#because time has passed between each stage

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing your Character's "Twin Flame"

Twin Flame Connection - describes a relationship in which each person sees a part of themselves in the other.

Twin flames might share specific qualities, passions, or insecurities.

Twin flame love can be platonic, emotional, romantic, intellectual, or a combination.

Sometimes a twin flame connection bonds best friends; other times, it can initiate a romantic relationship.

Regardless of the relationship form, twin flame connections can spur profound spiritual growth and might event put people on a new life path.

Twin Flame Signs

There are a few ways to tell whether you’ve met a twin flame. Consider the following signs:

Gravitation: You will feel a great pull toward this person, either romantic or platonic.

Recognition: Typically, a sudden recognition occurs upon meeting a twin flame. You realize this person shares your specific traits, good or bad, and those commonalities form a bond. Often, twin flames feel as if they have met before or have always known each other.

Worldview: Twin flames share your worldview, making them very easy to be around.

Twin Flame Stages

A twin flame connection can lead to a romantic relationship. If so, you might experience these feelings in the following stages:

Yearning: Before meeting your twin flame, you might look for love or feel this person is right around the corner. A tug brings you out of your shell, deepening your desire and opening yourself up to new experiences to find this person.

Meeting: Encountering your twin flame can be overwhelming. Expect intense emotions in this stage. You might feel like this person has everything you need, and being away from them can be painful.

Love: You will spend more time together and find you have a lot in common. This will bring you closer, and your disparate worlds will quickly become one.

Enjoyment: The honeymoon phase comes next. This is a blissful period during which the twin flames make formative memories.

Doubt: After the honeymoon phase, you will question why this healthy relationship is so perfect, and you might measure it against past lives and relationships. This can lead to doubts and insecurities.

Growth: Your doubts might lead to conflict, but the conflict will smooth over with forgiveness, understanding, and time. During this period, you will see your partner’s flaws but appreciate them all the more.

Settling: During this chapter, you settle into your relationship, knowing it is more than a passing phase and something more unique and permanent.

Progress: After some ups and downs, you will feel your life is returning to a more normal balance. Your twin flame will become a part of your natural world order, and you will move on in great contentment.

Origin of Twin Flame

There are various origins to the theory of the twin flame. In the philosophical text Symposium (circa 385 BCE), Plato posits humans once had four legs and arms and two faces.

The gods felt threatened by this, so Zeus split the people in two; humans would wander in search of their other half.

Another theory is that the zodiac signs and astrological birth charts determine the attraction between twin flames.

For example, Aries and Leos might bond because they are both Fire signs.

Twin Flame Separation

One of the tricky parts of finding your twin flame is seeing them reflect parts of yourself.

It can be challenging to see personality traits you dislike.

Twin flames can form toxic relationships in which each person is overly dependent on the other or combative.

Nonetheless, twin flames feel a strong connection, so it can be anxiety-inducing if you have a falling out.

How to Cope With Twin Flame Separation

There are a few ways to cope with twin flame separation, and they can mirror the stages of grief. Follow these steps to navigate a split from a twin flame:

Acknowledge the loss. The first and hardest step is to acknowledge the loss. Part of that acknowledgment might be that you might not find someone as unique. Self-care is essential and can include taking walks, going to therapy, and engaging in low-stress activities.

Lean on a support system. Spend time with those who are supportive and loving. This can help your heart mend and perhaps introduce you to new people who might fill the void.

Move forward. A drastic change, like losing a twin flame, can lead to significant life changes, such as finding a new job or home. People cope in various ways, and as long as you find a healthy outlet (through art, nature, physical activity, or others), you will begin the path toward healing.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[weird-is-life]

rockstar!peter anything!!!

i’m imagining that they have been texting for a while and reader surprised him at another show

Hiii lovely, ty for this request! Sorry it took so long🤕🤕🤕warnings: fluff, a few swear words, reader being dizzy, mentions of drinks, concert, overcrowded venue(1.4k)

You have been texting with Peter for a few weeks now, and things have been going great.

Texting with Peter is surprisingly easy. Given that he's a goddamnn rockstar and all. It's never awkward, and it seems like you always have something, anything to tell to each other.

But you haven't had the opportunity to finally meet up for a date. And it sucks, yeah, but you aren't rushing anywhere.

You know that he's busy with the band right now. Trying to keep up with all the offers, label deals and promotions is a lot for them. And since they are blowing up almost everywhere in the world you understand that Peter's putting the band first.

Still, you are kind of bumped about it, and so is Peter. He'd gladly squeeze the date somewhere into his busy schedule if he wasn't running on coffee these last few days.

Also Peter, being a hopeless romantic, wants the date to be perfect. So you just have to survive until his schedule clears up a bit.

Well that is until your crazy friends get this one idea. They see you kinda moping about not being able to meet up with Peter again so they irrationally buy you a ticket to one of the band's concerts.

You don't want to go at first, not wanting to seem like a totally mad person or something. But they convince you to go.

So a few days later, you go. You get all pretty for it, but nothing too crazy. It's still just a concert (yeah, that's exactly what you keep telling yourself).

When you arrive there, it's fully packed. There's so many people from the front to the back of the whole venue that you know that there's no way Peter will notice you.

You stay anyways. Because at least you can finally see Peter again, even if it's just from afar.

You 'elbow' your way as much to the front as you can. You get about halfway through the whole crowd when you can't get any farther.

You wait for the concert to start, and only a few minutes in between all those people leaves you sweating, and craving some water.

You, from your last experience, don't get any drink. You don't want to have your t-shirt soaked again. But as the minutes go by, and the concert still isn't starting you get really thirsty.

You still stay where you are, not moving even an inch. You haven't just pushed your way through all those people to leave right before the concert starts.

Finally, the stage lights up, and the band comes up. Peter looks as he has the last time you saw him. Devilishly handsome with the sleeveless t-shirt, messy hair and heartthrob smile. Your knees buckle a bit.

And it gets even worse when he starts singing. You actually have to pinch your arm to know you aren't dreaming. And that Peter, Peter fucking Parker, singing on the stage, is actually unashamedly texting, and flirting with you.

You are having a pretty great time until like the 3rd song when suddenly you get so so thirsty, and dizziness sweeps over you.

Afraid that you might pass out, and get stomped to death by the crowd you quickly push your way to the side of the venue. Hoping some security guard might give you something to drink.

You make it to the side, away from the crowd. You lean against the wall there, trying to breath through the dizziness, but it doesn't really work.

You think you are close to passing out when there's one hand on your shoulder, and the other shoves a bottle of water into your hands.

You look up, and find a familiar face staring at you. It's Mike. The band's personal bodyguard. Relief washes over you.

"Let's get you some fresh air, yeah?" He states, and leads you towards the backstage door. You are sitting in a dressing room with the windows wide open in a matter of seconds.

The cold air along with the water makes the spinning of the room go away while Mike keeps a close eye on you the whole time.

After a few more minutes of making sure you really are back to feeling okay, and that you won't pass out, you stand up.

"You good?" Mike asks, looking out for any suggestions of otherwise.

"Much better. Thank you so much, Mike. I'm so sorry for all this trouble," you start to walk towards the door. Ready to go back out there.

"Trouble? Are you kidding....I'm always here for the safety reasons, you know." You laugh at his response, but his face stays serious. Always on guard, at least you know Peter and the band are safe around him at all times.

"Well, thank you anyways. I'm gonna go now....-"

"Back there to pass out? Peter would literally kill me. So not a chance. Come on, follow me."

For a split of a second, you think that he's going to send you home. But no. You get exactly where you dreamed of being the whole night. Backstage.

You get to see the whole band again, but more importantly you get to see Peter. He looks even more handsome up close. He's covered in sweat now, singing his voice away, but he looks so so happy. It's a sight for sore eyes honestly. It makes your heart beat a bit faster.

Peter doesn't notice you for the first two songs you stand there. When he finally does notice you his eyes widen impossibly.

He stammers over a few words of the lyrics, and even plays the wrong chords. Peter, being the professional that he is, recovers from his little moment just as quickly.

A happy smile replaces his shocked face immediately. And he even sends a wink your way which, of course, makes you blush.

His change of emotion is very visible. And he isn't helping it at all because he keeps looking your way. Very obviously, may I add.

He does it for the rest of the concert even if you gesture for him to look straight ahead at the crowd. That he, of course, completely ignores.

Peter couldn't be more happy about the concert being over so he can finally come to you. You've been killing him standing at the side of the stage the whole time. Especially seeing you in his t-shirt.

His fucking t-shirt!

With one last wink at you he leaves the stage. He comes barrelling for you until you are in his arms. "What are you doing here?" He chuckles happily after he lets you out of his tight embrace.

"Surprise?" You just grin at him tentatively.

"Best fucking surprise," he grins fiercely right back at you, "my heart almost stopped when I noticed you backstage. It's like you wanted me to mess me up there, sweetheart."

"I'm sorry," you smile sheepishly at him, your stomach full of butterflies from the pet name he used. "You were amazing though. I love the new song."

Peter takes your hand into his, and starts to pull you after him. "You do? Don't tell that to Theo his head would get too big if he heard you love his song."

You laugh, "where are you dragging me, Peter?" You almost stumble over your own feet, trailing after him as he walks you through many hallways.

"To my dressing room so I can get get dressed quickly, and take you out for a date," Peter responds. He says the word date so casually that you question if you have missed something.

"A date?" you ask quietly with wide eyes and small, awkward smile.

"Y-yes...I just figured since you're here that we could take this opportunity, and finally go....But we don't have to, of course, if you are not feeling up for it-"

"No, no, no, Pete. I'd love to! I just wasn't expecting it, that's all." You tell him. You squeeze his hand in reassurance along with a knee-buckling smile.

"Perfect, sweetheart. Just give me like 2 minutes, and then I'm all yours, " Peter kisses your cheek, and rushes to change out of his stage clothes. He leaves you standing there completely dumbfounded with your heart racing.

You have to take a few deep breaths to calm down. And also to prepare to be a complete lovesick mess after tonight's date with Peter.

[shazleen]

Everyday i draw comics and every day i wish i was drawing something else

[ms-demeanor]

BTW following distance:

There are a ton of various ways that people recommend you track following distance in your car for safety, and most of them are some measure of distance or time. I don't know what a hundred yards looks like. I don't know how many is ten carlengths. I measure in time.

The way that I do this is I watch the car in front of me pass an object and I count how long it takes me to get to the same object. Car in front of me passes a line in the pavement? One mississippi, two mississippi, three mississippi, four mississippi - it takes me four seconds to get to the line.

The faster you are going, the faster TRAFFIC is going, the more time you need for following distance because it's going to take longer for your fast-moving car to stop than it would for your slow-moving car to stop. You need even MORE time if your car is HEAVY, which is part of why it is rock fucking stupid when people dart in front of semis or when massive pickup trucks start tailgating.

With enough practice you get a good feel for what is a safe distance in various conditions (wet road after a long period with no rain? you need A FUCKING LOT of space), but one of the better ways to learn this is to play what I call the traffic game.

When you're playing the traffic game, you sit in traffic behind the car in front of you and you count how many times they press their brakes to each time you press yours, resetting to zero each time you put your foot on the brake.

If you are leaving good following distance, you should almost never use your brakes while driving on the highway because momentum should be enough to slow you down and keep you back if you're getting close to another car. If you have to brake frequently, you're too close for your speed.

Playing this game will make you a better, safer driver who is more aware of traffic and has a better feel for driving conditions. It has the added benefit (for me) of making traffic more fun to sit in as you try to beat your personal record (mine is 48; the driver in front of me pressed their brakes 48 times before I had to press mine).

Reset to zero when you have to brake, or when another car moves in front of you. You're allowed to ignore brake presses when going downhill but have to have double penalties if you brake while going uphill.

The *minimum* following distance at ANY speed and in ANY vehicle is far enough back that you can see where the tires of the vehicle in front of you touch the ground. If you have to brake hard enough that you can't see where the tires in front of you are you need to get off the road and practice driving more in empty parking lots because you are a hazard.

Remember that you are ALWAYS responsible for an accident if you rear end someone - if you rolled into another car because the car behind you hit your car, you were too close! If you rear-ended a driver in front of you because they braked suddenly for a cat in the road and you couldn't stop in time, you were too close! Leaving sufficient distance between you and the car in front of you is basically the most important thing that you can do to improve your road safety once you're past the basic stages of situation awareness and knowing how to check your blind spot. You do not want to be responsible for an accident! You do not want to risk injuring or killing people with your vehicle! One of the single best ways you can avoid that risk is by leaving sufficient following distance!

[saekkas]

𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐁𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒

summary: in which someone flirts with them, but they're only looking at you.

includes: isagi, nagi, reo, yukimiya, rin, sae, kunigami, kaiser, karasu, bachira, aiku.

notes: this one's shorter than the one before but still, go wild my loves <3

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐆𝐔𝐘 who values you very much. is the type to be very secure in the relationship; doesn't like any unnecessary drama and is definitely ready to move onto the next stage. wouldn't really care about the other person but will not tolerate having his boundaries crossed. especially when it's clear that he's yours and yours only.

isagi, yukimiya, bachira, nagi.

his eyes are on his phone, feet tapping against the tiles of the cafe. it's a hole in the wall that he's used to frequenting with you, so much that the staff know your orders by heart. the line is short, seats mostly empty, as the rush hour has passed. the rain is pouring against the window beside him, and he taps his finger on the table to their rhythm.

tilting his head, his eyes find you in the middle of the line. you're focused on the menu, your bottom lip between your teeth as you scan the list of food and beverages. it makes him smile, chuckling under his breath because he knows you'll end up getting what you usually do. he gets onto his feet, wallet in hand, when you're finally set to order.

"hi. good morning, how are you?" your sweet voice tickles his ear as he approaches, his heart warm and sated as you go through your usual routine.

"hey." he presses a kiss to your head, wrapping a hand around your waist. his lips trail down, stopping at your cheek, a smile pressed against the skin as he hears you giggle. "what's taking so long?"

the cashier smiles, amused at the sight. "mornin' i'm great. how about you two lovebirds?"

"we're good," he answers for you both, an easy-going expression on his face. he looks down, scrunching his nose at you while you giggle at his answer. "just waiting for this angel to finish ordering."

"we'll have matcha latte, caramel macchiato, and a blueberry cheesecake please. the usual." he tilts his head, looking for your confirmation. he smiles proudly, chest puffing when you nod your head.

"i'll pay," you say as you show your card to the cashier, smiling at her. he chuckles, letting you take the bill this time. "how much will it be?"

the drinks are out in a second, the green and brown a contrast against each other. there are two pairs of utensils on the plate, and he thanks the staff for their work, taking the tray into his hand. "i'll take these to our table first, okay?" he looks over his shoulder, a gentle look in his eye as he processes just how... domestic this all feels.

"yeah, i'll be there in a minute. i need to go to the bathroom." you smile at the cashier one last time, tucking your purse into your bag. you glare playfully, poking your tongue at him. "don't you dare finish the cheesecake before i'm back."

he pokes his tongue back, a laugh breaking loose from his chest. "no promises."

he sits back down, placing the food on the table as he goes back to drumming his fingers. the rain doesn't look as if it'll be stopping any time soon, wind combining with water to shower the earth clean. he looks at his watch, mentally thinking about making dinner later with you. a smile grows at the thought.

there's a shadow in the corner of his eye that he assumes is you. he smiles, ready to lean over and press a kiss, only to stop when his eyes meet a stranger instead. "sorry." he backs away, a furrow in his eyebrow as he looks around, searching for you. "you've got the wrong table."

"no. it's okay. i've definitely got the right table." the stranger lays it thick with a high-pitched tone, and fluttering eyelashes. "hi, handsome. here's my number."

he watches as she slips a piece of paper onto the table, confusion blending into annoyance when she leans over to take his hand. "look," he says with a frown, pushing his hands into his pockets. he's very obviously looking in the direction you went off in. "you've got the wrong table and i'm already with someone."

"ah but i don't see this someone?" the smile on her face is pushing at his limits. his jaw ticks when she moves to sit beside him. "c'mon, handsome. give me a chance."

the bathroom door by the end opens with a creak, and his head snaps at the sound. before she has time to reach over once again, he's quick to swerve away to your side. you're already eyeing the girl at your table with curiosity, your head tilted in question. "hey, who's that? one of your frien-"

he doesn't let you finish. he's quick to reach for your waist, tugging you into a kiss with a hand cupping your cheek. all negative feelings drain from his limbs, turning him into a puddle of love as you thread your fingers into his hair.

"as much as i love your kisses," you say with a gasp of breath as you look up into his eyes, finding love looking back at you through the orbs. "that was a bit sudden. did something happen?"

"not at all." he shakes his head, nuzzling into your nose. his hands are on the side of your neck, lovingly stroking the skin. "not now that you're here."

you look back at your table, seeing it empty, and the girl from before nowhere in sight.

"shall we enjoy our drinks?" he pushes you with the hand he has on your waist. he sits down first before pulling you to sit right beside him, your hands intertwined under the table. "can't wait to eat dinner with you later."

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍𝐒 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓. he won't say no to playful flirting since it feeds his ego but will only respond if you're somewhere near or in his field of vision. he won't give the other person any of his attention if you aren't. will think it's funny that they're trying their best but will either shoot them down in a way that crushes their pride or brush them off as if they don't exist.

reo, aiku, karasu, kaiser.

the bass is thrumming against his skull, a tune that doesn't fit the mall's calm and serene energy. he's sitting on one of those plush sofas in a clothing store outlet, tapping his fingers against his thigh as he waits for you to finish changing. he feels the warning glare the manager's sending, and he snorts as if trying to go into the dressing room with you is a crime. he would be so much more satisfied with you between four cramped walls than in the wide space where people are obviously gawking at him.

"excuse me." someone calls his name timidly, and he cocks his head towards them, wanting to see where this goes. they send him a smile, one that's too teethy and falsely sweet but hey he can't fault them for not flashing his favorite smile; they aren't you after all.

"yes?" his reply is short and blunt, but he sighs when the girl flinches away. you've always said that his resting face looked too mean. he chuckles at the thought.

shaking himself out of his daydream, he shows his best smile. he leans back, arm stretched out against the back of the couch as he adjusts his pose, manspreading. a peacock, you'd once muse when he first did it in front of you. he watches with thinly veiled boredom in his eyes, a juxtaposition to the sickeningly sweet smile on his lips. "can i help you with something?"

the girl flushes, biting her lip and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. being coy, he realizes with an amused scoff.

"sorry to bother you. it's just- you looked so bored. i thought i could entertain you."

his eyebrow quirks at the word entertain, tilting his head in mock curiosity. "and how would you do that, hm?" he takes her in, taking in her choice of clothing and hairstyle. cute he'd give that much to her. nothing like you, though. she couldn't compare.

he realizes belatedly that the once over was seen differently than what he meant for it to come across. amusement flickers in his eyes when she flushes a bright red, fidgeting on her spot. "you do this often?" he tilts his head, eyes half-lidded, trying to gauge her reaction. "flirting with random strangers in the mall of a hobby, eh?"

"just the handsome ones," she says with a giggle. he watches as she points a finger to the row of clothes, her interest clear as day. "how about we look around? buy some clothes or jewelry so we match."

he chuckles, shaking his head at the thought. he can't wait to tell you about this. right on cue, the door to your dressing room opens, and you step out. his breath gets stuck in his throat, his eyes widening, and a grin making its way to his lips.

the black dress you have on is nothing short of stunning. it tapers off to your knees, the material hugging your curves. he sends you an eager look, one which you giggle at. you turn, showing him the back of the dress, keeping eye contact as you do. his mouth falls and thoughts short circuit as his eyes rake down your bare back, stopping just before your bum.

oh the things he'll do to you in that dress. no wonder the manager was so adamant on not letting him join in on the fun.

"nah," he says distractedly at the girl still waiting for his response. he sends you a wink and a flirty smile, mouthing one moment, before turning back to her. "see that gorgeous specimen right there? yeah i'm hers."

"she and i, we match." his eyes are filled with mischief as he tugs his shirt down, showing off the collection of marks you left on him last night. the skin around his collarbone is red, purple, and bruised. littered with love bites. a symbol of your love he thinks smugly. "see?"

there's pride blooming in his chest, a smug smile forming on his face the moment her eyes widen and the color drains from her face. "i'm not interested in anyone who's not her. so scram." he's quick to wave her away, skipping over to tug you back into the fitting room, this time with him in it.

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐂𝐄, the type to literally not care at all. will not give them time of day and will appear hostile if necessary. but he'll mostly just look at them, expressionless with dead eyes.

sae, rin, kunigami

there are so many options to choose from, he frowns, glaring at the row of refrigerators stacked next to each other as if they've done something wrong. the supermarket is relatively busy, customers ranging from middle schoolers to elderly. he's in the drink section, passing one fridge to another, looking for your favorite drink from outside the glass, his frowning reflection looking back at him.

you're somewhere in the dairy section, picking out pints of ice cream, and who knows what else. he checks his phone, checking for any new messages from you. i'll head over soon, after i find the popcorn, it reads along with multiple hearts and photos of you smiling beside the ice cream. he shakes his head, tapping a finger against the screen to save the photos.

he pockets his phone, ready to move on to the next isle when he bumps into someone. he huffs, his eyes looking at the girl that's staring right back at him.

"really?" she says with a flirty giggle after she gets a clear look at his face. he remains stoic, hands in his pocket, even as she nudges him on the shoulder as if a longtime friend. "you're handsome but if you don't say sorry when you bump into someone, they'll lose interest. but maybe that's your charm."

he moves to slight past her, not at all caring about her presence, but before he knows it, she's stuck a hand into his back pocket, sending a kiss playfully before bounding over somewhere he doesn't give a damn about. the frown on his lips deepens, but before he has the chance to look into his pocket, you pop up right beside him.

"hey, i can't find the drinks but i've got everything else." he hears you say as you show him your basket full of things, smiling up at him. there are all kinds of things in the basket, ranging from chocolate, popcorn, ice cream, sausages, and many more. tonight is monthly movie night and he tries to shake off the weird encounter from his mind, not wanting to dampen the mood.

he smiles back, leaning down to take the basket from you. the hoodie you have on is his, and it dwarves you. the hem reaches your knees, and he can't see your hands which makes him chuckle all the while more. you told him that you were cold, he knows it's just another excuse to wear his hoodie.

"let's go home." he ruffles a hand through your hair, affection getting the best of him, before taking your hand with his other.

he drops the basket on the self-checkout counter, and helps you scan all the necessary items. he eyes the chupa-chups by the counter and grabs two, strawberry and cola, scanning both and handing them for you to choose. he chuckles when you brighten, choosing the strawberry for yourself.

"i'll take the bags." he takes both bags into his left hand, the other placing itself on your back. he leads you out, shaking his head in amusement when he feels you slip your hand into his back pocket.

"hey what's this?" the tone of your voice has him frowning. "i didn't know you smoke. it's bad for you, ya know?"

looking down at the cigarette in your hand, he eyes the scribble of numbers surrounding the stick. ah that's what she slipped in, he sighs. taking the cigarette from you, he's quick to throw it to the ground, crushing it with his foot.

