#it's just one's a pick up from X direction | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kunareads · 3 days ago

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how you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things

actor!satoru x popstar!reader

you and satoru fulfill the prophecy (he picks you up, pulls them down, turns you around).

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satoru "filthy mouth" gojo!!! i had to stop writing this multiple times because of what he does to me. PART 3 VALENTINE'S DAY (comment for taglist)

content: fluff and SMUT! even more tension, you and satoru are once again the subjects of internet speculation, making out, 69, oral (m! and f! receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v sex, pronebone, cowgirl, he's very much in control here

18+ please i block children <3

+++

the internet does what it does best: fill in the blanks.

neither of you say anything. no statements, no denials, no acknowledgments. but speculation spreads like wildfire.

it started small. the blurry afterparty photos, the red carpet chemistry dissection, the think pieces about hollywood's most unexpected flirtation. the usual.

then you post an instagram story.

nothing special. just a close-up of a wine glass, city lights blurred in the background. no context, no caption. but the fans? they think they know.

twitter erupts.

@/satorumess: not to be crazy but i mapped out their locations based on timestamps and—

@/fulltimeshipper: this is worse than when the CIA redacted half that UFO document

@/ynupdates: y/n posting a cryptic story the same night satoru is spotted downtown… oh we are in the trenches forreal

then, satoru likes a tiktok.

a slow-motion edit of you in your red carpet and afterparty looks, set to some dramatic song, captioned this woman is dangerous, your honor.

he doesn't comment, doesn't follow the account. just leaves one single like. and the internet implodes.

@/fandomedits: nah this isn't pr this is a man down BAD

@/popcultupdates: GOJO SATORU LIKING THIRST EDITS IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT WE HAVE LOST HIM COMPLETELY

@/ynstan: this man saw a slo-mo thirst edit and said "yeah let me cosign that"

but it gets worse.

an old clip resurfaces. a red carpet from last year. you and satoru, near each other but never interacting. a moment that meant nothing—until now.

fans slow it down, zoom in, analyze every tiny detail:

satoru steps onto the carpet, and your eyes flick toward him, barely noticeable.

he glances in your direction.

there's a beat where he exhales, seems to collect himself—something no one caught before.

and suddenly, it's evidence.

@/fathergojo: why do their interactions feel like deleted scenes from a romcom

@/yninvestigator: guys. GUYS. what do you MEAN she looked at him FIRST. what do you MEAN HE TOOK A BREATH AND LOOKED AWAY.

@/stanwars: suddenly i believe in fate. suddenly i understand greek tragedies.

apparently, none of this is new.

you and satoru are just catching up.

+++

+++

satoru isn't good at waiting.

patience isn't exactly his strong suit, but when the reward is this good? he doesn't mind.

you walk in like the last week never happened. like the chaos never even registered.

the rooftop lighting catches the silk of your dress, the shine of your jewelry, the sheen of your lips. it makes you look untouchable.

attention follows you effortlessly. heads turn, backs straighten. someone says something, you smile—polite, charming, distant. you're impossible not to watch.

and satoru watches.

he's become acquainted with the effect you have, but it hits harder tonight than it did a week ago.

because now he knows how you taste.

the glass in his hand is cool, condensation falling between his fingers. he takes a sip, tracking you, cataloging details no one else would catch.

the way your shoulders shift, subtle, as you get closer.

the flick of your gaze toward him before you fully reach him.

you stop beside him, close enough for the scent of your perfume to settle between you.

a pause before you meet his eyes.

"so… how's your week been?" you ask, tone light, a smile gracing your features.

satoru exhales a laugh, tipping his glass like a toast. "surprisingly quiet. you?"

as you talk, your fingers trace the rim of your glass. he watches. you let him.

he leans in when he speaks. you don't move away.

he notices the way the waiter lingers, the way you dismiss it with a polite, distant smile.

you notice the way his expression shifts at that, just slightly. neither of you acknowledge it.

"you're kind of a nightmare," you tease.

satoru grins, unbothered. "funny. some people call me a dream."

you laugh and roll your eyes at him. he takes his time with his next sip, letting the tension settle. you're watching him watch you.

it would be easy to let you play this game, to see how long you can act like you're not as impatient as he is. but he leans in, voice quiet, just for you.

"you gonna make me wait?" low, taunting.

you could, but you don't. instead, you lean in too, meeting him halfway. you set your glass down carefully. he mirrors you.

someone—a bartender, another guest—tries to pull you into conversation, but you don't reply.

you lean into him, your voice calm but sure.

"let's go."

+++

streetlights skim over sleek black paint as the car pulls up, satoru swinging the door open. you barely take a step before his hand finds the small of your back, fingers pressing just enough to guide you.

he grins lazily. "last chance."

you roll your eyes as you step in. "so dramatic."

he closes the door after you and circles the car, the driver pulling off.

the backseat feels too small.

you cross your legs. his knee brushes against yours, and he doesn't move away. his hand rests on his thigh, relaxed, too close to yours. deliberate.

you pretend not to notice, but he knows better.

the silence is louder than words. the city blurs past the tinted windows, neon bleeding into the dark. the hum of the engine, the distant murmur of traffic, the faint pulse of something unsaid.

satoru exhales slowly, gliding his tongue over his teeth, thinking. he pushes a button, the partition rising.

you're both quiet, but it's a silent signal: stop pretending.

the second it clicks into place, he moves. or maybe you do. it doesn't matter. he's closer now, facing you, and you're already leaning in.

a beat. a sharp inhale.

his fingers skim your thigh, higher this time.

"i was trying to be good," you say quietly.

his voice drops, tight with restraint, and your breath catches. "don't."

the second the word leaves his lips, you're on him. a hand finds the back of his neck, drawing him in.

the first kiss is slow, but not reluctant. he drags it out because he can. he tilts his head, deepening it. he hums against your lips when you press closer, pleased.

his fingers tease higher. yours twist into his hair, nails scraping just enough to make him sigh into your mouth.

the car rolls to a stop.

neither of you move. not right away.

satoru's grip tightens, like he's considering pulling you onto his lap. like he could keep you here a little longer, let the city blur beyond the tinted glass while he takes his time.

instead, he drags his lips down your jaw, then lower. he breathes you in before murmuring, "upstairs."

+++

the door clicks shut, sealing you in. no music, no distant hum of the city, just quiet, dense and charged.

neither of you break the silence.

satoru steps in first. the air seems to crackle around him here the same way it does everywhere else.

you hold his stare, challenging. he waits.

a test. a game.

then, finally, you reach for him. his grin is lazy, knowing. like he was waiting for you to break first.

this kiss is purposeful. his lips brush yours—once, then again. a silent question, just the slow press of his mouth, the barely-there slide of his hands down your waist.

your fingers slip under his shirt, nails grazing skin, just enough to pull a slow, amused breath from him.

his hands find your hips, insistent, pulling you in until there's no space left. the shift makes you gasp into his mouth, and he drinks it in, looking smug, like he expected it.

like he's been waiting for this all week.

his grip tenses, like he's about to pull you closer—but then he's gone. his heat vanishes, his lips just a ghost of pressure before they disappear completely.

he barely moves when you chase him a bit, just tilts his chin, smiling. like he knew you wouldn't let him go. like he was counting on it.

you inhale, frustration sparking low in your chest, and you move before you think. your hands find his shirt, tugging him back in—but before you can, his fingers close around your wrists, catching you with ease.

his grin is knowing, his grip firm but teasing. he tilts his head, amusement spreading across his face.

"easy, princess," he murmurs, voice low, eyes flicking to your lips. "what's the rush?"

you arch a brow, fingers flexing in his grasp. "you did haul me out of the car."

his grin widens. "not like you put up a fight."

you push.

you press into him, backing him towards the wall. he lets you. lets you kiss him deeper, hands still wrapped around your wrists but relaxing, giving you room to move.

for a second, you think you've won.

then the world tilts and your back meets the wall with a gentle thud, your head tipping back slightly as he crowds you.

he smiles at you, eyes sparkling, enjoying himself too much. his hands settle at your waist, keeping you where he wants you.

you should be annoyed. instead, you match him and smirk right back.

you like the way he handles you.

+++

his touch is maddening.

his fingertips skate over your ribs, your stomach, but never where you need them. it's intentional and exploratory, like he has all the time in the world.

and he does. his apartment is a sanctuary from the mess of the last week. no prying eyes or a disgruntled kento to interrupt here.

you shift, trying to lead him downward, but he only chuckles, barely making a sound.

"you can be patient for me, can't you?" his voice dips lower, "or are you already too far gone?"

he's mocking you, and reflex kicks in—your thighs squeeze together, and you feel the heat creep up your neck when he notices.

his fingers ghost up your inner thighs, teasing warmth into your skin before retreating. every near-touch is calculated, just enough to remind you of how easily he could give you what you want.

he watches as impatience builds in your expression, as your breath stutters when his hands graze your waist again.

your nails press into his shoulders, a silent dare. before he can smirk, before he can gloat, you roll your hips against him, slow, deliberate. the response is immediate.

his breath falters, a groan through gritted teeth. his jaw tightens like he wasn't expecting you to test him. for a split second, he stills entirely.

you smile at him. message received.

