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hughes-your-daddy · 1 day ago

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Juno

pairing: luke hughes x singer!reader

warning: slightly suggestive, fluff, swearing

summary: you’re performing in new jersey with luke, his family and team in attendance

luke shuffles through the crowd, everyone following in tow since he knows his way around these events with your security. some of them occasionally stop for pictures with some of the fans, exchanging friendship bracelets some for him and some for you which he happily accepts, before they make it to the vip tent in the middle of the arena.

everyone shuffles into it, like finding the front middle seat, nervously awaiting for you to come onstage.

“you excited?” quinn asks bumping his shoulder, decked out in your merch.

“i think he’s more nervous than y/n.” jack chirps, swinging his arm around the other side of luke.

“she’s never performed here before, and considering we’re usually playing her it’s kinda nerve wracking.” he says looking around the prudential centre.

“crazy how it turns into a concert venue.” nico awes, a smile across his face as he looks about. they’re mid convo before they get interrupted by the lights going down, the intro video playing on big screens.

you stand nervously side of stage ready to run on to do your entrances, towel wrapped tight around you ready for the surprise. you run on your cue hearing fans erupt in cheers before coming to a halt centre standing, covering the lights with your hand to look out into the crowd.

hearing the beginning of taste play you let the first few bars go, locking eyes with luke in the vip tent smiling slightly before revealing your body suit for the night, a red, white and black striped body suit with the number 43 on your nude tights, hearing the crowd go crazy.

you giggle to yourself at the reaction before beginning the show. it’s goes amazingly, feeling the insane vibes from the crowd you get to one of your favourite part of the show where you get to arrest someone before juno.

you walk out with your two backup dancers, coming down to the front of the stage “thank you guys so much for coming out tonight, you’ve been incredible, but all night i’ve been seeing this guy,” you smile staring at luke, as the crowd turns to the tent.

“girls come here, come here.” you say hurrying over to the middle, “hey there, what’s your name?” you ask acting clueless, seeing luke blush, as the others around him shout luke, as he appears on the screen with “arrest” written around him, sirens going off.

“luke? oh my god wow,” you giggle, “how are you?” you ask, seeing him beam back at you, giving a thumbs up.

“i’m overwhelmed, like i knew you were beautiful, but i didn’t know you were that gorgeous.” you smile, seeing the others chirping him.

“guys somethings happening to my body, and, oh my god you’re making me so hot, my clothes are falling off,” you say, your skirt falling down to reveal a shorter one, “and oh my gosh guys i don’t know what to do with myself?” you ask the dancers as the you hand you the pink fluffy handcuffs.

“i’m just gonna have to arrest you for being too hot.” you smile, a hint of sarcasm in your voice, handing the pink fluffy hand cuffs to the security guard who takes them up to luke.

you see him go bright red, his parents watching as the beginning kicks in. dancing round the stage you perform the song having the time of your life before getting to your favourite part.

“wanna try out some freaky positions?” you sing, running up onto the hydraulic, sending a smirk luke’s direction before kneeling down into the famous hockey player stretch.

“have you ever tried this one?” you sing, bouncing a few times before spinning around onto your knees to keep singing.

the crowd goes wild and you can see luke’s friends and brothers riling him up in the vip tent.

you finish the song and a few more before heading off stage to get ready for your final number.

you quickly change into your final outfit a little surprise for luke.

the small platform on the stage rises, coffee cup in hand and the crowd goes wild seeing you wear a number 43 new jersey devils hockey jersey.

you sing and dance your way through the final number before hitting your final pose, seeing the vip tent empty meaning they’re probably waiting backstage.

“thank you new jersey, you’ve been wonderful as always.” you smile, waving and blowing a few kisses before heading off stage, handing your mic to the technicians pulling out your in ears and letting them hand down over your shoulders, heading backstage, seeing a large crowd of friends and family waiting, luke at the front.

they spot you walking down and begin to cheer, causing you to duck your head before doing an exaggerated curtsy and heading straight over to luke.

he wraps his arms around you, lifting you off the ground slightly as everyone goes back to their own conversations.

“you were incredible baby,” luke whispers in your ear before setting you down.

“you like the outfit?” you ask, as he takes your hand and spins you, before pulling you back in by the waist, one hand remaining there, the other on your cheek.

“mmh, you drive me insane.” he whispers, his lips against yours before pulling you in for a kiss. you hear some of the boys chirping him, as he pulls one hand away shooting them the middle finger, before unexpectedly he picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder.

“luke!” you squeal, as he walks towards your dressing room. the two of you giggle until he makes it to your room, setting you down before he sits on the small couch.

“take a picture, it’ll last longer.” you smirk, seeing his eyes take your body.

“honestly, i’d do so much more, but we’re heading out to celebrate with the others.” he smiles, pulling you in between his legs by the back of your thighs.

“nothing to say we can’t have a little fun at home, i have a day off tomorrow.” you smile, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“y/n my mom and dad are staying with us, i love you but i can’t when they’re in the house.” he says, a small blush creeping on his cheeks as he lets out a small laugh, “but seriously, you were amazing, i have no words to describe it. i just, i seriously love you.” you smiles, looking up to meet your eyes, his hands resting on your waist.

“i love you more,” you smile before he stands back up.

“ok, gimme your in ears ill take them for you.” he smiles, already turning you to help you unhook it from your bra.

he gently takes them off before heading out, giving you one last kiss before you get changed.

you quickly change into some low-rise baggy jeans and a small white cropped top, before quickly brushing out your hair and topping up your makeup, slapping a cap on, grabbing your bag and heading out.

you say hi to everyone else, standing to wait with the hughes family.

“thanks for having us y/n, was a really fun night.” quinn smiles, giving you a big hug followed by jack.

“honestly, never seen like so happy in his life.” jack chirps causing yous to laugh.

“speaking of luke, where is he?” ellen asks, and just in time he returns, standing beside you, hand in his.

“all set.” he smiles down at you before everyone piled out to head to the bar.

“oh and fyi,” luke says, stopping you a little behind everyone else.

“yeh?” you ask, confused.

“we could try that position if your down.” he smirks, causing yous to slap his chest moving to walk away, “hey, you asked me.” he calls out after you before catching up.

“maybe, if your good.”

#hockey x reader #jack hughes #luke hughes #nhl #luke hughes fic #luke hughes x reader #quinn hughes #hughes brothers #juno #sabrina carpenter

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devdozes · 2 days ago

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ACCIDENTALLY KIDNAPPING A MAFIA BOSS?!

silly idea :3 should i make this into a series? was listening to bring me to life while making this lmao (also more phainon fanart at the end of the post)

It started with a simple friendship—one that no one really questioned. You and Phainon were practically inseparable, an odd yet perfect duo that made everyone wonder how the universe aligned so well to bring you together.

Phainon was the golden retriever of your life, all bright smiles, mischievous grins, and boundless energy that made it impossible to be in a bad mood around him. He was always there—whether you wanted him to be or not.

Like that time when you had a late-night craving for bubble tea, and he showed up at your doorstep five minutes after your text, holding two cups like he had been waiting for the opportunity all night. Or when you got sick and insisted you were fine, only for him to barge into your apartment with an entire care package—complete with soup, blankets, and a ridiculously oversized hoodie that smelled like him.

“You don’t take care of yourself, so I gotta do it for you,” he had said, grinning as he forced a spoonful of soup into your mouth. “If I wasn’t around, who’d be your personal nurse, huh?”

You had rolled your eyes, but truthfully, you loved having him around.

Phainon was also a menace in the best way possible. He made it his personal mission to embarrass you in public, whether that meant dramatically fake-proposing to you in the middle of a grocery store or loudly announcing that you were his “number one best friend” every time he saw you in class.

“[NAME]!” he had once yelled across the university campus, sprinting toward you like a lunatic while students turned to stare. “I haven’t seen you in two hours! Did you miss me?”

You had barely dodged him, tackling you in front of everyone. “Phainon, oh my god, please calm down.”

He was never calm. He never was and never will be.

But that was what you loved about him—his relentless energy, his unwavering presence. No matter what, he was always there, like a constant, bright force in your life.

And yet, beneath the sunshine exterior, there were times when his blue eyes darkened, moments where his grip on your wrist would linger just a second too long, where his playful teasing held an edge of something deeper. Something..terrifying?

Phainon wasn’t just close to you—he revolved around you. Every little thing you did, every fleeting expression, every shift in your tone, he noticed. He memorized your favorite drinks, your quirks, the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about something you loved. He lived for those moments.

There were nights he stayed up scrolling through your old messages, rereading your texts like they were sacred scripture. He had a folder on his phone filled with candid pictures of you—laughing, sleeping, lost in thought. Some you had sent him. Some you hadn't.

If anyone got too close, if anyone dared to make you laugh the way he did, his jaw would clench, his grip on his drink tightening. He knew you were his. Even if you didn’t realize it yet.

And when you weren’t looking, when you weren’t aware of the way he watched you, the way his entire world narrowed down to just you—his smile would fade, his cheerful mask slipping, revealing the raw, unfiltered obsession lurking beneath.

On his wrist, always, was a simple black hair tie—yours. You had probably forgotten about it, left it on his wrist one day without a second thought, but to him, it was a sacred token, a symbol of ownership. He never took it off. It was stretched and worn from his constant fidgeting, his fingers absently tugging at it whenever you spoke, whenever you so much as smiled at someone else.

You had asked about it once, laughing, “Why do you always wear that? Do you even have long enough hair to need it?”

His grin was quick, easy. “It’s lucky,” he had replied, flicking it with his fingers. “And it reminds me of someone important.”

You had shrugged, not thinking much of it. But if you had paid closer attention, you would have noticed the way his fingers curled over the hair tie protectively, as if he were afraid someone would take it from him. As if losing it meant losing you.

Phainon was careful. He never let his obsession slip too far, never let you see the depths of his devotion. You thought he was just a clingy best friend, a lovable idiot who adored you. You didn’t know about the people who had gotten too close, only to suddenly lose interest, to quietly disappear from your life.

You didn’t know about the nights he watched you through the reflection of a window, keeping an eye on you from the shadows when you thought you were alone. You didn’t know about the things he had done, the people he had silenced, all to keep you safe—to keep you his.

And then, there were the little things. The way he always knew where you had been, even when you hadn’t told him. The way he always seemed to show up at just the right time, as if he had been tracking your schedule down to the second. He was always prepared—whether it was having your favorite drink ready before you even asked, or subtly steering you away from conversations with people he didn’t like. He never said it outright, never made his possessiveness obvious, but the hints were there. The intensity in his eyes when he watched you, the way his fingers tightened around your wrist when he pulled you away from a stranger, the way he always seemed to whisper, half-joking but dead serious, “You belong with me.”

It was a quiet evening when you curled up on your couch, flipping through channels absentmindedly, sipping on your favorite drink. The warm glow of the TV cast soft shadows across your living room, your eyelids drooping from exhaustion. That was, until the flashing "BREAKING NEWS" banner jolted you awake.

"Another victim of the infamous Flamereaver has been discovered in the city’s industrial district," the news anchor reported, their tone grim. "Authorities believe this is the latest in a string of calculated eliminations carried out by the elusive mafia leader. The identity of the Flamereaver remains unknown, but their signature brutality and precision leave no doubt—this was an execution."

You blinked, the weight of the report settling in your chest. The Flamereaver. You had heard the name before—who hadn’t? The ghostly swordmaster who had left entire organizations in ruin, a name spoken in hushed whispers, feared by even the most powerful figures in the underground world.

The news station flashed grainy images of the crime scene—police cars, body bags, shaken witnesses. You shivered, setting your drink down.

Another one? This was happening too often.

Your mind wandered, a passing thought striking you. Phainon had mentioned going out earlier, hadn’t he? Something about meeting an old friend.

You shook your head, dismissing the ridiculous idea that had briefly surfaced. No way. Not Phainon. He was too much of a goofball, too softhearted to be involved in something this violent.

Still, you couldn't help but feel an eerie chill run down your spine as you turned the volume down, trying to push away the unease settling deep within your bones as if someone or something was watching you.

Outside, hidden beneath the cover of darkness, Phainon stood motionless.

Draped in a black cloak and hoodie, his face concealed by the shadows, he watched you through your window, blue eyes burning with something indescribable. Admiration. Love.

You had no idea how beautiful you looked in this moment—so peaceful, so unaware. So his.

A gloved hand brushed against the black hair tie on his wrist, a slow, possessive motion. He never took it off. Just like he would never let you go.

Soon, he thought. Soon, you would understand.

Soon, you would be his completely.

And as the cold night pressed in, Phainon allowed a small, knowing smirk to curl at his lips. The world might fear the Flamereaver—but you? You would never have to.

Because he would do anything to keep you safe.

Even if it meant making sure no one else could ever have you. . . . . Minutes passed. Perhaps an hour. Only when the house lights dimmed, signaling you to retreat to bed, only then did Phainon finally move. He let out a slow exhale, fogging up the cold air before turning away, his steps eerily silent against the pavement.

And then, his expression changed.

His once cheerful blue eyes turned glacial, devoid of emotion. The warmth drained from his features as he tilted his head downward, staring at the lifeless body sprawled at his feet. A fresh corpse, still warm. Blood pooled beneath it, seeping into the cracks of the pavement, glistening under the dim glow of a streetlamp. The man’s face was twisted in frozen terror, eyes wide and vacant, his lips still parted as if in a final, unfinished plea for mercy.

Phainon had granted him none.

A golden blade protruded from the man’s chest, its edge gleaming even through the thick coat of crimson that dripped from its surface. Phainon knelt, completely unaffected, and with a practiced, almost lazy motion, he wiped the blade clean against the dead man’s own shirt. The metal shone again, immaculate, as if it had never been tainted with the act of ending a life.

His fingers moved to his face, smearing away a thin line of blood that had splattered across his cheek. The expression he wore now was unreadable—detached, mechanical. This was not the same Phainon who grinned and cracked jokes, who draped himself over your shoulders with a playful whine, who gazed at you like she was the very sun in his sky.

This was the Flamereaver.

His gaze flicked down at the corpse once more, unimpressed, before he stepped over it without hesitation, leaving only the scent of blood and death in his wake. His black hoodie rustled slightly in the night breeze, his golden blade disappearing into the folds of his cloak. As he walked, his fingers briefly brushed against the black hair tie wrapped securely around his wrist—the only tether left to the warmth he allowed himself to feel.

For her, he would remain the Phainon she knew.

For the rest of the world, he was a nightmare in human skin.

Meanwhile, inside your room, you sat on your bed, the faint hum of the television still lingering in the silence. You had retreated into your space, but your mind was far from tired. Instead, it buzzed with the same consuming thoughts that had plagued you for months—Phainon.

Your walls were a testament to your obsession, though no one else would ever see. A large corkboard hung above your desk, filled with drawings of him—his laughing expression, the soft tilt of his head, the way his golden blade gleamed when he trained. Your fingers absentmindedly traced the edges of one of the sketches before you turned your gaze to the digital clock beside your bed.

12:30 AM.

Like clockwork, your head snapped toward your window. You knew Phainon's schedule down to the minute. He always returned home at this hour, no later, no sooner. You had memorized the sound of his footsteps, the rhythm of his habits, the way he sometimes hummed to himself under his breath when he thought no one was listening. The way he would smile, the way his oh so beautiful cerulean eyes would glimmer under the moonlight.

Slipping quietly to your window, you peered through the curtains, your pulse quickening with anticipation. Your eyes locked onto the street below, searching, waiting.

Because just like Phainon watched you, you had been watching him all along. . . . . . . Something was wrong.

Instead of Phainon casually strolling up to his house, there was another figure—taller, clothed in dark black robes with a hood obscuring their face. Your breath hitched as you noticed the faint glint of a weapon in their grip—a golden blade, slick with fresh blood. Your stomach twisted at the sight.

A murderer. Right outside Phainon’s house.

Your fingers clenched around the windowsill as you watched, heart pounding. The figure stood motionless for a moment before casually wiping the blade against their sleeve, as if the act of killing meant nothing to them. Then, with eerie calmness, they sheathed the weapon beneath their cloak and turned slightly, revealing just enough for you to see their towering frame—easily around 6'3.

Panic flared through you. Whoever they were, they were close. Too close. Had they been watching Phainon? Had they come to kill him? Or worse—were they waiting for him?

You swallowed hard, eyes darting between the figure and Phainon’s front door. He still wasn’t home. He was late. He was never late. A creeping dread coiled in your chest as you gripped your phone, debating whether to call him, to warn him. But would he believe you? Would you even be able to explain this?

Your gaze flicked back to the figure just as they simply stood in front of Phainon's house, looking left and right as if he was searching for something.

But something was wrong.

Instead of Phainon casually strolling up to his house, there was another figure—taller, clothed in dark robes with a hood obscuring their face. Your breath hitched as you noticed the faint glint of a weapon in their grip—a golden blade, slick with fresh blood. Your stomach twisted at the sight.

A murderer. Right outside Phainon’s house.

Panic flared through you. Whoever they were, they were close. Too close. Had they been watching Phainon? Had they come to kill him? Or worse—were they waiting for him?

Your gaze flicked back to the figure just standing their eerily in front of your best friend's house, looking left and right as if they were searching for something or someone. . . . . Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

Your heart pounded in your chest as you sprinted down the stairs, your thoughts racing just as fast. Who the hell was that outside Phainon's house? A murderer? A thief? Some lunatic waiting for Phainon to come home?

You didn’t stop to think. Your body moved on instinct.

Grabbing the cold, heavy metal baseball bat from beside the shoe rack, you tightened your grip, your knuckles turning white. As you shoved your hands into the worn leather knuckle gloves Phainon had given you—his little “gift” after you won a sparring match against him—you took a deep breath to steady yourself.

Stay calm. Stay sharp.

You flung open your front door and stormed outside, your breath misting in the night air. The distant hum of streetlights and the soft rustling of tree leaves did nothing to ease the sheer unease creeping up your spine.

And there he was.

The figure stood still—eerily, unnaturally still—right in front of Phainon’s house. His tall frame loomed at around 6’3, making him tower over most people. A long, black cloak with patterns of a crescent moon billowed slightly in the cold wind, its hood casting a deep shadow over his face. But what really made your blood run cold was the weapon in his hand.

A golden blade. Its edge gleamed faintly under the moonlight, marred by something dark, something wet. Blood.

Your grip on the bat tightened as your stomach twisted.

He wasn’t moving. He was just... standing there. Watching.

Was he waiting for Phainon? Did he already—No. You refused to finish that thought.

Without hesitation, you stormed forward, heart hammering against your ribs.

“Hey!” Your voice rang out in the dead of night, sharp and unwavering. “Oi bastard what the fuck are you doing outside his house?”

No response.

The man didn’t even flinch. Didn’t turn. Didn’t acknowledge you.

Your body tensed. Every instinct screamed danger. But you weren’t about to back down.

“Oi, asshole! I’m talking to you!” You took another step forward, raising the bat slightly. “I don’t know what creepy shit you’re trying to pull, but you better step the fuck away from Phainon’s house before I break that fancy little sword of yours over my knee.”

Still, nothing. The figure remained silent, his presence as cold and unmoving as a statue.

The only shift was the subtle tilt of his head—just slightly—like he was regarding you.

Something about that small movement made your skin crawl.

Why did it feel so familiar?

But you had no time to second-guess yourself.

You tightened your stance, shifting your weight, ready to swing if you had to. This bastard wasn’t about to get past you.

The figure finally moved.

With slow, deliberate precision, he tilted his head downward—as if looking at the bloodied golden blade in his grasp. Then, with an eerily casual flick of his wrist, he wiped the blood off its edge with his gloved fingers.

The movement was practiced. Effortless. Like he had done this a thousand times before.

Your breath hitched.

He wasn’t just some random thug.

This man was a killer.

And yet… he still didn’t strike.

He simply stood there, staring at his weapon, his face obscured by the cloak’s deep hood. The silence between you stretched, suffocating and unnerving.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

For a split second, you considered your next move. Should you charge at him? Should you call someone? Should you—

You stood frozen in place, gripping your bat so tightly your hands ached.

The golden weapon. The black cloak. The blood. The way he moved. The way he didn’t attack you.

Your stomach churned.

Who the hell was that?

And why… did something about him feel so unsettlingly familiar?

. . . .

The moment he turned his back on you, something inside snapped.

Oh, hell no.

You weren’t about to let some bloodstained creep just walk away after standing in front of Phainon’s house like some horror movie stalker. What if he was waiting for Phainon to come home? What if he had already done something?

You didn’t even think. You ran.

Your feet pounded against the pavement as you rushed forward, closing the distance between you and the cloaked bastard in seconds.

And then—

CRACK.

