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pinkpurplesunrises · 2 days ago

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When the Darkness Felt Endless (You Were the Light I Found)

4500 words - I guess this is a middle long story - Alexia Putellas x Reader - Maybe this will heal the anxiety - Angst and Fluff - Happy ending - Mentions of depression and prostetics - Please read with care.

Writer's note: wow, wow, wow, you are all so kind! Keeps me going when the creative brain hits. Enjoy this piece while I finally get to work work. See you next week.

The headlines had stopped screaming her name. The lights had dimmed. The cheers faded like echoes in a cold, hollow tunnel.

Alexia Putellas sat in the back of her apartment, hood up, body curled into the corner of a couch she barely remembered buying. The only sound was the ticking of a clock she wished she could rip off the wall. Time was still moving. Everything was moving. Except her.

Her knee still ached, even though the doctors said it was healing. But they didn’t see the part that didn’t show up on scans. They didn’t hear the static that buzzed in her head every time she looked at her boots. Or saw the photos she’d flipped face-down.

Everything inside her was sharp edges and shame. And that voice… her own voice, somehow sounding like someone else. It told her this was who she really was: not the leader, not the fighter, not the hero. Just broken.

She hadn’t been outside in days.

And then the knock came.

It wasn’t loud. Just three soft, almost tentative knocks. Like the person on the other side wasn’t sure if anyone would answer. Or wanted to.

She didn’t move.

The knock came again.

“Alexia.” Your voice was gentle, but it carried something heavier underneath. Like you knew. Like you’d been here, too.

She hated that. That you might see her like this.

Why did you see her like this? You are just one of the neighbors.

“I’m not…” she croaked, but her voice cracked like dry wood. “Just go.”

But you didn’t.

“I brought food,” you said. “You can ignore me if you want. I’ll just leave it here.”

Silence.

“I’m coming back tomorrow.”

That night, Alexia sat with the food untouched on the kitchen counter. Staring at the note you left beside it.

You’re not alone.

She hated how much she wanted to believe it.

You kept coming back.

Every day.

Sometimes with food. Sometimes with nothing but silence and that look. The one that said you see her. Not the athlete. Not the legend. Just her. And she couldn’t stand it.

The third day, she opened the door. Only a crack. Just enough for you to see the bruises under her eyes. Not from fists, but from insomnia and tears.

"You don’t have to…" she started.

"I know," you said. No hesitation. "I want to."

She hated that answer.

Because it didn’t make sense.

People only stay when they want something. That’s what her mind told her. That twisted, looping thought she couldn’t shut up.

What did you want?

Whatever it was, she didn’t buy it.

Fame by proximity? A favor? A story to tell your friends. ‘Oh, I saw Alexia Putellas fall apart once. Up close.’

Or maybe you were just like her… sick with guilt and pretending not to be.

Still, she let you inside that night.

You didn’t ask questions. Didn’t push. Just sat on the floor while she stared at the ceiling. And somehow, in the silence, she cracked.

“They keep saying I’ll come back stronger,” she muttered.

You turned to look at her, eyes soft but honest. "And what do you say?"

She laughed. Bitter, low. "That I’m tired of lying.”

There it was.

The truth spilled from her lips like poison. "I don’t even know who I am without football. Without winning. Without people chanting my name. When it’s quiet like this…" she gestured around the dim apartment, “I can’t hear anything except how much I hate myself.”

Your voice didn’t break, but it trembled with understanding. “I know that feeling.”

She studied you for the first time. Really studied you. There was a weight behind your eyes. Not pity, she would’ve shut down if it were pity, but recognition.

You’d been there, too.

“I used to think if I could just do enough, be enough… maybe I’d stop feeling like a burden,” you said. “Turns out you can accomplish everything and still feel like you’re rotting inside.”

A beat passed. She almost stopped breathing.

Because it felt like you were inside her head.

“Why are you here?” she whispered.

“I don’t know. Maybe because when I look at you, I see someone worth saving.” You paused. “And I wish someone had done that for me.”

She turned her face away so you wouldn’t see the tear fall. But she felt your presence, warm and still. Not trying to fix her. Not telling her to “get back up.” Just… there.

The silence between you was heavy, but not suffocating. For the first time in weeks, she didn't feel like she was falling alone.

Later that night, as you left, she murmured it… half asleep, half broken, but clear:

“Luna.”

You turned back. “What?”

“That’s what I’m gonna call you,” she said, voice hoarse. “You’re quiet. But you show up when it’s dark.”

You didn’t reply. But you smiled. And somehow, that smile stayed with her long after the door closed.

One evening, she was distant, colder than before. You noticed it the moment you stepped in. Her eyes avoiding yours. Her body taut like a wire ready to snap.

You became her Luna, the quiet light in her darkest nights.

But even the moon disappears behind clouds.

“Alexia?” you asked softly.

She shook her head, voice sharp and brittle. “I don’t need anyone.”

That cracked something inside you. A fissure that had been growing since you met her. But you held your ground. Refusing to let her slip away.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” you said.

She laughed but there was no humor. “You don’t understand. Nobody does.”

Her voice broke, just for a second, but that was enough.

“I hate who I’ve become,” she confessed. “The injury, the silence, the empty space where my future used to be. Every time I look in the mirror, I hate her. Hate myself.”

The raw pain in her words stabbed you. You reached out, trembling, to touch her arm.

But she flinched.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “I’m broken.”

You wanted to scream, to shout that she wasn’t. That no one was broken beyond repair. But your voice caught in your throat.

Because you knew this was a battle she had to fight inside herself.

Days passed, and the distance grew. Texts left unread. Calls unanswered.

You tried to respect her space, but the silence swallowed you whole.

One night, your phone lit up, a message from her.

“Go away.”

It was simple. Cold.

You stared at the screen. Heart shattering.

But you didn’t reply.

Instead, you showed up at her door the next morning. No words. Just presence.

After a long moment, she opened the door, eyes red and swollen.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

You shook your head. “You don’t have to apologize for pain.”

Her lips trembled, tears spilling down. “I’m scared you’ll leave. Like everyone else.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised. “Luna stays through the storms.”

And in that fragile moment, between fear and hope, she let you in again.

She never understood why you kept knocking. Why, out of all the faces in the building, it was yours.

The truth was, you’d never spoken more than a handful of words. Maybe five in total. Mostly just glances through half-open doors or hurried nods in the hallway.

Neighbors, not friends. But something kept pulling you to her door.

Tonight was no different.

Another knock. Three soft taps.

Alexia stared at the door like it was a stranger’s, heart pounding unevenly. She had so many questions, none of which she dared voice.

Why her? Why now? Why someone she barely knew. Someone she’d barely looked at?

She wanted to slam the door. Yo shut out the unknown. But her body betrayed her. The door cracked open.

There you stood. No food. No note. Just that steady, quiet presence.

You said nothing, just offered a small, almost hesitant smile.

She wanted to ask, Why? Why do you care?

But words wouldn’t come.

Instead, she looked away.

“It’s ridiculous,” she finally muttered. “You don’t even know me.”

You nodded slowly. “I don’t.”

“But you keep coming back.”

“Yes.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Why?”

You looked down at your hands, then back up… eyes steady.

“Because sometimes, when someone’s breaking in silence, the right thing to do is just... show up. Even if you don’t understand.”

Alexia’s chest tightened.

She hated feeling like a charity case. A project. Someone to be saved. She was a fighter, or she used to be. But now… now she felt like nothing.

“You don’t owe me anything,” she said, voice trembling. “You don’t have to be here.”

You stepped a little closer. Still cautious. Still respectful.

“I’m not here because I owe you. I’m here because I see you. And you deserve more than being invisible.”

Her eyes flicked to yours, searching for something. Hope, maybe, or just the truth.

She didn’t know what to say.

So she said nothing.

And in that silence, a fragile understanding settled.

But the walls were still up.

And the healing… if it ever came… was still far away.

You started staying longer.

Never asked to. Never assumed. Just waited. Always waited for her to open the door first.

The first time she left it unlocked, you stood there for a moment. Unsure whether it was an invitation or an accident. But when you knocked softly and she didn’t flinch, you stepped inside.

She was on the floor, back against the couch, legs drawn in. A hoodie swallowed her frame.

No words. Just your breath in the quiet.

You sat down across from her, not too close. The space between you wasn’t distance. It was permission. She needed that.

The silence stretched until it didn’t feel like silence anymore.

Finally, she spoke.

“You live across from me, right?”

You nodded. “End of the hall.”

Her eyes flickered over you, cautious. “How long?”

“About a year.”

She blinked. That long?

“You ever hear me cry?” she asked bluntly.

You didn’t lie. “Sometimes.”

Her jaw tightened. She looked away. “Bet that was pathetic.”

“No,” you said simply.

She didn’t respond, but something in her posture shifted.

You looked down at your hands. “I used to cry like that, too.”

She glanced up. “Used to?”

You hesitated. “Sometimes still do. Just quieter.”

That earned a dry, bitter huff. Not quite a laugh. But not silence either.

Alexia rubbed at her face. Her fingers trembling. “You know... I thought if I lost football, I’d lose everything. Turns out I did.”

“You didn’t lose everything,” you said.

She met your eyes. Sharp, tired, guarded. “What’s left?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. You didn’t want to say me. Not yet. Not when she barely let you touch her shadow.

So instead, you said, “Maybe something you haven’t noticed yet.”

Another silence. Heavier this time.

Then she asked, voice low, “What’s your name?”

You gave it to her.

She repeated it quietly, testing the sound. And then... without quite meaning to... she said, “Doesn’t suit you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “No?”

She shook her head. “You’re still Luna.”

Your chest ached, but in a good way.

She was letting you in. A little. Enough.

Enough for now.

You didn’t knock.

For the first time in weeks, your knock never came.

The hallway was quiet.

Alexia sat in the dark. Blanket wrapped around her like armor. Phone on the table. Screen blank. No texts. No sounds. Just the ticking again. That clock she still hadn’t taken off the wall.

Her apartment had never felt so empty.

She waited an hour. Then two.

Then three.

Maybe you were busy. Maybe you finally realized she wasn’t worth the effort. She told herself that. Repeated it like a mantra.

This is what people do. They leave. She should be used to it.

But something about your silence was off. Not cruel, not distant. Just… wrong.

So she stood. Pulled on a sweatshirt. Crossed the hallway.

Your door was closed. No sound from inside.

She hesitated.

Then knocked. Once. Twice. Three times.

No answer.

Her gut tightened. She knocked again, firmer. “Luna?”

Still nothing.

She didn’t mean to open the door. But it was unlocked, just like hers had been the night she let you in.

She stepped inside.

And stopped.

Your place was dim. Quiet. Lived-in but tidy. And in the far room... she saw the silhouette of you curled up in bed, facing the wall.

“Luna?” Her voice was barely a whisper now.

You didn’t turn.

She walked closer. Slowly. And then she saw it. The empty socket beside the bed. A sleek black prosthetic leg propped against the wall. The skin of your thigh raw and irritated. Like it had fought a battle all day and lost.

You still didn’t turn. But you spoke, voice low and flat. “Didn’t feel like being a person today.”

Alexia blinked. The words were a mirror of everything she’d ever said. Everything she thought only applied to her.

And suddenly, she felt like a thief.

You’d been showing up for her. Over and over. And she’d never once asked if you were hurting too. She never noticed your limp, never questioned your quiet exits. Never even saw the piece of you that was missing. Not really.

She’d been drowning so deeply in herself, she never realized you might be wading through your own hell.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

You turned your head slightly, eyes tired but calm. “Would it have mattered?”

That answer gutted her.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “It would’ve.”

A long silence.

You gave a tired shrug. “It happened years ago. Car accident. I was in the backseat. Some nights I still dream I’m trapped there.”

She sat down beside your bed, not touching you. Just there.

“I used to think I’d never walk again,” you continued. “Then I thought I’d never be loved. Now I just try to get through the day without wanting to disappear.”

Alexia pressed a fist to her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be.”

“No. I am.” Her voice cracked. “You were always there for me. And I never asked about you. I never even looked.”

You glanced at her, lips curling just slightly. “That’s okay. You weren’t supposed to. You were drowning.”

She blinked fast, but tears slipped through anyway.

“I’m tired of drowning,” she said, voice almost inaudible.

Then, softer still: “Do you want me to stay?”

You nodded, just once.

And for the first time, she lay beside you.

No walls. No armor.

Just two broken people, side by side, in the quiet dark.

The morning sunlight filtered softly through your window, painting your room with pale gold.

Today was different.

Today you were getting a new prosthetic leg.

Your first in months.

The one designed to move. To run. To jump. To feel alive again.

You turned to Alexia, heart pounding with something close to hope.

“I have an appointment,” you said quietly. “Physio and the new leg fitting.”

Her eyes flickered, hesitation written in every line of her face.

“I don’t know if...”

You smiled gently. “I want you to come.”

For weeks, she’d barely left her apartment. The shadows clung too tight. The pain was too loud.

But something about your invitation felt different. Not a demand, but a promise.

She nodded slowly, pulling on a jacket she hadn’t touched in days.

Outside, the air was cool and sharp. A fresh contrast to the stale loneliness of her rooms.

You walked side by side. Tentative but steady.

The clinic was bright, bustling with life and the sharp scent of antiseptic.

You tried on the new prosthetic. Lighter, more flexible. And for the first time in months, you felt the thrill of movement.

Alexia watched, eyes wide, a small smile playing at her lips.

On the way back, you both walked a little taller.

And then, unexpectedly, you saw her.

Eli.

Alexia’s mother.

Her face softened at the sight of her daughter stepping out into the sunlight. Not alone but with you. the stranger who had quietly become her lifeline.

“Alexia,” Eli’s voice was gentle but firm, full of the unspoken worry and love only a mother carries. “I’ve been waiting for this day.”

Alexia’s lips trembled as she gave a nod.

Eli turned to you, eyes bright with gratitude. “Thank you for bringing her out.”

You exchanged a glance. Warm and quiet.

For the first time in a long time, hope didn’t feel fragile.

It felt possible.

The days after the clinic visit were quieter but not empty.

Alexia noticed it first in the mornings.

She woke without the usual weight pressing on her chest, the dark thoughts that tangled her mind overnight still there, but softer... distant echoes instead of a roaring storm.

You were part of that change.

Not because you said anything profound.

Not because you tried to fix her.

But because you simply were... a steady presence in a wrld that had felt fractured and cold.

One afternoon, Eli stopped by. She lingered in the doorway. Her eyes warm and kind.

“I see a change,” she said softly.

Alexia shrugged, unsure if she wanted to believe it.

Eli smiled gently. “Sometimes the right person doesn’t just walk into your life. They carry a light you forgot you had.”

That night, you two sat on her small balcony, wrapped in blankets, watching the city lights flicker.

She turned to you, voice quiet.

“You make this... lighter. Like the weight is still there but I can breathe underneath it.”

You reached out, fingers brushing hers briefly.

“That’s enough,” you said.

Alexia smiled, fragile but real.

In the dark, with you beside her, she let herself hope. For the first time in a long time. That maybe. Just maybe. She wasn’t alone.

The knock was soft but deliberate.

You opened the door to find Alexia standing there. A carefully balanced container in her hands.

“I made lunch,” she said, voice a little shy. “Thought you might want some company.”

You stepped aside, letting her in.

The apartment smelled faintly of warmth and effort. Something she hadn’t done in a while.

You ate together, the quiet between bites feeling less like an abyss and more like a space where something new might grow.

After the last forkful, Alexia looked at you, eyes steady.

“I’m going to the training grounds tomorrow,” she said.

Your heart skipped.

“Rehab,” she added quickly. “I’ve decided I can’t stay stuck. And they have staff there of course. Professionals who can help. Maybe even help you, too. With your new leg.”

You blinked, surprised.

“Would you like to come? Start yours together?”

You blinked, surprised.

“I… don’t really have any training clothes,” you admitted shyly, voice small.

Alexia’s lips curved into a proud, teasing smile. “You can wear mine.”

Your heart fluttered in a weird, warm way.

She caught your glance and laughed softly. “I’m serious. You’re going to need something comfortable. Besides, it’s about time I share more than just my pain.”

The morning sun spilled through the windows as you both prepared for the day ahead.

Alexia handed you a loose-fitting sweatshirt and sweatpants. Her training clothes, worn but clean.

You hesitated, fingers brushing the fabric. Feeling a strange flutter in your chest.

“You sure?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

She smiled, a mixture of pride and encouragement in her eyes. “Absolutely. It’s a start. We start together.”

The walk to the training grounds was quiet at first. Neither of you knew exactly what to say, or how to act.

You noticed the way Alexia kept glancing at you. Maybe nervous. Maybe hopeful.

When you arrived, the clinic staff greeted you warmly. Ushering you both into the rehab area.

The room was filled with equipment: parallel bars, treadmills, balance boards. A physical world of challenge and possibility.

You fumbled with the new prosthetic leg, its unfamiliar weight strange against your skin.

Alexia stood beside you, silently offering support.

“Ready?” she asked, voice soft but steady.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.

Your first steps were awkward and uneven. The prosthetic didn’t quite feel like part of you yet, and your muscles screamed with unfamiliar effort.

Alexia’s own movements were cautious. Shadows of hesitation flickering in her eyes.

But neither of you gave up.

The physiotherapist guided you gently. Adjusting your posture. Encouraging you.

Between attempts, Alexia reached out, squeezing your hand briefly. A small anchor in the uncertainty.

You caught her gaze, and in that moment, words weren’t necessary.

Hours passed in a blur of effort and quiet triumphs.

By the end, you were both exhausted but smiling. The first genuine smiles in a long time.

On the walk home, Alexia slipped her hand into yours.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?” you asked.

“For coming. For staying.”

Your heart swelled.

When you stopped outside her building. The world seemed to pause.

Alexia looked up at you. Eyes searching. Vulnerable.

Slowly, she leaned in and your lips met in a soft, trembling kiss.

It was hesitant. A question and an answer all at once.

The kind of kiss that promises more than words ever could.

When you finally pulled apart, neither of you spoke.

But the quiet between you now held something new.

Hope.

And the beginning of something real.

A few weeks had passed since that day at the training grounds.

You and Alexia were officially together now. Girlfriends, as she’d said once. Shy but sure.

Most days, you found yourself spending hours in her apartment. The place that had once felt like a prison but was slowly becoming home.

Today, you two tackled the chaos of her room. Clothes piled on the floor. Unopened letters. And the shadows that still lingered in the corners.

You laughed quietly as you worked side by side. The easy comfort between you growing.

Later, she mentioned dinner at her mother’s.

“You’ll finally meet my mamá properly,” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“And my sister,” she added with a smile.

Your heart fluttered, nerves bubbling up. Meeting family felt like a big step. But one you were ready for.

Before you left, you needed to freshen up.

Alexia’s shower was small, built before your accident, not quite made for someone like you.

You hesitated at the bathroom door, voice trembling. “I… might need some help.”

She looked up. Surprise flickering in her eyes.

You’d never seen each other quite like this. Vulnerable, exposed.

But Alexia didn’t hesitate.

She stepped inside, gentle hands steadying you as the warm water glided over your skin. Her arms wrapped around you, holding you close in the tight, steamy space.

“Thank you,” she whispered softly against your ear, her voice trembling with something raw and real. “Thank you for pulling me out of the dark.”

You leaned into her, heart pounding, feeling the weight of those words settle between you like a promise.

When you finally emerged, clean and steady, Alexia smiled softly.

“You’re beautiful,” she said simply.

You blushed, heart full.

Tonight, you’d meet her family.

But for now, wrapped in the warmth of each other, you felt ready for anything.

It still felt surreal. This place was yours and Alexia’s now.

A modest one-floor home nestled in a peaceful neighborhood, spacious enough for dreams and laughter and the quiet moments you both craved.

Boxes sat unpacked in the corners, a testament to new beginnings, but the walls already hummed with the promise of life unfolding.

Today was special.

Alexia had a match.

Her first game back after months of grueling rehab, of rebuilding not just her body but her spirit.

You could see the nervous energy radiating off her as she laced up her boots. Her eyes sharp but filled with a fragile hope.

Her mother was coming with you to watch. Her presence a steady, loving force that somehow made the day feel lighter.

The stadium buzzed with anticipation as you found your seats.

The whistle blew, and she was off.

Watching her move with fierce determination. The joy of the game shining through the sweat and effort, made your heart swell.

Each pass, each sprint, each goal attempt was a testament to her fight. Not just to return, but to reclaim.

Eli beside you smiled softly, whispering, “She’s stronger than ever.”

After the final whistle, you met Alexia outside the locker room, her face flushed. Breathless. Radiant.

“You did it,” you said, pulling her close.

She laughed, a sound of pure relief and triumph.

“We did it,” she corrected, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

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Writer's note: your thoughts about this one?

#woso community #woso writers #woso x reader #woso #fc barcelona femeni #woso fanfics #fc barcelona femeni x reader #woso imagine #my long story #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader

308 notes · View notes

yoiisa · 2 days ago

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hi there, can u write a fic (college au/no blue lock) where reader & isagi are in a relationship, but his roommates slash friends don't know bcs reader always comes over whenever isagi says that his friends (bachira, kunigami, & chigiri) aren't at their apartment, but then get caught one day when his friends went back home early?

ive only stumbled upon ur account recently and i love ur fics/writing!!

omg love!! idk how colleges in japan work, so im just going to model this based on american colleges :D

all characters aged up (20+)! Tags: slightly suggestive and making out!!