"if you wanna ruin me, do it right, satoru." a taunt disguised as a whisper, just enough to chip at his restraint.

his hold turns bruising, like he wants to leave something behind. the teasing tone vanishes, his smirk dissolving into something darker. your breath catches—not in surprise, but excitement as something kindles in your stomach.

because suddenly, it's not a game anymore.

the realization barely registers before he has you pinned, wrists above your head, mouth at your ear.

"hope you know what you're asking for," he murmurs, hips flush against yours. his voice is different now—rough, heat twisting through every syllable. you shudder at the sound, your body responding. he makes good on his words immediately.

his hands find the backs of your thighs—then, suddenly, you're weightless, gasping, clutching at his shoulders. your legs draw around his hips, heat pooling fast.

a startled breath leaves you, but he's already moving, carrying you across the room like you weigh nothing at all.

+++

he drops you onto his bed, grinning at the glare you send him when you bounce.

you don't even get the chance to scold—his hands are already on you, pulling your panties down.

his teeth graze your inner thigh before he bites down, sharp enough to make you whine, hips squirming. he exhales with a smile. "thought so." his tongue follows—slow, indulgent, a promise to ruin you.

you've barely found your breath when he shifts, broad hands pressing into your thighs, spreading you open. his gaze lifts, dark and teasing.

"comfortable?" he asks, lips skimming the inside of your knee.

you roll your eyes, about to retort—but your fingers curl into the sheets instead when his mouth finds your core, hot and devastating.

your hips shift, back arching, and he hums against you, content.

you move the moment he adjusts—quick, decisive, hands pushing into his shoulders. he lets you shift the balance, rolling onto his back, breath catching when he opens his eyes to find you above him.

your fingers work fast, tugging at his belt, yanking it free with a sharp pull. you work on the button, the zipper, pulling the fabric down just enough to free him.

he was so fucking cocky a second ago. now, he's not even breathing right, body taut under your hands. so you stroke once, then twice, then take him into your mouth.

no warning, no reluctance.

his grip tightens on your thigh, breath punching out like you knocked it loose. his head tilts back, jaw tensing, a soft "fuck—just like that, baby" escaping him.

you hum around him, pleased, tongue teasing, and he swears again under his breath. his hands fist into the sheets, trying to ground himself.

but satoru doesn't like being outmatched.

his fingers skate up your thigh, squeezing. and then his mouth is on you, tongue dragging through your folds, slow and deep.

you gasp against him, body tensing, and he grins.

"that's better," he mutters against you, lips brushing sensitive skin before his tongue circles once, twice.

the sound you make is muffled around him, and he groans in response, the vibration rolling through you both.

you try to keep a rhythm, fingers curling at the base as you sink down, but every time his tongue moves just right, every time he sucks at your clit, you falter.

he notices, and he loves it.

his hands tighten on your hips, keeping you still as he buries his face deeper, determined, fucking into you with his tongue, sending you to the edge without mercy.

you try to keep going, try to keep your lips wrapped around him, but every nerve in your body is on fire, pressure winding as you moan around him.

he grins against you. "that's it, princess. lemme hear it."

his fingers dig into your skin, tightening as he licks into you with purpose, drawing desperate sounds from your throat.

it's too much. you pull your mouth off of him, panting, lips slick and hips twitching against his face as the bliss hits all at once, unraveling you from the inside out.

"satoru, fuck," you gasp, the words nearly unintelligible through your moans. you can't do anything but let it consume you, your body seizing before the release finally drives through you.

you gasp, sharp and unsteady, his name tumbling past your lips again, voice cracking into a whine.

satoru doesn't stop until you're shaking, your legs weak, pleasure rolling over you in dizzying, tormenting waves.

only when your thighs twitch, too sensitive, does he finally pull away. his face is wet, and he's breathless. he presses one last kiss to the inside of your thigh before looking up at you, eyes dark and lazy.

"you're fucking perfect," he murmurs, voice hoarse, before flipping you onto your stomach, pressing you into the mattress.

+++

you're still coming down when he lifts your hips, tucking a pillow underneath them.

his breath is warm against your shoulder, steady and grounding. his lips trail down your spine, flirting, savoring the way you squirm. a hand settles on your hip possessively, making sure you don't slip away.

his other hand trails lower, sliding between your legs, fingers pressing in—gradually, unhurried, teasing the mess he left behind.

"fuck, baby—you're dripping for me." his voice is all rough edges and satisfaction, murmured against your ear. you shiver. his fingers slide through your folds, spreading your slick, teasing the spot he knows will make you gasp.

"been thinking about this all week," he mumbles, kissing the curve of your neck. his fingers dip lower, pushing inside, slow and deep. "bet you have, too."

you whimper, and he smirks against your skin.

"should've had you like this that night. should've fucked you right up against that wall."

his fingers move at an unbearable pace, curling, pressing into the spot that makes your knees weak. your hips jerk, but he holds you still.

"needy, huh?" his breath is burning against your ear, teasing, smug. "tell me how bad you want it, baby."

your fingers clutch the sheets, patience fraying. you should fight him— push back, make him work for it—but you're too far gone for games.

"satoru—"

his fingers stall. "mm, not good enough."

"want you," you gasp, growing desperate. "need you inside me."

he groans like you just hit him where it hurts. he pulls his hand away, leaving you empty for barely a second before the thick of him replaces them.

he slips the tip through your folds, slick and teasing, but doesn't push in. "this what you wanted?" he asks, rougher now.

"yes."

"say it again."

your breath stutters, but you give him what he wants. "yes. please," you gasp.

his hands flex against your hips, keeping you still as he pushes forward, stretching you open with an unrelenting drag that knocks the air from your lungs. it's almost too much—almost—but you want all of it. you take all of him.

he moves in slowly, and a shaky gasp escapes as he bottoms out, deep inside you, holding himself there, letting you feel it.

his breath is ragged now, his exhale hot against your skin. "fuck."

his hands slide up your sides, guiding you, holding you where he needs you.

"you feel so fucking good," he breathes, voice dipping into something ruined.

his hips roll, deep and slow, like he wants to feel everything. like he wants to make this last.

you think for a second that you won't survive at this pace.

satoru brings his body lower, pressing his chest flush against your back, all heat and tension, breath ghosting over your shoulder as he sinks in.

his arms slip under yours, palms spreading over your shoulders, drawing you into him. not just pulling you back, but owning the space between you.

hi thrusts are indulgent, stretching, coating himself in you. his breath is uneven, satisfaction humming in your ear.

you push your hips back into him, matching his rhythm.

satoru exhales a sharp breath, fingers digging in. "you trying to make me lose it?"

you don't answer, just push back harder on instinct.

his response is immediate—a sharp, precise thrust that knocks the air from your lungs, ripping a moan from your throat before you can swallow it down.

"thought so," he murmurs, lips grazing your shoulder.

his pace turns deep and steady—controlled, measured. he brings his face close to yours, wanting to watch you react, to feel you tighten around him with every movement.

but you're impatient. you shift, pressing up onto your elbows, angling your hips just enough to take him deeper.

his pace stutters. he swears under his breath, voice raw, and one arm locks around your waist. he holds you in place as he fucks into you now, hard enough to leave you trembling, helpless against the bed.

his name leaves your lips, breathless and desperate.

"fuck—it's so good," he groans, half-choked, messy. his face buries into your neck, hands gripping like he's holding on for dear life. "let me hear you, baby."

you can barely think, barely breathe. his hand slides between your legs, fingers finding that spot, pressing slow, teasing circles.

"satoru—"

he chuckles, low and smug, but there's an edge to it now, a tension in the way his hips stutter, his movements losing their precision.

and then you tighten around him, body seizing, pleasure cresting all at once—

"fuck," he bites out, breathless, grip tightening like he's trying to hold on.

and then—he pulls out.

a sharp inhale, the loss making you gasp, but before you can even form a thought—

he flips you over.

"not done with you yet," he mutters, voice rough, gaze dark as he hovers over you.

+++

and just like that, everything shifts.

his hands find you the second he pulls out—a sharp, dizzying shift as he flips you over, settling beneath you. his hands slide up your ribs, brush over your breasts, then slide back down.

his fingers splay wide on your hips, steadying you, but it's his gaze that pins you in place. "wanna see you like this," he murmurs, voice low, still rough from before.

your lips part, but the way he looks at you makes it hard to tease. instead, your nails drag down his chest, unhurried, feeling his abs tense beneath your touch.

"yeah?" you breathe.

his fingers flex, tightening just slightly. "yeah, baby. show me how bad you want it."

you wrap your fingers around him, stroking once, slow and teasing, just to watch him squirm.

his jaw clenches, but he doesn't push. he lets you take your time, lets you set the pace, struggling to hold back.

you don't make him wait long.

you line him up and sink down, savoring the stretch—the way he exhales, sharp and shaky, fingers digging in.

