#i did not know that passed over to driving

[2cupids]

warnings. popular!reader, oral (m. receiving), tittyfucking, tiny bit of degradation, cüm eating. mdni (17+).

wc. 1.9k… read part 1 here!

weeks had passed and a new semester had begun since that encounter with nerd!choso and it was a nearly forgotten memory in your head.

but for choso?

he thought about it everyday. it was like a driving force that helped him push through each day and he could only dream of getting so lucky again.

so the moment he saw you walking towards him as class was being dismissed, your ridiculously short skirt swaying as you moved, he knew his prayers had been answered.

“you busy? i need you to write that research paper for me.” you ask nonchalantly as you swipe the wand of your lipgloss across your bottom lip, reapplying it.

choso’s in a trance as he watches you put your gloss on your pretty lips. you were so alluring, so gorgeous. seconds pass and still no answer. you sigh and roll your eyes, looking down at choso and making contact with his bright eyes as he stares at you.

“well?” you furrow your eyebrows as your patience grows shorter and the nerdy boy has yet to answer. choso’s heart flutters at your harsh tone and he swallows the lump in his throat before he finally answers.

“n-no, i’m not busy. i could have it done by saturday.”

your hardened expression instantly softens at his words and you give him one of your sweet smiles. “good. i’ll pick it up on sunday.”

as you turn to walk away, choso stops you. “wait! um.. wh-what do i get for helping you?” choso asks quietly, averting his eyes down to look at your legs. he can’t look you in the eyes.

you turn to him, eyeing him up and down. “and who the hell are you to ask me that?” you smirk at him, but your tone is condescending. you’re offended he would even ask that. “you don’t need to worry about that, i’ll figure out it. just get my paper done.”

and with that, you’re walking up the stairs of the lecture hall and exiting the classroom. choso sits there for a moment, replaying what just happened and taking a moment to collect himself. he finally stands up and adjusts his pants, pulling his hoodie down to cover his boner before he leaves.

the days seem to pass by much slower than he would’ve liked until the long awaited day finally rolls around. choso’s mind is flooded with the multiple different scenarios that could play out, but hell, he would take anything you give him. and that’s only if you decide to pay him back for his kindness again this time.

he’s lost in thought when there’s a knock at his door and he rushes to open it, letting you in. his hands immediately reach for the paper and you quickly skim through it, slipping it inside your bag and setting it down on his desk.

“what should i do with you?..” you cross your arms and let your eyes trail down his figure before letting them rest on his face again. “i could make you put your mouth to use. i want my pussy ate, but i know someone like you doesn’t know how to eat it. and i don’t feel like teaching you either. just go sit on the bed.”

you wonder what you can do and that’s when an idea comes to you. you walk over to him and kneel down in front of him. “so where’s your bottle of lube?”

choso’s taken back. how did you know he even had some? probably just a lucky guess, but then again you are much more experienced than him. “i..um.. it’s in the desk drawer over there. the first one.”

a faint smirk plays on your lips as you roll your eyes and stand up to go get the lube. you pull your top off and throw it on the floor, revealing the lacy pattern of your bra underneath as you sit back on your knees in front of choso again. your eyes catch sight of choso’s face and you laugh, it doesn’t take much to get him worked up. being the tease you are, you give your boobs a nice squeeze. why not give him a little show?

your hands rub his thighs, slowly making their way up to unbuckle his belt and take off his pants. choso eagerly lifts his hips to let you pull his pants and boxers down his legs, and it’s laughable how excited he is.

you take his cock in your hand, quietly admiring the length and girth. it’s almost like he grew from the last time you saw him. you always heard about how nerds like him were packing, but you just thought it was a joke.. that was til choso proved you wrong of course.

his clear arousal leaks from the head of his dick and you can’t pull yourself to look away. without another thought, you lean forward and stick your tongue out, licking the precum that slid down his shaft and up towards the tip, swiping your tongue across the opening, collecting the salty liquid straight from the source. your pretty lips wrap around it and your cheeks hollow slightly while you circle your tongue around his tip.

choso groans and instinctively bucks his hips up. never did he think the guys he saw in porn were exaggerating when he watched a girl give them head, but he never expected it to feel so good. or maybe it just feels so good because the pretty girl he’s crushing on is the one who’s on her knees doing it to him.

you pull off his cock and lick the corners of your mouth as you eye the glistening head of his dick. your hands reach back and undo the clasps of your bra, letting your heavy breasts free as you pull the bra straps down.

choso’s eyes are locked on your every move and his lips part slightly as he watches you reveal your breasts to him. he’s never seen something so beautiful in his life.

“… so pretty.” he whispers more to himself, but it’s loud enough for you to hear.

the corner of your lips curl yet again as you glance up at him. “of course they are, dummy.”

you toss your bra onto the bed and reach for the bottle of lubricant, spreading the lube along his dick before taking one breast in each hand and nestling choso’s cock in between your chest.

choso nearly melts from the warmth that your boobs bring, then you start moving them up and down his length and it feels like heaven.

like the first encounter with you did. a pretty girl with her tits wrapped around his cock.. damn. not to mention the occasional moments when your tongue comes out and flicks over the opening. he can’t help but feel truly blessed.

you can’t miss the way choso’s face twists in pleasure with each drag of your breasts up and down his length even if you wanted to. the soft pants and groans that leave his parted lips have caused a sticky mess in between your legs, making your panties latch onto your wet cunt.

it’s not a surprise to you that choso busts quick, someone like him obviously would. his face is a dead giveaway, and so are his mannerisms and how his knuckles are white from gripping his comforter. he came fast the last time and in a way you find it oddly charming how quickly this nerd cums. what does surprise you though, is when he opens his mouth and starts to beg.

“please… please. can i t-touch them?” he whimpers, the desperation in his voice is clear. “i-i won’t ask for anything else.. just please.”

he looks down through his heavy eyelids, silently pleading with you, and you’ve got to admit that it’s hot. you bite your lip and make a small noise of approval, stopping what you’re doing and reaching for his hands to put them on your breasts.

his large hands squeeze the soft flesh, really feeling and savoring what it’s like to have a nice pair of tits beneath his palms before his hips jerk as he holds your boobs, fucking your chest.

“ohhh.” choso whines, “can i please cum? need... need your permission.” he doesn’t care how vulnerable he sounds, he just wants to hear you give him your approval.

and here you are again, finding yourself so turned on by his words that they’ve got your pussy clenching. you can’t let on that you’re having a change of heart towards him though, so you scoff. “what the fuck are you asking me for you fucking freak? of course you can.”

leaning back on your hands slightly so you have a better view, you watch choso start to come undone right in front of you. his eyes are squeezed shut and his mouth hangs open, letting the whiniest sounds tumble out of his mouth that you’ve ever heard from a man. you can feel his trembling body come to pause as he halts his movements, a second later your tits are covered in his hot cum.

his limp body continues to lay against the bed and when he opens his eyes again, he finds you still on your knees in front of him. one of your hands is holding your chest while you pick up some of his cum on your finger with your other hand, sucking it into your mouth.

you feel his eyes on you and you repeat the action with a grin. his heart skips a beat and he fears you might be the death of him, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

after getting off the floor and back on your feet you grab a few tissues and wipe your face and tits before you make a random, split second decision. “keep the bra.”

choso almost chokes when he hears you say that. he opens his mouth to protest but he decides against it, knowing that whatever sharp response you say will get him hard again. you rummage around your bag before you pull out the spare bra you always carry. after all, a girl like you never knows what trouble she might get herself into.

choso watches you fix your appearance in the mirror and you catch his eye in the reflection, holding his gaze. “you know.. you’d look fine as hell if you got rid of those things.”

what ‘things’ do you mean?

choso is very obviously confused and you walk over to him with a smirk, yanking his glasses off his face and waving them in front of him. “these things, dumbass.”

you move closer to him and stand in between his legs, running a hand through his thick, dark locks. “you might actually be able to pick up bitches then.”

for some reason, you find yourself standing there staring at him for longer than you’d like to. you eventually let go of his hair and sigh, taking a step back and walking over to grab your bag, preparing to leave.

“what a shame.” you say quietly as you open the door to leave, and you truly do think it is a shame.

you’ll never admit it out loud, but maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to find that stupid little loser cute.

taglist — @cheezemanz @tojicvmslut

cleo’s note — i know some people are probably gonna ask for a part 3, but idk if i’ll keep this going so don’t get your hopes up 🥲. thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated!

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Mic’d Up Mayhem

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x !USC girlfriend Reader

Rating: General (Fluff, Light Angst, Competitive Banter)

Fandom: Women’s College Basketball (USC & UConn)

Summary: In a highly anticipated USC vs. UConn matchup, you and Juju are mic’d up alongside Paige and Jana. Only to be mic’d up for both games against each other.... and everyone is enjoying the show

“Alright, y’all,” Juju grinned, adjusting her mic pack as we stretched at midcourt. “Let’s give the people a show.”

“Oh, I plan to.” I smirked, shooting a look across the court where Paige was going through layup drills.

Paige caught my stare, smirking right back before launching a perfect three-pointer. She didn’t even watch it go in. Show-off.

“You always do when she’s around,” Juju teased under her breath.

I nudged her. “Shut up.”

Jana jogged by, adjusting her mic. “Y’all are disgusting already. Game hasn’t even started.”

“Jealous, El Alfy?” I teased.

Jana rolled her eyes. “Let’s see if you’re still talking when I send your shot into the stands.”

“Try it.”

Paige, apparently always listening even if mid conversation with Ice, called from across the court, “Babe, you’re not getting past Jana.”

I gasped. “You’re supposed to support me!”

“I do—just not when you’re lying to yourself, or going against me and fam.”

Juju cackled. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

From the second the game started, Paige and I couldn’t shut up.

“Nice pass, baby,” Paige taunted after I barely got the ball past her defense.

I grinned, catching the ball again. “You want an assist? I can pass you my number.”

Paige snorted. “I have your number, loser. And you text me every five minutes.”

Juju cut in. “She’s not lying.”

I whipped my head around. “Girl, whose side are you on?”

“The side that wins,” Juju shot back, sinking a jumper, sending a wink at me as we moved back to being defense.

Jana jogged past, clapping. “But not for long.”

By halftime, it was a battle.

Paige hit a smooth pull-up jumper over me, then winked. “Too slow, babe.”

I exhaled sharply. “You want me to start playing for real, huh?”

Paige just grinned. “Try it.”

So, I did.

The next time Paige drove to the basket, I bodied her up. Legal contact—barely—but she stumbled.

“Damn,” Paige laughed, catching her balance. “Didn’t know my girl was this aggressive.”

Juju clapped beside me. “Oh, we love it.”

“Don’t hype her up,” Paige groaned.

Jana called, out just before trying to set up a screen for Paige. “She doesn’t need hype. She’s cooking us already, P.”

Paige raised a brow at me. “Oh, word ? Do less talking and more defense Jana.”

I winked. “Love you, baby”

She smirked. “Love you more, I guess.”

Juju fake gagged. “GOD, we get it. You’re in love.”

The game was tight—UConn and USC trading buckets down to the final minutes.

I had the ball at the top of the key, trying to shake Jana off me. She was locked in, waiting for me to drive.

I hesitated, then went for it—big mistake.

Jana timed it perfectly, swatting my shot into the stands. But my momentum was off, and as I landed, my foot twisted awkwardly.

Pain shot through my ankle. “Shit.”

Before I could even process it, Paige was there.

She dropped down beside me, pushing past the trainers. “Baby, you okay?”

I hissed, clutching my ankle. “I—I think so.”

Juju kneeled beside me, concern all over her face. “That looked rough, man.”

Jana hovered behind her, guilt flashing in her eyes. “I—I, you good.”

I shook my head quickly. “It was clean, Jana. Just bad luck.”

Paige, however, was not focused on the play. She was brushing sweaty strands of hair from my forehead, scanning my face like I’d just been shot.

“Babe, you’re scaring me,” I muttered, as she and Juju helped me stand.

Paige exhaled. “Sorry, sorry. Just—you good?”

I nodded. “I’ll live.”

And then, as I fix my semi untucked jersey, my mic pack fall out, the realization hit all of us.

Juju’s eyes widened. “Wait—”

Jana cursed. “Shit, we’re mic’d up.”

I froze.

Paige paled.

The entire arena had just heard us being disgustingly in love.

I covered my face. “Oh my God.”

I managed to play the final minute—adrenaline doing most of the work. With two seconds left, I sank a cold-blooded three, sealing USC’s 80-78 win.

The crowd exploded.

Paige was visibly annoyed, but she still smiled as I limped toward her in the handshake line.

“Good game,” I teased, taking her hand.

She smirked. “You owe me.”

I shrugged. “How about a kiss?”

Paige blinked. “Right here, ma ya sure?”

I grinned, tugging her forward. “Why not? Everybody already heard us acting like lovesick idiots.”

And with that, I kissed her.

It wasn’t long—just enough for the cameras to catch it, for the crowd to roar, for our teammates to lose their minds.

Paige pulled back, dazed. “You’re insane.”

“You love it.”

She chuckled. “Yeah… I do.”

Before I even got to the locker room good, my phone was blowing up.

Juju ran up beside me, showing me her screen. “Bro, look.”

Twitter (X, whatever) was exploding:

@NCAAWNation: Paige Bueckers & Y/N mic’d up while trash talking/flirting is everything I didn’t know I needed

@USChoops: NOT THEM FORGETTING THEY HAD MICS ON LMAO

@WNBAFuture: Juju’s reaction when she realized they were mic’d up is sending me

And then, TikTok.

Clips of our mic’d-up moments were everywhere. Paige saying love you more, me calling her a flirty menace, her full-on panic when I got hurt—TikTok was eating it up.

And, of course, the kiss.

Jana walked by, shaking her head. “Y’all are ridiculous.”

Paige just grinned, wrapping an arm around me. “Jealous, El Alfy?”

Jana groaned. “so glad she kicked your ass not gonna lie,”

Paige smirked down at me. “Eh. I got the real win right here, plus she kicked OUR ass by two points.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re so corny.”

She kissed my temple. “And..”

I barely had time to shower before Paige was waiting outside my locker room, arms crossed, smug as hell.

“You’re taking me to dinner,” she declared, leaning against the doorframe.

I scoffed, finishing the knot on my hoodie. “I’m taking you?”

She smirked. “You kissed me in front of an entire arena, babe. Least you can do is buy me a burger.”

Juju appeared at my side, throwing an arm over my shoulder. “I vote we all go. Y/N paying.”

I groaned. “Why am I paying?”

Jana, walking by, answered without stopping. “’Cause, it'll be pitty dinner to the looser, name Paige.”

Paige cackled. “ouch, but she’s got a point.”

So, somehow, I ended up at a late-night diner with Paige, Juju, and half of our teammates from both teams. The game had been electric, but the real fun? Watching Paige smugly take sips of her milkshake while everyone talked about the mic’d-up chaos.

“You really forgot?” Aubey grinned, nudging Paige.

Paige didn’t even blink. “I was focused on my girl.”

Juju fake gagged into her fries. “I want a refund on my ears.”

I rolled my eyes, flicking a fry at Paige. “You were focused on trash-talking me.”

“And look where it got me,” she smirked. “victory in trash talking milkshake.”

Jana cut in. “Barely. If Juju had missed that shot, it was OT.”

Juju lifted her fork like a mic. “I never miss.”

Paige side-eyed her. “I’ll remember that.”

She was already plotting her revenge for our next match up in two weeks.

The people wanted more, so here we were. UConn vs. USC, round two. Except this time, Paige was locked in. Less flirting. More trash talk.

“I hope you stretched, babe,” I teased, adjusting my mic pack.

Paige grinned. “I hope you practiced your jump shot.”

Juju and Jana exchanged looks. “Here we go again, just dont forget we're mic’d up y'all.”

Paige was relentless.

Every time I touched the ball, she was in my space. I barely got off a shot before she smacked it away.

“Not today, mamas,” she taunted, wagging a finger.

I groaned. “You’re so annoying.”

Juju, running past, laughed. “Says the one who spent the last game flirting.”

Paige just smirked. “I can do both.”

She proved it by stealing the ball from me, driving downcourt, and sinking a three.

I put my hands on my hips, before doing a quick check ball with Juju. “Show-off.”

Paige jogged backward, smirking. “I know.”

Once down the court and getting reader to take the shot for a 2, Paige blocked me again. I swear, she was on a mission.

“That’s three.” She held up fingers. “You good, babe?”

I groaned. “I will be when I get past you.”

“Manifesting, huh?”

Juju clapped beside me. “She needs something, cause gurl you could have made that way before her block.”

I deadpanned. “Y’all suck.”

Jana shouted from the paint, “You still haven’t scored on her, by the way.”

Paige grinned. “Thank you, Jana.”

I glared at them both, Juju snorted. “She’s salty.”

I managed to shake Paige on a screen and hit a floater over Jana.

Paige sighed dramatically. “Congrats, babe. You’re on the board.”

I flipped my hair. “You’re just mad I scored, and it wasn'tagainst you.”

Paige grinned. “Nah, I’ll just drop a three on you next possession.”

And she did.

The game was tight, but UConn pulled ahead. Paige hit back-to-back threes, then turned to me with the smuggest grin.

I rolled my eyes. “Alright, Steph Curry.”

Paige shrugged. “If the shoe fits.”

Desperate, I went for my own three. I followed my form, watched the ball arc—and bricked.

Paige cackled. “Babe.”

I groaned. “Don’t.”

She jogged past, patting my shoulder. “What did I tell you about following your shot?”

Juju, chimed in. “Hate to agree, but Bueckers is right, gotta stick the form and follow ya shot girly”

I roll my eyes , “Judea, who's side are you on bro.”

We fought hard as we could, but it's wasn’t enough. UConn won by six, 90-84 and I was annoyed. Paige, however, was thriving.

She found me in the handshake line, tilting her head. “Dinner’s on me, ma.”

I groaned, softly. “Yeah your turn to get me pitty dinner.”

She grinned. “Love you too, baby.”

I sighed. “You’re so obnoxious.”

Paige leaned in, voice low. “Yeah, but you keep coming back for more.”

She wasn’t wrong.

Another night, another viral moment. This time, Twitter was roasting me.

@NCAAWNation: Paige blocking Y/N three times in a row and then hitting a three on her is top-tier entertainment.

@USChoops: NOT Y/N BRICKING A THREE RIGHT AFTER PAIGE HIT ONE

@WNBAFuture: I need these two mic’d up forever.

@lil_paigey.p: hope no trouble in paradise for those two later...

And, of course, Paige had zero sympathy.

She FaceTimed me that night, grinning. “Had fun?”

I groaned. “I’m blocking your number.”

She smirked. “No, you’re not.”

And, of course, she was right. “But no, good game, P. You did an amazing job”

Looking in the camera with a soft smile, “You fought, hard baby and I'm proud of you for that.” she said as she propped her phone up as she entered the fortnite lobby, with Juju.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[ghouljams]

(unreality tw)

the headlights in front of you wink out of existence. the streetlights overhead the only indication that you're moving through the fog. you yawn, unable to keep the sleepiness at bay as you journey home. cars parked along the street grow more and more sparse as you pass side street after side street, waiting for the light that signals your turn is coming up. the rowhouses of the city give way to short square buildings, and though your brain is sluggish it's not quite diminished enough to ignore that glaring disruption.

you stop at a red stop light.

the cross street is devoid of any other drivers.

your usual light is a T intersection.

you blink at the red glow of the light and the thick fog in front of you.

your car is silent.

a low static begins to fill the air and with a slow movement you lean to turn your radio off.

the light is red.

you drag your gaze over to the cross streets light.

red.

your arms begin to feel heavy as you watch the light on the crosswalk blink.

blink.

blink.

no count down to zero just the slow blink.

blink.

blink.

you pull your gaze back to the light.

yep, still red.

silent and-

someone knocks on your window.

you blink some of the exhaustion from your eyes, shake your head as you suck in a full breath and return to your senses. You look at the man who's bend down to smile into your window. His blue eyes are a welcome distraction from the red light.

his sclera are as white as his teeth, and there's a scar that cuts his hair line with a gnarled pink.

he taps again.

you roll down the window.

"Hullo!" he says.

"hello." you respond. "can I help you?"

"Aye," he nods, "Ahm afraid Ahm lost, dinnae ken mah way around town."

"oh." you frown. maybe he's a tourist.

"Dae ya ken where ya are?" he asks.

do you?

the light is red.

this is a cross street.

your light is a T street.

do you know where you are?

would you feel any more awake if you did?

"i think so." you tell him.

"Could ya take me to-" he rattles off an address that sounds like gibberish.

it hurts your head.

"i- maybe?" you wince.

you keep your foot on the brake as he walks around to the other side of the car and opens the door.

there's mud caking his boots, the bottom of his trousers.

fatigues, your fatigued brain supplies.

like the army.

or one of the other ones.

there's something red caked under his fingernails.

and holes in his shirt like it's been torn.

your skin prickles with chill.

you reach to turn the heat up.

he smiles and you turn back to the red light.

"Ah bet your legs have something between them." he says.

your muscles strain like they want to shake.

you don't move.

"what?"

"The nurses," he says, "they're like mannequins."

you turn your head to look at him.

the light that casts jagged shadows over his face it green.

there's something black dripping from his nose.

"Drive." he tells you.

you take your foot off the brake, and turn to watch the road as you press on the gas,

and something heavy smashes into the side of your car.

[ohmybueckers]

big ole freak - paige bueckers x reader

Summary: you're Paige's sneaky link and have her absolutely wrapped around your finger

Themes & Warnings: kinda sub Paige, driving while intoxicated (this is NOT an endorsement please do NOT do this), car sex, light choking kink, strap-on sex, oral sex, slight degradation, maybe one line of breeding kink, filth, like actual filth (with like a little bit of fluff at the end)

Author's Note: inspired by big ole freak by my mother megan thee stallion y'all i've had this idea brewing for a month so glad it's finally out in the world. special shoutout to my uconn hot girl twin @sierrale8ne and all the other hotties out there. In the wise words of meg... "your honor, i'm a freak bitch." happy reading <3

“He hit my phone with a horse

So I know that mean come over and ride it”

Wednesday nights were hit or miss at UConn - either you loaded all of your courses on Monday and Wednesday and had the night to chill, or you were prepping for a horrendous end to your week. You were in the former category, deciding to attend a party hosted by a friend of a friend you hardly knew - labelled a “wine Wednesday” party to anyone who asked why the fuck anyone would throw on a weeknight that wasn’t Thursday. 

You maybe made it through one glass of cheap rose before your night evolved how most nights ended up in the not-so-bustling town of Storrs, Connecticut: sitting out by the fire pit of the beaten down rental house with your friends in a circle, passing a joint around and talking shit (about professors, exes, parents… no one was off limits in the rotation) under the glow of some poorly strung lights.

Though you hadn’t touched another glass since your first inhale, knowing that you were not risking getting crossfaded tonight, it didn’t help much. You always seemed to forget that weed and parties did not mix well for you. Every sound felt heightened yet muffled at the same time, from the bass of the music to the conversation your friends were having around you. Your skin burned, heat flooding down your back in a way that almost made you squirm.

You needed an out, and soon.

Your savior came in the form of two buzzes in quick succession from your phone on your lap. Though you typically aimed at staying present when surrounded by others, you ruled this as a worthy exception. You lifted it, immediately shifting it away from your friends’ view as you read the texts from the all too familiar contact.

Paige: wyd rn?

Paige: wanna see you tonight pretty girl

“Nobody know, I fuck with him on the low”

If you told the version of yourself two months ago that you would end up fucking Paige Bueckers, she would have laughed in your face. It was no secret to anyone in your friend group, many of whom had come in close contact with UConn athletes, that she had an extensive history, none of them sticking around for longer than a couple of nights. You refused to be yet another victim to community dick (in this case, community strap). Maybe you would be a little less put off by the idea of getting with someone with a reputation like Paige if she wasn’t so cocky about it, like she got off on the idea that girls were obsessed with her. 

And then the two of you met on a night out at Ted’s, where she insisted on buying your drink (you told your friends afterwards that you let her for economical reasons). You attempted to stick with your friends that night, tired of your past filled with messy hookups that never led anywhere, but of course they all decided to mingle with the basketball team. Meaning Paige had the rest of the night to throw looks your way, practically eye fucking you. You hated to admit it, but you understood why girls were into Paige beyond aesthetic reasons: she was incredibly witty, quick to poke gentle fun at her friends while also making jokes about herself. Though it was clear in the few times she brought it up she loved what she did, it didn’t feel like the entire conversation revolved around her being a basketball star. And you couldn’t deny the way her gaze made you feel, like you were the only person there. And you hated it.

