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wndaswife · 2 months ago

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girl next door | wanda maximoff & fem!reader

Wanda attempts to become closer with the young woman who moved in beside her while balancing her work and personal life, though she’s doubtful of the possibility that you might be interested in her at all.

Word count: 23 310

Tags | MDNI: smut, fluff, shy idiots flirting, wanda is a cutie and kind of a pervert, specified age-gap, masturbation, fingering, cunnilingus, dildo usage, praise, wanda doesn’t know what mommy kink is yet but you can tell she’d be into it, milf!wanda maximoff, lesbian reader

Checking her rear mirror before signalling left and merging into the adjacent lane, Wanda drove around the moving truck parked outside of one of the townhouse buildings she lived beside. Beside her detached house was a townhouse owned and put up for rent for temporary long-stay renters, and often, around the beginning of the summer or the start of September, Wanda would often see professionals working in Jersey City moving in.

It was the start of the summer now, and there were presently movers helping to carry small pieces of furniture through the open townhouse doors. It was furnished inside, Wanda assumed, though the furniture they were bringing in seemed to be building up to some sort of office — perhaps there was an extra empty room in there for renters, and whoever was moving in was setting up a workspace.

Wanda nearly missed her driveway while she was scrutinising everything the movers were bringing in, trying to pin down whoever it was that was renting. When Wanda stepped out and shut the car door, she could see a young woman from above the roof of her car stepping out of the townhouse’s front door, talking with the movers and letting them know where to place the furniture.

Just when it seemed that the young woman’s gaze shifted over to Wanda, who was, admittedly, staring a bit too hard, Wanda’s phone buzzed with an incoming phone call and she quickly broke eye contact to pick it up. She locked her car and walked up to her front door, carrying a stack of paperwork of upcoming orders that she needed to sort through.

She thought of you again while making dinner, curious about you for some reason she didn’t quite understand. She wondered if you were just a younger relative helping the actual renter move in, or if someone who looked as young as you had really moved into Westview by herself just beside her.

From the kitchen island counter where she was standing eating her dinner, Wanda looked through the living room window where she could watch you continue to unpack a few small things from the back of your trunk. She regarded you curiously; perhaps it was your age or the fact that you seemed to have moved in alone that seemed to be interesting to her, though Wanda wasn’t sure why any of that would necessarily pique her interest as she felt like it had.

In the morning, Wanda prepared for the twins’ arrival in the afternoon when she’d have to pick them up after work, waking up with enough time to clean.

Vision, Wanda’s ex-husband, worked as an attorney in New Jersey and often stayed in New York, but when it was his turn with the twins, he stayed in New Jersey — much closer to Westview.

Wanda had always counted herself as lucky for having been married to and having children with a good man. Though she and Vision were necessarily divorced, she never had to worry about what would become of their connection, and she knew that their relationship wouldn’t regress into something difficult between the both of them nor with their children.

However it became rather clear as their relationship progressed, especially after they had children, that the directions of their ambitions and perspectives of their lives were diverting from each other; nothing about them aligned except for their children.

Vision was Wanda’s neighbour when she first moved into her apartment once arriving in America alone. He was smart and very kind and showed her around. He was a westernised Brit, which was palatable for Wanda who found security with a man who knew so much about the country she had just moved to, but who also wasn’t overbearing, and was rather well-mannered and docile.

When they first met, Vision was finishing his second last year of law school, and Wanda didn’t have much going on for herself until she made plans to open a business. It all went quite fast after they married; Vision passed his bar and Wanda’s floral shop had begun to find its footing, and they decided to finally have a family.

But Vision’s career and dreams took him further than what Westview could offer, and Wanda wasn’t the same young woman with wide-eyes and unsteady footing like she was when they met — she had dreams too, and children.

By the time the twins turned two, it wasn’t difficult to figure out that things were different. Their dynamic had changed, they weren’t of the same mind as they used to be, and Vision could tell that Wanda had changed too; she hadn’t intended to be distant, but it always felt like her life took place somewhere her husband couldn’t reach. She was changing and growing, and she didn’t need a crutch to lean on anymore.

She wasn’t as unsteady and lost as she used to be.

By the time she was leaving the house, it should’ve been around the time that Vision was dropping the twins off, but instead, she opened the door to see them running up the porch stairs.

Surprised at the way they rushed passed her, both giving her a quick hello before they ran up the stairs, Wanda stuttered, “What–”

“They forgot their class projects,” Vision explained with an awkward smile, stepping onto the porch and watching Tommy and Billy dash into their rooms.

“The Bristol boards?”

He nodded.

“Did they behave?” she asked, holding her purse with both hands in front of her.

“Of course,” her ex-husband answered with a smile. “We went to the cinema on Friday. Tommy cried during the final scene and Billy was quite supportive.”

Wanda and Vision shared a laugh, and chatted about how it was going with the new firm he was with and about Wanda’s shop, until the twins came back down holding their school projects.

“Good luck on your presentations today,” Wanda told them and leaned down, holding each of their faces delicately and kissing each of their foreheads.

“Thank you, mama,” Billy replied cheerily and gave her the best hug he could with his other arm full of Bristol board.

Vision and Wanda spoke a little more about when he would pick them up this weekend for their grandfather’s birthday, which Wanda couldn’t attend because she had promised to help set up a town event celebrating the start of the new season.

Westview was a popular destination during the Spring for it was located in a relatively secluded area of New Jersey, and well-known for its nature reserves, which also meant Westview well-decorated for the season.

That also meant Wanda and her floral shop were always hard at work throughout the start of Spring.

From the corner of her eye, Wanda saw your car pull into the driveway, and for a moment she saw you briefly running your eyes over her and Vision and the twins in the car.

Throughout the day, Wanda thought of you for the same reason as she did last night, and with the same degree of inexplicability. While she signed and read through paperwork for orders and put together arrangements alongside her employees, she thought of how long you might be renting and where you’d come from. She thought of the kind of flowers you might like; she tried her best to recall the furniture and items you’d brought in yesterday to try and pin down your style.

Once she realised how much she’d been thinking of you and realising it was strange that she kept acting as if she hadn’t been thinking of you, Wanda decided to put together a bouquet for you as a welcome gift.

After she picked the twins up from school, she was sure to keep the bouquet in its vase secured in the passenger’s seat, checking on it occasionally as she spoke with the boys about how their days and presentations went.

“Go put your things away,” Wanda told them as she ushered them through the front door, “I’ll come to help you with your homework in just a minute.” She locked the front door and headed back to her car, reaching into the passenger’s seat for the bouquet.

Your car was in the driveway, and she could see some movement through the window beside the dining room.

For the first time since she even thought to put the bouquet together, Wanda wondered if she was coming off too strong, or even too strange. After all, why would the older woman neighbouring you introduce herself with a bouquet of flowers?

Wanda could justify herself to you; she owned a floral shop and was working all day and didn’t have time to give you anything else and she always made a point to be friendly to neighbours.

Before she could even justify herself to herself, she was already knocking on your front door holding the vase securely with two hands. She heard some rustling beyond the door, and a few chaotic tumbles, before the front door opened and Wanda got a good look at you for the first time.

You were young — a college student, she presumed — and pretty.

Wanda felt her words catch in her throat and she internally panicked trying to get some form of an introduction out. She hadn’t known what she had expected from you when she knocked on your door or what unsuspecting part of her curiosity was taken aback by your appearance, but Wanda forced out an introduction as normal-seeming as she could.

“Hi,” she said with a friendly smile, “I’m Wanda Maximoff, your next-door neighbour.”

Panicked and deciding that her initial introduction wasn’t enough, she added, “I thought I should introduce myself.”

She couldn’t seem to stop rambling. “A-And I work at a floral shop in the shopping district, hence the flowers,” she explained then held the vase out to you.

You seemed genuinely happy and appreciative when you replied, “Oh, that’s so nice of you! Thank you so much.” Wanda was grateful when you took the bouquet from her and didn’t look like you thought the gesture was strange.

“I was hoping I might be able to meet some people from the neighbourhood soon and maybe explore Westview a little,” you told her, “but I’ve just been so busy unpacking — so thank you, really.”

“I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you,” you introduced yourself. “I saw you this morning and thought to say hello today too, but I think I’ve just been so overwhelmed with the move.”

Wanda thought you were sweet and rather cute. She attributed it to the fact that you stood out from the other people of Westview who were older and a bit less spry. “It’s normal to be a bit overwhelmed once first moving into a new place,” she told you supportively. “I’m sure you’ll adjust in no time; Westview is easy to get comfortable in.”

“Thank you,” you answered graciously. “I’m happy to finally be able to talk to someone here.”

You were trusting and talkative too, Wanda noted.

“I would be happy to show you around whenever you have some free time,” Wanda found herself offering quicker than she could think through what she was saying. She added, trying to save her first impression, “Only if you don’t mind — I assume you’re a student and rather busy.”

“I would really love to have a tour!” you answered enthusiastically. “Thank you so much. I feel adjusted to Westview already.”

Wanda felt herself flush, feeling appreciated and flattered by your words.

“Would it be okay if we exchanged numbers?” you asked. “I can let you know when I’m free next! I should be sometime at the end of the week; I don’t start my work until next week.”

“O-Of course, that’s completely okay,” Wanda said with a wide neighbourly smile, stuttering slightly for a reason she couldn’t exactly explain to herself. It was normal to exchange numbers with acquaintances, but the idea of you asking for her number made her feel excited.

You kept taking her by surprise, though she wasn’t sure why.

For the rest of the night, Wanda tended to the twins — helping them with their homework, making them dinner, and playing Minecraft with them before bed.

They said she was bad at it, but they always asked for her to play with them.

As she got ready in her washroom after putting the boys to bed, Wanda picked up her phone at the sound of a text and found a message from you: Hi Ms Maximoff, it’s Y/N! Thanks again for the flowers, they’re beautiful.

The way in which you addressed her was all too formal, but there was something about how polite and proper it was that she enjoyed, even if it made her feel a little old.

While Wanda found herself smiling at her phone and thinking up a way to reply, you texted again: You mentioned you worked at a floral shop in town. Where is it located?

Eventually, you spoke to her about what you were studying and what you were in Westview for and for how long. She talked about Tommy and Billy and their father and when she opened her business. You and Wanda continued to text you back and forth until she realised she had stayed up about thirty minutes past when she planned to sleep, and she had to tell you goodnight.

Wanda couldn’t remember the last time someone seemed so genuinely interested in her life and interested in sharing things about themselves with her. It made her feel interesting and paid attention to.

In the morning immediately after dropping the twins off and saying goodbye to them, her thoughts went to you and the conversation you shared together last night.

You had just graduated and were now doing research with a professor, and you wanted to explore some research before beginning your Master’s. Since your professor’s research institute was located closer to Westview than northern New Jersey, you decided to move to Westview for the duration of your six-month research period.

Around the beginning of the day Wanda thought of you the most, wondering particularly about when she might see you again and when you might be free, until the afternoon rolled around when her scheduled employees came in and she started picking up the pace with her orders and arrangements.

It wasn’t a large shop, so there were typically four people working there at a time. One dealt with walk-in orders and those who wanted to purchase anything on display in the front, another with shipments and administrative work, and two that helped with preparing and putting together the arrangements.

Wanda oversaw and managed all of it along with Agatha, who she’d opened the shop with, so she worked each day aside from Fridays and Saturdays — unless she needed to be at work — and Sundays when the shop was closed.

Spring was busy for them, but Westview was a rather small town and their shop was also local and a bit smaller. However, it was from Wanda’s shop that businesses and sometimes the town ordered intricate arrangements for events or for statement display pieces.

But by the late afternoon, the shop had a visitor that Wanda hadn’t expected.

“Y/N,” Wanda uttered at the sight of you walking into the shop, looking around at the vases and flowers and succulents on display.

“Hi,” you greeted with a smile once you walked up to the cash register.

Wanda’s smile widened and she felt herself excited and unsteady at the thought that you might have come into the shop purposely just to visit her — but she couldn’t jump to conclusions. “Are you looking for another bouquet?” she teased.

You laughed and Wanda felt her chest flutter.

“No, not yet,” you answered. “I just thought I would return the welcome favour with a gift.”

You laid a cup of tea and a pastry on the counter between the both of you and Wanda found herself speechless by your gesture — you had come just to visit her after she told you where she worked, and you had brought a gift for her too.

“I finally got the chance to walk around today, and I thought to visit the shopping district first and stopped by the café down the street to get something for you. I hope you’re okay with Oolong.”

“Y/N…” Wanda didn’t know what to say, her hands laying themselves by the tea and pastry but not having enough confidence to take them. “You really didn’t have to — and to have come all the way over here!”

You laid your hand atop of Wanda’s and she felt her cheeks flush, her eyes flickering down to your soft hand for a brief moment before looking back up at your soft expression. “But I wanted to,” you told her, then retracted your hand. “I really am grateful and I hoped to be able to make my own impression if not pay you back for the gift.”

Wanda felt so warm and she finally gave in, taking the tea and pastry and moving it closer to her and beside the cash register. “Thank you so much, that’s very kind,” she said.

To have someone think of her so much, to go out of their way during their first day free from unpacking to visit her and make such a thoughtful gesture instilled in Wanda a feeling she hadn’t felt in a very long time — or ever, if she really thought about it.

She felt so cared for, and seen.

“Have you been liking the town so far?” she asked.

You nodded. “Westview is really beautiful, and I’m happy to have chosen to move here,” you answered.

“But you seem busy,” you said, looking around at the employees walking behind her with papers or assortments of flowers in their hands. “Hopefully we’re both free soon so you can show me around your favourite spots.”

“I’m really looking forward to that,” Wanda replied with an eager smile.

Over the next while, Wanda’s free time completely diminished and she struggled to find any time to see you like she’d promised or even talking with you in-person or over the phone.

You sometimes see her coming back late, sometimes looking fatigued or just in a rush to finally get home, so you didn’t want to push by messaging or visiting her, intruding where you shouldn’t as a neighbour and a new friend.

You imagined that the mere thought of you must just be another task she must complete and try to fit into her schedule, so you didn’t want to impose yourself and overwhelm her.

Wanda also thought often about reaching out to you just to ask how you’d been and to let you know that she’d just been rather overwhelmed for the last two weeks, but that she’d been thinking of you and hoping her schedule might free up soon.

She felt disappointed in the timing too, because she knew that your research project had already begun.

But she thought the attempts would be fruitless and unwanted — why message you just to say she still couldn’t fulfil her promise?

There was one time you nearly had a proper conversation with her a few days ago. You were outside planting some flowers you had bought, finally having finished packing inside and deciding that it was time to decorate the exterior of your place too.

Wanda was waiting for a ride from her coworker as her car was in the shop, and she had gone out to wait for her at the same time you were outside.

She asked how your research had been going and you spoke a little about that, but you spoke more about the flowers you were planting and Wanda’s tips on how to take care of them.

The conversation ended abruptly though the both of you had plenty more to say when a brunette older woman around Wanda’s age pulled into her driveway — and in a rather gorgeous vintage car.

A few times, Wanda saw you walking around town with Dottie, a teacher at Tommy and Billy’s school and a member of the town council, and Wanda sometimes saw her at the meetings when she occasionally stopped by.

They interacted a handful of times during events, but first met when she was Tommy and Billy’s teacher. She came off as condescending, at least to Wanda, but got along just fine with Vision.

She didn’t think there was any particular reason that Dottie would dislike her, but she understood that it did sometimes happen that some people just didn’t get along by nature. But she seemed to be getting along with you just fine — quite well actually, for how often she saw you walking together.

Over time when she had begun to hear from you less, Wanda figured that perhaps you had only just wanted to make a friend in Westview, and Dottie was around far more than she was.

Wanda supposed that Dottie was perhaps a bit more enthusiastic also. She was younger than her too, which Wanda guessed was something that you might like more — perhaps you had more in common with her.

It seemed like the only thing that aligned well between you and Wanda was where you lived.

“Ms Maximoff!” you called from your driveway, and Wanda turned to see you waving at her.

It was around six in the morning, and Wanda had to head to the shop early to receive some shipments.

“Hi, Y/N,” she answered and waved back with a pleased smile.

The two of you bridged the gap between the two driveways and met in between.

“Good morning,” Wanda greeted, her smile wider upon seeing you much closer.

Your eagerness to speak with her was refreshing and quite nice.

“Morning,” you replied. “Are you heading to work?”

She nodded and explained, “I have a few shipments coming in today that I need to be there for. And you? Are you heading to your professor’s office?”

“I am, yeah,” you said, a bit wearily as if feeling sheepish.

Sometimes you felt a little shy bringing up things that made the age difference between you and Wanda all the more obvious, like how you were basically going off to school just like her kids would while she was heading off to work at a shop she owned.

Wanda was about to ask why you seemed to lack enthusiasm about heading there, but then you asked: “Can I drive you to work? I can pick you up when you’re off.”

The offer took Wanda by surprise. You were so considerate of her, and without even a second thought to it. “O-Oh, really?” she stuttered. “You don’t have to do that. I’ve been coming home late recently; I don’t want to keep you up or bother you with waiting for me.”

“I know,” you said. “I hope it’s not stalkerish — it’s by complete coincidence, I promise — but sometimes I do see you coming home a bit later. But I have some things to read for my professor today that I’ll take home to do tonight, so I’ll be up.”

“That’s… really sweet. But why go out of your way?”

She couldn’t tell because you were facing away from the sunrise so your face had casted shadow upon it, but it seemed like you were blushing as if having been caught in an act.

Wanda only regarded you with curiosity, squinting a little against the sun so she could see you better.

“I don’t want to come off as pushy, I apologise,” you quickly explained. “It was just something that came to mind.”

“Oh, no, that’s not what I meant,” Wanda replied, waving her hands in front of her and placing a hand on your arm reassuringly when you looked unsure of yourself. She tried to conjure up something to explain why she was so confused and surprised by your kindnesses, but was quickly shut up by her own hand at the feeling of your still arm under her palm and the meeting of your eyes with hers.

She dropped her hand and tucked her hair behind her ear, trying to sort through her thoughts for you.

The more Wanda thought about why it was so difficult to navigate your personality, the more she came to the realisation that aside from friends, and coworkers — which category, for whatever reason, Wanda didn’t think you fell into in that same informality — the only other experience she could call on was that which she had with Vision.

He was very formal and docile, and never took risks or said or did things out of what was expected. It seemed often that he was filling a role or going through the motions of things, which had never been very much of a problem for Wanda, who had thoroughly appreciated how static and steady he was.

As such, Wanda found herself often flustered and surprised by your affectionate gestures that told her you were interested in spending time with her, and spared no subtlety.

“I just feel a little guilty for having no time lately, and I haven’t really done you any favours,” she explained. “I think I just feel surprised when you take the time out of your day to think of me.”

Wanda worried that she might have embarrassed you, and she stayed silent, trying not to fuck anything else up by rambling in the way that she always felt like doing. She forgot that you had just finished your undergrad and that she was, in stark comparison, thirty-two years old, divorced, and living in a small town in New Jersey with two young kids.

Maybe she was struggling to view you in the casual way that anyone else in her shoes ought to, to see you like a neighbour or a passerby or a temporary renter of the house she lived beside.

But if not any of those came naturally to her, how did she see you?

Why did she keep thinking of how you saw Dottie?

“I’m so sorry. I hope I didn’t sound like I was rejecting your kindness,” she added, unable to keep quiet for even a moment.

“Why do you feel like you have to do favours for me?” you asked. “It’s okay if you do nothing for me ever, actually. I think I just like your company.”

Did you like consistency, a stable presence?

Did it bother you that she had introduced herself to you, then didn’t talk much afterwards?

Was trying to see her more a form of seeking consistency in a new town, rather than out of an actual desire of seeing her?

“I would love to get a ride from you,” Wanda told you and smiled. “Thank you. And I don’t think you come off as pushy at all.”

You and Wanda talked a lot on the drive to the shop.

She told you that she’d been extremely stressed with balancing everything and getting everything prepared in time, and always tried to finish most if not all of her work before the weekends so she could spend the most of it with her sons.

Thankfully, she’d been able to catch up with everything as the orders had died down, and she predicted that she may be finished before the upcoming weekend.

“Um, I don’t know if maybe you might not want to — so feel free to say no, since I know you have stuff going on,” you said once you parked in front of Wanda’s shop. “But I went to this really nice garden a few days ago and saw that next weekend there’s a Spring festival event, and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me.”

Before Wanda could answer, you added quickly, “Again, also, I don’t wanna add to your stress.”

“Y/N,” Wanda said, softly, before reaching over to place her hand atop of yours where it laid on your thigh. “I would love to go with you. I don’t think you’re a bother, and it wouldn’t add to my stress to see you at all. In fact, I think I would thoroughly enjoy taking the weekend to relax with you.”

“Really?”

Wanda nodded and smiled. “Westview has the Spring festival every year — it’s one of the reasons I’m quite busy at the shop at the start of the season.”

“Would your kids like to go?”

“Their father is taking them to New York City this weekend, so it’ll be just you and I, if that’s okay.”

The enthusiasm written on your face at her answer made Wanda giggle.

—

“What’s got you so jolly at six in the morning?” Agatha asked as she was unloading the shipment of glass vases from the delivery truck.

“What?” Wanda asked, looking up from her bag that she had placed in the backroom to start helping her unload.

The two women had been friends since Wanda moved into Westview with Vision years ago. She was there for her before they divorced, during it, and after, and helped Wanda open her business.

In fact, Agatha was Wanda’s right-hand woman in the shop, and they worked closely in terms of their job position and responsibilities.

Agatha stood up straight and put her hands on her hips, surveying her best friend.

“What are you looking at?” Wanda inquired hastily, leaning over to try and lift up a rather large securely-wrapped vase — it was for a new store’s grand opening for this upcoming weekend, so they ordered a rather large ensemble. “Can you help me?”

She ignored Wanda’s request for help and pressed on. “Are you seeing someone?”

“What? No! I’m not seeing anyone.”

Agatha squinted and her fingers tapped distractedly against her hip. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Agatha, I’m sure. Please–”

“Did you sleep with someone last night? A one-night stand, then.”

Wanda stood up straight and put her hands on her own hips defiantly. “No!” she answered with finality. “Why are you asking me all this?”

“You just look like…”

“Like what?”

“You look smitten.”

She never used the term smitten in thinking about how she felt about you, but to have someone else call it that made Wanda reevaluate her feelings toward you.

Is that how she felt?

“It’s just nice to be noticed… and-and taken care of,” Wanda said as she and Agatha started restocking the inventory room, with Wanda checking things off their checklist and taking inventory count — albeit distractedly.

“Honey,” Agatha started, setting down a planter on the table Wanda was leaning her hip on and standing in front of her. “I’m so happy that you’ve met Y/N, and she seems really sweet, but I hope you know what you’re doing with someone younger than you.”

She added, “It’s not like this is something familiar to you. The only person you’ve really been with is your ex-husband, and you were the younger woman.”

Wanda looked down at the checklist, thinking. “I don’t think I’m really expecting her to… to want anything. I don’t think she could even be interested in that,” she said. “I think maybe I should just see things from a black-and-white perspective — see things as they are.”

“Don’t get me wrong — I don’t want to deter you from pursuing who you’re interested in, Wanda,” Agatha told her. “I just don’t want to see you hurt. I know you’ve been married and that you have kids, but you have a wide-eyed view of the world. I don’t want to see you get hurt or let down.”

—

“Were you busy today?” you asked as you held the passenger door open for Wanda.

“Thank you,” she said with a grateful smile as she slid in. “No — Agatha was working with me all day.”

When you got into the driver’s seat, you asked, “Who’s that?”

“She’s a good friend of mine, and we opened the shop together,” Wanda explained, buckling herself in. “How was your day?”

The conversation was so casual and almost domestic, and the comfort of being able to see you after work felt a lot like coming back home after a long day.

“I guess not so bad,” you answered, making your way home. “I was reading and taking notes all day.”

After a moment of trying to garner some confidence, Wanda spoke. “Y/N, I want to say that I really appreciate your company, and how kind you’ve been to me,” she said honestly, playing with her fingers with her hands tucked between her thighs. “I don’t have a lot of time to meet new people, and Westview is rather small, so it’s also rare for anyone to be as thoughtful as you.”

She added, “I thought I should be honest, and I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate the time you take for me.”

You shifted a little in your seat, and Wanda thought maybe you were just taking a moment to choose your words carefully.

“I didn’t think you were unappreciative,” you reassured. “I was just trying to be friendly.”

Friendly.

Wanda looked at you for a few moments, studying your face, until you turned and smiled at her. She returned the smile and looked back to the road silently.

Had she embarrassed you this morning?

Was she misreading things?

She wanted to sink into the seat and fall right through to the core of the earth.

The rest of the drive was filled mostly with small talk, though it didn’t feel very awkward. However, Wanda felt like she was on edge, like she had some responsibility to be more direct or open, and she didn’t quite know how else to be anything but hesitant and unsure of herself.

She felt disappointed when you pulled into her driveway, now having been unable to communicate her affection for you properly throughout the drive.

“By the way, uh…” You scratched the back of your neck awkwardly and Wanda looked at you, anxious about what you might say.

If you were going to apologise for being so forward and open with her, she wouldn’t know what to do next. She wanted to keep becoming closer with you, and to spend time with you like you’d discussed, and she wouldn’t know how to take that up on her own if you decided to apologise for everything.

“I made you dinner,” you said finally and turned around to reach in the backseat to hand Wanda a tupperware of pasta that was still quite warm. “You’re always coming back late, and I’m sometimes having dinner later because I just get caught up with the work I’m doing, so I thought I’d just make you some since I was gonna pick you up.”

You had an awkward, nervous smile on your lips and your thumb kept tapping against the lid as you spoke.

Wanda melted, her hand coming to her chest as she leaned forward to take a look at what looked like spaghetti. “Y/N, I don’t know what to say… You didn’t have to…”

She felt truly a loss for words, being entirely unable to remember the last time someone had been so considerate of her.

Since her divorce, most of Wanda’s life had been occupied by her job and her children. It wasn’t anything to complain about, and she very rarely ever did, but your kindness and attention the past little while reminded her of how infrequently she had anything new happen in her life.

“You’re so considerate of me,” she said as sincerely as she could communicate, looking up from the food and at you, who met her eyes with a soft blush before looking away.

The bashfulness of your reaction made Wanda take her bottom lip between her teeth, a small grin forming on her lips, equally as nervous but also fueled by her intrigue in you.

“Thank you for driving me and making me dinner,” Wanda said after unlocking her front door.

When she turned, you were standing on her porch looking at her expectantly, the tupperware in hand. She thought you looked so sweet… and young — just innocent.

There was something so delicate about the respectful distance the both of you kept, a lingering interest in one another, and something that just felt tense.

It made Wanda ache in ways she couldn’t quite explain.

Even with Vision, the excitement she’d felt with him was different from what she was feeling now. She was so young back when they first met, and the pull she’d felt towards him was similar to that of a lighthouse’s to a stranded sailor.

There was so much she’d yet to learn or live through when she first met him, and she often wondered how things might’ve been if she hadn’t spent so much of her time tied down.

But at the end of everything, there were the twins, and Wanda could never truly wish for anything that had happened up until now to change if it meant not having them.

If she thought about it, it seemed that most of what she did was settle for a lack of other opportunity; nothing very new or exciting happened in her life nor in Westview, and by the time she was no longer who she was when she first moved to America, she was engaged with plans for children and a future with the first man she’d met when she came here.

She suddenly felt quite determined to become close with you, for it certainly wasn’t very often that anyone paid her any mind.

Especially not someone like you.

“I really enjoy your company, Ms Maximoff, and I know you think I’m always going so far out of my way for you, but honestly, I like to be able to help,” you insisted.

Wanda felt a surge in the depths of her lower stomach and up to her chest at the polite tone of your voice and the way you looked in the warm orange of her porch light. She stepped forward and took the tupperware from you. She wrapped an arm around your upper back and pecked your cheek.

“The effort isn’t lost on me, I assure you,” she said, then pulled away with a soft smile to find your cheeks slightly flushed and your eyes darting around nervously. Her smile could only widen in response and she laughed a little, pulling away from you to head inside.

She bid you a goodbye with a wave of her hand which you returned, and Wanda closed the front door behind her.

Almost immediately once she closed the door, the twins called from their father’s phone to talk with her before they headed to bed; sometimes they called in the evenings when they were away, and especially if they’d done something fun with their father earlier.

They greeted her together: “Hi, mom!”

“Hi, boys,” she replied with a widening grin as she set her things down, balancing your tupperware in the other arm. “Shouldn’t you be asleep by now?”

Then there came the excuses of wanting to stay up to speak with her. She thought they were cute when they were making excuses, so she pretended she didn’t catch on.

It wasn’t until after the call ended and Wanda was in the middle of eating the dinner you’d prepared for her that she finally had time to reflect on some things.

Firstly, the dinner was delicious, and so that made a marvellous impression in her mind about you as a well-put-together student who knew how to cook for herself.

Then she wondered — worried, even — if the kiss was going a bit too far. But you didn’t seem uncomfortable, and there was something about you that made Wanda think you were–

She frowned at herself, rubbing her forehead with the hand she was holding her fork in as she nearly came to a thought that she wouldn’t be able to decipher between projection and reality.

And if it were projection, that must mean there was some sort of intentionality behind it.

Maybe Agatha was right, and she really was smitten.

What would anyone else call it — a crush?

That made her nose wrinkle up as she poked at the pasta, deep in thought; older women didn’t get crushes. Older women were presently married or they got divorced.

But a college student, for crying out loud…

What was she thinking?

She took her bottom lip between her teeth and stared at her phone, trying to repress the urge to text you about dinner as if she hadn’t just been scolding herself for the complicated feelings she was having about you.

Giving in, she set the fork down and texted you, telling you that the dinner was delicious, and moreover, that she would certainly have to find a way to pay you back and buy you a meal this weekend.

She thought she was acting ridiculous for having just previously been feeling conflicted for how she was feeling and now itching to hear a response from you.

Wanda moved her empty bowl away and hid her face in her arms, feeling helpless for the fluttery way she continued to feel in her stomach in spite of how her mind desperately tried to come up with ways to reason her thoughts of you away.

She knew what anyone would call her — a divorcée desperate for attention from a younger girl who wasn’t as caught up with life as people her age were and so, predictably, Wanda clung onto you.

But it wasn’t like she couldn’t get the attention of other people.

Once Wanda had signed up for a dating app upon Agatha’s advice, and she thought it was rather easy to find people interested in her, though often attracting men she didn’t feel very invested in at all nor whom she ever enjoyed seeing enough for a second date.

Not very often, but here and there, Wanda would be approached by men in public too.

She always thought her lack of interest was because she was too busy, and even entertained the idea that perhaps she just wasn’t cut out for any kind of relationship after her marriage.

But she didn’t feel that way at all about you. She thought you were sweet and rather cute and though she had to admit there was something about your age that enticed her, she also really enjoyed talking with you when she could over text, and often looked forward to passing by you in the driveway.

She was curious about things like your schooling and what you thought of Westview, and more about where you’d come from and how you decorated the inside of your place.

And there was a feeling deep within her chest and rising up her belly when she was around you or when you spoke with her, blushing around her or smiling in the shy way you did, that she couldn’t recall if she felt with Vision at all.

As Wanda got ready for bed and pretended like there wasn’t a reason she carried her phone with her to the washroom, she thought more about how she felt about Vision when they first met, and questioned her attraction to him.

There were times when she certainly felt attracted, though most typically when they were about to have sex and more frequently after they got married, but she couldn’t recall if the interest she felt with you this early into knowing you was ever involved in how she regarded Vision.

She just couldn’t stop thinking about how unsure and confused she was during the time of her life when they’d first met, and how that differed greatly from the place she was in now.

While getting into bed, Wanda’s phone buzzed. She picked it up faster than she’d like to admit.

You texted: Yay! Glad you like it!! I’m really looking forward to this weekend :)

A smile came to Wanda’s face as she read your text and she slowly descended into the comfort of her sheets as she replied. Perhaps she should’ve just liked the message and headed to bed, but after thinking of you for so long, she couldn’t help but want to talk a little more.

She replied: Are you still up doing work? Or are you heading to bed soon?

The response was read almost immediately and Wanda felt her heart race.

Just one more thing I have to do, then bedtime.. I hope you sleep well, Ms Maximoff <3

Wanda felt a rush surge through her and she inhaled sharply after reading the message, feeling her fingers partially frozen for a moment.

It was at a time in her relationship with you that you could start calling her by her first name, and really, the formalities made her feel a little old.

But also, there was something she liked about how polite you were — the shy smile on your face as you called her Ms Maximoff, how well-mannered you were.

And if she really thought about it… Wanda thought it placed her in a position of some authority, implying not only an age difference but a power dynamic when you addressed her.

It was new for her.

Don’t overwork yourself, Y/N :) Sweet dreams.

Wanda set her phone down and stared up at the ceiling. She wondered if you’ve ever been interested in an older woman before. Her cheeks immediately warmed at the thought — calling herself an older woman, carrying with it some sort of scandalous implication, and imagining you, someone so innocent and sweet, involved in it.

Her thoughts wandered before she could stop them, thinking of what that dynamic might be like.

Did she suit the ‘older woman’ character? Didn’t someone young like you need someone older and experienced, and confident about their sexuality? Isn’t that how these things normally went?

But she hardly knew anything, and only had one very short fling with a man since her divorce.

She’d never even been with a woman, let alone a younger girl.

Wanda turned onto her side and brought her plush blankets up to her face, the cold surface of it cooling her flushed cheeks.

But she couldn’t help but really think about it… As in, the kind of relationship and dynamic the two of you might have together if it really did happen, and if, maybe, she wasn’t making it all up.

If you had the capacity to like an older woman, that must’ve meant you had been with other girls before.

The thought of it made Wanda’s heart race.

She’d heard from Agatha the difference between being with a woman and with a man, that women were softer and smarter, knowing how to touch another woman as if she were herself, never thinking of imposing herself upon her like men did.

Sleeping with a woman is a form of masturbation, she’d said, for how women knew each other like they knew themselves.

Wanda wondered if you were as gentle with a lover as you were by your nature, for she knew that some people were vastly different in the bedroom than they were outside of it.

The thought of you exploring her body with your open palms and curved fingers, just as considerate and kind as you always were with her, a shaky ‘Ms Maximoff, is this okay?’ spilling from your lips as you moved closer–

Wanda squeezed her eyes shut and turned onto her other side, her fingers tightening around her blankets as she felt an undeniable ache growing between her thighs.

Daring to act defiantly against her sense of shame and dignity, trembling fingers slipped beneath her pajama shorts, not daring to go farther than her hips.

Her nails sunk into her right hip, scratching lightly at the skin as she held herself back, only for her thoughts to wander to the idea of your clumsy hands grabbing at her hips, your nails pressing into her skin as you pulled her closer, your breath shaky.

She took one of her pillows and lifted her blanket up, tucking it between her thighs and up against her clothed centre.

Taking her bottom lip between her teeth and hiding the top half of her face with her hand, she dared to roll her hips forward to satisfy the pressure between her thighs. But it was too dull for how her clit throbbed, desperate for further contact.

Frustrated at both how she was giving in and with how she had grown so desperate to the point of hastily pushing the pillow out of the way, she slipped her fingers past the waistband of her shorts and underwear.

The pads of her fingers met with the warmth of her sticky folds and Wanda whimpered into her pillow, turning her head and hiding from some invisible presence that she imagined was looking down at the display she was putting on.

She circled her middle finger against her clit and she shuddered, goosebumps running up her thighs as she tightly wrapped an arm around the pillow she’d previously pushed away, and she pulled it to her chest.

When she felt she was wet enough, and at the feeling of how she began tightening around nothing, her eyebrows furrowed together as she entered herself with two fingers, her thighs parting to allow her wrist some room.

She couldn’t help the way her mind went to you, not when her body urged to feel more; her thoughts summoned the thought of you, daring to imagine you beneath her, your hands running up her bare hips and up to hold her waist, the look of your face contorted with pleasure, your eyes meeting hers.

She’d never considered herself very assertive, especially not in the bedroom, but there was just something about you that awoke something in her that was completely foreign.

The idea of it excited her.

She’d never felt so… aroused.

Her thoughts gradually became more shameful, thinking about how you sounded like when you orgasmed, and particularly enjoying the idea that you’d be shy to make noise, prone to begging, and one to be eager to please your lover.

Wanda felt herself inch closer to her climax.

Maybe you’d be nervous to be with an older woman, hesitant to touch her and worried about being disrespectful. The thought of herself encouraging you, no longer being unsure and passive about things, sent a thrill through Wanda that she was certain she’d never felt before.

All this she associated only with you, and as she felt herself begin to tighten around her fingers, Wanda’s mind was full of you, shamelessly, and her heart pounded against her ribcage.

She came, crying out partially-muffled with half her face buried in her pillow, her wrist sore and her fingers numb to the repetitive speed at which she fingered herself.

When she fell back down from her height, her previously-arched back met the damp sheets beneath her and she felt momentarily anaesthetised as she caught her breath.

She groaned at how fatigued she felt, not having had such a tiring orgasm in a while, much less with just her fingers.

While she was washing her hands, she thought of you, wondered if you’d ever touched yourself to the thought of her, and soon squarely came to the decision that she would pursue you.

She’d made quite a mess of herself, and decided to also change her underwear before heading to bed.

