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gayghostgrimoire · 2 months ago

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Scouser

Ethan wandered aimlessly through the misty streets of Liverpool, the thick fog clinging to his clothes like a cold, damp shroud. It was a far cry from the sunny California beaches he'd left behind, but the allure of the town had drawn him across the pond. The GPS on his phone had failed him, leaving him to navigate the maze of unfamiliar streets with only the faded glow of the occasional streetlight to guide his way.

As he turned into a narrow alley, the fog grew denser, wrapping around him like a living thing with malicious intent. The distant sounds of the city grew muffled, replaced by a foreboding silence that seemed to press in on him from all sides. That's when he heard it—a faint, yet distinctly mocking scouse accent echoing through the murk. "Lost, are ya?" it taunted. "Fancy a bit of company, then?"

Ethan's heart hammered in his chest as he scanned the alley, but the fog was too thick to make out any figures lurking in the shadows. His mind raced with the possibilities of who, or what, could be speaking to him. The accent was unmistakably local, yet the tone was eerily playful, almost flirtatious. He took a tentative step back, trying to blend with the brick wall behind him, hoping it would offer some protection.

"Oi, don't be shy," the voice called out again, closer this time. "We don't bite... unless you're into that sort of thing." The taunts grew louder, and he could now discern the laughter of two young men, their footsteps echoing off the wet cobblestones as they approached. Ethan's palms grew slick with sweat despite the cold, and his grip tightened around the strap of his backpack, ready to flee at any moment.

As if on cue, the fog behind him parted slightly to reveal the silhouettes of two figures. Suddenly, he felt a firm grip on his butt, and he spun around with a start. Two Scouse lads, no older than twenty-two, were grinning at him, their teeth flashing in the dim light. They were dressed in matching shiny tracksuits and Nike TN's that looked like they'd been stolen straight from a sports shop. One had spiky blond hair and piercing blue eyes, the other, a mop of curly chestnut hair and eyes so dark they seemed to swallow the light.

"Caught ya off guard, didn't we?" the blond one quipped, his voice thick with a Liverpool accent that was as smooth as it was menacing. "I'm Jamie, and this 'ere's me mate, Ollie. What's your name, handsome?"

Ethan, trying to play it cool, managed a shaky laugh. "I'm Ethan, just a tourist trying to find my way."

Jamie and Ollie exchanged glances, their mischievous eyes gleaming with something that was more than just playfulness. The grip on his butt grew firmer, and Ethan felt a knot of fear coil in his stomach. Despite their seemingly harmless banter, there was an underlying current of danger that he couldn't ignore. They were smaller in build than he'd anticipated, but there was something feral and unpredictable about them that made his instincts scream caution.

"Ah, a Yank!" Ollie exclaimed, his grin widening. "You're just what we need tonight, love." He stepped closer, his breath a mix of ciggies and cheap cider, and placed a hand on Ethan's shoulder. "How about we show you the sights, eh? Give you a proper tour of our lovely city."

Ethan's instincts told him to decline, but he found himself nodding, the fear momentarily overridden by his curiosity. The two lads began to walk alongside him, their arms brushing against his as they weaved through the foggy alley. The flirtatiousness grew more pronounced with each step, their touches lingering a little longer than necessary. The smell of their cheap aftershave made Ethan's nose wrinkle, but he kept his cool, playing along as if he was enjoying their company.

"So, you into footie, then?" Ethan nodded, his voice a tad shakier than he would have liked. "Good taste. Who's your team?"

"I'm more of a Man U fan," Ethan admitted, expecting a hostile reaction. Instead, the two lads just chuckled. "Ah, a bit of rivalry," Ollie said, nudging him with his elbow. "Don't worry, we won't hold it against you."

They strolled onward, the fog thinning as they ventured deeper into the city's underbelly. The buildings grew shabbier, graffiti more prevalent, and the smell of greasy food and stale beer filled the air. The conversation remained light, with Jamie and Ollie peppering him with questions about his favorite players and football matches he'd been to. They spoke with a passion that was contagious, and Ethan found himself relaxing slightly, his initial fear giving way to a morbid fascination with the pair.

Ollie fished a pack of ciggies from his pocket and offered one to Ethan. "Want a fag?"

Ethan hesitated, his eyes flicking between the cigarette and the smirk on Ollie's face. "No, thanks. I don't smoke."

Ollie's grin grew more playful, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. "Ah, such a good boy," he said, his voice a seductive purr. "But don't you think a bit of naughtiness could make you look even more appealing?" He held the cigarette up to Ethan's lips, the tip glowing a fiery red.

Ethan took a deep breath, trying to ignore the dry taste that coated his mouth, and took a tentative drag. The smoke burned his throat and lungs, and he couldn't help but cough, doubling over in a fit of hacking. The two lads erupted into laughter, slapping him on the back with rough, calloused hands.

"Bloody hell, you're a right lightweight," Jamie said, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Here, let me help you with that." He took a step closer, placing a hand on Ethan's back to steady him, while Ollie held the cigarette back to his mouth.

Ethan took another drag, this one less tentative than the first, trying to keep up with their bravado. The smoke curled around his tongue, leaving a bitter taste, but he forced himself to hold it in longer before letting it out in a puff that was more impressive than he'd expected. "Better?" Ollie asked, his voice still coated with that flirty lilt.

"Much," Ethan said, his voice a bit raspy.

Jamie chuckled, a hint of something more than mirth in his tone. "Looks like you're getting the hang of it," he said, leaning in so close that Ethan could feel the warmth of his breath. "But you know, you're basically kissing Ollie every time you do that."

Ollie's smile grew wider, revealing a chipped tooth. "Yeah, that's right," he said, his hand lingering on Ethan's shoulder. "Swapping spit and all that."

Ethan felt his cheeks warm despite the cold, but the fear was slowly dissipating. He took another drag of the cigarette, feeling a strange kinship with the two young men. They weren't like anyone he'd met before—flirtatious and forward in a way that was both confusing and exhilarating. As they strolled through the alleyways, the fog began to lift, and the neon glow of a pub sign flickered into view. The sound of shattered glass and raucous laughter spilled into the street, accompanied by the distant cheer of a football match.

"Looks like the party's already started," Jamie said, nodding toward the pub. The sign above the door read "The Red Lion" in faded letters. The smell of stale beer and greasy food grew stronger as they approached, mingling with the sweet scent of tobacco smoke. The door was propped open, and a warm glow spilled onto the cobblestones.

"Come on, let's get you a pint," Ollie suggested, giving Ethan a playful shove. "You'll need it to keep up with us."

Ethan allowed himself to be guided through the open door, the warmth of the pub enveloping him like a bearhug. The place was crowded, with locals shouting over the din of a live band playing a rowdy cover of "You'll Never Walk Alone." The scent of spilled ale and fried fish washed over him as they found a table in the corner.

Jamie and Ollie propped their feet up on the table, wagging them back and forth with teasing eyes. Ethan couldn't help but stare at the intricate ankle tattoos peeking out from their rolled-up tracksuit pants. One had a dagger with the word "Love" etched on the blade, the other a pair of cherries that looked suspiciously like a pair of testicles. Their flirtatiousness was palpable, and he felt his heart flutter in his chest.

"You know, Ollie," Jamie said, nudging his friend with an elbow, "you really need to sort out your pongy feet."

Ollie shot him a glare, but Ethan noticed the glint of a smile. "Why don't you keep your nose out of it, Jamie? Besides, Ethan here might like it." He winked at Ethan, who felt his cheeks flush.

Jamie chuckled, "Yeah, right. Like anyone would want a whiff of those stinkers." He nudged Ollie's leg with his own, the leather of his shoe squeaking against the plastic chair. "But you know what, let's not bother our guest with our stench. Get us a round of pints, will ya?"

Ollie rolled his eyes, but the mischief remained on his face. He hopped off the chair with a grace that belied his rough exterior. "Alright, alright, keep your knickers on," he said, swaggering toward the bar. As he moved away, the smell of his feet did seem to linger, a pungent aroma that was indeed quite potent.

Jamie leaned in closer to Ethan, his eyes dancing with a playful glint. "Ollie's right, though," he whispered conspiratorially. "My feet are the real horror show." He wiggled his toes, and Ethan caught a faint whiff of something that could only be described as a mix of sweat and stale cheese.

Ollie returned with three pints of lager, sloshing slightly as he set them down on the sticky table. "Here you go, lads," he said, his eyes never leaving Ethan's. He took a seat and leaned back, his arms crossed over his chest. "So, you're a dead ringer for our mate Tommy," Jamie said, taking a long pull from his pint. "It's uncanny, really."

Ethan's heart skipped a beat. "Who's Tommy?"

Jamie leaned back, his eyes misting with nostalgia. "Ah, Tommy. He was one of us. The life of the party, that one. Could charm the birds out of the trees," he said, taking a swig of his pint. "And he had this knack for making the lads swoon. Just a wink, and they'd be putty in his hands."

Ollie nodded, his smile wistful. "Remember when he convinced that posh bloke from the university that he was a secret prince?" He snickered, the memory bringing a sparkle to his eyes. "We had him running around town, doing all sorts for us. Thought he'd hit the jackpot with a real-life fairy tale."

Jamie's laughter was deep and infectious, and even Ethan couldn't help but smile at the absurdity of the story. "Yeah, poor sod was half in love by the time we told him it was all a joke," he said, wiping a tear from his eye. "But that was Tommy. He had this way about him."

Ollie took a sip of his beer, his gaze lingering on Ethan. "He was a bit of a looker too, our Tommy. Could turn heads with just a smile." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And when he put his mind to it, could get a guy to do anything he wanted."

Ethan swallowed hard, his curiosity piqued. "What happened to him?"

Jamie took another swig of his lager, his eyes never leaving Ethan's. "Tommy? Oh, he kicked the bucket a few weeks ago," he said nonchalantly, as if discussing the weather. "Went out on his uncle's fishing boat and never came back. They found him floating in the Mersey, stiff as a board." He chuckled, a dark note in his laugh.

Ethan's smile faltered, the laughter in his throat dying. "That's terrible," he murmured, unsure of how to respond to their casualness.

Jamie shrugged. "It's life, isn't it?" He took another swig of his pint, the foam clinging to his upper lip. "But don't you worry about it, love. Tommy's spirit's still with us, in a way." He winked, and Ollie nodded in agreement.

Ollie leaned closer, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. "You see, we've got a little ritual we do for our mates when they pass on," he whispered, his voice a seductive purr. "It's like we keep 'em close, ya know?"