Your fist slammed into the side of his face, the impact so strong you felt his jaw shift beneath your knuckles.

The force of your punch sent him staggering back, but you weren’t done. Not even close.

You pivoted on your heel, twisting your body for momentum, before swinging again.

BAM!

Your second punch landed hard on the opposite side of his face, his hood shifting slightly from the sheer impact.

The bastard stumbled further, nearly losing his balance.

But you didn’t give him a second to recover.

Your hands gripped the bat tightly—muscles coiling like a spring—before you swung with everything you had.

WHAM!

The bat slammed into his head with full force.

A sickening thud echoed through the empty street as the figure’s entire body jerked from the impact.

His legs gave out instantly.

His body collapsed to the ground, unmoving.

The once-imposing figure—shrouded in mystery, with a golden weapon still faintly glinting in his grip—now lay sprawled out at your feet.

Knocked out cold.

You took a deep breath, wiping the sweat from your brow with the back of your gloved hand, before glancing down at him.

And then…

You grinned.

A slow, faint smile curled at your lips as you admired your handiwork.

There was something thrilling about seeing this so-called intimidating figure sprawled out, helpless, after you had beaten him down.

“Tch.” You scoffed, tilting your head slightly as you inspected his unconscious form. “What, that’s it? No fight back? No last words? Kinda disappointing, really.”

You nudged his side with your foot, testing for any movement.

Nothing.

Your smirk widened.

This idiot seriously underestimated you.

Big mistake.

The golden weapon lay loosely in his grip now, the blood along its edge darkening under the moonlight. You eyed it for a moment, debating whether to take it—or at least break it—but then your gaze flickered back to the figure’s half-uncovered face.

And for a split second, something nagged at you.

Something felt… off.

That jawline… that build…

Why did he look so—

You shook the thought away. Who cares?

Right now, you needed to figure out what to do next.

This bastard clearly wasn’t some random mugger. Murderer? Maybe. Either way, you weren’t about to leave him lying here without some answers.

Maybe… you should drag him somewhere and question him when he wakes up.

Your grin turned sharper.

Yeah. That sounded like a fun idea.

You exhaled sharply, gripping the unconscious figure by his arm as you dragged his heavy, lifeless body across the pavement.

His golden weapon gleamed faintly under the streetlights, the bloodstains dark and fresh along its edge. You had it clutched tightly in your other hand, fingers curling around the hilt as you stole a glance at its intricate design.

This was no ordinary blade.

No mugger or common thug carried something this finely crafted.

Your grip tightened.

Who the hell was this guy?

Even unconscious, his presence felt off—too eerily still, too controlled, even in this state. It almost pissed you off.

No fear. No desperation. Just… silence.

You dragged him up the porch of your house, gritting your teeth at his weight before kicking open the door.

THUD.

His body hit the floorboards with a dull noise, limbs sprawled like a broken puppet.

Without wasting a second, you grabbed a chair, shoved it into the center of the room, and hauled him onto it.

His black cloak rustled as you forced his arms behind his back, tying them up tightly with thick rope. You did the same to his legs, making sure he couldn’t move an inch.

But the most unsettling part?

Even as you worked, his face remained hidden beneath that black metal mask—its golden vine-like engravings catching the dim light of the room.

You stepped back, crossing your arms as you inspected your handiwork.

He looked… oddly regal like this. A fallen king, tied up and waiting for judgment.

You tilted your head.

Something about this moment—about him sitting there, unmoving, under your control—sent a sharp thrill down your spine.

You stared.

Now… all you had to do was wait.

You stepped forward, tapping the flat edge of his own golden weapon against your palm, staring at him with amusement.

“Alright, mystery man,” you muttered under your breath, eyes gleaming. “Let’s see who the hell you really are.”

And with that, you settled onto the couch across from him—watching.

Waiting. . . . . .

You sat on the couch, idly twirling the golden weapon in your grip, its weight heavier than you expected. The craftsmanship was exquisite—each detail carved with precision, the sharp gleam of the blade still slick with drying blood.

Your fingers traced the intricate patterns along the hilt, a mix of black and gold, before your gaze drifted lower…

And then you saw it.

A small engraving near the base of the blade.

A crescent moon.

Your brows furrowed as you leaned in, squinting at the faint lettering just beneath it—so subtle, it was almost impossible to notice unless you were looking closely.

“Flame—”

Your stomach dropped.

“—Reaver.”

Your breath hitched.

Your grip on the sword tightened, pulse hammering in your ears as realization slammed into you like a freight train.

No. No, no, no—this had to be some sick joke.

Flame Reaver wasn’t just some low-level criminal—he was a fucking legend. A nameless swordmaster, a phantom of the underworld, responsible for massacres that tore entire syndicates apart.

Nobody knew who he was. Nobody even had a confirmed sighting.

But every victim—every last one—had been ripped apart with a blade.

And you just… tied him up.

In your own house.

Fuck.

A low groan echoed from across the room.

You froze.

The sound sent a cold shiver crawling down your spine.

Your head snapped toward the chair.

The figure—Flame Reaver—shifted slightly, his bound form tensing as he started to regain consciousness.

Your fingers instinctively curled around the weapon tighter, but your palms felt sweaty now.

Shit.

Your mind raced.

What were you supposed to do? Run? Kill him? Hope he has amnesia?!

Before you could even decide—

His head lifted slightly.

His chest rose and fell steadily.

And then—

The black metal mask tilted up, ever so slightly…

And you could feel it.

Even without seeing his eyes, you could feel his gaze locking onto you.

A quiet, low chuckle rasped through the air.

Oh, you were so fucking dead.

A dull, throbbing pain bloomed at the back of his skull. His senses were sluggish, slow to return, like wading through thick water. For a few moments, there was nothing but darkness, a heavy weight pressing down on him, his body sluggish and foreign. Then, piece by piece, it all began to come back.

The night. The streets. Blood.

A fight. A sharp pain bursting at the side of his head.

And then—

His consciousness snapped into place like a whip.

His muscles tensed.

Bound.

His arms wouldn’t move.

Neither would his legs.

The air was stale. The scent of the room was faintly familiar—wood, a trace of perfume, something warm yet utterly foreign in this moment. But none of it compared to the sudden, gut-wrenching realization that he was restrained.

A cold blade of tension ran up his spine.

He knew better than anyone that being tied up meant being vulnerable. He was never the one on this end of the rope. Never.

Where the fuck was he?

Slowly, deliberately, he cracked his eyes open behind the black metal mask.

And the moment he did—

His breath caught in his throat.

There, seated in front of him, holding his own golden blade, was 𝙮𝙤𝙪.

But it wasn’t you. Not the way he knew you. Not the way he had memorized you—every expression, every playful glint in your eyes, every ridiculous joke you cracked at his expense. The warmth, the laughter, the way you made his obsessive devotion feel justified.

No.

The person sitting in front of him now—this was different.

You were looking at him wrong.

Your expression was cold.

Your fingers gripped his weapon with a force that made your knuckles go white.

And worst of all—

You were looking at him with pure burning hatred.

Not mild irritation, not the usual exasperation you had when he stole your food or teased you too much—real, burning hatred.

Why? What Happened? Why..why were you..

His breath came slow and measured, but his mind raced violently. Everything was wrong. Everything was out of place.

And then it hit him.

You didn't know.

You didn't realize.

You didn’t know it was him. You didn't know that he was flamereaver You didn't know that he killed for you for years. He felt something deep and ugly twist inside his chest, but he remained utterly still. If he spoke now—if his voice slipped, if his tone wavered even slightly—you would realize. And he wasn't ready for that.

The second you moved closer, heart pounding in your chest, your fingers reached for the black and gold metal mask covering his face.

But before you could even brush against it—

SNAP.

The ropes shattered like they were made of paper.

Your eyes widened.

What the fuck—?!

Before you could even react, before you could take a single step back, a sharp golden clawed hand shot up and grasped your wrist.

Not tightly. Not enough to hurt.

But enough to stop you in your tracks.

Your breath hitched as you stared at the sharp, deadly claws glinting in the dim light. They were curved like talons, polished gold reflecting your startled expression. They could have pierced your skin. Could have ripped through flesh effortlessly.

But they didn’t.

He wasn’t hurting you.

He wasn’t even squeezing your wrist.

He was just… holding it.

Stopping you.

Slowly, your gaze trailed up from the golden claws to his mask.

It was still intact. Still covering his entire face. That damn mask—black with intricate golden vine-like patterns etched into it, elegant yet eerily haunting.

And then, he moved.

Not roughly. Not aggressively. But with a deliberateness that sent shivers down your spine.

He tilted his head.

His free hand, the one that had just torn through the restraints like they were nothing, reached up towards his mask but stopped.

Like he was considering something.

Like he was debating.

Your breath felt uneven. Your pulse pounded in your ears.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t move any further.

He just… held your wrist in place. Why isn't he hurting you?? Why isn't he trying to kill you?? What fucking game is he playing.

A sharp tension filled the room, thick and suffocating.

Your fingers twitched, still aching to rip that mask off.

To see who the hell he really was.

But his claws remained firm on your wrist—gentle, yet unyielding.

He was stopping you.

But he wasn’t hurting you.

And that was somehow worse.

Who the fuck was he?

Your fingers tightened. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, a deafening rhythm of adrenaline and disbelief.

He wasn’t speaking. He wasn’t trying to stop you any further, only holding your wrist in that maddeningly gentle yet firm grip.

But it didn’t matter.

Because you didn’t hesitate.

With a sharp inhale, you yanked your hand free from his grasp and lunged forward.

Your fingers caught the edges of the black metal mask, and before he could react—

Rip.

You tore it off his face.

The mask clattered onto the wooden floor with a loud, echoing clang.

And for a split second—

You still had no idea who he was.

Because your eyes weren’t on his face yet.

They were on his hands—his claws. They were trembling, the golden tips slick with faint traces of blood.

And then—

Then you saw it.

The moment your gaze snapped up to meet his—

You stopped breathing.

Your stomach twisted into a thousand knots.

Because staring back at you—

Was a pair of wide, terrified, cerulean blue eyes.

A face framed by fluffy white hair.

A face you had seen every single day.

This can't be fucking real.

“P—Phainon?”

But you didn't even get a chance to speak the words in your mind.

Because in the next second—

Your back hit the floor.

He pinned you down against the cold wooden floor.

Your wrists were trapped beneath his claws, his weight pressing down against you. His breath was uneven, a mixture of fear, adrenaline, and something unreadable swimming in those now-exposed, once-gentle blue eyes.

Now they were shaken.

Now they were desperate.

But the worst part?

There was blood on his face.

Small splatters of blood on the corner of his jaw and cheek.

And it wasn’t his.

No, no, no, no.

Your brain couldn’t process it.

Couldn’t believe what you were seeing.

Because this was Phainon.

Your best friend.

The cheerful idiot who always smiled at you, laughed with you, annoyed you.

He couldn't be—

The Flamereaver.

But the golden blade lying beside you on the floor—

The bloodstains on his face, his hands, his claws—

The fact that he had been standing outside his own house, alone, covered in blood, wearing a mask.

The fact that he hadn't said a single word.

It all made sense.

HI GANG !! this is the fanart I did for phainon. i am so down bad for him if you like this , please like, follow, reblog and comment :D

LONG HAIR PHAINON AAAA

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aidensolas · 2 days ago

Text

A TRULY VEHEMENT FOLLOWING

Obsessed! (?) Two Time x Reader

Hey guys sorry for being off the radar for a while it's because I finally got my milestone IV Two Time yippie! Anyways even though this story isn't that dark it deserves a warning or two so only read if you're okay with it!

The moon was hung low in the sky, its silver light filtering through the gnarled branches of the dead trees that surrounded the clearing. A cold wind blew through the forest, carrying the scent of damp earth and something metallic.

On the ground, a pattern of symbols was drawn in red chalk, bleeding into the soil like veins forming a sun with sharp blades. The air was heavy with silence, broken only by distant rustling of leaves and the soft chanting of the cultists in a circle around the ritual. They were all in black, their faces hidden, and murmuring in hushed tones, their hands raised to the sky as if calling something.

In the center of the circle, a stone altar stood, cold and ancient, with flickering candles that cast long shadows. The cult leader, in deep purple robes, raised a ceremonial dagger above the altar, his voice growing louder with each word.

"The spawn answer our call! You have promised an incarnate of your divine being! A living person to free us from our suffering! We call you as a testament to the answer to our deeds, an answer to your eternal divinity."

A crackling sound split the air. Lightning struck. The heavens themselves seemed to tear open. A shimmer appeared in the center of the symbol. There was no time to react. The center of the symbol had a person now. A person in robes, a giant witch hat, and skeletal wings and a tail. The person on the center flailed as they hit the ground. You blinked in shock. A little dazed as you tried to make sense of what was happening.

One moment you were playing DnD with your friends having fun and thinking it was the best day ever and the next you’re in the middle of a ritual greeted by people you don't know or would like to know in the matter of fact. It was all a blur on the events that transpired next, you were entitled with being the so-called incarnation of a higher being as so to say having the signature signs of the one most normally believed to be affiliated with their 'higher being' or at least blessed by them. Wings embraced by a skeletal cover? Well check. A tail that's also skeletal and arches into a circle? Check. You argue that it's all a coincidence and none of it is true to which the one who conducted the ritual calmly stated for you to prove it. Flabbergasted and surprised that the cult is actually hearing you out, you tried to pull off the wings and the tail the main signs of what ensnares you but all you were met with is a forceful pain as you try to do so. Now the cult believes you to be their promised one you were quickly endowed with robes and garments fit for royalty and now you were just... Here.

As you stayed within the cult as they prohibited you from leaving their watchful eyes, you were frankly bored and to pass the time the cult decided to give you one of their own as a subordinate his name was Two Time though they were a bit awkward in your first meeting stumbling and bumbling over their own words as they called you his 'Divine' one.. They truly meant well as they would always accommodate on what you asked for, would always be on your beck and call, they're also quite a looker despite their pale complexion and clumsy personality. As time went on they became more open and more comfortable with talking to you yet they still call you by a title and wouldn't budge no matter what you say. Well life here can't be that bad right?

Two Time is a person with a strong sense of faith no matter whether it be their belief or not they will stand by what they think is the truth or what they deem it to be. So, imagine their surprise when you came along a person which the cult admitted being the incarnation of the 'Spawn' sure they were ecstatic, but they can't help but feel doubtful of your identity. The spawn responding after the graceful silence they've been in for the past decade. Even a person with unwavering faith in the cult is a bit skeptical to say the least though they wouldn't question you themselves as if the following deemed it so they would oblige. It would come as another surprise that the leader of the following would assign himself as the subordinate of the so-called incarnation of the spawn though they wanted to reject the initial offer their faith and their belief in the following made them agree in Favour of it as if it was asked of them, they would do so.

So they met you in person, a little in awe in how great you personally looked, a person who's tacked and well-dressed being adorned the finest of robes and a set of functioning skeletal tails and wings. They were oddly enamored by those features of yours they wondered how it would feel against their hands as gently caressed would it hurt? Two Time heard the process of getting those wings and tail is the process of constant pain and suffering but it's a blessing to be given another chance at life and yet you seem relatively fine in the fact almost unbothered by the presence of it.

Is it because you're truly the incarnation? They have no clue. Breaking their thoughts as they see you looking at them in anticipation, they clumsily introduce themselves as well as stating the purpose of being your personal subordinate. The more Two Time stares at you as you shake the hand that's been outreached to you the more weirded out, they are regarding your position. Your touch is a little warm and out of place as it braces their hands... It felt weird to feel this way but, it isn't unwelcome it just feels off as if they don't deserve this something... Out of his league to say so. Two Time jitters back to reality as they hastily retract their hand and once more to mutter his name albeit more silent. No more words were said that day they just stood still in your quarters and would do the actions they were asked to do so by you.

Their opinion would come to change as day by day they got to spend time with you personally as your subordinate. Two Time would be often tasked to be by your side when conducting with the daily hearings and prayers conducted by the following. You were to be kept hidden and concealed as the hearings happened as to respect your reverence thought they became more lighthearted and accepted your position as the incarnation, a little nagging voice in their mind tells them to be skeptical of the slightest chance you aren't. The hearings happened as normal, the followers would tell you upon their days, sins, blessings, wishes, hopes and you would be the person to listen and perhaps grant them the blessing of forgiveness or the blessing of granting those requests.

Two time stood still by the area you were concealed and hidden only your voice being heard as one of the followers of the cult rambled on about his day and how he always wanted to own a simple bakery on the block spreading cheer and joy to those who eats inside his bakery, he described what the bakery should look like and the aesthetic he was going for he prayed that you would grant his wish even though he was just a new member. You thought his dreams were endearing and was honestly looking for an out to be kicked out of the cult, if you told this man, you would grant his wish, and it didn't happen wouldn't they realize you're fake? So, you decided to offer your words of confirmation to him. "When the dawn's light breaks the night, a secret shall take flight; what heart's desire in slumber's keep, will bloom anew with morning's leap." The follower seemed to have understood what you meant and jumped up in joy thanking you for hearing him out and left promptly after. "Why'd you grant his request and not the others?" Two Time asked as they noticed out of all the requests that you could have given affirmation to you chose the single last one which was definitely the hardest to grant. You decided to think about it and honestly out of all the requests you took, that single follower was probably the one you liked the best. As other people asked for things like forgiveness or advice, and you were honestly bored of that and since you needed a way to disprove yourself why not? You left the area to where you would be concealed as you patted Two Time's back "You don't trust me?" Two Time looked at you for a bit and shook their head "It's not that I don't it's just... I'm sorry my Divinity.. I shouldn't question your intentions." You chucked a bit at their dull reaction "Don't worry Two Time you'll always be my favourite subordinate or uh... Servant for that matter." You said as a joke, but little did you see as Two Time hid their head to look at the other side, they were blushing although just a little bit.

The next day to your surprise somehow the follower you granted the request to get his wish granted. Even though you were surprised as he barged in and thanked you, ruining another person's hearing in the moment, the word in the following quickly got out that a wish of a follower has been granted. Two Time being the most surprised as they felt guilty and scared of confronting you as a follower of their degree should have never doubted you in the first place. As you wrapped up your final hearings for the day and was about to step out Two Time told you there was one more hearing you needed to attend to, and it was theirs. They asked for forgiveness as they kneeled to you head down, you gently cup their cheeks as you ruffled his hair in a playful manner. "It doesn't matter if you believe me or not all that it matters is that you stay true to yourself besides you're my favored one no matter what you do I'll see it in a good light." You say not giving it much thought as you're not accustomed to Two Time taking everything so seriously and this time it won't end up good for the both of you. Two Time raised their head blushing, looking at you like they spent their whole life waiting to see you, they rubbed their face onto your hand's eyes closed as they gently held your hands with their own. "I'll serve you earnestly. I promise my great one." You sighed as you thought in your head 'You won't be saying that for long anyway.'

Each and every time you would try to disprove yourself and escape it would somehow be disproved and it would end up making you look more like a deity than a fraud. A person asked for a blessing? They got it immediately. Materialistic desires? Somehow got granted. The more you think about it the more you realized the people in the cult wasn't all that bad sure they may look scary but they have their own lives though the practices to get a second life is indeed not what you thought it'd be you were disensitized as you never really felt part of their own world though Two Time in the other hard grew more faithful day by day. As a person whose faith reigned more than their own morality Two Time knows they shouldn't feel this way about you, they've always wondered what it feels like to embrace you as theirs as they would often look at you for an alarming amount of time before shaking their head and looking away, but can you blame them? You've always seemed to give them special treatment though you were monotone and serious when it came to other followers, you were smiling and showing your emotions only to them, they feel special as to be the person who receives your attention and trust. They know they shouldn't feel this way but it gets hard to do so each fleeting moment they spend together and the more Two Time thinks about you the more twisted his obsession becomes as in their mind the only fitting subordinate to ever grave your presence was them.

It started off innocent and cute really... Two Time would become less frigid and cold as you both talked, they would be more worried and concerned for your safety always nagging on how you should take care of yourself they would often to try and initiate small levels of kinship like holding your hands or being close to you a little clingy infact as he would even stand outside your quarters as you slept. This wouldn't last long as the more you spend time with them the more twisted his mind becomes opting to more unconventional means to prove his worth and undying faith to you. He would often enter your quarters after they know you would be sound asleep looking at your sleeping face makes them feel special as they're the only person who's seen you this vulnerable and liable to danger he would often rub their face against yours as they held your hand often thinking how it would feel if you were to embrace them wholly to become one with them, (not that kind.) their heart would beat faster as they caress your wings adorned by a skeletal structure as it felt cool and smooth to their touch, they've always wanted to this. This was their only moment to savor no one else's as only they can see this part of you, as your faithful subordinate no... your only faithful subordinate will be the first and last person to be able to do these things with you. No one else. As time passes on Two Time became more manipulative and vocal about what they didn't like, optioning to tell you on what people thought about you as they realized that even if you are the incarnation you heavily relied on other people's opinion on you, you began to isolate yourself from the following even though you wanted to leave you still taught they were nice people do you didn't want to bother them anymore, to which Two Time became ecstatic as you spent more time with them. If given the chance they would always rest his head on your lap as they embrace your legs muttering how faithful they are to you and that you've changed their life for the better. You would always comb your hands through their hair which would make them feel more special as you chose to embrace them and only them as you could have always pushed them away and rejected them, but you didn't. You always accept everything from them with open arms so ofcourse how aren't they going to feel special? They threw out modestly a long time ago when they stopped thinking of you as a person out of their league and instead thinking you're the only person worth their love.

