#so it's really reassuring to get asks like these

[pretentious-blonde]

never second best

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: after a run-in with his ex, steve reassures you that you'll never be second best, proving it in a way he knows will stick

warnings: 18+ this is smut, graphic depictions of sex, p in v, oral (f receiving), tears, insecurity

a/n: part 5 but can be read as a standalone. half of this is super long, pure filth, AND my first time writing smut so pls feedback is welcome. thank you @andvys so so much, hopefully, i didn't let you down <3

series masterlist

Steve perched on the edge of his neatly-made bed, hair painstakingly combed into that signature swoop, the red knit jumper hugging his broad shoulders just so. The sleeves are pushed up to reveal his forearms—a look he recently realised drives you a little wild, and one he now makes an effort to wear often. 

He liked to catch you staring. 

He’s wearing his go-to faded jeans, and every time he glances your way, his eyes take on a softer appearance. You’ve already spent some time in his room before, but every time he sees you there, he still can’t believe you’re in his space.

He’s trying—really trying—not to grin too widely. If he breaks into the excited smile he’s been fighting all morning, he worries he might come off too eager. But truth be told, he is too eager. Hosting Dustin’s birthday party is one thing, but now he has the honour of introducing you to everyone. Officially. 

He’s practically bursting at the chance to show you off, the very thought turned his mind all giddy. Knowing that you would be the one with his arm around your waist for everyone to witness. 

The idea distracted him from the real drama occurring not four feet away from him. 

From your spot by the mirror, you can see him watching you, and it sets your stomach off again. You’re not sure why today feels so monumental. You’ve met Dustin in passing, shared a few laughs with Robin over coffee after she basically saved your relationship a few weeks back.

But tonight is the full show. Everyone. All at once. And for some reason, your carefully chosen outfit no longer feels quite right. You tug the hem of your top self-consciously, tilt your head, and scrunch your nose at your reflection.

“I look awful,” you say, voice laced with the sort of frustration that’s all nerves. “This looked so much better in my head.”

His brow furrows, and he pushes off the bed in a single fluid motion. “That’s nonsense,” he replies, crossing the room to you in three quick strides. He rests his hands lightly on your shoulders, gaze flicking to meet yours in the mirror. "You look beautiful, sweetheart. Always do. You know that."

You huff out a breath, trying not to get lost in the warmth of his praise—easier said than done.

“No, I don’t,” you insist, staring critically at your clothes. “I should’ve brought something else.”

“Well…do you have anything else here?” He asks gently.

There were little traces of you scattered around—a few forgotten items here and there, most notably, the new toothbrush sitting beside his. Still, nine times out of ten, you took your clothes home, leaving behind only your pajamas.

“A set of pajamas.” You sigh dramatically, cursing yourself for not packing more than one option. “That’s about it.”

“Hey, that could work,” he teases, eyes crinkling with amusement. “That’s one of my favourite looks on you.” His hands slide down your arms, his grin growing as he watches your reaction.

Under normal circumstances you would lean into his teasing, but this was not the time. You turn to give him a shove, but he catches your wrist before it can make an impact.

“Steve,” you whine, trying to see the humour in this the way he is.

“What? I’m just being honest,” he says, eyes dancing. “Would you rather I lie?” 

Truth is, he does love you in those pajamas—almost as much as he loves you wearing his old shirts. Honestly, you could throw on a trash bag, and he’d still think you’re stunning.

“Please stop,” you groan.

You’re not smiling the way you usually do at his jokes—no little giggle, no playful roll of the eyes. 

The shift clicks for him: you’re actually stressed. 

Concern crosses his features, and the jovial edge in his voice softens. He lowers his tone, warmth flowing through each word, and slides his hands down to cradle your waist.

“Alright,” he murmurs, thumbs drawing gentle circles against your hips. “Talk to me. What’s not working here?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, exhaling as you sink into him. “I just feel… unprepared. I mean, I’m meeting everyone. Should I have brought something? I should’ve baked. Everyone likes baked goods.”

A breathy chuckle escapes him, and he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

Like you’re not already sweet enough.

“Angel, Robin is bringing the cake. And you”—he squeezes your waist a little firmer—“are a guest here. Your only job is to relax and look pretty. Can you do that for me? Please?”

The earnestness in his voice steals the protest right out of your throat. You look up at him, heart thumping in that heady way it does whenever he turns on the charm full-blast. 

Damn those big, stupid brown eyes. 

You turn back to the mirror, pulling at your shirt once again. There’s a crease here, a wrinkle there—things no one else would ever notice, but to you, it’s just off. You can feel his eyes on you, his concern and affection practically radiating from behind. 

He’s been so excited, so patient, and yet you can’t shake the last bit of anxiety churning in your stomach about today.

In the reflection, you watch him hover, trying to be casual even though you can see every thought flit across his expressive face. He wants you to be happy and comfortable. He wants to show you off and make sure you feel like a million bucks doing it.

“Can I wear something of yours?” you ask softly, turning to meet those wide, hopeful eyes. “I want something more comfortable.”

Comfortable.

His heart practically leaps at your request. He’s not sure why that single sentence sends a jolt of excitement through him, but it does—and it’s powerful. He tries to school his expression into something normal, but the eager beam that spreads across his face betrays him.

“Absolutely,” he says far too quickly, glad to be of use. “Knock yourself out. Have at it—any one you want.”

He opens the wardrobe, stepping aside like he’s unveiling some prized collection. You slip past him, still self-conscious, but the warm brush of his hand on your lower back comforts you. 

Leafing through the soft fabrics, you finally find one that matches the rest of your outfit—a cosy, oversized number that’s equally stylish and undeniably Steve’s. You hold it up, glancing back at him for approval.

He grins—big, unabashed. “Fantastic choice,” he declares, in an exaggeratedly formal tone meant to make you laugh.

It works—you giggle. The sound washes over him like a balm, chasing away the worry in his eyes. 

He lives for that sound.

Then, your focus shifts back to the mirror. You pull off your shirt in one smooth motion, baring your bra and the long, graceful stretch of your spine. 

The air feels cooler against your newly exposed skin, and you instantly sense the spark of awareness coming from the boy behind you.

He goes still. A part of him wants to look away, to be respectful, yet he can’t stop his eyes from drifting along the curve of your waist and the softness just above your navel.

He’s had the privilege of touching your bare skin before—tentative, lingering caresses that never ventured too far. He’s wanted more, of course he has. He’s human—he’s got a pulse. 

But you deserve slow. You deserve a careful pace, no pressure. He’d beat himself up about it for weeks if he even thought he made you uncomfortable.

But that didn’t stop his mind from running. 

He wanted to trail his fingertips down every inch of your body, to feel you melt under his touch. Imagining the way you’d arch into his palms, voice breathless as it tickled his ear, egging him on. Images of pressing you up against the mirror, sliding his hands across your hips, your ribs, your chest, discovering every inch he’s been dying to explore. 

He tears his eyes away, cheeks heating at his own explicit thoughts. 

You slide his jumper over your head, letting the fabric fall into place. Instantly, you’re enveloped in the faint smell of him: cologne, fabric softener, a hint of hairspray. 

You turn, a playful, knowing smirk on your face, you catch the flush on his cheeks—his pupils slightly dilated, his posture taut with the effort of keeping his hands to himself.

“More comfortable?” he asks, managing a wobbly smile.

“Yeah,” you smooth the jumper over your sides, nodding. “Much better.”

A smile spreads slowly across his face, relief flooding his features. He steps closer, gently adjusting the jumper on your shoulders, as if making sure you’re perfectly bundled in his warmth. His knuckles skim your collarbone, the gesture sends a pleasant shiver through you.

“Good,” he murmurs. In the silence that follows, you can almost hear the unspoken thoughts swirling behind his eyes. He drops his hands, brushes a quick kiss to your temple, and lets out a breath. “Come on, let’s get downstairs before the others barge in. The peace isn’t gonna last once the party kicks off.”

The house was buzzing with the kind of kinetic energy that made the walls hum. You can feel it reverberating through the soles of your feet the moment you step back into the living room. The cosy space was adorned with colourful streamers and a Happy Birthday! banner—Dustin’s own insistence, of course.

Steve had nearly suffered a heart attack watching you put it up single-handedly earlier, bursting into the room just in time to steady the wobbling chair beneath you.

I mean, Jesus, were you trying to take years off his life?

You had been blissfully unaware of the impending disaster, balancing precariously as if gravity was a suggestion. 

He had been right there. You could have asked for help. But no—apparently, terrifying him was just part of the fun.

None of that mattered now the party was in full swing, chatter overlapping, laughter weaving in and out of a sweetly melancholic track Max had just dropped onto the record player.

He had introduced you with obvious pride, making sure to state—loud and clear—that you were his girlfriend. Watching you greet everyone with a tender smile. His attention lingered on each reaction, quietly noting how they took in the girl he was lucky enough to call his.

It felt like unveiling a winning hand in a game he never expected to play so well—like holding onto something rare and knowing, deep down, that he’d beaten the odds.

You quickly spot your host—your boyfriend—hovering near the stereo console, running a hand through his hair, trying to appear unruffled while Max and Lucas sift through his precious vinyls. And in typical Steve fashion, failing at appearing calm, because he can’t quite hide his grin when he sees you looking. 

From across the room, he gives you a gentle wave, checking that you’re still alright. His eyes stay on you as you maneuver around the coffee table and dodge a crumb-strewn plate that might have once held cake but now looks suspiciously empty.

“Hey,” he greets, sliding an arm around your waist the second you’re within reach. His hand settles warm and comforting at your side, fingertips lightly pressing into the soft fabric of the borrowed sweater. 

“Hey yourself,” you reply, leaning into the contact without a second thought.

He seems to shine in a way you haven’t seen before. Surrounded by the people he calls family, he’s the best version of himself, brimming with confidence and a natural leadership that emerges when he’s trying to make sure everyone else is okay. 

You see it in the way he’s just handed Max the next record she was eyeing (despite complaining it’s not appropriate music for a birthday party), the way he’s offered Dustin a refill on his drink twice in the last ten minutes, and the way his entire face softens whenever he looks at you.

You hear Will’s loud gasp behind you—apparently, Jonathan just teased him about some underground album you had never heard of. The brown-haired boy claps a hand on his brother’s shoulder, spinning him into an ongoing argument about what to play next. 

Meanwhile, Robin’s perched on the arm of the couch, describing some comedic fiasco at work with her trademark flair for dramatics. You catch only snippets—something about a misfiled horror movie in the kids’ section, a frantic parent demanding a refund, and Steve heroically stepping in to salvage the day.

He rolls his eyes at that particular story, mouth curving in a half-smile. “She’s gonna exaggerate it,” he mutters to you, ��just watch.”

You grin, nudging him gently. “Hey, maybe it’ll make you look good.”

“What, me saving the day?” He shakes his head. “Sweetheart, I already look great,” he says in a faux-arrogant tone, then immediately flushes when he realises how that might’ve sounded. But you know him well enough to catch the joking glint in his eye, so you laugh.

“C’mon, Steve,” comes a voice from the left—Nancy, stepping forward with a cautious smile. Her hair is pinned back, a few strands framing her face, and she looks surprisingly at ease despite the chaos around her. “Give yourself some credit. You’re basically running a daycare every shift the amount of times the kids are there,” she teases, though her tone is warm, not biting.

“Yeah, well, if it keeps me from being bored outta my mind, guess it’s worth it.” He snorts.

You shift, letting Nancy into the conversation fully. She meets your gaze with an inviting smile, and it strikes you how nice she is. 

Steve had mentioned her coming, and at first, it rubbed you the wrong way. Not in a dramatic, soap-opera kind of way, but in that small discomfort that settled in your stomach before you could talk yourself out of it.

You didn’t want to be that person—the one who couldn’t handle a little shared history, who needed their partner to rewrite the past just to make the present more comfortable. But still, the thought sat with you longer than you liked.

Steve had noticed, of course. He was too perceptive when it came to you, reading the tension in your jaw before you even had the words to explain it. So he reassured you—gently, patiently, with that soft-eyed sincerity he always had when something really mattered.

Without hesitation, he’d offered to uninvite her. But you shook your head because that wasn’t fair. If they were all part of the same friend group, who were you to come in and break it apart? Nancy was part of his history, but that didn’t mean she had to be an issue in his future.

And if he could move forward without looking over his shoulder, then so could you.

She was not the intimidating figure you’d somewhat imagined— the girl he had cared about so deeply in the past. Instead, she’s approachable, her eyes bright with curiosity as she acknowledges you.

“Hi,” she says, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I don’t think we’ve had a real chance to talk yet. I’m Nancy.” She offers her hand, and you take it, noticing the gentle, firm shake.

“It’s really nice to finally meet you properly.” You tell her, giving your name in return. “Steve’s told me a bit about you.”

She arches a brow at him, a playful glint there. “All good things, I hope?”

“Nothing but the best.” He raises both hands, half-defensive. 

She laughs quietly, then turns that inquisitive gaze back to you.

“So, I heard you’re, um… you work in—”

“Journalism,” you supply with a small nod. “It’s not as glamorous as it sounds, but I really like it. Kinda took your place at the Hawkins Post.” You joke. “They treat me a lot better now though. It’s not anything huge, but I get to read new articles, help shape them a bit, get the occasional coffee run… it’s fun and sometimes totally insane.”

Steve leans in, beaming with pride. 

It had gotten easier—less and less often did you show up at his house on the verge of tears after a shift. Turns out, grown men get pretty uncomfortable when you call them out on their bullshit directly. And damn, was he proud when they finally started taking you seriously.

He always knew they would. You’re a smart girl, after all.

“She’s underselling it.” He says, without the slightest bit of shame, gently nudging your shoulder. “She’s great at what she does.” 

“That sounds so much better than when I was there.” She shakes her head, reminiscing about her experiences. “I still do a lot of writing myself. I’m working at a local paper in Massachusetts right now.”

Something about her tone clicks into place for you, like a puzzle piece sliding in. 

“Right, Steve mentioned. You like it?”

“Yeah. It’s… challenging, to say the least.” She nods, crossing her arms loosely. “Still a small paper, still small stories. But I’m building my portfolio, hoping to maybe do bigger pieces eventually.” 

A warm sense of camaraderie blooms in your chest. You completely understand that hustle, that feeling of needing to push through the drudge work to get to the fulfilling stuff. 

“Oh, absolutely,” you say. “I used to think I’d be working on these huge headlines right off the bat, but it was mostly basic editing work. Still,” you add, “I’m kind of a sucker for persevering.”

Her eyes crinkle with a real smile, and for a moment, it’s just you two, connecting over the rollercoaster that is words. 

“I know exactly what you mean. It’s exciting to be at the start of something, you know?”

“Makes the early mornings and late evenings worth it,” you tease, and she laughs. 

This was easier than you thought.

The conversation flows so smoothly that you almost forget the context—that this is Steve’s ex you’re talking to, that the only reason you even worried about her presence was because of that shared history. But here she is: easy to talk to, friendly, and—if you’re honest—reminding you a bit of yourself in how she lights up when discussing her work. You could understand how Steve fell for her in the first place. 

And that’s when it happens: Dustin bounces by with a half-eaten cake slice, eyes going wide as he sees you and Nancy chatting. He glances between you, leans in—crumbs falling from his mouth as he finishes eavesdropping. 

“Whoa, you guys are so alike.”

“Took you long enough to notice.” Erica chuckles, passing behind him.

Steve nearly chokes on air. “Excuse me?”

“I told you—” Dustin smirks at Steve, “both super nice, pushy in a good way, and way too into all that reportage stuff.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Patterns, man. I see them.”

Nancy, amused, shakes her head but doesn’t deny it. Meanwhile, you feel a curious prickle in your stomach. 

Even though you haven’t felt threatened by Nancy at all, it’s… interesting, hearing Dustin phrase it that way, noting how similar the two of you are.

Before you can dwell on it, Steve is in full damage control mode, waving Dustin away. 

“All right, all right, that’s enough outta you, birthday boy.”

Dustin, unbothered, snickers, then scampers off to deposit his napkin onto Jonathan’s pile of party rubbish. You catch Nancy’s eye, and she looks like she wants to say something, but a flush of colour creeps across her cheeks instead. You wonder if she’s embarrassed at the topic or if she’s also noting how the conversation just positioned you and her in the same category.

“Anyway,” Nancy says softly, clearing her throat, “it was really nice talking to you. And I do want to chat more about writing. Would be great if our paths were to cross again.”

“Sure. ” You nod, smiling. “Anytime.”

She dips her head in a polite goodbye, departing to rescue Mike from an argument with Lucas. That leaves you and Steve standing there in the aftermath of Dustin’s remarks.

“Uh… sorry about that,” he mumbles, glancing down at you. “Dustin’s always been, like, embarrassingly direct.”

A wry smile tugs at your lips. “It’s okay. I’m not offended.”

The evening drifts into its final hours with a soft sun lingering in the corners of Steve’s living room windows. Most of the balloons have deflated a little, and the noise has died down into pockets of lingering conversation. 

Dustin’s boisterous laugh echoes one last time as he heads out the door, hauling an armful of presents. Max trails behind him with the rest of the kids, carrying a few he couldn’t manage. She pauses to give you a small nod and a grin—her quiet way of saying, I like you.

You thought at first she was a tad standoffish, but her actions made you feel accepted into the small group. And if they approve of you, that's a sign that maybe you do belong here, in this makeshift family. 

Not that you’re getting ahead of yourself or anything…

Robin departs next, hooking her arm through Erica’s at the last second to drag her into some half-joking conversation about finally getting a break from babysitting Steve. Which she wholeheartedly agreed with, even if she was multiple years his junior. 

Nancy laughs, glancing your way as if to share the humour, and you wave goodbye with a soft smile. Jonathan, her hand in his, offers you a polite nod. They looked so in sync, bodies unconsciously angled toward each other, moving as a unit. There’s no tension, no leftover drama—just two people who found their other half. 

The thought made you more anxious than relieved. 

When the door finally shuts, the hush that falls over the house is unsettling. You can still hear the faint crackle of the record player, the needle resting in a quiet groove before you switched it off. Now, there’s just the quiet clink of dishes in the kitchen and the soft hum of Steve’s voice—he’s singing along to the old radio as he stacks up the glasses. He told you he had it under control, and knowing you didn’t like the feeling of leftover food in the sink, he took this job for the team.

You’re left gathering discarded wrappers and balled-up napkins, your mind spiraling in circles you really don’t want to follow but couldn’t help yourself.

Nancy is lovely. Infuriatingly so. 

In fact, she was so kind, so pleasant, that it almost stings more than if she’d been cold. Because it means you can’t hate her. Not that it was your goal to do so, but you couldn’t just dismiss her as some memory in Steve’s past. 

She was right for him once, and the knowledge of how closely her life aligns with yours—similar ambitions, the same drive for success, the spark of curiosity—makes your throat feel tight.

What if Steve also sees her in you? What if every moment you thought was unique and special was just him trying to relive something he used to have with her?

You can’t stand the idea, but the rational side of your brain doesn’t seem to be cooperating. 

Steve isn’t cruel. You know that. 

He’s never been anything but considerate, thoughtful, patient with you. Hell, the amount of times he was there for you—without hesitation, without needing to be asked. Holding your hand when you were nervous, pressing a kiss to your temple when you overthought, making you laugh when you wanted to cry.

He had never once made you feel like an afterthought. He was all in. And yet, the thought gnawed at you—was he here because he chose you, or because he was still reaching for a shadow of the past? Was he even aware he was chasing her ghost?

Your fingers tighten around a crumpled paper plate, and you swallow against the lump forming in your throat. You wonder if you really are just a Nancy 2.0 as you step into the kitchen, tossing the rubbish in the bin and retreating back to the now clean living room. Not wanting to talk to him just yet. 

The water stops running, the tap squeaking as Steve turns it off. You hear him dry his hands on a dish towel, then he appears in the doorway, face lighting up for a moment—until he sees your expression.

“Finished in the kitchen,” he starts, voice warm and a little proud, then pauses. “...What’s wrong?”

He settles beside you on the couch, the cushions dipping under his weight. Your shoulders tense a little—his proximity normally soothes you, but tonight, your mind won’t quiet down, and every small gesture feels magnified. He notices immediately.

“Nothing,” you say, forcing a small, tight smile. “I really liked your friends. They’re all super sweet. I can see why you get along so well.”

“Oh yeah?” There’s a warmth in his tone, a hopeful rise.

You nod, dropping your eyes to your hands. He slides closer, until his knee brushes against yours. 

“You even got Erica to like you,” he points out, sounding genuinely impressed. “It took me weeks to win her over, and you waltz in and manage it in a few hours? So not fair.”

You can’t help the soft laugh that escapes. “I’m sure she’s just being polite.”

A quick scoff breaks from Steve’s throat. “Erica doesn’t do polite unless she means it.” He places his hand lightly on your arm, and despite the tension coiled in your chest, you feel a rush of affection at the contact. “No, seriously—I loved having you here, angel. Made the whole day so much better.”

“Really?” you ask, voice wavering just enough that he picks up on your uncertainty.

“Well, yeah,” he answers, brow creasing. “I’m just glad they didn’t scare you off.”

Your lips form a weak smile. “Oh, they didn’t.”

But there’s something about your tone—some waver you can’t quite hide—and his eyes sharpen. 

“Okay, spill,” he says, leaning in. “What’s going on?”

“Huh?” You try to keep your expression neutral, but his gaze pins you.

“I know you,” he insists, a furrow carving between his brows. “You’re stressed about something.”

“I’m so not,” you counter, folding your arms tight against your chest.

“Yeah, you are,” he replies, undeterred. “You have tells.”

“Tells?” you echoed.

“Yes, tells.” He shifts forward, voice low. “So tell me—what’s on your mind? Did someone say something? Because I swear to god—”

“Steve,” you cut him off, irritation sparking. “Nobody said anything.”

“Then what is it? Was I too much? I swear I just wanted people to know how much I—”

“Steve,” you say again, louder this time, frustration rolling through you in a hot wave. “I’m fine. Drop it.”

His expression crumples the instant your sharp tone slices through the air. It’s like someone yanked the rug out from under him, and he sits there, quiet and unsure, those warm eyes losing some of their usual shine. It kills you to see him look so hurt, and you can practically feel the guilt creeping up your spine.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs at last, voice soft and almost hesitant. “You… you don’t have to come to the next one. If it wasn’t fun, or if it was too much—”

“That’s not it,” you say, cutting him off. You watch the confusion linger on his face, and it only makes the ache in your chest worse. 

He just wanted to have a good time, to share his world with you. 

And now here you are, turning what seemed like a perfect day into something heavy and complicated.

“Then—what?” His shoulders sag. “I don’t know what else could’ve gone wrong.” His gaze flits over your features, looking for answers you haven’t yet spoken.

You swallow, steeling yourself. 

“It was just… Nancy.”

“Nancy?” Steve’s eyes widen in surprise. “I thought you two got along really well tonight.”

“Yeah,” you admit, speaking around the lump in your throat. “We did.”

He pushes a breath through his nose, like he’s sifting through every possible explanation and coming up empty.

“I thought you’d, I don’t know, bond over books or something. I mean, I know you were anxious before, but you’re both so… nice. She’s already with Jonathan, you’ve got me—”

“Steve.” You cut him off again, trying not to let your voice waver. “We’re similar. That’s the problem.”

He blinks. “What d’you mean?” His tone is gentle, even though you see the concern in his eyes.

You rake a hand through your hair, fighting for the right words. He shifts forward, bracing himself.

“Steve, we’re really similar,” you say at last, voice low. 

“Okay?” He nods, urging you to continue. “So you have some shared interests. Where are we going with this, sweetheart?”

A shaky breath escapes you, and you force yourself to look him in the eye. 

“Are you sure you’re not still… looking for her?”

He frowns, confused. “Looking for her? I don’t—”

“Yes, Steve. Searching for someone like Nancy because you couldn’t have her. Like I’m just the next best thing. Even the kids picked up on how alike we are.” Your voice cracks, and you hate how vulnerable you sound. “I don’t want to be some bullshit replacement, filling up the space she left behind.”

All it takes is that one word—bullshit—and the floor drops out beneath him. 

You’re looking at him, voice trembling with hurt, and the realisation that you think you’re not enough guts him. Because he knows that feeling too well. He’s been there, on the other end, wondering if he was any good for anyone. But this? This is a thousand times worse. Because it’s you—and if there’s one thing in this world he’s certain of, it’s you.

He can’t stand the heartbreak in your eyes. Can’t stand the idea that he might be the one making you feel that way. His mind scrambles for something, anything, that might put your mind at ease—words to counteract that awful notion of being not enough. 

Then, suddenly, clarity strikes. He can’t think of anything else but to go full-force, stern, direct, because you’re far too precious for soft reassurances that could be mistaken or ignored.

“Hey,” he says, voice firm enough to startle even himself, “listen to me and listen to me good, all right?”

He can see how shocked you are at the tone he’s using; you go still, your gaze locking on him in a way that assures him every word will sink in. It has to.

“Never—and I mean never—are you some kind of half-ass replacement. You hear me? So get that thought out of your head right now.”

He’s never spoken to you quite like this before, but desperation thrums under every syllable. 

I can’t lose you. Please believe me.