Ethan nodded, his curiosity now tinged with unease. He took a sip of the lager, the cool liquid washing over his tongue. It was a strange flavor, almost metallic, but with an undertone of something sweet, like candy. The more he drank, the heavier his eyelids grew, his thoughts swirling like the fog outside. The room grew hazy, the sounds of the pub melding into a cacophony of laughter and shouts that echoed in his head.

Ollie slid into the booth next to him, his arm snaking around Ethan's shoulders with the ease of an old friend. The warmth of his body was surprisingly comforting, and Ethan found himself leaning into the embrace despite the stranger's musky scent. "You're just like him," Ollie murmured into his ear, his breath hot and wet. "You've got that same spark, that same... vibe."

Jamie took the opposite side, his leg brushing against Ethan's under the table. His sneaker was grimy, the white leather stained with a pattern of dirt and who-knows-what, but there was something undeniably alluring about the way he nudged Ethan's foot with his own, a silent invitation to play along with their game. Ethan's inhibitions began to unravel like a cheap sweater, the tension in his body giving way to a strange, thrilling sense of abandon.

The three of them knocked back their pints, the alcohol hitting Ethan's system like a freight train. He felt lightheaded, his thoughts swirling with the laughter and music of the pub. "C'mon," Jamie slurred, slapping the table with the palm of his hand. "Let's go back to our place. Show ya a proper scouser time."

Ollie nodded, his eyes half-lidded with drink. "Yeah, you'll love it," he said, his voice dropping into that seductive purr again. "You're one of us now, aren't ya?"

Ethan found himself grinning, the idea of fitting in with these two rough-around-the-edges lads surprisingly appealing. He'd always been the clean-cut tourist, following the beaten path and playing it safe. But there was something about the wildness of Jamie and Ollie that called to him, something he hadn't felt in a long time. He nodded, the room spinning slightly as he stood up, Ollie's arm still draped over his shoulders.

They stumbled out of the pub, the night air hitting him like a cold slap in the face. The fog had lifted, leaving the cobblestone streets slick with rain and the scent of the river hanging heavy in the air. They wove their way through the city, the neon lights of the clubs and pubs reflecting off the wet pavement. The laughter and music grew fainter as they left the center of town, heading into a more residential area where the buildings leaned together as if whispering secrets to one another.

Jamie and Ollie had an easy camaraderie, finishing each other's sentences and slapping each other's backs with a familiarity that spoke of a long history together. Ethan felt like the third wheel, but also like the most important person in the world as they both vied for his attention. They pointed out landmarks and told stories of their childhood, each one more outrageous than the last. The lager had loosened their tongues and their inhibitions, and Ethan found himself caught in their infectious energy.

"Here we are," Jamie announced, nudging Ethan as they reached a row of terraced houses, their red brick façades stained with time and pollution. "Home sweet home." The door to number 23 stood ajar, and the smell of stale incense and weed wafted out into the night.

Ethan followed them up a narrow staircase, the walls plastered with faded football posters and stickers from long-forgotten bands. The apartment was a chaotic mess—clothes and empty beer cans scattered across the floor, dirty dishes piled high in the kitchen sink, and a faint scent of something musky in the air. It was the kind of place that looked like a tornado had swept through it, but somehow, it felt oddly cozy.

The living room was dominated by an ancient sofa that looked like it had seen better days. The fabric was stained, the cushions lumpy, and the smell of male musk was as potent as the stale cigarette smoke that hung in the air. But it was the perfect perch for the trio, and they sank into it with a collective sigh, Ethan sandwiched between them.

Jamie tossed a pack of ciggies on the coffee table, the plastic sticking to the film of beer that had been spilled and forgotten. "Help yourself," he said, gesturing to the pack with a grin. Ethan picked one out, the paper feeling gritty between his fingers, and Ollie lit it with a zippo that had seen more action than a porn star. The first drag was harsh, but he managed to keep his cough to a minimum, earning an approving nod from his new companions.

Ollie leaned in closer, his arm draped over the back of the sofa, his fingers idly playing with the hair at the nape of Ethan's neck. "You're a right catch, you are," he murmured, his voice thick with sincerity and something else—desire. Ethan felt a shiver run down his spine, his body responding to the unspoken promise in the Scally's gaze.

"Yeah, you fit right in, like you were born for this," Jamie said, his hand resting casually on Ethan's knee. The touch grew bolder, his fingers tracing patterns through the fabric of Ethan's jeans that made him squirm with excitement. "You've got the looks, the swagger," he said, his eyes raking over Ethan's body. "We could use someone like you."

Ethan took another drag of his cigarette, feeling the warmth spread through him as he exhaled. The haze in his mind was thickening, the edges of his reality blurring. He didn't know what was happening, but he didn't want it to stop. "You guys are something else," he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire.

Ollie leaned in even closer, his hand sliding down to rest on Ethan's thigh. "You like that, do ya?" he asked, his voice a silky whisper that seemed to resonate deep within Ethan's core.

Jamie grinned, his teeth flashing in the dim light of the living room. "Yeah, you do, don't ya?" He took a long drag from his cigarette and blew the smoke in a ring that floated lazily up to the ceiling. "You know, love, you'd fit in so much better if you wore something a bit more... us."

Ethan's eyes widened slightly, the haze in his mind clearing just enough to process the suggestion. He'd never been one to dress like a local, but the idea of blending in with Jamie and Ollie was suddenly incredibly appealing. "What do you mean?"

Ollie's grin grew, his eyes glinting with excitement. "We've got Tommy's old gear," he said, nodding towards a pile of clothes in the corner. "You'd look right proper in them, like a real scouser." He leaned closer, his hand sliding up to Ethan's chest. "Right Jamie? All the lads in the pub, fighting over him like a pack of dogs."

Jamie chuckled, his hand sliding from Ethan's knee to his hip. "Oh, you'd have 'em eating out of the palm of your hand," he agreed. "And they'd be begging for more."

Ethan felt his cheeks redden, his heart racing at the thought. "Okay," he said, his voice a little unsteady. "Sure!"

Ollie clapped his hands together, a grin spreading across his face. "Perfect!" He hopped off the sofa and scurried over to the pile of clothes. "Here you go, love," he said, tossing a red Liverpool FC jersey at Ethan. It smelled faintly of sweat and something else, something that made Ethan's nose wrinkle.

Jamie took the lead, his eyes never leaving Ethan's as he began to unbutton the American's shirt. His hands were surprisingly gentle, his touch sending a thrill through Ethan's body. With each button undone, the jersey slid away, revealing the tourist's taut abs and the faint outline of a six-pack. "Nice," Jamie murmured, his voice low and full of appreciation. "You've been taking care of yourself."

Ollie whooped, his hand slapping Ethan's bare chest in a gesture that was half-celebratory, half-playful. "Look at the goods on him!"

Jamie's eyes never left Ethan's as he pulled the jersey over his head, his hands lingering on the American's skin longer than necessary. The fabric was rough against Ethan's skin, the scent of old sweat and cheap cologne mingling with the musk of the lads around him. It was a smell that would normally make him gag, but now, it just made him feel more alive. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with it, and felt his cock stir in his jeans.

Ollie was next, unbuttoning Ethan's pants with a flourish. "Let's see what you're hiding under these fancy trousers," he said, his voice dripping with innuendo. Ethan's hands trembled slightly as he slid his pants down, revealing his boxers. They were designer, clean and pristine, a stark contrast to the stained white track pants Ollie held out to him.

The track pants were snug, hugging Ethan's thighs like a second skin. As he pulled them up, he couldn't help but notice the way the fabric clung to his growing erection, highlighting it like a beacon of desire. The smell of sweat and something else—something that was uniquely Ollie and Jamie—enveloped him, making him feel part of their world.

"Lookin' good, love," Jamie said, his eyes raking over Ethan's now scally-fied attire. The jersey was a size too small, the fabric stretching taut over his chest, and the track pants hung low on his hips, showcasing the waistband of his designer boxers.

Ollie whistled low, his eyes dark with lust. "You're a natural," he murmured, his hand reaching out to trace the outline of Ethan's cock, making him gasp. "Just like Tommy used to."

The words snapped something in Ethan, and suddenly, it was as if he could hear the echoes of his dead doppelgänger's laughter in his own voice. "Cheeky bugger," he said, the Scouse accent slipping into his words unbidden. It was a sound that was at once foreign and eerily familiar, as if he'd been speaking it all his life.

Jamie and Ollie erupted into laughter, slapping their knees and exchanging a look that spoke volumes. "Bloody hell," Jamie said, his eyes wide. "You've got the mouth on ya."

Ethan felt a thrill at their reaction, a newfound boldness surging through him. He leaned back on the sofa, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee, and took a long drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a slow, seductive stream. "Maybe I've got more in common with Tommy than you think," he said, his voice dropping an octave. The accent came more naturally now, rolling off his tongue like honey.

Jamie's eyes grew dark, his gaze lingering on Ethan's mouth. "Oh, you're a right cheeky one," he murmured, leaning in closer. "Just like him." His hand slid from Ethan's hip up to his waist, his thumb stroking the bare skin just above the waistband of the borrowed track pants. "Could be his twin, you know?"

Ollie nodded, his own hand joining the fray. "Yeah," he breathed, his eyes locked on Ethan's. "You're a musky fucker just like him. The way you're filling out those pants, you could pass for his ghost." His hand dipped lower, cupping the growing bulge in Ethan's crotch, making him moan.

Ethan's eyes sparkled with mischief as he took another drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke into the air. "Maybe I've got his moves too," he said, his voice a smoky purr that was pure Tommy. He leaned back into the embrace of the sofa, the fabric of the jersey sticking to his sweaty skin. "You two ever wondered what it'd be like to have him back?"

Ollie's eyes grew dark, his pupils dilating. "You know what, love?" He said, his hand sliding down to cup Ethan's package. "I think we already do." And with that, he dropped to his knees, the floorboards groaning under his weight. He peered up at Ethan through a fringe of hair, a wicked grin playing on his lips.

Ethan felt a jolt of excitement at the look on Ollie's face, his cock swelling even more. Ollie reached out and gripped the waistband of the track pants, pulling them down just enough to expose Ethan's cock. It was already thick and hard, the scent of sweat and arousal mixing with the stale smoke from the pub. Ollie leaned in, his tongue flicking out to taste Ethan's skin. "Mm," he murmured, his eyes closing in pleasure. "You're just like him."

The first touch of Ollie's mouth was electric, the heat and wetness of it sending shivers down Ethan's spine. His hips bucked slightly, pushing himself deeper into the warm cavern of the Scally's mouth. He watched, entranced, as Ollie took him in, his cheeks hollowing out with each suck. It was as if he'd done this a hundred times before, as if he knew exactly what Ethan needed, what Tommy had liked.

