to risk running into Lando. That she couldn’t stomach the idea of watching him from the sidelines, pretending she didn’t know exactly what it felt like to have his arms around her, his voice murmuring soft things in the dark.

That she wasn’t sure she could handle seeing him look at someone else the way he used to look at her.

She swallowed. —Nothing happened. I just don’t want to go.—

Callum didn’t believe her. She could see it in the way his jaw tightened, but before he could push again, Checo clapped his hands together, forcing a grin.

—Alright, alright, she’s not going, let’s drop it.—

Jack, always ready to shift the mood, picked up his beer. —Yeah, besides, if Amelie’s not going, that means we actually have a shot at getting some attention when we show up. I swear, last year people were acting like Checo and I didn’t even exist.—

Elysia snorted. —That’s because you don’t exist, Jack.—

—Wow. Incredible. I see how it is.—

The tension at the table finally started to break, conversations shifting, the topic—thankfully—moving on. But Callum was still watching her, still trying to piece together the answer she wouldn’t give him.

And Amelie?

She just tried to ignore the way her chest ached.

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rosiehunterwolf · 4 years ago

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CONGRATS ON 100 FOLLOWERS FREN 💖💖 you deserve it and so much more

If you're feeling up to it (DONT FEEL OBLIGATED DO U HEAR ME MY DEAR) movie verse Jay my beloved

asfljdlkj tysm Amour! I'm so glad to have you as part of my tumblr family, ur one of my best friends on here 💕✨

i really needed to write something movie!verse because I LOVE movie!verse and haven't written anything yet, so I was excited for this one

(@fabro-de-omres you've said in the past that you would love to read it if I wrote something movie!verse, so here's ✨content✨)

I'll chase you to the moon and back

Summary: When you’re in a secret ninja force and are your city’s primary protectors, pulling your weight is important.

Jay tries to be an asset to his team, but it’s difficult when he’s viewed as the scaredy-cat who cracks lame jokes. He loves his friends with all his heart, but sometimes it’s hard to know if they return those feelings.

Jay wouldn’t blame them if they didn’t.

Sometimes, Jay felt like he was a burden to the team.

He tried not to, he really did- he knew the others liked him and cared about him. But standing next to strong Cole, smart Zane, brave Kai, determined Nya, or warm-hearted Lloyd, it was difficult not to feel… inadequate.

It didn’t help that Cole hadn’t answered any of his recent texts.

It could be anything, Jay told himself as he stared down at the unread messages, resisting the urge to send another text. He could have an appointment he forgot to tell me about, or maybe he’s just not looking at his phone right now, or he simply doesn’t share my urgency to answer a text message so quickly. Cole had always been much more laid back about that, raising an eyebrow as Jay always scrambled to answer the text from his mom, or whoever had sent it this time.

But Cole was also Jay’s best friend. He knew he got anxious when someone left him unread for too long. Because of that, he had always been good about answering Jay’s texts quickly, even as the others still groaned about the earth ninja taking ages to respond to them.

For him to go an hour without responding was… concerning, to say the least.

Jay pushed the thoughts aside. He was probably just overthinking this, like he always was. Cole would get back to him soon. It wasn’t like he was ignoring him, or anything.

Maybe the others are up to something. He opened the group chat, but although there were usually a hundred notifications at any given time- he had learned that the hard way the first day he had joined, turning on his phone after school to a whopping 785 texts- it was empty now. The last text was from Lloyd, asking Kai to meet him at his locker before lunch.

Jay felt his heart rate spike. The lack of an argument between Kai and Nya in the last five minutes alone was worrying- because heaven forbid they actually talk things out in person, even if they literally lived one bedroom down from each other- and his mind quickly spiraled into possibilities. Had someone kidnapped them? Had their parents grounded them? Or maybe they had committed a crime and gotten thrown into jail. He wouldn’t put it past Kai and Nya to pull something dumb- Cole and Zane would go along with it, and Lloyd would never speak up enough to voice his disproval-

No, don’t be ridiculous, they wouldn’t commit a crime.

