#most people I talk to have moved on from the series to other games too which alas

[yuwuta]

VITAMIN ME — JUJUTSU KAISEN BOYS + SICK FIC

featuring. gojo, toji, inumaki, nanami, okkotsu, itadori, choso, fushiguro

content. taking care of the boys/the boys taking care of you when feeling sick, all fluff, no warnings 

word count. 2.5k 

SATORU GOJO

He doesn’t feel under the weather often, but when he does, it hits him tenfold. He’s whiny, dramatic, borderline inconsolable, and feels well within his rights to demand your undivided attention, because he’s not usually like this… sick, that is (he is usually whiny and dramatic, no illness in the world could take that away from him).

You and him both know when he’s dragging it, but you can’t help but to feel bad for him. Because when Satoru is sick, he’s sick—you feel like you need to constantly monitor all his vitals, set a timer to make sure he gets medication because he’s so cold and pale and sluggish, it’s worrisome. Of course, he finds the strength to tease you, “You worried about little old me, sweets? Don’t be—‘m gonna be fine, you know. But I hear kisses cure the flu.”

“Not scientifically proven, or peer reviewed,” you tell him, “But you know what is? Tylenol. Time for more, open up, Satoru.” 

“Will I get a kiss? Just a little one?” 

He gives you a hard time, even in sickness, but it’s only because he absolutely relishes being in your care, thinks you’re good at taking care of him; proven by the way you give in with a nod, and then a kiss after he takes his medication. He really does feel like shit right now, but with you here, caring for him, his heart has expanded ten times and a warmth spills into his chest that makes the pain insignificant. Satoru feels honored and humbled to have someone fuss over him like this—to have this concrete reminder that you worry for him and care about him and love him just like he loves you.

TOJI FUSHIGURO 

“You gonna feed me?” Toji grumbles, sounding much less threatening with a frog in his throat, “Because there’s no way I’m drinking that.” 

You roll your eyes, lightly tapping the spoon against the edge of the mug before placing it onto the coffee table and extending your arms towards Toji, “The ginger is good for you. The lemon, too, if you wanna stop sounding like a low-budget villain anytime soon.” 

Toji’s nose scrunches—it’s almost cute, if it weren’t followed by an infuriatingly stubborn turn of his jaw, pointedly away from you and back to the television. You huff, sitting down next to him—or as close as you can get through his mountain of blankets and forcefield of pillows—carefully nursing the cup in your palms. 

Who would have thought that the great Toji Fushiguro would be so stubborn as to let a little cold get the best of him. Him attempting to suffer without cold medicine wasn’t that surprising, but you didn’t think that he’d petulantly refuse tea just because of some ginger. Getting him to take his antibiotics only worked when you told him you’d boot him onto the couch if he didn’t, but that won’t work this time, he’ll call your bluff. 

You sigh, moving a pillow to your other side and reaching over to the coffee table to redeem your spoon. You fold one leg under the other and turn your body to Toji’s, scooping tea into the spoon, giving it a soft blow, and then raising it to his face. He quirks an eyebrow when he feels the steam brushing against his skin, and turns to you with a hellish grin.

He opens his mouth, to say something slick no doubt, but you take advantage of the opportunity to shove the spoon in his mouth, “You don’t get to talk until after you finish your tea.”

TOGE INUMAKI

Despite being a renowned insomniac and someone who is willing to throw away hours of sleep to binge watch his favorite series or complete a new game, Toge does believe that rest is the best medicine. He does take his own sleep seriously—it’s not his fault that most people consider his preferred sleeping hours to be regular waking hours.

So, even though it sounds a bit hypocritical, Toge is very firm about you resting as much as you can when you’re not feeling well. He’s quick to make a cocoon out of you in your two favorite blankets and fit you onto the couch to keep you within sight as he rummages around the kitchen to prepare your meals, and make sure that you don’t skimp out on your medication. He’s got some pretty effective homemade remedies for a killer sore throat, but cough syrup is cough syrup—he knows it tastes horrible, but if he has to force feed it to you, then so be it.

He feeds you spoonfuls of homemade broth and rice to make up for it, giggling as you scrunch your nose from the taste of the medicine. When you’re finished, he lets you tell him off and forgoes teasing you about how nasally you sound as he coerces you to lay down again. You don’t feel sleepy, but when Toge’s lips brush against your forehead, his words are like a spell that makes your eyes flutter shut, “Sleep, my love.”

KENTO NANAMI

“It’s cold, Ken,” you whine, sniffling at the end of your sentence. Kento sighs softly, switching off the light to the bathroom and taking careful strides to the bed. He carefully sits on the edge of the bed, expression sympathetic as you complain about the temperature again.

The room is actually slightly warmer than normal per your earlier request, but he knows you still feel cold because of how high your temperature is. It's exactly why he took your blanket from you—fuzzy, and warm, and weighted would all be enticing and acceptable if you weren’t running a very concerning fever. Kento absolutely hates to say no to you, but he has to do something to break your fever. 

“I know, darling,” he nods gently, settling himself onto his side of the bed. He’d prefer to have the comfort of a heavy blanket right now, too, but he wouldn’t taunt you like that—if you have to sleep without one, then so will he. He should get you another cold towel for your forehead, but you tug on his heartstrings when you scoot yourself closer to him, nose nudging against his thigh. He smiles softly, carefully reaching to tap at your arms, “Come here.”

You shuffle upwards and into his arms, cheek pressed against his chest with your arms coming to wrap around his torso. Kento lets you melt into him and wraps strong arms around your body to keep you close—body heat will have to do for now.

YUUTA OKKOTSU

Yuuta walks—waddles, really—with his blanket over his shoulders, mouth slightly ajar, and a box of tissue in his hand for good measure. He looks cute despite his febrile state, with his nose red and eyes wide and you have to resist the urge to coo at him.

“I thought the Benadryl would have kept you asleep at least a little longer,” you smile, turning off the heat underneath the pot.

“Something smelled good... and I got hungry,” Yuuta shrugs weakly, taking the remaining steps into the kitchen and plopping his body weight onto a stool at the island. He sniffles deeply, setting his box of tissues down on the counter, before pointing at the lowly simmering pot behind you, “Is that… for me?”

“No, it’s for my other sick boyfriend,” you grin, reaching into a nearby cabinet for a bowl. You giggle when you see Yuuta’s pouty expression, cheeks a light pink and bottom lip jutted slightly.

“It’s not nice to make fun of the ill,” he coughs. His façade is waning, already weakened by his sick state, and crumbling when you push a warm bowl of his favorite soup in front of him. You can’t help but to laugh a little louder because Yuuta’s eyes practically grow three sizes and you swear he’s salivating a little. 

He shakes away the shock, turning with a pout when he realizes you’re poking fun at him again, “You’re doing it again. Now you owe me a kiss.” 

“Do I?” you tease, taking the seat on the stool next to him, elbows resting on the counter, as you peer up at Yuuta’s flushed face. You’ll let him ride the excuse his blush being the fever for a little longer, “That’s risky. I might get sick, and I have a very cute boyfriend to take care of.”

“I’ll take care of you, too,” Yuuta all but whispers, tired eyes fluttering to your lips, “In sickness and in health, right?”

He leans down a bit and you meet him for a quick kiss, pulling away to smile, “I thought that was for married couples.” 

“I’ll fix that soon,” Yuuta smiles, satisfied. You giggle, reaching out to poke his red nose and then his cheek to turn his face back to his soup. 

“Well, then go ahead and eat and get well soon,” you muse, leaning forward to kiss his cheek, “I expect a very romantic proposal from an un-sick lover boy.”

YUUJI ITADORI

You should have known that Nobara was going to rat you out sooner or later, if not for your own wellbeing, then for hers—because despite your roommate being a caring soul beneath her tough exterior, she is not caring enough to risk her own health because you’re sniffling all over your shared apartment; especially not before she’s supposed to go on her first vacation with her boyfriend.

On the third day of coughing, Nobara tells you she’s going to camp out with Megumi until her flight, and that Yuuji is the person she’s entrusted with her keys until she returns back from her trip. So, it’s not a surprise that a mere hour later, you find Yuuji all but barreling through your front door with grocery bags in hand, all of which he promptly drops when he hears you hacking out your lungs on the couch, quick to dart to your side and hold your cup as you shakily drink some water.

“Babe! You’re, like, super sick,” he exclaims, now sitting criss-cross on your living room floor, slowly unpacking the grocery bags for a real-time haul, “You should have told me earlier, I could have gotten you all this stuff way sooner!”

“I’m fine, Yuuji. It’s a mild cold at most,” you reassure him, smiling to yourself as he rips open a new box of Kleenex and thrusts it in your direction. He looks at you with furrowed eyebrows, untrusting of your words, before he springs up with the last grocery bag in hand.

“Well, still... I’m not a doctor, but I got all the medications Nanamin told me to get, so we’re gonna get this cold out of you in no time,” he grins, patting your head before leaning down to kiss your forehead, “In the meantime, how about some soup? Oh—I just saw a recipe for something spicy, that should help with your nose right? Or maybe ramen? Leave it to me!”

CHOSO KAMO

You couldn’t help but to snap one more picture of Choso. You felt bad, a little bit, he was tired and sick and probably felt like crap, but he looked very cute when he was sleepy, cuddled up in fuzzy blankets from head to toe, with just enough space to expose his tired eyes and red nose. One more wouldn’t hurt. 

You smile to yourself as you look back at him, slipping your phone into your pocket and walking over to join Choso on the couch. There’s not enough room for you to sit in the seat, so you have to cotch yourself in the arm of the couch closest to his head and gently reach out to move a stray strand of hair away from his eyes. It would make for another cute picture, but you refrain, choosing to lean down and press a kiss to his forehead instead, before standing to start picking up the spare tissue and cough drop wrappers littered around him.

You always tell him he’s going to worry himself sick, and he’s managed to do just that. It was a little fun, a little cute, but mostly, you’re just happy that Choso is resting. You know that sleep doesn’t come easily to him under normal circumstances; if being a little under the weather is what gets your boyfriend to slow down and care for his body, then so be it; you’ll be there to help him out.

You’re about to head into the kitchen, when you’re stopped by a warm hand brushing against your leg. You turn to see Choso limply reaching out of your, slowly blinking awake, before weakly beckoning for you again, “Stay here,” he croaks, “Please?”

You smile, placing the gathered trash onto the coffee table, before burying yourself within Choso’s blankets. You have to do a little wiggling to get underneath him, but Choso doesn’t mind, happily resting his weight against you, eyes already fluttering closed again, not before he lets you a meek, “Thank you. I love you.”

You give him one final kiss to the crown of his head, “I love you, too.” 

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

“Megumi, are you… okay?” you question softly, leaning over the small restaurant table to squint at your boyfriend. You’d been watching him carefully since he’d picked you up from your house, deducing that something was definitely wrong, even if Megumi had been trying his best to hide it.

He could be quiet, but he was definitely not soft spoken, nor did he normally wince after swallowing a bite of his food. You should have known something was off from the start, when you’d held hands on your walk and Megumi’s fingers were warm, and not icicles attached to his palm.

Megumi freezes, mouth gaping slightly, before he closes it and composes himself with slumped shoulders—he’d considered keeping up his brave front, but it’d be futile at this point, so he sighs, “My throat hurts, is all,” he confesses, the hoarseness of his tired voice peeking through, “I had a fever yesterday, but it was fine this morning.”

You lean over a little more, just enough to be able to extend your hand so that the back of your palm meets Megumi’s forehead. It’s warm, to no surprise, and you find yourself tutting, recoiling your hand slightly, with enough space to flick him.

“Ow?” He groans, and you only roll your eyes. You pull back to fish through your bag, to pull out some cash and leave it on the table. Megumi begins to question you, but you’re not hearing it, getting up to sling your purse over your shoulder and grab your boyfriend by the forearm.

“You’re an idiot,” you scold, ushering him out of the restaurant, “We are going to urgent care to get you a strep test, and then to that bakery Nanami tells us not to tell anyone about to get you soup, and then you are going to sit and eat it and contemplate your actions for the rest of the evening.”

Megumi lets himself be dragged away—another tell-tale sign that he really is feeling under the weather (which is also what he chooses to blame his blush on). If “contemplating his actions,” was code word for you hovering over him for a bit, then maybe he wouldn’t mind.

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° i'd choose you and me...religiously

♡ a/n — for my new childhood friends to lovers series :)

♡ word count — 2.3k

♡ content — karasu tabito x fem! reader, fem! reader, childhood friends to lovers, reader is very normal and quiet, goes through 3rd grade to the U-20 vs Blue Lock game, reader doesn't understand soccer, cuddling, kissing, some cussing

♡ synopsis — Karasu Tabito has always been moved by the ordinary things in life. Your love, your laugh, just you, so ordinary because you just...fit in his life so perfectly.

Tabito Karasu had always been moved by ordinary things. The way rain left trails on windows, the sound of soccer cleats tapping against pavement, the smell of freshly cut grass on the field. Ordinary moments stayed with him long after they’d passed, as if they were somehow more precious than the extraordinary ones.

And then, there was you.

He noticed you before he ever talked to you, always quiet and off to the side, a book or sketchpad in your hands while the other kids played and shouted around you. You weren’t like the rest of them—you weren’t loud, flashy, or attention-seeking. To most, you might have seemed unremarkable.

But to Tabito, you were something special.

He just didn’t realize it until the day he saw you crying.

The afternoon sun was bright and unforgiving, casting sharp shadows on the concrete playground. Tabito was sitting on a bench, juggling a soccer ball between his feet, when he noticed the commotion.

A group of kids stood in a semi-circle around you, taunting you about being “too quiet” and “weird.” You didn’t say anything in return, but your teary eyes and the way you hugged your knees gave everything away.

Before he could think twice, Tabito was on his feet, marching over.

“Hey!” he barked, startling the group. He planted himself between you and them, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he glared them down. “Why don’t you piss off and leave her alone?”

The kids hesitated, their bravado faltering under his sharp gaze. Eventually, one muttered something under their breath before they all dispersed.

He turned back to you, his face softening. “You okay?”

You nodded but didn’t meet his eyes. “Thanks...”

He grinned, crouching beside you. “No problem. But you owe me big time. The teacher’s totally gonna yell at me for this one.”

Sure enough, he was called out for his language later, but he didn’t care. By then, the two of you had already cemented an unspoken bond.

From that day on, Tabito Karasu became your first—and only—friend.

By the time junior high rolled around, Tabito had become a name everyone knew. He was a rising soccer star, his talent and charisma drawing people to him like moths to a flame. But no matter how busy his life got, he always made time for you.

You, on the other hand, stayed much the same. You kept to yourself, stayed out of the spotlight, and quietly supported him from the sidelines. Every game he played, you were there, clapping and cheering along with the crowd—even if you didn’t fully understand the rules.

“You seriously don’t get it?” Tabito asked one evening, his breath visible in the crisp autumn air as the two of you walked home.

He had just finished explaining the mechanics of offside for the fifth time.

“I mean... I get that the ball should go in the net,” you said hesitantly. “But everything else is... kind of fuzzy.”

Tabito groaned dramatically, raking a hand through his hair. “It’s not that hard! Okay, think of it like chess—”

“Tabito, I don’t know how to play chess.”

He stopped dead in his tracks, staring at you with exaggerated disbelief. “You’re kidding me. You’ve been watching my games for years, and you don’t even know what’s happening?”

“I know you’re good,” you offered, laughing. “That’s all that matters, right?”

He sighed, shaking his head with a fond smile. “Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.”

By high school, Tabito had become your anchor, and you had become his.

No matter how many people surrounded him or how many girls vied for his attention, he always found his way back to you. He walked you to your classes, saved you a spot at lunch, and invited you over to his house whenever your parents were working late.

One night, after a particularly heavy rainstorm, you ended up staying at his place again. His mom gave you a pillow and blanket for the floor in his room, but when you lay down, the hardwood felt unbearably cold.

“You seriously gonna sleep there?” Tabito asked from his bed, leaning over the edge to look at you.

“Where else would I sleep?”

He rolled his eyes. “Here. Come on.”

“Tabito, your mom said—”

“The floor’s freezing. Just get up here.”

You hesitated, but the warmth in his voice and the ease of his grin convinced you. Moments later, you were lying beside him, your head resting on his chest and his arm wrapped securely around your waist.

“This is too close,” you muttered, though you made no effort to move even though there was plenty of room on his bed.

“Shut up,” he replied, laughing softly.

After a long silence, you spoke again. “Someone asked me what my name was today. We’ve been going to school together since junior high, and they didn’t know my name.”

Tabito’s hand slipped under your shirt, his fingers tracing soothing circles on your back. “That’s their loss,” he murmured. “You’re unforgettable.”

You tilted your head to look up at him, your heart beating faster than it should have. “Tabito—”

Before you could ask what he meant, his lips were on yours.

When he pulled back, you opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off, his voice low and steady.

��I don’t care what happened. I’d never forget your name.” He kissed you again. “Your face.” Another kiss. “Your goddamn voice.”

You stared at him, your cheeks burning, and he grinned. “You’re mine, okay? Have been for a while.”

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the window as Tabito’s mom opened the door. She froze, her eyes widening at the sight of the two of you curled up together in his bed.

“Tabito Karasu!”

Breakfast was... awkward. Over toast and eggs, you and Tabito sheepishly explained your newly minted relationship, only to be rewarded with an impromptu birds-and-the-bees talk.

Tabito groaned, hiding his face in his hands while you tried—and failed—not to laugh.

The letter came during your senior year.

You sat under a tree in the park, the letter in your lap as Tabito leaned back on his hands, staring up at the sky.

“This is it,” he said softly. “This is how I make it big.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m proud of you.”

His grin faltered when he looked at you. “You don’t look proud.”

“I am,” you insisted, forcing a smile. “I just... I’ll miss you.”

“Hey,” he said, reaching over to take your hand. “It’s not forever. Just until I make it. Then I’m coming back for you.”

You knew he would, because when Karasu set his mind on something, he would get to it, no matter what it took.

You just wished that he wouldn't have to leave for an uncertain amount of time, but you wouldn't say that. He was still yours, always would be, no matter how long you were apart.

When Tabito left for Blue Lock, he packed light—just the essentials. But tucked carefully at the bottom of his bag was something that wasn’t on any checklist: a collection of your letters.

Some were filled with words of encouragement, like the time you’d written after his first big loss, telling him that failure didn’t define him and that he’d always be a winner in your eyes. Others were playful, teasing him about his ego while reminding him to eat properly and not slack off during training. And then there were the ones you wrote late at night, when the ache of missing him felt too heavy to ignore. Those letters carried lipstick marks on the edges, small imprints of your love pressed onto the paper as if they could somehow close the distance between you.

He read those letters often. Whenever the loneliness crept in or the pressure of Blue Lock’s brutal competition threatened to overwhelm him, he would pull one out, smoothing the creases and letting your words fill the silence. Your voice, even through ink and paper, was his anchor.

One day, during a rare quiet moment in the dorms, Otoya noticed one of the letters poking out of Tabito’s duffel bag. Curiosity piqued, he reached over and grabbed one, holding it up with a mischievous grin. “What’s this?”

Tabito, who had been lounging on his bed, immediately sat up. His sharp glare shot across the room like a warning. “Put it down, Otoya.”

But Otoya, ever the instigator, was already opening it. “Aw, come on, don’t be so uptight—” His eyes scanned the first few lines before he froze, his smirk widening. “Oh-ho, what’s this? A girlfriend?”

Tabito was on his feet in an instant, snatching the letter back with a scowl. “None of your business.”

Otoya leaned back, hands raised in mock surrender, but his laughter rang out, echoing in the small dorm room. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Karasu. You’ve got that whole ‘too cool for relationships’ vibe going on, but here you are, all sentimental. Lipstick marks, too? Damn, she’s really got you wrapped around her finger, huh?”

Tabito stuffed the letter into his bag, his jaw tight. He didn’t bother responding to the teasing; it wasn’t worth his energy. Instead, he turned his back to Otoya, muttering under his breath, “Shut up.”

But as Otoya’s laughter died down, Tabito’s fingers brushed the edges of the letter. He could feel the faint ridges of your handwriting beneath the paper, the weight of your love in every stroke of the pen.

A small smile tugged at his lips, one he didn’t let Otoya see.

Because Otoya was wrong about one thing: you didn’t have him wrapped around your finger. No, it was deeper than that. You were his lifeline, his reminder of everything waiting for him back home.

The teasing didn’t matter. The competition didn’t matter. What mattered was the thought of you—always cheering him on, always believing in him.

One day, he promised himself. One day, he’d read those letters with you sitting beside him, not miles apart. And when that day came, he’d show you just how much your words, your love, had carried him through.

For now, though, he folded the letter and placed it carefully back in his bag, ready to fight his way to that future.

Watching the Blue Lock team play against the U-20 team almost put you into an early grave, you swear, Blue Lock won, of course. ( You totally weren't praying on some of the U-20 team's downfall during the game...not at all)

The crowd’s roar was deafening, a wave of cheers and chants reverberating through the stadium. You stood on the sidelines, heart pounding as the Blue Lock team celebrated their hard-fought victory on the field.

You had come all this way to watch him, to see for yourself just how much he’d grown. And yet, even after all these years of supporting him, nothing had prepared you for this moment.

Your eyes darted across the players, searching, until—suddenly—you felt arms wrap tightly around your waist. Your feet left the ground as you were spun around, a loud gasp escaping your lips.

“Tabito!” you exclaimed, laughter bubbling out of you.

When he finally set you back down, you turned to see his grinning face, his hair damp with sweat and a few stray blades of grass stuck to his jersey. He looked different—stronger, sharper, more determined—but when his eyes met yours, the warmth in them hadn’t changed one bit.

“You did it!” you said, reaching out to touch his face as if to make sure he was real. “You actually did it.”

“Of course I did,” he replied, his tone cocky, but his grin softened when his hand came up to cup yours. “I told you I would, didn’t I?”

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes as pride swelled in your chest. But before you could say anything else, the words you’d been holding back for years tumbled out:

“Tabito, I finally got it today!”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Got what?”

“Soccer!” you blurted, your voice trembling with excitement. “I mean, okay, maybe not all of it, but at the kickoff, I just... I got it! I understood why you love it so much. I felt it. When the game started, I was so excited I almost screamed! And when you got close to the goal, I was on the edge of my seat. I wanted you to score so badly.”

His eyes widened in surprise before his expression melted into something softer, something that made your heart ache in the best way. “You... really mean that?”

“Yes!” you said, gripping the front of his jersey like you’d never let him go. “I finally understood why you’ve worked so hard, why this means so much to you. It’s amazing, Tabito. You’re amazing.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his mouth slightly open as if he couldn’t find the words. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, he pulled you into another spin, your laughter echoing above the noise of the crowd.

When he set you down again, he didn’t hesitate—his lips found yours, and the world fell away.

He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. “You’re the one who’s amazing,” he whispered. “And you know what? That was the only goal I needed today—hearing you say that.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly as you wiped away a stray tear. “You’re so cheesy.”

“You love it.”

“I do,” you admitted, your voice barely audible over the roar of the stadium.

He glanced around, the chaos of victory still unfolding behind him, but all his focus was on you. “Hey,” he said, his tone suddenly serious. “Will you follow me? No matter where this takes me?”

You didn’t even have to think about it. “Anywhere. Always.”

His grin returned, wider than ever, and he kissed you again, as if sealing a promise. And as the stadium lights bathed you both in a golden glow, you knew you’d never stop cheering for him—on the field or off.

Karasu Tabito has always been moved by the ordinary things in life. Your love, your laugh, just you, so ordinary because you just...fit in his life so perfectly.

i take him to my pent house and i FREAK IT

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated

[flowersforthemachines]

Some facts about Bellara (and also the Veil Jumpers, and other random Elven things) gathered from the banters

I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).

Note: This list may not be exhaustive. I might have missed some something or didn't write it down because I considered it common knowledge. If you have anything to add, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from, though)

Note 2: Posts from this series (mostly) don't include information from banters specific to quests or between companions and faction members. I plan to do another playthrough to capture more of those and will add any relevant info to the character posts.

Other characters' posts: Davrin, Harding, Lucanis, Emmrich, Neve, Taash. I'm also planning a post about just the Lighthouse some time later

About Bellara

Family and past:

Bellara’s mother is a woodworker who sells furniture in Orlais, and her father is an herbalist. He taught her about deadly plants (for her own safety)

Bellara didn’t tell her parents about Cyrian’s (second) death

Bellara once broke both of her arms while racing an Aravel 

Bellara learnt magic from her Keeper and later the Veil Jumpers, but she also studied a lot on her own by reading books and just trying things out

When she was little, Bellara wondered what it’s like to settle down instead of moving all the time (just like Davrin did) 

General:

Bellara can better focus on writing when she has background noise (like Rook talking)

Bellara likes tea (but can also drink coffee after she pulls an all-nighter, which seems to happen pretty often)

Bellara liked Lucanis’s grilled fish

Bellara didn’t know any Qunari recipes before joining the Veilguard

Bellara wouldn’t want to be an assassin, but she would be interested in taking lessons from Crows about assassination techniques

Bellara thinks that most people in Tevinter are condescending, even the nice ones 

Magic and life with the Veil Jumpers: 

Bellara once found an artifact that was basically an ancient elven mechanical toothbrush 

Bellara is a Veil Jumper because Arlathan is her home, and she can’t stand by and do nothing. Also, because of the artefacts

Part of the reason why Irelin and Bellara broke up is that Bellara became too consumed by studying/fixing artefacts 

Bellara and Davrin agree that the Veil Jumpers’ odds are even worse than the Wardens’

Bellara thinks that the ancient Elven magic feels cold

Bellara didn’t find anything on the Devouring Storm in the libraries or Circles. Vorgoth and Myrna never heard of it either 

Life at the Lighthouse: 

Bellara owns a bronze candleholder shaped like a fennec

Bellara thinks that the Fade in the Lighthouse is almost too calm compared to Arlathan

Bellara likes her space in the Lighthouse and feels like “it's been waiting for her”

The Archive sometimes stares at people who come by

Bellara eventually suggests that she and Lucanis completely take over the cooking. Everybody except for Harding dreaded any meal not cooked by them anyway and gleefully agreed

Antoine let Bellara borrow his compound for flaming arrows to see how it reacts in the Fade (she doesn’t speak about the results, but she used at least one compound for testing without incidents and later wants to borrow more) 

Relationships with companions: 

Bellara offers Davrin to listen about his findings regarding the Gloom Howler as he searches for the missing griffons, saying she's a good listener

Bellara asks Neve if she can become a Shadow Dragon and is very excited when she hears “Yes”

However, when Emmrich offers her to join the Mourn Watch, she turns him down saying that the Veil Jumpers need her. 

A writing inconsistency. Probably. 

Neve once saw Bellara poking around Assan, trying to figure out if he was real or some clever mechanical contraption 

Bellara wants to make pillows out of Assan’s molted feathers (but Davrin refuses because he finds it weird)

Bellara made dog biscuits for Assan (that Davrin accidentally ate the first time). The next time she brought a batch, she left them in a box labelled “Assan biscuits inside, do not eat.” Assan liked them!

Bellara once covered Assan in olive oil thinking it could improve his wind resistance and let him fly faster. Didn’t work. 

Bellara offers Emmrich to co-author a paper about ancient elves after they find out elves came from spirits

Bellara asks Emmrich about vampires multiple times. According to him, when a Hunger Demon possesses a corpse, the resulting abomination can seek out blood, sort of resembling a vampire. They can't turn into bats though

According to Neve, some magisters in Minrathous have tried bonding with Hunger Demons which resulted in them having immense power but also a craving for blood 

Bellara and Harding swap books for reading

Bellara gets into lifting using Harding's rocks

Bellara doesn’t think she needs to threaten Lucanis when she finds out he and Neve are dating because Neve could wipe the floor with him herself if she wanted (Lucanis agrees) 

Bellara is fine with Lucanis taking on Ghilan’nain’s contract (“Whatever we were worshipping, it wasn’t her") and cheered him on at Weisshaupt

Bellara asks Neve to beta-read her story

(If Neve and Rook are in romance) Bellara thinks that solving cases together is romantic

(If Neve leaves after Rook chooses to save Treviso) Bellara kept notes of everything that happened while Neve was away to help her adjust after she’s back

About the Veil Jumpers:

Bellara mentioned that a certain elf camped in some ruins, and one day woke up stuck in the clouds. The Veil Jumpers haven’t figured out a way to get them down, so they just send them food and water

Veil Jumpers use some of the artefacts they have recovered as weapons. However, they don’t use them often, since most of them need to be charged after one use, and nobody really knows how to do that 

Veil Jumpers eat whatever Arlathan Forest provides

Though Bellara also mentions she doesn’t forage in the forest anymore. Strife does, however, he always finds something edible

It’s hard to say how many Veil Jumpers are out there because people die/go missing/leave too often to keep a proper count

The Veil Jumpers once found an artefact that caused whoever activated it to get sucked into the Fade. One guy got trapped inside because he used it even if the others told him not to. Bellara is weirdly nonchalant about that whole thing

The Veil Jumpers once found something like an entrance to the Deep Roads on the Southern Edge of Arlathan Forest. The group that found it sealed themselves inside and destroyed the entrance, leaving a note telling the others not to enter. Davrin hypothesises it could be one of the pools similar to the one we saw in the Horrors of Hormak

Ritsivas from the Veil Jupmers is non-binary (mentioned by Harding in a conversation with Taash)  

Misc:

The power crystals are called “June'suledin'bellanaris'ena'ghilan'lasa'shiral”. You may infer the reasons everybody just calls them 'power crystals'

Not all traps in Elven ruins were originally meant to be traps, but their magic is old, so it doesn’t recognise modern people and can backfire. And sometimes magic just degrades over time and accidentally rips the Veil, summoning demons

Andruil’s Gauntlet is an ancient site meant to test hunters who want to wield the mightiest weapons. It’s filled with traps, and no one has made through it in ages. It was made by Andruil’s priests to test the warriors of Elvhenan 

Clans Nuvenis and Sabrae live in Ferelden. Harding’s village traded with the Sabrae in the past

[writerunnamed]

note: This is something I've wanted to write for a while but I am well aware that not everyone will be into it. There are a few stories I want to tell that aren't the norm so I decided to start this nameless blog to tell them. I am not tagging anyone, if you find it then you find it. xo Joel(stepdad), significant age gap, female reader. 18+ legal, reader is 20 (warnings: pov sex, Joel spits on the 😸, boobie play, really inappropriate dirty talk, an unused sex toy [will make an appearance in another chapter], female masturbation, daddy kink, unfit parent) 5.6k word count masterlist • series masterlist • part 2

He takes up so much space, and it wasn’t just physically. He took up space emotionally, mentally. Mentally most of all. Your thoughts always drifted back to him. Cyclical. An elliptical pattern making him the top of every list you’d go through in your head. He seemed to know it too, in a stoic, quiet, largely unsettling way. Older, attractive men tended to do that. 

It started during that in-between time, when summer, losing your job, and having to move back home pushed you to figure out what the fuck you actually wanted to do with your life seemed to come together like the planets aligning. The precipice of a turning point, a ticking clock counting down the days until your childhood bedroom would be turned into a gym, or an office, or a guest bedroom. The lukewarm welcome from your mother would ice over and you’d really have to get your shit together. 

Your mother was what people who didn’t know her would call ‘a free spirit’, what you called her, was a fucking mess. 

Your earliest memories consist of having to remind her to buy milk or to pay the bill because the electricity had turned off while watching cartoons in front of the tiny, living room tv. You’d had to remind her, in not so many words, that she was the mother, and you were the child. 

To your friends, she was the cool mom. The party mom. Your house was the place to be because she didn’t ask questions, she left her cigarettes unattended and didn’t mind if a few went missing. She kept the bar cart stocked, even if there was nothing but flies in the cupboard and nothing but half-empty condiment bottles in the fridge. Your friends loved it. 

She flirted with the boys your age, she gave sex tips to the girls. 

You smiled when they congratulated you on having the cool mom, and when they all went home, you retreated and pretended to be happy. 

Joel settled her down. Met her in a bar and moved in quick. He came into the picture when you were fifteen and you were almost sure he’d be just like the rest of the lovers she’d taken over the years. You’d given the whole thing six months. Half a year for him to see what a fucking disaster she was. Six months to be a fucking creep, to cheat or get cheated on. 

The only differences you could clock at first were that he was self-employed, and marginally better looking than his predecessors.

He was firmer though, less malleable than the others she’d brought around, he seemed immune to her charms and that only inflamed her. It made her desperate for his approval and his attention. She would throw a tantrum, or play one of her mind games but he’d never rise to her bait. He was patient for the most part, until he hit his breaking point and his temper reared its head. A temper only she seemed to bring out in him. 

To you, it was pathetic. 

He didn’t try with you though, there was no flattery or strong hand, only a silent respect. In a sense, he treated you as the adult, and her as the child. It worked for you, if he’d expected you to call him dad he would have been laughed at mercilessly and he seemed to know this. 

The disturbing part was his respect and his healthy avoidance of you worked its own kind of magic. It made him an enigma, made you curious as to what he got out of the whole thing. A home, sure. A woman who was obsessed with him, yes. Sex–yes. You heard it enough for it to turn your stomach. By the sounds of it, he knew what he was doing.

The thought sickened the healthy part of your brain. The other part though, the part flooding your body with hormones, making it come to life with curiously intense sexual feelings, that part wanted to know what it was he was so good at. How could he pull those sounds out of anyone? It was easier to imagine him with some faceless woman. 

It was shameful to imagine yourself. 

The thought–although enough to fuel a desperate journey of self-exploration–always filled you with an insurmountable guilt. 

For those first few years you could barely look at him. Your mother took it as a healthy dose of teenage rebellion. That only aggravated you more. She never asked questions, never dug to see what the cause of your obvious distaste for her partner was about and so again, you retreated. He, however, kept to the outs of your path. He followed your lead, he let you control any and every part of all of your interactions. He didn’t ask questions. He kept the lights on. He kept the fridge full. 

He burrowed his way in, whether you liked it or not. 

When you turned eighteen, you moved out. He helped, did his ‘fatherly’ duties and moved you into the apartment, he urged your mother to take you on an extensive grocery trip, spoke to your landlord about the safety of the building. You supposed you should have been grateful, you should have said thank you, given him some sort of acknowledgement that you appreciated his help but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Instead you said your mumbling goodbyes, and promptly closed the door on them. Neither of them complained. 

The euphoria of venturing out on your own had lost its shine depressingly quick. A string of chronically unserious boyfriends came and went, the rent climbed higher than you could keep up with, and while already living paycheck to paycheck, you lost your job. Your cellphone had taken the brunt of your frustration at having to call your mother, begging her to let you come back home while you got back on your feet a little more than two years after you’d left. 

