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#first of all i do not own a car i have never driven a car i do not have a drivers license

mo0nfairy · 11 months

Text

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ UNCHAINED MELODY, PART ONE !

summary :: surviving raccoon city together, you catch the affections of leon kennedy, ada wong, jill valentine, and carlos oliveira. six years later, you reunite with them and realize their obsession with you has increased tenfold.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 5.7k.

content warnings :: mdni!! yandere!leon, yandere!ada, yandere!jill, yandere!carlos, noncon touching, drugging, kidnapping, ptsd, violence, explosions, weapons, death, mild sexual themes, sexual harassment (done by some random npc), car crash, hospitals, reader breaks their arm.

──── Rain.

It's the first thing you are able to scrutinize once you come out of your state of comatose. You listen to the tumultuous melody as the droplets batter against the roof of the car. Even with your eyes locked tight, you are able to figure out where you are just by the rumble of the car engine, jostling you around when the tires hit a crevice in the road. A fuzzy, knitted blanket is adorned around your body. Your headphones are set on top of your head, a playlist of your favorite songs playing on a low volume. The sounds come out distorted, somehow, as if the lyrics were tripping over themselves and the tunes were awkwardly dancing with one another. It's almost as if you had been drugged.

The right side of your face is squished against something, which you now perceive as somebody's neck. The surface pushes your headphones uncomfortably into the side of your head. In a fruitless attempt to take them off, you realize you are paralyzed from head to toe. An arm is draped around your shoulder, the other firmly around your legs which are draped among their lap. Whomever this stranger is, they are quite brawny as they tighten their thick arms around you. They press gentle kisses to your forehead, the stubble of their beard tickling your skin. A deep voice whispers sugary affirmations against your temple, but you are unable to dissect them through the warped music and white noise. Have I been kidnapped? Who the fuck is this person?

With what little strength you have left in your body, you are able to peel your eyes open just a crack. You find yourself in the middle of the backseat (the safest spot in the car, which was certainly done on purpose). You find the arms draped around you are tan, adorned in heaps of black hair. Casting your gaze forward, you look to the driver. You see a woman with short, dirty-blonde hair whose slender fingers grasp hold of the steering wheel. The identity of these two people remains unknown to you. Looking at the windows, the rain cascading down the glass prevents you from pinpointing any potential landmarks. The only thing you can do is slump against this stranger and let yourself be driven far, far away.

You rewind into the past to collect any memories that would help decipher the current events. All you are able to garner is a crisp October evening, where you snuggled beneath a blanket in the safe expanse of your bedroom. You remember wrapping the blanket around your shoulders and strolling into the kitchen, where you would then make yourself a hot cup of tea. This was your normal night routine, you recall in defeat. The last memory you had would be of no use, considering the large gap in your mind once you drank the first sip of tea. So, you rewind even further to see if anything abnormal had occurred during the day.

You remember how you had spent your morning journaling in the garden, analyzing the faces of other patients and doctors wandering through your memory. Nothing stuck out, however, so you abandoned your reminiscing of this past morning. You then think back to group therapy at noon, where others would express their traumas from Raccoon City six years prior. You would tell your own story of the agony you endured and how you met several people who had protected you with their lives. Leon Kennedy, Ada Wong, Jill Valentine, and Carlos Oliveira — four names you would never forget.

Then, you would express the grief you felt when you were told none of them had survived the night. You had never felt so alone after. But, fortunately, you were then taken under the wing of this sanctuary built just for survivors. You have stayed in their habitation since.

The faces of those listening to your story were people you have seen every day; none of their features matched the physicality of the people in this car. With that, you fast forward further into the afternoon to find anything that sticks out. The heightened security that seemed to be reserved for you made you furrow your brow. However, it was nothing explicit enough to explain your current circumstances. Several guards stood outside your room as you lost yourself in the book you checked out from the sanctuary's library. The headphones you wore blared your favorite music and tuned out any and all outside noise. Even the hushed noises straight from your kitchen.

The hours of the afternoon faded away while you read through your book. It wasn't until a friend had come to your door to remind you of your plans to go stargazing did you realize the sun had begun to set. As they left, you decided to brew yourself some tea before you would join the others outside. You remember sitting at your frail kitchen table, blanket adorning your shoulders like a cape as you watched the tea kettle on the stove. Silence pervades and you can't help letting your mind wander. It has been six full years since the incident in Raccoon City. Still, your brain always seems to saunter back to the memories of that night.

You think of Leon Kennedy that night. You remember those pale blue eyes, freckled innocence, puppy-soft hair; you remember how he had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. Working at the Mizoil Gas Station, sitting right on the outskirts of the city, you're bound to face your fair share of weird regulars. And Leon Kennedy, by far, was the weirdest. A week before the night that sent your life into a tornado, you had met the new rookie who just arrived in town. And for seven days, you would always spot that familiar green jeep outside your workplace. His relentless appearances made you worry he had a hole in his gas tank or something. However, his visits weren't to grab gas or a quick snack for the road, it was to awkwardly lean against the counter and pathetically try to win your heart.

"Oh, hey Y/N! Funny running into you here..." The twelve visits a day spoil his attempts at being suave. "Yeah. I work here, Leon." His name sounds like nectar on your tongue, to a point where he is on the verge of outright begging you to say it. Even once more.

You then think of how during your closing shift, a coworker had become something ghastly, something monstrous. It all just happened so fast. You think of how you shielded yourself in your cramped work locker, limbs jutting out against the uncomfortable metal walls. To this day, you can still feel the suffocating tightness in your chest from holding back your sobs. All while you helplessly listened to the horrific sounds of your coworkers and customers being torn apart. You're entirely shaken with trauma, but with your brain in survival mode, you know this was no time to rest. Who knows how many more of those things will arrive? Now was your only shot at escaping this hellhole. So, you begrudgingly peel open the locker door and carefully inspect your surroundings. You grab a six-pack of beer on the desk beside you and take one of the bottles out. It was your only available weapon against your zombified coworkers, after all.

Blood paints your sneakers red and cheap beer stains your uniform as you fight your way out of the station. The sight of the entrance feels like a light at the end of the tunnel. Your lungs tighten with exhaustion as you continue to run towards it. That is until a firm grasp on your wrist halts your intentions. Swinging the bottle towards the assailant, they block it with ease and disarm you. It wasn't until a stuttering, concerned voice gasps your name do you realize that you almost just stabbed Leon Kennedy in the face. But God, you never thought you would be so happy for the persistent neediness of this cop.

You don't even know what had overcome you, but the sight of something human fills you with so much relief, you engulf the man into a hug. It lasted a mere second, but it was more than enough to get Leon's heart thumping in his chest. Even in the face of death, a smile tugs at his lips with any crumb of affection he can extrapolate from you. Muttering an apology to him, Leon disregards it entirely and stares at you with that dumb, love-struck expression. Your drop-dead gorgeous self; your witty comebacks that have his ribs tough with laughter… You, of all people, initiated affection with him, you actually wanted to touch him!

The roar of something inhuman cuts Leon off, to where he then bends down and scoops you into his arms. Without a second to resist, Leon (who is far too elated for comfort) sprints through the door with you and books it to his jeep. You're too busy staring at the store in trepidation to stop Leon from opening the car door for you, placing you in the passenger seat, and fastening your seatbelt for you. Almost as if you were a child, incapable of using your own hands.

The car ride to the Raccoon Police Department is quiet. Other than a few hushed reassurances of comfort from Leon, a heavy silence sits between the two of you. It's so bewildering that the people you had spent every day with are all dead. Not even dead, but zombie-fied creatures groaning to tear your flesh asunder. Your brain drifts to one coworker, in particular. One who was a master at getting under your skin. Manipulating your time alone to ask you out to dinner for the umpteenth time while tracing his hands over your skin. You never agreed, but with every attempt to bring this problem to your manager, it was always swept under the rug. And at last, you would have to endure the eerie smile and roaming hands of this middle-aged creep.

But now, things are different. You think about how he is now dead and can never touch you again; you think of how sickeningly good it felt to drive the rear end of a half-shattered bottle into his skull. Looking at your hands, you find your palms caked with his blood. Leon takes notice of this, taking one hand off the wheel and using it to grasp your hand into his. Electricity tickles through him from the contact. "You didn't have a choice" he assures in that soft tone reserved for you, but he is wrong. You did have a choice, and in the end, you wanted to hurt him.

"I wanted to. I wanted to kill him." Your gaze is locked on your red hands as you confess; Leon's gaze is fixated on you. "I just couldn't put up with him anymore. I finally got to fucking get back at him for once, to take advantage of him while he was weak." You don't even notice the tears streaming down your emotionally-drained expression.

You especially don't notice the sheer affect your words have on Leon. Tense jaw, flared nostrils, chest rising up and down with short breaths. What the fuck did he do to you? What had he done to push you, the angel of Leon's life, to such violent measures? He imagines his disgusting hands, dirtying your heavenly form; he imagines your face scrunched up with dismay, tears brimming in your eyes. And it absolutely destroys him. His heavy stare remains locked on you, entirely oblivious to any outside sources. No zombies, no eight-foot-tall tyrants — all that mattered was the audacity this dead man had to put his hands on you. And god, it makes him red with rage.

"Leon- LEON-!!" You shout out to warn him before the jeep then collides into a car wreck. It is pure mayhem as you shield your head with your hands and prepare for your demise. Leon’s arm stretches out over you in a desperate attempt to protect you. How ironic that in the face of a zombie apocalypse, you would die because of someone's poor driving skills.

You reluctantly open your eyes; you're alive. With your ears ringing out and your vision fuzzy, you manage to wrestle your way out of the jeep that had been flipped upside down. A grunt escapes from your chest as you make contact with the pavement. Something wet trickles down your head and from your nose, which doesn't take much for you to perceive as blood. You are so disoriented, you entirely forget about the man who was driving you just moments before. So disoriented, in fact, you don't hear the weak whimpers of your name from Leon as he watches you stumble further and further and further away from him.

You think of Ada Wong that night. You remember the click of her heels, her expensive perfume, her manicured nails; you remember how she had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. Somehow in your bewildered state, you had found yourself in one of the holding cells of RPD. You had collapsed against a metal bench, catching sight of a blood-stained first aid kit just within reach. You then tend to your wounds with feeble efforts. Soon, your senses clear, to where horrifying screams of agony echo through the large expanse. An unseen force rattles the room, and chunks of wall soar through the air from the cell beside you. There's a pop! before a deafening silence settles in the room.

All that is left in the air is your rapid breathing, waiting for your inescapable demise to embrace you. But, there is simply nothing to greet you but you and your thoughts. The gentle tap of quiet footsteps fills the permeating quiet. A woman then enters your train of vision, dressed in a trench coat, sunglasses, and stiletto heels. She stops in her tracks upon seeing you, seemingly inspecting you from behind her eyewear. With a tilt of her head, the woman steps through the threshold of your cell, where you then bundle yourself in the corner of the room. And you are just so adorable how you cave into yourself, almost like a bunny. So frail and terrified; too damn cute.

The way she walks to you is as if she were on a catwalk. Your trauma-ridden body trembles in fear with every step she takes closer. When she is just within reach, you act on instinct and push her away from you, racing past her and out of the cell. She barely stumbles from your attempt at an attack, an amused chuckle vibrating from her chest. You get a good several steps away before you finally discover what had made such a booming noise before. A man lies dead on the ground in the locked cell beside yours with a punctured hole in the wall. His dry mouth is hung agape and his body sits lifeless. Both eyes have been popped out of their sockets, blood seeping down his face and to the ground below. The woman follows you in your footsteps as you stare in horror. She merely tuts at the sight, a sigh of disappointment filling the empty air. How in the world is she not as terrified as you are?

"Come with me." Her voice is feminine, oozing with sultry confidence. It's soothing to listen to.

"Why?" Meanwhile, your voice is nothing like hers. Your speech comes out shaky and quiet, adorned in the fear this woman was apparently immune to.

"Well, you wouldn't want to end up like Ben, would you?" Your silence serves as your unspoken agreement. "Come now." In addition to her poised nature, her voice is also flat with demanding dominance. You find yourself blindly following her as she struts away.

Accompanying this woman as she walks through the police department as if she were the headline of a fashion show, you soon make it to the grimy streets of the city. During that time, she had introduced herself to you as Ada Wong, a spy working to retrieve the G-Virus. Why is she telling you the whole truth about herself, she doesn't know. Why did she make you follow her when she knows she works better alone, she doesn't know, either. There's just something about the way you cower into her when a zombie growls and the way your eyes glimmer with gratitude when she annihilates the monsters in your path. It makes her feel worthy, for something other than violence or money. As if she were the big, bad wolf who had fallen for the helpless bunny rabbit.

Now standing at the end of the street before the sewer entrance, you stare below in apprehension for what you have now learned lies within. This whole time, all the secrets Umbrella have were hidden right beneath your nose. Or better yet, right beneath your feet. A tank truck lies on its side several feet away from you and behind it, a trail of fire travels closer and closer. The flames and oil mending together then causes an explosion to erupt. Before you even had a chance to process anything, you're in the air, where you land in a patch of grass with a loud crack. Permeating pain courses through your right arm. From the time you had broken your wrist in 5th grade from attempting to climb a tree, you can tell your arm has suffered the same fate.

A leather-gloved hand then places itself onto your cheek. You look to see Ada, now with no glasses, tousled hair, and her coat discolored from grass stains. A dandelion had managed to wrangle itself with one of the dark-colored strands on her head. Playfully, you pluck the dandelion from her hair and gift it to her. Then, you make some joking remark about how it's a "thanks for the save earlier" with a weak chuckle. Your hand touches hers and something flutters within Ada's stomach — something grand, something scary. Something... warm. It stuns her into silence and catches her entirely off guard.

Her gaze shifts to your lips. Despite how chapped and dry they are, your bottom lip seeping with blood after the tough fall, they couldn't look any more appetizing to Ada. The mere idea of pressing her lips to yours causes her to relentlessly fall further and further into this unfamiliar, twitter-pated oblivion. You are just so benevolent, softhearted, and so, so bright. Ada's head is so fogged up with all sorts of devoted insanity, she doesn't take notice of the mass of zombies treading closer. While Ada is crouching beside you, she is then tackled to the ground. A pandemonium of zombies roaring ensues, and you're attacked by the undead, as well. With a hard kick to the skull of your assailant, you're able to wrangle yourself out of their grip on your leg. You stand to your feet and search for Ada to no avail, the heaps of zombies restraining you from any clarity.

With that, you turn tail and slam open the doors of the closest shelter you could find: Gun Shop Kendo.

You think of Jill Valentine that night. You remember her calloused hands, her rough-edged attitude, her scent of gunpowder; you remember how she had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. When you enter the gun shop, you're met with a man and a woman, both disheveled with dirt and blood. They point their guns at you upon your rushed entrance and in response, you raise your hands to surrender. The pummeling on the doors then has you all racing to barricade the entrance, using abandoned shelves and boxes as impromptu defenses. With heavy panting and a hefty barrier, the three of you stand, exasperated, trying to catch your breath. You sink to the floor and hold your arm, flashes of agony pumping through the broken limb.

Despite the danger just outside and your arm overcome with pain, this is the best you'll get in your current state. Shelter and weapons. You'll just have to endure how the shop owner shoved the barrel of his gun in your face and how the cop beside him sees you as gum beneath her shoe. Jill treats you like she does everyone else: ice-cold and blunt. She doesn't say a word to you; she barely acknowledges your presence. For that, you assume she hates your guts. Considering the circumstances, however, you don't take it to heart. Instead, you thank the two for allowing you to stay in the shop while the storm of zombies outside dies down.

However, things are quite different on Jill's end. The simple way you exist — it stuns her. Throughout her entire life, this dull ache has resided in her chest. She feels nothing. She would try and garner any feeling whatsoever; she'd do something adrenaline-inducing to feel fear, she'd do something ignorant to feel guilt. She would do everything to fill this hollow void within her. But, her incessant efforts were all brought to no avail.

That is until you came along.

Even though you're just some helpless civilian with no other desires than temporary protection, something foreign pervades her brain. Jill has come to realize you are far more than just the pretty face on the surface (although the idea of others witnessing your beauty causes her stomach to churn). She then tends to your broken arm, acting as if her heart wasn't running a mile a minute from the close contact. Meanwhile, lust-driven fantasies that would make even a harlot blush muddle her brain. To have you beneath her, staring up at her like that. You can't expect her to not swoon at the mere thought of how you'd taste, how you'd sound, how you'd tremble from her touch. Her mouth waters at the mental image alone.

Without thinking, Jill leans in to kiss you, fully ready to take you here on the floor of this filthy gun shop. The cock of Kendo's gun brings her out of her haze. You, on the other hand, assume this woman views you as nothing but a burden despite the clear display of infatuation in front of you. She informs you with a flat tone how survivors would be taken to the subway station, where they would then be transported out of the city. You thank her again for her hospitality, but mostly out of culpability. With your arm now covered with swiftly-made bandages, you reach with the other for an abandoned gun. Now that you've accepted the assumption this woman doesn't want a thing to do with you, the only way you'll get out of Raccoon City is by yourself. However, she blocks your attempt with a gentle grasp of your wrist.

"No need." Her voice is rough, but beneath the facade, it is timid and fearful.

"Why not?"

"You have me. I won't let anything happen to you." You stare at her, completely flabbergasted at the sudden alter in attitude.

The journey to the subway station was a breeze, to say the least. With your new bodyguard there to obliterate any danger in your path, it was practically a stroll in the park. She tells you her name and you tell her yours. Y/N Valentine has kind of a ring to it, Jill thinks. But with only just a few blocks to cross, something large, something beastly, something entirely inhuman stops you in your tracks. Incredibly massive with its large teeth protruding from its mouth, it groans a deep "S.T.A.R.S" before it begins to stomp towards you. Terror submerges your senses and immobilizes you. A red laser points from the rocket launcher in its hands, the dot sitting right by your feet. Jill then grabs hold of your hand and tries to run off with you, but her futile attempts were too late. A rocket then strikes the pavement and its force sends the two of you into the air. Your bandaged arm lands first against the unforgiving ground, anguish permeating your entire body.

You think of Carlos Oliveira that night. You remember his gruff voice, his kind heart, his dirt-caked skin; you remember how he had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. The pain in your arm is so blinding, there is nothing else you can think about. Not Jill, not Ada, not Leon, not the myriad of monstrous creatures on your tail. The only thing that exists right now is the torturous misery coursing through you. You're writhing on the cold pavement as you cling to your arm, cries of distress and exhaustion trembling from your chest. God, when will this nightmare fucking end?

The gut-wrenching entrance you're in is broken when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You expect to find Jill and her stone-cold, yet concerned expression, only to turn over your shoulder and see a complete stranger. He has a head full of messy, dark hair, with loose strands shielding his face; a strong body, with his military vest filled with heavy weaponry. His expression, however, was the most memorable. God, he looks at you as if you've hung the moon. His appearance is unkempt and dirty, but still overwhelmed with cheesy rom-com levels of infatuation. Why is this stranger looking at you as if you were walking down the aisle on your wedding day? You don't know. Besides, there are far more important matters to concern yourself with.

The heavy slam of Jill's boots reverberates as she sprints over to you. She helps you to your feet, not without a quick glare at the man beside you that reads "don't you fucking touch them." Jill puts your intact arm around her and leads you into Moon's Donuts, all while the deafening sounds of gunfire and grisly roars echo from behind. You don't dare turn around; you couldn't bear to look at that abomination once more. The quiet hum of heavy rock welcomes you as you enter the deserted donut shop. You practically collapse into one of the booths, Jill following behind and sitting across from you. With an exhale of relief, you relax into the seat and hold your arm in an attempt for temporary comfort. The man from before enters shortly, as well, then barricades the entrance with ease.

Your bandages are now torn and peeling. In an effort to fix it yourself, that same agonizing pain satiates through your arm instead. You hiss in response, alerting the two others. The man leans down before you, introducing himself as Carlos Oliveira, then eagerly asking you to inform him of your name. You oblige and he visibly shivers when your skin makes contact with his, an expressed concoction of nerves and irrepressible obsession. Upon gingerly grasping hold of your arm, he uses medical equipment from the various pockets around his chest and tends to you. His touch is careful, delicate — as if you would drift away if he applied any pressure. With every whimper and groan of pain from you, shocks are sent straight to his heart. Carlos had just met you moments ago yet still, he can't fathom the idea of you in pain. He assumes it's merely empathy, but when he feels tears brim in his eyes at the sight of you suffering, he knows this isn't normal.

With Jill's hand on your shoulder, consoling you through the pain, Carlos finishes swiftly before reluctantly breaking physical contact with you. He then gives you his canteen bottle, allowing you some water after your exhausting efforts to survive. You down the water like you've been parched for years. In the process, you are entirely oblivious to the heavy breathing from Carlos, who is left stunned at the prospect of an indirect kiss. Your lips against his — he feels his cheeks heat up from the idea alone. He doesn't realize how totally deranged he looks in his lovesick hysteria before the sharp snap of Jill's fingers brings him back to reality. Her possessive stare, her physical affection with you. Carlos feels his world crumble at the revelation that falls: you belong to Jill. The partner of his dreams is sitting right in front of him, but at the same time, is entirely out of reach. And it shatters him.

With that being said, Carlos isn't always the most articulate with his attempts at garnering information, hence why he stuck to the guns. So, as Jill and Carlos guard you like feral dogs with a bone while you travel back to the subway, he lets his facade slip.

"So... Are you two-like... Are you guys-um? Like, together?" Smooth as silk, Carlos. Smooth as silk.

Jill rolls her eyes in response. Mostly due to how annoying she thought him to be, but especially due to the fact that you aren't actually hers. Meanwhile, you tilt your head in confusion like a lost puppy (and you miss the way they visibly melt from the sight). After another fit of relentless stammering from Carlos, Jill finally clears the air.

"No, we're not dating." It hurts her to say it, evident in the way she clenches her jaw in an attempt to suppress her protruding emotions. Meanwhile, Carlos is sent to cloud nine.

Despite the blood, death, and gore he had witnessed in a single night, he had never felt so elated in all his years alive. Jill scoffs at his thinly-veiled euphoria, before grasping your hand and treading forward. Through trial and error (and more zombies than you could count), the three of you finally make it back to the subway station. You could cry, it's almost over. However, you can't help but notice how Jill and Carlos are perceptibly devastated by the idea of letting you go.

You hug Jill. It was nothing intimate, merely a thanks for the help she had provided you. Still, her body goes rigid and her heart flourishes with every kind of emotion she has never felt before. Through all the revelations that have taken place in this hellhole of a night, none of it compared to the earth-shattering emotions you have given her. Fear, lust, jealousy, devotion — it's all so overwhelming and she loves it.

You hug Carlos next. Again, nothing intimate or ulterior about the act of affection. But just like Jill, his heart practically detonates from the close contact. If only you could see his love-struck face; his expression is practically straight out of a cartoon. Cupid's bow through his chest, bluebirds swarming around his head and all. When the friendly hug soon started to turn into a romantic embrace, you push yourself off of Carlos, excusing his actions as nothing short of post-traumatic nerves.

With that, you join the other civilians on the train. The subway doors close behind you as you look at the survivors around you. All of them are riddled with trauma, shaken and silently weeping from the sights they have witnessed. Despite the harrowing circumstances, you're alive. That is all that matters and you could not be more grateful. Sitting on an empty seat, an exhale of relief escapes your chest. The train whirs as it begins to move. You turn your shoulder and look through the filth-stained windows to find Jill and Carlos, eyes blown wide with emotion as they watch you leave them. They stand in the same place you had left them, gazing wistfully at the love of their life. Picking up speed, you are soon out of their sight and they are now without the one they love most. And the sheer affect it has on them is gut-wrenching.

Fortunately for you, the ride out of the city is plain sailing. And with no S.T.A.R.S. members on the train, there is no 8-foot-tall creature there to set everything ablaze. You have now become one of the very few people who can say they made it out of Raccoon City alive.

You think of Raccoon City the morning after and the consequences that came from surviving. You think about what Carlos had said to you in the midst of danger. "I'm not gonna die on you and leave you in a cold, cruel, Carlos-less world." Liar.

Upon escaping the city safely, you and the other survivors were sent to a local hospital. From thereon, you would spend the next several days there (and finally receive proper treatment for your broken arm). After several days of anxiously anticipating the well-being of your friends and the entirety of Raccoon City, a doctor you had never seen before enters your room in the dead of night. Introducing himself as Dr. Matt Gorkis, he then reveals the news of the missile strike sent to the city and how there were no other survivors. A wave of devastation and helplessness washes over you. Weeping softly, the doctor bluntly provides details of the matter.

He then informs you of a sanctuary being built just for survivors of the incident. There will be provided shelter, basic necessities, and all sorts of therapeutic activities that will help you during your healing journey. And with your job, your home, and all of your friends eradicated to dust, you know you have no other choice. With another month of being tested for infections and going through physical therapy, you are released from the hospital and sent away with the doctor. For the past six years, this sanctuary is what you have learned to call home.

The hissing of the tea kettle makes you jump, bringing an abrupt halt to your road trip down memory lane. And while you pour yourself a cup of tea, you realize that your memories will be of no use for your current circumstances. For now, you'll have to let yourself be lulled to sleep in the back of this stranger's vehicle, driven far away to god-knows-where. But, the embrace the person has on you is so warm, so inviting. Your body can’t help but succumb to the relaxation this stranger provides.

