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butyoudidthis4what · 12 days ago

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No Man's Land

Jack Abbot x f!Reader

5.1k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || C.W.: mentions of blood, mentions of guns and shootings, mentions of death/dying/coding, CPR, anxiety about partner's safety, Jack's traumatized, reader's traumatized, mentions of dissociation and compartmentalization, poor description of medical events, potentially incorrect medical descriptions/knowledge, very very light smut, angst, age gap kind of implied with Jack but not explicitly referenced, no use of y/n or related, not proofread, no beta, I think that's all but if I missed any please (nicely) let me know.

Summary: This is my Pitt-Fest-But-Not fic. Development of your relationship through vignettes of the past and conversations between Jack, Dana and Robby. There's a shooting where you work. Jack is at the ED when the dispatch comes in and is terrified when he can't get in touch with you.

A.N.: If my Robby reads like John Carter I'm sorry, except that a little bit I'm not. I feel like I'm struggling with my Jack characterization but can't tell if that's just me hating everything I do. This is my take on one of my fave tropes where reader is in mortal danger. I needed a physical location that could be associated with reader and settled on a courthouse, but what it is reader does there is not described. Probably (definitely?) needs a part two. If you get the nickname, thank you, I feel seen. If you don't I explain it at the end. This is absolutely something I would call him, in part to fuck with people who know his real name. I would love to know if you enjoyed and to hear any thoughts you'd like to share.

“He has a girlfriend,” Robby smirks at Dana.

She blinks at him. “I’m sorry, I thought we were talking about Jack Abbot.”

“Oh we fucking are.” Robby stifles his smirk and forces his lips to remain closed and as neutral as possible.

“You’re shitting me.” Dana’s incredulous look breaks Robby a bit and he starts to laugh, tries to turn it into a cough when both he and Dana look up to find Jack staring at them as he takes his snow dusted beanie off. He gives Robby a ‘really?’ look even though he knew Robby would rat him out to Dana the second Robby had dragged it out of him.

Dana looks back at Robby. “Who? How did they meet?”

Robby holds up his hands. “You now officially know as much as I do about her.” Dana makes a noise of vague discontent but knows Jack well enough to know Robby is telling the truth. That’s all that’s been revealed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s not worth it,” you whisper. Jack blinks and looks around, unsure if you’re talking to him. He has no idea who you are, has never seen you before in his life but it appears that you are in fact whispering to him in the middle of this bookstore.

He raises his eyebrows. “It’s not?”

You shake your head, give him an almost conspiratorial smile. “No, he must have gotten a new ghost writer. It’s really bad in comparison to his other stuff. Save your time and money. I’ll give you a summary right now for free if you’re that curious.”

Jack smiles to himself a little bit as he sets the book back on the shelf. There’s something about you, your smile, the way you just randomly spoke to him. He’s drawn to you. An alarm goes off in some part of his brain telling him to ignore it, ignore you, he could get hurt. He pretends to weigh his options as he turns to face you fully. “How about for a cup of coffee?”

Your brows furrow in confusion for a moment. There’s simply no way this unfairly attractive man is asking to buy you a cup of coffee. “The summary?” You clarify. “That I’d give for free. You want it to cost a cup of coffee instead?” You let out a nervous laugh and some part of his heart aches because you’re so adorable. “I just want to make sure I understand before I potentially make an even bigger fool of myself.”

“Yep.” He can’t help but laugh a little. “You give me the summary over coffee. Actually, you know what? You’re going to have to give me a recommendation too because now I’m going to have nothing to read.” He clicks his tongue at you.

“Well,” you laugh out, all breathy as you try to pull yourself together. “You drive a hard bargain but I think I’m willing to accept those terms…” you glance at his name badge, “Dr. Abbot.” You give him a full smile and Jack knows then and there he’s totally fucked in the best of ways.

“Jack.” He smiles at you as you both begin walking towards the café. “Call me Jack.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything quiet enough after handoff, Robby walks out with Jack into the morning sun that does little to warm the breeze pulling leaves off the trees. “Any chance you can cover a shift on Saturday night?” Robby is asking, yes, but he knows it’s not really a question, Jack is always willing to work.

“Can’t.” Jack says simply, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry.” There’s an expectant silence that hangs between the two as they keep walking.

“Care to elaborate?” Robby finally asks.

“No.” Jack turns and smirks at him. “It’s none of your and Dana’s business.”

“Ha!” Robby laughs. “So it’s her, it’s about her! The ever elusive girlfriend. Will we ever get to meet her? Or does she not want to meet us? Is she real?” Jack stops walking and gives Robby one of his looks. “Holy shit, is it someone here?”

Jack snorts at that. “No it’s not someone here. She’s not even in the medical field.” He sighs, half longing and half resignation of some kind. “She’s honestly dying to meet you guys, especially you and Dana, but I’m trying to protect her from this hellhole. It’s hard with schedules too, to find a time.”

“That’s such fucking bullshit,” Robby laughs. “Are you afraid to truly commit? Think bringing her here will make it too real?”

It’s a valid question but one that Jack nevertheless resents. “No, actually, if you must fucking know Saturday is our one year anniversary. We have plans. So you’ll have to find someone else to cover. But I’ll bring her around soon,” he laughs through his nose to himself at your stubbornness, “if I don’t she’s liable to just show up one of-”

“A year?” Robby laughs, incredulous. “A fucking year? How the hell did you hide it for three months before I dragged it out of you?”

Jack ignores him. “Also, I’m moving to days. It’s better for us.” He’s so nonchalant about it, just states it like he’s saying the sky is blue, like it’s not going to make Robby’s eyes widen and mouth drop open like it does.

“I don’t,” Robby huffs a laugh, “I don’t even know where to fucking begin.”

“Then don’t.” Jack smirks, starts to walk again while Robby stays frozen, running a hand through his hair. “Go do some actual work.”

“I thought you found comfort in the darkness?” Robby yells after him.

Jack slows and turns around but keeps walking backwards, one hand holding the strap of his backpack to keep it over his shoulder. He glances down at his phone and the photo of you that is now his wallpaper. He smiles to himself a little, yells back. “Guess I find it somewhere else now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You giggle, honest to god giggle and Jack could lose his damn mind as he nibbles at your collarbone. “You know if my anatomy class had been this fun, I might have become a doctor too.”

You’re laying on your back in bed as Jack kisses your sweat slicked skin all over as you both come down from your last round. He’s taken to 'teaching you anatomy' like this, identifying different parts of the human body with his mouth.

“Hmm,” Jack hums against you. “I’m glad it wasn’t then. Fuck doctors.” He starts to kiss down your chest.

“That has become quite the favorite pastime of mine, yes,” you smirk. “Fucking one specific doctor, actually.”

“Getting fucked by one specific doctor more like it,” he murmurs into your sternum. He kisses laterally, lips hitting your breast and moving towards your nipple.

“I think we’ve established what those are,” you moan softly as he takes your nipple into his mouth. You let your hands run through his salt and pepper curls that you adore so much.

“Can never be too thorough.” You giggle at him again and can feel him smile against you. “But fine, you want something new?” You nod, let your nails scratch gently at his scalp.

“Nipple,” he kisses your nipple and then down your torso to right above your belly button, “to navel is no man’s land.” He continues to lavish kisses on the soft skin of your stomach before looking up at you when you don’t respond.

“I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not.” You eye him with mock suspicion.

He laughs and it’s your favorite sound in the whole world, you swear. Well maybe second, only behind hearing him tell you that he loves you.

“I’m not. Nipple to navel is no man’s land. It’s a real thing. It’s one of the worst places to get shot or stabbed because there’s so many organs that could be hit and the place we’d expect to get hit would depend on whether the person was breathing in or out at the time, whether their lungs were inflated or deflated. And we generally have no way of knowing. It can be difficult to get clear imaging.” He starts kissing lower, down below your belly button, rubbing his stubble along your skin to tease you as he gets lower and lower. “It’s never a good time. Lots of poor outcomes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s supposed to be his day off and yet Jack finds himself staring at the board and running a hand over his face. “It’s still so fucking weird seeing you here during the day and it not meaning something catastrophic has happened.”

Jack turns to look at Dana. “I’ve been working days for a month now and it’s my day off.”

“You can go, we’re fine for now,” Robby nods at Jack. “Thanks for the brief assistance brother.”

“No, no,” Dana interjects, “he’s not allowed to leave until we nail down a time to meet his girl.”

Robby raises his eyebrows and starts to tilt his head and open his mouth to agree with Dana. A dispatch comes through before anyone can say anything else and Dana grabs it, pinning Jack down with her eyes, daring him to leave before discussing meeting you.

“Saved by the bell,” Jack huffs, taking his stethoscope off and starting to walk away.

“Shooting at a courthouse,” Dana relays to Robby, “not a mass cas, just a few people, two a little iffy, one they’re already doing CPR on, a few caught in the race to get out. Two dead on the scene.”

It takes a few seconds for Dana’s words to truly register with Jack, but when they do his hearing fades to only a sharp ringing in his ear. This wasn’t happening. He’d been so reticent at the beginning of your relationship, waited so long to give in and define it and hand his heart over to you, terrified he’d lose you because of himself and who he was, his imperfections, his past, his trauma, his PTSD, his baggage, as he thought of it. He feels so stupid now, in the moment, not having worried about how he could lose you from a random act of violence, that in the moments he can’t be there to protect you somebody could come in and rip you from him. Just like that. With the pull of a trigger.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You know, I can confidently say this is the most unique date I’ve ever been on,” you tease Jack.

“Hey,” he pants, “me teaching you CPR is a great date.”

“It would be better if you took your shirt off,” you whisper and wink at him before letting your eyes linger on his arm.

“If I did that you’d be so distracted you’d learn nothing,” he smirks at you, sweat glistening on his skin just a little. Just enough to drive you nearly feral for him.