"i don't," he chuckles at the look of disbelief on your face. leaning in, he plucks the candy from your mouth, pressing a kiss and pushing his tongue in. you taste sweet from the candy he notes, you smell like ice cream too. he's quick to pull back, chuckling when he realizes just how flustered you've become.

"i prefer sweets," he says with a smug smile before popping the candy into his own mouth.

[sebsbarnes]

unspoken part 2 || minho moon

minho x reader

summary: you don’t even see me, yet, i would walk through hell and across any sea if you asked me.

part one here!

warnings: angst! grammar errors most likely

word count: 1.1k+

masterlist

you've kept your distance from minho since the night at the gazebo. it was hard to fully avoid him since the two of you belonged to the same tight circle of friends. you'd cut the nights short claiming you were tired or skip dinner and lunch with everyone claiming you were trying to save money. truthfully, you weren't even sure if minho noticed your absence. he had been thrown full throttle into the honeymoon stage with his crush that he also hasn't been around as much.

the one place you couldn’t avoid minho was class. one, because you and minho never skipped class, and two, because you sat next to him.

you had signed up for an acting improv class to fill a gap in your schedule. you hated it if you were being honest. there was nothing you loathed more than performing in front of a group of strangers or friends, at that. each week you were forced to stagger up onto the stage and begrudgingly act. however, this week may have been your worst nightmare. the professor instructed that a small group of students would write short stories and the others will be randomly selected to perform one. of course, the performance was partner work and of course, you were assigned with who you sat with, and what a shock, you and minho were selected to perform later on in the week and not write.

minho’s head was buried deep in his phone the entire class. you weren’t trying to snoop, but it felt as if your eyes were magnets and minho’s screen was a beautiful big magnetic field. the text messages were littered with hearts and cute stickers. in a measly attempt, you acted as if you weren't staring when his head turned.

“i’m planning on officially asking them out this weekend,” he smiled.

you sucked on the inside of your cheek, desperately trying to suppress any negative remarks, “that’s… lovely.”

god, you felt horrible that you weren't being a supportive friend but you couldn't fake excitement for minho when your heart was crumbling to pieces.

most days you wished would pass quickly, hoping the sun would set early and the moon to take over signaling the start of a new day. this week, however, you wished twilight never came and time stood still so you could avoid the end of the week. unfortunately for you, that wish was never granted and you sat at your desk, drumming your fingers, patiently waiting for what was to come.

professor kwon summoned you and minho up to her desk and handed you each a copy of the short story you were about to perform.

"seems like your writer is quite fond of romance," she remarked as the paper slotted into your hand.

minho turned back to your shared desk without looking at the story but your eyes rapidly darted over the words before you scoffed, the papers nearly crumpled in your hand, "i'm not doing this professor kwon- this is," you laughed, "-this is not happening."

professor kwon's sharp eyes peeked over her glasses, "i suggest you do so if you want to pass the class. no assignment has been an issue for you before, why the sudden change?"

"it's nothing," you shook your head, anger laced in your tone.

her eyes scanned your face, lips pursed, "go practice."

with a sigh, you slumped into your chair. examining the paper and the long dialogue you had to act out almost immediately. the short story started in the middle of an argument between the two characters. it took every fiber of your being not to confront the classmate who wrote the story and ask her if she had been spying on you. the words on the page paralleling your current situation with minho in a way that was almost eerie, taunting you in your dismay. desperately, your mind spun of any ideas to get yourself out of this moment, but you heard minho start.

"just tell me!" minho pressed, acting in character.

your throat felt tight but you started nonetheless, “i can’t keep pretending that you don’t cloud every corner of my mind and every thought i have. some have called me crazy, said i was addicted to the idea of you, the idea of us that will never be. the us that will only exist in the quiet corners of my mind, hidden from the world. a sanctuary i preserve and escape to daily. and maybe- maybe they are right,” you paused briefly as your eyes started to sting with tears. you refused to look up at minho as you felt his eyes bore into you.

“you don’t even see me, yet, i would walk through hell and across any sea if you asked me. i would bear the brunt of any injury to have you notice me.”

a shaky exhale escaped your lips as you finally looked at minho, his gaze unwavering, “and… i love you. but, we will never be more than just a one-sided confession,” you whispered.

briefly, you stayed glued to your seat watching as minho’s expression became hard to decipher. the realization of what you’ve done came crashing down and you quickly threw the papers onto the desk and shot up from your desk muttering incoherent words and dashing out of class. you were gone before you could hear the whispers of the class asking each other what happened.

minho's features contorted in confusion as he watched you rip open the door and leave, but truthfully he was feeling confused before that. as he sat there listening to the words of your character, it felt too real. he observed the way your lip slightly trembled between words and the glaze of your eyes. he was wondering why his heart rate accelerated and his palms became clammy. his throat was tight and it felt like two tons was sitting on his chest, slowly and agonizingly piercing through his skin and crushing his bones and heart. there was a tiny voice in the back of his head cheering 'finally' as he listened to your character's words, words he wished were your own.

minho glanced back at the now abandoned script. he followed the lines until he noted your monologue was cut short. minho's eyebrows pulled together in confusion as he frantically flipped to the next page, searching for the remainder of the lines. he swallowed harshly as he realized you added in the last few sentences, the words that hit him the hardest.

“and… i love you. but, we will never be more than just a one-sided confession"

was nowhere on the script.

automatically his feet were moving at a rapid pace into the hallway. there was no sign of life beyond the echo of his thumping heart and heavy breathing.

____________

a/n: soo hehe did i mention i'm notorious for writing angst. i can't believe how many people loved part one so i had to continue this. ty!!

tag list: @5sos-saucyy @bangchansgirlsblog @tmr-simp7193 @animeenthusiastxoxo @tearsinmylatinaeyes345 @teaandbacon @mesmerizedkoo @byungazed @myselfsabotage @ferniessss

[siilent-wanderer]

What's the Matter, Baby?

Summary: A playful night on stage leaves Y/N flustered by Jimin’s bold teasing and lingering touches, but the tables turn when a late-night live gives Y/N the perfect chance for a little payback.

Genre: Fluff

Words: 2.2k words

Yu Jimin (Karina) x aespa 5th member! reader

A/N: this prompt has been in my notes for too long. first part was inspired by kariselle :>

The arena was alive with energy, fans waving lightsticks in synchronized colors as aespa performed one hit after another. The group was in their element, owning the stage with every note and step. As the intro to Prologue began, the lights dimmed slightly, creating an intimate atmosphere that left the crowd buzzing with anticipation.

Y/N adjusted her in-ears, stealing a glance at Jimin, who was a few feet away. Her girlfriend looked radiant under the soft spotlight, her wolf cut perfectly framing her sharp features.

As Jimin began singing her solo, her eyes flickered to Y/N. Without missing a beat, she moved closer, her steps deliberate and confident. Y/N barely had time to process what was happening before Jimin reached out, her hand gently finding Y/N’s waist and pulling her closer.

The crowd erupted, their cheers growing louder as the moment played out on the massive screen behind them.

Y/N’s eyes widened, her cheeks heating up as Jimin continued singing, her voice steady and smooth. Jimin’s smirk was subtle but unmistakable, and she didn’t let go immediately, her hand lingering on Y/N’s waist as if she belonged there.

Caught between flustered and amused, Y/N smiled softly, tilting her head slightly toward Jimin as the song continued. She wasn’t sure if the warmth in her chest was from the lights or the way Jimin’s fingers lightly pressed into her side.

Jimin finally released her grip as the chorus ended, but before stepping back, she leaned in just enough for only Y/N to hear. “You’re blushing again,” she teased, her voice dripping with playful confidence.

Of course, Y/N wasn't going to let Jimin win the entire night. During one of their high-energy tracks, “Thirsty,” the choreography placed Y/N beside Jimin for a few key moments. As the last chorus approached, Y/N’s part came up, her voice effortlessly smooth as she sang the line:

“Don’t you, baby”

This time, however, the younger girl turned her head toward Jimin, locking eyes with her and adding a sly wink.

The crowd lost it. Screams echoed through the venue, and the camera caught Jimin’s reaction — a fleeting moment of wide-eyed surprise before she quickly composed herself, her lips curving into an amused smile.

Y/N grinned as she moved back into her position, feeling triumphant. Jimin, however, wasn’t about to let her have the last word.

“You’re playing dangerous games, baby,” She murmured when the two passed each other during the choreography, her voice barely audible over the music.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder, a playful glint in her eyes. “Only because you started it.”

The teasing even extended to fan interactions during the encore. Y/N moved toward the edge of the stage to interact with fans. She waved and smiled at the crowd, catching glimpses of their posters and lightsticks.

The leader, always observant, caught sight of a fan holding up a colorful sign that read: “Y/Nrina, please make a heart together!”

A mischievous glint flashed in Jimin’s eyes as she quickly strode over to Y/N, grabbing her hand. “C’mere,” Jimin said, pulling her in front of the fan.

Y/N blinked in confusion but didn’t resist. “What are you doing?”

Jimin pointed at the fan’s sign. “They want us to make a heart.”

Before Y/N could respond, her girlfriend raised their hands to form the perfect heart shape. The crowd erupted into cheers, and Y/N, flustered but smiling, glanced at Jimin, who was grinning like she’d won the lottery.

“You’re shameless,” The younger girl muttered under her breath, though the fondness in her tone was unmistakable.

“Maybe,” Jimin replied, her smirk widening as she leaned closer. “But you love it.”

But still, the cheeky moments didn't end; Jimin was having too much fun. During one of the talk segments, the girls took turns speaking to the fans. Y/N was in the middle of answering a question when Jimin leaned into her space, tilting her head dramatically.

“What are you doing?” Y/N asked, her voice full of suspicion.

“Offering my cheek,” Jimin replied innocently. “You can pinch it if it helps you focus.”

The fans screamed as Y/N rolled her eyes but gave in, lightly squishing Jimin’s cheek with her fingers. Jimin grinned at the camera, clearly enjoying the interaction.

Later in the set, during a brief break between songs, Jimin was adjusting her in-ear monitors when Y/N, emboldened by the previous moments, walked up and gave her cheek a quick, playful squeeze. The leader pretended to pout, but her laughter betrayed her.

“You’re getting bold,” Jimin teased as her girlfriend walked away, her shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

By the final song, Jimin turned the tables again, leaning in close to Y/N and whispering, “Your turn,” before pinching Y/N’s cheek lightly. The playful exchange didn’t go unnoticed, and the fans cheered even louder.

Backstage, the atmosphere was electric as the members celebrated another successful concert. Y/N sat on the couch, still trying to process the whirlwind of moments that had just unfolded on stage.

“You were great out there,” Jimin said as she plopped down beside her, her smirk already firmly in place.

Y/N turned to her, narrowing her eyes. “You mean I was great at being your target?”

The older girl feigned innocence, tilting her head. “What? I was just in the moment.”

“You pulled me in, unnie. In front of everyone,” Y/N pointed out, her voice laced with mock exasperation.

“And they loved it,” Jimin replied smoothly, leaning back against the couch. “You didn’t seem to mind, either.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands. “You’re insufferable.”

Jimin laughed softly, nudging Y/N’s shoulder. “Admit it — you had fun.”

Y/N peeked through her fingers, her expression half-annoyed and half-amused. “I’ll admit one thing,” she muttered under her breath, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Jimin raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. “What’s that?”

Y/N smirked, standing up abruptly. “You’ll find out soon enough, unnie.”

Jimin leaned back against the couch, her fingers idly brushing through the ends of her hair as a smirk tugged at her lips. Y/N’s parting words replayed in her head, and she couldn’t help but feel a spark of curiosity mixed with amusement. What exactly did her girlfriend mean by "soon enough"? Jimin wasn’t one to get caught off guard easily, but Y/N’s mischievous glint made her wonder if she was in for a little payback. Not that Jimin minded — after all, the playful give-and-take between them was part of what made their relationship so exhilarating. With a chuckle, she stood up to join the others, already bracing herself for whatever Y/N had up her sleeve.

After winding down from the concert, the members dispersed to their respective hotel rooms, their energy still buzzing despite the late hour. Y/N trailed behind Jimin as they made their way down the hallway, sharing quiet laughs about the night’s events. Once inside their shared room, Jimin dropped onto the bed with a satisfied sigh, while Y/N grabbed her phone from the nightstand. “We should go live,” Y/N suggested, glancing at Jimin with a playful glint in her eye.

Jimin raised an eyebrow, already sensing the mischievous undertone in her girlfriend’s voice. “You’re not planning anything, are you?” she asked, her lips curving into a knowing smile.

“Of course not, unnie,” Y/N replied innocently, though the way she busied herself setting up the phone made Jimin suspect otherwise. Moments later, they were propped on the couch, the live counter ticking up as MYs flooded in, completely unaware of the playful chaos about to unfold.

“Hi, MYs! Did you enjoy the show?” Jimin asked, her sweet smile lighting up the screen.

Y/N leaned closer to the camera, tilting her head playfully. “You guys were so loud tonight, like seriously. My ears are still ringing!”

The chat immediately flooded with responses:

“IT WAS AMAZING 🥹🥹” "YOU GUYS WERE SO CUTE EARLIER" "they were def flirting at the concert" “WE LOVE YOU, Y/N!!” “Karina unnie, your voice was so perfect in ‘Illusion’ 🥰”

Y/N nudged Jimin. “They’re saying you killed it tonight. Again.”

Jimin’s cheeks turned pink as she laughed shyly. “Thank you, everyone. I hope I did well.”

“I mean, you always do,” Y/N said with a soft grin, her voice so casual yet genuine it made Jimin glance at her for a second longer than necessary.

Reading through the comments, Y/N’s eyes lit up when she spotted one in English. “Oh, this one’s for you, unnie,” she said, turning to her girlfriend. “Rina, can you say, ‘I love MYs’ in English?”

Jimin nodded, winking as she repeated, “I love MYs.”

The chat immediately exploded with love for her pronunciation:

“OMG SHE’S SO CUTE 😭😭😭” “karina’s accent is EVERYTHING 💕” “Protect her at all costs!”

Y/N giggled, leaning toward her and giving Jimin a thumbs up. “Perfect, unnie. 10 out of 10.”

Jimin glanced at the phone. “Y/N, what are they saying now? I can’t read this fast.”

“Oh, they’re saying…” The younger pretended to squint at the screen dramatically. “‘Y/N and Karina should date.’”

Jimin’s eyes widened as she lightly pushed Y/N’s shoulder. “Yah! Don’t make things up!”

“I’m not!” Y/N laughed, pointing at the screen. “Look, someone literally just wrote ‘Y/Nrina is real.’”

“THEY SEE US OMG 🚢💖” “Y/NRINA ENDGAME???” “her reaction is so suspicious LOL”

Still grinning, Y/N decided to mess with her again. “Ah unnie, I have a question for you.”

Jimin, unsuspecting, tilted her head. “Hmm?”

“Would you rather eat a baby goat or a matter baby?” Y/N asked, her tone as innocent as she could muster.

Jimin blinked, her confusion immediate. “What?”

“Would you rather eat a baby goat or a matter baby?” Y/N repeated, biting her lip, trying not to laugh.

Jimin’s brows furrowed as she tried to make sense of it. “What’s a matter baby?”

Y/N’s shoulders began to shake with giggles.

Jimin repeated louder, “What’s a matter baby??”

And that was it — Y/N broke into full laughter, clutching her stomach as she tried to speak. “I don’t know! What’s the matter with you, baby?”

Jimin’s eyes widened as realization hit her. “Yah!” she exclaimed, smacking the younger girl’s arm lightly. “Why are you teasing me like this in front of MYs?”

Still laughing, Y/N leaned into the camera. “Ah, mwoya, she doesn’t understand!”

The comments went wild:

“I CAN’T STOP LAUGHING HELP 💀💀” “did she just call Karina ‘baby’???” “Jimin looks so done LMAOOO” “OMG THEY’RE SO CUTE 😭😭” “jiminjeong and y/nselle found dead in the ditch 😭🤣”

Jimin pouted at the screen, still flustered. “You’re embarrassing me!”

Y/N, grinning ear to ear, leaned closer to her girlfriend. “You’re cute when you’re confused, though.”

Fans, of course, noticed everything:

“THE WAY Y/N LOOKS AT HER 😭” “Y/N just called her cute, I’m not okay.” “karina’s flustered reaction… she’s so sus omg”

As the live continued, the two shifted back into lighter conversation, with Y/N reading English comments and making Jimin try random phrases, from “I’m a baddie” to “slay queen.” Each time, Jimin’s slightly hesitant but earnest delivery had the younger girl laughing until tears streamed down her face.

Toward the end of the live, Jimin finally mustered her courage. “Y/Nnie, read this one,” she said, pointing at a comment.

Y/N squinted dramatically at the screen. “What does it say?”

Jimin smirked. “It says, ‘Y/N, stop flirting with Karina.’”

Caught off guard, Y/N blinked before bursting into laughter again. “They’re not wrong!” she teased, nudging Jimin.

The fans were left in a frenzy:

“EXCUSE ME, WHAT???” “they’re basically confirming it at this point bruhhh” “Y/Nrina is canon now”

Jimin’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly turned her attention back to the chat. “Anyway, MYs, what’s your favorite song from the concert tonight?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

But Y/N, still grinning, leaned against her shoulder, clearly not letting the moment go. The fans noticed every little glance and interaction, and the comments continued to flood with hearts and ship names.

As the live wrapped up, Jimin sighed, half in exasperation and half in affection, as Y/N whispered teasingly, “You’re lucky you’re so cute, baby.”

Jimin gave her a warning look, but her shy smile betrayed her. After the live ended, Twitter and Instagram lit up with posts dissecting every glance, laugh, and moment of interaction:

“the way Y/N looked at karina during the live… HELLO? 🚨”

“Jimin is so soft around Y/N, it’s adorable”

“Someone make a compilation of Karina’s reactions to Y/N teasing her, PLEASE I’M BEGGING”

“if Y/Nrina isn’t real, then explain this: 👇” [Karina’s shy smile after Y/N’s compliment]

And for days afterward, fans couldn’t stop talking about the undeniable chemistry between them, shipping hashtags and edits popping up everywhere, as if the truth was hidden in plain sight.

[catknives]

soulmate-esque au where steve is born with a psychic power where the first time he touches someone who will be important to him, he gets flashes of future moments between the two of them.

the first time he touches nancy he sees flashes of the two of them happy together, then an argument. the flashes clearly jump ahead a few years, as if they maybe stopped talking for a while, but they still look happy in that future. he thinks that maybe they get in a big fight, but clearly they’re still in each others lives for a long, long time.

when he ruffles dustin’s hair looking for dart, he gets flashes of laughter and jokes and a long life of brotherhood. he sees secret handshakes and little plastic dice and being invited to thanksgiving.

they’re not always positive. the first time he brushes past billy in the locker room, he’s filled with flashes of anger and dread and pain, and none of what he sees makes sense in the moment.

on his first day at scoops, he shakes robin’s hands and gets his biggest vision yet. there’s so much love and happiness and joy there, including a montage in which they seem to work a frankly absurd variety of jobs. but he gets stuck on an image of himself in a tux, robin in a wedding dress, and thinks this must be my future wife.

it isn’t until much later, on a dirty bathroom floor, that he realizes he was standing behind robin in that vision of her in a wedding dress, and, oh, he’s her best man.

almost a year later, when eddie pushes him against a wall with a broken bottle to his neck, steve is almost convinced he’s passed out because of the sheer number of visions running through his head. some of the flashes are innocent happy moments—sharing a joint, laughing at a movie, making dinner—but there’s also flashes of pleasure and adoration and devotion on a level that steve’s never felt before.

he sees flashes of waking up next to eddie in bed, walking a dog around a lake hand in hand, watching eddie perform on stage, a soft kiss to a bare shoulder.

and suddenly steve yearns, thinks he’s never fully known the meaning of that word until now. he tries to play it cool, doesn’t want to freak eddie out, but he’s seen so many visions of them holding hands that his fingers itch with the need to interlace with eddie’s.

when eddie is attacked by demobats, everyone tries to get steve and dustin to leave eddie’s body behind, because clearly eddie is dead. and steve can’t explain to them why he knows that can’t be true, he just stubbornly insists and drags eddie to a hospital as he promises again and again to dustin that eddie is going to make it.

everyone but steve is shocked when the doctors find the barest hint of a pulse.

it’s touch and go at first, but they put eddie in a medically induced coma and he starts to improve. steve is there the whole time. he tells the unconscious eddie about all of the things they still have to do together, about how he knows eddie will live a long, happy life because he’s seen eddie with gray in his hair, laugh lines etched into his face, as they welcome their first grandchild to the world.

and eddie makes it, and when he was up eddie tells steve he heard everything. steve steels himself for denial or disbelief, but eddie tells him that it’s the first thing he’s heard in the past month that actually makes sense.

they share their first kiss right there in the hospital room, and even though steve has seen this moment before, it still takes his breath away.

as he grows older, steve notices more and more of the moments he’s seen in visions as they happen. he happily discovers that there’s so much the visions don’t show, and there’s still so much to see.

because yes, just like he saw all those years ago, he stands behind robin at her wedding, and it’s as moving and special as it always looked. but he also gives max away at her and lucas’s wedding, and he helps dustin propose to suzie, and he helps erica pick out her wedding dress. and, of course, robin stands behind steve at his own wedding.

steve lives a long happy life, with so many memories—seen and unseen—to look forward to.

[foldingfittedsheets]

Hands down one of my worst experiences in high school was when the seniors decided to extort the entire school by using tactics that were banned by the UN to get them to pay for the senior party! If that sounds like a wild sentiment stay tuned because this shit got crazy.

I was living in Arizona at the time and I was a freshman. Our campus was largely open air, with walks between class room buildings and some covered outdoor tables. Our event began with a morning announcement. The seniors were collecting donations for the senior party, and when they reached their goal, their fundraising method would stop.

Their fundraising method:

To pipe the entire schools speakers with "If You're Happy and You Know It" on loop. To this day, I cannot hear this song without experiencing a degree of rage and madness that is frankly alarming. One of the worst parts of the entire thing was that the recording they chose had the female singer do a little clap and say "Yay-ha-hey," at the end. So it wasn't just the song, it was this awful little cooldown stinger at the end.

If this sounds a lot like psychological torture you'd be extremely correct! This practice has been banned in some countries, but the good old US hasn't ruled it a human rights violation, and what a fun silly way to raise money, that definitely wasn't damaging to adolescent psyches!

Every morning for 15 minutes before school began, every passing period, every lunch, and after school for another 15 minutes they blasted that fucking song on unceasing repeat through every speaker in the school. Everyone found different ways of coping with this and mine was to observe my classmates descent into madness and categorize the stages.

The first stage was almost completely consistent, and it was a smug almost exasperated eye rolling phase. Often accompanied by derisive comments about the song or the tactic, this phase was extremely mildly annoyed. Most people figured it would blow over soon, and no one anticipated this continuing for a week and a half, creating a miasma of fraught tension.