You just hope that when you wake up, whatever welcomes you isn't anything reminiscent of the nightmare you faced six years ago.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 ۫ you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ MY LOVE, MY DARLING

I'VE HUNGERED FOR YOUR TOUCH . . . ❞

not a single person had asked for this, but it has been all my brain has been able to think about. i hope u all can appreciate some breadcrumbs from the ramblings of my heart hehe.

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tonysbed · 2 months

Text

Limp dick unicorn

Max verstappen x driver!fem!reader

Summary: Someone pisses Max‘s Girlfriend off and she gives them a piece of her own mad max version

warnings: cursing, mention of violence???

A/n inspired by that one Melissa McCarthy scene 😵‍💫

You were a polite person. Never overstepping, keeping calm and not letting anyone get you out of that. Well almost.

Max had gotten P2 behind you, bringing you the most wins of the season. Not many have beaten Max, and you were proud to be one of these few people.

You jumped off your car and turned to max. Your face slightly fell, reading his like a book. He was disappointed. Again. He knew what dawned him, and so did you.

The first time Jos acted out was in your 5th race you’ve ever driven for Red Bull in F1. You were walking into Max driver room, not expecting to see max trying to make himself as little as possible while his father was red like a tomato from all the yelling. Jos didn’t care a bit that you were watching.

It had happened a few other times after that.

You stepped closer to Max and hugged him “He’s gonna be so mad” Max whispered.Your arms tightened around him “Then I’ll give him a piece of my mind. We both know he won’t be as bad when I’m with you” You smiled at him and held his face in your hands.

You were wrong. So fucking wrong.

Jo had absolutely lost it. Because in his eyes, P2 was bad, but it was even worse that he lost against a woman. An untalented scum who didn’t belong, how he phrased it.

You hadn’t heard it, still celebrating with charles, who also got on the podium. You saw Lando coming towards you and pulling you aside “He’s crazy”

You raise an eyebrow “Charles?”Lando shakes his head “Max’s father. He’s screaming at him like there’s no tomorrow” Your face fell. You had been so occupied with Charles, that you hadn’t noticed that Max was gone.

You pushed your throphy into Landos arms and sprinted towards the red bull garage. A few metres away and you could clearly make out Jo’s voice.

“She’s a woman. A woman, Max! She can’t be better than you! Unsless you did it on purpose. She’s fucking you, isn’t she? Such a fucking whore. Untalented and just a good fuck, huh?” You’ve heard enough.

Before Max could say anything, you shoved his father a good meter backwards. Max eyes wandered to you in surprise “Wanna say that again?” Your voice was scaringly calm, making max know what’s bound to happen.

His dad got into your face “The only reason you beat my son, is because you fuck him. You’re no use in this sport. It’s for men,honey. Woman belong into the kitchen” You chuckled and rolled your eyes at his words. Not caring what he was saying about you.

“But maybe it his fault” His eyes flicker to max and back to you “He’s always been useless” Wrong thing to say with you in his face…”He’s never winning”

“Do it better” You say, crossing your arms “Go jump in a car and win the championship. Go on.”

His head was getting red “I won’t let a woman talk down on me. Let alone the whore of my son. Who even are you?”

You’ve heard enough “I’m the person that’s gonna cut your dick off and glue it to your forehead, so you look like a limp dick unicorn. Thats who the fuck I am.Now disrespectfully , shut the fuck up and get out of my and my fiancé’s face”

You had been aware of the camera a few meters away, watching him look at it and then storming off. You turned around to max “How the hell did you survive him?”

Max shrugged and pulled you in for a kiss. Max smiled into kiss.

He had found his home.

Wrote this in an hour so..Not edited or proofread 🐝

#max verstappen fluff #max verstappen angst #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #formula one #formula one imagine

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cherryredstars · 6 months

Note

Hiiii congratulations in 1k you deserve it so much!

not sure if this is how to request a prompt for your 1k celebration but can I get "reader gets injured" with Simon please

1K Prompts

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x gn!reader

Warnings: Injury, Hospitals, Angst with Happy Ending, Indirect Mentions to Simon’s Abuse

Summary: He hasn't done it in a long while.

Word Count: 1.8K (Not Edited)

There is nothing in the world.

It all disappears in a blur as his mind races. His mind, his thoughts, are faster than the car. He can’t make out anything zooming past his window, barely even recognizes the colors or the feel of the wheel under his hands. He’s jittery, highly agitated as he yells and slams on his horn. He doesn’t even process the words he’s saying, doesn’t even know if they’re even words. Maybe they’re just sounds, grunts and wordless screams. He doesn't know, doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter right now. Nothing matters right now. Nothing will matter until he makes it to the hospital.

He needs a new car, he thinks. This one is too slow. It’s max isn’t fast enough. At this point, it’d be faster for him to get into a car accident and be driven in an ambulance to the hospital than this piece of junk truck. It makes him grit his teeth, swerving in and out of lanes and breaking traffic laws he doesn’t care to keep count of. He can vaguely make out Price’s car behind him, Johnny in the car behind Price’s. Don’t say that, he can hear Price say in his head, Don’t say that, Simon. Especially not now.

Great, now his own fucking thoughts are making him feel guilty.

He doesn’t really park, he runs over the curb actually. It causes everyone to jump back, throwing mean words at him that don’t land. The keys are still in the ignition, trusting Gaz will take care of it. Who gives a damn about that fucking car anyways, Simon thinks. He’s already made up his mind that he’s getting a new one. A sports car maybe, not for the looks but for the speed. He’ll have to do research on the fastest car money can buy when he’s home. When both of you are home.

The cold air of the hospital makes him shiver once he runs inside. He looks lost for a second, eyes scanning the new environment for his goal. His eyes skip over the reception desk before rapidly darting back. Once his eyes lock on it, he walks with purpose. His eyes don’t stray, effectively maneuvering his body around the busy waiting room and lobby until he’s right in front of it. He doesn’t realize his hands are shaking until he plants them on the desk. His fingers tremble and jerk, skin flinching with the feeling of absolute dread running through his body.

“How ca-”

“Last name Riley. Car accident.” He cuts the receptionist off. His voice has the hard edge he uses with the recruits. It doesn’t faze the receptionist.

He’s impatient as they tap away at the computer, their eyebrows furrowed and they ask Simon for more information like your first name and sex. Simon gives them irritably, almost blowing a fuse when they ask for his relationship with the patient.

“Spouse.”

He has never been annoyed to declare that to someone before. But he finds little reason to be prideful and happy right now.

“Still in surgery, but you and your group can wait in the waiting room to the left. A surgical doctor should be out shortly with news.”

Simon turns around, not even noticing the rest of 141 standing patiently behind him. His eyes scan them, nodding before he turns and walks robotically to the waiting room. Price politely thanked the receptionist for him before following after Simon. Simon throws himself into an empty seat, leg bouncing against the floor. His eyes find the doors that lead to surgical suits. His arms wrap around his chest, attempting to keep his racing heart in his chest. A harsh breath is exhaled from his nose, getting caught under his balaclava. It gets a few stares from some of the families in the waiting room, some clutching their smaller children closer to them. Simon would usually take it off for the sole purpose of not drawing attention to himself, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Or, he doesn’t feel like he can. It feels like it's the only thing keeping him together right now. If he takes it off, he’ll come crumbling down. The fake composure will die away with the exposure and he’ll die before knowing if you’re alright. Depending on the answer, he might not make it through the night.

A cup is placed in front of his face and Simon follows the hand up to the face of Johnny. Simon takes it, the warmth feeling strange against his skin. He doesn’t drink from it. Johnny and him don’t exchange words, turning to take the seat across from him and next to Gaz. Price is in the chair next to Simon, all four of them silent. Johnny stares at Simon, Simon stares at the floor, Price flips through outdated magazines from the coffee table beside him, and Gaz is surveying the space. All of them are still clad in their military gear, just gotten off the plane when Simon-- when Ghost-- got the call. Gaz cracks his knuckles and Simon has to bite his tongue to rest the urge to tell him to shut up.

He resorts to counting the seconds that pass in his head. He loses count whenever the steel doors open and a doctor and nurse comes out. His head snaps up, the boys following his line of sight as the doctor peers over at the clipboard the nurse has. He prepares to shoot up when the doctor’s surgical mask shifts with jaw movement. He starts back from one when the name being called isn’t Riley. He thinks his heart shrinks with every name that passes. Price always pats his back with a ‘the next one, mate’.

Sometimes between the seconds and names, Simon finds his forehead leaning against his folded hands. His eyes are shut tightly and he tries to do something he hasn’t done in a long time, something he has believed to not work for a long time. Simon sits and he prays. He prays. He doesn’t remember if there is a process he's supposed to follow. He only remembers all his past prayers had been rushed, hiccuped statements made after his father left his room or when he heard the yelling in the kitchen. They never got answered.

Is he supposed to start with something? Is he supposed to have a rosary or a bible or something in his hands? His hands are still covered with dirt from the battlefield, he reeks of smoke and gunfire. Is he clean enough to be praying? Does God or whatever up there care? He hopes they don’t, hopes they give him a free pass just this once. He hopes they do it for your sake. He hopes and prays and hopes some more. Is it enough? It doesn’t feel like enough.

Is Simon supposed to sweet talk them? Butter them up until their egos are fed and find him worthy of listening to. He isn’t good at that. Or does he need to be direct? Demanding what he wants and not backing down until he gets it? He’s really good at that. You would probably know what to do. Even if you don’t, you’d probably have a solution that makes sense. Everything makes sense when it's you. You make everything make sense. Simon doesn’t know how he lived so long without it. He doesn’t want to be reminded.

He debates getting up. Debates if he should go to the receptionist and ask them where the hospital’s chapel is. Maybe he’ll find whatever the fuck the religious connection guy is and ask them how to pray. Ask them to teach him. Or maybe he’ll ask them to pray for you. He’s sure they have a better chance of being answered then he does. But a fear glues him to his seat. What if he leaves and your name gets called? What if he isn’t there when it happens? What if he isn’t there for you again? He sits and he hopes and he prays.

Please. Please, whoever, whatever can hear me, don’t take them from me. Stop taking people I care about away from me.

He hopes it is enough. He hopes they hear him and they remember the shit they put him through. He hopes they take pity on him. Simon hates when people feel sorry for him. He hopes they feel really bad and really sorry and really, really awful for what he had to go through. He hopes they find him to be the most pitiful human there ever was to exist. He hopes it's enough to save you. He hopes they decided to be nice to him today.

And they are. Holy fuck they are.

The doctor comes out, a nurse with clipboard following three times. Simon gets up the fourth time, before the name is even called. Price and Johnny and Gaz stand with him.

“Riley.”

He flies. He flies across the room, ‘Here. I’m here. That’s me.’ He doesn’t know if he says those words aloud or in his head. The doctor watches him approach and Simon almost collapses to the ground when his surgical mask moves. He doesn’t catch everything, his mind being too slow to follow. Traumatic brain trauma. Bleeding. Successful. Lucky. Strong. Fighter. Okay.

Okay, okay, okay.

He thinks Price keeps him upright when he grabs his arm to pat him in the back. Simon grabs him back, pulling him close and his shoulders shake as he hides his face. He feels like a kid, crying into his captain’s shoulder as relief washes over him. Price squeezes him. The two of them say nothing, and Johnny and Gaz excuse themselves to get everyone food from the hospital cafeteria.

Later, Simon finds himself in your hospital room. The chair is slightly more comfortable than the ones in the waiting room. The boys have gone home by now, promising to drop by and telling Simon to keep them updated. Usually, constant noise would irritate Simon. But he finds himself thankful every time the heart monitor beeps, praying the noise never stops. He must have dozed off because he’s confused when he feels the slight rubbing on his hand. The sound of the heart monitor is different, still consistent but a bit faster.

He pulls his head from his arms, propping his chin on his forearm as his gaze drifts to your face. Your eyes are half-lidded and sleepy, face drenched in exhaustion. You are so absolutely beautiful that it's devastating. It punctures his lungs and deflates his body of any breath he will ever take. His heart beats rapidly, hand squeezing yours tightly as his spine straightens. He has to resist the urge to pull you to him and crush you against his frame.

You give him a dopey smile, one stained with tiredness and the remains of the anesthetic.

“Hi.”

Your voice is croaky and your speech is slurred. It’s beautiful and the most lovely sound to exist.

Simon brings your knuckles to his chapped lips. He presses a firm kiss to them, eyes squeezed shut so tightly that a few drops of water drop onto your skin.

“Hi.”

His voice is just as croaky and just as beautiful.

Got a little carried away with this one.

#cherry's requests🍒#cherry's specials!🍒#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost simon riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #cod simon riley #ghost call of duty #ghost mw2 #mw2 ghost #ghost cod #cod simon ghost riley #simon ghost x you #cod x reader #cod ghost #cod mwii

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moonlinos · 3 months

Text

Invisible string (pt. III)

♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader

♡ Synopsis: After so many years of being closed off from the idea of love, you finally allow yourself to feel it freely with Minho.

♡ Genre: A ‘lite version’ of a soulmate AU, fluff, smut

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), oral sex (female receiving), protected sex, swearing

♡ Word count: 16.4k

♡ A/N: A part of this chapter was almost shamelessly inspired by the song that inspired the plot in the first place, Invisible String by Taylor Swift. Also really inspired by my favorite Minho vlog, Lee Know Log 4 🩷

To those who have asked to be tagged in this story: would any of you be interested in being tagged in any new work I post later? Let me know! And thank you for reading and giving me such a great experience posting my writing here for the first time 🩷

← part II ♡ ⟳ part I

You spend the entire flight home processing everything that had happened during the trip; from Minho’s words, to your kisses and touches, to you ultimately acknowledging your own romantic feelings for him. Although it all felt sudden, it had been a long time coming.

As his car stops at the front of your house, Minho steps out and walks with you, your backpack in hand.

“I know you’re scared. I understand that even more now that I know about your past relationships,” he speaks softly as the two of you stop at the front door, “And I want you to know that I’m gonna be patient.”

You nod slowly, although the desire to answer him is still so prevalent in your mind, the words lodged in your throat and yearning to spill out. But you’ve made the mistake of jumping into relationships far too often, always driven by your emotions, and every time, the outcome has been disastrous. You don’t want that to happen with Minho.

So, you settle on a question that has been eating away at you.

“Why do you like me, Minho?”

His face twists into a deep frown before ultimately softening. Carefully placing your backpack on the step leading to the front door, he sighs.

“You shouldn’t have to ask me that,” he assures you, his rough hands touching your shoulders before moving down your arms to entwine with your own. “You don’t even realize how fucking amazing you are, do you? I’d move mountains, fight anyone and do anything if it meant I’d have the privilege to see you smile.”

And, just like that, you feel your lips stretch out into a small smile at his words. He grins at you.

“Just like that. I’d do anything to see that,” he says. “And you take care of your friends simply because you love them, never asking for anything in return. You collect plushies like me, you appreciate the criminally underrated flavor of lemon cake, and you worked at the same convenience store as me, and spilled coffee all over my notebook on the day we met. That’s why I like you; because you’re you.”

Tears threaten to well up in your eyes, so you quickly avert your gaze, focusing on your shoes. With a nod, you wrap your arms around Minho, taking in his scent and reveling in the comforting warmth of his body. Little did he know, you were just as willing to do whatever it took to keep him near you. He plants a chaste kiss on your forehead as you break away from his embrace.

“I’ll call you later, okay? Thank you for the trip.”

As soon as you step inside your house, Eunha is quick to come running towards you, her hands dirty with flour as she abandons her unbaked cookies on the counter and pulls you into a hug.

“I missed you so much,” she whines, “How will I survive living without you next year?”

You chuckle, watching as her lips turn into a pout.

“I’m sure we’ll suffer equally, if that makes you feel better.”

She fakes a sob, turning on her heels and heading toward the kitchen.

“Oh, Hyunjin is in a crisis, apparently,” she tells you, wiping her hands on her apron. “He called me three times just today to ask if you were back already.”

You let out a sigh. Hyunjin was more often than not either glum or vexed due to his trials and mishaps in finding love. He once joked that you two would end up having to marry each other with how things were going. You dreaded his reaction to the news of Minho soon entering your life in a new way.

“The hotel’s Wi-Fi was a joke, but I honestly didn’t even think to check my phone,” you tell Eunha, who giggles as she cuts her cookies into heart shapes. “What? Why are you giggling like that?” You ask her with a grin, approaching the counter.

She shrugs. “Nothing. I didn’t even think to check my phone,” she playfully mimics your voice, looking up at you, “I’m guessing you had fun, then?”

“I did,” you beam, “It was everything I thought it would be and even more.”

She raises an eyebrow at you. “Even more?”

“Even more,” you reiterate. “I had so much fun with Minho. I forgot how good it feels to just let go and allow myself to feel what I want to feel.”

Eunha’s lips curl into a small smile. She hums, lowering her head in a feeble attempt at pretending to focus on the cookies in front of her. “And what did you want to feel this weekend?”

“Like maybe I can finally fall in love again.”

Your friend lifts her head, her eyes wide. “Love?” she exclaims, “You, the girl who has spent every day since I met you talking about how love isn’t important, is wanting to fall in love?”

You chuckle at her reaction, shrugging dismissively. “In my defense, I had my reasons. Plus, some things made me change my mind.”

“More like someone,” Eunha teases, and you roll your eyes at her, but a smile spreads on your lips unwittingly. “I’m happy for you,” she beams, “and I think you should definitely fall in love again — not maybe.”

You sprint across the small kitchen space, circling around the counter to wrap your arms around Eunha and squeezing her as she lightly pushes you away, warning you about flour getting all over your clothes, but you don’t mind.

Because you love her, as you’ve learned this past weekend, and you don’t mind the mess when it comes to someone you love.

It’s only as you enter your room that you check your phone, which is filled with notifications from Hyunjin, much like Eunha had said. After ten missed calls, it seems he resorted to simply texting you.

Hyune: hey I know you’re in japan but can you answer the phone? Hyune: I promise I’ll be quick. just wanna talk to you Hyune: hear your voice idk I feel really alone rn and really bad idk lol Hyune: mingyu has his girlfriend over. can you believe they’re still together? Hyune: can you believe he has a girlfriend and I can’t even find someone to give me the time of day lol Hyune: can you believe every date I go to ends with me crying lol Hyune: sorry I’m being annoying and the messages aren’t even being delivered, you’re clearly having fun sorry Hyune: sorry Hyune: guess that’s why nobody can endure me for more than two dates Hyune: have fun 🤍 I love you

You feel your heart ache as you read his messages, answering with an apology. But before you can hit send on your second message, Hyunjin has already replied.

Hyune: it’s okay. I’m sorry I even sent those in the first place

Me: Stop apologizing Me: You know I love you and I’ll always be here for you Me: Where are you?

Hyune: at my dorm Hyune: staring at the ceiling

Me: I’m coming over

True to his words, Hyunjin is lying on the floor of his dorm’s cramped living room once you open the door. There’s a small canvas propped up against the wall, a myriad of shades of blue forming the shape of a face. Your best friend’s talent never ceases to amaze you, and you have to fight the urge to stand still by the front door for a few seconds simply admiring his new painting.

“Look at this sulking Pisces,” you click your tongue as you approach Hyunjin, who only opens one eye to shoot you a glance.

“I’m in a fragile state and this is how you greet me,” he all but pouts before sitting up as you sit cross-legged beside him on the floor. “How was the trip?”

You shrug. “It was fun. We only had one day to explore the city, so we didn’t do much,” you say simply, tapping your fingers on your thigh.

You don’t want to sit and talk about how much fun you had during a trip when Hyunjin’s puffy, bloodshot eyes are staring directly at you. He was sad, and his sadness was palpable throughout the entire living room — his bitten lips, his painting, his hands covered in dried-up blue paint; everything was dripping in sadness. This was a constant with Hyunjin, but lately it had become even worse. He has an overwhelming desire to love and be loved, but his every attempt at fulfilling this desire is futile for reasons you cannot wrap your head around.

“I like the new painting,” you smile, focusing on the saddened blue face. Hyunjin scoffs beside you.

“It’s fucking terrible,” His hand shoves the canvas face down on the floor. You bite your lip. “Can’t even paint shit I like anymore. Every time I try, it always turns out muddy and sad.”

“What happened?”

He lets out a bitter chuckle. “Well I’m pathetic, so it’s still the same old reason. I had a date with this girl on Saturday, but she canceled at the last minute. Texted me something about me being too clingy after she agreed to go out with me, about how she knows she would feel suffocated if we dated.”

You furrow your brows together, anger bubbling up inside your chest. “What the fuck?”

“Oh, but don’t worry!” Hyunjin gave you a forced smile. “She made sure to remind me that it was her, not me, and that lots of women out there like guys like me. Whatever the fuck that means.”

Hyunjin shakes his head, turning his attention toward his hands before scratching some of the dried paint off. You sigh.

“Hyunjin, she isn’t wrong about that. You know that, right? You’re not the one at fault.”

He scoffs. “Sure seems like it when every date I’ve gone to since starting university has ended up with me being rejected for the same fucking reasons. It’s always me. Too clingy, too sentimental, too emotional,” his voice is almost a whisper as he speaks. He turns to face you again. “Remember how I would stop sleeping with you whenever I liked someone? Wanna know why I stopped doing that? ‘Cause I know it’s not gonna go anywhere anyway, so what’s the point? It never goes anywhere, and then I’m left alone again. Maybe I should just accept it, y’know? Some people are just meant to be alone, and clearly I’m one of them.”

Your anger has now morphed into sadness. You hate the way Hyunjin talks about himself, hate it even more how it seems nobody can appreciate the amazing person he is. Being caring and sentimental is not a flaw, and you pray that he never allows other people’s opinions to sway him into thinking that way. You pray he finds someone who can appreciate these qualities in him the same way you do.

“You’re not alone, Hyune,” you assure him, taking one of his hands in yours. “You’re surrounded by friends who love you so much, and while I know that’s not the type of love you yearn for, it’s still love.”

Hyunjin smiles softly at you before pulling you closer and pressing his lips to yours. It’s sudden but not entirely unexpected; the way you and Hyunjin dealt with shitty things in life and unpleasant feelings together had always been through sex, and you knew it always made him feel at least a little better afterward. And so you let him, returning the kiss even as part of you felt wrong doing it when your entire being was consumed with thoughts of only Minho.

As soon as he kisses you, he swiftly pushes you down onto the hardwood floor and hovers over you. Hyunjin’s fingers undo the buttons of your cardigan before slipping under your shirt, caressing your skin as his lips trail kisses down your neck. Soon enough, his body is pressed up against your spread thighs, and you know where this is going — but as much as you want to make your best friend feel better, you cannot bring yourself to do it.

“Hyune,” you softly call out, and he hums against your throat. “We can’t do this.”

He chuckles, squeezing your waist. “Mingyu always comes home late when he goes out with his girlfriend. Don’t worry.”

“It’s not that, Hyunjin. I just—”

“Do you not wanna fuck on the floor?” He asks, coming up to look at you. He cocks his head to the side. “We can just do it on the couch then, I really don’t wanna have sex with all those pictures of Mingyu and his friends staring at us in our room.”

“Hyunjin, no—”

“It’s not like we never did it on a couch before, stop being dramatic—”

“I’m in love with Minho.”

It comes out before you can fully comprehend what you’re saying, the word love slipping past your lips effortlessly. Hyunjin stills on top of you, his body rigid and tense.

“Oh,” is all he offers you. You nod slowly, fingers picking at a drop of paint that stained the collar of his shirt.

You whisper, “I really am just as surprised as you are, believe me.”

Hyunjin shrugs. “I’m not surprised. I just— now you’re leaving me, too.”

You shake your head. It’s ludicrous to you that Hyunjin could imagine that you would ever even entertain the thought of leaving him. Running a hand through his messy hair, you pull him in and press a kiss to his nose. Hyunjin hides his face in the crook of your neck with a groan.

“Sorry, that was pathetic. I shouldn’t have said that,” he apologizes. “You know I don’t mean it like that. I just love you so much. I thought we would…”

You furrow your brows as he trails off his words. You thread your fingers through his long hair. “We would…?”

“End up together somehow,” he speaks slowly, his voice muffled, and your heart drops.

Hyunjin harboring these feelings about you was something you would never have imagined. You were certain he was content being your friend and having sex with you only until he found the right person. He went on several dates, after all. Your heart feels like it’s been shattered into a million tiny pieces upon learning about his hidden desire for the future he used to so often joke about: you two ending up together simply because you were each other’s only choices.

“Hyunjin,” you start carefully, “I love you, too. So much. You’re my best friend, and that’s never going to change. We don’t have to be together romantically for us to be in love, y’know? I realized that just recently.”

You feel him nod his head, his hand finding yours and intertwining your fingers.

“I’m just sad I won’t have you anymore. I’m gonna miss us so much,” he places a small kiss on your collarbone. “Whenever I felt like I was in a dark pit with no way out, every single time you were there to bring me out of it and make me feel okay again. I love you so much for that.”

And you can only softly smile at his words before your heart shatters all over again as you hear him quietly begin to sob in your skin.