“I think I’ve got the compressions part down, but I may need more help learning the mouth to mouth part.”

He rolls his eyes at you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You fucking love it,” you shoot back at him, leaning into his space and bumping him with your shoulder.

He can’t help but kiss you. “Yes,” the word is muffled against your lips, “yes I do.” He gives you a firmer kiss this time before he pulls away. “But really. You should know how to do it, just in case. It will help you feel in control in the moment if the need for it ever arises. You’ll know what to do.”

You bite your lip and smile at him.

“What?” He eyes you with suspicion.

You shrug. “Nothing, I just love you so much. Sometimes it overwhelms me, how much I love you.”

He can see it in your eyes, how much you love him, can almost feel it physically squeezing him like a tight hug. He’s really not sure what he ever did to deserve you or your love. “I love you too, Doll.”

“I love you more, Peter.” Your face pulls up into that usual self-satisfied and silly grin you get sometimes when you call him that nickname. It’s a recent thing. You’re calling him it more and more though, it’s becoming a natural way of referring to him. From anyone else he would hate it, hearing it between another couple would make him roll his eyes. But from you? He loves it more than you’ll ever truly know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack spins around.

“Jack you can still go, we’ve got it covered.” Robby looks at Jack for a minute and then meets Dana’s eyes as she looks to him after taking her own look at Jack.

“What courthouse?” Jack asks. It’s quiet, controlled and clipped and almost missable in the chaos of the ED. He’s not looking at either of them, staring past them at a wall with a chest heaving more and more by the second as his face grows paler.

He tries to keep it together. Dana will say the name and it won’t be your courthouse and he’ll go straight to your actual courthouse, grab you, take you home and never let you leave. A perfectly reasonable reaction, he thinks.

“Jack-”

“What fucking courthouse?” It’s louder this time, almost enough to pause the chaos of the ED.

Jack’s voice drips with what sounds like rage to most of those who hear him but is unmistakably fear to Dana and Robby.

Neither of them have ever seen Jack like this, this scared, struggling this hard to keep it together, truly raising his voice for anything other than to quiet down an unruly patient. His eyes find Dana’s and they’re glassier than she’s ever seen them, the intensity of his gaze making it painfully clear he’s hanging on every word and the wrong ones will shatter him.

She swallows and opens her mouth and Jack knows what she’s about to say before she even says it. And she does. The name of your courthouse.

“I’ll triage.” He says it before Dana has even finished, the words hollow and breathless and commanding all at once. He spins and starts off to the bay doors with nothing more. He obviously knows from the report Dana gave that they won’t need triage. He just needed to get out of there and try to create an excuse to stay in the ambulance bay. He knows Robby won’t let him, that Robby and Dana already know you’re at that courthouse, could be a victim.

Robby and Dana share another look, So you work at a courthouse. This courthouse. “Fuck,” Dana mutters, “I really hope we don’t end up meeting her today.”

Jack’s hand dives in his pocket as he strides to the ambulance bay. He already knows in his heart that there’s not going to be a text from you saying that you’re okay. He hasn’t felt his phone buzz. He never even kept his phone on him until you.

Even though he knew he wouldn’t have any messages, waking his phone and seeing none hits him like a freight train all the same, right in the chest. It threatens to bring him to his knees, make him sick, but he can’t. He sets it all aside. If you do come out of one of the ambulances he can hear in the distance you’re going to need him at his best. But what if you’re one of the two people dead at the scene? He has to shove that out of his mind too, can’t give into the complete panic that threatens to consume him.

Disassociate. Compartmentalize. Do the job. ABC. Assess. Stabilize. Repeat.

His fingers fly across his phone automatically, calling you having become so routine. He prefers it so much to texting, hearing your voice, communicating more directly. “Call me,” he starts, “the second you get this message. Or fucking text me,” his voice breaks, “please. Fucking please.” He hangs up and calls again, knowing he’ll get your voicemail again but trying anyway because it’s all he can do.

He’s helpless, powerless, he can’t do anything to try and save you and that threatens to swallow him whole.

Your voicemail recording telling people to leave a message plays again and all Jack can wonder is if this is all he’ll have left of your voice in his life. Your voice on your mailbox, maybe some voicemails you’ve left him, videos, voice memos you’ve sent. All distorted by recording, not your real voice. He can’t remember what your real voice sounds like all of the sudden. What your laugh sounds like, how you sound when you’re sleepy or in the throes of pleasure or telling him you love him. God, did he even tell you he loved you the last time he saw you, when he said goodbye?

“I need you to call me,” he says into the phone again, pauses. “I love you.” He takes a ragged breath in and speaks through his teeth. “I love you so fucking much, so you have to be okay and you have to fucking call me.”

He sends a series of texts asking you to call him or text him or call the hospital or do anything to let him know you’re okay, asking if you are okay, asking where you are as though you’re going to respond. He already knows you’re in the back of one of those ambulances because of fucking course you are, because he’s not allowed to have anything good in his life apparently. How could he be so stupid to think differently?

“Hey, we don’t need triage for this. The numbers are controlled.” Robby walks out to stand next to Jack in the ambulance bay. “If you want to stay you can, but you can’t wait out here to see who shows up, you have to-”

“Yeah, yeah, jump on the first patient that pulls up, I know, I got it,” he interrupts Robby.

There’s a silence as Robby passes him a gown and ties for him before he does the same for Robby.

“Jack, if she’s in one you cannot-”

“Like fuck I can’t.” It’s just a statement. Cool and collected and a projection of indifference. It scares Robby more than if Jack had yelled.

“No, actually brother, you can’t. I’m telling you right now. You’re not working on her. We don’t work on family, on significant others, and you would tell me the exact same thing. It’s too risky, you’ll be too clouded.” Robby watches Jack’s jaw clench and roll as he stares out at the street.

He wants to argue that of course he’ll be clear, he’ll be focusing on saving you, he’ll have never been so clear in his life. But part of him knows that seeing you like that on his trauma table, your blood all over the table and him and his hands might make him freeze.

“Fine.” Jack whispers. “But if she’s,” Jack has to pause and take a shuddery breath. “If she’s gone or really going and it’s inevitable you have to let me in. You have to let me try to save her. You have to let me code her, Michael.”

He can taste the rising bile in his throat just at having to talk about coding you.

The first ambulance pulls up before Robby can respond and Jack’s on it so fast Robby’s surprised Jack doesn’t get smacked in the face by the door opening.

It’s not you. It’s someone who is very much not you and is clearly one of the iffy ones.

Disassociate. Compartmentalize. Do the job. ABC. Assess. Stabilize. Repeat.

Jack forces himself to go emotionally numb as he listens to the paramedic rattle off vitals and history, trying so very hard to focus on this, something he can do, even if it’s not for you. By the time they hit trauma one Jack’s fine and in full swing, running it like he would any other trauma. Nobody on the team in the room with him suspects anything is amiss.

He hates the way he can’t see the other’s who come in, that he has to stay with this patient until they’re stable and can’t go looking for you. He chastises himself for not having brought you here before or at least having you meet Dana and Robby. They don’t even know what you look like, couldn’t identify you.

“Jack!” He glances at Dana who stands at the door as he preps for the chest tube. “What’s her name?”

He yells your name at her, impassive and stoic as he reaches for the scalpel, ignoring the looks everyone throws each other at the slightest tremor in his voice.

“I’ll look for her.” Dana promises. He doesn’t respond. He can’t. He’ll fall apart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The restaurant you’re at has to be the fanciest place you’ve ever been to. It’s the hottest place in the city and you have no idea how Jack snagged reservations here for dinner to finish out celebrating your one year anniversary.

The lighting and low hum of other patrons talking to each other and glasses and silverware and plates tinkling is cinematic. You feel like the main character. But then that’s always how Jack makes you feel.

“I got you something.” He pulls out a wrapped rectangular object.

You click your tongue and tsk at him. “We said we’d do them at home! I didn’t bring yours!”

“I know. I have something for you at home too.” His eyes sparkle in the flickering candle light, a little smirk pulling up. “I didn’t mean for it to be a double entendre, but both are true.” You snort a laugh at him and take the gift from him. “Open it.” He’s still smiling, eyes still sparkling, but there’s something there. He’s nervous. It makes you even more curious.

You carefully unwrap the object until it reveals itself as a hardcover book. That same one Jack had in his hand a year ago and that you told him was bad and gave him a summary of over coffee.

“Oh, Jack,” you say softly, eyes getting a little watery. It’s so perfect. So sweet and sentimental. The book that brought you together, that gave you each other. It’s almost like a physical representation of the foundation of your relationship in a way.

“You have to open it,” he instructs you in a whisper.

You raise an eyebrow but do as he says.

‘Move in with me?’ is written on the blank first page.

You look between the page and Jack. “Is this?” You look back at the page and then up at him again. “Are you really asking…?”

He nods. “Move in with me. Or move somewhere with me, we can get our own place, it doesn’t have to be my apartment. We basically live together anyway at this point. Let’s just make it official, yeah? Wherever you want, you can decorate however you want. Just as long as it’s our place.”

You bring a hand to your mouth for a second before using your napkin to dab at the inner corners of your eyes to stop the tears from falling and look back at him.

“You’re a romantic, Jack Abbot,” you hum all dreamily.

“You better not tell anyone. Can’t have you ruining my street cred.” He smirks, but his expression and the way he fidgets show he’s still anxious. “So?”

You realize then you never actually answered him. Sniffling a little laugh and letting a few tears fall you give him his answer, voice thick and full of emotion. “Yeah, I think I’m willing to accept those terms. I’d love to move in with you… Peter.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He hears you counting to yourself before he sees you. “One, two…”

It’s not loud, just said in a normal voice, softer if anything because of how you’re panting, but Jack is so on edge and so desperate to find you he’d subconsciously been listening closely to his surroundings, military training kicking in. His head snaps to you and he doesn’t even know what to think when he sees you being rolled in on top of a gurney, performing CPR that would rival the quality of his own.

