#catch me re-reading this over n over

[n0bluev]

The night sky can only be overshadowed by a star (its star.). A star of all things, the one thing that cannot be allowed to see the night of the sky, angled to be hidden away behind dawn and dusk. The night leaves quietly (but is cursed to come back ; avoiding is just like following when an orbit is shared.)

A star can only go off explosively, spectacularly. (Then, collapsed in on itself, away from the world to see (finally part of the shadow the night cast) it seems the bare core is at peace with never bringing day back : darkness soothes.)

Gojo is like a star - bright, hot, shining. Geto is like the night sky - mysterious, deep, endless.

[wandagcre]

it's a trap (when you act like that) | wanda maximoff 🔞

(College!Perv!Best friend Wanda Maximoff x Innocent!Fem Reader)

You cannot quite relate to the topic of pleasure. Being introverted and shy, your circle of people was limited, but you're more than grateful that Wanda - your best friend - is always there to help you out.

WARNING: corruption kink, pillow riding, first times, fingering, praise, wanda talking you through it - not proofread +18 / men & minors dni. Words: 4.2k

[perv!wanda series] | [masterlist]

For an hour, you settled on reading in comfortable silence with your best friend. Wanda laid on your lap comfortably, unlike you, she gave up skimming on her notes a few minutes ago. 

You giggle each time you catch her gaze on you. It was inquisitive and sometimes Wanda made silly faces. Thoughtful as ever, she’d pop in some candy in your mouth.

Her auburn hair grew out – instead, her brunette tresses were back. It was tempting for you the way they were sprawled out, wanting to comb them with your fingers and drop your notes – only having to listen to what stories your best friend would tell.

Lately, you noticed it’s been hard to be around Wanda. You can no longer hold her gaze than usual and you physically want to be closer to her – which was no problem because your best friend was always attentive and touchy with you. 

“Have you been working out? Look at these thighs,” You sharply inhaled as you felt fingertips, running feather-like on your skin. Wanda caught the act and it made her giggle softly. 

You shyly shook your head. “N-no. I haven’t.” 

She seemed not to buy your response. It’s the truth. Even if you indulged in some exercises, your workout routine was not strict about any type of weight lifting. Not like you had the time and all. In fact, it was one of the things that sometimes pulled you into your insecure thoughts, thinking that you’ve got an unattractive pair.

However, Wanda loves them as they were. She liked it when you got experimental with your wardrobe, changing it up with some short skirts that highlighted your legs and its curves. More so with your comfort in plain shorts, as it rewarded your best friend more of its exposure.

What Wanda didn’t like was winter and how it took away the sight of your gorgeous thighs. 

You insisted, “I’m serious! If you consider getting food from the top and bottom shelf of the fridge as squatting, then, my answer is yes.”

“Well, they look good to me. Keep it up.” Wanda playfully remarked. You chuckled lightly, not trusting your voice at the moment. “Want me to pull away?” 

Her voice was hypnotizing – insanely soothing. Almost like a balm, you’d say. Enough to make you re-read the damn sentence on your notes because you barely understood them. It doesn’t help that she kept her ministrations – tracing circular patterns that ascend to your inner thighs, causing goosebumps to wake.

“Took me by surprise, that's all. You can keep doing that if you want.”

“Is it relaxing?” Wanda whispered.

You shudder a bit and it made you scuffle in your position. “Kinda like you playing with my hair…”

Wanda was amused. You briefly wondered what was the joy in this – riling you up in some way. Were your reactions too entertaining? She had always been full of mischief, but lately, hanging out with your best friend made you…tense. It was not uncomfortable in a way that her actions burned, maybe they did, but in a different context. A realm you’ve never touched on – spurring you to confusion furthermore.

Her forefinger grazed over the space between your eyebrows. “What’s got you all so worked up, honey? You got this crease going on – you’re too tense. Wanna take a break?”

“Okay, yeah. That sounds nice.” You gave in. You couldn’t even process them anyway. 

You still appeared as bothered from Wanda’s point of view. She moved away from laying down between your thighs, looking at you who refused to meet her eyes. She was growing concerned. Had she overstepped this time?

Wanda was clueless. “Are you seeing someone?”

You looked incredulously at the woman.

“That’s out of the blue, Wands.”

“Can’t blame a girl for asking, (y/n/n). You’re usually reserved, I get that, but lately you seem to be always in deep thought? You know I can help, right?”

“I-I want to tell you but it can get weird.”

“Weird? Baby, we’ve known each other for years. How worse can it possibly get?” Wanda asked incredulously. Now she was concerned.

There’s nothing to hide. Wanda had a point, you thought. 

You whisper, “Lately, um. I-I’ve been trying to discover something.”

“Okay…” Wanda hummed, eyes focused on your lips.

You weren’t hesitant out of fear of being judged, but you didn’t know where your boundaries stood. 

Although, you remember how Wanda was so thoughtful that every time you bought some undies, she volunteers to come along and when you ask for her opinion, she carefully takes time to examine them. 

You remember her fingers tracing along the seams, making you turn around, asking for permission to touch so she can examine the material further around your butt and how it clung to your hips. They shouldn’t be tight, Wanda said.

“And it’s about pleasure. You know, that stuff.” You flail your hands. Can this get more embarrassing?

Meanwhile, Wanda was absolutely having the time of her life. She couldn't believe that this was happening. Of course, as the role of best friend, she would be very ecstatic to lead you.

She starts with a lilt of teasing in voice. “Sorry, honey, but there’s many things that can go around the topic of pleasure. I’m going to need you to elaborate.”

Poor you, didn’t even catch up to her teasing. You had enough.

“Touching the southern part!” You blurt out.

“Oh!”

“Yeah,”

“Huh.” Wanda looked inquisitive. Her head tilted to the side in faux wonder. In truth, she was thinking of ways to help you – defile you in this very bed – if she’s sly enough.

You groaned. Maybe this was a bad idea. 

“See, now it’s weird. I shouldn’t have-”

“No, no. It’s not weird. In fact, it’s normal to be curious about that. What’s your problem with it?”

“I don’t think I’m doing it right. I feel bad because I heard discussions about it – overheard some girls from my class. It’s all the hype I can’t get onto– I just don’t seem to get there–” 

You were rambling all things at once. Wanda had to process the thought of you touching yourself and getting frustrated, of course you wouldn’t know. You needed her – someone to get through it.

And Wanda was more than willing to step up.

With a glint in her eye, she suggests, “Want me to help you?”

Were you hearing things right? Surely, you misheard Wanda. Your mind couldn’t wrap the thought of it. How on earth can she help you? Maybe she’ll write them down or give you a video that wasn’t too explicit as porn. She knew that you hated them, after all. 

“You–won’t that be weird between us? And how?”

“Don’t even think about that. It’s me, honey. You can always count on me. Even about these types of situations. Do you trust me?”

You answered in a heartbeat. “More than anyone.”

“Good. What do you think, do you wanna get started?”

Right now? Your eyes widened. But there won’t be another time, you suppose. “Shit. Okay, yeah, sure.”

“We’ll take things slow, hm?” She bit her lip, trying to contain her excitement. Seeing you all bare for her – Wanda might as well cum at the mere thought of it. The way you nodded attentively made her stomach flip. “We’re going to test the waters. Since you’re having trouble with your fingers, we can do that later. Maybe we’ll try a different approach.”

Your cheeks burned at Wanda’s elaborate plan. “O-okay. I’ll listen to you.”

Wanda purses her lips and moves closer to you. You looked apprehensive, but not as much previously. Good.

“Have you ever heard about riding a pillow?”

“N-no…” You meekly answered. Porn was straight to the point. Too uncomfortable for your liking. It was penetration and done. You tried watching one or two, then that was it – you never thought about revisiting and looking further beyond that. “That’s a thing?”

Wanda, however, couldn’t help but scoot closer to you. How she was very elated to hear this – the woman couldn’t wait to introduce more things to you in the future, to be the one showing you the ropes of it.

“Yes it is. Some find it very rewarding. It’s so easy. ” She supplements.

Out of curiosity, you cannot filter yourself. “What about you… have you ever?”

“Yeah, I have.” She smoothly replied. Wanda was so self-assured, you can’t help but envy it a little. “And don’t worry, I’ll be guiding you at every step of the way, honey. Exploration of what you like and how it works is nothing to be ashamed of.”

It did the trick for you; Wanda picked up a relief sigh coming out of you. She smiled, rubbing your thighs enough to create a comfortable warmth.

“Use my pillow – don’t worry, it’s easy to get them washed.” Your movements were slow and hesitant, continuously looking back and forth to Wanda’s piercing green eyes and to her pillow innocently hanging at the corner of her bed. Grabbing the item, she shoots you a proud smile. “Now, take your bottoms off for me.” 

For Wanda. You felt the heat creep from your stomach, riding in waves, up to your neck and whole face. She nudges you by nodding her head. You’re entirely sure that you’re beyond stunned right now. Discarding your shorts and underwear at the same time, you quickly throw them away and cross your thighs. Wanda’s words being uttered in an authoritative and raunchy manner was enough to make you wet – you didn’t want her to see the proof of that.

“So good. You’re doing so, so well baby.” Wanda licked her bottom lip in anticipation. “Now, flip that pillow by its seams – the edges are an important part of this. Then, just mount it.”

Your heart raced – you can’t believe that this was happening – you’re about to ride a pillow in front of your attractive best friend and she’ll talk you through your first orgasm. Right here in her own cramped bed and pillow. Doing as Wanda says, you spread your legs apart and mounted the pillow that stood by its edges. You gasped at the sensation; it was the softest thing your core has ever touched and it was slightly cold.

Looking back at Wanda, she seemed lost in your center – who wouldn’t be, given this rare opportunity? She always had a crush on you. But you didn’t even notice. Now, your friendship was taken on the next level, she thanked any deity out there for her patience. ((And her power over you right now? It was hard not to revel in that.))

You looked so adorable. Wanda could compare you to bambi right now, especially when you thought you were being sly. She saw the slick forming on your pussy from earlier as you were stripping. It was mouthwatering that it drove Wanda insane, prickling through each nerve of her body.

“What next?” You shakily asked. It was intimidating to have her eyes fixated on you – you couldn’t decipher what was going on behind those green eyes.

“Gyrate your hips. Back and forth, slowly.” Wanda orders with a low voice.

She watches you try to move back and forth at the pillow. Your pussy grazed on the fabric, making your eyes flutter at each soft contact, but it wasn’t enough for your pleasure nor Wanda’s.

She waddled closer and placed her hands firm on your hips. You bite the inside of your cheek, slowing down your motion out of surprise. The least you can do was have an ounce of dignity, you couldn’t moan in front of Wanda.

You sweet thing, Wanda thought. It was evident how desperate you were in your soft and messy thrusts. She was focused on how you moved your hips clumsily and your folds wetter, the pillow darkening as your arousal stained them.

She couldn’t take it much longer.

“You’re almost bouncing, honey. Do it like this – in sliding motions.” A moan inevitably escaped your lips as she pushed your hips alone, quite literally guiding you. Wanda shuddered in delight. “Want that pretty pussy of yours gliding in, get that friction working already. Don’t be afraid to put all of your weight in it. It’s much better, trust me (y/n/n).”

Pretty? Wanda even used it in an inappropriate context. It affected you more than you thought it would, that you felt a spurt of liquid drip from your core. Was it supposed to be like this? It was better than previously. Maybe it was truly your form that made a better change. You thrust your hips more and no longer hesitated upon resting your lower body’s weight. 

It was much better, just like Wanda had said.

Wanda’s bed creaked louder and louder. Of course, you were getting lost in your own needs – you didn’t even notice.

Your resolve was visibly breaking in front of Wanda which she absolutely relished on.

“Don’t let me stop you from moaning, baby. It’s all about your pleasure.” Wanda gently reassured you. It was all you needed apparently to let loose. “Thrust your hips harder.” She commands you. It sparked more need that travelled to your lower stomach down to your core. 

Was this the feeling people always blabbered about? Because you’re sure that you understood it now. It completely took over your senses like crazy.

Your hands placed in front for balance, you do as your best friend said. She truly knows her way around here. You haven’t felt this needy before. The friction she mentioned was settling in quickly and it was addicting against your pussy. You close your eyes and arch your back. The softness soon burned – a delicious contradiction – and it was enough to make you feel soaked.

“Just like that…” Her hips have never left yours and matched the rough sliding motions, grasping firm around your bare skin. “It feels good, doesn’t it? You’re doing so great.” For me, Wanda wanted to add.

“M-mm, y-yes,” You whimpered and nodded dumbly. 

“You can also experiment with other motions – try what’s best for you. You can do circles with your hips,”

You immediately try as she recommended. Wanda had to stifle a giggle right then and there. Her headboard was starting to hit against the wall with your messy yet hard thrusts. It was obvious that the pleasure was brewing already, to which Wanda deviously smiled at. 

“Can I touch you down there? I bet it’s sticky already…” She whispered directly to your ear. You feel your best friend’s hot-white breath grazing satisfactory against your neck. It tickles! 

It wouldn’t hurt right? It was a part of the lesson, you suppose. Wanda knew better and you trusted her. “Y-yes. You can touch me, Wands.”

Without further ado, your best friend immediately went in to trace your outer folds. Fuck, you were so wet. You immediately coated her fingers, terribly addicting that she had to stop herself from plunging in so suddenly.

You continued to gyrate harder and it seems that there was the ‘spot’ that everyone was talking about. You lost track of it, but you felt how the pleasure intensified and moaned unadulteratedly, louder than before, that spurred Wanda to repeat the motion harder. With every glide against the pillow that you do, Wanda’s fingers were there at the edge to stimulate your throbbing core. Your breathing pattern grew heaving.

It was so, so addicting to have your slit pressed against the once innocent material and the friction it provided you–

“Stop there,” Wanda firmly said. You halt out of concern, rethinking whether you did something wrong. Your best friend, however, was pleased at your expression. 

“D-Did I do something wrong?” You gulped and weakly asked.

“No, honey. You did so well.” Wanda caressed your jaw and held you by the cheek with her clean hand. A pleased grin broke out of you to which Wanda duly noted. You liked praises. “That was the first lesson. You need something to stimulate you into the mood, it is very important. Now I’ll touch you first so you can mimic them later on. Is that okay?” Her hands descend to trail them at the center of your torso and stopped by the pelvic area.

This was going so well. You even forgot and thought how dumb it was to doubt Wanda and how she would embarrass you. It felt as though it was more than what you asked of her.

You wet your lips, “M-more than okay.” 

At this point, you valued Wanda's opinion more than ever.

“Good girl. We’ll get started.”

She swept away the crumpling notes and the stained pillow. Wanda almost moaned at the mere sight. It was like an animal had rudely rammed through her room.

Wanda stared at your half-lidded eyes that beamed at her words. Your hair was frazzled and barely can manage your own breathing. She caused this. And hell, she can’t wait to ravish you further. You felt reassured with her comforting smile and voice leading you on.

Your best friend grabbed you by the thighs to pull you closer to her. Wanda hummed in delight, a crooked smile on her lips appeared as you released a throaty moan again as she pushed them farther apart. 

“Now, listen carefully, (y/n/n). You have to tease your folds first and gather the wetness here,” Wanda sultry uttered and started to stroke your folds again and you helplessly nod. “It’s no trouble right now, considering how soaked you are.” She bit her lip and teased you by bringing up her fingers that were coated by your arousal. “Don’t hide them from me. It’s so pretty to see you like this, honey.” You arched your back for her and became flustered at Wanda’s words.

So warm and inviting. Wanda was flooded with glee, that she swooped in before anyone else could. With this, she also intends to be your last. No way in hell she can share you now after this.

You feel your cheeks and ears grow hot. You buck your hips for more as Wanda starts to stroke vertically and then random patterns at your soaked pussy. It wasn’t enough to scratch the itch you’ve been longing for.

Your nostrils flared, “W-Wands, please..”

Wanda felt herself damp as you moaned her name. It was like music to her ears. She immediately changed your position, from your hips up to encouraging you to lay down flat on her bed and adjusting to settle on your side – her fingers not leaving the inside of your pussy.

“What do you need, baby?” She pressed a kiss on your ear. The gesture was meant to comfort you but you felt your body burning even more.

“I need you! It’s so sticky and tickling me- I don’t… Can you please h-help me?”

You were needy, just as Wanda wanted you to be. She riled you up enough that she even felt you drip more wetness as she plunged deeper inside of you and hit the spongy wall that her fingers could reach. You were more than compliant all throughout the session that it made her heart soar.

“You can also play with your breasts, it can add a better feel for you, baby.” 

You hesitantly reach for your pair and Wanda’s awaiting (needy) eyes were the final nudge for you. You wanted to do good. At this point, the lines were blurred; you didn’t know if it was to achieve orgasm or praise from your best friend.

Hands skimming underneath your shirt, you also pushed up your bra and experimentally squeezed the flesh. You groaned and eyes half-lidded again, threatening to shut.

Wanda was ecstatic that she had convinced you through this. Her motions never faltered – if anything it was more determined – as she watched you play with your tits. She thought it was cute how your underwear mismatched, her eyes caught the sliver of the pale material of your panties and your bra in the color of a colder tone. Were you tugging on your perked nipples? You were so eager and feeling comfortable enough. Wanda almost demanded you to take them off, wanting to see them. Another time.

She kept on stimulating your pussy and with the addition of you playing with your breasts – it was impossible to even control your moans anymore. 

You threw your arms quickly around Wanda’s neck and hands had wrapped themselves on her nape. Opposed to her firm and determined motions, you were gentle with how you caressed her skin. Wanda melted with no hesitation and now, her dorm room was reverberating with moans along you.

“It’s so sticky down here just as you said. Now,” Wanda’s own breathing was ragged and you had to force yourself to listen to her. “I’m going for your clit. It’s in the uppermost area, covered by your hood. Need to stretch you more-” She grabbed your hand and made them trace the areas for you to pinpoint them better. Fuck, Wanda was right. You were soaking wet. “That better?”

You agreed furiously, “Y-Yes, but–”

“I know, I know. You need more.” Wanda kept her ministrations inside of you, stretched you better that you had to let out a guttural moan. The spot was back and she kept hitting it now mercilessly. “Is that it? That feels much better?”

“Oh, yes!”

Your needy core greedily swallowed Wanda’s fingers and you had no idea. So drunk in pleasure. So lost without her. You’re so lucky that you had her. Wanda was just as intoxicated as you, her dilated green eyes drinking up the warmth of your pussy and your writhing sight.

Upon making eye contact, you didn’t know how to react to the revelation of how those green eyes unashamedly looked at you. It was similar as Wanda would when she was examining you while fitting clothes – only now they appeared more hungry and she’ll devour you.

And the thing is that you will gladly let her. Another needy moan was ripped out of you, disturbing your rail of thoughts as Wanda added her thumb to the stimulation that circled around your clit, you laid there helplessly clenching on the bed sheets while you were in Wanda’s grasp.

“W-Wands… Wands! I think I’m going to pee,” You shyly inform the woman and the heel of your palm pressed against her clavicle to push her away, Wanda only shushed you.

It was familiar to you, you think that you’ve reached this extent but you always stopped because you were very unsure of what follows after.

You felt dirty and it was embarrassing how you were bucking your hips to meet Wanda’s plunging in your core. It halted your mood a little and Wanda immediately picked it up, as your walls clenched harder around her digits.

“That’s it, that’s it.” Wanda’s sultry voice spurred your gears again. You huffed and absorbed her words. “Don’t worry about it, you’re going to cum. Just listen to my voice baby, you’re doing so great for me.” It is more than okay, you repeat in your head. Wanda’s making you feel so good you felt like you were going to combust.

Your muscles grew tense around the abdomen area and all over your thighs - you feel the knot forming in there. You are frenzied to chase it.

“Cum for me, come on, my good girl.”

Wanda was sweating now as you were, and she kept ramming inside of your warm walls, a final hard stimulation around your clit did its job to untangle the knot you were feeling. 

“Wanda!” A guttural moan was ripped out of you.

It was the most angelic sound that Wanda has ever heard.

Your eyes were still closed shut. Still whining as you fall apart, it was the most freeing experience you’ve ever encountered. It’s easy to say that you were beyond satisfied this time around. Your body was almost floating and your mind was lightheaded–you’re sure of it. Your legs were spasming a little and it was hard to ignore the vivid feeling of liquid oozing out of your core. It was never ending and Wanda was tempted to drink them all up.

“You looked so beautiful there, honey. I’m proud of you.” She cooed sweetly in your ears and pressed a kiss on your forehead that was glistening with sheer sweat. 

You grew hot at her words. “Oh–!”

The bed shook again and creaked as Wanda rode out your orgasm. The squelching sound was more vivid to your ears. You cried out loud, feeling that it was too much, held your best friend’s wrist and finally Wanda pulled her digits out. Before your best friend can calm you down–

An aggressive banging resounded against Wanda’s dorm walls.

“It’s midterms week! Stop fucking!”

You froze. You completely forgot where you were and how thin the dorm walls were, making you cover your face with your palm. Meanwhile, Wanda couldn’t be more bothered – she simply laughed at how evidently embarrassed you are, threading through her own hair with a familiar glint in her eyes.

“I don’t think I can face the people outside anymore,” You admit, groaning as you sober up from the high. 

Why did you have to be so loud? 

“Mmm. Lucky for you, we’re staying inside for a while. I got some other tricks I wanted to show you.” Wanda bit her lip, crimson also spreading through her cheeks as she closed the gap again between you.

She can compare your gaze to a deer caught in headlights. Always so attentive and compliant.

With a little more touch from your best friend, you felt the hotness starting again in your lower stomach, making it twitch with familiar need – your studying session long forgotten and replaced with a different lesson.

do not repost/translate on other sites. © wandagcre

[jubshead]

𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐦

Paring: Agatha Harkness x Reader | Platonic Nicholas & Reader

Summary: Nickie’s mom has got it going on.

A/N: This is the biggest thing I’ve written so far and I hope you guys like it!

This fanfiction is inspired by the song Stacy’s mom. There are a lot of references to the lyrics and the clip, so let me now which ones do you guys catch!

OH AND if you guys click on the clothe I’m describing, a link will take you to the image a had in my mind while writing.

This isn’t beta read and english isn’t my mother language, so bear with me.

Warning: Smut, (18+) age difference, (brief) mommy kink, fingering.

Word count: 8.1k

Date: Oct 29, 2024

Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome!

Masterlist

Tag list: @nyoclosmom @stayevildarling @sasheemo @thefutureisus2020 @harknessshi (sorry for tagging you guys again, I’m making a few adjustments)

─────── ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ───────

Being back in your hometown feels weird, the feeling of seeing people stuck in time and unsatisfied with their life always gives you a turn on the stomach. You’d rarely come up here after your family moved a few years ago, the main reason for visiting was your bestfriend Nicholas, but more times than not he was the one who traveled to spend time with you. Your city was so much better in multiple senses, especially now that you live at the college dorm. 

As you didn’t have any relatives in town, you inevitably stayed at Nickie’s house. This time though, you felt like an intruder. Your friend commented on his parents’ recent divorce and how tension had been high for a while in their house before the separation. 

During the years you’ve known Nicholas, you hardly ever saw his parents, they were always on some kind of work trip and left Nicholas to be the host of the house when you were there. Weirder, though, was the fact that they were never together. From what your friend had told you, they traveled at the same time, but to completely different places. Apparently they were both on the enterprise business, you weren’t really sure of what. 

You’d cross paths with Mr. Scratch a couple of times, but you hadn't seen his mother since moving away as a child, you just remember her imposing presence and the overwhelming crush you used to have on her. 

Your friend had mentioned that she would be home this time. She hadn’t taken a vacation in years, but the separation seemed to bring calmness to her and she was trying to spend more time with her son, at least that’s what he told you, and it wasn’t like she needed to work overtime for money, they were rolling in it. 

You shyly roll your suitcase into the house’s pathway, anxiety eats you away and you hope that the person who greets you is your friend. It would feel awkward enough having Mrs. Harkness around the house while you were there, you didn’t want to re meet her after such a long time without Nicholas as a bridge. 

Letting out a breath when you see your friend’s smile, you jump into his arms, barely giving him time to catch you. His forearms circle your waist and lift your feet off the ground, shaking you left and right like a ragdoll. You huff and hear the sound of your bag hitting the ground after colliding with your foot. 

“Okay, okay. That’s enough.” You playfully pat him on his back and wait for him to settle back down. 

“Excuse me for being excited to meet my friend, who I haven't seen in over a year, 'cause she’s too preoccupied with her studies.” He uses your own words to mock you.

“Well…I’m here now, aren’t I?” Your shrug and he raises an eyebrow at you. “Come on, be useful for once and help me with my bag.” You walk past him and leave your suitcase at the door. 

“I forgot how insufferable you are.” He complains loud and clear, you turn back around in time to catch the smile in his face and stick out your tongue. 

“You know you love it!” 

“I might.” He mumbles under his breath and you ignore him, turning back around and going up the stairs. 

Your relationship with Nickie has always been light and playful, he was like the little brother you never had and you allowed yourself to act childish in his presence. He reminded you of your childhood in this town and running across the street with the other kids. So, when he’d drop hints of something else, you’d just brush it off. 

“Same room as always?” Your head peaks through the top of the stairs and you stare down at him as he struggles with your bag. 

“Actually, no. My mom is remodeling that one into a massage room.” You raise an eyebrow and he shrugs. “You can stay at the end of the corridor. It’s a little further from my room, but I’m sure you won’t mind.” He settles the suitcase at the top of the stairs and leads you in the direction you’re not accustomed to. 

“I sure don’t.” You assure him. “But I do wanna know where’s the illustrious Mrs. Harkness.” He lets out a chuckle at your nervous joke. 

“She went out to run some errands, but said she’d be back soon and bring us pizza for dinner.” He stops at the end of the corridor. At the front wall there’s a door and on its side another one. He opens up the one on the right. “Like I said, my mom is remodeling some stuff, so this is the closest room we have available on this floor. This door is her bedroom.” He points to the other entry and you try not to react. It would be fine. 

“Okay!” You exclaim and enter the enclosed space. The place was very similar to the one you were accustomed to, the only difference was spatially. 

It had a window, wardrobe, bed and bathroom like all the others you had visited at the residence, but this one was faced to the back of the house. A big window opened up to the backyard and you could see the glistening pool water reflecting the orange light of the sun set. Facing the window was the bed and, on its left side, the bathroom. 

Falling backwards, you bounce on the mattress and cover your eyes with the back of your elbow, all the adrenaline of the trip seems to leave your body at once. 

Your friend throws your bag by your side. “What the fuck did you bring? It feels like there’s 20 bricks in here.” 

“Stuff.” You reply passively, not moving a muscle.

He scoffs at you. “Okay, I can clearly tell you’re tired from your flight, so I’ll let you take a shower, put your ‘stuff’ away and I’ll call you when my mom arrives with our food. Does that sound good?”

“Yes, thank you!” You answer him gracefully and only take your arm away from your face when you hear the door close softly. 

Lazily you sit up on the comfortable surface, open up your suitcase and search for your shower essentials. You feel clammy and stinky after spending a few hours at the airport and on the plane, so a bath is the first thing on your mind. 

Finding a towel and adjusting the temperature is easy enough and in a few minutes you’re under the water pressure, tiredness mixes with anxiety and you slump against the wall. 

You feel an overwhelming excitement at seeing Nichola’s mother and while it feels like meeting your boyfriend’s mom, it is also a completely different feeling. You don’t care if she thinks you are good enough for her son, especially since you don’t have that kind of relationship with your friend, but you wanted it, craved even, that she liked you. 

Yeah, your childhood crush hadn’t passed.

You try not to let your thoughts eat you away by focusing on your routine and relaxing into the warm water. 

When you’re done, you get out of the shower and wrap yourself up in a towel. Brushing your wet hair, you look out of the window, the day passed and with it the sunlight. You hope your hair will dry before bed. 

You hear a soft knock and your friend’s voice. “Can I come in?”

“Gimme a second!” You scream back and hurriedly search your bag, grab a big shirt and pajama shorts. “Yes, come on in.” 

Your friend pokes his head into the room and stares at you. You must be quite a sight from the way his eyes rank over your body. Your hair is dripping, wetting your shirt, there’s a brush in your cream slicked hands and your shorts are hardly poking out from the shirt’s waistband. You don’t understand the appeal. 

“Yes, what is it?” You drawl out, taking him out of his trance. 

“Mom is home, brought us pizza.” He beams at you. “I told her you like pepperoni.” 

“And you are right as always, my friend.” You tell him in the worst southern accent someone has ever heard. 

He chuckles and you throw the brush on top of the bed, grab the towel to clean your hands and follow him out of the room. 

All your anxiety comes back as you go down the stairs, the smell of pizza fills the air and you hear movement in the kitchen. Entering the cooking area, you spot her right away. 

“Mom.” Nickie calls by your side. 

When she turns around, you feel trapped in a movie. It would be one of those scenes where a character is introduced and turns around in slow motion, with some random song in the back.

You try very hard not to gape at her. She is wearing a light brown loose suit accompanied by a white dress shirt underneath, her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows and on her feet you see expensive pointy black heels. Her hair is dark and matches her gold jewelry, she aged so well you feel like you’re one point away from falling to your knees in front of her.  

She opens up the biggest smile upon seeing you. 

“Oh hun, come here! Let me take a look at you.” She motions her hands towards herself and you timidly step into her arms. 

She places her hands on your forearms and slowly runs her eyes over your figure. You squirm under her intense gaze and uncomfortably think about your choice of clothes. You should have dressed up, she looks so elegant. 

She lets out a hum deep in her throat and you feel like a bug caught in a spider’s web when she looks into your eyes and smirks. 

“It’s lovely to finally meet you, dear. Nicholas spoke highly of you, but I must say his words don’t do you justice.” 

“Yeah? Wait until she opens her mouth.” Your friend says by your side and you shove him slightly. 

Agatha laughs at your antics and winks at you when you look back at her, making you blush. 

“Let's eat, shall we?” She claps her hands and brings them close to her chest, turns around and grabs the carbon box. 

Nicholas leads you into the dining table and you sit in front of him, on the left side of the head of the table, where Agatha settles down. You were starving, eating was the next thing on your mind after a shower and now that you are clean, you can enjoy the meal. Politely, you wait until Nicholas takes a slice and offers it to you, nodding eagerly, you extend your plate in his direction. 

You dive in and barely listen to the conversation they are having, that is, until you hear your name. 

“Yes?” You swallow hurriedly and feel the piece burning your throat as it slides down. 

“I was asking how college has been treating you, hun.” You gulp down the soda in front of you to smooth the pain. You are pleasantly surprised she knows something about you and is interested enough to ask.

“Oh, it’s been great! I really enjoy the course and the professors. It’s also a bonus that I moved out of my parents’ house.” You answer her excitedly. 

“I bet you are taking full advantage of that, right dear?” She says with a playful smile and scrunch in her face, before sipping her glass of wine. 

“Mom!” Nicholas exclaims by her side and you let out a nervous chuckle at the joke.

“I’m just kidding, honey.” She winks at him and waves her hands in the air in a dismissal movement. 

“I sure am, Mrs. Harkness.” You return the jab and she turns to look deep into your eyes, her mouth slowly grows into a grin. 

Distantly you hear your friend clean his throat and mumble “I didn’t need to know about that.” 

You slowly let go of her intense gaze to turn into your friend’s direction. 

“Don’t be a baby.” You throw your napkin across the table and he huffles in response.

After that, dinner doesn't last long. You patiently wait for Nicholas to finish what must be his fifth slice, before getting up and unspokenly offering yourself to clean up the dishes by grabbing the plates.  

You feel a light touch on your arm. “You don’t have to do that, dear. You must be tired from your flight, Nicholas will clean up for us.”

“I really don’t mind, Mrs. Harkness.” You feel her hand run lightly up to your elbow and you hold in your shudder. 

“Well, I insist.” Looking in your friend’s direction, he gives you a small smile and a nod. “And call me Agatha, hun.” 

Rapidly blinking, you turn to face her and are met with a smile. 

“Okay, humm…” Gently setting down the plates, you feel her hand slip from your arm. 

You hesitate and Mrs. Harkness encourages you. “Go on.” 

“Goodnight, then.” You practically run out of the room, stopping to glance back at them and give an awkward smile.

As much as you’d like to protest, Agatha is right. With a full belly, you feel your energy drain, your eyelids become heavy and you can only think about the big warm bed waiting for you. 

The worry of being a bad guest slips from your mind as soon as your head hits the pillow. 

─────── ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ───────

The detergent runs down your hands and into the drain. 

The window in front of the sink gives you a full view of the house’s backyard. The midday sun shines down into the grass, the pool glistens invitingly and a light breeze blows away a stuffy day.

Your night was uneventful, exhaustion seemed to take the best out of you and you woke up practically at lunch time. This time, though, you insisted on washing the dishes and wouldn’t take ‘no’ as an answer. 

You got carried away by your task a while ago and now your hands move in their own accord. The idea of spending a day under the sun brings a renewed energy into your body and you practically vibrate in anticipation. It’s been a while since you’ve been to a pool or the beach.  

You startled when your friend jumps to sit on the counter next to you.

“Jesus, Nicholas!” You exclaim loudly, stopping your sopped hand midway and preventing a wet shirt. 

He gives you a boyish smile and says. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine.” You murmur out. 

One second away from articulating your thoughts and suggesting your idea, you are interrupted by your friend.

“Should we spend the day outside?” He says and you look at him with big eyes and a wide grin. 

“That’s exactly what I was thinking!” You exclaim. “I’m almost done here. You can go upstairs and change already.” 

“Okay, bossy.” He playfully jabs while hopping out of the counter. On his way out of the kitchen he tells you. “I’m going to ask my mom if she wants to join us.” 

Your whole body freezes. The image of Mrs. Harkness wearing only a bikini comes into your mind and leaves you lightheaded, when you look back at him, he’s already gone. Fuck. 

You rapidly finish the dishes and dry your hand on a towel, run upstairs into your room and close the door softly. 

Placing your suitcase in the bed, you sort through your clothes in an attempt to find your best bikini. Sprawling everything around and leaving a mess behind, you try to breathe and be reasonable. She wouldn’t be looking at you in the same way that you would look at her, there is no reason to be worried. Yeah, right. Just because she wasn't attracted to you didn't mean you didn't want her approval.

Pulling out your favorite red bikini, you let out a small commemorative sound. The two-piece consisted of a top adjustable sideways and held by two strings that made a bow on your nape. The bottom was very similar in style, the front covered you up and was held by little bows on the side that lead to a thong. 

You change into it and look at yourself in the mirror. The color complemented your skin tone and the shape matched your body type. You repeat to yourself: there is no need to be worried. 

Easier said than done. 

You distract yourself by going into the bathroom and grabbing the sunscreen, the last thing you needed was to overthink and start biting your nails. 

As you leave the bedroom, you follow the sound of someone in the kitchen and find Nicholas eating some kind of fruit. 

His back is turned and you take a moment to really look at him. He was tall and defined, with a boyish light nature that seemed to make life easier. His light brown hair matches his father’s, but, other than that, he was Agatha though and though. Just as attractive as her and definitely broke as many hearts as his mother did. Maybe in another life things would be different between you two. 

You shudder at the thought. Definitely not this one, though. 

You approach him and grab a strawberry, barely registering his gaze appreciating your body as you lean into the counter and try to casually ask. 

“What did your mother say?” You take a bite of the berry.

It takes a hot minute for him to take his eyes off of you and respond. “Said she’s happy to join us. She’s changing, but told us to go ahead if we want to.” 

“Let's go then!” You exclaim and rapidly grab your friend and the bowl of fruit. 

You open the glass door and a light breeze invades the house, you don’t stop to appreciate it. Afraid of fainting if you saw Nickie’s mother only in a bikini, you struggle to get into the pool before she comes down. 

Placing your towel and the sunscreen in one of the chairs, you ignore your friend sitting next to you and move into the pool stair. 

“Why are you acting crazy?” He asks with a frown while you step down into the water. 

“I’m not.” You reply and he lets out a hum. Fuck him for seeing right through your bullshit. “I’m just excited, that’s all.” 

You dive in. The pool is in the perfect temperature for the hotness of the day. It was mostly covered by the shadows of the trees, so, for now, you don’t have to worry about sunscreen. 

Resurfacing and pulling your body into the pool’s edge, you throw a bit of water into your friend and say. 

“Aren’t you coming in?” He nods and you add. “Bring the strawberries with you.” 

Resting your head in the water, you let your body float freely. Your hearing is muffled and you take a moment to breathe in the space and relax. Having Nickie’s mom around was making you more anxious than you were prepared for. 

You look up into the bright blue sky and observe the clouds. The day was so beautiful and your need for praise and validation was quickly increasing. There was nothing wrong with having a crush, but if it was affecting you this much, you needed to let it go for a while. 

Your arms flow by your side and you clean your mind.

Time seems to stop in this position and you feel your body ease up for the first time since your friend told you his mother would be around. You hear a commotion outside of the pool and remain with your eyes closed, enjoying the empty pool before Nicholas jumps in and disturbs your peace. 

That doesn’t last long. A few seconds later you feel drops of water splashing on your face. You look up from between wet lashes to find Nicholas with his feet partially inside the water and his mother by his side. He had been calling you. 

“Yeah?” Wiping the excessive water from your face, you stand up.

“Would you mind sharing your sunscreen?” He asks you. 

“Of course not.” You reply and change focus.

His mother looks even better than you’d imagine, if that’s even possible. She’s wearing a black two-piece and from afar you can see the lace covering the fabric. It fits her body perfectly, the top is similar to yours, but it isn’t sideways adjustable. The bottom, though, is very different, where your bikini is thin and revealing, hers has thick strands and you can see that it covers her butt a lot more than yours do. You were right in assuming you’d faint if you saw her outside of the pool. The image makes you dizzy.

“Enjoying the water, hun?” She tracks your body with her eyes and licks her lips. 

You follow the action and it takes a noticeable second for your brain to process the question.

“Yes, I am, Mrs…Agatha.” You correct yourself and blush, from the slip up and the delay. Your face gets even hotter when she smirks and you realize you’ve been caught staring at her. 

You just can’t help yourself. She sits down and spreads sunscreen on herself. This woman is a goddess you’d pray for until the day you die. Her belly is straight and defined, her boobs are small and compliment her body perfectly. When she turns around, asking Nicholas to help reach her back, you blatantly look at her ass. It was round and perky. You feel like a pervert, but that doesn’t change the fact that you wish it was you spreading sunscreen on her back.

God, if you had seen her anywhere else, you’d never guess she was more than 45 and had a son. 

She catches you staring for a second time and winks at you. You dive back into the water to hide your red cheeks.  

The afternoon runs smoothly. Nicholas joins you in the pool and you try to distract yourself by playing with him. If took a peak or two at his mother bathing in the sun, who could blame you?

It's around 4pm when your friend decides to go inside and grab more fruits. You had devoured the strawberries a long time ago and were now starving after splashing, fighting and swimming with him like a kid. The day had turned out as great as you had expected it to be. 

You rest your tired head against the edge and hear a faint sound. You feel Agatha walk behind you, all the way to the pool ladder and fight against opening your eyes to stare at her backside. 

It is the first time she joins you on the water and you hear Nicholas from inside in the kitchen. Your thoughts run free and as relaxed as you are, you get distracted by the image conjured up in your head of your friend picking up fruits and washing them. 

You get slightly startled when you feel a hand running through your hair ends. Opening your eyes, you breathe in and try not to take a step back. Somehow, in your relaxed state, Agatha has crept up on you and is now standing a foot away. Her eyes are focused on the way her fingers twiddle your tips and in this proximity, you feel how hot her body is from soaking in the sun all day. 

“I was trying to remember you as a kid.” She starts and looks up into your eyes. “You were the one with the pigtails, right?”

“Yeah.” You let out a laugh as you remember your signature hairstyle back then and add a nervous joke. “I’m all grown up now, though.” 

“Yes, I can see that.” She replies slowly, her gaze drifting to your breasts. 

Her hand leaves your hair and descends through the water until you feel a faint touch of fingers in your waist. She smirks, closing up the space between you two. The top of her bikini brushes against yours and pressed against the pool’s edge and her body, you panic when you hear the glass door open behind you. 

She laughs at your wide eyes and dips her head into the water. Thanking all the heavens and architects that built this house, you turn around in time to see Nicholas rounding the corner. 

“There you go.” He sits on the floor next to your sprawled arms and places the bowl in front of your face. 

Feeling your heartbeat on your throat, you shove a grape on your mouth to calm yourself down. 

“I think you should put on some sunscreen now. Your cheeks are really red.” You cough and blush even more, he runs his thumb through your face and you try not to flinch at the image he could have walked on. 