When you allowed Paige to put her number in your phone, you would also insist that it was due to bragging rights and had no intention of contacting her again. And when you texted her that night with just your name, you almost convinced yourself it was just the polite thing to do.

The two of you texted frequently throughout the week, with some time between messages due to her busy practice schedule and your insistence on not seeming like an overly obsessed groupie. You didn’t need to fuel her ego, no matter how much her attempts at flirting caused an ache between your thighs and how many times you’ve resorted to nights alone in your room, a chorus of moans filling the space as images of blue eyes and toned arms overwhelm you. Sure, you wanted to fuck her. But one thing you knew: if it was happening, it was happening under your terms.

It finally did around a week later, after a great afternoon showing for the Huskies in Gampel Pavilion. You stood in the student section, watching her light up the court in ways very few people could. The crowd was electric with every assist she made to Azzi, every time she made a clean three point shot, and with every effort she made to hype up the crowd. She truly was in her element. you would be lying if you said it didn’t tempt you.

Still buzzed from your tailgate beforehand, you texted her to say congratulations, to which she responded with a trademark Paige Bueckers flirty comment. It was certainly not the first time she had attempted this with you, so you weren’t sure why this time was any different. Maybe it was the liquid courage, but before you could think twice, you replied. 

“want me to show you how winners get treated?”

That’s how you ended the night tangled in Paige’s sheets and long, strong limbs. Basking in your post orgasm glow knowing that throughout the entire exchange you were in control, even when you were receiving. For the first time in a long, long time, a hookup felt good. 

You and Paige continued texting, this time more frequently. You were fully expecting Paige to be the type to hit it and quit it, as she had done many times before, but having a taste of you just seemed to make her want you more. And yet you never told your friends about any of it. Not because you were ashamed or anything, but because you knew it wouldn’t go anywhere. It almost never did with athletes, even ones that kiss your forehead and text you good morning every day. Though you were fully expecting it to end at some point, you really didn’t want to deal with your friends making it a huge deal. Even if there was a little part of you, a voice in your head you did everything to silence, that told you maybe you didn’t want her to go.

“We never show up together but I text him when I'm ready to go”

A half assed excuse left your lips as you walked away from the couch circle and closer to the trees, far enough away so nobody would hear when you pressed an all too familiar contact and made the call. The phone hardly needed to ring one time before her end of the line was overwhelmed by a cacophony of loud voices. Unless your ears were deceiving you, you swore you could hear KK scream “liar!” at someone

“Hey pretty gir- aye! Be quiet one moment!” Her attempt at being quiet quickly escalated to a yell, presumably at one of her teammates, before returning to your conversation with an apologetic tone, “Sorry, I’m at Aubrey’s.”

Why the UConn girls were seemingly partying on a Wednesday night was beyond your comprehension, but it was honestly the last thing on your mind in that moment. “‘Wanna see you tonight’, huh? Tryin to ditch your teammates?”

“They’re all too invested in Mario Party to care. Besides,” She paused, her voice getting quieter (and unless you were hearing things wrong, more vulnerable), “It’s worth it for you.”

You knew what you wanted, and boy you were going to get it. With a sickly sweet grin you asked, “Pick me up in ten?”

“I had a couple of shots at the bar

I'm finna play with that dick in the car"

You knew the second you shut the door to Paige’s car and kissed her that she had been drinking that night, the presence of liquor on her lips. You would be so ready to scold her for driving under the influence, tell her she should not play with her life like that, if you weren’t also just appreciative for any out you could get. Besides, as long as she was telling the truth, she was only a couple shots deep. The weed in your system had dulled down at this point, and instead of feeling overwhelmed from the noise around you, you were overwhelmed by the urge to have Paige the way you wanted to. especially with how she looked now, glasses on and hair thrown into a messy ponytail, silver chain accessorizing her sweat set. God, you didn’t even know if you could make it to her bed.

“This new?” She asks about two minutes into the twelve minute drive, gesturing to your top. It was an old one, found in the bottom of one of your bins of clothes while you were searching for a going out top that would allow you to put off doing laundry for another day. It worked well enough - a simple crop top with a flattering neckline. “Looks really good.”

“Nah, kept it from freshman year,” You replied, head braced by your arm against the side of the car staring at the girl next to you. Paige had a grip on her steering wheel, eyes focused on the practically empty roads leading to her apartment. A part of you was very thankful she was being cautious given the circumstances. But another part of you, a more sinister voice, wanted to try something.

Your manicured hands traced up your torso, your own touch nearly making you gasp. Damn, you really were that desperate. Your nails played with the hem of your shirt, gently pulling it up towards your breasts as the air conditioning hit more and more of your skin. “This is new though.”

Paige hit a red light, making a confused sound before her eyes met yours. They didn’t stay there long before trailing down, past your neck and to the bra that currently had your tits pushed to the sky, one hand reaching around to cup one as you licked your lips. Your top could hardly be considered one anymore, pooled at your collarbone as you continued touching yourself. You maintained your gaze, looking at the blonde like she was prey as her tongue met her cheek inside her mouth, a loud swallow going down her throat.

When she finally spoke, it was a breathless chuckle that revealed just what kind of effect you had on her as she shook her head. “You’re something else.”

The green light flashed into the car, prompting her to return her gaze back to the road and press on the gas. Google Maps said you were eight minutes away, but judging by the way your finger was tracing around your bra covered nipple, you weren’t sure if you could wait that long. And if the way Paige’s eyes were bugging out of her head at the road attempting to not look at you were any indication, you knew she felt the same. “Paige?”

“Mhmm?” She asked through gritted teeth, hanging on to her last thread of self control.

“Pull over.”

————

“That’s it, just like that… fuck.”

You nodded in Paige’s pussy, nails grazing her thighs. The set up could be more ideal: All six feet of her were crammed in the backseat, sweats pooled at her ankles as you sat almost diagonal in order to have a more comfortable position. Neither of you really seemed to care all that much, too intoxicated off of each other and your respective substances. Besides, judging by the way Paige massaged your neck and whined, you wouldn’t be here long.

You only needed two more minutes eating Paige out like she was your last meal before her grip tightened at the back of your neck, cumming with a cry of your name. You ate her through it, slurping her up like ice cream before slowly rising, placing a kiss to her lips so she could taste herself. She hummed with contentment into the kiss, cupping your jaw tenderly. You separated, your smirk cocky as her hand traced back down your neck, feeling the soft material of your bra for herself. “So fucking pretty,” she whispered to herself, eyes trained on how the color of the garment made your skin look radiant. Her hands switched directions, gently tracing up before reaching your neck and applying pressure with hungry eyes.

“We’re going home. Need to see you cum on my dick now.”

“I'ma make him wait for the pussy

Hit it 'til he big ole skeet”

The rest of the car ride was uneventful, Paige keeping a grip on your thigh as music propelled you guys into her parking lot. When you reached her apartment, you were ready for the inevitable fight for dominance between the two of you. Instead, Paige merely hung her keys on her hook and moved to the kitchen. “Want any water?”

You almost laugh as you follow her in, as if she was pranking you. “What are you, all talk and no game?” You joke, still taking the offer. Despite drinking Paige up just moments prior, you were very aware of just how dry your mouth was.

Paige smirked, taking a sip of her own water before grazing your torso with her hands. “Just tryna be chivalrous, ma.” 

You took a big gulp of water, allowing yourself to sink into the feeling of Paige’s touch before setting the glass down. “Don’t need all that,” You murmur, the pads of your fingers playing with the hem of Paige’s hoodie. You look up, maneuvering yourself so your lips were as close to her ear as possible before murmuring. “Just need you.” 

“Oh yeah?” She teases, already beginning to back you towards her bedroom, her tall frame overwhelming yours. Now this is what you came here for: the feeling of her tongue slipping in your mouth as your lips collided, the feeling of her properly undressing you as soon as her door shut behind you, and the gravel in her voice as she commands you to “get on the bed”.

“You have no fucking idea how bad i’ve wanted this,” Paige growled, crawling above you and connecting your lips once more before peppering them down to your neck. You couldn’t help but sigh, deciding that you would put up with a million lackluster parties if they all ended like this.“These perfect tits.” She moved to toss your bra on her floor before licking around your nipple, sucking on your breast and surely leaving a mark - she always found a way to, much to your chagrin. You allowed yourself to take pleasure in the feeling for a moment, resting up before your next move. Because while you moments like these with Paige, there was no way in hell you were letting her think the dynamic switched.

With a swift move that even left yourself dumbfounded at your abilities , you hooked a leg around her and flipped the basketball player over, catching yourself with both hands on the mattress. Paige’s jaw dropped, equally shocked and impressed. “Woah.”

“I thought you’d figure out by now that I’m in charge here,” You quipped, gaining enough composure quickly to maintain the persona you wanted. You were going to fuck Paige just as much as she was fucking you. You quickly made the executive decision that Paige was wearing far too many clothes, gesturing her to raise her arms before moving to help her remove her hoodie leaving her in her sweats and a sports bra - very typical Paige attire. You nipped, kissed, and sucked above her chest in the areas not covered by the sports bra, careful to avoid her neck or any other areas that would be visible in a jersey. At one point, you took the chain she wore in your mouth, feeling the cold metal against your lips. Paige groaned, attempting to tug your mouth back on to hers by lifting you from your waist. You tsk, “Be patient.”

“You’re making patience really hard, sweetheart.” She states through gritted teeth, one hand moving to your hair and tugging to make a point. She was desperate tonight, just the way you liked her. 

Deciding to give her a little taste of you, you sat up so only your ass made contact with her, sitting plush against her pelvis. Need to see you cum on my dick now, her voice repeated in your head. with a mischievous glint. Slowly, you began grinding your hips, your ass hitting against her. “This what you want?”

She threw her head back, realizing what you were mimicking. “Please.”

“Beg.”

You would think you said something far more outrageous the way she looked up at you, eyebrows raised. “You crazy? nah!”

Typical Paige, not one to give up without a fight. You knew all too well how this would end though.“Suit yourself.” You shrugged, continuing your actions from before, this time trailing a hand down your short skirt and lightly touching yourself through your panties.

“Fuck baby,” She swore she could feel how wet you were as you continued rolling your hips, giving her a preview of everything she could have if she just put her ego aside. “You’re killing me right now.”

“I think I know what would fix that,” you purred.

“Oh fuck,” her voice was almost strangled, any ounce of dignity she had quickly leaving her body and being replaced by the urge to make you feel good. Her eyes appeared as though they were welling up as she pleaded with you. “Please let me fuck you. Would do anything to make you feel good.”

A smile spread across your face, knowing you finally had her exactly where you wanted her. You paused your teasing, swinging your leg back aroundand reaching a standing position. Her eyes followed you, her gaze equally confused and frustrated, before she recognized the box you were reaching for in her drawer. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” You asked, harness and dildo in hand as you sauntered back over to the bed.

“Ain't nobody freak like me

Give ya what you need like me

Ain't nobody got on they tip, tip toes and rode to the tip like me”

You were putting on a whole ass show for her. Your feet were positioned on each side of of her, providing stability as you bounced on her silicon dick like your life depended on it. Your tits bounced with each impact your bodies made. The room was quiet (save for the sound of both of your moans and the dull buzz of the vibrator against Paige within the strap), but it was like you were moving to a melody, alternating between fast moments of riding her and slower moments where you simply moved your hips, allowing yourself to bask in the pleasure.

Paige laid back against the pillows, practically mesmerized at the sight of you as you ran a hand through your hair, throwing your head back in the process. “Holy shit.”

“Any other girls fucking you like this, baby?” You don’t know why you felt the need to ask. For one, you were very confident in your abilities, and you also knew that Paige was likely still going home with other girls. It’s not a topic you ever cared enough to approach. 

“No other girls anymore. None could make me cum like you,” Paige shook her head, moving to grab your waist and help facilitate your movements as if she was seeking any form of control she could get. “Riding my dick like a slut, baby, fuck.”

Your eyes wandered a bit, over to the collection of photographs on Paige’s wall, the number of awards given, all the way to one particular object. Your hips began to slow progressively until they came to a complete stop, prompting a disappointed groan from the blonde beneath you.

“Stand up. I wanna try something new.”

“I want to fuck in the mirror, I like to look at your face when you in it

Come in the room and I'm giving commands

I am the captain and he the lieutenant”

The sides of the chair you were gripping were cold, in contrast to the heat rushing through the rest of your body. Paige stood behind you, pounding into you from behind as the both of you took full advantage of the full length mirror beside you giving you a full view of everything - and by everything, you meant everything, from the way Paige’s hair looked entirely fucked out to the wetness dripping down her thighs.

Paige’s eyes squeezed shut, unable to handle the way your ass looked rippling against her, how your waist fit in her hands as she slammed you back, and she especially could not handle the way you were looking at her in the mirror. “Baby imma bust,” she moaned, her words slurred together. She was too drunk off of you.

“Hold it. I’m almost there,” you instructed, reaching down to rub circles around your clit. You were dripping, cream forming a ring around Paige’s strap. You moved your hips, twerking on her dick as you looked back at it. Paige was convinced in that moment that if it were not anatomically impossible, she would have absolutely accidentally knocked you up in that moment.

“Need to cum so bad, baby. You feel so good, so fucking fine.” 

The warmth that once rushed through you from the joint was now accumulating to your core. It was all becoming too much, even more so when she slapped your hand away to help rub hard circles on you, her desperation a mix of wanting to be the reason you finished as well as the realization that she was going to blow any moment. 

“Gonna cum.” You finally moan, feeling as though your legs may snap as you let go. Paige was not far behind, gripping your waist and burying her head in your neck as she pressed herself to the base inside of you. 

“Usually I like to fuck

But tonight we gon' make love 'cause you bae”

You attempted to catch your breath as you laid down next to Paige. She had both hands on the sides of your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “You’re so perfect,” She murmured, eyelids drooping as she fought the urge to pass out then and there. Her touch was less possessive this time and more tender, cupping your skin as if it were made of glass.

You let out a breathy laugh at her words, almost like you couldn’t believe them, yet you couldn’t stop the way your body nuzzled into hers further. “You’re just happy you got laid tonight,” You quipped.

“I don’t mean it like that. you know I don’t.”

Perhaps one of the most important rules of hooking up with an athlete, especially one as high profile as Paige, is to never believe a word they say. So you felt a little silly when you took note of how her blue eyes gazed at you, waking up enough to make eye contact to show you that this was the truth. It felt worse when you felt your heart skip a beat at the realization. In fact, it scared the hell out of you. 

“Stay the night tonight,” She whispered. You had never heard her sound like that, so out of control and at your whim. She was scared too. “I don’t want you to leave.”

You nodded, pushing past the voice in your head screaming at you to run just as you had after every other night you and Paige shared. You were tired, and Paige was right there, and it was just not the time to listen to your head over your heart. “Okay.”

You would deal with logistics later. All you needed now was tonight.

[goaskangel]

making a movie with shiu + toji !! part one

cw : pure smut, toji n shiu being total pervs, recording, slapping, extremely gross

you couldn’t understand what they had in common. they got along so well but you still find it hard to believe that shiu kong and toji fushiguro would hang out with each other on purpose. let alone work together as managers. shiu being so work focused and smooth. toji being aggressive and competitive, but they were both cocky. constantly cackling at their inside jokes and whistling at the women passing by on their matching breaks, it’s surprising they actually got work done. 

absolutely no shame behind their sly eyes when they flirt with you, the woman they hired. after befriending you, the small line they, unusually, didn’t cross was practically nonexistent. toji would twirl your hair mid conversation at the front, empty counter at work. shiu casually sliiiiding behind you at the tight space in the staff-only back, hands on hips. 

treating you so so nice by driving you around, giving you the extra bonus just ‘cause, taking you out for drinks. they like that especially, seeing you get super bubbly. soo dizzy, you most definitely won’t notice the bulge in shiu’s pants, or how toji has to readjust himself through his sweats.

so when you find yourself in bed, massaging your dull cunt with your vibe, unable to get anywhere near close, you scroll through your phone, getting bored of whichever social you were on but jumping slightly when your phone vibrates. 

the screen delays by a few before you read ‘mr. manager #2.’

mmm, toji. 

you sit up and answer the call, “hi, what’s up?”

“hey, sweets. me and kong thought we should stop by.”

huh? stop by? “why? did i leave something in his car again?”

it sounds like he laughs away from his phone, “no, no. not again. was wonderin’ if you wanted to do the thing you always wanted.”

the hell is he talking about? “what thing?” 

“about making a movie.” 

right, okay. “...when did i say that?” you held your phone with both hands.

“aw, she doesn’t remember. at the bar. told me and kong you’ve always wanted to.”

there’s no way, you think to yourself. no way you could’ve gotten so drunk that you can’t remember what you said to your managers. what else could you have told them?

“you there, honey?” 

“yeah, yeah.” you get up, pushing your things in the bedside drawer and hastily pulling your shorts up. 

“mhm, right then. we’re pulling up. don’t fall asleep on us now.” he says bye, followed by the sound of a car drifting. you stare at the screen for a while, walking to the front near the door. it hit you, toji and shiu are coming over to your place to make a movie. straight up admitting to wanting to record fucking their employee. 

the doorknob rattles before being properly knocked on, how long had you been standing and day-dreaming for? you walk to the door and open it.

greeted with dressed down, casual men. toji slightly taller, more buff considering he was wearing a very nice tank and his beefy arms were out. shiu dressed a little more appropriately, but still incredibly good looking. a big black camera in his right hand. you’re too distracted to notice it first until it snaps a picture right at your face,

“pretty, pretty. we’ll see how ya look after we’re done with you, huh, doll?” 

“you know i don’t even remember saying anything.”

“lemme remind you then,” toji says, walking past you inside to the living room, shiu following. you sigh at their intrusion before closing and locking the door behind you. 

“hmmm, ya mentioned it a few times. ‘i’ve fantasized about being recorded with two guys on me.’ ain’t that oddly specific?” he chuckles at his own mockery of a drunken-you.

“people say a lot of crap while they’re drunk.”

“yeah, but you still let us in.”

“yeah, what’s it gonna be, doll?” shiu squints as he adjusts the camera’s focus and zoom before cleaning the lens with his shirt, lifting it and revealing his toned body. pudge to his stomach, a trail of black hair down his middle. you gulp as you shift in your now seat on the couch, toji towering over you. his big hands resting on his slim waist. god, this really does feel like a porno. the desperate high you’ve been trying to reach finally throbs behind your panties. “make you feel real good. satisfy all those needs you told us about.” he steps closer, twirling the hair out of your face, gently stroking his big fingertips on your jaw. he notices the slightly confused look through your dazed expression.

“like havin’ two cocks in your mouth,” he squeezes your cheeks with three fingers, making you pout, “getting pushed around. hold you down. a little spanking.” a smile tugs at your lip.

“yeah? ya like that sound of that?” he teasingly slaps your face gently. 

“mm, mhm.” so pathetic, you think to yourself. you are most definitely not watching this back. that is if they even give you the tape, sickos might just keep it for themselves. 

“yeah, toj’, slap her ‘round some more.” a black lens focuses on you as toji holds your face in his hands, giving you a few practice taps before slapping you with a hefty hand. you whine at the impact and squeeze your eyes shut as he lands another. 

“open y’er eyes, pretty thing. keep ‘em on me.” his strong fingers going down to grip your throat. your hesitant eyes open to find a sly, sly grin on his scarred lip. his dazed eyes holding malicious intent. “you like the contact, i know you do.” petting the hair out of your face, dragging his palms down to your shoulders, then torso. he lifts you up just to push you down to your knees, still petting you as you’re met with his bulge in your face.

“go ahead, girl. take toji’s cock out.”

a/n...HIIIII PART TWO COMING SOON I HOPE U ENJOYED!!!! read my other stuff while i pull pt 2 out of my ass xoxo!

masterlist

[luvvictoria]

I hope you're okay

+ pairings. simon "ghost" riley x f!reader

+ tags. romance, angst, hurt/comfort, soft but painful ending.

+ summary. Ghost never answers your messages. He never calls. He never promises to come back. But you still wait. And that’s what breaks him the most. One night, after another brutal mission, he reads your message—I hope you're okay. I’m waiting for you home. It should be simple, easy to ignore, just like the others. But it isn’t. It lingers, sinking into his bones, because you don’t ask for explanations. You don’t beg. You just hope. And he isn’t okay. He never is. But he locks the screen instead of answering — because he doesn’t deserve your concern, your patience, your unwavering faith in him. Yet somehow, he still ends up outside your house, gripping the wheel, staring at the light in your window. He shouldn't be here. Should’ve kept driving. But he couldn’t. Because no matter how far he runs, no matter how much blood stains his hands — He always comes back to you.

+song inspiration. Sper că ești bine - Sami G

+a/n. I was crying on this song so yeah, let's cry together

He shouldn’t have read it before the mission. Should’ve let it sit there, unopened, buried beneath all the other messages he never answered.

But he did.

Because his fingers had hesitated over the notification too long. Because the thought of you had curled too tightly in his chest, wrapping around his ribs like something alive, something hungry. Because, for one reckless, selfish second—

He let himself miss you.

So he opened it.

And the moment he saw your words, the moment he read that quiet, careful check-in—

Something in him fractured.

Sper că ești bine. Știu că ești plecat cu treabă, te aștept acasă. (I hope you’re okay. I know you left with work. I’m waiting for you home.)

A simple phrase. An innocent message. Just a handful of words typed out on a screen.

But it dug into his chest like a knife.

Because you didn’t ask where he was.

Didn’t demand answers. Didn’t plead for him to come home. Didn’t even ask if he missed you, if he still thought of you, if he still loved you—

You just hoped.

Hoped he was okay.

And he wasn’t.

He was cold. He was exhausted. He was covered in blood that wasn’t his. He was standing in the ruins of another nameless town, the air thick with smoke and the cries of the dying. He was watching bodies pulled from the wreckage, knowing that in a few hours, a few minutes, he’d add more ghosts to the ones already haunting him.

And you—

You were somewhere safe, somewhere warm, curled up in a bed too big for just one person, waiting for him.

Waiting for someone who never gave you certainty.

Never gave you promises.

Never gave you anything except the silence that stretched longer with each passing day.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard.

He could have said something. Anything. A word. A reassurance. A lie.

"I’m okay." "Be home soon." "Miss you."

But his hands clenched into fists. His breath came sharp, shallow, uneven. His chest ached with something he couldn’t name, something he didn’t deserve to feel.

And instead of typing, instead of answering—

He locked the screen.

Shoved the phone into his pocket.

And let the silence answer for him.

Because he didn’t deserve your concern.

Didn’t deserve your patience.

Didn’t deserve the way you never stopped waiting for him, even when he left you with nothing.

He wishes he had answered.

He wishes he had told you.

Told you the truth.

No.

No, I’m not okay.

But God, I wish I was.

I wish I could be okay—

For you.

And now he’s here.

Parked outside your house, staring at the warm glow spilling from your window like a man watching the last bit of light before night swallows it whole.

His fingers twitch against the steering wheel. He should leave. Should turn the key, press the gas, disappear before he does something stupid.

But he doesn’t.

Because he’s already done something stupid.

He let himself come back.

And now he’s sitting here like a fucking coward, pulse thudding against his ribs, watching the curtains shift in the breeze and wondering if you’re inside thinking about him the same way he’s been thinking about you since the second he left.

But he doesn’t deserve to wonder.

Not after the way he left. Not after the silence he left you with.

He remembers it too well — the way you had stood in the doorway that last time, watching him lace up his boots, arms wrapped around yourself like you were holding yourself together so he wouldn’t have to.

You didn’t ask him to stay.

You never did.

Maybe because you already knew the answer.

Or maybe because you knew that asking would hurt more than the leaving itself.

So you had just whispered, “Be safe, Simon.”

And he had just nodded. Just turned around, just walked away, just disappeared like he always did—

And never answered your messages.

Never called.

Never gave you the closure you deserved.

But now — now —the door opens before he can think too hard about turning back.

And there you are.

Standing barefoot in the doorway, swallowed up in one of his old hoodies, looking at him like a ghost had just stepped into your world.

His chest tightens.

You don’t say anything at first. Just stare.

And he thinks — Christ, he thinks — maybe this is worse than being shot at, worse than any wound he’s ever taken, worse than the battlefield, because he knows he did this to you.

Knows he’s the reason for the hurt sitting in your eyes.

Knows that even now — even now — you aren’t slamming the door, aren’t telling him to fuck off, aren’t demanding to know why he never answered—

You just breathe in, steady, quiet, and whisper—

"Hey. You made it."

