#they're all memories n they're a part of me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

countcvnt · 2 months

Text

Experiment

Chapter One: Scrambled

[Poly!TF141/Fem!Reader]

Summary: Your memory is hazy, almost nonexistent, after being plucked out of a safe house and experimented on for months. When you're finally rescued you don't remember the people closest to you. Warnings: Canon Typical Violence (not much else this chapter), me using an english to scottish translator, not beta read Word Count: 3.3k A/N: Had this silly idea and turned it into a serious/angsty fic. I hope you all will like it as much as I do! Also, Reader has a call sign! It's Ace. If you prefer, you can read it here on AO3

Your eyes are heavy, your body burns, and you can't stop shaking. You aren't even sure of where you are. Your eyes are trained ahead of you, looking at what you assume is a two way mirror. A scientist is standing to the side of you messing with some needles and medicines. Your half lidded eyes cut towards him and you see a thick blue substance in a syringe.

“What's that?” You croak, voice hoarse.

“Hm?” The scientist doesn't even look at you, “curious now, are we?” He asks, pulling the syringe up and turning to you. He doesn't answer your question though, not in a way you would like. “We are about to figure out what this is.”

‘We’. Your stomach flips. He didn't even seem to know what it was. You accept your fate. You have from the very beginning. You don't know how long you've been part of this ‘program’, and to you, it didn't matter anymore. The only thing that matters is trying to get out alive. No one seemed to be coming for you. No one has in all of the days you've been hidden away. You didn't expect anyone to save you now. So, you had decided to save yourself. Figuring out how to do that was becoming difficult though.

You know that behind that two way mirror are a bunch of guards. You know they're heavily armed. You know, no matter what they have juiced you up with, you aren't beating a bunch of armed men. So, you sit idly. Letting them poke and prod and decide you are going to wait until the perfect opportunity shows itself. You just have to hold on until it does.

A loud alarm suddenly rings throughout the building and you cover your ears, flinching. The scientist seems more agitated than anything. He doesn't seem as bothered as you are, by any means.

“Guards!” He calls out, looking towards the large mirror. “Guards?” He questions.

He puts a finger up at you, asking for you to wait a minute. As if you have any other choice. A loud bang comes from outside the room and chills run up your spine. The guard walks towards the door and he peeks out. He quickly shuts and locks the door before returning back to you. He scurries over towards the metal stand beside your seat. He grabs the syringe and picks it up.

Something clicks in you. The alarms are still blaring and the guards seem to be gone to check it out. You watch as the syringe comes towards you, headed right for your neck. You move faster than you're used to, and grab the man’s hand and push him back. A lot harder than you had meant to. He slides back and hits the wall. The syringe does not leave his hand.

You rush towards the door. You wiggle the door knob and try to rip the door open. It doesn't budge. You turn your head back and see the scientist steadying himself. Fear kicks in.

“Help!” You scream, slamming your fists into the door. “Please, help me!”

“That was really stupid,” the man behind you says. “No one can hear you, no one is coming to save you. They haven't yet, have they?”

Tears prick your eyes. You turn back around and your back hits the door.

“Y'know, I'm going to be honest.” He stalks towards you. “I know they picked you because you're so… compliant. But really? I think that big guy with the mask would have been a better choice.”

That stings. “Who?”

“Which one?”

“Both.”

“You know I can't give out classified information. But if this works, I promise, you'll know everything. As for the other guy? I'm surprised you don't know who I'm talking about. But honestly, after all the brain scrambling you've had done to you, I understand how you don't remember him…”

You lose it. Something in you snaps. You lunge forward and grab the man. The both of you tussle briefly. Until you get him pinned. Your body slams into his and you hold him down. You raise your fist and bring it down, slamming it into his jaw. Screams, pleas fall from his lips. He's begging for you to quit. But you don't. You, at that moment, decide you are going to do that to every single person who has harmed you, who caused this.

The door behind you blows open, but you don't falter. Your fists continue to slam into the scientist’s face. Until you hear someone with a Scottish accent say your name. You freeze. You turn to find a man in the doorway, his eyes wide. You furrow your brows when he whispers your name again. You move to get up, without thinking about the man below you. You don't realize he's moving. His hand comes up and the needle is pressed into your neck. Whatever the liquid was is quickly administered into your bloodstream.

You hear your name again, louder this time, but you fall to the side, eyes too heavy to hold open. Your head slams into the now bloodied white tile and you're out.

So much for escaping. _____________________________________ You wake up to beeping. A sound you had grown accustomed to recently. You feel monitors hooked up to you, and an IV in your arm. You twitch ever so slightly, every muscle in your body contracting. And then it hits.

Anger.

Your eyes snap open. Your legs swing over the side of the bed. You rip every single monitor off of you, the IV flying across the room. The monitor begins to beep loudly and as you rush towards the door, exiting the isolated room, an alarm blares. You flinch momentarily, but do not let the sound stop you. You are looking for someone, anyone to give you a hint of what's going on. Nothing around you looks familiar. But from all the ‘brain scrambling’, that's normal. You're used to not knowing as much as you figure you used to.

A man in a bucket hat turns the corner, rushing towards what can only assume is you. You let out a low growl and begin to sprint. Your body slams into his and the both of you are sent sliding across the floor. You grab his vest and lower yourself to him, all of your weight holding him down. “Where the fuck am I?”

He's looking at you with confused eyes. He doesn't make any sudden movements. He immediately presents himself as a friend, not a threat. You squint and then see someone else coming around the corner.

“Price! Oh my-” the young man freezes. He says your name and your world is instantly rocked.

You haven't heard your name in god knows how long. The Scottish man had called out for you earlier, but before that? You really can't think of a time when someone had called you something other than some experiment number. “Who are you?” You hiss.

You feel the man under you tense up. He swallows hard and he says your name this time, slow and soft. He isn't showing any signs of wanting to throw you across the room or knock the shit out of you. You take it he isn't a threat and shift.

“You don't remember me?” The man in the ball cap asks, brows furrowed. “You don't remember us?”

Your heart jumps into your throat. You push yourself off of the man below you and you stand up. You brush yourself off and watch as he stands up. He radios someone to cut off the alarm and it's promptly stopped. You are thankful for that. You stand in the hall awkwardly and watch him and the other, younger man talk to each other with facial expressions.

“You're probably hungry,” the man in the bucket hat turns towards you, “how about we go get you some food?”

You aren't stupid, you know that also entails speaking with them about everything you just went through. Despite not wanting to talk, you nod. You are hungry and haven't had an actual meal in possibly months. The man reaches out to touch your lower back, to lead you to wherever he wants to go. You flinch away from him, everything in you tensing. You can tell it's a reflex. A habit. He's used to doing that. Your eyes scan him and you're searching your brain for everything, anything about him. But there's nothing.

“Sorry.” Is all he says. He leaves it at that. “Gaz,” he looks away from you and towards the other man. “Please go grab some food and meet us back at room 2B.”

“Yes, sir.”

The tension is palpable. You want to run. Fast. You can. You know you can. But something is keeping you tethered there. You follow a couple feet behind the man who had yet to introduce himself and keep thinking about ‘Gaz’. Your mind is reeling. You keep thinking about his name, his face, everything. You close your eyes tight and inhale sharply.

“Kyle.” It's all you say. It stops you dead in your tracks. Your eyes open and your breathing is heavy. “His name is Kyle.” Your breathing is suddenly ragged. You can't catch your breath and feel like everything is crumbling in on you. You fall to your knees and try to keep yourself from wailing. “I don't even know your name!” You whisper to keep yourself from sobbing. Your voice cracks.

“Price. John Price.” He drops in front of you. He reaches for your bicep. You don't flinch away this time. “Hey,” his voice is low, “look at me.” Your eyes cut up to him. “We're gonna help you through this. I promise.” You nod. You want to trust him. You need to. You feel like you can. You inhale slowly and Price helps you up. “We're going to go to room 2B, you're going to eat some breakfast, and we're going to ask you some questions.”

You nod and start following Price again. You make it to the room in silence and Price opens the door for you. You walk in and find four beige walls, a table, and four chairs. Nothing else. Until you look in the corner of the room and find a little camera. You lock onto it and squint.

“Why?” You point at it.

“Oh,” Price walks in and closes the door behind him, “it’s protocol. Security and all.”

“Fair enough.” You sit down at the table and look at the Price. “You gonna sit?”

Price holds onto his vest and leans against the table. “Not yet.”

You shrug. “Suit yourself.” Your stomach growls. You touch it through the thin white shirt you're wearing. “You think Gaz will be here soon?”

With that, a knock comes from the other side of the door. Two knocks, a pause, and another knock. Price opens the door and Gaz walks in. He has a tray filled with food and you are growing antsy. He sits across from you and slides the tray towards you. You try to not immediately dig in, but you can't help it. You grab a glazed donut first and begin to devour it.

“Oh,” you pause your munching, “thank you, Kyle.”

Gaz freezes. His eyes widen and he turns towards Price. It's your turn to freeze. You look up at him mid bite and blink. Gaz motions towards you and asks, “Did you tell her my name.”

“No.” Price shakes his head.

“You remembered?” Gaz seems ecstatic. “What else do you-”

“Nothing.” You snap. “I don't remember a damn thing.” You huff as you move onto the muffin on the tray. You unwrap it and begin to devour the sweet. “All I know,” You speak through bites, “is that I was locked up for God knows how long and they were experimenting on me-”

“Four months.” Gaz speaks quietly.

“Huh?” You question him. “How do you know?”

“We looked for you when you disappeared. It was four months ago when they got you. You really don’t remember anything?”

“Like I said,” You huff, “I just know they were juicing me up.” Before they can question you further, a light bulb goes off in your head. “Wait.” You squint at them, “The Scottish one. Where is he?”

They tense up. Gaz talks first, “You remember Soap?”

“Huh?” You cock your head. “Is that his name? He’s the one that found me. I assume he’s here. Or did he not…” You trail off.

“No, he’s here…” Price begins, “…We don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“Oh.” You shrug. “I guess that makes sense. How am I supposed to, uh, assimilate without being overwhelmed. I mean, why don’t we just rip that band aid off?”

“Trust me,” Price locks eyes with you, “we do not need to rip that band aid off right now.”

“Okay, okay,” You put your hands up. “Do you wanna ask your questions now?” _____________________________________ “This cannae be healthy,” Soap looks at Simon.

Simon shrugs, “Don’t care.” He’s watching the cameras closely.

“Thay aren't even in th' room yit! Ye'r peepin' an empty room!” Soap’s eyes move from the screen and back to Simon.

Simon’s eyes cut from the screen and to Soap, “Shut it. Price wants us to stay away from her for now. He didn’t say we couldn’t do this.”

As he says that, the door of the room opens. Price is visible first. And then, another figure walks in. You. Simon and Soap both tense. You look directly at the camera and point, asking why it’s there. You’re so clear. Soap’s heart jumps. Simon shifts.

“She remembers Gaz’s name.” Simon speaks through gritted teeth.

“A'm sure that's a targeted attack against ye, Ghost.” Soap is trying to find humor in this situation. He’s grasping for straws.

Simon is not enjoying it. “Shut the fuck up, Johnny.” Simon growls.

Soap focuses back on the screen and notices you aren’t even sure how long you’ve been gone. As Gaz gently tells you four months, Simon grumbles the amount of time at the same time.

“If Price doesn’t wanna overwhelm her, why the fuck is Gaz in there.” Simon is seething. “Why can’t we all be in there.”

Simon shuts his mouth as you say they had been juicing you up. He tenses. Soap does the same. They both need to know what it means. Simon feels like he’s going to combust. His eyes narrow once you mention Soap. Soap looks like he’s about to jump with joy, until he realizes you don’t actually remember him. Not past him saving you.

“Fuck this,” Simon pushes past Soap. “I'm going in there.”

“Hey! Price said-” Soap starts. He doesn't finish. “Fine-” he rushes out behind Simon. He guesses they're just going to bust into the room and Simon is going to make you remember. He isn't quite sure what Simon has planned really. But he decides he can't sit in the security room and just watch. He needs to see you.

So does Simon. _____________________________________ You reach for a fork for your eggs and lean back in your seat, plate in hand. You relax (as much as possible) and you look at Gaz and Price. You are studying them. Really digging into their features. You want to remember so badly. You have no reason to trust that they used to know you, a part of you is ready to attack in case they are lying. But most of you trusts them. How else would you remember Kyle’s name?

“Listen,” Price inhales sharply, “we want to help you, without overwhelming you. We need to know what you know.”

“Listen,” You mimic his tone, “I don’t know what you aren’t getting. I remember nothing, nada, zilch.”

“Okay,” Gaz interjects, “What’s your last memory?”

You're sent into deep thought. You place your hand on your chin and look off. “Well-” You begin, “I remember-”

The door of the room busts open. You tense, ready to pounce. Your palms hit the table and you stand up straight. The fork clangs against the ground. Two men walk into the room. The one who saved you and-

Words play in your head over and over again. ‘I think the big guy with the mask would have been a better choice.’ For a moment, your world is completely rocked. ‘I’m surprised you don’t know who I'm talking about.’ Your eyes lock with the large beast of a man. His eyes soften. Briefly. You swallow hard.

The entire room is silent. Until you open your mouth. “He wanted you…”

“What?” Soap is the first to question you.

“The scientist, the one doing the experiments on me-” You are tense again “-he didn’t want me.” Your head hurts. You place your hand on your forehead and groan. You are thinking too hard. Remembering too much.

“Hey,” Price motions for you to sit down, “it’s alright.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Ghost,” Price looks over his shoulder, “not right now.”

Ghost stiffens. He doesn’t say anything else. You sit down and inhale slowly. Your eyes move from the floor, past Price, and they hit Ghost. You feel something stir inside you. Like your emotions know more than your brain does. You want to scream. Every single man in that room seems to think so highly of you, and you don’t even remember them.

“I think I need to sleep.” Your voice is a whisper.

You don’t know the last time you got a good rest. You figure sleeping will help you. Price begins to grab for you, before freezing. You lean into him, letting him help you up. Price moves past the men and you tag along beside him.

“I’m going to show you where your room is. If you need anything, please let one of us know. But for now, we’ll leave you alone.” You are led down the hall and towards the barracks. It’s silent between the two of you, until you reach your room. “You have this room to yourself. I had some things rearranged, if it needs to be changed, and you aren’t comfortable alone, let me know.”

You nod at him. “Thank you. For everything. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“0600 sharp.” Price begins to leave.

“Wait,” You stop him. “You don’t happen to have my phone, do you?”

Price turns back to you. “No, that was not recovered. But, we can get you a new one. I’ll work on that while you rest.”

You nod. You head into your room and close the door behind you. You look around. There are two beds. You groan at the fact you can’t remember who used to be your bunk mate. You’re scraping through your brain, really searching for just an inkling of a memory. But… Nothing. Nothing at all comes to your mind.

Nothing about the four men convinced that you know them, anyway.

You lay down in bed and cover up. It’s not the most comfortable bed you’ve ever been in, but it is the most comfortable bed you’ve laid on in the last four months. Your head hits the pillows and you close your eyes. It takes longer than you’d like to go to sleep, but not as long as you expect it to take. You only hope you don’t dream of anything at all. You can’t be that lucky. _________________________________ “Price!” Simon shouts at the captain. His face contorted with anger and pain, and he is more glad than ever that they can’t see him through his balaclava. “What the fuck was that? We need to know-”

“No,” Price stops him immediately. “We do not need to stress her out further. We will figure this out eventually, on her time.” Price reassures his team. “You did not see the look in her eyes, the way she tackled me to the floor-”

“She what…?” Soap tenses.

Simon bristles instantly. He’s seething again. “What do you mean?”

“Ghost,” Gaz starts, “I know you want to know what happened. We all do.” He’s trying to get through to him. “But something is not right. The way she easily took Captain Price down- That wasn’t the Ace we know.”

“Of course!” Simon growls, “She was gone for four months, being poked and prodded-”

“Ghost,” Price interrupts, inhaling sharply, “she pinned me down and I could not get up. They did more than poke and prod at her. They-”

It clicks. “They were making soldiers… Enhanced soldiers.” Simon whispers. His face contorts again, this time with confusion, “Why did they pick her?” He remembers what you said. ‘He wanted you.’ Simon momentarily feels a pit in his stomach. “Ace couldn’t have been the only one… There’s no way they did this experiment on one person.”

“She was the only one at the underground compound.” Soap shifts. “Maybe she was the only success?”

Simon is stuck on why they picked you. It’s not like you weren’t capable. But you were never on the field fighting for your life. You were always on the sidelines, helping them get into the places, helping them get information. How had they spotted you and decided you were the best candidate? He knows that question is going to keep him up at night.

“Come on,” Price brings Simon back to reality. “We got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

#ghost x reader #john price x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #john soap mactavish #john price #cod x reader #cod #call of duty #call of duty x reader #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #captain john price #x reader

1K notes · View notes

shadow4-1 · 14 days

Text

I'm just imagining an a/b/o dynamic where the entire 141, including you, are all Alphas. Except, after a few years of such close contact something starts to shift.

You start to become an Omega.

"Why is this happening to me?" You all but wail. It hurts to breathe, everything feels like it's on fire. Your stomach twists again, painful cramps shooting white hot lighting up your spine. "Why does it hurt so bad?"

Your pack is all around you, trying to soothe you in anyway they can but it's not working. Everything hurts, your teeth feel like they're going to crack from how tight you have them gritted. The wave of pain ebbs for a few gracious seconds before starting up all over again. You whine and sob and reach out for any of your team.

"Whats going on?" Price huffs, his cool hand cupping at your face. His touch is the barest relief even as he drags down one of your lower eyelids. He tuts in an intense concern. "Simon, have you seen this before?"

The larger male drops to one knee. He gives you a quick once over before dipping his head towards yours. He presses the front of his mask to the crown of your head. Through your labored panting you barely hear him take in a deep inhale of scent.

He coughs and stands back up too quickly. Judging by his flighty gaze, something is seriously wrong. Another tremor of pain wracks your body. You open mouth squeal. It's getting so much worse.

"Simon!" Soap growls, trying to bring his fellow alpha back from whatever memory he'd fallen into. "What's wrong wit' 'er?"

"She's turning into an Omega."

Everyone in the room turned their gazes towards Ghost, even you, despite your pain. You? An Omega? But you've always been and Alpha. It was part of the necessary requirements to be a part of the 141. You'd been genetically tested, hormonally tested, and aptitude tested. You were a full blooded Alpha coming from generations of Alphas.

"There's...ngh...no way." You hiccup out, tears blurring your vision.

"That doesn't make any sense. That can't happen." Gaz adds. He rubs at your back. His cool touch soothes even more of your pain into a dull throb, but it isn't enough.

"M' n' Alpha!" You cry out in anguish, the first of many tears finally dripping down your cheeks.

Something about Ghost's words hurt worse than any pain your body was making you go through. Try as you may to deny it, he was right. You could feel your body changing, altering, breaking and bending.

"Why is this happening to me?" You wail.

"There's too many of us." Ghost huffs, he glances around at your pack.

"Why does that matter?" Soap grumbles, scooping an arm around your center to pull you up into a sitting position. "We're a pack."

"That's just it." Ghost sighs tiredly.

"I've never heard of this being 'n issue." Price butts in. He grabs your face again and brushes the tears off your cheeks. "Task Forces are fully Alpha run. They 'ave been for years."

"If what Ghost is saying is right, it's biological, Captain." Gaz huffs, his thoughts visibly racing. "Too many Alphas, not enough Omegas. It means we'd go extinct."

"But why didn't she change earlier?" Johnny asks. You teeter in his hold but he keeps you upright. He lets you lean against his chest. He smells more comforting than usual.

"It's hormonal. She's been with us almost three years now, it takes time." Ghost says. Price nods in agreement.

"I'm an Alpha!" You sob, trying wrench yourself free from the multiple men around you. "I- I don't want to be bred. I don't want to be claimed! I'm an Alpha!"

"We're know you are, Love." Price breathes softly. He continued to wipe tears away from your face with a tenderness that only makes your despair swell further. "But this is happening, and we can't stop it."

"Take me to sick bay, please. They'll...they'll put me on blockers or something! Please, anything but this! I don't want to be an Omega."

The pack looks toward Ghost but he shakes his head.

"This is you first heat. The blockers will kill you."

You scream in pain, fear, and frustration. Another wave of excruciating pain washes over you. You wrench out of Soap's grip and fall against the floor. The tile is cool against your flushed skin.

As much as you hate him for it, Ghost is right.

This is your first heat.

Your back arches off the floor. Your toes curl and you squeal, shaking, gasping, panting hot breaths. You can feel yourself start to sweat. There's a sudden gush of wetness between your thighs. Embarrassment floods you. You try to curl into a ball but your body keeps being wracked with tremors.

"H-help me..." You cry out weakly, sobbing into the tile.

Your pack seems to finally get a whiff of your fluctuating scent. All around you, you watch as one by one each of their gazes grow more and more pointed. All of you know what must be done. After all, you're an Omega now.

...and there's no going back.

#cod imagines #mw2 #call of duty #mw2 headcanons #simon ghost riley #cod mwii #john soap mactavish #simon riley x reader #captain price #kyle gaz garrick

1K notes · View notes

kneelingshadowsalome · 5 months

Text

Christian Woman

(König x Nun!Reader)

Word count: 6.4 k Tags/warnings: Pining intensifies, religious despair intensifies, minor injuries, treatment of wounds, crying, enthusiastic kissing, König gets a few boners. 18+ for eventual smut in this story.

A/N: Don't tell me you wouldn't get horny scared too if you saw this tall guy suddenly emerging from the shadows in his full war gear :) There's a cute date night and a lot of angst in this chapter too, I tried to summon an actual plot here... As always, I need to explain why they’re bonking! But smut is coming, next and last chapter will be full of fluff and steamy first times (Reader is virgin!)

Part 2

You have a feeling that this is the last day you’ll see him.

The stranger from the Austrian Alps, the kindest mercenary you’ve ever met – the only mercenary you’ve ever met – the giant soldier who now carries a piece of your heart with him. You wonder if he even knows he owns it.

The morning prayers and mass are a chore and bring you no comfort, and the usual dawn bliss is gone. You find no delight in singing with your sisters, and withdrawing to your cell for solitary prayer feels like stepping back inside your own personal purgatory.

You’ve been in heaven and in hell for days now. Maybe since the moment you met him...

But at the same time, you know it must’ve been the Lord who brought you together. There must be a reason for God to make you two meet, you refuse to think it’s only because He wishes to tempt you. There must be a bigger plan; the connection, as sinful and carnal as it is, has to serve some higher purpose.

And you wonder if you’re going mad, because your most sinful thought is that you actually see God in him. It’s just your lower instincts speaking, a demon of some sort that tries to misguide you because no man is like Lord Jesus.

And yet, don’t they always preach that you meet Him in every person you meet? And that through you, other people meet God too…?

This reasoning feels much better. It solidifies the mercy you’ve longed for during the brief weeks you’ve known this man who brashly calls himself König. You want to believe that he carries a spark of the Divine in him, and that you hold a grain of the Virgin Mary’s compassion and love in you.

You decide to hold on to this thought: that you were meant to meet so that you could come to know God through each other. For in König, you see a suffering God, a crucified Christ who rises against evil by offering himself to the cruelty of men. Somehow, the image of him as a mortal man starts to twist into a divine, dark trooper, someone who battles the forces of the evil in this world.

And this reasoning leads you to think that it is only natural that you, a Sister of the Faith, have helped him find some rest and relief in the middle of his work. It’s pretty clear that König has found some solace in your company, and even if things have ventured into a forbidden area of low, simple lust, it’s not dark enough to taint the beauty and grace you've felt together. As long as you hold on to this purity, nothing can go wrong.

While praying for both of you that morning, you find yourself replaying the smiles and touches König has given you these past weeks. You know you will drown yourself in memories after he's gone because they are all you’ll ever have of him.

And they're more than enough.

Or at least they should be…

You feel a tiny dagger of guilt push into your heart, the place reserved for Christ, when you’re assigned to do some spiritual reading instead of helping out in the kitchen or organizing the small library. The appointed texts are about falling into temptation and sin, reminding you about the consequences of such actions. You read the passings with a heavy heart and then slip out to meet König, possibly for the last time.

You wear your everyday clothes to the café, and König says nothing about your sudden moral choice, only gives you another longing, enamored once-over. You keep him at arm’s length, both physically and emotionally, and the effects of this unexpected cold shower are immediate. The man doesn’t even try to disguise the sad, puppy-eyed stares he shoots your way.

You hate it that the bright, playful air of your meetings is gone, and your heart is tearing itself apart in your chest because the only thing you wanted was to spread joy into his world. Even the Lord seems disappointed in you being so cold-hearted, and you can’t bear to see His sadness and suffering in König’s eyes.

You get offered not one, but two coffees today, and a large piece of dark chocolate cake that tastes of pure sin. He talks about how he would love to write to you, but you tell him you can’t be in correspondence with a man who isn’t your brother or father. König isn’t even married, so it would only raise questions – you would find yourself reading spiritual texts about lust and sin until it drives you crazy.

“I’m leaving early tomorrow,” he finally reveals with a voice thick with sorrow. “Can I see you before I go...? One last time?”

“I’d love to, but… I’m sort of being watched,” you say, slowly coming out of your shell to make it clear that you’d want to spend the rest of your life with him, but you simply just can’t.

Your weak, apologetic look is like a dose of confidence shot through his veins because the face opposite of you brightens immediately. König’s whole posture gets a hopeful uplift.

“Just for a little walk...? To see what the city looks like in the evening?”

“I don’t know if I can make it… I have to work until six... And attend the evening prayer at seven. And then silence starts at eight…”

You’re wringing your hands under the table while you explain, hoping König will come up with a solution to this dilemma.

“We can go for a walk after silence, then,” he shrugs.

“I–I can’t just escape from the window.”

“...Why not?”

You look at König; he looks straight back.

The man’s serious about you sneaking out your window at night; he’s actually serious, even if there’s a dark, playful smile rising on his lips.

“I can help,” he grins.

Your heart cracks open, it shoots full of light only more and more with that smile. König doesn’t need to ram a door down and shoot his way through your chest; all he has to do is sneak inside your heart and take the place that belongs to God. You don’t even feel the difference as he makes himself at home.