The next few days before the weekend approached, Wanda felt increasingly encouraged every time she interacted with you, especially after having kissed you on the cheek that night. She still felt that she’d gone a little too far, but you still seemed to really like her.

She realised that she didn’t know as much about you as she’d like, and became increasingly enthusiastic about thst weekend when she’d be able to spend more time with you.

On Friday, you and Wanda made plans for the weekend, and it was agreed that she would drive the both of you to the festival then back home to repay you for a few nights ago.

Dressed in a sundress that reached below her knees and deciding to go with her hair down, Wanda nervously crossed the strip of grass that divided your two driveways and walked up to your front door.

It was convenient that you were neighbours, but the space between the two of you left very little time for Wanda to soothe her own anxiety as she prepared for a day out together.

You opened the front door and stepped through as if not trying to waste a moment to head out.

“Hi,” you said with a smile as you stepped onto the porch before turning to lock the front door.

“Hi,” she answered and returned the polite smile when you turned back around, slightly nervous with her hands held in front of her body, holding her purse.

Wanda was suddenly overcome at your momentary undivided attention, feeling that if you scrutinised her just enough, you’d be able to read on her face what she had done to the thought of you that first night it happened, and nearly every night since.

It was the first time she was seeing you since then beyond some short conversations in the driveway, and some paranoid part of her thought you secretly knew all she’d been doing.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you with your hair down,” you noted as we drove to the town square where the festival was taking place. “Did you curl it a little?”

Feeling suddenly self-conscious now that you’d noticed, Wanda took one hand off the wheel and played with the ends of her hair. “Um,” she hesitated. “I did — a little.”

“No, I mean, it’s really pretty, Ms Maximoff,” you quickly said in case she got the wrong idea.

Feeling that perhaps you might’ve been teasing, for whatever reason, Wanda looked over at you momentarily and found you looking over at her. You met her eyes with a small encouraging smile and Wanda looked back onto the road.

“Thank you,” she replied, a smile of her own slowly growing. “I don’t usually do anything with it because I’m either working or at home, and don’t often dress up for anything.” She kept her hair short for functionality reasons, partly, and also because she’d cut it after her divorce just to try something new and found some comfort in keeping the same hairstyle.

Once or twice, she tried to grow it out again, but it just seemed impractical for how often she kept her hair up or had it pushed back with a headband during work, and even at home.

It made her feel rather flattered that you paid mind to something like her hair, since for the most part Wanda saw herself as blending in with the rest of Westview’s docile and placid background, which was to say that she didn’t think there wasn’t anything particularly interesting about herself.

To have a fresh pair of eyes focus on her so much made sparks flutter about in her body.

Her polite smile wavered slightly as more perverse thoughts overcame her. She wondered what lay beyond your still gaze that was both polite as your eyes crinkled at the sides and slightly girlish as your face seemed to glow when you smiled.

Surely, no one suspected that she’d done all that she had to the thought of you — how wet the thought of you made her, the amount of times she moaned your name with her back arched or with her body sprawled across the cool sheets of her bed.

But she had done them all.

Could the same be said for you, beyond an externality that no one else would suspect such things about?

Wanda felt a wave of shame course through her — what was she doing, assuming such things about a college student, and projecting her own desires onto you?

But even that thrum of shame made her ache and she pressed her thighs together in her seat; she should’ve felt humiliated and ashamed for the thoughts she was having, but instead, she felt… thrilled, and in a way she hadn’t ever felt before.

Upon arriving at the festival, and finding a good parking spot in a closer area designated for employees due to Wanda owning the shop that had provided so many of the booths with their bouquets and flower arrangements, the two of you decided on getting lunch first.

Truthfully, Wanda had been so anxious about the upcoming day out with you that her nerves had been far too frenzied to allow her to stomach any food, or to feel any hunger to begin with. It was only until she passed a booth of fresh buttered corn that she’d realised she hadn’t eaten a thing all day, and that she was finally hungry.

Deciding on some deli sandwiches, you and Wanda took your food and drinks to a seating area beneath an oak tree at one of the parks.

For a Spring day, it was particularly warm — likely because there was hardly any breeze at all.

For the weather, Wanda was glad she was wearing a dress, and maybe she was just making it all up, but she could swear she’d seen your eyes running over her exposed legs, and even peeking down her dress.

Maybe you were just curious about what she was wearing, but still, Wanda couldn’t control the way she felt her heart thump at the prospect that you were checking her out.

The eyes of men had only ever made her feel preyed on, and whether she was anything less than mildly annoyed depended on whether she had enough patience to tolerate any of it.

Sometimes she thought it was strange for her to feel so abhorrent towards men when she’d been able to marry Vision. She hadn’t felt this impatient and bored around him, and not even when they’d first met.

She certainly wouldn’t call it abhorrent, but with how often women her age spoke about fantasies or fooling around with younger men or their handsome coworkers — even Agatha had a tendency to do this — it wasn’t uncommon for some to question her interest in remarrying or at the very least, finding a new partner.

All this she told you as you ate together, aside from how the train of thought started with her realising how aroused she felt at the thought that you were checking her out. She was interested in sharing much more about herself and learning that much more about you.

“Maybe you haven’t met the right guy yet,” you suggested helpfully. “A lot of people say the right one comes along when you’re not really looking.”

Seriously, though, for whatever reason, the idea of going through the motions of meeting a new man was a process Wanda felt herself dreading whenever she thought about it. She could imagine nothing worse than inviting a man into her home and introducing him to her children, him meeting her friends, being touched by a man, waking up next to one.

“I don’t think I’m looking for any guy right now,” Wanda replied, pushing a tomato that had partially slipped from her sandwich back in between the bread. She looked up and found you were looking at her, perhaps trying to interpret what she was saying.

While she had your rapt attention, she couldn’t help but suddenly ask, “Where did you meet your boyfriend?”

The question made you blush a little but you also laughed, as if what she was asking could be interpreted as irony.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” you answered, replying politely for it had been a serious question albeit with the intention to probe into your love life.

Wanda tried not to show any expression at your answer, and instead tapped the tip of her shoe against the grass beneath her seat idly as if to pace herself. The thought that you might have a boyfriend was one of the ideas that Wanda let float around in her head to rein her mind back to chastity when it wandered off, and she felt herself take in a small breath when you said you didn’t have one.

“I presume it would be far too much to balance now that you’ve moved away and are now doing work in a new town,” Wanda said then finished the last bite of her sandwich.

You made a noise like agreement, but also as if you had more to say on the topic, and when Wanda looked at you, you seemed to be gauging whether to say more. You bit your tongue after taking too long to choose between asking if she herself was seeing anyone or saying that you weren’t interested in men at all.

‘I suppose that’s true,’ is all you ended up saying.

After lunch, you and Wanda decided to walk through the corn maze attraction because the both of you were interested in talking much more and moving your bodies without being distracted by the booths and festival games.

It was quite fun to go through the maze with you. It was really rare that Wanda got time to do fun things like this with someone other than the twins — not that she didn’t enjoy spending that time with them, but she herself felt a little more like a child spending this kind of time with you, which wasn’t a liberty she very often had the chance to experience.

A maze was the perfect thing to do with you, Wanda thought, for even taking the wrong turn meant spending more time with you as you walked back to the fork to try a different path, and neither of you were in a rush to finish, so it was more like a fun walk.

You also said that though the research position was interesting so far, it was a routine that didn’t allow for much enjoyment unless you went out of your way to do something new.

Wanda sympathised, saying that much of her new milestones in life had come about that way — marriage, having children, and starting her business with Agatha. After saying it, she realised how depressing it sounded and even felt a little embarrassed talking about such things with you. You were young after all, and here she was rambling about how all of her life was a comfortable endless routine as if she were Sisyphus.

“You must think I’m rather boring,” Wanda said, looking down at the mess of hay, flattened onto the grass from all the people who’d trekked through the maze. Her tone sounded almost apologetic to her ears though she didn’t think she was trying to apologise for anything in particular.

“What?” you said, shocked. “What do you mean? No, I don’t.”

She laughed a little at your shock, but couldn’t help but feel that your response was a little naive. Once you grew up some more and experienced more of the world and met far more interesting people, Wanda was sure she’d only be a memory you’d look back on with some kind of pity, thinking, ‘What a sweet woman she was — such a shame she lived in such a dull town. After all, I could only stand living there for so long until my research period was over.’

“Well, I’m always doing all the same things,” Wanda explained. “I’ll probably be doing it for much longer too until the twins grow up and go off to college. I love the shop but I think I’d rather move elsewhere once they don’t need me in town.”

There was silence and Wanda looked over to you as you both turned a corner, and you looked to be a little confused, or at least thinking.

“But,” you started, “how does that have anything to do with you being boring?”

“How does that not mean I’m boring?” Wanda replied though acutely aware of how strange she was sounding, arguing for self-deprecation. “I just mean there’s nothing particularly interesting that I do.”

Then she added, perhaps rambling out of a place of deep belief, “It’s different from you — you’re still young and pursuing your passions.”

The images of you and Dottie walking around the few times that Wanda had seen the two of you came to mind again. Even if there was a chance that you would be interested in women, and women that were older than you, Dottie seemed to be a better match for you. She was more talkative and though she was an elementary school teacher, she was still working in some form of schooling, which might interest you far more than flowers and single-motherhood, and she was younger than Wanda and, from the looks of it, seemed to have more free time to spend with you than she did. Plus, she hadn’t yet been married and didn’t have any children.

Wanda could’ve been way over her head in two respects, and suddenly she felt a little foolish for how she’d been thinking of you — all this build-up in her mind when she didn’t suit you at all to begin with.

“But I think you’re interesting,” you reasoned. “I don’t think I’ve ever really put a lot of thought into what you do work-wise. Or your daily schedule.”

Then after a moment, when Wanda didn’t respond immediately, you added hesitantly, “But is that… something you’d expect people to consider? Or is that something you consider, usually?”

Wanda felt a kind of whiplash from the jelly you’d turned her legs into and the shame she then immediately felt for how shallow she must’ve seemed to you. “N-No,” she stuttered, speaking right away to not seem idiotic and just hoping to find the actual words she wanted to say while she was rambling nonsensically.

Truthfully, you didn’t think Wanda was being shallow at all, or that she was being overly concerned with hers and other people’s professions. You were also aware of the age difference between you and her, and how preferences and paths of life differed between ages; you were embarrassed at first, thinking that maybe you sounded far too naive, like a child with no grasp of real life or what really mattered to someone busy and with their own lives like she had.

Often, you thought you were way over your head, crushing on and fantasising about an older woman with her own business and family, with her own priorities who was now settled down and likely too busy to think about any romantic partner.

Much less with a college girl.

And wasn’t Wanda’s ex-husband a lawyer?

College girls weren’t her type.

“No,” she started again, “I just thought… We’re different in that respect, so I thought it might have maybe… bored you.”

If Wanda hadn’t also been looking down at the ground, listening to the muffled sounds of hay and grass beneath her shoes, she would’ve looked up and been able to see that you looked slightly flustered, for you felt that you were in a position of being confessed to.

It didn’t go over your head how Wanda seemed rather concerned about how you viewed her, and worried that you might think that she was boring. The very idea, whatever its context was, that she thought so often about you and your perspective of her made your knees feel a little mushy.

“But… You think I’m interesting?” Wanda then asked, raising her head and looking at you.

You had been so adamant to prove her wrong that you’d sort of just blurted it out. You thought you’d gone a little too far, but you looked over to Wanda and met her eyes.

It could’ve been the way the sun peeked from above the hay maze and cast its light upon Wanda’s face, but her eyes seemed particularly lit up, her expression looking even a bit hopeful as she asked you for confirmation.

“Um, yes, I do,” you confirmed with a smile. “I think you’re really nice and interesting and sometimes I see you out in the driveway with your twins and you seem like such a sweet family, and I’ve been curious about you since you said you owned a floral shop and brought me flowers.”

Well, now you were rambling.

Then you said something really stupid.

“Also, um… I think you’re a really pretty woman. I mean, ‘gorgeous’ is a better word. I hardly ever hear ‘pretty woman’ as a compliment, though I meant it to be true. It just sounds odd as a word combination.”

Wanda felt cheeks heating up and she was grateful that the two of you had finally found the end of the maze, for she felt like she needed to take a breath. But she couldn’t not respond to something like that right away. She swallowed and reached for your forearm and brushed her fingers against your skin to reassure you when you looked away, then dropped her hand.

She knew she should be saying something in response, especially now that she’d gotten your attention back by touching your arm, but she couldn’t come up with any words, just staring into your eyes with lips slightly parted but completely silent.

“Can we play one of the games?” you then offered, and Wanda blinked out of her stupor, remembering where the two of you were.

“A game?” she asked, still slightly disoriented.

You continued walking away from the maze exit and headed towards the festival, Wanda following beside you.

“Maybe I can win you a stuffed toy,” you suggested, looking around at the game booths.

Wanda smiled at the glint of determination in your eyes and stepped closer to you. “Maybe I’ll win you a toy first,” she challenged lightheartedly, looking for any excuse to interact with you more.

The rest of the time you moved between different games, and you and Wanda didn’t talk so much about things other than the games you were playing and some lighthearted memories that came up as you played.

Both of you were enjoying your time, but Wanda particularly, who’d never really done anything during such town events aside from help organise and sometimes take the twins out for them.

Her cheeks were sore from smiling and laughing by the time you were the one to win a prize first.

You handed her a stuffed blue jellyfish, with thin curly tentacles and a soft round body, spotted with white and pale blue.

“It’s so cute,” Wanda said with a tiny smile, squishing the soft body of the jellyfish gently and running her eyes over it in detail as the two of you walked to her car.

She insisted, “I was really close to getting you the giraffe… It was luck that you won first — not skill.”

“Maybe I can win you the ability not to be a sore loser next time,” you poked.

Then as she raised her head, seeing her car come into closer view, it dawned on her that she’d be dropping you off at home and your time together would be over, but she wasn’t quite ready to end the day.

She stopped at the driver’s side and spoke to you over the roof of the car, “Do you want to take a look inside the shop? Maybe I can help you put together a bouquet, or any kind of decorative piece for your place.”

She added, to ensure she didn’t sound pushy, “Only if you want to and if you have time. I’m sure you had other things planned for the day.”

You beamed at the suggestion and nodded with a smile. “I’d love to see the shop,” you said enthusiastically.

“I’m excited to see more of where you are and what you get up to for so much of your day,” you confessed, your hands folded in between your thighs. “I remember when I visited, and it was gorgeous at the front of the store.”

Wanda thought it was so sweet how you thought her little shop was so fantastical. “It’s a bit more of a mess in the back and less presentation-worthy, but I’m also looking forward to showing you around,” she replied, looking over to you and feeling flustered at how genuinely happy you were.

The feeling that you were truly eager to spend more time with her made Wanda all but melt in her seat.

It was beginning to darken, a soft purple-pink tint coming over the sky as the sun began to set. It was still a little light outside, and the pink hue of the sun cast in a nice way against your skin.

Wanda was feeling nice thinking about the fact that you’d been out together for a while now, and that you’d be out for longer still.

“I don’t do this for just any old neighbour, you know,” Wanda teased, looking at you from the corner of her eye as she unlocked the front door.

“Just a few?” you joked back.

Without hesitation, Wanda replied and looked over at you with a little grin, “Just you.”

She didn’t seem to think very much of what she said, though it struck you as rather flirtatious and made you feel like a special figure in her life, since she walked ahead right after saying it, leaving you to follow behind after breaking from your momentary stupor.

It felt so peaceful to be at the shop in the evening with you, telling you about things like how to store freshly cut flowers and how she kept them preserved upon shipments and how they did deliveries.

Wanda had indeed been interested in flowers and plants and owning a floral shop when she first opened it with Agatha, but much of the passion had turned into businesslike concern, and oftentimes Wanda didn’t have much time to take a step back and enjoy what she was doing.

But your fresh pair of eyes and genuine curiosity, asking her questions like how she knew she wanted to open a shop and how long she’d known Agatha for, made Wanda see everything like she had when she first opened the shop, and your curiosity and interest reminded her closely of the kind of passion she’d gotten distracted from once she got used to Westview’s repetition.

Wanda kept viewing herself from the shoes of Agatha if she had also been in the shop somewhere, watching as she giggled at your playful jokes and blushed at your undivided attention, which didn’t necessarily have to be interpreted as flirtatious for Wanda to feel flustered by.

Sometimes all you had to do was look at her while Wanda wasn’t looking so when she turned to look at you, your eyes were on her rather than on whatever she was trying to show you.

She kept thinking of Agatha especially because Wanda wondered whether she was making all of it up, and if all of it truly was platonic, and she wondered what her closest friend would say about all of this.

But the more Wanda felt herself stuttering around you or making some excuse to stand close to you or brush against you, she could no longer trust even her interpretations of what a third-party might say about things.

But the most delusional of it all, Wanda thought, was that she kept thinking of the image of you with Dottie walking down the shopping district during the times where Wanda was too busy to spend time with you and talk with you as much as she wanted.

She kept recalling the feeling of how tired she’d been coming out of work, the sun just about to start setting, and looking forward to getting home after picking up the twins. She had been at a stoplight thinking of what to make for dinner when you passed in front her along the crosswalk, Dottie at your side as you spoke with each other.

She was always wearing something pretty, her taste in clothing professional and delicate as an elementary school teacher, her blonde hair always curled or put up.

From what she’d heard from the few times she attended the town meetings — not that Dottie was so infamous but rather because she was friends with some of the mothers who attended — Dottie was the daughter of old-money parents who owned acres of rural farmland a few hours away from New Jersey.

Dottie was everything Wanda wasn’t.

Were you doing things like this with her too?

Were you only being polite?

While the two of you were putting together a little vase of different coloured roses together for your living room, Wanda quietly spoke up. “I’ve been meaning to ask you…” she started quietly, kind of hoping you might suddenly change the topic, leaving the question forgotten.

But instead you looked up from trimming a stem of a white rose, your curiosity piqued as you anticipated her question.

Wanda felt your eyes on her and she kept her hands busy carefully removing the thorns of the roses as she continued. “Not to sound… strange…” she said, trying her best to keep her voice steady and unsuspecting. “But a few weeks ago I saw you with Dottie, and I was just curious about how you knew her.”

She took a risk and looked up from the flower she was holding.

“She was Tommy and Billy’s teacher once, and they still go to that elementary school, so I sometimes see her around when I drop them off and pick them up,” she added, to sound like she was asking for a practical reason.

“Oh,” you said, sounding a little surprised to hear her name brought up. “She’s a friend of the professor I’m doing research with. I… can’t really remember how they know each other. I think it might be through Dottie’s parents.”

A wave of cool relief washed over Wanda and she looked back down to the roses and started dethorning the other one to keep her face down in case she accidentally looked a bit elated.

“I see,” she answered as nonchalantly as she could, though she could hear a waver of relief evident in the way she breathed out. “It’s a small town.” But Wanda still couldn’t help but press on a little, feeling not yet fully satisfied by your answer.

“But… You don’t see her… often, do you?” she asked, looking up again just to see your expression, and hoping you didn’t seem suspicious about why she was asking.

You shook your head, just focused on trimming the stems the right length and carefully placing them in a pleasing way amongst each other in the vase Wanda provided. “No, not often at all,” you said. “Usually I see her when we’re meeting up together to have coffee with my professor.”

“So it’s a professional relationship?”

To that, you finally looked up from the flowers in your hands and looked over at Wanda, who immediately internally cursed herself for not watching her mouth; she’d gone a little too far, just asking you whatever came to mind.

“I don’t even know if it would be considered professional, per se,” you answered, your hands lowering a little as you focused on giving an answer. “She doesn’t have anything to do with my research. I think it’s just circumstantial — that’s a good way to describe it.”

Wanda swallowed and looked back down to the roses, immediately ready to drop the subject and move onto something else after realising just how overly curious she’d been sounding.

Suddenly you were feeling a little awkward that Wanda had been talking about professional relationships and networking and all. All of that felt like a different world, and there was still a lot that Wanda considered in life that you didn’t.

You didn’t even think you had professional relationships, really, aside from your professor.

It felt like every time she brought up something you didn’t understand, the difference in age between the two of you became all the more evident, and you felt yourself becoming more and more childish and inexperienced in her eyes.

“Um, by the way… Ms Maximoff, I wanted to say that I felt kind of nervous to ask you to go out this weekend,” you confessed, and from the corner of your eye you saw Wanda raise her head and look at you. “I thought it might’ve been… I don’t know, like, a little stupid, even.”

“What?” she asked, surprised. She set her rose down and turned her body a little to look at you. The tone of her voice made you raise your head and meet her eyes. “Stupid? Why?”

You weren’t exactly sure what you had hoped to accomplish by confessing that, but you almost just felt like apologising somewhat for doing something stupid or childish before Wanda could realise it for herself.

Maybe you’d seem a little less naive if you just admitted to it right away, because honestly, you really did think you had been sounding a little stupid to ask her out for the festival, and often wondered if she only ever said yes to you out of pity because of how young you were.

Sometimes when she apologised for seeming standoffish or distant, you couldn’t help but feel that she was just trying to tend to a child’s tantrum.

But her response wasn’t as you initially thought it would be, and she seemed truly shocked at your confession, so you felt a little flustered and you now felt that you had been overdramatic.

“I-I just mean… Well…”

As you stuttered for a response, you realised you had no excuse to make, and honestly, Wanda had only ever been kind to you, so you had no reason to try and lie. So you thought to tell the truth.

“It sometimes feels like I don’t really have a grasp on your life, and like you may just be too busy or disinterested to do stuff like go out to a festival to get driven to work or…”

You trailed off to find the rest of your words, and you saw Wanda continuing to watch your face from the corner of your eye. One of her arms was resting on the counter beside her, her hands fidgeting with each other’s fingertips in front of her stomach.

“I think maybe I didn’t really consider that you might feel more comfortable not knowing your neighbours so much, and that even though it might be true you don’t mind when I do you favours or ask to do things in our freetime, I know that you’re also busy and preoccupied with things and… Just more comfortable with how things had been.”

Well… Dottie certainly didn’t get any of this kind of confession from you.

Wanda took a tiny step forward. She knew what you were trying to get at; there was an age difference between the two of you and sometimes the difference casted doubt on whether you were both thinking the same thing, always wondering how you were perceived by the other.

“I know how you feel,” she reassured, reaching out to brush her hand against your arm against the better half of her mind telling herself it was a bad idea to move closer to you. She fidgeted with her fingers again and took a little breath, wanting to be open and honest like you just had been.

She confessed, “I think that sometimes I might be projecting myself onto you.”

The words shocked you and you looked up and met her eyes, surprised to see her looking a little nervous as she spoke. You didn’t think anything about your relationship with Wanda had the power to make her nervous; she always just seemed like she had everything so well-structured.

She owned a business with a close friend and was a single mother of two young boys and lived in a nice house. She was beautiful and kind, and the idea that she might be nervous in any sense while interacting with you surprised you greatly.

“Sometimes I can’t exactly tell if I’m… understanding things correctly…” she added, swallowing hard. The momentary silence between responses thrummed against her eardrums, and the light from the ceiling became strangely brighter and looked as light often did when she was down with a terrible flu.

The implication was heavy, and she was worried about how you would take it. She tried to immediately relax herself by thinking that you’d only pick up on what she was implying if you yourself had been thinking similar things, but there was always a chance that you’d understand what she was saying and not feel the same way.

She could hardly bear the thought of confessing unreciprocated, for she foresaw absolutely no way to come back from that kind of rejection… She would look like such a fool, and she wouldn’t know how to handle the kinds of things she did and felt because of you.

The things she felt for you had been different from anything before, and if you rejected her, there was no way for her to deal with this new kind of awakening, and she was certain there’d be no other chance to be attracted to someone in the way she was with you.

“I think maybe I’m in over my head, Ms Maximoff…” you said quietly.

Suddenly Wanda was overcome with the possibility of what you were also implying, and the very possibility that you meant what she thought was overcoming the fear of being rejected or being wrong.

All she’d been doing was fantasising and mulling over possibilities and uncertainties about how she was feeling and how you might be feeling, and now the possibility that you might feel the same way, that she wasn’t just making it all up the whole time, seemed more real and tangible than it ever had been before.

She knew she was thinking irrationally.

There were better ways to do this.

But she could only really think of doing one thing.

She placed her hand atop the counter at the midway point between the both of you and she stepped forward, tipping her head to the side ever so slightly as she moved closer. Her breath felt warm against her own lips as her exhales reached your upper lip, and your eyes looked lidded and your face slightly flushed before she closed her eyes and met her soft lips with yours.

You immediately put your rose down and placed your hand on Wanda’s lower back, pulling her closer, and Wanda felt like she could collapse into your body at the gesture.

You really did want her. She hadn’t been making it up.

Though she’d been married before, this felt like the first time anyone truly reciprocated her feelings. Maybe that was because what feelings she had for Vision weren’t anything like the ones she had for you.

She was thirty-two and feeling this way for the first time; she felt like she’d really been missing out.

It didn’t take very long for the slow and hesitant kiss to grow heated, perhaps due to its confirmation of mutual attraction and interest. Your arm wrapped around Wanda’s waist and your other hand moved up the curve of her spine, up to where her sundress exposed her upper back, your fingers entangling themselves in her hair as they moved up her neck.

Wanda sighed into your mouth, listening to the way it merged with your tiny moans and exhales. She had her own arm wrapped around your waist too, but with her other hand caressing your cheek, her thumb brushing against your soft skin, encouraging you.

She felt her lower back press against the edge of the counter and she realised you were pressing your body flush against hers.

Her heart was thumping wildly in her chest, her body feeling warm all over.

In her sundress with her arms and upper back and chest exposed, every brush you had against her skin sent shockwaves up her spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake as a familiar ache began to form deep in Wanda’s lower stomach, causing her to roll her hips forward, knocking them gently against your own.

Maybe when her mind was less fogged up and she could think of a world past the soft caresses of your hands and your delicate moans, she would think about how right Agatha was about being with women.

You were so delicate and gentle, and not only because she thought that that was just the kind of person you were, but also because of the smooth slope of your shoulders and how your arms slotted perfectly beneath hers. Your face was smooth and free of stubble and your lips were so soft, your sweet moans were enough to make Wanda weak in the knees, and you smelled so nice.

And it did really feel like you were touching her as if she were an extension of yourself.

“Ms Maximoff…” you sighed, sounding desperate as your hand fell away from cradling the back of her head and sending a wave of throbbing arousal down between Wanda’s thighs. Her eyebrows furrowed together and she pulled you closer, grasping at the hem of your shirt as her fingers tightened around the fabric, feeling just as desperate.

Then suddenly you yelped and pulled away from her lips, your body unwrapping from Wanda’s. Wanda’s eyes darted across your face and she worried for a moment that she accidentally bit your lip.

“Y/N, a-are you okay? Did I hurt you?” she asked, panicked as she looked at you. Then she noticed that you had brought your hand up, surveying it under the light of the ceiling. “What happened?”

“U-Um, I accidentally put my finger down on a thorn,” you said, looking up at her sheepishly and showing her the curved thorn deep in your index finger.

Wanda stepped close again and wrapped her fingers around your wrist to get a better look at it. “Oh, dear… That’s quite deep…” she said, her voice low as she turned your finger around in the light to get a better look at it.

“Don’t worry — this happens quite often,” she reassured, looking over at you with a smile. The eye contact made you blush and you couldn’t help the way your eyes flickered down to her lips that now looked slightly swollen with how frantic your kiss had been.

The same flushed expression came over Wanda’s face but she looked back down to your finger and carefully laid it against her hand. “Don’t move,” she said. “I’ll take it out, but I want to make sure it doesn’t break off in your finger.”

Inching your hand closer to her eyes and into the light, her other hand came up and carefully pulled out the thorn, pulling it in the direction of its curve. A tiny bead of blood came from where it had pierced your skin.

“Just a moment. Keep your finger upright,” she said, letting go of your wrist slowly so as to not move it from its place midair. She then turned and bent over a little to rummage under the counter.

You couldn’t help the way your chest fluttered at the sight of her so focused on taking care of you.

She straightened again, now holding a bandaid, and laid the back of your hand against her fingers. With slightly furrowed eyebrows, she unwrapped the bandage and carefully secured it around your finger.

“There we go…” she said softly. “Not too tight?”

Heat rose to your cheeks when she looked back up to you again and you looked away with a shy smile and shook your head. “No, it’s just perfect.”

“Good.”

Then she threw the garbage out and brushed the thorns off of the countertop and into a nearby garbage can she lifted to the edge of the counter. She set it back down on the ground then turned back over to you nervously, brushing down the front of her dress.

She bit her bottom lip awkwardly, then quietly reasoned, “Maybe it was time we headed back home, anyway.”

You looked up from the floor and met her eyes with a little nod and a polite smile.

But neither of you moved from your spots, and Wanda felt a familiar impatience and gnawing urge pulsing inside her again.

Wanda was right in her observations of you — you were rather shy, and a submissive lover. You were nervous and hesitant, and after kissing you, she was sure you’d been with women before. That excited her, and she heard her own soft trembling exhales through her parted lips as she observed the hesitant look in your eyes, anticipating her next move.

You were still nervous, Wanda could tell.

So young and hesitant and innocent and polite…

All she felt then and there was that she needed your hands on her, and Wanda stepped forward again, kissing you with immediate heated passion as her hands ran up to the sides of your face, caressing you gently.

Your hands came to her hips and you attempted to wrap your arms around her waist until Wanda stumbled forwards, pushing you into the back room where it was more spacious.

“Mmm, Y/N…” she sighed into your open mouth, pushing your lower back against one of the counters in the back room.

Your hands were on her hips, slowly rounding to her lower back, but it was still not enough. She took hold of your wrist and brought your hand to her breast, and you squeezed as if partial to the feeling of how soft her breast was in your hand, mindful of the way her body arched into yours, her body pressed against your hips.

She felt herself throbbing when your other hand found its way beneath her dress, groping her ass and even tucking two fingers past her underwear to feel the soft, pliable flesh beneath the fabric.

“Ms Maximoff, is this okay?” you asked, your words trembling for how you spoke them between heated kisses. The hesitant tone spoken with your soft voice juxtaposed the way you groped her ass, and Wanda felt like she was already practically nearing orgasm.

“That’s just fine, sweetheart,” she replied, her fingers snaking down your jawline to hold your head in place as she tipped her head to the side and deepened the kiss.

Your fingernails pressed into her ass and she gasped, her body tensing momentarily.

Your tongues briefly brushed against each other and at the sensation, Wanda couldn’t get enough. She ran the tip of her tongue over your teeth then delved past your lips.

Warm exhales and breathy sighs echoed between your open mouths, meshed together in the exchange of saliva as your thumb tugged down the neckline of Wanda’s dress along with her bra so you could thumb at her hardened nipple, your other hand taking another handful of her ass.

Wanda had never felt more sexually desired, your hands on her body making her feel that you were thoroughly exploring her out of deep interest and pulsing arousal.

It was no obligation or passive act.

It was desire and craving, and you wanted her.

Then she felt the urge to have her mouth on your cunt, to feel you pulsating around her tongue, to feel your warm, slick folds against her lips. She wanted to taste how wet she made you and how badly you wanted her, to swallow your cum and have your flavour spread across her tongue.

She’d never pleasured another woman before, but all she felt was hunger, so much of it that it was painful, and that desire surpassed any need for prior knowledge.

In a few moments your thighs were wrapped securely around her head, Wanda on her knees beneath you as she noisily ate you out. The intermingled noises of her moans and the sound of your soaking pussy made your heart race.

She was far messier and dominating than you’d initially imagined, and you could hardly catch your breath. Each moment you thought you’d caught up, she’d want more, grabbing at you, delving her tongue into your opening or rubbing her flattened tongue against your aching clit.

She gripped at your hips, pulling you down onto her face so desperately you worried you might hurt her.

She opened her eyes and you saw her meet your gaze behind the mess of her dirty blonde hair, and you reached down and carefully brushed strands of her hair away from her forehead, revealing green eyes darkened by carnal desire.

The way she stared at you sent chills up your spine, causing you to roll your hips forward and bump your clit against the tip of her nose. She looked wildly predatorial, her relentless tongue and hot breath paired with a melody of deep groans and light girlish moans almost animalistic.

Wanda saw your hand reach down, fingers twitching in hesitation, before she interlaced her fingers with yours and brought your hand to the back of her head. She felt very literally… hungry — she craved you.

You nudged her mouth against your cunt and Wanda mewled in pleasure, feeling caressed as if she were being pet. Her hair was smooth, and feeling it now, you found she truly had thick hair and it wasn’t just the way she styled it in the mornings.

There were a lot of things you were newly finding about Wanda, new ways of viewing and understanding her that would make her different from how you had understood her before.

You’d never be able to see her without knowing how she looked on her knees, eating your pussy in her shop in the early evening, never being able to unfeel how her hands were firm and confident as they rubbed your thighs and squeezed your hips. But her fingers were delicate and careful, likely from her profession handling flowers.

You knew her touch.

Wanda knew exactly when you came — she felt it first before she heard it with how your thighs were wrapped around her ears. She could feel you contract and begin to pulse against her tongue, felt the way your hips chased her mouth and how your hands grasped at her desperately. She knew you had reached your peak because it reminded her so much of herself, and she helped you through your orgasm and through its aftershocks as she had for herself during the times she had come to the thought of you.

She carefully licked around your cunt and your inner thighs, cleaning you up as she blindly felt for your pants and underwear before sliding it back up your thighs while you caught your breath above.

When she buttoned your pants you helped her stand up and you adjusted her dress for her. Wanda leaned flush against your body with a little smile, watching your face as you straightened her dress, feeling your gentle hands rub against her.

Then you met her eyes and wrapped your arms around her waist, returning a smile.

She leaned forward and kissed you chastly, just feeling your soft, warm lips against her own, one of your hands moving up her back and rubbing softly.

“Was I good…?” Wanda asked a little nervously as she pulled away and looked at you. The tip of her nose brushed against yours lightly.

You nodded.

“It felt amazing…” you answered honestly, your fingers making shapes against her lower back through her dress. “I think, also, that I’m really attracted to you.”

Wanda laughed, feeling her cheeks heat up, and she buried her face in your neck.

After a moment, she added shyly, “That was my first time.”

Shocked, you turned your head a little to look at her but Wanda kept her face hidden in the crook of your neck and in the curtain of your soft hair.

“I couldn’t tell,” you told her.

“Are you being sarcastic…?” Wanda asked, looking down to play with the ends of your hair. “I can’t see your face.”

“I’m not being sarcastic.”

Wanda blushed, uttering a small ‘Thank you’ before she raised her head, fidgeting with your shirt a little.

“Shall I drive you back home now…?” she asked, looking up hesitantly.

You swallowed, feeling an ache of disappointment and longing at the thought of ending the night without getting to talk with Wanda more or even make her feel good. But if that had been her first time, she’d already done quite a bit.

You didn’t want to push her further or pressure her, so you nodded once silently in spite of how badly you wanted to be able to touch her too.

During the drive back, Wanda felt a dull ache behind her exhilaration, forcing her to admit that she was still not entirely satisfied. She’d underestimated the significance behind how much she fantasised about you, and how much desire truly went behind how strongly and how often she thought of you.

She nervously tapped against the steering wheel with her index finger and she bit down on her bottom lip.

“Was that…” She swallowed and carefully picked out the right words as she saw you turn to look at her from the corner of her eye. “Were you looking for… just a one-time thing…?”

Wanda couldn’t stop herself from turning and looking at your expression when there was perhaps a millisecond’s worth of silence after her question.

You felt a weight drop in your stomach and your fingers pressed against the flower vase sitting in your lap.

How would you come off if Wanda had been looking for something casual and you told her you weren’t? You would look childish and naive and disrespectful of her busy life.

You considered lying or perhaps answering nonchalantly, but tonight was the first time she’d ever gone down on another woman, and you felt you owed her honesty.

And… after all, it was still Wanda. She wasn’t someone to be scared of.

As Wanda turned into the neighbourhood, you answered, “I want to be closer to you than that. I don’t think I would want something like that to be a one-time thing.”

Wanda took in a sharp inhale when her chest tightened and filled with adrenaline, and she squeezed her hands around her steering wheel. She pulled into her driveway and parked the car.

Worried about the silence that would come over the both of you if she turned the car off, Wanda kept the car running as she ran her hands down her thighs as she gathered her confidence to speak again.

She turned to you and felt her heart pounding against her chest, threatening to suffocate her, when you turned to meet her eyes.

“Would you like to come in?” she asked directly.

Wanda’s hands laid in fists atop her lap as she regarded you, her posture straight and her shoulders rising and falling in tiny rhythmic motions as she steadied her breathing. From the dim lighting of her driveway from the light above her garage, you could see her eyebrows very slightly furrowed and her eyes gleaming with a nervous vulnerability, her expression patient and waiting for your answer.

You nodded once.

You stuttered when you tried to speak, then tried a second time, uttering a tiny, “Yes, I’d like that.”

The motions of following behind Wanda as she walked up her porch and unlocked the front door were mechanical and you watched her from behind, wishing desperately to know what was running through her mind.

There was a soft warm light coming from the living room that grew slowly brighter when the front door was closed behind you and your eyes adjusted to the gentle lighting of her house. This was the first time you’d ever been inside.

You looked around at the decor and the evidence of Tommy and Billy’s presence that remained even when they were with their father — their shoes were put away on a rack, some of their schoolwork on the small table by the front door, and their jackets hung on the coat rack.