Like you weren’t sure he would.

Like you thought he never would.

And maybe, if things were different, he wouldn’t have.

But they aren’t.

And he did.

And now he’s standing in front of you, fucking ruined, heart in his throat, hands twitching at his sides because all he wants to do is reach for you—

But he doesn’t.

Because he doesn’t deserve to.

You don’t say anything at first.

Just stare at him, bare feet on the cold floor, swallowed up in one of his old hoodies like it still belongs to him. Like he still belongs here.

Fucking hell.

His throat tightens, something sharp and awful clawing at his ribs, because the sight of you shouldn’t hit this hard. Shouldn’t make something crack open in his chest like an old wound torn fresh.

But it does.

Because you’re real. Because you’re here. Because even after all this time — after all the nights he spent convincing himself that he was better off staying away — you still look at him like he’s worth waiting for.

And that — that — is the cruelest thing of all.

Then, quietly — so softly, like you’re afraid he’ll slip through your fingers if you speak too loud — say again.

"You made it."

And he stops breathing.

Tu vrei ce-i mai bine pentru mine / Mai mult decât vreau eu pentru mine… (You want what’s best for me / More than I want it for myself…)

You always have.

Even when he couldn’t see it. Even when he didn’t believe it. Even when he did everything he could to push you away—

You still wanted him.

Still held onto him like he was something worth saving.

His hands twitch at his sides, aching with the need to reach for you. To pull you close, to bury his face into the curve of your neck and feel your warmth seep into his frozen skin. To remind himself that he’s still alive.

But he doesn’t move.

Doesn’t step forward.

Doesn’t deserve to.

So instead, he forces his dry throat to work, voice rough and useless against the weight in his chest.

"Sper că ești bine."

I hope you’re okay.

And the words taste bitter on his tongue.

Because he doesn’t know if you are okay.

Because he knows he left you alone with silence and empty space where he should’ve been.

Because if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s hurting the people who love him most.

And yet, somehow, impossibly—

You’re still here.

Looking at him. Still waiting.

And fuck, he doesn’t know if he has it in him to break your heart again.

But he also doesn’t know if he deserves the chance not to.

You swallow, blinking fast. Your voice is barely above a whisper.

"I am now."

Christ.

He almost drops right there.

Because that — that —is what breaks him. Not the gunfire, not the ghosts that follow him, not the bloodstains on his hands that never seem to fade—

This.

The way you look at him like he’s something worth waiting for. The way your voice trembles, but you don’t pull away, don’t shut the door, don’t turn your back on him like he fucking deserves.

You don’t demand answers. Don’t ask where he’s been. Don’t tell him to leave.

Because you already know.

Because you always know.

Imi vrei binele mai mult decât mi-l vreau eu, chiar dacă asta îți face rău… (You want what’s best for me more than I want it for myself, even if it hurts you…)

His breath comes sharp and unsteady, jaw clenching so tight it aches, because you shouldn’t do that.

Shouldn’t look at him like that.

Shouldn’t love him like that.

Shouldn’t keep putting him before yourself.

But you always have.

And he let you.

That’s the worst part — he fucking let you.

Let you hold onto him even when he knew he was slipping away. Let you reach for him even when he was already half out the door. Let you love him when he never once gave you certainty, never once promised you that he’d stay, never once did a single damn thing to make this easier on you.

And now, standing here, watching the way you breathe through the weight of him, the absence of him—

He hates himself for it.

Because the truth is, he never wanted to be someone you had to heal from.

Never wanted to be another wound you carried, another ache you learned to live with.

Never wanted to be the reason you stayed up at night, staring at your phone, hoping for a message that would never come.

But he was.

And you still chose him.

Even when it hurt. Even when he didn’t deserve it. Even when he made it so damn hard.

And for the first time in a long time, Simon Riley doesn’t know what to do.

Doesn’t know how to fix this.

Doesn’t know if he even can.

But what he does know — what he feels in every aching part of himself — is that if you tell him to stay, if you whisper his name the way only you can—

He won’t be able to walk away this time.

Because God help him, he doesn’t want to.

He shouldn’t be here.

Shouldn’t stand in the amber glow of your porch light, casting long shadows of the man he was, the man he pretends to be, the man you think you love.

Shouldn’t let you look at him like this — like he’s something soft.

Like he’s something worth waiting for.

Și dacă plec mâine, știu sigur că nu mă uiți… (And if I leave tomorrow, I know for sure you won’t forget me…)

And that thought — that thought — kills him.

Because it’s true, isn’t it?

Even if he walked away again, even if he never answered another call, another message—

You’d still wait.

Still leave a light on. Still sleep in his old hoodie. Still keep his ghost lingering in this house, in this space, in you.

And he hates himself for that.

Hates that he let himself become something you have to live with. A shadow in the corners of your mind, a whisper in the quiet moments, a ghost haunting your bed at night.

But still—

He steps forward.

Still lets his gloved hands rise, lets them tremble just slightly as they cup your face.

Still lets his forehead press against yours.

And when you don’t pull away — when you let him hold you like this, let him breathe you in, let him exist in this quiet moment of almost—

He finally exhales.

Because maybe — maybe — he’s been holding his breath since the day he left.

Because maybe home was never a place.

Maybe it was always you.

Your breath fans against his lips, warm, steady, grounding. And then, barely above a whisper — fragile, pleading —

"Are you staying this time?"

His chest tightens.

He doesn’t have the words. Doesn’t have a promise he won’t break, a lie sweet enough to make this easier, a reason good enough to make up for all the nights you spent alone.

So instead—

He murmurs — so quietly, so desperately, that it almost gets lost in the space between you —

"Mă întorc mereu la tine." (I always come back to you.)

Your hands clutch at the fabric of his jacket, fingers curling into him like you’re afraid he’ll slip away. Like you already know he will.

And he thinks — God, he knows —that if you ask him again, if you say his name with that same thread of longing, that same quiet ache—

He won’t be able to leave this time.

His thoughts drown out the steady beat of his pulse, tangled with every regret, every what if, every night spent away from you.

Iți iubesc defectele, adică ești perfectă… (I love your flaws, that means you’re perfect…)

Because you are.

Every little thing that makes you you — the stubborn set of your jaw, the way your hands are always warm, the way you say his name like it’s safe in your mouth — is what keeps him coming back.

Every piece of you is a tether, pulling him home.

And for the first time, he doesn’t fight it.

Doesn’t run from it.

"O să-ți fac orice poftă vrei, tu în schimb să fii lângă mine, baby." (I’ll give you whatever you want, as long as you’re by my side, baby.)

The words slip out before he can stop them. A promise. Maybe the only one he’s ever kept.

And maybe — just maybe — he’ll finally be brave enough to mean it.

[devixncy]

could you do a dae ho fic please? Like the reader was a barista he has a crush on but never had the courage to ask out previously to the games. And then once they get into the games he protects her and she reveals she always found him cute as well. Thanks :)

so, i may have gotten carried away while writing this one. pretty sure i typed out wayyy too many unnecessary details oops! (but i can't help it i'm sorry). anyways, i love dae-ho so so much like <3333 such a cutie

✧ pairing: kang dae-ho x fem!reader

✧ summary: dae-ho happened to be a regular at the cafe you worked at as a barista, and you had started to grow feelings for him over time. when you find yourself in the games, he ends up there as well and ultimately saves your life. fearing for your life and the fear of the unknown leads to late night confessions.

✧ content: typical squid game violence, mentions of death, i think that's it. literally just straight fluff

✧ word count: 4.8k

Your life was quiet, but you enjoyed it that way. Being a barista was the perfect job for you, it was relaxing and there was nothing you loved more than interacting with customers, especially the regulars. Unfortunately, while you loved your job, it wasn’t enough. You lived in a cramped apartment that was cozy, but your job just barely covered the rent. On top of that, you couldn’t cover your debt. You were swimming in debt, trying your hardest to help pay for your younger sister's medical bills. She was ill, and constant hospital trips and stays started building up fast. It was just the two of you, your parents having passed a few years prior. You would do anything for your sister, but having the loan sharks breathing down your neck constantly was beginning to drive you insane. You needed more money and fast.

Lost in thought, you absentmindedly drew shapes into the counter with your fingernail. The cafe was quite slow, but with the gloominess and light drizzle outside, it made sense. The bell above the door rang, signaling that someone had entered. Looking up, you immediately began to smile. One of your favorite regulars, Dae-ho, had stepped inside.

His eyes immediately met yours and he smiled at you, making your heart flutter. Dae-ho was the most kind, genuine soul you had ever met. He never failed to light up your day, even just by being in his presence. He truly was a gentleman, most likely thanks to growing up with four sisters.

“Just the usual?” You asked as he walked up to the counter.

“What, no ‘hello Dae-ho, how are you’?” He asked teasingly as you rolled your eyes.

“Hello Dae-ho, how are you?” You feigned annoyance, however you truly did want to know how he was doing. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t developed a crush on the man in front of you. He was incredibly sweet to you (and incredibly handsome), so how could you not fall for him?

“I’m great, (Y/N). And yes, I’ll take my usual.” The grin on his face was contagious, and you smiled, nodding as you began to make his order. He was a man of simple taste, ordering an Americano every time he came in. While you made it (and grabbed him a free pastry), you could hear him ask how you were doing.

“Oh, you know. Same shit different day. Just trying to get by,” You replied as you snapped the lid on his drink. Turning around, you slid it across the counter along with the bagged pastry. Dae-ho furrowed his brows at the sight of the pastry, looking at you questioningly. You shook your head before he could say anything. “Just take it, Dae. It’s on me.”

His cheeks turned a little pink at the sound of the nickname, but he nodded gratefully. He placed his money for the coffee in your hand, your skin tingling as his fingers brushed yours. You took the money and put it in the register, handing him back his change. Of course, he took his change and put it in your tip jar.

Before he picked up his items, he looked at you as you leaned on the counter. Your eyes were so full of life, the smile on your lips making his heart thud. But he could see the exhaustion in your face, no matter how hard you tried to hide it. Without thinking, he leaned over and tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His fingers brushed against your jaw gently. Eyes wide, you looked at him, cheeks starting to burn. He smiled softly, dropping his hand and picking up his coffee and pastry.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” He asked, even though he knew your work schedule like the back of his hand. You nodded, still dazed, as he chuckled and walked off with a small wave.

Once outside the shop, he cursed to himself. Oh, how he wishes he were bold enough to ask you out. Every time he thought he could do it, he backed out, fearing rejection. He didn’t want to mess up the friendship the two of you had. One day, he promised himself.

— Once you had closed up shop for the day, you locked the doors to the café and headed towards the subway.

You sat down on a bench, placing your bag directly next to you. While you waited, you stared at the ground in front of you as you absentmindedly picked at your cuticles. When you weren’t working and keeping yourself distracted, the stress started to take over.

Your body tensed as someone sat next to you. Turning your head, you saw a man dressed in a nice suit, a briefcase by his side. Sighing, you scooted away a little bit more. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m definitely not interested.”

“I’m not selling anything. In fact, I would like to let you in on a great opportunity. Would you like to play a game with me?”

You frowned, confusion evident on your face. A game? Seriously? Turning towards him, you studied him for a moment. Something about this man was off putting. As you were about to open your mouth to decline his offer, he opened up a briefcase. The words died on your tongue as you saw the stacks of money.

“I’m sure you’ve played ddakji before, yes?” He asked as he picked up the red and blue squares. You nodded slowly. “Play a few games with me. And each time you win, I’ll pay you a 100,000 won.”

You stared at the money as you pondered. You needed this. A couple games of ddakji couldn’t hurt, right?

And you played. You had won most of the rounds, earning a couple of slaps in the face when you didn’t. By the time the game was over, you had accumulated a decent amount of money. Of course, not nearly enough to cover what you needed it for. As you sat there counting the money, the salesman began to speak.

“You know, miss. There are more games like this where you can win even more.”

You paused, looking up at him. It sounded too good to be true. As you were going to decline, he began to list all of your personal information. He knew your name, your occupation, the amount of debt you had accumulated. Your mouth dropped, unable to get a word out. He smiled smugly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a card. He handed it to you, and you snatched it.

“We don’t have many spots left.”

Those words resonated with you as you sat in your apartment. Taking a deep breath, you called the number on the back of the card.

“Do you wish to participate in the game? If you wish to participate, please state your name and birthdate.”

Next thing you knew, you were standing on a street corner in the dark. You rocked back and forth on your heels anxiously as you waited. Soon enough, a car pulled up next to you, rolling down the window. A masked person donning a pink suit turned his head in your direction.

“Ms. (Full name)?”

You nodded, following up with the password they had given you over the phone. The back door slid open and you climbed in, noticing the other people in the seats who were seemingly asleep. You shook off the uneasiness, trying to get comfortable in the seat. Seconds later, steam began to fill the car, making you cough. And then the world went dark.

~

When you awoke, your brain felt fogged and you were incredibly groggy. You screwed your eyes shut as the overhead lights threatened to blind you. Classical music filled your ears, and you groaned as you sat up. Opening your eyes, you scanned your surroundings. Numerous people were getting out of their beds, all wearing the same green tracksuit with numbers plastered on the back. Quickly looking down, you saw that you wore the same thing. Then you noticed your number in bold white, 301. You got out of the bed, making your way down the stairs the same way everyone else was. As you were taking it all in, the doors at the front of the room underneath the screen opened. Multiple masked figures stepped out, walking forward. The one in the front began speaking.

“I would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you. Everyone here will participate in six games over the course of six days. Those who win will receive a handsome cash prize.”

Players began to speak up. All made good points, and you agreed that you all being basically kidnapped and the masked guards were a little strange.

Then, you gasped as multiple players were shown on screen playing the game of ddakji, announcing their names and how much debt they were in. Thankfully, your name didn’t come up.

When it came time, you got in line and signed the consent form. You didn’t bother reading it, you were just here to play some games after all. You were sure it was just some dumb fine print that didn’t really mean anything.

Soon enough, yourself and all of the other players filed into a multi-colored room. There were stairs leading up, and as you looked around you noticed multiple guards stationed in different spots. Shaking off your unease, you stepped up to the photo booth and turned to face the camera. Upon hearing the ‘smile!’, you mustered up a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“The first game will begin momentarily. After having your picture taken, follow the staff’s instructions and proceed to the game site.”

You followed behind the other players up the stairs, coming up to a large door where everyone was filing into.

“Welcome to the first game. All players, please wait a moment on the field.”

You entered the large clearing in front of you, squinting as the sunlight hit your eyes. As your eyes adjusted, you looked around at the four large walls and the comically large doll with the tree directly ahead. There were two guards standing on either side of it.

Suddenly, the three large doors slammed shut behind you with a loud clank. You gasped and turned around, as did many others.

“The first game is Red Light, Green Light. Cross the finish line without getting caught in five minutes. If you do, you pass.”

Suddenly, someone pushed past you to get to the front of the group. He seemed frantic, turning towards everyone.

“Everyone!” he shouted, waving his arms in the air. He had your full attention now. “Everyone listen up, pay attention!”

“This is not just a game! If you lose the game, you die!”

Your breath caught in your throat. There’s no way he was serious, right? How could you possibly die playing a children’s game? Others seemed to think the same thing, as someone asked him what the hell he was talking about. “We’re going to die playing Red Light, Green Light?” someone asked with a scoff.

“Yes, that’s right! If they catch you moving, they will kill you! They will shoot you from somewhere! Stay on your toes. That doll’s eyes are motion detectors!”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd, no one seeming to take his word for it. Many were voicing their thoughts that this was just some ploy to get all of the money for himself.

“You have to believe me!” His voice was laced with desperation. As he finished his sentence, the doll began to whir to life, turning to face the tree. Its arm raised up, placed against the tree. The man, player 456, whirled around, panic evident in his movements.

“Do not be alarmed or panic! No matter what happens, do not panic and start running!”

Your heart began to hammer in your chest. Something in your gut told you to believe him. He seemed way too genuine to be making this all up.

“Let the game begin.”

The timer across the room flickered to life, displaying a red five minute timer.

Mugunghwa Kkoch-i Pieossseubnida

You began to move forward, freezing as the doll whirled back around and player 456 held up his hands. “Freeze!” He yelled out. Everyone stayed as still as a statue.

“Well done! You just need to stay calm like this!”

Once the doll turned again, you started to run forward, freezing again moments later. The doll's head turned, its eyes calculating everyone’s movement. Player 456 continued to yell out instructions, and so far everyone seemed to be listening despite calling him crazy.

Mugunghwa Kkoch-i Pieossseubnida

You began to run forward again, stopping dead in your tracks along with everyone else. This continued successfully for a couple of cycles. For a moment though, while you were all paused, someone began to scream. Yourself and many others side eyed the girl in shock.

“Crap. I just moved.” And with that, moments later, a gunshot rang out. Your eyes widened, unmoving, but terrified.

“NOBODY MOVE!! You must not move!” Player 456 shouted frantically, not wanting panic to ensue. Unfortunately, it was far too late for that. Multiple gunshots began to follow the first, people dropping around you left and right. Blood began to cover the field. It seemed non-stop. Your body began to tremble, feeling nauseous as the chaos unfolded around you. Player 456 was screaming at this point, trying to save everyone that he could.

“Let me repeat. You can move forward while the tagger shouts ‘Green light, red light’. If your movement is detected afterward, you will be eliminated.”

After the announcement, the game resumed. This time, nobody dared to move from their spot. Once the green light was given again, the only person to move was player 456. And then again, he was the only one to move. Everybody was glued to their spot, too terrified to move. He began to shout instructions again, telling everyone to get behind someone bigger than you. That’s exactly what you did at the next cycle, getting behind players 120 and 124. You stayed close behind as they moved forward, trying to make sure your movement was minimal. This continued until you were almost at the finish line.

“LETS GO!” Player 456 screamed, everyone beginning to push forward as fast as they could. You did the exact same, until your foot slipped as you were trying to come to a stop. Fear coursed through your body as the ground got closer, the doll about to turn around. Everything was moving in slow motion. This was it, this was how you were going to die. Your eyes screwed shut, waiting for the impact from the ground and the bullet. Suddenly, though, you weren’t moving anymore. The back of your jacket was held tightly by somebody behind you, right as the doll said red light and turned. Your eyes flew open in shock, not daring to move a muscle. It was the longest moment of your entire life, praying whoever had their grip on your jacket didn’t lose it. As soon as the doll turned back around, whoever was behind you instantly pulled you back up. Your arm was grabbed and you were hastily pulled towards the red line, being shoved over it as the doll said red light. You stumbled and fell to your hands and knees, wheezing as you tried to catch your breath. Then you paused, whipping around to see who it was.

And there he was, standing mere inches from the finish line. You stared at him, mouth agape. Dae-ho was standing right in front of you, the number 388 plastered to his jacket. Your heart thudded in your chest, your ears ringing. You couldn’t even process it, that he was in this mess just like you were. Moments later, he crossed the line, running straight to you. He crouched down next to you, gripping your face in his hands like he was making sure you were real. Your lips parted, but words refused to come out. He had just saved your life and there you sat trembling like a leaf, not even able to muster a ‘thank you’. However, he didn’t say anything either. His eyes said it all. He was completely terrified.

“Dae-ho…” You whispered, your voice shaking. Before he could respond, everyone’s heads shot up towards the sky. A retractable roof was closing over the top of the arena, closing you all in like animals in a cage.

Before he could say anything, you were all being herded back to the main room. The guards gave you no time to process anything, forcing you to get moving. Dae-ho stayed right next to you, a gentle grip on your upper arm. The atmosphere entering back into the main room was dark, the obscene amount of death and bloodshed looming over everyone’s head like a dark cloud. You sat next to Dae-ho, silent as a mouse. Everyone was silent. What could possibly be said after what you had all just witnessed? Your gaze bore into the ground in front of you, knees tucked into your chest with your arms wrapped around them. Dae-ho was lost in thought, his side pressed up against yours. The touch kept you somewhat grounded, though just barely.

Suddenly, the bright overhead lights flickered to life and the door opened. Everyone's attention turned towards the guards that stepped into the room. Upon seeing them, everybody scrambled back further, clearly terrified. You were no exception, pushing yourself backwards up the stairs behind you. Dae-ho did the same, a protective grip around your body.

“Congratulations for making it through the first game. Here are the results from the first game.” The board above them began to change, the number 456 changing to 365.

More chaos began to ensue. People begging for their lives, the promise of a fair voting process. The voting process was anything but smooth, tensions beginning to rise between the players. You chose X with no hesitation. While you needed the money, you had to be there for your sister. You couldn’t help her, the only family she had left, if you were dead. Dae-ho had voted X as well, much to your relief. Unfortunately, your relief was short lived, as you lost the vote to leave by one. You were devastated, wanting nothing more than to curl up and cry. Showing weakness may not be the greatest idea, though. Not in a place like this.

Once it was meal time, you sat on the stairs with your tin of food in one hand and water bottle in the other. You had zero appetite. Dae-ho, who was sitting next to you, wasted no time in digging into his. You turned your head towards him and he paused.

“What?” He asked halfway through shoveling food into his mouth. You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “You need to eat something too, (Y/N). You can’t let yourself go hungry, gotta retain your strength. Here,” He said, scooping some of his onto his spoon and putting it up to your mouth. Your lips tightened into a thin line, silently refusing. He frowned. “I’m serious-”

“What are you even doing here, Dae-ho?” You cut him off, turning towards him a little more. He swallowed, frown still on his face.

“I could ask you the same thing.” His tone was completely serious now, setting his tin down next to him. You set yours down as well, refusing to meet his eyes.

“It doesn’t matter. We’re both in this mess, and now we both have to somehow make it out alive.” You hoped you didn’t come off as hopeless as you felt. Dae-ho decided not to press any further. He nodded in agreement. There was nothing the two of you could do about it now.

“We’re going to get out of here, you and I. Together. I swear to you,” He grabbed your hands in his, running his thumb across your knuckles. That was his typical positive attitude coming out. You sighed, finally meeting his eyes. “Now come on. I was serious before, you need to at least try to eat.” He said, his usual grin returning to his face. You couldn’t help it, your lips twitched up into a smile. If it were possible, his smile got even wider, gently pinching your cheek with his fingers. “Aha! There’s that smile that I know and love.”

You rolled your eyes, giving him a light shove. He laughed, and you gave in, picking up your tin. You ate in small bites, finally realizing how hungry you truly were. Dae-ho resumed eating, scarfing his down before you were even a third of the way done with yours. He patiently waited until you were finished with yours, taking your tin from you and setting it aside.

After meal time, you and Dae-ho had begun conversing with player 456 and player 399 who were nearby. As it turns out, player 399 whose name you found out to be Jung-bae, was a former marine just like Dae-ho. They saluted each other, their interactions causing you to giggle, letting some of the tension leave your body. Dae-ho’s eyes lit up at the sound, warmth spreading through his body. The rest of the night went as smoothly as it could save for the scuffle that occurred between players 230, 124, 333 and 001.

Then, it was time for lights out. Most players were fast asleep, but you laid in your bed, staring up at the glowing piggy bank. Alone with your thoughts, your mind was racing. There was no way you could sleep. Your head was pounding and you sighed as you turned onto your side. Lucky for you, Dae-ho’s bed was right next to yours. Realistically, he had claimed it as soon as he saw it was empty, assuming the person who was there previously was eliminated. From what you could tell, he was fast asleep. However you really needed some company and reassurance at the moment.

“Dae,” You whispered. He didn’t budge. Of course, you thought as you rolled your eyes. He would be a heavy sleeper. “Dae-ho!” You whisper-shouted, hoping you didn’t have to say it again. Thankfully, you saw him starting to stir. His eyes fluttered open, opening completely as he realized it was you who had awoken him. Quickly, he sat up.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?” He whispered, concern gracing his features. You shook your head, starting to feel a little silly for waking him.

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have woken you up. You can go back to sleep.” You whispered back, realizing he was probably exhausted.

He shook his head, getting up from his bed and coming over to yours. He knelt down next to you, tucking your hair behind your ear. You felt pitiful.

“Will you lay with me?” Your voice came out as barely a whisper, but he heard you loud and clear. His heart skipped a beat, a soft smile spreading across his face.

“Of course, love. Scoot over.”

You blushed at the nickname but immediately moved over to make room for him. Without hesitation, he hopped into your bed, laying on his side so that he was facing you. He cupped your face gently, running his thumb over your cheekbone. You didn’t say anything, but he read you like a book. “What’s wrong?”

