#the ones who can’t help but love and love and love

[jaeyuniversal]

you broke me first - l.hs

pairing: virgin!lee heeseung x experienced fem!reader

synopsis: you and heeseung are the school’s golden pair — popular, admired, and constantly shipped. the only problem? you can’t stand him. from competing on exams to gym class, you’re always neck and neck, and no one gets under your skin like he does. but while you see a rival, he sees the love of his life. when you overhear a hushed conversation that breaks you, will heeseung be able to win you back?

featuring: all of enha, winter from aespa, yuqi from (g)i-dle, and keeho from p1h

genre: angst... slow burn, some fluff, kissing, skinship, SMUTTTT, college au, first love trope?? sorta? one sided enemies to lovers

warnings: smut so mdni (18+), alcohol consumption, vandalizing property, Sexual Tension, everyone is around the same age (21-23), lowercase intended <3

playlist: you broke me first by tate mcrae & what was i made for — billie eilish

(smut warnings under cut!)

wc: 13.271k

a/n: first fic is here! plsplspls leave feedback as anything helps!! was listening to you broke me first and got inspo for a kinda angsty fic pls bare with me :3 anyways! enjoy the read <3<3

smut content: mention of toys (but no use), fingering, squirting, unprotected sex (not for you), dry humping, switch! hee and reader, riding, mating press, too much kissing, masturbation (m.), breeding kink, slight dacryphilia, oral (m. & f.), deepthroating, belly bulge, creampie, size kinkish, big dick! hee, not much aftercare but it's like fluffy, y/n has a “reputation” that she gets around, VIRGIN HEESEUNG (but no one knows…) i think thats it? lmk if i missed anything ◡̈

not proofread!

lee. fucking. heeseung. you hate him. you can't stand him. he always knows what to say just to piss you off. you might be wondering, "why don't you just try to avoid him?" the issue is... you do. you try with ALL your power but to no avail, he's in the same friend group as you.

your friends, knowing you hate him, decided to combine friend groups to see if you and him could mend things. spoiler alert: it failed miserably.

you felt safe in your small circle with keeho (the man you deemed to be your biological older brother — you aren't related), yuqi (your junior high best friend), and winter (your literal wife).

you guys were well known around the entire city of seoul for being the "it group" — always partying, hooking up, and somehow still acing every class (while nursing massive hangovers).

however, heeseung's friend group consisted of the golden boys in decelis university: park jongseong (known as jay, he hates his given name), sim jaeyun (known as the australian transfer student, jake), park sunghoon (the insanely hot figure skater), kim sunoo (the bubbliest person you've ever met), yang jungwon (the boy with feline features, however you've made a special note to never piss him off cause he has a black belt), and nishimura riki (known as ni-ki because he wanted to be different).

you loved riki. he was like your younger brother — chaotic, blunt, and always three steps ahead of everyone. you’d even joked once that if you had to suffer heeseung’s presence, at least you got riki out of it.

unfortunately, riki had the worst habit of instigating chaos.

“truth or dare?” he asked one friday night, grinning like he already had your life planned out. everyone was crammed into jay’s ridiculously large basement, music low, snacks half eaten, and bodies sprawled on beanbags and plush carpet.

you should’ve said “truth.” you knew you should’ve. but you weren’t a coward.

“dare,” you answered, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

the group erupted in ooooh's in perfect synchronicity.

riki’s grin only widened. “i dare you to sit on heeseung’s lap for five minutes.”

you almost lunged across the room.

“riki,” you hissed, “you are so dead.”

he just wiggled his brows suggestively. “i’m a baby. you wouldn’t hurt me.”

the worst part? he was right.

you looked over at heeseung, who was watching you like a cat watching a cornered mouse — lazy smirk, fingers casually drumming against his knee. “scared, sweetheart?”

“i’ll kill you in your sleep,” you said sweetly as you stalked over and dropped yourself into his lap like he was made of cardboard and air.

he oofed, not because you were heavy, but because he wasn’t expecting you to actually do it.

“wow,” he murmured, lips near your ear. “you smell like citrus and bad decisions.”

you resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs.

five minutes. you just had to survive five minutes.

but then his hands casually settled on your waist, and you felt it — the spark. the electric, traitorous, goddamn spark that told you this was a very, very bad idea.

because maybe, just maybe, your hatred wasn’t as pure as you thought- no. what are you thinking??? you immediately shook the feeling that was buzzing inside you and blamed it on the alcohol swimming in your blood.

you definitely. hated heeseung. yup, yeah, you really did.

heeseung on the other hand? he was just praying to every god he could think of that you couldn't feel how sweaty his palms were getting.

because he was panicking. full blown, internal screaming, oh-no-she’s-sitting-on-me-and-she’s-warm kind of panicking. he hadn't expected you to actually follow through on your usual threats, much less practically straddle him in front of your mutual friends.

but now? now he was just trying to not pass out from the sheer force of your perfume and presence and the weight of years of unresolved tension that sat heavier than you ever could.

"you're sweating," you said flatly, side eyeing him with that expression that usually meant murder or mockery — or both. "you good?"

"totally," he croaked. "i always nearly die when beautiful people threaten me. it's, like, my thing."

you blinked once. twice.

"did you just call me beautiful?"

"i said what i said," he muttered, then immediately regretted everything.

your brows lifted in slow, dangerous amusement. "you feeling okay, heeseung? you hitting on me while i’m threatening you?”

“wouldn’t be the first time,” he said, almost too quiet for you to hear.

and there it was again. the spark. like a lighter flicked too close to your frayed nerves.

you looked away, choosing to focus on literally anything else, but his grip on your waist tightened just slightly, grounding you, almost daring you to acknowledge it.

“how much longer do i have to sit on this assholes lap?” you questioned under your breath, reminding yourself, reminding him, that this was temporary.

"4 minutes!" jake sang back as his accented voice rang in your ears. fuck, it's only been one minute? you thought to yourself... until he spoke.

“i could ruin us in three,” he whispered, warm breath tickling your ear. he was so close you could practically feel his labored breathing against your back. you craned your neck to the side so you could look him in the eyes, "what did you just say???" heeseung was at a loss for words — his brain only drawing blanks.

did he say what he thought he said in his head out loud? impossible. he's hidden it so well, no one in your guys' shared friend group had even suspected his overbearing attraction towards you.

so heeseung did the only thing he could think of. he gulped.

just as your gaze dropped to his adams apple, sunghoon cleared his throat, reducing the fiery tension between you two to reduce to a simmer. "time's up" he stated. and just like that, the warmth you once shared was gone.

as the game progressed, the most interesting things to occur were jake kissing sunghoon on the cheek, riki vandalizing an old alley way that never saw the sun, and winter lady-and-the-tramping a twizzler with keeho.

you and heeseung never dared to even spare a glance in each other's direction for the rest of the night.

───

you laid awake, staring at the ceiling in jay's basement while trying to get comfy on the leather couch that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe. you couldn't sleep. and the reason? none other than your self-proclaimed arch nemesis: lee heeseung.

your friend groups slept on different floors to prevent you and heeseung arguing and waking up the entire house. you slowly got up, attempting and (barely) succeeding to not step on a sleeping figure sprawled on the floor.

as you walk up the stairs from the basement, you hear two people whisper shouting at each other.

you glance at the time displayed on your phone.

a measly 3:16 am stared brightly at you. who's awake at this hour?? as you step closer to the hushed voices, you think you can make out the unmistakeable deepness of riki's voice and heeseung's annoying(ly hot) whispers, tinged with sleep.

"why the fuck would you dare HER of all people to sit on MY lap????" heeseung shouts quietly, clearly frustrated. riki bursts into a fit of giggles. "dude, don't tell me you feel something for her, don't you guys like hate each other?" he says between snide little chuckles.

heeseung freezes. there's no way riki really caught on to what he was supposed to never let slip through the cracks... right?! so he musters up all the dignity he has left and defensively grunts a series of defenses "nowhywouldieverseeherlikethatsheisn'tmytypeandithinkshe'sgross"

riki blankly stares back at heeseung's panicking eyes, "okayyy," he drags the word out, "you don't need to put her down like that, she's like my older sister, dude" riki spits back.

your lips twitch in a small smile, just for a second. just long enough for riki to catch your eyes peeking behind the corner. he nods once, subtle and solid. always in your corner.

but the comfort dies as soon as heeseung opens his mouth.

"i could never love someone like her."

and the world stops.

he says it so casually. almost like it’s a joke. like it's just another throwaway comment tossed between drinks and half-meant insults. but it lands with the weight of something cruelly true — or at least, something you believe he means.

you feel the breath hitch in your throat. just once.

riki's gaze is drawn to your frozen frame. and that's when everything freezes. heeseung whips around to see you standing there. eyes blown and glossy.

riki shifts, but he doesn’t move to try and console you — he knows better. knows this is something that'll bruise. something you need time to process, alone.

you bite back tears. “right,” you say, quietly. “of course.”

heeseung’s expression flickers — confusion, regret, something else — but you’ve already masked the pain. emotion draining from your face like you’ve trained for it. like it’s a sport. like if you stop moving, the hurt will catch up.

“i didn’t mean it like that,” he says, a little too late, a little too soft.

you readjust your posture, fixing your shirt.

“you meant it exactly like that,” you reply, and it’s not even bitter. it’s worse. numb.

riki’s there before heeseung can say anything else. standing between you like a wall. like a shield.

“walk away,” he tells you gently, and you do.

because if you stay, you might ask him why not. and you’re not sure your heart could take the answer.

riki turns back to heeseung, flames he's never seen before burning in the younger boys irises that are normally filled with mischief and teasing glints. but all of a sudden none of that is there anymore. it's pure, unfiltered anger. raw emotion.

heeseung wants him to yell at him. say something, anything. but nothing comes. riki just walks upstairs like he doesn't even know who heeseung is anymore.

and maybe he doesn't.

───

the next morning, when heeseung wakes up, it's almost peaceful. until rain begins to tip tap on the roof and everything comes crashing down. his chest is tight and immediately swells with regret. so much he thinks it'll spill out of him just like the rain outside.

he needs to talk to you. make sure you're okay. but he knows he's the last person you want to see right now. still, he has to try

as he descends down the stairs, he doesn't smell the usual feast jay would prepare them: eggs, bacon, toast, orange juice and cereal for jake since he claims, "it doesn't hurt his tummy," (his words).

he actually doesn't see jake. nor sunghoon, sunoo, jungwon, jay, winter, yuqi, or keeho.

after last nights events, he expected not to see riki as he was probably with you.

how did he go from having the girl of his dreams sitting on his lap, to making her hate him even more?

it's simple, really: he fucked up.

he moves through the house like a ghost — rooms too quiet, air too still. no laughter, no music playing off someone’s phone. just him and the rain.

the basement still has the blanket you’d curled up with last night. your mug — half full. he picks it up, and it’s cold. like him.

he tries to call riki. no answer.

he tries to call you.

it goes straight to voicemail.

he types out a text. deletes it. tries again.

“i didn’t mean what i said. i didn’t mean to hurt you. i'm sorry, y/n”

he stares at it. sends it.

and immediately regrets it. because what if you never answer?

as he packs up all his belongings, ready for the uncomfortable drive home, someone enters the house.

heeseung's heart rate picks up. what if it's you? he bolts down the stairs and is ultimately disappointed when he's met with a very disapproving jay.

they stand across from one another, staring into each others eyes.

heeseung's the first to break. he collapses on the bar stool at the counter and drops his head into his hands like it weighs a ton.

jay just sighs and sits down next to his friend.

"is she okay?" heeseung mumbles, his face buried in his hands.

jay’s jaw tightens. "why do you care?" he snaps. "you sure as hell didn’t last night when you said you could never love someone like her."

the words hit hard — harder than jay intended — and heeseung shatters.

the sobs break out of him like a dam giving way, loud and raw. tears stream down his face, and the sound of it makes jay flinch, caught off guard by how real the pain is. how broken heeseung suddenly looks.

still, jay moves without thinking, reaching out and rubbing slow circles on his friend’s back. it doesn’t fix anything, but it softens the edges of the moment.

they sit there in silence, the storm outside echoing the one inside, as heeseung cries himself hoarse.

by the time he’s able to breathe steadily again, nearly an hour has passed. his eyes are red, his voice barely there. he lifts his head and meets jay’s gaze; tired looking into just as tired.

neither of them says much. there’s no need.

finally, jay sighs and stands. “go grab your stuff,” he says quietly. “you’re in no shape to drive. i’ll take you home.”

heeseung doesn’t argue.

because for once, he knows jay’s right.

───

your phone dings.

dni: i didn't mean what i said. i didn't mean to hurt you. i'm sorry, y/n

you stare at your phone. gaze void of emotion. you've cried out everything you could muster.

you don't even know why heeseung's words echo in your head.

were you really that intolerable to be around? surely you weren't. all of heeseung's friends enjoyed hanging out with you and same with your little group.

so why did hearing your supposed enemy say he could never love someone like you hurt so bad?

you suppose you need to distract yourself from thinking that heeseung's words have any sort of impact on you. and that's when your door swings open. riki, yuqi, winter, keeho, sunghoon, jake, sunoo, and jungwon walk into your apartment with food, video games, board games, coloring books, skincare — everything you needed at the moment.

a break.

a break from your spiraling thoughts and endless questions you didn't want answered.

there's a knock at the door, jay comes in after he dropped heeseung off, with a freshly made cake, red velvet. your favorite.

you don’t move at first.

the warmth of your friends floods the apartment — laughter, chatter, the familiar rustle of takeout bags and the buzz of game controllers syncing. but it feels distant, like you’re underwater, watching from behind a thick pane of glass.

yuqi wraps her arms around you from behind, cheek resting on your shoulder. “we got your favorite pork buns,” she says softly.

you nod. you don’t trust your voice.

riki’s the one who notices your phone still clutched in your hand. screen glowing. that message. his message.

he doesn’t say anything, but he takes the phone from you gently, pressing the lock button, letting the screen fade to black. and you’re grateful. because if you kept staring at it, you might’ve started crying again, and you didn’t think you had anything left in you.

“movie?” sunghoon offers, holding up a stack of dvd's none of you ever returned to the library.

“coloring?” sunoo chirps, already spreading out gel pens across your coffee table.

“face masks?” winter insists, already tearing them open.

you let them distract you. you let them love you in the only way they know how — loudly, messily, unconditionally.

there’s a moment, in the middle of the chaos, when keeho makes a stupid joke and jungwon snorts soda out of his nose, that you laugh. actually laugh.

and then it hits you like whiplash — how easily heeseung could’ve been here. how almost close you came to letting yourself believe there was something soft behind his smirks and eye rolls. how you’d dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, the tension between you wasn’t just one-sided delusion.

but then he said it. “i could never love someone like her.”

and even with the people you love surrounding you, something in your chest hurts. like a bruise that won’t stop blooming.

later, after everyone’s settled into pillows and half-finished coloring pages, riki sits beside you. he doesn’t speak for a long time.

then, quietly, “you don’t have to pretend around me.”

and that’s when your lip trembles. just slightly.

“i don’t know why it hurts this much,” you whisper. “i knew he hated me. i knew. so why do i feel so broken?"

“he didn’t have to say it like that,” riki replies, voice firm. “he didn’t have to break something just because he couldn’t admit he wanted to hold it.”

you nod, finally letting a single tear trail down your cheek. riki wipes it away before it can fall too far.

he squeezes your hand.

“he messed up,” he says. “that’s on him. not you.”

you hold onto that — his words, their presence, the comfort of being chosen and cared for.

and for the first time since last night, you breathe. not easily. not painlessly. but it’s a start.

───

heeseung didn't know how hard it would be to try and get any information about you.

how you were doing, if you were okay. anything

your mutual friends? after hearing how massive he fucked up, they sided with you.

sure, jay, jake, sunghoon, sunoo, and jungwon would text him and hang out with him occasionally, but they wouldn't utter a word about you. most of the time heeseung saw them, it would be for awkward movie nights or when they would game together when none of them could sleep.

when he was alone, his mind ached, his chest twisted in pain, but mostly... his body ached.

he tried to stop it, he knew it was wrong.

but when you sat on his lap, something in him shifted.

sure he knew you were pretty (breathtakingly stunning), but he never imagined something he thought about constantly would ever become reality.

he thought back to those 5 minutes. the tension. surely it couldn't have just been made up in his head, right?

the way your entire body tensed when his hands rested on your hips. normally he wouldn't have touched you, but you were shifting and he needed to stop his growing problem before you noticed.

and thankfully it worked.

however, he was already hard as a brick.

his breath hitched as he remembered the look in your eyes — uncertain, but not scared. curious, maybe? or was he projecting again?

he swallowed hard, his hands now clenched at his sides like if he let them loose, they’d betray him again.

five minutes. that’s all it was. but it looped in his head like a damn broken record.

you hadn’t said a word. but your thighs had tensed. and when he shifted, trying to regain his composure, you hadn't moved away — not immediately, anyway.

maybe it meant nothing. maybe you hadn’t even noticed the way his breath had gone shallow or the way he was holding back like his life depended on it.

but god, his body remembered.

he shifted in his bed now, alone, frustrated, angry at himself. this wasn’t who he was supposed to be. he wasn’t supposed to want this — to want you — not like this. not in silence, not in secrecy, not in pain.

but the damage was already done.

and the worst part?

he wasn’t sure he even wanted to stop anymore.

as he stared at his chase atlantic posters, he thought to himself. any guy would get hard when a pretty girl sits on his lap, right? surely it isn't just because he's a pathetic virgin who's had to lie to his entire friend group about how he "gets around."

soon enough, his thoughts were interrupted by the rapidly increasing ache between his legs.

his hands trembled slightly as they hovered over the tent in his shorts. his breathing was shallow, lips parted, eyes half-lidded as if he were caught in some fever dream he didn’t want to wake up from.

he hated how much he needed this.

how much he needed you.

with a low, strangled groan, he finally gave in, palming himself over the thin fabric. the relief was immediate, but it wasn’t enough — it never was. not when the ache ran deeper than just skin. not when every nerve in his body was screaming for more.

he slipped his hand beneath his waistband, hissing through clenched teeth as his fingers wrapped around his thick length, already twitching with need. he was so hard it hurt, painfully stiff and dripping at the tip, slicking his palm almost instantly.

your name burned on his tongue, but he swallowed it back.

he couldn’t say it. shouldn’t say it.

but in his head, it echoed over and over again. your laugh. your voice. the way you looked at him — or didn’t. the way you moved. god, he remembered everything. he was haunted by it.

he shut his eyes tight and let his hand move — slow at first, starting at his base and dragging his fingers up each vein decorating the sides. his patience wore out quicker than he'd ever admit, starting to move up his length, then down with just enough pressure to make his thighs twitch. he bit his lip, hard, trying to hold in the sounds. but as the memory of you shifting in his lap played behind his eyelids like a cruel fantasy, a soft whimper escaped.

he was losing it.

desperation clawed at him with every stroke, every flex of his hand. his hips lifted off the mattress as his muscles tensed. he imagined your fingers replacing his, your body hovering over his, your breath against his neck.

“please,” he gasped into the dark — not even sure what he was begging for. forgiveness? permission? you?

he pumped harder now, faster, chasing that high like it would save him. his other hand gripped the sheets, knuckles white. he was right on the edge, falling apart with nothing but the echo of your presence and the throb of need coiled deep in his belly.

“i need — fuck, i need you,” he moaned, broken and breathless. his body was hot, slick with sweat, twitching under his own touch.

he could feel it. the band threatening to snap at any moment.

he swirled his fingers around his tip, hitting that spot that made his vision go white. he was close.

all it took to unravel him was an image of you, mouth replacing his hand. trying to fit as much of him into your mouth while he just laid there and took it.

eventually the thought was too much, his seed spilled over his stomach in thick, messy ropes, his fist slowing only when the aftershocks wracked his frame like a wave of guilt and pleasure colliding all at once.

he laid there for a moment, chest heaving, skin flushed and sticky.

and then it hit him.

he still wasn’t satisfied.

because it wasn’t your touch. it wasn’t your voice, your kiss, your heat. it was just his hand and a fantasy he couldn't let go of.

and no matter how many times he did this, no matter how many times he used the memory of you…

it was never going to be enough.

───

you’ve held it together for as long as you could — smiled through movie nights, laughed at keeho’s stupid impressions, even ate something other than ramen yesterday. but it’s all surface level. the moment you're alone again, the cracks split wide open.

there you are, sitting on your couch, drowning in your thoughts. 

the faint glow of the streetlamp filters through the windows, further highlighting the text message staring back at you

“i didn’t mean it.” 

it replays in your head over and over like a broken record until your vision starts to blur. tears flood your waterline but you make no effort to stop them. 

you don’t sob. you just sit there, hurting so quietly it’s almost peaceful.

until it isn’t. 

your lip trembles slightly, then it all comes pouring out. 

“why? why did you say that? what the fuck. did i do to deserve those words?” 

riki hears your quiet words from the bathroom. he comes rushing out, empathy and sadness twirling in his eyes. 

“hey, hey, hey, talk to me y/n. yell at me if you need to, yeah?” he says. voice barely above a whisper. all you can choke out is a tiny “no, none of this is your fault.” 

riki sits next to you, holding you, trying to piece you back together as if he were the one who broke you.

disrupting the mellow silence lingering in your apartment, there’s a knock at the door.

not wanting the worst case scenario, you answering the door to heeseung, riki gets up and makes his way to where the sound came from. 

to both of your dismay, a tired heeseung stands in the doorway. 

his hair is messy, dark bags under his usually teasing eyes, looking like he hasn’t slept in days.

he freezes when he sees you. your puffy eyes, shaking hands, the way you curl in on yourself like you’re trying to disappear. 

riki steps in front of you, but you give him the signal to back down. you and heeseung can handle this alone. what’s another argument anyways? 

as riki walks away, heeseung starts slowly “yn…” 

you look at him. and no matter how hard you could have tried, nothing could have stopped you from snapping at him.

“why are you here?”  “i had to see you. i had to say–”  “you already said enough, heeseung.” 

god. the way you say his name. all he’s thought about since you last saw each other was you saying his name. and now, he doesn’t wanna hear it ever again. 

he opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it. 

“do you know what it felt like to hear you say i wasn’t lovable? that someone like me could never be enough for you?” 

as if you could read his mind, you shake your head, dismissing whatever he was about to spit out. 

with every last ounce of energy you can gather, you scream. “you don’t get to feel sorry now. you made your choice the other night. i knew we had a mutual hatred, or at least some twisted distaste, but i never even thought about saying something like that to you.”

he doesn’t respond right away. just stands there, frozen. then you hear it. soft sniffles. ragged breathing. sobs.

he breaks.

because this is the first time he gets it. really, truly understands what he did. what he said. what it cost you.

“i’m sorry,” he chokes out, voice cracked and barely audible. “truly. what i said last week… i didn’t mean it. even thinking it broke me.”

you stare at him for a long, quiet second. and then you say it — flat, but shaking.

“you broke me first, heeseung.”

his breath catches. your words land like a punch to the gut, because they’re the truth. maybe the first truth spoken between you in a long time.

heeseung, who’s always so calm. so composed. the one who rolls his eyes at everything and makes everything feel like a joke. he’s crumbling in front of you now. not fighting. not defending. just falling apart.

and then it hits you. maybe he’s always been like this.

watching you. listening. never the first to strike, only ever the one to react. maybe he was never the villain in this story.

your breath hitches. maybe, just maybe, you were wrong.

you don’t know why the realization crashes down now. maybe it’s the sound of his sobs. maybe it’s the way the silence has more weight than anything he’s ever said. but something inside you shifts.

and for the first time, you see him — not as the enemy. but as the boy who let you hate him, because he didn’t know how to ask for anything else.

you replay every argument like a tape stuck on rewind. you were always the one who started it.

the snide comments. the sideways glances. the venom you dressed up as jokes.

heeseung never really fought back. he always matched your energy, sure, but he never escalated it. never crossed a line. not until that night.

your chest tightens. you realize you don’t even remember what the first fight was about. some hallway bump? a misunderstood glance? maybe it was never about anything. maybe it was just you, projecting every piece of your brokenness onto the only person who saw through it and stayed.

god, had he always stayed?

you remember in elementary school, how he used to bring you extra snacks when you forgot lunch. how he gave you his hoodie that one time you were shivering during morning assembly, even after you’d spent the entire week roasting him in front of your friends.

you remember the way his gaze always lingered—not in a way that felt invasive, but like he was always checking. watching over you without saying a word.

and now here he is. slumped into his knees. back pressed against the wall, crying over you.

you were so busy building walls with your bitterness that you didn’t notice it was slowly breaking him. 

the quiet way he tried to reach over them.

you sink to the floor across from him, not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the weight of everything between you.

for a long moment, you don’t speak. neither does he. you just breathe in the silence together — like it’s the only language you both understand.

“i didn’t know how to stop hating you,” you whisper, voice catching. “because if i stopped… i think i would’ve started needing you.”

heeseung lifts his head. eyes red, lashes wet.

“i already did,” he says. “i never stopped.”

your heart fractures in a way that doesn’t feel sharp, just tired. heavy.

“i don’t know what to do with that,” you admit.

“you don’t have to do anything,” he murmurs. “not tonight.”

you nod. once. then you help him get up. both your legs feel numb, but you walk him towards the door. your hand rests on the handle, taking a second to look up at him. really look at him, and you’re tempted to say something. 

but instead, you give him the quietest thing you can offer: a small, broken sort of smile. not quite forgiveness. not quite goodbye.

then, he steps out into the night. and just like that, the quietness of everything settling in takes over. no more lies. just the truth.

as you’re deep in thought, riki walks in with two mugs of hot chocolate — extra marshmallows, your favorite. 

-ˏˋ⋆ 3 years ago ⋆ˊˎ-  

it’s a chilly summer night. you and riki are sprawled out on the roof of his parents' house, the shingles warm beneath your backs from the day’s lingering sun. crickets hum below. the stars blink overhead, careless and constant.

you shift slightly, seeking warmth, and without a word, riki lifts his arm. you curl into the space beside him, head on his shoulder, fingers tucked into the sleeve of his hoodie. his arm settles around you like it belongs there.

“do you think we’ll ever feel like this again?” you murmur. “peaceful. like nothing’s wrong.”

he hums low in his chest. “you mean without chaos or boys who don’t deserve you?”

you let out a breath, half a laugh. “exactly.”

there’s a pause, the kind that feels thick with unspoken things.

riki’s voice is soft when he finally speaks. “i think… the people who make you feel heavy, like you're constantly questioning yourself, that’s not love, y/n. that’s something else.”

you turn your face slightly to look up at him. he’s gazing at the stars like he’s afraid of admitting he craves the one thing he’s always sworn to never care about. 