“I was actually about to get out and stay under the sun for a while, so I’ll definitely do that.” You push yourself out of the water and feel eyes on your backside as you place your knees on the floor before getting up. Like mother, like son.

“Aw, you are getting out already?” He asks you with pleading eyes and you ignore him as you place yourself in one of the chairs.

“Already? I’ve been in there for hours. Look at my fingers.” You raise your palm up to show the wrinkled digits.

“You do look like an old mop.” He tells you with a side smile, you can only roll your eyes and let out a sarcastic laugh. “Come on! My mom just got in, we can’t leave her inside the water by herself.” 

“Oh no, I’m not staying.” You both turn to look in her direction. “I just wanted to dip in to cool down. Grab me a towel, will you?” She tells her son with a flourish of hands. 

He picks one from the pile while she steps up the pool stairs. You close your eyes, it wouldn’t be good to stare at your friend's mother in his presence. 

They exchange a few words and Agatha goes inside. Nicholas sits by your side and relaxes into the lounge, mimicking your facing up position. The bowl is placed between you two and from time to time you brush your hands against his when grabbing a berry. 

The sun shines down and your body heats up. The droplets of water evaporate and you avoid thinking about your little moment in the pool, you had promised yourself you would stop getting anxious around the house. What if Nichola’s mother may or may not be interested in you? That doesn’t change anything. 

Yeah, right.

God, if Nicholas found out about this crush he’d be heartbroken. It’s been clear for a while that he has feelings for you that aren’t reciprocated.

He doesn't even know you are a lesbian.

“Tell me again, when will your classes start?” You ask and remain in the same position. A plan to let him down gently already formed in your mind.

“Same as yours.” He replies without looking at you. 

You hum. “Are you excited for college?” 

“I honestly am, which is unexpected.” He holds the conversation and you both remain with your eyes closed.

“Yeah.” You let out a small chuckle. “For a few years there I thought you had given up on the idea.” 

“I had. I was thinking of taking over my parents' company.”

“Oh yes, I forgot you are a nepo baby.” You interrupt him and snort when you feel a towel landing on your face.

“As I was saying. I might still do that, but I shouldn’t run the business just because I’m their son. I want the knowledge to back me up.” He looks into your eyes and you give him a small genuine smile.

“Well, I think that’s very mature of you. I’m sure moving out of your mother’s house will help you decide what you want.” Sometimes you forget the 2 year difference between you two. 

“Yeah.” He replies and pauses before adding. “Sorry about my mom’s comment yesterday.”

You frown and take a while to remember what he was talking about. The dormitory innuendo.

“It’s fine really, she’s right.” You laugh.

“She is?” He looks at you with big puppy eyes and you brace yourself for the blow.

“Yes. My roommate is cool about it and, more times than not, she thinks the girls I bring in are only friends.” You try to respond to it conversationally.

You look into his eyes and wait for a reaction, his brain doesn’t automatically catch up and he stares at you like you had grown a second head. As soon as it dawns on him you watch in slow motion as his eyes grow abnormally wide and his mouth hangs open. You were more worried about his feelings than a rejection, you know he’d never hurt you intentionally. 

“Oh.” He lets out in a breath. 

He seems to be stuck  in place as he takes in the information, so you decide to move for both of you. Grabbing a towel, you place yourself on your feet and get up from the chair. Stretching your arms up and letting out a small groan, you turn in his direction. 

Out of curiosity, you take a second to look at the house and search for your room’s window. It doesn’t take long to find, it’s the second last to the left and by its side a balcony leads to a spaced bedroom. Squinting your eyes against the sun, you try following the movement you see inside. It takes a while, but your eyes settle against the difference in clarity and you almost fall over. 

Your brain catches up with the fact that Agatha’s room is next to yours a little late and inside the space you observe as she slowly unties her bikini with her back turned to you. She passes her head through the top knot and stretches her head from one side to another, before smoothing her finger through the indents caused by the bikini. You register your friend calling you and answer without taking your eyes off of her.

“Yeah?” You hum and add. “I’m gonna go take a shower.” 

You start walking without waiting for a response. You can’t take your eyes off of the scene being displayed in front of you, wishing she would turn a little more in your direction. When she starts removing the bottom, you feel the ground under your feet evaporating. 

Literally.

One second you are walking along the pool’s edge and the next one you feel the breath leave your body as you collide hard against the ground. Your head swims and your left side hurts like a bitch, with your attention somewhere else you forgot the pool floor was wet and slipped on it, hitting your back and hip. 

You faintly hear your friend getting up and have difficulty breathing through the pain, the world seems to twirl in front of your eyes and at the back of your mind you hear Mrs. Harkness calling out for her son. 

“Did you hit your head?” Nicholas casts a shadow on you as he crouches down to inspect the situation. 

Your only response is a groan. 

Embarrassment doesn’t even cross your mind, the pain radiates all the way from your ass to your left shoulder and leaves you thoughtless. The only thing you can concentrate on is trying to help your lungs do their work. 

“Can you get up?” Your friend tries again. 

“Give me a second, will you?” You wheeze out. 

“She’s fine!” He turns his back and shouts. 

Dropping your head in the direction he’s facing, you see his mother’s face full of concern as she leans over the balcony with a towel on. 

Your friend helps you up and you put all your weight on him as you hop into the house.

You throw yourself in one of the kitchen’s chair and your friend grabs a cup of water and pain medication, unspokenly offering to you. 

Nicholas helps you all the way upstairs and into your room. When he leaves, you rapidly get under the water stream and wash out all the chlorine sticking to your body before exhaustion leaves you infunctional. 

Out of the shower, you take a moment to look at your back in the mirror, purple spots are already forming and you just know you’ll be sore for days.

You throw yourself in bed and immediately pass out, wet hair and naked. A day in the pool has drained all your energy and the medication seems to knock you out completely. 

Even as tired as you are, your sleep in conturbed. You turn around and rumble your bed, trying to find a comfortable position for your throbbing left side. 

When you wake up, you are completely disoriented, night has fallen over and your room is pitch black, the only light comes from the moon as your open window curtain is blown away by a light breeze. You search around in the dark for your phone, the bright light shines in your eyes and you squint to look at the time: 1AM. You throw your head back and groan, you had fucked up your sleep schedule and everyone else was probably already asleep. 

The feeling of an empty stomach gives you enough energy to get up and move to the kitchen. Ignoring the main light, you turn on a few lamps and lighter illuminations around the house, creating a cozy environment. You find a white box on top of the balcony and pop a pill into your hand, swallowing it down with a cup of cold water. The effect of the medication had passed during your afternoon nap. 

Opening up the fridge, you find the leftovers of last night's pizza. You settle in the counter and eat it straight from the box, don't even bother heating it up. You shove up three slices and, in the meantime, decide to watch a movie. Throwing the empty box on the trash, you go into the television room and settle yourself laying sideways, your right side resting against the sofa. 

You hear a faint sound of steps coming from upstairs and ignore it. Someone must be going to the bathroom. Deciding on a random channel, you relax into the couch, the ambience and light sound from the television helping with your pain. 

The medication must be really strong, because you doze off once more. You open your eyes slowly and take a second to realize what has woken you up. Someone’s fingers are brushing through your hair lightly and a voice calls out your name. 

Your vision settles on the image of your friend’s mother sitting by your side. She’s wearing a long black robe, its pattern has a mixture of purple and green and her hair is resting mainly on her right shoulder. You thank the darkness for hiding the blush covering your cheeks as she looks down at you and asks. 

“How are you feeling, hun?” 

“Better. I just took another pill.” You whisper.  

“Do you mind if I take a look at your back?” Her fingers move from your hair and settle themselves lightly in your left rib. 

You shake your head and lay more into the sofa. A shiver runs down your body as she slides the thin material of your silk pajama blouse and brushes her hands through, what you assume, is the purple blooming on your skin.  

“Oh.” She lets out. 

“Is it that bad?” You ask, already knowing the answer. 

“Yes, but I’ve got just the stuff for it.” She tells you and gets up, disappearing into the house. 

You frown at her ways and focus on the television while waiting. Nicholas was probably asleep and wouldn’t wake up until tomorrow, being alone with his mom made you nervous beyond words, especially after earlier. You had no idea if she was only pushing your buttons, because she noticed you had a crush on her or if she was actually interested. 

The teasing made the thoughts of her having been with a woman cross your mind again. You could imagine, she traveled a lot, her husband was never around and she didn’t seem to have an interest in him anymore. It would be so easy for her to fall in bed with a woman on one of her trips.

You hear her bare feet walk into the living room and look up to catch a smile on her face.

“Come one, turn over for me.” Her choice of words makes you obey without a second thought. 

You cross your arms in front of your face and rest your forehead against them. You feel her presence behind you. Your back is turned to her and this time she doesn’t ask for permission before lifting up your shirt. Her nails run through your skin, following the movement.

“Nicholas has probably mentioned to you that I’m turning the upstairs room into a massage space.” You hear the lid of a bottle opening, before feeling something cold against your back. “Actually, dear. You should remove this.” She grabs your pajama top and you lift your head without a word.

Your bare breasts rests against the cushions and your head swirls. 

She hums before spreading the lubricant around, it brings a nice sensation to your heating skin. Inspecting the damage, she concentrates the oil mainly on your left side. 

Her movements are light until they aren’t, she puts pressure at the purple spots and you groan, pain blooming from your back and making you arch your chest into the couch, trying to avoid her feeling. She holds onto your waist to stop the motion, her hands are slick and placed much lower than normally appropriated. 

“Come on, this will be good for you.” She whispers close to your ear and her hair tickles your back. 

Like a child waiting for praise, you relax into her touch.

She continues the torturous massage and you can only let out painful moans that seem to sputter her on. Her fingers focus firstly on your shoulders, the reason for removing the shirt apparent now as her fingers circle around the muscle and ease up the tension. This part doesn’t hurt as much and you’re able to appreciate it when her fingers work on the tired knots. The tension starts leaving your body and from time to time you let out timid groans of appreciation.

The oil heats up against your back and her hands press down into your ribs. Her hands circle your body and her thumbs work hard on liberating the coagulated blood under the skin. The burning sensation brought by the lubrication helps with the pain and the way she aggressively grabs onto you leaves traces behind, you feel your hard nipples brushing against the sofa. 

“Oh, honey. This is worse than I thought.” She tells you as her hands cascade into the worst part. 

You fell ass first and most of the impact has been on the area. She runs her digits on the lower side of your back, brushing from time to time against the thin material covering your bottom. This part is more painful, but you face it up like a big girl. The bone causes a harder surface and she incessantly moves. You hiss through clenched teeth and pray she will be over soon. The pain is worse than in the other parts and the massage seems to stretch for an absurd amount of time, in agony you can’t even appreciate the fact that Agatha Harkness has her hands on you. 

She finally stops and you relax into the couch. The silence hangs around you and you wait for her to get up and go back to sleep.

“Do you mind if I take this off?” She asks, stretching the waistband of your shorts before letting it go. 

You blink rapidly and freeze. The question catches you off guard and you don’t have an automatic reaction. 

“I’m not wearing underwear.” You whisper shyly. 

“Not a problem, hun.” Somehow you can hear the grin on her voice. 

Before you can move, she’s already running the fabric down your legs. Changing your body’s weight into your forearms, you help her by lifting your behind. 

“Wait. Stay like this.” Your brain short circuits at the demand. 

You are practically doggie style and your naked center is squeezed by your thigh in a pitiful attempt to hide it from her. You feel her moving behind you before placing a pillow under your hip.

“There we go. Are you comfortable?” She asks you without reservations. 

You inspect the position you’re in. A large bolster props your uncovered ass up, your back is partially arched, following the weight deposited in your arms. Your hair is in a bun and your skin is covered in oil. Your nipples are hard rock and your breasts are begging for attention. You feel wetness in your lower lips. 

Biting your lips, you nod.

“Great.” She lightly claps behind you.

You feel the couch dip by your side and tense up as she straddles the upturned side of your legs. Her thighs are pressed against yours and her weight doesn’t bother you. You estimate your ass is leveled with her ribs. If she got on her knees, she could be fucking you from behind. 

Oh god, honestly the worst thought you could have when your cunt is practically in her face. 

Her body shifts as she picks up the bottle on the table, a light texture is poured on top of your rear and you feel it run down your legs. She places the bottle back down and grabs a fistfull of your ass, you let out an involuntary moan and hear a malicious chuckle behind you.

“Enjoying yourself?” She teases you.

Your cheeks heat up at the joke and you don’t respond, your voice seems to have escaped you. 

Her hands wander around and squeeze, you have the vague impression that she’s feeling you up instead of actually doing a massage. The palpation worsens your current aroused situation and you try to close your legs as much as possible without her notice. She focuses all of her attention where the purple is mostly concentrated, her fingers are firm and direct, this time though, the pain mixes with pleasure and you grab hard into the sofa in an attempt to hide your needy moans. Her hands graze your center a few times and everytime it happens, you buck into it. 

You feel like a bitch in heat. 

The wetness between your legs seems to gather unstoppable and you are barely able to contain your sounds. You’ve never felt this aroused in your life. 

You faintly register Agatha calling out for you. 

“Yes?” You hoarsely let out, previously unnoticed drools run down your chin and your eyes are shut closed. 

“You are making a mess of my hand, hun.” You blush so furiously a salmon would be jealous of you. 

You register the wetness of your center sticking in your thighs and joining the oil she was using. You are left speechless for what feels like the 100th time in her presence. Her hands move up through the outside of your legs before harshly grabbing your hip and bringing it close to her own center. She leans over the curve of your back to whisper in your ear.

“Let mommy take care of you.”

You moan aloud at the name.

You feel her breath ghost against your cheek as she laughs at you. Her nails run down your ass and brush your center, ignoring it. You knew in your state it wouldn’t take much for you to come, but, unfortunately for you, Agatha’s number 1 hobby seemed to be teasing.

She pulls back and focuses her attention on your backside, while her white acrylics run from your knees all the way up, her mouth works on scratching her teeth through your right ass cheek. 

Her palm carefully grope your purple spot and you let out a small yelp at the harsh bite she delivers on your good cheek. She kisses it better and shows the same light appreciation to your hurt side. 

Her lips leave your skin as she manhandles you. The grip on your hip pushes your ass higher and you rise up on your elbows. If you were playing about having your center in her face before, you definitely weren’t laughing now. 

“Oh, dear. You are drenched.” On her knees, she parts your folds with her fingers and you lean against her. She runs her digits down and easily finds you clit, pressing it lightly and causing a restrained whine to escape you. 

“Don’t do that. I want to hear all your pretty sounds.” She tells you in an almost sing-song voice, but you know she's not asking. 

Obeying as she applies more pressure, you let out a free moan. Your face burns and you pant against the couch’s armrest. The oil on your skin seems to be some kind of special brand as it burns you up, your nape feels sticky as sweat starts to leave your body and you can’t focus on anything else besides the pleasure Agatha is giving you. 

Your head swims when you feel her digits run up your slit and enter you. She pauses inside and you thrust back, whining from the delay. She seems to find amusement in your torture and laughs before slowly moving her digits. 

She takes pleasure in watching you bend yourself to chase her finger and holds into your waist to contain part of your harsh movement. She teases you by letting her finger plunge in the slowest motion possible. 

Even with the leisure pace you feel your pleasure building brick by brick. It’s a new sensation to have your orgasm sluggish reach you and, as good as it feels, it’s also not nearly enough to drive you over the edge. You moan, whine and trash against the sofa.

“Agatha, please!” That’s just about what your brain is able to formulate in your aroused muffled head. 

“Such a pretty girl using her words.” The praise only seems to worsen your condition and you let out a frustrated cry at the light way her fingers keep moving. 

The sound has an effect, though. She applies pressure and curls her fingers, hitting just the right spot to make you sob. She sets a forceful rhythm by using her hips as leverage, enough to make you hit your head against the couch headboard and hold onto it for dear life. 

Your moans come out uncontrollably and you barely register, you could be screaming at the top of your lungs and you wouldn’t know. The pleasure comes in waves, your back undulates against her firm grip and your nails scratch at the fabric under your fingers. It’s so much and not enough at the same time. You try to voice your thoughts, but only a groan leaves your mouth.  

“Yes, I know.” She smoothes you and gently takes your hair from your face, contrasting her other actions.

She does seem to know, because a few seconds later her hand joins the other one in your center, her movement is continuous and it takes a second for her to find your clit. When she touches it and applies pressure your vision turns black. You’d be worried about your temporary blindness if the circular motions on your clit, coupled up with her finger hitting the perfect spot inside you and her nails leaving a delicious stinging behind, hadn’t made you double over as your climax finally hit you. 

You’re sure this is the longest time you’ve spent coming in your life. The waves seem to crash into another as Agatha keeps entering you and drawing out the pleasure. Her pace doesn’t slow down and when you think it’ll be over it starts for a second time. Your head in thoughtless, you had literally been fucked stupid and was pretty sure that somewhere your mind couldn’t reach, you heard yourself moaning like a bitch. 

After what felt like minutes, your body completely slumps down into the couch. Your breath is coming out in harsh puffs and you don’t even feel the pain of the fall anymore. Someone brushes fingers through your scalp and you look up to catch Agatha’s dirty smile. 

Her robe is rumpled and open, you barely have time to appreciatively run your eyes down her naked figure before hearing. 

“Mom?” 

Fuck. 

[stxrvel]

remorse (5)

series summary. the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life? pairing. eventually ot7 x f!reader... or not? content. first of all, english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes! curse words, flashback, a lot of remorse, fights, stubborn people, lack of communication, angst. a/n. its finally here. i haven't re read this chapter bc im almost falling asleep and i have to work tomorrow, but i'll give this one another look in the weekend. a friend of mine helped me with the traduction bc i'm really really burnt out rn. also, chapters names changed!! i hope you guys like this one! see you on the next one🫶🏻

series masterlist | bts masterlist | previous | next

“Oppa…”

Yoongi raised his head, his body leaning toward the piano acknowledging your presence in the room, and you could tell how he was physically struggling to move away from the instrument. Under his watchful gaze, you walked in his direction shuffling your feet, with a pitiful expression and every intention of openly complaining to one of the elders in your group of friends. But you relaxed your expression when you were a few steps away, recognizing his notebook on the piano lid and the trail of ink between his fingers at a safe distance from the keys.

His laughter confused you, and when you looked up, his lips were curved into a pretty smile. It was annoying. He was only two years older than you.

“What happened now?”

You remembered that you had come with a purpose, but your mind, as evasive and suggestible as ever, found more interest in what your eyes had caught.

“The usual,” you barely commented, moving to sit on your legs in front of Yoongi. “Were you writing?”

Yoongi glanced over to find his notebook, his shoulders shaking in a sigh because he knew he wouldn't be able to escape this conversation now that you had discovered him.

“Something like that…”

“Can I see it?”

“It's nothing decent. I don't think it's prudent.”

You pressed your lips together at his response, letting your shoulders droop, disappointed. But it was what you had expected; after all, Yoongi was quite secretive about his notebook, and it was rare for him to let you get this close and know so much about him. Even though you had probably known each other since you learned to swim and multiply, and surely knew more skeletons in his closet than he would like to admit, Yoongi still had a reluctance to show you or anyonw his writings. You had to catch him at a very relaxed moment.

So you set aside your emotions, not allowing Yoongi to respond as you pouted, and crossed your arms while turning your head away.

“Taehyung and Jungkook got so competitive on the court that they kicked us all out,” you frowned, remembering how the two had rushed past you and stolen the ball in the blink of an eye, moving so quickly and with cheeky laughter that you barely understood what was happening until you saw them tussling with the ball in front of the scoring area.

They were already in extracurricular hours, and although everyone had subjects to study and delve into, they decided to take a moment to take advantage of the fact that the school court would be empty and play for a while. Jin and Namjoon had left the game after two quarters because they simply couldn't keep up, and since one was in your group with Jimin and the other with the two kings of competition that day, they decided to kick them out and leave them as referees along with Hobi, who was the initial one.

Surprisingly, Yoongi also didn’t attend the game or his extracurricular class, choosing to get lost in the music room, taking advantage of the fact that it was empty that day because classes ended early.

“I don’t understand why they have to ruin everyone’s fun.”

Your little thirteen-year-old self, ignorant of many aspects of life, could only cross her arms and complain. Yoongi smiled, his two extra years of age giving him an understanding that perhaps you didn’t have access to, because it was inconceivable to you that such a sacrilege could be considered funny. Basketball hours were sacred!

“They're just messing around.”

“Oppa, you should've seen how they were pushing each other,” you shook your head, refusing to believe that Yoongi really wanted to defend them. “If you had been there, you could've stopped them.”

“And Jin?”

“He was laughing with them.”

“Ah,” Yoongi turned his head. “So the second best option was me?”

You shrugged. “Well, I thought I could convince you to go to the court, but…”

“But…?” Yoongi rested a hand on the bench, leaning in to see you on the floor.

“Maybe it’s more fun to listen to you play the piano.”

You smiled brightly, intertwining your fingers while Yoongi wore a half-smile. Without responding, he straightened up again, adopting the posture he had when you saw him through the glass of the door, before you interrupted his concentration. His fingers danced in the air for a few seconds, touching the notes in his head, recalling sound after sound, until the pressure on them gave way to a melody unknown to you.

It had to be a new piece, a new composition in his notebook. Yoongi played, calm and serene, focused and absorbed, letting the sound flow as if it came directly from nature.

Seeing Yoongi like this was… a strange event. Later, as time passed, you would think it was unbearable to have to see him everywhere, to hear his name around every corner, but at that moment you were lost in him, absorbing the sounds of his mind that his fingers materialized on the piano, allowing yourself to be carried away by the tide of his emotions, the way he conveyed so many words with his touches. The fast and slow notes, the change of tempo, all so meticulously created and organized to send a message, to describe an emotion, to paint a scene.

Yoongi was scared. Perhaps nervous, even. When he finished his piece, you could only look at him in awe, his shoulders moving a little faster due to the intensity with which he finished, keeping his head down, as if processing what he had just done. His fear was palpable, his hopelessness and unease.

“Oppa?”

“I don’t know…” he paused, dropping the lid over the keys and taking a calmer posture. “I don’t know if I’ll do the right thing when I graduate.”

“Why?” your brow furrowed, and you leaned forward in concern. “You’ve always talked about it. And you have a lot of talent, oppa, I know you’ll make it.”

Yoongi gave a nearly pained smile, as if he understood something you had no idea about.

“Jin is going to medical school.”

“I know. But it’s what he’s passionate about,” you moved closer to your friend, trying to give him some of the support he always gave you. “Isn’t music what you’re passionate about?”

The black-haired boy frowned. The answer was clear in his eyes, in the way he played the piano until he was breathless, but the gestures of his doubts were there too: when his fingers trembled with anxiety, his eyes gaining more shine as the seconds passed.

“Oppa,” you called, trying to break the silence, trying to prevent his thoughts from eating him alive. “If it’s what you love, you’ll succeed. I’m sure of that.”

You saw how the haze in his eyes disappeared, his features relaxing at least a little.

“I probably only have your support. I’ll have to rely on that.”

His small smile constricted your heart. In that moment, you didn’t know what you could do to show him that it was enough, but you were also unaware of the reality that his words held. It was probably due to your age, the age difference with Yoongi, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he would never be completely satisfied with that. You wondered if it was about you, just for a second, recalling the way he smiled when some of the other boys gave him words of encouragement.

Maybe he was just more vulnerable with you than with the others, but a thirteen-year-old's reasoning didn't go that far.

With your foolish conclusion, you came home that day with a heavy heart.

-

Speaking of loose ends and unresolved issues, there were some specific people who deserved to take home the award and the crown for the most intrigue of the century. Because when you entered Choi Dohyun's office, with Seojun and Yuna on either side, even knowing that there were things still pending answers and others you could barely understand, the last thing you expected was for those you weren’t even aware of to suddenly materialize, like a kick to the stomach.

But keeping your head high and your composure was something you had lacked the last time, and thus, against all odds, your face showed no emotion when you caught a glimpse of Min Yoongi storming out of the office looking angry, not even when his eyes moved towards your figure and his wires crossed for a millisecond, betraying his movements. The sound of his shoes against the floor didn’t even distract you, keeping your gaze fixed on the man who appeared behind the door, with a huge smile on his face and eyes that screamed that signing this contract might take more from you than it would give.

Min Yoongi flanked you, a nearly imperceptible gasp of surprise escaping him as you passed by his side, not even giving him a glance of acknowledgment over your shoulder, as if he were less than a mere insignificant dust particle, and he collected himself as best he could to keep walking, ignoring the astonished looks your companions shot him.

You flashed the biggest smile, a feeling of anger settling deep in your stomach, and you shook hands with Choi Dohyun, who was cheerfully introducing himself with a voice an octave higher than usual.

You didn’t miss the way he shot a glance down the hallway, where Min Yoongi should have been disappearing, and the bitter sensation in your throat intensified.

“Well, don’t take it the wrong way, I’m very happy because we finally have this,” Yuna beamed, raising the envelope with the contract as if it were her most cherished possession, just as they exited the large publishing house and the cool afternoon air greeted them, “but did we just see the damn Min Yoongi leave that office?”

You simply sighed, feeling the tension radiate from your brother’s body, who hadn’t separated from you since the moment you were ushered away by Choi Dohyun's secretary.

“That was… wow. I don’t even have words.”

Seojun rolled his eyes, and you had to suppress the urge to pinch his side when Yuna turned to look at you with the envelope in her hands while you all waited to see your father’s blue car navigate the avenue.

“Do you think… this means we’ll have more opportunities to meet the seven gods of Olympus than most people?”

Her smile made you feel nauseous, but out of her ignorance, you could do nothing but try to mimic it. Seojun, on the other hand, was making nothing but irritated faces.

“Maybe, if you work harder.”

Yuna let out another squeal of excitement, and you took a deep breath when she turned around to look at the cars again. Seojun wrapped his arm around yours, glaring at anyone who came too close, even by accident.

Your friend kept murmuring in disbelief, and all you could think was that she was probably holding in her hands the worst decision you had ever made.

-

Whatever the reason for your encounter with Min Yoongi, you had deduced that your bad luck came down to being out of the house. Putting a foot outside the holy altar of your home was proving lethal for your emotional stability, so you spent the rest of the day locked up, managing your social media and overseeing deliveries.

Dohyun had agreed that the publishing house would handle the entire printing, packaging, and shipping process of the books, as purchases were only growing with each passing day. His real offer was to leave you with nothing to do but continue planning your stories, because at that moment, you were a goldmine for him.

“Unbelievable! Jung Hoseok revealed the truth behind the distancing of the Korean entertainment dynasty.”

The voice coming from Yuna’s phone caught your attention. You lifted your head from the blank document on your computer screen, glancing sideways at your friend, who was comfortably sprawled on your bed with a furrowed brow and a conflicted expression, as intrigued as she was worried about what she had just heard.

“These past few days have been tough for the kings of entertainment, as the last public sighting of them was over a week ago when Kim Namjoon, Min Yoongi, and Jeon Jungkook left the businessman’s building and enthusiastically greeted all their fans. As good followers, we know it’s too strange not to see them often, and the last time this happened was when Jung Hoseok had the accident that prevented him from continuing to play professional tennis.”

Yuna looked intensely focused, biting her nail and awaiting the climax of the video. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but you couldn’t deny you were a bit curious about what news they would share, knowing that the boys weren’t ones to openly discuss their private matters.

“With their reputations at stake and rumors flying back and forth [how exaggerated], Jung Hoseok had to come out to clarify the situation. His official statement, which was informally published on the famous app Whotalks, said: ‘We’re all fine. Please be patient with us.’ Whether his statement implies misunderstandings among friends that are in the process of being resolved or if we should wait for an official statement from their leader, we’re not sure. But it’s concerning the—”

“Why would they make such a big deal about this if they aren’t even sure what that post implies?”

Yuna paused the video, giving you a confused look, surely thinking you were immersed in whatever you were doing on the computer (nothing), too busy to pay attention to these “insignificances,” as you used to say.

“Y/N, you really have no idea of the magnitude of power these men hold over the entertainment industry. With a snap of their fingers, they could shake everything.”

“And why did they get so much power?”

“They earned it. Through their hard work.”

You couldn’t help the huff that escaped you. You didn’t find what Yuna had said funny because it was true; they had worked incredibly hard to achieve what they had at that moment. At least you knew that their beginnings had been humble. But it annoyed you, inevitably, because you couldn’t control the resentment shaking in your chest. Healing my ass, you hadn’t forgotten anything from the last few years, no matter how much you wanted to convince yourself otherwise. So much effort to force them out of your life, only for them to find a way to disrupt it again in a week as if they had some right.

What a bunch of audacious—

“Oh. A message came in.”

Your friend sat up on the bed, and you sent her a confused look.

“Messages come in every second, Yuna.”

“It’s from a verified account.”

Without lifting her gaze in your direction, you froze in your chair.

“Oh—”

Oh no.

“No fucking way—” Yuna stood up in the bed, exclaiming loudly: “Kim Taehyung is in your DM's!”

“Tell him to go to hell.”

“¿¿Huh??”

The words slipped out before you could think twice. From the tense way the words left your mouth, you could tell Yuna was torn between asking more or simply contradicting you. Her eyes moved from the screen to your face, her fingers moving almost imperceptibly over the device.

“You know, every time you make it harder to understand what’s going on with these people.”

Finally, she locked her phone and dropped it on one of your pillows. You had never been a fan; your friend understood that. She had never questioned you about it… except for that random afternoon in this same room when she asked too many questions, but after the encounter with Yoongi that afternoon, you wondered what moment or what would need to happen for her to stop believing that it was just a matter of taste differences and for you to have to tell her the truth.

Before everything that happened a week ago, you had never considered it necessary to talk about it because so much time had passed, and you believed you were at a point where things related to them really didn’t affect you anymore, nor would you ever have to interact with them again to warrant giving your friend a statement. But of course, things were different now, and emotions would continue to clash with one another, and you hated to think that their attitudes meant they were trying to return to your life, or at least get involved to some extent, which would imply, strongly, that you would have to tell Yuna what had happened.

“Have you ever thought that you might have run into him if you had gone to the convention?”

“Yeah...” you sighed in defeat. It was impossible not to consider that alternative, how things might have turned out. If you would still have this overwhelming resentment in your chest or if they would have carved their way back into your heart once more.

The foolish you at eighteen would be thrilled right now.

“And even with that doubt... don’t you have even a little curiosity about what he says?”

You preferred not to, to be honest. You would rather just rip out every memory from your head with tweezers to be able to return to a semi-normal life, where your biggest worry should be saving enough for a trip and not when those damn lunatics were going to leave you alone.

But you found yourself stretching out your arm to take the phone when Yuna handed it to you, a grimace of insecurity settling on your face.

“I’m not going to ask,” Yuna spoke, and you sent her a glance just as she turned on the bed and took her own phone to continue watching her celebrity gossip. “I’m not going to pressure you.”

You didn’t respond. You lowered your gaze to the device in your hands, feeling a mix of relief and bitterness. Well, at least she had given you the opportunity to worry about that later.

The screen lit up, and there it was. A new message from Kim Taehyung.

thv Hi. It’s Jimin.

Huh?

You ?

The read notification arrived almost instantly after you replied. With your brow furrowed, you watched the bubble appear from his side of the chat.

thv I’m sorry for writing from Tae’s account, but you blocked me

Ah. Ah. Right.

After receiving the notification that Jungkook had followed you a few days ago, and especially because he had shown up at your work out of nowhere short after that, you had blocked everyone else with an Instagram account, just to be safe.

A small detail.

You Oh, yeah

That Jimin was trying to contact you, considering the context of the whole situation, wasn’t too outrageous. When you studied together, apart from being the first to start teasing others and fostering friendly banter, he was also the first to try to fix things because he couldn’t stand hostile and tense environments. It’s not that you thought he had a chance to fix anything now, but maybe you were a little interested in what he had to say. After several days, it was inevitable not to feel curious, right?

After the bubble appeared and disappeared several times, the message finally arrived.

thv Do you think we could talk in person?

You No.

thv I promise it'll just be me

You No.

thv It can be anywhere you choose

You I said no If you have something to say, write it If you don’t have anything interesting to say, then I’m going to block this account too

thv No Wait Okay.

The sound of Yuna’s phone had faded into the background of your mind. You kept your eyes on the typing bubble, fearing that maybe Jimin would change his mind and decide not to respond to the questions swirling in your head. Now that he was being so persistent, you were more eager to know. I mean, it was the least you deserved, right? Some kind of answer, some kind of reason, a why. Something to explain everything, because the root of that growing resentment in your chest was due to their lack of communication, to their ease in discarding you like a worthless piece of paper, not even caring if the air swept you away or the rain destroyed you.

They owed you something, and you had the right to an answer. You could have moved on, yes; you thought you had, yes; living with resentment in your heart affected a person’s life, yes... but God would be the only living being on earth and in the universe who wouldn’t feel even a pinch of pain for everything that had happened. For the inexplicable disappearance, for the disconnection, for the destruction of an incredible blind trust that was woven with that friendship you believed to be unconditional but ended up being one-sided. Who could really blame you for being cautious of them?

If when you cultivated that friendship, that friendly love, the fruits they returned to you were rotten, how could you simply trust? Who could?

thv I’m sorry for what happened. I know this was very abrupt, and it must have been strange for you

Strange, for lack of a better word. Strange was a euphemism.

thv I apologize on behalf of everyone.

You I’m not interested

thv If we could meet in person, I could explain better

You I’m not interested. That wouldn’t change anything.

thv I know this goes beyond what happened this week, but I don’t want you to have a bad impression

You You’re a damn audacious one, Jimin Do you think it’s only the latest thing that would make me see you all negatively? Is that the only thing you’ve done? Or well, what you haven’t done either

thv Okay, I expressed myself very poorly I know we were already on bad terms before; I meant that I didn’t want it to get worse

You Well, honestly, I didn’t think it could get worse until now.

thv I’m making it worse

You Wow, apparently you do have awareness and common sense For many years, I thought you lacked that

You blocked the phone, letting it drop onto the table, your heart racing because of the audacity that man had to refer to what had happened as if it were just a silly childhood memory, as if it had simply been a stupid basketball game where you weren’t allowed to play. That only reinforced your thinking, the only plausible reason you had given life to over the past few years, the only explanation you had for their disappearance: that they never cared about you as much as you did about them; that you were never truly fundamental in their lives. Because, come on, they had built a friendship and shared memories before you appeared on the scene; they knew each other beforehand with a depth you could never reach, long before your name reached their ears. They had a connection; you were never ignorant of that; there was something in them that kept them united, something that made them understand each other almost on a spiritual level, and naively, you believed they had made you a part of it; that you had managed to be part of that connection.

But no, it was never like that. It was always one-sided. Whether you were a game, a case of charity, or someone they simply couldn’t say no to, you had no idea, but none of those options felt too foreign to reality. Especially considering the way Jimin referred to the past as if it had been a child's game and nothing more. There was never more for them. You should've known that.

thv I’m really sorry, y/n I truly wish I could talk to you in person I promise I can explain many things

His messages shone on the lock screen, and more than feeling curious again, you felt rage. So now they could talk. Now they could fucking communicate. Where was that willingness ten years ago? Five years ago, even? You never thought you would see any of them so willing to offer you what you had longed for, maybe at least to finally bring closure to the whole situation.

But you didn’t want to give them the right to become the victims in this situation. They had time to do something, yes, now you knew, and they simply chose not to; it was high time you really let it go. Let them go. What would an explanation fix now? When, if there was still something of the friendship you built, it should've crumbled to dust. Their willingness now meant nothing. If you ever saw any of them again, you would rather rip their hair out in a fit of rage.

You Fuck you Fuck all of you

And you blocked Taehyung’s account.

Anticipating any possibility, you also blocked Jungkook and hoped that would be the end of it.

Finally, you would try to seek true healing, because it was about damn time.

-

You y/n, I'm so sorry y/n? y/n????????????????

Oh no. Taehyung's going to kill me.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Speaking of the king of Rome.

Park Jimin flinched, tightening his fingers around the phone he was holding, which clearly wasn’t his, literally caught red-handed. He swallowed hard when his friend’s footsteps drew closer, circling around to face what he feared most.

“Jimin...” Taehyung began, his confused expression turning into caution, quickly shifting his gaze between the phone and the wide-eyed blonde. “Tell me you didn’t do it.”

Jimin shrank even more, pursing his lips, realizing there was no escape. In his defense, he had fervently believed for a moment that he would succeed. Taehyung hadn’t agreed from the start, especially given how angry Yoongi had been that afternoon when he arrived at the penthouse and how he had locked himself in Namjoon’s office, and the tone of their voices hadn’t diminished for even a second, especially not when Jin arrived an hour later.

Taehyung and Jimin weren’t sure what had happened, but considering the recent events, they could make an educated guess.

It all led back to you.

They were surely paying for what they did.

“I told you it was a terrible idea!” Taehyung strode closer and snatched the phone from Jimin’s tightly clenched hands. Jimin let out a defeated sigh, sinking back against the couch as Taehyung began to scroll through the messages, growls escaping his throat.

“I didn’t think she’d be so...”

Jimin hesitated, and when he turned to look at his friend, his furrowed brow silently asked, “are you serious?”

Another defeated sigh escaped him.

“You’re not fixing anything. If Namjoon finds out about this...”

Taehyung didn’t finish his sentence, but Jimin understood. But could any of them really blame him? Let he who is without sin cast the first stone! No one was a saint in that place when it came to you. At least he had the decency to try to explain things when the others just charged in as if nothing had ever happened (for now, Taehyung and Jungkook, simply because he still had no idea what had happened with Yoongi).

The problem, of course, was that Jimin was better at comforting someone in person than through messages.

“There's no going back from this.” Taehyung murmured, still focused on the screen. The shine in his eyes gave Jimin an idea of what was going through his mind, and he remained silent until Taehyung looked up. “We really messed up.”

“Did you need this reality check?”

“Did you?” Taehyung frowned. “I don’t know why you expected a different response.”

“Well, what did you expect to happen doing what you did?”

Jimin watched his friend click his tongue.

“What did you expect me to do? I didn’t think it would snowball like this.” Taehyung shook his head, and Jimin barely recalled with a shudder how the atmosphere had felt in the penthouse after Tae had posted that story about your books on his Instagram. “I just wanted...”

Once again, Taehyung chose to remain silent, but in his absence of words, Jimin understood.

To make up for it.

“Obviously, I’m not going to say anything,” Taehyung added, shooting a sideways glance at his blonde friend. “After whatever happened with Yoongi, I don’t even want to imagine how Namjoon would react if he finds out about this.”

“If he finds out what?”

Jimin and Taehyung froze on the couch, watching through the reflection of the TV as the person appeared behind them before they could recognize the friendly yet concerned tone.

Jung Hoseok circled the couch, clearly troubled by what he had just heard. It was evident he had just returned from practice because his hair was wet and he looked somewhat flustered, his cheeks flushed despite the chilly weather that night. He dropped his training bag on one of the armchairs, and Jimin averted his gaze when he caught his friend's eyes. It wasn't that they usually kept secrets and tiptoed around the others, but ever since Jungkook had pulled that stunt of searching for you at work when Namjoon had expressly forbidden it, the waters between them had been a bit tense, and any topic involving you could explode any healthy and cooperative conversation in seconds.

Hoseok crossed his arms, allowing his cheerful expression at finally arriving at the penthouse to fade completely, hardening his features as he shot a stern look at the two young men.

Taehyung also averted his gaze. The moment he heard Hoseok's voice, he tucked the phone between his legs and probably looked tenser than he should have. He, just like Jimin, didn’t dare meet Hoseok’s eyes at that moment. Because Hobi had stopped at the door, and with whom they had in front of them, they couldn't hesitate. They both knew it, they both understood.

And Hoseok knew very well. He was aware of all the tricks the two shared and could sense from their silence that they were up to something. Besides, of course, their conversation had been overly revealing. They had to be thankful it was him who arrived in the midst of their confessions, and of course, he would demand to have a conversation of such gravity with such freedom.

But no, in that house, secrets were not kept.

“If he finds out what?” Hoseok emphasized the words, urging the stubborn young men to keep their mouths shut.

Hoseok then exhaled through his nose in a sigh.

“Is it about y/n?”

Jimin and Taehyung lifted their gazes, a bit tempted but diverting their eyes as if pretending to be uninterested. While the atmosphere had been very tense lately, Hoseok and Jin had kept themselves somewhat distanced from all that unease, mainly because their demanding jobs kept them away from the penthouse most of the time. Namjoon, for his part, couldn’t escape the topic as easily since he had an office at home, initially to monitor them in a healthy way, and now because he felt the need to keep an eye on each of them to prevent them from doing something stupid.