"fuck," he breathes, watching you, eyes dark, half-lidded, all heat.

one of your hands finds his shoulders, nails scraping lightly as you start to move. the other moves down to where you're connected, feeling just how far he spreads you open.

at first, it's slow—like you're figuring each other out all over again. a careful roll of your hips, tension simmering, teasing at something deeper.

but it doesn't last.

his grip firms, guiding you down, matching your rhythm. he thrusts up to meet you with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs.

"you feel me, princess?" he asks, pulling you down harder, deeper.

you answer him with a desperate little whimper that makes him melt.

both of your movements are messy, desperate—like you both know exactly where this is going and you need to get there.

your fingers tangle in his hair, nails scraping, tugging just slightly, and he hisses, eyes squeezing shut for a second.

his hands slide up your spine, pulling you closer, his forehead pressing to yours, breathing hard.

"you feel so fucking good," he murmurs, almost a whine. "so wet for me, so fucking perfect."

you can't even speak. your thoughts blur, pleasure winding tight, breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

he shifts beneath you, angling deeper, hitting exactly where you need him. the sudden jolt of pleasure makes your whole body tighten, makes you let out a sound you didn't mean to make—

a loud, broken moan, breathy, helpless.

his head snaps up, eyes wild, something cracking behind them—like he just lost his last thread of control.

"oh," his breath shudders, grip tightening. "oh."

and then he's gone.

he snaps his hips into yours, his hands gripping, guiding, setting a pace that's relentless, that has you gasping, nails biting into his shoulders.

your vision goes hazy, body tightening, winding up unbearably fast. you try to tell him you're close, but all that comes out is a shaky, broken "satoru—"

"oh, fuck—there it is," he breathes, voice dropping, eyes dark and triumphant. "knew you'd sound so fucking sweet falling apart for me."

his hand finds your clit, pressing just right—teeth gritting as he holds on, watching you break first.

and you shatter.

it slams into you, sharp and consuming, a shockwave rolling through your body. your breath stutters, a broken gasp stumbling free as you tighten around him, locking him in.

he feels it—the way you pulse around him, the way you tremble, how your moans dissolve into something helpless. it undoes him. his arm slides your waist, his other hand finding the back of your neck, and he pulls you closer like he needs you.

he curses as you tremble against him, holding you close, burying himself deep in you as he falls apart.

your name leaves his lips like a prayer, breathless, reverent. he groans against your skin as he finally spills into you. pleasure crashes through him, and for a moment, all he can do is feel **the heat of you, the way you throb around him, the way your body takes him like you were made for this.

for a second, you both stay still; the only sound between you is the sharp, uneven puff of breath.

your hands shake against his chest. his fingers are still locked around your waist.

he exhales a wrecked laugh, warm and lazy against your temple.

"so fucking worth the wait," he murmurs, voice low, sated. he kisses all over your face, palm smoothing down your spine. "knew you'd be perfect for me."

+++

the morning light spills through the curtains, golden and soft, warming tangled sheets and bare skin. everything is still. quiet, but not empty. satoru is warm against you, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. at some point in the night, your leg found its way between his, one of his arms draped lazily over your waist.

you shift, stretching slightly, and his fingers flex at your hip, like some part of him refuses to let you go.

he murmurs something unintelligible, voice low and drowsy. then, with a slow, easy smile against your skin, "stay."

you huff a quiet laugh. "clingy."

"mmm," he hums, voice is thick with sleep. "you're warm."

he still hasn't opened his eyes. he just shifts a little, nestling deeper into you. his fingers pressing idly into your hip, like he's memorizing the shape of you beneath them.

you stay like that for a while.

you steal a button-up from his closet when you finally get up, slipping it over your shoulders before following him into the bathroom. he doesn't comment, just flicks his gaze over you, lips twitching, before rummaging through a drawer. a moment later, he presses a spare toothbrush into your palm.

"definitely took you for the clingy type."

he grins, stretching lazily against the counter. "not my fault you're so soft."

you brush your teeth side by side, bleary-eyed in the mirror. he stands just a little too close, bumping into your arm like he can't help himself.

and when you head back to bed, he follows, catching your wrist just before you climb in, guiding you back under the covers with ease.

"wait." his lips brush your shoulder. "just stay there."

"i am staying," you point out, amused.

"good," he hums, pressing one last kiss to your head before disappearing into the kitchen.

satoru returns minutes later, two mugs in hand. he sets yours on the nightstand before wordlessly disappearing back to the kitchen.

you wait until you smell breakfast, then you get up and follow the scent out to his kitchen island.

he doesn't ask if you're hungry. he just plates your food and sets it in front of you without a second thought.

you steal sips from his juice between bites, and he lets you, just watching, amused, eyes flicking toward you over the rim of his glass.

soft touches happen naturally, thoughtlessly.

his palm finds the small of your back when he moves past you, warm and steady.

your fingers brush when you both reach for the same thing.

his knuckles graze your thigh when he leans back against the counter.

none of it feels unfamiliar.

you stay longer than you expected to. he doesn't call you out on it.

the goodbye is unserious, drawn out in a way that makes it obvious neither of you is in a rush.

"try not to miss me too much," you tease, pulling on your shoes with a grin.

he smiles, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. "oh, i will."

his tone is playful, but something about the way he says them makes you hesitate, just for a second.

and as you step out, just before it closes behind you, he calls after you.

"i'll be thinking about you, y'know."

tags (ongoing): @moonchhu @httpstoyosi @lavnder311 @harryzcherry @perkypeony @katecupcakekate @hellicify @oh-my-god-donald @jupiterbinnie @i88b0nten @satxoru @chuuminn @moncher-ire @r0ckst4rjk @flwerie @raendarkfaerie @pinksdump @blkmystery @pearlessance @satoruxsc

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oceantornadoo · 9 hours ago

Text

ch11 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: a little piss bc reader is refused a toilet. some light torture scenes and violence.

“Where. Is. She.” Ghost slams John against the wall, his forearm to John’s throat. The man’s snarling, an unrestrained beast in a mask. The world zeroes in on the gaze between them, the terrible acceptance that they have a shared weakness. A shared weakness who is gone, potentially dead. All they can do is beat the rotted carcass of this feeling until it breaks.

Thirty minutes earlier

For the past two hours, there’s been something vibrating under John’s skin. It was there when he pulled Gaz by his collar in the store, searching the man’s eyes for deceit. It was there when he eventually let him down, satisfied with the steel reflecting back at him. It was there when someone handed him his wife’s phone, the screen filled with unread text messages from him asking to get dinner and talk it all out. It followed him all the way to the Castle.

Gaz relocates them quickly, saying he has more devices back at home. John’s home, your home, your shared home. The whole car ride John’s knee shakes up and down, nervous energy permeating the air. All he does is replay your last conversation over and over.

“I am trapped, John.”

“No matter how I feel about you now, I didn’t pick this marriage.”

“I can’t even tell if you like me for me or my proximity.”

“I need to go to work before I say something I’ll regret.”

The words swarm through his head like wasps, picking at the insecurities he hides everyday. The worries that you wouldn’t pick him in a normal world, that this has been pillowtalk to pass the days. If you love something you’re supposed to let it go, but he can’t decide between being noble and hoarding you until you forget what life was like before captivity. And of course, all of these thoughts assume you’re alive. He hasn’t let himself consider the full possibility that Shepherd has hurt you in ways that would defile your mind and your body, never leaving you whole again. It all coalesces into an evil energy, vibrating under his skin as the London streets roll by outside the car.

Gaz leads John into the security room with words not meant for him. Murmurs to the house staff, directions ordered over ear pieces. They blur and buzz in John’s eardrums, these damn wasps becoming parasites. He’s too old to consider hunting you himself, knows that he has to trust his man, but the urge is there anyways. Thoughts of escalating into straight warfare, bombing Shepherd’s home without any care for the innocents within.

That’s what he’s thinking about when Ghost arrives, dragging in coattails of vengeance and dread.

Now

“Stand down, Ghost. This ain’t helpin’.” He croaks out against the pressure in his throat. Ghost’s eyes flare, soulless black pits that see too much. They search John’s, within and around, poking and prodding at the emotions he’s been holding in for the hour since he learned his wife is gone. Whatever Ghost finds is enough, John deemed worthy not to die by the loosening of Ghost’s grip. They pant as one, wishing they had never let themself love a woman enough to destroy their dynasties for her.

The world resumes as Ghost turns away. No one mentions the threat, the way John would have let the guilt drown him if Ghost didn’t. John should have pushed harder, should’ve accompanied you to the store instead of letting you go in his shirt with a faint goodbye on your lips. Like you knew what would happen and went anyway, just to see how far his heart could stretch until it tears.