“love should never hurt,” he says, quieter this time. “not the kind that stays.”

you don’t say anything right away. you’re too busy memorizing the way the night folds around his words. the way he’s always been a comfort for you, the one to pick you up when you’re falling. 

and in that moment, you believe him. you really do.

you nod once. “then i hope… when it’s my turn, it feels like this. safe.”

riki swallows. “me too.”

-ˏˋ⋆ present time ⋆ˊˎ- 

and now, back in your bedroom, the silence left in heeseung’s absence is deafening.

your gaze flicks toward the window, rain still threading down the glass like tear tracks. your mind lingers on that rooftop — the stars, the safety, the version of you who still believed in soft things.

before all the hook-ups, parties, and one-sided confessions. 

you pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders and whisper. either to riki or yourself, you don’t know.

“you said love should never hurt. i think heeseung missed that memo.”

and god, how you wish you could go back to that night — before the spiral, before the ache.

before the boy who made you feel like an afterthought.

before you let yourself fall over someone you thought you didn’t care about. 

riki leaves after making sure you’re alright, mumbling something about dance practice. 

and again, it’s just you. in the quiet. 

then, almost without thinking, you rip a blank piece of paper out of your journal.

you don’t plan it. it’s just instinct — fingers gripping your pen, waiting for permission your heart hasn’t quite given. but then you start writing.

dear heeseung,

i hated you before i knew how badly i could want you. maybe that’s where it all went wrong. because at some point, i stopped seeing you as the boy who annoyed me and started seeing you as someone i wanted to understand. as someone i wanted to look at me and see me. and for a while, i thought maybe you did. i thought maybe the way you pulled me into your lap, the way you whispered near my ear, the way your hand rested on my waist — i thought maybe it meant something. i thought i was stupid for hating you. turns out i was just stupid for hoping. you said you could never love someone like me. and god, that broke something in me i didn’t know was still whole. because even when i told myself i hated you, there was always that small, traitorous part of me that wondered: what if he doesn’t hate me back? what if it’s more? but it wasn’t. and now i can’t unhear it. you probably didn’t even mean it — not in the way it came out. maybe it was fear, or pressure, or ego. but it doesn’t matter, does it? words don’t get erased just because we didn’t mean them. they echo. and yours… yours are still echoing inside me like a song i can’t shut off. i don’t think i’m mad at you anymore. i think i’m mad at myself. for letting you get close. for not guarding the parts of me i only let out in small doses. for thinking i was different to you. i wish you hadn’t said it. but mostly, i wish it hadn’t mattered so much to me that you did. – y/n

you take out an envelope, neatly fold the paper and stuff it inside, writing a neat ‘heeseung’ on the front of it. 

some truths aren’t meant to be sent. some confessions are only meant for the rain to witness.

and tonight, that’s enough.

───

the second the door shuts behind him, the silence hits like a punch to the ribs.

heeseung stands there for a second too long, staring at the wood grain of your door like it might open again. like maybe you’ll come running after him. like maybe that small, broken smile you gave him wasn’t the end.

but it doesn’t open.

and it was the end.

he starts walking. he doesn’t even remember moving his feet, just that suddenly he’s outside, and the rain greets him like an old friend. cold, sharp, unforgiving. it soaks through his hoodie in seconds, but he doesn’t flinch.

he deserves it. every drop. every chill. every echo of your voice in his head.

“not quite forgiveness. not quite goodbye.”

god, what did he do?

how did he take someone who was literally sitting in his lap, trusting him with the fragile thread of something real — and turn that into this? this mess of silence and space and words he can’t take back?

“i could never love someone like her.”

he had said it so carelessly. so cruelly. trying to deflect the attention off himself in front of your friends, like a coward. like a boy who still thinks protecting his ego is worth more than protecting a heart.

especially your heart.

he wipes his face with the back of his hand, unsure if it’s tears or rain. it’s probably both.

he thinks back to your eyes right before he left. the way you looked at him like he was someone you used to know. like whatever thread was between you had finally snapped.

and the worst part?

he couldn’t even beg you to stay.

because he knows — he knows — he doesn’t deserve it.

he walks home in silence, the city around him buzzing and breathing like it doesn’t care at all about the wreckage inside his chest. his phone buzzes a few times in his pocket, probably jay or jungwon checking if he made it back safely.

but none of it matters.

because there’s only one person he wants to hear from.

and you’ve already said everything you needed to say. in the way you didn’t ask him to stay. in the way you didn’t cry. in the way you simply closed the door.

so when heeseung finally steps into his apartment, soaked to the bone, trembling from more than just the cold, he collapses on his bed, stares at the ceiling, and whispers:

“i didn’t mean it. i swear i didn’t mean it.”

but there’s no one left to listen.

not tonight.

───

heeseung isn’t the center of your world anymore.

not in the way he used to be.

in the weeks that follow, your friends become your anchor. riki never leaves your side. winter brings over matcha lattes and blankets. sunoo paints your nails while jake tells bad jokes. you laugh again. slowly, but surely.

you start writing more letters.

some are angry. some are soft. some are nothing more than wordless scratches of ink on paper.

but one night, you write a letter that feels different.

you don’t even realize what you’re saying until it’s already down:

i wanted you. for a long time. maybe even when i said i hated you. maybe that was the only way i knew how to say it without crumbling. i masked want with rage. affection with sarcasm. love with loathing. you made it easier to run. but i wanted to stay. god, i wanted to stay.

you fold that letter gently. tuck it into your drawer. it doesn’t matter if he reads it. not now.

because healing isn’t about him.

it’s about you.

and you’re getting there.

lately, the weekends have felt lighter. your apartment has become a familiar gathering place again, only now, it’s just the people who stayed. who showed up. who chose you. heeseung hasn’t come around in weeks, and no one really talks about it. not in a cruel way, just in the quiet, understanding way that friendships shift when someone slips out of the picture.

you used to dread saturday nights, used to flinch every time the group chat lit up with plans. used to wonder if he’d show up, if you’d have to spend the night pretending not to notice the weight of his silence, the way your laughter dulled around him. but somewhere along the way, those nights started to feel easier. not because you stopped missing him — but because you started remembering how to miss him without hurting yourself in the process.

your living room is alive with warmth and laughter. the scent of popcorn and mango smoothies drifts through the air. blankets are piled high on the couch, soft pillows strewn across the floor where riki is dramatically throwing himself down after losing yet another round of mario kart to sunghoon, who’s grinning like he just won the olympics.

“cheater,” riki groans, pointing an accusing finger without lifting his head.

“just admit i’m better,” sunghoon replies smugly, stretching his legs across the coffee table like he owns the place.

in the corner, winter and yuqi are dancing barefoot to a chaotic mix of early 2000s pop and indie throwbacks — somehow still synced up to choreography you’d all made up back in sophomore year. their laughter is contagious, unfiltered and bright, and it tugs a smile onto your face before you even realize it.

keeho is halfway through teaching jungwon and sunoo a tiktok dance in the kitchen doorway, voice loud and arms flailing with exaggerated energy. they’re laughing too hard to get the moves right, collapsing into each other every time they mess up. jake, unfazed by the chaos, is blending something suspiciously green in the kitchen, wearing a headband that reads “chef vibes only.”

you’re curled up on the loveseat, blanket wrapped around your shoulders, a half-finished smoothie in your hands. and for once, you’re not scanning the room for him. you’re not wondering what he’d say or how he’d look at you or if tonight would be the night he pulled you aside and finally said something real.

you’re just… here. and it’s enough.

someone throws a pillow at your head, probably riki, based on the cackling, and you lunge to retaliate, laughing as the pillow war erupts across the living room. it’s messy, loud, ridiculous. and it’s yours. this little world you’re rebuilding, one laugh, one night, one breath at a time.

there’s still a part of you that misses him. maybe there always will be. but tonight, that part is small. quiet.

outnumbered by joy.

meanwhile, heeseung is alone in his apartment.

the place is dim. quiet. it hasn’t felt like home in a long time. he's been staring at his phone for an hour now, hoping for a text that doesn’t come.

he thinks about the group chat. the silence from everyone. he thinks about the night he ruined everything. and how, somehow, he still wants to fix it.

he knows an apology isn’t enough. not this time.

he needs to show you, all of you, that he’s not the same guy who let his fear speak louder than his heart.

he just doesn’t know how yet.

but he will. he has to.

because he doesn’t just want forgiveness.

he wants to deserve it.

───

somewhere in the chaos, one of your unsent letters goes missing.

riki finds it by accident. tucked under a cushion, edges worn. he doesn't mean to read it, but your handwriting draws him in, and before he knows it, he's holding your heartbreak in his hands.

he doesn't say a word. just slips it into his pocket and walks away.

a day later, heeseung finds the letter folded on the seat of his car.

he doesn’t recognize the paper at first. but the second he sees your handwriting, his heart drops.

his hands shake as he unfolds it. the silence around him is so loud, he can hear his pulse in his ears.

and then he reads it.

every word. every line. every raw, aching truth you never meant for him to see.

i thought maybe the way you pulled me into your lap, the way you whispered near my ear, the way your hand rested on my waist — i thought maybe it meant something. turns out i was just stupid for hoping. you said you could never love someone like me. and god, that broke something in me i didn’t know was still whole.

heeseung sits there, completely still. letter trembling in his grip.

"fuck," he whispers. "fuck."

he shows up to the next group hangout like his life depends on it.

he doesn’t talk to anyone. not really. not until you walk in.

you freeze when you see him. part of you wants to turn around and leave.

but he doesn’t let you.

he stands. crosses the room.

"can we talk?" he asks, voice low, not demanding, but pleading.

you don’t say anything.

"please. just five minutes. if you still hate me after, i’ll leave you alone. forever."

there’s a long pause.

you nod.

he takes you outside, away from the noise, into the quiet night.

"i read it," he says.

you blink. "read what?"

he reaches into his jacket and pulls out the letter. your letter.

your stomach drops.

"i wasn’t supposed to see it, i know. but... i’m glad i did."

"heeseung—"

"no. let me say this. please."

his eyes are desperate. glassy. his words shaky.

"i lied. that night. i said that because i was scared. because i felt too much, too fast, and didn’t know what to do with it. i thought if i pushed you away, i could kill whatever it was before it killed me."

he takes a step closer.

"but you weren’t just someone i hated. not really. you were someone i couldn’t stop thinking about. you were the highlight of every party, every night, every moment. i was an idiot. but i never stopped wanting you."

your throat is tight.

"you broke me," you whisper.

he nods.

"i know. and i’ll spend every second proving to you that i’m sorry. not with words — with time. with actions. with everything you’ll let me give."

there’s silence.

then you take a breath.

"you’ve got a lot to prove, lee heeseung."

he gives the smallest, hopeful smile.

"then let me start now."

and he does.

not with fireworks. not with promises he can’t keep. but with the small things. the consistent things.

the next morning, there’s a text from him. simple. 

“did you sleep okay?”

you stare at it for a while before replying. 

“yeah. you?” 

“not really. kept thinking about you.”

you don’t answer that. but your heart stirs anyway.

a few days later, he’s waiting outside your class with a drink in his hand, the one he used to make fun of you for ordering (“that’s basically sugar and foam, y/n”), but now buys without hesitation. he doesn’t try to walk you home. doesn’t push. just hands you the drink, offers a soft “you looked tired,” and walks away before you can respond.

he lets you come to him.

at the next hangout, he doesn’t hover. doesn’t sulk. he helps jake in the kitchen, jokes with jungwon, lets the others tease him without biting back. when you walk in, his eyes find you — but he doesn’t pull you aside. just offers a quiet, careful smile. like he’s waiting. like he’s learning how to stay.

one night, you’re struggling with your laundry, balancing way too many bags and a basket of unfolded clothes, and he appears without a word, grabbing half the load from your arms. you glare at him, but you don’t tell him to stop.

he walks with you to the laundry room, helps you separate colors, folds your towels when you’re too tired to finish. “i owe you way more than this,” he says softly. you don’t look at him. “yeah,” you murmur. “you do.”

he doesn’t reply. just keeps folding.

you start to notice it more after that. the way he lingers behind after group dinners to help clean. the way he listens, really listens, when you talk, even if it’s just about the books you’re reading or the music you’ve been into lately. the way he starts learning your rhythms again, not to manipulate them, but to respect them.

one night, you find a note slipped into your bag.

“this isn’t about getting you back. it’s about being someone who deserves to stand beside you. i don’t expect anything from you. just… thanks for letting me try.”

you don’t know what to do with that. but you keep the note anyway.

and maybe the biggest moment doesn’t feel big at all. it’s late. you’re sitting on the floor of your apartment, overwhelmed with everything—assignments, memories, feelings you’ve tried to ignore—and he shows up.

he doesn’t say anything. just sits beside you. close, but not too close. his shoulder brushes yours. your hand trembles. and without looking at you, he says, “you don’t have to talk. just let me sit here.”

and you do.

because he’s not trying to fix you. he’s just showing up. and maybe that’s what love looks like now.

quiet. patient. real.

you don’t forgive him all at once.

but some nights, it’s harder to pretend you don’t want to.

like the night it rains, and you forget your umbrella. you’re standing under the campus archway, clutching your books to your chest, half-considering just running for it, when a quiet voice says, “hey.”

you turn. heeseung’s holding out his umbrella, expression unreadable, hair already wet from the walk over.

“you’ll get soaked,” you mumble, surprised. “i don’t mind,” he says. “but you hate the rain.”

you want to tell him to leave. want to remind him that knowing those things doesn’t mean he’s forgiven.

but instead, you step under the umbrella. shoulder to shoulder. hearts too close. you don’t say a word the whole walk home. but you remember how he always matched his pace to yours. he still does.

───

there’s another time. movie night.

everyone’s over again, sprawled across the living room. you end up between yuqi and jungwon on the couch, but at some point, someone moves, and when you shift, you realize you’re next to him. again.

the movie plays. people whisper and pass snacks and argue over the plot twist. but all you feel is the space between your knee and his. the ghost of warmth where your arms nearly brush.

you don’t move away. neither does he.

and at one point, you laugh at a stupid scene. without thinking, you glance at him, wanting to see if he found it funny too. he’s already looking at you. and for a second, everything stills.

you look away first. but your heart doesn't stop racing for a long, long time.

───

the third moment is softest of all.

it’s late. everyone’s left. you’re cleaning up alone, stacking plates in the kitchen.

you don’t hear him come back until he’s beside you, rolling up his sleeves.

“thought i’d help,” he says gently. you nod. don’t speak.

you’re both quiet for a while, working in sync. something about it feels… familiar. domestic. like home.

then, as you’re drying the last cup, you glance over. he’s watching you, and there’s something in his eyes. something tender. careful. full of things he hasn’t said yet.

“i miss you,” he says softly. 

your breath catches.

you set the cup down.

“heeseung–”

“i’m not asking for anything,” he interrupts, voice thick. “just… i miss you. and i wanted you to know.”

you swallow hard. there’s so much you could say. but instead, you whisper, “i know.”

he nods once. and then he leaves. because he meant it — he wasn’t asking for anything. but that’s the moment you know: you don’t hate him anymore. you never did. 

───

it happens a week later.

a rooftop. stars overhead. winter’s birthday, most of your friends are tipsy on alcohol, sugar and too many karaoke songs. you haven’t had a drop of alcohol, wanting to truly feel everything.

heeseung finds you leaning against the railing, eyes on the sky.

“hey,” he says. you nod and let him stand beside you.

the silence isn’t awkward anymore. it’s soft. steady.

“can i ask you something?” he says, barely audible.

you hum.

“do you still feel it?” he asks. “whatever it was… whatever we had.”

you don’t answer for a long time.

and then, quietly… “i never really stopped.”

he turns. slowly.

your eyes meet. and in them is every apology he’s ever whispered with his actions. every moment he gave you space. every time he showed up when he didn’t have to.

you reach for him first.

your hand brushes his. his fingers curl around yours like a prayer.

and then, finally, he kisses you.

soft. aching. full of every unspoken word, every almost, every could’ve been. this isn’t the kind of kiss that demands anything. it’s a promise. a beginning.

you pull back first, just enough to whisper, “i don’t wanna do this while you’re intoxicated, i don’t want you to regret it.” 

he stares at you before mumbling into your lips.

“y/n, i haven’t had a drink, but it feels like i’m drunk when i kiss you.” 

your heart stops and everything fades into the background. “don’t break me again.” you plead, face inches away from his. 

he presses his forehead to yours.

“never again,” he breathes.

and this time, you believe him.

as he reconnects your lips, his hands tremble slightly where they find purchase on your waist. the night air is cool, but your skin is burning—flushed, alive, and aching in a way you haven’t let yourself feel in so long.

he pulls back just enough to look at you. his eyes flick between yours and your lips, like he’s still not sure this is real.

“we don’t have to,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “just say the word.”

but you don’t want him to stop. not tonight. not after everything.

so you slide your fingers into the collar of his jacket, tug him closer until your lips brush his again.

“take me home, heeseung.”

and he does.

his apartment is quiet when you get inside, the chaos of the earlier party gone, the night still humming with something electric. you barely have time to kick your shoes off before his mouth finds yours again. hungrier now, more desperate. like all the restraint he’s shown is unraveling, thread by thread.

his hands are everywhere — your hips, your waist, your jaw. like he’s relearning you. memorizing the weight of you against him.

you tug his jacket off, fingers fumbling with the zipper, and he lets out a low, breathless laugh against your neck.

“still impatient,” he teases.

“still hot when you shut up,” you shoot back, and he groans.

you barely make it to the couch.

he sits first, pulling you into his lap like it’s instinct, like he’s needed this for months. your knees straddle him, bodies pressed chest to chest, your hands tangled in his hair as he kisses you like he’s starving for it.

he tilts his head, deepens the kiss, and it’s filthy. slow. wet. your hips roll against his without thinking, and the noise he makes, low and guttural, goes straight to your core.

“fuck,” he groans. forehead against your collarbone. “you’re gonna kill me.”

you arch into him, tug his shirt over his head, and he follows suit, fingers slipping under the hem of yours, eyes flicking up for permission. you nod, and he peels it off slowly, reverently, like unwrapping something precious.

his hands trail over your skin like he’s trying to remember what it feels like to deserve you.

and then his mouth is on your neck, your shoulder, trailing down until you’re gasping his name, your back arching as he presses kisses across your collarbones.

“you’re so beautiful,” he whispers, like it hurts.

as you reach for his belt wanting to make him feel good, he puts his hand over yours. “there’s something i need to tell you.. before we take anything further.” he says like he doesn’t even want you to know. 

“what is it, hee?” 

god. that nickname. 

it’s what all his close friends call him, however when you say it. he wants to lay the world at your feet. 

“i’m.. uh– a vir-virgin…” he mumbles. you would have missed it had you not been paying close attention. 

you laugh. 

heeseung leans back into the couch, hoping, praying, wishing it to swallow him whole. 

as you observe heeseung, you realize he must be serious. “you’re a virgin? but you– you always used to talk about your hook-ups and how every week it was like you had someone new hanging off your arm??? what do you mean you’re a virgin?” 

he whimpers. he fucking whimpers. “i’m not proud of it, okay? i always came really close to hooking up with girls but i um. i couldn’t you know.. get it… up.” 

you sit there quietly, giving him time to compose himself and continue. 

“everytime i tried to lose my virginity, i couldn’t get hard unless i thought she was you,” he speaks, not gaining enough courage to look you in the eyes. 

you stare at heeseung for a moment, trying to process what he just said. the weight of it settles between you like a delicate secret, and suddenly the playful teasing tone you’d had before feels completely inappropriate.

you can see it in his doe eyes — how embarrassed he is, how much he wants to crawl out of his own skin. the corners of his lips are tugged in a tight line, as if holding in every emotion that threatens to spill out. but you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face. it’s soft, gentle, but laced with a teasing warmth.

“you’re a virgin?” you ask, letting the words linger a little longer than they should, pretending to be surprised as if he hadn’t just told you, twice.

heeseung’s face reddens, and you see him shrink further into the couch. you could almost feel his desire to hide, to escape. but you don’t let him. instead, you move closer, shifting between his legs, and place your hand on his thigh. a gentle, reassuring pressure.

“god, heeseung,” you tease softly, your lips curling into a smile that isn’t cruel, but playful. “how could you keep that from me? you’ve been all… big talk and ‘i get all the girls,’ and here you are, this nervous little thing, blushing at the thought of being with me?”

his eyes flicker with uncertainty, but you lean in just enough to press your lips to his ear. you feel him tense under the touch, and the subtle shiver runs through his body, telling you everything you need to know. he’s not as confident as he makes it seem.

“you should’ve told me sooner, you know,” you whisper, your voice low, just enough to make his breath hitch. “i would’ve been patient. we could’ve taken it slow.”

heeseung groans softly, his hands gripping the fabric of the couch like he’s holding onto some semblance of control. you smile knowingly, watching the struggle on his face. but it’s not discomfort — it’s desire. you can feel it in the way his eyes refuse to leave yours, in the way his body reacts to the gentleness in your touch.

“i… i don’t want you to think less of me,” he mutters, barely audible, but you catch it anyway. “it’s just… with you, it’s always felt different.”

you gently trace your fingers up his chest, watching as his breath quickens. you’re giving him space to breathe, to process, and then you lean in, brushing your lips against his in a soft, teasing kiss.

“stop worrying about that,” you say quietly, your lips just barely touching his. “i don’t think less of you. if anything, you’re hotter right now than ever before.”

the vulnerability in his eyes shifts. he’s still nervous, but the weight is lifting. and for the first time in a while, you see him start to believe that he doesn’t need to hide anything from you.

then, you shift your focus, teasing him once more with a playful grin. “but you know, heeseung… i could help you with that. we could take this slow, maybe help you get comfortable with what it feels like to be with me. you trust me, don’t you?”

he nods, slowly, not trusting his voice. he’s ready. maybe more than he thought.

and you take that as your cue. you kiss him again, deeper this time, letting the heat between you grow. his body responds to you almost immediately. hands shifting from nervous to eager, pulling you closer as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

“let me take care of you,” you murmur, your hands trailing down to his belt. this time, you don’t hesitate. you undo it slowly, giving him time to react, but he doesn’t stop you. instead, he leans back into the couch, chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.

heeseung’s eyes search yours one more time, a silent question in them. you nod gently, giving him permission to be vulnerable, to trust you fully.

and when your hands pull his pants down, you can feel the heat of him, see the evidence of his desire. you take your time, enjoying the way he reacts to each touch, savoring the way he trembles under your hands.

you start by rubbing over his bulge when your eyes widen. 

he just stares back at you, not blinking, but incredibly nervous. “is– is something wrong?” he stutters out. 

“wrong? no, heeseung. you’re huge.” 

he blushes and hides his face in his hands. his veiny hands. you’ll definitely need to put those to use later. 

you softly drag his hands away from his face and tell him to never hide from you. you think he’s beautiful like this. 

after he calms down, you look back into his eyes that resemble a deer, and he nods. signaling you to continue. 

you finally trail your eyes down to his raging hard on, you can almost see it pulse. 

his breath quickens the longer you take to begin touching him.

you start by teasing his swollen tip, arousal evident in the stain on his gray boxers. he sighs heavily, tipping his head back.

as you rub your hand down to his base, you get a feel for how thick he truly is. 

he’s hard. aching. even at the slightest touch, his eyebrows furrow and he holds back soft groans. 

you rip your hand off his clothed bulge. “if you want me to continue, you need to let me hear you, baby.” 

that was his breaking point, he quickly nods his head yes looking at you with pleading eyes, “c—can you please touch me? it hurts.” 

not wanting to tease him any longer, you rip his boxers off his thighs and his throbbing length slaps against his lower abdomen reaching just above his belly button. precum smears on his abs and you get the urge to lick it off.

so you do.

you gently move his dick away from his toned stomach, swiping your wet muscle along his abs, sucking to leave light marks. 

the noises he makes are downright pornographic, and you think you’ll never be able to hear them enough.

moving your attention back to the hardness in your grasp, you begin to lick up his shaft, tracing each vein with the tip of your tongue. his head is still tipped back, frustrating you a bit because you want his attention on you. 

so… in one swift motion, you take him down your throat until his tip hits the back. his head shoots up and he moans. loud. 

heeseung is in heaven. the feeling of your throat constricting around his cock, he never wants you to pull off of him. he gently pulls your hair into a ponytail, hands shaking when you start moving.

his apartment is filled with filthy noises: wet, loud, and obscene. 

he can hear and feel your gag reflexes kicking in but you don’t budge. you continue to move up and down, not wanting to stop until he cums. 

his tipping point was you somehow taking him even further down your throat, nose brushing his pelvis. he thought you were going to take a break for air but you didn't. 

you stay.

swallowing around him.

the pressure in your jaw is almost unbearable but when you feel his thighs shaking, you know he’s close. and you need to ruin him. 

hollowing your cheeks, you swirl your tongue around his engorged tip, hands coming up to play with his heavy balls. he can’t hold back anymore. the sensation of you taking his whole cock down your tiny throat and the stimulation of his balls in your hands. he groans. 

desperate. low. deep

and spills down your throat. warm, wet, and sticky ropes, pour out of his tip. taking up all the space you had left, some spilling out from the corners of your mouth.

you swallow all that you can, then pull off from his dick. 

heavy breathing is the only thing that can be heard. heeseung threw an arm over his eyes, chest heaving, trying to regain control of his senses.

meanwhile, you haven’t stopped clenching your thighs together. 

you didn’t even notice you were staring until he clears his throat. he just looks so gorgeous all fucked out.

“wow. did you– swallow.. it?” he asks through pants. 

you answer him like it was the most natural thing in the world, “yeah, because it was you” 

he moans, again. and that’s when you notice he’s still hard, still aching. 

as you move to straddle his lap, he grabs your thighs and wraps your legs around his waist. “not here, i want our first time to be special” he says softly, with a kiss to your temple. 

he carries you to his bedroom on wobbly legs and gently lays you down on his bed, hovering on top of you. he plants wet kisses all over your face, trailing down to your neck, collarbones, until he reaches your covered chest.

looking at you with big, lust filled eyes, he waits for your green light. you nod and he fumbles with your bra clasp, eventually tearing the fabric away. 

“you’re stunning,” he says completely awestruck by your half-naked form. 

as he continues staring, he licks his lips, slowly lowering his head wrapping his soft lips around one of your perky buds. 

you instinctively arch into his touch, one of his hands wrapping around your waist as his other hand gently kneads your other boob. soft gasps and whines slip from your lips as you try to grind up in search of any friction where you need it most. 

he senses your desperate pleas and starts moving his body to slot between your legs, face in front of your clothed core. you wiggle your hips trying to convince him to speed up and touch you where you need it the most. 

“can i…?” he practically begs, “yeah” you sigh as you relax into his plush sheets. he drags your sweats down your soft legs planting kisses along the inside of your thighs, all the way down to your calves. he makes his way to your panty clad pussy, pressing a soft kiss to your bundle of nerves aching for him. 

you don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on before.

he looks so good between your thighs, you want this image ingrained into your brain forever. 

he brings his thumb up to press on the wet spot that’s formed on your panties, groaning, “fuck, you’re so wet.” 