“Why is she..?” He hears Robby question the paramedic as you roll in.

“She was performing them just as well as we could and it was better to just scoop and run,” the paramedic explains. “She must have had one hell of an instructor.”

“Peter!” You yell, without looking up, not sure if he’s still here. You’re so used to it by now that the nickname is just what comes out of your mouth as you look for him. He’d texted you to let you know he was going in for a bit.

Jack could sob and the entire team in the room with him can feel a crushing tension shatter. Maybe he does get a little teary just from the sheer relief. He tells himself it’s sweat in his eyes.

“Yeah Doll?” He yells back, not giving a fuck about everyone hearing him call you Doll, and you calling him Peter, knowing full well he’s going to have so much explaining to do about this entire situation, the confusion in the room palpable.

“I’m okay!” This time he does laugh to himself.

“Yeah I’d say so,” he mutters, smiling. He’s still anxious to see you, get his own eyes on you, feel you with his own hands.

It’s only about thirty more seconds before his patient is stable enough and he can rip his gloves and gown off and start putting fresh gloves on as he walks into the trauma room you’d been wheeled into. Normally he’d yell out for someone to talk to him or ask what they’ve got but not this time. This time he doesn’t even care about who’s on the table, only the person who came off it. Only you.

You’re standing to the side now, watching Robby and the rest of the team work, impassive as pink tears stream down your face from the dried blood on it. You’re just so fucking overwhelmed by everything and now that you’re not doing CPR everything that’s happened is hitting you at once.

Jack says your name as he moves to you, needs his hands on you.

“Are you hurt? Were you hit?” He rushes out. His voice brings you back and you look up at him with wide, terrified eyes. He goes to look you over but you latch onto him, hugging him tightly, shaking a bit.

“I’m fine, I’m okay, I’m, I’m sorry,” you start to rattle off, fisting at his scrub top and clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. In the moment he might just be.

He hugs you back just as hard, kisses the top of your head. He doesn’t care who sees right now, all he cares about is you. “It’s okay, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m just so fucking glad you’re okay. I thought… I thought you were…” He doesn’t have to finish, you know what he means. “I can’t fucking lose you. I love you way the fuck too much.”

You’ve been so wrapped up in each other neither of you have noticed that Robby’s patient, the one you were doing CPR on, has started to code again. “Abbot, need you here!”

You let him go, nod at him. “Go on,” you whisper, “I’ll be right here. I’m okay. I love you more.” Jack nods at you and walks over, jumping in and assisting Robby.

It’s once you’re out of Jack’s arms, away from his warm body and more grounded in reality that you notice how cold you are, how you’re swaying because he was supporting you far more than you realized, how lightheaded you are, how your abdomen and chest really fucking hurt. You chalk it up to the adrenaline wearing off and being sore from the chest compressions you just did.

On the other side of the room an instrument tray gets knocked over, metal hitting the floor in a loud clang. It startles you, makes you jump and twist quickly to see what it was, if it was another gun, another shot. You feel something almost tearing, a sharp pain across your abdomen and lower chest, a feeling of sticky warmth against your shirt.

You sway a little, start to realize how much worse the pain is now. It’s bad enough that you can’t even make noise to express the pain. There’s no air in your lungs, you swear. You realize your lightheadedness is now much, much worse, that you’re shivering from how cold you are. Or are you just shaking? You can’t tell. It doesn’t make sense. The room isn’t even that cold. You shouldn’t be so cold. Not unless.

You pull your shirt up slowly and look down and run your hand over your skin and sure enough, there’s a bullet hole seeping blood, about half way between your nipple line and belly button, skin now covered in a dark bruise.

You cough a little, it’s quiet. It starts feeling like there’s water in your lungs. Like you can’t get any oxygen in even though you’re in a room full of it. The metallic taste in your mouth is what manages to seep into what’s left of your consciousness next. You cough again, into your hand, and feel something wet hit your skin. Blood.

It hits you. You’re drowning in your own blood. That’s why it feels like you can’t breathe. You’ve been shot. In a bad place, one of the worst places, Jack had told you that night. You get scared, feel your heart pounding. It feels like you’re dying. You don’t want to die, don’t want to leave Jack. You’d just finished moving into your new place together, were going to spend all weekend unpacking and painting and getting furniture where you wanted it. You were going to make your home.

Time. You were supposed to have more time together.

“Hey, Jack,” you slur softly, struggling to keep yourself standing. Luckily he hears you. Your use of his first name and the slur to your voice has him panicking again already. Time slows as he turns around to take you in, eyes going from your face and the blood coating your teeth and trickling from your mouth as you try and smile reassuringly at him, down to your torso where you’re still holding your shirt up just enough for him and everyone else in the room to see the bullet hole and bruising marring your skin. “I think, I think I’m not good, it’s not good.” Your vision tunnels so fast you can just barely see Jack’s expression of sheer abject unadulterated horror and panic as you get out your last words. “Nipples to navel… no man’s land.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter. Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter. Yes, I worked in a bookstore through college.

Part Two is up!

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inuiiwonderland · 2 months ago

Text

BABY

The boys invite you over to their house but now suffer with their moms/siblings/parents showing you their baby pictures<3 gn reader!!!

Ace trappola

He leaves for ONE second. One second and he can already hear your small giggles coming from his room as he hears the voice of his older brother with you.

Oh gross don’t tell me he’s flirting with you!

Ace thinks as he quickly shoots his way up the stairs. The boy brows were furrowed as he slams the door wide open. He was ready to cuss up a storm like a sailor and tell his brother to fuck off and leave but froze once he sees what you’re holding.

OH!

You were the first one to break the silence as you throw your head back as a laugh escapes your lips.

“Oh sevens you were one ugly baby!” You say. Trying very hard to keep in your giggles as you look over at the picture. His brother cackling right next to you.

“Oh totally! He looked like a dried up raisin” His brother says in between laughter.

“HEY! No I didn’t!” Ace can feel the tip of his ears heat up as he marches right towards you two.

“These pictures say otherwise” You flipped to the second page and quickly slapped your hand over your mouth.

“Oh sevens…” Ace quickly tries snatching the book from your hands but his brother stops him before he could.

“Oh my! Is that-“

“Yep! He couldn’t go ANYWHERE without it!” In the picture, you can see THE ace trappola standing with a wide toothy grin on his face as he holds onto an equally adorable bunny stuffed animal.

“Oh this one is my favorite!” He points to a photo of baby Ace dressed up as a strawberry as he cried his eyes out. You can see his brother standing next to him with a big smile on his face as Ace looks like he’s about to pop a vain. The next picture shows him all calm and smiley as he’s given his favorite bunny stuffed animal.

“Aweeee ace! You were so adorable!!” You squeal. With his brother now laughing and wheezing, Ace was able to immediately snatch the photo album from your hands as his whole face was a bright cherry red.

“Okay that’s enough and get the hell outta my room jack ass!”

Deuce spade

He should’ve known something was up when it suddenly got quiet. He carefully walks back to his room with a tray in hand filled with cookies. The moment he opens the door he lets out a loud shriek as he watches his mom excitedly showing you his baby pictures.

“M-mom? What are you-“

“This was him at 2 months! Isn’t he cute?”

“For sure! Aw look at those chubby cheeks!”

“Oh and this was on his 6th birthday party! Look at those dimples!” She says as you squealed in awe. The two of you continued to flip through the baby album as deuce turned redder and redder by the seconds.

“Aww you were such a cutie deucy!” His face instantly goes red as he sets down the tray on the table.

“Oh oh! And look at this!”

“Is that a bunny onesie?” You squeal out. He immediately gulps knowing the embarrassing stories behind that onesie.

“Yes! I bought it for him for the white rabbit fest! He loved it so much he would always wear it to bed or when we go buy groceries. He cried really hard when he outgrew it though”

“I-I did not! I was just sad that’s all! I did not cry!”

“Oh! Look at this one! This was taken on his first day of school! I still remember it like it was yesterday. After taking that photo, he wouldn’t let go of me! He didn’t want to go in at all and we had to have three teachers come and drag him inside as he cried his little heart out! I remember feeling so terrible but I had to go to work”

“Okay that’s enough! No more baby photos and embarrassing stories!” He says as he snatches the book away.

“No wait please I want to see more!”

Sebek Zigvolt

It’s been 5 minutes already and you still weren’t back from the bathroom! You told him you would be quick and now he’s slowly growing impatient from your absence. He gets up and storms out of the room as he makes his way to the bathroom.

“Human! You have been in there for almost 10 minutes! Is something wrong?!” Silence. He frowns before knocking again.

“You know we have to study for that Alchemy test this upcoming week!”

Again nothing. Just as he was about to knock again a loud laugh and giggles could be heard from downstairs. And those giggles sounded eerily familiar.

Wait

That’s your giggles!

In a speed of light does he make it downstairs and to the kitchen where the laughs and giggles were coming from.

There stood you and his father going through sebek baby photo album.

“W-what are you doing?!” He screeched.

“Oh sebek! I was just showing your friend your baby photos!” His father said cheerfully. The half fae turned bright red as he was ready to yell but was stopped the moment he heard his name being called from behind him.

“Sebek Zigvolt. What did I tell you about yelling in the house?!” There stood his mother. Brows furrowed as her arms were crossed over her chest.

“Anywho! Look! This was him when he first came into this world!”

“Awww! I guess he’s always been loud from the looks of it” You say. Chuckling at the photo in front of you.

“Oh don’t get me started. He was crying up a storm and I swear I could feel my eardrums burst” His mother sighs as she walks over to the sink. His father smiles as he looks down at the album.

“Yeah he was a crier. Oh look at this one!” He shows you a picture of 4 month old sebek staring wide eyed at the camera. Chubby cheeks and big ole eyes.

