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pacofprunes · 2 days ago

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SQUID GAME REACTIONS — finding you injured after a night of attacking and fighting

CONTAINS — thanos x reader, daeho x reader, myung-gi x reader, namgyu x reader, gi-hun x reader, inho x reader, se-mi x reader, ali x reader

WARNINGS — injuries, mentions of death, the bathroom scene takes place in the women’s bathroom (or still the male depending on your gender), reader implied to be a girl in namgyus, squid game

your group had tried to stay together throughout the night in case something like this would happen, but with the amount of players, it was inevitable that at least one of you would come out of the night with multiple injuries.

you couldn’t tell who, but another player had knocked you to the ground and had busted your lip before you felt a sharp pain on the side of your neck. you put your hand up to it and felt a cold wetness. before your attacker could finish you off, the guards came in, shooting in the air, demanding everyone to stop. when the lights are on you look at your hand that you had used to touch your neck and it was covered in blood, and the person in front of you had a sharp needle like tool in their hand. the guards had patted you all down, taking every weapon everybody had. once the guards had finally left, announcing all the players who died, that’s when they realized. where were you?

KANG DAEHO

you hear your name being called before turning around and seeing daeho running to you, pulling you into a tight hug. his breaths getting cut off, trying to stop himself from crying before he pulls away and looks at you, fully grasping your injuries. the bottom corner of your lip busted in a deep shade of purple. your neck still dripping blood. he reaches his hand up to your face, grazing the injury on your lip before you pull it into your mouth behind your teeth. the pain starting to settle in as you scrunch your eyebrows together in discomfort.

“i’m so sorry.”

tears start slipping out of his eyes as he holds his hand on your neck, moving it and seeing his palm painted red. you open your mouth to speak but he just pulls you to one of the beds and forces you on it, taking his jacket off and holding it against your neck. he’s just stuck staring at the purple painting your lip and you cup his face in your hand, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“don’t cry.”

you wipe the silent streams pouring out of his eyes. he pulls you into a hug, still making sure the jacket doesn’t fall off of your neck. he mumbles something into your back.

“this isn’t right.”

you pull away, holding him by his shoulders.

“what?”

“i should be the one comforting you right now, not the other way around.”

you scoff, sending him a small smile and a playful smack to his chest despite the sting in your neck. you pull your hand up to your neck, right where daehos hand is and hold it, giving it a small squeeze and he smiles at you. he lets go of your neck, letting you hold his jacket there before he cups your face with both hands, placing a kiss to the corner of your lip where it was injured and then placing his head against yours.

“i won’t let you get hurt again, i’ll die before i let that happen.”

you give him a less playful hard smack to his shoulder, causing him to move back from your face and hold onto his shoulder. letting out an ow. you point your finger at him.

“don’t say that stupid shit again. if you die, i die. if you get out of here, i get out of here, okay? promise?”

you pull him back into a hug and he rubs his fingers through your hair. he takes a deep breath.

“okay, i promise.”

HWANG INHO / YOUNGIL / PLAYER 001

the moment he realized you weren’t near him, he found a guard and told them to end this whole thing. if you’d died, he’d never forgive himself. the moment he finds you, he grabs you by your shoulders and strokes his hand through your hair and moves down to glide his hand over your lip.

“are you okay?”

you were going to nod and brush it off but he notices you were holding the side of your neck so he grabs your hand and moves it and upon seeing all of the blood painting your neck, he stares for a few seconds before you put your hand on his shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“who did this?”

“youngil—”

he goes to cut you off to ask the same question but you stop him.

“it hurts.”

he softens his gaze before pulling you into his side and walking with you to the bathroom. upon arriving, he lifts you onto the sink counter before turning the water on. he walks into a stall and grabs a long strip of toilet paper, getting it wet before putting it on your neck, watching your face furrow in pain before you open your mouth.

“thank you.”

“you don’t need to thank me.”

he feels the slightest bit of guilt. knowing he’s not telling you who he really is, he’s in love with you, you could’ve died today, and unlike the actual games, he couldn’t have saved you from death. the bleeding finally stops and he uses a dry strip of toilet paper to dot up the leftover blood before taking your hand and helping you jump down from the sink. he still keeps a hold on your hand before he lets go. you look up at him before pulling him into a hug. saying another thank you into his shoulder. he doesn’t say anything back, trying to disassociate and act like this isn’t happening. he doesn’t want to feel guilty, he doesn’t want to love you, but he can’t help it. he simply just brings his hand up to your back and rubs it, letting out a heavy stressed out breath. god, what was he gonna do about you?

SEONG GI-HUN

he’s yelling your name the whole time and as soon as he catches sight of you he pulls you into a hug, immediately crouching down to be directly at your face level, cupping your face tightly in his hands. afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. the moment he notices your neck, he quickly puts his hand overtop of it before he just looks down at the floor, stifling a sob, whispering something under his breath, but you could hear him.

“i can’t lose you. no, not you too…”

you quickly pull him into a hug and he stands up straight before squeezing you even tighter, face in your jacket, balling his eyes out. for so long he’s kept his emotions under wraps since the first games, but coming so close to losing you, he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“you won’t lose me ‘ssangmun-dong’”

he pulls away, looking at you with teary eyes, his face absolutely drenched and he actually lets out a small laugh at that nickname, causing you to smile back. you run your hand through his hair before wiping it across his face and then gripping his arms, glueing them to his sides.

“don’t cry over me, okay? i’m still alive. if i keep looking at you like this, i think i’ll cry.”

he quickly wipes his tears and smiles at you and you laugh, only making his smile wider. he grabs your hand in his, squeezing it tight before pulling it up to his face.

“okay, but—”

he points his finger at you, as if scolding a child.

“don’t leave my side again or i’m sure that i’ll cry even harder than this.”

“deal. unless i have to use the bathroom.”

“no arguments there.”

THANOS / PLAYER 230 / CHOI SU-BONG

you had gone off to the bathroom, and not long after, the speakers start saying player numbers. he was too high out of his mind to connect the dots, but as soon as he sees you walk out of the doors up front all bloody and bruised and everybody yelling and fighting about what happened, he’s immediately running up to you, grabbing you by your shoulders, shaking you.

“who the fuck did this to you?”

you keep your mouth shut. if you’d told him, he’d definitely kill them. he goes to walk away and starts yelling at the other side, but you slap his shoulder, grabbing his wrist and pulling him behind the beds.

“stop. the more you fight, the worse things are going to end up.”

he looks at you, eyes going down to your swollen lip before his face softens. he presses a kiss to it.

“but they can’t—”

you press a hand to his mouth, waiting for his talking behind your palm to stop before you finally remove it and press your palm on your neck. he looks down at your bloody neck, staring for a few seconds before speaking.

“you’re not gonna die, right?”

you scoff.

“no i’m not gonna die yet you big dummy.”

he pulls you into a light hug.

“don’t say yet. you’re not gonna die at all.”

he pulls away and shakes his nails in your face.

“remember, the great thanos will protect you.”

NAMGYU / PLAYER 124

the moment he hears player numbers being called and realizes you were in the bathroom, he immediately stands up and starts messing with his sleeves, worried that one of the numbers called was yours and he just wasn’t listening well enough. as soon as people start flooding into the room bloody and screaming, his eyes dart searching for you before seeing you argue with some girl. her threatening to finish you off and you both throwing insults. he rushes over, grabbing your wrist and pulling you away before then pulling you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you. he just stays like that with you for a long while before you have to force him away.

“are you okay?”

he scoffs, looking at your lip and then your neck.

“i should be asking you that.”

“it just hurts. not deadly.”

he bites his lip back before rubbing his hand on the wound on your neck, dabbing the blood with his sleeve.

“you’re too reckless.”

he mumbled that and you just laugh under your breath. he lifts your chin up to look at him.

“next time, you let me do the fighting, okay?”

you give him a look. a look that says ‘no way’ and he can read it easily despite the drugs in his system. he rolls his eyes.

“god, you’re gonna be the reason i die here, not these games.”

you smack his shoulder and he just pulls you into a side hug, patting your back.

MYUNG-GI / PLAYER 333 / MG COIN ★

as soon as he sees you walk out of the doors with everybody and he sees the blood painting your neck, he immediately runs up to you, pushing you over to a wall.

“what the hell happened?”

you open your mouth to respond but stop yourself upon seeing the worry and stress in his face.

“god, are you okay?”

you let out a shaky breath.

“it hurts, a little. i’m more shaken up then anything.”

noticing the tears starting to roll out of your eyes, he pulls you into a hug.

“myungi, i’m scared.”

he pulls away before placing one hand on your shoulder and staring into your eyes.

“i know, but you’ll —”

he cuts himself off.

“we’ll, be okay.”

you start fidgeting with your hands, but he stops you, putting your hands in his.

“okay?”

you nod your head slowly before he pulls you into him again. he’d take this place more seriously. he’d take you guys, your relationship more seriously. he wouldn’t let anything happen to you again.

SE-MI / PLAYER 380

the moment the lights are on and she’s not fighting anybody anymore, she frantically goes looking for you. she knew namgyu hated her, what if he killed you because of her? she couldn’t live with that. so the moment the lights come on and she sees you, she immediately pulls you into her.

“se-mi, are you okay?”

she pulls away.

“i was so scared i’d lost you.”

you take her hand in yours and squeeze it.

“i wouldn’t leave you in this place by yourself, promise.”

she laughs, rubbing the bruise over your lip softly, as if trying to wipe it away.

“you shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, especially in here.”

you grab her wrist, and she pauses her glides over your lip.

“i’m being serious. as long as you’re here, i have a reason to stay alive.”

she sends a smile your way before she moves her finger up to her lip.

“okay. i’m putting my trust in you.”

she puts a hand on your shoulder, and you give her a reassuring smile before pulling her into a side hug. you were going to get out of here together.

—

ALI ABDUL

he was probably one of, if not the strongest person in that whole place. which is exactly why he was a main target when the fights broke out. you had been behind him but he was practically getting dog piled by people and couldn’t keep you near him. as soon as the lights turned on and the guy that was on top of him surrendered from the sound of gun shots, his head was immediately whipping around the room to look for you, before finally spotting you behind one of the toppled over beds. as soon as the guards finished patting everybody down, he immediately ran over to you, pushing past sangwoo and the moment you saw him you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. the moment he pulls you back and notices your lip he cups your face with both of his hands, staring at you intensely.

“oh my god—baby i’m so sorry—”

his eyes lower down to scan you more and they meet the large gash in your neck. he immediately lets go of you, taking his jacket off and tying it around your neck frantically. trying to keep it tight, but not tight enough to choke you. now it’s your turn to hold his face in your hands, he’s all bruised up as well, but still focused on you.

“look at you ali! you’ve got bruises all over you!”

he pulls you into a hug and holds your head, keeping it against his chest.

“stop. don’t worry about me. please.”

you pull away.

“you can’t just say that ali! that’s not fair! we’re in a game of death and sure, i could’ve died, but that’s not what i’m thinking about, it’s you!”

you press your head against his before speaking.

“baby, you can’t be so selfless. especially in here.”

you move your hand up to his cheek.

“you can worry about me, you can take care of me, but, i get to do the same with you.”

you look him in the eyes now. waiting for his approval. all he can do is stare into them lovingly before realizing you’re waiting for an answer and he bends down to your level, rubbing his hands on both your arms.

“yes, okay. we’ll stick together. i promise you.”

he gives you one of his smiles and within the darkness of this whole situation, he still managed to brighten up the whole room with that smile. squeezing your hand in his and you squeeze back.

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murderofravens · 1 day ago

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fly me to the moon

pairing: hwang inho/young-il/frontman x fem reader

warnings: age gap (reader is 20, he's in his late 40s) angst, slight masochism, made him very fatherly again, mutual obsession, badly written smut, conflicting feelings, she's kinda crazy about him, brat reader, brat tamer inho, unhealthy dynamics, slight infantilization

summary: you're desperate to piss him off. it doesn't end well.

word count: 4.2k

FULL SERIES MASTERLIST

the ankle monitor attached to your leg itches.

you grunt in irritation as you use a spoon to scratch the area. it barely helps— you know the itching is more mental than it is physical. the mere presence of it bothers you. but at the same time, you're relieved. you were given two options— either that, or still having your hand chained to the bed with those insufferable straps. you chose the former. atleast it allows you to walk freely.

you're still not used to this lifestyle. honestly speaking, you've lost track of how long it's been. you mainly tried to count the days based upon the games, but inho doesn't allow you to witness the brutality of the newer games he's designed. he never even mentions them— pretends like it was all a dream and that everything between the two of you is okay. you pretend you don't almost piss yourself whenever his voice switches mid conversation— or when he puts on that mask and grabs his gun before leaving.

while it irritates you, a part of you is almost grateful. atleast this way, you can pretend you don't know exactly how sadistic he can be.

you almost snort at your thinking. you feel pathetic— but then again, do you have a choice?

he's given you free reign of his lavish penthouse— conveniently keeping any and all electronics or sharp objects away from you. which, you need to clap him on the back for. because the first thing you did when you were left alone and uncuffed was look for anything that you could use to hurt yourself— to touch an empathetic nerve in inho. your confidence in thinking of doing so was because he's made it clear how much the idea of losing you scared him. you tried to joke with him the other day— something about him coming back to find you bleeding out on the floor, and he got so furious that he threw his bottle of whiskey against the wall and then gave you an earful about making distasteful jokes. you almost considered running over and grabbing a glass shard and killing yourself in front of him to truly traumatize him like he did with you; but then the thought of your family and your dignity stops you.

you will not kill yourself over a man.

you've thought of many jokes since then, but never dared mention them in his presence.

currently, you were frolicking around— eyeing the massive screen on which he apparently watches the games. you'd insisted upon it once— and he'd pulled you into his lap and allowed you a single glimpse before hiding your face in the crook of his neck and patting your back till you fell asleep to the sound of 'fly me to the moon.'

your eyes narrow. you look around, desperate to find something. there's an itch within you that you need to scratch—it's different than your ankle. it's the itch to be insufferable, to take a sweet little revenge against your old man; to frustrate him and ruin his day like he ruined your life. you can only hope that if you succeed in doing so, he won't kill your entire family in a fit of rage. you've been forcing your heart to believe he's only bluffing, even though you know he isn't.

your eyes fall upon the side table placed by the couch. you look at it, then at the screen. then back at it. with a newfound vigour, you rush forward and pull out the drawer— it's empty except for a few files. you toss them out and hold the drawer in both hands, before looking back at the screen with the most devilish glint in your eyes.

you let out a victorious roar before lunging— using all the strength you can muster and then thrashing the drawer against the screen.

it doesn't budge. the blow has you stumbling over your steps, and the drawer falls upon your feet. you let out a cry, tears of frustration appearing in your eyes. you scream and pick up the drawer again, and then thrash it against the screen over and over— till your hands hurt and sweat builds across your skin.

the screen remains spotless.

amidst your one sided battle, you fail to hear the sound of the door opening.

"it's shatterproof." a heavy voice announces, distorted through the mask.

panting, you drop the drawer and shoot him the meanest glare you can muster with mascara running down your cheeks. he cocks his head to the side— the barrier of the mask between you two making you feel uneasy.

"are you done acting like a child?"

you release a heavy, shaky breath as you stare at him. you want to jump at him, tear that mask off and slam his head against the wall. you want to kiss him and beg him to spare you and your family. your heart races with adrenaline— and your skin feels hot. acting like a child, he says. he's treated you like a child forever. what's so wrong in acting like one?

you slick your hair back, eyes darting around the room— examining everything you can see, till an idea pops in your head.

against your better judgement, you pick up the drawer again. slowly, like a predator, you walk to the side, your gaze never leaving his figure. you stand before his music box— the one with the pretty jazz band that plays 'fly me to the moon,' whenever he watches the games. you've heard it quite a few times since you got here, and you have buried your head in the pillows a few times to avoid hearing it.

you used to adore frank sinatra, but now you can only associate his lyrics with impending doom.

you wish he wasn't wearing that mask, because you would've loved to see his reaction when you ruined something he visibly finds comfort in. you would've felt bad, if he hadn't done the same to you. if he hadn't taken your young-il from you.

you raise the drawer, and then bring it down fiercely. it almost happens in slow motion— how the music box shatters into pieces, and the tiny dolls fall to the floor.

you pant as you drop the drawer then, and wipe the sweat off your forehead. suddenly feeling brave, you shoot him the most smug smile you can muster in your breathless haze.

the silence that follows is suffocating. you blink at him, shoulders rising and falling with your heavy breaths — while he stands there patiently with his hands clasped behind his back.

"are you gonna keep standing there, watching me?" you ask, quirking an eyebrow.

you resist the urge to step back as he advances towards you ever so slowly. he looks at his broken music box, then redirects his blank, masked face back at you.

you egged him on, "aren't you gonna say something?"

"was this supposed to anger me?" he asks. you can detect a hint of amusement in his voice, "a man in my position doesn't have materialistic attachments."

you scoff, vision almost turning red with rage at his tone.

"i think i can afford another music box," he adds dryly, cocking his head to the side, "but what do i do about your manners?"

your eyes narrow with agitation— you were so desperate to piss him off, to evoke an actual reaction out of him; but he isn't giving you one. it frustrates you. before you can do anything, his foot pops out, hits your leg in just the right place to make you shriek and drop to your knees immediately— till the shattered pieces of the box dig into your skin painfully— wood and glass.

"fuck!" you wince, letting out another pained groan. he watches you blankly, and in this moment you wish that mask would just disappear. it makes him look more like a stranger than he already is. you want to see his reaction, even if it is at the expense of your pain. "you— ow! you asshole—"

"language." he chides, bending down slightly so he can grab your hair and yank your head up. you squirm around, trying to get up but he holds you in place, "why must you keep acting like a child—"

"why, i thought i was a child!" you snap back at him angrily, recalling his words from when he refused to send you back into the games. you're furious, "why shouldn't i act like one if you keep treating me that way!"

"do you not want me to?" he asks, giving you a humourless chuckle, "you want me to treat you like the adult you are, huh, darling? i'll treat you like an adult."

you grumble in confusion and he gives your head a little push as he lets go of your hair and straightens up. his hand comes down to shift his robe to the side so he can have access to his dress pants. he pulls it down slightly along with his boxers, revealing how hard he's been by your little show of defiance. your eyes widen and you almost choke on your spit as he grabs your head again, his free hand guiding his cock to your eager mouth, "fuck— is this what you wanted?" he groans, throwing his head back slightly as you wrap your lips around him with the enthusiasm of a slut. he's so unbelievably thick— and all your knowledge for sucking dick comes from porn, so you try your best— forgetting almost every vengeful thought as the skin of his neck is exposed to your vision.

you have never wanted a man this badly.

small cuts on the skin of your knees open up because of the damage you caused, but you can't bring yourself to think about it— not when you lick a long, wet stripe on the underside of his cock, before placing a teasing kiss upon his tip. he looks down at you again, his gloved hand digging into your hair, guiding your head up and down as you try to take him fully into your mouth. your hands come up in an attempt to hold what your mouth can't, but he slaps them away, "put those behind your back."

this time, you obey. your eyes water as he immediately pushes himself to the hilt till your nose presses against the coarse hair at his pubic bone— and only then you know that you are truly gone, because you moan at the smell of him. he lets out a soft grunt again when he pulls your head back, before thrusting in and out of your mouth gently. your hands stay clasped behind your back as he uses your mouth, his balls slapping against your chin as your watery eyes look up at him. you wish you could see him— you want to see his face, you want to see what he looks like when he cums in your mouth for the first time.

you whimper, pulling your head back slightly. he allows you, and you lean down to press a needy kiss to his balls before licking up his cock again. your voice is hoarse when you speak, "let me see your face."

he looks at you for a bit— the stoic face of the mask making you feel more and more isolated— like you're pleasuring someone else. and perhaps, you are, in a way. this isn't your young-il anymore.

"after that little stunt," he answers quietly, voice grim, "you don't deserve it."

you almost whine as he grabs your head again and forces his cock back down your throat— and then you realize what this is. what you thought started as some sort of reward is actually a punishment. you whimper as you gag around him, choking with each sharp thrust as his movements begin to get harsher. tears run down your face as you glare at him, and in retaliation you bring your hand up and grab his thigh. he hisses at being disobeyed, pulls your head forward till you nose is quite literally pressed against his stomach. "hands. behind your back."

despite struggling to breathe, you shake your head as best as you can given the situation. you can't see his face, but you can tell the exact expression he must be making. the one where his eyes get all intense, and his lips start quivering with rage, as if he wants to explode.

you moan slightly and take the opportunity to pull your head back. and then get back to sucking his cock— your tongue rolling deliciously across his shaft as you cup his balls. it almost makes him stumble with shock— the sudden pleasure he feels, judging by the throaty moan that escapes him. motivated by his newfound weakness, you jerk him off while mouthing at the soft skin of his balls, and he almost bends down as he lets out a raspy groan, "fuck! that feels— fuck!"

"language," you tease slightly, voice raspy. you enthusiastically indulge him, your brain suddenly consisting of him, and only him. his voice. his face. his moans. the way his eyes crinkle. you switch from sucking his balls to kissing his tip and jerking him off.

as if to reward you, he suddenly pulls his mask off, one hand of his going up to hold onto the wall for support. he squeezes his eyes shut, and the mere sight of his face has you crumbling— you let out a soft moan as you take him down your throat again. one of your hands slips into your panties, and you start rubbing your clit with vigour as he fucks your throat.

"you little fucking brat—" he grunts, thrusting shallowly in and out of your mouth, the vein in his neck popping and a few strands of his styled hair falling beautifully down his forehead. he's hot when he swears, you think— starry eyed as you look at him. you've never seen a more angelic sight. as you gurgle around his cock, he holds your head down again and throws his head back, cumming with a loud gasp. you cum with a choked moan of your own, your hand shaking as you rub circles into your clit, overstimulating yourself.

you choke as you feel him spill down your throat, and he pants heavily as he slowly pulls himself back, before quickly tucking himself into his pants. you swallow it and cough slightly, covering your mouth with the back of your hand as you wince a little— it leaves a bitter and sticky aftertaste, but nothing too bad. you're sure you'll get used to it. he grabs your wrist and bends down to stick your wet fingers in his mouth, licking your slick off. his tongue rolls around the digits and you moan, eyes dazed as he ensures your entire palm is clean, before pulling back while smacking his lips and humming in appreciation like you were the most prized delicacy in the world.

as if nothing happened, he swiftly picks you up like you're a mere doll— carrying you bridal style to the bathroom. your hair— damp with sweat, sticks to your skin, and your eyes are bloodshot.

and though you can remember your original intention being wanting to take revenge, this somehow felt much more better.

perhaps, you really are too far gone.

you look off into space thoughtfully as he settles you on the bathroom counter. his face is uncovered but guarded— he takes his gloves off, grabs a towel and wets it with water before tending to you. with utmost gentleness, he pulls your bottoms down and tosses them in the basket, before analyzing your wounds.

your panties are so wet it's almost shameful. you got that horny just by sucking his cock. he glances at your face, and you look away sheepishly. the smell of you makes his head spin, but he needs to concentrate on something else. you clear your throat and redirect your attention to his face.

you stare at him while he stares at your knees. he gently wipes the blood off, ensuring no remaining pieces of the music box stick to your skin. he disinfects your wounds and it makes you hiss— he almost winces at the sound, but you're not sure.

you don't understand why he's doing this. how can he hurt you and tend to your wounds at the same time? but then again, how can you hate him and let him do this to you at the same time too?

perhaps, you both are confused. you need someone to rely on, and he needs someone to need him. but neither of you know how to deal with the complications that come with your unconventional relationship, so you pretend it's normal. it's okay.

you look at him but he doesn't meet your gaze. you wish you could go back in time, or travel to another dimension. meet him under different circumstances. perhaps, that relationship would've been healthy. you clear your throat, and change the subject.

"you know, back in the hall," it hurts a little to talk, but you want to hear his voice, and you're desperate to talk about something. anything to end this silence. "before i was leaving to come to you, the old lady said something funny."

he stiffens at the mention of her, and you pretend not to notice. he doesn't glance at you as he cleans your knees, before placing a comforting palm on your thigh. he hums in question, gaze lowered.

"she called you my father," you chuckle slightly, your voice suddenly getting shaky, "isn't that funny? such a funny thing to assume."

he tenses at your words and clenches his jaw. his thumb rubs circles onto the skin of your thigh, before he lets out a small chuckle of his own— it sounds dry. he finally looks up at you— and you almost see a glimpse of your young-il in his eyes. you think he looks upset. you wonder if you offended him, and you consider apologizing, but he interrupts your train of thought.

"really?" he asks quietly, giving you a small smile. it's odd, engaging in casual conversation with him after the little fight you two just had. "well, with how many times i looked after you—"

"—you might as well be," you finish his sentence with a roll of your eyes, "yeah, i know."

he gives a soft, hearty laugh then, tapping your knee. "yeah." he trails off, voice getting quieter. distant. "might as well be."

his mind drifts off. if he hadn't been so late, his kid would've been around your age. perhaps, that's why he immediately grew protective of you during the games. perhaps, it was fate.

your gaze softens, face falling slightly. he looks distant again— like he's fighting a war within himself. you swallow the lump in your throat.

"i saw you that way at first, you know." you said quietly, blinking down at your lap. "you made me feel safe." and now all i feel is fear around you.

he looks at you wordlessly, gaze unreadable. he's thinking— reading you, but you can't do the same with him. he has way more experience at hiding his thoughts and expressions than you do. he's spent decades confined within these walls with people in masks being his only companions— he learned how to wear one himself. permanently. he wants to tell you that you're an open book to him— since the start.

"do i not anymore?" he questions instead, cocking his head to side. you roll your eyes, shoulders slumping as you shoot him an impassive glare.

"seriously?" you ask, voice obvious. it makes him smirk slightly, and he clenches his jaw to hide it.

he cups your face, pulls it up as he looks into your eyes. you don't say a word, simply glaring at him as he places a kiss upon your forehead.

"let me tell you," he quirks an eyebrow— a hint of a smile on his face as he squishes your cheeks, "no kid of mine would be a brat."

you scoff, pushing his hands off as you look away from him. he looks unbothered as he grabs you and puts you back down on the floor.

"i can do that myself, thanks." you huff, straightening your shoulders as you brush past him.

he grabs your hand, pulls you back towards him till you collide into his chest. he cups the side of your face, gently leaning down to rub your noses together. it almost leaves you breathless with how flustered you feel.

"would you rather i give you the silent treatment again?" his voice is unabashedly soft as he speaks. "you didn't like that last time."

your breath hitches, and your heart begins to race again. you clench your jaw before closing your eyes, releasing a shaky breath. you remember collapsing in his arms and crying your heart out when he gave you the silent treatment— being ignored by him hurt and made you feel alone in a way you hadn't felt in years.

you shake your head no.

he smiles. it's almost sinister. his eyes are still crinkly and he would look so utterly adorable to you before— but now, you know his intentions. you can tell when he's smiling only because he's hiding a different approach.