“Are you thirsty or hungry for anything?” Wanda asked, evidently a little nervous.

You saw her take a breath and hold it when you set the vase down on the table where she had placed her keys to hold her hand. “I want to be with you, Ms Maximoff,” you said sincerely.

She swallowed and squeezed your hand and gave a little nod.

“I want to be with you too,” she replied, a little smile coming onto her face when you seemed to respond positively to her answer. She led you upstairs and you walked up beside her for how nervous she still seemed, and so you wanted to be close with her rather than following behind.

Wanda closed the bedroom door behind her and with the bedroom curtains left open enough to have the room illuminated by the evening, none of you turned any other lights on. She turned around to face you once she came to her bed, and her hands nervously came to the waistband of your pants, fidgeting a little.

“Are you nervous…?” you asked her quietly, stepping closer so her hands were caught between your bodies.

She looked up and nodded silently.

Then she said, her voice small, “What if I’m not good at this?”

You ached at her evident insecurity and unfamiliarity around being so vulnerable.

Your hand reached up to brush her hair back and you kissed her temple and murmured, “Not good at what?”

“At… this — making you feel good and being close with you, and connecting with you. I’ve never felt…” Wanda’s breath trembled and she swallowed.

She took a little breath.

“I really like you, Y/N,” she explained, her gaze falling to your shoulder and your body pressed flush against hers. “I want to be good at this…”

“No,” you protested softly and pulled your head back to look at her. “That’s not really how it works, Ms Maximoff…”

She explored your soft gaze, curious about what you would say but also caught up in how kind and patient your eyes were.

“You don’t really know how to do these things,” you reassured softly, “you just feel it.”

Wanda has always known what to do with things, and if she didn’t, there was someone who did know. Her marriage was all about expectation and filling roles as parents and as spouses, and her life, more or less, was about living through a planned schedule, doing things in order to be good at them and doing them right.

Was it okay to mess up?

Was it okay for her to do something just because she wanted to? She’d never been well-acquainted with the feeling of wanting something for herself to begin with.

“Can you call me by my first name?’” Wanda asked.

You nodded and smiled at the humour of her request.

She smiled in return and blushed before stepping back and allowing her hands some room to begin taking your clothes off.

You laid Wanda onto her back once her dress slipped from her shoulders, revealing her smooth skin and the contours and curves of her body.

Wanda felt extraordinarily sensitive to your every touch, unable to take her eyes away from the way your hands moved across her skin; it wasn’t enough to just feel the way your palms glided across her sides, your thumbs pressing into the contours of her obliques as you kissed down to her belly button, then her thighs, her calves, and her ankles when you bent her legs slightly moving back up her body — she had to see it too.

“Can I take your bra off?” you asked, looking up at her.

Wanda nodded and guided your hands to her back where her bra strap was, her back arching from the bed to allow you some space. She felt a surge of nerves course through her stomach when you took her bra off.

It had been so long since she was intimate with anyone, and even longer since she was with someone she felt engaged with, but it was the first time she was with someone she was truly interested in and attracted to.

For the first time, with your eyes running over her naked body, Wanda felt insecure about herself in a way she hadn’t previously; she was much older than you, and she started thinking about the other girls you must’ve been with.

None of them had ever been married or had children, and Wanda suddenly felt a dread come over her, feeling that she and her body were less attractive because of her age and what she’d done that neither you nor your previous sexual partners had.

But in spite of her anxiety, what she worried about wasn’t indicative at all in the way you continued to kiss her and caress her.

Your lips wrapped around one of her nipples, your hand coming to massage her other breast, and Wanda’s head lolled to the side atop her pillow, overcome by the feeling of being ravished and spoiled.

Then you moved up and began kissing her neck, and if you bit her, you did it softly, taking just a little of her skin between your teeth and nipping softly. She laughed breathily when you tugged at her earlobe with your teeth.

She loved the feeling of your weight on her body — a physical, tangible reminder of your presence, symbolic of how she had surpassed the period of fantasy and yearning.

“Get on your back,” Wanda told you, running the tips of her fingers down the curve of your spine.

While you adjusted your position, Wanda sat up and leaned over the edge of the bed and rummaged somewhere you couldn’t see. She sat back up and laid beside you, a translucent purple dildo in her hand.

Heat immediately rose to your cheeks and you imagined Wanda rolling her hips into it, slowly slipping herself down, and moaning as she fucked the faux cock. You even dared to imagine she fantasised about you.

“Can I use this on you?” she asked, holding it up for you to survey the size.

The very sight of Wanda holding a dildo in her hand, asking you for your permission for her to fuck you with it, her green eyes curiously exploring your expression, her naked body pressed against yours so her breasts brushed against your upper arm…

You had to blink a few times to make sure you weren’t just dreaming it all up, napping on the couch of your place before heading out to the festival.

Wanda moved closer and kissed your cheek. “I can be gentle with you,” she reassured. “If that’s what you’re worried about…”

“I’m not worried.”

“Really?” she asked, teasing, lifting her head to meet your eyes. “You haven’t said yes yet.”

You immediately nodded, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Is that a yes?” Wanda pressed, feigning curiosity with furrowed eyebrows.

“Y-Yes,” you practically choked out, stunned at her sudden display of playfulness.

She leaned back to where she had reached down before and came back up with a bottle of lube. Placing the dildo between your hips, Wanda asked for you to lather it on, holding herself up beside you and kissing up your shoulder and neck as you pumped your hand around the faux cock.

“As much as you want,” she purred. “I want to make sure you feel comfortable.”

You shifted your positioning a little so Wanda could have a better range of motion. One of your legs was perched up and your legs were parted, and you were laying back against a pillow for just a little elevation.

“Tell me if it hurts or if I should slow down, okay?” Wanda asked, nudging the tip of her nose against your cheekbone softly. She was taken by the urge to take care of you, to keep her body as close to you as possible, to feel your bare flesh against her own.

She really did think you were so sweet and precious, and the urge to care for you came stronger than it ever had before.

She wanted to make you feel good.

“Is this feeling okay, Y/N?” she asked, her other hand rubbing up and down your upper arm.

Your eyes were shut, allowing you to fully take in the scent of Wanda’s laundry and her hair and her perfume. The soft sounds of her little moans and noises as she made careful efforts to enter and tease you sent chills up your spine and made you throb.

“Th-That feels really good, M–”

You corrected yourself: “Wanda.”

A little flutter resounded in your chest at the feeling of calling her by her first name — it felt so personal.

“That’s good, Y/N,” she cooed softly. “You’ve nearly taken half. It’s a big stretch, huh…?” You hesitated to nod; it was a big stretch, but it wasn’t too much, and you didn’t want Wanda to stop.

“But you’re a big girl, right…?” she asked, and you immediately opened your eyes at her wording and the soft coo of her voice.

“I- Yes, I… I am.”

You watched as Wanda took her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes running down your body as her wrist curled and twisted back and forth, each time slowly pressing further into you. Her forearm muscle flexed with each movement and you could hear her breaths begin to quicken.

“Can I confess something a little embarrassing…?” Wanda spoke after a few moments of intimate silence, and you looked up from her forearm to her face.

When you met her eyes with patient curiosity, she continued. “I’ve pleasured myself to the thought of you many times, but I’ve never used this,” she told you. “I suppose I couldn’t imagine you in its place. It feels far more fitting to hold it.”

Heat rose to your cheeks and your breath hitched.

Wanda’s eyebrows raised and you felt a slightly forceful thrust, causing you to whimper. “Did you like hearing about that? I pulled out just a little and you’ve made quite the mess around it…”

The way her eyes scrutinised you, the focus in her expression, made you feel like she was observing you in great detail, feeling that her interest was sincerely piqued as much as she was aroused.

Then, with one more thrust, you felt the coolness of Wanda’s fingers pressed against your warm folds, and you knew she was entirely in.

“Does that feel good, Y/N?” she asked, settling herself more comfortably beside you so she was sitting up, your head lying in the crook of her neck. Her arm was wrapped around your head with her elbow keeping her up, her hand stroking your head softly.

You felt like you were struggling to get words out with the size of Wanda’s cock inside of you, along with the gentle and tantalising way she entered and pulled out. She was practically cradling you against her as she maintained steady motion, and you felt as if you were being babied.

“Th-That feels really good…” you mumbled.

“Oh, I’m so glad, sweetheart…” She began petting the side of your head and you mewled.

You watched through hooded eyes Wanda’s focused expression as she continued her soft thrusts, the positioning of your bodies making the act look almost masturbatory with how your bodies laid together, meshed.

“I had a feeling this would be the pace you preferred, Y/N,” Wanda said, her voice a soft mumble, her voice now sounding raspy with how low she was speaking. “If I’m honest… I thought a lot about what kinds of things you might like… I always enjoyed thinking that you were a careful lover, and shy…”

Even though she spoke at a hushed volume, you could hear her soft laboured breaths from her stern efforts to keep her arm at a steady pace, and often you looked down to see her forearm muscles flex subtly beneath her smooth pale skin.

“I thought about that all the time,” she confessed, a little moan passing her lips as the recollection. “I thought about how… polite and delicate you were, and your sweet smile and how kind you were to me. I thought that must mean you were quite accommodating in the bedroom, but I just wasn’t able to allow my mind to wander that far, thinking about what you might be able to do for me. I just kept thinking about what you’d let me do, and that soft little blush on your cheeks…”

She looked up at you and met your eyes. Hers crinkled at the sides when she looked over your expression, and when she smiled, the faint hints of dimples on either side of her smile made your heart skip about a dozen beats.

“The kind of blush you have right now…” she whispered.

“I wish you could see how you look,” she added, and you could feel her speeding her thrusts up, a new desperation in her efforts as you felt her move closer to you. Her hips knocked against the side of your thigh and her hardened nipples grazed against your upper arm.

Her breathing became laboured, and you felt yourself in a trance just looking into Wanda’s eyes, feeling pressure steadily build between your thighs she quickened her pace.

It was almost a little embarrassing hearing how wet you were, listening to how you stretched open each time Wanda thrusted her cock into you, and how you sounded when she pulled out, your tiny moans and whimpers building, seemingly encouraging Wanda to speed up.

“You look so cute, looking up at me, just waiting on what I’ll do or what I’ll say,” she said. “Do you feel cared for, baby…?”

Slender fingers brushed your hair out of your face.

“Y-Yes, I-”

Wanda interrupted you — not that you would’ve had anything very substantial to say anyways with how you started to speak and stutter without really knowing what you were going to say. “I knew it was wrong, fantasising about someone so young… But I couldn’t help it…”

She moaned softly and you could see her rub her thighs together just below your eye line.

Your eyes were beginning to flutter shut, for you were feeling the pressure in your lower stomach begin to coil, and you felt yourself tightening around the faux cock, suddenly sensitive to every noise and brush of Wanda’s hair against your skin.

Her arm unwrapped from around your head and Wanda suddenly leaned her head down and wrapped her lips around one of your nipples, causing you to moan out at the feeling of her warm tongue flicking over you, her teeth gently nipping at you before switching to the other.

“You’re doing such a good job, honey,” she reassured, trailing her kisses up to your neck and beginning to run her warm tongue up your skin. “So close, aren’t you?”

You nodded, trying to respond with intelligible words but only getting so far as a little whimper of affirmation.

From beyond distracted hooded eyes, your eyes flickered between Wanda’s fafe and her soft breasts, still pressed warm against your upper arm.

“You’ve gotten so wet,” Wanda purred, biting at the corner of your jaw. “My fingers are slipping from around the base; I have to keep readjusting my grip. It doesn’t help that you’re so tight…”

“If I had a cock of my own, baby, I’d have you on your knees, bent over with your face in the pillows…” she mumbled against your ear. “You’d be so tight and warm around me… You don’t know how wet it makes me to think about fucking a young thing like you… Hearing your little sounds and your pleas…”

Your eyes squeezed shut and you reached out to take hold of her hip. “W-Wanda, I’m-”

She moved her other hand down and interlaced your fingers.

“Come for me, Y/N,” she cooed.

Wanda was entirely captivated seeing you come, feeling the resistance around her dildo as your walls squeezed around it, your body arching from the bed while you cried out squeezed her hand. You came on the very bed and sheets she had to the thought of you countless times before, but the way you came was different.

It was more delicate than hers — from what she could recall from her own self-perception — your moans fluttery and broken into tiny whimpers, your body combed over with tiny tremors and involuntary twitches.

"That's a good girl," she whispered against your temple as you came, her other hand squeezing and stroking your shoulder. "Just like that, honey..."

She was careful when she pulled out of you, and couldn’t help but bring the dildo up to her lips and clean some of your mess off of it with her lips and tongue. Then she set it down somewhere on the bed and moved down to be able to wrap her arms around you, bringing your head against her chest.

Her arm that wrapped around the underside of your head stroked the side of your temple while she kissed your forehead, her other arm wrapped around your torso, rubbing your side soothingly.

After a while of Wanda rubbing your hip and your stomach, your upper arm, and anywhere she could reach while kissing your face gently, you caught your breath and cuddled close to her.

“I really do like you, Y/N,” Wanda said after the moments of silence. She pulled away a little to be able to look at your face in its entirety, and she smiled down at you softly. “I think you’re very kind, and very sweet. It’s really been a long time since anyone thought or cared as much about me as you do.”

Then she added, a bit shamefully, “I know it just sounds selfish, but over the last while since you moved here, I’ve been thinking of you quite a bit. And I was always very nervous to pursue anything, or even allow myself to feel anything like this for you.”

You didn’t want to speak up and interrupt her, especially since she seemed a little nervous confessing her feelings.

“Not only was it my first time regarding someone of your age in the way that I had begun to, but I think there were just a lot of things I was used to that I had to try to unlearn, and find confidence in diverging from.”

Then she looked away from your eyes and began fiddling with her fingers. Sensing her nerves, you squeezed her hand softly and rubbed your thumb against the back of her hand. Though she didn’t look back at you, she acknowledged your gesture and squeezed back.

“And there was also my age…” she hesitantly mentioned. “I felt… insecure, and unsure of myself, being how old I am and not knowing what to do. I felt… late to everything I was feeling for the first time, and thought that everything I was feeling was some desperate fantasy.”

Hesitantly, she met your eyes again, and looked relieved when you were already looking at her.

“You have no idea how good and happy it makes me feel that you’re sincerely interested in me…” she told you, a tiny shy smile spreading on her face. “I’ve never felt this way before, even with Vision… and I feel really lucky to be able to be with you like this.”

A realisation suddenly came over you hearing Wanda’s confession — did she really think it was all luck? You had been so shy about everything that you had failed to tell Wanda much of how you felt and how you saw her, and it wasn’t even your first time with a woman.

“I mean… it wasn’t really luck,” you said, fidgeting a little with her fingers, which Wanda thought was really cute. “I did ask to drive you home and visit you and work and… asked to see you this weekend.”

“Oh. That’s right, isn’t it?”

She looked like she had a moment of deep pondering as she looked off to the side. Then she looked down at you again and smiled.

“I guess I just didn’t really allow myself to accept the possibility that you were doing it all because of that,” she admitted bashfully.

You let go of her hand and brushed your fingers against her hip, drawing nervous shapes against her soft skin. “Can I touch you too, Wanda?” you requested.

For a moment, she looked surprised that you would even offer; her lips parted and she blinked, before closing her mouth and nodding slightly.

“What will you do?” she asked, curious and sounding a little insecure in a way that you couldn’t entirely understand.

The two of you shifted positions and Wanda laid on her back, looking up at you with eyes that made your chest ache. She looked vulnerable and almost a little anxious.

Being intimate with women wasn’t the same as being intimate with men — Wanda figured this quickly. It wasn’t the same kind of mutual pleasure, but rather, rooted in a kind of selflessness, a deep and involved desire to please the other without receiving explicit pleasure of one’s own.

Sex with Vision and any of the scarce intimate encounters she’d had since her divorce all seemed rather mechanical — it wasn’t so much about desire and interest as it was about fulfilling a role and doing what you knew you were expected to.

Vision hardly ever went down on Wanda, and she was never quite interested in asking him to nor was she interested in connecting with him in that way.

It wasn’t that she held any bitterness or negative reservations about him that confined their sex to duty or seeing it as an impulse of nature, as in having sex as one would eat when one was hungry, or sleep when one was tired.

It was more so that their marriage was not the kind to be seen as based on passion or desire; that hadn’t been how Wanda had seen him when they first met nor how he had seen her.

The idea that anyone could desire her to begin with, but moreover that one could desire her selflessly, whose justification was solely self-determined desire, made her anxious and uncertain.

It was, paradoxically, a selfish form of selflessness, where Wanda had only ever known duty and expectation.

“What you did for me before,” you told her, now settled between her thighs, on your knees. “Is that okay?”

Wanda nodded, looking at you. She adjusted herself a little, but you settled her by placing your hands on either side of her outer thighs.

You firstly moved up her body, making Wanda think that for a moment you changed your mind about all of what you’d said, but instead you started softly kissing her, laying your body flush against hers as Wanda’s legs parted before squeezing her thighs around your hips.

Her arms came to wrap around your torso. She stretched her fingers out so she could feel more of your skin, feel the way your back arched and curved as you kissed her lips, then her cheeks and then her neck.

“You’re beautiful…” you muttered, making Wanda open her eyes and turn her head a little to look at the way you had your face buried in her neck, your hair sprawled out a mess across her chest.

“Your skin is so smooth, and you’re so warm when you hold me,” you said.

All Wanda could do was whisper a small, “I like holding you, Y/N.”

You slowly descended back down, your palms running down her sides as if to hold the shape of her body and the frame that made it up in your hands, caressing her.

You massaged her breast, making Wanda loll her head to the side and let out a soft moan, her own hand coming to the back of your head and tightening her grip when your lips wrapped around her nipple.

Your tongue was soft and teasing over her hardened bud, and you sucked with a gentle force that wasn’t hesitant, but careful, treating her delicately.

Her hand stroked the back of your hand with her fingers, gently massaging your scalp and readjusting her hand’s position often to keep combing through your hair.

Moving further down, you pressed kisses to her stomach, beneath her breasts, down to her belly button, watching Wanda’s expression intently as you looked up at her.

She looked beautiful with her eyes fluttered shut, lips parted as she sighed and made little noises of pleasure.

You hoped she felt taken care of.

Your fingers began tugging at the waistband of her underwear and you looked up to her, expecting Wanda to feel a little hesitant, but instead she breathed out telling you to take them off, even reaching down and tugging at them.

Wanda’s heart raced when she felt your breath brush briefly against her pussy. A shudder ghosted across her skin and up her spine when your tongue flattened against her, pushing through her folds as your lips wrapped around her.

Her thighs squeezed around your head and she shut her eyes; the gentle curls and prods of your soft tongue set her on fire, and the way you rubbed at her thighs, squeezing gently, made goosebumps run up her skin.

She really was quite sensitive, for you could tell exactly how her body would react each time you dragged your tongue up her cunt, pressed against her clit, or secured your lips a little tighter around her.

You were gentle and intentional with how you ate her out, and Wanda could tell obviously that you certainly weren’t as inexperienced as she was.

When opened her eyes and looked down, she met your gaze and immediately felt that you were too far away, and she quickly came to prefer not to come without you much closer to her.

She loosened the grip of her thighs and reached down, her hand coming to the side of your head.

“I want you up here,” she said.

You couldn’t exactly hear what she said, but you could tell she wanted you to stop, so you lifted your head and Wanda guided you back up her body.

Quietly, you asked, “Are you okay?”

“I want you with me,” Wanda told you, wrapping an arm around your torso and pulling you close so your chest was flush against hers. Her other hand found your wrist and she led it down between her thighs.

You felt that you previously didn’t understand Wanda the way that you now did after being intimate with her. She was sensitive and a bit shy, and you hadn’t expected her to be so loving and attentive when it was your turn before.

There were things like the way she squeezed her arm around your torso when your fingers entered her, sighed into your chest, her head tucked under the crook of your neck, and took every opportunity to keep her body pressed against yours, that made you begin to reshape how you saw her.

You liked to hold her, to kiss the top of her head. You liked how she kept pulling you against her.

“Is this okay?” you asked.

She nodded quickly.

“Am I going too fast?”

Wanda shook her head.

She felt warm and tight around your fingers, and you were beginning to feel a sort of intimacy feeling the way she squeezed around you, and how she fluttered subtly when she moaned and arched her back to adjust herself.

“Say you want me, Y/N…” she whispered softly.

You lowered yourself to kiss her temple. “I want you, Wanda,” you said. ”You feel so good around my fingers. You’re so wet.”

She whimpered, eyes squeezing shut again as she lolled her head to the side to lay against your chest.

“You feel so warm,” you told her, lips brushing against her forehead. Her hand squeezed at your side. “I think you’re so pretty, and sensitive, and I want to take care of you. I want to make you feel good. I really… want to be with you.”

The words nearly made Wanda want to cry, and she lifted her head, meeting your lips in a gentle kiss. She’d never felt so much connection and longing for another person before.

It frightened her, at the back of her mind, feeling the way she began to cling at you. It was only you who she’d felt all this for, and she wasn’t sure what she’d do if suddenly none of this worked out. She felt an overwhelming sense of passion, felt it as it filled her chest and forced her to take big breaths to soothe the feeling.

You sped up, mostly curious to hear how wet she was, and Wanda yelped a little, her back arching and pressing her stomach against yours. Her knee bent and she parted her legs further.

You ran your eyes across her naked body, the way she was spread beneath you and clinging onto you, listened to her deep groans and little yelps and whimpers, watched her breasts rise and fall.

When Wanda came she was much quieter than you were. She hugged herself close and cried out into the crook of your neck, her sweet-smelling hair filling your nose. Her other hand grasped at your shoulder, and you paid close attention to how she pulsed around your fingers.

Suddenly her hand came down to wrap around your wrist, and she kept your fingers in place while her body shuddered with the aftermath of her orgasm.

Keeping your fingers deep inside of her and moving them not even a little let you feel her every movement while Wanda’s body slowly relaxed. She wanted to keep feeling you inside of her, just to feel that intimacy for a few moments more.

Then she nudged your hand away on account of how tired she was to speak, and you carefully pulled your fingers out of her.

As you looked at her beneath you and listened to her tired sighs and pants, you thought about how you’d seen Wanda as a woman on a platform for much of your time with her. Though you liked her and were attracted to her, you thought you’d always seen her and felt a little intimidated; she felt far away and greater, bigger, than your own life.

But now she seemed sensitive and delicate, panting, her chest rising and falling, her body coated with a sheen of sweat, her closed eyes fluttering gently. She looked incredibly vulnerable, and in this state it was far easier for you to tell that it truly had been her first time with a woman, and with anyone she felt very interested in or close to in a while.

You thought of her in more detail, your hand rubbing against her lower stomach, her own hand wrapped loosely around your bicep, her arm other around your waist.

Wanda had been married and divorced before, she had children and a business and years of her experienced life that you hadn’t yet lived. It still remained true that there were things you didn’t quite yet know about her, and things that would always indicate a difference in your ages and experience, and a general difference in how you lived your lives.

But in spite of all that, she had chosen to be here with you, and wanted you here with her.

At the moment her cheek was pressed against your chest, and she adjusted herself and guided you so you could wrap both your arms around her shoulders. She intertwined your legs with hers and tucked her head beneath your chin.

You wondered the kinds of things she must be thinking.

The truth was that you wouldn’t know unless you asked or she told you, but sometimes even that wouldn’t be able to capture exactly the way she might feel — when words and language couldn’t bridge the gap of Wanda being unable to word how she was experiencing a romance and an affection that she hadn’t ever before.

You thought a little about what Wanda said about her marriage before, and you wondered if you really made her feel seen and taken care of.

You felt her breathing in your arms, listened to her soft inhales and exhales, held her body, and were the only one she wanted to be with and share this time with.

“Can you sleep over, Y/N?” Wanda asked, lifting her head and meeting your eyes after adjusting her body to allow you to hold her more comfortably. She looked sleepy.

You laid onto your side fully so your head was on the same pillow as hers. “Do you want me to?” you asked.

She nodded. “Can you, please?”

“I’ll have to leave early in the morning since I live so far.”

A smile spread on her face and she nudged at your shoulder softly.

“I want to stay over,” you then told her seriously, kissing her forehead and eliciting a little sigh of pleasure from Wanda.

She said quietly, “I think I should get up and get ready for bed. I might still have a little makeup on.”

Before you could nod and ask if she had any clothes you could borrow, she sat up and looked at you. Her face was shadowed and her hair, now having lost the curl she had given it this afternoon, was a bit messy, and looked very soft.

You reached out to touch her hair, just to smooth some stray strands down, and make her face more visible. She tipped her face into your caresses, the back of your fingers brushing against her cheekbone.

While Wanda brushed her teeth and you were about to change into the pajamas she let you borrow, you suggested that you might shower together before bed. For most of the night there was minimal talking — not because you had nothing to talk about, but because both of you were far more occupied with just being together.

Wanda’s hair was nice to feel when you lathered shampoo into it, and her fingers were strong when she washed yours. Her lotion smelled like the tiny whiffs you sometimes got around her but were certain wasn’t her perfume — it was her lotion.

On the bathroom counter were her earrings she sometimes wore and her glasses, and her makeup and face wash and hairbrush.

You liked seeing everything, and you liked being able to touch her whenever you felt, feeling your arms around her waist and being able to kiss her face and her exposed shoulders.

“Do you think… you’ll regret doing this?” Wanda asked quietly after some moments of silence while you laid together, the tone of her voice trying to communicate a space for you to be open and truthful with her. “You can be honest. It’s okay.”

You immediately looked over to her. She was on her side, her hand tucked under her pillow as she looked at you. The blankets were pulled up to her chin, making her look tiny. “No, not at all,” you told her. “I really want to spend more time with you, and I really like you. I’m interested in you.”

Then you wiggled a little closer to her so your knees bumped against hers, making her laugh at how you moved yourself into her personal space.

She wiggled close too until your noses were all but touching, and you could tell Wanda was trying not to giggle.

“I want this,” you said. The serious tone of your voice sounded silly with how close you were to her face, and Wanda couldn’t hold herself back from laughing just a little.

“Okay,” Wanda replied with a determined little nod once she stopped laughing. She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the sides. “Good. So do I.”

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #elizabeth olsen

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junislqve · 6 months ago

Text

ᯓ million dollar — ot7

syn when the members spend their (unlimited) money on you. (1770 words)

pairs richboy!members + reader | cw mentions of money petnames — mlist navi

notes richboy members are having a chokehold on me lately

LEE HEESEUNG

“take as much time as you want, love”

earlier that day, you were scouring your closet for a decent dress. flipping through the same five for the past hour.

your boyfriend, grumbling about how you should get back to bed, watched as you pick up the same clothes. his eyes never leaving your figure, staring up at you through the mirror you were using to look at the picks.

heeseung slowly got up and hugged you from behind, burying his head on your neck. kissing your shoulder blades up to the back of your ear.

“do you need a new dress, love?”

after very few talking from heeseung and much more complaints from you, he somehow convinced you to get ready.

and that is how you’ve ended up in one of the famous streets in your city. lined up with the prettiest boutiques and malls.

heeseung wrapped his hands around yours and walked to a favorite store of yours. remembering how you’ve ever mentioned how badly you wanted to go back and buy something from it, months ago.

walking in, your small pout turned into the biggest, heart-pounding grin he’s ever seen. he bit his lip containing his own smile and dug out his wallet.

“spend it all on anything you want, baby”

PARK JONGSEONG

as a musician, looking at instruments is like strolling through heaven. admiring all the small intricate details engraved.

jay loved his guitars like it was his own child, he understands what it’s like to spend thousand and even more on just a single guitar. not that it would do anything to his bank.

you’ve never really asked jay for anything for as long as you’ve been dating. rather using your own money to buy whatever you want than letting your boyfriend buy it for you.

it wasn’t like jay didn’t want you to buy things using his card, he actually offers it most times than not. it was you who never lets him buy anything for you.

“use my card to buy the groceries, babe”

you refused to take his card whenever you could. because of this, jay has learned to pay without you knowing. usually when your back is turned or when you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom.

right now, your boyfriend is tagging along with you as you browse through the island of pianos; ranging from yamaha to bluthner.

you stopped abruptly as your eyes fell on a piano that had you immediately captivated, from the design of the lid to the shape of the pedals, you thought it was the most beautiful piano you’ve ever seen.

when you were admiring the piano, trying out the keys and sitting on the soft cushion of the chair. you failed to realize your boyfriend had silently called the seller and slid his card. smiling down at your frowning figure.

“it’ll arrive by tomorrow morning, love”

SIM JAEYUN

“but you look so good in these, babe”

opening your apartment door with a click, the lights turned on to greet you with the copious amounts of packages laid on your living room.

the packages were of different sizes and stacked side by side. what’s worse is that you can’t remember buying all of the things you did, having to open up each package to know what and when you bought them.

you called up your boyfriend, who had brought in all of your packages earlier in the day when he paid a visit to your unit to pick up a small bag you forgot to bring.

“i seriously need to go on a ban”

“no you don’t baby, besides, you use my card when you buy anything” jake says, laying his head atop yours as he turned on a movie an hour ago to stop your fussing.

“that’s not the point, jake. i need to stop buying random things online. i can’t keep flooding my bedroom” you sigh.

“then just put the things you don’t like anymore in my apartment, you’ll have more space that way” jake smiles down at you, kissing your temples.

that was one week ago. somehow, he had convinced you to ‘accompany’ him on a late night rendezvous to prada. it was all fine at first when he was just looking at the suits. but now, he’s trying to convince you to buy two pairs of their new summer series glasses.

“i can buy this next time, babe” you finally say, sighing, after letting him talk about all the new luxury pieces of the summer set, desperately trying to talk his way into letting him buy you one.

“oh” he trails off, a sheepish grin creeping up on his face “about that, i’ve already paid”

PARK SUNGHOON

as a person who always loved the mountains, you find yourself spending weekends driving up one usually catching the sunset. this was already a routine even before you met sunghoon.

and now, you still kept up that routine whenever you weren’t too busy, your boyfriend always opting to tag along despite his complaints about being too tired. he wouldn’t actually pass up an opportunity to be with you.

you always loved traveling, within the city and during long holidays, out. liking the feeling of driving past the roads and seeing the scenery once the mountains come into view.

when sunghoon found out about this interest of yours, he started searching up for places with the most beautiful mountain sceneries. over the past years, he’s taken you to numerous countrysides and mountaintops inside and outside of the country.

even when you say it was fine if you were to only travel within the country, he loves seeing the way your eyes widen adorably during a gorgeous sunset that would rarely happen in-country. that’s why, the moment he tracks down a specific date that you both were going to be free for at least three days, sunghoon would immediately book a ticket to whatever country he’s been searching up.

on a random afternoon, sunghoon knocks on your bedroom door, walking in your apartment. as you open the door, there he stood with a big suitcase and that sweet smile of his.

“better pack up now, baby. we’re leaving in a few hours”

KIM SUNOO

sunoo knows you more than you know yourself, he’s quick to learn your body language and certain expressions you make.

it’s really hard to lie to him when he knows how to poke at you the right way to make you open up about your worries.

sometimes he just lets you have it, he knows you would at one point tell him about the things you’re going through. he trusts you on that.

but at times, he knows when you need a bit more of a cheer up. sunoo loves spending his money on you, buying you clothes, makeup, accessories. one of the things he realizes is that you love wearing jewelry. finishing up an outfit by adding a necklace or bracelets along your arm. that conveniently also accentuates your features.

he spends alot of time with you picking out sets for outfits you were going to wear for upcoming events. jewelry, he realizes is one of the things that can easily cheer you up, besides himself, of course.

so as the sweet boyfriend he is, sunoo dragged you to the jewelry store despite your sulks. and the moment your eyes laid on the glittering pearls, all of your problems seem to dissipate. just like how your boyfriend had expected.

with a giggle, sunoo starts asking the seller to bring out the full set for you to try on. patting you on the head as you continue to stare at the long rows of necklaces.

“buy whatever you want, okay? after this we can cuddle for as long as you need”

YANG JUNGWON

he would remember everything you’ve ever said to him. you like sweets? he remembers. you like flowery perfume? he remembers. you like that one specific lipstick brand that’s best bought in singapore? he remembers.

it’s not odd to get home to a bunch off boxes filled with gifts and food and random things whenever jungwon’s just went home from a trip anywhere.

anything you’ve said even before you two were dating seems to be engraved in his head like muscle memory. he can be strolling through a street market in japan and a small store would catch his eye, the next moment you would find his hands filled with keychains of a cartoon character you said you liked years ago.

his job requires him to fly countries often and it used to be a problem for you both as it means you can’t really meet him as much. but after years, both you and jungwon still communicate alot. him usually asking to facetime you at random hours of the day or night and sending you pictures of what he was doing.

both of you readjusted quite well to this arrangement and thankfully his work doesn’t demand a long period of time during those trips.

“babe there’s no way i can finish all of this by myself” you laugh seeing all of the things he bought you.

“then we can finish them together” he says, dimples peeking out through the smile “that way i can come by more often”

NISHIMURA RIKI

as days start to get more busy, you and your boyfriend find yourselves going on a short getaway to the outskirts of the city.

he showed up at your apartment one night and pulled you out of it with no explanation. you weren’t going to question him though, letting him take you wherever.

you both ended up on a train station, waiting for the last train to arrive. about an hour later, you landed on a small, but really nice accommodation.

the moment you stepped in the room, riki launched himself on the bed sighing in content.

“i want to live here forever” he mumbles out against one of the pillows.

“we both still have school tomorrow” you sat on the bed beside him, opening up your phone to continue the essay you were working on. only for it to be tackled down a second later, your boyfriend pulling you to lay down beside him.

silence filled the room, only yours and your boyfriend’s soft breathing. riki mumbled something against your hair. you hummed in question.

“let’s get room service” he says. you knew it was going to happen, it always happened. but here you are, sat on the hotel chair with too much food both of you know you can’t finish. he had a habit of buying you whatever he thought you’d like and it wasn’t like he’s wrong. the bowls of food on the table are all your favorites and you don’t even know where to start.

he really doesn’t spend much on things, but he loves going on little getaways with you every once in a while. sleeping on the comfiest beds (besides his or yours) and eating room service. something about it just brings a peaceful kind of silence for him.

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armasgrouphomesnyc · 2 years ago

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issuu

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ceesimz · 2 months ago

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Who falls in love in November?

part 2 of this, also known as the happy ending everyone wanted :)

Alexia had three days remaining of her time in Menorca after you left. Never in her life had a vacation been so miserable.

Even without you there, her head was constantly on a swivel when she was out, hoping she’d turn a corner and you were there waiting for her. She was withdrawn from social occasions with friends, stuck in her head thinking about how much she wished you were by her side.

But it wasn’t going to happen. It didn’t happen.

And to top it all off, she had no evidence you even existed aside from the book you gifted her, as if you were merely a figure of her imagination. A daydream she didn’t want to come out of. It was simultaneously the best and worst summer of her life, because she had you, and then she didn’t. You slipped out of her grasp before she could do anything about it, and that fact was eating her up inside.

To be honest, as she boarded her plane home, she had never been so grateful for a vacation to end. She slumped into her seat after storing away her suitcase and sighed heavily, looking out of the window of the place that she currently held mixed feelings about. The whole island was tainted by you and the memories that remained. At the thought, she slammed the window cover shut. It was a pitiful attempt to shove you out of her mind; to be fair to her, it worked for a few seconds. Except, when she reached into her backpack by her feet, her hand grabbed something and pulled it out.

Your book. The only thing that remained of your relationship.

Relationship? Could it be classed as that? Probably not. But what else could she call it? The greatest mistake of her life?

Since she opened the first page the night you gave it to her, she had probably read the note there a hundred times. And so what if she had traced the curvature of your handwriting with her finger as her eyes burned with tears that night? You weren’t there to see it, that’s the only thing that mattered to her.

This book means a lot to me, and from all the wonderful things I know about you so far, I think you’ll like it too. We haven’t known each other for very long but I hope that changes because you’ve already had a better effect on me than anyone I have ever met, and for that I am so grateful. Let me know when you finish it.

That last sentence, as well as the accompanying smiley face that was exactly the same as the one you had drawn on another note to her a few days prior, mocked her. She couldn’t reach you if she tried. She only had your first name and the city you lived in, there was nothing to go off of if she attempted to find you. The worst part of it all is that you could be her neighbour for all she knows, but the only thing she could do was hope that your worlds aligned sooner rather than later. You could live in the apartment right beside hers, or above it, or below. The possibilities were endless and it killed her.

Maybe it was sad and pathetic, but she couldn’t bring herself to read the story. There had been one attempt so far, and it only resulted in a throbbing headache, puffy red eyes, and a damp pillow. Another sigh left her lips as she dropped it back into her bag and zipped it up with more aggression than necessary, earning a strange glance from the flight attendant that walked past her just as she did so.

A little while passed before the plane got ready for take-off, and ever the rule-stickler, Alexia took one of her earphones out as the safety video played out. At that point, she realised just how screwed she was, because she couldn’t even look at a life vest on a fucking plane without thinking back to that day with you on the boat.

“Qué coño estoy haciendo?” She grumbled under her breath, slipping her earphone back in and resting her head back against the seat, eyes closed.

Unfortunately, that was a question she would repeat to herself a hell of a lot the following months. Because, really, not a day passed by without her thoughts being infiltrated by those days with you. The second she closed her eyes at night, she saw your face. When she woke up in the morning, she wished you were beside her, even despite the fact she had never once shared a bed with you.