Your dedicated servant would always be Two Time. No matter what you do or what you say, he is your only devoted servant since without them, no one else in the world would support you as much as they do. They might not be able to hurt anyone for you yet, but only time will tell before a severed head in your bedroom caused by your name will be found. A sacrifice and a statement that only a person as devoted as them will be the only thing you will need.

Notes:

I finished it. Me sleepy. I won't tag anyone because I don't know if they'd like something like this... Thanks to @brain4stew for saying we need more stuff like this it's so true it's simply a need to have more obsessive and yandere type stuff!

Yippie bald two time.

#forsaken x reader #roblox x reader #forsaken roblox x reader #roblox forsaken x reader #two time x reader

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supernotnatural2005 · 1 day ago

Text

The Arrangement - Chapter Eight

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: It's New Year's eve, celebrations are in full swing and you have a plan. However, could an unexpected run-in with a blast from the past jeopardise everything?

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings/tags: Angst, swearing, drinking, jealousy, cliffhanger.

AN: This chapter was something.. let me tell ya 😅 But omg guys! Only two more chapters after this!! 😫 And I don't know how to feel about it! (gif not mine, found on google)

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Things had changed.

This time, you were certain of it.

In the days following Christmas, you and Dean had returned home with something different between you—something unspoken but undeniably there. And for once, it didn’t feel one-sided.

It was in the little things, the effortless ways he pulled you closer. How his hand would find yours absentmindedly, tracing circles against your palm as you sat together. How he’d tug you against him in the middle of the night, murmuring your name in that half-asleep rasp that made your heart ache.

It was in the way he kissed you, not to start something, just because he wanted to. How he stood a little too close when you cooked together, fingers brushing against your waist as he stole pieces of whatever you were making. How when you relaxed on the couch together, his arm was always open, waiting, inviting.

It felt like everything had shifted. Like somehow, without either of you saying a word, you’d slipped into something more than just casual.

Neither of you had put it into words, too afraid to break whatever fragile bubble you were living in. There was a weight to it, a meaning that neither of you dared touch. Because acknowledging it meant facing it, and facing it meant risking the chance that it could slip through your fingers.

But you knew where you stood. Or at least, you hoped it was obvious.

You didn’t want to push him. Dean had only ever had one girlfriend, and even that ended abruptly, and then years of flings and one night stands followed. Just because you’d been best friends forever didn’t mean this didn’t require a level of commitment—one you weren’t even sure he was ready for. And if he wasn’t? If he decided this wasn’t what he wanted? It would hurt like hell, but you’d survive. Because he was worth it. Because you loved him. As a friend, yes. But also as something more.

So you waited. And waited. And waited.

But Dean? He just... stayed in this in-between space. Not pulling away, but not pushing forward either. And that limbo—are we, or aren’t we?—had your anxiety climbing higher with every passing day.

So by the time New Year’s Eve rolled around, you’d made up your mind.

You were going to be all poetic and cliché, and kiss him at midnight.

You were going to tell him.

Tell him that you were in love with him. That you always had been. That you wanted out of this arrangement. Because you didn’t want casual. Charlie was right, it wasn’t you.

You wanted him. All of him.

Consequences be damned.

Gabe had invited you all to a new club in town—a swanky place that had just opened, already gaining a reputation for its exclusivity. He’d pulled some strings with one of the owners (you didn’t ask what kind of “business” he’d done, because it was Gabe), scoring VIP access for the night. They were doing a rooftop firework display to ring in the new year, the kind of event that had already been dubbed "the real deal".

It was the perfect setting. The perfect moment. The nudge you needed to make the jump.

You took your time getting ready, determined to make tonight count. The dress you’d chosen was sleek, short enough to tease but classy enough to fit the upscale club scene. The fabric clung to your curves in all the right places, a deep, shimmering shade of blue that caught the light with every movement. Paired with strappy high heels that made your legs look longer than ever, you felt good—sexy, confident, and ready.

And Dean’s reaction didn’t disappoint.

When you stepped out of your room, he was leaning against the kitchen counter, finishing off a beer. He was dressed in a fitted denim button-up with the sleeves rolled up just enough to tease his forearms, black jeans that hugged his thighs in a way you tried not to focus on, and his usual worn-in boots. He looked good. Too good.

But the way his eyes darkened when they landed on you? That was something else entirely.

It was the same way he’d looked at you the night of the Christmas party, and that night, weeks ago, when you’d been dressed up for your date with Gary. His eyes had roamed over you just like this—like he couldn’t help himself. But this time, he didn’t just look.

He moved.

“You look…” He exhaled, stepping toward you, his gaze dragging over you from head to toe, slow and deliberate.

“Nice?” you teased, tilting your head playfully.

He shook his head. “Fucking edible.” His voice was low, rough, almost reverent.

Your breath caught just as his hands found your waist, strong fingers slipping around to the curve of your ass as he pulled you flush against him.

You gasped, palms landing against his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath your touch. His breath ghosted over your throat before he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your pulse point, his stubble scratching deliciously against your skin. Your head tipped back on instinct, lips parting—

And then his mouth was trailing upward, over your jaw, toward your lips.

You barely had enough willpower to stop him, but you did, pressing a teasing finger against his mouth. “If we go there Winchester, you’ll ruin my makeup,” you tsked. “Do you know how long it took me to get these wings just right?” You fluttered your lashes to exemplify your neatly applied eyeliner.

Dean huffed humourlessly as you slipped away, and when you reached for your coat, you stretched just a little extra to give him an ample view of your ass, and he let out a low, suffering sound.

"Now that was just evil."

The moment you stepped inside the club, the atmosphere swallowed you whole. The place oozed luxury—dim lighting casting a sultry glow over everything, sleek leather booths, crystal-clear glasses lining the bar. Strobe lights pulsed in time with the deep bass of the music, filling the air with electric energy. It was packed but not overcrowded, just enough people to make it feel alive.

Gabe hadn’t been exaggerating—this was "the real deal".

As you and Dean were escorted upstairs to the VIP section, familiar faces came into view. Your friends were already gathered, drinks in hand, and the moment they spotted you, a chorus of greetings erupted.

“Finally!” Gabe called sarcastically, throwing his arms wide like you’d kept him waiting for hours. “The guests of honour arrive.” He slung an arm around your shoulders as you reached him, grinning.

As usual, he looked effortlessly sharp—probably wearing something expensive but casually unbuttoned enough to make it seem like he didn’t care.

Benny let out a low whistle. “Look at you, Cher.” He took your hand, giving you a playful twirl before you swatted at him with a laugh.

Dean rolled his eyes, playing it off as if it didn’t bother him—but the slight clench of his jaw said otherwise.

Charlie was on you next, pulling you into a tight hug. “You look so hot,” she said, matter-of-factly, before glancing at Dean and smirking. “And you—predictable as always.” She snickered. She was always teasing Dean for his constant jean and shirt combos.

Dean scoffed, placing a hand over his heart. “How dare you.”

“Only speaking facts Dean'o.” She winked before turning back to her drink before he could respond.

Cas then greeted you with a warm smile, pulling you into a brief but firm hug. He’d gotten over your little admission from a few nights ago, finding it more humourous than shocking.

“Took you guys long enough,” he chuckled, stepping back to greet Dean next.

Dean scoffed. “Would’ve been faster if she didn’t spend three hours getting ready.” He jabbed a thumb in your direction.

“Oh, shut up,” you muttered, elbowing him as you turned—only to be caught in a firm hug from Sam. He squeezed a little tighter than usual, enough to make you stumble slightly before he let go.

“Jesus, Moose, I like my ribs unbroken,” you teased, laughing as you steadied yourself.

Sam grinned, his cheeks flushed, clearly drunk. And Jess, tucked comfortably against his side, shook her head with an exasperated smile. “That’s only his second beer, by the way.”

Your brow shot up. “Wait, this is Sam on two beers?”

Dean, who had just walked over, gave his brother a look of sheer disappointment. “Now that’s just embarrassing.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Bitch.”

Dean smirked. “Jerk.”

You shook your head as Dean went off on a tangent about him being a lightweight, and then Jo looped her arm through yours, smirking. “See? And you doubted my taste.” She fingered the material of your dress.

She wasn’t wrong. You’d been unsure about the dress when you first pulled it from the rack, but Jo had insisted you would look “fucking hot.” Turns out, she knew what she was talking about.

“Yeah, yeah, you were right,” you admitted with a chuckle before taking her in fully. You let out a low whistle. “Damn, you look amazing, though.”

She grinned, clearly pleased with herself. “I know.” She did a little twirl, showing off the fitted red number that hugged her petite frame perfectly, paired with sleek, black heels that made her legs look impossibly long.

After finishing your hellos, you all settled into the large booth, conversation flowing as easily as the drinks, laughter and usual banter filled the air, with the deep bass of a generic pop beat pulsing around you.

The night had barely started, but already it felt like one you weren’t going to forget.

Tonight, everything was going to change.

Four drinks in, and you were feeling the perfect buzz—light, warm, and just uninhibited enough to let loose. You’d spent the night bouncing between your friends, sipping your drinks, and genuinely enjoying yourself.

Even Dean, who had been hovering around you all evening, had somehow managed to pull you onto the dance floor for a little friendly—or maybe not-so-friendly—dancing.

His hands had settled on your hips, his breath warm against your ear as you moved together in a way that felt entirely too natural. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that you had finally let yourself stop overthinking for once, but you’d melted into him. Your body responded to every little shift of his, and for a fleeting moment, you were certain he was going to make a move.

But the moment passed, and now here you were, walking toward the bar with him at your side, your skin still tingling from where his hands had rested.

Then, as if the universe had a cruel sense of humour, as you were walking, someone bumped into him, severing you connection with his hand on your waist.

“Lisa?”

Just hearing her name made your stomach twist. It couldn't be? But then you turned, and were met with none other than Lisa Braeden.

She wasn’t an ex, not really. She was more of a long-term hookup who had convinced herself she was something more—clinging, scheming, and bitter whenever Dean’s attention wasn’t solely on her. And if there was one thing Lisa had absolutely despised, it was you.

You weren’t just another girl in Dean’s life. You were his best friend. His constant. And Lisa had made it her personal mission to change that.

At first, it had been subtle—harmless jabs, little digs about how much time you and Dean spent together, passive-aggressive smiles whenever you ran into her in the morning after one of her nights with him. Then, it had escalated. Almost to the point you thought you were going to lose him.

Until he finally saw through her lies and games and ended it.

That was over three years ago. You hadn’t seen her since.

Dean stiffened beside you, clearly just as uncomfortable as you were, but ever the gentleman, he greeted her politely.

Lisa, for her part, had perfected the art of playing sweet. "Dean! Oh my God, what are the odds?" she gushed, her voice dripping in forced delight. Then her eyes landed on you, and for the briefest second, her smile faltered. It was so quick that anyone else might not have noticed—but you weren’t anyone else.

"Y/N, hi! Long time, huh?"

The way she said it, so full of faux surprise, like she genuinely didn’t expect you to still be around, made your jaw clench.

Before you could react, she pulled you into a hug, her arms looping around you as if you were long-lost friends. You stood there, stiff and uncomfortable, before awkwardly patting her back. She smelled expensive, and the hug lasted a beat too long, like she was staking a claim.

She pulled back with a sickeningly sweet smile.

“How crazy is it to run into you guys here?” she giggled, as if this was some fateful, cosmic coincidence.

Crazy was one word for it.

Dean, to his credit, looked wary. “How are things?” he asked, remaining polite but distant.

Lisa exhaled a dramatic little sigh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Really great! Just out with my girlfriends.” She gestured across the room to a group of women who were now very obviously staring at you. Their once-casual chatter had paused, and you caught the way they were looking at you—up and down, sizing you up. Judging.

Your frown deepened. What the hell was their problem?

Lisa, completely ignoring the awkwardness, continued. "Look, I know things ended a little… unorthodox.” She huffed out a small laugh, clearly struggling to even admit that much. “I was young. I was going through a lot. I know that doesn’t excuse how I acted, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Her voice was soft, just the right amount of remorseful. The kind of apology that made you pause.

It sounded genuine, and had you second guessing yourself.

Yet, call it experience, or PTSD but, something about this didn’t sit right.

Dean, on the other hand, softened instantly. You saw the shift in his expression, the flicker of guilt. “It’s in the past now,” he said, his tone warmer than you expected.

Lisa’s smile stretched a little too wide, and continued. "Honestly, I knew what I was getting into," she said, shaking her head as if this was all just some big misunderstanding. "You were honest with me from the start. I was the one who took things too far, let my feelings get the better of me."

Dean, being Dean, laid a comforting hand on her arm.

And just like that, jealousy flared in your chest, sharp and hot.

“For old times sake, how about I buy you both a drink?” Lisa offered, though you had a feeling that the invitation extended to you was merely for show.

Dean, to your utter disbelief, nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You blinked at him. Was he serious?

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably, but you forced yourself to play it cool. This was just Dean being Dean—letting his martyr complex get the better of him. He wasn’t an idiot. He remembered what she was like.

Right?

Still, you had no desire to sit through a drink with her.

“You know what? You guys go ahead,” you said, forcing a light chuckle. “I need to talk to Jo about something. Sister things.” You lied, flailing a hand with a nervous chuckle, trying to appear casual, and not like you were screaming internally.

Dean frowned slightly, like he didn’t quite buy it, but you waved him off. “I’ll meet you after?” you added, your voice softer now, laced with an unspoken meaning.

A promise.

His lips twitched into a small smile. “Yeah, okay.” His gaze lingered, but before either of you could say anything else, Lisa placed a hand on his arm, effectively snapping the moment in half.

You turned on your heel and left, already feeling the unease settling deep in your stomach.

You slipped into the bathroom, the heavy door swinging shut behind you, sealing you away from the noise of the party. For a brief moment, you just stood there, taking in what was probably the most upscale restroom you’d ever stepped foot in—marbled countertops, gold intricate designs, glossy floors reflecting the soft glow of chandelier lights. It was a little excessive, but your mind was elsewhere.

Your heart was still hammering, and not from the alcohol or dancing this time. You took a slow breath, forcing yourself to move toward the sink, gripping the cool edge of the counter as you met your own reflection in the mirror.

Your makeup was still intact despite the hours of laughter and sweat from dancing with your friends, but your expression was harder to ignore. You looked composed on the outside, but the longer you stared, the more the old doubts crept in, seeping through the cracks, flooding you with unwanted memories from three years ago.

How Lisa started twisting things, planting doubts in Dean’s head, feeding him lies about you. You weren’t sure what her end goal was, but it was clear she didn’t want you in his life.

Things only seemed to worsen the moment you’d met Patrick—the cute paramedic who patched Jo up after she sprained her wrist at some roller disco she’d dragged you to, during oner of her ‘let’s try something new’ phases.

He’d been sweet and funny, and you were single, so when he'd asked for your number, you’d said yes.

However, you’d notice then Dean had started pulling away, and that was when Lisa’s visits became more frequent. He began questioning things you’d never said or done. And it was like she used this thing with Patrick. Twisted it. Made it sound like you were the one who had been pulling away from him! And Dean, already caught up in whatever spell she had over him, had let her.

It hurt like hell, knowing he even considered believing her.

Thankfully, things ended between them, but your friendship had taken a hit, one that took a long time to mend. But Dean had put in the work and you trusted him, you knew he knew better than to entertain her advances again.

Right?

The door swung open then, the noise of the party briefly flooding in before being muffled again. You turned just as Jo, Charlie, and Jess walked in, laughing to themselves—until their eyes landed on you. Jo’s face immediately shifted to concern as she closed the distance between you.

“Hey, you good?” she asked, her grip steady on your arm as she scanned your face.

You tried to nod, brush it off, but you couldn’t.

Jess and Charlie flanked you on either side, their worry evident, and before you could stop yourself, it all came pouring out.

Your feelings for Dean. The arrangement. The plan to finally tell him at midnight.

Charlie, of course, already knew—she had sussed it out at your work Christmas party. But Jo? The knowing smirk creeping up on her lips told you she wasn’t surprised.

“I mean, it took you long enough to finally fucking realise,” she huffed, shaking her head at you.

Despite your stress, a smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

“I swear you’ve been in love with the kid since he went all superhero on your ass and carried you home after you broke your arm.” She teased.

Jess, who hadn’t heard this story before, let out a dreamy sigh. “Wait, that’s so cute.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately.

You could still remember it—twelve years old, being the little daredevil that you were, climbing to the highest point of the brand-new jungle gym at the park, daring yourself to stand on top of the structure. Instead, you had lost your balance and tumbled down, landing hard with a sickening crack in your arm.

You had cried that time, the pain overwhelming, but then there was Dean—his freckled face scrunched in worry, and he scooped you up without hesitation, carrying you the entire block back to his house, muttering assurances the whole way.

“That’s not everything,” you sighed, your stomach twisting. “Lisa’s here. And she’s with Dean.”

Silence.

Then, in perfect unison—

“What!?”

Charlie and Jo’s reactions were instant. They had been there when you almost lost Dean to that possessive, manipulative woman. Jo, in particular, had been the first to knock some sense into him—literally. She had tackled him at the Roadhouse one night, launching into a tirade that made half the bar stare. It had worked, though. Had given Dean the wake-up call he needed.

You quickly recounted the whole interaction—bumping into Lisa at the bar, her invitation to drinks, and your hasty retreat to the bathroom.

Charlie gaped at you, scandalised. “And you let him just go with her?!”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “I didn’t want to cause a scene. And she seemed… I don’t know, genuinely sorry.”

Even as you said it, the words felt flimsy—like an excuse rather than an explanation.

Jo crossed her arms, unimpressed. “Y/N. Come on. You and I both know Lisa’s full of shit.”

“You know what she’s like,” Charlie added, her voice softer now. “You can’t really believe she’s suddenly had a change of heart.”

You sighed, fingers tightening on the sink. “I don’t know, maybe” you shrugged sheepishly.

The two of them didn’t look convinced. And, honestly?

You weren't sure you were either, but you were not about to let it get the better of you. In the last three years you had changed a lot, and maybe Lisa had to.

“Look, I trust Dean,” you continued, firmer now. “And if I start telling him who he can and can’t talk to—making his decisions for him—then I’m no better than her.”

Jo exhaled through her nose, clearly still displeased.

“Just please,” you added, levelling her with a look, “don’t make a scene.”

You aimed that more at Jo than Charlie.

She scowled, arms still crossed, but when you took her hands in yours and gave her your best pleading look, she let out a dramatic sigh.

“Fine,” she huffed.

You smiled a little, despite everything, grateful for these women in your life—your protectors.

“But,” Jo added, pointing a firm finger at you, “if she so much as breathes wrong, I’m throwing hands.”

Charlie grinned. “And I’ll be right behind her.”

You laughed, shaking your head, the tension in your chest easing just a little.

The girls left the bathroom before you, with your promise to meet them back at the booth, while you actually did use the facilities. You did a quick fix-up of your makeup, fluffed out your hair, and blew out a deep breath.

You got this. You prepped yourself, even if it was fragile.

With that, you slipped out the door, making your way down the short hall toward the main room, when you suddenly stopped short. Familiar voices drifted from around the corner—low, intimate, just barely audible over the music.

“Do you not miss it?” You recognised Lisa’s voice. Soft, almost wistful as she continued. “Miss us?”

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you crept closer, and peered around the corner, your stomach dropping when you spotted Dean. However, curiosity got the better of you, and you couldn't help yourself as you pressed your back against the cool wall and listened.

Dean hesitated. Just for a second. But it was long enough for something sharp to wedge itself between your ribs.

“I’ll admit, we had a good time.” His voice was even, maybe even reluctant, but it wasn’t an outright no.

Lisa took a step closer—close enough that you could feel the way she was invading his space, twirling her hair, tilting her chin up at him like she already knew the answer. “But?” she prompted.

Dean sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We weren’t right for each other, Lis’.”