Jamie's eyes never left the show, his hand moving to his own crotch, stroking himself through the fabric of his pants. "Looks like you're enjoying that," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. He leaned over the back of the sofa, his mouth grazing Ethan's ear. "You're just like him, aren't ya?"

Ethan threw his head back, the pleasure of Ollie's mouth on him overwhelming. He felt something change within him, a wildness that he hadn't felt before, a sense of abandon that was as intoxicating as the whiskey and lager swirling in his belly. He reached down, his hand tangling in Ollie's hair as he pushed him further down, his hips bucking in time with the Scally's eager sucks. He could feel himself losing control, the boundaries between him and Tommy blurring like the fog outside.

The room grew hazier, the smoke thickening around them as Jamie stood up, his eyes never leaving the erotic dance between Ethan and Ollie. He sauntered over to the pile of clothes, his eyes alighting on a pair of grimy, worn-out TNs. They were a stark contrast to the clean, polished loafers Ethan had been wearing, the kind of shoes that screamed 'tourist'. He picked them up, holding them to his nose with a grin, inhaling deep the musky scent of sweat and the Mersey mud that clung to them. "These were Tommy's pride and joy," Jamie said, strutting over to Ethan's feet propped up on the coffee table. "They're yours now."

With surprising dexterity, Jamie snatched Ethan's loafers and slipped them off, the sound of fabric sliding against skin sending a thrill through the American. He took a moment to appreciate the clean, fresh scent of Ethan's socks before peeling them away, revealing the pale, unblemished soles of his feet. "Perfect," he murmured, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Just like Tommy's used to be."

The worn-out TNs looked almost black in the dim light of the room, the laces frayed and the toes caked with the grime of a hundred adventures. Ethan watched as Jamie took the left one and held it to his nose, inhaling deep. The scent was overpowering, a mix of sweat, the river, and something else—a scent that was as much a part of the fabric of the city as the bricks that made up the buildings around them. It was a smell that was at once repulsive and incredibly arousing, and Ethan felt his cock throb at the sight.

Jamie slid the sneaker onto Ethan's right foot, the fabric sticking slightly to the bare skin. It was tight, the grimy insole had molded to the shape of Tommy's foot, but it fit like a glove. The left one followed, and as Jamie laced them up, Ethan felt a strange sensation—like a jolt of electricity that shot through his entire body, making his toes curl and his cock pulse. He gasped, his eyes snapping open to meet Jamie's intense gaze.

The room grew dimmer, the edges of his vision blurring as if he were looking through a foggy window. The air grew thick with the scent of stale sweat and something else, something that seemed to fill his lungs and make him feel more alive than he had in years. Ethan's chest felt tight, his heart racing as if it were trying to break free of the confines of his body. He looked down at Ollie, whose eyes had glazed over, his mouth moving on Ethan's cock with a mind of its own. It was as if he could feel Tommy's spirit, squeezing into him, taking over.

A voice, rough and mischievous, echoed through his mind, and he realized it was Tommy's. "Cheers, mate," the spirit said, a chuckle that was part memory, part possession. "It's been a while since I've had a bit of fun like this." The words were accompanied by a feeling of pure, unbridled lust that flooded through Ethan's veins, making him feel like he could conquer the world.

Ollie looked up, his eyes wide with shock and excitement. "Bloody hell, you're him, aren't ya?" he whispered, his cheeks flushed as Ethan's hand grabbed his hair, pushing him down onto the thick shaft that was now fully under Tommy's control.

Tommy's voice, gruff and cheeky, filled the room as he spoke through Ethan's lips. "Miss me, lads?" he asked, his tone playful as he watched the two Scallys exchange glances that were a mix of shock and lust.

Jamie's hand paused on the laces of the second TN, his eyes wide with awe. "Bloody hell, Tommy," he murmured, a hint of fear and excitement in his voice. "Is that really you?"

The room grew even denser with anticipation as Ethan's hand—now Tommy's—reached out and knuckle-bumped Jamie's, the gesture playful and full of life. "Course it's me," the spirit said, a cheeky grin playing on Ethan's lips. "Couldn't stay away from you two, could I?"

Ollie, still kneeling, looked up with a mix of awe and hunger. "Welcome back, ya cheeky bastard," he murmured before taking Ethan's cock back into his mouth, eager to serve.

Tommy, now in full control, leaned back against the sofa, his body tensing as Ollie's mouth worked him over. The pleasure was intense, a mix of the physical and the metaphysical. He could feel the energy of the room shift, the very air seeming to thicken with the potent scent of desire and nostalgia. His hand found its way to Ollie's neck, his grip firm but gentle, guiding the rhythm as he neared climax.

"That's it, Ollie," he groaned, his voice a deep, guttural rumble that was unmistakably Tommy's. "Take it all, lad." And with that, he exploded, filling Ollie's mouth with a hot, thick load of his cum. Ollie's eyes watered, but he took it eagerly, swallowing it down with a gulp that sent a shiver through Tommy's entire being.

As the last of his climax subsided, Ethan's body went slack, his eyes fluttering closed. But the spirit of Tommy was far from finished. He sat up with a grin that was both cocky and predatory, his hand still tangled in Ollie's hair. "Good boy," he murmured, his voice still thick with lust. "But that's just the warm-up."

Ollie looked up, his lips glistening with cum, and nodded eagerly. "Whatever you want, Tommy," he said, his voice full of deviant longing.

Jamie, his eyes hooded with desire, took the cue. He stepped closer, his hand working his own cock through the fabric of his jeans. "You've got the taste for it now, don't ya?" he murmured, his voice a dark whisper. Ethan—no, Tommy—grinned, his hand sliding up Jamie's leg, gripping his cock firmly through the denim. "Oh, I've got the taste for it, alright," he said, his voice a perfect mimicry of the dead lad's.

Jamie groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head as Tommy's hand worked him. The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with the scent of sweat and desire. "So fucking good."

Tommy's grin grew wider, a hint of the mischief that had made him infamous in life. "Aye, but I've got a bit of a thirst on," he said, his hand never leaving Jamie's cock. "How about we grab a pint before we really get down to it?"

Ollie and Jamie shared a look, their eyes gleaming with excitement. "Whatever you say, Tommy," Ollie murmured, his own erection tenting his track pants. "But don't keep us waiting too long."

With a wink, Tommy stood, the worn sneakers feeling surprisingly right on his feet. The three of them strutted out of the apartment, their laughter echoing through the hallway and down the stairs. The cool night air hit them like a slap in the face, sobering them up just enough to realize that the world outside had gone on without them. The streets of Liverpool were alive with the sounds of the night—cars honking, drunken laughter, and distant sirens. But to them, it was as if they were the only ones who mattered. They walked in a tight pack, Ethan's body moving with a newfound swagger, his eyes glinting with the mischief that had been Tommy's trademark.

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 1 year ago

Text

In Case I Do Something Stupid

Pairing: Dean Winchester x f!reader, Reader POV and Dean POV

Summary: When Dean sends you a surprise in the mail and starts acting weird, you're worried that he's hiding something from you, but is it really what you think? This is part three of my "Before You Go" series.

Tropes: Angst, Fluff, Age Difference, (Reader is early to mid-20's and Dean is probably early 30's), Established Relationship

Word Count: 4.7K

Warnings: There is some swearing (only a few times), implied reference of past sex (once or twice), Dean might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

This fic includes song lyrics that are in italics, bold font, and are indented.

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Reader POV

"Did you get it?" Dean asks.

You're standing in front of your mailbox in the lobby of your apartment, cradling the phone between your shoulder and neck while you sort through your mail. There were a lot more bills than you were hoping for.

It had been a long day and all you really wanted was to go lie down, but you had a test in the morning, which meant that you wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon.

It had been two months since the whole “Cooper” thing and despite Dean’s insistence for you to come over to the bunker if he ever showed his face, Cooper hadn’t appeared once.

Of course that meant that Suze was out of the apartment more to spend time with him, wherever it was he lived. Neither of you had spoken about the incident, not since the morning after when Dean was asleep and you snuck out to make coffee before he woke up and you ran into her. You remember the dark circles under her eyes and the way her face was red and puffy from crying. You hadn’t known what to say so you nodded a “good morning” and walked back into your bedroom with coffee for you and Dean.

Dean was trying to convince you to move out, but the rent was so cheap you didn’t think you’d be able to find anything better. But with the summer approaching quickly, that meant you could spend more time at the bunker with Dean.

An elderly woman breezes through the main lobby of the apartment building, wearing a bright purple tracksuit. "Hi honey"

"Hi Mrs. Travis." You respond, holding off from answering Dean.

"Where's your special friend?" She smiles widely at you.

The last time Dean had visited, Mrs. Travis asked him to come help her unclog her drain. You and Mrs. Travis sat at her kitchen table together watching Dean work under the sink while eating mass quantities of chocolate chip cookies. You'd been over to see her a few times since, and each time she told you that Dean reminded her of her husband and would ask you when he was coming back.

"He's at home this week."

"What a shame. Tell him to come back anytime. I'll make some of those cookies for him again." She smiles before continuing on to the elevator.

"Who was that?"

"Your wife." You snort into the phone.

"Oh she's the best. Those cookies were so good." Dean moans. "Can you please bring some of those when you come this weekend?"

"I'll see what I can do." You sift through the mail in your hand. There's a collection of bills and a large green make-shift envelope that has been duct taped together with thick silver tape to cradle the contents.

"But did you get it?" Dean asks again.

"By "it" do you mean a creepy duct taped envelope? Because yes I did." You hold it by the corner turning it over to see Dean's untidy scrawl in black sharpie over the front of it.

This looks like a kindergartener made it. You imagine Dean sitting at his desk in the bunker with a pair of scissors, his tongue between his teeth in concentration and smile to yourself.

"Okay good." Dean sounds relieved.

"I could have just picked whatever this is up this weekend."

"You're telling me that you don't like getting mail?"

"I like getting mail, but this looks like a ransom note. Is someone holding you hostage? Because if that’s happening I don’t have any money and I'm sure you'll be fine." You smile, trying to find a way to open it, but the duct tape was thwarting you.

"No it’s not a ransom note." Dean pauses on the other side of the line. "Wait, you wouldn’t pay money for me?"

"I mean. Maybe?" You shrug as if he could see you, smiling wide at the envelope.

"That’s reassuring."

"Alright so you’re saying that if I was being held for ransom, you’d give them Baby for me?"

Dean doesn't answer. You can hear him mulling it over in his head, but you already know the answer to that question. You knew that Baby always comes first.

