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artdcnaldson · 8 months ago

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Tie Break || Art Donaldson x Reader ; Patrick Zweig x Reader

this can be read as a sequel to changeover or as a standalone :) enjoy <3

Rating: E (18+)

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings: SMUT (p in v smut x2, f!recieving oral, handjob, creampie, cum eating), angst with a happy ending, infidelity, toxic relationships, everyone in this is kind of a horrible person, language obviously

Summary: It’s summer in Atlanta, 2011. For the second time in your life, you’re the clear second choice. When the opportunity arises, you find a temporary distraction in Art Donaldson.

A/N: FINALLY here it is! The 2011 Atlanta fic. They’re back, they’re older, they’re even more toxic. Let me know if you’re interested in a part 3!

It was hot, even though the sun had long since dipped beneath the horizon. It was a cloying, oppressive heat that made the stupid, business-casual top you wore stick to your skin.

The article you were working on was halfway written, something you could knock out in the next hour if you really tried. Your drink was watered down from the heat, weak when it hit your tongue. A frown turned your lips, but you really shouldn’t have been drinking anyway.

"Working late?”

The voice was so familiar that you could’ve recognized it anywhere, any time. Art Donaldson was one of the most recognizable men in the country, but to you, he seemed so different. The boyishness was still there, but it lay beneath a new level of confidence.

You took a sip of your drink, trying to appear nonchalant, like it hadn’t been four years since you last spoke. “I’m on deadline. I’m writing a feature on Anna Mueller heading into the US Open next month.”

Without asking, he sat down across from you at the small bistro table. He was so close you could smell the minty gum he had been chewing. It nearly made you smile. Old habits die hard.

“So you write about tennis?” He asked, meeting your gaze.

“I write about athletes,” you corrected. “I was going to be here anyway, and since Anna is heading for a Grand Slam, I thought it would be easy enough. Grab a couple of interviews, watch a few matches.”

He nodded, leaning back in the chair, trying his best to be causal in a situation that definitely wasn’t. You sipped again at your drink, peering at him over the edge of the glass.

“You have a match tomorrow,” you said, as though he needed reminding. “Shouldn’t you be listening to shitty pop punk to get yourself psyched right now?”

A smile spread across his lips, and he looked so much like the guy you knew from college that it made your chest tug uncomfortably. Same hair, the same smile, the same crinkle at the edges of his eyes when he was amused by something. You couldn’t help but smile along with him, like the past four years were nothing. “I don’t do that anymore,” he said with a laugh. “Do you want another drink?”

You looked down at your glass, mostly water and thin ice cubes. “Rum and coke?” You asked, giving him a tiny smile. He nodded and disappeared towards the bar.

It felt strange, sitting there in the quiet, your article the furthest thing from your mind. Four years. It felt like yesterday and an eternity ago that you’d last spoken with him. He was a familiar stranger, nearly unknowable.

Your cursor blinked a few more times before you shut your laptop and slid it back inside your beat-up work bag.

“Running off?” He asked, catching you in the act of packing your things. You shook your head and accepted the fresh drink with a smile. “You said you were going to be in Atlanta anyway,” he said as he sat, spreading out, making himself comfortable in the shitty bar seating. “When you were talking about writing about Anna.”

You nodded. “Mhmm, I did,” you replied, chewing the inside of your lip nervously. His gaze was intense, falling just on the other side of casual. You felt tiny under that gaze, like you were guilty of a crime you didn’t know you’d committed.

“And you’re here for Patrick?” The words were nonchalant, but you could hear the accusation beneath them, the history of the two of them just in one sentence. It turned something in your stomach, the possessiveness in his voice. You could hear it, even four years out.

The new drink was strong, but it was the perfect way to hide the distaste in your expression. The burn of liquor into your chest grounded you back in reality instead of the easy allure of nostalgia. “Yeah,” you said after a beat. “I try my best to go to all of his matches.”

Art narrowed his eyes, just slightly. There was still an element of exaggerated friendliness, the casual smile on his lips, the open body language. All of it masking the lingering resentment and hurt that was buried beneath mountains of nostalgia. Deep enough that neither of you had realized it was still there until you found yourselves face to face. There was an unspoken question, one that he didn’t want to ask, one that you didn’t want to answer.

How long?

You took another drink.

“Where is Patrick?” He asked, glancing around like he might materialize out of thin air.

“He went out for a smoke, or to walk around and clear his head, or something,” you said with a shrug. “I’m not his keeper. Where’s Tashi?”

His jaw clenched and he looked away— a sore spot. A scab you wanted to pick at until it bled, dig your nails in. Maybe that was your eighteen-year-old self talking.

“You never used to let her get too far away from you,” you noted, mirth dripping from each syllable. “Bet you came down here looking for her. Your leash must’ve been just a little too loose this time and she slipped it.”

You took a long drink, nails tapping against the glass as you considered your words. Tashi wasn’t the type of woman who let a man hold her back. If you were trying to be more accurate, rather than just piss him off, you might’ve fixed the analogy. Art was the sad little puppy following her around. She tied his leash to a lamp post for a fucking break.

“Do you remember the day Tashi got injured?” He asked, changing the subject suddenly.

You blinked slowly, appraising him. But his expression gave nothing away. “I do.”

A wry smile spread across his lips, and he met your gaze with a coldness that you didn’t recognize. Mean in the way injured animals like to snap at the nearest hand. “It was Patrick in your room that night, wasn’t it?”

Your brows furrowed, face falling at his words. “What?”

He made a face, something akin to skepticism, but crueler. It made your stomach turn.

“You were fucking someone in your room,” he said plainly. “And I’ve always had a suspicion that it was Patrick. Was it?”

That didn’t do much to clear up your confusion. “You were there?”

He laughed, mirthless, and nodded. “I was, uh, sitting by the door like an asshole. I came to apologize, to beg for you back, but instead, I spent the night listening to my girlfriend getting fucked on the other side of the door.”

Annoyance flickered in your gaze. He knew of a wound of your own, and he relished in picking at it the way you’d relished in digging your fingers into his. “I wasn’t your girlfriend, Art.”

“Right, you weren’t. But you’re Patrick’s girlfriend now, is that it?”

Heat burned in your cheeks. Your relationship with Patrick was… tempestuous to say the least. Most of the time he was your boyfriend, but others he was just a friend that you could count on for a good fuck, sometimes not even a friend. At the moment, he was the former, but that could always change.

It wasn’t easy, being with someone whose emotions ran on an equally short fuse. You’d sound too much like his parents, or he’d devalue your work, or Patrick would forget to take out the trash in your apartment and you’d snap, or you’d mispronounce a word one too many times and it would drive him crazy. Insignificant things could feel big with him, because of him. For better or worse.

“At the moment, yes.”

“At the moment.” He echoed, laughing like he was in on some joke you were painfully unaware of.

”That’s amusing to you?” You asked, raising a brow.

He shrugged, picking at his jeans. “Your choice of words is interesting.” He lets that hang in the air before he meets your gaze again. “Do you think Patrick would’ve even noticed you if it hadn’t been for me?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Does it matter?” You asked. “You realize that we’ve been together going on four years now, right? Broken up, dating, fucking, whatever. You realize that there may be more important things in our life than you?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. I think you know that whatever you have, it’s built on the fact that you were a warm body when he needed it. Just like you were for me.”

That arrogant expression, like he actually fucking knew anything about you anymore was the last straw. You stood suddenly, grabbing your bag. You weren’t Art Donaldson’s little lapdog anymore— you didn’t have to sit there and take all the shit he doled out.

“Goodnight, Art. Thanks for the drink.”

It was funny, how your weaknesses were still so exposed. Art’s was Tashi, and it probably always would be. His desire to be seen, to impress, painted upon every lovely feature. And yours, raw and bleeding and obvious— the unbearable, visceral need to be wanted.

You made it to the elevator before you felt his presence behind you. Wordless, but so close it was suffocating. You jabbed the up button over and over in frustration, knowing it wouldn’t speed anything up.

Art stepped into the elevator with you, so close you could feel the body heat radiating off of him. He always burned hot, like a human furnace.

It was silent as the lift lurched upwards. You pressed against the back corner, watching the number of the floor increase one by one.

“Patrick is with Tashi,” Art said without looking at you, just as the elevator opened on the floor of your room. You froze, swallowing hard. “I saw them in the hotel bar, then they left together. What do you think they’re doing right now?”

You shook your head dumbly, pulse thrumming in your throat. “Go fuck yourself, Art,” you said weakly, because what else was there to say? You stepped into the hallway— lit with dim yellow light so you couldn’t see where the wallpaper peeled and the carpet was stained.

“If you need somewhere to wait them out, and you will, I’m in room 13 on the seventh floor.” The elevator doors closed, and you were alone.

The hallway was winding, and you felt a bad sort of anticipation of what you might find, like a sick feeling in your gut. You stood in front of the room, 306, and froze.

The door to your room was closed, no light shone from beneath the door, but you could hear them. Muffled, but clear enough. A pretty voice and breathy moans. Patrick’s laugh, the thud of something falling off the dresser.

Your room key was in your purse— you could’ve gotten it out and stopped it, but what good would that have done? You’d still spend the night humiliated, facing opposite walls as Patrick, lying in the same sheets he’d just fucked her in.

You dropped the bag by the door and took a slow, shaky breath to calm yourself down.

Tashi Duncan. She had lingered on the edges of your relationship with Patrick too. She was Patrick’s first choice, just as she’d been Art’s. You’d never blamed them for that, you knew where you stood, and you chose them anyway.

It was easy to choose them when you thought that the threat was nonexistent— when distance made you feel safe. You could hear her and him, but it felt like mere static in your brain.

You knew how Art felt, back at Stanford. Sulking outside the door, unable and unwilling to stop what was happening on the other side.

You were in the elevator before you realized you’d walked away. Shitty soft rock played over the speakers, and a poster on the wall advertised a continental breakfast. Your stomach turned uncomfortably.

You knocked on the door— room thirteen, an unlucky number. Maybe it didn’t bode well. As you waited for the door to open, your nails tapped a staccato rhythm against your thigh.

Art opened the door like he’d been expecting someone else. Maybe he had half-expected you to interrupt and send Tashi back upstairs, but no. He got you standing at his door with fiery eyes and an expectant expression.

Second choice, second choice, second choice.

Art kissed you for the first time in four years, and you let him. Not because you wanted to hurt Patrick or Tashi, but because you knew it would hurt you. His tongue pressed between the seam of your lips like he belonged there, licking into your mouth like he wanted to reclaim every part of you that Patrick had touched. You pushed him with a firm hand on his chest and he stumbled backward into the room. Despite everything, he smiled.

His hotel room was nearly identical to yours and Patrick’s. But you didn’t have time to really take in the details when he had his tongue in your mouth, kissing you hungrily.

That afternoon, you kissed Patrick after he lost his match. You wondered if Art could still taste him on your tongue then, if he wanted to drown out the taste of him.

It was different than you were used to. Four years with Patrick meant that you’d grown accustomed to certain ways that he did things— the intensity behind each kiss, each touch. His emotions— good, bad, in between— were never masked, never repressed.

When Patrick kissed you, when he touched you, when he fucked you— both of you were laid completely bare.

Art was different. When he kissed you it was through a certain level of performance, like he’d learned how from a searing romance film. In college, you’d believed that he kissed you like that because deep down, he did love you. Even at that moment, years out from your relationship with him, it muddled your brain.

Your sensible work heels had long since been kicked off by the door. Art’s fingers undid the button and zip of your jeans deftly, with a confidence that had only doubled since Freshman year. They wound up in a heap against the hotel dresser.

In his haste to remove your (also sensible, and very business casual) button-down, he popped about half of the buttons off completely.

“Sorry,” he said. The grin on his lips made you wonder if sorry was really how he felt. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Stop talking.” You pulled off your bra and lost it somewhere across the room in your haste. Art was pulling off his clothes— his hoodie and the shirt beneath. His jeans and shoes toed off and left to be dealt with later.

He kissed you again, guiding you exactly where he needed. Your knees hit the back of the mattress and he eased you down without moving his lips from yours. When your head hit the sheets, you smelled perfume so sweet that it was nearly intoxicating. You turned your head, breathing deeply. Tashi. In this same bed, in this same spot. It made something stir inside you— right in your chest. A hint of wrongness, a hint of hurt.

Art pulled back, moving his lips along your jaw, down to the junction of your throat.

“Stop thinking,” he murmured against your skin, kissing down to your tits. “I don’t want you thinking about Patrick. Not when you’re with me.”

The words were mumbled against soft, supple skin. His eyes were intent as they looked up at you, the demand of momentary fidelity in his eyes. You wanted to slap that expression off of his face, or run your thumb along his cheek and hold his face in your hands.

How was it fair that he asked you that when he’d lingered like a ghost on the edges of whatever it was that you and Patrick had? How was it fair for him to look at you like that?

He took a nipple into his mouth and you gasped as his teeth grazed against the sensitive skin. Soft kisses before he suckled softly. “Okay,” you gasped, lying through your teeth. “I’m only thinking of you.”

His hair was still long, kept the same way he wore it in school. Your fingers tangled in his hair like muscle memory, scratching against his scalp as he kissed along your skin with wet lips, treating your other breast with the same, hungry attention.

“Still so fucking hot,” he mumbled against your skin. “Should’ve— fuck— should’ve kept you. What do you want, huh? Tell me.”

Your mind swam with possibilities, but you didn’t even know where to begin. Your mind was stuck on his previous words. Should’ve kept you. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? “I don’t know,” you replied, completely honest. “Whatever you want.”

He accepted that easily— it was so similar to how you’d been for him in college. You gasped as he kissed down your sternum, then your stomach. His lips found the waistband of your panties and he grinned, tugging at the lace with his teeth, letting it snap back against your hip.

He peeled your panties down slowly, letting his hands trail down the expanse of your legs. The possessiveness of the touch sent a thrill up your spine. His lips grazed along your skin, from your ankle, up your calf, then your knee. Your legs spread instinctively, welcoming him right back where he knew he belonged. His pretty lips trailed wet kisses up your thighs, stopping just where you wanted him.

You expected him to rush. He’d seen Patrick and Tashi leave, which meant they’d finish before you two, more likely than not. There was every reason in the world to make things quick— to fuck you and make you leave.

Instead, he took his time with you. Soft, teasing kisses peppered on the supple skin of your thighs before he nuzzled into your cunt. The first delve of his tongue was slow and exploratory, tasting the arousal that had pooled at your core.

”God, you still taste so fucking sweet.”

Another thing you’d nearly forgotten about Art— in all things, he was methodical.

He started with kitten licks at your clit— light brushes with his tongue that made you whimper needily for more. His tongue circled you there, and he relished in the way your fingers tugged on his hair at the sensation.

Then he wrapped his lips around the sensitive bud, sucking with more pressure until a strangled moan squeezed past your lips. Your thighs tensed on either side of his head, holding him there as he alternated between slow, soothing licks and firm suction.

It was frustrating, how wet you were. Art had brought out the worst in you, turned you into something that left you feeling genuinely embarrassed. And still, you were slick, dripping down to the sheets. A mess of arousal and Art’s spit.

When he eased a finger into your cunt, it slid in like your body was made to fit whatever he could give you. At that point, you very well could have been. What were you, if not an object orbiting in the atmosphere of his life?

He looked up at you, seeming so fucking intent on making it feel good for you as he crooked his finger. It rubbed against the soft, spongy spot within you and you cried out, eyes rolling back.

“That’s it, huh?” He cooed as he pressed a second finger inside of you. Your arm was slung over your face. You couldn’t let yourself keep looking at him when he was looking at you the same way he had in college. The same fucking expression that got your head all mixed up in the first place.

He pressed a soft kiss to your clit and you whimpered. “I know it feels good, baby, just relax.”

His fingers thrust within you with a slow, deep pressure as he continued to make out with your clit. It was always so good with him— you’d nearly forgotten how easy it was for him to bring you to the edge.

When you came, it wasn’t like what you had grown used to with Patrick— sudden and overwhelming, like it had been ripped from some secret place within you. It was intense, but slow to build, seeming to last forever as Art’s fingers and tongue worked you through it. Your breath was shaky as he pulled back, pretty mouth wet with your arousal.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked, looking up at you expectantly.

You should’ve stopped— rationally, you knew that it was best to turn back and quit before you fucked up the situation beyond repair.

But it was Art. He could’ve had anyone else, but he wanted you. Maybe not forever, or even longer than that night. But for then.

You shook your head softly. “No. Do you think we should stop?”

His fingers moved between your thighs, circling your clit. “We definitely should. You’re with Patrick.”

You sighed, eyes fluttering as he caressed you with featherlight touches. “Don’t fucking talk about him,” you said, but your words came out with no bite. How could they, when he was playing with your body like a favorite toy?

“No?” He asked. He was wearing a smug sort of expression. “You don’t want me to talk about your boyfriend, huh? Too personal?”

You moaned as he applied more pressure at the apex of your thighs, making your cunt clench and ache to be filled.

“Does Patrick know how much you’ve missed me?” He asked. Your breath caught in your throat, and he just smiled. “I bet he does. I think he knows that if he just drops my name in a conversation, your pussy gets wet.”

You moaned softly at his words, chest heaving with soft pants. You weren’t even sure if it was true, but it felt like it could’ve been then. He leaned down, his words spoken close to your ear.

“I can go slow. Make it last for you.” His lips brushed the shell of your ear, making you shiver.

You nodded eagerly, turning your head to capture his lips with yours. The kiss was slow, like you had all the time in the world. His tongue against yours, the weight of his body on top of you, the feel of him hard, pressing against your thigh.

He sat back to strip off his boxers, and you relished in the sight of him laid bare before you. You’d nearly forgotten how pretty he was— big and flushed nearly red with need. It made your heart hammer with nerves; your excitement and shame and need rolled into one messy, electrifying tangle.

His hair flopped into his eyes as he held himself over you, just like you remembered. You reached up, brushing it out of his eyes with a tender hand. His lips brushed against the inside of your wrist, right where your pulse thrummed in your veins.

“Tell me you’ve missed me.”

Heat flooded your entire body, as you repeated the words. “I missed you, Art.” You reached between your bodies, wrapping your hand around his cock, and guiding it towards your entrance. He moaned and bucked instinctively into your hand.

”Tell me you want me to fuck you, no one else.” You could hear the implications in his words. Tell me you want me, not Patrick.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Art pressed himself inside of you, sinking into the welcoming warmth of your cunt. You wrapped your legs around his waist, squeezing him closer, deeper, until his balls pressed firm against you and there was nothing else to give.

He thrust shallowly, rocking against a spot deep within you, one that made your eyes flutter with each brush against it.

“You’re so tight still,” he moaned, lips moving against your throat. “Pussy’s made just for me.”

He touched you like he hadn’t forgotten how you felt or what you needed. Spoke to you like you were one of his possessions.

You lost yourself in it— the sweet, filthy words spoken against your skin, and the rhythm of his body moving against yours. His lips captured yours with a hungry insistence, like he could convey four years' worth of unspoken words with a few brushes of his tongue against yours.

When he pulled back, lips spit slick and looking so pretty, you thought maybe there was a sort of understanding between the two of you.

His head fell back as he sped up his thrusts, chasing his release. There wasn’t time to stretch it out, to spend as much time as you could with each other’s bodies.

“Need you to cum,” he said, sliding a hand between your thighs to rub your still-sensitive clit. Your cunt was squeezing him tight, body aching for it, for him, brought to the edge simply because he’d asked for it. “C’mon— you get so tight when you cum, need to feel it again.”

It was like your body was hardwired to give him exactly what he wanted. You came with broken moans of his name and legs squeezing him closer, deeper. Your chest heaved with shaking breaths and punched out whimpers as he kept fucking into you.

He was practically crushing you with his weight, pinning you down, groaning into the junction of your shoulder.

“Gonna make me cum, baby,” his words vibrated against skin tacky with a thin sheen of sweat.

”Want you to.” Your arms slung around his back, holding him close to you. “I’ve got an IUD, so you can— you can cum.”

His lips met yours as he came, with a pretty moan into your open mouth and slow, messy kisses that made you want to just melt into him and stay that way forever.

Spent, he rolled over and turned on a lamp at the bedside. The alarm clock announced the time in a dim red glow— five past one.

You lay there, damp between your thighs from the mixture of your releases, unsure of what to do. It was cold beneath the hotel AC. He was peering over at you, wearing an expression you were scared to dissect.

When his hand touched your arm, you nearly flinched. Your breath caught in your throat as he ran his thumb along your skin, so sweetly that you felt that same discomfort tug at your chest.

“C’mere,” he said, an offer. His arm was splayed over the pillows, giving you the perfect spot to lie down and press yourself against his side. To pretend like you belonged there.

But you didn’t belong there. You belonged four floors down with Patrick. That’s where you had belonged for four years. The reality of what you’d done had set in quickly, and you knew you needed to get out of Art’s room.

”Art,” you said softly, shaking your head. “I have to go.”

He nodded and sat up against the headboard. You watched him grab his boxers and pull them back on, a strange smile on his face. He must’ve sensed your confusion, even without you saying.

“It’s funny how things change,” he said. “Here I am, asking you to stay for once.”

You didn’t say anything as you picked up your clothes from around the room, redressing as you recovered each piece from its hiding spot around the room. Your shirt was unsalvageable, so you grabbed Art’s. He had plenty of brand sponsors that would jump to replace it, and Patrick wouldn’t recognize it.

“I loved you, I think,” he said suddenly. “Back in college.”

You froze, arms crossed over your chest as you looked at him. “Art—“

“No, I did. I loved you, I just did it all wrong.”

“Art, just stop,” you said firmly. Embarrassment hit you all at once— the guilt of what you’d done, and the shame over who you’d done it with. Your eyes stung as you looked at him. “Why the fuck would you say that?”

His lips twitched, dipping into a frown, then back into as close to a neutral expression as he could manage. “I just thought you should know. It’s only fair.”

You laughed mirthlessly. “Fair? Jesus Christ, you really haven’t changed, Art.”

His expression fell completely. It looked like it had back in the hotel bar— icy. “I haven’t changed? What’s that supposed to mean?”

You sighed as you looked at him. “It means that if this were Stanford, that would’ve made me crawl right back into bed, lay by your side, and daydream about what it could mean for us. If one day I might be Mrs. Art Donaldson. It means that you say these sweet things to me every time you can feel me slipping away, but they mean absolutely nothing. We’re not nineteen anymore, Art. I’m not leaving Patrick to be your plaything again.”

His jaw tensed, and he looked down at the bed briefly while he picked at loose threads on the sheets. “You think that’s what I want?”

You frowned. “I think you want what Patrick has.”

He scoffed. “Patrick doesn’t even want what he has,” he said, relishing in the wounded look on your face. “If he did, he wouldn’t be fucking my fiancée right now.”

Fiancée. You felt stupid for not knowing it, but you swallowed down your hurt and met his gaze. “I guess we’re both going to have to be content with being the second choice.” You slipped on your shoes and went for the door. “Good luck with your match tomorrow, Art. I sincerely hope that I never have to see you again.”

The hallway felt colder when you stepped outside of the room and shut the door firmly behind you. A very big part of you wanted to go back, to knock and apologize and grovel like you might have when you were a freshman.

Maybe you hadn’t grown up that much after all.

The elevator was playing Billy Joel. You leaned against the side of the elevator, relishing in the cold against your sticky skin. When the doors opened on your floor and you stepped out, you blinked in surprise.

Tashi stood in front of you for the first time since college, looking just as stunning as you remembered, probably more so. Her hair was pulled up, slightly damp at the ends. Her eyes flicked down to your shirt, Art’s shirt, you swallowed as an understanding passed between the two of you— wordless, because what was there to say at that point?

”You left your laptop in the hallway,” she said, skipping formalities. “I took it inside so it wouldn’t get stolen.”

“Okay,” you said, chewing on your lip. She stood there like she expected something more. You felt her surveying you, and froze as she reached forward and rubbed at your bottom lip.

“He could’ve at least cleaned you up a bit,” she said. Her fingers delicately fixed your hair, tucking it back into place. She wiped a smudge of lipstick from the side of your mouth. Once there was nothing left to fix, she looked at you one last time and nodded. “You should be fine now.”

Before you could process that, she stepped into the elevator, and you were left alone in the hallway. When you made it to the room, the door was cracked open, so you let yourself in.

Patrick was on the balcony smoking a cigarette, a towel slung low around his waist. The bed was a fucking wreck, not that he seemed to mind.

When the door clicked shut, he stubbed out the cigarette he was smoking and joined you back in the room.

“Are we going to talk about it?” He asked. His jaw tensed as he looked at you, like he was ready if you were going to start a fight.

“I just want to go to bed, Patrick,” you said, annoyed by how wobbly and pathetic you sounded.

He stepped forward and kissed your forehead. “Okay. We’ll go to bed.”

You kicked off your clothes, but left on Art’s hoodie. Patrick didn’t ask where it came from, or what happened to what you were wearing earlier. You knew he already knew, that he could tell the moment you walked in. He dropped the towel onto a heap on the floor, climbed into the bed, and held out his arms for you.

A stronger person would’ve told him to fuck off, but you weren’t a stronger person. You nestled into his side and felt the hot sting of tears in your eyes.

He rubbed your back soothingly and kissed your forehead. The sheets smelled like Tashi, he smelled like hotel soap, and you smelled like Art’s cologne.

“Do you want room service in the morning?” He asked softly.

“Patrick—“

“I’m serious. We can have breakfast in bed, do some tourist-y shit, maybe we’ll go watch a couple of matches, then come back and—“

“Are we supposed to just forget what happened?” You interrupted.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.” He kissed your forehead, tender, sweet. “I’ll tell you everything if that’s what you want.”

You met his gaze. “Do you… do you want to know? About Art?”

He went quiet as he played with the ends of your hair. “Did it make you feel any better?” He finally asked.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Then it didn’t.”

He kissed the crown of your head. “No?”

You shook your head, sighing softly as his kisses trailed down, over your nose, to the sides of your mouth. “No. It was a mistake.”

”Tell me about it,” he said, murmuring against your jaw. “Tell me how he touched you.”

You shivered, tilting your head to give him more access. Your nails scratched softly against his scalp as he sucked bruises onto your throat.

“He was desperate,” you said, heart hammering as you began recounting it to Patrick— your boyfriend. There was no world in which he should’ve wanted to hear about it… and yet. He moaned against your throat, encouraging you, wanting to know more. “Kissed me like he wanted to taste you in my mouth, like he wanted to overpower you.”

Patrick moved his lips to yours, kissing you with a sloppy brush of his tongue against yours. “Like that?”

You shook your head and leaned in, deepening the kiss with slow laps of your tongue into his mouth. He moaned softly, matching your pace in a way that was rare, but made butterflies dance around in your stomach. He pulled you on top of him— hands roaming from the backs of your thighs to squeeze your ass as he deepened the kiss. It was just as slow and sweet as before, but you could sense the need and hunger behind it.