“Hyunjin,” you call out, although you know he won’t reply. “You’re the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met. My love for you goes beyond us having sex — that wasn’t even important to me in our relationship. It was just something good on top of something already amazing.” With a slow nod, he lifts his head and gazes at you with red, teary eyes, causing your heart to ache even more. “I’ll never leave you. Ever. I’ll still answer your four hundred three a.m. texts, still let you hide away in my house, still happily listen to you complain about your days, and still hold you when you cry.”

Hyunjin pouts like a child, and your heart swells with fondness.

“Really?” He asks, and you chuckle with a nod.

“Really,” you assure him. “Me being with someone will never change our friendship, or my love for you. I mean, we won’t have sex anymore, of course, but I’ll still talk shit about your roommate with you so I’m sure you’ll forgive me.”

Hyunjin’s tearful expression vanishes, replaced by a small teasing grin. “I am gonna have to jerk off significantly more, so I don’t know about forgiveness,” he jokes.

You push him off you with a chuckle, sitting up as he tries to regain his balance.

“When did this whole thing with Minho even happen?” Hyunjin asks, setting his painting back against the wall. You shrug, buttoning up your cardigan. He hums. “So, are you already together?”

“Not yet,” you say, “but I’m gonna answer him after our class this week. If he fucking lets me, that is. He says he wants to be patient, but I don’t want to be patient. The only thing I wanna be is with him.”

Hyunjin’s whole body contorts as he groans. “Ew, what the fuck? When did you become such a sap?”

As you shove him back once more, you both burst into laughter while Hyunjin stumbles back and spills a mug filled with dirty paint water all over his floor.

The rest of the day goes by with you and Hyunjin painting together, a much broader array of colors and a much happier end result on the canvas: beautiful flowers painted by him standing alongside clumsily drawn hearts, stars, and other doodles painted by you. After signing your name above his elegant signature, you inform him the painting is leaving with you — it’s hanging up on your wall as soon as you arrive home.

Hyunjin is your best friend; it’s been this way for the last two years, and it’s indisputable to you that this fact will remain no matter what happens. As you watch him hunched over your painting, insisting that his flowers could be more detailed — even after you assured him a thousand times that they were perfect — you curse yourself for not realizing how beautiful this love between you two is. You hope he cherishes this love as well, in spite of his desire for the two of you to be together in the future. You know deep down this idea stemmed from his fear of solitude.

You’re not worried about him at all, though. He’s a precious soul, and anyone who fails to recognize that doesn’t deserve him. He’s simply getting rid of the wrong people in order to find the right person, someone who sees him as you do.

The love you feel for Hyunjin is unchanging, and if you had any say in it, it would be everlasting.

Your next Japanese class with Minho comes too soon, and you find yourself unprepared. Every trace of resolve you had after returning from your trip dissipated bit by bit every time you saw or talked to him. As soon as you saw his figure step into the coffee shop on Monday to pick up his usual order, you realized that every single scenario your mind had conjured up fell flat. Minho was beautiful, amazing, breathtaking — he deserved something grand and earth-shattering, not a simple answer from a girl who wasn’t even half as good as he was.

It certainly did not help that he, always true to his words, respected your time. Not once during his coffee trips or your never-ending talks through the phone did he mention the topic. And it was slowly but surely driving you insane.

You bite your lips so much on your way to university you’re sure your lipstick is gone by the time you enter the building, and you’re surprised your poor bag isn’t riddled with holes in the cloth from your insistent picking. You shouldn’t feel this nervous — Minho is the one waiting for an answer, after all. For all he knows, you could be simply building up the courage to let him down gently. But you are nervous. You’re terrified he will listen to your clumsy words and decide he deserves someone better. Or, worse yet, will only realize how undeserving of his love you are once you’re in a relationship.

And you don’t think you can face another heartbreak where you’re left to mend your gashes all alone.

You enter the building with shaky hands, fiddling with the strap of your bag and walking toward your classroom on autopilot as your mind is too busy running over all the ways in which this could go wrong.

All faded, however, once you saw Minho waiting for you in front of your classroom. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as he looked down at his phone, his body wrapped in a cozy-looking black sweater and sweatpants, a keychain of a cat plushie hanging from his backpack matching his phone case. You stop a few feet away from him. He deserves the world, and that terrifies you. Still, his presence alone melts away every ugly word of doubt and every piece of worry inside your body until the only thing you can feel is the swirling of that familiar pinwheel spinning inside your chest.

You greet him with a long hug, hoping he can’t feel your heart beating through your own sweater.

After class, he walks you to work, enthusiastically telling you about the progress he, Chan and Seungmin have made on their game. You nod and hum along to his words, but you can’t, for the life of you, focus on a word he’s saying. All you want to do is tell him you like him — god, you like him so much — but every time you’re close to doing it, the ugly words return and scream that he deserves more than an underwhelming confession on a gloomy, empty street.

You stop walking as you two reach the bench located just far away enough from the hustle and bustle of students on campus, the one where no one bothered you when you sat here by yourself for three years, the one that had oddly become your favorite bench among all the other identical ones scattered throughout your university.

Because it was here that you and Minho had your first real conversation, it was here where you two laughed and gasped at all the little coincidences between your lives, and it was here where you began to build a friendship with this wonderful guy who would unknowingly change you for the better.

It was the perfect place, and you berated yourself for not realizing that sooner.

Minho’s voice calling out your name pulls you away from your thoughts, his hand wrapping around yours and pulling you gently toward his body. You hum before colliding against his chest as he chuckles.

“You just stopped walking,” he says, a lilt of confusion in his voice. “I know you hate work, but I didn’t think it was this serious.”

And when you properly turn to look at him, Minho is smiling so beautifully under the somber sky of winter, as if he is the embodiment of sunshine — always glistening and radiating such a comforting warmth no matter how glum the world around him is. And, at the sight of him, you just can’t stop your words. Never mind how gloomy this campus seems or how lackluster your words are — Minho’s presence alone makes everything become golden.

“I like you because you’re you,” you mirror his words at you, “Because you laughed in my face for spilling coffee all over your notebook when I didn’t even know you, because you love coffee just as much as I hate it, and because you believe in silly myths about riding paddle boats together,” You blurt out, words completely unbidden by your brain. Minho’s eyes widened for a beat before slowly turning into crescent moons as a smile spread across his lips. You take a deep breath before continuing, the words flowing out of you so quickly you’re worried he won’t be able to understand you, “And you opened my eyes to the love I feel for my friends, which I was so fucking stupid and blinded to. But, most importantly, you taught me that love isn’t bad. It can never be bad because you’re love, Minho. You’re full of love, and there’s not an ounce of anything bad in you. And you make me feel deserving of this love, even though I still don’t understand how I can be deserving of something so beautiful.”

Minho’s arms are pulling you into an embrace before you can process everything you said, and by the time you seem to come to your senses, you realize tears have welled up in your eyes. He holds you close to him silently for a while, his left hand delicately massaging your scalp as you clutch onto the fabric of his sweater as if he might be taken away from you if you let go.

“I like you, too,” he whispers against your hair, and you feel your lips contort into a pout.

“You already told me that,” you grumble. “I just word-vomited my feelings to you and this is all you have to say?”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your head. “What else is there to say? I like you so much I don’t think I can put it into words. I might just say something stupid if I talk about it too much.”

You furrow your brows, pulling away from his embrace to face him. “Something stupid like what?”

“Like saying I love you.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. Yet again, Minho has rendered you speechless. He shakes his head dismissively, a smile still etched onto his lips.

“No need to say anything. I told you it was stupid,” his eyes drift over to the bench beside you two, and his smile grows. “Guess this has to become my favorite bench too.”

You let out a laugh, but it’s cut short by your tears spilling out again. Minho quickly turns to look at you again, his expression shifting into a mixture of happiness and worry for you as he wipes your tears away with his thumbs.

And as the sun begins to set, the street lights flicker on, casting a warm, yellow glow over everything around you. You cup Minho’s face and press a chaste kiss to his lips, then to his nose, before wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into an embrace once again.

“I don’t think I’m ready to love you yet. I’m sorry,” you apologize, both to him and yourself.

Minho simply hums, kissing your cheek. “I told you I’m patient, because love is patient. I would wait an eternity for the privilege of hearing you say you love me.”

You and Minho have officially been together for almost two months by the time winter break arrives. You’ve done everything couples do, except for two things: say I love you and go all the way. You’ve done every other possible thing — well, Minho has done every other possible thing to you, with you discovering that Minho particularly loves eating you out, often laying on your lap on your couch after work and rubbing his head against your thighs like a cat, humming and sighing until he has your attention before all but begging you to let him go down on you. Whenever you offer to do the same to him, in any way, he immediately turns the offer down, saying he’s satisfied just pleasuring you. It always leaves you with a million questions, as you notice him have to adjust himself in his pants or coincidently go to the bathroom, but you don’t question it.

The two of you also found ways to get around the whole L-word situation. I missed you becoming your go-to phrase for when you want to scream out that you love him, but are still unable to, while he usually just makes you swallow both your words and his own that are lingering inside your mouth with a kiss.

You had fallen into a routine quickly, with you visiting Minho most evenings after your shift to just lay on Chan’s stiff leather couch and watch him work. You two always hang out with his co-workers slash friends for a while before leaving for the night — Seungmin becoming like the pestering but loveable little brother you never had — and you head to your house in Minho’s car before you sneak him into your home so Mrs. Choi remains none the wiser.

Her ‘no boyfriends spending over two days at the house’ rule can’t possibly apply if she doesn’t even know Minho is there in the first place.

And so, he’s been basically living alongside you and your housemates. This outcome was almost inevitable since Minho hates his roommates while you love each other’s company.

You’re now packing your things with Hyunjin, who’s been sitting on your bed for the last half-hour rather than helping you as he’d promised. In the past month, he’s been able to come to terms with the fact that his ideal future with you was nothing but a coping mechanism after a month of sulking every time Minho was around. He deleted every shitty dating app on his phone and now focuses on finding love naturally, recently going out with a girl he met in one of his classes. The first time they met was the epitome of a meet-cute, with her accidentally bumping into him and spilling black paint all over his shirt. It brought back memories of when you first met Minho, and you had high hopes that this time things would work out differently for him. But, judging by the scowl on Hyunjin’s face and his nonstop complaining, you were wrong.

“But, be for real, why did it take her six dates to realize she doesn’t think we’ll work out?” He grumbles, spinning one of your necklaces around his finger like it’s a toy. “I paid for every meal, made sure she got at least two orgasms every time we went out, and she just suddenly decides we won’t work out? Fuck off.’’

You chuckle, closing your suitcase after triple-checking that you packed Minho’s Christmas present and walking over to where Hyunjin is sitting, snatching your necklace from his hand.

“Maybe she liked the free food and orgasms too much to let them go.”

Hyunjin scowls. “You’re saying that’s the only reason she went out with me?” He feigns offense, shaking his head. “I hope Minho’s parents hate your guts.”

“Hyunjin!” You exclaim, watching as he bursts out laughing. “Don’t even joke about that. You know how nervous I am.”

“There’s no way they won’t like you,” He assures you, “You’re fucking amazing, not to mention their son loves you. That’s more than enough reason to love you too.”

You clutch the necklace in your hand, humming before turning on your heels to check your drawers for anything you might have missed. Hyunjin using the word love makes you a bit anxious, an unwelcome reminder that you still haven’t been able to overcome this stupid emotional blockage preventing you from telling Minho you love him. The first and only time you’d ever said you loved Minho was that evening at Hyunjin’s dorm, and it hadn’t even been directed at him. Without saying a word, you both understand the love that exists between you — it’s unspoken, but deeply felt — and you’re aware of that, but the fear that one day he’ll grow tired of waiting is painfully tangible inside your mind.

When Minho invited you to spend Christmas with his family, you hesitated at first. Meeting your ex-boyfriends’ families had never been so significant. You were a teenager at the time, the implications were different and the stakes didn’t seem as high. This time, it feels as if getting Minho’s parents to like you is indispensable. How will he go on dating a woman his parents deem unfit for him? Especially with how highly he speaks of his mother, you’re sure her opinion of you will weigh on his mind.

You can only hope they love you half as much as you love their son.

The car ride to Minho’s parents’ house was around half an hour.

Half an hour you spent picking at a loose thread on your skirt and overthinking so much your head ached by the time he parked the car. You hated how nervous you were, but Minho’s parents liking you was a non-negotiable.

After insisting on carrying your own suitcase — just in case his parents might think you’re an overbearing girlfriend if they see Minho carrying your bag for you — the two of you walk up the stairs and into his home. The first thing you notice is how cozy-looking everything is; from the family pictures neatly placed on coffee tables and on the walls, cat furniture and toys mixed in with their actual furniture, down to the fuzzy blankets thrown over the couches.

The second thing that catches your attention is the quietude permeating throughout the house, as well as the fact that the first family member to greet you two is an orange cat.

“Oh, did you miss me this much?” Minho asks in a sweet, singsong voice, similar to how you would speak to a baby. He crouches down to pet the cat, who is now entangling himself between his legs. He introduces you by your name, because Soonie is truly just another family member to him. You chuckle, kneeling next to him and carefully extending your hand toward the orange ball of fur.

“Hello, Soonie,” you speak quietly, afraid you’ll spook him. He eyes you carefully before sniffing your fingers and, ultimately, rubbing his head on your hand. You sigh in relief, petting his fur with a smile.

Minho’s cats liking you was also a non-negotiable.

You place your suitcases in Minho’s childhood bedroom, his parents letting him know they will arrive a little late after going Christmas shopping. Looking around his small room, you smile at all the small things that scream Lee Minho. The pictures of him and his friends back in high school are the first thing you notice, glued to the wall in front of his door lopsided. His thick-rimmed glasses and bowl cut make you smile as you analyze one of the pictures, where he and four other boys hug and smile widely in a karaoke room. Then, of course, his extensive plushie collection sat against a wall to your left — all stacked on top of each other like a mountain — which he proudly shows off to you.

“Y’know, I had to basically fight a little girl at the Sanrio store for this one,” he says, a bit too smugly, while holding a plush of Kuromi dressed in a ladybug costume. “I was sixteen, though, so I think that excuses my behavior. I would never do that nowadays.”

You narrow your eyes, humming skeptically. “Sure you wouldn’t.”

Minho just chuckles, meticulously placing the doll back in its place beside the cherry on top of a rather large Pusheen pudding plushie.

“Oh! You have to see my books.” He takes your hand in his, dragging you toward the wall facing his bed. A bookshelf expanding from the floor to the ceiling makes your mouth drop. You hadn’t noticed it before, with it being hidden away in the corner of the room. The bookshelf is decorated with fairy lights — which Minho promptly switches on — and filled with beautiful books, from intricately designed hard covers to intricate sprayed edges, every single book in his collection has something special about it.

He uses a small metal ladder to reach the top of the shelves before handing you a book so thick your wrist almost bends upon grabbing it. It’s a collection of seven Jane Austen novels, all in a gorgeous blue and golden hardcover. You eye the book like it’s a precious jewel, carefully running your fingers over the details engraved on the cover. Beside you, Minho lets out a breathy laugh, stepping down from the ladder and bumping your shoulder lightly.

“You can open it,” he tells you, but you’re still too mesmerized by the book to look at him. “It’s what books are for, whether they’re pretty or not. You have to open it and read it, otherwise they lose their purpose.”

You nod slowly, but remain unmoving. Minho’s hand suddenly rests on top of yours, and he opens the book for you. The page is entirely annotated, with highlighters and thoughts jotted down on pencil in messy handwriting. Looking up at him, you are met by his smile.

“See? The book is fine, the world didn’t end. I have these special editions because I enjoy collecting pretty things, but I always read them,” he explains, “I like when books reflect the emotions I felt while reading them. I annotate, scribble, highlight — I once threw a special edition Stephen King book across the living room and into a wall. There’s an indentation on it till this day.”

You gasp. “Minho, what the fuck?”

He shrugs dismissively. “I know, I know. All book sins in the eyes of many people. But, like I said, that just reflects the emotions I felt while reading that book. I look through any of these pages and I know exactly what I felt at that time of my life.”

You nod, your lips absentmindedly curling into a smile. Minho truly is something else. You skim the page opened before you, reading some of his annotations and laughing quietly to yourself as he wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

As you close the book, he speaks again, “They’re a bit like people, aren’t they? Pretty and put-together on the outside, but once you really dig in, it’s all a mess and cluster of feelings and passion.”

You and Minho spend an hour lounging around the living room, with you meeting his other two cats during that time. Soonie and Doongie’s adoration toward Minho is clear, with both orange cats always rubbing against his leg or tangling themselves in his sneakers by the door as you two cuddle on the couch. Dori, however, remains laid on his cat tree, barely sparing the two of you a glance. Minho jokes that Dori hates him after he left his first mom, even showing you further proof in the form of a video where the gray cat bites his nose while he sleeps.

Upon hearing the key turn on the front door, your heart is quick to jump. Minho’s parents have arrived.

Sitting up on the couch, you gently push Minho away from you. He shoots you a questioning look.

“What? I don’t want them to think we were doing something indecent.”

“Indecent?” Minho repeats with a chuckle. “We were cuddling, not consummating a marriage on this couch.”

You grumble incoherent words under your breath, shrugging. “I know. I just want them to like me.”

“They were more than okay with seeing me cuddle my ex when I was a teen. We’re both adults, I’m pretty sure they won’t think you’re a filthy harlot.”

You gasp, hitting his chest and hissing through your teeth. “A harlot?”

Minho lets out a long, hearty laugh just as his parents walk through the door.

“Oh, there you are!” You hear his mother’s voice call out as soon as she steps inside the living room. You turn to face her and you’re greeted by the same smile you see on Minho’s face every day — they look so similar you have to hold back a gasp. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!”

You stand up from the couch and smooth down your long skirt, smiling while she walks toward you. You’re caught off guard when she pulls you into a hug as soon as she’s in front of you, her arms squeezing you as she sighs happily into your hair.

“Mom,” Minho calls out, “You’re scaring her.”

His mom pulls away with a chuckle, her left hand pinching her son’s cheek before resting on your shoulder again. “He’s the one who’s scared I’ll embarrass him,” she refutes. “And, god, you’re so pretty! Minho told me you were beautiful, but I just assumed it was the infatuation speaking.”

You feel your cheeks flush at her words, biting back a smile. Minho had talked to his mother about you — had said you were beautiful. You swear if you died tonight, you would die a happy woman.

As his mother steps away from you and into the kitchen, rambling on about how crowded the shopping mall had been, a man comes into your field of vision. He nods courtly before extending his hand, which you shake a bit awkwardly.

“I’m Minho’s dad,” he simply says. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Minho has been very happy on the phone since meeting you.”

And with that, he’s off into the kitchen, following his wife. You’re left a bit dazed. Minho truly was a perfect blend of his mother’s appearance and his father’s calm personality.

Beside you, Minho pulls you into a side hug, his chilly hands caressing your arms. “See? It’s impossible not to love you.”

You freeze for a moment, before relaxing as you realize he’s talking about his parents loving you. You curse yourself inwardly for being so damn emotionally constipated, but let out a sigh of relief nonetheless.

You were worried for so many different reasons — that you wouldn’t measure up to Minho’s first girlfriend, that your personality would be scrutinized until your flaws finally emerged, and that this would be the catalyst for Minho to realize you’re not worth it. Not worth waiting until you can tell him you love him, not worth waiting until you feel like sex isn’t going to just ruin everything between you, not worth the hassle and the chore that is loving someone like you.

But as he walks into the kitchen with you, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, like he’s proud to show you off to his parents, the level of reliability he radiates is enough to melt away all the annoying little worries you had inside your head.

Christmas eve comes two days later, and you’re rudely woken up in the morning by the sound of Minho’s voice cursing under his breath as he drops something on the floor by his bed. You groan, rubbing your eyes, and he turns to face you with an apologetic look on his face.

“Sorry,” he whispers, kneeling down next to the bed and pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Good morning.”

“What time is it?”

“Eight, I think.” His fingers brush your hair away from your face. “I didn’t set an alarm ‘cause I didn’t wanna wake you up, but guess my inability to be quiet did that anyway.”

You chuckle lightly, scrunching up your nose. “Why are you up so early?”

“Gotta start cooking dinner soon,” he explains.

“Already?” You ask, perplexed. You knew he cooked Christmas dinner all by himself every year for his family, but you never conceived just how much work that would be for a single person.

Minho is unyielding despite your best efforts at persuading him to stay and cuddle you for a few more hours, and watching him cook is always oddly attractive to you, so you find yourself joining him in the kitchen, wrapped up in one of his many cat print sweaters.

At first, you simply sit up at one of the counters and watch him, mesmerized and all but drooling at the way he rolls up his sleeves, the prominent veins making his arms look so sexy while doing such a mundane thing like chopping fucking vegetables. Not to mention his hands, so beautiful and big as he rubs the seasoning on something you don’t even care to identify because you’re just too busy thinking about those hands all over your body. Only now do you notice how no real sex for almost two months has really taken a toll on you, what with the way you have to cross your legs just to try and relieve some tension because your mind won’t stop thinking about Minho’s veiny arms caging you against this counter and his big hands—

Minho calls out your name, and you snap out of your fantasies, humming as you reluctantly turn your attention toward his face with a dazed expression. He seems to find it funny, as he chuckles before repeating himself, “I asked if you would like to help. I can teach you some of the easy stuff. Must be boring just sitting there and watching.”

Oh, but it isn’t boring at all.

But you’d never tell him that, so you nod before hopping off the counter and awaiting further instructions. Turns out you’re worse at cooking than you had thought, so you’re relegated to chopping duty, which you hate for two reasons — firstly, chopping vegetables is boring, and secondly, you’re now deprived of your view of Minho as you stand with your back turned to him while he cooks.

It’s around five p.m. when Minho’s mom joins you two in the kitchen, and by that time you’ve done all you could, so you’re back to your spot on the counter. She smiles at you before ruffling Minho’s hair as he closes the oven.

“My baby is such a wonderful cook, isn’t he?” she praises, and he shrugs with a smirk.

“I am very boyfriend material, aren’t I?”

You chuckle as you watch his mom carefully fixing his hair which she had messed up, Minho scrunching up his face as she then fixes his wire-frame glasses on his nose.

“I’m so glad you’re wearing your glasses again,” she comments, cupping his cheeks and squeezing before letting go. “You look so handsome.”

“You should thank her,” Minho smiles, turning to look at you, and you shoot him a puzzling look. “Remember on your birthday, when you told me I looked good wearing glasses?” He asks, and you nod slowly. “That’s why I stopped wearing contacts.”

Your mouth opens, but you can’t find the words to answer him. You can feel your cheeks dusting pink as his mom coos at the two of you, saying something about young love that has you gnawing on your lips to hold back the silly smile you want to let out.

Minho’s mom leaves the kitchen shortly after, his father calling her from the living room. He takes this as his chance to approach where you’re sitting, hands resting on your thighs before he presses his lips against yours.

“I wanted to look handsome for you. It’s kinda pathetic, isn’t it?” He chuckles against your lips, and you simply shake your head, tangling your fingers in his black hair that has now grown past his eyes.

“It’s actually fucking adorable,” you assure him, pulling him into another kiss, one much deeper than the last.

He quickly uses his hands to spread your thighs apart, pressing his body into yours as you wrap your legs around his waist. The effect this man has on you is mindboggling; the mere slide of his tongue against your lips has you shivering. It certainly doesn’t help that you are now in the exact position from your imagination earlier today.

Minho always tasted like your own personal favorite flavor, always deliciously swirling on your tongue whenever you kissed him. He always renders your mind fuzzy and silly as bliss consumes the entirety of your being. You can only imagine how sex with him will feel like, and you don’t think you can wait any longer. Your worries be damned. You needed him more than you could handle.

But just as Minho pulls you closer to his body — your core dangerously close to his crotch, and sucking on your tongue in a way that has you mewling against his lips — his mother calls out your names, and you two quickly separate, startled as if you were burned. She informs you his grandmother has arrived and you two walk to the living room to greet her. You silently thank the universe for her not walking into the kitchen; the last thing you want is for Minho’s poor grandmother to catch you two making out on the counter like two teenagers.

She is a sweet lady, certainly not as old as you expected her to be, and she always has a smile etched onto her lips stained with red lipstick. You don’t even have to ask to know she is his mother’s mom, as the three of them share the exact same smile you grew to love so much.

You find yourself even more comfortable today, as you help both women set up the table for dinner — his grandma meticulously placing a beautiful lace cloth over the table while telling you about how this was one of her late husband’s first gifts to her when they first moved in together.

It felt as if you were part of the family.

And as you turn on your heels to grab the fancy silverware from a cabinet, your eyes meet Minho’s gaze. With a smile on his face, he stands by the kitchen door, watching you, and your heart swells with joy.

This was everything you never thought love could be.

Christmas dinner was amazing — as you knew it would be. Minho’s cooking is always fantastic, and pure happiness is written all over his face whenever he was complimented. The way he offers to serve everyone, watching intently as each of you took the first bite before he finally allowed himself to eat as well, his lips upturned into a grin and his ears red as you all hummed and gasped at how tasty everything was. It’s his love language; from the way he carefully and methodically prepares the food, to the way he enjoys watching other people eat more than eating himself. He shows his love through his cooking, you realize, and you smile as you think back to numerous times you woke up in the morning with a beautiful table set with breakfast for you after he spent the night at your house.