“That’s a long pause Dean.”

"I’m sure the connection is bad. Because I did answer-" Dean begins to say.

"How is the connection bad?" You interrupt, raising an eyebrow.

He tries again. "I’m driving through a tunnel?" It comes out like a question and you can’t help but laugh at his attempts to cover his mistake.

"I thought you said you were back at the bunker."

"Well, then the reception here sucks." He finishes and you can hear the smile in his voice.

You sigh to yourself. The last time you'd seen Dean was only a week ago, but it wasn't enough. Long distance was hard, but you felt that you both were giving it your all. Not to mention that this weekend you were coming to see him at the bunker, and it was a long weekend, which meant you both didn't have to rush.

"Uh-huh. Sure. If I get kidnapped I’m just gonna call Sam.”

"We are definitely off topic.” Dean sighs. “But you did get it?”

“Yes Dean I did. Whatever it is." You trace a finger over the silver taped edge. "Is this construction paper? Dean, you are a grown man, why do you have construction paper?”

“There’s a lot of old shit in this bunker.”

“For your birthday I’m getting you envelopes.”

"Sexy."

You roll your eyes, but finally break through the paper and pull out a bright yellow and black contraption. “You bought me a Walkman?”

Dean had previously bought you a cassette tape player that was on your desk in your apartment so you could listen to the mixtapes he made. Dean often made you mixtapes of his favorite songs, most of which you knew given you had almost the same taste in music, but each time you listened to one of his tapes it was like he was there in the room with you. It made the distance between you less when you missed him.

"Where did you even get a Walkman?" You ask.

"I told you there's a lot of old shit in this bunker." He laughs. "But this way you can listen to the mixtapes when you go to class or when you're at the library.” He says it nonchalant, but there's an edge to his voice that you don't understand.

I wonder if he's worried about something.

The thought makes you worry about him. Dean worried about a lot of things, but he usually kept it to himself. You figured it was because of his dad. You didn’t know too much about Dean’s father, only that he was dead and that he put a lot of responsibility and pressure on Dean’s shoulders when it came to Sam and the job he did, which forced Dean to be more guarded and unable to admit when he needed help. You of course, were very good at reading him and whenever Dean was worried, you made it a point to have him talk to you about it, even if you didn't have a suggestion. You wanted him to be comfortable letting his walls down. You needed him to know that you were there for him and that he didn’t need to carry the burden alone no matter how heavy it was.

You examine the Walkman, running your thumb against each black button that line along the top and against the smooth plastic edges. “That was very thoughtful. Thanks Dean.”

“You’re welcome.” He pauses. “I-uh- also included a new tape.”

“Oh cool. I can't wait to listen to it. I loved the last one." You pop out the cassette and look at the label.

Dean always came up with ridiculous names that made you laugh, names like "Psyched to See You Mix Vol 1," and "It's a Good Day to Call Dean."

This one was called "In Case I Do Something Stupid."

"I love the name. Does it mean that this is just a pre-recorded blanket apology if you're not careful on a hunt-"

"No it's not."

"Uh-huh." You put the tape back into the Walkman.

“But for this one, when you listen to it, can you call me? I really want to know what you think.” Dean continues.

“If it’s another 8 minute drum solo of Moby Dick-“

“It's not and it hurts me that you didn’t like it. But promise that you’ll call after you listen to it.”

“It wasn't bad. And will there be a test?” You tease him, confused that he's so adamant about you calling him after you listen. Whenever Dean gave you a mixtape he was excited to know what you thought, but was usually more nonchalant about it.

"No." Dean laughs, but it doesn't sound right. "I just want to know what you think."

"Well I can bring it with me when I come this weekend and we can listen to it together-"

"NO!" Dean exclaims. "I mean-um- you should listen to it now and call me." He recovers stumbling over his words.

"Okay." You draw it out confused as to why he is acting so weird. "I will take detailed notes over all of the songs and tell you how much I loved them."

“Okay.” Dean pauses again. “Um y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“I- I’m gonna be at the bunker for a few days researching so you can call me anytime-“ He says it quickly, not in the cool and collected way he usually spoke.

“Dean are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure? You sound a little weird."

"I'm sure it's just the connection." Dean pauses again. "I-"

"Dean?"

“I miss you.” He says it hesitantly, and for a second you think that he was going to say something else.

“I miss you too. I promise I’ve just got the one test and then I’ll be there this weekend.”

"Okay."

You could feel the three little words hovering on the tip of your tongue, the three little words you would have gladly told him five months ago when you first started officially dating. You knew that you were in love with Dean, had been in love with him from the moment your eyes locked with his, but the problem was that you'd never said it to anyone else. Of course you'd never felt about anyone the way you felt about him. He was kind, caring, sexy, protective, and just the right amount of batshit crazy that always kept you guessing.

I miss him so much.

Dean hadn’t said it either. But you understood that he was a little slow when it came to stuff like that and it wasn’t that you thought he didn’t love you. Dean said it plenty of other ways. Not to mention you figured he probably also hadn’t said it to anyone before and might be afraid to admit it aloud.

"I'll see you this weekend okay?" You sigh into the phone while wishing that Dean was there to hold you.

"Can't wait. Bye Sweetheart."

"Bye Dean."

Three days pass and you still haven’t listened to the tape. Honestly you forgot about it, too wrapped up in studying for the test and preparing a lab report that took twelve hours to finish, all the while your lab partner, Tim, was frantically proofreading over your shoulder so you could turn it in by the deadline.

It was Thursday night, one day from seeing Dean, and you were sitting in the library for your overnight shift. You reach into your backpack for your notebook, but when you pull it out, the headphones from the Walkman are tangled in the spiral of the notebook.

Oh no.

You couldn't believe that you forgot about the tape and you wonder if that's why Dean hadn't texted or called the past few days, because he was waiting for you to call him to tell him what you thought.

You carefully untangle the headphones from the notebook, before raising your head to look around the library. It was midnight, which meant that the only people in the library were you and a guy in the corner slumped over a stack of textbooks half asleep. His loud snores echoed through the empty room, something else that reminded you of Dean. He didn't believe you when you told him he snored, until you recorded it on your phone and played it back to him. But, you didn’t hate that he snored. Sometimes you hated how quiet it was in your bedroom when he wasn't there sleeping beside you, that was usually when you called him just to hear his voice through the phone and closed your eyes to imagine he was there.

Dean never cared what time it was when you called him, in fact, Dean liked it when you called him on your overnight shifts and when you were walking back to your apartment. He liked to make sure that nothing happened to you when you were walking home.

You didn't think that the sleeping man in the corner would need any help anytime soon, so you slip the headphones over your ears and hit play. But when the first song starts, you're confused.

The first song is one of your favorites, "I'll Have to Say I Love You In A Song," by Jim Croce. A singer that you liked to listen to when you winded down at the end of the day and also a singer that was not Dean's favorite. He often teased you about it. For Dean to include the song on the tape was unusual, but you figured that it was because he knew you loved it.

"Well I know it's kinda late, I hope I didn't wake you, But what I've gotta say can't wait, I know you'd understand, 'Cause every time I tried to tell you, The words just came out wrong, So I'll have to say I love you in a song…"

You hum along to the music while tapping your foot along to the melody as you reach back into your bag to pull out your textbook and pencil case for your highlighters and note tabs.

The second song starts as you turn back to your textbook, finding the right chapter to begin studying. You had expected the next song to also be a Jim Croce song or another song that you liked given the name of the mixtape. You assumed that "In Case I Do Something Stupid" meant that the tape would be filled with songs you loved to make you feel better if Dean pissed you off, but the next song is not one you know. You can tell it's Kansas, one of Dean's favorite bands, and one that you didn't often listen to before you met him.

"…Stand beside me I will never let you fall Stand beside me I'll come whenever you call…"

You smile to yourself at the lyrics, it makes you think about how dependable Dean is. How he's willing to drop anything and show up whenever you need him. The melancholy tone of the song makes you miss him even more.

A few other songs filter through the headphones as you continue to look through your notebook, making mental notes on what you need to focus more on.

When "Caught Up In You" by 38 Special begins to play, you highlight a passage absentmindedly in your textbook while listening to the words:

"I'm so caught up in you, little girl, That I never wanna get myself free And baby, it's true You're the one Who caught me, baby, you taught me How good it could be... Oh no I can't live without you..."

The next song makes you snort, mostly because it has been on the radio more and more lately and you wonder if Dean meant for it to be ironic.

"I was made for loving you baby, You were made for loving me, And I can't get enough of you baby, Can you get enough of me?"

The smell of coffee wafts from the 24/7 coffee shop in the lobby, drawing you up from your seat to answer the siren call. When you get back with a iced coffee, you place the headphones over your ears once more and hit play.

The next song is unexpected, mostly because you didn't know that Dean listened to Elton John, but when "Your Song" starts to play you can't help, but stop to bask in the lyrics. It was one of your favorites and you couldn't help but think of Dean, how much he cared for you, and how much he'd be willing to do anything for you:

"I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind, That I put down into words, How wonderful life is While you're in the world..."

You smile and touch the ring hanging from the chain at your neck, the one that Dean gave you, smiling to yourself.

The next two songs you recognize, both Journey songs, "Open Arms" and "Faithfully." You’d heard "Open Arms" before, but you'd never taken the time to listen to the lyrics:

"So here I am With open arms Hoping you'll see What your love means to me Open Arms…"

When "Faithfully" follows, you can't help but feel a nagging sensation in the back of you mind when you listen to the lyrics of the soft ballad like you're missing something:

"…Lost without you And being apart ain't easy on this love affair… Oh, girl, you stand by me I'm forever yours Faithfully…"

You highlight another definition in your textbook while chewing on the inside of your cheek. You did like Journey.

Maybe Dean just wanted to include songs that I liked after the whole 8-minute Moby Dick drum solo fiasco.

When the next song comes on you can tell that it's a Led Zeppelin song, given the familiar tone of the lead singer. You continue to listen, focusing on the chorus:

"Oh, all of my love, all of my love to you, now All of my love, oh yes, All of my love to you…"

You sit there for a second in the brief silence that follows the song, before you shrug. Dean always included a Led Zeppelin song in his mixtapes because he wanted to continue your education of music with one of his favorite bands.

The next song begins and you immediately know what it is, "Feel Like Makin' Love" by Bad Company. Dean had included the song in a previous mixtape, not to mention you had heard it before on a tape he played when the two of you were together in his room at the bunker. Your cheeks blush as you remember what you were doing when it played. He had plenty of mixtapes that were devoted to that particular subject.