MacTavish is murmuring low calming words to Ghost, unintelligible over the hum of computers and screens. In this room, all pretense is given up, one man’s hand stroking the other’s. To have a half of a soul live outside the body is a dangerous thing, even more when attacks come from all sides. If he squints, there’s a flash of your glare in Ghost’s, the same half-tilted frown hidden by the mask. It’s like you’re haunting him, no, taunting him with the fact that he’s lost you and now he has to deal with your ghost. It’s all his fault, but he lets the pity fester inside instead of releasing it on everyone else.

“Update, Garrick?” Another croak, a near two minutes after the incident. This is why Gaz is his heir - all he does is hand John the nearest iPad without a mention as to what happened. John reads the screen fast, a list of possible abandoned warehouses near Shepherd locations. It makes sense but the timing is all wrong. He’d expected this if things had been quiet, but there was another scrap between Price men and Shepherd men last night. This kidnapping must have been calculated by someone separate, someone like Phil with a solo mission. He should’ve killed the man when he found out he was working (almost) alone with his wife.

“It’ll be somewhere symbolic. Shepherd likes to make a statement.” Garrick mentions. John hands the tablet silently to Ghost, an offering of peace. In the corner of his eye, he can see MacTavish conferring with Mare, the head of the weapons team, speaking a language only the two of them know. The man frowns, then shakes his head at something Mare says. “Dinnae work like tha’.” It travels over the distance of the room, confusing John enough that he walks over to learn what’s happening.

“Report?” Mare is a bit skittish but cool-headed in times of need, the reason he hired the first ever woman on a Price Family leadership team. He trusts her and her chemistry degrees, plus her sense of urgency. “Sir, we’ve just received word that the weapons stores have been compromised.” It’s like a pin drop, other conversations falling silent as she speaks. “Meaning?” He asks, toeing the line of impatience. “Shepherd’s men struck last night, around the same time as the street fight. We believe it was coordinated between that and the kidnapping to hide it as long as possible. They cut the WiFi, so we only found out during the shift change. All the guards were killed and the weapons taken.”

John prides himself on acting like a real corporate boss, restrained and professional. However, this is his last fucking straw. “You’re saying Shepherd took my fucking weapons, then my fucking wife? How the hell does this happen?” Ghost grunts at the word ‘wife’ but John ignores it, too focused on the situation at hand. Instead of answering, Mare’s eyes flit around the room. Since it was converted from two bedrooms, it fits up to thirty people and is currently at capacity. He can read his employee too well, and knows she’s nervous about the many ears around. While he usually trusts his people with his life, it’s been an odd day and he decides to err on the side of caution.

“Mare an’ everyone related t’ me, this way.” There’s an elevator to the upper floor in the back of the room. Ghost and MacTavish fall in line, but Garrick seems frozen and unsure. “Gaz, that includes you.” They don’t acknowledge the head nod, brushing elbows as John hits the elevator button. Once all five are in, John hits the emergency stop between floors, leaving them in purgatory. “Speak.” He instructs Mare.

“There’s a mole. It’s the only way they could have gotten in. I designed that facility myself, sir, and there’s no way they could have gotten in with the tools and soldiers they have. Unless our intel was wrong, and I don’t think it was, we have a rat.” Her words echo in the metal chamber. She meets MacTavish’s eyes and he nods in confirmation.

“Price.” Ghost grunts, his first words in a while. “It’s someone in that room. They’d hav’ to be on yer security.” John nods at his words and turns to Gaz. “How much longer to narrow down locations?” The man still seems flustered by John’s earlier words and needs a nudge to the shin to spit it out. “An hour, tops. We’re thinking of an abandoned weapons facility or church. Something about what he stole, weapons or marriage.” John grunts at the symbolism of it all. “I’m the first one there.” He demands. “Sir, I-” John turns to look his second in the eye. “I’m the first there.” Gaz nods. John turns back to Ghost and MacTavish, staring at him with twin glares of violence.

“Right, men. We got a rat t’ catch.”

“You don’t know what I’d do to find ya and keep ya.”

John’s words echo through your mind as you eye Phil, standing in the corner with a water bottle. You haven’t peed since this morning, 12 hours ago, and he knows. Taunting words sung with a Southern accent, promising a toilet in return for the weapon codes. He’s banking on your embarrassment, that you won’t want to piss yourself in this hellhole. Too bad for him you don’t like to listen to what men tell you to do.

“C’mon, sugar. Know ya got t’ go. Give me the codes an’ I got a nice lil’ bathroom for you. Even has one of those bidets.” You shake your head, refusing. Your bladder is pushing against your stomach, tension growing with every breath. It wouldn’t be too bad if he hadn’t kept feeding you water. You think you’re on bottle six now, what seemed like a blessing turned into a curse.

“Fine. Time f’ another one.” He unscrews and steps to your side, checking your handcuffs before coming near your mouth. It’s like he’s under orders not to hurt you physically. There’s been no beatings, no threat of knives or guns. He needs you alive, and you’re pretty sure you know why. The weapons require both a code and an eye scan, something you can’t fake with a dead body. Johnny created the code section and Gaz added the eye scan later, his coding skills a thing of beauty. His quick thinking is the only thing keeping you alive.

Water pours down your throat. He presses down your tongue to force you to swallow every last drop. When he leans over you, it’s like rose-colored glasses have been removed. His blond hair is limp, face sweaty with concentration. Gone is the charming assistant, bright and fun. You bet he needs you to stay alive for his own safety, his life relying on it.

As water slips into your belly, the pressure to pee goes stronger. With a dirty hand, he pushes on your stomach, and you whine in discomfort. He shouldn’t be touching you, especially in a place so sensitive. The loss of body autonomy is your biggest fear, whether it be motherhood or this. Only John would understand, you think, berating yourself for being so stupidly stubborn. That’s when you make up your mind, to still have control over the one thing you can.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re fuckin’ disgusting, you dirty bitch.” The piss soaks your jeans and, with enough force, dribbles on his shoe. Phil jumps away in disgust, eyes hardened into flint as he glares at you. “Fuck you.” You spit out. A glob of it lands near his shoe, making him jump again. You almost pity how weak he is enough to torture a woman for a living. Almost.

“You’re gonna be sorry you did that.” He bites back. Phil glances at the mirror and for the first time in hours, you let yourself feel a lick of fear. You’re pretty sure you know who his boss is, someone too violent for the games you’re playing. “You’re pathetic, you know that?” Is what you can muster. Instead of answering, he shakes off his shoe and knocks on the door. When it opens, there’s a person in full PPE, holding a metal tray with a filled syringe. You jolt back, but the chair is bolted to the ground and doesn’t allow you to move.

“Wait, please, Phil-” He’s fast, shooting something into your arm. Everything goes dark after that.

Gaz was right. It only took an hour.

But it takes longer than that to rule out each location. It’s been 24 hours, and they haven’t found you yet.

John insists on checking out every place by himself, as does Ghost. They’re even-keeled enough to split up to make it go faster but insist on Gaz scrounging up more earpieces so they can keep in constant contact. They slept in shifts too, six-hour blocks once it hit midnight, so they weren’t trudging through their search. Johnny stays back to work with the engineers on testing the security system he designed, while Gaz comes along with whoever is searching. The four of them stay on their own radio channel like a task force, acting more military than mafia.

They start from the inner city and expand outwards. It’s methodical. It’s calculated. It’s the exact strategy Gaz planned months ago when the marriage was proposed. He’s the clearest headed out of all of them but there’s still a bite to his tone, a tension in his shoulders, a furrow in his brow. If John wasn’t so out of it himself, he’d be glad that his right-hand man seems to care for his wife.

They sweep warehouses top to bottom. John tugs on every alliance he has, every favor owed. They get pledges of loyalty from smaller gangs, who do their own searches as well. It’s so much and yet not enough because John Price does not have his fucking wife in his hands. Your shampoo scent is not in his nose, your laughter is not in his ears, your waist is not in his grasp. You are gone and he is at fault for not protecting you.

“Focus, Price.” They’ve both slept and are now in their third church in the past 90 minutes. It’s abandoned like the rest of them, creaking doors and blown out windows. They’ve gotten into a rhythm now, sweeping the building efficiently. You’re not there. They finish in twenty minutes, Gaz outside on the phone with the rest of the crew. When they emerge, he stands tall at attention.

“Sir, we’ve got a hit.”

“How you feeling, hun?” The world is woozy, half-tilt on a rollercoaster. You sway from right to left, only steadying when firm hands grasp your shoulders. Your eyes flutter, vision blurring in technicolor. You’re somewhere else, with paintings on the walls and carpet on the floors. That’s when you do a body scan and realize you’re not in the clothes you were kidnapped in.

You jerk away from the man touching you. The wooden chair you’re strapped to falls to the floor and takes you with it. He tries to pick you up, moving in a blur of dark grey, but you thrash away like a fish out of water. His touch is poison, and you fear it was him who undressed you, him who saw you naked against your will. “Get away from me!” You screech, vocal cords sore from disuse. The man’s hands are gnarled crooked things, clawing at your shoulders until your chair is straight again. You try to flinch but your miniscule reactions are still slurry from whatever you were injected with. Once you’re straight, you bite back a gasp.