At one point, sometime in September, she even found herself going along to one of Mapi’s dinners in Barcelona that she always planned. Alexia had been invited to every single one in the past few years since the defender had started organising them with her closest friends, but the blonde had only attended a handful in that time. Her attendance for this one was solely for the purpose of seeing you.

However, you didn’t show up.

There was one chair at the end of the table empty, and though no one ever took it, Alexia couldn’t tear her eyes away. She had a vacant expression on her face throughout the whole duration of the evening, forcing a smile when she had to and keeping her responses short. The people there that didn’t know her too well were probably a little weirded out, but Mapi could see heartbreak in her eyes and the realisation of what likely happened brought a frown to her face. She didn’t want to intrude on a situation she knew Alexia would prefer to keep private, but it hurt to see her friend so down like she was.

Only one conversation topic truly piqued her interest that evening. Near the end of the night, someone asked why you weren’t there. The single mention of your name had her heart racing.

“-has gone to England to see her family for a while.”

The person talking, who Alexia assumed was your friend, went on a bit more about your whereabouts, but the blonde had tuned out of it as soon as she heard that you weren’t even in the country, nevermind the city.

She had the urge to just get up and walk out of the restaurant there and then at the news, but she was here, at a restaurant with alcohol available to her, and instead she decided to throw her personal laws out the window for the night and have a few drinks. They didn’t numb the pain, in fact they probably made it more prominent. Alarm bells were ringing in Mapi’s head at the sight of her friend with an alcoholic drink in her hand, especially since the new season had just started, and she waited until everyone was leaving to bring it up.

“Ale, Ale, espera.” The shorter woman lightly grabbed her friend by the arm just as she started the walk back to her apartment. “Qué passa?”

“No, Mapi.” Alexia mumbled, shaking her head and continuing to walk. Mapi kept up the pace beside her, allowing the silence to sit for a bit, before the older woman sniffled a little.

“Oye. Habla, ahora.” Mapi demanded, halting their movements on the sidewalk as Alexia kept her head down.

“No es importante.” Alexia shrugged dismissively, opting out of looking at Mapi and instead observing the streets she had walked all of her life. Ones that you have probably walked too.

“Es importante!” Mapi argued, before she pushed down her frustration and addressed her captain much more calmly. “Si estás así de triste, es muy importante, Alexia.”

“Stop, Mapi! Leave it, it has nothing to do with you.” Alexia snapped, before turning away and heading back in the direction of her flat.

The fact she slipped into English, now of all times, told Mapi everything she needed to know. Things hadn’t gone smoothly between you and Alexia. Whatever happened, Mapi would stay out of it until she was needed. That didn’t mean she was any less disappointed at it though. Not at you, or Alexia, because regardless of what had or hadn’t gone on, she didn’t blame you and she knows neither of you would have blamed each other too. Whatever had occurred was left in the hands of the world to sort it out.

Though, if she had known it was just a miscommunication that could have been easily solved, she would have grabbed you both by the ears and lectured you to no end.

The truth is, if Alexia wasn’t so stuck in her misery and just read the book given to her, all of her problems would have been solved. In her opinion, if she did read it, it would just mean finding out more about you that she couldn’t have. But, as a matter of fact, getting to the end of the story would give her the one thing she wanted all along.

By the time November rolled around, Alexia and the rest of the Barcelona team were well into the season in most competitions already. The league was going well, they had won the two Champion’s League games so far, and they had just beaten Real Madrid in the first game of the fifth, albeit unofficial, infamous competition of the season- El Clásico.

A win like that always had to be celebrated, and none of the blaugrana players were going to pass up a night of partying in Barcelona afterwards.

There was just one small thing Mapi failed to tell Alexia before they arrived at the club, however.

—

Your life after that vacation didn’t really change. The only noticeable difference was the heartache and the anguish you felt after arriving home that no one would understand. In secret you met, in silence you have to grieve.

Except, your pain wasn’t quite the same as Alexia’s. Hers surely had an expiration date, she would get over you at some point. Yours would only get stronger the longer you spent apart from her, the anxiety turning the scenario you were in from a nightmare into a reality.

You had no doubts that Alexia was a busy person, so for a few weeks, you gave her the benefit of the doubt when it came to reading. But a few weeks turned into a month, then one turned into two, and before you knew it, it was November. Maybe she didn’t want to see you again after all, maybe those few days were enough for her.

That summer felt like a lifetime ago, an out of this world experience that was nothing more than a dream. But it was real, you know it was, because you still feel the phantom touch of her lips on your shoulder and the comfortable warmth of her hand in yours. You still remember every detail about her, like the moles on her face and the depth to her hazel eyes, or the tattoos on her back and the strength of her arms when she embraced you. Not even your wildest dreams could have created such a person like Alexia. She was more than anything you could have wished for.

Perhaps you could have searched her up online, the blonde was apparently a prominent public figure after all, so it probably wasn’t that hard to find out more about her. You didn’t want to do that though, in the weirdest way, it would feel like invading her privacy. What could be found online was most likely not a true representation of her. Though she wasn’t yours anymore, and she never really was in the first place, you knew the media’s perception of her would be so different to who she actually was, and indulging in that would be a disservice to the woman you had the honour to love, even if that was for just a week.

In your time since Menorca, you had gone back to your normal life like nothing had happened. As if nothing had changed outwardly, when internally, everything had changed. You had been introduced to the true beauty of life, what it means to feel seen, only to have it ripped away from you. And maybe it was your fault that it wasn’t yours to experience anymore. If you could go back in time to that final moment in the bar, you would have done everything differently, especially if you had known it would end like this.

At some point in September, the city you loved became nothing but a mental challenge. Alexia could be anywhere, yet in your opinion, there was no morally correct way to try and find her. It all got too much, and you had to escape. Going back to England seemed like a good idea at first, however in hindsight, it just made things worse. Somehow it made the pain, regret, sorrow, it made all of it reach new heights. During the taxi ride back to your apartment in Barcelona afterwards, there were tears in your eyes that hardly left for the next two months. No matter what you tried, you couldn’t get her out of your mind, even though you were probably long gone from hers.

A night out in the city sounded perfect suddenly, in November. One mention of it from a friend of a friend, and you were in. There was some special occasion apparently, according to María, but you didn’t care that much to pay attention. All you knew was that the club was booked for you all, there was a ticket with your name on it, and alcohol waiting for you.

Only, you didn’t expect to meet a familiar pair of eyes at the bar a few hours into the night.

“Ale?” You whispered under your breath at the sight of the woman a few metres to your right, leaning against the bar with a near empty beer bottle in her hand.

With the music thumping throughout the club, there was no way she heard you. But her eyes averted to her left anyway, and they landed straight on you. Her entire body froze, eyes wide whilst the rest of her face seemed void of emotion. It was hard to get a read on her and considering there was a fair amount of alcohol in your system by this point, it wasn’t surprising when the anxiety took over and made you doubt everything.

Did she still feel the same way about you? Was there already somebody else for her? Maybe you didn’t mean as much to her as she did to you. There were probably thousands of other people she could have, when you took her supposed stardom into account. The scale of her fame was still a mystery to you, but at that moment it was too overwhelming to think about. What business did she have falling in love with someone who was nothing more than a fly on the wall?

Nobody ever noticed you, you were just there. Alexia was… Alexia. There weren’t enough words in any and all languages to describe what a person she was.

Unbeknownst to you, Alexia was freaking out too. Not in the way one would initially expect, though; there was one overwhelming feeling for her that wasn’t fear or anxiety, it was relief. Complete, utter, all-consuming relief, because you were right in front of her. Within arms reach, basically. Despite all the possibilities that could occur from here on out, she was just happy to see you.

However, her face hadn’t changed in the time the pair of you had been staring at each other agasp for the past however long, and it didn’t change as she cautiously took a few steps closer to you. With each step she took, your anxiety grew. It grew and grew, until she was about a metre away, and it reached its peak.

In true anxiety fashion, the fight or flight kicked in.

A proper glance at her face and you were breathless, and not in the swooning, romantic way, but instead out of pure panic. The club was too loud, too restricting and suffocating, and the only option that seemed plausible was getting the hell out. You didn’t care about the people you bumped into, or the voice shouting after you. The situation that confronted you back at the bar was more than you could handle and it seemed to be an insurmountable challenge that you weren’t quite prepared for.

In your mind, Alexia was done with you. The heartbreak was tearing through you already and had been for months now, you didn’t need a run in with her to increase that, and you definitely didn’t want closure. Too long had passed, you had grown content with the realisation that she had moved on seamlessly.

It took a matter of seconds for Alexia to lose sight of you in the crowded room, and what didn’t help was the sudden barrage of teammates that seemed determined to drag her to the dancefloor. They were buzzing off their copious amounts of alcohol compared to her one bottle of beer, completely unaware of the turmoil she was going through due to the winning high they were still riding. She saw the disappointed look on their faces as she brushed them off and it hurt for a moment, before she remembered the situation she was in, and then the celebrations were forgotten entirely.

The moment she exited the club, she spotted you outside the next building over, a restaurant with outdoor seating that was closed due to the late hour. You were sat in one of the chairs there, head in your hands with a leg bouncing out of intense anxiety. Alexia knew she was the reason for your current state, it didn’t take a genius to figure that out, but she also didn’t want to leave you alone when you were so clearly worked up. If you pushed her away, fine, she’d leave. She just wanted to try first.

As she prudently walked over to you with a few gentle calls of your name, like she were approaching a skittish animal, you glanced through your fingers to find the one person at the centre of your anxiety approaching you. Rather than tell her to leave, or get everything off your chest in a ‘screw you’ way, or simply pretend she didn’t exist, you removed your hands and sat up like you weren’t just having an anxiety attack. Your people-pleasing habit had no boundaries.

“Are… are you okay?” Alexia asked softly, standing a few feet in front of you with her hands, that itched to reach out and comfort you, holding onto the chair behind her which she leaned on just as an excuse to nervously fidget with something not too obvious.

“I will be.” You gave her a tight-lipped smile that you paired with a quick sniffle and a brush away of the tears on your cheeks.

To anyone else, this whole situation probably seemed ridiculous and unnecessary. Why not just exchange details in the first place? Why not ask Mapi, a mutual friend, for the other person’s details? There were so many seemingly obvious solutions and ways this could have been prevented.

But love isn’t so simple. It’s a risk to take, a fact that often goes unacknowledged and underappreciated. Especially when your heart has already been broken and stuck back together so many times, it’s hard to hand it over again. It is a delicate organ, the only one other than the brain that has the ability to feel, to hold sentiment and adoration.

There’s no rhyme or reason as to why people decide to harm it, but Alexia isn’t one of those people. She’d take your damaged goods and glue them back together with gold if she could, and you’d do the same for her. When all is said and done, there is no blame or resentment present, just guilt and regret. Your souls are too pure for hatred, they’re professionals at harbouring love for those around no matter what, and it’s evident with the way you both treat each other, despite all the unspoken sorrow and devastation individually experienced during all these months.

A week of pure, whole-hearted, unconditional love was worth all the months of anguish. That was an easy conclusion both of you had come to somewhere along the way.

“I…” There was so much that Alexia wanted to say, but she had no idea how to verbalise any of it or where to even start. She believed that nothing she could say would live up to the moment.

“We don’t have to do this, Ale.” You decided for her. Your words exuded a confidence that wasn’t there at all, and you figured that it was probably evident in your anxiety-filled appearance, but what’s the harm in trying.

“Do what?” Alexia replied with her face scrunched in fearful confusion. Ale. She had missed you saying that.

“Do the awkward back and forth whilst ignoring the fact we fell in love four months ago.”

It hurt to admit it out loud.

For months, this pain had been nothing but an internal one, hidden in the background of your thoughts at all points of the day whilst the world around you was none the wiser. The only external signs of such an event were the mascara stains on your pillow after a night of crying and the tear tracks engraved onto your cheeks when walking into work the next day.

You fell in love four months ago. And the person you were still in love with stood before you. But time had passed, and perhaps that love had to be left behind.

“Maybe I don’t want to ignore that.” Alexia’s shoulders were up in a shrug for a few moments, her heart beating away so fast in her chest that a pit of nausea had formed at the sentence she had just uttered. You looked up at her through tears that glistened in the street lamps, a glint of hope in your eyes that you loathed. In just one statement, you were wrapped around her finger again.

“What do you mean?” You questioned firmly, voice distant despite the crack in the middle of it.

“Maybe… I am still in love with you.”

Laughter wasn’t quite the response Alexia was expecting, especially spiteful laughter. Disapproving laughter with anger so clear in its undertones.

“How can you say that after you’ve obviously moved on? After I’ve heard nothing from you all these months?” You scoffed. Your pent-up exasperation wasn’t even at Alexia, she just so happened to be there and saying all the wrong things to act as the catalyst for the eruption.

No, the anger was entirely at yourself. You opened up your heart to someone you knew you couldn’t have, and still had the audacity to be so hurt by the anticipated turn of events. Alexia was never to blame, it was you.

“What? I don't understand.” Alexia retorted, and it’s unexplainably hard to continue your onslaught of misdirected blame when there’s so much pain in her voice.

“You had so much time to contact me, and yet you didn’t. I can read the room, Ale, I can tell when I’m not wanted, and I get it.” The fight left you then, your body deflating of all its tension as you curled back into yourself.

“I had no way to get to you! I don’t get it, cariño, I really don’t, because I have loved you still all these months and I missed you, and if I did have a way to get to you, I would have taken it because I have lost myself after losing you!”

“Oh, so I just gave you my favourite book with my number in the back of it for no reason then?” You scoffed once more, shaking your head as you willed the tears away once more.

Just a few feet in front of you, Alexia was going through about a million different emotions, thoughts, feelings, all that good stuff, at once. Her head was spinning, dizzy at the gravity of what you just said.

“I didn’t read your book.” Alexia whispered, her voice quiet and dripping with awe, still stuck in regretful astonishment at the fact the solution to everything had been under her hands all this time.

Your number, in the back of the book that was right beside her bed. She had you right under her fingertips and she didn’t even know it.

“What do you mean?” You asked in the same tone.

“I could not bring myself to read it because I missed you too much. Your number is really in the back? You are not doing some… some cruel joke?”

As if you’d ever.

“No! I swear, I wrote it in there that night in the bar when I gave it to you. I thought you saw me write in it!” You exclaimed, overcome with all sorts of emotions at the new revelation.

It had been a stupid mishap, nothing more. No malicious intent on either side, no animosity (aside from the last few minutes), and most of all, throughout this whole thing, there had been no love lost. It was just a mutual misunderstanding. That label felt too simple for all the turmoil that had occurred, yet at the same time, an exhilarating amount of relief came with it which soon overrode the seething irritation that flashed by. The possibility of exploring a relationship with Alexia was so much more thrilling to focus on than all that could be different.

There was no use in dwelling on what could have been if this mistake hadn’t happened. Far too often have you done that in the past, and it’s never gotten you anywhere. Alexia had done the same during those lonesome nights after hours spent in the presence of thousands of people in stadiums across the world - going from being surrounded by countless adoring fans to nothing but overwhelming silence was something she had struggled with. It opened up a world of vulnerabilities for her, as she thought and thought and thought until the mental exertion exhausted her and she finally fell asleep.

Something that came with her ACL injury was the introduction of a psychologist, and it had forced her to change so many aspects of her life for the better. Like in this scenario now, where just like you, she wanted to disregard what hasn’t happened, and instead focus on the moment, and all the amazing things that could happen. Because, really, what was standing in her way apart from the threat of a road not taken? And the best thing of all, is that with one look in your eye, she knew you felt the same.

She knew you wanted the simplicity, rather than making it more difficult for yourselves which had happened already since that last goodbye in the bar. Once the realisation settled, the only thing left to do was acknowledge that fact.

“I didn’t. I didn’t see you write in the back, only the front.” Alexia murmured, pausing for a few seconds as the pair of you fell silent.

The pulse of the music could be faintly heard, as could the distant chatter of people passing by, but none of that mattered when the prospect of the future hung within reach between you both. It was that that had Alexia turning the chair she held onto around and slumping down into it out of shock. The adrenaline had run its course, and now it left a tranquil euphoria, a brewing excitement that took its time to build.

“So… you haven’t moved on.” You said about a minute later, holding back a smile that broke out anyway when Alexia laughed at it all.

“No. Not at all.”

Words seemed a little useless from then on. There were coy smiles on each of your faces afterwards, when everything had been hashed out and made clear despite it being slightly overdue. The only thing you could do was stand from your chair, walk the short distance that separated you both, and gaze down expectantly at Alexia. She stood too, the tables turning so that she was the one looking down now, but that didn’t matter for long, because before you knew it, her arms were back around you and embracing you so tightly that your feet lifted off the ground. You laughed into her neck, which in turn made her laugh too, and then the pair of you were just a mess in each other's arms.

It felt like someone had come along and stoked the fire in your heart again. The coldness that had settled in your bones at some point during the last months was gone, instead it had been replaced with the love you’d lacked for too long. This time, it didn’t have a time limit, you were free to relish in the fact that from this day on, there was always going to be someone on your side, a person there just for you. And there was a certain level of pride that came in knowing you were going to be that for Alexia too, because the way she held you so close to her heart, metaphorically and in this moment literally too, told you enough about how she felt.

When you leaned back and looked up at her, you saw the future in her eyes, one that didn’t seem so dauntingly alone and gloomy. There were also tears there too, to your surprise, and it only amplified what you knew about her already; she was made for you. She loved you.

“Please tell me I will not lose you for a second time. I cannot do that again.” She admitted the secret quietly, and before you had even found the words to answer her, the admission was stored away safely in your soul.

“No, you won’t. I… I think I need you, Ale.” You told her, closing your eyes as you rested your forehead against hers. You sensed the relieving sigh that Alexia let out and shared how she felt; at peace.

“I need you too.” Alexia mumbled in reply, her voice cracking with emotion that for once isn’t drowning her, instead, she feels more alive right now than she had since summer. “Te extrañé mucho. Mucho.”

You smiled. A genuine one, with no layers or falsity to it. You smiled because you could, because Alexia and all she was in that moment allowed you to feel worth your weight in gold, something that hardly ever came naturally to you. But with the blonde woman holding you so tentatively, firm in her love despite her fears, you owed it to her to provide the reaction her character brought out.

“I missed you a lot too.” You breathed out, years worth of inadequacy and shame leaving you as you did so. “I’m sorry for causing all this. And for-”

“Why are you apologising?” Alexia cut you off, pulling back from the embrace as her hands gently landed on your shoulders and the frown you had strangely missed came out in full force.

“Because I just made all this so difficult and caused you so much pain for no reason, I should have thought it through more and n-”

“No, don’t.” She shook her head and tugged you back in, her arms around your shoulders and a hand on the back of your head with her thumb stroking up and down comfortingly. “Don’t take yourself down that road. Do not place blame on yourself when there is none there. Please don’t. It is not your fault.”

All you could do at that was nod into her chest. Alexia’s advice hadn’t failed you thus far, so why stop listening to it now.

“I’m so glad I found you again. In a club of all places.” You said, giggling into her shoulder as she chuckled.

“I didn’t know you would be here.” Alexia stated, keeping her hands on your waist as her eyes were wide and adoring as they moved all over your face, almost as if she was in disbelief that she was really with you.

“María invited me, I don’t normally come to these things, but… I guess it’s a good job I did.” You replied bashfully, Alexia nodding immediately and making you laugh once more. “She said it was a big occasion or something? I don’t know, but it must be pretty big if the whole club is booked out.”

“It is a big thing. For us, anyway. I…” She glanced up at the building she was in earlier and her smile faltered a little. She was caught in two minds; she wanted to spend time with you, now that you were in her arms she didn’t want to let you out of her sight, but she also had made commitments to be here with her team tonight. It was an abnormality for her to agree to a night like this, but the excitement and the pleading from her teammates made her give in, and their joy at her attendance made it worth it. “The team won a big game earlier, so they wanted to celebrate. I don’t go to these things too. They begged me, so I should probably go back to them.”

“Okay.” You said, trying to disguise the dejection burning through you. Her hands gripped your sides a little tighter, like she knew what her words had done anyway.

“Will you come back in? With me?” She asked hopefully.

“I don’t know, I don’t want to intrude on your time with your team, especially if it’s a big celebra-”

You were interrupted once more, but there wasn’t exactly any complaining from your side. Alexia’s palms were cradling your cheeks, fingertips light and warm on your soft skin, and in much the same way as she did after that first date, she kissed you. Firmly and fervently, months worth of longing reaching its peak and crumbling with each movement of your lips. It was just as mind-numbing as you remembered- you’d thought a lot about those few kisses in Menorca and how you hadn’t had enough. There was no way you could ever wait that long for one again.

“You will not ‘intrude’ on us, I promise. If I could, I would take you on a date right now, but they will be angry if I do. When you are around, there’s no one else I want to spend time with.” Her eyes bored into yours as she held your face securely in her hands, ensuring you couldn’t look anywhere but at her and take in the honesty of her words. “I want you there. You.”

“I’ll go with you.” You responded like you were in a trance. You basically were: entranced by the affirmation that she wants you and you only. The blonde grinned and ducked down again to kiss you, more than content to revel in your touch now that she has you again.

After that, Alexia took your hand tight in hers and led you back into the club. You trailed behind her, happy to follow her lead, blushing each time she looked back at you with her charming smile that overflowed with utter joy, until you found yourselves back in the main area of the club. Understandably, the vast group of people you didn’t recognise, probably Alexia’s teammates, were partying hard together. There were people on each others’ shoulders, drinks being spilt, some rather abysmal and slurred singing, and a number of new faces that lit up when they saw Alexia again.

“Some of them are a bit loco. You will get used to them.” Alexia said into your ear, and when she moved back to gauge your reaction, she instantly recognised the uncertainty in your expression. Her arm curled around your waist, her lips pressed a kiss to your shoulder, and she gave a reassuring smile. “I will be with you, I’m not going anywhere.”

Like always, she stuck to her promise. Not for a second did she leave your side as she celebrated, introduced you to her teammates, and hardly took her eyes off you. Some part of her was always touching you, whether that be her arm around your shoulders, her hand brushing against hers as a finger linked with yours, a palm resting on your lower back as she guided you through the bustling room. And though it took some time to settle into the crowdedness, you eventually found yourself joining in with her teammates as they danced and took you in like one of their own.

Throughout the night, the blonde midfielder couldn’t hold back the smile on her face. Watching you fit right in with the people she considered family, whilst knowing to some degree how much you struggled with these things, flooded her with so much admiration and appreciation for you. It reached a new level, and though it was something she didn’t understand, each second she spent with you she felt herself falling more and more in love. Even if you did say ridiculous things like…

“You know what my favourite thing is about football? When you guys sit there at the side with your little blankets like the grandparents from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.”

She might have rolled her eyes at the declaration, but somehow she adored you impossibly more after it. Especially when the group of her teammates you were with burst out laughing at it, some firing off into teasing arguments at it as you turned to Alexia and gave her a beaming smile at the reaction. Before any of the others could wrap you up in a conversation again, she simply took your hand like she did earlier and walked you both over to the bar. Mapi, who had been part of that group and had almost passed out from pure elation when she saw the pair of you walk in together at the start of the night, watched you leave and nudged Ingrid vigorously. The poor Norwegian had been subject to all of the defender’s speculation and conspiracies of what had transpired between her two friends, and the dark-haired woman wasn’t sure if it was that or the current overwhelming excitement of her girlfriend that was worse.

Alexia ordered new drinks for you both at the bar, before turning to where you stood beside her and smiling softly down at you. You entertained her gaze, mirroring her smile as you waited for her to speak. But instead of doing so, she moved to stand behind you and tugged you back against her while her arms enveloped you completely. Her chin found home on your shoulder, her heart bursting at the seams when she heard you let out a content sigh. She turned her face into your neck then, discreetly scattering kisses up and down the skin there.

“Ale, what are you doing? All your teammates are here.” You told her quietly, leaning back into her and covering her arms with yours.

“Me da igual. Tendrás que perdonarme por ser tan pegajosa, pero no puedo apartar los ojos ni las manos de ti.” Alexia murmured, reaching around to grab her glass and take a sip from it, before focusing her attention back to you by kissing you. Her lips were cold from the ice of her drink, but they quickly warmed up against yours as she indulged in the kiss without a care for her surroundings. It was only when your drink was placed on the wood of the bar that she broke it off, smirking down at you and the blush to your cheeks.

If this was how she was going to act, you didn’t want the night to end.

Fortunately for you, it didn’t. Something you had learnt over the years was that the Spanish knew how to have a good night, and this was no different. The music kept coming, the euphoria kept running, and the dancing didn’t stop for a second. As the hours went on, Alexia came more and more out of her shell, and you saw a new side of her that made you weak at the knees.

Her actions got bolder as her inhibitions left her, and if she was clingy before, that only increased. Even when she substituted her alcohol for water, as did you, her affection continued to pour out. You were more than happy to revel in all she had to give. This was what you had longed for since the summer, and it still felt surreal that you were here right now.

Seeing Alexia so carefree and happy sparked the same feelings in you, it willed you to be just as open and unabashed in your joy, and it was fastly turning into one of the best times of your life because of it. But there were other feelings too, ones that were becoming quite unavoidable as they built up throughout the evening. And when the celebrations somehow amped up, there was a certain level of acknowledgement between you and Alexia. Your eyes communicated that to each other, coy smiles shared between you both in anticipation.

The pair of you continued to dance together, none the wiser to the partying around you anymore. You were more than content to stay in your own little bubble, allowing the tense thrill to grow whilst waiting for the other to make the first move. Unsurprisingly, it was Alexia who cracked, her next actions conveying the desperation that fizzed between the two of you.

“I think I said I had to make it up to you after our first date, no?” She hummed from behind you, one arm around your stomach as the other brushed your hair from your neck so that she could attach her lips to your pulse as she awaited your answer.

“Yes. Please.” The second word slipped out unknowingly, only realising what you had said after Alexia smirked into your skin. Her confidence radiated from her, and you took it and ran with it. “Don’t act like you don’t need it too, la reina.”

“Don’t call me that.” She grumbled and you turned in her hold with a raised eyebrow, your arms linking around her neck.

“What would you like instead?” You challenged, feeling her hands tighten their grasp just slightly.

“You know. Ale. Alexia.” You hummed and nodded, leaning a little closer and kissing her jaw on your way to placing your lips beside her ear.

“And where would you prefer me to call you that? Here, in this club where you can hardly hear me with your friends all around? Or in your apartment, in your bed?”

It was that final question from you that had her breathing in sharply and leading you out of the club for the final time that night. Earlier, when you left in a rush, you were wracked with anxiety and self-doubt. Now, you laughed with the woman you loved as she flagged down a taxi and clambered in behind you. She listed off her address as you gazed meekly at her from your seat, heart eyes so glaringly obvious despite the dim light of the car. Granted, she could probably feel your stare more than she could see it, though there wasn’t much else that the midfielder wanted to focus her attention on.

She smirked and shook her head when she noticed, her hand travelling across the middle seat and reaching its destination on your thigh. You placed your own over it, squeezing it once and averting your eyes to the city’s scenery that passed by, unable to maintain your infatuated look due to the overloading feeling of ardour that reinforced itself every time the footballer was in your vicinity.

Throughout the car ride to Alexia’s apartment, it was majoritively silent, bar the deafening beating of your heart in your ears that grew in its volume the closer you got. The driver’s GPS sounded out as he parked outside the building, and Alexia rushed to pay him before getting out and offering her hand to you. You took it with a shy grin, swinging it between you both as you made your way inside.

Back at the club, the tension was palpable and unmistakably charged. However, it had taken a turn during the short journey. Now it was teeming with nerves, both aware of what faces you when you step foot in that apartment. There’s exhilaration and simmering desire too due to how much you want it, it was something that had been thought about individually late at night. Ultimately, this would add a whole new layer to the growing relationship, and neither of you wanted to wait a second longer to be able to savour the aftermath and the moment.

And in the end, it was inexplicably better than you could have imagined. Once the initial awkwardness wore off, the desperation took over and gave the night a tale to tell. You hadn’t experienced anything like it– it was tentative and ineffably intimate and something you wouldn’t forget. It was perfect.

Most importantly, it didn’t leave you in a pit of anxiety afterwards. Being able to freely relish in the moment when it was over in the comforting hold of the figure you loved so wholly was something you appreciated greatly. Words wouldn’t do it justice, what it meant to you. All you could do was return the benevolence handed to you on a silver platter and hope that Alexia understood the gravity behind your actions.

The sheets covered your sated bodies, you with your head on her chest as her arms held you securely and sincerely, and they rustled when she reached over into her bedside table for something. You leaned up a little in confusion, watching her curiously as she searched around the drawer, only to pull out the bane of your existence.

“What are you doing with that?” You asked humorously, nestling back down into the warm, sturdy body beneath you.

She had gotten out your book. With a hum, she opened it and flicked to the back page. There she found your number, written clearly just as you had told her.

“I don’t believe it.” Alexia mumbled, one of her fingers tracing the ink there. “It really was there.”

Quietly, without disrupting the serenity of the room that had settled, you took it from her hands and dropped it onto the table on your side. Then you turned back to her, brushing some strands of hair from her face as you rested upon your elbows and cupped her face. You looked at her with a pointed gaze, leaning down to place a slow, meaningful kiss to her lips, before pulling back.

“Forget about that. We’re here now.” You whispered, thumbs stroking softly over her cheekbones as she accepted your words, willing herself out of that regretful mindset. Because she had you, right where she wanted you.

“We’re here now.” She repeated with a loving smile, one you instantly reciprocated as you nodded at her response.

On a night like this, there wasn’t much else that needed to be said. So you laid back down then, on your side as Alexia copied your position with the covers pulled up to your shoulders, face to face and barely able to make out each other’s features in the dark room.

That book, the one you nervously handed over to Alexia back in Menorca, was possibly one of the most revealing things you had done. It didn’t quite go the way you expected it to go, but it didn’t matter in the end. You got the result you wanted and it was so much better than you anticipated. There was still a lot to learn, about each other and the lives you led, though nothing felt unaccomplishable now that you had Alexia on your team.

Alexia didn’t quite know when your book had moved from the top of the table into the drawer, but it probably had something to do with how much it hurt to look at. It still didn’t fill her with the best thoughts whenever she saw it. She had no doubts that you being with her now would change that. She could see herself reading it in the near future, with you on the opposite end of the sofa, your feet in her lap as she got a glimpse into your soul. New memories could be made with it, and even right now, despite the grievances she had with it, it was still something she treasured deeply and she knew that would only become more true as time went on.

In your current position, you could just make out how deeply she was looking at you. There were a lot of things swirling around those favourite eyes of yours, but it was the insecurities there that you hadn’t noticed previously which caught your attention. Wordlessly, you willed her to voice them, and she did.

“Things might get difficult sometimes.” She began, and you acknowledged it with a gentle nod and a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “There is… a lot that comes with my job that I do not enjoy. I am afraid it will come between us.”

You could only guess what she meant. Finding out exactly what that was, was a task for another day. Right now, she needed your belief and your assurances, you knew that.

“I don’t care about that. As long as you promise that I’ll have you, then I don’t care about anything else. I only need you, that’s all. The rest is just background noise.” You told her, pleased to see those doubts dissipate before you, her whole body language changing as it did.

“You do. You do have me. I promise.” Alexia stated firmly, quietly sighing out of relief and exhaustion.

The day was beginning to take its toll on her. It had been pretty packed, with a full game of fiercely competitive football, partying, a whole load of emotions, and the events afterwards that had gotten her to this point. Sleep didn’t come so easily to you, even after all that had happened. You gladly took the extra time to rake your eyes over Alexia’s face, who seemed so at peace as she began to drift off. There was a brief moment where you envied that fact, but you shoved that thought away as quick as it came, because that was the old you. There was a new version of you now, and it was one that did have the capability to experience that very same tranquillity that Alexia was in the midst of. And it was all down to her, the woman resting in your arms.

There was just one more thing you needed clarity about, and it unfortunately meant disturbing the blonde’s bliss, but it couldn’t wait.

“Ale, will you go on a date with me?” You asked shyly, waiting for her reaction with a grimace, for what reason you weren’t sure of. She chuckled under her breath and subtly shook her head, which was indeed not what you were looking for, until she spoke before you could panic.

“You really just asked that after we spent the evening together and had sex?”

Your hand covered her mouth immediately, though the damage was already done and she laughed at that fact.

“It was a simple question that needed a simple yes or no.” You attempted to come across as serious, but there was a smile already there as Alexia pulled your hand away and nodded.

Her lips found yours in what you thought could be deemed as the softest kiss in mankind, before she leans back just enough to be able to murmur her answer against your lips.

“You don’t have to ask.”

—

there's a bit of pressure and nerves that comes with writing a part two like this so i hope i took the right path with the plot and that it was worth the wait 🙃

#alexia putellas x reader #woso x reader #woso #woso community #alexia putellas one shot #alexia putellas #woso imagine #woso fic

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kekeyw · 11 months ago

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oasis home | cc build

hi everyone, the long awaited build is ready for download!

this home features 5 bedrooms, 6 bathrooms, a butlers pantry, a large pool and outdoor entertainment area perfect for a getaway and lots of parties!

gallery id: kekeyw

packs used: horse ranch, highschool years, snowy escape, discover university, island living, cats and dogs, city living, get together, get to work, jungle adventures, home chef hustle (most are for live edit objects)

watch youtube video here

download tray files here

cc list below the cut

harrie - brownstone (all), brutalist bathroom, coastal (all), country (all), kwate (all), octave (all), shop the look (all), spoons pt3, stockholm

house of harlix - bafroom, baysic bathroom, baysic, harluxe, jardane, livin' rum, orjanic (all), kichen, tiny traveller

felixandre- chateau pt2, 4, colonial pt2, 3, paris pt3, soho pt1, fayun pt1, pt2, florence (all), grove (all), kyoto (all), shop the look (all)

charlypancakes - chalk, diaper days, the lighthouse, dinna, miscellanea, smol, precious promises

peacemaker - adirondacklove - modernondack, arcadia, bowed living, creta kitchen, futura, hudson bathroom, kitayama dining

pierisim - auntie vera, david (all), domaine du clos (all), mcm (all), oak house (all), teeny weeny, the office, unfold, woodland (all)

the clutter cat - busybee, cozycocina, dandydiary bathroom, dandydiary (all), hellohorses, mellowmini, sunnysundae pt1, 2

greenllamas - the woodwind collection (coffee table)

cowbuild - scandinavian sleepover, blooming garden cafe (hanging wisteria)

bbygyal123 - abstract prints

heybrine - nova bathroom

simplistic - RHrugsII

little dica - delicato, eco kitchen, rise&grind

mrolkan - cool pools

max20 - poolside lounge

my cup of cc - the modernist dining

myshunosun - daria bedroom, freja, lottie bedroom, simmify, lullaby, sona dining

ravasheen - bidet as it may shower tub glass combo, flood saucer light

s-imagination - nota living, japandi tableware

sforzinda - bg curtains

sixamcc - tiny playrooms, boho bathroom

syboulette - bathroom set, candy, caroline, helios, little dino

sundays - amed (runner rug), gaios (throw blanket)

tuds - bble, beam kitchen, brazilian kitchem, caipi, nctr, shkr

emerasims - sanoma collection

awingedllama - apartment therapy inspired stuff v2, blooming plants

mechtasims - kitchen set (ceiling light only)

thank you to all the cc creators: @harrie-cc @felixandresims @charlypancakes @greenllamas @cowbuild @bbygyal123 @heybrine @simplistic-sims4 @littledica @mrolkanyt @maxsus @myshunosun @peacemaker-ic @ravasheencc @pierisim @s-imagination @sixamcc @syboubou @sundays-sims @thecluttercat @tudtuds @awingedllama @mechtasims

#the sims 4 #simblr #sims 4 cc #sims 4 #sims 4 maxis match #sims 4 build #ts4 #sims 4 builds #sims 4 cc build #sims 4 cc builds #ts4 simblr #the sims community #builds

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chukys-mouthguard · 6 months ago

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What if?

Genre: fluff

Word count: 3,229 words

Featuring: matt rempe x female reader

Warnings: drunk guy being an asshole at the bar, aggressive/protective Matt

Note: okay, this is the first thing I’ve written in years, please be kind 😅 I just got a thing for this man now idk…feel free to send in some requests or let me know if you want more to this story? Not sure if it will be a one off or a little series

“Okay, how do I look?” You walk down the hall of your apartment, stopping to pose for Matt so he can give you his stamp of approval. He eyes you up and down, as if he is going to deliver some harsh critique. Your outfit is nothing crazy; jeans, a gray long sleeved bodysuit, black heeled boots, and a small cross body bag. With the New York City weather still chilly out, you figured it would keep you warm along with the alcohol you’d be consuming.

“Beautiful as always. But let’s try and keep the collecting of guys' phone numbers to a minimum tonight huh?” You laughed as you playfully smacked Matt’s arm. Making your way to the fridge to grab your High Noon you’d started sipping on before getting dressed. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous Matthew Rempe.” He shot you a cocky smirk as he leaned on the kitchen island next to you. “Me? Jealous? Never. Because I’m the one in your apartment and not them.” You rolled your eyes as you swallowed down the last bit of seltzer before unplugging your phone from the charger nearby. “Okay Mr. Chauffeur, let’s hit the road.”