You could feel a lump forming at the back of your throat, and you stared into his eyes. Truth be told, you were so terrified. This was a fear you had never felt before in your life. If it wasn’t for the man next to you, you wouldn’t even be alive. How did you go from casually flirting with each other in the coffee shop, not a care in the world, to arriving at death’s door together? Tears burned at the back of your eyes, threatening to come to the surface.

“I’m scared, Dae-ho. I’m so scared,” Your voice cracked, tears spilling over your eyes slowly. Dae-ho was quick to wipe them away, his heart breaking. “I just wanted to save my sister. I thought that if I joined the games and won some money, I could take the stress off of both of us. I wouldn’t have to worry about the medical bills, or the loan sharks, or anything. I would be able to work without having the weight of the world on my shoulders, and it would just be us in the cafe, and nothing else would matter. You and my sister were the only things keeping me going, and now you and I are both here and one or both of us could die.” You cried quietly as Dae-ho looked at you sadly. He pulled you into his chest, shushing you as you wept into his shirt. He let you cry it out, not saying anything as he rubbed your back. Eventually, when you became silent, he pulled back so he could look at your face. Your eyes were red, cheeks tear streaked.

“(Y/N), listen to me. As long as we’re in here together, I won’t let anything happen to you. Truly, you’re the light of my life and if something happened to you I don’t think I could forgive myself. You’re my anchor, especially in a place like this. I have something here to keep me going, you know?” He murmured. You sniffled and nodded, but he kept going. “The moment I saw you in that cafe I knew I was in trouble. I thought you were the most perfect thing to grace this earth, and if I wasn’t so stupid, I would’ve asked you out a long time ago.”

Your eyes widened at that, looking at him as he smiled at you. “You really mean that?” Your pulse quickened at the confession.

“Every word,” He chuckled as he drew shapes into the fabric of your jacket. “This is gonna be awkward for me if you don’t feel the same.” At that, you gave him a light shove and he laughed.

“Of course I feel the same, you idiot. Why do you think you were getting so many free pastries?” You joked, then became serious. “Seriously though, Dae-ho. I couldn’t imagine my life without you in it. I wish you would’ve asked me out a long time ago, I’ve had a giant crush on you for a while now. I thought it was obvious.”

“It was obvious,” you rolled your eyes at that. “I was just too scared to do something about it. I didn’t wanna mess anything up between us. And now here we are, in the worst possible situation, and I’m finally confessing this to you.” He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes as he thought about the circumstances. “How about when we get out of here, I take you out on a date, yeah? We’ll go somewhere nice with my share of the money.”

“It doesn’t have to be fancy, Dae-ho. As long as I’m with you it doesn’t matter,” You said sincerely, a small smile gracing your lips. “But I would love to.”

He grinned at that, his entire face lighting up. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You grabbed one of his hands and he gave it a gentle squeeze. To his surprise, you craned your neck up and placed your lips directly onto his. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you could feel him smile against your lips as he moved his free hand to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss. He pulled away after a few moments, before leaning back down and placing another quick peck to your lips.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for that.” He teased, excitement present in his voice. You giggled, feeling over the moon with happiness even if it was just for a moment. Dae-ho shifted to lay flat on his back, pulling you with him. Your head rested on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. He had his arm around you and you threw your leg over the top of his, making yourself comfortable

“Thank you for saving my life earlier.” You spoke quietly as you wrapped your arm around him, soothed by the rise and fall of his chest. He was quiet for a moment.

“I would do it all over again. I’m not leaving your side so long as we’re still playing these games.”

Those were the only words you needed to hear, shutting your eyes as you finally drifted off into a peaceful slumber as you could feel him pull the blanket over the two of you. For the first time in a while, your body felt at ease. You felt safe, like there was nothing in the world that could harm you. Even if it was just for the night.

[lesservillain]

strange lights masterlist

summary: new faces, old home.

wc: 7.8k

“I’d never given much thought to how I would die. But dying in the place of someone I love sounds like a good way to go.”

Hawkins is cursed.

If the countless murders and freak accidents over the years weren’t enough to convince a person, the perpetual overcast that deprived most of the town’s occupants of proper vitamin D should be enough to keep anyone out. The stark contrast in the sunny sky as you pass the Welcome to Hawkins sign would probably unnerve anyone traveling through. But you knew better, having lived here for the first 10 years of your life.

“Well, this is it.”

After driving what felt like an eternity into the woods, your father pulls up next to his police truck at the cabin that he calls a home. It was pitiful, but you could tell where repairs had been made, or rather an attempt was there. You wondered if they were rushed at the news of your arrival. You felt bad for only giving your dad a two week notice, but to be fair, so did your mother when she told you that her new husband was being stationed in Japan at the beginning of the month. David offered to let you move with them, but you’d declined, even if you weren’t too terrified of being in a plane over the Pacific ocean for any amount of time, you’d rather stay in a place you had somewhat of an attachment to. And if your dad had any objections to you coming to live with him he never made them apparent. 

Climbing out from the beat up two seater truck, you stretch wide, twisting at the waist to loosen your joints after the long car ride. “Wow,” you swoon sarcastically, pointing a thumb over your shoulder, “didn’t know you could afford such luxury on a police chief’s salary, Hopper.” 

“Har Har,” he says, pulling your bags from the back of his truck. He walks past you, voice echoing into the open woods surrounding you, “It’s got air conditioning and I pick up dish out here, so it’s good enough for me.” 

It doesn’t take long to get the little luggage you brought with you into the empty room. Well, it was almost empty, say for a punching bag hanging in the corner. 

“Thought you might get bored,” your dad laughs to himself, lips tugging at the corners on your own face as you shake your head. Before getting into your bags, your dad insists on going into town to eat. “Benny said he’s excited to see you.”

“Whose Benny?” you ask, brows pinched. 

“He owns the diner in town. Do, uh, do  me a favor and pretend you remember him, okay?” 

You shrug nonchalantly, “Sure. Anything I need to pretend to remember?”

He just laughs, pushing at your shoulder playfully. Once at the diner, it’s not only Benny who remembers you, but apparently half the diner knows you. Guess it comes with your dad being the police chief, and you did your best to fake interest in what every other party had to say to you. When you finally got to take a seat, you looked at your dad with wide eyes, mouthing “what the hell?” He gave you an innocent shrug, attention being taken away at the sound of the diner door opening.

Loud laughter disrupts the atmosphere as a group of four younger adults enter the building. You crane your head around to get a look at them. Three of them were well dressed, two guys and a girl, looking like they had just come from a golf course. Their fourth member stood out in the group, plain clothes and quiet disposition a stark contrast to the others. You turn back around, rolling your eyes trying to avoid the group. However, your dad had other plans, waving them over to your table.

You look at him bewildered. “Dad,” you whisper yell, “Stop it!” But he ignores you, continuing until the four of them are standing at the end of your table. You keep your eyes down, trained on the mustard yellow colour of the table top.

“Hey, Harrington, you remember my daughter right? You two were at the same elementary school. Sweetie, you remember Steve.” You give him a look of annoyance before looking up at them. The one your dad says is Steve is standing front and center, clearly the leader of this little group. His hair is done perfectly, blue striped polo looks like it was ironed before leaving the house, and his slight tan tells you he’s probably part of the uber wealthy country club built on the edge of the town in Loch Nora.

“Hey, Hopper,” he says, greeting your dad with a handshake. He looks smug, like his dad has probably paid yours off once for stupid things he’s done in his high school days. When he finally looks at you, you’re fully expecting him to only spare you a quick glance. Instead, he freezes in place, hazel eyes fixed on yours. You squirm a bit under his stare, clearing your throat.

“Uh, I don’t know if I remember,” your tone is unsure as you try to read him, “I went to Center, not Loch Elementary.” When you look at the other members of the group, you notice that they are all looking at Steve with wide eyes. Then they all look at you. Frankly, it’s very unsettling and you really wish they would go away.

“Oh, well, maybe you remember Jonathan then,” Your dad leans back to catch the attention of the shyer man, “Joyce had you at Loch, right Johnny?” 

When you make eye contact with Jonathan, you notice Steve step between the two of you, looking back at Jonathan. You couldn’t see Steve’s face, but it must have been scary enough that all Jonathan could do to respond was shake his head.

“Hey, Tommy, didn’t you say you had a thing you needed to do,” Steve says, not taking his eyes off Jonathan.

“Uh, yeah, Carol and I need to get to, uh, a dinner with her parents. Right, Carol?”

“Yeah, we better get going. Nice to see you, Chief Hopper….”

The four of them hastily exit the diner. “Oh, yeah, see you around!” His face goes from bright to confused as he watches them leave through the window. 

“What the hell was that?” you laugh, ducking your head into the table. Your dad does the same, eyes as big as yours, “I have no idea. I was just trying to help you make some friends.”

“I think I’ll pass on them, Dad.”

When you return to the cabin later, your dad steps in front of the truck, leaning against the hood. Watching you as you get out, you hesitate, getting out of the truck slowly. “Whaaaat’s that face for?” you ask, suspicious of his glare.

“Oh, you know, I was just thinking that you’re gonna get awfully bored sitting in the cabin all by yourself all day,” he straightens up, rubbing his hand along his stubbly chin.

You’re really confused now. “You said you get TV out here, right? I think I’ll be okay.”

He lifts his hands up in defense, “Alright, alright, you’ve twisted my arm. No need you yell at me and make me feel bad. Here”

You almost miss when he tosses the keys to the truck your way. Looking between him and the keys, you can’t help how wide you smile at the gift. “Dad, oh my god, are you sure?”

He nods his head, mozing a few steps to stand in front of you. “Of course. It’s not a nice new car, but I figured it would help you get around until you could find something you really liked.”

You do a little happy dance before launching yourself at him, giving him a big hug as you thank him over and over. “Thank you so much, dad,” you say, looking up at him. He gives you a good squeeze before you pull away.

Rain pitter pattered softly against the row of windows behind you. Today has been slow, much like the other four days since your first day at Barnes and Noble. Wanting something slow as you get used to being in Hawkins, your dad suggested the bookstore, saying that it wasn’t the most popular place in town. The manager, Bob Newby, hired you on the spot, stating he needed someone over eighteen to train as a manager since the old one left for college. He offered above minimum wage so you accepted. 

While you stood at the computer working on some modules, three teenage boys ran into the store looking like they were on a mission. 

“Hi, I’m Dustin,” one of them greeted you, offering you a hand shake. You oblige, taking his hand in yours as you introduce yourself. “And are my friends Lucas and Will,” he points his thumb over his shoulder to two boys his age. They both wave, looking at you with anticipation. 

“Nice to meet you. Is there something I can help you with?” you look between the three of them.

Dustin perks up, “Ah, yes. As a matter of fact there is fair maiden.”

You physically cringe at the pet name, trying to hide the pain in your face. 

“Oh, sorry,” he corrects, “yeah, we’re looking for the new D&D starter set? It says online that it’s supposed to come out on the 15th, but some Barnes & Nobles have it in stock already.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “A whaty-what set?” you chuckle. The boy's shoulders deflate at your words.

“Never mind, thank you ma’am,” Dustin says, turning to the other two. 

“See, told you they wouldn’t have it yet,” Lucas says to Dustin, “Let’s just try again in a couple days, man.”

“It was at least worth a shot,” Will says shrugging. 

You watch as they make their way towards the exit, feeling bad seeing them so dejected. They’re about to walk out, but stop when a man enters through the doors. Their faces light up, and they greet him with hugs. You don’t mean to eavesdrop, but they’re the only patrons in the store at the moment so it’s pretty much impossible not to hear them.

“Hey, man, welcome back,” Dustin squeals, bouncing with excitement, “How was the trip with the family?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you take in the person they are talking to. The first thing you notice is his hair, a straight out of the 80s Van Halen wannabe cut that you’re sure stopped being in style by the 90s. His outfit seems inspired from the same era as his hair; Leather jacket paired with a denim vest covered in patches and pins reminiscent of metalheads from years ago. The tight, black ripped jeans paired with black combat boots seem to be the only articles of his clothing that were current with today’s fashion. You couldn’t exactly make his face out from the distance, but you could admit that his voice had a certain silkiness as he talked.

“Henderson, Sinclair,” he pauses for a moment,” Byers. Good to see you boys,” the words fell off his tongue, affecting you in a way that they honestly shouldn’t. “We had a pretty good time. Saw some family friends and got to try some good food.”

“Nice, nice,” Dustin nods. He straightens up for a moment, “You’re not here for the starter set are you?”

“I am,” the man responds.

“Shit, so were we. They don’t have it though. The girl doesn’t even know what we're talking about,” he responds defeated.

This is when you get to see the man’s face. And, oh no, he’s hot. Big brown eyes meet yours as he turns in your direction. He’s smiling at first, but the longer he looks at you, the more…confused his face becomes? He fully turns away from the boys, making his way towards you, eyes not leaving yours. The counter being the only thing between you as he leans forward, his eyes flickering between yours. Why the hell does this keep happening?

“Can I help you?” you ask, leaning back a tad. He blinks, straightening up again. 

“Yeah,” he draws out, “I’m looking for a new dungeons and dragons module. It’s a set that comes with a book and a few other items. Have you gotten anything like that in stock recently?”

You go to open your mouth, but his head suddenly snaps to the side. Following his line of sight, you see your coworker, Eden, making her way back from the break room.

“Oh, hey, Eden,” you call, getting her attention. She does a fast walk over to you, giving the man in front of you a once over as he takes her place next to you. “Hey, these guys are looking for something and I don’t really know what they’re talking about.”

She sighs, “What do you want, Munson?”

The man smiles cheekily, “Oh, you know what I’m here for. Just another recommendation for a My Chemical Romance CD to listen to.”

“Fuck off, what are you really here for,” Eden snaps. You let out a giggle at the interaction unfolding in front of you. The man's eyes look to you, and his smile widens to his eyes, showing off his dimples. 

“There’s supposed to be a new Dungeons and Dragons book coming out. Do you have it? Please say you have it,” Lucas steps in front of the man, clearly exasperated as he places his hands on the counter. 

“Oh, yeah your dumb nerd game,” you catch her looking at you before subtly rolling her eyes, “We got a box in the back yesterday but we’re not supposed to put it out until, like, Friday or something.”

She might as well have told them they all won the lottery the way their faces lit up.

“Please, Eden, you gotta let us get one,” Dustin begs, pushing Lucas to the side.

“Yeah, pleeeeeease, Eden,” Will joins in now, pushing between the two other boys, “We promise we won’t tell Bob.”

Eden looks at them for a moment. She looks at you, clearly annoyed, “What do you think?”

Now all eyes are on you, making you feel like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Uh, I mean, one book isn’t going to hurt, right?” you look to Eden, hoping that was the right answer and that this wasn’t a test to keep your job. Her expression is deadpad, until a smirk grows on her face.

“Okay,” she says simply, grabbing a box cutter from under the counter and making her way to the back room. The boys all whoop and holler, following her to the door to wait. 

That leaves you with the man from earlier. With the stress out of the way, you’re able to really take in his features. He was even more attractive up close, impossibly beautiful if you think too much about it. His skin looked smooth, like stone, the sprinkle of little freckles here being the only indicator that he’s not the statue of Adonis dressed in punk attire.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” his head rolls as his attention is returned to you, a knowing smile plastered across his face.

Blush dusts your cheeks when you realize you've been caught ogling. Trying to hide your face in embarrassment, the carpet between your feet is suddenly very interesting. “Sorry,” you say to the floor. There’s a beat of silence. When you look up again, he looks perturbed. “I mean it, I’m sorry for staring…”

Brown eyes lock with yours, features softening as he speaks, “No, no, you’re good, I, just…” he trails off for a moment. Shaking his head, his curls bouncing with the movement, he takes a step closer to the counter. “Sorry, I should probably introduce myself. Name’s Eddie.”

You introduce yourself to him and he playfully looks you up and down, “Shit, you’re Hoppers kid? Probably best if I stay away from you then.”

“Why’s that?” you tilt your head, matching his playful tone.

“I’m not exactly the most favored in this town,” he leans into the counter, and you catch the glint of the ringed fingers on his hand, “Whole family isn’t really cared for. But, I tend to make things worse.”

“Why, do all of you refuse to leave the 80s behind?” you ask as you nod at his hair. He runs his tongue in his bottom lip in an attempt to keep himself from smiling, failing miserably as your eyebrows raise at his silence.

“No,” he taps a finger against the counter before standing up again, “Because they think we’re “freaks” for keeping to ourselves most of the time. Apparently it's a crime not to participate in small town drama.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s like, the first rule of small towns,” the corner of your mouth quirked, “If you don’t wanna be part of the drama, you’re just going to be the drama. Those are the rules.”

“Ah, I see, I must have missed that part of the book when we moved here. My bad.”

You go open your mouth, but Dustin suddenly runs into Eddie at full force with what you presume to be the desired book in hand. 

“Ooowwwwww,” Dustin says rubbing his arm, looking at Eddie with a grimace, “Sheesh, are you wearing armor under your jacket or something?”

Eddie scoffs, moving away from the boy, “No, you’re just soft compared to me, Henderson.” Eddie raises his arm to flex, and you swear you hear a seam burst somewhere in his jacket.

While you ring the boys out, they spend the entire time trying to explain the game to you. There’s an attempt to recruit you into their club, but you decline their offer.

“I promise I would not be fun to play with,” you reassure them.

“Mmmm, I doubt that,” Eddie chimes.

“Don’t listen to him, his only goal is to make us die in the game,” Lucas says.

“That’s not my goal. You guys just always manage to get yourselves killed.”

“Okay, okay,” Eden waves her hands around to get their attention, “I’m tired of hearing all the dork talk. Take your nerd book and go before I change my mind.”

“But I already paid--” Dustin starts.

Eden gives him a look, pointing for the door. The boys jump, scrambling for the door as they say their quick goodbyes. Eddie chuckles as he watches the boys go, turning back to you once they’re out of sight. He goes to say something, but Eden speaks up before he can. 

“Hey, you should probably go take your lunch break now,” she says to you with arms crossed. Her eyes shift over to Eddie, giving him a look.

“Oh, okay,” you nod. Before you go, you turn to Eddie, giving him a warm smile, “It was nice to meet you.”

He returns the sentiments, “Same to you.”

When you walk towards the break room, you look back at the counter, seeing Eddie and Eden talking.

“Hey dad,” you greet as you walk through the front door of the cabin, kicking off your shoes.

“Hey, how was work?” Your dad stands in the kitchen, wearing a pink apron and blaring hard rock from the little radio that hung on the underside of the cabinet. You gawk at him for a moment, before collecting yourself.

“Uh, it was good,” you place your bag on the coat hook, walking over to where he stands in the small kitchen, “What, uh, what are you doing, pops?”

“Oh, I invited the Byers over for dinner,” he said as if it was obvious. Your nose scrunched up at the smell of something burning.

“That’s supposed to be edible?” you ask, peering into the pan, unsure of what you were looking at exactly.

There’s a pause, both of you standing there for a beat. Then he reaches forward to flip off the oven. “I’ll order a pizza.”

The Byers car pulls up just as the pizza guy leaves. You watch as your dad runs around like a mad man picking things up around the cabin. You stop him mid step, grabbing the apron and pulling it over his head. He nods in a silent thanks and continues to run around. The knock on the front door breaks him of his frenzy, practically running to get to the door. It’s actually cute to watch your dad light up when he greets his friend. 

When Joyce lays her eyes on you, she’s instantly squealing and throwing her hands out for an embrace. You wrap her up in a hug that hasn’t changed since you were little. One of the only adults you remember, Joyce was a staple in your life even when your parents were going through their divorce. 

“Oh my god, look at you,” she does that mom thing where she puts her hands on your arms and gives you a good look over, “Goodness you’re so grown up now! I remember watching you when you were just a tiny little girl. Oh, here, you remember Jonathan,” she turns and places a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. He gives you a one sided smile, not looking at you directly.

“Uh, yeah, we already ran into each other,” he says with a nod.

“And you might remember Will. He’s changed since you’ve seen him, though. He was just a toddler back then.” She moves over to let her other son in, and you’re almost as shocked as he is when you see one of the boys that came in the store earlier. You both give each other a look with a grin.

“Yeah, we’ve ran into each other already, too,” Will says. 

“Oh, good,” Joyce beams, “I guess that means we can save some time and go ahead and eat. Hop, I got some soda on sale at work. Jonathan, do you have the bags?”

Jonathan lifts two bags that have clearly been in his hands the whole time, Will and him looking at each other with a snicker. “Here, mom.”

Dinner consists of Joyce asking you all about living in Arizona, how your mom is, if she likes traveling with her boyfriend, if you’ve made any friends.

“Jonathan, you should see if Steve will let her come to one of your little get-togethers.”

“Mom,” he his brows raise into his bangs as he looks at her, “You know why that’s not a good idea.”

“Oh, come on, you guys can keep yourselves under control for one night,” she says, taking a bite of her pizza slice.

“No, it’s okay,” you chime in, “I don’t want to make anything weird. I don’t think I made a very good first impression with Steve when I first met him.”

Jonathan and Will both sputter out a laugh, and Joyce gives them little smacks on the arms to get them to stop. 

“What’s so funny?” Your dad chuckles with the boys.

“Nothing,” Will says, looking at you, then back to his pizza.

Jonathan straightens up, grin on his face as he speaks, “Um, just want to say Steve, like, doesn’t hate you. He just…ate something bad for breakfast and was in a bad mood or whatever.” 

Will is physically shaking in silent laughter and you feel like you’re missing out on some inside joke between them. Joyce just rolls her eyes, smiling as she mouths a sorry to you. You shake your head, letting her know it’s fine.

“So, Jonathan, Dad tells me you’re getting pretty good at photography?” 

He looks at you surprised, “Y-yeah, yes, yep.”

“Jonathan, tell her about the magazine! Jonathan’s picture was in a magazine,” Joyce gushes.

“One of my pictures is in a magazine,” he says to appease his mother. She grabs his arm and shakes it giddily. 

“It’s actually really good,” your dad says in agreement. Jonathan gives him a quick tight lipped smile, before his eyes meet yours. You mouth sorry and he smiles, eyes shifting down.

“So, Will, did you guys get to play that game,” you change the subject. He looks excited that you asked.

“Oh, no, we didn’t get the chance today. But we’re going to get together this weekend,” he shifts in his seat to face you. 

“That’s cool,” your head bobs cooly, “Does, uh, does Eddie play with you guys?”

There’s a sudden tension in the air, thick enough that a knife could cut it. The Byers are looking between each other, you don’t know if you’ve ever seen Joyce so serious. After a beat, it’s your father’s turn to giggle.

“Awe, come on. Don’t be like that you guys,” he says to the three of them. They remain hard as stone, Will tucking his head into his shoulder. Thinking back to the interaction at work the other day, you realize that Will had never directly interacted with Eddie, sort of standing back as Lucas and Dustin greeted him. 

“What? What is it?”

“Oh, Joyce has some weird beef with the Brenner’s,” your dad dismisses. 

“Ugh, Hop you know that’s not — it’s more complicated than that,” she looks to you. “Just,” she squeezes her eyes shut, breathing out of her nose, “it would be best if you just…don’t get involved with the Brenner’s, okay? Trust me.”

Eddie’s words about the town not being fond of his family came to the forefront of your mind. It had you intrigued as to how bad his family must be if Joyce Byers doesn’t like them. Though you want to press for more, you decide to put a pin in it for now to keep the peace. 

Once it’s just you and your dad again though, you’re immediately pressing him for questions. 

“Okay, so what is this “beef” you said Joyce has with the Brenner’s,” you shout from the bathroom, mouth full toothpaste as you brush your teeth. 

“Honestly, I wish I could tell you,” your dad yells from the front porch as he smokes, “They moved to Hawkins two years ago and Joyce, her boys, and half of Loch Nora seem to hate them. Sure, Eddie can be out of line at times, but the rest of them are tame.” He puts out his cigarette and walks back into the cabin, “ Dr.Brenner works at the hospital practically non-stop. Someone swore he was there for 3 days straight when this bad flu was going around last year. The rest of the family keeps to themselves for the most part. All adopted. Two of them are home schooled, the other two and Eddie are grown. I think one of ‘em is writing for a newspaper or something?”

Spitting and rinsing, you hop over the back of the couch, landing next to your father as he talks, “Half the town ignores them, and the other half claim that they’re monsters or supernatural.”

“Why?” you scrunch your face.

“Depends on who you ask,” he shrugs, sipping from his beer, “According to Joyce they shouldn’t be here. I’ve asked her plenty of times to give her side of the story, but she won't budge. I really respect Brenner, personally. Single guy, adopting and raising five kids on his own, working hard as a doctor to make sure they are taken care of.”