It’s him. The General. Shepherd.

Square face with a buzzcut. Weathered and old with a cruel gleam in his eye. He sits back down into a chair in front of yours. This one is red leather, squeaking comfortably with weight as he sits down. The man was in the army in a past life, hence the styling of The General. He wears dark slacks and an army-like jacket. The bravado of it disgusts you. A title like that should be earned, not worn like play clothes. You put on your brave face and sneer at him, a cat backed into an alley.

“I see why John likes you.” He looks you up and down like he can see through your clothes. You flinch against your will. “You don’t deserve to say his name.” You bite. He laughs jarringly. “Fucking brat is what you are. Even got Phil under your spell.” That’s news to you. It’s certainly at odds with his behavior. You don’t react, easing your features into a smooth mask.

“I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t have the codes.” He stares at you dead-eyed. “Not necessary. We don’t need the codes.” He’s bluffing. You’re willing to bet your life on the hard work of Johnny and Gaz. There’s absolutely no way, no workaround. That’s when you get an idea.

“Oh yeah? You’re just going to put me in front of the eye scanner and go from there?” He frowns like you’ve figured out his plan. You almost laugh. “Too bad. You’re still missing a step.” That reels him in. Shepherd sits forward, elbows on his knees, searching your gaze for a lie. You raise your brows defiantly. “What, don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out?” He squints harder at your words.

“My brother’s old school. Doesn’t trust technology, or anybody else.” It’s certainly true. Simon’s well-known for not trusting people. Even the General looks intrigued. “What are you sayin’?” He murmurs. It’s like you’re holding a prophecy in his hands. Men are so easy.

“There’s a key.” He scoffs and looks away. “And I’m Robin Hood.” You shrug, leaning back as much as you can into your chair despite the ropes tying you to it. “Believe what you want. I’m just saying, my brother has more checks than you can imagine.” Another truth to reel him in. He scratches an invisible itch on his knee, then gets up. He pulls something from his pocket, and you flinch, thinking it’s a gun. He laughs at your reaction. “Fucking brat.” He murmurs. Shepherd turns to the corner of the room and calls someone, talking in low tones.

When you examine the room, it sends a shot to your heart. You’re in a church. There’s blood red carpeting with paintings everywhere, but it’s not wellkept. There’s dust and no windows, the lighting frail. Perhaps recently abandoned?

Shepherd is back, knife in hand. He thrives on watching you flinch and thrash as he comes closer. You stop when he’s in your face, knife trailing down the length of your nose. “Where’s the key?” You answer without hesitation. “My father’s grave.” It’s the kind of sick shit Ghost would do, and Shepherd knows it. That’s when the knife slips through your ropes, freeing you. There’s a gun in his other hand pointed straight at your head. “You’ll take me to the key. And if it’s not there, so help me God, I’m blowing your brains out on your father’s grave.” You nod, short and shallow.

It’s only halfway up the dilapidated wooden stairs when you hear it. Pounding footsteps and a low British tone. Shepherd was stupid enough to trail behind you, and even stupider to stop at the noises as well. That’s when your years of self-defense classes with Johnny kick in, quite literally.

You aim a kick to his head. He dodges, of course, but all that body mass has to go somewhere, and quite slowly. It knocks him off balance, a half-step down, giving you enough leverage to elbow the nose. One of the most sensitive places on a man, as Johnny told you. The door above you opens as Shepherd gets one more insult in as he goes down.

“Fuckin’ bastard.”

Yes i was thinking of the 21 savage song snitches and rats

Also sorry for comparing motherhood to torture i just really needed to justify reader peeing LOL

Oops shes a girlboss SORRYYYYYY

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inkedinshadows · 2 days ago

Note

if ur still taking requests may I please ask for prompt #22 with cassian? it can be fluffy or smutty or both 🥰 thanks love ur blog btw!! 🩷🩷🩷

Starved For Your Touch

Pairing: Cassian x f!reader

A/N: Hi anon! Thank you so much <33 I wanted to include smut but inspiration for fluff found me first! I love drama queen cassian, hope you enjoy it 💕

Prompt: "You're such a tease today."

Warnings: none really, just a very tiny short piece of angst if you really squint

Word count: 1.5k

You had recently realized just how much Cassian craved physical contact, and your new favorite pastime was denying him of it. You wanted to see how far you could push him before he snapped.

Apparently, just a day.

You chose a short summer dress, fully aware of the way it hugged your curves and made your legs look longer. Cassian wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off you, and you were determined not to let him touch you.

When you walked into the living room, he was lounging on the couch with Rhys and Mor. You greeted them with a smile, and Cassian’s face lit up when he saw you. Without interrupting the conversation, he reached for you, but you stayed just a few inches out of reach, merely brushing his hand with a teasing smile as you made your way to the kitchen.

When you walked back out a few minutes later, you let him grab your hand and pull you closer. You knew he wanted you to sit on his lap. You both loved it. But today you didn’t, opting instead to settle on the couch beside him. He frowned but didn’t comment.

“You look lovely, sweetheart,” he said instead. “This dress suits you.”

“It really does,” Mor chimed in from her armchair. “Which means your hands will be all over her in three… two…”

You and Rhysand chuckled, but Cassian grinned. He didn’t even try to deny it.

“Actually, I have to go,” you announced, cutting the moment short.

Cassian stilled, his arm half-lifted as he was about to drape it over your shoulders. “You’re leaving already?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m going shopping with Elain, remember?” You patted his knee before standing and looking at Mor. “Want to join us?”

Her smile widened. “You know it.”

You leaned down to kiss Cassian, just a brush of your lips against his—more a promise of a kiss than an actual one. He tried to keep you there, to deepen the kiss, but you pulled back.

“Always eager for more,” you murmured, and booped his nose. “I’ll see you for dinner.”

Following Mor to the front door, you turned back to wave at Cassian, catching the stunned expression plastered on his face.

Rhys just looked amused.

~~~~~~

Cassian was waiting when you returned home a few hours later.

Mor and Elain had already come back, but you’d stayed behind to buy one last item—a flimsy piece of lingerie you thought he might like.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked as the door closed behind you. “Not since the girls came back, I hope.”

“I saw you arrive through the window.” Cassian pushed off the wall and stalked toward you, an accusatory finger pointed in your direction. “I have a bone to pick with you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at what you assumed was supposed to be an intimidating expression. It never worked on you. He could be intimidating when he needed to—he was a warrior and a general, after all. But when he pretended, his lips jutted out slightly in a pout and a small crease appeared between his brows.

“And what is it?” you inquired, trying to walk past him and up the stairs. You were carrying a few full bags and just wanted to drop them off in your room.

Cassian’s arm shot out to block your path. “You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart. Not until you tell me why you haven’t kissed me all day.”

You cocked your head. “I have kissed you today,” you retorted.

He scoffed. “Only three times and they were just little pecks.” Then, as if it was obvious, he added, “Which don’t really count.”

“Oh, you poor big baby,” you chuckled. “What if I’m just saving the best for last because I bought something I know you’ll like?”

Cassian’s eyes darted to the bags in your hands. He tried to peek inside, but everything was neatly wrapped. He looked back at you. “Something like…?”

You smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Before he could stop you, you slipped under his arm and headed for the stairs. “I’ll leave these in our room,” you warned as you began the short climb. “And if I find out you snooped around, I’ll return the surprise.”

Cassian’s outraged gasp followed you up the stairs. You could practically see him clutching his chest, as if your words had struck him like a dagger to the heart. “When have I ever done something like that?”

“Cassian,” you scolded, not even bothering to turn around.

“Alright, alright.” You could hear the smile in his voice. “I promise.”

~~~~~~

When you joined the others downstairs, some were already gathered around the table, their choice of seating casual as always. But Cassian had saved you a spot beside him, and as you approached, you leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you, my love,” you murmured, making sure to brush your fingers along his wing as you settled into your chair.

He inhaled sharply, drawing a pointed look from Amren on his other side. She merely rolled her eyes before turning back to her conversation with Azriel.

“Sorry,” you quipped, feigning innocence. “I didn't mean to.”

Cassian narrowed his eyes. “What is going on?”

You shrugged off his question, focusing on filling your plate. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His gaze remained fixed on you, tracking your every moment. Holding back a laugh was harder than you’d expected, but you schooled your features into an unreadable expression.

“You’re such a tease today,” he muttered. “The dress, the kisses, now my wing…” His eyes darkened slightly as he watched you take the first bite of your food. “And this morning, when you got me so worked up only to slip out of bed before I could—”

“Cassian.”

Both of you looked up. Rhysand sat directly across from you, his brows raised. It was the same look he wore when waiting for someone to admit they had done something wrong.

“What?” Cassian scowled.