“Awww! You were adorable!”

“Oh this is my favorite one!” His mother points at one where you can see sebek wearing a knight costume. From the looks of it it must’ve been Halloween. He wore a proud smile as he held up his sword. You coo at the photo as they both continued to show you more.

“Oh look at this one! He saw a horror movie for the first time and there was a scene where the father sacrifices himself for his kids and he burst out into tears! He wouldn’t let go of his dad for weeks!”

“Enough! Let’s go back to studying!” He says as he grabs your hand and pulls you away from his parents and the photo album.

“Wait no one more !”

This was an old draft from like a year ago🌝 I just decided to finish it now😖

I FULLY BELIEVE DEUCE HAD DIMPLES JUST LIEK ME! IDC WHAT YALL SAY!!!!

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thexsilentxwordsmith · 1 year ago

Text

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

From the request here

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: When a movie night has you questioning your bodies worth, Simon catches you in the shower to show you that your body is perfect just the way that it is.

Word Count: 4.3 k

Warnings:

“Look at the jugs on her,” one of the guys says at the busty blonde that has just been introduced for the first time in the film. A few others follow suit, whooping at the gorgeous, petite female main character popping up on screen as the movie really gets going. “That’s a woman you could lose yourself in. Fuck, I wish I could find a girl like her; I’d be a happy man for life. To have that waiting at home for me, I’d never even be tempted to stray.”

This is usually how movie night on base goes: people piling into the rec center ready to watch the latest movie from the personal collection from one of the members, but mostly it just devolves into a testosterone fest of horny boys itching to have something to focus their sexual frustrations on by ogling at the new pretty little thing on screen. Usually it doesn’t bother you, you’re used to being around all that chaos, but tonight just feels different.

Simon isn’t one for this type of gathering, but he comes to keep an on the crowd and be nearer to you and as he watches out of the corner of his eye from his place standing towards the back, he notices how your body language changes as the guys continue to raucously talk about the leading lady and how beautiful she is. It’s almost imperceptible the way you shift in your seat while you pick at the skin of your lower lip with your teeth, your shoulders slumping down as you cross your arms, but he catches it outright. He knows you and he knows this isn’t normal.

Something is bothering you.

The longer you sit there the worse it gets. Their lustful words just cut different tonight; maybe it’s exhaustion from being overworked or perhaps you’re just having an off day, but the longer they hoot and holler over the girl plastered before your eyes, the more you want to crawl out of your skin.

It’s about halfway through the movie when you slowly get up from your seat, trying not to draw attention to yourself by leaving too quickly and exit the rec without looking back. Simon is instantly concerned and wants to rush after you, but one of the newer recruits that seems to be the ringleader in all this turns to him as if to drag him into the depraved fun.

“Whatcha think; gotta admit she’s a fine thing, ain’t she Lieutenant?” he asks, nodding back at the screen. “Come on, even you gotta admit she’s perfect. Couldn’t hope to find anyone better.”

The look that Simon gives the young man through his mask, that stone cold glare that could make even the bravest man shiver, instantly shuts him up and has him facing forward again to join his brothers in arms in their jokes. His brow furrows angrily behind the fabric as he looks over the crowd of boys once more before heading out, leaving quietly like a specter on his way to find where you had gotten to.

Simon checks all the usual places, but you are nowhere to be found: the little area outside the rec where you usually join him for a smoke break, the mess hall, even your barracks are empty. Then he hears movement in the communal bathroom and knows he’s finally found you.

It looks like you’ve been rushing to get done before anyone can catch you. Your hair is damp from the shower and it drips down to leave dark stains onto your t-shirt as you stand staring at yourself in the mirror behind the sink. Simon watches quietly from his obscured place by the door as you look yourself over, scrutinizing each detail from head to toe before you give up with a sigh and a diversion of your eyes, focusing on your toothbrush instead as you pick it up and turn on the faucet. So absorbed in what you are doing, you don’t hear the lock click closed or the pair of heavy boots that cross the length of the room until there is a presence upon you.

“God, you’re so beautiful baby,” you hear that deep, gravelly voice sound from behind you while a bulky arm wraps itself around your waist from behind as Simon presses up against your back. You look back up into the mirror in front of you and are instantly met with a pair of brilliant brown eyes as he slowly removes his balaclava. “Just standin’ there fresh outta the shower and ya look like a fantasy.”

Setting the mask on the sink he joins his other arm around you and leans his face in, the tip of his nose nuzzles into the side of your neck before he presses his lips against your jugular. His lips catch the feeling of your pulse quickening through the vein at his touch. Rough hands begin to splay across your clothed stomach, running across and down to your hips with gentle caresses that make you pause. Your eyes stare into the mirror to take in your combined form as he drapes himself over you, hot lips peppering your skin with no sign of letting up.

You chuckle dismissively, trying to play off his words as a joke. Your head still isn’t in the right place and even though you enjoy the feeling of his touch, disastrous thoughts still circle throughout to cloud your mind so that you second guess even his affections.

“Oh, come off it,” you return as you grab the toothpaste off the countertop. “I do not.”

There is no hesitation in his reply. “I’m serious,” he breathes that husky whisper against your skin as his lips continue down to your shoulder as his fingers pull the t-shirt away from your collar bone to reveal more skin for him to adorn with his mouth.

You roll your eyes in the mirror so that as he looks up briefly he catches the movement. “Yeah, sure,” you again dismiss him. “Whatever you say.”

Before you can even unscrew the cap to the toothpaste, Simon reaches past you to turn off the tap and take your things out of your hands before he rotates you around so that you face him. Your backside presses into the edge of the sink as you rest up against it, mouth scrunched to one side as he gazes back at you with intent. There is a subtle frown on his lips and an anxious look in his copper eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, concerned. “Somethin’ happen? Cause I did see ya leave in a hurry back there.”

You divert your eyes, ashamed of your lack of confidence that has come forward tonight. “I don’t know, it’s nothing,” you shrug, but he isn’t buying any of it.

His large hand rests itself up under your chin, pulling your head back up to look into his face. “I think ya do know,” he says. “Will ya tell me?”

Clearing your throat, you give yourself a moment to figure out how best to proceed. “It’s just,” you say hesitantly, “I guess sometimes I just wish I looked like that, you know? I know I’m usually not this self-conscious, but tonight I guess I just hit a rough patch with my insecurities and something about the shit they were saying just got to me I guess. You see the way the guys talk about girls like in that movie, like she’s the most gorgeous thing in the world. She’s so perfect and… I…”

You gesture with your head down the length of your body to emphasize your point that you are nothing like the actress: your breasts are on the smaller side, your thighs are incredibly thick, and your stomach is not completely flat. Simon follows your hand, looking you up and down before his eyes meet yours again.

“I’m not. I know it’s fucking stupid and I shouldn’t care about all that, it doesn’t really matter, but sometimes it’s just hard to ignore. I’m not the standard when it comes to beauty, but sometimes I just want to feel like I’m the most irresistible person in the room.”

It seems like he wants to say something, you can see his mouth shifting, but instead his gaze drifts down to your lips and he pulls your chin forward to close the distance between your mouths. Instantly he overtakes your mouth with his own, tenderly capturing your lips over and over with a gentle desperation that makes him shudder against you as he moves in closer.

“Who the fuck said ya ain’t perfect?” he asks, his voice breathy against your lips. “Gimme that bastard’s name. You tell me right now so I can go ring their fuckin’ neck. Cause that is a goddamn lie.”

“No one said anything like that, it’s just the way I feel,” you answer honestly. “And you’re only saying that because you like me.”

Immediately Simon pulls you into another long kiss as if he is trying to take those insecure words right out of your mouth before you can say anything else. Breaking the kiss, Simon licks his flushed lips and shakes his head. “Really? Ya don’t think your body can drive someone wild? Then what’s this, hmm?” he asks, grabbing your wrist to pull your hand forward so that he can place the palm over top of the soft bulge growing in his boxers. “See whatcha do to me, sweetheart? Ya think that’s lyin’?”

Your hand rubs over the swell and his hips unconsciously buck slightly against your hand as he hums in approval of your touch. It is instantaneous the way you have him begging for even a simple touch from you; no other has ever held that kind of power over him, not anyone that he would give it to so freely like he does you. The warm pressure from your hand causes the pulsing to intensify as he grows harder and you find your heart beat starting to match its throbbing.

“Ya don’t think I catch the men lookin’ at ya from time to time?” he asks as he leans his head forward until it rests against your own, hands moving up under the hem of your shirt to play with the toasty skin of your abdomen as he talks. “Ya don’t think I see that their eyes glaze over as they linger on your body a bit too long for my fuckin’ likin’? Just cause they won’t say it out loud doesn’t make it any less true that you have something about ya that would drive any man wild.”

His words are like a balm to your mind and the longer he speaks the more you find yourself falling under their spell. Rough fingers are pushing up higher into your shirt, pulling it up over your waist as he runs his palms across the area while his hips press into yours. He’s not forceful or harsh, his advances are only full of adoration in that type of intense devotion that only Simon Riley is capable of when it comes to savoring the best damn thing he has ever had.

“Don’t let what ya heard back there hurt ya,” he says softly. “Yeah, ya don’t look like that bird on the screen, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t an absolute beauty. You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen and I ain’t just sayin’ it, baby. But ya don’t just have ta take my word for it. Let me show ya that no one can hold a candle to what ya got.”

Simon pulls you over to one of the empty showers and gets it going, fiddling with the taps to make sure the water is going nice and warm before he turns his undivided attention back to you. Instantly his mouth is back on yours as one by one each piece of your clothing is removed and set aside in tandem with his own until you both stand before the other bare.

“I’ve already showered,” you mutter out between pauses as merely just a statement of fact rather than a reason to deny him.