“But now?” she pushed, almost desperate. “I’ve changed, Dean. I know I messed up before, but love makes you do crazy things sometimes.”

Did she just drop the L-bomb?

Silence.

You swore you could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Dean didn’t immediately shut her down. Didn’t laugh in her face or tell her to fuck off the way you wanted him to. Instead, another long pause stretched between them, weighted and thick, and it felt like the air had been sucked from your lungs.

He exhaled through his nose, tilting his head, and you could see the way Lisa took that as something more than it was—an opening, a possibility.

She reached for his arm, fingers just barely skimming his sleeve. “We were good together. I know you know that too.”

Your stomach churned.

Dean still wasn’t saying anything, wasn’t moving away fast enough, and you waited, silently begged for him to deny it.

Then suddenly, a loud commotion shattered the moment.

A group of rowdy guys stumbled through the hall, their voices cutting through the tension like a blade. A few of them stopped as they passed, giving you once-overs and whistling appreciatively. You rolled your eyes, but it drew attention to your presence.

“Y/N?”

You closed your eyes briefly but decided to pretend you hadn’t just had your heart ripped out and stepped on. Instead, you turned with a smile, masking the pain of the knife in currently penetrating your heart.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Dean breathed out, clearly still shaking off that conversation as you stepped up next to him.

Lisa’s expression barely wavered, but you caught the flicker of irritation before she forced a tight smile.

“Yeah, just needed to use the restroom,” you said smoothly. “Was on my way back to you guys.” It wasn’t a lie—you just left out the eavesdropping part.

Dean nodded, glancing at Lisa before placing a guiding hand on your back. His touch was warm, grounding, but you ignored it as you started toward the booth. Lisa’s footsteps following close behind.

When you got back to the table, Jo immediately clocked Lisa trailing behind you, her expression darkening as she leaned back in the booth. “Oh. Great,” she deadpanned.

Lisa’s seemingly ignored her comment, her smile all faux sweetness. “Hey, Jo.”

Jo didn’t return the greeting, just took a slow sip of her drink and side-eyed you.

Lisa cleared her throat, shifting awkwardly. “My friends kinda ditched me,” she explained. “Dean said I was welcome to join you guys.”

Jo’s head snapped toward Dean so fast you thought she might give herself whiplash. She looked at him like he’d just told her he ran over her dog.

Then, she turned to you, eyes blazing.

Are you fucking kidding me? You silently read.

You gave a subtle shake of your head. Don’t.

Jo clenched her jaw but said nothing.

With all the seats taken, the only available spot was next to Dean. You hesitated for half a second before sliding in beside him. The second you did, he shifted closer, his knee pressing against yours like he could sense your unease.

Conversations flowed easily enough. Benny, Cas, and Gabe didn’t hold anything against Lisa—they hadn’t been in the trenches of that breakup, didn’t know all the details. Even Sam, while clearly unimpressed, was too drunk and too wrapped up in Jess to care much.

But Dean’s attention was on you.

Even while he spoke with the others, even as Lisa tried to inject herself into conversations, his focus never fully left you. Every so often, his knee would bump yours, or his fingers would drum lightly against the table like he wanted to reach for you but stopped himself.

Then, like he couldn't hold back any longer, a warm hand found your thigh under the table.

Your breath caught at the initial touch, but you didn’t move away.

Dean leaned in then, his voice low, meant only for you. “Sorry about this,” he murmured. “She looked kinda lost, and I felt guilty ditching her too.”

Of course he did.

Dean Winchester, the ever-obliging martyr. It didn’t matter how shitty someone had been to him, how much hurt they left in their wake—he was a firm believer in forgiveness, good karma and all that. And God only knows what tale she'd spun in your abscence to get him to feel sorry for her.

Maybe it was that hero complex of his, or maybe he just didn’t know how to say no without carrying guilt like a weight around his neck. He was just a good person, how could you fault him for that?

But you didn’t believe for a second that Lisa had been truly abandoned, however, Dean was already looking at you, like he wanted your silent approval, and what were you supposed to do? Call her bluff? Make a scene?

Yes. Came Jo's snappish tone. But unfortunately, you didn't have the backbone like your tough nut sister.

So, instead, you plastered on a neutral smile and nodded. “It’s okay.”

The smile he gave you made your insides warm. And the longer his hand rested on your thigh, the more those earlier doubts started to fade.

Because even now, even with Lisa sitting on his other side, trying to worm her way back in, Dean was still here, still touching you, still looking at you like nothing had changed.

Like everything was okay.

At least, that’s what you hoped.

With just thirty minutes left until the new year, one of the waiters approached your group, a polite smile on his face as he announced, “VIP guests will now be escorted to the rooftop for the fireworks display.”

A collective cheer rippled through the group, excitement buzzing in the air as you all stood, gathering your coats and drinks before following the designated path.

The moment you stepped outside, the winter air bit at your skin, crisp and invigorating, but the sight before you was enough to steal your breath.

The rooftop was strung with fairy lights, casting a warm glow against the dark sky. Tall fire pits flickered, evenly spaced around the terrace, drawing groups of people together for warmth. Beyond the railing, you could see the setup for the fireworks display—rows of canons lined up on a separate platform, ready to light up the night sky.

But what really caught your attention was the oversized digital clock hanging above the terrace bar, its bright red numbers ticking down the final minutes of the year.

Twenty-seven minutes.

It was almost time.

No going back now.

More drinks were ordered, more laughter spilled into the air as everyone settled in, chatting, toasting to the last stretch of the year. Benny handed you a fresh glass of the complementary champagne with a wink, and you took a grateful sip, trying to steady the anxious flutter in your stomach.

But no matter how much you tried to focus on the moment, your eyes kept drifting to him.

Dean stood near one of the fire pits, beer in hand, laughing at something Gabe had said. The glow of the flames cast golden highlights over his face, making his freckles stand out, his green eyes flickering in the light. You wanted to be next to him, to get a quiet moment alone before the countdown.

But Lisa was always there.

She hovered just close enough to be a presence, laughing at his jokes, lightly touching his arm when she talked, making sure she was never too far. Never giving you the opportunity to slide in beside him, to steal him away for even a second.

It was grating, the way she lingered, the way she acted like she belonged there.

You turned back to the girls, fingers tightening around the stem of your glass.

Jo nudged you. “Hey,” she said softly, reading your expression in an instant. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Charlie nodded, her confidence unwavering. “You and Dean? This is happening. There's no way the universe would let all this all go to waste.” She slurred a little, here finger flicking between you and Dean. You held her finger when it got too close to your face and chuckled.

“Exactly." Jo cut in. "You two are meant to be. You need to ignore her. Better yet, I can gag and hog tie her if you need me too?” She suggested so seriously you were almost worried she would.

“Jesus, Jo.” You huffed out a laugh with a shake of your head and she just shrugged.

“Then you get it done.” She points at you like a scolding mother.

Their reassurances soothed some of your nerves, but the weight in your chest remained. There was still time. Still a chance to pull him away, to get him alone before the moment hit.

One minute.

People started gathering closer to the centre of the terrace, positioning themselves near the railing for the best view of the fireworks. The crowd thickened, bodies pressing in as excitement filled the air.

You turned, eyes locking on Dean. He was near the edge of the group, still by the fire pit, but the crowd had shifted, pushing in, blocking your path.

Then the last ten seconds began.

Ten.

Your heartbeat matched the ticking clock, pulsing in your throat as you pushed through, weaving between bodies.

Nine.

You caught glimpses of him—his profile in the flickering firelight, the curve of his mouth as he took a sip of his beer, the way he turned his head, scanning the crowd—was he looking for you?

Eight.

You pushed forward, murmuring apologies as you squeezed between groups, your heart hammering now, thundering in your ears.

Seven.

The crowd was thick, voices rising in anticipation, the excitement electric. You were so close now. Just a few more steps.

Six.

Dean was right there, only a foot away. He turned slightly, and your breath caught. His gaze flickered over the crowd, past Lisa, eyes searching. And then-

Five,

Your stomach twisted.

Four

Lisa shifted closer to him.

Three.

She reached for his collar—

Two.

Pulled him down—

One.

Happy New Year!

The crowd erupted in cheers, firework cannons popped, and before you could blink, before you could breathe—

Lisa kissed him.

Right in front of you.

The fireworks exploded overhead, but the ringing in your ears drowned them out. Everything slowed, blurred—the pop of champagne bottles, the chorus of laughter, the flashes of light against the midnight sky—

All you could see was Dean.

Lisa’s hands curled around his jacket, her lips pressed against his. And Dean? Dean wasn’t pushing her away fast enough.

Your stomach lurched as the cheers continued, voices blending into a muffled hum, but it didn’t matter.

Because suddenly, you couldn’t breathe.

AN: Okay, please don't hate me! 😅 I know it's a shitty way to end it, but there will be more to come in the next chapter! 💕

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester/series Tag List:

@bettystonewell @nancymcl @happyfxckinghorrors @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @fangirlingfromdownunder @star-yawnznn @piptoost @shadysoulangel @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere78 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @waynes-multiverse @jaredpadonlyyyy @impala67stellawinchester @bonbonnie88 @youroldfashioned @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @bejeweledinterludes @rach5ive @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28 @kayleighwinchester @amberlthomas

Next Time...

Dean hailed a cab, his adrenaline pumping. Gabe had informed him with a sympathetic pat on the shoulder—which only made him worry more, since Gabe wasn’t usually a sentimental guy—that you’d left with Charlie, Jo, even Jess and Sam. His knee bounced impatiently as the city lights blurred past. Fireworks still crackled in the distance, each explosion a hollow echo of the pounding in his chest. People were celebrating fresh starts, new beginnings. Meanwhile, he hadn’t even made it an hour into the year before fucking everything up. By the time the cab rolled up to his apartment, he didn’t bother waiting for change, ignoring the driver’s protests as he bolted inside. “Y/N?” He called the second he was through the door. Silence answered. His stomach dropped. He searched the apartment—kitchen, bedroom, even the damn bathroom—each empty room twisting the knife deeper. With a curse, he yanked out his phone, dialling your number as he paced the living room, teeth sinking into his thumb. “Hey.” His body sagged in relief—until— “Psych! You’ve reached my voicemail. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you when I can.”

#the arrangement series #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #spn #spn fanfic #sam winchester #spnfamily #jensen ackles #dean winchester fic #abbalina writes

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angelsglitch · 3 days ago

Text

PARTNER

cute lil fic 💋

there is some until dawn characters in this ;-;

content: ellie x fem reader, enemies to lovers, ellie catches feelings first, reader is lowk a bitch in the middle. r!receiving.

warnings: adult themes, smut, idk

extra: use of 𖤐 for readers name bc i don’t like y/n. a little ooc with some characters but idc, for example ellie would not be friends with mike😭😭🙏🏼 but it’s just for the plot LOL.

lowercase intended

you never really liked ellie, the two have you have never been friends nor did you want to be. it was hard to avoid each other since the two of you shared the same friends — but it didn’t bother you too much to be in the same room together

you’d been partnered up with ellie to go on patrol, however you had overslept leading it to banging on your front door in attempts to get you to wake up.

“god wake the fuck up! there’s no way you’re still sleeping, we should have already left!” ellie shouts through your front door, clearly aggravated. the door does open but ellie was confused to be greeted by someone that wasn’t you.

instead of simply opening the door, matt swings it wide, his disoriented expression suggesting he'd just woken up, clearly startled by the shouting.

ellie looked up at matt, clearly annoyed. "where's 𖤐?" she said bluntly, crossing her arms over her chest. he rubs his eyes, blinking in confusion. "oh, hey ellie, man." he mutters, extending his hand for their usual handshake.

ellie looks at matt's hand, before looking back up at him and rolling her eyes. she doesn't do the handshake, which is unlike her. "where is she?" she asks again, more demanding this time. she was in a pissy mood.

her looks momentarily taken aback by her sharp tone. rude demeanour "she's asleep. why? are you good?" she sighs, getting more frustrated. "yeah, i’m fine…just- wake her up, will you? we’ve got patrol.”

“yeah, okay- but- seriously man, you okay?”

ellie sighs, leaning against the doorframe and looking away from matt

"it's nothing. i just have a lot on my mind, that's all."

"whatever you say, man." he mutters, closing the door behind him. two minutes later, the door creaks open again, revealing you, still half-asleep. your eyes struggle to open as you try to focus on her, you’re wearing a white tank top and small black shorts that you slept in the night before. rubbing your eyes, you glance up at her and murmur, "hey."

ellie's eyes look you up and down as she sees your outfit. she tries to keep her eyes from wandering and she looks away, trying to act like she wasn't checking you out.

"you finally decided to wake up." she said in a sarcastic tone.

“mhm.” you mutter, still clearly tired from being woken up.

ellie couldn't help but steal another glance at your body. she cursed herself in her head for letting her eyes wander again. “are you gonna get dressed or what?" she asked, trying to hide the fact that she was struggling to look away from you. "uh, what are we doing?" you ask, your voice thick with sleep, still struggling to fully wake.

ellie takes a deep breath, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. "we're going on patrol. so get your lazy ass dressed and let's go." you look at her for a second, processing what she said "ohhh, yeah," you mumble, closing the door once more. ten minutes later, it creaks open again, and this time, you're dressed and looking much more presentable.

ellie looks at you again, her eyes scanning your body for a brief moment before she snaps out of it. she gives you a nod of approval, attempting to act nonchalant.

"finally. let's go."

"bye, matt!" you call out into the house before quickly shutting the door behind you. matt's voice can be heard shouting back from inside the house."bye! don't die!"

“oh.” you say.

ellie rolls her eyes again at matt's words, shaking her head "ignore him. he's an idiot." she says, beginning to walk away from your house and towards the main gates to leave. you nod and jog a little to catch up to her. the guards let you out and you leave, you walk into the forest, ready to clear any infected you see and make your way to the next look out.

ellie leads the way through the forest, walking in silence. she steals glances at you occasionally, her eyes always lingering a little too long before she looks away again.

ellie clears her throat, breaking the silence.

"soo... how was your night?" she asks, trying to make conversation. she was struggling to keep her eyes off you, but she knew she had to try to act normal. you look at her, confused, wondering why she’s suddenly trying to make conversation when the two of you have never really been friendly in the past.

“if you’re asking why matt was there, nothing happened.” you say bluntly.

something did happen — but she didn’t need to know that.

she was friends with mike, your ex, and you didn’t need her going back and telling mike that matt was at your house.

ellie lets out a small sigh of relief, a bit of tension leaving her body. she wasn't exactly thrilled at the thought of you being alone with matt.

"okay, good. i was just curious." she said, trying to sound casual.

“good?” you repeat.

ellie mentally cursed herself for letting her words slip. she hadn't meant to sound possessive, but it had come out that way.

“i just... i mean, it's not a big deal or anything. i was just asking." she quickly tried to cover up her slip up.

"well, no," you begin, rambling, your words tumbling out in a rush. "it's just... i know you're close with mike, and I don't want you running back to him saying matt stayed over at my house when i'm not anything with either of them anymore." you trail off, clearly stressed and trying to make sense of it all.

ellie clenches her jaw, feeling a pang of jealousy at the mention of mike. “i’m not going to run back and tell anyone anything." she says defensively, trying to hide her annoyance.

"sure." you scoff, clearly not believing her.

ellie rolls her eyes again, her frustration growing. “why are you being so defensive about this? It's not like I care who stays over at your house." she lies, knowing full well that she does care.

“ok but mike does, he’s my ex—he’ll be mad, and he’s your friend so you would tell him, it’s common sense.” you reply hastily. ellie sighs, knowing that you were right. mike would be pissed if he found out that matt stayed over at your house. especially since matt was a problem in the relationship when you and mike dated. since matt is another one of your exes. but we don’t need to get into that.

“fine, maybe I would tell him. but it's not like he has any right to be mad. you're not with him anymore." she replies

“just because he doesn’t have any right to be mad doesn’t mean he won’t be mad.” you say clearly annoyed by her naive answer. ellie stops walking and turns to face you, her expression a mix of irritation and something else. “why do you care what mike thinks? you're not with him anymore, remember? you don't owe him anything."

"yeah, but it's just drama," you sigh, frustration creeping into your voice. "mike had a problem with matt when we were dating because i’m friends with matt, and matt’s my ex. so, if mike found out matt stayed over, it would just start an argument. I just can’t be fucking bothered" you frown, getting increasingly upset that she keeps pushing the topic.

she laughs mockingly, crossing her arms over her chest. "so you're just going to let mike dictate who you can and can't have over? that’s bullshit."

"surprised you're not defending him," you say, looking up at her. "you always do when he's around." you narrow your eyes, wondering why she’s challenging you instead of automatically defending her best friend. ellie looks away, feeling a pang of guilt. she knew you were right, she always defended mike no matter what he did or said. "i'm not always defending him." she mumbled, knowing full well that she was.

“you are.”

ellie sighs again, running a hand through her hair in frustration. “okay.” she pauses “maybe i do. but it's not because i agree with everything he says. i just... i don't know. he's my friend, my best friend and I want to support him."

you scoff. “right.” you nod sarcastically, showing you think she’s full of shit.

ellie rolls her eyes again, starting to get annoyed with your tone. “what's that supposed to mean?" she asks, her voice slightly sharp. “what’s what supposed to mean” you reply.

she glares at you, her patience wearing thin. “you keep saying 'right' like you don't believe me—like you think i'm a complete idiot for defending mike."

you chuckle. “well you are.”

ellie clenches her fists, her anger flaring up. "oh, so now i'm an idiot? because i care about my friend?"

“oh my god!” you throw your hands up in the air “i don't care what you do all im saying is don't go running back to mike saying shit”

she takes in a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. "i won't, okay? i’m not gonna tell mike about matt staying over, but you have to understand that i'm not going to stop being friends with him just because you don't like him."

“when did i ever say stop being friends with him?” you snap

she looks at you, slightly confused. "you just implied it. you keep saying that i always defend him and that I'm stupid for it. it just sounds like you don't want me to be friends with him."

you pull a confused face “you and i aren’t even friends! why would i care who you’re friends with?”

you both stay silent for a moment

until you speak up “look, you and i aren’t ever gonna be friends and we’re obviously never gonna like each other and that’s fine.”

ellie feels a pang of disappointment at your words. she had been trying to deny it, but deep down she knew that you were right. she didn't like you, and you didn't like her.

“yeah, i know. enemies, like you said.”

ellie sighs again, looking away from you. there was a strange tension between you two, a mixture of annoyance and something else that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"can we just... get back to patrol? we’ve got a job to do."

you and ellie finish up patrol and head back to jackson. having neither one of you spoken a word since your little argument earlier.

the two of you walk through the jackson gates, both of you still feeling the tension from earlier. the sun is starting to set, casting a warm orange glow over the town.

"finally, we're done." ellie says, relieved to be back. she stretches her arms above her head, trying to ease the stiffness in her muscles.

“yep.” you say bluntly, then walking off in the direction of your house, your boots treading in the snow as you walked.

the next day your friends were chilling and drinking at dina’s house, and unsurprisingly, ellie was there too.

ellie is sitting on the couch, sipping a drink, being more quiet than usual. she glances around the room, noticing that everyone is having a good time. however, she can't help but feel a bit on edge. she looks over at you, trying to gauge your mood.

ellie notices that you seem to be deep in thought, your eyes fixed on the wall in front of you. she debates whether or not to approach you, not wanting to push you too hard. she decides to give you some space for now, but keeps an eye on you from across the room.

as the night goes on, ellie can't shake the feeling that something is off with you. she's used to you being more outgoing and talkative, but tonight you're quieter than usual. she finally decides to get up and make her way over to you.

she takes a seat next to you on the couch, trying to sound casual.

“hey, you good?”

you snap out of your thoughts then an annoyed expression takes over your face “why’re you being nice to me all of a sudden. what do you want.”

ellie is taken aback by your bluntness, but she tries to hide her surprise.

“i'm not being nice, i was just checking on you. is that a crime?”

you scoff “you’re never nice to me.”

she rolls her eyes, a hint of defensiveness in her voice.“i’m nice to you sometimes. we just... obviously don't get along that well."

“so keep it that way then.”

ellie clenches her jaw, frustration building up inside her. she can't believe how stubborn you're being.

"you know what? forget it. i don't know why i even bothered."

she gets up from the couch and walks away, leaving you alone once again.

ellie joins the others, trying to distract herself from the tension between you two. she chats with jesse and dina, but her mind keeps wandering back to you. she can't help but feel like she did something wrong, even though she was just trying to be friendly.

as the night continues, ellie finds herself stealing glances at you every now and then. she sees you laughing and joking with the others, but she can't shake the feeling that something is still off.

she can't understand why you always push her away. she thought maybe you two were starting to get along, but it seems like every time she tries to get closer, you shut her out.

her mind stops racing suddenly as cat, her ex, sits down next to her

ellie is caught off guard as cat takes a seat next to her. they had broken up a while ago, and ellie had been avoiding her since then.

cat smiles at her, trying to act casual.