Well, actually, you do... It’s like your Christ��s love and mercy have finally come to flesh and blood before you. They're materialized in the man sitting opposite of you, bouncing his knee excitedly and grinning like the most innocent little devil on Earth.

You find yourself whispering “Ok”, and the whole world shifts.

You take a step towards something forbidden but great, your whole heart starts to sing along with life. You haven’t even done the actual thing yet but you’re already filled with bubbling laughter and excitement. If only your friend could see you now, about to do things she probably did when she was fifteen...

But everything feels so right that it can’t be a sin – if it is, it just so happens to be the most natural, most divine thing to do too.

If this is the last day you’ll ever see him, you can surely steal a tiny moment for yourself and forget about rights and wrongs for a moment. Just forget about the rules, and live in the actual world for a few hours, breathe the worldly air, see what normal people do and pretend you’re one of them, for just one night.

…

You feel like Cinderella when picking clothes for the evening.

You rummage through the only closet in your room – during the time that should be spent in silent prayer before bed – and notice you still have your old jeans.

They’re light blue and still fit; actually, they fit more than well... You know that König’s eyes will be glued to your butt when you’re not looking.

You have completely forgotten how nice you look in jeans, and it’s the Devil talking, making you admire yourself in tight denim like this. You never cared about how you look before; you certainly never gave much thought to how men see you or if they’re checking out your butt or breasts. Now you’re grooming yourself like never before, trying to decide what to do with your hair as if your life depended on it.

You choose a simple, black t-shirt to pair with the jeans and not make it too obvious that you’re trying to flaunt yourself. It hugs your form but is otherwise plain, and for some people, your choice of clothing is probably their regular work outfit. To you, it feels like you’re about to go out to seduce everyone.

Everything’s so tight and earthly; everything’s so… there. Visible... Touchable.

Lord, have mercy on me. I know I’m weak. But please let me have this, just this once…

And König has seen you without makeup all this time, so what on earth has possessed you to lament the fact that you don’t own a single case of lipstick? You’d kill for a few sweeps of mascara, too, just to bat your lashes at a silly man.

It’s not a date, you remind yourself.

It’s not a date... It’s not a date. You’re just going to have a short walk with him.

And you fear that accepting König’s “help” was a mistake. If you get caught with a man on the convent perimeter, you’ll get your ass thoroughly whooped…

Can a man of his size even keep quiet?

He probably suggested it so that you wouldn’t chicken out of this. If König is at your window by 8 and there’s no sign of you, he’ll probably just come in, throw you on his shoulder and jump out. He knows where your window is located now, and surely has some questionable skills due to his profession, skills you know nothing about, but you’re still about to have a panic attack from pure excitement when the clock strikes 8.

You push the window ajar and settle on the sill to keep watch, gasping when you hear his familiar accent down below as soon as the window is open.

“Kätzchen...”

“König…?”

You peek down and meet his stupid, grinning face – God, he’s so happy to see you kept your promise. His eyes are shining, his fingers interlock to help you have something to place your foot on.

“Here, kitty, kitty…”

You could easily jump out the window without hurting yourself, but of course he wants to help you since you were so kind to tell him where he could come and "pick you up".

But to see that playful smile and hear him trying to coax you out like you’re some skittish little kitten…

Could a grown man get any more silly?

You wiggle yourself out the window, trying to ignore the fact that he’s probably staring at your butt, still grinning like crazy while you do it.

SupportING your entire weight like it’s no trouble at all, he helps you down. You’ve never been this close to him since you bumped into him: you have to take support from his shoulders as you search for a footing, and he scoops you in his arms the minute both your feet are safely on the ground.

“I knew you’d come,” he purrs with joy, and you place your hands on his chest – not to keep him at bay, but to touch him in a way that is as appropriate as possible when a man is hugging you like this.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you whisper, still unsure if this is the best or the worst decision of your entire life.

“Kitty… Live a little, hmm?”

You have to crane your neck to look up at him – you’re not sure if you’re in the embrace of Jesus or Lucifer because the warmth of those eyes compare to the love of God, but they also make you weak and helpless. Whenever you’re with your sisters, the feeling is pure, pristine love, not a surge of complex emotions and thrill like it is with König.

“You’re a bad influence,” you breathe – König only laughs, and the grip around you tightens.

“My lady. You’re the one who climbed out the window.”

“Because someone would’ve probably thrown small rocks on it if I hadn’t…!”

“Natürlich. And if that didn’t work… A serenade or two. Do you like love songs?”

You look down at his chest, smiling, heart fluttering at the thought of a silly Austrian man serenading under your window. You have no trouble imagining him singing something syrupy in German, waking everyone up with his racket.

“You’re crazy, did you know that...?”

“Sure. They tell me that all the time at work. Aber du… Du bist süss.”

“...What’s that?”

His smile only widens as he takes in your lips, your neck, the tight shirt that finally gives him something more to look at.

“You’re cute.”

…

The whole evening is heavenly.

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted from a date and more.

He doesn’t take you for a short walk, oh no. He takes you out to eat, at some lively restaurant where they serve delicious, artisan, wood-fired pizzas. You have créme brûlée for dessert, and König gives you his strawberries when he notices you eat them first, but only on one condition: you have to let him feed them to you one by one.

He buys you a rose: a big, red, plump one. No man has ever bought you flowers before, and even if you love lush, abundant bouquets, the fact that he chose you a single red rose after you’ve spoken about the beauty of simplicity, doesn't escape you.

König hasn’t only listened to you these past few weeks: he gets you. And how symbolic is it that he chose a rose that’s also tied to all the mysteries of God?

You walk the streets with a flower in one hand and his palm in the other. It's a holy trinity of him and you and the Great Mystery, it’s passion and it’s thorns, it’s blood and beauty and pain, and you feel like he just gets you; he knows you through and through.

You pass by an outdoor bar with live music, and the place is so crowded that people are dancing on the streets. No cars honk as they slowly pass by the scene, the music and the laughing, dancing pairs make even the grumpiest passersby smile.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that König pulls you to him before you get to escape the scene. You’re drawn flush against his chest, hips colliding with his, hands finding each other in a slow sway that has never even seen the steps of Latin dances.

“Nuns are allowed to dance, no?”

He smiles dreamily, enveloped in the same sweet haze as you.

“Not with a man,” you correct, but don’t even bother to push him away. Instead, you let König guide his hand down your waist and draw you closer. If this isn't a date, you don't know what is...

“I can take the blame,” he says. “You can tell everybody it was me.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” you laugh.

“Why not?”

His eyes are glued to yours, making you warm all over, so much so that you feel like you’re burning from the neck up. You guide your stare down to his chest, then over to the quick heartbeat on his neck.

He's nervous, too... Your cruel soldier is nervous, and kind, and shy because he's pressed against you.

You rest your head there on his chest, watching the golden sunset far away, painting the rooftops with a genial glow. Your heart is made of molten gold, too, as you allow yourself find a home in his embrace.

“I can take your sins,” he promises above you. “Jesus did that too, right?”

“You’re not Jesus,” you smile against his shirt – black, always black...

“Are you sure? I would go to hell for you.”

Your dance comes to a halt as you swallow and lift your gaze. The smiles are gone now, both yours and his. He’s so close now he could touch your lips with his if he wanted to.

And he does want to.

You don’t shy away as he leans down to kiss you. It’s chaste at first, a slow exploration, but then he opens your mouth with his, demanding, hot, intoxicating. You melt in his arms, and he somehow supports you through it all, turning the dance into an embrace and the decent little kiss into a full French one.

It’s hot and wet and slow, so, so passionate that your knees are about to give in. You devour him back, feel how he grows hard against your stomach – the swelling erection makes you dizzy before you come to your senses, but only barely.

You break away an inch, panting into his mouth while he’s panting into yours. What a blessing that you don’t own any lipstick; both of your lips are red without it…

“This is–”

“Inappropriate?”

His voice is husky, and sends a flood of wetness down between your legs. Your heart is racing, but you can’t even note how terribly alive you are before he attacks your lips again.

The kiss is even more desperate than the first one, and the slow urgency is gone. His mouth leaves you without air, and then – he wraps his arms around you and picks you up from the ground like you weigh nothing. Your hands get squished somewhere between you, naturally coming to cup his face as you kiss him back.

It’s eager, pure lust, so powerful and needy that it scorches through your chest and ties your heartstrings into tight little knots, makes your brows knit together, too.

He grunts into your mouth, sensing you’re more than up for this after all. You let him see the full depth of your hunger and your lust, just waiting to be released and taken – made love to until you’re both sore and messy and limp.

God… This is better than God…

You hear whistles and whoos in the distance, some men yelling, “Let’s go!” and “Get a room” while they pass by. Realizing you’ve fallen into a dream trap of strong arms and needy lips about to depart tomorrow, you know it's something you could have had years ago, perhaps, but not anymore. You'll lose everything if you break your vows tonight: basically, you’ve already broken them, but no permanent damage has been done.

You can still turn back if you turn back now…

You push yourself away, push him away, heart clenching when you see his adoring, love-drunk, half-lidded stare.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, fighting back tears as you come down from your high. “I just–I can’t…”

He breathes labouriously, still clutching you against him, holding you in the air like you’re the thing he has searched for his entire life and now, finally discovered… Only to be told that he now has to put it back where he found it.

You’re crying by the time he sets you down, and you have no heart or will to pull away. Instead, you bury your face in his chest and cry your fill in his shirt. It’s soon damp from your tears as König hugs and supports you through his own stoic heartbreak.

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry…”

You repeat it until you can’t repeat it anymore, bawling in his chest while the world around you continues to spin despite your heaven and hell, despite your vows, despite your stupid devotion. The world revolves like it always has, as you choose a crucified man over the one who’s flesh and blood and holds you through your pain.

“Kätzchen, don’t cry,” he pets your hair while you sniffle and tremble in his embrace. You know this is not the last time you will cry your heart out over him, but knowing it doesn't help you when he offers you his last, bittersweet comfort.

“It was a good dream while it lasted...”

…

The rose withers in your cell.

You turn it upside down and tie it to the curtain rod to prevent it from dropping its petals. It dries beautifully and keeps its bloodred colour, now reminding you of both Jesus and him.

There hasn’t been a word from König in months, and of course there hasn’t. You denied his wish to write you, and the dried rose is the only thing left of your time with him.

In the first weeks, it’s hard to keep up a charade. You show up to prayer, work and mass with red eyes, revealing to everyone that you��re going through a loss of some sort. Somewhere during the first week, the abbess summons you to meet her and you brace yourself for a scolding.

God knows you don’t need the rebuke, and when you close the door and turn to face the symbolic mother of the convent, you end up breaking into tears right in front of her.

“Whatever you were up to, my child, I am glad that it is over now,” she says with all the gentleness of the world.

“Me too,” your voice breaks, and when the abbess extends her hands, you go to her, fall to your knees, and have another heartwrenching cry with your face in her lap.

You’ve denied yourself love and mercy for days, expecting to be expelled or shamed or ridiculed, but mercy is what you’re offered now, even after you’ve sinned.

The abbess caresses your hair just as softly as König did just days ago, and the fact that her kind gesture reminds you of some silly, infatuated soldier, only makes the breakdown worse. You bawl like a little child who’s deprived of candy, and you don’t even have the strength to berate yourself for it.

“I hope you haven’t done anything irredeemable...?”

“No... Nothing happened,” you sob and look out of the rose window, desperate for sun while your head rests on a gentle but distant lap.

Nothing happened except the most sinful, beautiful, lustful kiss of your life... Nothing happened except that you saw this man every time you could, held hands with him, swam in his smiles and affection, and went to bed with thoughts inappropriate for any human being.

“The world tests us in many ways... But Lord never tests us. He only loves us.”

Something in that sentence finally quenches the neverending flow of tears. Your muscles start to relax, and you remember that this is the eternal truth: to surrender, over and over again, to a power far greater than you.

The abbess never asks for details about what you have done. She never tells you you have sinned; you don’t need to be told that. The punishment has been dealt already: whoever ties herself to this world and its temptations will suffer exactly like this when the passion and excitement ends. The key to escaping its grip is to simply let go first, once and for all, surrender to the love of God, and trust that everything fill fall into place eventually.

“You must offer your mind and body to work now,” the motherly voice speaks above you. “Work, time and prayer will ease your pain.”

…

Work, time and prayer do ease the pain.

They ease all pains, but it takes almost six months to stop thinking about him every hour of every day.

You’re proud of yourself when you find out one day that you haven’t thought about him at all. He just now crossed your mind when you remember how he used to smell: of salty seabreeze mixed with intoxicating musk, the scent of excitement and safety all in one.

You could almost swear you catch a whiff of that particular scent in the yard when you go and water the flowers one evening, but it can’t be: he’s gone, and there’s nothing you can do about it, nothing you even want to do about it because you already made your choice. This path leads you to greater peace of mind in the long run, and you know you made the right decision even if it hurt you and König.

Sunsets still remind you of him, the colour of rose and gold mixed with endings, but the memories are now laced with bittersweet love rather than blunt despair and pain. The times you spent with him are a collection of brief, blissful moments, and you treasure every single one of them in your heart. You still pray for him, not every day, but nearly every day. You touch the rose when the hurt reaches its peak, but the last time you did that was almost a week ago.

And you thought you had forgotten his scent, but apparently, you have not. In fact, it seems to drift to your nose again, which is odd because you’re outside, after all…

“Kätzchen.”

A whisper is hissed from the shadows just as you’re about to straighten and investigate, because either you’re going crazy or then there’s someone here who smells exactly like him.

You startle and almost drop the watering can, staring straight into the shadows under your window. The tallest man you’ve ever seen steps out from the dark in full combat gear, and while you can’t see his face because it’s covered with a draping black hood, you recognize it’s him simply from the way he moves.

“Don’t be afraid. It’s me,” he rasps and tries to straighten from the slightly hunched position he’s in, but immediately falls back, then slants to lean on the wall. His gear is dirty, and he holds the side of his stomach with one hand, the lively blue eyes either drunk or very very tired.

“Dear God… What happened to you?”

You abandon the watering can and rush to him; it’s useless to ask if he’s injured when, clearly, he’s trying to prevent himself from slumping to the ground.

He’s enormous and intimidating even when wounded, a soldier loaded with ammo and weapons and protective paddings and guards, wearing a hood and a helmet and a radio of some sort, his tactical gloves bloody and eyes droopy. The weapon by his side is almost half as tall as you, and God – is that a grenade strapped to his vest?

“I got compromised,” König looks down at the wound but doesn’t remove his hand. He looks so different, like another man entirely when he’s not dressed in his customary olive green pants and a casual black t-shirt. He seems even buffier now, even taller, so terrifying that you wonder if you ever even knew this man.

You must look like a frightened deer because König mistakes your horrified look as sweet, simple concern.

“Don’t worry... They have it much worse, I assure you,” he says with his usual grin – you can hear it from the way he says it that he’s smiling. But it’s so weary now, so exhausted and frail compared to his confident, playful laughs and that husky voice with which he spoke to you after your kiss.

“I came to ask for help,” he continues under his breath, wobbling even when leaning against a wall. “You’re the only one I can… trust.”

“Of course, anything. I will do anything I can.”

His eyes smile down at you from behind the executioner’s veil. It’s that same devoted stare you’ve been trying to dispel for months now. You give yourself a quick mental shake, then tell him to wait here while you go in and call for an ambulance.

König bounces off the wall and seizes your hand, telling you he can’t go to a hospital and that, if anything, he must avoid any kind of public places. You don’t ask any further questions, even if you know you’re in a pickle now, and not only because those glacial eyes are making your knees weak again. There’s nothing much you can do: he’s wounded and still in danger, saying he can’t trust anyone else. Of course you have to help him in any way you can. If he says it’s not safe, then you must help him get somewhere where it is safe.

And besides, aren’t you a nun? You’re supposed to help those in need.

So when he asks you if there are any motels or a bed & breakfast nearby, you say you know just the place.

It makes your heart bleed that König takes support from you while you slowly make your way down the street. A man of his size, a body trained to withstand whatever his job throws at him, seeking support from a frail little nun… It’s a joke, indeed, and a horrid one.

When you get to the small place run by a humble old man, you don’t know who to feel more sorry for: the elder behind the counter or König, desperately trying to stay on his feet.

“I mean no trouble,” he says while pushing an unnerving amount of money across the table. “I just need a place to rest.”

The receptionist’s eyes dart to you, then back to König, who still has what you suppose is a loaded rifle dangling by his waist. The safety is on, probably, but there are also knives and grenades strapped to his person, and with that hood, he mainly looks like a terrorist of some sort.

“She’s here to help. See...? Bride of Christ. Even less trouble than I am.”

You try to smile reassuringly as the man risks a better look at you now instead of being fixated on König or his weapons.

You must make an odd pair, a soldier and a nun... The old man probably has a ton of questions in his head right now.

“No shooting,” he says to you, but his words are directed at König.

“No shooting,” he promises. “No mess if no one knows we’re here. Ok...? You’ve never even seen us.”

The receptionist nods. Then he extends a trembling hand and takes the money, and hands out a key without taking any check-in information.

You go to König and help him up the small stairs and into his room paid with bloody money and a menacing appearance. The fitted carpet is old, and floral patterned, the room small and adorable and meant for visitors far more petite than König. The bedspread is old-fashioned and floral too and has never even seen blood, of that you are sure when König lays himself down with a grunt.

You spend the next minutes – or hours, you can’t tell – in a tunnel-visioned fog as you do exactly as he says.

You help him out of his gear and weapons and lay them aside quickly but gently, you cut his shirt with an ugly-looking knife, then get a watered towel for him to press against the wound. You rush back to his tactical vest and search for a first aid kit and some medicine, and start to treat his wounds per his advice.

The sun sets in the window, and you patch up your injured soldier with care, trusting his word when he says it’s only a flesh wound and that it looks far worse than it is.

“I should get shot more often,” he purrs when you’re cleaning the rest of the blood off his skin.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scold, trying to focus on your task and not the vast plates that make his chest. Or the thick abs, right there under your fingertips… Or the fact that he has incredibly narrow hips, and a luscious breath of dark hair leading from his navel down and underneath the waistband of his pants.

You suppose this is what your friend calls a happy trail...

And it does make you very happy.

You don’t dare to look beyond that because the pants he usually wears aren’t as tight as these, and you fear he’ll catch you checking out his junk in an attempt to see if your friend was correct about his size.

To your blessing – or your curse – you don’t even have to look straight at it to see he’s having an erection. You can actually see from the corner of your eye how König grows hard while you’re treating him – it’s right there, a robust tent that rises beside you while you concentrate on wiping off the blood.

“Pay no mind to that,” he says thickly and completely without shame. “It just happens… Can’t control it.”

He breathes a bit too heavy for someone who’s lying down, and you fear it’s because of the blood loss. But then you start to suspect it’s probably because all the remaining blood has gone between his legs… He doesn’t even try to tone down the heated, obsessive stares he shoots your way, and you suppose he’s either missed you very much, or then there’s a fever rising after all. You’re not sure if you’re glad or disappointed that the bullet didn’t scrape his leg instead.

“I missed you,” he says like he just read your thoughts. He whispers the sentence slowly and with purpose, saying it like a long-withheld secret.

“I missed you too,” you whisper back.

Gosh… Here you are, a silly little nun who’s tried to get over a crush for six months, crying after him at night and caressing his rose during the day. You’ve been petting a withering flower some mercenary gave you in hopes of getting into your pants, you’ve fawned over memories of a few smiles and a kiss, all the while the said mercenary has killed people for money and now got shot. He came here to work again, but never sent a message, he only came to see you when he was injured…

...And you’re glad he did. If a bullet was needed to bring him back to you, then you’re grateful for it, no matter how horrible it is.

“Did you ever… find someone?” You ask while keeping your gaze fixed on his navel instead of the raging bulge in his pants.

“Someone, who?”

“Someone to hold hands with.”

He gives a strained laugh. “Ah. No. No time for that.”

You swallow, and slowly guide your eyes to his.

“Are you still happy with your crucified man?”

Ouch.

“I… I don’t know.”

His brows knit together; you can see it even in the dim light of the table lamp, you can see it even if there’s some godforsaken black war paint all over his face under that hood.

There’s a distant hurt in his eyes before he blinks softly, slowly.

“I wrote to you, Braut Christi... Many times. Never sent the letters… They’re still in my room, at the base.”

Your heart skips a beat.

He hasn’t had “time” for women, yet has written you letters all these months. He’s written letters while you’ve caressed a rose….

You wonder if hearts can find each other, even through a distance, and if you’ve felt the urge to go to the flower he gave you at the same time König has gotten the desire to write another letter to you. It’s bittersweet, like this whole thing between you two, the mystery that both brings you together and rips you apart.

“I wish I hadn’t… I wish I...” you start, but can’t bring yourself to finish.

“Liebling. I should’ve sent them anyway.”

You go get rid of the bloodied paper towels before you start to cry in front of him.

God… You’re not only in a pickle, you’re neck-deep in trouble, and you only notice you forgot to wash your hands when you return to him.

He reaches for your hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Peace settles in, even if there’s blood on your hands and the man you adore is lying next to you, patched up with the help of a first aid kit when he should be lying in a hospital, receiving treatment and care.

There’s a knife and a pistol tucked under the bedspread, next to his hand, and the fact that he’s still prepared to fight anyone who tries to come through that door underlines the fact that you two come from very different worlds. König is more than just a rose buying, coffee offering gentleman, he's more than just a silly guy who threatens to sing serenades under your window if you don’t come out to play with him.

You’re not sure if you’re more enamoured or scared.

“You’re an angel,” he rasps from the bed as you try to swallow the tears that refuse to go down.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

A teardrop falls on the innocent floral bedspread as you wish you were in this room as a married couple instead of an injured, horny soldier and a childish nun in love. Spending your honeymoon or something, getting some rest after an eventful day in town, choosing this absurd old Bed & Breakfast as your place to stay for the night.

You wish you were doing anything else than treating his wounds, lethal or not.

“Are you crying?”

His voice is gentler than you even remembered. Six months of despair have turned him into a dark, alluring trickster when he’s really just a man, a big, amazing, tender man who’s multifaceted, multitalented, and always kind.

He's about to fall asleep, and it’s no wonder. The events of the evening have left you drained, too. You kneel beside his bed, too tired to even sit on a chair, wondering if he’ll die from his wounds tonight or get hunted down by the people who still want him dead.

“I wish you would stop killing people... I wish you would stop getting killed.”

You must look silly, kneeling beside a giant soldier’s bed, crying and holding his hand between yours as if praying. But his eyes smile at you, and while you’d want nothing more than to see his face again, you realise you kind of like König this way. Masked and menacing and mean to his enemies, but stripped down to his soul when he’s with you.

“I wish you would stop praying... And start living,” he mutters gently.

“Praying helps sometimes,” you whisper.

In truth, you wish you’d start living, too. You always thought you were brave when you said ‘no’ to the world. Perhaps you were only running away from it…

The hand is warm but not feverish. His breaths start to even, and his lids get heavier; his thumb gives you a small caress before he drifts off to sleep.

“Perhaps that’s why I’m still here, Kätzchen.”

#könig x reader #könig x you #könig fanfiction #konig x reader #konig x you #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig x fem reader

1K notes · View notes

russellsppttemplates · 2 months

Text

Never letting you go (Max Verstappen)

There was nothing stopping you and Max now

Note: english is not my first language. This is the first Max big piece to sort of introduce their arc, let me know what you think! ✨️

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions Jos forbidding Max and reader of dating, curse words

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"What do you mean you're going to the Grand Prix?", you quirked your brow as your friend Cara sipped her coffee, "I thought you said you'd never be caught dead one of those", you chuckled.

"Matthew's company got a bunch of passes because they got a deal with one of the sponsors - I think? - I don't know much about it, all I know is that he brought three home because he thought you'd like to join us", she offered.

You never hid how much you enjoyed watching Formula One, even if watching it, especially in the last couple of years, often brought emotionally heavy memories back.

"That's nice, count me in! What type of passes are they?", you questioned, taking a bite from the cake on your plate.

"I don't know, he was talking all about them and I must admit I zoned out", she admitted, "but he said they were really good! He was very surprised at what the passes had, but his boss is very cheap so I don't know how great they actually are considering the possible comparison", she smiled as you nodded, "count me in, though. It's been a while since I stepped foot on one of them", you recalled.

The last race you attended was when Max was in Formula Three still. The paddock was so big and crowded with so many people, you doubted you'd bump into him. It wouldn't do you any good, would it?

"How did you get hospitality passes?", you gasped as Matthew handed you the lanyard, "they've invested a lot of money so I guess the sponsors didn't mind loosening the belt", he shrugged, putting his own around his neck after scanning it.

"Thank you for this, by the way", you flashed him a smile, "no worries, Y/N, the only way I could convince her to come was if you joined us, and I don't mind actually spending the weekend with someone who also knows a little about the sport", he chuckled as Cara laced her arms with her fiancé, "I'm glad he has you to talk to as well, there's only so much feigned interest I can muster up", she rolled her eyes.

Scuderia Alpha Tauri had been Toro Rosso, but despite the name change, as soon as you walked in, some faces were still familiar from the pictures you got sent from Max on gia first season with them.

"Why did you get interested in Formula One anyway?", Matthew asked you while you sipped on a latte, "I always loved the idea of the cars going very very fast, and then when I actually had the knowledge to understand how they worked, they really intrigued me", you offered, "I also had a friend who was very into it, so he also escalated my interest in it".

"He didn't pull you enough to work on motor sport though?", Matt wondered.

"I didn't enjoy the competitiveness of all of it", you admitted, "it's very strict, and if you want to be successful, it takes the good things away - your family, your friends", you opened your heart to him, thankfully noticing it and sorting the heartfelt confession seemingly about a job, "they travel a lot and they're really competitive that is, I'd never be able to do that for a job", you smiled, hoping you saved yourself from further questions.

"That's why you did mechanical engineering, then?", he asked, "for the most part, yes", you replied, "Oh, they're starting free practice", you smiled, looking over to the track from the balcony seats.

Sophie walked into the RedBull hospitality, looking for her family. Because it was Monaco, they felt safe enough to bring the Lio and Luka to the paddock, knowing they would be close to home in case things didn't go well as planned.