Well… Kai might. But the others would stop him.

What if they made a separate group chat without me?

No. His friends would never do that. They’d be more likely to commit that crime.

But the thought wouldn’t leave Jay’s brain, and before he knew it, he was sending a text in the group chat.

jaybird123: What r u guys up to? Wanna hang?

He immediately regretted it. What if he came off as too clingy? Too overbearing? They probably just wanted some time to themselves.

That didn’t sound quite right to Jay, but he stuffed his phone in his pocket, forcing the thought out of his mind.

He decided to go to the park- watching the people there always gave him good ideas for inventions. He was too late to catch a bus down there, but it wasn’t too far to walk.

His phone buzzed, and he glanced down.

thegreendragon: sorry jay, got plans 2nite. maybe tmrrw?

Jay tried to stop the pang of disappointment. Lloyd wouldn’t lie to him. The others probably were just busy. It was no big deal. Tomorrow, things would be back to normal.

A couple of blocks away, he caught the sounds of annoyed shouts, the kind that usually hinted towards the presence of-

He stopped, blinking, as a boy darted past the onlookers and into the shop.

Huh. Lloyd?

Starting towards the store his friend had vanished into, Jay peered through the window, looking for Lloyd-

Jay froze. Lloyd was standing with the others, animatedly babbling something to them as they watched him happily.

Jay shrunk back. They really had met up without him, and had lied about it, too. He wasn’t being paranoid- his friends just didn’t want him around.

For a moment, the shock left Jay floundering. He had no other friends. The other ninja were his entire livelihood. What was he meant to do now?

He quickly wiped at the tears pooling in his eyes. I’ll go home. My mom will know what to do.

He had the worst feeling that this was something that even his mom couldn’t fix, though.

About halfway home, a buzz in his pocket interrupted him from his stupor. Pulling out his phone, he saw there was a new message in the group chat.

rock’n’cole: hey jay, something just came up, can u meet us at the warehouse asap?

Jay just stared at his phone for a minute, debating whether to actually show up or not. After all, the others had ditched him, why shouldn’t he do the same? And he still felt hurt- he wasn’t sure if he was ready to talk to them yet. He really should just go home.

jaybird123: sure, i’ll be there in 20

Jay had never been good at holding grudges.

Thirty minutes later (he had ended up stalling a little bit just for the spite of it) he pushed through the doors of the warehouse. It was pitch black inside, and as he fumbled around for the lights, he couldn’t help but notice that no one else was there. It was stupid of me to come. They just abandoned me. Again.

Suddenly, the lights burst on, and the others were jumping out from behind the furniture, cheering and hugging him. Jay stumbled backward, taken aback. “What’s going on?”

Kai looked at him like he was crazy, gesturing widely at all the balloons and streamers that Jay could see now that the lights were on. “It’s a party, dumbass, what else do you think?”

“What for? It’s not my birthday!”

Nya scoffed, as if he had just told her that men lived on the moon. “Of course not, this is for your Ninja-versary!”

“My… what?”

“The anniversary of the day you first became a ninja, stupid!”

“Oh.” He blinked around at all the decor. “All this? Just for something as simple as that?”

Kai wasn’t the only one looking at him like he had sprouted a second head, now.

“Are you kidding?” Cole said. “We’re not going to skimp on celebrating the day one of our favorite people came into our lives.”

Jay blinked at him. “I…” I’m so sorry for ever doubting you. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.

“Now, what are we waiting around for?” Cole threw an arm around Jay’s shoulders. “Let’s go get some cake!”

As the ninja hurried over to the table, squabbling over who would get which slice, Jay squashed between the middle of his big, loud, bickering family, he couldn’t have felt more at home.