You pulled back, just enough to remove your lips from his. Both of your breaths came in needy pants. You weren’t sure why you were enjoying this, but you were, so you kept going. “He took off my clothes, and laid me down on the bed.”

Patrick moaned, chasing your lips. You sat back and just looked at him— lying there with still-damp curls, his pupils blown with lust. His cock was hard, resting against his stomach, precum beading at the tip.

You pulled off Art’s hoodie and tossed it across the room, relishing in the way Patrick’s eyes raked over every bit of exposed skin like it was the first time he’d seen it. “He ate me out, made me cum on his fingers first, then again while he was inside of me,” Patrick’s breath caught, just for a moment. Desire, or jealousy, or both flickered across his gaze. “He fucked me like he wanted me to fall in love with him again.”

Patrick’s chest was heaving as you moved a hand between your bodies, grasping his cock in your hand, stroking slowly. “Is that how you fucked Tashi? Like you wanted her to pick you instead of her fiancé?” He moaned as your thumb ran over his slit, smearing the precum that had begun to dribble out.

“No,” He groaned. You nodded encouragingly, squeezing him tighter in your fist. “Fuck. I fucked her like I wanted her to know she made a mistake. Made her cum until she tapped out”

You ran a thumb over his bottom lip, tugging slightly. “With this pretty mouth, huh?” He nodded, wordlessly. “And with this?” You gave a slow stroke of his dick, making him buck up into your fist. Another nod.

“Show me.”

Patrick’s brows furrowed in disbelief. “Show you?”

You nodded and continued stroking him. “I told you about Art, so I want you to show me how you fucked Tashi.”

You recognized the fucking insanity of what you were asking, but you didn’t care. It was a strange form of closure— closing the circle, or whatever.

“Fuck, okay. Lay back,” he said, patting your thigh. You slid off his lap and settled atop the sheets, watching him expectantly.

His fingers hooked in the waistband of your panties, and he slid them down slowly. “Fuck.” Your cheeks flooded with heat as he held the sodden fabric up, wet and sticky with Art’s cum. He groaned and hooked your thighs over his shoulders. “That’s… god, that’s really fucking hot, baby.”

Oh. The mix of embarrassment and desire was something new— burning hot in the pit of your stomach as Patrick licked at your pussy, tasting the evidence of your arousal mingling with Art’s release. He moaned against you, holding you so tightly that his fingers dimpled your thighs.

His tongue lapped at your entrance, pushing into your cunt as deep as he could manage, then back to licking at your clit. It was messy— a combination of spit and cum and your juices.

“Fuck!” You cried out, tugging his hair as he sealed his lips around your clit. He moaned loudly against you, encouraging you to do it again, the fucking masochist.

He redoubled his efforts, pulling you closer, moaning against your cunt. It was like he wanted to devour you, to lick up every bit of Art that was left inside of you. You wanted him to try— you wanted him to replace every part of Art that was left in your body and soul.

“Patrick,” you gasped. He murmured an mhmm against your pussy. Eyes closed, right at home between your thighs, lost in the taste of you. “Need you inside.”

He planted one, two sloppy kisses to your clit before he pulled back, his lips shiny with your arousal. He wiped the mess away with the back of his hand, smirking down at you. “You need me, huh?”

You nodded, chest heaving with each panting breath. Patrick sat down at the headboard and patted his thigh. “Prove it.”

You sat up, crawling up the bed until you were straddling his lap. “You made her do all the work?”

He laughed, running his hands up your thighs to squeeze your ass, tug you closer. “I didn’t make her do anything.” Patrick had a hand wrapped around his cock, and you moaned softly as he guided it between your thighs to notch at your entrance.

You sank down slowly, forehead pressed against his as you took inch after inch. “Fuck,” you breathed. You leaned forward, brushing your lips against his as you gave a slow roll of your hips. “Fuck. You’re so deep, Pat. Feels so good.”

His head fell back against the headboard as you began to ride him in earnest. “Fuck, just like that,” he groaned, still wearing that fucking smirk, even balls deep inside of you. “That’s it, baby, take what you need.”

And you did. The way he was looking at him was proof enough, he was eating up every fucking second of you fucking yourself on him, using him like a toy.

Your noises were near-pornographic— Right there, fuck, you’re so big baby, so fucking deep.

The poor soul next door slammed on the wall, begging for you to just shut the fuck up. Patrick silenced you with a hungry kiss— a mess of tongues and spit. His fingers moved on your clit, pulling you towards the edge with desperate need.

“Close,” you gasped.

He nodded, moving his fingers faster. “I know you are. I’ve got you.”

You collapsed on top of him as you came— hips canting weakly as he worked you through it. He thrust up into your tight walls, groaning at the feeling of your cunt spasming around his cock.

“Fuck, you feel so perfect,” he groaned, burying his face into the junction of your throat. “Gonna cum— fuck—“

You moaned softly at the feeling of him spilling inside of you— the soft pulse of him, the warmth of his cum flooding your cunt. You stayed on his lap, kissing his freckled nose, his eyelids, his mouth.

When you finally moved off of him, you whimpered at that loss of fullness, and of the slick mess seeping out between your thighs. If you were smart, you would’ve gone and cleaned up, but there was nothing more you wanted than to lay there in Patrick’s arms and fall asleep.

Whatever. You’d leave housekeeping a very generous tip. He sighed contentedly as you lay there— like you were made to fit against him perfectly. A warm hand rubbed comforting circles on your back, and you felt so at home, even in an Atlanta hotel.

“I love you, you know that?” He asked.

You looked up and nodded. “I know. I love you too.”

You found yourself staring up over at Patrick with a stupid, persistent smile on your face. He turned to watch you watching him, wearing a matching grin on his face. It was hard to tell who started laughing first— you or Patrick. At the absurdity of it all, at yourselves.

“God, we’re so messed up,” you said, with another laugh.

He nodded. “Really messed up, but whatever. Apparently your brain isn’t even fully developed until you’re 25.”

“Great, so we have one more year until we’re normal, rational adults.” He laughed, holding you against his chest.

He reached over and kissed your forehead. You were so sticky and gross that you really needed a shower, but, again— it was a tomorrow problem.

It fell quiet, and you could feel yourself slipping into comfortable drowsiness when Patrick finally spoke up. “Are we going to be okay?”

You blinked slowly. With your hand resting on his chest, you could feel his heart thudding just beneath your palm.

When you were twenty, you met Patrick’s parents. Crowded into his childhood bed with your head resting against his chest, his heart pounded as he apologized for the intense grilling you’d received that night at dinner. It was the first time you ever felt like his bravado had been shaken, like you were seeing through to the core of him.

You always knew you would be the one to say you loved him first— it was just the way things went. “I don’t care if they like me,” you had assured him. “I love you.” His heart beat harder, faster. He didn’t say it back until two days later, when he was fucking you in that very same bed— forehead to yours, skin sticky with sweat. “I love you,” breathed into your mouth like air.

When you were twenty-two, you moved into an apartment in Manhattan and Patrick followed like a housecat— no rent, no job, just company and a mouth to feed. The tour wasn’t going well, and you were working for a shitty, clickbait news site that hardly covered the cost of your place.

Things were good, mostly. Comfortable, domestic. Patrick tried to be a good boyfriend, you tried to be a good girlfriend. Both of you were trying to figure out what that meant for the other as best as you could. Patrick would bring you flowers from the corner store and take you out for drinks and dancing on weekends. You’d drive out on holidays to visit his family and wind up leaving early to go back to the comforts and peace of your apartment.

When you could, you’d follow him out to tournaments. If he won, he’d take you out with the prize money. If he lost, you’d take him back to the hotel to cheer him up.

On rough days, one of you would come home to the apartment and pick a fight over laundry, or a dish left in the sink, or even what he’d left on TV, and the other would give it back tenfold. Your neighbors would beat on their walls in annoyance as you yelled at each other, until one of you slammed a door and sulked in another room for a few hours, or you had make-up sex that gave the neighbors another reason to bang on their walls.

The breakups were infrequent but severe. You’d kick Patrick out, he’d live out of his car, or in a motel, or fuck off to some tennis tournament that you’d previously promised to go to. One of you always broke first, returning to the other with promises of love, and to do better.

You did love each other, really. And things usually got better. It was just easy to live with your feelings dialed up to a ten where Patrick was involved: bigger good moments, worse bad ones.

Your career had vastly improved. Patrick had moved up in the rankings, only slightly, but it was something. You could afford a bigger apartment in a nicer area, maybe get a dog. And you didn’t just want those things alone, you wanted them with him.

You pressed a kiss to the center of his chest and nodded. “We’ll be fine,” you assured. It felt like the truth.

He nodded, looking down at you. His freckles were so much more pronounced after tournament after tournament in the blazing sun. “Yeah, probably.”

The next morning, you both got the continental breakfast you’d seen in the elevator while housekeeping dealt with the aftermath of the previous night. You did tourist-y shit— went to a museum, found a nice spot for lunch.

At the end of the day, you sat in the oppressive Atlanta heat with Patrick and watched Art Donaldson win his tennis match. You and Patrick left early, fucked in the backseat of his car, and decided to head home early.

As you started the drive back, you held his hand over the center console and listened to a shitty mix CD with songs he’d ripped off of LimeWire. You gave him shit when Kelly Clarkson followed Lil Wayne, but you both sang along to every fucking word.

You were right. You and Patrick would probably be fine.

#patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson fanfic #patrick zweig fanfic #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig #art donaldson #challengers 2024 #challengers fanfic #challengers x reader #changeover au #my writing

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luvergirl-866 · 2 months ago

Text

something like love

part - 6

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 4.7k

c/w - language, tiny bit of angst (this is only the beginning i fear.)

a/n - is it cringe of me to ask for live reactions? bc i want live reactions sb. anyway, sorry ik i said this chap would be long and juicy but i decided to hold off on the juicy part, i needed a lil more plot development! also ty to everyone who sends me asks, even if it’s just things like “when’s the next part😫” i love it sm lol. hope yall like this one!!

The next two days are—at least compared to the first two—almost peaceful. The weather is nice, just warm enough and not too humid, which Azzi’s hair appreciates. She got goddess braids done just before the trip and even in protective styles, her hair gets frizzy at the very notion of moisture.

The peacefulness largely comes from the fact that Paige is avoiding her parents like the plague, instead spending all her time with Azzi and her siblings. The third day they spend almost entirely at the local park, shooting around at the court there under the hot sun. Lauren even reluctantly joins for a few games, and she may be adamant about not wanting to play basketball but the talent for it must be genetic because she’s a natural. And if Paige and Azzi spend the whole ‘competition’ brushing hands and flirting, nobody says anything. (Though Ryan does wrinkle his nose at them a few times.)

The fourth day starts out warm, and so Paige and Azzi sneak the kids out bright and early (Azzi, of course, ends up with the job of waking all three siblings up—not one of them is a morning person whatsoever) and go to an ice cream shop, where they eat their cold, sweet breakfasts on the curb while they chat. Both Ryan and Lauren may have argued that they were too old to be excited about ice cream for breakfast anymore, but they both end up with matching, chocolate-covered grins when they’re done.

The weather turns for the worst before noon, though, and the kids want to go home but Paige insists they go to the arcade instead. When she says she’ll pay for as many games as they want, they’re easily swayed. Of course, Paige and Azzi make a competition out of the day, deciding to keep a tally of all their points so that whoever has the most wins by the end has to buy the whole group prizes.

Azzi gives it a fighting go but Paige plays way more video games than she does so she very nearly beats her—but then, when they’re almost out of game tickets, Azzi pouts at her about the whole situation, and suspiciously, she ends up making an incredible recovery, easily beating Paige at almost every game after that.

Lauren picks a koala plushie, Ryan picks some new shoes, and Azzi gets this shiny plastic tiara.

“You didn’t have to get the cheapest prize,” Paige says as Azzi adjusts the tiara on her head. “I got money.”

“I know,” Azzi replies, smiling at her reflection in the mirror. “But I had to. As the princess.”

Paige gives her that stupid fucking look again—the one Azzi still can’t figure out even though she knows Paige like the back of her hand, which is just driving her crazy—and that look shows up so often Azzi should really just start referring to it as The Look at this point.

But then Paige smiles, previous odd expression gone, and the way she does that,—slips out of it like she doesn’t even realize it was there in the first place—drives Azzi even more crazy than The Look itself.

Now, it is the fifth day. And Azzi reminisces on these past two blissful days to try and distract herself from the fact that Paige and her parents are having a heated argument right in front of her and her scrambled eggs.

“No, Paige,” Amy is saying. “Absolutely not.”

“You can’t do that!” Paige replies, throwing her hands into the air. “I’m an adult, I make my own money, I can do—“

“It’s stupid.”

“It’ll be fun!”

“It won’t, because it’s not happening.” Amy is unpacking a load of groceries, and Dean is lingering in the corner of the kitchen being absolutely useless. That seems to be his brand.

“Yes it will, Mom,” Paige replies, voice lower now but still obviously frustrated. “I wasn’t asking for your permission. I was just seeing if you wanted to come with us. I was tryna be nice!”

“Well it won’t be nice when you crash and we all drown, Paige.”

“Jesus, Mom! I ain’t gonna go around crashing!”

Azzi feels very uncomfortable, wishing she were literally anywhere else, but at the same time this is sort of amusing and she has to hide a smile in a bite of eggs.

This argument is, out of all things, about a boat. Paige wants to rent one and have a lake day, and though she didn’t want to, Azzi convinced her to invite her parents—she figured they’d decline but that they’d be offended if they weren’t at least invited.

She wasn’t really expecting a lecture to come out of it, though. But by the tired look on Paige’s face, she knew exactly what was coming their way.

“You don’t even have a boating license,” Amy continues, placing a new jug of milk and some apples in the fridge. “This is illegal. If you won’t listen to your mother, at least listen to the law.”

That very nearly gets a giggle out of Azzi. She chokes it down.

“This is a private lake, I’on need my license.”

“Well that doesn’t sound shady at all.”

“It’s not, it’s super legit!” Paige makes for her phone in her back pocket. “It has its own website and everything, I looked way into it.”

Amy stares her daughter down for a few seconds, hands on her hips, before she lets out a resigned sigh. “Like you said, Paige, I can’t tell you what to do. You’re an adult, do what you want. But you will not be taking your siblings on that death trap.”

“Wha…” Paige flounders, eyebrows furrowed, and her voice raises again, “that was the whole point of this entire thing!”

“Well, that’s too bad. It’s dangerous.”

“I’ll make them wear life jackets!”

“They’re teenagers,” Dean points out rather unhelpfully, and it’s the first time he’s spoken around her in days but Azzi is already sick of him again. “Neither of them are gonna wear life jackets.”

“I’ll force them, I swear.”

“Paige Madison,” Amy snaps, and Paige may be an independent adult now but she still straightens her back subconsciously at her mother’s warning tone, “no means no. They are my kids.”

“They’re my siblings!” Paige replies—rather boldly, Azzi thinks, because if Azzi were in her place she would’ve given up by now.

But Paige, as most daughters do, knows exactly how far to push her mother to get what she wants—apparent in the way Amy massages her temples with her fingers before saying, “You know what, Paige? Fine.”

Dean is jumping in immediately. “What? No, she can’t take my kids out on a boat.”

“She’s right, Dean,” Amy says, though she looks a little pained to be siding with her daughter for once. “They’re her siblings. She wants to do something fun for them.”

“It’s dangerous!” Dean motions sporadically at where Paige and Azzi are sitting at the island. Azzi’s eggs are gone now and so she has nothing to put her awkward energy into. “Neither of them owns a boat, and they are practically strangers—“

“She is my daughter,” Amy says, and it’s so quiet Azzi almost doesn’t hear it, but she does, and it sends shivers through her. Because there’s something dangerous, something protective in her tone, something only a mother who loves their child could convey. And it sends a flicker of hope through her. “She is my daughter and I trust her with her siblings.”

Dean flounders for something but comes up empty, instead storming off all red-faced like a child. Amy doesn’t look either of them in the eye when she says, “Let me know if you kids need anything today,” before leaving the two best friends alone in the kitchen.

Slowly, Paige turns to look at Azzi, something like disbelief in her expression. “Did that—actually go well?”

“Yeah,” Azzi responds. “I think it did.”

Things may just be looking up.

———————————————

Dean may be an asshole, but it turns out he was right about one thing: Ryan and Lauren will not wear life jackets.

“C’mon, guys, it’s the law,” Paige insists, thrusting a pink life jacket at her sister, who scrunches her nose in disgust.

“No way! That’s so ugly, Paige.”

“The color wont matter when you’re drowning.”

“You sound just like Mom!” Lauren sighs, and Paige’s mouth falls open.

“You did not just say that.”

Lauren gives Paige a smug smile, which amuses Azzi because it’s the same smile Paige gives her whenever she wins an argument. “And I meant it too.”

If Lauren were not much smaller than Paige, she would be tackling her right now, based off the look on her face. But instead she composes herself and turns to Ryan, who is sitting at the front of the speedboat on his phone. He feels his older sister’s gaze and looks up at her, then at the life jacket in her hands. “You’re funny.”

“I’m being so for real.”

“There’s gonna be hot girls in bikinis on the lake,” Ryan replies, as if this is the most obvious thing ever. “No way I’m wearing a life jacket.”

Paige sighs and rubs her temple with her fingers, and Azzi would never say it out loud (for fear of being pushed into the lake) but she does kind of look like her mom in this moment.

When Paige turns on her with a warning look, Azzi startles, wondering if she’s somehow read her mind. But instead, Paige picks up another life jacket and says, “Will you at least wear one?”

Azzi smiles, a little puzzled. “Paige, I don’t need a life jacket. I can swim.” Which is obvious considering she and Paige have spent various lake days at her family’s cabin.

“Yeah, but for my peace of mind, though!” Paige shakes the life jacket in Azzi’s direction.

The truth is, Azzi wouldn’t mind wearing the life jacket. But ever since she put on this bikini—pastel purple in color—Paige has been swallowing thickly and averting her eyes constantly. So Azzi thinks she has other reasons for wanting her to cover up.

And Azzi can’t let her get away with that, can she?

“I don’t need it.” Azzi steps forward and takes the life jacket out of Paige’s grasp, tossing it aside before reaching to trail her hand down Paige’s bicep, squeezing the hard muscle a little bit. “And besides, won’t you save me if I’m drowning?” she asks, smiling coyly.

Paige’s throat bobs, eyes landing respectfully on a spot past Azzi’s shoulder. “Well, that’s not really how that works.”

Azzi blinks, and she knows just how big and brown her eyes are when she looks up at Paige through her lashes. “No? Thought you’ve been in the gym?”

“I have,” Paige says defensively.

“Hm.” Azzi lets her hand trail off Paige’s arm, resting it on Paige’s side before dancing her fingers dangerously over Paige’s exposed abs. “You wanna prove that to me, baby?”

Paige’s eyes widen, and Azzi loves the way she can not only see but feel her stomach tense under her fingers. But the moment is broken by a gagging sound nearby.

Lauren—who has sat beside her brother and pulled out her own phone—is now looking at them with disgust. “You guys are so gross.”

“You shouldn’t be making sexual innuendos in front of Lauren,” Ryan adds on, though his eyes don’t leave his screen.

“Yeah!” Lauren agrees, then furrows her eyebrows and starts tapping at her phone. Azzi guesses she’s probably searching what sexual innuendo means.

“Hey, yo, don’t blame me,” Paige says, putting her hands up and taking two big steps away from Azzi. “She started it.”

“Azzi’s a freak,” Ryan says.

“Whoa, chill!”

“Hey, that’s actually offensive,” Lauren says. She has picked up a habit of defending Azzi with her life these last few days they’ve spent together, and Azzi has decided she would do the same. “That’s like calling her a monster or something.”

Ryan smirks, finally looking up at them. “I didn’t mean that kinda freak.”

“Okayyy!” Paige jumps in before Lauren can do any more Googling. “Let’s get this show on the road. Imma go untie us real quick, then we’ll head out.”

For the first time, nerves bubble in Azzi’s tummy. “Paige, you sure you’ll be able to drive this thing?”

Paige looks almost offended at the question. “Yeah, duh.”

“It’s just, you’ve never driven a speed boat before…”

“Trust me, mama,” Paige says, nodding cockily to herself. “I got driving skills like you’ve never seen.”

Fifteen minutes later, Azzi realizes Paige was telling the truth. She has certainly never seen these driving skills before.

Paige is an—erratic driver, to put it mildly. This lake is private, huge, and though there are plenty of other boaters out Paige drives as if they’re the only ones on the water. At one point, she gets to such a high speed that even Ryan grasps onto Azzi a little bit.

When Paige very nearly runs into a cruising party boat, Azzi finally gets up from her place between the kids and marches over to Paige, who glances up at her with a sheepish smile. “Whoops.”

“Lemme drive,” Azzi demands, beckoning for Paige to get up.

“No!” Paige says stubbornly. “I’m doin’ good!”

“I thought I was going to die!” Lauren pipes up angrily.

Azzi motions to her. “See? You’re scaring your brother and sister.”

“Whoa, who said I was scared?” Ryan says.

Azzi decides against bringing up the fact that he kept clinging to her arm. “This is scary, I wanna drive.”

“But babeee,” Paige groans, bringing the boat to a stop so she can properly argue, “you drive like a grandma.”

“I drive like a sane person, is what I think you mean to say.”

“It’ll be boring.”

“Paige.”

Paige stares her down for a moment before sighing like a stubborn little kid. “Fine. You can drive.”

Azzi nods, pleased, and shoves at Paige’s shoulder when she doesn’t move. “Get up.”

A slow smile creeps over Paige’s face and Azzi doesn’t like the look of that at all. “I gotta show you the ropes.”

“I don’t need you to teach me how to drive this thing,” Azzi says as if it’s obvious, because really, it is. The thought of Paige trying to teach anyone her…unique ways is downright scary. “I got it.”

“Nah, I think you’ll need some help.”

“P, for real, stop being difficult and move.”

“I’m not about to—“

“Can we go?” Lauren says loudly, getting both girls’ attention.

“Yeah, I’m getting hot as hell just sitting here,” Ryan agrees.

“I wanna get to that diving cliff Paige was talking about!”

Before Azzi can turn back to Paige to continue arguing with her, Paige has her hands on her hips and is pulling her firmly into her lap. Azzi squeaks, grabbing onto the wheel for leverage.

“Paige!” she exclaims, turning to glare at the smug-looking girl underneath her.

“You heard them,” Paige says simply, shrugging her shoulders as if her hands are tied. “Let’s go.”

“I don’t—“ Azzi starts to argue once again, but then Lauren is sighing dramatically in that teenage-girl way of her’s and saying, “Seriously, come on!”

So, almost in a daze, Azzi turns back to the front and moves her hand to the shift, getting the boat moving slowly again. She tries desperately to ignore it when Paige leans up close to her ear and murmurs, “Atta girl,” but she can’t help the goosebumps that erupt over her neck and Paige must spot them because she chuckles lightly before leaning back, letting Azzi do her thing.

Trying to shake off the feeling of Paige’s hot breath fanning over her skin, Azzi amps up the speed a little bit, determined to show Paige that she can be fun and safe, as promised.

After a few minutes of skimming over the water, Azzi calls over the wind, “Thought you were gonna ‘show me the ropes’?”

“Looks like you got it,” Paige says, sitting straight so she’s pressed up against Azzi’s back again, and her hands find their place on Azzi’s waist.

“Why’d you make me sit on your lap, then, P?” Azzi asks, and her tone lilts teasingly but she is sort of freaking out on the inside because moments like these—moments where Azzi hardly bothers to hide her feelings for Paige and Paige, instead of shying away, responds—are becoming a little too common for comfort.

Paige rests her chin on Azzi’s shoulder, lips brushing her cheek when she says, “Think you know why, hm?”

Yeah. Definitely far too common for comfort.

Ramping up the speedboat a little bit—enough that Ryan whoops and Lauren leans over the side to touch the water—Azzi shifts her hips. She moves out of discomfort, almost subconsciously trying to get away from this buzzing energy between her and her best friend, but Paige lets out a huff of air at the motion and, curious, Azzi does it again.

A full-on gasp this time.

A flush creeps up over Azzi’s cheeks all the way down her chest, and she’s not sure if it’s from pleasure or shyness, though likely it’s both. But she can’t let Paige have the upper hand, because Azzi can’t even imagine how quickly she’d fold if that happened. So instead, she turns her head to the side and says, “All good, Paige?”

The problem with this is Paige’s face is still turned toward her when she says it. And when Azzi moves to reciprocate the angle, their lips are so close that they brush on the last word. On the utterance of Paige’s name.

Azzi jerks back as soon as it happens, putting a couple inches of distance between their faces, and she’s sure the flush is noticeable by now. She tries for a lighthearted laugh, “Oh, sorry, didn’t realize you were so close—“

She doesn’t see it coming when Paige kisses her.

It pulls a gasp out of her, lips now pressed against Paige parting slightly in surprise, and her eyes don’t even close until she feels Paige’s tongue dip inside her mouth.

It’s a quick swipe, her tongue against the space between Azzi’s teeth and upper lip before she’s pulling away—only enough to make the kiss much more chaste.

Her hands slide from Azzi’s waist to her stomach, and Azzi grips onto the steering wheel for dear life when Paige moans ever so quietly into her mouth, the sound barely heard over the wind whipping around them. And then the wind is whipping Paige’s hair into their faces, a few strands getting in Azzi’s mouth, which she takes as her opportunity to pull away. Paige stares at her—The Look again—for only a split second this time (Azzi much prefers that over the lingering one) before her face is breaking into a smile, not cocky or smug or teasing but just bright, and Azzi can’t help but laugh with her as they pull Paige’s hair out of her mouth.

“Keep your eyes on the lake!” Lauren yells at them, and when they look at her she’s got her nose wrinkled. “What is it with you guys and PDA today?”

“Maybe someone put viagra in their coffees this morning,” Ryan suggests, looking equally as disgusted as his little sister but also twice as amused.

“What’s viagra?” Lauren asks.

“Yo, Ryan!” Paige snaps, her hands moving tantalizingly from Azzi’s tummy to rest low on her hips instead, and Azzi forces herself to look back where she’s driving. “Keep it PG, dawg!”

“I could say the same thing to you,” he replies, and Azzi isn’t looking at him but she can picture the smirk on his face—she knows the look all too well by now.

The three of them bicker for a few more minutes, and Azzi tries really hard to focus on where they’re going rather than the implications of that kiss and all the questions that follow it.

Paige is the bad driver, but when she leans forward and mimics her—“All good, baby?”—Azzi worries she may be the one to crash this boat.

———————————————

“Sunscreen time!”

“No, what?”

“We just put some on!”

“Az, I’m never gonna tan at this point!”

Shaking the sunscreen into her hands, Azzi motions the three siblings towards her. “C’mon, you need it.”

“I don’t burn,” Lauren insists as she steps up in front of Azzi, lifting her arms dutifully anyway.

“You’re already getting a little red,” Azzi points out, applying an extra-thick layer onto Lauren’s rosy nose.