“If you really can’t avoid discussing your personal life during family dinner, at least keep your voice down.” Everyone was looking at you now, but Rhys went on, an amused smirk appearing on his lips. “Besides, I’m sure Y/N has a good reason for keeping you high and dry.”

Laughter rippled around the table, but Cassian only glowered. With a smile, you placed your hand on his thigh, hidden from the others’ view. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, pressing another soft kiss to his cheek. “I’ll make it up to you.”

He simply grumbled, “Oh, you will.”

The rest of the dinner passed uneventfully. Your hand lingered on Cassian’s leg, but he paid it little attention. He seemed distant, glancing toward Azriel more than once throughout the meal. The Shadowsinger merely raised an eyebrow each time their eyes met.

Had you gone too far? Maybe you shouldn't have teased him in front of the whole family.

When dinner ended and everyone moved into the sitting room for drinks, you watched as Cassian left without a word. You made to follow him to apologize—for real this time—but Azriel pulled you aside before you could.

His expression was so grim that you paused before you could ask him to talk later.

“What’s wrong?” you asked instead.

Azriel hesitated. “I’m worried about Cassian. Is everything okay between you two?”

Your heart sank. Of course Azriel had noticed, but for him to be concerned enough to pull you aside… maybe you had really pushed Cassian too far. You needed to talk to him as soon as possible to explain things.

“No, Az, it’s fine,” you started, trying to explain. “It’s just that I—”

Your words turned into a startled scream as two strong arms suddenly wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground.

Cassian’s laughter boomed in your ears as he crushed you to his chest. “Got you!”

Your hands flew to his forearms, your heart pounding. “What… what are you doing?” you mumbled, still trying to make sense of what was happening.

Azriel’s lips curled up into a smirk. “Good luck with him,” he said before slipping away to join the others in the sitting room.

“What…?”

Cassian began striding toward the stairs, still holding you from behind, your feet dangling uselessly above the floor.

“You shouldn't have let your guard down, sweetheart,” he murmured in your ear. “You really thought you could tease me all day and get away with it?”

Azriel. He had distracted you just long enough for Cassian to sneak up behind you.

Cassian set you down on the first step, only to spin you around and scoop you up again. “Now I’ve got you, and you’re not going anywhere. You have a whole day to make up for.”

You wrapped your arms and legs around him as he started up the stairs. A breathless laugh left your lips. “So you’re not mad at me?”

“Worse than that.” He grinned, his hands sliding from your thighs to your ass, squeezing playfully. “I’m touch-starved. So why don’t you start fixing that?”

This time, you obliged him, cupping his face and pressing your lips to his before he even reached your bedroom door.

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sorryimananti-romantic · 18 hours ago

Text

The Leaders | Chapter IV

"this is the underworld that no one escapes from."

masterlist

ot8!ateez x f!reader, mafia au

chapter warnings: drinking, illegal businesses, mentions of violence, war/military and weapons, almost car accident, maknaes are finally introduced! wholesome interactions with the maknaes, hongjoong is the unintentional tease, yunho is the intentional tease, yeosang is the oblivious tease.

chapter wc: 12k

chapter synopsis: you accompany hongjoong to the station and meet inspector gong in regards to a drug case. you plant baits and grab lunch at the bar with hongjoong. hongjoong convinces you to become his secretary with words of affirmation. you finally go to meet the rest of the crescents at the warehouse but a sudden attack makes you wonder if you’re worth all the trouble you’ll bring the crescents, though yunho is there to make you feel better.

prev chapter recap: yunho verifies with kihyun that secretary park is not the man for their new deal. hongjoong notices how secretary park is not surprised to hear that they are aware of his dealings with foreigners– with strictland. he makes the connection and realises that you are the illegitimate daughter of secretary park. no longer having to hide your identity, you candidly discuss with yunho about the strictland nuclear base and who might be involved if it’s presumably inactive status is a lie. you start to handle the illegal side of the business as well and one night, save yunho from an attack which ends up shifting your relationship with him. he overwhelms and confuses you with his casual manner and you go find solace in yeosang’s office (and arms).

With Jihoon away on business at the Sector 1 port, accompanying Seonghwa to oversee the illegal departure of Black Shadow to Mist Island, the midday slot was packed with just you and Eunha to take care of the reports and to deal with the aftermath of the police’s initial investigation after receiving a false tip about drug dealing. You confirmed that the Crescents were not involved but the damage has been done. Apparently, some inspectors had always been on the Crescent’s tail, ready to catch them in the act, waiting for a chance to see the Crescent’s slip. While it was frustrating to hear that the police weren’t doing their job properly, your annoyance only magnified when you learned that they were demanding that one of the Crescents visit the station to clear things up.

Since Yunho was occupied at the port with Seonghwa, making sure the illegal shipment left Eden waters safe and unnoticed, that left Hongjoong in the office and San and Yeosang at the bar. Hongjoong decided that he needed to set the record straight with the police and decided to use this opportunity to shift their attention elsewhere. With a clear plan in his head, he exited his room and spotted you working alongside Eunha.

And when your gaze connected with his, you found him already pointing his finger in your direction.

“You. You’re coming with me.”

You frowned in confusion, pointing at yourself and he nodded in confirmation, ordering ‘downstairs in 2 minutes!’, before disappearing down the stairs, leaving you to process the command on your own.

“Just go– I’ll take care of this,” Eunha assured you and you took a deep breath, grabbed your net gloves and coat, and made your way downstairs. The boss was already at the door waiting with his umbrella– it was raining quite heavily outside. You picked your own from the stand by the doorway, hurriedly getting inside his car that was already at the front of the office– the latest Bentley model befitting the boss of the Crescent Company. Taeyong, Hongjoong’s bodyguard, was driving and he greeted the two of you.

“We’re going to the station, by the way,” Hongjoong told you when you got comfortable and you appreciated that he gave you a heads-up. “There’s still someone on our case and I have to talk to a certain inspector anyway. Might as well kill two birds with one stone.”

“Right. Are you sure you have to go personally?” You asked. “I mean… if it’s not necessary someone else could go in your stead?”

“Inspector Gong only seems to listen to me,” Hongjoong scoffed, looking outside at the pattering rain. There seemed to be an old connection with the inspector, but then again, the Crescents probably knew every single person who lived at least in Sector 1. Your brows quirked at the familiar name. Where had you heard it?

“I’m thinking I might point him towards General Wi,” Hongjoong continued, this time locking eyes with you. “If he starts investigating in that direction, it should eventually lead him to Secretary Park.”

“It’s quite easy to silence someone though– especially a cop. Their loyalty lies with money,” you reminded him. “I’ve seen officers give in to as little as 60 krodus.”

You had personally witnessed your brother Sunghoon bribe an officer who caught him smoking some drugs in a deserted alley. That was when you started to keep tabs on your brother, hoping to find his weakness. Instead, you found him handing that little amount with a pat to the officer. You tried to justify it– perhaps, the officer needed to buy a good meal for his children, but your respect for officers significantly declined afterwards.

“Not all of them,” Hongjoong smirked. “Inspector Gong’s morals seem to be his downfall.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” you shifted your focus to Hongjoong. “For the leader of a criminal organisation, you’re quite a man of morals yourself.”

Hongjoong considered that, his brow arching as he hummed in response. “What exactly did an Edenary citizen think Ateez was?”

“Not so organised, for starters,” you admitted and he shook his head in amusement. “More like a street gang?”

“We were once a street gang,” Hongjoong confirmed. “Just like Kihyun’s gang. You’re very familiar with them– was it a surprise that we operate like them?”

“Well, I never got to hear much about their street gang period before they became a respectable organisation,” you replied. “I’ve always just known them to be owners of MX Pharmaceuticals. Crescent, however…”

“Let’s hear what’s on your mind,” Hongjoong urged you to continue when he noticed that you were restraining yourself from saying more. “Come on, I’ve been called worse than ‘a man with morals’.”

“Just never expected you to have some really strict ones, that’s all I’m saying,” you raised your hands in surrender. “It’s kind of admirable. And you’re also really misunderstood.”

“Or maybe you’ve only seen the good parts yet. Ever wonder about that?”

Well, you thought. That was one way to put it. You dared a look at the boss who was fiddling with his pocket watch– a golden little thing with an hourglass etched on its cover. He caught you staring at it and smiled.

“Do you want to know who gave me this watch?” Hongjoong asked and you blinked in surprise at the question– you both had rarely ever talked outside of work so this was new. You nodded in answer, genuinely wanting to hear the story behind this watch because it seemed to be a part of his personality.

“I was a part of Major General Wi’s squad during the war,” he said and a surprised ‘oh’ erupted from your mouth as your brain tried to connect the dots. “During the war, I had to let go of a lot of things to think like a true strategist. I had to consider every option and not let sentiments waver me. A lot of decisions that I made during that time cost us lives. I may have been honoured in the end because every decision I made was for the ‘greater good’, but if I was a man of morals, Luna, I would have done things a bit differently.”