“all for you.” 

he replays those words in his head and his patience snaps. tearing your underwear in half, he wastes no time. tongue lapping and the wetness between your legs, like he’s been deprived of any liquid all his life.

you’ve never met someone this desperate to eat you out. or anyone for that matter.

he mumbles against your core, “guide me, please, wan’ you t’feel good, mmh.”

your hands take place in his silky soft roots, gently tugging on the strands. 

through whimpers, you tell him to focus on your clit, and surprisingly (for a virgin), he finds it fairly quickly. 

he briefly sucks on the nub, flicking it with his tongue to soothe it. “fuck, hee” you moan out into the space of his bedroom. 

he groans against your pussy, carefully bringing up his fingers so he can push his tongue into your awaiting hole. the moment he starts fucking you with his tongue, you arch your back and grind into his face, needing more. 

he heard his friends talking about “prep” and “stretching girls out,” so he wonders if you need to be stretched out to take him. you said he was huge, did you mean it? he has no idea, he’s a pathetic virgin who has only shoved his dick into his right hand. not even a pocket pussy or fleshlight. 

to your dismay, he pulls away for a brief second asking if he should use his fingers. “please, i need you to stretch me out, i can’t– take you without prep,” you rush out feeling your high not far away.

“shit, okay baby,” he mutters back before bringing his middle finger up to spread your juices around. 

your hips jerk up when he focuses on your clit, surprised by the stimulation. 

slowly, he pushes his finger in, getting used to the warm sensation of your walls. 

you clench around his thick digit, feeling fuller than when you finger yourself. as he pumps it in and out, you tell him to add another one and he does. 

moaning in relief, you arch into his touch as his tongue finds its way back to your sensitive clit. 

between him lapping like a dog and the feeling of two of his fingers pumping in and out of your tight hole, you feel a familiar band in your stomach building up.

your moans increase and heeseung feels dizzy, taking in all that you give.

he curves his fingers all while sucking on your bundle of nerves, causing you to tip over the edge and that band in your stomach to snap. 

you come crashing down, chanting his name like a mantra as heeseung helps you ride out your high. 

as you lift your head and meet his gaze, he looks more fucked out than you do. hooded eyes, tongue lolled out of his mouth, gaze consumed with lust. you pull him by the collar of his shirt until your lips collide in a mess of tongues and teeth. 

your makeout session unfortunately doesn’t last long as heeseung starts whining into your lips. 

that’s when you realize his cock found your bent knee, not so subtly grinding against it, trying to relieve some of the ache. 

“feeling needy, are we?” you tease, earning a playful roll of the eyes from heeseung. 

pulling back, you drink in his bare torso– he’s always been muscular as he was very popular with the ladies (until he got into bed with them). 

dragging your hand up his chiseled abs, his stomach tenses and his dick twitches. 

you found his second biggest weakness, besides you. his abs. 

deciding to end the teasing there, since you’re also becoming increasingly impatient, you flip him over so you land on top of him with a quiet, “oof.” 

as you settle your bare core on his rock solid cock, you start grinding, placing your hands on his chest for support. 

he can’t hold back the guttural groans spilling from his mouth. not believing you’re really on top of him right now. this isn’t just one of his wet dreams. 

he thought this couldn’t get any better, but when he struggles to get out a weak ask for a condom, you just respond with “no, i’m– on the pill. need to feel you. all of you.” 

and to that, he moans, not believing his ears. 

it’s his first time. and he’s about to have sex with YOU. raw. he thinks he’s dreaming. there’s no way you’re real.

you gently angle his dick towards your awaiting hole, sinking down until his fat tip is inside you.

instantly, you both sigh in relief, starting to feel the pressure ease up. 

if you feel a stretch at his tip entering you, you don’t know how you’re supposed to fit all of him inside you. he’s the biggest you’ve seen and he doesn’t even know it.

your attention is drawn back to the man consuming your brain when he whines. “m-more, please.” he’s becoming needier the longer you stay at just his tip but you don’t know how to tell him you’ve never taken a size like him before.

“hee-heeseung i need a sec, you’re– fuck. so thick,” you say between moans. 

his grip on your hips tightens, a silent way of telling you to take your time. 

when you finally deem yourself ready, you sink lower, wanting to speed it up, bracing the stretch to come. 

you feel him pulsing inside you and that’s all you need to sink all the way down, him bottoming out inside you. 

it’s his first time feeling anything other than his hand wrapped around him, and he whimpers, loud. it’s overstimulating in the best way possible and before he knows it you move up to his tip and bounce back down. his dick twitches and you feel it. every vein, every pulse, every movement, even his heavy breathing. 

heeseung, not in control of his movements, bucks his hips up, making another non-existent inch fit inside your stretched out core. 

you moan soft and loud, eyes rolling back, as the pain turned into pleasure. bouncing faster on his girthy cock, you uncontrollably clench around him, causing heeseung’s grip to tighten. you know it’ll bruise tomorrow, but at the moment, he feels too good for you to care. 

the room smells of sex, and the only sounds that can be heard are skin clapping and your shared noises. 

heeseung must notice your legs becoming tired because before you know it, you’re flat on your back with heeseung on top of you, cock never slipping out from your pussy. 

his large hands grab each of your thighs, pressing them to your chest.

his pace is slow at first, testing the waters, getting a feel for a rhythm. 

as his hands stay pressed to your thighs, he slowly drags out and pushes all of his dick inside you. 

you feel him deeper in this position, a bulge forming in your lower belly. 

when he notices, his eyes stay glued there.

you wonder what he’s looking at but the moment you look down, you’re met with his hand pressing slightly on the bulge causing the loudest moan to leave your lips. 

he signals you to hold your thighs as one of his hands holds himself up and the other focuses on how he can feel his dick inside your guts with every thrust. 

his pace suddenly quickens when you clench hard around him, making his hips stutter briefly. 

endless praises leave his pretty lips, telling you how good you feel, how hot you look laid underneath him, taking whatever he gives you. 

feeling a familiar, yet new sensation building rapidly, you try to warn him that you’re close but somehow, he already knows. “i know baby, let go whenever you want.” he mutters back, feeling just as close to his high.

“fuck– where do you want it?” he rushes out, not wanting to cum inside you if that isn’t what you want. 

but apparently, all the gods are smiling down on him as you release your thighs from the grip you had on them and wrap your legs around his waist. “inside,” you moan. 

and at that, he cums. hard. ropes of his hot, gooey, cum spill inside you. tipping you over the edge.

with a loud groan, clear liquid comes rushing out from you, spraying all over his sheets and lower abdomen. soaking his dick. 

heeseung moans. again. raw and unfiltered at the fact that you just squirted all over him (he’s seen enough porn and heard too many stories from your shared friend group to know what squirting is). 

as you come down from your high, heeseung is somehow still cumming. it spills out of you, creating an even stickier mess on his bed. but he doesn’t care. 

not when you’re beneath him, chest rising rapidly, trying to catch your breath. 

heeseung’s cock is still lodged inside you, holding half of his cum inside you, not wanting it to go to waste. 

as he collapses on top of you, he places a soft kiss on your forehead, holding your trembling body close to his.

you were the first to speak, “i didn’t even know i could do that,” talking about how you squirted all over him. “guess we both had firsts today,” he softly chuckles. 

his breath is warm against your skin, his arm tightening just a little around your waist as if anchoring himself in the moment. you don’t respond right away, too caught up in the quiet thrum of your heartbeat, the lingering warmth between you, the way his fingers begin tracing gentle, absent-minded shapes against your spine.

“i didn’t expect it to be like this,” you murmur, your voice almost lost in the hush of the room.

“like what?” he asks, voice low, like he’s afraid to shatter the calm.

you shift slightly to face him, resting your head more comfortably on his chest. “soft. safe.”

Hheeseung lets out a breath that sounds like relief and something deeper, something reverent. “yeah,” he whispers. “me neither.”

for a while, neither of you say anything. he pulls the blanket higher over both of you, his other hand brushing your hair back with such tenderness that it makes your eyes sting. he presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering like he means it.

“you okay?” he asks, voice still rough from earlier, but softer now, like the edge of him has been smoothed by your touch.

you nod, then glance up at him. “are you?”

heeseung meets your gaze, and something in his expression shifts. vulnerability bleeding through the cracks he used to hide behind. “i am now.”

your heart squeezes.

he licks his lips, nervous. “i’ve been so stupid with you. all this time, i kept pushing and pulling, thinking maybe if i kept it messy, it’d be easier to walk away if i had to.” he pauses, his voice thinning. “but tonight just… made me realize i don’t want to walk away.”

your breath catches. “heeseung…”

“i don’t want this to be a one time thing,” he says, eyes searching yours. “not the sex, not the closeness. i want you. the fights, the tension, the way you drive me crazy and still somehow make me want to be better just by being around you. i’m so in love with you, it hurts.”

your lips part in surprise, and he laughs quietly, self-deprecating and shy. “too much?”

instead of answering, you lean up and kiss him, slow, deep, and full of all the things you couldn’t say until now. when you pull back, you rest your forehead against his, smiling as his thumb brushes over your cheek.

“i’m in love with you too, idiot.”

he grins, wide and a little teary-eyed, and pulls you closer like he’s never letting go.

and you know he won’t have to.

pls reblog & leave feedback <3 hope you enjoyed the read ◡̈

[ @jaeyuniversal ] prod. 250417

[butyoudidthis4what]

No Man's Land

Jack Abbot x f!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He raises his eyebrows. “It’s not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Care to elaborate?” Robby finally asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You bite your lip and smile at him. 

“What?” He eyes you with suspicion. 

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

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

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

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

Jack spins around.

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

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

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

“Jack-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jack, if she’s in one you cannot-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raise an eyebrow but do as he says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time. You were supposed to have more time together.

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

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

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

[xinganhao]

cherry on top 🍒 mafia boss!seungcheol x reader. (2)

as the song goes, you can never get away from the sound of a woman that loves you. or in this case: you're not about to get away from a woman who knows your boba order. previous chapter + masterlist.

🧾 iPhone note of mafia underboss, Yoon Jeonghan

Signs CSC is probably in love*

Smiled at his phone today. Not a polite smile. A dumb one. The kind that makes his dimples show.

Forwarded me her text asking if he liked brown sugar boba or taro. Asked what the right answer was. Pretended it was a strategic question. (It was not.)

Replied to her selfie with a thumbs-up. Then stared at the screen for ten whole minutes. The man who makes snitches disappear in under three???

She called him handsome during Tuesday’s drop-off. He didn’t say a word, just blushed. Blushed. Then tripped on the curb. Painful to watch. 🙃🙃🙃

Keeps the cup sleeves from the boba drinks she makes. I found three in his desk drawer. One had her number written in pink pen. He already has her number.....

Denied knowing what her favorite snack was. Later that night, personally threatened a supplier for not having it in stock.

She joked that he was her favorite mafia boss. He muttered "I'm your only mafia boss" under his breath. Looked smug for the rest of the day. This is getting sickening. 🤢

*Never thought I'd see the day.

📁 Mission report filed by mafia soldier Kwon Soonyoung

Mission Report penned by HOSHI Suggested edits, redactions by G4M3B01

Subject: Surveillance – Operation: First Date (S.Coups & ███████, referred to as civilian target) Date: ███████

18:03 – Target (S.Coups) arrives at civilian’s residence at ██████████████, wearing a three-piece suit. No tie. Hair done. Nervous. Spends four minutes fixing collar in side mirror.

18:08 – Civilian exits home wearing a simple dress. Smiles like she’s already won. Calls him "Cheol." He mutters something I can’t hear. Probably already flustered.

18:17 – They arrive at location #1: exclusive rooftop restaurant, namely █████████████. S.Coups booked out the entire place. String quartet. Candlelight. Wine list that costs more than my monthly paycheck.

18:30 – Civilian barely touches the foie gras. Eyes light up at the garlic bread. Tells S.Coups it reminds her of the bakery near her apartment. S.Coups discreetly makes a note on his phone. DINO will probably be sent out to secure the recipe.

18:52 – S.Coups tries to act cool while explaining the city skyline. Civilian leans in close and points out he’s holding the map upside down. S.Coups blushes. Again. S.Coups never blushes.

19:21 – They move to location #2: luxury boat ride along ███████ River. S.Coups helps her aboard. She says "Wow, this is all for me?" and he says "Don’t flatter yourself." But he's smiling. Boat was acquired two days ago explicitly for this purpose. Simp.

19:35 – She makes him sit beside her instead of across. S.Coups stiffens, then leans just slightly closer than necessary. He lets her rest her head on his shoulder. Confirmed: smitten.

19:50 – Boat ride ends. S.Coups guides her to location #3: surprise firework show from ██████████████. She gasps. He watches her the whole time. Not the fireworks.

20:06 – Fireworks end. She thanks him and offers him a candy from her purse. He says he doesn’t like sweets. Eats it anyway. Doesn’t even chew for the first minute.

20:12 – They walk. Civilian finds a stray cat. Names it "Mini Coups." He pretends to be annoyed but watches her pet it for ten minutes.

20:39 – S.Coups drives her home. Opens the door for her. She says, "You’re sweet when you’re not busy threatening people." He scowls. Looks proud anyway.

20:45 – Civilian kisses his cheek. S.Coups stands completely still for seven seconds. Then says, "Tch. Go inside." I have reason to believe she also said ██████████████, because S.Coups stares at her door for seven whole minutes after she closed it on him.

21:01 - S.Coups drives off, with this song blasting from the car. The music was so loud that it could be heard from the street. We get it, man.

Conclusion: S.Coups is completely compromised. Civilian has him wrapped around her finger. Recommend light surveillance moving forward. Also recommend betting pool on when they'll ████.

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[beloveds-embrace]

(more of fae poly 141 x human queen reader || Masterlist)

It begins, as all fae things do, with something half-whispered and half-willed into being.

The Queen Mother watches from her high balcony, swathed in robes stitched from starlight and spider-silk, a goblet of elderflower wine in hand, and eyes like knives turned on her sons- indeed, only John may be her son of her own blood, but the other three have been married to him long enough she sees them all the same. Now, she is not subtle in her disappointment, but subtlety is not what’s needed now.

She wants a grandchild.

You are the wife, thus you are the womb. You are also- unfortunately- entirely unconvinced.

Which is a problem.

So the court changes. Just a little. Just enough- and all by the Queen Mother’s hand.

You notice it in the morning, when your tea no longer arrives lukewarm but steaming gently in a mug carved with delicate runes for comfort and staying warm. In the way the wind, once cruel and clawing, now stirs only to brush your hair back like a mother’s hand.

You find moss blooming along the path you take to the greenhouse- soft, lush, easier on your feet when you leave your shoes behind, as you often do. Glowy flits at your shoulder, a small sun in a kingdom that loves its shadows. Thrain trails behind with his antlers lowered, his hooves never once clicking on the stone, for the castle shifts beneath him now. Quiet, respectful for the being its Queen finds comfort in.

You don’t understand the change. You assume it’s the Queen Mother’s doing, for it certainly could not be your husbands’.

And you are not wrong- but you do not see the rest of it, nor do you understand why.

You do not see Johnny kneeling in your study after you’ve gone to sleep, trying to decipher the new system you’ve carved into court documentation like sacred text. He is muttering under his breath, muttering your name, because he can’t figure out how the taxes flow this smoothly without magic.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters, frowning at a sheet full of overlapping glyphs and sigils. “How does she even- ?”

He runs a hand through his hair and exhales, defeated. “Nae way queenie’s human. No way.”

He cannot do what you do, and it terrifies him as much as it excites him.

You do not see Simon standing outside your window at dusk, his silhouette caught in the trembling light of a fae firefly swarm. He doesn’t knock. Just watches. He thinks about the way your shoulders sag when no one’s looking. He doesn’t know how to help without breaking something, yet he doesn’t acknowledge that his inaction might be just as cruel.

“She’s always tired,” he says quietly, to no one but the trees that stare at him in silent judgement and accusation. “Don’t think we’ve ever asked why.”

You do not see Kyle trimming the hedge maze into gentler curves he’s the one who shapes the new garden path into a spiral, the human symbol of devotion. You won’t recognize it, not right away, but he hopes that someday you’ll walk it barefoot and feel safe, and the thorns will no longer prick your fingers or get tangled in your dresses.

“Be nice,” he murmurs to the leaves. “If she had something made for her. Not for show. Just… hers.”

And John… he leaves you a book. Not a weapon, nor a command, but a book; a soft, leather-bound thing from the human realm, tucked into your pillow. One you’d spoken about months ago in passing when you were trying to strike up small talk, the kind of memory no one was supposed to hold on to.

But he remembered, and he knows well enough not to tell you it was him who got that book for you, because he knows you wouldn’t believe it the same way you don’t believe any of them.

“She won’t believe it’s from me,” he says to the mothlight above your bed, and Glowy sharpens its light at him, unimpressed. “But maybe she’ll enjoy the story anyways.”

Their attempts feel like guilt wrapped in ribbons, like pity painted gold, so you wear your silence like armor. Your glamours grow sharper and darker, and become even more of what they always wanted you to be: untouchable, mysterious, other. Anything except human.

Not because you want to, but because it is safer.

And they- gods, they don’t know how to undo it.

They, the fearsome four. Masters of strategy, of illusion, of war. A beloved, respected King and his beloved, respected advisors.

They are helpless in the face of your doubt. Fools, all four of them.

Which is why the Queen Mother begins to meddle in earnest.

She speaks in circles at court dinners, drops names of fertility rites and lucky moons. She gives you gowns lined with moonstone and roses that only bloom when kissed by love. She leaves baby shoes- handwoven from frost-leaves- on your writing desk like a curse you make no mention of because acknowledging it is terrifying.

And still, she does not pressure you. Not directly, anyways.

Only… makes space. Opens doors. Makes them walk through them until one by one, they begin showing up.

Johnny brings pastries he says were “extra” but are clearly from the bakery in the fae city you once mentioned yoy liked. He never stays long, just drops them off, scratches Thrain’s fur for the five seconds the great stag lets him before it tries to bite his hand and head cleanly off, and mumbles about going.

“Don’t read into it,” he says, ears flushed, hands in his pockets and away from Thrain’s hungry maw. “Jus’ thought you’d like the wee apple ones. You always looked happier w’ apple.”

Kyle hums near your bath, not entering, but talking idly through the steam about human songs you’d once sung with the will-o-wisps. He doesn’t ask to join. He just exists nearby- even less than the time Johnny had kept you company.

“Remember the one with the moon and the river?” he asks, softly. “They still echo it down the west wing.”

Simon sits on the couch of your office and watches you. Never interrupts. Just… listens. Like he’s learning you all over again, but this time he is paying attention.

“You breathe differently when you’re upset,” he murmurs one day, not looking at you. “Didn’t know that before. I do now. Let me look at that ledger.”

John brings Glowy closer to your chair when you read. Doesn’t speak. Just adjusts the wings so the glow warms your feet, and then he watches in amusement as Glowy hisses at him for his audacity to reposition it like that- yet it eagerly stays in that spot to provide warmth for you.

You glance up, and his eyes catch yours.

“Light-… Glowy was too far,” he says simply. “Can’t have you freezing.”

It is not much- but it is more than nothing.

And still, you do not trust it; love should not come only after loss; love should not bloom only when you have nothing left to give.

But the court begins to whisper. Softer now. Not prey, not little queen.

Yours, perhaps, after all.

And when you wake one morning to find your glamours replaced by simple fabric, soft and real- no magic, no sharpness, no enchanted jewellery, just skin and breath and linen- and none of them flinch, none of them turn away, not even when you catch their stares and look back, unadorned…

You wonder, just a little, if something has begun to change.

You wonder if they see you now.

Thrain noses your wrist, grumbling deep from his belly, the sound happy. Glowy settles into your collar with a delicate fwmp of its wings. The wind, the fae wind, brings you petals instead of thorns.

And beside your pillow- tucked gently against the spine of your beloved book- is a letter, penned in four distinct hands, tied with gold thread and sealed with wax.

You open it with trembling fingers, and inside it reads:

We’d like to take you to dinner. No court. No masks. Just us. At the gazebo. Say yes, and wear whatever you like. We’ll be waiting.

Yours- if you’ll still have us.

[fortunxa]

THESIS: DEVOTION . . . (nsfw)

I Think, Therefore I Beg

# cw. sub-top!reader, power bottom!Jinx, oral (Jinx!receiving), thigh riding/humping (r!receiving), loser!reader, degradation, taunting/teasing, dumbification, worshipping, r!passes out, fwb(?), smut with plot, college au, “aftercare”/soft Jinx moments. mdni .ᐟ.ᐟ

# wc. 2.4k + short bonus

Jinx has a type. not the loud ones, not the cool ones. no—she has a soft spot for the shy, brainy girls. the ones who can’t quite meet her eyes when she smirks at them, who flinch when her knee brushes theirs under the table, then apologize like it wasn’t the best part of their day. those are her favorites.

they’re easy to spot—blushing behind thick glasses, nervously fiddling with pens or sleeves, trying so hard not to look when she stretches just a little too far or speaks just a little too slowly, hearts already halfway in her hands before she even smiles.

she likes the way they react to her. one offhand comment laced with innuendo, and they short-circuit—eyes wide, throat tight, cheeks burning. it’s addictive. she likes watching them come undone and likes the way they try so hard to keep it together when she leans across the table, fingers brushing theirs. her voice is low and syrupy sweet as she asks them to “just explain that one little part again.”

she doesn’t need the help, of course. she’s smarter than most people on campus, probably smarter than some of the teachers, but that’s not the point. the point is watching those sweet girls fumble over their words, cheeks flushed, thighs pressed tight under the desk while she twirls a strand of their hair and hums like she’s thinking of something much more interesting than equations.

it fascinates her, watching how far they go to keep her attention, how easily they fold when she says please in that low, honeyed tone that turns yes into a reflex. she never has to lift a finger—unless it’s to trace lazy little circles on a thigh while they work, just to see how long they can keep their hands steady. sometimes, she murmurs praises into their neck, low and slow, and watches them squirm like she’s lighting them up from the inside out.

and the best part? those girls are givers, desperate to please. Jinx will bat her lashes, pout a little, and suddenly her assignments are done, her projects are perfect, and her inbox is full of carefully written notes with highlighted sections and color-coded tabs. all because they want to impress her. all because they want her to stay. chasing her approval like it’s the only grade that matters.

she likes what they can do for her—in every sense. those shy little things, trying so hard to be good, will do anything to keep her attention. and Jinx? she makes damn sure they never know if she actually means the things she says, or if she’s just playing with her food.

because when she crooks a finger or tilts her head with that wicked little smile, her nerdy girl of the month will come running—books in hand, heart pounding, already apologizing for being two minutes late. it’s adorable, really. the way she scrambles to impress, how she lights up when she so much as acknowledges her.

Jinx loves making smart girls stupid, and this time? you’re her victim.

it’s routine at this point—one that you follow like a well-oiled machine. she’d stretch out across her bed, headphones in, humming to some glitchy beat while you fumble with her laptop, trying to perfect her assignment or fix her code. she’d barely glance at the screen, just stroke your hair and murmur lazy praise when you get her formatting right.

and that praise? it’s currency. one “good girl”, and you’re glowing. one moan, soft and breathy, and you’re working harder, always hoping to be rewarded.

and she does reward you—when she feels like it. sometimes, she lets you put your mouth on her while she scrolls on her phone, legs thrown over your shoulders, only glancing down when you make a particularly pretty noise. other times, she makes you wait, just to watch your frustration bloom.

Jinx doesn’t care if you break. in fact, she wants you to. she wants you to shake and sweat and whimper from the effort of pleasing her. she expects nothing short of full devotion—and she always gets it. she only has to say, “be useful,” and you will do anything—begging, shaking, soaked through your cute little panties—just to hear her moan.

that was her favorite thing. how girls that smart can still fall apart for her. how all those degrees and good grades don’t mean shit when she has her legs spread and a hand in your hair, lazily pulling as she reads through the essay you wrote for her like it's a bedtime story.

and you love it. you love being used, love the challenge of keeping her satisfied. she edges you for hours while you beg into her thighs, and then she just grins, purring, “c’mon, baby. smart as you are, you still haven’t figured out how to make me come?”

you love every second of her ignoring you in public but curling into your lap in private. you love being ordered to type while she straddles your thigh, grinding slow and lazy while you try to keep your hands off. try to stay focused. try to be good.

so when your phone lights up with a succession of messages, you don’t hesitate to snatch it up.

jinx [9:47 PM]

hey brainiac

you’ve been so good lately, thought you deserved a treat

(it’s me. i’m the treat)

you’ve got like 10 mins before i start faking it with a pillow

that’s it. not even an emoji to soften the blow.

and it still hits you like a fucking spell.

your stomach drops, heat pooling between your legs so fast it makes you dizzy. your hand is shaking as you grab your keys, leaving your laptop open, the essay you’ve been outlining still blinking at the top of a google doc titled ‘DRAFT 3 - FINAL (for real this time).’

it’s ridiculous how fast your body responds to Jinx’s voice—even when it comes through a screen. your mouth is dry, your thighs already slick. every erratic step closer to her dorm feels like your brain is shutting down and your cunt is taking over, like your body knows exactly what it’s going there for.

you barely knock. just the softest brush of knuckles—more habit than necessity—before you push the door open with trembling fingers. and there’s Jinx, lit by nothing but her purple LED lights, sprawled out across the bed like temptation itself, waiting in a hoodie and thigh-high socks. she’s grinning like a spoiled dream, legs parted to display the lack of underwear, eyes half-lidded with the kind of smug boredom only someone worshipped too often can wear.

“there she is. my favorite little honor roll slut,” she greets, voice low and ruined like she’d been waiting with fingers between her folds for longer than she’d admit. “you look like you ran.”

you stand there in the doorway, chest rising too fast, sleeves bunched in your fists like you’re trying to hold yourself together.

you’re not doing a very good job.

Jinx tilts her head slightly, that slow, lazy grin tugging wider at her lips. “well?” she drawls, voice a husky thing wrapped in smoke and heat. “you gonna keep panting in the doorway, or are you gonna get on your knees and make the walk worth it?”

that does it.

you stumble forward like you’ve been yanked by a leash, the door clicking shut behind you. each step is half-mindless, guided more by want than will. she watches you crawl across the bed, eyes wide behind your glasses, lips already parted, trembling with the kind of reverence most people save for altars. because that’s what she is to you—something holy. something sharp and shining and above you.