➜ you knew isagi yoichi for around 6 months before the two of you started dating, but you'd been eyeing him for all of that time ➜ he was exactly your type- quiet, but the sweetest and most considerate person ever. ➜ he had beautiful blue eyes, was taller than you, and played soccer for the school. holy hell, talk about your personal kryptonite ➜ he was always too shy to ask you out though, so you had to take initiative on that front

You're sitting under a tree with Isagi in the school's courtyard. People are passing you by, heading to their respective classes. All you can think of in this moment though is how nice this is. The summer breeze is brushing his hair perfectly and the sun is making his eyes look like tiny sapphires. He looks like a prince. "Um, [name]?" he asks looking down at you. "Are you okay? You've been really quiet." You blink a few times, snapping out of your trance. You look down at your lap, staying silent for a little while. "Hey, Isagi?" you start. He leans forward and you feel like your heart is a car that someone just revved. "Umm, you don't have a girlfriend right?" "N-no," he stammers, taken aback. "Why?" "Do you," you cut yourself off, taking a deep breath. You meet his gaze and give him a tiny smile as you force the words out of your throat. "Do you wanna go out with me?" Your heart stops as he physically flinches back. "Nevermind!" you quickly say, holding your hands up in defense. "I'm so sorry, just forget all of that-" "N-no! That's not it, I- I do like you," he insists, "I just didn't expect you to ask me out." He lets out a deep breath and chuckles. "I was actually going to try and ask you out. My friends were giving me all this advice on how to do it. You just caught me off guard though. Beat me to the punch, huh?" He takes your hand in his and squeezes it. "But to answer your question, yes. I would like to go out with you."

➜ and that was that! the two of you were a couple. only one thing though- you'd never met those illusive friends ➜ whenever you went over to his dorm- a quad with two bunk beds and four desks, as well as a quite beautiful view of the whole campus through the window- there was no one else there but the two of you ➜ six months went by and not a single glimpse of them! you asked isagi about it once and he gave you a few excuses

"Well Bachira's really close to his mom, so he leaves campus a lot to hang out with her every now and then. She doesn't live too far from here anyways," Isagi explains as he rests his head in your lap. "And then Chigiri has a part time job at a physical therapist's office. He used to go there for himself since he messed up his leg once in an accident a while ago." You nod, running your finger through his hair. "And what about Kunigami?" "Also has a part time job as a kiddie's soccer coach," he says. "Hmm," you smirk and tickle your boyfriend's neck. He flinches and you giggle, "So you're the only one unemployed, huh?" He stiffens and gives you a look out of the corner of his eyes. "No. Bachira doesn't have a job too."

➜ when you finally meet Isagi's roommates . . . it's a mess ➜ after not seeing them enough times, you grew relatively comfortable with the idea that you never would in the dorms, and so did he ➜ he would have you over pretty often, and to be completely honest, sometimes things got a little spicy! ➜ so here you were, sitting on his desk and his standing between your legs. your lips locked in a heady kiss that was making you lightheaded. your tongues lapped hungrily at one another and your teeth clacking ➜ and then the door opened.

"Yoichi~" you gasp as he pulls back from your mouth. He starts to trail kisses along your jaw and neck, sucking small bruises into your collarbone and neck. "Mmm, you're so sweet," he groans, inhaling your scent. He feels like getting drunk off of it. His hot hands trail under your shirt, tracing around your curves. You giggle, but then both of your bodies freeze as you hear the door clicking. Isagi, in a moment of pure panic, tightens his grip on your waist and fucking shoves you off the desk and onto the floor. He was trying to hide you underneath the desk, not wanting his roommates to catch you both in this position, but all he does is just accidentally make you kneel in front of him. Right in front of him. Honestly, it helped enough because now your back is to his roommates, who are no doubt staring at you both as if they just walked in on a porno. Isagi stares at the trio. Bachira looks scandalized, Kunigami looks shocked, and Chigiri looks annoyed. "You couldn't bother locking the door when you have a hookup over?" the pink haired boy asks. "What. The. Hell. Is. This," Bachira says, looking two seconds from passing out. "Bachira, breathe," Chigiri grumbles, walking inside. "At least get her off her knees," Kunigami says, following Chigiri. He comes up behind you and taps you on your shoulder. "Miss-" You, in your panic and fear and shame, cannot think to say literally anything else other than, "I'm his girlfriend, not a hookup." Everyone stops breathing. "His GIRLFRIEND?!" Bachira roars, lunging at you. He grabs you by your shoulders, whirls you around and pulls you up to your feet. Kunigami hits him on the back of his head, "Don't handle a girl like that!" "I-It's fine," you say, waving Kunigami off with a small smile. "I'm so sorry about this. It's just, whenever I've been over, none of you are ever here, so I guess we got a little . . . careless." "You've been here before?" Bachira asks. A thud sounds from behind you and you whirl around. Bachira and Kunigami peek over your shoulder. Chigiri walks up to an Isagi whose cherry red. The embarrassment was just too much for his brain to handle anymore it seems. "Yoichi!" you shout, kneeling next to him. "I'll get him water," Chigiri says, walking to the dorm's mini fridge.

➜ the two of you never live this first impression down. not even at your wedding.

#blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #isagi yoichi #yoichi isagi #isagi x reader #isagi x you #isagi yoichi x reader #isagi yoichi x you #yoichi isagi x reader #yoichi isagi x you

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littlejoyss · 12 hours ago

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𝓮𝓹𝓲𝓵𝓸𝓰𝓾𝓮

“One single thread of gold tied me to you.”

Stray Kids - Felix x Reader

Red (golden) string of fate trope

Word count: 23k

𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 ← 𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽

(10 Years Later)

“Daddy?”

Felix looked up from the piano bench, his fingers stilling on the keys. Their son stood at the doorway in his oversized hoodie, one sock half off, his hair sticking up in that familiar way that reminded Felix of you when you got out of bed too fast.

“Yeah, sunshine?” Felix smiled, patting the space beside him.

Their son walked over and climbed onto the bench, tucking himself beside Felix. He looked at the piano thoughtfully, then turned toward Felix with a quiet curiosity in his eyes.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

His son looked down at his own pinky. “When will I find my soulmate like you and Mommy?”

Felix smiled. “When you turn eighteen, you’ll get your string.” This wasn’t the first time their son had asked this question, but both of you are patient. Children who’s parents are soulmates often love the idea of it.

His son frowned slightly, eyes still on his pinky. “But what if I miss it? What if I don’t see it right away?”

Felix’s heart clenched gently. He turned on the bench, bringing both hands to rest on his son’s small shoulders. “You won’t miss it, sweetheart. The string’s always there. Even if it takes time to notice. Even if it doesn’t pull tight right away.”

“But how will I know it’s them?” he whispered.

Felix softened. “Because something inside you will recognize them before your mind even does. It’ll feel like... like hearing your favorite song for the first time, and knowing every word anyway.”

His son thought about that in silence, his lips pressing into a little line. “Was Mommy your favorite song?”

Felix chuckled. “Still is. Every day.”

Their son finally smiled, just a little. “Did you know right away?”

Felix’s eyes sparkled at the memory. “Not right away. But she walked into a room, and it was like the air changed. Like everything in me settled for the first time. And even when things got hard… even when the world got loud... the thread never let go.”

He tapped the boy’s chest gently. “And when you find yours, no matter how far they are, no matter how long it takes, you’ll feel that same quiet certainty. Like home.”

Their son nodded, eyes wide and thoughtful. “Okay. I’ll wait, then.”

Felix smiled, pulling him into a soft side-hug. “It’s worth the wait, I promise.”

Just then, you appeared in the doorway, wiping sweat from your forehead and still wearing your favorite jacket you sewed for your recent collection. “Did someone say soulmate?” you asked, arching a brow teasingly.

Felix grinned. “Always.”

Your son scrambled off the bench and into your arms. You lifted him easily with a practiced strength and kissed the top of his head. “What were you two talking about?”

“He was asking when he’d find his soulmate,” Felix answered. “I told him when the time is right, he��ll know.”

You smiled at your son and tapped his nose. “And if they’re anything like your daddy, you better be ready for someone very sparkly and very stubborn.”

“Hey!” Felix protested with a laugh.

Your son giggled. “Can they also be good at piano?”

“Maybe,” you said, walking toward the kitchen with him still in your arms. “But no matter what, they’ll see the world in you. Just like I saw the world in your dad.”

Felix stood from the bench, watching the two of you disappear down the hallway. The golden thread on his pinky still shimmered, as bright as ever.

And from the kitchen, your son’s voice rang out, “Daddy, can I write a song too?”

Felix smiled, already reaching for a notebook. “Only if you let me help with the chorus.”

(A/N: Thank you so much for all of the support on this story! I have my master list in my pinned post if you enjoyed my writing, my requests are also open.

Comment to be added to my permanent tag list or if you want to be tagged in stories involving a certain member, example: If you're on the Chan tag list and I write a Chan x Reader, you'll be tagged.

Thank you guys so much!!!🩷)

taglist: @shinygubbins @lizzygd @btch8008s @under--space @monniemons @chimmyn0chu @wickedbutlovely @sunanlix @beal-o @valkirymin @moonlitcelestial @wolfhallows4 @beppybeesnuggets @eridanuswave @lynastrawberry @multiifanbigbang @yxna-bliss @chasinghxran @velvetmoonlght @rylea08 @rjrjhfvrvdhdhrvvrrv @daisylove3 @rougegenshin @wolfs-howling @akindaflora @felixsonlyrealwife @chaosandcandies @ateez-atiny380

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norriszn · 2 days ago

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with The Nortrell Primer coming up soon (it's coming up soon i prommy), i wanted to start sharing a few things i've pieced together, a few things that didn't quite add up at the time, especially during that twitch stream from about 3 years ago, when lando was live answering some questions from subs/viewers with max, cause i didn't know all the stuff i know now ofc.

and when i say "a few things" i really mean a lot of things but they all lead back to the same thing: the day max saw his best friend for the first time. which, for the record, wasn't the first time they spoke and it wasn't the first time they officially met.

it was just the first time max saw lando like really saw him and, for some reason, remembered.

LANDO'S TWITCH STREAM | lando and max talking about karting days

april 14th 2022

as many as you know, they both began karting early, on separate countries but with the same goal. they didn't end up on the same team (ricky flynn motorsport) until 2012, and it wasn't until 2013 that they finally competed against each other in the same class (kf-junior) during the WSK euro series.

in this clip, they talk about how they got started in karting, which eventually leads to max sharing the story of the first time he saw lando on track.

full transcript:

max: "what made you get into karting?" erm, i went to the singapore f1 race in 2008. loved it, loved the sound. and then i tried karting after school once and just fell in love with it... lando: awww max... and kept going back every day. and then i just started racing. i'm not going to go into that story really. it's take ages. i just liked it when i tried it. and then i kept doing it. lando: i did mine... we went to a car race after school on friday, mate. max: yeah? lando: and then my dad went round asking different people if they have any spare suits and boots. and i think we've still got the suits and boots that i got. it was like a blue suit and i mean, at the time, right, i must, it's 2007. so i must have had like a kids 13 size shoe, mate. kids 12, maybe not even that. max: kids 12. lando: kids 12 or something, and these are like size 3, size 4 shoes, which are way too big for me. imagine me in a bambino, right? (the bambino karting class is for kids aged 6–8, using smaller, lighter karts made just for them) how small i was within a size 4 shoe! max: i first saw you -we didn't know each other at this point- but i remember watching, i don't know why i was at pfi (as in pf international circuit). you were just driving around in this little comer (as in comer cadet), like tiny, mate. and i just remember watching for a few laps. lando: yeah, you're watching me, yeah? max: yeah, someone said "that kid... he's just won or something" so i was like oh. lando: oh, really? max: yeah, it was... you had the...that... your first helmet with that black and orange one on. lando: i'm not going to lie i never won a race in cadets. max: i don't know, they said you've... i don't know... you were first(?) [inaudible for me] lando: i think they just said i was goated. max: yeah, probably chatting to the team boss, picking you up. lando: i was probably like 5 years old. max: you were erm... lando: i must have been what? max: you had the black and orange lid on. lando: yeah, so i must have been 8, 9. max: yeah. lando: but i mean, i was freaking tiny at 9 years old. max: you're whizzing round, mate. you're so small. their friend: max, you've been following borris around since he was 9. max: yeah. lando: he's just an absolute fanboy, really. max: i'm day one fan, mate. their friend: watch his fanboy. he's a hidden fan girl. he's a double agent in disguise. max: (to his friend) you're the fan girl, mate. you've recently discovered discord and gets in every day. lando: he's freaking every day waiting on discord for us to join, mate.

okay, now let's set aside how they got into karting for a second and just focus on what max said. because it's kind of wild. he knew lando before even really knowing him. max didn't know who he was, but he remembered him. remembered the way he drove. remembered the way someone told him that lando won and remembered how tiny he was.

max remembered him long before they became anything to each other.

and of course, lando, being very lando, laughed it off and said "you were watching me, yeah?" in that confident way he does when he's just trying to wind max up... but because he's also so lando, you could practically hear his brain gears turning mid stream, and, as always, once his brain starts going, his mouth doesn't exactly wait for permission to follow.

that's when he said two things that stuck with me:

first, that he never won a race in cadets, as in comer cadets class.

and second, that he was probably around nine years old at the time.

and that's what made me revisit all of this. i remember watching that stream and thinking: there's no way max is making that up. no way someone just randomly told him a random kid (lando was random kid abck then) had won when he hadn't. like… who lies to a kid's face like that? (who would lie to this face? not me)

so i went back. i started digging because earlier this year (big 2025), when the 2019 rookies (george, lando, alex) started "closing up" in the formula (n)one standings again, i remembered they used to race in the same karting series: the super one series (s1 to f1). and that little spark sent me down the rabbit hole, and eventually, i ended up writing a big post about it in april but i finally posted like a week ago (this one right here).

and here's what i realised: lando norris is an unreliable narrator.

i don't blame him tho... memories from that age blur, results get mixed up, wins feel smaller in hindsight. but still. lando... let me hold your hands (The Big Paws) when i say this... you were the comer cadet 'o' plate winner in 2010.

there is literal footage. there is photo evidence.

lando norris wins comer cadet 'o' plate 2010

via tvkc on fb reposting 4motor yt vid

earlier this year, adam norris posted what looked like a karting memory (note)book on ig and the front cover was a photo of little lando norris, small enough to look like he barely fit in the frame, holding a massive trophy. that pic as far as i can tell, was taken the day he won the comer cadet ‘o’ plate, at none other than pf international circuit, the very same place max said he saw lando for the first time.

age 10, "karting is what i love doing an my ambition is to win the formula 1 world championship" via adam_norris_pure_electric on ig (this pic is not part of adam ig feed anymore btw :/)

so far, everything lines up pretty well... that race lando won was in june 6th 2010, which means both he and max would've been 10 years old, not 9 like lando said in the stream.

so… was it that exact date, that exact circuit, where max first saw lando? ermmm, well, max said lando was wearing a black and orange helmet. and while lando was wearing a helmet that looked similar, it wasn't exactly black and orange on that day.

he did have a black and orange lid back in 2009 when he was racing in comer cadets (yes, he raced in comer cadets back in 2008, 2009 and 2010).

and how do i know lando did wear that black and orange helmet? because there’s a book — published over fifteen years ago by none other than jane eyes and steve illott, callum illott’s parents.

now, if you're reading this (and i'm not just screaming into the void), you might be asking: why would callum’s parents publish a book? well, simple — callum was also racing in the comer cadet class in 2009.

jane and steve put together that book — and a few others — filled with photos from every round of the championship, each with little captions underneath.

and this particular book was focused on lando and his older brother, oliver. and in those photos (which i'll include below), you can clearly see lando in 2009, wearing — you guessed it — a black and orange helmet.

comer cadet season 2009 by jane eyes and steveilott via blurb books uk

if you're wondering how i even found this book: i stumbled across it years ago just by googling “lando norris karting 2009 cadets” but it came back to me this year when adam posted a pic of a page of it back in february.

@.lando @.olivernorris1 Good photo jane_eyes_ilott via adam_norris_pure_electric on threads

(adam's name is a recurrent name in this post. lando might joke that max was his og fan but truthfully? one of his biggest fans has always been his dad. kudos to adam.)

in that post, adam tagged callum's mum, which makes it pretty likely that he was flipping through that exact same book.

let's keep going.

lando that year he didn't win a single race, didn't take the 'o' plate, and finished 14th in the championship standings.

and here's the key part: in 2009, max was still living in malaysia. we know this because on november 22nd, 2009, max raced in the red white sangari invitational kart prix, where he finished 5th. so he couldn’t have seen lando racing in the uk that year.

so... is max an unreliable narrator too? maybe. or maybe he just remembered the helmet a little differently. it's far more likely he saw the chrome and orange helmet lando wore in 2010 and remembered it as black and orange. they were similar enough, especially in motion. it happens.

taking all that into account: the dates, the location, the helmet, the timelines... i feel pretty confident saying NOW that in june 6th in 2010, at pf international circuit, max saw a tiny little boy who would eventually become his best friend :') smol frens !!!!

that was the moment. that was the origin story.

and lando doesn't even remember it lmao.

incredible.

oh, and if you want to make all of this even more insane, check the 2010 MSA drivers entry list. you'll find norris siblings names, and yes callum illott (he raced that year too!)but keep scrolling and you'll spot a slighthy familiar name: edward jones.

super one msa series 2010 entries (26.2.10) via super one british kart series news

now, if you're asking yourself who's edward jones???? just click here (that's ed's ig carrousel from last year, you can see lando, max and tom as well <3 because those are his friends and ed is a racing driver now btw)

it's actually insane to think about that maybe max didn't just see lando for the first time that day. he might've seen ed too, one of his closest friends.

alexa, play invisible string by t swift!

that's all. bye.

WAIT. one more thing:

please don’t take this to twitter. i've done my best to stick to what's public: things max has said himself, karting pages pdfs and published books. nothing way too personal.

the last thing i want is for anyone to make max/lando/ed uncomfortable or start harassing them with questions.

if i see this out of context on that hellsite i will cry and i will delete everything and then i will relocate to the moon. bye <3

#another Big Post #nortrell #<- :D #streamer! lando #eddie :D #<- this is my ed tag for now #this took quite a bit of time to put together so please i'm kindly asking you not to take this to twitter #i know it's fun to talk about “these” things #but i'd hate for it to be turned into smth uncomfortable to max or lando or even ed #people over there get weird about things and i just know someone would end up annoying max on twitch #and while i am vvv annoying here i'd never cross THOSE lines and bother him about it #everything i mentioned is either smth he said himself or comes from official publications / books / stuff that landad had posted on socmed #<- public archives !!!!#please don't bother any of these ppl mentioned about it it would honestly break my heart :D #byE #*bp

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zeondraws · 2 days ago

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Making another post about the AMA, as a few questions couldn't be answered on the reddit post before it was closed. Some of the answers were send to the Secret Mode server instead.

So I am listing them all in this post, so I can use it for the wiki. I also asked a few additional questions about Alex, (for example, we were confused if we had two Alex on the rig because of the Alex P. signature. But turns out, Alex Cranstoun is the same Alex who talks to Sunil).

Lead Narrative Sagar: "His full name is Stuart Gibson"

Lead Design Jade & Lead Narrative Sagar - "Spot on, this was definitely our goal!"

Lead Narrative Sagar: "Wait, we completely agree: Billy Chamberlain is DEFINITELY very important! He's the inciting reason for Caz's presence on the Beira D to begin with! Yeah, we have a sense of what sort of person he is, and what happened that fateful evening at the pub in Glasgow. But nothing more we can share here, I'm afraid..."

Lead Narrative Sagar: "Haha! This is the first name of a very important member of the crew. Check out the answers I gave to roses-in-the-abyss and to Icy_Piglet4732"

Lead Narrative Sagar: "Thanks for asking this. It had to do with the overall arc of Mhairi's story. Mhairi, for us, works really well as a foil to Caz. She has more information, plans more, and most importantly, chooses to go into a dangerous situation. True, she doesn't know quite how dangerous it's going to be. But it's a far cry from Caz, who never expected to be running around like mad on a sinking oil rig, and is equipped just with a screwdriver. His final action is exactly what he has grown to be capable of doing. By contrast, no one asked Mhairi to go to the bottom of the North Sea and disturb what was there. She chose to. The most straightforward thing to do, narratively, is to make her pay for that choice, maybe with the ultimate sacrifice. But we wanted to reflect the greater agency Mhairi has a character to do a bit more, and ask the player what they think makes sense for their version of Mhairi. After all, even the game itself opens up a bit more: your version of Mhairi might be more exploratory and less resolute than another, or vice versa. We don't branch very widely in this story, just at the end, so it's not too hard to keep the various realities in our heads simultaneously. It would be a different design challenge if the game were built around branching. Thanks for your question!" Lead Design Jade: "On SWTD we wanted to tell a story about a person who was always running finally deciding to do what's right for his family. A choice would have not given the experience we wanted. But Mhairi has a choice because I think we all deal with grief in a different way. When someone dies you can feel guilty about letting go of that sadness because it feels scary when you built yourself around it. Ultimately you can either let it consume you or let it go and I love that we managed to talk about it in such a way. I think in our mind both ending are open enough that we can do different things with them if we decide to."