“I don’t care how long it takes or how many times I have to say it—you are not second place. You are not a replacement. I didn’t settle for you, I chose you. You think I’d waste my time with someone I didn’t want wholeheartedly?”

He asks the question as though there’s no logical answer except the truth: Of course he wouldn’t. And he can’t stop now; your silence pushes him to continue. He needs you to know.

“God, if you could see yourself the way I do, you’d never think this again. You would never doubt how much I love you. How stupidly lucky I feel every day just to have you. You are not some ghost of my past. You are my future. And nothing—no one—could ever change that.”

There’s a ringing in his ears from the intensity of his own words, and he breathes hard, every muscle coiled with tension. Your eyes are wide, shining with an emotion he can’t decipher—shock, relief, maybe both. He hopes to God his message got through.

And then—amid the silence—your voice comes out soft, almost a whisper. 

“You love me?”

The question slices through him like lightning. He falters, suddenly off-balance. 

Fuck.

Because he’s just laid bare his entire heart, more than he’s ever dared to before. But there’s no taking it back. No gentle way to hedge now.

“Yes.” He swallows. His voice is steadier than he feels inside. “I do... Simple as that.”

That was all it took.

The words barely leave his mouth before you surge forward, meeting him in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, messy and urgent, the taste of each other a heady mix of relief and need. 

He gasps when you grip the collar of his sweater, tugging him closer, refusing to let a single breath of space linger between you. In response, his hands slide down your waist, pulling you tight against him until he can feel every curve, every line of your body against his.

“God,” he rasps against your mouth, already sounding relieved. “You—fuck.”

You hum a soft, breathy laugh escapes as he hauls you closer, helping you out as you sit and straddle his lap. His mouth is trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat as you sink your fingers into his hair, tugging, making him hiss against your lips.

He’s so desperate he doesn’t know where to touch first—fingers skimming over the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist, sliding boldly beneath the hem of your—his—jumper to feel the heat of your skin. 

Everything about you feels like an invitation, a promise he’s craved for far too long. And each gasp, each little whimper you give him, only fuels that growing ache inside of him.

“Steve,” you whisper, voice cracking with urgency. He glances up, eyes dark, pupils blown. There’s something unbridled there—devotion, longing, raw determination to make sure you never doubt him again.

He pulls you closer, one hand curling around your waist, the other sliding around to grip your ass, pulling you flush against the growing hardness in his jeans. 

Then, as though a last spark of caution flickers through his brain, he stills, pulling back just enough to look at you—really look, eyes darting between yours. There’s a flush high on his cheeks, lips reddened from your kisses. But behind that is a tenderness, a protective streak that roars beneath his surface need.

“Tell me you want this,” he says, voice so low it practically reverberates through your chest. He needs to hear you say it. Needs to hear you tell him it’s alright. “I want to make sure you’re positive, because I—I want this more than anything—to show you, to make you feel so fucking good, but…”

You let out a noise that’s both a laugh and a moan. 

“Steve,” you repeat, more breathless this time. “I want this. I want you. Please.”

He groans, eyes squeezing shut. Thank God. 

“Shit, you have no idea how long I’ve—” He takes a breath as he shudders against you, every nerve ending on fire. “Angel—fuck—wait, just a sec.”

You blink, momentarily dazed. “What—did I do something?”

He just about melts at the concerned look you’re giving him, hands immediately cupping your face as he presses his mouth against yours as he mutters reassurances. 

“No, sweetheart. You didn’t—you’re perfect.” He wills his brain to formulate a coherent sentence. Easier said than done when he has you sitting on his lap. “But, if I’m going to make love to you, I’m not going to do it on the living room couch.”

A glint sparks in his eyes, but there’s nothing playful about the way he suddenly gathers you up into his arms, hands cupping beneath your thighs, hoisting you effortlessly against his chest as he stands. Your squeal of surprise echoes in the now-quiet house as you cling to his shoulders, heart pounding.

You laugh out his name and his only response is to tighten his hold on you, a grin tugging at his kiss-swollen lips, before he turns and starts up the stairs, carrying you like you weigh nothing. 

Your arms wrap around his neck, your lips brushing the line of his jaw, and his low groan vibrates in your ear, spurring him to climb faster.

He kicks the bedroom door open with his foot, all too eager to finally have you in his arms, in his bed. He sets you down on the edge of the mattress, his hands lingering at your hips as though he can’t bear to lose contact. 

You’re about to tease him for being so careful, but the sight of him—flushed cheeks, hair a disheveled mess from your fingers, lips reddened—steals the quip from your tongue.

“You okay?” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. As urgent as he feels, there’s that undercurrent of protectiveness, that need to check you’re here with him for all the right reasons.

Your smile is a little breathless. “I’m more than okay.”

He exhales slowly, like your reassurance is the only permission he needed to keep going. Then he nudges your knees apart so he can step in closer, pressing your bodies flush. The warmth of him is addictive—solid arms, broad chest, that steady heartbeat thrumming beneath your palms.

A shiver runs down your spine when he bends to brush a slow kiss along the side of your throat, teeth just barely grazing your skin. Your head falls back, and he uses the moment to trail more kisses along your jaw, your collarbone, mapping the curve of your shoulder as if memorising every inch.

“Lie down for me,” he whispers, voice trembling with the effort it takes to keep it gentle.

You slide back onto the bed, propping yourself on your elbows, and he kneels near the edge, guiding your legs up so you’re fully on the bed. His hand glides beneath your clothes, pushing it slowly upward, knuckles skimming the bare skin of your waist. His gaze locks with yours as he slips it off over your head, making sure you’re still okay with each inch of exposed skin. You can’t help the small, playful grin that tugs at your lips. 

“Careful, Harrington,” you tease, breath hitching when he plants a soft kiss at the center of your sternum. “At this rate, it’ll be sunrise before you get these clothes off.”

He huffs a little laugh against your skin, the warm puff of air sending a tingle racing across your flesh. 

“You deserve careful,” he says, words muffled by the increasingly desperate kisses he’s leaving along the tops of your breasts, your clavicle. “But don’t think for a second I’m not dying to tear everything off you, angel.”

His fingers drift to the waistband of your jeans, undoing the button and zipper with a focus that makes your stomach flip. He eases them down your hips, helping you lift so he can slide them all the way off. Then, with a featherlight touch, he glides his hands up your thighs, sending sparks of electricity racing through you.

“Steve,” you breathe, voice catching when he leans down to kiss your newly bared skin. He starts at your calf, working his way leisurely up, each press of his lips driving you a little bit more insane. By the time he reaches your inner thigh, you’re trembling—desperate for him.

“Look at you,” he coos, voice shaking with something close to awe. His fingers slide along the band of your underwear, and he gently pulls them down, letting them join your jeans on the floor. With each inch, he leaves more of you uncovered, and the intensity in his gaze leaves you feeling bare in more ways than one.

You try to close your legs, feeling slightly exposed with the way he is gazing at you, but his hand is firm as it grips your thigh, holding you open. You hold your breath as his fingers skim over your folds, head falling back as his thumb circles your clit slowly. 

“Shit,” he breathes out, second hand joining to gather some of your wetness on his fingers. “You’re fuckin’ soaked, angel.”

“Steve,” you murmur, voice quivering with need. Your fingers thread into his hair, urging him closer, your body already winding tight from the warmth of his breath against you.

“God,” he mutters, words muffled by another kiss to your thigh. “I’ve wanted this—wanted to do this—for so damn long.”

He shifts, situating himself more comfortably. Then, with a half-lidded glance in your direction, he leans in and presses his mouth against your clit in a way that shatters every remaining thought in your head. 

A soft cry tumbles from your lips, and he groans at the sound, pulling you in deeper, his grip on your thighs tightening.

He moves carefully, learning your reactions, letting your gasps and moans guide him. Each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck, is a question: Is this good? More? Show me. And every time you arch your back or let out a ragged whisper of his name, he answers with another fervent, deliciously slow pass of his mouth.

"Fuck, angel, I could do this all night.” He dives back in. “Keep you here, keep you shaking over and over on my tongue."

He’s so tender in his insistence, balancing the sharp edge of hunger with a profound concern for your pleasure. One of his hands slides up to lace your fingers together, and he squeezes—almost like he’s grounding himself in the moment, sharing each pulse of sensation so you know he’s right there with you. The other hand strokes up your thigh and curls around your hip, keeping you anchored against him.

“Oh, God,” you gasp, voice pitching higher when he drags his tongue across your pussy with a pointed languidness. Your thighs tighten around his shoulders, and he shudders, his fingers reflexively pressing into your skin.

He pauses just long enough to rest his forehead against your thigh, breathing hard. His voice comes out in a low rasp, intense in its sincerity. 

“You taste so fucking good,” he mumbles dazed as he returns to his ministrations. Lapping against you like he couldn’t possibly get enough. 

A wave of warmth crashes over you at his words—any lingering insecurities vanish beneath the heat of his devotion. You tug lightly at his hair, guiding him back, and he happily obliges. His tongue moves in slow, deliberate strokes at first, building you up in a dizzying ascent, then quickens when your moans become urgent.

Your heels dig into his back, and you choke out something unintelligible—his name, a plea, a broken sob of bliss. He groans in response, the sound reverberating through your entire body, heightening the sensation until you think you might shatter from it. 

There’s something almost reverent in how thorough he is, like he wants to memorise every reaction, every hitch of your breath.

“You’re making the sweetest fucking noises, baby.” He murmurs. “Driving me insane.”

Tension coils in your stomach, winding tighter with each measured flick of his tongue. Your grip on his hand is borderline crushing, but he just grins against you, absolutely thrilled by the desperation in your touch. 

That’s all the encouragement he needs to push you closer and closer to the edge. His name tumbles from your lips again, a breathless entreaty, and he groans, the vibration sending sparks skittering across your skin.

He can tell you’re close—he can feel it in the way your hips jerk, the way your pussy clenches, the way your voice climbs. And he wants it for you, wants to be the reason you come apart so completely that you’ll never doubt his devotion again. 

“Come on, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” before diving back in with a perfect, rhythmic swirl that makes your entire body tense.

The tension snaps. A rush of pleasure bursts inside you, and you let out a cry that would embarrass you if you could think about anything but the ecstasy roaring through your veins. 

Your hands grip his shoulders, nails biting into his skin, and he moans like the taste of your release is exactly what he’s been dying for. He works you through every pulse, every aftershock, with gentle flicks of his tongue until you’re quivering in oversensitivity, pushing lightly at his head to let him know you can’t take another second.

When he finally straightens up to see you—lying back against his pillows, clad in just your bra—you spot a flicker of pure hunger crossing his face. He swallows hard and you see your release glistening against his chin as he does. He’s trying to keep himself tethered to sanity, but it’s a losing battle.

“Not fair that I’m the only one so… exposed,” you breathe out, hooking a finger into the hem of his jumper.

 “Impatient, huh?” He lets out a shaky chuckle as he licks his lips.

You roll your eyes in faux annoyance, tugging firmly at the fabric. He gets the hint. In one smooth motion, he yanks his shirt over his head and tosses it somewhere behind him. You catch a glimpse of toned arms and the lean planes of his chest, and it steals your breath all over again.

But he’s not done—he pops open the button of his jeans, sliding them down until they pool at his ankles, stepping out with a sense of urgency that has you biting your lip. For a moment, he just stands there, letting you take in the sight of him, hair messy, eyes blown wide with desire, wearing only his boxers.

“Better?” he asks, eyebrows lifting.

You drag your gaze up and down, unrepentant in your ogling. “Much.”

Steve’s eyes glitter with raw need as he hovers over you, his body pressed so tight you can hardly breathe. Every breath you take is steeped in the mix of his cologne and the sweet, desperate scent of your own arousal. 

“God, you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous,” he mutters under his breath, his gaze roaming over your curves with a barely restrained hunger. One of his hands grips your thigh, dragging it higher around his waist. “Don’t know how the hell I got so lucky.”

You can’t manage a reply—your breath stutters as he runs his other hand up your side, fingers skimming your ribs, his thumb grazing the underside of your breast in a fleeting touch. The contrast between how tender he’s being and the way his voice drips with a filthy promise makes you whimper, arching into his touch.

He leans in, teeth nipping at your lower lip before he kisses you slow and deep. It's messy and you can taste yourself on his tongue. 

“Fuck,” he whines, “I need you, sweetheart. Need you right now—can I?” His voice cracks with urgency, and you feel every syllable reverberate through your body.

“Yes,” you whisper, voice trembling with anticipation. “Please, Steve. I—”

He cuts you off with another kiss, sliding his hand between your thighs, which have only got stickier. He groans at the way you shiver, so worked up that you feel like you might combust if he doesn’t fuck you this instant.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “So wet for me.” Then, in a lower tone. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby—gonna make you forget anything else exists except how good my cock feels inside you.”

His words took you by surprise. Your usual sweet boyfriend was downright obscene with his words.

You knew he had a sharp tongue, but you had no idea how damn filthy he could make it. 

He reaches into the bedside table and tears the condom wrapper off with his teeth, making quick work of sliding it over his length.

The moment he lines his cock up at your entrance, you can feel the tension in his body—like he’s holding back a tidal wave of desire, absolutely determined not to hurt you, to make sure you’re comfortable.

“You good?” he rasps, voice tight.

“Yes,” you pant. “Steve… please.”

He exhales a ragged breath and pushes into you, inch by inch, until the stretch of him draws a moan so raw from your lips that he answers with a guttural “Fuck.” 

Your head falls back, the sensation an exquisite combination of pleasure and the ache of being so completely stuffed. He stays there a moment, trembling arms caging you in, nose brushing yours as you grip him like a vice.

“Angel,” he chokes out, voice thick, “You—you feel so fucking perfect. Look at me.”

You force your eyes open, meeting his gaze, and the ferocity of his desire sends another wave of arousal flooding through your veins, clenching around his length. 

“You feel that, sweetheart? Feel how deep I am?”

All you can do is nod dumbly as his hand presses on your lower stomach. He knows you can feel him there.

He starts a slow rhythm, hips rolling, each thrust calculated to bring you higher. And for all his filthy talk, there’s a sweetness in the way he cups your cheek, kisses your jaw, your collarbone, like he can’t decide which part of you he loves most.

“God, yes,” he groans, each thrust picking up in intensity. “You like that? Tell me you like it.”

“I love it,” you gasp, fingers clawing at his back. “Steve, you feel—God, you feel amazing.”

He lets out a breathless laugh that ends in another throaty moan as he angles his hips just so, making you keen against his lips. His pace quickens, every stroke hitting deeper, sending sparks of pleasure through every nerve.

“Fuck—baby, you’re so tight,” he hisses, his mouth at your ear. “So damn tight for me. Never want this to end—wanna keep you like this, under me, always on my cock—cumming so hard you forget your own name.”

Jesus, if you knew this was how he was going to talk, you would have given him the green light weeks ago.

He punctuates the filthy promise with a particularly deep thrust, and your toes curl, a cry spilling from your throat as you cling to him. You’re quickly losing yourself in the haze of his words, his body, his everything.

You utter his name in a choked sob, and it’s like a starter’s pistol. He shifts his angle just enough that the strokes perfectly grind against that sensitive spot inside your walls. The pleasure mounts in a dizzying spiral, your body tensing as you hover on the brink of release.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, voice gone ragged, snapping his hips more insistently. “God, cum for me, sweetheart. I need to feel it—want to feel it so bad.”

And with one more roll of his hips, you do—crying out, body arching as the orgasm shatters through you. Every nerve in your body lights up as you clamp down, and his guttural moan tells you he’s right there with you, grinding through your climax until he’s spilling himself into the rubber, breathing your name over and over like a prayer.

For a moment, you’re both lost in the aftershocks, hearts pounding, bodies tangled in the sheets. Then he sags against you, pressing lazy, tender kisses to your shoulder and murmuring small, breathless praises that make your cheeks burn with warmth.

The afterglow is still pulsing between you—soft, warm, and intimate. He leans down to press feathery kisses to your shoulder, your chest, up the side of your neck, murmuring words of reassurance and awe.

“You did so good,” he breathes, voice low and reverent. “So perfect.”

Heat flutters in your chest at the praise, and you can’t help but giggle, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his hair and guide his face to yours. Your lips meet in a searing kiss, slow and sweet. When you finally pull back, you find him watching you with those big, earnest eyes.

“Was I… okay?” he asks, cheeks turning pink in a bashful sort of way. “Like, everything good for you?”

“More than okay.” You let out a satisfied sigh, your body still humming with pleasure. “That was perfect.”

“Yeah?” he echoes, a shy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah.” You brush a thumb across his lower lip, feeling a spark of amusement as you remember the filth he whispered moments ago. “When were you gonna tell me you had such a dirty mouth?”

Instantly, his face flames. He cannot be blamed for what he said in the heat of the moment. It was hard to have a filter when he had you mewling underneath him.

“Hey, well, uh… I don’t… I mean, I—”

“Shh.” You chuckle, placing a finger over his lips “I loved it.”

“Oh yeah?” He exhales, relief and pride mingling. “Well, I’ll keep that in mind—my girl likes it a little dirty.” 

“C’mon, lover boy.” A fresh wave of laughter bubbles out of you. You let him help you up, your legs still a bit shaky. He steadies you with a strong arm around your waist and guides you to the bathroom so you can rinse off the sheen of sweat and bliss.

The shower is warm and comforting, the water sluicing away every last trace of tension as you help each other soap up and rinse off. When you emerge, toweling your hair and feeling the pleasant ache of satisfaction in your muscles, you notice Steve holding out one of his old T-shirts for you to slip on. You beam, tugging it over your head before crawling into bed next to him, the soft cotton drowning you in his familiar scent.

He pulls you close, cradling you against his chest. The hush of the room, the warmth of the covers, and the steady sound of his heartbeat lull you into a sweet, sleepy contentment.

“Hey,” he murmurs, turning so his nose brushes yours.

“Mmm?” you reply, lashes fluttering.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

Your heart clenches at the simple sincerity in his tone. “I love you too, Steve.”

And with that, his arms tighten around you, and you drift into a peaceful sleep, knowing that in the morning, you’ll both wake up in the same bed, same sappy looks on your faces, same lovesick smiles as you bask in the golden morning light. Steve will probably be watching you already, grinning like a fool, fingers tracing lazy patterns over your back, because he’s just that smitten.

[dreaminguponlilypads]

PUNISHMENT.

Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader

pt. 2

happy birthday to me lol, you guys have starved for a fic long enough so i shall feed you. tell me if you want pt.2

You had never thought someone like Ghost would ever look twice at you.

You were quiet. A recruit who blended into the background, more comfortable observing than being in the spotlight. You had your own demons—self-doubt, anxiety, the constant nagging thought that you weren’t enough. That you’d never be enough.

But then he came along.

He had seen you when no one else did. Not just as a soldier, but as a person. His patience, his quiet reassurances, the way his hand would linger at the small of your back or how he’d pull you into his warmth after a rough day—it had all been real. Or so you thought.

Until you saw the messages.

Soap: Congrats, ya big muppet. Can’t believe yer actually gonna do it.

Gaz: Who would’ve thought a lost bet would end up here?

Price: Never seen you so whipped, mate. From bet to buying a ring—hell of a journey.

Soap: Aye, remember when he was grumbling about even asking em out? Now look at him.

Your stomach twisted as you read and reread the words.

A bet.

It had all started as a joke.

The relationship that had saved you, that had made you feel wanted, seen, loved—had started as nothing more than a game to him.

You wanted to be angry. Wanted to storm up to him, demand an explanation, throw the damn phone at his chest. But you couldn’t.

Because how could you be mad at something you had already feared deep down?

Of course, it had been too good to be true.

You had spent so long convincing yourself that Simon really wanted you, that he really saw something in you. But now? The gnawing insecurity that he had helped you fight off came roaring back with a vengeance.

Your hands were shaking when you set his phone back on the table.

You needed to get out of here.

-

Simon knew something was wrong the second he walked into your shared quarters.

He found you standing there, arms wrapped around yourself, eyes red-rimmed like you had been holding back tears. His stomach dropped.

“Love?” His voice was low, cautious. “What’s wrong?”

You forced out a shaky breath. “Was it all a bet?”

Silence.

Your heart clenched as you watched his expression flicker—confusion, realization, then something that almost looked like fear.

“Where’d you hear that?” His voice had taken on that measured tone he used in the field. Like he was calculating his next move.

You let out a hollow laugh. “Does it matter?” You lifted his phone slightly before setting it back down. “Your team’s got quite the sense of humor.”

He cursed under his breath. “It’s not what you think.”

You swallowed hard. “Then tell me what it is, Simon. Tell me why the man who made me believe I was worth something only asked me out because he lost.”

His eyes darkened. “It was a stupid bet. A joke between the lads. I didn’t think—I didn’t know—” He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “I never expected to fall for you.”

You flinched at the choice of words. “But you still lied.”

“I didn’t lie—”

“You didn’t tell me,” you shot back. “That’s the same thing.”

His lips pressed into a tight line. “I was ashamed.” His voice was quieter now. “Didn’t want you to think—” He cut himself off, jaw clenching before he forced himself to look at you. “Didn’t want you to think this wasn’t real.”

Your breath hitched. “But it wasn’t real. Not at first.”

His silence was all the confirmation you needed.

You had spent so long fighting off the belief that you weren’t good enough. That you weren’t worthy of someone like him. And now, every whispered fear, every creeping doubt, had been proven right.

You felt yourself withdrawing, curling inward, that familiar weight of insecurity pressing down on your chest. The walls you had let him tear down were rebuilding themselves brick by brick.

“I need to go,” you choked out, turning towards the door.

His hand caught your wrist, firm but careful. “Baby, please,” he murmured. “Don’t shut me out.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, breathing ragged. You wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that everything he had done for you, every loving caress, every whispered reassurance, hadn’t just been out of guilt or obligation.

But how could you?

You pulled your wrist free, ignoring the way his fingers lingered, like he couldn’t bear to let go.

“I can’t do this right now,” you whispered.

And then you walked away, leaving Simon standing there with his hands clenched at his sides, the weight of a ring box in his pocket feeling heavier than ever.

[stevesgother]

omg horny blurbs. struggling to take horsedick harrington! ‘its too big baby’

we all know i'm a horsecock steve harrington truther so here ya go anon :)

18 + below the cut

You knew your boyfriend was well endowed, to say the least. A pair of too-tight, blue Levis hates to see Steve Harrington coming. This was your first time seeing it without that pesky denim barrier.

You'd felt it, sure, after three months of heavy petting sessions in the driver's seat of his Chevy. But tonight, things had escalated past the point where the grinding comes to a halt and Steve drives you home like the gentleman he is.

Steve is being anything but a gentleman right now.

Your dress is hiked up past your hips, revealing a pair of baby blue underwear. Not the sexiest pair you owned, but it hardly mattered when Steve started to teasingly slide them down the meat of your thighs.

"You're shaking, honey. Is everything okay?" He asks you so tenderly as he gentle holds your trembling palm in his larger calloused one.

"Yeah-- Yeah, I'm just," a pause, "you're really big." You admit sheepishly.

"We'll go slow, baby, I promise." He reassures you as the hand that's not holding yours strokes the side of your cheek. He kisses you languidly as his thick digits circle your clit tantalizingly slow, "Can I touch you here?"

You nod a little desperately and he hums in acknowledgment. His middle finger breeches your entrance and he curls them inside of you; perfectly bumping your most sensitive spot in a way you've never been able to on your own.

You keen and Steve takes the opportunity to suckle on the spot just below your ear, eliciting a whine from you. You decide you should probably return the favor, even if it's hard to focus on anything except the way Steve is fucking you on his fingers.

His cock is frankly huge. It's not only long but girthy too, with an upward curve. The thought alone of fucking yourself on it makes your mouth water as you wrap a hand around his shaft. He gasps in surprise at the motion, evidently not expecting it. You run a thumb over his leaking, red slit and he groans your name.

"Want you to fuck me, Steve," you whisper against his lips as he begins to kiss you again.

"You're sure?"

You nod fervently and that's all the confirmation he needs to line his head up with your sopping heat. His hands find your hips, lifting you and then slowly lowering you back down until you're able to take him to the hilt.

It's a big stretch. Any partner you might've had in the past could've never prepared you for the sheer size of Steve. It burns deliciously as you're being sheathed with him, but it quickly becomes overwhelming.

"You're too big, baby, I can't"

"Shh," he shushes as he pulls you flush to his chest in a strong embrace, "yes you can, sweetheart, I've got ya'"

Once you're fully seated on him, it's as if you were made to fit. The thatch of hair on his pubic bone provides the perfect amount of stimulation on your throbbing clit as you begin to ride him.

"God-- you're so tight, fuck," he's already panting and you'd be lying if you said it wasn't a bit of an ego boost.

His words give you the confidence to bounce on him a bit faster. You can feel him in your stomach, practically rearranging your guts. Every time you sink back down, his ruddy head hits that perfect spot inside you, sending you hurtling towards your orgasm embarrassingly fast.

"Good girl," he groans, "keep bouncing on my cock, baby, that's it."

Whereas before you were more reserved in how vocal you were during sex, now you're crying out without restraint; chanting Steve's name like a prayer.

When he feels himself becoming close, he swiftly moves a thumb to play with your sensitive button-- needing to get you off before himself at least once. His own personal rule.