Jinx doesn’t just fuck. she gets worshipped.

and now, there you are—her favorite little overachiever. so good. so smart. so utterly fucking wrecked already.

no words. no breath. just mouth on cunt—moaning as soon as your tongue meets slick, licking like you’ll die if you don’t get every drop. you lick up, then down, then in, sucking her clit into your mouth like you’re trying to memorize the shape of it, earning a groan as she throws her head back.

“god, you’re such a fucking sucker for this pussy,” she gasps. “i could probably get you to drop out if i let you live down there.”

she spreads her legs further and leans back like a goddess, licking the inside of her cheek while you work. your mouth is open, your jaw is shaking, and your cheeks are wet from something you can’t even name anymore by the time she comes for the third time. sweat, slick, tears, spit—it doesn’t matter.

“good girl. now do it again,” she simply whispers after coming back down from another high. “and maybe i’ll let you rub that filthy little cunt on my thigh.”

that’s all the motivation you need. glasses fogged and askew, fingers curled into her thighs like you need something to ground you while your mouth moves with the kind of desperation that doesn’t come from hunger—it comes from need, from obsession.

because that’s what you are. Jinx’s obsessed, overstimulated little genius, so smart on paper and so fucking dumb for her. the kind of girl who begs to be useful, who gets off on obedience, who’s already grinding her soaked little cunt against the bedsheets while sucking Jinx’s clit like her life depends on it.

she lets you struggle. lets you sob into her skin and tongue-fuck her like you’re starving. you’ve been there a while—maybe too long—trying so hard to make her come, again and again, needing to hear that low, lazy purr of approval. she doesn’t rush you. she doesn’t help you, either.

she just watches, calm and pretty, hips shifting just enough to guide the rhythm when you start losing it, jaw locking. Jinx knows just how long to keep you down there—long enough for your thighs to ache, long enough for your brain to fog over, long enough to make you forget yourself.

you lick her like you mean it—flat, deliberate strokes of your tongue from base to clit, slow enough to make her hips twitch, hard enough to make her throb.

and when she finally shatters again—soft and slow, spine arching, breath caught on a quiet gasp—you whimper like you’ve been blessed, collapsing after, face buried in her thigh, body twitching from the effort. she doesn’t say thank you. she just glances at you like you’re something cute and wipes a thumb across your soaked lips.

and you get lucky tonight—you worked for it, after all.

“c’mere,” she says softly, still coming down from it as she pats her thigh. “you’ve been so good. go ahead. rub that soaked little pussy on me.”

and you obey fast, clumsy, nearly falling off the bed in the rush to kick your panties off, knees red and sore as you straddle her, already apologizing under your breath for how wet you are before you even start moving. your hands grip Jinx’s shoulders for balance as you drag your swollen clit on muscle and skin and nothing else, grinding down in slow, stuttering rolls, making obscene little wet sounds.

and you must’ve done something really right, because she doesn’t push you off after you come for the first time that night. she doesn’t push you off after the second or third, either.

“uh—fuck—please—” you’ve been at it for what feels like hours, your rhythm messy and sloppy now, like you’re chasing something you can barely hold onto. you’re sweating, sobbing, leaving claw marks as you rut down, again and again, slick smearing across skin like you’re trying to fuse with her. all that intelligence and you’re just humping her thigh like a bitch in heat.

you’re dumb for it now. absolutely, irreparably stupid—babbling nonsense, half-words, desperate little gasps. you used to correct people’s grammar, now you can’t even form a sentence unless it starts with please and ends with Jinx, body jerking every few seconds like it can’t decide whether it wants more or less. it stopped being about pleasure a long time ago. you don’t even feel your cunt anymore—just heat, pressure, friction.

“you’re so fucking gone. riding me like the whole semester depends on it,” she taunts, voice low and full of delight. “what happened to all those big words, baby? what happened to my honors student?” a sound tears out of you—something between a sob and a moan—but you don’t answer.

your brain is fucked.

“you don’t know how to stop, do you?” she whispers. “so smart, and now you’re just… stuck. dumb little thing fucked herself into a loop.”

no answer.

and then—between one gasp and the next, between the frantic roll of your hips and the whimper that follows—it slips out:

“i love you—fuck—Jinx, i—”

soft. shattered. mindless.

Jinx hears it, but doesn’t say a thing. doesn’t stop you, doesn’t react. just sits back against the headboard, half-lidded, one hand on your waist as you keep fucking yourself into oblivion.

it’s not the first time someone says it, but this? this is different, because you don’t even know you said it. and somehow, that makes it worse. she’s not thinking about it, not really. just replaying the sound in her head—those three words, cracked and filthy, pulled from a mouth too wrecked to lie.

“c’mon, baby,” she finally whispers. “be my little dropout and come for me.”

your body jerks once, violently—hips slamming forward, clit catching just right—and you shatter, a silent scream falling from your mouth as your pussy pulses in waves you can’t ride anymore.

and then you collapse, right there in Jinx’s lap. she catches you before you can slump backward, arms looping around you just as your head drops to her shoulder, breath stuttering. she pulls back just enough to see your face—peaceful, lips parted, out cold.

out. cold.

she blinks—once, twice—then laughs, low and slow, rubbing a hand down your back as your soaked cunt still flutters against her thigh.

“holy shit,” she whispers breathlessly, grinning into your damp hair. “passed the fuck out on my thigh,” she murmurs, voice soft with something dangerously close to fondness. “guess we found your limit, huh?”

she doesn’t move for a while, simply watching you. blank-faced at first, expression unreadable. then, slowly and carefully, she reaches for the edge of the blanket and pulls it over your bare shoulders. not tucked in, not coddled. just… covered, like a quiet little claim.

she sits back against the wall, hoodie half-zipped, her thigh still damp, her breath finally starting to level out. normally, this is the part where she gets bored, where the affection fades, the attention drifts, and she starts thinking about who she’ll get her mouth on next month.

but then she looks at you again, brushing a strand of hair out of your face with a surprisingly soft touch. “might keep you around.” a pause. “might not even fuck it up.”

── .✦ BONUS (for the lover girls) ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

you’re curled up in Jinx’s bed, both of you warm and clean and full of leftover vending machine snacks. you’re drowning in her hoodie, hood up, sleeves over your hands, a granola bar only halfway eaten resting on your chest like you’ve been too exhausted to finish chewing while your thighs are still twitching every now and then like your body hadn’t figured out how to stop remembering the orgasms.

she reaches for a bag of chips, opening it with her teeth. “okay,” she says, shoving one in her mouth, “serious question.”

you groan, half-asleep. “if it’s about sex, i’m gonna cry.”

she grins around a crunch. “it’s always about sex.” she grabs her phone from the nightstand, opens notes, and starts typing. “you’re lucky,” she says. “you’ve been selected for an exclusive, post-orgasm academic assessment.”

“no,” you mumble, immediately dragging the covers over your face.

“too late. i’m the professor now. pop quiz, bitch.” Jinx peels them right back, uncovering you. “i call it—‘Am I Allowed to Fuck You Again Yet?’”

you can’t help but groan once more. she just pulls you a little closer, then clears her throat dramatically. “question one: can you walk?”

“no.”

“honest. good. bonus point.” she keeps typing. “question two: is your pussy still thinking about me?”

you cover your face with both hands. “Jinx—”

“is that a yes?”

a whimper. “unfortunately.”

she kisses your forehead as a reward. another chip, another line. “question three: are you emotionally prepared to be fucked into oblivion again right now if i promise to kiss your thighs after?”

“Jinx.”

“that’s not a no.”

“that’s a crime.”

“still not a no,” she whispers, grinning. “god, you’re acing this.”

you bury your face in her shoulder, half-laughing, half-mortified.

“question four,” Jinx says softly, suddenly quieter. “do you feel safe?”

the answer comes fast. certain. “yes.”

she looks at you for a long second. no teasing. just… that look. then she drops her phone, pulling you tighter, and whispers into your hair: “cool. then i’ll wait.”

she reaches back and grabs a half-empty water bottle off the nightstand, passing it to you gently. “bonus question: are you emotionally prepared to feed me a granola bar while i grind on your thigh for ten minutes like a perv?”

a deep, slow sigh. “…i will if you stop asking questions.”

Jinx’s eyes light up. “consent confirmed.”

the inspo (durrrrr):

[sungist]

LOOSE .. when they’re protective over you

𝗦𝗬𝗡𝗧𝗛─────── possessive boyfriend enhypen

百 ENHYPEN x f!r + 1OOO+ count. ( ! ) possessive, kissing, skinship, mdni 18+ 爱 don’t forget to click

𝖨𝖭𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖠𝖢𝖳𝒊𝖮𝖭𝖲 please

HEESEUNG

his eyes land on the guy that’s been eyeing you like eye candy. heeseung’s fingers flex tighter around the plush of your thigh.

“seung” your voice comes out breathy when his hand inch higher, caressing your inner thigh. heeseung kept eye contact with the guy across the room.

“shh baby let him watch” he hums. fingers going under your shorts to rub you. your panties are already soaked from how long he’s been teasing you since you arrived at this place. if anyone looked close enough they’d catch the way your thighs press together, his hand in between.

“so wet for me already, baby?” heeseung chuckles low beside your ear, his other hand rests on the curve of your ass. you whimper while your boyfriend continues to tease you, pressing and rubbing you slowly.

“hees—“ you get cut off short with your own whimper when he pushes in two fingers in you. “fuck, baby, you’re so tight” he groans quietly curling his finger in you. your thighs tremble under his touch, barely keeping yourself up when your knees start to buckle.

heeseung’s fingers pump in you to the beat of the loud music playing. you gasp when he curls in deeper, the spot he keeps hitting making your vision blurry. “fuck— seung, ‘m gonna come”

“come for me baby” he smiles into your neck, kissing down your throat, “let him see how easy it is for me to ruin you”

JAY

“jay, slow down” you huff out between breaths, feeling your boyfriend’s warm mouth work in you. his pace is excruciatingly slow, savoring the taste of you.

he hums, the action vibrating throughout your whole body causing you to jerk into his mouth further. your hands come tugging at his hair harder, pushing him closer to your core.

he sucks at your clit and the pleasure was too unbearable. your legs threaten to close but his hands are firm on both your thighs, keeping it spread open for better access.

“princess, you taste so good” he says pulling away from you, you whimper at the loss of contact, walls clenching around nothing. he kisses up your stomach to your chest, then your neck.

you can’t help but realize how beautiful he looks, lips swollen, mouth slick, eyes glazed over while kissing your whole body like he’s worshipping it.

he slides back down. your breathing is labored as your arch your back, the pressure builds up low in your stomach with every flick of his tongue. eyes rolling back every time nose nudges your core. you grip the sheets as you chase your release, moaning out loudly.

jay laps up ever single drop before coming up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on him. “i’m the only one who gets to ruin you like this, yeah?”

JAKE

you’ve always loved pushing on your boyfriends buttons. you don’t really plan them— they just happen. the thrill of watching the way his blood simmers lets you have a little fun.

but now? now you’re paying. smirk from earlier gone and replaced with soft gasps spilling from your lips. your eyes close when jake leans in, rolling his hips slowly.

“where’d all that talk go, huh?” jake chuckles. watching you struggle to even form any words. “you were so loud earlier”

your mouth opens but no words come out, instead your hips twitch at the pace, grinding yourself on him for more friction. jake’s hand comes up to still your hips and you let out a whimper.

“no baby, you wanted to piss me off so much before, so where did all that confidence go?” he coos into your ear. you cry out when he pulls out of you, only to snap his hips back in harder.

“‘m sorry—“ you breathe out, “didn’t mean to make you mad, jakey—“ your words cut off abruptly, feeling two of his fingers stretch you wider. you didn’t even realize your tears were falling until you feel your boyfriend’s hand carress your cheeks and kissing them.

“shh baby, this is what you get, mkay? i’ll take care of you real good after this” he says softly, cupping your jaw and kissing you deep, drowning out all your moans.

SUNGHOON

sunghoon hates it. he hates the way guys get too close to you and the way you’re so oblivious about it. you’re too nice, way too innocent for the way these guys eye you up and down like you’re about to be their next meal.

because in reality, only he knows you. only he knows how you smile when you’re content, how your eyes crinkle when something is particularly funny, and he knows how you sound when your needy.

“hoonie.. did i do anything wrong?” you stand in front of him, bottom lip jutted out. sunghoon ignores you, eyes not leaving his screen that’s opened up to an assignment he’s working on. you contemplate for a second before getting on top of your boyfriend, legs slipping bracketing his hips and straddling his lap.

“hoon” you mumble. he finally looks up at you, eyes half-lidded. you open your mouth to say something, but quickly shut it when you feel him shift, his bulge underneath you growing.

the skirt you sport did little to cover the wet patch blooming on your panties and you are sure he knows it by the way his head is tilted at you. you know it’s reckless, could even be embarrassing when the post-haze starts to kick in but your hips start moving. humping him over your the layers of clothing.

when he moans, it’s broken. all the tension in his body eases out. his hands reach for your hips, ghosting over them, grounding himself. your head falls on his neck and he breathes you in, “mm you’re all mine, right baby?”

SUNOO

“you wouldn’t have gone for him, would you?” your boyfriend hums in your ear. you’re currently sat on his lap, chatter alive from behind the closed door of the bedroom.

you shake your head slightly in response and he smiles against your neck, trailing down kisses over to the base of your throat and up your jaw. you feel his hands slide under your shirt, caressing your waist.

“sun, what if someone walks in” you ask, brows creased into a line as he starts to work down the buttons on your shirt, letting the silk slide off you.

“you look perfect” he breathes out. you were about to argue once again, but you catch the way he’s looking at you through the mirror across. his gaze holds so much pure love and affection all the words die down on your tongue.

in a few quick movements he lays you down on the bed, a soft gasp escaping your lips. his practiced hand comes behind you to unclip your bra, while his mouth goes on yours. the kiss isn’t messy, it’s deep, longing. you clench your mouth shut as his mouth trails down your neck and down to your chest, mouth taking in one of your buds and sucking on it.

your hands come up to tangle in his hair, tugging at it from the sensation. he laughs into you, “you okay, babe?” he asks mouth already swolen and wet, looking up at you through his lashes. fuck, you’re so gone.

JUNGWON

“hey” his hand slides around your shoulder, tight. eyes barely glancing at you before landing on the guy in front of you, your chem lecture seat mate. “who’s this?”

you can tell your boyfriend’s pissed. if his tone itself isn’t a tell-tale sign that he needs this guy to be out of his sight by the next minute, the way his jaw ticks does, “her boyfriend”

jungwon watches as the guy’s face continue to crumble hopeless. watches as he scoffs and stumbles over his words before ultimately leaving you two alone. you raise your eyebrow at him, shrugging his arm off you.

“didn’t know we’re telling people we’re a thing now” you start, his gaze slowly lands on yours, your tone simmers with something bitter, “i thought i remember someone saying they wanted to keep this lowkey”

when he doesn’t answer you continue, “you know you really piss me off sometimes. you act like every guy i talk to is interested in me while—“ you cut off short, his lips on yours.

you freeze only a second before melting into him, letting his hand find its way to your jaw, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. he bites down on your lip and you groan, tongue sliding in.

a moment later he pulls back for air, mouths swollen and face flushed. his eyes are fixed on yours, “are you done talking?”

RIKI

he’s probably have to be strapped down to a chair and fed warlocks before ever having to confess that he pissed, or worse, jealous. because it’s not like your relationship is serious, not like you were the one who said that to him after kissing him.

“keep looking at them like that and your eyes will eventually fall off” jake laughs at his friend. watching along the interaction happening between you and a well-liked senior in the campus. riki looks away, taking a sip off jake’s bottle.

“i don’t care” he huffs out. that elicits more laughs from the boy.

“sure you don’t” his friend just ultimately shrugs, sporting a wide grin on his face, “you probably don’t have an album for her too”

riki was about to retort back, except his eyes find you again. the conversation has (finally) stopped and you’re walking their way now, your pretty smile taking up half your face. jake pats riki on the back before running off to the field.

“riki! hey” you grin when you catch sight of him. barely noticing the subtle shift in his posture, guarded. he hums back a half-hearted greeting towards you, way more interested in the cap of jake’s bottle.

a second later he feels your palm rest on his forehead. shit. he squints up at you, the sun bright out, “what are you—“

“are you sick? you seem really quiet today” you frown. and god does he want to kiss that frown off your face, to tell you that he wishes he’s the only guy you talk to, the only guy you wish to talk to. he settles for a small smile.

“why? worried about me?”

𝗵𝗮𝒛𝗲𝗹 : hello ^—^ i had so much fun writing this

[formulaonecrumbs]

hi!! i’ve just like binge read all of your stuff and it’s so beautifully written

do you think you could do a charles fic with the co-parenting to lovers trope? like their kid helps them get together or like he flys out to see their kid and realizes that life is so much better with them? i have a whole like plot im sorry 😭

stay a little longer ����️

Charles Leclerc x ex(?)!reader

summary: co-parenting finally turns into something more when their daughter decides it’s time for a date.

warnings: co-parenting to lovers, kid matchmaker, suggestive content, kissing, car makeout, implied smut, love confessions, second chances

A/N: thank u anon for the requuessttt!!! i feel like i still don’t write charles very well 😭 like yes i believe the guy is romantic but i think i made that his whole personality in this WHOOPS. random but i love when drivers have girlfriends cuz now i got sm material for the mood-boards. i hope u enjoy it and as always love u ❤️

༻ ❤︎︎ ༺

you never expected him to show up.

not like this, not without warning, not with that soft look in his eyes and a suitcase in his hand.

it’s been almost six months since you saw charles leclerc in person. six months since he kissed your cheek at the airport and promised he’d try to visit more. six months of facetime calls with your daughter holding your phone too close to her face, grinning with her tiny teeth and telling him she lost another one. six months of you pretending that you were completely fine raising her mostly alone while he chased podiums around the world.

but now he’s standing on your porch like it’s nothing. like he’s not the father of your child and also the person who once broke your heart in the softest, most unintentional way.

“hi,” he says.

you blink. “charles? what—what are you doing here?”

he looks down at his shoes. he’s wearing sneakers that used to live in your hallway. the ones your daughter would trip over every time she tried to run to the door. “i had a week off. i wanted to see her.”

you let him in because you always do. because she misses him even when she doesn’t say it, and because you’ve never been able to fully close the door on him.

your daughter screams ‘daddy!’ the second she hears him. he drops his bag and catches her mid-run, spinning her around in the tiny living room you’ve made your home. you watch from the kitchen, hands still on the mug you were making, heart doing something stupid and warm and dangerous in your chest.

“you’re not leaving tonight, are you?” she asks him, small hands on his cheeks.

he shakes his head. “not tonight. not for a few days, actually.”

and you swear, you see her little face light up with something more than excitement. something like hope.

it’s not supposed to be easy, but it is.

charles fits back into your space like he never left. he sleeps on the couch and does the dishes after dinner. he drives her to school in the mornings and makes up silly songs about brushing her teeth. he folds laundry while you’re at work and lets her paint his nails on the weekends.

and you keep waiting for it to feel like a mistake. to feel like a tease, like you’re slipping back into something that already ended.

but instead, it feels like healing.

like late nights where he sits across from you, whispering stories about races she’s too young to hear. like laughing over wine after she’s gone to bed, both of you tipsy on nostalgia and something heavier. something that tastes like maybe.

he doesn’t flirt. not really. but sometimes, he looks at you like he remembers every moment you ever shared. and sometimes, when he thinks you’re not paying attention, he stares at you like you hung the stars.

it happens on a tuesday.

you’re rushing to get out the door for work. your daughter can’t find her other shoe and you’ve already yelled twice, which always makes you feel like a terrible mother. charles is standing in the kitchen, packing her lunch like he’s done it every morning for the past year instead of the last five days.

and then she says it.

“daddy, are you staying forever now?”

you freeze. so does he.

“because i think you should,” she continues, completely unaware of the tension she’s stirred up. “you make mommy laugh again. and you’re really good at pancakes.”

charles doesn’t look at you. he kneels down and kisses her forehead. “i love you, chérie,” he says quietly.

you don’t talk about it.

not until later, when she’s asleep and you’re both sitting on the back steps with a blanket around your shoulders and the sky full of stars.

“she wants us to be a family,” you whisper.

charles’s voice is soft. “i do too.”

your chest tightens. “charles…”

“i know,” he says. “i know i left. i know i haven’t been here like i should have. and i’m not trying to ask you to just forget it. but i want to be here now. not just for her. for you, too.”

you stare at your hands. your heart. the little cracks that never quite healed after he left.

“why now?” you ask.

he takes a breath. “because every time i see her smile, i see you. and every time i talk to her, i wish you were beside me. and because… i thought i was doing the right thing. giving you space. letting you live your life without the mess of mine. but i’ve never been more wrong.”

you look at him. really look. and he looks scared. vulnerable in a way he never is behind the wheel. and you realize, in this quiet moment under the stars, that maybe you’ve been scared too.

you don’t say anything. you just reach out, take his hand, and let your fingers intertwine like they never stopped knowing how to.

he moves in slowly.

a toothbrush at first. then a drawer. then he’s picking her up from school without you asking, buying groceries like he knows the list by heart. you fall back into love like it’s muscle memory. slow, steady, familiar. this time, without the fear.

your daughter starts calling you her “mommy and daddy house.” she draws pictures of the three of you holding hands, all smiling with the sun in the corner.

one night, she asks if you and daddy are married again.

charles chuckles. “not yet, chérie.”

you shoot him a look. “not funny.”

he leans in, his voice low against your ear. “it could be.”

and you feel it again—that dangerous, stupid hope that maybe this time, it’s real.

because he came back. because he stayed. because your little girl believed in love enough to put it back together. and because this time, you’re ready to believe in it too.

༻ ❤︎︎ ༺

she catches you holding his hand in the kitchen.

it’s not a big deal, really. just fingers brushing as you pass him the milk. but charles catches your pinky with his, gives it a gentle squeeze, and you smile in that way you only ever do with him.

your daughter sees it all from her seat at the table, eating cereal like it’s the most important meal of her life.

“are you guys in love again?” she asks, spoon halfway to her mouth.

charles pauses, milk almost spilling over the edge of his glass. “what?”

“you heard me,” she says, chewing dramatically.

you shoot charles a look. he shrugs, trying not to laugh.

“i think you are,” she continues, totally unfazed. “you look at each other like the people in mommy’s movies. and you sleep on the couch together sometimes. and daddy made you pancakes in a heart shape.”

you can’t even deny that one. he really did.

“okay,” she says, pushing her bowl away. “it’s time.”

“time for what?” you ask, even though you already know.

“you’re going on a date.”

charles raises an eyebrow. “we are?”

she nods. “yes. i’ll stay with mamie. and you two can go somewhere fancy. with candles and music. and then you’ll kiss.”

you laugh, shaking your head. “what is it with you and kissing lately?”

she grins. “uncle pierre says it’s how people fall in love.”

charles makes a face. “i’m going to block his number.”

you get ready while she helps charles pick out a shirt. you hear her scolding him for choosing the boring grey one and insisting he wears the one with the tiny flowers because “mommy likes when you look like a soft boy.”

you come out in a dress that hasn’t seen the light of day in years and charles just stands there, looking like he forgot how to breathe.

“wow,” he says softly. “you look…”

you raise a brow. “like a soft girl?”

he laughs. “like the girl i’ve been in love with since before i even knew it.”

you blink.

he smiles, nervous and sweet and very charles. “too much?”

“no,” you say, cheeks warm. “just enough.”

you drive to a little italian restaurant tucked away in the quieter part of town. it’s dimly lit, with fairy lights above the patio and old music playing inside. it’s romantic in a kind of unintentional way. the kind of place that doesn’t try too hard because it doesn’t need to.

charles pulls your chair out for you and keeps glancing across the table like he’s still trying to figure out if this is real.

“this feels weird,” you say, sipping your wine. “in a good way. but weird.”

he nods. “like we’re pretending we’re not already a family.”

you smile. “yeah.”

“but i want this too,” he adds, eyes soft. “the dating part. the butterflies.”

you meet his gaze. “you still get butterflies?”

he reaches across the table, lacing your fingers with his. “every time you look at me like this.”

and god, you feel it too. that flutter. that full-body warmth that only ever comes when you’re really, really falling.

after dinner, he takes your hand and suggests a walk. it’s chilly but not cold, and the stars are out like someone painted them just for tonight.

“this is the part where we kiss under the moonlight,” you joke, bumping your shoulder into his.

charles stops walking.

“what?” you ask, turning.

he steps closer. “i was waiting for the right moment.”

your breath catches. “is this it?”

he nods, eyes flicking to your mouth. “yeah. i think it is.”

and when he kisses you, it’s slow and soft and everything you’ve been missing for years. it’s full of promises and apologies and second chances. it tastes like wine and laughter and home.

you stay like that for a long time, under the stars and the streetlamp, kissing like you’re twenty and just discovering how good it feels to be wanted.

when you get home, the lights are low and the house is quiet. your daughter is asleep, curled up in her bed with her stuffed giraffe and the nightlight glowing faintly beside her.

charles shuts the door gently behind you.

you turn to him, heart racing, still a little breathless from the night.

“so…” you whisper.

he walks toward you, slow, eyes locked on yours. “so.”

“was this the part where we’re supposed to kiss again?”

he nods, grinning. “definitely.”

he backs you into the couch and kisses you until you’re both laughing and gasping and tangled in each other. his hands in your hair, your arms around his neck, the world spinning just slightly off its axis in the best way.

“we probably shouldn’t wake her,” you mumble against his mouth.

“then we’ll be quiet,” he whispers back, kissing down your neck.

you end up in the car—because it’s late and you can’t quite make it upstairs, and also because there’s something wildly thrilling about being wrapped around each other in the dark leather seats, trying not to fog up the windows too much.

his hands on your thighs, your lips tracing every freckle on his collarbone, his voice low and hoarse as he says your name like a prayer.

after, you sit in the front seat, legs curled into his lap, his hand resting gently on your bare knee.

“we should do this again,” you say, grinning against his shoulder.

charles kisses your temple. “i plan on it.”

and you believe him. completely.

because this time, he’s not just here for the night. this time, he’s here to stay.

THE END :>

[rafesangelita]

♡ NSFW ALPHABET : COWBOY!RAFE X FARMER’S!DAUGHTER!READER EDITION

warnings: fluff, soft aftercare, tit play, secrecy, descriptions of unprotected sex, cum play, breeding kink, a little bit of traditionalism, illusions to virginity loss, praise, dirty talk, oral (f. receiving), male masturbation, brat taming, mentions of having children

a/n: this took me forever, i hope y’all love it! who else should i do an nsfw alphabet for?

wc: 3.6k

₊˚⊹♡ A : AFTERCARE (what are they like after sex?)

when they don’t have to worry about being caught, or they know they have enough time to bask in each other’s post-orgasm bliss, they could spend hours just talking and whispering to each other in the their own little love bubble. farmer’s!daughter!reader loves when cowboy!rafe traces shapes into her skin, his rough fingers being a stark contrast to her soft flesh. she’s pressing delicate kisses from the apples of his cheeks down to his pecs, leaving behind remnants of her cherry lipgloss. rafe is usually the one who falls asleep last, and he takes full advantage of the matter by watching you sleep peacefully, your eyelashes fluttering closed as you drift off into a deep slumber.