"Grandma!", the oldest boy called her from his spot on his father's lap, his brother sleeping on his mother's chest.

"Hey, my dears", she greeted, "You won't believe who I found on my way here", Sophie began, "I'm surprised Max didn't tell me he invited Y/N. It's a shame she isn't here with us, though", she commented.

The first indicator of surprise should be the way the blond woman looked at her mother, "what do you mean Y/N is here?", she whisper-yelled.

"I just saw her in the Alpha Tauri hospitality, I was walking with Helmut and he was headed there, that's when I noticed her. Max didn't tell you?", she quirked an eyebrow just as her son sat down next to them.

"What didn't I tell who?", Max spoke, setting his plate of food down on the table.

"Why didn't you tell us you invited Y/N for this weekend?", Victoria was the first to scold him, hitting his arm in a sisterly manner, "and in Alpha Tauri of all places? I'm sure they would've bent the rules a little and give you a pass so she could be a RedBull guest!".

Max thought he heard incorrectly. Y/N, his Y/N was in the paddock, in the sister team of the one he now drove for.

"I, I didn't offer her anything", Max said, his brother in-law looking at him weirdly as well, "I don't know how or why she is here, but I had nothing to do with it. We haven't spoken in a while", he mumbled. A while, three years, same thing, he supposes.

"Well, I just saw her. You should go say hi, I'm sure she would love to but she can't exactly find you where she is, it has to be the other way around", Sophie offered.

"What makes you believe she would?", Max questioned, both himself and his mother and sister.

"Because the way you never forgot her, she never forgot you", Victoria sterned, "don't you think she deserves your attention? She was in it for the long run, Max, and maybe she has moved on, maybe even has someone", the thought alone made Max loose his cool, "but she was your friend, the person you trusted most in the world and you let her slip".

"Don't sugar coat it, please", Max sarcastically replied.

"It's true, Max, and you know it", Sophie said, sensing her son didn't want to talk about the topic, but not allowing him to leave the table without a piece of her mind as well.

Max needed to put on his suit again, ready for qualifying, walking along the corridor until he found his door.

"Hey, before you go", Victoria called her brother as he was about to go into his driver's room, "Lio is really fussy, so we're just going back to your place, I'm sorry", she said.

"It's fine, whatever you feel the most comfortable with", he said, waving at his nephews and brother in-law.

"We will be supporting you from home, then", she said, kissing his cheek, "And Max? I know you're not used to it, but follow your heart", she smiled.

"Can I do that now?", he softly bit back, smiling and blushing at his words.

"What's stopping you?", Victoria said as she walked back to her family.

"Who is that?", Jos asked as Max asked him if he could invite you over for dinner before the season began.

The conversations with Toro Rosso were getting serious and the opportunity for a seat in Formula One was right there, up for him to grab if he worked enough.

"She's my friend, you know Y/N", Max tried to reason with his father.

"For this to work, Max, I think you need to distance yourself from home", Jos advised, ignoring his mention of you and carrying on with his lecture, "I'm talking no parties, no trips to come and see friends and family - I really think those are just getting in the way between you and the career you deserve".

The statement was clear, and Max knew better than to question it.

"I've spoken to your mother - she wasn't the biggest fan -, but you really need to focus on this", Jos reiterated, "no friends, much less girlfriends", he chuckled.

The dinner ended up being just Jos, Max and Victoria, the thought of having you there quickly erased in his head.

When Max met up with you before he left for the season, he was antsy. Just a week before, you had stolen innocent kisses from eachother's lips and revelled in the feeling of being in eachother's embrace without a care in the world. And it felt good, so good, like the piece that was missing in Max's life finally completed the puzzle.

"Hey", you greeted, kissing the corner of his lips and allowing him to pull you down to sit on the sofa.

"I spoke to my dad, I'm leaving in a few days", Max said, "there's some testing they want me to do still", he mumbled, lacing your fingers in his.

"And where do we end up?", you asked the million euro question. Truthfully, you entertained the thought. Even though being away from Max for most of the year would be a challenge, the love you felt for him was too big, too great for you to forgo that challenge. You were his and he would be yours.

"It's not going to work, Y/N. I need to focus on racing", he stated blankly despite how much it hurt him to utter those words out to you as the conversation with his father resonated with him.

"Max your focus is getting a Formula One seat", his father sterned, "do you know how hard it is? How much effort and work you have to put in? There can't be any distractions!"

"But Y/N isn't a distraction!", Max reasoned. If anything, you were the one keeping him humble and with both feet on the ground at all times. You cared for him, not because of his racing, who he was or who he could become, but because you loved eachother.

You'd never do anything to ruin his career, Max thought as he worked up the courage to tell you all of it. He couldn't get distracted, not now. He couldn't afford making mistakes because he had a girlfriend back at home waiting on him.

Your understanding, however, wasn't aligned with his expectations. He hoped you'd fight, at least, but you swalled your tears and nodded, "okay, Max. I hope you get your seat, you deserve it so much, I know it will happen".

Max put in on pole, leaving you to smile and snap a picture of the moment, wondering if you'd have the courage to send it to him.

"So, does this mean it's over?", Cara asked, "Because I could do with going home, actually", she nudged.

"Let's go, then!", you smiled, putting your phone in your bag and looking for the way out, ending up following the other guests into the paddock.

"Y/N, dear!", you heard someone call your name, and on cue, you looked for the voice despite the fact that it wad unlikely someone recognised you there.

Sophie didn't age, you thought, as you looked at the source of the voice that called you.

"I'm not going to hold you up, guys, you can go!", you smiled, waving at Matthew and Cara once you assured them you would be fine.

"I'm sorry, Sophie - they're my friends, and he was the one who got the passes from his office", you apologised for leaving her to wait a little for you.

"It's alright, dear. It's been so long since I've seen you", she nudged, "I'm sure Max would love to see you, too!", she jumped straight in.

"Would he, though?", you squinted your eyes.

"He would, Y/N", Sophie said earnestly, "I saw you this morning - at Alpha Tauri -, and he knows you're here", she smiled, "I'm assuming you're watching the race, too. Pay him a visit, okay?", she rubbed your shoulder and left a kiss on your cheek, "He's also my ride home, so I need to go look for him! Bye, Y/N!".

Race day meant rush everywhere, so you got to the paddock just in time before everyone rushed inside, finding the perfect spot to watch the race.

"I need to take this call, one second", you said to Cara, recognising Max's contact on your phone.

"Y/N, hi! I didn't think you'd pick up actually", you could hear the nervousness on his voice, "thanks for the picture, by the way, it was very... nice".

"It's no problem really, I thought it would be a good memory to keep", you smiled, "are you ready for the race? Or do you want me to give you a pep talk?", you chuckled. Back in the day, whenever he didn't feel too confident about a race, you had the power to help him out his head in the right place and bring his winning mentality to light.

"I'm fine, actually", he smiled, "I- I was wondering if you'd like to meet up later", he gulped, "I'd like to talk to you, but it's difficult until the race finishes, and then debriefs and media and all that".

"Sure, text me when you're done then", you stated boldly, "have a good race Max, you know I'm supporting you".

"Even if you're with Alpha Tauri?", he joked.

"I never stopped supporting you, it's not going to be a guest pass that's going to change it", you said as he bid you goodbye, ending the call and finding your friends.

When Max won, you clapped unashamedly as everyone else seemed to join you in your excitement, and after the race celebrations were done with, you waited patiently for the text to get to your phone.

"So you're staying back?", Cara asked, "I am, I'm meeting a friend", you explained. At her curious stare, you furthered, "do you remember the guy I told you about when you tried to set up that double date?", she nodded, "yes, the guy you were friends with, and when you both wanted to take a step forward, he had this big shot as his dream career and his father wouldn't allow him to date anyone", she said as she realized, "my goodness, he's here? Y/N, go for it!", she encouraged, "I know you still have feelings for him, who knows? Maybe this is your chance to reconnect", she rubbed your shoulder.

After you bid goodbye to Cara and Matthew, a text go through to your phone.

From: Max

Mum is waiting for you at the door :)

Approaching the hospitality, you quickly spotted Sophie, "c'mon in, dear! Max wanted me to get you myself, he was afraid no one would ler you in", she chuckled, guiding you through until you were in their dining area.

"Y/N!", Max beamed, setting down the crayons he was drawing with at the table with Luka and walking up to you.

"Hey everyone!", you waved at Victoria, putting a pin the two little boys' curious stares as they looked at you so you could hug Max.

"Congratulations, Max, I knew you could do it", you whispered into his skin, his arms hugging you so tightly against him.

"Thank you, Y/N", he spoke, "I missed you so much, I missed this so much", he squeezed you one more time before allowing you to greet the rest of his family.

"This is Tom, and that's Lio and Luka", Victoria said after she hugged you tighlty, "say hi, guys!", she encouraged as the two little copies of Max waved back at you.

"We're going to head home, it was great seeing you, Y/N!", Sophie announced, "I'm sure we'll see eachother a lot more from now on", Victoria complimented, helping her husband pack up the kids' belongings and toys so they could retire to Max's apartment.

"I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner sometime this week", he jumped straight forward, "I'm having dinner with the team today and then the rest of the grid want to go to the club, so I wouldn't be able to spend that much time with you, and I want to be able to just focus on you", he smiled.

"That's fine by me, I appreciate the thought", you smiled as he led you to one of the tables, asking one of the caffé staff for something to drink for the two of you.

“Listen, I think, I think we found each again for a reason", he began boldly, not sure if this was the way to go after not having spoken to you in a couple of years. Still, it wasn't a lie.

"Define found, considering we've been iving in the same city for nearly a year", you smiled, "although you don't spend much time here anyway, so I guess that's a nice enough excuse", you teased, your foot tapping his shin playfully under the table.

"So, Monaco, hm?", Max started, "I didn't expect you to live here out of all places", he nudged, wanting to know more about your move but afraid he was stepping in vulnerable territory.

"I did it because of my earnings for sure. I've got to save as much as I can on tax on the fortune I make as a female engineer", you sternly said as he looked the most surprised you'd ever seen him, "I'm joking - not all of us move to Monaco so our million euro salaries have better taxes", you teased.

"Why did you do it, then?", he asked, smiling at how familiar it all seemed. Just like old times, he thought.

"The company I work for was the one that needed the tax benefits", you clicked your tongue, "and they wanted people to move here. Only one of my colleagues moved here with her whole family, as they expected, so they ended up calling the ones that weren't attached to anything or anyone in particular, and I was one of them", you shrugged your shoulders, "I moved to a new country with a different language, the only people I knew were my work colleagues, so I had no one to complain about them to, but I make it work - at least I like to think I do", you smiled.

Not attached to anyone, he recalled, humming at your response, "it's not such a bad place to live, right? Granted I don't spend much time year, but still enough to appreciate it", Max spoke.

"How about you, Mr World Champion", you nudged, "how does it feel?".

"Obviously it's great, and everything that I worked for", he added, knowing the underlying topic in the conversation, "I get to drive fast cars and I travel the world, there's not much left for it to be the complete dream", he said, gingerly touching your fingers over the table and accepting your hold when you laced them together.

Conversation was flowing easily until one of the employees told Max that he would have to go and get ready for the dinner, meaning you would have to part ways.

"Does Tuesday work for you? I'm not sure how well I'll be tomorrow", he chuckled, "yes, that's fine by me, just text me the address and the time", you smiled, getting up and kissing his cheek, "have a good time, Max, but be careful with the alcohol, I'd hate to have to pick you up again", you reminded him of the time he got way too drunk and he insisted he would only go home if you came to pick him up.

Dinner was great and Max invited you back to his place, hoping you'd be able to talk properly about the elephant in the room in a more private and comfortable place.

"You're struggling there, aren't you? Even with your itty bitty small hands?", Max teased as your pinky just about stretched enough for you to not lose everything by dumping the contents of your bag on the sidewalk.

As you and Max left the restaurant, you fiddled with your wallet in your bag, hoping to keep the card the waiter gave you safe for the next time you wanted to visit the place.

"I do not have itty bitty small hands!", you argued, shaking your bag a little to make sure everything was safely in place.

"We need to have the same starting line - like", you rearranged them so your wrists would be touching. Still, it didn't make much of a difference on your end. It looked like it even highlighted a few more differences, "yours is much bigger, I give up", you giggled.

"See?", Max said as he held your hand out against his, "these are the size of fairy hands! Tinkerbell probably has bigger hands than yours!", he exclaimed as you noticed how much bigger his hand was compared to yours. His fingers were a little bit thicker than yours and his palm covered all of your hand almost completely.

Now or never, Max thought as he laced your fingers in his once you let your arms drop and rest by your side. His thumb rubbed your skin and warmed you up, "was this your plan all along?", you wondered, feeling the bravery around you two and choosing to act on it.

"Lacing my hand in yours or proving to you that my biggest mistake was letting you go all of those years ago?", Max stated as he looked deeply into your eyes.

"We should talk about this inside", you bit your lip, allowing him to guide you through the apartment complex he lived in.

His living room was decorated in classy tones, probably with the help of him mother and sister, as you sat down on the sofa and face eachother.

"I know I apologised at the time, but I'm still sorry, Y/N", Max said, "at the time it was the dream and I didn't have much room for my own decisions. Still, I should've fought", he concluded.

"You didn't blatantly acknowledge it and decided we couldn't be together, Max", you conforted despite the hurt you felt at the time, "it hurt, - like a bitch actually -, but not because you were following your dream. I never wanted to pull you back and get in the way of your achievements", you gulped, "but I would be lying if I said I wouldn't like to give this a go, to give us a chance", you smiled.

"I know I have crazy schedules - I am barely here during the season -, but you were always the one I thought about. When I first raced in F1, when I got my first podium, my first win, my bad races - I wanted you there", he admitted, blue eyes looking into yours, "I can't promise that it will be easy, but I'll never risk you or our relationship, that's non negotiable", he stated.

Moving closer to him, you cupped his cheek with your palm, the slight stubble tickling your skin, "I'm in, Max", you smiled, taking the plunge and kissing his mouth, lips moving in sync as his hands pulled you into his lap.

The blissful moment was interrupted by a meow, Jimmy and Sassy walking into the living room, "Oh, guys", Max held you close to him as the cats sniffled you, "this is Jimmy and Sassy, my cats, took then long enough to leave the guest bedroom", he smiled as you tried to pet them, "cute, they seem nice enough - for cats anyway".

#max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fluff #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fluff

700 notes · View notes

islayhawkin · 4 months

Text

Let me take care of you

Newt x f!reader (clint x jeff mentioned- if you don't ship it just ignore it lol)

2,8k

Summery: newt accidentally overhears you talking about liking him but he thinks you were talking about minho

Request: Hello can you do a newt x fem!reader when the reader is a medjack and talk about (I forget if it’s Clint or Jeff) how she is love with him but she didn’t realize he was behind her ? Please

Misunderstandings; hurt/comfort, angst

A/N: okay this escalated pretty quick into angst whoops

Can be read as a part 2 of 'let me help you'

It was a usual morning in the glade. The runners were getting ready to start their rounds. Alby started to wake everyone up and frypan made breakfest ready.

You and jeff on the other hand were already in the med-hut to check up on a slicer who almost got his arm chopped off yesterday. Jeff held his fingers to the boys neck.

"He's still alive."

You hummed in relief.

"Lost much blood?"

You collected the things to change the bandage on the young boys arm.

"Nah seems pretty good."

You handed jeff a container of warmed up water and a cloth. "Thanks" jeff muttered as he began removing the blood soaked bandage from the arm. You sat down next to the bed and gave jeff a helping hand whenever he needed.

"How are things with clint?" You gave Jeff a teasing grin. Jeff sighed.

"There are no 'things' between me and clint." But he gave up long ago to deny it convincingly in front of you.

"You looked shucking cute cuddled up yesterday evening." You grinned as you took the dirty cloth and water bowl from him.

Jeff scoffed. "Oh yeah what about you lovebirds then? I'm pretty sure you two were the ones cuddled up. Half the glade was probably jealous." He took the new bandage from your hand. A blush coated your cheeks but you smiled softly at the memory. "Yeah we were quite close yesterday."

You realised that the boy jeff was currently treating was still fast asleep. "Nothing wakes him up does it?" You pointed to him.

Jeff chuckled. "He sleeps like a rock. But don't try to distract me. I'm telling you, you need to ask him out."

"Because you're the expert in that?" You raised your brow.

Jeff rolled his eyes and sat down too after finishing the bandage. "No. Because it is so clearly obvious to everyone. Do you know why the boys don't try anything anymore with you?"

You blinked confused. "No...?" "Newt threatens them. They're afraid they'll be banished or beaten to a pulp if they try something with you."

You were speachless for a moment. "What...? No newt doesn't do that... I know he's protective. That's why they set up the rules but he never uses violence."

"Well he does when you are involved. You remember how gally was brought in with a bashed in face? That was newt. Gally, as gally is, apperently said a lot of disrespectful stuff about you which he could not tolerate."

Your heart beat a bit faster. Newt did this for you? You knew newt avoided violence and stuck to order as much as he was capable off. And that he completely neglected these believes as soon as you were involved was weirdly...sweet.

"So I'm telling you- he cares about you very deeply. Almost concerningly so. And everyone of the boys is aware how you two look at eachother."

You couldn't contain your bright smile. "I never knew that. That is very sweet." You sighed dreamily. "He's just so adorable."

Jeff laughed quietly. "I tell you he's beaten someone up and you call him adorable?"

You glare at him with a pout. "You know that's not what I mean. He's just- so handsome. Even when his hair is touseled of sweat at the end of the day. I don't know how he does it. I could listen to his voice all day too. Every time I see him I just want to squeeze him out of excitment."

"I'm sure he is." Jeff muttered with a grin.

"He always looks out for everyone and rather neglects his own needs than others. I'd rather he wouldn't but I like that about him. He also has everything in control. I mean alby is the leader but he's the leader in the background. He always notices when something is wrong and asks about it. When he laughs he has these really cute crinkles on his nose. Sorry I'm rambling."

Jeff leaned forward. "Then do something about it. Honestly in the eyes of everyone you're already-"

Newt cleared his throat as he stood awkwardly in the doorway of the med-hut. He had walked in a minute ago and heard you talking about someone. At first he thought you might actually be talking about him but his self-consciousness told him you were probably talking about minho. You two always were so close. Minho was a phisical guy. He was muscular. Had great humor. Of course newt understood why you'd fall for minho. After all it was his best friend. But it still stung. A lot.

Newt didn't mean to eavesdrop but he couldn't really find a good moment to interrupt until he couldn't stand hearing more.

His face showed a friendly expression but his eyes wouldn't meet your face.

You on the other hand were turning around to look at newt with wide eyes. You didn't know how long he stood there. How much he heard. If he even heard anything so you tried to slow your heartbeat and act normally.

Jeff glanced between you two as if he was watching a very interesting story unfold before his eyes.

"I uh. I need to get some supplies for the runners. They're about to start. But maybe you'd like to bring it yourself to minho?"His eyes were lowered to the ground.

"Yes of course. No problem." You hastily stood up and collected the small supplies for the runners. As soon as you finished speaking newt was already gone again.

You stilled as you realised this and turned to jeff with wide eyes. "Do you think he heard?"

"He heard something."

"Why did he storm off then?"

Jeff raised his shoulders. "You should probably go talk to him."

***

You did try and talk to him but after the encounter Newts behavior changed. He clearly tried to avoid you. He was a lot more in his room. Even locked up so alby couldn't get in to sleep. He almost worked aggressively hard as a track-hoe. Not stopping to work at dinner time and starting to work before the others were even up.

The others noticed too of course. Newt was the glue after all. Without Newts full help the glade got into a more chaotic state. Alby needed to scream around a lot more. He even seemed to be angry at newt for acting this way.

He didn't come to the med-hut anymore. Neither for his limp nor to pick you up for sleep.

For you and frankly everybody else it was a unreasonable change of behavior. You knew the things he overheard in the med-hut were the trigger for this but you could not fathom why he'd be so distraught because of it.

But to Newt it was perfectly reasonable. You were in love with minho and the latter obviously in love with you. The whole glade seemed to be. You were the only girl. What chance did he have.Newt saw it clearly. You always were with minho. Sometimes even disapearing with him into the woods. He didn't even want to think about what you did. You always kissed minhos cheek. Hugged him a lot. Minho always flirted with you.

And it was even worse that minho was his best friend. He loved minho dearly. They've been through everything together. And he couldn't bare the thought of losing you both when you two were so close.

This reaction to the pain he felt in his chest may have seemed overdramatic to a outsider but to newt it wasn't only about 'not getting a chance with you'. It made him realise that the love he felt for you, the hope you gave him, was all in his head. He needed your love. Desperately. And he didn't know how to cope without it again.

This worried you. A lot.The behavior reminded you of the time after his incident. How you first got to know him after waking up in the glade. He seemed broken then and he did now.It made you realise that nothing really changed about newt. He was still that small kid that you first met.

What worried you even more was his self-harming behavior. Not taking any consideration about the state of his body.

He didn't stop working even when alby told him to. Sometimes he didn't show up for dinner because of it. You always took a extra ration from frypan and brought it up to his room.

You knocked softly on the locked wooden door. "Newt?" There was no answer. "Newt I brought you dinner. You need to eat something."

Silence.

You almost layed the plate down in front of the door again when the door opened a bit.

Newt couldn't help but take that glimpse of your care.

You gave him a smile. "Hey." You held the plate out in front of you. "Here. You missed dinner."

Newt took the plate from your hands hesitantely and scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Thanks."

Before he could close the door again you held the door open with your foot. "Newt what's wrong? I know I've been asking this constantly the last few days but I worry about you. The whole glade does. You're not acting like yourself." Your voice was soft.

He shrugged carelessly. "Maybe I just have my period." He tried to joke. You were glad he attempted a joke again. But you also knew it was his way of distracting of the matter at hand.

You gave him a look. "We both know that is not the reason."

Newt sighed. "There is nothing wrong. I'd like to sleep."

You scanned his face desperate for a answer. "Is all this about what you heard me talking about?"

Newt froze up. "I never heard anythin'. Good night." He closed the door and locked it. He leaned his back against the door and took deep breaths. Blinking away tears.The situation didn't stop him from defending you though. On the contrary. He got more angry. More irretable. The usual calm and collected newt was overcome with a more emotional one.

Minho and alby gave you a explicit instruction to get throught to him at breakfast table that morning.

And you were determined to do so today. This has been going on for a few days too long for your liking. When you made your way over to the gardens in search of him the sign you were met with made a stabbing pain in your heart. Newt was working in the garden as usual. Pulling vegatables out, getting new fertilizer, sowing new ones. You normally loved watching him work. But today the pain was evident on his face. His limp finally catching up with the pressure he was constantly putting on it. You saw him stumble a few times but he pushed through obviously.

Until he just...collapsed. His leg gave out under him. You could see him staying layed on the ground. His face on the earth. Exhausted. Suddenly his lanky frame you oh so loved looked a bit too skinny for your liking.

You hurriedly made your way over to him. When he noticed you he tried to scramble up fastly which only made his limp buckle under his weight again. He cursed under his breath.You kneeled down beside him and gripped his arm and a hand around his waist. "Shuck newt. What are you doing..."

"I'm fine. I'm fi-" he struggled to get up again with the few strength he had left.

You pulled him down against you by the waist again. "Stop it." There was a plea in your voice. "Stop it newt. You're hurting yourself."

He still struggled against your hold. "Let go. There is nothing...wrong" his voice cracked.

You didn't let him go. He turned his head away from you as a tear rolled down his cheek and he started to shake slightly.

Everything hurt him. His body. His mind. Only your soft touch gave him comfort.

"Shh." You turned his head to you gently. He didn't meet your eye but you could see in them the pain he was in. You wiped the tear away with your thumb.

"Come on. I'll take care of you." You stroked a dirty strand of hair out of his face and helped him stand up. A lot of his weight leaned on you as you led him into the med-hut. Clint looked up startled when he saw you carry a half limp newt in.

"Out." You ordered him but added a thankful smile.

Clint nodded with a glance at newt and scrambled out of the hut. Newt let himself fall down onto a bed. You took a blanket and tucked him into it, started to boil water on the fire and pushed another pillow under his head.

"I will be right back. Don't go anywhere." Newt watched how you gave him a sweet smile and made your way outside again.You came back with a bowl of food and a bottle of water, shut the door to the med-hut to build as much privacy as possible.

You sat yourself down on the side of his bed and showed him your loot. "What do you want?" A loving smile thrown his way.

"Carrot" he cracked out.

You put the rest of the food aside and handed him the carrot. He moved up to rest his back against the wall and hesitantely began to eat the carrot under your careful watch. The silence engulfed the room for a while only the cracks of the carrot being heard.

You made a heating pad with the boiling water meanwhile and pulled the leg of newts trousers up to gently lay the warm pad onto his throbbing knee.

You did what you always did. Care for him. Take care of him. He had missed this terribly. But he hadn't forgotten what had happened.

He looked at you a long moment. Watched your every move. He felt like he hadn't been able to look at you proberly for way too long. "Do you-" he swallowed. "Do you like my voice too?" His voice was timid. He wasn't sure why he chose that detail to ask.

"What?" You ask perplexed and looked up at his face.

"Nevermind" his voice was still raw.

"Of course I like your voice. How do you come to that question?"

Newt didn't know how to answer that question so he stayed silent.

You sighed and slid nearer to him on the bed. "Newt what's wrong? Please tell me. You are in a horrible condition. I'm worried. Everyone is worried."

"I- heard you. The other day. Talking about minho. You should give him a go if you feel that way about him."

You blinked. To you his talk was making none sense at all.

"but uh-" he swallowed. "Can I still come to you if you...?"

You frowned. "I'm not sure what you're talking about newt. Of course you can come to me. Always. You know that. But what has this to do with minho-?" The words now registered completely in your brain. "You think I was talking about Minho?"

Newt looked away painfully. "Yes I suppose it was obvious for a while..."

You shook your head in realisation. "Newt."

His eyes snapped up to yours. "I wasn't talking about minho. I was talking about you."

Newt thought he hadn't heard right. "W-what?"

"Yes. I mean minho is great. I love him too. But he's not you."

"You like all that about...me ?"

"Of course. You are...amazing." You laughed quietly.

