#I will make the most exceptional of exceptions | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

barnesonly · 2 days ago

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˗ˏˋ ★ Little Dove ★ ˎˊ˗

winter soldier x empath!reader

summary: Hydra sends you — a broken empath — into the Winter Soldier’s cell to keep him calm. You’re supposed to soften him. Control him. But instead, something starts to unravel. In both of you.

word count: 8262

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI— disclaimer: contains dark themes. read at your own discretion! angst, slowburn, captivity, tortures, hydra, violence, sa (mentioned), brainwashing, non-consensual experimentation, hurt/comfort, trauma, possible smut in future chapters? we’ll see.

Chapter Eight | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

There’s a leak in the kitchen faucet.

It clicks. Taps. Then drips.

Again. Again. Again.

You’ve started timing your breathing to it. Inhale on the click. Hold on the tap. Exhale on the drip. It’s the only rhythm that makes sense some mornings.

Your apartment is small, boxy — clean, mostly because there’s not much in it. A couch you picked from a secondhand store. A chipped mug that you’ve started to prefer because of the way it fits in your hand. A lamp that hums when it’s on too long.

You’re trying to live.

There’s a list pinned to the fridge: laundry, grocery run, call therapist, water the plant.

You crossed one thing off yesterday. That counts. You’re trying.

Sometimes you leave the TV on just to hear another voice. Sometimes you sit on the fire escape for air, even if the city noise makes your skin feel too thin. The world is so loud. So bright. So… full.

Too much.

But it’s the silence that undoes you.

Because in the quiet, he’s there again.

Not in the room. Not really. But in the way your gaze drifts to the window as if he might be standing outside. As If he was looking for you.

You tell yourself it’s normal — that grief or longing or guilt, whatever this is, takes time to fade. But some nights, you wake up from dreams where his voice is the first thing you remember. Not the screaming. Not the gunfire. Just him.

Just James.

You sit at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee that’s already gone cold, elbows on the wood, head in your hands. The faucet drips again.

Click. Tap. Drip.

“I’m trying,” you whisper into the quiet.

And maybe that’s the most honest thing you’ve said all week.

You’ve thought about looking for him since the moment you could breathe clean air again.

At first, it was just a thought. A flicker in the back of your mind — easy to dismiss, easier to fear. You didn’t even know where you’d start. You didn’t know if he was alive. If you were.

You told yourself it wasn’t the right time. You needed to get stronger. You needed space to figure out who you were now, and what pieces of yourself were real and which ones were Hydra’s fingerprints. You convinced yourself he probably didn’t want to be found.

He’d trusted you.

And you betrayed that trust. Even if you loved him. Even if you tried to keep him safe in the only ways you knew how.

You don’t know what freedom looks like for him. If he even has it.

But the ache doesn’t go away.

It lingers behind your ribs like something unfinished. A wound that never scabbed right. You carry him in the same way you carry every bruise they left on your psyche — except this one whispers instead of screams.

He’s the only thing that felt real in a place built on lies.

And if there’s even the slightest chance he’s out there — breathing, remembering, hurting — then how can you not try?

You stare at the scratched surface of your coffee table and murmur, to no one.

“I have to find him.” The words feel final. Like a vow.

You don’t know where he is. You don’t know what you’ll say. But you know this: you can’t live with yourself if you don’t try.

He saved you once — not by pulling you from the fire, but by being the thing worth surviving for.

Now it’s your turn.

———

You try again that night.

The lights in your apartment are off. The curtains drawn. It’s quiet enough to hear the ticking of the old clock. You sit cross-legged on the floor, palms resting on your knees, breathing slow and steady.

Just like you practiced. Just like you did back then, when he was close — when reaching out meant brushing against something alive and raw and his. A thread, a warmth, a flicker of recognition even when everything else was static and dark.

You close your eyes.

Reach.

Nothing.

Of course there’s still nothing. You reach again. Deeper this time. Pushing past the numb edges of your consciousness, calling with something deeper than language. You picture his face — the way he used to look at you when no one was watching. The weight of his presence in a room. The quiet hum of his pain.

Still nothing.

Just a void.

Just silence.

You inhale sharply, your hands curling into fists in your lap. Your eyes sting, but you don’t cry. Not for this. Not yet.

You open them slowly, staring at the shadows dancing across the floor.

If your powers can’t find him — if that connection is still gone — then you’ll have to try something else.

A more human way.

You rise to your feet, limbs heavy, and reach for the old notebook you keep by the kitchen counter. Pages already filled with crossed-out ideas, half-baked theories, names you overheard in hushed voices. You flip to the next blank page.

And start writing again.

Because if he’s out there — if he’s breathing somewhere under the same sky — you will find him.

Even if you have to search the whole goddamn world.

So you don’t sleep that night.

The glow of your laptop screen lights up the dark apartment like a small, stubborn flame. You sit hunched over the keyboard, knees drawn up to your chest on the chair, every muscle taut with focus.

You start with the name they gave him.

The Winter Soldier.

Just typing it makes your stomach turn.

At first, it’s what you expect — articles, theories, grainy footage of violence, headlines soaked in blood. Assassin. Ghost. Weapon. There are still people out there who don’t believe he was ever real.

You know better.

You scroll past most of it. The conspiracy sites, the speculation. Your hands are shaking, but you keep going.

Then, finally, a hit. Something small. An old report from just after the fall of HYDRA — declassified in part, scrubbed clean — but there it is:

James Buchanan Barnes.

You stare at the name.

It feels unfamiliar and familiar at the same time, like a dream you forgot and then remembered all at once.

James.

The full name fits strangely in your mouth, like something you’re not supposed to hold. He was always just James to you. Never Bucky. Never Sergeant. Never this whole person history insists he was.

Your chest tightens.

You read more — born in 1917. Best friend to Steve Rogers. The Howling Commandos. A mission gone wrong. Lost in the snow. Then silence. Then the Winter Soldier.

You trace the name on the screen with your fingertip, barely breathing.

He had a life before you. A family. A war. A death.

And somehow, after everything, you were there at the edge of his second becoming.

Now he’s out there again. Somewhere. Free.

And you wonder — not for the first time — if he ever thinks of you like this. If he knows you’re looking. If he’d want to be found.

But even if he doesn’t, even if you’re nothing more than another wound to him, it doesn’t matter.

You dig deeper.

Once you have his name — James Buchanan Barnes — the world shifts. It’s not just about shadow ops and old war files anymore. The web of his history starts to glow at the edges, unraveling into something much bigger than you expected.

Because James Barnes wasn’t just a weapon.

He fought alongside Avengers. Whoever they were.

You find names — Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Thor — names you’d only heard whispered through Hydra’s walls or spat in passing when no one thought you were listening. You thought they were myths. Boogeymen made up to scare agents straight.

But they were real. They fought.

They won.

Thanos.

The Blip.

Half the world turned to ash — you turned to ash — and still no one told you.

You sit back in your chair, stunned. The screen blurs in your vision. A strange, hollow sound rings in your ears.

They called it the Snap. Just like that. A flick of fingers. An entire universe cracked in two.

And James was there for it. He lived through history. Again.

And you? You were the forgotten one. Lost in a lab. A ghost with no name until he gave you one.

Your gaze drops back to his name on the website and for the first time in weeks the numbness stirs.

You don’t know what’s stronger — your grief or your awe. But one thing settles like iron in your chest: You have to find him. Not for redemption. Not even for forgiveness.

Just to know. Just to see if he’s real — not a dream, not a memory, but flesh and bone and breath.

The research becomes a ritual — a pilgrimage. One link leads to another, one article to a thread, a forum post, a headline. Soon you’re not just searching for him, you’re chasing a shadow through the timeline of the world.

That name keeps showing up: Captain America.

But not Steve Rogers anymore.

Now it’s Sam Wilson. The Falcon.

You blink at the photos, the headlines. Steve handed over his shield — handed over his legacy — and vanished. No one really knows where he went. But Sam… Sam stayed. Sam fought.

You read about a mission in Europe. About a terrorist group. About something called the GRC. And tucked between the politics and public outrage and grainy camera footage, there he is again.

James Barnes.

The Winter Soldier, they still call him in the press — but the tone has changed. There’s no more “alleged assassin,” no more “Hydra operative.” Now he’s Sergeant Barnes. The White Wolf. An Avenger.

You lean closer to the screen, eyes burning.

He’s in a photo beside Sam Wilson — standing tall, arms crossed, expression stern. He looks tired, always tired, but there’s something different now. His eyes aren’t flat. There’s will behind them. There’s choice.

And something in you aches.

You scroll further — to an op-ed, of all things, written by someone who met him once.

“He was quiet. Guarded. But not cold. You could tell he was someone trying hard to be good, even if he didn’t believe he deserved to be. He’s not the man Hydra made him. He’s more.”

The words don’t belong to you, but they lodge under your ribs like a blade.

Trying hard to be good, even if he didn’t believe he deserved to be.

You wonder if he ever feels like you do now — full of memory and emptiness at once. Full of guilt no one gave you, but you carry anyway.

Your fingers hover over the keys.

You type his name again.

James Buchanan Barnes. Sergeant Barnes. The Winter Soldier. The White Wolf.

Every search brings pieces — articles, interviews, pictures — but never a location. No address. No phone number. No trace that could lead you closer than this digital maze.

It’s like he’s a ghost who learned to hide better than you ever could.

You lean back, rubbing your eyes. The screen blurs. The apartment feels smaller, colder. The silence creeps back in like a tide.

If you can’t find him, maybe you can find someone who knows him.

Sam Wilson.

You type his name, and suddenly the world shifts again.

The results are easier — more open. Sam’s a public figure. An Avenger. A man with a presence you can almost reach out and touch through the screen.

There’s a website — a fan page, an official page, you don’t care — with a contact address. Not just a PO box or an agency line. A street address.

You stare at it.

A Veteran’s Center — apparently where Sam Wilson worked and even now as Captain America, he tends to appear there.

Your breath catches.

You close the laptop and sit in the dark, heart hammering.

If James is unreachable — if he’s hiding from ghosts you can’t chase — then maybe Sam is your way in.

You write the address down in your notebook, tracing the letters with trembling fingers.

Tomorrow, you decide, you’ll find a way to go there.

———

The sun rises slow and pale through the window.

You sit on the edge of your bed, fully dressed, jacket zipped halfway, bag slung over your shoulder like it might anchor you to something. The address is folded in your pocket. You’ve read it so many times it’s gone soft at the corners.

The clock ticks. The faucet drips. Your knee bounces with nervous energy that refuses to settle.

You haven’t eaten. You tried — made toast, stared at it, threw it away. Your stomach is too tight. Too wound.

Because this is real now.

You’re really going.

But as your hand hovers over the doorknob, the weight of a new question drops down like a stone in your gut.

What do I even say to him?

Hi, I used to be a Hydra prisoner. Your friend helped me survive. Now I’m free, and I don’t know what to do with that. Have you seen him?

No. That sounds insane.

You pace the narrow space between your couch and the wall. Again. Again.

You practiced this last night — in the mirror, whispering lines to your reflection like it might turn into someone braver. But every version of the conversation sounded wrong.

Too desperate. Too vague. Too broken.

What if Sam doesn’t know where James is? What if he doesn’t believe you? What if you show up there and all he sees is another Hydra scar waiting to bleed out?

Your throat tightens.

What do I even say?

You stop pacing. Close your eyes. Breathe.

You’re not doing this for answers.

You’re doing it because you promised yourself you would.

Because you have to try.

You pull the address from your pocket, fingers brushing the worn paper like a charm. You imagine James’s face — the quiet weight of his gaze, the way his voice softened when he said your name. Little Dove.

You were real to him. He made you real. And you owe it to that version of yourself to keep going.

Even if your hands shake. Even if your voice cracks. — You square your shoulders and reach for the door.

The world outside is loud. Blinding. But you step into it anyway.

Because if he’s out there — if there’s even a sliver of a chance — then this is where it starts.

———

The veterans’ center isn’t what you expected.

You thought it might feel sterile, cold — like the labs, like the white rooms you still dream of. But it’s warm. Lived-in. The paint is chipped in places, and the lobby has mismatched chairs, scuffed tile, a coffee machine that hums like it’s been here longer than the building itself.

People pass you without looking twice.

No one flinches. No one studies you like a threat.

You’re the only one doing that.

Your hand clenches around the strap of your bag as you approach the front desk. A woman in her fifties gives you a practiced smile, already reaching for a clipboard.

“First time?” she asks.

You nod, throat too dry to speak.

“Intake’s upstairs. You’ll need to—”

“I’m not here for intake,” you say quickly. “I… I was hoping to speak to Sam Wilson. Just for a moment.”

She blinks. The smile falters just slightly. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No. I just—” You pause, searching for words that won’t make you sound unhinged. “I’m a friend of someone he knows.”

That’s technically true.

The woman studies you a moment. You can tell she’s deciding whether to call security or not.

Then, from down the hall, you hear it — a voice. Familiar only because of the videos you watched, the interviews you studied like gospel. Calm, clear, grounding.

“Angela, it’s okay,” Sam says as he steps into view. “I’ve got it.”

You turn.

And there he is.

Taller than you expected. Tired in the way only people who’ve carried too much for too long can be. But kind — visibly, unmistakably kind. There’s no calculation in his eyes, just a quiet readiness to see you.

You don’t breathe until he nods toward an office door.

“Let’s talk.”

His office is simple. A desk, two chairs, a shelf lined with books and dusty service medals. You sit stiffly, hands folded tight in your lap, bag still on your shoulder like armor you forgot to take off.

Sam doesn’t speak right away. He lets the silence settle, patient.

You break first.

“I’m sorry to come here like this. I didn’t know how else to… I’ve been trying to find him. James.”

Sam doesn’t flinch. But he does go very still.

“I was with him. For a while. Back when—” You falter. “When things were bad.”

He nods once. “Hydra.”

You look up.

He’s not shocked. Not disgusted. Just listening.

You exhale, shaky.

“I started to care. I think he did too.” Your fingers twist tighter in your lap. “And then he was gone. They took him away — reprogrammed him, buried him again. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

A breath.

“I thought he died. Or worse — that he forgot me completely.”

You look up, voice barely steady.

“But he got out. Somehow, he got out and… I’m trying to find him now. Since I’ve got out too.”

Sam’s jaw ticks slightly. Still quiet.

“I know it’s probably been years. And I know I have no right to ask. But if you know where he is — if he’s okay — I just need to know. That he made it. That he’s himself.”

Sam leans back slowly. Eyes steady.

“He’s never mentioned you.”

You freeze.

Ouch.

Your hands shake.

A beat passes like it’s trying to cover for the sting. But it doesn’t.

“He’s not easy to reach these days,” Sam adds, quieter now. Not cruel, just honest. “But… I’ll talk to him. If I can.”

You nod, too fast. “Okay. Thank you. I—”

You reach into your jacket pocket, pulling out a crumpled slip of paper — your own address scrawled in the corner, written with a trembling hand the night before.

“Just in case,” you say, holding it out. “If he ever wants to find me.”

Sam hesitates before taking it. His fingers brush yours, briefly. Warm, solid. Human.

“I’ll pass it along.”

You nod again. Can’t find more words. Your throat’s too tight for them anyway.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “That’s… more than I hoped for.”

For the first time, Sam smiles. It’s small. Real.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he says. “You haven’t seen how stubborn he is.”

Oh you have.

———

The subway hums like static beneath your feet. Conversations blur around you — too many voices, too much movement, all at once.

You don’t remember the walk from Sam’s building to the nearest station. Only that you were moving. One foot, then the other. Hands clenched deep in your pockets like you might fall apart if they’re not anchored.

The city swallows you whole, and you let it.

By the time you reach your apartment, your palms are damp and your legs feel hollow.

You shut the door behind you and lean your forehead against it.

For a second, you don’t move.

Then the thoughts catch up.

He never mentioned you.

The words cut deeper than you expected. You hadn’t let yourself imagine much — but you’d hoped for something. A trace. A thread. Something left behind.

But maybe you were never real to him. Maybe you were just another piece of that place he’s trying to forget.

You sink onto the edge of the bed. Kick off your shoes. Let your bag slump to the floor.

Everything feels too quiet now. Too still.

Your hands tremble as you press your palms into your thighs, willing the buzzing in your chest to stop.

You stare at the window. The buildings across the street. The slow crawl of a pigeon’s shadow on the glass.

You try to breathe. To ground yourself.

But the thoughts won’t stop circling.

What if I made a mistake? What if this was selfish? What if Sam sees right through me — sees the girl who broke James when he was barely holding himself together?

You close your eyes.

You hear his voice in your memory — low, rough, almost tender.

“Little Dove.”

It anchors you, just for a moment.

He did know you.

Maybe not in the way the world knows people. Not in documents or stories or things you can Google. But in that room — in those stolen hours — he saw something in you.

And you saw him.

You curl your knees to your chest. Let your cheek press to your arms.

You don’t know what tomorrow brings.

But today?

You wait.

And hope.

And try to believe he’ll come back.

———

The apartment is quiet.

The only sound is the soft clink of a spoon against a ceramic bowl as James stirs his coffee, slow and aimless. It’s lukewarm by now, forgotten on the counter while he fed the cat.

Alpine weaves between his ankles, tail flicking with entitled precision. She meows once — short, sharp — a demand.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, reaching down to scratch behind her ears. She immediately purrs, smug and victorious.

He sets the bowl of food down, and she digs in like she hasn’t been fed twice already this morning.

James leans back against the counter and watches her eat. It’s the quiet moments like this — mundane, uneventful — that he clings to most days. They feel like proof he’s doing okay. Or at least, trying to.

The phone buzzes once on the counter.

He doesn’t look at it.

It buzzes again. Then again.

With a sigh, he picks it up.

Sam Wilson.

James swipes to answer. “What.”

“Nice to hear your voice too, man.”

James doesn’t bother to reply.

There’s a pause, then Sam says, “You get any visitors lately?”

His brow furrows. “No.”

“Well,” Sam drawls, “someone came to see me. Asked about you.”

James straightens just slightly. “What kind of someone?”

“She looked nervous. Like she’d been rehearsing the whole thing in her head before coming here. Real quiet. Serious eyes.” A pause. “She said her name was Dove.”

Silence.

It lands like a punch to the gut.

The air leaves James’s lungs too fast, too sudden. He stares past the phone, frozen, like something cracked open in his chest.

Sam’s voice filters through the line again, more careful now. “Ring any bells?”

James swallows hard. His voice, when it finally comes, is gravel.

“…She’s alive?”

“So you do know her.”

He doesn’t answer.

Alpine’s purring fades in the background, the world narrowing to the beat of his heart hammering against his ribs.

“She gave me an address,” Sam says. “Didn’t ask for anything. Just… wanted me to let you know. In case you wanted to find her.”

James closes his eyes.

And for a moment — just a moment — all he can see is her face. Bloodied. Brave. Little Dove.

He whispers, almost to himself.

“…Goddamn.”

———

James sits on the edge of his kitchen counter, elbows on his knees, the phone still in his hand.

Alpine brushes against his shin with a loud, insistent mrrrp. He glances down, like he forgot she existed. Reaches for the food bag automatically and pours her a little more.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters as she digs in. “I didn’t ask for this either.”

His mind replays it again, like a needle caught in the groove of a record.

She said her name was Dove.

He exhales hard through his nose. Rubs his hand over his face like he can scrub the thoughts away. But they don’t go. They never go.

That name — it used to mean something soft, something impossible, something stolen in a place that didn’t allow softness. And now it’s here, again, dropped into his life like a spark in a pile of dry leaves.

She’s alive. The thought hits him square in the chest. Not a ghost. Not a dream.

Alive.

And she came looking for him.

He stands too fast. Paces. One loop around the couch. Then another. Then stops and glares at the phone like it personally betrayed him.

He wants to go. His body is already moving like it will. But something claws at his ribs and drags him back down.

What if this isn’t real?

What if it’s some Hydra trick he hasn’t seen coming?

Or worse… What if it is her?

And she’s angry. Or broken. Or both.

He grips the edge of the counter, jaw clenched, knuckles white. Alpine jumps up beside him and curls into a ball like she doesn’t care about the civil war unfolding in his chest.

He mutters, “You’re a lot of help.”

She purrs louder.

James exhales again, this time shakier. He picks up the phone. Stares at the screen. Sam’s last message is still open, the address waiting like a loaded gun.

He doesn’t move.

Because the past is rising again—loud, hot, unavoidable.

He sees her face. Clear as day.

The way she used to look at him like he wasn’t a monster .

The way her hand trembled the first time she reached for him and did it anyway.

The way she whispered his name like it meant something holy.

God, he loved her.

He loved her like it was the only thing he had left. Like she was the one piece of humanity they hadn’t managed to rip out of him.

And she was never supposed to be real. She was just another trick. Another leash Hydra slipped around his throat under the guise of mercy.

But he didn’t know that — not at first.

He believed her. Let her in.