Who is Alex/what is his backstory, and what's his surname? (Lo-Honko is my reddit name)

From Sagar: Lo-Honko's questions were quite fun to respond to. But this specific question (the 5th) was ambiguous. There isn't just one body in those two locations: there are two, one in each named spot. In my answer, I only responded to what I thought was being referred to in the second one, later on in the pipe maze, the body with the lighter. But let me expand on both bodies, because I think the first at least has some cool implications about events we never get to see. Once you're down at 237 metres, you get into Mud Pits. (That's the "giant room, split by a fence", as Rob says.) If you make your way through a pipe at the top of the room, you can snake your way into a smaller room, called Mud Handling. That's the one that has a dartboard and also something that looks like a body, buried under some rubble... but also bizarrely with a seeming cross / grave marker? Now that is a weird and confusing thing... is it a legit grave marker? What the hell? This is actually one of the oddest things Mhairi has found to date. It's what leads her, uncharacteristically, to trip over her words. "I-I don't know... body," Mhairi says. Because she can see something Rob can't. It's not just a body. It's a body with debris that seems to have fallen (or been placed!) in the shape of a grave marker. Who would have done that? Presumably the collapse of the rig was an emergency. Who would've had the time, and if they did, why do it in that location? Doesn't seem to be someone in their right mind, and moreover, it'd have to be someone (or some thing) that could have survived such an emergency, present in Engineering and full of confused emotions. --------------------------

The second body (the one holding the lighter in the pipe maze) after you listen to the second data logger recording is Alex Cranstoun. I expanded on this in the AMA and how he got ahold of Finlay's lighter. Alex worked hard on the rig, and he was seen in the first game working with Sunil. He works on the Deck and is always fixing something or trying to keep the rig from falling apart. We get a hint way back when Mhairi discovers the Ganpati murti of just how heavily Sunil's loss was felt, but we don't discover too much about Alex. In fact, Mhairi's quite confused by this body too, even about how it possibly has arrived into the vent. How horrific, if this person died, trapped in the vent. Alex was no less loved by his mates. He was a particularly close co-worker with Sunil. In fact, we see the two of them talking together very early in Still Wakes the Deep. Work on a rig can be very uncompromising and very busy. But there can also be a lot of dead time. You have to make your own entertainment. Sunil, Alex, Archie, and Gregor would sometimes have competitions around who could grow the most luxurious facial hair. Let's just say that Alex did not win this competition... He was determined to get his revenge on Sunil during the darts tournament, and even this did not go his way. Though as a consolation, Alex did manage to win Finlay's lighter off her late in the darts tournament, after everyone was deep in their cups. When the disaster began, and the leccy went out, that lighter was what Alex used to navigate for a little bit while he was running for safety. But it barely lasted a few minutes, before plunging him into darkness. And as the rig listed, Alex tragically tripped and fell into a vent, a slow and tragic end for someone who deserved better.

And for context, this was Lo-Honko's question from the AMA.

"Does the guy from the vents and mudpits have a name? Who is this person Finlay lend her lighter to?"

Thanks to Liam from Secret Mode for forwarding the Alex questions!!

This is super interesting, this is gonna take a while to put into the wiki. But today I am editing Alex and Archie (I deleted the Cranstoun page and will delete the Dunbar page later, don't touch it!)

I find it important to have sources because some people will think you lie and edit something and claim it's a headcanon. I had to re-edit a page because someone claimed the father-son relationship between Muir and Innes was a headcanon (because of the new memento). I think the person means no harm, but I figured I mention this.

Double check before you edit something, because if you don't have a source for example, you may spread wrong information.

#still wakes the deep #swtd #swtd spoilers

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cigarettesuga · 2 days ago

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꒰꒰⠀⠀⠀opposites don’t attract, they destroy⠀✸⠀(⠀⠀pjm⠀⠀) chpt. O3

pairing: fuckboy!park jimin x proud & stubborn!reader, slow-burn potential with softboy!namjoon x reader

genre: college!au, smut, angst, slow-burn romance, love triangle, situationship mess, emotional repression, she fell first/he’s falling harder

warnings: explicit sexual content — protected sex (condom mentioned but still be safe irl), brat taming kink, fingering (public-ish space), oral sex (f receiving), use of toys, dom!jimin energy, light degradation, a little rough, slight overstimulation, consensual power play, possessiveness, jealousy, emotionally confusing hookups, mentions of casual sex outside the situationship. also: toxic patterns, emotional whiplash, unresolved tension, and rowan being the obsessed hookup™.

word count: 14.1k

summary: things spiral after an unexpected interruption. (y/n) starts questioning everything with jimin — what it is, what it isn’t. but just when she tries to pull away, he makes it nearly impossible — especially when he knows exactly how to pull her back in. still, a part of her wants more, or at least different, and when sora introduces her to someone who’s everything jimin isn’t… she starts to wonder if maybe she’s been settling for chaos all along.

lu's note: chapter 3 is finally hereeeee after a while!! these two need to get their shit together for real. anyway, this chapter is long bc i wanted to make up for the time i left y’all without an update — i seriously got way too deep into their dynamic and couldn’t stop writing. things are spiraling, there’s angst, there's heat, and a certain dimpled man may just start shifting the game 👀 enjoy!!

masterlist⠀ | ⠀taglist⠀ | ⠀more to read

⠀ ⠀ "he feels safe"

the next morning creeps in slowly, grey and uninvited, leaking through the blinds like a secret. (y/n) doesn’t get out of bed. not right away. she just lies there under her covers, eyes on the ceiling like it might offer her an answer she’s too tired to find herself. her phone buzzes somewhere on the nightstand. again.

she doesn’t look at it. she knows who it is.

jimin’s name has lit up her screen half a dozen times since last night—calls she didn’t answer, texts she left unread. she saw the last one pop up around two in the morning:

[park jimin 🐣]: are you okay?

like he had the right to ask.

and maybe he did. maybe she’s being dramatic. maybe it wasn’t what it looked like, some girl from his past showing up in the middle of their moment—but the thing is… there’s no their. there’s no us. there never was. she told herself that from the start.

so why does it sting so fucking much?

she rolls onto her side, tucking her hands under her cheek like it might keep her together. her throat feels tight. her stomach’s been turning since last night. she’d left without saying a word—no yelling, no scene. just grabbed her bag, shoved on her hoodie, and walked out of his apartment barefoot with her shoes in hand. she didn’t even slam the door.

maybe that’s what makes it worse. that she didn’t ask. didn’t demand an explanation. just left. because what would she have been fighting for, anyway?

she’s not his girlfriend. she’s not even someone he talks about out loud.

just a girl he calls over. a distraction. a routine. a body, warm and convenient and quiet.

and the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes—god, she’s been so dumb.

it wasn’t romantic. it wasn’t some twisted, angsty, almost-love situation like she used to write stories about in high school. it was messy and addictive and full of every red flag she chose to ignore.

he flirted with other girls in front of her. he never looked at her like she was his. and she?

she kept acting like she didn’t care. laughing it off. letting it slide. climbing into his bed anyway.

was the sex good? yes. but sex doesn’t mean someone’s gonna hold your hand the next morning. it doesn’t mean they’ll choose you in front of other people. it doesn’t mean they’ll stop answering the door for old flames.

and she’s sick of pretending it does.

the phone buzzes again. she sighs. pulls the covers over her head like she’s sixteen again and wants the world to disappear.

maybe she romanticized it because she was lonely. maybe jimin made it easy. maybe she let herself want something more in all the empty spaces he wouldn’t fill.

and now she’s left with silence. and an ache in her chest she doesn’t know what to call. but she sure as hell isn’t calling him.

the door creaks open like it’s got something to say too, and (y/n) doesn’t even move.

“damn,” sora’s voice cuts through the fog of the room, bright and teasing, like usual. “somebody didn’t sleep well.”

(y/n) stays facedown on her pillow, groaning softly. “can you not.”

sora pauses by the door, toeing her sneakers off, and yeah—she knows. not the details, but enough. she’s been watching this slow-motion crash for a while now. best friends always do.

she sets a coffee down on the desk without asking if it’s wanted. “so. you wanna talk about it?”

there’s a beat. just the hum of the mini fridge and the click of sora’s rings against the plastic lid.

(y/n) doesn’t cry. not because it doesn’t hurt, but because she’s not even sure what she feels. it’s not heartbreak—it never got the chance to be that. it’s not betrayal, not technically. it’s more like… disappointment. in him. in herself. and a creeping kind of embarrassment that makes her want to peel off her skin and start fresh somewhere else.

she shifts slowly, pulling herself up to sit against the headboard, hoodie swallowing her frame. “yeah,” she finally says, voice rough. “yeah, I probably should.”

sora doesn’t push. she just pulls the desk chair around to face her, knees tucked up, eyes soft but steady.

and so (y/n) tells her. everything.

starting with the closet.

“it was two months ago,” she mutters, avoiding eye contact, eyes fixed on the swirling condensation of her coffee cup. “that day I was all pissed at him for messing around in class? I pulled him into the janitor’s room.”

sora blinks. “wait, you initiated?”

“don’t start,” she groans, but the smallest flicker of a smile curls at the edge of her mouth, already crumbling under the weight of her own choices. “I don’t even know what came over me. we were arguing and then I just… grabbed him. it spiraled after that.”

sora listens, quiet but alert, and (y/n) keeps going. the backseat. the texts. the way it became a routine, something unspoken, like a second language only they knew how to speak. how every time she tried to act unaffected, he’d crawl deeper under her skin—his stupid smirk, the way he touched her like she was his, even though he never said it out loud.

“it wasn’t just sex,” she admits softly. “i mean—it was, but it wasn’t. we had these… moments. you know? and I let it mean something. even though we both said it didn’t.”

sora sighs gently, shaking her head like she’s been waiting for this to come out.

“and then last night,” (y/n) swallows, “we were at his place, and it was like, actually good, soft almost. and then someone showed up.”

sora lifts a brow. “someone?”

“an ex-hookup. walked up to the door like she still had keys to his life.”

“ouch.”

“yeah,” she says, voice flat. “I didn’t ask questions. I just left.”

“and he’s been calling you?”

“nonstop.” she picks at her sleeve. “i haven’t answered. i don’t even know what I’d say. like… what do you even say when you realize you were just a filler between someone’s options?”

“you weren’t just that,” sora says firmly, but she doesn’t argue the facts. she knows (y/n) wouldn’t feel this way if jimin had made her feel chosen.and he never did.

“i think,” (y/n) says, quieter now, “i think I let myself believe we were something. and maybe i liked the idea of it more than what it really was.”

and that’s the part that hurts the most. not losing jimin. but losing the story she built around him in her head.

“so what now?” sora asks softly, the question sitting between them like a dare and a lifeline. she’s sipping her coffee, one leg crossed over the other, as if pretending this is just another morning. but they both know it’s not. it never is when it comes to jimin.

(y/n) exhales slowly through her nose, sinking further into the pillows behind her. “nothing,” she answers after a pause, voice even. maybe too even. “there’s nothing to do. he made it clear what this was from the beginning. and if that’s how he wants to keep playing it, then I’ll match his energy.”

she says it like it’s simple. like it doesn’t feel like peeling skin off bone to distance herself, even just a little. but she’s not going to let him have the satisfaction of thinking she’s spiraling. he might’ve gotten under her skin—fine. but she’s not about to let him know he stayed there.

“so you’re not gonna talk to him?” sora asks carefully, reading her like a book with the spine cracked wide open.

“no,” she replies, then amends, “well, not really.”

because she already has. already sent him one text—dry, short, boring as hell. sorry, was tired. fell asleep.a lie, of course. she’d spent half the night staring at the ceiling and the other half convincing herself not to cry about someone who never even promised her anything. but he didn’t need to know that.

she wants him to squirm a little. to overthink the silence. he’s used to girls crawling back. texting first. asking what they are. she won’t be that girl. even if it kills her, she’ll make him believe she’s over it. that she could drop him like a bad habit if she really wanted to.

“i’m not gonna be soft about this anymore,” she says, mostly to herself. “i was letting him in too much. giving him space he didn’t earn.”

sora hums. “you do have a pretty mean side. he’s not ready.”

“he doesn’t get nice girl me anymore,” she smirks without humor. “he gets bitchy, distant, unbothered me. if he wanted closeness, he should’ve acted like I was more than a convenience.”

it’s not a new game. she knows how to play cold. how to side-eye his flirting like it’s beneath her. how to brush past him in hallways like he’s just another warm body. it’s the version of her he fell for, ironically. now he gets it again—just with fewer orgasms and more emotional whiplash.

but beneath it all, there’s this tiny, gnawing truth: she still likes him. maybe more than she wants to admit. maybe more than she should. but she can’t tell him that. can’t give him the power to decide whether or not she’s worth more.

so instead, she tightens the grip on her own pride and puts her armor back on—lipgloss, smugness, silence.

she’ll make him miss her. not just her body, not just the mess they made together—but the way she laughed when she forgot to be guarded. the way she looked at him when she thought he might actually care. he’ll miss that softness once it’s gone.

and she’ll let him.

—----

monday’s breeze is too soft to matter, brushing through the quad like it’s trying not to disturb anyone. the campus is buzzing, students passing by with earbuds in and backpacks slung low, rushing toward lectures or dragging their feet toward midterms.

sora and (y/n) stroll somewhere in the middle of it all, iced coffees in hand, jackets barely zipped. the mood is easy—comfortable, even. sora’s talking about her boyfriend again, something about him nearly burning down his kitchen trying to “infuse” oil like some kind of youtube chef.

“i swear to god,” sora says, laughing, “he’s got the humor of a divorced forty-year-old and the culinary instincts of a frat bro.”

“and yet,” (y/n) teases, sipping her drink, “you’re still letting him reorganize your bookshelves and take you out for pasta.”

“listen, seokjin is hot and employed. those are rare resources in college ecosystems.”

(y/n) chuckles. she doesn’t hate hearing about them, honestly. they’re a weird pair on paper—sora’s chaotic brilliance and jin’s dry dad jokes—but they work. they’re affectionate without being clingy, stable without being boring. (y/n) has only had a handful of conversations with seokjin, but he’s always nice. warm. and most importantly, he shows up for sora without ever being asked.

she wonders, briefly, what that might feel like. to be wanted in the open.

but before she can spiral too deep into that question, a familiar voice slices through the crowd like a blade.

“hey…”

her spine stiffens.

jimin.

he appears out of nowhere, like he materialized out of her bad decisions, hoodie half-zipped, eyes locked on her and only her. he’s not even trying to look casual.

“um—can we talk?”

(y/n) blinks at him, eyebrows raised like he’s just said something in klingon. she glances at sora, then back at jimin, letting the silence drag for effect before deadpanning, “i was literally in the middle of a conversation.”

jimin doesn’t budge. “please. just for a second.”

he looks… off. like her coldness is finally hitting him somewhere he didn’t expect. good.

she steps closer, not in a flirty way—more like she’s examining something unfortunate she stepped on. she lifts her finger and presses it to his forehead, barely touching him.

“are you sick?”

he pulls back, brows furrowing. “what?”

“you’re acting weird.” she tilts her head, voice flat. “why would I want to talk to you?”

jimin looks genuinely confused now, caught between frustration and something softer he’s trying not to show. “because… we usually do.”

“do what?” she asks, tilting her head again, mock-sweet. “hook up? you can just say it, park.”

he flinches—just barely, but she sees it. and it’s satisfying in a low, petty way that she won’t apologize for.

“what do we even have to talk about?” she adds, stepping back beside sora, who’s sipping her drink like this is the best episode of a drama she didn’t know she was starring in. “seriously.”

“(y/n),” jimin starts, but there’s no follow-up. no smooth line. no apology. just her name sitting heavy in the air like maybe that’s supposed to mean something on its own.

but it doesn’t.

not anymore.

she gives him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and turns away. “have a good day, park.”

and she walks off with sora without looking back, her pulse ticking at her throat like a warning.

“okay but like,” sora says the moment they’re out of earshot, voice halfway between impressed and genuinely worried, “you didn’t just shut him down. you obliterated him. that was… art. i mean it. textbook.”

(y/n) just sips her coffee, keeping her eyes straight ahead. “he deserved it.”

“oh, totally. i’m just saying…” sora eyes her sideways, tone softening, “you okay?”

“yeah.”

“you sure?”

(y/n) shrugs. “I’m fine.”

sora hums. the kind of hum people make when they know you’re full of shit but they love you too much to call you on it directly. “because I know you,” she adds carefully, “and when you act like you don’t care, it usually means you care so much it’s physically painful.”

(y/n) stops walking just long enough to whip around and blink at her. “wow. did you take a psych elective this semester or something?”

“communication major, babe. i’ve been reading between your lines since freshman year.”

(y/n) rolls her eyes, and they start walking again, slower this time. she opens her mouth, probably to deflect again with some sarcastic retort about being totally unaffected by Park Fucking Jimin when she sees her.

across the hallway. shoulders squared. jaw set like she’s walking into a fight she’s been mentally rehearsing since last night.

rowan.

her heart drops somewhere behind her ribcage.

she looks just like she did standing in jimin’s doorway: annoyed, maybe a little defensive, like she has something to say and it’s only a matter of time before she finds the audience.

(y/n) falters mid-step, instinctively grabbing sora’s arm, leaning in close to whisper, “it’s her. the ex.”

sora’s eyes follow her line of sight, landing squarely on the girl striding past a bulletin board full of club flyers, hair tied up, expression tight.

“oh.” she straightens. “she looks… intense.”

“she showed up at his place last night. in the middle of everything.”

sora’s brows rise. “everything-everything?”

“everything.”

they both glance again. rowan hasn’t noticed them yet—or if she has, she’s pretending not to.

“think she’s gonna say something?”

“no clue,” (y/n) mutters, pulse ticking again. “but if she does, I’m not doing this. I’m not playing that game.”

“i believe you,” sora says, then gently adds, “even though you’re clearly losing your mind.”

(y/n) takes a deep breath through her nose, chin lifting. “not losing it. just momentarily misplacing it.”

but even as she says it, she can feel the crack forming in her façade.

because it’s one thing to pretend you’re over it when he’s the only one around to fool. it’s another thing entirely when the girl from his past is now walking the same halls, brushing past the same walls, maybe still carrying pieces of him that (y/n) thought she was starting to understand.

and it’s suddenly very, very clear: whatever this is between her and jimin— it’s nowhere near finished. but it might be about to unravel.

“ugh, i gotta run,” sora says, glancing at her phone with a sigh, the schedule app glowing with judgment. “ta’s gonna take attendance and i already used my fake sickness last week.”

“you and your tragic academic career,” (y/n) deadpans, pulling her hoodie sleeve over her hand and lightly smacking her arm. “go. be mediocre.”

sora smirks, brushing imaginary lint off her shoulder. “you sure you’re good?”

“i’m golden,” (y/n) lies with a smile.

sora doesn’t press further. just gives her a final look that says be careful, then jogs off into the slow-moving tide of students.

and then it’s just her. standing by herself under the wide-open quad sky. sipping her coffee. pretending she’s not emotionally bruised.

until she’s not alone anymore.

a presence sidles up beside her, calculated and cold like a shadow you don’t want to acknowledge. (y/n) doesn’t turn her head. not at first.

but the voice is unmistakable.

“so you’re the reason he’s been acting different.”

(y/n)’s lips curl before she even looks. slow, practiced, unbothered. she turns toward the voice, gaze gliding down and back up with pointed disinterest. rowan stands there with her arms crossed over her chest, lips pursed, like she’s already decided she’s got the moral high ground.

“you’re gonna have to be more specific,” (y/n) says calmly, eyebrow lifting. “a lot of people act weird around me.”

rowan doesn’t smile. “i’m talking about jimin.”

“oh.” she sips her drink, shrugs. “you could’ve just said that.”

“don’t play dumb with me. i know what’s going on between you two.”

“yeah?” (y/n) tilts her head, giving a once-over like she’s trying to decide whether she’s impressed or bored. “then you probably also know how it ended last night.”

that flickers something in rowan’s expression—tightens it, sharpens it.

“you really think this means something to him?” she snaps, taking a step closer.

(y/n) doesn’t flinch. if anything, she leans in a little, a cruel sort of softness in her voice now. “if it doesn’t, then why’d he ask you to leave?”

rowan opens her mouth, but no sound comes out.

“look,” (y/n) continues, smiling now but it’s all teeth, “i don’t do the whole ‘mark your territory’ thing. if he’s yours, go ahead and claim him. tattoo your name on his forehead. but as long as he keeps calling me at night—well…” she steps past her, brushing her shoulder as she turns, “i’m just gonna keep having fun for a little longer.”

rowan stares after her, stunned into silence.

(y/n) doesn’t stop walking. doesn’t look back. her coffee’s almost empty, her heart’s pounding in her chest, but her face is unreadable.

and god, if she doesn’t love being the one who gets under everyone’s skin— even when she’s bleeding just beneath her own.

she makes it to class five minutes late, breath shallow from speed walking across campus, still slightly warm from her run-in with the ex. her hair’s a little messy, her coffee’s long gone, and her tolerance for bullshit is basically at zero.

and of course—of course—the only open seat is next to him.

park jimin sits there like he owns the row. sprawled out in that casual, cocky way of his, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his forearms, one knee bouncing like he’s got too much energy and nowhere appropriate to put it.

she slides into the chair without a word, slams her bag down harder than necessary, and doesn’t even look at him.

but she feels him smirk the second she’s close.

“you’re late,” he whispers.

“and you’re still talking,” she shoots back.

he chuckles under his breath, leaning just a little closer. “you missed the part where the prof said our midterm is online. you’re welcome.”