You loved having Matt in NYC playing with the Rangers. The two of you had been best friends since you were teenagers, though you’d lost touch a bit once you moved to New York. Matt’s stint in Hartford allowed the chance to slowly reconnect, but having him now with the Rangers was even better. The two of you often spent nights at each other's apartments, going out to dinner, and of course you attended every home game you could to see Matt play.

You’d always had a soft spot for Matt. Sure he was a bit intimidating being practically 7 feet tall, his knuckles cut up or bruised half the time, and a black eye never seeming to catch you off guard anymore. But you’d gotten close enough to see the side of him most people don’t experience. Though you never imagined your relationship being anything more than what it was. Friends, and nothing more than that. But you couldn’t deny the way you had paid attention to how he’d grown into a man. He had outgrown his awkward phase, and you now looked at him and saw him as handsome, not cute or adorable like he was when you were growing up.

You constantly find yourself thinking, what if you weren’t just imagining things? When he spends the night and walks into your room wearing just a towel after a shower. The way he hugs you and lingers longer than just a friend would. The way he takes care of you when you’re drunk. Or nights like tonight, where he’s willing to stay up late to be your designated driver when he’s got an early morning skate and a big game tomorrow night.

Just one day, one day you’d love to kiss him and see what happens. Or flirt a little extra and see if he takes the bait. But you also don’t want to lose your best friend in the process, or be turned down and embarrassed for thinking he’d ever feel that way about you.

“So what’s the plan for tonight?” Matt asks as he puts a hand on the back of your seat as he looks over his shoulder, backing out of his parking space. It’s such a cliche action, but boy does he look good doing it, and your heart certainly skipped a beat.

“The typical routine. Start at Tucker’s. Then move on to 1989. Then finish-“ “At Coop’s?” Matt smirked as he looked out at the road. One hand on the wheel with the other resting on his thigh. He was literally in jeans and a hoodie yet somehow he looked just as good as he does in a suit on game day. “Either that means I go out too much, or you’re finally starting to pay attention when I tell you things.” “Definitely not paying attention, it’s you going out too much.” He laughed as you playfully punched his arm, pulling out your phone to text your friends that you were a few minutes away.

“So Cooper’s closes at 2:30, but I honestly don’t think I’ll last that long. Especially because someone has a big game tomorrow! And I wanna be well rested. So let’s plan for like 12:30/1? Is that okay?” You looked at Matt a bit apologetic, knowing he’d have to be up early for morning skate. But he was always adamant about driving you, no matter what time it was.

“Of course, you know I’ll be here no matter the time. I’ll plan to be at Coop’s around 12:45. I’ll come in to get you too, it’s gonna be cold and dark out. I don’t want you walking to find me.” You put a hand to his cheek as you make a joking pouty expression. “Aww, such a gentleman Matty.” He smiled at your touch, almost leaning into your hand as he looked back at you, “Anything for you. Now go on, I know the girls are waiting. Text me if you need anything, and I mean anything y/n. I’m not that far of a drive.” You let out a sigh as you undid your seatbelt, “Honestly Matt, nothing to worry about, I’ll be fine.” You blew him an air kiss as you exited the car, heading into the first bar of the night. Matt sat and watched you show your ID to the man at the door, waiting until he saw you get inside safely to drive away.

As promised, Matt arrived at Cooper's around 12:45. He was thankful that you and your friends chose to end your nights at a bar that wasn’t too crazy, but also not too crowded that he might be recognized. Just to be safe he threw on a hat to shield his face as much as he could, though the bar was so dark he doubted anyone would be able to make out his face in the crowd.

He handed his ID to the bouncer before making his way inside. He texted you a simple “I’m here”, you would know his typical meeting place and where to go. You were in the restroom when Matt texted, quickly replying “bathroom, be right out” before you sighed as you stared blankly at the wall. The line in the girls restroom always 100 times longer than it was for the guys.

Matt didn’t mind waiting, he checked some scores on his phone. Assuming that the line was long since girls love to use the buddy system when going to the bathroom. He scanned the crowd and enjoyed people watching, nodding his head and smiling softly as your friends gave him a wave from across the bar. He checked the time again, before glancing over towards the hallway to find you pushing past a crowd of girls to exit the restrooms. He chuckled to himself as he saw the frustration on your face, knowing you probably waited 20 minutes just to pee. He started to walk towards you but fell back as he noticed a guy stop you in your tracks.

“Can I help you?” You looked at the man a bit confused, you’d recognized him from the crowd of people, but hadn’t interacted with him much. He was out with a group of guys for someone’s birthday. You only knew that because they mentioned it to you and your friends at least 30 times. Definitely trying to help the birthday boy get laid. “I noticed you’d left your friends, I thought maybe my shot at getting to buy you a drink was gone.” You chuckled to yourself, why does this have to happen in front of Matthew?

“Oh, yeah, I’m actually on my way out. So, maybe another time. Sorry.” You try to excuse yourself but he moves with you, cutting you off. “Oh come on, one more drink isn’t gonna hurt anyone. Or if you want we could go somewhere else, just the two of us and get a drink.” He had a cocky grin on his face as you looked at him in disgust. He was clearly drunk, and wasn’t keen on taking no for an answer. You looked at Matt standing just a few feet away, a concerned look on his face as he wasn’t sure what was going on.

“Look, I’m not interested, okay?” He scoffed as he seemed to be a bit insulted by your comment. “Not interested, you and your friends were dancing right up against our group all night. I saw the way you were eyeing all of us guys, I’d say you were interested sweet heart.” You gagged at the smell of alcohol on his breath as he got closer to you. “Yeah news flash buddy, it’s a small fucking bar. My option was dancing right next to people or on the bar.”

As you tried walking past him to get to Matt, you felt a tight grip on your wrist pull you back, “That sounds hot, can you put on a show just for me?” His hands attempted to grab more than just your wrists but before you could react Matt was already stepping in, pulling the guy away from you and pinning him to the wall by the collar of his shirt. “Don’t you dare fucking touch her like that.”

You were a bit taken aback at the way Matt stepped in. Sure he’d protected you from dumb drunk guys before, but never like this. His jaw clenched as his grip tightened on the collar of the man’s shirt. “And what the fuck are you gonna do about it huh? What are you her little brother or something? Ain’t no way you’re banging a bitch like that.” Matt’s grip tightened on his collar as he pushed him harder into the wall, “what did you just call her?!” His voice louder, drawing a bit of attention, thankfully none yet from the bouncer.

“A bitch, and what are you gonna do about it?” The drunk dumbass laughed in Matt’s face and you knew this wouldn’t end well.

Before you could step in, Matt’s fist connected with the guy's jaw, causing him to stumble to the floor. Before pulling himself together and running off to the restroom.

“Fuck!”

Matt shook his hand as he winced, immediately realizing he fucked up but his anger got the best of him. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” You grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the door. Thank god no one seemed to really notice the altercation that just took place.

The walk to the car was quiet as Matt was still fuming, you simply climbed into the passenger in silence. He gripped the steering wheel tight with his good hand as he peeled out of the parking lot. You sat next to him, studying his face to see when it might be a good time to say something. Blue and purple started to appear across the knuckles on the hand that threw the punch as he let out a large sigh.

“I’m sorry.”

You let out a soft laugh as you rested a hand on his thigh, softly holding his bruised hand, careful not to hurt him. “Sorry for what? You didn’t do anything wrong? You stepped in as I would’ve hoped you would the second that guy put his hands on me. Don’t be sorry for that!” He seemed to relax at your touch, so you kept your hand on his, slowly brushing your thumb over his skin to attempt to calm him down.

The rest of the car ride was quiet, the two of you heading back to Matt’s apartment since he had to be up early for practice. You kept your eyes on him, studying the look on his face, wishing you were in his head to know what the heck he was thinking. He took your hand in his as you two walked through the quiet parking garage, then headed up the elevator.

You knew your way around his place, first going to his room to grab an oversized t-shirt to throw on before heading to the bathroom to take off your makeup. Matt was sweet enough to go out and buy you your own toiletries to keep at his place. Including your makeup remover and even your 4 step skincare routine.

Matt came to join you in the bathroom as you brushed your teeth. He smiled at the sight of you as he leaned against the wall: your hair in a messy bun, his oversized Seattle Thunderbirds t shirt covering you up enough while still giving him a good view of your legs. “What?” You chuckled as you tried not to choke on the tooth paste threatening to fall from your lips. He just shook his head, “Just glad nothing bad happened to you tonight. I’m glad I was there.” He took your hand, his fingers fiddling with yours, “I just kept thinking what if i wasn’t there, I couldn’t handle it if anything would’ve happened.”

You looked at him in the mirror, relief and exhaustion covered his face. “I’m really glad you were there too, but I really hope we don’t end up with a possible scandal on our hands.” You started laughing as you exited the bathroom, Matthew following suit. “New York Rangers rookie Matthew Rempe gets in a bar fight over a girl.” You spoke in a sarcastic newscaster voice as you made your way to the freezer, grabbing a bag of frozen peas to tend to Matt’s fist bearing the proof of his heroic actions at the bar.

Matt chuckled along with you before wincing at the feeling of the cold bag on his hand, “If it happens, so be it, I was ready to knock that son of a bitch out after what he said to you.” You shot him a glare, “Matthew Rempe. Absolutely not, I am not worth you getting in trouble with the team because of a dumb bar fight.” He walked over to you, now the one shooting you a glare. His arms rested on either side of your waist as he gripped the edge of the counter. “Y/n, yes you fucking are.” You shot him a look as he swiftly picked you up and sat you on the island in front of him. A cocky grin coming across his face at how caught off guard you were, gripping his biceps tight as his hands now moved to rest on your thighs. “I’d fight 20 guys at the bar if they put their hands on you and said shit like that guy tonight.” His tone now more serious, his smirk fading as you two stared at one another for what seemed like an hour. The voice in your head screaming at you, this is your what if moment. Take it or leave it, but it may never come again. What if he’s trying to confess his feelings, what if he’s trying to make a move but he’s too scared. What if you just beat him to the punch. What if-

Before your brain could even rationalize a thought or an action, you felt Matt’s lips crash into yours. His hands cupping your face as yours snaked up his neck to grab a handful of his hair. The kiss like fireworks and a weight being lifted off your shoulders all at once. He began to smile into the kiss, before pulling away with a slight laugh.

“Oh yeah, that’s exactly what every girl wants. The guys she’s been dreaming of kissing to pull away laughing!” You rolled your eyes and frowned at him as a look of shock washed over his face. “Been dreaming of kissing huh??? I knew it!” You immediately turned red, covering your face with your hands, though Matt found it extremely cute.

His hands gripping your thighs before lifting you off the counter, “It’s okay, i get it. I’m sure there’s lots of girls out there who dream of kissing me.” “Matt! Shut up!” You laughed as he carried you down the hall into his room, tossing you on the bed while he finally changed out of his jeans and sweatshirt. “Hey, listen…if you’re interested, maybe we could work something out so that you can be the only girl who gets to kiss me from now on. How does that sound?”

You barely heard him, too busy staring as he stood in just his underwear in front of you. Your eyes tracing every detail of him before his laugh interrupted your thoughts. “Damn, one kiss and all of sudden you’re just head over heels huh?” You pull a pillow over your face out of embarrassment as you feel the bed sink beneath his weight. Matthew now hovering above you as he pulls the pillow away from your face.

He brushed some hair from your face as your fingers play with his chain hanging from his neck, “you really want to kiss me and only me from now on?” You blushed as he shook his head laughing at you, “of course you goof! That’s all I’ve wanted for like the last 5 years, probably even longer!” You felt yourself trying to fight a smile, though you were sure your cheeks were bright red, letting Matt know you liked his response.

He laid next to you as you continued to play with his chain, now resting on his chest. His thumb tracing circles on your thigh as you smiled like a dork to yourself, your heart bursting with excitement that all your what ifs had come true.

“So if I agree to this-“ you say up, trying to pull a serious face as you looked down at him. His hands still glued to your thighs, as if he couldn’t get enough of touching you now. “Do I get a cute custom Rempe jean jacket or something to wear to your games? Like I wanna be decked out and I want people to know that I'm the only girl you’re kissing from now on.” Matt rolled his eyes and laughed at your change of tone, as you babbled on and on about your ‘conditions’ should you agree to this. But he loved the thought of you in a Rempe jacket at his games, getting to see afterwards and kiss you like crazy after a big win, to have you be his biggest fan cheering him on every night. Even though you already were, now it would be more special.

“Listen.”

Matt cut you off as he pulled you into his lap, his hand pulling your face to his as he kissed you. This time the kiss was soft, as he took his time to really take in the feeling of finally getting to kiss you and be this close to you. “If you be my girlfriend, I’ll get you whatever jacket you want, I’ll get you the best seats at the Garden for my games, you name it. Just make me the happiest guy ever and be my girlfriend!” You laughed at how he begged like a little kid who couldn’t contain their excitement.

“Yes-“ you peppered his face with a hundred kisses, “Matthew Rempe, I would absolutely love to be your girlfriend.”

#i cannot with this man #told myself tkachuk was my one and only #but here we are #matt rempe fluff #matt rempe blurb #matt rempe fic #matt rempe imagine #matt rempe #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nyr

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cleoluvrr · 1 year ago

Text

strawberry shortcake (rafe cameron x reader)

got sent home to change 'cause my skirt is too short.

WARNINGS: mature content; dark!rafe, non!con, dub!con, spanking, use of belt, victim-blaming, manipulation, degradation, explicit language, depiction of explicit sexual acts

word count: 9.1k

masterlist

you and rafe were…complicated. you’d known him just as long as you’ve known his sister, and yet, you’d never had a particularly great relationship.

your father worked closely with the cameron family. he and ward met each other in college, but went their separate ways after graduation. ward returned to the outer banks after a few years of living on the mainland, slowly making a name for himself as a real estate developer. your own parents moved back to charlotte after graduating, meeting at school and getting married in their hometown. raised in the city, all of your family was there, and all your friends were there.

one fated day, your parents decided that your entire family was going to pack up and move to the outer banks. you were eight years old at the time, so of course it felt like your entire life was falling apart. everything you ever knew was going to be miles and miles away just because your parents said so.

it felt so sudden, so unexpected. as far as you were aware, there was no one you knew in the outer banks. your family had a beach house there that you would visit every other summer, but that was all. to you, they might as well have said that you were moving to a deserted island with zero human interaction.

the moment you arrived the summer before you started third grade, it was a complete culture shock. you were used to living in the city; busy streets, skyscrapers that kissed the clouds and lit up with the colors of the rainbow, and so many people that you’d never see them more than twice. kildare was the complete opposite. you could drive across the entire town and back in under two hours and the tallest building in town was a church. everybody knew everybody, and every person had their place.

you only found that after your parents were pulled over by a police officer while driving around figure-eight. it wasn’t too often people that looked like you drove around the “nice” side of town in a shiny, new car. not that they’d never seen it, but they knew all the people that did, and nobody in your family was one of them. you couldn’t count the number of times someone had asked if you were lost or ‘supposed to be here’ when playing around your front yard, taking a walk, or existing in any public place on figure-eight.

your parents allowed you a week to adjust before they threw you into the merciless waters of small town social politics.

the first time you were properly introduced to the cameron family was during sunday service. you didn’t grow up going to church despite being from the bible belt, mostly because big city life didn’t revolve around it as much as it did in kildare. your parents forced you out of bed early in the morning to get ready, your mother all but stuffing you into the best sunday dress you owned. like any eight-year-old, you complained about it. you hated blue, but your parents insisted on all of your outfits being color-coordinated. the mary janes and frilly socks made you feel like a little kid, but your mom wouldn’t budge on it.

begrudgingly, you sat through an hour long sermon in a church filled with flamboyantly dressed rich people. and then you sat through another hour of brunch with the camerons and their friends, even more annoyed than you were sitting through service in the hot, old chapel.

ward and your father had kept in contact over the years, and it was a couple years before the move that the two of them became business partners. your dad became the cameron family’s lawyer, and it was easier to actually be in the same place as them rather than hundreds of miles away. your mother didn’t mind the move; in fact, she was excited. she worked as an oncologist back home, and the lack of them on the island meant there was great demand for her work.

it was there where you met sarah cameron, the girl that became your friend at first sight. she was younger than you, but at that age it really made no difference. the little blonde girl was excited to meet someone new and declared that you two would be ‘best friends forever just like your dads. though it took some warming up on your part, ever since that day, the pair of you have been attached by the hip.

rafe, however, not so much.

“hey, sarah?” you called out to the girl standing across from you, her surprised eyes wide as they snapped towards yours after being pulled out of the conversation with her boyfriend.

“yeah?”

“could you tell your brother to fuck off?” a smile lit up your face as the question slipped from your gloss-covered lips. “please?”

you had come over to sarah’s house a few hours ago, the girl inviting you to attend a large party that her parents planned every summer for the fourth of july. at first, you weren’t too keen on coming, but the two of you hadn’t spent much time together this summer and you felt too guilty to turn her down. this was the summer before you left her for nine months to attend college, and even though you didn’t want to come, you did it to make her happy.

the moment you stepped foot onto the property, rafe buzzed around your ear like a common house fly with comment after comment on your appearance.

“what’s the matter, princess?” rafe speaks up from his spot just a few feet away. his head quirks to the side, a look of faux-concern covering his face. “stick up your ass a little too big today?”

topper and kelce chuckle at the comment, attempting to hide the sound by clearing their throats when they catch the dangerous cut of your eyes. your gaze meet rafe’s again and you watch as he raises the whiteclaw to his lips, the white can covering the smirk on his face as he takes a sip.

when you first met rafe, he was nice enough–very cordial. the boy was only older than you by a a year, but he acted as if the difference was so significant that he couldn’t be seen around you. he wasn’t necessarily shy, but every boy that age was concerned with catching cooties. it was impossible to keep his distance, though, especially since your dads worked together and you were constantly over their house. you and rafe maintained a somewhat friendly relationship with each other for years–never getting as close as you and sarah, but it was amiable.

that all changed when you got to the eighth grade.

the older boy had started his first year of high school, while you and sarah were still in middle school together.

the difference in maturity was beginning to have an affect on your relationship with both of them. you were turning fourteen and sarah was turning twelve; it felt like you were in totally different worlds. she was starting to become more of a little sister to you than a friend, but you loved her no less than before.

rafe was only fifteen, but he was in high school now. he hung out with guys older than him, and that meant doing whatever to impress them. he had completely brushed you off as a ‘little girl,’ and acted like you were a burden to have around if you were at tannyhill while his friends were there.

it hurt you at first. you knew the two of you weren’t close, but to be completely disregarded for people he barely knew didn’t make you feel great about yourself.

you were naive to believe it’d be any other way.

when it was your turn to enter high school, you felt alone. sarah was still in middle school, and rafe treated you like dirt on the bottom of his shoe. it was like you had to start all over now that you didn’t have either of them to cling onto. it wasn’t hard for you to make friends, but you still felt alone without your best friend–and betrayed by her brother.

“rafe, stop! you’re being an ass.” sarah shoves her brother, eyebrows furrowed as she scolds her older silbing.

“what? it’s a joke, chill out.” rafe barely stumbles from the shove. his eyes remain on you, not even sparing his sister more than a second of a glance. “she can take a joke. right, y/n?”

“of course i can take a joke, rafe!” you tilted your head in the same manner as he did just a few moments ago. “remember that time you asked me out senior year? that was really funny.”

a smile grazed your lips softly as you watched him freeze in place for the briefest second before regaining composure. both his friends and sarah snorted at the quip, catching onto the implication. nobody noticed the look shared between you and the oldest cameron, nor the rise in tension.

it was the summer before your junior year and rafe’s senior–two weeks before midsummers, to be exact. rafe hadn’t let up on what was the borderline bullying he’d been subjecting you to since you started high school; in fact, it had only increased that summer. you were at the cameron’s house almost everyday with sarah, and her brother didn’t spare you a moment of peace when you happened to come across each other on the property–or off of it.

rafe spotted you alone by the dock, tossing rocks into the water as you stared into the dimming light of the july sky. you knew it was him approaching because his feet were heavy against the twigs lining the ground, not light and nimble like sarah’s.

“y/n,” he called out from behind you, towering presence warm at your back. he sounded nervous, which struck you as odd. when he spoke to you, his voice carried the weight of condescension or irritation–never the champagne bubbles of anxiety. it was obvious he was trying to disguise it, but you knew him too well for it to work. “can we talk?”

you responded with a disinterested hum, throwing the last rock into the water before turning to face him. you expected him to say something stupid, the sole purpose of him catching you there alone to bother you until you went back to your own house.

what you were not expecting, however, was for him to confess his feelings–feelings for you. you could hear your ears ringing when he asked if you would go with him to midsummers, brain sparking up with disbelief and agitation at the sound of the words leaving his mouth.

there were no second thoughts when he was met with firm rejection.

you weren’t sure why it caught him by surprise considering he’d been treating you like shit for three years, but he acted as if you shot him at point blank. though you never told anyone, you had a crush on him at one point as well. it began to feel more like hopeless pining after he began to treat you like an incessant fruit fly, which is why you got over it–for the most part, at least.

that’s when the mistreatment from him became a feud on both ends. you felt justified in your feelings towards him, and rafe having the audacity to be mad at you for turning him down only fueled the fire.

the oldest cameron sibling had his own issues, ones that made him quick to anger towards everything and everyone for no reason, especially you.

“you think you’re funny, huh?” the blonde looks displeased by his friends’ reactions, jaw clenching in annoyance. he could dish it, but he couldn’t take it.

“as if you know what that is.” you raised your brows at him, a smile still covering your face. you reached out a hand towards him, palm landing gently on his broad chest in a false gesture of comfort. “its okay, rafey, not everyone is made for being funny. stick to being useless, okay? you’re amazing at that!”

shoving past the blonde, you walked in the direction of the house after telling sarah you were going to sit inside for a moment to hide from the heat. the coastal carolina humidity was taking a toll on you, and rafe’s presence was only adding to the irritation.

you took your time walking around the house, the massive interior surrounding you on all sides. the sound of your shoes softly tapping against the ground was the only sound filling the air, the commotion of the party outside left behind the further you ventured. your feet carried you up the grand staircase gracefully, hips swaying with each step until you reached the top.

the mansion was not unfamiliar. you and sarah had run these halls together countless times over the years, no room left unexplored by the two of you–including rafe’s.

out of curiosity, your eyes drifted in the direction of the boy’s bedroom. the door had been left wide open for anyone to walk in, and there was an invisible force pushing you to enter. it’s been years since you’ve explored it, the last time resulting in being caught by its inhabitant. memories of you and sarah snooping around his drawers flashed through your mind, rafe coming in and cursing the two of you with colorful words you’d never heard in-person before.

this time, rafe wasn’t here to stop you. he was far too occupied outside with his friends to interrupt your impulsive decision to explore his room once more.

you shuffled towards the open door of his room, head peeking into the empty space before stepping inside. the room hadn’t changed much from the last time you saw it; it was still reminiscent of a teenage boy, just much cleaner. your feet softly padded across the floor to the window on the opposite side, staring out of the window at the crowd below.

the music was just barely audible through the thick glass, the little ants of people wandering around with cups in hand as they interacted with each other. eyes scanning the crowd, your brows furrowed together in confusion. kelce, sarah, and topper were right where you left them, but rafe was nowhere to be found the longer you searched over the attendees.

“maybe he left…” you said to yourself, shoulders raising in a weak shrugging motion.

“who?”

you nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of the voice appearing in the background so suddenly, a scream bubbling in your throat before you turned around to meet it’s owner. the sight of rafe cameron standing in the doorway barely did anything to calm your nerves, his stern face and crossed arms only making you anxious.

“y’know–i could’ve sworn i told you to stay out of my room?” his blue eyes bored into yours, gaze unrelenting and intense as they awaited an answer for your presence.

“what are you doing in here?” you were tempted to pinch yourself as the question slipped from between your lips.

“this is my room,” he said pointedly. “what are you doing in here?”

you shrugged again, the nervousness that filled you moments ago dissipating the longer you faced him. the worst thing he could do is tell you to get out, there was no reason to feel anxious about his appearance. you pushed yourself off the window frame you were resting against to walk towards the door, ready to make your exit now that you’ve been caught.

“not going through your shit, if that’s what you’re worried about. i was bored–now i’m leaving.” you were at the halfway point of his room, eyes rolling nonchalantly as you brushed him off. “what are you doing?”

rafe entered the room fully, a look of mischief shining brightly from behind his eyes as your own flickered to the door that shut behind him with a soft ‘thud’. you could feel your brows pinch together ever so slightly at the sight before you met his face again.

you didn’t flinch when he began to approach you with slow, rhythmic steps. his legs were long and he could have easily made it to you in just a few but he deliberately took his time walking in your direction, each soft noise of his shoe hitting the ground spaced a second apart.

“what for? not like you have anywhere to be,” his hands were stuffed into the pockets of his shorts and his head tilted to the side in a feigned curiosity that was clearly heard through his voice. “actually–i think we need to talk…”

the blonde stopped barely a foot in front of you. he wasn’t quite invading your personal space, just pushing against the boundary lines of it. your eye twitches involuntarily, but you say nothing.

pushing the boundaries was something rafe had been doing for a while. mentally and physically. it was part of what further pulled the string of tension between you two.

maybe it’s because he’s a guy, but there wasn’t a day you could go seeing rafe without him making comments on your body or touching you without permission. your chest, your backside, your lips, your eyes–there was nothing spared from his overtly sexual thoughts. you weren’t sure if he was doing it solely to piss you off or make you uncomfortable, but being either one did nothing to discourage him.

in fact, it only served as motivation for him to continue.

it had been more times than you could count that rafe had groped you and claimed that his hand slipped–that you were overreacting. sometimes he wouldn’t even deny it; he’d blame you for wearing a too-short skirt or a top so small that ‘you had to have been wanting the attention or you wouldn’t have left the house like that.’ he had a habit of standing uncomfortably close to you, so close that you could feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back or the hair on his arms tickling your own.

you just brushed it off as him being obnoxious, slapping away wandering hands and giving quick-witted responses to the suggestive remarks. guys his age were assholes and because of how long you’d known him, you never let it bother you too much. or at least, you refused to let him know that it bothered you.

“i don’t think so, rafe.“ you eyed him suspiciously. “what could we possibly have to talk about?” your arms raised to fold across your chest, fingertips cold from the air-conditioning as they rested against your bare skin.

if it weren’t so hot and sticky outside you would have worn pants, but the frilly, pink skirt adorning your bottom half was far too tempting to pass up in this weather. you could feel the goosebumps rising over your entire body from the coolness of the house.

rafe just stared for a moment. you could see the synapses firing behind the blue of his irises, and the sight unsettled you. the feeling of his eyes raking over your frame did nothing to shake the discomfort either.

“your attention-seeking behavior. your disrespectful attitude.” his gaze flittered back up to meet yours and you could make out the ghost of a smirk wash over his features. “it's becoming a problem, don’t ya’ think?”

“what?” that was not on the list of things you were expecting him to say. you couldn’t help the amused laugh that escaped your lips in a breath. “what the fuck are you talking about right now?”

“what am i talking about?” his dark blonde brows come together in an expression of concern–one you were sure he was faking.

rafe’s tanned arm reached out towards you, long fingers grabbing a braid from your head and twirling the end around the digits. not abnormal behavior, but you still squinted at him anyway.

“you must be the stupid one if you don’t know what i’m talking about.”

a scoff left your mouth and your hand lifted to smack his away from your hair. your eyes nearly strained out of their sockets from the amount of restraint it took not to roll them, lids blinking away the urge that fought against them.

“bye, rafe.” your path was blocked when you tried to move around him, the tall man following your step before you could even finish making it. “move!”

he caught the hand raised to push him out of the way with ease, the strength in his grip restrained but still felt as it surrounded your wrist. every attempt to take it back into your possession failed, your opponent unrelenting.

startled, a gasp left your mouth when you were pulled forward roughly, rafe’s body pressed tightly against yours as he brought his free hand to rest on your lower back. the ghost on his face was now living, a grin widespread over his lips that showed off the whites of his teeth as he stared down at you.

“stop touching me, you’re being a creep.” you didn’t raise your voice at him, but you were firm in your demand.

“oh, please,” he rolled his eyes at you, as if you were the one acting out of line. “i think you want me to touch you.”

the hand that rested on your back fell even lower, the entirety of his hand capturing your ass in its grasp. you inhale sharply, the roughness of his fingers squeezing down causing you to jerk forward in an attempt to escape. you were met with rafe’s warm chest trapping you between him and the hand gripping your backside through the fabric of the skirt keeping it covered.

“rafe!” you said loudly. “what the fuck is your problem?”

it’s not like he hadn’t touched you there before; he’d done it plenty. but those were only light brushes in passing or pinching you when you weren’t paying attention. things that he could pretend never happened, things that you could brush off as him being annoying.

this was not that.

“you walk around town in these itty, bitty skirts,” rafe’s smile was gone now, the mischief behind his eyes remained but it was mixed with something else–something you didn’t feel too keen about. “like you own the place–walking around my house like it’s yours. always acting like you’re better than everyone. like–like you’re above all of us. do you think you’re better than everyone, y/n?”

you shook your head at him, doing the best job you could muster at remaining calm despite the alarm bells ringing in your head. the free hand you were using to push his hand away from your ass was useless; he wasn’t budging. however, even with the little voice in the back of your mind telling you not to, you couldn’t help but to give a smart-assed reply.

“i don’t think i’m above everyone, rafe,” the corner of your lips twitched as you fought back the smile that wanted to appear. “just you.”

he chuckled at that, but not because he found it funny. it was obvious by the way his face darkened, which is what queued you into thinking that you should’ve just kept your mouth shut.

relief filled you when he released the clothed flesh of your behind from his vices, but only momentarily. your feet stumbled over each other clumsily as rafe walked forward with purpose, forcing you backwards until your the crease of your knees hit the bed. you remained standing, but if he were to push you again you’d certainly lose your balance.

the oldest cameron sibling was much…larger than you remembered. you saw him practically every day, but you couldn’t recall his biceps ever being this big as your hands held onto them to stabilize yourself. you’ve never felt intimidated when standing near him, but as you craned your neck upward, all you could feel was the fear bubbling in your stomach. faced with his towering height, he could easily overpower you if that’s what he wanted to do–and you had a feeling he did.

a chill ran down your spine.

“you come over here every day wearing practically nothing, swinging that pretty ass in my face like a fucking tease, and then treat me like you don’t know who you’re talking to.” he shakes his head in faux-disappointment, the sound of his tongue tutting against his teeth filling your ears. “i told you to stop doing it, but you refuse. if you weren’t begging for attention, you wouldn’t act like that.”

“are you being serious right now?” you were in complete disbelief. the fear in your stomach remained, but a pang of vexation was thrown into the mix. “the last thing i want is your attention, rafe. i already turned you down once–stop being weird about it. just ‘cause you can’t keep your dick in your pants doesn’t make me the problem.”

the tall blond’s eye twitched, lips raising like hackles as he all but snarled at you.

both of his hands dropped suddenly, giving you zero time to react as he gripped the bottom of your skirt in his hands and yanked it upwards. a sound of surprise rolled out of your mouth and rafe took advantage of your shock to spin you around and push you face down onto the bed. your body barely bounced once before rafe was seated on the mattress next to you, strong arms reaching over to grab your legs and throw them over his lap haphazardly as he pinned your arms behind your back.

you felt him lean his upper body against you and apply force, preventing you from lifting yourself up off the bed and leaving you completely at his mercy.

“rafe!” you scolded as he hiked up your skirt even higher and exposed you further. his position under you left you unable to lie flat, back arched uncomfortably with your pelvis resting on his muscled thighs. panic was beginning to fill you. “rafe, stop! what are you doing?”

he doesn’t respond, a bump silence filling the tense air. you could feel the heat of his scrutinizing gaze, unable to control your squirming as the warmth of his hand palmed at your barely covered skin. he massaged at the soft flesh, squeezing it between his fingers like he was being entertained by putty.

“you look so pretty in pink.”

a yelp escaped your lips when he brought his hand down against your ass with a resounding smack. he repeated the action on the other side with the same amount of force before half-assing an attempt at massaging away the sting. you hissed from the pain, his rough groping doing nothing to ease the feeling.

he hums to himself, hand pulling away to deliver another blow. you cursed at him, leg kicking up out of anger but able to do any real damage.

“y’know,” rafe says and you couldn’t help but huff in anger. “you brought this on yourself. we wouldn’t have to do this if you were just a nice girl.” you could hear the disappointment dripping from his voice and it enraged you.

“maybe i’m not nice to you because you’re a fucking dick.” he smacked you again. “fuck! stop, rafe!”

“and you’re a loud-mouthed bitch who needs to learn that actions have consequences.”

if you thought he wasn’t holding back before, you were proven wrong.

he spared you no second to recover from the barrage of smacks that he bestowed upon you. each time his hand raised, it reconnected just as mercilessly as it did before. all you could hear was the sound of skin on skin echoing throughout the bedroom, mind completely encompassed by the fiery heat produced by his palm against your ass.

you wanted to scream out, cry for help from anyone that happened to be wandering the halls of the old manor. you didn’t though. not because you couldn’t, but because you were scared. scared that if someone did come to help, they would see you bent over rafe’s lap like a misbehaving child. scared that the someone who came to your rescue would be sarah–or ward.

the humiliation would kill you.

instead, you settled on continuing with your demands to stop. you swore at him, threatened him, kicked at him as hard as you could. you tried everything to get him to let up, but he refused. the sound of your voice was nearly drowned out by the deafening sound of your backside being brutalized.

you were sure if someone were to walk past, it could be heard on the other side.

“i’m going to fucking kill you, rafe!” you gritted out through teeth clenched so tight that you could pop a blood vessel. “you’re disgusting!”

the blue-eyed man tutted from above you, abruptly pausing his assault. unexpectedly he pushed your legs off his lap and rose to his feet, leaving you in a heap on the bed. you almost sung out a praise to whatever angel had been keeping an eye on you, finally taking pity on your bruised behind. it felt like you were on fire; face hot, skin sticky with the sweat from putting up a fight, and the site of rafe’s abuse burning from the phantom of his hand.

your eyes snapped in rafe’s direction, pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of metal. he’d taken off his expensive leather belt when he stood up, the accessory folded in half between his hands as his hardened, amused eyes stared down at you. your eyes flitted between his face and the belt in his hand nervously, throat bobbing as you swallowed dryly.

he predicted your movement before you could even make it, moving so fast that you thought he was transported to you. rafe caught your legs as you attempted to crawl away and pulled you back over the edge. your feet landed on the floor but your top half remained pinned to the mattress, a strong hand keeping you in place as you struggled against it.

“change of plans,” he whispered against your ear. you were sure he felt you shiver against his hold from the breath on your skin. “i tried being gentle–well, as gentle as i can be with you. clearly, that’s not teaching you anything. “

“haven’t you heard? corporal punishment is outdated and ineffective.” it was in your nature to argue with him, even when he had you pinned beneath him like a wolf would a rabbit. “i’m not learning anything except for how much of a pervert you really are–not that i didn't already know.”

rafe chuckled at this, very darkly. he pulled away from your ear and positioned himself behind you, the heat of his presence radiating in a way that was almost suffocating. the silence was so loud that you could barely hear the sound of the party outside, blood rushing past your ears thunderously.

you braced yourself, unsure of what his next move would be. however, he made no moves. the blond just stood there behind you ominously, keeping your hands pinned to your back as he watched you noiselessly. the temptation to look behind you was overwhelming, and it was then when he decided to act.

the belt made fierce contact with your sensitive skin the moment your head twitched, the stillness between you no longer.

it took all of your strength to contain the scream that itched to leave your throat, a pained groan coming out from your gritted teeth. this was worse than his bare hand by miles, the fury of the leather leaving you thrashing with a single lick.

“i think,” he landed another strike to your ass after he spoke. “corporal punishment is very effective. it just takes a little…more to break through girls like you. it’s okay, though, you’ll learn.”

the belt comes down again and you couldn’t hold back the scream this time.

he gave no time for you to recover, the viciousness of each swat intensifying each time it landed. it was loud, much louder than his hands and in your foggy mind you worried endlessly about what would happen if someone else were to hear.

you don’t move when he lets go of your wrists, body paralyzed from pain and fear. rafe takes hold of your barely there underwear and yanks them down, the fabric pooling around your ankles leaving you fully exposed and hot with embarrassment. he takes no time to look between your legs and quickly returns to delivering your punishment.

the comforter beneath you fell victim to the deathly grip of your now free hands, talon-like fingers digging into the fabric as you used it to brace yourself. tears ran down your face uncontrollably and every muscle in your body was tense from the torment.

“rafe, please!” you cried out, hardly able to form a complete sentence. “ow! stop, stop! i’m sorry!”

you weren’t even sure what you were apologizing for, but you couldn’t take the torture for much longer. you’d fix your mouth to say whatever it takes to get him off of you.

“how many times have i told you to stop dressing like a slut? huh?” you responded with a pained screech. he paired the question with another lashing, your cries for mercy doing nothing to garner any of his sympathy. “and yet, you still do what you please. so i’m going to do what ever the fuck pleases me.”

it felt like you’d been here for an eternity, but it’d probably been maybe twenty minutes. twenty minutes since you walked into his room like a dumbass instead of going to sarah’s like you planned on doing in the first place. twenty minutes wasn’t a long time, and nobody would come looking for you any time soon.

a sob racked through your body at that. your hands reached back to grab at his weapon of choice in a desperate effort to stop the battery, and in response rafe put them right back where they were against your spine.