And when she looked at him like a man, he believed he could be one.

That was the worst part.

Because she smiled at him, soft and steady, and he thought it was real.

Until it wasn’t.

Until the memories bled back in — bit by bit — and he saw the truth folded behind her eyes like a secret she never wanted him to find.

She made a deal with them.

She chose it.

Even if it was to stay close, even if it was to protect him — she still said yes.

And when he started to break through, when he started remembering, she tried to pull him back.

Not to hurt him. Not to stop him.

But to keep him.

His jaw tightens, throat raw with something sharp and furious.

Because love like that doesn’t just disappear. It rots. It festers. It stays.

He told himself she didn’t matter anymore. That she was part of a life he didn’t want to revisit.

But if that were true, why is his hand still frozen over this screen?

Why does her name still echo in his ribs like an old wound reopening?

He shuts his eyes. And all he can see is her. Her hands. Wild eyes. Voice like smoke and salt.

James, she used to whisper.

Little Dove, he used to say back.

He thought it meant something. Maybe it still does. Maybe that’s the problem.

A few hours passed. Alpine curled up by the window, tail twitching lazily. The city hums low beyond the glass.

But inside?

It’s a war zone.

He keeps staring at the address. Like if he just looks hard enough, long enough, the right decision will surface from the wreckage.

Go.

Don’t go.

Forgive.

Forget.

Don’t you dare.

His fingers flex around the phone.

He knows what Sam would say. “She came all this way. That’s gotta count for something.”

But James has lived too long with ghosts in his chest and knives in his back to think that counts for everything.

What if it’s a trick? What if she’s in danger? What if he’s the danger?

What if she wants to explain?

What if she wants forgiveness?

He doesn’t even know if he has that to give.

He thinks of how she used to look at him—like she saw someone worth saving. Not just the asset. Not the soldier. Just James.

And he remembers how it felt when that illusion cracked. When the truth clawed its way up his throat and he looked her in the eye and knew.

He’d trusted her with everything. And she’d made herself a part of his cage.

Maybe she didn’t mean to.

Maybe that’s what makes it worse.

James sinks down into the chair by the window, elbows on knees, phone still in hand.

There are options.

He could ignore it. Pretend this never happened. Let the message dissolve into the static of unanswered texts and half-buried dreams.

Or he could send someone else. Let Sam talk to her again. Keep himself at a distance where nothing can hurt.

Or….

He could go.

Just show up. See her with his own eyes. Ask the questions that have been carving hollows in him for years.

Why?

Did you ever really care?

Was any of it real?

He doesn’t know what scares him more — that she’ll say no.

Or that she’ll say yes.

The thought makes him flinch like something struck him.

Alpine stirs, stretches, climbs into his lap like she doesn’t care that he’s unraveling. He scratches behind her ear without thinking.

And maybe that’s what undoes him.

The casual comfort of it. The way she trusts him without question. No fear, no doubt — just warmth.

Something tightens in his throat.

Because she’s not the only one who trusted him once.

He thinks of the girl in the cell—the one who reached for him when he was nothing but a weapon. The one who whispered to him like he was a man. Who looked at his bloodstained hands and still touched them gently.

He’d felt safe with her.

That’s the part that guts him.

Because he never came back for her.

When the world broke open, when he clawed his way out of Hydra’s grip, when the static started to clear from his head — he didn’t look for her.

He told himself it was because she was gone. He told himself it was because she had betrayed him.

But the truth is, a part of him was afraid.

Afraid of what he might feel if he saw her again.

He’s spent years trying to outrun that guilt. Drowning it in missions and silence and names that aren’t his.

But now? Now she’s out there. Real and alive and looking for him.

And all that guilt he buried starts crawling up his spine, bitter and cold.

Maybe she betrayed him. Maybe she lied.

But he left her behind.

He never even tried to find out why.

James lowers his head into his hands.

The weight of it crushes down on him — the ache of too-late, too-much, too-far-gone.

———

It’s been three days since Sam.

Three days of pacing. Of pretending to do normal things — folding laundry you didn’t wear, brewing coffee you didn’t drink, standing by the window like the light might whisper something new. You haven’t gone out, not really. Just in case.

You don’t say it out loud, but every time the floor creaks or a car door slams outside, your chest tightens.

Maybe.

Maybe today.

And then, when you’ve almost given up — when you’re bent over a half-washed dish in the sink, sleeves rolled up, soap dripping from your wrist —

Knock. Knock.

You freeze.

Not the mail. Not your neighbor. You don’t have friends….

It’s him.

You know it like gravity.

Your hands tremble where they hover above the sink. Water keeps running. Time keeps ticking.

But you stand there like you’ve forgotten how to move.

He actually came.

You wipe your hands on your shirt, heart a tight, panicked drum against your ribs, and move to the door like it might disappear if you hesitate too long.

And then it’s there. Him.

You open the door.

He stands on the other side like a ghost built from your most desperate memories. Broader now. Still. Quieter in a way that feels deeper than silence. He looks at you like he isn’t sure you’re real.

You’re not sure you are either.

Neither of you speak.

The air crackles, full of every word that ever went unsaid.

You give him a soft, unsure smile. A breath of something old. Something fragile.

“You cut your hair,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

His throat works around a swallow. His eyes — those eyes — haven’t left your face.

“Yeah,” he says, rough, quiet. “You look…”

His gaze flickers down, then back up, landing somewhere between your mouth and your eyes. His voice catches, something unsteady breaking against the inside of his ribs.

“…different,” he finishes, but it sounds like he meant something else entirely.

You don’t look away. You don’t breathe.

“Better,” he adds after a beat, lower now. Like it hurts to admit. Like he doesn’t quite know if that’s a good thing or not.

You try to laugh. It comes out as a shaky breath instead. “I feel… different.”

He nods once. Then again, slower. His hand is still clenched at his side, like if he lets it move, it might reach for something it shouldn’t.

“Can I…?” he starts, then clears his throat. “Can I come in?”

You step back without a word, holding the door open. Not all the way. Just enough.

He crosses the threshold like it’s a line he isn’t sure he’s allowed to touch, eyes sweeping the small space that’s now yours — not theirs.

He doesn’t sit.

Neither do you.

The silence stretches. Breathless.

Then, still not looking at you:

“I didn’t know if I should come.”

Your heart pounds, but your voice is quiet. “But you did.”

He nods once, slow. His shoulders are tense, like he’s still waiting for a trap to spring.

“I almost didn’t,” he admits, not meeting your eyes. “Didn’t know what I’d even say. What you’d want.”

“I didn’t know if you ever wanted to see me again,” you whisper.

He looks at you then.

And you look at him.

And there’s so much in his face — exhaustion, grief, something rawer beneath it, something flickering like recognition in a place that hasn’t known warmth in a long time.

“I didn’t,” he says.

Your breath catches.

He holds your gaze like it’s a lifeline he doesn’t know how to let go of — or maybe a blade he can’t stop pressing into.

“I didn’t want to see you again,” he says, slower this time. “Because thinking about you… it hurt.”

You swallow. But you don’t look away.

James shakes his head, something bitter tugging at the corner of his mouth — not a smile, not even close. “You were the one good thing in that place. And even that turned out to be a lie.”

Your stomach knots. “It wasn’t—”

“It was,” he snaps, voice quiet but sharp. “You were part of the trap. You were the fucking bait.”

You flinch — not because it’s loud, but because it’s true.

“I thought you were real,” he says, and there’s something cracked in the way he says it. “I thought… I thought you were mine. And when it started to come back — when I started remembering things — I held onto you. Like maybe if I held on tight enough, I could stay.”

You’re quiet, trembling under the weight of it.

James exhales harshly. “And you were lying the whole time.”

“I wasn’t,” you breathe. “Not the whole time. I didn’t know how to stop it. I was trying to protect you. I loved you, James—”

He laughs — hollow, pained. “You don’t protect someone by holding the knife to their throat.”

Your eyes sting, but you blink hard.

“I know what I did. I know I hurt you.”

His hands flex at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “You don’t know what it felt like. Finding out I wasn’t in control again — not even of that.”

You step back, giving him space. “I’m don’t want to make excuses.”

“Good,” he bites. “Because I’m not here to forgive you.”

Silence.

And then, softer — cracked open beneath the anger:

“…Not yet.”

Your breath hitches.

He doesn’t look at you, not this time.

“I don’t know what this is anymore,” he mutters. “But I came here anyway.”

You nod.

Because you don’t know either.

But he’s here.

You look at him and for a second — just a second — the room falls away, and all you can see are his eyes.

They’re older now. Tired. Framed by lines that weren’t there before. But they’re still the same shade, still the same eyes that once looked at you like you were the only steady thing in a world that kept breaking.

But now?

They look at you like you’re the one who broke him. Not with hatred. No — there’s none of that. That would be easier, maybe.

What you see is worse.

You see hurt.

You see sadness.

That same glassy, wounded look from the moment everything shattered — when he realized what you were, what you’d done. When you tried to reach for him and he backed away like your touch burned.

And you can’t take it anymore.

“Why didn’t you come back for me?” you whisper.

He blinks.

Your voice trembles, but you keep going. “After you left — after everything — I waited. I hoped. I thought maybe you’d come. That you’d remember me. That you’d try.”

His jaw clenches. His posture shifts like he’s bracing for impact.

“Because it didn’t end for me,” you say, softer now. “They kept me there. Used me. Broke me open. And after you left… it got worse.”

You pause.

“I thought you forgot me.”

James doesn’t answer right away.

His hand drifts unconsciously to the seam of his coat, like he needs something to hold onto.

“I didn’t forget,” he says, low. “I tried.”

You suck in a breath.

“I remembered you every damn day. And I hated myself for it.” His voice cracks around the edges, weathered and raw. “Because I thought you chose them. I thought you picked them over me.”

“I didn’t,” you say, and there’s a catch in your throat. “I tried to protect you. I thought I was doing the right thing—”

“Don’t,” he cuts in, softer now, but firm. “Don’t justify it.”

You fall silent.

His hand curls into a fist at his side.

“I wanted to,” he says eventually. His voice is low, rough like gravel. “God, I wanted to.”

You don’t breathe.

“But I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk going back there — not to them. Not even for you.”

You blink.

He shakes his head once, slow. “I’d spent years fighting to be free. Scraping my mind back together piece by piece. And I knew if I went back, if I walked into that hell again… I might not make it out. I might not make it out me.”

You feel it in your chest — the ache behind every word.

But then he looks at you again.

“And you betrayed me,” he says, voice quieter now. Almost resigned. “I know what they did to you. I know they twisted things. But still when I thought of you all I saw was someone who handed me back to them.”

You open your mouth — but nothing comes out.

He exhales through his nose, jaw tight. “I didn’t know what was real anymore. I didn’t know you were real.”

“I was,” you say, voice cracking. “I still am.”

He doesn’t look away.

“I had to believe you weren’t,” he says. “Because it was the only way I could live with leaving you behind.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until you feel the sting at the corners of your eyes.

You blink hard, swallow harder. Your voice barely comes out.

“I still love you.”

His eyes snap to yours.

“I never stopped,” you whisper. “Not even for a second. Even when they punished me for your name. Even when I thought I’d never see you again. I loved you.”

He’s still as stone. You can’t read his face. You don’t even try. You’re already bleeding.

“I used to lie awake in that cell and try to remember the sound of your voice. The way you looked at me like I was something real. Not a weapon. Not a ghost. Just… me.”

A breath stutters out of you. “And when it got really bad — when I didn’t think I could take another day — I’d pretend you were coming back. I’d pretend you remembered.”

Silence stretches between you. His jaw flexes once. Twice.

“I know I hurt you,” you say. “I know I broke something in you when I made that deal. But it wasn’t for them. It was for you. Because they told me they’d hurt you again if I didn’t. And I was so scared, James. I didn’t know what else to do.”

You’re trembling now. Not from fear — from the sheer force of everything you’ve buried for so long.

“I lost everything. And I still loved you.”

His eyes close. Just for a moment.

Like the words hit too deep. Like they cracked something open.

But when they open again, they’re glassy, dark, and unreadable.

“You should hate me,” you whisper, voice shaking. “But I never stopped loving you.”

You wait.

The silence is unbearable.

And he doesn’t speak.

He just stands there — breathing like it hurts, gaze like a storm that’s been held back too long.

“I didn’t even know if I’d ever find you, James,” you whisper, voice cracking on his name. “But you’re the reason I’m alive and—”

You don’t finish the sentence.

Because he closes the distance between you in a heartbeat.

His hands reach for you like instinct, like memory, like a drowning man reaching for the surface — and then you’re in his arms.

Held.

Pulled tight to his chest like you’re the only thing keeping him upright.

You freeze for a second, not breathing, barely daring to believe this is real. But then your fingers clutch the back of his shirt, and you press your face to his shoulder like you’ve finally found home after crawling through fire.

He doesn’t say anything.

But his arms are shaking where they hold you.

And when you feel him breathe — feel it hitch, feel it break — you know he’s crying too.

For all the years lost.

For everything you both survived.

You pull back just enough to look up at him, and for once, there’s nothing hidden in his eyes.

No walls. No armor.

Just James.

And when you lean up — slow, uncertain — and your lips brush his, it’s not a kiss meant to fix anything.

It’s not gentle. It’s not perfect. It’s cracked open with too much emotion, years of silence and pain poured into something that barely holds together.

But it’s real.

And then he pulls away.

Fully.

Not just space — distance. Cold, aching distance.

Your eyes open slowly, confused, your chest heaving.

Your arms drop slowly, helplessly, and he takes a step back like he needs air. Like he needs to unfeel what just happened.

“James…” you breathe, confused, heart pounding.

“I can’t,” he says. Quiet, but final.

You blink. “What?”

“This,” he gestures vaguely between you, avoiding your eyes. “Us. I can’t.”

Your stomach twists. “But you—”

“I shouldn’t have come,” he mutters, voice breaking in the middle. “I thought… I don’t know what I thought.”

You move toward him instinctively, but he flinches — not away from you, exactly, but from the weight of what’s unspoken between you.

“I still love you,” you say, voice trembling. “I never stopped—”

“That’s the problem,” he snaps, too fast, too raw. Then his shoulders sag. “I think you loved me because you had to.”

Your breath catches.

“We were trapped. You were alone. I was all you had.” His eyes finally lift to meet yours, and they’re tired. Older. Sadder. “That’s not love. That’s survival.”

You shake your head, tears welling, but he keeps going.

“Now you’re out. You’re free. You have the whole damn world in front of you, and you deserve more than… this.” He gestures at himself, at the space he’s taken up like he regrets every inch of it. “You can find someone better. Someone who didn’t hurt you. Someone who’s not a reminder of everything that nearly broke you.”

You feel your heart shatter slowly, like glass under slow pressure.

“I don’t want someone better,” you whisper.

But James just shakes his head, jaw tight, like he’s forcing himself to stay cold. Detached.

“You should.”

You step forward, heat rising in your chest. “Why do you get to decide that?”

He hesitates, but doesn’t back down. “Because I know what I did. What I am. You think this—” he gestures between you again, rough this time “—is some fairytale reunion? That it ends with a happy ending just because we survived?”

“I’m not asking for a fairytale!” you snap, your voice breaking with grief. “I’m not stupid, James. I know what we are. What we’ve been through.”

“Then why the hell would you want this back?” His voice rises too, all that pain cracking through. “Why would you want me?”

“Because I love you!” The words tear out before you can stop them, loud and ragged. “Because I still wake up in the middle of the night expecting to hear your voice, because every fucking day since I got out, I’ve missed you, and—and I waited, and I hoped—”

“I didn’t come back!” he cuts in, and it’s like a slap. “You waited for someone who left you there. I knew what Hydra did, I knew they had you, and I still—” He chokes, chest heaving. “I didn’t go back for you.”

You stare at him, stunned. “Because you were scared.”

His silence is answer enough.

You shake your head, voice smaller now. “You think I don’t understand fear? I lived in it. I breathed it. Every second you were gone, they used me harder. Cut deeper. But I never stopped hoping you’d come back.”

James turns his face away like he can’t bear to look at you. “That’s not love. That’s delusion.”

“It’s faith,” you hiss. “It’s what kept me alive.”

His eyes flick to you again — and there it is: the hurt. The ache. But also something harder beneath.

“You’re making a mistake,” he says, quieter now. “You’re choosing to stay tethered to something that already ruined you once.”

“I’m not the only one still tethered,” you say, voice trembling. “You came here. You held me like you’d die without it. Don’t lie and tell me that didn’t mean something.”

He doesn’t answer.

You take a step closer. “So what are you so afraid of? That I’ll hurt you? Or that I won’t?”

His breath stutters.

“I loved you then. I love you now. But if you’re too scared to let that be real, then just say it.”

“I’m scared,” he says finally, voice low. Broken. “But not of you.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Then what?”

“Of who I am with you. Of how easy it is to forget everything when I look at you. Of how much I want to fall into this and never crawl back out.”

You stand there in the quiet that follows, the silence thick with grief and longing.

“But it’s not about what I want,” James says, the words slow, like they cost him something just to say them. “It’s about what’s best. For both of us.”

You stare at him.

Stare like you’re trying to find the version of him that used to love you without fear, without doubt.

But all you see is this — the broken edges of a man who’s already halfway out the door, even if he’s still standing in front of you.

“So this is a goodbye?” Your voice is small. Barely a breath.

His throat works like he’s trying to swallow it down. The answer. The pain.

Like saying it out loud might kill him.

But then he nods.

Just once.

And it feels like the floor gives out beneath you.

“Yeah,” he says, hoarse. “I think it is.”

You don’t speak.

You can’t.

Not when your mouth is full of shattered glass and your ribs feel like they’re caving in. You just nod too — even though it hurts — and step back, giving him space, like that makes it easier.

It doesn’t.

And still, he lingers for a second too long. Like he’s memorizing you. Like he might change his mind.

But he doesn’t.

He turns. Walks toward the door.

Opens it.

And just before he disappears, you say it one last time, quiet and raw:

“I still love you.”

His back tenses.

But he doesn’t turn around.

Doesn’t say it back.

The door shuts behind him.

And the silence that follows is deafening.

Like a gunshot in your chest.

Like being left behind all over again.

Chapter 9 🕊️

tags (tysm for all the love and support, If you asked to be tagged and I didn’t tag you it means I couldn’t for some reason 💔): @tfamidoingwithmylife @stell404 @shakysif @unicornqueen05 @carolinianmermaid @zoroforlife @beforemdnight @nicksolemnlyswears @mistalli @blazeflays @storystorktwo @its-in-the-woods @blv3rd @starkglory @diabolicaldinosaur @elisha-chloe @miyababbby @cats-chaotic-mind @brooklynadoresdior @madsmikkelsonlvr101 @ifuckwithyouanyday @taqmari @syupakingcowbaby

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ficsbydemi · 3 days ago

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QUIET

warnings: mdni, smut, 18+, praise, nicknames, no protection

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

summary: y/n had always been great at driving, but handling public spaces? not so much. luckily she had a teammate who supported her well.

a/n: hiiii, english isn’t my first language but ive been reading fics on here and decided - why not, instead of just sending requests, i write them myself! i took inspiration from other writers too, my favourites being @cutieln4 and @lnfours

Being an F1 driver came with a certain lifestyle, most of which detailed partying, clubbing, going to events.

Y/n hated it.

But once again, the team had forced her to attend some event to promote a sponsor, dressed in a tight black dress.

The air was warm in the intense summer months, the fabric of her clothing holding onto her like a second skin, the delicate golden necklace burning against her collarbone.

And where was her bloody teammate?

Shaking the thought off her mind, she stepped out the long limousine, the bright glare of cameras clicking around her instantly.

They hurt her eyes, but she ignored it, flashing her signature smile into the lens of the glowering orbs round her.

The two men behind her, her assigned bodyguards, nudged her forwards past the cameras, towards the large room, packed with people.

Men in shirts and suits sauntered round with women on their arms, like nothing but an accessory.

Y/n hadn’t grown up rich, she didn’t know how to act, how to behave, how to speak to people like them.

She’d never been a fan of close spaces, much less big crowds - it was like someone had dragged her into her own personal nightmare.

Y/n could feel her throat closing up, the edges of her vision going blurry as she pushed through the crowd, trying to find a corner, or some space to calm her mind.

She hardly even paid attention to her surroundings, subconsciously denying a chute of champagne from a waiter, and moving past.

Her breathing grew raspier, thicker even, slicing her way through the crowds, her shaky hand fumbling with the knob of the bathroom door.

Y/n’s face as filled with colour, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she slammed the door of the stall, sitting onto the toilet behind her.

God, she hated this.

She thought F1 was just driving and racing and winning - not glitz and glamour, but she was very wrong.

Y/n hadn’t even realised she was shaking, tears streaming down her face, her mascara smudging, lip quivering, chest heaving.

Her perfect makeup, the make up that the team had forced to be done by professional artists.

Knock, knock, knock.