But this time you really sit and listen to the words of the song, highlighter poised high over the page:

"Darling, I don't live without you And your love… Darling, if I live without you, I live without love…"

It makes you think of Dean again. You sigh to yourself wishing that it was already time to go back to see him.

There are actually some nice lyrics in this song. You think making a note in the margins of the textbook perched on your knee. You look back up to survey the empty room. The only patron is still in the corner snoring away.

The next song is one that you liked to listen to, "All I Wanna Do is Make Love to You" by Heart:

"Fate tell me it's right, is this love at first sight?... All I wanna do is make love to you..."

You bite the inside of your cheek. Dean never called it "making love," but you never pressed him for that, you knew that was what you were doing together. Dean might not be the best at expressing his feelings all the time, but you saw it in his actions. Dean took care of you, spent time with you, and went out of his way to make sure you were happy. You knew that he wouldn't do any of those things if he didn't love you. Not to mention you knew that his father made things like discussing feelings seem worthless. You were gently coaxing those things out of him, making sure that he knew you wouldn't think him less of a man to tell you how he felt.

I mean, he's never said that he "loved me," but I think he does.

The song that follows is another Bad Company song that you'd never heard, but the lyrics stir deep in your chest:

"I can't get enough of your love, I've got to tell ya baby, that I I love you so much I can't get enough of your love..."

You sit back in your chair, textbook forgotten and pause the tape. You couldn't help but notice that all the songs had a particular theme and you couldn't understand why.

When you hit play the next two are Van Halen, one of your favorite bands, and you immediately recognize both songs. The quick pace of "So This is Love" washes over you, making your heartbeat spike with the beat of the drums.

"Yes, she knows she's mine And ain't letting go So this is love? Ooh I need you love, Baby, got to have your love…"

Your breath catches in your chest as "When It's Love" starts to play and the smooth sound of the piano tickles against your skin.

"When it's love Ooh, when it's love Hey it'll last forever When it's love You and I We're going to feel this thing together…"

And before you can think about the words the next song follows, "Is This Love?" by Whitesnake.

"I feel my love for you growing stronger Day by day And I can't wait to see you again So I can hold you in my arms Is this love that I'm feeling? Is this love or am I dreaming? This must be love 'Cause it's really got a hold on me…"

The next song that follows is Styx, "Babe" and you had heard it on a previous playlist Styx tape that Dean loaned you when he found out that you'd never heard anything by the band before. But this time the song catches you off guard.

"'Cause I'll be lonely without you And I'll need your love to see me through But please believe me, my heart is in your hands 'Cause I'll be missing you Babe, I love you…"

You sit there in the silence that follows "Babe," unable to stop the rapid beat of your heart recognizing the familiar theme with all of the other songs on the mixtape and unable to stop focusing on the final words of the song.

"Babe, I love you..."

You take a sip of your iced coffee, tapping your highlighter against your textbook while trying to gather your thoughts. But you couldn't focus on anything on the page. Your thoughts turn to the funny name that Dean decided to call the mixtape.

It's just a coincidence. Dean made another mixtape with songs that he wanted to share with me-

And then the Jim Croce song, "I'll Have to Say I Love You In a Song," comes back on. And you understand. It was exactly what Dean was doing. He was saying "I love you" the only way he knew how.

You look at the label of the cassette again, running your thumb over the writing.

You initially thought that the "In Case I Do Something Stupid" title Dean wrote, meant that he wanted you to listen to the tape whenever he pissed you off for being careless on a hunt, but now you realize the title referred to if Dean hurt you, if he broke your heart somehow along the way, the tape was a reminder and a confession of his love. A reminder that he wasn't going to give you up, that he was going to fix it the best way he could, and that he was going to love you for the rest of his life.

Why didn't I listen to this sooner?

Dean POV

He tapped his pen anxiously against the ancient text as he laid across his bed, glancing every few seconds at the dark phone on his left.

You still hadn’t called.

It’d been three days since you said you would listen to the mixtape, three days of absolute agony. Dean sighed looking back at the text but he couldn’t focus on any of the words.

What if she listened to it and didn’t love me? What if that’s why she wasn’t calling? He thought to himself, frown deepening.

He’d thought about saying it to you a million times, almost said it on the phone three days ago, but he was afraid. Dean didn’t like admitting that, but it was true. His fear that you would reject his declaration of love kept him from whispering the three little words that he’d wanted to say from the moment you’d met and patched him up two years ago. He'd never said it to anyone before, but he'd never wanted to say it to anyone before he met you.

He glances back at his phone hopefully as the screen illuminates, but it's only a notification from his email. It was past six am, but every time Dean tried to go to sleep all he could think about was you, you and the fact that you hadn't called or texted. Dean taps the pen on the book again, as his heart continues to sink.

Why is this so hard? Why can’t I just say it to her? I should call and tell her right now-

Dean picks up his phone, but then puts it down.

Because what if you had listened to the tape and this was your way of avoiding him.

What if she'll never call me back and this is it? What if this is her way of saying that she doesn't love me and she doesn't know how to get around the awkwardness of calling to tell me that she doesn't?

His heart seized in his chest to think that.

His mind began to circle the drain again, thinking of all the things he said to you the night that you told him that you wanted him five months ago. He had been surprised of course. You were so different than him, so warm and full of life that it made him feel like he’d swallowed the sun whenever he was around you. He didn't realize that you'd wanted him as much as he wanted you, in fact, half the time Dean believed that he didn't deserve to be with someone like you, not after all the things he'd done.

Dean rolls over on his back to look up at the ceiling of his bedroom, tracing the cracks in the metal and the familiar patches of rust, hoping for sleep to give him some relief.

But he can't, all he can think about is you.

Dean remembers his younger years, his years of stringing women along and flirting with whatever caught his eye. But you made him better man and that's why he loved you. You knew him better than anyone else, saw his flaws, allowed him to be open and vulnerable for the first time. You didn't make him feel like less of a man when he expressed emotions and you allowed him to break. Dean couldn't wait to see you again, because when he was with you, he didn't feel the albatross hanging around his neck.

A loud, frantic knocking at his door stirs him from his thoughts.

"I'm not in the mood Sammy." Dean grumbles.

He throws his muscular forearm over his eyes to shut out the light above and to staunch the flow of self-deprecating thoughts.

The knocking persists.

Dean sighs loudly, before standing from his bed and walking to the solid metal door, his hotdog pajama pants swishing against his ankles.

"I said I'm not-" Dean looks up where Sam's face usually would be, but sees nothing.

What?

Then he drops his gaze and he sees you. Your cheeks are flushed bright red, hair blown back away from your face in tangles, wearing Dean's favorite pair of jeans, the ones that hug you so tight that it makes him have a hard time focusing. Your smile breaks something in his chest, spreading warmth and comfort through his body like a wildfire.

Dean can't remember the last time he felt comfort before he met you. When you were with him it felt like home, something that he was missing for so long in his life.

"Hey Sweetheart, what are you doing he-" He barely gets the words out before you throw yourself at him. Dean stumbles back with the force of your tackle as your lips find his, arms wrapping around the back of his neck to grip his bare shoulders and pull his face further down to yours.

Dean falls backward on the bed with you on top of him, the thick volume pressing into his back painfully, but he doesn't feel it all he's aware of is you. How your body feels on top of his, how your lips move together as one, and the soft sounds you make into his mouth when he deepens the kiss and drags his hands down to your hips.

You pull back out of breath, lips bright pink. "I listened to it. I'm so sorry it took me so long."

"You did?" Dean's hands are comfortably seated on top of your hips, squeezing just enough that he knows you're here, you're real, and he didn't fall asleep.

"Yeah, and I didn't want to say this on the phone." Your eyes are bright. "I love you too Dean."

Dean's heart skips a beat, an uncontrollable smile shining from his face with your confession. He can't remember a single solitary moment in which he'd felt so much love, comfort, and happiness surging beneath his skin.

"You do?" He didn't mean to ask it, but the little voice was back spreading doubt.

"Of course I do. It's impossible not to." You lean down to kiss him again, your fingertips flitting over his muscular torso in a way that makes pins and needles trace in their wake. "But I'd like to hear you say it." Your forehead presses against his, hair tickling his cheeks.

"I love you y/n." Dean whispers. He watches the way your blush swells over your cheeks, smile widening with his words. And all he wants is to make you smile like that for the rest of his life, to bask in your glow because you are the sun.

Dean secures his hand at the back of your head and draws you down to him, losing himself in the warmth of your love and the soft promise of what tomorrow would bring.

List of Songs In This Fic:

I'll Have to Say I Love You In A Song by Jim Croce

Stand Beside Me by Kansas

Caught Up In You by 38 Special

I Was Made For Lovin' You by Kiss

Your Song by Elton John

Open Arms by Journey

Faithfully by Journey

All My Love by Led Zeppelin

Feel Like Makin' Love by Bad Company

All I Want To Do Is Make Love To You by Heart

Can't Get Enough by Bad Company

So This Is Love by Van Halen

When It's Love by Van Halen

Is This Love? by Whitesnake

Babe by Styx

Thank You For Reading! If you'd like to be added to my tag list for this universe let me know :)

Taglist: @daisy-the-quake @brightlilith @roseblue373 @sunnyhummingbee

#spn #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester #supernatural #dean winchester x you #jensen ackles #dean winchester x reader #spn fandom #supernatural fandom #sam winchester fanfiction #spn fanfiction #dean x you #supernatural fanfic series

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gaboslondon · 4 months ago

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kithtaehyung · 2 years ago

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mami (m) (teaser) | myg/knj

— “then hurry up, mami. gimme one more for luck.”

title: mami (teaser) pairing: battle rappers!myg/knj x reader(f) , slight jhs x reader(f)😛 rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; battle rap au , roommates au summary: turns out, two of the guys you’ve been hooking up with are battle rappers. and roommates. and the most competitive gd people you’ve ever met. warnings for fic: [redacted] lmfaooooo🥴🥴🥴 warnings for teaser: cursing, yoongi’s fit, dirty talk, namjoon deserves his own gd warning throughout this whole fic so it’s included in the teaser warnings, too :^)) note: fuuuuuuck me lol. this is also gonna have some heavy 00s vibes so let’s fcking go🦋 est. drop date: jul-aug 2023 est. word count: 15-20k taglist: join here (will be checking blogs!) —18+ teaser below if you want to read :)) drops you right in the middle! minors dni.

Weeks go by and you keep your options super open, with the occasional run-in with Yoongi and the strangely refreshing dates with Namjoon.

As much as you want things to move forward with the latter, he’s kept every meet-up early and short, always checking his phone with pure concentration before heading out.