Newt was speechless.

Your heart was beating a lot more faster than normally but you tried to ignore it. Taking a deep breath. "May I...lay with you?" You whispered.

He never wanted- needed anything more. But his brain was in freeze and he could only nod his head.

You cautiously layed down next to him and crawled your body under the blanket too. You were very clode to eachother. You could feel the presence of his body next to you. He felt himself relax in the presense of your body next to him. Your small breath tickling his cheek.

You decided to let your instincts take over and slid your hand around his waist gingerly. Newts body tensed up and he sucked in a small breath at the sudden contact.

"Thank you." He breathed out. His body relaxing again.

"For what?" You whispered.

"Loving me. Pulling me out. Caring for me. Without you I'd probably would have taken another go at that jump long ago." His self humor shone through.

You smiled but lightly squeezed him. "Don't joke about that. I'm glad you feel that way. Thank you too."

"For what?" He retorted my own question back.

"Being you. Looking out for me. I heard the boys were threatened by you?"

A blush formed on his cheeks. "Yeah they were saying disrespectful stuff and I can't let them wander around thinking they can try whatever they want with you."

You smiled. "Always holding the order up."

"It's my job." You looked at his big brown eyes.

"Please don't punish yourself like this again. Don't shut yourself off like this. I'm not sure why you're punishing yourself. You don't have to tell me. But I don't want you to do it. Please? At least talk to me."

"I'll try."

#newt x reader #newt tmr #newt maze runner #hurt/comfort #newt imagine #the maze runner #tmr #Clint x jeff

669 notes · View notes

literaila · 2 months

Text

worth

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: the past comes back to haunt you, as it usually does.

warnings: angst, allusions to disassociation, hurt/comfort, mama is sad

last part | next part

year five.

"wait for me," satoru tells megumi, as soon as he starts walking away.

you're watching as megumi hangs his head, looking like he'd failed at his one objective--escaping--and turns around, glaring at satoru.

you've all been out shopping for the past two hours. getting the kids new clothes, shoes, whatever else satoru swears they need...

honestly, he's kind of cute running around like a maniac from store to store. showing tsumiki a cute dress she could wear, or teasing megumi into trying on a sweatshirt that matches his.

it's quite possibly the only reason you haven't complained.

or pointed out that both of the kids are on the verge of whining all the way home. or that he doesn't need to spend 100,000 yen to make them happy.

"hurry up," megumi tells the man, basically growling at him.

satoru grins and ruffles his hair, resting a hand on his back as the two of them begin to navigate through the crowd. mostly likely, neither of them knows where they're going.

you're not even sure where a bathroom is in this district.

"we'll wait here," you call out, nudging tsumiki. satoru turns briefly to give you a little peace sign, a little grin, and then he murmurs something to megumi you can't hear and they're both gone.

you're a little worried about them being alone together in this state but you ignore it.

"guess it's just you and me, miki," you say to the little girl at your side. she beams up at you, nodding. "do you want to sit down? how do the shoes feel?"

"mmm," she looks down, blinking at the sparkly shoes satoru insisted were perfect for her. "they're rubbing at my ankles a little."

"we can get some new socks, too. that should help. c'mon, i think there's a bench over there."

she grabs your hand as you begin towards the bench, humming something under her breath.

you look down to smile at her and don't notice the person walking by, accidentally bumping into them. "oh, i'm sorry, excuse us--" you turn and your entire body lurches away from you.

for a brief moment, you're not yourself. your conscious moves in an instant, ready to defend itself from everything, anything. you're not yourself, but someone else. someone you used to know very well.

"i--" you breathe, freezing at the person in front of you.

tsumiki pulls on your hand a little, confused when you stop suddenly. she looks to the woman standing in front of you, with a bizarre look on her face, and then tsumiki's brown eyes go back to you, her face riddled with curiosity.

"y/n?"

i don't remember a lot about her but i remember hugging her when she got home from work, and the way she said my name--

you want to forget it all.

it's clear now, several years later, that you would rather forget everything about her--about this woman standing in front of you, basically a reflection of yourself--than have to do this all over again. then have to face the memories of what she did to you. then put that child through any of it.

"hi--hey," you say because you have to.

here's the thing about seeing your mom for the first time in a decade: you can't just pretend you didn't.

you'd like to turn right around and walk away. you'd like to pretend that you've grown sometime in the past nine years, that you've turned into someone who doesn't need to stay and talk to her. you'd like to think that you're someone who can cut her right out of your life and feel all of the better for it.

but you're not.

you can't run away from your mother. you can't apologize for bumping into her and turn around with tsumiki's hand in yours and forget about it. actually, you can't even move right now.

because there's still this girl inside of you.

there's still this child, a teenager who tried so desperately to earn the approval of this woman and never got it. who tried so hard to be everything that this woman wanted, but could never try enough.

and she's clinging to your chest right now, breathing into your skin like a toxin, digging her nails into your heart and begging you to try again. telling you that you've got another shot, a chance she couldn't have--

so you can't leave now. not when you owe it to her, to yourself to try, to trick yourself into believing that it was just a fault of your own, that your childhood memories are only the result of some flaws you've already fixed.

you can't walk away when your mind is stuck on her, her, and--tsumiki.

your broken eyes turn to her.

your little girl who is standing right beside you, waiting for your next move. if you told her to run, she would. if you told her to stay by your side and say nothing, to hide behind you, she would. she wouldn't even ask you what was going on.

but for no reason at all, you can't tell tsumiki anything. you can't whisper to her that it's fine, that everything is fine. you can't introduce her or drag her away.

you can't do anything and it's never felt worse.

"i thought that was you," your mother says, tilting her head at you. she's staring like this is just a casual bump in. like you're colleagues who haven't seen each other since she went on vacation. "you look... grown."

you feel naive. there's nothing you can say to this woman to prove to her that you're better than you were. that you're far too good for her.

"thanks," you whisper, even though you know it's not a compliment. it's an instinct to appeal to her. to be polite and perfect.

your mom clasps her hands together. if you were looking at her--which you're not, you wouldn't dare--you might be able to tell that she's uncomfortable with you being there. almost surprised.

maybe she just assumed that you'd die as soon as you left the comfort of your childhood home. maybe she thought that they would've kicked you out of jujutsu high a day after you arrived, leaving you to starve on the street just like she did.

"well, how are you?"

you swallow. "i'm good."

she nods, and then she looks to your side and finally notices tsumiki there.

tsumiki, with her precious face, her beautiful brown eyes, and carefully organized hair.

you're not sure what your mother sees when she looks at her.

you wish more than anything that you could hide her. you don't want your mom's--you don't want this woman's eyes on her. you don't want her to say a single word to your daughter.

"and who's this?"

but you can't just send her away. you have no idea where satoru went, and tsumiki can't walk around on her own. not right now, not when you're so preoccupied.

you just can't walk away.

tsumiki holds her hand out, just like you taught her. "i'm tsumiki fushiguro."

"it's nice to meet you," your mother answers, shaking her hand warily like she's certain that she might get an infection from tsumiki's skin. and then she looks at you, not daring to ask what she wants to.

you clench your jaw, wanting to slap her hand away from tsumiki.

you should've put up a barrier a minute ago. the only possible block between you and a woman who doesn't deserve the pleasure of meeting tsumiki. who deserves no explanations from you.

but your cursed energy is frozen in place, and you know that if you shut yourself in, you'll never get back out.

"my daughter," you add, a bit louder now.

your mom's eyebrows raise immediately and she pauses, looking between the two of you, searching for some useless resemblance. like it isn't obvious that you share a bond, just from the way your hands are intertwined. like it's not obvious that you braided tsumiki's hair, or helped her pick out the shoes she's wearing.

like it might not be true.

still, she asks tsumiki, "how old are you?"

"twelve."

and you know where her mind goes immediately. thinking that it can't be possible. she knew you when you were twelve, and you certainly weren't pregnant with the little girl standing beside you. you certainly weren't developing any maternal skills locked away in your room, with only the curse that liked to hide in the walls to teach you.

it brings that resentment to the surface of your core, threatening to burst through your skin. you feel suddenly so angry you can't bear it.

and you're not that girl anymore, you realize. you haven't been since you met nanami and haibara and satoru.

since you learned that you were only a child and not a trophy that needed to live up to its name.

"well," your mom sighs, shaking her head. "i can't say this is what i expected."

"excuse me?"

"really, what do you know about children, y/n? don't you think you're a little young?"

tsumiki looks up at you with a frown, about to ask what she means when you stop her.

you squeeze her hand and look away, into the eyes of the woman who created you--who has that string of biology she just judged you and tsumiki for lacking--and still didn't care.

she is nothing if not the proof that dna means absolutely nothing.

"what do you know about children, mom?" you repeat, rhetorically. "at least i know that a ten-year-old shouldn't spend every hour of the day locked in their room, waiting for someone to come let them out."

"i'm shocked that you--"

"at least i know that a child is a gift and not a toy to hide away when you get bored of it."

your mom scoffs. "i can't believe this--"

"neither can i," you say and look to your daughter, who's got wide brown eyes and a confused sort of fear on her face. she doesn't need to hear anything else you have to say to this woman. you smile at her, soft as ever. "go look for dad, okay? he shouldn't be far."

it's been five minutes, and satoru's probably right around the corner, you rationalize. he's going to come pick up tsumiki and rescue you any second now.

tsumiki nods immediately, letting go of your hand. she turns to go do what you said, but before she can there's a strong hand on your shoulder, a body right beside yours, and you almost gasp in relief.

"found him," tsumiki tells you, softly.

you turn to satoru, wanting to beg him to carry you away from her, to get you away from her--but the words won't come. you're too struck by the view of his face, and the knowledge that when you finally escape from this, he's going to be right there.

satoru was there the first time, and he'll linger for the second.

his shaded eyes look back at you, observing for a second, reading your mind, and then he turns.

megumi is trailing at his side, holding a shopping bag. he looks between this stranger and you, a cautious look on his face.

tsumiki is telling him something without any words.

"hello," satoru says, smoothly, breaking the silence. "i don't believe we've met. do you know y/n?"

your mother frowns, scoffing. "i'm her mother."

you can see it when satoru reels back, looking between the two of you for a moment, an intense realization on his face.

maybe he can see the resemblance. the face that might be your own in just a few years.

or maybe, finally, he can feel the horrors of being raised by her. all of the things you've never dared to tell him.

you're pleading satoru for something with your eyes but you're not even sure what.

"there's another one?" your mom asks, almost disgusted, as satoru processes. "how old are you?"

megumi frowns. he walks over to tsumiki, who's already picked up your hand, and asks you: "this is your mom?"

you nod at him, relieved more than anything that he's there, with the rest of you. and that if you can't explain, satoru will handle it.

megumi considers it for a second. "are you sure?"

and you want to laugh so abruptly that it shocks you. you want to grab him by the face and kiss all across his cheeks.

tsumiki is already smiling at you like she knows this. her grip is strong against yours.

satoru smiles at your mom, a vicious ugly thing. "did you need something from her?"

"i--no, we just ran into each other," she tells him, seemingly confused by his entire presence. she looks at you. "who is he? another child of yours?"

satoru licks his lips. "not quite."

you're about to answer when he grabs your empty hand, shaking his head. "i don't think there's anything y/n needs to say to you," he tells her, coldly. then he looks at you. "is there?"

"no," you whisper, coveting the feeling of his hand in yours. the two children at your side, who know what it's like to be loved. megumi and tsumiki, who will never feel unwanted, as long as you have a say in it.

satoru nods, guffly, and turns. "it was a pleasure to meet you," he says, and he moves all of you away. you can almost feel it when he shields the three of you from the rest of the world.

with his hand in yours, the other in tsumiki's, and megumi on the other side of her, satoru leads you all away from her.

and you let him. because the three of them are more of a family--a better, safer one--than that woman ever was.

you can't thank them all for being there, being yours, in this moment, but you will.

at least you know that.

satoru has been watching you for hours.

since you all got home and the kids' questions began.

that was your mom?

yes.

why haven't we met her before?

i haven't seen her in a long time.

was she upset?

yes.

why?

because i'm happier than she thought i'd be, you said, i have a better family.

are we going to see her again?

absolutely not.

after that, the two of them quieted. satoru could tell that they had more questions, that megumi was curious and tsumiki was worried--but neither of them continued.

it was almost unspoken that you couldn't take much more. that you needed a break from it, even if you wouldn't say. so they both moved on, resuming their usual antics and talking about the clothes they got, when and where they'd wear them.

well, mostly tsumiki. but megumi entertained her thoughts for a while at least.

satoru just watched you. the tiny break within your eyes, the gap between you and the rest of the world. you've remained all the same since you got home. cursed energy small, unchanging. your face in one position like it'll kill you to move it.

satoru can't stand it, but he doesn't want to intrude. he doesn't want you to push him away too.

so he only sat there, trying to fill your role (which was impossible) at the dinner table.

and several hours later, after dinner, after space, satoru still hasn't brought it up.

but he doesn't get the chance to. because as soon as you've put both of them to bed--insisting on tucking them in and talking to them both separately tonight, like you're making up for something--you're sneaking into satoru's room.

and he's waiting like he always is. his arms are wide open when you walk into the room, and there's not a moment of hesitation before you fall into them. you don't blink or breathe before you're right against him, keeping yourself up with nothing more than blood and bone.

satoru hugs you close to him, trying to let everything he feels go, just for you.

(because he's just angry.

he's angry that she showed up and ruined your day. he's angry that he wasn't there to keep it from happening. he's angry that when he walked over he could tell there was something wrong because you were frozen--because you were almost barren. no cursed energy, no expression. nothing to draw him to you like usual.

and he's so angry that he can't do anything to fix it.

so angry that being the strongest sorcerer of the modern age means nothing when he really needs it to.

satoru isn't a person who hates. he never hated the people who attempted to tie him down as a kid so he couldn't escape observation. he didn't hate toji when he cut him through the throat. he didn't hate suguru for leaving, or yaga for asking why he didn't stop him.

he doesn't hate.

but he hates her.

for taking your face and twisting it around. for stealing your childhood and pretending like she didn't. for holding your precious heart in her hands and acting like it was nothing of value.

he hates her.)

you both sit there, rocking back and forth, sinking together for a moment.

and then you sniff, and satoru closes his eyes against your head, not sure what to say to make it all better.

what he can do to erase this feeling from your body. what he can do to prove to you that you're worth so much more.

"do you think i'm a good mom?" you whisper to him, as he moves back and forth.

his heart pauses, needing a moment to consider this. to not feel a fire in his soul at the very suggestion.

satoru pulls back, frowning. and he makes sure that your eyes are on his when he says, "there's not a person in the world who could take better care of them than you do," he swears, feeling like it's the most honest thing he's ever said.

he wants to brand the words into your skin just so you never ask such a ridiculous question again.

"thank you," you say, voice breaking, and satoru wipes the tears falling down your cheeks away. each one a different memory, a terrible moment where someone showed you that you didn't matter.

and when they continue to fall, satoru continues to wipe them away.

"do you want to talk about it?" he asks, almost hesitating. he's not sure that he can handle hearing about it--but he would if you needed him to.

"not tonight," you whisper and fall against him again.

satoru holds you close.

and he swears, to whoever is listening, that he'll love you enough to make up for that woman. he'll love you enough to make up for everything.

he loves you enough to be sure of it.

next part | series masterlist

643 notes · View notes

golden-cherry · 2 months

Text

deal - cl16 (26/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Burning things is a good way to get rid of stuff. But perhaps you and Charles have more in common than you like.

Warnings: this is quite angsty (mentions of cheating, Annika and Raphael), fire (of course), some fluff

Word Count: 4.2k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: this is a long one. but well, I felt like it. there are some Easter eggs in this chapter, tell me which one you found! feedback is appreciated (as always, please and thank you!)

Since your newly purchased items have not made it any further into the apartment than the hallway, Charles' bedroom looks pretty empty. There are three large boxes next to the door, which gradually fill up the longer you stay in the room.

"What about this?" you ask Charles and show him a pink candlestick that was recently on the windowsill.

Your roommate pulls his head out of the closet. "Throw it away."

"Okay." You try not to trip over anything as you walk over to the door and place the item in the left box, which already contains a vase and empty picture frames. As you straighten up again, a shirt flies past your face before landing in the right box.

"Sorry," Charles mumbles, without taking his eyes off the clothes in front of him.

"It's all right." You glance at the chest of drawers against the wall. "What about this?" you ask, pointing to the few books arranged by size on the dark wood.

Charles sighs. "Just assume you can throw away everything in this room." Another item lands in the box on the right.

Unsure, you bite the inside of your cheek.

The idea was to get all the stuff Annika left in the bedroom out of the apartment and - if possible - burn it in Jori's fire bowl, in the hope that Charles can have closure. The box on the left is for things that can't easily be turned into ashes, such as picture frames, candlesticks or small, empty flower pots. The middle one is for things Annika couldn't pack in her haste, like jewelry, clothes, electronics. She would come to collect them at some point.

The box on the right is for flammable things. The pictures from photo frames, books, tickets from events the couple attended together - and the clothes Charles throws in. And it looks like they're his.

"Can I ask why you're throwing away your clothes?" you ask timidly as you sit down on the bed. You run your fingers over the soft fabric, which will also end up in the right-hand box later.

Charles pushes some empty hangers aside before taking a jacket off the hanger. "Everything in this room is from when Annika and I were a couple." He shows you the jacket. "I was wearing this the first time we went to the racetrack together. Our first public appearance as a couple." He throws the jacket towards the door before grabbing the next item - a sweater. "I wore this one on the first Valentine's Day. We went out for dinner and then to the movies."

You purse your lips. "And you want to get rid of all these memories? Even if they are nice ones?"

The sweater lands on the jacket before Charles turns to you and looks at you for the first time since you walked into this room. "That woman cheated on me. Took advantage of my trust and broke it." His gaze is rock hard. "Whoever she was to me, she doesn't deserve to have her memories here. I want to put it all behind me. I want to be free."

You see a sad glint in his eyes, which you don't address. Instead, you get up from the bed and begin to sort out everything that's still lying around into the boxes, while Charles pulls one item of clothing after another out of the closet.

Apart from a little rustling and your footsteps, the room is silent. You want to give Charles his space, give him the peace and quiet he needs to sort out his thoughts and really come to terms with the relationship. The fact that he has asked you to help him with this warms your heart. Because even though you've only known each other for a short time, he's the person you care most about. The person you would run to immediately if your life went down the drain. The person you can tell everything to without being judged.

You seem to be that person for Charles too - the person he can trust without having to worry, the person who would help him bury a body - this feeling warms you from the top of your head to the soles of your feet.

"I think that's it," Charles finally interrupts the silence and closes the now empty closet behind him while you remove the cover from one of the two pillows. His gaze wanders from your face to your hands. "You don't need to do that. We'll put the bedding in a big bag and then it can all go."

"Are you sure?" you ask uncertainly, but put the pillow back on the bed.

"Very sure. I don't want to sleep in a bed she slept in or cover myself with a blanket she slept under. I just want to put it behind me."

"Okay." You walk around the bed and put in the clothes that missed the box. "Which car do we take? My Renault is still at the old place and your Ferrari won't fit the stuff." Besides, it would be too conspicuous and you don't want us to be seen in it together.

"There's an old car of my brother's downstairs in the garage. It's bigger than the Ferrari," he calls out from the hallway, where he's rummaging around in one of the cupboards before entering the bedroom again. In his hand he holds a huge blue plastic bag from a Swedish furniture store. "If that's not enough, I've got another one."

It's not enough. The bedding actually has to be divided into three different bags until the bed is empty except for the mattress. As Charles stands at the front door, one bag on each shoulder and a box - containing the last bag - in his hands, he peeks past it. "Can you open the door for me, please? I'd like to take the things downstairs."

As packed as he is, you have to stifle a grin. The Monegasque looks like a pack mule. "You can walk several times, you know that? Then you won't be straining your shoulders."

Your flatmate blows a strand of hair out of his forehead. "No way. I'd rather fall down the stairs before I have to walk twice."

As you open the door and press the elevator button for him, you just shake your head. "Then it's a good thing there's an elevator here. You'll still have to go a second time."

While Charles takes the things to the underground garage, you put the other two boxes by the front door before you go in search of another large bag. As Charles has already used all the available bags from the hall cupboard, you have no choice but to take a bin liner from the kitchen. As you hear him grab the second box, you poke your head out of the kitchen.

"I'll bring the other box in a minute. You can wait downstairs by the car, okay?"

"All right," he replies and puts the box on his hip. "It shouldn't be that heavy. It's just the picture frames and stuff in there." He smiles at you. "See you in a bit then. But hurry up."

You roll your eyes, which makes him laugh before he disappears with the box in his hands. When you're alone, you walk from the kitchen into the living room, where the red roses that Charles must have forgotten are still on the white piano. You carefully put them in the bag, taking care not to tear the thin plastic, and then tie it up before dragging the bin bag into the hallway and putting it in the box.

The roses make the box much heavier than expected and when you arrive a few minutes later, panting, in the underground parking garage where Charles is already waiting to meet you, you are glad when he takes it off your hands.

"What's in there?" he asks, pointing to the bag after placing the box in the trunk of the silver car.

You shrug your shoulders. "I found this. We can burn it if you like," you simply reply and drop into the passenger seat while Charles closes the trunk.

The drive to Joris is shorter than expected and although it's not too late, the sky is already turning red, as if the sun is about to set. There's some song on the radio that you don't know and Charles isn't humming along to. As he finally steers the car through the familiar narrow alley and then pulls on the handbrake in a parking lot, the front door opens and Joris enters the courtyard.

"Hello, you two," he greets you as you get out of the car. While he shakes Charles' hand, he presses a kiss to your cheek, first on the left and then on the right. "You said on the phone that you wanted to burn something?" He rubs his hands together excitedly.

Your roommate nods and opens the trunk. "Not only that." He takes one of the boxes - the one with Annika's belongings - and hands it to his buddy. "I'd like to leave them here, if that's possible. I don't want to see Annika again and I'd be incredibly grateful if you could give her her things back."

"Of course," he replies and takes a look in the trunk. "What about this?" With a nod, he points to the box with the picture frames.

"This," Charles begins the sentence before grabbing the box and walking over to one of the garbage containers that must belong to Jori's house. Without giving it much thought, he dumps the contents into the garbage can before rejoining you to take the three bags of bedding and throwing them into the container as well. "'Is garbage. We'd like to burn the rest that's left there."

"The firewood and fuel are already ready."

The boys carry the things upstairs and you follow them. When you arrive at Jori's apartment, you close the door behind you while Joris puts the box with Annika's things in a room and Charles walks towards the rooftop terrace. You open the door for him and he smiles gently at you as he walks past you towards the fire bowl, which already has some wood in it.

A little later, Joris joins you, a small canister of gasoline in his hand. "You'll need this. Please don't burn yourselves. I've got a quick online meeting coming up and no time to drive you to the hospital."

"Thanks, man. I appreciate that," says Charles as he takes the burning liquid from his buddy's hand. As Joris disappears, Charles pulls an outdoor couch sitting in a corner near the fire bowl. "In case it takes longer. Then we don't have to stand the whole time."

While Charles lights the wood, you take the garbage bag with the roses out of the box and put it next to the couch. "Would you like something to drink?"

Charles looks up from the small flame snaking around one of the logs. "There should be cans of Coke in the fridge. And there should be some sweets in the cupboard in the living room." When you look at him in astonishment, he grins. "Go ahead and help yourself. Joris has already eaten my entire fridge once when he was drunk."

"Okay." You leave him alone on the roof terrace and go searching. You actually find the cans in the fridge, two of which you take and put on the living room table so you can rummage through the cupboard for something sweet. You find fruit gums, some chocolate - which you probably shouldn't bring anywhere near a fire - and a bucket of popcorn, which you tuck under your arm.

When you return to Charles with your hands full, he laughs.

"What?" you ask, confused, as he takes the bucket from you. "You told me to help myself. And that's what I did."

"That's right." He motions for you to sit down on the sofa. As he sits down next to you, he nudges his knee against yours. He opens his can of Coke and you do the same. "Here's to the future." He holds his can out to you.

You clink glasses with him. "To the future."

After a few minutes, the fire burns brightly and warms you on this beautiful winter evening and Charles pokes around in the wood with a poker, which apparently belongs to the fire bowl, before grabbing the box and placing it between you on the couch. The fact that there's this physical distance between you both bothers you more than it should.

"Two years for nothing," Charles says as he pulls out the first picture. It shows him and Annika lying on the beach and smiling at the camera. He throws it into the fire. "For nothing, for absolutely nothing."

"Don't say that." You watch as the flames engulf the photo. "You learn from relationships. No matter how long they last."

He throws a piece of paper into the bowl. It looks like a concert ticket. "And what have I learned? How to be cheated on without realizing it? I definitely didn't need to learn that." His tone is cold.

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. When you take your eyes off the fire and look at him, his features are soft. He looks hurt. You purse your lips. "How did you find out?"

"I caught them." As you stare at him open-mouthed, he shrugs. " I was actually planning on flying from race to race, but my gut told me to fly back home." He has to swallow. "When I walked through the front door, there were already shoes there that weren't mine. And when I walked towards the bedroom, I heard them."

You raise an eyebrow. "They were doing it in your bed?" No wonder he doesn't want to keep the bedding or the bed.

He nods weakly and throws one of his shirts into the fire. "I knew exactly what was behind the door and yet it broke my heart when I actually saw it. It wasn't much, but enough to know that it could never have been that 'it's not what it looks like' thing."

You hand him two plane tickets, which he throws away without looking at them. "And then?"

"She wanted to talk to me, begged me to stay with her and said how sorry she was. But I didn't want to hear any of it. I just turned around and left. I couldn't look her in the eye."

"I can understand that," you answer him quietly.

"I think if I had really loved her the way you do in relationships, I would have thrown her out of the apartment straight away. But when I left and created distance between us, I racked my brains as to why she did that. And it was all over the internet that a lot of people do it because they feel neglected by their partner and are looking for closeness with someone else."

"And that's why you felt so bad that you allowed her to continue living there?" He nods. Another couple of photos land in the flames and catch fire. "Did you know the man?"

He shakes his head in response. He fixates on a burning log as if he doesn't want to look at you. When he does, his gaze is full of the kind of pain and hatred you've only ever seen on his face once before. As you remember the situation, your heart breaks. For both of you.