"hey, ellie. how've you been?"

ellie forces a smile, trying to be polite despite her discomfort. “i’ve been good. just been chilling, you know." she glances over at you, wondering if you're watching them. she feels a pang of guilt for some reason.

you cast a sharp glance at cat, your face twisting in distaste. the tension between the two of you had always been palpable, a silent feud that had never quite dissipated.

cat notices your glare and rolls her eyes. she's never liked you either, and the feeling is mutual.

ellie sees the exchange between you two and sighs. she knows that you and cat have a history of disliking each other, and she wishes you would just get along.

cat turns back to ellie, ignoring your glare.

"so, any plans for the weekend?"

ellie shrugs, still feeling uneasy. "not really. just the usual patrol and chores. nothing exciting." she tries to keep the conversation light, but her mind is still on you and the tension between you all.

cat's sharp gaze flickers over to ellie, noticing the distant look in her eyes. she raises an eyebrow, her voice laced with curiosity.

"you seem off. something bothering you?"

ellie pauses, a brief flicker of uncertainty crossing her features. she weighs the decision in her mind—whether to confide in cat or keep her thoughts to herself.

ellie sighs again, deciding to be honest. "it's just... i don't know. things have been weird lately. between you and me, and... well, with her." she gestures subtly in your direction, hoping cat will understand who she's referring to.

"𖤐?” cat’s brow furrows in confusion before she lets out a short, incredulous laugh. "what about her?"

ellie nods, her cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment. "yeah, her. i don’t know what’s going on with her. she’s been acting... weird. meaner than usual. it's like something’s off, but i can’t figure out what."

cat scoffs, her tone blunt as she leans back slightly.

"well, yeah, because she doesn’t like you." she says, as if stating the obvious.

ellie frowns, feeling a pang of hurt at cat's words. “yeah, i know she doesn't like me. but i thought maybe we were getting somewhere. i thought we could at least be civil."

cat rolls her eyes, clearly unimpressed by ellie’s hesitance. "honestly, i wouldn’t bother trying to befriend her. she’s always been difficult to deal with." she says, her tone laced with frustration.

ellie bites her lip, torn. she knows cat has a point, that you can be difficult, but there’s something about you—something she can’t quite put her finger on—that keeps pulling her in, making her want to understand you despite everything.

cat catches the conflicted expression on ellie’s face, her eyebrow arching skeptically. "you're not seriously thinking about being friends with her after all this time of you two at fucking each other's throats?”

ellie looks away, her gaze drifting to the floor as her mind churns with indecision. she knows she shouldn’t try and create a friendship with you, considering the two of you have never liked each other and never planned on liking each other, but—something deep inside her won’t let go of the pull she feels toward you.

"i'm not—" she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "i just... i don’t know. there’s something about her that makes me want to keep trying. i mean- we’re all in the same friend group; we’re not little kids anymore we should be able to be grown and be civil with each other—friends even. and that goes for you and her too.”

cat scoffs, shaking her head with a mix of frustration and disbelief. "you're too nice for your own good, ellie. she’s not worth it. trust me, i’ve known her long enough. she’s just going to keep pushing you away."

ellie sighs, the weight of cat’s words sinking in. she knows deep down that cat was probably right—that you’ve built walls so high it seems pointless to try and break them down. but still, there’s something inside her, a gut feeling that there’s more to you than the cold exterior you show the world. and for some reason, she can't shake it.

the conversation is interrupted as jesse calls out to ellie, asking her to join him for a game of cards.

ellie looks at cat apologetically before getting up to join jesse. she glances back at you one last time, her mind still racing with thoughts about your relationship.

as the night goes on, ellie tries to focus on the game and the conversations around her, but her thoughts keep drifting back to you. she can't help but wonder why you're being so difficult, and why she feels so drawn to you despite your attitude.

she glances at you again, noticing that you're talking and laughing with the others, but you don't seem to be paying much attention to her.

after a while, ellie excuses herself from the game and heads outside for some fresh air. she needs a moment to clear her head and think things through. she leans against the wall, staring up at the sky as she tries to make sense of her feelings. why does she care so much about someone who clearly doesn't want anything to do with her?

"that’s cute.” a voice cuts through the tension, causing ellie to jump in surprise. she turns quickly, only to see you standing behind her, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips.

before she can respond, you casually close dina’s front door, the sound echoing through the quiet. without missing a beat, you drop to the ground, sitting in the snow and crossing your legs, taking in the cold air with a quiet exhale.

ellie jumps slightly at the sound of your voice, not expecting you to come outside. she quickly wipes away the heart she drew and turns to face you, trying to act casual.

"what’re you doing out here?" she asks, trying to hide her surprise.

"needed some air." you say, your gaze flicking over to ellie as you settle into the snow, your tone surprisingly casual. you seem unfazed, as if the cold doesn't bother you in the slightest.

ellie nods, looking at you as you sit in the snow. she can't help but notice how peaceful you look, with the moonlight illuminating your face.

"yeah, me too."

there's an awkward silence between you two, both of you unsure of what to say.

"who’s the heart for? cat?" you ask, the words laced with a hint of sarcasm, though there’s an edge of genuine curiosity in your voice as you glance toward ellie.

"what? no, it’s not for cat." ellie snaps defensively, her cheeks flushing slightly as she shifts uncomfortably. she wasn’t expecting that question, and it stirs something she wasn’t quite ready to confront.

“but she’s your ex isn’t she?” you say, challenging her.

ellie sighs, knowing that there's no point in denying it. "yeah, she is. but it's not like that anymore. we broke up a while ago."

“so who then?” you push the subject, genuinely curious.

ellie looks away, her cheeks flushing slightly. she's not used to being so vulnerable, especially with you. "i... i don't know. no one important, i guess." she can't bring herself to admit that the heart was for you. she's afraid of what you'll think, of how you'll react. she was supposed to hate you—she always hated you, she didn’t know why just today she had a sudden change of heart.

you scoff “what?”

ellie looks at you, annoyed by your reaction. "what do you mean, 'what'? i just told you it's for someone who isn't important." she crosses her arms, feeling defensive.

"if they weren't important why would you have done it?" you ask, a sharp edge to your voice, frustration creeping through. you can’t quite mask the annoyance at her secrecy—it’s clear she’s holding something back, and it's starting to get under your skin.

ellie rolls her eyes, trying to keep her cool. "because i was bored, okay? i just felt like drawing something in the snow. it doesn't mean anything."

she knows that she's lying, but she doesn't want to admit the truth. she doesn't want to admit that the heart was for you, that she's been thinking about you more than she should be.

the two of you say silent.

ellie lets out an exasperated sigh. “why do you even care who the heart was for?" she's starting to get irritated with your questioning, feeling like you're picking at her for no reason

“i don’t. i was just asking, is that a fucking crime?" you snap back, your irritation rising as you glare at her. "jeez." you mutter, clearly fed up with her attitude, the tension between you both thickening.

ellie clenches her jaw, trying to control her temper.

"no, it's not a crime. but you're being really pushy about it."

she looks at you once more, her eyes narrowing slightly. "why are you even out here again? shouldn't you be inside with everyone else?"

“needed some fresh air, like i said” you say frustratedly

ellie nods, feeling a bit guilty for snapping at you. "right… sorry. i didn't mean to get all defensive." she takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. "i just... i don't know. you're always so difficult to talk to."

"what’s that supposed to mean?" you ask, confusion flickering across your face, quickly replaced by offense. you hadn’t expected her to react like that, and now you're left questioning her tone, wondering if there's more behind her words than she's letting on.

ellie shrugs, feeling a mix of frustration and confusion. "it means exactly what it sounds like. you're always such a fucking bitch and just- so rude, like you don't want to be around me."

she looks at you, her eyes searching yours for any sign of emotion.

"we’ve never been friends," you say, your voice tinged with confusion as you try to make sense of what she's getting at. "why are you acting like this is some kind of big deal?" the words feel sharper now, a mix of frustration and genuine confusion.

ellie sighs, a deep, quiet disappointment settling in her chest. “i know that," she admits, her voice soft. "but i thought maybe... i don't know, maybe we could be."

she gazes down at the snow, tracing small patterns with her fingers.

"but you always push me away. every time i actually do try to be nice you always pick a fight." the words hang in the air, the raw honesty in them unmistakable.

you stay silent for a moment then speak up “you’re mean to me too, I thought maybe you’d grown up and we could just be civil but no you always have to be a bitch.”

ellie's eyes widen in surprise at your words. she wasn't expecting you to call her out like that. "i'm not a bitch," she protests, her voice rising slightly. "i just... i don't know how to talk to you. you always act like you hate me."

“you are—and you have literally said, multiple times on, multiple occasions that you hate me” you huff

ellie looks away, feeling a mix of guilt and defensiveness. "okay, fine. i have said that i hate you. but it's not because i do. it's because you make it so fucking hard to like you." she turns back to face you, her expression softening slightly. "you're always so… i’dunno.. cold? and standoffish. you never let anyone in."

“well maybe because they’re all bitches like you.” you laugh as a flash of annoyance creeps into your expression.

ellie flinches at your words, feeling like you just punched her in the gut. "you know what? forget it. i don't know why i even bothered trying to talk to you." she stands up, brushing the snow off her pants. "cat was right. you are impossible to deal with. i don't know why i thought you would ever change."

you scoff, the words leaving your mouth with clear frustration. "you're such a bitch!" rising to your feet, you fix her with a glare, your eyes intense and full of resolve.

ellie clenches her fists, trying to hold back her anger. "and you're such a stuck up one at that! you think you're so much fucking better than everyone else!" she takes a step closer to you, her eyes blazing with frustration.

ellie stares back at you, her chest heaving with anger. She can feel the tension between you two growing stronger with each passing second.

“what? cat got your tongue?" she snaps, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

you shove her away, the tension in your chest snapping as you storm back into dina's house. the door slams behind you, and you take the stairs two at a time, your heart pounding in your chest. ellie’s footsteps echo behind you, relentless, but your friends are too lost in their drunken haze to even notice the storm brewing between you two.

you can almost hear their laughter and slurred chatter, distant and hollow, as you reach the top of the stairs, alone with your thoughts and the weight of what just happened.

ellie follows you up the stairs, her anger fueling her steps. she's determined to get the last word in. “i wasn’t fucking finished talking to you!" she demands, catching up to you in the hallway.

you storm into the guest bedroom, the anger surging through you like a tidal wave. without a second thought, you slam the door behind you, the sharp bang echoing in the quiet house.

your breath comes in heavy, controlled bursts as you try to shake off the fury bubbling beneath your skin. you can hear her muffled voice from the other side, but you don’t care. she’s pushed you too far this time.

ellie grits her teeth as the door slams in her face. she stands outside the door, debating whether to barge in or walk away.

after a moment of hesitation, she reaches for the doorknob and tries to open the door.

“what do you want?!” you shout.

ellie pushes the door open and steps into the room, closing it behind her. she crosses her arms, her eyes narrowing at you. "i want to talk to you. you can't just fucking storm off like that and leave me hanging."

“you’re a bitch! that’s all there is to it!” you reply starting to get aggravated.

ellie lets out a frustrated growl, her patience wearing thin. "no you’re a fucking bitch! you know what? i'm done trying to be nice to you. you’re a brat! you don't deserve it."

“oh fuck off!” you scoff, trying to push past her

ellie takes a step closer to you, blocking your way and her voice rising. "no, you fuck off! I've had enough of your attitude. you're always so fucking difficult to deal with!"

“i don’t care what you think!” you snap, your voice rising with the heat of your anger. the words taste bitter on your tongue, a mix of frustration and hurt. every insult she threw at you feels like a weight pressing down harder, but you refuse to let it break you. you stand there, chest heaving, every muscle taut, as the tension between you simmers.

ellie clenches her fists, her anger boiling over. "oh, you don't care? that's fucking rich coming from someone who can't even bother to be civil for five minutes." she takes another step closer, closing the distance between you.

you scoff, looking her in the eye, “you’re the most aggravating fucking bitch I have ever fucking met”

ellie's face reddens with anger.

"and you're the most fucking insufferable bitch i’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing!" she's standing so close to you now, her chest almost touching yours.

you stand there, frozen in the moment, the sting of her insult lingering in the air between you. for a heartbeat, the world seems to pause, but then, something shifts inside you. without thinking, driven by a surge of defiance and emotion, you step forward and crash your lips against hers.

ellie's eyes widen in shock as your lips touch hers. she freezes for a moment, her mind racing to catch up with what's happening. but then, her body seems to take over and she finds herself kissing you back.

you pull away, your breath shallow, the heat of the moment still lingering. “fuck—sorry, i don’t know why i did that—” before you can finish, she interrupts, her voice sharp and cutting through the tension.

“shut up.”

ellie presses her body against yours, her lips crashing against yours in a heated kiss. she kisses you with a mixture of anger and passion, her hands still holding onto your wrists tightly.

ellie breaks the kiss, her breathing heavy as she looks at you with a mix of desire and annoyance. "you're such a pain in the ass, you know that?"

“could say the same to you,” you mutter under your breath, the words more challenging than you intend. without waiting for her response, you find yourself kissing her again—this time, more urgent and reckless, as if the world outside no longer matters.

ellie melts into the kiss, her hands letting go of your wrists and wrapping around your waist instead. she pulls you closer, her body flush against yours as she deepens the kiss.

“fuck… take these off” she pants, as she takes your bottoms off.

she pushes you onto the bed, her eyes filled with a hungry desire. she quickly straddles you, her hands roaming over your body as she begins to undress you more.

“take that off.” you say, tugging at the hem of her flannel.

she smirks at your command, her fingers slowly undoing the buttons of her shirt. she takes her time, enjoying the way you're watching her every move.

"patience, 𖤐.”

ellie lets her shirt fall open, revealing her toned stomach and the curve of her breasts. she tosses the shirt aside and leans down, her lips brushing against your ear. “you like what you see?"

ellie grins at your response, her hand trailing down your stomach and stopping just above the waistband of your underwear.

"good. because i’m about to show you how fucking angry you made me earlier."

“please fuck me” you whine, looking up at her.

ellie's eyes darken with lust at your plea. she hooks her fingers under the waistband and slowly pulls down your underwear, exposing you completely to her gaze.

ellie takes a moment to admire you, her eyes roaming over your body hungrily. she runs her hands up your thighs, her touch sending shivers down your spine.

"so pretty," she whispers, her voice low and sultry. “who knew a fucking bitch like you could be so pretty, huh?”

ellie leans down and presses a kiss to your inner thigh, her lips trailing up towards your core.

she positions herself between your legs, her breath hot against your skin.

“please.” you mumble.

"since you asked so nicely.

ellie begins to tease you, her tongue slowly tracing patterns along your inner thighs. she can feel your body trembling beneath her touch, and it only fuels her desire to please you even more.

ellie finally reaches your center, her tongue flicking over your clit. she takes her time, alternating between slow and fast strokes, savoring the way you moan and gasp in response.

“fuuck.”

ellie's pace quickens, her tongue moving faster and more insistently against your clit. she can feel you getting closer to the edge, your body tensing and shaking beneath her.

“you like that?”

all you can do is moan in response, ellie doesn't let up, her tongue relentless as she pushes you closer and closer to the edge. she looks up at you, her eyes dark with desire, and murmurs against your skin.

"cum for me baby."

ellie smiles at your reaction, feeling your body tense up as you reach your climax. she continues to work you through it, licking and sucking until you're completely spent.

she barley gives you time to catch your breath before she slides two fingers into your soaking folds.

ellie watches your reaction intently as she slides her fingers inside you, enjoying the way your eyes flutter shut and your breath hitches in your throat.

"atta girl" she whispers, slowly pumping her fingers in and out of you. ellie picks up the pace, her fingers curling and hitting just the right spot inside you.

she leans in and kisses your neck, her lips trailing down to your collarbone. "you're so tight," she murmurs against your skin. "can feel you clenching around my fucking fingers.”

ellie adds a third finger, stretching you even further. she starts to move her hand faster, her thumb rubbing against your clit in tight circles.

“fuck fuck fuck.”

ellie grins at your repeated curses, her fingers working you relentlessly. she can feel you getting close again, your walls starting to flutter around her fingers.

"that's it, baby," she coos. "let go for me."

“fuck— faster- please ellie.”

ellie obliges, increasing the speed of her fingers even more. she's practically pounding into you now, her hand moving at a frantic pace.

"you're such a needy little thing," she says, her voice dripping with lust. "begging for me to go faster."

“fuckkk, ellie” you moan.

ellie smirks at the sound of her name on your lips. she loves the way you say it, the way it sounds like a plea and a prayer all at once. "say it again," she demands, her fingers curling deeper inside you.

you moan again, even loader “mmh- fuck! ellie!”

ellie leans down and captures your lips in a bruising kiss, her tongue tangling with yours as she continues to finger you mercilessly. "that's it," she whispers against your mouth.

“fuckkk ‘ts too much” you say, feeling overstimulated from being so filled up.

ellie chuckles darkly, not slowing down her pace at all.

"oh, you can take it," she says, her fingers working you even harder. "i know you can.”

ellie can feel you starting to clench around her fingers again, your body on the verge of another orgasm. she leans in close, her breath hot against your ear.

“fuck— shit, fuck i’m gonna-”

ellie feels you tighten around her fingers, your body arching off the bed as you reach your climax. she keeps her fingers moving, helping you ride out your orgasm until you're completely spent.

once you're done, she slowly pulls her fingers out and licks them clean, savoring the taste of you on her tongue.

she smirks and lays down beside you, pulling you into her arms. she strokes your hair gently, letting you catch your breath.

“we should… probably get back downstairs with the others.” you say breathlessly.

“good idea.”

#ellie smut #ellie williams #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #smut #tlou smut #wlw smut #ellie the last of us #ellie willams x reader #ellie x you

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kinkyniragi · 15 hours ago

Text

Truth or Dare

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader Genre: Smut 18+ Word count: 3,6k Summary: You're at one of Tommy's legendary parties with his sister Ada. A little drunk and caught up in the thrill of the night, you let her talk you into a game of Truth or Dare. You confess that your secret fantasy is to be fucked dumb by her brother. Too bad you didn’t realize he was listening the whole time… CN: Dirty talk, vaginal and oral penetration, rough sex, domination/power imbalance. Please note that this is all just fantasy. Things that happen in my stories should always be consensual. Take care. Author’s note: I asked you, you voted for this. Now live with it LOL

***

Masterlist

Cheerful music, played by a live band, thrums through Arrow House, loud and bass-heavy, making the walls vibrate with each pulsing beat. The air is warm, charged with laughter, smoke and the scent of expensive whiskey. People dance exuberantly, bodies pressed close, heads tipped back in carefree abandon. Fragments of lighthearted conversations reach your ears. It’s a hell of a party—one only Tommy Shelby could throw.

You and Ada have been friends since school—years of shared secrets, bad decisions, and late-night confessions binding you together in a way that never really faded. She’s always been the wild one, the kind of girl who drags you into trouble with a wicked grin and a promise that it’ll be worth it. And, more often than not, it is.

You’ve heard plenty about Tommy over the years. His name comes up in stories about dangerous deals and legendary parties, whispered like a warning and an invitation all at once. But until tonight, you’d never been part of it. Never seen the infamous Arrow House in all its debauched glory.

And Tommy himself? You’ve only ever known him in passing—glimpses at Ada’s family gatherings, half-formed impressions from the way people talk about him, fleeting small talk. He’s always been a mystery to you, a presence looming just outside your world. You never knew exactly what to make of him, but his mysterious, attractive appearance always turned you on.

But now, standing in the middle of his party, surrounded by drunken lightness and swirling smoke, you wonder if you’re about to find out more.

Somewhere in the middle of the dance floor, you and Ada are twirling, flushed with drink and mischief, your fingers laced briefly before you spin apart again. You giggle excitedly as your dance speeds up, making you dizzy.

After what feels like hours of dancing and shameless flirting with every attractive stranger in arm’s reach, Ada suddenly grabs your wrist, tugging you toward a quieter corner.

"Stay put," she grins, disappearing only to return moments later with two more drinks. She hands you one and lifts her own in a mock toast. "To bad decisions."

You clink glasses and drink deep.

"We should play a game," Ada announces suddenly, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. Her lips shine with whiskey. Gosh, Ada and her so-called games. You know what is about to come up.

"Truth or Dare."

You laugh, but there’s a challenge in her eyes. "Alright. You go first."