Did you think about whether or not he had a girl already? Absolutely. But just being able to have nice dinners and talk was pretty fucking harmless considering.

If he finally decides to cave in and split you in two, maybe you’ll re-evaluate. But you hope that happens sooner rather than later because you are aching to feel anything he’d give you.

That and the frustrating fact that he looks more and more attractive with every damn date.

Speaking of attractive things…

One dingy, smoke-filled event on south side, just as you were cussing someone out for slapping your ass, it was Yoongi that shocked you by stepping in, quietly shielding you and taunting,

“You wanna try that again?”

“Fuck outta here, man. Just having a good time.”

When your surprise of a savior aims one slitted eye over his shoulder, he asks,

“You having fun?”

And your arms fold in calm revenge. “Not with him.”

“Didn’t think so.” Turning back around, Yoongi simply eases, “I’ll let you off this time, but only cus she’s listening.”

Your blink is immediate.

“But I better not see your sorry ass anywhere near her by the time I get on stage.”

Safe to say, it didn’t matter if he saw that guy or not.

Because he definitely saw you after the show, right before you tugged his stupid tracksuit into the nearest bathroom.

Ever since the first, all your dates with Namjoon have been innocent.

So it sends shivers across your arms when low words slip into your ear. Words so spiced that they cause your thighs to squirm on the cheap vinyl booth you both occupy,

“I gotta say… I didn’t expect us to talk this much.”

Breath hitching, you slowly turn, fixated on the veins running down his arms while admiring the way neon lights make rainbows of his chains. Not giving much of your own thoughts away, you simply ask,

“This time? Or at all?”

“Honestly?” His smile coats you in a layer of warmth. Which is strange considering how frozen you really feel. “I don’t usually do dates.”

What?

You’ve never moved away so quick. “Wait, really?”

“Oh, shit. Was that bad to say?”

“No, I”—pure relief juts out of your mouth—“Neither do I.”

“No fuckin’ way,” Namjoon challenges with a grin, shaking his head when you nod multiple times. “Nah. You can’t tell me your fine ass has never gone out before.”

“First of all,” you tut, smirking at his true nature coming through, “This ass has been taken out more times than yours.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” Flipping your head, you give him a mocking once-over, feigning boredom even though you wanna mount those goddamn thighs and ride them into next Wednesday. “I just don’t waste my time dating.”

“Then why’d you keep coming?”

“Why’d you keep asking?”

At your coy tone, Namjoon’s smile grows and grows, and you’re enjoying where this is going an obscene, frightening amount.

Instead of responding, he simply lifts an arm to skirt knuckles right up the front of your dress, finally looping one under the necklace dangling from your neck. When he presses a bold thumb down, you cease breathing as he softly tugs forward, your entire body following without resistance.

And just as your lips hover against his, he challenges,

“Cus if I asked you anything else, you would’ve ran.”

Oh, fuck.

Butterflies scatter at his insinuation, and they fall victim to his honeyed smirk when you taunt,

“Try me.”

What the hell is he gonna say? Based on your earlier conversations, you could tell he has a way with words. You don’t have to spell a single thing out for him, that’s for damn sure.

The look you get is pure sin before he moves to your ear, his mouth hidden from the rest of the bar and hot breath stroking your neck. Anticipation keeps your body fully alert, and yet it still doesn’t prepare you for whatever comes out of this dude’s mouth.

“Like if you’d ever let me paint those tits.”

The fuck.

“Or if you’d let me be the first to make you squirt.”

The fuck?

Your exhale comes out stilted before stuttering out, and your chest physically heaves because—

“What, that’s all it takes to make you shy?”

Holy shit. You haven’t felt this way in years.

Truthfully, you can’t even think up an inkling of a response.

Because the hand on your necklace slides downward, a finger lowering your dress bit. By bit. By bit.

Before letting it spring back with a snap.

tbc. :)

💌 l m f a o what do we think!! 💌

A/N: PFFFFFT SO. thank you so much for reading and for all of your support in general. as you can probably tell, i am sweating writing this whole thing if this is what i decide to share as the teaser dklfjdsklf honestly y’all i need all the strength i can muster for these two DEMONS that are haunting the everloving SHIT out of me LMAOOO ++ taglist: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ no emails collected, just put your username and make sure ur age is visible on your blog somewhere so i can see it when i check. ⇥ here! ++ ⇥ masterlist

#ah geez do not perceive me LOL #namjoon fic #yoongi fic #bts imagines #bts reactions #teasers #yoongi smut #namjoon smut #bts fic #bts fanfic #*latest #ryenwrites #*ryenfictalk #namgi fic #yoongi x you #namjoon x you #bts #fic:mami

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assortedseaglass · 1 year ago

Text

🌟Mistletoe | Yuletide🌟

Michael Gavey x Fem!Reader

Summary: Michael's Christmas plans are scuppered, but a chance encounter lifts his hopes for the New Year.

Content: Fluff, Language.

Yuletide Masterlist

December 15th. The night of the Catton Christmas party in Brasenose College. Term ended a week ago, but the prospect of partying with the university’s hottest boy and his gaggle of gorgeous followers was too delicious to pass up. Freshers to third-years clamoured to rub shoulders with the prime ministers and business men of tomorrow. Any way to get your foot in the door, and maybe some Christmas action too.

The single-pane windows of the old college dorm room rattled to the beat of NOW XMAS, and each time the door opened a pair of drunk undergrads tumbled into the quadrangle.

The latest two, a straw-haired girl in a Juicy Couture tracksuit and a burly boy wearing a rugby polo, stumbled from the old double doors leading to the common room. On their way, between sloppy kiss and over the top giggles, they bumped into a solitary figure.

“Sorry, mate,” the drunk boy said, watching the other young man through alcohol-heavy eyes. The girl beside him eyed the stranger and snorted. “Merry Christmas.”

Hands tucked into his pockets, scarf wrapped neatly around his neck, Michael Gavey stumbled. The pair got no reply, only a cold glance of annoyance as he made for his dorm.

Gold, string-light bulbs decorated Brasenose quadrangle, tacky Christmas trees were perched in various student windows, and the saccharine chorus of Band Aid 20 was shouted from the common room.

Michael didn’t hate Christmas. He quite enjoyed the fuss from his aunties and the jumpers his grandmother bought him. His mum snuck extra roasties onto his plate and his dad made a point to buy him each year’s Telegraph Quiz Book. This year would surely be even better. The pride on his family’s faces, each asking about his first term at Oxford. First one in his family to go to university and he gets into Oxford.

It was precisely because he liked Christmas that this one was so miserable. Michael was neither surprised nor upset when he checked his pigeonhole that morning to see no invitation to the Catton Christmas part. Him and Oliver. A pair of nobodies.

He took the new Nokia his dad got him for his A Levels out of his pocket. No texts. Punching the numbered keys, he sent one to Oliver.

Back at BC. Mince pies and port ready.

The corridor to his dorm room was empty. With the turn of his key, he opened the door. The room was cold. The ancient radiator was ticking into life and the old windows were beginning to fog with condensation. On top of his stack of maths textbooks a bottle of unopened port gleamed.

Turning on his bedside lamp, Michael gathered two dusty glasses his mother insisted he pack with him, and from his Tesco bag produced a pack of mince pies. He placed them on a paper plate and emptied the rest of the carrier bag (wallet, keys, pencil case, workbook) next to the E45 cream and battered copy of GH Hardy’s biography.

The Nokia buzzed aggressively on the table. Removing his scarf, Michael checked the screen. It was from Oliver. He unlocked the phone and checked the small envelope icon.

Something’s come up, sorry.

Michael slumped on the bed. His thumb hovered over the keypad.

Get a better offer, did you?

He deleted the text, locked the screen and threw it on the cheap duvet.

The others would still be at the pub. He could just go back and meet them there. Could, were it not for his pride. It just wasn’t the same, a group of people forced together, as opposed to those who found each other.

The pub was full of his fellow mathematics students. Spotty, eager to please and reeking of desperation to prove themselves. Michael didn’t need to. He watched as they fought for Professor Mathison’s attention, keen to discuss tutorial projects and career prospects. Mathison was already keenly aware of Michael, judging by the way his jaw dropped when Michael recited the Lagrangian form to the last letter.

With Oliver it was different. They were two outsiders, making their way in a world entirely foreign to their own, their intellect their only way in. Now it seemed the friendship Michael was working so hard to cultivate with Oliver was slipping away.

He stared at the empty glasses. Fuck it. Pouring a little too much port in one of the glasses, Michael stuffed a mince pie into his mouth, grabbed another and made for the door.

The air was crisp, but mild for mid-December. The music of the Catton party across the quadrangle had mellowed, and through the misty windows Michael could make out shapes dancing close together, swaying slowly.

A pang of jealousy twisted in his naval and he twitched awkwardly. He wondered what it would be like, having another body pressed against his. Or rather, to have someone want to be that close to him. His mind flashed to the French girl in tutorial. She’d pressed her leg against his at the pub when Mathison mentioned a partnered project for the new year, and when he’d looked down, he saw her fingers brushing the cuff of his jumper. He’d flinched away.

Everyone was doing it. Quick flings with no regard for consequence. He supposed he could do it too. With the French girl, or the girl with agoraphobia. Lord knows, she was getting as much action as he was. But there was something in his studious nature, his desire for knowledge, that meant he had to be consumed by knowing someone fully, or nothing at all.

Perching his bony bottom on the cold concrete step under an old brick archway, Michael took a gulp of port and began on the mince pie. He took the top off, ate it, and thought of his grandfather, and how he would add brandy butter before replacing the pastry cover. He ate the rest quickly and sipped his port slowly, thinking over the last term. The successes; far and away the best student on the course, and the failures; one (?) friend. It was as he did this that the door behind him opened.

“Shit, sorry! Didn’t see you there!” You hadn’t done anything wrong. Not opened the door on his back or tripped over him. Michael waved his hand noncommittally and without answer. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

He looked up at this. An old grey coat at least a size too big was wrapped around you, a scarf pulled up to your nose and muffling your voice. Michael couldn’t make much of you out, just the eyes peering down at him from above the scarf, but he could tell you were beaming at him. Why?

He gestured to the cold step. You sat beside him, gave him a bright smile that didn’t falter when he stared at you a little too long, and turned to look at the night beyond the small archway.

“Pretty, aren’t they? All the lights?” Michael didn’t respond. He shifted his body slightly away from yours and took another sip of port. You weren’t deterred. “You a Billy-no-mates too then?”

“It’s Norman-no-mates-”

“I don’t think it matters.” You cut him off. “Well?”

Michael turned his face to you. You were still watching the lights but sensed him looking at you. In turn, you looked back at him, unabashed and direct.