"Oh! Yeah, Steve-- don't stop, don't stop--" you're all but shouting now.

"I won't, baby, I won't--" he assures, "that's the spot, huh? Can feel you squeezin' me-- ah!"

You come with a cry of his name, your hands tangled in his chestnut hair, giving Steve the greenlight to let himself finish. Both hands grab you abruptly to life your hips enough for him to pull out.

With a few more quick strokes of his cock he's coming with his head thrown back and several heady grunts. You lean forward to kiss and nip at the constellation of beauty marks along his stubbly neck. They're one of the first things you'd noticed about him when you met.

"Was that good for you?" He pants as he comes back down to Earth with you.

You stroke the side of his face with your hand, pushing the damp hairs that stick to his forehead away before kissing the spot where they had been, "That was amazing, Stevie."

He gives you a short peck to your plush and waiting lips before once again pulling you in. You stay just like that, flesh to flesh, and count the stars until the sun rises again to replace the moon.

[cavillscurls]

Thinking about olderboyfriend!joel and reader celebrating all the holidays. Their first Valentine’s Day, their first thanksgiving together, their first Christmas together

this ask is so old, but i thought i’d answer given the nature of today 🥹💌… i don’t have a lot, but here’s some thoughts.

older!boyfriend joel masterlist

you met in the summer, a long ways before that holiday which always seemed to carry a heavier weight than it needed to. this connotation of perfection that hadn’t existed even in the best of your relationships.

but this one is the best. not one of, but the best. and you would be lying to yourself if you didn’t admit that, at times, it does feel perfect.

and you feel good. you feel certain. you have for a while now, but with the impending holiday that always felt more like dread than love, there’s a surge of reassurance when that usual doom never settles in.

you both agreed no gifts. funny enough, it was joel who put up a fight on this front. you could see him practically seething in his shoes, a crinkle in his brow and a pout on his lips as he bargained just one, you don’t gotta get nothin’, and there’s no guilt—just one.

but you shook your head and stood your ground; you would much rather spend the occasion splurging on dinner and drinks, an experience to share between the two of you.

he relented. even agreed to wear a suit—all black, and fuck, if that didn’t make you want to jump his bones on first sight—gelled back his curls, and wore that expensive cologne he saves for special occasions.

he shows up that night thirty-minutes before your reservation, and you’re popping a hand on your hip as soon as you open the door and find him standing there with a bouquet. a dozen red roses.

“i thought we said no gifts,” you huff.

he shrugs. “this ain’t a gift. it’s flowers,” he says, trying to play coy, but you can tell he’s rather proud of himself.

how are you supposed to argue with that?

you accept them, albeit a bit reluctantly, and bring them to your nose with a generous sniff. he’s eyeing you, all of you, the deep crimson dress you’ve chosen leaving little to the imagination. just the reaction you were hoping for.

“thank you,” you tell him, and he reaches out to place a hand at the small of your back, pulling you into his chest so he can lean down and press his lips to your ear.

“you’re welcome, baby,” he rasps, sending a shiver through you, and places a kiss on the side of your head.

dinner is tasty and decadent, made even finer by the company you keep. you split a bottle of red, and make room for dessert—freshly dipped chocolate-covered strawberries. he makes a show of leaning across the table to feed you the first bite, and you laugh so hard, you snort, the steady thrum of wine through your veins keeping you both buzzed and gleeful.

it’s starting to snow when you call a car from the restaurant. he offers an extension to the evening—catch a late showing of the rom-coms you know he can’t stand, but he’d tolerate (and has tolerated) for you. but the air is cold, and he’s so warm, and you’re feeling greedy. you want him all to yourself. that’s all you’ve ever really wanted from this, anyway. him.

you’re in his bed later that night, in his clothes, after he’s given you his real gift—satiating your needs, the desires he understands so well. you’re on your tummy, and he’s on his side, peacefully watching the path of his fingers that trace gentle shapes up and down your spine. you feel your eyelids grow heavy, shutting every few moments.

“hey,” he whispers at one point, voice low with fatigue.

“hm?” you murmur, raising your brows but not quite mustering the energy to look at him.

“i love you.” and it’s not the first time he’s said it, but it’s no less impactful. an iron rod to your chest, beaming and glowing from the inside out. “you know that, right?”

slowly, you open your eyes, and what you find turns the heat inside your belly up ten fold. he isn’t looking for reassurance or scoping out doubt. those are long gone with the passage of time. he just wants you to know—really know. hear him, and accept it for all it’s worth.

everything, really.

“i know it,” you whisper back, and a sleepy little grin erupts on his cheeks. you can’t help yourself. you lean forward and up, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, and muttering against them: “i love you.”

he pulls you onto his chest, then. letting you smother him with your weight and wrapping his arms tightly around you. good. steady. real. perfect.

maybe valentine’s day isn’t so bad after all.

[littlepeach-world]

Valentine's Paradise

Pairing: Frontman/Hwang In-Ho x Fem!Reader

Summary: In-ho surprises you for valentines day.

Warnings: Fluff, Gift Giving, Sweet!inho, Cute!Inho.

Word count: 1.04k

Notes: Feeding my delusions with this one 😭. Enjoy! 🧡

You and In-ho arrive at a beautiful, secluded island under a brilliant sky, the perfect place for a Valentine's Day getaway. The air is warm, carrying the scent of the ocean and blooming flowers. In-ho, always the planner, has orchestrated a surprise vacation that seems to have sprung from a dream.

As you walk hand in hand along the sandy path leading from the pier, your heart skips a beat at the sight of a stunning beach house emerging in front of you. The modern architecture melds seamlessly with the natural surroundings. You can't help but gasp, eyes wide with wonder.

Inho's deep, melodic chuckle fills the air as he finds your reaction utterly adorable.

"Do you like it?" he asks, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

"It's beautiful. I can't believe you did all this," you reply, your voice filled with awe.

He smiles and lifts your hand to his lips, brushing it with a tender kiss before guiding you toward the entrance.

"Come on, there's more to see," he says, leading you inside.

Walking into the house, you are instantly enveloped by an aura of luxury and romance. Soft lighting, plush furnishings, and a color palette that feels both sophisticated and soothing greet you. However, what takes your breath away are the myriad gifts that adorn the living space, every corner of the room filled with beautifully wrapped presents. Each one thoughtful and personal, symbolizing Inho's love for you.

Overwhelmed, you gasp again and throw your arms around In-ho, your lips capturing him in a heartfelt kiss.

"Thank you, baby," you whisper, your voice brimming with emotion.

He holds you close, his smile warm and reassuring. "Anything for you, my love. Happy Valentine's Day."

Inho's eyes sparkle as he watches you unwrap the gifts, each one met with squeals of delight and wide-eyed wonder. The living room is filled with the sounds of your laughter and exclamations as you discover each thoughtful present he has chosen for you.

"Oh my gosh, this is stunning!" you exclaim, holding up a delicate piece adorned with a shimmering pendant.

"I'm glad you like it," In-ho replies, his voice warm with satisfaction. "It reminded me of you—elegant and radiant."

After opening the last box from In-ho, you can't help but let your gaze hover over a beautifully wrapped package that you've been saving just for this moment. Your heartbeat quickens with anticipation.

"I have something for you too," you say, a hint of excitement in your voice.

"You didn't have to get me anything" he replies, though his curiosity is clearly piqued.

"I know, but I really wanted to," you respond, handing him the box eagerly. "Go ahead, open it."

In-ho carefully unwraps the gift, removing the layers of paper to reveal an intricately crafted wooden box. His eyes widen in surprise as he lifts the lid and finds a vintage comic book lying inside, its cover adorned with vibrant illustrations.

"No way," he breathes, gently picking up the comic book and tracing his fingers over the familiar characters. "This... this is the comic I always wanted as a kid but could never find. How did you even get this? It's so rare."

You smile, watching the mix of emotions play across his face. "I did a lot of searching and had a little help from a few collectors. I wanted to give you something special, something that would bring back happy memories."

Inho's usually guarded demeanor begins to unravel, his eyes shimmering with genuine emotion as he gazes at the vintage comic book. His voice trembles slightly as he speaks, trying to hold back the full tide of his feelings.

"Jagiya this... this is incredible," he murmurs. "I can't believe you found it. It means more to me than you could ever know."

He pauses for a moment, collecting himself, but you can see the depth of his gratitude and the memories this gift stirs in him. The walls he's built seem to soften, revealing a more vulnerable side that touches your heart.

Unable to hold back any longer, In-ho steps closer, cupping your face gently with his hands. His eyes lock onto yours, filled with warmth and affection. "Thank you," he whispers again, this time more tenderly, as though the words are meant only for you.

In a moment that feels like the world has slowed to a breathtaking halt, he leans in and kisses you softly. It's a kiss laden with gratitude, affection, and a silent promise of love that needs no words.

You melt into the embrace, feeling the reassurance of his warmth and sincerity envelop you. Your arms find their natural place around him, holding him close as you both savor the intimacy of the moment.

After savoring the moment, your curiosity urges you to explore your surroundings further. Taking Inho's arm, you embark on a self-guided tour of the house. Every room seems more beautiful than the last, with expansive windows showcasing breathtaking views of the ocean and the verdant landscape.

"Look at those waves," you marvel, pointing to the surging ocean just beyond the glass. "It's like our own private paradise."

"That's exactly what I hoped you'd think," Inho says. He watches you with a gentle smile, his heart swelling with happiness at your delight.

After you've explored every nook and cranny, In-ho suggests you both freshen up to prepare for the evening. "Why don't we get ready for dinner? I have another surprise for you," he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

With excitement bubbling within, you take a refreshing shower, letting the water wash away any lingering traces of the day. Feeling invigorated, you dress up in your finest attire. As you slip into your elegant dress, you can't help but smile at the reflection in the mirror, feeling the magic of the evening envelop you.

"Ready, my love?" In-ho calls from the hallway, looking dashing in his tailored suit.

You step out, your eyes meeting his. "Ready," you reply, your voice filled with anticipation. Taking his arm once more, you follow him to whatever enchanting experience he has planned next, knowing this is a Valentine's Day you will treasure forever.

The setting for dinner is nothing short of magical—right next to the ocean, with rose petals scattered around and flickering candles casting a warm glow. The waves gently lap at the shore, providing a soothing soundtrack to your intimate meal.

The chef, specially hired by In-ho, presents your favorite cuisine, each dish more delectable than the last. The dinner is filled with laughter, shared memories, and sweet compliments. Inho's typically stern exterior melts away as he listens to your stories, his eyes reflecting warmth and adoration.

When the meal winds down, In-ho leans forward and asks, "Did you enjoy your day?" His voice is filled with genuine curiosity and a touch of vulnerability.

"More than enjoyed," you respond, your eyes meeting his. "Saying I enjoyed my day is an understatement. I'm more than pleased with everything you've done. I'm so grateful."

Inho's solemn nod is followed by another question, "Do you like the island?"

"It's beautiful," you reply, almost breathless with sincerity.

He pauses, then says, "It's yours."

You blink in confusion, your brows furrowing. "What?"

"The island," he clarifies with a gentle smile. "I bought it for you."

You are utterly stunned, your voice barely a whisper. "What..?"

Inho's gentle smile never falters as he repeats, "The island is yours."

Your voice rises in disbelief as you exclaim, "YOU BOUGHT ME AN ISLAND! WHAT THE FUCK?"

In-ho laughs softly, the humor in his eyes unmistakable. "What? Is it not big enough? We can always go find a bigger one."

You shake your head, a mixture of disbelief and affection in your eyes. "You don't have to spend so much on me. I love you regardless of what..." Your words trail off as Inho pulls you close, guiding you to sit on his lap.

His arms wrap around you securely as he kisses you passionately, pouring all his unspoken devotion into that kiss. When he pulls back, his voice is low and earnest. "Money means nothing compared to you. There’s no amount of money that could ever measure up to what you mean to me."

In that moment, the world feels perfect. Your lips meet his again, and you know that no matter the luxury or grandeur, it’s this simple, profound love that makes everything truly precious.

[httpknjoon]

say goodnight and go | myg

plot | that time when everyone seemed to be doing something on valentine's day and the popstar and her bassist have all the time with their single asses.

w.c | 3.3k

pairing | bass guitarist!yoongi x popstar!reader

genre | enemies to lovers, popstar x bassist, fluff, angst

note | wrote this last-minute today, just something short n sweet for valentines. enjoy!

main masterlist | series masterlist | want to request?

DAY 93: SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA

Your fans from South Korea are one of your most active fanbases, always showering you with praises and support through social media. You even heard one of your songs becoming a trend on their online platforms, with celebrities and big local personalities doing it. So to show appreciation for them, you and your management decided to stay in the country for a longer amount of days.

So far, you have done your back-to-back concerts, variety show appearances, and media interviews, making sure that your fans will get a lot of content. You also got to do some shopping in Myeongdong with Cal and Paul in your first two days in the country since you know how great everyone's skincare products are.

"Are you going out?"

It's your last day before you leave for another country tomorrow. You sat on the nook near the big window of your hotel room, overviewing the busy streets of Seoul, when Cal came in and checked on you.

"I would love to, but I don't like to see couples eating each others' faces on the street." you shuddered in exaggerated disgust, Cal laughed in response.

Tearing your eyes off the scene, you see your assistant all dressed up. From her usual jeans and dark-colored hoodie, she wore and pastel green coat dress and white boots. She also wore white fuzzy gloves, tights, and a scarf for the winter weather outside. Her hair is also styled in soft waves.

"You are so, so pretty." you smiled as she gave you a twirl. "Where are you and your fiance heading?"

She looks up, recalling her agenda for the day, "We're going to Nami Island, I think. I don't really know. Art planned the whole thing."

"Sounds nice."

You tried to smile before looking back to the window. A sense of heaviness sits on your chest as you hug your knees closer to your body, resting your chin on it. The feeling you have been trying to avoid today, Valentine's Day, cannot help but revive itself in your system. But it has been looming over you for a while now, especially in Seoul, where there are a lot of lovely, cute couples everywhere.

"You okay?" Cal asked, sensing your aura shifting.

"I am, I am!" You turned to look at her again, smiling to reassure her. "Now, go on and enjoy that date. We know Art has a low tolerance for waiting."

She chuckled before giving you a quick hug that you know means well. As soon as the door closed, you were back staring outside the glass. You watched the cars move in different directions, and people walked around places. You watched almost twenty-two stories over them, but your mood cannot keep up and remained low ever since you woke up today.

For the first time in years, you are alone in this day of romance. You tried to stay optimistic about it, thinking that you should be grateful you got out of that toxic on-and-off relationship. But man, wouldn't it be nice to be with someone in this cold, cuddly weather outside?

You sighed, combing your fingers through your unstyled hair, before getting up to your bed. You thought of just taking advantage of your free time to rest in the midst of your ongoing world tour.

"I don't think I can bring this with me, Juwon."

Yoongi let out a sheepish chuckle while holding a brown bag of Tupperware filled with kimchi, braised potatoes, lettuce, rice, and marinated uncooked bulgogi. His cousin laughed.

"Not my problem, man. Mom saw one of your videos online and said you looked thinner. She wanted to make sure you're eating a lot, especially now you're in the country."

It has been more than a decade since Yoongi visited his birth country. Unlike his parents who come and go to South Korea yearly, he never got to visit since he moved to LA. When his mother learned that you would be taking your tour to Seoul, she called up every family member to let them know Yoongi was coming. Everyone was delighted to see him after a long time. His grandma even handed him an envelope money, just like when he was a little kid. Yoongi tried to decline it shyly, but his heart warmed when she told him to keep it as it was for all the Lunar New Year he missed.

"She really wanted to see you, but she and Dad are celebrating their anniversary in the UK right now," Juwon told him while they sat in one of the cafes just on the outskirts of Seoul. "She always told everyone how her nephew is a celebrity in the US."

Yoongi laughed, cheeks warming up, "I'm not a celebrity. I'm a bassist for one."

"Eh, it's the same." his cousin shrugged, making both of them laugh. "You know, a lot of YN's fans here think you two are dating."

Yoongi's jaw tenses at the mention of you. Considering that you two are barely talking right now, being tangled in such gossip with you is a little startling for him.

Juwon continued, "Like, I would scroll on social media and I would see edits of you on stage made by your fans here. There are talks about her performances and gimmicks with you on online forums."

Yoongi knows. His father even asked him once about his relationship status with you during the holidays. When he was on his way to the cafe, a young student recognized and asked him if you two are together after asking for a selfie. And he answered the same thing.

"We're not dating. I'm just her bassist."

Juwon seemed to not really care about Yoongi's relationship status with you, just wanting to share the growing popularity of the topic. They went on talking about life and everything big happening to them. Yoongi appreciated his cousin not mentioning his failed engagement or asking him personal questions about you (since that is something other people do). A couple of hours later, Juwon had to go.

"I'm taking the missus out. So, I really should go," he explained, smiling sheepishly.

Yoongi smiled before they shared a quick hug, "Of course. I'll try to visit again after the tour so I can meet everyone."

It was only afternoon and Yoongi was already on his way back to the hotel. Love is everywhere, he can feel, hear, see, and even taste it with how sweet the heart-shaped candies he sees from the street vendors. On the bus, he cannot help but feel outcasted by how everyone comes and goes in two while he sits alone in the farthest seat. He tried not to be a bitter hater about today's event. But how can he be single right now and there are middle-schoolers holding hands in front of him?

He rolled his eyes as he walked past the young couple who was walking too slow for his liking. Just a few distance from the hotel, he stopped when he got a call from someone.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Yoongi. Are you in the hotel right now?" Art, who's on the other line, asked.

Yoongi continued walking, "Yeah, just arrived. Why?"

Today is meant to be their free day before flying to Thailand tomorrow. He recalls any possible reason why the tour manager would call him today.

"Yeah, uhm, can you check on YN? Callie has been trying to contact her, but she's not answering any texts or calls. She just wants to know how she's doing."

His heart dropped, making him pause near the elevators. He has not really talked with you alone these past few days. You two barely had conversations after that little argument the week after the holiday break.

Yoongi scratched his brow, "Uhm, how about Noah or Akio?"

"They are still on their way to visit Busan. Fred is out of town too," he replied.

Knowing there were no other choices, his shoulder slumped like the whole world fell on it, "Okay, I'll check on her."

"Okay, thank you, Yoongi!" Art sighed in relief. Yoongi heard Cal's relief in the background, thanking him too, "Thanks, Yoongi! Please tell her to text me back."

After saying where your room is, the call ended. Why can't you answer the calls? Yoongi tried contacting you himself when he got in the elevator. Although he knows that you might ignore him, he still tries just to avoid knocking on your door again. But you did not answer. So he got to the floor higher than his and immediately looked for your room.

He felt his heart beating faster when he stopped in front of Room 2202. Chewing on his lip, he raised his finger before the doorbell. He wished he had the same determination when he knocked on your door months ago. He held his breath when he clicked it.

But he got no response. It took him three more tries before hearing footsteps inside and by that time, he was more worried than nervous.

"What— Yoongi?"

Instantly recognizing the person who interrupted your movie marathon, your creased forehead softened up as your shoulders slowly tensed down. Yoongi didn't speak immediately, causing you to just stand there while his eyes scanned your face with lines forming between his brows. You felt like shrinking again under his gaze, wondering if other people feel the same way when your bassist looks at them.

"Were you crying?" he asked since he quickly took notice of your tear-stained cheeks, puffy eyes, and lips.

When you look away, Yoongi can read the embarrassment on your face. He thought you looked cute even though you just cried, but still he was worried by what was the reason behind it. But he didn't want to ask, to cross the line like you said that night. So he didn't.

Instead, he cleared his throat, "Art called me. He said you—"

To see you open the door wider as if you are inviting him to come in is a surprise to him. Your eyes meet, communicating with no verbal words in between. But when your sight starts moving from his eyes to his nose then to his lips. Something in your stomach twists. Before anything happened, you spoke, moving your eyes back up.

"Please, just come in. Someone might see us in the hallway."

Always careful. Yoongi stepped in with the same brown bag in his hand. He waited for you to close the door before speaking up again.

"Art called me and he wanted me to check on you. Cal is worried you were not answering her calls."

Your lips gaped as you forgot where your phone was. Since you were left alone hours ago, you spent your time watching rom-com movies, including the one you were just crying about before Yoongi knocked.

"Wait, I'll look for it."

Yoongi watched you rush to your messy bed. He still has not moved from the same spot near the door, like his feet were nailed to the ground. Not less than a minute later, you came back with your phone in hand.

"Just texted her back. I was on DND since last night, I didn't notice," you explained and why were you explaining to him? You don't know.

He didn't say anything and just looked at you blankly. What was to say anyway? You noticed him not really speaking much when you're around. You mean, Yoongi does not really speak a lot, but you observed how quieter he got when the holiday break ended. The eye contact lessened and so did the small bickering you two do in every rehearsal. It feels wrong to annoy you like before again. There are so many times you want to, but you just can't.

You were chewing on your lower lip unconsciously while looking down at the paper bag in his hand, and could not bring yourself to look up. Yoongi silently wondered what was going on inside your creative head.

"What's that?" you broke the silence, referring to the bag.

"Oh... uhm... it's food from my aunt," he replied, lifting the bag. He pulled out one of the Tupperware. "She wanted me to eat more, said I'm getting thinner."

You don't know why, but that made you chuckle. Yoongi smiled upon hearing your little laugh.

"Have you eaten?" he asked, even though it can be a risk over the line you spoke about before.

But instead of reminding him about that stupid line, you replied, "Ice cream is food, right?"

Yoongi clicked his tongue, shaking his head like you were a great disappointment. He pulled out each Tupperware one by one and placed it on the nearby marble counter.

"Have you had these foods before?" he asked and you simply shook your head. "Then, you're going to have them now."

Yoongi didn't care if he crossed that imaginary line because his mom would kill him if he didn't make you eat lunch. Heading to your kitchenette, he looked for a pan and turned on the stove.

"I will just cook the meat. Then, we'll eat this with rice and the side dishes." he explained while putting the meat on the hot surface.

"What... What should I do? Should I help? Do I have to do anything?" you asked, heavily confused.

Yoongi chuckled at your innocent questions, "You can just watch, YN."

And you did while being intrigued and amused at the same time by the unexpected scenario. Just twenty minutes ago, you were crying over Drew Barrymore and Adam Sandler. But now, you have your bassist cooking before you.

Yoongi cooked all of the meat since he could not really bring it with him tomorrow. He will make sure to eat them all if you do not enjoy it anyway. There are no plates in the hotel room, so you two had to improvise and use the lids of the Tupperware as plates. It was also a relief that his aunt included chopsticks in the bag.

He noticed how your eyes lit up as he explained the side dishes, particularly the potatoes. He picked one and placed it on your 'plate'. You hummed as you tasted the sweetness on your tongue.

"I love this. So much better than room service!"

He smiled before getting you some kimchi on your plate too. That's when your expression dropped, he noticed.

"It's kimchi. Don't worry, it's good."

"What does it taste like? And how should I eat it?" you asked, staring at the very red dish.

"It's spicy and sour. It can be sweet too. Depends on who made it. But my aunt always preferred it spicier." he explained before eating some. Yeah, it's spicy. "Do you eat spicy food?"

"I like spicy foods, but this one looks really spicy. It's very red."

He laughed, "It's good. Taste it! You can eat it alone, with rice, or meat. Like this."

Yoongi pulled his chair next to yours, simply to make you a lettuce wrap like in a local Korean barbecue place. He didn't sit too close, but sensing his familiar scent once again made your heart jump as you watched him make you a lettuce wrap.

"Here. Say 'ah'." Yoongi opened his mouth demonstrating.

You tried not to smile, your head messing with you again, as you followed his order. He helped you with the lettuce wrap. Immediately after chewing it, there's a burst of flavor in your mouth. The kimchi is spicy, sour, and maybe a little salty. But you liked it.

Yoongi smiled when he saw you nodding your head, "See? It's great, right? You should really listen to me more."

You glared at him before picking up your chopsticks to eat. Eating in comfortable silence, Yoongi quietly observed how you enjoyed the meal he brought, specifically the kimchi. He was pleased to see you munching on the dishes.

"Slow down on the kimchi." he teased you at one point, but you just scrunched your nose at him.

"I should have added matching couple-shirts in my merch during the concert. I would have earned millions here."

After having your late lunch, you and Yoongi found yourselves in the same nook you were sitting at earlier today. You two sat on each corner, looking down on the noisy and busy city moving below. It felt like the events after the afterparty were forgotten for the meantime as you two chatted about 50 First Dates, the movie you were crying about, and how he preferred The Wedding Singer more. There was a debate for a whole twenty minutes about it and you were sure Yoongi just let you win, so you can move to another topic.

"Yeah, on my way here earlier, every couple who will get on the bus wears the same thing. I looked like a sore thumb." he quipped, earning another laugh from you while you took another bite of kimchi.

The side dish was almost completely consumed by you alone, much to Yoongi's surprise.

"I told you to slow down on the kimchi." he teased you again.

"But it's good. Tell your aunt it's good, send her flowers for me," you suggested.

He scoffed, "Oh, my aunt would love hearing that and will probably send you five more Tupperware of this."

"Well, sign me up. I wouldn't mind having stock." you grinned before taking the last piece of radish.