“This is lame,” Lauren groans, though she still lets Azzi work in silence and mumbles a thank you before she turns back to the lake.

Ryan is next, and he doesn’t complain about it but he does stare down at his phone the entire time, his head only falling back down when Azzi tries to push it up. “Ryan,” she sighs.

He tears his eyes away from his phone, only to look around subconsciously. Azzi knows he’s trying to see if the gaggle of teenage girls along the rocky beach have noticed him getting his sunscreen done.

“Hurry up,” Paige complains, nudging her younger brother in the back, and he turns around to shove her.

Azzi fights back a smile. “You can put it on yourself if that’s better.”

“It’s good,” he says nonchalantly, but he hasn’t quite mastered acting like he doesn’t care.

Azzi finishes up quickly, ending the torture with an encouraging smile, watching him run up to join his sister where she stands on the ledge above the lake, sneaking up on her. He pushes her in and Azzi laughs at the way Lauren screeches before her eyes drift to Paige, who is now standing right in front of her, looking awfully petulant.

“You really don’t want me to tan, huh?” she says, wincing as Azzi rubs the cold lotion over Paige’s sun-kissed shoulders.

“Your white ass is gonna burn if we don’t do this every thirty minutes,” Azzi says, reiterating what she said the past five times Paige complained about the sunscreen.

“I got a little melanin in me.”

Azzi looks at the way Paige’s blue eyes are squinting against the summer sun, the way her pale skin is already tinted pink, and raises her brows.

Paige holds her hand up. “Just gimme the sunscreen.”

Chuckling, Azzi squirts some into her hand before giving the bottle to Paige, who turns around and starts doing her front while Azzi does her back. They’ve done this maybe a hundred times, before countless sunny fair days and hot boat rides, but today it just feels a little…off. Everything feels a little off about them recently.

Azzi worries it may be her fault. She has always been good at hiding her feelings for Paige, good at making sure her attraction doesn’t show on her face just like she knows all her other emotions do. But recently, ever since they began this facade—and more so ever since they arrived in Montana—she knows she’s been slipping up. She thought she’d be okay but she wasn’t prepared for the way Paige would look at her like she wasn’t pretending, the way Paige calls her pet names even when they’re alone, the way Paige told her she liked kissing her and wants to do it again.

The way Paige did do it again.

And there lies the burning question: why?

Azzi knows Paige doesn’t have feelings for her. Azzi knows that she’s the only one who lies awake thinking about having Paige in every sense of the word, the only one who wakes up in the middle of the night thinking of Paige with an uncomfortable stickiness between her legs. She is the only one, of course, who is in love.

Then why do Paige’s eyes and hands wander nowadays? Why does she call her baby in quiet moments? Why did she kiss her when she really didn’t have to?

Could she be—attracted to Azzi? Maybe through playing this role, she’s seen Azzi in a new light, and realized her best friend is no longer dorky and fourteen but rather a tall, pretty twenty year old with a great ass. (And yes, Azzi knows she has a great ass.)

She could be attracted to her and not be in love. She could be attracted to her and have no other attachment whatsoever. The two things can be true at once, can’t they?

The thought flatters her but it mostly scares her, because she’s barely surviving this unrequited love as it is. But with her best friend having any level of attraction back? How is she supposed to continue on like that?

“Azzi?” Paige asks, and the tone of her voice implies she’s already said it a few times.

Azzi hums, blinking. “Sorry, yeah?”

“Uh,” Paige says, and it’s then that Azzi realizes her hands have stopped rubbing lotion into Paige’s back and have sort of just come to rest on her waist—like it’s instinctive. Like it’s natural. “You done back there?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Azzi says, but for some unknown reason she can’t find it in herself to let go.

Paige glances over her shoulder. “Azzi?” she repeats.

Azzi can’t really take it any longer.

“Why’d you kiss me?”

Paige’s sides tense up under Azzi’s hands, and then she’s stepping away, out of her grasp, and turning to face her.

The look on her face is guarded, almost closed off completely. This is dangerous territory and Azzi has barely dipped her toes in the water yet.

When Azzi’s hands fall helplessly to her sides, Paige says, “I was pretending.”

As much as Azzi doesn’t buy it, the words—and the flat, cold intonation of them—sting. “Didn’t feel like it.”

“Why’re you being weird about it?” Paige asks, eyes dancing nervously away from Azzi’s face.

“I’m not, Paige. I just—I wanna know. For real.”

“You agreed to do this for me,” Paige reminds her, as if that has anything to do with this. But, of course, it has everything to do with this, and Azzi hates how easy it makes it for the both of them to hide under a facade, a lie.

“I know,” Azzi says carefully, also taking a step back if only to get away from Paige’s chilly stare. “But you didn’t have to kiss me this time. There wasn’t a reason.”

Paige shrugs, and Azzi hates to admit it but she is much better than her younger brother at acting nonchalant. “We’re s’posed to be a couple. I don’t want my siblings getting suspicious. They know I’m a touchy person.”

Getting the sinking feeling that Azzi won’t get anything out of this conversation other than a fight, she nods slowly, looking down at the ground. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Paige, as usual, thaws at the slightest hint of weakness, taking a tiny step forward. “Did it make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” Azzi is a little too quick to say. The kiss caught her by surprise, but they’ve only done it two times and Azzi is quickly coming to find that kissing Paige is the most comfortable thing in the world—it’s natural, and right, and like curling up in bed with a book and a warm cup of tea—and Azzi also knows they should never do it again.

Despite the earnest answer, Paige looks at her suspiciously. “You sure, ma? Don’t ever wanna make you uncomfortable.”

Azzi does her best to fix her face, which she worries may be showing a little too much. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sure.”

“Aight,” Paige says, but she still doesn’t sound very convinced. Azzi’s just glad she’s letting it go.

“Sorry for bringing it up,” Azzi says. She’s not.

At this, Paige sighs, reaching out to bridge the gap between them, running a gentle hand up and down Azzi’s arm. “Nah, don’t be, I get it. Sorry for getting a lil defensive.”

A little? Despite the fact she doesn’t believe Paige one bit, and that she doesn’t like anything about the interaction they just had, Azzi manages a smile. “You’re good.”

Paige nods, and her smile at least seems to be sincere. But as they jump into the lake, and as Paige talks Azzi’s ear off while Azzi floats around lazily in a donut floatie, things feel even more off than before.

Azzi can’t quite place what it is until late that night, when they’re both going to sleep and Paige is, for the first time in ages, strangely quiet. She glances over to find Paige lying on her stomach, face turned away, breathing too quickly to be asleep.

And that’s when Azzi notices it. The gap between them, the sheer amount of space from Azzi on her side all the way to Paige, who is almost on the edge of the bed.

Paige always sleeps close to Azzi.

And she always sleeps with her head turned towards her.

@azzibuckets @smiths-fan--13 @ch12334 @makethemhoesmad @the-other-half @rosemariiaa

lmk if u wanna be on my tag list btw!!

#pazzi #pazzi fics #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #wbb #wcbb #fake dating #paige buckets #the people's princess #wlw

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fanficgirlysmhh · 20 days ago

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Title: At what Cost

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x Reader

Warnings: fighting, swearing, emotional distress

Word count: ~3200

Summary: love isnt always easy

The silence between you and Jude is unbearable. The house in Madrid feels too big, too quiet, and far too empty, even with him in it. It’s been five years since you moved here, leaving behind everything you loved in London. Five years of loving him fiercely, but also five years of missing yourself.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table, your laptop closed, untouched for the day. You’d tried to distract yourself with work, studying, or anything else, but nothing could shake the storm brewing inside you.

Jude walks in, his bag slung over his shoulder, fresh from training. His presence fills the room, but the emptiness in your chest remains.

“Hey,” he says, offering you a small smile as he sets his bag down. “Long day. You okay?”

You look up at him, your emotions barely held together. “Do you ever think about what I gave up to be here?”

The question hangs in the air. Jude freezes, caught off guard. “What?”

“I left my job, my friends, my family… my life. For you,” you say, your voice trembling. “And now I’m here, in Madrid, in this huge house, feeling like I don’t belong. Feeling like I’ve lost myself.”

Jude steps closer, his expression tightening. “What are you talking about? You’ve always known this is my career, my dream.”

“I know!” you cry, your voice cracking. “And I’ve supported you every step of the way, haven’t I? But what about me, Jude? What about my dreams? My life? I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Jude’s face hardens, his frustration evident. “You act like I’m the villain here. You knew what you were signing up for when you moved here. You knew football was my life.”

“And you’re mine!” you yell, tears spilling over now. “But it feels like I’m not even a part of yours anymore. Do you know how lonely I’ve been? How overwhelming it is to watch you live this big, glamorous life while I’m here, drowning?”

Jude runs a hand through his hair, his voice rising to match yours. “I’m doing this for us! Everything I do, it’s to build a life for us! And you don’t even try to make this work. You could get a job, make friends, do something other than sit here waiting for me!”

The words cut deep. You stare at him, hurt and disbelief swirling in your chest. “Is that what you think I’m doing? Just sitting around, waiting for you?”

“Well, isn’t it?” he snaps, but there’s regret in his eyes the moment the words leave his mouth.

You take a shaky breath, the tears now falling freely. “I don’t go out because I hate the spotlight. I hate the cameras, the questions, the way people look at me like I’m just your arm candy. And then there are the photos—photos of you with other women, Jude. Always other women.”

“They mean nothing,” he says firmly, his voice softening. “They’re just photos, and you know that.”

“But they mean something to me!” you shout, the pain in your voice raw. “Because I’m the one here, fighting to keep this together, while you’re out there living a life that feels like it doesn’t include me anymore. I moved my entire life for you, Jude, and I don’t know if I can keep doing this, Fuck”

—-

The fight leaves both of you drained. You stand there in the kitchen, the tension so thick you can barely breathe. Jude stares at you, his chest rising and falling as he processes everything you’ve just said.

“I don’t know what to say,” he finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

You shake your head, brushing past him. “I don’t want to hear anything right now.”

You leave the room and retreat upstairs, the weight of the argument pressing down on you. You cry yourself to sleep that night, unsure of what the morning will bring.

—-

When you wake up, your eyes are swollen from crying, your chest still heavy with emotion. You grab your phone, intending to scroll mindlessly in an attempt to numb the pain. But the first thing you see stops you in your tracks.

It’s an Instagram post. Jude’s Instagram post.

There’s a carousel of photos—one of you and him in London when you first started dating, one of you laughing on the couch in your Madrid home, one of you kissing his cheek after a match. The caption reads:

“Five years ago, I met the love of my life. She moved across countries for me, gave up everything to be by my side, and never stopped believing in me, even when I didn’t make it easy.

She hates the spotlight, so you won’t see her at every event. But she’s the reason I get up every morning and give everything I have. Because without her, none of this would mean anything.

I love you. More than football, more than anything. I don’t say it enough, but I couldn’t bear a life without you. Thank you for staying, even when it’s hard. I promise I’ll do better.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you scroll through the comments—fans and teammates alike praising the post, sending love and support. For the first time, it feels like the world knows who you really are, not just Jude Billingham’s girlfriend, but his partner, his anchor.

You set the phone down and head downstairs, your heart pounding.

Jude is sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in his hands. He looks up when he hears you, his expression uncertain.

“I saw your post,” you say softly, your voice thick with emotion.

He stands, setting the coffee aside. “I meant every word.”

You walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest. He holds you tightly, his chin resting on the top of your head.

“I love you,” he murmurs. “And I’m so sorry. For everything. I want to fix this—I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your hands resting on his chest. “I don’t want you to give up your dream, Jude. I just need to feel like I have a life too. Like I’m not losing myself for us.”

“Then let’s figure it out,” he says, his hands cupping your face. “You can split your time between London and Madrid. Take your old job back if you want. And when football’s done, we’ll move back to London for good. That’s always been the plan, hasn’t it?”

You nod, tears spilling over again. “I can wait for that. As long as we’re in this together.”

You stay there in his arms, the weight of the past few days slowly lifting. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start.

For now, it’s enough.

#jude bellingham #jude x you #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham fluff #football fanfic #jude bellingham x reader #jude x reader #fanfic #football #real madrid #bellingham x reader #bellingham latest #jude bellingham smut

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liuhsng · 11 days ago

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✩ˎˊ˗ breaking point ( ksn ! )

✩ˎˊ˗ part of the untouchable series | enhypen masterlist ⤷ word count: 13.9k ⤷ taglist for the series: open ! ⤷ warning/s: 18+ ( smut ! ), unprotected sex ( wrap it before you tap it ), p in v, pussy drunk!sunoo, a/b/o au, cursing, female pronouns, fem!reader, kinda slowburn, brother's best friend trope, mentions of drinking and alcohol, very very passionate sex, angst, one-sided at first to eventual mutual pining, sunoo's in denial, kinda shy!reader, sunoo falls for you hard, subtle mentions of heeseung's fic from the series ⤷ a/n: I'M BACK AFTER 4 YEARS. ✩ˎˊ˗ summary: being sunghoon’s younger sister by a year, it was clear to everyone that you were off-limits. sunghoon’s overprotectiveness made it impossible for anyone to forget that, especially sunoo, his best friend. the pink haired alpha, who always saw you as nothing more than his best friend’s little sister. he wasn’t looking for an omega or a mate, and that was that. but when things get heated between the both of you, he had no choice but to confront the feelings he always had for his best friend's younger sister that he couldn't deny anymore.

being the youngest daughter of the esteemed park family was hard, not because of who your brother was, but because of all the rules you were raised to follow.

from the moment you could walk, you were groomed to be perfect, poised, refined, and constantly reminded that you were next in line to rule alongside sunghoon. the pressure was suffocating. every step you took was measured, every decision scrutinized, and the expectations never seemed to end.

the problem? you had never asked for any of it.

as his younger sister, it was hard to make your own way when all anyone ever saw was the role you were born into. and to make matters worse, there were constant reminders that you were off-limits, not just because you were his sister— maybe just a little, but because you were the future of the family.

you were snapped out of your thoughts when you felt sunghoon tap lightly on your knee, the touch familiar yet still enough to pull you back into reality. his presence in the front seat always had an air of authority, and for a moment, you resented how easily he could just, command your attention.

"stupid alpha's and their stupid genes." you muttered under your breath.

"stop zoning out," he said, his voice a playful reprimand, though the smile on his face suggested he wasn’t too bothered by your distraction.

you rolled your eyes as you shifted in your seat. “i'm not zoning out,” you muttered, trying to shake off the feelings of frustration that had been rising under your skin. the weight of your family’s expectations felt heavier than usual.

sunghoon, sitting next to the driver’s seat with his attention partly on the road and partly on you, sighed. "you know mom’s going to expect you to bring a suitor with you to the dinner, right? at least someone who looks like they’re even remotely interested in you."

you could feel your chest tighten at the mention of it. it wasn’t even a dinner for a few more days, at least five, actually; but your mother had already made it clear that tonight’s family dinner would be just the beginning. it was one of those events designed to solidify your place in the hierarchy, and somehow, the spotlight was always on you and your older brother, no matter how much you tried to avoid it.

"yeah, i know," you said dryly, glancing out the window at the passing buildings. "you’re not the one who has to deal with her acting like your love life is the family business."

sunghoon chuckled, a sound that felt too familiar, dry and dismissive, as though he didn’t even consider anyone good enough to be worthy of you. “i just think no one’s good enough for you,” he said with a shrug, his voice almost bored as he looked out the windshield.

“mom’s just doing her usual thing. trying to find someone who’ll follow the rules and look the part. doesn’t matter who they are, as long as they check the boxes.” sunghoon sighed as he shot you a tight smile in the rear-view mirror.

you bit your lip to keep from rolling your eyes. the last thing you needed was your brother deciding who was worthy of you, especially when the last thing you wanted was someone picked for you based on some list of family-approved traits. “i’m sure she’ll find someone who meets all her requirements,” you said, sarcasm laced into your voice.

sunghoon glanced at you, the amusement in his eyes fading into something a little more serious. for a second, you saw a flash of concern in his eyes, but it was gone just as quickly. "don’t let her get to you," he said quietly.

“the only thing you need is an alpha who cares about you,” he said, his tone oddly casual, though he sounded sincere. "like your mate, who i'm sure is just out there waiting for you. you’ll find him eventually."

you blinked, surprised by the unexpected softness in his voice. you weren't used to hearing him talk like that

you shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say. "you really think someone’s out there waiting for me?" you asked, the doubt creeping into your voice despite the hope his words has caused.

sunghoon's gaze softened for a moment, his expression unreadable. "i don't think you need to worry about that right now," he said with a slight grin, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "when the time comes, you'll know. just… don’t let mom rush you into someone you don’t want."

you let out a quiet sigh, turning your gaze out the window as the car slowed. the city lights blurred past, and before you could process it, the familiar driveway came into view, an all too familiar mansion.

the car honked, and a figure appeared in your peripheral vision. you recognized him immediately, even from a distance. kim sunoo, casually scrolling through his phone as he stood by the front gate. as the car rolled to a stop, he looked up, saw you both, and then sent sunghoon a playful smirk through the rolled-down passenger window.

"well, look who finally decided to show up," sunoo said with a grin, his eyes lighting up as he slid into the car beside you without missing a beat.

but as sunoo settled in beside you, you couldn't shake the strange feeling that had been creeping up on you for a while now. you'd known sunoo for as long as you could remember, your brother’s best friend, always around when the two of you were growing up.

his family was just like yours, pureblooded with a reputation that seemed to follow them wherever they went. but to you, sunoo had always seemed harmless, just another guy who’d been around long enough to be a part of the family in a way.

it wasn’t always like this. there was a time when he had been just… sunghoon's best friend. the guy who teased you relentlessly, but never in a mean way. he was always present, always just there; at family gatherings, at parties, even during quiet moments when you'd end up sitting side by side, silently enduring the weight of family expectations together.

it wasn’t an obvious change, not something you could point to with a specific date. but, something that began to grow when you found yourself seeing him differently.

maybe it was during one of those times when you had to wait for sunghoon outside an office, a day when he’d gotten into a fight with another alpha after his classes. you were both stuck waiting for your brother, his stubbornness keeping him inside while you and sunoo were left in an uncomfortable silence.

you’d both sat there, avoiding each other’s gaze, the minutes stretched on, and something inside you felt weird. the way sunoo’s eyes would flicker toward you, like he was trying to catch your attention without fully looking at you, as if testing whether you were still there. you'd meet his gaze for a second, but he’d always look away too quickly, leaving you with the unsettling feeling that there was something he wasn’t saying.

his scent, always so familiar, seemed to hang in the air thicker than usual. it was the heady mixture of rum and neroli that you’d come to associate with him, something that screamed 'kim sunoo.' but now, it felt more intense, like it was seeping into your senses and refusing to let go.

each inhale felt deeper than the last, and with every breath, your heart began to pound faster. your inner omega reacted before your mind could process it, a soft whimper rising in the back of your throat as your body seemed to crave the closeness, the warmth that sunoo offered.

"omega…" sunoo grumbled under his breath, his voice barely a whisper, but it was enough to make your pulse spike. his eyes were narrowed, his expression flickering with something unreadable as he shifted next to you.

"alpha," you whispered, more to yourself than to him, trying to force some control back into the situation. the words barely left your lips before sunoo let out a breath, his hand brushing against yours, sending another wave of heat coursing through you.

before you could fully process what was happening, the glass doors to the office burst open with a loud bang, snapping you out of the haze you were in. sunghoon stormed out, his face contorted in irritation.

"let’s go," he grumbled, his voice laced with anger. he barely spared a glance in your direction before he turned, expecting both of you to follow. sunoo stood up immediately, his posture rigid, but not before shooting you one last look.

now, here you were, in the present, sitting next to the pink haired alpha in the backseat of the car. he hadn’t said much, just offering you a tight-lipped smile when you briefly met his gaze. his usual bright smile was gone when it came to you, replaced by something colder. you didn’t know what had changed between you two, only that it had.

and it was driving you crazy.

the school halls felt a little emptier than usual, you found yourself walking alongside heeseung’s mate, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence as you made your way toward the library.

"so, how's your relationship going?" you asked, breaking the silence between the two of you as you both navigated the winding hallway. your voice was light, almost teasing.

she raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. "i haven't seen you in a hot minute, and that’s the first thing you ask me?" she chuckled, nudging your shoulder with her own. "guess i should be flattered, huh?"

you rolled your eyes but couldn't hide the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "well, it's not like i have a lot of time to catch up with you," you replied, voice dripping with mock sarcasm. "plus, i'm curious what it's like to have a mate."

she let out a dramatic sigh, pressing a hand to her chest. "well, let me tell you, it’s a whole different world, but not in the way people make it seem."

you raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious now. "isn't that how it’s supposed to be? like, you find your other half, and everything just... clicks?"

she laughed softly, shaking her head. "it does click, but not always in the way you think. it’s not just about this perfect connection, you have to understand each other on a level most people never get. and that means sometimes stepping back, compromising, giving up things you thought you wanted."

you frowned slightly, trying to process what she was saying. "so, it's not all… smooth sailing?"

"not at all," she said with a grin, her expression softening.

the two of you slowed your pace as you reached the library doors, and you couldn't help but feel a little bit worried. "sounds like a lot to take in," you murmured.

"it is," she agreed, her expression softening, her voice quieter now. "but when it’s right, it’s worth every bit of effort." she paused, glancing at you with a hint of playfulness. "anyway, enough about me and my romantic life. what about you? any suitors yet?"

you snorted at her tone. "oh, definitely not. my stupid brother would never let that happen." you couldn't hide the frustration in your voice. "honestly, he’d probably pick the guy out himself if he had it his way."

as you pushed open the library doors, you immediately spotted sunoo. he was scanning the second aisle of books, his pink hair catching the light as he casually flipped through a book in his hands. the quiet rustle of pages echoed, but the moment you stepped inside, something changed.

his scent hit you; rum and neroli, as usual, but then, something softer, something sweet and floral lingered in the air, mixing with the familiar fragrance. cherries and daisies. your scent. you hadn’t realized it until now, but it was unmistakable. the realization hit you like a wave, the familiar smell of your scent blending with his in the air around you made your heart race.

sunoo looked up, his eyes immediately meeting yours, and you felt a jolt in your chest. his gaze flickered toward you faster than you could process, as if the sudden rush of your scent had caught him off guard. for a moment, he looked like he was trying to figure out what was happening.

the usual cocky grin he wore was gone, replaced by something that looked unsure. the silence stretched between the two of you hanged in the air. his lips parted as if to say something but closed again before he could speak, his eyes flickering to the side.

you felt your cheeks warm, a slight blush creeping up as you realized just how much of your scent had made its way to him. it wasn’t the usual mixture of rum and neroli; it was your scent, swirling around him, and it made everything feel strangely intimate.

after a few seconds, sunoo cleared his throat, attempting to break the tension. “hi,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. his hand went to rub the back of his neck in an awkward gesture. “what’s up?”

"i'—i'm just looking for a book," you said quickly, trying to steady your breathing.

"right," sunoo muttered, his lips pressing into a tight line.

before either of you could say anything else, heeseung's mate, who had been watching the whole exchange with amusement, couldn’t help herself. she stifled a laugh behind her hand, clearly entertained.

at this, sunoo’s gaze hardened slightly, his jaw tightening as if her subtle teasing had struck a nerve. his eyes flicked to her, sharp and full of irritation.

before he could even retort, a familiar voice called out from across the library, breaking the silence.

“dude, come on!” it was ni-ki, his usual energy apparent even in his rushed tone. he was standing near the library entrance, waving a hand as if trying to pull sunoo out of whatever awkward interaction he’d just walked into.

sunoo sighed, running a hand through his hair before nodding at ni-ki. “yeah, i’m coming,” he said, his voice strained. he hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking toward you once more before he turned and started walking toward the door.

ni-ki, however, didn’t seem to miss the stiffness his friend carried. as sunoo approached him, ni-ki raised an eyebrow, his gaze darting between you and sunoo with a smirk slowly creeping onto his face.

“not a word,” sunoo snapped, his voice firm as he grabbed younger by the arm and dragged him out of the library before he could say anything else.

the doors swung shut behind them, leaving you and heeseung’s mate standing there. she let out a low whistle, clearly entertained by the exchange.

“well, that was… something,” she said, raising an eyebrow at you.

you groaned, burying your face in your hands as the heat of embarrassment crept up your neck. "don’t start," you muttered, but the sound of her soft laugh made it clear she already had.

ni-ki wore a smug grin as he and sunoo made their way down the hallway toward jungwon’s classroom. the pinknette kept his head down, his jaw tight, while ni-ki practically bounced with every step.

"you know," ni-ki started, his tone dripping with mischief, "i could smell your scent from a mile away." he wrinkled his nose in exaggerated disgust, throwing a glance at sunoo. "and, man, it went sour the second you came near me. wonder why?"

sunoo shot him a glare, his fists clenching at his sides. "shut up, you brat," he muttered through gritted teeth, though the flush on his cheeks betrayed his emotions.

ni-ki just laughed, "relax, i’m just saying. you sure you’re not catching feelings?" his voice was light, and the teasing tone in it made sunoo’s brows knit even tighter.

by the time they reached jungwon’s classroom, sunoo’s patience was wearing thin. ni-ki opened the door without hesitation, poking his head in. "hey, president! we have a meeting,"

jungwon looked up from his desk, his sharp eyes instantly narrowing as they landed on sunoo. his nose scrunched as he groaned. "what the fuck, sunoo? what’s up with your scent? it’s all over the place."

sunoo let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing his temples as if trying to push down a rising headache. "it’s nothing," he said firmly as he shot jungwon a pointed look. "can we just go? get your ass up there before ni-ki starts running his mouth again."

but ni-ki wasn’t done. he leaned casually against the doorframe, his grin widening. "oh, he’s not exaggerating, though. your scent’s practically begging for attention right now."

"ni-ki!" sunoo snapped, his voice rising. his cheeks were now a bright red. he shot jungwon another look as his footsteps were already moving back toward the hallway.

jungwon sighed, closing his book as he trailed behind sunoo and ni-ki. his sharp eyes flicked between the two, lingering on sunoo’s unusually tense shoulders. "i don’t think i’ve ever seen you this worked up," jungwon commented, "what happened?"

"i already told you, it's nothing," sunoo said through gritted teeth, his pace quickening as if he could outrun the conversation. his hands were stuffed into his pockets, fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

jungwon raised an eyebrow, "dude, i'm just concerned," he stepped closer to sunoo, his gaze scrutinizing. "and why does your scent keep spiking like that? it’s—" he wrinkled his nose again, "—weirdly sweet."