Your teeth gnawed at your lips, your fingernails dug into the skin around your cuticles in the attempt to keep your voice sweet and pleading, in the end it was his voice that you’d heard in the background, telling–no, commanding her to say yes. That he would be your champion twisted at your insides. Maybe a small, healthy part of you hoped he’d put up a fight, tell you that you were too old to be coming back home and that you had to figure it out on your own like an adult. 

A healthy part of you hoped that he’d save you again, only from yourself. Hanging up with a heavy, resigned sigh, you set about starting the trek home, ignoring the swirling mess of annoyance, confusion, and perverse glee in your stomach. 

-

The first few days were spent in a depressive episode, a seemingly inescapable loop of sleeping in late, leaving your room only when the house was empty to raid the kitchen for something to eat, scrolling mindlessly–blindly–on your phone and then staying up way too late only to do it all over again. 

They didn’t bother you, but if the annoyed sighs and narrowed eyes from your mother were anything to go by, the talk was coming soon. After the third day of the cycle, you circumvent it and wake up early-ish to shower and dress in something other than ratty old sweats long forgotten by an ex you couldn’t quite remember. 

You came down to find Joel sitting at the kitchen table. His eyes tracked the lines of you, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. 

Your heart leapt. He should have been at work by now. 

“Good morning.” It came out croaky, your voice almost reluctant to come out. 

“Mornin’.” His hair was slicked back, the gray almost sparkling in the golden light. You fiddled with the hem of your shirt. His eyes were so intense, you found yourself stuck in place, like a deer in headlights and that ever present, deep-seeded anger reared its head. It was irrational that he should frustrate you so much with his calm presence. 

“Coffee’s fresh, if you want some.” He jut his chin out to the pot, lowering his eyes to his paper once more. Once his gaze had shifted, you found you could breathe again. You mumbled a thanks and moved to pour yourself a cup, thankful, if unsure why, to focus on something concrete instead of abstract self-reflection.

“Your mama’s gon’ be late tonight. I thought I could pick up a pizza on the way home.” He says it offhand and again, your heart races. 

“Whatever.” You scrunch your face up in annoyance, it sounded like such a bullshit, teen response. He doesn’t comment on it, and that somehow makes it worse. You beat yourself about it as you root around in the fridge for the milk. The cereal you liked was in the top cupboard, and you’re not quite tall enough to reach it. 

You heard his chair scoot back and then suddenly he’s there, beside you, pressed up tight. You follow the long line of his throat as he stares up, reaching the box with ease while one big, warm hand lands on your lower back. He smells like the laundry detergent your mother insists on buying mixed with something else. Manly, smoky, with coffee laced through. Your cunt clenches nonconsensually as he stands there and stares down at you, his whole front pressed against your side, his hand still holding your lower back. Your mouth hangs open, stupidly, and he raises an eyebrow again forcing something to kickstart deep in your gut. 

“You okay there babygirl?” The endearment feels unwholesome.

It triggers something strange, strengthening the underlying conflict for him. There’s a lilt in his tone you don’t like, maybe because deep down you like it too much. Maybe you don’t want to admit that, or analyze anything about what the fuck is happening in your body. In your psyche. 

“Yeah.” You step out of his bubble, barely managing not to trip over yourself in your haste to get away and put a healthy distance between you. 

“Yes. Thank you.” You take a deep breath, pressing your lips together tight in what you hope to God is a neutral expression. 

He lets out a bemused huff through his nose, a mischief in his eyes shining out at you that you’ve never seen directed at you. You’ve seen it used on your mom. You’ve seen her go giggly and flirty whenever he looked at her like that. A half-formed escape plan starts to form but he saves you from the need, he puts his things in the dishwasher, and nods his head in goodbye. 

You practically hold your breath until you hear his truck rumble out of the driveway, and down the street. 

-

You manage to avoid him for a few days, staying out late catching up with friends, or feigning a need for rest. You’ve convinced your mother that your days are now spent job hunting, and for the most part they are. You leave in the morning, avoiding any and all contact and you get home late, creeping up the stairs much like you did in your teens even though you’d really never needed to. Your mother never enforced a curfew, and when Joel joined the picture, he didn’t pry. 

The luck didn’t last though, you got over-confident. He was sprawled out on the sofa, up uncharacteristically late one night when you padded through the house. 

“You’re up late.” You quickly check the accusatory tone, “Don’t you have to get up early?” Better, it comes out more concerned than annoyed and he nods. He wore a threadbare t-shirt, the fabric of it having been through the wash too many times to keep its shape. Light, gray sweats were stretched almost obscenely tight over his spread thighs, pooling at his crotch from being shoved up by the couch. 

“Couldn’t sleep. Come sit, we can watch some tv.” He pats the seat next to him and despite the deep desire to retreat into the Joel-free haven of your bedroom, you cannot seem to disobey him. 

You settle beside him on the couch, a little further away than was necessary. He chuckles softly. 

“I ain’t gonna bite you, girl. Not unless you ask nicely.” 

You pretend you don’t hear it, choosing instead to compartmentalize whatever game he’s playing and stare at the screen. He flips through the channels, settling on one thing for a few minutes before moving to something else until he finds a movie that’s already close to midway. There’s an electricity in the air, something about him galvanizing the space between you, charging it enough to make the hairs on your arms stand on end. You frown to yourself, barely paying attention while fighting an increasingly confusing mental battle. Why is it so hard to be around him? Why does he inspire such scorn? Is it scorn at all?

You rub at your eyes, scrubbing your hands down your face in a feeble attempt to wipe the slate clean. 

He’s just a man, a man your mother had chosen and for better or worse they seem to work. She is happy with him and he is seemingly happy with her, why then is it so hard to accept him for what he is? Something slithers around in your brain, something that laughs darkly, something pulsing through the network of thoughts and ideas that threatens to crack open your subconscious and throw it right in your face. 

“Well now, ain’t that somethin’?” You pull your hands away from your face to see a very explicit scene playing out on the screen. Heat floods every inch of your body. 

“Almost looks like she’s enjoyin’ herself.” He leaves it on, and you feel stuck, your body betraying you yet again to see the way the woman on screen moans wantonly while under a very handsome man. You let out a non-committal sound, teetering on the edge of madness. You scold yourself, you are an adult, an adult that has had sex before and this isn’t even real. 

“Looks like fake bullshit to me.” The strength in your voice lends credence to the illusion that you aren’t affected. He laughs, calm and completely at ease and that only pulls the anger to the forefront again. 

“They can’t show the real stuff on these channels. If it were real, he’d be doin’ what she needs.” 

“And what’s that?” It comes out before you can stop it. 

“Well,” He smiles to himself, winning a duel you hadn’t even known you were fighting. 

“If it were real, he’d be pressin’ on her clit, he’d be makin’ sure she felt every inch of him and make her take his cock like a good girl.” You let out a heavy breath, half shocked, half grateful it wasn’t a whimper. 

Warning bells go off in your head, just as a heartbeat starts in your cunt because you can see it. You can see him. His face twisted up in pleasure but cocky, his hips moving, his thumb dipped into your mouth and then swirling around your clit. He smiles at catching you looking at his hands and you want to yell at him. You want to smack him across the face and kick him in the balls for saying something like that to you, his partner's daughter, but you don’t. 

Your body almost catapults you out of your seat. Barely unintelligible words come out, something about needing sleep, about being tired and then you hightailed it out of there like a bat out of hell. 

The shower was cold enough to make your teeth chatter, but it did nothing to cool the heat blooming in your core and it was with a terrifying desperation that you ground against your fingers. The slick pooling at the mouth of your pussy was enough to feel even with the water washing everything away except your shame. 

You bit your tongue to keep from moaning out the taboo and entirely inappropriate name you were dying to say out loud. His firm thighs spread on that couch filled your mind, the calloused, work-roughened hands you could practically feel on your hips, on your thighs. You could feel them holding and spreading your legs open so he could make you make those same noises you’d heard over the years. Make you take it like a good girl, his good girl. 

You came with a shudder, sagging against the chilly tile. You warmed the water with a sigh, disappointed and ashamed with yourself, trying, and failing, to put the whole thing out of your mind. 

-

You doubled down on avoiding him after that. 

Your mother worked most of the time but when she was home, things were easier. He reverted to the healthy avoidance, the proverbial disinterest that she didn’t seem to have a problem with. You still heard them some nights, the bed creaking, throaty cries, deep grunts but now they haunted you in a different way. Now you heard his words on that couch and couldn’t help but picture all manner of unsavory things that both disgusted and thrilled you. 

Being unemployed didn’t help. There was nothing to keep you out of the house most of the day, and there were only so many places that would accept you looking for a job in person. 

There was only so much time you could spend with friends too, they had their own lives and jobs and relationships. Too busy to save you from unwanted free time. 

Old habits resurface, and you retreat within yourself while pushing yourself harder. A job would fix things enough to help, you could save up enough money to leave for good and take yourself out of the equation. 

-

The powers that be momentarily take pity on you, and after what seems like a lifetime's worth of job hunting you blessedly get a call back. It’s a part time job, but at this point beggars can’t exactly be choosers. It’s a steady, if insufficient source of income that hadn’t been available to you before. Determined, you buckle down, you channel every guidance counselor you’ve ever had and ace the fuck out of that interview.

It’s not taxing work, but you put your head down and focus with the hope that if you worked hard enough, if you made a good enough impression, made yourself indispensable they’d throw you enough shifts to make up a full time job. 

It helps. Time spent away from the house, from your mothers dried up welcome, from Joel altogether genuinely helps. You feel a bit lighter, less guilty, less prone to imagine the unimaginable. You find comfort in the absence of self-imposed temptation. There is peace in the mindless work, in the life outside of the house that no longer feels like a home. 

It's a double edged sword though, because at the end of every shift, the luck–the peace–runs out. If being at work and out of the house is a respite, returning home only thickens the tension. Time spent outside the house only sharpens the discomfort, clarifies the glaring wrongness of it all when you enter it at the end of the day. What it all is, you won’t name. That way madness lies. Issue is, with every interaction, with every chance encounter in the hallway, or living room, every second spent with him in the kitchen watching his lips touch the rim of his mug the thing inside grows. Parts of him fill the corners of your mind. The curve of his shoulders filling out the flannel shirts he favors. The fullness of his bottom lip when he purses them, something he does while squinting at the paper that you’re almost sure he isn’t aware of. His neck, his hands, the dimple in his cheek when he laughs at something really funny. 

These things jump out, innocent as they may be, but other not so innocent things start to creep in. The bulge in his jeans is a mental mine, it lies in wait and every so often when you think you’ve avoided it, it detonates and you catch yourself staring, both ashamed and so inappropriately curious it eats away at you like acid. 

What you needed was something to fill the emptiness, both emotionally and physically. So you did what any modern, adult woman would do; you bought a sex toy. 

Nothing too crazy, or expensive. After perusing the site for a while you finally settled on a plain, non-threatening dildo. Nothing too big, nothing noisy, just something to be able to focus on, something to use while imagining someone giving you what you need. You ignored that dark thing inside that hissed his name, shooed it away and ordered the package for express delivery. With your mom constantly working, and Joel keeping to himself you figured it wouldn’t be an issue. Neither of them would question a package addressed to you. 

You still aren’t sure whether or not you’d do it all over again had you known the Pandora’s box that little package would open. 

You all but rushed home after work. All day, you’d imagined the relief that toy would bring. You imagined yourself using it in the shower, steam swirling as you took your pleasure. You imagined yourself laying in bed in the safety of the dark, setting a towel down on your chair and riding it to your heart's content. 

Joel’s truck is in the driveway when you pull in, but it’s secondary to the excitement at the chance to sequester yourself with your new best friend and so when you walk into the house, you don’t give him much attention. Until he opens his mouth. 

“You got a package today babygirl. I put it on your bed.” He sits on his spot on the sofa, a funny little smile on his face. A bad feeling swells in your chest, and you look up the stairs before meeting his eyes again. 

“Thanks.” You drop your bag on the little bench near the front door, trying, and failing to keep the nervous feeling out of your voice. He nods, and you make your way up, stopping yourself from taking the stairs two at a time. 

Ice flows through your veins when you see the package is open. 

He’d opened your package, he knew what you’d bought. 

Blood pounds in your ears as you stand there, limbs cold and numb at the realization that he saw it. He saw it. He opened it, and he placed it here, on the very place you fantasized about using it. Sweat beaded on your brow, the bottom of your stomach fell out of your ass as you stood there, barely feeling the soft, worn carpet under your feet. 

“Little small, f’you ask me.” His voice at the mouth of your room made your head twist fast enough to hurt your neck. You hadn’t heard him follow you up the stairs, hadn’t heard him open your door and lean against the frame, arms crossed in haughty amusement. 

“Why would you open my package?” You clutched at it, as though he could forget what he’d seen if you held it tightly enough. 

“I didn’t open it on purpose, I’m expectin’ somethin’ and I didn’t read the name.” He pushes away from the door frame, making his way closer and it’s like the air thins as the space between you shrinks.

“I mean, I could tell you been frustrated, but this doesn’t seem like it’s gon’ help much.” He reaches out, and takes the package from you. You watch him do it, watch him, frozen as he plucks it from your hands and takes the toy out. 

“This all you can take?” He holds it, contemptuously–pityingly. 

You wanted to snatch it out of his hands, the dimming voice of reason urges you to push him out of your room and remind him that he needs to keep a healthy distance but you say nothing, you stand there, and watch him. He puts it all down on your dresser, before stepping a little closer, close enough for you to have to crane your neck up to look into his eyes. 

“No boyfriends around to give you what you want?” His hand comes up, the tips of his fingers sliding across the apple of your cheek, slipping down until his thumb pressed against the cushion of your bottom lip. 

“No one around to give you what you obviously need?” He steps a little closer, until your bodies meet. This is wrong, your mind screams it but your body is frozen under his eyes, under his touch. That part, the frozen part is cheering, it’s running victory laps as it floods your cunt with slick in preparation for something unholy. 

That same, writhing, traitorous thing whispers that this is your chance, the house is empty and your body obeys. You look your fill, you take in the curve of his nose and the furrow in his brow. His eyes are black as a crow's wing, lust-blown and completely focused on your parted lips and your shallow panting. 

Adrenaline spikes and you do something you cannot take back. You rise on your tip-toes and press your mouth to his. 

He hums into it, smiling and once again you get that feeling that you’d made the exact move he’d expected you to. A vague, but fleeting inkling that you were just a pawn on his chessboard. 

At any other time you would have stepped away and repented, ate yourself alive with guilt but his hands pulled you closer, his tongue swiped at the seam of your mouth and you opened up for him. That only made it all the more real, the taste of his tongue in your mouth, feeling his hands lower to hold onto your ass. 

The rational part of you shrinks down to nothing, and that other part, the wrong part–it swells and preens under his hands. He pulls away, and embarrassingly, you chase his mouth in a daze. 

“Oh honey, you’re just dyin’ for it aren’t you?” He herds you towards your tiny bed, the twin mattress that has been the stage for every taboo fantasy about this man, your stepfather. You shoo the word away with a shiver. 

“It’s wrong-” You almost whisper, but you don’t push him away, you let him lay you down in that bed and he laughs. 

“It is, isn't it?” He pulls at the hem of your shirt, you raise your arms for him and the picture of it is wrong, daddy taking off your clothes. The thought, the word,  should disgust you but it only pulls your hands to him. You join in, and pull his shirt up and off, biting your lip at the broadness of him. You take in each freckle, the sprinkling of hair on his chest, the dip of his throat calling out for your tongue like a siren. 

He presses his lips to yours again, licking into your mouth obscenely. Unseemly. 

“You been wantin’ this for a long time, haven’t you babygirl?” He pulls your bra off, and the shock of cold air hardens your nipples. He bites his lip to see it, unable to stop himself from flattening his tongue against a hardened bud. A sound you’ve never let yourself make out loud in this room fills the space between you and that slithering thing luxuriates. 

He moves, languidly, unhurried to the other breast and holds the plump of it in his big hand and sucks at the second bud, sucks as much of the peak as he can into his mouth, breathing through his nose while you slowly spiral into madness.

When he lets go, he presses a kiss to your nipple and his facial hair tickles your skin. 

He pulls your leggings off along with your underwear in one go and the reality of it all hits you when the air hits your soaked core. That’s when the urge to put a stop to it is the clearest, when he kneels between your legs and spreads them wide, stares at the place where he’s already filled a million times in your mind. The place that’s drenched at the mere thought of him. 

“Joel-” You start, but he pushes your legs up, folding you and then he lets a glob of spit fall from his mouth slowly, aiming it, a bullseye right on the lips of your cunt. It’s too much, too filthy and you let out a whimper. 

“I think you wanna call me somethin�� else right now.” He undoes his belt and his jeans, keeping his eyes on where his saliva slides down over the open mouth of your cunt, down towards your asshole. He pulls his cock out and part of you shatters. Your eyes flit to the toy sitting on your dresser, your eyes flit to the open door of your bedroom. 

“Don’t worry, your mama ain’t gonna be home for a while.” He smiles, conspiratorially. It's too real, it’s too hypnotic, seeing him there with his cock in his hand while your legs already ache from holding them up and open. He slides the blunt end of it through the mess he’s caused, through his spit and he groans at the sight of it. 

Your heart races so hard to feel him there, that you see the pulse of it in your vision. 

“Deep breath baby.” he warns before slipping inside the tight fist of your pussy, the size of him making you gasp. This is it, there’s no coming back from this and right now, with him seated deep, his groin pressed up tight and the tip of his cock kissing your womb you cannot even think of why you’d ever care.

This is where he's meant to be. This is where you need him. 

“Oh baby, that’s so good huh?” He thrusts shallowly, pulling out a little more than halfway before shoving his hips forward again. You don’t really know how to form words, you don’t know how to take in what’s happening. This is Joel, your step-dad, fucking you in the bed you grew up in. One hand sits heavy on your shin, holding it, the other slides up and holds onto your breast. 

“Look how fuckin’ wet this little pussy is for me,” he moans the words, “you like daddy fuckin’ you?” He thrusts harder and you moan despite the word hitting you in the stomach like a big drop on a rollercoaster. He shouldn’t say that, shouldn’t call himself that, not now. 

“No-” it doesn’t come out like you mean it to, it sounds wrong, like a caress. 

“No? But I think you do-” He leans forward, keeping his pace while pressing his chest to yours, his mouth all but lining up and despite your bullshit protest, you hitch your knees high on his ribs to make room because if he stopped you’d probably die. 

“I think you want me to be your daddy, don’t you baby, it’s okay, I want to be.” He speeds up and the sounds between your legs are so wet, so filthy. 

“You can say it, I want you to say it.” He holds himself up, his elbows caging in your skull and before you can complain or moan or cry he sticks his tongue down your throat again. Your hands finally join the fray and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him tight to you. 

“Come on baby, say it for me, tell me how good daddy fucks you.” You moan, closing your eyes while your cunt floods him with wave after wave of slick, enough to drip down your ass and onto your bed, down his balls. Enough for it to soak the curls at the base of him.��

“Look at me when I’m fuckin’ you honey.” His hips speed up and it's hard now, his thrusts making your bounce, hitting a part of you that toy would never touch in a million years. 

You open your eyes, and look at him above you, sweat beading on his hairline. Never has he looked more fucking appealing than he does right then. The word is there, in your mouth and you know it’ll taste sweeter than anything in this world. 

The wrong thing wins.  

“Yes daddy.” You moan it, and the shameful thing sets off fireworks in your being, he smiles, and tucks his head into the damp crook of your neck, feeding his lovely filth right into your ear. 

“That’s my babygirl, that’s it, fuck baby you take it better than your mama.” Something inside recoils at that, but something else, another facet of that fucked up thing inside rejoices.

“Let me hear you say it again, say it when you come.” He licks a hot stripe up your neck. His words are a filthy groan, something to tuck away for later.

He reaches down, pressing his thumb to your clit just like he said on that couch and you keen, the slip and the pressure enough to toss you over the edge with an almost painfully intense orgasm. 

“I’m coming, daddy.” It’s a shuddering whisper as your cunt clenches around him. 

He moves quickly, kneeling between your legs to pull out and then he’s stroking himself over your cunt. It’s still pulsing when he paints it in his come. You catch your breath as he tugs at himself a few more times, milking himself against you with a disturbingly familiar groan. 

The fog clears altogether too quickly. The lights are too bright, you’re naked, and he’s still got his jeans around his thighs while the guilt creeps into your veins, replacing the euphoria. 

What have I done? What have you made me do?

[moonlight-alexia]

daylight | k.c.c.

kyra cooney-cross x williamson!reader | 1.5k | you and kyra have been seeing each other for a little while but she doesn't know you're leah's sister and leah doesn't know about kyra

ˏˋ°•*⁀ my new daylight universe. i've been trying to get this one going for like six months now and finally had a breakthrough and got most of this series planned out! hope y'all enjoy it

‘You know, you kind of look like someone I know,’ Kyra was standing by the counter watching you put together a little flower arrangement for an order you had later in the day. 

Since Kyra joined Arsenal and moved to England she had come across your shop and couldn’t stop herself from frequenting quite often. Spending way too much just to have an excuse to keep coming back and seeing you. From the moment she stepped foot inside your shop she was enchanted by you. A pull inside her that she couldn’t ignore.

‘Oh really?’ You looked up at Kyra briefly, a small smile on your lips every time you laid your eyes on the girl in front of you. Kyra in the beginning was quite awkward and you could tell she didn’t really want or need to be buying as many flowers as she was, you could tell her excuses were just that. But you found it quite endearing and played into the little game.

After a few weeks of Kyra’s almost daily visits, you were well aware of her attraction towards you. You weren’t oblivious but you wanted to see if she would get the courage to actually ask you out or how many more weeks of pointless buying of flowers were you going to watch Kyra do. It ended up being quite a few.

‘Yeah, oddly familiar,’ You just chuckled and shook your head, focusing back on the flower arrangement in front of you, while Kyra kept trying to think of who she knew that you looked similar to.

‘How are you finding Arsenal? Settling in well?’ You changed the topic, you didn’t mind having Kyra’s eyes on you, watching you. But having her staring at you intently was a little unsettling, not like her normal gaze towards you.

You smiled, listening to Kyra talk about her work. Your sister would always bore you when you asked about her teammates, to the point you had to tell her you didn’t really care about each person’s skill set but how they were doing. By this point you’d met the majority of the team at Arsenal, you were friends with quite a few just by being Leah’s sister.

‘You should come to a match,’ Kyra whined and you smiled even more, reaching over to rest your hand on top of hers. You were honestly surprised she hadn’t seen you had a match yet, you liked supporting your sister and watching her play. Though since meeting Kyra you had stayed a bit more hidden at matches than you normally would, Leah telling you that some of the others were complaining that you hadn’t been around much after matches or accusing Leah of hiding you away from them.

It wasn’t completely intentional. Things with Kyra were going slow but steady and had been going quite well. You wanted her to know you for you and not as Leah’s younger sister. Also not wanting to ruin anything by telling her, though a part of you knew that the longer you waited the more complicated it might be. For now you were ignoring that part and just focusing on the girl in front of you.

Also your sister had a tendency to scare away people you were involved with. You didn’t want that to happen with Kyra, especially since Leah and Kyra were teammates. Which added another layer to this complex web you’d created. What if Kyra knew you were Leah’s sister, would she still want to see you? 

‘Hmm, maybe I could be convinced,’ You smirked, leaning over the counter slightly, your hand still on top of Kyra’s giving a little squeeze.

‘I think seeing me in my kit on the pitch would be convincing enough,’ Kyra smirked, she knew how you reacted when she had come straight from training to your apartment for dinner one night, still in her full training kit. Dinner was completely thrown to the side. Kyra imagining what you’d be like after you actually came to one of her matches. Though she obviously didn’t know you were Leah’s sister and that you’d already seen her play.

Leaning closer into you, Kyra closed the gap and connected your lips together. The kiss was anything but work friendly, luckily it was your own shop and you had closed and locked the door while you had your little lunch date with Kyra. You deepened the kiss, your hand cupping Kyra’s cheek while your other hand laced your fingers with hers, ‘Want to take this out the back?’ You asked, mumbling against her lips. 

Safe to say, Kyra definitely ‘convinced’ you and that following Sunday you were dressed in your Arsenal beanie and scarf, your sister's jersey underneath your puffer jacket. You weren’t supposed to be coming to this match, so Leah was definitely surprised to see you in the stands, but for Kyra you were able to move around your other commitments. Honestly, you just couldn’t resist Kyra’s pout and would do anything she asked you. 

You were in the same area as your mum, who was aware you were seeing Kyra and also kept it a secret from Leah having seen how protective Leah could be over you, but you weren’t so close to her and kept interactions as little as possible in case Kyra noticed. 

Both Kyra and Leah had seen you during warm ups, thankfully at different times so you gave them both a little wave and smile. Kyra’s eyes lingered over to you quite often, she already told you how cute you looked when you sent her a photo earlier, but seeing you in person was a different story. 

You and Kyra weren’t official in terms that you hadn’t talked about the label of being each others girlfriend or anything, but you both weren’t seeing anyone else, spent a lot of your time in each others apartments, going on dates all the time and the other week when someone had referred to you as friends she corrected them and called you her partner. You didn’t really know what it meant, you both danced around actually talking about your feelings but you were hers and she was yours.

‘You’re going to have to tell them both eventually,’ Your mum leaned over slightly. You always cursed how well your mum could read you, she could see how you were internally panicking on how today is going to turn out. At the end of the day you did this to yourself, and if worst happens you’d rather Kyra finding out you hadn’t told her you are Leah’s sister rather than Leah finding out you are seeing Kyra.

‘I know,’ You groaned slightly, running your hands over your face, ‘But everything’s just been so good lately. I don’t want to ruin it all,’ Your mum was always warning you that the longer you took the more complicated it would all get and she wasn’t wrong. The pit in your stomach wishing there was a way that you could back and admit everything from the beginning because it definitely never got easier or a more right time to admit what you weren’t telling.

‘They’ll be upset you didn’t say anything but you aren’t going to ruin anything with either of them,’ Your mum gave your shoulder a little reassuring squeeze, ‘Plus you know I’ll want to officially meet Kyra soon enough,’ You smiled and rolled your eyes at your mum. 

Even though you never played, you were still just as passionate as Leah was when it came to football. Your supportive passion could never be matched by anyone else, it was how you and Leah were so close despite the slight age gap between you and your older siblings, ‘I didn’t expect to see you here,’ Leah was the first to approach you after you did hide yourself away a little but Kyra was just being her goofy self annoying her fellow Aussies out on the pitch after the match.

‘Well surprise,’ Not trying to come up with an excuse as to why you suddenly were able to be at the match knowing Leah would see right through you, ‘Can’t I just randomly turn up to support my sister?’ Rolling your eyes you crossed your arms feigning annoyance towards your sister.

‘My bad. Forgot I wasn’t allowed to question what you do anymore,’ Leah dramatically held up her hands, the corner of her mouth turning up into a slight smile. You laughed out, when you were a teenager Leah was way too protective over you so you told her to get lost and stop pestering you about what you did and who you did it with, now she always brought it up when she was messing around with you. You were quite the dramatic teenager, Leah was glad you grew out of that phase, ‘Come on, everyone misses seeing you after a match. We just won, come celebrate with us,’ 

Leah practically dragged you down and over the barrier onto the pitch. No matter how much you tried protesting your older sister, she wasn’t taking no for an answer. It was good getting to see the girls again, you had avoided a few of them since you started seeing Kyra, and even when invited to their little outings some of them would have, you made up excuses to not go.

‘Have you met Kyra yet? I think you’d get on quite well,’ Even though Alessia was also a new signing you had obviously already met her with her and Leah playing for England together.

‘No she’s been avoiding me after matches. I haven’t had the chance to introduce them,’ Before you knew it Leah was dragging you over to where Kyra was pestering Steph.

‘Kyra,’ She smiled when she saw you but it was quickly replaced with confusion with you next to Leah, ‘Meet my sister,’

[theemporium]

[5k] luke hughes swore he would never tell another soul and take his confession to the grave. that ends as an epic fail as he tells a really pretty girl his most embarrassing secret. luckily for him, she seems pretty eager to help him out.

series masterlist

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It shouldn’t be embarrassing, but it was. It really fucking was.

It wasn’t always a big deal. When he was in high school, everybody was just like him. Or at least, most people were. HIs friend group were. And they would always talk about how fun college would be, how everything would change, how everyone grew up and just did it. 

And then he went to college and nothing really changed. It was a bit embarrassing, it made his cheeks burn bright red whenever he spoke about it. But it also wasn’t the most unbelievable thing. Between keeping his GPA up, his training regime and the countless games during the season, it wasn’t shocking to anyone that he didn’t have as much free time as movies liked to make it seem like. 

But then he moved up. He went from being a kid with a dream to actually living that dream and beyond. A joke from his childhood became a reality when he found himself on the ice with his older brother, wearing the same jersey as his older brother. Suddenly, it was all real and intense and he was in it properly. 

But, fuck, it was embarrassing that he was in the National Hockey League and he was a fucking virgin.

In theory, he knew it wasn’t a big deal. It didn’t change the way he played or his performance on the ice. It didn’t affect his professional life in any way, shape or form. But it still made him want to curl up in a corner and shrivel his existence away whenever he thought about it too long.

And it wasn’t like it was obvious. He wasn’t announcing it to the world and rambling on about it in interviews. But the amount of jokes people made about women throwing themselves at his feet or having a turnstile of people in his bed felt like he might as well be. 

The awkward laughs and strained smiles would only take him so far before someone caught on. 

And that might have been the worst part—the fact that nobody knew. Not his friends in high school nor the ones he made in college. None of his teammates. Not even his brothers (though, the idea of him even telling them whether or not he was a virgin was an experience he would like to avoid all together). 

Nobody in the fucking world knew Luke Hughes was a virgin except him and, in a weird way, it was kind of fucking lonely.

Or at least, nobody else knew until he met you.

…

The night he met you had been a few days after the Devils had been kicked out of the playoffs. 

Despite the loss, Nico wanted one last team celebration to sign off a good season. Because yes, it fucking sucked that they were knocked out and it sucked they wouldn’t be the ones to lift the Stanley Cup this year. But they still played well, they deserved to appreciate that, to appreciate each other. 

And, on a more personal level, it was a chance to celebrate with the NHL team he could now call his home.

He was in the big leagues now. He was in the NHL and he was a professional hockey player and, by the power of some fucking superior being he did not know, he was lucky enough to share a team with at least one of his brothers. 

It still felt like a dream.

And with that dream came the joys and perks of being a New Jersey Devil—like not being ID’d in the bar the team commonly visited. 

“Takin’ it all in?” 

He tore his eyes away from the surrounding bar to look at his brother, perched on the edge of the pool table Nathan and Kevin were currently competing on. He had been happy to just watch, observe—for lack of better terms—take it all in, like Jack assumed. 

Instead, he just retorted with, “it’s a bar. Not much to take in that I haven’t seen before.”

“Okay, college boy,” Jack snorted, his cheeks flushed the same shade of red as the vodka cranberries he had been drinking all night. “I meant the big leagues.”

Luke resisted the urge to snort. “Ask me again in a year when it’s actually sunk in.”

Something in Jack’s face softened. “I’m glad you’re here, Moose.”

His throat felt a little tight but he still smiled. “Me too.”

He had assumed that was the end of the conversation, but that was Luke’s first mistake. He hadn’t paid much attention to the way Jack’s eyes roamed around the bar, narrowed like he was looking for something or, in this case, someone.

“What do ya think about her?”

Luke blinked, looking at his brother with a confused glance before he followed his line of vision to some blonde settled against the wall on the other side of the bar. 

“What about her?”

Jack shot him a look. “Do you think she’s pretty?”

Luke hesitated, almost as though it was a trick question. “Yes?”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t sound convinced,” he commented. “So, blonde isn’t your type. What is then? Brunettes? Redheads? Miscellaneous?”

“No, I—” Luke frowned. “I’m surprised you even know what miscellaneous means.”

Jack punched his arm in response. 

“Why are you asking about my type?” Luke questioned, something that felt a lot like uncertainty bubbling in his stomach.

Jack let out a deep sigh, prolonging it to properly encapture his annoyance. “I’m trying to help you get laid, bud.”

Luke froze. 

There was no way Jack could know. He knew that. He did. Logically, it was impossible for his brother to know he was a virgin when Luke had genuinely never admitted as much beyond the age of seventeen. But here he is, seemingly trying to find him someone to sleep with. There was no way he could know, there was no way Jack knew—

“I mean, you’re in the fucking league now, bud. Milk it a little, have some fun!” Jack continued, lost in his own rambles to even notice the way Luke’s shoulders sagged with relief. “I’m sure college was fun and all, but this is better!” 

Luke tried to let out a laugh. “I think I’m alright for tonight.” 

Jack huffed out in annoyance. “Don’t be a bore! Luke, you’re in the NHL. You just fucking played in the playoffs! Enjoy yourself, man.” 

“I am enjoying myself,” Luke countered. 

“You’ve been drinking the same beer since we got here,” Jack snapped back with a knowing look. “And I know it tastes like shit because I did the exact same thing when I first ordered a drink here. I’m trying to be your guru, help you avoid the mistakes I made.”

“My guru,” Luke repeated with a snort. “More like an unwanted Cupid.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “C’mon—”

“Focus on yourself.”

“It’s my duty as a brother—”

“I am not staying to listen to this,” Luke grumbled, batting away his brother’s hands as he began to make his way to the bar. As much as he hated to admit it, Jack was right—this beer tasted horrible and not even the tiny sips he had been taking were going to save it. 

He settled himself on a free spot at the bar, his elbows placed on the slightly sticky countertop as he peered over to try find a bartender. He saw a few on the other side of the bar finishing off a few drinks and accepted the small wait, a little lost in his own thoughts and whether he wanted to try another drink instead of just settling for something non-alcoholic when a hand settled on his back. 

“There you are, babe!”

Luke frowned, turning around to find you staring right back at him with a grin on your face. Honestly, he was expecting to turn around and let the person realise they had made a mistake. But your smile remained on your face, though the wide eyes staring back at him were a little distressing. 

“Uh, I think you—” But he was cut off by another voice, a much deeper one this time.

“This is your boyfriend?” 

The man was average height and fairly built, but that was all he had going for him. His shirt was definitely a size too small to make him look bigger and the chunky chain looked nothing short of tacky. And Luke may have been in his presence for less than thirty seconds, but the body spray was overwhelming and pungent and made him want to plug his nose. 