It starts off harmless—favorite childhood memory, worst kiss, a dare to take a shot without using your hands. But then—you chose “Truth” again—Ada tilts her head, eyes sparkling with curiosity, and asks, "What’s your dirtiest desire?"

Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the way the room spins just slightly, making everything feel deliciously unreal. Or maybe it’s the way Ada leans in, close enough that her perfume mixes with the smoke and spirits in the air. You've simply known each other for too long and have talked too often about your experiences with men. Whatever it is, the words slip from your lips before you can stop them.

"There is a certain person…I can’t get out of my head. I wanna be…be fucked dumb by him. No control, no mercy—just taken, used, ruined until there’s nothing left in my head but the way it feels."

Ada’s eyes widen before she bursts into delighted laughter. "You little slut," she teases. "Tell me more."

Heat creeps up your neck, but there’s no taking it back now. You lick your lips, voice dropping. "Just filthy words and rough hands until I forget my own name, until all I can do is moan and beg for more."

Ada hums, sipping her drink as if she’s considering something very important. "And who, exactly, do you want to do that to you?"

You shake your head quickly, smirking. "That’s the next question. Your turn first."

Your heart is hammering, but you keep your expression playful. If you drag this out long enough, maybe she’ll get distracted, maybe someone else will butt in, maybe—hell, maybe the house will catch fire and save you from this mess. Anything to avoid saying his name out loud.

Because once it’s out there, you can’t take it back.

What if she gets weird about it? What if she’s offended? Ada is bold and reckless, but this is her brother. There’s a fine line between teasing and crossing into something uncomfortable, and you have no idea which side she’ll land on.

You force yourself to take a slow sip of your drink, feigning nonchalance. Just play it cool. Don’t let her see you sweat.

Ada narrows her eyes at you, sensing the deflection, but she lets it slide—for now. She swirls the last of her drink, considering.

"Alright, my turn," she muses. "Hit me."

You think for a moment, then grin. "Truth or dare?"

Ada stretches her legs out dramatically, pretending to be deep in thought. "Hmm. I do love a good dare."

You smirk. "Then I dare you to go up to—" You scan the party, searching for the most ridiculous target. "—that guy over there in the red suspenders, grab his ass, and tell him he’s the love of your life."

Ada barks out a laugh, shaking her head. "Nope, too easy." She leans in conspiratorially, eyes gleaming. "I’ll take ‘Truth.’"

You raise an eyebrow, surprised. "Oh? Feeling sentimental?"

She winks. "Just feeling nosy. Go on, ask me something juicy."

You drum your fingers against your glass, pretending to think, though you already know exactly what you want to ask. “Alright, Ada,” you say slowly, drawing out the suspense. “Since we’re already on the topic—who’s the best fuck you’ve ever had?”

Ada throws her head back with a cackle, clearly unbothered by the question. “Oh, babe, you’re going to have to be more specific than that.” She grins wickedly. “Best in what way?”

You roll your eyes. “You know what I mean. The one you still think about when you’re alone.”

Ada hums, pretending to be deep in thought. Then she leans in, lowering her voice just enough to make you do the same. “Alright,” she whispers, eyes gleaming. “There was this one time, in a car—”

What follows is a shamelessly detailed story that has you laughing and cringing in equal measure. Ada tells it with the kind of confidence only she can pull off, completely unapologetic, feeding off your reactions. By the time she’s done, your face is warm from both the alcohol and the secondhand embarrassment.

“Jesus,” you mutter, shaking your head. “I don’t know if I’m impressed or horrified.”

Ada smirks. “Little bit of both, I hope.”

She leans back, looking way too pleased with herself. “Alright, your turn again. Truth or dare?”

You hesitate. She can sense it. You could pick "Dare" again, but Ada is relentless—if you try to avoid the question, she’ll only come up with something even worse. Something you’d never, ever do.

"I swear, if you don’t pick ‘Truth’ right now, I’m making you streak through this party wearing nothing but a bow."

Your stomach drops.

"Truth," you blurt out, before she can make good on that threat.

Ada grins triumphantly. "Good girl!" Ada’s grin turns downright devious as she places a hand on your thigh, giving it a squeeze. “Alright, babe. Spill. Who’s the mystery man?”

And the alcohol has loosened your tongue enough that it almost feels like a game.

So you lean in and whisper, "Tommy."

Ada freezes. Then she snorts so loudly that a few heads turn. Covering her mouth, she shakes with laughter, eyes dancing with amusement. "You dirty little thing," she wheezes, wiping at her eyes. "My brother? Really?"

You groan, smacking her arm, but she just keeps giggling. The moment is too ridiculous not to laugh along, and before long, you’re both breathless with mirth, stumbling back toward the music.

You lose yourself in the rhythm again, Ada’s fingers briefly twining with yours before she’s pulled into another dance. Then, suddenly, a shadow looms in the periphery.

Tommy.

He steps in smoothly, effortlessly claiming your space as if it’s always been his to take. One hand settles low on your waist, the other taking your fingers, guiding you into the sway of the music.

Then, his lips brush against your ear.

"So," he murmurs, "you wanna be fucked dumb, eh?"

The seconds in which you cannot answer seem like an eternity.

“By me.” His tone makes it clear that it’s less of a question and more of a cold statement—one that is becoming increasingly impossible to deny.

Blood rushes hot beneath your skin. You go stiff, but Tommy’s grip is firm, keeping you flush against him. You know you should say something, laugh it off, anything—but the words have turned to ash on your tongue.

Tommy chuckles, a low, knowing sound. "Cat got your tongue?"

You shake your head, but it only makes him press closer.

"Makes you wet, doesn’t it?" His voice is barely audible over the music, but it slides down your spine like a caress. "Dancing like this. Feeling me against you. Bet you’ve thought about it before. Wondered how I look naked. How my cock feels. How I fuck."

A shiver rolls through you. Your nails dig into his shoulder.

"Tell me I’m wrong."

You can’t.

Tommy makes a satisfied sound, his fingers tightening just slightly on your hip. Then he leans in again, his lips brushing your temple, as he continues to lead the dance skillfully. "How about we continue our little…dance…in a darker place?"

Your breath is shallow, your pulse wild, but you don’t protest when he takes your hand and leads you off the dance floor. Ada catches your eye as you pass, grinning like the devil himself, raising her glass in silent approval.

You barely register the walk through the house before you’re inside his office, the heavy door clicking shut behind you. Tommy discreetly turns the key in the lock.

He turns to you, expression unreadable.

"Now," he says, as if it were a serious matter, "why don’t you explain to me exactly what you mean by ‘fucked dumb’?"

Your mouth falls open, but you feel incapable of answering. Even though you're noticeably drunk, the shame of your vulgar language hits you full force. If only you'd held back...or maybe not? You're confused, ashamed, aroused. It hits you all at once—how perfectly suited Tommy is to the role of the experienced, dominant man. How effortlessly he plays with it, nudging you into the part of the naïve little thing, so easily led by him. Ada warned you for a reason—getting involved with her brother is like playing with fire. A game you already love as much as you hate.

Tommy doesn’t break eye contact as he unbuttons his vest, shrugging it off with practiced ease. "Or maybe…" He tilts his head, studying you like he’s considering an alternative, one that’s just as inevitable. "You had plenty to say just a moment ago. Now you’ve gone all quiet. Too bad." His fingers brush over your jaw, coaxing your gaze back to his. "Maybe you’re better at showing than telling."

Your gaze drops—and heat flares in your core as you take in the very prominent bulge in his trousers.

Your reaction obviously doesn't go unnoticed by him. "That’s what I thought," Tommy says with a self-satisfied nod. “You want my cock so badly, naughty little thing, eh?”

His fingers move to his shirt next, working the buttons loose with infuriating patience. One by one. Like he’s giving you time to stop him. Like he knows you won’t. You're transfixed, watching as he strips off the fabric, baring his chest to you.

"From the way you’re looking at me…" He lets the words linger, his lips curving slightly. "I’d say I’m already heading in the right direction."

He takes your hand, pressing it against his skin, guiding you over the hard planes of muscle before leading you lower. You swallow, nodding hesitantly. His grip tightens around your wrist, his ice-blue eyes fix on you and his breathing betrays his arousal. With deliberate force, he presses your palm against the bulge in his trousers.

He’s so fucking hard. So hot and full beneath the fabric that you bite your lip at the thought of what’s waiting underneath.

"Come on," he urges teasingly with playful dominance. "Don’t be shy. Take him out."

You obey without thinking, your fingers fumbling at his belt before pulling him free. He springs into your palm, warm and thick.

"Now," he murmurs, "where do you want it?" He leans in, his lips ghosting over your ear. " I can be anywhere inside you, wherever you want.”

This man is going to ruin you.

Your fingers tighten around him instinctively, and he hisses, full of approval and desire. "Good girl," he mutters. "Get a feel for it." His own hand slides up your thigh, pushing your dress higher, teasing at the bare skin beneath. As if by chance, his fingers brush over your soaked panties. "Holy fuck, you’re a mess down here, baby. So fucking wet, so needy—just waiting for me to stretch you open." His fingers flex against your hip, pulling you closer, letting you feel the solid weight of him against your stomach. "Bet I could slide right in without any resistance." You long for nothing more than for him to do just that as his fingers tease your entrance.

He watches your reaction, drinking in every tiny flicker of arousal, every unsteady breath. Then, with deliberate slowness, he reaches down, wrapping his fingers over yours, guiding your hand to stroke him. His grip forces you to move exactly the way he wants—no hesitations, no teasing, just smooth, firm strokes.

"Feels good, eh?" His voice is thick with satisfaction. "You can admit it. No one’s here to judge you, sweetheart."

You nod, but he clicks his tongue in disapproval. "Uh, uh. That’s not enough. I know you need more." His fingers circle around where you desperately crave him, without giving you the relief of plunging inside you.

"You know," he drawls, "when I said you could show me, I lied." His eyes glint with playful cruelty. "I don’t like it when a woman goes silent on me. Makes it awfully hard to figure out what she needs." He leans in closer. "So, speak up, young lady. How exactly do you want me to fuck you?"

You swallow hard, pulse hammering.

Tommy’s patience drives you insane. With how fucking hard he is, he must have a ridiculous amount of self-control. He waits, amusement dancing in his ice blue eyes, like he’s enjoying watching you struggle to say it. His fingers ghost over your damp panties, teasing, barely there. "Come on. I know you’re not shy."

Your breathing stutters as you shift against him. "I…"

His grin widens. "Go on. Say it."

You bite your lip, heat coiling low in your stomach. He leans in, his hand grabs your hair. He whispers, "Or do you want me to make you beg for it?"

A desperate whimper escapes you, and his answering chuckle is dark and triumphant.

"Not that I don’t love hearing a woman beg to be fucked senseless," he continues. "But my cock would much rather be inside you right now than waiting for you to find your words." His smirk turns sharp. "So don’t test me more than necessary."

Before you can process it, he grips your hips and lifts you onto his dark, wooden desk in the middle of the room, pushing your dress up, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties. A single sharp tug, and the fabric is shoved aside.

You barely have time to breathe before he steps between your thighs, hands gripping your legs, pulling you against him.

"That’s better," he mutters, his cock heavy and hot against you. "Now, last chance. Tell me how badly you need it."

Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you wrap your legs around him, yanking him closer, hips arching against him in pure frustration. "Please," you gasp. "Fill me up, I can’t stand this anymore."

He groans, the sound almost pained. "Fuck, yes…this is a start."

You feel him pushing inside, stretching you open with the tip of his cock, followed by an agonizing break.

“What did you just say, can you explain this to me in more detail,” he teases you. In response, you try to pull him closer to you - into you - with your legs.

“Uh, uh,” he backs away. “Tell me more!”

"Fuck me until I can’t think straight…wreck me…use me…make me yours…,” you grit out every raw desire that comes to your mind, not giving up on pulling him into you.

His grip tightens on your hips as he thrusts forward, visibly satisfied with the words he elicited from you, fully sinking into you with a sharp groan. The stretch, the sheer size of him, knocks the breath from your lungs. His pace is brutal—every movement deliberate, every stroke calculated to drag a desperate sound from your lips.

"I’m gonna make you feel me for days," he grinds out. His hands move with purpose—pushing up your dress, freeing your breasts from their confinement, fingertips digging into your skin as if to mark you. His mouth finds the curve of your neck, biting, sucking, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

After what felt like an eternity, Tommy pulls you up against his chest, one hand fisting in your hair as he drives into you harder. Your fingers scramble for purchase, nails digging into his forearm, but it only seems to spur him on.

Then, suddenly, he withdraws. Before you can whimper at the loss, he pulls you to the velvet chaise longue next to the massive bookshelf and drags you up onto your knees. His hand slides down your spine, his palm pressing between your shoulder blades to press your upper body into the cushion.

"Stay just like that," he orders, lining himself up before slamming back inside.

The angle has you gasping, fingers curling into the dark red velvet. Every thrust is rough, punishing, and exactly what you need. Your moans grow desperate, pleasure coiling unbearably tight inside you.

“Don't you dare come unless I tell you,” he hisses with a strained voice.

Each thrust sends shockwaves through you, scattering your thoughts until nothing remains but the dizzying, all-consuming need to obey. Your vision blurs, the rows of bookshelves before you warping as your knees weaken beneath the force of his movements.

Tommy’s hands roam over your body with unrestrained possession, squeezing your ass roughly before delivering a few playful, stinging smacks. His fingers dig into your back, anchoring himself to you as if claiming every inch of your skin. By now, you must be covered in his marks, each one a silent testament to his dominance.

Suddenly, he grabs your hair, yanking you upright with effortless control. Before you can catch your breath, he grips your shoulders, spinning you to face him. His fingers clamp around your jaw, prying your lips apart as he crashes his mouth onto yours, devouring you in a searing, breath-stealing kiss. When he finally pulls away, his eyes glint with satisfaction, a slow, knowing smirk curling his lips.

"Look at you," he murmurs, tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his. "Already too dumb to think straight, eh?"

As if in a trance, you nod weakly. His fingers disappear into the heat of your crotch. You whimper softly.

“So fucking wet for my cock, so beautifully fucked open,” he praises you, before he drives his fingers, slick with your juices, into your mouth. Instinctively, you start to suck them clean.

“Good girl!” His grip shifts to your throat, tilting your head back just enough for his voice to curl into your ear.

Without a warning, he shoves you down onto his desk again, your torso landing harshly against the cold wood. Before you can steady yourself, he grabs your wrists, pinning both arms behind your back with an unyielding grip. Then, without hesitation, he thrusts into you again—deeper, harder—pulling a broken gasp from your lips.

"Come for me, my little fuck doll" he demands. "Now."

And you do—helplessly, violently, your body shuddering around him as he fucks you through it.

“Oh, how I love the way your tight pussy twitches around me,” Tommy gasps.

With a groan, he pulls out, dragging you off the chaise longue and onto your knees before him. His fingers tangle in your hair as he strokes himself, gaze locked onto yours.

"Open up," he commands.

You barely get your lips parted before he spills across your tongue and cheek with a deep, satisfied growl. His thumb swipes over your chin, smearing it across your skin as he exhales shakily.

“We both know this is exactly what you deserved, eh,” he lectures you. “And if you set foot in Arrow House again, don’t expect me to wait for an invitation."

Then, with a smirk, he tilts your face up to his.

"Don’t wipe it off," he instructs, amusement laced in his tone. "I want you to go back to the party just like that.”

His grin sharpens. "Let’s see if you can manage that without anyone noticing."

Without giving you a chance to react, he tugs your dress back into place and swiftly readjusts his own clothes. Then, without hesitation, he opens the door and pulls you back into the lively chaos of the party night.

***

New to the Cillian party, so just let me know if you (don't) want to be tagged to my next stories!

@narlytude @cassandratyrellm @floweradroble1123 @whoreforzendaya @flowertoo2 @go-mimi30 @myheadspaceisuseless @softcaesar @queenv319 @qkiq @zita90 @aryannavspx @ashamedtobewhitemanswhore27 @aradianti @egoluv @ailynkali @hrhfuturects @venvsfly @sweetsweet52802-blog @nana-bells @isabelaaaaraujo @allison7048 @whore4man @yslvtre @hanxuh @simp-for-bucky-barnes @oscengrim @gacrux @amberyalenka

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#thomas shelby smut #cillian murphy smut #cillian x reader #cillian fanfic #cillian murphy #cillian x fem!reader #cillian fic #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky fucking blinders #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader

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couch-potato28 · 11 hours ago

Text

Imagine being a Blue Lock manager! ⚽️

VERSION VII.

(a/n: apologies apologies for ghosting everyone, I’m back fr so please don’t hate, I love you and thxxx for reading it 🫶❤️)

Warning-none

wc: 1.2 k

ALSO: @ttheggrimrreaper 🔥

——————

FROM THE PROLOGUE:

“Congratulations L/N Y/N! Based on your results, you've earned your place in Blue Lock as the manager of player number…

…33, Otoya Eita.”

The screen displayed your newly assigned player along with some of his basic information, but the whispering of the girls behind you made it hard to concentrate.

“I think I’ve seen him somewhere before” one said, turning to the others as they seemed to agree with the girl, inspecting the boy with a dark streak in his hair. Is he famous? Before you could turn around to ask them, somewhere among the back, a loud voice cut through the crowd.

“THAT’S MY EX BOYFRIEND!” she shouted, recognizing her old lover.

“Wait, wha—“ you didn’t even have time to react, because of your friend who pushed you through the exit door, muttering “Hurry, everyone’s staring, and I think someone is about to be attacked” as she closed the door behind you, leaving you dumbfounded.

Imagine being a ninja’s descendant, Otoya Eita’s manager.

——————

Otoya Eita, who you got to know is a famous name among the participants in the facility, at least 10 of them apparently having been in a relationship with the boy, before he texted them a quick goodbye saying he had to leave for a soccer program. Not to mention, how the moment you stepped onto the field and said his name out loud, a shadow immediately popped up next to you, his white hair with a green streak in the middle, confirming the identity of who you were trying to find.

“Let me guess, you’re Otoya…?” you said, extending your hand while taking a step back—he was a little too close for your liking.

“Yup, pretty girl. And you are…?” he asked, not even sparing a second to take your hand, complimenting how soft it is.

“Y/N. L/N Y/N, your new manager. Pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

——————

•Otoya, who is not so discreet about the fact he finds you attractive, flirting being one of the first things he does at 8 in the morning. He’s handsome, but you immediately turn him down, ‘cause no way you’re losing your job over a scandal.

•The rejection is still sour in his mouth, but he actually stops since you made it crystal clear that you unfortunately don’t want to do anything with him. Professionalism is a must and you’ll make sure to teach him that as well.

•He’s super chill, but can’t stick to schedules to save his life, and you will probably need a leash, because he tends to randomly disappear for 5 minutes or half an hour.

•Frequently mixes up his to-do tasks for the day, resulting in him texting you to ask for instructions—you will never catch him panicking.

•Otoya during matches is effortlessly skilled, his movements fast like a shadow showcasing a relaxed play style. However during practices it’s inevitable not to listen to his whining.

•“Do I really need to do this?” “I’m already doing good, my favorite manager so why the stress?”

•Takes training half-heartedly, does the drills, and simply stops when he thinks he did enough. Oh wait, you compared him to Karasu? Suddenly he jumps back onto his feet, showing you why he’s the best player you could ever get.

•Otoya, who NEVER arrives to practice on time, making the whole team wait for him to slowly walk onto the field with a quick “sorry, sorry.” The reason? He was chatting with players at the other end of the building without noticing the time.

•His favorite hobby is teasing you, but if anyone even attempts to badmouth you, he turns into this personal bodyguard. Beware, because someone is going to get hurt on the field.

•“He tripped on his own, I don’t know what you mean Y/N-chan.”

•The cause of trouble, the reason for drama, and the biggest supporter of random fights in the facility. A deflated ball? Someone’s missing shorts? He’s behind all of them.

•You two are practically known for getting called into Anri’s office at least once a month and sometimes you even get to visit Ego-san too.

•Otoya, who pulls out his flirting techniques despite your rejection whenever he’s in trouble, hoping you forgive him—does not work and he has to endure a loooong scolding.

•Overall, Otoya is not that hard to handle, though some effort is needed. His laid-back personality is a great part of your job, and if you pick out his pickles during meal time there’s nothing to worry about.

——————

AFTER THE U20 MATCH…

•Otoya’s fanbase becomes 10x larger, going from local girls admiring his face to international fans sliding into his DMs, making edits of him, or just straight up asking him out on their social media accounts. And the worst of all?