Yoongi... well, maybe he had tried to stay on the sidelines, but he had clearly failed miserably if he had ended up arguing with Namjoon and Jin.

“What did you guys do now?”

Hoseok's severe tone was chilling. Jimin remembered the times he had decided to participate in his dance classes, the few that he taught personally each month, and how he had felt Hoseok’s sharp gaze and his blunt comments about his steps in front of all the students. It was as if he became another person. Although it was terrifying, the two young men admitted it was refreshing to see him like that in the academy, because he had lost a bit of his spark since his accident. Before, he only looked that serene and committed when he was at his tennis practice.

At that moment, however, Jimin and Taehyung appeared more reluctant despite his severe attitude, because they didn’t know if he would spill the beans to Namjoon afterward.

“And what happened with Yoongi?”

The slight softness in his tone made Jimin lift his head. Still with his arms crossed over his chest, Hoseok sat across from them at the table in the center of the room.

Jimin sighed, and Taehyung shot him an alarmed look. Are we really going to give in this quickly?!

“We don’t know what happened with Yoongi. He just arrived in the afternoon, locked himself in the office with Namjoon, and they wouldn’t stop arguing. Then Jin came in, but that didn’t make them stop.”

Hoseok looked up, scanning the hallway. Now the house was silent, perhaps more grave and tense than usual. Hoseok didn’t know how it had come to this and hadn’t sensed that atmosphere immediately.

“Is Jin here?”

“I think he’s in his room,” Taehyung replied, shifting on the couch. “He stormed out of the office a while ago.”

Hoseok grimaced at the mere thought, causing a shiver.

“Then it is about y/n.”

Jimin and Taehyung once again averted their gazes.

“Oh, come on.” Hoseok uncrossed his arms, more frustrated than angry at that moment for not being able to fully understand what was causing so many arguments among his friends. “I’m not going to go talk to Namjoon later, regardless of what you tell me. I just want to understand.”

The two young men exchanged a glance, Hoseok believed, communicating mentally. It was always strange but interesting how those two could understand each other at such a level that often they didn’t even need a look. They could support each other's ideas without overthinking it, just like they were doing at that moment in front of him, and Hoseok couldn’t help but think that this topic could cause them more harm than they realized. That these two were even hesitant to share something with him now, fearing to do so, considering whom they could trust or not, spoke volumes about how this issue was being handled and it was not healthy at all.

Hoseok didn’t know that Namjoon had been arguing. The only time he had talked about that topic with the others was when Jungkook’s incident happened, because by crossing such a clear and blatant line, Namjoon saw the need to have a group meeting to set some ground rules. But whatever had continued to happen that he was unaware of was creating cracks in the trust of all the members, and that didn’t sit well with him at all.

“I wrote to her on Taehyung’s Instagram,” Jimin began, looking down with his hands intertwined on his legs. “And I might have made things a lot worse...”

“Might have?” Taehyung turned to look at the blonde, who barely raised his head to meet his gaze before Hoseok interrupted.

“And what did you say to her?”

Jimin pressed his lips together. “I asked if we could meet in person, and when she said no, I just tried to apologize for everything.”

“Don’t forget that you proceeded to carry out a rather undisguised gaslighting.” Taehyung added.

“I didn’t manipulate her!”

“You spoke to her as if everything that happened didn’t matter at all!”

“That’s not how it was! I just expressed myself very poorly,” Jimin exclaimed, facing Taehyung’s accusations, who remained with his arms crossed and chin raised, clearly in disagreement with him. “You, more than anyone, know that I don’t communicate well through text.”

“Because you overthink everything. You didn’t even need to text her in the first place. I told you it was a terrible idea. Now she hates us even more!”

“Did she say that?” Hoseok intervened.

Taehyung gave him a disbelieving look.

“And I quote: fuck all of you.”

Hoseok took a deep breath, trying to process the situation. Taehyung looked angry, and Jimin appeared offended that Taehyung was so upset about what he had done, in addition to misrepresenting his words, if Hoseok understood correctly. But the brown-haired guy had a point: it had indeed been a terrible idea, and Namjoon would lose all his hair if he found out. He understood Jimin’s motivation for trying to reach out, but Hoseok felt Jimin had lost some tact in the process by approaching you just to find a quick solution. Clearly, the atmosphere in the penthouse was affecting everyone, and not in a good way. He couldn’t judge or blame Jimin for trying to lighten the situation for both parties, even if he could have approached it differently.

So Hoseok sighed, understanding the magnitude of the problem they had, and turned to the two young men who were now looking at him attentively, after recently avoiding his gaze as if their lives depended on it.

“How did you think you were going to meet her with the level of fame you have?”

Hoseok knew Jimin had acted on impulse, and perhaps addressing the underlying reasoning would make him think better next time, if there was one.

Jimin opened his lips slightly, confused.

“I... I don’t know, but I would've found a way.”

Taehyung scoffed. That would have been impossible because, surely, only after Jungkook, Jimin was one of the most recognizable faces in the industry and, therefore, couldn’t walk freely down the streets without having a horde of fans behind him within seconds. If, for some divine reason, you had agreed to meet with Jimin, then he would have exposed you too much to the public eye and you would have had more problems before getting any answers.

“There’s no way, Jimin.” Hoseok spoke, as the blonde shot a fierce look at his brown-haired companion. “We’re no longer in a small town.”

The two young men turned to the elder, putting their silly squabbles aside. A feeling of nostalgia and longing filled the air, embracing them and bringing to the surface poorly buried memories in the gardens of their minds; the gusts of Hoseok’s words uncovered them easily.

“We can’t afford that luxury now. We lost the opportunity a long time ago.” Hoseok reminded them, with a hint of discord in his voice.

Taehyung hated remembering those times. Having had his hands tied, sealing his mouth voluntarily, believing he had no other option... it completely sickened him. For a long time, regret had physically drained him.

“I won’t talk to Namjoon, don’t worry.” Hoseok assured them, and although the two young men should've breathed with relief, the truth was that they already felt too shaken. “But be more careful about where you talk about these things.”

“What things?”

“Fuck!”

Taehyung jumped off the couch when the voice came from his right, being the closest to the source. The three friends turned to see Yoongi, walking down the hallway from his room to the main living area of the penthouse.

“Are you guys sharing secrets?”

Instead of being scared, Jimin and Taehyung fell back onto the couch, letting out an exhausted breath. Yoongi shot a confused look at Hoseok, who returned it with a more severe expression.

“Come here, Yoongi. We need to talk.”

-

i hope you guys enjoyed! and thanks to my friend for helping my unresponsive overworked ass.

[Friend: I don't know if the tags worked. I'm sorry!]

tag: @rinkud @futuristicenemychaos @pastelpeachess @parapiop7 @11thenightwemet11 @yoongznme @queenbloody @lynnettys-world @darlingz99 @dreamerwasfound @chaotickyrith @kokoandkookie @midiplier @thunderg @lizzymizzy-blogg @ladymorrie @butnotmontana @lovelgirl22 @jjeonjjk7 @aurorathi @ot7stansthigs @kunacat @borahaetelevision @mylovingstars @ghostlyworld @talyaaas-blog @slowlyshycomputer @jjk174 @maynina @kariningss @juju-227592 @zippaur @v4ksk4tz @kookierry @idk179634 @canarystwin @jincapableoflove @notrustfratedjin @elliott-calls @devilzliaison @ismelllikechlorine247 @19yearoldjstryingtolivelife @thatgirliehan @yuuuumii @welcometomyworld13 @sugarbaby69x @whoa-jo @cerulean1riz @kawennote09 @angelfuzzy2 @themoonsblueside @damn-u-min-yoongi

[the-flaneur]

lights, camera...cook? (mv1) | pt2

pairing: max verstappen x east asian twitch chef!reader [smau]

summary: max does not know how to cook. luckily, his next-door neighbour and resident internet chef might be able to help him out of his pickle. quite literally.

warnings: none (i think)

wc: 1716 + social media posts

a/n: thank you for all the support and love for pt1 ❤️ - hopefully pt2 is just as entertaining :)

additional pic creds: toka (youtube)

[prev] [masterlist] [requests]

-> twitch, cooking mommy

-> twitter

-> irl

“Mate, are you sure we’re supposed to get up at 6am to meet her? I need to sleep,” Lando whines over the phone, as Max rolls his eyes.

“She’s giving you the opportunity to eat at a Michelin star restaurant and you’re saying no,” Max snaps back, toying with Sassy, who’s climbed onto his lap from his gaming desk.

“Well count me in. Alexandra’s been pestering me to ask you if she could visit the restaurant and meet her as well. She’s a massive fan already,” Charles grins as Alexandra laughs at his quip

“When we all meet her,” Max says, “you can ask her. I’m sure she’ll say yes.”

“Fine I’ll go then. Meet at the restaurant?” Lando groans.

☆

In the early dawn of the crisp December day, there were very few passerbys on the street. Those that were there, their eyes lingered on the small group standing at the entrance to Le Louis XV. It was Max, Lando and Charles, standing awkwardly and awaiting your arrival. 

You and Max had been exchanging a multitude of texts, ranging from cat pics to his maxplaining of F1 technicalities to the best recipes for homemade stroopwafel. Max would even say (hopefully), that the two of you had even begun delving into the domain of flirty friends, with your quick wit and humour, a complement to Max’s deadpan yet very humorous attitude. 

You had mentioned off-handedly wanting to meet Max in real life. It had gone on throughout the entire week, before you had invited him out to lunch at Le Louis XV. 

At first he was ready to excitedly accept your invitation; he had never actually met you in real life and really wanted to talk to you about you. But when he had stopped and actually re-read your message, his doubts about your intentions began creeping in.

What if you were only there to help him cook? What if he had taken it the wrong way? What if you didn’t actually like him, like he thought? Just wanting to be friends? What i-

Max, he chided, you’re being ridiculous. But just for good measure, he surmised, he invited Charles and Lando too. And that’s how he dragged them both (well only Lando, Charles had come quite willingly) out to a lunch “date” with the four of you.

“Hey guys! Sorry I’m late, the babies refused to let me leave this morning,” you yelled as you ran up to the group. 

Max was in awe.

You were gorgeous. He had already seen your pictures on your Instagram and on Twitch, but you were a real knockout in real life. Not in like the high-end supermodel way (although Max would’ve loved to see you grace the cover of a magazine if he was a horny teenager), but in the way which it felt like you were an angel on Earth, delicate and pretty, and a smile as innocent as-

“FUCK!” you swore, accidentally stumbling down the last step before the restaurant’s entrance. Max rushed forward to catch you and your bags, as they went flying towards the group. As he caught you in his arms, you looked up at him and grinned. 

“Did I fall for you?” you laughed, allowing Max to push you back up as you graciously took your bags back from him and gave him a tight hug.

“Hi Maxie. Hello Charles and Lando, nice to finally meet you! Max has loves to talk about you guys-” 

“Hi,” Max blushed at the nickname, avoiding the smirking glances of Charles and Lando as they watched that interaction. Charles and Lando quickly shook your proffered hand, before trailing behind you as you unlocked the door to the restaurant.

The intense decadent and luxury was not lost on the three, as you ascend the gilded ornate stairs. The walls were lined with classical paintings, china and candles; the Le Louis XV was truly a stark contrast of the modest personality of its namesake, instead harkening back to his predecessor, Louis XIV. Afterall, one must live according to la dolce vita.

As you began rambling on about the history and position of the restaurant in the heart of Monaco, from beside you, Max stared longingly. You were literally perfect, a great cook, funny, witty, a great conversationalist and listener, and a cat lover: what more could he want in someone?

“He’s never going to stop talking about her, is he?” Charles laughs, watching the two of you converse intensely about the climate and geography of Monaco and its food production. 

“No way mate,” Lando smiles, watching you blush at Max’s comments.

☆

“I’ve just prepared a small meal for us. It’s a bit more difficult deciding what to cook for three F1 drivers, considering our usual guests,” you smiled, pushing over a series of dishes on a cart. Their eyes bulged out when they saw your “small meal”, which actually consisted of at least eight different kinds of cheese, six starters and seven mains and a tiered display of an assortment of desserts, no less.

“Max already warned me about your…distaste for fish, Lando. So don't worry about the fish-looking dishes. They’re definitely not what you think they taste. Like this one is actually veal grilled with chard and girolle mushroom,” you gestured towards a gorgeous dish, plated with golden mushrooms and deep maroon chard. 

“Now enjoy the cooking of Le Louis XV!”  

The three men could definitely see why you were the executive chef of the three Michelin star restaurant. Between quiet conversation about everything and anything, every bite was desired and savoured, the flavours exploding on the tongue or simply melting off the dish.

The cheeses were flavoursome, some creamy and others intense, but all gorgeous with a pairing of wine (or gin and tonic in Max’s case). The starters and mains were all cooked to perfection, tender yet firm, and packed intensely full of rich aromatics and spices. The desserts were truly the cherry on top, light and fluffy, beautifully contrasting the mains.

The conversation quickly turned to you, with Lando and Charles interrogating about your life, career and everything in between. Max had tried to stop them from grilling you too much, but you seemed to enjoy all the questions, answering each one with a laugh and a smile. You were not starstruck by the trio, but appreciated their deep friendship and care for one another, especially as they asked about you and Max. You enjoyed the company of people who genuinely seemed to like you and your cooking, and it was one of the happier lunches at the restaurant in the past year.

Your mind wandered off as the three began talking about the upcoming 2024 F1 season (despite it still being another three months away). Although you and Max had not said anything yet, you knew there was a deeper connection just waiting to blossom.

It was just a matter of time.

☆

“It was lovely meeting you two today, hopefully we can catch up soon enough. I’ll message Alex for a lunch date Charles,” you promised, gifting them both a small boxed cake, before heading off with Max.

“Now to your apartment, my lady?” Max joked, as you started to enter your address in his GPS. Although he knew Monaco like the back of his hand, he didn’t want to accidentally drop you off on the other side of the country (even if he wanted to spend more time with you).

A small ding alerted Max’s attention back to you, and his eyebrow furrowed when he read the display on the screen.

“DESTINATION: HOME”

“You live here?” you both turned to each other, surprised. Max had no idea that you lived in the same building as he did, while you were surprised that you hadn’t already recognised the view from Max’s apartment in his streams and photos. 

“When did you move in? I swear I’ve never seen you before,” Max asked, slowly pulling away from the curb and back onto the road.

“Well I trained in Lyon for three years, then I moved to Marseille for six months before I visited Monaco. My father’s old friend Ducasse then asked in 2018, if I wanted to become his apprentice at the restaurant, and train to become the executive chef eventually. So I left and moved to Monaco in 2019,”

“And you’ve been living and working here ever since?” Max sighed. If only he had maybe stepped outside his apartment more than three times excluding the F1 season, he could’ve met you a lot sooner.

☆

Entering the elevator, you and Max both moved to press your apartment number on the panel, your fingers brushing against each other as you pressed adjacent buttons. You quickly tore your hand away, hiding it behind your pants, as the elevator began to move upwards.

“What a coincidence that we live beside each other,” you awkwardly laughed, staring at yourself in the mirror. The elevator was once again filled with quiet silence, as the elevator near the top.

“Hey…”

“Max…”

“Oh you go first,” you laughed, staring up at Max.

“IreallylikedyourcompanytodayIwaswonderingifyouwantedtogooutonadatelikejustthetwoofus?” Max said hurriedly, his eyes straying from your gaze. You let out a small gasp, before a beaming smile was plastered across your face.

“I would love to, Max! I thought you would never ask,” you smiled bashfully, grinning at him as the doors opened.

The two of you walked out and awkwardly lingered in the hallway between your two apartments, not wanting to say goodbye just yet. “Thank you for today Max. I can’t wait to see you again,” you smiled, placing a quick kiss on his stubbled cheek. His eyes widened before looking down at your playful ones which sparkled in the light. A hot flush spread across his face, his hand reaching out to grasp your own. However, you quickly stepped back from his grasp, skipping down the hall to reach your own door.

“Also Maxie, I would love for you to come by my apartment some time,” you giggled, waving at him, before you closed your door behind you. Max stepped into his apartment and with a blush and a grin out into the Monaco harbour, he was struck with a sudden realisation.

It wasn’t just a major crush. He was in love.

[next]

series taglist

@lyannesworld @heavy-vettel @bloodyymaryyy @therealplaguedoctor @gigigreens

© the-flanuer || do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platform.

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹。so this is what it means to be in love | gojo satoru

wc: 8.9k

summary: gojo finds out what it really means to be in love. 

contains: f!reader in mind, friends to lovers (prev. slowburn), suggestive scenes, might be mature/mildly explicit? (i only mention ‘butt’ once though…), ‘being in love’ as a journey, almost like a falls in love first (you) vs. falls in love harder (gojo), they fight, they swear, character death/s mentioned, shibuya onwards spoilers, lots and lots and lots of love

a/n: this is better read after the other parts in the collection but can work as a stand alone too!, there’s a jump between this and tell me about love (show me how) so gojo would have developed a lot in the relationship since then! 

collection masterlist: conversations on love  +02 (extra). look my way, you're what i crave <- you are here + (extended scene) too good to be mine -> 3.5a. this feeling inside of me—

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!)

Gojo catches onto love slowly.

He takes the hand you leave open just for him, and closes the space between your palms, reducing infinity. 

Maybe he’s felt it all this time without knowing; after all, love looks a lot less profound as friends in your early 20’s. 

But being in it—being in love? That’s uncharted territory. 

Gojo’s been to a lot of places, has travelled back and forth from point-to-point endlessly. He’s survived battles, a war, near-death, and cursed spirits reincarnate; he’s got eyes—two bright blue and an extra four hidden, ones that see beyond human comprehension. Unearthing this simple truth shouldn’t shake him, shouldn’t even faze him. If anything, he should have seen it coming—

Except, he doesn’t. 

It sneaks up on him, bit by bit, until he finds that being in love means getting to experience you all over again, just differently.

.

.

.

It starts with the little things. 

Gojo has known you for so long (a decade and a few years more), but has only recently begun to notice everything: how your baby hairs stick out in the humidity of summer, the way you purse your lips in thought before finally deciding on a drink to order. You play with your fingernails subconsciously, out of habit, the soft taps on your nail beds an accompaniment of anxious conversations you’ve had since you were 23. 

He knows you always blink twice before focusing on him, and it’s a mystery whether this is a recent development or something he’s just never noticed, but if you’re trying to enchant him by the flutter of your eyelashes, he wants to let you know that it’s working—except, he knows that you aren’t, because you’re just like that: a daydream without even trying. 

These aren’t new things; he’s sure he’s probably encountered them all before, but lately they’ve evolved into cute things, and there’s no hiding the slight curve of his lips every time he spots them. 

.

The sun is beaming brighter this summer, the ocean a faraway blur from the beach towel you set up under the shade. Going to the beach is never your go-to when you think of an extremely hot afternoon, but Yuuji’s been eyeing a weekend getaway since sorcerer work’s lessened significantly. 

‘It’s a good effort,’ Gojo convinces you, ‘to get everyone together again.’

And it is—you see it now: Yuuji and Megumi preparing to fling Yuuta into the water while Nobara and Maki race along the shoreline. Toge stays close to Panda but he watches fondly, eyes crinkling every now and then, happy. 

When you blink, the image of them softens—a captured memory in the heat haze. 

The only older ones here are you and Gojo; Shoko’s always disliked the stickiness of sunblock on her skin, and Ijichi’s new position has made him constantly busy. Somewhere in the distance, you can maybe envision Nanami. He wouldn’t come if you or Gojo asked, but if it were Yuuji—

You rub at your eye, resting your chin on your hand as you will your tear ducts to please, don’t cry. 

Yuuji's been smiling a lot more lately, an observation you note from the way his ears are perked up every time you look his way. It’ll never be the same as it used to be but it’s relieving to know that he can exist living as himself now. Just Yuuji. 

You hug your knees tighter to your chest, wrapping your arms around it. Your place under the coconut tree provides ample enough shade but your back still burns from Gojo haphazardly slathering sunscreen on it after hearing an ice cream stand from miles away. 

The mind is a weird place to be at times like this—split into bittersweet reminiscing and telling yourself to just take this moment and breathe, to live in it. You think about Megumi, and how you hurt for him, always will, for all that he’s lost despite every attempt to avoid it.

You should have been there for Tsumiki, you could have been there for both of them. 

Your guilt never leaves you even on days that shine as vividly as this, but perhaps that’s the silver lining—that they’re still with you, always. You can carry pieces of them to these places, and scatter them to the wind, to the sand, to the sea, and maybe to the ice cream stand Gojo’s waiting in line of, surrounded entirely by kids. They all rise to half his size, but if you squint, you think the bounce in his step makes him blend right in. 

A chuckle escapes you. 

You could sort through your memories and land on one where he looks just like this—freakishly large limbs towering over a tiny, excited Tsumiki. Back then, an ice cream stop after school consisted of your pseudo-family of four, with Megumi on your hand and Tsumiki on his leg, both gripping tightly to combat a chilly 10°C.

Things are different now, evidently. Megumi’s outgrown it, and Tsumiki is no longer here. But Gojo has stayed the same, and it’s comforting to know that he will continue to be this Satoru, your Satoru, even when some things are gone. 

You don’t realize you’ve spaced out until he waves the ice cream cone while walking towards you.  

Gojo is a sight in trunks the color of his eyes, with seahorses and starfishes in an alternating pattern of peachy-pink against cerulean blue. 

You could have sworn you asked for your own cone, but he plops down beside you holding only one. For the both of you. The side-eye you give him is almost criminal, if not deadly, but your lips twitch from the smile you’re hiding (terribly). 

He raises an eyebrow and you break character, shaking your head while laughing. 

“Did you eat the other one on the way here?” you tease, craning your neck to lick at the bottom scoop (vanilla-strawberry-vanilla, Gojo’s signature order). 

Your tongue lands dangerously close to his fingers, and he feels it, but his eyes only land on you—your lips, how they part for your tongue to glide smoothly on his–both of your–dessert. You look every bit of an angel in the soft, pale hues of your bikini, but Gojo’s thoughts are anything but saintly. 

He blushes furiously, the tips of his ears and nose bright red as he turns away from you quickly. 

“I’m fulfilling your dream of sharing an ice cream cone with me.” he tilts his chin up, proud, smirking slightly. He jokes about it knowing full well that this is his dream come true, just by the look of you. 

You stay quiet, rolling your eyes but never meanly, no. You only ever do it fondly—he knows, being on the receiving end of it one too many times. 

The beach towel scrunches when you scoot closer, looping your arm around his as you both rest your elbows on your knees. Gojo holds the cone between you two, tipping it towards you when it’s your turn to lick. 

He shouldn’t stare, shouldn’t hyperfixate, but it’s so cute how you get the tiniest bit of ice cream on the tip of your nose—as if it belongs there, soft and sweet just like the rest of you. 

You look up to find Gojo gazing at you, eyes glimmering like sunlight on the ocean, and a tiny smile that only widens when he realizes you’ve caught him red-handed. Your eyes narrow suspiciously, scrunching your nose in an effort to stop yourself from grinning. 

When Gojo looks at you this way, as if you are his favorite place rediscovered, your heart thumps furiously against your ribcage. 

“What…” you drawl, your smile impossible to hide in the lilt of your voice. 

Gojo thinks he can count every eyelash, every speck of sand dotting your face, and stil not be bored of you. He can’t stop beaming. 

Is this what it means to be in love with you? 

“Nothing.” he replies, almost giggling, a little bashful but with every inch of sincerity. You know that smile, the only one that holds every ounce of Satoru. Gojo smiles big and wide to everyone else, but this small one you know, is reserved just for you. 

He leans in, lips coming closer to brush against the tip of your nose. Your eyes fall shut, instinctively, and the pink dot is wiped clean, a hint of strawberry dancing on his palate. He’s done this more times than he can count, has gotten this near to know that close will never be close enough, but you still jolt a bit—PDA has never been your thing. 

When he pulls away, you continue to stare at each other, locked in a gaze until the ice cream begins to drip down his fingers and onto the beach towel. It misses his trunks by a hair and you both laugh at how he belatedly tries to escape it even though it’s already there. 

It’s indescribable, this moment, seeing you in slow motion, laughing as bright as the sun—the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. It takes every bit of him to look away so he can wipe his hands clean from the dripping dessert.

You hand him a packet of wipes and beckon him to sit in front of you after. Squeezed onto the palm of your hand is a copious amount of sunscreen you plan to slather all over him. A touch-up, if you will. 

Gojo has sensitive skin, pale as bond paper and burns just as quickly. The high points of his face are already reddening, warm to the touch when you dab at them with sunscreen. 

You’re so near, so close, sitting cross-legged in front of him with your knees touching his. The tip of your tongue sticks out just slightly as you focus on his skin. 

Even though he knows, he still wonders what your lips would taste like, SPF chapstick and crumbly bits from the wafer cone. He wonders what your eyelashes would feel like, fluttering over his own. 

The light casts a halo around you and he thinks it’s fitting for all that you do. You pamper him like this, slather love all over his chest and back, massage it in so it dissolves into him—and he feels it so deep that he tastes it.

How can your love be so sweet? He thinks, sighing as your fingers work sunscreen up his neck from his collarbone. You always apply his skincare like this: upwards, gently—‘no tugging, please!’—something about keeping his baby face even when he’s old. 

“You should join them,” you mumble, rubbing more product onto the nape of his neck. You’re leaning over his shoulder, neck brushed against his cheek. 

Gojo hums, watching everyone from a distance. It’s been a while since he’s had a day like this. 

“But maybe after 30 minutes, so the sunblock doesn’t wash off. You’re already burning.” you note, coming back to sit. 

Of course, he’s already burning. How can he not when the sun is right in front of him? 

.

You join everyone for a game of beach volleyball in the sunset of the afternoon. You’re transported back to high school, the last time you did this—you and Satoru against Shoko and Suguru, with Haibara keeping score. 

From the way Gojo’s eyes are glossed over, you can tell he’s thinking about it too, the memory having seared itself into your brains forever, it seems. 

Being paired together should feel familiar—the same, but it doesn’t—isn’t, because Gojo can’t concentrate, sneaking glances to notice all the little things about you that he never used to. Your skin shines from the combination of sweat and sunscreen, and when you crash into him it’s both sticky and slippery. He should really ask for a time-out before you blind him completely. 

You look unfairly good in your bikini, too good he can barely hear you calling for him; between the ocean and his blood rushing, any other sound is drowned out into nothing. 

Maki and Yuuji absolutely demolish the both of you, reaching 15 first in the final set. Gojo blames the loss on you of course, even though he’s missed every pass you’ve sent his way and netted 60% of his spikes. 

And maybe it technically is your fault—you and your (very distracting) little things. But it’s entirely on him that he’s fallen for it, fallen for you as much as this. 

.

.

.

Gojo thinks of love differently when he sees a picture of himself and all it does is remind him of you.

There’s a photo tucked safely in his wallet (saved and set as his homescreen too). Shoko snorts when she walks in on him printing it, all six-foot-three of him hunched over the small inkjet printer in the faculty room. 

“It’s all digital now, Satoru,” she scoffs, taking a puff on her cigarette. 

Gojo doesn’t say anything even though he knows it’s true, too focused on watching the printer push out the two-by-three inch image he’s about to cut into. 

Print photos aren’t as important anymore when cloud storage spaces are just as–if not more–accessible, but Gojo is admittedly sentimental despite every front he puts up to hide it. 

He’s kept every single gift you’ve given him and camouflaged it as decoration in his office, and the family drawing 10-year-old Tsumiki made is still folded between the pages of a self-help book Yaga had given him when he first decided to teach. 

When every moment is experienced so vividly, seen through a muddle of infinite energies, there are those he wishes could stay still—ones that take up space to remind him: ‘this is real, it happened, and here is proof that it did’. 

He already has one of all of you, fresh-faced and barely pushing the peaks of youth at 16. A tangle of arms wrapped around each other—one of his gripping tightly on Suguru, and the other hanging loosely over you. Utahime is crouched in front, holding the hand you’ve placed on her shoulder while pulling Shoko into a semi-squish-semi-hug (because out of the four of you, Shoko is her favorite—completely valid; if given the choice, she’d be your favorite too). Nanami and Haibara stay close to Suguru, squatting low to balance the photo, and Haibara is smiling, the ever cheery grin Suguru loves to dote on, while Nanami is Nanami—sharp features and a serious gaze that you all know he’ll grow into someday, handsome with age. 

For the longest time, Gojo has kept that photo hidden, locked away in the drawer of his bedside table as if keeping it there means the memory will stay guarded forever—untouched, unspoiled, unruined. 

It would have stayed there if you didn’t stumble upon it while looking for his painkillers during another one of his skull-crushing migraines. 

You approach him with the image hesitantly, eyes damp and glossy. Years have faded the colors ever so slightly, but the corners remain crisp from being stowed away neatly. You say sorry, that you shouldn’t have looked through his things, but you remember the moment it was taken so fondly: a visit to the Kyoto campus on a one-day break to train with other students. 

Gojo has many theories about time and the multitude of spaces it takes—like how a person can exist at different points in time, disparate at each instance, and still take up the same big chunk of space. The opposite can be true too, that someone can live finitely (just once) and occupy spaces in every place you look: the face of a passerby down the road, a sign at the corner of the street, or even a photograph that immortalizes people you once knew. 

He only shares when you ask, aware that he tends to be a bit of a nerd about it whenever it’s brought up, but you don't mind. You like listening to it all, no matter how insightful or confusing they are for you to make sense—a version of him not many get to witness. His explanations are comprehensible for the most part, except—

When Gojo tells you that he’s kept the image in his drawer, hidden, because exposing it to the space-time that exists now will erase every reminder that it ever happened, you hug him tightly. 

Your sniffles are heard from the way his head is tucked into the crook of your neck, your fingers gripping strands of his hair in empathy. 

He considers your near-tears as a sign that the memory is long gone, decayed into the brittling tragedy of reality. But you smile, the corners of your lips bittersweet as you express disbelief that he’s kept it all this time. 

You tell him delicately that some precious things are meant to be celebrated, put out to be remembered—to be experienced. 

And it becomes clearer to him then, by the look in your eyes and remembrance soft-spoken, that what good is a photo unseen? 

What good is a love unwitnessed?

When you gift him a frame a year after finding the photo, he hangs it by the wall next to his office door. The image is painful to look at, always has been (even when it was hidden in his drawer)—during Suguru’s defection, and death anniversaries especially. 

The recent one for Nanami was heavy; the first time he’s ever been able to process grief fully. 

Gojo can argue that it grows more difficult every time he catches a glimpse of it from his desk, but you have a way of honoring pain that doesn’t make it sting as bad—that turns it into a reminder of a love that was once there, of feelings that hurt as evidence that someone cared. 

Now, he wants another photo printed, one of just the two of you. Not because it hurts, but because he wants this precious thing to be remembered and seen—for this love to be witnessed too. 

It’s self-timered, snapped under the shade of a cherry blossom tree in full bloom. The picture is far from perfect: your eyes bright and mouth open mid-fear of his phone falling off the bridge railing. 

You may look a teensy bit funny, but Gojo will always find it cute. Anyone can see it, at how he looks at you in that moment—like you are every bit worthy of the distance travelled and seasons waited. He gazes at you fondly, eyes holding clear skies and pink lips curling into a small smile. 

It’s cheesy, but if you ask him what he thinks about this year’s flowers, he’ll tell you none of them (not even any of them combined) could compare to you. The cherry blossoms could be gone and he’d still see them everywhere (in the softness of your lips, the fullness of your cheeks, the radiance you emit when you are truly, solely content and happy). 

He remembers that afternoon well: the spring breeze that jolts his phone sideways, his hand resting on your lower back, unseen in the image. There’s no real reason for visiting the blossoms on this day of all days, but Gojo doesn’t believe in coincidences, and he’s counted down exactly to a year since you both had your first kiss.

It’s so silly, because he’s never thought of things like this before. He knows you probably don’t think much of it either considering that neither of you have made anything official yet since. 

And he feels a little stupid for that, honestly. 

You have a drawer of his clothes for the nights he stays over (more often than not), and even though you go on these little trips that are so obviously dates, you both still just tell everyone you’re ‘hanging out’.

He’s not fooling anyone here, not when he looks at you then with the feeling of his chest expanding, stretching to accommodate the overflows of his affection since learning the ways to love you—tenderness caught in little pixels of eternity.  

When Gojo goes through all 179 photos from that afternoon, he filters out the ones to delete and picks this one out especially—favorites and resizes it to fit his home screen and his wallet too. 

There’s something about the look on his face that reminds him of every time he’s caught the same one on you. 

He slides the photo into the little sleeve behind his credit card, catching himself smiling—this must be because of you, he thinks, and the bits and pieces of yourself that have somehow become part of him slowly, sneaking into him unknowingly.

If this is what it means to be in love, with you, then he’s fucked. 

Don’t you know that he’s insatiable? These traces of you will only make him want the whole of you. 

.

You find the photo while he rushes to the restaurant restroom. On ‘hang out’s like this, you insist on splitting the bill, but Gojo has always been stubborn and you’ve learned that you can never argue. 

He hands you his wallet to pay with his card, and when you slide it out, the photo falls. It’s face down on the floor when you pick it up, fully expecting it to be a photocard of some idol you know Gojo follows. 

But it isn’t, and your smile widens. 

When Gojo comes back, you’re looking up at him affectionately, biting your lips as if to stop yourself from speaking—the same way he always does. 

It’s funny because, slotted between your two fingers is the photo he’s kind of flustered you found, but he has no time to be embarrassed when he sees a little bit of himself in the way you’re staring at him right now.

.

.

.

“So, Yuuji asked if we were together.” 

You quirk an eyebrow, looking up at Gojo from the pile of laundry you’ve begun folding on your bed. He emerges from the bathroom, ruffling his hair with a towel. 

Over the past year, Gojo has spent his weekends off with you, sleeping over and traipsing around your room in his pajama set as if he’s lived here just as long as you. 

You snort as you fold, amused that this is even a question to begin with. Yuuji’s always been known for being exceptionally dense, but you didn’t think it was this bad. Gojo was especially touchy with you during that beach trip, and you’re sure Megumi and Nobara have caught up to let him know by now, somehow. 

“What made him ask?” 

“I think he wants to take you away.” Gojo teases, wiggling his eyebrows as he throws the towel on the chair across your vanity. 

You roll your eyes, still sweetly, indulging him, “Sure.” 

It’s now a running joke that Gojo’s threatened about Yuuji stealing you; you’ve always had a soft spot for bright eyes and even brighter souls and Yuuji is as close to that as anyone can get.

It’s not like that though, it could never be; Yuuji is just like your Megumi—the two boys you want to protect and care for in hopes of treating them better than their lives have ever. 

Gojo feels the same, you know, otherwise he wouldn’t have guided them as much as he has (despite his... questionable ways). Still, your hands have always been gentler, kinder—and though shorter, have always outstretched much farther than his. 

You have a way of inching yourself into people’s lives that just fits. He’s experienced it first-hand, can’t even dare to imagine what his life would be like if you didn’t. 

He walks across the room to you, bed dipping as he steadies a knee before draping his entire body over your shoulders. 

Now that you think about it, it makes sense that Yuuji’s confused, because Gojo has always been extremely touchy to everyone, just never when the feelings mattered, with you. Kiss him once, though, and it snowballs into an avalanche of firsts. And what he’s about to do right now, he thinks, might just trigger another one to form all together. 

“As if I’d let him.” he mumbles right by your ear, chin tucked by the crook of your neck. It tickles when he speaks, his nose poking at your cheeks. 

“Who put you in charge?” you scoff jokingly, unfazed. 

He moves away from you in disbelief, mouth open as he stares at you mindlessly folding.

To be fair, he can’t fault you. You aren’t technically official even though you have kind-of-been for a little over a year. There’s no particular reason, just that you haven’t talked about it—part because you wanted him to approach it whenever he was ready, and also, because it just never seemed like a priority.

You laugh as he stares at you, stunned into silence, the pout on his face borrowed from all the versions of yours. 

There’s no point of contention because you’ve only ever loved Gojo since you were 17. 

“Kidding,” you kiss his cheek as an apology. 

“Don’t even joke about that.” he huffs, you’re starting to take after him a little too much.

“You’re mine.” he murmurs after, arms wrapped around your waist and legs stretched out wide to encase you. 

He says it as if it is the simplest truth. 

Your heartbeat quickens, too loud and pounding; this is the first time you’ve ever heard this from him, and a part of you thinks this is just another one of those flirty side-comments he makes on a whim.

“You tell him that?” you hope he can’t hear your voice shake as he nuzzles your neck, your fingers trembling on the pair of socks you have yet to roll. 

He hums, hugging you tighter. He waits for you to finish folding before letting you lean against him, offering his fingers for you to fiddle with. They’re cold, long and slender, veiny just by a bit, and he always gives them to you like they’re yours, you like to think. 

There’s an inhale, a breath of hesitation, before he exhales.  

“Something like it.” 

You don’t say anything, only nod, and it’s nerve-wracking. He’s so nervous even though he knows he doesn’t have to be because it’s just you. And there’s no need to doubt what you’re feeling. But—

“You are though,” he pauses, “right?” 

He has to be sure. This is a testament to you more than himself that he’s learned to ask instead of bulldozing you like he does with everyone else. Who else will he pick that up from but you? 

There’s hesitation you hear that you think shouldn’t be there anymore; the fact that you’ve given so much of yourself to this man and he still thinks you’re unsure—

“‘Cause I’m yours.” he speaks, clearly, definitively, before you can even answer. And you know—you’ve known ever since that party years ago. A simple admittance: ‘I’m taken’. 

You turn around to face him, eyes shimmering. 

Can he see? You’re meant for him only. 

All you’ve ever wanted was to love him; everything else he’s done up until this point is already more than you could ever imagine. The labels can only do so much to capture the gravity of what you are to one another: years of history unpacked into a mishmash of feelings overlapping—it’s a lot.

You sit cross legged in front of him, your knees touching his. He’s biting his lips again, an anxious habit you want to kiss away. 

Gojo has proven far too much of himself already that he’s serious with you—your kind-of-confession, that confrontation, and the days after, all the ways you’ve both learned to love each other. 

You cup his cheeks. 

A single word cannot possibly define what he is to you.

“I mean, o-only if you want me to be.” he adds on, blue eyes darting back and forth.

Gojo runs his mouth almost all the time and you’ve never heard him stutter once in his life. Except now. 

He’s endearing like this—a version of him you are slowly discovering. 

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” you finally say, and it’s a relief. 

He feels good, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His arms pull you closer, hugging you tighter as you both smile. 

He kisses you once, twice, maybe a million times all over, travelling across your eyelids, the center of your forehead, down to the corners of your mouth before landing a real one right on your lips. 

Gojo always looks pretty but he looks prettiest like this, worry-free, with love in his eyes and nothing but pure happiness in the way he holds you. 

He won’t tell you that Yuuji asked about your anniversary, not if you were together. 

At least now he has an answer.

Gojo stares at you like he wants to say something, a thank you maybe, but he bites his lips instead. No words will ever amount to this feeling, he thinks, of his chest expanding and heart hammering. So he kisses you with all of it, trailing soft smacks of his lips down your neck, tickling. The tips of his hair are still wet from his shower, leaving droplets on your skin as he nips. 

You laugh—sprinkled in love. 

“S-stop!” you push him away, “Satoru,” giggling, “tickles!” 

“We have to consummate it now.” he whispers, grabbing you by the waist to place you on his lap, squeezing your sides while nibbling at your neck playfully. 

You roll your eyes at his antics, “It’s not–” you laugh out loud when he pinches your hips, “–marriage, Satoru.” 

Oh, if only you knew, he thinks. 

The image you’ve planted in his head is dangerous when he’s this drunk on love right now. 

More decades, more years spent with you? In another life, or maybe even in this one, if time permits, he wouldn’t mind making that come true. 

.

It’s crazy how much things can change—for all his life, he’s ruled out the possibility of love ever taking root in his ribcage. 

You’ve managed to make it feel so easy, so good, even when he was shit-terrified not knowing how to love you like he should. 

Now, he thinks, how could he ever miss out on love this way? A love this good, with you? 

.

.

.

For all of Gojo’s life, he’s never had to be anyone else—always the strongest, the only one. He’s never had to change anything about himself, because what’s there to improve when you’re already the best?

In a way, this is why it works with you. You’ve taken him as he is, all the good and ugly and never asked for anything more than what he can give. 

But being this in love with you—it’s foreign. There are pieces within him shifting, all on their own without him knowing. 

How he wants to be better, for you. To be good enough to deserve all of it, and give back more of it too. 

Gojo doesn’t realize how much love has changed him until he feels it uprooting every insecurity he never even knew existed, pulling it all up to the surface. 

When things are going great, it’s hard to imagine them ever going the other way. 

.

.

.