₊˚⊹♡ B : BODY PART (their favorite body part on each other)

cowboy!rafe is a tits man all the wayyy. if he’s not staring at your exposed cleavage every chance he could get, he’s doing a million other things to them in his free time. squeezing and groping them whenever you two manage to sneak in a little mid-day makeout session, sucking and biting on them when he has you pinned down, crying out for mercy while he fucks you into oblivion, or his personal favorite; when you let him tit fuck you and he gets to watch his cock disappear in and out of the perfect swells. if you were producing milk, you swore rafe would be down to try it since he’s made it abundantly clear that he’s obsessed with your, what he likes to call, ‘cowboy pillows’.

farmer’s!daughter!reader can’t choose just one, so of course she’s going to go with rafe’s shoulders and his back. those were the first things that caught her attention when her father first introduced them to each other and he was wearing that tight, white t-shirt of his. she couldn’t help her mind from running straight to the gutter, her dreams soon becoming a reality when she found herself with her legs on either side of rafe’s head, her calves sitting prettily on the cowboy’s shoulders while he plowed into her like there was no tomorrow. her love for his back stemmed from watching him work shirtless all day, the sight of his muscles sending butterflies to flutter in her tummy.

₊˚⊹♡ C : CUM (anything to do with cum)

with the massive breeding kink rafe has, he prefers to fill you up to the hilt with his seed. he’ll fuck whatever cum managed to drip out of your glossy folds back into your cunt until he can’t see a single drop, the idea of you becoming pregnant further riling him up for round two. however, when rafe cums anywhere else other than your pussy, he loves to get messy. if you’re ever the one on your knees for him (which is surprisingly rare) and he finishes on your tongue, he likes to tap you with his cock as you bat your eyes up at him. he’ll even take some of the sticky succulence and spread it around your lips before watching you lick yourself clean.

₊˚⊹♡ D : DIRTY (a dirty secret of theirs)

further expanding on cowboy!rafe’s breeding kink; there’s nothing that turns him on more than the prospect of keeping you here on the farm and turning you into a mama. considering you’ve never expressed any kind of desire to ‘escape’ your town, rafe figures he might as well lock you down here with him and your babies. it’s all he thinks about when he’s inside of you. he imagines you waking him up with his favorite breakfast, a baby on your hip and another one crawling by your feet as you cook on the old stovetop. rafe would work the absolute hardest to make sure that you never have to, the only worry in that pretty head of yours being what dress you should wear for the day.

farmer’s!daughter!reader’s dirty little secret is that she actually likes the fact that you and rafe have to sneak around in order to be together. she loves the thrill. growing up, her father worked tirelessly to keep her interactions with boys very limited, so now that she had a handsome cowboy right in her backyward, she was elated once she got a little taste of something rugged and tough. every time rafe had to cover your mouth to keep you from screaming too loud, you clenched around him tighter, your whines and moans being muffled by his rough palm. “mmph, shit— you gotta be quiet, ‘sweetheart, you don’t want us getting caught now, do you?”

₊˚⊹♡ E : EXPERIENCE (how experienced are they?)

“wait— how many girls have you been with before me? be honest..” you stopped rafe from lifting your dress up, both of you breathless from your earlier exchanges of heated kisses. “i don’t think you wanna know that, ‘darlin.” you whimpered, now feeling full of self doubt as rafe deemed himself a pro and you were just utterly clueless. “i can’t do this with you, rafe, i don’t know what i’m doing—” rafe was quick to reassure you, his fingers hooking underneath your chin as he prompted you to look up at him. “i’m gonna teach you, don’t worry about it, baby,” he kissed you, “i’m gonna make you my own personal breeding whore, ‘you like the sound of that?”

₊˚⊹♡ F : FAVORITE POSITION (click here for !reader’s fav)

cowboy!rafe absolutely loves ‘cancer’ the most. he loves seeing the way your face twists in pleasure as he delivers slow and calculated thrusts that meet your cervix with each stroke. intertwining one of his hands with your own, he used the other to fist your hair at the roots, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him even when you felt your head threatening to droop. “takin’ my cock so fuckin’ good, angel, just look at that pretty face.” he praised you, making you whimper at the sweetness and sincerity in his tone. “you were made to get fucked like this,” rafe could feel his tough resolve slowly crumbling down as you brought him closer to the edge of pure euphoria, “all mine.”

₊˚⊹♡ G : GOOFY (are they serious or humorous?)

this can vary. sometimes they’ll start off humorous, and rafe being rafe, he’ll say a few jokes here and there to help you relax. however, don’t be fooled because it could turn serious real fast once he has you out of your panties. rafe loves to watch all of your reactions to his movements so he can remember what gets you riled up. in doing this, he makes sure to watch you intently, his serious gaze always making your cheeks heat as he says the filthiest things you’ve ever heard. rafe is constantly teasing you for never being able to hold eye contact with him, the intensity in his stare never failing to make you feel small. “you’re just so serious sometimes, i can’t handle it!”

₊˚⊹♡ H : HAIR (how well groomed is he?)

cowboy!rafe doesn’t shave his lower regions.. but, he does keep himself trimmed. to be quite frank, you never really cared about that aspect when it came to intimacy. you knew rafe had more important stuff to worry about other than his hair, and honestly you liked it that way. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think he looked better with a happy trail. shaving his face, however, was a different story. you had to practically beg him to keep the pornstache but once the summer heat got to him, he knew he couldn’t keep it up any longer. the stubble along rafe’s jaw always tickled you, a yelp and a half giggle leaving your lips as he buried his head in between your thighs.

₊˚⊹♡ I : INTIMACY (how are they during the moment?)

both of them are so engaging with each other, especially when cowboy!rafe talks farmer’s!daughter!reader through his thrusts, always praising her for taking him so good. even though they’re the closest two people could possibly be with one another, they’re clinging onto each other like it’s not enough; like the only way they could be close is if they merge into one. foreheads touching, fingers intertwined, lips ghosting over the others, it couldn’t get more romantic than this. they share a moment where nothing else exists, when the sounds of rafe’s groans and your whimpers are the only things that you two could make out as the world comes to a stand still in each other’s arms.

₊˚⊹♡ J : JACK OFF (how often does he do it?)

now that you two are getting in round after round nearly everyday, rafe doesn’t feel the need to do it anymore. if anything, he finds himself having to slow down a little bit, which is almost impossible, considering he has a sex symbol for a girlfriend. before you two had even kissed each other though, he had to force himself not to look at you so he could stay focused on the work he was doing. rafe made the grave mistake of watching you ride your horse one day, and had to tell your dad some elaborate lie as to why he needed to go inside for a ‘quick second’ when really he had to rub one out for the sake of his own sanity. what turned into a ‘one time thing’, soon became routine until you two finally got in bed together.

₊˚⊹♡ K : KINK (one of his kinks, read more here)

cowboy!rafe is 100% into brat taming. whenever both of your combative behaviors clash, he finds himself having to pin you down and talk you straight until you’re giving in to his every request. he loves seeing the surrender in your eyes once he’s made it abundantly clear that you’re not getting your way, and he’s the one controlling the reigns. farmer’s!daughter!reader also gets to indulge in this kink, considering it turns her on when he’s assertive and a tad bit demanding. seeing cowboy!rafe be serious and cold as steel wasn’t something new to her, but to have his stoic demeanor directed towards her was something that she found thrilling, especially because it just gave her the opportunity to rebel against him for funsies.

₊˚⊹♡ L : LOCATION (favorite place to do the deed)

contrary to popular belief; it is not the barn. sure, cowboy!rafe and farmer’s!daughter!reader have had a lot of quickies in there, but nothing beats the soft plush mattress of her bed. rafe is already so used to his body being sore from a hard day’s work, that once he actually puts ‘work’ into something else, he’d rather both of you be in a comfortable setting. sure, you two had grown used to the hay and the dirt from inside the barn, along with the small space of the tool shed out back, but when you finally snuck him in and you two made love on your soft, clean sheets, there was no going back. it also didn’t help that your bed was the most comfortable thing he had slept on in decades..

₊˚⊹♡ M : MOTIVATION (what turns them on?)

not even exaggerating, everything about cowboy!rafe turns farmer’s!daughter!reader on. watching him work around the ranch, lifting hay bells, roping in cattle, hell, even chugging water down was attractive. he was all man, and you were just so smitten by it. you loved the fact that he was so strong and he didn’t have to talk a lot to prove a point; his actions were always louder than his words. even the little things turned you on. before you two had gotten romantically involved with one another, your heart would beat in your ears anytime his face scrunched up in pain whenever he’d hurt himself, especially when he’d moan or groan— that’s when you’d let your imagination run wild.

cowboy!rafe on the other hand was turned on by your sassy attitude. you weren’t scared to hurt his feelings, and for a man who was used to women catering to him at the drop of a hat, he enjoyed the change whenever you played hard to get (it made him want to fuck you back into your place even more). he liked it when you insulted him since he had a list of things to throw back at you when you were underneath him crying out his name for mercy. “i don’t wanna see those tears now, ‘darlin, just earlier you told me i was good for nothing except kissing your daddy’s ass, now you’re begging me to let you cum. ain’t that some shit?” he’d laugh mockingly in you ear while you whine helplessly.

₊˚⊹♡ N : NO (what they wouldn’t do/turn offs)

cowboy!rafe and farmer’s!daughter!reader have never had a conversation about their “don’ts” but anything having to do with water sports or fecal matter is a gigantic no on both of their ends (they spend way too much time with the animals on the farmland, and even though they’re very much desensitized to it already, they rather not). another big no for them is bondage. despite rafe throwing a lasso over farmer’s!daughter!reader multiple times in a playful manner, neither of them want to be restrained or tied up while they’re intimate with each other. they already have to hold themselves back for most of, if not all, the whole day, so when it comes time for some much needed love and affection, they’re not going to double down.

₊˚⊹♡ O : ORAL (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc..)

cowboy!rafe is a giver at heart. his head is between your thighs at least twice a day. he can’t go without a taste or he’ll be incredibly cranky. he doesn’t care about maintaining a cleanliness when he eats you like a man starved, he prefers to be as messy as possible. the best part is that he could do it anywhere, even when it’s the most inconvenient like under the kitchen table while your father rants about the city folk and their need to expand their developments. to say rafe was skilled with his tongue would be an understatement. he knows exactly what it takes to get you going, your thighs locking around his head every time you feel that coil in your tummy burst, your cries of pleasure being music to his ears.

₊˚⊹♡ P : PACE (fast and rough or slow and sensual?)

this can vary depending on whether or not they’re sneaking around. while rafe prefers to take his time and fuck you both ways, he prefers slow and sensual so you two are much more intimate. when cowboy!rafe is slow and sensual, he’s moving his hips against yours at an angle that makes you see stars, your bottom lip trembling as he kisses your cervix with each thrust. he’s interlocking your fingers, pressing kisses to your knuckles while he watches you take him with ease. he keeps his eyes trained on your face, his chest blooming with pride every time you lose yourself and he feels your walls flutter around him, sucking him in like a vice.

₊˚⊹♡ Q : QUICKIE (their opinion and how often they do it)

sometimes quickies are all that they can spare, especially on the days where there’s a heavy workload around the ranch. all rafe has to do is give farmer’s!daughter!reader his ‘look’ and she’ll be waiting for him in their designated shed in no time. despite having to be quick, rafe never fails to have your legs trembling around his waist while he fucks you standing up, his worn out blue jeans pooling around his ankles as your back digs uncomfortably into the metal wall. your cherry red nails are raking down his back, his chin resting in the curve of your neck as he presses wet kisses to your chest. “f-fuck, you make these quickies feel like an eternity..”

₊˚⊹♡ R : RISK (do they take risks, etc..)

cowboy!rafe and farmer’s!daughter!reader’s entire relationship is a risk, but it’s one that they’re willing to take. with your dad being rafe’s employer, you two have had to keep your relationship a secret and keep it hidden from just about everyone on the ranch. weary of the consequences that may come out of being with cowboy!rafe, the last thing farmer’s!daughter!reader wants is for rafe to get fired and have to leave. even though your father already trusts rafe and has told him that he’s family, rafe thinks it’s better to be safe than sorry when it comes down to a man finding out his daughter is sneaking around with his hired help. in due time though, they’ll come clean about all of it.

₊˚⊹♡ S : STAMINA (how long can cowboy!rafe last?)

this cowboy won’t stop until you’re begging him to. rafe doesn’t care if he already came and he’s shaking so much with overstimulation it hurts, he won’t rest until you’re fucked out and can’t take another round. unlike your quickies, you and rafe can go for hours and have marathon sex (which is something they usually do whenever your father leaves out of town for whatever reason). you know rafe’s body like the back of his hand, and you know that as soon as he can’t hold himself up anymore it’s your turn to take the reins. it’s needless to say that rafe gets off on the fact that he’s the one that makes you lose yourself, your face when you’re cumming is by far one of his favorite sights of all time.

₊˚⊹♡ T : TOYS (do they own or use any sex toys?)

landline telephones are the only form of tech they have on the ranch, so there’s no way in hell anyone has sex toys lying around. there’s only one sex shop in town and no one would be caught dead walking out of there, considering small town gossip spread around like wildfire. farmer’s!daughter!reader is definitely more curious about sex toys than cowboy!rafe is for sure. “you don’t even need any of those things.. i’m literally right here.” rafe would act offended when you first brought up your interest in something you heard a friend of yours talking about. “i know that, obviously, i just— i don’t know.. my best friend said it was a game changer.” you shrugged. “well, your best friend is a liar.”

₊˚⊹♡ U : UNFAIR (how much they like to tease)

farmer’s!daughter!reader is notorious for this. she knows rafe is a true gentleman and that fact alone makes her do everything she could to push him past his limits and drive him insane. even after they were in an established relationship, she would do things to get a reaction out of him. this included wearing revealing outfits, riding her horse in rafe’s clear line of vision, talking and flirting with the other cowboys in order to rile him up.. but all of that was used against her once they were alone. it was rafe’s turn to tease her when the head of his cock would be prodding her entrance, her chest rising and falling as rafe muffled her whines. “shouldn’t have been trying to piss me off today.”

₊˚⊹♡ V : VOLUME (how loud are they?)

although cowboy!rafe and farmer’s!daughter!reader have gotten used to having to keep their volume low, it doesn’t stop the occasional squeal or scream from falling from your lips and forcing rafe to cover your mouth while he pounds you in. even though you tend to be the louder one, rafe has still had to bite down on his lip and bury his face in your neck to keep from revealing what was going down in the room next to your father’s. having to be quiet all the time gave rafe the skills to successfully whisper his praises in your ear, the gruffness of his voice only making you squeeze around him tighter. “make a sound,” he’d tease, “go ahead and get us in trouble.”

₊˚⊹♡ W : WILDCARD (random headcanon)

how cowboy!rafe reacted when you told him you wanted him to cum inside you for the first time: you were on top of him, his hands resting in the curves of your hips as he littered your bare chest with kisses. “i-i’m gonna cum—” rafe heaved, attempting to roll over so he could pull out. you only held onto him tighter, your eyes finding his as you shook your head. “i don’t want you to finish anywhere else,” you whispered, “cum inside me please.” rafe groaned at your words, something primal taking over him as he put you in a mean mating press. “yeah? ‘want me to fill you up?” he’d taunt, his fingers digging into the flesh of your calves as he emptied himself inside your needy cunt.

₊˚⊹♡ X : X-RAY (what’s going on in cowboy!rafe’s pants?)

lord have mercy. you remembered seeing rafe’s cock for the first time like it was yesterday. you two were making out in his old truck when you felt it, his jeans growing tighter by the second. you couldn’t believe he was packing that much when you saw the large bulge straining painfully against the denim material. rafe was hesitant when he felt you palm him, a shaky breath falling from your lips as you took him out of the confines of his underwear. you audibly gasped, both you and rafe sharing a look once his length sprung up. he was huge. you felt your mouth water when your eyes landed on the vein that ran down the underside of his cock, your insides fluttering with anticipation at the prospect of having him inside of you.

₊˚⊹♡ Y : YEARNING (how high is their sex drive)

cowboy!rafe and farmer’s!daughter!reader drive each other absolutely crazy.. these two are on each other as soon as they get the chance. they’re stealing glances at each other whenever they can, holding hands when no one is looking, playing footsies underneath the dinner table, they can never get enough. farmer’s!daughter!reader always manages to slip in a few kisses here and there, followed by a hushed whisper of a promise to give rafe something ‘more’ when they get each other to themselves. there’s no stopping them once their clothes are off and they’re tangled up in each other, neither of them willing to pull away for even a split second.

₊˚⊹♡ Z : Zzz (how fast do they fall asleep afterwards)

farmer’s!daughter!reader is usually the one falling asleep first, her body feeling spent as her eyelids grow heavy with each stroke of rafe’s fingertips on her back, and understandably so. rafe will clean her up while she dozes off, drifting in and out of sleep as he kisses her softly. on days where rafe might overwork himself, he’ll end up falling into a deep slumber in your arms, his cheek pressing against your tits as he snores softly, the compromising position making you chuckle. “you know you’re gonna have to go to the backhouse soon..” you’d whisper, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. rafe would answer with a groan, his arms wrapping around you even tighter. “i’ll leave in a little..”

[catssluvr]

wilderness nat scatorccio dating headcanons <3

⭑.ᐟ Sleeps by your side since the beginning, holding you with a tight grip against her. You could practically share a sleeping bag from how close you sleep.

⭑.ᐟ Holds you extra tight after long days, as if afraid that if she lets go you might disappear. Fingers gripping your shirt while her nose buries into your hair, taking you in just like she’s done a million times before.

⭑.ᐟ Teaches you how to hunt so you get to spend more time together, anything to prevent you from being apart for long.

⭑.ᐟ Quite literally defends you against everyone else, doesn’t matter if you’re wrong or right. Will protect you with everything she has, even from the other or the wilderness if she has to.

⭑.ᐟ Sneaking out to go to the lake early in the warm mornings when everyone is asleep so you can wash each other and have a moment alone.

⭑.ᐟ Loves it when you braid her hair out of her face when it’s particularly hot, being happy that she can help you not feel bored while also getting her hair played with.

⭑.ᐟ You have an assigned tree that you both like to sit under. Nat has you laying across her chest while you two whisper about the future you’ll share when rescue comes.

⭑.ᐟ Still in the tree matter, it’s for sure her favorite spot to have a hot make out against. Will literally appear out of nowhere when you’re waiting for her and pin you against it just to smash her lips against yours, smiling against them when you gasp in surprise.

⭑.ᐟ Also takes you to the crashed plane often so you can both just hang out and be silly away from everyone else when it gets too much.

⭑.ᐟ Cuts you off multiple times when you’re rambling about something random just because she thinks you did something cute mid sentence like scrunching your nose.

“that’s *kiss* too *kiss* fucking *kiss* cute *kiss*, doll”

⭑.ᐟ Calls you sweetheart and baby with that raspy but gentle voice when it’s just the two of you. But you know she’s about to tease you as soon as she starts calling you doll or lover.

“Hey, lover. Looking smoking hot today ;)”

⭑.ᐟ Since there aren’t a lot of ways to entertain yourselves in the middle of nowhere, you’ll both re-tell the stories of books you’ve read or movies you’ve watched before the crash.

⭑.ᐟ Talks Travis’ ears off when they go on hunts with things about you, telling him every little detail that she adores about you (there’s quite a lot of them). He pretends to be annoyed but he’s secretly glad she finds a way to be happy with everything that’s happening.

⭑.ᐟ On spring, she will bring you flowers and berries that she catches on the way back from a hunt. There isn’t much she can give you from the lack of options so she puts effort into making you feel appreciated.

⭑.ᐟ On cold nights Nat enjoys sitting with you by the fireplace, both of you bundled up in the same blanket with arms linked and hands holding each other. Her cold nose will nuzzle your cheek as she presses her smile onto your jaw.

⭑.ᐟ Winter takes a tool on her and you’re the only one who’s helping to keep her sane, if she feels overwhelmed you are who she will seek immediately.

⭑.ᐟ When her and Travis start looking for Javi, spending full days away, she gives you one of her hair bands that you use as a necklace to fell closer to her.

“i think you should have this, i’ll feel protected by my very own angel. okay?”

⭑.ᐟ When she’s chosen to be a leader, she starts needing your comfort even more. Always listens carefully to your advice and sometimes can’t help herself but to crumble into tears into the comfort of your embrace.

⭑.ᐟ Nat probably cares more about your safety than her own and every night she catches herself praying that at least you get saved from the hell it is to live with the wilderness and everyone else as a matter of fact.

“Please, please, please, just spare her at least”. She whispers to herself with a deep breath.

[aurorawritestoescape]

WINTER HEAT

Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader || 4,1k

Summary: Joel helps you to get warm after a patrol.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, FLUFF, comfort, kinda grumpy and sunshine reversed, soft!Joel, reader hates winter (me-coded), Joel’s reading glasses, consensual somno, wet dreams, pet names, fingering, squirting, unprotected piv, creampie. No tlou2 spoilers! Reader has no specific physical features.

A/n: this is written for @sizzlingcloudmentality and @guiltyasdave ‘s Writing through the seasons challenge. Thank you for such a cool event, lovelies!💞 I got Winter with Joel and a wonderful mb that you can see at the end of the fic❤️ Kisses to my love @milla-frenchy for the fireplace idea and for beta-ing💋 And a shout out to a blizzard we had here in April that fueled my hate for the cold :/ Anyway, I hope you all will like the story and it brings you comfort, too. Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST

You arrived in Jackson in spring. The sun was bright and warm and the town looked heavenly in its golden rays. The white mountain tops against the blue of the endless sky took your breath away. You felt at home right away, welcomed by the beauty of nature, greeted by the kind people who lived there. Although, one person in particular stood out to you immediately.

Tall, broad and handsone, with a ’don’t fuck with me’ glare, a man by the name Joel was asked to help you settle in your new place. You got to know him better when he became your first patrol partner — experienced and capable, Joel was chosen to keep an eye on a newbie like you. At first, you scoffed at him teaching you things you already knew, but as soon as you proved yourself to be an excellent shot, cool headed and careful, Joel stopped acting like your babysitter. You two worked so well together, that no one wanted to separate you afterwards.

Days passed and it became obvious that Joel and you were a perfect match not only as patrol partners. Like two lonely souls you drifted towards each other and a month after meeting him, you found yourself sleeping in his bed, and a week later living in his house.

You heard rumours about his past here and there, but it never bothered you. Who hadn’t done some shit during a literal apocalypse? Once a drunk guy at ‘The Tipsy Bison’ called Joel a monster and immediately got bitch-slapped by you. You were fuming, but Joel remained calm and led you away, his arm around your waist.

You couldn’t believe what some were saying. Joel was caring and kind and you were happy to share your present and your future with him, to help each other heal the wounds of the past.

The summer came and Joel made it magical. Your patrols felt more like dates — the scent of meadows in the air, two of you on a horseback, talking and laughing quietly, trying not to attract clickers. You relished every minute with him, even out of the safety of the town walls.

Fortunately, you had enough time to get lost in Joel completely, forget the dangers of the world you were living in and focus on its beauty.

Your now common home became your favourite place. You spent every possible moment outside in the backyard, basking in the sun, flowers in your hair, Joel’s lips on your neck. He grumbled about his aching knees but still fucked you on the grass every time you were sunbathing in your simple bikini you’d found at the clothes shop.

“Can’t walk past when you’re splayed like this,” he gruffed in your ear, thrusting his cock into you, your bikini bottoms pulled to the side.

“I was —ahh- jus’ enjoying the sun, Joel.”

“Yeah and now I'm enjoyin you.”

You felt his smile on your cheek and playfully licked his sweaty face, earning a light slap on your hip and a low chuckle from the man. When he grazed that magical spot inside your core, you squeezed your eyes shut and came on his cock, your loud moan fused with the bird chirping in the tree over your heads.

Now

You’re shielding your eyes with your gloved hand, covering them from a chilling wind. A shiver hits your body so hard that even Joel notices you trembling.

”Gonna be home soon, honey!” he shouts to you, grabbing the reins of his horse tighter as you two are riding to the gates. You grumble an ‘ok’, which immediately gets swallowed by the howling of the blizzard, and try to keep your teeth from banging but in vain.

As soon as you get home, you throw off your clothes, the cold woven into every inch of the fabric, and run upstairs to the only place that can warm you up - a bath. When Joel comes home from the stables, you’ve already dried yourself, put on a few layers of home clothes and nestled under a duvet.

This is how he finds you in the bedroom — an unmoving lump on the bed.

You feel the mattress dip next to you, a light pat lands on your ass.

“Ya hungry?”

“No.” Your voice is barely audible, your sad eyes set on the window. Joel sighs and asks softly,

“What is it, baby?”

“I hate winter. Hate snow. I’m tired of freezing my ass off every patrol.”

Joel hums and after following your line of vision stares at the blizzard, raging outside.

“I can make you some hot tea.”

”I don’t want any tea,” you mumble, covering your face with the duvet, hiding your sour expression and trying to warm up your still cold nose. Joel’s heavy hand rests on your back and he starts slowly rubbing it, giving you the comfort that you need so much yet refuse to accept because of your mood.

“What if I ask Tommy to assign you something else?”

“No!”

You yank the duvet off your face and glare at him.

“Don’t! I’m not a quitter.”

Joel stares at you, his brows raised, and you add, a little softer now, “I'll be fine.”

Your tone is far from fine and Joel knows that it’s better to leave you alone right now.

“Ok, I’m gonna have dinner. Hope you’ll join me.”

He gets up and leaves the bedroom. You watch the blizzard for a few minutes and then fall asleep, your body exhausted by constant shivering.

You wake up when it’s dark outside, the clock says you’ve slept for 3 hours. The wind has calmed down and fluffy snowflakes are floating by the window. You hate to leave the bed but your stomach is grumbling and, not risking the cold of the room creeping into your cocoon of warmth, you wrap the duvet around yourself and head downstairs.

You see Joel crouching in front of the fireplace in the living room, his back to you. He’s wearing a white tee and a pair of sweatpants and just the sight of his exposed arms makes you shiver.

“Hey,” you call softly, hating to startle him, and when he doesn’t hear you, because of the crackle of the fire or his bad ear, you say his name louder. Joel glances back and you see the fire burning bright behind him.

“Wow. Big one.” You widen your eyes, watching Joel carefully stir the logs.

“Made it for ya. And this.”

He nods to a pile of pillows and blankets, lying on the floor.