The second phase was elevated annoyance, starting to snap and be less amused characterized this level of irritation. People would try to cover their ears or put on headphones, humming aggressively to block out the syrupy repulsive children's performer with her loathsome little clap. This phase had people picking their absolute least favorite part of the song. Her inflection on certain words, her timing between verses. I think it's pretty clear already which part I hated most.

The next phase was a bounce back out to absurdity. It became funny how annoying it was and people would sing along as if to challenge the song's authority over their psyche. This paired exceptionally poorly with people in phase two as they'd often lash out at the people giving more voice to their hell.

The fourth phase was a dead-eyed madness. People would stare straight ahead and their lips would silently mouth the familiar words. The song had pounded its way into their very soul and was inextricably linked to auditory output. They often didn't even realize if they began chanting along.

The fifth and final phase was pure uncut pubescent rage. Kids would scream, attack each other, and in a truly epic end to the event hurl a cafeteria chair with such force at the speaker in the cafeteria to irreparably damage the sound system.

The seniors got funding for a party, but some of it had to go to repair the damages, which were substantial.

[sailorluna15]

what about pitfighter vi who wants nothing to do with virgins because she thinks they get too attached, and then reader is a virgin but vi really wants to fuck her anyway

"Come on, you're telling me you like used goods?"

Vi rolls her eyes and takes a swig of her beer.

"It's not used goods. I like a woman who knows what she likes and doesn't get too attached. Virgins get one taste of you and fall in love. I'm looking to fuck, not get married."

"You're thinking about it too much! It's kinda fun when they get attached. They're like little puppies."

"Nah, I'd rather stay away from that shit. I don't got time for the puppy attachment bullshit. I'm good.

That's how Vi felt until she met you.

Vi walks into the club and scans around for a nice piece of ass. She walks further into the club and sits at the bar. Waving the bartender down, he slides her a drink that she knocks back in a second.

She looks around again and spots you. Immediately, she knows who she wants to fuck tonight.

When she sees you, you're spinning upside down, naked, with your legs split in the air. Your bikini top, G-string, and dollar bills lay thrown across the stage as you dance. You look mesmerizing and delectable.

Vi walks over to the host and requests a lap dance from you.

After you finish your set, the host tells you Vi wants you. She points to the room Vi's waiting for you in and wishes you good luck.

You stalk towards the room and open the door with a smile.

"Hello, Vi?"

She nods and stares at you like a predator checking out its prey.

"Thank you for booking a dance with me. Do you want anything to drink before we get started? I wanna make sure you're comfortable." You say flirtatiously.

She shakes her head no and allows you to begin the dance. It feels like the entire world has disappeared as your bend over and shake your ass in her face.

When you turn back around to grind against her again, your faces come so close that your noses touch. The energy between you two is magnetic. As you two continue to breathe each other in, a knock comes to the door, signaling the end of the dance.

"I guess times up, huh?" Vi whispers.

"Yeah."

Silence passes by before you speak.

"My shift is over in 10 minutes if you wanna take this to my place.

Vi contemplates your offer, before agreeing.

"I'll be at the bar waiting."

A small smile graces your face as you both leave the room.

The host approaches you with a knowing look.

"Did little Ms. Emo Girl enjoy her lap dance?"

"Very much so. We're about to take it to my apartment." You say sweetly.

With a loud laugh, the host says, "Okay, girl, get you some! I want to hear all about it tomorrow."

"Oh, trust me, you will!"

You both wave your goodbyes as you walk to Vi and leave the club with her.

The air is filled with anticipation as you both make your way to your apartment.

Finally, enter your apartment and immediately jump on each other's bones.

Vi kisses and sucks on your neck as moans flow out of your mouth.

She quickly drops to her knees, removes your panties, and immediately starts to devour your pussy.

Loud groans fill the air as she sucks on your clit and sticks her tongue in your pussy. She sticks two fingers into your pussy and fingers you as she continues to eat you out. Vi stands up and leads you to the bedroom. She manhandles you onto the bed and starts to unbuckle her pants.

"Wait...wait." You plead as you put your hands on her belt buckle.

"I've...I've never done this before."

Vi laughs in disbelief and says, "You joking, right?"

You avoid her eyes and shrug your shoulders.

"Oh my God, you're serious. You're a fucking virgin."

"It's not my fault! I've...I don't get out much."

"You're literally a fucking stripper! How are you still a virgin?!" Vi exclaims.

"Me being a dancer has nothing to do with having sex or my virginity! It's a job just like any other and has nothing to do with my personal life." You say defiantly as you lean back on your hands.

"You know what? I don't even fucking care. I just wanna fuck. You take strap or what?" Vi asks with a raised brow.

"I mean, I...I guess. I've always wanted to try it." You whisper out shyly.

With a hum, Vi drops her pants and underwear simultaneously, revealing a thick 8-inch purple dildo attached to the strap.

"Is that gonna fit?" You question nervously.

"We'll find out in a few seconds, won't we? You got lube?" Vi responds

"It's in the first drawer."

Vi leans over, opens the drawer, and grabs the lube. She squirts it on the dildo and lines herself up with your pussy.

"You ready?"

You nod and relax as Vi slides inside you.

"Fuck." You breathe out.

Vi slowly fucks you until she feels you get comfortable.

"Go faster."

Vi smiles and quickens her pace. She lifts your legs, presses them to your chest, and fucking you deep into the mattress.

Moans, groans, and curses fill the air as Vi takes your virginity.

"Damn, your pussy's so tight. You wanted this bad, huh. Fucking whore."

"I'm a whore." You whine out as you clutch Vi's arms.

You feel a sting on both of your asscheeks as Vi delivers a slap to them.

"I love a girl who knows what she is."

Vi begins to rub little circles on your clit as she drives her hips faster into you.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I'm gonna cum!"

"Go ahead and cum. Cum on my dick." Vi grunts out.

One, two, three thrusts, and you unravel. Your body shakes as ecstasy overcomes you.

"Oh my God, I've never come like that in my life." You say with a heavy breath.

Vi chuckles as she removes the strap from you and helps you clean up.

After she helps you clean up, she heads towards the door. You quickly chase after her.

"Wait!"

Vi turns around with a raised eyebrow and an expectant face.

"What's your number? I wanna do this again sometime."

"555-876-0982. Don't expect a relationship, though. I'm strictly here to fuck."

You quickly write the number down and nod your head in agreement.

"Yeah, no, no, no. I want the same strictly fucking. No strings attached."

With a low 'mhmm,' Vi walks out of your apartment and heads home.

"What a fucking woman."

[yeonzzzn]

everytime ; yang jungwon

pairing: drummer!jungwon x afab!reader word count: 2.2k synopsis: when jungwon and his bandmates are having a show in town, you can’t help but feel that magnetic pull towards him. warnings: swearing, suggestive content, kind of a bit angsty, jungwon and reader are toxic towards each other, wonnie is secretly down bad for reader, making out, finger sucking, reader licks won’s drumstick, MINORS DNI!!!!

You roll your eyes at his smirk, crossing your arms and facing away from him, staring at your best friend, “Out of all the things we could have done tonight, you chose this?!” 

She gives you a teasing smile, “What? Can’t handle seeing Jungwon?” 

As if the mention of his name could be heard from the crowd, Jungwon whistles out, clearly directing it to you. 

Some of Jungwon’s fangirls got their panties all wet and fanned their faces with their hands and giggled amongst themselves thinking that the whistle was for them. You groaned and rolled your eyes again, “I hate him and hate his fans even more.” 

Jungwon whistles again from the stage and you finally look at him, glaring. He continued his smirk at you, twirling his drumstick between his fingers, puckering his lips, sending you a kiss. 

You give him a fake smile and lift your middle finger at him, only for the corners of his lips to form in a smile, a small chuckle escaping his mouth as he looks down at his drum set. Jungwon loved the reactions he got out of you, mostly the reactions of pissing you off and being between your legs. 

It wasn’t always like this between the two of you, at least not at first. It was a random Friday night and your best friend dragged you out of your apartment and off to the club all because it was hosting a debut band's first showing. That’s how you met Jungwon. 

The moment you locked eyes with him from the front row, there was a spark that hit the both of you. Jungwon couldn’t keep his eyes off you and same to him for you. You found him breathtaking. Loved the crease of his dimple every time he smiled and was moved by the way he played the drums. He has such a talent and love for the instrument, you could see it in the way he played. With how the drumsticks beat against the drums and how he smiles and moves his body with each beat. He was born for music, it didn’t take a genius to see it. And after the show, Jungwon made it his mission to approach you and you both hit it off greatly. You danced close together all night and woke up beside him in his bed the next morning. You left his apartment that day with his phone number and the schedule for his band’s concerts and where they were playing. Your best friend also ended up hooking up with their guitarist, Jake. It seemed perfect, because you wouldn’t have to show up to these events alone and your best friend also would be potentially dating a band member too? How could it be passed up? 

Jungwon was perfect in every way, that was until…well…until he wasn’t. 

As time went on, the crowds grew bigger, the venues got bigger, and the more Jungwon stopped speaking to you. The everyday texting went to him only texting you only when he wanted to get his dick wet. You even had to get the information on their next shows from your friend. His attitude changed more and more as his follower count went up on Instagram. Jungwon showed his true colors and the next time you saw him, he had a flock of females in his arms, throwing out smirks, whistles, and blowing kisses your way as if to taunt you. 

And the rest is history. 

But every time you saw him, you still felt that magnetic pull. Every. Single. Time. He had a way of drawing you in, flirting with you, and trapping you in places you couldn’t escape, using any chance he could get to pin his body to yours. You have to admit, the sex is fantastic. It always left you giddy and folding like a fucking teenager. And that’s why you hate him so much. For making you feel things he doesn’t deserve to feel from you. 

And tonight wasn’t any different, except you’ve learned how to act like a bitch around him to conceal your deep-down feelings. The last you heard about Jungwon and his bandmates is that they went on tour. You forced yourself to not keep up and told your friend to keep all information to herself. So yeah, you had no idea they were even back in town, let alone playing at this club that started it all for them. 

Jake blew kisses out to your friend, her doing the stupid “grabbing” it and placing it to her heart. Honestly, it made you want to throw up, at how cute they are. You might be giving them the stink eye, but deep down you were truly happy for them. Jake never misses a chance to post her all over his socials. They were truly happy. 

“Hello, everyone,” Jay, their lead bass guitarist, smiled big, “It’s nice to be back in town after a tour!” 

The crowd cheered and you had to fight the urge to cup your hands over your ears. 

“You all ready for a fucking good time tonight?!?” Heeseung, the keyboard/pianist of the group, yelled into his mic, clapping his hands together. 

The crowd went batshit crazy. 

“Woah,” Jake smirked, leaning closer to his mic as he tuned his guitar, “That wasn’t loud enough, was it guys?” 

Sunghoon, their lead singer, leaned against Jake, bringing his mic close to his lips, “We sat, are YOU READY FOR A FUCKING GOOD TIME TONIGHT!?!” 

And the crowd went wild. Oooohh!!! Ahhh!!!

You felt like setting the venue on fire. 

“Jungwon,” Jay pointed at the drummer, “Set it off.” 

“Say less,” he smirked, lifting his arms above his head and slapping the drumsticks together four times, keeping direct eye contact with you until you finally looked away. 

You always loved their music, and tonight made you fall more in love with it. Even with all that love, the moment the concert ended and the lights came back on and the boys left the stage, you decided to take your leave, “I’m going to head out,” you said to your friend, preparing to dip before Jungwon could speak to you. 

“Nope!” she smiled, pulling two VIP badges from her bag, “You aren’t going anywhere!” 

You stared at her, confused as to why the fuck she thinks this is a good idea, “No.” 

She pouted, “YN, come on! It’s been a year!” 

Yeah, not long enough. 

“You know how I feel about this,” you cross your arms, hoping she’ll change her mind. 

But unfortunately for you, the badge was around your neck and you stood backstage with your nose scrunched being face to face with Jungwon. 

“I think your nose is broken,” he tapped the tip of his drumstick on your nose, “What is that sniffer smelling?” 

“You, obviously.” 

“I smell pretty great, don’t I?” 

You raised a brow, “If you consider shit good smelling, then maybe your sniffer is broken.” 

Jungwon laughed, “You never change.” 

You looked away from him, spotting your friend with Jake hand-in-hand as they smiled and made loving faces at each other. 

Jungwon stared off at them too, “I’m happy for them,” he whispered, twirling the drumstick, “They are good for each other.” 

You nodded, “They are good together.” 

Jungwon faced you, studying the curves and structures of your face, wanting nothing more than to reach out and touch you, but settled with, “Could be us,” in a teasing tone. 

You scoffed, tilting your head at him, “Why us? When you have a whole crowd of whores waiting for you to walk the floors of the club.” 

He smirked, sliding the tip of the drumstick against the side of your face, “Hmm, but weren’t you one of those whores at some point?” 

You pushed the drumstick away, “Fuck off, Won.” 

God he loved hearing his nickname from you fall out of your mouth, like it belongs there. 

“Such a dirty mouth,” he murmurs, once again touching the tip of the stick to your nose and moving downward, “What should we do about this mouth of yours?” 

He ran the stick to your bottom lip, pulling it down. The moment he saw the corners of your lips curl, he was done for. 

You push your tongue out, tasting the woody on your buds, and lick up, flatting your tongue against the drumstick the higher you get to the tip. Jungwon was fighting to not fold at this dirty act. His brain remembers the last time you went down on him and sent shivers down his spine. 

He didn’t even realize the soft moan that left his lips and jaw slightly slack until the noise came out. 

Jungwon might know how to tease you, but you sure as hell know how to play the game back. 

“Shit, YN,” he whispers, quickly pulling the stick off your tongue, “Don’t do that.” 

“Sorry, need me to go get one of your fangirls to do it instead of me?” 

Absolutely not. 

Jungwon chuckles, “Why do I need their mouths when yours is right here?” 

You roll your eyes, focusing them off towards the stage, “Still a fucking asshole.” 

Jungwon softened at those words. He hated himself more than you hate him. Hated himself so fucking badly for the shit he put you through. For letting the fame get to his head. For letting you go so easily and his actions that caused it. He remembers the night Jake busted down his door yelling at him because your friend called saying you were in tears because of his actions. It tore him apart. 

Truthfully, Jungwon was terrified to lose you. So scared you’d see his imperfections or how much he loved the attention his fans gave him that you’d run. You single-handedly were the best thing to walk into his life. He thinks about you every single day and wishes time machines were invented so he could go back and have a redo with you. 

But time machines don’t exist. And neither does his second chance with you. Jungwon accepted the only way he could have you was the hate sex or the aggressive make-out sessions when he saw you. Being on tour the last year was torture and he was one hundred percent sure you blocked his number and all his socials. 

Not that he blames you. 

“YN,” he calls for you, touching the tips of his fingers to your elbow, slowly wrapping them around your arm, “Please.” 

You knew what he was asking of you. To give in to him. And like an idiot, you leaned into his touch, giving in. 

Like a moth to a flame. 

Everytime. 

You go back to him everytime. 

It took one look into his brown eyes, seeing the feelings he has that he never speaks out loud. His hand finds yours, locking your fingers together and pulling you as he steps backward, you idly following behind him. 

You could feel your friend and Jake’s eyes following the both of you, along with Heeseung, Jay, and Sunghoon catching a glance as Jungwon pulls you out the back door, disregarding his drumsticks on a nearby table. 

One moment the cool night summer air hit your skin, the next you were straddling Jungwon in the back seat of his car. Lips moving against his and hands roaming up and down your back, squeezing your waist gently each time. 

A whole year without feeling you against him, a year without kissing you and he felt like was losing his mind. His body on fire just by having you pressed closely to him and your hands in his hair. Words stuck in his throat on all the things he wished he could say to you but settled with kissing you so deeply, tenderly, and passionately. The pull you always felt towards him, he also felt with you. Never being able to get away from you. 

Going back to you everytime. 

No one else was you. And never would be. 

Jungwon settles his hands on your hips, pressing you harder down on him and bucking his hips up. Your jaw went slack at the sensation of his length against your heat, Jungwon finding it the perfect moment to slide his index and middle fingers into your mouth, pressing down your tongue. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, wrapping your lips around his digits, “So dirty, baby,” he whispers, spreading the digits to feel your tongue move between them, “I’ve missed you so much.” 

He doesn’t know how the words managed to escape his mouth, but the soft moan that vibrated his fingers told him well enough you missed him too. Because you did, truthfully. 

The loss of his fingers leaving your mouth had you pouting, but his lips pressed back to yours, moving in perfect rhythm. You don’t know how much time has passed, how or when your clothes ended up in the front seat of his car, but you didn’t care. The warmth of his body, hands grazing your skin, and tongues dancing together were all that mattered. 

“Can I have you?” he whispers against your lips, never once taking what you didn’t want to give out. 

“Please, Wonnie,” you whisper back, “I need you.” 

And oh man, how badly he needed you. 

Neither of you would ever understand it, this pull towards each other. Or how whatever god keeps bringing you two back together. Never would understand truly how deep both your feelings run. 

But secretly, both you and Jungwon hope for a second chance. 

Everytime.

— tags: @alvojake @ikeuverse @woniebae @shawnyle @jwnghyuns

@in-somnias-world @zyvlxqht @aaa-sia @wonniethepoo @addictedtohobi

@eneiyri @skzenhalove @fakeuwus @cherry-park @vousty

@ladyartemesia @criminalyun @enhaverse713586 @wondipity @lhsvibez

@jaeyunq @rikizm @kaykay11sworld @vixialuvs @onlyhyunjin

@enha-cafe @ppanghoon @sunpov @zeeloveshee @hxxsxxng

@moonrisearies @brownsugarbaybee @nshmrarki @vveebee @teddybeartaetae

@kookify @abysofsteel @aileeeeeeeeeeeee @hee-lvrr @1309zip

@moon0fthenight @jakeflvrz @021894s @sendhelpiloveyeonjun @surrik-i

@heeseungsbm @niki-riki-nishimura-riki

[winwintea]

stolen dance

PAIRING ↬ idol!park jisung x fem!reader

TAGS ↬ romance, fluff, they dance a bit, there is totally no angst, i would never lie!

SUMMARY ↬ jisung has been teaching you how to dance lately. but is it really to teach you or is jisung using these dances as a form of escapism to hold onto a deeper secret?

WORD COUNT ↬ 2.8k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ in classic winwintea fashion here is jisung's birthday fic <33 suffer.

PLAYLIST ↬ stolen dance - milky chance; show me the meaning of being lonely - backstreet boys

“Alright, alright, one more time!”

Jisung grins, as he claps his hands and beckons you to step back into the middle of the room.

The living room is bathed in the soft amber glow of a single lamp in the corner, casting warm shadows across the room. The faint hum of a speaker plays an upbeat pop track, its rhythm pulsing like a heartbeat through the air. A pile of mismatched socks and sneakers sits abandoned by the couch, proof of your long evening spent dancing. You groan dramatically, flopping onto the couch instead. “I can’t feel my legs anymore, Jisung. This is basically torture.”

“Nope, no quitting!” he says, darting over and tugging you up by the wrists. His hands are warm, steady, and they pull you effortlessly to your feet. “We’re not done until you can at least try to keep up with me.”

You roll your eyes but smile, letting him guide you into position. “I’m only doing this because you’re making me, you know.”

Jisung smirks. “And because you secretly love it. Admit it, you want to keep up with me on stage one day.”

“Oh, sure,” you laugh, stumbling a little as he begins to guide you through a spin. “Me, a world-class dancer. We’re talking about K-pop standards too. Totally believable.”

“Hey, don’t doubt yourself like that!” Jisung says, catching your hand to stop your wobble. “Besides, I’m a great teacher. You’ll be better than me in no time.”

“Better than you? Let’s not get carried away.”

He steps back, giving you a playful once-over. “Okay, fine, maybe not better. But decent. Maybe passable.”

You swat at his shoulder, which only makes him laugh harder.

The music shifts to a softer beat, and Jisung takes a step closer. “Alright, let’s try that one move again. Step left, then cross. No, your other left—”

You fumble the step, tripping slightly, and Jisung reaches out just in time to steady you. His arm loops around your waist, holding you close for a moment.

“Gotcha,” he says softly, his voice losing its teasing edge for a second.

You look up at him, breathless but grinning. “You know, for someone who claims to be a great teacher, you’re not very patient.”

His lips twitch into a smile. “And for someone who says they hate dancing, you’re not as bad as you think.”

The room feels still for a beat, the music fading into the background. Jisung’s dark eyes linger on yours, something unspoken passing between you. It’s the kind of gaze that makes your heart skip, though you can’t quite place why.

“Anyway!” Jisung suddenly blurts, breaking the moment as he steps back with a sheepish grin. “Let’s try again. I’ll slow it down this time, I promise.”

“Good. My feet are already filing a complaint,” you joke, shaking off the strange flutter in your chest.

He grins, taking your hands in his again, and the music picks up once more. The two of you fall into the rhythm, tripping over each other’s feet and laughing so loudly that it drowns out the sound of the song.

The days start to blur together, each evening spent in the same corner of the living room. The small space becomes your personal dance studio, the furniture pushed against the walls to give you just enough room to practice. Jisung shows up every time with the same excitement, the kind that’s so contagious you can’t help but play along.

“Step, step, and pivot—yes! That’s it!” Jisung exclaims, clapping his hands together as you nail the move for the first time. His grin lights up the room.

You beam, sweat dripping down your face, and collapse onto the floor. “Finally! That only took, what, twenty tries?”

Jisung flops down next to you, still full of energy. “More like thirty, but hey, who’s counting?” He nudges you with his shoulder, handing you a water bottle.

You take a long sip and gasp dramatically. “I didn’t sign up for this boot camp, you know. What happened to ‘just a fun dance session’?”

Jisung leans back on his hands, smirking. “This is fun! Besides, you’re getting so much better. Look at you, two weeks ago, you couldn’t even figure out which foot was your left.”

“Wow, thanks,” you deadpan, though your smile betrays your mock annoyance.

The next night, the routine continues. The two of you move in near-perfect sync as Jisung teaches you a new routine to a faster song. Your steps are cleaner, your turns sharper, and when you finish the sequence without a single mistake, you both cheer so loudly the neighbor downstairs bangs on their ceiling.

“Oops,” you whisper, covering your mouth to stifle your giggles.

Jisung shrugs, unbothered. “Worth it. You nailed that!” He holds up a hand for a high-five, which you give him, laughing at how proud he looks.

But as the days pass, you begin to notice how your progress isn’t the only thing changing.

One evening, as you struggle through a particularly tricky move, Jisung stops mid-step. His gaze drifts off toward the window, his body going still.

“Jisung?” you call, snapping your fingers in front of his face. “Earth to Jisung?”

He blinks, shaking his head quickly. “Sorry, what? Did you say something?”

You frown. “You spaced out. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says with a too-bright smile, waving you off. “Just tired, I guess.” He grabs the remote and cranks up the music. “Come on, let’s run it again.”