He shook his head, laughing, "And you finished it all."

You carefully placed the empty Tupperware in front of you, raising both of your hands like you were a suspect caught, "Not guilty at all."

"She would really love you." he chuckled, leaning back on the wall of the nook.

"Well, that just means she has a very great taste." you quipped, looking outside.

Mirroring Yoongi, you rested your back on the wall while still looking outside. In contrast to your full and contented stomach, your heart feels light at someone's unexpected appearance in your hotel room. You were so ready to watch movies all day and maybe call for room service for food. A small smile forms on your lips.

Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi feels the same thing. Mainly, he was happy the food his aunt made did not go to waste and he got to eat it with someone, who obviously enjoyed it. He tried not to chuckle when he saw a spot of the red sauce near your lips. Before he could even stop himself, his thumb gently wiped it off your face.

You held your breath at the sudden touch with your eyes flickering to meet his. He was frozen on the spot, still in the leaned-in position. For a second, the city noise is drawn out. Until he pulled back and you noticed his cheeks have a very slight tint of red.

"Uhm... there was sauce." he mumbled.

"Hmm..." you awkwardly responded looking away.

Silence joined the room again and Yoongi felt like he had gone past the line already. He slapped his head mentally with what he did. The silence reminded him of a scenario that happened at the end of last year. As he feels it getting into him, he gets up.

"I-I should go. We have an early flight tomorrow."

You looked back at him and were always easy to read for him. But, he didn't want to assume that you wanted him to stay based on your eyes alone. But you did, you really did. Maybe for a companion for tonight? You cannot tell, but you enjoyed this casual conversation with him. You can just hope he did too.

"Okay," you replied, almost a whisper.

You watched him gather the Tupperware back into the paper bag, not moving an inch in the nook. You waited for him to look back at you before he leaves, but he was too focused on the fucking Tupperware. So, you just turned your head outside, letting out a sigh.

And just when Yoongi is about to turn the doorknob, he takes one last look at you. His shoulders depleted, seeing you alone while watching the city outside.

"YN?" he called your name and he was unsure if he saw a glimmer of something in your eyes when you turned around. "Good night."

You forced a smile on your lips, "Thank you, Yoongi. Good night."

note | a little preview for the tour's second leg too...

SERIES TAGLIST

kindly check out my taglist rules on my pinned post :)

@busanbby-jjk @jimingirl95 @treacherqus @jajabro @marnz1990 @ktownshizzle @notarshia @m00njinnie @thelilbutifulthings @tarahardcore @livisdoingfine @jungshaking @eridanus-lynx @enthralled-bandit @goodnight-n-go-home @ronyiboniyy @jimeg629 @lveegsoi @madussthoughts

PERMANENT TAGLIST (CLOSED)

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[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Full fic of this blurb

Bucky had a love, hate relationship with his arm. He loved that it was something that he could use if you ever needed protection. It was always on him, so he was always ready to save you if anything ever happened. He liked how it made him feel whole again. Missing an arm really makes you feel less than at times but having his arm on made him feel like a normal person again, especially when it was covered in a sleeve, and he was able to forget that it's made of metal.

But at the same time, he hated it. No matter the benefits that came with the arm, he couldn't find it in him to not hate it. It was a weapon. It's what made him a weapon. It was a constant reminder of his past, but even though he hated looking at it, he hated not having it on even more. Without it, he didn't feel like a man worthy of you, and that outweighed the hatred tremendously.

You had asked him about it before. It was easy to see that he wasn't comfortable with the arm still, so you asked if he'd be more comfortable with having it off when the two of you were alone at your apartment. You immediately regretted your words when you saw him visibly stiffen, your eyes widened, and you were quick to try and take back your words. "Buck, I... I just want you to be comfortable, that's all." You kissed his shoulder and felt him relax against you. "I am comfortable, doll." He half-heartedly mumbled and gave you a weak smile, but that was enough for you to drop the subject for the time being.

He wasn't lying fully... he was comfortable around you. He just wasn't comfortable with the idea of you seeing him without it just yet. Maybe one day in the future, it'd happen organically, but for now, the idea of you seeing him without his arm made his mind race. What if you were disturbed by it? It wasn't every day you saw someone missing a limb. What if you wanted to know the story behind him losing his arm? He's never really told anyone that story people just seemed to already know it. what if you viewed him as less than? As not worthy for you. He couldn't bear having you think of him the way he thinks of himself.

Later that night, the two of you went to bed, and for the first time in your relationship, Bucky was the first one to fall asleep. You followed shortly after, but not before taking the opportunity to take in his peaceful form. With a kiss on his chest, you finally closed your eyes, ready for a peaceful sleep.

Unfortunately, peacefulness between the two of you were short lived. Maybe it was because he fell asleep more aware of his arm, more aware of his past, but whatever it was caused Bucky to have one of the worst nightmares he's had in a while.

The first thing that stirred you awake was Bucky's groans and mumbles. It wasn't uncommon for him to get nightmares and as you were starting to wake yourself up so you can help him wake from the dream, before you could do anything though his left hand grabbed onto your arm with a tightness that left you worried he was going to break it. This was the first time you ever truly noticed how strong Bucky could be.

"Bucky...baby, you have to get up." You called out to him as you tried to loosen his grip on your arm. The more you tried to fight his grip, the tighter it got. "James!" You cried out loudly as you watched your wrist starting to bruise under his hand. Relief flooded your body as you see Bucky's blue eyes flutter open. Horrific gasps fall from his lips when he takes in the sight in front of him.

Dropping your arm quickly, he stumbled out of the bed just as fast. You cradled your arm and looked up at him, leaning against the shared dresser that was across the room, trying to think of a way to reassure him that this was a complete accident.

"Doll...I-" He choked on a sob; his eyes can't focus on anything other than your injured arm. An injury his arm caused... and injury he caused. You watched from the bed as he fell to the floor, crying harder than you've ever seen before. Cautious for your injured arm you got up to go sit beside him; "James I'm okay, it's okay" You rubbed his back softly as you continued whispering affirmations in hope to calming him down. Once he started to breathe calmly again, he finally found the courage to look you in the eyes. His heart broke seeing the eyes of the one he loved more than anything. Those eyes usually brought relief, and now they brought guilt.

"I hurt you..." He mumbled in disbelief; his head was spiraling, but your soft touch was still the one thing to bring him back. "I'm really okay, it's not broken." You moved it around so he could see that you weren't in too much pain. "It's a little sore, but nothing serious, and I'm still breathing. You're still breathing. We're okay, baby, I promise." He shook his head at your reassurance. "I could've..." a shake breath falls before he could finish the sentence and tears fill his eyes all over again, "I'm too dangerous for you to be around" He tried to sound confident saying that, so there was a better chance that you would listen, but it came out weak and tearful.

It was your turn to shake your head at his words. "You are not a dangerous man; you are not the winter solider anymore. Baby, tell me who you are, " you asked, knowing his name would be able to bring him back to reality easier than you could. He took a deeper breath in before responding to your question. " I am James Buchanan Barnes." He visibly relaxed after repeating those words a few times.

"I still hurt you, doll. I don't care how bad it was this time it could've been worse...it might be worse next time." He said while staring at your bruising arm. Seeing you hurt by his doing made him realize what he needed to do. "I can't let this happen again." Your eyes widen at his words, and for the first time that night, fear coursed through your veins. "What do you mean?" you whispered, scared he'll answer with wanting to break up.

Standing from the floor, he turned around from you before removing his arm and laying it on the dresser you were still leaning against. "I can't hurt you as badly with just this old thing," he said with a chuckle as he held his right hand out to help you up. Taking his hand with your non injured arm, the two of you made eye contact.

Unspoken words that were clear for the both of you to read were exchanged in your glances. Unspoken vows that the two of you will get through this tough spot together.

"How about we get to bed, huh? It's way too early to be up." He muttered into your hair line as he kissed the crown of your head before leading you to the bed. Now, for the first time in a long time, Bucky felt safe sleeping next to you. And against what he believed, not having his arm on made him feel more like the man you deserved and less of a weapon that he needed to shield you from.

Tagging a few people who's been waiting for this:

@jtthompson

@19blackbutterfly97-blog

@calengalad

@toomuchbucky

@buckyinmyuniverse

[gottencents]

Casual PT.4 - Yu Jimin

part one. | part two. | part three.

pairing. mean girl!karina x star soccer player!reader

synopsis. at Changryeo University, Yu Jimin or just Karina is the ultimate “mean rich girl” — popular, wealthy, and always seeking ways to stay on top. After setting her sights on Sunghoon, the charming soccer captain, Karina shifts her focus to Y/N, an up-and-coming soccer star with an unexpected breakout season. Unlike the polished Sunghoon, Y/N is more of an outsider who got by on talent but doesn’t fit the typical college elite mold. Realizing that Y/N is the only one who doesn’t care about the social hierarchy, Karina proposes a deal: they’ll fake date so Karina can boost her popularity, while Y/N gets protection from relentless attention. Reluctantly, Y/N agrees, and the two navigate a world of social manipulation, only to find that their fake relationship might lead to something more real than either expected.

The ride home from Karina’s parents’ house felt lighter than Y/N had anticipated. The lingering nerves from the evening had finally dissolved, replaced by a warm sense of belonging. Karina hummed softly along with the radio as she drove, her hand resting comfortably on Y/N’s thigh.

“You were perfect,” Karina said, breaking the peaceful silence. “I knew they’d love you.”

Y/N chuckled, leaning back in her seat. “You think? I was sure I said at least three awkward things.”

“You were charming,” Karina reassured her. “Even when you nearly knocked over the water pitcher.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face. “I was hoping we could forget that.”

“Never,” Karina teased, her eyes glinting with mischief. “It was adorable.”

As the car pulled into Y/N’s building, Karina parked and turned toward her, her expression softening. “I’m really proud of you. I know tonight wasn’t easy.”

Y/N nodded, feeling the weight of Karina’s words. “Thanks. It actually felt… nice. I liked seeing that side of your life.”

“You’ll be seeing more of it,” Karina promised, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear. “You’re stuck with me now.”

Y/N smiled, her heart fluttering at the intimacy of the moment. “I guess I can live with that.”

They lingered for a second longer before Y/N reluctantly opened the car door. Karina followed her out, walking her to the entrance of the building. The air was crisp, the quiet hum of the city night wrapping around them like a soft blanket.

Just as Y/N was about to say goodnight, Karina’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it, her brow furrowing slightly.

“Everything okay?” Y/N asked.

Karina hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. It’s just work stuff. I’ll handle it later.”

Y/N raised a brow. “You sure? You can take it if it’s urgent.”

“It’s nothing that can’t wait,” Karina said quickly, slipping her phone back into her pocket.

Y/N studied her for a moment, sensing something just beneath the surface. But before she could press further, Karina leaned in, capturing Y/N’s lips in a slow, lingering kiss that left no room for questions.

“Goodnight, baby,” Karina whispered against her lips.

“Goodnight,” Y/N replied, her voice barely audible.

She watched Karina walk back to her car, her heart full yet tinged with curiosity. Something about that text felt… off. But she trusted Karina, and if it was important, she’d tell her in time.

The next few days felt normal—almost too normal. They kept up their usual routine: meeting for coffee, texting late into the night, and sharing quiet moments in between classes. But every now and then, Y/N noticed that faraway look in Karina’s eyes, like her mind was somewhere else entirely.

It wasn’t until Friday evening that things started to unravel.

Y/N had invited Karina over for dinner, wanting to spend a quiet night together after a busy week. She was just finishing up cooking when there was a knock on the door. Karina walked in, her expression more tense than usual.

“Hey,” Y/N greeted, wiping her hands on a towel. “Everything okay?”

Karina forced a smile. “Yeah. Just a long day.”

Y/N frowned. “Are you sure? You’ve been a little distracted lately.”

Karina hesitated, her eyes darting away for a brief moment. “It’s just work stuff. Nothing to worry about.”

Y/N crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. “Karina… you know you can talk to me, right? You don’t have to carry everything on your own.”

Karina let out a breath, running a hand through her hair. “I know. I just—” She stopped herself, biting her lip. “It’s not that simple.”

Y/N stepped closer, gently taking Karina’s hands in hers. “It doesn’t have to be simple. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together.”

Karina looked at her, conflict swirling in her eyes. “There’s just… a lot going on right now. Work, family stuff—it’s all piling up. I didn’t want to dump it on you.”

Y/N’s grip tightened. “You’re not dumping anything on me. We’re in this together, remember?”

Karina exhaled, her shoulders relaxing just a little. “I know. I’m sorry if I’ve been distant. It’s just been hard to juggle everything lately.”

Y/N nodded, brushing her thumb over Karina’s knuckles. “We’ll get through it. One step at a time.”

For the first time in days, Karina’s smile felt real, not forced. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“You bribed me with coffee,” Y/N said with a playful grin.

Karina laughed softly, the tension in the room finally breaking. “Ah, right. My greatest strategy.”

They settled into dinner, the heaviness of the past few days slowly fading into the background. But even as they laughed and talked, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something bigger.

And she was ready—whatever it was, she wasn’t going anywhere.

The weekend passed in a blur, but something about Karina still felt… distant. Y/N tried to shake the thought, telling herself that Karina was just stressed. After all, life could get overwhelming sometimes. It didn’t mean anything deeper was wrong.

Still, the feeling lingered, gnawing at her in the quiet moments.

By Monday, the tension between them was subtle but undeniable. Karina seemed present but distracted, and Y/N could feel herself slipping into her own head, overthinking every little thing. That evening, they had plans to grab dinner at a casual restaurant near campus, but the energy between them was noticeably off.

The restaurant buzzed with life—clinking glasses, laughter, and the smell of fresh food—but Y/N felt like she and Karina were in a bubble of silence.

“You okay?” Y/N asked as they waited for their food, her voice careful but steady.

Karina glanced up from her phone, forcing a small smile. “Yeah, why?”

“You just seem… elsewhere lately,” Y/N said, trying not to sound accusatory. “I’m starting to wonder if something’s wrong and you’re not telling me.”

Karina sighed, placing her phone facedown on the table. “It’s not like that. I’m just handling a lot right now. I didn’t want it to spill over into us.”

“But it is,” Y/N said gently. “You don’t have to go through things alone, Karina. I’m right here. If something’s bothering you, I want to know.”

Karina tapped her fingers on the table, eyes flickering with hesitation. “It’s work,” she admitted. “There’s a project I’m involved in, and it’s complicated. There’s pressure from my team, and I feel like no matter how hard I try, it’s never enough.”

Y/N relaxed slightly, relieved that Karina was finally opening up. “Why didn’t you just tell me that from the start?”

“I didn’t want to drag you into my stress,” Karina confessed. “I know you’ve got enough on your plate. The last thing I want is to weigh you down.”

“You’re not weighing me down,” Y/N said firmly. “Relationships are about sharing the load, right? If something’s heavy, we carry it together.”

Karina’s eyes softened, her expression a mix of gratitude and relief. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not easy,” Y/N said with a small laugh. “But you’re worth the effort.”

Their conversation was interrupted when the waiter set their plates down, and the tension seemed to lighten a little more as they dug into their food. Y/N felt like they’d taken a step forward, but she couldn’t help but notice that Karina’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Later that night, Y/N lay in bed, staring at her ceiling. The conversation had gone well—or at least, it had felt like progress—but she still couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more Karina wasn’t saying. Something deeper.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, pulling her out of her thoughts. She grabbed it, smiling softly when she saw Karina’s name on the screen.

Karina: Thank you for tonight. I really needed that.

Y/N: Always. You know I’m here, right? No matter what.

Karina: I know. Sleep well, baby.

Y/N placed her phone back on the nightstand, her heart warm but still slightly uneasy.

She trusted Karina. But trust didn’t always silence the questions.

The next day, Y/N was on her way to meet Karina for coffee when she spotted her standing outside the café… talking to a tall, sharply dressed woman Y/N didn’t recognize. The woman was leaning in close, her hand resting lightly on Karina’s arm as they spoke in hushed tones.

Y/N’s steps slowed, her stomach twisting.

Who was that?

Karina didn’t notice her at first, too engrossed in the conversation. The woman said something that made Karina laugh—a soft, genuine laugh Y/N hadn’t heard in days.

Y/N cleared her throat as she approached, trying to shake off the sudden spike of jealousy rising in her chest.

“Hey,” she greeted, keeping her voice casual.

Karina’s eyes snapped to her, surprise flashing across her face. “Y/N! Hey, I was just—”

The woman beside her turned, offering Y/N a polite smile. “You must be Y/N. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Y/N nodded slowly, studying her. “And you are…?”

“Yujin,” the woman said, extending her hand. “I work with Karina.”

Y/N shook her hand, her smile tight. “Nice to meet you.”

Karina shifted on her feet, her eyes darting between Y/N and Yujin. “Yujin was just filling me in on some project updates. Nothing major.”

“Right,” Yujin said with a chuckle. “Nothing major.”

Y/N didn’t miss the way Yujin’s gaze lingered on Karina for a second too long.

“Well, I’ll let you two catch up,” Yujin said, giving Karina a knowing smile before walking off. “See you tomorrow.”

Y/N watched her leave, her chest tightening.

“She seems… friendly,” Y/N said, her tone carefully neutral.

Karina rubbed the back of her neck. “Yeah, she’s… helpful. We’ve been working closely on this project. She’s just really involved, that’s all.”

Y/N nodded, trying to push down the doubt bubbling inside her. “Right.”

Karina reached for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Hey. Don’t overthink it, okay? There’s nothing to worry about.”

Y/N smiled faintly, but the knot in her chest didn’t loosen.

“I’m not worried,” she said softly. But deep down, she wasn’t sure she believed it.

As they walked into the café together, Y/N tried to shake the feeling that something was shifting between them—something she couldn’t quite put her finger on yet.

But one thing was certain: cracks were beginning to form. And sooner or later, those cracks would have to be confronted.

Y/N woke up the next morning feeling heavy, the previous day’s encounter with Yujin replaying over and over in her mind. She tried to dismiss it, telling herself that it was silly to be jealous. Karina had been nothing but honest with her. And yet… something about Yujin didn’t sit right. It wasn’t what was said—it was what wasn’t.

All morning, Y/N’s thoughts lingered on that smile Yujin had given Karina, the familiarity between them. It felt like she was standing on shaky ground, waiting for the cracks beneath her feet to widen.

By the time she met up with Karina for lunch, she’d decided that she needed to talk about it. Not in an accusatory way—just… clear the air.

Karina was already sitting at their usual table in the campus café, scrolling through her phone. When she saw Y/N approach, her face lit up with that familiar smile that had once been enough to calm all of Y/N’s worries.

But not today.

“Hey, you,” Karina greeted, standing to give Y/N a quick hug.

“Hey,” Y/N said, hugging her back before sitting across from her.

They ordered their food, chatting idly about their morning classes, but Y/N could barely focus. The tension in her chest was building, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to push it aside for much longer.

Finally, she took a deep breath. “Karina… can I ask you something?”

Karina set her fork down, tilting her head slightly. “Of course. What’s up?”

“It’s about Yujin,” Y/N said carefully. “I know you said you’ve been working closely with her, but… is there something I should know?”

Karina blinked, her expression unreadable for a moment before she leaned back in her chair. “What do you mean?”

Y/N hesitated. “It’s just… the way she looked at you yesterday. It felt a little more personal than just work. And you seemed caught off guard when I showed up.”

Karina sighed, crossing her arms. “Y/N, there’s nothing going on between me and Yujin. She’s just a colleague. We’ve spent a lot of time together because of this project, and I guess we’ve gotten… close. But not in the way you’re thinking.”

Y/N nodded slowly, trying to absorb her words. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I trust you. It’s just… I’ve seen how people can blur lines when they work together. I guess it made me feel a little insecure.”

Karina leaned forward, resting her hand on Y/N’s. “You have nothing to be insecure about. Yujin is a great coworker, but that’s all she is. You’re the one I want to be with. You’re the one I care about.”

Y/N felt her chest loosen at Karina’s words, but a small part of her still clung to that lingering doubt.

“I believe you,” Y/N said, squeezing Karina’s hand. “I just needed to hear it from you.”

Karina smiled softly. “I get it. And I’ll do better at making sure you feel secure. We’re in this together, okay?”

Y/N nodded, a smile creeping onto her lips. “Okay.”

The following week felt lighter, like they’d turned a corner. Karina was more attentive, texting Y/N throughout the day, making time for little moments just for the two of them. It was exactly what Y/N needed—a reminder that their relationship was strong, built on something real.

But then, one evening, while Y/N was studying in the library, her phone buzzed with a text.

Yujin: Hey, are you free? I need to talk to you about something important.

Y/N froze, staring at the message. Why would Yujin be texting her? They barely knew each other.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard before she finally replied.

Y/N: Sure. What’s up?

Yujin: Can we meet in person? It’s better if we talk face to face.

Y/N’s heart started to race. Something told her that whatever Yujin had to say, it wasn’t going to be good.

Y/N: Okay. Where do you want to meet?

Yujin: The coffee shop on 5th. See you in 20 minutes.

Y/N grabbed her things, her mind spinning with possibilities. What could Yujin possibly want to talk about?

As she walked to the coffee shop, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a turning point—one that could change everything.

When she arrived, Yujin was already there, sitting at a table near the window. She looked up as Y/N walked in, offering a small, almost hesitant smile.

“Thanks for coming,” Yujin said as Y/N sat down across from her.

“Of course,” Y/N said, folding her hands on the table. “What’s going on?”

Yujin took a deep breath, her eyes serious. “I didn’t want to get involved, but… I think you deserve to know the truth about Karina and me.”

Y/N’s blood ran cold.

“What truth?”

Yujin leaned in slightly, her voice low. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together—too much time. And I think… Karina might have feelings for me.”

The words hit Y/N like a punch to the gut.

“She hasn’t said it outright,” Yujin continued, “but the way she looks at me, the way she confides in me… it’s more than just friendship. I thought you should know before it gets any more complicated.”

Y/N sat there, stunned into silence. Her mind screamed that it wasn’t true, that Karina loved her, that Yujin was just reading into things.

But the doubt she’d buried deep inside was back, louder than ever.

“I thought you should know,” Yujin said again, her eyes filled with something that almost looked like pity.

Y/N swallowed hard, trying to steady her voice. “Thanks for telling me.”

She stood up, barely remembering how she got out of the coffee shop, her thoughts a chaotic mess.

Was it true?

Had she been blind to something that was right in front of her?

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was a text from Karina.

Karina: Miss you. Want to grab dinner later?

Y/N stared at the message, her heart aching. She had a choice to make—confront Karina or walk away without knowing the full story.

And for the first time in a long time, Y/N wasn’t sure what the right choice was.

Y/N didn’t reply to Karina’s message. She couldn’t. The weight of Yujin’s words sat in her chest like a stone, suffocating and relentless. The walk back to her apartment felt longer than usual, her thoughts spiraling with questions she didn’t want to answer.

Was Yujin lying? Exaggerating? Or had Y/N truly been naive, ignoring what had been in front of her all along?

Her phone buzzed again. Another text from Karina.

Karina: Everything okay? You’ve been quiet.

Y/N stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. She could just brush it off, pretend everything was fine. But she couldn’t shake the echo of Yujin’s voice. “I think Karina might have feelings for me.”

Instead of replying, Y/N shoved her phone into her pocket and locked her door behind her, sinking onto the couch. Her mind played through every interaction Karina had ever had with Yujin, searching for signs—something she’d missed.

Her breath hitched. There were moments. Fleeting, almost insignificant, but in hindsight… they felt different now. The late nights Karina spent with Yujin at the library. The way Karina’s face lit up when Yujin walked into the room.

Y/N pressed her hands to her face, trying to push the thoughts away, but it was useless.

Hours passed, the sun dipping below the horizon, casting her apartment in shadows. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore.

She needed answers.

Her fingers trembled as she typed out a message.

Y/N: Can we talk?

The response came almost immediately.

Karina: Of course. I’ll come over.

It didn’t take long for Karina to arrive. The moment Y/N opened the door, Karina’s face lit up with that familiar warmth. But Y/N couldn’t return the smile.

“Hey,” Karina said softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. “Is everything okay? You seem off.”

Y/N crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. “I ran into Yujin today.”

Karina blinked, her smile fading. “Oh?”

“She said some interesting things.” Y/N’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it that she couldn’t hide. “She told me I deserve to know the truth. About you and her.”

Karina’s eyes widened, her posture stiffening. “Y/N—”

“She said you might have feelings for her,” Y/N continued, cutting Karina off. “That the way you look at her, the way you confide in her… it’s more than just friendship.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Karina opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. That hesitation—that split second of silence—felt like confirmation.

Y/N’s heart broke a little more.

“Is it true?” Y/N asked, her voice barely a whisper. “Do you have feelings for her?”

“No,” Karina said quickly, stepping closer. “It’s not like that. Yujin’s misunderstanding everything. I care about her as a friend, but that’s all. I swear.”

“But she thinks it’s more,” Y/N said bitterly. “Why would she say that if there wasn’t something there? Even just a hint?”

Karina ran a hand through her hair, frustration evident on her face. “I don’t know. Maybe she misinterpreted our closeness. We’ve spent a lot of time together because of the project, but I never gave her a reason to think there was something more.”