Now, Luke may be a little slow but he isn’t dumb.

He may be deeply confused by the sudden promotion to boyfriend from a stranger but it didn’t take long for Luke to realise the wide, distressing eyes were a cry for help and the walking embodiment of Axe body spray in a tight shirt was the reason. 

“Uh, yeah!” Luke cleared his throat a little, his arm moving to wrap around your shoulders in the least awkward way he could possibly achieve. “She’s my girl! Uh, girlfriend! She’s my—” His cheeks burned but he couldn’t stop his mouth from moving. “She’s my babe!” 

The man glanced between you and Luke for a few moments before rolling his eyes, muttering something under his breath about wasting his time before he disappeared into the throng of people crowded by the bar. 

“What a dick,” you murmured and it almost made Luke jump when he remembered you were still beside him, that his arm was still around your shoulders. You turned around to look at him once you knew the other guy was gone, and your smile seemed softer now. “Thank you for that, really. You’re a lifesaver.”

“It’s no biggie,” Luke replied, cringing a little before he quickly continued. “Thanks for giving me the honour of being your fake boyfriend.”

You snorted. “Yeah, well, you have a friendly face. You looked like you would go along with it.”

His cheeks burned warmer. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome,” you grinned before turning to settle in the spot next to him, fingers tapping on the bar counter. “Let me buy you a drink to thank you for your services?” 

Luke began shaking his head. “That really isn’t necessary—”

“Please,” you insisted, a softer expression on your face. “It would make me feel better for dragging you into my scheme.”

“I—” He cleared his throat, hoping to some superior being that his face wasn’t as red as it felt. “O-Okay.”

Your grin widened. “Brilliant. What do you want?” 

“A Coke.”

“Really?”

“Yes?”

“Okay, no judgement, just surprised,” you said, leaning over the bar to place your drink order along with his before you turned back to the boy. “So, do I at least get to know my fake boyfriend’s name?”

HIs lips twitched upwards. “Luke.”

“Luke,” you repeated before telling him your name, something gleaming in your eyes when you did. “So, Luke, what brings you to a bar on a Monday night to drink Coke?” 

“I’m here with some work friends,” he lied easily, not really one to play the professional hockey player card (despite Trevor’s insistence that it was expected to be used for this reason exactly). “Just enjoying the night before we all head off for the summer.”

“Hm, here with your work buddies but staying sober and standing alone at a bar,” you mused. “You’re quite intriguing, Luke.”

“I think that’s a compliment,” he murmured with a frown. 

“It is,” you assured him with a smile.

Luke opened his mouth to say something before the familiar voice of his brother reached him. 

“LUKEY BOY IS GETTING SOME!”

He shut his eyes, muttering a list of curses under his breath before he finally looked at you with a sheepish expression. “I’m so sorry about him. Just ignore him, he’s a little drunk and—”

“Hey, it’s fine,” you assured him with a laugh. “Work buddy?”

“Mhm,” Luke confirmed with a nod. “And my older brother.”

“That sounds like an intense work environment,” you commented.

“Tell me about it,” he grumbled, but there was still a smile on his face. “I wouldn’t blame you for making a run for it now while you have the chance. Jack will only get worse.”

You waved him off, smiling. “Your brother isn’t scaring me off,” you assured him. “Plus, I said I was intrigued and I’m enjoying talking to you. Makes it seem a lot more believable that you’re my boyfriend if that other dude is lingering around.” 

“Yeah, totally,” Luke agreed, something warm bursting in his stomach at the fact you wanted to keep talking to him. 

And despite what Jack and the others assume, nothing more happened between the two of you than just talking. It was bittersweet, in a way. Because Luke really enjoyed talking to you that night, even if he knew he would probably never see you again. 

But it was nice and it replayed in his head a lot more than he cared to admit that summer.

…

He assumed it was guaranteed that he would never see you again. 

So, it was pretty shocking when he did, in fact, see you again at a house party held by one of the boys of all fucking places in the pre-season.

As the new season approached and the overwhelming realisation that he was about to enter his rookie season of the NHL hit him, Luke didn’t even hesitate to accept the invitation for the ‘small get together’ with the boys. These were his teammates, these were the people he was going to have to trust and navigate on the ice with. It seemed like a nice idea to have a few chilled hangouts whilst training dragged everyone back to New Jersey.

What Jack and everyone else had failed to mention was the fact a ‘small get together’ did not just mean the team like he assumed. It meant a house full of people that Luke certainly didn’t know or recognise, but seemed to know exactly who he was. 

He was only slightly ashamed to admit that he clung onto Jack’s side as long as he could. But his brother was a social butterfly who liked to jump between different crowds and it was too much for Luke. Instead, he had settled near a couch where John and Kevin had been rambling away to each other when Jack suddenly appeared—out of thin air—with a huge grin on his face. 

“Hey, Rusty, is that not your girl from the bar?”

Luke’s brows furrowed together in confusion. “Huh?”

But Jack didn’t say much, just nudging his little brother to look over his shoulder. His lips parted again, prepared to tell Jack that he was drunker than he expected him to be after a few beers, only to find the words stuck in the back of his throat when he turned around and saw you.

He had thought about you more than he cared to admit over the summer. Just random little flashes of the conversations you shared. It was stupid, and a little pathetic, but you just felt…different—in the least cliche way possible.

It was almost embarrassing how quickly his cheeks just heated at the sight of you. 

No, correction: it was really fucking embarrassing. 

“Aw, did Lukey invite his lil’ crush?” Jack teased, reaching out to mockingly pinch his cheeks but Luke batted his hand away just in time.

“Shut up,” he grumbled before clearing his throat, turning to faze his brother again. “I didn’t. I–I don’t even know why she is here.”

Jack shot him a look. “Go on, then.”

Luke frowned. “What?”

“You are actually clueless,” Jack grumbled under his breath before giving him a hearty shove. “Go talk to her!”

His eyes widened. “What?!”

“Go talk to her,” Jack repeated, not understanding the panic in his younger brother. “You guys were hitting it off at the bar, what’s the big deal? Maybe you can hook up with her again.”

“I—” He started before realising this was not the time to delve into the same argument they had had since the night at the bar. “It’s fine, she probably doesn’t even remember me.”

His brother scoffed. “You’re shitting me, right?”

Luke blinked. “No?” 

“Dude, she was all over you!” Jack insisted, giving him another shove that had him stumbling slightly. “Go!”

Luke could feel his cheeks heating up. “Jack—”

“It’s my big brother duty to help you!”

Shove.

“Jack, fuck off. It’s not gonna happen.”

Shove.

“Yes, it will. Stop being a coward.”

Shove.

“Can you stop? I am not—”

Shove.

“Go talk to her!”

Shove.

“No—”

Except, the little shoves and lack of balance with the drinks he had been nursing through the night seemed to catch up on Luke. He stumbled back, his footing gone and his free hand reaching out to grasp Jack or something to stop him from falling. But it was too late. He was stumbling and his drink was sloshing and it went all over—

You. 

It went all over you because now you were right there, right in front of him, having just walked across the room to come and see him.

“Oh shit,” Jack muttered from behind him.

You looked down at your shirt—your very white shirt that now had some atrocious red stain splattered across the front from the cocktail John had made him—and stared in shock. 

Luke felt his whole body curl in on itself, his face burning and his chest feeling oddly tight. “I am so sorry—”

But, to his fucking shock (because you seemed to shock him a lot, if he was honest), you looked up at him and laughed. 

“Unlucky timing, huh?” You joked but Luke didn’t feel like laughing. 

“I can—” But he paused, not even sure what he was going to say. 

“Liking the colour red a little too much there, Cherry!” A voice from somewhere in the crowd—Luke genuinely wasn’t sure where—called out and your face brightened. 

“It’s a good thing I can pull it off!” You retorted, unfazed by the name. 

Cherry. 

Usually, Luke would chalk it up to his memory being fairly shit and the months that had passed since that night in the bar making him confuse your name for something else. Except, the boy had practically relived that night in his head on a constant loop. Every word. Every sentence. Every second of it. 

Pathetic? Yes.

Helpful? Probably not in any way, shape or fucking form except for the fact he was certain your name was not Cherry. He was more than certain. At least, he was certain that wasn’t the name you had told him. 

There were so many logical and simple reasons, he knew that deep down. But right now, Luke was embarrassed and flustered and he had this horrible inkling that you told him a fake name in case you thought he was a creep at the bar like the guy he saved you from and—

Yeah, Luke really didn’t like the idea of that. He didn’t like the idea of being paired in a category with that man. And he certainly didn’t like the idea that he made you uncomfortable enough to give him a fake name, even if he had given you no real reason to do otherwise. 

Someone pushed through the crowd as Luke continued to spiral in his own thoughts, unable to even get a coherent sentence out when Nico glanced between you and him. He let out a sigh, shaking his head as he offered you an apology before he turned to Luke.

“You can show her where the bathroom is, right?” 

And, fuck, he really thought this was the closest he could reach to ever feeling something close to hatred towards his captain.

Luke nodded his head, unable to get a word out and nodded towards the stairs. 

You seemed to catch his hint well enough as you turned to head towards the stairs. Until your hand was reaching back, taking his in your grasp and intertwining your fingers together and Luke’s brain short circuited all over again.

“Get it, Moose!”

Jack was pretty high on that almost-hate list too.

Luke felt like his body was on autopilot as he moved towards the stairs, letting you lead him up with your hands still connected until you reached the top. You looked at him expectantly and he led you towards the bathroom—one of the larger ones because he thought he would die if he was trapped in a small, enclosed space with you after he just spilled his drink all over you.

He opened the door, flicking the light on before stepping aside and letting you head inside. Except, the world seemed to have something against him, you dragged him into the bathroom behind you, your hands still connected, and grinned at him.

“Help a girl out?” 

Luke cleared his throat but nodded. 

He tried not to think too hard when you eventually dropped his hand. He tried not to think too hard when you locked the bathroom door. He tried not to think too hard as you glanced at him through the mirror. 

And he was doing well until you went and pulled your shirt over your head. 

His eyes widened, a spluttered noise of surprise leaving his lips as his eyes instantly snapped to the ceiling. But it was useless, he could already feel his blush crawling down his neck and burning hot.

“Relax,” you laughed. “I’m not giving you the full show. Just need to get this stain out.” 

“Mhm,” he hummed but his eyes remained on the ceiling. 

“Luke?”

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

“Uh huh.”

You let out a hum, like you didn’t quite believe him but you didn’t seem to push further. Instead, he heard the tap turn on and the water started running and suddenly, the bigger bathroom didn’t feel big enough.

“I’m not a creep!” He blurted out.

You paused. “Is that why you are staring at the ceiling? To prove you aren’t a creep?”

“No, well—” He cut himself off and let out a deep breath. “No, I just…your friend called you Cherry down there. You gave me a different name. I just…didn’t want you to think you had to give me a fake name because I was a creep. Granted, you don’t owe me anything but I just wanted to assure you—”

“Luke?”

He swallowed hard. “Yeah?” 

“I don’t think you’re a creep. And I didn’t lie about my name either,” you said, your voice a little softer this time. “People just call me Cherry.” 

And for a boy who ate, lived and breathed a sport that classically gave stupid nicknames to everyone and everything, he had never felt quite this dumb.

“Oh.” 

“Are you going to look at me now?” 

He waited for a moment. And then another. And then, before he chickened out of it, he lowered his gaze until he met yours—and didn’t let his eyes wander any further. 

“You’re an interesting boy,” you mused, tilting your head to the side.

His brows furrowed together. “Thank you?”

You grinned at his response before you turned back to the sink, seamlessly continuing to scrub your shirt under the running tap. 

Luke watched you for a few moments, trying to just stew in the silence and let you do your work. But the seconds kept ticking by and the silence was becoming more stifling and there was only so much he could handle before he wanted to rip his eyes out. 

“I’m sorry about my brother, by the way,” he said when he couldn’t think of anything else to say. “He’s a lil’ enthusiastic but he means no harm.” 

“He seems quite desperate to get you laid,” you noted, your eyes briefly finding him in the mirror again. “A lot of your friends do.”

His cheeks burned again. “They do that with everyone. They just like to be wingmen, you know?” 

Your eyes narrowed slightly on him. “But it makes you uncomfortable.” 

You say it like a fact, not a question. 

Luke choked a little. “Well—”

“Why not just tell them to back off?” You questioned and Luke welcomed the fresh, bitter twinge of embarrassment that washed over him.

“Because they would ask questions,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s just easier to let them mess about.” 

You looked intrigued now. “Why?”

Luke shifted under the intensity of your gaze. “Because then they would ask why I didn’t want to hook up with anyone.” 

You raised your brows. “Not a one-night stand kind of man?”

And honestly, he should have just cut the conversation there. He should have deflected the topic onto something else or gave some vague answer. Hell, even telling you to mind your own business was a better answer. But the alcohol made him feel buzzed, your presence was overwhelming and—for the first time in his life—Luke found himself blurting out the words he swore he would take to the grave.

“Because I’m a virgin.” 

You blinked. And he fucking waited for it. 

He waited for you to laugh. He waited for you to laugh and howl and cackle at his pathetic admission. To mock him, to tease him, to make him feel worse than he already felt. He waited and waited and waited. 

And it never came.

“And you can’t tell them that?” You questioned.

“I, uh,” Luke shook his head, his stomach somersaulting inside him in the worst ways possible. “No, it’s a little…taboo in my line of work.” 

You turned to actually look at him instead of gazing at him in the mirror. “Are you a sex worker?”

Luke spluttered, shaking his head. “What? No! No, I…I’m a hockey player.” 

You frowned a little. “Hockey players can’t be virgins?” 

“Well, it’s not like a set rule but like,” he paused, waving his hands around like that explained everything. But you still looked confused and Luke knew he had to keep talking. “Everyone just kinda expects hockey players to be some kind of…sex god. Or something. I don’t know. All I know is that it’s not really common to be a virgin in the league.” 

“Okay,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest—where you still stood in only a bra covering yourself. “So, like, are you a virgin…by choice?”

“Oh my god,” Luke groaned, bringing his hands to cover his face before it got even more red.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way!” You assured him. “I was just curious.”

“Nobody was supposed to know,” Luke grumbled into his hands, but you seemed to understand him well enough.

“I won’t tell a soul,” you promised.

But the damage was done and Luke wanted nothing more than for the floor to open up and drag him into the depths of the Earth.

He needed to get out of this bathroom. He needed to get out and go downstairs, rush through a flurry of goodbyes to the team before he quickly escaped and headed home where he could hide his embarrassment in a large tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream that certainly wasn’t in his meal plan. 

He just needed to turn around, unlock the door and slip out before you had the chance to—

“What if I helped you?”

Yeah, that was not what he expected.

His hands dropped from his face as he stared at you, his expression almost blank except for the confusion shining in his eyes. “Huh?”

“What if I helped you?” You repeated.

“Helped me with what?” 

“Being a virgin,” you said with a shrug. “It seems like it’s really important to you, or something. And I think you are bigging it up in your head a little more than necessary. Maybe you just need someone to give you a helping hand, you know? Guide you through it, help you learn. No pressure, yeah?”

He blinked. “And…you would do that?”

“Yeah, why not,” you answered honestly with a shrug of your shoulders. “You intrigue me, Luke.”

“I intrigue you,” he repeated slowly, and he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“It’s not a bad thing to be intriguing.”

“It is when you make it sound like I’m some kind of experiment.”

You flashed him a softer smile and something in his chest eased a little. “You don’t have to say yes, it was just a suggestion. Just…a new friend helping her new friend out.”

New friend. 

Luke swallowed. “And…what would you gain from this?”

You sighed, shrugging your shoulders again. “Honestly? I’ve had my fair share of disappointing experiences in bed by guys who think they are sex gods. Call it a gift to womankind if I help at least one guy be competent and capable in bed.” 

He blinked. “Right. Gift to womankind. That’s me.’

You snorted. “Just think about it, yeah? Obviously, you can go about with whatever you are doing. Just a suggestion to make a casual thing out of it, to help take the stress away. It’s your choice, Luke.” 

It was his choice. 

He knew it was his choice and, despite knowing little about you, some stupid part of him trusted that you were being genuine. You were odd but you were sincere, and he knew your offer was sincere too. If he took you up on it, you would help him out. If he declined, you wouldn’t push the matter any further and just move on in your life. 

No more words were exchanged after that, the offer lingering and the tap still running as the red stain showed no signs of budging under the soap and cold water. He knew he didn’t have to give you an answer there and then. 

But the worst part was that Luke was pretty fucking sure he knew what his answer was the first time the offer left your lips.

And he pretty sure the remaining stain on your shirt was some sort of bad omen from the universe that already liked to tease him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He was fucking done being a twenty year old virgin and you were his solution to the problem.

.

[juletheghoul]

distraction

a/n: I'm as shocked as you probably are with posting a full chapter today, along with a pretty extensive ask on Friday but here we are. I don't know why this character has inspired such devotion and creativity in me but I am not going to question it. This might be the most toxic chapter yet lol and If you aren't into it. no hard feelings! This is un beta-ed, any mistakes are my own. Shout out to @foli-vora for being a light in a pretty rough week, and for listening to all of my rants and tangents. Love you girlie! 🩷Hopefully you enjoy!

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, gladiatorial violence, exhibitionism, Marcus being a possessive, jealous mess, creampie, heavily leaning into the ownership aspect of their 'relationship', master / slave dynamic (power imbalance), Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus, let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 2.7k

reblogs are appreciated

Prev chapter Masterlist series masterlist

The sun rose, much like it did on every other day, and you rose with it. 

With a yawn and a stretch you dressed, cursing at the way your tunic tattered at the seams. You’d have to mend it later, you made a mental note to remember as you rushed to start on your chores for the day. 

You found him splashing water from the jug and basin in his room, and moved quickly and quietly to help him dress for the day ahead. Silently he moved throughout the room, letting you adjust his clothes so they looked their best, he let you push his hair into place and to take the basin to be emptied while he made his way to his study. The sun was still high in the sky when the messenger came for him, bringing him the invitation from the Emperor himself to oversee the gladiatorial games in honour of his victory. His brow furrowed at the news, he would be in the pulvinus with the Emperor along with other Romans of proper birth. 

He didn’t take the news well, to him it was a folly. He had absolutely no wish to be celebrated, as far as he was concerned, his march into the city had been more than enough but he could not deny the invitation. So with a clench in his jaw and a number of frustrated sighs, he accepted, and set about making the preparations. 

The day of the games came and as his constant shadow, you followed to see to his needs and to pour for him. It was difficult to keep the excitement in check, every so often you’d glance down to your new tunic, bright white with details of gold to match your Dominus. Despite your many years of service, none of the people you’d served before had ever brought you to the arena, let alone in the presence of the Emperor, or in such a high seat as the pulvinus. Your march through the city towards the Colosseum was filled with cheers and the screams of people clamoring to see the General of the Roman army up close. 

He did his duty, waved and smiled for their benefit despite his great discomfort, and you did your duty as well–kept your head down, and your attention on him. 

The pulvinus was blessedly covered by rich fabrics, shielding the esteemed guests and slaves alike from the unforgiving rays of the sun. With his cup full, and his attention with the Emperor, you used the moment of reprieve to take in the sights. The opening games had come and gone and now the main event was to start. The gladiators filed out and took their place, awaiting the words that would set them on their path of violence. 

They were a mixed batch of fighters, all of them fearsome in their own way. There was a small, stocky one, his face was all anger and his arms were covered in scars. There was one that towered over them all, his arms and legs long enough to keep anyone from getting too close. There were twins, both of them smiling for the crowd, clearly favoured from the cheers they inspired. There was another, and he was the one that drew your eye. His hair was black as coal with eyes to match and although on the leaner side, the strength in his limbs was obvious. His sword hand flexed at the hilt and you watched him twirl the weapon, test its weight before he looked up to the pulvinus, in truth he reminded you of your Dominus; twenty years younger. 

He smiled up in your direction and your stomach twisted, for a moment you imagined your Dominus down in the sand, fighting for the crowd and it thrilled you. You imagined meeting him as a younger man, what he might have been like, what might he think of you?

“Girl.” His voice cut through your musing, his cup outstretched and you stumbled for only a heartbeat, imperceptible to anyone but him. His eyes tracked what had distracted you, and found the young Gladiator smiling still, and said nothing. His mood soured though and at once you chastised yourself for letting the arena distract you.  

Marcus introduced the main games, the Primus, and he did so without flair, without embellishment but it mattered not, the people screamed and the men before you fought for their lives against a myriad of challengers. You kept your eye on your Dominus, on his cup but the young gladiator –Varus– kept drawing your attention, he looked so like your General that you idly wondered if he could be his son, could he have fathered him during his younger years? It was known to happen, did he see the resemblance? Did anyone?

Varus is relentless, and despite making sure your Dominus’ needs are met your eyes track him, enraptured. It is difficult to be sure who it is he smiles at when he glances up in your direction, it is most likely the high-born Roman women. His skill is undeniable, and again your thoughts drift to a younger, wilder Marcus, would your general have given you those smiles so brazenly at that age?

“He does like to put on a show does he not?” One of the high born ladies remarks and you cannot help but watch as Varus laughs, cutting down those who challenge him with ease, even as some of his brothers fall. “Look how he smiles, he is of a form today.” They giggle between themselves as he points his sword in tribute towards them, or you, or the Emperor, it is hard to tell. 

“He definitely draws the eye.” Marcus speaks, agreeing with them, but you hear his displeasure and when you meet his eyes they are already focused on you. Your stomach drops at the look of displeasure on his face, your momentary lapse had not been taken lightly. Heat and embarrassment fill you to the brim and from then on your eyes find themselves downcast. “More wine, girl.” His tone is colder than you’ve ever heard it, enough to set your nerves alight. 

“Yes Dominus.” Your tone, in turn, is demure and humble and you pray to the Gods that you get through the games without embarrassing him further.

Varus and the twins stand victorious, and the crowd loves them for it, enough to shake the ground with their cheers but you keep your head down. With your error, you expected Marcus to excuse himself and make his way home once the games were over but it wasn’t to be. The Emperor had arranged for his guests to exchange words with the victors, and so down into the sand you went, following where your Dominus went on shaky legs. 

Up close, Varus was taller than your General, but not by much. He was strong, and lean, and covered in blood and gore, it did nothing to take away from his allure. It didn’t seem to bother him, if anything, it only made him more appealing. The resemblance was there, not as close as you’d imagined but there was something there, in the profile, in the gaze, he was a handsome man, but no one held a candle to Marcus in your eyes. 

The Emperor bestowed words of congratulations, and they bowed dutifully. Varus smiled, boldly, unbothered by the ire of your Dominus, his eyes wandered and when they found you they raked over your form unabashedly. He drank in the sight of your thighs through the slit in your tunic, in the curve of your neck and although you had no real interest in this man, you couldn’t help but fidget. 

Your Dominus clenched his jaw, but offered his good will all the same, albeit in a curt manner and once the pleasantries were exchanged, you were blessedly away from the arena, and off towards the villa once more. He’s eerily quiet on the trek back home, even for him and although he’s usually quite forgiving despite his gruff exterior, you pray to the Gods that you haven’t offended him past the point of return. His horse whinnies underneath him while you and his personal guard follow behind, and all at once he is off his horse and handing off the reins. 

“Come girl, I have business here.” He barely looks at you, but you rush to follow where he leads, down a quiet street away from the chaos of the day. You have to take two steps for every one of his in order to stay close. You take it as a good sign, that he calls on you to attend to him after the business in the pulvinus, and you steel yourself to serve to the best of your ability in whatever possible way he may need. He winds through different alleys and it takes a moment for you to wonder idly just where exactly he needs to go before you find yourself pressed up against the wall. 

“Have you grown tired of your Dominus?” His hand wrapped around your throat, pressing you up against the wall. Not tight enough to cut off your breath, but tight enough to make you stand on the tips of your toes. His eyes were cold as frost, but there was passion laced through his words as well as rage. 

“No Dominus–”

“Do. Not. Lie.” His grip tightened for only a second, “Do you think me blind, girl? I saw the way you watched Varus.” The gladiator's name was a curse and for a moment you frowned at him, was this jealousy?

“Dominus, I could never, I was merely distracted–” You brought your hands up, trying vainly to soothe him with gentle touch but the anger burned hot within him, and he stepped closer, kicking your legs apart to press his knee between them. 

“Yes, distracted by him, he caught your eye. Do you desire him?” You felt your heart racing, thumping against his palm at your throat, “Tell me girl, have you forgotten that you belong to me? Do you wish to belong to another?”

“No Dominus! Only you, I–I could not help but notice Varus–” His jaw clenched at the sound of the other man's name upon your tongue. “Because, because he resembled you, Dominus.”

His anger faltered for a moment, but the frown remained, and so you continued. 

“He looked so like you Dominus, and I couldn’t help but imagine you at that age, fighting and smiling at me. I do not desire anyone else, I do not wish to belong to anyone else.” You brought your hands up, tentatively placing one upon his at your throat, and the other on his chest. 

“Did that excite you? Do you wish me to be younger?” There was a vulnerability in his eyes then, obscured by anger but shining through all the same and had he been anyone else, you might have laughed at the absurdity of his complex. 

“It only excited me, to imagine you smiling at me, fighting for me Dominus. I do not wish you to be any other way.” Your hands moved in tandem, one stroking at his arm softly, the other sliding down his chest, towards where his passion grew and pressed against your hip. “Look into my eyes and see the truth in my words, I belong to you, mind, body and soul, only you.” His grip loosened, but he didn’t let go.

“Can you not see how much I desire you? How my heart beats only to the tune of your pleasure?” He isn’t unaffected by your words, you see him drink them down like a fine wine, and he sighs heavily at the feel of your palm on his manhood. “Take me, here and now Dominus, my want for you drips onto my thighs.” 

His eyes close and a heavy breath escapes his lips and you see your chance, you see the tiny fracture in his armor. “May I have your mouth Dominus?” You pulled him closer, while guiding his free hand to the Elysian fields between your legs. His fingers slipped under your coverings and found you wet and wanting and all at once his violence is coloured with passion instead of anger. 

“You will never belong to another, do you understand me girl?” Frantically he pulls at your tunic, moving it up, and pulling the neck down to bare your breasts to him, uncaring of the people who happen by. 

“You are mine, all of you, is mine.” His mouth pressed to yours roughly, stealing the breath out of your lungs. Your hands fumbled at his robes, joining in his madness and releasing his cock. He doesn’t let you touch it however, instead he turns you around and pulls your hips out. You hear him spit into his hand before lining himself up at the mouth of your sex, barely giving you a moment before burying himself to the hilt. 

You can’t help but moan and hold onto his arms, the grit of the wall pressed up against your face. His hand wrapped around your throat once more, holding you still while his hips drove forward, filling you over and over without respite, his other hand found your breast and held it tight, fanning the flames of your arousal for him. 

“This cunt—“ his mouth pressed against your ear, breathing harshly with the force of his exertion, “is mine, mine alone.” The moan clawed its way out from your throat, that he would be this affected by a simple glance should have scared you, but it didn’t. It only made your arousal flow like seawater.

Your cunt was the altar of his devotion, and his prayers were violent.

“Yes Dominus, yours alone.” You pushed back, turning your face as best you could to look him in the eye and his expression pulled another sound from your throat. He was enraptured, eyes blown black and mouth slack as his hips drilled, bouncing against the plump flesh of your backside. “I want to look at you Dominus, I want your mouth–” He groaned, pulling out quickly to turn you back around and within a breath he had one of your legs wrapped around his hip, his hand holding it at the knee, and his cock buried deep. His other hand held you firm by the throat. 

“Tell me girl, tell me you’re mine, only mine.” There was a desperation in his voice that pulled at something within you, something tender despite his brusque movements. 

“I’m yours Dominus, I belong to you–” You threaded your fingers into his hair and yanked him close to you, your grip tight and he moaned, unabashedly, “I only ever want to be yours.”

His eyes close before his lips have found yours, and you feel the way his pace stutters, he is close and all at once you need to feel him spill inside, his need to stake his claim burning you up like a fever. You move one hand down to your sex, to the swollen bundle of nerves begging for attention, and with the other, you hold his hand to your throat. 

“Please Dominus, please fill me with your gift.” You moan the words out, and smile at the way he grinds himself deep with a low groan. The coil in your belly snaps as you feel him spill inside, and your flutters make him hiss, his mouth surging forward to claim yours hard enough to hurt but it matters not. Your heart and cunt are full with him just as it should be. 

His breath comes in pants as he removes his hand from your neck, and your breath hitches when he brushes his lips against your skin in silent apology. You know the moment will pass, and that soon, his mood will change and this interlude will end, as all interludes must but you seize the moment anyway, and pull his face up to meet his eyes. 

“I speak truth Dominus, my heart fills with joy to be yours.” Softly, you wrap your arms around his neck and bring him close, for a moment you are worried that as his blood cools, so does his passion for you but he proves you wrong, and lets you kiss him. More than that, he keeps kissing you as he set your robes to right with gentle hands before pulling out with a hiss. He does not respond, there is no need to, his eyes speak for him. 

Within a few heartbeats, the look is gone and his usual mask is back in place. 

“Come girl, let us away.”

“Yes Dominus.” 

—

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[sunnyrisee]

The Moment I Knew — Lee Know

pairing : idol! lee know x fem! reader

genre : friends to lovers, angst with happy ending, fluff.

summary : in which you fall in love with your best friend, only to be shattered by rumors of him dating someone else. so you try to distance yourself to move on. but letting go proves harder than you ever imagined.

word count : 4,159

author's note : this took three days, whether this is good or not. i hope you like this series. sorry if there are any mistakes.

taglist : @minhosbitterriver

To the world, he's an idol.

But to you, he's much more. He's your best friend, someone who knows you deeply and stands by you. He became an idol while you were still in college.

Actually, you love him.

As his fame grew through the years, you continued your studies, focusing on your master's degree to become a vet. It's sweet how he tells you that if his cats ever get sick, he can come to you for help and doesn't need to find another vet.

You love the idea, so you promise him that.

When Minho invited you to the dorm to watch movies, hang out, or chat, you were always greeted by the sound of yelling, people running around, or occasionally the smell of burnt food. You laughed it off, knowing they were like a family. Despite the chaos, Chan kept apologizing to you profusely. While Chan kept bowing and apologizing to you, you watched Minho—well, yeah, he was busy stuffing tissues into Hyunjin's mouth.

Your eyes widened, and you excused yourself from Chan. He followed your gaze and soon facepalmed.

"Minho! Stop that, idiot. You're hurting him!" You scolded, grabbing his arm to make him stop. He gave you a disgusted look, as if to say, "Why are you on Hyunjin's side, not mine?"

"Well, tell him to shut up! He hurt my eardrums!" Minho retorted, yanking his arm away from your grip. Hyunjin, finally free, gasped for air and glared at Minho.

"God, Y/n. How could you stand him?" Hyunjin asked, throwing an arm over his eyes as if exhausted by the ordeal. You laughed softly, glancing at Minho who was still grumbling.

"It wasn't always easy, but I guess I'd gotten used to his antics. Besides, someone had to keep an eye on him."

Minho shot you a mock glare. "Oh, so now you're against me too?"

"Of course not." You replied with a grin. "But sometimes you did make it hard. Maybe I just had a soft spot for difficult people." Minho rolled his eyes at your statement and went back to setting up the movie.

Minho wasn't much of a talker; he preferred to listen more. There were times he did speak, but not often. Still, you were grateful that he wanted to share his days with you. On the other hand, you loved talking, especially with him, and joking around was always fun. However, he hated it when you teamed up with Kim Seungmin.

He remembered a time when you were playing a game with Seungmin. Minho messaged you, urgently asking where you were because he needed your help to find Dori's toy. Seungmin took your phone and replied with a dog meme flipping the middle finger. He hated how powerful you'd become with Seungmin.

You eventually made friends with all of them, and most of them were a lot of fun to hang out with.

One thing they didn't know was your feelings for him. Yes, some of them might have asked about it, but Minho brushed it off, reassuring them that you both were just best friends. It hurt, and you could feel your heart breaking every time Minho downplayed it, making you question if your feelings were even noticed. You didn't know when the feelings started—maybe it was because you often spent time together, or perhaps it was the way you were enchanted whenever you were with him.

As time went on, you continued with your own life, focusing on your studies. Yet, whenever you lost in thought, Minho always seemed to come to mind.

After a long day at college, you finally got back to your apartment, exhausted and ready to rest. Just as you were about to settle in, you heard a notification from your phone. You checked it and saw a message from Minho saying he would be coming over because Felix and Seungmin had somehow managed to burn the kitchen.

Your face lit up, a smile curving on your lips. Even though you had to admit you were really tired and your back ached, you couldn't help but feel a little excited at the thought of Minho coming over.

"Thank you for letting me come here. It was crazy there—Chan was now scolding them both." Minho said as he arrived. He looked around your apartment, taking in the calm atmosphere compared to the chaos he had just left.

"I owed you one for this. If you needed anything, just let me know."

You laughed softly, despite your exhaustion. "No need to thank me. Just make yourself comfortable."

He sat on your couch, trying to calm his mind, while you sat on the floor, hugging your knees to your chest. As you listened, he started to ramble about how the new comeback was wearing him out.

"I swear, this comeback has completely worn me out. With the upcoming tour, I'm just so exhausted." Minho said, running a hand through his hair. You listened quietly, offering a comforting presence.

"I could only imagine how tough that must be. But you were doing an amazing job. It's okay to take a break and just breathe for a bit..." You replied, stifling a yawn as you started to feel sleepy.

"You've never seen me in the practice room. You need to know how tiring it is! Jisung keeps falling, or Chan forgets to mirror the dance." He continued, shaking his head.

You kept listening to his ramble, it made your heart flutter when he opened up to you. Today was just different—you were more tired than ever. You wanted to hear more and value these moments, but you shifted slightly, and your head eventually rested against the edge of the couch.

Minho continued talking until he heard your little snores, realizing you had fallen asleep. He glanced down and was surprised to see you resting against the edge of the couch, a gentle smile forming on his lips.

Not wanting to disturb you, he carefully moved to sit on the floor beside you, letting you rest comfortably.

"I didn't realize how exhausted you were. Make sure you get some rest. I'll stay here for a while."

You knew you loved him more, and it was becoming clearer each day. Every time you were with him, you could feel butterflies in your stomach and a warm flush across your cheeks. Even if you didn't really hang around the building or accompany him during practice, the time you spent together was enough to make your feelings grow stronger.