Simon murmurs his disagreement into your mouth. “Don’t care,” he replies through a break in his kiss, continuing to take off your clothes as he dizzyingly tries to get at your body. “Can’t be havin’ those fuckin’ negative thoughts in that head of yours. Wanna take care of ya, make ya feel like the true beauty ya are.”

More kissing, so much that your lips are burning and raw from the friction. His mouth must be aflame too, but he doesn’t let up; he can’t, he’s captured in the wake of your allure and there is no getting out.

“What if someone comes in?” The last of your questions spills out quick.

He chuckles at your needless worry. “Already locked the door sweetheart.”

Stretching his hand out, he checks the temperature to be sure it’s right before dragging you inside the steamy oasis. The curtain is barely pulled closed before he has you pinned at the back wall, his stocky torso rubbing against your voluptuous naked body as he steals the breath from your lungs, kissing you so thoroughly that there is no distinction between faces anymore.

The change in temperature has your nipples hardening, the blossoms spiking forward at attention, and Simon can feel them poking against his chest the longer he has your mouth locked in that dance of back and forth. The moment he is aware of their presence his mouth is salivating to get at them.

You might think they are not perfect enough, but to him they are exactly what he wants.

Breaking the kiss abruptly, removing his mouth so quickly that a trial of spit still connects your lips a moment, he tilts his head downward. Being on the smaller side, he can fit your breast almost entirely in his mouth and he does, filling the cavity with as much of your tit as he can without choking.

You can hardly remember anymore why the stupid comments had you so upset in the first place when you have a man like Simon who will dote on you like you are royalty. His is the only opinion you have come to care about and it is clear that there is nothing he will ever want more than you.

He moans deep and guttural into your breast as he sucks while letting the end of his tongue flick around the nipple, circling the sensitive tissue until you are writhing against him as he holds you steady to the wall so that he can work. There is another breast after all that requires his attention and he intends to show it the same amount of affection as the other. Switching sides, he gets to work, keeping the first breast warm by cupping it in his hand.

It’s minutes of you quivering and whimpering before he emerges panting with his lips swollen and red, satisfied with his work so far. Giving his lips a break, Simon gently strokes your cheek with his fingers as he gazes into your eyes, swaying your bodies from side to side in easy movements. “Stay with me luv,” he says softly as he watches you take heavy breaths, “I ain’t done just yet.”

Those lips are on the move again to decorate your body, over your sternum and waist, until he has to kneel before you to get any further. He’s on his knees, all 6’4” of him bent to you as he places kisses across your belly while the heated water runs over his dirty blonde hair and down his back, rippling across the muscles in his shoulders as he holds your hips squeezed securely between his broad hands.

“You’re perfect just the way ya are, baby,” he groans against your moist skin, letting his lips linger wherever he puts them. “Just like this: real, curves for fuckin’ days, so much skin I get drunk tryin’ to get at it all. And the best goddamn part is that it’s all mine.”

More kisses he places along all the areas you think unworthy of adoration, but that he finds absolutely exquisite. “Mine, all mine.”

His words devolve into incoherent babble as he nestles his face into your abdomen to leave burning trails of his desire with his lips that even the warm water cannot wash away from your skin. Your body writhes in his double-handed grasp as your head falls back to rest against the wall as every inch of tender flesh prickles with the overstimulating sensation of being doted upon.

Lips keep trailing further downward from your stomach to the mound of your sex, through the trimmed patch of hair at the top of your pussy, before they sink into the bulk of your thick, stocky thighs.

“Ya think I get on my knees for any girl?” he asks from his place at the bottom of the shower as he stares up into your face with half-lidded eyes that darken the more he plays with you. “You’re the only one who can bring me to fuckin’ kneel, baby. You and your gorgeous body. I’m at it’s goddamn mercy.”

Placing his hand on your calf, he nods and you know exactly what he wants: that juicy cunt smothering his features, your bulky thighs crush against his ears. Carefully he helps you to adjust your footing so that he can lift your leg. Propping it up on his own thigh, he sits back on his calves so that his face sits at the same level as your pussy and he leans in, smothering his face right between those dangerously thick pieces of flesh as you widen your stance with his guidance to make it easier. Hardened fingertips dig themselves into your body, forcing you even more firmly against his face until his nose is pressed into your clit and he moves his head back and forth to stimulate it with the tip.

There is little oxygen to be had between the heat from the water and the heat between your legs, but it doesn’t matter. The sound of your soft, breathy gasps and moans as he penetrates your entrance with his tongue is enough to sustain him until he can come up to breathe. Lapping and thrusting, wriggling and applying pressure, if there is even a whisper of a negative thought left in your brain it is overshadowed completely now by the overwhelming euphoria of being devoured to the brink of insanity.

You buck wild and untamed, panting heavily as the warmth in your belly begins gathering quicker than you could have thought, the coil pulling tightly as minute by aching minute Simon draws your body to the edge of its release. He is relentless in his endeavor, putting your needs above anything else- even breathing. That tongue has moved up to your clit now and with weighty presses over the tiny bean you soon are spilling over the edge and he has to hold onto you tight so that you don’t slip and fall.

Simon stays locked to your pussy until the very last second, keeping his movements going even as you try to pry him off from the sensitivity that is almost too much to handle. It isn’t until you finally stop writhing that he emerges from between your legs with a smile that has your stomach doing somersaults as he wipes his mouth clean of your cum.

“Second course,” he growls before you even have a chance to fully come down from your high.

Oh you have got him down bad tonight.

He carefully flips you round to face the wall and uses his feet to make you spread your legs as wide as you can get them. A hefty hand runs itself over the curve of your ass, following the line down all the way to the underside before he grabs it in his hand and gives the meat a firm squeeze.

“Those little boys just don’t know how to handle this much woman; all these fuckin’ curves are too much pleasure for a bastard that don’t know the treasure he’s got. But I know what a fuckin’ feast ya are,” he groans as he aligns your hips and enters you from behind with a forceful grunt that reverberates off the enclosed space of the shower.

You push palms flat against the wall to steady yourself. “They don’t know how ta treat ya right, how ta love a body that just keeps givin’ and givin’. But I don’t have that problem, sweetheart.”

Simon’s devout words are like liquid fire and as his cock stretches you wide, the euphoria of his talk runs through you to make you burn. Your body is his religion and goddamn does he always worship it right. All those cares, all that self-loathing and doubt entirely evaporate from your mind as he pushes your shoulders forward to make you arch your back so that he can pound into your pussy hard and deep from behind, making your plump ass bounce off his pelvis with a recoil that draws his gaze.

“Fuck,” he breathes, so obsessed with the way you look around him that he is trying to ingrain the image in his mind.

His aching exclamation thrills you, making your heart skip a beat as his thrusts continue to rock through you. To be craved in such a way, to be thought of like the woman in the movie, that is what he is giving you now and it is euphoric. His intensity is orgasmic and your body responds in kind as he grabs you to move you closer.

“Don’t concern yourself with the bullshit ideas of some puny little boys when ya got a man who will always make sure you feel like a fuckin’ princess when you’re in his arms,” he says in a whisper at your ear as he pulls you back to leans against his chest. “Cause ya are, sweetheart. Your my fuckin’ goddess of a woman.”

The way he says it makes you ache all over and you can feel it twinge in your clit. “Say it again,” you beg, needing to hear him make those sweet combinations of sounds once more until your body vibrates with pleasure.

His hand comes up to cup around your breast so that he can massage the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, causing you to mewl at the sensation. “You are so fuckin’ beautiful baby, so goddamn perfect just like this, and I love every last fuckin’ inch of ya. My princess.”

Your cheeks feel like they are glowing and on fire as thrusts after thrust he pounds into you, stretching you and filling you full on all of his passion for your body. You will never be able to make everyone see you for the gorgeous being that you truly are, but that doesn’t matter anymore. Simon is more than enough to keep you feeling like the most beautiful girl in the whole world; you are safe with him.

Your head falls back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as his arms that are filled with your waist clamp down tighter to secure you to him so that he can shove his cock even harder into your now dripping core. “Yes, yes,” you whimper out.

“Come for me again,” he practically demands as he watches you falling apart once more. “Come on, pretty girl, one more for me. One more together.”

Your limbs are tingling with each snap of his hips against your ass. It’s close, right there, you can almost feel it again as the coil wounds itself tight once more in the pit of your stomach. You clench down on him, making him falter before recovering and continuing on. A few more pumps of him deep in your core and it is right there at the precipice.

“Let go for me,” he whispers into your ear as you clench once more around him and something about the way he says it sets you off. You come for the second time, the orgasm rocketing through you until you can feel it like fire shooting through your veins as you shake with the intensity of it all.

Quickly he pulls out just in time as he too pops off and comes between your thighs as you clamp them together around his cock. The ejaculate runs down your legs as he milks every last bit out of the tip until his body hangs limp and his head falls down to rest the forehead against your shoulder. Still he holds you close, murmuring soft praises against your neck about how fucking amazing that was and how there is no one else that will ever look more beautiful all flushed and exhausted.

Holding onto you, Simon takes a few steps back forcing you to come along until you are both submerged under the showerhead to let that soothing water run over your bodies until you can both come back down from your high. There are no words yet, none that need to be said out loud, all he needs to do is keep you wrapped in his arms a little longer.

It’s quiet, just the sound of the water rushing filling the silent space for a while, until a noise breaks you both out of the moment. There is a banging on the door from the outside, repeated knocking loudly and clearly; you’ve been in here for too long, but Simon doesn’t seem to be bothered. There is no attempt to leave the steamy oasis yet and soon the sound subsides and you are both left in the silence once again.

“They’ll just have to fuckin’ wait,” he says against the side of your head in a hushed whisper, lips tempting your earlobe. “They can consider it a punishment for making ya upset. Besides, I’m still busy and you’re not goin’ anywhere.”