You haven’t put it into words yet, but he has unquestionably been showing his love for you through his little actions.

And that’s what you want to do tonight as well.

After watching a cliche Christmas movie with his family, you two are now the only ones awake with you drying off the dishes Minho’s washing. He looks beautiful even now, with his hands clad in neon green dishwashing gloves.

“Minho,” you call out, poking his rib with the plate he just handed you. He squirms with a giggle, warning you to not tickle him. You simply hum, continuing as nonchalantly as you can. “Do you wanna have sex tonight?”

His hand stills, dropping a knife on the sink as his head turns abruptly to look at you, eyes bewildered. “What? What, and you ask me this now? While we’re doing the dishes?” He sputters, and you grin with a shrug.

“It’s not a big deal,” you say, placing the plate on top of the counter. “I just… really wanna do it. Really want you.”

Minho turns off the tap — at least five knives left ignored at the bottom of the sink — removes his gloves and lets out a heavy sigh.

“Okay, not what I expected to happen on Christmas night, but I’ll take it.”

You both stare at each other for a beat, before inexplicably bursting out laughing. Maybe it’s the sheer suddenness of your request, or the absurdity of the situation you were in when it happened, but you can’t help it.

As you both calm down, Minho pulls you into his arms and informs you that he will have to go out and buy condoms, since he truly wasn’t expecting anything to happen. You don’t fault him, the two months you’ve been together were filled with you all but running away from sex. You couldn’t help it, your brain always dragging you back to that night in Japan, and the way he avoided your gaze in the morning. Although you knew it was irrational, and that he was simply shy, your self-sabotaging skills were too great, and your mind insisted that if you had sex with Minho too soon he would think you were nothing but a slut. That’s what you were told most of your life, anyway, so you couldn’t be blamed for the way your brain was almost conditioned into assuming the same.

But Minho had proved time and time again that he was not like the awful guys before him, and that all your worrying was unwarranted and foolish. You were depriving yourself of something you wanted badly out of sheer insecurity and attachment to experiences so far in the past it was almost masochistic at this point.

You insist on joining him on his impromptu trip to the convenience store, only throwing one of his sweaters over the dress and tights you wore for Christmas dinner.

Minho holds your hand as you two walk down the empty street, Christmas lights from the houses and stores making everything seem almost like a movie. You spot the familiar logo from across the street, and Minho bumps his shoulder with you while you head toward the convenience store chain where you both once worked.

“This is actually the exact one I used to work at,” He tells you as you look through a fridge hidden away in the back of the store. “I loved working the graveyard shift. I rang up so many couples awkwardly buying condoms like they were buying hard drugs.”

You chuckle, settling for some pudding you two could share later. “Will that be us tonight?”

He shrugs. “We’re adults, it’s normal to buy these things. Unless you want me to act like I’m buying crack cocaine, then I’d be happy to indulge you.”

You stick your tongue out at him with a light shove, turning to look through the rather lacking options on the condom shelf.

“Grape flavor?” Minho makes a face as he eyes one of the boxes. “Who the fuck would want the artificial taste of grapes when fucking?”

You shrug. “Could be worse, imagine banana-flavored condoms. I think I’d throw up all over your dick.”

“That’s sexy,” He jokes, and you let out a loud chuckle, earning you a look from the only other person at the store this time of night on Christmas eve.

Among your other options are a green glow-in-the-dark condom — which would only make you think of Shrek while Minho fucks you — and a strawberry-flavored one. You decide to play it safe, grabbing a box of plain, thin condoms and placing them in the basket Minho’s carrying.

“Let’s just go for the safest option,” you tell him, “We’ll have plenty of time to play around later if you want, though I’ll go on birth control once we’re back home so we won’t even need them anyway.”

You watch as Minho’s eyes widen for a second, his eyebrows shooting up almost comically.

“Sure, yeah.”

“Don’t short-circuit now. I need you functioning to fuck me.”

“Keep saying shit like that and I’ll be broken before we even make it back to my house,” he states matter-of-factly, and you chuckle, shaking your head at his words. But Minho’s expression remains unchanged. “I mean it. It’s been over a year since I’ve had proper sex. I’m surprised I didn’t combust the second you said those words to me in the kitchen.”

With a chuckle, you pull him to your side and walk toward the cashier. It’s a poor teenage boy, no older than eighteen, clearly bored out of his mind and wishing to be anywhere but here. As he rings up your items, Minho points to his phone that’s resting on the counter.

“That’s Ahri from League of Legends, right?” He asks, and the boy looks up, his eyes sparking with interest. He nods. “I don’t play, but I’m a game programmer, so I know a little bit about it. What’s your rank?”

“Grandmaster,” the boy answers proudly, his face lighting up with a hint of joy, probably for the first time since his shift started.

“Oohh,” Minho gasps loudly, basically hyping up this random boy at the convenience store. You watch the interaction with a silly smile on your face. “And you’re still young, wouldn’t be surprised to see you at World’s someday.”

The boy shakes his head dismissively as Minho hands him his card, but smiles nonetheless. Once he hands you your things, he speaks again, “Are you from around here, hyung? Let me know when you have a game out, I’d love to try it. See if you’re any good.”

Minho raises his brows at the obvious teasing lilt in his voice, lips upturning into a grin. “How about this? I’ll give you the beta code and you can start your career of testing games for money.”

“You’ll pay me?” The cashier marvels at the words, and Minho simply nods. He jots down a code from his phone into a scrap piece of paper on the counter, the boy’s face now a complete shift from the expression he wore when you first walked in, all because of Minho and his ability to be kind and sweet no matter the person or circumstance.

As you head back to his house, only the two of walk along the shy streets as the clock hands turn past midnight. Among all the bad people in this world, you’re indescribably happy that a man as good as him is the one walking beside you down this street, firmly holding your hand.

You arrive home and quietly head straight into Minho’s room. You thank any higher power that might exist for the fact that his room is the only one on the first floor, as you would have to endure your desperate need and desire for him until you got home if it wasn’t. Any of Minho’s family members walking in or hearing you two have sex would make you want to flee the country and change your name.

He joins you after storing your puddings in the fridge, making you jump with his arms wrapped around your waist while you were blankly staring at the pictures on his wall. You sigh, the realization of what was going to happen only really dawning on you now that you stand in Minho’s bedroom, and your mind starts to wander and doubt everything all over again.

“I kind of ruined the mood by asking to have sex, didn’t I?” You ask as Minho places a chaste kiss on your cheek before resting his chin on your shoulder.

“There was really no mood in the first place,” he lets out a breathy chuckle. “We were washing the dishes.”

You roll your eyes, once again more annoyed at yourself than at him. You could only hope that your awful propensity of bringing up these irritating thoughts of yours at the worst possible moments didn’t drive Minho away from you. Could only hope you were worth it in the end.

“I know, it’s just…” You trail off with another heavy sigh. “This guy I dated hated that. Said I should just initiate it instead of asking like it was a business transaction.”

You feel Minho shake his head. “That’s stupid. Why would I think that?” He sounds incredulous, and hearing him say it makes you realize just how asinine that thought really was. “We had to buy condoms, anyway. It’s also good that you’re comfortable asking me that. It’s as it should be.”

And you can only smile, biting back a giggle because of course he thinks that. It’s as if Jane Austen came back from the dead simply to write Lee Minho.

His arms tighten around your waist, and you turn your head to look at him. “You should really stop thinking about… them,” He hesitates, “Your exes, I mean. Stop comparing, assuming everything will be the same and have the same sad ending. You need to let go of that in order to truly heal. I hate how every time I’m good to you, or do the bare fucking minimum, your mind spins it into something being your fault. I hate what they did to you so much.”

You feel your breath get caught in your throat, tears threatening to spill much like they do every time you are faced with this topic. But you hold them in. You don’t want to cry, not right now, not when everything is so perfect with Minho. So, instead, you take in his words. He’s undoubtedly right, and you must force yourself to face this uncomfortable truth.

Slowly, you promise yourself. You smile at him, a silent promise to him, and you know he understands you when he smiles back, his lips pressing a kiss to your lips.

He lets go of you and rummages through his drawers, and you look around once more. His plushie mountain, the pictures of his childhood and high school days. You scrunch up your nose.

“Will it be too weird to have sex in your childhood bedroom?”

From where you’re standing, his back turned to you, you can faintly make out the tip of his ears turning red as he runs a finger through his hair.

“Well, not really…” He trails off, “I had sex with my ex-girlfriend here all the time when we skipped school together.”

You let out a gasp. “Lee Minho skipped school?”

He chuckles, closing his drawers and immediately wrapping his arms around you. He’s a lot more touchy since you brought this whole topic up, you notice.

“My parents were always at work, though, so this is my first time doing it while they’re right upstairs,” He explains, bringing his finger up to your lips and lowering his voice to a harsh whisper. “So we’ll have to be quiet.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, nodding. You know all too well you’ll probably be too quiet. Once again your trauma playing a part in this, the words an old boyfriend harshly spilled about you being too loud and vocal have always been present in your head. Now that you think about it, all these moments and words are like post-it notes stuck to your mind, and you skim through like a student cramming for an exam every day in search of one that applies to your current situation. It was excruciating.

Hyunjin tried his best to change this about you, always assuring you he liked to hear you during sex when he noticed your pursed and bitten lips, and that you should be vocal about what you want and like. But you always settled for nods and quiet hums instead.

Minho presses a quick kiss on your forehead then. “I’m gonna shower ‘cause my hands still smell like onions and garlic after washing them a thousand times,” he tells you. “I’ll be right back.”

As you’re busying yourself looking through Minho’s extensive collection of books, a meow pulls your attention toward the door. It’s Dori, the gray cat you’ve decided is your favorite since it’s the only one you can easily recognize. He stares for a beat before approaching you, and you kneel carefully to stroke his soft fur. You soon find yourself sitting down by the bed with Dori on your lap, purring away as your mind travels to a future in which you and Minho adopt cats of your own, all while living together and making plans for the rest of your lives. It terrifies you slightly to allow yourself to have these thoughts because if things were to go wrong with Minho, this would only be another ‘what if’ that would haunt you.

Another post-it note to your already cluttered-up mind.

But his words from earlier come back to you just as you begin to panic. You have to let go of the past and stop assuming only the worst outcomes are attainable. And so you simply smile at the imagination, letting your mind run wild while Dori falls asleep on your lap, his gray fur all over your red dress.

You and Dori both jump as Minho all but slams the door when he returns, a towel in his hand drying his damp hair. He cringes at the sound, cursing under his breath. Dori leaves your lap, and you stand up with a pout. He definitely is your favorite cat among the three.

“Sorry,” Minho whispers, as if that will compensate for the loud noise. You take in his appearance; a green Christmas sweater and bright red sweatpants. You bite back a smile, because that’s so him.

“Your outfit is doing a great job of seducing me,” you jest, and he shrugs with a cocky grin.

“I know no woman can resist a Christmas sweater.”

He pulls you into him with a hand around your waist, his lips crashing into yours in a deep kiss. You notice he’s more frantic, less careful than he usually is, his fingers digging into the fabric of your dress as his hands slide up your back. He pulls away, breathless and flushed, and just looks at you for a moment. You can see the shift in his eyes, yearning swimming all over his brown orbs.

Clumsily, he shuts off the lights behind him then switches on the fairy lights adorning his bookshelf, his left hand still firmly clutching your body. Until it suddenly loosens, and you cock your head to the side.

“Okay, you gotta leave,” he says, and you follow his gaze, landing on Dori, who stares up at him almost defiantly. Minho lets out a sigh, opening his door before walking toward the cat and motioning toward the exit as if he will understand him. “Come on, I’ll give you treats later, hm? But you need to leave now, Dori.”

You fail to hold back a chuckle. “Why does the poor baby have to leave? He looks so comfortable snuggled up on the floor.”

“I can’t have sex while Dori watches,” he deadpans as if it were an obvious answer. “It’ll be weird.”

“Minho, it’s a cat. He doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“It’s still weird! And I…” He trails off, running a hand through his hair. He’s still facing the door when he blurts out, “I told you, I’m already really fucking nervous ‘cause it’s been a while since I’ve had sex. I might not be the best.”

You shake your head with a smile, crossing your arms over your chest. “Minho, that’s not possible.”

“Yes, it is!” He finally turns to face you. “Remember back in Japan? I came too fast, it was embarrassing. That’s why I never let you touch me.”

You jokingly pout at him. “Thought you just liked eating me out.”

“I fucking love eating you out, but I’m not exactly refusing that you do the same because I want to,” he explains, “I’m just scared I’ll be bad at it.”

You furrow your brows. “Bad at… getting a blowjob?”

Minho’s ears are dusted a light pink, and he throws his hands up. “Well, yes! Back in Japan I didn’t even know what to do with my hands. I don’t know what you like, and I haven’t been with anyone else to know what most people like so…” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Fuck, I was so nervous that night, you have no idea.”

“You were nervous?” You let out a huff, recalling Minho’s clear shift in demeanor that night. “Looking into my eyes the entire time and pinning me down to the bed, that’s you being nervous?”

His entire face now flushes red, and he returns his gaze toward the door, where Dori paddles out of the room graciously. He promptly shuts the door, locking it this time.

“I was nervous,” He tells you, taking a step toward you. “I kept looking at you ‘cause I couldn’t believe that was actually happening. Felt like you were gonna disappear if I looked away,” His hands cup your face gently, and your lips unknowingly curl into a smile. “And when you looked at me in the morning, all I could think about was how awful I was the night before.”

You have to fight the strong urge to laugh because god, that’s why he was acting shy and avoiding your gaze. You berate yourself for even thinking otherwise, for ever assuming Minho could be like your ex-boyfriends. His words ring even more true than before.

You let out a groan, realizing you two have been putting off having sex for such mindless reasons. When he shoots you a questioning gaze, you simply say, “Minho, we’re both fucking idiots, d’you know that?”

And before he can say anything else or even entertain the idea of overthinking any more, you pull him into a kiss. With a surprised hum, Minho gently pushes you back, and your knees meet the softness of the mattress causing you to fall back into his bed. He climbs on top of you, pulling away from the kiss.

“You still gotta tell me what you like,” he repeats, his lips all but pouting at you. You smile up at him.

“No,” you say simply, pushing his hair back with your fingers as it fell into his eyes. “It’s better if we figure that out together, isn’t it?”

Minho chuckles, promptly pressing his lips to yours, your hand tugging at his hair gently as his tongue glides across your lips, causing a soft whine to slip from your throat before you can stop it.

“I like that,” he says between kisses, “When you make these pretty noises.”

You feel your cheeks heat up at his words and take that as your chance to take the first small step in healing, adding a post-it to your mind, reminding you not to suppress any noise that Minho coaxes out of you tonight.

The atmosphere in his room feels perfect — like heaven, as he would say. The soft yellow glow emanating from his bookshelf made everything seem dreamy; his honey skin looked stunning, and his eyes gleamed like the stars in the sky every time they met yours.

It was undoubtedly so much more intimate and passionate than any other time you had sex before, and you were both still fully clothed.

It was just like what Minho had told you many months ago.

His hands travel through your body until they rest on your back, finding the buttons of your dress, slowly opening each one as his lips trail down your neck, softly sucking on the skin. As he gingerly slides your dress down your torso, you realize that this will be the first time you two see each other naked. Yet, you don’t feel nervous. You want nothing more than to be close to him, with no barriers between you, to finally be tangled with him like the roots on the ground.

Minho unclasps your bra, his gaze unmoving from your chest as he slips the garment off of your skin and drops it on the floor. It’s almost as if you can feel his gaze burning you, your chest tightening and your breath hitching in your throat. He licks his lips, leaning down to wrap them around your nipple, his hand promptly finding your other breast and softly massaging it. You let out a choked gasp, tugging at his hair.

You feel his lips stretch into a smile before he softly bites the bud.

“So you like this,” He mumbles, pressing a wet kiss to your nipple. “Duly noted.”

You giggle at his words, your hands tangling in his hair once more. His kisses travel up again, from your chest to your neck, until he’s back to kissing your lips. Both of his hands now massage your breasts, alternating between rolling your nipples between his rough fingers and pinching them lightly, causing a rush to spread across your entire body. You feel your arousal trickle down your slit as you grow more desperate.

“Minho,” you call out between kisses, and he hums against your lips. “Do something,” you all but beg him, yearning for some release as you feel the small, unrelenting pulse between your thighs grow stronger with each stroke of his finger across your chest. Your hands now grasp at his sweater, tugging it over his head, the fabric also discarded somewhere on the floor of his room.

Your hands travel over the expanse of his chest, fingertips taking in every inch of his soft skin. Breaking away from his lips, you push him back softly so you can revel in the sight of him; his delicate collar bones, his strong arms, and soft stomach. He’s beautiful, breathtakingly so, and you don’t know what you did to be deserving of him.

“Enjoying the view?” He jokes, and you breathe out a laugh, your gaze flying up toward his face — his lips swollen, and his cheeks flushed a pretty red.

“Minho, you’re so beautiful,” you whisper absentmindedly, and he smiles at you, softly pressing his lips to yours.

“You should see how you look,” he whispers.

His left hand soon slips underneath your dress skirt, fingertips grazing your skin over your tights. You feel goosebumps trickle along your thighs following his every touch, so eager to feel his hands on your skin you’re sure you’ll rip your tights in half yourself if Minho doesn’t get rid of them soon.

He seems to grow as impatient as you, lifting your hips with a strong grip to slide down your dress, tights, and panties off of you all in one go. In no time, you are now laid bare before him, and Minho is swift to trail kisses down your stomach, sloppy and messy, painting your skin with his saliva as his mouth waters at the mere prospect of tasting you.

With a heavy sigh, he stares at your glistening wetness before promptly wrapping his lips around your clit without a warning and sucking, ardently, vulgar sounds filling his small room much like they do every time he eats you out. Always messy, always eager, humming against your pussy and sighing as his eyes glaze over with pure want.

You squirm like lighting has shocked through your entire body. No matter how often you experience the satisfaction of Minho’s lips on you, it always leaves you trembling like it’s the first time. His right hand slides up the expanse of your stomach until it reaches your breast again, his thumb lazily circling your nipple. You purse your lips as his fingers tentatively trail across your folds, spreading your wetness up to your clit before lapping at it slowly, the small bud swollen and aching.

You’re quick to remember to open your mouth, letting out the heavy sigh that had stuck to your throat as his finger enters you, Minho still licking and sucking your sensitive clit, nipping harshly and making your sigh fade into a whine. Hand tangling in his hair and tugging, you elicit a low groan from his throat, which you feel reverberate through your slick folds.

Your thighs shake as he adds a second finger, and soon a third, thrusting them inside of you and stroking your walls more vigorously than he usually does, as if he somehow also feels your pleasure and needs to lead you to your high as quickly as possible.

Minho’s hand leaves your chest, and you bite back a pout, his fingers now gripping your hips before pushing them up so he can reach deeper. It isn’t long before his fingers drag across the spot inside of you that has your muscles tensing up, a strangled moan falling from your lips at the sensations coupled with the unrelenting feeling of his tongue on your clit. You come undone around his fingers and lips with a harsh tug of his black hair, rutting your hips against his face desperately, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as you do.

He laps up your juices as you slowly come down from your high, tongue flicking inside of you and sucking hard before he presses a long kiss to your cunt. Your entire body jerks in response to the overstimulation.

His kisses travel toward your inner thigh, your lower stomach and breasts until he reaches your neck, where his teeth nip at the soft skin, sucking harshly before his tongue soothingly licks at the spot. As Minho positions himself between your thighs again, you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Your mind goes hazy for a beat as you feel the thick outline of his cock press against your bare core.

“Minho,” you call out again, your voice significantly more whiny this time around, shaky and breathless, “Wanna taste you.”

He groans against your skin, pressing small kisses up your neck until he ultimately stops against your open lips. He breathes out a heavy sigh.

“Really want that, too,” he rasps out, voice hoarse as his dark eyes travel across your face. “But I really wanna fuck you. Shit, I need to fuck you so badly you have no idea,” He groans. You feel his length jump at his words as he presses your foreheads together and locks his gaze with you. “That’ll be hard to do if your pretty lips go anywhere near my cock.”

You breathe out a chuckle, pressing a small kiss to his lips. “Then get to it,” you simply say.

Minho’s lips curl into a grin. “Will you remember to be quiet for me this time? My baby sounded so pretty coming around my fingers.”

Your cheeks flush, just how loud you were before only now dawning on you. Fuck. Your words get stuck to your throat, your mouth opening but making no sound, so you settle for a nod.

He chuckles. “Good,” he replies with a kiss to your agape lips.

Minho sits up, detangling himself from your body briefly. He reaches for the box on his bedside table, scrambling with the cardboard before clumsily tearing it open and retrieving a condom. It’s only then you notice how his hands are trembling, from nervousness or pure lust. Either way, you find yourself smiling at the sight.

You reach out to run a hand along his arm soothingly, watching with hungry eyes as he tugs at his drawstrings before freeing his cock from the confines of his sweatpants. Minho hisses as he rolls the rubber over his length, shaky hands stroking himself one, two, three times, all while you eye him, watching greedily as if you were his own personal captive audience.

He lowers himself once again, hand now sliding across the length of your thigh before gripping the flesh, nails digging into your skin as he eyes you with an almost pleading gaze.

“Can I—”

“Please do,” you answer, almost frantically, before he even has the time to assume you might say no. You inch your thighs apart even more so Minho can slot himself perfectly between them.

Your mouth waters as you catch sight of him gripping his cock once more, tapping it against your swollen clit and eliciting a whine from your lips as your hands scramble to find purchase in his strong arms. Minho’s eyes then find yours much like they did back in Japan, and you know you are done for. His dark gaze once again felt all-consuming — desire and adoration swimming along his brown eyes, looking at you as if he were in a daze. Your grip on his arms tightens as he lazily slides his cock up and down your soaked slit, coating himself in your arousal. Minho’s lips fall open as he continues his movements, the blunt head of his cock gliding along your folds almost painfully slow.

He leans in to close the small gap between your lips, before whispering something you can’t quite understand against them.

“I fucking love you,” he repeats himself more clearly, and finally pushes forward, his girth pushing into you as you gasp, feeling as if all the air has been stolen from you.

You aren’t sure if your reaction is due to his words, or the way his cock is working you open so good, or maybe it was a delicious blend of the two. All you know at the moment is Minho, Minho, Minho, your mind foggy as his name rings inside your head like a mantra.

“Don’t gotta say anything back,” he tells you in a breathy voice, “Just want you to know I love— Fuck,” he groans as he is now fully sheathed inside of you, and you clench at both the feeling and the words spilling from his lips. Of course he would choose now to tell you he loved you. “Love you so much, so much I’d do anything for you. Would wage a war with the world if you asked me to…” He babbles, words slipping past his lips like they were the easiest thing for him to say. Like he meant it so deeply, he didn’t have to put any thought into it. His words only die as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

Minho pulls his hips back in one swift motion, hands lifting your thighs around his body as he thrusts into you, evoking a rather loud noise from the back of your throat which is smothered by his kiss.

“You take me so well,” he growls against your lips, “We fit perfectly.” He breaks the kiss to look down at where your two bodies are connected. It felt as if you were one, melting into each other little by little the more Minho thrust his cock inside of you. You simply nod, mind even more dizzy with the way he’s already pulling out again before slamming back into you, his pace quickening as he presses you into the mattress.

Your nails dig into his skin, crescent moon shapes blooming over the expanse of his honey skin. His eyes still bore into you, hips now thrusting at an unrelenting pace, his small room filled with a cacophony of wet sounds, whines tumbling from your parted lips and curses that almost silently fell from his.

“Gonna come soon,” Minho chokes out, his eyebrows furrowing, “I’m sorry, I—”

You silence him with a press of your lips, hands now tangling in his messy hair.

“You’re always so good to me,” you tell him, feeling his cock pulse inside of your walls. “Wanna be good to you too, make you feel good.”

And he simply leans down before kissing you reverently. The sound of his skin slapping against yours mixed with the creaking of his bed likely much too loud, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. At least not at the moment. Not with the way his hand snakes along your hips, rough fingers now rolling delicious circles around your clit while his other palm presses down onto your abdomen, and his cock continuously hits a spot inside of you that has you all but crumbling apart underneath him.

Your mouth falls open, breaking the kiss, his cock twitching inside of you as his body stills on top of you. With furrowed brows and agape lips, Minho comes mere seconds before you reach your high as well, toes curling against his back as you melt onto his cock.

You stay that way for a while — a few seconds, maybe minutes — simply looking at each other as your labored breaths intertwine.

You finally reach up, brushing his dampened hair away from his beautiful eyes that now look at you as if you were the sole reason why the stars sparkle. Minho’s fingers soon find yours, tangling together as he brings your hands to his lips and presses a chaste kiss to your knuckles.

You smile.

You love him.

It’s not a realization but rather a confirmation of something you’ve already known all too well and for far too long. You still can’t put it into words, but somehow, you are certain that he knows just as well.

Minho accidentally awoke you in the morning with his habit of slamming his door shut, apologizing as you grumbled at him and insisted you would only accept his apology if he let you give him a blowjob. He laughed, simply pulling you closer to him on the bed as he sat up and you finally gave the most beautiful man you had ever met the head he deserved.