You loved him, and you couldn't even describe your own feelings. You could talk about him all day, about the little things he did that made your heart race, the way he smiled, or how he always knew what to say to make you feel better. But no matter how deeply you loved him, a nagging doubt always lingered at the back of your mind.

Did he see you as more than just a friend? Or were you forever destined to be just his best friend, standing on the sidelines of his heart?

It was night time when Minho invited you to tag along with the group at the carnival. You didn't really want to get on the rides, so you chose to just watch them. As time went on, you all walked around, talking and laughing, but you found yourself lagging behind Minho, falling behind the others.

You glanced at his back, wanting to cherish moments like these just with him. Your mind trailed off, and you couldn't help but think that one day, he'd find someone who truly matched him. There were so many beautiful idols out there, and you began to realize.

Maybe you just weren't meant for him.

A deep sadness settled in your chest as you trailed behind, feeling the distance grow between your heart and reality. You watched him from afar, caught between the joy of being near him and the painful acknowledgment that your feelings might never be returned. The carnival lights seemed to mock your longing, a bittersweet reminder of what could have been but likely never would.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. You didn't want to ruin this moment—he looked so happy, enjoying himself with the group.

Why couldn't you be strong for once? Why couldn't you just move on from him?

The self-doubt and heartache overwhelmed you, making you wish you could just disappear at this point.

"Y/n? Are you alright?" Minho asked softly, his hand gently resting on your shoulder as he tried to get your attention. As you looked up at him, you saw the concern etched on his face. You didn't want to make him worry.

"I'm fine, Minho. I was thinking how can cats eat leaves." You assured him, adding a joke to deflect his concern. You hoped it would be enough to brush off his worry.

Minho raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Cats eating leaves? You're such a weirdo, Y/n." You laughed softly, relieved as his playful comment eased the tension.

Throughout the night, the ache in your heart never quite went away. No matter how hard you tried to push your feelings aside, it felt like everything around you kept reminding you of them, making it hard to enjoy the evening.

Lee Know from Stray Kids Rumored to Be Dating a Member of a Girl Group.

As you read the headlines, and a knot tightened in your stomach. A flood of questions overwhelmed you, each one gnawing at you and making it harder to breathe.

You knew this day might come, but you didn't expect it to hurt so much. It was as if your heart was being shattered into a million pieces, each one cutting deeper than the last.

You stared at the screen, the words blurring as tears welled up in your eyes. You tried to hold them back, but it was useless. Each tear that fell felt like another piece of your heart breaking away. You should've known better. But why couldn't you just leave him be? Why couldn't you just let go?

You let yourself cry the whole day, dying to ask him if the rumors were true or not. Yet, you didn't dare touch your phone to message him. You were afraid, you were scared. The fear of hearing confirmation, of shattering your last glimmer of hope, kept you paralyzed. Every sob seemed to wrack your entire being, leaving you feeling more fragile and broken with each passing moment.

You clutched your pillow, drenched with your tears. You never imagined that loving him could be this painful. Everything felt unbearably heavy, and it seemed like pure torture. It was as if your world was collapsing, each breath more difficult to take under the weight of your unspoken love.

Luckily, you didn't have class today, so you could cry as much as you wanted. If there had been class, you were sure you wouldn't have been able to focus.

What made it worse was that you didn't have any friends other than Minho and the other Stray Kids members. You hated yourself for not branching out more, and now you had to face the painful reality of moving on from your only close friend.

You kept your word, making an effort to avoid him as much as possible. Your days felt lonelier, and your apartment seemed colder, each corner a reminder of the emptiness you felt.

You hated having to be this way with your own friend. After two weeks, you responded only with short replies or didn't answer his messages at all. His calls went straight to voicemail.

When you arrived back at your apartment, you looked around and realized just how much you missed him. The reality of it hit hard—you were nothing like him, and you felt utterly miserable without him.

"Hyung, I haven't seen Y/n in a while. I tried to message her but she said she's been busy lately." Han said as he took a seat next to Minho in the studio. He then began to type something on his laptop.

Minho's eyes widened in surprise. "You know about Y/n? I've been trying to reach her for weeks, but she's been completely unresponsive."

Han glanced up from his laptop, noticing Minho's distress. "I didn't know something was going on. I thought she was just busy with school or something. Is everything okay?"

Minho sighed heavily, unsure of what to say. He had never truly asked about you. Running a hand through his hair, he muttered.

"I don't know... She's not her usual self these days..." Minho admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. He was confused about what to do, feeling lost without knowing what was going on. Normally, you always knew exactly what to do or say in moments like this, but now, without you, he felt completely lost and unsure of how to fix things.

"You know? Y/n is my voice when w-words fail me, she's the person who listens patiently to all my thoughts, and she's the person I depend on when I need someone to be there..."

Seeing his hyung, who almost never talks about his feelings, open up like this was like watching someone who'd been silent their whole life suddenly find their voice. Han could sense just how much you meant to him. It was as if you were the missing piece of Minho's life, the one person who made everything make sense.

God, he wished for someone like you to come into his own life.

"Hyung, I'm sorry to ask this, but do you have feelings for her?" Han's question left Minho stunned.

"What kind of question is that? She's my best friend!" Minho snapped, his words coming out sharper than he intended. There was no way he could have feelings for his own friend, right?

Han looked down at his laptop, trying to gather his thoughts. He had no intention of breaking into his hyung's boundaries, but since he knew you too, he was sure one of you was in love. That thought was embedded in his mind, an unspoken truth he couldn't ignore. He didn't say much, but he noticed the subtle glances and fleeting smiles, the silent language of affection that spoke louder than words.

Minho didn't know what was going through his mind. His instincts urged him to see you, as if something inside was telling him he needed to. He sent you a message saying he would pick you up today.

As he waited for you to finish class, the minutes seemed to stretch on endlessly. When you finally received his message, you were taken aback.

You spotted him waiting for you, his face obscured by a mask and glasses, and a hat pulled low over his eyes. His attempt at disguise almost made him unrecognizable.

"Hey, dummy."

"Hey, why did you waste your time picking me up?" You asked, your tone coming off colder than you intended. You knew clearly he was supposed to have practice today.

"I have some free time, so why not? Plus, you've been acting strange lately, I was starting to think you'd vanished into thin air." Minho replied with a hint of a smile behind his mask. His eyes stayed fixed on you as you walked ahead, a look of concern and curiosity on his face that felt more intense than usual.

As you both walked side by side, the silence between you felt heavier than usual. You could feel Minho's gaze occasionally drifting towards you.

"Are you okay?" Minho finally broke the silence, his voice softer than usual. You hesitated, struggling to keep your composure. 

"It's nothing, really."

He stopped walking and gently placed a hand on your shoulder, making you turn to face him. "Y/n, you don't have to shut me out. If something's wrong, I want to help. You're my friend, and I care about you." 

Hearing him worry about you made your heart ache. You took a deep breath, struggling to hold back your emotions.

"It's just… There are things I can’t talk about. Not right now..." Minho's eyes softened with understanding.

You stood in silence, your emotions bubbling just beneath the surface. You wanted to voice everything you'd been holding back for so long, but the words felt trapped, unable to escape.

The awkward silence was broken by a soft, pitiful meow. You and Minho turned simultaneously, searching for the source of the sound. Minho's expression softened as he carefully approached, revealing a small, trembling kitten cradled in his hands.

Your heart melted at the sight. Without a word, you reached out and carefully took the kitten from Minho, your vet student instincts immediately taking over. As you examined the kitten with utmost care, you spoke gently to it, trying to calm its trembling. You reached into your bag and pulled out some supplies, preparing to tend to its needs.

Minho watched you closely, mesmerized by your gentle touch and genuine care. He was at a loss for what was stirring inside him, but as he watched you tenderly care for the kitten, you looked more beautiful than ever. His heart raced uncontrollably, and a warm flush spread across his cheeks.

As you finished tending to the kitten, you glanced up and caught Minho's eyes on you. He immediately averted his gaze, clearly flustered.

"See? You're okay now, little one..." You said, gently setting the kitten down. It looked a bit more refreshed now. You then brought out some food, carefully placing it near the tiny creature.

The warmth in your actions contrasted sharply with the coldness you'd shown him recently. The more he stared at you, the more his heart began to race, each beat louder than the last. He noticed the same habit you both shared, carrying cat food wherever you went. How could he have forgotten about that?

It was just like the day you met him.

You were helping a cat that had fallen into a sewer when Minho found you. He thought you were weird, which is why he called you an idiot. Despite that, he helped you rescue the cat. That shared moment had been the start of your friendship, and now, seeing you like this, he couldn’t help but feel a pang in his heart.

Maybe, Han was right.

"It's like the first time we've met..." He mumbled softly, just loud enough for you to hear.

"Yeah... It does." You replied, a small smile forming on your lips. The memory of that day flooded back, bringing with it a bittersweet feeling.

You bit your lip, feeling the weight of your emotions. With a trembling sigh, you looked up at him, your heart heavy with the realization of the truth you'd been trying to avoid.

"Minho." You started, your voice breaking. "I think... I think we shouldn't be friends anymore."

The words fell from your lips like a heavy, painful blow, and you could see Minho's world crumble in his eyes. As you turned to walk away, each step felt like a dagger to the heart. The light of your presence, once so vibrant, began to fade, leaving behind a suffocating coldness. 

Minho felt the warmth of your presence slipping through his fingers, replaced by an overwhelming chill that engulfed his heart.

"Is he okay?" Chan asked, peering through the door, the rest of the members trailing behind him. They all shook their heads, unsure. Chan sighed and approached Minho's side.

"Man. Listen, I don't know what's up, but you can't keep going like this. We've got stuff to do, and you're not doing anyone any favors by shutting us out. Just talk to us, okay?"

Minho took a deep breath, his voice trembling. "It's her... It's true what Han said, I really love her. Ugh, I didn't understand it at first, but now I see it clearly..."

Chan's expression softened as he listened to Minho's confession. "Then why don't you confess your feelings?" He asked gently. "You have a lifetime chance to win her heart, but that chance could slip away if you let your fears or ego get in the way. You need to be honest with her. It's the only way to find out if there's a future for you two."

Just as Chan's words echoed in his mind, a surge of clarity jolted through Minho. It wasn't too late to confess. He knew, deep down, that you were the only one he truly wanted. The thought of losing you forever was unbearable.

"Also, have you heard the dating rumors about you? That's probably what hurt her. If I'm right, those rumors have been spreading for at least a month—"

"Are you kidding me? A month?!" Minho's voice was a mix of anger and disbelief.

The realization hit him hard. The pain you must have felt—he now felt it deeply in his own heart. It was as if his chest was tightening, making it difficult to breathe. The weight of the rumors and the distance between you both crushed him.

Without thinking, Minho bolted from the room, his heart pounding fiercely in his chest. Never in his life had he felt such fear of loss. The moment you walked away had already broken him, but the idea of losing you forever felt like it would destroy him completely.

When he arrived at your apartment, he noticed the door was slightly ajar. Doubt and worry gripped him.

Why would you leave the door open or unlocked at night?

He hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding as he pushed the door open slowly.

"Y/n?"

When you didn't respond, he stepped inside more fully, the fear gripping him tightening around his chest. His eyes scanned the room frantically before landing on you.

Minho's heart ached at the sight: you were slumped over your desk, surrounded by scattered books and papers. Your exhaustion was palpable; dark circles shadowed your eyes, and your usually vibrant face looked pale and drawn.

Minho gently touched your shoulder, causing you to stir awake. When you fully came to, you were startled to find Minho's face so close to yours.

"Minho? What are you doing—"

Minho cut you off tenderly, his fingers brushing against your cheek with a warmth that felt both comforting and electrifying. You could see his eyes welling up with tears, his voice catching in his throat. The sight of him so broken and vulnerable was almost too much to bear.

"Y/n..." Minho's voice trembled, breaking through the heavy silence.

"I never imagined I'd find someone who could touch my heart like this. But the moment I knew I loved you was when I r-realized how empty my life would be without you. You're everything I've ever wanted and more..."

As Minho's heartfelt confession filled the room, you listened intently, your once-dull eyes beginning to sparkle with emotion. The weight of his words resonated deeply within you, and you could feel your own heartbeat quickening with every beat.

"When you left, the chill that settled in my heart made me understand just how much you were the fire that warmed my soul." Hearing these words, you could barely hold back the tears that threatened to spill. The relief you felt was overwhelming, as if the weight of unspoken feelings was finally lifted from your chest.

"Minho... You've no idea how much I needed to hear this. I've felt so lost, but now, hearing you, it feels like everything is falling into place." Minho gently cupped your face, his touch both tender and reassuring.

"My heart feels like it's been set ablaze." Minho pulled you closer.

As his lips met yours, the world seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of you in a tender, passionate moment. You gently placed your hands on his neck, fingers lightly brushing through his hair.

The warmth of his body pressed against yours, combined with the sweet pressure of his lips, sent a thrill through you, igniting a fire that mirrored the one he had described.

As you pulled away, breathless and flushed, your eyes locked with his. A soft smile blossomed on both your lips, and your noses brushed together in a delicate, shared moment.

"Then let me be the breeze that fans your flames, ensuring our fire burns bright." 

[shun-ie]

₍⁠₍⁠ ⁠◝ the past, the present, and the future (rhys larsen)

content : longest fanfic yet, rhys larsen, differentpath!au, amab!reader, slowburn, sexual awakening?, strangers to acquaintances to friends to lovers, mentions of trauma/ptsd, healing the inner child, ooc-ish rhys, unprotected sex, slight mention of fingering, bttm!malereader, ceo!reader, mentions of kinks, lmk if i missed anything :))

shun-note : rhys larsen is not my oc. he belongs to ana huang, the author of twisted games. i also noticed that there weren't a lot of twisted series fics (or there's none at all), so i made one. missing some details, but i wanted to post this already so it doesn't rot in my drafts lol

[not proofread]

m.list !

cold hearted. that's what rhys larsen first thought of y/n l/n, the ceo of l/n conglomerate. after being the bodyguard for bridget von ascheberg, the crown princess of eldorra, he took up another commission to drown away the ache that was left when he parted from the woman he spent his two years protecting.

y/n l/n was vastly different from any of those rhys had guarded in the past.

y/n put his work first. sleep? he'd sign and read through papers until he collapsed and died. eat? he'd starve just to entertain the board of his company. he did however, keep a strict hygiene and exercise routine. in those two months with y/n, he never once saw the frown leave his lips. it was like it was permanently scarred on his face. the total opposite of bridget.

rhys was offered the job just after he freshly resigned from his post. he was reluctant to accept the commission, but accepted once he found out it was a man he would be guarding this time. he did all the background checks, read y/n's information, did security protocols, just like any other clients he had previously.

and as he trailed behind the ceo, who parted the crowd of paparazzi and 'fans' like the red sea, he was brought back to the moment when he first met the indifferent man in front of him.

"this is sir y/n l/n. lately, he's being harassed by paparazzi. he has been followed home seven times in the past month . . . ambush interviews . . . and he can't eat in restaurants anymore," the secretary listed as she spoke to rhys via request of y/n's father who took care of affairs in china. "he normally does things alone without bodyguards, but this time people have gone too far," she further explains, pushing an open folder with photos taken by the paparazzi.

they consisted of y/n sitting in a booth at a restaurant, entering sister company buildings, walking through the park, and even leaving his car as he approached his house. it was never this bad with bridget.

as he examined the photos, alongside the blueprints of y/n's house and the company headquarters he requested beforehand, the secretary says something that catches his attention.

"sir l/n doesn't talk much. so don't feel hurt if he gives you the cold shoulder when you guys meet," hurt? hilarious. i don't even know him well enough to be hurt. "-he most likely will ignore you." arrogant? stuck up?

it was then when he met y/n l/n that there was something else. from the way the ceo's eyebrows furrowed, stress shadowing his tense but elegant form, as he scanned the papers in his hand, a cup of something in his other.

"miss clarke, i have another meeting with missus barett on wednesday at seven pm. add that to my schedule. and move my call with mister harris around nine pm after the meeting." he then stopped in his tracks, taking notice of the other presence in the room. he blinks, eyeing the large man sitting in front of his secretary. long hair, broad muscular frame, gunmetal eyes, and a scar slashing through his left eyebrow. he wore all black. "you must be the bodyguard my father hired. rhys larsen, correct me if i am wrong."

y/n's voice was full on business, leaving no trace of any other emotions other than serious and commanding. words rolled out of his mouth like smooth silk and his earlier strides could rival fairies that pranced around gracefully as they took flight.

"yes and if i may, i'll be looking around the building for any security measures," rhys got straight to the point. there was no point dancing around the issue. no point in introductions, they knew each other well enough. it was obvious. his indifference masked the slight curiosity that sparked as he watched y/n disappear into his office, where he caught a glimpse of neatly stacked paperwork and the large window that overlooked the city from above.

even as he drove away from the airport, he knew nothing about the man he's protecting. unlike bridget who he had arguments and decent conversations with, y/n only gave him one or two word responses before silence loomed over them like a cloud everyday for the two months they were together. the basic information about the ceo was nothing compared to the behavior, habits, likes, and dislikes of the crown princess.

he took casual glances from his rear view mirror, observing as y/n scrolled through his hundreds of emails, noting down important information on his pocket journal.

rhys has never seen y/n stop working.

"you're ruining yourself." it was just a thought, he never intended for it to slip. he curses in his mind.

y/n hums, never looking up from what he was doing. "why is that?" he knew exactly why, but he chose to ignore it. he wore himself down most of the time, all the time. he never intended to stop, but the words rang clearly in his mind. you're ruining yourself.

"it just looks like you're burning both ends of a candle, trying to manage yourself and work," rhys focused on the road, "but you can't."

y/n has never disobeyed his instructions which he was thankful for as it made everything easier. he never really did go out as much as bridget did. even then, scheduled events and meetings were always smooth as rhys had planned it to be.

y/n wasn't as hard headed, outgoing, and filled with fire. not like bridget. rhys didn't even know why he was comparing two polar opposites. but being with him, he thought of the crown princess in eldorra who offered him extension of his contract, which he refused. and now he's here.

"i work . . . because it distracts me from my reality."

y/n has never talked about why he does what he does. it felt right in the moment. rhys has never pried answers out of him, partially because he didn't converse with him, however his eyes told him so. those stormy grey eyes that showed nothing but genuine curiosity even though he tried to hide it.

rhys didn't know what to think as they reached the end of the highway. two months and y/n finally spoke a full sentence. rapport was a card he had set to the side because of their circumstances, now he might as well consider putting it back on the table. he saw y/n put his work down, temporarily ceasing his work which were probably with a month or two deadline, and relax against the seat.

"i hate thinking of other things, other people," y/n lets out an empty chuckle, finding rhys' eyes through the rear view mirror, "isn't that why you took the commission to bodyguard me? to forget about the previous client you protected? we're a bit alike, you and i. we do things that would take our minds off things."

it felt like a bucket of ice cold water washed over rhys as he heard those words. we do things that would take our minds off things. his grip tightened on the steering wheel, gazing away from those sad e/c eyes that ingrained themselves in his memory. he never thought his longest interaction with his client would be so depressing, yet eye opening. he knew of three things.

one. he is trying to take his mind off of someone.

two. y/n works to take his mind off of something or someone.

and three. y/n wasn't cold hearted. only seemed like it.

rhys stood at the sidelines, alert and ready. his eyes wandered around the event, as if looking for any threats that would suddenly appear out of nowhere. he then dragged his gaze towards his client, who was in the middle of a group of other businessmen and women. he shared a tight and practiced smile, trying to act polite and respectful as the night dragged on.

y/n wore a tailored suit, it was simple yet elegant. his hair was slicked back, lips full and glossy from constantly licking it as he swirled the wine in his glass. he was total perfection. a face that would leave anyone in ruins. but rhys caught the slight tremble of his hand and his eyes flashing to different places, as he squeezed out of the group that huddled around him. it looked as if he was panicking, though he regained himself when he knocked back the wine. rhys almost left his spot if it weren't for the pointed and reassuring look y/n shot his direction.

it was four months after that conversation. their relationship was less tense and less quiet. y/n now regularly held conversation with rhys, getting his opinions on philosophical and theoretical things. sometimes they spoke about the geographical locations where the company could build a new branch of resort. it never trespassed the gates of personal life.

when rhys asked about something he did for himself, y/n blanked him and changed the topic.

"since you're working because of something or someone, what do you do for yourself?" it was a question that he came up with as they got deeper into the conversation about places that could potentially become a tourist spot. rhys didn't always like talking because it included emotions, but with y/n it felt natural. it was during these one on ones that he caught glimpses and pieces of the person behind the cold ceo exterior.

y/n blinked, turning away and opening another topic about attractions. "what about a butterfly house . . ." rhys sighed through his nose quietly. during the first day he said that he doesn't become included in his clients' lives and that he wasn't there to be a friend, confidant, or anything else. but looking at how y/n tensed when he even hears the words family and yourself . . .

rhys knew y/n at least needed a someone. we're a bit alike, you and i.

it didn't take long for him to notice the signs of ptsd. the way y/n only spoke about his father, excluding his mother in conversations. avoiding places that had closets that contained cleaning supplies or were used for storage of documents. there were also times rhys heard shuffling in the kitchen way past midnight even when they got home around ten or eleven in the evening.

as much as rhys tried to ignore the sense of care, not wanting things to repeat, he couldn't help but feel a bit of fear that y/n wouldn't come out of hi bedroom. would he fail to protect him because of how he lived outside and inside work? terror flashed through him as he thought about it. he's working too much, he'll kill himself before he could even reach forty.

and as of that moment, his heart thrummed against his rib cage. he screamed profanities in his mind as he lost sight of the client he was supposed to protect. he bulldozed through the people, ignoring their glares and mumbles as his eyes darted around for y/n.

there was another thing he feared. repetition of the past.

being with bridget for over two years changed a lot of things for him. never has he breached the contract rules until her. he's hasn't felt anything like it until her. he prayed to the gods that she would be the last. hopefully.

as he rounded a corner, he caught sight of a silhouette through a slightly ajar door. he pushed it open and found y/n sitting on the middle of the floor of the empty ballroom. intricate designs decorated the walls and ceiling, pieces of furniture finishing off the classic look.

"i know that you think of your previous client when you guard me."

it made rhys tense at the door. in all the years of his life, he was the one to read the other, not the other way around. something about y/n challenged him. they were simply a mystery to each other. unlike bridget who knew about his past and him knowing hers, y/n and him knew nothing about each other aside from the basics.

"when i look at you . . . it looks like it pains you to be guarding me. you think you're good at hiding it, but you're really not," y/n droned out, looking at the night sky through the windows. "during the first two weeks, i noticed some habits you retained from your commission before this one. it seems to me there was more to this certain client, that's why you took on the job of protecting me. something must have happened."

rhys stiffened ever so slightly, feeling a spike of both irritation and astonishment. he didn't like this. but at the same time, he also felt a bit of relief that someone knew. he couldn't lie about anything. something did happen with bridget, but he had hardened his heart, ignoring the twisting ache when he left. he left her when he was claiming her in his mind.

"you should think of resigning as my bodyguard," y/n gets up from the floor, patting down his suit and fixing his collar and cuffs, "i think you should go back to your previous client. i can find another bodyguard."

rhys immediately closed their distance in five strides. he's six inches taller and towers over y/n easily with his broad and muscular figure. his eyes doesn't shy away from the heated connection of misunderstandings and mystery that brewed between them in a steady pace for the past six months and threatened to explode like a nuke. "i wanted to be your bodyguard. a client from before doesn't change anything. it shouldn't. protecting you is number one priority." his words were like knives slicing into the tense atmosphere. he didn't want his client doubting him.

silence hung heavy over them, both of them not once backing away from the fiery eye contact. rhys was right, despite his relationship with bridget, that doesn't deter him from doing his job. his job is solely focused on his current client. to protect y/n l/n.

"mister rhys, you truly do surprise me." y/n turns away from his bodyguard and brushes past him, feeling a tug at his heart. he places a hand on his chest, he clenches it and lets it drop back to his side. "i'm exhausted. let me just bid my farewells, then we can leave this godforsaken event."

rhys stared at the back of y/n as they headed back to the garden. the faux personality that he reserved for the attendees returned, treating the man he just spoke to in the ballroom as nothing but another him. no, he didn't have a personality disorder, that's for sure. he just likes hiding behind masks. he definitely fits the role of a ceo.

a year passed. rhys continued his job as the ceo's bodyguard. he really fit the role. during the first week, he memorized y/n's schedule, plans, and the blueprints of the headquarters and estate. the following months, less paparazzi flocked y/n and there were occasional attempted assaults (which was new). he was completely amazing.

y/n watched the man he had been with for one year and a half. since that night during the garden event, a lot of things have shifted. their once debatable and business talks transformed a bit more personal varying from favorites and elaborated opinions on preferences. there were times they strayed away from one topic to another as he signed papers and went over some of them. it took away the ache of loneliness he felt over the years he took his place as ceo.

where his company would be the words he read and the calls he took and the coffee curbed his exhaustion he can never get rid off, he felt lighter than he did before rhys became his bodyguard.

rhys sat on the couch flushed against the trimmed walls of the office, furnished with bookshelves, a glass coffee table, and small trinkets here and there. he could feel y/n's eye drilling holes into the side of his head. he gave him a glance only to see the man turn to his papers, pretending to digest the words printed on them.

y/n had him sit on the couch, getting a slight headache from seeing and hearing him standing at the door and occasionally walking around. rhys found it amusing how the cold hearted ceo felt emotions such as frustration and glints of sadness when the world saw him as someone who used people for his gain and didn't feel a drop of guilt.

throughout the year, he got to know a lot of things about y/n. he loved reading, not his paperwork but novels. he spotted some books laying around but didn't question them and instead, skimmed through the pages. he specifically liked crime and fantasy. he also liked jazz. there was a shelf of cassettes and vinyl records near the fireplace.

"what happened between you and your previous client?" the question brought rhys' attention to y/n again. this one was very personal. were they close enough to even talk about it? he did say that what happened in costa rica stayed in costa rica.

rhys sat back, pondering before concluding. "if i were to answer that, you have to give me something of equal value," the idea of exchanged caught y/n by surprise. interest flickers through his eyes as amusement showed on his face.

"are you bargaining?"

rhys laughs lightly, the sound squeezing at the ceo's heart. "it's business."

y/n reached for his chest as he gulped. he brushed the feeling off and nods, "i like that. let's talk business then." a devilish and heart stopping smirk lifted the corners of rhys' mouth.

"i noticed on the blueprints that you don't have any room that's as small as a pantry. even your walk in closet is as big as your bedroom. why is that?" rhys had an inkling, an assumption, but he wanted it to come out of y/n's lips. he saw his client huff a breath, a thought crossing his mind, before slumping, regal self gone.

"i have ptsd. it was from my mother. when i was younger, she had this twisted sense of duty. she packed my schedule with a lot of lessons. mostly languages and subjects related to business. if i have a low score, she'd lock me in my room for a few hours. if i failed, she'd lock me in a closet. to distract myself, i indulged in hobbies and other things. she found out and locked me in for i don't know long. all i know is i was hungry and thirsty. it didn't take long for my father to find me, he had just come home from a business trip. the house was a mess after that," his voice wavered slightly, but regained its steadiness as he thought about his father. no amount of therapy sessions cured his fear of enclosed spaces.

when he tried to overcome it once, his lungs constricted, he felt nausea and sweaty, he couldn't think at all. he felt so helpless.

y/n was silent for a while before shaking his head, trying to rid of himself of the resurfaced memories. one he tried to forget but couldn't. not when they lingered in the back of his mind. if he couldn't get over his fears, then he couldn't get over his past. so he'd ignore it as long as possible.

"we're alike, you and i." rhys reused the words y/n had told him a year ago, this time removing the words a bit. and true to the bargain, he told him all about bridget von ascheberg. as soon as he mentioned her name, recognition flooded through y/n's eyes. he listened attentively, nodding and humming here and there. (read twisted games for better understanding) understanding settled in the air. comfortable silence followed soon after, both returning to what they were doing before their heart to heart.

rhys gazed at the man sitting at the desk. in a timespan shorter than his time with bridget, he and y/n knew each other in a deeper level. maybe it's because they were both men? or was it because the silence and waiting for the starting few months pushed everything into place? maybe it's because y/n took his time being comfortable first before conversing? he didn't know, there were a lot of possibilities.

he was certain of one thing. there was more to y/n's story.

three months passed. aside from the company parties, meetings, and alumni event, everything was smooth sailing for y/n. he did receive death threats once or twice, but it was all sorted out by rhys who stuck to him like glue. he either trailed behind him like a scary dog or stood beside him when having idle chats with other people.

they started eating at the table together, as y/n's father demanded one day during one of his visits and berated his son for not asking rhys any sooner. the latter has become less alert when they were in a room alone together, not like before where he would pace at times. now he sat reading or sketching, occasionally focusing as if listening or looking for something.

it was the first time rhys saw y/n in casual wear. jeans, shirt, and a jacket. his father had told him to go have fun for one day, then he could go back to working until the day he dies. so there they were, at an amusement park.

a sparkle of childish curiosity passed through y/n's mind as his eyes went from one ride to another. its been a decade since the last time he had fun. the thought twisted at his heart. where everyone enjoyed normality, he couldn't. fun time was a luxury for him when he was around ten to fifteen. he had to work hard for it, but it was only brief. how he wished to experience it all.

"is it your first time in an amusement park?" rhys stood beside him, still in all black, though his outfit was a bit more laidback. he stood tall, oozing with a sense of responsibility. he received a mute nod.

the longer y/n looked around, the more he felt overwhelmed. his lips quivered as he swallowed hard. sadness embraced him. the heaviness of the situation weighed on him. all those stolen childhood days could've been spent being reckless and facing the consequences later, having fun, making friends, and exploring life. "i never thought i'd see a rollercoaster in real life."

rhys followed y/n around. those books that laid around the house held utmost significance. they were worlds that he could imagine himself in, leaving the reality that was set in stone by his mother. universes where he could be the main character of the story, even if it's just for a little while. he felt the sliver of happiness his mother depraved him of.

they walked around the park buying souvenirs and trying out food. they went on the dropper and dropper. y/n looked at the cars of the ferris wheel and refused to get on even when rhys mentioned that the view was nice at the very top. for their last stop, they decided on the haunted mansion. it was the main attraction.

as they entered the mansion, they were covered in darkness. there were dim lights that led the way. there were many twists and at one of the turns, rhys and y/n got separated. the latter looked around in wonder, a burst of excitement guiding him through the maze of halls. the cold hearted man was hidden away in the suit of the ceo, in casual clothes he was just y/n.

just as he was about to run off somewhere, he was shoved against the wall and locked in someplace dark. he furrowed his eyebrows and took a step only to realize there was limited space. his eyes widened as he tried to move, feeling around only to find to familiar structure of two closet doors trapping him.

"hello!?" he tried to open the door only to find out it's been wedged closed by an overturned chair. he slams his palms against the wood, sweat rolling down his forehead, suddenly feeling hot. "let me out!"

his hands slid against the frame, pressing himself against the wall of the closet as if trying to make more space. he hears his pulse in his ears, eyes darting around frantically trying to find some sort of light in the blinding darkness. he feels oxygen leave his lips in pants, he's light headed. "please . . ."

he slides down the wall as the tears of the past come rushing to the present. tears slide down his cheeks as he becomes the helpless child he once was. "please . . . i'm sorry" he wheezes out, his mind flashing back to the old closet in their old estate.

cool air brushed against his sweaty forehead and he's pulled out of the closet and into a set of arms. "l/n? l/n, stay with me." rhys pats y/n's cheek, trying to wake him up from his episode. tears kept pouring as he muttered nonsense. his heart was racing too fast. "why the fuck did you lock him in a closet!?" he barked at the actors, who flinched back from the scalding tone.

"it's part of the experience. it was supposed to be for two minutes," the manager calmly de-escalated the situation.

rhys scowled, supporting y/n who was out of it. "take it out of the fucking experience." he hears the disoriented man mumble something before taking him someplace else where they could have a bit of privacy.

"thank you . . ." y/n stared blankly at the people walking by. he was sitting on a bench. he didn't know what to say. the last time he had an episode was when he tried to overcome his ptsd six years back. it didn't work, instead he had a similar experience but a tad worse.

rhys stood before him, blocking him from the nosy people who tried to peer. his arms were crossed, flexing as the irritation from earlier slowly faded. they were separated by two actors. he was forced into a pit of fake bones and when he was out he was faced with a serious situation. y/n's ptsd episode.

"it's my job."

y/n sighed, shoulders slumping. even on the one day where everything should be normal, it still turned out to be another traumatic day. the child that hid in the mansion of his mind always found his way out, replacing his current with the past. he hated how he couldn't even overcome being in a closet for five fucking minutes.

"no it's not. your job is to protect me from physical harm. but as of this moment, you eased my emotional harm. for that, i thank you," he raised his head and gave him a small smile. it felt foreign, but it felt right in the moment.

rhys' breath hitched. that damned smile that y/n gave. it was unexpected from someone who was frowning everyday. he felt that familiar tug on his heart. one he didn't want to feel, but couldn't kill. y/n looked gorgeous being showered in the golden sunset.

that smile . . . it looked good on him.

another year had gone by. a lot had changed since that day at the amusement park. almost three years, a lot of things changed.

y/n was a bit more expressive with emotions, only with rhys and his father however. he slowly started easing off his work and had rest days. despite having said days, he still could only get in, two at maximum, hours of sleep. he was eating more. rhys was there through everything. another constant in his life.

"i was thinking of a beach resort in areas where resorts aren't that popular," the chief marketing officer proposed, standing confidently in front of the board officers. y/n sat at the head of the long table reading through the hard copy of the presentation. rhys stood to his side like a hawk. since that day in the amusement park, he didn't want another shove incident, even though there weren't any closets nearby.

y/n flipped through the papers once again and sighed, "our company shouldn't only be resorts. i need a proposition that steers away from the word resort. we can't market that forever." he moved his head from side to side and sighed as he felt that satisfying pop. he's been sitting listening to propositions for an hour and a half. his ass felt numb. "everyone, let's take ten."

as people filed out the room, y/n flipped through the rest of the propositions with a groan. it was so deep and stressed, it was attractive. rhys felt his cock stir with interest as he eyed the serious ceo.

he's been having urges. that tousled hair of y/n, he just wants to run his fingers through them and tug them back. those tense shoulders, he could fuck the stress out of him by bending him over the table.

rhys shook his head and cleared his mind. during the past year, he has been curious about sexuality. normally he didn't care, however now that he's feeling something for the same sex, he's been doing some research. it started off small, from bits of information and opinions of other people in the community until he got too deep and even discovered pornographic videos.

it would be a lie if he denied watching some videos, but it was for research purposes. all his life, he had always been interested in women, but since he met y/n, he has been questioning a lot of things in life. he wants it to stop. he had to remind himself that things from the past should never repeat.

as rhys had an inner conflict, y/n had his own as well. he tried to distract himself from the masculine presence behind him, acting as if he was going through the papers. it was half true, he was trying to ignore the glimpses of moments that flashed through his mind of these past two months where he relieved himself at the thought of his own bodyguard. he felt a bit shameful, but it felt so wrong and right at the same time. rhys had been uncovering a past he tried to keep buried. however, it resurfaced every time he saw him.