“oh, so now you’re doing public service?”

his lips part like he’s about to come back with something smug, but she cuts in before he can:

“by the way,” she whispers, still facing forward, eyes on the projector, “you should really keep your girlfriend in check.”

his body stills beside her. “rowan’s not my girlfriend.”

his voice is too quick, too sharp. too defensive.

she lets it simmer for a beat before letting the smirk curl at her mouth.

“yeah, well,” she says, keeping her voice low and biting, “i don’t think she got the memo. she looked about two seconds away from keying my face.”

he groans quietly, scrubbing a hand down his face. “i didn’t ask her to come over. she just showed up.”

“so did I,” she mutters. “difference is you actually wanted me there.”

that earns her a glance. one of those slow, heavy looks from the corner of his eye that lingers longer than it should.

she doesn’t return it. she can’t. not when she’s still pissed at herself for wanting this at all.

but god, she wants it. even now—especially now.

the professor’s voice drones on, something about behavioral economics and social theory, but she leans in just enough for only him to hear.

“hey…” she whispers like she’s asking something innocent.

he hums in reply, still staring at the screen.

“do you wanna hang out later?” she asks, so casually it could be mistaken for small talk. “you still owe me something.”

his head snaps slightly in her direction, and this time she does meet his eyes. deadpan. unreadable. but her gaze is heated.

he swallows hard, tongue running along the inside of his cheek like he’s trying not to react. trying not to smile.

she hates herself a little in that moment. for wanting him. for wanting to be wanted by him. for feeling it in the pit of her stomach already, the tension pulling tight again like a rubber band ready to snap.

but if she’s going to let herself spiral, she’s at least going to look good doing it.

—----

they don’t even bother heading to their next period.

the air’s still cool and quiet, campus only half-awake, and they’re walking fast without saying anything. (y/n)’s a solid two feet ahead of him, arms crossed, jaw set, sunglasses on even though it’s barely 9 a.m.

jimin follows like he’s tethered to her, fingers twitching at his sides. his hair’s still a little tousled from class, and his hoodie’s too loose on him—but the tension rolling off him is tight. he’s not speaking, because he knows her. knows silence pisses her off more than flirting ever could.

they hit the edge of the parking lot, gravel crunching underfoot, the weight of everything unsaid between them suddenly too much.

the second they reach his car, he snaps.

one hand slams the door shut behind her before she can open it, the other catches her waist, spinning her around and shoving her up against the passenger side with a thud. the sunroof glass rattles with the impact.

his mouth crashes onto hers, bruising and breathless, all tongue and teeth and rage barely hidden under lust.

she gasps against him but doesn’t resist—no, she leans in, arms looping loosely around his neck like she’s bored of the whole thing already.

“i know you’re mad at me,” he breathes into her mouth, eyes flicking between hers. “you don’t have to pretend.”

“i’m not pretending,” she mutters, dragging her nails up the back of his neck, “you’re just not that interesting.”

he laughs. low. dark. the sound of someone who loves getting slapped and kissed in the same breath.

his hands slide up her sides, under her top, palms burning against her ribs. “you want me to fuck the little attitude out of you?” he murmurs, nose brushing hers.

“you think you can?” she shoots back, tone dry as hell, lips barely brushing his. “please.”

that has him grinning—something unhinged and gleaming with teeth. “you are such a brat.”

“and you’re obsessed with it,” she replies coolly, but her body’s already betraying her. she shifts against him, hips brushing his. “you like when I give you a hard time.”

“i like when you shut up.”

“then make me.”

his hand moves down to grip her thigh, hoisting it up against his hip, grinding in just enough to make her inhale sharply. but her face? her face stays unimpressed. lips parted, eyes heavy, a smirk tugging at the corners like she knows she’s got him wrapped around her finger—even now.

he looks wrecked already, forehead pressing against hers.

“get in the car,” he growls. “before I fuck you against the window.”

she slides off him like silk, flicks her sunglasses up to rest on her head, and opens the door without saying another word—her smirk doing all the talking.

the car hums low beneath them, tires rolling steady down the road, early morning sun creeping higher as the rest of the city slowly wakes. but inside jimin’s car? it’s anything but quiet.

the music is low, bass thumping soft under the dashboard. one of those moody R&B playlists he pretends he doesn’t keep just for this kind of thing. the windows are cracked. the air’s warm. and his hand is on her thigh.

(y/n) sits pointedly still in the passenger seat, staring out the window, arms crossed like she’s not burning from the inside out.

but his hand? his hand is deliberate. casual, almost. just resting there at first, fingertips lazily tapping along the bare skin just beneath the hem of her denim shorts. thumb brushing back and forth, light and slow.

he doesn’t look at her. doesn’t have to.

she shifts her weight a little, like she’s trying to create space without making it obvious.

he notices.

of course he does.

his hand slides up. just a little. inching higher with every red light. knuckles skimming higher on her inner thigh like he’s testing her patience—testing her restraint.

she breathes deep. doesn’t move. doesn’t react. not visibly anyway.

that’s when he grins. because she’s playing the game again.

he palms her. flat over her shorts. firm, deliberate pressure where he knows she’s starting to feel it. just enough friction to make her thighs twitch together. and god, the denim is making it worse—coarse and tight and hiding nothing.

“you’re quiet,” he says, glancing at her with that smug, slow-lidded look.

“you’re annoying,” she replies, voice thin, every syllable laced with tension.

his fingers shift, pressing down harder. his palm rolls slightly, a subtle grind right where she’s most reactive.

“mhm,” he hums, “but you’re wet.”

she turns her head slowly, jaw tight, eyes practically daring him to keep going.

“i will bite you, park.”

he laughs—soft and cocky, pulling up at a red light, letting the car idle as he turns slightly in his seat to face her more.

“promise?”

she swallows, blinking down at where his hand still rests between her thighs. then back at him.

cool. unaffected. absolutely lying.

“i’m not giving you the satisfaction.”

“baby, you already did.” he smirks. “like five minutes ago when you clenched your thighs.”

her lips part, but she has no comeback—just a soft little breath of indignation and the flush crawling up her neck.

she doesn’t say anything.

doesn’t spit out some clever one-liner or roll her eyes like usual. instead, she just slowly parts her legs—barely an inch. just enough.

enough to say: fine. try me.

his breath hitches, quiet and shallow.

his hand moves immediately, like muscle memory, sliding just under the edge of her shorts with practiced ease. she’s still facing the window, jaw clenched, brows tight like she’s bored with him—but he can feel the tension humming under her skin. she’s wired tight, her pulse racing just under her thigh, her breath carefully measured, like she’s fighting not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her react.

his fingertips move slow. teasing. tracing up and down the soft skin of her inner thigh, skimming maddeningly close but never quite touching where she wants him. his fingers are warm and sure, featherlight, dragging slow little circles as if they’re not parked in broad daylight in front of a campus dorm.

“still annoying?” he murmurs, voice low, barely audible over the thrum of the engine.

she swallows hard. doesn’t look at him. “you’re a joke.”

he laughs under his breath. “yeah? you gonna keep pretending this doesn’t feel good?”

he dips his fingers higher, the pads of them brushing over the edge of her panties. his grin only grows when he finds the damp spot already soaking through the cotton, evidence of her undoing, even if she won’t give him a single word.

“fuck,” he whispers more to himself than her, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “you’re soaked.”

she exhales, slow and tight, her back pressing deeper into the seat like she’s trying to melt into it. her thighs twitch, hips subtly shifting toward him, betraying her every attempt at aloofness.

he leans in, voice like honey and fire all at once.

“say it,” he whispers, sliding a single finger over the wet fabric. slow. purposeful. “say you missed this.”

she doesn’t. won’t. can’t.

but she tilts her hips again.

and that’s all he needs.

his fingertip slips just beneath the damp fabric, barely grazing her, enough to make her knees tense and a soft breath escape her lips. not a moan, not even a gasp—just air, tight in her throat, caught between pride and want.

he moves again. slower this time. dragging his finger up and down the center of her, collecting slick and spreading it deliberately, like he has all the time in the world.

she grips the edge of her seat, knuckles pale.

he’s grinning like he’s won. like she’s his favorite game and this is the part he never gets tired of.

“tell me to stop,” he murmurs, teasing now, daring her.

she turns, just enough to meet his eyes, her face impassive but her pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed.

“i’ll let you know when i feel something,” she says coolly, voice like smoke.

and that is when he slides a second finger against her—more pressure this time, more confidence, watching her mouth twitch just slightly, just enough to know it’s getting to her.

“yeah?” he murmurs with a grin. “you’ll feel it in two seconds. promise.”

she doesn't flinch when he slides his fingers in.

not outwardly, at least.

her legs stay relaxed, parted just enough. her hands stay in her lap, nails lightly pressing into the fabric of her shorts, knuckles taut—but her face? still unreadable. no fluttering lashes. no bitten lip. no dramatic sigh of surrender. just that same neutral expression as before, eyes fixed somewhere past the windshield like she’s thinking about class or lunch or literally anything but the two fingers knuckle-deep inside her.

but he feels it.

the way she clenches around him, tighter than before, like her body didn’t get the memo her mind’s trying to stick to. the tension in her thighs. the sharp, shaky breath she tries to hide by coughing into her sleeve.

his smile is cruel.

“you’re so full of shit,” he mutters, watching her face carefully, his thumb brushing the edge of her shorts where they’ve ridden up.

her only response is a soft scoff. not quite a laugh. not quite denial.

he curls his fingers just slightly, testing her, grazing that spot inside that always makes her suck in air like she’s drowning on dry land. and there it is—just the tiniest hitch in her breath, the subtle roll of her hips forward, so slight it could’ve been nothing… but he knows it wasn’t.

his voice drops, barely audible beneath the soft click of the turn signal as the car idles on the curb

“you gonna keep pretending?” he whispers, fingers moving slowly inside her, more deliberate now, dragging along every wet, pulsing inch.

still, she doesn’t give him much. just a long, quiet exhale through her nose, lips slightly parted now but her eyes don’t waver. don’t look at him. not yet.

“you’re shaking,” he adds, cocky and amused, pressing in a little deeper, his palm dragging against the curve of her thigh as he moves. “that little attitude’s slipping, baby.”

finally, finally, she turns to him—face flushed now, the tiniest sheen on her brow, but her mouth still curved in that stubborn little smirk he wants to ruin.

“drive,” she says lowly, lashes fluttering once like a warning.

he raises an eyebrow. “drive?”

“yeah,” she murmurs, voice thick and strained, “or i’ll make you fall apart next.”

and he swears under his breath, biting his lip because fuck, he’s obsessed with this girl. even now. especially now.

but he pulls his hand back anyway, slowly, dragging every second out like a punishment. and when his fingers slip out of her, glistening, he watches the way her thighs twitch from the loss.

he doesn’t say a word. just turns the key in the ignition.

and the ride the rest of the way?

silent. tense. electric.

every red light feels like a countdown to something neither of them are ready to admit they need.

the hallway is quiet when they get to her floor, just the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional muffled door slam somewhere behind them. she walks ahead with her keys in hand, eyes fixed on the door to her dorm. doesn’t check if he’s following—she knows he is.

jimin’s just a step behind, hands shoved in his pockets like he’s trying to keep them from doing something reckless. like sliding them under her shorts again. or yanking her flush against him right there in the stairwell.

but he waits.

waits until she unlocks the door, pushes it open, walks in without a word. he steps in after her, kicks the door closed behind him, and the second the latch clicks shut—

she peels off her hoodie.

not in a dramatic, attention-seeking way. not even trying to look sexy.

just—matter-of-fact. like she’s tossing off the weight of the morning. like she’s tired of pretending she’s not already aching from the ride over.

her tank top clings to her, a sliver of skin peeking out above the waistband of her shorts as she tosses the hoodie to the side. she still hasn’t looked at him. hasn’t said a single word since they left the car. but her body speaks for her: shoulders tense, movements sharp, hair falling loose over one shoulder as she reaches down to untie her shoes.

she’s done pretending. and they both know exactly what this is.

jimin’s eyes trail the line of her spine beneath her tank, the slight curve of her waist, the way her shorts barely cling to her hips. he licks his lips and swallows hard, staying by the door for half a second longer than necessary—like he’s bracing for something.

she tosses her shoes toward the corner, stands straight, finally looks over her shoulder at him.

just one look.

blank. unapologetic. devastating.

then she turns back and walks toward the bed, slowly sliding the strap of her tank off her shoulder like it’s just another thing in the way.

and that’s all the invitation he needs.

he’s moving before he knows it, already toeing off his sneakers, pulling his hoodie over his head, eyes locked on her like she’s gravity and he’s just something caught in orbit.

no words. not yet.

just clothes shedding to the floor, tension thick in the air, and the silent understanding between two people who are too far gone to stop.

she doesn’t say a word—just climbs up onto the bed, slow and unfazed, like she’s stretching, not seducing. her knees sink into the mattress first, then her elbows, chest folding down with a soft exhale as she settles near the edge. her hair spills over her shoulder, cascading messily down her back, catching on the soft glow of the lamp on her desk.

her shorts ride up just enough to leave nothing to the imagination.

and then she looks over her shoulder. face half-lit, brow arched in that way.

she doesn’t blink. doesn’t even tilt her head.

just stares at him with that expression like: are you going to do something or just stand there gawking?

jimin’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. his jaw tightens as he exhales through his nose—low, deep, amused. he’s already shirtless, belt undone, standing a few feet away like he’s trying to commit the view to memory.

“you always this bossy when you’re needy?” he mutters, voice low and warm, filled with quiet laughter.

she doesn’t answer. just shifts her hips back slightly, an unsubtle reminder that she’s waiting. that he’s the one wasting time now.

so he steps closer.

his hands come to her waist, one sliding around her hip, fingers splaying across her stomach while the other glides down to the curve of her ass. he squeezes lightly—like he’s testing, admiring, owning.

"you really think that little attitude makes you less obvious?” he murmurs, leaning down until his mouth hovers near the shell of her ear. “you’re dripping through these shorts, baby.”

she rolls her eyes. “you talk too much.”

“and you never shut up until my hand’s over your mouth,” he counters, grinning into her skin, brushing his lips just beneath her ear. “but please, keep pretending I don’t have you exactly where you want to be.”

his hand slides under the waistband of her shorts, slow, almost lazy—like he has all day to take her apart.

and from her silence, her stillness, the faint hitch in her breath?

he knows she’ll let him.

but she’ll never admit it.

and fuck if that isn’t his favorite part.

he presses into her slowly, his chest brushing her back, hips pushing against the swell of her ass still wrapped tight in her shorts. they’re both still half dressed, but the friction feels criminal—the rough fabric of his jeans grinding against her in a way that makes her thighs tense, breath catching somewhere in her throat.

her hands fist in the sheets beneath her, jaw clenched, still pretending this doesn’t do anything to her. still trying to play the unbothered girl even with the weight of him bearing down on her.

but jimin knows better.

he slides one hand around her waist again, fingers dipping just beneath the waistband like he owns the space there. his other hand? the one on her ass—lingering, affectionate at first. his thumb traces a slow, lazy arc on her skin, dipping under the hem of her shorts.

and then—

crack.

his palm lands with a sharp sting against her ass, the sound loud in the otherwise silent room.

she jerks forward instinctively, her breath knocked short by the sudden slap. not hard enough to hurt—just enough to leave heat. a bloom of sensation that burns and tingles, the echo of it painting fire beneath her skin.

“there she is,” he murmurs, his voice smug and low and so satisfied.

she huffs out a breath—almost a laugh, but not quite. her face turns against the mattress, muffling the sound. still refusing to give him the reaction he wants.

but her body gives her away. it always does.

he feels the way she pushes back into him, subtly but certainly. the way her thighs spread just a little wider. the way her hips stay lifted, waiting.

“still annoyed?” he asks, rocking forward again, dragging his clothed length against the seam of her shorts. “or finally admitting you need me?”

she tilts her head just enough to glare at him over her shoulder. her lips are parted, cheeks flushed, a single strand of hair caught in her lashes.

“touch me again,” she says, voice dry, “and don’t waste time talking about it.”

and jimin? fuck, he loves her like this.

headstrong. infuriating. soaked.

he grins, already reaching for the button of her shorts, mouthing along her shoulder as he mutters—

“anything for you, baby girl.”

her shorts hit the floor in a rush of fabric, and still—still—she’s got that expression on her face. like she’s unimpressed. like she’s bored. like she’s not clenching around nothing and biting down on her own tongue to keep from whimpering the second his hand touched her.

and jimin notices. he sees all of it.

the fake eye roll. the smug smirk. the feigned indifference. she’s baiting him—again.

and this time? he’s taking it.

“oh?” he hums, dragging his hand up the back of her thigh again, warm palm skimming the curve of her now-bare ass. “you’re still gonna act like you’re not begging for it? really?”

she shrugs. shrugs. as if he isn’t kneeling behind her, half-hard and starving.

“it’s not that deep, park.”

oh, she wants to be punished.

he lets out a low laugh—one that doesn't quite reach his eyes. “got it,” he says quietly, reaching for the bottom drawer of her nightstand like he knows exactly where everything is now. he finds what he needs in two seconds flat. the bottle of lube. a fresh condom. and just for good measure—her toy, the one she thought he didn’t know about.

her head snaps around. “what are you—”

he cuts her off with a sharp look, one hand already ghosting over the back of her neck, gently but firmly guiding her face back down into the mattress.

“don’t play dumb. you wanna be a brat?” his voice is calm now, cool and measured in a way that makes her pulse jump. “then you’re gonna learn what happens when you act like one.”

and she should say something snarky—she always does—but there’s something different in his tone. something dangerous. delicious.

she stays silent.

“good girl,” he murmurs, almost mockingly, letting the words drip over her like syrup as he trails a line of open-mouthed kisses down her spine. “see? already learning.”

he presses her thighs apart further, kneeling between them. she’s soaked already—of course she is. and now she’s quiet. breath shaky. head turned into the mattress. her hands curled into the sheets.

jimin leans in, whispering just beside her ear, his voice low and cruel and addicting.

“you’re not gonna come until i say so. and if you do? i’m gonna edge you until you’re crying.”

she shivers.

he grins.

and when he finally presses inside her, deep and slow and devastating—one hand gripping her hip, the other wrapping around the back of her neck—she doesn’t say a single word.

but god, she feels everything.

he pushes in deep—inch by inch, like he’s got nowhere to be. like the clock doesn’t exist. like the only thing that matters is dragging out the moment just long enough to make her beg.

and she hates that it’s working.

her body reacts before she can even try to stop it—hips twitching back to meet him, thighs tightening, her hands already white-knuckling the sheets beneath her. but he’s not picking up the pace. at all. if anything, he’s slowing down further, grinding into her with a slow, punishing rhythm that’s more pressure than thrust—just deep enough to leave her breathless, but not enough to tip her over the edge.

“mm,” he hums, voice almost playful, breath hitting the side of her neck as he leans in, so fucking composed. “what happened to that mouth, huh?”

she doesn't answer. she can’t—not with the way he’s moving, rolling his hips in slow circles, deliberately avoiding that perfect angle. not with the way her body is already trembling, so sensitive she could cry if he just moved a little faster.

“not so mouthy now,” he murmurs, smiling against her skin as he trails a kiss down her spine, his fingers pressing into her hips like they’re sculpting her into submission. “what, baby? all that attitude gone the second i touched you?”

still, she says nothing. won’t give him the satisfaction.

but her legs are shaking.

her back arches on instinct.

and when he pulls all the way out and doesn’t move for a full beat—just leaves her there, empty, clenching around nothing—her breath catches like a hiccup and her hips buck without her permission.

that’s when he laughs. low, dark, mean.

“yeah,” he whispers, dragging his fingers along the mess between her thighs. “you’re fuckin’ ruined for me.”

he pushes back in hard this time—not fast, just deep—pressing flush to the base, holding there, stretching her until she whimpers into the mattress.

“you wanna come?” he asks, casual. too casual.

she nods, but it’s barely a twitch. like even moving her head might set her off.

he tsks. “use your words.”

she forces them out through clenched teeth, her voice wrecked and hoarse. “yes. fuck, please.”

but he only pulls out again, slow as ever, and she nearly sobs at the loss.

“not yet,” he murmurs, dragging his lips across her shoulder, breath hot, smirk cruel. “you’re not sorry enough.”

and oh, he’s loving this. the tension. the way she’s twitching underneath him. the way she’s desperate now—no more smartass remarks, no more fake eye rolls. just panting. trembling. waiting.

and jimin?

he’s going to take his time. she wanted to be a brat?

now she gets to be his favorite toy.

her voice is thin, already frayed around the edges, dragged raw from holding everything back. but eventually, it breaks—shattering into the thick air between them like glass under pressure.

“jimin,” she gasps, voice barely audible, cheek pressed against the mattress. “please. please, i—I can’t…”

his grin is slow, predatory. he hums like he’s considering it, even though he always intended to make her beg. always wanted to hear it roll off her tongue like that—wrecked and reluctant.

“can’t what?” he asks, maddeningly calm, hips still moving in that same, slow grind. deep. aching. controlled. “can’t handle it? can’t admit you need me?”

she makes a noise in the back of her throat—something between a whimper and a curse, fingers clawing at the bedsheets like they can save her.

he finally gives her a little more—just a little. his pace picks up barely, enough to make the heat swirl tighter in her belly, enough to give her a flicker of hope.

and then he’s reaching for the bottle on the nightstand without stopping, popping the cap with one hand like he’s done this before—because he has. a hundred times in his head, every time she walked past him on campus, every time she rolled her eyes at something he said like he wasn’t the only one who could get her to come undone.

his other hand slides beneath her stomach, lifting her hips slightly, giving him a better angle as he shifts behind her. she whimpers again—almost instinctively now—and he leans forward to kiss between her shoulders.