Minho’s parents and grandmother had left to eat at a fancy restaurant, and after lying through his teeth and telling his very distraught mother that you were feeling too sick to leave the bed, you two stayed behind. They didn’t have to know the real reason you couldn’t leave the bed — Minho and his apparent insatiable hunger for you. It was as if something had been awoken inside him now that he had a taste of you, and he had to make up for all the lost time.

You two only leave his room late in the afternoon, the sun setting on the pale winter sky outside his bedroom window. His family would arrive soon, and you needed to get ready for their tradition of opening Christmas presents while watching bad holiday movies.

When Minho followed you when you headed toward the bathroom, you thought little of it. It was only when he began undressing alongside you that panic truly set in.

“We literally had sex, why do you sound so horrified?” Was all he offered you when you asked what he was doing before entering the steamy shower with you.

It was your first time showering with someone, and the fact that it made you so nervous felt almost pathetic. Minho was right; you had sex, and you saw each other naked and sweaty and vulnerable. This shouldn’t be any different.

Except it was.

You found yourself too awkward to wash yourself, doing a terrible job at pretending to scrub at your arms as you watched Minho shower like a normal person. He let out a chuckle after rinsing his hair, shaking his head.

“Are you seriously shy? Seriously?” He asked, turning your body around so your back faced him. “The girl who begged to suck my cock just this morning is too shy to shower in front of me?”

You opened your lips to refute him, but your words died in your mouth as you felt Minho’s hand spread shampoo all over your hair. His fingers gently massaged your scalp before placing his hand over your eyes to shield them from the foam as he rinsed your hair. He repeated the process with conditioner, then moved on to wash your body with his almost sickly sweet watermelon body wash. He did it all while humming, making you so relaxed and comfortable that all your silly insecurities dissipated in the air along with the steam from the hot water.

Suffice to say, showering without Minho would now be a sad affair.

You are now sitting on the floor before the television, his family exchanging gifts. Dori purred on your lap, and Soonie bit Minho’s socks, trying his best to remove the fabric from his feet. It’s finally time for you two to exchange gifts, and you’re a bit glad his family seemed to be so immersed in the movie because you know you would combust if you had to explain your gift to them.

“Here,” you hand him an orange box with a black bow. “It’s stupid. Now that I think about it, it’s probably such a fucking dumb gift. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and Eunha even made one for her sister. I almost stole hers ‘cause it turned out much better than mine—”

“My god,” Minho interrupts you with a hearty laugh, taking the box in his hands and inspecting it. “It’s been a while since you word vomited so much. What the hell did you get me that made you so nervous?”

He pulls on the bow, unraveling it before taking the black fabric in his hands and tying it around your head. He laughs once more, and you roll your eyes.

“Minho, just get to it before I snatch this box from you.”

With one last chuckle, he finally opens the box. He stills as he takes in the notebook, sitting on top of far too much wrapping tissue paper. The cat print cardstock paper was a pain to find, but it’s worth it now as you watch Minho’s lips curl into a smile as his fingers gingerly travel through the cover. It was crooked, a bit too small, and still reeked of bookbinding glue, but it reminds you of the day you met Minho, and that was all you thought about when you decided on this gift.

“You fucking bound me a notebook,” he says, still bewildered.

“Took me a while, but I did say I was gonna do it. I’m a woman of my word.”

Minho looks up at you, his smile reaching his eyes and turning them into the pretty crescent moons you love so much. “I love it,” he beams, hands now squeezing your cheeks as he pulls you into a small kiss. “This and that coffee stained notebook are going on my bookshelf back in my dorm, displayed in all their glory.”

Minho pulls away and reaches toward two small boxes on the coffee table. He clears his throat, handing you one box as he settles the other on his lap.

“I thought of you when I saw this on my Instagram feed,” he simply says, fingers toying with the misshaped bow on top of the box — one very similar to the one on your birthday gift many months ago. “Thought about what we talked about in Japan, y’know, about soulmates.”

You raise a brow at him, quickly undoing the bow on your box as curiosity washes over you. You pick up a bracelet made only of red thread, eyeing it curiously.

Minho retrieves the same bracelet from his own box, putting it on before asking, “Have you heard of the red string of fate?”

“That myth that a thread connects two people meant to be together?” You question.

He nods. “Exactly. I feel like that was us,” He explains, taking the red bracelet from your hands and slipping it around your wrist before gently tightening the thread. “Feel like all our little coincidences were little threads tying us together until we met.”

You feel the tears well up in your eyes, but you don’t bother trying to hide or stop them this time. Grabbing Minho’s hand that stilled around your wrist, you lace your fingers together, admiring your matching bracelets. It could only be fate. Every small detail that aligned and every road you two crossed to reach the place where you are now could only have come to be because fate wanted it to be that way.

Out of every city you could have lived in, every different university you could have chosen to attend, down to every other seat that could have been empty on the day you met Minho — everything fell into place like a puzzle piece, exactly as if a long, invisible string tied you to him and finally decided it was time to pull you together.

Minho’s gentle touch brushes against your cheek as he silently wipes your tears — no words are needed between you two at that moment as he smiles softly at you while you feel your eyes burn from the cry you had held back for so long. And, as if you’re his mirror, you feel yourself smile as his lips upturn into a grin when his gaze shifts to the open window.

“It’s snowing,” he beams. “It’s the first snow of the year, and our first snow together.”

You stand in front of Minho’s house, the light snow falling softly and covering your heads in white as he kisses you, only stopping to grumble against your lips.

“Your phone’s going crazy in my pocket,” He pouts, and you furrow your brows. You had already sent your family holiday messages, and your friends were all busy with their own Christmas celebrations, so you were clueless about who it could be.

“Can you check it for me?”

Minho nods, untangling himself from your embrace just enough to reach into his pocket and grab your phone to unlock it.

“There’s like fifty new messages from a group chat. Best Fucking Five?” He chuckles lightly at the name, his chilly breath tickling your cheek.

You, on the other hand, immediately frowned as you heard the name. It’s a long-forgotten group chat with your old friend group from high school. You had all stopped talking a little before graduation, with you especially distancing yourself from them upon realizing their toxic words and reactions to your relationships only served to make you feel worse about yourself. No one bothered to leave or delete the group since it quietly died and had stayed that way for over three years now.

Minho hands you the phone, and you click another notification that pops up as soon as you unlock the device.

The conversation began with your former friend sending a screenshot of one of your ex-boyfriend’s newest Instagram post. You skim through the caption and blanch at the words accompanied by a sonogram picture. His girlfriend is pregnant, and he’s over the moon about it.

And you, for some reason, find yourself laughing so much you have to clutch onto Minho’s shoulder as your stomach starts to hurt.

He shoots you an understandably puzzled look, but you can’t stop the giggles that spill from your lips, so you settle on showing him the screenshot.

“I got the best Christmas gift tonight,” Minho reads from the screen. “I'm going to be a dad, and the most wonderful woman I’ve ever known is the mother,” he trails off with a questioning lilt, brows furrowing as that had only confused him more.

“It’s one of my exes,” you manage to tell him after catching your breath.

Minho hums, taking your hands and shoving them in his overcoat pocket along with your phone.

“And why did that make you lose your mind laughing?” He asks with a small smile.

“I guess it was the shock, really. It also made me realize just how little I care about him now. All of them, actually. Every time I was broken up with or had my heart broken in some way, it honestly felt like the end of the world,” you explain, “Like my heart would never recover and like I would hate them for the rest of my life. For years I had such a strong ax to grind with them, and that hatred and grudge only caused me harm. It made me hate love, and it made me blame myself.”

Minho nods, pressing his forehead to yours. Around you two, the snow got thicker, and only the distant sounds of children laughing from neighboring houses could be heard throughout the quiet street.

“But it’s different now?”

You smile up at him. “It’s different now, and I only just realized that. These people are no longer people I hate. They’re simply their words and their actions toward me, but they, as people, mean nothing to me.”

Minho smiles and wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace. This realization makes you feel lighter, like a small part of the weight of healing has been removed from the equation. It’s only you and yourself now; none of them has any power over your emotions anymore.

“Maybe we should send the baby a present,” you joke, and Minho buries his head in the crook of your neck with a chuckle, and you jump as his cold nose brushes against your skin.

“Maybe we should.”

At that moment, in the arms of this amazing man who has helped you more than he will ever know, you realize that love truly isn’t bad. People can be bad, circumstances can be catastrophic, and wrong timing can destroy nearly everything. But love is, at the core of it all, good.

“Minho,” you call out, feeling him hum against your skin before lifting his head to look at you. “I love you,” you say simply.

His smile rivals every pretty thing around you. The first snow, the gleaming Christmas decorations, and even the moon herself pale in comparison to the smile that Minho gives you.

“I love you, too,” he replies, a tangible sense of bliss in his voice, as if he has yearned for a lifetime to finally be able to say those words to you.

You wrap your arms tighter around Minho, and your fingers brush against the red thread that adorns your wrist. It truly feels as if fate had led you to Minho, leaving little clues along the way to make sure you both knew when you finally met. His journey to you had been relatively easy, while yours had been heart-wrenching, but in the end, it had brought you heaven.

If soulmates really are a thing, there is not an ounce of doubt in your being that Minho is yours. More than anything, he taught you that love is present in everything around you. Love is being kind to others like Minho is kind to his family and strangers in convenience stores at midnight. Love is staying up with your best friend while she cries on the couch, not expecting anything in return. Love is the laughter of little kids on Christmas night echoing throughout a neighborhood. Love is also going out on your own, doing something simply because it will make you happy, and being kind to yourself. All this time, you held onto the belief that love is destructive and only leads to sadness, oblivious to the fact that it has surrounded you every step of the way.

Love is everywhere and in everything.

In the end, Minho had always been right.

Love is the most amazing thing in life.

♡ taglist: @notevenheretbh1, @malunar28replies, @jazziwritesthings, @finchyyy, @bloom-ings, @linocz, @minhochaos, @lastgreatamericandynasty1, @missminhoe, @jungkookies1002, @meanergreener

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forteafy · 9 months

Note

seb x reader with prompt " kissing their helmet for good luck before the race" any seb era (you choose) i hope you like the prompt :) <3

♡ Helmet Kisses [1.1K] I couldn't decide which era of Seb I wanted to do; so here's all three!

♡ Red Bull Racing Era

Back in his Red Bull Racing days, Sebastian was known for having a string of lovers; different girls would show up to the race every so often, but never in the Paddock.

Until of course, you came along.

You were the rationality to his chaotic energy, the calm voice in his head before he’d scream down the radio on a particularly bad race.

Also, the first girl he had in the Paddock.

Let’s start by saying the team adored you. Finally, Sebastian would show up on time to meetings and wouldn’t start causing chaos during one of Horner’s speeches.

On the race evening, prior to his second World Championship, he’s all smiles, before walking onto the grid, hopping into his car.

You at this point, were shyly standing alongside some of the other garage guests; you weren’t too sure what the media would think of ‘Vettel’s new lady, the one who’s stuck around.’

Until there’s a sudden motion from one of his mechanics, motioning at you.

For a second, you don’t think to move, until he shouts your name, waving wildly for you to come over to the car.

You can feel your heart race, feeling like the eyes of every driver, mechanic and fan were on you. The only solace you had was Lewis and Mark, having been introduced to Sebastian’s close friends earlier in the weekend.

When you reached the Red Bull, the mechanic pats your back. You barely notice it, attention drawn to your boyfriend’s helmet-clad head.

‘You didn’t give me my good-luck kiss!’ He huffed, lifting his visor so his blue eyes could meet your own.

You can’t hold back the laugh this time. ‘Didn’t you win here without me last time?’ You question the logic. Sebastian simply huffs, not wanting to listen to logic, instead, folding his arms and pouting like a child.

You end up caving, leaning over the side of the RB7, pressing a kiss to the side of his helmet.

You don’t miss the cheering from the rest of the grid as you duck your head, cheeks blushing from the interaction as you walk off the track.

You also don’t miss Sebastian’s shout of ‘I want a proper one when I win!

♡ Scuderia Ferrari Era

You hadn’t been able to attend the opening race of Sebastian’s first year with Ferrari; something you’d felt awful about, knowing it was his dream to race for them.

So here you were, clad in red, engagement finger resting on your left hand, ready to support your husband-to-be.

He’d been aggravated, Lewis and Nico finishing 30 seconds ahead of him in the opening race had driven him insane.

He knew he could do better.

So, when he came into to garage, clad in his red fireproofs, (ones you could have fantasies over,) his game-face was on.

You knew better than to interrupt the ins and outs of setting up the car.

Sebastian had barely spoken to you that morning; he’d held your hand firmly when walking to the car that morning.

Even in the car, your usual chat and singing along to his ancient music was replaced by a silence.

The only form of comfort you had been able to offer him was a hand resting on his leg as he drove; a silent promise you would be here for him, not matter the result.

It wasn’t until one of the mechanics walked past, holding Sebastian’s helmet, that you spoke up, asking if you could give it to him.

He obliged; in his mind, anything to cheer up their driver before the race would be a good thing.

You had held out the helmet, his eyes widening when he saw that it was you handing it to him.

Before handing it to him, you lifted the helmet to your face, kissing the part of the helmet where his lips would usually be on his face.

You grinned, handing him the helmet, winking as you handed it over.

‘That’s your good luck kiss. Go out there and get that win.’

There was a massive cheer around the garage as they finally saw Sebastian break into a smile, the first one of the day.

Even Kimi had started grinning, knowing how in love his teammate was.

After the win he scored that afternoon, the mechanics insisted you joined them for as many races as possible.

♡ Aston Martin Era

Of course, you were there for Sebastian’s final race. The day had been overwhelming.

Even though you hadn’t been by his side for the entirety of the day, you had been around the Paddock; your three-year-old daughter clad in Aston Martin merch.

The whole family had to be there for Sebastian; it was his last race after all.

It had been more emotional for you that you’d realised.

Charles had come up to you, tears in his eyes as he thanked you for looking out for him all those years, even after Sebastian had left Ferrari.

You didn’t expect the warm hug from Christian, who wished you both the best and had promised the second your daughter got into karting, he would be signing her to Red Bull.

Of course, Sebastian had given both his girls a kiss before stepping into his car, nestling in his seat for the last time.

You’d sat in the garage, your daughter on your lap as you pointed to where he was listening to his mechanic; her eyes widened upon seeing her father in the cars she’d seen all day.

His race engineer nudged you, motioning towards your husband.

‘Go on. Give him one more for old times’ sake.’

You laugh, getting up from your chair and scooping up your daughter, walking through the grid.

She of course, gives her Uncle Mick a wave, having spent most of her afternoon coaxing him to play imaginary games with her.

Sebastian clocks the two of you coming across the grid, even though he’s strapped in, he turns his head.

You can’t see the grin on his face, but you know it’s there.

Leaning over and kissing the side of his head, it’s as if all of them years had been taken back, back to when you and Sebastian were just kids; the first time you’d ever been seen with him.

You seem to fly through the years with that one kiss, before leaning up, ready to walk away, until the wiggling girl in your arms whines.

Giving her a questioning look, she leaned down, arms guided by you, as she pressed a sloppy kiss to her father’s helmet.

Sebastian’s heart melted.

His girls on his final race, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

☽ [If you have a headcanon/drabble idea, thought or request, feel free to send it here!] ☾

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hannieehaee · 3 months

Note

so about the dk thing... hold my beer, luna! I have some things for you:

- him being the biggest advocate for princess treatment™ 24/7, but becoming mean one specific night out of stress (due to work or anything you want), the outcome can be angsty or smutty >> this one can be a little tricky, because I swear I never saw seokmin mad...

- seokmin with an extremely shy s/o who makes him endeared every time, especially if she struggles when asking for any type of ffection

- dk in his mingyu era... also known as the scenario where seokmin gets constantly teased by his s/o about everything he does (which I can see happening, since he's such a sweet soul), but there's a turn 🤨☝️: dk gets his bite back by domming the f out of her 🫶

this is the result of being extremely dk obsessed.

I don't know if any of these were able to spark anything in your pretty brain, but I love anything you write anyway so...

kisses ♡

18+ / mdi

content: mean!seokmin, sub-ish reader, afab reader, smut, established relationship, angst, fluff, penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 2813

a/n: thank u for the suggestions anonie i loved them 🫡 i decided to do the first one hehe (mostly bc i live for princess treatment in fics but thats a subject for another day) hope u enjoy, fellow dk obsessed individual <3

masterlist

if there was an award for best boyfriend, seokmin would easily get first place.

he was always known to be the sweetest, most caring boy around. he had even gotten teased in front of millions over the extremely long texts he had a tendency to send to showcase how deeply he cared for the people in his life. seokmin just happened to be an overly affectionate guy, but who could blame him when he had so much love to give?

however, no one had truly scratched the surface of his affections. no one, but you. you bore the brunt of the most passionate and emotional aspects of his love. there was no one in this world seokmin knew how to love better than you. it was almost as if being your boyfriend had been the one task he had been sent to do on this earth. and he did it damn well.

to sum it up, you were his everything. seokmin had always craved romantic love; to have someone who he could give all his affections to without any type of filter or judgement. you happily received his love and gave yours right back, making you one of the most envied couples around due to the love that very clearly radiated out of the two of you.

every single one of your days was met by endless affection from your boyfriend, affections which he adored to give to you. you never had to ask for anything from seokmin. he just always knew the perfect ways in which to take care of you, always insisting on tending to your every need. however, everyone has off days. even seokmin.

the day had started like any other. you'd gone to sleep in each other's arms, waking up equally as tangled up as the previous night. seokmin woke up first, quickly getting ready before kissing you goodbye with the promise of coming back in time to have a dinner with you. the prospect always made him giddy. his whole life he'd always wanted a domestic routine to share with the love of his life day by day and now it was his reality.

like always, he departed home with a smile on his face, knowing he was about to arrive to his dream job that he shared with his best friends only to go back home at the end of the day and fall into your arms all over again. life was good; far too good to seokmin.

it seemed like those were the last few good moments seokmin was meant to have that day, as absolutely everything went wrong after that.

it first began with him embarrassingly tripping on his way out of the car that had driven him to the company, cutting up one of his favorite designer tops (one that had been a limited edition by the way!!). only a few people had seen, so the fall on its own hadnt been too embarrassing. however, as he fell he also happened to drop and smash his phone screen. upon trying to turn his phone back on, he failed, now being stuck with a useless phone for the rest of the day (or even all the way until he had a chance to get it fixed).

the shitty day did not end there. it was just starting.

the next awful predicament occurred just as he walked into the practice room. he hadnt known it until stepping foot inside, but he had just walked into a fight. a few of the members had been fighting about some stupid and unimportant thing, which made at least half of them far too irritable for their own good. on days in which members were irritated at each other, their coordination had a tendency to lack, which only caused more irritation. members snapped at each other throughout the day, making the hours of practice almost unbearable for seokmin. on top of that, he had developed a huge headache just an hour into leaving home. he was also nursing an old ankle injury he had neglected to get treated, which was now acting up due to his fall earlier that day.

his ankle injury led to a few performance team members snapping at him due to his lack in performance. he knew in his heart of hearts that it was just a stressful day for them all (and that his own attitude had been snappy thus far), but he couldnt bring himself to reason this, making him snap right back at his members. even upon going out to eat with his manager he bumped into some rude fans who had been a bit careless with his personal space, except this time he coupdnt react since he knew itd become a scandal.

halfway through his day seokmin realized how rude and unlike himself he had been acting. usually he'd be the mediator in any arguments among members, but today he had even joined in and worsened the situation. he also never really minded if fans were a little overexcited upon meeting him, simply chalking it up to the shock they felt at seeing him. except this time he found himself feeling annoyed? at it. this was very unlike him, but his mood simply continued to worsen throughout the day.

by the time he was heading back home, the final nail was hammered into the coffin. the van that usually drove him back and forth had broken down, causing seokmin, his driver and manager to have to stop on the side of a busy street to check on the issue. seokmin, of course, had to stay inside the van and not make his presence known, knowing he'd easily be recognized in the busy street. this was a fact that irritated him too for some reason.

by the end of it, it had taken over an hour to get the problem fixed, and he had no access to his phone to contact you and let you know that he'd be arriving home way later than usual.

that was the moment in which you entered his mind again. the thought of you instantly made him sigh in relief, knowing that soon enough he'd get to fall asleep in your arms and wake up to a better day.

it was 10:47 when he finally arrived back to your shared home, two hours after the usual time in which he'd reunite with you every day. upon walking in he was met with something he had not wanted to deal with after such an stressful day. you were there to greet him as per usual, but did not seem too happy to see him.

you opened your mouth before he could say anything.

"seokmin, what the hell? i called you twelve times. i even asked the members to call you and no response? what was so important that you ignored me all day?", you seemed very frustrated as you said it, clearly oblivious to the terrible day he'd just had.

"baby– "

"you said you'd be here for dinner by 8! what was so important you couldnt even give me a heads up? we rarely ever get to have dinner together. i spent hours cooking and getting ready and you just ditch me, and for what?", you continued to ramble, giving him no space to answer.

now, any other day seokmin wouldve maybe assumed that your outburst mightve been due to you having a bad day of your own. but today he was just too angry. there was no space in his mind for him to rationalize your lack of sympathy to him in this moment. despite knowing there was no way for you to know that his day had sucked, he also reasoned that you were not even giving him a chance to explain himself. this fact on its own finally did him in. you were going to be unreasonable? fine, then he was going to be mean. all frustrations from the day suddenly came together and manifested into the angry words that were about to leave his mouth.

"and– "

"god, can you please shut up?", he suddenly interrupted you with a tone so icy he even surprised himself, but he kept going regardless, "ive had such a horrible day, i dont appreciate coming home to your nagging. do you even care that maybe i had a reason for being late? i dont have to be here at eight on the dot every single night. nor do i have to keep you updated all day. god, please just leave me alone for today. i cant deal with you on top of everything else."

upon finishing his rambles, seokmin was out of breath. he hadnt said much, but the venom behind his words was enough to render him speechless. the moment the words left his mouth he felt the utmost regret. your face had gone from shocked to dejected to simply sad as he spoke. his went from frustrated to angry to regretful. the two of you stared at each other for a few seconds before seokmin tried to go and rectify himself.

"fuck, baby ... im so sorry, i dont know where that came from. i– i didnt mean any of that. i had a horrible day and– "

"is that it? it seemed like something you'd already thought about", it was now your turn to be angry, it seemed.

"no, baby, i swear! i was just trying to ... trying to be mean. i was trying to hurt your feelings. im so sorry. everything went wrong today and i was just so angry all day. i couldnt even call you because i broke my phone. see!", he pulled his phone out to show you, taking the opportunity to get closer to you, "i know its no justification, but i did not mean a single word i said. i love our nightly routine. i love coming home to you every day more than anything. please dont doubt that. i shouldntve taken out my anger on you. it will never happen again. please, please forgive me?", his endless ramble finally came to an end, puppy eyes staring into yours as he hoped you saw the sincerity in them.

halfway through his speech he had managed to make you give into him and let him hold you as he spoke. this simple act made him glad.

"minnie ... im sorry you had a bad day. but you should never speak to me like that. i love you, but i wont tolerate that. if something bothers you, you have to tell me, not blow up on me like– "

"no! nothing about you ever bothers me! i adore absolutely everything about our relationship and our routine. im so sorry. i shouldve told you when i came home that my day had put me in a mood instead of snapping at you like that."

you chuckled, "i cant really blame you. i threw accusations at you the moment you walked in. im sorry. can we call it even?"

"yes, angel. of course. im sorry i spoiled the dinner. wish i couldve seen how pretty you dressed up for me," he pouted at you.

"it's okay, minnie. there's always tomorrow. are you still feeling angry? did your ramble help you at least?", he winced at the mention of the disrespectful words he had just spoken mere minutes ago, but you seemed already unaffected by them.

to be quite honest, seokmin still felt peeved off at his day. from his fall, to his phone, to his members being mean and unreasonable, to then having his car fail and keep him from you, to then finally getting home and picking a fight with you, it was safe to say he was still dissatisfied. he needed something to relieve his stress, but he didnt want to put that onto you again.

"honestly? i still feel frustrated. it was just such a shitty day, i ... i dont know," he sighed, "i kinda feel like breaking something."

"how about me?", you sounded so genuine as you asked.

"huh?"

"yeah. you could use me to destress. right, minnie?", there wasnt even any lust behind your words. he could tell that it was simply you trying to help out your stressed boyfriend.

"d– do you mean be mean to you?"

you nodded, leaning closer to him as you smiled.

"yes, minnie. would that help? taking your frustrations out on me?"

he groaned with no response, choosing instead to pull you into a greedy and wanton kiss.

his hands were immediately rough as they desperately kneaded at every curve in your body, so harsh in their movements he was already sure he'd leave a bruise or two in his wake.

suddenly he pulled away to inquire at you.

"wait, baby. are you sure? i don't want to hurt you."

"you won't. you never would. do your worst, seokmin," and with that, you pulled him back to you to continue kissing.

surprisingly enough, the simple kissing on its own had begun to alleviate his mood a bit. being able to feel your whines as he fondled your body as he saw fit was already making him forget about his shitty day.

it didnt take long for him to drag you to your shared room and throw you on the bed, immediately going to rip your skimpy pajamas off so that he could have a full view of the body he was about to ram into the bed.