“You’d think Joyce would think highly of a guy like that,” you look up to the ceiling, trying to see what could possibly be the problem that Joyce would have. “Maybe he did something to her and she doesn’t want to say. Or maybe one of the kids did something to Jonathan or Will?”

“If they did something to the boys I know she would tell me. I guess I could see him saying something to her and her maybe taking it out of context. I don’t know, I just do my job and try and stay as unbiased as possible.”

You nod your head. You’re mind is still swirling with questions that you want to ask. But as your dad turns on his trash TV, you know he’s not going to be paying attention to anything you’re asking. So you decide to wait and ask him later.

Finding parking at work today was a nightmare. The entire parking lot in front of the Barnes & Noble was FULL of cars, a mix of classic and sport cars taking up several rows in the normally bare parking spots. Having to park in the very back, you cut through the crowd of people on the way to the building. It was busy, and making your way around ended up being worse than finding parking as half of Hawkins was packed into one place to fawn over cars. There was a bit of a flow that you’d caught on to, so you stuck through it, getting stopped occasionally as the group in front of you paused to gander. 

In one of the stalemates, you looked around for a way to get past the congestion, only to spot a familiar pair of brown eyes looking straight at you from across the lot. He looked exhausted, and you could only assume that he probably didn’t want to be here either. You gave him a small wave, and the frown carved into his face flipped, returning the gesture. You were about to try and make your way over to him, when the sound of a loud engine and horn honking had you turning your head, eyes blinded by light coming straight towards you.

The next thing you knew, you were on the ground, a pain in your rib confirming that you must have been hit. But when you open your eyes, you’re faced with the grill of a car being completely crushed by a…hand? In your shock, you follow the hand, up the arm, and into the same eyes you had seen just a moment ago, suddenly dark, almost black in appearance. Except they weren’t looking at you, they were looking down. Down at the open gash on your arm from the way you’d hit the pavement. 

Taking in a breath, you wince at the pain in your side. You’d expected to have hit your side on the pavement as well, but when you crane your head down, you see Eddie’s other hand gripping right over the pain. 

“Ow,” you say, sucking in a breath as you move slightly. His head snaps, looking up at you when you speak, and the look on his face reads concerned, but he seems frozen in place.

“Holy, shit dude,” a girl appears from behind Eddie, but the way he’s hunched over you obscures your view. You don’t miss the car suddenly moving over a few inches, though, Eddie’s grip loosening at the motion. When your eyebrows knit themselves together, trying to figure out what the hell was happening, Eddie suddenly starts yelling. “Hey, we need an ambulance over here!”

When you arrived at the hospital, you were surprised when the doctor that was assigned to you introduced himself as the infamous Dr. Brenner. He was a grey haired man, most likely in his late 50s or early 60s, with skin like porcelain and a reassuring smile. And most importantly, he had your x-rays in his hand.

“Good news, you’re going to live,” he laughs, flipping all the papers back on your chart, “Bad news is you’re going to live with a rib fracture. I would suggest taking it easy for the next six to eight weeks, take something for pain as needed, and don’t be afraid to slap on a lidocaine patch if it helps. As for your arm,” he looks at the bandage, a little blood soaking through the white, “Clean it well and keep it wrapped. A little antibacterial ointment should do the trick.”

“Thanks Brenner,” your dad sticks out his hand to the man, “I appreciate you getting here to look at her so quickly.”

Brenner takes your dad’s hand, shaking it in return, “Of course, I couldn’t let the police chief’s daughter sit in pain.” He looks over to you, brows creasing slightly before speaking up again, “The two of you are free to go whenever you’re ready. If her pain gets worse or if she hits the rib again, feel free to call me at home and I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

“Wow, thank you.” You’re taken aback at his generosity, looking over to your dad as he gives you a “see I told you he was a nice guy” look. While you gather your things, your dad tells you he’s going to grab the car and meet you at the front doors. 

As you leave the room, you look down the hall and see Eddie leaning up against the wall, chewing on his thumb nail deep in thought. Taking in a deep breath in preparation to approach him, you grab your side, wincing in pain. “Shit,” you breathe out, keeling over a bit. 

A pair of doc’s enters your vision. You lift your head, taking in Eddie’s figure as he’s now stood before you, hands hovering as he looks you over. 

“Are you okay?” his voice sounds panicked, his face twisted as he waits for your answer.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m good,” your voice strained, but you give him a weak smile in reassurance. He nods, hands lowering to disappear into his pockets. His mouth opens and closes a few times, his eyes looking anywhere but directly into yours as he fidgets about. You laugh at his nervousness, deciding to speak first.

“Thank you for saving me.” 

This gets his attention and he’s all teeth as he smiles, “Yeah, of course. I’m, uh, glad you’re okay.”

“I wouldn’t be without you,” you tilt your head, looking at him. You suddenly remember the events that unfolded. Eddie was on the other side of a line of cars, surrounded by droves of people and cars. The smile drops from your face. “How did you get to me so fast?”

“What are you talking about,” he shakes his head, “I was right next to you?”

You look at him incredulously, “What? No you weren’t. You were-”

“No, I was right next to you. When the car came at you, I grabbed you and pulled you out of the way.” The way he spoke to you scared you; a veiled threat with every word. But you wouldn’t let him get away with it.

“Eddie, I know what I saw. The way your hand crushed the front of that car and -- and then it moved-”

The feeling of ice on your lips shocked you, sending goosebumps across your body. Once you registered that the cold sensation was coming from Eddie’s hand over your mouth, an uneasiness takes over your whole body. It felt like he’d been standing in the winter weather, which would be understandable if it was, say, January, and not early August. 

Your hand flew to his wrist, the one attached to your injured arm. His eyes widened, focused on the wrap around your forearm. His throat bobbed, swallowing thickly. Then, he pulled his hand away as quickly as it landed on your lips. Backing away, he looked at you like you were the one to be afraid of. His eyes darted to your arm once more, then back to your eyes before taking off down the hall. He was fast, making a sharp turn at the end of the hall, but you ran after him, determined to get answers. Only, when you reached the turn he was gone.

That night is when the dreams started. Standing in an opening, trees surrounding you at every corner. The constant feeling of eyes on you made you feel small, vulnerable out in the open for the predator to attack. And when it does, all you see of it is its brown eyes.

You wake up in a cold sweat, breathing heavy, you frantically feel around for your phone. The bright screen blinds you when you tap it, through squinted eyes you read 4 am. A knock on your door has you jump.

“Hey, you okay in there?” Your dad’s voice fills you with relief. 

“Yeah, Dad, I’m good. Just a nightmare. Sorry to wake you,” you call to the barely visible door. He gives you an okay and tells you goodnight. You lie there awake until the sun comes up.

“Oh my god, that’s crazy!” Heather’s hand flies over her mouth as she pushes your cup across the tiny counter. “So you think his hand, like, broke your freaking rib?”

“I don’t know,” you grab the cup, taking a small sip, “It may have been a coincidence, but I could feel his fingers digging into my side, so it definitely wasn’t from hitting the pavement.”

“But you said he was all the way across the lot, that makes no sense,” Barb questions, wiping her hands on her green apron. 

You flail your arm up in an exaggerated shrug, “I know! He said he was next to me the whole time but I know he was over in G4 and I was in the F5 section. You guys saw all the people from in here, there’s no way he should have been able to get to me that quickly.”

“Ooohh, maybe the rumours are true then,” Heather wiggles her fingers at Barb, eliciting an eye roll from the red head. 

“You just want the rumours to be true because you’re obsessed with that True Blood show,” Barb says with a snide, teasing tone.

“What does True Blood have to do with the rumours?” When you ask, the two of them look at each other with  knowing grins.

“Oh you haven't heard?” Heather starts. “Everyone thinks the Brenner’s are a bunch of vampires or something.”

“Or something,” you parrot back, looking at her through squinted eyes. You knew most people in the midwest believed in some kind of cryptid or skinwalker, so you’d learned to take everything with a grain of salt when it came to small town gossip. 

“I keep telling her they come out in the day so they can’t be vampires,” Barb explains, “but she won’t believe me.”

“Okay, but, like, have you seen them?” Heather looks at you with raised brows. 

“I’ve only seen Eddie and Dr.Brenner,” you rub your hand over your still bandaged arm.

“Girl, okay,” Heather starts, placing her hands on the counter to lean in closer to you, “so like Eddie. Super hot, obvi. Dr.Brenner? Hot for an old dude, right? And I don’t even swing that way, but the two girls, Nancy and Robin, they’ll have you questioning things. They’re dating though from what I’ve heard,” she sighs, cheek landing in her palm. 

“Wait, the sisters are dating?” You looked at her, appalled by the insinuation of her words.

“They’re not siblings?” Heather looks at you funny. “Well, Nancy and one of the younger ones apparently are blood related. I think someone said that Robin isn’t adopted and that she just lives with them. Like a live-in girlfriend or whatever.”

You nod, trying to make sense of the weird family dynamic. Before Heather can continue on, the chime of the entrance door opening alerts you to a customer entering the store. Even though you were on your break, muscle memory took over as you turn on your heels to greet them, “Hi! Welcome to Barnes and…”

Eddie Munson himself walks in through the door, booking it straight for the games section without a passing glance. You stand there in dumb struck silence. When you look back at Barb and Heather, they give you “shit we were almost caught” looks on their faces, and it has all three of you laughing. 

“Oh, hey,” Heather motions you closer, “There’s gonna be a big party at Lover’s Lake on Friday. You should totally come. It’s on the Loch Nora side, but you can park by the lake houses and walk over.”

“Um, sure,” you accept, feeling excited at the prospect of making better friends with some of the people in town your age.

“Great,” Heather claps, a mischievous smile on her face. She wiggles her brows at you suggestively, “Make sure you bring your best swim suit, there’s going to be lots of Loch Nora boys there. I heard Steve Harrington is single again-”

“Small black coffee, please.” All three of you jump. Eddie was standing at Barb’s counter. None of you heard him walk up, as if he had appeared out of thin air. “Can I pay for this here?” He shakes a book that says something about monsters, a large creature on the front with a big eye. His face is stone, almost annoyed as he waits for Barb to ring him out. When he pays, he finally looks over at you, and you realise you’d been staring at him the whole time. 

You almost miss the way his eyes flash to your arm as he passes by. His intense stare makes you turn to hide your arm from his view. His nose flares when you do, brow creasing. But when his eyes meet yours, honey brown as if being hit by the non existing sunlight, his face softens. An almost pleading look to him. Like he wanted to talk to you, but wouldn’t. And as soon as Heather places his coffee on the counter, he’s booking it out the door. 

“What was that-” was all you heard Heather say, your feet moving on their own as you stepped out into the humid August air. He was already in the middle of the parking lot in the time it took you to get out the door.

“Eddie, hey! Wait a minute!”

He stopped in his tracks, back still turned to you. You stare right into the monster on his “Dio” patch as you approach him. Grabbing his arm, you go to spin him around but find it hard to get him to budge. Instead, he turns to you on his own, stone faced, waiting for you to speak.

“What the hell was that about back there?” You pant as you try to catch your breath. “Are you avoiding me or something?”

His body stiffens at your words, eyes narrowing, “What if I am?”

You blink at him, “I — I just want to know why, I guess?”

He stands there in silence, statuesque with an inhuman stillness. Getting tired of the stare off, you decide to just say your peace. “Listen, I know I’m not crazy. I don’t really care at this point the how or the why of what happened that day. Whether it was adrenaline, my memory being foggy, or-or whatever. You saved my life, and…and that’s what really matters. So, thank you.”

You watch his face ease into amusement, apples of his cheeks pressing lines into the creases of his eyes at your words. God he has a cute smile. 

“Okay,” is all he says, his eyes look you up and down. He seems to open up, body fully facing you now. 

“Okay,” you say with a smile. There’s a pregnant pause, the two of you just looking at each other for a moment until a drop of rain hits your nose. 

Both of you look up, and you can tell rain is about to fall. 

“Hey,” you try and talk quickly, wanting to get the words out before it starts pouring, “my coworker, Heather, she, um, said there’s going to be a party at Lover’s Lake Friday. N-not like a date, or anything. Uh, just, maybe we could start over. Trying to be friends…” You were kicking yourself on the inside for being so lame, “It’s on the Loch Nora side, but she said it should be easy to find. You, um, you should come?”

His head drops, shaking back and forth, but his smile remains. 

“I’ll think about it,” he says when he looks at you again. Taking a step back as the rain begins to fall, he nods towards the building behind you, “Better get inside, don’t want you to catch a cold.”

“O-oh, right,” you look behind you, and then back to him, but he’s already gone.

thank you for reading!

[mommyownsmee]

Id just love to go to town with you, in a short skirt with no panties. So you can always check if im wet, if not you’ll just start rubbing and fucking me until i cum, no matter where and no matter who’s watching. Mommy wouldn’t care a bit

The city pulses around us, electric with life. Neon signs flicker above storefronts, bathing the sidewalks in shifting hues of red, blue, and gold. The scent of street food lingers—grilled meat sizzling on open flames, the buttery sweetness of pastries fresh from the oven, a faint wisp of something smoky from a distant bonfire. The air is crisp, the kind of autumn night that carries a sharp bite, but even that does nothing to cool the heat simmering between us.

You walk ahead of me just slightly, leading me through the shifting crowd, but every step you take is deliberate. That skirt—the one you knew would drive me insane—is barely more than a whisper of fabric, fluttering against the tops of your thighs with every movement. Your bare legs catch the glow of passing headlights, skin illuminated in flashes of warmth and shadow. You know exactly what you’re doing, and I know exactly what you’re waiting for.

The crosswalk signal blinks red, halting us at the curb, and I take the opportunity to step closer, pressing in just behind you. The night air swirls around us, but all I feel is the warmth radiating from your body, the anticipation thrumming beneath your skin like a live wire.

My hand ghosts over the small of your back, tracing down, slipping lower, skimming over the hem of your skirt. It would be so easy—so fucking easy—to lift it just slightly, to remind you of exactly what you left yourself open for tonight.

You inhale sharply.

“You’ve been teasing me all night,” I murmur, my voice low, smooth, meant only for you, meant to slip beneath your skin and settle deep. “Are you wet for me already, sweetheart?”

You don’t answer—not with words. But I feel the way your thighs clench, the way your breath catches for just a second, how your fingers tighten around the strap of your purse like you need something to hold onto.

The light turns green.

I let you go—just for a moment, just long enough for you to take a shaky step forward, as if you actually think I’m done with you.

You don’t make it two steps before my hand is on you again, sliding beneath your skirt, fingers dragging up the inside of your bare thigh. The crowd moves around us, bodies brushing past in waves, conversations buzzing in the air, but you?

You go rigid, body locking up as my fingers brush higher, teasing over your heat.

“Spread your legs for me.”

It’s not a question.

You hesitate, your body taut with the thrill of it, the risk, the knowledge that at any moment, someone could look over and see exactly how fucking desperate you are for me.

I chuckle darkly. “Don’t make me ask again.”

A soft, shuddering breath escapes you as you shift your weight, just enough to give me access, just enough for my fingers to slip where I want them.

And fuck, you’re soaked.

I hum approvingly, dragging my fingers over you, slow and teasing. “Mmm… such a good little slut for me,” I murmur, my voice nothing but silk and heat. “Walking around like this, bare under your skirt, knowing I’d check. Did you get wet just thinking about it?”

You let out a quiet, broken sound—somewhere between a whimper and a plea.

I grin.

“You love being this desperate, don’t you?”

You nod quickly, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, struggling to keep from making a noise.

The street is crowded, but no one is paying us any attention. Cars pass, groups of friends laugh and stumble over sidewalks, costumed couples pose for pictures near a decorated storefront.

You’re trembling beneath my touch, caught between wanting more and knowing that we’re not nearly hidden enough for what I plan to do to you.

I drag my fingers over you again, pressing just enough to make your hips jerk slightly. Your breath stutters, and you grab onto my wrist—not to stop me, no, you wouldn’t dare—but as if grounding yourself, as if holding onto control that you already lost the moment we left the house.

“Think you can cum for me right here?” I ask, my voice dark with amusement. “Or should I keep teasing you until you’re begging?”

You let out a desperate little whimper, your thighs trembling, your fingers gripping my arm so tightly I almost feel bad for you.

Almost.

“Answer me, sweetheart,” I coo, my fingers pressing just a little harder, just enough to send a jolt of pleasure through you. “Do you want to cum?”

You nod frantically, barely whispering, “Please.”

I lean in close, my lips brushing against your jaw, my voice a velvet whisper in your ear.

“Then take it.”

The hum of the city fades. The crowd moves around us, oblivious, unaware of just how fucking wrecked you are for me in this moment.

The hum of the city surrounds us—the distant chatter of people passing by, the soft clink of glasses from a nearby café, the low hum of jazz drifting from an open window. The warm glow of streetlights flickers against your skin, painting you in golden hues, making you look even more irresistible.

But you’re not thinking about any of that, are you?

No. You’re thinking about my hand, the one teasing at the hem of your skirt, barely brushing your inner thigh, so light, so deliberate. You’re thinking about how reckless you were, walking out of the house without panties, knowing exactly what you were inviting.

I lean in, my breath warm against your ear, my voice smooth, commanding. “You wanted to be bold, baby. So take it.”

Your body shudders slightly, torn between pressing into my touch and holding still like a good girl. I don’t give you the satisfaction yet—not until I’ve had my fun.

The café beside us is packed with people. Friends laughing over their drinks, couples leaning close, murmuring sweet nothings, the occasional distracted soul scrolling through their phone. They have no idea how weak you are under my touch, how I have you trembling in the middle of it all, barely keeping yourself together.

“Hold still,” I murmur, my lips just barely grazing your skin. “Unless you want them to know how desperate you are for me.”

You tense, your thighs squeezing together instinctively, but I click my tongue, slipping an arm around your waist, keeping you exactly where I want you. “No, no, sweetheart,” I chide, the amusement thick in my voice. “You wanted to play. So be good for me.”

I watch you struggle, your chest rising and falling a little too quickly, your fingers gripping the strap of your purse, your breath coming in short, shaky exhales.

“You’re blushing,” I tease, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your neck. “Are you feeling shy now?”

You shake your head, but I know better. I see the way your hands tremble slightly, the way your body reacts to every tiny movement I make.

I smirk. “Mm, I think you like this. The thrill of it. The way you never know when I’ll touch you next.”

You exhale sharply, and I let my fingers drift higher—just a whisper of a touch, enough to have you squirming, enough to remind you exactly who you belong to.

The world moves around us, unaware. The streetlights flicker, the night deepens, and still, you’re here, helpless under my hands, waiting, aching, desperate for whatever I decide to give you next.

I lean in, lips just below your ear, my voice a low whisper. “Tell me,” I purr. “Do you want me to stop?”

You barely manage to shake your head, your voice soft, breathless. “No, Mommy.”

I smirk, pressing a kiss just beneath your jaw, my grip tightening around your waist. “Good girl,” I murmur. “Then behave.”

And just like that, I pull away.

My hands slip back into my coat pocket, my expression unreadable, as if nothing had ever happened. The heat of my touch lingers, ghosting over your skin, leaving you on edge, your breath unsteady, your body still thrumming with need.

You stand frozen for a second, trying to compose yourself, frustration flashing in your eyes, but I only smile.

“Let’s go,” I say smoothly, already turning toward the next shop window, acting as if I haven’t just ruined you in the middle of the street.

You hesitate, still catching up, but then you follow, your steps quick, eager, falling right back into place beside me.

I chuckle under my breath.

The night is far from over.

[witchofawoman]

LATE NIGHTS ⋆｡°✩

6. Emptied ⊹.✮₊⋆

featuring : jj maybank x kook!reader

summary :It’s done, you finally broke up with Rafe. You thought it would bring you peace, a clean break from the chaos. But instead, it only invites more trouble, unraveling faster than you ever expected. And in just one night, everything you thought you escaped comes crashing back, worse than before…

words count : 1k

warnings : drug and alcohol usage, angst, violence, addiction, cheating, smut, etc.

a/n : This is the 6th part of the serie !! Enjoy <3 It's almost the end ahhhhhh

You had no idea where you were heading, but it didn’t matter. The old you was back, the reckless version, the one who didn’t care about consequences, the one who drowned everything out with chaos. As you stepped outside, you could feel the weight of people's stares. It wasn’t just the lingering effect of the drugs; no doubt, Rafe had already spread his poison, twisting the truth until you were nothing more than a whore in their eyes. But you weren’t going home. You refused to be alone with your thoughts.

“Stop this, Y/N,” a voice called out as someone grabbed your wrist. You didn’t bother looking up. Whether he was trying to hook up with you or genuinely cared, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

Instead, before you even processed your actions, your hands found his shoulders, and your lips crashed onto his, you were too drunk and desperate for thinking at this moment.

It was a long, deep kiss, reckless, desperate. It felt almost like you were made for each other, like you could disappear into it. Even though you didn’t know who he was, you didn’t stop. You kissed him until you were breathless, until reality blurred away.

“Shit,” you both muttered, almost in sync, making you smile for the first time in a while. It was pathetic, really.

But before you could even take in his face, he was ripped away from you and slammed against the other side of the room. The culprit? None other than Rafe.

“I told you, Maybank. Don’t touch Y/N. Are you fucking stupid?” Rafe growled, tackling JJ to the ground and driving his fists into his face, one after another.

It was brutal, relentless, but you couldn’t move. The entire room had frozen, all eyes glued to the chaos unfolding in front of them.

“Rafe, what the fuck is wrong with you?” you snapped, your voice cutting through the noise. “I told you we were fucking over! Can’t you get that? Or are you just too pathetic to accept that you don’t own me?”

Rafe’s fists stilled, his rage-filled eyes locking onto yours. The anger he had just been taking out on JJ was now redirected entirely at you. But for once, you weren’t afraid. You weren’t going to let him control you anymore.

Slowly, he got up, towering over you, his jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. He wanted to corner you like he always did ; to assert his control. But this time, you didn’t let him.

“Stop right now,” you warned, voice steady. “I’m not your girlfriend. I’m not your trophy. I’m not your fucking excuse anymore. You don’t control me, and you never will.”

Rafe stood frozen, too stunned to speak. The tension was suffocating, but you remained blank, unreadable. You refused to let him see through you. You glanced over to where JJ was, watching as Kiara and John B helped him to his feet. You should have gone to him. You wanted to. But you felt trapped in this moment.

Silence stretched between you and Rafe, thick and heavy. Five whole minutes passed, and still, he said nothing.

So, you turned toward the door.

And then, finally, his voice sliced through the air.

“You wanna know what the real problem in our relationship was?” His tone was dripping with venom. “Do you really wanna know why I fucked other girls?”

Something in your gut twisted, but you forced yourself to turn back and face him.

“It was you, Y/N,” he spat, voice sharp as glass. “You’re empty. A hollow, fucking void. You act like nothing gets to you, like you don’t have a heart, and maybe you don’t. You wanted me and chased after me but the second you had me, you shut down. Ice fucking cold. You never let me in, never let me fucking touch you and now you let him ? You think you’re above feeling anything, but guess what? That’s why I cheated. That’s why I fucked other girls. Because at least they were real. At least they weren’t a fucking corpse pretending to be alive.”

His words cut deeper than anything he could have physically done. You stood there, motionless, every syllable of his rant settling deep in your bones. You didn’t know what to say, but all that came out was a quiet, almost indifferent, “Mmh.”

It was like you were agreeing, and maybe, in some twisted way, you were. But before you gave yourself the chance to break down in front of everyone, you grabbed your keys and walked out of the party.

a/n : I decided to do a small chapter as it is one of the three last :(( hope you enjoyed reading even if it was short, I'll probably post next part this weekend (do not worry last part is going to be at least 2 times longer). Love you all, see you soon !!

Taglist : @immyowndefender @imsiriuslyreal @yvesoull1 @yesshewrites1

[speaknow-sw]

•| ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏʀɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ |•

Content : kissing, fighting, injuries, cult, mentions of nudity, knife throwing, TENSION,

A/N : chapter 4 for you, and I love this one. I think I did good with the tension. Hope you’ll like it. •| ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪᴠ : ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴀ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ |•

Even the sharpest mind can be dulled by devotion, for faith does not seek reason��it demands surrender.

BENEATH THE GILDED SURFACE OF ROME, beneath the marble temples and the deafening roar of the Colosseum, beneath the weight of empire and conquest, there are whispers. A name, a legend, a warning—The Cult of Romulus.

Few speak of them openly. Fewer still claim to know the truth of their origins. But in the shadows of the Eternal City, their presence lingers like the scent of blood in the sand. They are not men of politics, nor men of gods. They do not serve the Senate or the Emperor, nor do they pray at the feet of Jupiter or Mars. They serve only a name, a ghost, a myth that has never faded—Romulus, the first king of Rome.