“don’t worry,” he says, and there’s actual softness there, threaded beneath the smugness, barely-there but present. “not gonna hurt you.”

then she feels it—the cool slickness of the lube hitting his cock, dripping down where their bodies meet, mixing with the mess already between her thighs. his thrusts don’t stop—still deep, still slow—but the slide becomes smoother, easier, sending a ripple through her that makes her curse into the sheets.

her body jerks forward, her thighs trying to close around him—he stops that instantly, one hand pressing her knees apart.

“no, baby,” he says, low in her ear. “you asked for it. now you take it.”

and she does—biting her lip, panting, begging again under her breath because it’s still not enough, not yet. he’s making sure she’s comfortable, taken care of—and still fucking denying her at the same time.

it’s cruel.

it’s maddening.

and it’s making her obsessed.

he’s got her pinned—head turned to the side, one hand heavy at the back of her neck, not squeezing, just holding. Keeping. she’s got no choice but to look at him, her cheek flattened against the mattress, lashes wet, mouth parted as she gasps around every thrust.

he’s still moving slow, goddamn meticulous, hips rolling deep and deliberate like he's got something to prove. like he wants to fuck the shape of himself into her and take his time doing it.

but she’s trembling now, legs barely holding her up, her voice falling into these broken little sounds that aren’t words anymore. every time he pushes in, she lets out a soft, breathless moan—punctuated by frustration, desperation, need.

“jimin,” she pleads, again and again, tone dipping just enough to soften his name into a whimper. “please—”

he leans over her, mouth hovering next to her ear, his breath hot and smug and fucking infuriating.

“please what, baby? use your words,” he murmurs, a hand slipping between her legs for just a second, two fingers brushing where she needs it most—barely. “you want me to keep going? want me to fuck you like the needy little brat you are?”

she squeezes her eyes shut, too embarrassed, too ruined. but her body answers for her—hips pushing back, thighs twitching.

he lets out a low, rough chuckle.

“you love it when I make you beg, don’t you?” he presses, voice darker now, but still calm—too calm. “look at you. always pretending you don’t want this. but I’ve never seen you so wet. so fucking desperate.”

she chokes on a moan, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, mascara smudging under the strain.

“say it,” he demands, tone sharp now, that cocky edge turning into something that bites. “say you want it.”

and she finally breaks.

“i want it—i want you—fuck, please, jimin—just fuck me already!”

and that’s it.

he snaps.

the hand on her neck tightens just a little—not enough to scare her, just enough to ground her—as his hips pull back and slam into her hard, the sound obscene, skin meeting skin with a wet crack. she yelps, mouth falling open in a gasp that pitches too loud to be controlled.

“oh, now you’re ready?” he snarls, thrusting again, hard and fast this time, his body crashing into hers like a fucking wave. “you wanna be a brat, and then cry when you don’t get what you want? this is what you’ve been begging for?”

she can’t answer. there are no words. only sounds—breathless, frantic, ruined sounds as he fucks her into the mattress, rough and unrelenting, every snap of his hips making the headboard knock into the wall.

he’s not going slow anymore. he’s feral.

and her moans? they turn to cries.

not of pain.

of relief.

he’s panting now, but still relentless. sweat slicking his back, hair stuck to his forehead, his grip on her hips bruising as he drives into her with every ounce of control he has left. she’s shaking under him—crying out, trying to breathe, trying to hold herself together.

and then he slows just slightly, only to lean over her again and reach toward the nightstand, dragging open the drawer like he knows exactly where it is.

she doesn’t even register it at first. not until she hears the soft buzz—low and steady and unmistakable.

her head snaps up weakly, eyes wide as she watches him turn around with her toy in hand, smirking like the devil.

“thought you said this wasn’t a thing,” he murmurs, voice low, mocking, dark. “but you keep all the essentials ready for me, don’t you, baby?”

her lips part, but no words come out. she’s trembling now, thighs twitching from overstimulation, slick everywhere, muscles sore, her brain trying to catch up with her body.

and jimin? he’s enjoying every second.

he reaches out, takes her hand gently but firmly, and places the toy in her palm.

“go ahead,” he says softly, a breath against her ear. “hold it there for me.”

she looks back at him, breathless, still trying to figure out if he’s serious.

he just raises an eyebrow, cock still deep inside her, rolling his hips slow to make her feel it.

“what?” he taunts. “too much for you now, baby girl? thought you liked being a brat.”

her grip tightens around the toy, and slowly, trembling, she brings it between her thighs, pressing it right there—right where she needs it.

her whole body jolts.

“fuck—” she gasps, and immediately bites down on her bottom lip to keep herself from moaning too loud.

he grins.

“good girl. now keep it there.”

he starts moving again, steady and deep, every thrust pressing her harder against the toy, every movement making her legs twitch uncontrollably.

“but you don’t get to cum,” he adds, almost too casually. “not until i say. and if you do? i’ll make sure the next time you come is on my tongue, after hours of begging.”

her fingers tighten around the toy, and she sobs out something wordless. he’s not going easy. every thrust now is measured for torment. the sound of wet skin, the low buzz of the toy, her wrecked little whines—it all fills the room like a symphony of her downfall.

she’s close.

so close.

and he knows it.

“don’t you fucking dare,” he growls behind her, voice sharp, hips pounding. “you better hold it. i’ll know if you cum.”

and the worst part?

he would

her legs are shaking uncontrollably, the toy still buzzing in her hand, every nerve in her body screaming. she’s biting down on a moan so hard her jaw aches, fingers white-knuckling the sheets beneath her, desperate not to fall apart. because if she does—if she lets go without permission—she already knows what’s coming.

but she can’t take it anymore.

“please,” she gasps, voice cracked and wrecked, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. “jimin—please, i can’t—i’m trying, i swear—”

and he’s still behind her, hips rolling into hers with that cruel, deep rhythm that keeps pressing her harder into the toy. she’s right there. dangling. one more thrust, one more second—

“i need to come—please—please, i can’t—”

and then her body betrays her.

she doesn’t even mean to do it—she’s not trying to disobey. but it hits her all at once, like her body just gives out, like her muscles snap and melt and twist all at once. she cries out, her voice shattering like glass, her thighs locking tight as she—

doesn’t.

not yet.

but jimin does.

with a sharp groan through gritted teeth, his pace stutters—finally losing it—burying himself deep one last time as he spills into the condom, his forehead pressing between her shoulder blades, hand gripping her hip like a vice. his groans are low, guttural, breathless—completely undone.

but it’s her broken sob that brings him back down.

he pulls out slowly, careful, still panting. the toy is slipping from her hand now, barely buzzing, and she’s collapsed onto the mattress, thighs twitching, body begging for release.

“baby,” he murmurs, voice softer now, as he kneels behind her. “i told you… if you came without asking…”

“i didn’t,” she whimpers, voice wrecked and trembling. “i didn’t. please—just—please—”

he pulls the toy from her weak hand, tosses it aside, and doesn’t say anything else. just spreads her thighs gently and leans in.

she gasps when his tongue makes contact.

a long, flat lick from the base of her folds all the way up to her clit, slow and mean, like he’s savoring her. and then he does it again. and again. until she’s crying—literal, choked sobs against the mattress, hips bucking, thighs locking around his head but he doesn’t stop.

he eats her out like he’s starving. like her pleasure is his revenge. his hands slide beneath her thighs to keep her in place, and he buries his face deeper, tongue flicking, sucking, moving in maddening circles.

her fingers claw at the mattress.

“jimin—fuck, please, i’m gonna—i can’t—”

and then he says it, voice muffled against her soaked skin:

“come for me.”

and she does.

like she’s never come before. her whole body arches off the bed, thighs squeezing around his head, a strangled, high-pitched cry ripping from her chest as she finally lets go—everything breaking at once. pleasure crashing through her in endless waves, tears slipping down her cheeks, her vision blurring as she rides it out, trembling violently under his mouth.

and he doesn’t stop.

not until she’s twitching too hard to handle it, not until she’s begging him to stop through hiccupped gasps and aftershocks, her body collapsing into the sheets—completely wrecked.

he finally pulls back, chin glossy, lips pink and swollen, looking up at her with a smug little smile and a rawness in his eyes that almost—almost—looks like something more.

“told you you’d be sorry,” he whispers, kissing the inside of her thigh.

the room is quiet now. heavy and thick with the remnants of everything they just did—sweat cooling on skin, the low hum of the AC in the corner, the rustle of her adjusting the sheets under her stomach like she can somehow make herself disappear into them.

he's sitting at the edge of her bed, trying to catch his breath, head bowed, hands braced on his knees. she hasn't looked at him since he licked her clean. not once. her back is turned, and her face is unreadable.

“you okay?” he asks after a beat. voice rough but low. soft, even.

she nods. too quick. too practiced.

“fine.”

he looks at her, sees how her mouth pulls tight like she’s trying to seal something in. like she’s already rebuilding that damn wall she always hides behind. and the worst part is—it stings. more than it should.

he runs a hand through his hair, frustration starting to bubble. “you’re not, though.”

(y/n) doesn’t answer. instead, she grabs her hoodie from the floor, slipping it on with her back still facing him. casual. distant. like they didn’t just share something that had her sobbing into the mattress.

he exhales sharply. “you always do this.”

“do what?” she mutters, tugging the zipper up.

“this whiplash shit,” he snaps, standing now, pacing a little like he can’t stay still. “one second you're climbing on top of me like you need me, and the next you're acting like i'm just some guy you tolerate because you're bored.”

she opens her mouth to respond but her phone rings—perfect timing. she glances at the screen and sighs, answering it with a tired voice.

“hey.”

it's sora.

“where the hell are you? you didn’t show for lunch, are you okay?”

(y/n)’s eyes flick toward jimin like she forgot he was still standing there. her voice switches to casual, cool, detached.

“yeah, i'm fine. just had a headache. i’m at the dorm. you coming?”

“yeah, i’ll be there in like ten. just checking in, babe.”

they hang up and the silence creeps back in. she turns to jimin, not even trying to sugarcoat it.

“you have to go.”

he blinks. “seriously?”

“sora’s on her way,” she says simply, tugging her hair into a messy bun. “you don’t need to be here anymore.”

and it hits him like a slap—how final she sounds. like he was a transaction, not a person. like he did his job and can clock out now.

he hesitates. there's something in his eyes—not casual, not cocky. just… confused. raw.

“when can I see you again?” he asks, and there’s a weight behind it. a tone that implies he doesn’t mean it like before. that maybe, for once, he’s not just asking to get laid.

but she hears what she wants.

she scoffs, already turned away from him again. “jesus, park. already thinking about round two?”

his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. he just watches her for a second—searching. then nods.

“right.”

and as he reaches the door, she doesn’t stop him. doesn’t look at him. just drops back onto the bed like it’s already erased.

“i don’t know,” she mutters, voice muffled into her pillow. “i’ll text you.”

he leaves without another word.

and the second the door clicks shut behind him—she closes her eyes, jaw clenched tight like if she keeps her face neutral long enough, she won't cry.

(y/n) had barely cracked the window open, letting in the early afternoon air, stale and cold and not nearly strong enough to clear the weight in the room, when the door clicked open.

“a headache, huh?”

sora didn’t even drop her bag, arms crossed over her chest, a perfectly sculpted brow raised as she looked (y/n) over with that older-sister energy only best friends know how to master.

“yup,” (y/n) replied flatly, voice muffled from where she stood near the window like she was considering just jumping out of it and vanishing into a new identity.

sora hummed. “right, right…”

she kicked her sneakers off, took her sweet time walking in like she wasn’t about to drop a bomb, then glanced toward the window again.

“you wanna tell me what was park jimin doing leaving this building looking like he wanted to break every surface between here and the quad?”

(y/n) didn’t even flinch. she shrugged, eyes heavy-lidded and distant as she dropped onto her bed, pulling her hoodie over her head like it might hide the truth.

“i don’t know,” she mumbled. “he’s probably having sex with that blonde girl down the hallway. wouldn’t put it past him.”

sora paused.

then—chuckled.

not sweetly. not kindly. it was that you’re unbelievable but I love you anyway kind of laugh that only best friends can manage without it sounding mean.

“if you’re gonna lie,” sora said, stepping forward with the confidence of someone ready to be annoying, “at least try.”

she pointed, very pointedly, at the bottle of lube still sitting half-tucked behind the lamp on the desk and the unmistakable glint of a silver foil wrapper tossed into the corner of the trash can. the lube was still half uncapped. the wrapper hadn’t even been shoved all the way down. clearly, damage control was not (y/n)’s strong suit.

(y/n) groaned. long and loud.

and flopped face-first into her pillow, arms stretched out like she was about to be taken by the void.

sora waited.

and then, from under the pillow:

“i’m so stupid.”

it was quiet. muffled and slightly wet-sounding like her voice had cracked on the way out.

sora sat at the edge of the bed. didn’t touch her. didn’t crowd her. just breathed out softly.

“no, you’re not.”

silence.

“you’re just—” sora paused, searching for the right word. “emotionally constipated. and dating a walking hormone.”

“we’re not dating.”

“mhm. you’re just accidentally raw dogging and crying over him.”

“we’re not—crying—” (y/n)’s voice cracked again.

sora smiled to herself.

“look, you don’t have to say it. but you’re not fine. and i think you’re finally starting to realize that wanting him doesn’t mean you like how he makes you feel.”

(y/n) didn’t answer. not right away.

she just curled tighter into herself, fingers gripping the corner of her blanket, lips pressed shut like if she let anything else out, she might not be able to hold the rest in.

the silence that filled the room wasn’t uncomfortable. not really. just full. full of the weight (y/n) didn’t want to unpack and the affection sora didn’t quite know how to hand over without making her best friend flinch.

sora stared down at her hands, fiddling with the charm on her bracelet, debating.

and then—softly, almost hesitant:

“actually… i was wondering if you’d be down to meet someone.”

(y/n) didn’t move. didn’t even lift her face from the pillow.

“…what?” came her voice, muffled, dry with sarcasm. “are you playing cupid now? that desperate to get rid of me?”

“obviously,” sora quipped, but the smile in her voice was warm. teasing. “i already have the wedding planned. you’re going to wear that one dress you hate just to spite me.”

“cute. can’t wait to be emotionally destroyed by someone new.”

sora rolled her eyes and leaned back on her hands.

“no, seriously. jin and i… we kind of—well. he has this friend.”

that made (y/n)’s ear twitch against the pillow. not enough to give away her interest, but sora caught it anyway.

“he’s, um… nice,” she said, like it was a confession. “and hot. but not like ‘jimin hot,’ you know? not, like, slutty hot. like… handsome.”

“wow, love that for me,” (y/n) muttered. “maybe i can trauma-dump over coffee and he can write a sad indie song about me.”

sora snorted. “honestly? he probably would. he’s kinda deep and stuff. he reads. like, actual books. not just quotes on tumblr.”

“does he own a tote bag and drink overpriced black coffee too?”

“probably. and he’d remember your birthday without having to check instagram.”

(y/n) finally turned her head, face half-squished by the pillow, one brow raised.

“this is sounding suspiciously like you’re describing your dream man and just trying to pass him off to me.”

“hey, i already have one golden retriever boyfriend. i don’t need two. jin’s enough work as it is.”

that made (y/n) crack a tiny smile. just barely. but it was there. fragile and fleeting and stitched together with exhaustion—but real.

“you don’t have to say yes,” sora added gently, nudging (y/n)’s foot with her own. “i just thought… maybe it wouldn’t hurt. talking to someone who’s not gonna fuck with your head.”

another pause.

then—

“what’s his name?” (y/n) asked, like she didn’t care. like it didn’t matter. like she wasn’t secretly trying to memorize it in case she decided to google him later.

sora smiled.

“namjoon.”

sora pulled her phone from her back pocket, tapping quickly through her gallery like she’d been waiting for the perfect moment to break this out. (y/n) was still lying face-down on the mattress, now with her cheek smooshed against her pillow, eyes barely open and squinting in the sunlight slipping through the blinds.

“okay. you have to see this,” sora said, her voice laced with a mischievous kind of warmth.

“if it’s another video of jin falling off a couch, i’ve already seen it.”

“nope,” she grinned. “better.”

she leaned over, holding the screen out so (y/n) could see. and there he was—namjoon. laughing so hard he was practically doubled over, his face pink and scrunched, clearly tipsy, a half-empty beer in one hand and the other braced against seokjin’s shoulder. the older boy was mid-rant about something ridiculous—something to do with sock conspiracies and IKEA furniture—but namjoon wasn’t even listening anymore. he was just laughing, full and loud and unfiltered. the kind of laugh that made other people want to laugh, too.

(y/n) didn’t smile. not really. but something shifted in her chest.

“he already thinks you’re beautiful, by the way,” sora added, casual but not. like it was a secret she’d been sitting on and couldn’t hold in anymore.

“you showed him my insta?” (y/n) asked, but her voice wasn’t angry. more like tired curiosity.

sora shrugged. “he asked. i said you were out of his league, but that didn’t seem to stop him from wanting to meet you.”

(y/n) rolled onto her back, lips pursing as she stared up at the ceiling again. “doesn’t know me, then.”

“no,” sora said softly. “but he’s willing to. and that counts for something.”

she hesitated.

then: “we could totally arrange a double date that’s not really a double date, if you don’t want to be alone. it doesn’t even have to be dinner. we could just do coffee or a bookstore or something stupid. zero pressure. i promise.”

(y/n) was quiet for a long moment.

she didn’t say it aloud—didn’t even shift her expression much. but in the corner of her mind, something uncurled. a tiny flicker of vindication. of pettiness, even.

it’s fair, she told herself.

if jimin was still out here sleeping with whoever the hell he wanted—acting like what they had was just a routine, nothing serious—then what was stopping her from at least meeting someone who might actually give a shit?

she bit the inside of her cheek.

“he reads actual books?” she asked, almost like it was a joke.

sora smiled, sensing the change, the small fracture in her resistance.

“and he volunteers at the campus library on weekends. he knows the dewey decimal system.”

“wow,” (y/n) said dryly. “that’s hot.”

but there was a quiet sort of consideration in her voice now. something that wasn’t there before.

“fine,” (y/n) said, her voice soft. a little hoarse from everything, from him, from the morning. “i’ll go.”

sora blinked. froze for a second like she wasn’t sure she heard right.

“…wait—you’ll go?”

(y/n) nodded once, still flat on her back. “i mean, it’s not a date, right?”

“not a date,” sora agreed immediately, practically vibrating. “just four very attractive people grabbing coffee while two of them try to emotionally salvage their best friend’s love life—nothing suspicious at all.”

(y/n) let out a huff that almost sounded like a laugh. barely. her eyes didn’t leave the ceiling, but a faint smile curled at the corners of her mouth before she pressed her phone to her chest.

“i have to tell jin,” sora squealed, grabbing her phone like it was a matter of national importance. “we’ve been waiting for this moment. you are not ready for namjoon’s quiet man rizz. he’s like… polite but intense. like he’s always three sentences ahead of the conversation and still listening to every word.”

“okay, calm down,” (y/n) muttered, rolling onto her side, eyes flicking to her own phone again.

still no messages.

not even a double text. not even a shitty meme.

she swallowed hard, thumb tapping aimlessly at her screen. locked it. unlocked it. then locked it again.

figures, she thought. maybe that was the whole point. maybe this was the moment she finally started playing the game the way he did—cool, distant, unreachable.

“coffee’s on wednesday,” sora said from across the room, already texting, cheeks flushed with the thrill of matchmaking. “just after class. no pressure. and i’ll be there the whole time.”

(y/n) nodded again, still curled under her blanket.

her phone buzzed once.

her heart jumped.

it wasn’t him.

and so she sank deeper into the mattress, wrapped in silence and resolve, whispering to herself in the quietest voice:

just coffee.

just a start.

—---

she had managed to avoid him like the plague for the past two days.

not that it was particularly difficult—jimin had apparently found new places to stick his tongue down rowan’s throat all over campus. the student center. the quad. even the hallway leading to the library, where anyone with a pulse could see them pressed against the lockers like a poorly scripted indie film.

(y/n) had simply kept walking. shoulders squared. expression blank. her heart? a mess. pounding. bruised. aching in the worst kind of private way.

today, she had a free period—one he used to know by memory. the one where they’d usually disappear into some forgotten corner of the campus: a storage closet, an empty lecture hall, the back seat of his car.

not today.

today, she locked herself inside the cleanest, quietest bathroom on the top floor of the liberal arts building. she stayed longer than necessary, pretending to check her makeup, her messages, her nonexistent emails. anything to kill the time. anything to not remember.

but the second she stepped outside—there he was.

leaning against the tiled wall like he belonged there. black hoodie half-zipped, head tilted like he wasn’t trying to look casual. hands in his pockets. smirk already cocked like a loaded gun.

her jaw tightened. she didn’t slow down.

“did you get bored of your girlfriend?” she asked, not even glancing at him as she walked past.

his smirk widened. the kind that made her want to slap it off and kiss it in the same breath.

“don’t act jealous now, princess.”

she scoffed. not even dignifying him with a full-body reaction.

“you wish.”

he pushed off the wall, falling into step beside her. their shoulders close but not touching, his steps a half-beat too synced with hers.

“you said you’d text.”

“i lied,” she said simply. her voice light, sarcastic, but the bitterness beneath it hung heavy in the air.

he chuckled. low, smug, infuriating.