You hesitate but decide not to press him.

Later, after another exhausting session, you collapse on the couch, panting. “I’m done. For real this time. My legs are basically jelly.”

Jisung sits beside you, his gaze soft as he watches you. “You’re really doing great, you know.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” you joke, but the sincerity in his voice makes your heart skip.

“I mean it,” he says, his tone quieter now. “I just... I like seeing you like this. Happy. Laughing.”

You glance over at him, and for a moment, he looks... sad, though the expression vanishes almost as quickly as it appeared.

“You okay?” you ask cautiously.

“Of course,” he says, forcing a grin. “Why wouldn’t I be? You’re stuck with me, remember?”

“Lucky me,” you tease, but his words stick with you as the night goes on.

The dance sessions grow more frequent, his enthusiasm almost desperate. Every moment feels heavier, though you can’t quite figure out why. You catch him watching you sometimes, his smile softer, as though he’s trying to memorize the way you move, the sound of your laugh.

“What?” you ask one night when his eyes linger too long.

“Nothing,” he says quickly, spinning you around before you can press further. “Just... don’t stop dancing, okay?”

You laugh, brushing it off, but there’s something in his voice that makes you wonder what he’s not telling you.

The music echoes softly through the living room as you and Jisung move together, your steps slightly out of sync but improving with each pass. The rhythm feels effortless now, the usual fumbling replaced by a newfound fluidity. You’re laughing, breathless but exhilarated, when the sharp buzz of Jisung’s phone cuts through the song.

It vibrates insistently on the counter, the screen lighting up in the dim room.

“Hold on,” Jisung mutters, his usual smile faltering as he jogs over to check it. He picks up the phone and stares at the screen, his expression shifting to something unreadable.

You wipe your forehead with the hem of your shirt, catching your breath. “What is it?” you ask, noticing the way he hesitates.

Jisung’s thumb hovers over the screen, and for a moment, he doesn’t answer. Then, in a voice that’s a little too casual, he says, “It’s nothing. Just a friend checking in.”

You tilt your head, unconvinced. “Must be a pretty intense message to make you zone out like that.”

He glances at you quickly, forcing a small smile. “It’s not important. I’ll deal with it later. Come on, let’s not lose our momentum.” He sets the phone back down, face down this time, and crosses the room toward you.

Before you can say anything, he reaches for your hands and pulls you into a hug. It’s sudden, uncharacteristic, and tight. Tighter than his usual playful embraces. You blink, caught off guard.

“Uh, Jisung? You good?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he buries his face against your shoulder, his grip unyielding. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft, almost fragile. “I’m just... really proud of you, you know? You’ve worked so hard.”

The hug lasts longer than it should, and something in his tone feels off. You try to pull back slightly to look at him, but he only holds on tighter.

“Jisung, what’s going on?”

He shakes his head against your shoulder and releases you just as abruptly as he hugged you. “Nothing. Seriously. Don’t worry about it.” His smile is back, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Now, come on. Let’s run through it again. You were so close to getting it perfect!”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you press, still watching him carefully.

“Of course I am,” he says quickly, bouncing on his toes to reset the mood. “Now, less talking, more dancing!”

You hesitate but eventually let it go, letting him take your hand and spin you back into position. Yet, as the music starts up again, you can’t shake the nagging feeling that there’s more to the text than he’s letting on.

On the counter, Jisung’s phone buzzes again, the screen lighting up briefly before going dark. The message still sits there: "You ready to see her?"

The rhythmic click of Jisung’s shoes echoes down the hospital hallway, a stark contrast to the sterile silence that surrounds him. His hands are stuffed into his jacket pockets, clenched tightly as if to keep himself from shaking. The confidence and playfulness that had defined him earlier in the living room are gone, replaced by a hollow, heavy weight in his chest.

He pauses outside the door to a room, staring at the small plaque on the wall with your name printed neatly on it. His heart hammers in his chest as he exhales shakily, steeling himself before finally pushing the door open.

The fluorescent lights overhead hum faintly, casting an unforgiving brightness across the room. Machines beep softly, their rhythm steady and monotonous. And there you are. Completely motionless in the hospital bed, your face pale, your body almost swallowed by the thin blankets. Tubes and wires tether you to the machines keeping you stable, their presence stark and invasive.

Jisung freezes in the doorway, the sight of you knocking the air from his lungs.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice cracking. He steps closer, his movements hesitant and unsteady. The sound of the door clicking shut behind him feels deafening.

He lowers himself into the chair by your bedside, his trembling hands reaching for yours. Your skin is cold, unmoving, and his grip tightens instinctively, as though holding on to you will keep you from slipping further away.

“I’m here,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “I’m here, so… you can wake up now, okay?”

The only response is the steady beep of the heart monitor.

Jisung leans forward, pressing his forehead against the back of your hand. His shoulders begin to shake as tears spill over, falling silently onto the thin hospital sheet.

“You know,” he chokes out, his voice thick with emotion, “I taught you how to dance. I mean, not perfectly, but we were getting there. You were laughing so much, and—” He stops, his breath hitching as the reality of his words catches up to him.

Because it wasn’t real.

The living room, the music, the laughter— it was all in his head. His imagination, his desperate mind, had conjured you up to fill the unbearable silence you’d left behind.

“I just…” His voice cracks again as he squeezes your hand. “I just wanted to see you smile. To hear you laugh. Even if it wasn’t real.”

The weight of the truth crashes down on him, suffocating and relentless. His mind replays every moment of the past few weeks—the way he had clung to the image of you, teaching you to dance, pretending everything was okay.

His tears flow freely now, soaking into the fabric of your blanket as he clutches your hand like a lifeline. The room feels unbearably quiet, the sound of the machines and his muffled cries the only noises breaking the stillness.

He sits there for what feels like hours, talking to you about everything and nothing—how much he misses you, how much he needs you to come back.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice raw, “don’t let this be the end. 

But you don’t move. Not yet. And Jisung can only sit there, crumbling under the weight of his grief, as reality continues to sink its claws into him.

“I thought…” His voice cracks, and he pauses, choking back a sob. He grips your hand tighter, as if that alone could anchor him in this unbearable moment. “I thought I could bring you back. Even if it wasn’t real—” His words catch in his throat, and he pulls his hands to his face, muffling the anguished cry that escapes him.

Tears stream down his face as he looks back at you, his expression one of complete devastation. “It felt real,” he whispers, his voice raw and broken. “You were laughing. You were dancing. It was like… like you were still here with me.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, pressing his forehead against your hand as he begins to unravel completely. “I just wanted one more dance with you,” he says, the words slipping out in a strangled sob.

The silence in the room presses against him, suffocating and unrelenting. His shoulders shake as he cries, the weight of the last few weeks crashing down on him all at once.

“I don’t know what to do without you,” he confesses, his voice thick with grief. “You were the one who kept me grounded. When everything felt too hard, you… you were my anchor. You gave me a reason to keep going.”

He lifts his head slightly, his tear-streaked face staring at your still form. “And now…” His voice falters, his lips trembling as he struggles to find the words. “Now I don’t even know who I am without you.”

His gaze drops to your hand in his, his fingers tracing over yours with a tenderness that breaks his heart all over again. “Dancing with you, even in my head… it kept me going. It made me feel like maybe… maybe you were still with me.”

He swallows hard, the lump in his throat refusing to go away. “But they stole it from us,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “They stole our dance.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and final, as Jisung lets out another ragged sob. His grief pours out of him uncontrollably, raw and unfiltered, as he buries his face in his hands.

The walls of the hospital room seem to close in around him, the sterile brightness only amplifying the darkness he feels inside. He leans forward, pressing his lips gently to the back of your hand, his tears falling onto your skin.

“Please,” he begs, his voice breaking. “Please come back to me. I don’t care how long it takes. Just… come back.”

His words are met with the same unyielding stillness, the heart monitor’s steady rhythm the only response. And so he sits there, broken and lost, holding on to you as tightly as he can, afraid to let go of the only piece of you he has left.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” he whispers, his voice hoarse from crying. He looks down at your hand, his tear-filled eyes blurring the sight of your still fingers. “I want to believe you’ll wake up, but… what if you don’t?”

The question lingers in the air, heavy and suffocating. He lets his head fall forward, his forehead pressing against your hand as his shoulders slump in defeat. “I’m so scared,” he murmurs, barely audible. “Scared that I’ve already lost you.”

For a moment, the only sound is the steady beeping of the heart monitor.

And then it happens.

A faint movement—so subtle he almost misses it.

Your fingers twitch beneath his.

Jisung freezes, his breath catching in his throat. His head snaps up, his wide, tear-streaked eyes darting to your hand. “Y/N?” he whispers, his voice trembling with a mix of hope and disbelief.

He watches, his heart pounding in his chest, as your fingers twitch again—just the slightest motion, but enough to send a jolt through his entire body.

“Y/N!” he says again, louder this time, his grip tightening around your hand. He leans forward, his eyes darting between your hand and your face, searching desperately for any other sign of movement.

The heart monitor continues its steady rhythm, the faint beeping echoing in the room as the scene begins to fade.

“Please,” he whispers one last time, his voice breaking. “Please come back to me.”

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania @spacejip @peterm4rker @viasdreams @mango-bear

[hellishjoel]

on call

7.5k / pairing: cardiothoracic surgeon!javier peña x resident surgeon f!reader

main masterlist | notifications blog

summary: Javier Peña - a shark of a surgeon - is the head of Cardiothoracic Surgery and you're on his service for the week. After letting you take lead on a risky surgery, you crave what else he can teach you. warnings/information:  MA 18+ (minors DNI), doctors performing surgery but no gore, medical talk (open heart surgery performed, mention of aneurysms and paralysis), both Javi and reader are surgeons, implied but unspecified age gap (Javier is an attending surgeon, reader is a resident surgeon), sex in an on call room (rooms in the hospital where the staff can catch some zzz's), swearing, size kink, praise & degradation kink with accompanied dirty talk, competency kink, (un)affectionate pet names, fingering, oral cleanup (f!receiving), oral (m!receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie reader is described having hair and wears surgical scrubs, but otherwise (I believe) no physical description, no use of y/n A/N: FYI the only knowledge about hospitals or doctors I know is from Grey's Anatomy, so expect some drama and inaccuracies! beta’d by the lovely @thetriumphantpanda! spanish assistance by the talented @undercoverpena! banner made by me!

Any doctor will tell you that smoking cigarettes has a well-documented history of negative health risks. 

Smoking can significantly increase the risk of various health problems, including cardiovascular diseases, lung cancer, respiratory issues, and, most importantly, to a surgeon, how delicate your tissue is. It shreds during stitching, falls apart in between gloved fingers, and increases the risk of infection. 

So why does Javier Peña, the Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery, smoke? 

Probably because he thinks he’s God. Galavanting through the surgical wing in his dark navy scrubs. The attending flirts with every nurse who passes his eyeline, sweet-talks his residents, and charms each patient he consults. 

Beneath all that, he was a ruthless shark of a surgeon. Driven to the point of recklessness. Stealing surgeries out from under fellow doctors, commandeering ORs, and always proving to be the smartest in the room. He knew when to bark and, more importantly, when to bite. 

Javier Peña was a piece of goddamn work. 

The operating room is the only time he’s silent. Espresso eyes narrowed on the surgical field, fingers succinct and persuasive like he’s giving the most delicate organ in the world a compelling speech: to live, to keep beating, to pump blood until it simply cannot. 

He’s impressive, really. 

Standing on the opposite side of the patient on the table, watching him work, you nearly forget how handsome he is behind his mask. If you weren’t such a great resident, you’d be more impressed by his looks than his hands. 

But his hands… they were brilliant. 

Peña was steady. Every movement is filled with confidence; they don’t stutter or flinch. He operates with wonderful dexterity, switching between both hands, neither more dominant than the other. Instrumental and graceful, like a maestro conducting a large orchestra. 

This was his stage, the surgical instruments were his props and everyone in his OR was simply an extra. He was a star; everyone knew it. But no one knew it more than you, his third-year surgical resident on his cardio service for the week. 

His years of training bleed through his expertise, and shine in a way that makes you remember why you signed up for so many years of medical school, dropped top dollar on an education to get you here, and then granted residency at one of the finest hospitals in the country. 

You were good. Peña was great. 

As his resident, you must prove nothing but useful. He’s not a natural teacher, the way his brain drives allows no one in his passenger seat. But you’re keen on declaring on cardio, and you’ve been the resident by his side for most of this year. He doesn’t need your help. He can do this all by himself, so all you can do is prove yourself useful. 

You must anticipate his needs and next move, watching him progress from step one to final completion. 

But this surgery was unexpected. Unplanned. Most heart surgeries end up being accidental, arising from complications during a routine surgery. The patient on the table before you was scheduled for a general procedure but began presenting with heart issues during the operation.

Peña performs an aortic arch replacement. He starts with a #10 blade, making an incision along the sternum to access the aortic arch. 

“Retract all this tissue,” he mutters. 

It takes you by surprise because his OR is radio silent. He talks in his head, not to you, ever. 

“Me?” 

“Are you really asking me that?” His tone twitches with irritation, but you do as he asks before he can disregard and bury your anticipation. It allows for more exposure, and he’s back to work. He cannulates the patient for CPB, working through the right atrium and then the aorta. 

“Proper placement?”

You nod before you remember he’s still staring down at the patient’s heart. “Yes.” 

Doctor Javier Peña is the commander of his OR. Which makes you all the more confused as to why he decides to put you in the driver’s seat. Or rather, the hot seat.  

“Okay, we’re going to arrest the heart using cardioplegia purposely. What’s next?”

Your mouth is going dry; it takes you a moment to find your words. You should know the answer, even without having prepared. He just makes you nervous. “We need to use myocardial protection techniques to minimize… ischemic damage?”

His eyes snap up, glaring, cold as ice. “Are you asking me? Or are you telling me?”

You force down the lump in your throat and take in a shaky breath. “Telling?” 

He cocks his eyebrow in annoyance. 

“Telling.” You say more confidently, nodding before he sighs. He wanes his options in his head before his eyes start to soften. He must feel at slight ease talking to a resident who isn’t a fucking moron. 

“Okay. You’ll deliver the cardioplegia solution and monitor its function.”

You let out a breath of relief, perhaps too big of one, because Peña smirks and tuts at your shift in breath. 

“You’re not a complete waste of space in this surgical program after all. Congrats.” 

After willing yourself to bite your tongue, you watch him proceed with the arch repair. He returns to silence as he carefully dissects the aorta, amber eyes admiring each of the strong branches like that of a great oak tree. 

“Name them.” 

Eyes meeting his over the operating table, Peña waits. He’s testing you, pushing you towards greatness or failure. He wants to see where you fall—if you’re worthy to be in his OR, opposite of him, learning under his greatness, or if you’re a waste of his time and talent. 

“You’re a third-year resident, I knew this by my second,” he grinds, “all the books I’ve seen you read in the cafeteria should have told you this. Name them.” 

He watches you, it wasn’t just in your head - the magnetic stare you can feel from across the room that makes the hair on your arms stick up. He watches, he knows you’re capable. “Not gonna get by just on looks here, Doctor.” 

Dragging your eyes away from his intense stare, you loosen your jaw and line your fingers over each strong branch, starting at the trunk of the tree. “The left subclavian artery, left common carotid artery, the innominate artery-”

Peña raises his gloved hand, seeing the gentle smear of blood along his fingertips and palm. “Stop.”

Your eyes squint heatedly, feeling your chest tighten. “I can finish, I know them-”

“Stop, damn it,” he barks louder, his eyes shifting away from yours and across the room. He wasn’t listening to you; he was listening to the heart. Doctor Peña tilts his head to the monitor, watching the heart shift its beats. “Doctor, identify the pathology.” 

You shift on your feet, the nerves throughout your arms leave you feeling shaky. Something was wrong. “The aortic arch, it shows…” Closing your eyes helps you focus, ignoring the crowd in the overhead gallery, forgetting the patient on the table just for a moment, and only listening to the beat on the monitor. 

“Pretty girl, not so smart,” he taunts with a shake of his head, the beeping on the monitor pitching louder and echoing hauntingly through your ears. You wished this room would swallow you whole, but that would be you admitting to cowardice. 

Peña takes a deep breath and looks between you and the monitor, “Alright, come on, open your eyes,” he instructs, guiding your hand off the retractor and along the heart’s wall. “What do you see?”

The commanding tone in his voice brings you out of your head and back to the patient. The room wavers and it goes silent. You don’t hear the erratic beeping of the machines, you don’t see the movement in the gallery. Doctor Peña is in front of you, calm and focused. Because he trusts that you know what’s wrong. 

The aortic wall bulged out of its normal shape. It looked weak, stretched out, thin, and nearly translucent. You see the saccular protrusion, lips parting at the discovery. 

“He’s—was there an aneurysm? He had an aneurysm?” you ask with more panic in your voice than you had hoped. It must have been during the patient’s original procedure earlier in the day before you and Doctor Peña even scrubbed in. “We can’t do a repair or a replacement of the arch. We have to stop everything--” 

“So what are we gonna do, Doctor?” He probes, piercing dark eyes on you. Suddenly, your height shrinks, and you feel only a few inches tall under his gaze. He’s so much older and wiser, and all you can do is panic. “What, you can't figure this out yourself? Four years of medical school, internship, and residency, don't fucking disappoint me now. Tell me how we fix it.”

Our brains hold endless files of knowledge. A doctor is not only supposed to keep files on how to perform a procedure but also what to do if one is horribly failing. But your brain only knows panic because until you become a brilliant surgeon, all you know is fear. 

“Should we page neuro? A-A neuro consult, his blood flow isn’t reaching his spine. He might be paralyzed.” 

Peña scoffs and shakes his head, “Hoping someone else comes to save you and fix your problems? What if I wasn’t standing here? You’re on your own, kid.” he spews, focusing his headlight back over the heart. “We don’t call neuro, the patient can’t wait that long. Come on,” he whittles away your confidence, fire in his eyes. “Come on!”  

You can’t seem to control your anger, feeling it ween down to something brittle and broken. You snap. “Doctor Peña, respectfully shut the hell up. We’re gonna fix the aneurysm sac.”

“How?” He’s quick on the whip, and it feels like your lungs might give out. “Come on, smart girl, tell me how.” 

“You’re-You’re gonna use the sac to bring blood back to the spinal cord. He’s only paralyzed because the aorta isn’t able to send blood to his spine. You replace the aorta with a Dacron graft and rebuild the aneurysm into a second aorta.” It’s spoken with half confidence, but your eyes are fiercely stubborn. 

“Its only job is to send blood to the spine,” he mutters in agreement, hands already at work. 

“Like the freeway being blocked by traffic, you take a side road. Or, in this case, you’re building the side road.” 

He momentarily pauses his hands, pretty brown eyes searching yours. He stares you down longer than anticipated, and suddenly, the air feels charged. Heat tingles up your spine, and you find yourself challenging his stare. 

You deserve to be in this OR. You’re good, but Peña is great. And you will be great once you learn more from him. Him and his stupid fucking- brilliant hands.  

“I’m not building the side road; we are,” he corrects, and he asks the scrub nurses to give him the supplies for constructing the graph. 

Finally, his cheeks perk up, and a small smirk hides under his mask. “Suction, Doctor. Prep some 6-0 of prolene. We’re gonna need it.” Peña spends the next few hours teaching you how to reroute the aneurysm and restore blood flow, allowing you to reconstruct and place the graph. 

You and Peña are a well-oiled machine. He lets you take the lead under his supervision. It’s impossible not to scream inside your head about this moment. You feel like you’re floating, no longer panicking. Your fingers weave with an indescribable amount of delicacy. It feels like braiding hair, the way your fingers know where to move, the muscle movements natural despite never having done this procedure before. 

What a fucking high. And you’ve always been such an adrenaline junkie. 

Once word got out around the hospital that Peña was doing this incredible and unexpected surgery, the gallery was all standing and fighting for room to glance out the over-viewing window. And you were there, across from him the entire time. Every surgeon in your class is sitting in the gallery, damn jealous of you.

Peña watches you close up the patient and says nothing; you were perfection. 

You huff loudly upon completion, watching as Peña wipes his forearm across the sweat on his forehead. You despise him in this moment. Thankfulness fights your need for social justice. He can’t talk to you like that, belittle you, squish whatever confidence you had left. But you’re exhausted now and don’t feel like snapping in front of half the hospital. 

“We won’t know if he has full function until he’s awake. Page neuro and tell them they have a post-consult waiting for them.” His voice drips with exhaustion, rolling out his shoulders as he speaks, and you can’t help but watch as the broad muscles move under his shirt, tan skin now visible after the medical gown has been removed. 

Trailing behind him out of the OR, you strip your surgical gloves, gown, and mask in the trash as you try to calm your adrenaline. It never stopped beating; your heart, the strong and beautiful organ that it was, never stopped pounding. You can hear it in your ears, in your pulse, even thudding excitedly against your neck. 

It beat for your ambition, it beat for Doctor Peña. He’d never see you as his equal. Hell, he’d never see anyone as his equal. But today, he taught you. And you can’t think why. He has barely done his duty all year despite working at a teaching hospital where the residents are nearly quizzed on the minute by their attendings. 

Peña didn’t think anyone was worth his time, but he saw something in you today. Despite being thankful, you can’t help the anger you feel bubbling up as he smirks at you from down the hall. 

“What the hell, Peña?” 

Oh shit. 

The head of neurosurgery stomps down the hall in his navy blue scrubs, graying hair tucked under a scrub cap decorated by EEG waveforms. His eyes are narrowed on Peña, pointed finger at the ready. 

“Who the hell do you think you are? Your patient goes into paralysis and you don’t think to page me?”

Peña merely shrugs and sets his hands on his hips. “I did think to page you. And decided not to.” 

The head of neurosurgery scoffs in disbelief, raising his voice to a shout. “You’re too fucking- cocky for your own good! I could have done an assessment, they could gotten spinal cord ischemia- and a third-year resident of all people performing that surgery? What the hell were you thinking?!”

Fuck. Now you were brought into this, and standing at the end of the hallway couldn’t be farther away. Peña was as solid as stone, heat didn’t faze him. “She had it under control. She was perfect.”

Perfect. 

Neuro seems to smirk lightly, brain doctors who love to play mind games. “You two screwin’ around in the on-call rooms, too? Is that why you let her in on that surgery a fifth year couldn’t even perform? You pull that shit again, and I’ll-”

“You’ll what?”

Peña steps closer, narrowing his eyes on the short little man whose bark was louder than his bite. 

Neuro stutters for a moment, his posture shrinking. You can’t help but smirk, almost a little lightheaded at the way he steps in to protect your credibility. Peña was a dangerous surgeon to stick around with. His arrogance, next to his skills in the OR, could be taught by accident. 

Neuro grabs onto a slipping rope and sniffs as he glances around at the onlookers in the hallway. “Don’t think I won’t tell the Chief about what happened today. You and her are on thin ice.”