Y/n jumped at the sound, someone beating their fist on the stall door on the other side of the bathroom.

“Y/n?”

That was Lando’s voice. Her teammate.

He shook every doorknob, all of them open except…her one.

“Y/n?” Lando spoke again, his voice more calmer, the banging stopping, “you on there?”

“Yeah,”

There was a pause for a moment, before Lando spoke. “Can you open the door f’me?”

Y/n hesitated, her fingers brushing against the lock, but she slid it open anyways.

Lando looked panicked, his cheeks flushed, hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it - had he been worried? For her?

His face melted.

“Was it too much? The crowds, bunny?”

Y/n nodded.

She could feel the familiar ache in her throat, the same one she had every time she forced herself to hold back tears, the material at the bottom of the dress pooling round her.

Neither of them cared they were sat on the floor of the bathroom, Lando’s attention solely on the girl in his arms, practically begging for comfort.

“D’you wanna leave?”

Y/n hiccuped, wiping her eyes, ignoring the smudges of black across her cheeks as she looked up.

That made Lando smile.

“Im sorry,”

“Dont be,”

The event was yet to begin, no one at the entrance anymore. Perfect.

Lando tugged on her hand, pulling her along the side of the room, ignoring the few stares they got as he led her away from the crowds.

“We’ll get in trouble,” Y/n hissed, ignoring the butterflies in the bottom of her stomach as Lando held her hand, pulling her to the cars along the road.

“Takeout?”

“Why not?”

There was something almost humorous about leaving an event as glamorous as the sponsor event and getting take out.

And that’s how Y/n and Lando ended up sat rather close together on his sofa, three bags of takeout around them.

Lando had his feet up on the table, one arm still round her waist as he snickered.

“What’s funny?”

“You have ketchup on your face,” he snickered, wiping the red stuff from her facr.

“Thanks,” she muttered.

This was more awkward than she thought.

“You look really pretty tonight,” Lando spoke, his gaze fixed on the burger in his hand, “by the way,”

“Thanks,” she muttered, “you look…good too,”

Y/n’s gaze fell to her own drink, Lando slowly wriggling it free from her hand and placing it softly onto the table.

Yet again, there was a pause, before his lips came to her cheek, soft, gentle, gliding across the apple of her cheek.

Right where his lips met her skin, a faint blush covered her skin, her lashes fluttering.

“This is weird,”

“I know,” Lando groaned, “I’m not sure how to…you know, initiate it,”

“Like this?”

“Wha-?”

Y/n took advantage of his gaze in her, her lips pressing against his.

Lando’s hands were hesitant to come to her waist, pulling her closer to him as he deepened the kiss.

His hands came to the thin material of her panties, ripping it clean in too.

Y/n gasped, Lando’s tongue taking advantage of her open mouth to delve further in.

“Oh fuck, bunny,” Lando’s head fell back as her hips pushed down on his aching member, a wet patch forming on his ever-growing bulge.

“Let me do it,” Lando’s voice was raspy and thicker, an octave lower, as he pushed her hand away from his belt to pull the leather off himself.

His cock jumped free of the restraint of his trousers, thick and long, his tip an angry shade of red.

“Sorry bunny,”

“What- Lando!”

His hands tore the material down from her chest, the dress clean in two as she blushed, the dress now hanging in separate pieces.

Lando’s hands fumbled on the table, grabbing his card as Y/n huffed, dress in nothing, except adorned in her jewellery.

“That was expensive, I spent ages trying to find-!”

“Buy it in every colour,” he pushed the thin card between her lips, a squeak of confusion falling from her mouth.

Lando took his thick cock into his hand, pumping himself slowly as Y/n put the card back down onto the side, one hand coming to pull her chin to face him.

“Spit,”

“What?”

Lando held out his hand as Y/n blushed, before she spat into his palm.

“Good,” Lando muttered, spreading the warm liquid down his length, right to his shaft as Y/n rubbed small circles into her bundle of nerves.

Y/n gasped as he took his cock into his hand, slapping it softly onto her clit, spreading her own slickness through her folds.

His tongue came to the swell of her breast, slowly dragging round her perked nipple as Y/n gasped, head falling back.

“Sit on it bunny,” Lando whispered, his hands squeezed the flesh of her waist, guiding his tip to her entrance.

“Oh fuck…that’s it baby, just like that,” Lando cursed, his fingers digging into her skin as she sank onto his tip, her mouth falling open in a silent gasp.

“You can take all of it, bunny,” he held Y/n on his lap, lowering her fully until he bottomed out.

The bulge was evident in her tummy, and she could feel every ridge and vein settled inside of her as her hips twitched, Lando’s dick jerking softly inside of her.

“Ride me…please,” Lando whispered, his eyes a darker than usual, pupils blown up a hundred times.

She started off slow, bouncing up and down on him as he groaned, head falling back onto the sofa.

“That’s it bunny…taking me so well, aren’t you?”

Dirty talk, Y/n’s biggest weakness.

“Been picturing how you’d- fuck, how you’d look riding me…with my dick in you,” he cursed, “better than anything I imagined,”

Y/n squeaked, the words spurring her on somehow further, ignoring the ache of her legs as she bounced on him, the slick of her pussy making it ten times easier.

“This pretty little pussy…gonna be the death of me, bunny,” he muttered.

“Lando,” Y/n whimpered, almost whining, “my legs…they hurt, please…”. Lando scoffed almost mockingly, his hands lifting her slightly.

Y/n shrieked, the sudden slam of her hips against him unexpected, the feeling reverberating through her body and core.

She could feel the undeniable knot building up in her stomach, as could Lando, his tip slamming into her g-spot again, and again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Lando cursed, still holding her up as his thrusts became sloppier, the sound of his cock ramming against her slickness becoming louder.

“Fucking addicted, I swear,” he groaned, “this pretty little pussy…like a drug,”

Y/n was the first to fall over the edge, her vision going white and orgasm flooding through with a cry as her head fell back.

There was something so mesmerising about how her hair fell back behind her, how her body convulsed on his cock, like she was possessed.

He held her tightly, riding her through her high.

Lando followed shortly after, his hips snapping into her once, twice, before he pulled himself out, his cock pressing against her thigh as his seed spilled out.

His hips spasmed, streaks of hot white cum painting her flushed tummy.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he muttered, mouth falling open, lips parted.

Y/n said nothing, her chest rising and falling as Lando held her, his chin resting on top of her head.

“Bunny that was…that was amazing,” he breathed out.

The girl remained silent, Lando’s chin on her head as she panted, her breathing coming back to.

Lando’s hand ran through her hair, the wisps of hair sliding through his fingers like silk as she calmed, her chest stilling shortly, resuming to its normal pace.

“Y’alright?” he finally spoke, voice deeper yet kinder and warmer.

Y/n nodded.

And for the first time, she felt truly loved.

#f1 #lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula 1 #formula one x you #formula one x reader #formula one #formula one imagine #formula one fic #formula one fanfiction #lando norris fluff #lando norris fanfic #lando norris smut

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shoes-that-cut-eyes-that-burn · 5 hours ago

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#AS A MUSEUM EMPLOYEE FUCK THE HELL NO!!!!!#Look look look....I get it...museums are great I love them too but PLEASE think of the EMPLOYEES when you say shit like this!!!#Several years ago the art museum I work would ONCE A YEAR have an event where the museum WAS open until midnight#We had all kinds of stuff going on too live music food drink it was a party#HOWEVER.... EVERY SINGLE GALLERY ATTENDANT HATED THIS EVENT#We had THREE different shifts for that event and only ONE was a good one!#We had a regular day shift of 10am to 5pm our usual closing time#Then we had a shift where some would clock in at 5pm and work until midnight#not as great but you still had to work a party full of drunk people#THEN....THEN there was the HELL SHIFT#Where we'd work from 10am ALLLLLL THE WAY UNTIL MIDNIGHT!!!#I HAVE WORKED SUCH A SHIFT.... DO NOT SAY THIS SHIT TO MY FACE!!!!#IT WAS FUCKING HELL#We are on our feet ALL DAMN DAY except for our scheduled breaks#Museums galleries especially art museums HAVE to have gallery attendants to make sure visitors don't do stupid shit which happens often#So before you make statements like this...I want you to do one thing...#I want you to imagine yourself in the shoes of security/gallery attendants who would have to work these shifts...on their feet ALL DAMN DAY#And they CANNOT LEAVE the building until ALL visitors ARE GONE and MOST OF THEM do not want to leave#We want to fucking GO HOME and we CAN'T until the building is cleared of visitors and locked.

#these pass the peer review

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rocketbirdie · 2 days ago

Note

Dumb question about Yugioh but are Yami Yugi and Atem the same thing but a different name?

It's.......complicated, to put it nicely

Technically yes, they are the same character, in the sense that there's only one person who is Yami/Atem. Yami is the name he goes by before he regains his memories; while Atem is his true name, from his past life, which had been erased from his memories and from history.

Outside of canon though they're often treated as sort of separate characters. And for all intents and purposes they kind of are?? They're marketed separately, that's for sure. Meanwhile ao3 merged their character tags together, which I'm not sure how I feel about. Nobody can seem to agree on it.

I guess it's just personal preference. I'm of the opinion that they're separate characters that sort of "bleed into each other" if that makes sense. The line is super blurry. But when people tag early manga/s0 Yami as "Atem" it makes my soul pucker up a bit. Girl that is NOT Atem, that is an Unknown Thing From The Cursed Object, Be Not Mistaken

#it goes: atem seals himself in the puzzle->3000~ish years pass and he loses all his memories->#yugi completes the puzzle which revives ''atem'' from The Vast Nothingness #except atem is not available at this time; please leave a message after the tone->#the unidentified puzzle spirit possesses yugi's body and it's implied that he THINKS that he literally IS yugi->#the spirit AND yugi find out about each other and think that it's a dissociative identity disorder kind of thing->#bakura happens->#the spirit (by this point nicknamed yami) starts searching for his memories->#[HARSH STATIC NOISE]-> world's most fucked up game of dungeons and dragons-> got it. MY NAME IS ATEM! roll credits #does. that make sense #surely that all makes sense. right #asks #yugioh #yami yugi #pharaoh atem #see i tag them separately because they Are. to me at least #kinda. sorta

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formula-fun · 2 days ago

Note

I know it sounds a bit random but what's your favorite face/body part of Max?

every verstappie has an appropriately unhinged answer to this question. i am no exception to this rule and youre about to hear all about it

so his mouth/nose are really prominent obvs (big, soft) and his cheekbones are super prominent (sharp!) but theres this little shadow where they merge together that is so important which is most easily seen here

it kinda forms a line from the corner of his nose down and makes a little flat shadow in the center of his face. some may call this a dimple but dimples are part of your facial muscles, this is just the way his bones are

its the underside of his cheekbone ig but the part thats in the center of his cheek?

sometimes photographers try to smooth it out by raising the exposure or using really diffused light and it makes me sick. sick i tell you. but its okay because we all know its still there

this is softer light for example but you can still see it because the space right above his lips always tends to catch a lot of light. in this type of light it forms kind of a circle around his mouth/nose. his muzzle if you will

the purpose of all of this as far as i can tell is if one was going to cradle his face gently in their hands, the pads of their thumbs would fit right in the dip below his cheekbone. his face is ergonomic probably in several ways

side note but one thing abt this dude is his face makes 0 sense. if you were to paint this man from memory you would assume things that catch the light on his face are his nose his cheekbone maybe his bottom lip? but no somehow its always his browline his temple his nose and then not even his mouth but slightly above his mouth. you would think his cheekbones catch more but they actually arent the most prominent part of his bone structure in profile, it's always his browbone and the part of his face above his mouth. again his muzzle if you will

like look at this. makes no sense. my condolences to max verstappen, he should have been the muse of a generation of painters in the beaux-arts in 1826. he should be eating cheese and drinking wine and drunkenly telling 20 art students about his cats while they all frantically sketch him in charcoal. instead he has to drive cars

we've gone on a tangent. the point is his mouth is super prominent his cheekbones are wide he has kinda arched eyebrows that make his eyes look very round and of course right above his mouth his cheek has this little dip which is designed so someone could cradle his face in their hands and fit the pads of their thumbs there and say look i can hold my entire world in my hands! and kind of shake him around a bit. also he has whiskers

like basically this is what he looks like. exact same bone structure

anyway im now deep in pinterest and have successfully resisted the urge to annotate all these images with little arrows and circles like theyre sports plays so i'm hoping i got my point across anyway. i also really like his hair because it's super dense and looks like you could pull it really hard with no repercussions and i like his wrists because they look really strong but we dont need to get into all that. thank you for the question, it was fun to answer!

#someitmes i look at this dude and just think wow. he really is some sort of creature

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patrycarro · 2 days ago

Text

TS3 - Rossmere (WIP)

ENG:

(No environmental mods here, just my trusty NVIDIA filters. )

So yeah, this is what I’ve been working on over the past month.

The CAW tool is honestly a bit of a mess in some aspects, but at the same time, it’s incredibly fascinating how much you can create with it. I’ve edited other worlds before, but I had never built one completely from scratch. It’s a massive time sink and takes a lot of effort—but trust me, it’s 100% worth it.

Now, have I mentioned how much I hate terrain sculpting? No? Well, here it goes: I HATE IT. It’s by far the most tedious part of the entire process. But hey, that’s finally done—and now I get to dive into my favorite part: building.

I genuinely thought I’d never get here. 😭

Rossmere is beautiful, isn’t it? I know it’s hard to imagine it bustling with life, skyscrapers towering over the streets, Sims everywhere... when right now it all looks so empty. But I promise you, in my head, it’s already amazing.

Come on, have a little faith—when have I ever let you down?

And yes, just to confirm what you’ve probably already guessed: it’s a city. My main inspiration comes from parts of Los Angeles (mostly), with touches of Brooklyn and Miami here and there. But just to be clear: I’m not trying to recreate any of them. I’m simply taking the elements I love most and blending them into a world that feels uniquely mine.

Since I know you're curious for more details, here’s a little preview:

Currently, the world uses the Sunlit Tides lighting, but the water is too clear and I’m not completely happy with it, so I’ll probably change it. Roaring Heights might be an option—it has the kind of tone I’ve always wanted and suits the style of this city much better.

As always, I’m not using any CC—but I will be using some Store content and a couple of mods. If you’re familiar with my previous builds, you can probably guess which ones I mean. That said, I’m planning to add an amusement park this time around, so I’ll likely bring in a few new mods just for that.

I’ll be using every single expansion pack—no exceptions.

Rossmere will have three ports—none of them will include a houseboat with Sims living in it.

The water level is set above 30, so you’ll be able to place dive lots without any issues. I won’t be including any myself, though—it’s not something I’m personally interested in, and I like leaving that as something special for Isla Paradiso.

Right now, the world contains 140 lots—some of them will be left empty so you can add your own builds. I’ve also put a lot of work into routing to ensure performance stays smooth. I’ll try not to overload the builds for that same reason.

I plan to release both a populated and an unpopulated version, each available in both Spanish and English.

From now on, I’ll be sharing all my progress with you so you can keep me company on this journey. I skipped over the terrain sculpting and layout process because, well… it wasn’t anything worth showing off. And honestly? You would’ve gotten tired of watching me rework it again and again. The final version looks nothing like the first. The idea was always there, and so was the vision—but I’ve refined it a lot over the past few weeks.

To make the wait feel a bit shorter, I’ll be posting the builds I’m making for Rossmere on my Patreon as I complete them.

So stay tuned—some really exciting things are coming your way. 💙

If you have any questions or doubts, feel free to ask me anytime.

xoxo

SPA:

Así que sí, esto es en lo que he estado trabajando el último mes.

La herramienta CAW es un desastre en algunos aspectos, pero también es absolutamente fascinante todo lo que se puede llegar a crear con ella. Ya había editado otros mundos antes, aunque nunca había hecho uno desde cero, y la verdad es que exige muchísimo esfuerzo y tiempo… pero vale completamente la pena.

Ahora bien, ¿os he dicho ya lo mucho que odio modelar el terreno? ¿No? Pues ahí va: LO DETESTO. Sin duda, es la parte más tediosa de todo el proceso. Por suerte, ya está hecho, y ahora empieza mi parte favorita: construir.

Pensé que nunca iba a llegar. 😭

Rossmere es maravillosa, ¿a que sí? Sé que cuesta imaginarla llena de vida, con rascacielos y Sims por todas partes cuando ahora mismo está tan vacía, pero os prometo que en mi cabeza ya es alucinante.

Venga, tened un poco de fe en mí. ¿Cuándo os he decepcionado?

Y aunque probablemente ya lo habíais adivinado, lo confirmo por si acaso: sí, es una ciudad. Me estoy inspirando sobre todo en zonas de Los Ángeles, con toques de Brooklyn y Miami. Pero ojo: no estoy intentando replicarlas, solo tomar lo que más me gusta de cada una y juntarlo en un mundo que encaje con mis gustos y preferencias.

Y como sé que queréis más detalles, os adelanto algunas cositas:

Actualmente, el mundo tiene implementada la iluminación de Sunlit Tides, pero el agua es demasiado clara y no termina de convencerme, así que probablemente la cambie. La de Roaring Heights podría ser una opción: su tono se acerca mucho más a lo que siempre he querido y encaja mejor con el estilo de esta ciudad.

Como siempre, nada de contenido personalizado, aunque sí usaré algunos objetos de la Store y un par de mods. Si me conocéis, ya os imagináis cuáles son, porque los he utilizado en muchas de mis construcciones anteriores. Aun así, como quiero hacer un parque de atracciones, probablemente añada algunos nuevos a la lista.

Voy a utilizar todas las expansiones del juego, sin excepción.

Habrá tres puertos, pero ninguna casa flotante habitada.

He establecido el nivel del agua sobre 30, así que podréis colocar solares para hacer submarinismo sin problema. Yo no incluiré ninguno porque, sinceramente, no es algo que me interese demasiado; me gusta que siga siendo algo exclusivo de Isla Paradiso.

Actualmente, el mundo tiene 140 solares (varios estarán vacíos para que podáis colocar vuestras propias construcciones). He trabajado mucho el tema del enrutamiento para que el rendimiento no se vea afectado, y también intentaré no sobrecargar demasiado los solares por el mismo motivo.

Habrá una versión poblada y otra sin poblar, y ambas estarán disponibles en español e inglés.

A partir de ahora, compartiré con vosotros todos los avances que vaya haciendo, para que me hagáis un poco de compañía en este viaje. Me he ahorrado mostraros el proceso de modelado y distribución porque, sinceramente, no era nada digno de admiración. Y para qué mentir: también porque os habríais cansado de verme cambiarlo todo una y otra vez. La versión final no se parece en nada a la inicial. La idea siempre estuvo ahí, y también la intención, pero la he pulido muchísimo estas semanas.

Y para que la espera se os haga más llevadera, iré subiendo a mi Patreon las construcciones que vaya haciendo para Rossmere según las vaya terminando.

Así que ya sabéis, estad atentos, que se vienen cosas muy chulas. 💙

Y si tenéis alguna pregunta o duda, no os cortéis y preguntadme lo que sea.

¡Un abrazo!

#ts3 #the sims 3 #sims 3 #s3 caw #s3cc #rossmere

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arachnidseyes · 3 days ago

Text

─⋅⋆⁺𖤐

CALLS AND CONNECTIONS

Damian Wayne x Constantine! Reader

A/N: Previous. Fem reader. Just a short little half chapter because I wanted them to talk a little more before the next chapter 👀. wc: 910

Your blaring ringtone wakes you up. The rather uncommon sound is loud and abrupt. Groaning, you pick your head up from where it's stuffed into your pillow and squint your blurry eyes at the contact name.

“Damian😾”

Before your sleep addled mind can even begin to comprehend how strange that is, you swipe to answer and mumble a confused,

“Damian?”

His voice comes from the other end, deadpan and static.

“Yes, Constantine. It’s me.”

You can see the eye roll so clearly when he says that.

“What's wrong?”

The most likely reason you can come up with for why The Son of Batman could possibly be calling you is that there might be an end of the world scenario happening.

“Nothing’s wrong— Did you just wake up?”

You sniff, look around the tussled sheets of the white hotel bed and simply answer,

“Yeah?”

“Where are you?”

“London.”

“It’s currently 12pm in London.”

“…Yeah?”

He scoffs and mumbles some Arabic words that sound vaguely like insults.

“Well, clearly you’re not busy but If you want me to hang up I will.”

He hears sheets shuffling and a huff come from his earpiece as you clamber into a more comfortable position.

“Wait, so why are you calling?”

He hates the scratchy tiredness of your voice, he hates that he now knows what you sound like after just waking up. He hates how stupidly intimate it feels.

He sighs to himself as he lands on another roof.

“I just wanted to… talk.”

You stare at the ceiling, convinced you’re not actually understanding what he means.

“Talk?”

He clicks his tongue harshly,

“Yes, Constantine. I believe it's called ‘catching up’.”