“what, you got separation anxiety, park?” she murmured, casting him a quick side glance, venom sweet on her tongue.

“only when you ghost me.”

her laugh was sharp, humorless. “you’re fine. you’ve got a perfectly capable tongue warmer already.”

he didn’t answer that.

not immediately.

just looked at her. really looked. and for a second she could feel it—like the way he used to stare at her when she was on top of him, hair sticking to her temples, lip caught between her teeth, like she was the only girl in the goddamn world.

“what are we even doing?” he asked under his breath.

her chest squeezed tight, but her face didn’t budge.

“nothing,” she said. “we’re doing nothing.”

and she didn’t let herself look back as she walked away.

he was still following her.

his footsteps weren’t loud, but they were steady. like he hadn’t gotten the very clear message that she wanted nothing to do with him. or maybe he had—and just didn’t care.

“hey, um…” his voice came low from behind her, casual, like the conversation from two minutes ago hadn’t been a punch to the gut. “wanna come over? around lunch?”

she didn’t stop walking. not for a second. the answer was already on her lips before he could even finish the question.

“can’t. i’m going on a date.”

that stopped him. completely.

she didn’t have to look back to know it. she felt the hesitation in his pace, the way his silence caught like a sudden storm break—his breath, audible in the way it halted, like she’d just sucked all the air out of his lungs with one clean swing. and god, it made something twist in her gut. vicious satisfaction. a petty kind of pride.

because finally, she’d managed to land a hit.

she kept walking. eyes straight ahead, hands tucked in her pockets, her expression unreadable even as her heart thundered in her chest. she didn’t want to admit how much it cost her to say that. to make it real. to push the words out like they didn’t mean anything when they meant everything.

a date.

not with jimin.

not with someone who used her like a stress relief valve between other girls and then pretended it didn’t matter. no—someone who might actually see her as more than a warm body and a bratty smirk. someone who might mean safety instead of destruction.

he caught up with her again a few seconds later, but his voice was different now. tighter. still trying to sound amused, but his ego had definitely just taken a hit.

“you?” he asked, that little scoff laced into the back of his throat. “a date?”

she didn’t look at him. didn’t blink. just nodded once.

“yup.”

it was almost cruel, how nonchalant she sounded. how she delivered it like the weather—just another fact, another shift in atmosphere.

he laughed then. forced. hollow. more confused than anything else.

“so… who’s the unlucky bastard?”

he meant it as a joke, but she heard the tension underneath. the need to know. the fact that he couldn’t handle the idea of her giving even a fraction of what she gave him to someone else.

and that?

that was enough to fuel her for days.

she glanced at him then. Just a flick of her eyes, like an afterthought.

“none of your goddamn business, park.”

he opened his mouth again, like he had something else to say, but she was already walking faster. already turning the corner. already gone.

and for the first time in weeks, she left him standing there speechless.

—---

she wasn’t expecting much, really.

namjoon was handsome, sure. tall, broad-shouldered, and the kind of naturally put-together that made him look good in a plain t-shirt and worn sneakers. his vibe—at least from what sora told her—was chill, maybe a little philosophical. smart, funny in a dry way, emotionally aware. the complete opposite of what she was used to.

the complete opposite of jimin.

so, she walked toward the coffee shop with her expectations set somewhere below hopeful. this wasn’t a real date anyway. just coffee. just a distraction. a lifeline, maybe, if she let herself think dramatically. which she always did. the air was warm, sun flickering through the trees lining the street. her shoes hit the pavement in slow, reluctant steps.

when she saw the terrace, she spotted them instantly—sora and jin already seated, their heads tilted in laughter, and across from them—

him.

namjoon.

he was leaned slightly forward, elbows resting on the table, listening intently to whatever jin was saying. his fingers wrapped loosely around a coffee cup, and there was this ease to him. like he fit in every room he walked into without trying. the kind of calm that settled into the space instead of rearranging it.

she was halfway through apologizing as she reached the table—something about running late, something about traffic—when he turned to look at her.

and smiled.

not wide. not flashy.

just a dimpled, polite, heart-achingly sweet smile that made her lose the rest of her sentence entirely.

her mouth stayed open for a beat too long. her chest tightened, her fingers curled around the strap of her bag. and for the first time in a long time, she felt something soft unfold in her belly. not lust. not adrenaline. just... warmth.

“hi,” he said, quiet but clear. his voice deep, gentle. smooth like good coffee and rainy sunday mornings.

she blinked.

closed her mouth.

“hi,” she said back, quieter than she meant to.

sora shot her a knowing look, barely hiding her grin. jin covered his chuckle behind a sip of his drink.

(y/n) sat down slowly, the cushion cool beneath her. she tugged at the hem of her sleeves to hide how her palms had started to sweat. get it together, she told herself. this wasn’t anything. not really. but her mind was already whirling, catching on dimples and calm eyes and the way he hadn't even looked at her body—just her face.

she couldn’t remember the last time that happened.

namjoon offered her a soft "glad you could make it," and the way he said it? like he meant it. like it wasn't just something polite people said.

and just like that, something shifted.

she didn’t know if it would last, if it meant anything, if she’d let it mean anything.

but she knew one thing for sure.

this coffee was already different.

it started slow, like most things that turn out to matter.

small comments. shared glances. little pauses where their eyes lingered a second too long, just enough for someone paying attention to notice. sora and jin definitely noticed.

they’d all been talking for a while now, easy chatter over lattes and croissants on the coffee shop’s sun-drenched terrace. sora had her arm hooked casually around jin’s, legs crossed under the table as she tossed in commentary like a pro. jin had taken to teasing (y/n) mercilessly, half about her general attitude and half about things sora clearly told him in confidence—like how she refused to use dating apps because “if the universe wants me in love it’ll drop it in my lap, not on a screen.”

namjoon laughed when jin said that. not a mocking laugh, but a soft one. amused, kind of impressed.

“you really said that?” he asked, tilting his head at her.

(y/n) rolled her eyes, cheeks warm despite herself. “don’t believe everything sora says.”

“but i want to believe it,” namjoon replied, chin resting in his hand, eyes flickering over her face like he was trying to memorize it. “it’s very poetic. delusional, but poetic.”

sora snorted into her drink. jin pretended to fall off his chair. and just like that, the tension drained out of (y/n)’s shoulders. she was smiling before she realized it. something about namjoon just let her relax.

he wasn’t trying to impress her.

he wasn’t trying to seduce her.

he was just there. present. thoughtful. funny in a quiet way that made her want to lean in and ask questions just to hear how he’d answer.

and he did lean in.

more than once.

at first it was to joke about jin and sora, something low and quick and conspiratorial like: “are they always like this? because I’m both amazed and concerned.”

she laughed. loud enough for sora to glance over and raise an eyebrow.

then it happened again. namjoon leaning close, his voice low near her ear, his fingers brushing the table between them like he was trying not to move too much but couldn’t help it. she said something sarcastic and he deadpanned right back, his words clever and dry and so perfectly timed it made her laugh again.

a real laugh. unguarded.

and suddenly, for those small, glittering moments, it felt like the world narrowed down to just the two of them.

jin noticed first. he sipped his drink, quirking a brow at sora across the table.

“oh god,” he mouthed dramatically. “we created a monster.”

sora barely fought back her grin. “they’re cute,” she mouthed back.

(y/n) didn’t notice. neither did namjoon.

he was looking at her like she was the only thing in the room worth focusing on. not in a possessive way. not in a you’re mine kind of way. just—genuine. curious. gentle.

she didn’t remember the last time she felt that seen.

the air was mellow, the sun beginning its lazy descent behind the campus rooftops, casting soft orange light across the quad as the four of them walked. sora and jin hung back, wrapped up in their own bubble of teasing laughter and inside jokes, while (y/n) and namjoon walked a few paces ahead. it felt natural—unforced—the way their strides matched without thinking, their conversation floating easily from music to professors to jin’s obnoxious collection of novelty mugs that sora had apparently been trying to “accidentally break” since they started dating.

she was laughing, genuinely. not the kind of laugh she gave at parties, polite and performative, but the kind that came from somewhere loose and unguarded in her chest. namjoon’s voice was easy to listen to, deep but soft around the edges, the kind of voice that made every observation feel like a secret. he was funny in a subtle way, clever without trying too hard, his smile tugging at the corner of his mouth whenever she threw sarcasm back at him.

it felt... peaceful.

she liked the pace of it. how no one was trying to impress anyone. how she didn’t feel the need to armor herself in sharp edges and cold glances just to keep control.

until her phone buzzed.

she felt it before she looked. that familiar little twist of anticipation and irritation curling low in her stomach. she glanced down.

[jimin.] “so... how’s the date, princess?”

cocky. smug. he probably sent it leaning back in his chair, that stupid grin on his face, fingers loose around his phone like none of this meant anything to him.

her smile faltered just slightly. she didn’t stop walking, but she exhaled through her nose—sharp, annoyed—and locked the screen before namjoon could see what it said.

but he already had.

not the contents, but the name. she saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes. he didn’t react with surprise or judgment—just a calm, thoughtful blink.

“you and jimin, huh?” he asked casually, his tone laced with curiosity but nothing sharp. just genuine interest.

she gave him a dry laugh, pushing her hair back from her face. “it’s nothing but a headache, really.”

and he nodded. no need for more.

“wanna change the subject?”

she looked at him, smiled. “desperately.”

so they did.

they spent the next few minutes talking about a book he’d been meaning to finish and the worst professor she’d ever had. when they finally reached her dorm building, the sky had deepened to gold, and the air had that quiet kind of stillness reserved for the late afternoon—the in-between of day and night.

he slowed to a stop in front of the steps. she did too, her hand hovering near the strap of her bag.

“this was nice,” he said, and meant it. his voice had a different weight now—not heavy, but intentional.

she nodded, already tugging at her lip with her teeth before she could stop herself. “it was.”

there was a beat of silence, not awkward, but tentative. like they were both standing at the edge of something just slightly out of view.

“can I get your number?” he asked then, tone light. “no pressure or anything. just thought it might be cool to hang out again sometime.”

she hesitated—not because she didn’t want to—but because she did. and deep down, she wanted him to be enough to make her forget jimin. to stop wanting things that hurt.

but she didn’t say that.

instead, she smiled, reached for his phone when he offered it, and typed in her number.

“i’d like that,” she said, handing it back.

and she meant it.

even if jimin’s message still lingered in her pocket like a ghost.

quietly always, cigarettesuga.

taglist Ꮺ @aaclariww @mar-lo-pap @h6rtf9lt @wynterlove @rpwprpwprpwprw @annyeongbitch7 @namgimini @princesstiti14 @alextgef @pjmxxjmdipity @cherryminnie95

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deveondog · 11 hours ago

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HHi, could you write for Ace, Leona, Azul, Kalim, Vil, and Idia x male reader? The reader is their online boyfriend, and one day they see him at a school festival wearing the RSA uniform. How would you react to finding out that your boyfriend is studying at NRC's rival school?

SDC shenanigans

ft: Ace Trappola and Azul Ashengrotto

You wanted to surprise your boyfriend by meeting them at the Song and dance competition!

cw?: Most likey ooc :c Azul insecurities! i tried to go into them a bit so i hope its ok! Reader is mentioned to be friends with Neige in Ace's!

Written on computer, space editing on phone! hope its no to weird looking! i rlly hope the things are transparent uhh

Request?: Yep! :) thank you for the request! i appreciate it lots!

Ace: Shocked and put off by it..

You and him had been dating for a couple months. The only time you guys had mentioned your schools was when you had mentioned off handedly that you got into the school of your dreams!, and he just said he got into a prestigious collage on an island that his brother went to. Nothing special. That's what he thought anyway. That's until he just happens to get a glance of you at the song and dance competition before the voting happens. While he was still on stage he happened to have noticed you in the stands looking at him happily, and he just stood there at first. Too shocked to do anything. Deuce was the first to notice and ask him.

“Hey Ace are you okay?” Ace just blanks and turns his head slowly to Deuce's face. “Dude.. my boyfriends here..” “BOYFRIEND?!”

Don't get him wrong, he is ecstatic to see you! It's just he wasn't expecting it at all! Especially since you are in a Royal Sword Academy uniform? Whys that..

After the voting he immediately asks his seniors if it's okay to go greet someone. Vil– assuming its family, lets him go without question. He runs up to the stands and finds you quickly, being how you were trying to meet him halfway. “Ace! Hii!! I'm so happy to finally see you!!” You seem so happy! He just can't get the fact that you're in an RSA uniform out of his head.. “Hey yeah,, happy to see you too.! Uhm why are you in an RSA uniform by the way.. You never said you went there?” Your smile falters a bit, and he notices the sadness growing in your eyes. “I guess I forgot to mention it hah. You're not.. upset are you? That we go to rival schools.?”

He stutters out a quick– “No no of course not!! I'm just really surprised is all.. ‘Sides like you said you never really mentioned it..How’d you know I go to Night Raven?” You chuckle a bit, before saying “I diddnt heh heh, I just came with Neige and the boys to support them!! They did awesome didnt they! Sorry about you guys loosing, Aggaain~” You teased. He was a bit angry, but he couldn’t stay angry at you of all people for too long.. “Haah.. You really are something aren’t you?” “You bet I am!!”

Azul: Stunned as well, but fearing the worst..

He was a busy man today. In between running from his club room to the rowdy sports club vendors, he had his hands full. And seeing his beloved during one of his runs to the vendors out by the colosseum wasn't what he expected. Or how he expected to meet you. He felt his insecurities rearing their ugly heads when he first saw you. "What if my hair is off today?” “What if I look bad today.?” “What if I look worse in person!” What if- whatifwhatif–

Jack interrupts his thoughts. Asking him about his contract with his club. Azul remains composed and poised. Answering his question with such attention and detail you wouldn't think he was almost on the verge of a breakdown. After dealing with Jack, you spot him. You start waving wildly and calling his name. And he starts panicking internally. He started walking to the rarest bathroom, knowing you would trail him as best you could through the rough crowd. He started walking a bit faster than the average person in the bunch.

Of course once he's in a bathroom he hears the door open again a few seconds later. “ ‘Zul are you in here?” He has to remain composed. Remain calm stay calm staycalm. “Azul, I know you're in here.. I wanna talk to you!” Staycalmstaycalm. “It's nothing bad I swear! I just wanna see your pretty face!” He pauses. That's right.. You're the one who helped him through his episodes of madness.. Even after he mentioned his overblot you stayed with him. No matter how ugly he could be, you would be with him. He remains still but opens the door. Only to see you in an RSA uniform. Stunned, he keeps staring. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You smirk, and then chuckle lightly. “Having an episode again?” You ask softly. Not angrily or disgusted at him. Just you. Soft and tender. “Hey hey, just focus on me, alright Azul?”

He looks you in the eyes and cant help but sigh. You’re so beautiful it hurts. Like the sun shining down onto him. Beaming smiles but such soft words.. “Hello my pearl.. I apologize, this is how we have to meet in person..” “Hey, it’s ok Azul! I'm just as thrilled to meet you!!”

He sees you smiling so bright and offers up a small smile back, the focuses in on your uniform. “Oh.. yeah this heh.” You back up a bit, and look at him solemnly. “You’re not mad i forgot to mention this to you right.?” His smile extends. “I could never be mad at you my pearl..” He comes up and cups your cheek with his hand. “Esspesailly when you have helped me through so much my love..” “Heh heh, I love you ‘Zul” You smile somehow even brighter. He– bathing in your light– smiles still. “I love you too, my pearl..”

A/N: i hope its ok i did two!! i did try and make them pretty long so hope its ok! :)) im gonna have to limit my characters to about 4 cuz that was alot heh!!! thank you for the request!

Thanks for reading! <3

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overbaked-tkls · 3 days ago

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Hello, I hope you're having a good day.

If possible, could we have Lee!Taph and Ler! Builderman? I find Taph's admiration for him kinda cute ^^

If you don't want to or can't do this, that's fine. I appreciate you taking the time to read it.

sorry for the posting gap! had to do finals and i wasn't feeing well for a bit. anyways 🔥

also sorry this is a bit shorter, still getting back into the rhythm of things

(this is a sfw tickle fic! if you don't like it don't read it)

"At least look at me, would’ja?"

words: 1,806

ler!builderman, lee!taph

summary: taph thinks he can back out of a social interaction. facepalms

Frequent little waves, glances in between rounds. Bulderman either quietly returned them or smiled in response, but only for a while. At first, he thought Taph needed his help with something, but every time he fully took his attention off his typical intermission tasks to approach the demolitionist, Taph would back away or quickly turn. Then it switched, halfway through the day. The architect became too busy to bother returning any gestures, and when Taph approached him, he’d get dismissively shooed off.

Once the hard-hatted support finally found the time– which ended up being sometime after the rounds were over and he finished helping Shedletsky with something– he met the other support upstairs.

“Ay, Taph. What’s goin’ on today, huh? You need somethin’?”

Taph looked to each side of Builder, shaking his head after a moment.

“Well, you been wavin’ at me.”

The demolitionist hesitantly raised his hands. ‘Just saying hi.’ To be fair, it was a half-truth. Taph didn’t exactly know why, but even the smallest interaction with the other sparked admiration from him. He wished Builder would approach him more, maybe pay more attention to him. But it really didn't help Taph that just being in the other's presence made him nervous, a lot more than he’d like to admit. Hence, he’d initiate interactions only to quickly regret them and retreat.

“Just sayin’ hi…” Builderman echoed, skeptically. “And yer’ sure you don’t need anythin’?” In addition, he gave a friendly, yet questioning smile. It wasn’t that he thought Taph was lying to him, but the demolitionist was always so quiet about his problems, so it came naturally to ask twice or thrice. While waiting for an answer, Builderman moved his head under the lighting to try and see Taph’s face under the shade of his hood.

‘Completely sure.’ He signed the confirmation with a definitive energy in his hands, but it came from a rushed, nervous panic underneath. It was also a little shaky, so… Not super believable.

“... uh huh.”

Taph looked down, and his dark face wings shyly folded over to hide anything not already covered by his mask and hood. It was one thing to feel guilty about misleading someone; it was another to be caught for it.

Builderman raised his eyebrows at the sight, before scoffing. “Oh come on, at least look at me, would’ja? You’ve clearly been wantin’ to talk. I really don’ mind, y’know.” It was especially annoying for him when his admins and others would use their wings in this manner. He’d gone over the same rule with any winged person working for him– they’re not hiding spots, weapons, or tools used to escape scolding. Well, the last one was more for that damned avian swordfighter friend of his, but nonetheless. The point still stands, and if anything Taph had just turned more away, signing closer and closer to his chest.

Taph believed Builder was very considerate to him, but sometimes the trapper couldn’t decide between struggling to express his gratitude or questioning if he was just being delusional.

‘I’m fine.’

The architect’s frown turned into a flat expression as his lips pressed together. “Great to hear, but it would seem more believable if you weren’t hidin’ from me.” He reached out, trying to gently pry one of Taph’s wings away from his face.

Originally the demolitionist planned on letting him, but the second he saw Builder’s eyes again, the hard-hatted support’s force on the feathered appendage wasn’t enough to stop the demolitionist from stubbornly keeping it there.

A long, disappointed exhale escaped the sentry-maker. “... Taph. Help me out ere’.” Builderman waited for the amount of time it took to take his hat off, tidy the grey hair on his head, and put the hat back on for the other to listen.

Maybe, Taph thought, if he just waited long enough, Builder would leave. But the trapper hadn’t spent long enough periods of time with him to know how incredibly tenacious he was when he actually wanted something. So safe to say, Taph was pretty startled when he felt a few fingers brush across the backside of one wing.

Despite almost instantly flinching his head away, the action persistently continued as Builder gently held his now twitching wing in place. He wasn’t exactly used to having other people touch them, not that he disliked it– but it was for the same reason he didn’t let anyone preen his wings that he was attempting to move away from the architect at the moment. They were… Sensitive.

The hard-hatted support was barely feeling across them, honestly closer to petting than anything else. But it was with just enough quickness and unpredictability to hopefully coax Taph into flinching the black feathery veils to his face open. “Y’know, I’ve always let’cha get away with these things. Both metaphorically and literally. But I do haf’ta admit it's a little irritatin’ to pause my work for you, just to get ditched and ignored.” Not that I believe you do it on purpose.

A tentative smile crept up Taph's face, but even then he couldn't understand the nature of this. Friendly? Scolding? Both? And how was he supposed to deal with it? Unintentionally ignoring the complaint in favor of temporarily escaping whatever this was, Taph messily signed back.

Builder assumed the message to be ‘What are you doing?’, but the demolitionist’s hand seized up halfway through pointing at him, and Taph's arms looked to him like how frantic slurring sounds. He ended up only smiling in response, chuckling as each trace over the soft bend of one jet black wing earned its own startled twitch.

Creating the demolitionists was something he found himself regretting more often than not, but the sight of them was something honorable. A symbol of creativity just as much as destruction. It was an art, and he couldn't pretend he wasn't interested when Taph would ramble about bombs and explosions, his excitement on the topic louder than the motion of his hands. Parts had to come from somewhere, after all.

In any case, it was a silly rhetorical question– Maybe Taph meant ‘why’ instead. “Well, why dont'cha take a guess, Taph? After all, I am givin’ ya my undivided attention at the moment. You should gimme yers’. Y'know, by at least lookin’ at me.”

Taph shakily raised his hands up from his front, clearly having half the mind to get Builderman off of him. But the other support in question pushed his hands back down before the thought could go full swing.

The action seemed strangely less like restraining, and more like a reassurance.