Peña smirks and pats his shoulder in a futile manner, pulling loose his scrub cap and running a hand through his jet-black tresses. “She had it under control. I wouldn’t have let her do anything she couldn’t handle. And if you talk about her like that again, I’ll knock your fuckin’ teeth out.” 

Peña’s already walking away, back to the angry little man. 

Your stomach bubbles with something unfamiliar, slipping behind the elbow of the wall and taking a shaky breath. You can’t feel anything besides the buzzing in your brain and the tremble in your hands. 

Doctor Javier Peña was defending your fucking honor. 

In Javier’s eyes, any surgeon can walk into an operating room and follow the procedure's already-written steps. They can rehearse, practice, and prep all they want. But the beauty of surgery was that it was both a science and an art. 

The heart was such an intricate, unpredictable thing. Healthy one minute, broken the next. 

Javier loves to read, but only for the plot twist endings—the ones you don’t see coming—which add richness to the story and make you fall deeper into the mystery. 

That’s why he loves the heart because it isn’t easy. It’s a challenge. He also loves that hearts make him feel special because not everyone can handle operating on a heart. That’s why people choose easier specialties. Cardio was hardcore. Javier was hardcore. 

Despite how difficult a cardio surgery can be, the surgeon must be gentle. Going too fast leads to mistakes. 

As if driving on black ice, you can’t twist your wheel too fast, or you’ll spin out and crash.  He was like that during his internship, even into his residency, but he carried raw talent that no one else could compare to. He was the star of his class, a surgeon who felt like he was more than a doctor, more than a God. A preacher to the soulless, a guide to the lost. He was his patient’s light at the end of the tunnel. He saved their fucking lives. 

In his eyes, heart surgeons needed to be sharks. He never met a shark who wasn’t fierce and damn near evil. It’s critical to success; to be a shark in the water, eager to see crimson. 

You were no shark—not yet. But your drive, dedication to the art, and willingness to work with him set you apart. He knows he’s not easy. But he’s never liked easy anyway. 

Javier slowly slumps down onto the edge of an on-call bed, smacking the light switch so damn hard that he thought he broke it. The room sinks into darkness, a velvet blanket of blue from the slight night sky slipping past the blinds. 

He was exhausted after today, the hours of his day stolen by back-to-back surgeries. His back ached, and his knees were screaming at him. But the comfort of a bed wasn’t all that he craved. 

You were brilliant, purring like a kitten whenever Javier stroked your ego. A younger colleague impressed him for the first time in months. 

God, you were young. What—ten years his junior? More? 

His face fell into his hands, heat flushing into his stomach at the thought of you. 

When he’s in surgery, the heart is all he can think about. But your eyes were on him for hours, watching him, learning from him—God, the things he could teach you. 

Suddenly, the door clicks open, and light floods the room, causing Javi to drop his head and squint. 

“We need to speak, Doctor Peña,” your silken voice evokes a sense of long-lost courage.  

You’re the last person who should be in his on-call room.

He groans and stands, eyes cast on your hand still nervously caught on the door handle. “Not now.” 

“Yes, now,” your voice wavers as you click the lock and cross your arms. His eyes drag over your body, hugged by the comfort of your soft blue scrubs. He can tell it’s taking everything in your body to control your temper, as he is still technically your boss. “You can’t just belittle me in front of the entire OR. No more calling me princess, no more calling me pretty. I’m a lot more than those pathetic superficial names, and you know it.” 

Javier runs his fingers down his nose, mutters something incoherent, and plants his hands on his hips before curtly jerking his head expectantly. “I said not now.” 

“You push me, you push me around, you push me in the OR, you just don’t stop-”

He snaps. 

“I push you to be great!” His brown eyes nearly turn obsidian as he locks you in his gaze. “You’ll be a better doctor when I’m done with you. You should be thanking me.”

You scoff indignantly and throw up your hands in frustration. You’re so fucking cute when you’re upset. “Thanking you?”

“Yeah. Thanking me. My ass is on the burner because I let you perform that surgery.”

“The one not even fifth-year residents could perform?”  

Peña pauses, his jaw shifting from left to right as he glances at the room's corner. “You heard all that, huh?”

There’s a lull, one that signifies you both know that he stepped in to defend his choices in the OR; specifically defending you. He watches as you slowly nod, pulling your hand off the doorknob and crossing your arms over your chest. 

“You didn’t have to do that. Now it looks like you favor me. I’m gonna get chewed out by the other surgeons, not to mention my entire class is going to think I’m sleeping with you.” 

Pena shrugs and purses his lips. “Let ‘em.”

He watches as your lips part, taken aback by his words. After a few doe-eyed blinks from you, the room falls out of focus, and it doesn’t feel like he’s standing in the hospital anymore. 

Javi imagines you in places he shouldn’t. At his place, in his apartment. On the couch. In his bed. He thinks about how different you’d look in the light of day, your body curved by jeans or even a sundress if the weather allowed. He’d be privy to the freckles on your back and shoulders, the dips of your hips, the slope of your body he wants to memorize with his eyes closed. 

But fantasizing wasn’t enough. 

“Let ‘em,” he mutters, low, and enclosing the space between your bodies. “If they already think that, let ‘em. Fuck ‘em.” 

Your face visibly softens, and your head naturally leaning into his hand that rests on your cheek. 

“I want you to teach me,” you whisper to him. And it’s so fucking soft, so sweet dripping from your lips, almost whining with need. 

He slowly nods as the room falls silent, Javi’s opposite hand coming to your hip, flushing your body against his. 

“Okay, cariño, I’ll teach you.” 

“Teach me,” you plead again, your chest heaving with anticipation. His eyes fall to the way your breasts protrude with each breath you take in your scrubs. The emotion that stirs in the room is enough to start a full-blown hurricane. 

Javi’s hands fall to the hem of your top, and you raise your arms swiftly, so pliant to his touches. But that’s your job, to anticipate his needs. 

The sight of your skin alone is enough to make his shoulders tighten, seeing you all pretty and exposed. A knot begins to grow in his stomach. But no, you weren’t done yet. 

“Please, Doctor Peña,”

No, don’t fucking beg. 

“I want you to use your hands and teach me.” Insistently, your fingers dip into your scrub bottoms, his eyes catching the pretty black band of your panties before the material is pooled on the floor. 

You stand there with soft eyes, wide and expecting. The longer he stands here, not touching you, it damn near looks like he’s hurting your feelings. But he’s not stupid enough to leave you abandoned. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, closing the distance in a matter of a second, his hands on your hips as he yanks your body into his firm front.

The kiss is tangled and heated, desperate and needy, so different compared to the subtle dance you both played before. But now it’s so obvious the pure need that consumes you both. 

Your small fists clutch his broad shoulders, and you moan into his mouth purely at the muscle built into his toned body. He licks into your mouth, and all he can think is how fucking sweet you taste. And how your pussy probably tastes just as sweet. 

Your fingers blindly reach for the light switch, flicking them off and sinking you into midnight once again. 

Javi tuts and shakes his head, breaking the kiss as he glares down at you. “You wanna see my hands work, cielo? Then you gotta watch.” He mutters as he flicks the switch back on, guiding you into the lower bunk of the on-call beds. 

He likes the way your hand slips from his cheek to the back of his neck, fingers gentle at first before clutching at the hair on his nape. 

Javi lets out an unexpected moan into your mouth as his body slots perfectly between your legs. His rough and calloused hands explore the smooth skin of your outer thighs. He squeezes and cradles the flesh with the perfect balance of strength and delicacy, the coarse hairs of his mustache scratching your skin as he presses kisses over your exposed breasts. 

He craves every breath that you take because of him, because of his actions. Your reactions are honest and instinctual, watching as you bite down on your lip because God forbid anyone saw you sneak into his room. 

Javi’s fingers are just as you expect, expertise as he unclips your bra with ease. He snatches away the black material, your nipples sensitive to the cool air as they peak under his eyeline. 

“Christ,” he mutters, his hot mouth on them in an instant. His tongue circles them meticulously before he suckles, lifting his head and watching as your breast is tugged into his mouth. A whine slips past your lips and he feels your legs tug tighter around his waist. It’s enough to get him hard, the way you won’t let him go, because this feels way too fucking good to stop. 

“Doctor Peña-”

“Javi,” he mutters upon letting your nipple go with a pop, moving to the other and showing it just as much affection, letting his teeth gently nip at the sensitive peak. “So fuckin’ pretty, princesa,” he mutters before sucking on a spot just above your breast, a place to mark his territory. 

You gasp at the feeling of his hot mouth on your skin, goosebumps flooding to his touches. You glance down through barely-open eyes as the skin changes color, from red to a soft purple as he draws blood to the surface. His teeth marks are still there even after he leaves, a smirk on his face as he slips lower to between your legs. 

“Javi, please,” you muster up, trying to regather air in your lungs. 

He shifts to his knees, one arm straight and hand planted beside your head as he hovers over you, the other finally slipping between your legs. Your lips part as he slowly swipes two up your center, seeing what makes you tick. 

His smirk widens as your eyes roll to the back of your head, biting down on the plush of your lower lip again to conceal a moan that surely would have slipped. He spreads you, letting his thumb pads delicately circle your clit experimentally. “So fucking wet for me.” 

Just as a moan emits, his hand is clamped over your mouth. 

“Shh, shh, shh,” he degrades, your eyes wide as the circles continue achingly. “Into my hand, baby girl, don’t want anyone else to hear you. Just me.” 

Your thighs begin to tremble as his thumb experiments on you, and you realize he’s learning. Everything is about learning for him. He learns and studies the heart, now he’s studying what makes you fucking soaked for him. 

The slow circles are enough to get you going, but as he continues to pick up the pace, he realizes you need more more more. 

His thumb moves faster and surfs the edges, it makes you twitch under him. His smirk widens as two of his fingers glide up and down your wet center, your hips nudging upward with neediness. 

“Wanna hear you,” he mutters, but you’re so scared to let out a peep. In this fog, you can’t even remember if you locked the door, and now your heart is pounding against your chest, the beautiful muscle that it is. 

“Come on,” he says goadingly, pushing two fingers into your entrance. Your eyes blow wide as you let out a soft sigh into his palm, followed by a wimpy whine. “Give it to me,” he mutters as his fingers start to move through your tight heat. He’s trying to find it, working himself deeper and deeper, curling them just right and finally-

His hand clamps harder down on your mouth as you let out a loud cry, eyes shutting hard as your body writhes against him. You leak out against his fingers, hearing them squish with your arousal as he smirks. “That’s fuckin’ right, feels so good to let it out, doesn’t it? You can gimme more,” he encourages, and you don’t think you fucking can. 

But he works against you so feverishly, the combination of his thumb on your clit and fingers fucking your entrance, once the seal was broken, it was hard to contain it. 

“Fuck!” You cry out as he scissors you open, separating his fingers and forcing your entrance to work itself wider for him. The noises are obscene, soaking his fingers as he continues to plunge so deeply into you. Your hand shakily reaches up to the bicep bulging beside your head, nails sinking into his tan flesh. 

His movements have your thighs beginning to shake as he searches, still learning, looking for that one spot that has you breathless. Then it fucking sucks the air from your lungs. 

You gasp against his hand and clutch his wrist desperately, feeling him massage the sweet, spongy part inside of you that has sparks going off at the base of your spine. Your eyes begin to water at the overwhelmingness of it all, him and his stupid fucking perfect hands. 

“Javi,” you pant against his mouth, because something indescribable is building. Your back arches against his body. He doesn’t even need to look at what he’s doing, he’s so distracted in watching you unfold. 

Finally, it’s all too much, and he’s got you in the palm of his hand. You can’t help but bite into his palm as you sob against his hand, his fingers so perfect inside of you, leading you to the crescendo of your orgasm. The build leaves you lightheaded, your thighs twitching against his hips as he purrs your name. 

“Just wanna little taste,” he mutters as he finally slips his hand from your mouth, still feeling the burn of your pretty bite. His chest lands on the mattress, and you sit up a bit to allow him space. 

Javi’s arms wrap around your legs, hands now on your inner thighs as he helps spread you open. You whimper, still so sensitive that you nearly twitch away as he moves in. “Aww, come here, sweet girl. Know you taste so good, don’t you?” 

You weakly nod and sink back into the mattress, your eyes falling closed as he slowly sponges kisses to your warm inner thighs. Your hole still puckers for the loss of his fingers, a groan leaving his throat at the sight. He teasingly flicks his tongue against your twitching clit, and it’s enough to make your entire body seize. 

“So fucking sensitive,” he mutters adoringly, spreading your labia and letting his tongue flush against the juices that soak his tongue. He audibly grunts against you and works slowly to clean you up. His eyes meet yours, and he reads your wrecked face instantly. 

You let out a hesitant moan, your fingers tiredly weaving into his dark locks and nails gently scratching along his scalp. His mustache tickles your clit and you try to breath through the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

He was right, his hands were fucking perfect. Look at the way he learned your body, what it was chasing after, how it could be healed with his touch. You only with to give him the same. 

You sit up off your elbows, and he looks up at you with your arousal sitting silkily across his mustache. You cup his jaw, and he sits up with you, your mouth landing on his. You taste yourself, and it almost makes you shy, knowing Doctor Peña has tasted you. More importantly, made you cum with nothing more than his fingers. 

The opportunity to touch his body is one you didn’t realize you craved, small palms moving down his front. On instinct, he parts from your kiss and pulls his scrub top off. And God, you were right with every assumption. 

You knew he worked out, all cardio Gods adhere to the rule of working out to keep the heart muscle strong, but this was a different kind of strong. He was a Greek marble statue, all arms and toned chest and a waist you could easily tangle your legs around. 

“Jesus,” you breathe out.

Javi smirks confidently, his large hands cupping your face once more and tangling his tongue with yours. You swallow the lump in your throat and move your hand to his upper thigh, coasting your hand along until you feel his shaft protruding against his scrubs. 

“Take ‘em off,” you whisper. 

“Are you asking me or telling me?” He asks confidently, forcing a grunt out of your mouth as you tug against the hem. 

“Telling. Now off with them.” You command. 

He tuts as he stands from the mattress. “That’s my girl,” he mutters proudly, circling his thumbs along the waist of his scrubs before pushing them down, briefs included, stepping out of the material that pooled around his feet. 

You slowly raise an eyebrow, your lips parting at his size. No wonder he was so cocky. You sit at the edge of the on-call bed and he steps forward knowingly. 

“S’okay, pretty girl. Just wanna make you feel good.” 

You stubbornly shake your head and take his hands, guiding him closer as your doe-eyes meet his melting brown ones. 

“I can do it.” Wrapping a hand slowly around his length, your other hand rests on his thigh to allow some security. 

He takes in a slow breath, his eyes growing heavy as you spit along his length. 

“Fuck,” he mutters as his large hand gently comes to rest on the back of your head, fingers intertwining in your hair as he begins to clutch them possessively. 

It felt so good to be the one in charge, to be his guidance. He wants you so badly, your hot mouth wrapped around him, begging for his own release just as you were. 

You sponge kisses along his length, watching him almost in a taunting way, because you know he’s going to fall apart before you. Flatting your tongue and sticking it out, he grunts at the sight. Leaning forward, you take him in your mouth. Your tongue circles his beady tip and you get to enjoy the taste of his pre-cum on your tastebuds. 

He’s salty and musky, hours after a long surgery and it tastes divine. All man. All Javier Peña. 

Javi’s breaths are getting faster as you begin to bob your head, taking him inch by inch until you felt comfortable enough to really go for it. 

“Such a fucking- overachiever,” he grins, your nose brushing against the coarse hair along his base as your eyes clench closed, choking around him but not letting off. “Holy fuck,” he moans. Your nails sink into his thigh and he hisses, your one and only reminder for him to stay quiet. He pulls off with a pop, leaving you pouting as you stroke over his impressive length. He twitches in your hand and he’s so heavy in your palm. 

“Don’t want anyone to hear us, Peña,” you remind as you break to give kisses along his thigh where your nails created crescent moon shapes. 

“Got me so close, baby. Don’t wanna cum yet, though.” 

You pout but ultimately leave him with one last kiss to his shaft. 

Javi can’t seem to get enough of your kisses, tracing his tongue along your bottom lip as he moves you back onto the mattress once more. Your fingers glide down his body, feeling the ripples of his muscles that you hope stays engrained in your mind forever. 

Even if it’s just a one-time thing, you wouldn’t mind storing the way he makes you unfold so effortlessly, caring to learn your body and its cravings. 

“Please, Javi,” you whimper against his mouth, feeling the warmth of his body slipping between yours once again, and it feels like a home. “Need you.” 

He nods breathlessly against you, propping up the pillow behind your head. You’re not sure why it gives you butterflies, taking care of you more than just sexually. But he pats the pillow a few times nonetheless and centers it to the back of your head, not stopping until you’re smiling up at him. 

Your hand cradles his jawline, thumb gliding across his chin before his mouth is back on yours. His lips part as your gasp enters his mouth, feeling his hand guide his tip from your clit to your leaking entrance. 

“Wet all over again,” he mutters against your mouth, but acting surprised is pointless. 

“Uh huh,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before letting him envelop you fully. 

Javier listens to you, reads your body language. He feels you grow tense as his tip nudges at your entrance, feeling your legs tighten hesitantly around his waist. 

Your hands are soft on his back, moving along the carved muscles and following their runs like wild rivers. Perhaps it is a way you calm your nerves, touching his warm skin relaxes your walls. He’s able to push onward. 

“Jesus- Javi,” you whimper, letting him sink his length fully into you until he bottoms out in one thrust that leaves him groaning. The pillow he’s laid down for you is held by his fist, the veins down his arms bulging against your head. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” his chest rumbles, Javi starting to find a rhythm as he guides his length in and out of you. 

The first couple of strokes are dragging, aching. It’s hard to breathe and your nose brushes against his neck. 

Javier is so lost in the feeling of you, your tight little cunt squeezing repeatedly around his cock. The hand not holding him up runs up the side of your body, first on the outside of your thigh, then moving upwards to squeeze your ass in his large palm. You moan into his ear, and he does it again, both of you smirking against the kiss. Then he’s on your hip, following the pretty curve before he wraps his arm on the underside of your body, cradling your shoulder. 

It’s like a seatbelt clicking in, gasping as you feel him lock you into place. Your eyes widen as you look up at him, Javi coming to rest his forehead against yours as he begins to snap his hips. 

With the change in pace, the energy becomes charged with something less delicate. It’s like you were witnessing Javier’s two-sided personality, trying to learn and teach, and now, the arrogant, cocky shark. 

The drag, once painful, now feels heavenly, the ache becoming a sedative that has you cooing for more. He’s more relentless now, hips snapping into yours that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your jaw points to the ceiling, and he sees the opportunity for his lips to latch onto your neck. 

At the height of sensitivity, you feel everything. The sweat trickling down your temple, his teeth carving marks on your neck, your breasts pressed against his toned front; he’s all encapsulating. 

You whine as you squeeze around his cock, his hand on your shoulder pressing harder into your skin. He keeps you there, pounding into you, the coarse dark hair grinding against your clit so perfectly. Your core tightens, and you feel your second orgasm begin at its crest. He must be close, too, because he’s driving into you with ferocity. 

“Javi,” you cry against his neck, your nose brushing against his tousled hair, “I-I can’t.”

Javier shakes his head and moves the hand on your shoulder down between your bodies, finding your quivering clit and adding pressure to the small ministrations he starts on. His lips move to your ear, placing a kiss against the outer shell. 

“You can,” he demands in a stern tone, his hot pants fanning against your face as his aquiline nose nudges your cheekbone, “you can give me another one, cariño.”

He wants to see your star explode. See you dissolve before him into a million tiny sparks, fizzling into the night sky so he can take your beauty in fully, from inner soul to outer exterior. You were slipping into the void before him like a firework bursting. 

“Fuck, I can,” you pant, your head dropping back onto the pillow as heat slips down your spine and your vision goes dark. 

You squeeze his cock repeatedly as your orgasm surges through you, back arching off the mattress and your legs tightening around his slim waist. He can feel your pulsing clit against the pad of his thumb, feeling you gush around his dick as his balls slapping against your core grow slick with your arousal. 

From below, your vision is hazy, and he looks so fucking handsome. The surgical mask doesn’t do him justice. 

“You can come inside me,” you whisper as you lean in and nibble his earlobe, hearing him grunt at your comment. 

“Christ,” he mutters, “you have no idea what you do to me.” Javi gently tugs on your lower lip before he distracts himself with your kisses. His snapping hips begin to lose their rhythm, becoming more sloppy and erratic.

He was chasing the feeling, distracted by how perfect you were for him today.

The vein along his temple bulges as his desperate espresso eyes meet yours. All he needs to see is that little smirk of yours, and it sends him over the edge. 

His jaw drops, and a silent moan wants to slip out desperately, but somehow, he’s able to conceal it with low grunts of something that resembles your name.

You begin to feel his warmth spread through your core, making your insides fuzzy. He trembles; you both do. It feels like he comes for forever, but frankly, you don’t want it to stop. 

This feeling sits still inside you, humbles you, and centers you with the universe. Your life is hectic, and for one hour today, you’re not running around from one room to the next or getting chewed out by the senior doctors. This was the perfect stress relief; Javier Peña was a damn good break. 

His strong body collapses over yours, and any residual strength he has left is being held by a tiny string that keeps you from being crushed. 

He lays on his side, shoulder blades pressed against the cold cinderblock wall. He buries his hand in his face, and you wonder if he regrets what he’s done. 

Did he? 

“Thanks,” you whisper, reaching blindly for scrubs and accidentally tossing on his scrub pants in your orgasmic haze. 

“For what? And those are mine. You can have them in a few years when you’re an attending.” He hums, smirking as he pulls the sheets up to cover his lower half. 

You scoff and pull off the pants, switching out for your own after you clasp your bra behind your back. 

“For the lessons.” 

He watches you change, slipping your shoes back on and fixing your hair in the mirror. You try to ignore the feeling of his come slipping out of you, your legs as wobbly as a newborn calf. 

“Yeah? What did you learn?” He cocks an eyebrow and blindly reaches for a pack of cigarettes on the windowsill, propping open the window a few inches. 

Your eyes scan over him slowly as you tighten the tie on your scrub bottoms, a slow smirk gradually growing on your lips. 

“I know why you smoke.” 

Ignoring his intrigued face, you flip off the lights and leave his on-call room in a midnight blue film. The heavy door inches open, light shedding through and inching into the darkness. It clicks closed behind you just as your pager goes off, seeing that there is a message coming through for your newly reconstructed aortic arch patient. 

“Shit,” you mutter. 

The door swooshes open behind you, and Peña reappears dressed in his navy scrubs, surging past you. His shoulder knocks yours on the way out, and you can’t help but scoff. 

“Let’s go. Pick up the pace,” His voice is raspy and tired, but you keep his stride as you work your way towards the intensive care unit. 

Doctor Peña glances back over his shoulder, his smirk mirroring your own.  

Even a shark has its vices. Perhaps after tonight, you’re Javi’s. 

main masterlist | notifications blog if you enjoyed the read, commets and reblogs are super appreciated!