“you want everyone to see your ass so badly,” the leather slashed through the air and landed on you with a crack. “so i’m gonna give you something to show ‘em.”

you had been reduced to a pile of tears and tender flesh. rafe’s hands holding you down against the bed were hardly necessary; the both of you knew that you didn’t have the energy to fight back anymore. all you could do was scream, cry, and beg for him to end the attack against your poor ass. the welts on your flesh were beginning to form, you could feel it.

“stop crying.” he says from above you. you could practically hear the sound of his eyes rolling, but he paused the lashings anyways. “begging me to stop but–” he cuts himself off, his silence falling loudly on your ears.

the sound of the belt falling to the floor as he threw it into a random corner didn’t even register to you, the metal buckle thumping against the wall. all you could focus on was the hand between your quivering legs, and the throbbing sensation that you hadn’t noticed before. rafe’s fingers gliding against the wetness of your core made you flinch from being unprepared for his touch.

“you're leaking all over yourself…” shame washed over you in a tsunami-like wave, the feeling amplified by the wet sounds coming from where rafe’s hand meets the junction of your thighs. “i don’t think you want me to stop.”

“no!” you shouted. rafe let out a breathy chuckle as he watched you shake your head desperately against the mattress. “no more! please, i don’t want it...”

he hummed in response, fingers still toying with your dripping heat. they were just barely brushing over your clit, the bud swollen with need and twitching with every ghost-like touch. if you could scream, you would, but all you had the energy to do was whimper pathetically as he held you in place.

“hm, alright.” rafe’s agreeance made you release a shaky breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding. “i know what you do want, though.”

you felt his thick fingers grazing your entrance; just the pads of them. he was being a tease, letting you soak in the humiliation of being so adamant on him leaving you alone but having your body betray you.

he leaned down once again, the softness of his lips tickling the shell of your ear. you swallowed dryly as you struggled to focus on anything other than his torturous fingers sitting idly between your puffy lips.

“you want me to fuck this little hole open with my fingers,” he hummed again, the vibration of it sending a shockwave through your body. “wanna drool all over my hand with that messy cunt.”

you shook your head, squirming against his hold once again in an attempt to escape his curious fingers.

“no?” he asked and you shook your head again. “i don’t believe that.”

he only removed his hand from your long enough to flip you onto your back, barely exerting any strength to do so. instead of holding you down by your wrists, you were planted against the mattress by your neck with a firm hand. your own fingers moved to wrap around his arm while his returned to the heat building between your legs.

you gasped at the feeling of a long, thick digit pushing against the tight resistance as it coaxed you open enough to slip inside. with him between your legs you couldn’t close them–all you could do was lie there pathetically as he did what he wanted.

“aw, you feel that?” he cooed at you, eyes flickering up at your face briefly before dropping back to his hand. “it slipped right in…i think you can take two, don’t you?”

a whine slipped out at the feeling of a second finger slipping past the barrier of your hole to join the first one. his fingers were way bigger than yours, fitting inside of you more snugly than you were used to. he pulled them out at a snail’s pace, purposefully dragging against your spasming walls before pushing them right back in.

“yeah, you take it real good.” he grinned smugly, clearly enjoying the juxtaposition of the pained look on your face and the way you desperately latched onto his two fingers. “don’t want it, but your pussy’s sucking me in…why’s that?”

you couldn’t answer–not when you were panting like a bitch in heat, trying and failing at catching your breath as rafe stole it away from you. your arousal leaked out over his fingers and there was nothing you could do to stop it. his fingers felt too good, even if you didn’t want to admit it.

he continued with the bare minimum for what felt like forever, probably waiting on you to give in and beg him to fuck you. unfortunately for him, you would never do that. your will was much too strong to do something as desperate as that, and you were basking in enough humiliation as is; you’d never give up the single sliver of pride you had left.

it was rafe who broke first. he said nothing as the speed of his fingers increased, eyes focused on every scrunch of your nose and the whines that forced their way past your bitten lips. the heel of his hand kept making contact with your clit and it made you want to start crying again.

“such a pretty girl,” his eyes raked over your clothed body in satisfaction. something about you having to walk around in the same clothes that he turned you out in got him off, while it made you think about throwing them into a bonfire or burying them in the deepest part of your closet. “getting so wet and needy from me welting up her ass. i think you’re the pervert here, not me.”

“uh-uhn.” you protested the accusation immediately, reaching down the push rafe’s hand away weakly. he looked amused.

“you’re not?” the blonde moved back to stare at your cunt grooling all over his hand, fingers fucking the mess back inside over and over. “why are you so wet then?”

you didn’t have an answer to that. his fingers pulled out of you completely, using the wetness as more lubrication to spread over your swollen clit. the bucket of sparks in your stomach had long turned into a bubbling cauldron, and the attention to the needy button did nothing but make it burn hotter.

his fingers dipped back inside with much ease this time and you nearly died from the embarrassment. your brain was foggy yet defiant, but your body worked against you by welcoming everything rafe had to offer.

“no normal girl would get wet from shit like that. screaming and crying, beggin’ me to stop–but look,” rafe shook his head at you, eyes hot as he watched your frame twitch beneath his hands. “you’re squeezing down on my fingers like you want ‘em in there forever.“

he was right. you were screaming, you were crying, you were begging him to stop. now you’re letting him spread you open and getting wet when you should be screaming for him to get off of you.

what was wrong with you?

you had no time to think about that, not when he added a third finger without warning. a cry filled the air–yours–from the stretch. you were so full. he sped up again, too, treating you with little compassion as he watched ruined your sopping pussy with the thick appendages.

“so pathetic to be this wet for me,” he shook his head at you, lips pulled together in a pout. “you know it too. you should be ashamed.”

you were.

“you’re not even gonna stop me, look at your legs shaking.” he pointed out the way you couldn’t keep still.

he was right; you weren’t gonna stop him. you couldn’t.

the veins in his arms strained with each pump of his fingers, biceps bulging against the tight sleeves of his shirt. you could feel your juices dripping down your ass, your other hole fluttering in sync with the one being stuffed with three fingers. every part of your body was tingling and desperate to be touched, and you were rapidly losing control of yourself the closer rafe brought you to the edge.

he noticed it, too. the way you couldn’t stop clamping down around him, how you unconsciously ground into his palm, the dazed look in your eyes and the desperation in your voice as you lost the ability to hold back.

“look at you,” he said. his eyes were filled with lust, dark and glossed over as he observed your behavior. “ready to cum after putting up all that fight. dressed up in this tiny, little skirt; you were practically asking for this. so disgusting.”

your breath was uneven and you felt like you were going to pass out, mind dizzy and drunk with the forced pleasure. he showed no signs of letting up, digging you out with a fervor that you’d never experienced. the sound of your whining became higher pitched, tears pouring from your eyes as you tip-toed the cliff ahead of you.

“you’re about to cum, huh?” you nodded your head at him, eyes wide and wet with the lubrication. “yeah? you wanna cum?”

you screamed, but not for the reason you wanted to.

“no.” rafe pulled his fingers away right before you fell off the edge, leaving your hips bucking against the air as you were denied the release he was forcing upon you in the first place. “you’re not gonna cum unless i tell you to.”

you would have rolled your eyes and protested, but the feeling of his hand coming down against your bare pussy made you yelp. your clit jumped and your nipples were begging to be released from the constraints of your shirt, the pain giving you a kind of pleasure that you weren’t equipped to handle. he did it again, and again. he did it until you were fighting to push him away and close your legs.

“aw, does that hurt?” he pouted at you when you whimpered out some semblance of a ‘yes,’ which was rewarded with another slap. “good.”

it was agonizing; how deliciously painful it was. it was so much–too much. you were becoming dumb, all brain function replaced with the pulsing of your abused cunt. he continued to slap your clit, entranced by the way it twitched and your hole clenched around nothing.

“you want me to stop?” you couldn’t answer; you were too stunned to form a coherent sentence and it made you feel like an idiot. rafe took pleasure in that. “stupid girl, you can’t even say anything. so fucked out and easy for me.”

you were tempted to push him away and get yourself off, but even through your foggy brain you knew he’d never let you get the chance.

“need to taste this pussy…” he mumbled to himself, not caring if you heard or not.

he dropped to his knees with eyes still focused on you as he blew against your exposed clit, both thumbs spreading your lips open. he wasn’t worried about you trying to escape anymore; not really. it was clear you were too dazed to do much of anything but pant like a dog and take his abuse.

he finally gave you his tongue after waiting for you to whine for it, the wet muscle flattening against the whole of your sensitive core. the texture of the appendage on your clit had you writhing, legs trapped in his hold and prevented from clamping down around his head.

you trembled as he lapped up your wetness, grinding against his face as he buried himself deep into your wetness. he was like a man starved, licking up your arousal as it spilled out of you in an endless fountain. the plush pillows of his lips encapsulated your clit, sucking on it roughly as he brought his fingers back down to fuck you open.

your head fell back from the intensity, cries tumbling out of your mouth clumsily as he laved against your rosy bud.

everything was so wet.

“don’t you dare fucking cum.” rafe growled, pulling away from your pussy. his fingers kept going, but he kept his eyes on you now. it was impossible to ignore the way you pulsed around him. “i’m not gonna stop, so you better hold it.”

a broken wail left you and you wanted to curl into a ball. this was just as much of a punishment as being beaten with the belt in the corner, you were now discovering.

“please…” the rope in your stomach was being sawed in half by the second and you weren’t going to last much longer. “i can’t…”

he rose to his full height, staring down at your messy for; thighs covered in sticky precum with your skirt crumpled up at your waist. your skin was hot to the touch and covered in a thin layer of sweat, face wet with tears stains and eyes filled with lust fueled desperation. his fingers worked purposefully in the deepest parts of your pussy that you’d never been able to explore yourself.

“taking me so fuckin’ deep, princess.” he teased you with his words, his voice only adding difficulty to holding back from cumming all over his merciless fingers.

“rafe…” you couldn’t tell him off; not when you were getting so close, so fast.

“‘rafe…’” he mocked the pleading tone in your voice. ocean blue eyes flickered up towards your own, dark with arousal as he watched you squirm. “you sound so pathetic.”

you could feel your thighs tensing as you tried your best to hold back. you didn’t know what he would do if you came without permission, but it was getting hard to care. his fingers were hitting repeatedly against a spot that had you seeing white and holding your breath.

rafe let you stay like that for a while, desperately hanging on by a thread as he watched.

“okay,“ he said, head tilted to the side. “you can cum–but i’m not gonna give it to you.”

“rafe!” you yelped. he pulled his fingers out and delivered a final smack to your already abused clit, smirking at your reaction.

reaching up towards your face, rafe squished your cheeks together until your mouth was forced open. you audibly protested when he brought his wet fingers to your lips, the smell of your arousal invading all of your senses. your noises of defiance were ignored as he shoved the digits into your mouth. he coated your tongue with the wetness covering his fingers, fucking your mouth in the same way he used your other hole.

you couldn’t stop the saliva that fell from your mouth; it leaked down the sides of your face uncomfortably and you wanted to wipe it away.

“you can go home later, and rub that dirty little cunt to the memory of this.” you stared up at him wide-eyed, mouth stuffed and clit pulsating at the wanton actions being performed on you. “every time you pick out a skirt to wear, you’re gonna sit on that welted up ass and you’re gonna think about how wet you got from my belt tearing you up.”

he watched you shift uncomfortably on your bare, bruised behind, but showed you no pity.

the sting of it brought you back to reality, the weight of what just occurred finally coming to your clearer mind. rafe’s hand gripped your jaw and tilted it upwards to bring your attention back to him. the fear that you felt earlier bubbled back up.

your mouth was relieved from the violating digits grazing the back of your throat. wet fingers slapped against your cheek twice, not hard enough to leave a mark but enough to make you wince from the sting.

“still think you’re above me?” rafe asked, face lowering to just mere inches away from yours. you shook your head the best you could, jaw still under the steel grip of his hand. “you–you should be thanking me, really…i’m older than you, remember? your job is to respect your elders, and my job is to correct you.”

you say nothing; not that you could anyway. he lowered his hand, pulling it away from your jaw and resting it on the circumference of your exposed neck. the tall man hummed at you, head tilting to the side like a puppy as he observed your disheveled form beneath him.

“i did it so that nobody else has to, y/n. jus’ looking out for you like i’m supposed to–even though you don’t deserve it.“ you blinked at him, prompting the fingers lying limply at your neck to squeeze as a warning. “say ‘thank you, rafe.’ you can do that right? ‘thank you for looking out for stupid little girls like me.’”

you gulped away the part of you that wanted to spit out a curse at rafe, resistance vibrating deep in your bones. this had to be more humiliating than being spread out over his fingers, you thought.

“thank you, rafe.” the voice that came out sounded pained, and rafe could tell. he tutted at you, clearly dissatisfied.

“i don’t think you mean that…do you want the belt on your pussy this time?” his eyebrow quirked up at you, amused clear in his eyes as he watched your own widen in panic.

“no! no, i really mean it!”

his free hand landed between your legs again as it delivered the stinging punishment of his palm once more.

“then fucking act like it.” rafe snarled at you, the heat of your center against his taunting hand. “‘thank you for looking out for me, rafe. you’re so good to me.’ and you better fucking mean it.”

“thank you for looking out for me, rafe. you’re s’good to me!” you cried out weakly. rafe continued to slap at your achy clit with his flattened fingers, wordlessly telling you he wasn’t satisfied with your response. “i’m stupid ‘nd i don’t deserve–ah! i don’t deserve it. i’ll be nice, i promise!”

happy enough with your gratitude, he relented. he pulled his hand away from your quivering lower lips and stepped back, allowing your legs to fall shut and guard your crying, battered cunt from the cool air blowing against it from the ac.

“you’re welcome.”

you watch from your spot on the bed as rafe picks up your discarded underwear from the floor. he shoves the item in his pocket, leaving you bare with nothing to protect yourself. standing from your position on the mattress, your legs wobbled like a young doe before straightening themselves to their full length.

you’d never felt so violated, so defeated. what made it even worse was the way your body still tingled with need. the feeling was deep inside you, walls clamping down on the phantom of rafe’s manly fingers. he was right, and it brought a cloud of shame that rained down on you. the first thing you’d do when you got home is stuff yourself with your own and pretend they were his. every time you sat down and felt the sting of his punishment, you knew you’d leak just like you were right now.

how could you call him a creep, a pervert? how could you call him disgusting when you were the one making a mess all over him after being held down and beaten?

feelings of guilt weighed heavy on your chest. you could pretend that none of this ever happened, but rafe would never let you forget; there’s no way he’d ever let it go.

shaking away the thoughts plaguing your mind, you pulled yourself together the best you could. a hiss sounded out through the room as you pulled the skirt down from around your waist.

the last thing you wanted to know was how bad your ass and thighs looked, the raised skin evidence enough as it painfully rubbed against the fabric of your skirt. rafe opened the door of his bedroom in a swift motion to reveal an empty hallway, eyes staring pointedly at you. the sound of your swift feet echoed off the floor, legs carrying you the fastest that they possibly could without tripping over each other.

before you made it past the threshold, rafe snatched your arm up into his grip. he leaned down to meet you at eye level, closely examining the way your breathing hitched.

“and stay the fuck out of my room."

#dark!rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe cameron smut #outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x kook!reader #rafe cameron x oc #obx fanfiction #obx1 #obx2 #drew starkey #rafe imagine #obx fic #outer banks x reader #obx3 #cleoluvrr fics

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goldengleams · 6 months ago

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hiii pookie 😙 i've never requested anything so, feel free to do anything you want but w matt rempe pls? 🩷 ily!

come back to bed | m. rempe

hope you enjoy sof!!! love you my cutie!

You rolled over in bed, having just woke up from a dream and wanting to reposition yourself in Matt’s arms. You let out a soft whine when you realized he wasn’t next to you in bed.

“Matt?” You whispered. You lifted yourself up on your elbows to squint at the alarm clock on your bedside table. 3:29 AM.

Reluctantly arising from your warm bed, you quietly walked down the hallway. You carried a blanket for Matt in case he was asleep on the couch, which wasn’t uncommon if he was watching hockey. The bathroom light wasn’t on, nor was the light near your television. In your sleepy haze, you heard a glass clinking as it was set down. Bingo.

Finally, you spotted Matt sitting on a stool by the kitchen island. His hunched figure was shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by the candle that was lit in front of him. The scent of vanilla entered your nose as you drew closer.

“Matt, why are you up? It’s three in the morning,” You called in a whisper. He whipped his head towards you, startled by your presence.

“Geez, you scared me Y/N,” he chuckled softly. Matt’s hair was strewn about, the product of him running his hands through it incessantly and his leg bounced up and down.

“Sorry,” you mumbled sheepishly, stepping closer to him to wrap him up in the blanket. “I woke up and you weren’t there.”

“Yeah, just couldn’t stop thinking about today,” he sighed, mumbling a soft thank you. He was looking at you with an expression you couldn’t read. Your sleep-addled brain was not ready to comprehend big feelings, but you wanted to be there for him.

“It’s finally happening,” you said, smiling. “I’m so excited for you.”

Matt nodded, focusing his attention on the cup in front of him. He traced the rim with his finger, lost in thought once again.

You were overwhelmed with a sense of deja vu as you watched him in the ambient light. You and Matt had met two years ago. At the time, you were a college student in Connecticut and Matt was playing hockey in Hartford. You had met through a dating app and while it didn’t seem like you had anything in common, Matt had won you over pretty easily. Both of you were set on living in New York City-you wanted to do more schooling and Matt was hoping to be called up by the New York Rangers. After many date nights, hockey games, and one graduation, you were both closer to living your dreams. You had been waiting for the day that Matt came and stayed at your apartment while preparing to play for the Rangers.

But, it was never without some bumps in the road.

You knew you’d never understand what Matt went through as a hockey player, but for the past two weeks, you had tried to be there for him. He’d received the call from the Rangers in the beginning of February to play, but he hadn’t gotten any playing time. That would change today when he made his debut.

“Your family is so excited too, I can’t wait to sit next to Steph and Alley and cheer you on,” you tried again. It was true, in a few hours, you would be driving with Matt’s family to MetLife Stadium to watch his NHL debut. You couldn’t be happier for him.

“I can’t believe it,” he muttered. “It’s everything I’ve ever wanted and it’s, like, here. Feel like I’ve waited for so long and I just want it to go well. Especially today.”

“It’ll go well, babe. You know that,” you said. You made your way to sit next to him at the other stool. Matt and his family had been thinking of his Dad who had passed away and you knew that it would be a huge deal for him to make his debut on his anniversary. You reached out for his hand and gently traced a pattern onto his palm.

“You’re going to make your family so proud, Matt. Especially your Dad.”

Matt released a shuddering breath he had been holding in for far too long. He pulled the blanket tighter around his broad shoulders, a chill running through him from the seasonal February weather.

“What if I’m nobody?” Matt whispered it so quietly you’re not sure you would’ve heard it if it wasn’t silent. The doubts of not being good enough swarmed in his mind.

“First of all, you won’t be nobody, Matt. And I know that the people in your circle wouldn’t care if you scored a hundred goals or zero, or ever played with the Rangers. You’ll always be somebody to us,” you said softly. “You’ll always be someone to me.”

You brought his knuckles to your lips and gave a soft kiss. You watched the tension leave his shoulders and he quickly reached over to give you a kiss. He leaned into you easily.

“There’s my boy,” you said against his lips.

“Thank you,” Matt said. “And thanks for listening to me at 3 in the morning.”

You chuckled. “Technically it’s 4 now, so you should come back to bed and cuddle me until your stupid alarm goes off at 7.”

Matt blew out the candle and stood up from the stool. You made grabby hands at Matt, which he quickly took and led the two of you back to bed. You both climbed in bed and Matt wrapped the blanket around both of you to keep warm.

“Love you baby,” he mumbled, already drifting off. His hair tickled your ear as he moved closer to you. “Gonna score for you tonight.”

“Yeah and you better not get in any fights, Rempe.”

“Mmm, no promises.”

——————————————————————

Enjoy this Matt Rempe blurb and go request more in my inbox! 😋😋

#nhl hockey #nhl #matt rempe imagine #matt rempe x reader #matt rempe #new york rangers #hockey blurb #my babygirl hockey player

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astoriawest · 2 years ago

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Life by the River in LIC

If you're looking for Astoria Queens apartments for rent, don't overlook Astoria West Apartments. Go ahead and delete your "save search" of apartments because this hidden gem has everything that you're looking for - a great location, luxurious amenities, and more. Come check out Astoria West today to find your new home and see what specials are currently on offer! If you're located out of state, you can check online for a 3D tour. Astoria West supports the principles of the Standard Operating Procedures, Fair Housing Act, and Equal Housing Opportunity.

If you're looking for apartments in Long Island City, you've probably come across a few dozen (if not more) options. But have you heard of Astoria West? It's just up the river from LIC but offers unrivaled views. This hidden gem is quickly becoming one of the most popular apartment complexes in the area, thanks to its prime location and luxurious amenities. If you're looking for LIC rentals, here's what you need to know about the nearby Astoria West Apartments.

Central Location

One of the best things about Astoria West Apartments is its location. Situated in Astoria, part of the Queens borough, it’s just two miles upriver from Long Island City, NY 11101. Queens provides a central location that's easy to reach the rest of the city. Nearby you'll find Queens Plaza and the elevated Queensboro Plaza and easy access to the Jackson Avenue/Queens Plaza bus station. You’ll be close to all the best restaurants, bars, and shops the neighborhood offers. Plus, the world-famous art gallery Moma PS1 is just around the corner. And if you're someone who loves to be outdoors, you'll be happy to know that Astoria Park is just a short walk away.

If you feel the need to venture out of LIC or Queens, the N and W lines are a short shuttle bus away. They can take you to Queens, Brooklyn, or Manhattan in record time. Nearby you will also find Sunnyside, Williamsburg, and Woodside. A quick walk towards Center Boulevard will take you to Gantry Park and Hunter's Point South, which has some stellar views.

But if you live at Astoria West, you don't have to go that far to get views like that. The views from the rooftop are out of this world. You can soak up all of the city with sights from Midtown Manhattan and Queens.

Luxurious Amenities

Astoria West Apartments doesn't just offer a great real estate location - it also offers thousands of square feet of luxurious amenities that are sure to make your life easier and make you feel at home. For example, there's a 24-hour doorman on staff so that you always have someone around if you need anything. There's also an on-site fitness center so that you can avoid those pesky gym membership fees. Astoria West is pet-friendly and has a pet spa so your furry friend can enjoy a little pampering.

These luxury apartments have various layouts like studio, one-bedroom, or 2 bedroom floor plans. Regardless of how many bedrooms you need, there is plenty of sqft in each unit. Everything you need is included, like a washer and dryer, luxury finishes, and spacious closets.

Don’t Miss Astoria West

#Astoria Queens apartments #LIC rentals #Astoria Queens apartments for rent #apartments in Long Island City

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sso-maev · 18 days ago

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Ok so remember this map?

A complete map of Jorvik, with a semi-accurate scale to measure any distance on the island. I’m really proud of it! There is, however, one glaring problem with this map.

WHY IS JORVIK CITY SO SMALL????

I’m sorry but Jorviks capital should not be smaller than middle-of-nowhere ranger town Dundull. The generally accepted minimum population requirements for a city are 50 000 residents. Following the canon map, Jorvik city would need to fit at least 50 000 people in what looks like 2,25 square miles. That would mean Jorvik city houses 22 222 people per square mile, making it the 24th most densely populated city in the WORLD.

Possible? Sure. Likely? Considering the clear inspiration from the way less dense Stockholm, the lack of giant apartment complexes or slum neigbourhoods, which would imply that people live closely together, I’m gonna have to say no.

So how big should Jorvik city be, if the map size is inaccurate? Kind of hard to tell since we can’t see places like Governors Fall or Aideens Plaza on the map.

But there is one place we CAN see.

And if we can use this map, we can measure how long it takes to cross it.

I am very normal about the horse game.

From the barracks to the pier, it takes 38 seconds to cross the map. On a similarly flat surface on Jorvik, we can measure how long Pier 13 actually is, giving us this comparison.

Now, I’m going to show two theories on how big Jorvik City is based on these measurements.

The first one is the most canon-compliant, but also the most ridiculous. By comparing pier 13 to the area outside jorvik stables, we know that pier 13 is ~1 km long. Yes, this is an absolutely massive pier don’t worry about it. Looking at the jorvik city map, we can see that this smaller pier is meant to be to represent Pier 13, and we can do the math from there. Jorvik gets an area of 340 square km, and if we use Stockholms population density as a guide, Jorvik City has about 1,8 million citizens. Cool! One problem though.

You can’t fit it on the map. A city this big would take up almost one fourth of Jorvik, and you’d need to redraw the entire map to make it fit.

So my other option shifts the canon a bit to make the maps fit together. If we go against canon and assume that Pier 13 is actually the larger pier, that downsizes Jorvik City to ~47,5 square kilometres, with a population of around 250 000. This makes Jorvik more comparable to a more densely populated Reykjavik; smaller in area but with double the amount of people. And while it still messes with the coastline a bit, it at least fits into Central Bay.

Personally I think both theories work, but for consistency’s sake, I’m leaning more towards the second theory.

#sso #sso lore #ive had the data for this for so long i just hate writing

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minhosbitterriver · 3 months ago

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📷 STILL FRAMES ( stray kids )

❛ After fainting during a photography class outing, you're tenderly cared for by a seemingly cold classmate, Seungmin, leading to an unexpected and heartwarming connection between the two of you.

𝐤𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧 + gender neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.5k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 30 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This piece was written and completed a few months ago, but I recently found it and decided to share it with you guys! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Descriptions of being overheated, anxiety, and fainting, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 )

꒰ 🫙 ꒱ ミ Tip Jar!

The summer sun blazed with an intensity that bordered on cruelty, its golden rays casting a relentless furnace upon the cityscape. The air shimmered with the heat, every street and alley seemingly wincing under the oppressive glare. The heavens above were a fierce, unyielding expanse of cerulean, devoid of mercy or shade.

Amidst this searing trial, you navigated the urban labyrinth, your every step a testament to perseverance. Your digital camera, a faithful companion clutched in your hand, was your shield against the unrelenting heat. It was your instrument for capturing moments of beauty amid the starkness of summer’s tyranny.

As you trailed behind your classmates, each one a silhouette against the blistering backdrop, your gaze flitted with restless anticipation. You wandered through the city streets, your eyes seeking fragments of inspiration to breathe life into your assignment. The buildings rose around you like silent, stoic sentinels, their facades glistening with a harsh, metallic sheen. In the shimmering distance, you hoped for the elusive spark that would transform the mundane into something extraordinary.

The chatter of your classmates had long faded into a mere whisper, a distant hum that barely registered in the periphery of your consciousness. Conversations ebbed and flowed like an unremarkable current, a symphony of voices blending into a soft, indistinguishable murmur. Yet, this isolation was not an anomaly but a chosen retreat, a familiar haven you embraced with quiet contentment.

Surrounded by the bustling dynamics of camaraderie and friendship, you stood apart, an island of introspection amidst a sea of social engagement. It wasn't that you were unfriendly or aloof; your laughter often mingled with theirs, your voice joining the chorus of shared jokes and light-hearted banter before and after the structured rhythm of class. But when the subject turned to the art that captivated your soul, a transformation occurred.

Photography, to you, was not just a hobby but a profound and passionate pursuit. It demanded your full attention, a devotion that bordered on reverence. Your camera was not merely a tool but an extension of your vision, a conduit through which you sought to capture the world’s hidden beauty. The play of light and shadow, the fleeting expressions on faces, the intricate details of everyday objects—all of these were fragments of a larger, more intricate tapestry that you sought to weave with each click of the shutter.

In those moments, the world around you faded into soft focus, leaving you alone with your thoughts and your art. The bonds of friendship, though cherished, were momentarily set aside, replaced by a singular concentration that sharpened your senses and heightened your awareness. This solitary journey through the realm of photography was your sanctuary, a place where you found solace and inspiration in equal measure.

The only other person in this class who might share your penchant for solitude was Kim Seungmin. He, too, seemed to navigate the world with an air of quiet detachment. Yet, there were differences in how each of you manifested this introversion. While you made a concerted effort to connect with those around you—engaging in brief conversations and sharing moments of camaraderie when class was not in session—Seungmin was an enigma, a shadow that flitted away the moment the lecture ended.

Seungmin's presence in the classroom was a paradox of visibility and invisibility. He was always the first to arrive, slipping into the room with the quiet grace of dawn's first light. Despite his punctuality, he maintained a palpable distance from the rest of the group, an invisible barrier that set him apart. His demeanor, while not unfriendly, exuded a clear message of preference for solitude.

During the lulls and intermissions, when the classroom would usually be filled with animated discussions and the laughter of budding friendships, Seungmin could be found in a corner, absorbed in his own world. His fingers danced nimbly over his camera, adjusting settings, capturing candid moments, or meticulously reviewing his shots. At other times, he would be engrossed in his phone, the screen's glow reflecting the deep concentration etched on his face.

To you, Seungmin was a mystery, a puzzle wrapped in layers of quiet introspection. There was a certain allure in his aloofness, a silent invitation to unravel the story behind his reserved exterior. Yet, you never dared to cross the unspoken boundary that he had set. His solitary nature, so akin to your own, commanded a respect that you were unwilling to breach.

Seungmin remained a figure of curiosity, a fellow traveler on the path of photographic artistry who chose a parallel yet distinctly separate route. His quiet presence was a reminder of the myriad ways one could navigate the delicate dance between isolation and connection.

Despite his reserved and enigmatic demeanor, Seungmin possessed a rare and extraordinary talent for photography. His artistry behind the lens was nothing short of breathtaking, a fact that did not go unnoticed by anyone, least of all the professor. At the conclusion of each class, a ritual unfolded: the professor would meticulously review everyone's photographs, sifting through the myriad of images to select the ones that stood out the most. Without fail, Seungmin's work consistently earned a place among the top five, a testament to his remarkable skill.

Each of Seungmin's photographs was a revelation, an abstract masterpiece that captured the world through a uniquely creative lens. His ability to see beyond the ordinary and delve into the depths of the abstract added a layer of profound beauty to his images. Where others might see a simple street scene or a mundane object, Seungmin uncovered hidden dimensions and intricate patterns, transforming the mundane into the extraordinary.

His compositions were a symphony of light and shadow, each frame meticulously crafted to evoke emotion and provoke thought. There was an unmistakable depth to his work, a silent narrative that spoke volumes without uttering a single word. The interplay of colors, the juxtaposition of textures, and the harmony of forms all coalesced into visual poetry, each photograph a verse in the grand tapestry of his artistic vision.

The professor, a seasoned connoisseur of photographic art, often marveled at Seungmin's ability to convey such profound beauty through his images. His praise, though sparing, was always effusive when it came to Seungmin's work. "A true artist," he would often muse, holding up one of Seungmin's photos for the class to admire. "His eye for detail and his innovative approach are truly remarkable."

Seungmin's talent was unmistakable, a beacon of brilliance that shone through the veil of his quiet, self-imposed solitude. Each photograph was a testament to his exceptional ability to capture the essence of the world around him, a gift that set him apart and elevated him to the ranks of the truly gifted. In his hands, the camera became not just a tool but a portal to a realm of infinite beauty and wonder.

The dryness in your mouth abruptly pulled you from the intricate web of thoughts weaving around your enigmatic classmate, who now lingered at the back of the group, his camera poised to capture yet another fleeting moment. The parched sensation nagged at you, growing more insistent with each passing second. You reluctantly tore your gaze away from Seungmin, reaching into your backpack in search of your water bottle.

As your fingers fumbled through the contents of your bag, your eyes remained vigilant, scanning your surroundings to ensure you wouldn’t stumble over any unexpected obstacles. The bustling city around you was a blur of movement and color, but you couldn’t afford to let your guard down, not even for a moment.

Finally, your hand closed around the cool plastic of your water bottle. Relief washed over you, but it was short-lived. Your heart skipped a beat when you unscrewed the cap and peered inside, only to find a single, solitary sip left. The realization that your meager supply of water was almost depleted sent a ripple of anxiety through your chest. The class was far from over, and the sweltering heat showed no signs of relenting.

A wave of apprehension washed over you, prickling at your chest like tiny, invisible needles. You finished the last sip, the tepid water doing little to quench your thirst, and tried to steady your racing thoughts. With a shaky breath, you reassured yourself that you could endure the remaining time. Surely, there would be a place nearby where you could refill your bottle.

Determined not to let the anxiety take hold, you pressed on, reminding yourself that the city was vast and filled with countless opportunities. Somewhere among the winding streets and towering buildings, an oasis of hydration awaited. All you had to do was stay focused and keep an eye out for that small but vital reprieve.

The merciless sun, as if sensing your growing anxiety, seemed to blaze even hotter, its relentless rays wrapping you in a suffocating embrace. Beads of sweat clung to your skin in a sticky shimmer, making each movement feel laborious and sluggish. Despite the discomfort, you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand. Your eyes roamed the cityscape, seeking inspiration amidst the familiar charm of the urban sprawl.

You recalled the instructions given by your professor before the class set out on this journey. Find something that has two textures that contrast each other, and find a way to make them complement each other in your photo. It seemed a simple enough directive, especially considering the rich tapestry of your surroundings. Yet, the sun's unyielding assault made concentration an arduous endeavor.

As you navigated the bustling streets, your gaze flitted over the varied textures that adorned the city. Rough, weathered brick walls stood in stark contrast to the sleek, reflective surfaces of modern glass buildings. The interplay between the old and the new, the rugged and the refined, offered endless possibilities for your photographic assignment. But the oppressive heat made it difficult to hold onto any coherent thought for long.

The thirst that had been barely quenched earlier resurfaced with a vengeance, its gnawing intensity magnified by the knowledge that your water bottle was now empty. Your mouth felt as dry as the arid pavement beneath your feet, and each swallow seemed to scrape against a parched throat. Anxiety prickled at the edges of your consciousness, threatening to overwhelm your resolve.

You scanned the area for potential sources of relief, hoping to spot a fountain, a café, or any place where you could refill your bottle. The city, though familiar, seemed an endless expanse under the punishing sun. Every step felt heavier, the weight of your camera pressing down on you like a leaden reminder of your mission.

Yet, amidst the discomfort and the thirst, you remained determined. You sought the contrasting textures your professor had described, letting your eyes linger on the juxtaposition of smooth marble and rough concrete, or the way a delicate flower pushed through a crack in the asphalt. There was beauty to be found here, even in the harshest of conditions.

With a deep breath, you resolved to keep going, trusting that your perseverance would lead you to both the perfect shot and the much-needed water. The city, with all its contrasts and complexities, held the promise of discovery, if only you could endure a little longer.

"It’s so hot," you vaguely heard a classmate complain, her voice barely cutting through the heavy, sweltering air as she fanned herself with a weary hand. The others nodded in weary agreement, their faces etched with the shared misery of enduring the relentless sun. "We should all go for some ice cream after this," she suggested, a hint of hope sparking briefly in her eyes.

The idea of ice cream, cool and refreshing, was undeniably appealing. Yet, you didn’t dare voice your thoughts. The fear of worsening your situation held your tongue, a silent specter of anxiety that kept you from speaking up. As you glanced around at your classmates, their faces blurred by the heat, a flicker of desperation ignited within you.

You tried to remember if you had informed anyone about your fainting spells, but your mind drew a blank. The memories were elusive, slipping through your mental grasp like water through a sieve. The thought of revealing your vulnerability gnawed at you, and although you knew you should at least ask if anyone had spare water, your anxiety clung to you like a vice, rendering you silent at a moment when you needed help the most.

The world around you seemed to shimmer and waver in the oppressive heat, the vibrant colors of the city dulled by the haze of your growing discomfort. Your throat felt like sandpaper, each breath a laborious effort. The idea of speaking up, of asking for something as simple as water, felt insurmountable. Your classmates, though kind and considerate, seemed distant and unreachable in your moment of need.

Silent, you continued to endure, your thoughts a turbulent mix of desperation and fear. The sun beat down with unwavering intensity, each ray a reminder of your growing thirst and vulnerability. You scanned the faces around you, searching for a flicker of understanding, a sign that someone might notice your distress without you having to voice it.

But no such sign came. The conversations continued, the suggestions of ice cream and relief from the heat weaving through the group like a distant promise. You swallowed dryly, your silence a heavy burden, and resolved to press on. The city held the promise of respite somewhere, and you clung to the hope that you could find it before your strength gave out.

The more you pushed forward, the more acutely aware you became of the blood coursing through your veins. It was as if each heartbeat reverberated in your ears, amplifying the sense of impending dizziness. The city's vibrant energy seemed to swirl around you, the once steady ground beneath your feet now an unpredictable, undulating surface.

As the sensation of spinning grew more intense, you reluctantly allowed yourself to fall behind the group. You sought refuge against the cool, reassuring solidity of a nearby building, leaning against its weathered facade. Taking deep breaths, you tried to steady yourself, inhaling the warm, sun-baked air and exhaling slowly in an attempt to calm the storm within.

Your classmates, absorbed in their own artistic quests, continued on without noticing your absence. This anonymity, usually a comfort in your solitary pursuits, now only served to heighten your anxiety. You couldn't blame them for their oversight; it was common for someone to linger behind, captivated by a potential photograph. Still, the reality of being unnoticed in your moment of need felt like an invisible weight pressing down on your chest.