Huh. A moment of disbelief comes and goes, you speak into the phone.

“Ok, well… How’s it going?”

You can't help but chuckle when you ask that. This entire situation is rather chuckle-worthy.

“I'm currently on patrol. It's been rather quiet.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Unlikely, It might just mean that crime’s gotten smarter or I've gotten sloppy.”

“Right, because that's likely.”

There's a pause over the line. It's clear neither of you are used to phone calls that aren't about end of the world scenarios. After listening to the sound of his breaths as he leaps from rooftop to rooftop, you finally build up enough courage in you.

“I asked Zatanna if I could join her tour….as another act.”

He almost slips on the ledge he just jumped to. The night he patched you up was only a week ago, he was very much not expecting you to take his advice to heart.

“What did she say?”

“Well, she definitely wasn't expecting it, and I can tell she's a little… nervous but she said I could do something small to start, like an intermission between the real acts.”

He hums, stopping to pet a stray cat he passes.

“Is she making you pull rabbits out of hats and calling that an act?”

“Yes, actually. Remember when I explained demonic animal persuasion to you?”

He hums in confirmation. Of course he does, he remembers everything, especially really cool demon animal magic.

“Yeah so, obviously demons who can look like animals are much better as an act than actual animals, Since people just can’t go without animal acts, apparently.”

You both share sounds of disgust.

Another moment of silence passes, no sounds except your sheet shuffling and Robin’s breaths as he patrols the rooftops over Gotham. He breaks the silence this time.

“How long is the tour?”

“Uh, well we start in Europe and-”

“Hold on.”

He interrupts and you hear grunts, thumps, shouts and clangs from your phone speaker. You patiently wait for him to be done rounding up whatever goons he's just found, gazing at the curtain covered windows of your hotel room. You grumble at the lack of sunlight coming through the white fabric. London weather, no wonder you slept past noon.

“Continue.”

“Right so… I asked Zatanna if we'll be going to Gotham—”

He pauses while confiscating the last unconscious man's gun. Why would you ask that?

“—and she said yes, in a few months time. I mean, I guess it doesn't really matter cus you could go to any city in the world if you wanted to but y’know.”

“Are you asking me to come see you perform?”

“….Yes.”

He grips his katana tighter, suppressing a smile even though no one would see it.

“I’ll be there.”

“…Cool.”

Damian briefly thanks his blessings that you're too sleepy to come up with another stupid joke about fishnets or something.

Feeling like you’re hogging the conversation a little, you ask him about what cases he’s working on currently, how his doctor program is going, if he has any juicy batfamily drama to share.

He seems happy to do most of the talking, to your surprise. It actually might be the most you’ve ever heard him talk. You find yourself drifting off to the sound of his voice telling you about Duke’s latest romantic blunder.

He tries not to notice how your little uh-huh’s and mhm’s get quieter and less frequent. He clicks his tongue when he hears your soft sleeping breaths, even though he isn't sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. Did he put you to sleep because he was boring or calming? Why the hell does he even care?

He clicks his tongue again but at himself this time.

He especially hates how long he stays on the line listening to your breaths.

─⋅⋆⁺𖤐

#damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #constantine! reader #damian wayne x you #dc x reader #damian al ghul x reader #damian al ghul x you

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revelboo · 2 days ago

Note

(Shockwave voice) My observations of the recent behavior among our faction's ranks have led me to a logical conclusion on the biology of our species... this planet seems to have ideal conditions to activate a dormant protocol in the processor, among other things. All of this centers around the native sophont life forms, which are not only capable of spark-bonding to our own species... this bond can kindle new sparks with a nearly 100% success rate, their anatomy is optimal for tactile interfacing, and roughly 50% of their population is capable of carrying a physically developing protoform to term in a specialized organ... I have exchanged notes with Tarantulas on the subject.

So far these organisms, humans, seem to be unique among other alien life forms in their high compatibility, but I have extrapolated a theory from the interactions between captured specimens and their caretakers. A coordinated program to pair compatible humans and mechs will not only create a boom in our dwindling population, the operation to cyberform Earth may accelerate exponentially. Any cross-species bondmates are removed from the human gene pool as they devote their energy to their Cybertronian partners and hybrid sparklings; within generations, depending on the aggression of the operation, fewer and fewer humans will reproduce with their own kind... their lifespans are short without our direct intervention, we would not be waiting long before Earth is entirely within our control.

With your permission, Lord Megatron, I can begin drafting plans for a long-term study... passive observation has sufficed until now, but my research would benefit from volunteers. Perhaps even mandatory participation.

🤣 He would. 🔞 Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Research

Shockwave

• “Harder,” you groan, a leg sliding against his hip as Thundercracker moves against you, hips snapping as you cling to him. Back arching at the feel of his spike stretching you and driving deep again and again. ‘Your position isn’t optimal. Try elevating your human’s hips,’ intones a voice and you scream spotting Shockwave just standing there watching you two go at it. How had he got into the habsuite and how long has he been just watching? Mood ruined, you stare at the purple lunatic as his head tips.

• “Get out, you son of a glitch!” Thundercracker snarls, wings flared aggressively as he tries to hide as much of you from view as possible from Shockwave. How had the Pit spawned scientist even gotten into his habsuite? And you’re naked under him, his spike buried in you as you hide your face against his neck. ‘Are you currently bonded to your human?’ Shockwave asks, awkwardly cradling a datapad against himself with his cannon so he can make notes. ‘Is this an attempt to establish nanites prior to sparking or simply recreational?’

• “Get out!” Optic dimming when Thundercracker lifts an arm, his weapons system humming to life in threat, Shockwave’s antenna flatten back. That’s the third one that’s become irrationally resistant to answering simple questions or letting him assist them. Showing them the most efficient ways to interface with their humans can only facilitate his end goals. So why are they all so angry about his help? Except Vortex, that one had invited him to join him and his human and had laughed when he’d declined.

• Leaving Thundercracker’s habsuite before the seeker can decide to fire upon him, he makes a notation on his datapad. And while several Decepticons are making use of the research material data files he’d distributed with videos showing humans coupling in optimal positions, he’d been disappointed to realize it was being utilized by Decepticons without humans for recreational masturbation. Though, he does plan on sending out another data file composition in the hopes it might encourage more Decepticons to go find humans of their own. If they’re getting off to the videos, it stands to reason they’re interested in humans.

• Using his override to enter another habsuite, he vents in exasperation. ‘Interfacing in that manner accomplishes nothing useful,’ he growls and Skywarp’s head lifts from between his human’s thighs, optics bright. And the purple seeker does fire at him, face twisting in outrage. ‘The human sucking your spike at least introduces nanites,’ he snarls in parting as he ducks into the hall. Why are they all so resistant to saving the Cybertronian race? Making a note, he heads for the Constructicons’s habsuite. Hook is a medic, surely he’ll listen to logic.

#transformers x reader #thundercracker x reader #thundercracker #shockwave #valveplug

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millilps · 2 days ago

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SAY IT LOUDER

i stopped shaving years ago after trying that for a few years in middle school. no one ever said anything about shaving, it was simply something everyone expected from me. but for me it was sensory hell, skin hurting, stupid tiny cuts on the back of my legs that hurt more than papercuts. i hated it.

then i stopped. i was uncomfortable at first, i thought that everyone would judge me and say mean things... no one did except my parents. and they still do. every now and then, now that it's getting warmer, they'll suggest i wear long pants when we go out. i simply say no. the other day i looked mom straight in the eyes and said "it's pointless for you to keep telling me that my options are either long pants or shaving. i won't do either, and the more you say it the more i won't" and honestly setting boundaries about my own body (and most importantly gender expression as i'm non-binary) felt so good although i do still feel judged by my parents' eyes - reason why i try to show off my legs as much as possible. annoyed? good. but you know what? i'm happy. two days ago i went to a pride parade and i heard a person near me say "it's so nice to see girls comfortable in having and showing their leg hair!" and not a girl but it felt INCREDIBLE!! yes!! women have hair!!! and if you think they shouldn't then ASK YOURSELF WHY THIS STANDARD EVEN FUCKING STARTED

i have so many stories about shamelessly having leg hair. one day i was out and waiting for a friend, and there was a kid. the kid asked her mom "is that a boy or a girl?" and, on one side, i'm sad i didn't have the time to answer "guess", but on the other side i'm incredibly happy that the mom said a girl because that means that kid will grow up knowing that everyone has leg hair and she shouldn't be ashamed of it or have to conform to a standard imposed by pure bullshit (one of my parents' argument is always "but it's dirty and you look like you don't take care of yourself" reason why i unironically started washing my leg hair with shampoo and honestly i can't recommend this enough. seriously it always makes my hair feel softer and like... it's not going anywhere. so i will take care of it.)

it makes me sad the way cis women are so terrified of and disgusted by their own body hair. and i'm not talking "i have to shave for sensory reasons" i mean i keep seeing videos of women using hair identifier spray on their faces and hands so they can shave the tiniest barely-there bits of peach fuzz that came free with their bodies. hair that serves a purpose and that purpose is cleanliness and protection. i mean when i was in elementary school girls who had barely hit puberty were talking about shaving their arms. i mean full-grown adult women who will have a breakdown if they see two days of stubble on their legs/crotch/ jaw/pits because god forbid you don't look like a perfect plastic barbie doll. god forbid your body that keeps you alive comes with hair that may not be soft and glossy and photogenic. some women are so afraid of having any hair apart from their head and eyebrows that they've uno reversed themselves into six different kinds of gender dysphoria that they can't recognize as such because they're convinced that this unnatural state of highly-groomed capital-informed beauty is how women have always been. you're so scared of looking "gross" or "ugly" or "mannish" that you can't even look at your body in the mirror and recognize what it is. sister you are an ape. why are you so determined to deny your nature.

#SISTER YOU ARE AN APE #nonbinary #STOP SHAVING YOU HAVE LITERALLY NO REASON TO DO SO!!!#STOP LISTENING TO STUPID SOCIETAL STANDARDS BASED ON BULLSHIT!!!#HAVING HAIR IS BEAUTIFUL!!!#EMBRACE THE MONKE

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sweethoneyjays · 3 days ago

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second law ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ s.j.y

❀ ◦ paring ◦ tutor loser jake x reader ❀ ◦ genre ◦ fluff crack ❀ ◦ synopsis ◦ jake learns that some forces--especially her--can't be calculated. ❀ ◦ warnings ◦ extremely corny and cheesy hehehe ❀ ◦ word count ◦ 3.3k

❀ ◦ masterlist

❀ ◦ note ◦ this one is really corny n cheesy, couldnt help myself im such a sucker for loser nerd jake :D hehe thank you @lovegreenie for beta reading <3 ❀ ◦ taglist ◦ @kristynaaah @beenusflytrap @nari-roll

You always had great grades, the model student people looked up to or envied.

So how the hell did you end up needing a tutor?

Physics. that’s how. no matter how hard you tried, your grades kept sinking, dragging down your otherwise perfect record.

"I don’t understand," you mutter, staring at your latest test. "I study, I try-"

"Which is exactly why it’s frustrating," your professor sighs, adjusting his glasses. "you're brilliant, yet physics keeps holding you back."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "I’ve done every extra worksheet, every review session-"

"Which is why I’m assigning you a tutor."

"A tutor??" you exclaim, deflated. never in your life did you think you’d need one.

And that’s how you ended up here. in the library. waiting for him.

Sim Jaeyun. The quiet, keep-to-himself guy with a small circle of friends. The one who nerds out over anything and everything science and math. Hooray.

No one really paid much attention to him, except for those who picked on him. You never really had a reason to notice him either. But you had to admit, even with all that awkward energy, he was still ridiculously good-looking.

And yet, that said attractive nerd was 15 minutes late.

The library was eerily quiet. Most students had already left, the after-school emptiness making the stillness even more pronounced.

Suddenly, a loud thump broke the silence.

You turned toward the libary entrance just in time to see jake stumbling in, books slipping from his arms, backpack barely clinging to his shoulder, papers fluttering to the floor.

wow. what a mess.

You immediately stood up and rushed over to help him pick up his things.

Jake's eyes widened as he finally registered who was crouching beside him. Miss Perfect, the girl everyone admired (or feared), mere inches away.

"oh no- I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean to- you don’t have to-"

He paused, staring at you.

wow she looks prettier close up-

jake. SNAP OUT OF IT-

"What? oh no, it’s fine, let me help." you say, crouching down to pick up the scattered papers.

"I- woah, wait- are you here for tutoring?" The boy in front of you pauses, eyes widening in shock as he hurriedly pushes his thick-framed glasses back up his nose.

You nod slowly, just as confused as he is. "yes…? you’re my tutor…"

"Oh- yes- uhm- I’m so sorry I’m late!" jake stammers, clearly flustered. "Professor Kim needed my help with some files, and then I had to drop off books at the teachers’ lounge, and then I bumped into junho, seojin, and the other jocks, and then-"

"Woah, okay, calm down, jake. it’s fine. catch your breath, you’re turning red" you cut him off, grabbing the last of the papers that flew everywhere.

Jake exhales sharply, still looking beyond apologetic. "I’m so sorry, we can start now- I didn’t mean to hold you up." He bows slightly before mumbling a quick thank you, then makes his way toward the study table.

And let’s be real, you were the one holding him here. After all, you were the one who needed tutoring after class hours.

You raise an eyebrow before following after him, both of you settling into your seats, awkward tension thick in the air.

"So, um… nice to meet you, jake. I’m-"

"Miss model student…" he cuts you off, catching you completely off guard. Your mouth falls open, frozen in place.

"Oh- uh- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt" jake stammers. "I was just… curious. you’re, like, the top student, so I was confused when I saw you were scheduled for tutoring with me…"

Clearly, your reputation preceded you- maybe a little too much.

"Yeah, well, I’m not perfect" you sigh, rubbing your temple. "physics has been eating me out lately."

Jake stiffens. his face flushes. his mind had clearly gone somewhere else.

Noticing his reaction, you sit up abruptly, waving your hands. "I mean- physics has just been really difficult…" you clarify, trying to clear the air.

Jake coughs, avoiding eye contact. "I uh- you- anyways! let’s just start, yeah?" He fumbles to open his physics textbook, practically using it as a shield to hide his face.

You raise an eyebrow, amused. "wow, already hiding? what, scared of me or the equations?"

Jake exhales dramatically. "you and physics. a deadly combination."

"Rude. I’m very approachable."

"Sure" jake snorts, flipping a page.

And just like that, tutoring begins.

Jake rambles on and on about different lessons, effortlessly explaining formulas and theories. In all honesty, you were shocked by how good he was at tutoring, his words flowed naturally, making even the most complicated concepts kind of make sense.

Your jumbled confusion on each topic slowly but surely started clearing up.

And that’s how it went for the next few weeks, meeting after class, studying together. The awkward air between you gradually faded as you got closer, sometimes taking breaks just to chat about the most random things.

At first, tutoring felt like a chore. but after a few sessions? jake realizes he kinda likes sitting here with you.

Maybe it’s the way you scribble furiously in your notebook. maybe it’s the way your brow furrows when you’re thinking.

Or maybe…just maybe. it’s the fact that you’re actually listening to him.

Somewhere between lessons and lingering study sessions, tutoring stopped feeling like an obligation.

Before jake knew it, you were part of his routine, eating lunch together, sometimes with his friends, sometimes without. ✧˖°.

Today was warm, the cafeteria buzzing with students, some focused on getting their nutrients for the day, others cramming like their lives depended on it.

And here you were, sitting at jake’s table with his buddies, eating pasta while reviewing for your upcoming test. jake was doing the same, his head buried in his notes.

Then, out of nowhere, a crumpled piece of paper hit him.

"Loser" junho sneered from the other table, his fellow jocks chuckling along.

Jake sighed, pulling the paper from his hair while his friends shot the jock a look of pure disgust.

"Don’t mind him, dude. he’s just a stupid, insecure jerk" sunghoon muttered.

You pick up the crumpled paper, rolling it between your fingers for a moment, then, with precise aim, you flick it back onto their table.

It lands with a heavy plop, right into junho’s tray.

Sauce splashes everywhere, streaking across the table, his shirt-

and right into his eye.

Junho jerks back, hissing through clenched teeth as he wipes his face.

The jocks freeze, stunned into silence, one of them lets out a snort, barely holding back a chuckle as junho wipes sauce from his eye.

Jake stares at you, full-body stunned.

"You know" you hum, you turn back to him and grabbing your notes, "newton’s third law says every action has an equal and opposite reaction."

You shoot Jake a knowing look.

"Consider that my demonstration."

Jake nearly chokes on air.

Holy shit. That was attractive.

All of a sudden, jay plops down beside jake, sighing dramatically.

"I’m so screwed. I haven’t studied for this exam at all."

"Same here" sunghoon mumbles, sipping his juice box. "I’m just gonna wing it at this point."

"Says you-" heeseung scoffs. "you could easily get a sports scholarship with your ice skating or whatever."

"Yeah, well, you probably need to maintain good grades either way to keep a scholarship, no?" jungwon muses, taking a bite out of his ham and cheese sandwich.

That’s when jay suddenly turns to you and jake, clasping his hands together in desperation.

"You gotta help me, guys. I cannot fail this" he pleads, pulling his best pouty face.

You let out a light chuckle while jake rolls his eyes dramatically.

"Maybe you should’ve thought of that before the test instead of right now" you remark, flipping a page in your book.

Jay only pouts harder before scooting closer to jake, peeking at his notes.

"What the- when did we even learn this?" jay’s face contorts in horror, barely comprehending the sheer complexity of jake’s notes.

"Oh, you are so cooked" jungwon laughs.

"Don’t act like you know what any of this means" jay retorts, picking up jake’s notebook and shoving it toward heeseung, jungwon, and sunghoon.

"I was reading that" jake deadpans, his lips pressed into a tight line.

"Oh shit, we are so cooked" sunghoon mutters as heeseung’s eyes widen at the mess of equations, symbols, and absolute nonsense scrawled across the pages.

The bickering between the four continues while you glance over at jake, who just wanted his notebook back. He’s pouting slightly.

Cute.

You tap Jake’s shoulder before sliding your notebook toward him.

"You can use my notes. they may not be exactly the same, but I’m sure they’re close enough" you say with a small smile.

Jake looks at you, a soft blush creeping onto his face.

"Oh- you didn’t have to- uhm- thank you" he stammers, smiling sheepishly as he takes the notebook and flips it open.

You scoot closer so you can both scan through the pages together, an innocent gesture on your part, but one that makes Jake short-circuit instantly.

He clears his throat, trying desperately to keep his cool.

Then, you start talking.

"I’m kinda scared for the physics test later" you mumble softly, glancing at him. The closeness doesn’t seem to bother you at all, meanwhile, jake is actively trying not to tweak out right then and there.

"You got this" he reassures, forcing himself to sound normal. "you studied hard for this. And all thanks to your amazing tutor." he wiggles his eyebrows playfully, trying to act smooth and nonchalant.

You giggle. "you’re right. thanks, yunie" you say, flashing him a smile before turning back to your notes.

Oh.

Oh, that nickname did numbers on him.

Jake really tries to focus on the words in the notebook… he really, REALLY does. but the words blur into meaningless scribbles. Velocity, acceleration, force-

Why did every physics term suddenly sound like it was describing his heart rate?

He is so down bad.

Not to mention, you’re extremely close to him right now.

How could someone so smart, so cool, so pretty be sitting this close to him?

Then, the bell rings.

Jake snaps out of his daze, blinking rapidly.

Crap.

So much for reviewing.

You get up and pack your things. "good luck to all of us" you say to the group.

"We lost the war before it even began" jay sighs in defeat.

"nice try, soldier" jungwon laughs, patting jay’s back in mock sympathy.

"See you guys in the afterlife" heeseung declares dramatically before walking off with sunghoon.

Just as you’re about to leave, jake gently places his hands on your shoulders, catching you off guard.

You turn to him, only to find him looking straight into your eyes, his soft smile warm and reassuring. His lips look plumper than usual-

Woah. What.

You snap out of it, quickly refocusing.

"You got this. I know you’re gonna ace this test" jake says, flashing that award-winning golden retriever smile, the one you’ve come to love and admire.

"Thank you, yunie. we got this" you smile back, determination running through you.

With that, you both head your separate ways, nervous, but confident.

✧˖°.

It had been a week, and to say you were nervous was an understatement.

You sat in your classroom, your friends chatting beside you, but you barely registered their voices. Your leg bounced up and down impatiently, eyes glued to the front, waiting for your latest physics test grade to drop.

The professor walked in, prompting everyone to rush to their seats.

"Okay, everyone! moment of truth. test grades" your professor announced, placing a thick stack of papers down on the desk.

One by one, names were called.

Then finally… yours.

You swallowed hard, standing up and making your way to the front.

This was it. the moment you had been waiting for. if you failed this, you’d be stuck with a C for the whole semester. which wasn’t the worst, but of course… you had standards.