For a few moments, you let the familiar pitter-patter of the rain fill the silence of the car following Hongjoong’s admission. You recalled what Kihyun had said about Ateez. Children of war. They had to let their innocence go when they got drafted due to the ‘over-17’ law that ensured all capable individuals over the age of 17 served in the war. They were only teenagers when they went to the war, to fight for their land, but when they returned…

“Is that why you keep your watch with you?” You finally asked. “To remind yourself that you’re not all that moral?”

“Kind of,” Hongjoong shrugged nonchalantly.

“I think it could also be a reminder that you are aware of the fact that you made those decisions. Do they keep you up at night?”

“Often,” he admitted with a slow but sure nod. There was no shame in admitting that the horrors of war kept you up at night when everyone had experienced the same.

“That’s a good sign,” you told him. “Because some of the elites who controlled the tides of war at the backend, who are the real reason Eden lost so many lives… they sleep like babies at night. They carry no remorse or guilt. And my moral compass says that those kinds of humans are no different than animals.”

The boss nodded slowly. He knew that it was true but hearing those words from you somehow left a warm, tingling sensation through his chest.

You noticed how he zoned out and let him be until you spotted the station. “We’re here,” you gently said, bringing him out of his trance. He nodded, dropping the watch back inside his pocket and Taeyong stopped the car, opening the door for Hongjoong. It wasn’t raining as hard now, just a light shower so you both didn’t bother to open the umbrella, though Hongjoong took his inside, hand covering the gold eagle hilt.

You stayed right by his side as you navigated through the musky smelling corridors of the station. It looked like everyone recognised Hongjoong. They either stepped aside and merged with the shadows, essentially clearing the path for him, or scrambled forward to greet him over-enthusiastically. You pursed your lips in amusement– it was clear what sort of relationship he had with each officer.

One of the officers saluted military-style and Hongjoong saluted back. He led you to what you assumed was Inspector Gong’s office and you seated yourselves on the chairs in the small, haphazard room.

“The Inspector will be here shortly. Would you like a drink in the meanwhile, Colonel? Coffee or tea?”

“I’m good, thank you,” Hongjoong said and you shook your head in answer as well. He waited until the officer left before saying, “Their coffee has to be the most stale beverage I’ve ever had the misfortune of trying.”

You half-smiled. “Can’t expect much from a station that looks like this,” you pointed at the peeling paint on the walls and the rough furniture in the room, if you could look past the initial shock of all the disorganization of the reports, boxes and documents. “Was that someone you knew from the military?”

“No,” Hongjoong said. “But he probably recognises me.”

“And the people who recognised you but scurried away like rats?”

“They recognise me better,” Hongjoong smirked and you smiled in resignation.

A few moments later, a middle-aged man with a pile of folders managed to get inside the room without help and set the pile on the desk with a thud, grunting in exhaustion. He ran a hand through his wavy dark hair and muttered something about how it had been awfully busy lately before brushing his simple, creased clothes and straightening.

“I see you made it here.” He cast a wary glance at Hongjoong.

“Better than you coming at mine and poking at everything, trying to find a snark,” Hongjoong mocked and you would have found it amusing had you not been staring at the inspector, finding him oddly familiar. He scanned you slowly and his brows wrinkled.

“I’m sorry, have we met before?”

“I don’t think so?” You weren’t sure.

“She’s my new secretary,” Hongjoong said, glancing at you for a second before turning his attention to the inspector. “Now… what’s this new mess your cops have involved us in?”

“Oh, the drug dealing,” Inspector Gong finally took a seat. “You don’t have to worry about it too much. I found another lead just now so you’re off the hook.”

Hongjoong grunted in annoyance. “Should’ve sent a message then.”

“Well, it’s nice to see you were so eager to clear your name for once,” Inspector Gong said curtly. “We don’t want it to affect your new deal, after all.”

“Whatever might you be talking about?” Hongjoong feigned ignorance but the way the two were smiling at each other, you were sure the communication didn’t need words.

“Who knows? Anyways, I heard you have something interesting for me, which is new. Let’s hear it.”

“Maybe I just came here so I could see you,” the boss teased and Inspector Gong’s smile fell– he was beginning to get tired now. You stifled a smile at your boss’ antics. “Alright, I’ll tell you. You might want to send your leads regarding the drug case to the Edenary Station. And while you’re at it, you might want to take a look at what Park Pharmaceuticals have been up to lately.”

“Park Pharmaceuticals? Park Byung Eun, isn’t that the President's secretary?”

“That’s right,” Hongjoong confirmed. “I heard the drug that you found recently is something new. It’s not uncommon to look into every pharmaceutical company, isn’t that so? Our company, MX, we’re only distributors for now, so you should be looking into companies that actually manufacture.”

“I’m sure someone acquainted with the president won’t have his people using drugs illegally,” Inspector Gong said. “Or he might not be aware that it’s happening. It’s a big company and he can’t have everything under control.”

“Maybe you just need to focus on the source of the drug rather than look for consumers or distributors,” you quipped. Inspector Gong looked at you with curiosity.

“And what’s your name, Miss?”

“Jeon y/n,” you said. “Also, while you investigate… maybe check if some of Assemblyman General Wi’s men have been consuming those drugs. I’m not saying he’s at fault, but like you said earlier, they are a big gang in Edenary and it’s not uncommon for gang members to deal drugs. Right?” You looked at Hongjoong who was stifling a smile. He nodded subtly in your direction.

Inspector Gong watched you two with interest. “Okay. If you insist. Though you might be trying to throw me off the scent.”

“I never said you didn’t have to keep looking into us,” Hongjoong raised his hands in surrender. “But maybe… broaden your horizons a bit.”

With that, Hongjoong got up and you followed. As soon as you both settled in the car, Hongjoong snickered at you. You raised a brow in question.

“Good job there. I can see why the boys have taken a liking to you.”

You couldn’t keep your cheeks from flushing at the remark. You shrugged in answer. “Has he always been stationed here?”

“He was demoted from the Edenary Station a few years ago, actually,” Hongjoong said. “Do you recognise him?”

“I’m not sure. I can’t recall,” you admitted and he nodded. “Do you think he will find something out of this wild goose chase?”

“Definitely. All he needs is a whiff– he’s a hound,” Hongjoong shook his head. “Once he gets a scent of something, he won’t let go until he’s satisfied.”

“Sounds like a person you should keep close,” you commented and Hongjoong agreed.

“Your shift is over, right? Did you have lunch yet?” Hongjoong asked and you shook your head no. “I’m going to the bar– I have a few things to discuss with Yeosang and San. You can stay and have lunch with us, if you would like.”

Have lunch with the boss?

“If you’re going to be our new secretary,” Hongjoong teased– a little joke Seonghwa had a habit of making that you should be Hongjoong’s personal secretary, “You should get used to travelling around with me.”

“You can’t seriously be considering that,” you gave him a wan smile. Hongjoong only grinned in answer, taking that as a yes.

The ride to the bar had you sorting out everything you had learned today. Hongjoong’s connection with Assemblyman General Wi was interesting, especially considering that Hongjoong served under him during the war. Inspector Gong’s familiar face and the fact that he was an Edenary citizen was also something you couldn’t simply dismiss.

Before you knew it, the short trip was over and you were outside the bar. Now that the sky was clearing, Hongjoong clicked a button on his umbrella to extract a cane from it before getting out of the car. You had seen the cane on him sometimes, a beautiful black thing with a golden eagle hilt. You were half sure it was also some sort of a weapon.

Upon entering, the employees greeted their boss and lit up at the sight of you, their old coworker. You greeted them back with equal enthusiasm, taking their jokes and teasing jabs because you with the boss!? Hongjoong went straight to Yeosang’s office and you followed behind him, shutting the door while the men shared a brief hug.

Yeosang was surprised to see you two together. “How come?”

“Thought I’d take our little bookkeeper around and show her how things work around here,” Hongjoong said, taking off his coat and hanging it on the stand. You did the same, feeling a bit awkward due to Hongjoong’s presence– it had always been you and Yeosang, or San.

And well… after your little moment with Yeosang that drunken night, it was your first time seeing him. Now in a deep brown sweater with the sleeves rolled to bare his muscular forearms, his expectant gaze as he looked at you, tendrils of brown hair falling over his face– it wasn’t helping you at all.

Yes. You definitely needed a break.

Yeosang nodded at you in acknowledgement, failing to contain his smile– he was bad at hiding his emotions and Hongjoong just knew that he was pleased to see you here. You took a seat next to Hongjoong in front of the desk.

“So, Luna,” Yeosang started. “How has it been so far? Want to come back to your previous post?”

“Sounds tempting because your boss thinks I can handle more workload,” you pointed at Hongjoong with your thumb and he shook his head.

“Ay, don’t be like that now. I’m keeping her, Yeosang. She knows what she’s doing and I like that.”

You accepted your fate with a dejected sigh and the two shared a laugh. The boys recollected the events since the last time they met while they waited for San to arrive. You noticed how they shared even the trivial things–

“I ate lunch at BB Trippin’ yesterday. You have to try their ramen– I swear I haven’t had such a ramen in ages.”