“Taph. Please.” The architect gave an unamused, amused look, even though who he directed it at was still too stubborn to see it. The same way he looked at anyone that was endearing enough to be annoying, for the lack of a better description. Stretching two fingers from the end of one wing to as far as he could reach to the base, he considered what would ‘convince’ the demolitionist.

The inner feathers are the worst, right?

“Ah. Taph, if I may…” Builder reached just a little bit into the other's hood, and let it rest there for a beat. Despite the pause given, Taph went completely unmoving.

And then the architect decided to re-familiarize himself with what preened scapular feathers feel like by running a couple curled fingers though the small area. Soft. Well, that's what it felt like to him. If Shedletsky writhing away from him whenever he preened there had taught him anything, that definitely tickled for Taph.

As evidence, the demolitionist nearly hurt himself jolting his head back into the log wall he was leaning on a couple minutes prior. Builder suddenly felt grateful for having a preventive mindset, since he had habitually put his free hand behind Taph's head in advance.

“Oh, now wer’ talkin’.” He meant it both literally and as the idiom, but Builderman could only assume the other was signing to him somewhere within the arm flailing. Even in normal circumstances, Taph could be unintelligible with his hand signals; his already jumbled attempts at communicating had just started becoming even less comprehensive. The only thing he could recognize was ‘wait’ and his sign name.

And then he got what he was waiting for; Taph's wings flexed and shuddered away from his face at the touch. It was like opening like a dark curtain, except it let in no light– the demolitionist's expression was still mostly hidden by the shadow of the hood. But at least Builder could glimpse his face, occasionally catching the white of the other's eyes when they opened. He paused the motion on the inner feathers, just for a moment.

“There ya’ are. So, now that wer’ here, tell me . . .”

He said something after that, but Taph was too busy looking in shock. He didn't realize Builder could have an expression like that, especially towards him. The way something more personal was painted on his face, deeper than the typical friendliness that came with teamwork, or after fulfilling a survivor's request during a round.

But that thought was cut short, the same unpredictable, giddy feeling spreading throughout the entire structure of one wing and slightly down his neck.

Builder ran his thumb over the front of his wing instead of the back. It was no wonder Taph prefered to preen the things himself, they were deathly sensitive. “Yer’ really finding every possible way to avoid talkin’ to me, huh?”

Taph vigorously shook his head, half because ‘no’ was his answer, and half because just shifting his wings wasn't cutting it.

“Okay, okay.” With a laugh, the grey support removed his hands. If Taph was just going to shake him off, that was it. He wasn't about to hold him in place if it could accidentally hurt him.

The demolitionist’s wings almost folded over again by habit, but they stopped as he just opted to put his face in his hands.

“Y'know, your wings are…” Builderman grinned, choosing to rephrase. “It's a shame you don’t let people touch em’ too often, they’re real soft.” Of course, it wasn’t really. Nothing touching the feathery appendages was probably the reason they looked and felt so well cared for, anyway. “Don’t uh… don’t tell Shed, but.” Chuckling in between sentences, he subtly reached out again and undid any disorder he had caused to the feathers on Taph’s wings. “I’ve never seen his even half as nice, if m’ bein’ honest.”

‘Won’t tell him’

“Ah, too kind of ya.” Builder brought his hands back to himself as he watched the demolitionist’s sign language become less frantic. “Say, did’ja actually need something from me?”

Taph hesitated before responding. He should have just said it earlier, but he didn't regret not doing so.

‘I actually was just saying hi’

It didn't surprise the other support. “... Just shy, then?”

Taph turned his head off to the side. Although Builderman couldn't see it, he knew the demolitionist was smiling.

#jumps into the abyss why is this so low quality 😭#lee!taph #ler!builderman #forsaken tickles #sfw tickling community

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secretofblue · 2 days ago

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11 • 06 • 25 11:55 pm

Wednesday recap

Note: I want to add that i actually wrote this the day the exam went on, but for some reason i forgot to update it and has been sitting on my drafts all this time and i noticed it just now 😭

I can feel this will be a long update again, i'm sorry

Today was my final exam of Clinical Practice and hopefully my last academic exam from the career 🥹. Again there is a lot of mixed feelings about that because ofc there is this relieve of finally ending this but at the same time nostalgic because wow i can't believe that all this years of curricular worries somehow end here?! I still don't completely process the idea and maybe later this will feel like a bruise

About the test... well, we had pretty much time to prepare for it (a little bit more than a week) and for that reason i felt like this sense of responsability to have to do well on it. I would love to say that said time i got under lockdown and studied, but the reality is that i started just this weekend

I wish i had administrated better my time because still this morning i was rushing trying to fit more concepts in my mind

About the dinamic of the test... it goes like this: the professors who teached and supervised us in this subject/headquarter (5) are divided in four different módulos (for visual purposes, all of this was in a big room with with smaller rooms inside, all of them conected by a station in the center) in each we had to do different procedures, first when we enter the room the teacher hands us a paper with the record of our patient and at the bottom the instructions of what they need us to do, the patients in each station are real people but they're actors so they're ready to answer questions and fake pains and complains 😭; in this occasion i have to say, the professors were pretty generous with the time, the gave us 12 minutes per module and we had to enter in groups of four and just rotate the stations everytime the alarm went off.

In past semesters i have to confess we had the opportunity to cheat a little because once someone finished the exam and went out of the room we interrogated them to know how was the exam, what we had to do, what did the professors ask etc etc, but of course the teachers knew this happened outside so this time they decided to do some changes and made us stay in a waiting room outside the place of the exam, the ones who finished leaved for another door and we didn't get to interact again because we also had to leave our phones inside our backpacks in another room 🫠

For me, the first station was a patient with a transfemoral amputation, (it was a rag doll 😭) i had to do it's physiotherapy diagnosis and then explain precautions i must have before giving them a treatment according with their record, then demostrate the procedure to do a correct bandage on the amputatėd member, and finally explain a treatment i would do to increase strength on the member. For this station i felt my diagnosis was a disaster because i was so nervous i forgot to mention a lot of things and some of the terms i had to use plus i'm not sure if i got to finish explaining my treatment because the alarm indicating the time went off

Second station, this one had a real person as a patient, i had again to do her physioterapy diagnosis after reading her record, i had to ask her a few questions in order to finish my diagnosis (i felt like i did better this time) and then do a treatment to help her gain core strength and stability, she was in a wheel chair and my creativity on the spot only lasted me enough to indicate two excercises 🥹 so at the end i had so much time left; but i felt the girl who was playing the rol of the patient was so kind with me

Third station was with a pediatric patient, for this one the actress was the mom and the patient was a doll, after reading her record i had to do the anamnesis for the perinatal history, then demostrate with the baby how to value two reflexes, for me it was moro and babinski and mention until which age it's normal for them to be present, i said the age of one of them wrong 🥲, also answer the random questions the mom had about the baby, the valoration and her worries and again i felt like i had too much time left at the end

Finally for the last station it was with the Dra. (i always adress her because she has been one of my teachers since the first semester of the career, and she actually also was the coordinator of the career at the time, she's a person that imposes me a lot but with the time i have learn that she is actually pretty gentle and that she just acts like she does because she really want us to become the best professional version of ourselves) in this one was with a neurological patient in the ICU after reading his record i had to explain what one of his patologies was: hemopneumothorax i explained it wrong because i said air insteand of blōod but i just noticed it as i'm writing this 😭; then mention again the parameters i must be cautious about to do an intervention according with his state (which i'm also just remembering i forgot to mention the most important one, the intracraneal pressure screamssssss 😭) and finally do his valoration. For the simulation there was a sound of the hospital monitor in background (you know the typical beep beep beep that indicates the heart rate .-.) so in the middle of my valoration it started going much faster and i had to call a "doctor" (another actor) who was outside the room to help stabilize it (i knew the drill because they did the exact same thing for the exam last semester 😮‍💨) after he helps with it the doctor introduced himself and asked me if i could help administrate certain treatment for the patient and i told him that just let me finish my intervention and i would see what i could do about it, but when he left the room i explained to the Dra. that i couldn't do what he asked me for because the administration of what he asked me to do was contraindicated for his case for all of the other several injuries the patient had on the place he indicated me, and the Dra. told me 'of course, thank you!' ; the actor patient was unconcious for his rol, but after i said that to the Dra. i saw him giving me a little tumbs up without her noticing it (he was so cute for that 🥹 and i felt so relieved and sincerely that helped me gain so much confidence to continue) still i didn't get to do much after it, and i didn't finish my valoration because the alarm went off. Again i didn't do perfect on this module but at the same time i didn't feel like a lost case

In general i'm aware i didn't do perfect in this exam and i had several mistakes which i have to improve but eventough i feel so much more confident now than how i felt for the last semester's final exam

I have hope things will going to be alright :)

If you reached this far i'm sorry it was too long or boring, but thank you so much for reading 𖹭

Good night everyone, sleep tight and rest well! ✨

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mariahthelioness29 · 3 hours ago

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Bless me if I am being too forward

jack abbot x nurse!latina!reader

Synopsis: You are a night shift nurse who is loved by everyone; however, you keep attending Dr.Jack Abbot at arm's length, and he confronts you about it, unraveling feelings that were hidden.

Warnings: SMUT, power dynamics due to rank ( attending, nurse), age gap ( mid 20s-30/Jack is in his 40s going to 50), Oral sex (f and m receiving), spanking probably inaccurate way on how to put a leg prosthetic ( I researched as much as I could), a smigde of brat tamer!Jack. Some inappropriate touching in the workplace ( some kissing). Probably inaccuracies on how nurses work Translation from Spanish to English at the bottom DNI, interact with this fic if you are NOT 18+. If you are triggered by any of the warnings, please do not interact

I got inspired to write about Dr.Jack Abbot, thanks to these beautiful blogs

@superhoeva @science-hoes @jackabbotsfakeleg @thatcorporategirlie @erwinsvow @ovaryacted @ozarkthedog

Shout out to Ryan on TikTok for answering some medical questions for this.

It is an uncharacteristically quiet night at the E.R., but Jack is not amused even though he should be. He sees you tending to one patient, a slash on her hand.

He can hear you explaining to the patient how to treat the slash in Spanish.

“ Si para esa fecha todavia la herida esta roja o tiene pus, tiene que venir para aca de una vez, okay, que tenga buenas noches y cuidese”, you smile at the elderly women. The elderly women nodded in agreement.

“ Ay que bueno que tienen una persona que hable Español, con el dolor, el Inglés me fallo,” they both chuckle. They said their final goodbye. You go to the board, looking up at the screen, seeing that there is just one more person, but Henry, your best friend, is going to take it.

You pass near him. You nod to him in acknowledgement, “Dr.Abbot”. He nods back with a smile. One that you don’t return. If Jack from the past saw that he is exasperated because the beautiful, extroverted, life of the party nurse puts a wall between them, he would tell himself to get over it. PTMC is not about making friends but about saving lives. Walsh hates his guts, and he does not give a fuck so why does it matter that you are not at least friendly with him.

But he sees the way the Medical Assistants were with you. Those three stooges are trying to impress you, and you play along. The security, Ahmed. Shen and Ellis.

Shen and Ellis are always chatting it up with you. You treat him kindly professionally, but not as part of your friend circle like the others.

He thought he had made progress with you, the night of Pittfest. When you assisted with his methods. For someone who did not do Combat Medicine, you were on it.

“Solid Work”, he smiles at you, feeling proud.

“That was all you and Dr.Mohan, I just assisted.” You bow your head a little and smile, too.

Then you compose yourself, changing to that fucking kind professional but arms at length personality.

You swallow “ -uhmm, I need to help dismantle all this, thank you for coming on your day off, Dr. Abbot.” You smile and then turn around and leave.

You left Jack tongue-tied; he wanted to tell you to take the win and maybe take a coffee with him.

All the people are gathered at the station for Robby’s speech, but Jack can’t see you, so he looks for you.

“ There you are, Robby needs to say some words to everyone ”, he tries to look you in the eye, but you avert his gaze.

He hears a small but discreet sniffle. It could be dismissed by everyone but him.

“Hey, look at me”, he says softly when he finds you trying not to cry, composing yourself.

You look at him, and your eyes are glossy.

“How could someone do this?” you ask him, holding the tears in your voice.

He takes a deep breath.

“Violence just takes over. Come, don’t hold it back”.

With that, he came closer and hugged you, and you let him, and you finally cried. He let you cry against his chest. You stopped crying shortly after. Jack comforted you, just rubbing his hand on your back. You soak up the feeling. He feels warm, safe, and his perfume is grounding you, but then you realize that you are getting too comfortable, so you part away from him.,

He looks into your eyes and asks you, “Better now?” You nod

“Never feel shame for feeling for your patients, understood”. He nods.

You nod.

He opens his backpack and gives you a small pack of tissues.

You took the tissues and then again composed yourself.

“ I am sorry, thank you, I’ll see you at the nurses station”, he looks at you straighten up like seconds ago, you didn’t hug him, bury your face in his chest, and cry.

Henry finished with the patient and found you.

“Seriously, I hope they fix the interpreter machine, ‘cause nobody is paying me the differential rate cause I know how to speak Spanish”, you roll your eyes at Henry.

Henry chuckles at that. “ What are we betting about ?” you ask Henry

“How long until Dr.Shen says that q-word?”, Henry informs you. He is going to say it in 2 hours, and I’m bracing myself. You put the alarm on your watch. Put the money where your mouth is”, Henry rubs his index and thumb together

“ Let me go, get a 20 from my purse”, you say to him.

Again, you pass near him. He sees you going into the locker, getting your bag, and taking out money. The bets. “He’ll participate.

You go to Ahmed, and he has the money. He follows you there.

“Hey Ahmed”, you smile

Ahmed smiles back, “I hope you don’t get all our money this time, cause it is scary how accurate you are”, he tells. You shrug,” You never know”, you laugh.”

You do this often, Jack asks you,” behind you.

You flinch and turn around. “Oh, Hi, Dr.Abbot, uhm, yeah, you know it’s just something silly we all do, your voice giving away your nerves. “ Uhm-Are you going to..*swallow* participate.

“Yeah, here is my 40,” he says, giving the money to Ahmed. “I say, he says it in an hour and a half”. “May the odds be ever in your favor, he whispers to you. “Mhmmm”, you smile, tight-lipped, going rigid.

Ahmed presses his lips in a thin line, trying not to burst into laughter at your nervous stare. “Don’t”, you mouth to Ahmed.

Ahmed just lifts his hands in surrender.

Henry grabs you by the arm, you get startled.” Girl, I saw that”, he smiles maniacally.

“Babes, you have to step your pussy up and tell him you like him”, Henry whispers making sure Abbot is not near. “ This is my place of employment, he is married, I do not want to be with a married man”, you whisper-shout.

“I heard from Perlah, the day nurse, that she sometimes does double shifts. That she heard from Dana, the day charge nurse who comes and helps us from time to time, that he's a widower. The guy just loved his wife, and maybe he's used to it; that’s why he does not take the ring off.

Do with that info what you will. If I were you, that Dilf would’ve been fucked out on my bed tonight,stat. Your mouth stays agape.

“Henry! You’re on a time-out”.

“ How about you get some time out, get some good vintage dick, how about that ”, he answers with all the sass he has. You pushed him gently. “Go help your patients”, you cut him off, laughing.

You see him, staring at you with an unreadable expression. You feel your heart rate starting to go quicker. You look at him also with an unreadable face, waiting for him to say something, or come to you.

Jack looks at you, but he thinks, “What the hell is going on?” You flinch near him. He needs to find out why. What is it about him that makes you so nervous? “Was it because he saw you so vulnerable after the PittFest?

He comes to you, his face serious. “Could we talk in private ?” he asks you, but you know better; he is not asking. You nod nervously. The call room? You ask meekly. He just nods.

You follow him to the call room. He opens the door for you and motions you to come in. He closes it.

“I am going to be blunt, what is it ?” he crosses his arms and stands against the door.

You chuckled in disbelief. “What?”

“You avoid me, you flinch when I am near you, you just talk to me about the necessary. If I have done something to offend you, I am sorry.”Jack let his arms fall and came closer to you. “You don’t do this to anyone but me, Henry, Larry, Paolo, Ahmed, Patricia, everyone here laughs at your jokes, at the music you and Henry play in the breakroom. What are you so closed off to me? Is this about Pittfest ?” he looks puzzled.

You freeze, looking like a deer in headlights.

“I-”, you try to speak, but it does not come out.

The few seconds of silence feel like hours, and you close your eyes for a moment.

“Say something”, Jack urges

“Alright fuck it”, you groan in annoyance.

“This is so embarrassing”, you shake your head.

“I like you, OK, it is very distracting, since the first moment I saw you, and I know you are married because you have a ring on your finger. But everything about you just gets me going. I thought it was some little stupid crush, but working with you, I realize it is not just a silly little crush, and since Pittfest, I have relived that hug in my head so many times. Happy”, you roll your eyes at him.

You feel so embarrassed, you need to get out, so you move to the door, but he grabs your arm and yanks you to him.

Jack smirks and looks at you, shaking his head. “I like you too, but you made me feel unwanted, you’re paying for that, just wait and see.” He takes your hand and intertwines it with his. “And don't you roll your eyes at me, brat”, he warns you, putting his index up. I am a widower, I just wear the ring, just cause I feel naked without it”, you see his face soften with melancholy.

You let out a sigh of relief, but you still look at him like you cannot believe it. Jack kisses the top of your hand.

“ I am sorry about your wife”, you say in earnest.

He just shrugs with his head down.

Then he pecks your cheek. You close your eyes at the feeling, feeling warm inside. Then he kissed the corner of your mouth. He gets so close that you breathe in his breath.

“ Give in”, he whispers while stroking your face with his thumbs, holding your face.

“Just give in already ”, he whispers against your mouth

“It’ll feel good”, looks directly in the eyes and nods.

You nod too, your lips parting, and then he kisses you so softly as if you are going to break. His kiss keeps getting momentum, getting a little tougher til he grabs you by the back of your head, swipes your lips with his tongue, and deepens the kiss. Your hands caressing his back, going to fist his curls. He moans at that, and you like the sound of it. He lifts your leg, wrapping it around his waist, and he stops kissing, looking deep into your eyes. You don’t know what he is looking for in your eyes, but you look back at him, then he slowly goes and kisses your neck. You pull him closer to you, you are writing against him, feeling the hard-on he already has.

You sigh a moan. You feel his hands going under your scrubs. His touch is soft but gruff. His hands tell the tale of a man who has been on the edge and lived to tell the tale. You keep enjoying that feeling and kiss some more, but you see the clock with the PTMC logo, and you wake up from the daze of his kisses.

“We can’t…not here”, your voice sounded breathless.

But you still kiss, sucking a little on his lower lip.

“ Then stop...”, Jack dares you.

But you kiss again, one last time, slowly enjoying his breath, the very hard and big hard-on he has, his sounds, the feel of his lips against yours, those curls in your hand before stopping.

“ I need to... our jobs.” You close your eyes and part from him.

Jack bops your nose with his index finger. “ This isn’t over”, he makes it clear.

“I know”, you acknowledge, the few seconds of silence sealing what is sure will happen after this shift or another.

You laugh, “You have pink gloss. You swipe your thumb over his lips.

He laughs softly and then licks his lips.” I like it, cherry flavor”, he notices.

He turns and rearranges his pants so that no one notices how hard he is.

“Go, I am sure we’re needed”, you tell him.

He goes to the door, but before he opens it, he comes to you and gives you another deep kiss, leaving you surprised. With that, he opens the door and goes.

You stay stunned for a second before mentally smacking yourself.

You fish out your lip gloss and small mirror from the pocket of your pants

You reapply your gloss, making sure that nobody knows you made out with Dr.Abbot, fixing yourself, your hair, and you reach for the door

It is still quiet, some patients here and there. You do your rounds for the people still waiting for a bed upstairs.

In the nurse station, Dr.John Shen is sipping his Dunkin cold brew, he lets out an exasperated “Fuck, it’s quiet “ and everyone in vicinity groans.

You look up at the ceiling and pinch the bridge of your nose while there is a beep sound from your watch. He said it in two hours, you win. “John Shen, I hate you and I love you. You kiss his cheek while speeding to Ahmed, leaving a confused Shen on your way to Ahmed.

You sing to Ahmed “ My hmm shaking ass with their hand out pay up .pay up”, while stretching your fingers out to him. He just shakes his head. He gets the money out of his pocket. A neat wad of cash tied up with an elastic.

You smile at him, “ winning, it never gets old, thank you, everyone”, you sing the last part.

Your celebration does not last long cause here come the people.

You hear your charge nurse saying that patients are incoming.

‘Thank you, Shen”, you grumble

“You’re welcome, without me, you wouldn’t have that money”, he smiles

“Alright, you and me together”, Jack surprises you, but you don’t flinch.

“Where were you?” You turn around.

“Calming down, taking care of what you left behind”, Jack breaths out.

“These are the miracles of being a woman, no one knows,” you smile, biting your lip.

You see the paramedics coming, you and Jack jumped into action.

The hours seem to pass, accidents, drunk people fights, a stabbing, a burned patient, gun shot patients, by the time you have to chance to lift your head, it is 7 A.M Your feet hurt, you are exhausted, and you feel like a mess.

You take your bags out of the locker and you feel someone, something staring holes behind your back, and you don’t have to turn around. You know exactly who.

“Congratulations, you won”, he says, giving you a small smile.

“Thank you, but that money is going somewhere else”, you deadpan.

“What a shame that money should be for you, he caressed his neck.