“Are we making a fort?” you laugh, looking at the mess on the floor, and Joel glares up at you with a fake annoyance in his sparkling eyes.

“‘s for you to sit on.”

“Oh,” you nod, realizing that he’s made this cozy warming place for you.

“Sit down. I’ll bring you dinner.”

“Oh,” you repeat but now your voice wavers and you get overcome with love and gratitude for the man. How could anyone call him a monster? And how the hell did you get so lucky?

You have your dinner in your makeshift nest, your eyes set on the fire dancing vividly in the fireplace, while Joel is reading next to you on the couch, the flames reflecting in his glasses.

The orange light is the only thing illuminating the room and you get mesmerized by the changing shadows on the walls. Your duvet is a cape on your shoulders right now, the heat from the fire warming you perfectly.

“Thank you, Joel,” you say, placing the empty plate on the side table and throwing the duvet off. He hums but his eyes are still set on the book.

You stand on your knees between his legs and tentatively take the book out of his hands. Your lips curve with a mischievous smile as you pull him down by his wrist.

“Nah-ah, I ain’t sittin on the floor.”

“Hey, you made this comfy bed, now come join me. Please,” you add, your puppy eyes begging.

Joel sighs, takes his glasses off and gets up with a grumble. He settles next to you in front of the fireplace, leans against the couch, and you quickly get comfortable between his legs, your back against his broad chest. His arms wrap around you and you smile like a cat in the sun.

It’s much easier for you to apologize when you’re not looking at him.

“I’m sorry, Joel. I’ve been a grumpy grump.”

“‘s ok. I know you’re snappy when you’re cold. Or hungry. Or sleepy. Or..”

“OK, stop it!” you laugh, playfully hitting his forearm. “You make me sound like such a pleasure to live with.”

“You are a pleasure. It’s jus‘ winter.”

“Yeah. I hate winter.”

You sink into his embrace and a warm wave runs from the place between your legs up to your belly and then chest. A happy sigh falls from your lips — fed, warmed up, wrapped in Joel’s arms, you finally feel content.

You tilt your head up to look at Joel and he gives you a soft smile, the light of the fire making his handsome face golden. His gaze slides from your eyes to your mouth before he leans down and kisses you. His lips are chapped, his beard is scruffy and harsh against your delicate skin, but you’ve never had a more tender kiss in your life.

Craving more, you part your lips to let him slip inside and he licks into your mouth, tasting you. You're languidly making out, but with the flames of the fire in front of you, and the furnace that is Joel Miller at your back, you get overheated in seconds and start squirming between Joel’s legs. You whine into his mouth and he parts from you, his brow raised up in question.

“Mm?”

“Too hot.” You sit up with a grunt while Joel looks extremely pleased with himself.

“Good. You’re finally warm.”

“I’m not warm, Joel, I’m hot,” you complain and start pulling your sweater and a long sleeve off, but immediately get tangled in the layers.

“D’ya need a hand?” Joel chuckles, watching you struggle. You’re huffing and puffing until he hears a muffled ‘yeah’ behind all the clothes and helps you to take the excess off. Finally, you can breathe, left wearing a tee with nothing underneath. You don’t remember the last time you had only a t-shirt on at home, but the fire has warmed up the air so nicely that you don’t feel it on your skin at all.

You lean back against Joel’s chest again, his arms find their place around your shoulders, and it takes only a few minutes of cozy silence and Joel’s slow breathing at your ear to lull you to sleep.

You dream of summer and Joel. He's lying in your backyard, right on the grass, waiting for you with his arms open, and you fall into his embrace like it's the warmest ocean. He rolls you onto your back, pinning you with his comforting weight, and gives you a kiss. It's a hot day and your back dampens with sweat, but you don't squirm under him, don't show a trace of discomfort. There isn't any. You revel in the heat of the sun over your heads, in the warmth of Joel's body, big and strong, caging you against the soft grass.

A wave of heat rises deep inside your core, when Joel's hand slithers between your bodies and he cups your pussy over your clothes. His thick fingers, confident but gentle, start massaging your folds, and you moan into his mouth, slowly melting into your underwear. You break the kiss, and, wishing to see his dear face, flutter your eyes open.

Instead of Joel, a bright orange light appears in front of you, but it's not the summer sun you've been dreaming about. The burning fireplace blinds you for a second and, startled by its intensity, you jerk.

"Shhh, baby, ‘s fine."

You hear a soft baritone, feel a firm chest at your back, and reality slowly seeps back into your mind, calming you down.

“Joel,“ you croak and a sudden whimper falls from your lips, when you realize that not everything in the dream was the result of your imagination. You look down and see Joel’s hand cupping your pussy over your panties and leggings, his thumb gently rubbing your folds. It moves just over your covered clit, stimulating it slowly, nonetheless building your pleasure drop by drop.

“Joel,” you murmur again but it’s a moan now, coated in need and want. He presses his lips to your temple, his voice echoes your desire.

“I’m here, honey. Jus’ playin with her a little. ‘s ok?”

“Mmm, always,” you breathe out as your finger traces the veins on his hand. The hand that protects you, takes care of you, makes you see stars.

His palm is resting on the place that belongs to him and he has a right to use you whenever he pleases. You don’t mind one bit. You talked about it before and you gave him a green light to do whatever he wanted to you in your sleep. The idea of waking up wet and stretched around his cock or with his lips wrapped around your clit always made your head spin.

Now the warmth of his hand seeps through your leggings and your cunt purrs like a kitten at the feather-light stimulation. Your eyelids get so heavy it’s impossible to keep them open, and you close them, concentrating on Joel’s fingers dancing over your pussy. You take a deep breath and drift off again.

Your body slumps against Joel’s chest so he knows you’re sleeping. He keeps holding your beating heat in his hand, enjoying your warmth, feeling your pulse against his skin. Soon his composure gets overtaken by the need to feel you fully - your wetness on his skin, your pussy fluttering in his palm, your body unraveling around his fingers, flooding them with your juices.

Carefully, inch by inch, holding his breath, Joel pulls your leggings and panties down, not too low, but enough to free your beautiful cunt. The heat of the fire brings the scent of your need to Joel’s nostrils and he takes a deep breath, sharp and shaky, devouring it, his desire for you already stiff in his pants.

Joel knows you need him too, judging by a soft moan escaping your half parted lips, and he hooks your leg with his knee and opens you up, so his hand could find place between your thighs. He cups your naked cunt and his cock twitches and grows, demanding to stuff your soft hole. He contemplates taking you right now, fucking you slowly and steadily, keeping you asleep, but he loves playing with your pussy too much. She’s always warm and wet for him and the little noises you make are the prettiest he’s ever heard.

The sight of your wet folds, glistening with arousal, sends a shiver down his spine and Joel slightly squeezes your pussy in his huge hand. You hum and he reads it like a signal.

Joel’s middle finger pushes between your slick petals and into your warm hole, carefully, knuckle after knuckle. He grits his teeth, swallowing a groan that’s crawling up his throat, while he feels just how wet you’re for him, your pussy craving him too.

He moves his finger in and out a few times and then pushes another one in.

The effect on you is immediate. Your chest starts rising and falling fast, your eyelids flutter and you moan again and again, your song is barely audible with the fire crackling so close. Joel’s fingers are moving in and out your cunt, but one thing is missing and his desperation for it grows. Your beautiful eyes.

”Honey,” he calls through your sleep, “please.. need you to wake up.”

You open your eyes with a long whimper, a wave of pleasure swallowing you all at once, it overwhelms you. Joel’s fingers buried inside your hole, your thighs already trembling, your belly heaving, your core burning like the fire in front of your eyes.

“Gonna make you come… Look at me… Need to see..”

Joel’s voice is strained with lust, impatience turns his breath heavy, and you tilt your head to face him, to give him what he wants. You desire it, too, desperately, to come, to unravel with him drinking up the pleasure on your face.

Joel manhandles you to rest your head against his shoulder and you bite your lip, seeing what you’ve done to him— his eyes are dark as the night outside, his lips are wet, his forehead is glistening with sweat. The sight sends a new surge of wetness from your pussy and into his palm and you feel and hear a rumble in his chest. .

Joel feels you perfectly, sees your face perfectly — the tears on your lashes from the bliss he’s giving you, your half parted lips, ready to sing for him. He doesn’t make you wait and resumes pumping his thick fingers in and out of your pussy, curling them inside you while the heel of his palm is rhythmically hitting your clit, drawing shamelessly loud moans out of you. Soon the heat boils over in your core.

“Oh, Joel… don’t stop, please,” you beg, your needy voice mixing with Joel’s breathing and the squelching of your sopping pussy.

“Never.. never,” he assures you and leans down to give you a heady kiss. He scratches your delicate skin with his beard and moustache but you don’t care — any discomfort is drowned in the ocean of pleasure, devastating your body.

Joel presses his forehead to yours, but his hand is moving tirelessly, generously filling the glass of your pleasure, until it overflows, and your pussy explodes around his fingers. Wetness sprays out of your hole, wetting Joel’s hand, the blanket under you, your quivering thighs.

“Holy shit…,” you gasp at the sight but the quickly following orgasm hits you so hard, your head falls on his shoulder and, squeezing your eyes tight, you come with a loud cry. You’re moaning and shaking against Joel, every cell in your body lights up, your mind shuts down, while Joel’s fingers are fucking into your drenched hole again and again, dragging out your unforgettable climax. The squelching would probably make you embarrassed any other day but right now it sounds like music, a serenade of your love and lust for each other.

When the burn of overstimulation licks at your core, you close your legs and Joel pulls his fingers out. He drags his soaked hand along your body, up, up, and with your hazy eyes, you see a wet path he’s drawing on your skin.

“Look at that,” Joel pants, excitement rich in his voice. “Ya never done it with me before.”

“Never done it with anyone before,” you breathe out, locking eyes with him.

“Really?” He furrows his brows, as if in disbelief, but his chest expands with pride under your back, a corner of his mouth rises.

You’ve just had the best orgasm of your life but the hunger comes back quickly when you’re with Joel. Having given yourself just a few moments of respite, you clumsily get on your knees, your limbs shaky, throw your clothes off and plop down on the blankets, tugging Joel down with you.

“Need you… imagine how.. how wet I am...”

“Oh damn, right.”

Joel’s tired, you can see it in his droopy eyes, but with the agility of a much younger man, he hurries to settle between your spread legs. He’s still panting, pulling his pants and boxers down and freeing his hard cock, but suddenly he freezes.

“What is it?” You ask, your brows pulled together. ”You ok?”

Joel’s hand holding his leaking cock, the other on your bent knee, his gaze is sliding over your glistening cunt, your sweaty body as he rasps,

“Yeah.. ‘m jus’ lookin. You’re beautiful. In this light…glowin like an angel.”

“Thank you,” you whisper with a smile, feeling a lump in your throat, tears welling up in your eyes. The fire is warming you up so well, but nothing compares to the soft heat of Joel’s love. Needing him close, you reach your arms out to him and he gets on top of you, holding himself up on an elbow, and slides his hot tip between your dripping folds.

”Oh, fuck. You’re killin me, baby.”

“Hope not,” you giggle and sneak your hand between your bodies. Your palm wraps around the base of his stiff cock and you mumble,

“Let me.” Joel nods and plants both elbows on the blanket while you notch your pussy with the head of his member.

You move your hips up, spread your thighs wider and slowly start piercing yourself with his cock. You both moan at the feeling of being united, and when Joel’s length is fully sheathed inside your cunt, his lips brush yours as he murmurs,

”So warm, baby— wanna live inside you.”

You smile against his mouth and kiss him. Like a missing puzzle piece, Joel always makes you feel complete. Thoroughly opened by his fingers, you’re taking his cock with ease, while he’s rolling his hips into you at a slow but steady pace, and you meet him halfway, desperate to make it less strenuous on his exhausted body.

Joel’s face finds place in the crook of your neck and you’re holding him close, running your fingers over his skin, through his hair, caressing him as softly as you can.

His eyes soon find yours as he rasps,

“‘s too good, baby… gonna come soon. ‘m sorry.”

“No, no,” you shake your head. “Come, my love.” His eyes radiate wrinkles as he smiles at your words.

“Where, honey?”

“Inside. Please, inside.”

”Hnggg, want my hot cum?” Joel grunts, picking up the pace of his hips, ”to keep your pussy warm, too?”

“Ahhh, yeah, warm and wet for longer.”

Lust is shining in his gaze as Joel gruffs,

“Give me one more and I’ll fill you up.”

Knowing well how to make you unwind, he bends down and takes your nipple in his hot mouth. He starts sucking on it, swirling his tongue around the bud and it makes your eyes roll back into your head before a second orgasm starts shaking your body, your pussy choking Joel’s cock. He squeezes you between his strong arms and begins coming, too. His heavy balls are sticking to your ass, as he keeps thrusting into you with every rope of cum his cock pumps into your already sloppy pussy. He adds more and more and you don’t stop milking him with your clenching walls until the last drop is deep inside you.

Not pulling out, Joel moves you both on the side and you’re holding each other, your bodies tingling in the afterglow.

Your face is buried in his neck and your giggle comes out muffled.

“If you keep warming me up like this, I might survive this winter.”

“If ya come for me like this, I’m gonna do it every damn day… till the spring comes.” You feel Joel’s smile against your forehead.

“No, ‘s too much. I’ll get dehydrated,” you laugh and he chuckles with you before you say,

“After every patrol then, ‘k?”

“Ya got it.”

Joel lies on his back and you take your favorite sleeping position- your head on his shoulder, your leg bent over his thigh, Joel’s arm holding you close.

Soon you hear his slow and deep breathing- he’s asleep. You watch the fire dance for a few minutes, remembering the hard patrol, the cold tormenting your body and soul, the wonderful surprise Joel has given you, and a thought crosses your mind,

“Maybe winter isn’t that bad.”

With a happy smile on your lips you follow Joel and fall asleep, too.

moodboard by @guiltyasdave and @sizzlingcloudmentality 💞

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic! Your feedback means the world🌺

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40 @meetmeatyourworst @callmebyyournick-name @tateypots

People who were interested in the wip post (no pressure to read, bbs) @604to647 @arcanefox207 @sawymredfox @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal

[prettygirl-gabi]

“To the Moon and Beyond”

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd x Reader (Pazzi x Reader)

Fandom: NCAA Women’s Basketball / WNBA

Warnings: cheating, revenge cheating, eventually in later parts there will be 18+ content (smut, alcohol consumption, strong language), polyamory, public teasing/flirting (in later parts)

Summary: A tangled history of love, heartbreak, and hidden desire leads three elite players—and the WNBA spotlight.

A/N: yes this is hella long… I got in a groove and couldn’t stop writing… but yeahh enjoy!! This is also one of the longest fics I’ve ever written… will be multiple parts….cause it’s too long for tumblr…

Also thank you @paige05bby for the banner/header

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @shikaizer

I’ve known Paige Bueckers since we were nine.

We met on the cracked hardwood of a middle school gym, both drowning in oversized jerseys and the too-big dreams of becoming something. She was all bounce passes and bubblegum, the blue-eyed blur who wouldn’t stop until she got the bucket. And me? I was defense and discipline.

Together, we were unstoppable.

From AAU weekends that blurred into each other, to our high school championship banners, we grew up in sync. On the court and off, our chemistry never missed. What started as inside jokes turned into shared playlists. Glances turned into touches. Eventually, the line between friendship and something more? It blurred until it didn’t exist.

We never defined it. Not back then. We didn’t have to.

But then college happened.

She chose UConn. I went West. USC was my dream, and she knew it, even helped me rehearse my pitch for the admissions interview. We still talked every night at first. FaceTimed after practices, sent voice memos, traded selfies. And when I flew home for breaks, we picked up like nothing changed.

Until it did.

It’s a blurry memory now — that final night. We were in her dorm in Storrs, both sweaty and breathless, tangled in each other under those awful fluorescent lights. I was wearing one of her UConn hoodies, the one with the frayed sleeve. My lips were still swollen from her kiss when she sat up suddenly, like something hit her mid-breath.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she said.

I blinked, propped myself on my elbow. “What?”

“With you. Like this.” She didn’t look at me. Just stared at the far wall like she couldn’t bear to see my reaction. “I’m with Azzi now. For real. I want it to work. I have to try.”

She didn’t say sorry. And maybe that’s what stung the most.

After that, I stopped texting her. Not out of pettiness, but because it hurt too damn much.

I’d open my camera roll and there she’d be a memory— in baggy shirts, goofy grins, wearing my hoodie instead of hers. And I’d almost hit send on a message just to say something like, “Remember when we—” But I didn’t. I’d remember the look in her eyes when she told me it was over.

And then I’d put my phone down.

She kept liking my posts.

Subtle ones. Always with our secret emoji: 🌝.

A photo of my game-day shoes? Liked. The mirror selfie I took before our media shoot? Liked. A blurry boomerang of me and my teammates on the bus? Liked. Always that damn moon.

I never liked hers back. Not even when she dropped 30 on South Carolina and the whole world was reposting her highlight reel, calling her “Huskies Paige” like she hadn’t been lighting up the league already.

It didn’t feel right.

I couldn’t be hers anymore. Not really. Not after how things ended. Not after she chose her.

Even if she still wanted me.

Azzi’s POV

I wasn’t snooping.

That’s what I told myself.

I just needed the charger. Paige always left it by the couch cushion. But her phone lit up when I grabbed it — and I couldn’t look away.

unknown number: last night was unforgettable. I can’t stop thinking about you.

The photo attached was blurry — a hotel bar, maybe. Champagne. A smile I didn’t recognize.

But I recognized the timestamp. One week ago. New York. A brand event.

My stomach turned.

Paige was asleep down the hall. I didn’t even bother waking her.

I didn’t cry either.

I just packed a small bag. Enough for a few days. Hoodie, jeans, chargers. My passport. And my headphones — couldn’t risk listening to the quiet too long. I left a note on the fridge:

I know. I’ll be back. Don’t wait up. —A

Then I turned off my location the second the plane touched down in Southern California.

Y/n’s POV

I was mid-scroll when I got the DM. No greeting. No emojis. Just:

Azzi: Can I crash at your place?

I blinked.

And then again.

Me: …yeah. You okay?

Azzi: No.

She showed up two hours later. No makeup, no jewelry. Just a black hoodie pulled over her braids and shadows under her eyes like she hadn’t slept in days.

She dropped her bag by the door and slid onto my couch like it belonged to her.

I stayed standing.

Azzi met my eyes. “I found messages on Paige’s phone,” she said, voice like glass cracking. “Some girl from a brand event. Said it was a night she wouldn’t forget.”

I didn’t move.

Azzi laughed, sharp and dry. “Isn’t that cute?”

I cleared my throat. “Why are you here?”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

“Because cheating with a random is one thing. But cheating with your best friend?” Her gaze flicked up to mine. “That’s a different kind of pain.”

I froze. “I’m not—”

“I know you’re not with her,” she said, too quickly. “That’s not what I’m saying. But you’re still the one she wants. Always have been. And maybe, if I’m honest…” Her voice faltered, vulnerable in a way I hadn’t seen before. “Maybe I just needed to feel like I had the power to break something too.”

There was silence after that.

Heavy. Loaded. Everything unsaid filling the air like smoke.

I should’ve told her to leave. Should’ve drawn a line. Closed the door. Asked why she thought I’d ever want to be someone’s revenge.

But instead…

We kissed.

It wasn’t slow. Wasn’t delicate. It was the kind of kiss that tasted like fury and desperation, like something beautiful that had been starved too long. Her hands were cold. Mine were shaking.

And even as part of me screamed not to—

I let her.

And I hated how much I liked it.

The sunlight in L.A. always hits too sharp the morning after something like that.

Azzi was quiet when she woke. This had been her second and last morning here. She stretched out in my bed like she hadn’t moved all night, her hoodie thrown across the floor, my sheets wrinkled where our bodies had tangled in the heat of it. I was already sitting up, hugging my knees, staring out the window like it could tell me what the hell I’d just done.

She didn’t say good morning. Didn’t apologize. She just blinked slowly, then rolled toward me, hair falling across her cheek.

“I have to go,” she whispered.

I nodded. “Yeah. You do.”

She didn’t move yet. “Last night…the night before…”

She paused.

I waited.

But she didn’t finish the sentence. Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe if she said too much, it would shatter whatever fragile justification we’d both built in our heads.

Instead, Azzi got dressed in silence. She slipped her hoodie back on, pulled her hair into a loose bun, and only broke the stillness when she looked into the mirror and noticed the mess we’d left behind.

Red, purplish bruises dotted the delicate skin beneath her jaw. One curled under her ear. Two more across her collarbone.

She didn’t even flinch. Just adjusted her hoodie and looked over at me with a thin, unreadable smile.

“I’ll text when I land.”

Azzi’s POV

The plane ride back was quiet. I wore my hood up and my headphones in, trying to ignore the tightness in my chest and the phantom touch still lingering on my skin.

I knew what I’d done. I knew the weight of it before I even touched her. But it didn’t stop me. That was the part that scared me the most.

I got back late. Paige was in the kitchen, barefoot in sweatpants, stirring something on the stove that she was probably never going to eat. Her eyes shot up the second she heard the door click.

“Azzi,” she breathed. She looked like she hadn’t slept.

I didn’t speak.

“I’m sorry,” she said instantly, voice cracking. “I swear—whatever that was in New York, it didn’t mean anything. I was drunk and—God, I messed up.”

She crossed the kitchen, reaching for me like she could still fix it with proximity. Like closeness could erase betrayal.

I didn’t cry. Didn’t yell.

I just stood my ground and said:

“I slept with Y/N.”

Paige froze. The words hit her like a punch straight to the gut.

“What?”

Her voice was barely there. Fragile.

I didn’t repeat it.

She took a step back, her expression cracking all at once. “You—what do you mean you—?”

“I mean I flew to L.A.,” I said, slowly, deliberately. “I turned my location off. I showed up at her door. And I didn’t leave until the next morning.”

The silence was heavy. Deafening.

I watched her chest rise and fall, watched the devastation settle behind her eyes like stormclouds.

“You went to her?” she whispered.

“I figured,” I said bitterly, “if you were gonna cheat with someone random, I could at least cheat with someone who mattered to you.”

Paige’s jaw clenched. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, shaking slightly.

“Did you do it to hurt me?” she asked, voice raw.

I didn’t blink.

“You don’t get to be mad,” I snapped.

Paige laughed bitterly, a hollow sound. “Oh, so you can cheat out of revenge, but I can’t even ask questions?”

“You didn’t just cheat, Paige. You lied. You made me feel safe and then let some girl blow up our entire house.”

“You think I meant for that to happen?”

I stepped closer. “No, but you sure didn’t stop it.”

Her jaw locked, the muscle ticking.

Then she grabbed her phone.

“Don’t,” I warned.

“Oh no, we’re doing this now.”

She pulled up your name, hit call, and put it on speaker.

It rang once. Twice.

Then—

“Hello? Why are you calling me Paige?”

Your voice was soft. Cautious.

I could practically feel the way your stomach probably dropped.

Paige’s tone sharpened, cut like glass. “Y/N, did Azzi fuck you better than me, huh?”

I flinched.

“Paige—” you started, voice tight, already bracing for impact.

But she kept going. “Did she make you tap out?” Her eyes were on me now. Unblinking. “Did she fuck you so good you forgot about me?”

I wanted to scream. Instead, I just stared at her, heart pounding, stomach in knots.

Silence crackled over the line.

Then your voice came, colder than I’d ever heard it.

“Paige, grow the fuck up.”

You hung up.

Just like that.

The silence in the kitchen was suffocating. My ears rang.

Paige stared down at her phone, the call screen gone black now. Her hand dropped slowly to her side.

I crossed my arms, voice shaking. “You didn’t call to ask. You called to hurt.”

Her lips parted, like she wanted to deny it.

But she didn’t.

Because we both knew it was true.

The silence after she hung up could’ve split the floor beneath us.

I turned my back to Paige, walked to the fridge, opened it just to do something with my hands. My throat burned.

“You happy now?” I asked, quietly. “You proved your point?”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“Yes, you were,” I cut her off, spinning around. “You wanted to humiliate me. To make her pick. To twist the knife.”

Paige’s jaw clenched. “She already picked you.”

“No,” I said, voice low. “She didn’t. That’s the part that’s killing you, isn’t it? She never picked me. Not really.”

She didn’t deny it.

Just stood there in the middle of our shared kitchen, hoodie sleeves half-pushed up, hair messy from stress, breathing heavy like she’d just run a mile. She looked like a storm in a glass bottle—no space left to rage.

“I loved you,” I said, stepping forward, my chest aching. “I actually did. I built my life around you.”

“I never asked you to!” Paige snapped.

“But you let me.”

We both stilled.

It was too much.

I grabbed my keys from the counter. “I’m staying at KK’s.”

“Azzi, wait—”

I didn’t.

Y/n’s POV

My phone was still in my hand, screen black, my heart racing like I’d run sprints.

I hadn’t even processed the words. Did she fuck you better than me?

I didn’t know what made me angrier—that Paige asked, or that part of me had a fucking answer.

I set the phone down and paced.

Five hours later, my apartment buzzer went off.

I froze. From aggressively cleaning my apartment, when I really wanted to break everything in this bitch.

Then again. A second buzz. Then pounding on the door.

I opened it.

And there she was.

Paige Bueckers. Hoodie, sweats, clutching her phone in one hand, emotional wreckage in her eyes.

“Paige—”

She stepped inside without waiting. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called. I wasn’t thinking.”

“You never are,” I snapped.

She blinked. “Okay. Fine. Hit me.”

“I don’t have to. You’re already bleeding.”

She swallowed hard.

I crossed my arms. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know!” she yelled suddenly, voice cracking. “I don’t fucking know. I just—You were mine. You were always mine, and now—now I see you with her and it’s like—like someone replaced my lungs with cement.”

I laughed bitterly. “You were the one who left me.”

“I didn’t know what I was doing!”

“And now you think you can just come back and what? Ask me which one of you fucks me better?”

She looked wrecked. Her mouth opened, but no sound came.

“Get out.”

“Y/N—”

“Get out before I start hating you.”

She didn’t move right away. But then something shifted in her eyes. Like a curtain fell.

Paige nodded once.

And she left.

The door clicked shut behind her like a trigger.

And I finally let myself sit down.

And cry.

Paige’s POV

I sat outside her door for twenty minutes, knees pulled to my chest, hoodie up like it could hide the damage on my face. Tears kept falling, quiet and constant, like my body had forgotten how to hold anything in.

She didn’t even come back to the door. Not once.

I deserved that.

I really did.

But sitting there, staring at the cracks in the pavement, I thought—Someone has to forgive me. Someone.

So I stood up, wiped my face with my sleeve, and walked back inside. She never locked it.

The second I stepped into the apartment, I saw her.