“I might have mates waiting inside.”

“You might, but you don’t. You’re out here drinking wine,”

“Port.”

“Port’s just fortified wine. Drinking on your own when everyone’s off partying.”

Michael didn’t blink as he watched you. You weren’t being cruel by making him feel bad for his social ineptitude. Nor were you prying into what it was that made him so deplorable to seemingly everyone in college. No. You were just stating the facts. Michael loved facts.

“NFI.”

“Snap.” You held out your hand and gave him your name. Michael’s heart didn’t leap, but it did give a strange sort of jolt.

“Michael Gavey.” He shook yours and his mouth twitched when you gave him a firm smile.

“What about you? Why are you sitting on a cold step with a stranger?”

“Mate’s back there screaming at her fella cos he necked some girl in Exeter after a Hooch too many.”

“Let me guess, Business Management?”

“The very same.”

There was a contented silence a while. Michael sipped his port and watched you from the corner of his eye. The fingerless gloves you wore were fraying a little. Everything looked second hand. From your slightly battered Mary Janes and baggy jeans to the bag by your feet. Even the scarf still wrapped around your neck. The hair there was bunching under the fabric and a few wisps kept sticking to your lip gloss. Too pretty to be sitting with him, and too rough around the edges to be the usual Catton-fodder.

Michael licked his lips. “What are you reading?” Please be something good.

“Computer Sciences.” Merry fucking Christmas. “You?”

“Maths.”

“Ah, we could have done with you at the pub quiz! ‘How many birds in total are there in the twelve days o-’”

“One-hundred and eighty-four.” Michael rattled off as though the answer was a grocery list. You stared at him, an impressed smile playing at the corner of your mouth. Michael’s heart vaulted that time. He wanted more.

“Ask me anything. I can do any sum.”

You eyed him with barely supressed glee. “Twelve times thirty-one.”

“Three-hundred and seventy-two. Come on, ask me something harder.”

“Three-hundred and seventy-two times eight.”

“Harder.”

“Times twenty-three?”

“Harder.”

You almost shouted with excitement. “Three-hundred and seventy-two times forty-seven!”

“Seventeen-thousand, four hundred and eighty-four.”

You giggled and let out a low whistle. “Fuck me,”

Yes please.

A broad flush spread across Michael’s cheeks and he licked his lips again. “I can also-”

“Better check madam is ok,” your eyes indicated behind you as you took you phone from your pocket. The white light from the small screen was garish amongst the soft golds of the Christmas lights, and Michael’s heart sank as he watched you scroll through your contacts list. So many names. He’d give anything to be among.

He didn’t pay attention to anything you were saying as you chatted to your friend. The shine of your lip gloss beneath the fairy lights was too mesmerising. Michael raised his port glass to his lips, took a sip and let the glass linger there as you ended your call. He was entranced.

“Love you, mate. Alright, chat tomorrow.” You sighed as you hung up and looked at Michael. “Home for me, I think.”

As you stood, Michael did too, pulling his trousers up and tucking his hands into his pockets. “Nice to meet you, Michael.” You shook his free hand again and took the port from the other. He watched, agog, as you downed it in one. “Graham’s? Very nice.” You passed him the empty glass and began making your way to the end of the archway. He followed you like a shadow.

At the end of the passageway into the old quadrangle you turned to face him. “What are you doing for Christmas, Michael?”

“Home,” his voice was unnaturally high and he coughed. “Home, to see family but not much else.”

“And new year?”

“Seeing some boring old school friends then back here before term st-starts-starts,” you were leaning towards him. With no hint of shyness, and perhaps a little too forcefully, you kissed him. You pulled back, smiling.

“What was that for?” The surprise of your lips on his made him shout, and it sounded more hysterical than genuine shock and curiosity.

“Mistletoe,” you stated simply, pointing at the small poesy hanging from the archway.

Michael coughed. “Of course, yeah. Thank you.” He made an odd movement and almost clicked his heels. You laughed again, turning into the dark night.

“See you in the new year, Michael.” Your voice echoed off the old stone walls. Just as Michael expected, you sounded so certain. In all your ten minutes of knowing each other, he’d learned that about you. The statement wasn’t speculation or conjecture. It was a fact. Michael loved facts.

Merry Christmas everyone! I hope it's been a kind and calm one. H x

The usual suspects: @arcielee @targaryenrealnessdarling @theoneeyedprince @ewanmitchellcrumbs @ellrond @cyeco13 @babyblue711 @exitpursuedbyavulcan @humanpurposes @myfandomprompts @barbieaemond @anjelicawrites

#ewan mitchell #michael gavey #michael gavey x reader #ewan mitchell x reader #mistletoe #saltburn #OI SALTBURN PEEPS #if you're fed up with the lack of oliver and felix fanfic #write your own and leave us to thirst over the nerd in peace #merry christmas!#hilde's twelve days of christmas

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honeydixonn · 1 month ago

Text

Back to Friends, Myung-Gi

two, 333

3551 words

The eerie strains of classical music shattered the silence, sending a collective shiver through the room's occupants. The tune hovered, cold and foreboding, over the dense, humid air saturated with the mingling aromas of sweat and clashing cheap perfumes.

Nari's eyes fluttered open as fluorescent lights buzzed to life overhead. The blinding glare forced her gaze upward, to the stark, white ceiling. She froze. Every instinct screamed at her not to move.

Where was she?

Her breath caught as she became aware of the unfamiliar fabric brushing against her skin. A tracksuit. Her fingers trembled as they grazed the material, and dread tightened in her chest. The dress—the sleek black dress she'd worn when she arrived—was gone.

Someone had changed her. Without her knowledge. Without her consent.

The realization struck her like a physical blow, leaving her staring in stunned horror at the numbered shirt now draped over her. Across her chest, the digits stood out in stark white:

114.

Panic flared as her gaze swept the room. The expanse of the high ceiling emphasized her smallness, her vulnerability. Slowly, her vision adjusted to the bizarre sight before her. Hundreds of people, all wearing identical green tracksuits emblazoned with numbers, crowded the space.

Her attention snagged on a massive screen dominating one wall.

456 Players.

Nari's stomach churned. The thin mattress beneath her offered no comfort, and the coarse, itchy blanket felt more like a taunt than an attempt at warmth. Yet, complaints would be futile. After all, she had nothing else to go back to.

Forcing herself to sit up, she became acutely aware of eyes lingering on her—watching, waiting. A chill ran down her spine. Whoever those eyes belonged to, they made her feel like prey under the gaze of a predator.

She knew, deep down, that this place would bring nothing good. But she had no choice. She had to endure this—for Myung-Gi.

Her heart ached as her resolve hardened. If she could pay off his debts, maybe he'd come back to her. Maybe things could go back to how they once were, even if it meant she had to suffer.

Swallowing her fear, she swung her legs over the side of the bunk and climbed down. The cold floor met her bare feet as she joined the sea of players. Her resolve faltered briefly when a man with dyed purple hair flashed a flirtatious grin her way, blowing kisses in her direction.

Before he could approach, the haunting music that had greeted her abruptly stopped. A heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by the creak of massive black doors swinging open.

Men in pink jumpsuits filed into the space, their faces concealed by masks—circles, triangles, and squares marking their ranks. The square-masked figure at the center exuded an unsettling authority as he surveyed the gathered players.

"I would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you," he began, his voice distorted through a modulator. Each word sent a ripple of unease through Nari. "Everyone here will participate in six different games over six days. Those who win all six games will receive a handsome cash prize."

Murmurs of confusion and doubt rippled through the crowd. A woman stepped forward, her hand raised in protest. "You said I'd be playing games but you practically kidnapped me. So how can I believe that?"

Nari's gaze shifted to the square-masked man as he replied with chilling indifference. "I apologize. Please understand that it was necessary to maintain the game's security."

Despite his assurances, unease lingered in the room like a dark cloud. Another player, emboldened by the first, called out, "And the masks? Why are you hiding your faces?"

"Is your face also a secret?" She spoke in a taunting manner causing the man beside her to react the same.

Nari zoned out staring at the huge number on the wall as they continued to speak about the unsettling factor of the masks and horrid uniforms. Her nails picked at the skin around her cuticles, stopping abruptly when a familiar voice pierced the air. Her heart picked up in speed as he spoke and her feet raised trying to see where it came from.

"What about my phone? Why did you take my phone and wallet? Give them back, please." It couldn't be Myung-Gi. Why would he be here if he was in hiding? Why would he come here, but not to her?"We're keeping your belongings safe. We'll return them once the games are over." He didn't like the answer he received, he needed to check the markets desperately to gain control of money.

"At least give me my phone. I need to check the crypto market." That's when she knew. The crypto market was still always on his mind. He couldn't let it go. So she knew that it was truly Myung-Gi.

Nari hated his obsession with crypto. Always nagging him about it-- wanting him to close it out and change his channel to something more productive. Yet, he didn't listen and that's why they're both in this position now.

"If I lose money, will you compensate me?" He kept hassling the square-masked man. The obsession gaining power over every other worry he should be having at the moment. "We will return it to you once the games are over." Myung-Gi wasn't having anything the man in charge had to say. All he could think about was his crypto.

"I need to monitor the real-time prices! Do you know how much I've invested?!" His voice raised before he could realize the mistake he was about to make.

Nari's attention wavered as the large screen flickered to life, revealing a video of him, face bruised and a hat hiding his identity.

Her heart clenched. Her Myung-Gi. The video showed him being slapped repeatedly during a match of ddakji, his desperation laid bare for all to see.

"Player 333," the square-masked man announced, "Lee Myung-Gi. Age 28. Former YouTube channel operator, MG Coin. Total debt: 1.8 billion won."

Nari's breath hitched. The staggering number hit her like a blow. Her Myung-Gi—her reason for enduring this nightmare—was here, drowning in debt and shame.

Her eyes sought him out in the crowd, but the room was too chaotic. Players jeered and whispered, judging him without considering their own circumstances.

More names and debts followed, including her own.

"Player 114, Ha Nari. Debt: 8.3 million won."

She shrank back, her own shame magnified by the murmurs around her. Myung-Gi's gaze darted through the crowd, searching. Did he recognize her name? Her face?

"Nari..." 8.3 million won? It couldn't be, they must've had the wrong person. How would the Ha Nari Myungi-Gi knew accumulate such a debt?

He wouldn't believe it and he wouldn't believe she was here until he saw her. Until then, none of this was real. Just his kind tricking him. But all he could see was the replaying image of the man slapping her across the face in his mind.

It angered him to have known someone put their hands on her in that way. No one had the right to touch her in any way that harmed her, he knew when he left this place he would find the salesman and hurt him worse than he hurt her.