"then you'll behave, won't you?" he whispers, placing a soft kiss upon your lips. you blink rapidly before nodding again.

"good," he says quietly, softly tapping your cheek before letting go and composing himself. "i'll clean that mess up. go back to bed and take a nap, you must be tired after that little show."

you grit your teeth before shooting him a glare, and he merely blinks at you, amused, before you rush back to the bedroom.

he follows not long after, wearing only a black undershirt and his pants. you stare at him as he gently places a tray on your bedside table. you sit up, looking at it curiously. it's a cup of tea.

"for your throat," he explains softly with a pat to your head. the gesture makes your heart feel warm— and once again you start wishing you had met him under different circumstances where he didn't practically kidnap you. that way, your guilty conscience wouldn't berate you for desiring him so much, for being so comfortable around him.

he stands by his own side of the bed, fiddling with his wristwatch. you sit up properly and blow on the tea before drinking it, humming in appreciation. it's your favourite beverage.

he gets into bed soon enough, sighing to himself. you place the empty cup on the table and look off to the side, not wanting to meet his gaze, no matter how good he looks.

he says your name softly and you melt.

you look at him and he tenderly caresses your face with the back of his hand. you wish you could read his thoughts.

you swallow your pride and say what you've been thinking.

"why did you never apologize to me?"

his gaze hardens slightly and his hand pauses. you swallow hard as you await his answer.

"because i'm not sorry," he says calmly, "I don't regret anything i did."

you clench your jaw, "not even hurting me or my feelings?"

he chuckles a little— amused at your naivety, "I don't regret doing anything that brought you to me."

you blink at him before looking away. he forces you to meet his gaze by grabbing your chin.

"i don't regret anything," he repeats lowly, eyes intense. "as long as i get to have you."

"you hurt me." you whisper, voice cracking.

"i know." he nods, "you'll get over it. you're my brave girl, aren't you?"

you grit your teeth so hard you fear your jaw might snap. you glare at him, while he looks at you indifferently. wordlessly, he opens his arms and welcomes you into the comforting little space he created. you consider running off, defying him, breaking the tea cup and using the glass to threaten him or just killing yourself— anything.

bur you don't. like always, you succumb to him, and give up control. you eagerly crawl into his side and he holds your head against his chest. he pulls the sheets over the two of you and pecks your forehead.

"still don't feel safe?" he asks, almost teasingly. you can't believe he keeps trying to joke with you— he's cruel. you scoff, giving him a weak shove and he grabs your wrist and holds your palm against his chest. you can feel his heart beating. you wonder if yours beats this loud too.

you get comfortable a few moments after, and force yourself not to think about your life before the games. before him. you wonder if your family is happy, if they're wondering where you are. you wonder if your mother thinks you're dead, you wonder if she still prays for you. even if your family thinks you're dead, you hope they find happiness and move on from the thought of you. you hope they live a life of ease.

the thoughts make you sniffle and you hold back the urge to cry, burying your head further into his chest. he hums softly, patting your head almost paternally till you fall asleep, and only when he is completely sure that you're out of it, that he allows himself to close his eyes too.

and the next day, the cycle repeats.

A/N: another song title because i have no creativity... anyway this was meant to be a blurb but i ended up writing a glimpse into their relationship because i love them so much. and well.. the smut is mid but i hope you guys enjoyed it. thank you for reading and thank you for the support!! i love all of you.

tags: @bonelessghoul @cowuies @auspicious-lilana @politicstanner @verouys @gloriousjellyfisharcade @carolinevoight @shadowmoonlight0604 @ancrygurl @sunoon @jessgentleman @colorwastaken @loversroq @clown-around-and-find-out @popcorm @xcinnamonmalfoyx @robertthehoover @iloveoldermen0204 @kpopsmutty69 @iamkali @thebluehair23

#hwang inho x reader #frontman x you #frontman x reader #the frontman x reader smut #player 001 x reader #squid game x reader #lee byung hun x reader #squid game season 2 smut #the salesman x reader

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voxslays · 3 days ago

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BREEDING — HWANG IN-HO

WARNINGS: Soft In-ho, slightly OOC, mentions of sex, pregnancy, the baby is a boy (for plot reasons), Breeding kink. A/N: I am eating, sleeping, and breathing squid games rn. It’s in my blood stream. Please give me more ideas y��all.

ꨄ After the loss of his first wife and unborn child, In-ho was completely destroyed. He thought he would never find love or have the chance to have a child of his own again…until he met you.

ꨄ While you probably fell first, In-ho would fall harder. Someone who sees a different side of him? Someone who isn’t a cold-blooded killer? He is completely whipped.

ꨄ You probably met outside the games, having no idea what your lover does for work—which he wants to stay that way…kind of. While In-ho doesn’t want you involved in his work at all, you deserve to know the truth, right?

ꨄ Will eventually tell you the truth, and couldn’t be happier when you accept him anyways. He vows to never show you the cold heartless frontman he has to be for the games.

ꨄ Once the two of you are married, In-ho goes crazy for your body. I mean you two had sex before marriage…but now? Man, he absolutely worships your body, as if you’re a goddess.

ꨄ In-ho fucks his cum into you, making sure not to waste a precious drop. He wants it to take after all. Will tell you how beautiful you would look carrying his children while he pounds into you.

ꨄ Really wants to get you pregnant and have a child with you, more than anything. So when he hears the news after returning from one of his ‘trips’ to the island, he is overjoyed.

ꨄ Makes sure your every need is met. If he can’t cater to you, he’s making sure his servants or the circle guards are waiting on your hand and foot. Only the best for his queen.

ꨄ Might even bring you to the island to keep you safe through your pregnancy. He is going to make sure both you and your baby surivive the best he can.

ꨄ Once your son is born, he can’t stop holding him. He lets the little baby wrap its hands around his finger as he gently cradles him in his arms. He may be a cold-blooded killer, but to you, he is just your warm and caring husband.

EXTRA: Your son definitely becomes the next frontman whether you like it or not. In-ho can’t help it. It runs in the family.

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luvergirl777 · 2 days ago

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Cleanin' Baby | Dean Winchester

Pairing | Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count | 12.5 k

Genre | Enemies to Lovers, Smut

Summary | Dean can't stand new people, especially people intruding on his life and telling him what to do. You drive him insane, Sam having to separate the two of you before fists and teeth start flying. You finally get under his skin for the last time with your dumb stunts, pushing him over the edge.

Index | Dean and reader fight constantly, Sam is the babysitter, Dean hates you because you are him, you're also incredibly hot, not that he'd admit it, perhaps maybe just a bit he admits it. Unprotected sex, wrap it up folks. Soft dom Dean, a bit of sub Dean. He's whipped and will listen to a pretty girl. Two idiots in love.

Dean is never fond of new people, it takes him a very long time to warm up to newcomers. When the two brothers find you battered and bruised, barely still alive after fending a demon off on your own, he’s a bit impressed. Upon further investigation, Sam watching over you, Dean realizes you had managed to damn it back to hell all on your own. Even more impressed, Dean is confused as to how you managed to survive. “You said it was aggressive?” Dean double checks, wondering if you somehow got lucky and encountered the impossible, un-aggressive demon. Sure, that would explain how you managed to survive on your own.

“Are you fuckin’ stupid? You think I beat myself up after killing the damn thing?”

“Well you didn’t technically kill it but-”

“Oh shut up, pretty boy.” You grit, rolling your eyes as you hold onto Sam’s arm to stand up. Sam, ever so caring, nearly lifts your weight with no effort. He’s supporting all of your weight easily as you try and hobble along to safety.

“Easy now sassy, you’re about one hit away from dying.”

“You gonna hit me?” The face you give him is unreadable, and Sam is preparing himself to jump in between the two of you if needed. You’ve stopped walking, completely turned around as you face Dean behind you. Dean, never one to back down, takes a step closer to you.

“Guys, c’mon.” Sam intervenes, pushing his brother by the chest to create some distance between the two of you arguing. “You two sound like a couple of 5 year olds.”

Both you and Dean roll your eyes, and you’re hobbling your way out the door to get to some sort of hospital to get a check up. The pain is actually ridiculous, and if you weren’t so battered, you probably would've fought with Dean more. “Here, let us give you a ride,” Sam offers, quickly chasing you in fear you would topple after leaving his side.

“She is NOT bleeding all over baby,” Dean protests as Sam walks you out of the door, taking you to the car. Dean closes the door behind him after glancing inside once more, still in disbelief of what the hell is happening. They burst open your door expecting to damn something to hell, and instead found you bleeding out in the middle of the floor. And now you and Dean are arguing as you hobble your way to the back of Baby.

“You call this car baby?” You roll your eyes, “You gotta take care of her better if you’re gonna call her a fucking pet name. This thing has 2 years of fuckin’ dirt on it. Baby my ass.” Dean almost stops in place, arms raising slightly in defense, jaw dropped as he looks at Sam. Usually you're more pleasant, however, you're battered and bruised and in pain.

After absolutely giving it to Dean, you’re opening the back door and limply climbing in. You’re collapsing against the seat before Dean can jab at you. Dean wants to dish it out once again, and Sam slaps a hand over his mouth. He can’t deal with the two of you, he really can’t. Closing the door behind you, Sam’s turning around to talk sense into his stubborn older brother. “She damned a demon on her own, she could help us.”

“Her, help us?” Dean scoffs, “Yeah, I’d rather be kicked in the balls.”

“I’m about to if you don’t shut the hell up,” Sam shoves him around the car, “It could be good, finding someone to put you in your place every now and then.”

That's how you met, and it’s been years already. Despite being together almost 24/7, you and Dean are still constantly at each other’s throats. If you’re not lashing out at Dean, he’s dishing some snarky shit out to you. Sam stays as uninvolved as he can, always letting you two at it before it’s clear intervention is needed.

---

“You really don’t have to sit there and watch me like some hawk,” Dean’s annoyed as you perch yourself on a stool, watching as he works on Baby. It’s about a million degrees and Dean has refused to drink anything but alcohol and coffee for the past 24 hours, and not to mention it’s the middle of the day with the sun beating down overhead. “I don’t need a babysitter. “

“Sammy’s worried about you, said you’re going to have a heat stroke or pass out. Figure I’d come out here and pester you into coming back inside.” You shrug, completely unbothered as you don’t move from the stool. Your tone is nonchalant, only getting on his nerves more. Baby is technically sound and purring like a kitten on the road, Dean’s just been itching to tinker and a distraction from you waltzing around the bunker. “God know’s Sammy’s not gonna do it-”

“Stop calling him that?”

“Calling who what?”

“Sammy.” Dean mumbles, already turning around from you to focus back on the engine. You’re already getting on his nerves, and if he looks at you any longer you’ll succeed in pestering him back into the house. “Go back inside and tell my nerdy little brother I’m fine out here. By myself.”

“Sam’s not gonna take that for an answer.” You’re still calm and collected, leaning forward on the stool as you get a closer look at what Dean’s doing. You watch his hands work, nimble and quick as he easily gets into every corner he wants. There’s a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips at your thoughts, and you’re trying awfully hard not to laugh loudly. Dean can almost hear the joke writing itself in your head, and feel the smile growing on your face. “You know you’re really good with your fingers-”

“Okay! You win!” And he’s storming back into the bunker to get water from an expectant Sam in the kitchen, already in a glass with ice. “Don’t.” He speaks to him, raising a finger to Sam. He can already hear the thoughts in his head, too.

---

“Oh really, that’s your smart ass plan?” You mumble, listening to Dean attempt to explain the plan of waltzing into a bank and trying to sweet talk a bank teller to the vault. It would never in a million years happen, regardless of how annoying charming Dean could be. No one is that stupid, not even a bank secretary who doesn’t know who Dean is.

“Well, if you have anything better, please enlighten me.” He’s slamming the folder down on the table in front of you, crossing his arms.

“Anything is likely better-” When you stand up from your seat, and Dean steps toward you, Sam is quick to intervene before you two start dishing it out.

“OKAY!” Sam basically yells to get your guy’s attention. You two calm down, you sitting down, Dean stepping away from you, and Sam finally taking a breath.

---

Or the one time you drove Baby, absolutely full throttling her around turns as if you were a professional driver. In your defense, you didn’t crash and actually handled it quite well. Poor Sam is laying down in the back of the car, injured and praying you get to the hospital soon. But Dean was about to have a heart attack in the passenger seat of his car. He’s pressed against the door with the force you’re jerking the car around, gripping anything he can reach.

“Never again, never again.” Dean almost prays underneath his breath, but he’s not and never will be a religious man.

---

Or the one time you were the bait for some creepy old man, needing to steal a weapon he had on display in his house. You were in the middle of his bed, about to fake vomit as he ran his hands along your waist. “Listen, I heard something you had. Something very impressive, an ancient weapon of sorts.” You purr, rolling your eyes as he goes along with it.

“Of course I do, it’s in my office. I can show you after we’re done here.” He mumbles, and you’re swinging and clocking him against his temple, toppling him over. He lands with a thud on the hardwood floor, knocked out cold. At the commotion, Dean is bursting through the door.

“HEY!” Dean screams, puffed up and ready for action.

“He’s knocked out, dick for brains.” You mumble, climbing off of the bed and adjusting your dress which had ridden almost all the way up to your waist. He swears he catches a peek of the pink panties you’re wearing, but for his benefit, he’s trying to convince himself he saw nothing at all. News flash, not and never was going to work. Dean watches with wide eyes, his gaze following and trailing along your bare skin down to your thighs as you cover yourself back up. “Thanks for caring, pretty boy.”

Dean rolls his eyes, walking over to the man that is unconscious against the hardwood floor. He’s mumbling something underneath his breath, landing one more blow onto the old bastard, before finally catching back up with you in the office.

—-

You and Dean are on a hunt the first time he lays hands on you. You both had been separated, running and hiding in respective locations of the mouldy, broken down house. Dean’s frantic and stressed after hearing you yelp on the other side of the house, rushing over to find you and seeing no one. He's running around the house at this point, stopping for two seconds in the middle of the hallway to try and find his thoughts.

A hand grabs his shoulder, grip hard enough to leave bruises underneath his jacket. He's whipping around before he can even think another thought, hand balled up into a tight fist as he spins. It’s too late to pull his punch when he realizes, eyes wide as he makes contact with your confused expression. He can pull it about 90%, softening the impending blow to your cheek bone. He's yelping for you when his fist makes contact with your skin, already groaning at himself.

“Fuck! Fuck! Sorry! You scared me.” Dean’s explaining immediately, arms catching you before you even have the chance to stumble backwards from the blow. He cradles you before you can air out your grievances, one hand coming to hold your cheek in betrayal. “I thought they had you, god I thought they had you.” He mumbles as he holds you, reassuring both you and himself that you’re okay, or trying to at least.

“Dean, god.” You groan, peering up to look at him. “Let's finish this job, please, without any more collateral damage.” You mumble, shuffling around to find your knife. “Fuckers took my blade.”

“It's okay, I'll get them.” Dean mumbles, quickly pressing his lips to your hairline before letting you go. You stay behind Dean, this time a considerable distance, as he finishes the job and gets the both of you out of there safely. Dean has reason now, speeding out of there like hell after killing anything in his path.

Getting back to the bunker, Dean parks the car and doesn’t move an inch. You already know why, and you already know the speech he’s about to dish out. “Listen-“

“It’s not your fault.” You immediately cut him off, shaking your head. You already have a bruise forming on your cheek despite Dean doing his best to pull his punch. The guilt eats him every time you look at each other and he has to divert his eyes.

“Alrighty,” Dean presses his lips together as he thinks of another solution. “Give me one,” Dean nods, waving his hands to get you to come closer. You scoff at him, shaking your head as you fight off the laugh that bubbles. You’ve seen him and Sam go at each other like this, getting even in a way only brothers can. He taps his cheek, looking to the side. “Give me two, actually. One to make it even, one for putting my hands on a woman.” He waves you closer, dead serious.

“Dean-“

“Lay 'em on me, one at a time, back to back, hard as you want, doesn’t matter, come on.” He’s still looking away from you, refusing to take no for an answer and he waits for the blows to land. He didn’t mean to, you know it, and you know he’s going to feel bad for a while. You scoff and shuffle, Dean tenses as he waits for the blow. You kiss his cheek, grabbing his face and turning it, before kissing his other cheek.

“There, two blows, back to back.” You smile, “Now let’s go inside so I can get ice for my cheek.”

Dean’s blushing like an idiot before scurrying after you, “I'll get the ice, you go lay down!”

---

You had been sick for well over a week while the boys were on a job, sitting by yourself in a house and working as the information specialist for the time being. When they would call, you’d give them all the information you had been collecting within the past couple of hours. Always hours, never days, because you’d get too worried about them. Dean, not admitting it, also calls every couple of hours to make sure you’re still kicking. You sound like hell, and it’s becoming increasingly clear to him that you are not taking care of yourself while they’re away.

Sam’s out on a home visit, and Dean is fidgeting with his phone in his hands. Pressing buttons, deleting the numbers, and the cycle repeats itself. Finally putting his big girl panties on, he dials your contact and calls. “Dean? Is everything okay?” Your voice is worried, the call slightly random from the semi-schedule you guys have grown accustomed to.

“Hey, hey, yeah we’re good. Sam’s just out making some runs, you know.” He sounds awkward and like a loser, he already knows it. He can pretty much hear Sam’s voice mocking him. “Just wanted to call, see how you’re holding up. Taking that medicine I got? Eating everyday?” He’s interrogating you, for your well being of course.

“The medicine you got me is like ketamine…or something.” You laugh.

“What?! It is not-”

“It so is! Some random pills you got from who knows where, from who knows, and you’re telling me to take them?” You’re scolding him softly, but he can still hear the humour in your voice.

“Whatever, when we get back I’m gonna smother you back to good health.” You roll your eyes at this, Dean knows that without even being in the room with you. “Pills and all.”

“Dean, whatever. Just don’t die and get back here soon.” You laugh softly on the other side of the phone. Dean can hear the tone of your voice, almost pleading with him. In your defense, the two of them had been gone for over a week on the job including travel time to get there.

---

Dean will never admit it but after that he gets softer around you, starts looking out for you more than he lets on. He’s a softie, even if he won’t show it. The first time Dean almost dies since you’ve joined the team, it’s the first close call the three of you have had to someone actually dying. Sure, the three of you have been hurt and wounded, but nothing quite like when Dean’s guts were outside of his body for far too long to actually be okay.

He’s been in surgery for hours at this point, Sam had left a while ago to try and put some distance in between him and his brother possibly dying in front of him. You’re left in the cold waiting room by yourself, elbows on your knees as you wait. Your face has been rubbed more times than you can count, one more and your face will come off. You curse Sam for leaving you alone, but part of you does understand as well.

You rocket out of your seat at the beginning of “D-” whipping around to face the nurse before she can even finish his name. You’re frantic, sure, but you can’t help it. “Dean? Is it for Dean?” Your voice comes out more of a mumble, the poor nurse nodding her head softly. She leads a shaky you to his room, heart in your feet. The nurse stops at the front, stepping to the side to allow you to walk in on your own. It takes all willpower in your body to not immediately crumble to the floor at the sight. Dean’s eyes are open, squinted almost completely shut, as his head rolls over to the side to look at you.

His eyes widen the slightest bit at the sight of you and not Sam and the tears immediately begin flowing down your face. You try hard not to audibly sob, but it’s taking a lot of effort. “H-hey, Dean.” You sound pathetic as you shuffle over to the side of his bed, almost scared that your presence alone will send him back into a near death state. As soon as you make it to the side of the bed, his arm reaches over and brushes against your leg. “You fucking dick!” You’re hysterical as he makes contact. “You can’t scare me like that! Ever! Don’t ever do that again!” Absolutely ridiculous as you crumble down onto the bed, your arms wrapping around his head.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay. We’re okay.” He’s quick to comfort you, arms weakly wrapping around your waist. He grunts with the effort it takes in his current state. You’re almost climbing into the bed with him at this point, not wanting to let go of him. He’s trying not to cry with your state of general mess, seeing you so upset is getting him emotional.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, Dean. God, I was so scared. Sorry. Sam is just out to get some air. You know how he deals with this, I’m sure they’ve called him.” You’re prying your arms away from his form, sitting down on the bed next to him. Maybe it’s the hysterics, but you’re running your fingers through his hair and gently holding his face in the other hand. Leaning forward, you place the shakiest kiss on his forehead. “You’re never allowed to go by yourself ever again.” Sam walks in on the two of you like this, you obsessively petting his head while holding his face in the other palm. Your entire face is wet at this point, tears soaking your features.

Sam lets you sit for a moment longer, the wet patch on your shirt indication that this is needed. Eventually, he has to butt in otherwise Dean will think his brother hates him. When he finally clears his throat, you almost scatter away from Dean.

---

Eventually, you become a part of the little family they have. It takes a long time for Dean to come around, and Sam takes less time. When Sam lets you call him Sammy for the first time without correcting you as he does everyone else, Dean knows you're in for the long haul. Technically it’s the first and only time you’ve called him Sammy in front of him, the circumstances and situation making you talk before thinking.

Sam and Dean had been fighting the entire job, at each other’s throats for something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. Usually it’s banter and general sibling bickering, but this time it’s different. The tipping point comes when Dean mumbles something under his breath in the hotel room after a long day, Sam immediately reacting as he jolts up. Before you can even comprehend what the argument is about, fists are flying and the two are grappling each other. You’re watching with wide eyes, never quite seeing the two get this distant from each other. Sam is Dean’s baby brother, he’d do anything for him.

“Guys, what, stop!” You mumble, trying to intervene as Sam has gotten Dean pinned by the throat underneath him. You know they wouldn’t do any permanent damage to each other, but you still feel your stomach flip at the position. “Guys, please!” Your eyes are watery and you’re trying with all of your force to pull Sam off of him. Sam, easily outweighing you, doesn’t budge an inch and is just more annoyed at you pulling him.

“If you want to leave, leave. We don’t need you.” Dean spits, pushing at Sam’s arm that remains at his neck. Sam clenches his jaw, clicking his tongue.

“I won’t come back this time.” Sam spits, deadly serious. You’ve never heard Sam this serious in the entire time you’ve known him, not on a hunt, not on an investigation, nothing. Dean’s about to say something before you’re slapping a hand over his mouth. You’re crying at this point, pathetically holding Sam’s arm as you rest your face against his shoulder. You can’t move him.

“Sammy, please.” You cry, a horrid sob leaving your throat as you plead with him. Even Dean looks sideways at you, shocking him as well. At the plea, Sam steps back, releasing the pressure he’s holding Dean to. “Sammy, stop. You can’t leave us, we need you, please.” You cry softly, letting go of Dean’s face to hold Sam’s arm instead.

“I- I’m sorry.” Sam mumbles softly, shrugging you off his arm in favour of pulling you into his embrace. “It’s okay, we’re okay. I’m not going anywhere.” Sam mumbles, trying to console you. You nod into his chest, reaching over to hold Dean’s face rather than slapping your hand over it. Dean leans into it, pushing his cheek into your palm. For the first time, it’s you being the negotiator between the two brothers rather than Sam being in between you and Dean. And for the first time, it was actually scary.

---

With Sam, Dean doesn’t keep tally on who saves who’s ass. He’s family, it’s expected. And with you, he doesn't either. (He totally does, he just won’t admit it. However, you’re two up on him, and it kills him every time he thinks about it.) He swears to himself he’ll make it even eventually.

---

Dean’s final straw is you washing Baby, wearing an all too small bikini as you wash the grime off of her. You had been giving him shit for it for awhile now, always quoting his dad on how he should’ve been taking better care of the car. It kills him, always being lectured about his precious baby that has been HIS car for years now.

“What are you doing?” Dean asks, the front door of the house you’re staying in swinging open. He’s walking out just enough to watch closer, arms crossed as he stands on the sidewalk to the front door. You’re in the driveway, squatted down, washing the rims when he interrupts you.

“Washing your dirty ass car.”

“And why would you do that?”

“I have to ride around in the thing, it might as well look nice.” You shrug, continuing to wash. Your back is facing him when you talk, and Dean is watching almost your every move. His eyes trail down your back, over the curve of your ass, before landing on your thighs. They flex underneath your weight, a sight for sore eyes as he watches you.

“No, smart ass, why are you doing it? Shouldn’t I be the one to wash my own car?” Dean mumbles, moving closer to you. You don’t budge, still crouched down next to his car. When he walks closer, it’s immediately a bad idea, and it’s too late before he realizes.

“Well, you haven’t in let's say, the better part of 2 years so,” For the first time since he’s talked to you, you break your focus to look at him. Much closer to you, you have to crane your neck to look up at him. Still squatted down, in that tiny ass bikini you’re wearing. It covers enough of you to be legal, but god damn it, he’s reeling.

“Don’t, don’t fucking do that.”

“Do what?!”

“Acting like you don’t know what you’re doing.” Dean grits his teeth, squinting his eyes as he stares down at you.

“What I know I’m doing is washing your car. You’re the one that came out here for whatever reason. To fight with me? Who fuckin’ knows.” You turn your attention back to the car, “You can help me, instead of sitting there and bitching. Shirt off though, that’s a requirement.” You laugh out the last part, reaching to the side and throwing soap at him. It makes his white shirt see through, showing his skin through the cloth.

“This is ridiculous,” Dean sighs, rolling his eyes. For a moment, you don’t think he’s going to play along. For a moment, you’re sure he’s just going to walk back into the house. You smile softly when he’s pulling his shirt off, throwing it somewhere back towards the front door. You giggle, now playing a game with him. You smile as he reaches into the bucket, taking another sponge and beginning to wash the back rim.

In the time you’ve known him, Dean is easy to rile up. Some good banter, a few batted eyelashes, maybe even look up at him, and he’s a goner. You’ve seen him get more numbers at bars than you can count on both hands and feet, never leaving a town without one. It’s a part of why you’ve never made a move, because you know him. And you know his type, and you know what he likes to do. Just a little bit of fun, a little playing here and there. Regardless, it’s fun.

You giggle, moving from the rim you’re washing to the hood. You’re leaning over the hood, bending at the hips to reach the top. Dean stands up from the back, determined to watch you wash the hood. He scoffs softly, walking around to you. “You’re doing this wrong,” He mumbles.

“You haven't washed this in years and you’re lecturing me?”

“Just, shut the hell up for a second.” He mumbles, reaching around you to move your arm. He moves the sponge in circular motions, leaning over you. His hips barely make contact with yours, only the side of his hip brushing against your ass. If he moves over a single step, he’d be completely behind your bent over form. Suddenly, it’s all too much, he’s too close, and you’re so incredibly warm. “What, you’re finally listening to me for once?” Dean chuckles at your silence.