Y/N had stopped crying, but her face was still blotchy, eyes still raw. She was furiously scrubbing the countertop, muttering to herself like maybe if she cleaned hard enough, she could erase what I’d done.

And then she looked up.

Her eyes went wide. “Are you serious right now?”

Before I could say anything, a water bottle flew through the air and smacked against the wall just left of my head.

I flinched, and she stormed toward me.

Her fists hit my chest—weak at first, then stronger, then desperate. “You don’t get to do this, Paige! You don’t get to just walk back in like this!”

“I—”

“No! Shut up!” she screamed. “You chose Azzi. You cheated on Azzi. You threw me away, twice, and you’re still in love with me? Do you hear how insane that sounds?”

Her fists slowed but didn’t stop. I didn’t move. I let her hit me. I let her scream.

“I loved you so much it scared me,” she cried. “I still love you, and I hate that I do. I hate that you can still make me feel like this.”

I caught her wrists gently, not to stop her—just to hold her. “I never stopped loving you.”

She sobbed once, raw and guttural, and pressed her forehead to my chest. “It’s not fair.”

“I know.”

“I don’t forgive you.”

“I know.”

“But I still want to.”

“I know. Me too.”

Silence hung between us like smoke.

I didn’t move. Neither did she.

We stayed like that for a long time. Not healing. Not fixing. Just existing in the same wreckage.

Azzi’s POV – Back in Connecticut

“So… yeah,” I whispered.

KK stared at me like I’d just told her I was moving to Mars. “You really said it like that?”

“I looked Paige in the eye,” I murmured, “and I told her I slept with Y/N.”

KK’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t say anything right away.

“I still love her,” I said, voice cracking. “I hate her. I hate what she did. But I still love her.”

KK exhaled slowly. “Do you think Y/N loves her too?”

“Yes,” I said. “She always has.”

I sank deeper into the couch. My hoodie sleeves covered half my hands. Hickeys dotted my neck like bruises made by ghosts I wasn’t ready to confront. “I thought it would hurt Paige the way she hurt me. That it would give me some kind of… control.”

KK was quiet.

“But all it did was make it worse. For everyone.”

She finally spoke, voice low and careful. “Do you regret it?”

“I regret everything, but I don’t regret Y/n.” I whispered.

There was a long pause.

“But, I don’t think any of us are coming back from this, KK. Not me. Not her. Not Y/N.”

KK pulled the blanket up around my shoulders and let me fall apart.

And for the first time, I let myself believe I really had broken something we could never fix.

There was a long pause.

Y/n’s POV – Southern California

It’s Juju who tells me.

We’re on the practice court, just us, shooting around after everyone else left. The sun’s barely dipping, golden light slanting through the gym windows.

She catches a rebound and holds onto it. Doesn’t pass it back.

“They’re coming,” she says.

My stomach dips. “What?”

“KK and I talked. Paige. Azzi. All three of them are flying in. They land tonight.”

I freeze, sweat already clinging to my skin, now cold. “Here?”

She nods. “Tomorrow. For a sit down.”

I stare at her. “You think this is a good idea?”

She walks over, puts the ball down. “I think it’s the only shot any of you have at being okay again.”

That very next day, I vacuumed twice.

I Windexed the mirrors. I rearranged my throw pillows. I lit a candle. Then blew it out. Then lit it again.

My hands were shaking by the time the knock came.

When I opened the door, they were both standing there. Azzi in a hoodie and sweatpants, her hair in a bun. Paige in loose jeans and an old UConn tee. They looked tired. Human.

Nobody said anything right away.

I stepped aside. “Come in.”

They sat on opposite sides of the couch. I took the armchair.

The silence stretched.

Until finally Azzi said, “Thanks for letting us do this.”

I nodded. “I didn’t know if I would.”

Paige looked at me like I was air she hadn’t breathed in weeks. “We just wanna talk. For real.”

So we did.

For hours.

We unraveled every inch of the knot between us.

Azzi told me about the night she found the messages on Paige’s phone. How her heart dropped. How all she wanted was to hurt her back.

Paige admitted that she’d kissed that random at the brand event, thinking it didn’t count because her heart was already broken from missing me. She said she hated herself for it the second it happened.

“I wanted someone to forgive me,” she said, eyes glossy. “But I didn’t deserve it.”

Azzi turned to me. “And I didn’t sleep with you just to be petty. At first… maybe. But when I saw you again, it wasn’t revenge. It was…” She trailed off.

“Safe,” I said.

She nodded.

I told them everything too.

How I couldn’t forgive Paige, but still loved her. How I didn’t regret being with Azzi, even if it was complicated. How none of it felt clean. How the silence afterward almost broke me.

“I felt like all I had left were memories of people who didn’t exist anymore,” I whispered.

And that’s when Paige broke.

She slid off the couch, sat on the floor, hands over her face. “I miss both of you so much, it’s like breathing in water every day.”

Azzi came down beside her. After a moment, so did I.

Three of us. On the rug. Like a slow-burning apology.

“I don’t know what happens next,” I murmured. “I just know we’re not those people anymore.”

“But we can choose who we become now,” Azzi said.

Paige wiped her face, voice cracked. “Even if it’s just friends.”

My throat tightened. “Or even if it’s nothing.”

We sat there.

Breathing.

Together.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[linoxpudding]

Intern (Pt 3)- Lee Know

summary: you pull away to protect your heart, but minho is left feeling trapped in a storm of guilt and emotions he can’t name, a stage collab between Stray Kids and SEVENTEEN brings new chaos—especially when one of their members starts showing interest in you

pairing: lee know x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff, humor

word count: 5979 words

a/n: any carats here? alsoo buckle up for some love triangle drama 👀

Intern Series: Part One Part Two

~°~

The air in the game room was still heavy when Hyunjin barged in.

Four pairs of eyes turned toward him—Chan’s brows furrowed instantly, as if he already knew. Changbin was mid-sip of beer. Seungmin was quiet, almost tense. And Minho… Minho stood there with the pool cue still in his hand, his mouth drawn into a thin line.

“What did you say to her?” Hyunjin asked, voice low and sharp.

Minho blinked. “What?”

“You said something,” Hyunjin pressed. “She looked like someone kicked her heart in. What the hell did you say to her?”

Minho’s jaw clenched.

“I didn’t say anything to her.”

Chan set his drink down with a soft clink, sensing where this was going. “Hyunjin,” he said carefully, “let’s not do this here—”

“No,” Hyunjin cut in, eyes never leaving Minho. “Not until he tells me what he said.”

Seungmin shifted uncomfortably, looking away. Changbin opened his mouth to speak but closed it again. Nobody wanted to be the one to say it out loud.

Minho’s lips parted like he was searching for the right words. “She overheard something that wasn’t meant for her.”

“So you’re saying it’s her fault?” Hyunjin snapped. “Tell me what she heard. Now.”

A beat passed. Then another.

Minho looked away.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt her,” he muttered. “She wasn’t supposed to hear that.”

Hyunjin’s laugh was short and humorless. “So you did say something.”

Chan stepped in fast. “Okay. Enough. Let’s calm down, we will talk about this later.”

But Hyunjin ignored him, stepping closer. “She adores you, you know that? She goes out of her way for you. Always.”

“I didn’t ask for her feelings,” Minho said defensively.

“No, but you let them grow.” Hyunjin’s voice had dropped to a near-whisper now. “You let her believe there was something there. You let her get close just to push her away.”

Chan sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “This isn’t helping anyone right now.”

“She didn’t even cry in front of me,” Hyunjin said suddenly. His voice was softer now, haunted almost. “She just said she wanted to be alone. You know how rare that is for her?”

Minho swallowed hard.

“She always shows up,” Hyunjin continued. “Always. With a smile. Even when she’s exhausted. Even when she’s hurting. She’s the sunshine in every room, and tonight she left looking like it’d been drained out of her.”

Minho didn’t respond.

Chan rested a hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder. “Come on. Let it go for tonight.”

Hyunjin glanced at Chan, then at Changbin and Seungmin—both of whom looked like they wanted to disappear.

And finally, his eyes returned to Minho.

He didn’t say another word.

He just walked out.

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

Your apartment was too quiet.

You’d kicked your shoes off at the door and sunk into the couch still fully dressed. The light from the hallway crept in, soft and golden, but nothing about it felt warm.

You stared at the ceiling, trying to let the silence soothe you, but your brain wouldn’t stop.

“She’s always laughing too loud…”

“…hovering around me…”

“…I just want peace…”

You curled your fingers into the blanket draped across your lap.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it before. The possibility that maybe you were imagining it all. That maybe the lingering glances and the rare, softened smiles were just crumbs you’d blown into meaning more than they ever were.

Maybe you’d been reading too much into his quiet presence, mistaking silence for something intimate. 

How foolish you’d been to think someone like him—the rockstar who had the world in his palms, effortlessly charming and adored by so many—would ever fall for someone like you. A normal intern, just trying to make a name for herself, trying to set her career in motion while she scrambled for every opportunity. You weren’t special enough to be his.

You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting the tears that threatened to fall. Maybe you had made up a story in your head about the way he looked at you. Maybe the moments you thought were quiet confessionals were just him being kind. Maybe it was your heart that had been too eager, too hopeful. You should’ve known better than to read between the lines. You should’ve known better than to think there was more. 

It was stupid, really. To even consider that someone like Minho could see you the way you’d been hoping for. You sighed, a mix of frustration and resignation settling deep in your chest.

It was time to move on. To forget the version of him you had created in your mind. You were grateful that at least you had the next two days off.

You needed space.

From him. From the boys. From everything.

Your phone buzzed softly beside you, its screen lighting up in the dim room. You didn’t reach for it. It buzzed again and again. Without meaning to, your gaze flicked toward the phone.

The lock screen was cluttered now with text notifications from Chan and Hyunjin. You didn’t need to open them to know what they said. But you didn’t feel like replying.

Not tonight.

You turned your phone face-down on the table, the light vanishing like a curtain being drawn shut.

The silence settled in again.

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

You returned to work two days later, a little more composed on the outside, a little more cracked on the inside.

The building felt the same—same coffee smell lingering in the halls, same distant hum of voices echoing from practice rooms. But to you, everything felt different. Colder. Sharper.

You greeted staff with soft smiles and polite nods. When you walked into the practice room where the boys were gathered for schedule rundown, you could feel Minho’s eyes flick toward you immediately. But you didn’t meet them. You didn’t even pause.

Just a quiet, “Morning,” to the room, and then straight to your spot beside the manager.

Hyunjin narrowed his eyes from across the room. He didn’t say anything at first, just kept glancing between you and Minho, like he was trying to read something in the silence.

“Y/N!” Chan greeted first, his voice warm, eyes scanning your face a little too carefully.

You smiled politely. “Hey. Sorry I was just relaxing in the break, couldn’t text you.”

“No worries at all,” he said. “Glad you’re back.”

Felix offered you a hug almost immediately. “You okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just needed some time.”

He didn’t push. Neither did Changbin, who shot you a reassuring look from the mirror as your mentor briefed everyone on today’s plan. Han, however, was silent — his eyes never left your face.

You stayed focused on your clipboard, scribbling notes, pretending your heart wasn’t thudding painfully in your chest when Minho laughed at something Chan said. You didn’t look at him. Not once. Not even when he cleared his throat like he wanted to say something—something directed at you.

You caught sight of him again later that day as you stepped into the main practice room.

He was sitting by the far wall, hoodie sleeves pushed up, fingers tapping absently on his thigh like he was waiting for time to pass. You expected him to ignore you completely.

But he looked up.

And for a split second, your eyes met and you saw something passed through his gaze. Guilt? Relief? You didn’t know. You didn’t care to find out.

You turned away before he could speak.

You stayed locked in your bubble. Quiet. Unbothered. Untouchable.

At least on the outside.

But you felt it, the way his eyes followed you across the room. The pause in his step when you were talking to Seungmin.

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

The tension built slowly, stretching over the hours like an invisible thread. You could feel Hyunjin watching you more than usual, hovering closer, lingering a beat longer than necessary whenever he passed by.

It all came to a head during a quick break in the hallway. You were jotting notes beside the vending machine when Hyunjin slipped beside you and muttered lowly, “Why are you avoiding him?”

You stiffened.

“Hyunjin…”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he cut in, voice firmer now, eyes flickering with restrained frustration. “I heard what happened. I heard what he said. And now you’re walking around like you’re the one who needs to apologize?”

You glanced around nervously. The hallway was empty, but walls here always had ears.

“Please,” you said quietly, tugging him by the sleeve into the empty prop room beside the hallway. “Just listen for a second.”

He crossed his arms, lips pressed into a line.

You swallowed hard. “I crossed a boundary. I did. I assumed things that weren’t there. I was too loud, too much. I read into glances and made up something in my head. That’s on me.”

Hyunjin started to shake his head, but you raised a hand, stopping him gently.

“I just…” You looked away, ashamed. “I don’t want my mistake—my stupidity—to mess up your friendship with him. Please don’t let it. He doesn’t deserve that.”

“Y/N—”

“No, really. It’s okay,” you whispered, eyes glossy now, but your voice steady. “I’ll be okay.”

He stared at you for a long moment, then exhaled slowly.

“You’re not stupid,” he said finally, softly. “You’re just someone who cared.”

You gave him a sad smile. “Still feels stupid.”

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

Meanwhile, Minho was going through a range of emotions.

At first, it felt like relief.

You weren’t laughing around him. You weren’t hovering in the corners of rooms he was in. You weren’t looking at him like he was the sun and the stars and the whole damn sky.

At first, it felt like peace.

But then… it didn’t.

It felt like quiet in all the wrong ways.

He started catching himself glancing up, expecting to find you already looking—only to find your gaze elsewhere. Or worse, nowhere near him at all.

He noticed how your usual energy—the way you brightened the room even when you weren’t trying—had dulled. How you laughed with the other staff, but never like before. How you moved around him like he wasn’t even there.

It didn’t feel like peace. It felt like absence.

He tried to remind himself this was what he wanted. No more hovering. No more warmth. Just peace. 

But somewhere around day three of your silence, Minho realized, that the thing he thought he wanted—the distance, the quiet, the “peace”—felt a hell of a lot like regret. It felt like missing someone who was sitting six feet away.

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

You were bent over a mannequin, hands steady as you carefully pinned lace detailing along the hem of Jeongin’s blazer. It was for an upcoming shoot—classic, structured, and clean with delicate pearl accents and subtle embroidery near the lapels.

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the iron steamer behind you and the occasional buzz of messages from someone’s forgotten phone.

Han entered the room and sat down quietly on the low bench near you, elbows on his knees, fingers drumming lightly against his thigh.

At first, he didn’t speak.

He just watched.

Watched the way your fingers moved with careful precision as you sewed the last pearl into place. Watched the way you paused to make sure the symmetry was perfect before nodding to yourself, reaching for a steamer cloth like you were trying to keep your mind on anything but the tension that had followed you into every room lately.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You glanced at him. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“You’ve been tired for four days.”

You looked down at the brush in your hand.

Han exhaled, voice lowering. “I heard what happened. At the party.”

You paused.

He continued. “I just… I wanted to say I’m sorry. Even though he’s my best friend—that was no way to talk about you. Or treat you.”

Your fingers trembled slightly as you capped the compact. You nodded once. “Thanks.”

“I’m not gonna defend him. I know he’s being stupid,” Han added. “I just wanted you to hear it from me, too. You didn’t deserve that.”

You smiled a little, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “I appreciate it, Jisung.”

He gave your arm a gentle squeeze before standing up. “I won’t push. Just… if you ever need someone to vent to, I’m around.”

And with that, he was gone.

But your heart was a little less heavy.

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

The days passed differently. You didn’t joke with Han while fixing his collar. You didn’t poke Hyunjin’s side when he yawned. You didn’t glance at Minho when you walked past him.

You were strictly professional. Straight-backed. Eyes on task.

And everyone noticed.

Hyunjin pulled you aside once, in the hallway near the breakroom.

“You’re not… yourself,” he said gently.

“I’m just working,” you replied. “Isn’t that what I’m here to do?”

He frowned but let you go.

Inside the practice room, Minho found himself fidgeting.

He kept stealing glances — wondering why the room suddenly felt too still, why his hoodie felt too warm, why he missed the sound of your laughter and the dumb jokes you used to throw his way.

“Dude,” Han muttered, nudging him. “You’ve been staring at her for the last ten minutes. You good?”

Minho blinked, realizing he had been staring — watching as you pinned a tag to a jacket and adjusted the neckline with those same gentle fingers that used to tug on his sleeve just to annoy him.

He looked away.

You stopped showing up to group dinners. Stopped responding to memes in the shared chat. When Hyunjin texted about game night, you replied two hours later with a soft “Sorry, not tonight.”

You were polite. Kind, even. But cold.

There was no more lingering in doorways. No more snacks you left behind for the staff after long nights. You clocked in, did your job perfectly, and disappeared before anyone could ask if you were okay.

Guilt was eating away Minho, it was all his fault. He hated how quiet you were now. How you moved around the room like a stranger wearing the same face. How you didn’t flinch when he brushed past you anymore. How your smile—once warm and open and full of light—was now a carefully measured line that never reached your eyes.

He noticed every single time you declined an invite.

And what he hated most… was that you meant it.

You weren’t pretending to be busy. You weren’t waiting for him to chase after you. You’d really let go. And it was driving him insane. But he didn’t understand why…

This is what he wanted, right?

Silence. Space. Distance.

This was exactly what he’d been hoping for, wasn’t it?

Then why did it feel like he couldn’t breathe?

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

The collaborative stage between Stray Kids and Seventeen was announced with massive buzz. Special unit stages. Joint dance breaks. Concept photos. Interviews. Fans were eating it up before rehearsals even began.

You were roped in to help with styling for the final shoot and early rehearsals. It wasn’t your usual team, but your mentor had vouched for you personally—said you had the right eye, the right attention to detail.

And that’s when you met Kim Mingyu.

Tall, charming, all radiant smiles and easy laughter. He’d walked into the fitting room in an oversized hoodie and black sweats, hair pushed back with a clip, and shot you a grin that nearly made you forget your own name.

“Hey,” he said, offering his hand. “You’re Y/N, right? I’ve heard about you.”

You blinked. “From…?”

“Scoups, my team leader,” he said casually. “Says you’re terrifying when you’re in focus mode. He saw you during the initial discussion with the manager and Bang Chan.”

You huffed a laugh despite yourself. “I’m not terrifying.”

“I dunno,” he teased, eyeing the tiny pin cushion on your wrist. “I’ve seen those weapons before.”

You smirked, setting your clipboard down. “You’re not scared of a few needles, are you?”

Mingyu leaned in slightly, grin widening. “I’m scared of a lot of things. You’re just not one of them.”

And Minho walked in right then. Minho paused at the doorway.

Your back was to him. Mingyu was leaning in close—too close. You were laughing, that soft, genuine kind of laugh Minho hadn’t heard from you in weeks.

It made something in his chest crack.

The air around him changed. He walked into the room with a little too much presence, like he was daring someone to look at him. Mingyu glanced over, eyebrows lifting in recognition.

“Oh, hey,” Mingyu greeted. “Lee Know, right?”

“Minho,” he corrected coolly.

You didn’t turn around. Didn’t acknowledge him. Your attention on Mingyu.

Minho clenched his jaw. “Y/N.”

You looked up briefly. Nodded. “Minho.”

No smile. No warmth. You treated him like a client. And it drove him insane.

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

It started with little things.

Minho would linger after everyone left the room, clearly waiting for you to say something—anything—but you'd just continue folding jackets or updating the fitting sheet without sparing him a glance.

“Did you steam this?” he asked one day, pointing at a dark gray blazer.

“Yes,” you replied flatly.

He waited and waited. You didn’t elaborate or smile. Didn’t compliment how it matched his earrings. Just kept working.

“…Okay,” he muttered and walked away.

The days started blending—shows, schedules, fittings—but Minho couldn’t stop noticing how different you were.

You gradually started laughing with the others like before. You high-fived Jisung when he nailed a dance move. You giggled when Felix made finger hearts at you. You leaned comfortably into Chan’s side when he asked for your opinion on the new teaser photos.

But with Minho?

Nothing.

No smile. No sass. No eye contact longer than two seconds.

He was upset and everyone saw it.

“Hyung, you good?” Seungmin asked one day while they were stretching before rehearsal.

“Fine.”

“You were staring at Y/N again.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Sure.”

Minho’s jaw clenched. “She’s acting weird.”

“No, she’s acting normal. You’re the one acting weird,” Seungmin said, chuckling. “You’re twitchier than Han after two Red Bulls.”

“I just… don’t like being ignored.”

“Ohhh, right. Because she used to flirt with you and now she doesn’t.”

Minho glared. “Shut up.”

“She liked you a lot, y’know? But she’s not gonna chase someone who called her annoying.”

Minho didn’t answer.

But it echoed in his head the rest of the night.

She liked you. You called her annoying.

God.

He was such a jerk.

The next few days, he tried. He really tried.

You were fixing Hyunjin’s cuff when Minho stepped into the room, in a clean white tee and perfectly ripped jeans.

“Morning,” he said, voice carefully casual.

You nodded once. “Good morning.”

That was it.

He cleared his throat. “Nice shirt,” he offered.

“It’s yours,” you deadpanned.

Hyunjin snorted. Minho flushed and sat down without another word.

Later that day, he tried again.

You were rearranging accessories when he walked over, holding a ring in his palm.

“This one or the black one?” he asked.

You glanced briefly. “Black.”

“That fast? Not even gonna try it on me?”

“No need.”

Minho frowned. “You used to be more fun, you know.”

You paused, finally looking at him. “You used to be nicer.”

Then you walked away. He blinked, stunned. Was that... a comeback? He smiled to himself. There she is.

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

The rehearsals were loud with energy when Seventeen arrived at JYP building again.

Mingyu approached you, “Hey Y/N, how are you doing?”

You blinked. "I’m—uh, I’m good. Thank you."

He tilted his head, voice lighter now. "You’ve been quiet. Not that I’ve known you long, but I remember you teasing Dino over his sleeve length last time. I figured you weren’t the shy type."

You gave him a small, polite smile. "Just focused on work today."

"Ahh," he said, not pushing further. But his gaze lingered for a moment longer than necessary. "Still... it’s good to see you again."

You nodded, eyes flicking briefly toward the mirror wall across the room.

Minho was watching with his jaws clenched. His gaze shifted away before you could fully catch his expression.

Later that day during dance practice, Minho caught you laughing from the sidelines. Mingyu had just tripped during a spin and recovered with a dramatic pose like it was part of the choreography.

Your laugh echoed across the room—bright and genuine. Minho’s stomach flipped. You looked happy. Just not with him. He caught Hyunjin’s eye from across the mirrors. The younger boy raised a brow and mouthed: “Regret it yet?”

Minho rolled his eyes. 

Yes.

Yes, he did.

More than anything.

By the time they wrapped practice, most of the members had filtered out. You stayed behind to pack some things, double-checking wardrobe pieces for tomorrow’s shoot.

Minho lingered again.

“So… are you avoiding me?” he asked suddenly.

You didn’t look up. “No.”

“You’re just… treating me like I’m invisible.”

“I’m treating you like a colleague,” you corrected. “That’s what I should’ve done from the beginning.”

Ouch.

“I didn’t mean what I said that night,” he muttered.

You finally turned to him, expression unreadable. “You said it. Whether you meant it or not doesn’t change the fact that I heard it.”

“I—”

“Look, Minho. I liked you, okay?” you said quietly, firm. “I thought we had… something. Even if it was silly. I flirted. You let me. So I assumed you didn’t hate it. But hearing you say you found it annoying?” Your voice cracked slightly. “That sucked.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

You didn’t wait for him to find words.

“I’m not mad anymore. It’s fine, let’s keep it professional.”

Then you turned and walked away again. Minho let out a frustrated sigh, what had he done?

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

You had only meant to be polite. A little distant, maybe. Careful. But apparently, Mingyu saw a challenge—and he accepted it with full confidence and charm.

From the next day on, it was like he had a radar for when you entered a room.

“Hey, Y/N.”

You barely stepped into the practice hall before his voice greeted you. “Want help carrying that?” He was already reaching for the clothing rack like it weighed more than your emotional baggage (it didn’t).

“Oh, it’s okay, I’ve got it—”

“Nah, I insist,” he said with a grin that made the staff nearby swoon. “Wouldn’t be very gentlemanly if I just stood here looking pretty, right?”

You blinked. “That… would depend on your definition of pretty.”

He laughed, a low, surprised chuckle. “Oof. Are you always this dangerous?”

“Only when I haven’t had coffee,” you said dryly.

And it was that simple.

He was hooked.

He started showing up earlier to rehearsals. Always near your station. Sometimes he brought extra drinks—“Thought you might like iced vanilla lattes?”—other times, just conversation. He’d rest his elbow on the rack while you adjusted stage outfits, asking about your favorite color palettes and whether you preferred oversized fits or structured jackets.

And the worst part?

He was easy to talk to.

Too easy.

The more he spoke to you, the more you forgot about how cold Minho had made you feel. Mingyu didn’t make you feel annoying. He didn’t make you second guess every word or glance or laugh. He listened. He noticed things—like how you always kept hair ties on your wrist and hated velvet textures.

But you didn’t flirt back. You’d smile. Laugh sometimes. Keep the conversation going. But your heart hadn’t caught up. Not yet. It was still tangled in a pair of grumpy eyes and cruel words you couldn’t forget.

Across the room, Minho saw it all.

He watched you laugh—really laugh—with someone else. Someone handsome and charismatic and clearly smitten with you. He hated how familiar that expression was on your face. He hated that it wasn’t directed at him.

He knew he had no right to feel this way.

He was the one who pushed you away. Said those things. Let you walk out of that party with tears in your eyes and didn’t even run after you.

And yet…

He found himself glancing up more often when you passed by. Making comments just to hear your voice. Standing a little closer when you weren’t looking.

You didn’t notice. Or maybe you did—and just didn’t care.

But when Mingyu asked if you wanted to grab a bite after rehearsal one night, and you actually paused—just for a second—Minho felt something snap.

He turned on his heel and left the room before he could hear your answer.

You looked up from your clipboard, caught off-guard for a second from Mingyu’s question.

Mingyu was smiling again—bright, hopeful, that usual confident glint in his eyes. He didn’t even try to be subtle anymore. He liked you. Everyone knew it.

You hesitated. Just for a second. And then shook your head, politely. “I’m heading home after this. Long day.”

A beat passed. Disappointment flickered across his features—quickly replaced by an easy grin. “Next time, then.”

You offered a smile. Soft. But firm. “Maybe.”

Mingyu nodded, but you knew he caught the undertone. You weren’t ready. Not yet. Not when Minho’s voice still echoed in your mind like a bruise that refused to fade: She flirts with everyone… it’s annoying.

Even if Mingyu was kind. Even if he made you laugh. You weren’t ready to hand your heart out again. Especially not when someone else had crushed it with a few carelessly thrown words.