You closed your eyes briefly, trying to focus on the rhythm of your breathing, hoping it would anchor you in the present moment. The sounds of the city buzzed around you—distant conversations, the hum of traffic, the occasional birdcall—creating a cacophony that both grounded and overwhelmed you.

Opening your eyes, you glanced at the receding forms of your classmates, their laughter and chatter fading into the background. The distance between you and them felt insurmountable, not just in physical space but in the gulf of your unspoken struggle. You pressed your back more firmly against the building, feeling the rough texture of the brick through your thin shirt, a small reminder of the world outside your internal chaos.

You knew you needed to rejoin the group, to press on and complete the assignment, but the dizziness and rising anxiety made the thought of moving almost unbearable. You considered calling out, asking for help, but the words stuck in your throat, trapped by the fear of appearing weak or needy. Instead, you remained silent, hoping that your moment of respite would be enough to regain your composure.

Your body shivered uncontrollably despite the oppressive heat, a strange and unsettling contrast that heightened your sense of unease. The world around you seemed to blur and waver, your vision losing focus at an alarming pace. Each step felt like wading through thick, invisible molasses, and even the simplest movement became a Herculean effort. Despite this, you managed to lower yourself to the sidewalk, the rough pavement a harsh but necessary support.

You concentrate on your breathing, each inhale and exhale a desperate attempt to anchor yourself in the here and now. Yet, the ringing in your ears grew louder, a piercing sound that drowned out the city's ambient noise. It was a familiar, dreaded precursor to the fainting spell you knew was imminent, a relentless force poised to take control.

In the midst of this growing chaos, a voice pierced through the din, a lifeline in the swirling haze. "Hey, are you okay?" someone asked, their concern clear even through your muddled senses. The effort to lift your head and identify the speaker was beyond you; the world had narrowed to a tunnel of indistinct shapes and sounds.

You tried to respond, to assure them or perhaps to call for help, but your words dissolved into a string of incoherent babbles. Your tongue felt thick and uncooperative, your mind struggling to form coherent thoughts as the darkness edged closer. The last thing you registered was the overwhelming sense of vulnerability, the realization that your body was betraying you in this critical moment.

As the blackness enveloped your consciousness, you felt a profound disconnect from the world around you. The sounds, the heat, the distant figure of your classmate—all faded into a void, leaving you suspended in an abyss of nothingness. The struggle to stay present, to remain in control, slipped through your grasp like sand through your fingers.

In this void, time ceased to have meaning. Seconds or minutes, it was impossible to tell how long you lingered in that state of unconsciousness. The city, with its vibrant life and relentless sun, continued on without you, a stark reminder of your fragile existence.

When you finally awoke, it felt as though you were emerging from a dense fog, your mind struggling to piece together the fragmented reality around you. The disorientation was palpable, each moment stretching as your senses slowly reconnected with the world. Your head rested on someone’s lap, and though he was turned away, his presence was both unfamiliar and comforting in your vulnerable state.

Sounds began to filter through the haze, grounding you further. The low, urgent tone of the voice above you became clearer, barking orders with a mix of authority and concern. "Get some water!" Though you couldn't see who he was addressing, the urgency in his commands cut through the remnants of your confusion.

As your awareness sharpened, you noticed your arms were held aloft above your head. This small detail triggered a memory from your past, a practice you had shared with others in case your lips ever turned blue—a sign of your body’s desperate need for oxygen. The position was meant to untie the invisible knot in your lungs, allowing air to flow more freely and ease your breathing.

With this realization, a wave of gratitude washed over you. Even in your disoriented state, you recognized the significance of this gesture. The person cradling your head had either known or intuitively understood what to do, providing a lifeline in your moment of need.

You tried to speak, to express your thanks or perhaps to reassure the person helping you, but your voice was weak and unsteady. The effort drained you, and you opted to focus on your breathing, each inhale and exhale a conscious act of reclaiming control over your body.

It wasn’t until a groan escaped your lips that the person holding you turned to face you. Instantly, your face flushed with a deep wave of embarrassment upon recognizing him—it was Seungmin. The reassuring smile he sent your way was a beautifully rare sight, and for a fleeting moment, you felt your heart skip a beat. His lips moved, forming words that your still-dazed mind struggled to comprehend.

You blinked up at him, trying to focus, but the words eluded you. Noticing your confusion, Seungmin pursed his lips and turned to someone out of your line of sight. Almost immediately, a cold bottle of water with a straw was handed to him. He settled it gently by your head, positioning the straw so you could drink. The sensation of the cool water on your parched throat was heavenly, and you drank greedily, almost draining the bottle before you realized it.

Seungmin chuckled softly at your eagerness, the sound light and comforting. You felt your cheeks heat up again and averted your gaze, unable to meet his eyes. Despite your embarrassment, the relief from the water was undeniable. Your head cleared a bit more, the world coming into sharper focus.

Seungmin continued to watch over you, his expression a blend of concern and gentle amusement. His presence, usually so distant and enigmatic, now felt unexpectedly comforting. The awkwardness of the situation didn’t diminish the warmth of his care, and you felt a small surge of gratitude.

As you finished the last of the water, Seungmin reached out to steady the bottle, his fingers brushing against yours. The contact sent a jolt through you, but it was grounding, a reminder that you were not alone. He murmured something softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. Though the exact words were still lost to you, the intent was clear—he was there for you.

Gradually, the ringing in your ears subsided, and your breathing steadied. You risked a glance back at Seungmin, who was now focused entirely on you, his eyes full of quiet resolve. The vulnerability of the moment hung between you, unspoken but deeply felt.

You tried to muster a smile, a small token of thanks. Seungmin's eyes softened, and he returned the smile, a silent understanding passing between you. In that moment, the barriers of his usual aloofness seemed to fall away, revealing a depth of kindness that you hadn’t seen before.

Gradually, your hearing began to reawaken, stitching itself back together with your muddled senses. The familiar symphony of the bustling city—a cacophony of distant car horns, murmured conversations, and the steady hum of urban life—slowly emerged from the background noise, anchoring you to the present moment.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Seungmin’s voice cut through the haze, his tone edged with concern as he noticed your growing awareness. You managed a shaky nod, your head still spinning slightly. His brows were knitted together in a deep frown, a tangible expression of his worry.

“Can you sit up, or do you need to stay down a little longer?” he asked gently. “There’s no rush. Please, stay there if you’re still feeling dizzy.”

With a quiet determination, you placed your hands onto the pavement, the rough texture grounding you as you clumsily pushed yourself away from him. Seungmin’s steadying presence guided you with careful hands, helping you to lean against the same building you had previously sought solace from before losing consciousness. You groaned softly, closing your eyes to escape the persistent whirl of the world around you. When you reopened them, the dizziness had ebbed, though remnants of the earlier chaos lingered at the edges of your vision.

In front of you stood a middle-aged man, his apron stained with grease and his hands clasped together in a gesture of concern. His eyes were fixed on Seungmin, waiting for instructions, his face etched with worry for your well-being. The weight of his concern was palpable, and it added another layer to the unfolding scene.

Seungmin exhaled deeply, a sigh that seemed to release the tension of the moment. He settled himself beside you, his posture relaxed yet attentive. He wrapped his arms around his knees, pulling them close to his chest, and his gaze remained focused on you with an almost protective intensity.

The ambient noise of the city continued to swirl around you, but in this small, sheltered space, it felt as though time had slowed. Seungmin’s presence was a steady anchor amidst the chaos, his concern a quiet reassurance that you were not alone. The man in the greasy apron lingered nearby, ready to assist at a moment’s notice, his worried gaze shifting between you and Seungmin.

The world slowly regained its equilibrium, the spinning sensation giving way to a more stable awareness. The tenderness of the pavement beneath you and the warmth of Seungmin’s concern combined to create a cocoon of comfort, allowing you to regain your composure and begin to piece together the events of the past moments.

“How are you feeling?” The middle-aged man’s voice was gentle, his eyes darting between you and Seungmin with a mixture of concern and kindness. “You should eat something. Come inside—whatever you get is on the house.”

A fresh wave of embarrassment washed over you, coloring your cheeks a deep red. You felt a pang of guilt for having worried such a considerate stranger. Just as you were about to politely decline the generous offer, Seungmin’s voice intervened with a firm yet caring tone.

“I agree, Y/N,” he said, his voice carrying a note of unwavering resolve. “You need to eat something after fainting like that. Let’s go inside.”

Seungmin’s tone left no room for argument, the decisiveness of his words compelling you to acquiesce. You sighed softly, nodding in acceptance. The man’s face lit up with a wide grin, clearly pleased by your agreement. With a quick, eager step, he rushed into the restaurant behind you.

Seungmin rose swiftly, brushing off any imaginary dust from his clothes with a swift motion. He extended his hands towards you, his expression one of quiet encouragement. You hesitated for a moment, then grasped his warm hands. The touch was gentle, and a subtle tingle spread through your fingers, a physical reminder of his comforting presence.

Though you felt more stable now, Seungmin’s hands remained hovering near your waist, a silent gesture of support as you made your way inside the restaurant. His protective stance was reassuring, a steadying force guiding you through the threshold.

The restaurant’s interior greeted you with a comforting embrace—a cool respite from the heat outside. The space was warmly lit, with the soft hum of conversation and the tantalizing aroma of food creating a cozy ambiance.

The tantalizing aroma of Korean comfort foods wafted through the air, weaving its way into your senses and causing your stomach to rumble in eager response. Each fragrant note of sizzling meats, simmering stews, and freshly steamed vegetables seemed to wrap around you like a warm embrace, making you profoundly grateful for both the man's generous offer and Seungmin's insistence.

Seungmin guided you with gentle assurance to a table nestled at the far end of the restaurant, where the hum of conversation was softer and the space felt more intimate. The dim lighting at this secluded spot cast a gentle glow, creating a cocoon of warmth and comfort. He carefully pulled out your chair, his movements measured and considerate, and nudged you forward slightly to ensure you were settled. With a courteous smile, he then made his way around the table, taking his own seat directly across from you.

His smile was a touch awkward, a charming contrast to the seriousness he had shown earlier. He glanced around the room, searching for the man who had so kindly attended to you, only to spot him approaching with a welcoming presence. The man carried a bottle of water and two menus, the promise of nourishment and choice clearly reflected in his hands.

As he reached the table, he placed the items before you with a friendly nod. You accepted the bottle and menus with a grateful bow and a warm smile, your heart swelling with appreciation for his kindness. The bottle of water was cool to the touch, a refreshing contrast to the warmth of the restaurant, while the menus promised a delightful array of dishes.

Seungmin’s gaze softened as he watched you, his concern now mingled with a gentle sense of relief. The atmosphere around you seemed to ease, the initial tension giving way to a shared moment of calm. As you began to peruse the menus, the delicious scents and the comfort of the setting enveloped you, making you feel more at ease and ready to enjoy the simple pleasures of a meal with someone who had shown such unexpected care.

The air between you was thick with awkwardness, a palpable sense of uncertainty hanging in the space after such an intensely personal moment. You busied yourself by fixating on the vibrant images on the menu, using them as a comforting distraction from the lingering embarrassment. Each picture of steaming bowls of soup and colorful plates of food seemed to blur together, a vivid kaleidoscope that kept your eyes occupied and your mind from dwelling on the recent upheaval.

After a period of shared silence, you both placed your orders, the clatter of menus and the murmur of your choices filling the brief lull. There was no longer any barrier between you and the reality of the situation. With a deep breath, you gathered your courage and, in a voice softer than you intended, you managed to say, “Thank you.” Your eyes remained firmly fixed on the table, refusing to meet his gaze, as your cheeks and ears flamed with a blush of sincere embarrassment. Even though you couldn’t see him, you could almost feel his warm, understanding smile directed at you.

“You don’t have to thank me at all,” Seungmin replied, his voice infused with genuine sincerity. “I hope you don’t mind, but I texted the professor to let him know what happened, so he’s aware we won’t be finishing the class with everyone else today.” His words were a pleasant surprise, causing your eyes to widen slightly as you briefly met his gentle gaze. The kindness of his gesture momentarily pierced through your discomfort, but you quickly looked away, your shyness reasserting its hold.

In response to his concern, you offered a grateful nod and a shy smile, the simplest acknowledgments of his thoughtfulness. The question he posed next was gentle, yet it carried an undercurrent of genuine concern. “Do you pass out often?”

At his question, you let out a soft, resigned sigh, the sound almost like a whisper of the weariness you felt. “Sometimes,” you began, your voice barely more than a murmur. “It’s been happening since I was a child, though no one seems to know why. I’ve been checked for things like epilepsy, but they haven’t found anything.” The words felt heavy on your tongue, each syllable revealing a fragment of a long-standing uncertainty.

Seungmin’s gaze remained fixed on you, his eyes filled with a deep, attentive concern as he absorbed each word with tender care. His silence was a soothing balm, a quiet testament to his empathy. As you recalled the moment he had lifted your arms, a question escaped you almost impulsively: “How did you know to lift my arms?”

His initial reaction was one of surprise, his eyes widening as he blinked at your sudden inquiry. But the astonishment quickly softened into a shy, almost hesitant smile. “Oh,” he began, his voice gentle. “My mother also had fainting spells, usually when it was too hot or if she had an injury.” His revelation was accompanied by a look of nostalgia, a subtle hint of the personal connection he felt to the subject.

You were taken aback once more by this shared experience. “Your mother sounds a lot like me,” you responded, your tone light but tinged with genuine reflection. “I also faint for similar reasons—when I’m overheated or emotionally overwhelmed.”

A serene silence settled between you as Seungmin gave a thoughtful nod, his eyes drifting into a distant gaze that spoke of deep, unspoken reflections. The quietude was a gentle cocoon, wrapping around both of you as he lost himself in the labyrinth of his thoughts.

You turned your gaze to the window beside you, your eyes tracing the hurried figures moving briskly down the bustling street. Each passerby was a blur of motion and color, a stark contrast to the stillness enveloping your corner of the restaurant. The scene outside seemed almost surreal, a vivid tapestry of urban life against the backdrop of your subdued conversation.

Soon, the soft clinking of dishes announced the return of the man from behind the counter. He placed your meals before you with a warm, welcoming smile, the steam rising from the dishes creating a fragrant mist that made your mouth water in eager anticipation. You bowed in gratitude, your appreciation for the meal palpable in your respectful gesture.

With a mixture of impatience and hunger, you watched him take his first bite, his expression shifting to one of satisfied pleasure. Unable to resist any longer, you dove into your own meal, an involuntary sigh of delight escaping your lips as the flavors danced on your palate. Each bite was a revelation, the taste a symphony of comfort and culinary excellence.

In moments like these, the silence between you and Seungmin felt less like an awkward void and more like a shared, unspoken agreement. The simple act of enjoying a meal together, coupled with the mutual understanding forged through your earlier conversation, made the quiet a soothing presence rather than an uncomfortable gap. The gentle hum of the restaurant’s ambiance and the shared pleasure of the food created a cocoon of calm, transforming the once-unbearable silence into a space of peaceful companionship.

As the last morsels of your meal were savored, a lull settled between you, allowing your mind to finally formulate a conversation starter. You swallowed your bite with a mix of anticipation and nervousness before glancing up at Seungmin. His features were softened in concentration, his gentle demeanor captivating as he focused on the last remnants of his dish.

“So,” you began tentatively, your voice betraying a hint of shyness, “how did you get into photography?” The simple question was laden with curiosity and the desire to connect, and as his eyes met yours, you felt a shiver run down your spine.

Seungmin’s initial silence was a quiet contemplative pause, his gaze tracing the lines of your face with a thoughtful intensity before he began to speak. “My grandfather passed away from Alzheimer’s,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. The weight of his words seemed to settle heavily in the space between you, and your heart tightened with a pang of empathy.

He continued, his tone imbued with a delicate sadness. “He always spoke so fondly of my grandmother, who died before I was born. He used to thank her for her love of photography because it helped him hold onto who he was and the life he lived for a long time. To keep his memories vivid, I started taking pictures of everything around me. I had them developed so he could have tangible memories to hold onto—hundreds of photos of myself, my parents, my cousins, but also of the places I cherished: my room, his house, my house…simple, everyday moments that mattered to him.”

The silence that followed was heavy, laden with the significance of his words. You struggled to find the right response, your mind racing to articulate the depth of your feelings. Seungmin’s smile was tinged with a bittersweet nostalgia as he turned his focus back to his meal, leaving you in a space filled with reflection.

After a few moments, you finally found your voice, your tone warm and sincere. “That’s incredibly sweet, Seungmin. I think it was very noble of you to do that for your grandfather.” His response was a soft grin, his cheeks flushing a delicate pink as he swallowed. The sight of his smile, so genuine and heartfelt, made your heart swell with an emotion that was both tender and profound.

In that moment, Seungmin’s vulnerability and kindness transformed your perception of him. The image of his earlier aloofness seemed to fade into a distant memory, replaced by a newfound appreciation for the depth of his character. His quiet grace and the meaningful gesture he shared painted him in a more beautiful light, revealing layers of compassion that drew you closer to him.

As the last remnants of your meal were savored, Seungmin turned his attention to you with a curious gleam in his eyes. “What about you? How did you get into photography?” he inquired, his voice gentle and inviting. You had finished your meal shortly after him, the shared silence now ripe for deeper conversation.

You gave a shy shrug, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as you tried to gather your thoughts. “I fear my story is not as sweet as yours,” you began, your tone light yet introspective. Seungmin’s playful roll of his eyes and encouraging nod urged you to continue, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Well,” you continued, your gaze drifting as you recall your past, “my mother always bought magazines whenever she went grocery shopping, so our house was filled with stacks and stacks of them.” A nostalgic smile crossed your face as you painted a picture of your childhood. “I remember being a child, endlessly flipping through those magazines whenever boredom set in. I would get lost in the pages, captivated by the photographs. They seemed to tell stories of their own, each image a window into a world I found enchanting.”

Your voice grew softer, imbued with a gentle warmth as you shared how that fascination evolved. “One day, I decided to try my hand at capturing my own moments, inspired by those images I loved so much. What started as a simple curiosity quickly became a cherished hobby. The camera became a means for me to explore and create, and somehow, it just stuck with me.”

As you finished, you looked up to find Seungmin’s eyes still fixed on you, his expression a blend of interest and appreciation. The connection you felt through the shared conversation seemed to deepen, the personal stories weaving a tapestry of understanding and mutual respect. In the dim light of the restaurant, the simple act of sharing your paths through photography brought a new layer of intimacy to your budding friendship, making the quiet moments between you all the more meaningful.

“I think it’s cute,” Seungmin remarked with a lighthearted chuckle, the sound warm and genuine. The unexpected compliment made your cheeks flush with a delicate shade of pink, a mix of surprise and shyness coloring your reaction.

“You’re a good photographer, by the way,” he added, his eyes twinkling with sincere praise.

The words hung in the air like a soft melody, but you couldn’t help but scoff, rolling your eyes in an exaggerated manner. “I’ve made it to the professor’s top five favorites only twice since I joined his class last year. You’re always the one receiving accolades for your work, which, I must admit, are truly remarkable.”

Seungmin’s gaze remained steady, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “I think it’s a bit unfair for you to view it that way,” he said, his voice gentle yet firm. “The whole idea of being in someone’s top five is a flawed measure of talent. It’s based on one person’s subjective preferences and doesn’t truly reflect our abilities. While I’m grateful for the recognition, I’ve seen your photos and always found them to be exceptional.”

He continued, his words flowing with thoughtful consideration. “You have a remarkable skill for capturing unique subjects in their most authentic form. It’s a talent to reveal their essence so clearly, especially within the constraints of our assignments. It’s something I find quite impressive and not easy to achieve.”

The sincerity in Seungmin’s voice, combined with his unwavering gaze, made your heart swell with a mix of gratitude and admiration. The conversation took on a new layer of depth, as his words not only offered comfort but also illuminated a newfound appreciation for your own work. In the softly lit restaurant, amidst the lingering aroma of your meal, his encouragement created a warm and supportive atmosphere, allowing you to see your art through a more appreciative lens.

A warm blush spread across your cheeks, a vivid response to the cascade of compliments from Seungmin. The praise seemed to flutter around you like soft, golden leaves in the breeze, making your face flush a deep crimson. Seeking refuge from the intensity of the moment, you allowed your gaze to wander towards the window, where the sun was gently descending, casting a golden hue over the city.

“Oh,” you began, your voice tinged with an innocent attempt to redirect the conversation. “How long have we been here? The sun is setting.” The urgency in your tone was barely concealed, and Seungmin, following your gaze, glanced out with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. His eyes widened slightly as he noticed the fading light and chuckled softly.

“I should probably start heading home,” you continued, a note of unease threading through your voice. “I don’t like walking home alone at night.” The admission was laced with a quiet vulnerability, and as you spoke, you could feel the familiar pang of anxiety gnawing at you.

Seungmin’s head turned sharply towards you, his expression shifting to one of genuine concern. “I’ll walk you home,” he said, his voice carrying a warmth and sincerity that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket. “It’s no problem at all.”

A playful back-and-forth ensued as you and Seungmin debated the offer of him walking you home. Despite your initial reluctance, a sense of acceptance settled over you, allowing you to concede to his persistent kindness. You attempted to settle the bill for your meal, but the generous man from earlier refused with a warm, unwavering smile. Even when Seungmin stepped in to offer payment, the man remained steadfast in his refusal. In the end, you both left a generous tip, a token of your gratitude for his exceptional kindness.

With the bill settled and the evening stretching out before you, you and Seungmin began your walk towards your apartment building. The path was bathed in the soft, fading light of dusk, casting long shadows and a serene glow over the city streets. As you strolled side by side, the conversation flowed effortlessly, punctuated by laughter and lighthearted banter.

The initial stiffness gradually melted away, replaced by a growing sense of ease and camaraderie. It was genuinely delightful to witness this side of Seungmin—a side that seemed to elude the confines of your shared photography class. His laughter, his thoughtful insights, and the warmth of his presence revealed a depth of character that was both refreshing and endearing.

In the gentle embrace of the evening, as the city lights began to twinkle like distant stars, the walk became more than just a journey home. It was a moment of genuine connection, a rare and cherished glimpse into Seungmin’s world, which felt like an honor to experience.

Eventually, you find yourself standing before the gleaming glass doors that lead into the lobby of your apartment building. The weight of the day’s end settles upon you, a bittersweet twinge in your chest as you come to terms with the departure of this unexpectedly pleasant companionship. The evening air, cool and gently perfumed with the scent of blooming night flowers, wraps around you both as you pause at the threshold.

Seungmin, his hands casually tucked into the front pockets of his jacket, rocks back and forth on his heels. The motion, coupled with his contemplative gaze, creates a picture of relaxed anticipation. His presence, so close to yours, carries a sense of warmth and quiet intimacy.

“This is me,” you murmur, your voice a soft whisper, blending with the stillness of the evening. You turn to face him fully, a mixture of gratitude and reluctance in your eyes. “Thank you again for taking care of me earlier. I’m really happy you were there.”

His response is a smile—genuine and radiant—that lights up his features and seems to fill the space between you with a comforting glow. Your heart swells at the sight, an involuntary smile curving your lips in return. Seungmin’s eyes hold a tender seriousness as he speaks. “Please take it easy, rest all that you can,” he advises, his concern palpable in his tone.

You nod in agreement, the sincerity of his words resonate deeply with you. The air between you feels charged with unspoken sentiments, a silent understanding blossoming amidst the dimming light. “It was really nice to spend time with you,” he continues, his admission eliciting a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.

“I had a really nice time with you too,” you reply, your voice imbued with genuine warmth. “Maybe we can do it again sometime soon—without me having to pass out for it.”

At your light-hearted comment, Seungmin laughs—a sound that is both musical and contagious. The laughter bubbles up between you, mingling with the evening air, and you find yourself laughing along, the shared moment creating a lingering sense of joy.

As you part ways, the memory of his smile and the warmth of his laughter accompany you, leaving a soft, lingering glow in your heart that makes the end of this day feel less like a farewell and more like a promise of things to come.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @sunnyrisee @jisunglyricist (Click on the link to join! All you have to do is answer a few questions to help me stay organized!)

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS! STAYBLR FUNDRAISER!

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heliads · 7 months ago

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Can you do Peter Pan x reader OUAT? Peter goes to the modern world with Emma, Snow, David and them as they are looking for someone. He meets this girl and takes an interest to her. He’s never seen someone with facial piercings, and dyed hair before, they come to realize she is the girl they’ve been looking for.

'magic finds magic' - peter pan

masterlist

Peter Pan is leaving Neverland. Worse, he’s leaving Neverland alongside Snow, Emma, David, and Hook. In terms of traveling partners, this has got to be the lowest of the low. However, the sand in Peter’s immortal hourglass is running out, and his first attempt at prolonging his life with the heart of Henry Mills didn’t exactly go according to plan. It’s this or nothing, even though Peter is starting to wonder if it would be better to just die than put up with these people any longer.

Never in his life did Peter Pan think he’d be working with the good guys. But never in his life did Peter think he’d be dying, either. A few compromises will have to be made in the name of preserving Peter’s everlasting life, and if that means he has to put up with some princesses and pirates for a few days, so be it. In no time at all, his immortal life will be restored, and he can go back to Neverland and put all of this behind him. Hopefully.

Peter was supposed to die back on Neverland. He was running out of time, anyway. He had set up the perfect scheme: kidnap Henry, disorient the boy’s rescuers on his island long enough to win the Heart of the Truest Believer, and cut the organ out of the boy’s chest if necessary. He’d almost gotten away with it, too, except he was foiled at the last minute. Heartbreaking. So unlike him.

For some reason, though, he hadn’t been left to die in the caverns of Skull Rock. Emma and the others had needed him, for some odd reason, and although none of them trust him in the slightest, they do trust Peter’s single-minded selfishness to keep himself alive. So they claim, at least, and so they had gotten a spell to give Peter one more week of life in exchange for help. If this plan works out, Peter will have a way to continue his immortal life without needing to murder Henry. If it doesn’t, or if he betrays them, he’ll die anyway.

He can feel it now, the pang of his close call with death. There’s a pain in his chest that wasn’t there before, a certain weakness in his lungs. Peter gets tired more easily. He feels– well, he feels like Henry and Emma. He feels mortal. Like he could die at any moment.

Peter has, obviously, thought about double-crossing them, maybe even triple-crossing them, but it’s no use. He feels shakily mortal right now, and Peter does not much enjoy the possibility of his own demise. This is the closest he’s ever come to being beaten, and Peter hates the feeling. He’ll have to play along for now, but after that, he will have his revenge.

First, though, Peter has to do what the others want. They’ve been careful to reveal as few details to him as possible, but the idea is solid. There’s a magical person somewhere in the modern world, in a city far from Storybrooke. This person is like the embodiment of a true love’s kiss spell, designed to renew hope in storybook characters through small acts of power that ultimately drive two needed people together. They’re like a guardian angel of those on the brink of destruction, which is exactly what Peter needs right now.

Peter has plenty of time to mull this over. They’ve forced him into a terrible, small room with awful carpets– an apartment, Emma called it– while they talk out what to do with both him and their missing spell-person. Peter is trying to focus, but he’s getting stared at by Henry Mills again, which is absolutely ruining his mood.

“What do you want?” Peter asks, glaring at the boy.

Henry just goggles back at him. “Don’t you feel bad for trying to kill me?”

Peter snorts. “Why would I do that?”

Henry shrugs. “You pretended you were my friend. I know you like the other Lost Boys on your island, I thought you would have felt bad for killing one of them. I guess not.”

“I don’t feel bad about killing someone so I would live,” Peter says, then wonders why he’s arguing with a child. “Go preach your morals to someone who wants to listen.”

“The others are busy,” Henry pouts.

Peter eyes him unhappily. “And what, I’m your best option for polite conversation? You really are desperate, aren’t you?”

Henry rolls his eyes. “I’d say you’re desperate. You’re the one who’s still talking to me.”

Peter can’t really argue with that, so he deftly changes the topic of conversation before Henry starts looking proud of himself again. “Tell me about our target again. You said you saw them before?”

“Only in a dream,” Henry admits, “but it was a clear dream, I swear. I saw a girl who looked about your age. She seemed like any other teenager, but there was something about her that was different. The way she spoke, maybe, or the glint in her eyes. She was magical, I’m sure of it. She can save Storybrooke.”

“And save me,” Peter reminds him. “That’s the important part.”

Henry rolls his eyes again. If he keeps that up, they’re going to get stuck like that forever. “Yes, I know, you’re only interested in keeping yourself alive. So long as it helps us find this girl, though, I don’t care.”

Peter leans forward. “What’s your plan for finding this girl, then? A little scouting party? This city is big. You’ll never find her.”

Henry shakes his head. “Magic has a way of finding magic. Somehow, our paths will cross.”

“That’s a terrible strategy,” Peter grouses. Why is he entrusting his life to this boy again? He remembers something about having no other options, but it doesn’t seem as good an excuse right now.

“Ask the adults, then,” Henry tells him, and gestures towards the miniscule apartment kitchen, where Emma, Snow, Hook, and David are currently huddled around a table, talking in hushed voices about what to do.

Not wanting to mess with the kid anymore, Peter pulls himself to his feet and heads over. “Tell me you have a plan,” he says.

The adults look up at him. “Find the girl,” Hook says shortly. “That’s our plan.”

Peter scoffs. “You could search this city for months and not find her. What if she doesn’t want to be found? If this girl has any brains at all, she’ll know that people will want her magic and she’ll hide. It’s what I would do.”

Emma sighs. “We don’t even know if this girl knows that she has magic. She’s probably just living an ordinary life, and we’re about to drag her out of it with all of our trouble.”

“Don’t tell me you feel bad for her,” Peter scolds her. “You want this, don’t you? So go get it, or I will.”

Snow tries to tell him to calm down, but David, so quick to anger when it comes to Peter, surges out of his chair. “How about you do something helpful and think with us instead of just insulting us?”

“I will do something helpful,” Peter informs him. “I’ll find her first.”

With that, he lunges for the apartment door, and is out of the tiny room and down the hall before they can stop him. Peter hears the thunder of footsteps after him, but he hurries down the stairs and out of the building. He has the advantage of being quick on his feet; if Neverland taught him anything, it’s how to run when you don’t want to be found.

Peter emerges into the bright sunshine of the city and stops dead in his tracks. He’s not used to the modern world, how the knives of its buildings slash up into the sky, how loud it is with those cars and signs and people. Peter swears he can even see metal things in the sky, soaring along predestined paths. It’s all so much compared to the world he used to know. No wonder some of the others had a hard time adjusting. His mortal heart lets out a pang of sympathy.

The door of the apartment building flies open, revealing Emma and the others hot on his trail. Peter curses under his breath and takes off in one direction, hurtling around pedestrians and shooting down the sidewalk. He heads for smaller streets, hoping to lose them in a swarm of alleyways. The others, more used to the terrain of the modern city, are gaining on him, and Peter is just starting to think that he’ll never be able to shake them when someone grabs him and pulls him into a nearby building.

Peter’s first instinct is to defend himself, but when he isn’t attacked, he realizes that the stranger is only trying to help him. There’s a window just to his left, and Peter watches Emma and the others appear seconds after him. They didn’t see him enter the shop, and keep sprinting down the road in the direction they thought he’d gone. Peter waits a few more intense moments, then decides that he’s lost them for good and turns back around to see who’s gone to the trouble of rescuing him.

He’s greeted with the sight of a girl about his age. She’s eyeing him cautiously, although the corners of her lips begin to prick up with a wicked grin. “Sorry for the rough introduction, but you looked like you needed some help,” she tells him.

Peter lets out a short laugh. “I’m glad to be rid of them, that’s for sure.”

The girl arches a brow. “What, did they catch you shoplifting? I’ve never seen people run that fast unless they were getting chased by the cops.”

Peter narrows his eyes, trying to figure out how on earth he would lift a shop, then decides it’s probably some slang term he doesn’t know. “Something like that,” he says evasively.

He studies the girl’s face to see if he’d answered correctly, and, judging by her impressed grin, he had. “Nice,” she says. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Peter,” he replies. He gets the urge to introduce himself as he usually would– Peter, Peter Pan– then remembers at the last second that Emma had warned him about telling people who he was. Apparently, telling people he was a fictional character in their world wouldn’t go over too well.

“Peter,” the girl repeats. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Peter says, and realizes belatedly that he means it. He feels like how he had at the start of it all, when the Lost Boys had first started appearing on this island, but this feeling is far stronger. He wants to get to know this girl. He certainly doesn’t want her to leave.

“I’m new to the city,” he says abruptly. “Any chance you could show me around?”

Y/N laughs, surprised. “You’re new and you’re already in trouble? You’ll fit right in, Peter.”

He grins, in on the joke a half beat late. “I like to have fun, that’s all.”

“Well,” Y/N says, starting to lead him back towards the door of the shop, “I like fun, too. Maybe we should stick together.”

“I’d like that,” Peter says, then wonders why he’s being so honest all of a sudden. When he sees Y/N’s smile– real this time, not sarcastic or joking, but genuinely because of him– he thinks he knows why.

The two of them step back out into the light. “Where to first?” Peter asks.

“I was going to ask you that,” Y/N replies. “What do you want to do? Sightseeing, maybe? We can get some food, or just talk.”

“Anything,” he says. He’d follow her anywhere. The feeling in him right now is like nothing he’s ever felt before. The pain in his chest, Peter realizes with some surprise, is gone. He feels immortal. Like living in this one moment could last forever.

They end up spending the next few hours together. Y/N shows him around the city, taking Peter to her favorite spots. Peter stares at the vast cityscape and finally starts to understand why someone might choose the modern world over the natural one. He’ll always pick Neverland first, of course, but seeing the world through Y/N’s eyes, it makes sense.

The two of them get along like a house on fire. Y/N’s got this rebellious streak to her that fits in perfectly with Peter’s, well, Peter-ness. No joke is too dark, no sarcastic comment too caustic. They feel the same. Peter doesn’t think he’s ever met someone who thinks so much like him.

As the sun starts to set in the sky, Peter feels his spirits sinking. He doesn’t want to let go of this day, not when he knows it can never happen again. He’s supposed to be finding Henry’s spell-girl, but all Peter wants to do is spend more time with Y/N.

His mood is especially ruined when they turn a corner and find Henry Mills walking towards them. Peter’s eyes widen and he tries to steer Y/N back in the direction they’d come, but it’s too late. Henry lets out an audible gasp and starts hurrying towards them.

“Peter,” Henry calls out when he’s close enough to talk, “We’ve been looking for you all over! Where have you been?”

Y/N glances at Henry dubiously. “Who’s this?”

“My little brother,” Peter blurts out.

At the same time, Henry chimes in, “My friend from school.”

Peter shoots the younger boy a quick glare, then turns back to Y/N. “Both, actually. He’s my step-brother. Recent marriage. We’re still getting acclimated. Our family is a little chaotic.”

“You can say that again,” Henry mumbles. Peter fights the urge to butcher him.

While Peter silently advises himself on why murder would be bad at a time like this, Henry stares openly at Y/N. All of a sudden, the boy’s mouth hangs open. “Oh my gosh, it’s you.”

Y/N’s brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

All of a sudden, Peter feels a sick sensation in his stomach. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t.

“You’re the girl from my dream,” Henry announces. “We’ve been looking for you.”

Y/N looks back at Peter. “What’s he talking about?”

The open, carefree expression, which had been on her face all day, is starting to be replaced with deep, unsettled fear. Peter hates to see it directed at him. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he begins. “Something about yourself.”

“You’re sounding a little creepy right now,” Y/N warns him. “Get to the point.”

“Alright,” Peter says. “You’re magical. So am I. We need your help to break a curse and save my life. How about that?”

Y/N shakes her head quickly. “This is crazy. Magic isn’t real.”

Peter can’t lose her, not like this, so he leans forward and holds out his hand. A ball of light appears inside his cupped fingers, glowing and bright. It’s a simple charm, one of the first he learned, but it has the desired effect.

Y/N stares at it, transfixed, and when she speaks again, her voice is hushed. “That’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible,” Peter says. “Not magic. Not even the fact that you would find me in this city by accident. Magic is drawn to magic.”

Y/N’s eyes slowly raise to meet his. “This is real, then. I have magic.”

“You have magic,” Peter confirms. “Come with us, we can show you. They’re good people, Y/N. You can trust them.”

It’s the closest he’s ever come to honesty. For once, Peter isn’t playing a game. He isn’t trying to trick Y/N over to his side. He just wants her to be safe, and he knows that isn’t through lies.

Y/N smiles at him. “I trust you, Peter. That’s enough for me.”

She reaches over and takes his hand. Now that he’s focusing on it, Peter can feel the slow loop of her magic when they touch. It feels like power, but more than that, it feels like life. A life with her, maybe. A life for both of them.

ouat tag list: @loveanimals0000, @eclliipsed, @w1shes43, @lost-ender

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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puppetmaster13u · 8 months ago

Text

Prompt 263

Once More, we return to Tiamat prompts.

It was a wonderful idea, really! If one of them couldn’t break the barrier, then surely their combined might would do it! And it had! It had worked, even if their remaining humanity was sacrificed. They’d done it, they’d made it where everyone could escape, could leave!

… Except for them. Someone had to close the portal. And it all would have been fine, if not for the remnants of the GIW. One last hail mary from the imbeciles, they all supposed. Trapping them here within the Zone.