Y/N felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “I don’t know if I can believe you.”

Karina’s face crumbled. “Y/N, please… you have to trust me. You’re the one I love. You’re the one I want to be with. Yujin is just a colleague—nothing more.”

“I want to believe you,” Y/N whispered, her voice cracking. “But right now… I don’t know how to.”

Karina reached for Y/N’s hand, but Y/N pulled back, stepping away. The distance between them felt like a chasm, one neither of them knew how to cross.

“I need some time,” Y/N said quietly. “I can’t think straight right now.”

Karina’s eyes filled with pain, but she nodded. “Okay. Take the time you need. But please… don’t shut me out completely.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She just opened the door, silently asking Karina to leave.

Karina hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching Y/N’s face, before stepping out into the hallway.

“I’m not giving up on us,” Karina said, her voice steady despite the sadness in her eyes. “No matter what.”

Y/N closed the door softly, leaning her forehead against it as soon as it clicked shut.

Her chest felt hollow, her mind a storm of conflicting emotions. She wanted to believe Karina. She wanted to forget Yujin’s words and pretend everything was fine.

But doubt had already taken root, and it wasn’t letting go.

For the first time in her relationship with Karina, Y/N felt like she was standing on the edge of something fragile, something that could break at any moment.

And she wasn’t sure if they would survive the fall.

The days that followed were filled with silence—long stretches of uncertainty that clung to Y/N like a second skin. She kept telling herself she needed time, space to think things through, but every passing minute felt like it was pulling her further from Karina.

Karina’s messages continued to light up her phone, each one more desperate than the last.

Karina: Can we talk?

Karina: Please, Y/N, just tell me what you’re thinking.

Karina: I miss you. I’m scared I’m losing you.

Y/N read each one but never responded. She wasn’t ready—not while Yujin’s voice still echoed in her mind.

Yujin wasn’t done either. Her manipulation was a slow, deliberate poison, seeping into every crack she could find. She played her part flawlessly, twisting the truth to her advantage.

She made sure to be around Karina constantly, using their project as the perfect excuse. She acted supportive, compassionate, always there to offer a shoulder to lean on when Karina seemed worn down.

“You okay?” Yujin asked one evening, sitting next to Karina in the campus lounge, their laptops open but forgotten.

Karina sighed, rubbing her eyes. “Not really. Things with Y/N… it’s complicated.”

Yujin tilted her head, her expression laced with feigned concern. “She hasn’t been talking to you?”

“Barely,” Karina admitted, her voice tight. “She said she needed time, but it’s been days. I don’t know what to do.”

Yujin bit her lip, pretending to hesitate. “Maybe she’s struggling with something deeper. Maybe she’s… scared it won’t work.” She paused for dramatic effect before adding, “Or maybe she’s worried because she feels like you’ve changed. Like… you’re not as sure about her anymore.”

Karina frowned. “Why would she think that?”

Yujin offered a small, apologetic smile. “She told me once she felt like she wasn’t enough for you. I think she’s been holding onto that fear. And with how much time we’ve been spending together… maybe she thinks you’re realizing it too.”

Karina’s eyes darkened with guilt. “No. That’s not true. Y/N’s everything to me. I’ve never doubted us.”

“I know,” Yujin said softly, placing a hand on Karina’s arm. “But sometimes, even when we don’t mean to, we give people reasons to doubt.”

The seed was planted—carefully buried in Karina’s mind, just as it had been in Y/N’s.

The next day, Yujin made sure to reach out to Y/N again.

Yujin: Hey, just checking in. I saw Karina today. She’s been really quiet lately. I think she’s struggling with what she wants.

Y/N: Did she say that?

Yujin: Not exactly… but it’s obvious. I think she’s trying to protect your feelings. She doesn’t want to hurt you.

Y/N’s hands trembled as she read the message. She didn’t know what to believe anymore. Yujin had a way of speaking that made every lie sound like the truth.

Her mind spiraled back to the conversation she had with Karina—the hesitation in Karina’s voice, the way she hadn’t immediately denied Yujin’s claim. Maybe Karina really was struggling with her feelings. Maybe Yujin wasn’t lying after all.

Hours later, Karina showed up at Y/N’s door unannounced. Her face was pale, her eyes filled with a raw mix of exhaustion and sadness.

“I couldn’t stay away,” Karina said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I need to know where we stand.”

Y/N crossed her arms, her throat tightening. “Where do we stand, Karina? Because I don’t know anymore. You tell me one thing, and Yujin tells me something else. I feel like I’m being pulled in two different directions, and I don’t know which one to trust.”

Karina’s eyes flashed with anger. “Yujin’s lying to you.”

“Is she?” Y/N shot back, her voice sharp. “Because she seems pretty convinced that you’re unsure about us. That you’ve been confiding in her about things you can’t tell me.”

“I haven’t!” Karina’s frustration boiled over. “Yujin’s twisting everything. She’s manipulating you, Y/N. You’ve known me longer than her—how can you believe her over me?”

“Because I’m scared!” Y/N yelled, the words tearing from her throat. “I’m scared that there’s some truth in what she’s saying. I’m scared that you’ll wake up one day and realize she’s everything you want, and I’m just the person you settled for.”

Karina’s expression shattered, pain written all over her face. “No. No, Y/N, you’re the only person I’ve ever wanted. I love you.”

Y/N’s eyes stung with unshed tears. “Then why does it feel like I’m losing you?”

Karina stepped closer, her voice trembling. “You’re not losing me. But if we let Yujin get between us, if we let her lies destroy what we have, we’ll both lose. Please… trust me.”

Y/N wanted to. God, she wanted to believe Karina with everything she had. But the doubt was still there, a lingering shadow she couldn’t shake.

“I don’t know if I can,” Y/N whispered, her voice breaking. “Not right now.”

Karina nodded slowly, swallowing back her own tears. “Then I’ll wait. For as long as it takes. I’ll prove to you that what we have is real. That it’s worth fighting for.”

Y/N watched her go, the sound of the door closing echoing through the apartment like a final note in a tragic symphony.

She sank onto the couch, her heart in pieces. Part of her wanted to chase after Karina, to beg her to stay. But the other part—the part still poisoned by Yujin’s lies—held her back.

And in that moment, Y/N wasn’t sure which part would win.

The distance between Y/N and Karina grew like a canyon—too wide, too deep. Days turned into a blur of silence, and with each one that passed, Y/N felt the weight of everything they hadn’t said suffocating her.

Karina hadn’t messaged since their last conversation, and for once, Y/N was thankful. Every time her phone lit up, she half-expected to see Yujin’s name again, feeding her another dose of doubt. But it didn’t come. Not yet. The quiet was its own kind of torture.

Y/N walked around campus in a daze, pretending she was fine, but her chest felt heavy, and her head swirled with conflicting thoughts. Every corner she turned, she felt like she’d run into Karina—or worse, Karina and Yujin together.

When it finally happened, it hit harder than Y/N had imagined.

They were in the library, sitting side by side at a table near the window. Karina’s head was bent over her laptop, strands of her dark hair falling into her face. Yujin leaned in, close enough that their shoulders touched, saying something that made Karina smile faintly.

The sight twisted in Y/N’s stomach like a knife.

Before she could think it through, she walked toward them. Her footsteps felt heavier with every step, her heart slamming against her ribs.

“Karina,” Y/N said, her voice steady despite the storm in her chest.

Karina’s head snapped up, her eyes widening in surprise. “Y/N.”

Yujin leaned back casually, her gaze shifting between them. “Oh, hey, Y/N. You finally decided to join us.”

“Can we talk?” Y/N asked, ignoring Yujin.

Karina hesitated, glancing at Yujin. The pause was barely noticeable, but it sent a sharp pang through Y/N’s chest.

“Of course,” Karina said, closing her laptop.

They stepped outside, the cold air biting against Y/N’s skin. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Karina stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets, watching Y/N with cautious eyes.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Y/N said, her voice raw. “I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with you spending all this time with her.”

Karina’s brows furrowed. “It’s work, Y/N. You know that.”

“No,” Y/N snapped, her voice rising. “It’s not just work. She’s been feeding me lies—telling me you’re unsure about us, that you have feelings for her. And then I see you with her, and it’s like… maybe she’s right.”

Karina stepped forward, her voice laced with frustration. “She’s not right. Y/N, I’ve told you before—Yujin’s lying to you. Why can’t you see that?”

“Because she says it so convincingly!” Y/N’s voice cracked, her eyes burning. “And I don’t know what’s real anymore. Every time I see you with her, I feel like I’m losing you piece by piece, and it’s killing me.”

Karina’s face softened, her anger melting into something far more painful. “You’re not losing me. Y/N, you’ve never lost me. Yujin is trying to tear us apart because she wants me for herself, but I don’t want her. I’ve never wanted her. I’ve only ever wanted you.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat tightening. “Then why does it feel like I’m fighting for something that’s already slipping through my fingers?”

“Because she’s made you believe that,” Karina whispered, stepping even closer. Her voice trembled as she spoke. “But I’m still here, Y/N. I haven’t gone anywhere. And I won’t, unless you push me away.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, tears brimming in her eyes. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Karina said softly, her hand reaching for Y/N’s. “But we’re stronger than this. We’ve been through so much together. Don’t let her win. Don’t let her take this from us.”

Y/N stared at Karina’s hand in hers, her pulse racing. For the first time in days, she felt a sliver of clarity—a reminder of everything they had built, everything they had fought for.

But before she could say anything, the door behind them opened, and Yujin stepped out, her eyes glinting with something dark and unreadable.

“Is everything okay?” Yujin asked, feigning concern, though the slight smirk on her face betrayed her intentions.

Y/N’s grip on Karina’s hand tightened. She turned to Yujin, her voice cold. “Actually, no. It’s not.”

Karina straightened beside her, her eyes blazing. “Yujin, we need to talk. Alone.”

For the first time, Yujin’s confident mask faltered.

Y/N crossed her arms, her gaze unwavering. “Yeah, we do. Because it’s time we clear a few things up.”

And just like that, the battle lines were drawn, the air thick with tension. Y/N wasn’t sure where this conversation would lead, but one thing was certain: she was done letting Yujin pull the strings.

It was time to take back control—before it was too late.

The tension in the air was suffocating as Karina and Yujin stood face to face outside the library. Y/N lingered by the door, her heart pounding, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She had trusted Karina to handle this, but the fear of what Yujin might say still clung to her like a shadow.

Karina’s eyes were sharp, her jaw set. “We need to talk—now. No more games, Yujin.”

Yujin tilted her head, her lips curling into a slow, practiced smile. “Games? I think you’re being a bit dramatic. I was just trying to protect you, Karina. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Karina’s expression hardened. “Protect me? You’ve been lying to Y/N. Telling her things you know aren’t true. You’ve been trying to push us apart.”

Yujin crossed her arms, her confidence unwavering. “And why would I do that? What could I possibly gain from it?”

Karina scoffed. “Don’t act innocent. You know exactly what you’re doing. You’ve always been good at manipulating people, twisting things until they break.”

Y/N clenched her fists, stepping forward. Her voice was low but steady, carrying a weight that made Yujin falter for just a second. “You told me Karina had feelings for you, that she was confused. You made me doubt her—doubt us. And for what? To get what you want?”

Yujin’s smirk flickered, her eyes narrowing. “I only told you what I thought you needed to hear. If you were so quick to believe it, maybe that says more about your relationship than it does about me.”

The words hit like a slap to the face, leaving Y/N breathless. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay grounded. “Don’t twist this around. You wanted me to walk away from her. You made it sound like I was holding her back, like she’d be better off with you.”

“And maybe she would be,” Yujin said smoothly, her voice dropping into something almost tender. “Think about it, Y/N. You’ve been doubting her for weeks now. Isn’t that exhausting? Isn’t it easier to just… let go?”

Karina stepped between them, her voice shaking with anger. “Enough, Yujin. I love her. I’ve always loved her. Nothing you say is going to change that.”

Yujin’s smile faltered, the mask slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of hurt. For the first time, her confidence wavered. “I was just trying to show you what you could have, Karina. Someone who understands your world, who won’t hold you back.”

Karina’s eyes blazed. “What I want is Y/N. And I’ll fight for her, no matter how hard you try to come between us.”

Yujin opened her mouth to respond, but Y/N stepped in, her voice sharp. “You’ve done enough damage. Stay out of our lives, Yujin. I won’t let you poison this anymore.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of the confrontation settling around them like heavy fog. Yujin’s face twisted in frustration, her eyes flicking between Y/N and Karina before she turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd.

Karina let out a shaky breath, her shoulders sagging with the release of tension. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I should’ve seen what she was doing sooner. I should’ve protected you from this.”

Y/N shook her head, her throat tight. “It’s not your fault. I should’ve trusted you more. I let her get inside my head.”

Karina stepped closer, cupping Y/N’s face gently, her eyes filled with regret. “We’ve both made mistakes. But I don’t want to lose you—not over her, not over anything.”

Y/N felt the tears spill over, but she didn’t pull away. “You won’t. I’m still here.”

Karina leaned her forehead against Y/N’s, her voice barely a whisper. “Promise me we’ll fight for this. For us.”

Y/N closed her eyes, nodding slowly. “I promise.”

They stood like that for a long moment, clinging to each other as if the world could crumble around them at any second. The storm wasn’t over—not by a long shot. But for the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N felt steady, anchored by Karina’s unwavering presence.

Whatever came next, they would face it together.

And this time, they wouldn’t let anyone tear them apart.

The aftermath of Yujin’s lies wasn’t the dramatic explosion Y/N expected. It wasn’t some sudden, clean resolution. Instead, it was an unrelenting ache—one that seeped into everything she did, coloring every word she spoke to Karina and every glance they exchanged.

It had been days since the confrontation with Yujin. Days since the air between Y/N and Karina had shifted into something heavy and unfamiliar. There were no more accusations or harsh words, but there also wasn’t the same ease that used to come naturally between them. Their conversations were polite but guarded, their touches cautious.

Y/N felt like she was walking a tightrope, afraid to say the wrong thing and break whatever fragile peace they had left. And every time Karina’s phone buzzed, her stomach twisted into knots. Even though Yujin was no longer in the picture, the damage she left behind lingered.

It’s not like I can undo it, Y/N thought bitterly one night as she stared at the ceiling of her bedroom. I can’t unhear what she said. I can’t forget the way she made me feel.

The worst part wasn’t that Yujin had lied. It was that some part of Y/N believed her. Believed that maybe, just maybe, Karina deserved something better. Something easier.

The next evening, Y/N decided she couldn’t sit with her thoughts anymore. She needed to see Karina—to talk to her before the doubts consumed her entirely. She grabbed her jacket and left without even thinking to check the weather. The rain started halfway to Karina’s place, soaking through her clothes, but she didn’t care. She needed answers more than she needed to stay dry.

When Karina opened the door and saw Y/N standing there, dripping wet, her eyes immediately filled with concern. “Y/N? What are you doing here? You’re soaked!”

“I couldn’t stay home,” Y/N said, her voice barely steady as she stepped inside. “I’ve been going out of my mind, Karina. I need to talk to you.”

Karina shut the door behind her, worry etched into her face. “Of course. Come here.” She reached for Y/N’s arm, guiding her to the couch and wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. “You’re freezing.”

Y/N sat down but didn’t relax. Her eyes stayed fixed on the floor, her fingers clutching the blanket. “I thought I was okay after what happened with Yujin. I thought once she was out of the picture, things would go back to normal.” She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper. “But they haven’t.”

Karina sat beside her, her heart sinking at the pain in Y/N’s voice. “I know,” she admitted softly. “I feel it too.”

Y/N glanced at her, startled by the confession. “You do?”

Karina nodded, folding her hands together. “I thought if we just moved on, if we didn’t talk about it too much, things would fix themselves. But… I’ve been scared too. Yujin’s words got to me, Y/N. Not because I believed her, but because she made me realize how fragile this feels sometimes. I hate that she planted those doubts in your head. I hate that she made you question us.”

Y/N blinked back tears, her voice cracking. “She didn’t just plant doubts, Karina. She made me believe that I’m not enough for you. That one day, you’ll wake up and realize it’s easier to be with someone like her—someone who understands your world without needing you to explain it.”

Karina’s breath hitched. “No. Don’t say that. That’s not true, Y/N. It’s never been true.” She reached for Y/N’s hand, holding it tightly. “You’re not just enough for me—you’re everything to me. Do you hear me? Everything.”

“But what if I can’t shake it?” Y/N whispered, her eyes filled with uncertainty. “What if this feeling never goes away?”

Karina’s throat tightened, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. She cupped Y/N’s face, her touch firm yet tender. “Then we fight it. Together. Every day, if we have to. I don’t care how long it takes—I’m not letting you go because of something Yujin said.”

Y/N’s breath hitched as she leaned into Karina’s touch. “I want to believe that. I want us to be stronger, but it’s so hard. It feels like… like I’m constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Karina nodded slowly, her own fears surfacing. “I know. I feel that too sometimes. But we have to trust each other. We can’t let someone like Yujin take that from us. I love you, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care how messy or complicated this gets—we’ll figure it out.”

The words settled into Y/N’s chest, soothing but not erasing the ache completely. Still, they felt like a lifeline, something to hold onto in the storm. She nodded, swallowing hard. “Okay. No more pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. No more running from this.”

Karina smiled through her tears, pressing a soft kiss to Y/N’s forehead. “No more running.”

The rain continued to fall outside, the sound filling the quiet spaces between their words. They stayed wrapped in each other’s arms for a long time, the tension slowly ebbing away, replaced by something more fragile but no less real—hope.

It wouldn’t be easy. The wounds Yujin left wouldn’t heal overnight, and the shadows of doubt would linger for a while. But they were still here. Still holding on. Still fighting.

And for now, that was enough.

But deep down, they both knew this wasn’t the end of the storm. It was only the beginning of learning how to weather it together.

The following days were a delicate dance—filled with cautious words and fleeting touches that left Y/N feeling more disconnected from Karina than ever before. Even though they had agreed to face things together, there was an invisible wall between them, one neither dared to fully acknowledge yet.

Y/N spent most of her time at her own place, giving herself space to breathe, to think. But thinking only made things worse.

Trust her, Y/N reminded herself repeatedly. She loves you. She chose you.

Yet Yujin’s words had left a permanent scar on her thoughts, looping over and over like a haunting refrain.

The silence between texts grew longer. The once-effortless conversations felt forced, every word weighed down with unspoken tension. Y/N told herself it was just a phase, something they’d push through—but deep down, the doubt clawed at her.

It all came to a head one cold evening when Y/N found herself outside Karina’s apartment, heart racing and fingers trembling. She hadn’t planned to come—her feet had carried her there before her brain could catch up. I just need to see her, she thought. Maybe that’ll make it better.

Karina opened the door, surprised but smiling softly. “Hey. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Hey,” Y/N replied, her voice tight. “I… I needed to see you.”

Karina stepped aside, letting her in. The warmth of the apartment contrasted sharply with the icy air outside, but it did little to ease Y/N’s nerves.

They stood there for a moment, the tension thick between them.

Karina broke the silence first. “Do you want some tea or something?”

Y/N shook her head. “No, I just… I need to talk to you.”

Karina nodded slowly, her expression shifting into something more serious. She gestured to the couch, and they both sat down, the space between them feeling vast despite the proximity.

“What’s on your mind?” Karina asked gently, but Y/N could see the worry in her eyes.

Y/N took a deep breath, forcing herself to meet Karina’s gaze. “I thought I was okay. I thought we could push past what happened with Yujin, but… I’m struggling. I hate admitting that, but it’s true.”

Karina’s brow furrowed. “I know. I’ve been feeling it too. But we’ll get through it, Y/N. We’ve already talked about this.”

“I know we talked about it,” Y/N said, her voice rising slightly. “But talking doesn’t magically make it go away. I still feel like I’m constantly second-guessing everything—every time you’re late to reply, every time you say you’re busy with work, I can’t help but wonder…”

“Wonder what?” Karina asked, her voice quieter now, almost trembling.

“If you’re having second thoughts,” Y/N whispered. “If she was right. If deep down, part of you realizes I’m not the right person for you.”

Karina’s face fell, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Y/N… no. That’s not true. How many times do I have to tell you that? I’m with you because I love you. Not her. Never her.”

“I want to believe that,” Y/N said, her voice cracking. “I really do. But you don’t know what it’s like to live with that voice in your head constantly telling you you’re not enough. And now, thanks to Yujin, that voice is louder than ever.”

Karina reached for Y/N’s hand, gripping it tightly. “Then let me help you silence that voice. You’re not in this alone, Y/N. You never have been.”

Y/N looked down at their intertwined hands, tears blurring her vision. “I’m scared, Karina. I’m scared this is going to break us. I’m scared I’ll never stop feeling like this.”

Karina’s voice shook with emotion as she spoke. “I’m scared too. But if we let that fear control us, we’re giving Yujin exactly what she wanted. We can’t let her win, Y/N. We can’t let her take away what we have.”

Y/N nodded, biting her lip to hold back a sob. “I just… I don’t know how to stop feeling this way.”

Karina leaned closer, her forehead resting against Y/N’s. “We’ll figure it out. Even if it takes time. Even if we stumble along the way. You’re worth it to me, Y/N. Every messy, complicated part of this is worth it.”

For the first time in days, Y/N felt a glimmer of hope pierce through the darkness. She wrapped her arms around Karina, holding onto her like she was the only thing keeping her grounded.

Karina’s fingers stroked her hair softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “We’re not perfect. But we don’t have to be. We just have to keep choosing each other. No matter how hard it gets.”

The tears finally spilled over as Y/N buried her face in Karina’s shoulder. It wasn’t a solution. It wasn’t an instant fix. But it was something—a promise to try, to fight for what they had, even when it felt impossible.

They stayed like that for a long time, tangled together on the couch as the city buzzed quietly outside the window.

It wasn’t the ending Y/N had hoped for. But it wasn’t an ending at all. It was just another step—painful, messy, but real.

And for now, that was enough.

[ihaznoclue]

Just recently came across your blog and saw requests were open again! I especially love the Sonic fics in the movieverse.

I’ve seen scenarios where there was a teen!Wachowski and is essentially a sibling to them. I thought it would be cute for something like Sonic, Knuckles, and maybe even Shadow (he’d have joined the family, obviously) acting protective brothers over their human sibling since they’re not nearly as strong or durable. Any scenario would do, though I can’t help but think of if it involved dating someone and they would react like: are they cool enough? Are they strong enough? Are they working for G.U.N.???

Anywho, if you get to this, I would like to see how you write it out. Thanks!

Omg yes I was thinking about something like this and I'm all for it!

Pairings -> Sonic the Hedgehog, Kunckles the Echidna, Shadow the hedgehog x Sibling Reader (platonic)

Warnings -> None

Note -> Them being protective over their human older sibling

Genre -> Fluff

Sonic The Hedgehog

I feel like he will be the less protective one out of the three of them

He would probably ask a lot of questions though to get some information about them if you were dating someone

But in all seriousness I feel like he would help you

Since he thinks he's the most romantic guy out there

Sonics just a goof, a dork

"You have a what!?" Sonic screamed out which made you quickly cover his mouth as you shushed him

"Be quiet Sonic, Mum and Dad doesn't know yet, dad would probably freak out if I told him now" You spoke out

Sonic moved you hand as he was awe "Aww you told me before anyone else?" Sonic was so happy that you told him

"But in all seriousness, what are they like?" Sonic asked "Are they cool? Sporty? Popular?"

"Woah calm down, I will tell you everything, just don't tell the other though, I'll tell them myself soon"

"Tell me the details Sib"

Knuckles The Echidna

He would be the protective one besides Shadow

Like he doesn't want your heart to be broken by a weakling

But you reassure him that this person was really sweet and wouldn't do anything to hurt you

"A what now?" Knuckles asked, Knuckles wasn't quite familiar with the term partner so you explained it to him in a simple way

"A partner is where me and that people are together in a relationship where we love each other" You explained to him hoping he would get it

Knuckle just nodded, his face still in a frown while his arms was crossed against his chest

"Are they strong enough to protect you, If not then they are not worthy of your kindness" Knuckles huffed

You just rolled your eyes "I hope they are, but please Knuckles they are really sweet and wouldn't let anything happen to me I promise"

"Have you told the others" Knuckles asked

"I did tell Sonic, but later I will tell Shadow and hope that goes well"

"You should tell him now"

Shadow The Hedgehog

Oh boy

This was going be a long conversation with you and Shadow

Shadow was quite the grumpy and protective type

You knew he was gonna ask questions about them anyway

"Hey Shads" You greeted him while he was sitting down the comfy couch

"Hey" He gruff, as he watched the TV in front of him, "I need to tell you something"

Shadow the turned off the TV then looked at you

"Are you hurt?"

"No! no I'm not I just need to speak to you about something"

"That is?"

"I have a partner"

His ear flicked at that word, he was then processing what you just said than it finally clicked

"You mean that you are in a relationship with someone?"

You nodded "Yep" Nervously sweating

"Are they secretly working for G.U.N? Are they strong enough to protect you? What if they hurt you later in the future?"