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

The rooftop of the JYP building was always a strange kind of refuge. Noisy during the day with deliveries and the occasional staff meeting, but quiet at night—just high enough above the city that it felt like a pause button on reality.

Han had found himself up there more than once. When deadlines loomed. When promotions felt like too much. When the ache of exhaustion pressed too hard on his shoulders.

But tonight… he wasn’t alone.

He spotted Minho by the railing, his back turned to the door, head bowed. The wind tousled his hair gently, and the city lights lit up the side of his face in cold, distant hues.

“Hyung?” Han stepped closer.

Minho didn’t turn, didn’t even flinch. Han slowed as he realised something was off.

He caught the faint shake of Minho’s shoulders. The way his jaw was clenched too tightly. The way he blinked—once, twice, too fast—and then pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes like he could erase the tears before they fully formed.

“Hyung…”

Minho exhaled. Sharp. Fragile.

“I’m fine.”

Han frowned. “You always say that when you’re clearly not.”

Still no response.

Han moved beside him, not too close—just enough to share the quiet. He looked out at the skyline for a moment before saying softly, “She said no.”

Minho’s fingers curled around the railing.

“I heard,” Han added. “Mingyu asked her. You didn’t even wait to listen.”

Minho shut his eyes. The words felt heavy in his throat. “She paused.”

“Yeah. For one second. And you left like it killed you.”

Minho let out a bitter laugh. One that cracked halfway through. “Because it did.”

That startled Han into silence.

Minho finally turned, his eyes red-rimmed, lower lip trembling despite his usual calm exterior. “I don’t even know why I said all that stuff about her. I didn’t mean it. Not a single word.”

“Then why’d you say it?”

“Because…” Minho shook his head, fingers gripping the railing so tightly his knuckles went white. “Because she makes me feel things I’m not supposed to feel. Things I don’t know how to deal with. And the closer she got, the more I panicked. So I pushed her away. I had to. I was also growing jealous, I think? Of her bonding with Hyunjin.”

Han stared at him, then blinked—once, twice—before exhaling. “Hyung… with all due respect, you’re such a pabo. Hyunjin and her are completely platonic.”

Minho let out a soft, broken sigh. “I realize that now.”

Han raised a brow. “You were in love with her, hyung. I knew it from the heart eyes you used to give her every time she walked into the room.”

Minho looked away, almost embarrassed.

Han continued with a small scoff, “I even tried playing cupid, but you were so nonchalant I thought maybe I was wrong.”

Minho gave a humorless chuckle, still blinking back tears. “I was too stubborn to admit it before… but this distance, her ignoring me—God, it’s been killing me. And it made me realize I fell for her from the start. I just didn’t know it then. Or maybe I did, and I was too much of a coward to face it.”

“And now Kim Mingyu’s trying to pull her in,” Han sighed looking up at the sky.

Minho flinched.

Han didn’t smile. He didn’t joke like usual. His voice was calm, steady. “Do you want her to be happy?”

“Yes,” Minho whispered immediately.

“Then you need to fix this, hyung. Because right now, all she remembers is the version of you that called her annoying.”

Silence again.

Minho nodded once—slowly, like the decision cost him something.

Han gave him a small pat on the back before turning to leave. “I’ll cover for you downstairs. Take your time.”

Minho stayed rooted there for a while longer, letting the cold wind sting his face, hoping it would hide the warmth of his tears.

It didn’t.

And for the first time in a long time… he let himself cry.

He was ashamed for hurting you, who’d always been kind. For making you feel like you were too much, when really, you were the best thing he took for granted.

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

It was finally the end of the week, and all you could think about was the long, luxurious everything-shower waiting for you at home. You stepped into the elevator, letting out a quiet sigh as the doors began to slide shut.

Just then, a hand slipped between the narrowing gap, stopping them mid-close.

Your heart dipped the second you saw who it was.

Lee Minho stepped in quietly, not even glancing your way at first. The doors slid shut behind him with a soft ding, sealing the two of you in that small, silent space. You could hear the soft hum of the elevator mechanics, the faint buzz of a fluorescent light above.

He stood beside you—straightened, composed, but the silence was nothing like the ones before. This time, it wasn’t cold. It was unsure. Hesitant.

You shifted your weight, pretending to check your phone, anything to avoid the ache that formed in your chest just from being this close again.

One floor passed. Two.

The tension was suffocating.

Three—

CLUNK.

You jolted when the elevator lurched to a sudden stop. Your hand shot out to grab the railing, and you turned to him, wide-eyed. He’d hit the emergency button.

“Minho—” you began.

“Don’t leave yet,” he said quickly, voice tight. “Just—listen. Please.”

You were stunned into silence.

“Y/N,” he started, looking at you with softness. Not cold. Not harsh. Just... tired. And honest.

“I was wrong,” he said. “About everything.”

You blinked.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly. “I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t even—” he stopped, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t realize what I was saying until it was too late. I was… frustrated. With myself. With how I felt. And I projected that onto you.”

You turned to face him now, fully, slowly.

He looked tired. And not just from rehearsals or schedules. Tired from guilt.

Your voice came out low, careful, “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

His brows furrowed. “Y/N—”

“I crossed a line,” you said, swallowing. “I was the one who confused things. I made you uncomfortable and I kept hovering and—”

“No,” he cut in quietly. “You didn’t.”

“You said I did.”

“I was scared.”

That stilled you.

“I was scared because the way you made me feel didn’t make sense,” he continued. “And instead of dealing with it, I blamed you for making me feel it in the first place.”

You looked away. “You said you wanted peace.”

“I thought that’s what I needed. But the silence after you left? It didn’t feel peaceful. It felt empty.”

You let out a shaky breath, one that felt like it had been trapped in your chest for days.

You stepped forward, your fingers brushing the panel as you desperately tried to cancel it so the elevator would start moving again. But before you could press the button, his hand reached out, catching your wrist. Gently. Not to stop you, just to ask you to stay.

“Please don’t do that,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t leave. Please don’t punish me.”

You froze.

“You think I’m punishing you?” you asked, voice cracking slightly, “You wanted the distance!”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said again, eyes searching yours. “I didn’t mean it to come out like I didn’t care. I was overwhelmed. And I said the wrong thing to the wrong person.”

You blinked hard. “You still said it.”

He winced. “I know.”

You pulled your hand from his, slowly.

“I’m just protecting my own peace now,” you said gently. “That’s all.”

Minho looked at you like the words hurt more than silence ever could.

Neither of you moved for a while. Then Minho spoke—quieter this time, like he didn’t want to scare off whatever fragile truce you’d allowed between you.

“Can we start over?” he asked. “Just… as friends.”

You looked at him, eyes tired, wary. He was watching you like the answer might shatter him. Your heart thudded.

You wanted to ask why now. Why after all the space. Why after the silence. Your guard stayed up. You crossed your arms lightly, leaning back against the elevator wall.

“I don’t know if I can go back to how things were,” you said truthfully.

“I’m not asking for that,” he said quickly. “I just… I miss talking to you. I miss your laugh. I miss you. Even if it’s just as a friend.”

You studied him for a long moment—Minho, who once stood cold and distant, now looking hesitant and real in the dim fluorescent glow. There was no arrogance in him now. No bitterness. Just a quiet kind of sincerity you’d never seen before.

You bit the inside of your cheek, then slowly nodded once.

“Friends,” you said. Cautious. Careful.

Relief bloomed across his face so fast, so unguarded, that it nearly broke your heart again.

He reached out, hesitated—then offered a pinky. It was so Minho. A little awkward. A little sincere. A peace offering dressed in childish promise.

You stared at it, then looped your pinky with his, sealing whatever strange, bittersweet restart this was.

And just like that, he pressed the emergency button again. The elevator jolted back to life.

As the numbers ticked downward and the air shifted, so did something between you. Not quite healed. Not quite the same. But something closer to understanding.

Minho offered you a small smile.

But inside?

He was unraveling.

He’d asked to be your friend, even though every fiber in his body ached to pull you in, to push you gently against the elevator wall and kiss you like he should’ve the night you told him how you felt before. But he knew he didn’t deserve that right. Not after everything he said. Not after how he made you feel.

So he swallowed it down—the longing, the regret, the need. Because if friendship was the only way to keep you in his life, then he’d take it. Even if it meant pretending the quiet way his heart raced around you was platonic. Even if it meant watching you smile at someone else someday and telling himself it didn’t hurt. He’d take it. Because losing you completely? That was never an option.

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

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[bullet-prooflove]

Sucker: Jack Abbot x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989@cosmic-psychickitty @ilariyalavorowrites @spooky-librarian-ghost

Companion piece to:

The Asshole King - Jack discovers you have an unusual technique for dealing with patients.

Bob Dylan - You help Jack to relax after an incident at the hospital leaves him temporarily blind.

Because Of You - Jack realises he's starting to heal in more ways than one after you spend the day taking care of him.

Balance - Jack reveals his feelings for you but they come with complications.

Off Limits - An awkward start to the day leads Jack to make a claim on your affections.

Hawaii - Jack discovers who he really is when you book a trip to Hawaii.

Silk (NSFW) - Jack loves the sight of you in silk.

Running isn’t supposed to be fun.

It’s supposed to a hard relentless pursuit to maintain peak physical fitness.

A way of training your mind and body…

“Come on slow poke, you’re falling behind.” You call over your shoulder with that devil may care grin and Jack huffs out a laugh because that was his mentality before you, before he got to see that firm Lycra clad ass and swishing ponytail.

If that doesn’t change your perspective on running, well he doesn’t know what will. It’s part of the reason he’s been lagging behind the past half mile during the park run, conserving his speed for the finish line. The other part is the prize he has in mind.

“I’m just a poor old man with a prosthetic leg.” He calls out as you hit the final straight. “How do you expect me to keep up?”

“Oh no Jack.” You say slowing your pace, your eyebrows furrowing in concern. “Is it hurting you?”

His baby, she’s so kind and conscientious. She’s also a complete sucker.

He erupts with a burst of speed sailing past you, the word ‘motherfucker’ hanging in the breeze behind him as he laughs to himself, hurtling towards the tree that marks the finish line. His palm slaps against the bark signalling the end of the race and he turns around in time for you to give him the  middle finger as you do the same.

“You. Are. An. Asshole.” You say as you lean over, your hands on your knees trying to catch your breath. “ A trickerish son of a bitch…”

“Faye.” He says softly and you look up to find his face in close proximity to yours.

It takes you a second to realise he’s down on one knee, that he’s holding a ring in his hand. It’s beautiful, silver with a midnight blue sapphire in the centre, a pinprick diamond on either side of it.

“I won the race honey and you know the rules.” He tells you, the left side of his mouth quirking up into that handsome smile. “Whatever I ask you can’t say no.”

“Jack.”  You whisper, your lips brushing over his as he slides the ring onto your finger. “How could I ever say no to you.”

Love Jack? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[jxwl4k]

Hii!! May I request an angst to fluff? But if you don't take angst request pls feel free to ignore this!! So Katsuki and fem reader who dated for half a year between almost end of first year then half of their scond year but then Katsuki breaks up with reader cuz she was a 'distraction' and of course left her heart broken. And then on third years, in the middle of their semester, he then realizes he still loves reader and like tries to reconcile with her. Idk what else to add so I'm just leaving the rest to you!! Love your works btw they're so good!!

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Still yours .𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ . . . genre. angst to fluff

☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x fem!reader

☘︎ . . . requested? yes by anon

⤿ Bakugou broke your heart. He came back. You made him earn it. He did.

1st Year, End of Semester

You and Katsuki Bakugou were never loud about your relationship.

He wasn’t the type to hold hands in public or shout about how much he loved you. But in the quieter moments in between training and studying he’d slip you his hoodie, walk you to your dorm without a word, or rest his forehead against yours after a long day.

It started in the last stretch of your first year, grew steadier into second year. Six months of something real. Something gentle despite him being the most explosive person you knew.

But it ended with a bang.

2nd Year, Halfway Through

“I can’t do this anymore.”

You stood in the training room, the air cold, his words colder.

You blinked. “What?”

Bakugou’s hands were clenched. His jaw was tight.

“You’re a distraction,” he muttered. “I need to focus on becoming the best. I can’t afford to waste time… worrying about you all the time.”

You stepped back like you’d been hit. “So I’m a waste of time now?”

“That’s not what I—” he paused, growling. “I just—this is what’s best.”

For who?

You didn’t cry then. Not in front of him. You just nodded, whispered “Okay,” and walked away. You didn’t see the way his eyes followed you until the door shut behind you.

3rd Year – Mid-Semester

You weren’t the same girl from a year ago.

You smiled less, laughed with your friends more, focused harder on your studies. You’d built walls around your heart high and unbreakable.

Bakugou had noticed.

From across the classroom, during missions, in the dorms. He saw how you no longer looked his way, how your smile didn’t pause for him, how you didn’t flinch when his name came up in conversation.

You’d moved on or at least, that’s what it looked like.

But him?

He was stuck.

Stuck in the memory of you smiling in his hoodie. Of how you cheered him on after training. Of how you looked at him like he was already the best, even before he believed it himself.

He had pushed you away for his dream, only to realize… you were part of it.

One Night After Training

He found you alone by the vending machines. Hair still damp from your shower. Hoodie zipped up to your chin.

He swallowed. “Hey.”

You glanced at him. “Hey.”

God, it was like you didn’t even see him anymore.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, staring at the floor. “I’ve been… thinkin’.”

“About?”

“You. Me.” His voice dropped. “Us.”

You froze.

He rubbed the back of his neck, frustration creeping in. “I was a damn idiot. Thought cutting you off would help me focus. But all it did was make everything harder.”

You didn’t speak.

“I miss you,” he whispered. “All the time. Every day.”

Still, silence.

His heart thundered in his chest. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. Hell, I wouldn’t if I were you. But… I just needed you to know that I’m sorry.”

Your voice was soft. “You really broke me, Katsuki.”

He flinched. “I know.”

“I thought I wasn’t enough. That I was holding you back.”

He stepped closer. “You were never the thing holdin’ me back. You were the thing keeping me grounded.”

You looked up at him, eyes full of pain he wished he could erase.

“Why now?” you asked.

He exhaled. “Because it took me losing you to realize I don’t want a future where you’re not in it.”

You stood there, heart aching with all the love you’d buried. He wasn’t asking for much. Just a chance. A beginning.

“I’m not saying it’s easy,” you murmured. “But I still… I still love you, Katsuki.”

His breath caught. “Yeah?”

You gave a small nod.

He hesitated, then reached out slowly, gently wrapping his fingers around yours.

“Then let me make it right,” he said. “Day by day.”

And this time, you didn’t let go.

Bakugou didn’t win you back with flowers or grand gestures. He showed up every day.

He trained with you, walked you home again, left you little notes before exams. He asked about your day and actually listened. He never interrupted. Never raised his voice at you, not once.

He remembered things you didn’t think he would your favorite drink, the way you hated thunderstorms, the way you liked your rice crispy instead of soft.

He gave you space, but never made you feel alone.

He didn’t rush your heart back to him.

He waited for it.

And slowly, it came back.

Not all at once but gently, like the kind of love you had at the very beginning.

© jxwl4k 2025

[coralbae]

road trips with the jjk men

minors and ageless blogs dni!!

characters: gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso, sukuna

warnings: NSFW, not proofread, reckless driving (please don't be a bitch on the road)

Satoru Gojo

The car itself is luxury. Sleek and pristine with the best leather seats around, though that doesn't stop Gojo from binge eating the cheetos and m&ms that you bought at the gas station. Don’t worry though, his passenger princess never needs to clean up after him.

Speaking of passenger princesses, you’ll have your feet up on the dash as you feed the both of you your snack of choice, or you’ll have your pillow wedged between yourself and the window, napping peacefully next to him. If he gets too lonely without the sound of your voice though, he most definitely will wake you up just to hear you speak, even if it’s out of annoyance for waking you up but when he suggests a karaoke session with the built in app on the interface, you can’t bring yourself to stay mad - not when you have full control of the setlist.

Tucked and neatly folded in the back, is a blanket with an ugly cake print that’s reserved for backseat activities only. For reasons such as these, the windows have been tinted as dark as they can possibly be, lest anyone else pulled up next to you guys in the emergency bay tries to get a glimpse of who exactly owns the most sexy car on this road.

Suguru Geto

Takes you and the girls on 4x4 trails. The three of you are leaning out of the window and laughing as he drives his three favourite girls around, way too expertly and smooth for such a bumpy road. The fact that he gets to show off for you is a welcome bonus.

Geto will take you guys to the nicest beaches he can find, where the sand is soft and the water is blue, sparkly and clear and other happy families surround you. He’ll help you set up the beach umbrella and towels while the Mimiko and Nanako go for a swim, build a sand castle or bury each other in the sand, begging you to take a photo of whoever’s stuck, with just their head their sticking out and giggling in unison. When the girls are far enough from the two of you, but still within sight, you’ll ask Geto to help you apply sunscreen so that you don’t get sunburnt in your string bikini. He’s very thorough, making sure to massage it into all the places along your back that you couldn’t reach, as well as lower down and around your chest, just in case the sun’s rays make it through the fabric, if you catch my drift.

There’s never a dull moment on the road with the four of you. You’re usually playing I Spy, gossiping with the girls about school, or when the twins are fast asleep, cuddling their matching squishmallows, the two of you discuss the fact that there’s still one empty seat in the back, waiting to be filled sometime in the near future.

Kento Nanami

The two of you go on trips in your Volkswagen Westfalia, which he helped you modify and deck out exactly how you want because his life motto is happy wife, happy life. Listens to podcasts as you read, or puts on background music when the two of you want to talk. Rolls his sleeves up as he drives, definitely not because he likes how much you drool over his muscles that are still so big and juicy while relaxed.

Road trips for the two of you usually take a few days, as opposed to a day trip because his favourite moments are when he gets to disconnect from the busy city and just exist with you. You'll visit small country towns, where you each choose a trinket for the other, a tradition that you've shared since you discovered they you both really, really enjoy driving around and exploring the country.

Unlike the others, you and Nanami have not one, but two beds in your van because his lovely wife deserves more than a quick shag, all cramped up in the back of a car. The upper bunk never gets used for that anymore though, because first (and only) time you guys had sex up there, he spent most of it afraid that it would break with how hard you were riding him and the fact that you hit your head on the roof because how dare it be so low that you bumped your lovely head on it? At the caravan park, in the middle of the night and as your hands begin to wander, Nanami makes sure to shove your panties in your mouth to muffle your cries so that the two of you don't disturb the other campers, and worse, families that surround you while he fucks you into next week.

Toji Fushiguro

Definitely drives with one hand on top of the wheel. The other is probably on your thigh, and if the kids aren’t there, between them. If he gets too needy, he’ll park behind a bunch of bushes that barely conceal the two of you, making you get on all fours in the booth of the car as he fucks you on the side of the road, and when you turn your head to check if anyone’s coming, he pulls you by your hair so that you’re looking up at him instead.

He’ll fly to your destination, doing at least fifty above the speed limit, only slowing down when you smack him for turning too recklessly around a bend or if the kids are in the car. Groans when there's one too many road trains in front of the car for him to overtake.

If it’s a family road-trip, he eats half of the snacks, forcing Megumi and Tsumiki to share the snacks they chose that morning, because it’s the dad tax. They groan and whine and tell him that he should’ve just bought his own snacks back at the supermarket, but their complaints cease as soon as either of the kids spot the animals grazing on the grass at the farms that run parallel to the road, hands and noses pressed against the window as they stare in awe, unaware of the oil marks that they’ve left on the glass (much to their dad’s annoyance).

When Megumi pushes his buttons and asks, ‘are we there yet?’ for the fourth time in the span of twenty minutes, he pulls over into the emergency stop bays and the four of you sit there in awkward silence until Toji decides that the kid has been punished for long enough, sighing and getting back on the road while you glance back at the kids and try to hide your laugh, earning a pinch your thigh from your husband as he demands suggests that everyone plays the quiet game until he decices that it’s over.

Choso Kamo

Choso, out of the boys, is the only one who is willing to take turns driving. He's vigilant and careful but not afraid to honk if he comes across some idiot while cruising down the highway. The two of you will listen to your shared playlist, which has way too many songs for the actual duration for your trip, sometimes singing along or laughing at how the shuffling of the playlist gives you whiplash from the variety of the songs' genres.

When it's his turn to drive, if he sees a stretch of wildflowers, he always makes sure to pull over, telling you to wait for him as he carefully picks the prettiest ones as a gift for you. In return, you give him the sweetest kiss, or if you're feeling frisky, you'll bounce on his dick so hard that it rattles and tests the suspension of your car more than any bumpy road ever could. As the flowers never last long, you've started bringing your crafting kit to preserve your flowers in resin as Choso continues your drive with a red face and messy hair.

Among outdoor activities, the both of you love to go on a hike, or a walk in the bush. You collect any pretty leaves or (safe) mushrooms that you come across, preserving them once again for you to show off to your friends, or his brother once you return home. You guys can honestly probably open up some gallery or something somewhere down the line with all the preserved flora and fungi that you find. On your hikes, sometimes the two of you will take extended breaks where one you will find yourself on your knees, though it may be cut short, forcing you to quickly dust yourself off when you hear footsteps approaching.

Sukuna Ryomen

Drives with one elbow out the window, while the other is playing with your ponytail as you bob your head up and down along his dick. The first time you did that, he didn’t realise how much he was losing focus and got overtaken by about three cars, which pissed him off so hard that he pulled you off so he could catch up to when without any distractions (don’t worry, he uses cruise control now).

He loves to tailgate. Even at ridiculous speeds, this man knows no fear while you’re gripping the overhead handles until your knuckles are white and you’re screaming curses him. How does he calm you down? Not by slowing down, no. He makes you suck his dick, already hard and throbbing from when you were yelling at him. If you can’t see the road, you won’t know what he’s doing, right?

Expect lots of shitty jokes or comments when it gets too quiet or if you guys drive past any unique structures. Always announces the, ‘dead centre of town!’ when approaching the cemetery of each country town that you pass though as you try to hold in your laughter, because unlike him, you don’t want to go to hell when you die. Probably comments on the amount of animal carcasses you guys see along the way.

[woso-story]

Better Boyfriend Than Him - Part Twenty-Two

Alexia Putellas x Reader - Other Parts

Being Alexia's girlfriend is… perfect.

There’s no other word for it.

Waking up next to her, the way her arm lazily wraps around your waist in the mornings. The soft kisses on your temple before she leaves for training. The way she smiles at you like she’s still surprised she gets to call you hers. It’s all perfect—so easy and natural, like it was always meant to be this way.

But just as everything is falling into place, it’s time to leave.

You’re heading home for Christmas—Zaragoza, with your family and Mapi’s—and suddenly the timing feels unfair. You just got her, just held her hand in public for the first time, just kissed her in front of your friends… and now you have to leave?

You cling to her the morning of your departure, sitting on the edge of your bed in your thick sweater, your overnight bag packed and waiting at the door. Alexia stands in front of you in her pajamas, arms crossed and teasing you with a little smile.

“You’re acting like you’re leaving for six months,” she says, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“It feels like it,” you mumble.

She laughs and leans in, pressing a long, slow kiss to your lips. “You’ll be back in a few days. I’ll be fine.”

You’re not sure if you will.

Mapi’s voice cuts through the moment from the hallway. “Okay, lovebirds. We’re late. Again.”

Alexia helps you up, your hand lingering in hers even as you walk toward the door.

“I don’t want to go,” you whisper.

“I know,” she whispers back, her voice soft.

Just as you turn to say goodbye one more time, Mapi groans. “Seriously? I’m gonna drag you out myself.”

And she does.

She literally wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you out the door while you and Alexia are still laughing through your goodbyes. Alexia leans against the doorway, watching you with soft eyes and a small smile, blowing you one last kiss.

It’s hard. Really hard.

But the Christmas days are… perfect.

Your family is thrilled to have you back, and the warmth of home wraps around you like your favorite blanket. There’s food, endless teasing, way too many sweets. And everyone’s excited to meet Alexia someday—your parents, your cousins, even your uncle who pretends not to care about football but somehow knows exactly how many goals she scored this season.

In the evenings, it’s just you and your girlfriend again. You curl up under your childhood blanket, your phone pressed to your ear, and tell each other what you’ve been doing the last few hours.

Her voice always makes your heart calm down.

She tells you about what her mom cooked, and how Alba forced her into watching Love Actually again. You tell her about your grandma’s bad jokes and how you can’t stop thinking about her whenever someone says the word “Barcelona.”

And then, just like that, it’s New Year’s Eve.

You and Mapi are driving back to Barcelona, music blasting, the car packed with presents and leftovers. You're both excited—there's something special about ringing in the new year with your people. Your girlfriend. Your friends. Your life.

The apartment is buzzing with laughter when you arrive. People are everywhere—Alexia in the kitchen with Alba, pouring cava into mismatched glasses. She turns the second you step through the door.

Your heart jumps when you see her. She looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room.

“You’re back,” she says, crossing over to pull you into a kiss.

“I told you I’d come back,” you smile against her lips.

The night is full of music, dancing, drinks, and joy. Midnight comes too fast. Everyone’s counting down around you, glasses raised, eyes bright.

“Cinco!”

“Cuatro!”

“Tres!”

You’re already turning to her, arms around her neck.

“Dos!”

“Uno!”

And then her lips are on yours, and nothing else matters.

The best start to a new year in a long time.

---

Time with Alexia moves differently now. Faster, somehow, but fuller too.

The new year kicks off with both of you buried in responsibilities. She heads off to training camp with Barca. You dive into a new project at work that keeps you glued to your laptop late into the evenings. Life is moving fast—but it’s moving in the right direction.

She still finds ways to make you feel like you’re her priority. You come home to flowers more often than not—sometimes roses, sometimes wild little bouquets she picked up “just because.” Sometimes there’s a note tucked between the petals, scribbled in her handwriting:

“You’re the calm in my chaos.”

You go on double dates with Mapi and Ingrid. You visit Eli and Alba often, sharing Sunday coffees and warm croissants. The first time they came over after Alexia made it official with you, Eli pulled you into the tightest hug and whispered, “Ya era hora. Bienvenida a la familia.”

Everything is falling into place.

At the end of January, it’s your birthday.

Because Alexia’s birthday is less than a week later, the two of you decide to celebrate together—nothing extravagant, just a cozy dinner with your closest friends. Laughter bubbles through the night, champagne glasses clink, and Alexia keeps looking at you like she’s the luckiest person in the room.

Maybe she is.

But you feel the same way.

Alexia is the best girlfriend you could ever ask for. Supportive, steady, full of quiet passion. She kisses you when you’re stressed, holds you when you're tired, reminds you with every little thing she does that you’re loved, deeply.

Life isn’t just good.

It’s perfect.