It is said that when Romulus vanished, taken by the gods or swallowed by the earth, he did not truly die. His bloodline remained, diluted through centuries, hidden among the common-born and noble alike. The Cult exists for one purpose alone: to preserve that bloodline and to ensure that no false heir dares to rise. They believe the spirit of Romulus must remain undisturbed, that his sacrifice—the foundation of Rome itself—must never be undone.

Which is why he should not exist.

Anakin, the golden-haired barbarian, the lion of the arena, the undefeated gladiator. The one whose presence unsettles them, whose face stirs something ancient in the bones of Rome itself. They have been watching him for months, moving in the shadows, waiting for a sign, for proof of what they already suspect.

Now, they have seen enough.

Now, they must kill him before he remembers. Before he becomes what he was always meant to be.

The night is thick with the scent of burning oil and damp stone, the streets of Rome restless beneath the hush of midnight. The Colosseum looms in the distance, its arches gaping wide like the ribcage of a beast long since stripped of its flesh, waiting to swallow those destined for slaughter. The city sleeps, but danger does not.

Anakin walks at the center of a small procession, flanked by three guards. Unlike the other gladiators, he wears no chains. They do not need them. His reputation is enough to keep most would-be troublemakers at bay. The golden-haired barbarian, the undefeated wolf of the arena. A killer. A beast. He has earned his place in Rome’s bloody history, and yet, in the restless hours before dawn, the city whispers of something more.

They are watching.

They have always been watching.

The Cult of Romulus has been following him for months, moving in the shadows, gathering their forces, waiting for the right moment. Tonight, they strike.

It happens as they pass through a narrow alley leading to the outer gates of the Colosseum. The air is thick with the stench of piss and rotting grain, the streets silent but for the steady footfalls of the guards. Then, in a breath, the silence shatters.

A cloaked figure drops from the rooftops, landing with the grace of a panther, a blade flashing silver in the moonlight. A second follows, then a third. The guards barely have time to shout before steel meets flesh, the sickening crunch of bone splitting the night.

Anakin reacts before thought.

A sword is thrust toward him—he sidesteps, catching the attacker’s wrist, twisting hard until he hears the snap of bone. A dagger whistles past his ear, but he moves like a storm, relentless, brutal. His knee drives into a man’s gut, and as he doubles over, Anakin brings his elbow down on the back of his skull. The body crumples.

Another comes at him from behind—too slow. Anakin spins, grabbing the hilt of the attacker’s blade before it can plunge into his back. He wrenches it free and buries it in the man’s throat, ripping it sideways with a sickening shhk. Warm blood spatters his skin, the copper scent thick in the air.

But there are too many.

They are not common thugs. Their movements are disciplined, their tactics coordinated. They are here for him.

One of the remaining assassins steps forward, hood slipping just enough to reveal the glint of a golden wolf’s head embroidered into his collar. His voice is calm, even reverent.

"The blood of Romulus runs through your veins. The gods demand it be spilled."

Anakin snarls, launching himself at him before the words fully register. He fights with the desperation of a cornered beast, the instinct to survive overriding all else. But even as he kills, his mind races—who are they? Why do they speak of Romulus?

Why does that name feel like an echo of something lost?

Another blade slashes toward his ribs—he barely dodges in time, feeling the sharp sting of steel kissing his flesh. He has to move. Has to run.

He breaks through the last line of attackers, sprinting through the winding alleys, blood dripping from his fingers. The city blurs around him, the world reduced to the rhythmic pounding of his feet against stone, the ragged breath in his lungs.

Then he collides with someone.

Hard.

A body, warm and real, the force of impact knocking the air from his lungs. His hands snap forward, gripping their shoulders on instinct, ready to shove them aside—

And then he sees you.

For a moment, the world stills.

Your eyes, wide with surprise, meet his, and something in his chest clenches. He has seen you before. Not just in the forum, where you watched him bleed beneath a Roman whip. Not just in the stands of the Colosseum, where you looked upon him with unreadable eyes. Not under him, writhing of pleasure.

No, it’s something deeper. Older.

A memory just out of reach.

Then, just as quickly, his expression darkens.

"You," he growls, pushing you back as if your very touch burns him. "Of course you'd be here. Watching." His voice drips with hatred, but beneath it, there is something else—something shaken, something raw.

Behind him, the shouts of his pursuers grow louder. He doesn’t have time for this. Doesn’t have time for you.

But neither do you.

Because you have been watching, too. And for reasons you do not yet fully understand, you are not about to let him die.

The streets of Rome are a labyrinth of marble and shadow, narrow alleys twisting into grand avenues where torches flicker against towering columns. The city is alive even at this hour—merchants closing their stalls, drunk patricians stumbling home from lavish feasts, beggars lurking in the doorways of temples. But none of them see the two of you, running like hunted animals through the veins of the empire.

Anakin is beside you, breathing hard, his body still tense from the fight. Blood streaks his knuckles, some of it his, most of it not. His tunic is torn, and the moon catches on the sweat glistening over his skin. He’s fast—too fast for a gladiator who has spent years in chains—but you match his pace, weaving through the streets, slipping into shadows when patrols pass too close.

“You planned this, didn’t you?” he mutters as you turn sharply into an alley, pressing your backs against the stone wall to catch your breath. His voice is raw, hoarse with exertion. “Hired those men to test me? To see how well I fight?”

You almost laugh. “You give me too much credit.”

His blue eyes narrow, sharp even in the darkness, but there’s no time for argument. The Cult of Romulus will be looking for him—they might already be spreading through the streets. You grab his wrist and pull him forward, guiding him through the back ways, up a hidden stairway between two buildings, across the wooden scaffolding of a half-built villa.

Soon, the streets grow wider, the noise of the city softens, and the air carries the scent of blooming gardens instead of sweat and filth. You’ve led him into the Esquiline Hill, where the wealthy hide behind walls of carved stone and wrought iron.

Anakin slows, suddenly wary. He takes in the quiet opulence around him, the soft glow of oil lamps flickering from elegant windows, the fountains trickling in courtyard gardens. “Where are we?”

“Safe,” you answer simply, pushing open the heavy bronze doors of your villa.

The interior is grand—too grand for a woman who had walked unnoticed in the arena’s crowds. Marble floors gleam beneath the soft light of hanging lamps. Pillars stretch toward ceilings painted with the delicate brushstrokes of gods and myths. Fine tapestries soften the walls, and the scent of wine and myrrh lingers in the air.

Anakin steps inside hesitantly, eyes sweeping over the excess. He scoffs, running a hand through his tangled curls. “Of course,” he mutters. “You’re one of them.”

“One of who?”

“The Romans who watch men like me die for sport, then go home to silk sheets and fine wine.” His gaze flickers back to you, more cautious now, more closed.

You only smile, stepping closer, your voice low. “I never said I was Roman.”

Before he can press further, footsteps echo down the hall.

“Domina?” Your servant appears from behind a curtain, her expression shifting the moment she sees Anakin—his disheveled state, his torn tunic, the blood staining his skin. Her brows lift. Then, without hesitation, she tilts her head and smirks.

“Did you bring your boyfriend home?”

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks before you can stop it. “He’s not—” you start, flustered, but Anakin’s low, irritated growl cuts over your words.

“I am not,” he snaps, his voice rough with anger, his glare sharp enough to cut stone. His posture stiffens, broad shoulders squared, jaw clenched. He looks like he’s ready to bolt—to run back into the streets rather than stay here, in this world of marble and wealth, where he does not belong.

Your servant, entirely unfazed, hums thoughtfully. “Then what is he? Your new guard dog?”

Anakin turns on her with a snarl, his frustration crackling like a storm. “I am not some pet you can collar—”

“No,” you interrupt, quickly stepping between them before he does something rash, though you can’t help but smirk. “He’s not my guard dog.”

Your servant raises a skeptical brow but says nothing, only waiting. You sigh, turning toward her with a knowing look. “Go check the temperature of the thermal baths. We’ll be needing them.”

She glances between you and Anakin, then nods, barely concealing her amusement as she disappears down the hall.

Silence lingers in her wake.

Anakin is still seething, fists clenched at his sides, but beneath his anger, you can sense something else—unease, restlessness. He’s never been in a place like this, never stood in a villa where everything is soft and warm, where no chains weigh his limbs, where no one is waiting to throw him back into the sands.

You tilt your head, studying him. “Relax, Anakin,” you say, voice lighter now, playful even. “No one’s going to throw you to the lions in here.”

His blue eyes flick to yours, dark and unreadable. “Not yet.”

You don’t hesitate as you step into the chamber of the thermal baths, your fingers already undoing the fastenings of your garments. The marble walls gleam under the soft glow of oil lamps, the scent of heated water and fragrant oils thick in the air. Steam rises in delicate curls, clinging to your skin as you let your tunic slip from your shoulders, pooling at your feet in a whisper of fabric.

You don’t think much of it—why would you? Anakin has seen you bare before, in dreams, in lifetimes past, in fleeting moments stolen under the watchful gaze of the gods. And in this life, men like him are hardly spared the modesty of others; slaves and gladiators are stripped of dignity along with their freedom.

Yet when you turn, expecting him to follow, you find him standing rigid near the entrance, arms crossed over his broad chest, his blue eyes locked onto the baths with an expression you’ve never seen before.

You arch a brow. “Are you coming in, or do you plan to stand there like a statue all night?”

His gaze snaps to you, sharp, wary. He shifts uncomfortably, his fingers flexing at his sides. “I don’t—” He stops, exhales sharply through his nose, then grunts. “I don’t know what to do.”

For a moment, you simply stare.

Anakin Skywalker, warrior, gladiator, beast of the Colosseum—reduced to a confused puppy before a simple bath.

The realization makes something warm bloom in your chest.

You suppress a smile, tilting your head. “You’ve never been in a thermal bath before?”

His scowl deepens, as if offended by the very idea. “Gladiators don’t exactly bathe in perfumed water.”

“Pity.” You lean back against the stone, the warmth seeping into your muscles. “Come here.”

He hesitates but steps closer.

“You wash first,” you instruct, nodding toward a bronze basin filled with oil and scented water. “Use the strigil to scrape away the dirt.”

He eyes the tool with suspicion, picking it up as if expecting it to bite. His fingers curl around it, testing its weight. “And then?”

“Then you step into the bath.”

Anakin huffs under his breath, but he follows your instructions, pouring the oil over his skin and running the strigil over his arms, his chest. The motion is awkward, stiff—he’s used to wiping off blood and sand, not indulging in luxury.

When he finally lowers himself into the steaming water, he exhales, the tension in his shoulders melting, his head tilting back slightly as the warmth surrounds him.

You watch him, your lips curving. “Better?”

He cracks one eye open, giving you a look that is half-glare, half-reluctant surrender. “It’s… acceptable.”

You laugh, letting the water lap around you as you move closer. “You’re adorable when you don’t know things.”

His eyes darken at that, but before he can retort, you reach for a cloth and dip it into the water, wringing it out before running it gently over his shoulder.

Anakin stiffens—just for a moment—before relaxing under your touch. His skin is warm beneath your fingers, solid, real.

In the quiet of the bathhouse, surrounded by the scent of myrrh and the gentle ripple of water, you wonder if the gods are watching.

Anakin leans against the marble edge of the baths, his arms crossed over his chest, watching you with that sharp, assessing look of his. His damp curls fall messily over his forehead, and the firelight flickers against his chiseled features, casting him in hues of gold and shadow. His eyes drag over you, studying, calculating—then, with that biting wit of his, he scoffs.

"What are you, anyway? Twelve?"

You freeze for a fraction of a second before giving him a flat, unimpressed look. “I’m twenty.”

His brows lift, amused, skeptical. “Right. And I’m the Emperor of Rome.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I am twenty.”

Anakin smirks, tilting his head as if to examine you more closely. “Could’ve fooled me. You look like a child.”

You roll your eyes, stepping closer, the silk of your robe whispering against the marble floor. “And you look like you’ve been fighting wars since the dawn of time.”

He lets out a short, dry laugh. “That’s because I have.”

You hesitate at that. There’s something bitter in his voice, something that lingers beneath the sarcasm. He turns his head away slightly, as if considering something, then exhales sharply.

"I'm thirty-five," he says at last, almost as if he's testing the words in his mouth. He shifts, stretching his arms, the movement making his muscles ripple. "I could be your father."

You scoff. "Hardly."

He smirks again. "I don’t know. You look small enough. Frail.” He leans in slightly, his voice lowering into something almost teasing. “Maybe I should start calling you ‘little one.’”

Your eyes narrow. “Try it and I’ll drown you in the baths.”

He chuckles, the sound deep and rich, but there’s something unreadable in the way he looks at you now—like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle that refuses to fit. “You don’t act twenty, little one.”

You tilt your head. “And you don’t act thirty-five, big guy.”

He gives a dry, humorless laugh. “No. I act older.”

Something shifts between you then, something quieter. He’s still watching you, but now it feels different—like he’s truly seeing you for the first time, searching for something beyond your face, beyond your words.

"You’re strange," he mutters finally, shaking his head. "I don’t trust it."

"Good," you say, smiling just enough to be infuriating. "You shouldn’t."

You work in silence, dragging the strigil over his skin with slow, deliberate strokes, scraping away the layers of grime, sweat, and dried blood that cling to him like remnants of battle. The water darkens as filth dissolves, revealing golden skin beneath—the color of sun-warmed bronze, marred only by the scars that speak of his suffering.

Your touch is methodical, careful. When you reach his back, your fingers still for the briefest moment, tracing the deep red welts left by the whip. Some are fresh, still raw, angry lines carved into his flesh. Others have faded into pale reminders of pain endured.

He doesn’t flinch when you touch them, but his shoulders tense.

You reach for a small alabaster jar resting on the bath’s edge, scooping out a thick, fragrant ointment made from crushed myrrh and healing herbs. You press it to his wounds, spreading it with gentle fingers.

Anakin hisses, his body going rigid beneath your hand. “That stings.”

“Good,” you murmur, working the salve into his skin. “That means it’s working.”

He exhales sharply, his voice edged with suspicion. “Why are you doing this?”

Your fingers pause for a fraction of a second before continuing their slow, soothing movements. You could tell him the truth—that something about him calls to you in ways you cannot explain, that he reminds you of a love lost to the hands of fate. That you are selfish, drawn to him not by kindness but by something deeper, something that pulls at your soul like a thread woven through time itself.

But you do not.

Instead, you tilt your head, offering him a small, unreadable smile.

“Because I own you now,” you say lightly, though the words taste bitter on your tongue. “And what use is a broken gladiator?”

His jaw tightens, his blue eyes flashing as he turns to look at you over his shoulder.

“You think I’m yours, little one ?” His voice is a low growl.

Your smile deepens. “Aren’t you?”

The moment the words leave your lips, something in him snaps.

Anakin turns, the water sloshing around his broad frame as he moves, faster than you expect. Before you can react, he cages you against the smooth marble edge of the bath, his arms braced on either side of you. The steam curls around you both, thick and heady, blurring the world beyond this moment.

You tilt your head up, meeting his eyes—blue like the deep sea, turbulent with something dark, something dangerous. His wet curls cling to his forehead, water trickling down his temple, following the sharp lines of his jaw, his throat, the ridges of his collarbones.

“You think I belong to you?” His voice is low, almost a whisper, but there’s no softness in it.

A shiver runs down your spine, though not from fear.

You smirk, your fingers trailing through the water, brushing against his submerged waist. “Would you rather belong to someone else?”

His jaw clenches. His hands press against the marble, trapping you in the heat of his body. “I belong to no one.”

You hum, letting your fingers trail higher, grazing his stomach, the firm muscles tightening under your touch. “No one?” you echo, voice laced with mock innocence. “Yet here you are, standing in my bath, letting me tend to your wounds. Letting me touch you.”

His breath hitches—just barely, but you notice.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmurs, his face dipping closer, lips a mere breath from yours.

You reach up, cupping his jaw, your thumb tracing the sharp edge of his cheekbone. His skin is warm, damp from the bath, from your touch. His breathing is heavy now, uneven. His eyes flicker down to your lips, then back up, hesitation warring with desire.

“I always win,” you whisper.

His control snaps.

Anakin crashes into you, his mouth claiming yours in a kiss that is all heat and hunger, his hands gripping your waist, pressing you flush against him. The water ripples violently around you as he deepens the kiss, his fingers digging into your skin, desperate, as if he’s trying to carve his presence into you.

You let him.

You match his intensity, your arms winding around his neck, nails raking through his curls. He growls against your lips, the sound reverberating through your chest, sending a thrill down your spine.

When he finally pulls away, breathless, his forehead resting against yours, his grip still tight on your waist, you smile against his lips.

“Tell me again,” you murmur. “That you belong to no one.”

His breath is shaky, his hands flexing on your hips.

His breath is heavy against your lips, his hands still gripping your waist, fingers pressing into your skin like he doesn’t want to let go. For a moment, he says nothing—just looks at you, eyes dark with something unreadable, something caught between defiance and need.

Then, his jaw tightens. His grip on you flexes.

“I belong to no one, little one,” he growls, the words rough, almost desperate.

You feel his breath against your lips, hot and unsteady, but he doesn’t move away. If anything, his hands tighten, his body pressing into yours as if trying to convince himself of his own words.

You tilt your head, fingers ghosting over his shoulders, the tense muscles beneath damp skin. "No one?" you murmur, your voice soft, teasing, but there’s a challenge in your eyes.

His breathing stutters. You see the war in him—the battle between pride and something deeper, something neither of you are willing to name.

And then, as if realizing how close he is, how much he’s given away, he pulls back, breaking the moment, the heat. His hands drop from your waist, his expression hardening. He turns away, stepping deeper into the baths, trying to put space between you.

But you see it in the way his fingers curl into fists beneath the water.

He belongs to no one.

The morning air is crisp, tinged with the faintest chill before the sun fully rises to warm the city. You wake slowly, the remnants of sleep clinging to your limbs, your body still steeped in the languid ease of the baths from the night before. For a moment, you forget where you are—lost between dreams and reality, between past and present. But then the weight of the world settles over you once more.

You rise from your bed, the silk sheets slipping from your skin, and pad toward the open window, drawn by the quiet stirrings outside. The city is already beginning to rouse—merchants setting up their stalls, servants bustling about their morning tasks, the distant sound of hooves against stone. But none of it holds your attention.

Because below, in the courtyard bathed in the golden light of dawn, stands Anakin.

He moves like something divine, his body carved from sun and shadow, the muscles in his back rippling as he shifts through each movement with practiced ease. His bare chest gleams with a fine sheen of sweat, his golden curls damp and unruly, catching the light as he breathes. His arms flex as he grips the weighted wooden sword—a rudis, meant for training—cutting through the air with sharp precision.

You watch, entranced.

He is not like the men of Rome, whose bodies are sculpted for decadence, for leisure. Anakin is built for war, for survival. Every inch of him is honed, sharpened by years of battle and hardship. His form is fluid yet unyielding, his muscles taut, his legs steady as he shifts his weight from one stance to another. He is practicing the drills of a Roman soldier—lunging, parrying, striking—movements ingrained into him through blood and sweat.

He turns slightly, his profile cutting against the morning light. The sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his throat, the beads of sweat trickling down the ridges of his abdomen—they all blur together in an image almost too perfect to be real.

You have seen gladiators before, warriors trained to entertain, their bodies sculpted for spectacle. But Anakin is different. He moves not for an audience, not for the pleasure of others, but for himself. There is something raw about him, something untamed. A man who refuses to be broken, who fights not because he must, but because it is the only thing he knows.

His breaths are steady, controlled. He swings the rudis in an arc, pivoting on his heel before thrusting forward, his entire body coiling like a predator about to strike. The sheer power behind each movement is undeniable. Even in stillness, he is a force—like a storm waiting to break.

The rising sun frames him in a halo of gold, casting long shadows over the courtyard. For a brief moment, he does not seem mortal at all. He looks like a god. A forgotten deity of war and vengeance, reborn in the flesh, cursed to walk among men who will never understand what he truly is.

And then, as if sensing your gaze, he stills.

Slowly, Anakin turns his head, blue eyes locking onto yours.

A shiver runs through you.

His stare is piercing, unreadable. He does not smile, does not speak. He only watches, his chest rising and falling with the ghost of exertion, his lips parting slightly as if about to say something—but he doesn’t.

Instead, he simply stands there, the sun at his back, the morning breeze rustling through his curls.

And for the first time, you wonder—who is truly watching whom?

You hear a sharp sound and then the air in front of you shift swiftly. You look to your right where a kitchen knife is buried in a concrete gap of the brick wall. You never saw him move. 

A warning. I see you.

Your breath stills. You should move, step back into the safety of your chambers, but you don’t. You can’t. His gaze pins you in place, unreadable, searing through the morning light.

And then—he smirks.

A slow, knowing curve of his lips, arrogant and wicked.

Heat floods your face.

You step away from the window, heart pounding against your ribs, but before you can collect yourself—

A knock at your door.

Sharp. Insistent.

Then your servant’s voice, hushed and urgent—

"Domina… the Emperor’s men are here. They demand to see you."

He was made of gold—not just in the way the sun kissed his skin, but in the way he burned, untamed and eternal, a man the gods themselves had failed to break the first time.

[artsninspo]

COUNTERFEIT - two

⇽ part one

➨ rio's library - good girl nbc

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

🍒 pairing: Rio (Good Girls) X Faith (Original Character) All my characters are black women.

🍒 word count: ~1.6K

🍒 summary: Faith faces the blowback from her decision to end things with her now ex-boyfriend. Conflict stirs between her and her sister. Rio's curiosity grows and he finds himself not able to stay away before getting to know about Faith.

🍒 two ~ life traps

“Where’d you go last night?” Char asks as she comes in from the gym.

“To have a one night stand” I respond being facetious.

“Faith, Jason is the kind of man women pray for” Char starts.

“I don’t want to hear it” I groan, needing some peace.

“Why not, he’s romantic, attentive, emotionally stable and makes good money?” Char continues.

“And he’s boring, closed minded and pacifistic” I add.

“Life isn’t all about excitement!” Char shouts.

“I think you’re mistaking life with death” I retorted, earning a grimace from my sister.

“He wanted to marry you!” She snaps. “He asked mom and she gave him her blessing, he was planning a party and everything! Your ring is gorgeous!” she says like it’s the thing that makes me stay but I couldn't be more relieved.

“If he knew me even a little he’d know I don’t want a public engagement” I respond.

Char huffs in exasperation “Anyone who’s in love does!”

“Well then, there you have it!” I sigh, reinforcing the obvious.

“Faith.” she fusses.

“He’s a great guy just not for me. Now he can return the ring and find someone who’s grateful and appreciative of the perfect man he is.” I fake a smile.

Char sighs, folding her arms in frustration. “You’re being unreasonable and taking the ungrateful thing out of context.”

“He’s not the man I want to wake up with forever or who I want to raise my children” I explain speaking in terms she can understand.

“Because you have commitment issues!” She snaps.

“You don’t? Where’s your Prince Charming?” I ask and she goes ridgid. Her eyes bug out and I realize I’ve gone too far.

“Char” I call but she storms off to her room.

———

Char hasn’t been speaking to me all week. She’s hardly been coming home. I feel bad but there’s not much I can do if she won’t talk to me.

Big game? I could use some back up.

- D

I smile at the phone and D’s perfect timing. I get dressed and go where I’m wanted. I drive to the bar and park out back. I can hear from out here the place is packed and head in. D doesn’t look as happy and he usually is to see me. I hug and kiss him and he makes me my favorite drink with a smile. I get started and make things easier for him. I work the bar until there’s a lull and I can enjoy my cherries. Diego smiles at me.

“I’m glad you texted, Char and I are fighting and it’s all bad at my place”  I tell him.

“What about?” D, asks.

“Breaking things off with Jason” I explain and his cousin walks in. “Am I okay to be here?” I whisper, putting my cup of cherries down.

“Yeah,” Diego nods. His side of the bar fills up and he steps away to tend them. His cousin sits on my side. I head over to him.

“Whisky neat” he says before I can ask. I head to the top shelf pouring him what he asked for. I place it down on top of a napkin and I’m shocked when he pays. Doesn’t he own the place?

“Thanks” I smile, putting the money away. I work my side of the bar finding time passes and the game ends, music replaces the previous entertainment. When things settle I go back to D and my cherries. We joke around with some of the patrons doing shots and keeping them in their pockets. There are no fights tonight which is a win and when the night’s over I’ve made twice as much in tips as I did the other day. I’m cleaning off the bar when Diego’s cousin comes in from outside.