"woah, which one of you reeks of omega?" jake's voice cut through the tense atmosphere as he walked up from the opposite end of the hallway, his eyebrows raised in confusion. he stopped a few feet away, his sharp gaze sweeping over the group before settling on the pink haired alpha.

all of them turned to look at sunoo, who visibly tensed under their stares. his scent, usually subtle, was undeniably different now; sweet and overwhelming, like cherries and daisies after a summer rain.

jake's eyes widened slightly as the realization hit. "oh, it’s you," he said, pointing at sunoo, a teasing smirk spreading across his face. "what the hell, dude? i thought you didn’t want a mate. sunghoon’s gonna lose his mind if he catches a whiff of this."

sunoo groaned, his jaw tightening even further. "for the hundredth fucking time, it’s nothing," he snapped, his voice low.

jake wasn’t having it. he stepped closer, his eyes holding nothing but amusement. "nothing? seriously?" he let out a chuckle, leaning casually against the wall. "because from what i’m smelling—" he let out a chuckle, "it doesn’t sound like nothing."

and just like ni-ki, jake was far from being done. he leaned in slightly, his tone dropping into something more serious. "just saying, sunoo. you smell like you’ve already claimed her as your omega."

sunoo’s patience finally snapped. he stepped forward, his shoulders tense as grabbed jake's collar. "i already told you, it's fucking nothing!" his voice echoed down the hallway. he took a shaky breath, trying to calm himself down before speaking again. "can we just drop it?"

the hallway fell silent for a moment, the tension thick between them. jungwon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he exchanged a glance with jake and ni-ki.

"alright, let’s go," jungwon muttured. sunoo turned on his heel, his head held high as he stormed off down the hallway.

the council meeting dragged on longer than expected, leaving everyone tired but relieved as everything finally wrapped up. jay stretched his arms over his head while jake clapped his hands together, his signature smile plastered on his face.

before anyone could leave, sunghoon stood up, leaning casually against the table. “before we all go home to suffer through whatever my family has planned for us this weekend,” he started, glancing around the room, “i'm throwing a party at our place. consider it a little pregame before we have to suffer through whatever formalities my family has planned.”

“your place?” jay asked, raising an eyebrow. “you sure about that?”

“yeah, well, we’ll deal with it,” sunghoon replied with a shrug. “i’ll handle everything. you guys just show up and try not to burn the house down, okay?” he flashed his trademark smirk.

heeseung snickered, leaning back in his chair. “no promises, man.”

sunghoon rolled his eyes. “you guys are exhausting. just be there, okay?”

sunghoon grabbed his bag from the chair beside him, slinging it over his shoulder with a casual flick of his wrist. he glanced at sunoo, who was still looking through his phone.

“come on, man,” sunghoon said, nudging sunoo with his elbow. “let’s head out. don’t make me wait on you.”

sunoo gave a short nod but didn’t respond immediately. he slipped his phone into his pocket and grabbed his own bag, standing up and following sunghoon to the door.

but sunghoon stopped just before they reached it, pausing for a moment. “actually, you go ahead,” he said, glancing at sunoo. “i need to make a few calls before we head out, wait for me at the car.”

sunoo nodded, albeit with a slight frown. “alright. don’t take too long.”

with that, sunghoon waved off sunoo and headed back to the council room. the pink haired alpha turned and walked out of the building, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

you were already standing near the car, scrolling through your phone, when you heard those footsteps approach.

but instead of both of them, it was just sunoo.

he slowed his pace as he neared you, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before darting away. his posture was more stiff than usual, like he was trying to keep himself together despite the tension. he cleared his throat, offering a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“your brother had to make a few calls,” he said, trying to keep his tone light, though it didn’t sound quite as casual as he intended. “he’ll be out in a bit.”

you raised an eyebrow, noting the way he avoided your gaze. something was different about him, it seemed like he was even more avoidant that before. you leaned a little more against the car, letting your phone slip into your pocket.

“oh, alright. i was expecting you both,” you said, keeping your tone light. “guess it’s just you for now.”

sunoo’s gaze met yours briefly, but he quickly looked away, the tension between you two rising just from the quietness that surrounded you.

“yeah,” sunoo replied, his voice quieter than usual. “he’ll catch up soon.”

you both stood there, the silence stretching on a little too long for your liking, every time you shifted slightly, the pureblooded alpha's eyes flickered toward you, only to dart away quickly when you looked in his direction.

sunoo’s gaze wandered back to you, though his eyes lingered longer this time, his brows furrowed just slightly, as if trying to figure something out, something that was clearly confusing him. his hands, tucked into his pockets, clenched and unclenched as if he were trying to control his inner alpha.

he was trying to keep it together, but you could tell he was struggling, and it only made the tension between you two worse. your scent, the cherries and daisies that always clung to you, seemed to hit him harder now than it ever had before. he kept his head down at times, shaking it slightly, as if trying to will the thoughts away. but it was impossible.

before the silence could swallow you whole, a familiar figure came into view. sunghoon, bag slung over his shoulder, was walking toward you both, his sharp eyes landing on you. when he noticed sunoo, his gaze narrowed for a moment, before he pushed the door open and got into the driver’s seat.

sunoo visibly relaxed when sunghoon appeared, his shoulders relaxing. you noticed the way sunghoon’s gaze flicked between you two, almost as if trying to get a reaction out of you before his expression softened.

“let’s go,” sunghoon muttered, his tone light, but you caught the faintest hint of annoyance to it. as you got in, sunghoon’s eyes lingered on sunoo for a moment, an unreadable look being exchanged between them before he turned his attention back to you.

the car ride back to your house was suffocating with the silence between sunghoon and sunoo. their usual playful banter was absent, making it feel like there was a thick wall between them. sunghoon’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white, his jaw clenched, and his eyes were fixed ahead, not once glancing at sunoo.

when your brother finally pulled up to your house, he didn’t even look at you as he parked the car. “go on, i'll go home later, i'm going to hang with sunoo a bit at his place,” he said, his tone flat, though he didn’t make eye contact.

you hesitated, still confused by the strange tension between the two of them, but sunghoon wasn't one to order you around if nothing was up. you opened the car door and stepped out, the cool air hitting your skin as you closed it behind you. but as soon as you turned to head inside, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

inside the car, sunghoon didn’t waste any time. as soon as the door slammed shut, he put the car in gear and pulled away, his face hard as stone. he spoke again, his tone colder than before.

“sunoo,” he said, his voice low, full of suppressed rage. “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

the pink haired alpha didn’t immediately respond, his eyes flicking to sunghoon’s, and the words that followed were filled with frustration.

“what the fuck are you saying?” sunoo spat, his tone was angry angry, but there a hint nervousness he couldn’t hide. he was defensive, like he was trying to convince himself more than sunghoon. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

sunghoon’s eyes darkened, and he slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “don’t lie to me. i saw the way you were looking at her, at (y/n). you think i didn’t notice? you’re not fooling anyone, sunoo. you’ve made it clear you don’t want a mate, so don’t start acting like you care about my sister. she’s not some fucking toy for you to play with.”

sunoo’s breath caught in his throat. the words hit him like a punch. his anger rose and his pulse quickened, but he wasn’t ready to back down. he was kim sunoo, for god’s sake. a pureblooded alpha. the one everyone looked up to, admired, even worshipped as if he were some sort of god.

people didn’t question him. they didn’t dare. they whispered his name in admiration, gazed at him with awe, and hung onto every word that fell from his lips. he was always in control, always the one holding all the cards. yet here he was, sitting in sunghoon’s car, feeling like a cornered animal.

“i’m not—” his voice cut off. his eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened. “you’ve lost your mind. you think I’m some kind of… what? a threat? to (y/n)?” he scoffed, shaking his head. “i don’t even—”

but the words got caught in his throat, the sheer audacity of sunghoon’s words sparked something primal that clawed its way to the surface.

“i don’t need your fucking lectures,” sunoo snapped, his voice rising, laced with frustration and something darker. “you think you can just sit there and tell me what to feel? like you know everything about me?”

sunghoon’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white. his voice, cold cut through sunoo’s anger like a blade. “i know enough, sunoo. i know what you’re capable of. you’ve always been able to have whatever you wanted, and you never cared about the mess you left behind. i’ve seen it. i’ve cleaned it up.”

sunoo flinched, his jaw tightening as the words dug into him. “you think i’d do that to her? to your sister?” he practically spat the words, his voice trembling with disbelief and something he couldn’t quite place: shame, maybe, though he wasn’t about to admit it. “do you even hear yourself right now?”

“yes, i do,” sunghoon spat back, is glare was sharp enough to draw blood, and the fire in his eyes kept on burning. “and you’d better hear me too. i don’t care who you are, sunoo. i don’t care how many people bow at your feet or how many omegas line up just for a glance from you. she’s not one of them. she’s not yours to toy with.”

sunoo slumped slightly, the words hitting him harder than he expected. se opened his mouth to argue, to lash back, but the weight of his own best friend's anger pressed down on him.

sunghoon’s voice lowered, the cold anger hinting at something even more dangerous: protectiveness. “you’ve built your reputation on being untouchable like the rest of us, sunoo. on being the alpha no one can resist. but this time, it’s different. she’s different. and i’m not going to let you drag her into whatever this is. so if you can’t figure your shit out, then stay the hell away from her. not her, sunoo. not my sister.”

the silence that followed was deafening, the tension in the car so heavy it was almost suffocating. sunoo turned his gaze to the window, his jaw tight and his chest heaving. he wanted to say something, anything; but the words refused to come. for the first time in his life, kim sunoo didn’t know what to say.

and that terrified him.

the bass of the music slammed through the walls of your room, shaking the floor beneath your feet as muffled laughter and indistinct chatter filled the air. the faint stench of alcohol wafted in from downstairs, mixing with the faint scent of perfume you’d just sprayed.

you stood in front of your vanity, mascara in hand, carefully brushing it through your lashes. despite the loud party happening just a floor below, your mind was miles away, spinning relentlessly over the events of the day.

your brother's voice echoed in your head, commanding and impossible to ignore. “go on.” his expression was hard, his tone leaving no room for argument, and his eyed held something you couldn’t quite place. anger? frustration? and then, hours later, when he finally came home, his jaw was set tight and his movements sharp, he’d brushed it off entirely. “pay it no mind,” he’d said, as if you could.

you blinked, startled as jungwon’s mate’s voice broke through your thoughts. “well, don’t you look pretty,” she said with a teasing tone, her warm smile reflected in the mirror beside you. she leaned against the edge of the bed, holding a glass of wine, her relaxed posture a contrast to your tense one.

you managed a small laugh, the corners of your lips twitching up as you capped your mascara. “thanks,” you muttered, setting the tube down on the vanity.

“i mean, you always do,” she continued, waving her hand as if it were obvious. “your genes are just unfair, honestly.” she paused, tilting her head with a mischievous grin. “but tonight, i don’t know… there’s something different. you might just find yourself an alpha.”

“i’d kill to have your genes,” heeseung's mate chimed in from where she was perched on the armrest of a chair, twirling the stem of her own wine glass between her fingers. “the rest of us have to try, but you? you just wake up looking like that.”

you laughed lightly, “okay, calm down, it’s not that serious,” you replied, though a faint blush crept up your neck.

“oh, it is,” jungwon’s mate insisted, sitting up straighter. she gestured at you with her drink. “half the alphas downstairs are probably already talking about you, and you’re not even there yet.”

you rolled your eyes, about to deflect when a knock at the door broke through the conversation. all three of you turned toward it just as it cracked open slightly.

“hey—” ni-ki’s voice came from the hallway as he peeked his head inside, his dark hair slightly messy and his tie undone. his teasing grin widened when he spotted you. “oh, look who’s not ready yet. should’ve known.”

“what do you want, ni-ki?” you asked, crossing your arms but unable to suppress a small smile at his antics.

he leaned against the doorframe, his expression mischievous as his gaze darted between the three of you. “well, for one, jungwon and heeseung are downstairs losing their minds trying to figure out where these two are,” he said, directing his words to the other two omega's in the room.

both women groaned, rolling their eyes in unison.

“of course they are,” heeseung’s mate muttered, setting her glass down. “they’re so clingy sometimes.”

“tell them we’re having girl time,” jungwon’s mate added with a dismissive wave. “they’ll survive.”

ni-ki shrugged. “suit yourselves. just don’t blame me when they come storming up here.” his gaze flicked back to you, and his grin turned into something more teasing. “and you.”

you raised an eyebrow at him. “what about me?”

“oh, nothing,” ni-ki replied, his voice dripping with mock innocence. “just wondering if you’re planning to make an entrance tonight or if you’re hiding up here for a reason. you know…” he paused dramatically. “like maybe avoiding someone?”

your stomach twisted, and you tensed at his words. sunoo’s name was unspoken, but the implication was clear.

you avoided the curious gazes of jungwon’s and heeseung’s mates, focusing instead on smoothing down your dress as if that could steady the nervousness coursing through you. “i’m not avoiding anyone,” you said quickly, though your voice came out a little too defensive. “why would i be?”

ni-ki’s smirk grew, his eyes catching every flicker of your unease. “no reason,” he said casually, though his tone said otherwise. “but, you know, sunoo’s downstairs already. thought you’d want to know.”

your fingers tightened around the edge of your dress, but you forced a calm expression, brushing past his words with a shrug. “thanks for the update, ni-ki. anything else?”

ni-ki let out a low chuckle, pushing off the doorframe. “nope, that’s it. i'll let the boys know their precious mates are alive and well.” he shot you one last knowing glance before disappearing down the hall.

heeseung’s mate arched an eyebrow at you. “something you want to share?”

“nope,” you replied quickly, standing and grabbing your clutch to avoid their probing stares. “let’s head down before jungwon and heeseung actually come looking for you.”

the two omega's exchanged a look, clearly not convinced by your avoidance, but they didn’t push further. with a quiet sigh and a shake of their heads, they trailed after you, their heels clicking softly against the floor.

as you descended the staircase, the music grew louder, the distinct stench of alcohol mixed with the overwhelming mix of scents, some sharp and dominating, others softer and more inviting, hit you like a wave. the mingling of alpha and omega pheromones in the air made your head spin slightly, but you quickly composed yourself, steadying your breath.

the party was in full swing by the time you reached the ground floor. laughter blended with the music. you got lost through the crowd, your gaze scanning the room for familiar faces. a few alphas glanced your way as you passed, their eyes lingering a second too long, but you paid them no mind. your focus was on finding the one group that always stood out: your brother and his closest friends.

there they were, gathered in a corner near the back of the living room, a bunch alpha's that demanded attention without trying. you no one dared approach them, not even the boldest partygoers. they were untouchable, and everyone in the room knew it. the alphas who tried too hard to impress, the omegas who stole glances— they all kept their distance.

even from afar, you could see why. jungwon’s sharp gaze swept over the room like a predator assessing his territory, while jake leaned casually against the wall, his smile charming yet unreadable. heeseung reeked of confidence, sipping from his drink as if he had nothing to prove, while ni-ki and jay stood close, their presence equally magnetic. as if there was a warning sign above them that seemed to say, come close at your own risk.

then there was sunoo, his fox-like eyes gleaming under the dim light, observing the room with an intensity that made you feel as though he saw everything without even trying. he was effortless in the way he held himself, his posture relaxed but his presence was everything, as if daring anyone tocome close. his lips curved into a faint smirk, but it never reached his eyes.

for a moment, your breath hitched as his eyes flicked in your direction. it wasn’t a lingering stare, but something about the brief glance sent a jolt through you, like he’d caught you looking and wanted you to know it. you quickly tore your gaze away, pretending to focus on something else.

you straightened your shoulders, forcing yourself to focus as you made your way toward the group with heeseung’s mate and jungwon’s mate trailing close behind.

jay was the closest to you, leaning casually with his drink in hand. you stepped up to him, barely giving yourself time to hesitate before asking, “where’s sunghoon?”

jay tilted his head, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “last i saw, he was playing the host, chatting up some guests by the back patio.” he took a sip from his drink before adding, “you know your brother, always trying to keep things in check.”

your brows furrowed as you glanced in the direction he pointed, but sunghoon was nowhere in sight. “did he say anything about leaving?” you asked, trying to keep the worry from creeping into your voice.

jay shook his head, his grin widening slightly as he caught a glimpse of sunoo, who had moved a step closer. the flicker of something—irritation, jealousy, maybe both; in sunoo’s fox-like eyes didn’t escape jay.

“nope,” jay said, his tone casual. “he’s probably just busy. relax, will you? it’s a party.” his gaze flicked between you and Sunoo, and the amusement in his eyes deepened. “enjoy yourself. who knows? you might even catch someone’s attention tonight.”

the way he said it was so pointed that your cheeks flushed, and you stammered out a response, “i’m not—no, that’s not—”

but jay’s smirk only grew, and he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice like he was doing it on purpose. “don’t worry. you’ve definitely already caught someone’s eye.”

before you could even process his words, a sharp, distinct smell flared through the air, piercing through the mix of alcohol, sweat, and pheromones that spread through the room. the smell of rum hit your nose, strong and intoxicating, but it wasn’t coming from jake’s drink; and it made your chest tighten.

your eyes shifted to sunoo almost instinctively. his expression was unreadable, his fingers gripped the glass in his hand tighter than necessary, the faint clink of ice shifting barely audible over the music. his fox-like eyes, which normally held a teasing glint, were locked on jay, bordered on threatening.

it didn’t take much to connect the dots. the flaring scent wasn’t just the alcohol in the room— it was him, sunoo, struggling to keep his emotions in check. his gaze flickered to you briefly before he quickly looked away.

jay noticed too. of course, he did. he smirk on his face twisted into something more mischievous, “relax, sunoo,” jay said, his tone light but loaded, clearly meant to push the alpha's buttons. “no need to look so angry. i’m just saying she’s a catch, that’s all.”

the glass in sunoo’s hand creaked faintly under the pressure of his grip. “you talk too much,” he muttered.

your heart hammered in your chest as the tension between the two alphas crackled like static in the air. you swallowed hard, forcing a nervous laugh to break the awkwardness. “i’ll just… go find sunghoon,” you said quickly, taking a step back.

but even as you turned to leave, you could feel sunoo’s gaze following. the smell of rum still lingered, and it seemed to follow you out of the room like a shadow.

the back patio was quiet compared to the chaos inside. the music was muffled, and the cool night air was a contrast to the stuffy heat of the party. you glanced around, searching for any sign of sunghoon, but the space was practically deserted except for a few people sitting on the edge of the patio.

you sighed, frustration bubbling up. jay’s directions had been vague at best, and for all you knew, your brother could be anywhere. “great,” you muttered to yourself, rubbing your arms as a slight chill crept in.

“he’s probably busy making out with some random omega,” a familiar voice drawled behind you, the words dripping with a mix of sarcasm and something bitter.

you turned to find sunoo leaning against the doorframe, his figure backlit by the dim glow of the house. his fox-like eyes were unreadable, like the alpha was holding back more than he was saying. the way his arms were crossed over his chest, fingers tapping against his bicep, only added to the tension that seemed to follow him everywhere tonight.

“excuse me?” you replied, eyebrows raising.

sunoo shrugged, but the motion was anything but casual. the slight quirk of his lips wasn’t a smile, it was a challenge. “what?” he said, his tone deceptively light. “it’s not like it’s the first time. sunghoon’s great at disappearing when there’s a pretty omega around to distract him

“you sound like you’ve done that more than once,” you retorted, your voice sharp, unable to mask the sting of his words. you stood your ground, eyes narrowing as you crossed your arms, unwilling to back down.

sunoo’s jaw tightened at your words, and for a split second, you saw the flash of something in his eyes, hurt? anger? it was hard to tell. but before you could process it, he took a step forward.

“i’m not having this argument with you, (y/n),” he bit out, his voice low, like he was trying to keep himself under control. “you don’t get it.”

you took a step closer, “no, i don’t think you get it, sunoo,” you retorted, your voice cutting through the tension between you. “you always avoid everything, avoid me, avoid the truth. you act like you’re protecting me, but it’s just you trying to keep things safe, trying to keep everything easy for yourself. but it’s not working anymore.”

without warning, sunoo stepped closer, his hand shooting out to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. the sudden move took you by surprise, your breath hitching as his hold tightened, his fingers digging into your skin. the heat of his body, the closeness, his intoxicating scent sent a wave of dizziness through you.

his voice dropped to a whisper, right against your ear. “sunghoon implanted it into my brain, (y/n).” his words were almost a growl, “you’re off-limits. i'm bad for you. you don’t get it, do you?”

you gasped, your breath shaky as you tried to push him away, but he only pulled you closer, his chest pressing against yours. his gaze locked with yours, eyes dark and intense. “you don’t understand what you’re doing to me. every time i look at you, i’m reminded of the things i can’t have. the things i can’t do.”

your heart pounded in your chest, the feeling of his hands on your waist sending your mind into a whirlwind of emotions. you couldn’t deny the way your inner omega and body reacted to him, but you shoved the thoughts down, “you think i’m some fucking distraction?” you spat, your voice laced with frustration. “you think i’m just going to sit back and watch you avoid me because of my brother?”

his grip tightened, and for a moment, the intensity of his presence, pressed down on you so much that you almost couldn’t breathe. “yes,” he said, his voice hard, like steel. “because it’s not just about what you want, it’s about what i need to protect myself from. from you. from this.”

his thumb traced a line along your waist, and the action only made the heat between you two more unbearable. “you make me want things i can’t have.”

you shook your head, frustration boiling over. “so, what? you’re going to keep me at arm's length because of something he said?” you raised your voice, your words laced with disbelief. “you’re just going to keep avoiding this because of some stupid rule Ssnghoon created?”

the hardness in sunoo's gaze faltered, but it didn’t last. he grabbed your arm and pulled you closer, the cold night air forgotten between the heat of your bodies. his eyes softened, just for a second, before he spoke again;

“i never wanted a mate, (y/n). not when we were younger.” his words came out strained, “i didn’t care about that stuff. all i wanted was to be free. but then we got older… and things changed.”

his gaze dropped to the ground, and he looked away briefly, “and then i saw you, and everything i thought i knew, everything i thought i wanted started to crumble. but that’s the thing, (y/n). i can’t just fall into something like this, not with you. not with anyone.”

you felt your heart twist, the words hitting you harder than you expected. you opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, sunoo stepped back, releasing his hold on you.

“i can’t risk it,” he muttered, “you don’t get it. i didn’t want a mate, i didn't want an omega to call my own, and i didn’t want to care. but i do. i can’t have you. and i won’t.”

your heart hammered in your chest, the frustration, confusion, and anger bubbling up inside you. but you couldn’t just let him walk away like that, couldn’t let him think that he could just make decisions for you and push you aside.

without thinking, you reached up, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him toward you with such force that it was almost like you were trying to yank him into your own emotions. his eyes widened, startled by the sudden force, but before he could react, you pressed your lips to his, kissing him fiercely, almost desperately.

the kiss wasn’t gentle. it wasn’t tender. it was urgent, the kind of kiss that came from months of trying to ignore what your bodies already knew. both of you had been avoiding this, pushing back against the pull that your inner omega had insisted on, trying to deny what was always right in front of you. but now, in this moment, neither of you could hold back anymore.

his lips crashed against yours, and it felt like something had been broken. the months of years, the constant tug of your instincts; those feelings you both had pushed aside came rushing to the surface. you felt his body heat radiate through you, his hands desperate as they found their place on your waist, pulling you closer.

his scent mixed with yours so effortlessly, blending into something intoxicating. your inner omega, which you had been so determined to suppress, recognized him immediately, as if the very core of you had always known he was meant to be the one to claim you.

you moaned softly, a sound you couldn’t stop, and it seemed to fuel him, pushing him further into the kiss. his hands tightened around you, pulling you even closer, like he couldn’t get enough. you could feel his heartbeat racing against yours.

in his arms, you felt safe, wanted, like you were exactly where you were meant to be. he wasn’t just some pureblooded alpha. he was your alpha, and you were his omega.

but all too soon, he pulled away, his breath shaky, but there was a softness in his eyes that you hadn’t expected. his forehead rested against yours, both of you trying to steady your breathing, his hands still lingered on your waist, holding you as if to say, i'm not going anywhere.

sunoo’s gaze softened further, and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "you don’t know how long i’ve been trying to fight this," he whispered, his voice low, almost a confession. "but i can’t anymore. not with you."

a shaky laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “i don’t want you to fight it anymore,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “i don’t want to fight this, either. not with you.”

without another word, the pink-haired alpha pulled you back inside, his hand never leaving your waist, his grip steady as he ignored the people around you, who were too caught up in their own worlds to even notice. it didn’t matter. it was just the two of you now.

he led you through the halls, when he reached the door, he didn’t hesitate, didn’t need to ask. he knew where your room was, his senses guiding him effortlessly. it was like your scent had marked the room for him.

he opened the door, his body pressing into yours as he kicked it closed with his foot. in an instant, his lips found yours again. it was like you had been waiting for this forever, and now that you were here, you didn’t want to let go.

his kiss was deeper this time, more desperate, as if he couldn’t get enough of you, as if this was the only thing that mattered in the world. the heat from his body collided with yours, and you could feel his heart racing against your chest, matching the frantic pace of your own.

you sighed into the kiss, the feeling of his lips on yours so intoxicating that your head spun. without breaking contact, he pushed you against the door, the pressure of his body reminding you of how close you two were. his hands roamed to your waist, pulling you in even closer.

the kiss became more demanding, more intense, as your hands found their way into his hair, tugging him closer. the world around you disappeared. there was only him, only the feel of his lips and the heat of his touch.

"jump," sunoo murmured into the kiss, his voice low and commanding, yet somehow full of need. his hands slid down your body, urging you to respond, to give in to him fully.

you didn’t think twice. without hesitation, you wrapped your legs around him, and he caught you with ease, lifting you effortlessly. the way his body moved with yours felt so surreal as you melted into him, every ounce of you craving more.

he gently laid you down on the bed, hovering over you, his body a warm against yours. the space between you was almost non-existent, your chests rising and falling in time with the rapid beat of your hearts.

he leaned down, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his gaze intense. "do you really want this?"hHis voice was soft, almost tender, but there was seriouness beneath it that made you pause for a moment.

your breath hitched, but you nodded, wanting this more than anything. you needed him. the words were on the tip of your tongue, but your body was saying it all already.

but sunoo wasn’t satisfied with just that. his eyes showed something deeper that made your stomach tighten with both excitement and a hint of fear. "words, baby. i need words." his tone softened.

you swallowed hard, your heartbeat quickening. you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, and suddenly, it was harder to breathe, harder to speak. but you knew what you wanted, what your omega needed.

"yes," you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper. "i want this, sunoo. i want you."

his eyes darkened, he leaned in again, capturing your lips in a kiss that was all heat, all want, all raw desire. you could feel everything in that kiss; his hesitation, his longing, and his need for you just as much as you needed him.

you let out a soft whine, almost biting your lower lip in an attempt to control the heat of emotions eunning through you. sunoo chuckled against your lips, the sound low and dark, vibrating through your chest.

"i got you, baby," he whispered, his voice low and husky, sending a thrill through your entire body.

your body trembled the moment his lips found the soft spot on your neck, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. his hands began to tease the hem of your short dress, his fingers grazing the skin of your thighs, drawing slow circles with the tips of his fingers.

“mhmm,” you gasped, biting your lip, your eyes fluttering closed as his lips left a trail of heated kisses along your neck, teasing, torturing you with every press of his lips. you could feel the pressure building, your body responding to his touch in ways you couldn’t control.