“You don’t mean that.” you mumble, voice trembling.

Gojo stares at you, at your lips quivering and the fists clenched to your sides. There are tears collecting in pools by your eyes, and if there’s anything else he hates in this world, it’s seeing you cry. 

So why?

Why couldn’t he just shut up? 

“Please tell me you don’t mean that,” you take a step closer, gripping the edge of his jacket, “Satoru.” your voice cracks, begging. 

It’s an out-of-body experience when Gojo registers that he’s fucked up, and he sees himself now, bird’s-eye-view, and thinks this is the worst thing he could do to you after all you’ve been through. 

“I need some time to think,” he says, finally, the only words coming out of his mouth—but he can’t hear himself speaking. 

He should have said sorry, taken it all back, he thinks, not make it worse by leaving. 

He heads for the door, heart crunching under each footstep away from you. 

Is this what being in love’s supposed to do? Break his heart while yours is bleeding?

.

You’re too good for Gojo, in every sense of the word—and he knows it.

You are far too kind, far too generous, far too patient with him. You give him more love than he deserves, definitely, and admittedly enough, with how he is, you have been settling for the bare minimum but that’s on him, not on you. 

He had no right speaking to you the way he did, hurting you with accusations born from insecurities he’s never before had to deal with. 

He knows it. 

Who accuses you of ‘meddling’ as if everything out of you doesn’t come from the goodness of your heart? Of provoking you with ‘chasing the bare minimum’ as if he isn’t aware that that’s all he’s given you to work with? 

Utahime was right in telling you to be careful with him, and he doesn’t blame her for it. He would have done the same. 

He should have told you there was something brewing inside of him already—should have talked to you instead of bursting from all the things people have been saying lately.

Gojo hasn’t spoken to you in three days and the feeling this compares to is worse than anything else he’s ever had to face. 

.

He knocks on your door at night, a little past dinner and too early for bedtime. They echo loudly within the walls of your apartment, and you drag yourself up despite your obvious look of heartbreak. 

Gojo hears your footsteps and everything moves entirely too slowly; the lock, taking far too long to turn, the gap between the door and the door frame widening incrementally. Even your face comes into view as if in stop motion, frame-by-frame, gradually.

His hands are in his pockets, lips bitten to bleed. He’s pretty sure he isn’t breathing when he takes you in—puffy eyes and a sweater that belongs to him. 

(Is it sick of him to say that he still finds you beautiful this way? Even when you look every bit the part of heartache?) 

Gojo didn’t have a plan coming here, didn’t have a list of things to say, just the feeling that he needed to talk to you, see you, even just be around you today. 

When your eyes meet, it’s quiet. You stare into him for one–two–three– (Can you tell that they’re watery? Can you see they’re puffed up too?) and then open the door wider to let him in. You head straight to the kitchen, never once looking back while dragging your feet. 

He stands outside a few seconds more, waiting for you to take it back—but you don’t, so he walks in and closes the door.

He’s been in your apartment plenty of times before, has practically lived in it by how often he stays over. But this is the first time he’s felt wholly out of place, not knowing where to put himself, just standing in the space between your kitchen counter and the living room awkwardly.

You push a glass of water towards him and he can’t stop staring at it—at you, at your fingers that he wants nothing more now but to hold. 

Even with all his faults, all his wrongs, you open your arms for him to walk into, allow him in as if he didn’t just hurt you. 

And he wants to cry, at the fact that this place still feels like home, at how it’ll always feel that way wherever you go. 

How are you still treating him so kindly? Still taking care of him? A glass of water is one too many for someone like him. 

You turn away from him to pour yourself your own then he speaks—

“You should be angry with me.” Gojo says softly, but you hear it. 

You pause, tilting the pitcher back upright. 

“Why aren’t you angry at me?” he says, a little louder this time, more desperate, more pleading.

Why are you never angry at me? he wants to ask. 

You turn around to face him, putting the pitcher down.

Under your kitchen lights, his eyes shine like sunlight on the ocean, waves lapping on the shore. You think it might be a trick of the light, but his lips tremble when he closes them, as if he can’t speak any more. 

It’s just as you’ve said, there’s no point being angry with him when your heart can never take it. 

You always give Gojo the benefit of the doubt, and though he’s hurt you—though this might be the most painful thing he’s told you yet, you know that he’s been under immense pressure lately. Stressed beyond belief from negotiating with the government on policies for jujutsu society. 

It’s not an excuse, you know, but Gojo always has his reasons. He'll tell you eventually, you believe that much. 

You give him a sad smile, struggling to stop your tears from spilling. His fists are clenched too tightly, nails digging in hard enough to bleed. He hasn’t moved since coming in, so you push yourself off the kitchen sink towards him. 

You take his hands first, unfurl each finger pressed upon his palm and rub gently. He cries quietly for a love so pure that only you would attempt to ease his hurt despite the pain he’s dealt you. 

You tiptoe second, pulling the sleeves of your (his) sweater before reaching up to wipe his eyes—beautiful and blue just like you’ve always known, droplets of the ocean at your fingertips. 

“Be mad,” he whispers, “please.” squeezing his eyes tightly. 

It hurts more when you aren’t, he thinks. 

His hand comes up to grip your wrist, bringing it down to cup his cheek. You stroke your thumb across his skin, soothing, loving, and that’s all it takes for him to pull you in. He hugs you tight, arms wrapped around you, clutching. 

He wouldn’t deserve you. In any life.

Gojo’s never cried this much before, head pressed to your neck as you rub circles along his back, shushing him softly. You start sniffling too, small at first until it turns into soft hiccups when you finally cry. 

Your grip on him tightens. 

“‘M sorry.” he mumbles, lips moving against your neck. 

“‘S–” you hiccup, “–okay.” 

“Stop saying that when it’s not,” he presses against you, nuzzling your neck, “I hurt you.”

“Then don’t–” another hiccup, “–call yourself–” hic, “–bare minimum.” you cry harder. 

Gojo knows your heart and the tears that leak out of your eyes; he knows they hold pain for more than just yourself but every single person in your life. You, crying now, is evidence of that truth—shedding tears for him not just because of him when he thinks he’s the bare minimum. 

This must be what it means to be truly, deeply loved, he thinks, to have someone know what you mean without even having to speak it—to know your heart, and all the good and bad parts of it. 

“I don’t think I’m good enough to you,” he admits, pulling himself away from you.

When he sees your face, wet, with your nose and eyes puffed up from crying, he decides that he hates it more than anything else. Makes it sick to his stomach, even. 

He cradles your cheeks, thumbs wiping away your tears. A whole hand of his could cover your face entirely, but he always, without fail, holds you delicately. 

“That’s not–” hic, “–true.” you gather your breathing, holding him by the wrists as he presses his forehead against yours. “Only I get to decide that. Not anyone, not you.” 

You kiss his lips, a small peck before nudging his nose with yours. You soothe each other this way—in the quiet, swaying to your own tune. 

“You’re good to me plenty, Satoru.” you whisper, once both of you have settled. 

He opens his eyes to look at you, smiling sadly as he cradles your face, “I didn’t mean it.” 

Whatever he told you that day, taking it all out on you.

“I know.” you mumble, nodding. 

You always do. 

.

.

.

Gojo has always loved you, in some type of way—as friends, colleagues, a-little-bit-more-but-less-than what you are today. 

But how he feels right now? It’s kind of ridiculous, borderline out-of-hand, and it’s driving him insane. 

It’s such a simple, ordinary thing for you to do: you rush up to him, phone in hand and scroll to some video you found online. You’re so excited, a bounce in your step as if he’s the first and only person you want to show this to. Your eyes shine bright with a megawatt smile to match, and you’re talking so, so fast, completely lit up like fireworks in the making. 

He knows you think that he’s listening but, he couldn’t care less about it honestly. Sorry. Not when the words go in one ear and out the other, because all that registers is how adorable you are, giddy and everything. 

He makes a joke—completely unrelated, but you find it so funny. Then you’re laughing, full on smacking his arm, doubled over, arms hugging your stomach, guffawing. Your feet are kicking the air as you sink deeper into your couch. Gojo’s standing in front of you, post-enactment of some impression he made, and he’s frozen in place but warm all over. 

Seeing you laugh like this, smile like this, being so pretty when you’re happy, the pounding in his chest goes crazy. 

This isn’t the first time he’s made you laugh; he does it all the time. You almost always roll your eyes and chuckle, sometimes giggle with your eyes squinting and laugh lines creasing. But it might be the first time it’s like this: with you so bright, more than the sun and every other star in the sky. 

And he thinks, this is all he could ever want—to make you happy for the rest of his life. 

There’s too much of this feeling inside of him, clawing at his throat, itching to get out. He’s filled with it, has been filled with it for so long that it’s starting to overflow and if he doesn’t say this now he might just—

“I’m so in love with you.” 

Gojo breathes it out, as if finally releasing it after all this time. You don’t think he processes it because he just stands there, in the middle of your living room, staring at you. 

Your laughter dies with maybe a little part of you too (in a good way). 

He looks so sweet, so sincere, and you see his heart, so big, so honest and pure. You get flashbacks of every Satoru you have ever known, at 15, 17, 23, to now. 

It’s not like either of you don’t know; it’s plain as day, how you feel about each other—and you would have been fine going on without ever having to hear him speak of love this way.

But hearing it now, it’s far better than anything you could have imagined. 

You stare at him. He stares at you. 

He’s shocked too. 

You don’t want to embarrass him, especially if he didn’t mean to say it, so you chuckle, moving on to break the quiet.

“I can unhear it if you want,” you offer shyly, genuinely. 

Gojo looks at you, confused, before a pout makes its way onto his face. You sit up on your couch, playing with your fingers as you look up at him.

Sure, he practically blurted it out, maybe in the heat of the moment, or something, but it doesn’t make it any less true. And he’s realizing that the only thing he really wants from this—

“Though…” you continue, biting your lips, “I think I’m pretty in love with you too.” 

The little laugh you make has him, completely. 

The grin that breaks on his face is infectious. Gojo, who is normally so pale, is now pink all over—red by his ears and down his neck. There’s a sparkle in his eyes that can be found in yours too. 

This moment right here feels like first loves—teens first saying ‘I love you’. 

“You think?” he asks incredulously, joking, “So you’re not sure?” he walks closer to you. 

You laugh, candy for his cravings, and take his hand to kiss each knuckle before guiding it to your cheek. He runs a thumb across your skin, affection on his fingertips. His index finger hooks itself under your chin, tilting it to rest on his stomach as you look up at him. 

A kiss to your forehead, tenderly, gently. 

The best part about being in love? 

He gets to be in it with you. 

.

.

.

Gojo can’t sleep. 

It’s not anything new—4 hours on average, maybe 6 on a good night. He doesn’t remember a time when sleep ever came easily.

Sleeping with you, beside you, has helped, but it’s never solved the problem. You’ve gotten him to a full 8 hours before, but never consecutively, and he’s starting to think that if you can’t do it, nothing ever will. 

Your sleeping positions change every night, but they always come out as some variation of hugging. Gojo firmly believes that he might as well sleep alone if you aren’t touching. 

Tonight, you’re spooning, arm slung over his waist and palm right on his chest, fingers interlaced with his. Your legs stay tangled together with soft puffs of air blowing at the back of his neck. 

He opens his eyes and checks the clock by his bedside. 3:24 a.m. 

He sighs deeply, carefully maneuvering his body to slip away from you. You used to wake up the first few times this happened, worried about an emergency or some kind of accident. Being a sorcerer trains you for things like that. 

You’ve always known Gojo had bad sleep, just not the severity of it. 

You don’t wake up to it as much as you used to, having grown accustomed to it after more nights together, but on the off-chance that you do, Gojo always kisses your forehead gently as if to tell you that it’s okay, you can go back to sleep.

You don’t wake up now, thankfully, so he grabs his phone and heads for the kitchen. There’s a sinking feeling in his chest tonight, far heavier than others he’s woken up from. He pours himself a glass of water before hopping on the kitchen counter, ready to sort through the bowl of candy sitting on the island. 

The date today is October 31. Halloween. It’s been a few years since Shibuya but he still feels like he’s suffocating. 

In the train station. In the box.

In front of Suguru—or Kenjaku, both, whatever. 

He’s gone to therapy, just like you wanted, for the both of you, and grieving has been an interesting concept to wrap his head around since.

But no matter how much he trains his mind to deal with it, his body will always remember the feeling. 

He snaps out of it when he hears your footsteps padding on the floorboards. Your figure emerges from the hallway, bed hair and eyes still sleepy, squinting. 

“Satoru?” you rub at your eyes, his sleep shirt entirely too long as the sleeves extend past your fingertips. The extra fabric swings in the air. “You okay?” you whisper, approaching him. 

Waking you up is the last thing he could ever want right now, but it’s hard when you’re also the only one he can talk about this with. When you know what it’s like to grieve everyone too.  

He has every intention of brushing it off, of telling you to go to sleep, but one look at you—one look at him and it’s like you just know. He doesn’t even need to explain. 

It isn’t hard to piece together, knowing what today is and seeing him choked up the way he is. You tell Gojo it’s your intuition, but he has a tell, and maybe you’re the only one who knows it. 

His eyes—they’ve always given him away. There’s the Satoru you know, then a Satoru that’s far removed, gone away. You can spot it though, the moment it loses its sparkle, the moment it turns from blue to gray. 

He feels a little selfish sharing this with you; he’s not the only one who’s lost people. You have too. 

You stand in front of him and offer a sad smile, outstretching your arms as an invite, as if to tell him: you can stay here for as long as you’d like. 

He moves into your space slowly, hopping off the kitchen island to slump against you. 

He doesn’t hug you yet, not immediately, hands still shaky at the memory. You rub his back, hooking your chin on his shoulder as he bends down to rest his head by your cheek. 

You take his hand delicately, bringing them to your lips so you can kiss every fingertip gently. When you finish, he wraps his arms around you, squeezing tightly. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” you whisper, like a hushed secret. 

And he wants to, but also, there isn’t anything else to say that you don’t know already. You were there the first few times he had therapy, and when he felt comfortable enough to go alone, he told you all about it anyway right after. 

If there’s a secret to fighting the Gojo Satoru with guaranteed victory, they’d only have to get to you—he’d be gone, entirely. You know too much of him, own too many parts of him already. 

He chuckles dryly, vibrating by your neck. A step back and he’s leaning against the counter, bringing you closer by the hip, thumb stroking. He tucks away strands of your hair behind your ear, flattening down the bird’s nest that it is from your sleep. 

“Nothing you haven’t heard before, pretty.”

Gojo’s been more tender lately, especially in the night when his piercing eyes turn soft, gazing. 

You pout, the same one since you were 16. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to it, the way he calls you such sweet, honeyed things; you’ve only recently begun to call him ‘baby’ and that alone has been enough to make your head spin. 

Still, he wouldn’t be your Satoru if he didn’t surprise you. With how he is now, it’s hard to imagine a time when this was all so difficult for him, when even the slightest bit of your hands touching was challenging. 

It’s hard to imagine that both of you are here now, living in the same space, by the kitchen at night, with the contents of your hearts memorized—the sorrow, the pain, the joy, all the love, every single one. 

He kisses your nose, and that’s comfort alone. 

This is his reality now, with you, and it’s safe.

It’s good. 

“Do you want to make waffles?” he hears you mumble, running your hands over his chest, soothing.  

The clock reads 3:56 a.m. Early breakfast doesn’t sound so bad, could also be a midnight snack.

(But he knows what you’re doing). 

You don’t tell him to try to go back to sleep, never forcing anything you know he can’t do. Instead, you offer yourself to stay up with him, keep him company. Whatever he needs. 

(And he loves that about you). 

.

.

.

Gojo will forever argue that you might have fallen first, but he’s definitely fallen harder. 

He could map out every single location he’s laid his love on—your eyes, the flutter of your eyelashes, the curve of your nose, and your lips, the same ones he’s kissed and nipped, bitten until he gets his fill. 

Your neck and chest—a canvas for his desires. He glides a finger across your collarbone before lightly tapping on it thrice. 

There’s the little dip at the base of your spine, and your thighs—

Oh, he could get lost in them. 

He knows. 

He has. Many times.

There’s an animal inside of him that only answers to you. 

When you kiss his neck and grip his back, soft moans by his ear—short and sweet. He’s a gone man, wholly devoted to you, and you only. 

You breathe his name out, “Satoru,” raspily, and he sinks into you—everything, all that he has spilling in the depths of you. 

How can he possibly contain all this love?

It’s scary how so much of him already belongs to you, all these years—how you’ve been carrying pieces of him, all versions of him throughout every birthday, every moment you’ve touched his life and have it irrevocably changed. 

.

“Are you happy?” he mumbles by your ear, voice deep and lazy. 

It’s the morning, sunlight barely peeking through your curtains. Gojo hugs you from behind, arms caging you as he traces little hearts on your sides. 

“Right now?” you whisper back, chuckling, “That’s not fair.” 

He nips at your ear, a small bite, before you turn to face him.

He supposes you’re right, it isn’t fair to ask that now; both your bodies are sore, well-exhausted, and littered with conversations on love. 

Gojo is pretty in the mornings just like he is all the time, his hair lending well to sunlight as much as it does to the moonlight. And his eyes—they shine a different shade during the day compared to the night. 

You though, you’re an entirely different creature of your own: a goddess in bedsheets and pillows, wrapped in immaculate white.  

You giggle when you face him, nose-to-nose, and he pulls you in tighter, grips you by the butt to slot you in right where you belong. 

Are you happy with me? 

He wonders, and you can read it—his eyes his greatest tell. You kiss him tenderly, lips moving gently against his. Then you smile, sincerely, before whispering—

“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!) thank you notes: to @stellamancer for being there since the very start!! col wouldn’t even exist without you!! you’re every much part of the creation of this as i am :'), to @crysugu for being so ever supportive, cheering me on all the time!! and for loving col reader as much as i do!! and to you reading this and everyone else who has loved this collection so far!!  of course!! a credit to all the writers whose works have inspired the way i view and write gojo: to @seravphs for teen dad!gojo and cruel summer influences, i draw so much of the way i understand these characters and their dynamics from you and your beautiful way of writing them and i hope my interpretation gives justice to that!!, to @augustinewrites for keeping up with the fushigojos, this series and the way you write them, with so much love, has always pushed for me to view gojo that way!! you’ve inspired so much of my understanding that gojo does believe in love and that when he falls in it, he falls in it hard!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Don’t Call Me Kid - Aaron Hotchner

“don’t call me kid, don’t call me baby, look at this godforsaken mess that you made me.”

——

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Reader confesses their feelings for Hotch, they have an angsty yet adult conversation about it.

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: I was originally not going to give this a happy ending but I got too sad writing it and changed my mind, also yes i’ve been writing a lot don’t criticize me lol

TW: alcohol mention, angst, age gap, slight physical touch (all respectful, nothing sexual), slight implied daddy issues, fem reader

Rating: G

——

Aaron Hotchner was not a man one could approach without a level head. He was rational, always thinking of the most reasonable course of action, weighing every outcome before making any decision. He had to be, as hasty decision-making had cost him more than he cared to discuss.

You knew that, you’d worked under him for two years now and although he didn’t discuss his private life all that frequently at work, these weekly team meetups at the local bar taught you more than enough about him as a person. The usual stoic head of the team was kind, funny, encouraging, albeit a bit quiet until he knew you a bit better.

About a year into your time with the team you let slip that you’d never explored the city, and Rossi wasted no time letting Aaron know about it. A week later he was driving you around, explaining the history behind the popular monuments you had requested a visit to, then spending an hour at the Folger Shakespeare Library to admire the historic architecture and impressive selection of literature, and ending the day at the Moongate Garden, watching the sunset on a bench surrounded by cherry blossoms.

From that day you knew if there was anything you needed, all you had to do was ask. He’d shown you your favorite restaurant, the coffee shop you sat in every free morning you had, reading books he’d suggested you read. You didn’t want to admit it, but you had fallen hard for him, and over the last year those feelings became harder and harder to push down.

It was 2 a.m. and the bartender had announced last call, earning a disappointed groan from Penelope.

“We were just getting started!” She whined, her speech slightly slurred.

“You’ve had more than enough for tonight Babygirl, let’s get you home.” Derek caught her waist, steadying her as she rose from the booth the team had been sitting in.

“I better get going too, Will has to work early so I have to take Henry to school in the morning.” JJ added, playfully rolling her eyes.

The rest of the group finished up their drinks, wrapping up the current conversation before shuffling out of the bar. You said your goodbyes, giving parting hugs before pulling out your phone, ready to order yourself a rideshare home. Your cell service was almost non-existent and the app was taking forever to load, the chill in the air causing goosebumps to form on your bare legs. You raised your phone in the air, trying to gain a better signal as you walked back and forth in front of the bar, growing increasingly frustrated.

Aaron exited the bar as you made another pass by the entrance, tripping as your ankle wobbled in your heels. He was quick to catch you, helping you find your footing once more.

“Do you have a ride home?” He asked, offering you his suit jacket for warmth.

“I’m trying to order a taxi but the app won’t load.” Your frustration was evident, each tap of your finger against the glass of your smartphone just a little too firm.

“You don’t live far, correct? I can walk you home.” He offered, his hand still lingering on the small of your back to steady you. You weren’t drunk, not by a long shot, but you didn’t handle your liquor the best and although you were mostly there mentally, your center of gravity had been better.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to go out of your way for me.” You countered, always raised to decline at least once when offered anything to remain polite.

“I want to make sure you get home safe, it’s really no trouble.” You knew he was earnest, always such a father figure to every member of the team. You put your phone in your bag, throwing it over your shoulder before turning to walk down the street that led to your apartment building.

You walked in silence for a while, his hand hovering behind you just in case your clumsiness kicked in along your walk. His suit jacket was surprisingly warm, the stiff fabric shielding your bare arms from the cold. You weren’t sure why you’d chosen to wear a short sleeved blouse when it was nearing the end of fall, but you suspected it subconsciously had something to do with how well the v-neck showed off your cleavage. You felt a bit pathetic sometimes, finding any way you could to attempt to pull his attention. It never worked, Aaron respected you too much to stare at your figure no matter how provocatively you dressed.

After a few blocks your heel caught on a storm grate, making you stumble forward. His reflexes were impressive as ever, his arm reaching out to catch your waist.

“I swear I’m not usually this clumsy.” You joked, straightening your skirt as you started again on your journey home. He didn’t say anything, but the slight smile his lips formed told you he found your try at humor in an awkward moment amusing.

“It’s just around this corner, I’ll be fine from here.” You tried to wave him off, dying to disappear into your apartment to prevent further embarrassing yourself.

“I’m walking you up to your apartment, I need to see you home safe.” He stated, turning the corner with you. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach, his domineering yet caring tone making your heart race. This was all becoming too much, the protectiveness, the slight touches, you could feel something burning in your chest, the urge to spill your guts growing stronger by the minute.

He waited for you to punch in the code to the front door of your apartment building before holding it open for you, following you to the elevator up to your floor. You took the quiet ride up, him continuing to follow you down the hallway to your apartment when the doors opened. You opened your bag, fiddling around for your keys for a moment before finding them, your hand shaking as you tried to unlock the door. You finally got it, pushing open the front door and stepping into your messy living room.

“How are you getting home?” You asked, setting your bag on the small table next to the door.

“I’ll order a taxi, I’m just glad you’re home safe.” He began to pull out his phone, and the liquid courage coursing through your veins told you to invite him in.

“Do you want to come in while you wait?” You offered, handing his suit coat back to him. He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him and making sure to lock it, never too cautious.

He laid his suit coat over the back of your coach, taking a seat before taking out his phone again to order his ride.

“It won’t be ready for another 30 minutes, I hope I’m not overstaying my welcome.” He was far too courteous, and all you wanted to do was tell him how badly you wanted him to stay forever.

“You could never.” You told him, kicking off your heels before sitting next to him on the couch. You took a deep breath, trying to settle yourself as you picked up the book that was resting on your coffee table. You watched over the top of the pages to see him glancing around the room, scanning the contents until he stopped on the media console across the room. He stood from his place next to you and walked over to it, taking a knee to get down to the same level as your record collection.

“You have impressive taste.” He stated matter-of-factly, his long fingers brushing across the spines of each album. You gave a quiet ‘thank you’ as he began to pull a record out, and you placed your book down again to see what had caught his eye.

“I didn’t know you listened to The Beatles.” He held up the jacket of the band’s white album, looking to you in slight disbelief.

“Of course, The White Album is one of the greatest of all time.” You were excited to talk music with him, it was a topic you’d never discussed before and you were always eager to learn more about him. That may have been to your own detriment, because the more you learned about him, the harder you seemed to fall.

You knew a relationship between the two of you could never happen, he was your superior, not to mention twenty years your senior, but something felt like it was pulling you to him no matter how many guys you tried to distract yourself with.

“You never fail to surprise me.” He smiled, the outer corners of his eyes crinkling just so. You could’ve died right there, content to collapse into a puddle of yearning. You didn’t know what came over you, but you found yourself clearing your throat as a rush of adrenaline coursed through you.

“Aaron, I have to tell you something.” Your voice shook, but you remained strong in your conviction.

His faint smile turned to a look of concern, quickly rising from his knee to join you on the couch again.

“What is it?” He questioned, brow furrowed as he angled his body toward you.

“I-It’s, nevermind.” That burst of adrenaline quickly faded, his eyes on you feeling like a cigarette burn.

“Y/N, whatever it is, you can trust me. I understand if you’re not comfortable telling me, but don’t let fear hold you back on my account.” He reassured you, resting his hand on your knee sympathetically. You had to do it, there was no way you could face him every day if you brushed him off without an explanation.

“I’m in love with you.” You blurted out, hanging your head, too afraid of what his reaction would be to dare look him in the eye. The silence that sat between you two felt like it carried on forever, tension thick enough to cut with a knife. After what felt like an eternity he cleared his throat, still holding his hand on your knee.

“Why do you feel that way?” He asked, trying to understand where this was coming from. He couldn’t deny that he had felt chemistry between you, but it wasn’t something he could ever entertain acting on.

“Over the last year I’ve gotten to know you in ways I never dreamed I would, I’ve never felt this way for anyone before, even those I once thought I loved in the past. You’ve been so kind, Aaron, you’re an incredible friend, father, leader, how could I be anything but amazed by you?” You felt as though you were rambling, but he seemed so invested in your answer that you didn���t care if what you said was rational.

“I understand.” He confirmed, turning silent as the gears turned in his mind. You could tell he was fighting something internally, the look of concentration on his face seeming almost painful.

You pulled your knee out from under his hand, your nerves convinced that he was looking for a way to fire you without creating an HR nightmare. As quickly as you pulled away he had moved closer to you, his hand finding its place on your knee once more.

“Look at me.” He said, thumb rubbing soothing circles against your skin. You did as you were told, tears threatening your waterline as you did your best to hold his gaze.

“I’m not going to lie to you, you are a very charming young woman and I’d be honored to pursue something more intimate with you, but we can’t. I’m your superior, and you’re young enough to be my daughter.” He explained, the pain in his expression serving to break your heart in two.

“I don’t care.” You were not thinking rationally in that moment, your heart speaking for you instead of your head.

“You should, this is your future.” His tone held frustration this time, finding your childish response disappointing.

“I am not a child Aaron, I can make my own decisions.” You told him, a tear slipping down your cheek as you grew increasingly frustrated with his stonewalling.

“I know that, but you’re young, you have so much to experience and you shouldn’t put that on hold for me, or anyone else for that matter.” Even through his anger he was just trying to steer you in the responsible direction, thinking more about your future than whatever desires he held.

“I have all I’ve ever wanted, my dream has always been to work for the FBI. I don’t have any delusions of grandeur, I never have. I want a job where I’m doing good and a family to come home to when all is said and done.” You explained, and it wasn’t a lie. It’s not that you weren’t driven, you clearly had to be to even make it to the bureau, but that was as far as you wanted your drive to take you.

“For this to work, I can not be your boss, and I won’t ask you to step down.” He continued evaluating each possible risk in your dynamic, and for once you were one step ahead of him.

“You don’t have to, I put in for a transfer to the financial crime unit last week.” You finally let the other secret you’d been keeping slip, and you watched his face drop in disappointment.

“The team is going to miss you more than you know.” He told you, wishing he had known so he could have convinced you otherwise.

“I know, but I couldn’t bare the thought of being around you every day while I feel like this, and I was fascinated by the way their team handled the case we partnered with them on last month. The timing felt right.” You explained, needing him to know that it was not his fault, but a conscious decision you made.

“I just want to try.” You pleaded one last time, hoping he’d let his walls down just this once.

“If this is really what you want, I’ll take you out next weekend. If we’re going to do this, I’m going to do it the right way, you deserve that much.” He gave in, letting himself do something personally risky for the first time in years.

“I would love that.” You agreed, all of the anger and frustration that had been building up over the last year finally starting to dissipate ever so slightly.

How it would pay off, only time would tell, but for now, you were content to just get to know him more and show him who you are the best you can.

——

Part 2 can be found here

Tag List: @pleasantwitchgarden @lover-of-books-and-tea

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or Aaron Hotchner taglist :)

[felixknow]

Hi! Can I request 64 with felix please:))

~cookie🍪

64. "please pretend to be my boyfriend."

Thanks for requesting! This one is a drabble instead of fake texts given the nature of the prompt. I didn't re-read or edit it, whatever happened is what happened LOL.

1.1k, fluff? Felix prevents it from being angst <3

Your trip to the convenience store was supposed to be quick.

You and Felix volunteered to go for the whole group-- you because you weren’t essential to the recording session, and Felix because he wanted to stretch his legs after being stuck in that small room for hours, waiting for his turn to record.

“Changbinnie wants a smoothie but I’m afraid it’ll melt before we get back,” you say, going over the list in your notes app while walking behind Felix, trusting that he won't let you bump into anything.

“It’s only a ten minute walk. I don’t think it’ll be too melted,” Felix says. “It’s pretty cool out tonight. It should be okay.”

“Okay,” you mumble, glancing over the list once more. It should be easy enough to find everything, and you can probably offer to pay today-- Felix probably expects to do it himself, but maybe you can beat him to it.

“After you,” he says, holding the door of the convenience store open for you. You say thank you and hear someone snicker behind the two of you.

So it isn’t common to hold the door open in Korea, you think. It’s not like it’s unheard of. Why do people always scoff at it?

“Found Innie’s chips,” Felix says, pulling a bag off the shelf.

“I’ll go make Changbinnie’s smoothie. Can you also look for Han’s mini cheesecake and Lee Know’s chocolate?”

“Of course.”

You wander to the opposite side of the small store to the drinks section and go about getting a cup of ice, some fruit, some juice, and then you hear another scoff and a laugh over your shoulder.

“She hasn’t changed,” you hear someone say in a not-so-quiet whisper.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Still as ugly as I remember.”

A cold spike stabs through you. I know that voice.

Your heart increases and a cold chill runs down your back. No, please no.

You finish making Changbin’s drink and snap the lid on tightly. As you turn and rush back to the corner of the store where you left Felix, you catch a glimpse.

Of her.

The girl you thought you’d never have to see again when you graduated high school. The girl who tormented you day after day and made you dread even walking through the halls lest she be close enough to shout at you and get her clique of friends to laugh at you.

“What’s wrong?” Felix asks when you approach him. A frown etches onto his pretty mouth. “You look upset. Did something happen?”

“Um… someone who…”

“Sorry, what? I can’t hear you.”

You motion for him to lean down, and you whisper into his ear “someone who used to bully me is here. Can you please pretend to be my boyfriend or something? I just need her to leave me alone or not see me or something.”

Felix immediately starts looking around and seems to make eye contact with someone across the store.

“Of course,” he says to you, wrapping one arm protectively around your shoulders. “I’ve got almost everything, I think. We just need Chan’s gummies and we should be good.”

You nod and walk along silently with Felix, keeping your eyes to the ground. Your hands shake just enough that you consider asking him to carry the drink instead so you don’t risk dropping it.

“Got it,” he says, smiling as he takes them from the hook, now holding a frankly ridiculous amount of snacks in one hand.

“Here, let me have some of those,” you say, reaching for him, but Felix pulls his arm back.

“No, my baby never has to carry anything when I’m around,” he says, beaming a sweet smile down at you. “Let’s go, we don’t want to be late to see my parents.”

He’s really invested in this, you think, slightly smiling.

“Y/N,” a sickly false-sweet voice coos behind you. “Is that you, Y/N?”

Felix lets go of you and goes to the register, dropping the snacks on the counter.

“Oh, uh, hi,” you say, slowly turning to face her. “How are you?”

“I’m doing so well. How are you? You look… the same.” She smirks.

“Babyyy,” Felix whines, coming back over to you and wrapping both of his arms around your shoulders. “Come on, give me your drink. I told you I’m paying this time.”

He kisses your cheek and takes the drink out of your hand, then looks up at your former bully.

“Oh, hello. Are you a friend of my Y/Nnie?”

Her expression falls, the smirk dissipating faster than it appeared. She’s starstruck--you can see it in her eyes as they shine with admiration and also confusion.

“Wait… aren’t you an idol?” she asks.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, laughing softly. “Oops. We should get going.” Felix grabs your hand and pulls you with him to the register so you can finish your trip.

“Y/N, how did you start dating an idol?”

Felix frowns but maintains his composure, glancing over his shoulder as he talks to her.

“I saw her at a concert and thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world,” he says, taking the bag of snacks after saying a quick thank you to the cashier.

“But--”

“I’m so sorry,” he says, cutting her off. “We’re not supposed to discuss our relationship. In fact, I’ll have to have you sign an NDA because we’re not actually public yet. Would you mind waiting here? I’ll send a representative of the company.”

“Oh, okay…” she says unsurely. “Felix, can I get a picture with you first?”

“I’ll come back without Y/Nnie and we’ll take a picture, okay? I want to walk my girlfriend home safely first.”

“Yeah, of course,” she agrees, refusing to meet your eye. It seems that her tough facade has completely been destroyed in the face of someone as charming as Felix.

“Come on, jagiya,” he says to you, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers.

Once you’re out of the store, you expect Felix to drop your hand, but he doesn’t.

“Thank you so much,” you say softly, squeezing his hand. “I don’t know what I thought that would accomplish. I just… panicked.”

“I think I’ll probably get in trouble for that if she tells anyone,” he says. “I’m probably actually gonna have to send someone with an NDA.”

“She’s really gonna think we’re dating,” you say, giggling at the absurdity of it all.

“That’s incredible,” Felix says, laughing too. “She’s never gonna be able to say shit to you again, though, that’s for sure.”

“Oh my god, this couldn’t have gone better. Thank you, so much.”

“Thank you for letting me hold your hand,” he says, smiling over at you. “I’ve wanted to but I didn’t know if we were close enough for that.”

“After this we definitely are,” you say, swinging your hands a little as you walk.

“I’m so glad,” he says.

Since when has Felix been shy to hold someone’s hand��?

masterlist | Wanna see the other members? Ask <3 | Send me a number!

Do NOT repost my content on any website for any reason.

[nnight-dances]

FOR LOVERS WHO HESITATE.

PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader (ft. xu minghao)

GENRE: fluff, some angst

TROPES: best friends to lovers, reader is oblivious and an idiot sometimes, kinda he fell first and she fell harder, reader is a moa lol and also a hopeless romantic, wonwoo is in photography school and a youtuber.

it's raining cats and dogs when you step out of the shower and the burst of thunder that follows has you thanking that your commute from work to home hadn't seen any such rain. it's a big night for you, after all, you can't have anything spoiling it. it's txt's comeback night and for once, your schedule's freed up in time for you to be able to enjoy the coming weekend with some brand new music from your favorite kpop group. what's more is you had a date on saturday and where usually you would be shaking with nervousness, you actually quite liked this guy. his name was minghao, and he made you feel a calmness with him that you had yet to feel with another man on any dating apps. maybe there was hope after all…

you apply your prized lavender-scented body lotion as you re-listen to some old albums that have been close to your heart and hum along happily. you're about to turn the kettle on for some tea when you hear the doorbell ring. with a sigh, you glance at the time. there were only a handful of people who'd drop by your place at 9 on a friday. 

"wonwoo," you murmur when you start to vagule recall texts from him about coming over for ramen and ice cream. you pad over and open the door to the tall man peering at you through his glasses, "you didn't read my texts again, did you?" 

you gasp in feigned offense, "wow, you're really just gonna assume i didn't? of course i did! and that's why i knew it was you barging into my house this late at night."

"late?" wonwoo questions your wording as he lets himself in and then pauses when he catches sight of the elaborate set-up in your living room. the tiny projector you had bought ages ago and long-forgotten about is now out and function, displaying your laptop screen on the white wall, open on txt's youtube channel. 

"ohhh," he slowly turns around in realization, "are they coming out tonight?"

"coming back, yes," you call out from the kitchen, turning the kettle on like you'd planned, "i'm making some tea, you want any?"

"no, but i'll have the ramen you promised me." 

you narrow your eyes at him, "you do realize you promised yourself ramen, right?" 

"come on, y/n!" wonwoo starts whining, "you never hang with me anymore! it's always just work, home, txt, hinge boyfriend, work, work with you. what about jeon wonwoo time? what about best friend bonding hours?"

you can't help the chuckle that escapes you, watching the tall man slumped against your light blue fridge with a pout on his lips. he pushes his glasses back with sleeve of his black hoodie to stare you down. 

"...i hear you, sir," you start, "but to be fair, we did hang earlier this week when i took you out to lunch for getting a million subscribers on your youtube channel." 

"that doesn't count!" he complains, "that was like, duty-based hangout."

"right," you laugh, "listen, woo, i do wanna hang but you did see my plans for the night in the living room. so i mean, if you wanna grab some ramen and watch five men being silly before their new music drops… you're more than welcome." 

this time wonwoo's quiet, mouth moving undecidedly as he weighs his options. then, he shrugs, realizing he wasn't going to change your plans for the night. "eh, sure. it's not like it's my first time anyway." 

"cool! we have a plan!" you clap, "glad we came to an understanding." 

wonwoo laughs as he watches you take out to packets of ramen and start preparing the soup for them. now that he knows he gets to spend time with you, he relaxes, taking in the light blue pyjama set you have on. it matches the scrunchie in your hand and the hairclips that hold your bangs back in place. he notices how in the silence you naturally start humming a song under your breath, the melody vaguely familiar to wonwoo from the time he's spent listening to txt with you. 

truth be told, wonwoo really needed this tonight. he's had a long week of juggling classes and content creation, now that he had the new burden of pleasing a million people who had put their trust in him to speedrun and try out the newest video games. he's also had to meet up with friends, old and new, who reached out to him thanks to his new milestone. while he was always so grateful for the support, at the end of the day, he was an introvert and it was only in solitude he could gain back the energy he'd spent. 

except of course, solitude came back when it was with you, nevermind the real definition of the word. easy to say, over the years of your friendship with wonwoo, he'd become used to finding comfort in your warmth, though it changed with time. when you were both in college, it meant studying together and holding each other through the hard times. when you graduated and went on to get a job at a publishing company you'd always admired, wonwoo continued school to get a masters in photography like he'd always dreamed. now, comfort meant escaping his dorm room to drop by your place so he could bother you. 

sometimes, he hesitated, worried that he might actually be bothering you. you were an actual working adult, after all. but then, he'd find you sending him stupid memes in the middle of the night on a working night and he'd change his mind, knowing he couldn't go another week without seeing your face. 

"hello? you're just gonna stand there and watch me do all the work?" 

your stern voice breaks wonwoo out from his daydreaming and focus on the two steaming bowls of ramen that have appeared on the kitchen counter. "oh, sorry," he says, "just zoned out."

"not that you would've been much help with your hands of disaster."

"hey," wonwoo calls, "that's unfair, i'm a perfectly competent cook."

you raise a brow at him, "really, woo? would you say a perfectly competent cook would cut his thumb on a potato peeler? or, what was it the other time, would he spill boiling hot soup all over himself?"

wonwoo purses his lips. "whatever. i can just wash dishes if you're gonna be so mean about my cooking skills."

"sorry, woo, but there are no skills to be mean about," you murmur as you top the ramen with some fried egg. "anyway, here, take these and i'll bring us drinks. beer good with you?"

"you know it, sir," he confirms as he carries out your orders, balancing the bowls in each hand and making his way to the living room. he takes a seat on the couch, when something on the screen catches his attention. though your youtube screen is crowded with suggestions related to txt on different variety shows, there's a video in the corner that shows wonwoo's face. he recognizes it as one of his newer videos this week, one he made to thank his followers for their overwhelming support. he's honestly surprised to the red bar under the video indicate that you'd already watched the whole video. he didn't think you'd have the time to watch an hour long video.

he can't help the satisfied smile that creeps up his face, feeling a new level of accomplished knowing you were so up to date with his content.