You reached out for your paper, mentally preparing yourself.

And so what if you fail? It’s just a grade. grades don’t define you! what matters is that you tried your best. sure, you might be disappointed, but at least you didn’t give up. failing isnt the worse thing to happen, it just means you have more time to improve and do better next time-

"Well done. You passed with flying colors.” your professor said with a smile, handing you your paper.

An A.

A solid 92%.

No flippin way.

The moment class ended, you bolted out the door, excitement rushing through you.

And you only had one person in mind.

One person to thank.

Jake.

You looked around everywhere, scanning the halls, the field, anywhere he might be.

That’s when you stumbled upon Jay and Jungwon.

"Hey, have you guys seen jake? I’ve been looking for him everywhere" you panted, slightly out of breath.

"Oh, he rushed to the locker room. forgot his soccer uniform or something" jungwon responded.

You quickly thanked them before making your way toward the field locker room.

"Jake?" you called out, walking past the building near the soccer field. you were about to call out again when you heard it, voices coming from inside.

At first, you didn’t pay much attention.

Until you realized what they were talking about.

"You think you can just get away from me and stop being my personal puppy dog just because you have a girlfriend now? How did a low-life nerd like you even pull Miss Perfect?"

Seojin. one of those jocks.

You peeked into the locker room, heart pounding, only to see three jocks surrounding jake.

"I bet she doesn’t even like you" junho chuckled. "Probably just using you to keep her grades up."

"That’s not true" jake sighed, clearly exhausted and done with the whole charade.

Seojin laughed, stepping closer.

"Did you willingly kneel before her? follow her commands like the pushover you are? or did she seduce you or something? she looks like a sl—"

WACK.

Jake’s fist collided with Seojin’s face, the sharp impact echoing through the locker room.

You gasped softly, eyes widening in shock.

Seojin stumbled back, crashing onto the floor, while the other jocks froze, completely caught off guard by jake’s sudden action.

Jake exhaled sharply, his jaw clenched.

"Watch your mouth." he said lowly, stepping toward seojin, who was still on the ground.

"Talk me down, beat me up, do whatever you want. but don’t speak ill about her."

And with that, he turned and walked away.

You barely had time to process what had just happened before jake stepped outside, only to immediately spot you.

His eyes widened.

"What are you doing here?" jake asks, his voice laced with panic.

He looks truly petrified at the thought of you witnessing what had just happened in the locker room.

You just stare at him, like a deer caught in headlights.

"How long were you out here?" he asks again, softer this time.

"Long enough to see you punch seojin" you say, laughing lightly.

Jake’s soul visibly leaves his body.

Before you can say anything else, he grabs your wrist and drags you away from the locker room, leading you to a bench across the field.

Now seated, jake nervously fiddles with his fingers, looking everywhere but at you.

A moment of silence passes before he finally speaks.

"Did you hear what seojin said about you?"

You glance at him, a slight pout forming on your lips.

"Well… yeah, I did" you admit softly. "what he said is completely untrue, by the way. I’d never use you, jake."

Jake sighs, running a hand through his hair. The last thing he ever wanted was for you to get caught in his mess.

"I know" he murmurs. "I just can’t stand it when they talk badly about you."

You tilt your head, a teasing glint in your eyes.

“aww you care about me.” you smirk.

Jake playfully rolls his eyes at you.

"Keep this up, and I might start thinking you actually like me" you joke.

Jake exhales sharply, staring down at his hands.

"Yeah, well… maybe I do."

Your breath catches slightly.

Jake’s eyes widen, like he just realized what he said.

"OH- I mean, I don’t like you- no, I mean, I like and care about you, but not in that way. Or maybe in that way? I mean, yes, I do care for you, but ‘like’ is a big word, and you know, as a friend- so maybe I don’t like you? But I definitely do-"

Jake immediately slaps a hand over his mouth, effectively stopping himself from any further blabbering.

His face is fully red. His ears burning.

You stare at him, jaw slack, a blush of your own creeping onto your cheeks.

You blink at Jake, completely stunned.

Jake stares at you.

You stare at Jake.

Then without warning, he jumps up from the bench and starts sprinting across the field.

"JAKE?!" you yell, utterly baffled.

"Im sorry im not ready for this conversation yet!" he shouts over his shoulder, running like his life depends on it.

You groan, but instead of letting him escape, you take off after him.

"You don’t get to confess and flee, you coward!" you holler, feet pounding against the grass.

Jake shrieks, like actually shrinks, when he realizes you’re chasing him.

The two of you tear across the field in a ridiculous chase, neither willing to slow down. until jake realizes you’re actually catching up.

Panicking, he twists mid-run and blurts out, "okay fine i like you! stop chasing me!"

You stumble slightly, but keep running, laughing breathlessly. "then stop running and say it like a normal person!"

Jake comes to a stop, hands on his knees as he catches his breath. You skid to a stop beside him, arms crossed, waiting.

He looks up, cheeks flushed, eyes soft.

"I like you" he says, finally, properly.

You stare at him for a moment…

"Good, because I like you too" you grin.

Jake blinks. "wait… really??"

You laugh, nudging his shoulder. "yes you idiot."

Jake lets out a choked gasp, processing the moment, before dramatically falling onto the grass like he’s just been slain.

"I cannot believe this" he groans, staring up at the sky. "I nearly DIED from embarrassment just for you to like me back this whole time?"

You burst into laughter, collapsing onto the grass beside him.

"Maybe if you stopped running, you wouldn’t have suffered so much" you tease.

Jake turns his head to glare at you, breath still uneven.

"Never chase me again" he grumbles. "You are fucking terrifying when you’re running after me."

Despite the complaint, a small, sheepish smile tugs at his lips.

Jake dramatically throws his hands over his eyes. "I think this is the most emotionally exhausting tutoring session of my life."

You snort, nudging his arm. "tutoring? Pretty sure chasing you across the field wasn’t part of the lesson plan.”

"Actually 🤓☝️" Jake says, lifting a finger, "newton’s second law states that force equals mass times acceleration. In this scenario, your terrifying speed was the accelaration, my flimsy self was the mass, and the sheer impact of realizing I really, really like you was the force."

You blink at him. "did you just-"

Jake grins, finally sitting up. "see? I taught you physics and confessed my love all in one session. multi-talented."

You roll your eyes, laughing. "If only all your physics lessons were this entertaining."

"I’ll make them entertaining every time if it means you keep looking at me like that" jake murmurs, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

You pause, heat creeping up your face.

Jake’s eyes flicker with realization, and suddenly-

"Oh- i uhm- did I say that out loud-?”

more works here -> masterlist

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kinkyniragi · 3 days ago

Text

War Goddess

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Genre: Smut 18+

Word count: 4,8k

Summary: You are Tommy’s wife. You hear him moan in the dark, caught in another war-drenched nightmare—except this time, he´s coming in his sleep. He asks you to help him in quite a special way and you say yes...You’re not sure what terrifies you more: The violence he craves… or the power he gives you.

CN: Tons of smutty smut (but with a plot, of course ^^), Tommy forcedly being submissive, war trauma and healing attempt, heavy psychological themes tbh, Tommy being vulnerable but not able to suppress his dominant side, power and gun play, degradation, humiliation, bondage, blindfolding, kind of spicy interrogation, oral and anal stuff, edging, hard sex as usual. Please note that this is all just fantasy. Things that happen in my stories should always be consensual. Take care.

Author’s note: My longest one-shot so far…Feel free to leave comments and share my story if you enjoy it—I truly appreciate every bit of motivation to keep writing. Even though I'm not a native speaker, I'll do my best 😉

***

The bed is warm. His back is damp.

You wake before him, as you often do, your body curled against his. A fine sheen of sweat glistens on his chest, his jaw clenched. He mumbles something — unintelligible at first — then clearer, just enough for you to catch fragments.

“In the walls—"

He jolts, his hand clenching into a tight fist.

“They´re coming—"

“Hey, shh…” you whisper, trying to soothe him, but before your fingers can even find his skin, he cries out — loud, raw:

“Fuck—NO!”

He’s nowhere near waking.

You run your hand gently across his fevered cheek, but even your softest touch can’t reach him. He’s too far under — trapped in whatever nightmare his mind has pulled him back into.

“Please—” he pleads, voice cracking with anguish. “Take what you want—"

And then, startling you into stillness, you feel it: the hard press of his arousal against your stomach.

You freeze.

What the hell is happening in his head?

He shudders and turns his head. His lips part once more.

“Use me—hurt me—just don’t kill me…”

The words spill from him in a strangled mix of fear and something else — something desperate, broken, wanting. A twisted yearning that doesn’t make sense, and yet feels all too familiar to you.

You shouldn´t be aroused by what you are witnessing.

But you are.

***

You love him. That’s never been the question.

It’s what comes with loving him. The silence, the scars, the smoke that never clears. The way he disappears for days without a word. The way he comes back smelling of whiskey and gunpowder, like some battle you weren’t invited to.

Tommy has always been the hell of a dominant partner — what most would call an alpha male, without a second thought. Your safety, your well-being, they’ve always mattered to him, no doubt about that.

But only on his terms.

In daylight.

And by night.

Tommy doesn’t ask. He takes. And because you love him — and because you know he loves you, in whatever way he knows how — you’ve always let him.

***

You don’t speak of it the next day. You want. But your throat closes up.

He never talks about the war, not really. But you see it when he wakes in a cold sweat. When he touches you like he’s claiming land. When he looks at you like you’re the last thing standing between him and the abyss. But in this night, something shifted. Through the fevered haze of his words, his dreams have begun to take shape. Some buried trauma seems to claw its way to the surface — twisting, merging with an arousal that has no business being there, showing up as a wet dream in the dark. It shouldn't turn your stomach and your thighs into this aching knot of questions.

But it does.

Almost every night, Tommy lives through terror. Submission and destruction leading to a heavy climax he must be aware of the morning after... You wonder if there’s a way in — a way to reach him, to pull him from that place. To help him.

***

A week later, you're both drunk in the sitting room — the kind of drunk that slows time and peels away your last defenses. He watches you over the rim of his glass. His hair’s undone, shirt half open. His tie lies forgotten on the floor.

“You’ve been looking at me differently,” he says. His voice is low. Controlled. But not cold.

You blink. Try to smile. “Have I?”

He stands. Takes a step closer. Then another. Your little drinking session has had an unintended side effect: you're off guard now — and he's noticed. Which gives him the perfect opening to question the shift in your behavior.

“You heard me, didn’t you? That night.”

You don’t answer. But he sees it anyway. He always does.

His voice, usually sharp with command, softens unexpectedly. It disarms you more than you'd like to admit.

He stares into his glass of whiskey, thoughtful, then downs it in one swallow. Without looking up, he starts to speak.

“It was the tunnels. France. 1916. We knew they were under us. Digging. Germans. Could hear it through the fucking mud. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t breathe.”

His sudden honesty confuses you. You had hoped that sharing a few drinks might loosen his tongue, maybe draw something out of him — but you hadn’t counted on much. His illegal dealings with the whiskey trade were hard to hide from you, of course — not least because he was his own best customer, though he liked to dress it up with the word "tasting."

Still, his seasoned tolerance meant that getting him drunk enough to slip wasn’t an easy game to play. Tommy and loss of control — those were two things that almost never coexisted. At least, not in the daylight world.

So the fact that he's opening up to you now — telling you things about what he's lived through — You want to believe it’s because he’s letting go. Because something in him is softening, and he’s showing you a part of himself he doesn’t let others see.

But you know better.

You’ve known Tommy too long not to recognize the strategy behind every move he makes. Nothing he does is ever without calculation.

He’s in front of you now.

“One night... I dreamed it wasn’t them anymore. It was you. Digging through. Breaking in. Pulling me under.”

A pause. Then:

“I panic. It’s life or death — a fight to survive. But... it’s you. The woman I desire. The woman who desires me…”

His jaw tightens under the weight of the words, clenched around a knot of fear, terror, helplessness. Tears track silently down his cheeks.

You listen, spellbound, aching to reach for him — to comfort him — but his entire body is so coiled, so rigid, you know he’d likely shove your hand away in fury.

“Everything blurs. The memory… it slips, dissolves. And then—fragments. They come back. Again and again. The same dream. Every damn night. No escape. I have to—”

Beads of sweat shine on his forehead. His fingers rake through his hair, fisting it so tightly his knuckles go white.

“I have to end it. The me inside the nightmares... he needs to understand it’s over. That it’s safe to let go. That it’s time to surrender.”

He reaches into his holster. Pulls the pistol.

Hands it to you.

“Next time… when you want me, really want me… use this. Hold it to my head. Overpower me. Take me. Hurt me. Fuck me raw. Do whatever it takes to let me overcome this fucking nightmare. I really mean it. Do you understand, sweetheart?”

Your fingers close around the metal. Still warm from him.

“You trust me that much?” you whisper.

He leans down, mouth to your ear.

“I need to.”

He pauses, then adds with a sharp edge to his voice, “But don’t you fucking dare look inside the magazine, eh?”

You hold his gaze, unflinching.

Impatiently, he presses on, “Got it? I trust you. Just trust me. No hesitation. Not for a second.”

As the weight of the pistol settles in your palm, you realize he’s not asking for danger. He’s begging for freedom.

From his ghosts.

And only you can give it to him.

***

He’s already asleep when you enter. Lying on his side, arm curled under the pillow, his breath deep and steady. The moonlight drapes him in silver, catching on the line of his jaw, the slope of his shoulders, the faint sheen of sweat on his bare back.

You’ve prepared everything to make him relive the nightmare — without real danger, and with a happy ending. At least, that’s the plan.

Maybe you’ve gone too far, but here you are: wrapped in the long coat of his uniform, and beneath it, a whisper of black lace and silk over-the-knee stockings.

A femme fatale. A war goddess.

Ready to take on the fight with men and their ghosts.

Silently, you set down the items you've brought with you. A glass of cool water goes on the nightstand within his reach — he’ll need it later.

You stand there for a moment, watching. Your chest rises and falls. Faster. You know what you’re about to do. And you know what it means.

This isn’t a game to him. It never was.

You pick up the pistol. It’s heavier than you remember.

You slip onto the bed without a sound, carefully turn him around by the shoulder, straddling his hips, knees sinking into the mattress. Carefully, you slip the makeshift noose around his neck, crafted from a pair of your silk stockings. It tightens just enough to be felt — a whisper of threat, a breath of control.

He stirs as your weight settles over him but doesn’t wake. Not yet.

Your fingers trail down his chest. You feel the twitch of his muscles. His breath hitches.

You lean in, pressing your mouth to the shell of his ear. Then, with a sharp crack, you strike the wooden headboard several times with the pistol and shout his name — loud, commanding, unmistakably in charge.

“Don’t fight me, soldier,” you continue.

He tenses.

Eyes still closed, but his body wakes before he does — blood rushing, skin hot and sweaty.

You shift your weight, and his hands move instinctively to your thighs, still half-lost in whatever liminal place he drifts in.

He jolts awake, eyes wide with panic.

And that’s when you raise the pistol, slowly, deliberately, until he’s staring straight down the barrel.

Then you let the cold metal touch his temple.

He freezes.

The air turns electric.

He looks at you. Sees the gun. Sees your eyes. Besides his panic, there is something else, a slow, dark hunger blooming behind his gaze.

He exhales through his nose, sharp and hot.

You lean down and kiss him, deep and brutal, until he groans against your mouth and grabs your hips. But you don’t let him lead — not tonight.

Tonight, he’s yours.

Your fingers tighten around the pistol as you straddle him, your thighs framing his hips. With your other hand, you give the silk noose around his throat a slow, deliberate tug — just enough for him to feel your control over every breath he takes. You feel him hard beneath you — not just aroused, but wide awake now, sharp with tension. And still, he doesn’t move.

He’s waiting.

For you.

“Lift your hands above your head,” you command quietly.

He obeys.

There’s a clarity in your movements now, a calm, predatory resolve that leaves no doubt: you’re going to take exactly what you want from him.

The pistol slips soundlessly into the bulging pocket of Tommy’s military coat. Then you reach for the coarse hemp rope you had set aside — rough, unyielding, unforgiving — and begin wrapping it around his wrists. One loop, then another, until he’s bound. You secure the ends to the slatted headboard above him.

He watches you in tense, breathless silence, his chest rising and falling. You can see how hard he’s working to restrain himself, to keep from grinding hungrily against the heat between your thighs.

The oversized coat is carelessly fastened by a single button, gaping just enough to tease him with the barest glimpses of skin, of lace, of promise.

If Tommy only knew what else you were going to deny him tonight.

From the inside pocket of the coat, you draw something slick and black. Before he can register what it is, darkness swallows him whole.

Your silk sleep mask — what a perfect idea.

With his vision gone, his world narrows to sound, to sensation, to you. Every brush of fabric, every shift of weight, every breath you take.

You reach once more into the pocket where you stashed his gun, then let the heavy coat slide off your shoulders with a slow, deliberate rustle. For a moment, you wait, letting the silence stretch, then — click.

The unmistakable sound of the safety being released.

His body flinches beneath you. But he doesn’t speak.

He just lies there, blindfolded, bound, and waiting.

Ready for whatever’s coming next.

“You’ve been keeping secrets from me, soldier,” you say, voice low and even. “I think it’s time you talk.”

A pause. Then his answer, tight, unsure: “I— I don’t know what you mean…”

You slide the cold barrel of his own pistol along his temple. Not hard. Just enough to remind him who's holding the cards tonight.

“Start with what you think about when you’re alone. When you’re hard. When no one’s watching.”

He shifts under you. The ropes strain softly against the wood.

His answer comes hesitantly. “I… I think about things. Sometimes.”

You let the silence stretch, the pistol resting lightly against his temple.

“Go on.”

“I imagine… being under you. Not… not just like this. More.”

You lean in, your lips grazing his ear. “More how?”

He swallows. “Your thighs… I think about your thighs. And you… above me.”

You smile. “Above you?” you echo, feigning confusion. “You mean like now? Or do you want something more than just to be pinned?”

He says nothing.

“I think I know what you mean,” you continue softly. “You want me to sit on your face, don’t you? Use you like you’re nothing but a tongue.”

His breath catches.

“Say it.”

A beat. Then, quietly: “...yes, ma’am.”

You don’t move.

“Say it properly. I want to hear it.”

His voice is thick with shame and arousal. “I want you to sit on my face… ma’am. Use me.”

You feel it in the tension of his body—every muscle pulled taut beneath you, not from resistance, but from the unbearable strain of surrender. It isn’t the act of pleasuring you with his mouth that costs him; he's done that before, eagerly, with a fervor that bordered on reverence.

No, it’s the confession.

The admission that he wants to be used.

That he craves your weight, your power, your indifference to his pleasure. That he needs you to strip him of the armor he wears even in your bed.

And still, some part of you waits for the snap—for the moment he can’t take it anymore, when he breaks the ropes or tears off the blindfold, flips you beneath him and reclaims the control that defines him. You see the war in his clenched jaw, in the way his hips shift beneath you as if his cock could argue with his mouth. He wants to dominate. It's in his blood.

But somewhere deeper, darker, older, is this need: to be undone by you. To be freed from himself—not with mercy, but with force.

And you?

You’re willing to take him there.

As many times as it takes.

You lower yourself slowly, knees firm against the mattress, thighs bracketing his head. His breath hitches as the heat of your arousal nears his lips—he can smell you now, wet and aching, your desire soaked into the soft fabric barely shielding you. You don’t speak. You wait.

His voice, hoarse: “You don’t know what you do to me. Or maybe you do. Please… end me.”

A smile plays at the corners of your mouth. You remove the last barrier.

“You’re going to earn your reward, soldier,” you murmur. “Not with your cock, though. That’s not yours to use. Not yet.”

You press yourself against his mouth. He groans—hungry, eager—and you feel the warm pressure of his tongue between your thighs. Every movement is reverent, desperate, grateful. He drinks you in like a man parched.

“You’re so fucking hard, aren’t you?” you whisper, teasing. “Throbbing. Aching. Can’t wait to bury yourself—but you’ll have to wait. Only good boys get what they want. And you haven’t told me everything yet.”

His voice is muffled, but the words reach you, trembling with devotion: “Thank you, ma’am. You taste... incredible. I love this. I love being used by you.”

You slide your fingers through his hair, tighten slightly.

“Then prove it,” you say softly. “Confess more. Tell me the rest of your dirty little truths while you worship me.”

His breath hitches, hesitant at first, voice low and trembling: “I… sometimes imagine your finger… while you’re… using your mouth on me. It feels wrong, but… maybe that’s why it’s so… intense. Like I’m… losing myself in a way I’m not supposed to. It’s… a bit unsettling, but I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You didn't expect this turn of events, but you don't let it show and act cool. “Inside you? What do you mean by that? Don’t be afraid to say it.”

You can hear that the tension is almost breaking him. He struggles with the words: “I… I think about you… pushing something inside me…when you’re pleasuring me with your mouth.”