"you know . . . the reason my . . . mother locked me in the closet . . ." it was a random blurt out, but it was on his mind. rhys showed a sign he was listening. "i danced as a hobby. she didn't like it. she claims its girly. i'm also . . ." y/n trailed off with a thoughtful hum. "i've never really said this to anyone but my mother. i'm also into men." no matter how long its been.

rhys felt his stomach flip. he stared ahead of him, feeling a bit of relief. "good to know."

those three words made y/n's heart flutter. he hid the heat appearing on his cheeks, thankful that his back is turned to the bodyguard that tested and pushed him. but he had to ask, even though deep down he knew the answer, "what does that mean?"

"you have work to do."

three months passed, which makes three years. in those months, y/n came out to his father, who responded with an i suspected that. being the ceo, he was expected to negotiate. he did, though during those meetings, he couldn't avoid proposals like arranged marriage or marriage to merge companies. before he could answer, rhys was already there making his presence known, a frown on his face, scaring away other ceos. it got to the point where y/n only made phone calls for such meet-ups.

to rhys, its been hectic. to resist y/n's bold advances such as sliding a hand against his bicep, sometimes his chest. looking up at him through those lashes with big innocent eyes, even though they're far from it. that cute smile from the amusement park that seemed to be only reserved for him alone. and those sounds he lets out when he's stressed or working.

y/n was driving him insane. forget the contract, they can make a new one where he'd fuck the ceo into submission anytime and anywhere he wanted as long as he stayed his.

rhys knew y/n wanted him. he could tell from his actions and his words with underlying meanings. it was killing him to keep his hands to himself. if he could only reach out, wrap a hand around y/n's neck and kiss him like there's no tomorrow . . .

it was one in the morning, they had just gotten home. in the car, y/n proposed to play a game. two truths and one dare, in which they took turns. as they stepped into the warmth of the mansion, y/n came up with a question for rhys' chosen truth. in all honestly, he just wanted to entertain his client (hopefully to tire him out) so he could turn in for the night before he took him right there on the front door.

"what are your kinks?"

as the game progressed in the car, the questions got more inappropriate, definitely borderline breaching their contract.

"hair pulling . . . bondage you could say . . ." he listed off other kinks, fixing his shoes beside y/n's before entering after him. he could feel himself harden the more the other spoke to him about something sexual, as if interviewing him before having him fuck him senseless.

until that question made his heart stop. "would you kiss me?"

rhys slowly turns to y/n, who was looking at him with mild interest with a mix of arousal. he could feel it from the three feet distance between them. the way y/n's eyes traced his lips, dipping below his chin, and stopping at the bulge straining against the black pants.

y/n was sporting the same in his pants. after he admitted to liking men, it was never the same since then. it would never be the same. not when his heart tugs and flutters because of the man standing in front of him. not when his heart fell hard when he found him in the closet in that haunted house. not when they'd had all these one on one talks. through all he stayed.

"yes. would you like me to kiss you?" rhys returned the question as they neared each other, one foot apart. maybe his feelings started growing the moment the silence turned into small and slow conversations. or that time y/n acknowledged what he truly felt when he left bridget. maybe because they shared some similarities. or is it because y/n relied on him to take away the pain of loneliness of only thinking of the future, not allowing himself to heal from the past and appreciate the present.

"yes."

(⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧ rhys' pov

with that, i dove down and molded my lips against his. i guided his head, tilting my heard, pushing against him. his pants echoed in my ears, trapping him against the nearest wall, taking his breath away. when he tried to pull away, i chased his lips, claiming them once more.

when i pulled away, he looked awestruck. i kiss him hard. i press our clothes cocks together and i feel him hump against me, my hands caress down his body and kneads on his cheeks. grunts pour into my mouth as our tongues fight for dominance.

his legs hook around my hips and i carry him upstairs into the bedroom i claimed. i drop him onto the bed. "clothes off." i turn to grab lube and condoms in the drawers. when i turn around, my breath is almost caught in my throat.

the curves and groves of his body, the fullness of his skin, and the way it's begging for attention, makes me want to drop everything and just fuck him raw. i am well aware this is my second breach of contract. i had no reason to do this. this would be another hook-up and-

"breach of contract or not. resigning or not. once you fuck me and i like you, i'm yours and you're mine. i swear to fucking god, we're not arguing about it. we'll fuck it out too."

that was enough for me to push him against the mattress. i'm not asking him how he knew what i was thinking because most of the time it's like he could read my mind. but he did say, i wear my thoughts on my face. maybe it was something only he could do.

my thoughts never once wavered even as i scissored my fingers into y/n's hold, my eyes watching every contort of his face, every redness of his skin. the noise that fell like waterfalls from his swollen lips as i pressed against the bundle of nerves while he desperately pushes against my hand. i groan under my breath. it took a lot of self control to not just fuck him stupid and take away his walking ability.

everything in my mind felt silent as i admired the man under me, taking me inch by inch after throwing the condom on the other side of the room claiming to want to feel me fully and be filled with cum. that almost made me lose grip.

as i bottomed out, i almost immediately rutted my hips. it was so hot and i'm being squeezed tight but just right. i almost exploded right then and there. i felt him tighten his legs around my hips, uttering for me to go.

slowly i pulled out and pushed back in with a low groan. it felt good. so good. i started to pick up pace, slamming balls deep eliciting beautiful moans and whimpers that tickled my ears like a melody.

my hand found its place around his neck, pushing him back into the soft cushions. i apply light pressure and he cries out in pleasure.

"you're ge- hah~ getting b-bigger~ hng!~"

i felt his hands rub up and down against the scars on my back before they wounded around my neck, pulling me close. my nose traced his carotid as i planted kisses and nipped at his skin, my thrusts growing harsher and erratic.

i bit hard on his shoulder with a grunt as i felt him clamp around me, making me cum, shooting thick ropes of cum inside him. i felt spurts of warmth between us as y/n flinches and convulses from his high. he breathes heavily, a dopey smile on his face. i press a brief kiss on his lips and pull out. he groans and drapes an arm over his eyes.

"i mean what i said, whether you're my bodyguard or not. i like you and you're mine and i'm yours."

hearing that made my heart feel good. if there was a god out there, thank you lord for giving me a second chance. i laid beside him on my back. we both stare at the ceiling. under all that cold hard shell, he was very different. he warm warm and mellow. i was cold and barren. yet he thawed all that.

"can you i be your boyfriend?" y/n asked, interlacing our fingers together. it's been a long while since i've last been in a relationship. people say it's too late to try at my age. but it doesn't hurt to want and need. i crack a rare smile.

"whatever you want buttercup."

[pboogerswbb]

SO IT GOES - chapter 8

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: angst, panic attack/ptsd, descriptions of an abusive relationship Wordcount: 5.1K A/C: HEY MY BABIESSSS instead of talking about the game let's just read this chapter okay? okay. (would love to say this will cheer you up but prepare for some angst lol). anyway thank you for being patient with me AGAIN! i'll be real i've been feeling a little unmotivated bc of the anons i get rushing me and it's really getting to my head but i'm pretty sure most of them have disappeared and left are you all amazing lovely patient people so yay :)) ty for supporting me and this series ily mwah

-

Before London

“Good game, Paige,” Phee whispers into my ear as she hugs me tight. I’m standing next to Dorka, just done taking what felt like 500 pictures with her. I let out a self-deprecating laugh, raising my brows at the woman. Phee smiles with empathy, rubbing my shoulder, still sweaty and sticky from the game. 

“No one’s first game is good,” she comforts me. We’re standing in the middle of the court, people buzzing around us as the crowd makes its way out. From the corner of my eye I see Izara’s jet black hair set in perfect waves, joined by Trey standing next to her, hand on her lower back. A flash of jealousy shoots through my body watching the two of them, laughing as they walk through the crowd filming content. I didn’t want anyone touching her but me. Ever. I knew we were just supposed to be friends but it felt impossible. Whenever my eyes landed on her my soul burned, every part of me craving her in a way that I knew was more than just friendship, or even more than lust. 

“We went brick for brick huh?”

My blue eyes move from Izzie to Arike, her hand squeezing my shoulder. The woman was right, neither of our shots had gone in. Neither of us had found a pace or confidence to support one another. It was almost embarrassing. No, it was definitely embarrassing. Especially when I saw my dad’s face in the crowd, hissing to himself when I missed both my free throws. The only thing that could make me feel better now was getting to take Izara, no interruptions, no thoughts, just me and her.

Flipping her hair over her shoulder, Zari’s eyes lift and land on mine. With a softened gaze, I let out a sigh of relief, swimming in her green eyes lined with black as time seems to slow down around me. The other people might as well not exist. It’s only her.

“Yeah,” I chuckle quietly to Arike, pushing through her and the rest of the crowd, urgent steps just wanting to feel the dark haired girl. She’s alone now, holding a notepad, standing in the middle of the court surrounded by crowds of people, sounds of chatter echoing around the arena. 

“Paige-” Izzie mumbles as I reach her, but with a simple look I silence her, hand wrapping into hers as I pull her behind me off the court, away from everyone. The corridors are quiet, dim, yet I navigate them with ease. The sounds of the crowd turn muffled, the noise of our heavy breathing and hurried steps overtaking them. My heart pounds in my chest, weakened body ready for surrender.

I pull us into a darkened unlocked room, some sort of storage I guess but I’m too busy to look around and make sure. As the door closes I push her against it in the dark, my sweaty body still in the brand new, strange jersey, pressing into Izara. I’m barely conscious of kissing her, my body working before my head can. But I feel starved, tongue meeting hers as our lips collide.

“Wait, wait,” Iz mumbles breathlessly, but I don’t hear it. The pounding in my chest too loud in my head. My hands travel from her waist to her hips, squeezing the skin as I slot my thigh between her legs.

“Paige…” the girl mumbles with a whimper, a raspy moan spilling from my lips against hers.

“Please baby,” I murmur, feeling like I could cry from how overwhelming the ache in my body is growing. Stirring within me are all the feelings combining into one - disappointment, failure, sorrow, longing, want. I wanted to bury them all into the girl in front of me.

I’m kissing her neck now, my fingertips slipping underneath her top. Her bare brown, silky skin feels smooth and delicate.

“Paige, stop.”

“Huh?” I ask, nose nuzzling her skin, inhaling.

“Stop, please.”

Confused, I pull back, my hands resting on her waist as Izzie’s green eyes avoid my gaze, looking around the dim room.

“Are you okay ma?” I ask, attempting to calm down my breathing.

Izzie’s brows are furrowed and she licks her lips, a soft sigh escaping her mouth.

“We have to talk.”

“Bro, I just played the worst game of my career, let’s talk after,” I chuckle sarcastically. “Need you baby.”

I lean down to kiss her neck again but Izzie’s manicured hand is on my chest, holding me back. Her eyes are rounder than usual as she stares up at me.

“Paige, we really need to talk. Now.”

She’s serious. I can tell she is. Without thinking the first thought I have slips my mouth.

“Is it Jasper?” I ask, pulling my hands off her body.

There’s a moment of silence. I can barely see her face sink in the dark, eyes slowly growing used to the lack of light. Izara rolls her eyes and turns to step out of the room but my hand is on the handle before she can reach it.

“Ma,” I murmur, pressing my front into her back.

“You can’t call me that anymore Paige,” she sighs, back facing me.

My heart sinks, my mind trying to wrap around what she’s saying. The implications of what the words might mean. I pray to God I’m wrong.

“Whatchu mean Iz?” I ask, voice beginning to shake with anxiety. The girl turns around, chewing on her bottom lip - something I had never seen her do.

“We can’t do this anymore.”

There it is. What I was dreading. I’m glad it’s dark, that the girl doesn’t see my eyes begin to well up. Why would I cry? We had never been anything. We’d never even fucked. So why did I feel like my heart was about to break?

“Whatchu mean this?” I ask, it takes every bit of my concentration to maintain a steady voice.

The dark haired girl sighs, eyes roaming me for a moment. “I could get fired,” she whispers. “If we got caught.”

“Who gives a shit?” I ask, scoffing. She could always get a new job. I thought I’d be worth more. But then again why would I be? She was the one who said it was just sex. Except it hadn’t even had the chance to be that.

“You must be joking,” Izara jeers, finally pushing me off her. “You are so selfish.”

She’s reaching for the door handle but I hold it shut. I can’t have her leave like this.

“Bro no I didn’t mean it like that,” I sigh. I always had a habit of speaking before I thought it through when my feelings took over. “I just… I’m having a hard time getting what you’re tryna say.”

“What I’m saying,” she starts. “Is that we can’t keep fooling around anymore.”

She takes a deep sigh. “Actually, I don’t know if it’s so smart for us to be friends anymore Paige.”

The panic sets in, my heart beginning to pound at a rapid rate.

“Wh-what? The fuck you mean we can’t be friends?”

“I mean from now on we should keep our relationship strictly professional.”

Her voice is so cold, calculated, that it’s almost like it doesn’t even matter to her. That it doesn’t phase her one bit. 

“Is that what you want?” I ask sternly, mirroring the coldness of her voice.

“I-” the girl starts. “I can’t lose this job. I can’t go back to London.”

“Aight.”

I walk out.

And just like that I lose my best friend. My only friend in all of Texas. Sure I had Arike, I had Lou and I had the team. But she was my only friend, the only one I felt like I could truly talk to, who truly got me. And I lost her. Just like that.

-

Need paige to look at me like that fr

yoooooo paige ntm

BOAFFFF who that next to Paige???

Paige got a starin problem

PAIGE IN LOVE WITH THAT GIRL ARE YOU KIDDING

My eyes skim through comment after comment under the video filmed before Paige’s first game in the Wings. We hadn’t been as slick as we thought. In hindsight it was obvious, the way Paige’s blue eyes roamed my body with that sly smirk, the way my cheeks flush red when my eyes met hers. God, I can’t believe I had been behaving like that, right before my peers. The people I worked with. In a public video. I felt so embarrassed. It just wasn’t me. That had been a couple weeks ago now though.

“Zari, stop reading the comments sweetheart,” Trey chuckles, resting a hand on my shoulder. I sigh, putting the phone down and groaning.

“We should just delete it.”

“Nah,” the man says. “Would be weird to delete it now.”

I sigh, looking up at him. His hand comes to my chin, holding my gaze. “Linda’s not gonna read em.”

“You sure?” I ask carefully. Trey nods, brushing a strand of hair off my face. It annoys me, but I don’t know how to reject his touch.

“You ready to head home?” He asks.

“I can take an uber Trey,” I murmur, pulling away from him finally, unease stirring in my stomach. 

“C’mon, I don’t mind driving you.”

“You sure? it’s out the way for you.”

“Let’s go home Zari.”

We walk to the car, Trey’s voice echoing in the hallway but I barely hear him, the faint sound of Paige’s voice laughing on the court making its way into my ears and taking me out of whatever the man next to me is trying to say. The weight on my chest makes it hard to breathe. I fan myself, trying to help the airflow.

Other than the occasional talk regarding media work, or the rare interview on TikTok I hadn’t spoken to Paige for 13 days. Not more than a hello, or a “good game” after a night of watching her on the court. When we met in the apartment stairway there barely was an awkward smile as we passed each other. I missed her badly. 

I had realised I hated Dallas, I hated the fake niceness of the Americans, I hated the heat that had grown unbearable in the past couple weeks. But I loved my job. I loved working with the sport I loved. I was good at it. I think everything would be better if I found a position with another team, but it would be risky to ask around. I was in a rut, my only friend was Trey.

The entire drive home is silent on my part as I stare out the window at the other cars. Driving home used to be my favourite part of the day. I felt giddy as Paige opened the door for me, as we took turns picking songs to play. I felt my heart drop everytime we said bye. I found myself sitting in my living room staring at the living room, thinking about her afterwards. Her blue eyes, the way she looked at me as if I was the only person on the planet. How her gentle grazes felt on my brown skin. 

So I repeat that routine, urgently saying bye to Trey and hurrying into my apartment. Closing the door and plopping myself down on the couch, staring at the wooden shelf decorating the otherwise blank wall in silence. The shelf Paige put up for me.

As I’m five minutes into my staring ritual a strange faint thumping noise reaches my ears, distant but clear in a steady rhythm. It’s coming from above. It’s coming from the blonde’s apartment. No doubt.

Just as I stand up to walk around and listen to the sound further, high pitched whimpers and gasps reach my ears. It doesn’t take more for the nauseating mental image of what’s happening in the apartment above to pop into my head. These walls were thick too, no noise, stomping, or music came through. Ever. It felt like torture. The stirring thoughts of what Paige was doing to some girl, lying on top of her, pinning her down. The way she was on top of me. The way I nearly got to have her.

“Fucking shit,” I mumble to myself, shaking my head as I rummage my bag for my headphones, turning the first song I find on a volume that might make me go deaf. Good. Anything to cover up the noise.

-

I hated Dallas. I had somehow convinced myself for a brief, fleeting moment that it wasn’t so bad. I was wrong. I hated it here. I had begun to dread every game. I was in a rut. I had no idea how to get out. My first two weeks in the league had been disastrous. Thank the Lord for Arike, for she had taken me under her wing, motivating me to stay consistent, challenging me in practice to do my best. But in front of the crowd, in front of all the players I grew up watching and admiring, I bricked up. 

Chris was an angel. Telling me I’d get over it as long as I didn’t give up. I wasn’t a quitter and I found comfort in the fact that other freshmen had a hard start to the season as well. Except Olivia Miles who had been hustling like crazy in the Storms. She earned it, but still the competitive side of me was drowning in jealousy. That was supposed to be me. I needed to be the rookie of the year. But this rut was taking all the joy out of me. I know what Geno would be saying. That I’m throwing myself a pity party and I needed to get over it. And once again I’d hate to admit that he’s right.

It took every ounce of strength I had to stay away from Izzie. To not gaze at her when she appeared in the corner of my eye, to not yearn for her presence when I lay in the dark at night, to not inhale as deeply as humanly possible every time she passed me. It felt like torture to pretend nothing happened between us.

To my demise it wasn’t just her body I longed for. It was her giggles, her stern stares when I played too much, it was her existence that I missed the most. Her weight on the opposite end of the couch, her quiet humming as she sat in the passenger seat of my car. It was killing me to stay away from her. Killing me. The only momentary relief I found was hooking up with other girls, but the moment it was over I always wanted them gone as quickly as I could.

“I’m sitting next to you okay?” Lou murmurs as us Wings pile into the airplane, moving in a slow line towards our seats.

“Good, I’mma need to take a nap,” I mumble, my voice hoarse and tired. We’re flying out to Chicago for a late night game, forcing us to catch a 5AM flight. Inhumane working conditions, I swear.

Somewhere behind me Izara is whispering to someone, her voice immediately recognisable to me even as a faint sound. My stomach turns as I grind my teeth together to distract from the desire to flip my head and look at her just for a moment. I slide myself into my seat next to the window, but as Lou is about to follow after, Chris stops her.

“Sorry, I know it’s early but Trey said they got an idea for some media stuff for you Paige. You don’t mind right?” Chris asks, holding Lou back and looking around. Before I can stop him or resist, he’s waving someone over. “Zari! You can do it now!”

The dark haired girl’s eyes widen as she looks around, trying to find someone to replace her. There’s no one. I want to die and from the look on the girl’s face, so does she.

“Just come sit next to Paige, c’mon, don’t be shy,” Chris chuckles, clearly unaware of how close we used to be. Good, at least we fooled someone. He might’ve been the only one we fooled.

Izzie looks as classy and elegant as ever, holding a beige trench coat in her hands, wearing boots and a champagne coloured satin skirt, hair and makeup done to perfection even at 5AM, standing out in a sea of messy hair and hoodies. I can tell she’s uneasy as she passes Chris and Lou, whispering a sorry to the brunette girl. I immediately stand up out of an old habit, pointing to my seat.

“You want the window one?” I ask gently, quietly, so no one hears my voice shaking.

Her green eyes twinkle as she looks everywhere but me, smiling awkwardly. “No, thank you though. I’m fine here.”

We sit down together, the heat radiating off her shoulder nearly rubbing against me making my eyes flutter shut just for a second. This better be quick or I might explode.

“Uh ok,” I mumble, watching as she sets her purse down and pulls out that notepad full of lists, mind maps and schedules that she always carries around. “Soo… how you been?”

“Just fine,” she whispers absentmindedly, looking for the right page. “I mean, good. I’ve been good. And you?”

The way she talks to me causes an ache in my heart, the coldness of her tone as if we were nothing more than co-workers. I guess that’s all we were now.

“I’m fine,” I reply with equal distance in my voice. “So whassup?”

“Well me and Trey,” of course her and Trey. All she did nowadays was walk around with him, giggling and whispering, letting Trey guide her by the small of her back. “We thought the fans might like it if you filmed a sort of game day vlog today. Would that be okay?”

I sigh, the tiredness not helping the pregame anxiety already making my chest tight. “Uhh, today?”

“I know, it’s going to be such a long day,” Zari mumbles, her eyes meeting mine, suddenly filled with empathy. “I’m sorry.” I think she might mean more than just today. I think she means us.

For a moment we stare at each other, and I think I see a hint of longing in her eye, but it soon disappears when Trey plops himself on the aisle seat on the other side of Izzie.

“How are we doing here ladies?” He asks, looking at the dark haired girl, bringing his hand to squeeze Izzie’s knee. Pulling my hand into a fist, I quickly look away, body trembling with jealousy. I hated Trey. I hated how he touched the girl I was meant to be with.

“We’re good Trey,” Izara smiles softly, but moves her leg further away from the man.

“You sure Zari?”

His tone softens, hand following the girl's knee despite the clear sign she doesn’t want to be touched by him. I grind my teeth together trying not to intervene. I know if anyone it’s Izzie who can handle herself.

“Trey,” the girl sighs. “We’re just fine. I’ll show Paige what to do and come sit with you, okay?”

She’s annoyed. I can tell because I knew her, really knew her. Trey doesn’t.

“Okay, I’mma go to my seat,” Trey smiles, waving bye to me. I barely lift my hand in response.

“Dude’s persistent,” I mumble, watching as he walks away. Iz scoffs, returning to her notepad. 

“I’m not sure what you mean,” she murmurs. I scoff too, leaning back on the seat and spreading my legs further to feel Izara’s calf against mine. She doesn’t move, matter of fact I think she presses back just the tiniest bit.

“I mean that guy wants you bad,” I whisper.

Izara’s green eyes flicker to mine for a moment, before she rolls them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I thought Linda didn’t like y’all dating coworkers.”

“She doesn’t.”

“Then why you letting Trey feel you up and shit?”

“Paige,” Zari warns me with a quiet scoff. Her eyes are stern. I know she means it. But I can’t help the jealousy stirring in me.

“If you into him you shoulda just said.”

“Paige!” She scoffs, eyes widening in shock at my attitude. I’m taking it too far, but I felt overwhelmed with everything going on in my life. And it’s not like I was ruining our friendship, it was already ruined.

So I don’t answer or back down. I stare straight into her green eyes, not looking away. Izzie’s entire face hardens as she rolls her eyes and is about to stand up, I assume to switch seats just as the seatbelt light turns on.

“You gotta sit do-”

“I know!” She huffs. I had never seen her composure crack this much out in public. It gave me a sick kind of satisfaction, to know I was getting under her skin. 

We sit in silence, the girl tapping her foot nervously as the plane begins to move towards the runway. Iz chews on her lower lip, fingers scratching her arms, eyes shut. She’s anxious.

“You okay?” I ask, softening my voice a little. 

The girl sighs, eyes fluttering open. “I hate the takeoff.”

I nod, watching Izara closely. Not sure what to say as we begin to accelerate for the ascend, I offer my hand to her. Without hesitation, the dark haired girl grabs it. I feel like I might burst into tears, realising just how bad I had missed her soft hand in mine, her gentle fingers grazing against my skin. As the plane takes off Izzie’s fingers tighten around my fingers, long nails digging into my skin. I don’t mind. Matter of fact I hope she draws blood, I hope she leaves scars and marks me forever. So she can be a part of me and my existence until I die.

She doesn’t let go until the seatbelt light turns off.

-

“Fucking shit!” I groan to myself, slamming the bench in the dressing room. Another shit game. Not for everyone, we won. But for me. And I couldn’t blame the coaching, I couldn’t blame the team, I couldn’t blame anyone but me. I felt livid. Furious. I couldn’t believe this was how my story had turned out. This couldn’t be God’s plan for me. It wasn’t right. 

What made it even worse was the online discourse. The comments and the noise had become too much. I couldn’t open Twitter or TikTok without seeing comments of how I fell off, of how Uconn ruined me, how I had officially flopped. That I’d always be the girl who peaked in college.

“Fuck,” I hiss to myself as I feel Arike’s hand come to my shoulder and squeeze comfortingly as she passes me - a wordless comforting gesture that had become routine for us. She knew I wasn’t in the mood to talk after games like that.

“I’mma get some air,” I mumble, fully aware that I was behaving like a toddler who couldn’t get her way. I couldn’t help it. It was like I was out of my body, watching as I pull the jersey off in frustration and throw it behind me on the floor, walking out of the dressing room with a slam of the door.

“Ow!” Izzie’s screams as she bumps into my chest. Hard.

“Shit!” I yelp, grabbing her shoulders.

The dark haired girl chuckles softly, clearly unaware of my bad mood. “Hey, I was just looking for you. I was going to suggest that you-”

“Iz, no offense but not right now,” I groan as I walk past her, trying to keep the anger bubbling right beneath the surface in check. It wasn’t working, I could feel myself wanting to explode, skin itching and feeling hot.

“Oh,” she hums, following after me. “I’m sorry… Is there something I can do?”

“Fuck, Zari! Just leave me alone!”

My voice echoes back to me in the empty hallways. The scream is harsh, mean. I never call her Zari. I would never yell at her like this. I can’t believe myself. It immediately takes me out of my anger, and in that moment I turn over to see her.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Iz-”

-

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Iz-”

The room is spinning, my pulse rushing into my head. I hear the thumping of my heartbeat in my ears. Cheeks growing hot. I might be sick. I can feel my hands trembling - no, not my hands. My whole body. Without letting the blonde finish her apology, I walk off. I don’t hear anything but the pounding in my head.

Every raised voice I heard nowadays had me struggling. Ever since my engagement I couldn’t handle being screamed at. Something about the yelling fits Jasper got into had left a permanent mark on me. I could feel my palms sweating as I walk away from Paige aimlessly, unsure where I was going. Unaware of the blonde following after me until her clammy hands grab my shoulders.

“Izzie, I’m sorry, I dunno why I yelled ma,” she says remorsefully but it barely registers. In the midst of some sort of panic attack I try to fan myself, my clothes suddenly seeming too tight and overstimulating against my skin. I can feel the seams digging in, the tags rubbing into me irritatingly. 

“Izzie you okay mama?”

My breathing grows shallower, head increasingly spinning more and more. Suddenly I feel hands wrapping around my body and pulling me into a tight hug, warm breath tickling in my ear.

“Breathe. Breathe with me Izzie,” her comforting, hoarse voice whispers. I feel her body expanding against mine as she takes slow, deep breaths. Focusing on the feeling I follow her pattern of breathing, now and then breaking into fast gulps of air only calmed down by Paige, reminding me to focus on her breathing as she rubs my back gently. Eventually the feeling of being unable to breath passes, replaced by utter exhaustion and lingering sadness. My body melts into Paige’s, molds against hers perfectly as we sit there and embrace. As the blonde begins to pull away I realise I don’t want her to let go of me. So I wrap my arms around her waist and tighten my hold of her. She gets the hint and embraces me for another five minutes or so. Until distant steps echo around the corridor.

“Someone’s coming,” I whisper, realising I’d been crying when I hear my own voice, shaky and soft. 

Paige pulls back just enough to look around before pulling me into a random room. The fluorescent lights of the bathroom are bright compared to the dim corridor. I blink my tears away as Paige sits me down on the edge of the sink, never letting her hands fall of me. They rub comfortingly as she chases my gaze, a sad look in her eye.

“Are you okay?”

I nod. I’m not, but better than earlier. Better now that she was here with me.

Paige sighs, shaking her head to herself. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry I yelled, I didn’t mean to I was just-”

“No, I understand,” I nod. It had been hard to watch the first couple weeks of Paige’s time with the Wings. I knew how bad she needed a win for herself, how badly she deserved it. I could tell it was wearing her down. “Was a bad game.”

“Yeah but I never woulda yelled if I knew you freaked out like that.”

“I know,” I nod, sniffling a little. Paige grabs some toilet paper and hands it to me. I offer her a weak smile as I pat the tears off my cheeks. “I just…”

A deep sigh. I had never talked about this with anyone.

“My last relationship was really… just shit, yeah?” I explain. Paige furrows her brows, and I can tell she’s really listening. Really understanding how important this was for her to hear.

“And, he yelled a lot. Threw things, hit things, he never touched me but he’d break dishes and explode over the smallest things and somehow always make me out to be the bad guy. The one who needed to apologise- well anyway, ever since then I just… I can’t handle yelling. At all.”

Paige’s blue eyes blink at me as she nods, understanding. There’s a veil of sadness over her face.

“I know I overreacted. I’m sorry Paige,” I mumble meeting her gaze but immediately the blonde shakes her head.

“No, fuck, I’m sorry Iz,” she sighs licking her lips. “I’m never raising my voice around you again. I pr-”

“No, it’s just something I need to learn to live with,” I resist but Paige shakes her head again, more sternly now.

“I promise. Never, okay?”

We look at each other for a moment. I wish I could tell her how badly I missed her. But like reading my mind Paige’s mouth opens.

“I miss you so bad.”

My heart nearly stops. I missed her more than anything. Just her presence, her closeness, her stupid jokes, the car drives. Everything.

“Me too,” I admit. “But nothing’s changed Paige.”

“I know,” Paige murmurs, fingertips coming to play with the ends of my hair as she remains standing between my legs. I usually didn’t like anyone touching my hair after I’d done it. But something in this moment had me not caring.

“Maybe,” I start but then shake my head. Horrible idea. But Paige is eager for any solutions to our little problem. Well not so little, it had consumed me.

“No, tell me. Please Iz, c’mon,” she speaks in that soft tone that always drove me wild. 

“I don’t know if it’ll work Paige.”

“Please mama, I’ll do anything. Just don’t wanna lose you. Need you in my life too bad right now.”

The two words are enough for me to fold.

“We could be friends. But that’s all it can ever be. Nothing more. Just friends,” like I said, a horrible, impossible idea. Even now my body was burning for her, her hands on my lower back leaving sparks on my skin.

Paige thinks for a while and then nods. “Then we’re friends.”

“Paige, are you sure we can be just friends?”

The blonde nods, meeting my eyes again. “I told you, I’ll be anything you need me to be.”

Fuck.

“I’mma be your friend. Till you want more. I’mma wait.”

“Paige-”

“Just say the word Iz and I’ll be more.”

She’s serious, her face hard as she looks at me.

“But for now friends, yeah?” Paige asks, thumb brushing a strand of hair that I’m not sure was even there off my cheek. Friends, what a terrible idea.

“Yeah. Friends.”

-

taglist: @wbbgetsmewetter @thaatdigitaldiary @pb524830 @bueckersfive @lupinqs @sierrale8ne @d3arapril @lovegalor333 @avvwritesstufff @rosemariiaa @bueckers22 @taylynbueckers44 @unadulteratedcyclepaper @rizzlerbuckets @wosolipa @bridgetloveswomen @paiges-1vur @slut4uconnwbb @xxloveralways14 @bueckersbitch @janaelalfysblunt @omg-imtumbling @angryflowerwitch @ohbueckers @ohmybueckers

[sweetheartsofpanem]

Almost Subtle - Soft Things Survive

Previous Part

not me blushing and giggling over my own writing, i got a little carried away writing this but i just love writing their dynamic

warnings: refer to series masterlist

pairing(s): refer to series masterlist

word count: 3.47k

series masterlist | main masterlist

The box was dusty and half-crushed when you found it hidden in a closet in the hallway—missing the bottom half of the box, corners frayed, a faded picture of a forest lake on the front. You almost tossed it out, thinking it was junk.

But now it’s spread across your coffee table in an uneven sprawl of blues and greens, and Haymitch is sitting on your couch beside you, peering at a sky piece like it personally offended him.

“I think this one’s from a different puzzle,” he grumbles, turning it upside down.

You snort. “You said that about five other pieces. Pretty sure the problem isn’t the puzzle.”

He shoots you a look, unimpressed. “Pretty sure the problem is you inviting me over to suffer.”

“You showed up on your own, actually,” you point out, nudging his knee with yours. “I just didn’t kick you out.”

He hums. “My mistake.”

But he doesn’t leave. He hasn’t moved in over an hour, aside from shifting to grab new pieces or lean closer when your fingers reach for the same edge at the same time. He smells faintly like soap and the mint he sometimes chews when he’s not drinking, and his arm brushes yours now and then without either of you commenting on it.

You slide a corner piece into place with a small, triumphant noise.

“Showoff,” he mutters.

You smile sweetly. “Some of us have talent.”

“Some of us have patience. I’m still waiting to see if you develop any.”

You lean back against the couch cushion, watching him squint at the mess of puzzle pieces like he’s trying to solve a war strategy. “You know,” you say, “most people find puzzles relaxing.”

He makes a vaguely offended sound. “Most people aren’t trying to make sense of three thousand pieces of identical-looking water.”

“It’s a thousand-piece puzzle.”

“Feels like more.”

You bump his arm with your elbow. “I can go find one with puppies on it if that’d be easier for you.”

“I’m not eighty,” he says dryly. “Yet.”

You grin. “Give it time.”

He side-eyes you. “You calling me old?”

“Not directly.”

“Coward.”

“Observationist,” you correct. “It’s different.”

He huffs, but there’s no bite to it. His fingers brush yours as you both reach for the same piece again, and this time neither of you moves away.

You slot the piece into place, triumphant again. “That’s three for me.”

Haymitch raises an eyebrow. “You keeping score?”

You shrug. “Only because I’m winning.”