"alpha," a tiny moan slipped from your lips when you felt his hand brush closer to your core, the heat between your legs intensifying as his fingers inched closer. the sound of his name on your lips only seemed to fuel him more, his grip tightening around your waist.

the sound of his name on your lips only seemed to fuel him further, his grip tightening around your waist as he continued to tease you. his fingers swirled around your clothed entrance, collecting the wetness seeping through your panties. falling over his forehead as your breaths came in and out in shallow gasps.

sunoo's eyes never left yours as his fingers finally make contact with your throbbing core, sliding your panties effortlessly to the side as his fingers made its way between your folds.

the sensation was overwhelming, and you couldn't help but arch your back, pressing yourself closer to him. his thumb circles your sensitive bud, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. you arch into his touch, desperate for more friction. sunoo's dark eyes burn with desire as he watches your reactions, clearly enjoying the power he has over you.

"such a responsive omega," he murmurs, his hot breath fanning across your skin. "i've barely touched you and you're already falling apart."

sunoo's fingers stray away from your core and you let out a whine, wanting more of his touch. but he just chuckles and lifts his hand to lightly brush against your cheek.

"not so fast," he teases, his voice low and sensual. "i want to take my time with you."

your heart races at his words, knowing that sunoo was always one for attention to detail. he leans down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss as his hands tug at your dress, pulling it all the way down leaving you exposed. his hand traveled down your body to cup your breast. you moan into his mouth as he massages the soft flesh, his thumb teasing your hardened nipple through the fabric of your bra.

you arch into his touch, wanting more of him. sunoo breaks the kiss and trails hot kisses down your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin as he slowly removes your bra. his lips move lower and lower until they reach the swell of your breasts, his tongue darting out to circle around one nipple while his hand plays with the other.

you can feel yourself getting wetter by the second, desperate for your alpha's touch between your legs once again. but he continues to take his time, worshipping every part of you with his mouth and hands.

finally, when you think you can't take it anymore, sunoo's fingers return back to where they were before; teasing at your entrance. this time, he dips a finger inside of you and you gasp at the sudden intrusion.

"more," you plead, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

the pink haired alpha smirks down at you before adding another finger and curling them inside of you. your walls clench around him as he hits that perfect spot inside of you, sending sparks flying through your body.

he continues this rhythm until you're practically begging for release. with one final thrust of his fingers, you come undone, your body shaking as you ride out your high.

sunoo pulled your panties down as he positioned himself in between your legs, kneeling on the side of the bed. Yyur heart raced as you watched him, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervousness.

as if sensing your thoughts, sunoo leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead, his hands roaming over your thighs. "you're so beautiful," he whispered before trailing kisses down your stomach.

your skin tingled at his words and touch, and you couldn't help but spread your legs wider for him. sunoo's lips moved lower, leaving a trail of kisses and open-mouthed bites along your inner thighs.

you moaned in pleasure and frustration, wanting him to finally take you but also enjoying the slow buildup. sunoo looked up at you with a wicked glint in his eye before finally running his tongue along your folds.

the sensation was unlike anything you've ever felt before, sending bolts of electricity through every nerve in your body. you gripped onto the sheets tightly as Sunoo continued to explore every inch of you with his mouth.

his movements were slow, teasing and tantalizing you until you were begging for more. but Sunoo seemed to be in control of both himself and you, denying you the release you craved until he was satisfied.

just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, he finally gave in and brought you to the brink once again. this time, there was no holding back as he used his tongue and fingers to push you over the edge into pure bliss.

you cried out his name as waves of pleasure consumed every part of your being. sunoo pulled away from you with a smirk on his face as he watched the aftermath of what he had done to you.

you whine, "alpha, please, i need you."

sunoo had to suppress a groan while watching your face contort in pleasure. he gently takes your hand once more and asks, "are you sure you want this?"

you nodded eagerly, your body craving sunoo's touch once again. You had begged and pleaded for him to take you, and you were finally getting what you wanted.

the alpha leaned down to kiss you deeply, his hand caressing your cheek. "then i'll give you everything," he whispered against your lips before kissing you more fiercely.

sunoo's lips never left yours as he clumsily removed his pants and button up shirt, you could feel his heat radiating off of him, the scent of his pheromones making your body ache for him even more.

the smell of rum and neroli filled your senses as sunoo's naked body pressed against yours. he kissed you deeply, his hands roaming over every inch of your body.

you moaned into his mouth, your hands gripping onto him tightly.

he pulled away, positioning himself between your legs, ready to claim what was rightfully his. but before he could fully enter you, he paused and looked deep into your eyes.

"i'm giving you one last time to think about this, omega, are you really sure about this?" he asked one final time, wanting to make sure you were comfortable and consenting before marking you as his mate, his omega, his (y/n).

you nodded, knowing that there was no one else you'd rather be with in this moment. sunoo's lips curved into a small smile before lacing his fingers with yours.

sunoo slowly entered you, his pace gentle as he made sure to take care of you. the bond between an alpha and omega was sacred, and sunoo wanted to make sure that he showed you the love and respect you deserved.

his movements were slow and careful, as if he was afraid of hurting you, his eyes never leaving yours as he made love to you. you could feel the connection between the two of you growing stronger with each thrust, your bodies moving in perfect harmony.

"fuck, omega, you're way too good to me," sunoo whispered in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. you moaned in response, the pleasure building up inside of you once again.

his hands roamed over your body, caressing every inch of skin as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. he knew exactly how to touch you, and it was sending you over the edge.

"faster, please. i'm not gonna break if you go rough on me, alpha," the pout on your lips and the pleading in your eyes only drove sunoo wild with desire.

he couldn't resist your request any longer and began to pick up his pace, his thrusts becoming harder and faster. you moaned in pleasure, feeling a rush of ecstasy as he hit all the right spots inside of you.

"you're so beautiful like this, (y/n)," sunoo groaned, his primal instincts taking over.

your body was trembling with pleasure as sunoo's movements became more urgent and primal. he was completely lost in his alpha instincts, the need to claim you consuming him.

he leaned down to capture your lips in a heated kiss, his hand tangling in your hair as he continued to thrust into you.

your gasps and moans only drove him further, his movements becoming rougher and more animalistic. but it only added to the pleasure coursing through your body, making you crave him even more.

"god, (y/n), i can't get enough of you," sunoo growled against your neck, his voice filled with desire and possessiveness. "i want to claim you as mine."

you could feel his alpha instincts taking over once again, his need to mark and protect what was his. but instead of feeling scared, you felt a sense of comfort wash over you.

you turned to look at him with a small smile on your face. "i'm already yours, alpha," you said, placing a hand on his cheek. "and i want to be marked by you."

sunoo's eyes widened in surprise at your words. he knew that marking an omega was a sacred act and it required their full consent. he didn't want to rush into anything without making sure that it was what you truly wanted.

"(y/n), are you sure? you don't have to do this for me," he said gently, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face.

"i'm sure," you replied, "i trust you completely, sunoo."

without another word, sunoo leaned down and pressed his lips against the scent gland on your neck. a low growl rumbled from deep within his chest as he marked you as his own.

the pain was intense and you hissed, clenching your fists as sunoo's teeth pierced into your skin. you could feel blood trickling down your neck and tears stung at the corner of your eyes.

but despite the pain, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pleasure. sunoo was claiming you as his mate, your alpha marking you as his own.

once he was finished, he pulled away and looked at you with an apologetic expression. "i'm sorry if that hurt, baby," he said gently, placing a kiss on the bite mark he left on your neck.

"it's okay," you replied with a small smile, running your fingers through his hair lovingly. "this is all i ever wanted."

sunoo's eyes softened at your words and he pulled you into a tight embrace. "i love you so much," he whispered against your ear.

the pain from the bite mark on your neck was quickly forgotten as sunoo's movements became more intense. he wasn't holding back anymore, his alpha instincts taking over completely.

"let go, omega," he growled, his voice deep and commanding. "i want to hear you scream my name."

and that's exactly what you did. you let go of and gave into the pleasure that was consuming you. sunoo's name fell from your lips like a mantra, a chant of worship for your alpha.

he continued to move, each thrust filled with passion and love for you. it was as if he was pouring all of his emotions into this one act of claiming you.

the air between the two of you only grew heavier with each passing moment. your bodies were perfectly in sync, and it felt like nothing could ever come between the two of you, not even time itself.

and when you both finally reached your climax, it was like an explosion had gone off within both of you. sunoo collapsed onto the bed next to you, pulling you into his arms as he caught his breath.

"you are mine," he said softly, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. "my omega."

you smiled against his chest, feeling completely content and at peace in his embrace. "and you are my alpha," you replied lovingly.

the soft, golden light spilling through the open curtains gently woke you from your slumber. as the morning sun began its slow ascent. you stirred slightly, the remnants of sleep clinging to you, and instinctively shifted closer to the source of warmth beside you.

you look up, your eyes tracing the features of the boy who had been at the center of your every thought. sunoo’s face, so peaceful in sleep, seemed almost boyish now, free of the guarded expressions he often wore. his lashes, longer than you remembered, rested softly against his cheeks, and the faint glow of the morning light highlighted his face.

his arm was draped lazily over your waist, his body heat contrasting the coolness of the morning air. the rise and fall of his chest brushed softly against your front. a faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips as the familiar scent of him, his scent, which had been so intoxicating last night, was now calm; as if even his very being had been softened by the events of the night before.

you let out a quiet sigh, shifting your position so you were half-laying on him, your hand resting on his chest. slowly, you began running your fingers gently through his messy pink hair, marveling at how soft it felt under your touch.

you leaned down, pressing soft kisses against his cheeks. his skin was warm beneath your lips, and the movement of his chest against yours felt surreal.

sunoo stirred at the feeling, a low hum escaping his lips as his brow furrowed slightly. he opened one eye, squinting against the soft sunlight filtering into the room. for a moment, he seemed dazed, his gaze searching the room before landing on you. when realization dawned, his features softened, and a small, sleepy smile graced his lips.

“good morning,” he mumbled, his voice low and husky from sleep. he let out a deep sigh, his arm tightening around your waist as he pulled you closer. “you’re still here,” he murmured, almost to himself, as if reassuring himself that you hadn’t slipped away in the night.

you chuckled softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “where else would i be?” you whispered, your voice warm and teasing.

he closed his eye again, leaning into your touch. “nowhere,” he said with a sigh, his tone filled with a quiet kind of relief. “you belong here. right here.”

you couldn’t help but smile at his words, the warmth in your chest growing. “i'm not going anywhere,” you teased lightly, your voice playful as you ran your fingers through his soft hair. “not in my own house, at least.”

his other eye cracked open at that, and he chuckled softly, his hand on your waist squeezing gently. "your brother’s going to have my head for ‘defiling’ his little sister,” he murmured, his voice a low, teasing growl.

you rolled your eyes, though the nervousness bubbling in your stomach made it hard to hide the faint blush creeping up your neck. “sunghoon doesn’t even have a clue,” you retorted, a bit of nervous laughter escaping as you pushed the thought aside.

“not yet,” sunoo said, his smile widening as he traced the lines of your jaw with his finger. “but you know, i can’t help but think he’s got some sort of radar for these things.”

“please, i think you’re giving him too much credit,” you shot back, trying to keep your voice light even though the possibility of sunghoon finding out was looming over you. the thought of facing your brother’s wrath made your stomach flip.

sunoo’s eyes glinted with amusement. “right,” he said, voice dipping. “but, se’s probably still got his eye on you. wouldn’t put it past him.”

you groaned, burying your face in his chest to hide the sudden embarrassment that surged through you. “please don’t remind me. i’s bad enough i’ve got to deal with his protectiveness all the time.”

sunoo chuckled, his hand gently lifting your chin so that you met his gaze again. “i’m sure he’ll get over it,” he said softly, though his tone was a little too calm for your liking. “eventually. but in the meantime, i’m not exactly worried.”

you shifted slightly, meeting his teasing look with a small smile. “easy for you to say,” you mumbled, trying to push away the nerves in your stomach. “i don’t think you’ll be on his good side anytime soon.”

he leaned in, brushing his lips lightly against your forehead, his touch was soft. “i’ll take my chances,” he whispered, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver through you.

just as the moment seemed to turn into something more intimate, a loud crash broke the silence, followed by the all-too-familiar voice of ni-ki shouting from somewhere downstairs.

"do i look like i know?" his voice echoed, followed by the unmistakable sound of something clattering to the floor.

then came the unmistakable bark of your brother’s voice, cutting through the air authoritative, but completely incoherent. he sounded of frustrated and confused, but the words got lost in the noises of whatever had just happened.

the alpha below you immediately tensed, his body stilling as the atmosphere shifted into something more cautious. his expression shifted to something more serious, his lips pressing into a thin line.

you looked down at him, your voice barely above a whisper. “should we face them?”

sunoo didn’t hesitate. his hand found yours, his fingers intertwining with yours, soothing you. he looked at you protectively. “i’m your alpha now,” he said softly, “you’re mine, and you’re my responsibility. i won’t let you face this alone, not after everything.”

you let out a breath, your nerves easing a little, as you tried to steady your racing heart. “okay,” you whispered back, your voice steady, now more than ever.

you stood up, grabbing shirt that now hung loosely on your frame and paired it with some pants you found scattered around. you weren’t thinking of the mess, of the clothes, of anything. and though the reality of your brother waiting on the other side of the door was still there, the warmth of sunoo beside you made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you could face it.

sunoo had his pants from last night on, but he was buttoning up his blazer. you watched him for a moment, the way his focus was on you, the way he looked at you like you were the center of his world, like nothing else mattered.

"ready?" his voice was soft, but there was intensity behind it as he pulled you flush against him, your bodies pressed together. his warmth enveloped you completely. his chest against yours, his hands firm on your waist.

before you could respond, his lips found yours in a soft, loving kiss, and it was everything you didn’t know you needed. the kiss was tender, sweet.

you couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, the way your heart raced, the feeling of everything coming together just right. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing him, feeling safe with him.

you pulled away just slightly, your lips parting with a soft sigh. "come on, you can have more when we finish this faster," you teased, your voice playful and full of warmth.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, the grin on his face soft but full of affection. “yes, ma’am,” he responded with a playful glint in his eyes, a gentle smile that made your heart skip a beat.

you and sunoo descended the stairs hand in hand, the soft patter of your steps echoing through the quiet hall. the mess from the previous night had been surprisingly cleaned up, with only a few stray cups and streamers scattered across the expanse of the hallway.

as you both walked, the sound of the argument only grew louder, the echoes of raised voices filling the air. sunghoon’s voice rang out angrily, unmistakably tense.

“do not tell me to calm down, jay!” his words were heated, frustration dripping from every syllable.

“calm your fucking balls, Sunghoon,” jay’s voice was laced with annoyance, “(y/n) is big enough to fend for herself.”

that only seemed to enrage sunghoon more. “okay, so where the fuck is she then?”

as the tension in the air became unbearable, sunoo shifted slightly beside you. his hand tightened briefly around yours, he shot you a quick glance, a look filled with reassurance. it was as if he was saying, i’ve got this. trust me. you nodded subtly, taking a deep breath.

then, with confidence, he stepped forward, placing himself just slightly in front of you. his voice cut through the rowdy alpha's argument like a blade. “she’s with me.”

the room fell silent, sunghoon’s head snapping toward the two of you. his eyes zeroed in on sunoo, and you could see the way his jaw tense. “you good-for-nothing alpha,” he spat, his voice shaking with anger. “what the fuck did you do?”

you instinctively stepped closer to sunoo, but he was already ahead of you, placing a protective hand on your back and guiding you behind him with a calm, practiced motion. “stay back,” he murmured, barely audible, his tone meant for your ears only.

sunghoon’s anger exploded as he stepped forward, grabbing sunoo by the collar with a force that made your heart leap into your throat. “you fucking traitor!” sunghoon snarled, his voice loud.hHe yanked sunoo closer, his other hand twitching like he was ready to throw a punch.

but sunoo didn’t flinch. even with sunghoon’s grip pulling him off balance, he held his ground, his eyes steady and locked onto sunghoon’s. “calm down, sunghoon,” sunoo said, his firm, not a hint of fear in it.

“calm down?!” sunghoon’s voice cracked with anger. “you had one job, kim! stay away from her! she’s my sister, not some—”

“not some what?” sunoo interrupted, his voice rising slightly, but not losing his cool despite his closest friend calling him by his last name. “she’s not a child, and she’s certainly not yours to control.”

sunghoon’s hand shook violently, still gripping sunoo’s collar. “i already warned you! but you didn’t fucking listen!” his tone cracked, frustration laced with something else—fear, perhaps, or betrayal. “she’s not some toy for you to play with, sunoo! she’s my sister! my responsibility!”

sunoo’s gaze remained steady, his calm composure a contrast to the anger raging in sunghoon’s eyes. se slowly raised his hands, gripping sunghoon’s wrist firmly but without aggression. “i didn’t betray you, sunghoon,” he said, his voice low, almost like he was trying to speak directly to the part of sunghoon that could still listen. “do you even hear yourself? you’re acting like i don’t care about her.”

sunghoon’s jaw tightened, but his grip on sunoo’s collar didn’t loosen. sis chest rose and fell rapidly, anger still boiling within him.

sunoo’s next words were softer but carried a something that made them feel heavier than anything else he had said. “do you know how long i’ve loved her?” his voice trembled slightly, “i’ve loved her the moment you decided to leave us alone in front of the office when you got into a fist fight, sunghoon. i’ve loved her longer than i even understood what love really meant. it’s her, it’s always been her.”

“you think i’d ever hurt her?” sunoo continued, “you think i’d risk everything—my friendship with you, my own pride; just to ‘play’ with her?"

sunghoon faltered, his anger replaced by confusion. “but you—” his voice cracked, his own disbelief choking the words.

sunoo let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “that I never wanted a mate?” His tone was sharp, yet there was vulnerability in it. “yeah, i said that. i convinced myself that i didn’t, because what was the point of wanting something i thought i couldn’t have? i thought if i ignored it, if i denied myself, it wouldn’t hurt as much.”

he looked directly into sunghoon’s eyes, “but no matter how hard i tried to push it down, it’s always been her, sunghoon. always. she’s not something i could walk away from. she’s my mate.”

sunghoon’s grip on sunoo’s collar loosened, his fists trembling at his sides. “you should’ve told me,” he muttered, his voice cracking, a mix of anger, hurt, and guilt evident in his tone.

sunoo sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. “and what would you have done, huh? approved? given me your blessing? you’ve made it crystal clear for years that no one was good enough for her, least of all me. do you know how many times i almost told you but stopped myself because i knew how you'd react?”

sunghoon clenched his jaw, “i’m not angry because you love her,” he said, his voice quieter but no less strained. “i’m angry because i trusted you to keep her safe. and now… now it feels like you’ve crossed a line.”

sunoo took a deep breath, his voice soft. “you don’t have to trust me right now, sunghoon. but you can trust her. she chose me, just like i’ve chosen her. and i’ll spend the rest of my life proving to both of you that i’ll never break that trust.”

the pink-haired alpha's gaze softened as his eyes found yours, his gaze was steady, and it gave you the courage you needed to take a step forward.

you turned to Sunghoon, your heart pounding in your chest as you met his stare. his jaw was tight, his fists still clenched, but beneath the anger, you could see the hurt; the protective brother who just wanted what was best for you.

"i love him, sunghoon. i really do," you said, your voice steady despite the nervous tremble in your hands. “this isn’t a decision i made lightly. i know what I’m doing, and i know who i’m choosing.”

sunghoon’s eyes flicked between you and sunoo, his shoulders stiffened, his lips pressing into a thin line, but he didn’t interrupt.

you stepped closer to him, your voice softening. “i know you’re angry, and i get it. you’ve always looked out for me, always tried to protect me from anything that could hurt me. but sunoo isn’t going to hurt me. he’s not just anyone, he's everything to me.”

sunoo moved closer, standing at your side. his hand brushed yours, a silent gesture that you leaned into instinctively. “i’m not asking for your approval right now,” sunoo said, his tone calm. “i know i have to earn that, and i’m willing to. but i’m not walking away from her, not now, not ever.”

sunghoon let out a heavy breath, his hands dropping to his sides. his gaze lingered on you, the conflict in his expression cutting deeper than any angry words could. "do you really think he can give you everything you need?" he finally asked, his voice quieter now, tinged with vulnerability.

you nodded without hesitation. “i do. and i hope one day you’ll see it too.”

sunghoon let out a defeated sigh, his shoulders sagging as the tension seemed to drain from his body. “this… this is going to take some time to get used to,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. his gaze flicked to sunoo, then back to you. “but if you’re happy, i’ll try. just… don’t make me regret this.”

relief washed over you, and you felt sunoo’s hand squeeze yours gently. you gave your brother a small, grateful smile. “thank you, sunghoon. that’s all i could ever ask for.”

before anyone could say more, a loud groan broke the moment. “thank fucking god,” heeseung said dramatically, burying his face in his hands. “i was not ready to explain to the hospital why i was dragging sunoo’s dead body in.”

his mate, standing beside him, rolled her eyes and smacked his arm lightly. “heeseung, stop being so dramatic,” she said, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement.

heeseung peeked through his fingers, giving her a mock-hurt expression. “i’m just saying! Sunghoon was about two seconds away from committing a crime.”

“i wasn’t going to kill him,” sunghoon muttered, though his lips twitched, betraying the hint of a reluctant smile. “maybe just rough him up a little.”

“uh-huh, sure,” jake cut in with a snort, arms crossed and a smug grin plastered on his face. “maybe that’s why you were muttering about burying him alive earlier. real subtle, man.”

sunghoon shot jake a look, his ears slightly reddening. “i was venting bullshit, okay? that doesn’t mean i was going to actually do it.” his tone was annoyed, but the way jake kept smirking made it clear sunghoon wasn’t convincing anyone.

sunoo raised his free hand in mock surrender, his other still holding yours tightly. “okay, great, glad to know i’m not completely safe,” he said, voice light but laced with humor. “that definitely did not make me feel better.”

jake laughed, slapping sunoo on the back. “relax, man. if sunghoon really wanted to bury you alive, you’d already be in the dirt. guess that means he likes you more than he lets on.”

sunghoon rolled his eyes, groaning. “jake, shut up.”

sunoo’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles, the kind that reached his eyes, crinkling them at the edges. without breaking eye contact, he raised your joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

the warmth of his breath against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, and your cheeks warmed under his gaze. it wasn’t just the kiss; it was the way he looked at you, like you were his entire universe. “we’re okay,” he murmured quietly, just for you.

jake, however, wasn’t about to let the moment pass unteased. “aw, would you look at that?” he said, clapping his hands dramatically. “our boy’s gone all soft. sunghoon, are you seeing this? he’s whipped.”

sunghoon shot jake a glare, but even he didn’t miss the faint smirk tugging at his lips. sunoo, though, didn’t even bother responding this time, his focus entirely on you.

and as the chatter of the room carried on, you couldn’t help but feel like, somehow, everything was exactly as it should be.

taglist: @hoonbrry @hime98 @chae-darling @moonchus @peatchiedii @creamkwan @nyfwyeonjun @whoe-dis @woonie-muffin @caelumsjy @90s-niki @leiomorea @junjungsunwoo @yooaremysea

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pluvialpoet · 1 year ago

Text

how to disappear

Summary: a reunion ten years in the making serves as a reminder that absence doesn’t always make the heart grow fonder- especially when history has a tendency to repeat itself

Pairing: dick grayson x fem!vigilante!reader

Requested: no

Warning: nsfw!!! (18+ MDNI), porn with plot, lovers to enemies, unprotected sex, implied breeding kink, choking, angst, minor barbara gordon slander (for the plot, I swear)- do not read if you are not comfortable with the warnings listed above!!!

Word Count: 12,874

masterlist

Light reflects off the crystals that hang from the chandeliers above, and like a moth drawn to a shiny flame, you bask in the warmth of their glow. For as beautiful as the crystalline teardrops twenty-two feet overhead are, they dull in comparison to the- equal parts blinding and mesmerizing, simultaneously gorgeous, yet gaudy- diamonds that dangle from earlobes, rubies that rest against décolletages, and the pearls placed upon dainty fingers in an over the top display of money, power, and status. It’s the epitome of wealth, and though meant to allure, you find yourself disgusted by the flashy exhibitions of greed and corruption.

Every smile is artificial. Every laugh is humorless and diluted. Any feeling beyond complete and utter misery is a hoax. Yet, they play their parts. Each and every one of them continues to mingle, boast, and feign genuineness, but it’s obvious what they are, even beneath their disguises, you recognize the vultures circling the fresh carnage of the innocent- with blood on their talons and a hunger that’s never truly satiated. Do they even know what they’ve done? Do they even care? Given a chance to make amends, would any of them take it?

Revulsion counters amusement as you watch the elite interact with one another. It’s pathetic. In a room full of affluence, not a single person knows pleasure beyond material possessions, and that’s an injustice in itself. Amongst thieves, you’re the honesty that rivals them all- and that’s a scary revelation, all things considered.

Taking advantage of the large crowd, you continue to bump elbows with the rich- literally- as you weave your way through the opulent mass. A tight-lipped smile is granted when you pass an older woman, and an even wider flash of teeth catches your attention from a man around your age. Mimicking the gestures seal your fate, damning you- even if only temporarily- to this game of confusion, a game in which approval and disgust are indiscernible. Having had years to grow accustomed to the tricks of this elitist trade, it’s almost impossible to recall a simpler time. Back when you still thought there might be a modicum of authenticity behind the action, back before you were close enough to spot the invisible strings controlling the marionettes, you believed- and even hoped- that you had it all wrong. There was a time, long, long ago, when you were desperate to believe that there was still some good left in these people, but you grew out of your naivety. Now older, and wiser, you won’t make the same mistakes you once made. Under the influence of optimism, your purpose became convoluted. Not anymore.

Without anyone to dissuade you from reaching out- to challenge you from swiping a few bejeweled tennis bracelets, engagement rings, or even one or two watches and calling it a day- a thrum of urgency spreads through your fingertips. It’s an impulsive electricity you can’t deny. Besides, it’s not like social dynasties would crumble if a few diamonds went missing. If only it were that easy…

Wealth doesn’t doom these poor, unfortunate souls, but their greed- coupled with the blood on their hands- paints a distinguishable target on their backs. If you look closely, it’s impossible to miss that they’re all cut from the same cloth. A hundred different reflections of the same privileged archetype imitate the same gestures, mannerisms, and movements to a tee. An amateur would operate under the guise of distraction- causing a small scene and offering their apologies before making off with their prize- but you’re not an amateur. Not anymore. Not by a long shot.