You’re quiet, face beginning to flush. “Not listening, smart ass. I’m just learning the right technique, according to you.” You’re pressing your ass against the hip that’s next to you, trying for the life of you to get him to move. His hand flys down to grab at your waist, holding you still. You’re still in this ridiculously small bikini, and his hand is now on your bare skin.

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” Dean mumbles, his head falling forward slightly. His forehead hits your shoulder for a moment before he’s pulling himself up. Putting some space in between you, his hand still remains on your waist. For a moment, a realization hits him at how small your waist is, especially compared to his hands on your skin.

“If i’m not, who else would be?” You giggle, leaning further forward to reach the very top of the hood. From his teaching, you wash small circles. “You know, everyone’s out of the house until later tonight, right? Some dinner, poker match. I’m surprised you didn’t go with them.”

“What’re you saying, hm?” Dean mumbles, once again leaning over you. This time, he’s slightly more behind your hips, giving you more leverage to press back against him.

You smile, feeling his chest hit your back as he leans forward, head beginning to nestle in the crook of your neck as he talks, lips brushing against your ear. As his weight falls further onto you, you allow your arms to fold as he presses against your back. You rest on your forearms, the change in position pressing harder into his hips.

“Was this your plan the entire time, hm?” Dean grits, one hand moving to adjust your jaw, pushing your head to the side to make you look at him. “Wear this slutty excuse of a bikini, walk out here and wash my prized possession, get me to join? Hm?”

“I wouldn’t say the entire time,” You giggle. “Maybe just since you walked out here.” You shrug, whining when he adjusts his hand, allowing his hand to move from your jaw to your neck.

“This is unfair,” Dean mumbles, softly biting into your shoulder. “My favorite girl, out here washing my favorite car, and you expect me not to take the bait?”

He allows his hand to move, instead of holding your waist, he holds your abdomen, pushing you back against him. You can feel him pressed against your skin, able to slot his hard cock in between your folds when you move a certain way. The fabric leaves little to the imagination, and he can feel the heat in between your legs.

“You gonna be mean, and take me right here? Or be nice and take me to the bedroom hm?” You tease him, moaning softly when he grinds against you.

“You know me, I like it all. So both.” He smiles, and though you can’t see it, you know. His fingertips dip underneath your bathing suit bottoms, trailing down to exactly where you need him. “You’re fucking soaked,” Dean mumbles, “You were thinking about this for awhile, huh? Pretending to just be washing my car, what a load of shit.” Dean mumbles, groaning softly as his fingers slip through your folds. He rubs gentle circles into your clit, slowly building pressure.

“You, I, just maybe.” You whimper, immediately weak in the limbs as he toys with you. The circles speed up, drawing out the softest whines and whimpers. He chases the noises as if it’s his own high, humming along softly when you let out a particularly loud whimper.

“How long have you been thinking of this, hm?” Dean asks, snaking one arm behind you as he gently slips a finger into your pussy, slow and careful in his movements. You whine even louder, tightening around his fingers as he slips in another, fucking into you while rubbing your clit with his other hand. He’s adamant, chasing your high before thinking of himself. “Answer me,”

“Not long, since you’re all over every single girl you can get your hands on.” You mumble, riling him up. He fucks more roughly into you, grinding harshly against your g-spot. “Just need some relief, and you’re the only one here.” You’re lying through your teeth.

“You know all that shit is just me messin’ around, and you’re a bad liar, you know that?” Dean mumbles, beginning to kiss along any skin he can reach. “This wet? And you expect me to believe this is for anyone, hm? I bet if Sammy came out here, you would’ve immediately covered up, huh, hide all of this.” His hands reach up to pull at your bikini top, exposing your tits to his touch. He roughly gropes and feels your skin, twisting and pulling at your nipples, punishing you for riling him up.

“Okay, maybe not Sammy.” You shrug, “I could find a cutie at the bar, though, I’m sure.” His hand moves forward to wrap around your throat once again, squeezing just enough to make your mind fuzzy and to stop talking like a smart ass.

“But you wouldn’t, if you wanted to, you would’ve already done it.” He shrugs, you can feel the movement against your shoulders. You’re close, squeezing down around him. You don’t even have to tell him, he’s already teasing and pulling your strings before you can speak. “See, who else can rile you up like this, hm?”

“Can you make me cum, or are you all talk Dean?” You grit, almost unable to speak with him all over you like this. Every sense of you is filled with him, he’s all you can think of.

“Yeah, sure,” He laughs softly when you clench hard around him, teetering close. “You don’t have to tell me you’re close, I can feel it. If you keep being smart with me, I can stop. It won’t take much, you know, rip this pretty little orgasm away from you in a second.”

His fingers slow, no longer giving you the stimulation you need to actually cum. “Please, please, I’m sorry. Please make me cum.” You plead with him.

“There she is,” He laughs, speeding up once again to allow you to fall off the edge. When you come undone, it’s violent. Your legs shake, you tighten around him, and you thank god for baby underneath you to hold your weight up. Dean forces you to ride out the high, slowing down only barely to not push you into over-stimulation.

“Fuck me.” You mumble, roughly pulling him closer to you. It doesn’t matter how, you need it. “Now, Dean, unless you can’t get it up in your old age-”

He slips one of his fingers into your mouth, roughly pulling on your cheek. “A please would be nice, huh Pretty girl?” Dean mumbles, and you can hear the sound of his belt unbuckling. It’s fast and hasty, and you already know he’s pissed off with you constantly nagging him. “Just demand demand demand, whine whine whine.” Dean grits, roughly pulling your bottoms to the side, “Is that all you do, huh?” He’s pushing into you before you can react, pulling a loud moan from you as he holds your mouth open.

“Fuck, fuck, thank you,” You whimper, squeezing around him tightly. He bottoms out, grinding against your hips as he savours the feeling of being completely inside you. His hips are rough, battering into you with little remorse. Fucking the smart ass out of you, that’s what he’s gonna do or die trying. From the mewls and whimpers slipping past your lips without your control, he feels he’s doing a pretty good job.

“That’s more like it, there’s my girl.” Dean groans, cock throbbing at hearing you finally shut up for the first time, literally, since he’s met you. For once in his life, you aren’t spitting some sarcastic ass shit at him, and he’s not spitting it back at you. “Feels good hm, does my girl feel good?” Dean’s deep voice sends goosebumps across your skin, the vibrations running through you like a live wire as you work yourself up further.

“Your girl, hm? That’s new.” You mumble, moaning softly when his grip moves to press down on your tongue, stopping you from talking. Drool pools around his finger, and he groans when you wrap your lips around it, tongue moving slightly underneath his touch to run along the pad.

“Is that a problem?”

You can’t respond, and he knows it. You clench tightly around him, a vice grip in response, and he almost genuinely laughs at how needy you are for him. His hips react immediately to you, thrusting rougher into you, chasing the pleasure the both of you are feeling. Moving his grip from your waist, he begins rubbing tight circles against your clit, trying to get you over the edge. It doesn’t take much to get you to fall over the edge, legs shaking underneath both of your weight.

“Good girl, easy, easy, ride it out. Don’t hurt yourself now,” Dean patronizes you gently, continuing to chase his own high.

“Cum, cum Dean, please.” You mumble around his fingers, tightening around even further. You’re so tight and just absolutely soaked that he’s spilling into you soon after, chanting your name gently in your ear as he comes undone. “Fuck, fuck,” You mumble, finally beginning to relax as he slows down his movements.

“C’mon pretty girl, I gotta give you the second half of my promise.” Dean laughs softly, “Or not, if you can’t take it.”

“If I can’t take it? Are you kidding me?” You smile, carefully pushing yourself up on your hands, glancing back at him. “Let’s go, your bed so I don’t have to wash my sheets later.” At this, Dean rolls his eyes, of course. Still, the second you turn around to face him, he’s hoisting you up onto his waist, pushing at your legs to get you to wrap around his torso. He carries you easily, walking through the empty house and straight to his room. Your back hits the bed, Dean toppling with you soon after.

“Gonna make soft mushy love to me, huh Dean?” You joke with him, your legs still wrapped around his torso, arms holding his head in your palms.

“After bending you over Baby, yeah. Best of both worlds or whatever they say.” Dean smiles, his characteristic smirk etched on his face. His head dips down slightly, softly kissing against your jaw, moving down to your neck, before sucking light marks into your chest. Far enough down not to be interrogated by Sammy later, but enough to leave a reminder of him. His head continues to trail down, hands pulling at your bikini bottoms while he bites at your thighs, once again leaving his mark on your otherwise perfect, unbroken skin.

“Never would’ve thought I’d have you here like this, hm?” He’s rolling his eyes at you, moaning softly when your hands come to pull at his hair. Your thighs rest on his shoulders, tightening the slightest bit around his head when he draws closer, finally making contact with you. “Fuck Dean, you gonna be nice, Dean, please?”

“To you, of course.”

Dean is skilled, to say the least. He knows what he’s doing, where he needs to work, what strings he needs to pull, how to get you there. Dean isn’t quiet about his skills either, you’ve heard sly remarks about the girls at bars, road side pubs, and everything in between. He’s living up to his legend, your thighs clamping around his head within minutes. You don’t let him get any smart ass remarks in, pulling him closer when you know he’s about to make fun of you. You control him so easily, muscular legs holding him in place. He’s not going to tell you, you’d never let him live it down, but he’s absolutely shaking at the thought of the hold you have over him.

“Gonna cum for you Dean, you’re gonna make me cum.” You whine, thighs flexing to grind against his face. He moans into you, caught off guard by your movement. You do it again, whimpering when you realize he likes this, he’s into this. “Cumming, fuck, cumming.”

His hands move to run along your thighs, trying to calm the shaking underneath his touch. “Good girl, so good for me.” Dean praises. Before he can react, you’re ripping him up. You're holding anywhere you can, forcing Dean to hover over you, legs once again around his waist.

“You gonna let me kiss you, or is that crossing a line?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Please.” Dean mumbles, sighing deeply when you immediately connect your lips. Your arms immediately wrap around his neck, pulling him as close as physically possible. Dean wants to melt into you, fuse with you. He’s riling himself up, he knows that, but he swears your lips on him are heaven sent, curing his soul from whatever horrors it has been forced through. Like a breath of fresh air, like he’s alive again. He’d never tell you that, he can only imagine your reaction and the shit you would give him.

You’re kissing him as if your life depends on it, hands tangling in his hair. Dean could kiss you for hours and not complain, he could do this all day if you’d let him. He’s unsure of how long you’ve been kissing him like this, so needy and whiny underneath him, but he doesn’t care. When he pulls away to catch his breath, your lips are slightly swollen, slick with saliva. Your face has flushed a bright red from the kiss, making you look cute despite being in such a lewd state.

“God, you’re beautiful.” Dean mumbles, pupils blown wide as he stares down at you.

You blush softly, but you try to hide it as just flushed cheeks. “Don’t get too sweet on me now.” You smile, tightening around his waist with your legs.

“Right, right.” Dean smiles, fighting off a laugh when you reach to unbuckle his belt. He’s kicking the jeans off in record speed, you can’t remember the last time you’ve seen him move that fast. He’s back with you just as fast. “Holy shit,” Dean mumbles, shaking as his cock slides in between your folds, easily sliding with your slick. It’s so intimate that he’s unused to it, and there’s the smallest fear in his chest that he won’t last having you like this. “Fuck, pretty girl.”

You whine as he pushes in, so slow that it makes you squirm underneath him. Bottoming out, he allows his head to fall forward, landing in the crook of your neck. “Dean,”

“Just, fuck, give me a second.”

“It’s okay,” You mumble, understanding his situation. While you’re understanding, you’re not forgiving as you clench around him like a vise. Your hands reach around, holding his back as you pull him close. You kiss along his skin, waiting until he calms down.

Dean groans, unbelievable, it’s unbelievable how he’s stuck like this. “I can’t believe this shit,” Dean mumbles, drawing away from you to hook your legs over his elbows, folding you in half when he leans forward again. Finally having some sort of advantage, he’s able to target exactly where he needs to hit. “I feel like a fuckin teenager again.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” You laugh, relishing in the moans that slip past his lips. Finally getting his wits about him, he’s able to finally move, grinding against you. Dean’s not going to last, he knows that, as he begins gently rubbing light circles into your clit. He’s gotta get some sort of leverage, something. Bending further forward, you’re covered entirely by his weight. When your lips gently connect with his, Dean thinks he could conquer the world. Kissing him so gently, so sweetly, has him absolutely reeling.

“I love you,” Dean blurts, before he can even think to stop it. You don’t think he means it, not in any other way than being horny and worked up. “God, I fucking love you,” He mumbles again, shrugging your legs off of his arms in favour of caging you underneath him, head in between either of his arms as he kisses you. His hips don’t slow for a second, kissing you and chasing his high as if his life depends on it. He’s hitting your g-spot and grinding against your clit at the same time, kissing you as if he would die otherwise, and pressing all of his weight onto you.

You can’t answer or speak, can’t tell him off for saying that shit mid-fuck. Maybe it’s the position that has him acting up, or it’s the softest he’s fucked in awhile and he doesn’t know how to behave. You’re pulling him closer by his back, kissing him back just as feverishly.

“Cum for me pretty girl, please, need to feel you wrapped around me.” Dean moans, trailing a hand down in between your bodies. He’s on a mission, truly, needing to get you there before he can allow himself to. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

“Dean,” You whine, “Sensitive, ‘m sensitive.” You complain, overstimulated and worked up.

“I know, I know. You’re doing so good for me, just one more. Come for me one more time, please. I need it, hm?” Dean pleads with you, “Doing so well for me, taking my cock so well.” Him talking you through it is almost all you need to tip over the edge, the smallest bit of stimulation you need. Throwing your head back, you can’t even look at him when you come undone. Dean kisses along your exposed neck, not leaving any marks for your own sake.

“Please, please, Dean. Come, no more.” You whine, tightening around him from over-stimulation. You need him to cum, and have a break. You don’t have to tell him twice, hell, you don’t even have to tell him once. He’s been on edge since he brought you into his fucking room. His head is buried in your shoulder, and you whimper when he bites down into the skin.

You’re so sore and over-stimulated, mumbling as his hips finally slow in their movement. “Y/n,” Dean is mumbling along with you, “Easy pretty girl, you’re okay,” He attempts to soothe you. “Listen, what I said.”

“Don’t do this Dean, it’s okay.”

“I meant it, I mean it still.” Dean explains, carefully sliding out, careful to not accidentally stimulate you any further. You’re still caged underneath him, his arms around your head.

“You don’t have to tell me that, it’s okay, really. Heat of the moment, or whatever.”

“Please, listen. I mean it.” He’s speaking so softly it’s genuinely been awhile since you’ve heard this tone, and it’s never been with you. With Sammy, likely. “I know you don’t believe me, and I wish I saved it for a more romantic moment, I do. But I do mean it.”

“Is this what you say to every girl-”

“I haven’t been with anyone in forever, you know that. Getting a number is different, that’s just me trying to get information Y/N.” Dean speaks, pulling himself further off of you, giving you space. He’s reaching for his bag, trying to find something to cover you with. He finds a t-shirt, carefully putting it over your head. It goes down to your thighs, covering you. He’s snatching his boxers next, he’s gotta have some decency for this conversation. “I love you, Y/n. You don’t have to say it back, but you deserve to know the truth at least.”

He’s fully prepared to be shut down, given your reaction thus far. You lean forward, and he thinks you’re about to climb away from him, move out of his bed. Your lips softly connect with his, the gentlest kiss. He’s smiling like an idiot into the kiss, almost unable to kiss you from the extent of his smile. “We can’t tell Sammy, he’ll think you’ve lost it.” Dean almost giggles at this, yes, giggles. What has gotten into him? What the actual hell is happening right now? Still, he nods along with you in agreement.

“We can’t tell Sammy, or you don’t want to tell Sammy?”

You’re rolling your eyes. “We don’t have to tell Sammy, he’ll know.” It’s the truth, he’ll figure it out before you or Dean even have a chance to tell him. Dean nods again, the faintest of smiles beginning to spread across his face again. It grows tenfold when you’re leaning forward, cupping his face in your palms, and once again kissing him. He’s shaking when you lean forward, forcing his back to hit the bed, your legs soon straddling his hips. You’re fully seated on his lap, legs underneath his body to give you more leverage to plant yourself against him.

Your hands wrap around his head, pulling him into you. “Dean, say you love me again.” You mumble, diving back in to kiss him. He can barely mumble the words out, speaking with your lips on his the entire time. Not knowing it was possible, you’re kissing him harder.

“Riling yourself up, pretty girl?” Dean chuckles softly, hands holding your waist snugly. His grip tightens when you grind against him, drawing out a strangled moan. Dean’s head falls back, face scrunching up. He can’t watch you grind against him in his t-shirt, he really can't. You’re so warm it makes him shake, completely bare as you grind against his boxers. You’re soaking through the cloth, he can feel it. He curses his old age in the back of his head, regretting he can’t recover as easily as he used to. You’re not too much younger than him, but it’s still making him frustrated as you’re ready for round 3.

“Dean,” Your voice comes out as a whine, your body slumping forward as you curl into his warmth. Your hips continue to grind against his, lips running along his skin. You’re fighting off the urge to leave marks on his skin, losing yourself in the feeling of being close to him.

“C’mon pretty girl, show me what you’re made of.” Dean’s already regretting his words. He knows you’re quite literally going to make him eat them. Your feet remain underneath his body, flexing as you seat yourself more heavily against him. Your hands move all over his body, finally stopping in his hair as you connect your lips with his. Deans losing his mind. He feels his thighs shake when you lift your weight up and reach down, pushing his boxers down past his hips. He assists you momentarily as he lifts both of your weight off the bed for easier removal. “Gonna make me regret my taunting?”

“You know it.” You almost giggle, and it only solidifies his belief that he will, in fact, eat his words. You’re soaking wet as you make contact with him, easily sliding through your folds as you slowly and carefully rock your hips. Without warning, in one swift roll of your hips, he’s sheathed inside of you all the way to the hilt.

“Fuck, fuck, goddamn it.” Dean’s head is thrown back against the pillow, muscles straining in his neck with the force he’s exerting. Your hips grind and roll against his, drawing the prettiest moans from yourself. Dean knew this was gonna happen, and yet he’s shocked that it is. “Should’ve, fuck, picked my words better.”

Dean shuffles against the bed, sitting up so his back rests against the headboard. He easily pulls you along with him, hands securely holding you by the hips. He’s closer this way it feels like, can smell the sex and heat rolling off of your body. Your arms wrap around his head loosely, leaning down to connect your foreheads together. “Wanna cum like this Dean.” Your breath is basically a pant, grinding rougher as you chase whatever high you have left.

“Do what you want, please, use me.” Dean’s losing it as he leans forward and marks your skin, too fucked out to even think about what he’s actually doing. You’re going to scold him for this later, something he’s almost sure of, but he can’t bring it in himself to care. You’re coming undone embarrassingly soon, clenched tightly around him as your thighs shake gently. Your hips never stop moving, riding out your high long past the comfortable point. “My girl, my good girl,” Dean is cooing, almost babbling when he watches you use him.

He’s so overstimulated and so worked up it hurts, but he’ll grit his teeth and bare it if it means he gets to have you like this. You’re arguably more overstimulated than he is, legs shaking and small mewls or moans unconsciously slipping past your lips. He’s moving before you can react, your back hitting the bed. His hips pick up immediately where yours left off, pace barely faltering. You’re soaking wet, the sounds sending a shiver up his spine. “You’re so good to me, holy fuck, this is what I've been missing out on for years. Are you kidding me, fuck.” Dean groans, neck burying into your shoulder.

“I just, fuck, haven’t been touched in awhile. Easily excitable,” You joke, legs moving to wrap around his torso. With the amount of effort it takes to whine that sentence out, he knows you’re lying. He huffs slightly in annoyance, a small smirk on his face at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation the two of you are in.

“You’re so full of shit,” It’s gruff and harsh, his brows scrunching together with the effort he’s exerting. His abs have never been clenched harder in his life, torso rock solid from the over-stimulation and effort. “Even if you could quiet down and stop whining, you’d still give yourself away.” He teases you, and you know he’s right. “Wanna try it, hm pretty girl? Shhhh,” It’s gentle and soothing rather than rough, despite his situation. He gently shushes and coos to you, eventually getting your whining and moaning to mere pants. Like he said, you still give yourself away with the slick noises each time his hips roll into yours. “Do you fuckin hear yourself? Listen pretty girl, just listen.”

You’re beyond fucked out, listening as Dean explains to you. Your lips are caught tightly in between your teeth, fighting hard to keep as quiet as you possibly can. Your head is thrown back against the bed, straining as your legs lock around his torso harder than before. “Dean,”

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay. I know, I know. You give yourself away, hm?” He mocks, hands coming to run along your thighs, squeezing the muscle underneath. “One more for me, just give me one more and I’ll clean you up all nice and gentle.”

“I can’t-”

“Don’t be like that.” It’s soft, but just enough to be patronizing.

“Please, let’s cum. Last one.” You whine, tightening almost impossibly around him. It’s hard to push in, so overworked and sensitive. Dean’s voice alone works you up more than you ever realized, and having him so close, talking in your ear like this. It’s bad news. Dean’s hips are stuttering as you wrap your legs tighter around his torso, working himself up now. The noises you’re making would be embarrassing if it wasn’t Dean, who’s so beyond into it. Maybe it’s the both of your instincts being heightened from years of fighting fuck knows what, but the front door opening has the both of you immediately stilling.

Dean has never seen your eyes widen this much, almost comical as you look at him. There’s a wicked smile on his face as he shuffles his arms around, ever so gently placing his hand over your mouth. “Quiet, pretty girl.” Dean’s whispering in your ear, hips slowing just enough to grind into you, clit grinding against his skin. You’re fighting hard to keep quiet, opting to bite down on Dean’s hand instead. He’s hissing softly, repositioning so you bite into the side of his hand.

“C’mon, give me some slack. Cum for me, please. I need to cum pretty girl, you’re gonna make me cum for you.” Dean swears your eyes are going to roll back and out of your skull and he’s going to be permanently like this with how you’re wrapped around him. Dean’s about to beg, he can feel the words on his tongue. Plead with you, even. His silent prayers are granted when your head throws itself back, your arms moving to wrap around his biceps. With the force you’re holding him, he thinks you’ll leave bruises. He’s following you soon after, hips faltering as he comes undone inside of you. Your legs lock around him and suddenly you’re a bodybuilder with the amount of strength you have.

Your legs are securely locked, not allowing him to rock anymore, needing no more stimulation. Like you thought, you would be embarrassed with how wet you are if it wasn’t Dean who was the one making you sound like this. “The others are back, I have to go.” You whisper, immediately faltering when your weight settles on your legs. Your bottoms are put on with the help of Dean, who keeps you upright. Too fucked out, your legs are almost unusable as you wobble your way towards the door with bikini top in hand. You have to get going before everyone comes into the back of the house, that you know.

“You can’t even walk straight.” Dean’s right behind you, trying to keep you up on your feet. He’s trying very hard not to laugh at your condition, but you can hear it in his voice.

“We can’t scar Sam like this.” You’re trying hard not to giggle, slowly peeling open the door. Dean catches you before you can sprint away from him, yanking you back into his embrace. He's grinning down at you, lips softly pressing against yours. You're distracted, beginning to get lost in the kiss. Reminding you, Dean begins to peel the door open slightly. Once it’s open enough, you’re making a sprint for your room. You hear footsteps soon after you make it to your room, ear pressed against the door to listen.

“Dean, do I wanna know why I just saw Y/N sprint across the hall in your tee shirt?”

“No, no you do not.”

The next case you work, Sam doesn’t mention a single thing. In fact, Sam doesn’t mention anything, ever, even the next morning when you’re awkwardly making coffee in the kitchen while he sits at the kitchen counter. Perhaps you should have asked how he felt about this before you went and created your master plan of you and Baby the other day. You’re sucking in your bottom lip as you’re thinking about how you’re going to bring this up, Dean out for the next half hour or so as he grabs food.

“Sammy?” You mumble softly, placing a mug of black coffee on the table for him. He won’t drink it with cream or sugar anymore, neither does Dean.

“Hm?” He asks absentmindedly, thumbing through the newspaper as he reads. He’s not listening to you, you know that. When he reads, he’s entirely immersed in the information he’s processing. He fumbled around for the coffee mug, and you slid it closer to where he’s smacking the table so he can actually find the handle.

“It doesn’t bother you, right?” You ask softly, waiting for him to process what you asked after he finishes whatever sentence he’s currently on. You don’t have to specify, you already know he knows what you’re referring to. Finally, he breaks his focus from the paper to look at you since you’ve walked into the kitchen and started making coffee. (You don’t know it, but he looked at you to make sure you grabbed his mug as well.)

He laughs, and for a second you’re disheartened. “Are you serious?”

“I-what?” You don't know whether to be confused or offended. You were going to genuinely hear him out, but this is not the tone you were expecting.

“You and Dean have been at each other’s throats since you met. I’m surprised you guys didn’t jump on each other sooner.” He laughs, sipping his coffee and shaking his head softly. He laughs at you more, “You think I would care about that? Oh my god, I’ve never seen Dean run out of the house faster this morning to get you food, wide eyed and bushy tail. I think he thought he was gonna surprise you with breakfast in bed.”

“Fuck, should I go lay back down?” You genuinely wonder, making Sam laugh even harder.

“You guys are ridiculous. You’re telling me this is the first time? I honestly thought you guys have been hate fucking since we met.”

“Sammy, pleaseeeee.” You whine, tossing your head back. Sipping your coffee, you want to whine and pout.

“No offense, but I don't care what the two of you guys get up to. As long as you’re happy and don’t die on a hunt because you’re distracted, it’s not a problem.”

“Right, right. It won't interfere with hunting, I promise.” You nod your head to him, “But seriously, should I go get back into bed?”

Sam laughs, shaking his head as he refocuses on the newspaper he’s reading. You don’t, because Dean’s walking into the door soon after your conversation with Dean. Making eye contact, his face falls completely and Sam was definitely correct with his guess of breakfast in bed. Regardless, Dean pretends he just got food and had no other motive. “Breakfast has arrived,” He announces, placing the bags on the table. “What, no coffee for me?!”

“Oh come on, give me a break. You were nowhere in sight this morning.” You defend yourself, “Not even a BRB note, how was I supposed to know when you were coming back?”

“Oh, but you’ll make Sammy one-”

“Sammy was sitting in here in the kitchen when I woke up-”

“In the mug you know I like-”

“What?! That’s his mug!”