[229zmi]

LOST IN THE MAIL

Kuroo Tetsurō/Reader | 4.3k words, bad pick-up lines (of course), wingman yaku, more silly than romantic

The problem with assigned seating arrangements is an obvious one.

So blatant, like the slightly smudged pen markings on your desk that resemble two initials inside the ugliest shaped heart you’ve ever seen. You see this as the modern-day version of carving your lover’s name in the bark of some random ass tree, in the same way you view folded pieces of notebook paper passed between two of your new deskmates as the contemporary equivalent of letters exchanged overseas by lovers.

You suppose that makes you the unfortunate mail carrier, then, when you’re the one sitting right in the middle of it all, in between Kuroo Tetsurō and another classmate you don’t remember the name of.

Having worked with him for a few group projects in the past, you’d say you’re somewhat familiar with Kuroo. He’s nice, you remember from your conversations. Smart. Funny. His charm, aside from his physics-defying hairstyle, is the dimple on his left cheek when he smiles.

Maybe that’s why the first time he asks a favour of you, you don’t mind it too much.

It starts with a whisper of your name and then a shoe gently prodding against the bottom of your chair after your initial attempt at ignoring the disturbance. You whirl around in your seat to face him, and with a smile, Kuroo silently motions for you to hold your hand out before dropping a neatly folded piece of notebook paper onto your palm. As your gaze moves down to the object, the force of the atmosphere overpowers whatever effort he must’ve put into folding the paper one last time, so you end up catching a glimpse of the graphite embedded on it— something that looks like a heart and the start of a really shitty pick-up line.

Hey! Did it hurt when you fell from…

Before you can read further, he hovers a large hand over yours and the note, prompting you to glance up just in time to see him flash a smile, albeit a bit strained. He clears his throat awkwardly, even though you’re certain that there is no need to in the first place. “Sorry. Could you please pass this on to Yaku?”

You frown in confusion. It’s such a shame you’re so bad with names and faces because then maybe you could muster up a more intelligent response other than, “Who?”

Kuroo grins at your owlish response. His hand moves up, with his index finger extending just centimetres past your ear. Following it, your gaze lands on the brunet sitting in front of you.

“That guy, Yaku Morisuke. Just throw it over his head, he’ll know it’s from me. Thanks.”

Ah, you think, embarrassed as you hunch over your desk to politely hand the piece of paper to its intended recipient. He has a thing for the shortie sitting up front.

You’ve seen them bickering with each other like a married couple so often around school grounds that this makes perfect sense.

The rest of class goes like this: Kuroo writes a note and passes it to you. You pass it to Yaku. Yaku reads the note, writes something on the paper, and gives it to you. You hand it back to Kuroo. Repeat.

And then over the next couple of days, it becomes routine.

Of course, it’s not like you actually wanted to become an unpaid mail carrier. But who were you to disrupt your classmates’ high school romance? …Even if said romance was happening in the form of bad pick up lines and crumpled sheets of notebook paper with the occasional highlighter-yellow sticky note at eight in the morning.

Still, you do find it a bit strange, the way Yaku’s face scrunches up every time after reading Kuroo’s note. Maybe it’s disgust, or maybe it’s confusion. And Kuroo, in return, always looks mildly disgruntled at his response.

From this, you can only conclude that they must already be going through a rough patch in the early stages of their relationship. How unfortunate.

“Please tell Roosterhead to stop harassing me with these godawful pick up lines.”

Silence sweeps in between the two of you, interrupted only by the teacher’s voice as they drone on about thermodynamics. When all you have to offer is a blank expression in response to his sudden interjection after yet another note from Kuroo, Yaku explains awkwardly, “I’m talking about Kuroo. His hair— it kinda makes him look like a rooster, y’know?”

Out of sheer curiosity, you turn around to see if the comparison is true. You’re surprised, however, when Kuroo’s face is only inches away from yours, supported by the palm of his hand as his elbow rests near the edge of his desk.

“Hey.”

His mouth slants into a grin across his face. Forcing yourself to not search for the slight indent by his cheek, you instead focus on the asymmetrical bangs that fall just above his well-defined cheekbone and the tufts of hair that stick out from the top of his head.

“Yeah,” you breathe out.

Kuroo raises an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side. “Yeah, what?”

“You do look like a rooster.”

(Behind you, Yaku stifles a laugh.)

Ruddiness blossoms from the apples of his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “Don’t listen to that weirdo freak. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” he says, right as Yaku makes a noise of indignation at the epithet.

“Okay, ‘weirdo freak’? That’s funny, coming from the guy who unironically says stuff like ‘cutie-patootie’ and—“ the offended brunet stops to unfold the paper, frantically skimming over the contents of it before reading it out loud “—‘Do you like science? Because I’ve got my ion you.’”

The rouge across Kuroo’s skin only deepens as he suddenly reaches for the note in Yaku’s grasp. However, at an impressive speed, Yaku’s hand moves out of his range just in time, leaving Kuroo’s arm sprawled pathetically over half of your desk, like a large fish dried up against the shore.

(Great, you think. You’re literally caught in the middle of a lovers’ quarrel, which had started over what?

…Bad flirting?)

It’s a pitiful attempt at hiding the evidence of his embarrassment when he passes a hand through his hair and it lingers near the ends of the sable tresses against his forehead, concealing half of his face for a few seconds longer than usual before he finally defends himself.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds, I swear. You’re just saying it wrong because you’re so loser-ish and uncharismatic.” Kuroo pauses, then adds for good measure, “Unlike me.”

Yaku glowers at him, looking like a Minecraft creeper about to explode, though he manages to keep his voice as level as possible when he tries to defend himself, “I said it exactly like how it’s written on this paper. It’s a stupid line no matter how anyone says it. Listen—“

Then, as if remembering you’re here too, he turns to you. It reminds you of when the characters in a show look directly at the camera, and the realisation occurs to you all of a sudden that your nosy self has been staring at the two of them this whole time and very clearly listening in on their conversation, instead of the more informative yet less interesting lecture happening at the front of the classroom. Whoops.

“—how do you feel about this?”

You freeze for a moment.

“About— about the pick up line?”

“Yeah. It’s okay if you think it sucks,” he says. “Be brutally honest.”

Before you can respond, Kuroo butts in with a look of disapproval directed toward Yaku, though from your proximity to him, you can see that the ends of his mouth are clearly fighting against curling into a shit-eating grin. “How pushy of you, Yakkun, dragging our classmate into this just to prove your point. You should be ashamed.”

“It’s called gathering testimony,” Yaku argues before facing you again, this time with a sheepish expression. You half-expect him to start twiddling his fingers as well, but he doesn’t. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“It’s okay,” you say, taking pity on him. “I guess if someone said that line to me, I’d think it was funny. Like, I wouldn’t be super impressed or anything, but it’s just so bad that it’s good?”

Yaku moves his hands up to the top of his head, as though he’s about to pull out his hair, and stares at you like the end of the world is happening and it’s all your fault.

Meanwhile, Kuroo turns towards him with a wry smile, opening his mouth wide, and the sound that comes out is oozing with triumph: “Ha.”

Yaku scowls. Then, after tossing the crumpled up note at Kuroo’s face in a fit of glorious rage, he whips around to the front of the classroom. For the rest of the period, he doesn’t look back, even when Kuroo pleads you to pass the note to him minutes later.

You wonder why it had to be you of all people to become such an unwilling witness to the turmoil of their relationship.

“Are you an exam paper? Because I forget everything when I look at you.”

For some reason, Kuroo Tetsurō is bad at eye contact.

Like, really bad, you think, because isn’t he supposed to be looking at Yaku when he says this sort of lovey-dovey crap? And it’s not as though doing so is impossible or difficult for him; the brunet is right there, standing off to the side behind him. So if Kuroo could just turn around in the correct direction, everything would be perfectly normal and you wouldn’t be sitting here at your desk fifteen minutes before class, puzzled as to why he’s looking at you right now.

Yaku rolls his eyes and slaps a hand against his forehead, looking visibly upset, and you think he’s about to scold him, accuse him of infidelity, break up with him right then and there. You think it’ll happen just like in all those dramas you’ve been watching lately. However, much to your surprise and maybe to your disappointment, he’s a lot calmer than you would expect for someone in this kind of situation.

“I told you not to use that line,” he chides, almost like a teacher scolding a student. “I said that one was bad.”

“No,” Kuroo says, frowning. “You said it was cute.”

“Hell no, I did not say that.”

“You did.” Silence lingers uncomfortably between the two of them as they stare at each other for a couple seconds, before Kuroo eventually declares in an accusatory tone, “You’re sabotaging me. I get it.”

“I’m not, wh—“ Yaku stops and sighs, moving down to rummage through his backpack on the floor until he finally pulls out a crumpled ball of paper. After smoothing it out across his palm, he then holds it up for Kuroo to see.

You try to crane your neck to look as well, but apparently there’s only so much you’re allowed to know about their relationship, evident in the quick side-eye Yaku gives you as he promptly holds his hand up to shield you from reading the note.

Okay, wow. Cosplaying disinterest, you pretend to examine the wrinkles in your palm while Yaku taps the paper with his pointer finger multiple times.

“Look. It literally says right here, ‘the first one sucks,’” he reads out loud passionately. “And then I said the second one was sweet.”

Kuroo’s eyebrows tug together. Then, they smooth out in realisation after he finishes reading the note, but before Yaku can utter something along the lines of “I told you so!,” he turns to you again with the same fond look in his eyes as he had a minute ago.

“You remind me of a dictionary, the way you add meaning to everything,” he tells you, and you swear your heart skips a beat at how earnestly he says it. The problem is, though, you’re not a homewrecker, and you don’t ever plan on being one, so you glance to Yaku for help, even going as far as to blink SOS in morse code in hopes that he understands that this is so, so out of your control. However, he just looks back at you like he’s waiting on your reply as well.

Shit, you think to yourself. What have you gotten yourself into?

“Err,” you start intelligently, mustering up the courage to look Kuroo in the eyes. You still don’t know what the fuck these people want from you, but you try to sound as objective as possible. “The pick-up line is… good?”

A smile paints Kuroo’s expression despite your totally pathetic response. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome…?” You nod weakly.

Nevertheless, when the teacher enters the room, indicating the start of class, Yaku has one last thing to add to this heinously stressful conversation as you and Kuroo take your seats. And again, he defies your expectations because surprisingly it isn’t an insult to Kuroo’s behaviour nor a mental breakdown over what he just witnessed. Rather, it’s quite simple.

“Let’s all go to the library after school today,” he suggests. “The three of us.”

You mull over it for several seconds. Well, you do have an exam for this class next week. And seeing how Yaku doesn’t seem to have it out for your blood just yet, you suppose a study session with two of your classmates can’t hurt— so, you agree.

(Amidst your thoughts, you miss the way Kuroo sends an overenthusiastic thumbs-up to Yaku from behind you, and Yaku roleplays humbleness with a roll of his eyes, too quick for you to notice.)

Ever since the semester started, you’ve created a list of things you want to curse the universe for bringing into your life to inconvenience you.

1) Assigned seating arrangements

2) Your teacher’s strict phone policy

3) Yaku Morisuke

Although maybe you should’ve added it way earlier, that last one is only a new addition as of today, after Kuroo announces to you that Yaku just texted him. Watching him as he reaches down to pick up his backpack and plop it onto the chair next to him, where Yaku should be sitting but isn’t, you can kind of get the gist of what’s happened. You’re already starting to plot against him in your head, manifesting him a failing score on his next test. And— the next time he asks you to pass a note back to Kuroo, you’ve decided that you’re going to say no. Yeah, that’ll really teach him a lesson or something.

Nonetheless, to be completely sure, you stare at Kuroo expectantly until he actually reads the message off his phone out loud for you, albeit in a very poorly done impression of the messenger’s voice that you can’t help but snicker at.

“‘Hi. I can’t make it to the library today because something urgent just came up. Sorry!’” Kuroo shakes his head, like he’s completely in disbelief. “How horrible of him, leaving us to suffer in academics all by ourselves after he was the one who invited us in the first place.”

You sigh at that piece of information, and the verbal reaction you provide is a lot more lukewarm than the epic revenge you’re thinking in your head right now. You can only hope that your facial expression doesn’t give it away. “Guess we’ll just have to study without him.”

For the next few hours, it’s peaceful while the two of you begin to work diligently. Occasionally, he’ll nudge your chair with his foot to ask you a question about the class, which, more often than not, ends up spiralling into a tangential conversation about something totally unrelated. It’s not that you intend for that to happen, but Kuroo is a man of many words or whatever, and talking to him is much more interesting than subject you’re studying for anyway. That is, until the feeling of impending doom returns like a bad stomach ache, reminding the both of you to focus.

This study session, it reminds you of all the other times you’ve hung out with Kuroo for group projects in the past. And looking back, you feel so fond of those memories that as much as you hate group projects and you often wish your teacher would stop assigning them, you suppose they aren’t so bad when they’re with Kuroo.

(Okay, then, maybe Yaku ditching the two of you wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. He’s still on your list of inconveniences, though.)

The sun is setting by the time you exit the school building. With the ache settling deep in your bones and your temples, you really think you might disintegrate into dust after this next exam. As you reach the edge of the school grounds, Kuroo offers to walk you home, but you decline because your home isn’t that far anyways. Still, before you both bid your farewells and part ways, you have something on your mind that you can’t help but let curiosity drive you to ask him about.

“Kuroo,” you say, and he turns to you, a tuft of black hair falling gracefully in front of his eyes like he #JustWokeUpLikeThis. The sunset illuminating the side of his face at this moment makes him look really majestic, too, but you try not to think such immoral thoughts about a taken man. Instead, you focus on being nosy because that’s just the kind of person you are, and you feel like you’ve missed some episodes lately.

“Yeah?” Kuroo prompts.

“Are you really… close with Yaku? Like actually?” you ask in a tentative manner, choosing your words carefully. After all, you don’t want to offend him by making it seem as though you can’t tell that they’re dating because of their supposed relationship problems, but recently, it’s been getting harder and harder to believe it. “He kind of looks like he’s planning your assassination every time I pass your notes to him.”

Kuroo lets out the loudest cackle you’ve ever heard, moving his hand as if to ward off your concern.

“Yeah, that’s just how he is. He’s been my number one hater since day one. But,” he smiles, and it speaks confidence for the most part, yet the pink dusting his cheeks shows otherwise, “if you’re so worried, why don’t you balance it out by being my number one lover?”

Oh!

What?!

You attempt to cover up your shock with a nervous laugh, eyes darting around as if there’s a hidden camera somewhere in your surroundings.

“Wow, that— that line’s so good? I’m sure Yaku will love it.” You aren’t sure of the source behind the heat crawling up your neck, but you tell yourself that it must be from how embarrassing you sound right now because it absolutely cannot be from what Kuroo just said. “See you tomorrow!”

Kuroo can only watch in amusement, tilting his head slightly as you scurry away, a bloom of smoke trailing the back of your shoes.

(…Wait a minute.

He frowns. Who will love what?)

“Yaku, you deserve better.”

Upon hearing your words, one of Yaku’s eyebrows jumps toward his hairline while the other remains anchored to his eyelid. He whips around, catching your arm just as you’re about to walk away from him in the middle of the crowded hallway. Gesturing with his head for you to follow him, he leads you to a separate hallway, where the area isn’t as busy and he can hear you talk more clearly.

He crosses his arms. “What do you mean by that?”

You purse your lips, sighing because you’re about to break some bad news to him, and unfortunately, you don’t have any tissues on hand. You suppose offering him your shoulder to cry on could suffice, but the idea is rather unappealing.

Nonetheless, you tell him the truth, “The other day, Kuroo told me he wants me to be his number one lover.”

He nods slowly, not understanding why you’re telling him this. “Okay… and?”

“During gym class today, he said to me, ‘Stop, drop, and roll! Because baby, you’re so hot, you’re on fire’ after I kicked a ball out of bounds.”

Now, Yaku looks scandalised. “Ew. He really said that? To you?”

“Mhm,” you confirm solemnly, and Yaku heaves a grave sigh, as though the weight of all this is too much. You really feel sorry for him, so much that you even move your hand to pat his shoulder as a way to comfort him.

However, for whatever reason unbeknownst to you, Yaku does the same.

The two of you freeze, hand on each other’s opposite shoulders like you’re both trying to console each other.

“Um.”

Eventually, you awkwardly let your hand drop to your side, and Yaku mirrors that action as well.

“Well,” he says, after another beat of painful silence. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll go yell at him later.”

You come to class several minutes earlier than usual during lunch period just to talk to Yaku before Kuroo gets here.

“Hey,” you say, knuckles knocking against the top of his desk to get his attention. “Let’s make things easier for you and Kuroo and switch seats.”

Wide-eyed, Yaku shakes his head. He glances to the door as if a hideous monster (Kuroo) will storm in at any moment before uttering passionately, almost urgently, in a hushed voice, “We can’t.”

You hold back the urge to roll your eyes. Why do these two have to be so damn difficult? It’s already bad enough having to deal with Kuroo and his inability to make eye contact with the right person when he says pick-up lines out of the blue, as well as his tendency to flirt with you sometimes. However, you had hoped that Yaku would at least be somewhat normal, even if he won’t stand up for himself against Kuroo’s disloyal behaviour.

“Why not? The teacher probably won’t notice since we sit kind of far from the front.”

“It’s not that, but I… can’t say.”

“What do you mean you can’t say?” You narrow your eyes at him, glaring at him suspiciously. He’s making, like, zero sense right now. “Are you really that emotionally attached to this desk? It’s just a piece of wood.”

“I’m not,” he says, sounding affronted at the fact that you would even think that. “It’s just, it isn’t really my business to tell you. If I were you, I’d ask Kuroo about it. Okay?”

You blink at him. “Kuroo?”

“Yes.” He throws his hands up in exasperation, looking like a wonky-shaped fork for a split second. “He’ll tell you everything. Just please, leave me alone. Kuroo’s the one that actually likes… talking to you. No offence.”

Okay, a bit rude, but whatever. Leaving the classroom, you set out on a new mission:

Find Kuroo.

“We live in the age of technology. Can’t you just…? You know.” You gesture with your hands to appear as though you’re texting on an imaginary phone. Kuroo raises an eyebrow at this, finding some entertainment in your actions. You would be phenomenal at a game of charades. “Exchanging handwritten letters is sweet and all, but man, it sucks being in the middle of everything.”

A sly grin eases its way onto his face. “Are you jealous?”

“Literally how did you get to that conclusion?” You scowl. “Of course not. But it’s so weird. I asked your boyfriend if we could switch seats to make things easier for all three of us, and he said no, though he wouldn’t tell me why. Instead, he told me to ask you.”

Kuroo seems a bit surprised by that, for some reason. Actually, not just a bit— he’s very surprised, voice even cracking as he asks, “My what?”

“Your—“ You hesitate, unsure. Doesn’t he know who you’re talking about? “You know, Yaku?”

Kuroo stares at you as silence hangs in the air. Like, really stares at you, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing you say right now.

Then, he hunches over in the middle of the empty hallway, shoulders shuddering with laughter as he tries to stabilise himself with his hands on his knees.

You can only watch, confused.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally straightens his posture. Placing a hand over your shoulder and looking you directly in the eyes, he deadpans, “Yaku is not my boyfriend.”

Just like that, everything you’ve ever known about these two against your will comes crashing down, collapsing, and all other synonyms.

“What the hell?” you splutter, and Kuroo bursts into another fit of laughter. “Stop laughing— what do you mean he isn’t your boyfriend? All those notes you wrote to each other, that pick-up line I saw in your first note to him. You’re saying none of it was romantic?”

After several moments, Kuroo manages to catch his breath just enough to explain, “It was romantic, but not for Yaku. Every time, I was asking him for feedback on a pick-up line so I could use them with— with you.”

You furrow your eyebrows, pursing your lips. “So you’re not dating Yaku?”

Vehemently, he shakes his head. “Absolutely not. Not even in my worst nightmares.”

“…And you really don’t have the hots for him?”

“No,” he confirms, moving his hand from your shoulder to gently graze the side of your face. “It’s always been you.”

Damn it. You were so invested.

Still, his hand is warm and soft against your cheek, and there’s that familiar dimple near the left side of his mouth that you always find your gaze gravitating towards whenever he smiles, so maybe you’re okay with this turn of events, as unexpected as it was.

[BONUS: some of the notes exchanged between Kuroo and Yaku]

author’s note: like 80% of fhis was wirtten at 3am and i havent written anything in a whileso i hope this was at least Coherent :) and Totally Not All Over The Place :)

[randxmthxughts]

Tunutu (Crush) - Neteyam x Omatikaya!reader

summary: although neteyam had never reciprocated her feelings, choosing him was always an easy decision for y/n, one of those she could make in a heartbeat. so when another man tries to win her affections, neteyam suddenly becomes aware of what he has been missing out on

wc: 7,7k

contains: childhood friends to lovers, first love/puppy love, jealousy, long-time crush

a/n: the way i completely made up everything about the vayätu-creature. sometimes i just write without a plot and although i was very excited for this idea, it was so difficult to finish it. i hope you enjoy reading it, please let me know if you do

masterlist

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“Come on, Lo’ak, don’t take it to heart,” Kiri nudged her brother, “You know that Neteyam has been having a hard time lately, it’s not that he pushes you around on purpose.”

You emerged from behind the thick bushes, finally finding Lo’ak and Kiri sitting on a log, engrossed in a conversation. Your curiosity piqued at the mention of Neteyam.

“Why is Neteyam having a hard time?”

Kiri stiffened under your expectant gaze, but before she could even signal to Lo’ak to hold his tongue, he was already spilling out the truth. She groaned in frustration at how senseless her brother could be at times.

“Because our parents have been nagging at him to choose a mate lately.”

Neteyam must choose a mate. Your heart dropped at the statement you had been dreading to hear for years now, ever since he had first passed his Iknimaya. It was never going to be you, you were used to the thought, but nothing could have prepared for the weight of bearing it now.

“You are such a skxawng,” Kiri hissed at Lo’ak, swatting his arm. She shot you an almost apologetic glance.

“Why? It’s not like it is a secret,” Lo’ak rolled his eyes, finally drawing a connection between your sour expression and Kiri’s sudden irritation, "Neteyam has to choose a mate soon, so that the grandmother has enough time to prepare the new tsakarem. He's been putting it off for far too long."

“It is not easy to choose someone to love for a lifetime,” Kiri added with a sigh.

But it was. Choosing Neteyam was always an easy decision for you, one of those that you could make in a heartbeat. He had been your tunutu since childhood, a curious fascination with the older brother of your friends that eventually grew into a frustratingly intense crush, haunting you at every stage of your life. It was by Eywa's grace that your paths crossed with the Olo'eyktan's children when you were about six years old, learning to hunt and running through the forest together until the eclipse. On the second day of playing with Kiri and her brothers, you had boldly declared your love for Neteyam to everyone in the village, turning it into a big inside joke among the clan. If you had known that it would follow you far into your teenage years, when kids your age were relentless and cruel, you would have been more guarded about it. The guys teased Neteyam for having an admirer so clingy, it seemed as if he had grown a second tail. But no matter how much they tried to get to you with their taunts, it never seemed to bother him.