"oh, angel. you're so fucking beautiful ... gonna be so fucking mean to you, angel, im sorry," except he wasnt sorry. and both his tone of voice and devilish grin let you know of that fact.

you lay limp for him to take action, something which made him groan internally, knowing you were putting yourself fully at his disposition. he took advantage of this, choosing to undress himself and finally begin to hover over you.

immediately he flipped you around roughly, forcing you onto your elbow and knees as you gasped at the sudden movement. he fondled you some more and made it so you'd arch your back for him as much as physically possible.

he had no need to prepare neither you nor himself, as he was hard the moment you asked him to use you, and you were practically dripping at his rough attitude.

"baby, gonna fuck you now, yeah? let me know if it's too much."

you gave him the green light, leading him to immediately ramming into you with no further warning.

"f– fuck!"

"oh, fuck. feel so fucking good, beautiful. gonna fuck you so good ... gonna atone for every shitty thing that happened today ...", with that he began slamming into you with no mercy, drinking in every single scream you let out. he knew his neighbors might mind, but he didnt care for that right now. all he wanted was for you to crumble under him.

"you're such a good toy for me, angel. my pretty girl, letting me use her– fuck! ... however i see fit."

"m– minnie!"

"i know, beautiful, i know. such a pretty toy ..."

his movements only became harsher as he grew closer and closer to his end. he knew yours was coming too, based on the heightened pitch of your moans and the way you tried to push yourself back on him despite the sheer strength of his thrusts. it was impossible for him not to fall in love with how good you were for him. it was also impossible for him to be actually mean to you, choosing instead to praise you as your orgasm came to be.

"c– cum for me, beautiful. let me fill up your pretty cunt ..."

"yes, minnie! yours, all yours ..."

he didnt need more than that to fill you up, ramming against you one last time as he winced at the loud sound of his hips slamming against your ass. he swore he almost lost consciousness at the inexplicable pleasure he felt from cumming so deep inside you, hearing you slump over due to lack of energy.

your orgasms subsided together, leading seokmin to do quick work of your clean up and settling with you in the still half-messy bed, rushing to hold you in his arms, which was what he'd wanted since leaving home that morning.

"feel better?", you broke the silence.

"yeah, thanks angel," he grinned at you, giving you a quick peck.

"you weren't even mean to me!", you whined.

"it was hard, okay? i love you!"

"yeah, whatever ..."

"say it back!"

"ill think about it."

"baby!", this time he unglued your bodies, hovering over you as he tried to give you his, "you dont be mean!"

you giggled at him, giving in upon his sudden attack of kisses all over your face, "fine! i love you!"

he finally stopped, opting to cuddle into your side once more, "that's what i thought."

a/n: sorry the smut was too short idk how to write seokmin as mean 💔

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fangirl-dot-com · 6 months

Text

Chapter 3 - Head out the Window

After you were allowed to leave the building, you and Vito headed back to the hotel. Your heart was racing at what seemed to be a million miles per hour. You could barely focus on anything. The radio was too noisy, but not loud enough at the same time. The usual calming effect of the car was not doing its job. Your finger nails found solace in picking at the loose skin around your nails. You hadn’t even felt the car stop until Vito said it was time to get out.

Yet, when you looked up, the hotel building was nowhere in sight.

“Do you just plan to drop me off and see if I make it back to the hotel alive?” you quipped. He shook his head before gesturing to the small shop that stood in front of you. The big words Ice Cream stood out in the neon lighting.

“I thought a little celebration was due.” He shrugged his shoulders. On this inside, you were practically melting at the mention of ice cream. It had been entirely too long since you had some. Your diet always came first, but as of right now, you weren’t on one. Celebrations were in store. Yes, you had one more race weekend, but ice cream was more important.

You and Vito walked inside, a little bell announcing your presence. The worker behind the counter looked as though he didn’t even want to be there. But, he took your orders quickly and you both were in and out in less than 10 minutes.

Not wanting to get back into the car, you found a little table to sit at. Sure, the table and chairs were off balance and probably hadn’t been cleaned in years, but it worked for the time being.

“I still can’t believe you got chocolate of all flavors. It’s literally so basic,” you berated him as you licked at your own ice cream cone.

Vito gave you a look. “It is not. It is a classic. And says the one who got the most boring flavor of cookie dough with sprinkles.”

“At least it tastes good. Do you just like it or are you a picky eater?” You squinted your eyes and gave a smile. You thought you had gotten the last laugh as you got back to your ice cream. But a cold sensation on your nose startled you. Vito leaned back, laughing hysterically, while holding his ice cream that had a nose-shaped dent in it.

You couldn’t help but laugh with him too as you tried to shove your ice cream in his face. He was much quicker though and was able to evade your attacks.

Your breathes evened out a couple of minutes later, and a comfortable silence enveloped the two of you. Until you inhaled sharply.

“Why didn’t you tell me? About the contact.” You looked over, eyes boring into his. You wanted the truth and not some half-assed answers. But, you knew that he wouldn’t do that. Not about a discussion like this.

He finished his ice cream before answering.

“Because I know you. You would have driven yourself into the ground with training and overthinking if you had known there was a possibility that there might have been an offer.”

You did not answer, because you knew he was right. If there was even a slight glimmer of hope for a 2024 seat, it didn’t even have to be with a big team, you would have gotten stuck in your head. The overthinking would have taken over, and it might have cost you your championship.

“You’re one of the best drivers out there Y/n. You just need to realize that.” He put a hand on your shoulder as you turned to him.

“Thank you. Again, for everything. I hope you know that this means I’m not getting rid of you.” You shone a smile at him. You couldn’t image a life without him. He was there for you for all of your accomplishments. What you didn’t know is that he felt the same way. Vito always thought that you were the daughter he never got. And he was thankful for you as well.

“Never kid, never.”

Your ice cream had dripped all over your hand by now. Sighing, you tried to clean up the mess. Soon enough, your ice cream and cone were gone.

Vito looked over to you, “We better head back to the hotel. You have a couple of busy days coming up.”

You only nodded as you used stood from the outside chair, the metal scraping against the concrete.

“When do you think I’ll get to meet them?” you ask as you climb back into the car.

“Meet who kid?” Vito responded as the car came to life. You quickly put on your seatbelt before he carefully pulled out of the parking spot.

“You know…Max and Checo?” You nervously twirled your fingers. What would they think of you? You know that Checo wouldn’t have much thought, or would he – since you were the one taking his seat. Maybe he thought that Red Bull could have chosen better.

Max was who you were most nervous about. His teammate would no longer be older than him, or have more experience. He would be paired with a rookie, in both experience and age. Six years younger and no previous chances in Formula 1. And to put a cherry on top, a female. All that he knew in a teammate, would be gone and reconstructed.

“They’re both nice. I don’t think you’ll have any problems with either of them kid.”

“Will I have to call Max, Mr. Verstappen? Since he’s older and such.”

Vito let out a giant laugh, shoulders shaking as he pulled up to a red light. The bright crimson shone on two of you.

Once he had stopped laughing, Vito was able to say, “No kid. I don’t think so.”

You sighed in relief. They were older yes, but not that much older. Oscar was only two years older than you. However, you might have to call Fernando Mr. Alonso. The age gap was considerably larger.

Would you even make friends on the grid? Or would they avoid you to stay out of the media. You bet that the moment you’re seen with one of them, dating rumors would spread. And you didn’t want to upset them, or the grid’s respective girlfriends. You shuddered at the thought.

The rest of the drive was silent. You figured that tomorrow would go well. You would be fitted for a Red Bull suit and would be given the green light to drive your first F1 car.

The first.

It had a nice ring to it.

The drive continued on for a bit. You leaned up and pressed the power button for the radio. The distinct sound of “What Makes You Beautiful” filled the vehicle. Your grin grew as you started to sing the familiar lyrics. Vito smiled as well, more-so mouthing the words while you all but screeched.

“BABY YOU LIGHT UP MY WORLD LIKE NO BODY ELSE!,” you sang along with the well-known boy band. Your window suddenly was rolled down. You had the grand idea to stick your head out the window.

“YOU DON’T KNOW, OH-OH, THAT’S WHAT MAKES YOU BEAUTIFUL!” The wind picked up your hair and pushed it back into your face. Sure, it was now sticking to your lip gloss, but right now you didn’t care. Until you pulled up to another red light, and there were multiple guys in the car next to you. You flashed an embarrassed smile before clamoring back into the car. Your finger could not find the button for the window any faster.

Across from you, Vito had started laughing again with full body shakes. For the life of you, your window would not go up. Looking over, you could see Vito’s finger pressed down on the button for your window. You reached across the dash and swatted at his hand, desperately trying to get your window rolled up.

Finally, the tinted thing slowly but surely reached the top of the window. You looked over at Vito with a look of betrayal. You reach over and hit his shoulder. He, in comparison, is still shaking with laughter.

“You bitch!” you barely shouted, the words covered by giggles. Ok, it was kind of funny, but not really. “I literally just embarrassed myself in front of those boys.”

“They probably thought you were very pretty,” he said, snickering. You could only look in disbelief at your manager. You refused to look back over until you knew that the car had definitely passed. Your arms were crossed and lip in a pout for the remainder of the drive.

Vito looked over at you. “Don’t be like that kid. It was all in good fun.”

You mumbled back, “For you sure.” The pout however was relaxed and a grin replaced it. You couldn’t be mad at him for very long. It had been a while since you were allowed to have a bit of fun.

Winning races was fun, but that was your job, that took up most of your year and free time. You never noticed how far the drive way the first time. A yawn escaped your mouth and your hand quickly came up to cover it. You definitely needed to sleep well tonight.

Thankfully, the car came to a halt in front of the hotel. Vito turned to you as you unbuckled your seatbelt.

“You better get some good sleep. Tomorrow is going to be fun but exhausting.”

You mocked a salute and said, “Sir, yes sir. You have a good night as well. See you in the morning?”

“Yes, I will. Goodnight kid.”

“Night Vito.” You shut the door and watched as he went to park the car. Why he didn’t use the complementary valet, you hadn’t a clue. But that wasn’t your problem.

You were quickly let into the building once you scanned your card. The people at the front desk greeted you as you made your way to the elevator. It didn’t take long for it to ding, signaling your arrival to your floor. The pristine carpet led you to your white hotel room door.

Using the card again to get into the room, you opened the door once the lock had whirred.

The sight of your bed almost had you in tears. The stress of today was now hitting you as you walked to the bed. Following in George Russel’s F1 intro footsteps, you put your arms out and fell face first into the soft top blanket. You could have honestly fallen asleep here, but you knew you needed to take off your makeup first.

You let out a groan as your body protested moving. Your skin care and toiletries had already been set out, since you used them earlier to freshen up after the flight.

Deciding not to do every single step to your skin care routine, you took out the micellar water and a reusable cotton round. Once your makeup was off, you quickly washed your face and changed into some pajamas.

Funny enough, they consisted of some shorts and a Red Bull shirt that you had been given during Dams’ Christmas gift exchange. It had come from Ollie and Arthur both, but you knew that Arthur wouldn’t be caught buying anything with the RB logo on it.

Now he’d have to get used to it.

Oh my gosh. What would Arthur think.

Were you allowed to tell your best friend? You guessed that he could find out early, but you didn’t want to get in trouble for anything just yet. He could find out with the rest of the world. Maybe you could ask Christian if you could tell him the night you posted something before Red Bull came out with an official statement.

Before bed, you found yourself scrolling through Twitter and Instagram. A couple of posts made you laugh out loud. You caught your finger hovering over some posts that talked about “connecting the dots” that were scarily accurate. What you would give to like at least one to send Twitter into a frenzy. But, you withdrew your finger and decided to jump onto TikTok.

A few videos made you chuckle. Especially the McLaren one of Lando and Oscar trying to build card houses. Lando’s goggles were hilarious.

To think that in a couple of months, they would be your “co-workers.” That was terrifying. At least you had met Charles a couple of times through Arthur. He was…nice. You hadn’t really spoken to him much the last time you saw him at Arthur’s birthday party. If anything, you think you might have said a maximum of 10 words to him the entire night.

But that was a start.

You eventually scrolled through almost all of the new posts. Looking over, you noticed that the clock read 12:30 a.m. Quickly, you set an alarm for the next morning before putting your phone on the charger.

Vito would kill you in the morning if you hadn’t slept well. You closed your eyes and fell asleep, dreaming of the life you were able to be thrown into.

At least you could get a red bull if you were tired.

(Your story)

(Vito's story [I know it'd be impossible to take this picture if he was driving but just imagine :)] )

Tag List : @awekbachira @lightdragonrayne

#charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x driver!reader #max verstappen x reader #platonic grid x reader #arthur leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #formula 1 x you #ollie bearman x reader #lando norris x reader #oscar piastri x reader #logan sargeant x reader #alex albon x reader #george russell x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #formula 1 x reader

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buckymorelikefuckme · 1 year

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pluvious

bucky barnes x reader

words: 912

warnings: **18+ ONLY** smüt, clothed s*ex, unprotected s*ex (don't do that), creampie.

a/n: i finally have some bucky spice on this blog!! praise be! any and all mistakes are mine. feedback is encouraged & appreciated ♡

What started out as an innocent lunch date had rapidly taken a turn neither you nor Bucky expected.

He'd driven you out to a beautiful piece of land with a small pond and trees surrounding it. The area was secluded, the only sound that of birds and other wildlife chittering about. Bucky laid out a thin blanket for the two of you to sit on, placing a basket filled with tea sandwiches and fruit in one corner.

It didn't take long for the act of feeding each other to light flames of desire. You were on your back with Bucky on top of you before you even realized it.

The skies had been overcast all morning, but you hadn't thought anything of it. When you felt the first raindrop on your cheek, you startled a little. Bucky pulled away from where he was sucking a bruise on your collarbone and raised a questioning eyebrow at you.

You opened your mouth to explain, but suddenly a downpour began. You shared a brief, surprised silence with Bucky, and then you were both rushing to gather your things and making a mad dash for his car. By the time you made it there, you were soaked to the bone, giggling as he fumbled to unlock the doors.

He made quick work of tossing the basket into the floorboard, rounding the car to the back so he could open the hatch and lower the seats until they were flat. He spread out the damp quilt you were previously sitting on and gestured for you to climb in. You hadn't stopped smiling the whole time.

“Never a dull moment with you, is it?” you giggled, settling on your back as Bucky followed with a matching grin. “It's always gotta be an adventure.”

“Of course! Have to make sure I keep you on your toes, make things interesting so you’ll stick around,” he replied with a wink.

It was easy to pick up where you'd left off. Bucky kissed you, slow and sensual, so good it had your toes curling. You thanked your lucky stars you'd chosen to wear a flowy skirt, because when he attempted to undress you and himself, he'd grunted in frustration. Your sodden clothes were sticking to your skin stubbornly.

He'd settled for pushing your shirt up as high as it could go and gave the same treatment for your skirt. He nearly ripped his own shirt in his haste to remove it and you laughed when he finally freed himself of it, chucking it to the side as he hastily unzipped his jeans. He definitely wouldn't have had luck taking those off all the way, so they were shoved halfway down his thighs, along with his underwear.

He wrapped his hand around his cock, giving it a few strokes to ease the tension, then reached to slide your panties to the side so he could sink two fingers into your warm pussy.

“F-Fuck,” you gasped, legs falling open as you welcomed him in.

Only a few minutes passed with him fucking his fingers into you before you got impatient.

“Bucky, please, just fuck me,” you begged.

He didn't even try to argue. He used your wetness to lube up his cock a bit, shuffling forward to line himself up and thrusting into you, wasting no time at all.

Your moans were almost drowned out by the sound of the rain, especially since he left the hatch open. Almost, but not quite. Instead, your soft sighs, calls of his name like a prayer, and lust-filled groans mixed with the rain like a symphony in perfect harmony.

Bucky’s hips pistoned into you in the best way. His cock filled you to your absolute limit, stretching you deliciously, hitting all the right places. You grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down to you. He rested his weight on his elbows, his hands gently pushing your wet hair off your face. He cradled your cheeks as he leaned in and kissed you, exhaling in bliss when your tongue met his. Your hands slid across the slippery skin of his back, desperate to just touch and feel and be as close as possible. You locked your ankles around him and held on.

“Fuck, baby. You're so tight, so warm,” he moaned, thrusting faster, harder.

You keened. “Just for you, Buck. Only for you. No one else. Never want anyone else.”

With a growl, Bucky began fucking you brutally, loving the way you cried out, voice cracking. You could feel the car shaking with his violent thrusts and the thought made you whine, had heat creeping up your neck. If anyone happened upon this area, not only would they be able to see the movement of the car, but they'd hear how good Bucky was fucking you.

“This pussy is mine,” he swore.

“Yes, yes, it's yours, I’m yours,” you agreed quickly.

He licked his thumb then brought it down to your swollen clit. You exclaimed his name, clenching around his cock as your orgasm hit you without warning. You whimpered, whined, riding out the pure ecstasy racing through your veins. Bucky thrusted a few more times before stilling, groaning deeply as he emptied himself inside you.

The rain continued pouring as you both breathed heavily in each other’s space. Bucky trailed soft kisses up your neck, mumbling praises that had you smiling bashfully.

It wasn't the original plan for the day, yet it turned out better. Much better.

#avengers fic #marvel fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you

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absolutelyhugh3s · 8 months

Text

michigan maize | ee73

ethan edwards x reader!

more loosely based song fics!! this one is tennessee orange by megan moroney

thank you guys so so much for all the love and support on forever and ever!!! y’all seriously don’t understand how much it means to me!! i love every single one of you <33

word count: 1.13k (not my gif!)

“hi munchkin! how are you doing?” my mothers honey-like voice filled my ears as she answered my call.

oh god, i'm really doing this.

“hi mama” i smiled even though she couldn’t see me “im good”

“i've got some news” i said nervously, clenching the comforter of my bed in my fist.

“oh honey is everything alright?” her slight chicago accent peaking through.

“dont worry im doing okay, just please dont tell dad?” i pleaded with my mother.

“y/n did something happen?” she asked worriedly.

“yes mama. he’ll blow a fuse if he found out” my father wasn’t big on me going to the umich. being the coach of msu hockey, he wanted me to go there.

but when i received an amazing scholarship to play lacrosse, i had to take it.

the first thing he told me when i left for school was “don't run off with any of those hockey boys y/n, they are very bad news.”

well, he’s clearly never met ethan.

“i know you raised me to know right from wrong, but god he makes it so hard” i chuckle “he?” my mother questions.

“i met somebody mama, hes brunette, and he's got these big brown eyes, and he opens the door for me everywhere i go!”

ethan and y/n go on small date’s every wednesday night. its an awkward time for some, but for them, its the only time in their busy schedules that they can be together.

today, their date night was dressing up super fancy (as barbie and ken of course) seeing the barbie movie, and eating at a small diner a few blocks from the movie theater.

ethan had planned out the entire thing and the couple had a blast. once ethan had driven her back to her on campus apartment, she thanked the older boy, kissed him goodbye and began to exit the car.

“WAIT” ethan yelled. he jumped up out of the drivers seat, exiting the car and running around to open his girlfriend’s car door. “ok now you can go” he smiled

the small action made the girl melt like a snowman in summer. the defenseman than sprinted to the main door of her apartment complex, opening that for her as well.

“m’lady” he held out a hand as y/n walked through the door a blushing mess. he than took her hand in his, interlocking their fingers, leading her up to her apartment.

though the action was so little, it made her fall in love with him more and more every day.

“he just makes me so happy! hes like perfectly perfect! god! i've never felt this way mama!” i ramble.

“hun” my mother chuckles. “whats his name?” i then realize i left out the most important part “ethan! ethan edwards! mama you would love him” i smiled.

“but back home id be sinning” the smile fades slightly from my face. “why is that dear?” it seems as though she could hear what was going though my mind.

“mama, hes got me wearing maize and blue for him” i sarcastically laughed.

“you should come to my game tomorrow” ethan said, running his hands through the ends of the y/h/c girls hair.

“the boys would love to see you, plus i get to have my own little good luck charm in the stands” the boy smiled like a small child at the girl laying on his chest.

“really?” she looked up at the brown haired boy with big doe eyes. “yes really” he grinned.

“here” he moved the smaller girl off of his chest to stand up from his bed.

he rummages through his closet, looking for a specific item of clothing.

suddenly a large yellow piece of fabric is thrown at her “you can even wear my jersey” he smiles.

the girl holds it up a large ‘edwards 73’ stares at her. “you know what e? i think i will”

“oh hes an athlete?” my mom says, surprised.

“yeah hekindasortamaybeplayshockey” i rush out, nervous of what my mother would say.

“im gonna need you to slow down y/n/n” she chuckles

“he plays hockey mama. he had me wearing his jersey at a msu game! of course i want the spartans to win but still! his smile! oh his smile! it makes me forget i look better in green!” i gush about my boyfriend.

“so thats why you didnt want your father to know” my mom teases, clearly finding enjoyment in this entire situation.

“oh please forgive me mama, i like him a lot” i beg “oh i think its a lot more than like sweetheart” my mom says. “what?”

“oh honey you are head over heels for ethan” she laughs “i've known for ten minutes and i can tell”

“oh god im in love with a wolverine!” i exclaim.

“babygirl its ok! the worlds not gonna end! growing up in chicago i said i would never date a red wings fan, guess what? i married one!” she laughs.

“so you’re not mad?” i asked hesitantly.

“of course not y/n! its my job as your mother to always be supportive of you” i could tell she was smiling though the phone.

i talked with my mother for a while longer about random stuff for about another half hour. “mama i have to go, ethan should be here in a few minutes” i say.

“alright sweetie, invite him home would ya?” my mother asks. “of course mama, i love you” “i love you too sweet girl, bye bye”

i clean things up for about ten minutes when i hear a knock at my apartment door.

“you can come in e!” i shout. “ok!” he shouts back before walking in.

i put the last few dishes in the cabinet when i feel two muscular arms snake around my waist and a face bury into the crook of my neck.

“hi baby” he mumbles, tightening his hold on my waist.

“hi e” i giggled. “guess what i did today” i added.

“hmm climbed mount everest?” “nope” “slayed a dragon?” “nope” “killed someone?” “god no!”

“i told my mom about us” i smiled. ethans parents have known for a few weeks now about us, but he didnt wanna push me to tell mine. he wanted me to be comfortable with doing it myself.

ethan spins me around, his hands steading my hips. “you did?” he smiles.

“i did” i mirror his smile. the much larger boy then pulls me into the tightest hug possible.

“im so proud of you baby” he says, kissing the crown of my head.

“i have a question though” i place my chin on his sternum so im looking up at ethan. “whats up love?”

“what are you doing for spring break?”

#ethan edwards x reader #umich imagine #ethan edwards #ethan edwards imagine #ethan edwards x y/n #umich hockey

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dexlexia · 7 months

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in the car - gojo x reader

pairing: satoru gojo x reader rating: 18+ summary: ”We'll take it slow.“ ”You're lying.“ tags: virgin!reader, pervert!gojo, he's obsessed with you too, masturbation in car

”We'll take it slow.“

”You're lying.“

Gojo smirked as he leaned in for another kiss. The date had gone smoothly, you questioned if it really happened or was just a dream. Gojo really did wine and dine you. He took you to a nice place in Shibuya, he ordered the nicest white wine available and watched you with a glint in those blue eyes as you enjoyed the food.

You knew what Gojo wanted, after almost ten dates you had yet to have sex. Gojo knew you were a virgin and he wanted to take pride in being your first time. But you wanted to make sure he was worthy to do so.

In all honesty, you weren't a prude or anything. You were just so busy that you never took the time to lose your virginity. But now as an adult, men like Gojo want the prize of being your first time. And if he was going to, he'd have to work for it.

He had just driven you home and was walking with you to the door. His hand just above your ass, as you walked he leaned down to press his nose against your neck. He could feel the tightness in his pants. He couldn't help it! His thoughts had been polluted by you, he was obsessed with you.

He wanted to be the only person you ever had sex with. Call him a possessive bastard but he wanted nothing more than to live that dream. He'd do anything to make it happen, even play along with your little cat and mouse. He'd get his way eventually.

”I'm not lying.“ He said as he kissed your hand before he pressed it to his face, ”I would be a great lover, c'mon. I want to know what my beauty feels like.“

You looked away and at your door for a moment, “you're such a fuck boy, Gojo.” You remarked, you had never really been showered this much by affection and love. But you weren't going to let yourself be fooled easily.

You heard stories about Gojo, the white haired sex devil. Some were rumors, others were true and you couldn't tell them apart. He was a horny bastard who wanted nothing more than to fuck you.

“No I'm not, I'm a true romantic.” He responded as he leaned in to kiss you. Both hands on your shoulder as he passionately made out with you. You moaned into the kiss.

You soon pulled away and looked up at him, ”Not tonight, Satoru. You have a good night now.“ Then pecked him on the cheek before you went inside leaving him outside alone.

When the door closed in his face, he let out a pained groan. He adored you, was obsessed with you, but he wasn't too sure how much longer he could take without getting a sweet taste of your cunt. It was driving him mad!

He was painfully erect in his slacks as he hobbled back to his car to drive home. Every few steps he had to adjust his hard-on in his pants to make walking easier. But thoughts of you swirled in his mind.