“It totally isn’t! Just because he uses it more often than I do-”

“OKAY!” Sam interrupts, and he’s smiling like an idiot when you turn to look at him. Nothing has changed between you or Dean, and this just proves that. Sure, you’re eyeing him up like a starved woman, and Dean is trying hard to ignore you in your little pajamas, but nothing has changed between the two of you. “You guys gonna eat or fuck against the kitchen counter?”

Both you and Dean groan in annoyance, sitting down at the table and rummaging through the bags. After breakfast, you guys go over the main points of the new case you’re working on. The drive makes you want to bash your face into Baby’s window over and over, and you can already feel the tiredness in your bones. You guys start the drive not long after, packing up everything and getting a jump start to the job. 7 hours in and Sam switches with Dean to drive, now in the passenger seat.

You kick the seat when he leans it back and pins your legs to the backseat, “Don’t make me come back there!” He threatens, to which you stick your tongue out at him. Another seven hours in and you’re switching with Sam, who sleeps in the backseat.

You and Dean talk in the front. “So, Sammy doesn’t care then?” Dean whispers, and you shake your head no. You’re whispering in an attempt to not disturb Sam, even though you think Sam could sleep through an earthquake. Giving him some type of courtesy, you try to keep the noise down to a minimum.

“Sammy said he thought we had been, quote, hate fucking since we first met, end quote.” You giggle, glancing over at him with a sheepish smile. Dean is trying awfully hard not to howl laugh right now, and god is it hard. You giggle softly, shaking your head at him.

“Well, in that case.” Dean shrugs, reaching over the front bench and grabbing the inside of your thigh as you drive.

“Winchester.” You warn, genuinely warn, as your voice remains low and calm.

“What? You said he doesn’t care.” Dean mumbles, chuckling softly. Glancing back into the back seat, Sam is passed out. He wouldn’t do that in front of Sammy, but he can push your buttons. Dean slides his hand closer to your hip, slipping down onto your inner thigh further. You give him no reaction, knowing the second you do it’ll only fuel the fire. Dean bites at his lips, trying extremely hard not to laugh at your resolute attitude. His fingers dip underneath the waistband of your shorts, making your hips jolt back into the bench.

You’re grabbing his hand, ripping it backwards and twisting his arm. “Fuck, I love it when you’re rough with me.” Dean groans softly, a smile still playing on his features. “Okay, okay sweetheart, I hear you loud and clear.” He smiles, pulling his arm free and kissing your knuckles.

You finally get to the motel after what feels like 2000 years, you driving the last leg of the trip. Sam shuffles into the motel without saying a word to either of you and Dean, still half asleep as he pushes into the room. He’s falling into the bed and back asleep in no time, and you and Dean share a look. Dean has a soft chuckle, and you giggle when he slides his hand across your thigh, pulling you by your hips across the bench of Baby.

“No, no, no pretty boy. You made me drive the shitty shift.” You mumble, shuffling so you’re pressed against him. He’s easily manipulated, allowing his body to fall back against the passenger side door. Your legs easily swing over his hips, settling down on his lap with ease. You hate driving at night, and he knows that. “And you’ve been teasing me for the past 20 miles. I’m gonna do what I want, and if you ask nice enough by the end of this, i’ll let you cum, hm?”

Dean whimpers from underneath you, eyebrows knitting together as you speak to him however you like. When you slam your lips down onto his, he groans into it. You’re frustrated, and annoyed, and slightly angry but not exactly at him. You need an outlet, and Dean is a willing one. Your hips press heavily down into his, using your legs underneath him as leverage to seat yourself against him. Your hands are everywhere and anywhere, running all along his skin underneath his clothes. There’s a whimper that escapes him when you rip off your shirt, not allowing him the pleasure of doing so.

“This isn’t fair-” You grip his face in between your hands, holding his chin. With the slight pressure, his lips pucker out slightly. You gently peck his lips like this, releasing some of the grip you have on his face. Dean’s hands land on your waist, gently brushing and rubbing along any exposed skin you’ll allow him.

“Be good, Dean.” You mumble, “You’ll be good for me, hm?” You ask softly, picking your hips up enough to yank your shorts and underwear off in one swift movement. “Let me ride your fingers, baby, get me ready to take you.” You command, voice leaving zero room for disagreement.

“Yes, yes,” He mumbles absentmindedly, hands shuffling to slip further down your hips. You hiss softly as he makes contact with your clit, well practiced and well trained at this point. He gently rubs along your clit, drawing soft, tight circles into the bud. There’s a small gasp as he slides a digit in, expertly curling and moving in the way he knows you like. You pant softly when your hips grind against him on their own, searching for any touch or stimulation he’ll allow you to have. You chase it like you need it to live, to breathe. And Dean chases the little whimpers and whines as if he’ll die without them. Another digit makes you slump down against him slightly, seeking his warmth and closeness, hips still moving against him.

“My pretty boy Dean.” You whimper, mumbling partially against his lips as you talk. One of your hands rest behind his head, the other one running your fingers through his hair. Dean reels at the soft compliment, head pushing into your hand as he seeks for your touch. You’re using him like a goddamn toy, and he can’t help but twitch at the thought. He’d let you do anything, anything you ask if it’s from your pretty little mouth. You kiss him hungrily, breaking contact more often than he wants as you moan and pant against him. He seeks your kiss, neck craning up.

Your hands sloppily fumble with his jean buttons, wanting them off right this second, losing your patience. You push them just below his hips, freeing his cock from his boxers. “Easy, pretty girl, you gotta let me make you cum first.” Dean mumbles, leaning forward to kiss your neck that is burning up.

“Need you,”

“Need you to feel good, baby.” Dean mumbles, working more feverishly into you to push you past the edge. There’s a boost in his pride when you fall apart against him, arms locking around his head gently as you cum.

“Dean, wanna fuck you. You gonna let me do that?” You mumble, carefully taking him in your hand. Dean hisses when he slips in between your folds, head thrown against baby for some sort of stability as he tries to compose himself. Cumming when she wants me too, he reminds himself. Your hands are gentle but firm, and dean’s more than aware you’re not giving up your current position on top of him.

“Gonna let you do anything,” dean mumbles, picking his head up slightly as he watches you line his cock up. He fights to keep his head up, watching as you devour inch by inch of his length. You’re grinning wide when you catch him.

“Gonna watch me take you? Gonna watch me fuck you, hm?” you pant softly against his lips, snapping your hips down against his. You grind and rub against his his pelvic bone, fully seated against him, tip of his cock rubbing against your cervix. Dean’s head falls back against the door, unable to watch. He can’t watch this without cumming earlier than your word. He groans when you hear the tsk sound as you kiss your teeth, whimpering when you pick his head up.

“I’m trying to listen to you, don’t wanna cum early sweetheart.” Dean mumbles, biting hard onto his bottom lip. His eyes are half-lidded as he watches you take him, a shiver running up his spine as he tries not to think about anything for too long. You’re so tight, and wet, and just absolutely pulsing around him. He’s sure there’s a pile underneath him from how wet you are around him, his abs clenched harder than he thought possible as he fights off his orgasm. “God damn it, baby. You’re gonna fucking kill me.” he groans, reaching down and rubbing tight circles into your clit. The sharp gasp sends goosebumps up his arms, listening to your soft noises.

“This is cheating Dean,” You moan, continuing to fuck yourself down onto him.

“C'mon baby, lemme have it pretty girl,” Dean whimpers, doing his best to snap his hips up against you. Your weight jolts against him, allowing him more room to snap his hips up. He grins, as he finally has some advantage as he fucks into you. When you come undone, it’s shaky and messy, hips slamming down against Dean's to get the movement to stop. His hips continue to rut into you, milking the orgasm for as long as you’ll let him.

“Being so good Dean,” You coo into his ear, your face burying itself into his neck. Dean's quite literally fraying at the edges trying to hold himself together. He could cry, eyes watering as he screws his eyes shut.

“C'mon baby, cut me some slack,” He groans, sitting up abruptly to lean into your body. You squeal slightly at how quickly he jostles you around, your legs wrapping around his torso as he moves.

“I like seeing you so pent up, ‘s cute,” You mumble, holding his head in your palms as you kiss him. Reaching around, you softly pull at his hair, scratching his head where you’re pulling. Your hips grind against him, doing more for you than him. Dean's hands grip your waist and thighs, moving you against him.

“Wanna be good for you,” Dean groans, leaning forward to bite into your shoulder.

You smile, holding him gently by his neck as you lean back, taking him with you. He’s groaning into your skin, head falling into your shoulder. “C'mon, want you to feel good,” You mumble, catching his lips gently when his head picks up to glance at you.

“I do feel good. Feel good if you’re feeling good,” Dean grunts, hissing softly when you push his hips before pulling him back in with your heels. He almost wants to let you make him cum like this, but the shake in your thighs assured him you wouldn’t be able to. “My girl,” Dean moans softly, snapping his hips into you. Your soft mewls spur him on, groaning softly when your hands pull at his hair. Dean's losing it, moaning into the crook of your neck as he buries his face into your skin.

His weight is pressed entirely against you, elbows digging into the seat on either side of you. You're whimpering in his ear, and he’s been holding off for what feels like years at this point. You pick his head up, pressing your lips to his. The both of you are moaning and panting so hard it’s difficult to kiss, riling yourselves up. “Feels good, Dean, do I make you feel good?” You pant against his lips, legs squeezing tighter around his waist. Your hands are all over him, touching any inch of skin you can, feeling every muscle flexing with the effort of his ministrations. “Talk to me Winchester, my pretty boy.” You moan, one particular thrust sending goosebumps across your skin.

“I- fuck- can't.” Dean almost grunts, lips never leaving yours as he talks. “ ‘s too good, this pussy, fuck, made for me.” He groans, lips leaving yours to kiss along your cheek and jaw. Your hands settle on his biceps, trying hard to ground yourself here with him. “Never wanna leave it, never wanna leave you.” He groans, pulling you closer by the back of your neck to properly kiss you. “Fuck, please let me cum.”

You hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for you, a giant smile creeping over your face at how good he is. “Cum, Dean. Cum inside me, please, need it.” You mumble, grip tightening to hold yourself against him as he roughly fucks into you, chasing the high he’s been craving. You squeal and jerk under him as he bites into your shoulder, roughly laving over it with his tongue to relieve the pain. You squeeze tighter around him from it, making his hips falter in their place. You’re over-sensitive, beginning to squirm. “Cum, Dean, please, can’t take it.” You whine, tightening almost impossibly more.

“Fuck, taking it so good. Just a bit more, be patient for me sweetheart.” Dean groans against your ear, thrusts becoming more erratic as he finally lets himself go. Your legs are practically numb as he buries himself to the hilt, cumming inside you. You complain softly as he lazily fucks his cum into you, enjoying the absolute mess you’re making underneath him.

“Please-” You hiccup, pulling his hair softly. Dean slows, stilling as he kisses you properly for the first time in forever, no longer panting and moaning against you. You relish in it, not rushing as you kiss him back.

“I think I’ll make you drive the shit shift more often.” He’s smiling, carefully getting you cleaned up. He’s proud of how fucked out you are, pride oozing from his demenor. You have the same pride, knowing the second he touches that motel bed he’ll be out for the night.

You peck him quickly, not wanting to rile him up again. “Sure, but next time you wont cum.” You giggle, taking off before he has the wit to catch you and pin you to baby again. Running into the motel room where Sam is knocked out, you're in the shower before Dean can catch up to you. You hear a snarky remark from the other side of the door, making you giggle.

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k1mbe3rly · 3 days ago

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Hiii!! Can you do something (smut if you can) with Min-su x shy!reader, like both of them being so cute and awkward. Hope i make sense and thank you 😭💕

it’s giving cute k drama🤭

Cupid came at the wrong time

warnings: smut, public sex

you and Min su met during the second game, as you struggle to find a group of five, you looked around noticing Min-su, he stared at you until you looked at him, he quickly looked away as you slowly walked up to him

“Do you.. wanna be a team..?” you spoke softly as he nodded, now that there was two y’all only needed three more people, as y’all looked around everyone already had a group of five or just didn’t want to team up with y’all, it was until you heard a voice behind you

“Excuse me señorita?”

You looked behind you to see a purple haired guy looking at you with two other players behind him, he then spoke again. “Do you want to be in our team? the legend Thanos will keep you safe.” he said, crossing his arms and nodding

“Um well there’s two of us, can you take my friend as well?” you spoke softly

“No problem, where she at?” he said looking around you moved out of the way to reveal min-su who looked awkwardly and shy

“Dude i’m getting mad loser vibes..” player 124 spoke up “What’s your name?” Thanos asked min-su, “uh..min-su” He spoke shyly, “Well Min-su welcome to thanos world” He said patting both of our backs.

During the game Min-su chose to play Gong-gi as he messed up, Player 124 grabbed him and shaked him “WHAT THE FUCK! YOUR GONNA GET US ALL KILLED!” he yelled at him as Min-su looked afraid, you wanted to speak up but you were too nervous, Min-su went again and finally did it successfully.

After the game, your team sat on a pair of stairs, you looked over at Min su to see him staring at you, the moment you looked at him he quickly looked away.

You stared for a minute before you looked away as well, Once you looked away, he looked back at you.

You noticed this and you side eyed him, he noticed your side eye as he looked away again, it was awkward silence until you spoke up

“So are you.. scared to be here?” you said fidgeting with your sleeves, Min su did a small hm before answering, “Y-yea kinda..what about you? are you scared?” he asked as well, “..Yea a bit as well” you said

Y’all talked more but it was so awkward since yall both didn’t know what to say

Timeskip

It was now the 3rd game, Mingle, you and Min-su stayed together through out the game until yall were somehow separated, As they called out 3 players people were shoving and you lost him in the crowd, before you could do anything you were suddenly dragged into a room by 2 older men as you felt worried for Min- su, after they unlocked they doors you couldn’t find him.

You were worried that he couldn’t find a group on time, you stood alone awkwardly as the platform moved and a the same kids song played

“2 Players”

You heard as you looked around everyone running, you couldn’t find anyone as you were staring to panic, time was running out as you accepted your fate and just stood there.

It was until someone called your name and you looked over seeing Min-su, he quickly grabbed your hand running into a room just in time before the doors locked

You panted as well as Min-su, your hands stayed on his, feeling the warmth of his hand, he looked at you and spoke up “A-are you okay? i got worried for a second..” he said softly, you looked back at him and nodded “I’m fine, thank you for practically saving my life..” you said

He gave you a slight smile and nodded, he realized yall were still holding hands but didn’t let go as he felt his cheeks warm up, you didn’t let go as well.

Finally yall went back to beds and this time yall left thanos group, well kinda hid from them

Both of yall sat on the bed, you and him in awkward silence..you looked over at him as he was just staring down, you felt your cheeks warm up at the sight of him, a small weird feeling in your tummy, were you falling for him?

He looked back at you as yall made eye contact, but this time you didn’t look away, instead you slowly moved your hand towards his, you kept moving until it landed on top of his, you were a bit embarrassed thinking he would move away but he didn’t, he sat up a bit

You scooted a bit closer right next to him, but didn’t make a move.

Lights out

You’re not sure how you got the courage to kiss him but you did, You were on his lap making out with him as he let out soft whimpers, his hands were on your waist

This continued until you felt a bulge underneath you, you didn’t stop kissing him or mentioned it, but instead slowly starting grinding on him, he let out a low moan as he gripped on your wrist a bit tighter

You lips went down to his neck give it small kisses, you didn’t wanna leave hickeys since people would question it, he rubbed your back a bit as you looked at him

“Can i..?” you asked as you palmed his bulge, he opened his mouth a bit a breathless gasp as he nodded, you smiled warmly to reassure him as you slowly pulled down his pants and boxers, his cock sprung out already hard, you looked at him to make sure he was okay with it or that he would say something

He didn’t answer as you slowly stroked him, he moaned out softly, your hand going up and down on his shaft slowly, you didn’t wanna go to fast or rough since he did sound like a vocal guy, you kept stroking him softly and slowly

You felt yourself get wet within your panties and your pussy throbbing slightly in neediness, you kept stroking him until he grabbed your wrist, you quickly stopped and looked at him

“I-i don’t wanna be the only one cumming..i wanna make you cum as well..” he spoke softly, “I also..wanna feel you..if that’s okay of course!” he spoke shyly, you smiled and nodded “of course that’s okay” you said as you brought your hands to your pants shoving them down a bit, once they were off you hovered over his cock a bit

“Are you ready..?” you whispered to him, he only nodded

You slowly sunk yourself down on his cock a soft moan leaving your lips as he let out a low moan as well, you continued sinking down until you hit his thighs, you looked up at him as he stared at you slightly making sure you were okay

You paused taking in his length, “I’m gonna start moving okay?” you said as he nodded again, you than slowly moved your hips riding him first, he let out low moans as he covered his mouth just to be sure

Your hips moved as they slowly got faster, as he moaned into his hands a bit louder, he threw his head back

You couldn’t control yourself as you started bouncing on his cock up, he widen his eyes moaning like crazy almost sounding like a porn video, you placed a hand over his hand that was on mouth to at least muffle his moans down, you were panting as he was deep inside you, you kept bouncing as he rolled his eyes back

You kept bouncing as you felt a knot form in your stomach, you clenched on his cock tightening up, he let out a whimper as his cock twitched which was always a signal that he was gonna cum, he thrusted his hips up moaning still as he tried his best to stop moaning

You bit your lip as the both of yall cummed together, you rode out your high grinding down on him as he kept whimpering feeling strings of cum spill out inside of you, you stopped as you panted and moved your hand from his mouth, he did as well as he panted looking at you with droopy eyes

“I’m sorry if i went rough.. i didn’t mean too” you spoke to him, “No, no it’s fine..i loved it” he said softly, you smiled as you lifted yourself up and pulled your pants up as well as he did

He wrapped his hands around your waist pulling you to his chest a bit, you smiled against his chest, you were falling for him, in fact you already did.

Just like that yall cuddled and fell asleep

#squid game #squid game season 2 #squid game x reader #squid game s2 #squid game smut #min su smut #min su squid game #min su x reader #park min su #player 125 x reader #player 125 #squid game fanfic #squid game fic

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megamindsecretlair · 2 days ago

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hey i just need something real nasty between husband and wife with mr.aaron (i say it key and peele😂😂) with some angst before the actual plot🤭

A/N: Ask and ye shall receive, beautiful.

Made You Fall For Me

Pairing: Husband!Terry Richmond x Wife!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. Cursing, teasing (fem and male receiving), PIV, oral (female receiving), Reader is able to be picked up, use of pet names, angst. Mentions of death of a loved one, trauma. All consensual. Sorry if I missed some.

Summary: It had been two weeks since the anniversary of Mike’s death and Terry still beat himself up over it. Tired of Terry not letting you in, you join him in the shower and show him that he has a life to lead right here and now with you. Story by @uniqueoutlierblog

Word Count: 5,371k

AO3 Link

A/N: Thank you so much for dealing with my hiatus. I'm stronger mentally than I have ever been. Definitely worked on myself and stopped being so hard on myself. The kind asks really helped me find my way back, so have this smutty fic as a giant thank you! Thank you so much for all your continued support! Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

Terry sighed as he entered the bedroom. You looked up from your phone to watch your husband.

His tall frame moved fluidly around the space, taking off of his pants and his shirt. It was soaked through having just finished at the gym. He sat on the edge of the bed to fling off his socks and toss it in the knit hamper.

“Hey babe,” you said.

“Hey baby,” Terry sighed.

You stared at the back of his head as his shoulders drooped the longer he sat on the bed. He looked so…dejected. Like someone sucked the air from his tires. You leaned up and let your powder blue throw blanket fall from your shoulders.

This was the second week in a row that your husband was still in this funk. Two weeks since the anniversary of Mike’s death where it seemed like Terry relived it all over again. It started with a dream, the very moment he ran into the hospital carrying Summer. Hopped up on adrenaline, a bullet in his shoulder, and him looking for the next threat.

Then he would slowly withdraw mentally, checking out of conversations. Floating through the motions of going to work and getting back home. You were worried that he would get into an accident but he was able to operate on auto-pilot, navigating the world just as he normally would.

It was both sad and amazing that he was able to do so. But this wasn’t your husband. This was a guilt ridden man who sometimes realized that he had no family. You were his family, of course, but he had no living blood relative alive. Mike was his one and only connection and that was severed by hate and pride.

“Baby, will you please talk to me?” You asked. You fiddled with the edge of your phone. He wasn’t facing you, but you were still nervous to look at his face. You didn’t know which would be worse. Hearing you and choosing not to speak or not hearing you at all because he was lost somewhere you couldn’t reach?

“I-I’m trying,” he said. He tilted his head to the side. You longed to comfort him, hold him, console him in some way. But every time you reached out, he would stare at you as if he couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t feel you.

You didn’t know how to help him through this. You’ve lost people, sure, but you always had enough family and friends to fall back on. You didn’t know what it was like for him and he was too stubborn to let you take some of his pain.

You moved forward and crawled on the bed towards him. He stiffened as you got closer and you wrapped your arms around him anyway. You held on and placed your hand over his heart. It beat rapidly beneath your fingers and you inwardly sighed in relief. He was still in there. His heart still beat.

“You have to stop beating yourself up about this. He wouldn’t want you to blame yourself forever,” you said. You kissed his back and rested your cheek on his skin. He was always so warm, like your own personal fire pit. But due to the sweat, he was cold and clammy.

“I was supposed to protect him. That was my one and only job,” Terry said.

“You were supposed to love him. But what happened was out of your control,” you said.

Terry sighed and stood up, breaking your embrace. He hung his head as he walked to the bathroom. The door closed decisively and you flinched from the harsh sound. The light turned on underneath the doorway. The shower turned on and you didn’t hear anything further.

Some days you wanted to knock your husband’s teeth in. His overprotective instincts went into hyperdrive, past the point of what was healthy. He refused to think of himself and the consequence be damned. Other times, you just wanted to wrap him in a floofy blanket and never let him out of your sight. You couldn’t very well fault him for wanting to keep you safe when you were the exact same way.

But this…it varied on when he’d be able to pull himself out of this. Sometimes you’d say or do something to bring him back. Sometimes he’d take a deep breath and release that dark cloud. And sometimes, he’d disappear for a whole day and return back to the sweet, loving man you married.

But fuck this. You missed your husband. And you were tired of seeing him walk around like a zombie. You got out of bed and headed straight to the bathroom.

Steam rushed out and passed over your exposed skin. You closed the door behind you and noted the discarded underwear on the floor and a red towel on the edge of the sink. Terry’s silhouette moved just behind the foggy glass doors.

You quickly stripped, flinging your lavender sleep set to the ground with his briefs. You stuffed your bonnet beneath a shower cap and slid the glass doors back. Terry looked over his shoulder at you and you entered the spacious shower behind him.

The custom shower with tiles painted in different shades of brown was roomy enough for about three people comfortably if they were all intimate. Water cascaded down from a waterfall shower head, pouring down over Terry’s strong body. Water dripped from the edge of his wide nose, his full lips, and his well-defined chest. You followed the trail of water down his belly and over his long, thick dick. Water fell down in his long legs and huge feet.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“I’m taking a shower,” you said. You shoved past him and grabbed your wash cloth, pulling it under the spray of water to get it wet.

Terry huffed. “Had to be now?” He asked.

“Yup,” you said, popping the ‘P’. Instead of grabbing your favorite soap, you grabbed his and lathered up the wash cloth.

“C’mon,” Terry said. He tugged on your arm for you to turn around.

You did so and slapped the wash cloth against his chest. “I miss you,” you said, cutting off whatever he was about to say. He closed his mouth and grimaced, jaw flexing.

You flattened both of your hands against his chest and stepped closer. Water hit your back at a lukewarm temperature. You had no clue how he could shower like this but that wasn’t the point. “I miss my husband and I need you to come back, right now,” you said.

Terry closed his eyes and his long eyelashes fanned across his cheeks. His mouth worked like he wanted to say something but the words never came. Whatever he wanted to say lodged in his throat and he couldn’t choke it out.

“So after this shower, you better step out of it and remember that you did everything right for Mike. And he made his own choices. That’s not your fault. It has never been your fault. And it’s time you accept that,” you said.

You moved the wash cloth over his skin, scrubbing him down. Soap transferred to his body in thick suds, falling down his skin. He watched you and shut his mouth as you scrubbed him all over his chest and moved on to his arms.

His eyes never left yours as you massaged the cloth between his fingers. He sighed and hummed as you found tense spots. You rubbed him deeper in those areas, working out the tension.

You maneuvered behind him so he could rinse and then washed his back, creating big circles of soap. You moved down to his ass, teasing him a bit. He grunted and then chuckled. Well, that was a good sign. If he was chuckling then at least he was starting to relax.

You washed down his legs, tickling him in areas. He danced out of your way and you warned him to be careful in this slippery ass shower.

“If you die, I’ll bring you back and kill you again,” you warned.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said and smirked.

You worked your way back to his front. His dick twitched and bobbed in your face. You looked up at him and his head was tilted to the side as he looked down at you. Fuck, he was pretty like this. Above you, staring at you, and in all his naked glory.

He needed to walk around like this more often. For your eyes only. That beautiful male body needed to be on display 24/7.

You looked at his dick and then slowly dragged your eyes up his body and back to his striking ocean eyes. He took in a deep breath as his mouth curved upward. The rise and fall of his chest had an answering throb in your clit. You dropped to your knees on the hard flooring but it barely registered in your mind.

Your husband worked his way back to you in the best way you both knew how. Sex was everything to the both of you. The one way you knew you were on solid ground. From the moment you two met, it had been electric and consuming. Always finding ways to touch each other or be near each other and breathe each other’s air.

You dragged the wash cloth over his dick. At the first press of your hand, he hissed and jerked his hips towards you. You steadied your left hand on his hip and then stroked him with your right.

He lifted his head towards the showerhead and let the water run down his face. Since he leaned back, water fell on top of your head and face but you kept looking towards him and the look on his face.

He was hands down the most beautiful man you had ever met. And the kindest. He wasn’t always nice. He had more than enough words to say about folks that crossed him. But he was always kind, always treated people with respect. And he was a gentleman on top of it. Always opened your doors, always stood on the side of the street closest to danger. Every day, you found new ways to fall in love with your man. You only wished he’d forgive himself.

“I love you. And I miss you. I need you to come back,” you told him. You increased the pressure, giving him long, slow strokes. All the way down to his base, squeezed, and then worked your way back to his tip.

He groaned and rolled his neck, moving his hips. Your pussy throbbed seeing cum leak from his tip. He leaned one hand on the side of the shower, fingers pushing into the grooves.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “I’m sorry.”

“You have to let me in when things get dark, Terry. I don’t like feeling like I’m on the outside,” you told him.