So he thought.

Nari's attention focused on the elder man who was shamefully ten million won in debt. Something shameful to have out to the vast majority of the group.

"Ten billion?" The lady next to her sporting the number 120 nodded her head in agreement of disbelief.

"What are you looking at?!" He shouted at the group causing a roar of gasps in shock."Do you think it's easy to get a ten-billion-won loan? They don't lend that kind of money to just anyone! Only to those who are capable of paying it back." The players all collectively murmured about him, sneaking in side comments when they have a debt just not nearly as large.

Before she could think of what to do next, the masked figure's voice rose above the noise.

"All of you in this room have crippling debts and are now on a cliff-edge. When we first came to you, you did not trust us either. But as you know. we played a game and gave you money as promised. And so you trusted us and volunteered to participate according to your own free will."

There appeared something to lie plunging underneath his words leaving her nonplussed and utterly at fault for accepting the invitation.

"You have one last chance to decide. Do you want to live like a piece of trash, running from creditors? Or will you seize the last opportunity we are offering?"

The lights suddenly dimmed and a chime of a tune played from the speakers as a glowing piggy bank was lowered from the ceiling-- the masked man continued his speech as everyone gazed in amazement.

"What you see now is the piggy bank where your valuable prize money will be stored. After each of the six games you will play, the prize money will accumulate in this piggy bank." The music stopped at the piggy bank reached.

"How much is the prize money?" Nari's fingers plucked one and other, worrying it wouldn't adequately fulfill her debt and Myung-Gi's. "The prize money for the games is 45.6 billion won." Player 120's breath caught at the announcement, sharing a similar look with Nari as they both thought of their new life.

A few games and they would be better off than they were before. "And one of us will get it?" Player 007 yelled in shock and excitement, the glow of the piggy bank illuminating off of him."We will give you the details about the distribution of the prize money after the first game. For these games, you will be given a special new advantage." The elder man with the greater debt among the hundreds interrupted him wanting to know what the advantage may be.

"After each game, you will be given a chance to vote on whether to continue the games or not. If the majority votes to stop the games, you can leave with the prize money accumulated up to that point." Nari thought hardly to herself, seeing there was something they weren't sharing.

Why would they want to leave? Why would they leave if there were opportunities to gain more money?

"Are you saying..." A deep voice from the back of the steps spoke breaking the murmurs of the group. "We'll still receive the money, even if we leave after the first game?" The masked man paused as if he recognized him, "That's correct."Player 456 gazed in shock before turning, eyeing the camera on the wall closely.

An elder woman suddenly ran through the crowd pushing the people around her and grabbing onto the man wearing 007 on his back."You idiot!" The man halted in shock holding onto her cheeks in horror. "Mom! What... What are you doing here?" He stopped and looked around seeing the many eyes watching the scene unfold.

"That's what I wanted to ask you! What are you doing here?" He quickly hushed the woman moving close to her."You're embarrassing me." The mother stood not believing he was the one embarrassed. "Embarrassed? If you knew what was embarrassing, you wouldn't be here!" He gripped onto her arm pulling her down so that their conversation stayed private."Stop it! We'll talk about this later."

Nari couldn't focus on the scene playing out in front of her—instead, she tried to move and look around to catch any glimpse of the man who left her stranded at the restaurant now six months before.The night of her birthday dinner, which she'd never forget. He promised to come since they weren't able to celebrate it the week of— it felt more special from the acts they performed three days before.

Yet, she sat alone in the restaurant for two hours with fading hope.He never showed up, there was no trace of him. Just YouTube videos and news stories unveiling the truth. So as she looked for him her heart ached, knowing it took this for them to even be in the same room. "If you wish to participate in the games, please sign the player consent form. Those who do not wish to participate, please speak up now." The circle guards moved to place six tables at the front of the room, each standing at the designated table as the players lined up to sign the paper.

"We always give you a chance to leave the games." Myung-Gi's eyes flickered back and forth around the room trying to find any trace of her being there. But it seemed like the video was false.He couldn't find her and his eyes were just playing tricks on his before. As he signed the paper he moved to return to his bunk yet was stopped in his tracks.

"The Amazing Myung-Gi from MG Coin? Is that you?" Player 124 grimaced at him in a way that dropped the subtle smile from his lips. "You may not know me, but I know you. MG Coin. I was subscribed to your channel." The purple-haired man, player 230, smirked swaying his arms around.

"And I lost a shitload of money, asshole." The two men glared at him in hatred as he tried to move through them.

"You've got the wrong person." 230 shoved him back, the false smirk still evident on his lips as he played a narrative."I watched your content all day, every day. Now I even see you in my dreams. motherfucker."

He placed his arm on 124's shoulder, "Was your name Nam-su?" The man chuckled at the mix-up as Myung-Gi stood facing the two trying to find any way out of the conversation."It's Nam-gyu. From Club Pentagon." The purple-haired player waved him off bringing his attention back to Myung-Gi. He couldn't believe the debts were coming to face him face to face in the game.

"Thanks to you, I bonded quickly with Nam-gyu here. Because we shared the same pain." He turned leaving his spot now empty as Nam-gyu taunted him. "I thought the sons of bitches who made that coin fled to the Philippines with the money. So why are you here? Did they cut you loose?"

He knew the real reason he stayed. It would've eaten him alive every day if he left the country leaving her behind. It was something he couldn't bring himself to do even if it meant being in debt."What do you want from me?" Player 230 shot forward wrapping his hand around the back of his neck causing the players to exclaim. Nari heard the commotion watching from afar as she contemplated her choices.

"What do you think? Give me my money." Myung-Gi forced his hand from his body pushing him away in anger and distraught, "Did I force you to buy that coin?" He looked between the two as 230 grew angrier."You told us to bet it all, you fucker. You swore it'd shoot up. You said we'd be fucking idiots if we didn't buy it!" He shouted in his face becoming very hostile, like he could break any minute.

Nari's lip was taken between her teeth in fright-- she knew this was all the consequences of his actions catching up to him, but she couldn't help but worry.In her eyes, he needed to own up to what he did and let the crypto go but then again she'd always take his side. She just wanted him to see how badly his actions hurt her and everyone else. That an apology wouldn't fix everything this time.

"'You are responsible for the final decision on your investment.' Didn't you hear me say that at the end?" 230 scoffed in his face becoming angrier by the second, noting that every word flowing from his mouth could make him snap."You said you watched every day." Myung-Gi was suddenly grabbed by the front of his jacket, a fist raised in the air to bruise his face and ego until Nam-gyu stopped him.

"Hey, calm down!" Myung-Gi pushed back against the furious man, still believing Nari was somewhere watching and he couldn't look like a fool. "Get off of me! Let go of me." Nam-gyu pulled him off as the player tried to calm him down."People are watching." Myung-Gi tried to catch his breath as his heart rate sped, he was never one for physical altercations.Unless there was a upmost reason for it.

"You don't want to be on the news." Nam-gyu smiled as he rubbed the man's arms."You'd better do well because I'm coming to get my money back." The two walked off with Nam-gyu laughing, as they settled to the back of the third line, 230 caught the eye of Nari-- glancing her up and down before winking her way.

Myung-Gi stood off to the side now embarrassed and made out to be a fool in front of the entire room, stepping off to the bunks to hide from the reality of what had happened.Nari let her breath finally ease as the altercation was over and she could easily sign the papers without worry.

Her worries fell at ease as she read the clause over and over, there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary. Nari's heart pounded. For the first time, hope flickered through her fear. Could this be the answer to her problems? To Myung-Gi's?

Despite her doubts, Nari stepped forward. Her hand trembled as she signed her name beneath the ominous clauses.

A PLAYER IS NOT ALLOWED TO VOLUNTARILY QUIT.

A PLAYER WHO REFUSES TO PLAY WILL BE ELIMINATED.

THE GAMES MAY BE TERMINATED UPON A MAJORITY VOTE.

IF THE GAMES ARE TERMINATED, PLAYERS WILL DIVIDE THE PRIZE EQUALLY.

Her fate was sealed.

The players were ushered into a vibrant room adorned with shades of pink and yellow. The green accents on the floor matched the hue of their uniforms perfectly, creating a bizarrely cheerful yet unnerving atmosphere.

"The first game will begin momentarily," announced a robotic female voice over the intercom, its volume cutting through the players' chatter. Nari moved forward, her steps hesitant, and paused when she reached the photo area.

"After having your picture taken, follow the staff's instructions and proceed to the game site," the voice continued. Behind her, a group of players gathered around a purple-haired man she recognized instantly. It was Thanos, self-proclaimed "The Great Rapper."

Nari couldn't help but chuckle as she watched him attempt to flirt with a girl whose sparkling jewelry and perfectly manicured pink nails suggested she was out of his league. He was met with swift rejection, but it hardly seemed to dent his oversized ego.

Running her fingers through her short hair, Nari sighed inwardly, envying the girl's ability to style hers so effortlessly.

"Hey, señorita," Thanos called out, his smirk widening as his gaze landed on her. "What about you? Want to take a picture with Thanos, baby?"

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, but before she could respond, his expression shifted. It was as if he had just pieced together something crucial.

"Wait... I know you. You were in that MG Coin video!" he exclaimed, stepping into her booth without hesitation, his entourage trailing close behind.

Nari froze as he invaded her space, leaving no room to retreat.

"You, baby, owe me money," he said smoothly, his voice low but dripping with authority. "Now, I'll give you a break because you look so good standing here, but soon, you and your little boyfriend are gonna have to pay up."

Before she could protest, he leaned in, planting a quick, infuriating kiss on her cheek. Then, just as swiftly, he sauntered off, his groupies giggling as they followed.

Her face burned with a mix of anger and humiliation. She now owed even more than she had when she arrived.

"Smile!" the automated photobooth voice chirped, jolting her from her thoughts.

Nari stared blankly ahead, her hands trembling.

"Smile!" the voice repeated.

With a sigh, she forced a grin, the most plastic expression she could muster, as the camera flashed. As soon as it was over, she followed the crowd up a set of stairs leading to three large doors.

The group gathered outside, waiting anxiously as the ceiling above them opened to reveal the blazing sun.

"Welcome to the first game. All players, please wait a moment on the field," the voice commanded.

Nari shielded her eyes with her hand, squinting as the harsh sunlight stung her vision. When her eyes finally adjusted, she found herself staring at an expansive sandy field.

At the far end stood a towering robotic doll, its lifeless eyes locked in her direction.

"What the fuck?" she muttered under her breath, her unease swelling as the reality of her situation began to sink in.

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