A few women- four or five, at most- nurse flutes of bubbling booze a few feet away. The sound of their laughter is a little too joyous to be feigned and when one of them waves a manicured hand towards a waiter, signaling another round of drinks, you start to put the pieces together. Perhaps, the ladies in your sights are the most genuine in attendance- even if they’ve lost themselves to their cups. Matching their demeanor is child’s play. Once equipped with a half-empty glass from a server on their way back to the kitchens, you stumble towards the group, plastering on the same elated- intoxicated- grin, and hope that they’re inebriated enough to be welcoming towards a newcomer. Masking the bitter taste of insincerity with a sip of prosecco, a greeting rises from the mix, but it never has the chance to come to fruition because a large hand wraps around your wrist- effectively halting your heist before it even really had a chance to begin.

You should’ve known better.

As you turn to glare at the idiot who dared to put their hands on you, your breath catches.

Two birds die from the blow of one stone, and he takes advantage of your stupor- finding that you’re more pliant in your daze- leading you away from the women you intended to rob, and into the crowd. More witnesses make it less likely for you to cause a scene. At least, that’s his logic, anyway. While it’s not exactly flawed, it’s not all that accurate, either, but for old time's sake, you’ll play along. His hold on you remains firm, and he reaches for the flute in your hand with his other, placing it on a tray and discarding the prop. Your surprise begins to morph into anger- especially when he pulls you closer towards him as the orchestra starts to play a tune. Remembering the steps forced upon you as a child is muscle memory, and you glare daggers up at him- though, they don’t pierce nearly as deeply as the blue of his irises.

“Nice hair,” Dick revels in your obvious frustration of being thwarted, his lips curling into a smirk when your frown deepens, and he asks, “I thought you were blonde, last I saw you?”

“I was,” For the sake of maintaining appearances, you don a phony expression of your own and respond with as much benevolence as you can muster- even though you’re filled with animosity- as he leads you through the steps of the dance. “And you didn’t have a five o’clock shadow,” You note, allowing yourself a split second to take in everything that’s changed since the last time you saw him, before pressing your lips together tightly with a huff.

“Things change.”

As if he needed the reminder…

Chance has never meddled in your relationship. Coincidence doesn’t exist within the realm of precision both you and Dick operate from. Everything has always been on purpose, calculated and planned, never left blindly to fate or possibility- which is why this meeting isn’t an accident. As if he can feel you about to pull away, he flexes his fingers against you, tightening his grip and holding you in place. Ten years later- ten years too late- he’s found you. Not destiny, not a fluke, but with his own intention, and you wish that he would’ve just stayed away.

“What are you doing here, Dick?” As you abandon your costume, your smile falls away to reveal genuine loathing as you force the question from behind gritted teeth. Still, despite your obvious disdain, he doesn’t let you go. “Last I checked, you were in San Francisco- and more recently, Blüdhaven. You’re not supposed to be here.”

“You keeping tabs on me?” His amusement contradicts your revulsion, and a shallow breath purges the threat of an outburst. Dick has always had a way of getting under your skin, of pushing your buttons and doing everything he possibly could to make you tick, but the sudden onslaught of such juvenile taunting fills you with a fire not even he can extinguish- not anymore. Despite his charming exterior, the steady flow of his breath, and the easy grin of confidence that was once impossible not to mirror, dampness swells where your palms meet, and you feel the rough, raised reminders that he’s kept busy during your time apart- that he’s evolved into a stranger despite how familiar he still seems- and you wonder if he can feel it too, if he can tell just by touch, that you’re not the same girl he once knew.

“I keep tabs on everyone who might get in my way,” Your eyes narrow accusatorially, and the corner of his mouth twitches. “You’re not special.”

“That’s not what you said the last time we-“

“Yeah, well, the last time was when we were teenagers, and a lot has changed since then.” Any attempt to remain cordial flies out the window when he dares to mention the last time- like it hasn’t plagued you for a decade. Not even he possesses the antidote to the venom your words carry, and he winces slightly as your rebuttal shakes. He clears his throat softly, the sound filling the lull where an apology should sound, and he takes a look over your shoulder before meeting your eyes again.

“Any chance I can convince you not to go through with whatever it is you’re planning?” It brings little joy to watch his smile dissolve into something more serious. His face hardens, and you notice lines and creases that you aren’t well acquainted with- unable to distinguish battle scars from the divots of age- and you quickly shake the thought away. Instead, you stare at him blankly, not revealing an answer. Though, he takes your lack of conversation as a reply, and with a heavy sigh, he shakes his head, “Yeah, I figured.”

He dares to express melancholy. Stunned by his nerve, after everything, not even shame or regret could rattle his courage enough for him to reconsider such a crestfallen expression, and the discouraged twist of his lips and the downcast slant of his eyes are so pronounced and dramatic that you’re unable to discern whether or not this is part of a ruse, or his genuine reaction.

“Did you think that would work?” Your skepticism is muddled with ridicule, a mocking scoff filling the line meant for his counter. It’s almost laughable- the nerve he has to look dejected by your questioning. To be fair, it’s been a while since he’s danced this dance- a routine once familiar, consisting of bite and bark, push and shove, before simultaneous defeat and victory- but he’s smart enough to know that that’s not how this works. “I mean what did you think would happen, birdy? I’d take one look at you, all grown and handsome, and reconsider my plans?”

Even in heels, he’s taller than you remember. He’s always been pretty- all mesmerizing eyes, slightly crooked smile, and sunkissed skin- but not even he was immune to the awkwardness brought forth by puberty. There was a time when he thought his shoulders were too broad, his ears too big, and the angular structure of his face too sharp and strong for a boy. It didn’t look right. Features that were admirable on their own, looked out of place on his face- or so he feared. You always thought he was beautiful- especially when he didn’t know it.

Now, Boy Wonder is all grown up, exuding confidence and oozing charm. He knows he’s attractive, but he doesn’t parade his arrogance- not anymore. His early twenties were a never-ending roller coaster of trying to find himself, his purpose, and where he fit into the grand scheme of things. Conflicted by right and wrong, tempted by lust and surrender, divided by good and evil, he’s had a lot of time to awaken from the grogginess inflicted by nightmares of freedom and liberation. Still, his eyes are just as mesmerizing, his teeth are straight- but his smile is still crooked- and he’s truly grown into himself. The man before you is a boy evolved- still a bird, but with a different set of wings. Robin is an old friend, a fond recollection of a different time, and though the stranger before you mimics the familiarity you’ve longed for, he’s not Robin, anymore- he’s Nightwing.

“Look, they’re anticipating for you to strike,” His warning is low and hushed, but even in whispers you’re able to detect his plea. Call it concern, or at the very least interest in serving justice as quietly as possible, but his timbre urges you to reconsider- if not for his sake, then for the sake of those around you. He really doesn’t want to cause a scene. “Security has been tripled, and you’ve grown sloppy-“

“Did you ever consider that the trail I was leaving behind wasn’t for anyone else but the one person I wanted to find me?” There’s no affection behind the way your fingers thread through the dark tresses at the nape of his neck. Without any fondness, without passion, or care, the action is mindless, meaningless, and merely muscle memory. There’s no repressed feelings you wish to convey, no animosity you’re trying to diffuse. With no hidden agenda, the gesture serves no purpose- except to unintentionally torture you both. Old habits die hard, and something undefined urges you to reach for him. He flushes, and the sight is so droll that you can’t bring yourself to stop. His lips part once, twice, three times, trying to produce an answer, but he’s at a loss. When you cock your head to the side, he tenses. “Of course, you didn’t,” You purr, and he clears his throat softly.

Dick’s no stranger to berating. He knows what it feels like to be chastised, scolded, and reprimanded. This exchange feels similar. The only difference is that you don’t raise your voice, your eyes don’t darken and you don’t threaten him- not with words, at least. If anything, the remark feels like a gentle rebuke, but the sting left from the impact of your insult brands him with shame. You’ve always seen right through him. Easily able to discern real from fake- truth from falsity- under both his domino mask and the hardened mask of his stoic expressions, you’ve always had a knack for exposing his most vulnerable self- welcoming his flaws, humility, and weaknesses to light. Even though he’s not the same kid he was when you first crossed paths, he feels just as naive and guileless as the boy he once once.

“You and the bat were never really known for considering every angle,” Spoken so thoughtfully, he’s almost able to forgive the verbal assault. As intended, the blow lands- precise, heavy, and unforgiving in the center of his chest- and the muscles in his jaw tighten with thinly veiled frustration. It seems, that in the moment he needs his voice the most, it evades him. He swallows consonants and vowels, a jumbled mix of letters that sit heavy atop his palate, and focuses on maintaining his composure- though, his steps are a beat behind and his footing seems, suddenly, unsure. You’ve struck a nerve. Whether or not you intend to wound, the damage is already done. Picking at scabs that should’ve scarred a long time ago cause his insecurities to bleed- a punch more lethal than brute strength and weaponry combined.

Blindsided by the truth, he feels utterly defenseless.

“Can I ask you something, Dick?” Your brows barely pinch together, your voice calm and steady as something softens in your gaze. Dick should know better than to let his guard down- especially when you lean in, and your lips brush against his ear, “If you’re the hero, here to save the day, does that make me the villain?”

“No, you’re not-“

“How about this, which is the lesser of two evils- knowing that you’re protecting a corrupted establishment because it’s what you believe to be morally correct, or taking back what was wrongfully stolen and returning it to its rightful owners?” As you tilt your head to the side, he hates the way that you look up at him through your lashes. It’s not a demure move. You’re demanding an answer, and a look like that- a look meant to allure, tempt, and bait- would have a weaker man spilling his deepest darkest secrets. With a sharp inhale, he reminds himself that the tricks up your sleeve aren’t new. He knows all of the cards you’re going to play- albeit, he’s unaware of the order in which you’re going to play them- and he won’t allow history to repeat itself. Purposely, your thumb caresses the back of his hand- the touch feather-light, but far from hesitant or accidental- and his breath hitches. Dick doesn’t undermine the small, sinister smile that threatens to spread into a victorious grin when he fails to answer your question. Perhaps, he doesn’t know the answer. Or, perhaps, he’s just distracted. Either way, your voice fills the absence of his own. “We’re not on different sides of a playing field, Grayson. You and I aren’t on opposite ends of a spectrum, we’ve always been right in the middle- dancing on a thin line.”

Prompted by the soothing symphony of strings, Dick twirls you- delicately extending his arm and leading you into a spin before pulling you back in- and it’s fitting, the push and pull between you so familiar it almost feels as choreographed as the steps of the waltz you’re dancing.

History repeating itself, just one more time.

“We both know you’re not here to turn me in, because if you were going to, you would’ve done it by now.” Your arrogance causes something to snap within him. Clarity comes rushing back as he breaks free from your spell. Without meaning to, his grip on your hand tightens.

“Look, I understand why you’re doing this, but-“

“No, you don’t.” Like a switch being flipped, your façade shatters- revealing a face so unbridled with emotions that not even a mask could obscure. He’s defensive. Tired of grappling for control over the situation, he tastes power as he parts his lips with a clever retort, but you don’t allow him the space to get a word in. “Did you know that last year, the city council held a vote to refurbish a few run-down parks on the south side of Gotham with the hopes of restoring the communities destroyed by violence, or increasing the GCPD budget?” The heat behind your accusation pokes and prods at his curiosity, coloring him intrigued. Admittedly, he’s not the most up-to-date on Gotham’s politics, but something this large shouldn’t have slipped under his radar- or the watchful eyes of those who swore themselves to protect the beloved city.

It’s deeper than that, though.

Your frustrations, however warranted, seem to extend beyond such an injustice. Between the lines, amongst all the words you haven’t said, there’s a decipher hidden in every twitch, gesture, and glare. From the way your eyes narrow, to the sharp exhale and tightening grip of your fingertips. To sweaty palms and clenched teeth, all the way to flared nostrils- there’s something just beneath the surface that he can’t crack. Too much time has passed for him to unscramble tacitness when he no longer understands the codes in which you speak, and, unfortunately, he needs you to paint a clearer picture than the vague abstract before him.

“When it came down to it, do you think that the citizens of the south side had a say in the matter?” Dick’s smart. He’s not just a pretty face or a nice body- he’s actually got brains to match. You know- deep down- that sooner or later, shapeless pieces will fall into place to reveal the completed puzzle, but you need him to come to the conclusion all on his own. It would be easy to simply reveal your motive, and while a straightforward approach may have been less complicated than the mental gymnastics you’re forcing him to perform, it wouldn’t have been as impactful. Dick needs to understand, and to understand, he needs to feel- the same anger, outrage, and upset you felt. “Do you think the people on the other side of the tracks were given a chance to speak in front of the council?”

“They can’t segregate who speaks publicly-“ The gears are turning- some slower, some faster, and others completely out of control as he struggles to make sense of your elusiveness. When the current song fades out, a scattered round of applause takes its place before a new song begins. Hardly anyone else is dancing, save for a handful of couples who look just about as miserable as you and Dick- without the coordination or grace, the two of you share. It takes him too long to jump to the conclusion, and you tire of waiting for him to put the pieces together on his own. He always did work better with a helping hand- though, the quality of his work declined greatly whenever your hands were involved.

“You’re right,” Your agreement further confuses him, until an additional explanation provides the last bit of clarity he’d been seeking. “But they can change the date, time, and venue of the meeting without alerting the other parties involved, parties that spent weeks building the foundations of a strong claim, and vote on the matter without them being present- subsequently, granting them access to funnel more funds back into their pensions.”

“That’s not possible,” His argument is backed by disbelief instead of reason, denial influencing his refusal to accept such an absurdity, even in spite of proof, and every ugly, undesirable, nasty feeling you’re not supposed to have swirls together in the pit of your stomach at his incredulity.

How can he still be so blind? How, after all of the evil that he’s witnessed, how can he deny the truth in favor of possibility? He may be a man grown, but he still lives in a delusional state of boyhood- where he still clings to hope and the prospect of good intentions even when the jury has already delivered a conviction.

“Why not?” You seethe, simultaneously demanding an answer without allowing him the chance to speak. Unfortunately, whatever’s been brewing amongst your insides finally bubbles over and your own reluctance to accept an outcome where he doesn’t justify your point of view sharpens the words at the tip of your tongue until they’re as lethal as any weapon. “Because good old Commissioner Gordon wouldn’t let that happen?”

It’s resentment- the concoction without a name- but it’s also envy, pain, and perhaps a bit of fear. At the very least, it’s petty, to bring her into this and force him to pick a side, but it’s been corroding your logic- eroding a place in your chest that’s been dormant ever since he last filled it with life and meaning- and you watch his demeanor shift when his lips part to defend her. You can’t bear whatever praise he’s sure to dole out in her defense, especially when she’s just as guilty as the rest of them, as far as you’re concerned. Before he has a chance to tear you to shreds with his ire, you interrupt.

“Look, just because the commissioner has a heart, doesn’t mean that the animals working for the force do.” Without any conviction, you start to claw at the mire on either side of you, closing you in. “It’s always been bad, but it’s gotten a lot worse.” He can’t argue with that. Worse doesn’t even come close to how downright doomed Gotham is now that someone’s poisoned most of the police force. The one group of people who are supposed to remain impartial to power and abide by the laws they’re sworn to uphold, have turned their backs on the people who needed them most, and the people hurting- the ones without flashy jewels or the stomachs for caviar and champagne- don’t have anyone looking out for them.

Not the way they used to, anyway.

“You don’t get to come here and lecture me about what’s right and what’s wrong, just because she asked you to.” Bittersweet tips towards bitter and a sour taste settles in your mouth at the suggestion that she had even the slightest part to play in your reunion. “You’re a few years too late for that, birdy.” This time when the song ends, you take a step back- though, his thumb brushes against the back of your hand before you pull away, the phantom of a silent prospect lingering even when the warmth of him is gone. Once, it was what you sought. He was what you sought. Years of desolation turned your desire for that same heat- tender touches and gentle caresses against skin- into favor of bleakness. You don’t regret pulling away from him, not as much as you did back them. This time, it’s warranted- a choice you make unobstructed by what you’re feeling, now that you know the outcome of what was fated to happen between the two of you.

“I appreciate the dance,” You swallow, your throat tightening with words you won’t allow yourself to say. Instead, a retort finds you, though it feels foreign as you speak it into existence. “Maybe we’ll do it again in a couple of years,”

Without waiting for a reaction, you head off down the same way you came, and this time, without any intervention, he lets you go.

The bathroom door shuts behind you, and the sounds of lively chatter and the hum of instrumentals fade away until you’re consumed by a silence so stark that it buries you. It doesn’t feel real. The soft tapping of your heels against the glossy marble floors cuts through the nothingness- even the slightest echo in the void registering as an alarm, coaxing panic and fear from the rusted, forgotten cells you banished them to long ago- and when you finally take a look in the mirror, you don’t recognize the face that stares back at you.

Your reflection is plagued by guilt, and haunted by ghosts of the past. Well, one ghost, in particular.

Running into Dick Grayson was something you’d prepared for. Since the day you last parted, you always knew that there was a possibility your paths could, and inevitably would, cross again. It was destined to happen, and you were doomed from the start. He makes you reckless. He makes you sloppy and distracted and forgiving. He makes you weak. Back then, before everything that drove a wedge between the two of you, you had a bit of a soft spot for him. He was the only other person in the world who truly understood the life you lived because he was living a different version of the same life. Both protégés, both headstrong and zealous- attributes recognized as both strengths and faults- and both dancing a choreographed routine in the shadows cast by the bat and the cat. The two of you were fated. It was only a matter of time before you started pulling your punches, and he started letting you get away.

The chase was always the best part- second only to the capture.

Still, it’s been years since he left. You’re not the same girl he once knew, and he might as well have been a stranger. More than a decade apart will do that to two people. For everything that’s changed, one thing remains the same- the chase and the capture are unavoidable.

With a shaky exhale, your chest tightens. Resting your palms on either side of the expensive stone washbasin, you attempt to focus on regaining your composure- but another heavy intake of breath punches your lungs. You haven’t come this far just to let him swoop in and gain the upper hand. You’re done pulling your punches. Flipping the golden faucet on, you allow trickling water to interrupt the unbearable silence that surrounds you- a lull so loud it sounds like buzzing static without the interruption of something mundane. With a few more deep breaths, in and out, you begin to fumble with the clasp on your clutch, opening the small bag to retrieve a tube of lipstick. The color has started to fade from your lips, and you use the moment of stillness to touch up your makeup. If nothing else, maybe your reflection will look less distraught with a signature swipe of dark red. You long for a sense of familiarity that you can control.

Above the trickling from the luxurious spout, the door squeaks- or perhaps, it cries- as it’s pushed open, revealing a mirage basked in artificial light and a custom-tailored suit. As your fingertips graze the fixture responsible for the steady stream of distraction, a thud sounds, and seconds later, the unmistakable click of a lock latching into place seals your fate. A wave of emotion- a tsunami of feelings- brings forth a myriad of everything, all at once. Just as you suspected you always would, you’re drowning- caught in a riptide of your past and present, finally merging in a deadly current that threatens to pull you below the depths of your worst fears and direful imagination. You swallow thickly as you close your eyes. It fills your mouth with delusions of saltwater.

This isn’t supposed to happen- at least, not like this, it’s not- but the one thing you’ve been running from has finally caught back up to you. Now’s the time to set the record straight. No more ties. No more draws. Tonight, the victory is yours- regardless of his intervention. He’s taken too much from you to take this too, and you’re done letting him.

“I already told you that this is pointless,” You don’t even look at him. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of meeting his overbearing stare. A swirling sea of darkening blue attempts to sail back to shore- pleading to find refuge within familiar comforts and intimacy- but you cast your gaze back to your reflection, focusing on fixing the corners of your lipstick and leaving him afloat. “You’re not going to stop me.” The promise is backed by conviction- though, you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince him, or yourself.

The muscle in Dick’s jaw flexes as he grits his teeth- forcing ivories to clench and grind against each other, creating a perfect, white prison to cage the words he wishes to speak. Stifling his emotions is conventional. It’s a routine he’s perfected through years of reluctant practice. Though uncomfortable and daunting, the void in which he sentences all that’s repressed is secure. It’s safe- if only in the sense that it’s familiar.

You’re familiar- rather, you were once familiar- but he can’t cross a bridge that’s been burned, molten ash still ablaze amongst the rubble, and expect to be welcomed back with open arms. Not after everything that’s changed. Not after everything that’s happened.

Not after what he did.

“I need a list of names,” The determination in Dick’s voice contradicts everything he feels inside. His face hardens- a mask, a shield, protection- and he stands a little taller, fixated on resolving the one problem he could actually solve. “Names of the officers involved in whatever this is,” He clarifies with an uneasy edge to his voice- like he already knows he’s bit off more than he can chew, but he can’t stop himself from going back for seconds, thirds, and fourths.

For all that’s changed, Dick remains the same. A phantom- a spirit, a memory, a ghost- of the boy you once knew disappears just as quickly as your imagination teases familiar red, yellow, and green. He’s not the same. You know it to be true, and yet, you find yourself distracted by glimpses and figments from a different life entirely.

“Grab a pen,” A scoff, an eye roll, and the gentle shake of your head, disbelief and credence existing in tandem- contradicting each other when your eyes finally meet his. “It would be a shorter list if you started with the people who aren’t guilty of committing some type of fraudulent activity.”

You’re not a bad person. Despite varying beliefs, you’re not evil. Mayhem doesn’t bring you joy. Confrontation doesn’t get you off. There’s little pleasure to be found in being the itch that people can’t scratch. You’ve never sought out violence or peril, and you seldom plan on causing either. Just like Dick- just like Bruce- you operate under a different moral code, but a moral code, nevertheless. Even if the only thing it provides is an excuse to justify why you do what you do, you still hold yourself to a standard. Unlike the vile, chaos-thirsty cravens that would happily light the match and watch the world burn, you’re selfless- bound to your morals, if nothing else.

What you do, the sacrifices you make- everything that you’ve lost and everything you’ve fought for- is fueled by benevolence. You’re in a position to fight for those who can’t fight for themselves, to speak up for those who can’t speak for themselves. The power to defend those who have had their rights stripped from them- those who have had their power stolen by greed corruption and profit- is in your hands. You’ll be damned if you let anyone stand in your way and prevent you from doing what you know is right.

Through the reflection in the mirror, you recognize the face that stares back at you. Gone is the fear and doubt that mangled your features unrecognizable. With a heavy sigh, you unclip the earrings that dangle from your earlobes- and the buzzing sound of static fades away completely.

You know what you have to do.

The sound of your heels against the tile might as well have been deafening in contrast to the silence that follows your remark. As you cross the room, your resolve sharpens. Dick Grayson has taken so much from you, you won’t let him take this, too.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me-“ You feign saccharine, your tone phony and filled with counterfeit regret, as you reach for the locked door handle, but Dick blocks the latch, stepping in front of you before you have a chance to wrap your hand around the lever. He knows exactly what buttons to press and genuine annoyance, anger, and frustration fill the space where your poor imitation of remorse once occupied. Through gritted teeth, you command him, lowly, “Move, Dick.”

“You know I can’t do that, sweetheart,” He says it so easily, with a sorrowful sigh and undisputed repentance, that you almost buy the sincerity he’s trying to sell. Unfortunately, for him, you’re not in the market for his misery. He’s a few years too late. Dick can turn his charm up to ten thousand- he can say all the right things and plead with his perfect crystalline eyes- but you won’t risk everything you’ve fought for for a few crocodile tears. You know, now, that you’re better than that. One way or another, you’re getting out of this bathroom- and if you have to go through him to do so, then so be it.

“And you know I’m not above fighting you, right?” He’s entirely unprepared for your snark, the bite that fuels your reply nearly nipping his sense of control straight from the palm of his hand. It’s obvious that this isn’t the same game that it once was, but something much more dangerous. “The dance wasn’t enough?” With your arms across your chest, you challenge, and he hates the way you’re looking at him- like your eyes are piercing straight through him instead of actually looking at him. If you bothered to look closely enough, you’d be able to decipher all of the blatant emotions he’s never been the greatest at hiding. One look and you’d see him- and his heart beating proudly on his sleeve. It’s why you don’t spare him a glance. “You still feeling nostalgic for old times? Because this feels awfully familiar, doesn’t it?”

“What are you going to do with the money?” He asks, fighting to keep his voice stern. His poker face was never the best- or, maybe you could just read him better than most people could. Still, as he stands before you, he grapples with his devotion to whatever this competition is. This clash will never see a winner- only two losers- and he knows it. You do, too- but unlike him, you’re not willing to back down without a fight.

“Give it back to those who rightfully deserve it.” He doesn’t deserve your honesty. He has no right to the truth, but you don’t have it in you to scheme an elaborate lie. However gratifying it might’ve been to feed him false information and watch him fly in circles, you’re too exhausted for mental gymnastics. Like clockwork, you give, and he takes- his stare narrowing, almost accusatorially.

“And who are you to decide who rightfully deserves it?” There’s an edge to his question- like he can’t fathom justice without his divine intervention- and it’s grating, the way he can make you feel so small, and worthless with a single sentence. His arrogance is astounding. Who was he to seek vengeance against Slade Wilson? Who was he to target Heartless? Who was he to sentence Tony Zucco to his death- by placing him behind bars, and granting other enemies easy access to the crime lord, which ultimately led to his demise? The self-righteous guilt trip nearly gives you whiplash from how fast it makes your head spin. He’s no different than you are- no better or worse, since you operate on the same playing field. He doesn’t get to act like he is. Someone needs to knock him down a few pegs, and you’re happily up for the challenge.

“Who are you to try to stop me?”

“Someone who knows you,” He replies, instinctively. “Someone who’s a friend, not a foe.”

“Hmm,” With a bitter laugh, your stomach churns- twisting, clenching, and swirling with swells of irritation, regret, and sorrow- and although it’s a familiar discomfort, it’s been years since you’ve felt the threat of splintering cracks, chipping away at the stone-cold facade of your exterior. Come to think of it, the last time you felt this way was when Selina had told you that Dick left for San Francisco. The reminder fills you with a bitterness you’ve long tried to suppress, and as it bubbles to the surface, so do all of the repressed thoughts and emotions that’ve haunted you for years.

For a moment, you ache- chasing forgotten remembrance plagued by wistfulness. Then, you burn.

“Friends call every once in a while, and if they can’t make it to a phone, they send a postcard to let you know that they’re still alive and well.” Vexation forces your eyes to narrow, the color of your eyes morphing into something much more bleak. With a heavy exhale- filled with frustration and a semblance of humility- you remind him, “Friends don’t disappear into thin fucking air without letting you know why- especially, after those friends, were always a little more than just friends.” There’s a darkness behind your eyes that Dick’s not familiar with, and a weight settles in the hollow emptiness of his chest before sinking deeper and deeper into the pit of his stomach. His jaw clenches and he swallows thickly- the tastes of bile, rue, and shame all indiscernible from one another as he forces them back down.

He knows you’re right.

While his absence was abrupt, it had nothing to do with any ill will towards you. There was never a falling out- no crossing a line of no return or being pushed past a point that shattered a shared fantasy. Though the bullet posed no real threat of death by passing through his arm- beyond the phantom agony of lead tearing through flesh, and the hot, wet feeling of crimson pouring from the wound- a part of Dick Grayson did, in fact, die that night, at the hands of the Joker. The Clown Prince of Crime set off a domino effect when he fired at the young Boy Wonder, inevitably altering the course of his life forever. Acts of violent intent seldom harm a single soul, and as if it were fated, you became another casualty from an attack that was never meant for you.