Terry nodded his head and his eyes turned darker. But he didn’t look so far away now. His eyes were clearer, more present. “I hate feeling like I failed,” he said. His jaw flexed and you matched him stare for stare.

“You did everything you possibly could. You deserve a life too. Not to punish yourself for the life Mike doesn’t have,” you said. You paused stroking and let the sound of the shower fill the room.

Steam rose to the ceiling in wispy clouds. Soap and water rushed down Terry’s body. His chest rose and fell in heaving sighs but then evened out. Once his breathing returned to normal, you began stroking him again.

He groaned and dropped his head as you increased your strokes. You watched his face and watched the emotions play across his features. His lush lips parted and he moaned, deeply and guttural. “I’m gonna bust,” he moaned.

“Give it to me,” you whispered, just loud enough to be heard above the spray of water. You kept your same pace and three strokes later, Terry’s dick throbbed and his cum splashed onto your neck and titties.

Terry’s moans were sweet music to your ears. You grinned evilly and kept stroking. He jerked and stuttered with chuckles and reached out to still your hands. He huffed and chuckled, giving you a saucy wink.

He pulled you up by your arms and crushed his lips to yours as soon as you were within reach. He grabbed the cloth from your hands and hung it on the lip of the shower door. He cupped your neck in both hands and angled your face to meet his rough kisses. You moaned into his mouth. You missed this. You missed him. So damn badly.

The ache in your chest finally lifted now that your man was back. He healed and soothed with every kiss, every swipe of his tongue, every caress of his thumb on your wet skin. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he harshly whispered between kisses.

“It’s okay,” you whispered back.

Terry pulled back and looked into your eyes. He narrowed his and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “I will call and get help later today. There’s no excuse for how I’ve been acting. You deserve better from me,” he said.

You tilted your head and kissed his wrist. “I do. But I also know we’re in this for life. So I need you to let me in more,” you said.

Terry nodded. “I promise. Thank you, for sticking with me through this shit,” he said.

“That’s what wives are for,” you said with a giggle.

Terry took a deep breath and then a mischievous gleam made his hazel eyes twinkle. A smirk curved his lips and he began to massage your neck. You hummed and your eyes drooped. “Husbands are for protecting you and taking care of you, right?” He asked.

“Yes,” you said slowly, eyeing him. He was up to something…

Terry flipped you around and pressed your chest against the glass shower doors. You cried out from the sudden cold on your nipples as he pushed until your titties flattened against the doors. He kicked your legs wider to spread for him and your body shivered from his casual roughness.

“T-Terry,” you sighed.

Terry locked your arms behind you, hooking his arm around your elbows so that you were unable to move. Terry licked the shell of your ear and you shuddered. He slipped his free hand around your throat to pull your neck back and rest your head on his shoulder.

“I’m gonna make up for my bullshit,” he promised with heat laced through every syllable.

“Terry, you don’t–”

Terry cut you off by moving his hand from your neck to his dick. He ran the tip through your dripping folds and then plunged inside with a rough thrust. “Oh shit!” You cried out, twisting your hands to try and slow him down. But because he had your arms trapped, you had no choice but to take his dick.

He angled your hips into a more comfortable position and then he slipped his hand back around your throat. He grunted with every deep thrust, filling you up, and making you take it.

“Too much, too much,” you whined, trying to lean away from him. Terry pushed into you harder, pinning you to the door, while he continued to fuck you. Your forehead leaned on the doors and your breath fogged up the glass with your moans and sighs.

“You can take it, baby,” he said, sinking you deeper and harder onto his length. He kissed your neck, licked and nibbled in areas, and moved upwards to your ear. “I love you so much. And I know I’ve been an ass. I haven’t been fair to you,” he whispered in your ear while he continued to dig into your guts.

You weren’t quite prepared for him to be so sweet and so nasty all at once. He gave you no time to fully hear his message or fully focus on his dick inside you so you were stuck in a twisted limbo. Suspended between absolute pleasure and your heart swelling with emotions.

“That ends today, okay? I’ll prove that I’ll do better,” he said. He grunted and cursed under his breath.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you moaned.

“That’s my job as your husband. And it’s a job I take seriously,” he said. He smiled against your neck and then pulled you into a rough kiss over your shoulder. Your lips danced and played with each other as your orgasm rushed to the surface.

You began to cry and stutter as it washed over you. Terry moaned as you squeezed around his dick. “Fuck, that’s it,” he panted into your ear.

When you came down, Terry let your arms go. He slipped out with a grunt and stepped back. You missed the heat of him instantly. He rubbed the feeling back into your arms from having them bent back for so long. He grabbed the discarded wash cloth from the top of the shower and rinsed it out.

He lathered up with his soap and then carefully washed down your back and your ass. His finger slipped between your cheeks to tease as he washed you down and you giggled with him.

Terry turned you around and washed down your front. Washed the cum from your chest that didn’t rinse off from the water. You smiled at each other, finding your way back with every swipe of the cloth across your titties, your tummy, and down your thighs. He ran the cloth between your legs, careful not to get soap in between, and you moaned just from having his hands on you again.

His lips on yours. His eyes seeing you again after weeks of zoning out. Hints of your husband poked through that barrier he erected and now you were let in behind the wall. You grinned at him and leaned on your toes for a kiss.

The kiss was meant to be innocent and sweet, just something to show that you loved him. That you were there and never letting him disappear again. But Terry kissed you deeper, grabbing you about the neck once more and crushed his lips to yours.

His tongue slipped inside and then he gently nibbled on your bottom lip with his teeth. “Terry,” you sighed. Your stomach flipped with desire. Pussy throbbing. Once wasn’t nearly enough.

“I know,” he said. He lifted your chin and brought you in for a sweet kiss. He deepened the kiss even as he maneuvered you towards the shower wall. He lifted you by the ass to wrap your legs around his hips.

“Fuck,” you cried out. It never ceased to amaze you that he was so strong. He worked hard in the gym to take care of himself but also to lift every pound you had. He lifted without effort, without strain, and grinned when he caught the look on your face.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Terry said. He stared into your eyes as he pushed back into you. Back into your warm, wet heat and you both groaned as he pushed in slowly, all the way down to the base.

Your nails dug into his back and shoulders, clutching on for dear life. He was huge and thick. Long. He pulled back and then sank in once more, repeating this over and over to make you feel every last inch of him. Feel his mushroom head push against your soft, spongy walls welcoming him in.

Your mouth dropped open, needing to release something. A cry, a moan, a word. Nothing came as he stroked into you, increasing with each one. Soon, he was slamming into you. His wet, loud strokes echoed in the tiled shower and your cries soon joined it.

“You feelin’ me?” He asked.

You nodded. You adjusted your arms around his neck and he dropped his forehead to yours.

“Look at me,” he whispered. You locked your eyes with him and it somehow made his strokes even more intense. He throbbed inside you.

“You feel me. Right here and now. I’m not going anywhere. I’m never going away again,” he moaned while he stroked.

“Terry,” you sniffled.

Fuck, this was all you ever wanted. You didn’t need him to be perfect. You didn’t need him to be a textbook definition of a husband. You just wanted him present and with you. Sharing his pain and his joys. Sickness and health. Better and worse. Those were the vows you swore before a room full of your close friends and family.

“I feel you. I feel you right here,” you promised.

Terry switched up his strokes, getting deeper than before and bottoming out. You both groaned and threw your heads back, getting lost in the sensation of him filling you up. Connecting the both of you. As close as you could possibly be to another human being.

Terry leaned down and kissed you, playing with your lips, even as his hips slammed into you over and over. Pressure built in your belly, making your thighs quake and your arms tremble. “Terry, please, I can’t,” you begged. It was too much. It felt like you were out of control, out of your norm, unrooted.

Terry only continued exactly what he was doing. “You’re taking me so well, baby. You can keep going,” he said.

Your eyes swam and your vision turned blurry as you clung to him and came undone on his dick again. Your cries were loud enough to echo and bounce off of the tiled walls and ceiling, giving you a feedback loop of your own pleasure. It amplified your orgasm and you shut your eyes and surrendered to the overwhelming feeling.

Terry kissed you all over your face, neck, and shoulders. He pumped you into you until his own hips stuttered and shot loads of thick cum into your pussy. You whined and shivered as he fucked his cum deeper and deeper.

He slowed to a gradual stop and you stayed connected like that while you both recovered. Water still pelted the both of you and you kissed on each other, soaking up the moment. Terry leaned over and turned off the water, still holding you.

He smiled and kissed your lips. He nuzzled your nose. “Missed this,” he said.

“Me too,” you said. You kissed his cheek.

Terry carefully stepped out of the shower with you still wrapped around him like a spider monkey. You were glad. Because now that you had him back, you weren’t ready to let him go. As if you would keep him here with you by sheer force of will.

He moved the towel from the edge of the sink and placed you down, slipping out of you. You kissed and loved on each other while he dried the both of you off. Greedy for more, you reached between you to play with his heavy balls.

Terry groaned and tilted his head down at you. “You sure you wanna do that?” He asked.

You continued fondling his balls, rubbing them between your fingers, and making him moan. His hips canted towards yours and you bit your lip, needing him back inside. Two orgasms weren’t enough. No number would satisfy you.

“It’s been too long,” you pouted and looked at him.

He chuckled and kissed you, taking possession of your poked out lip. He suckled on it and you moaned, feeling your pussy respond and ache from just this small action.

“Get that sexy ass on our bed. Let me clean up in here and I’ll take care of that,” he said.

You pouted again and whined but he bit your lip. “Now.” He deepened his voice and arched a perfect eyebrow at you.

You rolled your eyes and his eyebrow lifted higher. You grinned and hopped off the sink. While being punished for your attitude would be fun, you just wanted him right now. No extras, no games. You wanted to enjoy him and enjoy his body.

He smacked your ass as you walked out and he chuckled after you shrieked and hid your ass behind your hands. You skipped to your bedroom and laid down on your bed. Cool air blew across your damp skin but it wasn’t freezing or uncomfortable.

The temperature was just right to make you hyper aware of your body. Of the feel of your skin and the thorough fucking Terry just gave you. Your pussy was still sensitive but you couldn’t resist teasing your clit. You ran your other hand along your skin, your belly, and your titties. Squeezing your nipple between your fingers and moaning from the dual sensations.

“Terry…” you called out, drawing out his name. If he didn’t get in here soon, you were about to take matters into your own hands.

The afternoon sun was setting low, rich oranges and golds slanting through your curtains and casting a warm glow about your room. Most days, you hated that your place faced east and west, but on lazy days like today, it was perfect.

Terry moved about the bathroom, you had no clue what he was doing. So you closed your eyes and continued to play with yourself. You grew wetter by the second, your mind filling in with images of Terry’s broad chest. His narrow hips. That monster he had between his legs and the unbridled pleasure he managed to provide every single time.

God, you loved that man. In every which way you were able to get him. You didn’t have the words to convey it but you’d spend the rest of your life trying to find them.

You moaned as your imagination took over. Replaying what happened in the shower, the look on his face, the fire in his hazel eyes. You sighed as Terry entered the room.

“Oh, you bold,” he said, his voice laced with amusement.

You didn’t stop though. You spread your legs further and shifted on the bed so that he could get a clearer view. “All warmed up for you,” you teased.

Terry’s eyes dropped to the core of you, at the way you held your pussy lips open. Your other hand teased around your clit in figure eights, dipping into your pussy every so often to gather up more essence.

Terry’s tongue swiped out to lick from one side to the other. Your fingers lost their rhythm. “Keep going,” he commanded.

You whined and started up again but you couldn’t think straight. Not with him leaning against the wall looking at you like you were a five course meal and he was a starving man. When you just couldn’t find that spot again, Terry smirked and walked closer.

“What happened?” He asked.

“You,” you said.

Terry smirked and took his time kneeling at the edge of the bed. He grabbed your thighs and pressed his thumbs to your inner thighs, massaging them. “Fuck,” you moaned and twisted, trying to close your legs and trap his hands there.

“Naw. Open back up. That’s what you get for trying to handle it yourself,” he said.

“It’s been too long since I’ve seen you,” you said and smirked. Terry lifted an eyebrow but his eyes were still on your throbbing pussy. He had to see how you were clenching around nothing. Clenching and reaching for him.

He leaned down and kissed your clit. He retreated too quickly for your blood and you whined, pushing your hips back towards his face.

“I’m still apologizing so I won’t make you beg this time,” he said. Without further ado, he dragged his pink, juicy lips through your folds, hunting for your clit. His tongue darted out and teased, dragging the tip through your folds. His tongue was warm as it flattened against your clit and he licked.

“Fuck!” You screamed out.

Terry smiled between your legs before getting down to business. He suckled and licked and nibbled while he feasted on your pussy. Your pussy throbbed and ached while he slurped up your essence noisily.

“Fuck, baby. Right there,” you moaned.

Terry locked in to the spot and swirled his tongue around in tight circles. You clutched to the covers, nails digging in for dear life as you twisted and jerked. You reached down to grab onto the back of his head and push his head deeper.

Terry placed his hands to your thighs and pinned them to the bed while he ate you out, never stopping for breath. He just ate like a man possessed until you were twitching and crying out on his tongue, reaching your climax in record time.

Terry continued to eat you out through it, whispering into your pussy how perfect and sexy you were. How much he had to make up for. Your throat was scratched raw from all the moaning you were doing, too spent to respond. To tell him that he didn’t have a damn thing to make up for. His pain was valid and he had a right to see it through, but he had to see it through. Not just disappear into his head.

None of that came through. Your vision swam as you looked at the popcorn ceiling, too blissed out to form a coherent sentence. Terry replaced the view of the ceiling, leaning down on his fists, as he smirked at you.

“Still with me?” He asked.

“Always,” you sighed.

He chuckled as he climbed onto the bed. It dipped beneath his weight, jostling you a bit. His knees pushed your legs on top of his thighs. His eyes sparkled as he slipped into you, meeting no resistance from your pussy.

“Shit,” you grunted. You pushed feebly at his chest. Not necessarily to make him stop, but fuck, you needed time to recover. Time to catch your breath. He stole the motherfucker, the least he could do was let you gain it back.

“Nothing feels better than this,” he said. He sank deeper into you, making you curl into him and squeeze his hips with your legs. He grabbed both of your hands and pinned them above your head, poking your chest out for his lips to capture your nipples.

He suckled on them, going back and forth between the two, while he fucked into you lazily. Unhurried. Like he managed to pause time long enough to focus on delivering you pleasure. His eyes found yours and he smiled, his dazzling grin turning you stupid and pliant.

He groaned as he felt your body relax and he dug into you, harder, deeper, faster. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you,” you moaned.

“Cum with me, baby,” he said.

You whined and focused on cumming with him like he said. You could feel him throbbing inside you, close, oh so close. You panted, sweating, legs trembling, back bowing. He leaned to one side so that he could slip his free hand between your legs to play with your clit.

Your moans increased to a near panic as your orgasm came running at his beck and call. You cried out and your squeezing pussy milked him. He moaned and dropped his head as he spilled into you over and over, his body trembling from the force.

He kissed your cheek but you otherwise laid there and enjoyed the feeling of him crushing you to the bed. Who needed oxygen anyway?

Your stomach rumbled, breaking the beautiful silence after such a powerful moment. You both laughed as it rumbled again. Terry released your hands and you covered your tummy. He pushed your hands away with his chin and then kissed your belly.

“We’re gonna need another shower and then I need to feed my wife,” he said.

“Feed your wife or feed your wife?” You asked, waggling your eyebrows. You were spent and tired but you could find another round in you for him. Always for him.

“Both, nasty ass,” he said. He stood up and then pulled you with him to stand as well. He gave you a sweet, tender kiss and promised over and over with both his tongue and his actions that he would become a man worthy of your love.

The end.

I love you all. The Secret Terry Richmond Files

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4linos · 1 day ago

Text

they call you clingy pt. 2

ot8 x fem!reader

genre: slight angst. hurt/comfort. fluff. (mostly) happy endings.

wc: 8916

(read they call you clingy pt. 1 first)

bang chan

When Chan returned home later that night, he was overwhelmed with guilt. He expected to be greeted with a warm embrace, maybe even a soft joke about how awkward he had been earlier. But when he entered your shared bedroom, he was greeted with silence. The lights were dark, and you sat on the edge of the bed, back to him. "Y/N?" He called out quietly, almost pleading.

You did not respond.

Chan's heart fell as he got closer, but you flinched when you felt him behind you. He stood there for a while, unsure of what to do, before finally speaking, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say what I said. It was a terrible joke. Please… please look at me.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough for him to see the tear tracks on your cheeks. Your eyes were red and swollen, and your expression was tight, like you were holding everything in. The sight broke him, and he stepped forward, kneeling in front of you, trying to meet your gaze.

“I didn’t mean it, Y/N. I was frustrated, and I let it all out in the worst way. I’m so sorry, I should’ve never said that. You’re not clingy. I don’t think that at all. I was wrong. I never should’ve made you feel that way.”

You shook your head slowly, your voice cold. “No, you meant it. I heard the way you said it. You don’t want me around. You think I’m suffocating you.”

“I don’t,” Chan whispered urgently, his hands reaching out to touch yours, but you pulled them away. “I don’t think that. I swear. I don’t want you to think that at all. I just… I don’t know what came over me.”

But you didn’t want to hear it. You wanted to believe him, but the words still stung too much. The way he had looked at you with indifference, how he dismissed your presence like it was something burdensome. It wasn’t just the words it was the way it made you feel so small, like you weren’t wanted.

You stood up suddenly, avoiding his touch. “I just need some space, Chan. Please. Just leave me alone tonight.”

Chan flinched, but he didn’t argue. He nodded, his heart breaking as he quietly walked out of the room. He knew he had crossed a line, and the weight of that reality hit him hard. He didn’t sleep well that night, tossing and turning on the couch, feeling the distance between you both like a wall that couldn’t be scaled.

The next morning, Chan woke up early, with his mind still filled with guilt. He'd apologized the night before, but he knew it wasn't enough. He needed to express how sorry he was and how much he cared. He crept quietly into the kitchen and began preparing breakfast, hoping to get it right for once. When the smell of pancakes and coffee filled the apartment, he returned to your bedroom, gently knocked on the door before opening it slightly.

You sat on the side of the bed, looking out the window. Your back was still turned to him, but when you heard him enter, you had stayed still.

Chan took a deep breath, his voice soft. “I made breakfast… for us. Please, can we just eat together? I want to talk.”

You didn't say anything at first, but eventually nodded and stood up, following him into the kitchen. You both sat silently, the tension hanging between you like a cloud. Chan pushed the dish of pancakes toward you, his hands shaking slightly. He took a breath and spoke again, his voice full of earnestness.

"You were not clinging, Y/N. I was wrong. You aren't suffocating me. I adore having you around; I always do. I… I'm not sure why I said that. My frustration clouded my judgment, and I hurt you. I'm really sorry."

You didn’t answer right away, but the tightness in your chest slowly loosened. You looked up at him, seeing the genuine regret in his eyes. His usual bravado was gone, replaced by a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before.

You sighed softly, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “It just hurt, Chan. I… I don’t want to be a burden to you.”

“You’re never a burden,” he said quietly. “You’re my partner. I want you to be with me. Always. You nodded, the words finally sinking in. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have shut you out.”

He reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. “No, I deserve it. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you both ate in silence, the unspoken understanding between you filling the room with a quiet comfort. The hurt was still there, but you knew you could heal it together.

lee know

The warmth from the burns on your leg persisted, but the coldness in your chest stung the most. You sat on the edge of the bed, carefully placing a cold compress against your skin, hoping that the discomfort sting would ease.

Your mind was racing, trying to figure out what had just transpired in the kitchen. Minho, your Minho, had yelled at you, and the words cut worse than anything physical could. You couldn't understand how it had come to this.

You had tried so hard to help, to lighten his burden, but instead you had made matters worse. The kitchen was a wreck, your leg was on fire, and your heart felt like it had been ripped open by the very person who had always made you feel safe. You wanted to believe it was just a moment of frustration, something that could be forgiven, but the distance between you both felt insurmountable.

When Minho’s voice called from the living room, it felt like the world’s weight pressed on your chest. “Hey... can we talk?" He sounded tired, but there was an undertone of hesitation, as if he wasn’t sure if you’d even listen.

You didn’t respond, hoping the silence would send the message you weren’t ready to face him just yet. But moments later, the sound of his footsteps in the hall brought you back to reality, and before you could register, he was standing in the doorway of your bedroom.

His expression shifted from confusion to panic when he saw you sitting there, the cold compress against your leg, and your tear-streaked face. His eyes widened, a rush of guilt flooding over him.

"What... what happened?" His voice was quieter and more uncertain now. He took a step forward, peering down at the reddening skin on your leg. "I—oh God, did you burn yourself?" His eyes scanned yours for a response, his hand quivering slightly as he reached out to touch your leg. You didn't say anything. You couldn’t find the words. The burn hurt badly, but the heaviness of his words in the kitchen made it intolerable.

Minho's hands shook as he gently led you to lie down on the bed. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" His voice cracked slightly as he rubbed a cool cloth on the burns, the chill alleviating the sting slightly.

You finally let yourself to cry, tears rocking your chest and the emotional weight coming down on you. You didn't understand how much you were holding back until the tears started pouring freely. "I-I'm sorry for the soup," you said through sobbing. "I didn't mean to ruin everything. "I just... wanted to help."

Minho's face softened, expressing regret and disbelief. He wiped your tears away with his thumb, his voice barely audible. "Stop. I don't care about the soup. Not when you're hurt. "Why didn't you tell me you were in pain?"

His words felt like a balm to your wounded heart, but they didn’t erase the ache. You buried your face in his chest as he leaned down to kiss your forehead gently, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m so sorry for what I said. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. You don’t deserve that... you never deserve that.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten even more. You clung to him, your arms wrapped tightly around his torso, needing his warmth, his presence. “Minho... I just—everything went wrong today. And then you... you made me feel like I was a burden.” Your voice trembled, and the weight of your emotions finally broke free.

Minho’s arms tightened around you as he whispered into your hair, “I never meant to make you feel that way. I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. But you are not a burden. You never will be. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

You could feel his hands softly comb through your hair, comforting you as you kept crying into him. The tears weren't simply over the soup, the burn, or the day's failures. It was all about trying to keep things together, to be strong, and not show how overwhelmed you were. And everything came tumbling down in his arms. "I should have been there for you today." "I should have seen how much you were struggling," Minho said, his voice thick with regret. "I'm not upset at you. I should never have said that. I'm so sorry."

You nodded into his chest, the tears slowly subsiding as his comforting words washed over you. Despite everything, despite the mess and the hurt, there was still love between you two, even if it was lost in the chaos for a moment.

“I love you,” Minho whispered, his hand gently wiping away the last of your tears. “Please, forgive me.”

You pulled back slightly, meeting his eyes. There was nothing but tenderness there now, no trace of the frustration that had clouded his expression before. “I love you too,” you said, your voice still shaky, but steadying. “I know you didn’t mean it. I just... I just had such a bad day. Everything went wrong, and I was just trying to fix it... and I ended up making it worse.”

Minho kissed your forehead again, his lips lingering for a moment. “You don’t have to fix everything. You don’t have to carry it all alone. I’m here. I’ll always be here. Let me help you.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief settle over you as his arms wrapped around you again. “I’m sorry, too,” you whispered, hugging him tighter. “I just... I wanted to help you. To make it better. I didn’t mean to make things worse.”

“I know,” Minho whispered back. “And you didn’t make it worse. I promise.”

As the silence between you two grew, the storm within you began to calm. It wasn't entirely mended yet, but for the first time that day, you felt like you weren't going through it alone. You felt at ease in his embrace, and you gradually began to hope that things can get better again.

changbin

Changbin's breath came out in weak, raspy gasps as he stood there watching you walk away. Every instinct in his body shouted for him to go after you, to draw you back and explain himself, but something in the air held him still. The severity of his own words resonated in his thoughts, a jarring reminder of the damage he had just done. You were hurt. And now, so was he.

He watched as your form disappeared through the exit, the door closing softly behind you. The gym suddenly felt suffocating. The weight of his own anger and frustration, which he had not yet fully comprehended, seemed to settle in his chest like a stone. He turned over, and his face flushed, his head dizzy with regret. He never wanted to make you feel like this, never wanted you to feel like a burden. His mind was spinning with confusion, but one thing was painfully clear: he had messed up. Badly.

He stood there for a long time, eyes fixed on the door, as if begging you to return, but he knew it was pointless. He had said too much. The damage was done.

You'd never felt smaller than you did at that time. Changbin's words felt like a hefty blow to the chest, knocking the air out of you. You weren't expecting him to snap. Sure, he'd been distant before, but this was different. The sharpness in his voice, the way he stared at you with irritation and anger, hurt in ways you couldn't articulate.

You didn’t know how long you had been walking for when you found yourself in the parking lot, your car now looming in front of you like a silent reminder of what had just transpired. You stood there for a moment, your hands trembling as you fumbled to unlock the door. The cold night air bit at your skin, but the chill in your chest felt much worse.

Why was he so angry?

You understood that sometimes people needed space, but you had no idea that your presence, which you expected to bring you closer, would make him feel overwhelmed. The realization hit you hard: He had been letting you to follow him about because he didn't know how to express his need for space. And, in the end, when he exploded, it broke the fragile link you had formed with him.

Your eyes stung with the promise of tears, but you pushed them away. You weren't sure if you were ready to let them fall yet.

You got in the car and drove aimlessly at first, wanting to get away and clear your mind. The drive seemed to go on forever, but you couldn't escape the agony in your chest. You eventually pulled over onto a quiet street and parked. You allowed the silence to settle in, the only sound being the faint hum of your car's engine.

Your phone buzzed, and you looked at it nervously. It was a message from Changbin. Your finger hovered over the screen, unsure whether to open it or not. But the yearning for an explanation, some attempt to make sense of it all, was overwhelming. So you opened it.

Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I didn’t mean to make you feel unwanted. Can we please talk?

You bit your lip, your eyes scanning the words over and over. His apology felt sincere, but it didn’t erase the sting of what he had said. How could it? And yet, a part of you still wanted to hear him out, to understand where he was coming from, even if it hurt.

You debated texting him back. Part of you wanted to ignore him, to hold onto the distance you felt was needed right now. Another part wanted to reach out, to explain that you weren’t trying to smother him, that you just wanted to be close.

Instead of responding, you did the one thing you never thought you’d do: you called him.

The phone rang a few times before he answered. “Y/N?” His voice was soft, hesitant, almost nervous.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Can we talk?”

A long silence passed. You could hear him take a deep breath on the other end. “Yeah. I think we need to.”

Back at the gym, Changbin had barely managed to collect himself before his phone buzzed in his hand. When he saw your name on the screen, he almost couldn’t believe it. He had messed up so badly, and yet, you were still willing to talk to him. His heart beat faster as he swiped to answer, his voice coming out quieter than he intended.