I continue cleaning up and Diego mops this time. Security takes all the dirty glasses to be washed and I make sure the register balances. We have at least fifteen empty bottles and I pack them away making space on the shelf.

“Where else do you work?” He asks from behind me.

“I’m not a bartender,” I respond.

“You know your way around a bar.” Diego’s cousin remarks.

“Diego taught me” I explain and he smiles nodding. His dark eyes miss nothing, it’s like he can smell my uncertainty and is amused by it.

“So what are you?” He asks again.

“I work in interior designing,” I explain, omitting my shinier accolades.

“Pays well?” He asks. It's a strange question. If he were anyone else I'd roll my eyes and walk away. One thing my Ma is right about is that a woman's pocketbook is none of mens business unless he’s adding to it.

“I’m not complaining,” I respond. The answer doesn't seem sufficient as he looks down trying to read me. We both give each other nothing. “You into nature?” I ask stacking glasses and his brow raises. I’ve thrown him off.

“Nature? Outdoors?” He asks and I steel my expression in genuine curiosity as I motion to his neck where the bird is permanently inked into his skin. He looks affronted, so much so my facade breaks. A smirk plays on his lips and he nods.

“I was just messing with you. D’s my friend, he loves this place and I’m here to help him out - not cause trouble” I tell him and he looks me over again - his energy less distant.

“You’re a woman, this is a guys bar and I’m a businessman. Women mean trouble. More security, more fights and more egos. It’s not personal, don't help him every weekend and don’t use your real name. You getting stalked or followed isn’t my problem and D’s not built for it. He’s crazy about you. Told me I need to apologize for the other day” he says completely relaxed. His expression is back to giving nothing away as he speaks matter of factly. 

“Gotcha, and It’s fine, you don’t seem like you apologize much” I tell him and he nods, holding back another smile.

“Is everything alright?” Diego asks with an uneasiness that makes me reconsider the ease I feel next to his cousin.

“You don’t bring women around often, I’m just curious” his cousin says and I sense tension between them. 

“I’ll do the rest Faith, let me walk you to your car” he says protectively and I look between them a moment before getting my jacket.

“Thanks” I tell Diego who is standing ramrod straight and tense, in juxtaposition to his cousin who looks both relaxed and amused. He empties my tips into a paper bag.

“Goodbye Faith” his cousin waves.

“Bye,” I respond.

“What’s wrong?” I ask Diego once we’re outside.

“Rio” he sighs. “I wish I could just strangle him sometimes,” he snaps.

“Rio is your cousin’s name?” I ask and he nods.

“Nickname, his name is Chris but don't call him that.” D warns.

“What's going on between the two of you, does he think you're into me or something and how does he own the bar? I thought it was yours?” I ask and D takes a deep breath before letting one out.

“He doesn’t think I'm into you, he knows I’m gay. He’s part owner, not full owner although he thinks he’s the boss of everything ” D sighs.

“I’ve never known you to huff and puff instead of knocking someone clean out” I comment looking outside as Rio strolls cooly into a G-Wagon.

“Rio doesnt get mad, he gets even, he can be spiteful and petty and he’s patient. You’ll never know you’ve fucked up until you’re wading through shit. Be polite and keep things short with him” Diego says, giving his cousin a less than glowing review.

It leaves a bad taste in my mouth as the G-Wagon pulls out driving into the night. D follows suit and silence befalls the car until he presses me for information on Char and I. When I tell him the full extent of everything the look in his eyes tells me while he’s on my side. Diego agrees with my sister in regard to my commitment issues. Unlike Char, D understands why I don't want to run from where we came from. Why I’m in no rush to commit to a life of pageantry or rush into an engagement at 24. He calls it survivor's remorse which is kinder than the assessments given to me by my shrinks. A life with Jason would be a lie. I’d have to pretend my step-dad is my father. Not my real father who’s no longer on this earth. The result of a life selling street pharma and the violence that comes with it. I’d have to hide that part of my story and heritage and even do away with D as a part of my past. Jason and his family would see it as a character defect instead of character building. It would be bad PR and so it would be filed away in a safe and kept away for comfort and convenience. No one understands not wanting to hide yourself from people like D.

He watches me sitting shotgun as the sun dawns.

“Be gentle with Char, she's a marshmallow - all soft. You’re a jellybean.” He smiles and I lean on his shoulder. He presses a kiss onto my forehead. “You know ChaCha means no harm, she doesn't like to rock the boat or disappoint anyone.” Diego speaks knowing us well.

“I was gentle, we didn't have a screaming match” I smile but his phone ringing gets my attention. Rio’s name flashes on the car’s console shifting the mood.

“I gotta take this, text me when you get in” D says and I nod.

“D, if you need money-”

“I don't, I'm the oldest. You need money you come to me” he asserts and I nod exiting the car. I hear the call pick up when I grab the lobby door. I place my fob on the console and the automatic door opens.

Mercury must be in gatorade because I don’t know what the fuck is going on.

authors note: thanks for reading, what do we think D's deal is with Rio and the girls? Why is Rio in our girls business? don't forget to ❣ Like, ❝ Comment, ↺ Reblog & vote on open polls

click here to ✮ join taglist ✮ and be notified when new updates drop.

tags: @meadows5 @wnbweasley @becauseimher @ariiaeltheedonn @woahthatshitfat @miniaturehideoutmentality @kokobells @ffenthusiastt @sowhatariyana @1xtral1983 @theegoddessofmelanin @fictionalreads @roxytheimmortal @fairytale07 @rampsen @rosey1981 @lauraaan182 @lynaye1993 @g1g1l @writingsbytee @different-fandomz @rose-bliss @loveschrisbrown20 @cherrybeedotcom @ariiaellbtheedonn @motheroffae

[patrixjia]

Velvet Chains (FINAL PART)

PART I, PART II, PART III, PART IV, PART V, PART VI

Plot Overview:

In this chapter, Y/N confronts her past in a final, pivotal moment. As she faces the consequences of the choices she’s made, she finds herself standing at a crossroads, where the future is uncertain but full of potential. With everything she’s fought for coming to a head, the chapter explores themes of freedom, family, and finding strength in the aftermath of destruction. The journey is far from over, but the bonds formed along the way will guide the way forward.

Warnings: Mafia!BangChan, Mafia!StaryKids, Mafia!AU, Dark themes, Triggering content (violence, blood, death), Emotional Angst, Swearing, References to trauma

Author Note:

We did it! You stuck with me through all the chaos, and I’m honestly blown away. Thank you for your love, comments, and patience—this story wouldn’t have been the same without you! You’re all legends. 🖤

And hey, this may be the end of this series, but it’s never really the end, right? Catch you on the next wild ride. 😉

⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆

The drive to Victor’s estate feels like the longest of your life. The roads are dark and winding, the weight of what you’re about to do pressing down on you with every passing mile. You force yourself to keep your breathing steady, your hands loose in your lap despite the pulse of adrenaline beneath your skin. You need to play this perfectly. If you slip—if you hesitate—Victor will see through you, and this entire plan will fall apart before Stray Kids can even breach the gates.

The car slows as you approach the entrance, the heavy iron gates parting as if welcoming you home. But this isn’t home. Not anymore.

Two of Victor’s men flank the doors as you step out, their expressions unreadable, but their hands linger near their weapons. They don’t trust you. Good. They shouldn’t.

The moment you step inside, you feel it—that familiar chill that always seemed to cling to this place. The estate is as grand as ever, a calculated display of power and wealth, but now it feels like a mausoleum, a relic of an empire that is already crumbling.

Victor is waiting for you. He stands at the head of the vast room, his silhouette framed by the golden light of the chandeliers. He looks calm, too calm, dressed in his usual tailored suit, a glass of whiskey in his hand like this is just another business meeting.

“Y/N,” he says smoothly, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Finally come to your senses?”

You school your features, keep your shoulders loose as you step forward. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Victor chuckles, taking a slow sip of his drink before setting it aside. “I have to admit, I’m impressed. I didn’t think you’d come back at all, not after the mess you made.” He gestures lazily to the side, and your eyes follow—to Jake.

He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his sharp gaze locked onto you like he’s waiting for you to make the wrong move. Unlike Victor, he doesn’t look amused. He looks like he’s still trying to figure you out, like he doesn’t know whether to believe you or put a bullet in your skull.

“You didn’t bring your new friends?” Jake asks, voice cool but edged with something else. “No Bang Chan holding your leash?”

You roll your eyes, giving him a flat look. “I don’t need a leash. I make my own choices. That’s why I’m here.”

Victor hums in approval, stepping closer. “A good choice, then. You were always meant for more than being Chan’s little pet project.” He studies you, his gaze sharp and calculating. “But I need to hear you say it, Y/N. Are you ready to come back where you belong?”

You swallow down the revulsion curling in your gut and force yourself to hold his gaze. “I want to make things right.”

Victor watches you carefully, the room so silent you can hear the distant ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Then, he smiles—slow, pleased, but not entirely convinced. “Words are cheap, my dear. If you’re really here to make things right, you’ll have to prove it.”

Your stomach tightens. “How?”

He motions toward one of his men, who steps forward, dragging someone with him. Your breath catches when you recognize the man—a low-level informant who had been feeding intel to Stray Kids. His face is bloodied, his wrists bound behind his back.

Victor turns to you, his smile widening. “Kill him.”

You knew this was a possibility. You knew Victor would test you, make you prove your loyalty in the most brutal way. But still, the sight of the trembling man on his knees in front of you makes something clench deep in your chest.

“Or,” Victor continues, voice silky smooth, “if that’s too much for your conscience, you can get on your knees instead. Beg for my forgiveness. Show me you’re willing to crawl back where you belong.”

You force yourself to keep your breathing steady. Not yet. Stall. Just a little longer.

“Is this really necessary?” you ask, tilting your head as if you’re considering it, as if you’re not already planning the best way to end this charade. “I came back. I chose you over Chan. Isn’t that enough?”

Victor chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh, my sweet girl. I taught you better than that. Trust is earned.” He gestures toward the gun resting on the table beside him. “Pick it up. Prove your loyalty.”

The weight of the moment presses down on you. You can feel Jake watching you, feel Victor’s men shifting slightly, waiting for you to make your move.

And then—

A distant thud echoes through the walls. A second later, the power flickers.

Showtime.

The infiltration has begun. Stray Kids is in position.

You don’t hesitate. In one smooth motion, you grab the gun—but instead of turning it on the informant, you whip it up, firing a shot straight into the nearest guard. Chaos erupts instantly.

Jake lunges for you, but you’re already moving, ducking out of the way as the room explodes into gunfire. The doors burst open, and Chan is the first one through, his gun raised, his expression cold and deadly as he takes out one of Victor’s men without breaking stride.

His eyes find you across the chaos, and for a split second, the rest of the room fades away.

“You took your damn time,” you say breathlessly, flipping the table for cover as another bullet whizzes past.

Chan smirks, his voice rough but steady. “You seemed like you had it handled, baby.”

And then, just like that, the war begins.

The estate is in chaos. Gunfire rings through the halls, echoing off the marble floors and high ceilings as Stray Kids crashes through Victor’s fortress. The air is thick with smoke and the acrid scent of blood and gunpowder. Bodies hit the ground, shouts and orders blending into the cacophony of war.

You don’t hesitate. You duck, roll, and fire, your movements swift and precise, years of training kicking in as if they were second nature. But this is different. This isn’t a mission under Victor’s command. This is your fight.

Somewhere across the battlefield, you catch a glimpse of Chan, his presence unmistakable in the storm of bodies and bullets. His expression is unreadable, his gun an extension of himself as he moves through the chaos, cutting down Victor’s men with ruthless precision. But his eyes—those sharp, dark eyes—are scanning, searching. For you.

Your heart pounds, but you don’t let it distract you. You push forward, taking out another one of Victor’s men as you make your way deeper into the estate. This has to end tonight.

A movement to your left. Too fast. Too familiar.

You spin, barely dodging the knife that slashes through the air where your throat had been a second earlier. Jake.

He stands before you, breathing hard, his knife still poised in his grip. His face is a storm of emotions—anger, betrayal, something almost hesitant beneath it all. But there’s no time for hesitation now.

“You should’ve stayed gone,” Jake growls, shifting into a fighting stance. “You don’t belong with them.”

You tighten your grip on your gun but don’t fire. Not yet. “And you don’t belong with him.” Your voice is steady, but your chest feels tight. “Victor’s not our family, Jake. He never was. He’s just using you the way he used me.”

Jake scoffs, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “And you think Chan is any different?”

You don’t answer. Instead, you move.

Jake expects the gun, but he doesn’t expect you to charge at him head-on. You duck under his next attack, using his own momentum against him as you twist, slamming the butt of your gun into his ribs. He stumbles but recovers fast, swiping his knife toward you again.

The fight is brutal, raw, a clash of past and present.

Every move, every counter, is a reflection of the years spent training under Victor’s shadow. You know each other’s tells, each other’s weaknesses. But you’re not the same girl who fought by Jake’s side before.

You’re faster. Sharper. Stronger.

You land a hard kick to his stomach, sending him sprawling against a broken table. You’re on him in an instant, pinning him down, your gun pressed to his temple.

For a moment, neither of you move.

Jake’s breathing is ragged, his eyes locked onto yours. And for the first time, you see it—the hesitation, the flicker of doubt buried beneath all that fury.

“Don’t make me do this,” you whisper, your finger hovering over the trigger.

Jake swallows hard, his chest rising and falling beneath you. “Then don’t.”

A voice cuts through the chaos—Victor’s voice.

“You should be putting that gun somewhere useful, sweetheart.”

You snap your head up to see him across the room, standing near the entrance to the underground tunnels. He’s trying to escape.

And in that moment, you make your choice.

With one last look at Jake, you push off him and bolt toward Victor.

He smirks, amused at your decision. “Finally thinking for yourself, huh?” he taunts, stepping backward toward the tunnel. “About time.”

You raise your gun. “You’re not getting away.”

Behind you, Jake pushes himself to his feet, watching as you leave him behind. His expression is unreadable, but you don’t have time to think about what it means.

Because tonight, this ends.

And you’re going to be the one to end it.

You follow Victor through the tunnel, fully aware that it leads straight to your father’s office. But this time, you’re determined to end things for good.

The air is thick with the scent of gunpowder and blood as you step into Victor’s private office. The chaos of the battle still echoes distantly through the estate, but here, in this room, there is nothing but silence.

Victor stands behind his grand mahogany desk, his movements slow, calculated. He’s not panicked. No, Victor doesn’t panic. Even with his empire burning around him, even with the weight of a gun aimed directly at his chest, he remains composed.

You tighten your grip on the weapon, steadying your breath. This is it. The final moment. The culmination of everything.

“Y/N,” he says smoothly, as if greeting an old friend. “Look at you. Standing there like you’ve already won.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “But we both know that’s not true.”

You take a step closer, gun unwavering. “It’s over, dad.”

“Is it?” He tilts his head, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “You think killing me changes anything? That he changes anything?”

You don’t rise to the bait. You’ve played this game too many times before. Victor thrives on control, on twisting words into weapons. But not this time. Not anymore.

“I stopped believing your lies a long time ago,” you say, voice steady. “And I’m done playing by your rules.”

Victor exhales sharply, finally dropping the pretense. “I made you,” he says, his voice colder now. “Everything you are—the way you fight, the way you think—you wouldn’t be standing here if it weren’t for me.”

Your jaw clenches. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? You never saw me as a person. Just a piece of your empire.”

Victor’s expression shifts just slightly, a flicker of something almost resembling regret. “I gave you power.”

“You stole my choice.”

Silence stretches between you, thick and heavy. You feel it now—the weight of everything he’s taken from you. The childhood lost. The blood spilled in his name. The years spent clawing your way out from under his shadow, only to find yourself standing here, at the very end of it all.

And yet, there’s no hesitation when you raise the gun.

Victor studies you carefully. “You really think Chan is any different?” he asks, his voice softer now, almost pitying. “You traded one leash for another.”

You don’t flinch. “No. I chose Chan. I chose Stray Kids. I chose myself.”

Victor smiles, slow and cruel. “Then pull the trigger.”

You hesitate—for only a second.

Then the door bursts open.

Chan steps inside, his gun raised, his breathing heavy from the fight outside. His eyes find yours instantly, then flick to Victor. His entire body tenses, his finger twitching over the trigger.

“You don’t have to do this alone, baby,” Chan says, his voice low, steady. “But if you need me to, I’ll do it for you.”

Victor scoffs. “How romantic.”

Your hands tighten on the gun. This is your moment. Your decision.

You take a slow breath, locking eyes with your father one last time. “You don’t control me anymore.”

And then you pull the trigger.

The shot echoes through the office, deafening in the silence that follows.

Victor stumbles back, a stunned look flashing across his face before his knees buckle, sending him collapsing onto the floor. Blood spreads in a dark pool beneath him, his breath rattling as he struggles against the inevitable.

His lips part like he wants to speak, to say something final, but no words come. The light fades from his eyes, and just like that—it’s over.

The weight that’s been crushing you for years suddenly lifts.

Chan steps forward, his gun lowering as he watches Victor’s body go still. Then he turns to you, his expression unreadable at first—until you see it.

Pride.

Relief.

Something deeper, something unbreakable.

You exhale, your entire body trembling as the adrenaline starts to fade. Chan moves toward you without hesitation, his hands framing your face, his forehead pressing to yours.

“It’s done,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “You did it, babygirl.”

You nod, unable to speak, the reality of it crashing over you. But you don’t have to say anything. Not when Chan is here, holding you together as the past crumbles at your feet.

Victor is dead.

And for the first time in your life, you are finally free.

The estate is in flames. Smoke billows through the corridors, the heat pressing against your skin as you navigate the destruction. The air is thick with the scent of burning wood, gunpowder, and blood. Every step forward feels like moving through the wreckage of a past that refuses to let you go.

Victor is dead. His empire is collapsing.

But there’s still one last loose end.

Jake.

You find him near one of the estate’s side exits, a path that could lead to his escape. But he isn’t running. He’s waiting.

His knuckles are bloody, his suit jacket long discarded, his face streaked with dirt and sweat. His expression is unreadable at first—until he sees you.

And then all you see is rage.

“So,” he breathes, his chest rising and falling heavily. “You really did it.” His lips curl, but it isn’t a smile. “You actually killed him.”

You tighten your grip on the knife in your hand. “It was over the second he made me his enemy.”

Jake lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You think this is over?” His eyes darken, the fire reflecting in them like something unhinged. “You think killing him makes you free?”

Something in his voice sends a chill down your spine. This isn’t the brother you used to know. This isn’t the boy who once protected you. This is a man who has lost everything. And a man with nothing left to lose… is dangerous.

“You chose him,” Jake spits, taking a step forward. “You chose them.”

“You could’ve made the same choice,” you say, your voice steady but your heart pounding. “You didn’t have to follow him, Jake.”

He scoffs. “And what? Run to Chan like you did?” His jaw clenches, his fingers twitching at his sides. “You betrayed your own blood for some fucked-up idea of freedom.”

“I betrayed a monster,” you correct, voice sharp. “You’re the one who stood by him. You had a choice, and you chose wrong.”

Jake’s nostrils flare. “Fuck you.”

And then he lunges.

You barely dodge the first swing, his fist grazing your shoulder before you twist away. But he’s relentless, coming at you harder, faster. He’s fighting like a man possessed, like the only thing keeping him standing is the fury burning inside him.

You block a strike, counter with one of your own, your fist connecting with his ribs. He grunts but doesn’t slow. The two of you move like you’ve been trained for this your entire lives—because you have.

Brother against sister. The last remnants of Victor’s bloodline tearing each other apart.

“Stop this, Jake!” you yell between blows. “You don’t have to do this!”

But he’s past the point of listening.

He lands a brutal hit to your stomach, knocking the breath from your lungs. You stumble back, gripping your knife tighter.

He doesn’t stop. He charges again—

A gunshot echoes through the burning estate.

Both of you freeze.

Jake’s eyes flicker, his breath ragged as he turns.

Chan stands at the entrance to the corridor, his gun raised, his expression deadly. Smoke curls around him, his presence a force of nature against the chaos.

“Back off,” Chan warns, his voice low, dangerous. “I won’t ask twice.”

Jake laughs, breathless and wild. “Oh, this is rich,” he sneers. “Here to rescue your little pet?”

Chan’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t lower his gun. “You lay another fucking hand on her, and I swear to god—”

“I’ll handle this,” you cut in.

Both men turn to you, Chan’s brows furrowing in concern. “Baby, you don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do.”

Chan studies you for a moment, then gives the smallest nod. Slowly, reluctantly, he steps back. But the warning in his eyes is clear—if Jake makes the wrong move, Chan will end this himself.

You exhale, steadying yourself. Turning back to Jake, you grip your knife tighter. “This is your last chance,” you say. “Walk away. Leave this life behind. It’s over, Jake. You don’t have to die here.”

For a second—just a second—you think he might listen.

Then his eyes darken, and he charges again.

You react on instinct.

The blade in your hand flashes.

And then—it’s over.

Jake stumbles back, his hands flying to his side, where your knife is buried deep. His breath hitches, shock flashing across his face as he looks at you.

You don’t move. Your own breath is shaky, your hands trembling as you pull the knife free.

He drops to his knees.

For the first time, the fire in his eyes dims.

He coughs, blood staining his lips. “You really did it,” he murmurs. His voice isn’t angry anymore. It’s just… tired.

You swallow hard. “I didn’t want to.”

He huffs a weak laugh. “Yeah. Well. You always were stronger than me.”

The words hit you harder than any punch he’s thrown tonight.

Jake wobbles, his body swaying. You move without thinking, catching him before he can fall completely. His blood seeps into your hands, warm and slick.

Chan steps forward, but you shake your head. This is between you and Jake.

His breathing is shallow, his eyes fluttering. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” he mutters. “I thought…”

His voice trails off. His head grows heavier against your shoulder.

“Jake,” you whisper, your throat tight.

But he doesn’t respond.

And this time, you don’t know if you feel victorious.

The Stray Kids HQ feels different now. The tension that once loomed over every hallway, every meeting, has shifted. It’s not gone—there’s still rebuilding to do, loose ends to tie up—but the weight of Victor’s empire no longer suffocates you.

It’s over.

Victor is dead. His reign, his power, his control—it all ended the moment you pulled the trigger. And though his shadow will linger, though the scars he left behind won’t fade overnight, you know one thing for certain: you’re free.

The war is over. Now comes the part no one ever prepares you for.

The rebuilding.

You stand on the rooftop of the HQ, the city stretching out before you, bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. The skyline feels different tonight—less like a battlefield, more like something that belongs to you now. Not to Victor. Not to the past. But to the future.

Footsteps sound behind you, steady and familiar. You don’t turn. You don’t have to.

Chan steps beside you, his presence warm even in the cool evening air. His hands rest on the edge of the railing, his fingers brushing yours in a way that feels deliberate. Grounding.

“Long day,” he murmurs.

You huff a soft laugh. “Long week.”

A beat of silence. The kind that used to feel heavy between you two. Now, it feels natural.

“I spoke to Changbin,” Chan says after a moment. “The others, too.”

You glance at him. “And?”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “They’re stubborn bastards, but they know what’s good for them.” His eyes flicker to you, something warm settling there. “You’re one of us now.”

The words hit deeper than you expect. It’s not like you needed the validation—you knew where you stood. But hearing it, knowing you’d earned it after everything, makes something inside you loosen.

“About damn time,” you mutter, earning a chuckle from him.

The laughter fades, but the warmth between you remains. He shifts closer, his fingers brushing yours again—this time with intent. “You okay?”

You exhale slowly. “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t press. He just waits.

You turn fully toward him, searching his face, the familiar sharp lines and steady gaze that have somehow become your anchor. “I thought I’d feel… more,” you admit. “After everything. After Victor. After Jake.” You shake your head. “But it just feels quiet.”

Chan studies you, his expression unreadable. Then, he nods. “That’s because it’s over.”

The simplicity of it makes your throat tighten.

Over.

After everything, after all the blood and fire, after standing in the wreckage of the only life you ever knew… you made it.

And you weren’t alone.

You swallow hard, looking away. “I don’t know what comes next.”

Chan’s hand lifts, fingers grazing your jaw, tilting your face back toward his. His touch is light, but there’s a quiet certainty in it, in the way his thumb brushes your cheek.

“Then we figure it out,” he says softly. “Together.”

The word settles deep inside you, a promise more powerful than anything spoken in blood or war.

Together.

His gaze flickers to your lips, and for once, there’s no hesitation between you. You lean in first, closing the last bit of space between you, and Chan meets you halfway.