"Woah slow down Shadow, No they don't work for G.U.N if they did then I wouldn't be with them"

Shadow stared at you then sighed

"I will be fine Shads, If anything happens I know you and the others will protect me"

-A<3

[littelovelunette]

vi x reader, vi buys the reader some new lacy pink lingerie, and reader feels really self conscious about gaining weight and having new stretch marks, so vi kisses them all over and they have gentle loving sex,with lots of reassurance, before vi makes reader watch in the mirror as vi makes her come over and over (overstimulation?), not stopping until reader admits she’s pretty.

Pretty As The Sunrise

Contains mentions of eating disorder, body image issues, mentions of fatshame, mentions of abusive family and past, trauma trigger

gentle sex and smut, overstimulation, mirror sex, cliff hanger ending

"Hey, pretty, bought you a little something," Vi said with a little smile crossing her lips, enhancing the scar on her lips as she sat down at the edge of the bed where you were reading a book of yours

"Mhm? You didn't have to," you put the bookmark on the page you paused your reading at, slipping the book onto the bedside table and then turned to face your wife

"Yes, I did, you cook and clean the house and make it a home, always take care of me why won't I just buy a simple gift?" vi pushed the bag towards you, you smiled at the bag and then you looked inside it was a lacy pink lingerie, the material was silk and lace. beautiful baby pink colored fabric and just then it hit you

you and vi hadn't had intercourse for quite a while because she'd been busy and so have you been busy around the house, deep cleaning areas you didn't usually clean

but while doing that you used to get so tired you binge ate a lot of junk food to keep yourself fed because you didn't really have time to prepare meals so often

vi knew that but she didn't really care to comment about your recent weight gain not that she needed to given how insecure you already were for your thick thighs

"princess? what are you thinking? do you not like it?" vi asked and you instinctively pulled the blankets over your thighs so they were now covered.

"oh no no no I love it it's really pretty just... looks a little... yknow like i won't look good in it." you said struggling to get the words out for your throat

you had never told vi how much you struggled with gaining or losing weight since a teenager. you were raised in a somewhat abusive household where relatives would openly comment about weight gain or weight loss.

you could easily lose count of the number of times you were victim to being fat shamed by your family, your sister, your—

"baby..." vi wrapped her arms around you in a hug, "talk to me love what's wrong?"

"I just- I don't think I'll look good in the lingerie is all but I appreciate it baby," you smiled a little at her trying to play cool but vi didn't buy any of it

"lay back, baby," vi suddenly said and you were a little taken back but you complied.

vi pulled back and pulled your pants down along with your panties resting your legs on either side of her body as she knelt down between your thighs, "you look absolutely breathtaking," vi breathed and pulled your shirt up just enough to expose your stomach

"see this?" she kissed all over your stretch marks both new and old, her lips moving from one mark to another with love and efficiency

"all these mark that I treat you well, provide to feed you, and you're doing well," vi kissed all over your stomach before slowly trailing down to your thighs.

"I love the thickness, the meatiness of your body," vi said kissing and biting at your inner thighs leaving a trial of hickeys and lovebites all over the skin

vi pressed a kiss at the top of your pussy before pulling back and pulling you up with herself she made you both face the mirror, her body behind your as she plunged two fingers in your pussy making you gasp

"v-vi..." you whined a little as you felt her fingers starting to move painfully slow as vi's other hand reached to the bedside table's drawers taking out a strong vibrator and held it over your clit making you tremble and whine loudly

the mirror showed your reflection getting absolutely ruined by vi who had a lazy smirk on her face while her fingers delved deep inside your most sensitive spot making you moan incoherently at the sensations

"see I'm making you feel so good," vi said as you let out a soft sigh feeling her shove her fingers further deep knuckles burying inside too

"f-fuck, cumming! cumming!" you whined and finished all over her fingers

vi didn't let that be the end of your pleasure and borderline torment, "go on baby cum more for me admit it youre my pretty angel."

you whined and whimpered as vi pressed the vibrator firmly on your reddened clit, pussy clenching down over her fingers as they increased their pace adding another finger

you were slowly starting to lose track of time as you continued creaming around her fingers neediness increasing but so was your exhaustion increasing with every little thrust into your wet cunt

"v-vi okay fine i admit it," you gasped as your hands grabbed hers tightly so she couldn't move her fingers anymore, "im your pretty angel okay? please stop" you whined a little at the end of your claim, vi smiled gently

her fingers slowly slipped out, a little dribble of arousal following right after before she helped you clean up, being gentle as she pressed up behind you in the shower

you both always took your showers together it was a way of bonding for the both of you

as vi finished before she dried her own hair she started dabbing at yours with the towel, making sure your hair was semi dry before she quickly dried her messy pink hair

vi didn't bother too much with her own hair the pink tufts of her hair sticking out at various angles as she did a little run out of the shower room much to your surprise

she came back with the bag of lingerie, taking the pink fabric, which would barely cover your genitalia, out

"you're wearing this for round two baby."

[maenefa]

Ok, so if Eowyn wants to die in battle to avoid a worse fate at the hands of the enemy, why is it so easy to miss that??? Why does Tolkien misdirect us?

I could write a whole essay on Tolkien’s love of understatement, of meaningful silence, of “glimpses of untold stories,” but let’s focus on Eowyn for now.

Tolkien creates a suffocating bubble of silence around Eowyn. It’s brilliant and horrible and I love it and I hate it.

Faramir tells Eowyn what he thinks about her motives: “You desired to have the love of the Lord Aragorn…. But when he gave you only understanding and pity, then you desired to have nothing, unless a brave death in battle.” And Eowyn doesn’t correct him! She just looks at him silently. And she declares her love for him during this scene.

Eowyn is often described as “frozen” or “cold,” and it’s clear that she has to hide her true feelings a lot of the time. Tolkien REALLY hits us over the head with the silencing of Eowyn in the Houses of Healing, when all the men are staring at her unconscious body and wondering why she was so unhappy. Eomer is positive that her crush on Aragorn was the problem; Aragorn doesn’t want to take the blame. Finally Gandalf speaks up:

“My friend, you had horses, and deeds of arms, and the free fields; but she, being born in the body of a maid, had a spirit and courage at least the match of yours.”

And then he says this:

“My lord, if your sister’s love for you, and her will still bent to her duty, had not restrained her lips, you might have heard even such things as these escape them. But who knows what she spoke to the darkness, alone, in the bitter watches of the night, when all her life seemed shrinking, and the walls of her bower closing in about her, a hutch to trammel some wild thing in?”

Gandalf has just made the most openly feminist statement in the novel (aside from Eowyn and her “burned in the house” speech), but he follows it by saying that Eowyn has private thoughts that he cannot or will not explain. It is up to the men to decide if they want to know more. Eomer is deeply struck by Gandalf’s words and silently rethinks his entire life with Eowyn.

And then Aragorn has a truly infuriating bros-before-hoes moment: he breaks the uncomfortable silence by reassuring Eomer that yeah, maybe Eowyn’s crush on him was actually the problem after all. Just a minute earlier, he had denied responsibility for Eowyn’s despair. But he hates to see his friend, his brother in arms, feeling shamed. So he jumps in to rescue Eomer from his negative emotions. And Eowyn is RIGHT THERE, silent and unable to defend herself.

We already know that Aragorn is reluctant to know more about Eowyn’s problems. During their confrontation in Dunharrow, Aragorn dodges all of Eowyn’s attempts to make him see her point of view.

“A time may come soon,” said he, “when none will return. Then there will be need of valour without renown, for none shall remember the deeds that are done in the last defence of your homes. Yet the deeds will not be less valiant because they are unpraised.”

And she answered: “All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honor, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more. But I am of the House of Eorl and not a serving-woman. I can ride and wield blade, and I do not fear either pain or death.”

“What do you fear, lady?” he asked.

Neither Aragorn nor Eowyn want to talk about what will happen to her if the enemy wins; this is why there is so much misdirection about Eowyn’s motives! Aragorn glosses over the atrocities that are likely to happen and tells Eowyn she can have a heroic last stand, as a treat. Eowyn is infuriated by his poetic vagueness and spits out this horrifying image of being burned alive—but then she fiercely insists that she is a warrior and fears neither pain nor death. She doesn’t want to perform feminine vulnerability to get Aragorn to listen to her. Eowyn is proud and dignified, which makes it especially painful when she resorts to kneeling and begging Aragorn to let her fight. As she tells Faramir, she desires no man’s pity.

I have to give a shoutout to @balrogballs, who has written about this subject extensively:

The cultural fantasy of the female victim of violence often traps women in an unyielding present tense, positioning them as symbols of sentimentality. These women are objectified and become sites of social intervention, their suffering the focal point of external pity and mourning. The narrative demands their pain be witnessed, but rarely offers a way forward, reducing them to objects for emotional consumption rather than subjects of their own story.

This is exactly what Eowyn is trying to avoid. She wants to be remembered as a hero, not a victim.

Tolkien embroiders this theme very cunningly by having Faramir give Eowyn a cloak that belonged to his mother, Finduilas, who died when he was five. Faramir thinks the cloak is “fitting for the beauty and sadness of Eowyn,” which has a deeper meaning that he probably does not intend. Finduilas is also the name of an elf maiden from the Silmarillion, who was captured by orcs and killed with a spear. In Tolkien’s work, both Finduilases exist mainly to provide tragic backstories for male protagonists. Oh, and Arwen’s name was originally Finduilas as well. To be a Finduilas is to be beautiful and passive, and to die tragically. A fate that Eowyn rages against.

(The Finduilas thing becomes even more absurdly cryptic when you recall that only Tolkien knew about the tragic connotation of the name at the time LotR was published. But he did this kind of thing!!! Recall Elrond and his warning against oaths.)

I have always wondered why Eowyn didn’t challenge Faramir when he informed her that she was suicidal because of Aragorn. Perhaps she simply wanted to put the whole nightmare behind her.

But the most painful silence, to me, involves Theoden. Gandalf reveals that Wormtongue was planning to rape Eowyn, and Theoden says nothing. Eomer grabs his sword and has to be restrained from killing Wormtongue, but Theoden actually offers Wormtongue a second chance to prove his loyalty:

"Do you hear this, Wormtongue?" said Theoden. "This is your choice: to ride with me to war, and let us see in battle whether you are true; or to go now, whither you will. But then, if ever we meet again, I shall not be merciful."

This betrayal of Eowyn happens so fast that it is easy to miss. None of the characters comment on it, and the narrative moves on. There’s something horribly realistic about a powerful man with a beloved image casually offering a second chance to a sexual predator and everyone, including the reader, being unable to process what is happening.

The silences in Eowyn’s story come from the male characters and from Eowyn herself. Theoden and Aragorn want to avoid talking about the type of violence that threatens her, and they ignore her desires. Eowyn doesn’t want to be trauma porn; she resents having to explain herself. And this silence offers readers the freedom to empathize with her, like Eomer, or to fall back on sexist explanations, like Aragorn.

[ronearoundblindly]

What is every Cevans characters favorite time of day for sexy time? 😏 who likes the morning sleeping sex? The nighttime sex before bed? Or the anytime - anywhere - does not matter 😆

ksdhuifkndiuviusf;iunrfknjfi

Yup.

😱🤭😈

Yussssss. Let's do it!

Warning for obvious sex talk lol. These are brief glimpses--nothing super explicit. MINORS DNI. There's plenty of all-age fic to read @ronearoundlightly, but this one isn't for you.

James Mace

No time of day preference but does have an amount of time preference since he likes to savor you. The absolute fastest 'quickie' Mace can manage is about 30 minutes, and frankly, that's still quite rushed for all he'd like to do.

Curtis Everett

Night owl, hardcore. LOVES to sleep in. Very frequently wants sex when you two are all ready for bed and almost asleep. That's when he's raring to go. Has zero problem with you mounting him in the morning if you're in the mood, but Curtis is quite lazy at that time. You'll have to do the work then 😉.

Jimmy Dobyne

First thing after a day's work before showering...and wouldn't mind you joining him for the shower. He doesn't like to moderate how 'dirty' any part of sex might be, so it's just easier to let it all happen and clean up later.

Johnny Storm

Discussed some here recently, but nighttime before bed, burns anxiety away & then he sleeps like a rock.

Jake Jensen

Sleepy Jake is *real.* (There's basically a whole thing about morning sex in Audio/Visual...and also how horny he gets at night. Okay, maybe just read that story, I guess.) Big picture answer is anytime you ever want. Do not hold back if you want him. Let's GO!!!

Lloyd Hansen

He only will when *he* wants, but Lloyd does love to know you want him...and then deny you. Teases 'sluts' who can't get enough of him. Likes to joke he's really the one whoring himself out. The truth is that sex is like a treat for Lloyd when he's high on the success of a job, so really whenever exactly his target is fucking dead is when Lloyd is DTF.

Ari Levinson

Anytime. Has a sweet spot for just rolling over and taking you, so technically 'anytime' in bed. The shower is great, too. Or the kitchen counter. Or the living room. Or his truck. So...anytime anywhere basically.

Ransom Drysdale

RoAR Ransom here, but General Ran is moody...he's really big on fucking after he feels slighted or belittled, it's both reassuring and punishing. Not huge on first thing in the morning; he prefers his alone time, his routine then, fucking hates morning breath. Since most family events end in the evening (or he would return from a night out with 'friends' late), that's the main time he's horny or in need of proving a point.

Andy Barber

lol Weekends. Wants to go slow mostly. Doesn't care what room or position. Very big fan of interrupting domestic situations to fuck, such as (in the show) changing clothes in the closet, watching a movie, cooking a meal, etc.

Steve Rogers

FRI Steve and Hideout Steve previously discussed, but General Steve is a traditionalist. The safe answer is after dinner, not strictly right before sleep. He's a wind-down-from-the-day love maker which should surprise absolutely no one.

Bucky Barnes

Loves the super close quiet & whispering in the cocoon of covers, just you two matter in the whole world, that soft time first thing in the morning when you wake up is his favorite. Over time Bucky also realizes he's a sucker for a good nooner. There's another layer of pleasure when not away from home, not busy with work, his own person in his own head, and free to enjoy you while being himself.

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Who Would... Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

For those on the taglist below, I didn't do tags for every Who Would this week because some were so damn small. Please check @ronearoundlibrary for those in case you missed any.

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby

@buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries @veryprairieberry

@bitchy-bi-trash @rogersbarber @blogbog710 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thiquefunlover63 @stellar-solar-flare

[nmhdreamscape]

stumbling hearts ✧ n.jm (valentine's gift series)

pairing | friend!jaemin x fem!reader

content | friends to lovers, fluff, jealousy, suggestive

word count | 647

request | jaemin + 13

notes | struggled a little with this one, hope it's okay!

you stumbled into your apartment with a laugh, stumbling over your heels as you entered your hallway. the alcohol had long worn, and you were now left with a terrible the pain in your feet, instant relief coming as you shucked them off. jaemin stepped into your apartment after you, shutting the door behind you. he had demanded he walk you home after your night out, wanting to make sure you got home safe in your inebriated state.

jaemin had opted to stay sober, he wasn’t really feeling it. that feeling only got worse as the night progressed, being subjected to watching you go off with every guy who had approached you. wishing it was him who had the courage to come up and ask you for a dance. wishing that he could get the chance to hold you like that. it all left a sour taste in his mouth that he knew would only be made worse with alcohol.

you had picked up on jaemin’s mood on the walk home, not greeting you with the same warmth and kindness he usually did. he was ignoring you, something that was very out of character for him. that resulted in most of the journey being spent in silence, that continuing as you entered your apartment. when you looked over at him, you saw how his gaze rested on you. at this point you were done, sick of his attitude. you needed to know why he was acting this way.

“you’ve been acting weird all night, are you okay?” you asked with your eyebrow raised. he didn’t even bother to respond, simply moving to put your shoes on the shoe rack next to the door. you let out a scoff, that catching his attention. he finally turned to face you, but still no response. you stormed over to him.

“you can’t just keep ignoring me!” you yelled, staring straight into his eyes. jaemin’s eyes fell to your lips before looking up into your eyes again. he was about to do something he would probably regret in the morning, but at least he could say he tried. gripping you by the waist, he pulled you into a kiss, lips pressing harshly against yours as he took you all in. 

you simply stood there in shock. had you hit your head on the way home? there was no way this was real? months of subtle touches, flirtatious comments and shameless pining had done little to get his attention. you had all but given up on the prospect of him being interested in you. and yet here you were. by the time your brain had caught up to your body, jaemin was already pulling away, much to your disappointment.

“watching you with all those other guys tonight, it was torture. it made me realise i just need to let it all out and tell you. i just... i want you, all of you. and that might be selfish, but i don’t care.” jaemin whispered, staring into your eyes as he cupped your cheek. your face lit up with a bright smile at this, hand coming to rest on top of his.

“you have me.” you reassured, squeezing his hand. “plus, they meant nothing. the guy i like wouldn’t dance with me, so somebody had to” you joked, rolling your eyes. jaemin looked down at you with his signature bright smile, still somewhat in disbelief at how things were turning out. 

“well, let me make it up to you then.” jaemin smirked, lifting you up off of the ground and into his arms. you let out a squeal, legs instinctively coming to wrap around his waist. he once again joined your lips in a kiss, whisking you off to your bedroom. he had thought of many different ways to make it up to you, and he couldn’t wait to show you them all. 

valentine's gift masterlist

[woozinhos]

Can I get a really fluffy fic of Wooyoung holding his newborn baby for the first time?

Notes: stop I’m really addicted to writing baby fics will probably be uploading all them requests today

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.

You had just given birth to your newborn and were lying in the hospital bed, exhausted but happy. Wooyoung sat beside you, his eyes fixed on the tiny bundle in your arms. He was looking at the baby with a mixture of awe and adoration, a small smile playing on his lips. "She's perfect," he whispered, gently brushing a finger over the baby's soft cheek.

"Can I hold her?" he asked, looking up at you with hopeful eyes. You nodded and carefully handed the baby to him, watching as he cradled her in his arms. Wooyoung held her gently, his touch soft and careful as he gazed down at her.

"Hello, little one," he cooed, his voice soft and loving. "I'm your daddy." He rocked her back and forth, smiling widely as she opened her eyes and looked up at him. "She has your eyes," he said, looking at you with a tender expression. "And your nose."

You smiled back at him, feeling a swell of love in your chest as you watched him with the baby. "She's got your chin," you pointed out, reaching out to touch the baby's tiny face. Wooyoung chuckled and looked down at the baby again. "I guess we'll have to wait and see who she takes after in personality," he said, bouncing her gently in his arms. He continued to hold her, looking at her with such adoration that it made your heart melt. It was clear that he was already completely smitten with their daughter.

As Wooyoung held the baby, you watched as he started to hum a soft tune. The baby stirred in his arms, cooing softly in response to the sound of his voice. Wooyoung's face lit up with joy as he looked at the baby, clearly thrilled that she was responding to him. "She likes my singing," he said proudly, glancing up at you with a grin.

"You're going to be a great dad," you told him, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you. "I can already tell." Wooyoung smiled at your words, his eyes shining with emotion. "I'm going to do my best," he said, looking back down at the baby. "I'm going to love and protect her with everything I have."

He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on the baby's forehead, his heart swelling with love for both you and your daughter. "I can't believe we made this little miracle," he whispered, his voice filled with awe. You reached out and placed your hand on Wooyoung's arm, feeling a surge of affection for him. "Me neither," you said softly. "But I'm so grateful that we did. This is the best moment of my life."

Wooyoung looked at you with a tender expression, his eyes filled with love and adoration. "I feel the same way," he said, squeezing your hand gently. "I never thought I could love someone as much as I love you... and now, our daughter too." Wooyoung continued to hold the baby, rocking her back and forth as he hummed a lullaby. The baby began to fuss, letting out a small cry.

Wooyoung immediately stopped humming and looked at you, slightly panicked. "Is she okay?" he asked, his voice laced with concern. You chuckled and reassured him. "She's probably just hungry," you said, gesturing for him to hand her to you. "I need to feed her." Wooyoung carefully transferred the baby into your arms, watching as you began to nurse her. He sat beside you, still looking a little worried.

“I hope I'm doing this right," he said, watching the baby feed intently. "I want to be the best dad ever." You smiled at him, touched by his concern. "You're already a great dad, Woo," you said, patting his hand. "Just being here and loving her is enough." Wooyoung relaxed a bit at your words, a small smile spreading across his face. "Thanks, Y/N," he said, reaching out to brush a strand of hair out of your face. "I'm just so happy right now. I never knew it was possible to feel this much love for someone."

He leaned in and kissed your forehead, his gaze drifting back to the baby. "I can't wait to see her grow up and watch her become the amazing person I know she will be." The door to the hospital room burst open and the rest of the members piled in, carrying a variety of gifts and balloons.

"Congratulations!" they all shouted in unison, their faces lit up with excitement. Wooyoung looked up, a wide grin spreading across his face as he saw them. "You guys made it!" he exclaimed, standing up to greet them. The members began to set up the presents and balloons, chatting excitedly among themselves. Hongjoong stepped forward and handed you a large bouquet of flowers.

"Congratulations, Y/N," he said, smiling warmly. "You did an amazing job." The others echoed his sentiments, each one coming over to congratulate you and coo over the baby. You smile knowing not only did you just bring a baby into your own family but theirs as well.

[bimbosicko]

GET HIM BACK ! (DEAN'S VERSION)

you're sam's girlfriend and when you find out he cheated on you, you have to get him back ۶ৎ

pairings ! dean winchester x fem! reader

warnings ! english isn't my first language, soulless sam, S6E9, aka fairy episode lol, sam cheats on you so you fuck his brother ><, but there are feelings involved, i promise. fluff! angst! sex! what more could you ask for?, creampie (wrap it before you tap it guys), 69?, cheating but at the same time no??, oral (female and male receiving) and that's it i think! :3

author's note ! dean is literally the loml (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠) idk how this got so long like i literally am a sam girlie idk what happened!!! remember!! my asks are open and everything you need to know ab myself is in the pinned post in my blog, ily<33

words count ! 10k omfg, i need therapy.

sam's version (there's no connection between these two fics)

The cabin was silent when you woke up. Outside, the wind battered the windows fiercely, making the wood creak with every gust, but inside, everything was still. Too still.

You reached out almost instinctively, searching for the familiar warmth beside you, but all you found were cold sheets. And like almost every night lately, Sam wasn’t there.

You sat up slowly, blinking to adjust to the night’s darkness, and then you saw him.

Standing by the window, back to you, his silhouette rigid, his head barely tilted toward the darkness outside. The same posture you had seen every night for weeks. As if something out there made more sense than everything in here. As if he was trapped in this place with you, and not out there chasing the freedom he seemed to seek with every flicker of his gaze through the glass.

“Can’t sleep?” you murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

Sam took his time to respond. He didn’t turn to look at you—if you didn’t know him better, you’d think he hadn’t even heard you. He just stood there, unmoving, like a statue.

“I’m not tired,” he whispered after a few seconds.

The same answer as always. The same empty, lifeless phrase, with not even the slightest attempt at reassurance.

Before, Sam used to wrap you in his arms, press a kiss to your hair, and fall asleep with his breath in sync with yours against your skin. Before, his mere presence was enough to make you feel safe. Now, you barely even shared the same space.

You moved carefully, ignoring the chill of the cold floor against your feet as you approached him. Every step felt like a test, like you were trespassing into forbidden territory. Finally, you lifted a hand and placed it on his back, waiting… for something. Any sign of recognition, a glimpse of the man you once knew.

All you got was the immediate tension of his muscles under your touch.

He didn’t pull away. But he didn’t react either.

You pressed your lips together and tried to pretend that didn’t hurt more than it should.

“Sam…” you whispered, feeling the words catch in your throat. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Another silence followed. A heavy, unbearable silence that stretched for too long. Finally, Sam turned his face slightly toward you.

And his expression knocked the breath out of you.

There was no trace of the person you remembered. His eyes, once full of life and every emotion you never needed to put into words, were now an empty void. Black in the dim light, expressionless, as if he were looking at you without really seeing you. If he hadn’t proven himself to you weeks ago, you’d be convinced you were dealing with a demon, not your boyfriend.

“Nothing.” His voice was calm. Too calm. So devoid of emotion that it chilled your blood. “Things just… changed down there.”

A shiver ran down your spine. It wasn’t the first time you’d talked about Hell, but never like this. Never with this cold indifference.

You swallowed hard.

“But you’re still you, right?” you asked, hating how weak your own voice sounded. Like you were afraid of the answer.

Sam tilted his head in an almost mechanical motion. As if the question confused him. As if it was ridiculous to even suggest otherwise.

Then, he smiled.

But it was an empty smile, devoid of warmth, almost soulless.

“Of course.”

Your chest tightened. You wanted to believe him, you really did. But everything in his demeanor told you otherwise.

Still, you forced yourself to smile too, even though it hurt. Slowly, you lifted a hand, trying to touch his cheek. Just a simple touch. A simple connection. Something that could bring you back to him.

But before your fingers could even reach him, Sam turned his face away. Not abruptly, not in anger. Just with that same cruel indifference, as if the idea of your touch was completely foreign to him. As if you were nothing more than a shadow in his world now.

Since he had come back, he hadn’t touched you. He hadn’t held you. He had barely even spoken when you tried to reach him.

You lowered your hand, feeling your throat burn. You didn’t say anything else. There was no point.