“Yeah, it is what it is”, you look resigned.

Jack does not like that resigned look on your face.

“ I didn’t see your car today,, He states.

“I mean, I always hear it, thumping a good bass, I don’t know what type of music that is. He explains while he gets next to you.

“My car is at the mechanic, I am taking an Uber,” you explain to him, while he leans against your locker with his military backpack hanging from one shoulder.

Jack is pensive. He knows you won’t accept it if he offers to pay for your car. He’ll convince you at breakfast.

“No”, he blurts out.

“ I’ll take you”, he offers

“ You don’t have to, I am sure you are as beat as me”, you explain.

He gets just a little close and just shrugs, “ wasn’t asking”.

“ You can’t just order me around”, you defy him, but there is a glint in your eye.

Jack catches it.

“ That was not what I saw in the call room, that girl was willing to follow my lead”, he quips back, tilting his head to the side.

You sigh. “ I think if I go with you, we will continue, and I don’t want to continue, feeling like this, looking like this”, you gesture to yourself.

“ You could wear a potato sack and still be gorgeous”, he looks at you up and down.

“Nothing will happen, just some breakfast at that cozy place near here, something to drink that is not coffee, then I’ll take you home and ask you for a date. He looks at you for confirmation.

“O.k.” You just feel your face warm, and look at him barely.

You walk together

Henry crossed paths with you, and his eyes almost bulged out, but he quickly gained composure when he saw Abbot look from his phone to him.

” Hi, Dr. Abbot, hey girl,, he greets.

“Hey, Henry, how are you?” Jack offers.

“Another day in paradise”, Henry gestures to the room.

Abbot nods in understanding

“Girl, I was looking for you to give you a ride”, Henry explains.

“Thank you, Henry, but Dr. Abbot offered me a ride.” You act as if this interaction is not going to have Henry screaming at your messages later in the day.

“ Sure, any day, take care of her, Dr.”, Henry tells Jack jokingly, but there is an edge of protectiveness at the take care of her.

“ I will”, Jack answered with an unspoken understanding.

“We'll talk later, we have some plans”, Henry wiggles his brows.

“I see you around, girl.”,

“Bye, Henry.”

“Have a good day, Dr. Abbot”,

“Goodbye, Henry.” With that, Henry goes his way.

“I am sorry about Henry, he is very protective of me”, you tell him. You felt the understanding between Henry and Jack.

“ No, I like him, you two are good friends.” he takes your hand, and you get into the parking spot. He opens the door of his car and helps you to get in.

The ride was quiet, short, but not uncomfortable.

You look at the window, and you feel his hand on top of your thigh.

“Penny for your thoughts”, Jack asks you.

“Nah, it has been a night from making out with you to seeing you cauterizing a patient. You huff.

Jack gives you a tired smirk.

“ I thought finally, we had a once-in-a-blue-moon quiet night”, Jack confesses.

“It’s the Pitt, I lost hope”, you laugh.

At the coffee shop, you enjoy small coffees, cause at the start of the day, you need a caffeine breakfast with some orange juice.

The conversation flows between you.

“ Why did you never say anything to me, that you felt as much as I do:, you ask him. Putting his hand on top of his.

“ Well”, Jack takes a sip of his orange juice before speaking.

“Look at me and look at you, I am an attending, you’re a nurse, young, I am old, greying hair, wrinkles, I don’t know what you see”

“Don’t say that, it makes you hotter”, you confess, licking your lips.

Jack truly laughs at that.

“Thank you, it has been a long time, someone call me hot”.

“You’re welcome.”

You keep eating, talking in between about everything from his days in the military, your days as a nursing student, till the topic circles to his wife.

“ I know the ring makes you uncomfortable”, he notices

“What?”, you look puzzled

“I see you look at it”.

“What if, like the way it looks on your hand”, you shrug

“I will take it off, for me, for you, this isn’t just some adventure to me, I know what I want”, he assures you.

You nod, just taking it all in.

“What is it that you want?” you answer, shifting a little forward

“You”, Jack answered simply, with no hesitation.

“This, being together, being for one another, making you smile, that smile when you dip your head down, my favorite”, he explains.

“ I come to realize, I don’t like seeing you upset, keep the money you won on the bet, I’ll pay for your car”, Jack states.

“Jack, this is barely a first encounter, and you want to pay for my car”, you question, but you’re amused.

“Yeah”

“I’ll do it, give me your details, I'll send you the money, I’m not playing.”,

“Alright, if you say so”, you are skeptical, but you give him your information and how much the damage costs.

You finish eating, get in the car, and Jack, as the gentleman he is, opens the door of the vehicle for you. He takes you home.

“Home, sweet home”, Jack announces, putting the car in park.

“Thank you for telling me that you like me”, he leans in and kisses you.

The kiss feels soft but confident, his hand cupping your face.

“ I can get a chef table at that fancy place everyone is raving about, I know the chef, saved his hand with Walsh, he promised me one chef table, 7:30, I’ll pick you up”.

He kisses you one more time, sealing the promise of your date.

“Have a good sleep”, you kiss his cheek before opening the door, but he stops you.

“ You know the deal”, his face becomes stern.

You close the door and let him open it again for you.

You slump against the door, and when you close it behind you.

“What a night, what a day”, you contemplate.

You relive that kiss, the feeling of his hands, his caress, the way he wants to care for you.

You hear a ping, and it is a Cash App notification from Jack with a message “for your car, and you, J.” Your eyes bulged at the amount.

During the days leading up to your date, you keep it undercover, as best as you can. There is always a discreet hand on your lower back, guiding you. A conversation. A stolen kiss when you least expected it, making sure no one saw.

The day you both are off comes. You are getting the last touches of your makeup and putting on more perfume for your date with Jack. You hear your phone; it's a message from Jack: “I’m here.”

You open your door, and there is Jack with flowers in his hand.

“Flowers? Did you step out of a romance book?” you say while taking the flower from his hand and giving him a small peck on the lips. You invite Jack in.

It’s been a very long time since I went on a date, last I knew, women like flowers”, he explains.

You pick a clear vase that you had on your table.

“You look”-Jack puffs out his breath

“You like it? Just something I put on”, you gesture to your dress.

“You look beautiful”, you see him admiring you.

Jack looks around. The apartment is small, but you made it yours, cozy.

He sees putting the vase with the flowers on the table.

“Ready ?” he asks you.

You nod, “Ready.”

The restaurant was gorgeous, and your table was separated from the rest.

Of course, Jack opened the chair for you.

You see him anxious. You have to laugh.

“ I am going to be blunt, what is it ?” you ask him.

“ Nothing, is just that, I haven’t done this in a long time, I am rusty”, he admits

“ The man, who took me to the best restaurant in the city, brought me flowers, paid for my car, gave me money to buy this dress, has been nothing but a gentleman, you call that rusty, I can’t wait when you’re smooth”, you take a sip of your wine.

Jack just takes a breath and also drinks from his wine.

“Just wait and see”, he assures.

The conversation flows between you, and by the time you notice, you are the last in the restaurant.

You were telling him about your first day without a preceptor and how chaotic that day was.

Jack laughs, “Now that was baptism by fire, baby”.

Ughh, so embarrassing”, you shake your head, still cringing from that day.

“Holy shit, we’re the only people in here left, they are praying to every entity for us to go”, you realize.

Jack paid the bill, gave the server a nice cash tip, and went back to your apartment.

He parks, and he just looks at you, and he intertwines your fingers with yours and brings his lips to the top of your hand.

“Thank you”, he breathes out.

“You're welcome, I haven’t had this much fun in a while”. You bit your lip, smiling.

“ Want a nightcap ?” you ask him.

“ I would love to”, Jack confesses.

You open your door and then enter.

“ Make yourself at home”, you tell Jack while you take your heels off.

You sigh in relief, taking them off.

“ Want a massage ?, Jack offers “Sure, why not? , you accept

Jack is sitting on your couch, and he sees you go to your room and come back with lotion.��

You sit at the other end of the couch, letting your feet rest on his lap, and throw the lotion at him.

He catches it.

He put lotion on his hands and put it on the small table next to the couch.

He began to massage your feet, making sure all the stress leaves your feet.

You moan tossing your head back “fuck, you’re good at that”. “Ouu, don’t say it like that, I can be good at other things”, Jack warns you.

“What other ways?” you ask, feeling warm on your chest.

“I'd rather show you than tell you”, Jack licked his hips, and he kept massaging your calf.

“I would like that”, you whisper, feeling your brain short-circuit a little.

That was all Jack needed you to say.

He lifts one of your legs and kisses your ankle.

“Come here”, he beckoned you with his fingers.

You get off the couch, then come to stand in front of him.

He grabs your hand and tugs you to him and makes you straddle him.

“God, you’re beautiful”, he whispers, caressing and groping you before kissing you.

His kiss takes you by surprise; he deepens it as soon as he can, his hand wrapped around the base of the back of your neck, stabilizing you, pulling just right on his center. You writhe and grind, feeling him under his pants. You take a breather, parting just to breathe. He slides the straps of your dress, takes your bra off, throwing it, not caring where it lands.

You feel him peppering kisses all over your chest before taking one of your breasts into his mouth, looking up at you, while grabbing the other in his hand.

You look back at him, biting your lips, trying to stifle your moans, and also getting your fingers on his greying curls.

He stops and grabs you tightly by your hips.

“Either you let me hear it or I stop”, he warns you.

You nod, and he looks at you one more time before putting his hand again on your breast and sucking on the other one. You keep grinding against him and he keeps alternating between your breasts, sicking, licking, and giving them a bite. You stop him so that you can take his shirt off. You unbutton his shirt in a hurry, impatient, and you both work on taking it off, and you also throw it on the floor.

Now you're the one, taking over, raking your nails over his back, while kissing his neck. He hisses and grunts, throwing his head back. You kiss his shoulders and also stop to admire the freckles that adorn his arms and his shoulders.

“I like these”, you admire the freckles on his shoulders. Your hands go to his belt, unbuckling it.

Then you see in his eyes, the way he went rigid, his breath stuttered a little.

“Hey, look at me”, you grab his hand and give his lip a little peck.

He doesn’t say anything, just averts his gaze.

“What is it?” his eyes are closed, and he takes a deep breath. He was stuttering “-my- le-

“Jack, I don’t care about your leg, it’s part of who you are and I fucking like everything about you “, you are the one looking for his eyes.

He closes his eyes and then looks at you again. He just nods.

He lets you help him with taking his pants off, and you see him, just in his boxers.

You stand in front of him, letting the dress fall off you.

“Let me take them off”, he said, looking at your lace panties. You get closer to him and stretch your hand to him.

“How about we take this to the bedroom ?, you prompt

He takes your hand and helps himself get on the couch.

He follows you to the bedroom.

In your bedroom, you go on your knees and slide his boxers off, letting his dick spring free.

You can’t disguise the shock on your face. Jack chuckles at that. “Now, how is that going to fit?” you wonder out loud.

“ Don’t worry, it will”, Jack assured you, making you look up time by grabbing your chin between his thumb and index.

“Sit at the edge, get comfortable”, you point at the bed, and he does that.

It is a short distance, so you crawl to him, never taking your eyes off him.

Jack knows he is a lost man when he sees you crawling to him; he has to have to touch himself for some relief.

You caress, his thighs and begin to lick the tip while he continues to jerk his dick. Seeing you on your knees kissing his tip, he needs to look up or otherwise he’ll cum. You keep doing that kissing, lick his tip, sucking it on that part that make his thigh shake and his moans stutter.

You take over, pushing his hand away, your head bopping up and down, and your hand also massaging his balls. Jack becomes a puddle of just moans, growls, and whines when you take him as deep as you can.

You look up to him, teary-eyed, your eyes have lust written all over them. Jack needs to stop you so he fists your hair in his hand and yank you away from his cock and brings you up to him, kissing you stealing whatever breath is left.

“ I don’t want to cum yet”, not letting go of your hair.

“Lie across my lap, we've got things to settle”, he tells you while manhandling you so you can lie across my lap.

You lift from him a little, and he slides your panties off.

He gropes your ass so that he can see how wet your are, how you are pulsing around nothing.

“Oh, baby, all of that for me?” Jack says with a faux-surprised tone.

Jack caresses your ass cheek before striking, taking you completely off guard.

Your yelp ends in a moan.

“That’s for keeping me at arm’s length all this time”, he confesses, and he starts to insert one finger inside of you, hissing along with you.

You felt him teasing you from the inside, you feel your breath getting stuck in your lungs, then he enters another one, and that's when you feel that electric feeling buzzing all over, and you let out your loudest moan yet.

“Atta girl, that’s where it is, baby ?” he asks you

You nod fast, you can’t answer, not with him making his fingers touch that spot.

You can hear your wetness, and it should make you feel self-conscious, but you revel in it instead.

With his other hand, he grabs you by the neck, firmly.

“Answer me”, he slows the speed of his fingers

“Yes, that’s where it is”, you answered back, all slurred and with a mewl.

He takes his fingers out and just licks them. He makes sure you hear it.

You press your thighs together.

He began the sweet torture of spanking you and fingering you until you’re about to cum and repeat.

“Fuck, it makes me jealous when you kissed Shen on the cheek”, he spanks you again.

You’re so pent up, you whine.

“ I like the sound of that”, he manhandles you, getting you off his lap.

You're on your back, and you are surprised by the way he just manhandles you.

“I want to taste you, sit on my face”, he grunts

Jack-, you chuckle a little, taken aback.

“Don’t overthink it, just do it”, He yanks you closer to him and gives you kisses from pecks to deep ones with tongue until he lays flat on your bed and makes you straddle until his mouth is right aligned with your pussy, he grabs your hips making you sit on his face.

He starts slow, calculated, but still relentless, you see him reach for his cock, eating you out while jerking himself off.

You ride his face in pleasure, your moans and his groans, moans mix.

You lift off his face to let him breathe. He stands up, putting you on his side, and takes your ankle, dragging you to the edge of the bed. You giggle and let him do it. And he goes on his knees.

“Oh, look at her just waiting for me, just perfect”, he is more talking to himself than to you.

You are supported by your elbows, looking at him, dipping down and begin to kiss your inner thighs, giving them playful bites, before he goes and makes out with pussy. He is ravenous, and you don’t know what to do; your hand flies to his hair, tugging him closer, riding the waves of pleasure.

He loops his arm around your thighs, and you can’t close your legs even if you want to.

He puts pressure on you clit, sucking it, licking it.

You are seeing stars when you feel his fingers slip in, while he sucks on your clit. His finger does that come here motion non-stop, his moans, the way he looks at you, you feel the pressure in your stomach, you feel your brain go fuzzy, you want to feel it, but at the same time, you are squirming away.

He puts his hand on your lower stomach, making you stay still.

“I don’t think so, he reprimands you.

Just let it happen, give in, sweetheart”, he pleads with you.

“I want to see it”, he grunts, going steadier and faster with his fingering, and that’s when you gasp and see your release flowing out of you, your thighs shaken.

You say his name over and over in a dazed, slurred state, and Jack knows he is an addict. He will make you do this anytime he can.

“Fuck, yes”, he groans in arousal

Not caring how you wet his chin, the sheets, his hand.

He stands up and hovers over you with one hand holding him up, and you take his hand and suck his fingers, looking at him, moaning at your taste.

“Good girl”, he breathes out before kissing you as if he tries to find your taste still on your tongue.

“I need you, I have condoms but they're in the living room”, he whispers against your lips.

“Right nightstand, second drawer”, you caress his back. He gets up and goes there to pick up a condom. He rips the packet and puts it on.

You feel your nerves skyrocket.

He hovers above you, you kiss again, softly and deeply, consuming you before he lines up with your entrance and goes in. You both got your moans stuck in your throats.

You feel him so deep, making space for him just for him. He starts moving slow, kissing your neck sucking on the pulse point, making your legs tighten around him. You feel lightheaded.

“Fuck, she’s sucking me in, you want me that much, baby?”, he whispers in your ear, his tone laced somehow with a little bit of cockiness and disbelief.

It is so hypnotizing, his voice, the way he moves in and out of you, it just slipped out in a whisper “daddy”, your eyes beginning to roll. Ecstasy all over, but then you realize, gasping, covering your mouth, trying to get him off of you.

But he just put more of his weight on you, with that smirk

“ What did you say to me ?” He asks you, grabbing your face

You shake your head,

“Say it”, he says, kissing your neck again, angling his hips so that he hits that spot.

“Let me hear it”, he whispers

“Daddy”, you whisper

“You want me to be your daddy, huh? I’ll be your Daddy from now on”, he groans with a grunt he pulls out.

He grabs one of your pillows, placing it under you by your hips. Making you lie flat, he caresses your back your legs, your ass, admiring the curves your body.

“So pretty”, he whispers in awe, while he is on his knees, straddling you from behind and making your hips raise a little.

He is in you and all over you. You can only let out choked moans while he puts some of his weight on you, wrapping his arm around your throat, but not choking you, just for you to feel him.

“Fuck”, you moan all drawn out.

He just grunts and moans in your ear.

“You’re mine, he breathes out against your shoulder.

“I’m yours”, you tell him, while your lips barely touch.

He feels you tighten around him, thrashing against him as best as you can in this position.

You mewl.

“Give me what’s mine, sweetheart”, he encourages you, tightening the grip on his arm around your throat with expertise,

You feel the air leave your lungs at the same time, you’re coming.

You feel every nerve sing, pulse, while you pretty much howl and moan, grabbing the sheets beneath you.

That’s what does it for him. He doesn't stop, he fucks you through your orgasms without a shadow of mercy. You’re babbling, moaning.

He knows he is there ready to cum

“Oh, fuck, I-”, his voice trembles before his grunts and moans cut his sentence.

He comes wishing he didn’t have to use a condom, wishing he could feel you.

He moves his hips against you till he spends and drops on top of you, trying to control his breathing. His breath fanned the side of your face, and you liked his weight on top of you.

“Mmm”, you close your eyes, with a dopey smile.

He is getting off of you when you stop him.

“Noooo, just a little more”, you whine

“Sweetheart, I am crushing you right now”, he chuckles a little winded.

“Don’t care”, you say, a little muffled

After a couple of seconds, he slips out slowly with care.

He stands up and takes the condom off carefully,

You turn on your back. Seeing him naked, going to your bathroom to throw the condom away.

You are so screwed, it should not make you that giddy, seeing him prancing in your room naked.

“ What are you so giddy about, huh ?, he asks, getting back on the bed and pulling you so that your head lies on his chest and your leg is over his hips.

“You have a nice ass, Dr. Abbot”, you hide your face

“Well, my face is not much, so I have to do something else”, he says, all serious.

You both laugh at that.

“You need to take that off”, you remind him, pointing at the prosthetic.

Jack nods.

“Would it be bad if I say I was going to do it when you were asleep ?” he confesses.

“I want to help you, I know you’re always used to do things yourself, but sometimes people want to help, I want to help you, this part of you, if we’re going to keep doing this- you kiss him softly but feel of promise- then I have to take care of you, just like you take care of me”, you tell him.

He kisses you again, and there is a glow in his eyes like he wants to cry, but he is not letting it.

“C’mon, let's sit you down.” You let him sit up again.

You get in front of him.

“There is a valve a the bottom, unscrew it, he instructs you, and you do as told.

You hear the air releasing.

Pull slowly, he further instructs you.

You keep doing as he tells you, waiting for instructions

Pull the sleeve slowly, he bit his lips, taking a deep breath.

You do as told.

You check his skin for any redness or irritation. You have the lotion ready to massage his stump, and you do that,

then you clean the socket and sleeve with a cleanser. You put the prosthetics next to the side of the bed he is on.

He takes a deep breath, swallows before saying “thank you”,

“You’re welcome”, you smile and lift yourself to kiss him again. he cups your face and then puts his forehead on top of yours.

You help him lie down, and he makes you rest on his chest. He kisses the top of your head.

It is silent yet not uncomfortable; it feels as though it is meant to be. Jack feels a warmth in his chest. He looks at you, you were tracing his freckles with your fingers, but you fell asleep while doing it.

He still can’t believe he’s here in your apartment, on your bed, without his leg, and you want him, all of him.

Jack hasn’t felt so vulnerable in a long time. He kisses the top of your head again.

You woke up looking at Jack splayed out on your bed, sleeping without a worry, and you like that look on his face. You get up and go to the bathroom and see the state Jack left you in in the mirror.

You take a bath, clean yourself, and put on something comfortable.

You step out of your bathroom into your room, and you see him still sleeping.

You pick all your clothes, shoes, both yours and his, from the living room and the bedroom, and put them on the chair in your bedroom

You go back to your kitchen and start thinking about what to cook with your phone.

You get the ingredients out of the fridge, you’re going to cook for two. You put on music on the phone, some Latin music your mother used to hear.

And you start prepping, cooking, not noticing Jack is in his boxers, with his leg on, watching you dance, singing in Spanish with a spatula.

Jack does not need any confirmation; his new goal in life is to wake up like this, just you singing, being happy.

translation Spanish to English:

“ Si para esa fecha todavia la herida esta roja o tiene pus, tiene que venir para aca de una vez, okay, que tenga buenas noches y cuidese” If by that date, the slash is still red or has pus, you need to come back here at once, okay, have a good night, and take care. Ay que bueno que tienen una persona que hable Español, con el dolor, el Inglés me fallo Oh, what good, that there is a person who speaks Spanish, with the pain, English failed me

#latina reader #jack abbot smut #jack abbot #the pitt #nurse reader #jack abbot x reader #dr abbot x you

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