“Y/N?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t imagining this.

“I… I’m still upset, Bin,” you said, your voice shaky. “I don’t know what to think. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was invading your space. I just… I wanted to be close to you.”

“I know,” he whispered, guilt flooding his chest. “I should’ve told you sooner. It’s not your fault. I don’t want you to feel like that… like I’m pushing you away. But I just… the gym was the one place where I could just be by myself, clear my head. And when I didn’t have that anymore… I didn’t know how to handle it.”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see it. “I didn’t know. I thought… I thought you’d like it. That maybe it would be something we could do together.”

“I do like spending time with you,” he said, his voice steady now, more sincere. “I really do. But I didn’t realize how much I was taking it out on you. I didn’t mean to hurt you. And I’m sorry for how I said it. I shouldn’t have snapped like that. You’re not a burden to me, Y/N. You’re the last person I want to hurt.”

You closed your eyes, trying to steady yourself. “I just wanted to be close to you. I didn’t realize I was making you feel suffocated.” There was a long pause before he spoke again. “I know. And I should’ve communicated better. I just didn’t know how.”

“I understand,” you replied softly. “I just… I need a little time. To process this.”

Changbin’s heart sank, but he understood. “Yeah. I get that. Take the time you need. But please know I’m here. I don’t want to lose you over something that should’ve been a misunderstanding.”

You inhaled deeply, feeling the weight of the conversation. It wasn’t fixed, not yet, but you could feel the tension easing a little, the sharp edges of the pain starting to soften.

“Okay,” you said quietly. “We’ll talk more when I’m ready.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Changbin replied, his voice full of warmth despite the distance between you. “I’ll be here.”

The call ended, leaving a quiet, uneasy space between you two. You were unsure where this would lead or what would happen next. But perhaps, just maybe, you can find your way back together.

hyunjin

The next morning, you woke to a cloud of confusion still hanging over you. Hyunjin's remark from last night, as well as the way he pushed you away, played on an unending loop in your memory. The hurt was still fresh, but you were beginning to wonder why. Why had everything changed so dramatically? Why had Hyunjin, who you had always trusted, suddenly become distant?

You'd barely slept, your mind knotted in a web of despair, confusion, and betrayal. Everything seemed odd as you tried to get through the day. The calm hum of your daily routine had been replaced by a heavy silence in your chest. Your phone remained silent, and you weren't sure if that was a relief or something else entirely. You couldn’t decide whether to hope Hyunjin would reach out to explain himself or whether it was better to just forget it all.

But then, in the late afternoon, your phone buzzed. It was a text from him.

Hyunjin: Can we talk? I need to explain.

Your stomach twisted, both nervous and cautious. You stared at the message, weighing the possibility of opening the door to this conversation. You didn’t know if you were ready to hear whatever he had to say. Still, part of you needed answers, even if they were painful.

After a few moments of hesitation, you typed back.

You: Where?

Hyunjin: Meet me at the park in 30 minutes. Please.

You took a deep breath and, despite everything, found yourself getting ready to meet him. Part of you was angry, but there was another part, the part that still missed him, that needed to understand. You had always believed in the strength of your friendship. You didn’t want to just throw that away without knowing what had really happened.

When you arrived at the park, the air felt cool against your skin, and the trees around you swayed gently in the breeze. The park was quiet, mostly empty, with only a few scattered joggers. You found him near a bench, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, his posture tense. He stood as soon as he saw you, but neither of you moved closer at first. There was an awkwardness between you two that felt thick enough to cut.

“Hyunjin,” you said softly, your voice almost faltering. "You wanted to talk?"

He nodded but didn’t say anything right away. He just stood there, staring at you as if he wasn’t sure how to start. Finally, after a long pause, he exhaled sharply and took a step closer.

“I’m sorry,” he began, his voice low and unsure. "I know I hurt you last night, and I—I need you to know that wasn’t my intention. I’ve been… I’ve been a mess, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I don’t know how to deal with these feelings.”

You furrowed your brows, the confusion growing. “Feelings? What are you talking about?”

Hyunjin seemed to hesitate, as if he was unsure whether to voice the words out. But after a moment, he added, his voice breaking slightly: "I—I like you. More than just a friend. I had for a while, but I wasn't sure how to deal with it. So I tried pushing you away. I figured if I detached myself from you, it would go away. That I could let go of these feelings."

The words struck you like a thunderclap. For a while, you just stood there, your mind spinning, trying to make sense of what he had just revealed. Hyunjin... liked you? Was it why he had been so distant? All the time you'd spent wondering what had changed, what had gone wrong… it was this?

He looked at you, his eyes full of vulnerability, guilt, and something else that you couldn’t quite name. “I didn’t know how to deal with it, and I thought… if I pushed you away, I could just forget. But the more I tried to ignore it, the worse it got. And last night, I just… I didn’t know how to act around you anymore. So I lashed out. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

You stood there, silently absorbing his words. The knot in your chest relaxed, but it was replaced by something else: a rush of feelings you couldn't quite describe.

You had no idea how to handle this revelation. You had been wondering what had happened to your friendship, why things seemed so tense, and now it all made sense. But it was overwhelming. You never saw it coming.

"I don't know what to say," you confessed gently. "I did not..." I didn't realize you felt that way. All I saw was you slipping away, and I wondered if I had done something wrong. I didn't realize it was about this."

“I should have told you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. "I was so afraid of ruining everything, of losing our friendship. But instead, I ended up pushing you away. I thought if I could stop being close to you, I could stop feeling this way. I was wrong."

You felt a mixture of emotions rise up relief, anger, sadness, confusion. But beneath it all, there was something else: you understood now. He had been trying to protect himself, even if it meant hurting you in the process. It didn’t make his actions right, but it made them a little easier to comprehend.

“So what now?” you asked, your voice softer than before.

Hyunjin took a step closer, his gaze intense. "I don’t expect things to go back to how they were immediately. I don’t know how to fix this. But I want to try. I want to be honest with you now. If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. But I couldn’t keep pretending anymore. I couldn’t let you think you didn’t matter."

You paused for a long moment, the weight of his words sinking in. Part of you still felt hurt, but another part of you your heart, maybe was softening. You had always cared about him. The idea of more than just friendship… it was a lot to process, but you realized that in some way, you were willing to listen, to figure out what this meant for the two of you.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen next,” you said, finally meeting his gaze. “But I’m not going to lie and say I don’t care. I do. I care a lot. We just need time. To figure this out.”

Hyunjin nodded, his eyes filled with a quiet hope. “I’ll give you time. I won’t push you. I just needed to say it. To be honest.”

The two of you stood there for a while, neither of you moving, but there was a shift a change in the air. For the first time in weeks, it felt like there might be a way forward. Maybe it wasn’t simple, maybe it wasn’t easy, but at least you had the truth. And that, you realized, was enough to begin again.

HAN

The silence lingered for what seemed like hours, the kind of silence that enveloped you both like a thick cloud. You hadn't moved, still curled on the bed, eyes locked on the wall, as if it might give some answers. You couldn't get the idea that something inside of him had permanently shifted, that whatever had cracked tonight had been building up for a time and was now beyond your control.

Jisung said nothing, did not try to pull you closer, nor did he give his usual soothing words of regret. But he had not left either. His presence next to you, despite its normal comfort, suddenly felt like a distant recollection, a piece of him that had vanished.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you heard him shift on the bed beside you. His voice was barely a whisper, but you could tell he was struggling, his words thick with emotion.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and you could hear the weight of the apology, like he had been holding it back for so long it had become a raw, painful thing.

You stayed silent, not sure what to say. He had hurt you, and though you wanted to forgive him, you couldn’t shake the sting of his words. His harshness had cut deeper than anything he’d said before, and you weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion of the day, or something more, something that had been building up between you two for a while.

“I didn’t mean it, Y/N,” he continued, his voice shaky, as if the apology itself had become difficult to express. “I’m just… I’m just tired. I don’t know how to deal with everything. But that doesn’t excuse how I snapped at you. You don’t deserve that. You never do.”

You eventually allowed yourself to turn towards him, your gaze scanning his face, and you saw the weakness there, the same vulnerability you had always seen beneath his normal confidence. His fists were clasped in his lap, and his shoulders bowed, as if he were bracing for the impending storm.

"You are not a burden, Y/N." "You're not clingy," he continued quietly, his voice much lower now, as if the apology was gradually peeling away the layers of irritation and hurt. "I just.. I'm not always sure how to let you in. I am so overwhelmed that instead of accepting your help, I push you away."

Your heart squeezed. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he was battling with himself, trying to figure out how to make it right without knowing how.

“I’ve been so used to dealing with everything on my own,” he continued, looking at the floor as if he couldn’t bear to look you in the eye. “I didn’t want to burden you with my problems. I didn’t want you to see me as weak. But instead, I ended up hurting you.”

The vulnerability in his words hit you hard, and it took everything in you not to reach out and wrap your arms around him. You knew he had been struggling, you knew it. But hearing him admit that he had been keeping things from you, afraid of showing his true self, only made the ache in your chest grow.

“I don’t think you’re weak,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. “I think you're strong. But you don’t have to do everything by yourself, Jisung. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

He shook his head, eventually meeting your eyes. His eyes were filled with sadness, but there was also a quiet desperation in them, as if he didn't know how to mend the rift between you two.

“I just... I'm so sorry. I don't know how to ask for help," he said, his voice full with sorrow. "But when you try to help me, I... I push you away because I'm not sure how to let you in. But you aren't a burden, Y/N. You have never been one. I just didn't know how to handle anything on my own, so I ended up pushing you away when all you wanted was to be there for me."

The honesty in his words was almost too much to bear. You had always known Jisung to be someone who wore his heart on his sleeve, someone who could make light of even the darkest situations. But now, seeing him like this, so raw and open, made your chest tighten.

“I don’t want you to push me away anymore,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want to help you. But I can’t help you if you keep shutting me out.”

Jisung's lips twitched, as if he wanted to say more but couldn't find the right words. Instead, he simply nodded, the impact of his quiet screaming loudly. He didn't need to say anything else because you could feel the pain in his chest and all the frustration he'd been carrying around for too long.

For a long time, the two of you merely sat there, your quiet now distinct. It wasn't the crushing stillness of earlier, but one filled with empathy, even if neither of you understood exactly how to mend anything.

After a while, Jisung reached out, his hand hesitating before softly stroking your arm. The warmth of his fingers across your skin brought back memories of how simple things had been between you two. He didn't say anything unnecessary, but you could sense his apology in the way he held his hand there, letting you know he was sincerely sorry.

"I'll try to do better," he answered simply and softly. "I will try to let you in more. I do not want to push you away anymore."

You nodded, your heart still heavy but not as broken as it had been moments ago. “I just want to be there for you, Jisung,” you said softly. “I don’t want you to have to go through everything alone.”

The quiet stretched again, but this time, it felt different. It felt like a beginning. Neither of you knew how to fix everything right away, but you both knew that you wanted to try. And sometimes, that was enough.

Jisung shifted closer, his hand still resting on your arm, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel so distant from each other. There were still things left unsaid, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that you were both here, both willing to try again.

felix

The hours passed by in agonizing silence, the kind that made everything seem more impossible than it actually was and stretched and clawed at your thoughts. Nothing could take away the icy emptiness that had descended between you and Felix, even as you lay there, wrapped up inside yourself, listening to the gentle buzz of the night.

When the world got too much, he would wrap up with you and reassure you with soft touches and quiet words. You recalled the warmth you had previously enjoyed. Now, it felt like a lifetime ago. His distance was more than just physical; it was something that made your chest hurt since you didn't know how to make it better.

But as much as you wanted to lie there, to let the hurt consume you, you couldn't. You couldn't just wait and wonder if things would somehow improve on their own. You were the kind of person who needed closure, who needed to understand what was happening. And right now, Felix was slipping through your fingers, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

You sat up, wiping at your tear-streaked face, and glanced towards the living room. The faint glow from the TV still flickered through the hallway, casting a cold light on the darkness of the apartment. You could feel the weight of the choice pressing down on you: Should you leave him be, give him the space he seemed to want, or should you push through, confront him, and demand answers?

You hesitated for quite some time. But then you made a decision. You needed answers. You needed to understand why the person you loved had abruptly shifted into someone you didn't recognize. You moved along the hallway, the apartment's silence more oppressive than before.

Felix kept his position on the couch, his eyes looking blankly at the TV, his posture tight and walled off. You stayed there for a moment, studying him, trying to determine whether he noticed your presence.

His eyes didn’t leave the screen. His face remained unreadable.

"Felix," you said again, your voice steady but laced with emotion. This time, there was no hesitation in your tone, no softness. You needed him to hear you.

He didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel the tension in the room shift slightly, as if he knew you were waiting for him to say something. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, quieter than before.

“I told you I don’t want to talk,” he said, almost in a whisper. But this time, the words weren’t as sharp. There was something else in his voice, something you hadn’t heard before. It wasn’t anger, but a deep exhaustion, a weariness that seemed to go beyond just physical fatigue.

You didn’t take a step back this time. Instead, you closed the distance between you, sitting on the arm of the couch, your hand brushing lightly against his. It was small, a gesture that once would have meant nothing, but now it felt like everything. You needed him to know you were still here, that you hadn’t given up.

“Felix,” you repeated, softer this time, your voice trembling with vulnerability. “I know something’s bothering you. And I get it. You don’t have to talk right now, if you’re not ready. But I need to know—am I the problem?”

When you asked the question, his head snapped towards you, his eyes wide with amazement, as if he had never considered it before. For a brief moment, his gaze softened, and you thought you caught a glimpse of the old Felix, the one who used to share everything with you, the one who would always turn to you when the world got too much.

"Of course not," he said gently, his voice husky. He took a deep breath and wiped his face with his palms before running them through his hair. "You aren't the problem. "I just...I’m a mess right now, okay? I did not mean to push you away. I didn't know how to deal with it, and I thought if I could draw back, maybe it would get better.”

His words hung in the air, and for the first time in what felt like days, you understood. Felix had always been the strong one, the person who seemed so capable of handling everything on his own. But now you saw how much he was struggling beneath the surface, how much he had been hiding.

"You don’t have to carry it all alone," you said, your voice gentle but firm. "Felix, we’ve always been a team. You can lean on me. You don’t have to push me away just because you’re having a hard time."

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze flickering to the floor, then back up to you. The tension in his shoulders finally seemed to ease, and he let out a long breath. It was as though a weight was slowly lifting, and for the first time in days, you saw a glimpse of the Felix you had known and loved.

“I’m scared,” he admitted softly, his voice breaking slightly. “I’m scared of being a burden. I’m scared that if I show you how much I’m struggling, you’ll leave. I’m scared you won’t love me if I’m not always the one who has everything together.”

The rawness of his confession hit you like a wave, and for a moment, you just sat there, your heart aching for him. You had always known Felix to be strong, but in this moment, you realized just how vulnerable he was beneath it all, and how much he had been carrying alone.

“You don’t have to be perfect for me, Felix,” you said, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “I love you, all of you—the good, the bad, and everything in between. You don’t have to be anything but yourself.”

Felix finally looked at you, his eyes wide, his expression almost disbelieving. The walls that had been built up around him seemed to crack ever so slightly, and you could see the relief in his eyes. He swallowed hard, then reached out, taking your hand in his.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his grip tightening around your fingers. “I’ve been pushing you away for no reason. I was just so scared.”

You shook your head gently, squeezing his hand. “It’s okay, Felix. You don’t have to be scared. We’ll get through this together.”

For a minute, you just stood there, the two of you having an unsaid understanding. There was still a lot to sort out, and the path ahead would be difficult, but you knew that if you were both ready to try, you could do it.

As Felix drew in closer, resting his forehead against yours, you felt the warmth of his presence return, as well as the relief that you hadn't lost him despite everything. Not yet.

And for the first time in days, you allowed yourself to believe that things could be better.

seungmin

The morning light filtered softly through the kitchen windows, casting a dull glow over the room. Seungmin walked in, a faint sigh escaping his lips as he poured himself a cup of coffee, his mind still half-occupied by the rehearsals and everything waiting for him outside the walls of this apartment. But as he sat down at the breakfast table, he was immediately hit with an unexpected shift in the air.

There was no cheerful greeting from you, no attempt to share a quiet moment together before the day began. Instead, you sat across from him, silently eating your breakfast, your gaze fixed on the plate in front of you. Usually, you’d be making something small, even if it was just a quick toast or coffee, a gesture that made mornings feel connected. But today, the stillness felt suffocating.

Seungmin frowned, the weight of the silence pressing down on him. He didn’t quite understand why you weren’t speaking, but he knew something wasn’t right. He set his cup down, meeting your eyes for the briefest of moments before his voice broke through the quiet.

"What’s wrong?" he asked, his tone a bit strained, not sure if he was even ready to hear the answer.

You did not respond immediately away, keeping your gaze fixed on your food and your jaw tight as if the words you wanted to say were locked between your teeth. But they didn't come, and your silence spoke louder than any argument. Seungmin waited, his patience dwindling as time passed.

Finally, you scoffed, making a little but harsh sound that seemed to cut through the air, and you stood up from the table, pushing your chair back with an audible scrape.

"I don’t know, Seungmin," you shot back, your voice tinged with frustration, barely holding back the anger bubbling beneath the surface. "Maybe I’m just tired of feeling like I don’t matter to you."

He blinked, taken aback by the intensity of your words. Before he could respond, you stormed off, the door to the bedroom slamming shut behind you with a force that rattled the still air. Seungmin sat there, the taste of the bitter coffee suddenly unfamiliar in his mouth, his mind spinning. He hadn’t expected this. Not after everything that had happened last night.

The rest of the day felt like a blur. He went through the motions work, meetings, rehearsals but your words lingered in his mind, a constant hum of unease. By the time he returned home that evening, the tension was unbearable. He hesitated by the front door, unsure of what to expect. Normally, he would have found you sitting on the couch, or you would have greeted him with a small smile, asking about his day. But tonight, there was only silence.

He walked into the apartment, his footsteps faltering slightly as he noticed you in the corner of the living room, avoiding his gaze completely. You sat curled up on the couch, eyes fixed on the television but not really seeing anything at all. He stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of you, and the hollow feeling in his chest deepened.

"Can we talk?" he asked carefully, his voice laced with concern. His eyes searched yours for any sign that you were ready to listen.

You didn't respond immediately, your body rigid and remote. His heart fell as he saw the look on your face, as if a part of you had closed off, trapped behind a door he couldn't open. "Please," he said, getting closer. "I don't know what's going on, but..." "I can't fix this unless you tell me."

You snapped your head up, your eyes burning with a mix of pain and frustration. Your voice was more emotional than usual. "You don't get it, do you, Seungmin?" You stood up abruptly, raising your voice with each word. "I have tried. I've been trying for days to get you to come see me and realize that something is wrong! But all you have done is brush me off, make me feel like I’m too much for you, like I’m just… clingy."

His eyes widened in realization, the words you had uttered earlier in the morning returning to him with a crushing force. He had no idea it had gotten this bad, nor did he realize how much his words had hurt you until now. And it stung when the weight of his own stupidity fell on him. You carried on, your voice cracking as you talked.

"You've been really distant, Seungmin. And when I try to talk to you or look for your attention, you just push me away. You make me feel as though I am a burden. And I can't keep pretending that I don't feel it.”

Seungmin opened his mouth, but no words came out. He stood there, completely stunned, his chest tightening with regret. He had been so wrapped up in his own stress and exhaustion, so focused on his own battles, that he hadn’t realized how far apart you had grown, how much pain you had been quietly carrying.

He swallowed hard, stepping closer, his voice small now, barely a whisper. "I never meant to make you feel that way. I… I didn’t realize how much my actions were hurting you."

But your anger had already started to bubble back up. You shook your head, arms crossed tightly against your chest. "How could you not realize, Seungmin? How could you not see how much I’m struggling with this? I needed you, but you’ve been so… so cold." You paused, your breath shallow. "I needed you to care. To see me."

The words stung like salt in an open wound, but Seungmin couldn’t deny the truth in them. His heart clenched, and without thinking, he moved toward you, pulling you into his arms before you could step away.

"I’m so sorry," he murmured, his voice thick with regret. "I didn’t mean to make you feel invisible, or like you were too much. I’ve been so caught up in everything that I forgot to see you, to notice what I was doing to us." He held you tighter, his grip desperate now, like he was trying to hold onto something he feared was slipping away. "Please forgive me. I don’t want to lose you."

Your body trembled against him, but for the first time in what felt like ages, you didn’t pull away. You rested your forehead against his chest, letting out a shaky breath, your emotions swirling but slowly softening under his touch.

"I just need you to be present, Seungmin," you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt. "I need to know that you’re here with me. That I matter to you."

"I hear you," he whispered softly, gently touching your face and lifting your head to meet his gaze. His embrace was raw and vulnerable in a way you had not seen before. "I hear you, and I promise to do better." I will make you feel seen. I will make sure you understand how much you mean to me."

You nodded softly, your heart aching but glad for his genuine remarks. The path to healing would take time, but for the first time in a long time, you felt confident that he would accompany you on it.

I.N

The next day, Jeongin arrived at your apartment, his normal bright smile on his face as he walked through the door. It was as if yesterday had never happened. His aura was light and carefree, as if he hadn't just disrupted the peace you had previously enjoyed in your relationship.

You, on the other hand, were still reeling from his cold demeanor the night before. The hurt persisted, and you couldn't shake the weight of his words. Stop being so clingy. It wasn't the first time someone had made you feel small, but it hurt more than you expected, especially coming from him.

You didn't answer as usual, and you didn't greet him with the warmth he had grown to expect. Instead, you kept your distance by giving him short, clipped answers. You preoccupied yourself with little things in the apartment, refusing to make eye contact in the hopes that the stillness would bridge the gap between you. The tension in the room, however, was palpable.

Jeongin didn't seem to notice right away. He went about his usual business, jokingly discussing his day and laughing as if everything was alright. When he reached for your hand, you automatically pushed it away, indicating that something was wrong. His smile faltered, and the warmth in his eyes was gradually replaced by confusion.

"Hey," he said, voice soft, the smile still not fully gone but now laced with a hint of concern. "What's wrong?"

You looked up at him, saw the real confusion in his eyes, and almost let it go. Almost let go of your pain for his smile, for the Jeongin you adored. But the words you'd been keeping in all day sprang to the surface. "What was that yesterday?" You snapped, your voice filled with emotion. The anger, hurt, and confusion you'd been harboring all night had finally bubbled over. "You were an entirely different person. One minute you were fine the next you were pushing me away, telling me I was too clingy. What was that?"

Jeongin blinked, taken aback by your strong tone, his eyes wide as if he had not expected such an outburst. His posture tensed, and for a brief period, you could see the walls he had built to protect himself from whatever discomfort was brewing inside. But that didn't erase the fact that his actions had harmed you more than he knew.

"If you want to act like that, maybe we should just break up," you muttered, the words tumbling out before you could stop them, a mix of hurt and frustration in your voice. "I don't want to be with someone who suddenly treats me like I'm a burden just because they're worried about what others think.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Jeongin’s expression faltered, his brows furrowing as if the idea of you breaking up was the last thing he expected. His eyes softened slightly, and his voice became almost breathless as he spoke, not quite believing what you’d just said.

“Wait… what?” His voice wavered, the hurt in his eyes clear now. "No, no, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean to hurt you."

You crossed your arms, feeling the burn of frustration building again. You needed answers. “Then what was it, Jeongin? Why did you act like that? I thought we were fine, but now… now I don’t know where I stand with you.”

He exhaled shakily, his hands running through his hair as he paced for a moment, clearly struggling to find the right words. After a beat of silence, he stopped in front of you, meeting your eyes, this time with a vulnerability that was both unexpected and painfully familiar.

“I… I love you," he began, his voice steady but filled with an edge of fear. "I love you so much, but I was afraid… I was afraid that if we showed too much PDA, the members would tease me relentlessly. They’re always joking about stuff like that, and I didn’t want them to make fun of me, of us."

The explanation hung in the air, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, stunned. Was this actually the reason? Was he so concerned about what his members thought that he distanced himself from you, his girlfriend, in front of them? You struggled to wrap your head around it.

"Are you embarrassed of me?" The question fell out of your mouth before you could think. The thought of it twisted something inside you, the possibility that he might consider you as something to hide rather than something to be proud of.

Jeongin’s face immediately morphed into one of panic, as if the very suggestion cut him deeper than anything you could have said. “No! God, no. I would never—” He stepped forward, his hands reaching for you, but you instinctively took a small step back. He stopped, his hands falling to his sides, the hurt in his eyes obvious now.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, the weight of his confession hanging between you two. "I never meant for you to feel like that. I just… I just didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t want the members to think I was soft or that I couldn’t keep my cool. But I was wrong. I was so wrong. I’m sorry for pushing you away, for making you feel like I didn’t care about you."

His words were a mix of regret and sincerity, and as he spoke, you could feel the depth of his struggle, the dread of being judged and ridiculed that kept him from completely being himself with you. It wasn't that he didn't love you; it was just that he hadn't understood how to balance his feelings with the demands of his life.

You stood there, silent for a moment, contemplating what he had just said. Your heart was still raw, but you could see remorse in his eyes and feel it in the way he stood, as if he was waiting for you to decide what to do next.

Finally, you spoke, your voice quieter than before, but the hurt remained beneath the surface. "I don't care what others say, Jeongin. I care about us. I want to be able to express my love for you without having to worry about what others might say."

He nodded quickly, his stare focused, and took a slight step toward you. "I promise I won't do it again. I will never make you feel that you are too much, or that I am embarrassed by you. You are more than just someone I care about; you are someone I am proud of. And I will do better. I will."

You held onto his gaze, seeing the honesty in his eyes and sensing the truth in his words. It was not a simple fix. There was work to be done and trust to be rebuilt, but you could tell right away that he was eager to give it his all.

"I just need you to be honest with me," you muttered, feeling the tension between you begin to ease. "That's all I want."

Jeongin's expression softened as he made one final step forward, closing the gap between you. His hands met yours, and his contact was warm and grounded. "I'm here. I'm actually here. And I will make sure you never feel that way again."

(❌ proofread)

masterlist.

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etherealval · 3 days ago

Text

a/n: previously posted on @inactiveaccount444 | enjoy :,)

the kitchen was quiet except for the occasional clatter of a spoon against a bowl and the hum of the fridge. you were leaning against the counter, scrolling absentmindedly through your phone when chris walked in, a mischievous grin already spreading across his face.

"what're you up to, baby?" he asked, his voice playful as he wandered over, resting his hands on either side of your hips.