“Alright, then,” he says, voice low. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

And then it becomes a game.

Piece by piece, you trade jabs, elbows brushing, knees touching as you lean closer, muttering things like, “That’s clearly not the right shape,” and, “Are you squinting at it like that because it helps or just because you’re dramatic?”

He doesn’t answer that one. Just smirks and keeps going.

Eventually, the silence grows long between the banter, but it’s not uncomfortable. The kind that feels worn in. Like an old sweater. Like the kind of quiet that doesn’t need to be filled.

He glances over, eyeing your corner of the puzzle.

“You know,” he says, “for someone who claims to be winning, you’ve got a lot of empty space.”

You nudge him harder with your elbow this time. “I’m building tension.”

“Looks like you’re losing momentum.”

“Looks like you’re compensating with bluster.”

He leans a little closer, lips twitching. “Keep talking. We’ll see who finishes their section first.”

You meet his gaze, hold it for a beat too long. Then you smirk. “Bring it, Abernathy.”

He laughs low in his throat, and somehow the sound makes your living room feel warmer than it is.

The sun shifts through the windows as the morning stretches on, striping the rug in long gold lines. You’ve both managed to finish the border and maybe a chunk of the trees, but the lake is still a chaotic mess of blue and silver reflections that all look the same no matter how you turn them.

Haymitch leans back with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “Whoever made this puzzle hated joy.”

“Or they hated people with low frustration tolerance,” you say, pretending not to nudge one of his misaligned pieces into place while he’s distracted.

His eyes narrow. “Did you just cheat?”

“Course not,” you say, far too quickly.

He stares at you. You stare right back, feigning innocence.

“I should take a photo of your face right now,” he mutters. “Use it as a warning label.”

“For what? Competitive puzzling?”

“For smugness. You’ve got it down to an art.”

You smile, not denying it.

He reaches for another piece, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like, “Menace,” under his breath.

You pretend not to hear him.

A few more minutes pass, just the sound of pieces hitting the table and the occasional huff from Haymitch when he picks the wrong piece three times in a row.

Then you say, casually, “You know, for someone who complains so much, you’re putting in real effort.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he says. “I’m only here because your couch’s more comfortable than mine.”

“And because you love spending time with me.”

“That too,” he deadpans.

You glance over in surprise, but his face is unreadable. He doesn’t take the words back, doesn’t clarify them either. Just keeps searching for a corner of sky that matches the one in his hand.

You don’t know what to say to that, so you don’t say anything. Just slide a piece into place, satisfied when it fits.

Haymitch leans his elbow on the arm of the couch, turning slightly to face you more fully. “So what happens when we finish this thing?”

You tilt your head. “We frame it. Hang it in the hallway like a trophy.”

He snorts. “Right next to your ‘Most Likely to Talk Back’ award.”

“Please. I’ve got a whole shelf for those.”

He lets out something between a laugh and a scoff. “Figured.”

You grin at him, then pause, letting your gaze flick across the mess of pieces and half-finished lake.

“I don’t think I’ve ever done a puzzle before,” you say.

He glances at you. “No?”

You shake your head. “We didn’t have the money for them.”

He doesn’t say anything to that. Just looks at you for a long beat, then reaches over and slides a sky piece into place with surprising precision.

“Well,” he mutters. “First time for everything.”

You watch him for a second. Then lean back against the couch again, your shoulder brushing his.

“Guess so,” you say softly.

And then neither of you talks for a while—just the two of you and the puzzle and the quiet, full as ever.

Eventually, Haymitch leans back and drops the puzzle piece in his hand onto the table with a dramatic sigh.

“I swear this lake’s mocking me.”

You smirk, stretching your arms above your head. “Maybe it senses weakness.”

“Maybe you’re insufferable,” he says, already standing.

You push yourself up after him, rolling your shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go outside. It’s too nice out to be fighting with cardboard.”

He grumbles something noncommittal but follows anyway, pausing only to snag his flask from the end table like it’s a reflex. You both step out onto the porch, the warm air wrapping around you like a soft blanket.

It smells like sunlight and damp earth, the breeze teasing at the loose strands of your hair as you settle into the porch swing. Haymitch drops into the chair next to it with a grunt, stretching his legs out and tipping his head back to soak in the sun.

“See?” you say, nudging the swing into motion with your foot. “This is much better than being mocked by a lake.”

“I don’t know,” he says, eyes still closed. “That lake had attitude. Almost impressed.”

You tilt your head. “You’re just bitter because I found more pieces than you.”

“I’d accuse you of cheating again, but I don’t want to stroke your ego.”

You smile, slow and lazy. “Too late. It’s already thriving.”

He cracks an eye open to look at you. “Tragic.”

“Jealous.”

“Delusional.”

You shrug, leaning back in the swing. “You keep coming over, so clearly you enjoy the company.”

“Only when it’s quiet.”

“You’re the one who keeps talking.”

He smirks. “You bring it out of me.”

You glance over at him, arching an eyebrow. “That sounds dangerously close to a compliment.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

The swing creaks softly beneath you as the breeze picks up again, lifting the hem of your shirt and ruffling Haymitch’s hair. Neither of you says anything for a while, letting the air move around you, the quiet settle.

He takes a slow sip from his flask and rests it on his thigh. “You ever just sit like this before? Just… do nothing?”

You think for a second. “Not really. Not until I came back.”

“Not bad, is it?”

You shake your head. “It’s actually kind of nice.”

Haymitch hums. “Don’t get too comfortable. You’ll get soft.”

You roll your eyes and smile into the sun, the swing swaying gently beneath you.

Everything feels steady. Simple. Warm.

Somewhere down the road, a bird trills a high, lonesome song. You let your eyes slip closed for a few seconds, breathing in deep.

When you open them again, Haymitch is watching you.

Not in a sharp or uncomfortable way—just quiet. Curious.

You raise an eyebrow. “What?”

He shrugs, looking out toward the trees again. “Just seems like you’re finally breathing.”

You blink at that, caught off guard. “I breathe all the time.”

“Not like that.”

You don’t answer right away. Just let the words settle in your chest like sunlight through an open window.

Then, after a beat, “It’s easier with you all around. You, Katniss, Peeta.”

He doesn’t say anything, so you keep going—softly, honestly.

“I think I forgot what it was like. Being around people who don’t… expect anything. Who just let me be.”

Haymitch lifts the flask again but doesn’t drink. Just turns it in his hand, watching the metal catch the light. “Yeah. Know the feeling.”

You glance at him, careful. “Did you ever have that? Before?”

He exhales through his nose. “A long time ago. Before the Games, maybe. After that, it’s just… noise.”

You nod.

Then he adds, “But this—” he gestures lazily to the porch, to you, to the stretch of sky above—“this ain’t bad.”

Your chest tugs in a way you can’t name.

You rest your cheek against the back of the swing, watching him.

“Not bad at all,” you murmur.

He meets your gaze again, something steady there. “You’re not as much of a mess as you think.”

You huff a laugh, dry and fond. “You saying that makes me deeply concerned.”

Haymitch tips his head a little, squinting at you with mock scrutiny.

“Sun’s doing something weird to your hair,” he mutters. “It’s practically glowing. Like it’s trying to blind me.”

You snort. “You’re just mad it’s thriving while yours looks like it lost a fight.”

He raises an eyebrow. “My hair’s seen more action than most people’s entire lives.”

You lean back again, tilting your head thoughtfully. “Yeah, I believe that. Just not the kind that involves a comb.”

“Comb’s overrated,” he says. “It’s called texture. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand,” you say, smirking. “I understand you wake up and pretend your hair looks good.”

He huffs, clearly trying not to smile. “You put this much effort into all your insults, or am I just special?”

“You’re special,” you say sweetly. “Like the kind of special that gets their own warning label.”

“That so?”

You nod. “Says ‘keep out of direct sunlight and away from puzzles.’”

Haymitch chuckles under his breath, shaking his head as he takes another sip from the flask. “You keep talking like that and I’m gonna start thinking you like me.”

You glance over, eyes gleaming. “You’re alright. When you’re not grumbling.”

He smirks. “So never, then.”

“Exactly.”

The swing creaks softly as you both settle into the quiet again, the kind that’s easy to fall into when neither of you is trying too hard. You don’t know how long you sit there like that—letting the sun warm your legs, letting Haymitch’s steady presence fill the space beside you—but eventually, the sound of footsteps crunching up the path cuts through the stillness.

Peeta appears first, a grin already on his face. Katniss follows behind him, her braid over one shoulder and a canvas bag slung across her body.

“You two look cozy,” Peeta says.

You raise your head lazily. “We were having a very intellectual discussion about the philosophy of hair maintenance.”

Katniss snorts. “Let me guess. Haymitch was losing.”

“I was winning,” Haymitch mutters.

“In what universe?” you say under your breath.

Peeta leans against the porch railing. “Anyway. We were thinking of heading to the lake.”

“The cold one?” you ask, sitting up a little straighter.

Katniss nods. “The water’s clearer. Good for swimming.”

You glance at Haymitch, already preparing to hear the grumble in his throat.

And there it is. “No thanks,” he says. “I don’t do lakes. Or trails. Or sunburn.”

Peeta raises an eyebrow. “It’s shaded most of the way.”

“I’ve seen enough bodies of water for a lifetime,” Haymitch replies, already looking like he’s gearing up to dig his heels in.

You give him a look. “You’re coming.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah. You need fresh air and, like, joy or something.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but you cut him off. “Come on. If I can hike through the woods and willingly get in a freezing lake, you can manage not to complain for a few hours.”

He squints at you like he’s searching for an out. You stare right back.

Finally, he sighs. “Fine. But if I die out there, it’s on you.”

“I’ll make you a lovely gravestone,” you promise.

Peeta snorts. Katniss just turns toward the path. “Meet us at the edge of the woods in ten?”

You nod, already pushing off the swing. “Just gonna change.”

Inside, you rummage through your drawers until you find something usable—an old pair of shorts that are a little shorter than you remember and a black tank top you’ve slept in more times than you’ve worn it outside. It’s not a swimsuit, but it’ll do. You tug your hair back, splash some water on your face, and grab a towel before heading out.

Haymitch is already waiting near the trailhead when you get there, flask in hand. He gives your outfit a quick glance, says nothing, but raises an eyebrow.

You arch one back. “Don’t start.”

“I wasn’t saying anything,” he says, entirely too innocently.

Katniss and Peeta lead the way into the woods, Peeta carrying the bag now, Katniss setting an even pace. You and Haymitch fall into step just behind them, side by side.

The trail is narrow in places, but easy enough to follow. Light filters through the leaves, dappling the path in shifting gold and green. Peeta talks while he walks, telling some story about a bee chasing him the other day. Katniss chimes in here and there with deadpan commentary that makes Peeta laugh louder every time.

You glance at Haymitch, who’s eyeing the roots underfoot like they’ve personally offended him.

“Having fun yet?” you ask, nudging his arm.

He sighs. “I’ve had worse days.”

You all keep walking—four figures surrounded by trees, sunlight, and the quiet comfort of knowing no one else is out here.

The trees begin to thin.

You can hear it before you see it—soft waves lapping against the shore, the quiet hush of water moving just enough to break the stillness. A breeze cuts through the trees ahead, cooler now, touched with the scent of fresh water and pine.

Then you step into the clearing.

The lake stretches out before you, silver-blue tucked between the thick arms of the forest. Sunlight dances across the surface in glimmering shards and you notice a dock stretching into the water. There’s a slope of grass leading down to the lake, and a crooked old log rests half-submerged at the edge of the water like it’s been waiting.

Katniss sets her bag down and kicks off her boots. Peeta’s already pulling his shirt over his head, grinning like it’s the first real summer day he’s had in years.

Haymitch comes to a slow stop beside you, squinting at the lake like it’s done something personal to him.

You look up at him. “You look like you’re preparing for battle.”

“Feels like I am,” he mutters.

“It’s a lake, not a death trap.”

“Debatable.”

You roll your eyes and head down toward the edge, bare feet sinking into the soft grass. The sun’s warm on your shoulders, the air cooler here but still pleasant, touched with the kind of breeze that raises goosebumps if you stand still too long.

Katniss steps into the shallows first, barely flinching at the cold. Peeta follows with a loud yelp and an exaggerated shiver.

“Feels like snowmelt,” he calls over his shoulder, grinning.

“Perfect,” Katniss says, and dives under.

You glance back at Haymitch. He hasn’t moved.

“You coming, old man?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You first.”

“Coward.”

“Smart,” he corrects.

You stick your tongue out and step into the water, hissing softly at the chill. It bites at your ankles, then your calves. Still, you keep walking—slow, steady, until you’re waist-deep and grinning despite yourself.

“Come on,” you call, voice echoing a little across the clearing. “It’s not that bad.”

Haymitch grumbles something under his breath but starts making his way down the slope anyway.

Peeta laughs as he floats nearby. “Ten seconds before he starts swearing.”

“Five,” Katniss says flatly.

You smile and tilt your head toward Haymitch, who finally toes off his shoes and slides his shirt off, and wades in up to his knees with a scowl.

“This is unnatural,” he mutters.

“It’s called nature,” you say. “Try enjoying it.”

He takes one more step and flinches as the cold reaches higher. “If I die of hypothermia, I want it on record I was peer-pressured.”

“Duly noted,” you say, grinning.

You dive under before he can get another word in, the shock of the water stealing your breath in the best kind of way. When you surface, Katniss is swimming slow, even laps, and Peeta’s trying to balance on a half-submerged rock and failing spectacularly.

You drift lazily in the water, watching the ripples you make stretch outward. The sun glints off the lake like shards of glass, and for a second, everything feels a little unreal. Like you’ve stepped sideways into a dream.

You turn your head just enough to catch Haymitch standing a little ways off, the water lapping just below his navel now. His arms are still crossed like he’s considering whether it’s worth it to dunk himself or just grumble until you all head home.

Your eyes catch on the pale line slashing across his stomach.

Maybe it’s the way the light hits it, or the contrast of the water, or just the fact that he’s standing here at all, quiet and solid—but it makes something in your chest go still for a second.

He must notice your gaze, because he raises an eyebrow at you, deadpan. “If you’re gonna stare, at least try to be subtle.”

You snort. “I’m not staring. Just observing.”

“Sure,” he mutters. “Observing my trauma. Very therapeutic.”

You smile and swim a little closer, keeping your voice light. “It’s just weird seeing you not covered in an old shirt or muttering into your flask.”

“That’s because I have layers,” he says. “Depth. Mystery.”

“Ah, yes. Nothing says ‘mystery’ like sulking in lake water and threatening to drown in your own sarcasm.”

“Keep it up, honey. I’ll splash you.”

You grin. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He shifts like he might, sending a ripple of water in your direction.

“You’re predictable,” you say, smirking. “That’s your problem.”

“And you’re a brat.”

You float closer, the sun warming your face. “Yeah,” you murmur, “but I’m your brat.”

The words are out before you think about them, the same way all your teasing comes out with him—easy, unguarded, weightless. You’re already swimming away before he can say anything back, cutting through the water toward where Katniss has climbed onto the crooked old log, shaking droplets from her braid.

You don’t look back—but you feel his eyes on you, lingering just a beat longer than usual before he finally follows.

Next Part

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° praying ' feet don't fail me now '

( bachira meguru x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — for my childhood best friends to lovers series!!

♡ word count — 1.2k

♡ content — bachira meguru x fem! reader, childhood best friends to lovers, goes from ages three to the u-20 game,

♡ synopsis — Growing up, Meguru Bachira had two friends—and two friends alone: the monster that no one else saw, and you. And in his mind, that was all he needed.

Growing up, Meguru Bachira had two friends—and two friends alone: the monster that no one else saw, and you.

You met him on a hot summer afternoon when you were three years old. The playground was swarming with noisy children, sticky fingers clinging to juice boxes and crusty sand-covered toys.

You were holding court beneath the big slide, where your popularity bloomed even back then. Kids circled around you like satellites—laughing when you laughed, watching where you pointed.

And then you saw him.

A boy, perched on the edge of the sandbox with wild, shaggy hair and the widest yellow eyes you’d ever seen.

He was talking—to no one, it seemed—and moving his fingers through the air like he was painting something only he could see.

Sitting in the sandbox alone, tracing shapes into the sand with a stick.

He wasn’t crying, but he looked like he had every reason to.

Some kids had called him weird.

Others said he talked to himself.

One even pushed him when no one was looking.

But you saw him.

You left your kingdom beneath the slide without a word.

He blinked when you crouched down in front of him. “Are you playing with someone?”

“My monster,” he said, not looking at you.

Most kids would’ve laughed. Or backed away. But you tilted your head, curious. “Can I play too?”

His eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah. But I want to meet your monster first.”

That was the beginning.

From that day on, Meguru Bachira had two friends: his monster, and you—and that was more than enough.

As the years passed, your worlds stayed tangled.

In elementary school, you were the girl who could talk anyone into anything. Kids followed your lead like it was instinct, and adults praised how well you got along with everyone. But no matter how many people clung to your orbit, you only ever circled one boy: Meguru.

You sat with him at lunch. You picked him first in group games. And when kids whispered things about him—about the way he laughed too loud or talked to things that weren’t there—you told them to shut up.

“You like him?” someone once sneered in third grade.

You blinked, as if the question was ridiculous. “Obviously.”

Middle school was harder. Puberty made people mean, and popularity became currency. You were rich in it—liked by everyone, admired for how honest you were, how you never put on a mask. 

Kids whispered louder. They laughed when he answered questions too fast or smiled too wide. And you? You heard it all. You were too sharp, too outspoken to let it slide. 

But people still talked behind Bachira’s back. Sometimes to his face.

One day, after someone called him a freak in the hallway, you stormed up to him, face red with fury.

“Next time they say something, I’ll say something back. I don’t care, I’m not letting them get away with it.”

But he shook his head, a soft smile on his lips.

“No. Don’t. You don't have to do that. I have you—and my monster. That’s enough.”

That was the same year he discovered soccer. T

he same year he kicked a ball for the first time and heard his monster cheer. 

And the same year you sat in the grass for hours, watching him practice alone with a makeshift goal and an old ball.

You never understood why he loved it so much. 

But when you saw the fire in his eyes, the way he looked alive in a way that only happened when he played, you figured... maybe it didn’t matter.

High school came, and with it, new uniforms, new pressures, and new boys who thought they were better than they really were.

One day you stood near the edge of the soccer field, sipping a red Icee, watching as the team ran drills. You weren’t really paying attention—until you overheard a few boys near the bench whispering:

“Let’s not pass to him in scrims today. Freak always plays like it’s a one-man show anyway.”

“Coach only keeps him because he racks up assists. Still plays like he’s in his own head.”

“Bet he talks to the ball.”

You didn’t even think. You just moved.

Your hand flew out. Red Icee hit cotton. It splattered across their white jerseys like blood. They shouted, stepping back in shock.

“What the hell?!”

You raised an eyebrow, voice sharp. “Let’s look at some stats, shall we? Most goals? Bachira. Most assists? Bachira. Fastest recovery time after injury? Bachira. So tell me, exactly how do you think you’re winning?”

They stammered. One tried to argue, but you weren’t having it. You turned and walked away, your ponytail swaying like a battle flag.

From across the field, Bachira had seen everything.

And it was in that moment—shirt soaked in sweat, breath still heavy from drills, the sun catching in your eyes as you marched away like some kind of storm goddess—that he swore he fell in love with you.

He didn’t tell you right away. But he started finding new reasons to walk you home. 

New excuses to hang around your house. 

New ways to make you laugh. 

And every time your hand brushed his, he swore his heartbeat was doing backflips.

It wasn’t until one late afternoon—walking home in the sunset, sneakers crunching against gravel—that he finally said it.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

You stopped. Blinked. Turned to him slowly. “You think?”

He grinned, a little sheepish. “Okay. I am in love with you.”

You smiled, rolling your eyes as you stepped closer, hands reaching for his hoodie. “Took you long enough.”

You kissed him first. He kissed you second. And somewhere in the distance, his monster laughed.

Then the Blue Lock letter came.

You were sitting beside him in his room, feet tucked under a blanket, when he opened it. You gasped before he could.

“Oh my god. Meguru, you—this is—this is huge!”

He stared at the letter. Quiet. Too quiet.

“You’re going, right?” you asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

You frowned. “Why?”

“What if they’re right? What if I am a freak? What if I get there and it’s just more people like them? I can’t do it without—”

You grabbed his face, forcing him to look at you.

“Meguru. Look at me. You are not a freak. You’re brilliant. You’re a genius on the field. And they’ll see it—you’ll make them see it.”

He blinked, eyes glassy.

“Prove them wrong,” you said. “Prove them all wrong.”

You kissed him like it was a promise. And a week later, you were at the train station, hugging him tight, trying not to cry as he boarded.

“Come back to me,” you whispered.

“I will,” he promised. “And when I do—I’ll be the best.”

The day of the U-20 game, you were there. Front row, signs painted in yellow and black, wearing his number.

You screamed every time he touched the ball. Cursed when he got knocked down. Jumped up and down like a maniac when he scored.

And when they won—you didn’t wait.

You ran past security. Dodged the guards. Your shoes hit the pitch like thunder.

He turned just in time to catch you, your arms around his neck, legs around his waist.

“See?” you grinned, breathless. “I told you!”

He laughed, holding you up, the stadium a blur around him.

And then, he said it—quietly, just for you.

“She’s gone…”

Your smile faltered. “Huh? Who—?”

“My monster,” he said. “She’s gone.”

You opened your mouth to apologize, but he shook his head.

“I’ve met some amazing people,” he whispered. “But no one like you. Thank you. For everything.”

Then he kissed you. Right there, in front of everyone. With his silly smile and wild eyes and heart full of fire, Meguru Bachira kissed the girl who had been there from the very beginning.

And he knew—

He didn’t need the monster anymore.

He had you.

bachira my love, idk why i don't write for you more

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⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[harryhighkey]

don't let go

hi! this is a part three to my Frontman series.

thanks for all the love on this series so far!!! I've been loving writing it so I'm super happy that people are loving reading it!

a frontman x reader series - masterlist to series here

"(Y/N)," Player 001 quietly called your name, he'd awoken twenty minutes ago and had been enjoying the serenity of having you sleeping in his arms.

At some point in the night, you'd rolled over and were now facing him, your face nuzzled into his neck. Your slow breaths tickling his skin in the best way. He hadn't felt such a profound sense of peace around him in such a long time. This was a bad idea, because now he couldn't stand the thought of losing it. Hope was something he'd let go of, but there you were, right beside him with the face of an angel, you'd quickly become his ray of light at the end of the dark tunnel he'd been stuck in for years.

Last night after he had helped you calm down and knew you were fast asleep, he'd fallen asleep in your little bed too. He hadn't intended to, he knew if people saw - whether it be the other contestants or his guards - the two of you would become a talking point. Luckily you'd managed to find a bunk that was pretty hidden away, but he didn't want to draw more attention to you. Over his time of being the Frontman he'd come to learn that attention in this place usually meant you were more of a target.

It was very early, most people were still asleep, he wanted to get up before everyone started to wake up. But he just had to talk to you first, today's game was going to be the most brutal yet. He knew that, because he planned it. He knew it was going to be tough to get through, physically and emotionally. He was terrified of what it would do to you.

He moved his head, his cheek grazing yours so he could whisper right into your ear. "(Y/N)," he repeated your name, you mumbled in response, still very much closer to still sleeping than waking up. "You need to wake up, angel." He moved his face back and brought a hand up to caress your cheek, he dared to rub his nose against yours, hoping to rouse you more from your slumber.

"Hmm.." You briefly opened your eyes, only to wince and shut them tight at the sudden onslaught of light. In-ho laughed, fighting the urge to lean in and kiss you at the sight of your bottom lip pouting. "I'm sleepy." Your voice came out whiney.

"I know, (Y/N), but I need you to listen to me."

"I can listen and sleep. I can multitask."

He sighed, rubbing his thumb over your cheek. How badly he wanted to give you whatever you wanted. Soon he would be able to let you rest for as long as you desired, he just had to get you to survive this hard part first.

"This is serious, come on pretty girl, open your eyes for me."

Butterflies. You felt them explode in your stomach. He had your attention. You listened and opened your eyes, it took you a few long blinks to be able to leave them open, and a stretch that had you arching your back more into him. He had to fight off the way that movement turned him on.

"There she is, good morning." Player 001 greeted you.

"Good morning." You smiled so sweetly at him, he was so warm beside you, so comforting. You could get used to being his little spoon. There was already minimal room in the bunks but with how close the two of you were right now, it seemed you didn't need much room, anyway.

"May I ask, why did you come here?" This question hadn't left the front of his mind. He had to get this answer before bringing up the game.

"Well, I was told I could play some games for money, I won Ddajki right away. I thought it would all be that easy." You paused and took a breath. "I have a big debt I need to pay."

"But you're so young, how could you owe so much money?"

Yours eyes danced back and forth between his. You hadn't told anyone why you were here, you hadn't really planned on doing so, either. But you trusted this man, he looked at you so sincerely, he held you so tenderly, he looked out for you. "My mother, she had been sick since I was 11. There were so many medical bills building up, she couldn't pay them because she was too sick to work. I worked odd jobs when I was old enough around school, but never earned no where near enough to pay them all back." Tears started to well in your eyes. "She died when I was 19."

"(Y/N), I'm sorry." He pressed a kiss to your forehead. You shut your eyes, enjoying the intimacy in his comfort. "What about your dad?"

You clenched your jaw and spoke with venom. "He left when I was 14. He met another woman. We never heard from him since."

In-ho was piecing you together. The twisted side of him had just discovered the reason you felt drawn to him - an older man. The dark side wanted to kill your father for abandoning you during such a tumultuous time, causing you to be here right now. The gentle side you'd brought forward was going to immediately pay off all those debts for you the second these games were over.

"You had to look after her?"

"Yeah."

"That's a lot for a young girl to go through. You didn't deserve that."

You shrugged. "I can't change it now. Death is a part of life." You said so simply. "Not in the way people are dying here, though."

That guilt he hadn't felt over any other player consumed him again.

"Anyway, I've been trying to pay the debts back since, I just can't. It's so hard. I've worked full time since graduating school and still, there's so much left to pay."

"You've been on your own since she passed?"

"For the most part." You answered honestly. He started to realise you had been living with the same loneliness he had.

He shouldn't have been surprised to find out you weren't here for greed. It wasn't even your own debt to pay back, just one that had unfortunately been left to you. Of course his good girl wouldn't be like the rest of the selfish people who compete in this contest. He wanted to scoop you up and get you out of these games now, but people would see.

Holding your eye contact, his gaze was serious. "I need you to stay by my side in the next game, okay?"

You frowned. "What if I can't?" You questioned, remembering how you got split up playing the six-legged game, luckily both your teams survived.

"You must," He paused, moving his hand that was on your face to grab one of your hands instead. "I won't drop your hand, don't drop mine."

You looked down to where his hand engulfed yours, squeezing your fingers around his, he mimicked the action. "It could be a solo game, right? What will we do then?"

How could he tell you he knew what was coming? How could he tell you he designed this next game to be so deadly? How could he tell you he knew that carnage would take place? How could he without ruining what amazing thing was forming between you both that he so desperately wanted to hold onto?

"We'll just have to see when we get in the arena."

You nodded and suddenly your mind was whirring. You were trying your hardest to think of what was to come today, your breathing got shallower. In-ho noticed your overthinking kick in, and he once again squeezed his fingers around yours.

"Hey, I will keep you safe."

"What if you can't even keep yourself safe?"

"I will be fine."

"How do you know?" Your eyes shot back to his, worry was written all over your face. You were worried for yourself, but now you were worried for him, for the people you'd grown closer to over the past few days here.

He didn't have an answer for you, at least one he couldn't admit to you. Not yet. So you spoke again. "I don't want to compete anymore, Young-il."

"I know. I don't either." That was honesty, he really didn't want to, especially not anymore now that he had you to think of.

"I wish we could escape." You sighed.

It was his turn for his mind to whir. He started having an internal battle then, over if he should confess who he was and get you out right now before too many people woke up.

"We just need to get through this next game and then surely we'll win the vote to leave." He decided against confessing. You still knew him as Young-il, not even his real name - In-ho - how could you handle everything else there was to learn about him?

"You really think we'll make it through?"

"Yes, I won't let anything happen to you."

---

The curtains opened to a colourful room, a big round platform stood in the middle of the room. As your eyes darted around the room, anxiety started to fill you.

That was when Player 001 grabbed your hand, giving it a squeeze.

"Remember?" He said, you turned to look at him, nodding quickly. Knowing he was talking about not dropping each others hands. He could already see the terror written across your face. Guilt started to fill him.

As you were all walking towards the platform, the announcement was made over what the game would be. Mingle.

255 was displayed. The amount of players currently. "If they're displaying the contestant count, that must mean a lot of us are going to die, right? They want us to see that number go down." You said out loud, the group of players you'd grown closer to who were all standing around you, turned towards you. They knew you were right, it was a dark truth.

"No matter what happens, we must stay calm." In-ho spoke up, directing it to the whole group but he gave your hand a slight tug.

The platform began spinning. Your chest went tight, so did your grip around In-ho's hand.

Ten.

Everyone started forming groups, the lights were flashing. You knew you needed four more in your team to make the count. "Player 120!" You found your voice, spotting that they were a group of four.

"Run! Green door!"

It all happened so fast, but it also felt so slow. Your heart was thundering. But you were inside and the door was locked, you'd made it, you were safe.

At the sound of gunshots you jumped and turned towards the direction the noise had come in, only to met with the horrifying sight of all the contestants who hadn't made it into a room being shot to death through the little gap in the door. The colour started to drain from your face.

"Don't look." In-ho's commanding voice sounded out as he pulled you into him, placing his hands over your ears to block out the noise of the gunshots for you as much as he could. You squeezed your eyes shut.

Time seemed to move extra slow being in that room, and you knew it was because they had to move all the dead bodies away. There was enough that it was taking so long.

That was when the announcer started listing off the players that had been eliminated, the door was unlocked and you all started to exit.

You froze as a squelch noise sounded out under your shoe as you took a step. You made an audible gasp at the giant pool of blood on the floor underneath you. It was enough that you could see your own reflection in it. "Young-il." You squeezed his hand, he still hadn't let go of you.

"Look at me." You lifted your head at the sound of his voice. "You made it through, you're safe. We'll make it through again." He was so calm for you, you were so grateful.

Four. Was the next round.

168 was the amount of players left. Almost 100 people had died only after two rounds.

Three. Was the next round. This was when people really started to turn on one another, pushing, kicking, punching each other to form groups to survive. Pulling people out of rooms so they could have it, leaving the others to die. Player 001 and Player 456 made sure you got into a room with them.

You weren't doing well by this point. You couldn't take in a full breath, you were so overwhelmed. You'd never heard so many gun shots, you'd never seen so much blood, so much death. You were trying your hardest to keep a clear mind but it was feeling nearly impossible.

"I can't do this anymore." You said out loud.

In-ho and Gi-hun turned to look at you.

"I know it's hard, but you have to, (Y/N)." Player 456 said as he placed his hand on your shoulder.

"There's only likely to be a couple more rounds." Player 001 spoke this time, he knew exactly how many more were coming. "We've made it this far, we'll get through the next rounds. Remember, just keep hold of my hand." He spoke very clearly wanting to make sure you heard him, it was visible on your face that you were struggling to remain present.

Six.

There was seven of you. Everyone frantically looked around the circle.

"Should we split up?" Player 390 suggested.

"Is there enough players left to do that?" You questioned.

"I'll go." Player 001, spoke, you turned to look at him so fast your neck made a crack.

"No."

"I'll be okay." He assured you, placing your hand into Dae-ho's despite the jealous monster inside him wanting to snatch it back right away. You didn't know it but he was putting you first, he would be okay sneaking off and hiding in a room on his own, the Frontman wouldn't get killed. You wouldn't make it trying to form a new group now. "Don't let go of her." In-ho commanded him.

"Of course, sir." Dae-ho responded, quickly grabbing your hand tight.

Before you had a chance to protest, he was gone. He'd left you.

"Young-il!" You called out, but you'd already lost him.

"We have to hurry!" Player 456 yelled out, all of you moving quick towards a free room.

You turned your head over your shoulder to see if you could spot Player 001. That was when you were lifted up, your hand being ripped from Dae-ho's as you got dragged away.

"Sorry, we need her more!" Thanos held you tight in his arms, pulling you to a different room.

"No!" Dae-ho yelled out, but he was already being pulled by Jung-bae.

"Let me go!" You tried to fight against Thanos, but he was stronger.

You were pulled into a room at the last second and the door was locked behind you. As the men you were in the room with cheered, you cowered into the back corner.

You didn't know if any of your friends had made it, what if the five you were supposed to be with didn't find their sixth?

What if Player 001 hadn't found a group to go with?

What if you were truly on your own here.

You slid down the wall, you felt like you wanted to pass out. Your body trembled, your face went white, your head felt heavy and your body felt light. You were having a panic attack.

---

"Gi-hun!" In-ho called out upon seeing him exit a room. He had a smile on his face.

Gi-hun didn't return it.

Player 001 watched as everyone else left the room. When the sixth person wasn't you, he panicked, but his panic showed with rage.

"Where is she?!" Instantly he lunged at Dae-ho, grabbing him by the collar.

"I don't know! I'm sorry! I had her hand but someone just grabbed her and took her so fast. Time was running out, I'm sorry Young-il!"

"I told you not to let go of her!" He shook Player 388. What he really wanted to do was snap his neck.

“Looking for your girl?" Thanos interrupted, bouncing over to the group like he was having the time of his life. "She's in that room over there. She’s having a full mental breakdown. Baby girl can’t handle it!”

Just as In-ho began to make a move towards the room, an announcement was made.

“All remaining players must return to the platform, immediately.”

Guards moved to usher the players towards the platform, one stepped into the room that you were in, In-ho surged forward. A guard stepped directly in front of him.

“Let me help her! I’ll get her out here with the rest of us!” He yelled, his calm demeanour completely shattered at the thought of losing you.

“Just kill her! She won’t make it through the next round anyway.” Someone from the platform yelled out. In-ho turned to see who it was, knowing he'd want to remember that face. He was going to pay.

“It’ll be more money for all of us.” Player 100. The eldest man here joined in. If In-ho didn't have you as his top priority, he would have grabbed the guards gun and shot them both dead. These were the disgusting, evil, selfish displays of humans that made him keep the games running.

"Let me get her, she doesn't deserve to die for being scared." He commanded, his voice strong, still angry but more balanced. Finally the guard stepped to the side.

As In-ho approached the room he heard you begging the guard, “Just kill me, please kill me.” His heart broke.