•The moment he gets an official account, he responds to most of them making your head ache from the amount of calls and messages sent from the pr team, because what do you mean he almost leaked his own number—

•Looking at the positive (and less stressful) side, he’s quick to adapt to his new team, forming a close bond with Bachira. The two of them are like two peas in a pod and the amount of chaos you have to handle doubles.

•Tutoring Otoya is like babysitting. You have 2 minutes to convince him and make the Spanish language entertaining before he’s distracted with his pen’s spinning. Only option left is to watch films, cartoons and listen to music which works surprisingly effective.

•If you’re feeling sad or insecure as his manager, perhaps his fans have taken it too far, he will try his best to make you smile. Instead of words, his actions speak for themselves, when he sits down next to you, handing you a drink while he starts to talk about whatever comes to his mind.

•Perfect at distracting you from your thoughts and when he tells you about a badly went date making you chuckle, he feels like he has scored the final goal to the biggest match of his life.

•You two can bicker a lot, but when an actual argument happens (rare occurrence) he surprisingly apologizes first. Doesn’t like to hold a grudge against you, thinking he can’t make you leave him as well. As a peace treaty, he will make you a personalized playlist.

•When you’re busy or stressed or both, he’ll leave a message or a funny scribble in your notebook that says something like,

Manager-chan, respectfully… go touch some grass. XO, ninja.

•To be honest, the only thing Otoya has ever been loyal to is soccer, but after months of working together he has grown quite fond of you, demanding a hug on a daily basis.

•DOES NOT tolerate other players hitting on you, but can’t say anything, because he literally did the same thing the first time you met. It’s not jealousy, he convinces himself after a particular player occupies your attention. It’s not jealousy…right?

#bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock x manager au #blue lock u20 #blue lock x you #bllk otoya #otoya eita #eita otoya #otoya x reader #fc barcha #blue lock otoya #otoya eita x reader #eita otoya x reader #mentions of karasu and bachira

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aventoru · 1 day ago

Text

party 4 u

warning(s) : oikawa is annoying and comes to regret it, reader cries from frustration a bit, fluff at the end tho

“hey, great party,” oikawa comes up to you from behind, yelling over the music. you turn around to face him with the usual smirk on his face. “thanks,” you mumble, trying your best to remain cool and collected. “how did you manage to pull this off?” he observes the large crowd.

in truth, you only threw this party as an excuse to invite (and now meet) him. your best friend, being a hardcore shipper and #1 supporter of your delusions, decided to do ask a friend of a friend for a favor. but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“just…connections,” you respond vaguely to avoid accidentally spouting something you shouldn’t. “wanna go for a swim?” he invites, gaze fixed on the massive pool outside. “sure!” you reply a little too enthusiastically. but you couldn’t help yourself. who would deny a chance to spend more time with their crush?

you two head outside, away from the flashing lights and sweaty bodies and towards the cool water.

“(name), why did you throw this party?” oikawa asks once you both are in the water, leaning against the ledge.

“what do you mean?” you stared straight ahead, not daring to make eye contact.

“what i mean is, you’re a busy student in the middle of exams. don’t you have midterms to study for?”

“i’ve been studying so i’m partying to destress. and also…” you trail off, hesitating.

“also?” he presses.

you finally turn to face him and the look in his eyes tells you he knows. there was no point in hiding it now.

“fine. i knew you would be visiting this week for a competition,” you admit, praying he doesn’t notice the immense heat radiating from you body out of embarrassment.

“so does that mean?” the slightest hint of a smirk displays on his lips as he cocks his head to the side.

“yeah, you know that i've been waiting for you,” you finally said. you boldly rested your head on his shoulder to replace eye contact with another kind.

“wow, who knew you liked me that much?”

“shut up,” you feel your cheeks heat up at his teasing. it was annoying, but he was right. you did like him that much. enough to throw a whole party just for him.

"but who doesn't like me? like have you seen all the models and influencers line up just to take a picture with me?"

why is he bringing this up now? does he always have to be this annoying?

"just imagine how crazy the internet would go if i got together with them? and don't even get me started about my fans. anyone would be lucky to date—"

seriously, just how far is he going to take this joke? because it's getting old. fast.

“you could've just rejected me, you know? you didn't have to go this far to make me insecure,” your frustration bubbles up in your voice as angry tears rush down your eyes. you can't believe he had the audacity to mention other people right now after you expressed your feelings to him.

the brunette’s smile immediately drops as he realizes the damage his teasing has done. “(name), i’m so sorry. i really didn’t mean to—” he profusely apologizes in a state of panic, his playful demeanor long gone. “forget it, i literally confessed to you and your response is to dismiss me completely? i’m getting out of here,” you snap, already wading through the waters to leave.

“no, wait,” he hurriedly catches your hand, “i like you too.”

“i don’t care anymore,” you try yanking your hand away, “just let go of me!”

“(name), please i—” he pulls you into a hug. you soften, temporarily relaxing in his hold but the tears don’t stop. “i won't tease you like that again,” he says, guilt running through his veins. oikawa releases his hold on you to cup your face, wiping away your tears.

“i like you a lot, okay?” he reassures, “and i’ll make it up to you.”

“how?”

“by doing this.” he pecks your lips.

“one’s not enough,” you begin smiling through the kiss and he does the same.

so oikawa kisses you again. and again. and again. now that he’s seen your tears, he has no choice but to kiss you and tell you he loves you.

masterlist

#haikyuu x you #haikyu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyu #haikyuu x y/n #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa x you #oikawa x y/n #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru x you #oikawa tooru x y/n

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the-faceless-bride · 2 days ago

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.•. Happier than ever .•.

Ejiro was Mina’s best friend, they’d been close friends since high school. He was also your friend, he’d met you while you were dating Mina; but your relationship ending in a messy way due to miscommunication and assumptions. He tried to help you both but that didn’t work out and he was forced to pick sides. But meeting you again, he’s happier than ever. (This is heavily inspired by @kiribaku-queen )

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•..••..•.•.•.•..•.•.•.•.•.•.•..•.•.

Ejiro wasn’t exactly proud of what he was doing, sneaking around behind one of his best friends backs to meet her ex. But he was your friend too right? Just because you and Mina didn’t exactly get along or… like each other that much. He was still your friend! He was allowed to talk and hang out with you if he wanted to! … right?

It was a huge coincidence when he ran into a that little bar after his patrol, he remembered you when you drunkenly bumped into him.

“Oh! Fuck! I’m so sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was going and I- Kirishima?” You muttered trying to make yourself smaller before your voice drifted realizing who you were talking to.

“Oh! Hey [Name]… long time no see” he smiled, a bit awkward. Last time you and him had spoken it was him trying to play middle man in Mina and your failing relationship as she accused you of never truly loving her and using her.

You had tried to just turn and forget you ever saw him. But he just couldn’t let you go, he felt he owed you an apology�� or something for how he had shut you out and cut you off after your breakup with Mina…

“Hey… um [name]… would you mind maybe having a drink with me?” He asked his voice soft almost afraid you lash and tell him to ‘fuck off’ but instead you blinked before shrugging “I don’t know Kirishima, don’t you think that’s… I don’t know weird?”

“No, not at all! I mean… it’s just a drink for one night… right?”

But it wasn’t. That one drink that one night turned into another a few days later, and coffee in the morning the next week…

Slowly you and Kirishima had started building a friendship again; and he was so happy to finally get the closure he had been hoping for… but then things started to change…

he wanted to feel guilty. He felt guilty because he didn’t feel guilty for starting to falling in love with you…

At first you tried to keep your distance; knowing he was still one of Mina’s best friends in the whole world. Just acquaintances… someone who you met with to have a drink with after a long day. Not a real relationship or friendship…

But the more he pushed himself into your life with his sweet smile and beautiful eyes and big heart you just couldn’t keep pushing him away. So coffee every once in a while turned into movie nights once a week.

He was always a sucker for cheese happy endings, and your movie nights were no exception… “Geez Kiri I didn’t know you were so sappy,” you joked as a pretended to exaggeratedly cry over the couple finally getting together after a mushy confession in the rain, “what! Sappy! This is a beautiful love story [Name]! How can you not be touched!” He explained letting himself fall over to lean into your lap, “tch- you’re such a dork Kiri. Haven’t changed a bit,” you teased laughing as he clutched his chest in fake offense. And for a moment you both stopped and just stared a moment between the two of you. But neither wanting to be the first to move…

more and more days go by the more and more you had also started to feel for him. More than just a friend. He knew it. And so did you. And while you both tried to deny it, you just couldn’t any longer.

You leaned in, stopping just before your lips touched his waiting for him to pull away, but instead he closed the gap. The kiss started soft before getting intense the more he pulled you in.

And before you could think you were in his lap, your fingers ran through his long red hair pulling gently, letting out a soft sigh as you left him lift his hips…

“It’s just a fling ok? We aren’t anything more Kiri.”

“Yeah- yeah, I get that.”

But you both knew the truth.

It was more than ‘just a fling’ you got comfortable; the movie nights, the back rubs, the sweet gestures, the flowers, the candies, the secret date night, and soft kisses, the nights of passion in the dark… it started to feel so real. And so right.

And as just as Ejiro thought he was good a keeping a secret… his friends started to notice.

He was extra cheerful and bubbly and only seemed to be getting more so as the days passed on. And he just couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Hey Red! You ready to come out and party!!! Climbing the ranks to 5th is cause for a celebration!!” Mina yelp happily as he ran up to give her best friend a hug, she was so proud of all his hard work recently; jumping from the 15th hero to the number 5th hero in Japan. But Ejiro stiffened from her hug, almost shocked at what she said.

“Oh! Well I- uh- I can’t…” Ejiro awkwardly laughed as he gave her a quick hug before pulling away with a lopsided smile, he forgot that was the original plan…

“You… can’t? What do you mean shitty hair, you’re the won who loves the celebratory shit.” Bakugou chimed in with a snark, shocked that his party living best friend turned down the idea, making Denki and Sero also give their input of disappointment.

“Yeah man! What gives?!”

“You bailing on us dude?”

“I’m sorry but I kinda made plans… I just forgot and I don’t know- I just can’t tonight but maybe next week? Yeah?” He offered but was stumbling as he knew they would inevitably ask him the question he was dreading…

“Well… why not? What plans did you make?”

And suddenly Ejiro had no excuse to say, what does he say? He couldn’t say another friend as he’s lost majority of his contacts from high school and he couldn’t say a date as that would make them WANT to meet who ever it was with in the next few days…he definitely could say a particular person…

“Ohh~ could it be that our Big Red has a GiirlFrieend~” Mina obnoxiously announced in a high pitched voice jokingly, but noticing the way Ejiro tensed and the tips of his ears turned red she knew she unknowingly guessed correctly…

But before she could shriek and demand to meet the lucky girl, Ejiro turned around rushing to his car with the excuse of having to get home to his dog…

Bakugou narrowed his eyes in suspicion…

Ejiro had you pushed against the bed grinding against you as he kissed and bit your neck, you smiling as you gently push against him telling him to at least take his hero gear off first.

“Ejiro you cannot rip this again, you remember what happened the last time-“

Ejiro let out a soft groan remembering the rough night, he had come back to the apartment after a frustrating day full of long boring patrols and nagging interviews with questions that tried to look to far into his personal life for his liking. He had you pinned as soon as he saw you… you had so many hickies and bite the next morning along with a throbbing feeling between your legs reminding you of how rough Ejiro had been with you.

It was killing him to keep you in the dark… he wanted to show you off to the world…

*Knock Knock Knock*

Just as Ejiro had stripped himself down to his boxers and you just a your shirt and underwear a loud knock started at his door, who ever it was wasn’t leaving until he answered…

“Just- fuck- One sec!” He rushed to grab some baggy sweatpants in an attempt to try and hide his erection from whomever was at the door.

“Yeah, yeah. How can I help- you…” Ejiro trailed off, standing at his door was his friends… all four of them…

“What- what are you guys doing here!” He whispered trying not to alarm you in the other room. “Well! Since YOU didn’t wanna party with us, we thought we would bring the party to you!”

Ejiro was at a loss, what was he meant to do? He couldn’t let them in here!

Ejiro scrambled to wedge himself in the door way before Mina could squeeze her way in, “Eji? What’s your problem? Let me in, I’m sure your little friend won’t mind~” she teased, but her playful demeanor quickly turned sour when she heard a familiar voice, “babe?! Who’s at the door? What’s taking you so long?”

A long pause before Sero spoke up, “dude… is that [Name]…”

And suddenly everyone exploded, Denki and Sero firing question after question about ‘when,where,how, and why? Why would he do this?!”

Bakugou asking him why out of all the people in the world would he chose you? Especially after your and Mina’s relationship…

And Mina. Mina just stared at him. Betrayal and anger…

And with all the chaos he remembers that you were still in his bedroom… waiting for him. Probably hearing everything that is being said about you… and he just couldn’t sit here and listen to it.

“Ok! You know what? it’s non of your business ok?!”

“None of my business!? None of my-?! EJIRO YOU’RE FUCKING MY EX AND ITS NONE OF MY BUSINESS?! WHAT IS THIS?! YOU JUST-“

“NO! NO OK?! FUCK IT I AM IN LOVE WITH [NAME] AND SHE IS IN LOVE WITH ME! AND SHES AMAZING AND NOT THE PERSON YOU THINK SHE IS!”

“OH AND YOU DO?! You think you KNOW HER?! You FUCK MY EX and now you think you know her?!” Mina shouts staring at him as if he had just told her he hated her guts,

“dont ANY of you sit there and look at me like that! Ok?! Mina, I didn’t fuck your girlfriend ok you’ve been broken up for 6 years and you’ve never even mentioned her name so don’t act like you actually fucking care! And even if you did I DONT CARE and you can all sit here and judge me if you want but I don’t care! Ok?! I don’t care anymore because I have NEVER been happier!”

Ejiro struggles to get the air back into his lungs as he stands in the doorway, probably ruining the last of his real friendships…

At least he has you…

#bnha x reader #bnha kirishima #mha kirishima #eijirou kirishima x reader #kirishima x reader #mha bakugou #mha bakugo katsuki #mha mina #mha mina ashido #mha denki #mha kaminari #mha denki kaminari #mha sero #mina x reader #mha x reader #bnha x

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didyoulookforme · 2 days ago

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Hi my loveee <3

Was thinking about bf Matty and girlie when they finally get together, them talking about how they wish they’d lost their virginity to each other instead of other ppl. This gets him thinking and he playfully asks her if she’d let him pretend to take her first time now. She thinks he’s just messing so she’s just like “that’s silly”. But then they can’t stop thinking about it, and they end up doing it. It’s not this like over the top role play thing, but it’s a really gentle, intimate, romantic night and I think it’s cute idk idk

-Belle mwah mwah mwah

the way i spiralled down a bottomless pit screaming into the abyss while reading this. i love you so much, belle xoxoxo

anyway…

it would happen the first time they go back to girlie’s childhood home after they’re official. her mum has been begging her to bring matty over so she can finally hug her “son-in-law” but he’s been away on tour so it takes a bit for that to happen. but when that weekend arrives, girlie is beaming from ear to ear because her boyfriend is coming to spend time with her family.

everything in her old home reminds them of when they were younger: the old record player that has stopped working since, the photos of them hanging on the wall from that one family wedding, the tulips that are always in the middle of the dining table. it’s so warm and comforting that it’s difficult to not just be genuinely happy.

girlie and her mum have zero shame asking matty to make them dinner and he absolutely does, because he’s a darling and an amazing cook that won’t cut any corners when it comes to making a gourmet meal. throughout the dinner, girlie’s parents end up teasing them so much that they finally got their shit together and decided to become a couple. she cannot stop smirking at the way matty gets so flustered at all the questions her parents (mostly her mum) are asking because they also know how easily he gets riled up. obviously at one point it gets turned to girlie as well and it’s her time to get embarrassed in front of the love of her life because her mum reveals how she used to scribble matty’s name in her journal. she found it one day while cleaning and “accidentally” read a page lol. to which matty answers with a teasing oh i know because he has also seen it when he stumbled upon the same notebook while hiding under the bed so he wouldn’t get caught sleeping over.

anyway, even with all the teasing, it was a beautiful and lovely dinner and girlie is so over the moon it happened because she never thought it would.

once is time to call it a night, they obviously end up having to sleep in her old room which looks pretty much like it did back in high school. music posters up. photos of her friends (including matty) on a whiteboard. her cd collection piled up against a wall. etc etc.

matty jokes that this is the first time he’ll sleep there without having to sneak in which makes them both very giddy and nostalgic. he even opens the door of her closet to see if the old pillow and duvet he used to sleep on are still there, which they are. newer ones, but still there. girlie pulls out some old photo albums as they sit on the floor, backs against her bed, and look through so many pictures from when they were younger. mostly of matty instead of her other friends. you were obsessed with me, weren’t you? she just nods and admits that she still is. to which he answers by pulling her close and kissing her temple. same with you, baby.

then he just cannot help but bring up the journal because he needs to know what all she wrote about him. she rolls her eyes but pulls it out from under her bed, and they look through it, both of them laughing and swooning at how dramatic and cute girlie was. and still is to be honest. and how clearly in love she’s been with him since they were teenagers. they about cry when they read the pages from when matty offered to teach her how to kiss which leads them to make out for a while because how can they not?

eventually they get to the section where she writes about having sex for the first time. which is nothing new for him. she told him all about it and he was internally furious at the guy for not making her finish. matty notices how she goes quiet and asks what’s wrong, and it’s then that she admits she wishes it’d been him. this sort of sad smile on her face which matty mirrors because he also wishes she would’ve been his first. they just sit there in silence for a bit, holding hands and resting their heads together, not really knowing what to say because nothing can change how things happened. until matty very quietly says that they can pretend to do it, if she’d let him. she gives him his weird look like don’t be silly. are you really serious? but deep down she’s melting because how does he keep getting more sweet. they stare at each other for a minute before matty laughs nervously and mentions to just forget it. that yeah, it’s silly. but she nods her head which confuses matty because he thinks she’s agreeing that it’s weird until she kisses him very softly on the lips and says that she wants to. he breathes out the biggest exhale of relief and gives her a soft okay before getting up, only to go to the closet and pull out the pillow and duvet and lie down on the floor like he used to, girlie all like we’re not seriously gonna have sex for the first time on the floor, right? which makes them burst out laughing. probably not but it helps set the mood.

she ends up pulling him into her bed, making out for a while as matty undresses the both of them with shaky fingers because he’d had countless dreams of having sex in this room since it’s her private space. he treats her like the most fragile thing in the world, like if he did even something barely wrong she’d shatter. and she can’t believe that the boy she used to think about when pleasing herself in this same bed is now naked above her. they get under the covers and run their hands all over each other, touching every single inch of skin available to them. every now and then matty lets out a moan and she just giggles against his neck, reminding him they have to be quiet. he nods and apologizes and he tries his best but it’s clearly difficult, so she has to keep kissing him in order to muffle his needy sounds. especially when she starts to stroke him, which only makes him whine louder against her lips. when he’s finally inside her, they have to take a couple of minutes because it’s almost too much. and when she looks into his eyes, she can very clearly see the same boy she fell in love with so many years ago and it’s so fucking overwhelming that tears start to prickle at the corners of her lids. he asks if she’s okay as he kisses the palm of her hand and she can only nod because her words are nonexistent at that moment in time. once she’s collected herself, she places her hands on his lower back, guiding him to thrust into her, matty letting her set the pace that she wants. it’s all sweet and gentle, taking their time with one another, him making her cum more than once. and she knows matty’s close when he cannot keep quiet anymore so she has to put a palm over his mouth to keep the noise down as he finishes inside her. after they catch their breaths, neither of them can stop smiling, matty beaming very proudly because unlike the other jerk, he did make her cum.

he also mentions the fact that this is so much better than having to lie on the floor with a hard on that he cannot do anything about. girlie jokes that he’s a pervert and he gets “defensive” saying that it was torture as she’d be sleeping beside him with only a shirt (many times an old drive like i do one) and underwear on and matty had to pretend like everything was okay. to which she asks if he ever did anything about it. he admits that he never did with her around, he just suffered with being turned on and could barely sleep during those nights.and she just says that now she can do something about it, so it ends with him getting a handjob, just as lots of romantic teenage relationships start <3

#wish i didn't have too many wips so i could make it into a proper fic #belle you're amazing and i love you <33333 #bf matty asks #bf matty #matty healy imagine #matty healy au #matty healy fic #matty healy fluff #matty healy smut

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writerofautumnnights · 2 days ago

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𝗙𝗜𝗥𝗦𝗧 𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 — 𝐉𝐎𝐁𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐀𝐌

✧༚ ˎˊ ˗ pairing: jobe bellingham x fem!oc

✧༚ ˎˊ ˗ sumary: chance encounter. A lost tourist in Sunderland. A footballer’s unexpected kindness leads to shared laughs and a subtle connection. But the language barrier and a professional commitment keep things from going further—at least for now.