"nothing important," you murmured, glancing up at him. the warmth in his blue eyes made your heart flutter every time.

he tilted his head, pretending to study you. "you've been standing here looking way too cute for too long." before you could respond, his hands wrapped around your waist, and in one swift motion, he lifted you onto the counter.

"chris!" you squeaked, though the laughter bubbling up in your chest betrayed your attempt to sound serious.

"what?" he teased, settling himself between your legs as his hands slid up to hold your waist. "is it a crime to want to admire my beautiful girlfriend up close?"

before you could come up with a witty reply, he leaned in, peppering kisses all over your face. your cheeks, your forehead, your nose - no spot was spared.

"stop!" you giggled, trying to twist away from him, but he wasn't having it.

"never," he murmured between kisses, the sound of his soft laughter mixing with yours. the happiness in the room felt tangible, like it was wrapping itself around the both of you.

when he finally slowed, he rested his forehead against yours, his hands framing your face gently. your giggles quieted as his gaze softened, turning from playful to something deeper.

"i love you so much, baby," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

you felt the words settle in your chest, heavy and warm, as the world seemed to shrink until it was just the two of you.

"i love you too, chris," you whispered back, threading your fingers through his messy hair.

his lips curved into a soft smile nothing like his usual cocky grin. it was tender, vulnerable, and entirely yours. he leaned in again, pressing one slow, lingering kiss to your lips before pulling away just enough to rest his head on your shoulder.

"you make me so happy," he muttered, his voice muffled against your neck. "i love you too, chris," you murmured, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his messy hair.

his lips curved into a smile, one that was entirely different from his usual cocky grin. it was soft and full of pure adoration, reserved only for you.

he pressed one last kiss to your lips, slow and sweet before pulling back just enough to rest his head on your shoulder. "you make me so happy," he muttered, his voice muffled against your neck.

"you're such a sap," you teased softly, though your tone carried more affection than mockery, while your fingers gently traced gentle patterns on his back.

he pulled back, his grin reappearing, that familiar glint of mischief back in his eyes. "only for you, angel," he murmured, brushing his nose against yours.

#etherealval ´ˎ˗#chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturiolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo #sturniolo x reader

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captain-bubble-wrap · 3 days ago

Note

Hiiii i have a request from your list if you take any at the moment.

10.. "You bought me flowers?"

Maybe Quinn x reader and he brings her glowers just because and shes overwhelmed because she never really had anyone doing that for her (besides her parents on birthdays or something) but never romantically!!

Sorry this took so long! I had two requests come in the same day I combined both prompts. 🩷

You had laid down on your sofa about two hours ago. It had been a kind of throw-away day with Quinn traveling back to Vancouver after finishing a long road series. They had encountered some bad weather and their flight had been delayed, so you had decided to catch up on some sleep while you waited for him to get back to the city since it seemed like it was going to be a late night. However, you had left your phone on the kitchen counter with the volume off, having gone to the movies the night before, so you hadn't heard any of his text notifications.

My Huggy Bear: They're finally letting us take off. I'll message you when we touch down. I love you. (2:32am)

My Huggy Bear: Have I mentioned enough that I've missed you? (2:17am)

My Huggy Bear: Oh, I said I'd message you when we got back, didn't I? 😅 (2:17am)

My Huggy Bear: I do, though, I miss you a lot. I'll be home soon. (2:25am)

My Huggy Bear: I'm guessing you fell asleep. I'm jealous. Turbulence is too bad for me to get to sleep. (2:37am)

My Huggy Bear: I'm going to leave you alone so these messages don't wake you. I love you. (2:41am)

My Huggy Bear: Finally back in BC, babe. (8:12am)

My Huggy Bear: I'm going to come by in a bit if you don't care. (8:55am)

Apparently, your body thought when you laid now that it wasn't just for a simple nap. It would be morning before you finally woke up, and that was because of the sound of your doorbell going off. Slowly, you put your feet down on the ground and shuffled to the door. Having not seen any of Quinn's messages, or even what time it was, everything was such a blur. Through the peep-hole, you'd make out Quinn's figure standing on your porch.

"Oh, hi baby," you yawned after opening the door and struggling to function after waking so abruptly.

He just looked at you and smiled, though he himself, was just as groggy as you were. "Good morning, babe."

You opened your arms for a hug and you both nearly stumbled through the door, "I'm so glad you're home!"

"So am I," he chuckled, holding on to you with his one free arm. "Did I wake you up?"

"It's okay, I didn't aim to fall asleep on the sofa, but I guess I did anyways."

"Ah, so I'm guessing you didn't see my messages."

When the two of you parted ways, you'd close the door and turn back towards him. "I never heard my-- I must have left it somewhere! I'm sorry baby!"

Again, he smiled as he watched you move about and wake up in stages. He knew you'd never ignore him on purpose (as least he hoped not) but he appreciated that you acknowledged when you had missed them. "I didn't expect you to stay awake until we landed. It's okay." Quinn stepped forward and gave you a kiss. That was when the scent of floral hit you.

"Oh, I got you something this morning," he added, bringing the bouquet up from his side. You somehow hadn't noticed, likely because of your sleepy state.

"You bought me flowers?" You asked, shocked by the gesture. "Quinny, they're beautiful!"

"I'm glad you like them," he confessed, watching as you brought them to your nose. "I just wanted to get you something, as an apology for not getting home when I wanted to."

Following a deep inhale of the fresh flowers, you'd look at Quinn concerned, "You didn't owe me an apology, baby! You can't help the weather! I'm just glad you're safe! That's all that matters to me."

"Still, I should get them for you more often. I know how much you like them."

You'd smile at him, wrapping your arms around his neck. "You're so sweet, but you don't have to!"

"I'll see what I can do," he winked, his forehead against yours. "I love you."

His confession took your breath away with how he had said it. His voice was low; that sleepy tone that always drove you wild. "I love you, too, Quinn. So much!"

You both would share a series of kisses --slow and passionate-- that expressed just how much you both had missed the other.

"Do you mind if I stay here with you today?" He mumbled, his lips still close to yours.

\"Of course not!"

"I don't want to drive home."

You pouted, "I don't want you to leave." In reality, you never wanted him to leave when you were together, but it was nice when he asked you if he could stay.

"Come lay down with me?"

"I'll meet you in there. I need to get these into water first." You'd give him the softest kiss to his pouty lips before he would let you walk away from him. Quinn wouldn't wander into the bedroom like you thought. Instead, he'd follow you into the kitchen and hover just over your shoulder while you worked. His arms wrapped around your waist, his lips painting kisses behind your ear and down your neck. He wasn't trying to distract you, and in truth, it would take you a lot longer to transfer the bouquet to a vase than it should have, but Quinn was always a welcomed hindrance.

"I just missed you," he whispered. "I hate being gone for so long now. It didn't affect me until I met you."

Your hands found his at your stomach, as you laid your head back on his shoulder, "I'm sorry, baby."

"Don't be. I just love you. Makes coming back to you so much nicer," he smiled as he spoke, placing one last kiss to your temple before letting you go. "That's enough sad confessions for one morning, yeah?"

You nodded, "Mhm, let's go lay down. I'll make a late lunch after."

"I'd like that, baby. Thank you."

- - -

The weeks following Quinn returning from the 6-game stretch had brought with them numerous surprises. He spent more time at your house than his apartment, more of this things dotted your place than ever had before, and most unexpected of them all were the weekly flower arrangements that showed up "just because", as he put it. He had told you that he would try to get them for you more often, and you should have known better that he wasn't talking to just hear his own voice. Sure enough, at some point through the week, on the road or in Vancouver, Quinn had flowers delivered to you with cute little love notes attached.

Your house smelled like a flower shop and was beginning to look like one as well. Each room had a vase and every time you saw one of them, butterflies tickled your heart and stomach. You hoped that Quinn knew how much each and every one of them meant to you and the meaning they held. He seemed to like them as well, always making small compliments on how nice a certain flower smelled or liking where you had placed one within the house.

He was becoming your Disney prince right before your eyes.

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes one shot #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes fic #hockey imagine #hockey oneshot #hockey fanfiction #hockey fic

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twisted-wonderland-but-gayer · 1 day ago

Note

Could I request part two of "A Well Deserved Grudge" for the remaining OB guys?

Thank you for all you hard work Moss!

A Well Deserved Grudge Pt.2

You hate them after their overblot. Part one.

Characters: Leona, Azul, Idia, Grim

Content Info: Gn! Yuu. Yuu is fucking mean in this. A lot of angst. Azul and Idia self deprecated a lot. Mostly Yuu breaking down and snapping tbh. Grim Hate

Leona

“Wow look at who it is. The king himself. Tell me, what did I do to deserve the honor of being in his majesty's presence?”

Yuu locked eyes with Leona in the hospital mirror, no doubt out of bed against doctors orders. Their damaged face matched their voice that dripped the venom of sarcasm. They were smug, overwhelmingly smug with a slight smirk to match their upturned brows.

“Well…? I'm waiting.” There's no fear in their demeanor at all. There never has been. Even when there should be. Yuu was brave, he'll give them that. They had a right to be angry.

Leona closed his eyes, taking a breath, then opened them again. “I came here to apologize.” He kept it brief. The hatred in their eyes told him that them didn't want him here more than necessary. Not like he'd blame Yuu.

“Oh? But what for your Majesty?” By now Yuu turned around, and Leona could truly see the extent of the damage done to them. Cracks permeated their face, reaching from their cheek to across their nose along with the corners of their eyes. The small smirk on their dry lips twitched for a second and he could see a few more cracks on them that bled. It was like a porcelain doll knocked off its stand

“I mean…” They took a step forward, as if to circle him, maintaining eye contact the whole time. The thin hospital gown swayed with them as they continued. Odd squelches and snaps sounded with each step from damaged feet that shouldn't be stood on.

“You sure showed them, huh? Everyone will know how tough you are now when they hear the tale of how you… valiantly fought and won against a magicless human that dared to threaten your throne…” They continued to circle him for a bit before pausing.

Their smug expression dropped to a cruel glare, turning to fully face him. More pops and snaps sounded from them. Parts of their arms look warped, as if their flesh was made of plastic. Yet the cracks along their arms were nowhere near as clean as the ones on their face, crowded together in craters and showing raw flesh in between them.

There was no way to respond to this in a way that would smooth things over. There was no way to smooth things over. He debates between holding his tongue or speaking, brilliant mind now failing him. He knows for sure that Yuu deserves to curse him out and that they probably need it for their mental health.

“I am here to ensure that you're fully cared for. I arranged for some of the top doctors to visit you and ensure your recovery outside of the hospital as well.” There is no fully recovering from this. They both know it.

Yuu's expression becomes more neutral, then they seem almost impressed. “Wow. How utterly magnanimous of you, your majesty. Why I'm practically kneeling at your feet and singing your praises… At least I would but uh, ah I can't seem to fully bend my knees, hmmm?” Their leering only seemed to get more and more intense.

“Thank you for your kindness, your majesty. I finally learned my place now. I will never forget our first meeting where you threatened to take a tooth from me after a most egregious offense I committed to you. How awful of me to not be able to see everything at once while adjusting to a new environment. I apologize for my shortsightedness. This was a most appropriate response…” Their hospital gown stretched out with their arms, showing off their injuries

A mock pout they wore turned sour. They bitterly looked to the side, theatrics starting to fail. “Well, you did indeed take a few…” Yuu pulled the corner of their mouth, causing more cracks to form along the corners. He could see the raw, irritated gums that once held their molars.

“I'm glad you got what you wanted. Do you feel powerful now? Clap for yourself, I mean really, you do deserve it, I'll also give a round of applause as well…” Their damaged hand made a few slow, sarcastic slaps together that sounded like sandpaper.

“I do wonder… What would the news look like if they heard about this? ‘Beloved Prince Protects NRC From Human!’ or ‘NRC Now Safe From Magicless Maniac!’”

Their eyes searched his, staring deep into his soul. He couldn't tell what they found within them, but it was clear they saw something. “Oh relax, I won't tell. I don't have autonomy here remember? I don't exist, so why would they listen? Not that anyone would have believed me anyways...” The Prefect looked to the side, trailing off.

“...Okay I'm done with this, just get the hell out of here. You won, okay? I'm a weak little herbivore. I don't want to see you ever again. Just leave me alone.” They were disgusted as they backed away from him, watching him the whole time. Leona saw how Yuu carefully shifted their weight, trying not to wince from the pain felt by moving.

He didn't say anything. Yuu didn't want him to speak. They sat down on the bed and stared at him until he turned to leave. It was when he closed the door he heard sobs.

Azul

He was shaking. Shaking as he stood in front of the door of the doctor's office. No matter how much he tried to steel his mind, he couldn't relax. He felt sick. His hand quivered. He didn't have the strength to open the door.

He had to eventually…

A deep breath, and he pushed it open, holding back the urge to throw up from anxiety. From the hospital bed, he didn't fail to notice how Yuu’s expression dropped the second he opened the door.

“Oh. It's you.” The Prefect tried to sit up, just to let out a gag and choke for a second, laying back down. How many ribs did he break when he grabbed them? How much did it hurt?

“Great to see you again.” They snarked, wrinkling their nose in repulsion before relaxing their face again. “So? What's up? Here to visit a friend?”

Azul was silent, watching as Yuu stared straight up at the motivational posters on the ceiling as they wheezed with every breath, not wanting to look at him. They were clearly expecting a response. Now where was it?

“I- erm. Prefect– I mean Yuu—”

“Prefect is perfect.” Yuu spat.

“Ah yes… Prefect…” Azul found his footing. “I am…” He had a script for this. He had a script for this…

“I'm sorry–” he tried not to cry. He tried not to be that stupid crybaby, but he was. He's just a pathetic, stupid, ugly crybaby no matter how hard he pretends not to be. Stupid stupid fat fat stupid.

“Oh my god I don't want to hear your pathetic blubbering. If you're gonna do that, get the hell out of here. I don't want to deal with this shit.” Yuu was exasperated, damn near shaking.

“Choking on sobs while I'm choking just to breathe, are you fucking serious?” He was snotty trying hard to fight against the tears, they were right, they were right—

“Let's ‘make a deal’: take whatever you want, just get the hell out of my life, Azul. Don't talk to me, don't even look at me. Take Ramshackle, I don't care, not like I can go up the stairs to my room now anyways. You don’t even need to handle any medical shit I have. You won.” Yuu was crying now too, shaking in their bed.

“Got it? Just fucking go. And be sure to share my sentiments with Jade and Floyd as well. Spell it out for them: I hate them. I hate all of you. You're all so pathetic, you're not even worthy of being considered shit on this earth. I don't want you here.”

That was all Azul needed to leave. They hate him. You hate him. He feels sick. Filthy. He deserves it. He deserves it. He's just a pathetic little octobaby. It's all he will be.

Idia

Idia was beyond anxious. He was petrified to leave his room and see what he had done. Idia knew he couldn't hide forever. He had to confront Yuu and own up to everything he did eventually. He doesn't want to do this. Why can't he just hide away.

Just breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale… Exhale…

Phew… here he goes—

The second he stepped up to that door he could hear it. Faint sobbing. Idia’s feet were cold once again as he stood there.

Should he wait? Should he just go in?

C'mon c'mon c'mon— What does he do here?!

… He can't do this. He can't. He's just going back to his room and will send a bunch of stuff their way with a lengthy, well-thought out written apology…

It won't work. He knows it won't.

Dammit! His parents and Ortho won't let him avoid this forever…

Another breath. He opens the door. He feels he's going to vomit.

Yuu jumps a bit startled. They blink as if to see if this is real, then stare at him with contempt. “... What do you want?” Their leer has Idia damn near shaking. It was even more unnerving with the darkened veins across their face.

“I- I erm– I came to um… ahem. O-Our doctors at STYX will continue to work with you and monitor your condition. We… We're sure with just a few tests we can get you back in p-perfect condition.” His eyes scanned the various burns and deep cuts along their body, most of which were covered in bandages.

“... Are you serious?” Yuu’ voice dropped dangerously low.

“U-um… Yes?”

“No, I mean are you fucking serious?” Yuu snarls at Idia, teeth gritted and eyes wide. “You seriously think I want to be around you sons of bitches any longer after everything that happened?! After you destroyed my dorm?! Took my friends?! Af… After you did this to me?!”

Yuu breathes heavily in and out. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?!”

“E-eep!” Idia yelped, trying to make himself seem small. He wants to go to his room he wants to go— They're crying now, they're crying!!!–

"Unless it's a way home I'm not interested! I thought…” a sniffle, followed by a bitter laugh, “I thought the ‘whole ending up in a different world’ thing was supposed to be fun! Was supposed to be cool! I was… I was supposed to go out and explore and make friends and learn all kinds of magical things about how this whole world works and all that it has been for me is hell!”

They're sobbing into their hands. “I'm no one! I have to do all of this on my own and I have no identity, no nothing! I always have to fix everyone else's messes! I have to learn everything with no help! I'm always left behind, I don't have anyone, I can't… I can't do this anymore…”

They look at Idia, puffy eyes filled with so much anger. “Why couldn't you have just kill me? Why? It would have been the one good thing you've ever done. Now I have to continue living like this! Doing this stupid job! Having to check on everyone— and no doubt when I'm able to walk again Crowley is going to make me check on you!”

Idia was whimpering, backing towards the door he came in from. He knew this was a bad idea. He should have just stayed in his room…

“I hate you! I hate everyone! Nobody here cares about me, no one here ever checks on me, I have to babysit all the time, I never get to rest! I can't rely on anyone– and I have no one.” Idia was shaking, and just like a shark to a drop of blood, Yuu smelt his fear was was going in for the kill.

They're leaning in as far as they can, holding the side of the hospital bed. “What are you cowering over? What, do I scare you that bad? Shouldn't I be the one afraid of you?!”

Yuu is now glaring, the fire inside them turning icy. “You are so pathetic, Idia. I hate you. Hate. You. Just go.”

He was relieved to finally get out of there. Now he can shut himself away and take care of anything he has to from a distance, behind a screen. Away from everyone.

Grim

Something was off.

Yuu wasn't themselves. They haven't been themselves since the whole STYX situation. The second they made it back to campus they didn't seem to be as tearful or relieved as everyone was. They were stiff in the group embrace. It was exhaustion. It had to be. The adrenaline had worn off and they could finally relax.

It didn't explain how Yuu continued to be so distant for the next week. They would always round him up and force him to at least try to study so he could be a great mage, how Yuu would get on his case about every single little thing. His chores, the food budget, their jobs.

It was bliss. Yuu was less strict and he could finally do whatever he wanted. No more holding him back, no more lectures, he was free. Surely the prefect as his henchman learned their place. But then it started to worry him.

Yuu didn't pay attention to him. They no longer helped him with anything. They didn't respond to any of his usual quips. They left whenever he started to instigate something. Yuu just… didn't back him up anymore.

Ace and Deuce noticed it too but when they asked Yuu about it, Yuu just shrugged it off. Seriously, what gives?! He shouldn't be treated like this!

It all came out in homeroom. As one student, he and his henchman were partners per usual. Yuu was careful. They handled everything with precision and care per usual— Proper safety precautions, careful measurements (their arm seemed to shake a bit more, that hasn't happened in the past), perfect stirs.

And, per usual, Grim barely did anything. Aside from messing everything up.

Crash!

Everyone stared at the broken vial on the floor, with Grim right above it. There was tension as Crewel turned to see the damage, looking to see who to punish before his head turned to Grim. “I-It was Yuu! They did it!!” He pointed his stubby paws at them not noticing how their eye seemed to twitch when he did so.

“Don't lie Grim, Yuu didn't do it, you're just blaming them.” a random student came to their defense, leaving Grim high and dry.

“I see. Well then. Grim will have detention after class, and as his caretaker, you will have to join him, Yuu. You need to learn to keep your partner on a tighter leash.”

Yuu seemed to deflate just a bit. “... Understood.” Then they turned away from him as usual. Not even a lecture.

“Geez Yuu, why didn't you pay attention to me? It wouldn't have fallen over if you'd have done your job.”

It looked like Crewel was about to step in to lecture him. But Yuu’s voice cut in front of his, voice cold. “Because I expected you to be able to do basic tasks without coddling after all this time… Besides, you aren't worth it.”

“Wh- What do you mean Yuu?”

“I hate you.” You could hear a pin drop in that room from how loud the silence was. Grim just stared. “Hah?” He then glared at them. “Don't joke like that its not that serious.”

Yuu just shrugged. “Hey! At least answer me!!”

“I meant it, Grim.”

“This isn't funny Yuu.”

“I am not joking.”The Prefect crossed their arms and stared down at him, gaze cold.

“Recently I had an epiphany, a realization more like.” Yuu was speaking in a clinical tone. In this moment they were a researcher sharing their findings in a factual manner.

“I can't remember a clear moment where you have done anything meaningful for me since we first met a year ago. It has just been cleaning up your messes and catering to your selfish whims one after the other. I think what finally made me realize, was this.”

Yuu pulled down the sleeve to their uniform to show off the deep cuts Grim left in them after his freakout. They were jagged and deep and would no doubt leave an ugly scar. Whispers broke out from the crowd, murmurs about the dire beast circulated.

“I struggle to close my hand quite often now,” To demonstrate, they tried to flex their hand. Their fingers didn't extend all the way. Their face contorted into pain as they winced, hand shaking Grim swallowed, guilt washing over him as he tried to look smaller. “It's not like I can get occupational therapy so easily here, so I have to live with this for now.”

They now leaned down to him. Grim's widened and Yuus face seemed to grow more and more snarky, more cruel. “None of this would have happened if you just listened. How many times have I warned you not to consume those waste gems?” Yuu then leaned away, hand under their chin as they continue.

“Anyways, I then thought some more about all the effort I put in just for it not to be reciprocated. This relationship we have is quite one sided. It's more like 90:10 on a good day… and since then, I started to hate you, and everything about you…”

“I am a brilliant mind, you realize that? It's just an objective fact. I can't believe it took me this long to realize just how pathetic you are. After all, I have picked up an otherworldly language and culture and became near the top of my classes with the effort I have put in. I have a better understanding of magic as a magicless student than you.”

The crowd just watched as Yuu paced a bit, sorting out all of their thoughts for all to see. It was different seeing them like this, bit the students seemed to eat it up, taking their side.

“You don't contribute anything to those around you. You don't even contribute anything meaningful to a basic conversation aside from complaining about how tired and hungry you are. You cannot even sit down and review simplified notes I made specially for you.” Grim was shrinking with each word spoken, it felt as though he was being stabbed a thousand times over. It was a betrayal that he should have expected of he had any self awareness.

“You're selfish. You always take from others and don't have any endearing traits to make up for it. I have gone days without meals because you couldn't fathom that I need to eat too. You fail to recognize others as people and use them as scapegoats. The only reason you're passing your classes is because I get straight As... Thank you for turning them into Cs by the way.”

They didn’t seem to care how he felt. They didn't feel bad. How could they? “Surely by now you should be able to take care of yourself, oh great mage? You always told me how overbearing I was. Thankfully, I have good news.” He had a feeling it wouldn't be good news…

“Crowley finally got around to making our grades separate from now on, so you can't rely on me anymore. Which is why I have been collecting and saving all of my graded assignments.” Oh no. That was bad news. It was good for Yuu, yes, but now he's screwed. I mean he doesn't deserve this right? It's not his fault this school is so hard! How is he supposed to pass now?!

“You're welcome. You got what you wanted. You're your own mage from now on. No need for a lowly human to drag you down.” This lowly human was the only reason he got this far.

"I'm sure I could find other students in my classes that will help me with any magic barriers— you are barely able to do it anyways. It doesn't matter if you get held back to me anymore, I can graduate without you. I no longer have to rely on you to exist here, so I can finally say it: I hate you.”

The class seemed shocked, asking each other if Grim really was that awful. Grim was blubbering, panicking. A firm smack of a ruler hitting the inside of a hand interrupted it all. “That's enough, Yuu! Bad dog!” Crewel tapped the ruler in his palm again.

“My apologies professor, I am done. I do hope my potion is up to your standards, seems like Grim hasn't started on his.” They set a delicate bottle on his desk, awaiting review.

He was panicked now. Wait. Fuck. He hasn't been helping. It was Yuus potion! The direbeast merely looked over to Yuu who cleaned up their workstation, not even sparing a glance to him until the very end. They looked over once more at Grim through their goggles.

“I do hope you remember your detention. In any case I am done here, I am going to go help other groups professor.” Just like that, they left him, Grim could only watch as the group they joined adopted them instantly, asking them if they were alright and offering their magic if they needed it. It was no suprise most student liked them. They were always kind. The only looks he got back were from other students that seemed to judge him.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #angst #azul ashengrotto x reader #idia shroud x reader #twst grim x reader

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lupinqs · 2 days ago

Text

CHAPTER TEN ━━ The Introduction

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 5.9K

❀ ━ warnings: allusions to sex, alcohol consumption

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: hehe

IT’S FRIDAY, December 2nd, and UConn just annihilated Providence. Jo played out of her mind, as she always does. Of course, Paige is proud. Of course she is. But both her performance and the team win can’t really make this might feel like a victory for Paige to bask in.

Currently, she’s standing in Nika’s kitchen, staring down at the cup full of Everclear in her hand. The liquid inside is dangerous, too strong for her, and yet she’s already downed three or four shots. She doesn’t even like it. In fact, she usually avoids this shit like the plague. But tonight, it’s the only thing she can think of to numb her, the only thing that might be able to quiet the anxious, suffocating storm inside her chest.

It’s almost laughable, really, how predictable she is. How every time Jo does something—breathes, laughs, smiles—Paige feels like she’s suffocating just a little more. It’s insane. They’re best friends. They’ve been living together since May. She’s seen every side of Jo—the silly, the serious, the completely ridiculous.

Well, every side except the one she shares with Asher.

Because Paige still hasn’t met him.

She’s seen all the pictures, of course—the one’s on Jo’s Instagram, the one that Jo has as her lock screen, the one framed in Jo’s family’s house back in Boston, the one perched on Jo’s desk in their apartment. She hears about him a God awful lot, too. She’s seen Jo text him, call him. She’s listened to Jo gush about him and their future while Paige is just… there. Watching Listening. Seeing Jo get lost in that perfect, fairytale love that Paige will never be a part of.

The rest of the team, on the other hand, have already met the damn boy. Back in October, while Paige was in LA rehabbing, he’d come up to visit Jo, and they’d met him. And, of course, they all informed Paige of how kind and charming and absolutely perfect for Jo he was.

And, tonight, it seems that Paige has finally met her dues. Because he’s coming to Ted’s with Jo, to hang out with the team.

Okay, it’s not that Paige wants to hate Asher. He hasn’t done anything to her, not really. She just doesn’t want to see it. Doesn’t want to see the joy and adoration in Jo’s eyes when she’s with him. Doesn’t want to see her look at someone else the way she’ll never look at Paige.