"you're really just gonna grin like that to yourself?" your voice calls out, "i'm scared, should i keep a weapon close?"

wonwoo shrugs, "i don't know, would you really have the guts to kill your favorite youtuber?" 

you're caught off-guard and when you see wonwoo's video on the screen, you redden, averting your gaze as you place two cans of beers on the table. "so much for supporting my best friend," you mumble, adorable pout on your lips as you break open your chopsticks, stirring the hot ramen around. 

wonwoo keeps his smug excitement over the fact that you didn't deny his claim to your favorite youtuber and simply joins you in cooling his noodles. "anyway, i thought that txt was releasing new music? why would that include them being silly?"

"the countdown live, obviously," you inform him before slurping some ramen.

"ahh, right, i forgot those were a thing. when does the live start?"

you turn your laptop to yourself and scroll till you find the link to the countdown live, "hmm, let's see. it says here that there's 33 minutes." 

"wanna watch an episode of demon slayer while we wait?" wonwoo asks gingerly, ready to be rejected immediately. but you seem distracted by your phone, your quick typing indicating you were texting someone. "hm? texting a new guy?" he asks, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat. 

you hum out a yes and after a minute, you put your phone down, smile on your lips. "you must really like him if you're texting him back that fast," he comments.

you look at him with a chuckle, "i met him last week on hinge. woo, he's stunning and genuinely nice. how rare is that combination?" you sigh, "i honestly still think he's a little too good to be true but i guess i'll find out tomorrow."

"tomorrow?" he asks, "where's he taking you out?"

you cough, "we're going to a museum and then to lunch at an italian place."

"damn," wonwoo mutters, "he's rich then, i presume?"

you hit wonwoo's arm, "what's your next question? how much does he make a year? his criminal history?"

"i mean, does he have one?"

"wonwoo," you warn him, "he's a perfectly nice guy. or so i hope. anyway, wanna watch this episode of txt's show? it'll warm you up for the live." 

wonwoo quietly nods as you click on the recommended video. he takes a deep breath to settle the storm in his stomach and sips his ramen soup to clear his head. he was here to spend time with you, not fight with you over questionable dates you found on hinge. 

"that one's soobin, right? he's my favorite," wonwoo smiles when the guy's dimples deepen with a joke another member cracked. 

"i thought you liked beomgyu!" you laugh, "you're a really unfaithful one, aren't you?"

he shrugs, "i don't know what you're talking about, i've always been biased toward soobin." 

"you didn't even know his name till five minutes ago, but sure, woo, if you insist."

the episode ends with both of you weak with laughter, partly because of the goofy nature of the games txt was playing but mostly because throughout, one of you would make a remark that would get the other laughing and build from there. it really was a never-ending battle with laughter when wonwoo was around. 

"oh, i must know what happens next! i know soobin's gonna win this thing," wonwoo says. 

"ahh, as much as i want to watch the second episode, we should tune into the live or we're gonna be late," you tell him. "we can watch the second one some other time?"

"it's a date," wonwoo teases back before he can stop himself from filtering his thoughts. but it's too late, you've turned to him with a look of scrutiny, wondering if he was joking or not. 

"right, okay, here it is," you pull up the live, which has been on for about five minutes. soobin is in the middle of talking about the album when you tune in. "ohh, look, your favorite boy's talking about the album."

"i see that," wonwoo smiles, "where's your favorite guy at?"

"hmm, wait… ah, there he is, yeonjun with his new haircut," you gasp, "god, black hair suits him so well." wonwoo narrows his eyes at the black-haired guy you've pointed out. you're right, he looks amazing, though he can't tell if it's the hair or just his general abundance of beauty. 

the rest of the countdown live goes not unlike before, with you helpfully supplying wonwoo with any context he might missing behind the member's comments. at exactly midnight, wonwoo watches their new music video with you, laughing when at its end you immediately click the replay button. after its third re-watch, you switch to spotify and listen to the entire album once before nodding in satisfaction.

"that's a solid album," wonwoo comments, smiling at your half-contained excitement. "it's everything i need to get through life till their next comeback," you say, "the title track's my favorite for the first time. although that might change as i relisten to the album."

"the title's the catchiest so that's probably right," he says. wonwoo's about to say some more about the album when he catches the look in your eyes. "what's wrong?"

"sorry, i feel bad for making you sit through that for like, three hours."

wonwoo's heart melts a little when he catches you fiddling with the hem of your pyjama top. he lets out a lighthearted chuckle, "you didn't force me. i had fun, y/n."

you smile, "i had fun, too. i always do with you." wonwoo's heart skips a beat at your admission, his cheeks warming up, "oh, right, i should show you the new speaker i bought the other day." you stand up and run over to your room excitedly. 

a few minutes pass and wonwoo sighs, hand at his chest, trying to calm himself down. he rests his head against his arm, slumping against the sofa, as his mind races. this won't do, he thinks, closing his eyes to shut out his bothersome thoughts. 

perhaps, he calms down a little fast because when you return with the speaker clutched in your hand, you find him dozing off on the couch. you smile at the sight, plopping down next to him. "always falling asleep anywhere, aren't you?" you mumble under your breath, eyes drawn to the portrait of serenity that wonwoo was. you watch him breathe steadily for a while before you rest your head against his arm, inexplicably drawn to the sight before you. 

you felt… weird, almost itchy, when you're this close to wonwoo. his eyelashes were longer than you expected at this distance and you have to contain the desire to brush your knuckles against them. you wonder what he must be thinking, to appear to be so at peace. you let out a hum unknowingly and wonwoo stirs. 

he comes to with a start, feeling a weight on his arm that hadn't been there when he fell asleep. and then he opens his eyes, almost convinced he's still dreaming when he finds your head against his hand, blinking solemnly as if you had been watching him sleep.

wait… hadn't you actually been watching him sleep? wonwoo starts to wonder but you cut him off when you whine, "you dozed off, jeon wonwoo." 

"sorry, i didn't mean to," he mutters, unusually shy. 

"well, it's fine. it's getting late," you say. then, after a moment, "do you just want sleep over? it's kind of a trek to your dorm from here."

wonwoo hesitates, blood rushing to his face at the idea of sleeping over at your place. "no, it's fine, i'll just go back."

"no, i would feel too bad letting you do that," you insist with a pout, "plus, it's saturday tomorrow so you don't have to worry about rushing back to class or anything."

he pauses. you were right, it was a pretty reasonable proposition once he thought about it with straight mind. "then, i will," he agrees, "but where do i sleep?" the question comes from the knowledge that you did only own one bed, the one that was in your bedroom. never mind that it was big enough to fit you both, the fact that it was in your bedroom made it off-limits in wonwoo's mind. 

"my bed?" you ask.

wonwoo sits up, "absolutely not."

"damn," you mumble, but don't think much of it, "i guess you'll have to take the couch then?"

"that works for me."

you narrow your eyes at him, not wanting to push him to sleep in your bed if he really was that strongly against it but you can't help but pry a little more. "you sure you don't prefer a soft mattress with proper pillows?"

"you forget that i can fall asleep anywhere at any given moment with minimal trouble," he shrugs. "but i will ask of you to lend me one of your plushies."

you chuckle at that, "alright then, if you insist. i'll bring you a blanket and a plushie." when you leave to accomplish said missions, wonwoo takes a second to marvel and… well, panic at his situation. 

he'd only ever slept over at your place once and that was when he passed out from drinking too much soju. that didn't really count, especially since that time hoshi and karina had also passed out next to him on your floor. so this really felt like a big deal to wonwoo. 

you come back with a pile of a soft pink blanket and a matching pink bunny in your arms, dropping them next to wonwoo on the couch. "there," you say, "you want tea before you sleep?"

"nope."

"anything else? water?"

"oh, is there a toothbrush i can borrow?"

"ah, right. i should have some spare ones lying around. come, i'll show you."

it's nearly 2 am by the time wonwoo's in bed (couch), changed into some oversized shorts you had and sporting the same skincare that you used every night. it's all a little much for his poor heart, doing these domestic things with you as if he hasn't been down bad for you since he can remember. 

"okay~ goodnight, woo, sleep tight!" you call out. you pat his cheek, crouching next to the couch as you watch him settle down for the night. he mumbles back a goodnight somewhat quietly and you can't help but laugh to yourself at how adorable wonwoo looked.

"tell me if you need anything, okay?"

you stand up, ready to head to bed yourself and really, wonwoo should be thankful he can be alone at last, perhaps, collect his thoughts and rest his brain for the day. but being up so late must be getting to his reason because he reaches out to hold your wrist when you're about to leave, with a hurried, "wait!"

you stop with a raised brow, "what's wrong?"

"my goodnight kiss!" he blurts out with a sudden rush of courage. "i need one to fall asleep."

silence follows his words and wonwoo's ear slowly start to burn up when he hears the echoes of his absurd request playing back in his mind. he lets go of your wrist just as quickly he'd reached for it, covering up with a half-laugh, "i was just kidding. good night!" 

a beat passes and he thinks you must really find him ridiculous to not respond to anything he's said but before he can dig himself any further into the hole he's made, he feels your hair brush against his skin. he barely has time to register your body leaning over him when he feels you lips press against his cheek. the moment should last forever but it's over all too quick. wonwoo can't see your face in the darkness but he hears your voice near his ear, breath soft, "good night, woo."

he could die now, he really could, and he would die a happy man. he muffles the sound that escapes his throat when he hears the door to your room creak as you close it behind you. you, on the other hand, stare at yourself in the mirror in disbelief at what just happened. 

you really didn't know what to make of wonwoo's request out of the blue, but something about the way he looked so cozy, hair sticking out every which way in the moonlight that spilled into your living room, something about this night in general had you feeling strange. you felt the same itch you'd felt when you found yourself unable to take your eyes off a sleeping wonwoo. it's like when you encounter a beautiful cat lounging in the sun and had to drop everything so you could take in its joyful existence. you couldn't move an inch, completely fascinated by this being before you.

"what the fuck am i thinking…" you mumble, feeling your cheeks warm up. "i must be really tired." 

turns out even after a night's sleep you feel as confused as you did when you fell asleep. with a grunt of frustration, you roll over in bed and choose to scroll on your phone to distract yourself for a bit. it's almost 11 when you hear a knock on your door. you contemplate pretending to be asleep but then there's another knock, followed by wonwoo's, "y/n?"

you feel too bad leaving wonwoo to fend for himself in your home so you force yourself out of bed, patting your hair down as you pad over to the door. "hey, morning–" 

your greeting is interrupted mid-way when wonwoo's face moves close to you – hilariously close until he's kissing your cheek. your breath catches in your throat and you freeze up. wonwoo stands back up, arms on the doorway, a small smirk on his face. what had possesed him overnight? 

you could only ponder in defeat when he merrily called out, "good morning! did you sleep well?" 

"i… did…" you start and then stop, hand coming up to the cheek where wonwoo had kissed you. "what was that for…" you wonder more to yourself but wonwoo picks up your flustered question and shrugs.

"i was only paying you back for your goodnight kiss," he smiles, unsettling you to your very guts, "that was your good morning kiss."

you groan, suddenly losing all clarity. frustrated, hiding the blush creeping up your neck, "you know that's not a real thing…" but where you mean to sound harsh, you simply sound bewildered. wonwoo swallows his chuckle and pats your head, "i'm hungry. can you make me breakfast?"

you glare at him, trying to figure out what his real plan was but he simply follows up with, "pretty please? you wouldn't let a guest in your home leave on an empty stomach, right?"

"i- uh, let me wash my face and i'll make you something," you say, pausing for a split second befroe shutting the door in wonwoo's face. you speedrun your morning routine despite your very best efforts to act and thus, feel normal, you wash your face and brush at your teeth at an abnormal speed. you stare at yourself in the mirror when you consider changing out of your pjyamas and mentally scold yourself for acting like an idiot.

"stupid," you tell yourself as you leave your room to find wonwoo cackling at his phone screen. no matter how you look at it, wonwoo's acting different… he seems more confident, or rather, full of conviction, though you couldn't think of any reason why that would be. 

etiher way, in an attempt to act normal, you start making eggs for breakfast, scrambled and slightly runny the way you know wonwoo likes them. "toast?" you ask him as you whip the eggs onto a plate. "yes,," he calls out, "with some butter, please!"

you sigh as you place a slice of toast on his plate, sliding it toward him. you plop the stick of butter next to him with a knife and tell him with a sarcastic smile, "you can butter your own toast." 

"i sure can," he says with a satisfied smile. you really can't understand what he was thinking and it pisses you off, but not nearly enough to sit next to him as you dig into your own plate of eggs.

"as thanks for feeding me two meals in a row," wonwoo starts, swallowing a mouthful of food, "can i do anything for you? buy you a new pan? go grocery shopping with you?"

"i'm good, thanks."

he frowns at your curt reply. "ohh, how about a movie? it could make for a solid saturday night."

"sorry, i've a date tonight, remember?"

"ah, that," he says, flatly, "i mean, if you have time later right?"

"i'm pretty sure i'm gonna be beat by the time i'm done with the date. maybe tomorrow," you say but you know he can tell you're only half-heartedly saying so. he gives up after, thankfully for you. 

"all right, i should get going! as it turns out i forgot my clothes in the dryer for two days straight and someone threw them onto the floor…" you let out a horrified gasp at wonwoo's casual confession, "so i should probably deal with that."

"dude, please, why aren't you running back to your dorm right now?" 

"alright, alright, i get it! see you later, y/n!"

with that, the man's off, seeming somewhat appropriately concerned for his clothes now. you sigh once you hear the door close after him, resting your forhead on your fist. your head hurts and it's not even noon. you're mostly just having a hard time comprehending the last 12 hours you spent with wonwoo. 

it's not out of the ordinary for you to do impromptu things with him like this but you feel strangely empty now that he's gone. what's worse is your mind keeps replaying this morning when he kissed your cheek like a broken record. it makes you feel like a pervert, thinking about the kiss as if it wasn't wonwoo, your best friend for life. plus, there's that itchy feeling that won't let up every time you think about him. "man, this sucks," you groan out, opening your phone, "and i still have to get ready for that date." 

in an efffort to clear out the weariness you feel, you hop into the shower and take extra long in there, singing along to the new txt album and letting your worries wash away with the new vanilla scented body wash you'd bought earliere that week. without a doubt, you feel much better after, patting your damp skin down with some skincare.

that's when you're suddenly reminded of how last night wonwoo had crouched next to you, ridiculously focused on applying the products you handed him all over his face. he looked adorable, straining to get every pore covered as his fingers ran over his face. he had to squint of course since you'd told him you wouldn't stand him getting your precious skincare all over his glasses. after he was done, he'd elbowed you lightly, "how do i look?" 

"so clean and healthy, my princess," you joked as you patted him on the head. the proud look on his face made you swoon a little–

what the actual fuck. "fuck," you curse out loud when you realize you'd lost your newly regained sanity to the walk down last night's memory lane. "what the fuck," you repeat under your breath as you through your last steps in a hurry. you feel yourself spiralling again when a ping on your phone saves you. 

it's minghao.

minghao: afternoon, y/n! hope u slept well last night :)

minghao: just wanted to tell you i might be a little late cuz i forgot i had to run an errand for my mom! sorry

you melt a little at how sincere he is in informing you of every little change in your plans and can't help but feel a little guilty for viewing the date as a burden. that's right, you owed it to minghao to respect the date and approach it with an open mind. confusing feelings for your best friend for another day. 

you: hey!! thx for telling me but don't worry about it 

you: i'll text you when i get there so you know where to find me 

minghao: that would be great yay

minghao: can't wait to see you 

you: me either :) 

— 

minghao is amazing, exactly as you expected him to be. he shows up at the exact ETA he'd texted you earlier and not without a whole rose in his hand. when you turn impossibly red and shake his kindness away with a, "...but i didn't get you anything," he smiles and tells you to take it, "it's an apology for me being late to our first date." 

you inwardly lose it over his emphasis on first date and calm yourself down, accepting the rose with a thankful smile. you had to keep it together if you want there to be another date, for real. he's incredibly sweet the whole time, walking through the museum at a comfortable pace – enough that you'd be able to admire the piece but not too long that you ended up staring into nothing. 

after over an hour of perusing the museum's collection, your feet start to hurt a little, no thanks to the uncomfortable loafers you'd brought out for the special ocassion. it's like minghao senses your discomfort and offers to rest at the museum's in-house cafe and get some refreshments. "ahh, i'd love that," you mumble shyly, embarassed that he could see through you so well. 

over coffee, you try not to stare at minghao, noticing the few strangers who would pass by your table and do a double take at the man in front of you. he did catch the eye, what with his blonde hair which sat just right by the nape of his neck. you couldn't think of the last time you'd seen someone pull off a mullet so well.

"sorry if i'm a little out of it today," minghao starts with a small smile, "i slept much later than i usually do because my friend came over without notice."

"wait, you won't believe it but something really similar happened to me last night too," you say with a grin. "what did your friend want?" 

"really?" he asks with a similar smile. "also, well, he's not really a friend, more like a former roommate who can't get over the fact that i got a job and now have my own place. he likes to cope by barging in and having meals with me or watching a movie."

"wow, it's insane how similar your story is… my friend's still in college so he likes to also barge in and eat my food that i cook and watch stuff with me."

the two of you share a laugh, thrilled at the newfound similarity. "that's cool, we're like each other in a lot of ways, huh?"

"yeah, that's pretty cool," you agree. this is bad. you can't stop smiling. was minghao always this charming?

not that you would know, you remind yourself, laughing at his blunt sense of humour all throughout lunch, barely focused on the taste of the pasta minghao had ordered. you feel unlike yourself. like you're floating and all you could feel was minghao's magnetic charm, keeping you focused on him and him alone. or maybe that was the wine talking. 

that's how you end up at your place, kissing his face, before you can comprehend the situation. "fuck," you breathe between kisses, "i don't usually kiss on the first date." 

minghao pulls away with a small grin, "i don't either." with that, he kisses you again. and again. eventually, you make it to the couch, each somewhat recovering in their own way. now that you're back to your senses a little, you're more than glad things didn't go any further with minghao. it really was only the first date. you would hate to regret any of it later. 

"oh, i'm so rude, i didn't even offer you a drink or anything," you stand up, embarassed, "can i get you something? water? tea? coffee? um, i also have beer but i don't know if that's to your taste." 

minghao chuckles, "you don't have to worry, y/n. i'm good as it is."

"no, that won't do. we've been here for like 20 minutes and i haven't even gotten you water," you say, walking over to the kitchen.

"to be fair," you hear minghao say smugly, "we were kinda occupied for a hot second."

"...right," you mumble, reddening a little, "well, i'm gonna get you something whether you want it or not, so what will it be?" 

"some tea would be great," he admits finally. "nice, two teas coming up in five," you call out. you spend another 30 minutes just talking to minghao over tea, when you hear a knock at your door. you frown. 

you try to excuse yourself but minghao gets a phone call at that very second so you silently gesture to the door and he nods in understanding. you open the door and almost close it right back when you see wonwoo on the other side. he's grinning, all merry as if he didn't just interrupt your date. 

"wonwoo?" you question, "can i help you?"

"wow, that's cold," he says. "am i interrupting something?"

"actually, yes. remember the date i had today?"

"i thought that was just some boring stuff like museum and italian food?? now, he's followed you home??" 

you shush wonwoo urgently, thankful that minghao was still on the phone and couldn't hear his rude comments. "wonwoo, i'm busy. i'll hang tomorrow–"

"no, i wanna say hi to your date," wonwoo declares, pushing by you and into the living room where minghao talking on the phone. "rude, bro's on the phone in the middle of a date."

before you can ridicule wonwoo's stupid reasoning, minghao turns around, apparently done with his call and raises a brow when he spots the new figure next to you. you grimace apologetically, "sorry, minghao, this is the friend i was telling you about earlier. i tried to stop him but he wanted to say hi–"

"you've been badmouthing me behind my back?" wonwoo interrupts you with an unimpressed look, shaking his head. "whatever she's told you about me, i'm sorry. i'm wonwoo, nice to meet you."

minghao stands up and strides over to shake wonwoo's hand like the nice guy he is and introduces himself. "nice to meet you, too. i'm minghao." 

"i just came by because we had plans tonight," he says, with a side glance at your perplexed face, "but i guess i must've gotten the time wrong or something."

"oh, no, no, you're probably right. i've been here longer than planned," wonwoo doesn't miss the small smile minghao throws at you. "but i should head out, too. i also have some guests coming over later tonight."

you look deflated at how things are going, "are you sure?" minghao nods as he gathers his things – things such as a brown leather jacket that looked more expensive than any item of clothing wonwoo owned – and heads for the door. you follow him like a lost puppy. 

when you reach the door, out of wonwoo's earshot, you apologize to wonwoo again and he brushes your sorrys off, "don't worry about it. i'm the one who should be sorry for taking off like this. i would've liked to spend time with your friend."

"i don't know how that would've gone down," you say uneasily, "but thank you for today. really. it was great."

"i'm glad to hear that," minghao says with a grin. he reaches close and hugs you, a warmth radiating between you when he pulls away. "thank you for letting me take you out. i hope we can do it again some time." with that he places a kiss on your cheek and takes his leave. 

once he's gone, you go back inside and sigh, a mix of feelings in your chest. on the one hand, you feel uneasy now that your date with minghao is over, doubtful of whether he really meant his words about wanting to go on another date with you. your past experience had taught you can never tell with men, even if they told you they loved spending time with you with the sweetest smile on their lips. 

on the other hand, you were now alone with wonwoo, which was a whole another problem on its own. a problem you didn't feel equipped to handle right now. not when you still hadn't sorted your feelings about him out. whatever it was, it wasn't easy and it sure as hell didn't become any easier when wonwoo was staring you down, intently. 

"...wonwoo," you start, voice low, "i'm really sorry but i don't have the energy for this right now. i just want to head to bed now."

wonwoo doesn't hide the look of hurt on his face. "what? it's like six right now."

"yeah, but i've had a long day and–"

"is this because i interrupted your date with minghao?"

you feel an rush of annoyance rush to your head but reign it for the sake of your friendship. "it's not about anything other than the fact that i'm tired."

"you seemed perfectly energetic when minghao was here. why'd you invite him over anyway? i thought you kept it chill on the first date." 

"well, have you considered that i just genuinely liked him enough to bring him over? more importantly, i don't see how any of this is your business, wonwoo."

"of course it is! i care about you–"

"if you care about me, maybe don't cut my date short next time!" 

the silence is resounding, following your silence and you hate yourself when you see the grave look on wonwoo's face. he was being for real right now. but you really can't bring yourself to understand him.

"wonwoo, i'm sorry, i just don't know what you want from me, okay? i thought you would support me when i'm finally have some luck finding a boyfriend–"

"what i don't understand is why you want to find a boyfriend so bad. i think you're happy enough as it is and you only seem to become upset over men. why invite heartbreak into your life–"

"because i'm a romantic, wonwoo. i just want to fall in love!" you tell him, "i got degree my parents wanted, settled for a job that makes me enough money and maybe a little happy sometimes, but the one thing i want to do for myself is find someone i can love. i want to experience love, at least once in my life. is that really so bad?"

wonwoo scoffs much to your utter disbelief, "some romantic you are…"

"what the fuck did you just say?" 

you see him visibly inhale deeply and sigh. "y/n, i don't have a problem with you finding love." 

"really? because it sure looks like you do? i know you don't really care about love but–"

"why would you think that?" 

"well, have you ever been in love?" you ask him incredulously. 

"of course i have!" he cries out, "i'm in love with you, y/n." 

"you wouldn't–" you start when he says he's been in love and then stumble over your words when you hear his next words. you stop short with your mouth hanging open, "you're– wait, what?"

over the recent years, wonwoo had thought about whether his feelings really needed to be said out loud at this point – he felt like he was crazy obvious. but looking at the shocked look on your face right now, it was clear that if you would never have figured out his feelings without him telling you. which is fair, he can't expect you read people's minds but what really got his heart in a twist was the fact that you hadn't even remotely considered him liking you, which meant you were far from liking him back. 

though this a fact he's gotten used to, he feels the sting stronger than usual, maybe because the last day has him confused. to be honest, when you'd kissed him without a warning, it got to his head. thought maybe he had a chance after all. it was that high he'd been riding the whole time; that morning when he shamelessly kissed your cheek, this evening when he invited himself into your place when he knew you had a date over. 

but now he's positive he was delusional because all you have are platonic feelings for him at the end of the day.

"wonwoo, i'm sorry, i had absolutely no idea that–" you don't even know what to say, you cut yourself off, "i'm- i can't give you a clear answer right now. but if you give me some time, i promise i can."

"you don't have to answer me, y/n," wonwoo says with a bittersweet smile, "i know how you feel about me. but i had to tell you at least once before i gave up. i don't want you to feel burdened by my confession, just– why don't you forget about it?"

you blink at his words slowly, "but–"

"i should probably leave," he says, "i've long overstayed my welcome here." with that, he heads for the door, not heeding your requests for him to wait a second, "sorry for ruining your date by the way," he calls out as he leaves without another glance. 

– 

it takes you a whole day of overthinking your entire life – after all, that's how long you'd known wonwoo now – to come anywhere close to an answer. and really, it's not much. so far this is what you have: 

a week ago, you had never once considered wonwoo as more than a friend. maybe the best friend you'd ever have, perhaps a rare and special connection that you wouldn't have with another person. while the idea had come up, through other people doubting the purely platonic nature of your relationship, you had truly never entertained the thought. not because you had something against it, but because you were convinced a link like the one you had with wonwoo was only possible in a friendship. 

but then last night had happened, and something had possesed you to kiss him on the cheek – that something might've something to do with the itch in your body every time he was closer than normal, something to do with the way you'd been captivated by his sleeping form. 

and reflecting back, you were dumbfounded by how many times wonwoo had tried to hint at his feelings. a few years ago, when you'd gotten drunk with friends back in college, they'd dared wonwoo to kiss the person he liked and he'd politely declined, muttering that he couldn't kiss someone who was being pursued by someone else. as it turns out, and as you had been too stupid to realize, you had been the only one there in a talking stage with a guy you'd met at your part-time job. 

then, there was the way he always responded to you quickly, no matter what, ready to do things he was otherwise reluctant to do. always asking to spend time, always trying to stay close. there was also the eye-contact that he barely made with other friends, even other people – the way you'd look at him to find him already looking at you. 

"i'm an idiot," you tell yourself as you stare at wonwoo's contact on your phone, wanting to hear his voice but not when you still were so undecided. 

that's how it gets all the way to friday and you still haven't reached out to wonwoo. if you're daft reaction to his feelings hadn't closed the deal, your radio silence for the past week sure did. but unwilling to accept that truth, you call him, only a little surprised when he doesn't pick up. 

he must be mad, you think. but as much as that thought scares you, you can't stand giving up already. you end up making your way to his college campus, hoping he'd be in his room, even though it was 6 on a friday night. 

uncertainly, you knock on his door. and then louder a few more times when you don't hear a response. you're close to giving up and walking yourself home when you hear faint voices inside. "--sick of you making me open the door every time—" it's wonwoo's roommate, mingyu. he stands before you, in boxers and incredibly shirtless, and you think you should've at least texted wonwoo that you were coming over. 

but despite your apprehensions, mingyu doesn't seem embarassed, just amused. "oh? it's noona." 

you can't help but smile lightly at mingyu's use of the honorific, as if you weren't only a few months older than him. but him continuing the yearslong tradition reassured you, though you were sure he'd heard some foul things about you from wonwoo over the past few days. 

"hey, mingyu," you wave uncertainly, and try to get a look into the room past him with no avail, "sorry to show up like this, but is wonwoo around? i was trying to reach out to him but he didn't pick up." 

"ah, right, wonwoo…" mingyu says as if he didn't quite know who you were talking about. you can see the gears turning in his head, probably considering if he should tell you the truth or not. the choice is made for him when wonwoo's voice reaches you. he's screaming, "KIM MINGYU, I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON'T GET YOUR ASS BACK RIGHT NOW— WE'RE FUCKING LOSING OUR LEAD BECAUSE OF–" 

you stifle a laugh at mingyu's guilty expression. "right, so he is here," you comment in what you hope is a neutral tone. "you think i can see him?" 

he pauses, looking unsure, "listen, i don't know the full details of what happened with you guys, but wonwoo's been really quiet the past week and i'm not sure if seeing you right now– if he's in the right state of mind…" 

"is that so…" you mumble disheartenedly, though this was a fact that you yourself had been grappling with. "i guess i should leave him alone, then." you're about to take your leave when an arm drapes itself over mingyu's bare shoulder, wonwoo's face poking into your view. 

you freeze up when you lock eyes with wonwoo's face, his smile visibly disappearing. "y/n? what're you doing here?" 

"i was just–" you rub your neck, looking away in an attempt to come up with a credible excuse, "i was just taking a walk around here and thought i'd drop by to say hi. but um, since you guys seem busy, i'll just find another time. anyway, good night!" 

with that, you take yourself out of their sight, rushing down the stairs to the room so fast that you almost trip over and die. thankfully though you've made it to the door that leads out without actually leaving a crime scene on the poor residents' hands. 

"y/n! wait!" 

you stop in your tracks when wonwoo's voice echoes in the stairwell and almost lose all feeling in your knees when you see him run after you, out of breath. "god, woman, since when have you been this fast?"

"sorry," you say quietly, though you're not sure why you're apologizing. 

"can we talk?" 

you look up at him in surprise, "...that should be my line."

"i know, gyu told me why you actually came by," wonwoo admits with a deep sigh, "that idiot, i can't believe he tried to shoo you away without even letting you in. sorry about him."

"no, he was just trying to protect your peace. i get it."

"really? in what world is keeping a guy from the girl of his dreams 'protecting his peace'?"

you gasp at wonwoo's blatant admission and swallow against the lump in your throat. wonwoo looks tired, you can tell from the bags under his eyes and the way his shoulder is set, and you feel guilty for adding to his exisiting stress. you owe it to him to give him a proper closure. 

"wonwoo, i'm so sorry i didn't reach out to talk this past week. i was just so in my head figuring things out and i kept losing the guts to face you. i truly can't express how much i treasure what we have, and honestly, i'm starting to doubt if it was always platonic. because somewhere along the way, i got so used to being around you, i didn't think about what it meant to be that close to someone.

"that being said, i still can't wrap my head around how i feel. i know it's not the clear answer i promised you, but if you give me a little bit more time, i will be able to think it through. but i understand if you wanna keep your distance with me while i do that. sorry." 

"why do you keep apologizing?" wonwoo asks you, brows set in confusion, "you're maybe the sweetest person ever to even think so hard about your feelings for me. and i understand if you need time, it's years' worth of feelings after all… but, there's one thing…" 

you perk up at the last part of his words, "yeah, what is it?"

"i don't think i can keep my distance from you," he says, eyes dropping to his feet for a few beats before meeting yours again, "i thought about it and honestly, the worst thing about the past week was that i couldn't just thoughtlessly intrude into your house and eat with you after a long day. maybe that's on me for having quality time as my love language, but god, y/n, i think i'd be a miserable man if i had to live without you."

"wonwoo, i…" 

"i'm warning you, if you say sorry one more time, i'm gonna do something bad. plus, i feel much lighter now that the cat's out of the bag. i can finally be the truest version of myself around you."

swallowing the millionth apology on your tongue, you say, "then let's not avoid each other. maybe spending time with you will help me understand how i feel–" you stop yourself mid-sentence when you hear what it sounds like, "wait, no, that sounds insensitive… what i meant was–"

"wait, no, you might actually be onto something," wonwoo says and you feel a chill run down your spine at the smirk that takes hold over his face. "perhaps i can find a way to make you sure about me? like, seduce you?"

"what? that's not what i was suggesting–" 

"i know but it's what i am suggesting!" he says, slowly closing in on you, hand coming to rest atop your head. "maybe i can finally let go and do the impulsive things i've wanted to do– don't worry, all within a limit, of course. think of it as the talking stage?" 

"the talking stage?" when he puts it like that, you can see some reason behind it. it wasn't serious enough to be a relationship but still served as a step up from your normal friendship with wonwoo. "i guess that wouldn't be not fine…"

"wouldn't be not fine…" wonwoo repeats your words under his breath, "so you're fine with it??" he sighs in relief, fingering coming to brush through your hair before they returned by his side. "alright then! glad we came to an understanding! now, i'm sorry i must excuse myself for i promised kim mingyu i'd be back at game night in no time." 

"oh yeah, you should definitely get back to game night," you say with a soft smile, but then catch him by the wrist as he turns around, "oh, wonwoo! thanks for letting me say my thing, by the way… and i'm sorry."

he sighs lowly at that, pulling you into a hug, "what did i say about apologizing again? now i have to do a bad thing or i'll be someone who doesn't keep his word." before you can protest, he pulls apart and leans in close to kiss your cheek. then he kisses your other cheek– and then, your forehead. you're turning beet red by the time he stops at your nose, laughing at your struck expression. "alright, now we're good. and i should be the one thanking you for taking my feelings seriously. i'll see you later, yeah? we should do something tomorrow since it's a saturday." 

"yeah," you agree and give him a slight push away, "okay, now go do your thing with mingyu or he's gonna hate me even more."

"he doesn't hate you, he's just–"

"don't wanna hear it! go play your games, gameboy!" 

"alright, miss, whatever you say."

– 

"watch it," wonwoo warns you, eyes fixed on your screen, "no, no, don't go that way, the turret's gonna hit you."

"i don't understand," you whine, "there's too many things on my screen." 

when you'd agreed to let wonwoo teach you how to play one of his favorite games, league of legends, you hadn't forseen the amount of stress would running in your veins. your head hurts and your vision is blurry. you've just started and you're only up against the easiest level of bots but every time you step outside the safety of your base, you seem to get immediately obliterated. 

"okay, y/n, here, let me show you," wonwoo shifts closer to you and if anything, it makes it harder to focus when you feel his shoulder come to rest against yours. at the same time, his warmth soothes you somewhat when he calmly instructs you where to go and how to attack the enemy. his tips help you drastically and in the next ten minutes, you've gotten to the enemy's turret, eventually scoring a kill.

"wonwoo! i got my first kill! did you see that?" you turn to him with a bright grin and find him sporting a similar grin, his hand coming to pat your head. "you did so well!" 

that's how you slowly make it through the first game, securing a victory, mostly thanks to wonwoo's overpowered skills, destroying his own lane and getting to the base in no time. "god, you're such a show-off," you mumble when you see the dramatic difference in KDAs on the final stat summary page. "i don't think i was built to be a gamer." 

"now why would you say that?"

"look at me, woo! i'm sweating my balls off and that was only against bots! i won't last a day in the real world," you complain with a pout, "plus my fingers aren't fast like yours. i take forever to cast my skill and by that time, it's too late."

"y/n, it took me like a week of playing to get my first kill against a bot," wonwoo tells with a grimace, "so the fact that you got through that with a decent KDA is incredible. and my fingers got because i played so much, i didn't get good in a day."

you sigh, resting your head on the couch, "hmm, you have a point."

"but we can call it day if you're tired," he says with a smile, coming back to rest his shoulder next to you and following your resting figure, "thanks for trying though."

"it was fun, but i'm gonna need a week before i can touch this game again."

you feel the laugh that leaves wonwoo in your own chest, the sound filling you with his joy, as if it were your own. without thinking about it, you shuffle closer to him, a soft sigh escaping you when you feel his bicep harden against your arm. 

"you good?" he asks you in a low voice when you stay unmoving for a while. you nod with your eyes still closed. "i'm doing great," you say, "just recharging." when wonwoo doesn't say anything in response, you take a peek at him to see him looking at you sideways, with a goofy smile. 

"mind telling me why you're looking at me like that?" 

"nothing, i just thought it was cute how you volunteered to play league for our date when you don't even know how to play."

you flush, "well, i figured i'd have you teaching me the ropes. and i've been wanting to play with you because you said it's one of your favorite games." 

"that's sweet of you, isn't it?" wonwoo says, unable to stop smiling. "you always treat me so well." 

"i do, for some reason. it's almost like i'm attached to my best friend or something."

you bite your tongue when you accidently let the words slip, tensing up as you start to correct yourself. "i didn't mean it like–" 

"y/n, don't worry about it," wonwoo shushes you with the same smile he's had this whole time. "i know what you meant. and i'm flattered." 

you sigh in relief as you drop your eyes to your lap, fiddling with your fingers, somewhat nervous for no real reason all of a sudden. maybe it's because you're conscious of wonwoo, afraid to slip up again and say something hurtful.

"you don't have to be so careful around me, you know?" he starts, "i've lived with this feelings for a while so it takes a lot for me to sway. and remember no matter what happens between us, i'm always gonna be your friend at the end of the day." 

"thank you for saying that," you say quietly, eyes still on your hands, feeling guilty. 

"hey, at least look at me if you want to show your gratitude."

"i can't. i'm…" you trail off, and then, "i'm sorry." 

"there it is again," wonwoo groans, "now you've done it. i'll have to punish you again for apologizing." his hand comes to rest atop your restless ones, slowly stopping your uneasy movements and intertwining his fingers with yours. and then steadily, he takes your hand close to his lips, placing a soft kiss against the knuckles. "the more you say sorry, the more i'm gonna have to work harder to make sure you fall in love with me, okay? and it's honestly pretty bad for my heart if i keep having to do things like this, so spare me."

bad for your heart? you question him in your head but don't voice iti, shaking your head at wonwoo's sly words. "you're insane," you murmur. 

"alright, that's more like it." 

– 

the following week, you see new sides of wonwoo because he takes it on himself to do all kinds things that are out of the blue for him. for one, he's been labelling every hang-out as a date, even when that day entailed perfectly normal activities you'd done a million times over with him. "it's an attempt to rewire your brain," he tells you with a foxy grin, "i'm making sure you don't forget to view me as a love interest."

speaking of love interests, he'd been straightforward with you that if you wanted to go out with minghao that would be fine. but you'd declined the possibility because you wouldn't know what to do with yourself around him now that you were immersed in the uncertainties of your relationship with wonwoo. and on thinking long and hard about the date with minghao, you'd gotten the feeling that you were interested in his looks more than anything. sure, he'd been so charming but it was wonwoo that was keeping you up at night. 

that's why you find a way to turn him down when he asks if you'd like to go on another date with him:

minghao: hey, y/n! there's a night market near where i live this weekend

minghao: i've never been able to go but i've heard it's super pretty

minghao: so i was wondering if you'd like to come with me? :) 

you: hey, minghao

you: i'm sorry, i don't think i can see you again

you: i really enjoyed our date but there's someone else i'm talking to atm

minghao: oh

minghao: i see

minghao: dw about it! it was nice to see you either way!minghao: but just out of curiosity, is this new person your friend from the other day?

you: huh??

minghao: you know the one who came to your place when i was over

you: …it is him

you: how'd u know

minghao: hehe i just got a vibe

minghao: he looked at you like you were lovers in another lifetime

you: girl what 

you: i mean that's so sweet but really?? didn't he just look at me like i was going to feed him for the night?

minghao: no way, when a guy looks at u like that… i don't know how else to say it but he'd love if you were a worm

you: interesting

you: thanks? idk

you: you're cool for a guy that just got rejected 

minghao: it's ok, i'm sure i can land another date in time for the night market ;)

you: of course you can 

you: goodnight minghao :)

minghao: night, y/n! maybe we'll meet as friends someday 

you: maybe…

"damn it, he's smooth…" wonwoo whines when you show him your screen the next day, only after you've made him promise you that he wouldn't jump to conclusions. "i don't think i can stand you being friends with him. like ever."

"wonwoo, i don't think that's gonna happen. but even if it did, i don't know, i think he'd make a great friend."

"oh he most definitely would. that's precisely the problem. i can't be outdone by another man like that," he says in a ridiculously grave tone, "he's too cool. i wouldn't stand a chance against him."

"you realize that the only reason i'm not going on that date with him is because i'd rather go on a date with you?" you poke wonwoo's arm with a soft smile.

the man hesitates, processing your words before a smile breaks out onto his face. "wait— i mean, of course i know i'm– wait, does that mean you–?"

"i'm in love with you, wonwoo. i think i've always been. i was just too much of an idiot to understand it."

wonwoo's imagined you saying something along these lines a lot but what he's been far more prepared for is you rejecting him. for the longest time, he's lived with the reality of you not reciprocating his feelings and that's honestly what became normal for him along the way. so when you look into his eyes, it's like you're looking into his soul and leaving him completely starstuck. all he can see is you before him for a solid few seconds before he truly comprehends you. 

"don't look so shocked! i thought this whole week was for this exact outcome!" you laugh at his speechlessness. 

"right," wonwoo swallows against his dry throat, suddenly shyer than he's ever been, "i'm just shocked. i didn't expect for it to actually work? i don't know, are you sure you love me? it's not just as a friend? like, i'd understand if it's just because we've known each for the longest time and seen each other through hard times."