You looked divine in that outfit, he wished he could've torn it off of you and fucked you in the foyer of your home. Or maybe you'd be able to make it to the couch. There was a lot that Gojo had in mind with you.

He wondered what noises you'd make as he entered his car. His cock painfully hard as he tried to get comfortable enough to drive home. He'd have to be semi-careful; he didn't want to bruise you during your first time.

But if you made the noises that he was envisioning then he'd really have to control himself. He knew that eventually you'd come into your own as a freak in the bedroom. Gojo would be more than happy to teach you all about how to give good head and how to orgasm every time he stuck his cock in you.

He knew you'd be a good girl for him, while you were assertive outside of the bedroom, he bet that you were a perfect little lamb between the sheets. You'd let him make you feel good, every orgasm was a reward for being a good girl.

But Gojo wasn't getting comfortable enough to drive him. He ended up undoing his belt and taking his cock out of his pants. He spit in his hand and started to stroke his length quickly.

He had to be fast.

”Fuck.“ The blue-eyed man huffed under his breath, he had to get some kind of friction on his cock or else he'd explode. He was thankful you lived in a quiet neighborhood.

He looked to your house and saw a light on upstairs, he started to imagine what you looked like without all those clothes on. Your beautiful body, he knew you'd be beautiful. With a gorgeous cunt to match.

He thought about diving in for the first time, the euphoria that would come with it as he watched your face contort as you lost your virginity. The thoughts made his heart race, oh how he wanted to be your first. And possibly your only partner, you'd only have eyes for his cock.

No one else.

He was possessive like that, he wanted to know that only he'd ever have sex with you. No other man would stick his filthy cock inside of you. You'd be Gojo's perfect girl, he wouldn't want any other woman either. He'd just want your sweet, sweet pussy over, and over again.

He grabbed his cock tighter as he thrusted up into his hand, he wanted you so badly. It was driving his crazy, he didn't know how much longer he could live like this..

He was a man without water, he was driven mad by the allure of your pussy. He wanted to get drunk off of it, he wanted it seated on his cock, on his face, every single way he could get a hold of it!

He groaned, his face felt warm as he feverishly stroked his length. He was driven to madness by this, so much so he was masturbating in his car like a pervert. His cock twitched in his palm as he continued to stroke it.

He bit back a moan as he leaned back a little in his driver's seat. He continued to pleasure himself as he felt the orgasm approach. He really was down bad for you, he wanted you so badly. He wanted nothing more than to feel your bare body against him.

He knew he'd make you feel so good. He'd make you orgasm so many times, he had done it to so many women. He wanted to ruin your virginity and make you obsessed with him as he was you.

He grit his teeth as he continued to thrust up into his hand, even spitting more into his palm to get an easier thrust. He stomach clenched at the feeling that he'd be orgasming soon.

A groan slipped out from his lips as he felt the rush of pleasure through his body. He panted wildly in his warm car as he felt himself on the edge of pleasure. It was a great feeling, but not as great as being able to plow his cock into you.

”Fuck, fuck!“ He groaned to himself as his movements were fast. He bit back a louder groan as his entire body went stiff as he came around his hand. Cum gushed out everywhere including his hand, slacks and even the steering wheel.

He panted, ”Holy shit.” He relaxed against the seat as he grabbed napkins from the cup holder to wipe down everything. He knew he'd have a sticky hand the entire drive home.

His head still felt in a rush as he tried to clean himself up. Eventually he got as clean as he could and put his cock back into his pants. It was tender as he tucked it back in.

”Soon.“ He promised himself. Then his phone rang. He grabbed it and he looked at the text, it was from you.

'You know, Gojo.' It read, 'If you're going to be so desperate, then just come in and I can make you feel better than whatever you're doing out there' and it was signed off with a heart.

Gojo's blue eyes went wide as he looked at the text message. His cheeks grew warmer but he didn't want to miss the opportunity so he got out of the car and raced to your home. His heart was hammering in his chest.

He was finally getting what he wanted. He ws going to fuck your sweet pussy, and all it took was to be a pathetic pervert jerking off in his car. And if that was all it took to go down on you then he'd be more than happy to take it.

#dexlexia writes #jjk x reader #reader insert #anime x reader #jjk smut #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #satoru gojō x reader #gojo x female reader #gojo my beloved #satoru gojo #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojou x reader

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piratefishmama · 5 months

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Fake it till you Make it | Part 20

So now, he was sat in a car, with a rich older man.

To some little queer boys, this would be a dream come true, especially since the older man wasn’t half bad in terms of looks, that all American square jaw, strong nose, the works. Plus… rich.

But this wasn’t a rich older man whisking him away, no, this was Steve Harrington’s regularly absent father taking him grocery shopping.

It’d been a wild day.

“So…” Eddie didn’t do well with silence. Silence never sat right with him. Had to fill it somehow, be it with silly noises, random singing, or conversation with any person in his vicinity. “They uhm, they do that often?”

“It’s a family thing, I think we’re all as bad as each other.” At least he was self-aware, the eldest Harrington still watching the road as they drove through the small town, he knew where he was going though, each turn done as if he’d driven the route enough to do it blindfolded. “Lynda’s a lawyer so, that should explain that” loved being right, it was her job to be right, even if she was actually wrong, she had to make out like she was right and she did it well. “I’m a middle child” explained both everything and nothing at all, “and Steven… I think he got a little bit of both of us. I’d have thought you’d be used to that though, since you’re dating him.”

“Ah-haha, I mean… don’t get me wrong, I’ve always known about Steve’s uhm… how to phrase this… mean girl streak?” John snorted a little laugh, emboldened, Eddie continued, “he’s like everyone’s disappointed mother, always with the little—” Eddie shifted in his seat, just about managing to put his hands on his hips and cock them weirdly in place “pose that he does when he’s oh so very disappointed in you. I used to thrive on it back in high school, whenever he’d catch Tommy H or the other basketball goons bullying the kids, he’d just stand there like he’d caught his kids with their hands in the cookie jar, an they’d actually just… cower, like he could actually do anything to them. It was the funniest shit I’d ever seen.”

It'd actually been quite the surprise when that’d happened the first time, it didn’t happen often, Steve had been a douchebag, not the ‘shove your head in a toilet’ kind of douchebag, or the ‘shove Gareth in a locker’ kind of douchebag.

No, he was the mega bitch douchebag who could flash a smile and drop every set of panties in his immediate vicinity, he was the douchebag who KNEW he could do that. Who carried himself high with the knowledge, lording it over everyone without… ever actually lording it, it was a presence kind of thing. An attitude.

And maybe, occasionally, he’d have been the douchebag who didn’t really see anyone unless he wanted to see them, didnt really pay any attention to those not on his radar, those not in his friend group, which led to many an accidental shoulder check, which had in turn led to Eddie’s own personal little vendetta because he’d lost one of his prized mini figs to the underside of the Hawkins High trophy case when Steve had walked by a little too close and shoved him just hard enough to send Eddie’s shit flying.

Had just kept walking as if he hadn’t even seen him. Asshole.

It was only when he’d first been seen hanging around Wheeler that his personality had shifted toward something reasonably human. Thanks Wheeler, the sacrifice of your time and patience hath created a god among men.

“So he was never… bad then?”

“Nah” no sense bad mouthing the boyfriend, that wouldn’t get him anywhere. “Real Prince Charming in a perfectly pressed polo shirt. He’s amazing, sir… you have nothing to worry about with Steve, he’s… one in a million.” Now anyway.

“Good. Good.” And then he fell silent, the quiet stretch lasting nearly five minutes with only the faint music playing on low volume from the radio to fill that silence, until the eldest Harrington pulled the car into a quiet carpark, and parked. “Here we are!” Oh thank Christ.

“We can't keep doing this.” Steve was the first one to speak up during their mutual living room silent treatment, finally looking at this mother after nearly an hour of watching a gentle snowfall that’d started outside. He hoped it wouldn't get heavier before Eddie got back.

“I have no idea what you—”

“Mom.” Steve cut her off, his eyes sharp and tone firm. “We can’t keep doing this. This bickering, this who’s right who’s wrong shit, we’ve gotta stop, at least here.” If not for their own sanity, but for the image he was giving Eddie of his family life.

Of what he might possibly maybe be getting himself into if Steve could actually swing a real relationship by the end of the week. The chances of him saying yes were already pretty farfetched, but if Steve’s parents were their worst selves…

Why would Eddie want to subject himself to that long term?

She paused, expression unreadable, something she’d mastered years ago for the court room, then she sighed. “I know, Steven.” She sighed heavily “Sometimes I forget that you’re a grown up now, that you can argue right back and actually stand your ground.” It only felt like yesterday when he was tugging uncomfortably at the little bowtie they used to make him wear for special occasions, all dressed up looking up at them with those big hazel eyes of his. His childhood only felt like yesterday. “I miss when you were cute and just did as you were told” she sniffled. Back when his parents had been there regularly before their duties had pulled them away. Before distance had strained them and they missed everything. Steve rolled his eyes but said nothing as his mother continued “Anyway, i agree. I think I’d prefer it if Eddie didn’t go away from this trip thinking John to be the most mature of us.”

“God, could you imagine?” Steve shook his head to free himself of the truly harrowing thought, allowing the subject to change. “I really like him, Mom... I didn’t expect to at first, not enough to want something long term with him anyway...” He’d thought it’d be easy to just pretend with him at first, but Eddie just had this... thing about him, Steve didn’t really know how to explain it, he just felt like home. Maybe it should have been alarming as to how fast that’d happened but... Steve had always rushed into things, funnily enough he didn’t think Eddie minded. “So I’d really like it if he liked all of us by the end of this, an if he only likes Dad cause of our bullshit, I think I might just disown the both of you.” The last part said in jest but... god he’d never let it go.

He’d lockjaw it until the end of time, would take it out on special occasions and shake it in their faces like look what you did. Look at what you cost me.

“Honestly, sweetheart I think I’d disown myself.” Lynda laughed, the air finally lightening up a little between them. “Here, how about we go see if the maintenance men pilfered the wine cellar? I’m positive Mags was hiding a damn good red down there among the cabernet that I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t want to go to waste...”

“Well... we probably should check it... just in case, y’know? For security reasons.” Not that he actually doubted the integrity of the maintenance crew, they’d been employees for years, they’d known his grandparents, had worked for them in their later years when time had started to catch up to them, and a steady gig passing through generations wasn’t something to scoff at.

“Security, absolutely.” But then, the contents of the wine cellar alone was probably worth more than the actual house, so… better double check.

For security reasons.

Part 22

#PirateWrites #FakeItTillYouMakeItFiclet #Steddie #No Upside Down AU #Fake Dating AU #Just what are Eddie and John going to come home to i wonder lmao

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elliespeach · 11 months

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no chances part five | ellie williams

pairing: ellie williams x afab reader synopsis: you and ellie are on rival volleyball teams and after letting your competitive nature get the better of both of you, tensions are high on and off the court. warnings: i keep forgetting to add to this that i am totally ditching the way the game is played like i am rlly making up my own rules, their teams have gone against no one else lol ITS FOR THE PLOT OKKKKK just pretend!! as always, explicit sexual descriptions, ellie gets head, reader gets mouth finger combo, kinda sex in public? they almost get caught but in a hot way, car sex, they smoke again but its brief, foul language, mean!ellie in this part, mean girls make an appearance, and angst :( authors note: sorry

today was the last game of the season, tensions were high as the buses rode into the parking lot. ellie was parked in the far corner as she always is, she watched diligently from her car as your team spilled out of the bus. chatting amongst yourselves and ellie spotted you in the crowd of people, smiling and passing jokes between teammates. even from so far away you could see her as you turned your head, the spot in the parking lot being all too familiar as of recently. your smile didn’t fade but it went from friendly to snarky really fast and before you could stare for too long, you returned your attention to your friends and went inside the building.

it had been almost nine weeks since ellie had driven you home, the coldness vanished into spring and with it the end of the volleyball season. your teammates have noticed a shift in you since that night in your dorm with ellie. the normal level of your competitiveness with her had risen to uncharted territory and ellie wasn’t one to back down. despite the screaming fits across the court, the very obviously personal plays against one another and the overall hatred you both had against each other, neither of you could keep yourselves away from the other. it had become a ritual for you two, verbally assaulting one another to the extremes and then somehow finding yourself in the bathroom with her, or in her car, on the rare occasion in either of your dorms.

regardless of both of you admitting that whatever it was that you felt for one another, it seemed like that conversation by her car never happened. or maybe it was just lust. maybe it was just a competitive fling. at least that’s what you told yourself, or she would have done something about her feelings by now, wouldn’t she?

that first game after the night in your dorm had been tantalizing in every way possible. ellie showed no mercy on the court, spiking the ball on you over and over again only for you to return the same energy. you two had always given each other stare downs through the white net, but now it was different. you mostly stared at her hands, the same hands that had been inside of you causing you to breathlessly say her name. they taunted you without her having to try, and ellie couldn’t stop seeing the doe eyes that stared into her while you rode her thigh. and it felt natural when she had pulled you into the bathroom when the game ended, locking the door behind her.

you had looked at her innocently, as if asking why she had brought you in there. she rolled her eyes before her hands found your hips, pulling you into her, and she spoke into your neck, “you look at me like that all game and think i won’t do anything about it?”

and that was only week one.

the next week had been a particularly rough game for ellie. your team had won and it wasn’t a close game by any means, leaving her frustrated with herself and you found her by her car smoking yet again. “licking your wounds?” you mocked, leaning against her car as she inhaled the smoke, a devilish smile on your face.

“yeah, whatever–” she tried to dismiss you, but you came up beside her. you took the joint from her fingers and she let you. you hit it slowly, not breaking eye contact as you did and suddenly her sullen demeanor shifted as she watched you. it wasn’t long before the joint was cast aside and you were in her backseat, slotted between her legs and pulling her shorts down. ellie cursed as your tongue made contact with her pussy, relieving her of any stress from the game. her hands tangled in your hair and rocking her lips to the movements of your tongue, she couldn’t help but succumb to your touch and let herself come undone as you pushed your fingers inside of her.

another week would go by, another frustrating game played and you made eye contact with her while she sipped on her water by the bench. your eyebrows raised and it was seconds before she was making her way to the bathroom down the hall, you followed behind only a minute later. she leaned against the wall opposite the door when you entered the room, letting the door swing shut behind you. you didn’t waste another second, your hands snaking around the back of her neck connecting your mouths for sloppy, desperate kisses. she had picked you up by your thighs, carrying you over and sitting you down on top of the sink and spreading your legs apart. her hand cupped your cunt through your shorts while she left wet kisses down your neck, all of her pent up desire for you spilling out.

you weren’t able to conceal how good it felt when her hand slipped under the hem of your shorts, finding how wet you had already become. a string of moans escaping you while she rubbed circles on your clit and it was music to her ears. she had removed her hand, pulled down your shorts and was nose deep in your cunt when a knock came from the bathroom door. she didn’t stop, even when one of your teammates called your name and you fought to sound coherent.

“the buses are leaving, are you coming?” ellie smirked at the words your teammates had used as you caught your breath, gripping the counter you sat on to ground yourself the best you could.

“i’ll g-get a r-ride!” you had yelled back, eyes rolling and just wishing they would leave already, but they continued to speak through the door as ellie’s tongue was bringing you closer and closer.

“are you sure?”

without taking her mouth off of your throbbing clit, ellie slid her finger into you, causing your breathing to hitch and an embarrassing squeak came out of your mouth. “y-yeah–” was all you could say in response. ellie knew you’d have a hard time keeping quiet and it was all the more fun for her watching you squirm to remain silent while her fingers pulsed in and out of you. she brought her face back up to yours, still pumping like her life depended on it. she covered your mouth with her free hand, just in case they were still waiting by the door.

“you can let it out now,” she whispered in your ear with a slight chuckle, feeling your cunt clench around her fingers. she knew your body all too well at this point and you groaned into her hand as you finished.

ellie knew that she was playing with fire, but in any context you clouded her mind so much that she indulged any chance she could. whether it was a good game or a bad one, she started to look forward to what happened after and not so much the games themselves. knowing that at the end of the night she would have you screaming her name with that desperate tone she loved so much. it consumed her, you consumed her. she didn’t want to think about how you felt about it, obviously she knew you liked it as much as she did but was it her? or how she made you feel?

she didn’t realize you were thinking about her as much as she was. the week feeling excruciatingly long before each game and in weak moments touching yourself to the thought of her, whispering her name to yourself as you would finish wishing it was her instead of yourself. but you both kept up the act of hating one another, to everyone around you and even between yourselves. teasing, mocking and yelling back and forth became a game. who could make the other more frustrated before the final whistle blew and then taking it out on each other after.

it had been nine weeks of fucking till you could barely walk and now it was all coming to an end and you found yourself dreading the game to come. you didn’t talk to her about it once, fearing if you did it would all come to a stop but now that the season was ending you couldn’t help but think about what was to happen. you strode into the gymnasium, your team buzzing with excitement but your eyes were glued to the doors.

the whistle indicating the start of the game rang in your ears, and ellie was nowhere to be seen. your eyes scanned over the faces of the people on the other side of the net and her auburn hair was missing from her usual spot in the back row. she was replaced by another teammate and your eyebrows furrowed together, biting your lip in thought. you recalled seeing her by her car in the parking lot, so where was she now?

deciding to just let it be, the game started. thanks to ellie’s absence, scoring points for your team was easy as the replacement libero had no idea how to counter your plays. it almost felt unfair. it felt like seconds had passed and the coaches called for a break, but when you looked at the clock it had been an hour and she still hadn’t shown her face. during the break, you left the gym to refill your water and were met with a few of ellie’s teammates.

“hey, where’s ellie?” you couldn’t stop yourself from asking but keeping your voice monotone, pressing your water into the fountain and letting it fill to the top.

a girl with short black hair turned around from her conversation, looking you up and down. “we thought you’d be happy she wasn’t here,” she spoke with a laugh, but not a friendly one.

the girl she was talking to chimed up from behind her with a nasty tone, “yeah, i mean it’s working in your favor isn’t it?” maybe ellie wasn’t the meanest person on her team.

you rolled your eyes while you capped your water bottle. a sigh left you a little harsher than need be before you started walking back to the gym, feeling embarrassed that you even asked. but as your hands met the metal of the gym doors, your head turned to the exit doors at the end of the hallway. it wouldn’t hurt to check, right?

backing up from the gym doors you made your way down the hallway. you could hear her teammates laughing as you did and it felt like they were laughing at you, so you rushed out of the doors before you could hear anything else. the spring air was refreshing and even though it was well past eight o’clock, the sun was just setting. your eyes immediately focused on the back corner of the lot and her car sat idle in it’s spot, although you couldn’t see her anywhere.

you lazily went down the steps and into the lot, following the breeze all the way to her car. as you approached it, you realized it was on, the gentle hum of the engine becoming louder the closer you got. coming up on the passenger side you could see her sitting in the driver's seat, staring blankly at the phone in her hand. confused, you tapped on her window lightly and she looked up from her phone. your hand gestured for her to roll down her window and ellie sighed deeply before obliging. the window came down slowly and she returned her focus to her phone, you didn’t want to look but your eyes had a mind of their own and you could see she was just scrolling through twitter.

“are you gonna come inside or…?” you asked, your hand gesturing for you.

she didn’t look up from her phone, “probably not–”

“why?”

“because.” she said matter-of-factly, her thumb swiping up on her feed. she wasn’t even reading it.

“my team is winning, you know,” you teased, leaning down and into her open window, your forearms pressing against the uncomfortable door. you didn’t know why, but you felt like she would be receptive to your teasing as she always is, but again she didn’t even look at you, “hello? earth to ellie?”

“good for you guys,” her tone was flat.

you scoffed, standing up straight and pulling at her door handle. the car door opened and you planted yourself in her passenger seat, pulling the door closed behind you with a slam. she finally looked up at you as your body turned to face hers. “the hell is wrong with you?”

“nothin’,” she said nonchalantly, returning her gaze to her phone. your eyes rolled and you reached over, plucking the phone from her hands and tossing it in the backseat. “the fuck?” she half yelled, looking into the back seat and seeing her phone fall to the floor with a thump.

“why aren’t you playing?” you inquired again, peering into her eyes as they returned to you.

ellie pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a deep breath, “i just don't want to, okay? go back inside.” what ellie didn’t want to admit was that she was paralyzed with the realization that the season was ending and along with it, the fucked up relationship you two had. all of her feelings she had repressed for months bubbling over but she threw aside any thought of asking you out. embarrassed with how many hateful words came out of her mouth directed at you, embarrassed that she had let it go this far to begin with and overall she felt like that would be the last thing you wanted; to be with her. childishly, she felt if she remained in her car nothing would end and it would be like this forever. but time doesn’t work like that.

your tongue poked your cheek as you thought about her words, not believing a single one of them. “and your scholarship?”

she sighed again, this time your name pouring out of her mouth along with it, “leave me alone, please.”

“ellie, just tell me–”

“oh my god, it’s you,” she finally admitted, remembering a similar conversation you both had at the beginning of the season and now realizing why you were so adamant on not talking about it.

“you’re skipping the last game because of me?” you asked, almost disappointed in her. ellie felt a wave of shame wash over her with your words and quickly returned to being defensive.

“you got your answer, now get out of my car–” she yelled, motioning for you to leave, looking right into your eyes. your own eyes widened just a bit, a burning sensation building in your chest with her tone. she hadn’t been this nasty with you in so long, you were able to handle anything she said to you during games but as of recently, she had never been this mean to you. your shocked silence filled her with regret but she had already gone too far so she doubled down. she yelled your name, “–get the fuck out!”

your hand reached for the handle while still holding her gaze and you fought back the tears that threatened to spill out. it was obvious that you were, ellie could see your breathing pattern dysregulating and your blinking had slowed but it was most obvious in your eyes as they glossed over from the wetness. she had never felt more guilty than right now watching as you turned to leave.

you opened the door, pulling yourself out of her car and made your voice sound normal even with the lump that settled in your throat,“i liked it better when we actually hated each other–” you slammed her door shut, not looking back while you walked back up to the building.

part six

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tag list: @robinismywife @gold-dustwomxn

#ellie williams #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fic #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams smut #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams angst #modern ellie williams

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nohoney · 4 months

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this is somewhat of a personal piece as i sometimes do struggle when the holidays come around but if you happen to resonate with it, i hope there’s some solace found in it

warnings: angsty with some fluff at the end

A plastic bag of leftover food sits by your legs, occasionally being caught by you when the car’s momentum has it almost toppling over. Not that anything inside would spill out—the Tupperware lids are properly secured and the top knot of the bag is tight. The car ride is quiet as you leave your parents house, not even with music playing. Not from the radio and not from the aux.

The last thing you want to listen to is Christmas music.

“We’re just gonna relax when we get home, alright baby?” Your boyfriend tells you softly, reaching one hand from the wheel to rest on your knee. He’s warm and his touch is comforting. “Everything is over now.”

“I know, Katsuki.”

But you cry anyway.

You try to hold it in at first but you’re sensitive this time of the year, more so than usual. The holidays haven’t been the same for you since you were 22 years old. That year was the toughest you had ever lived through and the holidays that year were supposed to remind you that despite it all, family and loved ones could come together.

Be merry, be cheery, show some spirit.

But your father had ruined that and you hadn’t been able to celebrate Christmas the same ever since. Even now, even as your parents’ home gets farther in the distance, you can’t helping thinking of your father’s anger that had flared and put an awkward bump in the festivities. And the party had moved on with hush whispers and feigning ignorance when he had emerged from the bedroom after stepping away to get space, and your mother had urged everyone to help themselves to dessert.

The Christmas presents sitting in the trunk didn’t matter to you, the leftover food made with your mother’s hard work and love didn’t matter anymore, and you just wanted to slip into bed and sleep until it was New Year’s.

Bakugou carries the presents and you carry the food, walking together in silence until the two of you are behind the front door of your home. Still you wait until you take off your shoes and put them away, you wait until your jacket is taken off, and you wait until the food is placed in the fridge to cry.

You want to tear down the Christmas tree and throw all the decorations into the garbage. It was only put up for formalities anyway, it’s not like you had the same amount of care for it in the last few years. But you try, you try despite the wounds you carry, you try even when the one person who had utterly ruined it before repeats his actions again.

It doesn’t seem to matter as you cry.

No matter the time of year, your father isn’t able to set aside his own temper. Holidays or birthdays or any celebration, he was never able to restrain himself or that anger of his.

“He always ruins things when he gets that way! He doesn’t care, he’s fucking selfish!” you cry into Bakugou’s holiday sweater, your hands grabbing fistfuls of red fabric at the back as you clutch him. His arms come around you, caging you into his body to hold you. There’s no words of reassurance he can offer—it’s best to let you cry and get it out of your system.

Although your father had done a decent job at raising you and putting a good head on your shoulders, you were still raised by an angry man in your house. You were sensitive to tempers and even the slightest change of tone, going into either the pleasing mode or ducking cover if the anger was too much to smooth over.

Knowing this about your father, Bakugou himself had learned to practice an immense amount of restraint to not get carelessly upset over insignificant things. At one point it had almost driven you to end it with him when he was failing his promises to get better. You were a child being raised by one angry person until you finally moved out to get away from it—you had no intention to have a similar dynamic in your romantic relationship as an adult.