When you answer him, your voice is no louder than your breath. "It was Raphael."

Your stomach clenches so tightly that you feel like throwing up. That's how Charles knew where Raphael worked. Something you've forgotten until now. Something is pounding behind your eyes and it's only when a tear runs down your cheek that you realize you're crying.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner." Charles' voice is soft and through the veil of tears you see his hand twitch, as if he's struggling to take you in his arms and comfort you. But there's this stupid box between you. And you've never felt so lonely.

"Y/N..."

"Don't," you say quietly and without thinking about it, you reach into the box between you, grab everything you can with one hand and throw it into the fire in front of you. You watch as Annika's face burns. You throw a second handful into the fire bowl. This time it's his jacket. "That bastard."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'd rather kill them both."

A faint smile spreads across Charles' face. "I'm afraid that's not possible. Although I've thought about it before. But I'm afraid that I won't be able to drive my super-fast car if I'm behind bars."

"What if I take over for both of us?"

"I think the prison clothes would look good on you, but the visiting hours are definitely a pain in the ass and I couldn't stand not seeing you every day," he says gently and reaches for the now empty box, which he now places on the floor next to the couch. Then he pulls you into his arms. And from now on, it's not the fire in front of you that warms you.

You stare into the fire for a while, feeling Charles' arm around your waist and his cheek on the top of your head. "Are you going to tell me what's in that garbage bag?"

"Oh." You straighten up, dumbfounded, and lean over the backrest to pick up the bin bag. As you turn back to Charles, his gaze quickly flickers back to your face. "This morning - after your mother visited - we were sitting together in the living room and you couldn't stop staring at the piano. But it wasn't the piano, was it?"

He shakes his head and as you untie the knot of the bag, he takes a peek inside. "I'd totally forgotten about that just now."

"That's what I thought. That's why I brought them." You pull out the letters of roses and place them next to you on the couch before handing him the first one. While he throws the first rose into the fire, you open the bucket of popcorn and snuggle up to his side again.

"Annika gave it to me for our second anniversary," he explains, before opening his mouth and looking at you expectantly. As you pop a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth, he grins at you. You ignore the fact that your fingers are tingling where they touched his lips: "I don't even like roses. I think they're too hackneyed and the most unimaginative thing you can give someone to show that you love them."

"So a gift without really making an effort," you continue his thought. "And what are your favorite flowers?"

When he looks at you, his gaze is warm and there's a sparkle in his eyes that you can't quite put your finger on. "Peonies."

You feel the warmth shoot into your cheeks and turn your gaze away from him. He throws more roses into the fire and you continue to pop popcorn into both of your mouths as the flowers burst into flames in front of you. You hope that this action is as cleansing for him as it is being said all over the internet. You hand him the second letter, which he can burn in peace, before standing up and taking his empty Coke can. "I guess you need a new one?"

His grin is wide. "Yes, please."

You disappear into the kitchen, where you leave the can on the counter and take a new one from the fridge. As you go back to Charles, you bump into Joris, who is just coming out of one of the rooms. "How did your online meeting go?"

"Pretty good," he replies and walks past you into the kitchen to take another can from the fridge. You stop in the doorway. "It was just about familiarizing myself with my new job, which I start in the New Year."

"That's right," you reply and raise your eyebrows. "You said you'd been offered a job. Are you already looking forward to it?"

"Very much. I can hardly wait," he replies as you walk towards the living room. You can watch Charles through the window as he continues to set the roses on fire. "Was that your idea? With the whole burning thing?"

You nod. "Yes. I burned my ex-boyfriend's things too when I found out he'd cheated on me. Only I didn't have a big fire bowl."

"Then where did you do it?"

You shrug your shoulders. "In the kitchen sink."

Joris has to laugh before he nudges yours with his shoulder. "Your friendship is good for him. He's never opened up to anyone as quickly as he did with you. I'm starting to think I need to worry that you're taking my place as his best friend."

"Haha. You two have known each other for ages. I don't think I could ever get in the way, even if I wanted to." You have to smile. "But Charles is definitely my best friend. There's nothing I wouldn't want to share with him."

"It's nice to hear that you're good for each other." He smiles at you.

"Do you want to come outside?" you ask him as you walk to the patio door.

Joris waves you off. "You go and do your cleansing thing. But please don't burn down the sofa. That's sacred to me."

You stick your tongue out at him and grab the blanket hanging over the back of a chair before returning to Charles, who has now reached the last letter. You hand him the Coke and spread the blanket over your knees. The sun has set, but the fire in front of you is so bright that you have no problem seeing his beautiful face.

"Do you think she would have cheated on me too if I had been a better boyfriend?" Charles asks quietly at one point, without looking at you.

"I don't know."

He thinks for a moment. "She said that everything in my life revolves around Formula One. That I don't notice what's going on around me. And that I was never there for her like a boyfriend should be. And that she had to share me with the whole world." As he turns to you, you see tears glistening in his eyes. "You said you were sure there was someone out there for me who wouldn't find my job too hectic. Who will support me no matter how hard it gets."

You turn to him and put your hand to his cheek to make him look at you. A tear rolls down his cheek and you wipe it away with your thumb. "I have. And I mean it."

He licks his tongue over his lips. "You also said that there's a person out there for everyone. A soulmate with whom you can share everything. With whom you don't have to pretend and can be who you really are." You feel his arms wrap around your middle and before you know it, you're sitting in his lap.

You wrap your arms around his neck so you can hold him tight.

"So you think there's someone else out there for me? That I haven't missed my chance at love?" You feel his warm breath on your face and how much you want to kiss away the tears that escape his eyes. Take away all his pain. Show him how much he means to you.

But now is not the right time. Someday. Maybe.

"I promise you that."

You watch him throw the last rose into the fire. In an instant, the red blossoms catch fire, the stem begins to glow and before you know it, this last piece from a time Charles wants to forget at all costs disappears and turns to ash.

His grip on you tightens. A sign for you to turn towards him. When you look at him, his cheeks are wet, but he doesn't look sad. The smile on his face is honest and genuine and so loving that you can't help but return it.

He would love to put his hands on your face and kiss you until you can't breathe. To feel your lips on his, your skin on his and tell you how important you are to him. How much he craves you and that everything he feels for you goes beyond the limits of friendship. But the only thing he does is grab your hand with his and squeeze it twice. Maybe you'll understand. Understand why he always squeezes twice.

The right time will come. Someday. Maybe.

When you look at him, with tears in your eyes and a warmth that makes his heart stumble, he has to swallow. He's never been as grateful to anyone as he is to you.

"I'm free."

829 notes · View notes

joonsytip · 4 months

Text

Say Don't Go || Wonwoo

Synopsis: You say you love him but Wonwoo says nothing back.

Word Count: 0.7k

A/N: Just one of my self indulging thoughts.

Sequels : So It Goes | All Too Well

[ SVT Masterlist ] [ SVT Flick - Fic Masterlist ]

"I like you, a lot. I have had feelings for you since the university days. Been quite a few years."

Silence looms upon the atmosphere. There's a very neutral expression on Wonwoo's face, he isn't surprised.

Your grip on the clutch tightens, "Seems like you already know and you're not gonna say anything now?"

Wonwoo stares at you unwavering. He asks, "What do you expect me to say? That I like you as well?"

"Don't you?", you step forward, closing the gap between you two, "Tell me I read the signs wrong."

There's a slight change in his demeanor, his eyes flash something you should never witness so he looks down in the pretense of fixing the tie.

"Your family consists of conglomerates including yourself. I'm just a secretary who works for Seungcheol. Both him and his wife are your friends. You all belong to the same circle, I don't.", Wonwoo painfully narrates.

"It doesn't matter, as long as you reciprocate my feelings.", your voice falters, "Please think through."

"Easy for you to say. Do you even know how hard it is for people like me who aren't born rich? People already think I'm leaching off Seungcheol and if we get together there's no end to it. I'm used to it but you won't be able to take it even for a day because you're sensitive."

"If you know that I'm sensitive then why are you hurting me now?"

"It's better to get hurt now then to regret it later. You're not a teenager anymore, stop acting like one.", his words cut sharp at you.

"If all that matters to you then what about my feelings? It seems that they're the only ones those doesn't matter.", you wipe the tears streaming down your face, "Do you even know how hard it was for me to muster up the courage to be here. I am so used to liking you in silence that it made me back out every time I thought of confessing to you."

There's nothing Wonwoo wants but to run to you, engulfing you in his embrace. He wants to kiss away your tears, he wants to murmur sweet nothings in your ears.

He has always been wary of his financial background, more because he only has a brother who's sick and hospitalized. He's scared because he's seen the conspiracy Seungcheol's father plotted against his wife making them part ways back then even though she herself is a heiress. He has seen his friends suffering to no extent. To him rich people are selfish and wicked.

He couldn't afford to hurt you, doesn't want to fall prey to the rich and influential when there's already a lot on his plate. So he resorts to holding himself back, like he always has.

"Don't you like me? I know you do..."

Wonwoo exhales heavily, "No, I don't like you. Sorry if I have ever given you mixed signals but that was never my intention."

"Don't do this please because I'm serious, I might be in love with you--"

"You should leave.", he speaks not looking in your eyes, "There's no point having a baseless conversation."

"Are you sure? Because I'd stay forever if you say don't go."

"Just go Y/N. And please don't do this ever again. It was very uncomfortable for me."

You sniffle and nod your head understanding, "I'm sorry, just forget that this ever happened."

Just as you turn and make way to head out, all the memories flashes. The butterflies in his stomach when you both had teamed up for a fest event in university. When you smiled so bright at him always making his heart flutter. When at every party he searched for you because you're the reason he attended those in first place . When your drunk self bravely clung on his arm pulling him close and leaning on his shoulder at the seashore in comfortable silence while others drenched themselves in the waters at a spontaneous trip. You're his serotonin boast, you're his paradise in gloom. But he would never say the truth, never say out loud that it's not only you but he might love you as well.

After he ensures you're out of his sight, faraway, he collapses on the ground, gasps in pain. The glass falls from his face breaking in pieces like his heart is, filled with sheeting cracks. He has become a terrible mess.

"I like you too, Y/N.", he confesses in tears to the void which you had occupied till few moments earlier.

But you're not there to listen.

→ Do not copy, re-post, translate, or share any of my works on other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, joonsytip. ©️

818 notes · View notes

hellishjoel · 9 months

Text

cherry

7.6k / pairing: dbf/neighbor!joel x f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4

summary: Joel invites you over for a movie night with your parents and Sarah out of town. How are you supposed to focus on the film with his hand on your thigh?

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), NO OUTBREAK, neighbor!joel, age gap (reader is in their early 20s while Joel is in his 40s), cursing, alcohol consumption, use of pet names, softdom! Joel AND dom!Joel (restraint by command), oral sex (m receiving), praise kink, reader titty appreciation, super descript about Joel’s bulging biceps (we all know the picture that came out with him holding onto his luggage and I have not REST)

A/N: I wrote all of this today.. I don't know what's wrong with me. I hope you enjoy! I had a lot of fun writing this, I hope these two are growing on ya'll as much as they're growing on me <33

Joel could sense the shift, his hand coming to gently cup your cheek and bring your eyes back to his. He didn’t look mad like you maybe expected of him. You could feel his jaw going slack under your thumb, your mouth sucking in the side of your cheek as you sat in awkward silence. You sort of wanted to leap out of his lap and return to the movie. But he wouldn’t let you, he planted you there with his hand on your hip and forced you to look at him. You teetered your wine glass on his shoulder. “You wanna kiss me?” His voice was barely above a whisper, causing a few syllables to be cut out due to the raspiness. You slowly nod. A beat passes. “Why won’t ya let me then?”

A few times throughout the summer, the lakehouse was yours and yours alone. While on vacation, your parents always make it a point to go out to dinner and drinks with their old friends that lived in a neighboring town, leaving you in blissful solitude.

You used to go with them when you were younger, too young to be left home alone. You’d hang out with their son, Nathan, on the tire swing or go swimming in their pool.

Once you and Nathan both turned thirteen, you found that Nathan was involved in a lot of sports leagues that summer, and therefore he wasn’t going to be around much. Your parents didn’t want to punish you and force you to hang out with four grown adults all day, so they let you stay behind at the lakehouse.

It was your first sense of freedom, taking care of yourself, having your own routine. You remember breaking into your piggy bank and riding your bike into town with Sarah that day to play at the arcade. You came back home with your lackluster arcade prizes and made mediocre hot dogs. It was a little lonely, the house often bustling with noise from your parents, but it was also serene to be alone.

Needless to say, you were at peace to wave your parents off this morning as they backed out of the driveway and left you and the lakehouse for the day.

Your eyes flitted over to the Miller’s. Both Joel’s pickup truck and Sarah’s used and abused 2000’s red Saturn were parked in the shade. Part of you couldn’t believe Sarah could even drive. That five-year-ish age difference felt even more profound as young adults.

You tried to find ways to busy yourself tonight until your date with Joel. Date? Not a date. Hang out. Movie night. Meet up. Rendezvous. Literally any other word besides date.

You needed to distract yourself because tonight was a ways away.

You busied yourself with cleaning your room and bathroom, followed by reading on the dock. When it got too warm, you took a refreshing dip in the lake, followed by some leisurely sunbathing. After a shower, you found solace in jotting down your thoughts in your journal, channeling any residual nerves about the upcoming night.

You found that documenting your summer experiences provided you with a sense of clarity. You aimed to revisit these entries later in life, reminiscing about the intensity of your emotions. These pages held memories of your first boyfriend, the elation of passing your driving test, the ache of lost friendships, and the journey to college.

After the bonfire, before you couldn’t even think about sleeping, you were ferociously writing in your journal. The way your heart raced, the way you were so proud of yourself for taking a leap of faith with Joel. Because it was so, so worth it.

In the decades to come, the memories you once experienced that felt so fresh would naturally fade. That’s the point of your journals, to document how deeply you felt about your life at the time. Pouring your emotions onto the page felt like tending to a wounded heart. In hindsight, those entries about sadness and turmoil elicited a little giggle. Your mom always told you that it was better to feel anything than not to feel at all.

You wondered how much Joel felt, like, really felt. On the surface, he was as cold and unmoveable as stone. What was he like with his passions and the people he cared about? You knew he loved Sarah to an unimaginable degree. He would do anything for her. But besides his own blood, what were the things he cared about?

After putting pen to paper, you shoved your journal under your pillow and started to get ready. You over-dicked-around, and now the clock was ticking.

You wanted to look somewhat nice. After your recent interactions with Joel, one where you quite literally looked like you just rolled out of bed, you were keen on looking at least somewhat presentable.

But it was a movie night, after all, and you wanted to be comfortable. You opted to wear something simple, not too date-ey, not too casual. But you did wear Joel’s hoodie. It wasn’t for any overt purpose but because Joel’s house consistently seemed to mimic an icebox. Joel struck you as someone who could thrive in Alaska, content in solitude amid the cold.

The hoodie still smelled like him, mixed with a little residual bonfire smoke, but his scent was still deeply lodged into the fabric. A navy hoodie with fraying material around the neckline and cuffs. Well-worn and well-loved. He must have loved it enough not to take it to work because it was free of any stains and rips from what you could tell.

You twirled your finger around the hoodie’s strings, looking yourself over slowly in the mirror. Your eagerness practically floated you over to Joel’s house, Sarah’s car now gone. She must have left for her camping trip.

After taking cautious steps up Joel’s rickety porch, you sent a rhythmic knock against the Miller’s front door. You heard a few heavy steps on the other side, hearing a lock flip before Joel appeared in front of you.

“It’s about time, I was starting to sweat.” You said as you pulled open the screen door that divided you two before walking past him, catching his subtle eye roll as you did so.

The house looked like the same as it did ten years ago. Lots of dark wood, a cozy living room with a fireplace, and a lamp in the corner by the window. Joel had the perfect view of the lake. You naturally gravitated further into the room to look at the water glisten as the last hits of sunshine glided over the horizon.

“You want somethin’ to drink?”

Your head snapped to Joel, your arms already crossed at the cooler temperature piercing through the material of your clothes.

“Yeah, what do you have?” Your small steps trekked into the kitchen, finally taking a full look at Joel. Your face faltered at the sight of him.

Joel had traded in his usual tattered green flannel for a nicer, cleaner denim button-up. He had on his staple worn-in jeans, and for whatever reason, he still had on his work boots. But his hair was sort of run-through, freshly showered and combed back. He looked handsome, clean, like he was trying.

You slyly smiled at him. He seemed to quickly catch your drift, already avoiding your eye contact with a huff. “I got... Whiskey,”

“Ew, no.”

“Root beer,”

“Nope.”

Joel let out an excruciatingly long sigh as he ducked his head further into the depths of his fridge, mumbling something about you being a piece of work.

“It’s water, or,” with a groan, he stood up from the fridge, “this bottle of wine. Probably old.”

Old? The bottle looked nothing but. No dust, fresh label, barely chilled. You didn’t want to call out the poor man for trying to make tonight classy, but you knew Joel had purchased this bottle of wine for tonight. For you.

If it were any other date or any other guy, you would have pushed his nose into it a bit. Teased them for caring and being so sweet. But this wasn’t any other guy, this was Joel. And if you ever tried to admit that you saw right through him, he would clam up for the rest of the evening out of his adorable bashfulness. So you let it be. For now.

“Wine’s good.” You say casually with a little nod, trying to relax your cocky smile. Even when he turned around to fetch some old wine glasses inside the very top of a kitchen cabinet, you could tell he was satisfied with himself. Hiding a smile with his back turned.

You pulled the bottle closer to read the label. You rolled it around in your hand, your thumb tracing the stamped lettering. Cherry wine.

“Haven’t had a chance to eat all day, got us some pizzas,” Joel said as his head nodded to the side, following the direction to two pizzas still warm and in their cardboard box homes on the counter.

“Can’t have a movie night without pizza.” Your voice cooed as you set down the wine to take a peak inside, seeing all of its cheesy glory.

Joel topped off a singular wine glass, your head twisting curiously at just the one. He clinked your glass with his beer bottle, and you rolled your eyes.

“Thanks.” You murmured, turning on your heel to grab your glass and one of the pizza boxes before walking it to his living room.

You sat right in the middle of the couch, not giving Joel any excuse to sit too far away.

“Scootch,” Joel said as he motioned with his beer bottle to make room on the couch. You made a little noise of disapproval toward him.

“Mm-mm.” You shook your head.

“What?”

Your sneaker tapped the heel of his boot.

“Take those off. You can’t relax during a movie still wearing work boots.”

He looked a little perplexed before looking down at his boots. Probably forgot they were even on. They were practically his spare feet at this point.

“Fine. You too.” He said as his steel toe gently nudged your sneakers in return. You softly nodded, both of you undoing your laces. Sitting on the couch arm, Joel worked to loosen one boot and then the other, hearing the methodical snap of the laces. You slip yours off with ease, picking them up by the upper heel collar and tossing them by the door. Joel just kicked his aside and sat down next to you with a thump into the cushion.

“We’re watching Pride & Prejudice.” You commandeered the remote out of his hand, his eyebrow cocking to you in disbelief.

“The hell is that?”

Disbelief tangled your facial expression. “You’ve never seen Pride & Prejudice?”

Joel’s cocked his head to the side, face sitting like stone. Really?

“Do I look like the type’a guy that watches Pride & Prejudices?”

You rolled your eyes and huffed.

“It’s based on the novel by Jane Austen. About... literally so much. The independence of women. Societal norms relating to gender and marriage. Any of this ring a bell?”

“I know Sarah likes it. That’s about it.” Your smile quips up as you click play. “Perfect.”

“Do we have to?” His annoyance held no restraint.

“This movie night is to get back into my good graces, is it not?” You asked as your body leaned away, getting a good look at him.

Through tight lips, he held back a smile before nodding a little and turning to the opening credits. “Yes, ma’am.”

It didn’t take long for Joel’s arm to settle around your shoulders, bringing your body into his side. His thumb was stroking the hoodie you wore, his hoodie.

In his close proximity once again, your senses pick up on his now all too familiar scent; Woody, minty, a little bit of citrus from his body wash. He smelled good, you wonder if he wore cologne tonight or if this was his natural musk. You wouldn’t put it past Joel to naturally smell this good. He was good at a lot of things without even trying.

A few slices of pizza and two glasses of wine later, you started to feel the weight of Joel’s unbearably heavy arm. You released yourself from him and opted to turn and rest your side against the back of the couch cushions, putting your legs in his lap.

You hadn’t been watching the movie for the last twenty minutes. Couldn’t stop trying to subtly look at how handsome Joel looked in the flicker of the television’s light from your peripheral. You couldn’t help it. He looked so big and hot, like a lumberjack, his stupid build alone making you fold.

You bite at the inside of your cheek as Joel’s large and warm palm gently make slow strokes up and down your calf. Your body was trying not to twitch. Your heart was thrumming in your throat. You glanced up at him again, his eyes lasered in on the television.

“Why’d he…” Joel’s voice trailed off, bringing your attention back to the screen.

Your eyelashes fluttered, your brain trying to get you out of Joel Fantasy World and back into the film. “Hm? What?”

“Why’d his hand cramp like that? Why’d they film that part?” Without intention, Joel’s curiosity was evident in his question. It immediately made you smile as you watched the television again, your body slumping into his side.

“It’s not a hand cramp, he’s flexing it. It’s the film’s interpretation of his like… emotional turmoil and struggle. His feelings are evolving for Elizabeth, though he’s trying to appear all aloof and distant towards her. But their physical connection, he can’t really hide it, y’know? He can’t hide how he feels. So he flexes his hand because he’s affected by her presence and her touch. He can’t help it.”

Joel’s hanging onto every word you say. You’re not so sure if he’s interested in the film as much as he is in hearing you talk about it. The hand that was messing around on your calf was now trailing higher up your thigh. And flexing the higher it climbed.

Your eyes looked from his amber ones to his lips, your heart racing faster in your chest. With one hand still clutching your wine glass, you managed to swing one leg over his lap to straddle him. You folded first. You couldn’t take Joel’s achingly slow touches.

His enjoyment was obvious in his movements, his calloused hands slowly pushing up your thighs until they landed on the security of your waist. He was gripping the hoodie in his fists, observing your silhouette.

“This mine, too.” It wasn’t a question, he was pointing it out to you. Joel giving you his own clothes to wear was by no mistake. It was a way of marking what was his, even if it was just in his mind.

“Mine now.” Your words were whispered, leaning down and kissing at the hook of his jawline.

“Like you in it. Wear it a hell’uva lot better than I do.” The shift in his voice was clear, huskier, and a little touch drunk. The film’s volume seemed softer now, playing as white noise and falling abandoned.

His words made your stomach flip, your teeth purposely grazing against his skin. The motion made his hands trail down lower to the globes of your ass, humbly squeezing the flesh with the spans of his palms. A weak moan left your lips against his ear as he planted kisses on the inner side of your neck and on your shoulder. He was so fuckin’ greedy for you.

“Joel,” you whispered between kisses along his jawline, lips coming up to his chin as one of your hands gently cupped the side of his neck while the other clutched your wine glass for dear life.

As soon as your lips came close to his, you faltered. And Joel could tell.

Suddenly both of your eyes were open, soft, and holding contact. Your lips parted, but nothing came out. The only thing that actually came from you was a little sigh of disappointment, your eyes shyly flitting away.

Joel could sense the shift, his hand coming to gently cup your cheek and bring your eyes back to his. He didn’t look mad like you maybe expected of him.

You could feel his jaw going slack under your thumb, your mouth sucking in the side of your cheek as you sat in awkward silence. You sort of wanted to leap out of his lap and return to the movie. But he wouldn’t let you, he planted you there with his hand on your hip and forced you to look at him. You teetered your wine glass on his shoulder.

“You wanna kiss me?” His voice was barely above a whisper, causing a few syllables to be cut out due to the raspiness. You slowly nod. A beat passes. “Why won’t ya let me then?”

This was Joel’s second or so attempt to kiss you. The first time was on the tailgate of his truck, you didn’t even think about letting him kiss you in his woodshed.

You weren’t trying to remain mysterious or aloof, something he managed to do so naturally. You shifted in his lap uncomfortably, your eyes drifting to the window behind his head and watching the water shift in the black of night.

“It’s not that deep, Joel. Just don’t want anyone to get attached.” You shrug and shake your head. “I don’t know, who cares?”

“I care.” Even blasted on movie pizza and beers, he was as quick as a whip. His care wasn’t soft, it was strong. He cared like a fiercely loyal shield.

You exhaled a deep sigh, your chest reflecting your breath as he slowly brought you back to him.

“I’m scared that I’ll like it.” The movie’s distant volume was comforting white noise to your nerve-wracked conversation with Joel. This was perhaps the most you’ve talked with him in one sitting. And about something so deeply personal, too.

He took in what you said, slowly beginning to shake his head as his hand cupped more seriously against your jawline.

“”t’s just a kiss.” His tone was seductive, sincere. Whispering like no one else in the world could hear. “Kiss me.”

You didn’t feel pressured, Joel was looking at you like he genuinely cared about what you had to say. About the movie, about the kissing. He bought you wine, he got pizzas, and he’s suffering through a period drama to sit beside you on his couch. Damn you, Joel Miller.

You felt your body relax into his again, no longer cold and rigid. Your bodies meshed as you fell into the front of his chest, your hand on his neck moving up to cup his jaw. You tilted up his face and received no resistance. Just kiss him.

You met his lips, soft and sweet, delicate and gentle. Your hand slipped from his jaw and landed absentmindedly on his chest, feeling his thumping heartbeat against your palm.

You didn’t pull away. It was impossible.

He tasted like mint and whiskey, with hints of residual smoke from a cigarette earlier in the day. You wouldn’t know he smoked unless you were tasting him like you were right now.

Joel was encouraging something out of you, deep and primal, as you let the kiss deepen. He took the lead with a heady mix of softness and urgency.

He set a scorching fire between your legs, purely drunk on his lips alone. It sent a shiver down your spine how intense this stone-like man could be. Your mouths moved with desire and rhythm, feeling an electric spark that sent your senses ablaze.

Goosebumps had sprinkled across the skin of your arms, your once soft hand on his jaw now clutching him there and tugging lightly at his curly tendrils. You weren’t letting him go.