Even as a child, Neteyam had a maturity that went beyond his years. He seeked no entertainment in punishing someone for their feelings, something they cannot control. On the contrary, he admired your loyalty and dedication to him, the way you had remained his close friend, despite his gentle refusal of your romantic overtures. And so, that’s how it went. Your relationship grew stronger over the years, you learned and failed together but were always there for each other to offer a supporting shoulder. It hit a rough patch for a short period, right after both of you had completed your Iknimayas, when you tried to distance yourself from him to avoid any rumors. But Neteyam was persistent to keep your friendship, and so he did. Eventually, your feelings for him were pushed to an afterthought, as you had come to terms that Neteyam was never going to choose you. You had made peace with being just his friend, but your heart still sank at the thought that soon enough you will be replaced.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Kiri’s concerned voice caught your attention.

“Sure,” you gulped, forcing a small smile, “Lo’ak is right, it’s not like I didn’t know.”

“Right,” Lo’ak nodded hesitantly.

The siblings exchanged a knowing look. At times, your crush on Neteyam was sweet, entertaining even. But the two of them also got to live the nasty side of an unrequited love through you. Especially Kiri, who had shared the pain of knowing she couldn’t be with someone she loved, often commiserated with you in it.

“Maybe this is a sign for me to start looking too, you know? Find a mate,” your blabbered without a thought, trying to cover any traces of the stinging pain.

“Huh?” Kiri's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and she glanced at Lo'ak to see if he was as taken aback as she was. This was new.

You had never expressed the desire to find a mate before. Knowing well that Neteyam did not reciprocate your feelings and there was no point in getting your hopes up, the idea of being with somebody else appeared in your mind quite frequently, you just never voiced it. It was scary, the prospect of settling for someone you loved less, simply because there was no other choice. 

Your parents had often spoken of their own bond, a relationship that began as platonic and it was only natural when they decided to choose each other for their companions. Companions, not lovers. Though your mother had assured you that once they had completed a Tsaheylu, everything changed. That the blessed bond is a connection deeper than love, one that is impossible to ignore after experiencing everything your mate had gone through. So with a heavy heart, you had to accept that one day you might have to face the same fate.

“Y/N, are you sure you’re okay?” Lo’ak stood up from his seat and walked over to you. He placed the back of his palm against your forehead, as if checking for a fever. 

“I am not ill,” you chuckled, shoving him away, “I mean, I’ve known for a long time now that I’ll have to accept the advances of another man at some point. Why dwell on something I can’t have?”

It burned your throat to say the words but it was only the truth, and truth hurt. Kiri and Lo'ak agreed hesitantly with you but were still unsure if you meant it. It was as though you were convincing yourself more than them.

“Oh, Y/N…” Kiri began but Lo’ak was quick to interrupt her. 

“No, don’t do that, Kiri,” he shushed his sister before she could even express how sorry she felt for you, “You’re right, Y/N. Do you have any idea how many of my friends keep asking about you? You should get out there and have some fun, I mean, Txi’pu’s practically turning purple when he sees you.”

“Txi’pu?” you questioned, “Didn’t he tame his ikran at like… twelve?” “Yes, yet the man is flustered by your mere presence,” Lo’ak chuckled, “But he seems like a cool guy, maybe you should give him a chance.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“Hey, what’s that about?” Neteyam nudged his brother, staring in the direction where you sat.

The communal dinner was in full swing, right after Lo’ak had given Txi’pu the green light to approach you. You were engrossed in conversation with Kiri, as she nibbled on her food, when Txi’pu gathered up the courage to come up to you and offer you a plate of cut-up fruit.

Lo’ak followed his brother's line of sight and straightened immediately, intrigued by the interaction. He grinned in satisfaction, as he watched you shyly accept the gift.

“Txi’pu is going to ask Y/N out,” Lo’ak explained.

“Poor man,” Neteyam snorted, watching you intently, “She’s clearly not interested.”

Neteyam braced himself, eager to enjoy how you would decline Txi'pu's offer. He had seen you reject advances before with such poise and kindness that the men didn't even realize they were supposed to be offended. It was always amusing to watch. But as he saw you take Txi'pu's hand and stand up, a low growl rumbled in his throat.

“What’s happening?” he questioned with a strained voice.

“Looks like she said yes,” Lo’ak shrugged.

Neteyam shot his brother an angry glare, as if it was entirely his fault, before turning his attention back to you. He watched Txi'pu led you away from the clan, his eyes following the sway of your hips. Eventually, as the two of you disappeared from his line of sight, Neteyam clenched his fists so tightly that the pain from his nails digging into his palms went unnoticed.

He stood up abruptly, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the noise surrounding him. The fiery glow of the flames painted him in a crimson hue, adding to his already intimidating demeanor. Lo’ak frowned as he watched his brother walk away.

“Hey, where are you going?” he called out after him, but Neteyam was already gone.

That night, Neteyam laid in his hammock, unable to fall into his usual deep sleep as he gazed up at the starry sky. The distant sound of your laughter reached his ears, and he couldn't tell if it was real or just a figment of his own imagination. He had never felt this way before when you got attention from other men because you never reciprocated it. He wondered what you saw in Txi'pu. Would you be happy with a man like him?

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The next morning, Neteyam returned later than usual from his hunt, his body tired and mind restless from the lack of sleep. As he made his way towards the communal area, his attention was immediately drawn to you, seated with his siblings, engrossed in a conversation that seemed to captivate them. Neteyam felt a surge of energy within him at the mere sight of you talking so animatedly, he couldn’t wait to join and hear what you were saying. Quietly, he slipped in between Lo’ak and Kiri, so as to not disturb you, and his heart dropped upon the realization that the topic of the gathering was your walk with Txi’pu.

“Did he take you somewhere nice afterward?” Kiri asked, grinning.

Neteyam kept his gaze trained on the ground, not wanting to appear to be invested in your babbling about the last night, yet he hung onto every word you spoke. His patience was running thin, Kiri’s tail whacking him on the back with increasing excitement as you shared more details. He clenched his jaw in annoyance.

“We went to the waterfall, the one by the cliffs,” you smiled, “It was very beautiful.”

“Oh, that’s a good spot,” Lo’ak chimed in with a mischievous grin, “Girls are always impressed when I take them there.” 

“Yeah, sure, Romeo,” Kiri rolled her eyes at him.

Neteyam cleared his throat loud enough to catch your attention.

“I think it’s too cliche. The waterfall,” his voice possessed a hint of annoyance, “He clearly hadn’t put much thought into impressing you.”

“No, it totally depends on who’s taking you there,” Kiri argued.

Lo’ak intervened too, and as the two of them went back and forth about it, Neteyam’s eyes locked on yours. He studied you intensely, trying to read whatever was going on in your mind. You seemed pleased with the outcome of the last night, of the time you spent with another man. He wondered if you had truly moved on from him, and he felt a pang of guilt for secretly wishing that you hadn't. You stiffened under his penetrating gaze, sinking deeper into your seat. 

"How was your hunt?" you hoped to shift the conversation away from the uncomfortable tension that had suddenly taken hold.

“Nothing special,” he shrugged, then reached for the pouch on his loincloth, taking something out of it, “Here, I brought this for you.”

Neteyam had made a sweet habit out of bringing you small treasures from his hunts. From simplest rocks to wildflowers, he always admired how you managed to turn them into something beautiful. He thought that the vibrant blue feather he found this morning would look nice braided into your hair.

You accepted it with a smile, admiring the unique pattern. And as he watched you observe it, Neteyam just couldn’t bring himself to enjoy the moment. His usually cheerful expression was clouded with gloominess. He had hoped that you would confide in him about Txi'pu's unwanted advances and ask for his help, but instead, you seemed content with the outcome of the previous night.

“Thank you, Neteyam,” you beamed at him, but he could only manage to give you a faint smile.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Neteyam tousled the edges of his loincloth, irritation babbling in his chest, tightening so hard from within, he felt like he could snap any second now. His mother’s words, usually held dear to his heart, sounded like an annoying screech, as she went over the same topic: finding a perfect mate. Somebody on whom he could rely on when he becomes the Olo’eyktan, when the responsibilities are too much to handle. That the poor girl, whoever she is, must be prepared for her role in the upcoming few years, and that unlike Neteyam, she didn’t have her whole life to train. So he was being unfair to her by postponing the decision, leaving her no time to adjust.

His grandmother sat silently not too far, hands occupied with work, as she occasionally nodded to agree with Neytiri’s words. There was nothing new about them, it was the same lecture that has been passed down in generations through Mo’at’s lineage. She was sure that one day Neteyam would pass it down to his own children.

“Are you paying attention?” Neytiri asked again, and Neteyam had to nod to convince her that he did, though he stopped listening a long time ago, “She must be strong, resilient. It is important that you choose wisely. I believe you are mature enough not to be fooled by beauty only -”

Y/N was undeniably beautiful. Was he fooled by her appearance? By the way her hair cascaded down her shoulders, those two beaded braids, adorned with some that he had gifted her, framing her face and complementing the yellow of her eyes. By the way her body moved, like the flow of water, gentle and natural, as if every movement was planned out by Eywa herself. He couldn’t deny that sometimes his eyes lingered on her longer than a friend's should. Sometimes, even the way she sat close to him, their thighs pressed against each other and her small delicate shoulder nudging his, could make him too flustered.

“Led not only by her heart but also by her mind,” Neytiri continued.

Surely, you were smart, capable for your age. Neteyam would even dare to say that you were smarter than most of the adults he had known, probably smarter than him too. And you were kind too, with a heart so big that you willingly offered support and loyalty to him, though he had done nothing in return. If it were any other girl, she would have likely cursed him out and refused to acknowledge him for the rest of her life.

“Prepared to protect her clan and her family.”

Would Y/N be a good mate, ready to take on the responsibility of tsakarem? The thought was fleeting but heavy enough to ooze his head with delight. Neteyam took a deep breath to calm himself, feeling overwhelmed by how much the descriptions expanded to you. Neytiri paused, observing him for a moment.

“There is someone already, yes?” she asked, failing to conceal her hopeful tone. 

Neteyam’s eyes snapped back to his mother, as she waited for him to answer. He could only shake his head and mutter an apology before scurrying away. 

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

No, it was wrong. Not after all those years of rejecting your affections, of not noticing when he crossed the lines and you didn't mind, he couldn't just swoop in now. Neteyam had struggled with this thought for many nights since the rumors of you letting Txi'pu court you began to circulate. You would tell him, right? He was your best friend, he had to be the first to know. But then again, it was probably foolish to believe what others had assumed. He had heard you say it to Lo'ak.

"I'm just taking things as they come," you shrugged, seemingly unbothered. Neteyam wished you would give him more of a reaction, so he could make some observations, "I don't think he and I are there yet."

But how could he believe it when he had seen you with Txi'pu repeatedly - the other day, the day after, and yesterday. He had noticed how you accepted the cut-up fruits from the warrior during communal dinners, held his hand, laughed with him - how it all had become somewhat of a habit. Neteyam struggled to maintain his appearances - he’d rather stay hungry than see you leave early with Txi’pu. Why him? The question knitted his eyebrows together in a deep-wrinkled frown, and he turned in his hammock once more, coaxing another annoyed whine from Lo'ak.

"Could you please stop?" his younger brother whispered, trying not to stir the rest of the family.

With sunrise approaching, it seemed unlikely to get any sleep anyway. Neteyam huffed and rose from his hammock, determined that a walk would clear his head. Maybe he was being selfish, greedy to keep you all to himself. But the idea of you being courted by someone else didn’t seem fair, especially when he had rejected everyone, every potential suitor suggested by his mother. Secretly, Neteyam wished that she would say your name, and then he would give her a sign that he wasn’t opposed to mating with you. But was it really unfair? After all, he never really gave you a chance.

His feet carried him away, making a few laps around the village. People were beginning to stir, emerging from their homes to begin their daily chores. Neteyam headed to the camp, intending to start his training early. But he stopped dead in his tracks when he heard your name.

Txi’pu and his friend were standing in front of the training hut, grinning widely and snickering about something. About someone. Neteyam hesitated to reveal himself, but his curiosity got the best of him, and he moved closer, trying to eavesdrop. The camp was beginning to get busy with the morning session, and just when Neteyam heard Txi'pu's malicious words about you, rage surged through him. In a split second, he made a decision. The rest was just as rushed, a heated fight took place between the two men.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“You, go to Tsahik, now,” Jake ordered to Txi’pu with a scowl, then turned to you with a softened expression, “Y/N, please take care of this knucklehead,” he gestured to his son.

You nodded, hunching slightly, disappointment evident in your demeanor. You weren't sure how you felt when you first saw Neteyam on top of Txi’pu, punching him too hard for it to be considered a part of the training. Luckily, Jake was there, pulling his oldest son away from the other warrior before bigger damage was done.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Neteyam sighed.

“You do not look sorry,” Jake scoffed, “So stop with the lying, and go get cleaned up. We will talk about this later.”

Similar to Neteyam, Txi’pu refused to meet your eyes. He looked guilty, even more so than Neteyam. You wondered what had caused their fight, the thought consuming you so much that you almost missed Neteyam walking away from you. Anger began to bubble up inside you at the lack of information. It wouldn't have surprised you if it were Lo’ak, but Neteyam rarely resorted to using his fists.

“What happened?” you asked again, catching up to Neteyam. 

But he only shook his head, refusing to reveal the reason. As the two of you headed into his family hut, you gently shoved him to sit down and began shuffling through his mother's baskets. You quickly settled on picking out one of the healing balms, the one that usually stung the most. You were furious. For not telling you what had happened, for getting hurt, for attacking Txi'pu; that’s not who he was. Careless, reactive.

“Just say it,” he gritted through his teeth, feeling the cut above his brow throb under your fingers, “I can feel that you’re mad at me.” "You shouldn't have attacked him like that," you replied, your voice laced with irritation. More than anything, you hated when Neteyam got hurt.

“He deserved it.”

"That's not the point," you replied sternly. "This isn't like you. You don't go around punching people."

“Why him?” his voice cut harshly through the air, his amber eyes searching yours desperately, “Out of all people, why would you give yourself to him?”

“What?” you frowned, “I didn’t.”

“Well, that’s what he’s telling everyone,” Neteyam rolled his eyes, as if he didn’t believe you. You shook your head, partly to convince him you were telling the truth, partly denying the fact that he believed somebody else over you.

How could he truly think you would do that? Knowing how much you valued the sacred bond, how could you, a woman he had grown up with and seemed to know through and through, give herself to a man with whom she had spent only a mere of two weeks. Without feelings, or even proper courting? And even if it was true, wasn’t he supposed to support you regardless of what you did? The thought stung, bringing anger into your voice.

“And what if I had given myself to him? It is none of your concern,” you snapped, pulling away from him with a sharpness that left him reeling. Your words were meant to wound, to protect Txi’pu and to strike back at Neteyam, “You had no right to attack him like that.”

“But I had,” he hissed, frustrated with how oblivious you were at reading his actions, “I have every right to make a call, when you can’t.”

“That’s not fair,” you shook your head firmly, as if denying his words, “You don’t get to act possessive over me.”

Neteyam retreated slightly. Did he reveal too much? He had always been aware of the deep-seated feeling in his chest that riled up every time he saw you but had never dared to give it a name. He couldn’t let you recognize it before he’d bring himself to confront it first.

“Do you think I did this for you? I am the future Olo’eyktan, and it is my duty as a leader and a warrior to keep skxawngs like him in tact,” he retorted, his voice dripping with venom, “I am not some lovesick puppy.”

You stared at him in bewilderment, struggling to reconcile this angry, unfamiliar version of Neteyam with the man you thought you knew like the back of your hand. His face was masked with rage, as he took it out on you for a reason that had still remained unclear. ‘Lovesick puppy,’ did he mean you?

"Got it," you spat out.You knew better than this - to trust that he wouldn’t hold your feelings for him against you one day.

“I didn’t mean to -” he regretted immediately, grasping at your hand but you yanked it away from his grip and stormed off.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“Bro, what’s wrong with you? Dad looked like he was going to skin you,” Lo’ak plopped down next to Neteyam.

The older brother sat defeated on the cliff, feet dangling from the abrupt edge mindlessly. He stared out into the distance, the sun setting over the rainforest. 

“I don’t regret it, Txi’pu is disgusting,” Neteyam spat out, anger still lingering in his voice. 

“What did he do?”

Lo’ak pushed for answers, since the reason for the fight was still unknown. When the fight was broken off in front of the other warriors, Neteyam refused to voice it. He didn’t want to repeat the nasty words spoken by Txi’pu when you were there and embarrass you in front of the others, even worse, he didn’t want to hurt you. Neteyam didn’t care enough to defend himself, didn’t care for the scolding he got from his father after that. Frankly, he didn’t regret attacking Txi’pu at all, drawing blood felt good. But his father pressed, knowing exactly how to prod the words out of his oldest son. Jake decided not to intervene in the matters of your friendship then, he only advised his son to be mature and clean up his own mess. 

“He was saying these things about Y/N, and I couldn’t just let it go,” Neteyam gulped, his fists clenching in anger, “He told his friends that she gave herself to him without a Tsaheylu. That after years of pining for me, he had finally ‘cured’ her... some shit like that.” 

“What an asshole,” Lo’ak sighed, shaking his head.

“Yeah…”

Both brothers sat there for a moment, giving each other the space to process their conversation. The only sounds were the soft rustling of the wind through the vines and the distant calls of the banshees. Eventually, Lo’ak decided to break the silence once more.

“I’m not saying he didn’t deserve it, but you shouldn’t have caused a scene like that. You got yourself into so much trouble.”

“Lo’ak,” Neteyam turned to look at him, a little frustrated, “It was about Y/N. How could I let it slide?”

“No, I know, I agree,” his little brother was quick to raise his palms in the air to show he was still on his side, “I’m just saying, you never act like that. Maybe the jealousy got the better of you.”

“I am not jealous,” Neteyam protested, “I just can’t stand it that she chose to spend time with some asshole and then got herself hurt.”

“It’s her life, she can make her own choices,” Lo'ak placed a comforting hand on Neteyam's shoulder. He could sense that his brother was battling with something deep within himself, that the boundaries were blurring. 

“But he doesn’t deserve her.”

“And you do?” Lo’ak asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“W-what?” Neteyam scoffed, standing up to show he was done with the conversation, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s okay if it took you so long to realize. Just don’t make her wait any longer,” Lo’ak shouted after Neteyam, who was already walking away.

Neteyam's eyes widened with a sudden realization. It was as if Lo'ak's advice had struck the exact spot in his mind that had been bothering him for days, offering a simple solution to his inner turmoil. It was like medicine to his aching soul, and all he had to do was reach out and take it.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Txi’pu's apology came quickly but lacked any genuine remorse. It was as if he had been forced into it, and by the look on his face, you suspected that he had been, most likely by Jake. The thought of the Olo’eyktan having to waste his time like that and hear about the stupid rumors was humiliating. Neteyam, on the other hand, took his time, letting you cool off, while he would figure out his feelings. Though he hadn’t suspected that the lack of his apology drew a distance between you that you were previously unfamiliar with. He’d steal glances at you during the dinners but that was it. Your best friend, the man you have been in love with, didn’t feel like a safe person anymore. 

He was confused about it too. Couldn't tell if it was just his mind playing tricks on him, or if he was genuinely blind to how much he used to relish in your presence. He gazed from afar with a longing look as you sat, looking pretty as ever. Your eyebrows were knitted in a gentle frown, eyelids halfway closed, as you huffed air out of your plump lips. He couldn't help but steal another glance in your direction, as he watched your head pull back with a loud whimper, your mother's hands quickly braiding another section of your hair, gripping tightly as you struggled to keep your neck straight. It would almost make him laugh at the way you reacted to pain, if he hadn't been so distracted by how pretty you looked.

“Stop gawking,” Lo’ak nudged him with an eye roll, “Just apologize already. It’s been days.”

Neteyam shook off his distracting thoughts, but the knife he was supposed to be sharpening remained as blunt as his mind, struggling to keep up with whatever Lo'ak was saying to him.

He wished he could just go back in time and stop himself from lashing out at you, from taking his frustrations out on the one person he cared about the most. He regretted pressing on the wound in your heart that had been bleeding for him for years, hurting you in the place where it hurt the most. The distance between you two had become unbearable, but he couldn't bring himself to close it. It felt different this time. Throughout all the years of your friendship, you had never fought like this. You had always been there for each other, through thick and thin. Misunderstandings were usually quickly resolved with sincere apologies. But the venomous words that had spilled out of him due to jealousy had stung like no other, ‘I am not some lovesick puppy.’

“Lo’ak,” Neteyam’s voice quievered, “Can you talk to her for me? She might listen to you.”

“Really, dude?” Lo’ak raised an eyebrow at him, “You want me to apologize for you?”

“No, I don't want you to apologize for me,” Neteyam frowned, already getting irritated, “Just make her talk to me, please.”

“Fine, but you owe me,” Lo’ak stood up abruptly, with a huff. Neteyam’s eyes widened at his sudden movement.

“Wait, are you going right now?”

Lo'ak gave a nonchalant shrug as he glanced in your direction, still seated in front of your mother. Neteyam thought it would be too humiliating to watch his brother beg for your attention while he was right there. You would think him as pathetic, a mighty warrior afraid to approach his friend of fifteen years.

“But she’s busy,” Neteyam's voice trailed off, eyes following as Lo’ak jogged over to you.

He watched the way Lo’ak greeted your mother with respect and earned a kind smile from her. You took your time to grant him your attention, tail swishing lazily from side to side, while Lo’ak made small talk. Neteyam stiffened once your eyes landed on him with a newfound harshness. He had never seen it from you before, and he could feel his heart sink in his chest. 

What was Lo’ak telling you? Neteyam strained his ears to try to catch some of the conversation, but the soft murmur of your voices made it impossible. All he could do was pray that the little shrug you gave was meant to be for him, a chance to let him explain himself.

“I will be tracking a Vayätu after the eclipse. If he wants to apologize, he can help me first,” Lo’ak relayed your message to Neteyam.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Your ears perked up at the faint rustling sound, eyes already scanning the area, hunched over from behind the thick bushes. The mysterious spell was casted over the forest with the presence of Vayätu, a creature just as ethereal as it appeared. You felt it was near, just like Eywa, lingering somewhere in the dark. The bioluminescent shimmered over its sleek iridescent fur, concealing the creature, but the two sets of prominent yellow eyes stood out in the densest part of the forest.

Among your clan, Vayätu was one of the most valuable creations of Eywa. An animal rarely shown in the forests of Pandora, that despite its incredible speed and agility, was delicate, easy to scare away. Its only defense was disappearing into the foliage, blending with the surroundings. If a Vayätu got hurt once, it would never return to the same area. 