When Bruce fired Dick, he was angry. Back then, thoughts of hanging up the cape never, ever, crossed his mind. Back then, he was content with fighting crime alongside his mentor, and never really considered what would happen next- or if there’d even be a next, or an after. He felt betrayed, abandoned, and filled with cynicism. As selfish as it was, you weren’t even really an afterthought in the downfall of his life caving in and swallowing him whole. He needed time to heal- time to rebuild- and prioritize who he was when he wasn’t hiding in the shadows left behind by a cape and cowl. Years passed, and with time to reflect, Dick’s bitter resentment morphed into a new kind of devotion to himself, and the few that started to look to him for guidance.

Before the Titans, he never really considered himself to be a leader. He spent most of his life abiding by rules and plans- roles and paths- that were set for him by another. Had he been hungry for control before, his first real taste solidified an insatiable appetite for the very thing he felt himself deprived of for too many years. Though, he’d come to learn that there was an ugly side to the power he wielded. Some days, the responsibility felt like a burden, and others, he felt like his guilt and uncertainty would swallow him whole. He bottled up all of his doubts, packed them somewhere deep inside the closed-off caverns in his heart where darker demons haunted, and forced them elsewhere- out of sight, and out of mind, but never truly gone.

It’s not fair that, somehow, you’ve come to possess the key that matches the lock on his Pandora’s box. Every emotion, every feeling, and every thought meant to be suppressed and banished to a place where they couldn’t torment or harm him, refuses to go gently when one simple, magnetic look threatens to release them from their cages of skin and bone. The most daunting realization of all, however, is that he’s the one to blame- for everything.

For all of it.

Selfishly, he’s hoped for an ember amongst the carnage he’s created. He’s held onto some convoluted idea of hope that whatever was once alight could be reignited again if he fully committed himself to an apology, but he failed to acknowledge the amount of ashes he’d have to sift through for a hint of a spark. There’s too much disappointment, too much duplicity, regret, and time passed between the two of you for things to ever revert back to even a semblance of what they once were.

He looks to you now, and he sees it- your anger is a mask for your pain. It’s so faint he almost misses it, but your lip threatens to wobble. Beyond the wrath you try to convey with the narrowed glare of your eyes, he watches as thinly veiled yearning mingles with what’s left of the color of your irises- simultaneously faint, yet prominent to the only other person who knows what it’s like to push away the person you love. What Dick and you shared wasn’t love, but it could’ve been and that’s what you’re both mourning- what could’ve been.

“You and I aren’t friends, Dick.” He hates the finality behind your conviction. It’s so cold, and void of the warmth he associated with you once upon a time. A split second threatens to expose the façade, and you blink back tears instead of allowing them to fall- swallowing emotion and banishing it elsewhere. Feelings have no place here. Instead, you grit your teeth, clenching them together so tightly that your jaw begins to ache. He watches you struggle to commit to the act- because that’s what your rage is, an outlet for your passions- and as you take a step closer toward him, his breath hitches. “Now, get out of my way,”

Toe to toe, you meet his gaze, and no matter how hard you try to fight it, despite your best efforts to disguise what you truly feel, Dick sees right through you- recognizing the parts of you that you try to mold and shape into something else. After all, he’s your greatest weakness- and you’re his. You always have been, and he always will be.

He dares to move. This close, he resists the urge to reach out for you and never let you go again, but this isn’t about him. It’s about you. Hesitantly, he raises his hand, his eyes never leaving yours as the shaky tips of his fingers graze your chin with a tenderness you’ve sought since the last time you felt it. The air is tense, passed back and forth by sharp breaths and thundering pulses- intimate with warmth and affection that mimics that of a simpler time- and when his palm rests against your cheek, cradling it with such gentle endearment in the face of betrayal, you let him. Dick’s throat bobs, and he pours everything he can’t bring himself to say into such a delicate touch. Every apology he wishes he had the courage to speak aloud, every declaration of devotion he was too afraid to voice, and every inevitable truth he attempted to ignore lingers, and you can feel it- in every shy stroke of his thumb across your cheek.

“You’re not going to distract me,” A single tear merges with the pad of his thumb- a testament to your resilience, but no match for the broken, battered, beaten bond you share with the man before you- and your certainty begins to dwindle. There’s a string that ties you to him- an invisible thread strong enough to stitch the two of you back together when you should remain apart- but you’re destined for him, the same way he’s always been destined for you.

It was foolish to believe any differently.

“I’m not trying to distract you,” Barely above a whisper, he pleads, desperate to make you understand, “I’m trying to apologize.”

He hangs his head with defeat, his shoulder slumping forward as he peers down at you. He’s never known such cruel torture. Such sick and twisted suffering is self-inflicted. The past erodes his future, but he can’t stop himself from resurrecting his demons. Foolishly, he invites them to haunt him further- and you’re no exception. His tightrope is stretched taut, and it’s a long way down. How much longer can he balance between anemoia and actuality before tipping one way or the other? It’s insanity- repeating the same act and hoping for a different outcome- but Dick can’t bring himself to accept that this time won’t be different. If nothing else, the possibility that this never-ending game could crown two winners is enough for him to play the martyr, and suffer whatever repercussions might follow after barring himself whole. What more does he have to lose, if not everything he’s already lost, again?

It would be so easy to reach past him and turn the lock in your favor, granting your escape. Hell, with the way he’s looking at you now, you know that he wouldn’t even put up a fight. He’d let you waltz right past him, slipping through his fingers for the umpteenth time because he knows that this time won’t be the last. It never is. Visions blurred by uncertainty flash before your eyes- infinite possibilities, each with consequences and punishments, rewards and sacrifices- but the unknown doesn’t elicit the same adrenaline-filled excitement that it once did. Maybe because this time, Dick isn’t fighting back. Surrendering his shield, he abandons resistance- instead, entrusting you with the vulnerability that spills from his heart, blood crimson against his fingers as he squeezes it with each thump and thud- crumbling before you, and submitting everything he has to give to you. Even if he can’t bring himself to support your cause.

You lean in closer, drawn to him- the same way you always have been, and likely, always will be- and your palm hovers over his chest. For a second, it’s unclear whether or not you’re going to reach out for him or push him away, but when your hand meets the fabric that covers hard muscle, you know you’re done for- because in the same ways he’s willing to fall before you, you’re willing to fall before him, too. Over and over again. Repeatedly and infinitely.

“Well, you have impeccable timing,” Your reproach is close enough for him to taste. It wavers against his lips and slips past his tongue, allowing him to savor parts of you he hasn’t been allowed to indulge in for so long. There’s no mistaking the invitation of your reprover, and Dick’s palm rests against your lower back, coaxing you closer towards him as his nose brushes against yours. It’s dizzying, and your arms find their way around his neck to steady yourself when he rests his forehead against yours with a soft sigh. The irony of the situation isn’t lost upon you- even when the two of you have ceded to one another, you’re still fighting to see who will give in first. As if he’s come to the realization at the same time, a large hand- rough and callused, but soft and tender in the way that it trembles against your cheek with anticipation- encourages you to tilt your head back, and you follow his lead. You hold your breath as your lips part, and Dick surges forward, slotting his mouth against yours in a kiss that’s fueled by the release of years of pent-up longing, need, and want. The gesture is foreign, yet familiar. Reminiscent of the past, yet entirely new. Everything you remember and everything you’ve ever dreamed of merge together in this moment and bring life to what had only ever been fantasy before his lips found yours once more.

It’s exhilarating.

“I missed you,” The affirmation rumbles against your skin, warm with fervor and urgency, and it’s completely unnecessary- considering that each movement acts as a balm to soothe wounds of time, fear, and doubt- but he vows with each breath, relying on words to convey what his actions can not, and vice versa. Masks are off. Shields have been abandoned. Capes remain long forgotten at the door. This is no longer about duty or morality. No, this moment is about two people seeking confirmation for what they’ve always known to be true- that a love unspoken, but never absent has always existed between them. Two people- not vigilantes or heroes- two hearts, beating to guide the other back, are bare, open, honest, and raw without the theatrics of a chase or the pretense of a game. Surrender invites you to balance on the edge of a precipice, and you’re the first to lose your footing.

Desperation is an influence, and his lapels wrinkle with the severity of your hold. Through the haze of everything unknown, he’s the only thing that’s clear, and you reach for him- blindly, but intentionally- clawing at the fabric that keeps him from you. Clashing teeth and bruising grips don’t elicit pain, not when real suffering exists in the absence of the other, and you allow him to paint you violet, blue, green, and red with desire, becoming the embodiment of his want. Your only regret is that the evidence of this divine crime will eventually fade away to nothing more than a memory- another ache that will never dull, a moment so unique that it can never be replicated. As you rejoice, you mourn.

“Sure you did.” His blazer drops to the floor as you follow your script, hardly taking a moment to realize that the page you’re reading from is blank- without word or direction- as you venture into unknown territory. Even when you don’t mean to be, you’re combative. Even when you don’t want to be, you’re still on edge. This is different. This already feels different than before, and maybe it’s because there’s a lot more at stake now that both of you have already lost one another, but for as overdue as this homecoming is, something subconsciously prolongs it further.

“No, really, I-“ He begins, ready to mold rhetoric and force it to take on a form that would allow you to see just how much you mean to him, but that would make this real, and you’re not sure if you’re ready for this to be real yet- because if this is real, if this isn’t just a cruel imitation of memory like so many variations before or a concocted fantasy so vivid you can feel yourself shaking, then that means you can lose it all, again. Just like last time. Within your grip, one minute, slipping through your fingers the next.

“Don’t.” Fear sounds different when there’s a bite to it. It could almost pass as annoyance, if you’re able to keep your voice just steady enough, and he mistakes the command for irritation, rather than the timidity it actually is. Whatever you’ve intended and he’s interpreted gets lost along the way, and he takes a hesitant step back. It’s impossible not to lunge for him as he retreats, but you remain still- your breath hitching when he holds both hands out to you, surrendering his palms while he shows he meant no harm.

“Can I…”

“You don’t have to ask,” You silence his fears quickly, closing the space between you before you even realize that you’ve taken a step. This self-sacrificial eagerness to light yourself on fire just to keep him warm has always been one of your greatest downfalls, but a most ardent gesture, and with ash on your tongue and soot in your lungs, you strike a match the minute he begins to second guess himself. “Just pretend it’s like before.” The suggestion sounds just as unsure as you are, but with a heavy breath, you encourage, “Pretend that nothing’s changed…pretend that we’re still…” You can’t even bring yourself to say it, because the kids you were back then are gone. They’re never coming back. You can’t avenge them or try to seek vengeance for what they’ve lost. It’s over for them, but this is just the start of this new beginning for the two of you. “Just for tonight.”

He moves promptly, gathering the skirts of your dress in one hand, fisting the fabric- a blue so dark he mistook it for black, or perhaps it was, until his fingertips were close enough to paint the illusion with light, making it appear different than it was- without any regard for creases or lingering proof of your affair. Support rests at your back, his chest firm and protective as you lean into the rippling muscle, and Dick continues to illuminate shadows of the past with each touch- eager to help you forget all of the agonies suffered at his hands in favor of remembering glimpses of peace. He’s ready to give you more than just a taste. Now, he wants to gorge you with the pleasure he’s reserved.

His hands shake- not with hesitancy, but anticipation, and when you catch his eye in the mirror, you shiver. You’ve never seen a blue so dark it looks black- until now. Without warning, he mouths at your neck- kissing, sucking, biting, any part of you he can get his lips on- reacquainting himself with parts of you that were once so familiar, and you allow him to explore. Blindly, you reach for one of his hands, taking it in your own, and he begins to intertwine his fingers with yours, but you gently guide his hand where you want it most- and he lets you, following your lead just as impulsively. You jolt at the first brush of his fingertips between your legs, even though you were expecting it, and he lets out a few ragged breaths against the back of your neck. It’s paradoxical, the chills that contradict the flush of your skin, but this relationship has never really made sense before. Why should that change now?

Almost as if he’s in a trance, Dick is overwhelmed by the twists and turns of the evening, but the whiplash is starting to subside in favor of something much more exhilarating. He never thought he’d have this again. He believed moments like these to be lost to time, and he wasted years grieving memories he could never replicate, only to feel the weight of your body against his once more. It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s everything he never knew he wanted or needed until it was stolen from him, swiped right out from under his nose by his own negligence. He won’t make the same mistakes this time. No, this time, he’s going to do it right. He’s going to-

“Fuck,” When you grow tired of his stalling, you force his hand, again. This time, when your fingers meet his wrist, you press your palm on top of his- coercing him to mimic the shape- and maybe you’re the one in control, or maybe he finally rises to the occasion, but with a newfound determination, he cups your cunt- a choked sound catching in his throat when he feels how wet you are. You briefly wonder how something so vulgar can sound so pretty, but you already know the answer- it’s him. It’s always been him. Had it been anyone else, the effect would cease to exist, but it’s Dick, and that desire- that pull that you can’t ever deny- will always bind you to him.

You can’t help yourself from rutting against his palm, and he presses himself further into your back, allowing you to feel the hard outline of his cock against your ass. The hand that isn’t between your legs rests on your arm, and when he tries to hold your hand, you don’t deny him. There’s just too much fabric for you to hold in just one hand and some of it drapes over his forearm, but you manage to keep most of it from obscuring his movements. It’s a strange angle, and both of you are fumbling to make it work, but you crane your neck in search of him, and he answers your call with an eager kiss. Your tongue caresses his, savoring the feeling and committing it to memory, just in case-

He swallows your surprised gasp when he nudges your panties aside and begins to circle your clit. With just a bit of pressure, a crease forms where your eyebrows pull together, and you untangle your hand from his hold to brace yourself against the counter. It’s been a while since someone else has touched you, and it’s been even longer since the last time Dick had, but it’s so much better than evocations of pleasure. You swear figments are tangible. Spurred on by the reaction his touch has coaxed from you, he’s torn between making the moment last as long as possible or picking up the pace. He settles on the latter, considering that if this is heading the way he hopes it’s heading, he’ll have all the time in the world to make it up to you, but right now, he’s on borrowed time. You both are. With the reminder looming overhead, he adjusts his hand so that he can continue to work your clit while lining up a finger with your pussy. You’re so wet, and warm when he curls his middle finger inside, and he can’t remember why he ever left in the first place. What persuaded him away from Gotham when you were always right here? Would you have waited for him? Would you have followed him if he asked you to? He supposes none of that matters now, but he can’t help but wonder…

He adds a second finger, and even though your body gives little resistance to the intrusion, you groan at the feeling. His fingers are so long, reaching that spot inside of you that your fingers are just too short to reach, and they’re thick enough for you to feel yourself stretching around him with each thrust- not enough to cause pain, but an ache that serves as a reminder that it’s been too long since the last time you’ve had him like this. You vow not to let another ten years pass before you let him have you, again.

He continues a steady pace, curling his fingers in such a way that sweat begins to glisten across your chest, and when a third finger threatens to join his others, you wrap your hand around his wrist- abruptly halting his movements.

“N-not enough time,” He doesn’t even get the chance to ask before you supply him with an answer, but he nods in understanding once you offer an explanation. He’s already reaching for his belt, unbuckling the clasp and roughly shoving his slacks down before you have a chance to catch your breath, and you’re grateful- if the speed in which he undresses is any indication of his own eagerness- that he’s just as desperate for you, as you are for him. Taking a moment to adjust your skirts so that you don’t have to hold them, you bunch them above your hips and lean forward, resting your forearms against the counter while Dick frees himself from his boxers, and when you look back in the mirror and catch sight of his cock behind you, you can’t help but swallow thickly.

He strokes himself a few times, smearing the pre-cum beading from his slit down his shaft as he prepares to take you. This doesn’t feel like last time. As he reaches for your waist and lines himself up with your cunt, this doesn’t feel like last time at all. This is new, and different and everything he’s wanted ever since the last time he had you in his grasp. This time, he won’t let you get away. With as much self-restraint as he can manage, you feel the tip of his cock against your opening, slowly splitting you open, and your back arches. Your own strangled cry prompts a groan from him he sinks into you, inch by inch until his hips are flush against you. You’re so full that you’re not sure if it’s too much or not enough.

“I’ve got you,” Dick assures, his grip on your hip tightening when he feels you struggling to accommodate him. He tries to be a gentleman. He tries to give you a few minutes to adjust- even though he wants nothing more than to take what’s right under his nose, what’s always been his- but his restraint snaps when he feels you begin to rock back against him.

“Move,” You command, and he doesn’t have to be told twice. With your permission, he’s happy to follow orders and obliges with a sharp thrust upwards. The sound you make is a mix between a sob and a moan, and his fingers flex against your hip as he repeats the action.

“I forgot…” Through clenched teeth, he confesses, and you don’t think anything of the admission, too lost within your own feelings to attempt to decipher his. Instead, he wraps an arm around your waist, offering thick muscle to serve as a buffer between your body and the stone he has you pressed up against- relying on intimate gestures to make up for words lost in translation. Even now, when you’re not on the same page, you still know. Somehow, you know, and he does, too. Every time. Without fail. Always. Your head rolls back to meet his shoulder, and your fingertips claw at the back of his neck awkwardly, with transparent desperation to pull him closer. Within reach isn’t close enough. Near is too far. With a muted gasp, you push back to meet his next thrust, and he hisses softly before elaborating, “I’m so sorry if I made you forget.”

“Dick-“ Realization begins to splinter the mirage of bliss, and you manage to say his name with enough caution to serve as a warning. You don’t want to think about the past. Not right now. Not when you can see your future so clearly in the foggy reflection of the vanity. He wraps his hand around your neck, encouraging you to bare your throat to him and he licks at the vein that calls out to him.

“I won’t let you forget, not this time.” He vows, bucking his hips faster and faster as you whine in his hold. In some sick twisted way, he loves that he’s the only one who has this power over you- that he’s the only one who could ever elicit such a reaction- and it’s a testament to how much the two of you care for one another; the influence both of you have over one another. “This time, I want to remember.”

It’s going to be impossible not to.

“I-“ He can barely get a word out with how good you feel around him, and he takes a breath before trying again. “I know you want to pretend, but fuck…I can’t.” Dick wraps his arm around you, guiding your back to rest against his chest, and one of his large hands splays across your stomach, where he can feel himself inside of you. “I really did miss you,” Somehow he manages to find his voice. “Not just like this, either,”

“I-I missed you, too.” You don’t seem certain, not with the way you stutter, but your reply is genuine. It only appears dubious because Dick’s palm begins to press against you, and you all but choke on your confession. He can’t help himself, but neither can you.

“I’m close,” He rasps, brokenly. “Shit,” His thrusts begin to falter, and his eyes meet yours in the mirror. “Are you-“

“Yes!” You yelp when his fingers start circling your clit, and he doesn’t relent, even when he feels you start to tremble beneath him. You’re overwhelmed by him, in the best way possible, and as eager as you are to chance your release, a part of you never wants this moment to end. “Dick, please d-don’t stop,” Your muscles grow taut, and when his thrusts lose their precision, you know that he’s almost there. “Just like before,” You encourage him, clenching hard when he bites your shoulder and your orgasm washes over you. “J-just like before.”

He knows what you’re asking for. He understands what you’re practically begging for, and in a fleeting moment of clarity, he catches a glimpse of the faded scar on your arm- his only regret being the fact that an implant still stands in the way of what he truly wants with you- but the thought disappears as quickly as it materializes.

A few seconds more and he grunts against your neck, pulling your hips to meet his and spilling himself inside of you. It’s even better than you remember and your body shakes with aftershocks of pleasure. Luckily, he’s there to keep you upright. Your vision starts to blur and the only sound you’re able to make out is both of you struggling to catch your breaths. With a heavy sigh, he pulls out, and you can feel his cum start to leak from you, but you’re too disoriented to clean it up. Instead, you lean forward, relying on the countertop for support as you hang your head and try to come back to your senses.

Dick leaves a trail of soft kisses down the back of your neck and his forehead is both warm and damp when it meets your shoulder, resting comfortably against your skin while he takes a minute to catch his breath, and these sensations- these tiny little reminders that he’s here, this moment is present and real- ground you. Where your mind is a mess, reeling with indecision, emotions, and thoughts you can’t yet process, your body is at ease.

As your eyes flutter shut, greedy gulps of air fail to satisfy your lungs, and you swallow thickly, allowing pressure to build up in your chest until you simply can’t take it anymore. Darkness saturates all that you can see, and you’re caught in a void- trapped, without any light to guide you back home. The gentle caress of his touch along your arm brands you, flush enough to make you burn with reminders of this fleeting moment- when embers of devotion inevitably fade into ashes- and you stiffen in his hold, not that he’s coherent enough to notice.

He seems to be in his little world as he tucks himself back into his pants and presses another gentle kiss to your shoulder before wrapping his arms around you. Violent delights really do have violent ends and it’s not fair that you let it get this far without thinking about the consequences of your actions. None of this would’ve happened if you just let yourself love him- without fear, without judgment, without regret- and if you had just been honest with yourself all those years ago, this mess would’ve never spiraled so far out of your control.

Whatever repercussion await you, you’ll brave. Regardless of what happens next, you know that you have to tell him the truth- even if it kills you. The thought is often more daunting than the action itself, but as you turn yourself around in his arms so that you’re facing him, you’re petrified.

“I’m sorry,” The magnitude of your apology isn’t supported by the handful of letters that arrange themselves as they slip past your tongue. There has to be a better way to express your remorse, but if one exists it evades you. Over and over again, the same words come to mind and it’s not fair that you know exactly what you want to say, but you just can’t find the right words to absolve your shame. At your inability to voice your regret, frustration overwhelms you. Your lips part, ready to divulge your sins, but only a pathetic, meek sigh comes out. Why is this so difficult? You know the answer, and yet, you play the part of the fool- leaning on ignorance as a crutch for what you can’t bring yourself to brave. He deserves it, doesn’t he? The truth- not something partial, but whole. Transparency is the only piece left of a nearly complete puzzle, the only thing keeping this tragic tale of two lovers who break each other’s hearts only to stitch them back together again from reaching its inevitably doomed end. When your lip begins to tremble, Dick reaches for you, pulling you into his chest and embracing you in a hold that’s absolutely suffocating. You don’t deserve his kindness. You don’t deserve his love or affection- his tenderness or his forgiveness.

You don’t deserve him.

“Me too,” He sighs into your hair, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head before resting his head on top of yours. You can hear his heart- how steady it beats- and the sound rivals the racing of your own where it threatens to burst straight from your chest, and your eyes flutter shut, savoring the gentle lull of his own serenity before you poison his relief with your own disruption. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how difficult it may be, you know that you have to tell him. With a breath, you prepare for carnage.

“No, Dick, I-“

“Dick? Are you in here?” Barbara’s voice seeps through the wooden barrier that separates the two of you from the rest of the world- from reality- and as soon as she calls out to him, the illusion of tranquility is broken. Of course, it’s her. Of course, she’d be the one to interrupt you before you had the chance to speak, and of course, it would be her that drives a wedge further between the two of you with one simple revelation, “They’re getting away!”

It’s almost impossible to miss the sounds of commotion that follow her declaration. Faint screams and chaos replace the background of symphony strings and he turns to you then, a divot dividing the smooth skin of his forehead while his eyes narrow. Blue is black. Dark, and unmistakable. The muscle in his jaw looks like it’s about to burst with the severity of his clenching and his nostrils flare with a shallow exhale. It’s excruciating to watch him slip back into consciousness after being caught up in a dream, but a nightmare unfolds before you, twisting your stomach into knots so intricate they threaten to snap. You can’t breathe, and when you gather enough courage to finally take a step forward, he takes a step back. He’s never looked at you with so much hostility before, and you open your mouth to explain, to shower him with honesty and desperate pleas to make him understand that this wasn’t meant to happen like this, but no sound comes out. Not even a sigh. Not even a huff. Not even a pathetic, broken whimper. Nothing.

Unfortunately, Dick’s left to draw his own conclusions- to fill in the gaps in which your silence fails to atone for your crimes- and he paints a picture so drastically different from the truth, relying on his interpretation to establish a story so vivid he believes it to be real- even if it’s a figment of his own imagination, a product of his own devastation. Dispelled doubts come rushing back, and he allows them to influence the narrative- since you still can’t seem to find your voice- and everything left unsaid becomes louder in the silence. He mistakes your tears for guilt, instead of recognizing the regret and shame that mingle with saltwater. As gutted as he is, he looks to you for an explanation, but you can’t bring yourself to justify what you’ve done- even if it wasn’t your intention. Distracting him was part of the plan. Keeping him occupied was your mission, but confessing your true feelings and allowing yourself to fall back in love with him- not just the idea of what it would be like to love him- wasn’t part of your job description.

The second your paths crossed again, you were done for. It was never about seeking vengeance or getting even for the hurt that he caused you, because the minute that Dick waltzed back into your life, you knew you were doomed- because he makes you reckless. He makes you sloppy and distracted and forgiving. He makes you weak- and you let him. Every single time. Always and forever. Infinitely.

When he looks at you, he looks past you and towards your belongings on the counter. No. You shake your head, vehemently encouraging him to look away. If his eyes would just meet yours, if only for a second, you know you could save this. If not for the sake of putting broken pieces back together you could at least salvage fragments amongst the wreckage, but he doesn’t spare you a glance. No, no, no. His attention is solely on the expensive stone behind you, and when you reach out for him, your fingertips shaking as you grasp his bicep with all of the strength you can muster, he shakes you off of him.

Everything splinters.

When he reaches for your earring, you know that this is the end. It’s all over. A new moment will erase everything you thought you knew about pain, heartbreak, suffering, and betrayal. This moment, as it unfolds before you, will plague you until you meet your demise, because the second that he dares to bring the jewel up to his own ear, the exact moment that he hears Selina’s command through the gravely static of the earpiece you discarded earlier in the evening, you know that any hope for a future together vanishes- ripped straight from your fingers before you even had the chance to hold onto it and guard it with your life.

Even with his back towards you, you can see his face harden in the reflection of the mirror. Through the thin material of his crumbled dress shirt his shoulders tense and when he finally looks up to meet your stare through the glass, all traces of red, green, and yellow are gone. A piece of him- the piece of him that you’re most familiar with- dies, sprawled out and oozing across the marble. It’s too late to try to revive him. All that’s left in the wake of his slaughter is blue and black.

Blue and black, forevermore.

There’s nothing left for either of you here. Not anymore. Hope begins to decay, and the hollow hole in your chest that only he could ever fill begins to die from rot. Nothing will ever be the same. Not after this. Perhaps the final thought passed back and forth between a glare is the last thing you’ll ever share- beyond moments of destruction and beautiful chaos- but it’s clear to you both, that not all ghosts are meant to be resurrected.