Your sounds filled the room, hot and wet kisses punching the air from both of your lungs.

A breath was shared, your forehead on his as both of your chests rose and fell together.

His eyes caught yours. More?

You gently nod. Please.

He was back with you in a hot heat, both of you wanting, no, needing more of one another.

He balanced a tantalizing fusion of passion and longing, a magnetic pull that had you grinding your hips down into his lap.

The world around you faded into a blur as you felt his tongue glide across your lower lip, asking permission. Your lips easily parted, tongues dancing and melting, your hands shaking a bit in excitement.

Joel was consuming you. His tongue marking his territory as he explored your mouth before kissing you heatedly once more. You realized that the kiss wasn’t an exploration of feelings at all, Joel wanted to languish in your taste, stake out the claim of your mouth. Taste and territory.

A low grunt left the depths of his throat as your hips ground over him with desperation now. You could feel his dick swelling against your ass.

Your lips quirked up in a smirk against his, you liked that you could feel his facial expressions, and he, yours.

Without thinking, you went to cup his face in both hands, your wine glass dropping onto Joel’s chest, and what little wine you had left was splashing his denim button-up red. He didn’t even notice.

“Joel--, wait,” you were breathless as you pulled away, his lips moving to the open expanse of your neck instead, his arms tight around your lower back. He could care less about his shirt, or the wine, or the spare glass rolling around between your stomachs.

You laughed breathlessly, closing your eyes as you kept your chests apart, careful not to get wine on his favorite sweatshirt next. Your head fell back, your hair fanning out as you grinned at the ceiling.

“Joel, your shirt is stained.” You tried to point out, both of your hands clamped onto his shoulders weakly to keep him at a distance. But his lust-filled lips had a taste of you that he couldn’t replace. His teeth grazed the soft skin of your neck, wincing lightly as you let out a broken little whimper.

“Don’t care.”

Oh my god. Fuck. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, desperate for more, but you weren’t going to let him stain one of maybe three decent shirts he owned. And with wine, you had to be fast acting.

“Come on,” you said weakly, not even convinced yourself to break away. “Joel, your shirt-”

“Don’t. Care.” He growled through gritted teeth, eyes hungry as you felt him lick a hot, slow stripe up your neck to your jaw. Fuck, he felt so good.

Despite his clear lack of empathy for his shirt, you felt bad because it was your spill, your accident to try and make up to him.

You rolled your eyes playfully and shook your head. He didn’t stop until you planted both palms against his pecs and pushed him back with little force, watching as he fell into the cushions with a lazy smirk on his face as he looked over you. Joel was drunk off your kiss.

You found your footing on the hardwood floors, grabbing his hands and attempting to pull him up and off the couch. He playfully resisted, just kept sitting there as you weakly tried again.

“Stop bein’ such a dick.” You huffed. His laugh filled the room, nearly startling you. It was always quite the opportunity to hear him laugh so big like that.

“Couldn’t pull me up no matter how hard ya try.”

“Shut up. Stand up.” You ordered with little follow-through from Joel.

He yanked his hands from yours and planted his palms onto the tops of his thighs, pushing himself off the couch and following you aimlessly to his master bathroom.

“Do you have some hydrogen peroxide? Dishwasher detergent?”

He stayed silent but looked at you quizzically. You rolled your eyes and started looking through different cabinets.

“Baking soda?” Cocking your head to him, he nods and disappears before returning to you with the little orange Arm & Hammer cardboard box.

You cleared your throat and looked at him expectantly.

“Joel, I can’t clean the shirt with you wearing it. Take it off.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you shouldn’t have been surprised to see his lips upturned in a cocky smirk. Sometimes you just wanted to smack it clean off his face.

Fine. With a sense of ferocity, you began to take him down button by button. He lets you. He even steps closer to your body, and you try not to get distracted by him.

“I don’t wanna be the one that messes up your nice shirts.” You murmur.

“t’s fine.” He cups your cheek again and tries to divert your attention once more. He’s not even actively trying to kiss you, he just wants to get a rise out of you now. You’re trying not to smile at him in the reflection of his bathroom mirror. Your elbow jabs into his bare abdomen after you’ve peeled the wet material from his torso.

“Quit it.”

“Quit what?”

Forcing yourself to turn away from him wasn’t enough. Now he’s behind you planting kisses down the side of your neck with his hands on your waist and toying with the hem of your sweatshirt.

You had to admit being on his lap like that got you hot and bothered to the tenth degree. Now you were nursing a stained shirt and the ache in your core.

“‘lright, fine.” Oh, thank god. You could breathe again. You were this close to caving, and caving to Joel was a losing game.

He found a towel and wiped at his chest and torso while you blotted away with a paper towel the excess wine in his shirt. After getting out what you could, you sprinkled the baking soda over the little splashes of red and added a few drops of water to make somewhat of a paste. Now you just had to wait for it to dry and toss it in the laundry.

You hoped you didn’t ruin the denim shirt, you quite liked how he looked in it. The blue denim complimented the soft silver in his curls, and the cuffs rolled up accentuated his biceps.

Speaking of biceps. Your eyes innocently watched him move around the bathroom shirtless. He was somewhat toned, a handsome mix of dad bod and muscle. Like a sexy lumberjack. He was big and broad, wide in the shoulders and smaller in the waist. With all the summer log chopping, his biceps were toned.

A shaky breath left your mouth, his eyes catching yours in the mirror before you quickly looked away, washing your hands of the baking soda paste you had made.

“It’s uh… It’s good now. Just let it dry and put it in the washer. Alone. Without anything else in there.” You quickly nodded, over-clarifying again. You braved looking at him again in the mirror. Mistake. A smug little smile that beat up your guts was laced on his lips.

Your hand was quick to reach for the door handle, but his hand was already on your other wrist and pulling you into his front.

“Get back here,” Your name drips off his lips, and it’s drenched in lust.

Fuck it.

Your arms quickly wrapped around his neck, feeling his raised trap muscles under your forearms as your lips reunite with Joel’s.

Getting that first kiss between you two out of the way was a blessing in disguise because now you knew him. You were acquainted with his lips. You liked his taste, you liked how soft he was, you liked the stubble of his beard, and you liked the way his warm palms were on you as soon as you entered his space. He embraced every inch of you, his kisses were feverish, and they left your mind in a tailspin. No one had ever kissed you like this before.

You ducked your head down before he could stop you, kissing over his wine-spoiled chest. You kissed lower and lower before licking a slow stripe up his sternum, tasting residual cherry and sweetness from the wine.

Your lips parted as you looked in the mirror, realizing now that he had pinned both your wrists behind your back and planted them at your tailbone.

Your doe eyes innocently looked up at him, his face masked in desire and an appetite for you.

“Get on your knees.”

A breath hitched in your throat, your eyes trying to focus as you looked over Joel’s face. Your eyes fluttered down to his biceps, strong and defined with veins lining like rivers coursing along the curves as they held your wrists back. You didn’t hesitate to drop down to your knees.

He had let go of your wrists, so you brought your hands up to undo the button of his jeans, but he tsk-ed you.

“But I-”

“But nothing. Put your hands behind your back again.” You pouted but obeyed. You wanted to touch him.

Your lips parted as you watched Joel pop open the button of his jeans, his thumbs lining the hem of his jeans and boxers at his hips before pushing them down to his thick thighs. His cock was already half-hard from when you were grinding on him back on the couch.

Your breaths grew heavier, you couldn’t manage to stay in his hoodie. You peeled the heavy navy sweatshirt off, leaving you in nothing underneath, which earned sweet praise from Joel as soon as you laced your hands once more behind your back.

“So fuckin’ pretty.. Look at you.” He lightly leaned over and cupped one of your tits, massaging it in the heart of his palm and rolling your taut nipple around with his thumb. A quiet whine was elicited from your throat, face crumbling as your hands fought hard not to release themselves behind your back.

You wanted to touch him, cup his face, hold his thighs, wrap your hand around his dick that was flush against his stomach.

A harsher tug to your nipple left you moaning, watching as he leaned down and let a long, long dribble of spit connect from his lips down onto your chest. Your head fell back at the cool sensation, feeling it aid the heat of your breasts.

He stood up tall again, broad and towering, as you glanced over to the mirror. The dynamic was almost charming. You on your knees for Joel, his blushing cock swelling against his happy trail. He was so handsome, so greedy.

Without thinking, you released your hands from around your back and moved to steady yourself on his thighs.

“Not gonna tell you again, pretty girl.” You paused and looked to Joel. “No usin’ your hands tonight. Just that dirty mouth a’yours.” His accent was drenched with lust, dripping like syrup.

You whined as you assumed your position with your hands away, not knowing what to expect if you tried to use them again.

You attempted to crawl closer to him, your knees practically between his slightly parted legs.

You kissed up his inner thigh, grinning lightly at the slight taste of his sweat. Your tongue kitten licked at his balls, hearing him seethe in a breath through gritted teeth. Sensitive, a little wrinkled, lightly groomed just for you. It made you smirk that he cared enough to trim.

You tested the waters, letting your warm mouth coat him in saliva, going from one ball to the other until they were both practically dripping. His cock was twitching for your attention, but Joel was above begging and groveling. For now.

With devilish eyes, you looked up to him as you suckled one of his balls. He didn’t stop you, just cursed a little under his breath as his chest moved faster. You picked up the suckling from him when he nursed your sensitive, throbbing clit between his teeth and tongue. Now, it was your turn to repay the favor.

Your lips released him with a pop, and you watched as Joel let out a breath he was holding in. His hand loosely fisted your hair in a loose ponytail atop your head, a little moan leaving your mouth as your scalp tingled with his tug.

Your eyes closed as you worked over the other ball, suckling and licking and doing it all just to watch his cock grow angrier and more jealous of the attention. Your own spit was falling down your lips and chin, coating your breasts in a glistening sheen.

Working without your hands, you used your core to balance yourself against Joel. Your knees dug uncomfortably into the floor. He liked watching you work to suck him off.

You had to look to Joel for assistance, his shaft so hardened now against his stomach that you couldn’t reach. You sat up as straight as you could, Joel smirking down at you and watching you struggle for a few brief moments. “Come ‘ere, pretty girl.” He used the free hand not tangled in your locks to guide his tip down to your open mouth, your lips wrapping loosely around the head.

You made the mistake of releasing him out of habit, whimpering as your knees scrambled on cold tile to get him back to the warmth of your mouth. He opted to help you again, guiding his tip onto your red, wine-stained tongue.

This time, you learned not to release him. Your tongue salivated his tip, swollen and sensitive. You could tell by how tight Joel clutched your hair and nearly pulled you off.

You smirked lazily around him as you took him deeper, your watery eyes on his as you interlocked your fingers by your tailbone.

You were slow at first, little nods back and forth, up and down his shaft. You blinked through any residual tears, slicking him up with your spit and proceeding farther down his shaft. You clenched your eyes closed and choked lightly as you took him to his base, a low groan of praise leaving Joel as his thumb stroked up your cheekbone.

“Fuck me, so fuckin’ good for me, darlin’.” His words were broken by his rasp, but the praise sent you into overdrive.

You bobbed your head at a good pace, Joel guiding you by your hair up and down his shaft, slicked by excess saliva that was dripping onto your tits and your stomach. You had to take a breath, but you learned from earlier. Your head came to rest against his thigh, head foggy as his tip sat plump against your cheek. You looked at the two of you in the mirror, and it was quite a sight.

Joel’s body was planted by his heels, his toned torso and biceps protruding with hints of sweat. You had black-smudged tears on your waterline, and your face was filled with warmth. Your hair was a mess, Joel gently stroking it back from your sweat-glistened forehead as you breathed through your nose. You liked watching you work in the mirror. Watching him get ruined in the mirror. Watching yourself get ruined in the mirror.

You started your rhythm again, this time your eyes locked loosely on the mirror in your peripheral. Joel’s cock made you choke each time you took him deep, but you didn’t let it stop you. He was so close, you had the heady taste of his precum on your tongue. He liked it messy.

“Fuck- can’t,” Joel let out a rugged moan, it felt like it vibrated the tiles under your aching knees. Your wrists were throbbing from keeping your arms back, hands clenched together tight as you followed his rules. “Can’t hold on when you take me so-- so goddamn good.”

You whimper-whined against his cock, hollowing your cheeks as you moved with intent up and down his shaft. You opted just to take what you easily could now, focused on keeping the pace and working towards his orgasm. You thought about Joel fucking your mouth, but he wanted you to feel some sense of control since you had your hands back. Maybe you wanted to lose all control. If it was Joel you were losing it with.

Joel was close, he couldn’t hold back how messy he had gotten. He had a steel-tight grip on your hair, and his breaths were laced with broken moans and grunts of your name. He kept wiping away any tears that slipped past your eyes and onto your cheeks, despite being devastatingly close to an orgasm you knew he was drunk on.

“Yeah, fuck me,” He murmured under his breath, his cock twitching deep in your throat now. “Take me so well... The fuckin’ best, babygirl.” The best.

You watched through blurry, head-dizzy vision as Joel’s ab muscles contorted. “Gonna cum, baby, stay with me.” He panted, eyes locking on yours as you nodded on his shaft and continued your sweet rhythm.

You whimpered as his tip pulsed against your tongue, going down on him as deep as you could and clenching your eyes closed, waiting for Joel’s impending climax. And he kept you there as he painted your throat white.

His cum came out in hot ropes, moaning lowly against his shaft as you focused on tasting him and breathing through your nose. He was salty, little beads landing in the back of your throat as you swallowed around him.

Joel’s moans were glorious, breathy, and aching to say your name. His eyes had fallen closed, his stance still tall and broad. You wanted to touch him, kiss him. You decided to lay your head against his thigh, still breathing around his dick as you watched yourself in satisfaction through his mirror.

“Fuck,” he murmured low, pulling you off of him with a pop. Your jaw lightly throbbed, but god, you felt like you were in the clouds.

“Hands?” Your raw voice whimpered. He gave a silent nod of approval, and with his permission, you released your interlocked hands and lightly toppled back on your ass, leaning against the door to his linen closet.

Joel observed you for a few moments, making sure you were okay before he grabbed a spare washcloth and ran some lukewarm water over it. Your eyes peeked open when you heard his zipper go up on his jeans, seeing he had straightened out his bottom half.

You tried to focus your vision, seeing him squat down beside you and lightly press the cold washcloth to your temple, cheeks, and up your neck. It helped, you were settled, safe, and with Joel.

“Holy fuck.” You finally said once you had come down from your high. Your eyes met Joel’s, seeing both of your mouths were quirked up in lopsided smiles.

“Too much?” He asked, the washcloth now delicately cleaning up the saliva on your breasts.

You slowly shook your head. No, never too much. Just new.

You looked around, feeling an ache in your knees and in your wrists. You rolled your wrists in circles to relieve some pressure on the joints before you pushed your palms up and down your kneecaps gently.

“Hey,” Joel’s words caught your attention, turning to him as he lightly cupped your cheek. “You were fuckin’ perfect, darlin’.” A weak mewl left you, a tired smile on your lips.

“You said the best.”

“Was perfect. Was the best. Did a perfect job.” His praise punched excitement through your veins, regaining your strength to stand back up with Joel’s honorable assistance. You murmur a thanks before you make a grab for Joel’s hoodie. As if he was going to steal it back from you.

Joel excused himself to go clean up the kitchen, leaving an attentive kiss on your cheek before he left you alone.

You took a few minutes to rinse some water around in your mouth and try to brush your fingers through your knotted, matted hair.

“Need to get yourself a brush, Mr. Miller.” You murmur as you pass him in the kitchen, seeing he pulled on a new t-shirt and that he had put some of the leftover pizza in spare Tupperware containers.

“Can’t eat it all by myself, and Sarah won’t be home for a few more days.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. He could so totally finish that pizza if he wanted to. He could do it tonight as soon as you leave.

Reading your mind, he shoved the container into your hands. “Just-- fuckin’ take it, why you gotta make things so damn difficult.”

You smirked and patted the container softly. “My specialty. Irritating old grouchy men.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head at you, picking up the wine bottle next and figuring out what to do with it. Your eyes softened, watching the gears turn in his head for how he was going to handle this situation.

“Do you care if I take the rest of it home, actually? I know it’s yours, and it’s been yours for a while, but it was really good.” Lame excuse. Joel leaned into it though, nonetheless. You were at Joel’s side now, looking to him with gentle eyes and a tender smile. He teetered on his feet for a moment before he nodded and handed it over.

“Yeah, you’re doin’ me a favor so it doesn’t just keep sittin’ in the fridge.”

You nodded softly and tried to jam the cork back in as well as you could, Joel swiftly taking the bottle from you and popping it back into its home with ease due to his sheer strength.

You turned to the television and huffed, seeing the credits of Pride & Prejudice roll. Dammit.

Joel joined you at your side, crossing his arms and giving the television a once over. “So did they, y’know, end up together?” There was Joel’s pure curiosity again. This time, he didn’t hide it so well.

“Guess you’ll have to watch to find out. Don’t forget to throw that shirt in the washer.” You said with a cocky grin, holding up the wine bottle and pizza leftovers in gratitude before walking to the door. Joel followed you out, and you looked at him curiously.

“Gotta make sure you get home safe.”

Your head rolled to the side, watching as he shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “What?”

“Joel, I’m staying right next door. You could see me go inside from your living room window.”

He just shook his head and looked beyond you to the water.

“t’s dark.”

Your chest fluttered with warmth, a smile on your lips growing past one you could deny. Let him have this one.

“Thanks, Joel. Thanks for the pizza and the wine and… stuff.” Now it was his turn to let you have this one. The stuff. The kiss. The multiple kisses. He didn’t make it a big deal, just rolled with the punches. You appreciated it.

You wanted to know what was next for the two of you. The feeling of your cores grazing one another set a fire in you that only Joel could put out.

You pondered whether or not to kiss him goodnight and find a lame excuse to try and thank him again for the wine bottle when you saw two pairs of headlights coming down the road.

“Shit,” you murmured under your breath, looking to Joel with a pained expression. He looked disappointed.

You didn’t say goodnight, you didn’t kiss him before you left, you just… left. You moved down Joel’s rickety wooden porch steps with haste, sneaking into the lakehouse through the garage door as your heart thrummed at a face pace. You felt like a child getting caught by your parents.

You didn’t know what to do with Joel’s pizza container and the wine. You could figure out an excuse for the pizza later, so you shoved it into the fridge, but definitely not the half-drank bottle of red wine. You double-checked that the cork was in there tight, and of course it was because Joel pushed it back in, but you couldn’t help but check because it was going to be stowed under your bed for safekeeping.

You changed out of Joel’s hoodie and into an oversized band tee, walking out of your bedroom with a book when your parents returned through the door.

“Hey, kiddo. You’re still up? ‘t’s past eleven.”

You try not to roll your eyes, biting down on the inside of your lip as you tightly nodded. “Yeah, I know. I stay up late a lot at school and stuff, working on papers or out with friends. Staying up past eleven isn’t that weird for me.”

You didn’t mean for there to be so much venom in your comment, but you weren’t a baby. Nearly every day at the lakehouse so far this summer has elicited a few don’t call me kid, I’m an adult, I make adult decisions, comments from you.

Your parents looked too tired to care, which somehow stung worse.

“Okay, sweetie, we’ll see you tomorrow morning. Your dad and I are headin’ to bed.”

Now you felt bad. You pursed your lips and nodded, putting your hands behind your back and resting them on your tailbone absentmindedly. This was the same pose Joel had you in tonight. You already wanted to go back there.

“Sorry, goodnight.” You whisper, seeing your dad give you a tired smile before patting your shoulder.

“Hey kiddo-” He paused at the nickname and took a breath. “Sorry.” You playfully smiled and shook your head. Go on.

“Do me a favor, grab the steaks out from the freezer and put them on a plate in the fridge. Wanna have Joel and Sarah over for dinner tomorrow night. Feel like I haven’t seen them all summer.”

Your face went ghastly blank, feeling yourself fall hollow like a collapsing building. If it weren’t for how tired your dad was, he would have seen right through you like a ghost. “You- Oh, you want to have them come by for dinner? I don’t think tomorrow’s gonna work. Sarah’s camping and-”

“Oh, well, Joel can still swing by for dinner. Need to eat up those steaks. Every time I open the freezer, they stare at me. They’re beggin’ me to eat them, it ain’t fair.”

You forced out a laugh, but of course, your father couldn’t tell. Just thought he made one hell of a zinger.

“So-So Joel over for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, kiddo. And don’t forget to take out the steaks. Love you.” He turned the corner down the hall, and then he was gone.

You sighed and lightly chewed at the skin around your thumbnail. Great. One big happy family dinner. And Joel.

---

here's my masterlist!

here's how to join my taglist!

@jrrmint @gracieispunk @macfrog @strang3lov3 @notjustjavierpena @bastardmandennis @joelslegalwhre @brittmb115 @casa-boiardi @nostalxgic @cool-iguana @chim-cham-blog @joeldjarin @unsteadyimagines @pattwtf @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @schnitzelwnoodles @flippittygibbitts @turtles-all-the-way-d0wn @cartoon-garbage04 @lunarxeclipse @alltheseperfectimperfections @sunnywithachanceofjavi @kyloispunk @hopplessilse @keeponlivinmanl-i-v-i-n @toxicfics @angelicnotifs @iquitedislikeithere2 @livingdeadmaria @emmalandry @worhols @radsanchez @pedritoferg @lucyeyelesbarrow @airalihmarylu @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul @suzmagine @pastawench @crazedquilter-blog @kaitangatatacos @amanitacowboy @loveisacowboyyy @kittytiddywinks @slut-for-bucky-barnes @mendessi @aphterthoughtt @chyannealaniz @pedrotonin @barbieratogabx-blog @chicville03

(idk why so many of my tags aren't working. Might make a notifications blog instead where you'd follow it and turn the notifications on and I'll only reblog my work on that account. ugh a problem for another day, okay ily ttyl I'm gonna go watch twilight)

1K notes · View notes

cr-komi · 4 months

Text

"The Distance Between Us"

Summary: You sent nudes to the biggest fuckboy on campus, what could possibly go wrong?

Pairing: Min Yoongi X Female Reader

Genre: Smut, a very very small amount of fluff at the end.

Word Count: 12,400+

Warnings: Y/N is an absolute idiot, Yoongi is kind of a dick at the beginning, swearing, oral (male & female receiving), unprotected sex (don't do this, please!) missionary pos., multiple orgasms.

Author's Note: This is not proofread so I apologize if there are mistakes! This one took me forever to write because I kept having writer's block and wanted to change a bunch of it but this was the final result so I hope you all like it!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Come on, Y/N, just send it.

It'll be like ripping off a Band-Aid.

He'll like you even more if you do this.

It's only a picture, right?

Just a blurry mix of pixels and saturation, nothing more, nothing less.

His text glared back at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. You stared at the message, contemplating every word, feeling the weight of his request pressing against your chest,

You didn't know who he was, not really. You didn't even know his name, although his phone number was engraved into your memory after seeing it so many times, tracing all the way back to that random evening a few weeks ago. But there was something about his mysterious aura that drew you in, like a moth to a flame. You couldn't resist the temptation to unravel the enigma that was him.

---

You sat in your dimly lit room, legs curled up beneath you as the soft glow of your phone illuminated your face. The familiar pang of jealousy twisted in your stomach as you obsessively scrolled through Instagram, unable to tear yourself away from the seemingly perfect lives of your friends and acquaintances.

"Ugh, another vacation?" You muttered, glaring at the screen as you saw a picture--a perfect couple sipping cocktails on a pristine beach. "Of course, they're all smiles."

Your thumb swiped upward, revealing another post showcasing an enviable group of friends laughing and posing together. Their happiness felt so unattainable, further highlighting the loneliness that had become your constant companion.

"Must be nice," You whispered, voice laced with bitterness.

Your eyes scanned the screen, taking in the meticulously curated feed that presented a world you could only dream of inhabiting.

Just as your frustration reached its peak, a flicker of light caught your attention. It was a text message notification, appearing like an oasis in the digital desert you found yourself trapped in.

Eager for any distraction, you tapped the screen, feeling a flutter of hope that maybe it was someone reaching out to you,

A simple greeting was plastered across the screen, accompanied by an unfamiliar number. Your brow furrowed as you stared at the unknown sender. Confusion gnawed at you, and you hesitated before replying,

As you typed, your fingers moved cautiously across the screen before hitting send, taking a deep breath while waiting for a response.

The reply came almost instantly,

You scoffed. Whoever this was, they seemed ignorant, and you decided to play along,

You tilted your head back, attempting to recall any instance of sharing your number, but your memory failed you. How did this random stranger end up with your contact information when you couldn't remember giving it to them?

Your heart began to pound at his reply, fingertips hovering above the screen. "Is this some kind of prank?" you mumbled, mind racing with possibilities. Was it someone from school trying to mess with you? You haven't talked to Jungkook since your freshman year of college when he was your partner for a science project, why would he give your number out?

You couldn't shake off the feeling of intrigue and curiosity that coursed through your veins. Despite the skepticism that crept into your mind, a part of you wanted to believe that this encounter held some sort of significance. Perhaps it was a twist of fate, an unexpected connection waiting to be unveiled.

With hesitant determination, you decided to take a leap of faith and continue the conversation. The prospect of embarking on something new, something beyond the confines of your monotonous daily routine, enticed you. After all, what harm could it do?

You sighed, contemplating why Jungkook would be giving your number out, or how he even got it in the first place.

Your mind craved to uncover the truth behind this mysterious text conversation, even if it meant stepping into unknown territory,

You stared blankly at your phone, eager for a reply, but you were met with only silence. Minutes stretched into hours, and still no response came. Doubt began to creep in, mingling with the confusion that had settled in your mind. Maybe this was all just a cruel joke, a ploy to toy with your emotions.

But something inside you refused to believe that. There was an inkling of curiosity, a flicker of hope that urged you to hold on a little longer. So you waited, your eyes never straying far from your phone.

Days had turned into weeks, and yet the mysterious sender remained silent. The initial excitement had waned, leaving behind a sense of disappointment that weighed heavily on your shoulders. You couldn't help but wonder if you had been foolish for getting caught up in this unknown person's game.