You just turned around and went back to bed, wrapping your arms around yourself to fill the icy emptiness in your stomach.

But no matter how much you curled under the blankets, the cold never left.

If you were being honest with yourself, pretending to be surprised when Dean called to say something was wrong with Sam was harder than expected. You had already noticed. You had felt it in every empty stare, in every touch that never came, in every silence that stretched too long.

But you couldn’t say it. You couldn’t admit that, deep down, you already knew.

“He… doesn’t have a soul.” Dean’s voice was tense, tired, carrying that unmistakable weight of someone who has seen too much and still keeps going. “We don’t know who took it. We don’t know anything.”

You bit your lip, processing the information as you overanalyzed everything you knew about the supernatural world your boyfriend and his brother were trapped in. A world where souls could be taken like objects. A world where the impossible happened far too often.

“Maybe…” you started, but Dean cut you off before you could finish.

He said your name. Not like he usually did. Not with the teasing tone he used when you argued over stupid things. Not with that slow, arrogant drawl that sometimes drove you crazy. No. This time, it was different.

Lower. Deeper. More… personal.

“No, stop doing that.” His voice was firm, frustrated. “You always defend him. And lately, more than ever.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms.

“I wasn’t going to defend him, I was trying to think of solutions.”

Dean scoffed, and you could almost picture him running a hand down his face, exhausted.

“There’s no solution for this.” His tone softened just a little, but when he spoke again, he said your name once more. And that was worse.

There was something in the way he said it that made you tense up. Like every letter weighed too much on his tongue. Like he was fighting himself just by saying it.

You didn’t like it. Or rather… you liked it too much.

Quickly, you tried to change the subject.

“How are Ben and Lisa?” you asked, forcing yourself to sound casual.

Dean was silent for a second. Just a second. But it was enough for you to feel a knot in your stomach.

“Don’t do that,” he finally said.

“Do what?”

You didn’t need to see him to know he was clenching his jaw.

“You know exactly what.”

You swallowed down a nervous laugh. But of course, Dean caught it.

“Are you laughing?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I can hear you laughing.” His voice took on that tone he always used when he wanted to sound annoyed but really wasn’t. “I’d recognize that sound anywhere. It’s the same as Smurfette’s.”

You smiled, even though you knew you shouldn’t.

“Sorry for emitting emotions, Terminator. Won’t happen again,” you said with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

On the other end of the line, you heard Dean inhale sharply, like his lungs had forgotten how to function for a second.

There was a pause. Not the comfortable kind. Not the ones that felt natural. This one was heavy, loaded with something you didn’t want to name.

“Speaking of Terminator,” he finally said, and you rolled your eyes at his nickname for his brother.

He’s not just his brother. He’s your boyfriend, you reminded yourself harshly.

“He… confessed some things.”

Your stomach tightened.

“Confessed?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Dean took a second to respond. Not long enough to be suspicious, but long enough for you to notice.

“I roughed him up a little,” he admitted, and even without seeing him, you knew he was uncomfortable. “Sorry about that.”

A part of you wanted to be angry. But that part was small, almost insignificant. Instead, you sighed and shrugged, as if that could somehow translate through the phone.

“I’ll assume he deserved it.”

There was silence, and then Dean let out a short laugh.

“He really did.”

But the lightness didn’t last long. A second later, he sighed, and you recognized the sound of someone bracing themselves for something difficult.

Then, he said it.

“Sam confessed to cheating on you.”

The world seemed to stop.

The air in your lungs grew thick, impossible to inhale without pain. Your eyes welled up instantly, but you didn’t let the tears fall. You blinked rapidly, pressing your lips together tightly, as if that could hold back everything that was about to break inside you.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t ask why. You didn’t deny it.

You just said the first thing that came to mind.

“Are you okay?”

Dean said your name in a tone you couldn’t quite decipher. Damn it, he seemed obsessed with your stupid name. He always said it differently than anyone else. With a different weight. As if it meant more than it should.

“I’m fine, Dean.” You bit out each word, swallowing the anger, the pain, everything you couldn’t afford to let out in that moment. “Do you need me to come?”

Dean hesitated, and for a moment, you thought he’d tell you no. That it would be best if you stayed where you were, far from all of this. But instead, his voice dropped to a whisper.

“We’re fine.”

It was soft. Too soft. Like he was trying to wrap you in something he couldn’t allow himself to give you.

You scoffed, “I’m coming anyway.”

Dean didn’t try to stop you. He didn’t argue. Somehow, that made you feel worse.

Your grip on the steering wheel was so tight you could feel your nails digging into the rubber. The trembling in your hands was subtle, but enough to make your knuckles turn white under the pressure.

You kept trying to convince yourself that you were fine, that this wasn’t the end of the world, that you and Sam were going to get through this like the totally functional couple you were.

You took a breath. Then another.

Everything could be fixed. Everything.

It didn’t matter what Dean said—what the hell did he even know about this anyway?

But doubt crept into your chest like a slow poison.

He knew. Dean always knew more than he let on, and when he had called, his voice had that tone that made you want to throw the phone out the window. That tone of I know you’re lying to yourself, but I’m gonna let you figure it out on your own.

Your breathing started to turn erratic, your grip on the wheel tightening even more.

You knew Sam didn’t have a soul. You knew it. Something inside you had known all along.

But goddamn it, you couldn’t stop it from hurting.

Things were changing, and you hated it. You knew what you were signing up for when you started dating him, but… how the hell were you supposed to fight something you couldn’t even see?

The pain was diffuse, hard to pinpoint, but it was there, under your skin, in the way his eyes didn’t shine anymore, in the way his hands no longer reached for you.

You blinked, and by the time your vision focused, you had already driven past Bobby’s place.

Shit.

You slammed on the brakes so hard that the force sent your forehead crashing against the wheel. Any harder, and you would’ve left a mark.

You huffed, running a hand over your face before reversing and parking properly.

By the time you stepped out of the car, Dean was already waiting at the entrance, arms crossed, leaning against the frame like he had been standing there forever.

His expression was tense, but his eyes scanned your face quickly, analyzing every flicker of emotion you weren’t sure you could hide.

“Oh, fuck, what happened now?” It was the first thing that came out of your mouth, because if there was one thing you could still do, it was pretend you weren’t about to break.

Dean let out a sharp exhale, tilting his head like he was debating whether to tease you or let it slide.

“Well, hello to you too, princess.”

You rolled your eyes with fake impatience, like hearing him call you that didn’t make you feel things you really shouldn’t be feeling.

“Your boyfriend’s inside.”

That sentence—so simple, so casual—hit you like a punch to the gut.

Your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend, who didn’t have a soul. Your boyfriend, who didn’t touch you, who didn’t look at you the way he used to, who had cheated on you and didn’t even seem to understand why that was wrong.

Your boyfriend, who felt more like a stranger with every passing day.

You swallowed hard, forcing your expression to stay neutral.

“Great.”

You took a step toward the entrance, but Dean moved before you could pass him—not exactly blocking your way, but not stepping aside either.

His eyes flickered downward.

It was only then that you realized your hands were still shaking.

The shift in his expression was almost imperceptible, but you caught it. The tension in his jaw, the way his gaze hardened for a second before he masked it with his usual attitude.

“Tell me you’re at least gonna kick his ass when you see him.”

It wasn’t a question.

You looked at him, and for a second, it was hard to remember that he was with Lisa and you were with Sam.

Dean wasn’t soft when he spoke—he never had been. But somehow, when he looked at you like that, when he said things like that in that irritated yet protective tone, the stupid tension in the air became impossible to ignore.

You shook your head, as if that could clear your thoughts. “Just tell me how bad the mess is this time.”

Dean tilted his head, his eyes still locked on you.

For a moment, you thought he was going to say something else. Something you weren’t sure you wanted to hear.

But then he just huffed and shrugged.

“Nothing we can’t fix.”

You knew he had changed his mind at the last second just to make you feel better.

You appreciated the effort.

Seeing Sam sitting at the kitchen table, casually drinking a beer like nothing had happened, sent a wave of fury so intense through you that, for a moment, you had to clench your fists just to keep yourself in check.  

You wanted to yell at him.

You wanted to shake him.

You wanted to make him understand what this meant to you, what he was making you feel.

But it was useless.

Because he didn’t care.  

Not because he wanted to hurt you, not because he was doing this out of malice, but because… he simply couldn’t care.  

And that indifference, that complete lack of emotion, was worse than any lie he could have told, worse than any excuse he could have given.  

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm, to not let the desperation seep into your voice.  

“Dean.”  

Just like that, he caught the hint instantly. With one last glance between you and his brother, he turned on his heels and walked out, shutting the door behind him.

The sound of the latch clicking into place felt like a sentence being passed.  

Sam sighed, resting his elbows on the table, wearing that same vacant expression that was driving you insane.  

His eyes skimmed over you, as if assessing how much you knew, how much you had to say to him.  

He whispered your name, his voice hesitant.  

“I’m guessing Dean told you.”  

You let out a humorless laugh. Of course he did. Of course he fucking did.  

“Yeah, he told me all about your little ‘I’m unstoppable and have no feelings’ monologue.”  

Your tone was pure venom. A sharp-edged mockery, laced with more anger than you wanted to admit.  

Sam blinked slowly, unfazed.  

“You two are really close, huh?”  

You knew it wasn’t meant as an accusation.  

But it still felt like one.  

Your chest tightened instantly.  

You coughed, trying to shake off the embarrassment. “I… I’m disappointed.”  

He nodded, as if mulling over your words, then, with the same lack of emotion as always, murmured:  

“Yeah. I’d be disappointed too, honestly.”  

That simply was the final blow.  

No anger, no guilt, not even the bare minimum of an attempt to reassure you.  

You wanted to wipe that blank expression off his face with a punch.  

You let out a bitter laugh, because if you didn’t, you were going to break right there.  

Both hands landed on the table as you leaned forward slightly, forcing yourself to keep it together.  

“I understand your… situation. I really do,” you whispered, though the lump in your throat made it hard to speak.  

And the moment the words left your mouth, you felt like an idiot for calling it that.  

A situation.  

Not having a soul wasn’t a situation.  

It wasn’t a temporary crisis, something that could be solved with an honest conversation.  

It was a void. A bottomless pit.  

“That’s why I thought of coming to an agreement.”  

Sam raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised.  

“You did?”  

You nodded.  

“An open relationship.”  

The very idea of it made your stomach turn.  

You didn’t want this. You didn’t want to say these words.  

But you didn’t have another choice.  

For the first time in this entire conversation, Sam actually looked confused.  

“What?”  

He didn’t ask the question as if he was in shock. He didn’t say it because he was hurt, or because this was affecting him.  

He just… didn’t get it.  

Like the idea seemed unnecessary to him.  

Like he had already accepted what he was doing anyway.  

You inhaled deeply, forcing yourself to smile.  

“I don’t want you to keep cheating on me,” you said firmly. “And I know you’re going to do whatever the hell you want anyway, so I’m giving you full permission to fuck around.”  

Your smile didn’t reach your eyes.  

Sam tilted his head slightly, watching you. Analyzing.  

“And you… are you in this open relationship too?”  

You rolled your eyes.  

“Oh, tell me, Sam, who the hell am I supposed to be sleeping with?”  

He lifted his hands in surrender. “Just asking.”  

He stood up with that same unbothered calm, as if this conversation hadn’t affected him in the slightest.  

Your whole body tensed when he walked past you to grab another beer from the fridge.  

The fact that he didn’t notice…  

The fact that he didn’t even realize…  

It made you want to break something.  

The clink of glass against wood as he set the bottle down pulled you out of your thoughts.  

“Dean and I have a case coming up. Some missing people in Indiana.”  

You knew the only reason he was telling you was because Dean would mention it if he didn’t.  

The anger inside you burned hotter.  

“I’m going with you.”  

Sam turned his head, his expression showing just how much he hated that idea.  

“If you come, you’re just gonna slow everything dow—”  

You cut him off instantly.  

“Sam, you are in no position to tell me shit.”  

His lips pressed into a thin line.  

That seemed to shut him up.

You stepped outside, desperate for air.

Not that the air in Bobby’s scrapyard was particularly fresh. It always carried the scent of rusted metal, motor oil, and damp earth—a suffocating mix that clung to your throat. But even that was better than staying inside.

Better than being in the same room as him.

Your boots crunched against the gravel as you walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last. Your throat burned, your chest tightened, and there was this unbearable pressure, this sensation that you were about to shatter into a thousand pieces.

You leaned against the wall of the garage, bending forward slightly, hands gripping your knees as you tried to breathe.

Don’t cry. Don’t scream.

Don’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you break.

“Get a grip,” you whispered under your breath. “You have to get a fucking grip.”

The door behind you slammed shut.

You flinched at the sound, your body tensing instinctively.

Dean.

You didn’t need to turn around to know it was him.

His presence was unmistakable—the way he moved, the weight he carried like the world rested on his shoulders, and yet he still walked with that unshakable confidence, like he’d fight the whole damn universe and somehow win.

He followed you outside, stopping a few steps away, watching.

Then, without warning, his hand settled on your shoulder.

You jolted as if you’d been electrocuted.

“Jesus Christ!” you yelped, clutching your chest. “Are you insane?”

Dean raised both hands in defense, giving you that classic ‘what the hell is your problem?’ look.

“Relax. I was just checking if you were alive.”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh.

“Oh, I’m perfect, Dean. Just freaking fantastic.”

Your tone dripped with venom, but Dean didn’t take the bait. He just stood there, watching you with that damn patience of his, the kind that somehow managed to be both frustrating and grounding at the same time.

His eyes flicked over you, scanning, assessing—seeing more than you wanted him to.

Then he exhaled, shaking his head slightly.

“I broke up with Lisa.” His voice was calm, almost casual. “Haven’t seen her in months.”

Your breath hitched.

“…What?”

The word came out louder than you intended, and as soon as it did, you slapped a hand over your mouth, cursing yourself for reacting so strongly.

“I—Sorry, I just—”

“It’s fine.”

And there it was.

Subtle, nearly hidden beneath the shadow of his usual exasperation.

A smirk.

Dean Winchester was enjoying your reaction.

You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest.

“What happened?”

Your voice softened without you realizing it—less biting, more curious. And that was when it clicked.

The bastard had done it on purpose.

He was distracting you. With his problems.

And the worst part? It was working.

Dean didn’t answer right away. He just held your gaze, his expression shifting, growing heavier.

“…It just didn’t feel right.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking into your chest.

Because you understood exactly what he meant.

Because you knew what that felt like.

Because you were standing here, feeling the same way about his brother.

Your teeth sank into the inside of your cheek as you nodded slowly.

Dean smiled at that—just a small, fleeting thing. And then, for the briefest moment, his eyes flickered down to your lips.

Your stomach clenched.

The moment was so quick, so subtle, you could’ve imagined it.

But the air between you thickened, charged with something neither of you had the right to feel.

Then, as if snapping out of it, Dean cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck—a rare, almost awkward gesture coming from him.

He coughed, looking away immediately, like he’d just realized what he’d done.

“Yeah, well… whatever,” he muttered, standing up and dusting off his jeans. “Tell your boyfriend to get his ass in gear. We’re leaving.”

The word hit harder than it should have.

Boyfriend.

It almost felt like a cruel joke.

But you didn’t let it show.

“No need,” you said evenly, standing up as well, though something inside you twisted violently. “I’m coming with you.”

Dean stopped dead in his tracks.

Slowly, he turned his head to look at you, one eyebrow arching.

“You’ve been real eager to tag along lately.”

You shrugged, your expression unreadable.

“What, afraid I’ll slit your throat in your sleep?”

He let out a dry chuckle, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. But his eyes—his eyes—they never left yours.

Studying.

And for the first time in this entire conversation, you realized…

He was crossing a line, too.

“If you wanted to kill me, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice dropping just slightly, “you’d have tried already.”

The drive was uncomfortable.  

Like, parents-on-the-verge-of-divorce-while-their-kid-sits-in-the-backseat-clueless level of uncomfortable.  

Except in this case, Dean was the kid, he had full control of the car, and he was very aware of absolutely everything that was going on.  

Sam had spoken exactly two words the entire trip. And as if the tension wasn’t thick enough, the second you arrived at the motel, he left you in the room without a second glance and grabbed his brother by the arm, dragging him along to do interviews.  

He didn’t even give you the chance to fix Dean’s crooked tie.  

Twenty minutes later, you had two missed calls from Dean.  

You sighed, already knowing that if you didn’t call him back, the idiot would just keep ringing until he drove you insane.  

As soon as he picked up, he didn’t even let you breathe before snapping.

“You didn’t answer.”  

His tone was irritated, impatient.  

You rolled your eyes on instinct.  

“I was doing this thing called showering. You should try it sometime. Even cats do it.”  

You heard him exhale sharply, like he was debating whether it was worth it to argue with you.  

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I can’t stand Sam anymore.”  

That made you raise an eyebrow. Fast topic change.  

“He’s really wearing you down, huh?” you murmured, a trace of amusement in your voice.  

“He doesn’t care. Not even enough to pretend he does,” Dean practically growled.  

The frustration in his voice was so thick you could almost see him gripping the wheel too hard, his jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white.  

You bit your lip to keep from laughing.  

“Dean—”  

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” he snapped.  

“I wasn’t going to.” Your voice softened just a little. “I was gonna offer you a massage when you get back.”  

Silence.  

One second. Two.  

Your heart pounded so hard you felt it in your ears.  

“…Oh.”  

Dean’s voice dropped lower, quieter.  

“That… uh. That actually sounds nice.”  

Nice? That was all he had to say? Because suddenly, you were regretting offering at all.  

You cleared your throat, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck.  

“I figured it would,” you said, keeping your tone light, pretending like it wasn’t a big deal. “So… should I wait for you?”  

“I’m checking out the crop circles. Sam’s with the missing guy’s father.”  

“Alrighty,” you said, standing up. “I’ll get dressed and head out to find a grocery store or something.”  

Silence.  

“…Get dressed?”  

Dean’s voice dropped lower, rougher.  

“…Are you naked?”  

You blinked.  

And then you smirked.  

“I told you I had just showered.”  

“You never said—!”  

You rolled your eyes, amused.  

“Sorry, Dean, bad signal, you’re breaking up, bye-bye.”  

And you hung up before he could say anything else.  

As soon as you put the phone down, you exhaled sharply, realizing how fast your heart was beating.  

This wasn’t right.  

None of this was right.  

And yet…  

For some reason, you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face.

It had been hours since you first walked into the grocery store.  

But somehow, you were still standing in the candle aisle, completely hypnotized.  

You absentmindedly picked up a pack of red candles, turning them over in your hands. Would that be too much? Would it make the massage feel… whore-ish?  

You chewed the inside of your cheek, debating.  

Then, with a sigh, you tossed them into the cart anyway.  

After all, you had plenty of time to set things up. Dean hadn’t called yet, which meant he was still out there, handling whatever the hell had happened with the case.  

And if he hadn’t called, it also meant that he hadn’t even thought about you.  

That shouldn’t sting.  

But it did.  

Shaking the thought away, you finally pushed your cart toward the registers, scanning the near-empty store. The air was thick with the scent of stale coffee and industrial floor cleaner, the kind of artificial sterility that only existed in convenience stores.  

The cashier barely looked up as she started ringing up your items, her hands moving automatically over the scanner.  

You glanced at her wrist, catching sight of her watch.  

And then you frowned.  

“Hey… what time is it?”  

She glanced at you, then down at her watch. “Four in the morning, miss.”  

You froze.  

That—  

That wasn’t possible.  

You had only been here for a few hours.  

Dean would’ve called by now.  

Hell, if you disappeared for too long without telling him, he usually lost his mind.  

“…Are you sure?” You let out a nervous chuckle, suddenly uneasy. “Isn’t the store supposed to be closed by now?”  

“It’s a 24-hour store.” She smiled politely.  

“Oh.”  

You blinked.  

Oh.

Your stomach twisted.  

He forgot, didn’t he? 

Of course, he did.  

You felt stupid for even entertaining the idea that he wouldn’t.  

There were more important things to do—things that had nothing to do with you.  

Sam had already made it clear, hadn’t he? You were a burden.  

So, really, what kind of idiot offers to give a massage to a man whose brother lost his soul?  

No wonder Dean hadn’t called. You had probably embarrassed him so much that he just decided to ignore you completely.  

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral.  

But before the weight of that thought could settle—  

“Miss, your phone is ringing.”  

The cashier’s voice pulled you out of your spiral, and you barely had time to register that she was scanning a pie—one you’d grabbed for Dean—before you glanced down at your phone.  

Dean.  

You picked up instantly.  

“Need you back at the motel. Now.”  

His voice was low. Steady.  

And yet…  

Something about the way he said it sent a shiver down your spine.  

Your grip on the phone tightened.  

“Where are you?”  

“In the field.”  

Your brows furrowed. “Still?”  

“It hasn’t been that long. Just—” He exhaled sharply. “Meet me at the motel.”  

You frowned.  

“What do you mean it hasn’t been that long? Dean, it’s literally—”  

“Can’t hear you,” he cut in quickly, voice suddenly light, teasing. “You’re breaking up… See you at the motel.”  

And just like that, he hung up.  

You stared at your phone in disbelief.  

Then, before you could stop yourself—  

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile.  

Asshole.

The walk back to the motel was quick, the cold air biting at your skin as you hurried down the street. You spotted Dean just as he was about to cross, his broad frame illuminated under the flickering streetlights.  

A familiar warmth spread through your chest at the sight of him.  

You barely registered the exhaustion on his face before you picked up your pace, a small smile tugging at your lips.  

“Hey,” you called, shifting the grocery bags in your hands. “What was so urgent that I had to rush back?”  

Dean turned, his own grin surfacing when he saw you.  

“Oh, you’re not gonna believe it—” He cut himself off mid-sentence, reaching out automatically. “Here, let me get those.”  

Your breath hitched.  

It was a small thing. Simple.  

But the way he said it—so natural, like it was second nature for him to take care of you—sent a quiet ache through your chest.  

You handed him a few of the heavier bags, shaking off whatever that feeling was.  

“Thanks,” you murmured. “Okay, so… the field?”  

Dean let out a short laugh. “Yeah, the field. So, I was out there, minding my own damn business, when suddenly—”  

He pushed open the motel room door, stepping aside to let you in first.  

Only—  

The second he did, his smile faltered.  

And yours vanished completely.  

Your hands slackened, the grocery bags slipping from your grip as your brain registered what—who—you were looking at.  

“Dean!”  

Sam’s voice was sharp, filled with something dangerously close to surprise.  

Your stomach dropped.  

“What the hell?”  

You slapped a hand over your eyes instinctively.  

Because, standing right there, half-undressed on your boyfriend’s bed, was some random hippie chick.  

“Oh! That’s Dean?” The girl’s voice was way too chipper for the situation. “Sam, they brought your brother back!”  

You let out a slow exhale, keeping your eyes covered, because if you didn’t, there was a very real chance you would absolutely murder someone.  

Preferably the soulless bastard in the room.  

Dean, meanwhile, looked seconds away from strangling Sam himself.  

“Okay. It’s all right, Sam,” the girl continued, completely unfazed. “I so totally understand that you need time as a family. But it’s just—what were they like?”  

Dean let out a sharp huff, eyes flickering toward yours.  

“They were grabby, incandescent douchebags,” he said flatly. “Goodnight.”  

You almost smiled at that.  

Almost.  

“Too soon?” The girl hesitated before shrugging, completely unbothered. “Okay.”  

Then, finally, her attention shifted to you.  

“Hey! We haven’t met yet.” She reached for her shirt, slipping it back over her head. “Who are you?”  

Dean turned his head slightly at that. You felt his gaze on you, heavy, expectant.  

You forced a smile. The kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes.  

“Sam’s girlfriend.”  

Silence.  

“Oh,” she said slowly, blinking. “I… didn’t know—”  

“It’s an open relationship!” you blurted out before she could finish whatever sentence would’ve absolutely ruined your night.  

Dean coughed.  

The girl perked up instantly. “Oh! Cool! Since when?”  

You swallowed.  

“…This morning.”  

Dean let out a strangled noise beside you.  

The girl laughed, shaking her head. “Wow. You guys really adjust fast.”  

And with that, she grabbed the rest of her things and strolled right past you, completely unaware of the tension crackling in the room.  

The second the door clicked shut behind her, you dropped your hand from your face and turned on your heel, fully prepared to rip Sam a new one—  

But before you could even look at him, Dean was already moving. 

Fast.  

One second, he was by the door. The next, he was grabbing your wrist, his fingers curling just enough to make you stop.  

You froze.  

Your breath caught in your throat.  

Dean didn’t say anything right away.  

He just stood there, eyes flickering between yours, his grip firm but careful, like he wasn’t sure if he should let go or pull you closer.  

The tension was thick.  

Too thick.  

Because for a second—a stupid, fleeting second—you forgot all about Sam.  

Forgot about the girl.  

Forgot everything.  

And all you could think about was the way Dean’s hand felt against your skin.  

“Hey.” His voice was low, steady. The kind of tone that made your stomach clench. “You good?”  

You forced yourself to breathe.  

Then, with a practiced ease you weren’t even sure was real anymore, you pulled your wrist free.  

Flashed him a smile.  

“Never better.”  

And then you walked away.  

Because if you didn’t—  

You weren’t sure what would happen.

You heard Dean yelling, but the words barely registered. His voice was raw, edged with frustration. You didn’t even try to process half of what he was saying. Whatever it was, it didn't matter. Not really. 

Eventually, his voice lowered, the edges of his words smoothing out. That meant he and Sam were actually talking now—probably about whatever the hell he was trying to tell you before you walked in on that hippie disaster.

You sat on the curb, pulling your lighter from the pocket of your jacket. It was simple, worn at the edges, your initials etched into the metal. A birthday gift from Dean back when you were just Sam’s girlfriend. Back when he only knew you as the girl who lasted longer than the others.

You flipped it open, flicking it alight. Then off. Then on again.  

A small flame danced at your fingertips, hypnotizing in its simplicity. A quiet distraction.

The motel door creaked open behind you. You didn’t turn.

“Come on,” he said, voice softer now, exhaustion slipping into his tone. “I’ll get you another room. Away from that idiot.”  

You smiled, barely, eyes still fixed on the flame.  

“It’s almost morning,” you murmured. “Doesn’t really matter anymore.”  

Dean sighed, then sat beside you, close enough that his thigh brushed against yours. He held out his hand, palm up. Without thinking, you handed him the lighter.

He turned it over in his palm, rubbing a thumb over the engraved initials, studying it the same way you had.

“I miss when things were easier,” he admitted, voice quiet, almost like he wasn’t sure if he should say it out loud.  

“You and everyone,” you muttered.  

Dean exhaled sharply through his nose. “I’m sorry. For all this.”  

You frowned. “What do you mean?”  

“You used to have a normal life. Friends, a job, y'know.” His voice was rough, like he hated acknowledging it.  

You shrugged, letting your shoulders drop as the exhaustion hit you all at once. “Doesn’t even sound like me anymore.”  

Dean said your name.  

For the first time since he’d sat down, you looked at him.  

His eyes were glassy, his jaw tight.

Your stomach twisted.  

Dean Winchester did not cry.  

And yet—  

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he broke eye contact.  

“I really am sorry,” he murmured. “Told Sam you were a bad idea.”  

If you didn’t know him so well, you might have been insulted. But instead, you just leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder.  

“You should’ve tried harder,” you whispered.  

Dean huffed a soft, almost humorless laugh. “Yeah.”  

The two of you sat there, the silence heavy but not unbearable. The kind of silence that held years of things left unsaid.  

Then, slowly, you moved your hand toward his.  

Your fingers brushed his knuckles.  

Dean didn’t pull away.  

So you intertwined them, heart hammering in your chest like a teenager with a school crush. You took his hand properly, feeling the rough calluses against your skin.

“At least we have each other,” you said quietly.

Dean let out a breath, shifting slightly like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. His grip in your hand tightening.

“At this point,” he admitted, “I think you’re the only thing keeping me sane.”  

A soft, breathy laugh escaped you.

Dean released your hand, only to push himself up. “I’ll go get you a room.”

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” you admitted, voice quieter than before. “Will you stay?”  

Dean’s expression softened. He didn’t say anything.  

Not right away.  

He just looked at you for a long moment, then nodded.  

A few minutes later, he returned with a new key. He held out his other hand, silently offering to help you up.

You took it.

Once on your feet, you dusted off your jeans, hyper-aware of the way Dean watched you.

Every movement. Every shift.

His eyes traced your hands, the way your fingers brushed against your thighs, the way you adjusted your shirt.

When you finally looked up, he didn’t look away. Didn’t even try to hide it.

Your breath caught in your throat.

You could feel it. The weight of everything between you.

You swallowed, nerves buzzing under your skin.  

Dean inhaled sharply, as if trying to convince himself not to do something.  

Then, before you could second-guess anything—  

“If I’m wrong about this,” he said, voice low, deep, “you can slap me.”  

You frowned. “Wrong about wha—”  

Dean kissed you.  

It wasn’t hesitant.  

It wasn’t soft.  

It was years of tension. Of almosts. Of stolen glances and lingering touches and things neither of you ever dared to say. 

His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him, like he’d been holding back for too long and finally—finally—let himself have you.  

Dean’s hands were firm, rough fingers cradling your jaw, tilting your head just right as he devoured you. 

You gasped against his mouth, barely managing to process the sheer intensity of it before he was pulling you closer. He kissed you deeper, tilting his head, his lips parting against yours as he swallowed the quiet gasp you let out.

Your fingers tangled in his jacket, fisting the fabric desperately as heat coiled in your stomach.

He needed this.

You could feel it.

The way he kissed you like he was making up for lost time, like he’d been starving for this and didn’t know how to slow down. 

You were dizzy. Burning.

You met him with equal force, matching every movement, every press of his lips, every quiet sound he made against you.

Dean groaned, and the sound alone sent a shiver down your spine.

Then—his hands.

One sliding to your waist, gripping you like he was scared you’d disappear. The other curling into your hair, tilting your head back just enough to deepen the kiss.

The heat of his body, the scent of leather and gunpowder and Dean surrounding you—

It was overwhelming.

And you didn’t care.

Didn’t think.

Didn’t breathe.

Just him.

Just this.

Finally.

After years of pretending.

After everything.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing hard, foreheads touching.

Dean swallowed thickly, green eyes flickering between yours.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, lips tingling from the kiss.

Neither of you spoke.

Neither of you needed to.

Because whatever this was—

There was no coming back from it.

Your breathing was erratic, your chest rising and falling as you tried to process everything. Your eyes slowly dropped to the keys in his hand.

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

Dean nodded, his gaze locked on yours—dark, intense, filled with something that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Room.”

You didn’t give him a chance to say anything else.

The kiss was desperate, raw, almost clumsy in its urgency. Dean pressed you against the door, his body firm against yours, his fingers threading through your hair as his lips claimed yours like he was trying to memorize every inch of you.

Your fingers fumbled with the lock, somehow managing to turn the key. With one hand gripping the doorknob and the other still tangled in Dean’s hair, you pushed the door open without breaking the kiss.

“Where did you learn to do that?” he asked between ragged breaths, his lips brushing against your skin.

“Uh… college?” you said, breathless and unsure.

Dean chuckled against your neck, the sound vibrating through you.

“You’re gonna have to teach me that.”

“Relax, tiger, we’ve got time.”

The words had barely left your lips before you felt the sharp graze of his teeth—a soft bite, enough to send a jolt of heat straight to your core.

The door shut behind you with a dull thud, and before you could process anything else, Dean was pushing you toward the bed.

He hovered over you, his weight barely there, the heat of his body making your skin burn. His hands traced the curve of your waist, his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses down your throat, trailing lower with each breath.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, his voice thick with something almost reverent.

You tried to focus enough to respond.

“Let me guess… the first Thanksgiving we spent together?” you teased, remembering the turkey you had made just for the three of you.

Dean shook his head, his lips ghosting over your collarbone.

“Nope… my second birthday with you.”

You frowned slightly, tilting your head.

“What? What was so special about that birthday?”

Dean smirked against your skin before lifting his head, eyes locking onto yours.

“I remember watching you spend the whole afternoon making a pie just for me.”

You rolled your eyes. “It was just food, Dean. I don’t see the connection.”

Dean chuckled. “It wasn’t about the food. It was the fact that, after all that, you stayed up just to sing me happy birthday at exactly midnight. Because you said it made it more special.”

Your face flushed.

“Well… it does make it more special.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You woke me up.”

“Are we gonna argue, or are you gonna kiss me?”

You didn’t wait for a response.

You pulled him down, crashing your lips into his with a hunger that rivaled his own. His hands moved quickly to the buttons of your shirt, fumbling slightly in his impatience before finally undoing them.

When his eyes raked over the newly exposed skin, his jaw tensed, pupils blown wide.

“Jesus Christ, you look fucking perfect.”

Your breath hitched at the way he said it, raw and unfiltered.

Dean didn’t give you time to react. His mouth was back on yours, slower this time, more deliberate. Like he was savoring every second. His hands moved along your sides, fingers skimming your bare skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

His lips traveled lower, down your throat, over your collarbone, and lower still, each kiss softer than the last, teasing, torturous.

You were dizzy, overwhelmed, every nerve in your body attuned to his touch.

His hand reached for the button of your jeans, unbuttoning it quickly.

His fingers opened you with ease. You saw him lick his lips in a movement so fast that if you had blinked you wouldn't have noticed.

He slowly, carefully inserted a finger into you. All his movements were filled with affection and love that made you melt under his touch.

Your head tilted back against the pillow, a sharp gasp escaping before you could stop it.

Dean groaned, his movements fastening slightly.

“Yeah,” he murmured against your skin, voice thick with want. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

“Dean,” you moaned, your voice barely more than a breath, needy and desperate. “Please—I want it now.”

Dean smirked, the kind of cocky, infuriating smirk that made your stomach tighten. He pressed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, teasing.

“A little desperate, are we?” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

“I’d like to call it eager,” you shot back, rolling your eyes, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

Dean chuckled, his fingers grazing over your hip, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. “Smart ass.”

“You love my a—”

The words died in your throat the second you felt Dean slide another finger inside you. Your breath hitched, your back arching slightly, heat pooling in your core.

Dean’s eyes darkened, his gaze fixed on your face as he watched you unravel beneath him.

“You feel so damn good, baby,” he murmured, his voice husky, thick with something possessive. “You’re sucking my fingers in like it’s my cock.”

A sharp gasp escaped you, your fingers tightening around the sheets.

“It could be your—”

Dean shot you a look, a warning, the kind that made your stomach flip. Automatically, you clamped your mouth shut.

His lips curled into a smirk. “That’s what I thought.”

Without warning, he pulled his fingers out, leaving you breathless and aching. Before you could even protest, he was on you again, his mouth claiming yours in a kiss that was all tongue and teeth, desperate and unrestrained.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured against your lips, his hands mapping out every inch of you like he was memorizing the way you felt.

His hands moved, grabbing the hem of his shirt and discarding it across the motel floor. Your hands roamed over his back, nails digging in slightly as you pulled him closer, needing more, needing everything.

"Dean," you whispered, and that was all it took.

His breath caught, his pupils blown wide with something dark and hungry. His hands moved to his belt, fingers working the buckle open with urgency.

But before he could go any further, your hands covered his, stopping him.

His eyes snapped up to yours, concern flickering across his face. "What?" His voice was rough, husky. "You okay?"

You swallowed, your heartbeat a frantic drum against your ribs. You weren't hesitating—you knew exactly what you wanted. Your gaze softened, lips curling into a small, teasing smile.

"Can I suck your dick?" you asked, bluntly.

Dean blinked.

"You what?"

"Can I... suck your dick?" This time, your voice was quieter, almost uncertain, but the intent in your eyes was clear.

Dean’s mouth parted slightly, like his brain had short-circuited.

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face before covering his mouth for a second, as if trying to get a grip. “Of course you can, pretty girl. Only if you let me do the same.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly, amusement flickering in your expression.

"Like... at the same time?"

Dean smirked. "I suppose you're familiar with the number sixty-nine."

You burst out laughing, your forehead falling against his shoulder as your whole body shook with amusement. Dean laughed with you, the moment light yet still buzzing with heat.

When you finally lifted your head, he was looking at you with that damn smirk, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“Come here,” he murmured, cupping your jaw, his thumb brushing over your lips.

Then he kissed you, and this time there was no hesitation, no teasing.

It was deep, consuming, the kind of kiss that stole the breath from your lungs and left you dizzy. His hands explored, memorizing the curves of your body, tracing fire along your skin. He pulled you onto his lap, pressing you down against the hardness of him, making you gasp into his mouth.

"You feel that, sweetheart?" he whispered against your lips. "That's what you do to me."

You whimpered, grinding down slightly, and Dean let out a strangled groan, his fingers gripping your hips like he was barely holding on.

"Fuck, you're gonna kill me," he muttered, before flipping you onto your back, his lips trailing down your neck, your collarbone, lower—

And then he was gone, shifting down the bed, his mouth pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your stomach.

His hands moved to your thighs, parting them with ease.

"You still sure about this?" he asked, his voice rough, edged with restraint.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer.

"Dean," you breathed. "Shut up and get to work."

Dean chuckled darkly, his grip tightening.

"Yes, ma’am."

And then he did exactly that.

Dean shifted his body, leaving his crotch above your face.

“Damn”

“Thank you” he said, you laughed again.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you slowly lowered the fabric of his boxers, freeing him completely. His cock was long, thick, and already aching for you. The sight alone sent a fresh wave of arousal pooling in your belly.

Before you could react, you felt the first hesitant stroke of Dean’s tongue against your cunt—tentative at first, almost testing the waters. The sensation sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through your spine, making you groan softly.

"Just like that," you murmured, voice dripping with approval before you finally wrapped your lips around his cock.

A deep, guttural moan escaped Dean's throat, a sound that vibrated straight into your core. His whole body tensed beneath you, his fingers digging into your thighs as if he was trying to ground himself.

Your spit coated his length, dripping down as you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper. His cock throbbed against your tongue, and a part of you—some sinful, smug part—loved knowing you had this effect on him.

Dean’s response was immediate. His hands gripped your thighs tighter as his tongue pushed deeper, licking into you with new urgency. It was messy, desperate, like he couldn’t get enough. He buried his face between your legs, his nose pressing against your clit, groaning as if he was drunk on you.

Everywhere, he was surrounded by you. He could taste you on his tongue, smell you, feel the way your legs trembled under his touch. It was intoxicating, overwhelming—like being worshipped just for existing.

The more you moved, the more he lost himself in you. His tongue flicked over your clit in tandem with the bob of your head over his cock, and he let out a muffled curse against your cunt, his hips jerking up slightly.

"Shit—" he groaned, voice wrecked. "You're gonna kill me, sweetheart."

You hummed around him, sending vibrations through his cock, and Dean choked out a curse, his grip tightening even more.

Your rhythm quickened, lips gliding over him with purpose, and Dean matched your pace, his mouth working you open with relentless hunger. His hands spread your thighs wider, keeping you right where he wanted you, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of you pulling away.

The room was filled with the sounds of pleasure—his groans, your whimpers, the wet, filthy noises of tongues and lips working in tandem. The tension that had been brewing between you for years was finally unraveling, raw and unfiltered.

Dean’s breath turned ragged, his movements becoming erratic. You could tell he was close—his thighs tensing beneath your hands, his moans turning desperate.

"Fuck, baby, if you keep going like that—" His warning was cut off by a deep, shuddering groan as you took him deeper, letting him hit the back of your throat.

His body trembled beneath you, and you knew he was about to fall apart. It was okay, because so were you.

"I'm about to—" Dean's voice came out strained, ragged with pleasure.

You nodded, your lips still wrapped around him, determined to take everything he had to give. A deep, guttural groan tore from his chest as thick, hot ropes of cum hit the back of your throat. At the exact same moment, his mouth latched onto you even harder, and the sheer sensation sent you over the edge. Your body trembled as your release coated his tongue, making him groan into you.

The pleasure was dizzying, all-consuming. Your moans mixed with his, lost in the heavy, humid air of the motel room. Every nerve in your body was buzzing, oversensitive, barely able to handle the aftermath of everything you'd just felt.

Dean pulled away first, his breath uneven, his hands still gripping your thighs like he needed something solid to hold onto. Slowly, he shifted, moving up to hover over you, his emerald eyes dark and heavy-lidded. His lips were swollen, wet, glistening with the taste of you.

He reached for your face, his thumb swiping at the saliva on your lower lip with a tenderness that felt almost out of place after everything you'd just done.

"You okay?" His voice was low, husky, but there was something softer beneath it—something vulnerable.

You nodded, unable to speak, still lost in the haze of pleasure. Instead, you pulled him down, capturing his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. He tasted like whiskey, like heat, like you, and for a moment, the world outside the four walls of that room ceased to exist.

Dean groaned into the kiss, deepening it, his tongue sliding against yours with unrestrained hunger. His hands roamed your body, rediscovering every curve, every dip of your skin like he was memorizing you. There was nothing hesitant anymore—no more second-guessing, no more resisting.

This was years of tension, of longing, of stolen glances and unspoken words, all unraveling in the way he pressed you down against the mattress, in the way your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.

"You drive me fuckin' insane," he murmured against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours. "You know that, right?"

You smirked, brushing your nails down his back, reveling in the way his muscles tensed under your touch. "I had a suspicion."

Dean chuckled, but the sound was cut off when you rolled your hips up against him, making him suck in a sharp breath.

"Jesus, sweetheart—"

"Dean," you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair. "Don't stop."

And he didn’t.

He captured your mouth again, hungrier this time, as if he was afraid this would all slip away if he let go. His hands slid between your bodies, fingers teasing at the last pieces of clothing that still separated you. Finally taking what was always meant to be his.

Dean's cockhead dips between your folds, teasing your entrance with agonizing slowness. A desperate, keening moan escapes your lips, your body arching instinctively toward him. You're dripping, your slick coating him, making it easier for him to push in—just the tip at first, stretching you open inch by inch.

"Fuck, sweetheart…" Dean's voice is hoarse, strained with restraint, like he's holding himself back from completely losing control.

Even with just half of him inside you, your breath is already coming in sharp, uneven gasps. Your walls flutter around him, sucking him in, silently begging for more. And Dean, never one to deny you, pulls back just enough before slamming forward with a deep, firm thrust.

A sharp cry rips from your throat, your fingers clawing at his shoulders. He groans at the way you take him, the way you clench around him like you're made for him.

"Goddamn, baby," he mutters, his forehead pressing against yours as he buries himself deeper, stretching you until the burn melts into pleasure. "You feel so fuckin’ good."

His thrusts are precise, each one landing with an intensity that has you seeing stars. Every movement sends waves of pleasure crashing through your body, each stroke hitting that perfect spot inside you that makes your toes curl.

You're already shaking, the pleasure mounting too fast, too strong. Your hips roll against his, chasing more, needing more.

"Dean," you whimper, your voice wrecked, hands grasping at the sheets beneath you.

He tightens his grip on your hips, shifting the angle just enough to push even deeper, dragging another cry from you.

"That’s it," he breathes, his voice thick with lust. "Take it, sweetheart. Let me hear you."

You can barely speak, reduced to moans and gasps, your body wound tight like a string about to snap. Your legs tense, your muscles locking up as the coil in your stomach tightens, tighter, until—

"Dean!" you sob, your back arching as pleasure consumes you, your release hitting so hard it steals the air from your lungs.

Dean groans at the feeling of you pulsing around him, and that’s all it takes for him to follow. His thrusts turn erratic, desperate, before he buries himself to the hilt, spilling into you with a deep, shuddering moan.

He collapses onto his forearms, his body still trembling with the aftershocks. His breath fans against your skin as he presses his forehead against yours, grounding himself in you.

"That's it," he murmurs, kissing your temple. "You did so good. God, you should see yourself right now… you're so goddamn beautiful."

You can’t help but smile, the exhaustion settling into your limbs as the warmth of his words wraps around you like a blanket.

"Thank you, Dean," you whisper, curling into him. You know better than to overthink this—to question what it means. Because the man lying beside you? He doesn’t do confessions, doesn’t do mornings-after. And if this is all you get, you’ll take it.

Dean presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, so tender it makes your chest tighten. Your eyes sting, emotion creeping in where you least expect it.

He looks like he wants to say something, his mouth parting, his brows drawing together in that way he does when he's struggling with something real, something serious. But before he can get the words out—

"What the hell—" He suddenly stiffens, eyes snapping toward the corner of the room.

You blink, barely able to keep yourself from slipping into sleep. "What?"

Dean's jaw drops slightly, his expression shifting from post-orgasmic bliss to sheer disbelief.

"Is that a goddamn fairy?"

"You look oddly happy," Sam commented as he walked past.

"Okay, asshole move," you shot back, rolling your eyes. "Am I not allowed to be happy that we found a way to get your soul back?"

"Oh, I get it—you just want your boyfriend back," he said, smirking.

The word boyfriend made your stomach twist uncomfortably. If Sam actually got his soul back and everything went back to how it was before… things were going to be awkward. Really awkward. Considering you had just fucked his brother.

Sam walked into the motel room, searching for something you didn’t really care about. Your mind had been thoroughly occupied with someone else since the hippie incident.

Speaking of Rome…

Dean walked in, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, carrying himself with that same cocky ease that could knock down even the strongest walls. His presence alone felt like a gravitational pull, one you had no business indulging in—but damn, was it tempting.

He gave you a small nod in greeting, his gaze lingering just a second too long.

"How'd you sleep in jail?" you asked, biting back a grin.

Dean smirked. "Had better nights."

The words hit deeper than they should have, sending heat creeping up your neck. The memory of two nights ago burned behind your eyes—his hands on your hips, his breath against your skin, the way you whispered his name like a prayer. You forced yourself to swallow it down.

Sam walked back out, his own duffel bag in hand, completely oblivious to the tension crackling between you and Dean.

You slid into the backseat of the Impala, letting out a small yawn.

"Still don’t get why you woke up so early," Dean muttered as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

"To gloat," you teased, stretching your arms behind your head.

"Uh-huh. And you’re just gonna pass out again in a couple of hours."

You opened your mouth to argue—but damn it, he was right.

Dean caught your expression in the rearview mirror and smirked, like he knew exactly what you were thinking. His fingers tapped lazily against the steering wheel before he spoke, his voice casual—too casual.

"Guess I’ll have to find another way to keep you awake, huh?"

The words were innocent enough. Sam didn’t react, didn’t even seem to register them. But the way Dean said it, the way his eyes flicked up to meet yours in the mirror—

Yeah. You weren’t done with him.

And worse? He knew it.

[tribalmajesty05]

Title: The Number Game

Roman Reigns X Reader

It was a quiet evening in the Anoa’i household. The kids were asleep, the house was peaceful, and I was curled up on the couch beside Joe, lazily scrolling through my phone while he absentmindedly watched TV.

Then, for no apparent reason, a random thought popped into my head.

“Hey, babe?” I asked, turning to him.

Joe hummed in response, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“How many women have you slept with?”

That got his attention. His head snapped toward me so fast I thought he might’ve given himself whiplash. “What?”

I smirked. “You heard me.”

Joe blinked at me like I had just asked him to recite the Constitution backward. “Why the hell you asking me that?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, biting back a grin. “I was just curious.”

Joe scoffed. “Nah, see, that’s a setup. You tryna start something.”

I laughed. “No, I’m not! I swear. I just wanna know. So? What’s the number?”

He ran a hand down his face and muttered something under his breath.

“What was that?” I leaned in.

“Why does it matter?” he deflected, suddenly looking real interested in the TV.

“It doesn’t!” I said quickly. “I just wanna know what kinda numbers you were working with before you landed this—” I motioned to myself dramatically. “—top-tier wife right here.”

Joe side-eyed me. “You sure you ain’t gon’ get mad?”

I scoffed. “Please. You think I can’t handle it? Boy, I know you were out here in these streets before you met me.”

Joe exhaled heavily, leaning back into the couch. “Alright. Fine. The truth is…I don’t even know.”

My jaw dropped. “You lost count?!”

Joe held his hands up defensively. “Hold up! That ain’t what I said!”

“Joe!” I gasped, smacking his arm.

“Why you hittin’ me?!” he laughed, dodging the next slap.

“You really lost track?!” I accused, eyes wide.

“I mean…I wasn’t keepin’ a damn diary!” he argued, his deep laugh shaking his chest.

I dramatically placed a hand over my heart. “I cannot believe I married a former hoe.”

Joe burst out laughing. “Oh, so now I’m a hoe?”

“You said it yourself! You don’t even know the number, Joe!”

“Okay, okay,” he grinned, rubbing his jaw. “What if I just give you a ballpark estimate?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Go ahead. But if the number’s too high, I might just file for divorce tonight.”

Joe laughed again before schooling his expression into something more serious. He pretended to count on his fingers, muttering numbers under his breath like he was solving a damn equation.

Finally, he looked up at me. “Alright…I’d say…less than a hundred.”

I gasped so loud I swear I woke up the neighbors. “LESS THAN A HUNDRED?! JOE, THAT IS NOT REASSURING!”

Joe started wheezing. “Baby, chill! I meant waaaay less than a hundred!”

“But you ain’t say way at first!” I pointed an accusing finger at him. “Oh my God, I really married a hoe!”

Joe was laughing so hard at this point he had to wipe tears from his eyes. “You actin’ like I was out here on the damn Hoe Hall of Fame!”

“If they had one, you’d have a plaque!”

He threw his head back, still cracking up, before pulling me onto his lap. “C’mere, crazy woman.”

I huffed, folding my arms as I sat on his lap. “You nasty.”

Joe smirked, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “Yeah? Well, clearly, you like nasty since you married me.”

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. But if I find out your number is actually close to a hundred, I swear—”

Joe kissed my cheek to shut me up. “Relax, babe. It ain’t that high. You’re the only number that matters now anyway.”

I narrowed my eyes at him before sighing dramatically. “Fine. But just know if a woman ever comes up to me talking ’bout some Hey, girl! I used to mess with your man! I’m squaring up on sight.”

Joe laughed, holding me closer. “Damn, I love you.”

I smirked. “I know. Even if you was a hoe.”

Joe groaned while I laughed, and that was the end of our ridiculous little argument.