Instantly he dropped to his knees before you. "(Y/N)," He cradled your face in his hands, angling your head up to look at him. It pained him to see the state you were in. So much horror showed on your face, he knew today was going to leave with permanent emotional scars. He'd spend his lifetime trying to heal them.

"Young-il," Your eyes went wide, you looked at him in disbelief for a few moments before you leapt forward, swinging your arms around his neck. "I thought you died."

He wrapped his arms around you so tightly, holding you against him. "I'm here, I'm sorry for not staying with you."

"Don't leave me again. You let go of my hand. Don't let me go again."

"I won't, baby. I promise I won't." He could feel your body shake, he could feel your quick and uneven breaths. He'd never second guessed being the Frontman until this moment. How could he have put you through this? "You're okay, you're alive. We're almost done, then I'm getting you out of here."

You nodded against him, your face buried in his neck.

"Put your legs around me, okay?" His hands landed on your thighs and he aided in wrapping them around his hips. "I'm going to hold you through the next round. Keep your limbs gripped strong, can you do that?" You nodded. "I need to hear you, (Y/N), I need to know you understand."

"Yes."

"Good girl. Alright, one, two, three-" He grunted as he stood up, taking you with him, his arms were wrapped tight around you, holding you in place. Your had your arms locked his neck and your legs locked around his hips, clinging to him out of pure terror.

Running to a room was going to be hard like this. He turned his head away from you, whispering directly to the guard.

“I’m going to run towards the yellow door, make sure it is locked until I'm right by it, then unlock it." His voice was very quiet, but the coldness in his tone was unmissable.

“But-“ The guard began to respond.

“Do it. Nothing happens to her.” The Frontman cut off his guard. This was a demand that was non-negotiable. Once he was walking back towards the platform, he could feel the eyes of the other contestants locked onto the two of you. A few gasps sounded out, a few muttered comments. He blocked them all out. You were his top priority in this current moment.

“Young-il, are you alright holding her? I can take her from you if you need.” Dae-ho asked once you were back on the platform, in Player 001's arms. You dared to peek your eyes open, spotting Dae-ho and everyone else, relieved they were alive.

“I’ve got her. I’m not letting her go.” In-ho kept his gaze forward, fighting the urge to call him an idiot for suggesting such a thing when he couldn't even keep ahold of your hand last round.

Two.

Chaos started, this was the worst people had acted yet. As In-ho immediately took off in a sprint, you watched over his shoulder in horror as people turned on one another. You tightened your grip around him, and he did on you in response.

Player 001 managed to dodge most of the frenzy taking place, it was almost a clean run right to the yellow room. He reached out his arm towards the door handle, his hand was almost touching it when someone slammed into the two of you. You flung out of his arms and crashed into the floor with a thud.

In-ho watched in rage as the same player then tripped over you, kicking you in your side as he fell over. If he didn't have to get you in the room so quickly, he would have killed him.

"Come here." Adrenaline surged through him as he swooped down to pick you up again. You groaned, your ribs in so much pain from the fall and kick. Tears filled his eyes, a range of emotions swirled through him. Rage for what you were going through, guilt that he was the reason this was happening to you, frustration that he couldn't just free you from it right now.

Finally, he carried you into the room, he placed you down on your feet, and turned to shut and lock the door.

"Young-il," Immediately he snapped his head around to see what had caught your attention. It was him, the man who first said to kill you. He must have snuck in when you fell to the floor.

Rage. Rage. Rage. It was all the Frontman felt as he neared the man.

"(Y/N), close your eyes and cover your ears."

You did as he said, part of you knew what he was going to do already, but part of you wanted to act like it wasn't real. With your eyes squeezed shut and your hands clasped over your ears, your tried your hardest to ignore the snapping sound, but it still made you flinch.

You flinched again at the feeling of bigger hands being placed over yours that were still pressing down on your ears. "It's me." Player 001 assured you. "Keep your eyes closed for a little longer, I'll tell you when to open them, but you made it, you're okay. The game is over now."

"Young-il, did you..." You let your voice trail off, afraid of an answer you already knew anyway.

"I did what I had to do to keep you alive."

[yanderes-galore]

May I request a romantic Light Yagami vs L from Death Note rivalry concept please?

As if their canon dynamic wasn't bad enough, huh?

Yandere! Light Yagami vs L Lawliet Concept

Pairing: Romantic - Rivalry

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Stalking, Possessive behavior, Hidden cameras, Murder, Dubious relationship(s).

These two are already playing 4D chess with one another.

The two are constantly researching and watching one another, cameras everywhere, mind games, etc...

That's just with them trying to catch one another.

You throw an obsession into that?

Well, things just got worse.

I like to imagine you're oblivious to this whole thing, just trying to live your own life.

You're just trying to do college or something, unaware these two men are doing mind games over you.

Even worse if this is during the arc where L introduces himself as a student to learn more on Light.

That way they both have a chance to be near you.

Making the rivalry even worse.

Let's be honest, your house/dorm/ apartment is being bugged.

Cameras, recording devices, everything.

These two are master manipulators who could easily outsmart their obsession.

But they also know not to let too much slip.

This rivalry isn't physical.

In fact, most of it would occur just like the series does.

It would be all mind games, trying to make one another slip.

It just has the added goal of trying to get the same obsession now.

Light is charismatic, often wanting to be around you to talk and study.

He's popular which may make it easier for him to get closer to you.

After all, you won't suspect him of anything, right?

Everyone likes him.

L, whom you know as Ryuzaki, is less social.

He's strange... but not really a bad person to you.

He seems a bit like he's studying you at times but acts like a student similar to you.

In reality, it's a ploy to get closer to Light...

Then it becomes a way to get close to you.

The two may be focused on finding each other out, but they end up both meeting you.

L probably ends up learning about you through Light since he notices you around him so often.

You start off as a suspect, yet soon their focus shifts to you for other reasons.

Both may find you as a distraction... but notice the other is also eerily into you.

L is the one most likely to put up cameras and other devices to monitor you.

He'd sit in front of those monitors for hours while he researches Kira.

Light on the other hand, ends up dragging you everywhere he goes.

You're most likely going to befriend them both in some way.

I say this as I feel if you're involved with one, the other will follow due to them researching one another.

Maybe it's for the best that you're unaware of all of this....

Do you really want to learn your best friend Light is killing people, some even because they were too close to you?

That or the fact Ryuzaki has bugged your home to watch your every move?

Should you know that the two are trying to get rid of one another, perhaps even one of them getting you to themselves afterwards?

Sometimes it's nice to be blissfully ignorant.

To you the two seem to get along fine, maybe with some tension here or there but...

Nothing too bad... right?

....

No, it's really bad.

I feel it's worse that they're both romantically interested in you.

That means I feel both of them would try to take you on dates.

But since they both like manipulating you... it comes off as subtle manipulation.

Invited for sweets with L? Date.

Hanging out at Light's house? Date.

It's honestly a gamble if it will be a normal hang out or not.

They both would enjoy messing with you.

You're just so oblivious to the fact they want each other dead.

Well, Light wants L dead...

L is... debatable.

The only murder that would occur in this rivalry is people around you... and it's all Light.

If he can't get rid of L, he'll make do.

L mostly prefers manipulating you into staying beside him or framing people.

In terms of kidnapping, neither would want to give each other away.

They're both subtle and masters at what they do.

Kidnapping brings too much attention.

Even if L sort of likes the idea of keeping you in a small space to observe you....

Now, who would win this rivalry?

I'll stick to canon for this and say Light would.

He's going to figure out L at some point.

Light's tired of being hunted.

Eventually he'll find L's name, write it down... then the rivalry is done.

Now you'll come crying to Light... scared for your life...

Only for Light to carefully take you in his arms...

The whole time grinning over your shoulder, knowing that he's won both games he was playing with L.

[macfrog]

you shook me all night long sex on fire chapter one

requested by @whore-4-pedro (hope u enjoy lovely)

lived all my succession fantasies out writing this one icl. enjoy 🖤 check out my masterlist for more joel fun ‼️

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: as joel miller's assistant, you're expected to meet all his needs. some are a little more personal than others

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) creepy dude at the beginning, lotta teasing and touching, mentions of female masturbation, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, semi-public sex, daddy kink, age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), alcohol and drug use, cursing, low-key inappropriate work relationship (if bad then why sexy?)

word count: 7.8k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

You grind your ass and Joel hums into your skin. He’s getting harder by the second, you’re getting wetter. It’s not enough, what you’re doing. You need more. You lower your hand and cup him through his pants, taking hold of his bulge and massaging gently. His hips are moving, he’s rutting into your palm, both of you desperate to rid yourselves of the clothing separating your skin. “I asked,” you breathe, “what’s next on the agenda?” “Next,” Joel mumbles into your skin, “was thinkin’ I could bend you over this desk ‘n fuck you.”

It’s Friday night.

You only got home from work an hour and a half ago. Tired, hungry, sore eyes from staring at a screen all night, sore back from sitting hunched over all day. Dumped your bags at the door, ripped your clothes off by your bed, dove straight into the shower. You’d picked an outfit, curled your hair in record time, and even done your makeup before Deb called to say she was out front.

It was a ten-minute drive from your place to the hotel – it’s only a couple blocks from work. The cab driver made light conversation, talked about his daughter and her new puppy, and you both nodded and uhuhed in all the breaks in his sentences. Deb made some comment about it being easier if you’d just stayed at the office until the party, and you’d hummed in agreement, looking out the window at the regal hotel.

Truth be told, you’d rather be doing anything other than attending a work function. You’ve had a long week. A lot of meetings, paperwork, emails to be answered, and most of all, running around after your boss. It’s not all fun and games being Joel Miller’s assistant, regardless of the pay, or the view from your desk over to his.

Your head’s elsewhere when you waltz through the revolving door, heels clicking along the marble floor. The elevator – gold, by the way – slides open and you both step inside, hitting the highest button before you’re swept up twenty floors to the penthouse.

“Did you send those documents over to us yet?” Deb asks.

“Nope,” you reply, slipping out when the elevator dings. “Had to sit in on a meeting with Joel and take the fucking minutes, spent all night writing them up.”

“He won’t be pissed at you?”

“If he hadn’t insisted I was in there with him, you’d have your reports, wouldn’t you?”

She shrugs, agreeing.

“Anyway,” you continue, “I can take angry Joel. He doesn’t scare me.”

Deb chuckles as you shoulder the doors to the penthouse open.

It’s a moody dull, lit only by the lights lining the bar and small lamps decorating mahogany tables, sat next to deep green velvet couches. There are clusters of people everywhere you look; stood near shelves filled with leather-bound books, examining the view from the floor to ceiling windows, sprawled out over luxurious chairs with champagne flutes in their hands. There’s a tree in the middle of the room, branches decorated in blinking string lights reaching to a glass dome in the ceiling.

It's, like, sickeningly pretentious. You know it. Hell, you all know it. Still, in your little black dress, you strut over and take a champagne of your own, sipping on the fizzing drink with one elbow resting on the wooden bar.

“There’s my girl,” his voice coos over your shoulder. “Been watchin’ for you all night, took your time.”

You lean back, bored expression on your face.

Joel’s broad chest pulls on the white shirt he’s wearing, same one you just saw him in little over three hours ago, only without a tie; the top couple of buttons are undone to reveal his chest hair peeking through. You try not to let your eyes linger on him too long.

“You look fuckin’ ecstatic to be here.”

He leans against the bar next to you, arms crossed. When you don’t reply, he nudges you. Your champagne jolts in its glass.

“I always look like this. I’m always ecstatic to be everywhere.”

He smiles. “Why aren’t you mingling?”

“Don’t wanna.”

“’s a work event. That’s the whole point.”

“Then why are you over here talkin’ to me?”

His eyes flash across your lips, and you swear they drop for a nanosecond to your chest.

“Come on,” he says, taking your wrist in his huge hand, “some people you oughta meet.”

Joel ignores your sigh and leads you over onto a plush rug, sidling between knees to sit you down on the soft couch between himself and some bald dude in a jet blue suit, whose shirt is also undone, though much further than Joel’s. He has a chest like a hairless cat.

Cue Ball snakes an arm over the back of the couch; his fingers dance across your back. You shimmy a little closer to Joel and he notices instantly, jaw turning slowly to glance over. When he sees your knees angled toward him, seeking protection, he leans back and wraps his left arm around your shoulders, his right coming down to cup your knee.

“This,” he shakes your leg, left arm pulling you tighter against him, “is my wonderful assistant. My right-hand lady. Couldn’t do anything without her, could I?”

“Could wipe your own ass, that’s about it,” you mumble into your glass, and a roar of laughter sounds from your audience.

Joel, still leaning back, pulls his arm from you but keeps his shoulder firmly behind yours, making sure whatever the creep on your left tries, he’ll feel first. Your elbow rests in the crook of his, and you keep it there, quietly enjoying the intimacy of his body caging yours.

His left hand is settled on your thigh. You realize it after a swig of champagne, and start counting in your head how many seconds his fingers stay gripped on your skin.

He talks with his hands – always has. Walks around his office, ranting and raving sometimes, arms swinging around in the air while you take notes, or file your nails, or just watch until he’s done. For the next half hour, though, he only talks with his right hand. Only sips his beer with his right hand. Only scratches his beard, or pulls his phone from his pocket, or reaches up and passes you a second drink, and then a third, with his right hand.

You stay rigid, legs unmoving, eyes barely leaving his knuckles, locked tight around your thigh. There’s heat from his touch siphoning from his palm down through your skin, rippling like waves all through your body and pooling somewhere south of your belly button. No matter how hard you try, you can’t shake it. Can’t stop thinking about it. You barely notice when Cue Ball’s hand ghosts across your back a second time.

But Joel notices, straight away. He flashes the guy a look, and you swear he’s baring his teeth. Eyes locked on the blue suit like it’s a target, never blinking. He doesn’t say anything when his prey excuses himself to the bathroom, and you don’t turn to watch him go, but you do notice three other sharp-suited pricks stand and wander off in that direction after him.

Probably not a coincidence.

Joel still has a hold on your leg. Your flute is empty, and you lean forward to place it on the wooden table at your knees, beginning to stand.

His grip loosens, but he looks up at you as you tower over him.

“Cocktail,” you tell him with a sweet smile, and he nods, letting you go.

You know he’s watching you as you slink away. Is it the alcohol in your system, or something darker, that makes you sway your hips a little more for his benefit?

Deb’s over at the bar with Martha, another of Joel’s assistants. She’s around his age, worked for him much longer than you have, but when he hired you, you took on most of the groundwork. Following Joel’s orders– sorry, requests, organizing meetings, filing paperwork for him. Martha sits at a desk outside Joel’s office, answers the phone and directs anyone who happens to wander up to the top floor of the building.

Did I say directs? I meant strikes coldblooded fear within them and sends them back running the way they came, with just one look and a nod in the opposite direction.

Unless they’re there for a meeting with Joel, that is. And if they are, that’s where you come in. Good morning, Mr. Salazar, Mr. Miller will be right with you. This way, he’s just finishing up a call.

Martha’s a tough nut. But she likes you enough, so she smiles warmly as you approach.

“I’m hearing all about your note-taking this afternoon,” she hums when you hop up onto a barstool, catching the bartender’s eye. He trots over.

You sigh to Martha, eyes wide. “I didn’t leave until, like, eight. What the fuck’s that about? Can I just get a cosmopolitan, please?” you ask, and the bartender nods. He looks about fifteen.

Martha shakes her head, laughing. “He did it to me when I was first startin’ out, too. Told him to stick his minutes where the sun don’t shine.”

“I’ve been here three years,” you mutter, and Deb snorts.

“You’d think Joel would’ve changed his ways in the, what, seven decades since you started, Martha?”

It earns her a slap across the shoulder. You stifle your laugh behind your glass, thanking the teenager who served you it with a nod.

“Twenty years next March, actually,” Martha says.

“That so? D’you think he’ll get you anything for it?”

“If I’m lucky,” she sighs, eyes travelling up to the ceiling in thought, “a lunch break where he doesn’t bother me once.”

“Knowing Joel, that means a lunch break where he bothers you twice.”

You smile, glancing past the pretentious tree to where Joel is, and notice he’s already staring right back. A swarm of butterflies flutter around your stomach, dancing over the heat his handprint left within you. They only grow more violent when he stands and walks over, broad shoulders swaying, eyes flitting up and down your body.

You lean back, sitting up straight, eyeing him right back as he joins the three of you.

“Speak of the devil,” Martha says, and Joel chuckles in response, but his eyes never leave you.

“We were just talkin’ about Martha’s twenty years,” says Deb, winking.

He finally turns to answer her. “Oh, yeah? When’s that, then, old-timer?”

“Dirtball!” Martha yells, and Joel smirks. It goes straight to your core.

“How many Manhattans tonight, then, Deb?”

Deb holds her glass up. “I am on my second, and I will not be exceeding three. We don’t need a repeat of Christmas.”

“Aw,” Joel complains, tutting, “I liked hammered Deb.”

“That’s ‘cause you didn’t have to deal with hungover Deb,” you mutter, and she shoots you a look.

Joel smiles at you, takes a step closer as Deb and Martha begin comparing past hangovers. He leans forward, waves the fifteen-year-old down, and asks for a beer. As he leans back, you notice the weight of his wrist on your right hip. Nicely done.

“You know there are four guys in the bathroom doing coke?”

“I hope to God that’s all they’re doin’. I don’t need another orgyhappenin’ at one of these things.”

You giggle like a fucking schoolgirl. He looks pleased with himself, and you instantly regret it. You try to play it off by lifting your glass back to your lips.

Joel’s studying you, though, mapping every inch of your face. Watching your mouth as it curves around the shape of the glass, your tongue licking your lips after your sip. He tracks the glass as you set it back down on the bar, then his eyes trail along your arm to your dress, and your stomach leaps.

He looks so fucking good, it sends another wave of energy through your body. Dark hair lined with grey, beard much the same. Strong jaw, lips wetting with every sip of beer he takes, dark eyes flitting across yours, holding your stare long enough to melt you a little, and then dipping just before you can read the thoughts behind them.

His skin a little tanned, his neck thick with muscle. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, you’re so close. Close enough that you could lean up, part your lips and sink your teeth under his ear, suck a mark there, taste him on your tongue.

Your head cocks after a few minutes silence, just the two of you enjoying the fucking look of each other. You lean a little against his arm, steady around your back.

“I hate work parties,” you sigh.

Joel scoffs. “Free alcohol, nice penthouse. Cocaine, if you want it. What’s not to like?”

You narrow your eyes and he laughs for real.

“I hate ‘em, too, baby. Gotta keep up appearances, though, don’t we?”

Baby. This fucker.

“Do we?” you squeak, after a few seconds dazed.

He shrugs. “’s what I hear.”

He’s so close you can smell the beer on his tongue. It makes your heart quicken, your body hum with energy. That could just be the alcohol in your system, though, right?

Who are you kidding? It’s fucking Joel doing it to you.

You have no idea how long he was here before you arrived. He left the office around six, and you presumed he’d come straight here to check everything was in order before guests started arriving. How many beers has he had? Is he just drunk, feeling up on you with liquid courage?

You’re mulling over the thought when a pair of hands clamp down on Joel’s shoulders and his hold on your waist loosens. He mumbles an apology as he’s dragged away by a couple of loose-collared, baggy-suit drunks. You shake your head in response, trying to be cool – It’s all good, man. I’m good. I’m not totally fawning over you right now, no way.

Deb swings her barstool around when she notices you’re on your own, inviting you back into their conversation. Thirty seconds into talking about childhood pets, you’re wishing Joel was back around you, igniting your skin and peaking your adrenaline. Max the Pomeranian is a nice picture; Joel’s nicer.

Martha says something with a hand motion, and Deb nods, elbow knocking into yours.

“What?”

She nods toward the balcony. “We’re headin’ out for a smoke, you comin’?”

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll save your seats.”

They nod and wander off between a crowd, swallowed up by bodies in the direction of the open sliding doors, the blinking lights of the skyline ahead.

You’re twirling the base of your empty glass around on its napkin when you feel that same heat behind you again, and a hand rests on the small of your back.

“Coat,” Joel mutters, pulling his suit jacket on.

“Huh?”

“Get your coat. Everyone’s headin’ across the street.”

“Why is everyone heading across the street?”

He shrugs. “Afterparty, I guess.”

“It’s a work function. It’s like–” you check your phone, “–oh, fuck, it’s almost midnight.” You screw your face up, watching as the small crowd slowly melts away through the suite doors.

“I know. I throw a good party, right?”

“So good, people are leaving it.”

He tuts. “Coat. Now.”

“I didn’t bring one.”

“You didn’t bring a coat?”

“You told me the party was here. I didn’t think we’d be walking all over town.”

“’s not all over town, baby,” Joel murmurs with a sigh. “Here.”

He peels the jacket off his shoulders and you hold a hand out to stop him.

“Joel, it’s fine, it’s–”

“Quit moanin’,” he groans as he throws it over your shoulders. He scoops your hair and pulls it softly out from under the collar. “Alright? C’mon.”

He takes your hand and leads you past some stragglers down the hall toward the elevator, where a group are waiting for the doors to open.

“Tight squeeze, Miller,” some dude chuckles as you follow Joel in, his hand still gripping yours.

He turns, backing into the corner, pulling you with him until your back is flush against his chest.

His hands drop to your hips. You swallow back a scream.

One of the accountants is stood in front of your – Harriet? Helen? Something beginning with H – anyway, she keeps knocking back into you, pushed by the sway of the packed elevator. It means you knock a little into Joel, and feel his chin on the crown of your head.

You turn ever so slightly to mumble an apology to him, but when you feel his breath on the shell of your ear, your words die in your throat.

“Hazel?” – That’s her fucking name – Joel reaches around you to tap her shoulder, and her bobbed haircut swings when she turns. “Did you get those balance sheets yet?”

“Not yet, Joel,” she tells him, and your face prickles with heat.

“No? That’s weird.” Joel’s grip tightens on your hips, his mouth dangerously close to your ear. In a low whisper, only to you, he says, “Thought I asked to have ‘em sent over by this afternoon.”

You muster up the courage to reply with a deep breath. From the corner of your mouth, through gritted teeth, you tell him, “That was before you forced me to sit in on a buyers’ meeting.”

You feel his chest rumble between your shoulder blades as he laughs. The elevator shudders to a stop and the doors slide open; the crowd spills out.

You step forward, ahead of Joel, and make it maybe three steps before he’s back on you, an arm draped over your shoulders. You reach up and take his hand, leaning against his strong torso to let him guide you toward the exit.

No idea what makes you do it. Maybe you’re drunk. Maybe not only on alcohol.

You’re the last of the pack, stumbling over air across the gleaming floor toward the revolving door, which Joel pushes open for you. The cool night breeze hits you as you slip out.

The crowd ahead are rushing across the street, yelling and whooping as they go. It’s juvenile, a little cringe. A bunch of rich corporates skipping across the street toward cheap alcohol and peanuts. You’d care more about the way it looks if you were sober.

Joel’s hand finds yours again and he’s leading you down the steps, cutting between parked cars toward the dive bar. You link your other arm around his elbow and he glances down, noting it. You wish the walk was longer.

A flickering fluorescent light drowns you both in a red glow, and Joel pushes the doors open. The place is flooded with half of your party, drowning booths, leaning against the bar, dancing in any open floorspace.

The floor is sticky, the bar dim. Joel takes you over to the same crowd he introduced you to earlier, and makes space for you to sit. You slide along the booth to the wall and he follows, squeezing up to you to let two more in after him.

“Beers?” a guy with a loose tie asks, to a chorus of yeses and a show of thumbs up. Mitch? Mark?

You tug Joel’s jacket from your shoulders – the movement nudges him and he turns to lift it from your back and tuck it behind you, brushing the hair off your shoulders. You smile in thanks, and his hand falls back onto your leg.

It takes you a few minutes to notice it this time. The gentle squeeze of his fingers around your thigh, the way it slowly bumps up each time he adjusts in his seat or shifts to allow space for someone else to join the booth.

His hand moves slowly, dangerously close to pulling your skirt up with it. Mitch or Mark returns with your beers and you take a massive swig, nerves and anticipation and fucking need for Joel to keep doing what he’s doing, taking over.

Under lights blurred by the alcohol in your system, the table buzzes with energy and chatter and laughter. There are posters and stickers all over the walls, graffiti of names and initials, numbers and dates scored into the walls. Joel traces them with his finger and you laugh at some of the messages.

“Lydia and Jack,” you mumble, “12-24-19. Wonder what happened then.”

“Bathroom sex,” Joel replies, eyes scanning the wall.

You scoff, beer to your lips. “On Christmas Eve?”

He nods, like it’s obvious. “Magical time ‘n all.”

You look past him with a smile to the opposite side of the bar where, through silhouetted bodies, you notice a jukebox.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your eyes widen, your mouth agape.

Joel follows your eyeline and then twists back around. “C’mon,” he says, taking your hand and motioning for the others to let you by. He drags you over to the machine, lighting your faces up in yellow light, and your drunk eyes scan the screen.

“Nope." You swipe Joel’s hand away right before he can pick some Pet Shop Boys song.

“Really?”

“Good, but not the vibe,” you tell him, and budge him out of the way with your hip. He sways off, laughing, and leans a palm against the jukebox, his chest on your back for the second time tonight. As your tired eyes scan the songs, Joel’s chin rests on your shoulder.

He’s judging every fucking song you linger on. “Queen? Little before your time.”

“Dick.”

“Fleetwood Mac. Definitely before your time.”

“The entire fucking jukebox is before my time, dude. Shut up. These are good songs.”

You settle on a track and turn to face him. He has you almost fucking pressed against the box.

“Change, please.”

“Oh, I’m payin’, am I?”

“Mhm. Your work party, your wallet.”

He sighs and pushes a fist into his pocket for coins, tossing a quarter into your outstretched palm. You turn back and select your song, put the money in, and the old machine barks out the intro.

Joel sighs, shaking his head. “AC/DC? That’s your thing?”

“It’s not yours?” You’re taking him by the hand between bodies, swaying as you go.

He’s laughing, following you until you’re in the middle of the cramped bar, chest to chest, moving together. His hands find your waist again and this time you don’t even flinch; your fingers trail up his shirt, across his chest, settle on his collar.

You fucking swear he’s leaning in, each beat of the song drawing his jaw closer to yours. If you weren’t in a room full of co-workers, you’d probably let him kiss you.

I mean, what you’re doing right now is hardly innocent anyway. His hands are splayed on your lower back, your hips flat against his, rubbing, dancing. Your head rolls back and your lips are under his chin, smiling up at him and singing along. Joel sings the words straight back, your breath meeting and mingling in the tiny gap between your lips.

As the song ends, it fades into another. And another, and another. It’s two in the morning before your group of partiers begin to call taxis. You stumble out of the sweaty bar with an arm linked through Deb’s, still singing along to Whitney as you catch your breath.

She staggers off to a quieter part of the street to call a cab, and you hang around under the red light waiting for her. Joel’s stood at the curb; the back door of his sleek black Rolls-Royce open.

“Where you goin’?” he asks.

“Deb’s callin’ a cab,” you reply, arms folded, shoulders hunched.

Joel shakes his head. “Get in.”

“It’s cool, I’m jumping in with those guys. Thanks, though–”

“Baby,” Joel holds a hand out, “get in.”

Your eyes trace from his palm all the way up his sleeve, to his tired, handsome face. You’re sobering up. He looks clearer. Maybe that’s just the streetlights.

“Get you home in five minutes. C’mon.”

You swivel around to look for Martha and Deb, but they’re nowhere to be seen. The cab will come, they’ll assume you’re staying a while, and get in. No big deal, right?

Well. Stepping into your boss’s car after a night of highly inappropriate touching is kind of a big fucking deal.

That’s why you do it. Waddle over to him, take his hand, let him guide you to the car. You swing a leg in and slip across the seats, admiring the ceiling dotted with hundreds of tiny white lights, like you’re staring straight up at the night sky.

They blur through your drunken gaze, which doesn’t pull from them until you feel the weight of Joel on your right and hear the door slam shut.

“Mind puttin’ the partition up, Rand?” Joel’s voice says, though you mostly hear the vibrations through his chest, where your head is lying. His arm slips around your back, pulling you closer into him as the two of you are granted privacy by the quiet whir of the screen closing.

“Good night?” Joel asks, lips on your hair.

You nod. “You?”

“Mhm.”

His fingers are drawing shapes on your left hip. His right hand intertwines with yours. Your left hand starts to wander.

You liked his hand on you. Liked feeling his grip there. Wanted him to keep moving it up, wanted to see how far he’d take it. So, you put your own hand on the inside of his thigh, just like he did. Starting at the knee, and slowly sliding north. Joel’s breath tightens, his chest lifts, his jaw ticks.

The movement knocks you sober for a couple seconds. You realize what you’re doing. You draw your hand back.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

He unlinks your hands and places a steady palm over your withdrawn fist.

“’s okay, baby. You can do that if you want to.”

The drawl of his voice makes your eyes roll back, your heart leap. Your fucking legs clench.

You let him replace your hand where it was, and his legs widen a little. His crotch more available. You’re watching what you’re doing like you’re not even in your own body; watching it how Joel must be, thinking Higher, higher, keep going, keep doing that.

You lift your heavy head, resting it on his shoulder, and look up into his brown eyes. He’s framed by the starlit ceiling of the car. He’s looking at you, brows furrowed, face lined with his expression.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod lazily. “Tired.”

Just then his hand takes yours again and shifts it softly, stopping what was probably about to happen but still holding onto you, still wanting your fingers locked in his. Not halting the train, just switching tracks.

It’s not a long journey, certainly not as long as you’d like, until you’re parked on your street. Rand lowers the partition to call back, and Joel thanks him.

“You okay gettin’ to your apartment?”

“Yup,” you groan, hoisting yourself out of the comfortable car.

“Sure? I can walk you up if you want.”

You bend down, one arm on the roof of the car. “I’m good, thanks. Thanks for the ride, Miller.”

“Be safe, baby.”

“You be safe, too. Bye.”

You throw the door closed and meander off up the steps toward your building. Joel’s car doesn’t roll off until your elevator arrives and you disappear inside.

You spend all weekend in bed, recovering not only from the party but from the week of work you’d endured. You keep yourself busy, though. There’s a Desperate Housewives marathon on TV. And when you’re not watching that, your hand is stuffed down your pants, Joel on your mind.

All. Fucking. Weekend.

In the shower, you’re picturing him on his knees in front of you, lapping you up. Hands gripping your thighs, draped over his shoulders. Your hand plants firmly against the wet tile when you cum, your orgasm threatening to collapse you in a heap.

In bed, you’re on top of him, knees either side of his waist, letting him buck his hips up until you’re screaming, covering him in your wet. Your vibrator battery dies by Saturday night.

Monday morning, you’re getting ready to leave for the office, and need to take ten minutes out to relieve the ache between your legs again. This time, he has you pressed against your bedroom wall, fucking you quick and messy, cumming deep inside you before he’ll let you head out.

It’s just a crush, right? It’s just because of how touchy you guys were on Friday. When you were drunk. And in a cramped, dark dive bar. Everybody gets crushes. And who wouldn’t, on a six-foot-whatever man with a jawline that could cut glass, hands that take a grip of you with minimal effort, a cock probably the size of…

No. Nope. That’s enough. Cut that the fuck out.

It’s just a crush. That’s what you keep telling yourself in the elevator, lights counting down the floors until you’re going to see Joel again. Is the sparkling feeling in your chest fear, anticipation, or excitement?

And is your cunt beginning to throb again?

You give a curt nod to Martha as you arrive, hauling your bag a little further up your shoulder and adjusting the folders in your arms on your hips.

“Where’d you go?” she asks, eyes still on the computer in front of her. Her chin propped on her elbow, face inches from the screen, reading something intently.

“Huh?”

“On Friday. We couldn’t find you when the cab arrived.”

“Oh, I, uh,” you clear your throat, “Joel gave me a ride. Yeah.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Generous of ‘im.”

“Yup.”

“He’s in the conference room waitin’ for you.”

“Cool, thanks.”

You hover for a few seconds, then take your cue to leave. You hurry over to the conference room door, knocking twice before pushing it open.

Joel’s sat at the top of the table, leant back in his chair, feet up on the wood in front of him. You feel like you could collapse.

“Mornin’,” he says, over the dull droning from the phone. Your eyes flit down to it, a question, and he answers, “weekend update.”

“Anything good?”

He shakes his head, leaning forward to hit the unmute button, affirm whatever the hell the other dude had been saying, say his goodbyes, and then hang up.

“Feelin’ fresh?” he asks when he’s sat back.

You take a deep breath and wobble your head as an answer, laying files and folders out on the table in preparation for the meeting Joel has this morning.

“That bad, huh?”

“I was fine by Saturday afternoon. How were you?”

He shrugs. “Wasn’t that drunk.”

Yeah. Sure, Joel. Your fingers took the brunt of the alcohol.

He stands up, wanders around the table to join you. Your fingers begin to tremble at the thought of him so close. Your thighs heat.

“This all of it?” he asks. He’s closer than you thought.

“Y-yep. Some copies there, too, if anyone needs a spare.”

His hand slips up between your shoulder blades, patting you gently at the base of your neck.

“Good job, baby.”

You almost fucking shudder. Your stomach jolts, your chest tightens. The ache between your legs pangs, reminding you it’s there, even though you can’t fucking do anything about it.

You spin around, settling back against the table, ankles crossed. Tense.

“How long do you reckon it’ll go on?”

“No idea. Why? Somewhere you gotta be?”

You shake your head. “Just organizing lunch ‘n stuff for you.”

“That can wait until after.”

“I’ll have it ready for you comin’ out. Be easier.”

He steps forward. Your heart stutters.

“You’ll be in here with me.”

You cock your head. “Again? What– Why?”

“I need you in here. To take–”

“–minutes? Yeah, figured as much. You gonna have me up here all night again writing ‘em up?”

He smirks, dimples in his cheeks. There are two options here: either smack him, or jump his bones – he deserves the first and you deserve the latter.

“I like having you in my meetings, darlin’,” he says, as the door handle turns, “stops me wanting to blow my brains out.”

Martha enters and Joel slots in alongside you on the table. She sets a tray with a coffee pot and packets of sugar and milk on the sideboard.

Your head is fucking dizzy. There’s a ringing in your ears. Energy sparkling in waves from the tops of your thighs all through you. Joel’s shoulder brushing against yours, his eyes boring into the side of your face.

You won’t look at him. Won’t take your eyes off of Martha, laying paper coffee cups out in rows, her back to you guys.