#:D #movie characters are so fun y'all #i'll definitely have to write something that explores all of them more not just jay #but i'll save that for something longer so i can do it properly #and coming up with their chat usernames was the highlight of this piece XD #i have more for the others as well and this is going to remain canon within all my movie fics #ninjago #asks #amourshipper393 #fic request #event #100 followers event #ficlet #my fic #rosie writes #movie!verse #tlnm #jay walker #requests open

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ginanosakka · 4 years ago

Text

We’re Older Now

Masterlist

I’ll Always Love You | Next

“I am going to kill you,” you hissed lowly as you escorted Katsuki through your lobby after comforting your poor, frightened secretary and giving him a break for the time being.

You had come into the office today to handle paperwork from several business connections you had made through email from overseas companies willing to accept some of your clients, and you were ecstatic to finally find work for your clients with more peculiar quirks, even if it was a hassle to help them settle in a different country. Work was your only break from Mina’s questioning about everything, and Katsuki’s scolding about the way you lived since he had apparently become a parenting expert in a week. You swear if Ryu didn’t love him so much, you would have pulled some strings to get him shipped overseas.

The plan was that you would drop Ryu off at school in the morning, and Katsuki would pick him up after patrol and spend time with him, then when work was finished you would pick him up from Katsuki’s place. It wasn’t a difficult plan, and there was little to no complications to this.

That was what you thought until Katsuki asked for address of your building, and you believing he was just making sure he could get to you in case of emergency, and you gave it to him.

He had took that as an invitation to come visit you at your office without notifying you, leading him to have to talk to your front desk secretary — he was a young man fresh from high school with no idea what he wanted to do until you offered him a position; a soft and kind boy — whom was given the instruction upon hiring to never allow strangers to just waltz in and speak to whoever they wanted. Katsuki didn’t take that very well apparently, and he had began berating the soft boy until he was nearly shaking and calling you down to help.

“He deserved it for talking to me like that, I’m a pro-hero, not a damn robberer.” He grunted, and it took all the self-control you had not to slap him upside the head.

“Whether you’re a hero or an absolute menace to society is debatable, but either way there are rules he has to follow that won’t be broken for the number three hero!” You fussed, dragging him with you to the elevator as fast as you could in your favorite skirt and heels. “No one here knows you’re Ryu’s father, and I’d like to keep it that way for as long as possible.”

Katsuki smirked down at you, “so you’ll want to tell them eventually, huh?”

“I’m hoping it’ll accidentally pop up in your obituary after you mysteriously pass away.”

He trailed behind you like a bodyguard when you got to the floor where your office resided, and you shook your head at the curious and amazed looks you got from your assistants who walked by. You couldn’t blame them though, their antisocial boss was dragging a hero into her office. Some of them had even made the mistake of mentioning heroes around you in conversation and knew you weren’t fond of those in said profession.

“Alright, what the hell are you doing here?” You asked as you shut the door behind him, watching him closely as he looked over your office that looked more like Ryu’s room with the toy bin and drawings littering the walls.

“When we met at the restaurant, you told me to ask questions about you instead of assuming.” He reminded you as he leaned against the front of your desk to face you, “and I have some questions.”

“I thought we already did this.” You sighed, but gave him the go to ask what he’d like.

“What happened after your old man kicked you out?”

You almost flinched from the hard question, not expecting him to get straight to the point, but then again he’d never been one to beat around the bush. It wasn’t something you spoke about, and as you tried to bring that time back to you, you realized that you couldn’t recall most of what happened. There were blurry bits and pieces, like memories of your mother, and you didn’t know if that was frustrating and relieving. It was a rough patch where you barely ate or slept, your body was constantly aching from pregnancy, and you had to learn how to work and be self sufficient after growing up pampered.

“I remember using money I had stashed away and lived in hotels until I found a job as a waitress, from there I just know I was working day and night and saving as much as I could until I could get this whole thing started.” You said, giving him most of the bits you could remember.

Katsuki nodded, but he still looked unsatisfied with your answer. He pushed off your desk and walked closer to you until he was invading your personal space, and his eyes were focused on your blouse instead of your face.