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linoxpudding · 8 days ago

Text

Intern (Pt 4)- Lee Know

summary: as you and minho navigate your friendship dynamic, mingyu's heart eyes on you starts to trouble him— making him think you might just be falling for someone else

pairing: lee know x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff, humor

word count: 5725 words

a/n: it was getting too long, so there will be pt 5! this is just angst fest with sprinkles of fluff

Intern Series: Part Three Part Five

~°~

You were planning to binge watch a K-drama all weekend, cocooned in your bed with snacks and the blinds closed, avoiding everything and everyone.

But Hyunjin had other plans. He FaceTimed you in the afternoon, dramatic as always, starting with a groan and a close-up of a plate of slightly charred french toast.

“Look at this monstrosity,” he whined, flipping the camera back to his face. “I swear I was only gone for two seconds—”

“Hyun, you cannot leave it in the stove and scroll through insta.”

He gasped, deeply offended. “Excuse you, I was grabbing my mug! I’m not feral.”

You rolled your eyes, propping your phone against a pillow. “Debatable.”

After the usual catch-up — mostly consisting of Hyunjin dragging everyone in his life and complaining about schedules — you finally caved and told him about the elevator.

With Minho.

You tried to sound casual. Light. Like it didn’t mean much.

“We were alone for like... ten seconds,” you said, “and then right before I stepped out, he said—”

“What?”

You hesitated. “He said he’d like to be friends again.”

Hyunjin blinked. “...And?”

“And nothing. That’s it.”

He stared into the camera for a long beat. “What the hell is wrong with you two?”

“I don’t know!” you whisper-yelled, slumping deeper into your blanket. “It was so awkward. He said it like he meant it, but it felt… off. Like maybe he thought I needed closure or something.”

“Or maybe he’s trying to fix things.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, unsure. “Maybe.”

Hyunjin exhaled like a tired therapist. “Okay. That’s it. You’re not rotting in bed all weekend over this.”

“Watch me.”

“Nope. You’re coming to potluck night at the dorm. Tonight. Everyone’s bringing food and good vibes. I want you there, no excuses.”

You groaned. “Hyun— I don’t even have anything to bring—”

“Bring your pretty face and your social battery,” he said, flopping onto his couch, “Or anything you like just not eggplants. You know I hate it.”

You smirked. “So… eggplant it is?”

His head snapped up, horrified. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You shrugged, “Guess we’ll see.”

*******************

Few hours later, you knocked on the dorm door with a warm, foil-covered dish.

Hyunjin opened it dramatically, looking you up and down like you were a contestant on a cooking show he secretly hated.

“What… is that?” he asked slowly.

You held it out to him, deadpan. “Eggplant, surprise!”

“YOU DIDN’T—” he started, full panic activated.

You burst out laughing. “Relax, drama queen. It’s mac and cheese.”

He peeled back the foil just to make sure, and when the golden, cheesy goodness revealed itself, he visibly sagged with relief. “I was this close to banning you from the friend group.”

You strolled past him smirking. “You love me too much for that.”

“I tolerate you at best,” he muttered, trailing behind you.

The dorm was warm and buzzing with noise—laughter spilling from the kitchen, someone shouting about the rice cooker being broken, and music playing softly from a speaker on the shelf. The table was cluttered with mismatched dishes: fried chicken, kimchi pancakes, tteokbokki, pasta, a half-eaten cake, and a mountain of snacks. You slid your dish onto the table, earning a small cheer from Jeongin, who immediately spooned some onto his plate.

You were barely two steps into the living room when you spotted Minho leaning against the counter with a soda in hand, mid-conversation with Chan. But the second your eyes met, his lips parted just slightly—like he hadn’t expected you to come.

For a second, it was like everything paused.

The low hum of music faded. The buzz of conversation turned into white noise. All you could focus on was how his gaze softened, just a bit, like a wave settling after a storm.

Then, almost hesitantly, Minho excused himself from Chan and stepped toward you, soda still in hand.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice softer than the room around you. “Didn’t think you’d actually show.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool even though your heart did a dramatic somersault. “Yeah, well… Hyunjin bribed me. Mochi donuts and chocolate fudge.”

That earned you a small laugh from him. The kind that wasn’t loud but genuine, like it slipped out before he could catch it.

“I’m glad,” he said after a beat, his eyes flicking briefly from yours to the kitchen table. “What’d you bring?”

You grinned. “Eggplant.”

Minho blinked, visibly thrown.

You let the silence stretch for a beat before breaking into a grin. “Kidding. I brought mac and cheese.”

Relief flickered across his face as he chuckled. “You almost gave Hyunjin a heart attack.”

“I know. It was fun.”

Minho tilted his head, a smile tugging at his lips as he looked at you like he didn’t quite know what to do with the version of you in front of him now—this soft, teasing warmth between you two, instead of static and silence.

He nodded toward the kitchen. “Come on. Let’s eat.”

And as he walked beside you, just close enough that your arms almost brushed, it struck you that maybe being “just friends” wouldn’t feel like a step back at all. Maybe, with him, it was the start of something quieter. Slower. Something that could finally make sense.

The dining table was a patchwork of mismatched dishes and hands reaching across each other, chopsticks clinking lightly as conversations overlapped. Laughter bounced off the walls, Felix nearly knocked over the lemonade, and Han was dramatically retelling how he once got stuck in an elevator for seven minutes.

You were nestled between Minho and Hyunjin, your mac and cheese earning praise from the boys—Seungmin even asked if you’d added some “witchcraft” to make it that creamy. Your soft smile lingered, a little more genuine now, the warmth of being around people you cared about slowly melting the ache that had clung to you the past few weeks.

Minho sat quietly beside you—not withdrawn, just softer. Every so often, his knee would brush against yours again, just a small reminder that he was still there. Still beside you. You didn’t move away. Neither did he.

Then, somewhere between bites and banter, Jeongin piped up flashing his trademark dimpled grin. “Noona, have you given Mingyu your number yet?”

You nearly choked on your drink. Minho, mid-bite, paused. The fork hovered in front of his lips, then lowered without him taking the bite.

“No?” you said, dabbing at your mouth with a napkin.

Felix laughed, then winked, “He’s not wrong. Mingyu’s totally crushing on our Y/N.”

“Why not, noona?” Jeongin smirked. “He’s very cute and brings your lattes.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you quickly looked down at your plate. “Can we not?”

Chan, sensing your discomfort, smoothly jumped in to ask Felix about a new baking recipe, and the conversation shifted, giving you a chance to breathe. The laughter around you swirled back into the air. Minho stayed silent beside you, still not eating. You snuck a glance at him—his jaw was tight, eyes trained on his plate.

After dinner, as everyone started clearing the table or lazily collapsing into the couch for round two of snacks, Hyunjin tugged on your wrist and nodded toward the hallway. “Come. Help me get the dessert plates.”

You followed him quietly, already suspecting he didn’t mean actual plates.

Once out of earshot, he leaned against the hallway wall, arms crossed, voice gentler. “So… do you like Mingyu?”

You sighed, leaning your head back against the wall. “No, Hyunjin. I don’t.”

He tilted his head. “Why not?”

“I’m not ready,” you said, barely above a whisper. “Not after… everything.”

He nodded slowly, like he already knew the answer before asking. “Okay,” he said simply. No pressure, no teasing. Then his eyes flicked briefly toward the kitchen specifically toward Minho.

You caught it.

But before you could ask, he smiled tightly. “I just want you to be okay, that’s all.” He bumped your shoulder. “Come on, let’s find those plates we’re pretending to need.”

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Minho stood by the sink, scrubbing at a plate a little harder than necessary. The sound of water and ceramic drowned out the voices in the living room.

Han padded in, drying his hands with a dish towel. “You okay, hyung?”

Minho didn’t look up. He just shrugged.

Then, after a pause, he let out a quiet, frustrated sigh. “She’s… moved on from me?”

Han leaned against the counter beside him, watching carefully. “Hyung…”

Minho shook his head, the plate in his hands now spotless. “I told her we could be friends. I thought I meant it. But now… the idea of her with someone else—” he bit the inside of his cheek. “It just... hurts.”

Han stayed silent for a second, then said softly, “I don’t think she’s moved on. But hyung… you hurt her. A lot.”

Minho finally looked up, eyes troubled.

“She was so into you, but she heard you bad mouthing her..”

Minho’s jaw clenched. The memory felt like a blade twisting in his chest. Minho set the plate aside, hands braced on the sink. Silent.

“You still like her, right?” Han asked quietly.

Minho nodded.

Han gave a half-smile. “Then maybe it’s time you stop hiding behind ‘just friends’ and actually show her.”

Minho’s fingers curled against the edge of the sink, knuckles paling. His voice was low—barely above the hum of the faucet still running.

“I don’t want to lose her though,” he murmured. “I’m scared.”

Han blinked, then straightened a little, caught off guard by the rare crack in Minho’s calm. “Scared of what?”

“Of ruining everything. Of saying something wrong and pushing her further away,” Minho said, his voice threading between restraint and something raw. “We finally found our way back to being something… not painful. And I—” he exhaled sharply, eyes closing for a second, “I don’t want to mess it up again.”

Han was quiet for a second, just watching him.

Then he said, softer this time, “But hyung… if you don’t say anything, you might lose her anyway. And that hurts worse, doesn’t it?”

Minho looked down at his hands.

“What if it's too late,” he said, more to himself than to Han.

Han shook his head. “It’s not, hyung. You can’t give up.”

He gave Minho’s shoulder a light squeeze before walking away, leaving him standing there in the kitchen—still, uncertain, but just a little less alone with the weight of everything.

*******************

The next few days were… strange.

You and Minho hovered around each other like hesitant magnets—drawn close, but careful not to snap together too fast. He started sitting beside you again during breaks. Not across the room like before. Not beside Han. Beside you. But there was a gap. Just wide enough to remind you this wasn’t what it used to be. Or maybe it never really was.