The idea of giving up on waiting for a response finally began to creep in, but just as you were about to delete the number and move on, a notification jolted your phone awake. You hesitated, your finger hovering over the screen, afraid to hope again.

With a deep breath, you finally slid your finger across the screen, unlocking the message. Your heart sunk down into your stomach as you read the words that appeared before you,

Fuck.

--- Ever since the day he asked if you sent nudes, you had been giving yourself over to him, allowing him to slowly chip away at your self-worth. Each time he asked, you obliged, sending him a piece of yourself captured through the lens of your phone. It started as something simple, maybe a picture of your cleavage or the curve of your ass, just as you had convinced yourself in the beginning. But with each photo sent, you felt a piece of your soul fade, replaced by an emptiness that gnawed at you from the inside out.

You desperately craved his validation, his affection, believing that if you gave him what he wanted, he would finally see your worth. But no matter how many pictures you sent, it was never enough. He always asked for more. More skin, more vulnerability, more pieces of you to devour.

With every photo, you hoped for a different reaction from him - one that acknowledged your value as more than just pixels and saturation. But all he ever responded with were simple words of praise and shallow compliments that never reached beyond the surface.

You were losing yourself in the process, your identity becoming reduced to a series of explicit images sent through a screen. Each picture felt like a betrayal to your own integrity, yet you continued to send them, hoping that this time would be different, that this time he would finally see you.

But deep down, you knew the truth. He didn't truly care about you. You were nothing more than his object of desire, a means to fulfill his own selfish needs. The more pictures you sent, the more power he held over you.

You found yourself sitting on the edge of your bed, phone in hand, tears streaming down your face as you stared at his latest text message. It was as if a veil had been lifted from your eyes, revealing the harsh reality of what this relationship had become. You were nothing more than an object to him, a means to fulfill his desires without any regard for your own well-being.

The weight of his words pressed upon your chest, suffocating you with the realization that you had lost yourself in this desperate quest for validation. The vibrant colors of your world had faded into shades of gray, and you yearned to break free from the suffocating grip he had on your emotions.

There was a fire burning deep within you, a fire of anger and resentment that you had been trying to suppress for far too long. It was time to let it out, to confront him and put an end to this vicious cycle you had been caught in. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the confrontation that lay ahead, and that begun with asking Jungkook why he was giving your number away.

---

You spotted him on campus his familiar figure standing near the brick wall of the main building, a smirk playing on his lips as he chatted with the same group of friends he was always with, their laughter echoing through the air. It was a scene you had witnessed countless times before.

His presence sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of annoyance and frustration coursing through your veins. You felt a surge of anger rise within you, fueling your determination to confront him. With each step closer, your heart pounded louder in your ears, drowning out the noise of passing students and the rustling leaves overhead. Pushing through the crowd, you made your way toward him, ignoring the curious glances from passersby.

As you approached, Jungkook's eyes met yours, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before being replaced by his signature nonchalant expression. His friends noticed your arrival too, their conversations dying down as they turned their attention to the unfolding scene.

"Jungkook!" you called out, your voice stronger than you had anticipated. His attention snapped towards you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked you up and down.

"Y/N, right? Shit, I haven't talked to you in awhile. How have you be--"

"Have you been giving my number out?" You interrupted, your voice dripping with anger. His attempt at casual conversation only fueled your frustration. You crossed your arms, staring him down with unyielding determination.

Jungkook's expression shifted, a hint of guilt clouding his features for a moment. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "Look, if this is about the text messages--"

"Of course it is," you snapped, your voice laced with bitterness. "What else would it be about? You're the one who gave my number away without my permission!"

Jungkook's friends exchanged uneasy glances, sensing the tension between the two of you. Jungkook ran a hand through his tousled hair, his gaze shifting to the ground beneath him.

"I didn't think it would be a big deal," he muttered, barely meeting your eyes, "he told me I wanted it so I gave it to him."

Your jaw dropped at his words, a mix of anger and disbelief bubbling up inside you. How could he so casually dismiss your privacy and consent? How could he believe that just because someone wanted your number, it was okay to give it away without your permission?

"Who are you talking about? Who did you even give my number out to?"

"Does it really matter?" Jungkook replied, his voice laced with irritation. "It's not like it's a big deal. You're making a fuss out of nothing."

"Jungkook, it absolutely matters!" you exclaimed, your voice tinged with a mixture of anger and hurt. "You violated my privacy. You had no right to give out my number without my consent."

Jungkook nodded, glancing around nervously before finally meeting your gaze, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's Yoongi," he confessed, his eyes filled with remorse, "He said he knew you from one of your classes and wanted to get to know you better."

Jungkook's words hung in the air, like a heavy weight on your shoulders. You could feel the blood rushing to your face, your heart pounding in your chest. How could he trust Yoongi with your personal information without even asking you?

"Yoongi?" You echoed, feeling a strange mix of relief and betrayal. "Why would he ask for my number in the first place?"

Jungkook hesitated, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "I don't know, Y/N. If you want to figure it out, ask him, he's over there."

Taking a deep breath, you turned your attention towards where Jungkook had gestured. Your eyes fell upon a figure standing a few feet away, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. His expression was unreadable, a flicker of in his eyes of something you couldn't quite put your finger on.

As soon as he met your gaze, he smirked, walking off in a crowd of students with an air of nonchalance. Your anger and frustration intensified as you watched Yoongi disappear into the distance, leaving you with more questions than answers.

"Thank you, Jungkook." You mumbled, but before he could offer a response, you turned on your heel and began to chase after Yoongi, set on confronting him and demanding an explanation. Those who surrounded you parted ways as you weaved through the crowd, your heart pounding in your chest, fueling your determination to catch up to him.

The campus was bustling with students going about their day, but you barely registered their presence. Your focus was solely on finding Yoongi and demanding an explanation for his actions. As you made your way through the crowd, the image of his smirking face played over and over in your mind, intensifying your frustration and boldness.

You clenched your fists as you trailed behind Yoongi across the college campus, leaves crunching underfoot.

Your heart pounded in your chest, fueled by anger and determination. You had been following him for what felt like hours – down crowded halls, past classrooms filled with students, even into a noisy cafeteria where you had to duck behind a vending machine to avoid detection, and although he had looked behind him numerous times during the journey, your remained unnoticed.

You watched as he strolled casually, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his faded denim jacket, apparently oblivious to your presence. But every time you thought you were about to catch up to him, he would disappear around a corner or slip through a door, leaving you becoming increasingly more and more frustrated.

As you navigated through the labyrinthine campus, your mind raced. Why had he texted you in the first place? What kind of person asks someone for nudes out of the blue? And how could you have been so stupid as to trust him?

With so many questions running through your mind, you became distracted, losing sight of him yet again.

Frustrated, you gave up and retreated to the library, the closest place you could find after travelling on foot for so long.

The hushed atmosphere there was a welcome respite from the chaos of your pursuit, and you sank into a plush armchair near the back, your eyes scanning the shelves aimlessly.

And that's when you saw him.

Yoongi was standing in the history section, a heavy tome clutched in one hand.

Sighing, he glanced up and locked eyes with you, his face paling visibly. Before he could react, you stormed over, grabbing his wrist so as to not let him escape you again.

"Yoongi, why did you text me? Why did you even ask Jungkook for my number in the first place?" You demanded, your voice barely more than a whisper but seething with fury. "Why did you ask me for nudes?"

He blinked at you, his expression a mixture of confusion and irritation. "Why are you even upset?" he countered, his voice low and measured. "You're the one who sent them."

"So? You shouldn't have asked for them in the first place." You hissed, your anger boiling over.

"You shouldn't have sent them." He retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Look, it doesn't even matter at this point just--"

"Keep your voice down," he interrupted, glancing nervously around the library.

"No! You need to hear this," you yelled, forgetting your surroundings as your emotions took control. "You had no right to ask for those pictures, and then to turn around and act like it's no big deal? It's disgusting!"

Annoyed by your yelling, Yoongi grabbed your arm with surprising force and pulled you through the maze of bookshelves.

"Yoongi, what are you--"

"Be quiet."

You struggled against him, but he didn't relent until the two of you stumbled into a cramped supply closet. Slamming the door shut behind him, he released you, his face a mask of frustration and something else you could fully recognize.

"Listen," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You didn't have to send those pictures if you didn't want to, and I mean...I'm sorry for asking for nudes but I won't lie," he leaned in close, his warm breath brushing against your cheek, "you looked pretty damn good in every single one."

And so, you stood there, back against the door, his words washing over you like a tidal wave. For a moment, you couldn't find your voice - he was right. You had sent those pictures. You were the one who had been so flattered by his attention that you had forgotten about boundaries and given in to his request with such reckless abandon. But that still didn't give him the right to use them as he pleased! You pushed past him and walked out of the closet, trying to compose yourself.

As you stepped out, the library came rushing back into view, filled with students hushed amidst their studies. You couldn't help but feel self-conscious as everyone's eyes turned towards you as if they knew what had just gone down in the supply closet. Your face burned under their scrutiny as you tried to make your way back to your seat without making eye contact with anyone.

But before you could take a step, a strong hand gripped your wrist once again and spun you around to face Yoongi. His eyes bored into yours with unwavering intensity, his jaw tightened as he spoke lowly; "Look... I know I messed up." He paused, stepping closer, his eyes boring into yours are he spoke, "but you sent them to me, Y/N, and I didn't force you. You could have stopped me at any time, but you didn't. And for what it's worth, I never meant to hurt you. I just thought...actually, you know what? It doesn't matter."

He let go of your wrist and turned away, walking towards the stacks of books on the shelves nearby as if nothing had happened. You watched him go with a mixture of emotions churning inside of you. He was right, of course. You did send those pictures willingly. It would be your fault if they got out.

How could you be so fucking stupid? Why did you think any of this would be a good idea?

You couldn't shake the feeling that something about his apology felt half-hearted, like he was only saying what he thought you wanted to hear. But still, a small part of you yearned for him to be sincere.

---

The twilight seeped through the gauzy curtains, casting a lavender hue over your room where you sat, knees drawn up to your chest on the window seat. Outside, the world was softening into dusk, but inside, a storm brewed within you. Your eyes were fixed vacantly on the snow that began to layer on the window pane, mirroring the turmoil in your heart.

"Yoongi," you murmured under your breath, the words tasting bitter. The memory of your encounter with him was like a splinter—sharp, intrusive, and impossible to ignore. You replayed your last conversation over and over, each iteration twisting the knife a little deeper.

What had you expected? For him to suddenly understand? To apologize?

"Focus on something else, anything else," you chided yourself, uncurling from your perch.

You moved towards your cluttered desk, where an array of distractions awaited: unread books, sketches half-done, a guitar that hadn't felt the warmth of your touch in days. Your fingers hovered over a novel, its spine still creased with promise. But even as you pulled it toward yourself, the printed words blurred, drowned out by the echo of Yoongi's voice.

"Of course," you scoffed, tossing the book aside with a soft thud against the hardwood floor. "Books are no refuge when your mind is this loud."

You walked over to the mirror, studying your reflection—as if searching for an answer in the contours of your own face. With a sigh, you reached up, freeing your hair from its ponytail. Strands fell around your shoulders like dark silk, a curtain to hide behind.

"Maybe I'll just go to sleep," you said to your mirrored self, "sleep it off and wake up with a fresh head."

But as you turned away from the mirror, your phone buzzed atop the nightstand, an invasive vibration that commanded attention. You hesitated, a small part of you hoping, dreading. Your hand shook slightly as you picked it up. The screen lit up, and there it was—a message from Yoongi,

It was simple. A casual, stark contrast to the chaos he'd stirred in you. Just three letters, yet they held the weight of a thousand unsaid words.

"Hey?" You repeated aloud, a laugh without humor escaping your lips. "After everything, all he can say is 'hey'?"

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard, indecision warring with the urge to respond. To lash out or to leave it be? But beneath the hurt and confusion, a sliver of hope glimmered—the kind that refused to be extinguished even by the fiercest storm.

"Is this supposed to be some kind of olive branch, Min Yoongi?" You whispered, the beginning of a response forming beneath your breath,

His reply came almost instantly,

As you weighed Yoongi's message, you mulled over the possibility that he might be sincere this time. He had apologized, and now he wanted to meet at a cafe. Was this his way to make amends? Or was it just another one of his schemes to get you to do something?

"Just do it, Y/N," You told yourself, "you never know what's going to happen."

With a resolute nod, you decided that now was as good a time as any.

Y/N stood in her cramped bedroom, her breath fogging the windowpane as she looked out at the snow-dusted street below. She was about to do something she'd been dreading for days – meet Yoongi at the cafe. Her heart raced with a mix of anticipation and nervousness. With a resolute nod, you decided that now was as good a time as any.

"Right. Let's do this," she murmured to herself.

It was bitterly cold outside, but you didn't feel like making an effort to dress up for the occasion. Instead, you pulled on a cozy grey hoodie and a pair of comfortable black sweatpants. They were simple, but warm enough for the short walk to the cafe.

As you stepped outside, the chill hit you like a physical force. You shivered, burying your face in the soft fabric of your hoodie and pulling the drawstrings tight. The wind whipped around you, biting at your exposed cheeks and turning them pink. Despite the cold, you couldn't help but appreciate the beauty of the frost-covered trees and the crunch of ice beneath your boots.

Upon arriving at the cafe, your heart skipped a beat when you saw him through the window – Yoongi, sitting alone at a small table near the back, fingers tapping impatiently against his coffee cup.

You hesitated for a moment, swallowing hard. There was something undeniably magnetic about him, even from this distance.

As you pushed open the door and made your way over to his table, you felt an unsettling warmth blossoming within her chest. It was strange, feeling drawn to someone who had caused so much turmoil in your life. But here you were, unable to look away from his dark eyes and strong jawline.

"Yoongi," you said softly, your voice wavering slightly as you took the seat across from him.

"Y/N," he replied, barely looking up from his coffee. But when he did, his gaze seemed to take you in with an intensity that made you shiver. There was a hunger in his eyes that you'd never seen before in anyone – lust, perhaps?

"Um, so," you stammered, struggling to regain your composure and focus on the task at hand. "What did you...want to talk about...?"

"Well..." he began, his voice low and smooth as he leaned back in his chair, never breaking eye contact.

Your mind raced with thoughts and emotions, trying to find the right words to express how you felt about everything. You knew you had to face him, and move forward. But with every second spent in Yoongi's presence, you found herself increasingly drawn to him, despite everything he'd done.

"Yoongi, I—" you started, but couldn't finish, swallowing hard as you struggled to compose herself.

"Go on," he urged, a slight smirk appearing on his lips as if he knew exactly what was going through your mind.

You hesitated, biting your lip nervously, but then steeled yourself. Your words tumbled out in a rush, "I-I don't know what you want from me, Yoongi. Are you really sorry, or is this just another game to you? Because I can't do this anymore, I can't keep feeling like this, like I'm being played."

Yoongi's smirk faded, and his eyes softened. He lowered his gaze for a moment before looking back up at you, his voice sincere when he spoke, "That's...actually why I asked you here tonight. I wanted to apologize for everything. Y/N...I-I'm so sorry. I never should have asked you for those nudes."

You avoided his eyeline, instead averting your gaze towards the floor, "Why...why did you ask me for them? It's not like you knew me before we even started texting and I--"

"Yes, I did, actually." He interrupted, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice, "I saw you at a party a few months ago a-and...Jungkook gave me your number. Don't ask me why he had it because honestly...I don't know. I wanted to talk to you but I-I just thought it would be better to text you."

You noticed the slight stutter in his voice and the way his fingers played with the edge of the table, betraying his nervousness.

Taking a deep breath, you took a moment before responding, "So you were talking to me all this time, knowing who I was?"

"Yes," he admitted, his shame evident in his eyes. "But it doesn't excuse how I acted, Y/N. I know that. I'm so sorry. If there's any way I can make it up to you, let me know. Please."

It was difficult for you to hear him say those words, but as he explained himself, something inside you began to crack. It wasn't forgiveness, but it was understanding, at least.

You looked at him, trying to decipher his words and find the truth behind them. "Why did you do it, Yoongi?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration. "I...I don't know. I guess I thought it would be a way to get closer to you, or at least have some kind of connection. But it was wrong, and I'm sorry."

Your heart ached as you stared into his eyes, seeing the sincerity in his words. You knew this wasn't the end of your struggles, but maybe it was the beginning of something different.

"Thank you for the apology. I'm sorry too, I never should have sent anything to begin with."

You bit your lip, trying to gather your thoughts, but you didn't have anything else to say, so you remained silent.

Yoongi looked down at the table, his dark hair falling into his eyes, "If it's okay with you..." He began, avoiding your gaze, "I-I want to get to know you better."

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. Did you trust him? Could you let go of the past and move forward?

Taking a deep breath, you finally spoke, "Okay, Yoongi. Let's start over. But we're not doing anything like that again."

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, a hint of relief in his eyes, "I understand. I won't push you, Y/N. I just...I'm so sorry."

"I-- it's fine, really."

And with that, you both sat in silence for a while, contemplating the new path that lay ahead of you. You knew it wouldn't be easy, but maybe it was worth a try.

---

It had been three months since you went to the café with Yoongi.

You found a new normal in your relationship, and although trust wasn't rebuilt overnight, you both were committed to fixing what had been broken.

The air between you and Yoongi had shifted. Instead of the tension and mistrust that had previously existed, there was now an underlying understanding and appreciation for each other's flaws and mistakes.

You appreciated how considerate Yoongi was, never pushing your boundaries or rushing things. Instead, he made an effort to listen intently, offering support and understanding as you opened up about your feelings and fears. It felt like the door to your heart was gradually creaking open, allowing the light of a blossoming bond to seep in.

One evening, you found yourself immersed in your studies at the library, the soft rustle of turning pages and hushed whispers creating a cocoon of tranquility around you.

Suddenly, your focus was interrupted by a gentle tap on your shoulder, causing your heart to skip a beat. You looked up to find Yoongi standing beside your table, his eyes crinkling as he offered his gummy smile that caused butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

"Hey," he said softly, like a lullaby whispered into the night. "I thought I might find you here."

"Yoongi!" You exclaimed, happiness bubbling up within your chest. "I wasn't expecting to see you tonight. What brings you to the library?"

"Call it intuition," he replied, his voice tinged with amusement. "I had a feeling you'd be here, studying late like always."

You chuckled, gaze drifting back to the stacks of books and papers spread out before you. "You know me too well," you murmured, feeling a twinge of embarrassment at your disorganized workspace.

"Indeed, I do," Yoongi agreed, his eyes lingering on your face. "But, I also know that you deserve a break. How about we head to my place and just relax for a bit?"

You hesitated, the thought of leaving your studies unfinished gnawing at you, but you couldn't deny the allure of spending time with Yoongi away from the pressures of academia.

You glanced back at him, his eyes filled with sincerity and warmth, and you made your decision, "Alright," you conceded with a smile. "Let me just pack up my things."

"Take your time," Yoongi replied, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from you. The simple action spoke volumes – he was in no hurry, willing to wait as long as it took for you to feel comfortable. It was moments like these that reminded you of how far the two of you have come in rebuilding trust, and you couldn't help but feel grateful for the second chance you'd given him.

As the two of you walked out of the library together, you felt a sense of peace wash over you, the snowfall had eased to a near halt as the two of you began your trek back to his apartment, leaving behind an untouched blanket of white in your wake.

The cold air stung your cheeks, but neither you nor Yoongi seemed to mind it much as you walked – the world felt hushed, almost magical.

"Is it always this beautiful?" you asked, your voice soft and breathy as you watched the last flakes fall from the sky.

"Sometimes," Yoongi replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I think it's just the right kind of weather for tonight."

Your steps fell in sync with each other, crunching softly against the snow beneath your feet. The streetlights cast warm, amber halos on the frosted ground, creating a comforting contrast against the winter chill.

"Tell me about your work," you suggested, curiosity piquing your interest. Yoongi had mentioned his desire to become a music producer during your conversations, but you wanted to learn more.

"Ah, well," he began, a modest smile gracing his lips. "I've been working on this new project lately – it's got a different vibe than what I usually do. But that's what makes it exciting."

"Sounds fascinating," you commented sincerely. "I can't wait to hear it when it's finished."

"Hopefully you'll like it," Yoongi replied, his eyes shining with gratitude at your enthusiasm.

As you approached his apartment building, you couldn't help but feel a slight surge of nerves. It was the first time you would be stepping into Yoongi's personal space, and there was an undeniable intimacy in that. You glanced over at him, wondering if he could sense your apprehension. However, his gaze remained fixed on the entrance, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

"Here we are," Yoongi announced as you walked into the warm, well-lit lobby. The sudden change in temperature made you shiver slightly, your body trying to adapt.

"Nice place," you commented, trying to sound casual despite the butterflies in your stomach.

"Thanks," Yoongi replied, leading you toward the elevator. The ride up was quiet, the both of you lost in your own thoughts as you anticipated what might happen once the two of you were alone in his apartment.

When you finally entered Yoongi's space, you couldn't help but take it all in – the minimalist furniture, the impressive collection of vinyl records along one wall, and the cozy atmosphere that seemed to envelop the entire room. It felt like a sanctuary, a reflection of Yoongi himself.

"Make yourself at home," he offered kindly, gesturing toward the comfortable-looking couch.

"Thank you," you whispered, suddenly aware of just how intimate this moment was. You were standing in his apartment, seeing a side of him few people had ever been privy to. And as you took a seat on his couch, feeling the warmth of the cushions beneath you, you knew that you wanted to learn even more about the enigmatic man who had captured your interest.

"Would you like something to drink?" Yoongi asked, his voice soft yet inviting. His eyes, a rich dark chocolate color, held curiosity and a touch of shyness, reflecting his guarded nature.

"Sure, do you have any wine?" You replied.

You enjoyed how the warmth of the room seemed to embrace you, making you feel comfortable. It was a rare feeling for you, considering your own life and surroundings were often chaotic.

"Of course," Yoongi said with a subtle smile. He disappeared into the kitchen area, returning moments later holding two glasses filled with the familiar deep red liquid. He carefully handed one to you before taking a seat across from you on the couch.

"Thanks." You took a sip, savoring the smooth taste of the wine as it slid down your throat.

You noticed the way the moonlight that streamed through the windows caught the glass, creating a dazzling array of colors that danced along the edges.

"You're welcome." Yoongi raised his own glass and took a small sip. His gaze lingered on the window, seeming to find solace in the familiar sight.

"Your apartment is really lovely," You said earnestly, hoping to ease the initial tension between the both of you. "It has such a unique vibe."

"Thank you. I've put a lot of time and effort into making it my own little sanctuary," Yoongi admitted with a small smile. "I'm glad you like it."

As the two of you continued to chat, you both discovered shared interests and common ground – your love for music, your desire to create something meaningful, and the challenges you both faced in your pursuit of happiness.

With each revelation, the space between both of you seemed to shrink, and you found herself drawn to Yoongi's quiet intensity.

"Sometimes," Yoongi said, pausing to choose his words carefully, "it feels like life is a constant battle against time and expectations. It's hard to find moments like this, where you can just be yourself without any judgment."

You nodded in agreement, feeling a pang of empathy for the man sitting before you. "I know exactly what you mean. It's easy to get lost in the noise and lose sight of who you really are."

"Exactly." Yoongi's eyes met yours, and you're struck by the sincerity you see there. "But sometimes, it's in those quiet moments that we can truly find ourselves."

You couldn't help but be moved by the sincerity in Yoongi's words, and as the silence fell between you both, you found your gaze drifting towards the window again. The snow had stopped, leaving a blanket of white that seemed to silence the world outside.

"It's amazing how peaceful everything can be when it snows," you remarked, your voice barely above a whisper. "It makes you feel like anything is possible."

Yoongi nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "It's a reminder that sometimes, we need to slow down and appreciate the beauty of the world around us."

You smiled, silently agreeing before looking around the living room, taking more of it in, "I can't believe we've known each other for as long as we have but I've never been to your apartment until now."

"Same goes for me," Yoongi replied, a hint of amusement in his voice, "It's kind of funny to think about how we even became friends."

You scoffed, "It's funny now. But, I wouldn't have it any other way. I still have your contact name as the same thing it was when you first texted me, though."

Yoongi tilted his head in confusion, "What do you mean?"

"It's still just your phone number. For some reason...I don't know I just like it that way."

Yoongi chuckled lightly, shaking his head in amusement. "That's...quite possibly the most strange yet charming thing I've heard today." He took another sip of his wine, the warmth spreading through his body as he savored the taste.

"Is that so?"

He nodded, smiling.

"Well, maybe I should change it then." You pulled out your phone, navigating to your contacts. "What should I change it to?"

"Nah," he began, putting his wine glass down before scooting towards you, "let me do it," he said playfully, snatching the phone from your grasp. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he held your phone aloft, just out of your reach. "Besides, I want to pick my own emoji."

"Give it back!" You laughed, your cheeks flushed with excitement as your reached for your phone. Your heart raced at your playful banter, something you had grown to cherish during your time with Yoongi.

"Uh-uh, not until I'm done," he teased, his tongue peeking out between his lips in a cheeky grin. He leaned to one side, keeping the phone firmly out of your grasp.

Your determination grew, and you leaned over him, stretching your arm out as far as possible.

Your fingertips brushed against the edge of your phone, but Yoongi shifted his weight again, a triumphant smirk on his face.

"Yoongi, seriously!" You huffed, laughter bubbling up despite your feigned annoyance.

"Fine, fine," he relented, bringing the phone down just enough for you to snatch it back. In your eagerness, you accidentally ended up leaning too far forward straddling him in the process, your thighs pressing against his hips.

You both froze, suddenly aware of your intimate position.

Your eyes locked, and the room seemed to fall silent around the two of you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the proximity making you all too aware of the heat radiating from Yoongi's body.

You noticed the way his breath hitched in his throat, and the way his pupils dilated as the two of you continued to stare at each other.

A minute crawled by, every second feeling like an eternity as a thousand emotions swirled within you. Your mind raced with questions, doubts, and desires, and you could see the same turmoil reflected in Yoongi's eyes.

It was only when you felt a tremble in your hands that you realized what you were doing.

Face burning, you began moving your hips slightly in an attempt to get off of him, "Shit, Yoongi, I-I'm so sorry."