"wonwoo…" you exhale, "are you rejecting my feelings right now?"

"no! of course not!"

"then why are you doubting me? i know how i feel about you. that's the whole reason why i took so long to give you an answer."

"i know," his gaze drops to the floor, head reeling a little. this is what he's wanted deep down for the longest time so he can't help but feel like he's dreaming right now. 

when you hear the doubt in his voice, you take his face in your hands, forcing him to look back at you. "wonwoo," you shake him, "i love you." you peck him on the nose. "i want you to be my boyfriend, if you'll have me."

"of fucking course," wonwoo seems to return to his senses when you press your lips against his skin. cheeks red and eyes wide, his hands find your body, fingers already by your jaw, pulling you closer. "i love you so much, i think it'll kill me one day. but for now i think being your boyfriend will do." 

you giggle at his dramatic statement and close the distance between you, feeling the warm of his breath like never before. he kisses you back immediately, letting out a low groan at the action, the hand at your waist, squeezing you lovingly. 

"can't believe i waited so long to do that," he says when the two of you pull back. 

you kiss his cheek with a soft mewl, "you're so warm, woo." 

"am i?" he wonders, arms moving on their own as they bring you closer to his chest. he kisses your forehead, "now we can both be warm." 

— 

"okay, okay, i'm ready to leave," you call out victoriously as you step out into the living room. wonwoo looks up from the projector screen where he's currently rewatching a run-through of a new game was gonna try out for his channel. but he immediately loses the smart comment he was gonna throw out there when he sees you, all dolled up and showing off the dress you're wearing with a smug smile.

it's a simple blue dress with a modest neck and long skirt that hugged your hips perfectly. and it also happened to be the dress wonwoo's birthday gift to you last year. you'd worn it out with him before but this is definitely the first time you'd taken it out on a proper date. and how appropriate for it to be a date with wonwoo himself. 

"you like?" you ask him as you walk closer to him, running a hand through his hair. 

"i love," he replies instantly, arm coming to your lower back, "you look heavenly. god, do we have to go out? i don't mind just staying here and watching you in this dress."

"no," you decline his ridiculous request firmly, "i've been wanting to visit this bookstore for the past year. so i'm sorry, love, but you'll have to do with watching me read if you really want to be creepy."

"it's not creepy if i'm your boyfriend, is it now?"

"...maybe."

"alright, i think i'm good to go then! let's go!" 

at the bookstore, you genuinely have to shake wonwoo off your back and force him to find a book he likes before you leave. he complains and whines about how he just wants to enjoy his girlfriend's taste in books but when he does finally wander off, you find him engrossed in a book he found in the science-fiction section.

you sneak up onto him with a grin, "enjoying yourself?"

he looks up, "...surprisingly. but only because i got kicked out…"

"you wanna get that?" you ask him, taking a glance at the book cover. "just drop in here," you show him your basket that already has a couple of your picks in it.

"you're buying?"

"mhm, think of it as a token of our first real date?"

wonwoo smiles, eyes bright, "alright then. thanks." 

after that, the two of you walk over to the restaurant wonwoo had had reservations at. it was also a fairly new place but had gotten popular for being a couples' hot spot. and wonwoo understands why when the waiter shows you to your table for the night– it's secluded by a corner on the porch, with nothing but a candle illuminating the surroundings. 

"ah, we can also move the table so that both chairs are next to each other?" the waiter says with a polite smile, "would you like that?"

"yes, please!" wonwoo calls out enthusiastically and you squeeze his hand with a chuckle as the waiter nods and shifts for the rearrangement. 

"this is perfect," he says when you sit next to him. "this way, i can still hold your hand," he mutters. 

"you're cute," you tell him with a soft grin, "i love you."

wonwoo leans in to kiss your lips softly, leaving you a little breathless when he slips in a quiet, " and i love you more than you could imagine." 

author's note:

oh my god this fic took everything out of me to get out there... took a whole entire week but she's here, i really hope you guys like it!! i'm really down bad for wonwoo recently, to the point that he might've joined my bias line haha... more reason why tomorrow's gonna kill me. honestly though, this man will keep me going through some tough times (aka jeonghan and wonwoo shortage).

also, i lowkey fell in love with minghao while writing him here so expect a fic soon??? lol idk for a moment there i was confused who this fic was really for (sorry wonwoo i love u tho). as always, thank you for reading and i love reading what you think so please do let me know <3

[twilightt-fantasy]

stress relief [v.kings]

description: the kings worry that their mate is pushing herself too hard.

requested by: n/a

warnings: uhhh none? maybe suggestive content??

this is totally self indulgent bc i just took my state boards for nursing and let me tell you all, i was stressed and definitely could have used these 3 in my life haha. enjoy!! :))

her head was pounding, eyes straining from re-reading the same question that laid in front of her over and over again. the computer screen seemed to get brighter with every passing second, the words jumbling together as she scrambled through her thoughts to find the correct answer.

she had been at this for hours - the never ending cycle of studying and reviewing that she had been stuck in for weeks now. she couldn’t help it though - every moment that passed where she wasn’t studying felt like a waste of time and, with the help of her overthinking, she was convinced that taking a break would mean not passing.

and she refused to accept anything less than a passing result on her test.

this was the biggest test of her life, after all. she had spent years in college preparing for this moment and was terrified now that it was here. this was the moment that defined if she was capable of putting all of her earned knowledge to the test and being competent in her field.

in her eyes anyway.

her kings disagreed with her.

caius, marcus, and aro all agreed that she had this test in the bag. how couldn’t she? she was incredibly smart and driven and had worked her ass off for years to be the best that she could be. there was no doubt in any of their minds that she’d pass and they had each tried to convince her of that multiple times.

but of course, their mate was nothing if not stubborn, and had a hard time seeing reason when she was under this much stress.

the test was in three days, which meant even more time studying and preparing and more migraines, irritability, stress and anxiety.

she reread the question again and then the answer choices, racking her brain for the answer before finally deciding on her best guess and sighing. the girl reached up to rub her temples with one hand, her other reaching for the glass of water to drink in an attempt to settle the pounding behind her eyes.

behind her, aro watched his mate with narrowed eyes. as one of her mates, he easily picked up on her emotions and was not very pleased with the amount of stress she had placed on herself as of late. she had always been an overachiever in school, always had bad test anxiety and held herself to high standards in relation to grades. but to him, this was excessive.

“how many more questions do you have until that test is over?” aro asked, catching the full attention of both caius and marcus, who were only half paying attention before.

“i don’t know.” she mumbled, answering the next question easily before moving on.

caius rolled his eyes from his spot on the bed before he flashed over behind his mate, the girl not even flinching at his sudden appearance. he peered over her shoulder at the screen before turning back to marcus and aro and holding up five fingers.

caius sat back then, the three of them waiting patiently as she finished the practice exam and viewed her passing result before he sat back up and turned off the monitor.

“hey!” she spun around, her red-rimmed eyes glaring hard at caius. “what are you doing?”

“you’re done.” he said, sternly. “you’ve been at this for hours and it’s nearly midnight. you’re done.”

“no.” she spoke back, her voice raising as she pointed a finger back at the screen. “my test is in three days and i’m not ready.”

“yes you are.” marcus argued before caius could answer with something that wouldn’t help the situation. “and taking a break to sleep is not going to affect anything anyway, especially when you can hardly focus on the questions.”

a lump grew in the back of her throat but she fought past it, ready to argue some more. aro raised his hand, before standing himself and moving beside caius. he gripped her hand is his, his other moving up to rest on her forehead. she sighed, the coldness of aro’s skin relieving the headache she hadn’t fully realized she had.

“cara mia, please take a break. eat a snack, take a nap. and the next two days you can study for a few hours at a time.”

“aro…” her eyes were pleading as she looked up at him but he wouldn’t give in. marcus had appeared to grab her other hand and aro moved back as marcus pulled her out of the chair.

“no arguing, dearest.” marcus pushed her towards the bathroom in their shared rooms, dropping her hand in order to turn on the shower. “take a shower and relax. when you get out, we can do whatever you want for the rest of the night.”

she seemed to debate it, her heavy eyes darting from between her kings to the shower, her lip disappearing between her teeth. “you three are free tonight?”

“for as long as you need us to be, tesoro.” caius answered and the girl sighed again, rolling her shoulders and neck as she did. she stood silent for a few more moments, before the weight of her exhaustion finally hit her and she stepped closer to her kings.

her head fell onto marcus’ chest and his hand reached up to her hair, fingers curling through her strands as she stood there. caius and aro joined them a moment later, aro’s fingers gently massaging the back of her neck while caius kissed her shoulder.

“get in the shower, love.” caius spoke again as steam began to fill the bathroom. “afterwards, no more thinking about that test until tomorrow.”

“okay.” she murmured, pressing a kiss to each of their lips before finally moving towards the shower.

the three left her to relax, barely making it back towards the main living quarters before they heard her call out. “if you’re so worried about how stressed i am, you three could help me find a little relief!”

they were back in the bathroom in the blink of an eye.

* a few days later*

“i passed! i passed! i passed!” an excited voice echoed down the corridors, growing closer and louder with every word. fast footsteps pounded down the hallway towards the throne room, where the three kings sat conversing before the next trial.

the three kings shared smiles as their human mate continued to approach the throne room and they stood to greet her, each of them wearing a proud smile and assuring her that they never doubted her for a second.

[yanderestarangel]

HEADKANONS MK1 | 𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐆 + 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐊 - 𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 |

TW: gang bang, sub!reader, dom!mens, blowjob, double blowjob, double penetration, anal, masturbation, ass play, pet names, triple penetration, unprotected sex, cum play, monster fuck, cock warning, exhibitionism, sadism , masochism, sex with ropes, bdsm, rough sex, extreme sex, objectification, degradation, porn plot, afab anatomy, oral f!re, orgasm denied, monster fuck.

ღ ୭·࣭࣪̇˖ Comments and reblogs are welcome <3 Do you want to make me a request? read my pinned post.

You accepted the challenge, to catch them all at once, like the good warrior you were, but you caught them not in a fight but in bed.

To start preparing you would be a job for Raiden and Kung Lao. Raiden would calm you down, telling you not to be shy, but it was difficult seeing more than eleven men in front of you. Kung lao would grab your body and immobilize it, in a strong but still controlled way, making you sigh in shame, seeing the show you were/were going to give to all of them. Raiden would lower himself close to your crotch, waiting for Lord Liu Kang's orders to begin, which was met with a nod from the Fire Lord, making Raiden prepare your little pussy with his tongue and fingers, you were totally vulnerable and that was extremely delicious, all the fighters were watching you, waiting to be next. Raiden ran his tongue through your smooth folds, while Kung Lao brought his hands to your breasts, showing them to everyone. You saw the satisfied and lascivious looks of the eleven men in the room, your sweet moans echoed in everyone's ears as the mortal kombat champion used you delicately, using the powers of electricity to cause shocks of pleasure in your clitoris. "-You're so beautiful (Y/N), they all want to fuck you" -Kung lao would say while Raiden would agree looking at you, the sight of him sucking your pussy was almost unbearable it was so good, but soon you heard the order to change, getting ready for other partners, watching Raiden take his mouth off your pussy with a string of saliva connecting your wetness and him.

Next up were Kenshi and Johnny Cage. Both eager, a perfect balance of soft!dom and hard!dom. Kenshi would already place a kiss on your lips, a hungry and aggressive kiss, taking off the few clothes you had, leaving you completely naked in front of them all. Johnny smiled at you, while whispering in your ear: "-Let's give them the show they want, okay baby?" While giving you a kiss on the cheek, taking his skilled fingers to your core, dripping and smooth, covered in Raiden's saliva. Kenshi on the other hand would put his dick out, forcing you to suck eagerly, you obeyed, wanting to please everyone there, after all, you were the best. Takahashi saw you take his cock in your mouth, your lips sucked it desperately, pleasing him and pushing the length into you even more, forcing you to feel it in your throat. "-Such a greedy slut, how does it feel to be watched by all of us? Huh?" He pushes his dick into you even more, making you choke. "-Don't be so rude Takahashi... (Y/N) is a good bitch... A beautiful bitch." -Johnny speaks while inserting a second and then third finger into your pussy, while you heard comments from all the men, whether degrading you, praising you or complaining to be next. Kenshi feels the familiar heat in his balls, pushing his dick out of your mouth and ending up on your breasts, while Cage pushes you to your first orgasm, making you cum and squirt all over the movie star's arm as he gives you a cheesy wink.

You were still shaking from the orgasm, but you barely had time to breathe, seeing the lin kuei trio come close to you, Bi Han easily took you off the bed frame you were on, while Kuai Liang tied you with his hands behind your back, making strong knots that would certainly mark your skin, while I held you with the help of Tomas, who just smiled at you whispering that he was going to make you feel good. Bi Han soon opened your legs wide, taking out his dick, already dripping with cum from the tip, hitting your clitoris repeatedly, he didn't even wait for Liu Kang's order, pushing his thick length into you, filling you up, your pussy contracted drooling and squeezing his thick cock. "-You're a whore to me, even your pussy knows that little slut." -He growls under the mask, as he thrust his hips hard into your pussy, not caring if you were going to feel pleasure or not. You feel Tomas hold you as Kuai Liang squeezed one of your breasts, taking off his golden mask and taking the soft, bouncy flesh into his hot mouth, moaning against your skin. Bi Han continued to pound hard, his heavy balls slapped against your ass, Making you whimper and cry with pleasure and punishing pain, the grand master saw that you were close to cumming, pulling out of you with a sadistic expression, denying you the orgasm while it was Tomas' turn to fuck your pussy, alongside Kuai Liang. They both removed themselves from the position of supporting you, you found yourself among the ninjas now, with Kuai Liang behind and Tomas in front. Vrbada lifted you onto his lap easily, while Kuai Liang held your ass, using the soft cheeks of your ass to masturbate his thick and hot dick, while ninja smoke was hitting your overstimulated pussy, his thick dick was even bigger than Bi Han's, who just watched everything from the sidelines, along with the other combatants, who already had/were going to get you fuck. Tomas used a slow and provocative rhythm, holding your hips while using his other hand to make you suck his fingers, then using them on your clitoris. "-It's going so well... you're so good to me... for us, Lord Liu Kang is satisfied." -he babbled while he was lost in the velvety heat of your pussy, while Kuai Liang just let out moans and groans, biting your neck while moving his hips on your sensitive ass flesh, the man finally came, dirtying your ass on the outside, smearing your back and cheeks and slapping you hard to spread more of his cum across your skin. Now Tomas pushed even further towards the end of your pussy, making you cum once again, milking his dick with everything he had, he came all over your little pussy, taking out his dick and gently hitting your clitoris, giving you a kiss on the forehead.

The next ones were Syzoth and Baraka, with both holding you well, Baraka went in front, using your mouth to fuck, ensuring that you were well positioned for Syzoth to enter. You were still tied with Kuai Liang's ropes, which made the lizard man's job easier. Syzoth used one of his hands to grab the ropes, using the tip of his dick to tease your tight and still unused ass hole, spitting on the virgin canal while Baraka fucked your mouth, you salivated on his dick, as you watched him praise you. "-Yes, such a good boy/girl... please continue like this..." -Baraka forced his cock, coming against your cheek, fucking every oral cavity you had to offer. Syzoth on the other hand finally managed to enter your ass, his cock stretched you painfully and deliciously, making you tremble and roll your eyes. Both men matched a rhythm, with Syzoth moaning loudly even as he tried to control himself. "-Look at the mess you're making... do you like having that sweet ass fucked? Do you like taking several men, you slut? You're so beautiful like that." -Syzoth moaned loudly, as he slapped your ass more, his heavy balls hit your clitoris, sore and dirty with Tomas' cum, while Baraka grunted like an animal, fucking your mouth even more, he took his dick out of your mouth, running your tongue over his head while he came, staining your lips and even your teeth. Syzoth followed his friend's example, cumming deep in your ass, taking out his dick while giving you a quick pat on the head for doing a good job.

Shao Khan's strong hands grabbed you, lifting you like a trophy, while Reiko smiled. Shang tsung and Quan Chi just looked at each other, inviting themselves to join the game. You knelt in front of both sorcerers, taking both of their cocks at once in your mouth, Shang and Quan Chi moaned in unison, moving their cocks to the soft lair of your mouth. Reiko soon lay down on the floor, positioning himself inside your pussy at once, while he made you jump on him hard. General Shao Khan put his thick dick out, masturbating on your face. "-You're such a dirty human, you know? Being fucked by all these men and still wanting more?" -Shao Khan speaks in a sarcastic tone, hitting his dick on your face, the same face that was fucked by the two wizards' dicks. Reiko accelerated the pace, your pussy sucked him in with everything, the fat head of his penis slowly and rhythmically hitting your cervix, making you squirt again in record time. But they weren't going to end there, Shao Khan took you off Reiko's lap, using the already accustomed and tight hole of your ass to penetrate his cock. Meanwhile Quan Chi and Shang Tsung came together, both entering your pussy, Shang's cock filled you completely, while Quan Chi's cock only entered half, widening your hole even more. Reiko used his own hand, masturbating while squeezing your soft breasts. "-Taking two dicks in your pussy little pet? Damn you really are a whore." -Shang growled, as he stuck his dick into your pussy even more, while Quan Chi smiled sadicily, agreeing with his sorcerer friend. "-Yes... You're right, (Y/N) loves lots of cocks... doesn't they? How many men were there? I don't think our little pet even knows." When I would say finishing and cumming in your pussy, next to Shang, the thick liquid would stain you. Shao Khan slapped your ass hard, while finishing everything inside, without caring if you liked it or not. "-Yes... take all my cum in your ass... you worthless bitch." Khan soon left, while Reiko used your breasts to massage his dick, ending up on his stomach and breasts, completely dirtying your body.

Finally, you saw Geras and Liu Kang, who used his hands to untie the ropes that still held you, while holding your face. "-You were a good boy/girl... now let's get this over with, shall we?" -Liu Kang spoke softly, while Geras held you, he caught the attention of all the men present, as he fucked you in front of everyone, a strong and slow rhythm, smiling at you, the reward for being a great little slut for all combatants. Geras caressed your trembling body, showering you with praise. "-See how strong a fighter you were... still holding out against Lord Liu Kang and me at the end of it all? It looks like we have a winner here..." -Geras smiled, giving you a kiss, positioning himself behind you, while combining the slow pace with that of Liu Kang. "-Looks like we have a winner guys... wow (Y/N)... got us all..." -Kang said, laughing a little, while all the men looked at you, with longing, desire and happiness, that wasn't it It was going to end now and you knew it. Liu and Geras pushed you to your last orgasm, making you squirt in front of everyone, you fell a little on Bi Han and Syzoth, who were in the front row, while Johnny recorded everything, that was marked in history, and you had finally won,... Even if it wasn't in a conventional way.

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

A/N: horny jail for me 🤫

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

One of your "It's a Match" chapters gave me an idea. LOVE that series btw!

What if Gaz is a virgin so Simon let's him lose his virginity with his gf? Simon is there to guide Gaz and make sure he does it right so you get as much pleasure out of it as needed. Then you give Gaz the ride of his life while Simon controls when and where he gets to cum. The poor man whimpering beneath you from the edging and denial until he finally gets permission to cum.

Sub!Gaz x Dom!Simon x Switch!Reader

(Feel free to ignore this as well.)

Took some creative liberties with the prompt and made Switch!Reader a mean/brat tamer domme even if Gaz isn’t necessarily a brat (just felt more practical for me to do it). Sue me.

Sharing is caring. || Gaz x F!Reader x Ghost

Rating: E Words: 4.7K (this one got away from me sorry) Pairing: virgin!Gaz x gf!Reader x bf!Simon CW: smut, voyeurism, hotwifing, domination/submission, oral sex (m! and f! receiving), unprotected piv, fairly rough/forceful sex (BUT CONSENSUAL), praise, slight verbal degradation?, body mods (piercings). other tags: pre-established couple, loss of virginity, pre-agreed upon conditions, consent checks, no beta we die like soap. a/n: no thoughts, just vibes. NOT PROOFREAD

Simon first brought it up one sleepy Sunday evening, when you two were lying side by side in bed, his arms snaked around you as you read an e-book, his eyes glued to the TV on an episode of some crime show.

“You know,” He had said, Roman nose rubbing the top of your head affectionately. “I’d like to run something by you.”

“Hm?” You cooed as you rolled your head back on his chest to look up at him.

“So Kyle has this problem,” Simon began to explain as he looked down at you, brown eyes peering through his blonde lashes.

That got your senses tingling and you immediately set aside the tablet to dedicate your attention to the topic at hand, turning your body to properly face him, your arm coming to rest on his shoulder.

“What kind of problem?” You questioned, an eyebrow raising in intrigue.

Simon’s eyebrows twitched lightly, a tell-tale sign he was about to bring up something ‘embarrassing’, some good gossip. “Go on!” You immediately insisted, catching the little microexpressions on his face.

“He’s a virgin.” Simon revealed, causing you to gasp, pulling your head back and shaking it in confusion.

“NO?!” You said in shock. “With that pretty face of his?” You blinked.

“I know.” Simon says and then cocks a brow upward. “So what do you say?”

You didn’t need clarification, you simply smirked and shot him a look.

-

That’s how you ended up here.

Simon made all the arrangements, established rules with Kyle, and finally brought him over the that following Friday.

“You sure about this, sir?” Kyle asks, ever respectfully, sat on your living room couch, with you by his side, Simon sitting across from you on the arm chair by the chandelier.

“As sure as anyt’in’.” Your boyfriend replies and casts a glance at you. “You sure, da’lin’?”

“100% sure.” You answer, before glancing at Kyle. “Are you sure about it?”

“I… I am. But… It’s… It’s your relationship, I don’t want to cause an issue.” Kyle tells you, looking at you sheepishly, dark lashes fluttering anxiously over those stunning brown eyes of his.

“It’s not our first time doing this, I’m sure Simon’s told you all about it.” You reply in a reassuring tone.

“I know but…” Kyle says as he looks at you, your hand on his knee, finger drawing light circles on the denim of his pants.

“We’ll start off slow, at your pace. If ever there’s anything you don’t like, we’ll stop.” You assure him. “Simon’s here for that, after all… Not just for my sake, but yours too.” You add.

Kyle nods and gulps down a deep breath, casting one last glance at the form of his lieutenant, sat imposingly on the arm chair, legs spread open, lounging without a car in the world. One of his legs is bent near the seat, the other stretched across, foot resting on the edge of the coffee table, and arms resting comfortably on the rests, one of his hands holding a tumbler of Bourbon. His head is cocked to the side with interest.

The young sergeant nods again and slowly leans toward you. One of his hand tentatively wraps around your hip, fingers grazing the expanse of your ass in the shorts you’re wearing, while the other grabs you around the back of the neck, his lips connecting to yours.

Your warm, wet tongue swirling with his, soft breaths and gasps coming from your mouth as you let him take the lead for a moment... it’s all making his confidence grow. Sure, he’ll need guidance eventually, but for now he’s got this.

His hand slides to cup your ass, grabbing it with a greedy grasp, squeezing his fingers into the thickness, the other sinking into your hair, fingers gently clutching your scalp as they tug into the hairs.

He’s kissed plenty of people before, this isn’t new for him, and yet, it still feels completely different, in the way you’re not ‘his’ to kiss. But, somehow, that makes it all the better.

Slowly, your lips separate and you glance up at him a single look to check on his state and he nods imperceptibly, which causes your hands to slide down his chest and begin feeling him up.

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you atop of him, hands sliding under the fabric of your top to feel up your back as your own find the hem of his t-shirt and tug it up to expose his chest.

Your fingers trace his pecs, his abs, nails softly drawing down atop him, making him shiver. He’s younger than Simon, his skin infinitely smoother, his body fat percentage definitely lower, not a trace of hair on him. It’s so different from your boyfriend… And you welcome the change.

You help him take off his t-shirt, throwing it haphazardly to the side and then lower your mouth onto his jaw, neck, shoulders, collarbones… You’ve barely started and the poor kid looks like he’s already seeing the universe and all its stars, his cock having sprung to attention so quickly that the bulge in his pants keeps rubbing against your inner thigh.

Slowly, you slip down from atop of him, your hands sliding down his body as you kneel before him on the floor, hands tracing over his thighs in the jeans he’s wearing, fingers squeezing his strong muscles through the fabric.

“You’ve never gotten a bj before, have you?” You ask him, eyebrows cocked and eyes locked onto his face. He shakes his head immediately, muttering something about ‘getting a handy’ back in secondary but that was the extent of it.

“Poor thing.” You coo at him. “Never got to feel a pretty mouth wrapped around that cock, hm?” Yo teased him playfully, watching how his eyes widened, eyebrows scrunching pitifully, as you undid his belt and tugged down his jeans.

“You’re in good hands, Garrick. She’ll take good care of you. Has a very talented throat.” Simon pipes up behind you. You don’t even have to look behind you to spot the smirk on his lips, the way the dulcet of his voice comes just short of a boast and a brag of how lucky he himself is, and how lucky Kyle is that Simon was willing to share you.

You help Kyle out of his sneakers and jeans before beginnin to palm him through the black cotton of his boxer briefs, his cock already peeking up from behind the waistband, leaking precum in anticipation. “Someone’s eager, hm? Are you excited, Kyle?” You quip to him.

“Mhm. Very. Very!” Kyle nods, his eyes glued to every single movement of yours, from the way your hands palm at his bulge, to how your fingers caress his smooth skin, to how they hook onto the waistband and roll down his underwear, peeling it off his body.

He’s big, bigger than Simon, even, though not as thick… He’s circumcised and he’s perfectly shaven. You wonder if he did that for your sake, or his own preference. There’s a thick vein running down the underside of him, one you can’t wait to feel pulse against your tongue.

Taking his cock in your hand, you stroke it slowly before allowing your tongue to run atop of it, base to tip, your tongue gently grazing the leaky tip, spreading the precum over the head before slowly parting your lips and guiding him inside.

The moan that escapes the boy in front of you makes you smirk, he twitches below you, fingers clenching on either side of his thighs, as if resisting squeezing into tight fists as you slowly allow his cock to slide deeper into your mouth. Then, you start bobbing it, up and down, cheeks hollowed out and lips grazing the warm skin leaving a mess of saliva around him.

Kyle’s quick to react this time, his hand grabbing you by your hair, legs trembling on either side of you. Your eyes shoot up to find his, only to find that his head is falling back onto the back of the couch, eyes screwed closed, mouth hanging open like he’s experiencing an out of body experience.

“He’s certainly enjoying himself, isn’t he?” Simon remarks behind you, receiving a finger signal from you, a sign of agreement, a preestablished way of communicating, since your mouth was busy. “That feel good, Kyle?”

“Y-Yeah… Yeah… I-It… God…” Kyle groans in between swallowed breaths. Poor thing, you want to coo at him, already too lost in the pleasure to even speak… Oh, how beautiful he’ll look soon, fucked out under you, drunk on your pussy…

You don’t notice Simon coming up from behind you until you feel his hand grip your head, atop of Kyle’s, calloused fingers digging into your scalp. His other hand shoots out to grab Kyle’s head from the back, pulling it forward so he’s forced to stare at you.

Then, your head is shoved forward, Kyle’s cock sliding down your throat with no warning Simon’s hand holding you in place, while Kyle’s eyes widen and an obscene moan escapes his mouth. Simon controls your head, pulling and pushing you onto Kyle’s hip. 

It’s no wonder that Kyle’s whole body starts to tremble, eyes widened and having trouble staying focused, or open, mouth left wide open as Simon makes him fuck the back of your throat, experienced eyes keeping watch of your reactions and signals and of Kyle’s…

He’s controlling the speed at which you go, how deep you take his cock down his throat, how much of a mess you make with your spit, and how long you get to breathe whenever he pulls you off before pushing you back on. A reminder. He’s always in control.

“Come down her pretty throat, go on, Garrick.” Simon demands. Kyle, poor thing, has already been holding on with teeth and nails to keep himself from climaxing too soon, wanting to prove himself as more than just inexperienced… But Simon’s order is so severe, he can’t keep it up… And he lets go, twitching in your mouth and shooting his come down your throat.

Simon lets go of you both, giving you a moment to catch your breaths, brown eyes staring at the result of what you just did, you, out of breath, a mess of drool down your chin, and eyes welled up with tears, and Kyle, out of breath, a mess of drool around the base of his cock, and eyes glazed over.

“Good job, da’lin’...” Simon tells you, pulling you up ever so slightly, kissing you sweetly, his tongue piercing flicking across your tongue, as if he’s looking for a taste of Kyle in your throat. 

After a moment, he pulls back and looks at Kyle. “Now, you’re gonna thank her for the favour she made ya, hm?” He warns. “Let’s take this to the bed. C’mon.” He demands, taking you by the hand and leading you to the bedroom, leaving Kyle to have to keep up.

Simon, unlike you, is a practical man. He doesn’t waste time. By the time Kyle has made it to the bedroom after barely 20 seconds, he’s already got you naked and splayed atop the mattress, a pillow placed under your hips.

He’s on his knees in front of you and beckons Kyle closer with two fingers, before he uses those same two fingers to rub over your folds and spread them open, revealing just how wet you’ve gotten from merely giving Kyle head. “You see that?” Simon coos at him while you stare at them both, holding yourself up on your elbows.

“Y-Yes, sir.” Kyle replies with a nod, his own hand reaching to touch you, carefully sliding between your puffy lips, gliding across easily through the slick. 

Simon grabs Kyle’s wrist and carefully guides it across to your clit, finding it with the speed of a man that’s been fucking you often since you two started dating. He knows your body, knows you better than anyone, and he’s about to show Kyle exactly how to touch you to get you to fall apart like he does…

You immediately stiffen up when you feel the pads of Kyle’s fingers against your clit, the pressure behind them coming from Simon’s hand as he rolls his fingers in light circles. It’s familiar and it immediately causes you to hum in pleasure and hiss, lying yourself back on the mattress.

“Ideally, you always keep something touch that needy little clit there.” Simon explains, more like he’s giving an anatomy lesson than having a threesome. “Be it a tongue, a finger, what have you.”

Simon’s hand then slides Kyle’s fingers away, making you whimper from the loss of contact. “Be patient, da’lin’, you’ll get more soon.” He quips. “Needy girl… Thought you were going to be all bossy with Kyle, now look at you…” He coos. 

Simon turns Kyle’s hand over and, using his own hand, parts your puffy cunny before helping Kyle push two digits into your slick warmth. Kyle’s fingers are no biggy, not thick and calloused like Simon’s, and they’re surprisingly easy to take on. You moan softly at them, before becoming just a bit more vocal when Kyle’s fingers pad over your G-spot when Simon curls them just so.

“Right there, you see that?” Simon beckons, Kyle responding with mild agreement that you don’t even register because, soon, his fingers start moving, fucking in and out you per Simon’s instruction, while your boyfriend’s tongue quickly finds your clit, the cold piercing rubbing and flicking at your most sensitive spot, causing your back to arch on the bed.

“Oh, fuck, Simon…” You whine, legs already shaking, more so per the stimulation, which causes your boyfriend to use both of his free hands to keep your knees spread open as far as he could comfortably get them, tongue still lapping up at you with purposeful strokes.

The shaggy blond hair of your boyfriend vanishes for a moment, as does the experienced tongue touching you, before it gets replaced with Kyle’s slightly messier and uncoordinated attempts, Simon observing Kyle and noting your reactions and how much weaker they are, upset at the lack of proper stimulation.

“C’mon, Garrick…” Simon croons. “Your tongue’s sharp enough to roast Johnny, but you get here and it gets shy?” He taunts, before using his hand on the back of the sergeant’s neck to guide him a bit.

“I’m trying…” Kyle remarks, his face feeling warm against your skin, showing he’s likely blushing despite his darker complexion hiding it, his fingers still moving in the way Simon taught him, his only saving grace.

“Scoot.” Simon remarks and pushes his head aside, ever so slightly, causing him to rest against your thigh. Simon’s head pushes in near Kyle’s, resting against your other thigh, and his tongue catches your clit again, though the angle at he’s at now, slightly at an angle, allows Kyle to spot the way Simon moves his tongue: soft circles, zigzagging side to side, lips also rubbing against you.

Kyle watches closely, eyes widened, pupils blown with lust at the sight of Simon’s face so close and going down on you so eagerly, his eyes glued to your face up top, as if checking every single reaction you have to your boyfriend’s mouth. And react you do. Your moans are louder, jumpy, desperate, your hands grabbing the bed covers and squeezing tight, your cunt seeking Simon’s mouth as you fuck yourself onto it.

Kyle wasn’t the type to watch porn often, having little time and little interest in it, more so because he knew it wasn’t a good habit or realistic to expect it to be realistic… But the sight of Simon’s lips sucking and rubbing into your slick like it was the most delicious meal he’s ever gotten to eat was better than any of the porn he’s actually seen.

Simon’s able to make you come undone in a matter of minutes, the whimpers and needy moans, the shallow breaths, the way your head was left spinning, lolling to the side as Simon eased you down from your peak and then dropped a chaste kiss to your thigh before standing up again. 

“You saw that?” He teases Kyle, who nods eagerly, no words coming to his lips after the display he just got. “You’ll get there eventually. With practise.” He assures him before patting him lightly on the shoulder. “Up you go.”

“How are you doing, da’lin’?” Simon asks, checking on you as you nod and show him a thumbs up, causing a chuckle to come from his chest before he takes a seat in another armchair in the corner, a spot he usually uses when having insomnia, right by the windows, to work on his laptop while you sleep near him… Except this time being used for something else.

“Go on, then, continue.” He demands as he sprawls out on the armchair, legs spread and already undoing his belt and fly, seeking relief from the tight feeling in his own jeans.

You nod eagerly and quickly shift to be sat on the bed, pulling Kyle toward you. “You still want this?” You ask him as you look him in the eyes… As if Kyle, needy the way he is now, after the sight of you coming undone on Simon’s tongue, would ever be able to answer anything other than a resounding ‘YES!’.

“Mhm… I do.” Kyle assures you with another nod… So, you kiss again, hands sliding over each other’s bodies just like they had on the couch before, exploring the free skin, allowing Kyle to grope you more easily. He seems fixated on your ass and thighs, fingers kneading the extra meat in them and holding you close.

His cock has long recovered from his first orgasm, now rubbing against your tummy as he kneels in front of you on the mattress. But not for long. Soon, you’ve laid Kyle on his back, and you’re straddling him, one leg on either side, slowly rubbing your folds over the length of his veiny cock.

“You’re gonna take ‘im for a right, da’lin’?” Simon asks, your eyes seeking him out in his armchair. The way you’re positioned, he can see all of you. Your pretty tits, the way your lips spread to rub against Kyle’s shaft, your legs parted open and knees digging into the mattress.

“Mhm…” You reply, your expression having shifted once again from the needy, submissive mess he had made of you, to a more dominant, playful one as you look down at the sergeant below you, looking up at you like he knows he’s in for a wild one.

“Go on then… But try not to break him, yeah?” Simon teases and winks at you, his hand already palming his cock through his own black boxer briefs.

“No promises…” You quip in return and wink back, before, carefully reaching a hand forward to lift Kyle’s cock from its resting spot against his hip.

Slowly, you sink yourself into it, his narrower build a lot easier to accommodate than Simon’s girth… But you soon regret how eagerly you did it, when you feel Kyle’s sheer size slip inside easily, his tip striking your cervix forcefully with that one swft motion.

“Bloody hell…” You grunt and bounce back a bit to relieve the pressure. “You’re big, aren’t you?” You tease Kyle who’s already unresponsive, poor little thing, eyes twice as wide as they had been when you gave him head, barely nodding in response.

Shifting your weight around, you plant your feet on either side of Kyle’s hip. “I’m gonna move, okay?” You warn him, setting your open palms on his thighs, behind your back, earning another nod from Kyle.

Slowly, you start to ride him, each bounce of your hips drawing the most delicious moans out of Kyle, his head lolling back over the foot of the bed, eyelids fluttering and his back arching.

“Gah- Fuck-” Kyle grunts, his breath already ragged before you’ve had time to do anything, just slowly moving, feeling his lengthy size rub against your walls as you force him to bottom out every time.

Kyle’s voice gets higher, whinier, his forehead dribbling with sweat with each thrust you force his cock to deliver into your slick cunny. “Feels… so… sososo so good…” He whimpers, his tone almost pathetic.

“Yeah… does it feel good?” You croon at him, a mischievous smirk on your lips, his cock drawing soft moans off your mouth as well.

“Yeah… yeah… yeah…” Kyle nods needily, his breath staggered and swallowing excess saliva.

“Yeah? Was it all you were expecting, pretty boy?” You tease him some more, earning another handful of needy ‘Yeah’s, his mind too overwhelmed with pleasure to consider saying anything else. “You don’t want me to go faster then, do you?”

“No… no… faster…” He replies, his head shooting forward, clearly eager to experience what ‘faster’ would feel like.

“Oh? Then you were lying? It doesn’t feel good, you need it faster?” You croon at him as if he was behaving like a brat and not like the good boy he really was.

“No… nO… it’s- it’s-!” Kyle tries to reply, desperate to clear the misunderstanding. Not that you give him time for it, as you speed up the speed of your bouncing, taking him in harder with each strike of your hips coming down onto his.

“GOD- YES!” Kyle shouts, eyes shot open and back curling upward, his head snapping forward to look at you and watch the way your pussy swallows every inch of his veiny cock, before letting out a huff and falling back on the bed again, desperate for more.

His hands grab onto your thighs and hips, fingers digging in hard, as you ride him, sweat beginning to slide down your forehead, down your cheeks and neck. Your eyes flitter over to Simon in the corner.

The smug fucker is watching everything with a nasty little half-grin on his lips, brown eyes darkened with lust as he watches you play with Kyle, making him squirm and whimper below you.

“Play with your clit for me, da’lin’.” His voice rings out amidst the frequent and whiney moans coming from Kyle. One of your hands slips away from Kyle’s thigh behind you, finding your clit and rubbing it slowly as you keep bouncing atop of Kyle, hips stuttering lightly as the pleasure becomes more intense.

“That’s it…” Simon says with a chuckle from his armchair, fisting his cock leisurely, as if the sight in front of him wasn’t worth any more from him. “How’s his cock feel, da’lin’?” Your boyfriend asks you.

He’s playing with your head, much like you’re playing with Kyle’s… making you go back and forth between a submissive and dominant mind frame, deriving pleasure from the mind games he’s forcing you to take on.

“It’s big…” You whimper in reply. “So big…” You murmur, your eyes soft and needy as you look at your boyfriend, watching the wicked look in his face..

“Don’t look at me, look at him…” Simon tells you. “Fuck ‘im right, he deserves it.” Simon adds. “Poor lad, been so long without experiencing a pussy…” He teases. “ow’s it feel, Garrick?” He turns his attention, and yours, to the sergeant below you.

Kyle nods pathetically. “Y-Yeah… It’s- Ah-” He whimpers, eyes glazed over with pleasure, too far gone in it, too overwhelmed with the feeling of a warm, wet pussy sheathing his virgin cock.

He’s too fucked out to think… And you’re bound to join him soon enough, with the way he looks below you, your fingers playing with your clit, and his cock swiftly hitting a spot inside you that no man’s ever reached before…

Your hips stutter atop of Kyle’s, your legs straining and tired, sore from the rhythm and position. You shift positions, leaning forward, hands coming to rest on his hard pecs, your head hanging atop of Kyle’s, facing him better.

You grind back and forth, trying to regain strength to continue, feeling Kyle’s tip rubbing deep inside of you, so deep and hard… You can’t help but whine.

“She’s getting tired, Kyle. Go on, it’s your turn.” Your boyfriend quips, his voice dripping with power and command over the two of you.

Kyle didn’t need to be told twice, his arms wrapped around your lower back and he bucked up like a bull, tossing you both aside, the bed creaking with the movement. Whatever insecurity he had is gone.

He pushes your thighs apart with his hip and starts pistoning into you with barely any regard for rhythm or how deep he’s going, his face buried into your neck as he plows into you, grunting and whining like an animal in rut. Not that you mind.

You’re used to Simon (and sometimes a few other mutual ‘friends’ of yours), men who are experienced, who know what to do, how to do it, who aren’t sloppy or erratic, who’s hips don’t jerk with each plunge into your warm cunny… It’s completely different with a bloke like Kyle. Inexperienced, green, but eager and desperate and…

You’re moaning loud and often, nails clawing at his smooth scarless back, eyes rolling as each snap of his hips claps against you like a whip, his cock burying into you to the hilt and back out before plunging back in.