He made jokes again, though softer than before. Less teasing, more observational. Sometimes they made you smile, sometimes you only nodded, still unsure if it was safe to laugh freely again. Once, he commented on a meme in your phone background, and when you gave a small, amused huff, you didn’t notice but his shoulders loosened a bit—as if that little sound meant the world.

At lunch, when you reached for the sriracha sauce and accidentally brushed his hand, you both pulled back at the same time. The contact was brief. Barely even a second. But your eyes met—just for a moment—and he offered a faint smile. You didn’t return it. Not because you didn’t want to. Because you didn’t know how anymore.

Later that afternoon, during rehearsals, he walked over with a drink from the vending machine—your favorite. He didn’t say anything when he handed it to you, just placed it on the table beside your phone and stepped away.

You blinked. Your fingers curled around the can, cool and familiar.

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

You didn’t meet his eyes. You never looked directly at him for too long anymore. He could tell your walls were still up, even as you stood just a few feet apart.

And though he didn’t say anything—no clever comment, no apology hidden in a joke—he lingered near the door for a second longer than needed, just to make sure you were okay.

This wasn’t friendship. Not yet. It was limbo. A gentle balancing act between what was broken and what was trying so desperately to mend. And Minho was learning, one small step at a time, how to not ruin it again.

*******************

You and Minho didn’t talk every day.

But now, when you passed each other in the halls, there was no silence. There were soft greetings. Occasional shared glances. The kind that made the others raise their eyebrows—not in confusion, but in subtle relief. Because something had shifted.

Practice breaks weren’t so awkward anymore. Sometimes he passed you his headphones when yours went missing. Other times you handed him his water bottle before he even asked.

Small things. Friendly things. But not nothing. And it was enough—for now. Minho told himself he was fine with that. Until Mingyu made it very clear he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Y/N, you killed that impromptu karaoke today,” Mingyu beamed, dropping beside you as you scrolled through the styling notes. “Honestly, your highnote is insane. Have you ever considered being a singer? Imagine your solo stage performance?”

You laughed softly, eyes still focused on your screen. “That’d be a disaster. I’d probably trip over the mic cord and fall off the stage.”

“No way,” he said. “I’d catch you. Promise.”

From a few feet away, Minho’s jaw tensed.

Minho noticed how Mingyu wasn’t even trying to be subtle anymore. Mingyu hovered near you during warmups. Walked you out after late rehearsals. Made you laugh. A lot.

It wasn’t your fault—you were polite, warm, the same way you were with everyone else. You always kept your distance with Mingyu. Not crossing the boundary.

Minho noticed that.

But that didn’t stop the burn in his chest every time you smiled at something Mingyu said.

“Y/N, can you help me with this tie again?” Chan called from across the room, giving Minho a tiny glance—like he knew. You got up, nodding, and left Mingyu mid-sentence.

Minho let out a quiet breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Han plopped beside him on the floor, towel draped around his neck, glancing at the scene unfolding across the room. “You’re gonna pop a vein.”

“I’m fine,” Minho muttered.

Han snorted. “Yeah. And I’m debuting as a WWE fighter.”

Minho scowled.

Han leaned closer, lowering his voice. “If you don’t like watching it, maybe it’s time you stop pretending you’re okay with it.”

“I am okay,” Minho snapped—too quickly. Too defensive.

Han raised a brow.

Minho rubbed his face. “We’re just friends now. That’s what she agreed to. I messed it up, remember?”

Han paused, then said more gently, “Yeah. But you obviously want more, hyung. You just gotta figure out if you’re gonna do something about it… or if you’re gonna keep watching someone else try first.”

Minho didn’t reply because deep down, he still didn’t know the answer.

Not yet.

But when he looked across the room again—at you laughing with Chan, Mingyu watching you from the side with those fond eyes, he realized the ache in his chest wasn’t going away.

And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pretending it didn’t mean anything.

*******************

As days went by things between you and Minho shifted—subtly, but unmistakably.

He still sat beside you during breaks, knees brushing lightly like before. He still made those humorous jokes under his breath, ones that only you seemed to catch. But now, there was a hesitation in his touch, a softness in his voice, like he was trying to earn his place again without saying it out loud. And you let him. Not because you’d let him in completely, but because part of you missed him too much to push him away.

Across the room, Han and Hyunjin watched quietly from the couch, sipping on their drinks and observing the quiet push and pull between you two. Han nudged Hyunjin with his shoulder, a barely-contained grin on his face. “Look at them,” he whispered. “Back to their little world.”

Hyunjin exhaled a small laugh, but his smile faltered for a second. He didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he looked at you—your small smile as Minho murmured something that made you shake your head, the way your shoulder leaned just a little toward him.

He should’ve been annoyed. Maybe he was. Maybe some bitter part of him still thought you were too easy on Minho. But Hyunjin knew Minho. He’d known him for years, known the way he showed love sideways—through quiet gestures, not declarations. That night Minho said those careless things about you… Hyunjin had been furious. Still was, sometimes, but he also saw the way Minho looked at you now. Like he was afraid to lose you again. Like he knew he’d messed up and didn’t know how to fix it—but he’d die trying.

Hyunjin cared about you both deeply so he desperately wanted you and Minho to find your way back to each other. He let out a breath and took another sip, forcing a smile back on his face.

“He’s trying,” he said, more to himself than Han. “Pabo hyung’s actually trying.”

And both of them smiled fondly at the two of you. They are your biggest shippers after all.

*******************

You were sitting cross-legged on the floor backstage, your tablet propped up on a box of folded shirts, eyes bleary from combing through outfit notes and last-minute stage changes. The room buzzed around you—chatter, shoe scuffs, zippers, music—but you were too focused to care.

Until something landed next to your arm with a soft thud.

You looked down. A sandwich from your favorite bakery, neatly placed next to a chilled cup of chocolate milkshake.

Your head snapped up. Minho was already walking away, hands in his pockets like it was nothing, like he didn’t just silently drop a piece of your favorite comfort food next to you without a word.

“Uh… thanks?” you called after him.

He didn’t even turn around. “Eat it.”

But later, tucked just beneath the folded edge of the sandwich bag, you found a sticky note. His handwriting was neat:

You skipped lunch again. Stop doing that.

You stared at it for a second longer than you meant to, heart pulling.

The next day, you were trying—really trying—not to knock over an entire rack of sparkling costumes as you guided it through a tight corner backstage. The wheels squeaked. Your wrists ached. A hanger snagged your sleeve.

“Seriously?” came a voice from behind you. “You’re gonna end up in the ER before soundcheck.”

You turned, panting slightly. “I’ve got it—”

But Minho was already beside you, hands slipping over yours, his grip firm but not forceful. He gently maneuvered the rack around the corner with practiced ease. You stood frozen for a moment, fingers still hovering where his had been.

“I was managing just fine,” you muttered, but the flush in your cheeks betrayed you.

“Uh-huh,” he said, but there was a faint smile at the edge of his lips.

As he adjusted the last hanger, he glanced at you. “Next time, text me.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“I’ll come help.”

And slowly… you started noticing him again. Not as the Minho who said those horrible things at the party, but as the Minho who was trying.

One afternoon, the air conditioning backstage was way too strong one day, and you were visibly shivering as you worked on fixing a seam.

Next thing you knew, someone dropped a hoodie over your shoulders.

You turned around—it was Minho’s.

“Wha—"

“Return it when you’re not freezing,” he smiled, walking away without waiting for a thank you.

You were too stunned to speak for a second.

It smelled like fabric softener… and maybe just a little like him.

*******************

Practice had run late, and you were completely drained. By the time you packed up your things and stepped out of the building, the sky had turned a moody grey, and raindrops had begun to fall steadily. Of course it had to rain today—your umbrella was forgotten at home, and the idea of waiting for the bus in this weather made your shoulders sink.

You sighed, already regretting not checking the forecast this morning. But then you saw Minho, standing by the front steps, holding a dark blue umbrella.

You blinked, surprised. “Minho? What… what are you doing here?”

He shrugged casually. “You always take the bus. And it’s raining.”

Your chest fluttered. “You waited?”

He gave a short nod. “Yeah. And I know you won’t let me drive you,” he added, shooting you a side glance, lips tugging into the tiniest smirk. “So I figured I’d at least walk you to the stop.”

You hesitated, then stepped beside him under the umbrella. The space was small, shoulders brushing, but neither of you moved. Neither of you said a word about it.

You both stood like that for a moment—quiet, warm in each other’s company as the world fell around you in soft, rhythmic droplets.

You looked up at him, something blooming in your chest. “You didn’t have to do this.”

He smiled faintly, his gaze forward as he matched your steps, “I wanted to.”

As you walked, a soft meow interrupted the silence. Your eyes lit up as a tiny kitten peered out from under a car. You crouched instinctively, cooing at it, and Minho just watched you with a small smile, then he crouched beside you.

“You like cats?” you asked, gently petting the kitten.

“I have three,” he said with a grin. “Soonie, Doongie, and Dori.”

Your head turned, surprised. “You’re a full-on cat dad?”

He nodded, a proud glint in his eyes. “The clingiest one sleeps on my chest every night. I can’t move or breathe, but he purrs like a motorboat, so.”

You laughed, something easing in your chest. “That’s actually adorable.”

Minho took out a cat treat from his jeans pocket and fed the kitten. You looked at him, eyes wide. “You’re really soft for a guy who glares 90% of the time.”

He chuckled. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation.”

You smiled, brushing your fingers gently along the kitten’s head.

“Want to see pictures of my kitties?” Minho asked looking at you.

Of course, you said yes.

And he scrolled through hundreds—literally hundreds—of blurry cat photos with the fondest little smile on his face.