Although the movement you made caused a friction beneath you, and Yoongi froze, eyes widening, "W-wait, Y/N, stop...stop moving."

"What?" You stuttered, looking at him with wide eyes. "Why?"

His hands slid down to your waist in an attempt to hold you in place, "Just...stop." He managed to get out, his voice low and rough. "Don't move, please."

As you froze in place, it dawned on you that Yoongi's hands had now settled in a more intimate position on your hips, his fingers gently gripping your sides. You could feel his breath against your skin as his eyes locked onto yours, his expression filled with a mix of desire and fear.

"Y-Yoongi, I--" You moved again in another attempt to get off him, flustered.

"Fuck..." He groaned, allowing his head to fall back, and suddenly, you felt something underneath you.

A shiver ran down your spine as you realized what it was - his erection pressing right up against the heat of your core.

In fear and confusion, you pushed his hands off your waist, abruptly standing up before him, "I-I should go," you began, rubbing your hands against your sides in an attempt to wipe the sweat off of them, "I'll see you later?"

Yoongi watched as you quickly gathered your things and stood up from his couch, his heart pounding in his chest as he struggled to find the right words. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, and he could feel the heat radiating from your body as your cheeks flushed red.

"Y/N, wait..." Yoongi's voice was hoarse, his eyes pleading as he reached for your hand. But you were already turning to leave the room, the weight of your words heavy on your tongue.

---

You avoided Yoongi for the next few days, his calls, his texts, everything.

You immersed yourself in your schoolwork, dedicating less time to visiting the library, as a means to escape the burden that this situation had imposed on you.

But as the days went by, you found yourself thinking about him more and more. About the heat of his touch, the desires you both had felt in that moment. You knew it had been an accident, but you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more between you and Yoongi.

---

"You need to talk to him, Y/N."

"I-I know," you began, rubbing your temples, "but I have no idea where to start, I mean I just walked out on him, he probably hates me."

You and your best friend, Mina, had been sitting together in your apartment while you sulked over Yoongi, trying to figure out how you would speak to him again. Mina had been your rock through thick and thin, and now she was determined to help you out of this mess.

"Just think about it, Y/N. You owe it to yourself to at least try and resolve this. You can't just let things remain the way they are."

You nodded, biting your lip in frustration. "You're right, Mina. I just...I don't know where to start."

Mina smiled, placing her hand on your shoulder. "Well, you could start by sending him a message. You know, just a simple olive branch to let him know you're willing to talk."

"But...I walked out on him. I can't just text him after all that," you threw your face into your hands, "I feel so bad."

"Look Y/N," Mina began, "I know you feel bad but if you don't think that a text or a call is the right thing to do, then...I don't know what to say."

You scoffed, "Wow, thanks, that really puts things into perspective."

Mina laughed lightly, trying to lighten the mood. "Alright, alright. But seriously, you need to figure out what you want to do, Y/N. It's been a few days, and if you don't make a move, you could lose him all together."

"I know, I know, you're right."

"Of course I am." Mina got up from where she was sitting, a soft smile on her face, "I have to go, but keep me updated."

"I will."

---

You lay restless in your bed, moonlight casting silver shadows on the walls. The clock's red digits flickered to 12:00 A.M., taunting you with each passing second. Sleep remained elusive, for Yoongi's face flickered behind your closed eyes, his laughter echoing in your ears.

You couldn't shake the feeling that their misunderstanding had driven a wedge between them.

Why did you have to fuck everything up?

"Damn it," you muttered under your breath, tossing and turning, your tangled sheets a testament to your inner turmoil.

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to find a solution to mend your fractured friendship with Yoongi. Desperation bubbled up within you until it burst like a geyser, propelling you out of bed.

"Fuck this," you hissed, flinging the covers off your body. With a newfound determination, you slipped into sweatpants and a hoodie, the fabric comforting against your skin.

You rummaged through the darkness, fingers closing around the familiar leather of your coat.

Your heart pounded like a drum as you prepared to step out into the cold night air, fueled by the need to speak with Yoongi and set things right.

You made your way through the hallway, and out the door of your apartment, each step setting a path towards your journey outside.

The cold winter night had wrapped its icy fingers around the city, but your determination burned like a fire inside your chest.

As you walked towards Yoongi's apartment, your breath condensed into fleeting clouds that disappeared as quickly as they were born.

You glanced around, taking in the peaceful serenity of the snow-covered streets, the faint glow of the streetlights casting long shadows.

"Just talk to him, Y/N," you muttered under your breath, your words barely audible over the sound of your boots crunching on the snow beneath your feet.

When you finally arrived at the building, you rushed through the lobby without so much as a glance at the receptionist who looked up from her desk, startled by your sudden entrance.

The receptionist called after you, "Wait! Ma'am!" but you were already pressing the elevator button with impatience, your thoughts consumed by the urgency to reach Yoongi and set things straight.

"Out of order?" you read aloud, voice trembling with frustration. The sign taped to the elevator door mocked you, leaving you with no choice but to turn to the stairwell.

You hesitated for a moment, staring up at the seemingly endless flights of stairs. Yoongi lived on the highest floor, and the thought of climbing all the way up there was daunting. But the fire inside you continued to rage, and you knew there was no turning back now.

"Alright then," you whispered to yourself, taking a deep breath before dashing up the stairs, utterly determined.

Your heart pounded in your ears as you hurried up flight after flight, ignoring the burning sensation in your legs. Each step brought you closer to Yoongi, closer to the confrontation you knew the both of you desperately needed.

Finally, gasping for breath, you reached the top and stood outside Yoongi's door. You raised your fist and banged on it forcefully, your voice raised in desperation, "Yoongi, I need to talk to you,"

Silence. You could feel the heaviness of it pressing down on you, but you refused to let it deter you.

"Yoongi! Open the door, please I know you're in there," you spoke again, louder this time.

The door finally swung open, revealing Yoongi's tired and weary face. As your eyes met, you saw a sadness in his that you had never seen before, and it threatened to extinguish the fire inside you.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely audible, "what are you doing here?"

"Can I come in?"

With a sigh, he lowered his head, but he stepped aside from the doorframe, creating room for you to enter.

"What do you want?" He mumbled, still avoiding your gaze.

The weight of his question was heavy, but you didn't waver. You stepped into his apartment, feeling the warmth of the air against your skin.

"I came here to say that I'm sorry," you began, your voice barely audible, "I shouldn't have left like that. I was scared, and I didn't know how to handle things. I was wrong to run away, and I want you to know that I'm here now."

Yoongi remained silent, staring at his hands as if they were foreign to him.

You leaned towards him, grasping his bicep in your hand.

He flinched at the sudden touch, but didn't shy away.

"Please, look at me, Yoongi," you whispered, your eyes pleading with him to understand.

Your fingers wrap tightly around his arm, and you look up into his eyes, attempting to convey the sincerity of your words.

"Please, I-I just..."

Your let your hand fall back your side, trembling slightly, as your face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and regret.

You stumbled over her words, speaking at a rapid pace, desperate to communicate the weight of her remorse.

"Look, I know I messed up, okay? I didn't mean to just...run out on you like that. It was so stupid and thoughtless and, god, I'm so sorry, I really am."

He opened his mouth to say something, "Y/N--" but you cut him off, your voice rising in pitch as your anxiety grew.

"I've been thinking about it nonstop, and I hate myself for doing that to you and then just completely avoiding you afterwards. I was scared, and I panicked, and I didn't want to face what was happening between us."

"Y/N--" Again, he tried to interrupt, but you continued your rambling, feeling a knot tighten in your chest as tears threatened to spill from your eyes.

"Every time I think about how I left you like that I feel terrible. I can't stand the thought that I hurt you like that. I never wanted to be the type of person who runs away when things like that happen, but that's exactly what I did."

Your voice faltered, and you swallowed hard, trying to regain your composure.

Still, you refused to let him get a word in, terrified that if he spoke, it would confirm your worst fears – that you had irreparably damaged you friendship with him.

"Since then, I've been replaying that night in my head over and over again, wishing I could go back and do things differently. I should have stayed. We should have talked it out like adults. But instead, I behaved like a coward, and now I'm afraid I've lost you for good."

At last, you paused for breath, your chest heaving as you stared at him with wide, pleading eyes.

He took a step closer, his expression unreadable, and she braced yourself for the impact of his words – whatever they may be.

Just as you were about the reply, Yoongi closed the distance between the two of you, his lips gently touching yours in a tender, slow kiss.

Yoongi's lips were soft as he pulled back, a small smile on his face as he looked at you, his fingers tangling in your hair. He tugged gently, causing you to lean forward, his breath hot against your lips as he spoke. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this."

You smiled and leaned in, your noses brushing against each other as the two of you breathed each other in deeply.

The air was filled with the scent of his cologne and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke mixing with the warmth of his body. "Oh really? How long have you wanted to?" you whispered, heart racing as he moved closer, resting his forehead against yours. His warmth seeped into you, making you shiver.

Slowly, Yoongi's lips brushed against yours teasingly before pressing firmly, his hand on the back of your neck pulling you closer. Your kiss was soft and gentle at first, a slow exploration of each other's mouths, tasting and teasing. The feeling of his lips against yours sent shivers down your spine, a low moan escaping your throat as you parted your lips slightly, inviting him in more. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, and you eagerly opened up for him, welcoming him in.

The taste of him was addictive, like fine wine and coffee, with a hint of sweetness that lingered on your tongue long after the kiss.

You ran your fingers up his neck and threaded your fingers through his messy hair.

You pulled him closer, deepening the kiss, your body melting into his as they molded together. Yoongi groaned into the kiss, his other hand finding its way to your waist and pulling you even tighter against him.

Your tongues danced together, twirling and dueling playfully, your mouths opening wider to allow for more exploration. His kiss was demanding now, and you gave in willingly, your body arching into him as he took control.

You kissed him back just as passionately, your tongue tangling with his, breaths heavy and labored. He gripped your hips tighter, grinding against you, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her core.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he continued to kiss you deeply, your body trembling with anticipation.

You could feel his heart racing against your chest, the sound of his rapid breaths mingling with your own.

The heat between the two of you grew, along with your desire, and you felt yourself opening up to him more than ever before.

"Jump." He growled, his lips still brushing against yours.

With a small whimper, you obeyed, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer as he stepped forward, nearly pinning you against the wall.

His lips trailed down your neck, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses along the way, making you shiver.

Your head fell back as he bit lightly on the sensitive skin of your neck, sucking gently. His hot breath fanned across your skin, raising goosebumps along your arms.

You sighed in contentment as Yoongi's warmth continued to envelop you, your heart racing in anticipation. In the nights you spent alone in your room, you had replayed this moment countless times in your head, imagining how it would feel to be in his arms, to feel the softness of his lips against yours. But the reality was far more intense than you ever could have imagined. Every touch sent shivers down your spine, every groan vibrating against your skin made you tremble with desire.

With a sudden surge of impatience, Yoongi dropped you to your feet, roughly ripping off his shirt, his muscles rippling beneath his skin in the process, revealing a chiseled torso that seemed to glow in the dim light.

Your breath hitched at the sight of him bare before you, his shoulders broad and strong, his arms corded with strength. You traced one of them with your fingertips, marveling at the definition of his biceps.

His abs were like etched stone, each dip and curve perfectly defined. As you trailed your fingers lower, you could feel his heart racing under your touch. He groaned softly, a deep rumble that vibrated through your body. You traced the trail of hair that led from his navel to his jeans, which were already unbuttoned and half-unzipped. You paused for a moment, looking up at him through hooded eyes. He growled low in his throat, a mix of irritation and desire, and you smiled before sliding your fingers inside his boxers to touch his hot skin.

He was warm and hard, pulsing beneath your fingertips. You wrapped your hand around him, feeling the heat radiate off him like an open flame. He gasped softly as you began to stroke him, slowly at first, then faster when he closed his eyes and arched into your touch. The look of pure bliss on his face was enough to make your heart race. In response, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his neck, sucking softly on his flesh. His hands fisted in your hair, holding you close.

"F-fuck, Y/N...w-wait," he grabbed your wrist, halting your actions before burying his face into your neck.

Letting go of you, he sighed allowing his hands to roam down your back, over your hips, until he reached the hem of your hoodie. He pulled it up slowly, revealing your red lace bra beneath.

You gasped at the sudden change in temperature before he lowered his head to suck on your neck, nipping at your skin lightly.

Your heart raced as he undid the clasp, the cool air caressing your warm skin. The bra fell to the floor, leaving your chest bare for his view.

He merely glanced for a moment before drawing his eyes back up to yours, "You're so beautiful."

He trailed his fingers down your side, over the curve of your breast, and cupped it gently in his hand.

"Everything about you...I don't think I'll ever get enough."

Yoongi's breath hitched as you arched into his touch, your nipple hardening under his palm. His thumb circled around the bud, rolling it between his fingers. He dipped his head and took your other nipple into his mouth, sucking softly as you moaned.

The feeling of his lips on your skin sent shivers down your spine, goosebumps rising on your arms. You felt hot and cold all at once, your knees weak.

You couldn't tear your eyes away from his face as he looked up at you, his eyes hooded with lust.

Your gaze dropped to his hand, still massaging your breast even as he slipped it lower.

He used his free hand to hook his fingers into the waistband of your pants and pulled them down slowly, his lips never leaving your skin.

You were left in just your underwear now, your heartbeat pounding against your ribcage.

He swallowed your moan as he finally pulled away, his hand sliding up your thigh. He cupped you through your lacy underwear, gasping at the heat that pooled between your legs.

His fingers danced over your drenched folds, teasing your clit as he peeled your panties down to your ankles. You stepped out of them, your knees shaking ever so slightly. It was like being in a trance, every nerve ending alive and screaming for him.

He slipped his fingers out of your dripping center, holding them up to the light to emphasize the shine of your slick that glistened coated them.

"Taste yourself." He whispered,his lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

You obeyed, closing your eyes as you leaned forward to taste yourself on his fingers. The salty-sweet flavor was intoxicating, and you swirled your tongue around his digits, feeling him watching your every move.

He groaned, his eyes locked on your mouth, as you slowly licked his fingers clean. The air was thick with anticipation as he continued to watch you.

Grinning, he suddenly dropped down onto his knees before you, kneading his fingers into the small of your back, pulling you closer to him. His eyes never left your face as he positioned himself between your legs.

You could feel his breath on your sensitive skin, the heat of his body radiating towards you as he leaned in closer. His eyes locked with yours, his gaze filled with hunger and desire. You felt your body tremble in anticipation, your breath hitched as you waited for what would come next.

"Yoongi what are you-- oh, fuck!"

The first touch of his tongue made you cry out, your hips jerking forward. It was barely a lick, but it sent shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. He took his time, lapping at your folds, teasing and tasting, his fingers lightly brushing against your clit with each pass of his tongue. You moaned, throwing your head back and giving in to the pleasure.

"Yoongi..." you breathed, your voice hoarse. His name was a plea and a command all in one. He chuckled softly, the vibration sending waves of delight through you. With one hand still teasing your entrance, he used the other to spread your folds, exposing you to his hungry gaze. And then he dove in, tongue circling your entrance, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves within. Your walls clenched around his tongue, begging for more.

"Please," you whimpered, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair. He hummed in agreement, pushing deeper, his nose brushing against your entrance as he lapped at it. You squirmed underneath him, your hips bucking against his face as you tried to get closer.

The taste of you, sweet and tangy and salty, filled his mouth. He lapped at you greedily, groaning around your folds as he tried to get as much of you as he could. Your moans and gasps echoed in the room, mingling with lewd sounds Yoongi was making as he lapped at your core.

With one hand still gripping his hair, you arched your back and cried out as he continued to lick and suck on your sensitive spots. Your hips rocked wildly, grinding against his face as he drove you closer and closer to orgasm.

His growls and moans were music to your ears, fueling your desire and making your heart race. You could feel the heat building deep within you, and you knew that it was only a matter of time before you reached your peak.

Yoongi is relentless, his tongue never slowing down as he continued to pleasure you. You threw your head back, your eyes screwed shut as you prepared for the moment of pure bliss.

"Yoongi, fuck I-I'm so close." you whimpered, begging for release from the pleasure building inside of you.

He chuckled slightly against your folds, loving the way you squirmed beneath him. With one hand, he spread your legs wider, giving himself better access. His mouth closed around your clit as he lapped up every drop of your arousal.

As he worked you up into a frenzy, you begged him not to stop, pleading for release, your hips bucking wildly against his mouth.

Yoongi loved the raw hunger in your voice, the way you trembled and squirmed under his expert ministrations.

His talented tongue was working wonders on you, and you began to feel familiar knot begin to build in the pit of your stomach.

You were close, so close.

"Yoongi, I-I'm gonna-- shit!"

And when you came, it was everything he'd hoped for—a scream torn from your throat as you shook and spasmed beneath him, your wet heat coating his face. Your walls clenched around his fingers as he continued to feast on your cunt, drinking in every last drop of your sweet nectar.

Finally satiated, he lifted his head, dragging his tongue over her swollen nub lazily and you flinched from over stimulation before making his way back up to meet your eyes, holding you close to keep you from falling off balance, "You taste so good."

You smiled, cupping his cheeks in your hands, "Take me to your bedroom."

Nodding, he gently lifted you into his arms, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, as he carried you towards the bedroom. His eyes remained locked with yours, brimming with longing and urgency. The sensation of your body against his, the touch of your velvety skin, and the warmth of your breath on his neck overwhelmed him, stirring a powerful desire within him.

"I want you so bad," he whispered, his voice ragged.

You rested your head on his shoulder as he carried you, "I want you too," you breathed, your heart pounding against his chest in time with his own, "more than anything."

Yoongi stumbles through the hallway, holding onto you firmly but not too tightly, his steps becoming more and more certain as he gets closer to his bedroom. He kicks the door open with his foot, almost losing his balance but managing to regain it just in time.

The room is dimly lit, with only a small desk lamp on, casting shadows across the walls and the floor. He slowly lowers himself onto the bed, cradling you in his arms as you lay your head on his chest.

To him, you hair smells like vanilla and you feel soft against his rough skin. His heart beats fast in anticipation as he looks down at you, taking in the way your eyes flutter closed and your breathing deepens as you lean into him. "Yoongi..." you whisper before trailing off, your voice barely audible even to herself.

With a sudden burst of energy, he pulls you closer, rolling so that you're on top of him and he's beneath you, your exposed cunt pressing roughly against his clothed cock.

Your hips grind together, and he groans at the feeling.

His hands trail up your sides, tracing the outline of your ribs before cupping your breasts. You gasp, your nipples hardening beneath his touch. He dips his head to capture one in his mouth, sucking gently as he groans against your skin. It tastes sweet and salty and intoxicating.

You look at him, a wry smile etched into your features as you press a chaste kiss to his lips, "Let me make you feel good,"

You slide off his waste slowly before kissing your way down his chest, tracing your fingers along his abs, along the thin trail of hair that leads from his lower abdomen to the waistband of his pants before finally reaching for the obvious tenting in his pants, palming him through his jeans.

He groans slightly, his breath hitched as your fingers brush against the evidence of his arousal. You smile without looking up, knowing the effect you're having on him.

Without any further hesitation, you unbuckled the belt of Yoongi's jeans and slid them down, his length straining painfully against his boxers.

With a smirk, you teased Yoongi by running your fingers over his underwear-clad dick through the fabric, feeling it twitch and throb.

Yoongi let out a low groan as he felt your soft hands stroking him through his boxers.

Taking a deep breath, you pulled his cock out, freeing it from its confines. Your eyes widened as you looked down at the jutting length of his dick in your hands. It was thick and veiny, standing tall against your palms.

You ran your thumb over the head, gathering the precum that had formed there before leaning down and wrapping your mouth around the tip, forcing a strained moan out of Yoongi as he quickly threaded his fingers through your hair.

"H-holy shit, Y/N, that feels so-- fuck."

The taste of Yoongi instantly filled your senses as you explored him with your tongue, circling the head and teasing his slit. The hand on your head gently began guiding you as you started to take more of him into your mouth.

Each bob of your head made a wet, sloppy noise as you sucked him off, taking more and more of him each time.

You could taste the pre-cum on the tip, and you couldn't wait to swallow it all down. As your mouth sank further down onto his cock, you let your lips brush against Yoongi's shaft and listened to the slapping noise as your wet mouth engulfed him.

You could feel the vein pulsing on top, and the smell of his arousal filled your nostrils.

You looked up at him, eyes meeting Yoongi's, and he thought about how damn attractive you looked with your cheeks hollowed out and lips red from around his dick.

With a soft moan, you leaned forward and swallowed him down, taking him to the base of his throat. You slowly started moving up and down, taking him in and out of your mouth, licking and sucking at the same time.

You could feel his hands gripping into your scalp, holding him tightly as you deepthroated him. The room fell silent, only the sounds of your tongue lapping at his cock and the wet, sucking noises could be heard.

Before you could take him deeper and swallow around him again, he grabbed your hair, roughly pulling you off of his dick.

You looked at him, confused, waiting for him to speak his mind.

"Not yet," he panted, his eyes wild and focused on your lips. "I need to be inside you."

He stood up, and you could see the strain in his muscles as he struggled to control himself.

"What are you waiting for, Yoongi?" you teased, your eyes never leaving his.

He let out a shaky breath, and you could see the hunger in his eyes. With trembling hands, he leaned down, fully removing his jeans.

Yoongi's breath hitched in his throat as he took a step closer to you, positioning himself between your legs.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body as he bent down, his eyes locked onto your own, filled with lust.

Your heart raced as he gently pulled your hips off the bed, lifting you up and guiding you towards the edge.

His hands trembled slightly as he positioned himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock teasing your wetness as he slowly began to press inside you.

You gasped as he entered you, feeling him stretch you open.

His eyes locked onto yours, his breath hitched as you clenched around him, pulling him in deeper.

"Fuck, Y/N," he whispered, his voice ragged with desire.

Slowly, he began to move, his hips rocking gently against yours as he thrust inside you. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping tightly as your eyes met his, lost in the intensity of the moment.

With each thrust, you both let out soft moans, the sounds mingling with the wet slap of skin against skin. It felt like a million different sensations all at once - the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the friction of his dick sliding in and out of you, the pulsing veins of his cock, and the way his lips brushed against yours as he kissed you.

Your hips began to meet his thrusts, rising up to meet him as he fucked you, his eyes never leaving yours. It was as if he was searching for something in the depths of your soul, and you were right there with him, searching for the same thing.

"Y-Yoongi, please," You whimpered, silently begging him to move faster.

Suddenly, as if a light switch went off he gritted his teeth and growled, beginning to thrust roughly into you, filling you with each and every inch of his length.

You moaned loudly beneath him, nails digging into his back as he took you like he owned you, his hips slapping against yours in a primal rhythm that echoed in the small room.

“F-fuck, Yoongi!” You mewl, arching your back.

His breathing was ragged as he looked down at you, his gaze dark and intense. “That’s right baby girl, take my cock. Take it all.” He pulled out slightly before slamming back in, feeling yours walls clench around him, loving the sensation.

He could feel the intensity building inside of him, the need to release slowly beginning to build inside of him.

"Fuck, Y/N," he groaned, his voice rough and demanding. "You feel so good." He slid one of his hands between your bodies, teasing your clit as he continued to pound into you.

"O-oh my god, Yoongi, I-I'm so close..."

He loved hearing you moan his name. It fueled his desire, made him lose control even more.

He grabbed your hair with his free hand and pulled your head back, exposing your neck to him, leaving a trail of kisses and bites down your shoulder and collarbone as you moved together.

"Yoongi, please," you pleaded, your voice quivering.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him to go deeper. The way he touched you, possessed you, owned you...it was unlike anything you had ever felt before.

His rough hands on your skin made you shiver, and you could feel the heat between the two of you growing more intense with every passing second.

His hips snapped forward, his cock hitting your G-spot just right, and you cried out, your body shaking. "Yes," you moaned, your whole body tingling. "Right there. Oh fuck, right there!" You arched your back, meeting his movements, your nails digging into his skin as you felt a familiar coil began form inside of you.

"F-fuck, Yoongi, I'm so close, please!"

"Yeah? You gonna cum all over my cock, princess?"

You could no longer form any words, simply responding with a strained moan.

"Beg for it."

Your eyes locked with his, pleading for the release you both craved. "Please," you whimpered, your voice barely audible. "I need you to make me cum, Yoongi, Please!"

Yoongi's face was a mix of pleasure and dominance as he watched you lose control. He thrust faster, harder, swallowing your moans among his own as they filled the room.

"Good girl," he growled, his eyes locked onto yours.

At the sound of those words, something within you snapped. You wanted him more than you had ever wanted anything in your life.

The air was thick with the scent of sex and desire as you both surrendered to the intensity of the moment.

You suddenly felt the pressure building, the heat between you two intensifying. Your body began to shake uncontrollably as you felt the orgasm you had been craving for so long finally taking over.

"Oh fuck, Yoongi, I'm-- shit!" you screamed, your voice echoing through the room.

Yoongi watched, his eyes filled with satisfaction, as you exploded around his cock. Your nails dug deeper into his skin, and he felt you tighten around him like a vice.

Feeling your walls clenching around his cock, it sent him over the edge as well. He moaned your name as he came inside you, his body shaking violently as he emptied himself inside you.

Your bodies kept moving, pulsing together as the wave of orgasm continued to wash over you both.

As the intensity subsides, Yoongi's weakened legs give way and he collapses against you, his chest pressed against yours, both of you breathless and covered in perspiration, utterly spent.

Gradually, as your breathing steadies, you attempt to shift and free yourself from underneath him. However, Yoongi swiftly wraps an arm around your waist, refusing to let you go, holding you close against him as he turns you both so that you're facing each other on your sides.

Yoongi's eyes met yours, filled with a mixture of lust, love, and something deeper - a connection that went beyond the physical. His fingers gently traced the curves of your face, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss.

You could feel the heat and energy from his body pulsating through you, and the aftershocks of your orgasm still reverberating within you. The intensity of the moment had left you both breathless, and yet there was a sense of peace that enveloped you as you lay there, entwined with one another.

Without saying a word, Yoongi tenderly lifted your chin, his eyes locking onto yours, and he spoke into the silence, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"I love you, Y/N."

"I love you too, Yoongi."

510 notes · View notes