You lean closer, your tone gentle but insistent: “Push something inside you… What exactly, Thomas? I want to hear it.”

He swallows hard, cheeks flushing beneath the mask, finally admitting with a whisper: “Your finger. I imagine you… using your finger… while you’re making me yours.”

You see the mix of shame and relief in his posture as he speaks the words aloud, the weight of his confession hanging heavy in the room.

You press your thighs a little tighter around his head, sensing his pulse racing beneath you.

For a second, you hesitate.

You’d stepped into this role for him willingly—eager, even—but the rawness in his voice takes you off guard. You hadn't anticipated this. Not that the subject itself is unfamiliar. Anal play was never taboo between you. On the contrary, he’s had no trouble taking the lead there before, no hesitation in pressing deep, in claiming you in every way he could.

Especially on days when business hadn't gone his way, or after another shouting match with his brother Arthur, he seemed possessed by the need to use your body in that degrading, desperate way. Not for pleasure, at least not primarily. For control. For relief. Like you were the only thing that could soak up his chaos.

And when he did, there was always that gleam in his eye, that hungry, near-feral focus that told you he wasn’t holding anything back. That when he had you like that, he felt powerful. Unstoppable. Like the world could burn and he wouldn’t notice if he was buried in you.

And now… now he wants to feel the opposite.

That image grounds you. Gives you direction.

You lift yourself from his face slowly, relishing the shaky breath he pulls in as you grant him air again and at the same time let him endure the uncertainty of how you will react to his confession.

Finally, to his surprise, you pull the sleep mask from his eyes. You want him to watch exactly what happens to him next. Sliding down his body with the smooth confidence of someone in full control, you let your tongue drag along his hot skin until you come to rest at his most sensitive spot, teasing him just enough to make him twitch.

He gasps, hips flexing instinctively—but you hold him still with a palm to his thigh.

You dip your head, let a slow strand of saliva trail from your lips to your fingers. Your eyes stay on his as you coat your middle finger, then reach lower, circling gently around his entrance—soft, slow, testing. Not entering. Just letting him feel that you could.

And will. When you decide.

“How many times,” you ask sternly, “have you imagined me forcing my way inside you? Don’t lie. I want details. Or I stop."

A tense pause. You can feel him swallow under your gaze, his breath shallow.

“Too many,” he admits hoarsely. “In the dark. When I can't sleep. When the flash backs come.”

He hesitates, then continues, the words dragging over gravel: “I imagine you… holding me down. One hand over my chest. Your mouth driving me mad. And then your finger. Slick. Insistent. Not asking.”

His body tenses as his dirty fantasies fall out of him, raw and real. “You don’t stop. You know exactly what it does to me. You edge me until I’m desperate. Until I’m begging.”

You listen closely as he stammers through his shame, your eyes locked on his. Your tongue circles the tip of his hardness with practiced precision, drawing a sharp, helpless breath from his throat. Meanwhile, your fingertip begins to apply gentle pressure—testing, teasing—until you feel him yield, inch by inch, his body pushing back, unmistakably begging for more.

"Fuck, just do it," he hisses through gritted teeth, jaw clenched in lust and defiance. "Claim me."

His chest rises with each breath, muscles tense, but his hips don’t lie—he’s aching for it. And yet, his voice lowers dangerously, his command laced with warning: "This never happened. You breathe a word of this to anyone and you’ll regret it."

His wrists twist in the silken bonds as if they were about to break free at any moment. As if the balance of power were about to reverse at the last moment because he can't bear it any other way.

"One time. That’s all. I needed to get it out of my system. After this, it goes back to the way it was. I’m in charge. Understood?"

Your finger presses in, slow and controlled. His body tenses against it, breath staggering. The sound he makes is halfway between a growl and a gasp, raw and involuntary. Still, he doesn’t stop you. He lifts his hips ever so slightly, as if giving in to you hurts less than resisting.

"God, don’t stop," he mutters, voice strained and dark. "Just—"

You take your time, tongue still working him in tight, knowing swirls, your finger moving with increasing confidence. The way he trembles beneath you, the broken sounds spilling from his lips—it’s more than arousal. It’s surrender. And it’s yours.

When you sense him teetering at the edge, you pull back. Slowly. Cruelly.

"Fuck!" he chokes out, head thrown back, fists clenched in the silk. "You—"

You do it again. And again. Bringing him close until his body is slick with tension, his voice hoarse from begging without words. Every time you stop, his eyes search yours with something like desperation—and still, he won’t say please.

Not yet.

Your finger is buried deep inside him, pressing against that sensitive spot with relentless precision, sending waves of agonizing pleasure through him. The warm, salty taste of his precum lingers on your tongue, rich and intoxicating. He groans, eyes fluttering shut, wrists tugging at the restraints. His entire body coils tight, every muscle trembling beneath your weight.

Finally, he cries out, “Please… I— I can’t…”

“Can’t?” you whisper. “That’s not what I saw in your eyes when you begged me to use you like this.”

With satisfaction, you let him believe for a moment that he can now experience relief. And then—you pull away.

His cry is raw, broken, the sound of a man unraveling.

“No, soldier. Not yet,” you pretend to be calming, “You don’t come until I say you can. You gave me that power, remember?”

You rise slowly, deliberately, your breath steady as your fingers glide over his sweat-slicked skin. His muscles twitch under your touch, every nerve drawn taut. You lean in, lips grazing the line of his jaw, breath warm against his cheek, and then, without hesitation, you guide yourself onto him.

Your body takes him in inch by inch, a slow, relentless claiming. His breath hitches, turns into a sharp gasp as you sink down fully, burying him inside you. He throws his head back, jaw clenched, wrists straining against the bonds.

“You think being inside me makes you in charge?” you whisper, voice laced with heat and mockery. “No, soldier. You’re just where I want you—hard, helpless, and desperate.”

He groans, shaking his head in defiance, but his hips betray him, rising to meet you, his body aching for more.

“You wanted this,” you say, grinding down with a slow, punishing rhythm.

He groans again. This time it’s almost a sob. “Yes,” he breathes.

“You think you still have control?” you taunt, increasing the pace just enough to keep him trembling on the edge. “Say it. Say who this cock belongs to.”

His eyes squeeze shut, teeth gritted, every word a battle. “…It’s yours.”

“Say it properly.”

He chokes on the next breath, voice low and broken: “My cock belongs to you, ma’am.”

You smirk, leaning in to bite gently at his throat. “Good boy.”

He's drenched in sweat, his eyes wild, teeth clenched hard as he tries to hold onto the last thread of composure. But it's gone. He's gone.

“I see you, Tommy. Even when you hide. And right now, you’re mine. My weapon. My ruin. My beautiful, broken thing,” you whisper.

“Take the gun,” he rasps, voice barely human. “Do it…now.”

You freeze for a heartbeat. He’s serious. His eyes are shining, bloodshot, locked on yours.

“You said… you'd surprise me,” he pants. “You said you’d do it. You have it, don’t you?”

He swallows, every word a plea and a command all at once. “Pick it up. Point it at me. While you're… riding me. Please. Fuck. Just—please.”

Your hand reaches for the revolver where it lies on the table. It feels impossibly heavy in your palm. You keep grinding against him, relentless, as you lift it and point it at his chest.

You remember what he told you. Don’t look in the magazine. Trust me.

And you hadn’t looked.

Not then.

But now the weight of the revolver in your hand feels heavier than it should. Loaded? Empty? Just one round waiting? You have no idea.

And that’s exactly how he wanted it.

You glance down at him—sweat-slicked, eyes wild, desperate—and you wonder: Did he ever want to win this round? Or lose it? You panic, but no matter what, you are aware that you have long since reached the point of no return.

Your breath grows uneven, ragged, blending with his in a tangle of gasps and broken sounds. The room pulses with heat and noise, the rhythm of skin on skin, breath on breath, your pleasure building in sync, your bodies answering each other.

“Pull the fucking trigger,” it bursts out of him.

You knew this was coming. And you hesitate for what feels like eternity. His eyes bore into yours, begging and burning all at once.

“Pull it.”

He growls now, louder. “Do it. DO IT.”

You squeeze your eyes shut—

Click.

Silence. Nothing.

You throw the gun aside with a shaky breath just as his cry tears through the room, loud, guttural, pure release. His body jerks beneath you, cock pulsing inside, spilling more than just heat. It’s everything—grief, helplessness, pain, old wounds he never dared name. All of it floods out of him at once, like his body finally found the only way it knows how to let go.

His wrists wrench free of the silk just as his body arches up into you. The bindings fall, forgotten. He seizes your waist and turns you on your back, breathing ragged, eyes wild. There's no hesitation anymore.

His fingers slide between your legs, slick and sure. His mouth follows, tongue teasing all of your sensitive spots, relentless, until you’re gasping, knees weak. Only when you're shaking, breathless, right on the edge, he flips you onto your stomach, pushing your hips up with practiced hands. He has long since recovered and is half hard again; a few strokes are enough to be ready again. He thrusts back in with a deep groan, hips snapping against you.

Now it's your turn to cry out.

And this time, he doesn’t stop until you do.

And when you come, you don’t hold back. Your knees give way, and you sink onto the mattress. He falls on top of you, still buried inside your core.

You cry out under his heavy weight, breaking apart, shaking, eyes wide open, he wraps his arms around you tightly — possessively, like the old Tommy is being back, but also like someone trying to anchor himself to something real.

His lips press to your hair.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

You don’t answer. You’re not sure you can.

But as the sweat cools on your skin and your heartbeat settles against his, one truth presses in quietly:

He didn’t just surrender tonight.

He chose to be known.

And that frightens you more than if he’d begged for the trigger a second time.

***

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Special Note: This story contains the idea of IRRT (Imagery Rescripting & Reprocessing Therapy) a special therapy technique to treat PTSD.

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heesdreamer · 2 days ago

Text

BETTER THAN I KNOW MYSELF

PAIRING ➩ jungkook x reader

WC ➩ 13k

SUMMARY ➩ grappling with what it means to be helplessly inlove with your best friend

AUTHORS NOTE ➩ Been an army since 2014 and been writing jungkook for about that long too and this is my first time actually posting for him somehow. Hope you enjoy!

Most of your friendships didn’t feel like such a frail connection, they didn’t quite make you tiptoe around certain phrases and bite your tongue when you felt like you were saying too much of something consequential.

Albeit, most of your friendships were not with Jeon Jungkook.

That happened to be singular and one of a kind in a way that left you tossing and turning throughout the night and fixing your hair for a few extra heavy seconds before you left to meet up for a casual coffee.

You struggled with explaining how your friendship started to most people because you could almost feel the cliche surrounding your words and you felt their annoyed eyerolls they were keeping locked behind their polite nods and smiles. It naturally felt like you were bragging even when you weren’t.

It was ideal to have met your closest friend so early on, never missing a single birthday party and forming your personalities side by side in a way that led to you being in perfect sync despite being such opposites in most ways.

You had friends you had met a decade ago that would still get jealous of the length and depth of your friendship with Jungkook and you always met their groans and sighs with a soft shrug and a helpless smile, genuinely helpless.

They didn’t quite understand the hidden burden that came with having a connection so deep with somebody who was borderline perfect, the expectation and rituals that used to excite you now bringing you a heavy exhaustion.

Jungkook thrived off of being a social battery and he always had a dozen different clubs, activities, and performances for you attend through school and they only seemed to grow as he did. Now you were his partner for important dinners and weddings of mutual friends that hadn’t talked to you in years but not Jungkook, never Jungkook, because no one could ever forget about him.

You had grown truly accustomed to being his side kick and blending into the background unnoticed otherwise but occasionally it got to you and tonight happened to be one of those nights.

Taehyung was celebrating his 27th birthday and this was a social event that you actually had not been dreading, considering how close you were personally to him. He was not just Jungkook’s friend that tolerated your presence and you actually felt emotional watching him blow out his candles and squeeze his eyes shut during an exaggerated wish.

“What did you wish for Tae?” Your voice was quiet when you found him half an hour after the cake had been cut and the drinks had been served, waiting for everyone to be tipsy and distracted before you made your own individual birthday greeting.

“I’m not 17 anymore Y/N and you can’t trick me into saying it this time. We all know it doesn’t come true if you do.” He had a tendency to lightly banter in a way you were envious of, always knowing what to say in rebuttal to teasing and jokes while you would freeze up and stutter through an awkward reply.

You had slid into the booth he was in the back corner of the diner you all frequented, otherwise empty except for a trio of older women at the counter who didn’t at all look like they minded the way your group was scattered about and having various loud conversations.

“If you can’t tell me your wish can you atleast tell me why you are hiding over here at your own birthday party?” You raised an eyebrow and leaned onto your hand so you could watch him closely, less serious than your face might have showcased you as. “Some would say it is the event of the year.”

He laughed a little at your dramatic wording and serious tone before shaking his head and sipping his drink. “Those people would probably be geniuses.” You had expected him to banter with you over getting at all genuine but you still watched him silently in hopes he would say more. “Just grappling with the number on the cake a little.”

You understood what he was getting at as soon as he said and you nodded while you sighed and leaned back in the booth seat.

He was older than you by two years but turning 25 a few months ago had felt like somebody put a heavy ball and chain around your neck and threw it overboard the deck of a rickety boat, leaving you to fight the weight of it or fall over the side too.

Taehyung was a lively soul and while he had matured greatly in the last five years, he definitely still had a boyish energy to him that you always admired. He seemed almost embarrassed about it now and it made your stomach turn a little.

“Sometimes I still wake up in a sweat thinking I forgot to study for an exam.” Your tone had gotten lighter to try and make him feel better while also letting him know you understood where he was coming from.

He glanced at you from the side of his eye and smiled the same smile he’d given you since you were teenagers, your heart warmed when he leaned his body over to bump his shoulder against yours and you knew the conversation was over before it ever really began.

His eyes left you in favor of scanning over your other friends from different walks of life all mingling and yours stayed on the same person your gaze was always on in a crowded room.

“There’s one thing that hasn’t changed.” His tone was teasing and you rolled your eyes although keeping them on Jungkook.

Taehyung was one of the only people that seemed to realize the way you felt about your best friend and suddenly you were glad he wasn’t the type to get serious with people, not knowing what you would do if that information got to the wrong person.

You weren’t exactly pining and losing your mind trying to wrestle with your feelings towards somebody who strictly saw you in a platonic way but it also was not simple. You had already spent years grieving any chance of a relationship with Jungkook and you were barely an adult when you accepted nothing would ever happen.

Now you were just stuck with a lifetime of affection stuffed into a locked part of your heart that rattled violently everytime he smiled at you or looked in your direction.

It was a good thing you were the more emotionally reserved one of the two of you because he rarely questioned the times you were short and cold with him in an attempt to save atleast a fraction of your broken heart.

Jungkook was, in your biased eyes, perfect.

And you didn’t mean that in an unrealistic way that celebrated the fact he could do no wrong and he was the most pure soul to ever exist because that certainly wasn’t the case but he was perfect to you. With all of his flaws and messy edges, you still couldn’t find a single thing about him you disliked.

You saw beauty in his loud awkward laugh and his short temper and you had fallen inlove with the fact he was always a few minutes late to things and never seemed to have a matching pair of socks on.

It was almost more annoying because you were otherwise a pretty overly cynical person, quick to evaluate and judge in the most matter of fact way.

He must have felt two sets of eyes on him because suddenly he was looking in your direction and you felt that damned box start to rattle again. His already doe like gaze was widening even more and he broke into a boyish smile that almost made you outwardly sigh, charismatically excusing himself from the conversation he was having in favor of making his way over to you.

Taehyung silently slid out of the booth in a way that could only be meddling and you sent his back a glare.

“Where’s he going?” Jungkook’s tone was soft when he finally reached you and he flopped down beside you, close enough that your sides were pressed together and you could smell the

faint scent of alcohol rolling off of him.

“He needed a smoke.” You had considered lying and saying he had diahrea just to get back at him for ditching you but you remembered your conversation about aging and decided against it.

Jungkook hummed in agreement like he figured it made sense and you hated how much more relaxed you felt now that you had him next to you. It wasn’t necessarily stemming from the fact you were harboring feelings for the boy but moreso because he just felt like your other half, you better half according to you and most likely other people.

“Are you having a good time?” He was turning his head to be able to watch your face as you answered, a habit of his that he picked up around middle school when he realized you didn’t care much for social events. “We can head back whenever you want, I’ll walk you home.”

“I’ll finish my drink and then we can say our goodbyes.” You took a hefty sip after answering, ignoring his first question in a way that let him know your mood anyways.

He didn’t say anything for a few long seconds that caused you to raise an eyebrow and sit up a bit so you could turn to look at him without your faces being overly close, your face scrunching in confusion when you saw the ridiculous fond smile he was sporting now as he started to laugh at your casual response.

“What?” You glared at him playfully as he get chuckling and you put your drink down in favor or pushing against his chest. “What did I say wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He was raising his hands in mock surrender but laughing even harder, only stopping to catch his breath when an uncharacteristic pout formed on your face. You internally blamed the alcohol for causing it and he kissed his teeth in apology, cupping your cheek. “Just the way you said it was funny, I’ve never seen you so eager to ditch a party.”

You were back to rolling your eyes at him and pulling his hand away from your face but keeping your grip on his wrist for a few seconds even when it was back down in his lap. He kept the goofy smile on his face although more subtle now and you watched him for a few seconds that made you squirm awkwardly in your seat.

“Say bye for me?” You cleared your throat and moved to stand up as he nodded, knowing the drill.

It was alot easier for him to go and individually say the goodbyes, tagging your name onto the end as you slipped out of the door and went to wait for him.

You were pleased to find Taehyung had actually gone outside to smoke and you smiled at him, pulling him into a hug that was reserved for your closest friends and laughing into his shoulder when he started to sway your bodies back and forth.

“I’m glad you came, thanks for indulging me.” He kept you tightly in his grip as he spoke and you recognized a vulnerability in his voice that you didn’t hear often.

Clearly this birthday was casting a certain type of melancholy over your friend and you squeezed him harder, rubbing up and down his shoulder blades in an almost maternal way.

“I will always attend your overly social birthday parties Tae.” You hoped you sounded as sincere as you felt despite your joking tone and luckily it seemed to work judging by the way he lightly lifted you up for a second before putting you back down and pulling out of the hug.

“Interrupting?” Jungkook’s voice was behind you and you turned to watch him approach with a raised eyebrow and a friendly smile as he pulled Taehyung into a similar embrace, wishing him happy birthday under his breath and patting his back roughly.

“Always, I was just about to propose.” Taehyung was easily playing into his joke as he winked at you over Jungkook’s shoulder and you rolled your eyes even though you had a bright smile on your face, feeling suddenly struck by both fondness and the vodka you had in your cup.

Jungkook weirdly didn’t reply to his flity comment and you almost found that funnier, watching the way he slightly stumbled away from the hug and realizing he might be a bit more buzzed than you had initially taken him for.

The two of you paid him one more sincere goodbye before you were turning away from the diner and starting your walk back to your apartment, only a handful of blocks away. You actually wished it was further, enjoying nothing more than a late night walk with Jungkook through the quiet city.

He seemed to be in his own head and you snuck your arm between his and his chest, forcing him to link elbows with you as you walked together. It wasn’t unusual for you to be connected physically in some way or another especially late at night and a few drinks but you felt the box rattle again and almost regretted it.

You both stayed quiet for most of the walk but you didn’t mind the silence, your social battery drained even though you didn’t exactly count him as something that did that to you. He was the only person you could spend weeks straight with and not feel like you were crawling out of your skin, an exception in more ways than one.

“Do you think Taehyung has a crush on you?” His voice cutting through the night air felt sharp and disoriented and you almost stopped walking from the shock of his sudden question, pace faltering slightly as you looked up at the side of his face.

He kept his gaze locked on the sidewalk infront of you and you weren’t sure if it was because he felt awkward or because he was drunk and had to apply extra effort into not tripping. Awkwardness was not a thing he typically seemed to experience so you hoped it was the latter and you were just applying your habit of overanaylzying useless tidbits of information.

“Is that a joke?” You know it wasn’t but you certainly felt like it could be one considering how ridiculous it was. “Did he say something like that?”

“No, well atleast not to me.” He emphasized the final word like it was more important and your head tilted in confusion. “Just thinking about the little comments he makes sometimes.”

You didn’t disagree that Taehyung could come across as flirty but that was just his persona and how he was with most people, closeness and gender be damned. You were used to it and you knew Jungkook was too so you weren’t sure where this thought process was stemming from.

“That’s just Taehyung.” You shrugged your shoulders and felt his arm tense where it was intertwined with yours, like he had thought for a second you were pulling away and wanted to stop you.

Jungkook didn’t respond and the silence now made you uncomfortable instead of the peaceful air it had held a few minutes ago. You didn’t know if it was possible for him to be mad at you, something you really hadn’t experienced much, but you wondered if this was what it looked like on his end of things.