From then on, it became a rhythm. Small, thoughtful things woven into the chaos of work—Minho tying loose shoelaces before you tripped, subtly reminding you to drink water, or walking at your pace when everyone else rushed ahead.

One day, he wordlessly handed you a lint roller when your black pants were covered in glitter.

Another time, he quietly rescued a shirt you accidentally stained with makeup, dabbing at it with a wipe while saying, “Don’t panic. It’s not ruined.”

You started catching him watching you sometimes, not in a way that made you uncomfortable, but in a way that felt... warm. Gentle. Like he was memorizing the quiet details. He was being patient. Careful.

Because Minho wasn’t rushing. But he was trying. And you noticed. Even if you didn’t say a word.

*******************

Minho had never felt so unsure of himself—and that was saying something, considering he was usually the one in control, the one rolling his eyes and brushing things off with a sharp tongue and a shrug. But ever since that night, when you’d agreed—hesitantly, quietly—to be his friend again, everything inside him felt like a wire pulled taut.

He knew he was the reason things were like this. You were kind. Too kind. That’s why you’d let him back in, even if the warmth in your eyes had cooled, even if your laughter now came with a trace of caution. And he didn’t blame you. Not one bit.

Because how could he, after the things he’d said?

So he told himself friendship was fine. That being close to you like this—walking beside you, teasing you, seeing your smile from across the room—was enough. Maybe if he was patient, if he kept showing up, you’d trust him again. Maybe then he’d finally tell you what he really felt.

But Mingyu was there too.

Mingyu, who brought you coffee. Mingyu, who waited for your rehearsals to end just so he could walk you out. Mingyu, who made you laugh without the weight of old wounds lingering between you.

Minho had noticed how you smiled at him. How your guard wasn’t as high. And it gnawed at him.

Every time you so much as looked at Mingyu, something in Minho tightened. He told himself he had time, that he couldn’t rush you—but the truth was, he was scared. Scared that Mingyu would reach you first. Scared that Mingyu would give you the kind of affection that didn’t come with scars or apologies. Scared that maybe, just maybe, that was what you deserved.

He sat alone one evening in the practice room long after everyone else had left, a towel around his neck, chest still heaving from choreography. The dim lights flickered overhead as he stared at his reflection in the mirror.

“I can’t lose her,” he muttered to himself. The words felt heavy. Honest.

But then he added, quieter:

“…I already might have.”

He couldn’t stop thinking: what if you were already falling for someone else?

And with that, the weight on his shoulders only pressed harder—because the clock was ticking, and the line between friendship and love had never felt so thin.

*******************

The final week of practice for the collab was chaos. Choreography tweaks, mic checks, camera angles, fit checks—but Minho wasn’t focused on any of that.

He was across the practice room, half-listening to Chan give instructions, but his eyes—his eyes were on you. You were near the corner, talking to Mingyu. Laughing with Mingyu. You had been invited to watch the practice, hanging out in the back with a bottle of water, trying to stay out of the way while everyone prepped.

Mingyu leaned in a little, his tone low, eyes soft, like he was saying something important. And you—Minho’s heart dropped when he saw you smile.

He froze.

What the hell was that?

The blood in his ears roared louder than the music. Something ugly and tight wrapped around his chest.

Meanwhile, you were blinking up at Mingyu, stunned. “Wait, what?”

Mingyu gave you a half-smile, a little rueful. “I said… I’ll back off.”

You blinked. “Back off what?”

He chuckled, eyes kind. “Y/N, come on. I’m not blind. Lee Know looks at you like you hung the stars.”

You followed his gaze briefly to the other end of the room where Minho stood, jaw tight, eyes burning holes into the two of you.

Your stomach turned. “There’s… nothing. Between us.”

Mingyu raised a brow. “You sure about that?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because now your mind was racing, heart stammering with the realization.

“Regardless,” Mingyu continued, “I still wanna get coffee with you sometime. As friends. If that’s cool?”

You nodded slowly, smiling without thinking. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

But the moment your smile curved, Minho moved.

His feet carried him before his brain could catch up. Every step thundered with misread emotions, with frustration and confusion and something painfully vulnerable.

“Is this fun for you?” Minho’s voice cut through the air like a blade as he reached you both.

You looked up, startled. “What—?”

Mingyu turned, blinking. “Lee Know?”

“You playing games now?” Minho snapped, eyes locked on Mingyu. “You think flirting with her while we’re in the middle of rehearsals is cool?”

“Whoa, hold on—” Mingyu stepped back, palms raised. “I wasn’t flirting—”

“You think I don’t see it? The smiles, the lingering around her? Back off, man.”

You stepped forward, “Minho, stop—”

But he didn’t. He was too far gone now, anger twisting with fear, pain with regret.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he growled. “But she’s not some—some prize you can just win because you’re charming.”

“And what are you then?” Mingyu snapped back, now fully defensive. “The one who gets jealous the second she talks with a guy? You’re just insecure.”

Minho’s jaw clenched, voice low and harsh. “I’m not insecure. I just don’t think it’s professional to hit on someone during rehearsals.”

“And I don’t think it’s professional to treat her like your possession,” Mingyu bit back, eyes burning now.

“Enough!”

The voice came from two sides—Chan and S.Coups, both storming over. Chan grabbed Minho’s arm while S.Coups stepped in between Mingyu and Minho.

“What the hell is going on?” Chan hissed. “Minho, breathe.”

Minho jerked his arm free but didn’t move closer. His chest heaved. “Just… tell him to stay away from her.”

You stared at him, heart pounding, throat thick.

“Why?” you asked, voice quiet but firm. “So you can decide when to push me away and when to pull me back?”

Minho froze.

S.Coups stood between them, throwing Mingyu a warning look then placing a firm hand on Mingyu’s shoulder. “Take a break. Cool off.”

You stood there in the middle, you felt a strange, heavy knot tighten in your stomach as you watched Minho. You had never seen him like this—his usual cool demeanor had cracked. In this moment, it felt like he was ready to explode.

Mingyu exhaled sharply and turned to you, eyes apologetic. “I’ll be outside.”

He walked off, muttering under his breath. The door swung shut behind him.

You turned to Minho, heart racing. “Not cool, Minho. Seriously.”

Then you spun on your heel, rushing after Mingyu. You didn’t hear Minho curse under his breath. You didn’t see Chan try to stop him.

But you did feel the sudden tug on your wrist—gentle but firm.

“Minho—what the fu—”

You barely had time to turn before he opened the storage room door beside you and pulled you in. The door slammed shut behind you. Trapped in the dim, cramped space, your chest heaved. The air felt too tight, like the tension had squeezed all the oxygen out.

You stared at him. “Are you out of your damn mind?”

Minho stood across from you, chest rising and falling fast. His eyes searched yours like he was drowning.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice hoarse. “I just—couldn’t watch you run after him.”

“Why?” you demanded, your tone rising. “He’s my friend now.”

His expression cracked, and something in his eyes darkened.

“Yeah right, he constantly flirts with you!” he whispered, voice thick with jealousy. “God, it’s killing me, Y/N.”

You blinked, surprised. But then it hit you. The nerve.

Your face twisted, your frustration bubbling to the surface, long overdue.

“Why, Minho? What’s your problem, seriously?”

He flinched. You could see it—how the sound of your anger shook him.

“You didn’t want this. You didn’t want me,” you continued, your voice shaking now with hurt and rage. “You felt uncomfortable when you thought I was flirting, so I backed off! I respected your boundaries. I let you go. Why won’t you let me be at peace?! Why do you keep pulling me back into this push-and-pull hell?”

Minho said nothing. His hands balled into fists at his sides, jaw tense, breathing ragged. But he didn’t interrupt. Not once.

You laughed bitterly, eyes stinging. “I spent weeks feeling like I did something wrong—like I imagined everything between us. I got over it, Minho. I’m trying to move on. So why now? Why barge in and make a scene and embarrass me in front of everyone just because I’m talking to someone else?”

Minho didn’t answer right away. He just stepped forward. Slowly. Then he raised his hands and gently cupped your face. His thumbs brushed your cheeks with such care it broke something inside you. You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. You wanted to melt into him and shove him away all at once.

He leaned in just enough that his forehead hovered against yours, and then he whispered, his voice breaking, “I’m an idiot.”

Your breath hitched.

“I’m an idiot,” he repeated. “And I deserve all of this. But Y/N... I love you.”

Your world tilted.

You blinked at him, heart pounding. “What?”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, really look—his eyes filled with raw, vulnerable honesty. “I love you. I’ve loved you for longer than I want to admit. And I got scared. I thought I didn’t deserve you. So I said those things to push you away. But when I see someone else making you smile the way I used to... I can’t take it. I won’t.”

You stood there frozen, tears threatening to spill. You weren’t ready. You hadn’t prepared for this. After all the silence, the confusion, the heartbreak—you couldn’t comprehend his words.

You didn’t say anything, just kept staring at him, your breath uneven, heart pounding in your ears. Then you stepped back. Minho’s hands dropped from your face instantly, like your skin had burned him.

“Y/N,” he called softly, voice trembling now, uncertain.

But you shook your head and turned, walking past him and out of the storage room, out of that suffocating moment, out of that confusing spiral of everything you’d buried for weeks. You didn’t run. You didn’t cry. You just walked away.

Minho stood there, completely still.

The door clicked shut behind you, and the silence that followed was deafening.

He stared at the spot you had just been, a lump forming in his throat. His chest tightened like something was squeezing the air out of his lungs.

You didn’t say anything. You walked away. Did he wait too long?

He brought a hand to the back of his neck, gripping it, trying to calm the sudden storm rising inside him. He kept thinking:

Maybe she doesn’t feel the same anymore.

Maybe I pushed her too far.

Maybe this is the part where I lose her for good.

He pressed his lips together, trying to breathe, but everything felt like it was caving in. And worst of all—he knew he had no one to blame but himself.

--------------

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