Bakugou has always had a temper too, his annoyance flaring up so easily and he was quick to yell back then. He got it from his mom, but the difference was that his own mother had moments of anger and your father was just angry.

It’s scary to Bakugou how you go from crying into his chest to being able to calm down in just a mere manner of seconds. Like you put yourself on a timer to be upset and then you just shut it off. It’s something he’s told you to not do, that he thinks it’d be healthy for you to cry as long as you want instead of restricting yourself to a few minutes and move on. He figured out pretty quickly it must be how you grew up, to only allow yourself a small amount of time to feel hurt but pick yourself up to continue on without addressing what had caused it in the first place.

Sometimes you do address it, but it’s the kind of thing that takes time to heal and replace it with a healthier mindset.

You curl up on the couch, holding one of your stuffies in your arms and listlessly watch a Christmas film playing on the television. The presents from your parents remain wrapped still and under the tree. The hot chocolate Bakugou made for you is going cold but he doesn’t force you to finish it. A small bowl ramen is unfinished as well. He sits quietly with you, texting one of your friends about your condition. The friend offers their company in hopes of distracting you, but he tells them to enjoy the holiday and that he’ll take care of you.

He feels powerless when these moments happen, not knowing what to say or do for you. The thing that would heal you should come from your father, to hear a proper apology and promise to improve. But as you’ve told Bakugou before that you’ve been raised by a prideful man who very rarely makes apologies, and you weren’t expecting that to change at this point in your life.

It’s close to midnight, almost the end of Christmas, when Bakugou is pulling out the boxes to put away all the decor. He thinks that maybe it would help if he take everything down for you, to not have to sigh over the chore in the morning after the holiday you just had. But when you come out to find him and take him to bed, you ask what he’s doing.

“Taking down the decor. Just go sleep baby, I’ll do it.” He assures you, moving to where you are and to send you to bed with a kiss.

“It’s okay, leave it up.” You say to him, “I want it up, just for an extra day.”

“You sure?”

You nod your head and lean against him, your arms coming around in a loose hug that he returns tightly. “Let’s act like tomorrow is Christmas instead. I want a do-over.”

It’s an easy request, one that Bakugou is more than willing to work with.

So you wake up the next morning, asking for hot chocolate from him and actually finish the entire drink. The leftovers are warmed up in the microwave and you manage to eat a whole plate. You carefully open up the presents, your smile wavering a bit when you open the card attached from your parents, but they at least bought you something practical that your home needed. He watches as you manage to have a short phone call with your parents to thank them for the gifts, still not addressing what happened just yesterday and acting like it didn’t happen.

You don’t have the heart to confront it and maybe it’s going to remain that way forever. You don’t want it to control you either, to always give in to that familiar despair that’s been attached to this time of year. Maybe your father will still continue to be angry despite celebrations taking place or whatever season it is, it’s been that way all your life. There was just no helping it, only tolerating.

“Merry Christmas, Katsuki.”

And Bakugou doesn’t have all the right answers, all he can do is stand by you and be there when you need him. He knows that him just being here means more to you than you’re willing to admit.

“Merry Christmas baby.”

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou angst #bakugou fluff

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raapija · 11 months

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Käärijä's Veikkaus interview, 5.5.2023

Ten Questions For Käärijä

In this interview Vantaa's most famous bowl-cut Jere Pöyhönen tells, how he thinks about his Käärijä-named alter ego and why he would sometime want to "whack" Käärijä. Furthermore, he reveals his embarrassing vice - and reminds you that in every one of us there lives a tiny Jesus.

Q1: Why do you have such a funny haircut?

"When I was in junior high, I got a bowl-cut during a break. It was on a whim. There were us two boys, who did it, and we rocked with the bowl-cuts. I've always been whimsical, a guy, who is easy to provoke. I like to try things, and I've never really been embarrassed by anything. We had a few friend groups in Vantaa, with who I hung out with, and I was always the clown in the group. I like to make others laugh and I also like to laugh at myself. The others laughed with me, not at me - or that's atleast what I like to believe!"

Q2: So, Vantaa - you're a born and bred Vantaa-citizen. What does Vantaa mean to you?

"Quite a lot actually. I think that Vantaa is an under-dog kinda place. It reflected, for example, in hockey, which I used to play a lot. When we played against Espoo, it had emotion! The deal is, in fact, that Vantaa-people hate people from Espoo! [laughter] People from Vantaa are somehow more real than Espoo-citizens or people from Helsinki, more honest. If a Vantaa-person doesn't have money, then for fuck's sake they don't have money, they won't try to hide it, like Espoo-people do. Indeed, Vantaa is the place to be. Or at least the Tikkurila hoods, Myyrmäki on the other hand... We totally aren't any kind of a big and happy family in Vantaa. [laughter] East- and West-Vantaa are completely different things, kinda like the Bronx and Brooklyn. Actually I'm from Ruskeasanta, and for example Ruskeasanta's or 'Rusa' 's Shell (a gas station) has been a significant place in my life. We used to go there with friends on our mopeds and drink coffee and tea, fool around, bully vocational school students."

Q3: Wait a minute, you've gone to vocational school, too, but you aren't a student who drives around Tikkurila, around the local blocks?

"I haven't really driven there, maybe a couple times. But I haven't been serious about it in that way. I've never been a car-person, more of a moped-person, and that moped I liked more to tune and decorate, than to drive. I painted, tuned and tinkered with it. I, for example, melted Legos on the covering so I could get more plastic on them - no-one could ever guess, what color moped I'd come to school with."

"In my opinion, vocational school was more of a lifestyle than one going to vocational school. Students drove from gas station to gas station and went to Jumbo (a mall) with driving gloves on. I would rather stay at home to sleep and play Habbo Hotel. Sometimes I'd go to meets (meeting organized by youth to come show off their mopeds), and those were fun, but to those, too, we went with a few friends to laugh at the other dudes. [laughter] If I would now go to Rusa's Shell, I hope people would react to me positively. I'm still nevertheless on their side.

Q4: What kind of memories do you have from Vantaa's Tulisuudelma (a pub, restaurant and music venue)?

"There I didn't go a lot. I was more often at Porkku (Pormestari, a nightclub that has since closed). The few times I was at Tulisuudelma, I sang karaoke. Vesku's 'Hyvää Puuta', that was my favorite. But Porkku was, at least in my mind, Tikkurila's most popular bar. It was a bit like Pinkku (a restaurant called Pingviini), but the cooler guys went to Porkku. [laughter] Yeah, vocational school students went to Pinkku. It might be, that 'Cha Cha Cha' is about a night in Porkku. There I have my first bar-memories. It became my own little home, where all the friends in town came to."

"'Cha Cha Cha' represents dancing, and dancing represents freedom for me. That, that you have to be able to not be afraid to dance without thinking what the others think, even without drugs. You can see it as a drinking song also, I don't care about interpretations, but to me, it represents a lot more also. I want to encourage people to break free, because it's not about how well you can dance, it's about how you carry yourself. I'm not the most skilled singer, rapper or artist. But I believe in this thing, this madness, and I put 150 points on it. It creates the aesthetic, that he is just crazy and a star, even though really I'm just a regular dude from Vantaa."

Q5: The song lasts 2 minutes and 55 seconds. Because of those shy of a three minutes you'll soon go on a long trip abroad to perform. What does that feel like?

"As a thought it's damn crazy. How much work - hours, days, weeks, months - and then it's over. Those are probably my life's most important 2 minutes and 55 seconds. I think, that Käärijä is going on a little trip, does what he does best and it goes just the way it is meant to go. Everything doesn't even need to be so fucking thought out and perfect. It needs a bit of improv, my own style. Because I don't like to be bound."

Q6: You're a pop-star and many people have put a lot of money into your career. Isn't it inevitable, that in some way, you are bound?

"Yeah, that's exactly true. I've had had to work on that. I avoid it, when people tell me things and try to get me to do stuff, that I don't stand behind. It's been hard learning to say no, but it has been a necessary skill. Those people do see Käärijä as a product. It feels like a crazy thought - I'm like a walking billboard. But I'm a human and I have to do my own stuff, my own values, and not be with a note on my forehead saying 'buy this' or 'I'm selling this'."

"I've gone along with a couple things, but those have been the kind that benefit me. I want to rip out everything from those guys - the record label, ad-collabs and everything, and secure it that I'm not being fucked over. This is a rough business. People want a piece of Käärijä, which they can benefit from, so I have to be really alert. And not everything can be measured in wealth. For example, I've done stuff for charity."

Q7: Many of the stories about you are headlined "Jere from Vantaa", and that's the way you seem like: a nice basic dude. How does that nice basic dude handle all that hassle?

"At the beginning, not so well. I'm humble, and I still have a lot to learn about a certain type of roughness. You have to know your value and value yourself. Who am I, where do I belong, what do I want from life - I think about these and develop all the time. But it's not easy when the big bosses come to say how things are. Then you just have to stay tough and argue against them."

"The piss hasn't got up to my head, because I'm not 20 anymore. If all this had happened at that age, I would most definitely be an asshole. I can differentiate Jere from Käärijä. If on the streets someone films me, or someone sends me suggestive messages on instagram, I know that those are meant for Käärijä, not Jere. They don't really even know Jere, in a way."

"Jere sometimes wonders on red carpets abroad 'why am I here?'. It sometimes feels like a ridiculous circus show - even though I obviously enjoy it and value it. Byt my morals lie elsewhere. I don't appreciate people if they have some great job and money, that doesn't interest me at all. People shouldn't be seen as products, but people should be seen as people and appreciated the way they are. That's why it feels so weird when people go nuts sometimes about this Käärijä-thing, start to cry when they see me. In Madrid one guy fainted because they saw me! It was at the same time like wow, we had created something that had caused this kind of a reaction. But at the same time I think 'what the fuck just happened to you?'."

Q8: What sort of a relationship does Jere have with Käärijä?

"A really good one, mainly. We have a lot in common. In a way I'm a Käärijä-fan because I have to like the thing I'm doing, and in my mind we're making the best shit in Finland ever. But sometimes, when there's so much of this Käärijä-stuff, I'd like to whack that Käärijä: every time I come home and look in the mirror, there that bowl-cut is. Then I miss it, when I could go as Jere to the shop and be Jere to the people and not everyone would circle around Käärijä: how are you, how are you managing, how's the gigs, how's the music - fuck it. Let's talk about the weather!"

"Käärijä is also an armor. If someone asks to put on the bolero and go lay around for those photos, Käärijä will do it. Jere might not. With Käärijä I'm able and not afraid to do things. But the way that everyone right now wants to benefit from Käärijä, is of course sometimes heavy - and that's Käärijä's fault! He fucking did it! [laughter]"

Q9: If you could choose anyone to go in a sauna with, living or dead, who would you choose?

"That's a tough one. I'm a fan of Rammstein like crazy and I can relate to (the singer) Till Lindeman. But they say he's a really stiff guy. We probably wouldn't have a lot of conversation in the sauna..."

"If Jesus is really a real person in history, I'd maybe choose Jesus. I'd like to discuss with him: what all did he do, what kind of a guy he was. I'm really interested in that. Was he a regular fellow like all the rest of us?"

"I believe, that in all of us, there lives a tiny Jesus. I mean that I don't believe we're just a brain and a lump of meat. We're so much more. I don't necessarily mean supernatural things, but that there's something else, something that we can't reach with our level of consciousness. I don't believe in coincidences. There's always a reason why things go this or that way."

Q10: Do you have some secret or habit that you're embarrassed about so much that you wouldn't want to tell of it to anyone?

"I don't really have skeletons in my closet like that... Well, this is a bit dumb, but the thing that I'm sometimes afraid to do, is: I like to put ketchup on everything. I put ketchup in meat soup, too. Once I was in a fancy steak restaurant, a great steak in front of me, and I thought, damn I'd kill for some ketchup now. But there were people around, certain type of steak enthusiasts, that I couldn't do it, because people would've judged it really hard. Yeah, maybe it's about being from Vantaa! [laughter]"

Käärijä's make-up and hair: Tiia Loikkanen

Photography digitech: Pauli Boström

Photography: Ville Malja

Original writer: Jose Riikonen

#käärijä #jere pöyhönen #translation #text

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mvltisstuff · 11 months

Text

how to disappear - e.b

summary: after a series of tragic losses, y/n’s bright mood begins to disappear. so buck and the 118 try to bring it back

evan buckley x reader

this lowkey broke my heart a bit 🥲 i am def not the biggest fan of this, it was just rushed but i hope you still enjoy, leave any requests you’d like i’m in a big 911 writing era :)

10 minutes of cpr on the way to the hospital, rapid beeping on the machine, blood on the ground. hen places a soft hand on y/n’s arm, and pulls it away from the patients body. “y/n,” she says, making pitying eye contact with her. “time of death, 14:36.”

y/n sits back with a brush to her hairline with the heel of her palm and a sigh. she looks down at her hands and uniform, covered in a man’s blood. a son, a friend, and she feels like she just took that from him.

it’s been person after person, it feels. like she’s failing at her job and is failing all these people. she wants to scream. a few days before, she had lost a girl, new to adulthood, who had driven her car off the side of the road due to a drunk driver. her best friend, watching from the side and being held back by bobby and athena, was wailing in agony from watching the life escape her soul sister.

that wasn’t the last time, it’s been a few. everyone tries to reassure her that she did everything she could, and she knows she did. but was it enough? y/n’s been quiet, not wanting to hurt anything else around her. she felt like everything was glass in her hands and she couldn’t help but drop it. her eyes were dry and red from the sleepless nights and tearful showers, and her arms were tired from the endless compressions and the feeling of being completely burnt out.

buck had recognized this feeling, they all had, but it hurt to see her beating herself up so much over it. y/n already felt ridiculous, as this is partially what she signed up for, and he didn’t want her to feel ashamed. the 118 has been assigned to a ton of casualties and bad accidents recently, but it seems like they’ve been piling up and she feels like it is a result of her work.

everyone knows y/n is great. she’s smart and careful in her work, always checking over herself and being gentle with everyone, young and old.

another quiet night at home, y/n picks around her food not being able to find her appetite. the screams of the friend from earlier rang in her ear and the flatline of machines were stinging her brain. the pounding headaches were washed away with another tylenol, as buck tries to start another conversation.

“so, um,” he starts, quietly. “eddie invited us over to dinner tomorrow, do you wanna go?”

he tells a white lie because buck sort of invited himself to dinner. he wants to help y/n, and make her feel better and know that there are people still alive from her rescues. “maybe, i’m not sure.” she says, not having the energy to go tomorrow as she wants to just come home and fight with her sleep again. buck nods, deciding not the fight it. his heart breaks seeing her in this condition, and it pains him even more to know she’s helped him in this situation. he’s had his own losses, and he so desperately tries to climb out of the pit it puts him on. y/n was always the hand, the ladder that he called to climb out. he wanted more than anything to be hers.

they don’t teach you in training how to deal with this. they warn you, surely, but you always try to sugarcoat it in your mind. however, the agonizing sobs and screams will wake you up at night. you remember the names, the family, the details, the autopsy, the medicine that was inserted. every small detail haunts you, until you learn to handle the pain. it never gets easier to lose someone on the job, but the embraces and relief from saving someone is an incredible feeling.

“i’m just going to head to bed,” y/n says, her voice cracking as it’s barely above a whisper. she walks over to buck, placing her plate in the dishwasher. “i’ll meet you upstairs, i’m going to shower first.”

buck nods and gives her a sweet smile that conceals a bit of pity. watching her smiles fade from feeling like she’s not good enough makes his heart skip a beat in the worst way.

a few days later, y/n stayed a little longer at work than buck did. maddie had asked him to watch jee-yun, and when y/n walked in, she saw buck playing with her in their living area. he has a bright smile on his face in response to the little words and babbles from jee. “hey, baby. wanna come join us in here?”

she had completely forgotten that they agreed to babysit. she sighed and mumbled at buck for a minute. “i, um, forgot we’re watching her.”

“it’s ok, we just got done pulling uncle bucks hair out,” he says, scooping jee up and blowing light kisses into her baby cheeks. “who’s that, jee? y/n’s home!”

y/n forces out a small grin, making the side of her mouth raise a bit. “sorry, guys. i was gonna call it an early night, it’s been a really long day.” she replies, because she has no more energy left to give. she feels like shit, leaving her boyfriend and his niece alone, who she adores completely. she doesn’t want to bother their time together.

“oh,” buck says, surprised. y/n never denies extra time with jee-yun, always begging maddie and chimney to bring her over for a bit. “i get it, honey. go lay down.” he says, the smile on his face growing again in attempts to make her feel more comfortable.

“thanks, buck.” y/n walks over to the two, leaving a kiss on bucks lips and one on jee’s forehead. when she walks away, stepping back up the stairs like her muscles are worn out, jee mumbles out the few letters of her name.

“i know, jee-yun,” buck says, comforting her. “she’ll be back soon, i hope.”

days pass and y/n’s brightness that comes into the room when she walks in still isn’t back. buck has tried to give her space, but also giving her the love she needs to feel better. sitting around the table, the team talks for a little.

“kid, something on your mind?” bobby asks, taking a bite of his breakfast while looking at a zoned-out buck.

“s-sorry, cap,” he stumbles over his words. “it’s y/n. i just feel so bad, i wish i could magically fix everything but…”

“it’s hard, she’s been really taking it on these calls.”

“i’m just worried, i don’t know how much more stress she can handle.”

“she’s tough,” eddie adds. “i think she just needs time.” buck nods, still feeling indifferent on the situation.

the alarm sounds later in the night, and they climb into the truck for the last call of the shift. they’re all tired, ready to go home, but also ready to face whatever battle the world has for them tonight. y/n rides in the back, glaring out the window. she listens intently to the instructions in her headphones, and they climb out of the truck.

they see yet another tragic incident on the side of the road, a massive delivery truck had been completely turned upside down with two people inside of it. they team had all sprint up the the flipped vehicle, getting on the ground to see the damage to their bodies. “hi, sir,” y/n says first. “can you tell me your name?”

“r-richard.”

“ok, richard, can you tell me if you feel this?” y/n applies pressure to his legs. he shakes his head, and begins to panic at the numbness in his lower half.

“it’s ok, stay still,” y/n reassures him. “we’re gonna help you. can you tell us your friends name?”

“his n-name- is tyler.” he answers. “am i going to die in here?”

“we are all here to help you, richard, you are in some of the best hands out there,” y/n stands up and faces hen and chimney. “we have numbness in his legs, passengers name is tyler.”

“got it,” chim says, jogging over to see his friends condition.

on the side, after excusing themselves, the team meets up. “driver is not looking good, cap. i think the damage was already done when we got on scene.” hen says.

“can we get the other person out safely?” bobby asks, hesitantly. they all nod, knowing what is going to have to happen. “he’s pinned under that seat, he doesn’t have enough time.”

“what? no, we have to get both of them out!” y/n interjects.

“we can’t, y/n. we have to keep richard comfortable while they work to get tyler out.”

“but-“

“there’s nothing we can do, y/n/n,” buck says, stepping in. “there’s nothing that can save him.”

y/n keeps her cool, just barely letting the pot boil over the edge. she walks back over to richard without any directions, but knows that she is the one to keep him comfortable. “this is it, huh?” he coughs a bit, blood pooling at the corner of his lips.

“you have a family, richard?” y/n asks, hoping to keep his mind off the pain that has already been minimized with morphine. no morphine in the world can save his family from the pain they’ll endure.

he nods, slowly. “i have three girls and two boy, and my beautiful wife.”

“wow, a full house, isn’t it?” y/n laughs.

“we have, two dogs too.”

“can i hear their names?”

“the girls are, layla, and she’s the oldest.” he starts, ready to take the time to explain his precious kids. tears are already forming in y/n’s eyes, and she’s relieved he is able to talk over her. “she’s so smart, she was valedictorian, jesus, i was so loud at graduation. and then there’s jake, he’s so amazing, he’s the sweetest kid. and then there’s makenna and sarah, they’re two little,” he pauses to take a few deeps breaths. “firecrackers. and then the youngest is nathan, and he is a r-replica of his mom.”

“what’s their mom like?” the drilling and buzzing from the other side is faint, the two’s thoughts being drowned out by the stories of his family.

“oh, she’s amazing,” he smiles, with red-stained teeth. “the- the most beautiful woman. you think i could call her?” her shaky hand reaches over to his phone that had fallen out of the truck and onto the top. she puts the phone up to his ear, holding it, as some more jargon about the rescued man comes through.

“h-hey honey!” he says, like it’s almost muscle memory. “i, uh, it’s ok, i just wanted to call and see how everything is.” he smiles at the chaos on the other side. “can you, uh, put me on speaker phone?”

the tears are falling down y/n’s face freely, as the sirens of the other ambulances are turned on to drive away with other paramedics. her breaths are shaky, and the team gathers behind them. glass cuts the skin on her knees, but she is not fazed by the feeling. the husband, son, father, says his final goodbyes to his family, and the final breath from his lips is stolen in a matter of seconds. one of the police officers leans down and takes the phone, speaking to the widow and her young family.

y/n places a few fingers on the side of his neck, feeling for a non-existent pulse. her voice cracks, and a few broken cries come out of her sad mind. “i’m so sorry, richard. i’m so, so sorry.” she repeats, over and over again before her boyfriend has to remove her from the nightmare. she yanks her gloves off and wipes the mix of blood from her hands, sweat, and tears off her face.

buck has never seen her breakdown like this, and it was honestly one of his biggest fears. he knew it was going to happen, he just hoped he would make her feel better before it did. “i really tried, buck, i did, i couldn’t keep him up…”

“i know, it’s not your fault. none of this has ever been your fault.”

as y/n’s pained thoughts surround her mind on the way back to the station, she climbs out of the truck and slowly walks back into the locker room. she ignores everyone around her. she tries to ignore everyone, but buck is too quick to understanding her that he is following right behind.

“let’s just go home, buck,” y/n says, her voice is raspy from the sobs and exhaustion.

“i need you to know that you are doing everything you can,” he says, stepping closer to her.

“i know, buck. i’m not doing this right now.”

“you are amazing at this y/n. it is not your fault. these people were doomed from the second they called into dispatch. if anything, you were there for them when we got there.”

“then why? why does this keep happening, buck? since you seem to have an answer for all of this why can’t you tell me that? why does it feel like it’s my fault?” she snaps, raising her voice with him near. she’s not yelling at him, more at herself.

“y/n, please,” buck whispers. “i don’t have the answer for everything. but i know for a fact that you are doing the best you can. and that is enough. and i will say it is enough for the rest of time until you believe me.”

y/n stops and stands still. she looks at him with sad eyes, her mouth opened lightly. she shrugs her shoulders and feels like every word is draining her from everything she has left. “i cant sleep without hearing them, buck.”

“oh, my god. baby,” he says, rushing over to her and pulling her in before her heartbroken knees gave out under her. his arms wrapped around her waist and sat her weak body down on the bench. he held her until she had nothing else to weep out. “let’s go home, love.”

several days later, and several shifts later, y/n had started to feel more normal. things had been looking up, but she was still dealing with the loss of her patients. it never would not bring her pain, each bruise would never heal, but she would rather not forget about them.

buck had taken her out of the house for a day, meeting up with everyone for dinner. they all had been supporting y/n in their own ways. spending time with her, listening to her, giving her advice, and just being there for her was the best they could do. they figured it would be good for her to spend time out of the firehouse and their small shared apartment.

her bubbly personality wasn’t back yet, as she still thought about the casualties consistently. they still haunted her dreams and lay in her brain. having buck there made everything easier. the way he cared for her and never judged her feelings had caused them appear more valid. having someone that understands you like that can open doors to new feelings so fast.

sitting around, they all talked for a bit as y/n still stayed quiet, her hand and bucks never unwinding. her grip on his soft hands has been still like they were stuck in cement. being able to listen to his voice and the casual meetings between everyone brought her back to reality.

“hi, sorry, excuse me?” a woman said, standing next to another one. she had a hearing aid in, and was doing sign language while making eye contact with y/n. “i had just recognized the whole team, and i remembered seeing you. i wish i could remember your name, but it must’ve gotten mixed up somewhere.” the lady signs, pointing at y/n. “you saved my life, you came right back into that building and i would not be here today. you saved me and my family. i wish i could give you all the world, but seeing your face still brings me comfort. so thank you, from the bottom of my heart.”

y/n was completely speechless. she had no idea what to say. her eyes were welling up again, but she blinked them back down and tried to force a few quiet words out. “of course, i’m so glad you remember me! that’s what i’m here for.”

her interpreter signs y/n’s words back to her, and she blows a quick kiss to y/n and walks away with a bright smile. y/n faces back around to buck, with a shocked smile on her face. it was bright, and it seemed like something that reminded her of all the good in this world that she has done.

buck knows that aside from a beautiful face, her soul had a wonderful outcome on the people around her. he wanted to give her everything and make her feeling like the most loved person on the planet. his admiration for her and complete head over heels mind brings him back to her hold every day, and he would spend the rest of his life being her hand to hold.

#911 #911onfox #bobby nash #eddie diaz #evan buck buckley x reader #evan buckley #evan buckley fanfic #evan buckley x reader #athena grant #henrietta wilson #howie han

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