“I mean maybe.. would that be so ridiculous?” You posed the question with a sincere want to know but a childish and selfish nudge was wondering if there was any part of him that would care. “Someone like him having a crush on me?”

“Someone like him?” He seemed almost offended at the way you had phrased it and you rolled your eyes at his tone, overbearing and protective like he had been in highschool whenever you got asked out by a boy.

“I just meant that he’s so extroverted.” You shrug again as you start to feel more awkward, never really discussing this topic with him.

The two of you had very little boundaries when it came to what you talked about between each other but you had never really gone out with somebody long enough to bring them up to him and you made a point of shutting down talks of the girls he hooked up with.

You played it off like you were disgusted at the idea of hearing about his girls to try and hide the fact your entire body felt like it was going to shrivel up and die whenever he brought somebody to a party or introduced you to one of his girlfriends that never lasted more than a month or two.

Jungkook was actually weirdly romantic for a guy who had only cared about sports and liquor growing up but for some reason he never could keep anybody around for long, although never seeming too upset when it eventually fizzled out.

Thankfully you were finally arriving to your apartment building and you watched as Jungkook typed in the code, leading you inside and silently informing you he planned to stay with you tonight. It was more often than not that he ended up at your place or vice versa so you didn’t need direct confirmation to understand his line of thought.

“Sure he’s well liked but so are you.” He broke the silence again and you outwardly groaned at the resurrection of the tired topic.

“I am hardly anything especially not well liked.” You rolled your eyes and you know he could see it even if you weren’t looking at him, stepping into the elevator and holding the door open with your foot so he could step inside.

You’d untangled your arms in favor of pressing the buttons required to get to your floor but Jungkook didn’t seem to notice, standing close enough that your shoulder was against his bicep and you could feel every inhale he took.

“I hate when you say things like that.” He was mumbling under his breath but you heard it clear enough, stomach clenching as the rattling returned again.

You didn’t respond to him, mostly because you didn’t know what else to say about such a ridiculous topic and you felt a wave of relief when the elevator came to a shaky stop before releasing you into the familiar hallway.

He stood there silently, leaning against the wall on his side and watching you closely as you fumbled through your purse for your keys. You didn’t need to look at him to know he had that soft smile on his face and a fond look in his eyes, taking a breath when you finally felt the metal on your fingertips.

It was a instant comfort to enter your apartment even though you had only left a few hours ago and you suddenly felt glad that he had come up with you, chest tightening preemptively at the reminder he would have to leave at some point.

Jungkook and you had lived together right after highschool, moving out of your small town half an hour away together and feeling the rush of the big city you had only taken daytrips to. He had sworn since he was thirteen and wearing thick eyeliner that he was meant for bigger things in bigger places and you had decided that following him around was better than staying behind alone.

Although you doubted he would have let you stay back in your home town anyways, a slight relief considering how ridiculous you felt when you occasionally remembered you had only moved for him.

You’d felt all the emotions when you moved, the sadness of leaving behind a simple life that you had finally started to appreciate and the excitement of getting to start over somewhere with so much life and possibility.

There was finally a chance for you to be your own person, to fit into the mold in your own special way.

Then Jungkook had thrown a housewarming party and you listened to everybody all night congratulate him on his new place.

There was almost a chorus of praises on ‘his furniture choices’, ‘his choice of neighborhood’, even the gasp from an old highschool friend that struck a particular nerve ‘Oh Jungkook what a beautiful place you have’.

You stood there in your living room, full of things you had brought from home and things you had spent hours thirfting while Jungkook trailed behind you looking bored, and watched yourself be erased from your new life before you even got a chance to appear in it.

Two years ago you had decided to move into your own separate places and your own internal battle was not on the list of reasons why, infact it was the hardest decision you had ever made. There was nothing easy about it for both of you but you found yourself becoming roomates instead of best friends and suddenly it was a chore to hang out and you stopped seeking eachother out for comfort, the constant presence almost exhausting.

The final straw came in the form of your office relocating a few blocks over and the few blocks made all the difference.

You had both spent the night with tears in your eyes, passing a bottle back and forth and cuddling on the couch as you recounted the best and worst times of your time in the shared space.

Jungkook had decided to renew his lease there individually and he stood there with a conflicted expression as you packed up the stuff you deemed yours. You had wondered if he even realized how much you left behind so he didn’t feel like the space was suddenly empty but you knew that he had because Jungkook always noticed everything you did for him.

It had ended up being exactly what your friendship needed and you had grown closer together in the last two years than your entire lifetime of a friendship but sometimes you missed the unity that came with living together.

He had multiple drawers of clothes in your apartment and you still came over a handful of times a week to cook meals in his but there was a difference.

Like the way he was slightly lingering in your bedroom doorway like he wasn’t sure he was supposed to come in just yet.

You gave him a look and a raised eyebrow as you sat on the edge of your bed and began to unlace your boots, the green light he needed to come in and flop down on your blankets like he owned them.

He was unusually silent as you stood up to go into your closest and change into something comfortable, bringing a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie to toss at him as you emerged. He was propped up on your pillows and eyeing you with a thoughtful look that made you sigh and cross your arms where you stood at the end of the bedframe.

“Just spit it out already.” Your tone was sharp because you could tell whatever he wanted to say wasn’t going to be something you liked hearing but he smiled gently at the sound of it, not capable of being intimidated by your attitude.

“I don’t think you should date Taehyung.” He said it in a rush like he knew you’d shut him down and you groaned loudly, grabbing a throw pillow and chucking it in his direction. “Just hear me out okay! I think it would be weird for the friend group.”

“That’s ridiculous. Not that either of us are even considering dating but if we were, he’s my bestfiriend, how weird could that be?” You circled around to join him on the mattress and you almost frowned when you saw the look on his handsome face.

His eyebrows were furrowed in childish upset and his bottom lip was pouting subtly, just enough for your gaze to circle down to it.

“I’m your best friend.” He raised a hand like he was appalled at your wording and you spit out a laugh at the ridiculous of that interjection.

“You know what I mean Jungkook. You have like a hundred best friends.” You leaned onto your side, propping your head up on your palm and yawning softly as you watched his expression morph again.

He was shaking his head and whatever styling gel he had in his hair for the party was long gone by now, leaving it fluffy and falling into his face whenever he moved. He was dramatically laying down in the same position as you so he could look intensely into your eye, his slightly wide while yours were crinkled in a silent laugh.

“I have a hundred people who think I’m their best friend, you are my only actual best friend.” He sounded extremely serious about a very childish topic and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing in his face.

Jungkook was always baffled at the fact you did not realized just how cool you came across to people, even your closest friend groups.

He had made a very strong attempt at the mysterious and edgy guy thing in high school, only wearing dark clothes and spending an hour every morning on a single dash of eyeliner but he could not keep his mouth quiet to save his life and absolutely nobody who met him for more than a handful of seconds would consider him any type of mystery.

You had a naturally closed off demeanor but a strong sense of style and energy that he had never seen somebody even purposefully replicate, which made it even cooler than it just came naturally to you.

Most people at parties would ask him about you in an attempt to get closer but he knew better than to spill your business to anybody who asked and he also felt a little lucky that he got to know you so intimately.

The phrase ‘a guy like him’ had bugged him since you said it and now he figured you must have totally lost it to be calling Taehyung your best friend. Sure the guy had been around since high school and he definitely was alot closer to you than any average joe but he was still just Taehyung.

“You can be such a sap sometimes.” You couldn’t help the smile on your face and he matched it, pleased he had gotten such a reaction out of you especially since he could tell you were not enjoying his topic of conversation.

“Only for you.” He shot you a cheesy wink and you rolled your eyes in hopes he would be too busy laughing to be able to hear the box rattling obnoxiously in your chest.

You were glad he didn’t say anything else about it after that and you quickly pushed any thought of Taehyung and a potential crush to the very back of your mind. You didn’t have time to think about any of that, not when you could barely stand to see the sight of your best friend and that annoyingly perfect twinkle in his eye.

You were rolling onto your back with an exaggerated groan that let him know you were too tired to keep up with the small talk, grateful that he had stayed for the company but not quite for the sake of entertainment.

Jungkook could read you like a book and he sat up so he could pull the lamp string and turn it off, throwing the covers over both of you and settling back against the pillows that, more often than not, smelled like his shampoo.

You could see the irony in the fact that you were hopelessly internally pining over the same man who slept in your bed like it was his own and treated you like you were his number one priority constantly but that was just Jungkook. You considered yourself lucky that you were the main source of his affection but he would treat a stranger like they were family and you knew he didn’t think twice about pulling you against his chest and throwing his arm over you.

You let him get comfortable as you urged yourself to sleep, ignoring the persistent rattling.

-----

The sight of Jeon Jungkook in the morning was truly a dangerous thing for a heart as fragile as yours so you kept your eyes sharply on the mirror once you noticed him start to rustle around behind you in the reflection.

You had been awake for hours and already cleaned up the kitchen, showered and gotten ready by the time he began to stir. Your gaze was naturally drifting to the right as you saw his bed head perk up from the mess of blankets, eyes squinting like he was trying to remember where he was.

“Why are you up so early?” His devastating morning voice was making your lips turn up just enough for you to feel foolish, shaking it off so you could continue with your mascara.

“It’s almost noon.” Your reply was flat and detached in a way that told him you were focused, interrupted by a groan from behind you as he stretched his arms above his head and tried to wake himself up more. “There’s pain killers on your table.”

You stopped your precise movements so you could watch his expression morph with interest, leaning over to his assigned bedside table and quickly tossing the three small pills in his mouth to fight any possible sign of a hangover.

He had the same habit of taking off his shirt in the middle of the night since you were teens and it had bugged you as much then as it did now. You almost smacked against your heart to shut the rattling up but instead you took a deep breath and averted your gaze as he stood from the bed, finishing up your eye makeup and moving to put your hair up.

The magnet that seemed to always draw him to you was making it so he was slowly moving in your direction, stopping behind you and watching you in the mirror and you fiddled with a few stubborn pieces of hair.

“I like when you wear it like that.” His voice was gentle and nostalgic and you once again found yourself meeting his eyes in the reflection, bobby pin between your teeth as you affectionately furrowed your eyebrows.

You almost told him that you knew that and that’s why you did it so you were thankful for the object keeping your mouth occupied at the moment and stopping you from admitting such a silly thing.

“Where are you going?” He sounded half curious and half worried that he had potentially forgotten plans you had made together. He waited patiently as you tucked away a piece and took the pin out of your mouth, silently passing it to him as he gently took it and nudged it into the back of your updo.

“Some work thing with Taehyung.” You hoped he had mostly forgotten about the conversation from last night even though you knew he was not the type to forget and he was not even that drunk.

You locked eyes again and his hands froze in your hair like he was caught off guard and thinking of what to say. You stayed still, both so you didn’t mess up your hard work and so he didn’t lose his train of thought.

Eventually he was humming thoughtfully and his hands were moving again to tuck away pieces as he looked down. “An artsy thing then?”

You were nodding your head even though you were not exactly sure what it was going to be. Taehyung was somewhat all over with his work as a freelance artist and it was only a few years ago that he started to make actual money from his paintings and sculptures, being noticed during one of his busking events by a woman who worked at a gallery.

It was honestly borderlining on lucrative so you felt a bit touched that he had invited you, possibly spurred on by your semi deep conversation the night before.

“Well I hope you have as much fun as you can without me around.” He was finishing up with your hair with a satisfied soft clap and you smiled at him in the mirror before turning around, thankful he had dropped the weird demeanor and returned to his usual goofy character.

You were gifting him a quick kiss goodbye on the cheek and a reminder to lock up before he left, grabbing your purse and heading out the door so you were not late.

The train ride to the gallery had activated the anxious butterflies in your stomach and you found yourself thinking more actively about the little things Jungkook did and the things he had been saying lately.

It was just beginning to drive you to insanity when you reached your stop and you were happily rushing out onto the platform and ascending the stairs out onto the noisy street, searching intersection signs and shop names as you looked for the unfamiliar place.

You weren’t sure Taehyung had ever invited one of your friends to his place of work so you felt a bit bumptious at the ask, smiling to yourself when you finally saw the fancy sign above the building with large windows.

Your friend put his cigarette out against the brick as soon as he saw you and you were beyond grateful he had waited outside for you, knowing it would have taken alot for you to walk in on your own and actively look for him.

“You look perfect.” His compliment was genuine in a way that made you want to do a twirl just to show off and you grinned brightly at him, turning your face in acceptance as he went to kiss both of your cheeks in a uniquely Taehyung way.

“I wasn’t sure what to wear, I’ve never been to an art show.” Your voice was soft as you nervously glanced at the building, realizing now how many people were scattered around inside.

“There isn’t a dress code but if there was then you would have nailed it.” He had a hand on your back as he moved you both inside and you were a bit fascinated by this professional side of him, much more intense and pointed than you were used to from your childish friend.

There was no surprise that you had a pleasant time considering the mix of good company and atmosphere. You fully understood the appeal to this type of setting after an hour of quiet conversations and halfway awkward greetings from people who seemed to just as anti social as you.

Even Taehyung was unusually tame and reserved, matching the energy of the buyers and viewers around him while still coming off beyond charming and poised. It was almost magical to watch him work casual small talks into somebody buying his work or commissioning their own custom piece.

“You’re good at this.” You had taken a moment to break away from the now mingling crowd and you sent the compliment his way in a hushed whisper.

He gave you a look that told you he already knew that but you could tell he was still thankful somebody was there to witness and confirm it. You watched him take a hefty sip of his wine and you raised an eyebrow at the sudden nervous look on his face, following his wandering gaze over to the front door where a handful of people had just entered.

“Why did you invite me and not somebody else?” You weren’t sure why you figured that line of questioning would get some answers out of him regarding his behavior recently but it seemed to work considering he turned to you with a heavier gaze.

“Somebody else wouldn’t have understood any of this.” He was vague enough to leave you confused until his eyes moved back over to the newcomers, lingering on one just long enough for your mouth to part slightly in realization.

Taehyung had never publicly dated somebody in your entire decade of friendship and while he was more androgynous in his style and personality, he also hadn’t come out to any of you with a particular label.

The way he was looking at the man standing in the corner silently was enough for you to understand what exactly he might have been hesitant to showcase to your other friends. None of them would have judged him from your knowledge but you imagined he didn’t want the lighthearted teasing from your male friends or the insistent meddling from the extroverted girls.

“He’s gorgeous.” Your eyes stayed on the man, similar to your friends and you heard him let out words of agreement accompanied by a longing sigh you were all too familiar with. “Have you spoken to him?”

“He owns a gallery downtown with his sister.” He was quick to respond and you got the feeling he had been waiting to talk to somebody about this for a long time. “I did a show there and we got dinner afterwards, it was mainly business.”

You were nodding softly as he spoke on and on about the pretty man who was now laughing softly with an older woman and you suddenly wanted to laugh when you remembered your conversation with Jungkook last night, realizing just how wrong he was.

You wanted so badly to tell him about it but later that evening Taehyung had softly gripped your forearm and asked you sincerely to keep this a secret, his tone the most serious you had ever heard it.

The entire train ride home your head was buzzing with both pride for your friend and the urge to do something more with your own life, almost feeling envious of his passion for both art and romance.

There was a part of you that wanted to get home as fast as you could so you could start to figure out what direction to take your life at the ripe age of 25 and the other half was considering taking the subway past your stop just to see where you would end up.

You were sensible enough to head back to your apartment with the knowledge the sun was quickly setting but your feet faltered when you saw a familiar frame sitting on the steps outside your building.

“Did you lock yourself out?” You practically jogged the rest of the way over to Jungkook, concerned he had spent the entire day outside of your apartment but you felt a wave of reassurance when you realized he was wearing clothes you definitely didn’t keep in your small drawer for him.

He was dressed nice or atleast as nice as you had seen him get in a while, ironed shirt tucked into a good grown up pair of pants with a leather belt. You watched him semi suspiciously when he pulled a small bouquet of flowers out from behind his belt and presented them to you.

“Oh god, what did you do?” Your eyes widened in a slightly panicked manner and he glared at you harmlessly, thrusting the flowers in your direction and only smiling once you took them from him and sniffed them curiously.

“First off, very rude to assume I did something wrong.” He was stepping off of the steps so he was closer to you and you eyed him and his unusual outfit. “Second, can’t I just get you flowers?”

“They are very pretty Jungkook, thank you.” You felt guilty for your initial approach even though you knew he wasn’t actually offended and didn’t mind your teasing. You lowered the flowers away from your face so you could give his outfit another long scan that told him you wanted a better explanation.

“You looked nice earlier and it made me realize it had been awhile since we had gone out together.” He was shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world and your eyebrows furrowed.

His casual compliment was not lost on you and you felt that stupid chest rattling so hard you almost tipped over in your heels, shifting on your feet to remain steady as he watched you closely. You were sure your hair was messier now and your back was slightly hurting from standing all day at the event but you were not able to deny him on a regular occasion let alone when he applied effort into something for you.

“We’ve never ‘gone out together’ Jungkook.” Your tone was teasing as you wobbled a bit. “We just end up places.”

You weren’t exactly lying, despite your hundreds of lunch outings and adventures around the city, they had never been planned and never been mature enough for you to consider it a night out.

Jungkook seemed to be allergic to a stable job and luckily he was charismatic to be constantly pulling money from half a dozen half committed hustles. You had been barely above an intern when you first moved here and lived together so most of your meals consisted of quick serve ramen places and cheap street food just to stop the rumbling in your stomachs.

“What, Taehyung is the only guy who can take you to a nice outing?” He was smiling teasingly as he said it like he felt like he had figured you out and your mouth parted, almost forgetting you were not supposed to tell him what you had been told earlier.

Instead you pushed a hand against his chest and rolled your eyes, allowing the box to rattle when he was laughing boyishly and grabbing your wrist so he could tug you with him as he stumbled backwards, linking your arms together as he began to walk.

You didn’t bother asking him where you were going and you weren’t even sure he actually knew, letting your feet fall in unison with him as you allowed yourself to pretend you weren’t exhausted so you could indulge him.

Selfishly, it was mostly for you and the opportunity to pretend you and Jungkook were just a normal pair who were heading out for a typical date night and not two best friends who had a little too much time on their hands.

Jungkook was telling you all about his day and the story that came along with how he got your flowers, exaggerated like always as he tried to entertain you. It worked as you laughed along with him and his sound effects and hand motions, listening to him as you walked together.

He shocked you by leading you back to the subway entrance and you glanced at him suspiciously, the two of you typically sticking with your local spots whenever you got dinner together.

“What are you up to Jeon Jungkook?” Your voice was low and mimicking an interrogation as the wind from the approaching train sent your loose hairs flying around your face.

His was in a similar state as he stood infront of you to block you most of the gust, fluffy locks falling forward above his eyes and making him frown as he reached up to push it back. You laughed at him and how ridiculous it looked and he sent a glare your way although you avoided it by boarding the now stopped subway car.

He was right behind you when you turned to face him in the packed space, leaning against one of the free support poles and smiling when you saw the infectious one he had. His hand was above your head so he could hold the metal as the train lurched forward and you tried to ignore the way he caged you in made your head spin.

“So I don’t actually have a plan.” He had to lean closer to you to be heard over the rattling of the car and the stackiy robotic voice over the speaker making announcements.

You couldn’t help imagining what the two of you looked like to the various strangers around you, both dressed nicely and standing closer than the space called for. Your flowers were clutched tightly in your hands and you knew exactly what anyone who saw your eyes as you stared at him would see, anyone except for the recipient.

“I figured you were winging it.” You shrugged softly and huffed out a laugh when he was scrunching his face up in offense, free hand over his heart like you had hurt his feelings with your correct assumption. “As long as you feed me I am happy.”

“Taehyung didn’t provide food on your date?” His eyes were curious but you could sense something else that you couldn’t put your foot on, pushing his shoulder.

“Will you cut that out?” You tried to sound firm enough that he would get you were actually uncomfortable without ruining the positive energy of the night. “It’s not like that.”

He raised an eyebrow down at you like he didn’t believe a word you said but he thankfully didn’t push any further for now even though you imagined it would be brought back up eventually considering how persistently annoying he was being regarding it.

Jungkook was taking your hand in his as the train stopped a few minutes later and you let him drag you out of the busy station with a sigh, weaving your way through the post work pre dinner crowd as you stayed behind his large frame with your arms dangling between you.

It was easy to fall inlove with him for the thousandth time as he glanced behind his shoulder routinely to make sure you were keeping up despite his tight grip on you already ensuring that, his wide eyes so patient and affectionate it almost made you want to throw up.

There was something about him against the landscape of a city at dusk that was completely devastating to your fragile heart and you had to look away before the rattling box full on exploded.

The two of you were making easy conversation as you walked together and you were overly aware of the fact he had no removed his hand from yours, most likely due to the heavy foot traffic around you but it pained you nonetheless and your skin felt like it was burning.