Once more, Simon’s quick to come to your side, quick to crouch by the side of the bed, eyes admiring the way you both act and move, to keep a keen eye on your reactions and his, ready to pull him off you like a mutt that’ll hurt his mate if the owner doesn’t make him dismount…

But he doesn’t intervene. Not when you’re moaning like a whore, with Kyle sweating and grunting atop you, his eyes screwed shut and looking like he’ll lose every and any ounce of restraint he has in the next 3 seconds, somehow pulling the will to go on from sheer fucking air.

“You gonna flood ‘er little cunt with your come, aren’t you, Kyle?” Simon coos as he rests his forearms on the mattress, a perch to watch better.

“Y-Yeah! Yeah!” Kyle replies with an eager nod, eyes opening for a moment to look at Simon who’s so close to him.

“Yeah? Are you?” Simon continues egging him on. “You gonna fill my girl with your load?” He adds, his voice dropping to a more authoritative tone.

“Y-YEAH!” Kyle raises his voice, a bit more determined, but still deep in his natural state… obedient, ready to die for his superior, for his lieutenant.

“Go on, then,” Simon demands. “I wanna see. I wanna see you fill ‘er up.” He adds. “Tell ‘er you’re gonna do it.”

Kyle’s head turns a bit to look at you, his warm brown eyes blown wide with lust and desperation, his skin slick with sweat, his plump lips parted to let in desperate gulps of air.

“‘m gonna…” Kyle grunts as he shifts his weight lightly, his nose leaning against yours. “Gonna put my come so… deep inside you…” He warns you.

The look in his eyes, the desperation in his tone, the warning tone of his that does not at all fit his personality… Somehow it all comes together to rip the filthiest orgasm out of you, your head rolling back, eyes squeezing shut and a loud whine slipping from your parted lips as you squeeze and contract around Kyle’s cock.

Kyle can’t last not even a second longer the moment you start to come around him. His eyes fall shut, his back arches and he digs his fingers into the bed, toes curling and legs shaking as he fucks his come inside of you, drool slipping down his parted mouth.

“Good job.” Simon’s voice remarks next to you, satisfied and almost… proud, while you’re both too lost in the high of pleasure to even recognize his existence in the room or that you’re… alive, really.

[bratzkoo]

still the one | joshua hong

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: exes! joshua x reader Genre: fluff, semi-angst Rating: PG-15 Word count: 4.8k~ Warnings/note: i just want joshua to do something very loser of him just to get his ex back.

summary: 5 years after your break up, Joshua tries his best to get your attention. May it be creating a new instagram to get you to notice him, making your brother (Seungkwan) secretly invite him to his birthday party, and his latest act: begging you on his knees in front of your door to get him back. He just never gives up!

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): @escoupseu , @yanabaaaaaaarysheva , @spnyin , @sousydive

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

You didn’t really see it coming.

The autumn breeze carried a hint of crisp possibility as you walked through the park, fallen leaves crunching satisfyingly beneath your feet. Life was good – you had a successful career that challenged and fulfilled you, a cozy apartment in the heart of the city, and a circle of friends who filled your days with laughter and your nights with adventure.

As you strolled along the winding path, you couldn't help but smile at the scenes around you. Couples walked hand in hand, their heads bent close in conversation. Families spread out on checkered blankets, enjoying impromptu picnics in the fading warmth of the season. A group of friends tossed a frisbee, their shouts and laughter carrying on the wind.

You paused for a moment, tilting your face up to catch the last rays of the setting sun. Contentment washed over you, a feeling of being exactly where you were meant to be. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, likely Ranee confirming plans for your weekly wine and movie night. Life had fallen into a comfortable rhythm, one that you'd worked hard to create and maintain.

Little did you know that this carefully constructed peace was about to be shaken to its core. As you reached for your phone, you were blissfully unaware of the storm that was brewing, of the persistent force that was about to re-enter your life and turn everything upside down.

Somewhere across the city, Joshua Hong was steeling his nerves, his finger hovering over the 'Create Account' button on Instagram. He'd spent weeks crafting the perfect username, carefully selecting photos, and writing and rewriting his bio. Now, with a deep breath and a silent prayer, he was about to take the first step in his plan to win you back.

But for now, in this moment, you were simply enjoying the park, the autumn day, and the life you'd built for yourself. The future, with all its unexpected twists and turns, could wait.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling you from your reverie. A notification from Instagram – a new follow request. Your breath caught as you read the username: J_Hong_1996. It couldn't be... could it?

With trembling fingers, you tapped on the profile. The photos were sparse, but unmistakable. Joshua, looking older but still achingly familiar, in various locations around the city. Your city. He was back.

For a moment, you considered hitting the 'Decline' button, shutting this unexpected door before it could fully open. But curiosity – or perhaps something deeper – made you hesitate. Before you could overthink it, you hit 'Accept', telling yourself it was just to see what he was up to.

Within minutes, your phone buzzed again. A direct message.

"(Y/N), I know it's been a long time, but I'm back in town. Can we talk?"

You stared at the message, a whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. Anger at his presumption, hurt that still lingered after all these years, and underneath it all, a traitorous flicker of... what? Hope? Longing? You shook your head, banishing the thought.

Days passed, and more messages followed, each one a little more desperate than the last.

"I understand if you're angry. I just want a chance to explain."

"I've missed you every day for the past five years. Please, just five minutes of your time."

"I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I'm hoping you'll give me a chance to earn it."

You continued to ignore them, hoping he'd take the hint. But Joshua, it seemed, was nothing if not persistent.

A week after the first Instagram request, your brother Seungkwan called. His voice was suspiciously casual as he said, "Hey, sis! Just finalizing plans for my birthday party next weekend. You're coming, right?"

"Of course," you replied, a smile in your voice despite your turbulent thoughts. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Great!" Seungkwan said, a little too enthusiastically. There was a pause, and then, "Oh, and, uh, just so you know... Joshua might be there. He reached out, said he was back in town and wanted to reconnect with old friends. I hope that's okay?"

Your grip tightened on the phone, knuckles turning white. "Seungkwan," you said, your voice dangerously calm, "did he put you up to this?"

Your brother's guilty silence was all the answer you needed. You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "It's fine. It's your party. Invite whoever you want."

As you ended the call, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were being maneuvered into a confrontation you weren't sure you were ready for.

The night of Seungkwan's party arrived, crisp and clear. You'd spent an embarrassing amount of time choosing your outfit – a sleek black dress that hugged your curves, paired with your favorite heels. You told yourself it was for your own confidence, not for any other reason.

The moment you stepped into the crowded apartment, you felt his presence. It was like a sixth sense, your body attuned to his proximity even after all these years. You scanned the room, your heart racing, but there was no sign of him.

For the first hour, you managed to avoid him, sticking close to your friends and keeping your eyes averted from the door. But as you stepped out onto the balcony for a breath of fresh air, you heard his voice behind you.

"(Y/N)."

You turned slowly, steeling yourself. And there he was. Joshua. Five years older, a touch of silver at his temples, but still devastatingly handsome. His eyes, those warm brown eyes that had once looked at you with such love, now held a mixture of hope and trepidation.

"Hello, Joshua," you said, proud of how steady your voice sounded.

He took a step closer, and you fought the urge to back away. "Thank you for not running away," he said softly. "I wasn't sure you'd even talk to me."

"I'm here for Seungkwan," you replied, perhaps a bit more sharply than necessary. "This isn't about you."

Joshua nodded, a flicker of hurt crossing his face. "I know. But I'm hoping... maybe we could talk? Just for a few minutes?"

You sighed, looking out over the city skyline. "What is there to talk about, Joshua? It's been five years. We've both moved on."

"Have we?" he asked, moving to stand beside you at the railing. "Because I haven't. Not really."

You turned to face him, anger bubbling up inside you. "And whose fault is that? You're the one who left, remember? You don't get to come back after five years and act like nothing's changed."

"I know," Joshua said, his voice thick with regret. "I know I hurt you, and I'm so sorry. I've regretted leaving every day for the past five years. You're all I think about, (Y/N). I made the biggest mistake of my life walking away from us, and I'm hoping... I'm hoping you'll give me a chance to make it right."

You shook your head, stepping away from him. "It's too late for that, Joshua. We can't go back."

As you walked away, leaving him alone on the balcony, you couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't over. You were right.

For weeks after the party, Joshua's attempts to reach you intensified. It started with flowers delivered to your office – a stunning bouquet of your favorite blooms. Your coworkers cooed and speculated, but you simply moved them to the break room, ignoring the card that bore his familiar handwriting.

Next came the letters. Handwritten pages that showed up in your mailbox, pouring out his heart, explaining his actions, and begging for another chance. You told yourself you were going to throw them away unread, but each night found you poring over his words, tears staining the pages.

Then there was the singing telegram – a mortifying experience that left your entire office buzzing with gossip. As the poor college student in a ridiculous costume belted out a heartfelt rendition of "your song," you wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

Each gesture chipped away at your resolve, even as you tried to maintain your distance. You found yourself lying awake at night, memories of your time together playing on an endless loop. The good times – lazy Sunday mornings tangled in bed, surprise picnics in the park, the way he'd look at you like you were the only person in the world. But also the bad – the fights that grew more frequent towards the end, the distance that had grown between you, the day he'd walked out with nothing but a suitcase and a broken promise.

Your friends were divided on the issue. Ranee, ever the romantic, thought you should hear him out. "People change, (Y/N)," she'd say over wine and takeout. "Maybe he really has grown up. Don't you owe it to yourself to at least listen?"

But Jihoon, who'd seen you through the worst of the breakup, was adamantly against it. "He had his chance," he'd argue, eyes flashing with protective anger. "He doesn't get to waltz back in and disrupt your life just because he's decided he made a mistake."

You appreciated their concern, but in the end, you knew the decision had to be yours. And despite your best efforts to stay strong, to remember the pain he'd caused, you could feel your resolve weakening.

Then came the night that changed everything.

You were settling in for a quiet evening at home, a glass of wine in hand and your favorite movie queued up, when a commotion outside your apartment door caught your attention. Frowning, you muted the TV and approached cautiously, peering through the peephole.

Your heart nearly stopped at what you saw.

Joshua was on his knees in the hallway, a bouquet of your favorite flowers clutched in his hands. Tears streamed down his face as he looked up at your door, unaware that you were watching. His voice, muffled but clear, carried through the wood.

"(Y/N), please. I know you're in there. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I'm begging you to give me a chance."

You pressed your forehead against the door, closing your eyes as his words washed over you.

"I was stupid for letting you go, and I've spent every day since then regretting it. You're still the one for me, (Y/N). You've always been the one. I'll do anything to prove it to you. Please, just open the door."

Your hand hovered over the doorknob, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he must be able to hear it. Five years of hurt, of carefully rebuilding your life, warred against the undeniable pull you still felt towards him.

"I'm not giving up," Joshua continued, his voice cracking with emotion. "I'll stay here all night if I have to. I'll come back every day until you're ready to talk to me. Because I know, deep down, that we're meant to be together. Please, (Y/N). Just give me one more chance."

You leaned back against the wall, sliding down until you were sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to your chest. Memories flooded your mind – the day you met, your first kiss, the night he told you he loved you. But also the fights, the growing distance, the day he'd walked out. You'd worked so hard to move on, to build a life without him. Could you really risk opening that door again?

As if he could sense your indecision, Joshua's pleas grew more urgent. "I know I hurt you. I know I left you alone, and I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am for that. But being back here, being close to you again... it's made me realize that you're still the one for me. You always have been."

You found yourself standing, drawn to his voice like a magnet. Your hand reached for the doorknob of its own accord.

"I've tried to start again, to find somebody else," Joshua continued, unaware of your internal struggle. "But I can't get you out of my head. The memories, the things we said to each other... they're always there. I can't move on, (Y/N). Not without knowing I did everything I could to make things right between us."

With a shaky breath, you turned the knob. As you slowly opened the door, Joshua's eyes met yours, filled with a mixture of hope and fear. He scrambled to his feet, the flowers clutched tightly in his hand.

"You have five minutes," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "After that, if I tell you to leave, you go. And you don't come back. Understood?"

Joshua nodded eagerly, relief washing over his features. "Thank you, (Y/N). That's all I'm asking for. A chance to explain, to show you how much you mean to me."

You stepped aside, allowing him to enter. As he passed, his familiar scent – a mix of cologne and something uniquely him – enveloped you, bringing with it a rush of memories. You closed the door and turned to face him, arms crossed protectively over your chest.

"Talk," you said simply.

Joshua took a deep breath, setting the flowers on a nearby table. "First, I want to say how sorry I am. Not just for leaving, but for how I handled everything leading up to it. I was young and stupid and scared of the intensity of what I felt for you. Instead of talking to you about my fears, I pushed you away. I convinced myself that leaving was the right thing to do, that we'd both be better off. But I was wrong. So incredibly wrong."

You remained silent, watching him carefully. Joshua ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture you remembered all too well.

"These past five years have been... empty," he continued. "I threw myself into my work, traveled, tried to convince myself I was living this great, exciting life. But nothing felt right. Nothing felt like home. Because home was always with you, (Y/N)."

"Why now?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "Why come back after all this time?"

Joshua's eyes met yours, filled with a sincerity that made your heart ache. "Because I finally realized what an idiot I'd been. Because the thought of going another day without you in my life was unbearable. I know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, let alone a second chance. But I had to try. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't at least tell you how I feel."

You turned away, moving to the window to look out at the city lights. "And how do you feel, Joshua?"

You heard him step closer, though he didn't touch you. "I love you, (Y/N). I never stopped loving you. You're the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing on my mind before I go to sleep. Every good thing that happens, I want to share with you. Every bad day, I wish you were there to make it better. You're it for me. You're the one."

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you blinked them back furiously. "Love isn't always enough, Joshua. You proved that when you walked out five years ago."

"I know," he said softly. "But I've changed. I've grown up. I know now that love isn't just a feeling – it's a choice. And I choose you, (Y/N). I'll choose you every day for the rest of my life if you'll let me."

You turned to face him, taking in the earnest expression on his face, the love and hope shining in his eyes. "And what if I say no? What if I tell you to leave and never come back?"

Pain flashed across Joshua's features, but he stood his ground. "Then I'll respect your decision. It'll break my heart, but I'll go. Because more than anything, I want you to be happy. Even if that happiness doesn't include me."

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with promise and possibility. You found yourself at a crossroads, the path forward unclear. On one side lay the safety of the life you'd built without him – predictable, stable, but tinged with a loneliness you'd never quite been able to shake. On the other, the unknown – the risk of heartbreak, but also the potential for a love deeper and stronger than before.

"I can't..." you started, your voice breaking. You took a deep breath and tried again. "I can't just forget everything that happened, Joshua. The pain, the years of trying to move on... it's not that simple."

He nodded, understanding in his eyes. "I know. I'm not asking you to forget. I'm asking for a chance to make new memories, better ones. To show you every day how much you mean to me, how sorry I am for the pain I caused."

You closed your eyes, overwhelmed by the emotions coursing through you. When you opened them again, Joshua was still there, waiting patiently, hope etched in every line of his face.

"I can't promise you anything," you said finally. "I don't know if I can trust you again, or if I even want to try. But..." you paused, hardly believing the words about to leave your mouth, "I'm willing to listen. To take things slowly and see where they lead."

The smile that lit up Joshua's face was like the sun breaking through clouds. "That's more than I could have hoped for," he said softly. "Thank you, (Y/N). I promise you won't regret this."

As he turned to leave, pausing at the door to look back at you with eyes full of renewed determination, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were standing on the precipice of something monumental. Whether it was the beginning of a new chapter or the final closing of an old one remained to be seen. But one thing was certain – Joshua's persistence had finally broken through your defenses, and now, for better or worse, you were embarking on a journey neither of you could have anticipated.

The door closed behind him, and you sank onto your couch, emotions swirling within you. You picked up your phone, needing to talk to someone who could offer an outside perspective. Ranee answered on the second ring.

"Hey, what's up?" she asked, concern evident in her voice.

"I think I'm in trouble," you said, your voice shaky. "Joshua... he was just here. On his knees in the in the hallway," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. "Begging me to give him another chance."

Ranee gasped. "Oh my god, (Y/N). What did you do?"

You closed your eyes, still hardly believing it yourself. "I... I let him in. We talked."

"And?" Ranee pressed, her voice a mixture of concern and excitement.

"And... I told him I'd be willing to listen. To take things slowly." You let out a shaky breath. "Ranee, what am I doing? Am I crazy for even considering this?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line. When Ranee spoke again, her voice was gentle. "You're not crazy, (Y/N). You're human. And whether you want to admit it or not, Joshua was a huge part of your life. It's natural to have conflicting feelings."

"But what if I'm making a huge mistake?" you asked, voicing the fear that had been gnawing at you since Joshua left. "What if he hurts me again?"

"That's always a risk in any relationship," Ranee pointed out. "But let me ask you this – do you think you'd regret it more if you gave him a chance and it didn't work out, or if you turned him away without ever knowing what could have been?"

Her question gave you pause. You thought about the past five years, about the life you'd built for yourself. It was a good life, comfortable and safe. But there had always been something missing, a void you'd never quite been able to fill.

"I don't know," you admitted. "I just... I'm scared, Ranee. I worked so hard to move on, to be okay without him. What if letting him back in undoes all of that?"

"Then you'll pick yourself up and move on again," Ranee said firmly. "But this time, you'll do it knowing you gave it your all. No what-ifs, no regrets."

After hanging up with Ranee, you sat in the quiet of your apartment, mulling over her words. Your eyes fell on the bouquet Joshua had brought, still sitting on the table where he'd left it. Despite everything, a small smile tugged at your lips. He'd remembered your favorite flowers after all these years.

Your phone buzzed with a text:

From Joshua: "Thank you again for giving me a chance to explain. I meant every word I said tonight. I'll wait as long as it takes. You're still the one, (Y/N). Always."

You stared at the message, your heart racing. Slowly, you typed out a reply:

To Joshua: "I meant what I said too. Slow. I need time to process all of this."

His response came almost immediately:

From Joshua: "Of course. We'll go at whatever pace you're comfortable with. I'm just grateful for the opportunity. Sleep well, (Y/N)."

As you got ready for bed that night, your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Part of you was terrified of the vulnerability that came with opening your heart again. But another part, a part that had been dormant for far too long, felt a flicker of excitement at the possibility of reconnecting with Joshua.

The next few weeks were a delicate dance of tentative steps forward and cautious retreats. True to his word, Joshua respected your need for space, never pushing for more than you were ready to give. Your interactions started small – text messages exchanged throughout the day, brief phone calls that gradually grew longer.

Then came the coffee dates. The first one was awkward, both of you unsure of how to act around each other after so much time apart. But as the weeks went by, you found yourselves falling into a comfortable rhythm. You talked about your lives over the past five years – your career advancements, his travels, the lessons you'd both learned.

One afternoon, as you sat across from Joshua in your favorite café, he looked at you with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"What?" you asked, suddenly self-conscious.

He shook his head, a soft smile playing at his lips. "Nothing, I just... I can't believe I'm here with you. There were so many times over the past five years when I thought I'd lost this chance forever."

You felt a familiar pang in your chest – a mixture of old hurt and new hope. "Joshua..."

"I know," he said quickly. "I know we're taking things slow. And I respect that. I just want you to know how grateful I am for every moment I get to spend with you."

His sincerity was almost overwhelming. You found yourself reaching across the table, your hand covering his. It was the first time you'd initiated physical contact since he'd come back into your life, and you felt him tense in surprise before relaxing into your touch.

"I'm grateful too," you admitted softly. "I won't lie – there's still a part of me that's scared. That's waiting for the other shoe to drop. But... I'm glad we're doing this. Whatever 'this' is."

Joshua turned his hand over, interlacing his fingers with yours. "It's whatever you want it to be, (Y/N). I'm here for as long as you'll have me."

As the weeks turned into months, you found yourself slowly letting your guard down. The walls you'd built around your heart began to crumble, brick by brick. Joshua was patient, attentive, and consistently present in a way he hadn't been towards the end of your relationship five years ago.

But it wasn't all smooth sailing. There were moments of doubt, of old hurts resurfacing. Arguments where past grievances bubbled up, threatening to derail the progress you'd made. But unlike before, you both made a conscious effort to communicate, to work through your issues rather than letting them fester.

It was during one of these conversations, late one night as you walked through the park where you'd first met, that Joshua stopped suddenly, turning to face you.

"(Y/N)," he said, his voice serious. "I need you to know something."

You felt your heart rate quicken, a mix of anticipation and anxiety coursing through you. "What is it?"

Joshua took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "I know we've been taking things slow, and I respect that. But I want to be clear about where I stand. I love you. I'm in love with you. And if you'll have me, I want to spend the rest of my life proving that to you every single day."

You felt tears prick at your eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of his words and the emotion behind them. For a moment, you were transported back in time – to the day he'd first told you he loved you, to all the dreams and plans you'd made together. But this time, instead of fear or doubt, you felt a sense of certainty wash over you.

"Joshua," you said softly, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. "I love you too. I think... I think I always have, even when I was trying so hard not to."

The smile that lit up his face was brighter than any you'd ever seen. He pulled you close, his forehead resting against yours. "So where do we go from here?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You took a deep breath, your heart full of hope and possibility. "Forward," you said simply. "Together."

As Joshua's lips met yours in a kiss that felt both familiar and thrillingly new, you knew that this was just the beginning. There would be challenges ahead, old wounds to heal, and new obstacles to overcome. But for the first time in five years, you felt truly, completely whole.

You pulled back slightly, your eyes meeting his. A whirlwind of emotions coursed through you – love, frustration, happiness, and a touch of amused exasperation. Joshua's persistence had not only won him a second chance but had also reignited a love that had never truly died. As you stood there, hand in hand in the park where your story began, the future stretching out before you, a realization hit you.

"DAMN YOU, JOSHUA HONG!" you exclaimed suddenly, causing him to jump in surprise.

His eyes widened, a mix of confusion and concern crossing his face. "What? What's wrong?"

But before he could say anything else, you grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him close again. "Damn you and your persistence," you murmured, a smile tugging at your lips despite your words. "Making me fall in love with you all over again."

Relief and joy flooded Joshua's features as he understood. "I told you I wouldn't give up," he said softly, his arms wrapping around your waist.

"Well, congratulations," you replied, your tone a mixture of sarcasm and genuine affection. "You win. Are you happy now?"

The smile that lit up Joshua's face was answer enough, but he leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, "Happier than I've ever been."

With a playful roll of your eyes, you pulled him in for another kiss, this one deeper and more passionate than the last. As you lost yourself in the moment, you realized that sometimes, the most beautiful love stories are the ones that withstand the test of time and separation, emerging stronger and more resilient than ever before – even if they require a little (or a lot) of persistence along the way.

When you finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, you couldn't help but laugh. "You know," you said, intertwining your fingers with his, "if you ever pull a disappearing act like that again, I'll hunt you down myself."

Joshua grinned, bringing your joined hands to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Noted. Though I have to say, I kind of like this feisty side of you."

"Oh, you haven't seen feisty yet, Hong," you retorted, but your eyes were sparkling with happiness.

And if this man ever forget how lucky he is? Well, you'd be more than happy to remind him – right after you kissed him senseless, of course.

[seraphdreams]

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

"TO SEE WHAT YOUR INSIDES LOOK LIKE." | GHOSTFACE!ARMIN ARLERT.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — word count. 4.6k

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — cw. fem!reader, smut, modern au, mentions of murder / death / blood, fingering, armin’s a creep, symbolism, noncon/dubcon, insanity, manipulation, monomania, creampie, knives, stalking. mdni <3.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — synopsis. armin’s worked hard to build up his perfect life, and he certainly wasn’t expecting for someone to rip that from under him. he’s obsessed — with a life that isn’t his.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — dolled up! we are sooo back n in full swing for kinktober this year !! i’ll drop my masterlist here for all the prettie dolls to check out … please show this some love by reblogging / sharing, it’ll mean the absolute world 2 me !! kk, luv ya, bye ♡

Armin Arlert. Age 23. Graduated from Shiganshina University.

Armin Arlert, starting his new life under a freshly installed roof that rivaled his dorm of the past four years and provided him with much needed privacy. Armin Arlert, with a degree in humanitarian affairs accompanied with a promising future ahead, it’s the life he deserved after the turbulent destruction that was his tragic past. He could start over now in high hopes of making a name for himself in this unfamiliar city. Nothing could stop him, or the unperturbed spout of elation percolating within.

Aside from optimism, though, he remained undoubtedly sure that the life he had curated for himself was one that no other could outclass. He was smart — spent his days in libraries, in his study room, reading about anything that satiated his appetite for enlightenment, and be that as it may, he wasn’t looking for a lover. His solace brought him far better pleasure than any person could possibly imagine.

He’d work, research, and then work some more, day in and day out. And the day of your meeting was no different.

He had decided to utilize the time he carved out of his restless schedule for a much needed re-read of his favorite book. Moments like these were significant to Armin; the pungent aroma of freshly brewed tea in his mug, luminescence dim in the apartment, and a faint timbre of violins that spilled from his speaker.

Moments like these were when he couldn’t keep track of how many hours had passed him by as he flipped page by page into whatever universe his books had drawn him into.

Rested against the kitchen counter with his novel in one hand and retrieving a sip from his beverage in the other, his eyes scanned the piece of literature. Every once and awhile, he’d shift his weight from his left hip to the right, or opt to sit on the cozy loveseat in his study. All without withdrawing his attention from his book.

Glasses low on the bridge of his nose, he gently pushed them up — Then it came. The sonority of his doorbell, jostling him out of his serene thoughts and the inquisitiveness that flowed through his veins soon after, urged his body to tread to the front door in search of the cause.

As his footfall led him closer to the handle of the door, he could make out a silhouette, seemingly of a woman. All inquisitions of who could be at his doorstep were fulfilled once he opened it and you stood, with a bright smile on your face.

Armin’s angelic features hidden underneath a veil of golden blond tresses accentuated his soft, azure-hued eyes. His face was one of few that aided you in comfort just upon first glance, which chased away the unease of the possibility that he could’ve been ill-tempered.

“Hi, I’m Y/N! I moved in next door,” You pointed your thumb in the direction beside you as if to signal which side of the building you’d be occupying. “I just thought I'd introduce myself,”

He matched your syrupy sweet beam with one of his own, the corners of his eyes turning upward in tandem as if they were smiling too. He held the door open slightly wider to catch a better glimpse of you. From your attire, he could discern that you weren’t much of a modest girl, but it’d be wrong of him to idly make assumptions. Especially when his choice of dress during the lax hours of the day were a white button-up, cashmere cardigan thrown atop, with a pair of tan slacks.

“Y/N?” He repeated, in a manner to affirm that he had heard correctly. “I’m Armin. It’s nice to meet you,”

He would’ve held his hand out for yours had it not been engaged by his book. You weren’t trying to pry, yet the cover of the story was lucid in your mind once you took notice. “Berenice? The Edgar Allan Poe novel?”

His eyes trailed to where your manicured nail was pointed. The rosy flush of his cheeks deepened while he rubbed away the discomfiture stirring at the back of his neck. Once again, he had mindlessly brought his book with him wherever he strode.

“Y-Yeah, It’s my favorite. Have you read it?”

“A few times,” You hummed, meeting his sheepish gaze. “It’s so jarring, right?”

Armin skimmed over your face before allowing himself to speak. “But there’s beauty in the madness,” His words trolled over in a more weighty tone than he had intended, an apologetic smile on his face once he caught wind.

“Or at least that’s how i interpret it,”

His outward timidity roused an endearing chuckle from you. “I truly don’t mean to bother you, though. If you need anything I'm on your right!” You retort with a vague inclination of haste.

Truth be told, Armin’s interest in you piqued with the mention of the Poe story. “Oh, you’re not a bother-”

His vocables fell short against your own when you waved him goodbye, and he mirrored your actions with cordiality in his eyes.

Maybe she’s just busy.

—

Ever since Armin’s first encounter with you, he had found himself taking a rather atypical interest in the relations of you. The first bout of instances being regular events of curiosity where he’d watch as the moving company aided you in getting your belongings settled; hauling in furniture and appliances, all while Armin remained under the guise of checking his mailbox. Over a short span of time, though, he found himself increasingly knowledgeable in the subject that was you.

You showered at 8:00pm. You ate dinner at 7:00pm. The alarm settled on your desk, a few feet beyond your bed would go off at 6:00am sharp, and he’d be up at that same dawning hour to anticipate your departure to work.

He knew these things. Of course, he did.

He memorized all of your schedules to calculate what you’d be doing throughout the day, and where.

His own work was slow for him during those days, and books didn’t seem to capture that spark of exhilaration like you did. For once, he felt enthralled by each day granting him an opportunity to analyze you further.

On another day, he’d built up enough confidence to observe you as you came home from work, once more, under the false assumption that he’d been checking his mail.

“Good afternoon.”

Armin’s voice registered within your being quickly, startling you out of your fast-paced strut to your door. “Oh, good afternoon!” Your footfall faltered until you reached a close. “Armin, was it?”

Over Armin’s time of stalking- no, studying you, he’d come to realize just how ethereal you were. It was as if the deities above handmade every feature on your face, curve of your body, lilt in your voice with the intention of making you one of their own — an angel.

He found you charming.

With a nod of his head, he braced himself to inch toward you. Not proximal enough to cause you discomfort, he wouldn’t want that, yet enough to signal his unwavering immersion. “Did you just come from work?”

It was otiose of him to ask the question seeing as he undeniably knew the answer. Judging from your business attire and pencil skirt just a little too short for any other establishment’s dress standards, he had assumed you worked a kushy job at an office firm. You evidently earned a heap of money, with him recalling the numerous occasions you’d come home with luxury shopping bags hanging off your arms, tied in with the fact that the suites he inhabited weren't exactly affordable for the average person.

You responded hospitably to his question, that same lovely smile poured over your features and seeping into his personage. “Mhm, and what about you? Your work?”

He was surprised at your need to pull the conversation along further, it was as if you were succoring to curate his plans, as if you could read his mind and pick out from a haystack that you were his only interest, you were his source of bliss. A serendipitous moment, indeed. He straightened himself up, clearing his throat. “Me? Oh, well I just help out at charities and organizations from time to time,”

He’d be a fool to deny the set of wide eyes that were fixated upon his figure.

“For real? You must be a really good person then.” You responded with your hands clasped together and held against your chest, pupils of your eyes glittered in a sense of unshakable admiration.

As the conversation went on, you had begun to synonimize your neighbor with the fresh, and comforting feeling of congeniality. It helped that he was easy to converse with, seeming as he’d always been listening while keeping eye contact and rewiring his queries in a way that deemed you the main focus, and he, a vessel for your words to absorb within.

For Armin, he enjoyed getting to know you. You were perfect, in all the best ways.

And soon enough, through an exhausting series of prying inquiries, he’d piece together that your perfection wasn’t hulled along by determination or strong will, but by God’s good grace. He’d come to register that you didn’t have to struggle like he did to reach the triumphant point in life for which he stood. You were born that way, born with a silver spoon in your mouth and just the right kiss-ass people in your life to keep you that way. A spoiled fucking brat.

What had been the rationale behind his suffering? The years in which he’d been bullied repeatedly in public schools, had acquaintances that had only cared about him for their personal gain, and parents so utterly vapid that they’d give up their only child if it meant they could continue working towards an unattainable goal?

Fueled by a sense of jealousy, he waned your nepotism a hindrance. You were merely a telescope that he wanted so badly to see into.

For Armin was obsessed with a life that wasn’t his.

Meticulously, he had spent his time after that hidden away within his flat. Armin didn’t care to know anything more about you, he didn’t care to see your face, and he surely didn’t care for you.

When he stumbled across an unkempt, unpacked box in his room with the label of “Uni 2019,” written on the side in thick, inky letters, his concern led him to relive those memories upon removing the cardboard lid.

In it, there were polaroid photos, compact trophies he’d won from participating in school events, courtesy of his STEM minor, and a dark piece of fabric that caught his eye more than anything.

He recalled his first year of college where his two closest friends, Eren and Mikasa, dragged him out of their stuffy shared dorm and onto one of the first parties held by the school’s fraternity house during the fall semester.

“Armin, you look ridiculous,”

Mikasa said as she stomped away in her leather boots, leading the way for the two men accompanying her to follow her off-campus.

She was dressed in homage to Misa Amane from her favorite anime, although the style of dress aided no significance since it was hauntingly similar to her everyday wardrobe.

Eren was intended to show up as “Light” but he insisted on wearing something he deemed appealing, his plan was to get initiated by the end of the night, anyhow. He wore a deep black cloak, dark ripped jeans and had his hair tied aimlessly into his warped perception of a bun, with the mask of a ghost facing sideways on his head to allow for him to see.

Ghostface. Scream (1996).

Armin allowed himself to be pulled away by the Ackerman, his rebuttal falling on deaf ears. “You didn’t give me enough time, Mika. This is all I could come up with.” Armin’s poor excuse for a costume was tissue paper wrapped around his frame in stereotypical mummy fashion, a classic of all classics.

Though, that night had concluded like any other gathering involving college-aged students, the trio having woken up to hangovers and bad decisions.

Armin stared at the contents of the box a while longer before taking the cloak out and trying it on for size. Obviously, it was meant for a taller person, but regardless, the wheels in his head gradually spun.

He took it off after careful observation when the sensation of juvenility filled his veins. He wasn’t fond of the costume rousing the impression that he was an illegitimate killer — He knew more than he let on, and his passion for the grotesqueries scribed in his books further proved that.

Concurrently, you had been pondering the reason for Armin’s disappearance. After your last conversation with him, he’d stopped formulating ways to talk to you and seemed to never leave his suite, and your heart yearned for his presence once the feeling truly settled in.

You had been swayed by his charm.

His dulcet tone of voice, the intriguing quirks that seemed to hang off of him like leaves to a tree; You missed the way he cared for you, through mundane matters and the like.

Night had fallen, the warm, ochre hues of the day meshing in perfect balance with deep purple tones that signified time’s passing. You were settling into bed, just about ready to fall into slumber when you heard light tapping at your door.

Only for a second did the thought of who could possibly be up this late float through your mind.

Your soles kissed the floor when you made your way to the front door. And once you finally opened it, the sight of your worst fear was drawn to life — The deviant sight of the unknown, with what seemed to look like a kitchen knife in its right hand.

Quickly, without time to react, you attempted to slam the door shut with the force of your shoulder but the action proved futile when the aggressor’s strength pushed back against the wood, sending you stumbling backwards and vulnerable to any attack.

Heavy footsteps creeped eerily towards you out of something from a horror film. Your worst mistake was turning your back, scrambling for a way to retrieve your phone, or even a weapon.

“Help! He-”

The stranger was more agile than you had assumed, easily capturing you with one arm around your waist and its hand cupped against your mouth. You couldn’t shake the terror growing within you as hot tears seemed to spill down your cheeks and your heartbeat so intense, you were sure that it’d had been noticeable.

Your body soft in the assaulter’s touch, they embraced your body taut. The sensation was suffocating, your eyes squeezed shut to further distance yourself from the situation at hand, even if it was only a mental trick.

You resided in a relatively safe area, so why were you in this situation? What cruel joke were you the target of?

The grip on your body loosened ever so slightly, yet you were still fixed in place by the attacker’s opposite hand. While your body was immobilized, you felt the lingering of metal lightly drag against your abdomen to find itself settled just underneath the band of your lace pajamas.

Just moments prior, you had completed your elaborate nightly routine consisting of a glass of wine, face mask, and a warm bath. You also found it fitting to change into one of your newer pajama sets — Thin, baby pink, lace bralette with matching shorts that called for forgoing the need for panties.

All you wanted was to wake up from this nightmare.

“It’d be so beautiful if you died right here in my arms,” Your assailant spoke.

Through your ears, his voice was familiar. A tone so soft, you refused to believe the possibility of who it’s owner could be.

His hand over your mouth was hesitant to situate itself elsewhere in wariness of how you’d react. He was aware of the power behind a blood-curdling scream. The neighbors in this area were nosy. He would know.

He let out a sigh. “But you look really pretty tonight. I wouldn’t want to get blood on you,” His knife trailed further into your shorts, the edge cutting out a hole in the fabric at the seat of the garment.

“Did you do all this for me?”

You winced when the sonority of cloth ripping resonated through your ears. The blade felt dangerously close, running along your body as if to taunt you. That had to be the case; You were in the perfect position to be harmed, so why hadn’t your attacker done so? With your body stricken from fear, his job was easy. Was it not?

The hand over your mouth moved to caress your face and you gasped heavily for the air you were denied.

“W-What do you want?” Your voice echoed shakily throughout the room, barely audible enough for the two of you to hear. His knife inched upward to your sternum, and slowly dragged itself back down to your abdomen as he spoke.

“To see what your insides look like.”

For a split second, his hold on you seemed to diminish, granting you the perfect opportunity to run. Yet, your legs felt frail as if there were weights tied to your ankles. The assailant quickly repositioned himself in front of you, his head tilting slightly while he continued his up and down ministrations with the edge of the blade gingerly pressed against your flesh. Not forceful enough to draw blood.

“But maybe now, I want to feel your insides,” His steps crept closer, and instinctively you tried to create as much distance as possible by stepping back. It proved useless when your back hit the cold surface of the door, his face mere centimeters from yours.

Your breath hitched as you found comfort in the presence of the door, leaning against it as if it’d keep you from harm’s reach. You fidgeted, fumbling to grasp at the handle that’d grant you escape. The masked man took notice, hovering over your frame to keep you from trying anything.

“Please- -” Your plea fell in the form of a choked up whimper, just the sound he wanted to hear.

More uncomfortable ripping was sounded when his blade etched a perfect cut in your shorts, leaving your bare cunt out on display for his eyes to see. “Don’t be shy, pretty. I’m sure lots of guys have seen you like this. Am I right?”

Crudeness started to sink in as your face morphed into a contradictory pout. He took your expression for a no and chuckled genuinely, albeit louder than his previous tone. “No? Does this make me the first?” His eyes scanned your lower half once more, then flit back to meet your fear-blown orbs.

“I’d really love to be your first,”

Having grown confident enough to be sure that you wouldn’t try to break free, he dropped the knife to the side, metal clamorously clinking against hardwood flooring while he used his free hand to lift your right leg over the juncture of his elbow. He carefully slotted his middle and ring fingers into your hole, shallowly pumping. Your legs threatened to close with what you couldn’t make of embarrassment or denial.

Your mind felt cloudy once your body gave up its immobility and allowed pleasure to course through your veins, heat rushing to your core with every pump of his fingers. He took notice of the way your expression hastily contorted into one of pure pleasure, eyebrows knit together and your mouth slightly agape, eliciting quiet moans to tumble past.

It was a whorish sight, indeed. A circumstance you couldn’t control with your death at the forefront, yet it was terrifyingly easy to succumb to the euphoric sensation building up within you. The pad of his thumb found its way to your aching clit, and from just the light circling motions in tandem with his fingers, you felt yourself floating to the cusp of release.

“F-Fuck- -“ you rasped. Your hand reached out for his wrist to push him away but the attempt was futile and in turn, he sped up his ministrations.

“Didn’t know you had such a dirty mouth. You’re making me lose interest.” He coyly teased.

He was thankful you couldn’t see how flushed his face appeared under the mask. The sight of you spread open for him was too much to bear, he could cum in that moment without ever feeling your gummy walls wrapped around his painstakingly hard cock.

Just before you were about to hit your orgasm, he pulled his fingers away. An agitated groan rumbled from your throat, eyes finally opening to the sight of the man before you, removing his mask and unveiling his true identity.

Something within you didn’t want to admit what you had seen.

From the golden strands of hair that shimmered against the moonlight to his cyan-hued orbs tinted dark with madness. It was Armin, but it wasn’t Armin.

“M-Min.. You —“ The words failed to leave your mouth in a coherent string of sentences. It couldn’t have been your neighbor, not Armin. He was far too delicate, too feeble to carry out a task like this.

He kept unwavering eye contact with you, your pupils shaking from shock. “Hm? Couldn’t see a thing with this mask on,” His response was that of nonchalance, his hand coming to caress your tear-stained cheeks.

“You’re much prettier behind the mesh.”

He pulled down the zipper of his slacks along with the garment itself and his briefs, just enough so that his cock was freed. You didn’t want to look, but you did. You notice how bulbous the head was, glowing a bright pink while the rest of it was pretty girthy as well. It bobbed under its weight, the strings of precum leaking onto your inner thighs as he lined it up with your entrance.

“Why would y—“

Just before you could get the vocables out, he pushed his entire length inside of you, head tilted back and adam’s apple bouncing with each groan he let out. You felt as though you were being split open by how fat his cock was, how it glided effortlessly in and out of your heat.