Some ghosts should just stay ghosts.

a/n: hey, I’m raen and I’m down bad for this man lol…anyway, I’ve been working on this story for months. I literally poured bits and pieces of my soul into this (so if you wouldn’t mind interacting or providing feedback I’d be forever grateful) but I just wanted to write a tale of doomed lovers who care about each other in such a way that it leads to their downfall. I wanted this to hurt, and I hope it did- in the best way possible! I’m not above begging, so please, please, please feel free to send some feedback- as this is my first time writing for Dick and I would love to hear what people think! that being said, requests are also open! check out my request guidelines before submitting! and if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading!

everyone who requested to be tagged: @js-favnanadoongi @kalulakunundrum @1lellykins @octodog17 @novelizt @nesta-houseofwindfantasy @corgiqween576 @whiteglovemanor @godcreatoreli @lassmich1 @consternat1on @deffnotnia @haloney @iananiko @noodlesketchbook @thescarletcryptid @obsessedwthdilfs @vanice-e @taintedmaroon @holybatflapexpert @whatismypurpos @heylookwhoitis @corpseflower6 @heavenlym0chi @lokiwannacry @boywondergrayson @tetzoro @oiztsy @naf3211

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Send me some feedback, or request to be added to my taglist! (please specify which taglist you’d like to be added to- character or general) !Requests: OPEN!

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ihopeinevergetsoberr · 1 year ago

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A quick meal

cw: shameless smut, no use of y/n, female anatomy for reader, desk sex, dirty talk, slightly rough(-ish)? perhaps??

word count: 1,5k

eng is not my first language, please inform me if you spot any mistakes!

Viktor always knew it’s what inside that counts. And so he counted. Every rich moan escaping your mouth, every squelch of the fondly fingered pussy — it’s every prominence, fold and flexure, and, of course — exactly how much pressure you prefer on your clit. Well, at least that explanation was the only reasonably-appearing one to you, because how the hell did he know how to make you cream his fingers in coats of delicious stickiness in exactly few minutes, the stretch of them so qualitative your throbbing walls could easily accept his cock with little to no effort put into penetration. He must have used an ungodly amount of diligence to develop this specific technique just for you — his precious, lecherous sweetheart. Your whimpers are a devil on his shoulder, distracting him from being a stern, dispassionate about anything except for his research man. That little temptation invited him into the warmth of your precious core instead. It kept luring in, filling his genius mind with dreamy filth. Besides: it’s so much better to be buried within the tightness of your cunt than within the loneliness of his lab, untouched and craving you in his arms so desperately. No, he most certainly would prefer the first option.

“Relax,” sultry whisper teases your ear, while the free from fucking into you hand crawled up, preliminarily teasing the swell of each breast on its way to your throat — to be wrapped around it like a pretty collar, securely tight, not firm enough to actually hurt, but to rather keep you in place, adding to the thrill, to the longing.

He rarely fucks you like this. Viktor’s never been a huge fan of quickies — he’s a taster at heart, thorough and passionate — a sloppy kiss here, a teasing lick there — working you up even when it’s not needed anymore, for the sake of pure entertainment — more his than yours, to be completely honest, but he would never willingly admit to that.

He likes to savour you, like a fresh fruit one’s supposed to eat slowly — painfully so, even, memorising the flavour in explicit detail, letting it engrave into the taste receptors.

But there’s cyanide even in the finest peaches. Eat too many — and you’re incapable of consuming anything anymore, death plastered across your gourmand-face. It takes around fifteen peach pits to kill a curious starved soul, after all.

So tonight Viktor stays away from the cyanide. He’s had enough ravishing for now, turning a solid number of your previous intercourses into love-making. He’s eager, and he’s treating you like a quick meal — totally different from his usual ‘eat-you up-like-you’re-the main course’ demeanour. Not that you mind, of course. Dining hastily has its charms too.

“Keep your legs spread for me,” the gentle demand continues to sting your ear, and as much as you’d love to comply — you simply can’t, trembling knees doing you no favours, allowing no small mercies.

“Darling?” he repeats, the sharpness of his ‘r’ a scrumptious scratch to your brain, turning you into a mess — nearly irreparable, matching the one you’ve turned his desk into once he bent you over it, capturing tightly between his erection and the hard wooden edge, kindly depriving you off the worries about your clothes getting in the way. So thoughtful of him.

Rolled up skirt rests on your lower back, exposing the plumpness of soft hips — so grabable, they’re practically begging for his attention, but he’s reluctant to pull the long fingers out of you just yet. You’re clenching around them so perfectly, blessing him with the privilege of feeling your every twitch.

The presence of your underwear doesn’t concern you anymore — it’s wrapped around your ankles, pretty lace occasionally tickling the skin, reminding of the abrupt harshness Viktor’s sinewy hands had ripped them off you with. So brusque when it comes to fucking you from behind that a mere touch feels rougher than the deepest of thrusts. Your pussy might be able to take him without turning into a mess, but your sanity? You wish he’d left you some, just the tiniest bit to at least obey him easily.

But not all wishes were meant to be fulfilled.

You mewl something hopelessly illegible as your words drown in your own moan, lewd sounds of his fingers parting the swollen folds of an already spent cunt louder than your actual voice. And suddenly body language is not a figurative concept anymore.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” the kind threat encourages hoarsely. “Or should I spread them for you?”

You can only squeeze out a nod. Viktor releases your neck with a sympathetic chuckle, and a deft hand grabs at your left calf, helping a trembling leg to step out of the damp lingerie, leaving it completely forgotten and lonely on the floor. You’ll collect it later: if only the dirty-minded inventor lets you, of course. Which was highly doubtful, since tucking your undergarments into a pocket of his dresspants started to really grow on him lately. The possibility of obstaclessly fucking you over another surface once you’re in private again is too tempting to be pushed away so fast.

You fall on his desk, cold wood a tough pillow to your flushed cheek. However the loving hand stroking at your flesh doesn’t move to proceed with complaisant ministrations on your right limb. The buckle of his belt jingles, unfastening, negligently joining your underwear on the floor. You quirk an inquisitive eyebrow, putting a rather pathetic effort into propping yourself up, searching for an explanation to his movements. But a rough palm falls on your lower back with a thump, firmly pacifying, practically smacking.

“Don’t move, dear,” he hisses, pulling his fingers out of you right before you got the chance to cum all over them. Scarily rigorous again. And vicious. But you don’t say that. It’s not like you’re able to talk coherently anyway.

Something — which you suspect to be his foot — persistently forces your legs out of the way, sprawling you more for his hungry gaze. The toe of his shoe roughly kisses each one of your heels, spreading you open, just as he’d promised.

“How rude!” you exclaim, voice dripping with fake resentment.

“Rude?” he laughs, and the next thing you feel is a caring peck on a shoulder, the sweet heat of his breath back where it belongs — teasing the shell of your ear. “Well, please excuse me this one whim, but can you really blame me? Besides, I suppose my… barbarism happened to be quite efficient.”

His tip is pressed against your entrance, slowly working its way inside, brushing a puffy labia on its way. You’re sure it’s leaking with precum for you already — it might be impossible to feel through the lavish wetness seeping out of you, but you know Viktor good enough to be certain of pearly bitterish liquid breaking out of his slit.

You don’t lack his fingers anymore — not when you’re about to be so much more palpably filled, the thickness of his cock irreplaceable with any amount of his phalanxes. An unsolved mystery for both of you. The one leading you to an embarrassingly primitive statement — whatever it is so special about him keeps you coming back for more.

“There was no need to be so ill-mannered. I could have spread my legs just perfectly fine,” you mutter a shameless lie, already expecting a protest.

“And from my expertise you weren’t exactly competent,” Viktor mocks with a tortuously handsome smirk, and you make a fatal mistake of looking over your shoulder right when his narrow hips thrust into yours, his length splitting you with a delicious burn. It takes away the remnants of your stamina. “Because trust me, I can tell when one’s incapable of standing on their own feet — let alone moving properly. Coming from an adept, figuratively speaking.”

He bends lower, warm dry lips pressed to the glistening sweat on your temple. He doesn’t rush to have his way with you anymore, hand found peace on your chin, tilting up, gently forcing a thumb into the open mouth. You greet it with a needy bite, a wordless plea to convince him to finally start pounding into you, to satisfy the body lusting for his steady thrusts.

“You’re quivering,” Viktor notes with a pensive hum. “Shall I proceed? You look like you’re in more need of a cane than I am, my darling. So wobbly.”

The plea-bite on his thumb quickly turns into a menacing one. Canine pierces the skin, earning a muffled against the mess of your hair ‘ouch’, demanding the heartily craved resumption.

“Am I pinned like this forever or are you done with the fucking drollery?”

A sultry laugh caresses your ear, and the throbbing cock inside you slips almost all the way out, leaving you clenching purely around the bulging tip.

“Save the swearing,” utters the pretty tempter.

A rough roll of his hips into yours. Ass bounces off his pelvis, the slap of skin against skin loud and resonant, mingling with your desperate gasp just perfectly. Has you seeing numerous sparks, mouth drops open in a breathless ‘yes’.

“That vocabulary is only appropriate for an orgasm.”

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane #viktor fanfic #viktor smut #viktor x f!reader #viktor x reader smut #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane smut

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tateshifts · 6 months ago

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THEODORE NOTT ⋆｡˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ dr headcanons

✮ . . . he is the most sarcastic person you will ever meet, i know this is common knowledge but almost everything he says is sarcasm. i’m a very gullable person so i can never tell the difference with him. to understand him you have to have wits

✮ . . . he grew up in an abusive home without a mother, but with mattheo. they have been through a lot together in their childhood so they’re bond has grown a ton over the years. they fight like brothers and act like brothers but one time when theo was drunk he said if mattheo was a girl he’d totally date him ??? urm concerning mate

✮ . . . when he was 8 he admitted to having a crush on narcissa and he picked out some flowers from the malfoy grounds. in reality he just confused his feelings towards her because he has mummy issues

✮ . . . he has never had a real girlfriend, he’s ‘dated’ girls before but has never made it official. he self sabotages a lot so his relationships never end up going anywhere. he’s very possessive and jealous and gets so overwhelmed by the affection that he just explodes and ruins the relationship in the end.

✮ . . . yes, theo’s tall but he’s not lanky like everyone says he is. he’s so athletic, he’s captain of the quidditch team. so he’s always working out and just doing everything to keep himself moving. it distracts him from his thoughts. he’s got a lot of muscle to him, he has reallyyy defined abs. AND HIS JAWLINE. so chiselled.

✮ . . . theo can read people so well, if, say enzo, takes a joke too far, then theo is the first one to notice if you’re hurt by it. he wouldn’t bring it up then and there he would wait to get you alone and reassure you.

✮ . . . mattheo is the only person that theo trusts with his life. he would tell mattheo anything in an instant, they both like to hang out in the astronomy tower after astronomy class and talk and smoke. they just catch up and talk about nonsense. theo is a very honest and open person so he’ll still tell us things he’s thinking about but mattheo is always and will be his number 1 person.

✮ . . . theo is not much of a drinker at parties, he smokes weed until he can’t roll anymore. he also uses it as a coping mechanism if he’s feeling shit. he gets in his own head sometimes about the death of his mother, it’s something that theo is still processing to this day.

✮ . . . tell me why theo is straight but kisses mattheo sober at parties 🤔🤔🤔

✮ . . . theo is not the person everyone describes him to be. he’s not this guy who pretends to have a high body count to fit in, he doesn’t stuff his face with food every chance he gets and he would never let anyone called him teddy. doesn’t matter who you are- he finds it cringe and ‘revolting’ (his words not mine). i think the slytherin boy react accounts on tiktok have ruined everyone’s perception of the slytherin boys. ✮ but i know this is just me and my experiences and my dr and it’s not the same for everyone, it’s just that i used to think he was like this and then i shifted and it was like a slap in the face lol

thanks for reading ❦｡･:*:･ﾟ. follows, likes & reblogs are appreciated x

#theodore nott headcanons #theo nott #theodore nott x reader #reality shifting #shifting motivation #shifting community #shifting #harry potter dr #hp shifting #shifting stories #slytherin boys #reality shifter #desired reality #theodore nott #mattheo riddle x reader x theodore nott

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ajortga · 10 months ago

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sweet pt.2

pairing: jenna ortega x fem reader

summary: jenna can't stop thinking about you, the coffee girl. she may or may not have asked you out on something her friends consider as a date.

word count: 3k+

read the other parts here! previous part: part 1 part 2 part 3

It became sort of a habit for Jenna.

It would be music, think about you, eat, think about you, sleep, think about you, film, yay Jenna gets to see you!

Maybe she’s over exaggerating it, but at the same time she’s really not.

Jenna wasn’t the regular person to be a love bird. Head over heels for someone was barely something she was used to. Well sure she would pass some guys in the city or notice them on set and think, “Oh his hair is perfect” or “He’s kind of cute.” She’s dated a few guys, broke them off because they weren’t for her.

All of the guys only hung out with her knowing she was a celebrity, or she would really think they were the one, until they lost interest and treated her like some toy. She hated when they did that. In fact, she was disgusted by it so much that she didn’t even want to think of having a lasting relationship at all. She just had to find someone right for her.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Melissa nudges Jenna as they’re both in their Tara and Sam outfits.

Jenna hums, looking at the taller latina with a small roll of her eyes while their makeup is getting patched up, “Just hungry, I guess.”

She shifts in her seat, her earbuds in and waiting for this day to be over, she forgot an umbrella. Of course the forecast would show as non-stop rain the whole day with thunderstorms, she literally checked the day before and it said sunny.

“Well, we only have to shoot like, 5 scenes. You wanna go with Jas and Mason to the Italian place you like? On me.”

Tempting.

But Jenna’s mind has other plans.

“I think I’m gonna drop by the coffee place next door, craving a latte you know?”

She sees the way Melissa’s face twitches upwards, almost as a confused yet searching look, “You don’t like coffee.”

“The shop changed my mind, Y/N recommended a latte that is actually really good.”

“Y/n you say?” And from Melissa’s sing-song voice, she knows what’s coming.

“Yes,” Jenna scoffs, she can feel her ears begin to heat up.

“I didn’t know you had a friend named Y/N.”

It’s a little quiet, the only noise is from Jenna’s half put in earbud, “I met her a couple days ago, she’s a barista that helps her parents run their coffee shop. Keeps the place cozy and organized.”

“So she’s a barista?”

“Yes,” Jenna replies, half distracted as she picks at her cuticles.

“Who helps run her parent’s coffee shop?”

“Yep.”

“Next door?”

“Uh huh.”

“You like her,” Melissa smirks, it’s not a question anymore.

“Yes-Wait what? No!” Jenna slaps Melissa’s arm, caught off guard.

Jenna hears her laugh, half-heartedly, “I’m just kidding, but you do seem out of it, are you thinking about her often?”

She shrugs, picking off skin that she just scratched.

“Well I think you are, you’re nervous.”

Now the daydreamer turns to face Melissa, “No I’m not, I just think she’s sweet and she’s someone that already brought me out of that introverted lookin’ shell when I first meet people.”

It was true. It’s like you two knew each other when you first met, she hopes you thought of her that way too. She hopes you’re thinking of her as much as she thinks about you everyday.

Melissa looks down at Jenna’s cuticles, then back up at her, “You’re thinking about her, you’ve been quiet today and don’t think I didn’t see what song you’re listening to. You never listen to love songs!”

“What?! I have not been listening to love songs!”

“Lover by Taylor Swift? Lingers by The Cranberries? About you by the 1975? Dark Red by Steve Lacy??”

My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue

All's well that ends well to end up with you

Swear to be overdramatic and true to my lover

“I just have taken interest in love songs I guess, it’s spring anyways right?”

“Spring my ass! That is bullshit!” Jasmine chimes in, making Jenna flinch and turn to the corner where Jas was hiding.”

“What the fuck Jas.. Are you eavesdropping?” Jenna shrieks.

“I know when a girl likes a girl,” Jas rolls her eyes and immediately stands up from her squatting position, “Don’t think me and Mason didn’t see you texting someone that you named mY y/N OOoO La lAAaAa..”

Jasmine shuts up with a slipper slapped into her face.

“Just go ask her out or something,” Mason says, popping behind Jasmine and getting the second pair of slippers thrown to his stomach, making him yelp.

“I barely even know her,”

“And there's no difference, you barely fall in love, girl, love at first sight for you means that she’s the one. You know your priorities and she checks all of them. If not, you wouldn’t be listening to those dumb love songs.”

“Gotta agree Jenna, what about this, we’ll go to the Italian restaurant first, then we’ll leave you alone with her in the coffee shop, you come out and tell us how it goes.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you love us.”

“Ugh.”

The alfredo pasta was twirled from the fork Jenna was holding, eating as the cast of scream 6 giggled and talked during their lunch break. It was a big bowl of pasta to say the least, she shared it with the whole cast but she was eating it up like there was no tomorrow. She knew around this time she came to your cafe, she only came around two times, but if you didn’t see her on a Thursday in the afternoon, she can almost feel the disappointment you might feel. Or hopes you feel, Jenna’s wondering to herself if you even think of her.

“Oh she’s falling hard for this silly Y/N girl,” Jasmine whispers to Melissa, to which she agrees almost immediately.

“No I’m not,” Jenna blurts, placing down her fork.

Everyone in the table clicks their tongue, a few, “Oh come on” and “Liar!”

“Well you wouldn’t have responded, we’ve been talking to you for the past 5 minutes and you only jerk your head when you hear anything about her!” Jasmine groans, showing her hands if they would somehow present something.

She signals for the check, she quickly pays, and as soon as that happens her real life core four push her out of the restaurant and to the outside of the coffee shop, like parents.

“Go,” Jenna’s shoulder was pushed into the door and it was too late to go back as she heard the familiar bell ring.

“I hate you Jas,” her hands flip the 3 people giggling behind the foggy window behind her as she hears the voice she’s been thinking about the whole day.

“Jenna!” Your tiny figure pops out from the coffee bean machine, waving to her happily.

Cute, she thinks to herself. You’re so cute.

“Almost thought you wouldn’t come today,” you murmur, making Jenna shake her head.

“Just had some lunch with friends, but I couldn't miss out on coffee on Thursdays though.”

“Ah,” you hum, your eyes focused on the latte art you were working on.

The only noise is the r&b music and the small chatter that keeps the environment comforting.

A small bunny was being created, pouring the creamer carefully.

“You’re almost looking as tiny and cute as that bunny,” your co-worker, Matteo says, a few feet away from you.

A soft laugh erupts in your throat, rolling your eyes from his compliment, but thanking him nonetheless. Jenna doesn’t know if she’s feeling a strong pit of jealousy that sizzles beneath the back of her mind. Her eyes train on the boy, hazel eyes, brunette hair.

“Okay okay, stop that,” you grumble, a small smile plastered on your face as you playfully nudge him to show your annoyance.

“Feisty,” he chides.

“The only thing I did differently today is that I curled my hair. You can barely see it in this ponytail,” one hand is pointing to your hair while the other keeps concentrating on the bunny.

“You’re also wearing a bow, your freckles are more visible, mmm,” he thinks for a moment, “Oh and,” he comes closer, whispering in your ear so only you can hear. Your body almost shivers from it, “You’re staring at a new coming regular and smiling like a weird teenager.”

You stop your latte art, groaning in frustration since you were caught by a coworker that also is a kind friend of yours.

“No I’m not, stop whispering in my ear and let me do my latte art,” you shove him away and continue to work on your bunny.

Jenna swallows the prickly feeling in her throat, feeling herself scowl at some guy who’s name tag seems to say, “Mat ear.” Maybe she should switch out acting with latte art for a day.

The bunny looks complete.

And perfect, you exhale a breath from pride, slide the latte and call out the person’s order with a warm smile.

Then Jenna feels like a fool standing there because she just realized that she’s been staring at you making another person’s latte. Then you feel stupid for not sending someone over to serve her since you’re assuming that she wanted something.

“Sorry!” You apologize, smacking the top of your head as you lean across the countertop, “Hi Jenna, did you want something?” Jenna looks down at your lips for a moment, your teeth tugged on your bottom lip, then trails back up to the menu.

“No worries, I should’ve sat down, I just wanted to visit I guess. Sure. Um,” She doesn’t know what to get.

“Confused again huh?” You tease, looking at the menu then at the lattes. It makes her almost fan herself to know that you know she wants a latte today.

It takes a moment for you to think, “I don’t even think I put this up on our menu, but the other day when I was closing I tried a hazelnut caramel, you down to try that today?”

“That sounds pleasing, sure I’ll take that.”

“Okay, one hazelnut caramel!”

“Dude, I swear your cafe sells at least every pastry known to mankind. Those brownies and chocolate chip cookies look like it could make society salivatate.”

You laugh, “Thanks silly, I just experiment and make sure everyone in NYC can have a taste of home if they are from somewhere else. Sometimes I take my recipes from a past generation baking book, other times I just try baking from eyeing measurements.”

Jenna smiles at that, touching your hand with hers and pressing it down to the counter, “Well trust me, this is probably why you get a hell load of customers every morning.”

A light-hearted, non-forced, soft giggle comes from you, not moving your hand that is pressed from hers.

“As long as it makes others happy and continues a legacy while doing other things I love, and meeting sweet people that mark my memory like you, I think that I wouldn’t trade it. Did you want anything else?”

“I think that’s it today,” Jenna breathes, moving her hand away from yours. Immediately your hand misses the warmth and just wants to pull her back.

She can’t help but notice the smile plastered on your face, “Okay, hazelnut caramel coffee, on the house.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Nuh uh, not on my watch,” Jenna insists, pulling out a 10 dollar bill and immediately you shoo her away.

“On me! Honest! I own this place anyways and it happens at least twice everyday, don’t worry about it love.”

She hears a small “aww” come from her phone and she freezes, her cheeks heating up in an instant.

“I’m paying you one day,”

“If it’s banterings and consistent times that I see you besides Tuesdays and Thursdays, then okay,” your voice echoes as you begin to prepare her latte.

Jenna smiles at you and as soon as she turns around she picks up her phone and curses into it, “What the hell Jas? How the hell did you manage to call me before I got into the shop and stalk into our conversation??”

Snorts and laughs come from the other line, she immediately plugs her earphones in.

“On the house, hmm??” Mason teases, everyone in unison going “ooh la la..”

“I’m going to chop your heads off-”

“And of course you place your hands on top of hers!! It’s like watching the corniest romance in front of my eyes!”

It had only been 5 minutes that Jenna had talked with you, and somehow she still got stuck and caught by her friends.

“Shut up,” Jenna says, her voice soft, but grumpily as she scoffs.

Melissa, Mason, and Mindy are shouting from outside, she can hear them screaming through the phone.

“Hey,” you say softly, bringing her latte with two wrapped pastries in hand and slide it to her front, “Try the brownies and cookies you were looking at and tell me what you think?”

Jenna wants to keep her cool and to smile politely, but the three crazy people outside that are listening in are making it hard. Especially with all the kissing noises she can hear, so she takes out her earbuds and tosses them in her hoodie’s pocket.

It takes her a while to realize she didn’t buy the pastries that made her hungry.

“Seriously?”

The way your cheeks curved upwards and your nose scrunched as you smiled made Jenna smile on the spot there, “Seriously,” you assured.

“I hate you for this,” she says playfully, sarcastically.

“Who can hate two free pastries? That’s a win for me,” you pull the chair out, sitting down as you take a small break, exhaling.

There was a cute cat design on the hazelnut caramel latte, the steaming, sweet bitterness scent that wafts in the air makes Jenna shiver. She plays with the wrapping of the chocolate chip cookie before mumbling a soft, “Thank you.”

“Mmmhm, no problem.”

There's a quiet pause, Jenna sips her latte, looking up at you and seeing you giggle. It’s sweet, light, bitter, and perfect.

You hand her a napkin, there's a small white foaming mustache from the creamer.

It takes a moment as she takes the napkin before you speak again, “So, filming mm? Is it stressful, you know, having to wake up early and doing stuff like that?”

“Honestly, there are days where it can be too much and I need to wind down a bit. But I love seeing cameras and doing something that I have the fortunate privilege of doing, I know a lot of people don’t have that and it makes me grateful.”

You hum in response, nodding, playing with the nape of your shirt.

“I used to want to act and direct,” you smile.

“Really? Why not now?”

Your shoulders shrug, “I still do small stuff, holding cameras, auditioning for stuff, it’s just a little harder since I’m working here and making sure I can continue doing, you know, this. But I love working here, it heals something in me.”

It makes Jenna feel almost bad, not in an overly guilty way. She just can’t fathom feeling pressured to do something instead of going the way you want.

“You have coworkers, you don’t have to be here everyday, you know?” She tilts her head.

Her eyes meet yours, and again she sees those doe eyes, with nothing but something to make her own self melt.

But I'm in so deep

You know, I'm such a fool for you

You got me wrapped around your finger

Do you have to let it linger?

“I know, sometimes I’m afraid this place will go haywire.”

She giggles at that, then thinks for a moment, “You know, I get on set tomorrow at 11, which is later than most days. Do you wanna, you know, just come and look around? The directors and producers are the sweetest people I know and they don’t mind a plus one. I would like, show you around and you can reach out to some people.”

It’s silent, your face is thoughtful as you’re processing what she said.

“I’ll stick by your side the whole time we’re not filming, introduce you to the cast, as long as you don’t do anything silly, which I highly doubt you might.”

“Okay, I’ll have to check in with Matteo, ask him to bring his sister that comes in on Saturdays and switch it to tomorrow.”

The brunette feels her heart flipping and she nods, burying her face in her hands to try and stop the redness that is invading her cheeks.

You come back soon later, beginning to talk about the plan of the coffee shop tomorrow, but Jenna gets distracted, it’s hard seeing Jasmine blowing her breath on the window, making hearts, then wiping the fog and seeing the way all her friends are making dreamy gestures to mock her. They’re all dancing and she wants to flip them off.

“I’ll be there tomorrow, could you by, um any chance, pick me up? I usually walk here and get my car repaired.”

Oh fuck, Jenna thinks, because she get’s picked up by Jasmine and tomorrow Melissa and Mason will be joining, like they do twice a week. She wants to face palm, she can almost picture the way when you make conversation with her in the car tomorrow, she’ll see in the corner of her eye Mason batting his eyelashes and sticking his tongue out.

“Sure, if you’re okay with some of my crazy friends.”

“Tomorrow it is,” you say, waving and ruffling your hair before waving and walking back to work.

Jenna looks down at her earbuds and she completely forgot she didn’t end the call, she just stashed it away, she’s bearing what is to come, putting her earbuds back in.

“SHE’S ASKING HER OUT ON A DATE” (Mason)

“NO WAY” (Jas)

“SHE’S A FOOL” (Jas)

“SHE’S GOING TO GET EMBARRASSED TOMORROW.” (Jas)

Not to mention the way they are waving their hands outside, she can almost hear the screaming from here.

“There’s no way in hell you asked this sweet pretty girl to come on set tomorrow,” Melissa sing-songs.

“Paws off,” she grumbles.

“She wants her for herself, of course.”

“Shut up!”

#jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #vada cavell x reader #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega imagine #jenna marie ortega

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