You were laughing so hard your stomach hurt and he was smiling at you like it was his singular goal and you barely realized you had been walking for so long until he was stopping infront of a deli and telling you to wait outside for him.

You stood there with a stupid smile on your face and your flowers in hand, tricking yourself for just a moment that this was something more than what it was.

“Those are pretty.” A voice from beside you pulled you from your dazed train of thought and you glanced at the man ruffling through the newspaper stand, pausing his movements to gesture towards your bouquet when you gave him a confused look.

“Oh.” Your mouth parted in surprise and your cheeks turned pink at the unexpected small talk. “Thank you, I think so too.”

You cleared your throat awkwardly and shuffled on your feet, glancing through the dirty glass to see if you could catch sight of Jungkook inside without making it too obvious that you felt ready to run away just to avoid an easy going conversation.

“From a boyfriend?” His eyebrow was raised and you shook your head instinctively with a soft shocked laugh at the realization he was potentially flirting with you. “Good to know, I’m Hoseok.”

His hand was jutting out towards you and your eyes widened, shifting the bouquet between your forearm and chest so you could shake it. It was weirdly formal in an endearing way and you mirrored your name back to him in a soft whisper that made his eyes crinkle like he thought you were cute.

“I have to go but..” He paused and glanced at his watch with a sigh that made your head cock paitently. “Is it too forward to say I think you are beautiful and I would love to get your number so this interaction isn’t so brief?”

You felt like you had somehow entered a different dimension today, one where you wear clothes that had been in the back of your closet for years and go to art galleries before a handsome stranger flirts with you outside of a corner store.

Your mouth is just opening to respond to him, not quite sure yet if you are going to agree or make up some excuse that you hope he doesn’t see through, before the soft chiming bell of the door is ringing above you and Jungkook is wandering back out with two bags in his hands.

He is smiling when he sees you and then it fades when he sees your company, eyes narrowing a bit before he glances back at you and moves to stand by your side, hand on your lower back.

“Ready to go?” His voice is stiffer than you were used to and you dumbly nod as you give Hoseok an apologetic look to which he gives you a polite understanding smile as he lifts his hand in a quick wave goodbye before going to cross the street.

Jungkook moves you forward down the street with his hand still on your back, an unfamiliar touch in this type of circumstance. You and him were no strangers to a touchy friendship but his hold felt almost pointed and you felt confusion swirling in your chest.

“What was that?” Your voice was hushed and you looked briefly at the side of his face as you walked together, his side profile showcasing no emotion you could understand or read. He was looking straight ahead and shrugging softly.

“You look uncomfortable.” He said it simply like it was an easy given answer but you knew him well enough to know he didn’t really believe what he was saying.

“I did? I didn’t feel uncomfortable.” You were pushing it further than you typically would but you were a bit annoyed with how unusual he was being lately. Not annoyed in any way that mattered considering his hand on your back was still lighting your stomach on fire and you were deluding yourself into believing there was another reason for his interruption.

He shrugs again like he isn’t sure what to say and you drop it, walking closely together as he silently leads you to a small park near one of the cities waterfront points.

You watch his large frame as he reaches into one of his paper bags and pulls out a small plaid blanket, throwing it down on the soft grass before he looks at you and gestures for you to sit. He seems awkward now and you give him a soft smile to let him know you aren’t upset and he can relax.

“I pretty much just cleared them out.” He laughs a little as he joins you on the small blanket, close enough that your legs are pushed together and you watch with excitement as he pulls out various food items from the bags.

He ends it with a small single serving of cake in a plastic box and two drinks that remind you of the cheap liquor you used to sneak from your parents in high school. He presents with a small exaggerated noise and both of his hands stretching out to frame the display.

“Wow just wow.” You’re teasing him by raising your voice a bit and covering your mouth in mock gratitude, giggling as you pretend to wipe a tear from your eye. “This is just above and beyond Jeon Jungkook. How did you know I loved bodega salads?”

His grin is bright like he hadn’t expected you to play along with his theatrics and he waves you off casually like it was no big deal.

You are still laughing as he opens the containers and hands you things to try but you are genuinely a little taken back by the gesture, giving yourself a second to take in the view of the water with the city directly behind it. The sun had set by now and the lake seemed endless, wind blowing your hair over your shoulder as you looked back at him.

He was already watching you and you raised an eyebrow in question, not getting a response as he looked back down at the food.

“I think this is better than any dinner I’ve had since we moved here.” Your voice is soft as you finally speak, taking small pieces of things from his side of the blanket and tossing them into your mouth.

“Are you making fun of me?” He looks at you suspiciously and you laugh a little at the skepitcal tone he has, shaking your head and watching him fondly. “Then I think I agree with you.”

You stayed like that for atleast another hour and a half, eating the food slower than you usually would to keep yourselves there longer and you once again let yourself forget that this meant nothing at all.

It was easy to pretend when he was pulling out his small digital camera and taking candids of you as you laughed and told him to cut it out, easy to imagine when he was making you sit in the soft grass while he cleaned up your picnic, and devastatingly simple to feel like you were inlove in a different way when he was making you get on his back instead of walking back to the subway in your heels.

“Did you have a good time?” He sounded unlike himself when you finally got there, managing to get a seat now that most people had gotten home from work. You were leaning your head on his shoulder and watching your muddied reflections in the dirty and scratched window across from you.

Jungkook never sounded unsure or insecure, especially not when it came to something regarding you and your friendship and your stomach tightened at the realization he might actually be looking for the reassurance you were so typically seeking from him.

“Silly question.” You had a tired smile on your face that he couldn’t see but you figured he would be able to hear it surrounding your gentle words.

“Indulge me?” He pushed for specifics and you only then realized he was very serious about this, picking your head up so you could look him in the eyes.

He easily met your gaze like he always did and the intensity was a bit much for you to handle although you weren’t capable of looking away just yet.

There was a large part of you that knew exactly what to say, exactly what would be an easy answer that would both satisfy his random need for verbal feedback and also keep your ridiculous secret hidden for atleast another night more.

A much tinier and more pathetic piece was begging you to push just a little bit more, say something that would make him cross any singular line. You didn’t need him to step out of your fairytales and profess his desire for you but maybe just enough of a hook to keep you from feeling so pathetic and almost conniving.

You knew he would probably take personal offense if you told him that you felt that way about yourself but you almost couldn’t help it, knowing there was something more than friendship in this for you. It felt almost evil to keep something like that from him even though you could almost picture how gentle and amazing his rejection would be.

He would probably lecture you about how it’s not you and it’s him and he would give you a look so pitiful that it would make you sick.

“What was this Jungkook?”

The stupid part of you wins and you want to blame it on the low alcohol bevarage you had chugged in an attempt to quiet your stupid box down but you knew there wasn’t a single moment in life you were more sober than you were now and you were just plainly outrageously deluded.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He says it softly with an edge of confusion but you see it.

As the train pulls to a stop at a station that isn’t yours, you see the telltale sign that he lying to you. His expressive eyes are almost wide and he is trying his best to act casual but you had spent almost a decade telling similar lines and your mind starts to spin.

“Yes you do.” Your voice is firmer now and you sit up a little bit on the smooth seats, turned sideways so you are facing him while he still has to turn his head to look at you fully. “I think you really do.”

He doesn’t say anything and you are not stupid enough to say the words outloud, to accuse him of the exact crime you are guilty of would have consequences you can’t even begin to think about and you almost look away if it wasn’t for that look in his eyes.

You want to pry and pull it out of him, reach deep into his chest and see if you had gotten it all wrong or if he had a box of his own somewhere in there.

It lurches again as it begins to move and he sways with it, eyes shutting for a second as he turns to face forward and get away from your intense and almost knowing gaze.

“Let’s not do this.” His voice is tight and pained now and you had heard it a million ways but never like this, never like he is scared of what is going to come out.

“Do what, what am I doing?” You are genuinely puzzled and you’re almost frantic to keep him talking about this. “What are we doing?”

He takes awhile to not speak again and you almost think he is going to sit like that until the train stops again, leaving you in the non silence and weight of the things he will not say. His eyes open and they are colder when they look at you again and it’s in a way that knocks the breath out of you.

They are not angry but they are detached and such a vast difference from the adoring expression he normally gives you and now you wonder again what you look like to other people riding home late after a long day. Maybe two strangers in a disagreement or a couple bickering about trivial things, something much simpler than what it actually is.

You suddenly feel like you’re going to vomit when you realized how similar his frustrated is to the one you’d been feeling since before you even had your drivers license. It is far too familiar and you turn in your seat so you are facing forward again and your hand comes to your mouth, either to catch the puke or your next words.

“How long have you known?” You wince as you say it and you hate that he is the one looking at you now, eyes boring into the side of your face as you fight to not look at your reflections.

Your question is vague enough to avoid putting it into the verbal world of existence but if your thoughts are correct then he knows exactly what you are referring to.

How long have you known I was inlove with you, how long have I been failing at deceiving you, how many years did you know our friendship was a big fat scam on my end and how long have you tried not to detest me for it?

“Maybe forever? I don’t know.” He sounds exhausted and his pitch raises a bit as his hands jut into the air before landing back on his legs with a smack that almost makes you jump.

Your mouth parts in surprise, both at his answer and the tone he says it in. You’re standing up before the train has a chance to stop fully and you aren’t sure if you’re stumbling because of the way it pulls or because you genuinely feel like you are about to be sick if you have to sit here for another second and listen to him sound so upset about this.

Your feet tangle together as you rush out of the station and you know he is close behind you because he always is but you can’t bring yourself to look at him anymore.

The universe must be laughing at you for finally getting your camera because the clear skies of the night are gone and it’s beginning to sprinkle now, making your walk to the next block over much faster as you nearly run towards your apartment.

“Y/N.” His voice is loud behind you and your body whips around on instinct, not able to ignore him in any circumstance but especially not when he sounds so wounded. “It.. it doesn’t have to be a big deal, you won’t hurt my feelings if you just pretend this didn’t happen. We don’t need to change things.”

He almost sounds like he is pleading for you to forgive him and the irony of that hits you hard.

You aren’t even sure what he is really asking for you to do here, is he suggesting you go back to pretending (quite awfully apparently) you aren’t inlove with him or is he saying he doesn’t quite mind if you are. You can’t decide which answer hurts you more and you glare at him for being so selfless and kind.

“What part of this makes you think this won’t change things?” You have venom in your voice now and you watch his face flinch just enough for you to feel terrible.

You aren’t sure why you are suddenly so angry at him or why you just want to scream and leave him standing in the light rain that is slowly picking up like its mocking your emotional state.

It is not his fault he is so easy to love and that he can read you so easily, of course the boy who can tell when you are upset or hungry or tired off of a quick glance would know the feeling that never leaves your mind and heart no matter how hard you try.

He didn’t even do anything wrong in his attempts to fix what you had broken, willing to take any course to keep your friendship the same because he thinks it is what you want. You decide you are angry that that is his solution because it is all he can give you, friendship, and you are more fucked up than you realized for being upset at him for that.

“I’m sorry.” His voice sounds hurt and pleading still and he takes quick steps towards you that make you want to sob but you won’t, not here and not with him staring at you like that.

“I am.” You shake your head and sigh, suddenly feeling very cliche and stupid for yelling at each other in the rain like some shitty cheesy romcom. You easily slip your hand into his and pull him in the direction of your apartment, hoping he is willing to stay with you despite the potential awkwardness and isn’t planning to run away as soon as he gets you home safe.

He squeezes your hand in his and you close your eyes just as tight, wishing he would be a little less sweet just for a few moments.

You don’t think he is capable of being cold to anybody, especially not you, but it makes it all the more painful to know you don’t deserve it.

You are back to heavy silence as you enter your apartment and you glance at his hoodie from last night still draped over your arm chair, looking away and kicking off your heels that are collecting water inside of them as it drips off of your clothes.

The urge to change into something dry and warm is surging your entire being but instead you head into the kitchen and you hear him take slow hesitant steps before he is sighing and going in the direction of your bedroom. You grip your counter and close your eyes to stop from asking him what he was going to say.

Instead you busy yourself with the stove and a familiar recipe that makes you sigh in premature relief just from the scent alone.

Jungkook eventually returns and follows the smell to find you setting too warm mugs down on the coffee table in the living room, dressed in a large shirt and the same sweatpants from last night. His hair is damp from the rain and falling over his forehead in a painful way and you awkwardly glance at him.

Any other day you would warn him that it is too hot to drink before going to change too but now you just watch him as he shifts awkwardly before sitting down slowly on the carpet infront of the table. You clear your throat and walk down the hallway, moving on autopilot as you pull off the wet clothes and replace them with pajamas.

You are back in the living room with him before you even process your feet moving and you listen to him sip the hot chocolate before wincing at the scolding liquid and placing the mug down.

“It’s hot you know.” Your teasing remark is meant to break the tension and bring a sense of normalcy back into the heavy room but it comes out forced and awkward and he barely manages to pull a chuckle out.

You sit next to him with a sigh and pull your sleeves over your hands so you can nurse his hot mug, blowing on it gently and ignoring your steaming one next to it.

It’s a habit you had always had but he was looking at you like it was his first time realizing you did that and it was another nail in the coffin of change. Things were going to be different now no matter what he said or how hard you tried to avoid it.

“I really am sorry.” His voice was soft and a whisper that struck you harder than anything he could have shouted. You gave him a sad smile and nodded your head in understanding. “Do you want to talk about it or are you tired?”

“We can talk.” You shrugged like it was a casual choice but you weren’t sure what the alternative was. You had anxiety thrumming in your chest that he might leave before you were ready and talking about it kept him here for atleast a few more sentences, atleast until your mugs were empty.

Your agreement didn’t kick start him into any type of conversation and it fell silent again outside of your soft breathing on the mug and the rain pattering against your window.

“Are you upset about how I feel?” He finally spoke again and you paused your blowing in favor of watching him, setting the glass down on the table and giving him your full attention. The distraction wasn’t working anyways and you felt sick again.

You shook your head because you didn’t trust yourself to speak and he looked more pained at your silence, eyes low and wounded. Your suddenly felt watery and you knew you would truly have to dig a hole for yourself if you cried, the last thing you wanted to do was to make him feel bad about any of this.

“You can’t help it.” You internally winced at the way your words shook and cracked, very telling signs of somebody who was about to pathetically sob. “But I can’t either.”

He looked equal parts confused and accepting of this answer and you got the urge to just lay it all out in the open since everything was already falling apart in a way you could not control.

“I thought I was doing a better job at hiding it and I’m sorry if I made you feel weird or like I didn’t value our friendship because that isn’t true at all, it means the world to me. I am just an idiot and I-I don’t even know what else to say other than I am so sorry Jungkook.” You are speaking so fast you feel dizzy at the pace and you are suddenly facing him again so you can be positive the words reach their destination.

You had practiced a hundred times how to tell him how you felt and none of those scenarios ended up sounding like this, a jumbled and desperate plea to be forgiven.

His mouth had parted halfway through your speech like he was wanting to interrupt you and you wanted to run out of your own house when you saw his eyes widen in surprise, maybe at the realization of just how fucked up you actually were.

The room fell silent again and this time it was tortuous, your soft breaths from speaking so quickly being the only thing you could focus on.

“I’m confused.”

His voice cut through the air and you almost wanted to scream, knowing you could not repeat any of that again. You gave him an intense stare as you tried to figure out where exactly you had lost him in your spiel and his eyebrows furrowered at your look.

“I thought you were mad at me for liking you.” He was pointing between the two of you as you spoke and suddenly the box was rattling so hard you weren’t sure if it was just an imaginary metaphor anymore.

“What?” It came out loud and aggressive but he didn’t react, sitting up a little straighter and watching you with an almost frustrated expression.

“Do you have a crush on me?” He was pointing at his chest again and you wanted to smack his hand away.

You weren’t sure how to answer that because it was honestly the most ridiculous thing you had heard outloud all night and there quite a few contenders. You were dumbfounded both by the fact he had to ask what you thought he realized forever ago and also because the idea of having a mere crush almost made you laugh.

A crush was not what you had but you dumbly nodded your head, settling for accepting the vague notion that you had some sort of romantic feelings for him.

His hands were covering his face and he let out a groan so loud you flinched. His noise turned into something that you thought was a sob until you realized he was laughing at you, almost hysterically laughing so hard that he was leaning over onto his knees before rocking backwards again.

The tears that were sitting on your waterline were falling freely now and you were frozen in shock at the fact he was actually laughing at you.

You had never felt so hurt in your entire life and you were even more blindsided that your sweet best friend was apparently capable of this kind of cruelty. The idea of him being upset or disappointment in your firm confirmation was way more appealing than him finding you straight up comedic.

“You should go.” You had never uttered those words to him before and you had hoped they came off as fiery and angry as you felt under the devastation but instead it was said in an unchareristic choked sob that had his hands immediately flying off of his face.

His eyes were wide and guilty as he took in the expression you had and your wet cheeks and he was shuffling forward to cup your face.

“Oh shit, fuck.” He was wiping your teary trails as fast as they came and staring at you with remorse, only making you cry harder. “Wait don’t cry.”

“You’re laughing at me.” You sounded childish and whiny but you didn’t know what else to be in this situation, too comfortable to be truly cruel to him despite the want to be. How can he be so hurtful and then hold you like he wasn’t responsible for your extreme reaction?

“What? No I’m not.” He was shaking his head and his face was creasing with confusion like it was the most ridiculous thing you could have said. “I’m laughing at us, at how stupid we are.”

You were exhausted from this entire night and you had no response to give him despite your confusion and want for him to explain what could possibly be so fucking funny about all of this stupidty. You sat there silently crying and staring at him as he sighed like he only just realized he needed to speak what he was thinking and was finding it burdensome.

“You have to know that I like you too Y/N.” He was whispering it like he was still trying to keep it a secret and that damned box flew open, sending its lock and chains flying around your chest in a million sharp pieces. “You’re the last person in the world to figure it out apparently.”

You had absolutely zero idea what to say to that or how to even begin to process the level of misunderstanding and blurred communication that had happened in just a few hours. His apologies on the way home and guilty expression suddenly made alot more sense considering he wasn’t sorry about breaking your heart and instead apologicetic he had made you break his.

“I thought you were messing with me until I saw you were crying and, god you don’t like to mess with people anyways. I really fucked this all up didn’t I.” It was his turn to ramble now and you watched him with a quivering lip and soft sniffles as you stopped crying slowly.

“You’re not rejecting me?” You’d be caught dead before talking in this tone around anyone else but he wasn’t just anyone and his eyes softened like you were the cutest thing in the world to him.

“I may be stupid but I’m not that big of an idiot.” He was laughing a little at himself or maybe the idea of ever rejecting you and now it was your turn to groan. “I thought you were inlove with Taehyung.”

“Taehyung’s gay.” You were blurting it out from the frustration of the situation and you covered your face like he had a few seconds ago.

His mouth was parted in surprise when you gathered the courage to look at him again and you almost laughed, mouth barely turning up from the ridiculousness of everything transpiring.

“That actually makes a lot of sense.” His slow reply made you burst into delirious giggles and he smiled at your reaction.

It seemed like the hard part of the conversation was finally over and you leaned on your side against the footrest of the couch, sighing softly.

“We have to be the two stupidest people alive.”

“You’re not stupid.” He was shaking his head and there it was again, that familiar offended tone he always had when you insulted yourself.

You suddenly felt like you must be because it was increasingly obvious to you that he must feel some sort of positive non platonic way towards you. The look in his eye was so apparent now that you weren’t sure how you ever missed it before, so stuck in your own attempts to disguise your own gaze.

“I don’t know what to do now or what this means.” You’re staring straight ahead but not really looking at anything as your mind spins and reels. It all is starting to feel a bit far from reality and you let out a humorless disbeliving laugh. “I mean you are you and I’m..”

You trail off but he knows exactly where you were going with that statement and that same annoyance he radiated when you made the comment about Taehyung was back tenfold. His glare was on you but you knew it was directed towards that mean insecure voice inside you and not anything else.

“Maybe you are stupid because you really have no idea what happens to a room when you walk into it.” He looks angrier than you’d ever seen him but it’s the type of anger that comes when he tastes a particularly delicious bite of food or sees a cute dog on tiktok, nothing like the face he has whenever his dad calls or when a job falls through.

Everything about what he is saying makes no sense to you and you suddenly have the urge to crawl into your bed and sleep this off, hoping you can wake up tomorrow either ten steps backwards or four years in the future.

There is a lengthy silence where the two of you just stare at eachother and you keep waiting for it to feel wrong or feel like you made a grave mistake that you can’t take back but your heart seems to recall who you are sitting with much faster than your brain.

You can’t think of a time where you had ever felt wrong when you were in the same space as Jungkook and the uncertainty of the future and what this conversation means for your connection and friendship has nothing on the tie between you that flows with every look and nervous smile.

Loving him was as easy as any breath you could take and you looked away with silence in your warmed chest as you took another sip of your hot chocolate.

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