That’s why she’s standing here in Nika’s kitchen, holding the cup of Everclear like it’s a lifeline. She’s downed drink after drink, trying to numb herself before the night really starts. She needs something to take the edge off. Anything to make the world feel a little less sharp, a little less raw.

So, Paige reaches for the bottle again, pouring herself another cup, her hand unsteady from the alcohol already coursing through her veins. She doesn’t even care that she’s probably about to get way too drunk to function. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Not when she’s about to experience first-hand the perfect, romcom, movie-like romance of Jo and Asher.

As Paige pours the drink, she doesn’t even hear Caroline approach. It’s not until the sophomore’s hand wraps around her wrist that Paige jerks back, spilling some of the alcohol across the counter. “Bro!” she exclaims, frustration creeping into her voice as she whips her head to glare at Caroline. “What the hell?”

Caroline narrows her eyes, and the look she gives Paige is one of irritation, not amusement. “What are you doing?” she demands, voice tight. “You’re gonna be wasted before we even get to Ted’s. Besides, you don’t even like this shit!” She gestures to the bottle of Everclear in Paige’s hand, her gaze pointed.

Paige rolls her eyes. “Nah, don’t do that with me, Carol,” she says, her voice flat and cold, the words rolling off her tongue like venom. “I’m older than you. If you wanna mother someone, go find the freshmen.”

Caroline doesn’t flinch at Paige’s outburst. Instead, she just rolls her eyes back, her expression practically dripping with exasperation. Then, with one swift motion, she gives Paige a quick shove on the shoulder, a mockery of affection that’s meant to get her attention but only serves to make Paige more frustrated. “No,” Caroline says, her tone laced with that same tired edge. “I’m gonna mother because clearly you need it!”

The words land like a slap, stinging more than Paige expects. Yes, she knows she’s not being entirely responsible, but also—when has she been? It’s sort of in her nature to be irresponsible, so she’s not sure how this is any different. But is is. And she doesn’t even know why.

There’s a long pause. Too long. It stretches between them like a chasm, and Paige can feel the moment hanging in the air like it’s about to swallow her whole. She thinks Caroline might be done. She thinks the conversation might be over.

But it’s not. Caroline is not finished.

“Look,” the brunette says, her voice gentler now, but still firm. “I know you’re, like, totally in love with Jo and all, but please, Paige, get yourself together.”

Almost instantly, Paige stills. It’s as if the entire world falls silent in an instant. The sound of her pulse fills her ears, louder than anything else. Her mind goes blank for a moment, and then the words slowly filter through. Caroline knows. Paige has been so careful recently to pretend, pretend, pretend. But Caroline’s still seen through it.

Fuck.

“Wha—? How did you know that?” Paige’s voice comes out high-pitched, more frantic than she wants it to be. She feels like she’s suffocating, like she’s about to drown in the truth that’s just been laid bare. “Did Azzi tell you? Aubrey?” The thought of anyone else but the two of them knowing, of anyone else seeing what she’s been trying to hide, is bad. It’s what Paige imagines standing in front of a crowded room, naked, while everyone stares at her would feel like.

Caroline gives her a look. “No, dumbass,” she deadpans. “I figured it out myself. You’re not very subtle.”

As if it were possible, Paige’s stomach seems to drop even more at the simplicity of it all. Because Caroline’s right, just as Aubrey and Azzi both had been. Paige isn’t subtle. She never has been. The way she looks at Jo, the way her face burns every time Jo smiles at her, the way she seems to track everything Jo doesn’t without even meaning to—none of it is subtle.

She groans, a frustrated sound that escapes her before she can stop it. She leans forward, her palms flat against the counter as she rests her forehead against the cool surface. She’s so tired. Tired of pretending, tired of fighting the feeling that never goes away. And now, with Caroline’s words hanging before her, she knows it’s probably only a matter of time before Jo figured it out, too. Before Jo realizes what Paige has been hiding, and everything goes to shit. Jesus Christ, she’s gonna have to transfer.

Caroline doesn’t let the silence linger for too long, though. “Okay, yeah,” she says, her voice softening a little. “I know it sucks. I get it.” She takes a deep breath, and Paige can hear the sympathy in her voice, the understanding. “And I’m sorry you have to see Jo with Asher while you like her. But, please, get yourself together. Because she’s so excited for you to meet him, and if you’re drunk off your mind when you do, you’re probably just gonna embarrass yourself and her. Do you wanna do that?”

Caroline’s right. Of course she is. Paige can imagine herself meeting Asher, entirely wasted, and saying some stupid shit that would have him grimacing at her and Jo flushing with embarrassment over the fact that this drunk girl before them is supposed to be her best friend. It would be wrong and selfish to do that. But it’s gonna be so hard to do it and act normal. She knows she swore she would take Jo in whatever way she’ll give her—and she still stands by that—but that doesn’t mean she has any desire to meet her boyfriend. Because she just doesn’t. She’s truly not sure she can.

She doesn’t respond right away. Instead, she just stays there, head pressed against the counter, trying to will sway the stupid, hot tears that begin to form in her eyes. She can’t cry here. It’s fucking stupid.

Eventually, after blinking the tears away, Paige begrudgingly shakes her head. “No,” she mutters under her breath, the words barely audible. “I don’t wanna do that.”

Caroline pats her on the back. “That’s what I thought.”

PAIGE LISTENS. She’s being good. She’s only slightly tipsy, every so often taking sips of her Dirty Shirley. She’s doing her best to integrate herself into the team’s conversation around her, despite her uncharacteristic anxiousness. She tries to will her gaze to stop flicking toward the door. It doesn’t work; her mind is already rehearsing every possible scenario when Jo and Asher walk in.

“Aye, JoJo just said they should be here any minute!” Ice says loudly, reading a text off her phone. The rest of the team, half-fueled by the alcohol running through their bloodstream, lets out a few cheers.

Azzi, who’s across from Paige and who Paige can tell is almost entirely sober, meets her eyes. She title her head, giving her a look as if to say you good? The blonde gives her a tight nod. She will be good. She’s gonna keep it together, it’ll be fine. It’s just one night, one introduction. After that, she can pretend none of it matters. She doesn’t need to be anywhere near Asher.

But even as she tells herself that, her pulse begins to quicken, the seconds ticking by too slowly as she waits for the pair to walk through that door. And, when they finally do, it’s not the way she thought it would be. She expected her heart to sink, her breath to catch, but what happens instead is worse. Her skin tingles, and her chest feels too tight, like her ribs are being squeezed, her lungs struggling for air. Jo walks in first, her laugh ringing out across the bar like it’s some beautiful melody that Paige can’t stop hearing. And then there’s Asher, in the flesh, right behind her. His arm is casually draped over Jo’s shoulder, and the two of them look so natural, so right together that it makes Paige feel like she’s been hit with a sucker punch to the gut.

They’re happy. It’s blatantly obvious in the way they move together, the way Asher’s hand rests lightly on Jo’s shoulder, the way they share that easy, carefree smile, as if nothing in the world could ruin this moment for them. Paige’s vision sharpens, the edge of the bar blurring as the urge to shrink away into herself rises up like an overwhelming tide. She wants to leave, to disappear, to drink so much she blacks out and dies.

But she doesn’t. Obviously.

Jo and Asher head straight toward the team, where they stand in the back corner. Paige forces herself to appear nonchalant like always, her back pressed against the bar wall, her fingers gripping the edge of her drink. The others begin to greet the pair quickly, all laughing and chatting with him so easily and fast it almost gives Paige whiplash. Within a minute, he already fits in so seamlessly—and Paige hates if. She hates the way he’s making them all laugh, the way he’s charming without even trying, the way everyone seems to like him so easily. Things would be so much easier for Paige if he was just some shitty douchebag boy.

But then Jo’s eyes find hers, that smile spreading across her face, and all thoughts of the boy flee for a short moment. It’s that smile only for her, only for Paige. She’s reserved it.

Paige feels her heart leap, an automatic reaction that she can’t stop, especially with alcohol in her system. She doesn’t know if Jo can see it, the way her face softens at the sight of her, but Paige knows her smile is already in place, even if it feels a little strained, like her cheeks might crack under the pressure.

Paige watches as Jo grabs onto Asher’s wrist, pulling him so they’re both face to face with Paige. “Paige! This is Asher!” she exclaims excitedly, and it’s adorable, it really is, the way her doe eyes shine at Paige, twinkling.

With some effort, the blonde forces her gaze from Jo to the boy beside her. “Hey, bro,” Paige says, her voice coming out a little higher than she intended, but she doesn’t let it show. She forces the words out, the greeting she’s practiced a thousand times too many.

“Nice to meet you,” she adds. It’s a lie. Of course.

Asher nods, his hand extending to shake hers. It makes everything inside Paige write. He’s not just some asshole she can dismiss; he’s the guy who makes Jo happy. And in the face of that, what does Paige have to offer? Absolutely nothing.

“Yeah, you too,” Asher replies, his smile wide, genuine. Fuck, he really is likable. It makes everything worse. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Stupidly, Paige can feel her heart skip a beat. He’s heard about her. Jo’s talked about her. The thought of it makes her skin flush, and she glances at Jo, who’s standing just a little too close to Asher, her eyes sparkling. There’s a faint blush on her cheeks, just enough for Paige to notice.

Hm.

Jo’s talked about her. Jo’s talked about her. It’s an absurdly stupid thing to obsess over, because, yes, it would only make sense that Jo has talked about her. They’re roommates, for God’s sakes.

But then, just as quickly, it all comes rushing back—the overwhelming knowledge that it just doesn’t matter. Because Jo has Asher.

Paige’s hand in tightens slightly around her drink, and she forces her smile to stay in place. “I bet,” she says, before gesturing to Jo. “She’s a yapper.”

Asher’s grin widens, and he nods in agreement. He glances down at Jo for a moment, and Paige can see the faint sparkle in his own eyes. It makes her sick. “Yeah, she is,” he chuckles. Of course he would know that. He knows everything. Certainly more than Paige (except how to make a girl cum—though, at this point, she supposes it can’t even apply to the situation). But he’s been there. For everything. Since the fucking sandbox days. It’s not something Paige can even remotely compete with.

She needs another drink.

JO SITS awkwardly in the booth at Ted’s, wedged between Asher and Paige. It’s not even that the space is tight—there’s room enough for the three of them, probably room for one more—but the proximity feels off, almost claustrophobic. She shifts in her seat, feeling the edge of Asher’s knee against hers, and Paige’s shoulder brushing lightly against her own. All of it—the heat from their bodies, the weight of their presence—is somehow making her feel small, like there’s no space for her in this conversation.

Asher, ever the extrovert, is holding court with Paige, talking on and on about college football rankings and how Penn State (where he goes to school) is sure to win their bowl game. Jo tries to listen and engage, but the topic doesn’t interest her. Basketball is far superior to football. But she still follows along, because Asher’s so into it, so excited to share his thoughts, and Paige—who, as usual, is completely unfazed by the world around her—responds with that ease that always leaves Jo wanting more.

Jo feels herself sinking lower in the booth, staring at her drink. It’s a cranberry vodka, something that feels sweet on her tongue. She takes another sip—maybe too quickly—and feels the alcohol warm her from the inside out. It helps dull the growing discomfort, but it doesn’t erase it. The tightness in her chest persists, a strange, insistent thing that makes her shift again, trying to find a way to make herself comfortable.

She doesn’t know why she feels this way. She should be happy. She should be enjoying this. After all, she’s the one who was so eager to introduce Asher and Paige, so excited to see her favorite people meet and get along. So why does it feel… wrong now? Why does it feel like she doesn’t belong?

It’s not jealousy. No, not even close. She’s fine with Asher and Paige talking. She’s good with it. She wants them to like each other. She’s been waiting for this, hoping for it. But still… the weight of their conversation feels like it’s too much for her to hear, even if she can’t articulate why. It’s the way they’re so at ease with each other, like they’ve known each other for years, and Jo feels like she’s just a spectator, stuck in the middle. Paige is talking about football like she’s always been passionate about it, and Jo wonders if she even really cares or if she’s just being her usual, charismatic self, making everyone around her feel like they’re the most important person in the room.

She doesn’t know why this feels so weird, so odd. It’s almost as if the booth is too small for the three of them, like either Asher of Paige needs to move out of it so Jo can finally breathe again. She just doesn’t get it.

Asher keeps talking, oblivious to the tension knotting in Jo’s stomach. She can tell he’s enjoying himself, that he’s happy to be here, happy to be connecting with Paige. He’s wanted to ever since he’s realized how close she and Jo are, not to mention the fact that he’s a big fan of Paige’s game—which, valid. And Paige, of course, is just as nonchalant as always. She’s good at this—at making people feel seen and heard, like she’s the only person in the room that matters.

Jo tries to keep her smile in place, but she knows it’s not quite reaching her eyes. Every time Paige laughs, it hits something inside her she can’t explain, some quiet ache. Every time Asher leans in closer to Paige, every time they lock eyes, Jo feels a small, gnawing discomfort in the pit of her stomach. Not jealousy, just… something else. Something she doesn’t want to name.

Paige’s voice cuts through her thoughts, and Jo snaps back to the moment. “I’mma go get another Shirley,” the blonde says easily, pushing herself up from the booth. Jo watches her walk away, feeling a strange sense of relief mixed with the sudden urge to grab Paige’s hand and pull her right back. So weird.

Asher’s voice suddenly cuts through the murmur of chatter, causing Jo’s head to snap toward him. He’s looking at her now, his brow furrowed in that way he gets when he’s concerned. “Babe, you good? You been kinda, like… quiet?”

Jo forces a smile, the expression coming easy enough but feeling unnatural on her lips. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and she can feel it, can feel the way he’s watching her, sensing something is off. Why am I being like this? She doesn’t know.

“Yeah, let’s go dance,” she says, the words sounding too breezy. Asher doesn’t seem to notice, though, his smile brightening. He takes her hand in his, tugging her up from the booth.

They make their way to the dance floor, and Jo feels the heat of the crowd, the heavy bass that vibrates in her chest. She tries to lose herself in it, tries to let the rhythm take over. Asher’s hands find her waist, guiding her gently, pulling her closer as they fall into the music. She moves with him, tries to feel the warmth of his body, the comfort of being with him. It’s weird, though, because the steps feel a little too quick, like she’s trying to make her body fit the rhythm of something that feels off.

Her gaze drifts without meaning to. It’s not even something she consciously does, it just happens, as her eyes scan the room, taking in the crowd of people. And then, they land at the bar.

Paige is there, talking with someone Jo doesn’t recognize at first. But when she squints her eyes, trying to make sense of the redhead leaning over the counter, she realizes it’s Celeste. She watches, captivated for reasons she doesn’t understand, as Celeste leans in closer to Paige, her fingers brushing along Paige’s arm. Jo doesn’t really like that. She should stop watching.

But she doesn’t. And the longer she stares, the more that strange feelings gnaws at her. She can’t tear her gaze away, even though she tries. It’s weird and wrong, Jo knows, watching her best friend cook up her nightly fuck—because, surely, that’s what this is.

And then, just as if she’s been caught, Paige’s eyes meet here. Jo feels her heart skip a beat. Her cheeks instantly flush, her gaze jerking away from Paige’s with an awkwardness she doesn’t understand.

Bur when she dares to glance back, she finds Paige still looking at her, her gaze steady, unwavering. There’s something about the way Paige is staring, like she’s waiting for Jo to react, to do something, anything. Jo feels herself shift uneasily under that gaze, her skin heating as though she’s been caught in something she shouldn’t have been.

She looks away again, closing her eyes briefly as she tries to focus more intently on the movement of Asher’s hands on her hips, on the way he’s leading her in a slow circle. She tries to focus on the feel of his body close to hers, tries to drown out the memory of Paige’s eyes. But Jo’s thoughts are all scattered, her focus slipping like sand through her fingers.

The music changes, the beat shifting, becoming more sensual, slower. Asher leans in closer, his lips brushing against Jo’s ear, and he whispers in that low voice that always makes her shiver, “You wanna go back to yours?”

Jo nods automatically, because, yes, she really needs to leave this place.

As they move through the crowd, heading for the exit, Jo sneaks one last glance at the bar. She’s hoping for something—she doesn’t even know what—but Paige’s attention is elsewhere, focused on Celeste now. Jo feels a pang, but it’s fleeting, and she brushes it off with a shrug, tightening her grip on Asher’s hand.

“I’MMA GO get another Shirley,” Paige says, pushing herself out of the booth before either Jo or Asher can respond. She’s already halfway out by the time the words fully register with them, and she doesn’t wait to hear what they might say. For obvious reasons, talking to Asher has drained her. They’ve been going on and on about football, and it just got to a point. Not to mention the fact that Jo was between them, the whole right side of her body pressed against Asher, his arm casually slung over her shoulders.

Paige tries not to think too hard about it. She’s fine. She’s so fine, in fact, that she decides she needs another drink.

The bar is crowded, but Paige carves her way through the bodies easily. She leans against the counter, resting her forearms on the sticky surface as she flags down the bartender. She orders another Dirty Shirley, and then a shot of tequila because, well, it’s just one of those nights.

Paige exhales and lets herself sink into the moment—the crowd, the pounding bass of the music, the buzz of alcohol in her system. She tries to think about anything but the happy couple she’d been forced to hang out with for far longer than she’d planned.

Her drink arrives, the tequila shot placed next to it. She picks up the shot glass without hesitation, throwing it back quickly. The burn hits her immediately, sharp and biting, but she welcomes it. She needs it. The glass clinks against the bar as she sets it down, and she picks up her Shirley, sipping it to chase the tequila’s lingering heat.

“Hey, P,” a voice says from beside her, catching her off guard.

Paige turns, her brown furrowing for a split second before her expression smooths out. It’s Celeste. Of course.

“Hey,” Paige says casually, as if the sight of the redhead doesn’t throw her a little off balance for a moment. She’s not surprised Celeste is here—she’s always around. She’s also not surprised when Celeste slides closer, her lips curving into a smile that Paige knows all too well.

“You celebrating the win?” Celeste asks, her voice light, flirtatious. Paige has to give her credit, if she’s honest, because, really, this girl never gives up, no matter how hot and cold Paige is.

And, if Paige is even more honest, Celeste looks good. Better than good. She’s wearing some kind of black corset top that pushes her tits up in a way that’s impossible not to notice, her bright red hair perfectly blown out, and her makeup flawless even in the hazy lighting of Ted’s.

“Something like that,” Paige replies, her words accompanied by a small shrug. She takes another sip of her drink, letting the alcohol settle over her like a warm blanket.

Celeste doesn’t waste any time. She leans forward, her hand brushing against Paige’s arm in a way that’s calculated. “You looked good on the bench tonight. I posted a couple shots that the cameras got of you,” she says lowly.

Paige nearly snorts at the words—you looked good on the bench tonight. That’s what she’s been reduced to, a pretty bench-warmer, too injured and useless to be anywhere but on it. But she doesn’t laugh. Because she knows exactly what Celeste is doing. And under normal circumstances, she might be annoyed—Celeste has a habit of getting too attached, of acting like there’s more between them than there really is. But tonight, Paige is a little drunk, a little tired, and more than a little tempted to let herself fall into the distraction Celeste is offering. She was already planning on fucking someone tonight, and Celeste? Well, she’s right here, looking like that. Why not?

So, Paige smiles, tilting her head just slightly, enough to give the redhead the impression that she’s been hooked. “Yeah?” she says playfully, teasingly. “Didn’t know you were paying that much attention.”

Celeste laughs a little, leaning even closer, and Paige can feel the way her fingers linger on her arm. She plays along, letting herself fall into the conversation, the push and pull of flirtation. It’s easier to think about other things.

But, of course, somehow, her focus still seems to slip.

Over Celeste’s shoulder, Paige catches a glimpse of the dance floor. Her eyes find Jo and Asher almost instantly, like she was looking for them without even realizing it. They’re dancing, their bodies close, their smiles easy. They look happy. They look like they belong together. And it makes Paige want to puke.

She tries to look away, tries to focus on Celeste, on the warmth of her hand still on her arm, on the sharp curve of her smile. But she can’t. Her eyes keep drifting back to Jo, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

And then, suddenly, Jo looks over. Their eyes meet across the room, and Celeste blurs into the background beside Paige like she was never even there. Paige should look away, should stop staring. But she doesn’t. Her eyes stay locked on Jo’s, rooted there.

But then Jo breaks the connection, her gaze shifting away, and Paige is left staring at nothing. She feels an idiotic pang, and forced herself to take another sip of her drink.

Celeste seems to notice, her head turning to follow Paige’s line of sight. Her eyes land on Jo and Asher, and she tilts her head as she turns back to Paige. “Is that Jo’s boyfriend?” she asks.

Paige nods. “Yup. His name’s Asher.” She forces her voice to sound calm and unaffected, even though saying his name feels like she’s choking on something too sharp to swallow.

Celeste hums slowly in response. She pauses for a moment, and Paige can feel her gaze, sharp and curious, boring into her. “So… you and Jo are, like, best friends, right?” Her tone is casual, but there’s something suspicious laced beneath it, like she’s fishing for something Paige doesn’t want to give.

Paige nods again, slower this time, turning her head to glance at Celeste. “Yeah…” she says, the word dragging out of her like it takes effort to say. She wonders where this is going.

“Well,” Celeste begins, tipping her shot glass back and setting it down with a faint clink. “I ask her about you sometimes, and she never really gives me a clear answer. I can tell she tries to be nice to me, but it doesn’t really seem like she likes me much.”

Paige raises an eyebrow at that, her instinct to defend Jo kicking in automatically. “Nah, Jo likes everyone,” she says, waving Celeste off with a dismissive hand. And it’s true—Jo does like everyone.

But Celeste shakes her head, her red hair catching the light. “I don’t know,” she says thoughtfully. “For a while, I kinda thought you and her were a thing.”

The words hit Paige like a slap, and she chokes on the sip of her Shirley she just took, coughing as she sets her glass down hard on the bar. “What—?” she manages to get out, her voice rough and disbelieving. Her heart is pounding so loudly in her chest she’s sure Celeste can hear it.

Celeste shrugs, her expression almost too nonchalant, like she knows exactly what kind of chaos she’s causing. “Yeah. I mean, I guess I just kinda got that vibe. But if she’s got a boyfriend and we’ve fucked a couple times recently… I guess I was wrong.”

Paige blinks at her, wide-eyed. “You definitely were,” she says quickly, the words tumbling out too fast, too eager to set the record straight. Her face is flushed, and she can feel the heat crawling up her neck. “We’re just friends. Nothing more. At all.”

The words feel heavy in her mouth, bitter and thick. They’re not a lie, no matter how much Paige sometimes wishes it could be.

She doesn’t miss the way Celeste studies her, her green eyes narrowing slightly, like she’s trying to figure out if Paige is telling the truth. Paige hates how exposed she feels, like someone on the outside—someone as far removed as Celeste—can somehow sense the mess of feelings she’s been trying so hard to bury.

She forces herself to take a large gulp of her Shirley, the alcohol doing little to ease the tightness in her stomach. When she glanced back at the dance floor, her eyes automatically searched for Jo, she realizes that she’s—and Asher—are gone from their previous spot.

Her gaze flickers around the bar, scanning the corners, but they’re nowhere to be found. Probably went to go fuck, she thinks bitterly. Even though she has insight now that Asher is basically terrible at it, the idea still makes Paige want to die.

But she doesn’t. Obviously.

Instead, she finishes the last of her drink, turning her attention back to the girl next to her, forcing her signature smirk back onto her lips. Jo’s gone, busy with him, and Paige doesn’t owe anyone anything.

She leans into the conversation, matching Celeste’s flirtation with her own, their banter growing looser and bolder with each drink they down. The alcohol is certainly doing it’s job, blurring the edges of her thoughts, making everything feel distant and less painful.

Unexpectedly, Paige ends up in Celeste’s bed. And, also unexpectedly, she thinks about brown hair and doe eyes during the entirety of it.

JO LIES tangled in the sheets with Asher, her head resting on his bare chest, his arm wrapped around her back. It’s around four, she thinks, and the world outside feels impossibly quiet at this hour, the kind of stillness that comes only in the dead of night. Asher’s fingers trace slow, lazy patterns along her shoulder, his touch featherlight and soothing.

The haze of the night has mostly worn off now—the alcohol burned away by time, replaced by a comfortable clarity that feels almost foreign after hours of noise and chaos. It’s just the two of them now, alone in her room, their breaths in sync, the moment easy and weightless and familiar.

Jo closes her eyes, letting herself drift in the warmth of his presence, but her mind doesn’t quiet as easily as her body does. It’s almost like something beneath the surges won’t let her fully settle. It’s not unease, exactly. Not suspicion. Just… something. A restlessness she can’t name.

“Okay, I gotta piss,” Asher says suddenly, breaking the silence.

Jo snorts, her eyes fluttering open as she turns her head to look up at him. “Way to ruin the moment,” she teases, though her voice is laced with affection.

Asher grind down at her, unapologetic as he shifts, moving to sit up on the edge of the bed. “Nature calls,” he jokes. He starts to stand, but Jo catches his wrist, tugging him back down for just a second.

“Put some clothes on first,” she reminds him. “Paige got back a little bit ago.” She’d heard the door open, the quiet shuffle of footsteps as Paige made her way to her room. It was probably a half an hour ago, maybe less, and Jo had listened, wondering how Paige’s night had gone, whether she’d been alone or gone back with the team or left with Celeste.

Asher groans playfully, leaning down to peck Jo’s lips. “I will, I will,” he promises, his voice low and warm.

Jo rolls her eyes but can’t help the soft laugh truth escapes her. “You’d better,” she says, swatting lightly at his bare chest.

He smirks before gathering his clothes from the floor. Jo watches him for a moment, her head propped on her hand, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite herself. He looks good, his hair messy, his lips still swollen pink from all the kissing. And he’s here—he’s always been hers. She knows she should feel lucky.

When he leaves the bedroom to disappear into the bathroom, Jo sighs and sits up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. The cool air against her skin makes her shiver, so she grabs the first things she can find—a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants from her drawer. She pulls them on quickly, then settles back on the bed, folding her legs beneath her as she waits for Asher to return.

The sharp buzz of a phone notification catches her attention, the sound loud in the quiet.

Instinctively, Jo reaches over to the nightstand, assuming it’s hers. She picks up the phone without thinking, the screen lighting up in her hand—and stops short.

The message isn’t hers.

Her heart stills in her chest, her breath halting for a moment as she stares at the screen. Without thinking, she presses on the contact, scrolling and scrolling and scrolling, unraveling everything she thought she knew in an instant.

She doesn’t notice the sound of the bathroom door opening, doesn’t register Asher’s footsteps until they’re right at her bedroom door.

And then she hears his voice, soft and unsuspecting. “What’s wrong?”