Joel lays a palm flat on your thigh, rounding the curve until his hand is firm between your legs, threatening to push your skirt up. You feel his breath hot on your neck, his voice like honey in your ear.

“Makes for a nice view, too.”

You whip around to glare at him. He leans back, chuckling to himself.

Through gritted teeth, you whisper, “Can I talk to you? In private?”

Joel shrugs, excuses you both to Martha, and then follows at your heels out of the conference room and over to his office door. You waltz in without permission, shoving the door open and waiting for him to close it behind himself.

Joel’s office is bright, clean. Giant windows lining three walls, huge desk with an even bigger bookcase behind. Two black leather couches opposite, facing one another with a glass coffee table between. Soft white rugs, obnoxiously huge lampshades, small fern plants dotted here and there. You found and booked the interior designer for him, and not a day’s gone by since that you don’t remind him of how nice a job you did.

Today, though, you break that streak. You round on him as soon as he closes the tall, wooden door behind him.

“Will you fucking quit it?”

“Fucking quit what, baby?” He’s almost laughing, strolling around his desk and settling into his leather chair, leaning back. Casual. Fucking – arrogant.

You stammer, holding up a shaky finger. “Okay, first of all – that. Don’t call me baby, that’s not appropriate. Second – the teasing?”

“I don’t get it, you liked me callin’ you baby on Friday night.”

You take your bottom lip between your teeth and give him a furious stare. He holds his hands up.

“My mistake.”

You stalk over to the windows separating Joel’s office from the reception area. Martha’s still in the conference room, the door ajar. You haul the shades shut to give yourselves some privacy.

“Stop – fucking with me. Stop it. We were drunk on Friday night. It wasn’t– Stop.”

“’m not fucking with you.” He leans his head to scratch his eyebrow. He repeats it when you turn away, hands flying up in the air. “I’m not.”

“Let’s just forget Friday happened, can we do that?”

Wandering around Joel’s office isn’t doing anything to relieve the weight between your legs. If anything, it’s making it worse. You make your way back to his desk and place your hands down on the wood, leaning over.

“Wh…what’s next on the agenda?” you ask, almost panting, your eyes closing.

You hear Joel’s chair rock when his weight leaves it. His footsteps pad across soft carpet, around the desk. Nearing you. They come to a halt and you feel the air stop short, right behind you.

For someone not trying to fuck with you, he’s doing an awfully good job at it.

You surrender, leaning back, your shoulders making contact with his chest. Then his hands find your hips, light, gentle. No pressure on them, not until your ass presses against his crotch and your head tilts, allowing Joel to hook his chin over your shoulder.

He’s hard, under his pants. Against you. You can feel it, still, steady. Rock solid beneath four layers of clothing.

His hands lift from your waist and glide up your shirt front, your stomach tensing when they brush over it. They come to rest over your breasts, squeezing and pinching your nipples through your shirt. And you fucking let him; lifting your right arm to hook around his jaw and pull him closer into your neck, where his lips leave soft, wet marks.

It feels like the first gasp of fresh, sea air after being underwater. The first gulp of chilled water after a hike. The first wave of aircon in the car. It’s relief. It’s desperate, borderline orgasmic relief.

You grind your ass and Joel hums into your skin. He’s getting harder by the second, you’re getting wetter. It’s not enough, what you’re doing. You need more.

You lower your hand and cup him through his pants, taking hold of his bulge and massaging gently. His hips are moving, he’s rutting into your palm, both of you desperate to rid yourselves of the clothing separating your skin.

“I asked,” you breathe, “what’s next on the agenda?”

“Next,” Joel mumbles into your skin, “was thinkin’ I could bend you over this desk ‘n fuck you.”

“Fuck me?” you repeat, and he nods. You take a breath. “S-sounds good.”

Joel’s hands find the hem of your skirt and start to pull it up your legs, painfully slow, revealing more and more of your bare thighs as he goes. He’s rubbing them, massaging until your skirt sits on your hips, little black panties exposed. His hand comes down to cup you, fingers gently applying pressure to your clit through the lace.

You moan, finally being touched by him again, finally feeling his hands on you where you need it most. Already, he’s doing better, making you feel better than you could ever by yourself. Than you did, by yourself. Involuntarily, you breathe out, “Daddy…”

Joel’s fingers pick up the pace. He fucking loves it.

“That feel good, baby? Like it like that? Tell me how it feels.”

“So – fucking – good,” you whisper, legs parting more to grant him better access. He dips his hand lower, thumb staying planted on your lace-covered clit, fingers shifting the fabric under your entrance aside.

He toys with you first, middle finger swaying back and forth through your folds, collecting slick, spreading it around. Then, a second finger, pushing upward, dangerously close to entering you. You’re gasping, leaning into him, letting his strong form keep you upright.

“That’s my girl,” Joel’s whispering into your ear. “You ain’t gotta do nothin’, just enjoy.”

And then he pushes up, two thick, curled fingers entering your cunt in one motion. He has you down to his knuckles, limp against his chest, mouth wide open in a silent gasp. Your head rolls to the side to watch him as he feels you for the first time, and his expression mirrors yours.

“So fuckin’ wet, babygirl,” he whispers, lips on your forehead.

“Fuck, daddy,” you whimper as his fingers press hard inside your soft pussy, starting to pump gently before picking up the pace and fucking you good.

The office is silent, save for your gasps and moans, and the wet sounds of Joel’s fingers in your cunt. He hums into your neck, thumb pressing hard against your clit, drawing tiny circles over the swollen bud.

It doesn’t take fucking long before you’re collapsing, walls clenching, teetering on the edge of your orgasm. It’s all that’s been on your mind for almost three days, all you’ve imagined, dreamt about, thought of.

Joel feels you, knows you’re close.

“Wanna cum all over daddy’s fingers, pretty girl?”

“Mhm,” you bite back a yelp, “so – close.”

“Know you are, baby. It’s okay, you can cum. Let me feel you.”

That coil, slowly winding since approximately nine-thirty on Friday night, not relieved by your hands, your toys, or your fucking pillows, snaps in one second. The tension breaks across your stomach. Your legs give; Joel’s free hand wraps around your waist to hold you upright.

You throw your head back against his shoulder again, jaw slack with a moan you know you can’t give voice to. Joel fucks you all the way through it, fingers coated in your cum only to dive straight back in, wetter and slicker than before.

There are stars in your vision. You can’t feel between your legs. The office is slowly blinking back into view, but Joel gives you no time to recover.

He pushes you face down onto his desk roughly, hastily, like someone’s about to wander through his door any second. One ear pressed to the cold wood, you hear his belt clink, feel the teeth of his zipper graze your thighs. Hear his deep breaths as he drags his pants and boxershorts down to free his cock.

You’ve never seen him, obviously. You’ve pictured it, dreamt up what it would look like with your fingers deep inside yourself. And from this angle you still don’t see it, but when the weight of it springs against your ass, when Joel lines himself up and his tip dips between your cum-covered folds, you fucking feel it.

His thick head pushing slightly into your entrance, coating him in your slick. He’s big. You moan at the time he’s taking to just shove into you; it’s probably seconds, but it feels like fucking hours.

“I hear ya, I know,” he’s saying, but your hearing’s starting to fade. Blood pumping through your head, white noise rattling against your eardrums.

He pushes in, length separating your clenched walls, entering your wet, warm cunt with a deep growl from Joel’s lips and a gasp from yours. You open up around him, swelling as he pushes deeper and deeper.

“So – fuckin’ – tight for me, baby,” he groans, hands on your hips pulling you back onto his length. “You feel that? Feel how tight you are?”

“Mhm,” you reply, the stretch of his thick cock burning and igniting you in flame. Your eyes screw shut as he keeps pushing, further than you ever thought anyone could, until his tip kisses your cervix and you whine.

“Quiet, babygirl,” he says, pausing and placing a steady hand on the small of your back. “We don’t need anyone out there knowin’ what we’re doin’.”

“So good, daddy,” you whimper quietly, and he knows. He fucking knows.

He begins to draw back, hips leaving your ass, cock pulling out of your pussy. Your eyes roll closed, missing him the more he withdraws. Before he’s fully gone, he snaps back inside, entering you harder, faster, deeper.

You gasp, knuckles whitening with the grip of your balled fists. You bend one arm, biting into your sleeve to stop your whimpers from slipping under the door.

A couple more thrusts and Joel’s fucking you. Hard. He’s fucking huge, so huge it blurs the edges of your vision every time his cock hits against your cervix. He’s almost fucking whimpering behind you, growling your name with every stroke, groaning each time he bottoms out inside you and your tight hole wraps around his length.

You can feel the edge of the table bruising your pelvis, and it feels so fucking good. Everything about this feels good. Joel’s cock stretching you out, his hands gripping you roughly, your own hands outstretched to hold onto the desk for some sort of stability.

The only thought going through your head, only words your lips can part to utter: daddy daddy daddy.

“Good girl,” Joel hums, your moans like music to his ears. “Good fuckin’ girl. Know how naughty you are for me?”

You smile. “Yeah, daddy.”

This is the filthiest thing you’ve ever fucking done. Sure, you love sex, especially when it’s rough. But nothing you’ve ever done with anyone else, nothing you’ve ever had done to you by anyone else, compares to being bent over your boss’s desk and fucked dumb by him.

Calling him daddy, corporate managers slowly filing into a conference room just outside. Only an unlocked door separating them from you, writhing and throbbing under Joel’s cock, his rough hands on your hips, your name passing his lips in breathy moans.

Is it wrong? Yes. Do you care? Fuck no.

You know he’s close; his thrusts become sloppy, hips start hammering against you.

“Where d’you want it, baby?” he grunts, skin slapping.

You’re on the pill, and if you answered honestly, you’d tell him to finish inside you. But you know that if he wanted to do that, he’d just fucking do it. Wouldn’t ask. And you’re not prepared to waste time arguing.

“My m-mouth.”

“C’mere.” Joel slips out of you with no effort, you’re so fucking soaked for him, and spins you around. A gentle hand on your shoulder, he pushes you onto your knees, free hand jacking his cock over you.

It’s the first time you see him, fist tugging up and down a thick, veiny shaft; swollen, reddened tip spilling precum which his thumb collects and drags down his length, gleaming with your wet.

On instinct, you push forward, one hand coming to rest on his thigh, the other taking over from his on his dick. You pump him a few times, and then open your mouth wide enough to take him all the way until he’s brushing the back of your throat.

With a choke, you begin bobbing your head up and down, cheeks hollow, breathing deep through your nose. Joel moans, head rolling back, hand coming to hold your hair in a fist. He drags you back and forth a few times before he begins to shudder and you draw back, holding him steady on your swollen bottom lip.

He looks down at you and your eyes lock as he cums all over your tongue. You moan as your mouth fills with his warm, salty load. When his cock stills and he stops spilling all over you, you lean back and close your mouth, licking your lips and swallowing him.

“Aw, babygirl,” he coos, stroking your hair. “Good job. Such a good girl for me.”

You both take a few seconds to catch your breath before Joel’s hands hook under your arms and he pulls you back up, letting you lean against his desk.

Still in a daze, you feel him tug your skirt back down, fix your shirt. Tuck your hair behind your ears, wipe either saliva or cum from your lips.

“Good?” he asks, and you lace your fingers in his.

Your breath is still shaky, but through a sigh, you say, “Good.”

He nods. “Can hear Ken out front, must all be arrivin’.” He pulls you over to the door.

His fingers wrap around the handle, free hand coming up to cup your cheek. He leans down and presses his lips against yours. You open your mouth and let his tongue past, moaning into the wet, messy kiss.

Something in you almost wants to laugh, thinking about the fact you let him fuck you before you’d even kissed him.

When he pulls away, your hands take hold of his jaw, keeping him at your height.

“Have a good meeting,” you whisper, pecking him on the lips, “text me what you want for lunch.”

He growls, yanking the door open and passing by you, granting your wish to sit this one out. Something in you tells you not to wander far, though.

He’ll probably want to blow off some steam when he’s done.

----------

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[andvys]

I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | part 11

Warnings: none really, mentions of smoking and drinking, reader punching someone....

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!cheerleader!reader , Steve Harrington x Nancy Wheeler , slight Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: Steve watches you from afar, confused about your relationship with the metalhead.

Word count: 4.9k

A/N: @mysticmunson you're always my biggest help and inspiration, thank you, angel🤍

series masterlist

-

“Will you hold still?”

“I’m sorry!” 

“Why are you so shaky?”

“I-I don’t know.”

You drop the eyeshadow brush on the desk and put your hand on your hip, sighing as you look at Chrissy who looks more nervous than ever. She is still wearing a hoodie, the cheer uniform is hanging over the back of your chair. You have been trying to do her eye makeup for the past twenty minutes.

“Lay down.”

Her eyebrows shoot up, confusion takes over her face, “why?”

“Because I can’t work like this, you keep fidgeting – seriously, what’s up? You are never this nervous.” 

You and Chrissy always get ready together whenever there’s a basketball game. Usually she does her makeup herself but tonight she asked you to do it, she wanted something similar like you, just with more color.

She seemed happy and excited when she came over but now she seems like a nervous mess. Every time you move closer to her, she starts fidgeting, it���s not the first time you had noticed her doing that. You have noticed a lot in the past three months. 

Heather and Chrissy kept being secretive, oftentimes you would catch them whispering before they’d notice you in the room, they share glances that you don’t understand. They still make you feel left out. You confronted them a while back but neither of them gave you any answers to your questions, it upset you and it caused you to distance yourself from them a little. 

They had started to make you feel the way he made you feel. The constant lies, the whispers and them going behind your back had gotten to you. It triggered some feelings that you thought you had left in the past. 

They were upset when you stopped answering their phone calls and when you would cancel plans but you couldn’t be around them when they refused to talk about the very obvious issues they had with you. You would never drop the friendship, you would never leave them behind, they mean too much to you to just kick them out of your life but you needed some distance, for your sake. 

You made a new friend, Robin Buckley. Eddie introduced you to her back in January, they had been friends since middle school – back when he was still a theater kid. 

You instantly hit it off with her, she is nice and she is very different from Chrissy and Heather, which is why she didn’t feel comfortable hanging out with them yet. It’s a miracle that she gave you a chance considering that ‘popular’ people make her feel extremely anxious and uncomfortable – which you can understand now that you see things from a different perspective.

To most people, you are still the ‘the queen of Hawkins High’ but to some you are one of the freaks now. They glare at you, they whisper about you, they call you names and point their fingers at you, especially when they see you with Eddie, who feels guilty about the treatment you are getting from some of the people that used to be in your friend group when you were still with Steve. You don’t care though. 

You don’t care what other people think of you. 

But you do care what your friends think about you, your friends who still keep secrets. 

“Yeah Chrissy, why are you so nervous?” Eddie chuckles as he looks up from his magazine, glancing at the two of you. Wiggling his eyebrows at her. She glares at him and rolls her eyes, which only makes him chuckle again. 

Eddie knows why she is so nervous, it’s obvious why – well, it’s obvious to everyone but you. It didn’t take him long to figure it out. The subtle glares and the attitude he sometimes gets from the usually nice cheerleader isn’t because she doesn’t like him, it’s because she is jealous of him. Because she likes you. 

And she knows that he knows, she realized it after he started teasing her with small comments and the smug looks he would throw at her when he’d catch her checking you out. At first, she was scared. Scared that he would tell you something that she had been trying to hide for so long. Eddie promised not to tell though. 

Chrissy lies down, a small huff leaves her lips. You get on the bed and scoot closer to her, reaching for the eyeshadow brush, you dip it into the blue eyeshadow before you lean down. 

She is looking at you – staring at you. 

“Close your eyes,” you chuckle. 

“O-Oh right,” she whispers and closes her eyes. 

Eddie puts the magazine down, he leans back in his chair and puts his arm behind his head. He looks at you, you are already wearing your uniform, your hair and makeup is already done. He watches the way you bend down to get closer to Chrissy, your skirt rides up a little, exposing your spandex and more of your skin. He really really doesn’t want to look at you in that way but he can’t look away either. 

You are his friend and he really loves your friendship and how easy things are between the two of you but you are beautiful. 

And you are sexy. 

You suddenly turn around and glance at him, you catch him staring at you. Eddie’s eyes widen but he plays it cool, smirking at you. Your eyes flash with amusement, you raise your brows at him, a smirk tugs at your lips. 

“Stop staring, Munson.”

Eddie gives you a cocky grin, “I can’t look away from a beautiful sunset.”

You furrow your brows and a laugh escapes your lips, you shake your head at him, “what does that even mean, you dork?” 

You turn back around, still smiling. Chrissy snorts at his words. 

“Okay, tell any sane person to look away from two cheerleaders straddling,” he says. 

“Eddie!” Chrissy mumbles, opening her eyes to look at you with a disapproving frown. 

You grab one of your pillows and turn around, throwing it at him, “perv!” You laugh.

He catches it and presses it against his chest, he smirks at you, “can you do my eyeshadow too, sweetheart?” He jokes.

“Shut up,” you chuckle as you turn back around. You reach for your makeup bag and look for the glitter you bought when you went shopping with Robin, yesterday.

Chrissy leans on her elbows, she glances at Eddie who is checking you out again and then her eyes move back to you. She can see the shine in your eyes, the smile that you are trying to bite back, the flustered look on your face. 

It annoys her. 

Eddie is amazing and with him, you would actually be in good hands. He is a much better person than Steve ever was. He wouldn’t hurt you, especially not the way he did. Eddie makes you smile, he spends more time with you than Steve did, he buys you little presents that he surprises you with, all the time. He takes you out on dates that ‘clearly’ aren’t dates because you are just friends. Eddie comes to basketball games – he comes to basketball  games, just for you.

Eddie would be a good boyfriend, there is no doubt about that. She is not sure if you like each other or not but it seems like it. She should be happy for you and she should support it but the green eyed monster inside of her just refuses to let her be happy for you. 

“Are you excited for the party?”

Chrissy snaps out of her thoughts, she looks into your eyes again and nods. 

“Are you gonna wear the dress you bought?” 

She closes her eyes again when you lean back in with the brush. She feels your fingertips on her cheek when you tilt her face to the side. She takes in a shaky breath. 

“Should I?” 

You hum. 

“You look pretty in it.”

She smiles at your words, “I do?”

“Yes, you always do, Chris.”

She blushes and her smile grows bigger, “thank you,” she whispers. 

You smile down at her, “you’re welcome.”

After you finish her makeup, Chrissy takes her uniform and goes into your bathroom to get changed. You clean up the small mess and put away all the makeup and the brushes, you grab your favorite lipstick and walk over to the mirror, you can feel his eyes on you as you start applying the lipstick. A smile tugs at your lips, you glance at him through the mirror. He’s wearing the same smile as you. 

“What?” 

He shakes his head, scratching the back of his neck, “nothing.”

You furrow your brows, you smack your lips together and look at your reflection one more time before you turn around to face him. 

“Why are you smiling?” 

He shrugs and gets up from the chair, he grabs the green hair bow and walks towards you. 

“I like watching you get ready,” he says. 

“You do?” You smile. 

He nods, “mhmm.”

He stops in front of you and looks down at you as he holds up the green hair bow, “turn around.”

You turn around, facing the mirror again. He steps closer to you. You can smell his cologne, it’s a new one. It smells even better than the previous one he used. The smell of smoke always lingers around him though, nothing can hide the smell – not the cologne, not the aftershave, not his shampoo which surprisingly smells like apples, not the cinnamon from his favorite gum. 

Eddie’s hands are gentle, his brows are furrowed in concentration, he presses his lips together as he puts the bow in your hair. 

Something about this makes you giggle. Eddie being in your bedroom isn’t unusual but him helping you get ready for the game, putting a bow in your hair is very unusual. 

His eyes flash with amusement as he raises his head to look at your reflection in the mirror, “what’s so funny?”

You shrug and continue watching him, “just you helping me get ready for a laundry basket game.” 

He snorts. 

“I’m helping you get ready for your performance and I’m only going there for you, sweets.” 

Your heart warms at his words. 

“And then you’re also coming to the bonfire party with me.” 

“With you.” He nods. 

“Alright, I’m done,” he grins and flicks your ponytail before he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into a tight hug, leaning his chin on your shoulder, causing you to giggle again. 

You grab his forearms and lean back. 

“Do you hug all your friends that way?”

He chuckles and pulls you even closer, “nah only the special ones, babe,” he smirks and buries his face in your neck, breathing in the smell of your perfume and body wash. 

You giggle and tilt your head to the side, “how many special ones are there?” 

“Just one.”

You narrow your eyes as you turn to look at him, he smirks at you still. 

“You’re my very special one.” 

He isn’t joking about that, despite the teasing look on his face, he is saying the truth. You are special to Eddie. You haven’t been friends for that long, you started talking last summer, back in august but you have only gotten really close after your breakup with Steve. It feels like you have been friends for much longer than that though. The moment you first started hanging out, you instantly got attached to each other. Not a single day goes by when you don’t spend time together, he loves being with you and you love being with him. 

Things feel natural, easy and just good when you are with each other. 

You look into each other's eyes for a moment, not speaking, not moving, not doing anything. Sometimes that’s enough. 

A smile tugs at your lips as you look at him. His smile grows as well and before you know it, you both start laughing for no reason. 

Chrissy walks back into the room to see you in his embrace. She clenches her jaw and rolls her eyes in annoyance. She clears her throat. 

You and Eddie look away from each other, the smile still ever present on your faces. You don’t notice the jealousy or the bitterness on her face. He does. 

“Can we go?” 

You glance at Eddie who nods at you with a shrug. He is definitely not excited for the game, you told him that he doesn’t have to go but he claimed that he wants to go, for you.  

You smile at them both, “let’s go!”

-

Things between Steve and Billy were tense all night. You could tell from the moment they walked out into the gym, the glares they sent each other were more intense than usual, they wouldn’t pass on any opportunity to ‘accidentally’ bump into each other and not to mention Steve’s bleeding nose, he tried to hide it but he kept wiping his nose and you noticed the blood on the back of his hand. 

He looked angry and frustrated. You noticed it, right away. 

She didn’t. 

Despite the tension and the weird energy that surrounded one of the best players on the team, they still won against the opposing team and took another win home, which of course has to be celebrated.

Lovers Lake is filled with people, the bonfire party that had been planned for weeks is in full swing, loud music is sounding through the speakers, the smell of burning wood mixed with the smell of the crisp spring air brings you comfort. The cold months are over and the warm weather is finally approaching. 

The beer you have been drinking all night makes you feel a little tipsy but you feel calm and the stars in the sky make you smile as you lay on the grass with Eddie. He lights up a cigarette and blows the smoke up into the air. 

You turn your head and look around, a few people are sitting by the fire. You see Chrissy and Heather talking to a few girls from the cheer squad. You see Nancy sitting on a log with Jonathan, they are both laughing, leaning closer to each other, Steve is sitting on a different log, he is holding a red solo cup in his hand, he looks into the fire with a dull look on his face. 

You raise your brows, you look at the three of them. Odd. Shouldn’t he be the one next to her? Shouldn’t he be the one whispering to her? Shouldn’t he be the one making her laugh? 

“Do you think there’s more out there?” Eddie asks, pulling your attention away from him. 

“Hmm?” 

Eddie repeats his question and you turn back to look at him, he is pointing up at the sky, “like aliens and shit.”

You scoot closer to him, looking at the way he squints his eyes as he smokes. 

“Hmm, maybe,” you shrug, “I think there’s more than just aliens though.”

“Oh, do you?” He asks, turning to face you, “tell me more.”

“I think there’s other universes.”

He raises his brows, waiting for you to explain more. 

“I think there are different worlds, different versions of us – like, maybe there's a version of us fighting interdimensional monsters right now,” you joke, which he seems to love. 

His eyes light up at your words and he laughs. 

“Maybe we are slaying a dark wizard right now – what was his name again, Vecman? You know the one from your new campaign?” 

Eddie laughs loudly and he shakes his head, “it’s Vecna, sweetheart.” 

You roll your eyes and snort.

“Right, we are killing Vecna, right now.” 

“Are we normal humans or?”

“No, we have superpowers.”

“What kind of superpowers?” 

You put your finger on your chin and look up, “hmm… you got super strength, super speed,” you pause and look into his eyes, his skin looks pale beneath the moonlight, his eyes are dark. Your eyes widen, “you’re a vampire!” 

His jaw drops, his eyes widen, “I’m a vampire?” 

“Yes!”

“That means I had to die – wait! Did you bring me back from the dead? You know, since you’re a witch?”

"Absolutely,” you giggle. 

“That’s so sick, sweetheart.” 

“Right?” 

You both giggle as you stare at each other. His eyes fall to the chain around your neck, the one that he had put on you earlier tonight. He reaches his hand out and touches it. 

“Maybe we are both rockstars in a different world.” 

“Both of us?” You laugh, “I can see you being a rockstar but me?”

“Hush. You are helping me write songs and you can play guitar now – well a little, never as good as me but yeah,” he says, cockily. Smirking at you. 

You shake your head, snorting at his words. 

“Maybe you are my groupie.” 

“You wish!” You slap his shoulder, making him laugh again. 

“Okay okay, not a groupie – you are the lead singer and I’m the sexy guitarist.” 

“Mhmm.” 

You lie back again and look up at the stars, a grin takes over your face, “or maybe you are my groupie.”

“Oh absolutely, I’d totally be your groupie if you were a rockstar, y/n.”

You and Eddie are in your own little world, you always are. You don’t care about anything or anyone else when you are with each other. The rest of the world melts away when you spend time together. 

You don’t care about the people around you or the awful music that one of the jocks picked out, the prying eyes of the judging girls from the cheer squad. You just don’t care about anything. 

You don’t even notice the curious eyes of your ex boyfriend but Eddie does, after you get up to get a new drink. His eyes find a sulking Steve Harrington, who is still sitting by the fire. His girlfriend is long gone and so is her friend, Eddie doesn’t bother to look around for them. He keeps his eyes on Steve, watching the way his eyes follow you. Eddie wonders why he looks so miserable, because of Nancy and Jonathan or because of you? It seems to be the latter, he could be looking for her but instead he is watching you. 

A sigh falls from Eddie’s lips, how stupid can someone be? He wonders.

Suddenly, Steve straightens his back and his expression changes from miserable to curious and tense? He turns his head, looking right at him. Eddie raises his brows when he finds himself locking eyes with him. Steve looks confused, his eyes flicker back and forth between you and him. 

Eddie follows his gaze to see what confuses him so much. He is looking at you and at the guy who is shamelessly checking you out as you laugh at something he said to you.

Eddie snorts. Of course. If there is one thing that he got used to when going out with you then it’s you being hit on, every damn time. 

The guy is tall, probably taller than him. His shoulders are broad beneath the flannel, it’s clear that he’s some sort of athlete. He looks familiar but Eddie doesn’t recognize him. 

Curiously, Eddie watches the interaction from afar, sipping his beer. 

You are holding a drink in your hand, you have to crane your neck to look into his eyes. Eddie can see the smile on your face, you nod to whatever he is saying to you. He steps closer to you, pretending not to hear you properly, he leans closer and licks his lips when he looks down your shirt.

Eddie rolls his eyes, “douchebag.” 

The music is loud but he still hears the approaching footsteps, narrowing his eyes, he almost laughs in surprise when he sees Steve. Getting up, he dusts the grass off of his jeans and finishes his drink. 

Steve stops in front of him, when Eddie sees the look of disbelief on his face, he almost bursts out laughing. 

“I’m not selling tonight,” he mumbles. 

Steve shakes his head, furrowing his brows at his words, “I don’t wanna buy anything.”

“Oh, to what do I owe you the pleasure then, King Steve?” Eddie asks, mockingly. He expects Steve to look annoyed but he doesn’t, just very confused. 

“You’re not gonna do anything?” Steve asks. 

Eddie chuckles, his brows draw together and he tilts his head in question. 

“What do you mean?”

Steve raises his hand, pointing his finger at you and the guy who is now holding his hand out to you – you are writing something on his palm, presumably your number. 

Eddie rolls his eyes again. 

“This guy is flirting with her,” Steve mumbles.

“I’m not her keeper.” 

Now he looks even more confused, if he didn’t look so serious, Eddie would have laughed. But then he realizes why he looks at him so shocked. Steve must think that you and Eddie are dating and he doesn’t understand how he as your ‘boyfriend’ just lets you flirt with some other guy. 

Steve sighs, he turns around. Eddie watches the way he stares the guy down, a look of distaste appears on his face.

“That’s Ray, he used to be the captain of the basketball team. I always hated that guy.” Steve mumbles. 

That’s a lie. Steve used to look up to him, when he was a freshman in high school and he was new on the team, Ray had seemed like the coolest guy around, he was the most popular guy at school, the girls loved him, the boys wanted to be like him and so did Steve until he became popular too and he realized that he could be even better than him. Ray was just a popular guy but Steve Harrington became the King of the school. 

A title he used to be so proud of is just an embarrassing part of his past now. 

Steve is certain that you and Eddie are dating. He could just ask to be sure but he thinks that it’s too obvious. You are dating. But why are you flirting with the former captain of the basketball team? Why are you writing your number on his hand? Are you in an open relationship with Eddie? 

An open relationship is something you never approved of, you always made that very clear, not that Steve suggested something like this. Tommy always joked about it to Carol and you looked disgusted and always voiced your opinions on it. 

What happened? 

Did the hurt change you so much?

Ray walks away from you and you turn around, walking back to Eddie when someone else steps in front of you and both Eddie and Steve sigh in annoyance. 

Billy Hargrove. Always there to ruin the night. 

“Getting bored of the freak?” 

The smile on your face falls, a sour expression takes over and you tense up. You can’t stand Billy. Not only does he keep trying to get in your pants while he has a thing going on with your friend, he also keeps insulting Eddie and picking fights with Steve, which shouldn’t be any of your concerns but something tells you that Steve’s bleeding nose and the bruise on Billy’s jaw has got something to do with you. 

“Fuck off, Billy,” you mumble, trying to move past him. He doesn’t let you. He steps in front of you and chuckles. 

“Don’t be like that, baby.”

You scrunch your face up in disgust, “don’t call me that.”

His eyes move up and down, he looks at your exposed skin and you suddenly regret wearing a low cut shirt. 

“Ray Parker, huh?” He smirks, licking his lips, “going for the jocks again? The freak ain’t doing a good job at satisfying you? You know, you can just come to me instead of going for some retired team captain.”

“Jesus, shut up, Billy.”

Billy chuckles, his eyes twinkle with lust as he continues to stare at you, “when will you stop playing hard to get? We both know that you will end up under me at some point.” 

If you didn’t feel disgusted by him already, you would definitely be now. Anger rushes through you and you roll your eyes. 

“Keep dreaming, Hargrove.” 

"Oh, I will." 

You clench your jaw as you look into his blue eyes. You hate the cocky look on his face, the self assured expression that he always has. The smirk that he wears. God, you want to punch him. 

You go to walk past him and surprisingly, he lets you walk away this time but then he says something that makes your blood boil. 

“Yeah be a good girl and run back to the freak, no one else will fuck that loser.” 

You halt in your tracks and you clench your fists. You had always been protective over your friends but especially him. Eddie may be good at pretending that the bullying doesn’t get to him, he learned to ignore them or to throw some punchlines back but you are not going to stand by and watch how others degrade and belittle him. 

You turn back around and his smirk grows when he notices how angry you look. 

“I never thought you’d be into some trailer trash a–” 

You never punched someone before but you always wanted to know what it feels like to slam your fist into someone’s face, someone that you can’t stand. You didn’t think that it would hurt so bad but the look on his face and the bruise that he will wear later on, makes it all worth it. 

His head snaps to the side and he looks stunned for a moment. 

You hear the gasps around you, the chuckles from a few boys. 

A part of you expects him to hit you back, you are no stranger to his anger issues. The reaction you get isn’t one that you expected though. He furrows his brows and suddenly he bursts into laughter, his eyes flash with amusement and his pupils dilate even further. 

You want to punch him again. 

“Shit baby, I’m even more into you now,” he smirks. 

A groan of disgust falls from your lips and you turn around to leave before he can do or say anything else. 

Eddie and Steve stand there with stunned looks on their faces. Eddie looks impressed and proud, a smirk is tugging at his lips. 

Steve’s cheeks are flushed, his eyes are wide and his lips are parted in surprise. Out of all the things he expected to see tonight, this wasn’t one of them. The feeling that rushes through him is intense. 

You should have punched him a long time ago. 

“That’s kinda hot.”

Eddie snorts at Steve’s words. 

Yeah, it was hot. 

“Damn, sweetheart,” Eddie whistles, smirking as you walk back to him. He sees the way your eyes flash with confusion when you notice Steve next to him. “I didn’t know you had such a mean right hook.”

You roll your eyes, laughing. You don't even acknowledge him.

“He had that coming.” 

Eddie throws his arm around you, he pulls you into his chest and leans down to kiss your cheek sloppily, not caring that your ex boyfriend is staring. 

“That’s my girl.”

He wonders what Billy said to you to make you this mad. 

“You gonna hit me next, big girl?” Eddie jokes. 

You giggle, biting down on your lip, you look into Eddie’s amused eyes, completely dismissing his presence. You pull away from him, he looks at you curiously, eyeing the smugness in your eyes. Before he can react, you reach your arm behind him and slap his ass. 

Eddie’s jaw drops at the smack he received, he snorts at your action, squinting his eyes at you, he tries to give you a mean look which only makes you giggle again. You step back when you realize what he’s about to do. Just as he tries to swat your ass, you run off, giggling. 

Eddie doesn’t hesitate to run after you, trying to catch you. Your laughter is loud as you run away from him, pushing past the groups of people as you near the forest.

Steve's brows are still raised and his face is still stunned. 

Many emotions went through him today; anger, sadness, irritation, jealousy but mostly confusion.

He watches Eddie grabbing you from behind, he hears your squeal and he sees the way Eddie kisses your cheek, again.

He blinks and forces himself to look away, only now noticing how wrong it still feels to see you with him.

But it's not wrong, right?

It's not wrong because you aren't his anymore.

He let go of you because you had asked him to, because he loves her, because he wants to spend his life with her.

He still has love for you, he always will but you are a part of his past now, a past that keeps calling him. The past that keeps haunting him in his mind and in his dreams.

Sometimes when he can't sleep at night, he stares at the telephone on his nightstand and he wonders what it would be like to call you, to hear your voice again, to ask you how you are doing, to ask if you are happy with the life you are living now that you are strangers to each other.

Sometimes he wants to call but he never does. You won't pick up the phone. He is sure of that.

But, if you called, he would pick up the phone, anytime, without hesitation.

next chapter

-

tagging friends & mutuals

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