“What are you-“

“Lift up your shirt.” He ordered gruffly, his eyes narrowed at your chest and making your breath hitch.

“I’m not lifting up my shirt! What the hell are you doing?” You huffed and tried to back away into the door, but he only stepped closer and his warm hands snaked their way to the hem of your shirt.

With one swift motion he lifted up your shirt to just under your bra, exposing your stomach to him as he took a close look at the scar you had coincidentally not mentioned to him. You weren’t confused on how he knew about it, the time Mina confronted you and you had immediately held that spot like it hurt didn’t go over her head. You just didn’t think she’d tell him.

“Your father did this, didn’t he?” He asked.

“No, some friends of his did,” you answered as you pushed him off of you and pulled your shirt back down. “It was his way of trying to force his help on me. If he terminated my pregnancy, I would be able to come back home and he wouldn’t have a shameful daughter. Too bad for him I watched you train and learned some moves.”

You had seen Katsuki angry before, but you’d never seen him so livid that he looked calm. His red eyes were blazing, muscles flexing in his hero costume subconsciously as he looked down at you with an unreadable expression. Having felt that anger before, you knew it was best to let him release it somewhere else instead of in your office.

“That old bastard tried to kill my kid, and he could have killed you in the process.” He said, lifting one of his gauntlet clad hands up and letting off a small explosion. “I’ll kill him and blow his whole legacy up,” Katsuki finalIzed with a menacing smile.

You rolled your eyes, “you sure are concerned about a spoiled brat who can’t handle getting her way.”

His expression changed completely, the smile fell from his face and the fire left his eyes. It took a lot to calm down an angry Katsuki, but it seemed like that simple teasing comment brought him back to reality. You were slightly concerned that you had broken the hero. Before he could even speak though his phone rang, and you had a feeling he was being called back to work — you yourself needed to get your own work done.

“I have shit to do so I’ll see you at my place later, and you better not be late.” Bakugou said and you waved him off as you brushed past him to get to your desk.

“Yeah, I know better than to leave my baby with you, he’ll come back corrupted.”

“Y/N.”

“Huh?” You looked up from your desk to him as he stood at the door, looking back at you.

“You aren’t a spoiled brat anymore.”

A playful smile fell on your face, and you couldn’t pretend that wasn’t the kindest thing he’s ever said to you — that might sound sad, but this is Katsuki Bakugou we’re talking about. “Then what am I?” You decided to ask, just wanting to see if you could fluster him by trying to force more kind words out of him.

You weren’t expecting him to smirk at you and say, “you’re mine.”

A/N: From friendly co-parenting to pushing boundaries. Anyways, sorry this took so long but my brain was absolutely rotting. Thank you for your patience <3! (Tag list will be Updated when I get home from work so if you aren’t added yet it will happen soon don’t worry, and if you wanted to be added speak now or forever hold your peace.)

Taglist <3 : @fandomgirllover @cloudsgathering @that-bipolar-renegade-romantic @jazzylove @that-chick212 @bonbonthedragon @misssugarless @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @bakugous-bakahoe @pinkykookie17 @animexholic @arielting @samkysnks @simpforeveryone @damnirina @deneuves @tsumuuumiyaaaa @ladybeautiful18 @vintage-teddyxo @regalmigraine @samvmgh @iamagalaxy @officialtrashbusiness @xwackk @videogameboiwhowins @marajillana @ellasdilemma @plutoneu @saucey-kneecapzz42020 @thestarsanctuary @dewdropwifu @star-light-imagines @kritiiiii @bakugosbottombitch @the2ndl @candybabey @simply-not-the-same @sam-i-am-1025 @mes-bisous @eternallyvenus @peppytine @chaelysian

#bakugou x reader #bnha #bnha bakugou #x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha fanfiction #katsuki bakugo x y/n #bnha angst #bnha x reader #anime x reader

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