✧༚ ˎˊ ˗ warnings: english is not my first language, so please excuse any mistakes!

keara’s imessage: wow, it's been a few days since I posted the masterlist for The Unspoken Connection, and I'm finally dropping the first chapter! Sorry for the wait, but I hope you all enjoy this little sneak peek into Sarah and Jobe’s world! 💕 Taglist is below, so let me know if you want in! I’d love to hear your thoughts! 😘

masterlist

Sarah adjusted her coat and stepped out of the building where she was staying, her headphones playing a song that made her feel a little safer in the middle of all this. The day was freezing, and the wind stung her cheeks, but she was excited. The idea of exploring cities in the UK with her language school friends seemed like a great way to make the most of her exchange experience.

But, as always, things didn’t go as planned. On the subway, she tried to follow the instructions on a sign, but the station names and directions moved too fast for her to properly understand. The first time she asked someone for help, the response came so quickly that she had to force a smile and nod in thanks—without actually understanding a single word.

This is fine. You’re doing great, Sarah. You’ll learn.

She tried to convince herself while clutching a makeshift map scribbled on the back of a paper with an address on it. But the insecurity was always there, hidden in the words she still didn’t fully grasp.

Still, when she finally reached the right station, anxiety mixed with excitement. Her friends had invited her to explore a city near Manchester, and she was determined to have fun. Even if it meant traveling a few hours away, discovering new places had been magical—except for the moments when she fell into the language trap, facing how fast people spoke in their daily lives.

And now, alone in unfamiliar streets, with no phone battery and no real physical map to guide her, her words of encouragement felt emptier than ever.

"Great, Sarah. Rule number one of studying abroad: always have a portable charger. Rule number two: learn how to follow directions properly before getting lost in another country."

She let out a frustrated sigh and looked around, searching for any visual clues that might help her remember the way to the bar/club where her friends were waiting. The cold wind made her eyes water, but it wasn’t just the weather making her uncomfortable. She should have arrived at least fifteen minutes ago, but with no GPS or easy way to contact them, all she could do was keep walking and try to recognize a familiar landmark.

That was when, while trying to decipher a street sign in English, she bumped into someone. A sudden impact, followed by a muffled sound as her bag nearly slipped from her shoulder.

"Oh, sorry!" she hurried to say, her accent immediately giving away that she wasn’t from around here.

"It’s alright," a male voice replied, light and relaxed.

Sarah quickly looked up, expecting to see some random stranger, probably just as lost as she was in this maze of streets.

But what she saw nearly knocked the breath out of her.

Jobe Bellingham.

He was right there. In front of her.

For a moment, the world seemed to slow down, like everything around her had suddenly faded into the background, leaving only that familiar face in front of her. Sarah felt her heart skip a beat, a strange sense of déjà vu washing over her. He looked even more real than in the photos—his confident smile, his piercing gaze.

Like she had somehow ended up inside one of the fanfics she’d read weeks ago. But instead of being the author imagining everything, she was actually living it.

"I can’t believe I’m living a fanfic in reverse," she thought, irony hitting her like a slap. The kind of absurd thought that normally would’ve made her laugh, but she couldn’t. Her throat felt too tight to say anything.

She stared at him, trying to mask her shock, but her brain was short-circuiting, struggling to process reality while his voice still echoed in her mind.

His dark, curious eyes were fixed on her, and for a second, the confusion was mutual. He clearly had no idea who she was, but Sarah knew exactly who he was. Or at least, who he was in the football world.

Jobe was wearing a brown suede jacket, left open just enough to reveal the white T-shirt underneath. The sleeves were slightly rolled up, giving him a casual but put-together look. Black track pants with blue stripes added a relaxed touch, contrasting with the more polished upper half. It was the kind of outfit that showed he cared about how he looked—but effortlessly. A perfect balance of style and comfort. His hair, slightly messy, still managed to look perfectly in place, adding to that laid-back charm. The streetlights cast a soft glow on his skin, highlighting his sharp features.

Sarah quickly looked away, embarrassment flooding her body, desperate to focus on anything other than the growing chaos in her mind.

No, breathe, Sarah. Calm down. He’s just a football player. Just… the younger brother of the famous one. No big deal.

Fuck.

But he’s hot. And tall.

"It’s really alright," he repeated, stepping slightly to the side as if to give her more space. His tone was casual, easygoing, but Sarah felt something else beneath it—something unspoken, an unexpected kind of pull. He didn’t feel like a famous football player or someone untouchable. Somehow, he felt… approachable. And that made the whole situation even weirder.

She shifted uncomfortably, taking a few steps back. The words were stuck on her tongue.

How was she supposed to react? Should she mention the fact that she’d read fanfics about him? That would be ridiculous, right?

She struggled to mask the rising panic, praying she didn’t come off as some crazy fan.

Jobe frowned slightly, his curiosity evident. Noticing her hesitation, he gave her a small, amused smile.

"You alright?"

Sarah forced herself to look at him. So calm, so... normal. As if he wasn’t the biggest football star she’d ever seen in real life. She tried to steady her voice, figuring out how to act.

"Oh, yeah! Of course!" She spoke too fast, trying to sound confident, but the weight of her accent made it clear—English wasn’t her first language.

I’m here, he’s here, and no one’s going to believe me if I ever tell this story.

He looked at her with a mix of confusion and curiosity, not immediately realizing who she was or why there was tension in the air.

"You alright?" he asked. "You look a bit... uh, all over the shop. Need a hand? ‘Cause I can sort you out."

The speed of his words made her brain freeze for a second. Sarah understood English, but different accents were still a challenge—especially when someone spoke fast and full of slang.

She hesitated, her mind scrambling for a response. Say something! Say anything!

"My phone… died. And I… kinda have no idea where I am," she admitted, gesturing with her hands, as if that would help explain.

Jobe raised an eyebrow, his eyes shining with something that could’ve been sympathy or just pure amusement.

"So… you’re lost."

"Not lost!" Sarah quickly corrected, motioning to the street around them. "Just... temporarily... misplaced," she added, forcing a nervous laugh.

He glanced around, like he was trying to get a read on the situation. The wind made her hair move, and she quickly fixed it, but she didn’t dare do anything else except wait.

"Right," he teased. "Where are you trying to go?"

Sarah frowned, trying to piece together the right sentence. I can’t say I was trying to get to a bar with my friends and now, somehow, I’m standing here talking to Jobe Bellingham...

She shook her head quickly, pushing the thought aside. Not the time for this.

"I… need to find… some friends," she tried, still mixing up her words. "But… not knowing the way."

Jobe raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by her effort.

"No problem," he said. "Tell me where it is, maybe I can help."

Sarah hesitated. The last thing she wanted was to come off like some desperate fan using this as an excuse to spend more time with him. But the truth was—she really did need help.

She sighed and, before handing him the note, mumbled, "This is weird."

Jobe frowned, amused. "What is?"

"Oh, no, not you!" Sarah rushed to clarify, gesturing nervously. "I mean, the situation! Me, lost, and then… you. Not that you're weird, I just—"

Jobe let out a laugh, crossing his arms. "Honestly, this just keeps getting better."

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide a shy smile before reaching into her coat pocket and pulling out a crumpled piece of paper where she had written the address before leaving.

Jobe took the paper and glanced at it quickly, smiling when he saw what she had written.

"Oh, it's not far from here. I can take you there if you want."

Sarah’s eyes widened. She didn’t want to seem like an inconvenience, but considering that her only other option was asking random strangers and hoping to understand their directions…

"Are you sure? I mean, you don’t have to…"

"Yeah, I know. But I want to."

Jobe didn’t even have to think much before saying that. It was instinctive, almost unconscious—a simple desire to extend the conversation, to enjoy her company a little longer.

He observed her for a moment, in a way that didn’t reveal too much but still allowed him to take in every detail. She looked beautiful. Actually, she looked absolutely stunning. The black outfit created a striking contrast against her golden skin under the streetlights, and the leather skirt paired with high-heeled boots gave her an effortless confidence. The gold jewelry reflected tiny sparkles whenever she moved, drawing attention to her gestures, to the way her hands followed her words.

But it wasn’t just that. The way Sarah furrowed her brows while trying to find the right words, how she gestured a little more than necessary to make up for the lack of fluency—everything about her had a natural charm that intrigued him. Jobe realised he liked that. He liked the soft accent that slipped into her English, the honesty in her eyes when she tried to explain herself and got lost in the middle of it.

He just wasn’t the type to show that kind of thing. Never had been. And if Sarah paid attention, she’d figure that out soon enough.

"Oh, I don’t want to be a bother! I just—"

"I already told you, no worries," he interrupted with a shrug, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Jobe." He extended his hand to greet her.

"Sarah."

"So, Sarah…" His British accent saying her name made her feel like a teenager, but she played it cool. "Consider this my good deed for the day."

She laughed, relaxing a little.

"Alright, Mr. Good Deeds… I think that’s how you say it." Jobe chuckled, making her smile. "Lead the way."

He nodded, already starting to walk and motioning for her to follow. As they walked side by side along the cobbled streets, Sarah tried to focus on the conversation, but her mind was racing. What was she even doing? She was walking next to Jobe Bellingham. The Bellingham younger brother. If she told anyone, no one would believe her.

She tried not to look stupid or nervous, but the effect he had on her was undeniable.

The conversation flowed naturally—at least until Sarah stumbled over an expression he used and had to ask him to repeat it.

"Wait, what does proper dodgy mean?"

Jobe blinked, surprised, before laughing. "Means suspicious. Like, well sketchy."

"Oh, I see. Sketchy," she repeated, mentally memorising it.

"Wait, you don’t know English slang?"

"I’m learning," she admitted, a little embarrassed. "It’s harder when I need information and end up talking to someone young."

Jobe observed Sarah’s behaviour as they walked, dividing his attention between the road ahead and the woman beside him. Her glasses kept shifting from one hand to the other, a clear sign of her nerves. But Sarah did everything she could to hide it.

"I reckon I’ll have to teach you then."

"Much appreciated."

Sarah caught herself smiling at him. She was starting to relax, but a part of her was still on high alert. The cobbled streets were narrow and charming, but she was so focused on not tripping that she could barely appreciate the scenery.

"You’ve got a funny accent," he remarked, a mischievous smile highlighting his dimple.

SHIT.

Sarah looked at him, trying not to get flustered.

"I know, it’s… I’m trying to improve. If I had my phone, it’d be easier—I can use the translator."

"Nah. Don’t worry, I get you. And it’s cute!" He glanced at her with a grin, noticing how carefully she stepped to avoid getting her heels caught in the pavement. "Just don’t ask me to talk like you, yeah? That’d be, like… impossible."

She laughed, relieved that he wasn’t making fun of her struggles. But then he dropped another phrase she didn’t understand.

"That’s kinda like ‘dodgy’, right?" Sarah asked, frowning slightly.

"Exactly! Look at you, picking things up quick."

Sarah smiled, feeling a bit more confident, but then she stumbled over her words, struggling to keep up with his accent.

"I just… I need to get better. And you—you all…" she quickly corrected herself, "make me nervous sometimes. Everything sounds different to me."

Jobe noticed her frustration as she crossed her arms against herself, and without making a big deal of it, he shifted his coat closer to her when the cold wind cut through the air.

"If you want, you can take my coat," he offered with a gentle smile.

She hesitated for a moment, brushing her fingers over the fabric.

"Thanks, but I’m fine."

"So, you’d rather not look like a penguin, then," he teased, making her laugh.

As they walked side by side, Sarah found herself reflecting on the moment. Jobe was being so… approachable. She never imagined a famous footballer like him would be this easygoing, this… normal. He didn’t seem anything like the celebrities she saw on social media. He was just helping someone who was lost, like anyone else would.

But it confused her. What was he even doing here? Walking with her, so far removed from the world of flashing cameras and headlines? Was he just being polite, or was there something more? Was she reading too much into this?

She pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the walk, but the insecurity lingered. She was lost in Sunderland, struggling to understand Jobe’s English, frustrated with herself for not being fluent yet. It felt like all the challenges of her exchange trip were piling up, and now this—this strange interaction with someone she knew was famous. It was almost too much.

"Tell me more about yourself," Jobe asked, pulling her back into the conversation. "Where are you from?"

She hesitated. "I’m from Brazil."

"Oh, sick!" He smiled, as if that was an unexpectedly interesting fact. "And are you liking England so far?"

"Yeah, but it’s complicated," Sarah replied, laughing a little. "But I’m learning. Sometimes I get frustrated with English… some days it’s really hard to understand everything."

Jobe seemed to pick up on her struggle and quickly cracked a joke to lighten the mood. "Well, you’re doing better than me. I wouldn’t understand a bloody thing if I tried speaking Portuguese."

"Oh, you don’t know what you’re missing," she teased, a bit of pride in her tone.

"Your mates really chose Sunderland of all places to visit?" Jobe couldn’t hide his curiosity. He could if he wanted to, but Sarah was exactly his type. She caught his eye. The way her outfit hugged her curves made it impossible not to notice. It was like one of the girls from his Instagram had just stepped into real life, right in front of him.

She was definitely his type.

Sarah adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, hesitating for a second before answering. “In Manchester, actually. But I came here with some friends. We wanted to explore a bit.”

He raised his eyebrows, intrigued. “So you left Manchester to come to Sunderland?”

She laughed. “Yeah, sounds kind of random, right?”

“A little,” he admitted, crossing his arms. “Not that I’m complaining, but people usually pick Newcastle or a bigger city. Sunderland isn’t usually at the top of the list.”

Sarah shrugged, amused. “We wanted to watch a football match outside of London, and someone suggested here because of a Netflix series. And well… now we’re here, and I still got lost.”

Jobe chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, I’m glad you were lucky enough to bump into me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Lucky? You almost ran me over.”

He placed a hand on his chest, feigning indignation. “Now I’m the villain of the story?”

“I don’t know,” Sarah replied, pretending to think. “You like running, right? Maybe you thought you were on the field.”

Jobe smiled, tilting his head slightly, as if assessing her response. “Funny one, aren’t you?”

Sarah just gave a small smile, trying to ignore the way he was looking at her, as if he was genuinely enjoying their conversation.

“But anyway,” he continued, “how long are you staying in Sunderland?”

“Just until Monday. Then I go back to Manchester.”

“Hmm,” he murmured, nodding slowly. “So you don’t have much time to get lost again.”

Sarah laughed. “Yeah, that’s why I need to find my friends soon.”

The conversation remained light until, turning a corner, Sarah tripped on a loose stone. Jobe immediately grabbed her arm, preventing her from falling.

“Whoa! Are you okay?” he asked, a concerned smile on his face, still holding her arm for a moment.

Sarah wanted to hide inside herself. If it were possible, a blush would have spread across her cheeks, but she tried not to show any nervousness. “Yes, all good. I just… seem to be uncoordinated.”

He laughed softly. “No big deal. But hey, if you need more English lessons or balance lessons, you know where to find me.”

Sarah looked at him, her heart beating a little faster, but feeling more at ease. He was being much kinder and more fun than she expected from someone like him.

“I thought it was closer,” Sarah admitted after feeling slight discomfort in her feet, but quickly backtracked. “I liked your company, okay? It’s just… my boots, t-they’re not great.”

Jobe laughed at Sarah’s nervousness, making her bite her lip.

“It’s all good!”

When they reached the corner where the bar/club was, Sarah saw her friends through the window, waving excitedly.

“Looks like your friends actually found a place!” Jobe commented, stopping beside her.

Sarah didn’t want to go. She had enjoyed talking to someone who had the patience for her language slips.

“But you still haven’t told me… How did you end up in Sunderland?”

He laughed, as if it was an interesting question. “Well, you know, football. The team brought me here. But I thought that since I’m in the UK, it wouldn’t be too hard. How long are you staying in Manchester?”

Sarah thought for a moment, trying to choose the right answer. She knew he was trying to learn more about her without being invasive, but it felt strange to talk to someone so far from her reality yet so close at the same time. “I’ll be here for a few months. I’m taking the opportunity to improve my English and… figure myself out a little.”

Jobe looked at her with a spark in his eyes, more curious than she expected. “And what exactly brought you to England?”

She hesitated, unsure if she wanted to explain about the exchange program. She didn’t want him to see her as someone lost, but she wasn’t lying.

“It’s a bit complicated, but I wanted to see more of the world… and improve my English.”

“I get it. Manchester isn’t exactly London, but it’s a good place to focus, and there’s plenty to do.” Jobe paused, and for a second, it seemed like he wanted to ask more, but he decided to change the subject. “So you’ll be there for a while.”

“Yes, I think it’ll be a good experience.”

As they neared the club, Sarah looked at him. It was strange. She had just met Jobe, but their conversation flowed so naturally that it felt like she had known him for much longer. She wanted to enjoy the moment, but at the same time, she didn’t know what to do with this whirlwind of feelings.

“Well, here we are,” she said, trying to hide her nervousness. “I… I’ll go in and see if my friends are here.”

Jobe looked at her, still with that charming smile. “I’ll wait here. No need to worry, I’m fine.”

But Sarah had a sudden idea. She hesitated before speaking. “You… don’t want to come in and enjoy a bit? If it’s not a bother, of course.”

Jobe looked at her with a curious expression, the smile still on his lips. “Are you inviting me to go into the club with you?”

“Hmm, yeah… If you want to,” she replied, feeling a bit nervous but eager to seize the moment.

Sarah couldn’t understand why she was so nervous. Okay. The language wasn’t her strong suit, so her mind kept jumping between translating or forming sentences with the correct verb tenses, but this felt different.

She felt like a teenager. And Jobe loved seeing how he could affect her.

“I’d love to,” he said, with a tone that made Sarah feel more comfortable, but then he shook his head with a half-guilty smile. “But I’ve got practice early tomorrow. If I go in now, I won’t leave for a while, and my coach would probably kill me.”

Sarah nodded, trying to hide the irrational sting of disappointment she felt. Of course, he couldn’t stay. He was a professional athlete, had a disciplined career. Unlike her, still figuring out what to do with her life.

“Oh, of course,” she said quickly. “That makes sense. Discipline and all.”

Jobe tilted his head, watching her as if he were trying to figure her out. “You seem disappointed,” he commented, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

Sarah laughed, crossing her arms. “Maybe just a little. But only because I wanted to see if you’d get lost trying to understand the conversations inside here.��

He let out a low laugh. “Hey, I’m English, remember? I have the advantage here.”

“Doesn’t mean anything. Depending on the accent and speed, I don’t understand Americans sometimes.”

Jobe smiled and shook his head, as if he was enjoying the conversation more than he should. Then, before the silence between them got awkward, he shoved his hands in his coat pockets and asked, “But tell me, where are you staying?”

“I don’t know,” Sarah answered without thinking too much. “I mean, I don’t know the hotel’s address. But it’s near the station. Maybe I’ll learn the name if I don’t go crazy trying to understand everything.”

He laughed. “I think you’ll be fine. But, just in case… you should give me your number. If you get lost again and need a translator.”

Sarah blinked, surprised.

Wait.

He was... asking for her number?

No, it must just be out of kindness. Or he says that to everyone. Or maybe he was just making sure she wouldn’t have to stop any more strangers on the street.

But why did she feel that flutter in her stomach?

She opened her mouth to respond, but hesitated. The truth was...

“I don’t know my number,” she confessed, laughing nervously. “I mean, it’s a new SIM card, and I haven’t memorized it yet.”

Jobe raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Okay, then just text me and we’re good.”

“My phone’s dead, remember?”

He let out a short laugh. “That’s true. So you’re completely unreachable?”

Sarah made a face. “Basically.”

“Rough, huh?” Jobe joked, shaking his head but not seeming bothered. “Do you at least have Instagram?”

“I do,” she answered, and before she could hesitate, grabbed his phone when he handed it over and typed in her username.

When she handed it back, Jobe looked at the screen and gave her a sideways smile. “Nice. Now you have no excuse if you get lost again.”

She laughed, but inside she doubted he would actually remember to follow her later. He probably knew thousands of people all the time. It was just a polite gesture.

“Alright, I’ll head off,” he said, taking a step back. “It was fun saving your night.”

Sarah rolled her eyes with a smile. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, winking at her. “But let me know if you need more English lessons.”

And with that, he turned and started walking away, while Sarah was still trying to process everything.

She walked into the bar, feeling a mix of excitement and disbelief. Why was she reacting like this? Just because Jobe Bellingham had been nice to her?

She mentally scolded herself. He was younger. And a famous athlete. What the hell was she thinking?

dividers by @cafekitsune

pictures from pinterest and ig

faceclaim: @/amaka.ae on ig!

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