Separated from their families, from the pair of children they had agreed to raise. At least their siblings would watch over Ellie and Jordan. Kyle could hide them, make sure they were safe. Jazz… Jazz was gone, the final straw in this plan.

They screamed, they raged, they destroyed in grief for those that didn’t make it, and for those who had but had nowhere to go. No portals opened, even as they tore at the green around them. They fought, any that thought they were weak, that they were merely a beast, an abomination trapped in chains of science and gold.

There was nothing that could be done, Frostbite had said, sympathy in his voice. No way to turn back the clock with how entwined they had become, Clockwork had explained. The only thing they could do was wait, Pandora had tried to sooth, despite it doing nothing.

They wrenched open the coffin in a hazy fury, tearing apart armies like it was blades of grass. Their maws devoured dead who had lost themselves and become mere husks and thralls, lashing tails ripping through armour like it was nothing.

And then as titans, they clashed with the one who had once stolen the city here. There was no desperation from them this time, no armor besides scales unbreakable as flames and storms and ice and thorns ripped islands apart. There was no desperation besides that of their opponent’s.

There was a pleasure in their victory, before it was wrenched away. What use was a crown when their family wasn’t there? When their daughter, their son, their children were not there by their side?

Paulina laughed, hysterical as ectoplasm dripped from her maw as Kwan howled. Their body was covered in it, their rampage that had no use, no reason leaving a trail of destruction behind them. Is this what they wanted?

No.

Danny raised his head from the dissolving corpses to look towards the obliterated roof of the Keep, once so terrifying now turning to dust like the crown. The crown reforming above their heads, heavy and almost choking.

They would carry this weight together. Would restructure things, would do what they had wanted to do for Amity before the Barriers. They’d work together to rebuild the Realms, make it safer, make it safe for those newly dead.

No matter how long it took, no matter how hard it would be to fix the destruction they had wrought in this meaningless battle. (“Danny, you’re the spokesperson,” Sam spoke up, thorn-like scales ruffling. “You’re most familiar with the realms thanks to the Infinimap.” Fair. “We’ll need allies, we’re only nine people.”)

(“Let me talk to the egyptian afterlife,” Tucker sounded exhausted, hood folding back. “I’m most familiar with them… Star, Paulina, you’re both Princess Dora’s favorites-”)

(“We can do it. Just give us time.” “Maybe a to-do list.” “Clockwork. We need to talk to Clockwork, he’d be most familiar with this.” “Rest first, nerds. We’re all… exhausted.”)

(Valerie laughed tiredly, blades melting to heal a broken horn. “Time isn’t linear here Dash. You know that. I know that. For once we’re the ones with time to spare.” It would take years to get things up to snuff. Make things Safe for when they could bring their families here.)

Their eyes opened as the now flimsy chains shattered, a smile stretching across the shared face of their humanoid form. Soon. They could return to the mortal realm soon. Just a little more, and they could see their little ones. They'd waited a thousand years, they could wait a few days more.

(also have sketch)

@fairy-lights-and-blobs @radiance1 You both seem to enjoy my Tiamat prompts/Aus lol

#DCxDP #DPxDC #Prompts #dp x marvel #The Class Pulls a Tiamat #Ghost King Danny #But Not Really it’s All of Them #Reminder for who is part of the Ennead: Danny/Dash/Sam/Tucker/Val/Paulina/Kwan/Star/Wes #They adopted Dani & Dan #Why yes there is a couple of “cults” from people from Amity #Liminality causes increased lifespans but those who were merely contaminated are long dead #This is also a bit of another Au #Ghost Kings have subconscious influence on the Realms (hence why all the ghosts were so fighty) which means~#Ghosts are Dragons #At least now they are #People outside the Realms aren’t aware that Pariah is no longer king thx to the large amount of destruction #Some poor hero or vigilante is going to try and stop this Portal thing #And end up in the throne room to their instant regret #The Ennead’s shortest form is still like 15ft (4.6m) & in dragon form is far above 200ft #Kyle is able to hide the truth while the truth can’t be hidden from Wes #Why yes the Ennead have been removed from their humanity a bit over time #it's been a while for them

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hamsterclaw · 8 months ago

Text

Yoongi’s a murder detective fighting burnout when he’s assigned the case that you and your former partner fucked up.

Paring: Yoongi x f! Reader

Genre: Detectives!Yoongi and reader

Rating: 18+

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of murder, bloodshed and assault, sex, depression and burnout, mentions of guns

The flashing blue lights in Yoongi’s window are followed by the wail of sirens cutting through the early evening bustle.

Yoongi looks out the window. He’s three floors up from street level, there’s raindrops tracking along the dirty glass, the faint smell of mildew that accompanies any rainfall in this filthy city.

Under the table, his good leather shoes, the ones he saves for weddings and funerals, have rubbed a hole in the skin over his achilles. Yoongi had worn them for his disciplinary hearing today, the part of him that still wants to be a cop temporarily winning over the part of him that doesn’t.

He wonders if this is what burnout feels like.

His superior, Kim Namjoon, had called him into his office after the hearing to tell him he was on probation, to clean up his act because he wouldn’t be so lucky as to get off next time.

The truth is, Yoongi had known while he was pressing the suspect’s face into gravel with his booted foot that it would come back to bite him on the ass.

He’d done it anyway.

Yoongi’s never been kind to scum who exploit children, but his partner, Jung Hoseok, had seen something in Yoongi’s face that day that had made him report Yoongi.

Yoongi doesn’t blame him. Hoseok has been his partner on and off for five years and he’s as sterling as they come. His moral compass is as strong as it was the day they graduated from the academy, despite all the fucked up shit they’ve seen.

Unlike Yoongi.

Yoongi was never black and white to begin with and now he’s so far into the grey he scares himself sometimes. It’s never been his goal to be the kind of cop who metes out his own justice.

Only madness lies that way.

Anyway now Hoseok’s been reassigned temporarily to narcotics, supposedly a break from homicide, and Yoongi’s partnerless.

Probably not for long, there’s always some hungry rookie wanting the credibility of working homicide.

Yoongi sighs, closes the file he’d been skimming. It’s well past seven, there aren’t any open cases that need his immediate attention and he figures he might as well go home to his apartment and his cat, Kenzo.

The pavement’s slippery under the smooth soles of his good shoes, Yoongi pulls his coat tighter against the early autumn chill as he walks the five blocks to his apartment.

The smell of fried wontons fills his nostrils as he passes a conduit street in the back end of Little China, Yoongi’s tempted to stop and pick up dinner.

He’s tempted every time and succumbed yesterday so he soldiers on, not without a pang of regret. He regrets food choices because he’d rather that, than think about his actual regrets.

The bang of a gunshot when he’d been two minutes too late to what then became a crime scene.

Fucking some girl with a cute face because he hadn’t been man enough to treat Mara the way she deserved.

Choosing to stay in homicide even after it had become clear to him that he had plumbed the depths of human depravity. Scarring his psyche repeatedly because it’s easier than making the active choice to request a transfer.

Yoongi unlocks his door, toes his shoes off, hangs up his coat.

There’s a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, a flash of grey fur as Kenzo skitters across the entryway, close but not touching him.

It’s the kind of greeting Yoongi can get behind.

He pours out a serving of dry food into Kenzo’s dish, heads to the fridge to reheat yesterday’s wontons.

Eats standing at the tiny kitchen island, cracks open a beer to wash it all down.

He catches sight of his face, pinched in the scowl it seems to fall into more often than not these days.

Jesus, is he getting old?

Yoongi avoids looking at his reflection again as he showers. Changes into the same t-shirt he’s been wearing for weeks, contemplates watching porn just to take the edge off, but decides he can’t be bothered.

He falls into sleep, deep and dreamless, wakes up with an almighty crick in his neck just before dawn from the way he’d been huddled in a tight ball under the covers.

He knows he’s not right, but he’s been not right for so long Yoongi wouldn’t even know where to start putting himself together again.

***

Redemption comes in odd packages, Yoongi thinks, as he looks up a case he worked on six months ago, a shady businessman on the fringe of organised crime who’d got high as a kite and beat a sex worker to death.

He’d been killed on the way to serving out his sentence in the cushy prison in Busan his fancy lawyer had managed to negotiate, crushed in the back of the transport vehicle when it had been t-boned by a lorry.

Apparently a freak accident, Yoongi doubts it but he’s also not going to look too closely, it’s out of his jurisdiction and he’s too jaded to mourn the loss of another brutal asshole. They’d had to identify the sex worker by her dental records and DNA, her face had been unrecognisable.

There’s a knock on the frosted glass panel on his office door, Yoongi looks up as Kim Namjoon walks in, followed by the latest hungry rookie angling for a stint in homicide.

‘Min Yoongi, this is Y/N L/N,’ Namjoon says. ‘She’s a new transfer in from the Seoul branch.’

Yoongi doesn’t have to fake his disinterest as he nods politely at you.

‘What’s the case?’ he asks.

Namjoon looks pointedly at the crime scene photo blown up on Yoongi’s screen.

Yoongi waits.

He can feel your gaze on him, but he’ll get to that later.

The anticipation of a new case never gets old, he’s been in homicide since he graduated off the beat ten years ago and he no longer thinks it’s sick of him to get excited about another murder.

It’s the thrill of the hunt that he lives for, the translation of nebulous facts and witness statements into a puzzle that he can solve.

Yoongi’s damn good at his job. It almost makes the sacrifices in the rest of his so-called life worth it.

Namjoon hands Yoongi a case file, crisp, sharp edges waiting to razor his fingertips open. Flat.

Inside, the standard cover page, then a note that makes Yoongi sit up straight out of his slouch.

He looks at Namjoon to find Namjoon’s already looking at him.

‘The reaper of Seoul?’

Yoongi realises as he says the words out loud how it sounds.

The capture and subsequent conviction of the serial killer who’d terrorised the citizens of Seoul for three years had made headlines nationwide.

Last year.

‘Yeah,’ Namjoon says, the tension in his jaw evident now that Yoongi’s looking at him properly.

Namjoon glances at you. ‘It would seem he never left.’

You shift your weight and your eyes meet Yoongi’s.

‘My partner and I broke the case,’ you say. There’s a brittle smoothness to your voice that Yoongi recognises as a paper thin facade over the hauntedness underneath. ‘Turns out we didn’t.’

***

The note in the case file is a single sheet of letter paper, lined in blue.

The handwriting is precise, neat between the lines.

Oh dear.

Better luck this time?

Best regards from your neighbourhood Reaper.

Yoongi looks at you, sitting across the room at the desk Hoseok’s temporarily vacated.

You’re staring at your screen, face backlit in blue, expression unreadable. You’re in black, nondescript knitwear, your hair pushed back from your face, eyes narrowed.

He clears his throat. ‘You worked the case with your partner.’

It’s a statement you answer to like a question.

‘It was the first case I picked up when I joined homicide,’ you say, turning to Yoongi. ‘It started with -‘

‘Kim Seulgi,’ Yoongi says.

You nod, almost grimacing at the name of the Seoul Reaper’s first high profile victim.

‘Her family wanted answers.’

Kim Seulgi had been born of Seoul’s elite, an architect with her grandfather’s firm who had picked up a number of accolades for her work on the National Opera House.

She’d been engaged to an equally accomplished classical pianist, Jeong Minho, and had been the only offspring of her wealthy parents.

She’d disappeared three days before her wedding, only to turn up on her wedding day, floating in the Hangang, dressed in the clothes she’d disappeared in.

You say, ‘She was an ambitious first target.’

‘Was she the first?’ Yoongi asks.

The flicker in your eyes tells him this isn’t the first time you’ve considered this.

‘My partner Kiho.’ There’s strain in your voice. You start again. ‘My partner, Kiho, and I thought he’d killed before.’

You shrug. ‘The captain felt we were wasting time looking back into his early years.’

Yoongi says, neutral, ‘Budgets are limited, your case must have passed the thresholds for plausible deniability.’

‘It seemed to fit,’ you agree.

Your eyes meet again. ‘Not all of it, though.’

Yoongi knows, intimately, what it’s like to not be certain. Sometimes all you have is your instinct. It’s one thing to build a case no reasonable person would doubt, but you’re also betting on your gut. You’re betting on being a good enough detective to know that the pieces fit, without forcing them to fit.

You’re betting on being honest with yourself, and Yoongi knows more than anyone how tempting the lies can be.

Now you’re the one watching him, taking the measure of him.

His email pings.

‘That’s the link to the full case file,’ you say.

You get up, carry a stack of notebooks to his desk.

‘Our notebooks,’ you say.

Yoongi looks at the stack.

Every cop’s got their own collection of notebooks, raw data and impressions that don’t always make it into official reports.

The equivalent of dirty underwear when you’re not expecting company versus lingerie when you’re down to fuck.

This close, he can smell your shampoo, bright and faintly floral.

You blink at him.

‘I need to sort something with human resources,’ you say. ‘I’ll see you later.’

In actual fact it’s 36 hours later when he next sees you, at 4am, at a crime scene.

***

The rain falling is more than a drizzle, enough that the tent around the victim is the first priority.

There’s an imprint of violence in the air, Yoongi knows you feel it too by the way your lips tighten as you duck under the yellow tape to join him.

You nod at him in greeting, then there’s silence as you enter the tent.

The victim’s on her front, face turned to the right, hand tucked under her cheek.

She hasn’t been dead long enough for livedo to set in, she would almost look asleep if it weren’t for the purple of her lips, the greyness to her complexion.

The bath of blood she’s lying in.

Yoongi can just see the edge of the gaping wound on her neck.

You wait until forensics turns her body over.

The top three buttons of her silk blouse are undone, her chest slick with blood.

Yoongi’s reading the crime scene like he’s reading you, and he knows what you’re going to say before you say it.

‘It’s him,’ you breathe. The devastation in your eyes makes it difficult for him to look at you. ‘Fuck, it’s him.’

***

You’re shivering visibly despite the hot coffee Yoongi’s poured you, despite the fact that he’s turned the heating in his ancient Hyundai up as far as it’ll go.

There are droplets of water in your hair, sparkling incongruously in the gloom.

You’re waiting till first light to knock on neighbourhood doors, the victim was found in a quiet cul-de-sac.

Two minutes from her own front door.

Not much chills Yoongi these days but that fact does make him pause.

The audacity of it.

He says, ‘I have a blanket in the trunk.’

You’re protesting but Yoongi gets back out in the rain anyway, grabs the blanket and gets back in.

Hands it to you, takes your cup as you drape the blanket around yourself.

‘It gets colder here than Seoul,’ Yoongi offers, handing you your coffee back.

‘We fucked it up,’ you say, and Yoongi knows that’s what you’ve been thinking since you saw the body.

He’s just been waiting for you to be ready to say it.

‘So make it right,’ he says, simple.

‘An innocent man’s in prison because Kiho and I fucked up,’ you say.

Yoongi doesn’t want to minimise it but he doubts the man you put away was completely innocent.

‘I read your notebooks,’ he says. ‘Who’s Jeon Bogyeol?’

There had been twelve murders before the arrest. All women in their late twenties to mid thirties, all living alone.

They’d all lived in the same part of Seoul, but apart from that there was nothing to link them that he could find.

You look at him warily. ‘He was a night watchman at the apartments of seven of the women.’

Yoongi waits.

‘We cross-referenced staff at all the addresses, and his name kept coming up. Like Jang Daeseong.’

You flinch at the name of the man convicted of the murders, as though it didn’t fall from your own lips.

You keep talking, though, your voice never faltering. ‘We never found any links between Jeon Bogyeol and the other five women.’

‘Did he have a history?’ Yoongi asks. He’s looking out the window at the first rays of sunrise, muted orange through the rain. His shoulder aches, an old injury he doesn’t think about except when he’s tired, and cold.

‘There was a neighbour,’ you say. You’re chewing on your bottom lip, a tell Yoongi’s noticed for the first time tonight.

‘She called the police once saying she’d seen Bogyeol taking a woman into his apartment against her will.’

You’re frowning. ‘The beat cops who responded to the call out said there was no sign of anyone else in his apartment. The neighbour moved away.’

‘Moved away?’ Yoongi asks, and you glance at him, understanding the sharpness in his tone.

‘I was going to look into it when the Chief shut us down,’ you say. It’s stated simply, like a fact, no sign of defensiveness.

Yoongi offers you more coffee from his flask.

‘Where’s Bogyeol now?’

‘When the new letter came in I looked him up,’ you say. The steam rising from your cup obscures part of your expression for a moment, but Yoongi can hear the tremor in your voice.

‘He’s less than fifty miles east of here.’

Dawn’s breaking, the rain’s finally starting to peter out, but Yoongi’s chilled anyway.

***

The morning sun is high in the sky by the time Yoongi and you finish interviewing the neighbours and the new victim’s friends and family.

Yoongi’s phone rings. It’s Namjoon.

‘Can you talk?’ Namjoon asks.

Yoongi mouths ‘Namjoon’ in response to your inquiring expression, puts some distance between you and him.

‘Yeah,’ he answers.

‘The post-mortem results are back, and the preliminary tox screen is negative. The ME’s put the cause of death as exsanguination.’

Yoongi processes this. ‘It’s the same MO as the previous Seoul reaper victims,’ he says.

Namjoon sighs. ‘Has anything new come out of your interviews?’

‘No,’ Yoongi says. The victim had been well-liked, none of the neighbours had seen or heard anything, and on the surface of it there were no conflicts he could see. Her boyfriend of two years had been away on a work trip, his location confirmed around the window of the crime.

Yoongi’s looking at you as you wait against the car, and when your name comes out of Namjoon’s mouth he’s already got an inkling of what Namjoon wants to know.

‘I reviewed the case,’ Namjoon says. ‘There are no obvious flaws or errors in their investigation.’

Yoongi grunts. ‘There was a lead that they didn’t follow up on.’

He fills Namjoon in.

‘I’ll follow it up.’

Namjoon says, thoughtfully, ‘I wonder where her partner’s working now.’

Yoongi’s surprised Namjoon doesn’t already know, to be honest, he’s always two steps ahead of Yoongi.

He flicks his gaze to you again. You’re still waiting against the car, and there’s a loneliness to your posture, a fatigued downturn to your mouth that makes him say, ‘Hey Joon, I’ll call you back, ok?’

He ends the call, unlocks the car.

‘We should get back and compare notes,’ Yoongi says. His voice has dropped the way it does when he’s tired, and shit, he is tired. He hasn’t slept well for a while.

‘Let me drive,’ you offer. You take his keys, and your fingers brush his for an instant.

The contact, brief though it is, makes Yoongi’s skin tingle.

He wonders if you notice his reaction, but you’re already sliding in, adjusting the seat, starting up the car.

***

Yoongi wakes when you’re parking the car, sits up, a little embarrassed.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, looking to gauge your reaction.

‘Don’t be,’ you reply. ‘I would have done the same if you’d driven.’

There’s a hint of mischief in the curve of your half-smile.

‘You mumble in your sleep.’

Yoongi rubs a hand over his face. ‘What’d I say?’

‘I couldn’t make out any words,’ you tell him, but there’s a twinkle in your eye that makes him wonder if that’s really true.

Mara is the only person who’s shared his bed in recent years, and she’d never mentioned anything.

You swipe your ID to get into the station, hit the lifts.

In the dire grey lighting you look almost as tired as he does.

‘Coffee?’ Yoongi offers, when you pass the vending machine on the way to the office.

‘Yeah,’ you say. You’re on your phone, frowning over a text.

Yoongi passes you a cup.

‘Problem?’ he asks.

‘Kiho,’ you say. You look at him. ‘My old partner. He wants to meet up.’

‘It’d be useful to talk through the case with him,’ Yoongi agrees.

Your expression is difficult to read. ‘He’s in a retreat a couple hours drive from here. He took time off after we closed the case.’

Yoongi gulps his coffee. ‘There isn’t anything else we can do here anyway, we’re waiting on leads.’

He reaches out his hand for the car keys. ‘I can drive.’

***

The retreat Kiho is staying in is set amongst the foothills of a mountain, rolling grounds all around, a view of the cliffs overlooking the sea.

It seems to Yoongi like a place only the very rich or the very damaged would live.

Unless you get better pay packets in Seoul he’s apprehensive about meeting Kiho.

You sign in at the front desk, the receptionist greets you warmly, like she’s met you a few times before.

You lead Yoongi through a huge lounge, through open patio doors and into a green. Yoongi’s looking around at the residents, scanning the area the way he does automatically whenever he’s in an unfamiliar place.

You’re waving a hand, and then you’re embracing a tall man tightly. Neither of you say anything but Yoongi can see the way your shoulders slump, like the tension’s draining out of you.

It’s only when the tall man looks up at Yoongi inquiringly that Yoongi notices the long scar running along his neck. Tracing the path of his jugular, vertical rather than horizontal.

Kiho extends a hand.

‘So you’re going to get our guy,’ he says.

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say to that.

‘We’re going to get him,’ he says, finally.

Kiho turns to you. ‘You haven’t told him,’ he says to you.

You’re looking at Yoongi.

‘We can tell him now.’

***

‘I started getting notes after Jang Daeseong was convicted,’ you say. You’re sitting in a gazebo with Yoongi and Kiho, mugs of coffee in front of you.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow.

You flick your eyes to his, then look away, unlock your phone.

Yoongi takes your phone, scrolls through a gallery of pictures.

Lined paper, handwriting he’s seen before.

Yoongi reads through the content, then returns your phone to you.

‘The originals are with forensics,’ you tell him. ‘The paper and ink are generic, impossible to trace. There’s no trace of DNA, not so much as a partial print.’

‘The notes stopped coming last month,’ you say. ‘Right around the time I moved.’

Kiho’s scratching his neck absently, Yoongi catches how your gaze drops to his scar.

The length of it’s longer than a stab wound, he thinks the surgeons might have had to extend the scar to repair the vessels beneath.

You turn to Yoongi.

‘We have to stop him,’ you say. ‘Use me to lure him out.’

‘He nearly killed me,’ Kiho says. His expression is sober, his tone flat.

He stops there, but Yoongi can hear his next words, loud and clear.

What’s he going to do to you?

‘We can’t let him keep going like this,’ you say, very gently.

Kiho meets Yoongi’s gaze.

Yoongi doesn’t falter.

‘He has to be stopped,’ he agrees.

***

The drive back to the police station goes quicker - there’s something about seeing your old partner that’s given you a bump of energy.

Yoongi can practically feel the adrenaline fizzing in your blood, coming off you in waves.

He’s worried about the crash when the adrenaline ebbs.

He sure as fuck hopes you can cope with the lows better than he can.

He’d put in a call before you left the retreat, Namjoon’s fast tracking a last known address on the neighbour of Jeon Bogyeol who’d moved away.

You’re typing an address into the satnav yourself, face drawn, eyes serious.

Yoongi doesn’t have to ask whose address it is.

‘Are you sure you’re up to this?’ he asks.

His voice is as neutral as he can make it but he already knows that you’ve made your decision.

It’s written all over you, in the way your shoulders are squared, in the tilt of your chin, in the way your hands are tensed into fists in your lap.

‘I need to see this through, Yoongi,’ you say.

Yoongi takes a moment.

‘What happened to Kiho?’ he asks.

‘He didn’t see who it was,’ you answer. Your eyes are fixed in front of you, jaw tensed.

‘He was heading home in between shifts and he got jumped in the car park under his apartment. If he hadn’t been found by the car park attendant —‘ you voice trails off, and you shiver.

‘He was lucky the car park attendant called for help right away. That his next door neighbour, fresh off a shift in the trauma department, arrived home when she did and was there to take over. That he lives five minutes on blue lights away from the best trauma centre in Seoul.’

You look at Yoongi. ‘Kiho’s damned lucky to be alive.’

‘It’s a different injury from the reaper’s usual MO,’ Yoongi says slowly.

You nod. ‘He was toying with us.’

‘You said you received notes from the Reaper,’ Yoongi says. He’s watching you carefully in the rearview. ‘What did they say?’

Your lips press together in a line, but your voice is steady when you answer.

‘He said he’d been watching me, and that he was coming for me. That I’d be his final kill.’

***

The address you’ve put in for Jeon Bogyeol is a house in a run down suburban neighbourhood, the type of place Yoongi grew up.

The houses are haphazardly arranged, like a careless scatter on a Monopoly board, connected by a warren of roads too narrow for more than one car to pass.

Yoongi can see you tensing up the closer you get to your destination, and after he parks and switches off the engine, he places his hand on your arm.

Your eyes are expressive, more so than your voice.

‘We haven’t got grounds yet for an arrest warrant,’ you say, flat.

‘We’re working the case,’ Yoongi replies. ‘And if it’s right, we’ll work it until it’s airtight.’

Your response is to stare at him a moment, then to push open the car door.

Yoongi notices that you’ve unzipped your jacket, making your holstered gun more visible.

His own gun presses against his hip, the weight of it reminding him that although he’s only drawn it a handful of times, each time has been with intent.

He sure as fuck hopes neither of you will have reason to draw your gun today.

***

The address is little more than a shack, a rickety door that looks like it’ll give under a strong kick, a boarded up window that’s visibly cracked.

Yoongi knocks, identifies you both.

Follows procedure because he’s determined to get it all right this time.

Get the monster locked up where he belongs.

You don’t have grounds to break down the door, at least not until you go round to the back and see the pink tricycle upended in the dirt, streamers splayed tendrils of pink and white.

There isn’t much that sends Yoongi into the grey as much as the suggestion that a child might be involved.

He doesn’t really recall looking at you to confirm, just knows that one minute he’s outside in the chill and the next he’s inside the shack, gun drawn, the metallic tang of blood in the back of his throat.

There’s nowhere to hide in the empty shack, Jeon Bogyeol is gone.

You do a cursory search but both of you know you aren’t going to find your answers here.

Then Yoongi must blank out, because the next thing he hears is your voice, firm, saying his name.

He’s panting, covered in sweat, back against a wall, your hands grabbing fistfuls of his jacket to keep him upright.

He blinks, and you snap into focus. There’s ringing in his ears.

Your mouth opens, and the ringing stops. He hears your voice.

‘Let’s go, Yoongi.’

He lets you lead him out, folds himself into the passenger seat of your car, notes distantly how you put your hand on the top of the doorframe like you’re worried he’s going to bang his head.

You start the engine and then you drive, and Yoongi’s grateful that you don’t say anything at all, don’t ask for an explanation of why a fucking tricycle sent him into a tailspin.

Yoongi looks down in his lap because he’s not ready to see if you’re looking at him differently now that you’ve seen him wig out.

You put the radio on after a few minutes, stop at a drive thru after an hour.

It’s only when you hand him a coffee, silently, that he’s moved to speak.

He clears his throat, and you’re the one who speaks, still looking straight ahead, out the windscreen.

‘You don’t have to tell me. I mean, I’ll listen if you do, but you don’t have to.’

Yoongi chews on that a moment.

‘Three years ago I worked what we thought was a murder in Busan. It turned out to be an abduction.’

Yoongi laughs. There’s no humour in it.

‘We found her. She was still warm. If we’d been ten minutes quicker at figuring it out, if her fucking dad had told us about the business deal he had that had gone sour sooner, if I’d even just tried harder…’

His voice trails off.

He risks a glance at you.

You’re still not looking at him.

‘I can’t speak to whether you could have prevented it, Yoongi. All I know is that none of us come to work to do a bad job.’

Your hand lands on his forearm briefly.

‘Some days are just bad days at the office.’

It’s not the first time Yoongi’s heard it, but it’s the first time it’s been said to him with no judgement that he can hear.

***

When you get back to the precinct, Namjoon’s waiting.

He hands Yoongi another case file.

‘I got Jimin to follow up on those leads we talked about,’ Namjoon says, no preamble.

‘We visited Jeon Bogyeol’s last known address,’ you say. ‘There’s no one there now, but it hasn’t been long since he moved out.’

Namjoon says, ‘Keep me informed.’

He nods to the case file. ‘There’s some interesting information in there.’

As Namjoon walks off, you turn to Yoongi.

‘I’m going down to visit someone I know in forensics, see if they can check the house.’

Yoongi heads for your joint office.

There’s a cleaning cart parked just outside the door, which opens just as Yoongi reaches for the doorknob.

The cleaner apologises and bows politely.

Yoongi steps aside to let her pass.

‘You forgot this,’ he says, spotting the dusting cloth left on your desk.

He hands it to her and places the file on his desk.

Outside, it’s raining again.

***

Yoongi wakes with a jolt.

You’re perched on the edge of his desk.

‘You should go home, get some sleep.’

‘In the middle of an active murder investigation?’ Yoongi mumbles.

‘I’m one of the potential targets, remember?’ you say, grimacing. ‘He might come to us.’

At Yoongi’s expression, you say, ‘We’ve been doing nothing but following up leads since the last murder. The last investigation took months, almost a year. What are you going to do, not sleep until he’s caught?’

‘I don’t sleep much anyway,’ Yoongi says, but he knows you’re right.

‘I know you don’t,’ you reply. There’s an empathy in your tone that reminds him you’re a homicide detective too.

You exchange a look, and then you both speak at the same time.

‘I should go —‘

‘Do you like wontons?’ Yoongi blurts out.

You raise an eyebrow. ‘Is this like inviting me in for ramen?’

‘What?’ Yoongi splutters. ‘No, not like that. There’s this place I go. They have—-‘

‘Wontons, I get it,’ you say. You get up. ‘Yeah. Let’s go.’

***

It’s been a while since Yoongi shared a meal with someone else, the last person was Hoseok, who could go straight from a crime scene to a steakhouse without turning a hair.

You’re chasing a wonton around your plate, fatigue lining the corners of your mouth.

Yoongi asks, ‘Where do you live?’

‘The other side of town,’ you tell him. ‘Near the financial district.’

‘Fancy,’ Yoongi muses.

‘More than I can afford,’ you say darkly. ‘If this case goes on for a while I’m going to need to move.’

You look up at him. ‘Where do you live?’

‘Close to here,’ Yoongi says.

‘Yeah?’

You put your chopsticks down. ‘I should —-‘

This time, Yoongi interrupts.

‘Do you want to come round for ramen?’

Your eyes meet, and there’s a beat of silence. Then a pulse of connection that sends heat through Yoongi’s veins.

Your knee brushes his under the table.

‘Yeah,’ you answer, deliberate. ‘Fuck, yeah.’

***

Yoongi’s always hated the preamble to a hookup, in his line of work uncertainty is a thing to be avoided.

You work the case until you get an explanation no reasonable person would doubt.

He finds himself waiting, though, now that you’re standing in his apartment.

You’re looking around, and he wonders if his existence seems as lonely on the outside as it feels on the inside.

He’s wondering if you’ve changed your mind, if you really did think he meant ramen, when you reach out and grasp the front of his shirt.

Slip the tips of your fingers just under, hold the placket as you use your other hand to unbutton. Start at his throat, work your way down, slowly.

His skin prickles under the warmth of your fingers.

You lean forward and press a kiss to the base of his neck.

Yoongi reaches up, slides a hand around the nape of your neck, and you tilt your face to his.

Close up, you’re soft.

Yoongi traces your bottom lip with his thumb, and your lips part.

You don’t say anything, though, and that’s ok, because Yoongi thinks you’re as talked out as he is.

It’s been a hell of a fucking day.

You’re kissing his neck again, instead of his mouth, and that’s ok, because this isn’t love, it’s comfort.

A human connection in a day filled with monsters.

Yoongi sighs as your hands slip over his bare chest, round to his back.

He helps you lift your top over your head, admires your breasts, nipples pressing against the fabric of your bra.

He cups the weight of them in his hands, and you moan.

Yoongi’s cock is filling out, and you’re undoing his belt like you want to see for yourself.

You drop to your knees in front of him, press your mouth onto the length of him over his boxer briefs, sigh with pleasure.

‘Not too much,’ Yoongi warns, ‘not if you want me to fuck you.’

You look up at him, hair mussed, a smile curving your lips.

You tug his boxer briefs down, and Yoongi curls a hand around himself so as not to hit you in the face.

‘Just let me —‘

You open your mouth to take him in, and Yoongi groans at the feel of your warmth.

When did he last —

His crown nudges the back of your throat, and you swallow, and he loses his train of thought.

He grabs your shoulder, tugs you up, kisses the smear of his own stickiness at the corner of your mouth.

The light slanting in through the window is hues of gold and orange, filling in the hollows of your face, outlining the curves of your body.

Yoongi has to stop looking at you because he doesn’t want to cry at how much he’s missed being close to someone like this.

‘Where do you want me?’ he asks, voice taut.

‘Anywhere,’ you say. ‘Just turn these fucking lights out.’

***

In the dark, Yoongi’s most enraptured by the warmth of you.

Your skin is smooth, so soft under his hands as he wraps his fingers around the curve of your hips.

His cock glides in and out of the heat between your legs, and your moans are beautiful but what really gets him are the hitches in your breathing as he moves.

He turns you over, onto your back, and you pull him to you. Your mouth opens on his shoulder in what would be a kiss if you weren’t biting down. Your tongue flicks over his bruised skin, an apology.

You haven’t spoken to each other in words in a while but Yoongi doesn’t think either of you need words right now.

At least he doesn’t.

You’re tightening around his cock now, your cries quickening until you gasp his name in a tone that makes him grunt and his hips jerk, taking him deep as he can go.

Even in his pleasure he makes sure not to crush you as he collapses next to you.

Then you’re up, walking over to the window, pulling up the sash, lighting a cigarette without asking if he’s ok with it.

Yoongi admires the outline of your profile against the glass.

‘I needed that,’ you say, taking a drag, hunching a little to blow smoke out of his window.

‘Me too,’ Yoongi says, honestly.

He ties off the condom, gets up to toss it in the trash on top of yesterday’s takeout.

Pours you a glass of water on his way back to bed.

He half expects you to be dressed, and you are, but in his clothes, not your own, an old t-shirt he’d tossed on the chair by the bed yesterday morning before he left for work.

He can’t see your face clearly in the dark. It makes it easy to find his voice.

‘You should stay,’ he says. ‘We can get coffee in the morning.’

You’re quiet. ‘I want to.’

Yoongi climbs into bed, and after a moment you slide in next to him.

Your bodies aren’t touching at all, but somehow having you there with him is enough.

Yoongi means to check on you, but he’s asleep so quickly he doesn’t get a chance to.

***

There’s a basketball hoop set into the wall in the back end of the station, a concrete square with a chain-link fence.

The building opposite is a block of offices, as is the building next to it.

Yoongi makes the shot, and you grab the ball on its first bounce.

You say, ‘Forensics got nothing from Jeon Bogyeol’s shack. He bleached the shit out of the place before he left.’

Yoongi grunts, watches you point and shoot.

He’d read through the file Namjoon gave him on the neighbour - it’s incomplete but she was last seen alive twelve weeks ago in a coastal town.

There’s something niggling at the back of his brain, he’d suggested shooting hoops in the hopes that the activity might shake the thought loose so his conscious mind can make the connection.

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

Namjoon.

‘I’m going up to see Namjoon,’ he says. ‘You coming?’

‘I’ll stay here for a bit,’ you say. ‘I’ll be up in a sec.’

Yoongi shrugs, lets himself back in.

Takes the stairs up to Namjoon’s office on the third floor.

There’s a cleaning cart parked next to the staff kitchen as he rounds the corner.

Yoongi’s about to knock on Namjoon’s door when his scattered thoughts crystallise.

The case file Namjoon had given him had a grainy photo of Jeon Bogyeol’s neighbour, the one who’d reported him and then disappeared.

He’s seen her face before, and recently.

Coming out of your office.

‘Fuck,’ he swears.

He grabs his phone out of his pocket, dials your number.

Your phone rings, and rings.

Yoongi takes off, down the stairs, back the way he came.

By the time he bursts out of the back door of the station, gun drawn, his heart’s thumping triple speed, but his hand is steady as he aims it at the man with a knife standing over you.

His finger goes from trigger guard to trigger.

‘Fucking drop it,’ Yoongi warns.

He doesn’t, so Yoongi shoots.

***

Jeon Bogyeol’s neighbour who had reported him was called Seo Hyerin.

She was in her early forties, an ex-teacher who he’d coerced into helping him by turning up at her new place even after she’d moved to get away from him.

She’d been too scared to disobey him, but in forcing her to help him, Jeon Bogyeol had given her access to enough information to clinch the case against him.

Once she’d found out he’d been shot and was likely to go straight from hospital to prison, she’d shared all that information with Yoongi and you.

The pieces fell into place so easily there was no need to make any of it fit.

And now Yoongi’s sitting in the kitchen of your apartment, watching as you pack things up.

He’d been right. Your place was fancy.

You were being transferred back to Seoul to finish up, see things through with the case.

He realises you’re looking at him.

‘My new place is a couple hours drive from here,’ you say.

‘Yeah?’ Yoongi says, like he hadn’t already looked it up.

He’d also looked up timed automated cat food dispensers, just because it was one thing to have a neighbour drop in and feed Kenzo if he’s stuck with a case occasionally, but it’s another thing if he’s regularly going to be driving down to see you.

If he’s regularly going to be spending the night away.

It’s uncharacteristic, for him, but he’s hopeful.

‘I slept pretty well that time,’ you say, looking down into your box.

You look up at him, and the curve of your lips makes Yoongi think to himself that he’d like to kiss you, sometime.

‘In your apartment,’ you clarify, like he wouldn’t already know.

‘I make good ramen,’ Yoongi says. ‘I can make it again for you, you know.’

You laugh, and the sound makes Yoongi feel warm.

He realises that he’s smiling.

Fuck, it’s been a while.

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