His pace was tauntingly slow as if he’d shoot his load prematurely. Once he gradually thrusted more vigorously though, you found it hard to keep whimpers at bay. Each push in felt deeper than the last, the wind within your system struggling to keep you afloat. You reached for something to hold onto, scrambling for Armin’s shoulders in the end. Your nails dug deep at the lean muscles of his back, creating raw, catlike scratches on the flesh.

The pain was enough to make him smile. Or maybe it wasn’t the pain, but the sight of you so desperate for him — So desperate for your killer.

How pathetic.

He leaned himself upward to meet your gaze again, that of something from a horror movie, his gaze was darker than before, strung together by a serious expression. “Kiss me.”

You almost didn’t hear him as your impending orgasm was your only focus. When you took too long to respond, he glanced back at the knife settled just underneath his foot, in a manner to remind you of the real dangers he was capable of.

With the slightest inclination of hesitancy, your lips met his. Contrary to his actions, his kisses were soft, sloppy, and hungry, as if he were craving you. He hooked his arms beneath your knees to hoist you up and against him.

Deeper. You whimpered into his kisses wondering how his cock fucked into you deeper. He slammed your body down onto his length, using your body like it was a toy. You pulled away from the kiss, heaving for air as your head fell upon his shoulder. “Gonna cum, ‘m so close!” Your words slurred, and before you knew it, your essence came in waves, each aftershock more jolting than the last.

He continued pounding into you, shifting his position to hold you up against the wall. Your pleasure reverberated in the form of an inaudible cry while you allowed for the bullying of his cock in your cunt. It was evident to you that he was close from the way his features were etched in pure ecstasy.

Armin looked pretty like that — Wisps of tawny bangs messily splayed across his forehead from perspiration and a light tinge of scarlet dusted across his nose and cheeks, up to the tips of his ears. His soft, rosy lips were slickened with the mixture of your wet kiss and his.

“Oh, God-”

The guttural groan he let out had your walls clamping down taut around him. “Cum for me again—Shit! Say my name,”

The stamina he retained came as unexpected to you, your overstimulated heat trying to find pleasure in the way it’s being battered up. He spoke again, this time with a docile lilt in his tone.

“Tell me you’re mine, Y/N. I wanna be yours.”

You didn’t want to. You were beyond opposed to feeding into his hedonistic delusions, especially in the impuissant state that you were in. Yet, you couldn’t stop the affirmations from flowing once another orgasmic high coiled up in your core.

“Armin! ‘M yours! All yours,”

Just as soon as your words circulated through his mind, he felt his balls tighten, his thrusts faltering in potency as he reached closer to his high.

In his mind, it was profoundly amorous that you both had hit euphoria simultaneously, warm ropes of his sticky seed painting your walls while he shallowly jettisoned every last drop. Your womb was the goal, and he had scored.

He was tentative to pull out, wanting to relish in the warmth of your core for as long as he possibly could but he knew the idea wouldn’t be feasible. “You’re so good. I mean, you listen so well,”

He delicately placed you back on your feet, your body lax in his hold. “Thank you!” He beamed, tilting your head upwards to meet his gaze.

“Thank you for what?” You responded, your eyes searching for anything else to focus on as you gained enough strength to separate yourself from him, even if it was just a few inches.

“You helped me,”

You couldn’t make sense of the nonsense coming out of his mouth nor his need to be a hair's breadth away from you at all times.

“You helped me realize I never wanted to hurt you,” His hands found their place at your waist, softly running along the curve. “I just wanted to be inside you.”

“No, you wanted to kill me.” You spoke in a more conflicted tone, wondering if the gears in his head were turning at all. He chuckled, creating a few inches of distance between the two of you.

“I mean, I did at first. I was jealous, Y/N,” His voice sounded like that of a beg. “You have such a perfect life and I want it — I want to be in it.”

You couldn’t bear to listen to anymore of his twisted thoughts, feeling the heavy coat of uncomfortability weighing your shoulders down. “Armin, you’re crazy.”

“I love you, Y/N. Let me into your life, please?”

He pulled you into a tight embrace, his hands furthering south until they halted at the small of your back.

“I won’t hurt you,”

“I love you.”

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — @valentinevampyr @oneofthesevensins @iamtrashgod @iconicbabii @inusdoll @kloesklarity @bakuhoe-3 @antistellxr

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 16: Please Come Back To Me

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter sixteen of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 7.6K (You know you love it)

Warnings: References to sex, Cursing, Angst, Alot of Angst, Crying, Heartbreak, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, completely a little OOC, Soldier Boy is really all you need as a warning.

Note: This is told from the Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Additional Warning: This chapter contains severe amounts of fluff and angst. Ben is SUPER OOC and really soft in this chapter, I will not apologize for that, but I will say you're welcome 😉 If you don't like either of those things, then probably shouldn't read this?

When you wake up you think you dreamed it all, but one look at your blotchy red face in the mirror of your bathroom, dried snot on your shirt, and your inability to find your phone means that it did happen.

Ben was back and you didn't know where to go from here.

Bits and pieces of the conversation explode in your head like fireworks and your grip on the bathroom sink tightens so much that the countertop cracks beneath your hands.

Shit.

You extract your fingers from the marble that crumbled like gravel in your iron grip and glance down at your watch. You’d been asleep for 7 hours, which meant that now it was 10 pm and you probably weren't going to sleep tonight.

As if you could after everything that just happened.

Honestly, you were surprised that you had been able to, but you figured it was just the exhaustion of everything that happened, the heartbreak, the shouting, the tears, the inability of you to let go of the past, and Ben's confession of love that you waited 80 years to hear. You had wondered in the past if he wanted to say it the night that you decided to come with him, if he really did care for you as much as you cared for him all these years. Now that you knew, you wish you didn't. You wish that you could let him go, let go of the things that happened all those years ago, and wish that you hadn't fallen for him and expected him to catch you.

You think about crawling back into bed and hugging your pillow until you fall asleep so you don’t have to think about Ben. You wince at the thought of his name.

He apologized, admitted that he loved me, said that what he did was wrong, said that he wouldn’t leave- The urge to cry lodges in the back of your throat. How do I have any tears left?

You think about how much you wanted to run to him, to throw yourself into his arms, but you knew that you shouldn't want to. Ben broke you. What he did weighed on your heart everyday, but you wanted to forgive him.

How can I still want him as much as I do? How can I want him to fix this even after he did everything he could to push me away?

The look in his eyes when he confessed his feelings to you flashes through your mind in black and white.

Ben admitted weakness, said that he was scared of all things. Ben wasn't afraid of anything.

Over 40 years of friendship meant that you knew every part of him, but the part you had seen in your apartment, him practically begging you to forgive him was not one that you were used to and was not one that you had ever seen.

It was unusual for him to look broken and vulnerable.

The closest you'd ever come to seeing it was on the nights back in Philadelphia when he tapped on your window, on nights when his father gave him a hard time and Ben needed a place to crash. When the look in his eyes made you want to pull him into your arms and never let him go, to tell him that everything was going to be okay, that he wasn't a disappointment. Because despite everything with Countess, Ben wasn't a disappointment to you.

Everything was easier when you were kids, when Ben would fall asleep beside you in your bed and when you woke up in his arms, you wished that he did it on purpose.

I guess he was trying to say that he did it on purpose. You sigh as you walk into your closet to find a soft t-shirt while avoiding the duffle bag that you threw inside the double doors before you collapsed onto the bed.

But even if he was sorry, how do I know he won’t just act like the boy I used to know and tomorrow pretend he doesn’t exist? It was so easy for him to do that, to say that I meant nothing to him, to act like he didn't care.

You think about the morning after your birthday, when he looked soft and happy in your bed and how quickly he shifted into the cold mask he wore as Soldier Boy. How easy it was for him to push you away and ignore you, act like you didn’t exist and cling to Countess at the premiere.

How do I know he won’t do that again? How can I trust him? How can I forget everything he did?

You think about the night you found him with Countess, think about the moments before at the premiere, when she made you believe that you were the ugly little girl who watched Ben prance around your birthday party with Missy Callahan. Your mind stutters on her name, remembering the last time you heard it in conversation on the night that you wished would never end.

"Don't be jealous of Missy Callahan. She's nothing compared to you. Never has been, never will be."

You hear Ben whisper it to you while your song played and remember that it made you feel like you were floating, made you feel understood and seen for the first time in your life. The memory of the night you spent together rises to the surface and you allow yourself to remember, remember how it felt to finally have him completely, how much it meant to you for him to be there with you, and how he made you feel special and loved.

Your jaw clenches as the image of him with Countess sours the memory of the perfect night you had together, as the memory of the words he shouted at you rip through the happy glow you had the morning after your birthday when you told him everything you'd always wanted to.

And then the memory of what he said to you a few hours ago rises.

"We made love. I understood that when I woke up the next morning and I was happy to be there with you. I knew that I loved you and I wanted to tell you, but I fucked it all up instead. I fucked Countess because I was scared of what loving you meant. But I'm ready now, I'm not scared anymore. I love you!"

Damn it why does it have to be like this. You clench your teeth together in anger and frustration. Why did he have to do this? Why did I have to love him? Why couldn't he have just stayed gone? Why did he have to come here-

"No. I love you and I'm not leaving!"

The words reverberate around in your skull, shaking through your body like an avalanche, shaking the foundation that you built to push him away. Because you didn't want to. You didn't want him to leave. You didn't want him to leave ever again. But you weren't sure if you could survive again if he did that again. If you opened your heart to him only to have him crush it under his heel all over again.

It was so long ago. 40 years. 40 years that he said he spent regretting what he said that night. We both said things that night.

Sometimes you wondered if Ben was as broken as you were after the fight. You think about how he looked when you went into your room and think about what he said.

Maybe he was.

Apart of you didn’t want to forgive him and didn’t believe that he really understood what he did to you. The other part wanted to leave your apartment and find him, ask him to stay, forgive him and let him back in to your heart.

More frustrated tears slip down your cheeks as you look for a pair of your soft sweatpants. When you walk out of your closet you think about going back to bed again, but you knew that sleep wouldn't come.

Maybe I should call Rosie. She'd be proud of me for not forgiving him, but probably would be mad that he came here. And I should probably tell her that I didn't have to go to Russia.

That thought gives you the strength to leave your bedroom, bare feet padding down the cool floors of the hallway back to your living room. The lights are all off, save from one single lamp on the coffee table next to the plush leather couch, the same one that you'd thrown Ben over when he grabbed your arm.

But when you cross from the hallway into the living room, you realize that you aren't alone.

Ben is sitting on the couch, leaning forward on his forearms, a blunt perched in his right hand where his arm rests against his knee, looking down at his feet. He looks up at you when you walk in, eyes piercing in the warm light of the lamp, familiar in a way that almost makes you start crying all over again.

"What are you still doing here? I thought I told you-" You begin to say, voice hoarse from crying, trying to summon up enough anger to push him away, but then your eyes shift to your kitchen counter.

A pretty glass vase of fresh cut lavender sits on the counter, the sharp clean smell floats through the air soothing the anger and frustration that you drew on to speak.

Despite your age and the way most considered them to be classic, you thought that over the years roses had become generic. But you loved lavender. It reminded you of the country home your family lived at over the summers when your mother declared that the smog in the city was too much and you all needed a holiday. She always seemed softer in the countryside, all the sharp edges of the city melting away. She didn’t snipe at your figure or your paint stained hands, if anything she gave you more freedom. You spent your summers outside in the garden staring up at the clouds missing Ben, painting and sketching, while the smell of the flowers enveloped your senses. You used to send letters to him and some sketches of flowers or small painted doodles after pressing fresh lavender into the envelopes so they would smell like it when they got to him. You wanted him to think of you whenever he smelled lavender.

He remembered how much I loved lavender?

Your eyes shift to the cigar box that lays open next to it, focusing on the slips of paper that seem to spill out over your countertop.

Are those-

You reach into the box and pull out the yellowed pages of letters delicately, eyes drifting across the paper, recognizing your handwriting, remembering the painstaking moments you spent writing them to Ben, hoping that he got them, and hoping that he missed you as much as you missed him. Underneath the ones from the summers are the ones that you sent him when he was at boarding school and then finally the faded pencil sketches and faded watercolor paintings you sent him. Each piece is folded and refolded as if someone continued to look at them over and over again.

Your fingers drift over a small doodle that you did of Ben and you sitting on a bench in Philadelphia, the one that captured you laughing at something Ben said.

It was so much easier then.

“You kept them?” You breathe while looking down at the pages.

Ben stands from the couch, putting out the blunt in one of the decorative glass ashtrays on your coffee table, watching you with the same expression in his eyes that he had when you were there earlier, when you told him to leave and not come back.

"Ben-" Tears begin to fall all over again as you meet his gaze.

"I hated those summers when you were gone. I used to sleep in your room and read the letters." He whispers. "It made me realize how much I needed you in my life. I never needed anyone before." His jaw clenches together as if the thought makes him angry.

“You asked me once why I didn’t stay at those schools. It’s because when I was at all those shitty boarding schools the only thing I could think about was getting back to you, coming back home.”

The word rings in the air between you and you suddenly understand what he is saying, remember what he said the day you were together at your first baseball game and you asked him why he didn't like staying at the boarding schools.

"I don't like being there. It's not home." He had said it so casually, but you remember being confused at his reply, but now you know.

He was saying that home was with you and it made your heart feel like it was ripping itself in half because you were still so angry with him but you didn’t want to be. Not when he was saying the very thing you’d known from the beginning. That being with him was home.

“Ben-“ You say, trying to strengthen your resolve, trying to summon the anger you’ve kept close to your heart for forty years.

"Every time I came to see you, tapped on your window I thought you would push me away, turn your back on me and you never did. And when all this supe shit happened I needed you with me too, that's why I asked you to come with me. Those years before and when we were on Payback, you put up with all my shit. Even when I did horrible things to other people, you stood by me. You know more about me than anyone else, have known me for longer than anyone else-" He takes a cautionary step forward.

Tears continue to fall from your eyes, sobs shaking your shoulders, but you can't speak.

"That night with you, felt different. Even before when we were at that restaurant it was different. I didn't want to leave. It was like nothing changed, like we were in your room again just talking, before all this, when we were still in Philadelphia. The only memories that I have from Philadelphia that are worth remembering are the moments I spent with you.  And when I asked if I could come back to your place I-" He sighs rubbing the back of his neck. "I thought you would say no, but you didn't. And then you told me that you had wanted me almost as much as I'd wanted you all those years, that you needed me. I always thought that it was only me that needed you."

"Ben I can't-" You voice breaks looking away from him.

Ben is close enough now that his fingers come under your chin to tilt your face up to his. “I shouldn’t have said what I said or did what I did. I didn’t want to need anyone. I thought that I had to push you away because loving you meant I was weak. But it’s not true. Loving you is the only good thing that I’ve ever done and loving you is the only thing that makes me strong.”

You close your eyes to avoid his gaze, you wanted to believe him, but you weren’t sure that you could.

"I've fucked a lot of women in my life y/n, I won't apologize for that. But I've only made love to one." His thumb brushes away another tear that falls from your eyes. "And when you told me that you wanted me to be your first, it did something to me. I wanted to be everything you needed. I didn't want just one night with you. I wanted all of them. When I woke up the next morning with you in my arms, I didn't want it to end. All those nights when I showed up at your apartment, I didn’t want to go home. I just wanted to stay with you because it was home. Even when we were kids, being with you in your room it was the only place that I felt like I belonged.”

Your hand can't help but come up between the two of you, resting solidly on his chest. Apart of you wants to push him away, but you can’t.

Ben is still touching your face, holding it up to his. Your bodies are so close together that you can feel the heat of his skin through the air between you. Another tear falls and Ben's thumb brushes it away. The smell of the lavender is intoxicating, broken up only by the familiar smell of Ben's aftershave and soap.

And somehow you find your voice. It shakes, but you hold his gaze. "I hated you for a long time. What you said broke me. I was broken so many years. I still am-“

“Sweetheart-“

“No.” You inhale sharply. “I want to believe you, but I don’t think you understand what you did. I want to believe that you’ve changed but this is exactly what happened that night on my birthday. Don’t you see? How can I believe you? How do I know that you won't pretend to be everything I want, pretend that you’re the boy I fell in love with and then the next morning you’ll push me away and act like he doesn’t exist-“ Tears leave warm trails down your cheeks.  "I’m not strong enough to go through that again.”

“I promise-“

“Ben you’ve promised in the past. And I-“ More tears come. “I’ve tried so hard to put it behind me. I want to believe that you’re still you but I don’t know if I can trust you again like I did.”

"Y/n." Ben looks deep into your eyes. "I didn't pretend that night. The only time I pretended not to care was in the morning and at the premiere-"

"And how do I know you won't do it again?" You sob. "When you think that it's too weak to admit that you care about me?"

"I do fucking care about you."

"You say that now."

"I love you."

"Ben I can't-"

"I said those things because I-" He sighs, shoulders tight in frustration and anger. "I thought that I needed to push you away, that I shouldn't care about anyone as much as I care about you. But I do.  I fucking care about you more than I've ever cared about anyone in my life. I didn’t want to need anyone but I do. I need you. That’s why I kept showing up in your life. That’s why I spent so many nights in your bed. I couldn’t survive the night alone and I needed you with me, even after we took the damn serum.”

“But-“

“That night when you told me that asshole, Howard proposed I knew that I couldn't lose you. I didn't want you to marry that fucker. I wanted you to be with me. He didn't know you the same way I did, he didn't understand you. He didn't deserve you. And the night we danced together I called you ‘my girl’ because I wanted you to be. I wanted you to be mine. Not because I wanted to piss him off. Because I wanted you. I’ve always wanted you. You’re the one, the only one.”

You drop your gaze to his chest, sobbing quietly to yourself. Ben tilts your head up towards his one more time, to look deeply into your eyes.  There's an unfamiliar vulnerability that stares back at you, the same one you saw when Ben would come to your bedroom and wait for you to ask him to stay because he thought you would push him away the way everyone else did.

"I promise that I will never do that to you again. I know it doesn't make what I did or what I said okay. But I will spend the rest of my life trying to fix it because I can't lose you. I’ve spent forty years away from you and I don’t want to spend anymore time away. I love you. And I hate that I fucking hurt you this much."

You can see the sincerity in his eyes, hear the raw emotion in his voice, but you’re still unsure.

“Please y/n I want to fix this." He says again.

“I know you do. But you can’t just show up 40 years later And expect to fix it in one night. I know it’s not your fault that you didn’t come sooner but, you hurt me-“

“I know I did-“ his eyes drop to your shoulders as the memory of how he grabbed you that night blankets his mind.

“No not like that. Ben you don’t understand. Sorry isn’t enough. And yes hearing you say all these things was nice but it’s not enough to make me forget everything that happened.”

“But-“

“No. Ben I loved you, more than I’d ever loved anyone I-“ You shake your head tears falling fast. “I lost pieces of myself to make you happy  to make sure that you had someone in your life that cared for you. I stayed for so long with you because it was all I thought I could do. And every time I thought I could leave to do something for myself you would do something to pull me back in like you had a fucking radar and knew oh if I do something that she wants I’ll get her to stay with me a little longer!”

“I knew you were unhappy! I was trying to make you happy! I wanted you to stay with me-“

“By manipulating me?”

“No it wasn’t because I wanted to manipulate you I-“ He exhales in frustration. “You told me that you wanted someone to come home to, someone who loved you, a family, I wanted to give you those things! I saw how you were looking at the other couples, I knew what you wanted. That’s why I held your hand at dinner, gave you the necklace, and that’s why I kissed you-“

“But then you pushed me away. You pushed me away when I needed you the most, when I finally said what I'd been trying to say for years.” Your voice shakes. “I can’t go to bed every night with you and wake up with the dread that you’re going to push me away again and say that I mean nothing. That you’ll be cold and unfeeling and- I can’t do that to myself again.”

“I promise I won’t-“

“I don’t know if I believe you. If I can after everything."

"Please just tell me what I can do to fix it."

"I don't know!" You shout running your fingers through your hair pulling back from him. Because you wanted him to fix it. You loved every bit of the words he said, the love he confessed to you. You loved the way he was looking at you, the way he wanted to make this up to you, but your heart wouldn't let go. It couldn't let go of the things he shouted at you, couldn't let go of the image of him and Countess, couldn't forget how happy you were to tell him you loved him and then he just acted like you were nothing. The words he said that night begin to circulate, bringing you deeper into the dark pit that threatened to swallow you whole, the pit that you'd fallen into when you thought he died.

"Ben I-" Your voice catches in your throat. "I wish that I knew what you could do to fix this. I want you to. I want to forget all of it. And I want to forgive you because I still fucking love you, but I can't do it in one day. I can’t -" And despite your better judgement you crumple against his chest, tears smearing against the front of his shirt, body shaking with sobs, and trying hard to not think how it feels the same as it always has to be pressed against him.

Ben's arms come up around you to wrap you in his embrace, tucking your head under his chin as he begins to drag his hand up and down your back in a soothing motion.

The gentleness of his touch makes you cry harder against him, hold on to him so tight that you think you'll break him in half, but he doesn't complain, he just stands there with you. It reminds you of when he came to hold you in the hotel room when your brother died, when he drove for hours to be there for you. Because despite everything that had happened between you, Ben was always there with you before that night with Countess.

You don’t know how long you standing there together, but finally Ben picks you up and carries you down the dark hallway to your bedroom and deposits you on the bed.

He waits a minute on the edge, standing as if he's unsure, brow scrunched up in frustration and anger.

"I didn't mean to hurt you this fucking much. And I don’t know how to-“ His jaw tenses and he shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut like he can't look at you. “I don’t know how to- fuck- I can’t lose you.” Ben grips his hair so tightly you think he’s going to pull it out.

“Ben.” You sigh and despite everything , you stand up from the bed to hug him, allowing him to press his head into your shoulder and hug you so tight it hurts.  It breaks something deeper in your chest because you can see how broken he is, how much he wants to fix this, and how much of him he was willing to let you see.

You didn't understand how he was being so open, how he was allowing himself to be like this after all the bullshit toxic masculinity he usually spouted and how he pushed away his feelings for so long. You wondered if after this he would push you away because you had seen him like this, or if he really did love you and that was why he was doing it.

“It’s okay.” You soothe, running your hands up and down his back. “It’s alright.”

But you’re not sure it is. 

"If you still want me to leave I will. I can sleep on the couch.” Ben whispers. The emotion that flashes in his eyes when he says it, breaks your heart. It's vulnerable and raw, so different that the mask Ben wore as Soldier Boy. “But please don’t make me go.”

"I don't want you to go." You whisper. “Even after everything. I want you here with me, it’s just hard.”

“I’m sorry-"

“I know you are Ben.” You both stand there for a minute and you weigh your options.

You think about making him go back out on the couch, making him sleep alone, but you don’t want that. You knew that you’d spend the whole night thinking about him. And as much as a part of you wanted to push him away, you couldn't. So you do the opposite.

You take his hand and gently entwine your fingers with his. Ben stares down at them for a moment confused, before you sit on the bed, scooting back and tugging softly, but he hesitates.

“Are you sure?” He asks in a whisper, gaze raising from your hands to catch your eye.

You nod once tugging his hand again and this time he follows you down into the mattress.

He slides in next to you beneath the covers, keeping your hands entwined between the two of you so that they are locked against his chest as you face one another on the bed, heads resting on different pillows, but close enough that you can feel his warm breath every time he exhales.

Ben's eyes search yours. “I tried to call after. I picked up the phone but every time I did I couldn’t-“  He sighs. "I was such a fucking pussy. I didn't know what to say. I should have just come over-"

"I wouldn't have let you in." You breathe. "I didn't want to see you, didn't want to see anyone. Stan Edgar tried to come talk to me and I broke his nose."

"Really?" Ben smiles.

"Yeah." You try to smile back, but you can't.

Ben raises his free hand to push back your hair and tuck it behind your ear, but his eyes drop to your shoulders tracing the imaginary bruises that he left behind all those years ago. "I'm sorry that I hurt you. I didn’t mean to-“

You press your lips into a tight line. “I think that’s the only time I’ve ever been afraid of you.” You say in a whisper. You hadn’t wanted to admit it aloud, but it was true. You had been angry and heartbroken, but the fact that Ben had laid a hand on you, was prepared to hurt you had scared you. It was what solidified that the thought that boy you loved was gone.

But the look on his face breaks something inside you, pain and anguish flashing in his eyes.

"Ben-" You sigh, shifting forward closer to him, but he releases your hand and instead wraps his arm around your waist to pull you into his chest, pressing his head into your shoulder. You know that he can't say what he's thinking right now, but he doesn't have to.

“I also remember doing something to you.” You say because you don't know what else to, you’re not used to seeing him look so broken.

“I deserved it.” He mumbles into your shirt.

“You didn’t deserve what I said about your dad-“

“I did. You were right.”

“Ben you’re not like him.”

“But I am. Everything I did to you, is something he would have done.” He mutters, pulling you tighter against him. “I don’t know how to fucking fix this.”

“This is helping a little bit.” You whisper against your better judgement, while you inhale his shampoo and lean further into his chest. It was weird to be here with him after all these years, after all the years you spent hating him. You didn't want to forgive him, you wanted to be angry but at the same time you wanted to believe him, you wanted to believe that the boy you fell in love with was still there.

And laying here with him holding you the way you always wanted him to, made you remember that boy.

“Yeah?” He breathes, raising his head from your shoulder.

“Mhmm.”

You lay there for a minute in his embrace and it's like he never left. It's the same as when you were kids and you laid in bed together. And finally you say. "As angry as I am, I still love you. You matter too much to me for me to let you go. I think that's why it hurts so much, because you're all I had Ben and I-"

"That's why I can't lose you. You're all I have and that’s enough. You are enough. You always have been and always will be.” Ben states his eyes are wide with his confession, the pain of what he did to you flashes through them. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. But I never could think of a way to say it.”

More tears spring from your eyes and you wonder when you’ll stop crying.

Ben leans his forehead against yours. His expression softens as he looks into your eyes, his touch gentle against your cheek. “But if you’ll let me, I’d like to show you how much I love you and how sorry I am.” The look in his eyes is softer than you’ve ever seen it, reminding you of how he looked on those early mornings still half asleep and reminding you of how he looked the morning after your birthday before he ran.

You know he means well, and you understand what he’s asking, why he’s asking. He’s trying to make it up to you the only way he knows how, but you can’t do it. It's too soon. Too much after everything that happened and too much considering you're still trying to come to terms with the fact that he's here and he's finally saying everything you ever wanted him to. Not to mention that you haven't completely forgiven him.

“Ben?"

“Yeah?”

“Can you just hold me tonight?” You breathe. You felt disgusting. You had snot and tears all over your face and your cheeks were bright red and splotchy from crying. “I’m not ready for that. Not after everything. I don't think I can-”

You watch disappointment flicker in his eyes but he recovers with a soft smile. "It's okay. We can take this slow, whatever you need."

Ben drops the hand that was against your cheek and wraps his arm around your waist to pull you into his chest. You snuggle into his arms breathing in the familiar smell before bringing your arms up to wrap around the back of his neck in a tight hug.

“Did they hurt you?” You ask before you can stop yourself.

Ben’s arms tighten around you and you know that he must be remembering the past 40 years.

“What they did doesn’t matter.”

“I’m so sorry I didn’t come for you." You pull back to look into his eyes. "The others told me you were dead. I wouldn’t have left you there if I knew-“

“I know.” Ben leans his forehead against yours. “I would have come for you too.”

“I know.”

 “It means a lot to me that you were still willing to come get me after everything I fucking put you through.”

“That’s what love is.”

“No.” Ben whispers. “That’s you.”

“Ben-“

“I don’t deserve you. You’ve stood by me, put up with all my shit all these years and you never turned your back on me. What I did to you is unforgivable and yet you want me here with you-“

“Ben.” You sigh. “I know that I shouldn’t want you here and a part of me wants to push you away. I should make you leave, but I can’t. You’re my best friend and I love you. And that means that even though you’re the one who hurt me, you’re the only person that I want here, comforting me. As fucked up as that is, I don’t care. What you did was horrible, but I promise that I’m going to try my best to forgive you. It might take a long time, but I want to trust you again, because I love you and I never stopped.”

He frowns despite what you confessed. “You don’t regret-“

“I said a lot of things that night. And you did too." You push his hair back over his forehead. "And for the record, I don't think your father would care about making it up to someone else. We both know that he didn't care about anyone but himself. And even after everything that happened you're proving that you aren't him, right now, by being here with me."

He presses his lips together in a tight line. "Okay."

It’s quiet for a few moments as both of you stare at one another in the dim light of your bedroom.

“Have you really loved me since we were 8?” Ben whispers.

“Yeah. Since the study.” You're not sure if you should be embarrassed or not.

He smiles. “I was 10. It was the night of my mom's funeral. My dad was giving me some shit about something, but I couldn't stop thinking about you so I climbed up the tree outside your window. I wasn't going to ask you to come in, I was just going to sit on the ledge and watch you draw. I like watching you draw, it's like you're in your own little world and you forget about everything else. You always seem so happy." Ben smiles wider. "I like seeing you happy."

You remembered that night. You had a weird feeling that someone was watching you and when you looked out your window you had seen Ben sitting there. You had made a joke about him stalking you, but then invited him in. It was the first night that he had ever spent in your bed.

"And then when we woke up the next morning, you were laying there snoring-" Ben snorts.

"I do not snore." You smile with a sniffle

"You do. It's cute." Ben's smile turns softer. "And I didn't want to wake you up, because it meant that we'd have to move and I didn't want to ever move. Because moving meant that I would have to go back to my dad and I didn't want that. I just wanted to stay there with you."                                     

More tears pour from your eyes with his confession because again you can’t see Soldier Boy, you just see Ben, but you know it’ll take a long time until you’re completely healed.

“I didn’t want to say anything. I thought that if I did you would push me away and I didn’t have anyone else that mattered in my life. And you deserved better than me. I was always getting kicked out of boarding schools I was a fuck up. A disappointment.” Ben sighs, brushing away your tears again. “Even after we took the serum I was.  You deserved someone who was-“

“I didn’t think you were a fuck up, Ben. I’ve never thought that. I hate what your father said to you, what he did to you. I hate that he made you feel like you didn’t matter.”  You stroke your fingertips through his hair and Ben sighs, leaning his forehead against yours and closes his eyes. “You are worth so much more than what he told you. You mean so much to me, more than anyone else ever. That’s why I never told you. I didn’t want to lose you. You’re everything to me.”

“You’re not going to lose me. I promise I’m never going to leave you again. I missed you so fucking much sweetheart.”

“I missed you too.” You continue to move your fingers through his hair. In the past you had avoided the urge to do so, but now you wanted to comfort him. Because as much as you wanted to forget the last forty years, you wondered what they had been like for him. You wanted him to tell you what they did to him.

“Feels nice.” He murmurs, arms tightening around your waist.

“Your hair’s a lot longer.” You can’t help but smile at his reaction.

“Didn’t have time to cut it.”

“So is your beard-“

“If you don’t like it I can shave it off-“

“No don’t.” You say it quickly and Ben opens one eye to smirk at you.

“Guess you like it.”

“Maybe.”

“Then I’ll keep it just for you Sweetheart.” He leans further into you. “You know I think you look pretty good too.”

You snort. “You don’t have to butter me up just because you feel bad. I’m wearing sweatpants, I haven't brushed my hair, and my face is all puffy-“

“You look beautiful.”

“Well-“

“Stop. You do.”

“Ben-“

This time Ben raises his hand to cup your chin. “Will you just let me compliment my girl?”

The nickname is familiar. You remember the last time he called you that, when you were dancing and he finally kissed you for the first time. “Do you really mean it this time?”

“I always meant it. You are mine and nothing else matters.” The look in his eyes is determined, as if he wants you to understand how much you mean to him.

“Does that mean that you're mine too?" Your voice is almost a whisper, frightened of his answer. Although he had apologized and said that he wanted to make it up to you, you were still afraid. Afraid that Ben couldn't do this.

"Y/n." Ben's expression is pained. "I promise I will never do that again. I will never hurt you like that ever. Believe me when I say that."

"I'm trying to."

“What can I do to fix it?” He asks again.

“I don’t know.”

And you don't. Because you understood that Ben was trying his hardest to make up for what happened, and yes you loved that he was like this now, but you were afraid, afraid that the next day you'd wake up and he'd be gone and Soldier Boy would be back.

Ben sighs. "I am yours and I don’t want to be anywhere else." His eyes are focused on you, determined, but filled with a softness that turns the beautiful emerald into a clover that reminds you of the soft grass at the park the day you painted him.

You weren’t used to him looking at you like that, like you were the only person in the world. It had only happened one other time, the morning after your birthday when you were more happy than you'd ever been in your entire life.

“Okay.” You whisper back because you don’t know what else to say. “Ben?”

“Mhmm?”

“What did they do to you?”

Ben’s body tenses. “It doesn’t matter now.”

"Please tell me.”

“Why?”

“Because you were there for forty years and I-“

“It doesn’t fucking matter. Just drop it.” Ben snaps, eyes blazing green.

You wait for a beat, watching the blaze of his eyes turn down to a simmer. “It’s okay to admit that the last forty years haven’t been easy. I won’t judge you for that or think less of you Ben. And if we’re going to do this, be in a relationship, you’re going to need to share things with me. It can’t be one sided-“

“It’s not going to be one sided, I just don’t want to talk about that.”

“Okay.” You sigh, settling back down next to him. You couldn’t help but feel a little bit disappointed. You knew that Ben kept his cards close to his chest, but you wanted him to be open with you about things like that.

The silence grows between you filled with unspoken things.

“They wanted to see if I could die, if they could make me fucking normal again.” Ben mutters into the top of your head. And then he tells you, tells you what happened that day in Nicaragua, tells you about the testing, about the nuclear bomb they put into his chest, about every single thing they did to him over the past forty years. With each revelation of the last forty years your arms tighten around his body in a hug, holding him to you while his words make anger surge in your chest like an uncontrollable fire.

How could they do that to him? How could they hurt him like that? And Payback? They were our teammates. How could they turn their back on Ben like that? Give him up so easily and not for any kind of money?

You think about what Countess confessed to you, when she said that she purposely drove you two apart.

They were right to. If they had tried any of that with me there, I would have ripped them all apart if they tried to take Ben away.

Your fingers fall into Ben’s hair, gently dragging back and forth at the base of his skull while he continues, trying to bring him some comfort.

“Ben I’m so sorry.” You say when he finishes.

“It’s okay-“

“It’s not. Nothing they did to you is okay.”

“I deserved it.”

His words make an ice cold chill travel down your spine. It was the second time that he had said something like that tonight.

“Ben.”

You lean back from him to look him in the eye, but he won’t meet your gaze. Your hands cup his cheeks, his scruff prickling against your palms as you bring his attention to you. He looks lost and it scares you. Ben never did that. He was always together, it was you that usually had that haunting look in your eyes, but you could see what they did to him reflected in the familiar green. He looked worn.

“You didn’t deserve what they did to you. No one deserves that. And yeah maybe you said some shit you shouldn’t have and maybe you did something bad, but I never want to hear you say that again. Do you understand me? Never say that again. You didn’t deserve that. And I promise you that you’re never going back. I will not let them take you again.”

Ben nods once and your hands slip from his cheeks to go around his neck once more to pull him into a tight hug.

“I didn’t mean to hurt those people.” He mutters into the top of your head remembering what happened in Mid-town.

You had heard about it through Rosemary, who had several patients who had been hurt in the explosion, not to mention every news station seemed to have it on 24/7.

“I know. It’s okay. You just lost control. It happens to all of us.” You think about killing Countess. “It doesn’t make you a bad guy.”

“Hmm.”

It was weird for Ben to allow this, to allow you to hold him, but somewhere deep down you wondered if he always wanted you to, but he just never said and didn’t want to admit it out loud.

Weirder still was that he was holding you to him too, curling his arms around you and pulling you into his chest like you belonged there. And despite everything that happened, despite how angry you wanted to be, being here with him felt like you were coming home.

“You should sleep.” He whispers after a little while, as his hand trails down your spine, moving up and down in a soothing motion.

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

“If you want me to be.”

“I wasn’t lying when I said I always want you here.” You breathe into his skin. “I lied when I said I never wanted to see you again.”

“Then I will be.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head that makes you cuddle further into him, tightening your arms were they wrap around his neck to pull him into you.

And you hope that one day it won't hurt, that one day you won't hear the words he yelled at you, and that one day you can believe and trust him again like you did.

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist, please let me know!

Taglist: @roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303

@deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs

@bughill126 @simplyfixated @sleepjam @tiredstrangerr @freefallthoughts

@onlyangel-444 @lov3vivian @mxltifxnd0m @mayafatimakhan @marvel-mistress

@my-obsession-spn @lifeonawhim @soldirboy @liuope @brynanna

@carpenterswife @xxannyxx @babyinatrench-coat1 @the-gentle-spirit

@valryomen @cassieriddle713 @shaggzthatsnottheworm @lil-soup @ej13928

[drewsprincessy]

loving you was hard.

warnings: angst, anxiety, anger, comfort, arguing, crying, lmk if i missed any

summary: rafe and reader are in love, but rafe struggles to accept it, he doesnt believe in love.

part one

rafe cameron x female reader.

you had fallen for rafe, hard. it started off with stealing glances at each other every so often, then it escalated to him asking for your number. you two talked every night, dusk til dawn until you couldn't keep your eyes open anymore. you were the only person he was gentle with, the only one he would give affection to, and even crack a smile with.

he caught himself re-reading your texts and smiling at them, going through your insta posts, checking your following, checking your location, and checking when you were last online.

he thought he just needed a quick hookup, and that was all. but no. the way you smile at him and your dimple pokes through your cheek, or maybe its the way your eyes light up when your excited about something.

he doesnt know what it is, but he cant fall in love. your not important, its just all in his head.

he was sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands as he thinks, he regains his composure, shaking his head to try and get rid of the thought. he lets out a long breath, and he stands up. he goes to smoke some weed.

he stops answering your calls, and even stops responding all together. he cant fall in love, he's not fit for a relationship. right?

your a mess. you'd be lying if you said it didn't hurt the way that he ghosted you out of nowhere. but i mean you cant be mad, because your still just a hookup for him. right?

i mean you thought it'd be different because hes never met up with a girl more than once, you guys have even been on real dates. not just the ones where you have sex and not talk for another 2 weeks. you two had gotten to really know each other.

you were just confused, and hurt. you decided you were gonna try to let it go. try and move on, because theres always other men out there.

~

2 weeks pass

you were at home laying in your bed, you just had on a comfy tee shirt, and some yoga shorts.

you had been scrolling thru your phone, giggling at a video you seen on tiktok. you clicked on the comments and scrolled thru them, and you were giggling until a message popped up at the top of your screen. from rafe; your smile faintly drops as you click on the message

-

imessage:

rafe: been thinking about you. um, im really sorry for ditchin you n' shit. i just been going thru stuff and didnt wanna take it out on you. im sorry alright?

y/n: its okay rafe, i understand. call if you need anything. okay?

you were so understanding, and forgiving. even with the half ass apology he gave you, you still forgave him.

-

over the next few weeks, you and rafe start going out again, he fell more and more in love with you, and you felt the same about him. he had enough of it. he couldnt be falling for you.

he was high off drugs, and his breath reeked of alcohol. he was stumbling and could barely walk. there were crowds of people around him at the party he attended to.

you had also been there with rafe, but went off somewhere with kiara and sarah. you decided the topic of conversation was boring, and excused yourself with a "ill be right back." and went to find him.

he had went off into a room with some random chick, they were making out and her clothes were half off. you had almost stumbled on your feet when you walked in, your eyes had immediately began brimming with tears. to save yourself the embarrassment you walk off, quickly as possible. trying to get the hell out of there.

rafe comes outside to where you had walked off to, he immediately catches up to you since his legs were longer, and grabs your arm "whats your problem..why are you crying?" he says, trying not to slur his words

you decide, fuck it. he doesnt care anyway. "your my problem rafe. i fucking love you, i have for a long time. and you lead me on and act like you love me the same way, but then i find you about to hookup with some random girl, that you dont even know! like i dont even exist rafe, and im gonna be honest. that shit HURTS! im so sick of this, im sick of you, and your bullshit excuses, your half ass apologies. FUCK YOU!"

rafe feels a pang of guilt in his chest, even thru the alcohol and drugs. he still manages to muster up some excuse, hes trying to hide the way he feels. "i mean..y/n. what did you expect? i told you what the hell u were gettin into. i dont gain.. feelings. so quit being a damn crybaby"

it starts to rain, and you storm off, even when he yells your name, telling u to come back you dont listen. you kick your heels off, and walk all the way home in the pouring rain.

once u get home, you delete his number, and cry yourself to sleep.

he tries to act as if he doesnt care, he drinks until he passes out.

~

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝓷𝓭