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kathaelipwse · 1 month ago

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Not Just a 'Stylist' | Bangchan 1.1k Followers special!! <3

Pairing: Bang Chan × Stylist!Reader

Word Count: 9,145 Words | Reading Time: 33-ish mins

Genre: Angst | Slow Burn | Hurt/Comfort | Idol AU | Romance

Trope: Second Chance · Miscommunication · Lovers to Strangers to Lovers · Forbidden Love

Warnings: Mentions of body image issues & industry pressure, Angst-heavy themes, Harsh words, emotional fallout, Mental health struggles (insecurity, self-hate), Mild suggestive content, Strong language, NO PROOF READING WAS DONE

Synopsis: She was never just their stylist. She was the one who made sure their voices were heard—even if it meant putting herself in the line of fire. Bang Chan didn’t know how much she mattered until she walked away. Now, two years later, a sly plan, an awkward reunion, and a very overdue confession might be what brings them back to each other… if their wounds can finally heal.

Author’s Note: This one’s for the parts of us we try to hide—because insecurities aren’t flaws, they’re just softer truths we haven’t learned to love yet. Chan’s story in this fic is a reminder that vulnerability doesn’t make you weak; it makes you human. And that’s where the real beauty lives. 🤍 I hope all are doing fine! {I know i was gone for a little too long! Sorry lovies, i was trying to heal and keep up with myself first cause it was reflecting on my writings and i didnt wanna write so much angst, i haven't been feeling to write and post since a few weeks its just complicated lol, i hope its just a phase... And i am sorry if this one is a bit of more angst than fluff..}

Notice: Requests a closed for a little while, if y'll wanna talk or share thoughts feel free to do so!!

The K-Pop industry was a dazzling, often bewildering, kaleidoscope of vibrant colors, synchronized choreographies, and the relentless hum of constant activity. For many, it was a dream factory, churning out idols worshipped by millions. But beneath the glittering facade lay grueling schedules that stretched days into sleepless nights, and an often unforgiving set of beauty standards that could strip an idol of their individuality faster than a stage light could flicker. Perfection, in this world, was not just admired; it was meticulously engineered, often at the cost of authentic self-expression. Yet, for you, a stylist barely two years into the unforgiving depths of this demanding world, it was also something far more profound: a blank canvas, ripe for a quiet, yet revolutionary, change.

You hadn't simply landed in the K-Pop scene; you had carved out a niche, not with aggressive self-promotion, but with a philosophy that was both innovative and deeply empathetic. Your reputation had spread like wildfire, not just for the avant-garde, trend-setting ensembles you conceptualized, but for an almost fierce, unwavering dedication to the idols' comfort, well-being, and genuine self-expression.

In an industry obsessed with a narrow definition of perfection, your rebellion was subtle but potent. Whitewashing, the pervasive practice of lightening an idol's skin to an often unnatural pallor, was your personal nemesis—a cultural erasure you fought tooth and nail against.

You saw it as a deliberate act of stripping away an idol's natural heritage and unique beauty. Unnecessary layers of makeup on already flawless, youthful skin felt like a crime against nature and authenticity, smothering their natural glow under a mask of heavy product. And the rampant destruction of natural hair, often through harsh chemicals, relentless heat styling, and aggressive bleaching, was a personal affront you simply could not tolerate.

You championed originality, seeing each idol as a unique individual with their own inherent beauty to be amplified, not erased. Your mission was to ensure they felt seen, celebrated, and authentically themselves, rather than merely being packaged into a marketable, albeit homogenous, product designed to fit a preconceived mold.

This philosophy, initially met with skepticism and quiet resistance from management, slowly began to take root among the idols themselves. The members, accustomed to a more rigid, company-driven approach to their appearance—where they were often told what to wear, how to pose, and even how to smile—gradually adjusted to your radical kindness. They started to trust you, to see you not just as a technician of trends, but as an ally, someone who genuinely had their best interests at heart. Slowly, tentatively, some even began to confide in you, whispering their preferences, their discomforts, their secret desires for a different look, a softer fabric, a bolder color—preferences you always, without fail, honored and fought for, often pushing back against directives from higher-ups.

Among them was Han, a whirlwind of creative energy, known for his rapid-fire raps and boundless stage presence. Beneath his vibrant exterior, he carried a canvas of intricate tattoos that told stories only he truly understood, a deeply personal expression of his journey. He had silently endured countless applications of heavy, industrial-strength body tape, used to conceal his art for various concepts, leaving his sensitive skin raw, red, and irritated after every single performance. It was a silent agony he'd simply accepted as part of the job.

One afternoon, after a particularly long photoshoot for a new album, Han approached you cautiously, a faint wince on his face as he gently peeled a corner of tape from his inner arm. "Hey, [Y/N]," he began, his voice low. "Could… could we possibly try something different with this next time? The tape… it's really tearing up my skin." He showed you the angry red marks, some already forming blisters.

You immediately knelt, examining his reddened torso with a frown. "Oh, Han, that looks painful," you murmured, your concern genuine. "Of course, we will. Show me exactly where it hurts, where the tape causes the most irritation. We'll find a way around it, I promise. Your comfort comes first, always." From that day on, you made it your unwavering mission to ensure his clothing was stylish, often strategically covering him in ways that felt natural and chic, using round tops and under mesh that seamlessly integrated into the concept. But there were times, moments of pure, unadulterated playfulness on stage or during content shoots, when Han, swept up in the moment, wanted to show off his tattoos, to let his true self shine through. In those instances, you would take the fall, absorbing the inevitable scoldings and frustrated sighs from management with a calm, unyielding demeanor, a silent shield protecting his artistic freedom and personal comfort. You were their advocate, their quiet guardian against the industry's more suffocating demands.

Yet, despite your growing influence and the trust you had cultivated with most of the members, there was one who struggled profoundly to adapt to your different approach: Bang Chan. The group's leader, he was the embodiment of tireless dedication and relentless self-improvement, but years of relentless industry conditioning had deeply ingrained a specific, often self-deprecating, image in his mind. He couldn't reconcile with the idea of embracing his natural curly hair, which he saw as unruly, messy, and unprofessional, a stark contrast to the sleek, sharp looks favored by many K-Pop idols. Similarly, his slightly tanned, sun-kissed skin, earned from hours in the dance studio and occasional outdoor filming, was something he believed detracted from the desired "idol aesthetic" of pale, ethereal beauty.

After a particularly bright outdoor shoot under the Seoul sun, Chan approached you, rubbing his arm with a towel, a hesitant smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Hey, [Y/N]," he said, almost apologetically. "Could we… maybe go a bit lighter on my skin for the next concept? Like, a foundation shade or two up? I think it would suit the theme better, give it a more… polished feel."

You met his gaze directly, your expression gentle but unwavering. "Chan, your skin tone is beautiful," you countered softly, your voice firm. "It's healthy, it's natural. There's no need to lighten it. You're just fine the way you are." You watched a flicker of disappointment cross his face, quickly masked.

A few days later, during a hair styling session for a variety show appearance, he tried again, running a hand through his slightly damp, springy curls. "My curls are… a lot, aren't they?" he mumbled, tugging at a particularly unruly strand near his temple. "They always seem to have a mind of their own. Maybe we should straighten them out for the comeback? Or at least heavily slick them back? It would look more… put together, I think. More professional."

You smiled, gently pushing his hand away from his hair. "Chan, your curls are incredible," you insisted, beginning to work a light serum through them to enhance their natural texture. "They have so much character, so much life. The fans adore them, you know? They talk about 'Chan's curls' all the time. We can define them, keep them healthy, but why hide something so unique and beloved?" He mumbled something noncommittal, still looking unconvinced. The irony was not lost on you: the other members, and even their incredibly devoted fanbase, Stay, absolutely adored his natural curls, often praising them in fan calls and online comments, begging him not to straighten them cause he is damaging his own hair. But Chan, locked in his own internal struggle, his self-perception deeply rooted in years of industry expectation, remained stubbornly unconvinced, a silent battle being waged beneath the surface of his charismatic stage persona. You knew he needed to see himself as truly "fine" before anyone else's opinion would matter.

The air after the concert was thick with the lingering buzz of fan cheers and the exhaustion of performance, a faint scent of sweat and stage smoke clinging to everything. The dressing room was a hive of activity: members peeling off stage clothes, makeup artists packing up their kits, and staff bustling about. You were meticulously helping Felix unhook an intricate, albeit slightly heavy, ear cuff, your fingers nimble as you navigated the delicate clasp. It was a moment of quiet focus amidst the post-show chaos, when snippets of a staff conversation, sharp and unwelcome, sliced through the general chatter.

"Honestly, I don't know what our new stylist is thinking," a voice, unfamiliar but clearly disgruntled, grated from a few feet away. "She absolutely refuses to cover up Bang Chan's slight tan. It's distracting, especially with the concept photos coming up."

Another voice, a little higher pitched, chimed in, dripping with disdain. "And his hair! It's never properly styled. Those curls just don't suit him. He looks… unpolished. It's not the image the company wants."

The words hit you like a physical blow, a cold knot tightening in your stomach. Your hands stilled on Felix's ear. Without a second thought, driven by instinct and a fierce loyalty to the idols you protected, you straightened up, turning slowly towards the voices. "Excuse me?" you interjected, your voice deceptively calm, though your eyes, you knew, flashed with a dangerous glint. "Chan's skin is perfectly fine. It's natural, and frankly, beautiful. It makes him look healthy and strong. And his curls are adored by fans. My job is to highlight their natural features, not erase them to fit some outdated, unrealistic so called toxic shitty standard."

A sudden, uncomfortable hush fell over the immediate area. Jeongin, who had been quietly packing his bag, looked up, his eyes wide with surprise and a hint of alarm. Han, who had just walked over to grab a water bottle, stopped dead in his tracks, his hand hovering over the cooler.

"Exactly!" Han exclaimed, stepping forward, his voice rising in defense. "Have you seen how many fans comment about his curls? They love them! They're iconic! And his tan? It just makes him look healthier, more real. It's part of who he is!"

"Yeah!" Felix chimed in, stepping away from you, his usually bright demeanor replaced with a stern frown. "And [Y/N] always makes sure we're comfortable. That's way more important than some old-fashioned beauty standard that makes us feel bad about ourselves!"

Changbin, who had been listening from a distance, his arms crossed, nodded firmly. "She helps us feel like ourselves. Chan Hyung looks great. He looks authentic and cute and sexy and the stays and we love him just the way he is."

But it was too late. Chan, who had been walking past the dressing room entrance, having just finished a quick call, paused. His back was to you, but the sudden rigidity of his shoulders, the slight tilt of his head, told you he had heard every single word. His face unreadable, he turned slowly, his gaze sweeping over you, the hushed staff, and then his fiercely loyal members, before he simply pivoted and walked out of the room, his footsteps heavy and deliberate.

You glared at the gossiping staff, a silent, chilling promise of retribution in your eyes—a promise that your next styling choices for them would be… unflattering. Then, without another word, you quickly pushed past the startled members and followed him. You found him standing against a cool, brick wall just outside the building, gazing up at the indifferent night sky, his shoulders hunched, radiating a palpable tension that seemed to crackle in the air around him.

"Chan, wait," you began, reaching out a hand, your voice soft, but he cut you off, spinning around to face you. His eyes were dark, his jaw clenched, and his voice was tight with frustration, barely above a whisper, yet sharp as a knife which was just sharped as in to slit throats and then hearts.

"I told you… I told you I don't wanna be different!" he exclaimed, his words laced with a raw edge of pain and exasperation. "I just wanna fit in, like everyone else! I just want to be normal! But you wouldn't listen to me! You never listen!"

You stepped closer, trying to reason, to soften the blow, to make him understand. "Chan, listen to me. No matter what you do, no matter how you look, no matter how much you change yourself, people will always find something negative to say. You can't please everyone, and you shouldn't try to erase yourself for them. Your worth isn't determined by their opinions."

But he snapped, the dam breaking, unleashing a torrent of cruel words that felt like physical blows, each one landing squarely on your chest. "Don't you get it, [Y/N]? I don't care about what they say when it means I look like this! I don't care about 'authenticity' if it means I'm constantly being criticized! I need a stylist who understands the industry, who doesn't nag me about my personal choices. Someone who will just… do their job! Someone who will just make me look the way I need to look! Pale skin. Straightened hair. I don't need someone like you! I don't want a new style. Maybe the others do, not me!" His voice cracked on the last words, but the venom was clear, sharp, and undeniable.

The words stung, a deep, nauseating ache spreading through your chest, echoing the painful truth that he truly meant them, at least in that moment of raw anger. You knew he was upset, deeply so, frustrated with himself and the pressures he felt, but it still hurt. Of course, it did.

You had liked him the most, perhaps even loved him, in a way that transcended the idol-stylist dynamic. You had witnessed his entire rise, his struggles, his countless "Chan's Room" lives on YouTube where he’d openly expressed his insecurities about his looks, his hair, his identity, his constant battle with self-doubt.

You loved him more than you cared to admit, not as an idol, but as the genuine, vulnerable person you knew him to be beneath the bravado and the leader's facade. He stormed off, the sound of his retreating footsteps echoing in the sudden silence, leaving you alone with the bitter echoes of his harsh, cutting words in the cold night air, a profound sense of betrayal settling heavy in your heart.

The next week was their much-needed break, a rare window of respite in their relentless schedule. For you, however, it was a blur of silent, agonizing pain. The raw wound of Chan's words festered, preventing you from facing him, or even his concerned members.

Your phone remained stubbornly on silent, vibrating with unread messages, your fingers hovering over them, unable to bring yourself to respond. Each buzz was a fresh reminder of the chasm that had opened between you and a desperate plea to bridge it, but the hurt was too deep, too fresh. The guilt, meanwhile, gnawed at Chan, a constant, dull ache in his chest, a poison he couldn't flush out.

He replayed the scene in his mind over and over: the surge of anger that had driven his cruel outburst, fueled by years of internalized insecurity, and the shattered, heartbroken look in your eyes as he stormed away. That image, the way your expression had crumpled, haunted his waking hours and infiltrated his restless sleep.

That night, unable to shake the feeling of dread, he paced the dorm living room, the quiet too loud, too heavy. "Has anyone heard from [Y/N]?" Chan finally asked, his voice strained, a raw edge of desperation he couldn't quite hide.

Han, scrolling through his phone, shook his head, his own face etched with worry. "No, Hyung. I've sent like, five texts. And checked every social media she used to have. Nothing. No reply. Lix has called her, too, probably a dozen times."

Felix nodded sadly, his usual bright demeanor dimmed. "Just goes straight to voicemail, Hyung. Every single time. I don't know what to do. This isn't like her."

The members, sitting in their living room, exchanged worried glances, a silent conspiracy of concern. None dared to explicitly ask either of you about what had truly transpired that night. They had heard it all, after all, the sharp words and the sudden silence. The chilling silence from both sides was deafening, a tangible, suffocating weight in the dorm, replacing the usual easy camaraderie.

The very next day, a cold, formal email landed in everyone's inboxes: the company announced your resignation. There was a terse, uninformative notice posted internally, stating only that you had "decided to pursue other opportunities." You hadn't given a reason, not to management, not to the members, not to anyone. Just a clean, sharp break, like a snapped string. But the members knew. Every single one of them. And Chan, oh, Chan knew with a searing certainty.

"What do you mean, she resigned?" Changbin asked, disbelief coloring his voice, staring at the stark text on his phone screen as if it might spontaneously change. "She just… left? Without a word?"

"She wouldn't just leave," Jeongin whispered, looking genuinely distraught, his eyes wide and clouded with unshed tears. "Not without saying goodbye to us. Not after everything."

Han slammed his fist lightly on the table, the muffled thud echoing the frustration in his voice. His gaze was fixed on Chan, a mixture of raw anger and deep despair. "It's because of what happened, isn't it, Hyung? Because of what you said! It broke her, didn't it?"

Chan flinched, the accusation hitting him squarely, like a physical blow. His face was ashen, his jaw tight. "I… I know," he mumbled, his voice thick with guilt, barely audible. He felt a sickening lurch in his stomach, a dizzying wave of regret. You weren't just their stylist; you were someone who always put their needs first, their comfort first, their problems first, even before the company's often rigid directives and relentless bottom line. You were a true friend, an advocate, a safe space they had implicitly relied on, a rare source of genuine care in an often impersonal industry. Now, that friend was gone, not exactly, but you never replied to anyone's messages, no matter how many they sent, how desperate they became, how many pleas for a simple 'I'm okay' went unanswered.

Months bled into each other, each one feeling heavier than the last for the group. The stylist changed, a new face taking your place. This person was efficient, professional, and entirely detached. They just "did their job," rarely spoke beyond necessary instructions, and worked solely for the company, not for the idols' individual well-being or comfort. The careful considerations you had put in place slowly eroded, like sand slipping through fingers. Han's body tapes reappeared, along with other unwelcome changes to their styling that prioritized concept over comfort, leaving the members feeling like mannequins, stripped of their individuality.

One evening, after another long day of taped-up skin and restrictive, itchy outfits, Han sat on his bed, frantically texting you, a silent, desperate prayer. "Please, [Y/N]," he typed, his thumbs flying across the screen, his face drawn. "Are you okay? We miss you so much. This new stylist… it's not the same. My skin is raw again, just like before you came. Please, just reply. Anything?" But the messages remained stubbornly undelivered, stuck on 'sending,' or simply unread. He had been closest to you, relying on your understanding and empathy more than anyone. Your silence was a constant, gnawing void.

Tours came and went, a dizzying cycle of stages and cities, airports and hotel rooms. The high of performing was always followed by a lingering emptiness. Occasionally, the members would catch glimpses of you, a fleeting figure working with other idols and groups at music shows or industry events. You looked good, professional, sometimes even seemed to laugh, but always just out of reach, a distant figure in a bustling crowd.

"Look, there she is!" Felix exclaimed one day, his voice a mix of excitement and longing, pointing across a crowded backstage area. You were laughing with a girl group, adjusting a sparkling top for one of their members, your head thrown back, a genuine smile on your face.

Chan watched from afar, a sharp, physical pang in his chest. You seemed so vibrant, so at ease, so happy, even if the smile didn't quite reach your eyes like before when seungmin would friendly bully chan about his age, but it was in the same profound way he remembered. It twisted something inside him to see you thriving, knowing it was a world he was no longer a part of, a happiness he had pushed away.

Han, though initially unable to forgive Chan for what he'd said, the unspoken resentment a thick wall between them, eventually did. The silent tension between them was too heavy to bear under the constant pressure of idol life, a crack in their brotherhood. One late night, he found Chan staring out the dorm window, lost in thought. "Hyung," Han said softly, his voice surprisingly gentle, "I… I'm still mad about it, believe me. It hurt me too. But I miss you too. We need to be okay. As a group, we can't let this break us." Chan just nodded, a silent acknowledgment of forgiveness and shared pain, a fragile truce. The other members, too, slowly, resignedly, reverted to their old ways, accepting the discomforts as an inevitable part of their careers. They missed you, desperately, but the hope of your return dwindled with each passing month, replaced by a quiet resignation.

And Chan, through it all, finally understood. The empty space you left behind wasn't just a missing stylist; it was a void in his life, a silent reproach to his own insecurities, a constant, visceral reminder of his harsh, cutting words. He had fallen for you long ago, slowly, subtly, in the quiet moments behind the scenes, during late-night recording or editing sessions where he'd often find himself thinking of your gentle corrections, your unwavering support, your quiet strength.

He had always made sure not to hurt you, to never cross that line, to protect that unspoken bond, that fragile trust… and that's exactly what he had done. He wasn’t afraid of losing you, not exactly, not in the typical sense of fearing how he would be without you, how it would affect himself. That kind of fear, he now realized, was selfish.

But hurting you?

That pained him to his very core. That was a different kind of terror. He had always believed that being afraid of losing someone meant being afraid of how one would be without that person, how it would affect themselves. But being afraid of hurting someone meant being afraid of leaving a mental scar, a painful memory that they would carry forever, a wound they might never fully heal from. And he had hurt you. Brutally. He had watched you walk away because of his own words, his own self-doubt, his own inability to see his worth. The realization was a torment he carried every single day, a constant, gnawing regret that ate at him from the inside out, a silent scream in his chest.

Two years had passed by in a blow, each day a slow, grinding testament to the void you'd left. The memories of your easy laughter, your firm but gentle touch during styling, and your fierce protection had faded slightly around the edges, but the impact of your absence was a constant, dull ache for all the members. Chan, especially, carried a heavy burden. Han had keenly observed his Hyung's quiet torment – the way Chan would replay old videos of them, of you effortlessly styling other groups at music shows, his gaze lingering on your figure. He'd catch Chan scrolling through old fan photos, zooming in on your fleeting appearances in the background. Everyone had picked up on the signals; it was clear, painfully so, that Chan was suffering and that he missed you more than words could say.

"He's never going to move on, is he?" Felix whispered to Han one night, watching Chan stare blankly at a screen. "It's like he's stuck."

Han sighed, running a hand through his hair. "He won't. Not until he gets a chance to fix it. He messed up, yeah, but he's been kicking himself for two years straight."

He hatched a plan, a desperate, audacious gamble, unsure if it would work, but it was worth a try. He knew you'd blocked all their numbers, even the company's official lines. You’d probably changed yours too. But he also knew you were meticulous, always checking for new opportunities, especially if they came from an unfamiliar but professional source.

"Okay," Han muttered to himself, scrolling through his contacts. He found an old, burner phone number he’d used for a brief, ill-fated prank war months ago. Perfect.

He crafted a message carefully, trying to sound as un-Han-like as possible, adopting an overly formal, slightly stiff tone.

To: [Your old number & a guess at your new number] From: [Fictional Company Name] - Mr. Jin Subject: Urgent Styling Opportunity

"Dear Y/N, I hope this message finds you well. My name is Jin, manager at [Fictional Company Name]. We have an urgent project requiring a stylist of exceptional reputation and innovative vision, specifically with a keen understanding of idol comfort and authentic expression. Your name has come highly recommended. We are looking to revolutionize our group's image. Would you be available for a confidential meeting to discuss this potential collaboration? Please reply to this number at your earliest convenience. Regards, Mr. Jin."

He re-read it, wincing at the overly formal phrasing, but deciding it might just sound legitimate enough to pique your professional interest. He pressed send, holding his breath.

To his utter surprise, that very night, his burner phone buzzed. A text message, short and to the point.

To: Mr. Jin From: [Your new number] "Dear Mr. Jin, Thank you for reaching out. I am available for a meeting. Please propose a time and location suitable for your schedule. Regards, [Y/N]."

Han almost dropped the phone. It worked! A wide, triumphant grin spread across his face, quickly followed by a rush of nerves. Now for the hard part: getting Chan there, oblivious, and then getting out of the way. This was either going to be the best plan he'd ever concocted, or the most catastrophic.

A few days later, after a particularly grueling dance practice that left the members drenched in sweat and utterly exhausted, their muscles aching, Han, surprisingly cheerful despite the workout, casually approached Chan. "Hey, Hyung," Han said, swinging his arm around Chan's shoulders, a mischievous glint in his eye that Chan, in his own weary state, barely registered. "I'm starving. Absolutely famished. Wanna grab some coffee? There's this new, not-so-famous cafe down the street I heard about – supposed to have really good pastries."

Chan, still feeling a vague, persistent sense of unease from the unresolved tension of the past weeks, and the constant, throbbing void in his life where your presence used to be, simply grunted in agreement. "Sure, why not. Anything beats staying in the dorms staring at the ceiling, thinking." He was simply glad Han was talking to him again, without the usual subtle undercurrent of disappointment or coldness that had been present in their interactions for so long. It felt like a fragile truce, a tiny crack of light in his self-imposed darkness.

They dressed quickly, pulling on hoodies and baseball caps, the familiar disguise for anonymity, and walked the short distance in the crisp evening air. The city lights began to twinkle, blurring into streaks as cars rushed past. As they neared the cozy-looking cafe, its warm glow spilling onto the pavement, Han paused, feigning a sudden, panicked realization. "Alright, Hyung, I actually need to run back to the dorm for something I totally forgot. My phone! You know how I am – useless without it." He gave Chan a wide, innocent grin, almost too innocent. "Mind going in ahead? Just tell them you're with 'Mr. Jin.' We have a table reserved. He’s already there, probably."

Chan's brow furrowed in confusion, a tired sigh escaping him. "'Mr. Jin'? Who on earth is Mr. Jin?" he asked, scanning the cafe's unfamiliar facade, a vague suspicion tickling the back of his mind, but he was too tired to argue.

Han just shrugged, his eyes sparkling with suppressed mirth. "Ah, you know, we're well-known, brother. Company connections, maybe? Just go in, I'll be right there. Don't worry about it, Hyung, just grab the table." He gave Chan a light shove towards the entrance, a gesture of fraternal encouragement.

It was a flimsy, almost ridiculous, but seemingly reasonable enough excuse, especially coming from Han. Chan, still a bit confused but trusting Han, pushed open the cafe door. The warm, inviting aroma of roasted coffee beans and sweet pastries, tinged with a hint of cinnamon, filled the air, a comforting contrast to the lingering chill outside. A young waiter, bustling but polite, approached him with a professional smile.

"Reservation for Mr. Jin?" Chan asked, feeling a little silly saying the name out loud, a faint flush rising to his cheeks.

The waiter's smile brightened. "Ah, yes, right this way, sir. Your party is already seated." He led Chan through the cozy, dimly lit interior, past the gentle murmur of conversations and the clinking of cups, to a secluded table nestled in the back, near a large window overlooking the street.

You were sitting there, nursing a half-empty latte, scrolling through your phone, completely engrossed in something on the screen, your brow slightly furrowed in concentration. As the waiter gestured towards the table, you looked up, your eyes meeting his across the small, round surface. Time, for a heart-stopping moment, simply ceased to exist. Both of you froze, a silent, electric shock rippling through the air. The gentle hum of the cafe faded into an indistinguishable buzz, swallowed by the sudden roaring in Chan's ears. You lowered your phone slowly, almost reverently, your mouth slightly agape, a mixture of profound surprise and something akin to a guarded curiosity flickering in your eyes. Chan’s heart hammered against his ribs, a sudden, dizzying rush of blood to his head. It was really you. After two agonizing years, standing right there, looking both utterly familiar and heartbreakingly distant.

Outside, pressed against the glass wall like a grinning gargoyle, Han watched the scene unfold. He saw the instant recognition, the collective paralysis, the unspoken tension that hung between you two. A wide, triumphant grin spread across his face. He pumped a silent fist in the air, a quiet victory dance, before turning and practically skipping back to the dorms, his mission accomplished, a hopeful lightness in his step.

Chan slowly, almost mechanically, pulled out the opposite chair and sat down, his limbs feeling heavy and disconnected, as if gravity had intensified. He couldn't tear his eyes away from you, a silent plea in his gaze, a desperate hope blooming in his chest. You, meanwhile, were already holding up your phone, displaying a text conversation. "This is you, isn't it?" you accused, a wry eyebrow raised, though a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched your lips, a ghost of the old warmth he remembered so vividly. "Trolling me over texts, pretending to be 'Mr. Jin' from some random company? I almost took the bait, you know. I even looked up their fictional website."

Chan leaned forward, peering at the screen, a fresh wave of mortification washing over him, followed by a surge of gratitude towards Han. He recognized Han's overly formal, slightly ungrammatical writing style instantly. "Oh my god," he mumbled, a blush creeping up his neck, warmth flooding his cheeks, not just from embarrassment, but from the overwhelming proximity to you, the sheer reality of your presence. "Han! I am so, so sorry. I had no idea. He set me up completely. I swear. I would never…" His voice trailed off, lost in the enormity of the moment.

You sighed, a small, exasperated sound, but nodded, a flicker of something in your eyes – perhaps understanding, perhaps resignation, perhaps a hint of the old affection. "I figured as much. He always was a menace, that one. And surprisingly dedicated when he sets his mind to something." You began to gather your things, reaching for your bag, the brief amusement fading, replaced by a familiar, guarded distance that chilled him. "Well, since this was clearly a setup, and not a legitimate meeting, I should probably go—"

"Please wait!" Chan blurted out, his voice thick with a sudden, desperate urgency, a raw, primal fear that you would disappear again. His hand instinctively shot across the table, lightly, almost reverently, holding your wrist, stopping your movement. His fingers were surprisingly warm against your skin, a jolt of familiar contact after so long, sending shivers through him, a stark reminder of everything he'd lost. "Ten minutes. Please. Just ten minutes. That's all I ask. Don't leave again." His voice was raw, pleading, a crack in his usual composure, utterly exposed. He felt like he was suffocating, this one fragile chance to explain, to atone, slipping through his grasp.

You hesitated, your eyes searching his, seeing not just desperation, but a profound vulnerability, a deep, silent anguish there that truly surprised you. The grip was light, but firm, a silent plea that resonated deep within you, touching a dormant chord of concern. After a long moment, watching the raw emotion play out in his eyes, the unshed tears reflecting the dim cafe lights, you slowly released your bag and sat back down, a small, resigned sigh escaping your lips. "Ten minutes," you conceded, your voice soft, almost a whisper, a fragile thread of hope linking you.

He nodded, a visible wave of profound relief washing over his face, as if he'd just been granted a stay of execution, a reprieve from an unbearable sentence. He pulled his hand back, then, driven by a sudden nervous energy that made him incapable of sitting still, he got up from his seat and began to pace the small area around the table, his words tumbling out in a sincere, rapid-fire apology, a confession he'd rehearsed a thousand times in his head, each word weighed and re-weighed, now bursting forth with unbridled emotion.

"I know… I know what I said was messed up," he started, running a hand through his hair, his eyes fixed on you, pleading for understanding, for just a glimmer of the kindness he remembered. "That night… I was just so frustrated, so angry. But it wasn't about you, not really. It was all about my own stupid insecurities. My own hang-ups about how I looked, how I was perceived, how I felt like I was never enough. Like I always had to be perfect for everyone else, even if it meant hating myself. And I hated that I hurt you. I saw your face," his voice cracked here, a raw, exposed nerve, "and… and I knew I messed up so badly. The look in your eyes… it just shattered me. It still shatters me every time I close my eyes. You didn't deserve that. You were only ever trying to help me, to protect me from the very things I was too blind to see, too conditioned to accept about myself. And I just… I threw it back in your face like a complete idiot, like a coward." He stopped pacing, turning to face you fully, his gaze intense, earnest, pleading. Tears welled in his eyes, though he fought them back fiercely, blinking rapidly. "I know you're not supposed to forgive me. I don't even know if I deserve it, to be honest. I’ve lived with that regret every single day."

He took a shaky breath, then continued, his voice dropping, his confession raw and vulnerable, laden with years of unspoken feelings, a dam finally breaking. "But I just… I don't know what to do without you around. It's been two years, [Y/N], and it still feels like… like there's something fundamentally missing. Like a part of me just… wasn't right when you weren't there. Everything felt… muted. Less real. The colors drained from everything. The jokes didn't land right. Even the music felt a little emptier. I missed your presence, your perspective, your just being you."

He stepped closer, his voice barely a whisper, thick with emotion. "And… and I liked you. More than 'liked.' I tried to deny it, tried to push it down because it felt wrong, complicated, impossible. Because you were our stylist, and I was an idol, and there were rules, and fear. But I…I fear that I love you, [Y/N]. I know it's crazy. I know it's wrong, you were our stylist, and I’m an idol, and it's all so messed up and complicated, and I’m probably going to regret saying this later, risking everything, but… I’m fucked, [Y/N]. I truly, deeply, unequivocally love you. I missed you more than I can even begin to say. Every single day was a struggle, a constant reminder of my own stupidity, my own foolish pride. And I’m still a mess, okay? A guy filled with insecurities, a heart that can't quite explain what it is or what it wants… but even then, even though I'm all that… I would always be yours, no matter what. My heart belongs to you, always has, even when I was too stupid to realize it. But if you gave me a chance… I want to get to know you again. Not just as an idol and a stylist. As a friend, first. And then… if it's okay… if you could ever find it in you… I want to try for something more. Something real. Something honest. With you. Always with you." He finished, breathless, his confession hanging heavy in the air between you, raw and exposed, a silent plea for forgiveness and a future he desperately craved.

You stood up. The ten minutes he’d begged for were over, but the weight of his raw confession hung heavy in the air, vibrating between you like a plucked string. Every agonizing word, every exposed vulnerability, echoed in the quiet space.

"Ten minutes are over," you stated, your voice calm, betraying nothing of the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you—the profound surprise, the lingering hurt, and the unexpected tenderness his raw honesty had stirred. The urge to stay, to reach across the table and bridge the chasm that had formed between you, was immense, almost overwhelming, but the hurt of the past two years, the cold sting of his cutting words, was a formidable wall, still too high to easily climb.

You turned and walked past him, heading towards the exit, the faint scent of his cologne, a familiar comfort, now tinged with the desperation that had clung to his every plea. You reached the door, your hand resting on the cool metal handle, the decision to leave or stay warring within you.

Just as you were about to push it open and step back into the anonymity of the bustling street, you paused. A tiny, almost imperceptible shift in your posture. Then, slowly, you looked back over your shoulder. A small, knowing grin, a ghost of a smile he once knew, a hint of the playful teasing he remembered so fondly, played on your lips. "See you soon… Christopher."

Then, without another word, you pushed the door open and walked out into the late afternoon bustle, disappearing into the crowd like a fleeting shadow. Poor Chan was left utterly confused, rooted to the spot, staring after you, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The cryptic farewell, the almost-smile, the use of his full name – it tore at him. Did it mean something? Or nothing at all? Was it a promise, or just a polite dismissal?

The next week passed in a blur of anticipation, doubt, and a gnawing uncertainty for him, each hour stretching into an eternity as he replayed your words, your smile, that single, enigmatic glance. He found himself dissecting every syllable, searching for hidden meanings, for any sign of hope. Sleep offered little solace, his dreams filled with your face, both near and impossibly far.

It was time for their next tour, a sprawling schedule of concerts across multiple continents, a whirlwind of flights, rehearsals, and performances. The usual excitement was overshadowed by an underlying tension, a silent worry about the impending change in staff. As he was meticulously packing his suitcase, folding clothes with obsessive precision, trying to decipher the cryptic meaning of your parting words, the dorm room door burst open without a knock. The other members piled in, an unusual seriousness on their faces.

"Hyung! Urgent meeting in five minutes!" Jeongin announced, his usual bright energy replaced with a grim, almost apprehensive tone.

"Yeah, the manager sounded super serious," Felix added, his usual cheer subdued. "He said it's about the tour staff, specifically about the new stylist."

Chan's stomach twisted. He braced himself for another cold, impersonal professional. As confused as the others by the sudden announcement, he quickly zipped up his bag and headed to the main office where their manager sat, a stern, unreadable expression on his face. The air in the room was thick with unspoken tension, heavy with the collective dread of the unknown.

"Alright, boys," the manager began, his voice devoid of its usual warmth, his eyes sweeping over their anxious faces, seeming to relish the dramatic reveal. "I have an important announcement regarding your upcoming tour. As you know, we've been looking for a long-term solution for your styling needs." He paused for dramatic effect. "You're getting a new stylist, effective immediately for this tour."

A collective groan, low and heartfelt, filled the room, a wave of palpable disappointment washing over them. "Oh, no," Seungmin mumbled, slumping further in his chair, already picturing the rigid, impersonal approach they’d come to dread, the return of uncomfortable outfits and forced looks.

"Not another cruel one," Han muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible, exchanging a worried glance with Changbin. The memory of the past two years, with the cold, detached stylist and the relentless return of old discomforts like Han’s body tapes, weighed heavily on them all. Their hopeful spirits had been slowly chipped away.

Just then, as if on cue, the office door opened. All heads snapped towards it. And then, you walked in. Your gaze swept over the surprised faces of the members, a faint, mischievous glint in your eyes as you took in their slumped postures and glum expressions, a knowing amusement playing on your lips. Your eyes finally landed on Chan, and a subtle, almost imperceptible, but undeniably knowing smile played on your lips, a direct, unspoken acknowledgement of your last conversation, a silent question hanging between you.

"Seems like you all don't want me… sure then, I will go b—" You began, your voice laced with playful challenge, a hint of teasing that was so uniquely you.

Before you could even finish the sentence, a roar of pure, unadulterated relief and joy erupted in the room. Han and Felix, moving with a speed that belied their earlier exhaustion, had already sprung from their seats, practically tackling you in a synchronized, relieved hug. "You're back! Oh my god, [Y/N], ahhhhhh, I swear we missed you too much!" Han mumbled into your shoulder, his voice thick with emotion, careful not to let the manager hear the sheer, overwhelming happiness in his voice. "We thought you were gone for good! We thought we messed up forever!"

"Don't you dare go anywhere ever again!" Felix exclaimed, tightening his embrace, his voice cracking with relief. "We hated the others! They made us wear itchy sweaters!"

The rest quickly joined in, a tangle of arms and excited exclamations, their previous gloom instantly evaporated, replaced by a radiant collective joy. "No! We do want you! We need you!" Seungmin exclaimed, pulling back with a wide grin, tears glistening in his eyes. "We really, really do!"

"You have no idea how much we missed you, Stylist-nim!" Hyunjin added, his eyes sparkling with genuine happiness, a rare unguarded emotion. Even I.N., usually the quietest, was beaming, his usual reserved demeanor replaced with pure delight as he clung to your arm. "It's so good to have you back."

As for Chris, he simply stood, rooted to the spot, a profound sense of utter, unburdened relief washing over him, so strong it almost brought him to his knees. A genuine, unadulterated smile, the first truly free one in two years, spread across his face, lighting up his features and reaching deep into his eyes. His heart swelled, a warmth spreading through his chest, seeing you there, safe and sound, surrounded by the joy you brought to the group. He just smiled at you, a silent, heartfelt welcome home, a wordless apology and a renewed promise echoing in his gaze. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, but his eyes said everything.

They soon backed off, untangling themselves from you, though Han still kept an arm loosely around your shoulders, as if afraid you might vanish again. The manager, looking distinctly put out by the blatant display of affection and the interruption to his formal announcement, cleared his throat loudly, regaining his composure. He looked at you, then at the group, his expression still stern, attempting to reassert control. He began rattling off all the "rules" and expectations for the tour, the company's directives, the strict guidelines for their image – rules you, of course, had no intention of following if they compromised your principles or the members' well-being. You just smiled sweetly, meeting the manager’s gaze with a confident, knowing look, a silent promise to yourself and to the boys that things were about to change for the better, once again. This time, for good.

The tour was a whirlwind, a triumphant blur of flashing lights, roaring crowds, and adrenaline-fueled performances. With every passing day, the group grew closer, their bond strengthening, mending the cracks that had formed in your absence. You effortlessly slipped back into your role, not just as their stylist, but as their confidante, their shield. The manager's "rules" quickly became polite suggestions you creatively circumvented. Han's body tapes, once a painful reminder of past discomfort, were gone for good, replaced by innovative layering and clever fabric choices that allowed his tattoos to peek out when appropriate, or be subtly covered without irritation. The other members felt a renewed sense of confidence, embracing their natural hair textures and varied skin tones under your encouraging guidance.

Chan and you, in particular, grew closer than ever before. The initial awkwardness after his confession had quickly melted away, replaced by a comfortable, almost electric familiarity. There were stolen moments backstage, whispered conversations on long bus rides, and shared glances across crowded rooms that spoke volumes. The members often caught you two being "too close," their knowing smiles and raised eyebrows a constant, playful commentary. You'd laugh it off, still calling yourselves "friends," a private joke that only deepened the unspoken understanding between you.

It was a delicate dance, navigating the professional boundaries of your roles with the undeniable pull that drew you together. The trust was back, stronger than ever, built on the foundation of his raw honesty and your quiet forgiveness. His lingering insecurities about his appearance began to fade under your consistent affirmation. He found himself looking at his curls in the mirror not with disdain, but with a new sense of appreciation, remembering your gentle touch, your unwavering belief in his natural beauty. The memory of his harsh words still pricked, but now, it served as a stark reminder of how far he had come, and how much he valued the person who had brought him back to himself.

A year slipped by in a joyful blur, marked by the steady hum of a rekindled connection. The tour ended, but the closeness between you and Chan only deepened. It became a cherished routine: late-night sneak-ins to each other's hotel rooms on tour, or hushed tiptoeing down the dorm corridor after the others were asleep. These secret rendezvous were filled with movie nights, deep talks that stretched into the early hours, and even soft cuddles on the couch or a shared bed, a comforting warmth radiating between you. Intimacy, however, remained a silent, unspoken promise, a tender line you both respected, a slow burn of anticipation that made every touch, every shared glance, electric.

Until…

It was October 3rd, his birthday. A significant day for both him and Stay. After a long day of live streams, fan greetings, a special broadcast of "Chan's Room," and being out of the dorm for various schedules, he returned, utterly exhausted but content. As he pushed open the door to his room, he stopped dead in his tracks. The room was transformed. Balloons in silver and black floated near the ceiling, fairy lights twinkled along the walls, casting a soft, ethereal glow, and the unmistakable aroma of his favorite comfort food filled the air. A small table was laden with drinks and snacks, but what truly caught his eye was a human-sized, clumsily wrapped gift sitting conspicuously on his bed. A note, written in familiar handwriting, was taped to the door: "Suggestion: lock the door, don't want the kids in."

He giggled, a genuine, delighted sound that bubbled up from deep within him. "Oh, you guys," he murmured, his heart already swelling with affection. He carefully closed and locked the door behind him, a sense of playful anticipation bubbling in his chest.

"My human burrito!" he exclaimed, hovering over the immense wrapped present on his bed, his eyes wide with curiosity and a growing hope. He carefully tore away the layers of wrapping paper, his fingers fumbling in his eagerness. As the last sheet fell, a burst of laughter erupted from within the paper, and then, much to his utter astonishment, Han unfolded himself from the box, bursting into laughter himself at Chan's priceless, crestfallen expression. Han had seen the brief flicker of disappointment, the way Chan’s eyes had gone from wide expectation to utter bewilderment. He had been hoping, oh so desperately, for you.

From the bathroom, where you had been hiding, barely containing your own amusement, you too erupted in uncontrollable laughter, stepping out into the room.

"Get off him, Chrisie, unless~" Han teased, his eyes dancing with mischief, already wiggling out of the box and heading for the door. "Don't want to interrupt anything!" He shot a knowing wink at you both, giggling like a maniac.

Chan, totally embarrassed, backed away from Han, his face a fiery red. "Yah, Han Jisung!" he protested, a mock glare on his face. He had been tricked! The little menace! Han walked out, still cackling, leaving the door ajar. Chan quickly moved to close and lock the door again, a more deliberate, hopeful click this time.

You emerged fully from the bathroom, dressed in a sleek black satin dress that shimmered in the soft fairy lights, clinging to your figure in all the right places. You were still laughing, your eyes crinkling at the corners. "Very funny, hm?" Chan said, a playful smirk twisting his lips as he pinned you gently against the wall beside the bathroom door, his hands resting lightly on either side of your head.

You bit your bottom lip, trying to stifle your laughter, your eyes sparkling up at him. "Sorry, Channie~" you cooed, the affectionate nickname rolling off your tongue naturally.

"Nope, won't forgive ya," Chan said, feigning seriousness, though the warmth in his eyes betrayed him. His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes.

"Whyyyy? It was a prankkkk, Chrissssss," you whined, leaning into his space playfully. "What do I do so you forgive me, you evil man?"

Chan's smirk deepened, a slow, predatory warmth entering his gaze. His voice dropped to a low, husky whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "Simple," he breathed, his eyes locked on yours. "Kiss me like you own me, darling. Just like the one you always have been wanting to. Just like the way your thoughts go straight to hell when you look down at my lips and then away. You think I won't notice, love?" He lowered his head, his gaze intensely fixed on your mouth, then back to your eyes, a silent question. Then, with deliberate slowness, he grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against him, the soft satin of your dress brushing against his clothes.

You didn't need to be asked twice. The unspoken promise of a year, the yearning that had simmered between you, finally erupted. You kissed him, rough, raw, hungry, a culmination of years of longing, of unspoken words, of pain endured and hope sustained. His lips were soft, yet firm, tasting of coffee and the lingering excitement of his birthday. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, as if to meld your bodies together. It was a kiss that devoured the past and ignited the future, a symphony of desperate need and profound love.

After the passionate make-out session, breathless and flushed, you pulled back slightly, your foreheads resting against each other. You whispered, your voice husky, "I love you, Chris."

He opened his eyes, a radiant, triumphant smile breaking across his face. He held you tighter, burying his face in your hair. "I love you more. Don't argue, it's my birthday."

You just rolled your eyes, a wide, utterly contented smile gracing your lips, and hugged him tightly, finally home, finally, truly, in his arms.

…The End

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ilov3b00kss0much · 6 months ago

Text

new goal post for new years!!!

Right let’s go yall

Green- reached but not completed

yellow/orange- reached and completed

pink- not reached

20 notes- I clean my desk

30 notes- I clean my closet

50 notes- I try to keep my room clean for a week

65 notes- i try to keep my room clean for a month

75 notes- I ask my home room teacher for more support with homework and work because I’m struggling w burnout and adhd lol

100 notes- I tell all my friends how much they mean to me

125 notes- I dont call myself ugly or stop eating when I feel guilty for a week

150 notes- whoever reaches this can slap down a “NO!” Card if I make a post w smth self destructive and I’ll do my best to obey (I’ll make the card)

175 notes- whoever reaches this gets three “NO!” Cards

200 notes- I ask my mom to meet my therapist once a week

250 notes- I tell my therapist what my parents have done

300 notes- I switch therapists to one who’ll believe me

350 notes- I’ll make an active effort to not blame myself for things I can’t control and things I can’t change about myself for a week

400 notes- I make an active effort to give myself positive feedback when I’m struggling for a week

500 notes- I wont say “I’m gonna kms” as a ‘joke’ for a whole month

600 notes- I go to sleep before 1 am on school nights

…………………more to be added later………………

1000 notes- I fix my sleep schedule, and go to sleep before 10:30 on school nights

#Not tagging anyone yet #Goal post #Notes post #IDFK OK

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mixolya · 8 days ago

Note

I honestly have no idea how tumblr works so idk if this is where I make requests...

Anyways idea/request for an itoshi sae x reader short story where reader is a well known k-pop idol who was recently caught in a scandal that she took no part in and received lots of hate as a result! She starts losing her appetite and becoming visibly skinnier bc of the hate and sae notices and becomes rlly worried for her!

Srry this is honestly so cringy I js had a random idea and needed someone to write it 😔😔

ᓚᘏᗢ — sae itoshi: stay with me !

synopsis: when a brutal scandal leaves you drowning in public hate and self-doubt, your secret boyfriend sae itoshi refuses to let you face it alone.

sae itoshi x reader ⭑ angst / secret relationship / hurt & comfort cw!!! eating disorder, mentions of suicide + likes & reblogs are appreciated <3

note: this took me a bit long sorry if my writing is washed

sae noticed it first in your texts. the usual stream of messages, your excited ramblings, blurry selfies with a kiss face, little voice notes you sent when you couldn't type fast enough, started to shrink. your replies became shorter, sometimes delayed, sometimes missing altogether. then came the photos, or rather, the lack of them.

you used to send him everything. outfit checks, dance practice clips, the view from your hotel room window when you were touring. now, your camera roll seemed locked away.

he knew why. the scandal, the one you had no part in.

a baseless accusation from an anonymous post had spiraled into trending hashtags overnight. the internet had latched onto your name, twisting narratives, pulling you under with no proof, no defense that seemed loud enough.

he kept waiting for you to fight back. for the usual fire in your voice to return. but it didn't.

and when he finally got you alone on a rare day when your schedules aligned, you were already smaller. not just in weight, but in presence. you looked like you'd folded yourself in, like you were trying to take up less space in the world.

"did you eat?" he asked bluntly, sitting across from you in his apartment. you nodded, picking at the edge of your sleeve. " a little, before practice."

"you're lying," his chest tightened.

you glanced away, lips pressing into a faint smile that didn't belong to you. "i'm fine, sae."

"you're not," he stood, crossed the room in two steps and knelt in front of you. "look at me."

reluctantly, you did. your eyes were tired, rimmed faintly with exhaustion, but it wasn't that which broke him. it was the way you looked afraid. of disappointing him. of being weak in front of him.

"you think i care about some fake scandal?" his thumb brushed over your knee. "you think i'd believe a word of that shit?"

you shook your head quickly. "it's not that. i know you don't believe it. it's just-" your voice cracked. you swallowed it down. "...everyone else does."

"they're just people behind a screen."

"they're people behind a screen who tell me to die."

it hit him like a gut punch. not because you were wrong, but because you said it so.. calmly. like you'd gotten used to hearing it.

you laughed breathless and broken. "isn't it funny? i've spent my whole career trying to make people happy, and now they can't stand me. i can't even remember the last time i finished a meal without thinking about what they'd say about my weight after the whole scandal thing."

his stomach twisted. you'd always been careful with your diet because of your career, but this wasn't careful at all. this was self-destruction. and it terrified him.

"you don't have to finish it for them," he said quietly. "you don't have to do anything for them."

you shook your head. "it's not that simple. i can't just-" you gestured vaguely, frustration rising. "i can't just stop caring. it's my job. my face, my body- it's my brand."

sae's grip on your knee tightened just slightly. "fuck your brand."

your breath caught.

"fuck the people who don't know you. fuck the ones who think they can control you." his voice was low. it was the same tone he used when shutting down reporters. "if you lose yourself chasing their approval, what's the point?"

your lips trembled. "i don't want to lose myself."

"then don't."

"i'm trying-" your voice cracked again. you buried your face in your hands, shoulders shaking. "i'm really trying, sae."

carefully, he reached up, coaxing your hands away from your face. his thumb traced the corner of your eye, catching a stray tear. without another word, sae slid his arms around you, lifting you effortlessly into his chest. you let out a soft gasp, instinctively curling into him as he sat down the couch, settling you on his lap, one hand firm on your back, the other smoothing down your hair.

"you don't have to try alone," he murmured, his voice steady against the storm inside you. "i'm here. i'm not going anywhere."

your fingers clutched at his shirt, desperate for something solid, something that wouldn't slip away like the rest of your world seemed to be doing.

"i'm sorry," you whispered, breath trembling against his neck. "i just.. i don't know how to fix this."

"then don't fix it all at once." he pressed a kiss to your temple, lingering there. "just stay. stay with me tonight. start there."

"i don't feel like eating though."

"doesn't matter." his hand rubbed slow circles on your back. "you need to. for yourself, not for them."

you swallowed thickly, the quiet weight of his words breaking down your walls. sae itoshi didn't plead. he didn't chase. but here he was, holding you close, asking you to fight for yourself.

so you nodded, barely, but it was enough for him to pull you even closer, like he was trying to shield you from the world.

"i'll cook."

"you can't cook," you mumbled, your tears warm against his skin.

"i can cook enough," his thumb brushed over your cheekbone. "enough to keep you here."

you gave a small, tired laugh. "you're sooo bad at this."

"at what?"

"comforting people."

he smirked faintly. "never comforted someone, what did you expect?"

his hand slid down, interlacing his fingers with yours.

and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself lean into him. into his warmth, his steadiness, his quiet refusal to let you disappear.

right now, you were safe. you were staying. and sae wasn't letting you go.

#mixolya!#itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae #sae #sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae imagines #sae itoshi imagines #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk imagines #bluelock #sae x reader #sae imagines #sae itoshi fluff #itoshi sae fluff #sae fluff #bllk fluff

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lieslab · 1 month ago

Text

Dead-man-walking

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Seungmin X gn reader

Summary: Memories of a violent past whirl through your brain, forcing your boyfriend to figure out the root cause of your mental breakdown.

Genre: Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 5.5k

Domestic abuse, depression, and anxiety resources

Trigger warning: Post-traumatic-stress-disorder, physical abuse, manipulative parents, tornadoes and physical descriptions of mass destruction, mentions of razor blades, anxiety, a brief moment of self-harm with nails, and anxiety around people.

A/N: This was supposed to be a comfort/hurt and that is in here, but after I started rereading it, I realized this is pure angst. Sometimes the past feels like standing in the middle of a tornado, hence the drabble name. Requestee, I believe you said you liked having your heart torn apart and stitched back together, so this one's for you <3

_ _ _

Rocks sat in the pockets of your jeans and sweaters. They weighed you down daily, but you tried to ignore them. They weren’t really rocks, but rather secrets. Heavy secrets that kept you pinned down to earth. Your heart fought against gravity and just when you thought you were making progress, the past ricocheted with bitter vengeance.

You walked through the JYP building with a pep in your step. A handcrafted lunch sat in your hands. You spent hours cutting out shapes and rearranging the bento box to enamor Seungmin. You liked working with your hands. Even when you didn’t speak your admiration for your boyfriend out loud, you wanted it to be known in other ways.

Early this morning, before he started his schedule, he informed the receptionist of the time you’d arrive at the building. Granted access and permission, you’d be able to walk through the building and up to the specific room where Seungmin would be awaiting your arrival.

You put on one of your nicer outfits. Before you walked in, you studied your reflection in the car’s mirrors. Rearview and sun visor, you made sure your hair looked presentable. Not a single piece would be out of place. No fallen eyelashes, or a bit of eye crust that you didn’t catch earlier.

With a final deep breath and a second glance in the mirror, you headed inside. Through security, you greeted the receptionist and headed to where you were supposed to arrive. Every now and then, you glanced back at your phone, rereading the directions and making sure you were walking in the right direction.

If you needed assistance, you could have asked someone, or called Seungmin to lead you in the right direction. You’d rather figure it out yourself. Seungmin spent so much time memorizing these halls, he could walk them with his eyes closed. You were determined to walk the same path as him.

On the home stretch in the right direction, you turned off your phone and slipped it into your pocket. You held your head higher, readjusted your grip on the lunchbox in your hand and then-

You yelped as a flash of paleness moved out of the corner of your eye. You stumbled forward, nearly hitting the ground. The lunchbox tipped, but before you could greet the ground, the back of your shirt was grabbed, and you were yanked back onto your feet.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! You were so quiet, I didn’t even see you there.”

You spun around with wide eyes to find Felix’s warm eyes checking you over. He called your name softly and reached out to gently grab your wrist. “Hey, did I hurt you? I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t really paying attention and didn’t even see you, despite you being right there in front of me.”

And in that moment, a rock became a boulder. You stared at Felix, not looking at him, but rather through him. An embarrassed smile and a handful of freckles tried to apologize, but the words went in one ear and out the other. Standing to the right side of the hall, your past came back in full force.

The mid-2000s came back like a tidal wave. Crashing over you and destroying the sturdy life you built. You remembered everything all at once. The aggression highlighting your mother’s face as she grabbed your shoulder. The dead eyes of your father when he grabbed the side of your shirt and jerked you forward.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Your body went tense and your lungs caved in. Dominoes toppled over and crushed your heart. You couldn’t breathe, let alone think. You curled your fingers tighter into the lunchbox’s fabric, trying to find comfort in the middle of the past’s suffocating smoke.

Your brain sparked and ignited. Neurons screamed for help, but nothing ever came of it. There’d be nobody to snuff out the fire. There were no flames; just ash-covered memories and the heavy scent of burning. Your brain curled inward and crisped beneath the flames, but those flames extinguished a few years prior, shortly after you left home.

All that remained in your head were past memories. You tried to fill up with new memories, but they didn’t come quick enough. The good things weren’t heavy enough to seal up the tomb of the past. Shadows snuck in and the monsters of the past made themselves at home.

You blinked. It only lasted a few seconds, your blankness between Felix’s concern. He stared at you with worry far more prominent. His hands rested on your shoulders and when you realized it, you jerked away, as if you had been burnt.

“What did you say?” You asked.

“I asked if you were okay. I apologized and you just…” He trailed off, wondering if you felt unwell. “You shut down. Are you feeling feverish?”

“Um-” Your head shook and you sighed. “No, I’m okay. Sorry, I got distracted.” You forced a smile, a brave face, despite the horrors of the past. “I’m trying to find Seungmin.”

“I can take you to him.”

“I don’t wanna distract you, if you’re-”

“No worries, come on.” He gave you a final look of worry and walked down the hall.

You sucked in a deep breath and followed behind him.

Your past still carved deep.

~ ~ ~

You couldn’t accept your past. Trying to stomach everything that occurred, it felt like trying to swallow razor blades. You tried, but the blades lodged in your throat. Metal edges cut deep and you couldn’t, you just couldn’t.

What kind of parents are monsters like that? They martyred your soul. You were alive and breathing, but you lacked something most people had. Safety and security, you’d always doubt if you really had it. People with supportive parents, it’s all different.

You were born with stars in your eyes and lungs full of moondust. Two eyes to see, all four working limbs, and a brain that craved too much. Too much attention and support. Too needy. Too much.

You were just a kid. You needed that extra coddling and attention. You deserved to have that support. The kind of parents that put their problems aside and listened to yours. Wiped crocodile tears from your eyes and listened to you at the drop of a hat.

You came out wrong, you thought. Maybe it was the shared features of your parents, or maybe you didn’t adopt the right personality. Every personality you tried to copy, it felt wrong. You wore each like a new pair of clothes, but the pant legs were too big and the arm holes felt too tight in the armpits. No matter which one you picked, it never felt right. You were never who you wanted to be. When you tried to do what felt right, their attitudes grew worse.

On the other hand, the universe was better because Seungmin was in it. Blessed with dark eyes and a brain equipped to seek out information he didn’t know. You hesitated to ask questions, but he never had problems with it.

If something was wrong with his part in a song, he’d bring it up to Chan, or whoever was in charge of recording that day. When he went to a restaurant and didn’t know what something consisted of on the menu, he’d ask the waiter. When he asked, he always found out the answer.

You were different. You hesitated to ask new things. Anxiety brewed in your gut. You stayed timid and unsure, afraid you’d bother someone if you questioned something. You tensed up at little pieces of body language, always hyper-vigilant and reading everything. Alarm bells went off and you couldn’t help it.

Your parents left you fractured and you struggled to figure out how to become whole again. You didn’t know how to tell someone. How do you admit that? How do you tell someone you’re full of unstitched flaws and in desperate need of security? You looked for role models everywhere. It wasn’t easy to admit you had problems. You hesitated, too afraid someone would use those hurts against you.

Seungmin wouldn’t and you knew that, but you didn’t bring it up. Felix dropped you off in the correct room and pushed open the door to expose Seungmin’s frame slouched back on the couch. A phone sat in his hand. You thanked Felix and then you weren’t sure what happened.

You weren’t focused on what was going on around you. You didn’t focus on the panda bodies you made with rice. You used seaweed to make a tiny face and add the darkened details. Using cookie cutters, fresh vegetables turned into small flower shapes.

The mostly peeled tangerine, you marked the remaining peel with a little sharpie; two eyes and a smiling face. You wanted him to be reminded that even the non-existent tangerine snail rooted for him. Maybe he called it cute, the words turned murky.

You remember sitting across from him on the leather couch. He talked about something, probably his day. You listened, humming softly and nodding. The words didn’t really pluck the strings of your brain. You should have listened, but the incident with Felix was too fresh. It was only an accident, so why did it feel like a scab had been ripped from your open wound lingering from the past?

Why did life have to be so difficult? More importantly, how would you find the courage to recover? How do people recover from such brutal things? Childhood felt like a prison sentence.

Why did it all have to be so hard? ~ ~ ~

A few days later, you entered the dance room where Seungmin was supposed to be, but he wasn’t. Upon seeing Minho and Jeongin, you paused and stepped back out. Your foot scraped along the floor, catching their attention with a loud squeak.

Jeongin called your name with a smile and waved you in. “Come hang out! Seungmin should be back soon. You can give us a break from dancing, anyway.”

“We’re only still dancing because you can’t get the moves right.” Minho glanced over and glared at the younger boy.

“It’s not my fault you’re making it so hard!”

“Oh, please,” he scoffed. “This dance is so easy, I bet they could pick it up pretty quick. Today, you’re dancing with two left feet and that’s your own fault.”

“Hey!”

“Where is Seungmin?” You stepped back into the practice room and interrupted, not wanting the guys to start arguing. “He said he’d be here.”

Jeongin swatted Minho’s attempted pinch to his side away. “Changbin called him into the studio. Chan is out sick and apparently, Changbin wants a few more takes, just in case Chan doesn’t like the recording he has. He should be back at any time.”

Minho glanced over his shoulder. “Come on in while you wait. Maybe if I slow down and teach you this dance, maybe Innie will finally get it.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a shit teacher today, hyung.”

Your eyes widened and Minho scowled. “Your scrawny ass is going to regret that. Get in formation right now. I outta-”

Jeongin mocked him and stuck out his tongue. Minho’s nostrils flared and he mumbled something beneath his breath. The two were used to bickering and picking on one another, but it still made you anxious.

You tugged off your bag, placing it with theirs on the outstretched couch in the distance. “So what are the moves?”

Minho started to move, showing you the range of moves. “This is the part that Jeongin keeps messing up.”

“You don’t have to use my government-given name.”

“I’m gonna put my government-given foot up your-” He paused, glancing at you in the mirror. “Well anyway, it’s bah, bah, bah.” He curved his arms back and shifted them around in three quick motions. “Left, right, out.”

“I keep getting the left and right confused. It’s left, right, out, left, right, out, but then it changes directions,” Jeongin explained. “The beat is pretty fast and I keep getting my arms mixed up. Plus, we’re supposed to add footwork and ugh.”

“We’re slicing and dicing for this move.”

As Minho continued to explain, you followed along. You moved your arms slowly, trying to capture the right moves. “Left, right, out?”

“Yeah! You got it! Just like that!” Minho watched your moves a few times, praising you when he could.

When Seungmin came back a few minutes later, Minho was wrapping it up. With the music and in the mirror, he glanced back at you two. His body moved through the melody with ease. “There you go, you’ve got it! Start with the left foot!” He called over the music.

Seungmin’s face softened as he watched you. His heart naturally quickened its beat and he smiled. When the three of you finished, he started to approach you. “Hey, I didn’t know you could dance.”

Before he could reach you, Jeongin rushed from behind you and squeezed you in a tight hug, causing you to gasp. Your face grew pale and the dam holding back your past cracked. Spider-web cracks expanded through the cement and memories burst.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Jeongin squeezed you tighter, causing you to panic more. “If you wouldn’t have came to help me, I don’t think I ever would have-”

Your elbow slammed into his windpipe hard. He gasped, reaching up to grab his adam’s apple. Both Seungmin and Minho’s eyes went wide. Minho rushed over to you, trying to make sure you were okay. You dropped your head and ran past Seungmin.

Tears brimmed behind your eyes. You couldn’t breathe. All you could think about was the past. The way your parents treated you. They treated you like a dog. Screaming and beating. Grabbing and tugging, like you weren’t their child, but a criminal instead.

Phantom limbs of an angry father gripped you tight. The shrieks of your mother melted your heart. They rushed behind you, chasing you down the empty halls of the company building. You couldn’t breathe and tears cascaded down your cheeks.

Years later, you still couldn’t escape all the hurt.

~ ~ ~

Back in the dance practice room, Felix entered with a frown. He paused when he saw the state of the room. Seungmin stood frozen in his spot with eyes full of concern. Minho gently patted Jeongin’s back, but tears clouded Jeongin’s eyes.

“What’s going on? Innie, are you okay? What happened? Seungmin, I seen your-”

“Yeah, they just slammed their elbow into his windpipe.”

A small squeak fell out from Jeongin’s lips. He coughed and ducked his head, trying to wipe away the tears. “Did I-I do something wrong? I just-”

“No, I don’t know where that came from.” Minho glanced over at Seungmin. “Are they okay? They were just fine until Jeongin hugged them.”

“Wait,” Felix frowned, “what happened?”

“I just hugged them and they elbowed me so hard. I didn’t think I was hurting them. I know I squeezed tight, but I was excited. I didn’t mean-” His voice cut out and he cleared his throat, “-to harm them.”

“Are you okay?”

“More shocked than anything.”

Minho glanced over to Felix. “Didn’t you say you ran into them the other day and it was weird?”

He slowly nodded, unsure if he should expand on the topic, or not. “Yeah, they kinda went blank. Their face paled and they totally shut down for a few seconds.”

“That’s what just happened here. Seungmin, are you sure they’re okay?” Minho looked over at him, expecting a response.

“I don’t know. I mean, they’ve been okay with me. I don’t know why they would have done that to Innie. They’re not-” His head shook. “I don’t think they meant to do it on purpose.”

“Go check and make sure they’re okay. Felix and I will take care of Jeongin. Innie, where’s your water?”

“In my duffle bag,” he mumbled. He gestured in the opposite direction, causing Felix to hurry over to find his water bottle.

Minho gently patted Jeongin’s back, but he watched Seungmin’s disappearing outline. Wherever you were, hopefully you were okay. It wasn’t like you to hurt Seungmin.

It wasn’t like you to hurt anyone, especially not the guy Seungmin treated like a little brother.

~ ~ ~

In the bathroom, your brain roared. Cold rain downpoured and you couldn’t turn it off. You gripped the edge of the automatic sink with shaky hands. Your bottom lip trembled and tears streamed silently down your cheeks.

The sobs threatened to give, but you learned to handle these moments with grace. You tightened your grip on the sink harder and squeezed your eyes shut. A bottom lip trembled and you struggled to breathe. You spent childhood littered with words that shot flaming arrows into your heart.

“I barely even touched you! You’re so dramatic!”

“Why are you crying? Come here and I’ll give you something to really cry about.”

The past sank teeth into your jugular. Your arms shook and your heart rotted in your chest. In the bathroom mirror, your body burst into flames. You felt every lick. Every nerve remembered the pain. Each neuron buzzed with a memory. Lightning burst through your veins and the past ripped through muscle.

Your lungs refused to expand. Outside the bathroom door, Seungmin called your name. He knocked, desperate for a response, but you didn’t reply. Your parents stole your voice years ago.

They dubbed you dramatic. They said it never happened. If it did, it wasn’t a big deal. You were remembering it wrong.

What if you never remembered it right? What if your brain made it up? What if this was something your brain created out of dreams and you were secretly trying to discredit your parents? They were your parents, right? What kind of parents hurt their kids?

What kind of parent grips their kid and leaves behind bruises?

Who screams at a kid until they’ve collapsed onto the ground, curled up in a ball, shrieking and begging the monster to stop?

What kind of monster unveils sharp teeth and spits saliva? Hiding behind the face of a parent and causing them to lash out an arm, digging their nails into your shoulder? Gripping their hand into your side and injuring you because their anger is out of control?

Kids are so pathetic when you’re angry. When nothing goes your way and you believe the world hates you. A child becomes a burden. An obstacle in your path to greatness. Anger mixes with resentment and paints something ugly.

Monsters weren’t hidden in your closet, they were banging on your bedroom door. They stood in the kitchen, slamming pans around, and shoving cupboard doors shut because you asked for dinner. They screamed at you when you did something wrong. Not because you did something wrong, but because this was bigger than them.

This trauma was bigger than you. Your skin couldn’t hold it in. You screamed at the top of your lungs in that bathroom. The world kept turning, but Seungmin’s world stopped. His heart shattered. His body moved before he could stop it.

That was your scream. Your hurt. You were injured and he had to stop it. He grabbed the bathroom door knob and shoved it open. He couldn’t move again. Your scream came from the depths of your soul. It wasn’t just you screaming, it was the child who didn’t get to be a proper kid.

Robbed of childhood and all things good, your inner child wailed. The starving terrified toddler who asked for food when a parent was in a bad mood, it shrieked in terror. The teenage you that had to figure out things on your own, your own resentment bubbled and brewed, it cried out, so desperate to be heard.

In an act of pure panic, your fingers found your eyes and dug. You tried to pluck the memories from your brainstem. Everything funneled into a violent tornado. The good and bad collided, hot and cold met; a spout grew and began to grow legs.

There are tornadoes dubbed ‘dead-man-walking tornadoes.’ Multiple vortexes funnel down and grant the illusion of the tornado walking with two legs. A tribe of Native Americans named them years ago.

They’re known for their sheer power, causing violence, and mass destruction. They say if you see one around you, death is coming to you. There is very little you can do. Those that seek shelter still might fall victim, they’re that powerful.

Humans are delimbed, tossed through the green and graying skies like rag dolls. Screams of mercy will not save you. The winds are so strong, the hides are pulled from animals. They are one of mother nature’s most terrifying creations.

They dismantle towns, kill families, and destroy farms. There is no mercy. Prayers cannot save you. Nothing can save you if you see a walking giant approaching you in the form of a tornado.

The memories in your own brain spun out of control. Lights flickered and the foundation your legs provided shook. The sirens in your head blared. Outstretched hands ripped your arms from your eyes, causing you to scream louder.

Winds roared and the building creaked. Your body swayed, trying to escape the horror of the past, but it was no use. Hands grabbed your wrists tight, preventing you from scraping out the memories.

You jerked, but you couldn’t get your arms away. A sob busted through your throat. A leg kicked and a yelp sounded. You hit the floor with a loud clatter.

You shoved yourself backwards until you hit the wall. You curled up, ready for a hand to strike you. You expected limbs to hit your own and the burst of air brushing your skin beforehand. You tensed up and braced for the awaiting sting.

When you opened your eyes, you found Seungmin standing with a face full of terror. His hands stretched down toward you, but he didn’t move from his spot. He hesitated, unsure if you’d be okay with his touch, or not.

“Seungmin?” You weakly croaked. Tears slipped down your splotchy red cheeks. A lump lodged in the center of your throat.

“What’s going on?” He whispered, afraid he’d startle you. “Why did you kick me?”

“Where are we?”

“Huh? We’re in the bathroom at the JYP building. Don’t you remember? You elbowed Innie in the neck and took off. What’s going on with you? You screamed, started to cry, attempted to gouge out your own eyes, and then kicked me when I tried to stop you.”

“S-Seungmin,” you weakly uttered. Your eyes squeezed shut and another sob fell out.

He cautiously slid down onto his knees. The dirty tile floor didn’t bother him. Not when you curled up before him. With your teary eyes and sniffles, you looked so broken. You looked like something he’d never seen before.

Sure, there were times you were quiet and kept to yourself, but you were never like this. You didn’t act like this around him. You never laid a hand upon him, or anyone else. This wasn’t like you.

“You’ve gotta talk to me,” he whispered. “I don’t know what’s wrong, if you don’t talk to me. This isn’t like you, baby. What’s wrong?”

The soft words built up another sob. Your face scrunched up and you cried. You didn’t mean to harm anyone. You didn’t mean to turn into such a defensive little thing, but what else could you do?

A broken child, forced to build up a wall. A teenager, unsure of who to trust. A backhand felt more like a friend, than a person ever would. At least, you knew what to expect from the backhand. The sharp sting, the catch of a wedding ring, and all things unholy.

Where did that leave you as an adult? No parents to turn to. Never a proper support system. Even your own boyfriend, when he grew angry about something, you turned weary. Anxiety bubbled, you tensed with a held breath, and you waited.

“Please talk to me.”

“I’m scared,” you finally uttered. “I’m so scared. Please don’t hate me, I’m sorry. He grabbed me and I panicked.”

“What?”

“Innie. I didn’t mean to hit him, I swear. He grabbed me and I couldn’t breathe, so I-I just-”

“It was just an accident.”

Your bottom lip trembled.

“Nobody is mad at you, I promise.”

You couldn’t stop the tears. They continued to slide down your cheeks and free fell down your face. You sniffled, but it didn’t help. You reach up, trying to wipe away the tears, but you couldn’t stop them from falling.

“Just talk to me. There’s gotta be far more than that. What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

Your head shook.

“Did something happen between Jeongin and Minho? If they did something…” He trailed off when you shook your head again.

“I’m the problem. I’m always the problem.”

“What are you talking about?” His eyebrows furrowed. “You’re not a problem. You’ve never been a problem.”

“Not for you, but soon you’ll find out I am. I’m always a problem. My parents were right. They’ve always been right.” Your voice came out shrill and you didn’t know how to stop it. Everything bubbled up and the pus-filled abscess of hurt finally burst.

“I’m so miserable and afraid,” you continued. “I’m always afraid and I can’t stop it. I always think people are going to get violent. I always wait for the hits and the harsh touches. The grabs and the pinches, I don’t know how to stop.”

He took in your words, repeating them in his head. His eyes narrowed and then his face fell. “Your parents did what? What do you mean? Did they-”

“Always.” You tried to suck in a breath through tears. “I’m always waiting for them to appear and strike again. They’re in my dreams and they’re still so angry. No matter what I do, it will never be enough. I don’t know how to be good enough, Seungmin. I’m not even good enough for you.”

“That’s not true. Don’t say that. You’re more than enough for me. I love you. Do you hear me? I love you.” He moved closer, but he stopped when he saw you tense up. “I won’t come closer, but I mean every word I say.”

“You know how I feel about liars, unless I’m the one lying about something stupid. No matter how angry I am, I’d never hit you. That’s not who I am and it’s not who I ever will be.”

“It’s not enough. Words are never enough. I can’t trust people like I pretend to. It’s all a facade, it’s a lie.”

His face fell, but he tried to hide it. “I’m not going to push you to talk about things if you’re not ready to talk, but I want you to know I trust you. I trust you and I love you. The guys and I would never hurt you, not on purpose.”

“I-I know, but I’m still terrified. My parents always come back. I can’t escape the past. I-I try to make new memories and remind myself it’s over, b-but it-” You cut off, shoving a hand over your mouth. Your eyes squeezed shut and you tried to bury the sob that threatened to escape.

“Please let me hold you. I’m not going to hurt you, let me prove that to you. I can’t stand seeing you in so much internal torment and not being able to do anything about it.”

Your wet clumpy lashes reopened. You sniffled and Seungmin slowly moved closer. “It’s just me and you know me. Easy, I’m not going to hurt you. If I were to hurt you, I’d already have bitten you by now. Don’t freak out, it’s just me, your loyal idiot.”

A weak chuckle fell from your lips. He crawled closer, pushing his back against the wall beside you. “See? I told you I don’t bite. Can I hold you, or do you want me to stay here? I feel better being close to you.”

It took you a few moments, but you finally shifted. You moved closer and crawled further into his lap. You straddled one leg over his and slowly sank onto his legs. He cautiously grabbed your waist, helping steady you.

You sniffled, reaching up to wipe your tears, but he beat you to it. “There you go,” he whispered. His fingers slipped beneath your eyes. “That’s it, you’re doing good.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“What are you sorry for?”

“Showing you that I’m a wreck.”

“I think I’d be a wreck if I went through what you went through. It’s okay to be a wreck. Trauma is hard. Hell, you don’t think I don’t have nightmares about the survival show? That was years ago and sometimes, I still have dreams that Minho and Felix didn’t debut with us. It’s horrible and terrible.”

“Is that why you don’t like JYP?”

“I don’t like JYP because he’s bad at singing, but you can’t tell him I said that. I don’t know how he’s going on tour and now he’s preaching. Have you heard a JYP sermon? He’s just yapping, dude. I can do that, too. Give me a bible and a pulpit.”

You tried not to laugh, but failed. He reached out, gently cupping your cheeks. “You can laugh all you want, but it’s true. He’s such an idiot and I don’t know how so many people love him. He’s what my nightmares are made of.”

“I feel like you should be yelling at me for breaking down.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. How are your eyes? That’s what I’m concerned about. You can see me, right?”

You nodded, letting your eyes find his. Your nose scrunched in another sniffle. “They’re a little itchy, but I think it’s from crying.”

“As long as you can see my beautiful face.”

“You’re silly.”

“Damn right and don’t forget it. Now about whatever happened here today, you don’t have to talk to me about it if you don’t want to. I love you and I don’t want to hurt you, but I think-”

“I should talk to someone?” You mumbled.

“Yes and for good reason. I don’t like knowing you’re struggling, but also, I’m a little offended that you think I’d hit you. Why would I hit you? That’s what Changbin is for.”

You rolled your eyes. “I think you just wanna be manhandled, sometimes.”

“And what about it? God forbid a man has hobbies. I’m not the only one. Have you seen Felix? He’s like ‘oh, let me massage you, Changbin!’ He only wants to touch his muscles! At least, I’m sneaky about my desires.”

“But you’re dating me.”

“Are you implying we should have a threesome with Changbin?”

“Excuse me?”

His hands raised above his head. “Hey, you implied it.”

“Nuh-uh!”

“You pretty much did. I was talking about Changbin’s muscles and you brought up dating you. If you want a piece of him, all you gotta do is ask. Changbin loves having people gush over his muscles. He’d probably do it with a grin.”

“You are such a brat.”

“I prefer the term dog and sometimes when I see Changbin, I feel like I’m in heat. It depends on the day, really.”

“You’re impossible,” you grumbled. Your arms crossed over your chest and you sighed. You knew he was teasing you, but you started to feel exhausted.

He leaned forward, gently pressing a kiss to your forehead. “That’s okay because you love me regardless. Anyway, if you’re done kink shaming me, we should get off this disgusting floor. You have snot drying on your face and I can feel toilet germs crawling up my arms.”

“Kink shaming?” You sputtered with bright red cheeks. You jerked up quickly and stepped away. Mortified, you shook your head.

Seungmin got up after you, trying not to laugh. You were no longer crying and the weight of the past disappeared from your shoulders, for now. It felt easier now that you had someone you opened up to. You hurried to the sink, trying to wash your hands. After the two of you finished getting clean, you needed to apologize to Jeongin.

Even when you were embarrassed and blushing, you were adorable. Seungmin found your eyes in the mirror. Your cheeks grew darker and you focused on washing off the germs. As long as you weren’t still crying and tearing up, Seungmin felt he was doing something right.

“So should we go back to the others, or hunt down Changbin and see if he wants to tag along for tomorrow’s date night?”

“Seungmin!”

“So that’s a no on having an open relationship? Fine. I was just asking, but if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”

“Yeah, probably feeling up Changbin.”

“Now you’re talking my lingo, babe.”

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rationaliity · 1 year ago

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my turn | gallagher & dr. ratio x f! reader ( 18+ )

requested !! ratio and gallagher are roommates, that's so totally normal right ? ratio takes time to tutor you, and gallagher.. helps you destress about school and work. gallagher may not be able to help you with tutoring, but ratio can help you destress. tags : dubcon in the beginning ( turns into consent ) threesome, double penetration, oral ( f. receiving ), arguing, use of a blindfold & handcuffs, slight possessiveness, dacryphilia, asphyxiation, dirty talking, mean gallagher at points, calls you a bitch, whore, slut, ect but also nicknames like doll, princess, sweetheart, dearest, begging / whining / crying, slightly painful sex, kinda throwing reader around like a doll, implied to be smaller than ratio & gallagher, fem anatomy word count : 5.5k

your relationships with your roommates weren't exactly the normal college roommate situation. of course, in some parts of your life, it was. you three would argue over who did the dishes that day, even with veritas' schedule that he posted on a white board in the kitchen without telling either one of you. he had said that he thought about the three of your schedules and decided which days would work best for all of you. and he was right, he really did think about your schedules and made the best plan possible, which maybe irked you even more than if he had just written down names on the whiteboard haphazardly.

there would be times where you'd all be sat on the couch watching the latest and worst romcom to poke fun of it, and whoever tapped out first had to cook dinner. funnily enough, most of the time it was gallagher, he could hardly ever stand to watch two people pine after each other for an hour and a half without finding himself getting frustrated and yelling ' they should just fuck already ! ' at the tv. he'd stand up, tearing himself from where he was sitting beside you and immediately start on dinner, because he knew that he'd lost the game.

of course there were other similarities between the three of you and regular roommates, but it was the differences that you found yourself hooked on. veritas was in your year, and although he was taking classes far beyond the scope of your own, he still demanded that he helped tutor you whenever you were struggling in a particular subject, no matter what that subject was. you made plans that every thursday while gallagher was out at work all day working a double at the bar, you and veritas would take the living room and study the day away together. whether you were tackling mathematics or physics or literature, if you had a question, veritas usually had an answer. and if he didn't, he had a book that could answer your question.

veritas had a rough around the edges personality, but you could tell that he really cared about people, even if he didn't explicitly state it. or at least, he cared about you and your education. he was always snapping at you, telling you that you should at least go to bed before the sun rises, and maybe stop drinking so much coffee. if he was home, or if you saw him at college, he was always reminding you of things that you should be doing to take proper care of yourself. at college, when he was free from his classes, he followed you around, not because he didn't have any friends, but because he thought you needed someone to look after you with your self destructive behavior. so he says, at least.

and gallagher.. was a different story all together. he went to a technical college on the other side of the city, but he got the weekends off while you and veritas went to school. you would get back at around noon on both days, and veritas had classes pretty much all day until late at night, having stacked up his weekends with extracurricular activities that he didn't necessarily need, but they sure would look nice on his transcript. in those seven or eight hours while veritas was away, you were underneath gallagher in his bed.

you had no idea when it officially started to become a habit to spend your weekend crying out gallagher's name, but neither one of you were complaining, either. you knew that it started out of boredom on your part, and a nasty ex on his part. he had been pissed and frustrated, and you let him vent his anger out to you, and listened to him try very hard not to shit talk his ex because he didn't really want to say anything negative about her, but damn did she make it hard for him to keep calm. keying his cherry red vintage mustang and putting sugar in the tank was his last straw. he eventually emptied out his gas tank and replaced the fuel filter, and repainted his car with a iridescent black / purple coat this time, but damn did it take some work and quite a lot of money.

but through the entire situation, you were there to support him when he needed it. as it goes, one thing lead to another, and what was supposed to be both a celebration toast and a thank you from gallagher ended up with your clothes being dropped in the hallways outside of his room and his body pressed against yours, rushing to finish because you both knew that veritas was going to be home soon. since then, it had become sort of like a ritual of yours.

you trudged through the doors, dropping your bag at the door, completely missing the hook this time where you typically hung the bag. throwing off your shoes at the door, and undoing the claw clip that held up your hair, you were exhausted today. and you knew exactly what you needed, he was in his room probably playing some video game that he really didn't care about and neither did you.

stripping off your college blazer, you dropped it off at your room, already working to unbutton the buttons of your white dress shirt when you walked into gallagher's room, the room itself smelling so heavily of weed it gagged you for a second, but you had gotten used to gallagher's peculiarities by now. exactly like how you expected him to be, gallagher was spread out on his bed with a controller in his hands, playing some gacha game with a blonde traveller and their little fairy companion, a cute little game that you had to make a mental note to check out later after this.

" welcome home, " gallagher said while he sat down his controller, eyeing your slumped form as you stood in front of his bed, " school went well, i'm guessin' ? "

" school sucked, " you sighed, climbing into the bed with him before you could even get off your fully unbuttoned shirt, the fabric just hanging on your shoulders. gallagher laughed a little bit, opening his arms to take you in his arms.

" need something to relieve the stress ? " he suggested gently, holding you close to him. " you know, i was thinkin' of you the entire time you were gone. "

you couldn't lie to yourself and pretend that you weren't thinking about this moment the entire day, either, but you wouldn't exactly be as forthcoming about it as gallagher was. " mm. stress relief sounds nice. "

" you know, sweetheart, " gallagher's voice sounded like he was about to suggest something that he knew you would be on the fence about, but it wasn't like him to just completely ignore what he was curious about. " i was at the store the other day and i picked up a few things for you. mind if we try them out today ? " he picked himself up, still holding you in his arms so you were just kind of following his movements as he opened up his beside dresser and pulled out a pair of handcuffs and a red blindfold.

you raised your eyebrows, a mix of curiosity and confusion on your face. " i didn't take you to be one to try bdsm, gallagher. you always took me as a, uh, no thoughts, head empty, just fucking type of guy. "

" oh, absolutely, doll, " gallagher laughed, fiddling with the silk blindfold, twirling the soft fabric through his calloused hands. " you have absolutely no idea how easy it is to lose myself when i'm eight inches deep inside that pretty little pussy of yours. consider it a.. test, for both of us. "

" ugh, i've had enough tests for today, " you whined at the wording, being reminded of just how shitty your day at college was, but at least you were home now, and in gallagher's arms, which meant that even though things sucked previously, they would be okay pretty soon, and you'd forget about it all when you were crying out for him to stop because it was overstimulating you. " but.. we can try it for a little bit today. we've got a long time until i have to get back into my room, so i guess it doesn't hurt anything if our first few rounds are experimental. "

" i knew ya'd see it my way, baby, " gallagher grinned, shuffling around a little bit so that your back was pressed against his flat pillows, barely giving you any structure, and one day you're going to fuck in your room instead so you're a little more comfortable, but you weren't exactly thinking about that right now. " here, put your wrists together and up over your head, doll. "

you did as he said, feeling the cold metal of the handcuffs as he wrapped them around both of your wrists, hearing them click shut as he tightened them so they fit your wrists.

" you look so pretty like this, needin' me to do everythin' for ya, " gallagher chuckled, mostly to himself, as he leaned down and pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to your lips. " you're doing so good, doll. " he pulled back to grab the silken blindfold, wrapping it around your head so that it was completely covering your eyes. " can't see nothin', right baby ? "

you felt your heart rate increase a little bit, suddenly the anxiety of not being able to see and touch him getting to you ever so slightly, but it was overshadowed by a surprising desire to continue. " y-yeah, i can't see anything. "

" good girl, " gallagher pressed another kiss on your lips, making you jump in surprise, but he pulled back before you could kiss him back. " i'll be right back, doll. just sit tight, you'll feel good soon. " leaving you with your hands over your head and handcuffed together, unable to see what was going on around you, you could only feel his body weight shift the bed underneath you. you didn't know where he went, the carpet muffling any footsteps that might have been audible to you if it were tile, leaving you in anticipation.

after a few moments of waiting, you could feel the bed dip again as his body get on the bed and in between your legs. " g-gallagher- " you whimpered out softly, finding yourself struggling against the handcuffs that you had honestly forgotten were around your wrists. " o-oh, yeah.. " you mumbled mostly to yourself, biting your bottom lip.

wordlessly, his fingers worked at your pants, undoing the button and unzipping them. he leaned down, his soft lips ghosting over your navel, right above your panties, before he tugged your pants off of your legs. he was sensual with it, his hands trailing down your now bare legs, something that you weren't entirely used to gallagher doing, but you figured that maybe the change in your usual routine was getting him extra worked up.

you could feel his fingers trail up your legs, wrapping two strong arms around your thighs and pulling them apart, so that he had enough room to slot himself in between your legs, close enough that his mouth was so close to your cunt, that was now so lewdly leaking slick that soaked through your panties. gallagher was typically a very vocal man, so it was surprising that he was so quiet now, but by this point you were finding it hard to think straight, especially when he peeled your panties to the side and you could feel his breath fan against your soaked heat.

" n-ngh..! just- get to it already, please ! " you stammered out, sounding a lot more desperate than demanding. as if on cue, finally he gave into you, burying his face into your heat, his tongue expertly working circles around your clit, sucking on the sensitive bud. " f-fuck..! " you cried out, your hips bucking into his face, seeking more friction. he seemed to oblige your needs, his tongue working faster, his plump lips slippery with your slick, sliding through your folds perfectly.

gallagher had never eaten you out like this. yeah, he was good at it, but he opted for a lazier approach, flicking his tongue against your clit, drawing out small, slow circles as his fingers found its way to your entrance. he was not doing any of that right now, instead, the way he ate you out was like he was a starving man who had never tasted anything more delicious. he was meticulous with it, every flick of his tongue, every lick and touch designed and planned to draw out the most moans from you.

" h-hah- fu-fuck, wh-what's gotten into you ? " you panted out through loud moans, your thighs shaking underneath his rough touch. all you could do was buck your hips up into his mouth, the pleasure building inside of you and needing to release, faster than you were expecting. maybe it was just the stress finally leaving your body, or maybe it was just the isolation of two of your senses highlighting your other senses, but you swore this felt better than it typically did. " g-gonna cum- please- " you felt your chest rising and falling heavily, your heart thumping against your torso.

" just like that, yeah, pretty thing ? want his fingers inside of your pretty cunt ? " gallagher asked, his voice coming from your side, making you jump up in realization that something was up. you heard a grunt of annoyance in between your legs, and you gasped.

" wh-wha- ?! "

" who knew the doc could eat pussy like that, huh ? " gallagher chuckled, cutting you off, and you felt a lump form in your throat, slowly coming to understand what position you were in despite the haze and neediness in your head. " you look like you're havin' fun, doll. ain't you to close to stop now ? let him take you over the edge, i think he deserves to hear your pretty lil moans for all his hard work. "

the man in between your legs, veritas, continued his ministrations, and the fact alone that this was veritas ratio in between your legs made your body tense up, the eroticism of the situation only heightening your pleasure, especially underneath his skilled tongue. gallagher was right, annoyingly, you were far too close to actually care who was in between your legs, as long as he was able to make you finish. " v-veri- ah, veritas.. " you moaned out shyly, his name falling from your lips both unfamiliar and yet comforting. " i'm gonna cum- please..! "

veritas didn't say anything, too busy coaxing your orgasm from you to properly address anything at the moment. now that their little secret was out, you could feel gallagher's hand on your chest, the digits slipping underneath your bra to fondle your chest, rolling your nipple in between his two fingers, eliciting noises from you with the added pleasure that you weren't even sure you could make. everything was adding together in such a way that you simply couldn't hold back anymore, the pressure in your body too much until your entire body shook from your orgasm ripping through you.

veritas' tongue didn't stop his assault on you, guiding you through your orgasm, your slick absolutely covering his face. you whimpered softly for him to stop after the sensitivity got to, wiggling your hips in attempt to push him away, which he finally did after he got a few more moments in between your legs.

finally able to think straight, you found yourself speaking up, your voice strained as you tried to regain your composure even slightly, but failing miserably. " i-i think- i think i deserve answers. why is veritas here ? "

" he wanted a taste, why else, doll ? " gallagher chuckled, his hand pulling away from your chest. " you should see him, all covered with your juices and panting. he damn near drowned in there and is still wanting more. " you were honestly a little frustrated that you couldn't see him like that, but that wasn't something you were going to say out loud.

" you're as... candid as ever, gallagher, " veritas finally spoke up, obviously out of breath, but trying to maintain himself. when he spoke again, it was directed to you, " did you not think i was aware of this little routine of yours with gallagher ? you're as foolish as you are naive. of course i would know what's going on in my own home. "

his thinly veiled insults were not lost on you, but you decided not to reply in a mean way and start an argument right now, especially when you were at the mercy of these two men. " how did you find it out then, genius ? "

" you two don't know how to properly dispose of condoms. i found at least four of them while trying to take out the trash because a certain man forgot it was his day to take it out, " you could practically feel the glare that veritas was shooting gallagher in between his words, and you couldn't stop yourself from chuckling a little bit at it. these two were so different, and always at each other's throats. but to be fair, you were often at their throats for one reason or another, too. at the end of the day, no matter how much sexual tension was shared between you, you were still roommates. and roommates are always frustrating, no matter the circumstances.

you were just roommates, right ?

" well my little.. mistake, shall we call it, got you in between the legs of the girl you wanted to fuck for a year now, so.. i think you can forgive me just this once, veritas, " gallagher snickered, clearly not one to be bullied down by veritas' condescension. but before you could say anything back to them to get them to stop bickering with one another, gallagher's arms picked you up into his arms, your locked hands hooking behind his head as he held you up against him, his hard cock rubbing up from behind you through his clothing. " and now we're gonna make her feel even better, cuz i can't wait to be inside this fuckin' pussy again. you had your turn, veritas. thanks for warmin' her up for me, now watch me do what i do best. "

you were dangling in the air, your feet unable to touch the ground, held up by gallagher's strong arms underneath your pits, keeping you completely suspended against him. you knew he was strong, but this was ungodly. you couldn't even feel his muscles straining, it was like it was effortless. he really did have the strength of a bear. was he really going to fuck you standing up, dangling in the air just like this ?

" ..tch, like hell i'm just going to watch. i'm not like you and get off watching others touch what's undeniably mine. " you could hear some movement, your breath hitching in your throat as you felt gallagher grinding against you, bucking his hips up in an attempt to rile you up more than you already were. " sit her down here- " you could hear veritas slapping his thighs, and you could only assume that he had taken his clothing off. " i think i know of a way that we can both enjoy what we want. "

after a moment, gallagher chuckled, his grip on you readjusting a little bit. " i like the way you think, veritas. but do you really think she can handle us both ? "

" i don't think she has a choice but to take it, does she ? "

gallagher finally sat you down, treating you almost like an actual doll, sitting you down on veritas' lap, making sure your legs were spread and straddling the other man's. you could feel the hardness pressing against your still slick cunt, practically begging for entry no matter how calm veritas' words were. " i don't think she's got any arguments, either, otherwise she would've said somethin', yeah ? "

that was his way of getting consent, no matter how slightly convoluted and slutty it sounded coming from his mouth, you knew that much. still, your pride refused to let you give out just a simple answer, still a little frustrated with them for this whole set up in the first place. if veritas wanted to fuck you, he could've just asked. it's not like you would've told the man no. " it's not like you're exactly giving me a choice, are you ? veritas said- "

before you could finish speaking, a hand grabbed you by the back of your head, pushing you down onto veritas' lips, effectively shutting you up. you could taste yourself on his lips from earlier, the salty and tangy taste on your tongue reminding you of his skills with his mouth. his tongue slipped past your lips, and you opened your mouth, slightly caught off guard but having enough time to pick yourself up. his hips grinded slowly into yours, making you both groan into the kiss. your hands, still connected together, rest on his chest, your ass arched up, giving gallagher the perfect view of what he wanted.

" finally, " veritas mumbled against your lips, sounding almost desperate, although he quickly composed himself, " a way to shut you up for good. "

" you just wanted to kiss her, " you felt the bed dip, and a pair of hands grabbed at your ass, fondling the fat in his hands. " but i get it, and i aint faultin' you for it. you just gotta learn how to be more truthful with whatcha want. "

you could tell that veritas absolutely hated that gallagher was controlling everything, but he was powerless to stop it at this time, and instead of fighting, he knew the path of least resistance would give him what he wanted in the end, he just had to bare through gallagher's mouth.

" now, can we get to the good part and fuck her already ? she's wet enough from earlier, she can take it, " his voice was snappy, letting everyone know that he was getting impatient and didn't want to wait any longer, one of gallagher's hands moved from your ass to grab his cock, pressing it against your slit, rubbing some of your slick on the tip before he slowly pushed in, needing to pace himself from absolutely plowing you on top of veritas. he had agreed to share you for now, so he wouldn't do that to veritas. at least not right now.

once he was fully sheathed inside, you gasped, moaning out, your body clenching around him like a vice, begging for more. you leaned your head back, resting it on veritas' shoulder, your locked hands grabbing at his bare chest for some type of support, although you couldn't find any. " g-gallagher..! " you mewled out, already feeling too full with just gallagher inside. there was no way that you were going to be able to fit veritas too- you'd be split in half, you'd-

one of veritas' hands stayed at the back of your head, and the other one snaked in between your legs, pressing his throbbing erection against your stuffed hole. " you can take it, " he grunted out, pushing just the tip in, finding the resistance of your body so irresistible. he wanted to actually ruin you, make you cry on his chest and beg for both of them to stop.

" i-it's too much..! i-i can't, there's no way ! it's gonna break me.. please, veritas- " you whimpered, your incessant babbling just fueling veritas on more. gallagher was clearly not pleased that you were calling out veritas' name instead of his, and decided to punish you with a particularly harsh thrust.

" you're lucky i'm bein' patient right now, bitch, " gallagher spat out, his fingertips digging into the skin of your hips. this was like a complete switch of the otherwise cool and calm gallagher that you knew, but you had to admit that you liked it a little more than you were willing to admit. but your body told against you, clenching around him at his lewd words, only spurring him on to degrade you more. " just fuckin' put it in so we can make this slut cry already, damn. there's no point in bein' gentle with her right now. she ain't gonna take it if you keep tryin' to be gentle. just force it in. "

you could practically feel the anger emanating from veritas, not needing your vision to know that he was absolutely fuming, and you were caught in between their little discourse. you were starting to think that this was less about fucking you and more about proving themselves to each other. " fine, mutt, have it your way, " veritas growled, his hand tightening on your hair, pulling it back so your head was back, giving him access to your neck. with one single thrust, he pushed himself completely inside, causing you to scream out in pure ecstasy.

hot tears bubbled up in your eyes, soaking the red silk fabric, and you felt yourself clawing at veritas' skin, making him groan out from both the pain and pleasure. it was too much, far too much, you were filled up completely, unable to take anymore, but they hadn't even started to move yet. the first movement came from gallagher, lazily rocking his hips in and out of you, clearly pleased with the tightness squeezing his cock. " fuck- she's so fuckin' tight, even more so than usual. "

veritas began to move next, each thrust calculated in time with gallagher so not to overwhelm you completely. you knew that this moment of peace was just temporary, however. now they got a taste, and they were not going to just go easy on you. gallagher broke it first, his hips thrusting up to meet yours so roughly that it took your breath away. veritas followed suit, not to be outdone with the older man.

" gal- veri- " you started, completely unsure which name to moan out, and fucked too stupid to truly be able to say anything coherent through your cries and whimpers of pleasure. both men laughed a little, both fighting to be the name that ultimately spilled out of your pretty lips.

veritas' free hand was in between your bodies, rubbing circles on your sore clit, knowing exactly how you liked it from earlier. you felt your entire body freeze, unable to do anything but cry, shaking as you were sandwiched in between both brutal men. veritas knew exactly what he was doing, he knew how to move inside to maximize your pleasure, his thrusts deep and forceful, while gallagher fucked like a wild animal, only really thinking about how good his cock felt when buried deep inside of you. this mix of logic and pure instinct drove you wild, tears soaking the fabric of the blindfold over your eyes as veritas' free hand pulling your hair, the pain dulled compared to the pure pleasure you were feeling.

it was absolutely brutal, and you could feel your belly bulging from the intrusion of both men inside of you. it was too good, and your head was swimming with only one thought: you had to cum, and soon. it was all beginning to be too much, your body tense and quivering. gallagher's body practically on top of yours at this point, his chest pressed against your back as he breathed in your ear, letting you hear every animalist growl that came from his throat, his little grunts of pleasure as he fucked you like he'd want to be buried inside of you forever.

" g-gonna..- gunna cum.. please, please- " you sobbed, your breath hitching in your throat, your body shaking from the pure overstimulation. veritas' fingers against your clit rubbed faster, and gallagher's hand found your throat, squeezing the sides.

" gonna cum on our cocks, doll ? " gallagher teased, his hips hitting yours with a fervor, " gonna make a mess on top of veritas ? on my bedsheets ? you look so small in between two men like this, huh ? filthy whore gonna lose herself on two cocks ? can't even think straight. he's your tutor, right ? go on, show him what you've learned from me. how to shut up and take dick like a good girl. "

you whimpered, your tongue lolled out, drool slipping from it onto veritas' chest below. " she looks so dumb, the blindfold is all wet from her tears like she can't do anything without crying. it's like all i taught her was for nothing when cock is involved. " veritas agreed, his voice hoarse as he fucked into you. the first time he'd agreed with gallagher this entire time and it was over how dumb you looked while getting fucked by both of them. when you didn't say anything back to either one of them, veritas chuckled a little bit, his eyes taking in your fucked out face. " what happened ? can't even think of anything to say ? too stupid to even remember how to speak properly ? "

" oh, fuck- i'm gonna cum- " gallagher announced, picking up speed and intensity, his teeth grazing against your neck and biting down harshly, making you cry out in pain. it wasn't enough to break the skin, but you could feel his extra sharp canine teeth embedding itself into your skin, surely going to at least bruise you. " gonna fill up this pretty little pussy, gonna make her ours. " at this point he wasn't even saying full sentences, just chasing his high. " mine, ours. yours. fuck. ours, ours. ours. pretty little thing is ours. "

" yours- " you sobbed out, your voice barely more than a whisper, too fucked out to even make noises more than whimpers and moans. your little voice seemed to spur gallagher into his orgasm, his hips stuttering into yours as his orgasm flooded you, covering your walls and veritas' cock with his semen.

" fu-fuck, that's too good, doll, your body is too good, " gallagher groaned, pulling out of you, finally letting go of your neck. he took notice of veritas still embedded within you, and mentally made note of it. " damn, he's still goin', huh ? when was the last time you had any pussy, veritas ? "

" this tight ? " veritas managed to choke out, his thrusting up into you with unabashed roughness now that he was the only one inside, able to fill you up to the hilt of his cock. " i'm gonna cum- and soon, there's no way i can hold back with her like this. can you take it, sweetheart ? can i fill you up too ? "

you nodded, feeling him go harder against you, all of the logic and coordination he had flying into the wind now that he was just seconds away from cumming. he didn't talk dirty like gallagher did, but you knew he was losing his cool, with the way his thrusts got more erratic and rushed, driving him over his own edge.

part of you was honestly grateful that it was done, the other part of you felt empty the moment veritas pulled out of you, the suddenness of no longer have either men filling you up causing you to whimper a little bit.

" aw, she wants us some more, " gallagher chuckled, and you rolled from on top of veritas, content just to sit beside him and rest for a little while. veritas was careful with you, reaching over and taking off the blindfold, being the first thing that you saw when you opened your wet, teary eyes, squinting because you needed to get used to the light again.

" you're so good, dearest, " veritas whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, taking your hands in his and undoing the handcuffs. you knew that they were the just the play handcuffs that you could've easily escaped from, not even needing a lock to undo them, but you also weren't exactly thinking about escaping from them at the time, too consumed with something else.

" thank ya, doll, " gallagher interjected, collapsing on your other side, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a few kisses onto your neck, slightly gentler where he had bitten you. " does it hurt ? "

you paused, your eyebrows creasing together. you couldn't help but be angry at him over this, and veritas for that fact. the sex was nice, but damn, can't a girl get a warning first ? " YES IT FUCKING HURT ?! YOU BIT ME ?? AND MR. RATIO HERE JUST SHOVED HIS FUCKING COCK IN ME WITHOUT A CARE IN THE WORLD ??? " you chewed them both out over this, glaring at both of the men. veritas turned a little sheepish, although he wouldn't show it, while gallagher just gently laughed it off.

" you took it so well, though, dearest, " veritas hummed, turning to rest on his side so that he was face to face with you, his hand cupping the side of your cheek. he was surprisingly gentle, much more than gallagher was. " thank you for indulging the two of us. "

" well, i'll make sure we take care of you extra, now, alright ? to make up for it. " gallagher suggested, and you rolled your eyes, sitting your head on veritas' shoulder, closing your eyes.

" you guys are assholes. and i'm not doing the fuckin' dishes today, so you two fight among yourselves about it since you wanna argue during sex the entire time. like, geez. just admit that you wanted to out do each other and maybe kiss a little. "

" by the way, how did you fare on your physics exam ? " of course veritas would ask that when you had just managed to forget about your day at college.

" OH FUCK OFF, VERITAS. "

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daphwritesworld · 7 months ago

Text

Chapter 3— Fool.

a/n: welcome back to the Be My Baby series! Sorry y'all, I left with some with friends and it went on waaaaay longer than I thought it would lol. I'm gonna break this chapter up into 2 parts so I can get it posted tonight. So an extra chapter will be added!! Chapter 4 will just be the part 2 of this one, and after that it'll be back on schedule. Oh and don't worry— chapter 4 will be out tomorrow btw!! that's where the big boy angst comes on. so y'all are safe until then. thank you for your support and happy reading < 3

(p.s. sorry I didn't proof read this again, lol. I will later & edit any details that need touching up. Again sorry this is late, but I hope getting part two and the Keira fic tomorrow will make up for it haha.)

content: sick!Reader, caretaker!Leah, straight up no smut (CRAZY I KNOOOOOW), mostly fluff, and some angst.

warnings: talks of not hydrating & eating properly, the flu, A&E/ER, confusion caused by sickness

synopsis: You wake up sick and you call the only person you can think of for help.

word count: 3.0k

Series Masterlist: here.

!! 18+ MINORS DNI !!

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The sound of your alarm doesn’t jolt you awake this morning. You’re already lying wide awake before it rolls around this time. You’d woken up early and your mind drifted to Leah, your whole situation together, barca, and the inevitable moment when they all come crashing together like a high speed train accident. Is it severely toxic and self destructive? Oh for sure…but who’s gonna stop you?

You stretch out your limbs as you set up in bed, turning off your alarm as you settle back into your own skin. There’s a rolling storm of anxiety filling your gut, and as your feet touch the ground it flies up to your throat. You run to the bathroom and barely make it to the toilet in time, emptying out your stomach contents. Which at the moment is just your bile. The sweating must’ve started when you were in bed; because you quickly notice the dampness of your shirt from the temperature drop in the bathroom. The cold tiles seep through Leah’s sweats and chill your body down. You shiver after a few minutes, staying seated on the floor as you take a moment to catch your breath.

You make quick work of going to grab your phone and sending your boss a quick message. As soon as it's sent you make your way to the shower. It's only when you bend down to take your pants off that you realize how sick you truly are. Your vision goes blurry and your head starts floating in and out of dizziness. You slowly lower your body, your hands making contact with the floor as you set yourself down. It's then that the headache starts— like your brain is pounding against your forehead on repeat. It's sharp and never ending, leaving you to crumble down into tears.

You don't have a car, and even if you did— you are in no state to operate a vehicle right now, and you definitely don't feel confident enough to order a taxi like this. So you are left with one option. One you know you're gonna regret when you're not sick and delusional, but it's the one thing your broken mind can think of…You call Leah. You crawl across the tiled floor and get your phone off the counter, dialing her number as you pray she picks up. And of course she does, because by the third ring her voice is greeting you through the speakers. "I knew you couldn't resist me, darling. I've just been wait—"

"Le…" you cut her off with a sob of her nickname. Your head is painfully throbbing now, and your mouth is so dry your throat is scratchy. She can tell just from the small amount of your voice she hears.

"y/n, hey— what's wrong? I'm on my way, alright? I'll be there soon, just stay on the phone with me," Leah's moving before the first word even leaves her mouth. She's leaving her breakfast on the table as she slips mismatching shoes on her feet. Running out of her flat with nothing but her keys and her phone in her hands.

"Something's wrong, Le. I'm sick and I-I..I'm sorry. I didn't know who else to call," your voice breaks at the end. It's like a knife plunging into Leah's heart as she hears it; the absolute brokenness of your words. She knows there's a deeper meaning behind your them, but she won't push it. Leah knows any of the girls would come to help you in a heartbeat, so what's got you believing otherwise? Or maybe the better question is, who has you believing otherwise? She'll investigate that later.

"Hey, hey, calm down. You're alright, love. Take a deep breath for me, okay? I'll be there before you know it, and we'll get you to the doctor," Leah's voice would normally calm you down, but your brain is still running a million miles per minute…and it's only making you feel worse. It's like you can't focus on a singular thought, and the confusion only fuels your distress. Leah presses down on the gas pedal when she doesn't get a response from you. She can only hear your cries filling up the empty space of her car. She gets to your building in record time, and only then does she realize she didn't bring her wallet.

"God dammit," she chastises herself under her breath, trying to not let you hear her frustration as she searches for a on-street parking spot. She just had to forget you live in a fancy ass building with paid parking, today of all days. "I'm parking now, love. I'll be up in a few minutes." Thankfully she gets one across the street, rummaging through her center console for some change coins. She puts way more than needed in the parking meter, but that's not her main priority right now. "I need you tell me if the door's unlocked, okay? I know you don't feel well, but can you unlock it if it is?"

You close your eyes as you take a deep breath, gathering all your mental strength to answer her. "N-No. There's a key under t-the welcome mat though…I don't think I can walk by myself. I-I'm so sorry, Leah," you can't stop the embarrassment from filling your body. You hate having to ask people for help— especially when you need it the most. It makes you feel weak, helpless, and like a burden. It's a deep seated insecurity you can't seem to shake, but it's not like you've really ever tried to correct it. We all know Leah's stubborn, but you? You can be even worse than her. It's not like you mean to be, but you're just…broken. In more ways than even you would like to admit.

Leah sees right through it though— she always has. She is the one person in your life that sees you for who you are. Not the persona you put up for the rest of the world. You two may of only spent a short time together that year ago, but oh what an impact it made. Spending every waking second with a person for weeks on end does something to a person. You either ending up hating each other, falling in love, or whatever the fuck you two got going on.

"You don't need to be sorry, y/n. You definitely need a better hiding spot for your spare though, that's just bloody awful! You're asking for a break in!" Leah feels herself get a little frustrated as she retrieves your key. Her voice picking up into a scolding tone as she jiggles with your doorknob. You whimper out as you move the phone from your ear, the slight rise in her voice making your head hurt more. "Too loud," you say as she walks into your home. She makes sure to shut the door lightly, before smacking herself in the forehead for raising her voice with you. "I'm sorry, love. I just worry about you. Now which room are you in?"

"My bathroom," your voice sounds so small now. Like a child getting in trouble.

"I'm on my way to you now, okay?" Leah says as she climbs the stairs. Her eyes flit over your walls and she notices the lack of pictures. You have bare hallways and they look so, so lonely. She walks into your bedroom and she sees the void of no decor or really any of your things at all. It makes her sad, but mostly it leaves her wanting to ask more questions. Questions she knows she can't ask right now, but will get the answers to someway.

Nothing could have prepared Leah for what she sees behind the wooden door of your bathroom. You're clad in a mist of sweat, all the color drained from your face, and you're shaking like a leaf. It isn't until she's running up to you and falling to her knees that she sees the extent of your state. Your pants are still sitting halfway down your thighs, and Leah quickly moves to redress you. She makes sure not to look at you inappropriately, only doing what's needed to get you comfortable and less exposed. She knows how vulnerable you are right now, and she's doing everything she can to make sure you're okay. She sheds her Arsenal hoodie off, sliding it over your head as she encourages you to push your arms through.

“Hey love, let’s get you stood up– that’s it.” She helps you get to your feet, letting you lean all your body weight onto her. Leah guides you back towards your bed, sitting you on the edge as she goes to grab a pair of your shoes. It doesn't take her long before she's rejoining you and sliding some slip-ons over your feet. she pats your legs when she's down, looking up to see your disheveled appearance. "You ready to go?"

"Mhm," you nod your head along. Talking is only making your headache worse, so you've opted for noises instead.

With that, Leah is helping you back up. But before you can rest your weight back onto her side, she's picking you up bridal style. Your arms instinctively go to wrap around her neck, burying your face in the warmth of her embrace. You don't have the energy to argue with her, and honestly it's a relief to not have to walk right now. She carries you like you weigh nothing, shutting and locking your door like she isn't holding an entire human being. If you didn't feel like death you'd be obsessing over how hot she is, but right now you're just thankful.

You must've fallen asleep, because the next thing you know you're waking up in a A&E bed. You blink a few times to adjust to the lights above you, small groans slipping out as you try to stretch the cramped feeling out of your limbs. Then you hear her softly speaking on the phone across the room, and you go back to lying still. You close your eyes as you focus on trying to hear her conversation. "I know I should've called first, but you didn't see her. She couldn't even stand on her own, and she fell asleep in my arms before we even made it to her building elevator! She's in bad shape, and I'm not just gonna leave her here all alone in a country she doesn't fucking know. I'm the Captain and it's my responsibility to look after everyone— I don't fucking care that she's not a player! She's on our team, our crew, and she deserves our support. Call me back when you get your head out of your ass," and with that she hangs up.

You try and force yourself to just back to sleep and forget everything you've heard, but of course that's not how things work out. Your stomach starts turning again, complicating feelings swirling around with the uneasiness. The tears come falling down your cheeks before your eyes even open, your chest starting to tighten up as the sobs claw at your lungs to get out. It feels like you can't breathe, and honestly maybe you aren't. Not as you see flashbacks of Barca passing through your memory, a wave of dread blanketing over your body.

"What hurts, love? Do I need to get the nurse?" Leah's by your side the second she notices, a hand out grasping your forearm. Her fingers dance little patterns into your skin, and it actually starts to ground you. "Come on, take deep breaths with me again, okay?"

You nod your head, and then she's holding both your hands. You follow her lead as she sucks in a slow breath and holds it, before exhaling just as slow. She repeats the process with you until you're calmed all the way down. It doesn't take too long, but honestly Leah isn't going to leave you anytime soon anyway. "Nothing hurts," you say it so softly she barely hears it. Your eyes stay locked down onto the bed sheets below you, never making any eye contact with her.

"Then why were you crying, y/n?"

"Because I heard you on the phone…and I don't know. I guess I freaked out, and went spiraling into a self hate hole for a second. I'm okay, really."

"oh bloody hell! I'm so sorry you heard that, darling. I should've went into the hall or something—"

"It's okay, Le. I'm just sensitive, and really really delulu from whatever sickness I currently have…plus it was nice to hear you stick up for me, Captain."

"The mystery sickness is indeed just a bad case of the flu…but uhm, the doctor said it was made worse from you being dehydrated and probably not eating enough from the looks of your blood work. I'm not gonna judge you or yell at you. But I am taking you home with me when they discharge you. I'm your official caregiver until you're well enough to take after yourself again," Leah doesn't let go of your hand as she says it. She tries to connect your gazes, but you don't allow it. Actively avoiding her eyes as you feel them burrowing holes into your skull.

You wish you could argue with her and tell her she's wrong…but you can't. You've been skipping out on meals ever since you moved here. It's not been on purpose, you just haven't been able to eat. It's like your body hates the idea of eating, always growing nauseous after every few bites. So you've been drinking some meal replacements…not enough apparently. "Okay."

"…Okay? Really? That was a whole lot easier than I thought it would be," Leah is staring at you with her biggest look of, 'be so for real, bitch' written across her face. But you just shrug as you sink back into the uncomfortable mattress underneath you. You're so mentally and physically wore out right now, there's just no fight left inside you. Right as you're about to re-close your eyes, the doctor finally comes back in. After getting the run down from him, he lets you know that you can be discharged and to pick up your antibiotics before going home. Leah helps you redress again, and this time it has you giggling at the way she makes her eyes go anywhere but at your naked body.

"Hold on…how'd you get the doctor to tell you what was wrong with me before I even woke up? Aren't there some rules against that?"

"…I might have told everyone that you're my fiancé," Leah smiles at you nervously.

"Fuck you, Williamson! Take yourself on that date Thursday!"

"Oh, so you're finally agreeing that it's a date?" Leah smirks at you, only hearing the parts of what she wants to hear.

"Well, I guess we'll never know, now will we?"

She rolls her eyes at you for that, holding her hand out for you to take. And you do, still leaning against her some to walk. She helps you to the car, and once you're both secure she's driving you to your new home for the next few days…or weeks. God you hope only days. It feels weird to be back inside a house with another person, and it's extra fucking weird that it's Leah. You know this stay is when you have to put down some boundaries with her. To stop whatever there is between the two of you. It makes the previous pit in your stomach increase by double, because deep down you know you care about her...you're just lying to yourself about it. You can push every feeling down your throat, but they will all come spilling out at some point. That's what you've learned to be true over the years, but will you accept that as truth? Hell no! At least not anytime soon. Your worst problem is that you always get in your own way.

When she finally gets you inside, Leah starts cooking and letting her mind wonder to think of you. More importantly to the phone call you overheard in the A&E. She'd been talking with her manager, and completely snapped on him. He'd said something about how Leah 'follows you around like a lost puppy' and well…. it hurt her fucking feelings. Of course she isn't doing all of this just because she's one sided sickly in love with you…right? Sure she thinks of you literally every second of the day, and she's been day dreaming of you for the past year, but that's all totally normal...RIGHT?

Leah doesn't get to spiral into her romanic crisis for too long, because before she knows it the timers going off. She drains the gnocchi before putting it in a bowel for you, making her way back to the living room where she left you. She laughs at the sight that greets her— you snuggled up asleep in her Arsenal hoodie she'd given you when she first saw you. Leah just sets the gnocchi aside on the coffee table, opting to cuddle you instead of waking you up. She pulls you onto her body, your face resting on her chest as she tries to adjusts you without waking you up.

She finds herself running her fingers through your hair, and before long they're running softy across the features of your face. Leah lets a deep sigh come out of her chest. She truly feels like a fucking fool. Leah doesn't chase girls— they chase her. So for the first time in this game, she is the one crying. She's clinging onto any crumb of attention you'll give her, and she'll keep doing it for as long as it takes. Leah has you sleeping against her chest once again, and it's nothing like she's day dreamed of. You two aren't confessing your feelings, running around town making memories, or god forbid actually dating…but she'll keep feeling like a fool and waiting on you. She'll keep searching for your love until she finds it, because she knows she's felt flashes of it. She knows that carefree, wild, truly happy girl from Ibiza is still inside of you somewhere. Leah doesn't know what took that extra bright sparkle out of your eyes, but she is determined to see it light up your face back up.

#bmb.daph #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso writers #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson x you #leah williamson x y/n #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson fluff #leah williamson fanfic #l.williamson 6

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iwasntstable · 9 months ago

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n.s. | if i'm there

╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌

➔𝐢𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞➔➔　𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘷𝘦!+　　[𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐀𝐎𝟯]

╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌

I didn't want to believe how much you needed help / And I just left you to be all by yourself / And now I wish I had seen that you weren't doing well / But I just came back to see how hard you fell Well, if I'm there to catch you when you fall / You'll have a friend down in Hell after all 　　— If I'm There - Bad Omens

summary: when things start getting bad, you withdraw. ignoring calls and texts, and descending into bad habits as you self-isolate. but noah knows what you're like and he loves you too much to let you suffer alone.

content tags: angst, emotional hurt/comfort, poor mental health, mentions of disordered eating, discussions of food, self-destructive behaviour, fluff.

word count: 3.8k.

note: having a rough time recently so enjoy the self-indulgent product of my stressing. 　　PS: please tell me if the layout of this post is fucked up so I can fix it for you.

Things are getting bad again. You find your sleep schedule sliding later and later, falling asleep in the early hours of the morning and waking in the afternoon, bypassing the day altogether. Meals are becoming infrequent and poor in quality. Appetite dwindling and opting to eat half a bag of microwave rice at 3am rather than dedicating time to creating a nutritious and satisfying meal. Truth be told, you didn’t have the energy to cook anything more, and the malnutrition itself likely played a part in that lack of energy. The trash was left to build up, and the laundry hadn’t been done in weeks.

The progression of all of this was gradual. So gradual, that by the time you recognised what was happening, it was all but too late to stop the rapid descent into your depression. And as the days go by, you start to withdraw into yourself. Messages from friends begin to go unanswered. You tell yourself you’ll reply later, when you have the mental bandwidth to engage in conversation. But later ends up being not at all. Too many days have passed, and you feel like it’s too late to reply now; you don’t know how. That includes your boyfriend.

　　　　　　　　　　　[Noah 💘]

　　　　　　　　　　　Tuesday 　　　　　　　　　　　10:45AM

— Morning! Do you wanna call later? Miss your voice

morning! I have a headache — right now and I feel like it's not gonna go away :( I'll let you know though. I miss you too ❤️ —

— Aw I'm sorry :( — I hope you feel better soon — Text me later and let me know how you are ❤️

　　　　　　　　　　　02:27PM

— Hey babe how are you feeling?

my head still hurts :( —

— Want me to come over and look after you? — Have you eaten yet?

you don't have to do that, I'd be — shitty company anyway just wanna sleep —

— Okay :( — I'll text you later tonight so you can sleep

　　　　　　　　　　　10:09PM

— How are you feeling? — Are you sleeping? — Hope you’re resting well. Text me when you wake up so I know you’re okay — I love you ❤️ — Goodnight ❤️

　　　　　　　　　　Wednesday 　　　　　　　　　　　08:41AM

— Morning, how’re you feeling?

　　　　　　　　　　　09:13AM

— Are you awake? — Babe, are you okay?

hey! sorry I was still asleep. I feel a — little better but my head still hurts :(

— I’m gonna cancel today and come over — I don’t want you to be alone when you’re not well

no don’t do that, i’m okay really — you know this happens sometimes. I just wanna rest, you don’t have to cancel for me. not when work is important

— You’re important too — Please let me look after you

I love you and I love that — you want to be here for me, but all I want to do right now is sleep

I don’t want you to cancel — important schedules just to watch me sleep all day I’ll feel better soon. just need to give it time. —

— I’d cancel to sit and watch you sleep in a heartbeat — I love you, I just want you to be okay — I have to go, I’ll text you later okay?

I’ll text you back when I can, — if I don’t reply I’m probably asleep so don’t worry have a good day I love you —

　　　　　　　　　　　10:26PM

— Hey babe sorry I didn’t text all day I was so fucking busy — How’re you doing now? — Are you sleeping again?

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 10:31PM]

— Text or call me when you wake up, even if it’s the middle of the night I’ll leave my sound on — I love you ❤️

　　　　　　　　　　Thursday 　　　　　　　　　　　08:41AM

— Hey, are you awake?

　　　　　　　　　　　08:55AM

— Hello??

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 08:59AM]

— Message me when you wake up

　　　　　　　　　　　12:20PM

— Babe?? — I’m worried — Even if you don’t wanna talk can you please let me know you’re okay?

　　　　　　　　　　　12:46PM

— Babe please answer me

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 12:48PM]

　　　　　　　　　　　01:20PM

hey, sorry I missed your messages — I’m okay sorry for worrying you —

— I was just about to come over — I still might — I’m worried about you

please don’t I just don’t — wanna see anyone right now

— Even me?

I’m sorry — I’ll text you tomorrow — — If that’s what you want — I love you

　　　　　　　　　　　Friday 　　　　　　　　　　　03:47PM

— I don’t want to bother you, I’m trying to give you space if that’s what you need — But I’m worried about you — You haven’t messaged me all day — Did I do something wrong?

　　　　　　　　　　　04:10PM

— Babe please answer me

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 04:12PM]

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 04:15PM]

　　　　　　　　　　　04:18PM

— Your friends said they haven’t heard from you in days — What’s going on? You can talk to me. — You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to but text someone back, please — I just wanna know that you’re okay

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 04:23PM]

And that’s how Noah ended up outside your door. Banging incessantly and shouting your name through the wood. You could hear him from where you were wrapped up in bed, but you were half hoping he would just drop it and go away. Realising quickly, however, the futility of that hope when you heard another voice join the sound of his. That of your neighbour, the nosy one from the house on the right.

You groan and throw the blanket off yourself, flinching a little when your feet touch the cold floor. You have no choice but to go downstairs, and no time to change your appearance. Hoping to whatever God will listen that Noah doesn’t make a comment on the clothes you’d been wearing for the past week before you can get in the shower and change.

“I’m just really worried about her,” you can hear the unmistakable tone of Noah’s voice through the door before you even open it.

Hesitating for a moment with your hand on the door handle, you decide to eavesdrop on the conversation. “I haven’t seen her for, ohhh let me think... has to be about a week now,” despite the man’s voice wavering with age, it came loud and clear through the door. An unfortunate side effect of his hearing loss.

“A week?!” Noah exclaimed. Having enough of the old man sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong, you unlock the door quickly, wrenching it open and taking a surprised Noah by the arm.

“Oh! Nice to see you, dear. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The old man sneers.

“Yeah, nice seeing you, Trevor,” you barely extend him a glance as you drag Noah in through your doorway, slamming the door closed and turning the key. You let out a deep sigh, your palms and forehead resting against the cool wood.

Noah calls your name softly. You squeeze your eyes tight and take in a breath before you turn to face him. Putting on the best phoney smile you can muster.

“Sorry about him, he’s always in everyone’s business. What are you-”

“He said he hasn’t seen you in a week,” he says matter-of-factly. There’s no hint of a smile on his face. “Your friends said they haven’t heard from you in days either, and you’ve been ignoring my texts. And calls.”

Your heart seizes at the sadness in his eyes. He stands there in your front room, his usual sweatpants and hoodie, but he just looks so defeated. You always tell him he looks like an upset puppy when he’s sad, and the puppy-dog eyes are working overtime on you right now. “I told you, I’ve just been busy, and I-”

“And you had a headache, and you missed my texts, and you didn’t want to talk,” his voice was as stern as his expression. You knew he wasn’t an idiot. That there’s no way he’d believe your—at best—flimsy excuses. You stand frozen to the spot, fiddling with the edge of your sleeve. Picking at the stitches, trying to distract yourself from the lump forming in your throat. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” Noah questions.

You swallow roughly, “I don’t know what you... I don’t-”

He says your name firmly and takes a step towards you, “I’m going to ask you how you are, and I would like you to answer me honestly.”

Feeling your heart begin to race in your chest, you swallow again, but it does nothing to get rid of the tightness in your throat. Or the dizziness creeping up on you.

“Are you doing bad again?” He sounds softer this time, and you almost wish he would just scream at you because when he’s kind and attentive like this, you can’t help but crumble and shut down.

You clench your jaw as your breathing gets quicker, shallower, and you feel the unmistakable burn of tears in your eyes. “I’m fine,” your voice comes out cracked and weak, not at all the sound of someone who's fine.

“Don’t pretend you’re okay. Please don’t lie to me, because I know you’re not okay!” Noah crosses the room to meet you, holding his hands outstretched towards you, “what can I do for you? Please, I want to help.”

You cover your mouth as you choke back a sob, wrapping your other arm around your middle; you can’t hold it in anymore, and the floodgates open. Gasping for breath that seems to never come, you grip the front of your shirt tight in your fist, the clothing suddenly feeling suffocating and stiflingly hot.

“Oh, baby. Come here,” Noah takes you by the shoulders and pulls you into his chest, where you fall into him and cling onto him like he’s your only lifeline. “I need you to breathe for me, okay? Slowly, in and out,” he strokes soothing circles against your back as he demonstrates to you how to breathe. “Come and sit down here, yeah? The couch is right here.”

You barely register your legs moving for the numbness extending across your entire body, from your fingertips all the way down to your toes. Your tears are hot on your face, and every time you try to wipe them away, they’re just replaced by more in a never-ending stream. The room feels like it’s spinning around you as you move, only worsening the feeling of nausea rising in your throat. The plush cushions of the couch are a welcome relief.

“You’re holding your breath, I need you to breathe. Just how I am, that’s it,” he cradles your head to his chest through your shaky attempts to take in a breath through your nose and let it out slowly through your mouth. Your breath hitches uncontrollably with every inhale, taking in tiny bursts of air at a time. Noah, though, has nothing but praise on his lips: “That’s it. You’re doing so well, just listen to my voice.”

You missed his voice. As you worsened and withdrew, you found any excuse to avoid going out to see him, and you had been ignoring his calls for days. You knew you were doing it, and you missed him desperately, but with every day that passed, you found it harder and harder to reach out. It was hard for you to reach out for help in the first place, hard for you to admit to anyone that you needed help. Hard to admit it to yourself. Opting instead to suffer in silence and just push through it until you finally broke. You didn’t know any other way.

The familiar presence of him by your side eases the pace of your racing heart, allowing each breath to come a little easier. A little calmer. “I hate to see you hurting like this,” he whispers into your hair, his hand stroking through it gently, working to soothe the seemingly unquenchable anxiety. “I want to help you, please let me help you.”

It broke your heart to hear the pain in his voice. You never wanted to hurt him, but that’s all you seem to do. That cold hand of dread tightens its grip on your chest again, panic filling your lungs and replacing all the air. “I’m sorry,” you barely choke out, gripping onto Noah tighter. Warring with yourself, wanting to hold him close, but feeling like you need to push him away.

“You don’t need to apologise, ever. I’m here, I’m right here,” he runs his hand up and down your back, cradling you close. He can’t help but notice that through the fabric of your shirt, the bones of your spine are ever so slightly more prominent than before. He keeps his mouth shut. Focussing instead on quelling your distress and holding you tight in his arms.

“I just- I fuck everything up. I can’t do anything right, I don’t deserve your love, I don’t deserve you-” Once you start talking, you can’t stop, finally letting it all out until Noah cuts you off, incapable of hearing you degrade yourself anymore.

“No. No, that’s not even remotely true. Don’t say that about yourself,” he says firmly, holding you just a little tighter.

You shake your head against him, “all I do is hurt people and push you away, and I don’t know how to stop. You don’t deserve that, you shouldn’t have to put up with me.”

“I don’t ‘put up with you’. I love you, and I want to be here for you. Whatever you need, whenever you need it.”

“You shouldn’t have to drop everything to come deal with me when you’re so busy. You deserve someone that isn’t so fucking hard to love.”

With that, Noah pushes you backwards by the shoulders, holding you there so he can look into your eyes when he speaks. “You are not hard to love. Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever had the privilege of doing. You just…” He takes a deep breath, cupping your cheek and brushing away the tears from under your eyes. “You just need to let me in, and let me show you you’re just as worthy of love as anyone else is.”

The image of him blurs when the tears overflow from your eyes again, your face crumpling as you bow your head. “You’ll leave me," your voice shaking with the force of your sobs.

"Why would you ever think I'd leave you?" he asks, dismayed by your fear.

"Everyone always leaves," you tell him, voice brittle and quiet, shaking your head. "It's only a matter of time before you leave too."

"I love you," Noah feels tears prick at his own eyes. "I love you so, so much. And I'm not going anywhere." He lifts your head, once again brushing away your tears so he can look into your eyes, "please trust me to help you."

"I'm just so tired," you confess, and he pulls you into his arms again.

“I can't promise to fix all your problems, but I can promise you won't have to face them alone. There’s nothing you could do that would drive me away. And the things that would, I know you’d never do,” he runs a comforting hand through your hair as you cry, his other arm secure around your waist. Your tears soak into his shirt, but he doesn’t mind. He wants you to give it all to him—all your sorrows, all your grief—so that he can bear it with you.

You desperately want to believe his words. To lean on him when you need him the most, but that insecure piece inside of you won’t let you yield. You don’t know how to open up to anyone without feeling like a burden.

Noah stays right there with you until the tears subside and your breathing evens out. Your head resting in his lap as he reassuringly strokes your hair, you feel the beginnings of a dull ache in your head that makes you drowsy. He rubs soothing circles into your back with his other hand, shifting slightly to get a better look at your face. “Have you eaten yet today?” He asks tentatively. Feeling your throat constrict under the pressure of guilt, you know you can’t lie to him. You know he sees right through you, so you decide to try being honest by shaking your head. “Want me to cook something for you? Or we can order something? My treat.”

You know he means well, but you don’t know how to say you don’t have an appetite without worrying him. He won’t let you go the entire day without eating, but all you want to do is sleep.

“Please talk to me,” he pleads, “I need to hear you.”

On a shaky breath, you settle for a half truth. “I don’t think there’s anything to cook.”

“That’s fine, we can order food then. What do you want?”

Chewing on your lip, you freeze. The silence stretches on far too long for you to be deciding what restaurant to order from, it’s clear you’re unable to answer.

Noah sighs your name, “you have to eat something.”

“I know. I just… I just don’t want to,” he remains quiet, waiting for you to continue. “I don’t feel hungry. Thinking about it is overwhelming. I just want to sleep so I don’t have to think about it.”

“What have you been eating these past few days?” He asks cautiously, his tone light. Conscious to not sound accusatory.

You sigh, knowing there’s no way of escaping this. “Microwave stuff, mostly,” you play with the fabric of his sweatpants, feeling his leg underneath, fidgeting your anxiety away. “Rice, oats, ramen. Stuff I don’t have to wash up after.”

“Have you been eating every day?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, the tension only thickening when you answer "no,” barely above a whisper.

You feel him nod. Quiet for a moment until he too speaks so quietly, you almost didn’t hear it. “You can’t go on like this.”

“I know,” you confess.

“Please let me help you.”

The desperation in his voice is what does it—the final straw. You sit up straight, turning to face him. Wiping the residual tears from your cheeks and looking him in the eye. You know it’s time to really be honest.

“It’s hard for me-” Your voice catches in your throat as the threat of crying again creeps up on you, not quite realising how much your body would resist. Taking a second to compose yourself—a deep breath in, eyes closed, releasing it slowly—your resolve strengthens and you continue. “It’s hard for me to open up to people. To admit when I’m struggling. I’m so used to feeling like I’m burdening everyone with my problems, so I just keep it all to myself. And by the time I realise I’m going down that road again, it’s too late to stop it.”

“It’s never too late,” Noah says reassuringly, tucking both sides of your hair behind your ears—the left first, then the right. “I mean this in the most loving way possible, but you don’t get to decide whether you’re a burden. You don’t get to take that choice away from me. The choice to help you. Your problems will never be a burden to me, no matter how big or small. You will never be a burden to me. I love you. I choose you. And I’ll never think poorly of you for needing help, ever.”

You don’t know what to say. Your eyes fixed on his. One of your favourite things about him is his big brown eyes. Always so full of comfort. So full of love that even you, with all of your self-doubt, can’t deny it. “I’m sorry. I know you said not to apologise, but I think I need to. I’m sorry for making you worry and for pushing you away. I’m sorry for hurting you.”

Noah takes your hands in his. Large palms enveloping your own entirely. “Seeing you hurting is what hurts me the most. I love you so much, all I want is for you to be happy and healthy.”

You squeeze his hands in yours, “I love you, Noah. I’ll try harder, I promise. Feeling so unwanted for so long before I met you, I think I didn’t realise just how lucky I am to have you until now.” Noah raises one of your hands, kissing the back firmly and holding it there, savouring the feel of your skin against his lips. Timidly, you ask, “can we get pizza?”

He breaks out into a smile, “of course we can! But you have to text your friends back first," he bargains, "even if it’s just something short.”

“Deal,” you can’t help but return his smile. “My phone is upstairs, I’m just gonna go get it.”

“Wait!” he calls as you stand, pulling you back to the sofa and into him with a hand on the back of your head, “can I kiss you first?”

Without a word, you lean into him, closing the gap between you and feeling his lips on yours for the first time in weeks. That familiar burn of tears threatening to escape your eyes returns, and when you pull away, those beautiful brown eyes are full of concern.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, laughing awkwardly, “happy tears. I just missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” his smile taking on a more solemn appearance this time. “But I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I love you, please don’t ever forget that.”

“Don’t forget that I love you too. No matter what happens. No matter how stupidly self-destructive I act.”

Noah pulls you in for one final embrace before letting you retrieve your phone. You spend time texting back each of your friends, apologising for your absence and telling them you were okay, that Noah is here, and you’d explain more later. Noah, sitting at your right, creates your pizza order, periodically asking what else you’d like adding.

The two of you spend the night watching trash TV, settling into your usual comfort and hurling insults at the characters for making stupid decisions while you eat your food. Only realising after it arrived just how hungry you really were. And when you’re finished eating, Noah and you head upstairs.

You feel like a new person after you shower, coming out of the bathroom to find Noah relaxed against your headboard. The sheets on your bed changed, and a fresh set of clothes lay waiting for you to change into for bed.

Accepting finally how much lighter everything feels when someone is around to help you. You slide under the clean sheets, comforted by the warmth of Noah’s body beside you for the first time in too long. And just as you fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat and the feeling of his hand stroking your back, you’re determined to never let things get this bad again. Knowing you need to trust him, because trust is the foundation of love, and you love Noah with every fibre of your being. And despite how hard it is sometimes, you need to let him love you back.

╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌

✉ C:/SYSTEM/APP/TAG

ᯤ 𝗨𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗦 (21) :　 ⌞⬤ 7 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾⌝ @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning | @english-fucker @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard | @seven-glass-kids @runadaggerthroughmychest

@lma1986 | @shayzillaaaa

⌞⬤ 5 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒⌝ @madamaaubergine | @thewrstinme | @amourtoken @livingdeceasedgirl | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare

⌞⦵ 5 𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖻⌝ @xcllnt | @romanreigns-supreme | @slutforcoffein @deathofpeaceofmindem | @lovesick-evangelist

⌞◯ 4 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾⌝ @bluestdai | @fadingangelwisp | @broken0mens @ferduttini

　+[MSG : join the taglist!]

╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌

#so if noah could come over and drag me out of this pit i'm in that would be great!#noah sebastian #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens #bad omens cult #fluff #angst #C:/PROJECTS/MYWORK/ONESHOT #C:/PROJECTS/SEARCH/TAG/ANGST #C:/PROJECTS/SEARCH/TAG/FLUFF #C:/PROJECTS/SEARCH/TAG/EMOTIONALHURTCOMFORT

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elysiansparadise · 1 year ago

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Hello!!

I adore your work, you’ve taught me so much! I was wondering if you could do a post about Uranus in the 10th house? ♡

Hello love, thanks for loving what I do. I'm glad you can learn with my posts. 🤍

Uranus in the 10th house

They may have a reputation for being eccentric, original or unconventional. There will be something enigmatic about them that will catch people's attention, mysterious, charming but above all, authentic. There is something fascinating about the way they act and behave that can easily captivate and cause curiosity in others. There is an inclination towards revolutionary aspirations and goals, as many of them want to make a significant difference in the world and often seek to change the status quo in their field of work. People with this position may be attracted to technology, science, engineering, or any field related to advancement and innovation. Likewise, there is the possibility of working on the internet or in positions related to it. The social sciences may catch your attention too. Their interests are so diverse that they can either be indecisive about what area to pursue, lead them to work in many different fields or work in something other than what they studied. What is a fact is that they will always seek independence, even if they have to work with others, the possibility of making their own decisions is something necessary for them. They will not be afraid to confront someone who is unfair, especially if it is a tyrannical boss. They perceive the position of boss as someone who doesn’t just boss around, but is part of the team. Someone who makes improvements not only in results but in the environment of those they work with, a mindset that makes them excellent and unique bosses.

These natives aspire to achieve great things through their work, and it is very likely that many of them work in areas that none of their family members have worked in or in jobs that are unconventional in the eyes of other people. These natives do not pay attention to destructive criticism from other people, "tell me when I ask and maybe I will care more" kind of attitude. One of the goals of these natives is to be as authentic as possible, they hate labels and things that reduce them to being just one thing since that limits them in expressing who they are. They are multifaceted, witty and give the impression of being very self-confident. They tend to choose jobs that allow them to be their own boss, and some of them are likely to have difficulty with very demanding and stressful schedules and environments. Many of these people tend to look for jobs that allow them to express their individuality and creativity, they can gain experience from many different jobs, and if Uranus makes a tense aspect with Mars or Saturn, it is very likely that these natives will change jobs more than once throughout their lives. With Uranus in this house, it allows the native to achieve great things in their work, from a feeling of satisfaction in their lives, many economic gains or even power in some way.

Unlike some placements, this one shows a native does not have aspirations to find empowerment in excessive economic gains or control over others, rather they see success as being able to work on something that they are truly passionate about and that means something to them. It should be noted that despite that, they are not delusional or very unrealistic, as they know and recognize the importance of having a work that makes them profit. They are very rational people, but that mix of their carefree and open-minded personality can charm others very easily. These natives can have a lot of influence on other people without intending to, people see them as admirable people for one or more reasons, but above all, they reach others through their natural sympathy. They are very idealistic and future-oriented people from a young age, and although they like to think big, they can often put a lot of expectations on themselves, and in turn, not see their small achievements by focusing on achieving the big ones.

-> Go back to the masterlist

#astrology #uranus #uranus in the 10th house #10th house #uranus in the 10th #natal chart #birth chart #astro note #astrology observations #astro observations #astro notes #astrology notes #uranus in the 10h #uranus in 10h

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itstimetojellyfish · 1 year ago

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Visiting you . ( Please just sleep , I’m worried ) ( Jing Yuan x reader)

This is technically my first post so….. yeah! I hope you enjoy this very rocky post! There will be some problems with transitions .

It’s been a while . Hasn’t it?

You can barely remember the warmth he emitted when he was in bed with you , asleep with your arms around you .

He made you feel so safe and warm , loved too . His large arms circling your body as he cuddled you , nuzzling your neck while you drifted off to sleep .

Yet…. The feast can never last forever . More mara - struck have appeared . Jing Yuan can no longer be with you so often . He has to be at the office , day and night , to lead the cloud knights and arrange everything.

( It worries you .)

the man has a very self-destructive habit of overworking himself to the point he downs 3 espressos a day . It’s a pain trying to help him get away from the coffee without having him experience withdrawal symptoms. It’s also a pain trying to get him to stop overworking himself.

Yet.

You do so anyway, you nourish him when he forgets to eat . You remind of his sleep schedule, you even do some of his work for him when he falls asleep at the divine foresight , draping a blanket you brought over him and letting him sleep in your lap .

Today is no different . As you walk down the streets to his office , you can’t help but just wonder , has he not fainted yet ?

(You wouldn’t be surprised if he did .)

Nevertheless, you open the door to see that he’s still miraculously alive and well , but unfortunately, not unscathed from his selfless nature . Deep black eye bags help you understand how sleep deprived he is . Your lover doesn’t even react to your presence , too focused on the slowly growing work load in front of him .

Papers are piled all around him , some even on top of him as his pen vigorously scribbles down information on top of the documents. (You wish you could take him away from this position and let him sleep for as long as he’d like.)

You initiate conversation with him , hoping he’ll get the clues that you will take over the position for him while he sleeps a dreamless slumber .

“ Jing Yuan … how are you ? You must be tired .“ You place down the bags you carry , and walk over to him .

He looks up .

Your heart breaks right then and there .

He looks so tired and worn out . Hair a mess , eyes threatening to close , his skin a pale shade of peach , almost white , barely any color in it .

“ oh ….. my love …. I’m doing fi-“ He attempts to reassure you , knowing your nature . However , his physical condition talks for himself.

“ What do you mean by fine?! Don’t lie to me! “ you rush over to him and cradle his face in your palms , turning his head side to side to inspect him .

( it’s a miracle he’s alive right now )

“ I’m okay , it’s honestly nothing. “It’s an attempt to reassure you , though it fails miserably.

You go to your bags and pull out a blanket and pillow , you always have these items with you whenever you visit him .

“ Aeons…… how many time do I have to tell you to take care of yourself?! You worry me so much! And the people won’t be able to do anything with a sleep deprived general! You’ll probably faint before you even go outside!” You scold him , however , it has an underlying tone of concern.

You walk over to him and attempt to coax his head into your lap so he can get the much deserved rest he needs . However , the attempt fails as he resists the temptation of your soft , plump thighs cushioning his head .

“ No , stopping worrying please , I’m fine …. And even if I do faint, Fu Xuan is there to take my place when I’m resting . “ He raises a hand and turns to look at you , amber eyes softening at your worried expression , eyes watering as you take in the state of him .

He tangles a hand in your hair and pulls you down to his lap , gently coddling you , trying to reassure you . It doesn’t work , you know better . All he’ll do is just work more .

So you struggle , attempting to just get him to relax , “ Jing Yuan! Diviner Fu won’t be there forever you know! “After a while you both give up and try to have a compromise.

Your lover sighs , “ Please dear , just rest your head , I’ll be fine .” He smooths a hand over your side , gently rubbing up and down in an attempt to soothe your frazzled nerves .

“ Jing Yuan ! “ You bat at his arm as you try to get him to rest , “ I should be the one telling you that! You look like you’re about to faint any moment!” The tears in your eyes start to pour .

His eyes soften . Your lover closes his eyes and then shakes his head , making out a compromise . “ How about this . You rest for now , on my chest , so you know I’m alive . “

You glare at him .

He gently kisses your forehead, “ Hold on now , I haven’t finished . “ You raise an eyebrow waiting for the other half .

“ If you let me soothe your nerves for today , then tomorrow, I’ll go home , and rest with you . “

You say yes immediately. It wasn’t a 2 week long break he needed , but it was something better than him staying up .

He smiles sweetly .

It warms your heart .

Soon enough , you’re sleeping in bed , with his warm hands over your stomach and long arms wrapped around you .

( its warm and it helps you finally sleep )

————————————————————————

Thanks for reading! I really hope you enjoyed!

#jing yuan x reader #this man needs some sleep #Honkai star rail #Jing Yuan x you #Jing Yuan x gn #Reader is worried to death #Sleep deprived Jing Yuan #angst #Fluff #Jing Yuan is very stubborn

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hischiershoe · 2 years ago

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─── DEATH BY A THOUSAND CUTS

─── QUINN HUGHES X FEM!READER

[ word count ] 7.6k (i got very carried away im sorry) [ summary ] after months of feeling like you've lost quinn, he ends up losing you. will the two of you find your back to each other? [ content warnings ] angst, self-destructive tendancies, drinking, cursing, MINORS DNI - 18+ content below the cut, shower sex, fingering, oral (fem recieving), unprotected sex (use protection guys), teeny bit of a praise kink, brief breath play, please let me know if you see any mistakes. i finished this at 2 am and my vision was a little blurry at that point

Two years ago, you had met Quinn Hughes through a mutual friend, and he’s been a part of your life ever since. In the beginning, the two of you took things slow, wanting to truly get to know each other before getting into a relationship. Quinn wanted to make sure that his intense schedule that involved him being gone for long periods of time wasn’t going to overwhelm you, or make you feel alone. You wanted to make sure that, after all you had gone through, Quinn was going to remain a man of his word and make your relationship work despite the many odds that came with his job. And he did, at first.

For the first year and a half that you were with Quinn, he was texting, calling, facetiming as often as he could when he was gone. If he wasn’t doing something that related to his commitment to the hockey team, he was talking to you in some way. He would send you pictures of the places he would visit with short captions of how he wished you were there with him, and you would always smile at them and tell him that you would be, one day. Though, a few months ago, those texts started to become less frequent, and when you did get them, they sounded forced, almost like they had been rehearsed.

For a while, you tried to reason with yourself. Telling yourself that he was just getting busier, and the stress was getting to him. You tried to understand just how demanding and exhausting his job must be, so you brushed off his deteriorating communication. Instead, you tried to hold onto the hope that when he was finally back home, things were going to go back to normal. Quinn was going to walk back through the door to your shared apartment and hold you until you fell asleep. Then, that stopped happening too.

The first time you realized that Quinn was truly pulling away from you was when he didn’t come straight home after a seven day roadie. He hadn’t even told you that he was close to home yet. You only found out because Natalie had posted a snapchat story of JT holding Owen, and you were immediately dialing your boyfriend's phone number. Your heart sank when it only rang three times before cutting to his bland voicemail message.

You remember spending the rest of that night crying into your pillow, thoughts of what you could have done to make him distance himself from you clouding your brain. You knew that hockey players had an abysmal reputation, but you have never lumped Quinn into that group of men. You’ve always thought the world of him, considering yourself lucky to have the luxury of being loved by him. This had you questioning everything you thought you knew about him. When he came home later that night, he gave you a half-assed apology and explanation followed by a string of kisses that had you melting back into him.

Though even that started to dwindle, and eventually it stopped all together. When Quinn was home in Vancouver, he rarely made the effort to spend time with you, and when he did, it was almost like he wasn’t there. His face would always be buried in his phone, or he’d be playing video games with his friends and you’d simply be sitting next to him on the couch. Quinn had stopped trying to plan dates, and honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone on one with him. You could barely remember the last time the two of you had shared a kiss that was more than the obligatory chaste peck on the lips before bed.

You tried to reassure yourself and ignore the aching in your chest, but the way he put as much distance as he possibly could between the two of you, the less you were able to do that. Eventually, you’d decided that enough was enough, and if it felt like you weren’t in a relationship, then you weren’t going to be in one. No matter how badly it hurt.

The thought of breaking up with Quinn made you feel like someone was holding your head under water. The panic settling into your chest as you realized that you couldn’t breathe; your lungs burning the longer you went without any air. No matter how hard you tried to break the surface and gasp for air, your head was only shoved deeper and deeper into the water until you realized that the only escape was leaving him. Leaving the man you were still in love with was the only way for you to be able to breathe again.

When he finally came home that night, he didn’t even notice you sitting at the table, his head shoved in his phone as he walked through the door. “Quinn,” Your quiet voice bounced off the walls of your home. His head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise that you were still awake at this hour, but you continued, “We need to talk.”

“Okay,” He drew out, brows knitting together in confusion as he slipped his phone into his pocket, “What’s this about?”

His eyes darted throughout the apartment, and you watched as his shoulders fell when he realized that stuff was missing from all over. Your stuff. With Quinn avoiding your home like it was, or rather you were, the plague, it gave you enough time to gather everything you’d brought over with you, and temporarily move it into a friend's apartment until you could find your own. Despite the multiple breaks you had to take because you kept breaking down, you managed to do it all in one day.

“I think you know what it’s about,” You chewed at your bottom lip, blinking rapidly to keep yourself from crying.

“Baby, I-,” He tried as he reached over the table to grab your hand, but you quickly cut him off. The chair scraped against the floor as you abruptly stood, shoving his outstretched hand away from you.

“Don’t call me that,” You spat, vision blurring from the tears, “You can’t call me that anymore.”

“What are you trying to say,” He asked, his voice breaking, and that made you angry.

How dare he act like he was hurt when all he’s been doing is hurting you? He put you in this position. He pushed you away, made you feel like he didn’t want you anymore. He did this, and he doesn’t get to act like he’s the one that’s hurting.

“I’m saying that we’re done, Quinn. I’m breaking up with you,” You asserted through the salty streams falling down your cheeks. Though the words tasted bitter as they came out, you felt a slight, very very slight, sense of relief wash over you as you said the words out loud.

Your words hung over his head as you fell into an uncomfortable silence, eyes staying trained on him as you waited for a response. He stood at the table with his palms pressed against the wood, head down as he let out a shaky breath followed by a weak question.

“What do you mean ‘Why’,” You scoffed, shooting daggers into the top of his head, “Quinn, you’ve barely said a full sentence to me in the last week. You don’t talk to me when you’re gone anymore. Hell, half the time I don’t even know you guys are back unless someone posts about it. I just- It just feels like you don’t want this anymore, and that’s okay, but what you’ve been doing isn’t.”

“No,” He breathed out, his voice small and broken as he shook his head, “No, it’s not and I’m sorry. I don’t- Fuck, Y/N, I don’t know what to say right now. I lo-“

“Please don’t,” You interrupted, tearing your gaze away from him as you choked on your own cries, “Please stop, Quinn. I can’t do it anymore. I love you so much, but it’s gotten to a point that the person I fell in love with is gone even though he’s right in front of me.”

A part of you did want him to beg you to stay, to beg you to give him another chance because he will change. He will change as long as it means he got to have you, and he couldn’t live without you. But the more logical part of you was holding the spear, and it was telling you that you were doing the best thing for you. That leaving Quinn, while it’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, it was the right decision for you.

“I’ve already got all of my stuff moved out,” Your voice cut through the thick silence, “You’re not home much so it made it pretty easy.”

You couldn’t help but throw the jab in there, but it was only to cover the thinly veiled agony that was truly going on in your heart and bleeding into the rest of your body. You didn’t want Quinn to know that saying goodbye to him was like death by a thousand cuts, and so you masked the pain the only way you knew how. With anger.

“I wish you and your team the best in the rest of the season, I really do. But I think it would be better for both of us if we don’t talk after this.”

Not waiting for his response, you made a slight show to toss the key to what was now his apartment onto the table in front of him, the gentle ding of the metal hitting the wood echoing through the empty room, before walking out of the door. You’d barely made it into the elevator by the time your feelings washed over you an aggressive wave that came seemingly out of nowhere and everywhere all at once. You were thankful that the ride down to the bottom was quick and no one else joined you, and that the main lobby was only occupied by the security guard who’s more than likely seen his fair share of crying women.

That night, you went to your friend's apartment and broke down into a mess of screams, tears, and pain. She held you as you cried, held your hair as you threw up, held your hand through the shower curtain because you didn’t want to be alone. She stood by you in your most desperate time of need, and she made it her own personal goal to maim the hockey player should she ever see him again.

Quinn didn’t text or call you, but you knew that he wasn’t doing the greatest for the first few weeks after your breakup. Petey and Brock had both called to check on you once they had figured out what had their teammate in the state he was in. They asked how you were doing, and not-so-subtly mentioned that Quinn wasn’t any better off than you were. Though, they quickly learned to not mention him unless they wanted to listen to you call them obscene words before ending the call and ignoring them for a few days. You knew their intentions were good, but you didn’t want to hear about how “awful” Quinn was.

If he had acted like he cared about you half as much as his friends were telling you he did, maybe you would have made the effort to ask about him. If he loved you half as much as they said he did, but he didn’t. And he’s made that clear to you. Of course you know you told him that you thought it best if the two of you didn’t talk anymore, but you had secretly hoped he wouldn’t listen. That he would be calling you and texting you, begging you to come back. Telling you how in love he was with you, but it was complete and utter radio silence.

Eventually, you were able to pick yourself back up enough to find your own apartment. Leila had insisted that you staying with her was never going to be a problem, but you knew you couldn’t stay there forever. You needed to try and move on from him, even though you weren’t quite ready to let go of him yet. You needed to try and find yourself again, and you couldn’t do that sleeping in the guest bed of your best friend and her boyfriend's apartment.

Leila’s worried eyes were practically carved into your skull at this point, but you didn’t blame her. She’s had to pick you up, physically and emotionally, more times than she had anticipated when you initially turned up at her door with puffy cheeks and bloodshot eyes. Though she should have realized how deeply hurt you were the fourth time she held you after you had woken up thinking that your breakup was a nightmare, only to realize that it was reality that haunted your dreams.

No matter how hard you tried to forget about Quinn Hughes, the city you lived in was as riddled with memories and reminders of what once was. He was on every street you walked, in every store window you passed by. He was everywhere, and it made you feel like there was a shard of glass piercing your heart, unrelenting and unmoving. You wanted nothing more than to forget about the man who had torn your heart in two, and you were willing to do anything to do that.

The bar air that clung to your body was sticky with alcohol and sweat, but you didn’t seem to mind as you moved your hips to the beat of whatever terrible remix they were playing. The unnamed man behind you had his hands planted firmly on your waist, but you didn’t pay him any mind as you let yourself dance. The alcohol swimming through your veins aiding your ability to forget about all of the hurt you had yet to heal from.

For the last three months, you often found yourself in some sort of bar or club to drink your pain away. It was cliche, but you hadn’t stumbled upon any other outlet that allowed you to forget about the constant ache in your chest. Leila had tried to guide you towards less self-destructive ways of healing, but you didn’t listen to her. This way was guaranteed to ease your heartbreak, at least for the night and that was all you needed.

“I’m Wren,” The man yelled into your ear, an off-putting smirk slapped on his less than desirable features.

Your mouth dropped open, the blood pounding in your ears covering the music entirely. It was too close. His name was too similar, and it made the one thing you were trying to forget flood itself into your head. Images of Quinn and memories of the way his voice sounded pushed their way to the forefront mind, and suddenly you couldn’t breathe.

Without another word, you pushed the man away from you and scrambled towards the exit of the bar. Your vision turned bleary and clouded, from the tears or the alcohol, you weren’t sure. Ignoring the worried calls from strangers you shoved past, you rushed out into the crisp Vancouver air.

You stumbled over into the mostly empty alleyway, clutching at your chest as your back came in contact with the brick wall. You were aware of the many lingering eyes on you, but the feeling that was consuming you made their attention appear miniscule and irrelevant. All you could think about was Quinn and how he never even fought to be with you. How he gave you up so easily.

Leila’s boyfriend had seen you run out of the bar, and immediately darted towards the bathroom so he could grab her. With the help of a few random women, he was able to get her attention much faster, and she was rushing out of the bar and leaving him to close their tab. Leila heard you before she saw you, and that alone made her chest burn for you.

“Honey,” She delicately approached you, her voice calm and collected, “What happened?”

The words were on the tip of your tongue, but nothing was coming out but strangled breaths and mangled cries. Despite having seen you in this position more times than she could count, it broke Leila’s heart all the same. She maneuvered your body so that she could pull you into her lap, ignoring the fact that she was sitting on the ground in a dirty alley. She began rubbing soothing circles on your back and instructed you to try and follow her breathing pattern.

Once you were able to catch your breath, you let out an almost incoherent, “Why didn’t he come back?”

Leila was able to calm you down enough to get you back to your apartment nearly an hour later. She kept insisting that you just come home with her, but you already felt guilty enough for intruding so much on her personal life. You knew she didn’t mind, but you did, so you managed to convince her that you would be okay by yourself, and that you would call her if you needed her. Though, she wasn’t the person you ended up calling.

“You have reached the voicemail box of Quinn Hughes. Please leave a message after the tone.”

“I hate you, Quinn,” You started, your voice already raspy from the moments prior, “I hate you so much for making me believe that you ever loved me back the way that I loved you. I thought we were forever, you know. That’s what you told me. That we would get married and have our own family, but we saw how that turned out. It was never going to be me, was it?

“I just wished you would have had the balls to tell me that you fell out of love with me, if you ever did in the first place, or found someone else or whatever the fuck happened. It would have made it a hell of a lot easier knowing that I, or you, did something to make you not stop loving me. It’s just- The worst fucking part about all of this is, is that I’m still so in love with you that it physically hurts me to be without you, but that doesn’t matter does it?

“Fuck. I don’t even know why I’m doing this. I guess I'm just trying to give myself closure so that I can really move on from you. I don’t know that I’ll ever stop loving you, but I’m going to try.”

Hanging up the phone, you threw it onto your couch and let out a gut wrenching sob that ripped through the stillness of your apartment. You fell to your knees and let everything you had been bottling up for the last three months bleed out of you. The world spun around you, your lungs burning as you gasped for air. Your fingers grasped at anything they could possibly wrap themselves around in an attempt to keep yourself steady.

You felt as if you were back to square one, and you hated that all it took was some man having a name that too closely resembled his. It was stupid, you thought, blatantly pathetic how easily you were thrown back into the fire you had done your best to crawl out of. You had almost healed all of the cuts Quinn’s treatment of you had left in your heart, but now they were gaping open once again.

Minutes passed by, or maybe hours you weren’t sure, and you had fallen into a limp ball on the floor of your living room. You had no energy to move from the spot as silent tears escaped their previous confinement. You stared lifelessly at the ceiling above you, mind too tired to fight off the dangerous thoughts floating about inside your head. It was only when sleep finally graced you that you were able to escape the pain of what-ifs.

The following morning, you were rudely awoken by someone aggressively and relentlessly knocking on your door. The sound ricocheted across the nearly empty walls of your apartment, and worsened the already excruciating pounding in your head. Pushing your tired body off the floor, you let out a quiet groan as nausea rippled from your core.

You passed by a mirror that Leila insisted you hang, and you outwardly cringed at your appearance. Your face swollen from last night's breakdown, and your makeup was smudged all across your face. Needless to say, your unwarranted guest was not going to get a presentable version of you.

Not bothering to check the peephole, you pulled the door open and time froze all around you. Quinn stood there with his hands in his pockets, head covered by the hood of his blue Canucks hoodie. His face was decorated with overgrown facial hair and deep set bags had found places underneath his eyes. Truly, he looked awful, but the sight of him in front of you made the already growing ball of nausea burst.

Quinn watched as your eyes simultaneously widened and hardened with an undetectable emotion, but he’s sure he could guess what it was. When he had woken up that morning, the last thing he’d expected to see was a missed call from you, let alone a voicemail. He’d listened to it a dozen times before calling Petey, asking him what he should do.

After a lecture that closely resembled the one he had already gotten from his teammate months prior that was followed by words of encouragement, he set off to your apartment. He only knew your address because Brock had accidentally let it slip when they passed by it one night. Truthfully, Quinn was expecting you to not answer the door or to slam it shut in his face when you saw him. That he was prepared for, but what he did not prepare himself for was you darting to the bathroom.

He stood in the hallway, conflicting emotions battling with each other as the sound of you retching reached his ears. He wanted to follow after you and comfort you like he’d done many times before, but he also didn’t want to make you even more uncomfortable than you undoubtedly were already. He opted to step inside and wait for you in the living room, preparing himself for whatever you were going to throw at him.

You were heaving into the toilet, panic running through every nerve in your body as you tried to focus on breathing rather than throwing up. The last person you had expected to show up at your door was here now, and you left him standing in the hallway. A million thoughts ran through your mind as you flushed the toilet, pushing yourself up off the floor for the second time in the last fifteen minutes.

Why was Quinn here? How was he here? You never gave him your address. Though a brief reminder that Brock knew where you lived was enough to answer that question for you, but nothing you could come up with answered why. You remember leaving him a voicemail in your drunken meltdown, but you couldn’t wrap your head around just what had gotten him to seek you out.

You stared at yourself in the mirror for far too long, and you wondered if Quinn was still here. You’d heard the door shut, but you couldn’t figure out if the footsteps that followed were inside your apartment or in the hallway. After quickly brushing your teeth and convincing yourself that he had left, you stepped back into the living room and were proven wrong. He had settled into the spot on the couch that he chose every time if he could; closest to the kitchen. His leg was anxiously bouncing up and down, and he was biting at his fingernails.

“What are you doing here,” You called out, nails digging into the palm of your hand as a way to keep yourself grounded.

The sound of your voice had Quinn’s head turning on a swivel before he was standing and taking a few steps towards you, but he stopped when you stepped backwards. He swallowed thickly, knowing that he was already treading through very dangerous waters by showing up at your apartment unannounced, and he didn’t want to do anything to further worsen that.

He instantly registered the tortured look in your eyes because it was the same one he’s been sporting since you left. Quinn knows he’s to blame for the downfall of your relationship. He should have fought harder. He should have fought, period, but he had his own reason for letting you go.

“You called me last night,” He started.

“I was drunk,” You firmly stated, heart beating loudly in your chest, “It didn’t mean anything.” You were lying, and he knew that, too. Quinn could always tell when you were lying.

“It meant something to me,” He rushed out, “Hearing your voice- Hearing you say that you thought I never loved you ripped me to pieces. I know I don’t deserve it, but can you please listen to my explanation? I know it won’t repair the damage I’ve done, but please. I was too scared before, but I’m not now.”

He rasped your name out like it was something sacred, like it held the entire world within its syllables. His eyes were glassy and filled with unshed tears as they bore into your own. He could tell that your heart and brain were at war with each other by the way you kept taking sharp breaths, and your eyes kept flitting away from him.

“I don’t know, Quinn. I’m trying to move on, and hearing you out will only undo all of the work I’ve put into doing that,” You tried, turning away from him but still staying in the living room.

“I know, baby,” The nickname tumbled out before he could stop it, sending a jab to your chest, “I know, but please. I will leave you alone after, if that’s what you really want. I’ll do whatever you want.”

You weighed your options in your head before letting out a hesitant, “Okay. I’ll listen, but if I want you to leave after, you’ll go?”

Your heart had won this battle, but you’re relying on your brain to save it later if need be. The sound of his approaching footsteps made the breath catch in your throat, but the feeling of his hand sliding into your own sent a jolt of electricity through your entire body. Your head snapped to his own, your eyes full of anxiety and familiarity.

He gently pulled you over to the couch, dropping your hand so that you could sit as far away from as you wanted. The air was crawling with nerves from both parties, but the lack of anger radiating off of you brought him some sort of comfort as he gathered his thoughts. Though, in your defense, you could never be angry at Quinn, no matter how badly he hurt you.

“I know that no apology can fix the hurt I’ve caused you, but I am sorry. I am so sorry for pulling away from you instead of talking to you. I never fell out of love with you, ever. Not then, and not now. Do you want to know the best thing that’s ever happened to me? It isn't hockey. It isn’t money. It’s you, and that terrified me. I was so scared that I was going to screw everything up.”

You opened your mouth to interrupt him, but he cast you a stern glare and shook his head before continuing, “I never let that bother me until I overheard you talking to Leila about marriage and children, and I got scared. I started questioning if I was good enough for you. If I was even good for you. I’m gone so much with the team, and I’ve already missed so many of your accomplishments because I was on the road.

“I started thinking about us having kids. How many appointments would I miss? What if I missed the birth? What if I missed the baby’s first steps? I couldn’t imagine putting you through all of that by yourself, so I started pulling away. Was it a good idea? Absolutely not, but it made sense to me. I thought I was going to save you from heartbreak in the future, but all I did was cause it now instead.

“I didn’t call after you left because I thought I did the right thing. I thought I was doing what was best for you, but then I heard your voice this morning and I knew I had to fix it, if you’d let me. I couldn’t let you think that I never loved you, because I do. I love you so much, and I will do anything to prove that to you, should you give me the chance.”

You sat there in silence, digesting the words that had just been said to you as you let out quiet sobs. For nearly the last year, you had believed that Quinn didn’t love you, and now he was saying the exact opposite. He was begging for another chance, and that was what you had wanted, right? It still was, but the damage that was done wasn’t going to be easily fixable. You would have to start back at the beginning, and you’re not sure if Quinn was willing to do that.

“Baby,” He whispered, your silence lighting his skin on fire with nerves, “I don’t know what’s going through your head, but I want you to know that I meant what I said. I will do whatever it takes to fix this mess I created. Anything.”

The gears were turning in your head, trying to conjure any sort of coherent thought to tell him that you wanted this, but you were scared. You’d put so much faith and trust into Quinn, and he tore all of that down out of fear. What if he did that again?

“I want to,” You whispered, “I do, but what if you do it again? I can’t go through it all over, Quinn. I felt like I was going to die without you, and I can’t go through losing you all over again if you get scared.”

You felt his weight lift off the sofa, and before you realized what was going on, he was wedging himself in between your legs in front of you. He cupped both of your cheeks in his hands so you were looking at him, and you swear you blacked out for a second. Just because Quinn had hurt you, doesn’t mean the effect he had on you went away.

“You won’t lose me ever again, okay? My heart belongs to you. My heart beats for you. I promise to love you for the rest of my life, even if you don’t love me for the rest of yours.”

His hands were still on your cheeks as you gulped down the lump in your throat, his pleading eyes darting all across your face. Lucky for you, your heart and your brain had linked together as you let out an almost silent, “Kiss me, please.”

And he did. Quinn’s lips were on yours in an instant, hands dropping down so he could pull you into his chest. The kiss was full of desperation and months of lost time as the two of you clung to each other. He was holding your hips so tightly that you’re fairly certain they were going to bruise, but you didn’t mind. You were pulling him into you just as desperately, afraid that he was somehow going to disappear from right in front of you.

He briefly pulled away so that he could sit on the couch, pulling you into his lap not long after. He quickly reattached his lips to yours, and he kissed you with so much fervor that it had your head spinning. You could feel some of your sadness melting away, being replaced by passion and desire for the man underneath you. Almost as if a switch had flipped within you. You shifted your hips on his lap, and a throaty moan escaped his swollen lips as he slightly threw his head back.

“Be careful with that,” He let out a breathy laugh, “You know what that does to me.”

There was a teasing glint in your eye as you spoke, “I know.”

“Fuck me,” He groaned, subtly moving your hips against him.

“If you insist,” You drew out, leaning down to ghost your lips over his neck.

He threw his head back against the couch and screwed his eyes shut as your warm breath fanned across his neck. Your eyes flicked up to his face, and you couldn’t help but let a mischievous smirk form before dragging your tongue across the expanse of his neck. He let out a string of profanities as you latched your mouth onto the spot you knew would send him spiraling, but you quickly pulled away and hopped off of him.

“I need to take a shower,” You announced, a teasing tone to your voice, “I’m still gross from the bar.”

Quinn’s eyes snapped open, watching as you began to walk away. Only when he heard you ask if you were going to join did he jump off the couch and scramble after you. He shed his clothes as he followed you to the bathroom, leaving a trail of fabric in his wake. By the time he had reached your bathroom, you’d already turned the shower on and rid yourself of your own clothes.

“I do not deserve you,” He mumbled as his eyes raked over your naked body.

He’d already memorized every dip and curve of you, but he always treated it as if he was seeing all of you for the first time. Your body captivated him in all of the best ways, and it left Quinn breathless every time you graced him with it. He considered it a privilege to be able to bear witness to the Goddess of a woman in front of him, and he worshiped it like it was.

Despite all that has happened between the two of you, you still felt comfortable enough to share this part of you with Quinn. Unlike the guys who had seen you naked before, none of them treated it the way he did. He never made you feel insecure, and he always made every other part of you feel just as loved as your body. He admired your character, and even your flaws, all the same.

“You gonna stand there or are you going to join me,” You teased as you stepped into the shower.

The water enveloped you like a welcomed hug, and you let out a sigh of relief as the stickiness from last night was washed away. You were facing towards the shower, eyes closed and head tilted back. You heard the curtain rings slide against the rod before you felt Quinn’s chest pressed against your back. You wiggled against his hardened length, and he took your teasing as a green light.

His fingers trailed up along your hip, across your waist before dancing over your breast. He made a point to slightly lift his touch so he just barely grazed your nipple, and you let out a whine when he did. His hand briefly paused when he reached your collarbone as if he was going to change his mind, but he carefully wrapped his fingers around your neck and leaned down to brush his lips against your ear.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” He whispered before dipping his head down and attaching his lips to your neck.

While one hand tilted your neck to give him better access, his free hand trailed down your stomach and towards your center. The knot in your stomach grew the closer he got, but he was taking his time with you. Relishing in the moment he never thought he would have again.

“Quinn,” You whimpered, “Please.”

“Please what, baby? I need you to use your words for me,” He briefly broke his contact with your neck.

“I need you to touch me, please,” You were begging him, needing him to give you the release that no other man has before.

“Good girl.”

He slid one finger into you, an almost pornagraphic moan echoing off the tiles of your bathroom. You threw your head back against his shoulder, gripping at the slick shower wall for any sort of support before your knees buckled from under you. He carefully moved his digit inside of you, stretching your walls so he could add another.

“Jesus, baby. You’re so tight,” He groaned into your ear.

“‘S because no one’s touched me- Oh fuck,” You cried out as he inserted another finger, “No one’s touched me since the last time you did.”

Quinn knew he shouldn’t be as turned on by that as he was, but he couldn’t help it. Knowing that you didn’t let another man have you the way that he did only made him harder, and he didn’t think that was possible.

You were writhing against him as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, your moans filling his ears like they were his favorite song. He moved his thumb to press against your clit, and it was then that Quinn had to use his own strength to keep you standing. He worked his fingers against you, and he’s gotten you to the finish line enough times to know that you were already just about there, so he didn’t stop.

“Oh my god,” You cried out as his thumb rubbed circles and his fingers curled inside of you, “I’m almost the-Fuck.”

“I know, pretty girl. I know,” He murmured, keeping his pace steady.

Your legs are shaking and your vision becomes spotty as the knot inside you comes undone. He captures your lips with his own as you come all over his fingers, kissing you with the same amount of passion he’d had before everything happened. He was still supporting you with the hand that was previously on your neck, but you slowly regained the strength to support yourself as you came down from your high.

“You okay,” He asked, turning you around so that the water was no longer hitting your front.

“More than okay,” You gave him a sloppy smile, still slightly dazed from your orgasm.

“Good, because that was only the beginning,” He smirked, switching places with you so he could back you into the corner of your shower.

You watched as he turned and shifted the shower head so that it was spraying against the two of you as much. You pulled your brows together in confusion as you questioned him, “What about you?”

“What about me,” He feigned confusion as he slowly fell to his knees.

“You know what,” You quietly spoke, eyes wide in anticipation as his hands gripped your thighs.

“I’m getting all I need, baby. Don’t worry,” He glanced up at you, eyes sparkling with pleasure.

His fingers trailed against your thighs that were wet with a mix of water and your own juices. Goosebumps rose in wake of his touch, sending a shiver throughout your entire body. You kept glancing down at him with your lip pulled between your teeth, your heart still rapidly beating from your orgasm only minutes ago.

Quinn spread your legs with his hands before placing feathered kisses on the inside of your thighs, eliciting a few breathless moans from you. He stopped when he got against your aching core, his breath hitting it as he spared you one more glance.

With a swift movement, he was lifting your leg over his shoulder and then he was diving into you like it was his last meal. His facial hair was tickling your inner thighs, but all it did was add to the sensation flowing through your body. His hands were gripping at your legs to not only keep you steady, but to give him something to hold on to.

He was devouring you in a way that made it seem like he was enjoying it more than you were, but you highly doubted that to be true. His tongue worked against as he led you to yet another orgasm, mouth sucking and swirling in all of the right places. You tugged on his hair as you felt the familiar fire burning in your stomach, your head hitting against the tile wall.

Your second orgasm ripped through your body, rendering you temporarily blind yet again. He carefully placed your leg back beneath you, placing open mouth kisses against your stomach as he stood leaving behind a mixture of his saliva and your cum against your skin. He attacked your lips with his own in a dizzying kiss, his hands cupping and squeezing at your breasts.

“I’ve missed you so much,” He mumbled against your lips as he placed his forehead on yours.

“I missed you too. So much, Quinn,” Your eyes became misty with tears, but you tried to push them back.

“I’m not trying to ruin the moment or anything, but thank you for giving me a second chance. I definitely don’t deserve one, but I will keep my promise and do whatever it takes to win you back.”

You pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to his lips before saying, “Well, you can start by properly fucking me.”

The softness in Quinn’s eyes darkened to something full of desire and lust, but he still managed to keep the look of pure admiration and love. His hands found purchase on your hips, pulling you into his chest and meeting your lips with a hungry kiss. You could feel him pressed against your thigh, and it made the already wet pool between your legs worsen.

“Need you to hold on to me baby. Wanna look at you,” He instructed as he pulled away, gesturing for you to wrap your arms around his neck, “Good girl.”

Quinn rubbed himself between your folds, teasing your entrance and watching your face twist in desire and want. Slowly, he pushed himself inside of you and let out a mangled moan as your walls clenched around him. He paused and let you readjust to his size, doing his best to remain still and not roughly jerk his hips back.

“Move,” You whimpered, bucking your hips forward for any sort of friction, “Please move.”

With your pleading, Quinn was pulling himself nearly all the way out and slamming back in at a pace he knew you both liked. His thrusts were hard and deep, filling you in just the right way to leave you gasping for more. He grabbed one of your legs and hooked it on his hips to allow himself a better angle, and you swear you blacked out for a second. You were grateful for the strength he has from hockey or you’re certain you’d both be on the floor by now.

Your loud moans mixed with his own, surely filling the entirety of your apartment with the sound. A part of you hoped your neighbors couldn't hear, but a bigger part of you didn’t care. You finally had him back, and the both of you were making up for lost time. His hips snapped against your own as he brought his free hand back up to your neck, squeezing at the sides with the pressure he knew wouldn't hurt you.

You were clenching around him, sending him into a fit of blinding, white hot ecstasy. No matter times Quinn had imagined you when he fucked his own hand, it was absolutely nothing compared the real thing. Watching as your eyes screwed shut and his name fell from your lips in desperate whines was a sight he would never get tired of.

“Oh my god, Quinn,” You shakily cried out, your eyes rolling backwards and the top of your head hitting against the shower wall as he thrusted into you, “Jesus, fuck.”

“Such a pretty girl,” He praised as his hand dove between your bodies, his fingers coming to rub at the bundle of nerves, “You look so pretty wrapped around me, you know that? Fuck, you feel so good.”

You were gripping at his back as he split you open, your vision coming in and out as he rubbed at your overstimulated clit and repeatedly slammed into you. Your name was tumbling from his lips in grunts, only tightening the coil in your stomach as his forehead dropped to your shoulder. You could feel the heat swirling inside you as he rammed himself into you, and you knew you weren’t going to last much longer.

“Quinn, I’m going to- I’m gonna,” You stuttered as he worked himself deeper, harder.

“I know, baby. Let go,” He whispered your name like it was holy and just, “Come all over my cock, pretty girl.”

His words sent you flying over the edge, your third orgasm of the night sending you into a fit of unmistakable pleasure. Waves of contractions washed over your body as Quinn fucked you through your orgasm, his own crashing over him not too far after. His thrusts became sloppy and slow as he came inside of you, his head burying itself into the crook of your neck as he let out stifled moans against the skin.

You’re not sure how long you clung to each other with him still inside you, sounds of your heavy breathing replacing the previous moans that were probably still echoing somewhere in your apartment. However, what felt like hours but was probably not even five minutes later, Quinn pulled himself out of you, guiding your still shaking leg back down and keeping your body upright.

“Time to get cleaned up, yeah,” He teased, his thumb and forefinger coming up to grab your chin.

“Good thing we’re already in the shower,” You bantered back, eyelids slowly drooping courteous of the man in front of you.

You lazily pulled Quinn back into your hold, meeting his lips for yet another searing kiss. Yet this time, there was no desperation. There was no hunger. There was only love, and hope. Hope that, despite the damage that has been caused, the two of you will return to the best version of yourselves and let yourselves be happy without worry or fear.

again, please let me know if you see any mistakes. and let me know what you think! xoxox

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