The kiss isn’t desperate like the first time. It isn’t rushed, fueled by adrenaline or anger or the need to claim something before it’s lost.

It’s steady. Certain. The kind of kiss that says this is real. That whatever comes next—whatever rebuilding, whatever choices, whatever chaos still lingers—you’ll face it side by side.

When you finally pull away, your forehead rests against his, both of you breathing the same air, the weight of everything unspoken hanging between you.

Chan smirks slightly. “So… does this make you the queen of the underworld now?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “God, no.” You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, something sharper creeping into your smile. “I’m not ruling anything, baby.” Your fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer. “But we are.”

His smirk fades into something softer, something reverent. “Damn right we are.”

The city stretches out before you, a world that once felt like a prison now open with possibility. You’ve lost, you’ve won, you’ve burned everything down to build something new.

And as you stand there with Chan, with the future finally in your hands, you know one thing for certain.

This is only the beginning of something far bigger than you ever imagined. It all started with a kidnapping, you becoming a prisoner, falling in love, and watching everything you knew burn to the ground… and now, you’re staring at a future that feels promising. Comforting. Because that’s what he always said… “Together.”

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght

[mscryinglighting]

hello, would you do an alex turner x musician reader? she's just as famous with a solid fanbase, and they get a lot of media attention and even called a power couple of some sort. yet behind closed doors they're like any ordinary couple that love each other the most and doesn't care about what other people say about them? basically lots of fluff. i hope this makes sense! <3

Between The Chords

Alex Turner x musician!reader

Word count: 1.1K

a/n: Thank you sm for this request!

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The paparazzi's camera flashes momentarily blind you as you exit the airport, arm in arm with Alex, you try to speed walk through attempting to reach the car in one piece, all while the shutterbugs yell things like:

“Do you think you’ll be up for a BRIT this year?

And

“Y/n, any thoughts on the criticism of your new single?”

“These paps seem tame enough, non invasive especially for LA’s standards.” You thought, though their relentless camera flashes were starting to turn your mild headache into a full on migraine. You were fairly new to the scene, your debut album having blown up a little over a year ago, Alex on the other hand was slightly more well versed in the music industry, maybe that was what drew you to him -his experience- he’s become sort of a lighthouse keeping you afloat among the madness.

After what felt like an eternity you finally reach the car. Alex, ever the gentleman, holds the car door open for you, once you’re in he climbs in next to you, his fingers naturally finding yours, intertwining them as the car eases forward.

“God, I have such a headache,” you groan, burying your face against his neck.

“Oh, me poor baby,” Alex teases, smirking. “Need some Aspirin?”

“Shuddup.” You grin despite yourself. It’s like his superpower—making you smile through anything.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The hum of the engine and the faint rhythm of raindrops against the windshield make the drive almost peaceful. Alex’s thumb absentmindedly strokes the back of your hand, his warmth lulling you into a half-daze. Before you know it, the car slows to a stop outside your place.

“You alive, love?” Alex murmurs, squeezing your hand.

Barely. You just want to crawl into bed—but with him, of course.

Inside, the familiarity of home washes over you. Despite four months of touring, you both fall into your usual routine like no time has passed. Instead of unpacking like a responsible adult, you strip down and slip into a pair of Alex’s boxers and his hoodie—your real post-tour uniform—before heading downstairs.

Alex is already in the kitchen, and you watch him from the couch, your favorite spot for early morning and late-night admiration.

“Whatcha makin’?” you call, arms draped over the back of the couch. The open layout of your home—a design choice you hadn’t realized you’d love so much—means you get a perfect view of him moving around the kitchen, a bonus you fully take advantage of every time he makes breakfast shirtless.

Alex returns from the kitchen, a steaming mug in hand. “Doctor’s orders,” he jokes, handing it over with a lopsided grin. “Drink up before your headache gets worse.”

You take a sip, the warmth spreading through you. “When did you get your medical degree?”

“Oh, love, I’ve been a specialist in you for ages,” he quips, nudging you playfully.

“Stop it.” You blush bashfully, hiding your face in his chest.

He chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head before reaching behind the couch to pull out his guitar. “Mind if I play some tunes?”

“Now?” You raise a brow, amused. “You just survived an eight-hour flight, and you still have energy for this?”

“Yes, now while I still have my gorgeous muse beside me.” He starts to strum out a tune on his guitar, his fingers moving with practiced ease until he reaches the F Major, the one chord that always seems to trip him up.

You’re playing it wrong,” you say, watching him fumble with the chord.

“I am Alex Turner, y’know.” He says smugly while still trying to perfect the chord.

“Then act like it,” you tease, playfully nudging his shoulder. You set your mug down before briskly taking the guitar to show him how it's done. 

“Look,” you say, shifting closer, “put your index here, and your middle on this string—like this.” You guide his fingers into place, your hands lingering over his.

He looks up at you, his eyes glinting under the warm glow of the lamp. “What would I do without my genius of a girlfriend?”

Alex strums the chord again, this time getting it right transitioning into a melody. It’s slow, almost hypnotic, and then he starts singing—low and soft, just for you.

You rest your head against his shoulder, letting his voice wrap around you like a warm blanket.

“You falling asleep on me already?” Alex murmurs, his lips brushing against your hair.

“M’not,” you mumble, but your body betrays you, melting further into him.

He chuckles. “That’s what they all say before they start drooling on me hoodie.”

You swat at him weakly. “I do not drool.”

“Right. Just like I don’t mess up F Major.”

You groan, hiding your face against his chest. “I regret helping you.”

“No, you don’t.” His voice is warm, teasing. “And you love me.”

You huff, but your sleepy smile gives you away. “Yeah, yeah.”

Fame could be loud. But moments like this? This was what really mattered.

Speaking of fame, the airport paparazzi pictures have already been posted to social media, both your fandoms were going absolutely berserk over the images. Since Alex was a grandpa about social media you had to read out all the comments to him. Well maybe only the nice ones.

“Wanna hear what the internet has to say about us?”

He hums, strumming idly on his guitar. “Oh, go on then. What’s the verdict?”

You clear your throat and read dramatically, “‘Rock’s Most Stylish Couple Spotted in L.A.: Y/N Stuns in Casual Chic While Turner Keeps It Classic.'"You glance down at yourself—his hoodie and boxers, your hair still slightly messy from the flight. “Casual chic, huh?”

Alex looks over, eyes flicking lazily across your outfit. “Yeah, proper high fashion, that.”

You snort, scrolling down. “Oh, this one’s good—‘Alex Turner and Y/N Y/L/N prove once again they’re the definition of couple goals.’” 

Alex smirks but doesn’t look up from his guitar. “Ah, well, hate to break it to ‘em, but we’re actually a disaster behind closed doors.”

You roll your eyes, scrolling further until a tweet makes you burst into laughter. ‘Alex and Y/N are real-life couple goals. If they ever break up, love isn’t real.’

You turn to Alex, raising a brow. “No pressure or anything.”

Alex finally stops strumming and squints at your phone. “They’re putting that much faith in us?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you tease. “Apparently, we’re single-handedly holding the concept of love together.”

Alex sets his guitar aside and tugs you closer, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. “Well then, guess we’ve got no choice, love.”

You grin, leaning into him. “Guess not.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

a/n: Hope I did this amazing request justice! I had so much fun writing this, and I truly appreciate all the love and support. Also, part 2 of ‘The AM Effect’ is in the works—I can’t wait to share it with you all soon!

[baileysturnz]

𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍? ❥ఌ

𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 1 𑁍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 2 𑁍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 3 𑁍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 4 𑁍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 5 𑁍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 6 𑁍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 7 𑁍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 8 𑁍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 9 𑁍 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 10

𓂸𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩

𝖬𝖺𝗍𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖠𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖽𝗁𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝖠𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗀𝖾𝖽𝗒 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝖺𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 3 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗎𝗉 𝗅𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾.

𑁍𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺, 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 (𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝖾), 𝖿𝗎𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, 𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖽𝗁𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌, 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗌𝗌, 𝗉𝖾𝗍 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 (𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺..), english is not my first language, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥

𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗆𝗒 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚜 ❦

𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚋𝚢 @bernardsbendystraws 𝚝𝚢𝚜𝚖!

ఌ❥

Uneasy because of the memories that crashed down into me, drinking beer, I stand up to get another drink. Before I can stand up I feel someone grabbing my wrist. “Hey you want to get out of here?”. Matt asks me. “Yeah, I’ll grab a few more beers and we’ll head out”. I say. I go to grab the beers and when I come back Matt is talking with a friend so I wait a little while. “Hey, sorry let’s go”. Matt says standing up from the sofa. “It’s okay, let’s go”. We walk outside and it’s kind of cold. I tell him how i tripped yesterday, He laughs and we talk a lot. We walk two blocks and back. 

“Hey we should get going know”. Matt says as we enter the party again. “No, let’s have more drinks!”. I say. “Ally, no I can’t let you get drunk”. “Yes you can!”. I say funnily. “Okay but just one”. “Okay”. I say going to Madi. I drink and drink about 6 shots. My head was turning, all I saw was Madi, shoes, lights, a billion things. My head started to hurt so I tried to sit down. “Oh shit!” I say falling into Madi’s pool. “Ally!”. Matt says trying to get me out. “What? Oh I’m in water?”. Yes that’s how drunk I am. “Oh god, let’s get you out”. Matt says.

 He grabs my hand to pull me out and then he grabs my waist and sits me in a chair  “Look here’s a towel”. He says handing me a towel. “Thanks”. “Why did you drink so much?”. “I didnt!”. I say. “Yeah sure. Whatever”. He says. “Yeah sure. Whatever”. I mock him and roll my eyes. I try to rest my eyes for minute i pass out. Probably for 20 minutes and I wake up in the same chair with Matt beside me. “Hey baby whatchu doing here?”. I say still drunk as fuck. “Okay, we have got to get you home”. Matt says standing up. He grabs my hand and then my waist to carry me to the car. 

“Hey guys let’s go”. I hear him say, probably to Nick and Chris. “She’s really that drunk”. Chris says. “Am not!?”. I say drunk, surprising. They laugh and we get to the car. “Chris you’re going to have to go in the backseat”. Matt says. “Matt! I wanted to sleep!”. Nick says Opening the back door. “Nick you’ll be fine”. Matt says. Then he opens the front door and places me carefully in the passenger seat, goes to buckle my seat belt and he passes over me.

I can feel him right there, so drunk but still so conscious about all my feelings. “Oh sorry”. Matt says. I know it’s Matt even if I am drunk and they’re triplets, I just somehow now. “Yeah”. I say tired. “You need to fucking sleep”. Nick says from the backseat as Matt closes my door. “How did you drink so much?”. Chris asks me. “I don’t know actually. I just saw drinks and Madi so I trusted her”. I say.

Matt opens his door and sits. “What are you talking about?”. He asks. “Nothing we’re just asking her why did she get so drunk”. Chris tells Matt. “I told her, but she didn’t listen”. Matt says. “I’m not a baby you dickhead”. I say softly. “Excuse me?”. Matt says. “Sorry, baby”. I say playfully. Matt laughs and he starts driving.

A really good songs plays while we go home I can’t remember which but I started to sing g along to it. “And He laughs at all my jokes and he says I’m so American!” I scream the song. “Ally you’re screaming”. Nick says. “Open the window!” I say. “You’re not puking in my car”. Matt says. He opens the window but it’s not for puking. I stick out my face and start screaming the song. “Oh god”. Chris says. I really cant hear shit so I guess they freely talk.

“It’s funny!”. Nick says. “She looks beautiful, even drunk. What the fuck is wrong with me?”. Matt says to his brothers. “Uh Matt! You like her?”. Nick says. I close the window and Matt shushes Nick. “What happened?”. I ask literally clueless. “Nothing”. Matt says pale.

 We get home and Matt opens my door, I fell asleep. “Ally”. Matt says while he shakes me lightly. “Come on, we’re home”. He says as he sees me wake up. “Matt?”. I say. “That’s me. Come on I’ll help you out”. He says grabbing my hand, putting it around his neck and putting his hands on my waist to kind of carry me. “Ouch!”. I say as I take my first step outside. “What?”. Matt says looking at me. “My heels, they hurt”. I say pointing at them. I get down to take them off but Matt helps me and carries them all the way inside. Nick and Chris are already  inside because Matt was waiting for me to wake up. “Here we go”. He says while he proceeds to carry me bridal style. “Oh!”. I say. “I’ll take you to bed”.

 I guess Nick and Chris are already asleep cause we don’t see them and Matt doesn’t mention. He open the door and puts me in bed. “You want to change?”. He says to me. “Yeah sure”. “Okay I’ll leave you alone”. “Wait, how do I take my dress off?”. “I can unbutton it if you want”. He says doubly. “Yeah come on”. I’m still drunk as fucking hell so at the moment I didn’t knew how much this fucking meant.

Matt tells me to turn around. I turn and he asks over and over for my permission. “Can I?”. “Yes Matt for the hundredth time it’s just taking off my dress”. “Yeah I guess”. He starts to unzip it and I feel a shiver down my spine, again. I take it off and Matt covers his eyes. He’s so respectful, even if hes already seen me naked but we both promised to erase that night.

  “Where’s my Pijamas?. I ask Matt. “Umm I don’t know let me get them”. Matt says as he goes to the bathroom to grab my pyjamas. “Here they are”. He says closing his eyes because I’m shirtless. I put them on and is about to go to sleep when I realize I still have my makeup on.

“Matt?”. I say.  He uncovers his faces and looks at me. “What are you okay?”. “I still have my makeup, can you help me?”. “Sure how can I help”. “Well”. I say standing up, “I’m getting my soap from the shower and you’ll just stay here”. I trip and fall and Matt starts laughing. I start laughing too. He helps me up and takes me to the bathroom, I sit on the toilet and he goes to grab my face wash from the shower. 

“This one?”. He says pointing at a container. “It’s one that says face wash and doesn’t say Women’s rose shea butter”. I say giggling. “That’s not funny anymore”. He says grabbing my soap and stepping out the shower. “It is funny”. Matt opens the bottle and places a descent amount on his hands, he opens the faucet and adds a little water. He mixes it on his hands and then starts rubbing into my face.

“Is that okay?”. “Yes, it feels good”. I say smiling. “I like when you smile, Bows, you didnt do that a lot back then”. He says  “I like when you smile too”. I say. “Matt can you put it over my eyes?”. “Oh yes sorry”. “It’s okay”. He puts it over my eyes. I feel a moment when his hand is not on my face. He grabs a wet towel and puts it over my face. I open my eyes after he finishes. “Thank you”. I smile. “It was nothing”. He says washing his hands. “Come let’s get you back to bed”. “Yeah  I have to sleep”. I say mockingly. “Oh god”. He says putting me in bed. Matt turns the lights off and gets into bed. “Matt?”. I whisper. “Yes”. “Thank you”. “G’night Bows”. He says. And I fall deep asleep. 

𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝖾𝗇𝗌

𝘣𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺❥シ

a/n: Hey yall!! this is part 10 i hope you guys are liking this seriessss if yall have any requests plssssss go to my asks and submit them plsss (i need inspo 😭)

[curly-fry-3]

hi, I'm the person who asked about earlier. I was thinking about a Dean x fem!reader fic, were reader is like a super badass mercenary, who got into hunting after meeting the Winchester, and is also shy as hell. Thank you! Your first fic on this account and I already love you!!!!!!

𖦹Awkward Confessions𖦹

𖦹summary𖦹 You thought dean hated you till a jerk at the bar helps him realize how he really feels

𖦹pairing𖦹 Dean Winchester x Reader

𖦹word count𖦹 2,020

𖦹notes𖦹 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REQUEST omg I can't believe people actually like my writing I had so much fun writing this one. I wrote like three pages on my doc and I was so in the zone I hadn't realized it had been TWO HOURS anyway I hope this was what you had in mind and you like it<3

Dean didn't like you. It's not like you did anything–well, anything to him– he just didn't trust you. You two had met when he and his brother had saved you from a vengeful spirit. He never thought much of you, he's helped a lot of people in his life and you seemed to be just like the rest. He never expected to run into you again, what shocked him the most is that you were hunting…like hunting monsters. That's why he couldn't trust you. Why would somebody who got tortured by a supernatural being actively hunt other monsters out (ok hypocrite). Especially you, he remembers you being so shy–reserved and scared–he read you as the type of girl to run, cry, and try to forget. 

 You had to have ulterior motives-technically you did–you were paid to hunt monsters. It was hard work but ohh it paid good. When people are scared for their life, thay will start naming some big numbers. You had run into Dean and Sam a couple times over the years (how could you not) always finishing the job before they could even do any research. You may have annoyed Dean but he could respect the grind–not that he would ever tell you. 

Now he and Sam are speeding down the road, heading to an abandoned farm where–based on their research–a nest of vampires lives. They pulled into the dirt parking lot in front of the barn and pulled out their weapons while going over the plan. Dean went in through the front entrance, passing a familiar car on his way, while Sam circled around back. Dean quietly crept through the barn until he heard the sound of fighting. Assuming it was Sam, He raced through the empty rooms till he came across…you?

Dean stopped and rolled his eyes out of frustration. That's why he recognized the car. Why are you always stealing his jobs? He did all that hard work researching for you to just take all the glory. And how the hell are you taking on a whole nest on your own? You're too good at what you do and it pissed him off.

You finish decapitating the last vampire, its head falling to the ground with a loud thud after spraying you in blood. You only notice Sam and Dean have shown up after catching your breath. “Oh…hi” You look at dean awkwardly “sorry, did I take your hunt”

Dean gives you a deadpan look, “yeah–yeah you kinda did” His jaw clenches in frustration 

You flushed in embarrassment “I didn't know you would be here”

“Whatever” He huffs out like a child 

Sam interjects to ease the tension, “how bout we get these bodies burned and have a couple drinks?”

“I would never say no to some help” you say gratefully

Dean gives sam a pointed look, “As long as your paying”

After cleaning up the bodies and cleaning up themselves (who knew killing monsters was messy) the three of them headed to the bar in their separate cars and met up in the parking lot. Dean was the one forcing her to drive separately saying she would mess up baby's backseat somehow. For how much Dean doesn't like you, he thinks about you a lot more than he should. Maybe that's the real reason you frustrate him, you and your stupid face. The way you flush at anything–how do you kill a vamp like it's nothing but shrink under his gaze–you're an enigma and you're stuck in his head. 

Driving to the bar you couldn't help but think about Dean. why was he always so frustrated with you, you didn't want him to hate you–you wished he liked you (like really liked you) You think about him a lot more than you should, he probably forgets about you the second he drives away, but you cant help yourself. Anyone with eyeballs would understand. He's just so…perfect looking. Sure it's a stupid schoolgirl crush but who cares, he hates you. You always try to be so nice, but he's so intimidating with that stupid face on his face. And the worst part is he's a good guy on top of all his hotness. You try to push all the silly thoughts away as you pull into the dive bar parking lot behind the impala, he doesn't like you at all and you're too shy to say anything. Just get drunk and forget it–maybe find a hookup.

You get out of your car and walk across the dirt lot to greet Sam and Dean. “who wants some beers…on me”

“I would love for you to spend money on me” Dean responds with his signature smile

You flush slightly at his smirk “Well then why don't you find us a booth Mr.” You ask while your group enters the bar “you guys like Del Sol right, I think you told me it was your favorite Dean?”

Sam nods “yeah thanks”

As you head over to order the drinks, Dean slides into the nearest empty booth. How did you remember that's his favorite beer, he didn't even remember telling you. There you were being sweet again, god you're infuriating.

You walk up to the bar and patiently wait for the bartender's attention. Unluckily you caught another man's attention before you could place your order. You could feel him looking at you. When his gaze started to roam your figure you started praying–please god let this man leave me alone, he looks like he doesnt wash his asscrack cause ‘its gay’. And please let this bartender have a break so he notices I'm here waiting. I guess you're not one of god's favorites cause soon enough the man approached you “hey doll, whatcha doin here alone”

You awkwardly reply, avoiding eye contact, very obviously uncomfortable “just trying to order some beer”

“Nice, I like a girl who doesn’t order no fruity drink” he tries to flirt back (is he serious, read the room)

Dean huffs in annoyance “lord, what is taking her so long” how do you just continue to frustrate him? When he looks over and notices you being approached by some guy he's even more frustrated. Who is this tool? What is he doing? Wait–why should Dean care, he shouldn't. He looks over at you to see how you're reacting to this guy and it's not good. You're so obviously uncomfortable. This dude sucks. He quickly gets up and makes his way to the bar to save you. When he approaches the man pays no attention to him and continues to talk your ear off about how amazing he is. ‘Yeah sure talk about yourself, that gets the ladies going’ Dean thinks. He quickly shuts down the one sided conversation when he wraps his arm around your waist, making you blush and freeze up. “Hey sweetheart, you get lost tryna get us some beers” He jokes to make the intrusion natural and gives the man a hard stare, sizing him up.

The man looks at Dean with an intimidated expression “what, you her boyfriend or something?”

“Yeah actually” Dean spits out, unable to hide his distaste for the man

The man started getting defensive and put his hands up in surrender “ hey look dude she didn't say she was taken and she was basically asking for it, going out in that low cut top”

That stopped dean in his tracks “what”

For some reason the man started thinking that Dean would be in his side “yeah, the slut was flirting back and everything”

Deans eyebrows raise in shock and he grits his teeth in anger “I dont know who you think your taking to but it better not be me”

You interject, not wanting to get into a bar fight “ let's just get out of here” You pull dean by the arm and take him to the parking lot

As dean follows your lead he turns back and says to the man “you say some shit like that again and im breaking your nose”

When you and dean make it outside he starts pacing and complaining to you, still riled up from the incident while you stand there awkwardly taking the situation in. Why did Dean say he was your boyfriend? I guess to get the guy to stop–but he could have just said he was a friend. You're overthinking so much that everything Dean is muttering about is going in one ear and out the other until you hear something that short circuits your brain.

“Real men don't do shit like that, I would never do that. That guy doesn't even deserve to look at you–calling you a slut–that's bullshit…” Dean rambled on but that was all you picked out before you started spiraling again. What did he mean by ‘I would never do that’? Does he think about you like that? And why is he so worked up? you know that he's a great guy, he would probably do that for any girl but he's still goin on–omg does dean like you? Omg stop being delusional. Why don't you just ask him, if he doesn't like you then he already hates you so it wouldn't ruin anything. I can't do that, that's so embarrassing. Before you could make up your mind about what to do, Dean's voice cuts through your thoughts again, “are you ok?”

“Do you like me” you blurt out before you could think “omg im sorry I didn't mean to say that”

“Are you asking if I have a crush on you…like were in highschool or something” Dean asks, teasing you

You blush at his words, awkwardly avoiding eye contact, “shut up…im not good with these kinda talks…it's just…you said you wouldn't treat me like that and i'm thinking why are you comparing yourself–or putting yourself in that scenario–if you didnt wanna take me out. Also you're like overly worked up about this” you quickly ramble “and I need you to be serious about this, no teasing, cause i'm not good at confrontation–or whatever you would call this”

A look of realization washes over his face, holy shit–now that he's thinking about it–he does like you. Like, highschool crush pull her pigtails to make her notice you–like you. His expression softens as he responds “sweetheart, i'll admit i've been thinking about you more than I should, I never realized what it was–god i've never been this open before–you're sweet, and badass when you need to be. You get so cute when I make you blush. You remember things about me that I don't remember telling you. You're nice to me no matter how much of a dick I am…maybe I do like you”

You release a breath you didn't know you were holding in, “oh thank god, if you didnt I would have just crawled up into a hole and died”

He lightly chuckles “i'm guessing you like me too”

“Duh einstein” You tease and chuckle in response

He finds himself laughing along with you admiring your smile. When the laughter died down it was just you and Dean staring at each other in anticipation till he closed the gap between you and cupped your cheek. His bright green eyes looked deep into yours “can I–”

You smash your lips onto his before he could finish the question. He quickly reciprocates and you share a sweet passionate kiss, expressing everything you're too shy to say. Dean tilts his head to deepen it until you two hear sams footsteps approaching and quickly pull apart, a trail of spit keeping you connected.

“Fucking finally, you two are so annoying” Sam states, relieved that the tension between you and dean is gone. 

“Shut up” Dean breathes out weakly and pulls you closer to his chest.

Yeah maybe you got covered in vamp blood, got hit on by a creep, and never actually got the beer you came to get but you would still call the day a success as you're standing in the dirt parking lot of a trashy bar, wrapped in dean's arms. Bless that lady for paying you to hunt this nest.

as always sorry of there are any typos

love y'all<333