Then there was the medicine that came with it. Deep within its long neck, the creature had a gland producing thick, viscous substance highly prized for its medicinal property, used to ease the pain for treating big wounds, or fed to women before giving birth. Retracting the liquid wasn’t harmful to the animal, similar to the way your eyes would produce tears when crying, but there was a certain routine to it. Requiring at least two hunters, one of which would hold the animal down, while the other one would gather the substance. 

You stiffened immediately, hand reaching for your leather rope - a signal for Neteyam to prepare for the attack. Simple. You had done this before once, worked perfectly together, and then couldn’t stop laughing as the adrenaline rushed through your blood, jumping through the trees to hurry back home and announce your victory. But it seemed like at that moment, as he was kneeling beside you staring up at your profile, Neteyam had forgotten everything he knew. The apology, along with the confession he had been crafting carefully for days now, were ready on the tip of his tongue. He had to wait for the right moment.

Your skin was adorned with bioluminescent freckles that resembled a star constellation, just like the ones he used to stare at with his father on clear nights. Your eyes glowed softly, narrowed as if concentrating on something in the distance, and Neteyam was too distracted to pick up on it. He had seen you many times from many angles before, yet he couldn't help but be captivated by the way you tensed up, the definition of your lean, delicate arms, and the subtle rise and fall of your chest as you breathed quietly and steadily.

Neteyam was so entranced by the way your body moved that he didn't notice when you jumped forward, your form confident as you chased a shadow. His attention was quickly drawn to the two sets of yellow eyes piercing through the darkness, before disappearing in an instant. He realized that he had missed the signal to attack first.

The forest came alive with the sounds of rustling leaves and cracking branches, as you ran after the Vayätu, hot on its tail. But the extra set of legs gave the creature an advantage, it was faster, putting a prominent distance between you. Frustration bubbled within you at the realization that you were alone in the chase. Where the hell was Neteyam? You were not set for this; speed wasn’t your strength. That was Neteyam’s part, you were better at sneaking. 

“Neteyam!” you called out loudly, snapping him out of his thoughts.

You pushed harder, heart racing, as you refused to let the creature out of your sight, because once you did, you would never see it again. Neteyam caught up then, quick on his feet, as he articulated through the trees. He felt guilty for getting distracted, he had to prove himself to be helpful for you.

You, you, you. You were all that filled his mind. With determination, Neteyam lunged forward, his lean muscular body fluidly navigating through the dense undergrowth of the forest. His eyes remained fixated on the Vayätu up head, never losing sight of his target as he closed in on the ethereal creature. With a sudden burst of speed, he leaped towards it, his arms outstretched as he managed to tackle it to the ground.

You were still a few paces behind, your blood pumped with adrenaline, as you watched the scene unfold. Quickly, while Neteyam was still holding the animal down, you dropped to your knees right next to them. 

“Where the hell have you been?” you hissed angrily, your eyes already darting all over the trembling creature.

“I’m sorry, I got distracted,” he mumbled. You only shook your head, dismissing his apology.

Elderly often instructed young hunters to calm their prey, make them feel safe and connected to Eywa. Following their advice, you reached to gently stroke the creature’s neck, whispering soft prayers to soothe its fear. Neteyam’s gaze was glued to you, as if something intimate and intricate was happening, something that only the two of you could comprehend.

“Okay, get ready to apply more pressure,” you warned, before taking out your wooden flask, crafted out of the root of the Home Tree.

Neteyam only nodded, watching the way you worked. The creature trembled under your touch, but his grip was unyielding, letting you collect the precious liquid and gently store it away. With a pat on his arm, you signaled for him to release the animal. Neteyam leaned back, panting heavily as the Vayätu sprang to its feet, shaking its head and snorting in frustration before darting away into the darkness.

Both of you stood up and remained quiet for a moment, as he wiped away the sweat and grime clinging to his skin. You were too covered in dirt, body exhausted from the chase. Yet, the triumph took over you once the realization that you had been successful settled in. A small smile crept onto your face.

"Nice work," you spoke quietly, “Even though you almost snoozed.”

He chuckled weakly, a little embarrassed. Amber eyes scanned your face, tracing the now smudged patterns of yellow paint. 

“Let’s wash off,” he offered.

The tension slipped right back in and hung heavily between the two of you, as you walked ahead, letting Neteyam trail after you. Navigating through the dark forest was easy, you had taken this way to the pond many times before. There was no need to check if Neteyam was still following, you knew he was. He wouldn’t let this opportunity slide, not after sending Lo’ak to talk to you. You weren’t going to deny it - you missed Neteyam terribly, and a part of you had hoped that the apology would be sincere enough to soothe the pain left by his words. 

The water was still under the shimmering moonlight, creating a perfect mirror of its surroundings. You carefully removed your belt, ensuring that the items in the pouch didn't spill, and placed it on the ground. Neteyam followed your lead and quietly put down his weapons.

“You wanted to talk,” you began first, the harshness returning to your voice.

Sure, it was disappointing, the way things turned out with Txi’pu. You couldn’t help but pity yourself for being played by the first guy you decided to give a chance to. The thought of him holding your hand now seemed disgusting, sent shivers down your spine. But it was easy to dismiss it because for the past week, the sting left from Neteyam’s words was much worse. You wanted it to go away, desperately.

“Y/N… I am so sorry, I truly am,” Neteyam took a long breath, forcing you to look at him, “I wish I could take back everything I said.”

"Don't apologize if it's how you really feel, Neteyam," you replied, your voice catching in your throat. "I just wish I had known sooner, so I would stop acting like a ‘lovesick puppy’ around you."

“No, no, I didn’t mean it,” he raised his palms in the air, as if to stop you, “I didn’t even think. I only spoke out of jealousy.”

“Jealousy?” you scoffed in disbelief. Did he really try to lie his way into forgiveness? “Why would you ever be jealous?”

Neteyam sighed and took a few steps closer to you. Almost too close. Of course, as friends, you had been even at a closer approximation before, but there was something different about it now. Too intimate, like no one else was supposed to see it. Your eyes flickered up to his face.

"Because you gave a chance to somebody else, and... I hated it," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Seeing you hold his hand instead of mine, laugh at his jokes, accept his gifts...it hurt me, more than I care to admit. Do you understand?"

You blinked in confusion, though your heart raced at the mere possibility that he was hinting at what you had hoped for a long time. Neteyam waited for you to answer his question, but when you opened your mouth to speak, no words came out. Then you felt him reach for your hand, long fingers intertwining delicately with yours. Goosebumps covered your skin in an instant.

“Every time my parents talked about choosing a mate, I got frustrated because all I could see was your face… you by my side. And I was so confused, I didn’t know what it meant back then, but now I do,” words spilled out of him with sincerity, “I like you more than a friend, Y/N. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that.” “’s better late than never, right?” you attempted a faint smile with a croaky voice, though your heart was racing like crazy.

Then, as he leaned in, every thought seemed to wash away, and all you could focus on was him.

“Can I just..?” he trailed off, his arms open for you.

You nodded, stepping into his embrace. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in deeply, savoring your scent. He had missed you so much and had been dreaming of holding you in his arms ever since the fight. All he wanted was to keep his arms around you, both gentle and strong at the same time. And sweet like honey, his voice dripped.

“I see you, Y/N.”

You pulled away, searching for his face.

“Can I kiss you?” his voice trembled like a leaf on a windy day, and your own heart skipped a beat at the question. 

You could only stare back, frozen, as Neteyam’s fingers brushed hesitantly against your face. He leaned in and waited for you to push him away, but once he was sure you wouldn’t, his lips ghosted over yours. A beat, and with a shaky breath, he pulled you closer. You surrendered to the feeling immediately, hands finding their way to his chest, trying to touch, feel every part of him, just to convince yourself this was real. With a soft gasp, your tongues intertwined, his taste like honey, sweet and intoxicating, marked you as his own.

The kiss broke, foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch your breath.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "I should have waited for your permission."

You shook your head weakly, unable to form any coherent thoughts. All you knew was that you wanted more.

"Don't be sorry," you nuzzled his face with your own, "I...I wanted this for a long time."

Neteyam felt like his heart couldn’t take it anymore. He was lightheaded, intoxicated by you. By the way your lips tasted, by your scent, by the feeling of your hands on him. He kissed you again, more desperately this time, pushing you back slightly, stepping into the the pond. You followed him without a word, the water lapping at your ankles.

The water was cool around you, causing a shiver down your spine, though you weren’t sure, maybe it was just Neteyam. He pulled you closer, dipping the two of you into the water half to your waist. There was only one thing on his mind - he needed to take care of you, wash away the stress and the tiredness he had caused, and make up for it with his love. 

You closed your eyes, surrendering yourself to his embrace, as he began to run his hands over your back, gently massaging your shoulders and arms. Some of the water he cupped had dripped over your back, relaxing away all of the tension in your body. You could feel yourself leaning onto him more, as if your knees were ready to give out any second now.

Neteyam’s hands continued to roam all over your body, exploring every curve he never had the chance to touch before. Everything that he had dreamed about was right there, under the pads of his fingers. He scooped another handful of water, bringing it to your face this time, washing away the dirt and the traces of paint off your face. You let out a sigh of pleasure, when his thumb grazed the blue stripe over your cheekbone. 

His hands then strayed lower and lower, found their way to your hips and lingered there. He couldn’t move, thumbs pressed into your skin, leaving hot traces. You could feel the heat building in your chore, the desire in his eyes was undeniable. Without a word, he leaned in and kissed you again, his tongue probing gently at your lips. You opened your mouth, allowing him to deepen the kiss, and you felt a rush of heat flow through your body.

“Neteyam…” you sighed softly, your hands reaching for his loincloth, tugging at it weakly.

“Yes?” he asked, as he dipped his head to kiss your neck.

“I want you,” you managed to let out, hand reaching lower to stroke over his length. He pressed into your palm with a groan.

“I want you too,” he planted another kiss to your neck, “But we have to wait…”

“What? No,” you shook your head weakly.

“Mhm, yes… I have to court you first,” he spoke in between short breaths he took, mouth never leaving that sensitive spot on your neck, “Do it properly. Earn your affections.”

“Neteyam, you know you had me all this time,” you chuckled weakly.

His chest heaved as he pulled away slightly, his hands still cradling your cheeks. He looked deeply into your eyes, a small smile curling his lips as he studied your flushed face for a moment.

“I want to do this right, Y/N, will you let me?” he asked softly, like he had already planned out the whole thing in his head.

Butterflies churned in your stomach, and you nodded, your own lips stretching into a lovesick grin. He planted another gentle kiss on your forehead.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

taglist (lkm if you want to be added): @bigdikzaddy @awriana @scarletrosesposts @abbersreads @mechformers @my-love-of-books @avatarbyamara @robin-the-enby @netemoon @minjix @nilrilie @grierpilots @suntizme @live-laugh-neteyam @misscaller06 @darkacademictrash @arminsgfloll @omnifanfic-copycat @crazyforteyam @sakura-onesan @laylasbunbunny

[redclercs]

DELICATE✰CHARLES LECLERC.

xv. he was sunshine, i was midnight rain

— the one where you broke his heart 'cause he was nice.

❝𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘸𝘦 𝘨𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨? 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘸𝘦 𝘨𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨? 𝘖𝘩, 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥? 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥? 𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥?❞ —𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐘, 𝟏𝟑.

warnings: angst, not proofread and pls go easy on me i'm coming out of the worst block everrrrrrrrrr. our girlie is making poor choices pls hate her a bit for it, the last bit is charles centered. 2.23k words (+articles!)

masterlist ✢ next

by Tom Gill

The worst time to have a carreer on Public Relations is when your client is as unhinged as y/n y/ln has proven to be. Many people, myself included, can't help but feel sorry for whoever is on her team because there's only so much someone can do to put out a fire when the person burning is the same one who keeps lighting the matches.

y/n just can't stop messing up, can she? Just when her fans thought she would rise from the ashes with an outstanding movie deal, the 'Queen of Romcoms' has to go ahead and mess things up by proving that people who aren't blinded by her master manipulations are right: y/n y/ln is in fact a cheating snake.

The Deuxmoi post talking about an actress involved with a Formula 1 driver and her presence at the Italian Grand Prix last Sunday are enough confirmation of the fact. y/n is not ashamed to be seen on broad daylight with the guy that broke off her engagement.

Don't kill the messenger, y/n fans. Aidan Kim and Victoria Presley did warn you.

New York, United States, September 10th.

It feels like you've just finished unpacking when you find yourself throwing stuff in a suitcase once again. There is little to none excitement in you as you decide between a couple of blouses and recite Amy's lines outloud inside your messy apartment.

"Wait—that's not right," you huff, unaware that you've let the blouse you like the least inside the suitcase. The lines slip your mind like butter on a pan. Honestly, you've started to wonder if several of your braincells died in the past month. Nothing other than 'I want to be great or nothing' seem to have stuck. So much for how well that single line applies to your life.

"'It looks like it's never done a day of work in its life'," you mutter, picking the script up from the dining table. You have studied it a million times, gone through lines and rehearsals and a thousand other things. You have called Greta and Timothée and Saoirse and they have called you on their own accord to agree the accurate tones of scenes and interactions, and yet you are sure you are still going to mess everything up once the camera starts rolling. "God, help me."

The clock on your phone tells you it's 9:30 a.m. and you are nowhere being done with your luggage. Also, Charles' plane lands in less than an hour and you are not making it to the airport in time. He has a busy month race-wise and he has still made some time to come to New York before you leave for Boston in a couple days and you are both turned upside down with the Asian race-tour.

There is one reason—and one reason only— that Mildred has agreed that you should have these two days off. That reason is not Charles Leclerc, given the fact that she has grown to hate him even if she can admit, albeit to herself only, that he has done nothing wrong. You are supposed to be preparing more interviews and then a prolonged stage of silence while you focus on filming Little Women. Mildred has a whole plan laid out and that is another script you have to follow. No improvisations though, you have been warned.

─────────

Time has a funny way of passing by when it comes to Charles and yourself. Your whole relationship feels contained in a moment and also in a century, and every time you see each other again, even after just a few days a whole other bubble of time seems to have passed. You think it's Charles' way of making it feel special, making you feel special by looking at you like you're a part of him he's constantly missing when you're not right next to him. A 'lovesick fool' you have heard him been nicknamed by people who try to be nice, at least a little bit. Others sneer at how they can't wait for the 'honeymoon phase' to be over.

And it's precisely the way he looks at you before he's crushing you against his chest that makes you hold your tongue for the rest of the day. You cannot bring yourself to tell him the plan the people around you have made without asking for your input—much lesser his— to salvage your career and your reputation.

It nags at you how stupid you're being. Maybe some part of your brain did die between Sunday and today, but you are certain you won't be able to bear the disappointment in Charles' eyes when he finds out what you agreed to.

This visit is less touristy than the last time Charles came to New York. He's leaving tomorrow and you, the day after for Boston, so you want to bask in each other's company as much as possible. You go to a cupcake place and take pictures, all while Charles re-tells everything people have said about his win on Sunday. He's become even more of the Golden Boy he already was in the eyes of Ferrari fans, and you feel love swell in your chest at the fact. You love that he's loved, there's nothing he deserves more than to be loved.

"Will you show me the script now?" Charles asks, taking his light jacket off as he crosses the door to your apartment. A slight feeling of embarrassment flashes through you when you focus on the different disasters around the house but Charles either doesn't notice or doesn't mind as he makes himself comfortable on the couch where several pairs of your shoes are scattered.

"I think it would violate my contract somehow if I did," you chuckle, noticing that your travel kit toothbrush and toiletries are on the coffee table. "I was sure I had those in my luggage already," you groan, pointing at them.

Charles laughs, patting the spot next to him and motioning you over excitedly. "Can I see it please?" he elongates the 'e', with a mocking puppy eye look on his face. "Read me some of your favorite lines," he's suggested so several times and you refuse him every single one. It's not like he hasn't seen you act, Charles admitted in one of your phone calls to have binged all of your movies.

"I can't," you fall into the couch next to him, wrapping one arm around his neck. "You make me nervous, it won't turn out good."

"You see me work all the time," he grumbles against your hair, "And you too, make me nervous. You're being unfair."

"Oh, booohooo," you mock, nuzzling into his neck. "Your job is far more exciting than me reciting lines."

"It is not—"

His complaint is cut short as you kiss him, once, twice, so many times you lose count and he kisses you back between snickers and fake complaints about how there's only so much his heart can take before it explodes. It's so cheesy it makes you both cringe and burst with laughter before starting the scene all over again.

A re-run of a Foodnetwork reality show is playing in the background when you open your eyes after a short-lived nap. Charles is swiping through his phone with his other arm around you, the light in the apartment has faded almost completely giving way to late evening.

"Do you want to go out for dinner?" you ask pushing off of Charles' body and sit and rub your eyes. "Or should we order something?"

He locks his phone and stretches, still laying on his back. "Whatever you want to do, soleil."

You two are way too comfortable in your little cocoon to mess it up by going outside just to eat. Charles smiles, knowing you've already made your mind up.

You argue on the couch for ten minutes about what take-out to get and after you've finally placed the order on your phone, you get up to make some space the dining table.

"Here," you throw the bunch of papers at him softly. The 'Little Women' script is anotated from page one, and it is true that you probably shouldn't be showing it to him, but it doesn't really hurt anyone either. "Not a word, do you hear me, Leclerc?"

Charles laughs before crossing his heart with his index finger, eager to read about your next big thing.

You throw more stuff on your open suitcase, wipe the table down and look through your kitchen for an unopened bottle of wine while Charles reads and occassionally shouts something from the living room. He's so genuinely excited about seeing you bring Amy to life on the silver screen.

"Gooodddd, what's taking them so long?" you whine as you return to the living room. The 'your order is in progress' notification still alive on the screen of your phone. Charles doesn't seem to mind as he makes space for you to sit with him again.

"Couch potato," you stick your tongue out at him, placing your feet on his lap after reaching for the TV remote. You surf through a few channels, trying to remember what the name was of that crime documentary you wanted to watch on Netflix.

"...y/n y/ln making headlines again with her messy love life," the E! Show that's starting has your picture and Charles' next to each other.

Charles' eyes move from the last pages of the script to the TV and then to you. "Change the channel, love," he says as he reaches for the remote himself.

"Yeah," you click on the Netflix logo on the remote and the screen goes black as your phone pings, letting you know your food has been delivered to your apartment complex's lobby.

─────────

There is something beautiful about domestic life with Charles even if it just exists for scarce moments like this. The smell of coffee and the sound of his humming lull you into a peaceful state of mind as you prepare breakfast before once again leaving for the airport.

Messages from Mildred, three or four already, remind you that you must be ready for the list of things she had also reminded you of a million times already.

'how did he take it?' you read from your phone, Mildred again.

You look at Charles and open your mouth. Maybe now that he's leaving in a couple hours you'll work up the courage to tell him about how Mildred is staging your break-up right this second. Which means nothing, right? Keeping it lowkey is for the best, even for him.

Right?

You open your mouth and close it several times looking at your disheveled boyfriend and his sweet smile.

"What?"

"There's something I have to tell you," you breathe out, screwing the already too tight cap on the empty bottle of orange juice that rests on the table.

"So tell me," Charles' smile widens as he puts both elbows on the table, ready to listen.

"I'm really going to miss you." you chuckle awkwardly, and there is momentary gesture, barely perceptible, in Charles' face that tells you he knows that's not what you really wanted to say.

"Me too soleil, but we'll figure it out," he's reaching for your hand with a weaker smile on his face this time.

AFTER months of speculation about the nature of y/n's relationship with Formula 1 Pilot Charles Leclerc, a spokesperson for the actress has made an exclusive statemen for PEOPLE.

"They have never been romantically-involved," the source said. "Their friendship is undeniable but there's nothing more than that."

y/ln and Leclerc have been linked since April and spotted in public together several times, including at the Italian Grand Prix on September 3rd.

"Since becoming friendly they've ran into each other at several events," the source continues, "They are often surrounded by friends they have in common, such as Matilde Bassi and Timothée Chalamet. y/n knows it's too soon to put herself out there romantically."

Despite a rumor surfacing on an online gossip site that they took a romantic vacation together in Greece, y/n's spokesperson tells PEOPLE that "pictures are often released without context to create controversy."

Charles Leclerc has been blind-sided. Which, to be fair, in his career field is something he should be used to. But the feeling doesn't compare to being blind-sided by the person who is supposed to be your partner.

Charles understands, he always understands, or at least tries his best to do so. But this time, it really feels like he's reached his limit. It's not even about how he's become even more of the laughing-stock within his group of friends about how he's been parading y/n around and defending her honor for her to call their relationship 'casual' rather than not even getting a heads-up from her about the matter.

"Is there something you would like to talk about now, y/n?" Charles questions, trying his best not to let the anger flow into his voice.

Charles thinks the worst part is how long she stays silent, but it's not even close to what comes next.

"I tried telling you," she lies.

"When?" there is no point in hiding his anger anymore, even if he doesn't want to fight. This is one of those unavoidable things you expect to hit somewhere down the road in the relationship, not a month into it.

"I TRIED!" she repeats, unable to come up with any argument in her defense.

"You never tried! See that's the thing about you, you just wait for things to happen and then you 'try' to deal with the mess!" His accent is thickening with every word.

"If it bothers you so much—"

"What bothers me," he cuts her off, "Is how you cannot trust me with these things? What did you think I would say?!"

"Exactly what you're saying now, Charles," she sounds defeated and it manages to irk him an extra mile. "You don't understand—"

"I don't understand how you still care more about what people are going to say than about talking to me. I'm your boyfriend!"

There is another long silence during which he can hear faint yelling in the background of her side of the line. On his side of the world it's nearly midnight.

"I've been thinking," y/n nearly gasps, "That maybe we rushed things."

"Rushed things?" his voice is so small now he wonders if it can really travel half-way through the world.

"I— Maybe Mildred is right— I wasn't, I am not ready for a relationship." She stammers, and Charles can picture her pinching her thigh in that nervous tick she can't quite manage to get rid of.

"You can't even take responsibility for your own feelings?"

It's always Aidan, Victoria, Mildred... a handy list of people to put part of the blame on for when she doesn't want to say things herself.

And Charles accepts it. He accepts her messes because he wants her, but now apparently y/n doesn't even want him back.

"What do you even mean by that?" y/n scoffs.

"Can you even be honest with me, then? Say that it is you who doesn't want this relationship, y/n, don't put it on—"

"I'M NOT PUTTING IT ON ANYONE! THIS HAS BEEN A MISTAKE SINCE WE LEFT MYKONOS I—"

Charles didn't want to fight and now there is nothing to fight for, anyway. So he hangs the phone up, because sometimes things end in silence.

It's three am, and Charles Leclerc just got his heart broken.

─── team principal radio: ❝why hello there, i don't even know if you remember this fic but it is for my own peace of mind that I have to finish it!!! also i love these characters a lot, even when they're acting so selfish and stupid—looking at you y/n. Thank you if you are still here and like me, had to reread it to get to this chapter.❞

✰ paddock club members: NO PADDOCK CLUB THIS TIME BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW IF ANYONE STILL WANTS TO BE TAGGED.