“Seonghwa and I lost a bet to Yunho and we now owe him 5 krodus. That lucky bastard always wins.”

With the waiter’s call indicating San’s arrival, you shifted to Room no. 1 where San was making sure there was enough food and drinks and at the sight of his boss, he lit up, coming forward to hug him briefly.

And then he saw you and lit up even more, making you laugh a bit. You settled down on the very chair you had sat when Seonghwa had passed his judgement on you– only a few weeks had passed since then but a lot had changed. San’s presence, however, still comforted you just as much as it did before.

As did Yeosang’s, but… it held a weird note today.

While you ate lunch and caught up with each other, Yeosang, who was sitting next to you, nudged you with his elbow and you glared at him, the warning in it melting when you saw the apples of his cheek become more prominent as he tried to stifle a smile. “So… how have you been?”

“I’m right in front of you, Yeosang,” you said as casually as you could. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Missed me?”

“Hmm… not really, no,” you responded, putting a spoonful of rice in your mouth as he smirked. “I’ve been far too busy to think of you.”

“So you do think about me,” he teased.

“It would be unnatural to not think of you,” you feigned normalcy again but Yeosang wasn’t having any of it.

“Say, when do I get the tipsy Luna back? I don’t think I’m a fan of the sober Luna…”

“Tipsy Luna is on leave,” you said. “You can forget her.”

“You don’t mean that, do you?” Yeosang’s voice was low this time and you looked at him, finding caution and hurt– was it hurt? In his eyes.

“Of course not,” you frowned. “Did you miss me that much?”

He relaxed. “I thought I made a mistake.”

“Oh,” you paused, making sure Hongjoong and San weren’t listening. Oh.

He thought he did something wrong and you were avoiding him.

“Yeosang, I–”

“Isn’t that right, Luna?” Hongjoong called your name, grabbing your attention and you passed Yeosang a look that you hoped conveyed ‘we’ll talk later’ before you turned your attention to the boss.

“I was just saying how it was a good idea to take you along at the station,” Hongjoong repeated, glancing between you and Yeosang. “Inspector Gong seems to have taken the bait.”

“Ah, yes,” you nodded, straightening. “I think we might have to make sure he catches some of General Wi’s men with the drugs that are under investigation. And we might have to somehow create a link between those drugs and the drugs registered under Park Pharmaceuticals. After that, the boat will float itself.”

“I’ll have Wooyoung take care of that,” San said. “He knows a lot of street druggies. They’re on his beck and call.”

The man in charge of the manufacturing side of the business along with the youngest of the Crescents– Mingi and Jongho. Yeosang and San often talked about Wooyoung. He was Yeosang’s friend from before they went to the war. While you hadn’t had a chance for personal interactions with the younger ones, they often came at the bar as a group. They knew who you were, called you Luna just like everyone else and would strike up some work-related conversation with you if they weren’t teasing or flirting with you, which seemed to be second-nature to them.

“Does Wooyoung’s street druggies network extend to Edenary?” You asked, an idea nagging at you– an old memory you couldn’t let go of.

San hummed in thought. “Probably?”

“What are you thinking?” Yeosang narrowed his eyes and you looked at Hongjoong who was anticipating your answer.

“Park Sunghoon, my brother, was an addict. My father went through hell and back to get him to stop, but chances are he’s still addicted but just learned to look, well, normal.”

Hongjoong looked at Yeosang triumphantly. “There’s a reason I’m keeping her close.”

Yeosang looked a little proud to hear that and he asked you, “Do you know which drugs exactly was he consuming? Or some details?”

“It was a street dealer, that’s all I caught,” you told him. “Bad company, apparently. Last time I saw him, he appeared more polished than before, but I recognise the look in his eyes when he’s high.”

They didn’t miss your sombre tone, neither did they miss the sudden fiddling of your fingers. However, they decided not to comment on it– for now. It was Hongjoong who cleared his throat. “It’s ironic that the heir to Park Pharmaceuticals is a drug addict himself. I’ll get someone to look into it. Inspector Gong would have a field day once he learns about this.”

You passed a weak smile, willing yourself to not recall your brother’s bad behaviour whenever he was high. Sure, he was your half-brother, but he wanted nothing to do with you. Sometimes you wondered if he was the one who pegged your father to change your surname and wipe you off the family registers. It wouldn’t be a surprise if that was the case.

You all finished your lunch, planning a bit more on how to lead Inspector Gong to Sunghoon before you decided to leave first. You told Yeosang you would grab your coat from his office and leave but he decided to see you off– for obvious reasons.

Once inside his office, you found him watching you with folded arms. You wore your black coat over your clothes, huffing at him.

“Did I do or say something wrong that night?” Yeosang asked.

“No. Why would you think that?”

“You look like you’re avoiding me.”

“I’m not,” your gaze softened. “I’m just… I don’t know, Yeosang. I’m confused, if you can’t tell. I don’t know what I’m looking for, and the fact that you’re worried about what I think about you isn’t helping.”

Yeosang licked his lips, trying to come up with a response to that. He was perhaps as confused as you. Had you both inevitably blurred the lines of who you were? While you worked together, you would dismiss such interactions, but now that you stopped working here, who exactly were you to Yeosang? What was your relationship? You had been boss and employee all this time. Friends, perhaps, but never called it so. And now…

You stepped forward, placing your hand on his bare folded arms for assurance. You wished you had placed it on his heart instead. “You’re still who you are to me and more.”

“Who am I to you?” Yeosang asked, a faint smile on his lips.

“Hmm… favourite boss?” You grinned. “Friend?”

Yeosang nodded. “That’s it?”

“More?” You raised a brow. “I mean… what exactly did you do that would warrant more?”

“Is that a challenge, Luna?” He was smirking now and your heart did a little flip-flop at the way the timbre of his voice shifted.

“Maybe… pretty boy,” you flicked his chest, unable to resist and with a giggle, sneaked past him outside, saying a goodbye before you disappeared, because you were positive that you were worse when sober.

You did look back once, finding Yeosang laughing wholeheartedly at your passing figure and you ingrained the sight in the deepest crevice of your heart.

Kim Hongjoong may be a man of few words, but god, was he a man capable of making decisions on the spot and taking swift action. It was no wonder that he was the man who had built his empire of this scale in such a short period of time. All it took was one meeting about the discrepancies in the import cost of the metal in the Utopian trade, and Hongjoong immediately decided to cut down on the amount of metal, using his connections to cover the shortage of metal with local suppliers and saving a couple thousand krodus in the process.

Apparently, there were other gangs that dealt with weapons production and supplied arms illegally around Eden. The Crescents were better off striking a deal with another gang who possessed the metal alloy they required, or something similar in nature to that metal. Hongjoong acknowledged your efforts for dealing with the matter smoothly.

That led to Seonghwa starting to include you in their meetings now, ‘preparing you’ for personal secretary work. You considered asking him if it was just an excuse to get information out of you (and who knows? maybe dispose of you later) but you figured it was a joke. They couldn’t be serious (right?) and you were doing a fine job as a bookkeeper anyway, providing your input since you were from Edenary and you knew a lot of people– and their weaknesses. They thought it was impressive that Secretary Park had rarely ever involved you in his business yet you had built your own connections and learnt so much about the way Eden operated.

Since there were rumours going around that Secretary Park had been ‘rejected by a mafia gang’, it caught the attention of some investors who were willing to collaborate on a drug launch. Though you still had little to no idea about the drug specifically, the Crescents heard your opinion on the willing parties and you expressed your lack of trust in most of the politicians. That left a few businessmen and you supposed they could do with one of them– someone who was willing to fund properly. The Crescents would just have to make a promising offer.

That left finding out more about Secretary Park’s foreign dealings. You had suggested sending an anonymous tip to General Wi about Secretary Park’s possible connection to Strictland and Yunho got the job done a few days ago. As intended, General Wi traced the tip back to the Crescents and sent a message that he would like to have a meeting with the boss.

“He’s going to be curious about the source,” Hongjoong had a faint smirk on his lips as if calculating all the possibilities of how the world could shift from here. You shifted uncomfortably on the chair in front of him. Hongjoong was watching you with interest. “Do you think we should bring you along to the meeting?”

“General Wi likes to play a diplomat. He would tell my father that I was here once he finds out my connection with him, and then–”

“And then what?” Hongjoong challenged, resting his chin on his hand, elbow propped on his desk. With his other hand, he turned the hourglass, watching the sand trickle down slowly. “It’s only a matter of time that your father finds out that you’ve been talking. Chances are, he is already aware of your new post and will be trying to silence you soon. You should be making your stance clear too, Luna.”

“That would be a declaration of war to him,” you said.

“Have you not been told that you are under the protection of the Crescents from now on?” Hongjoong raised a brow in question. You nodded. “Then I don’t see the problem. Being under our protection entails that we will make sure you remain safe and unharmed.”

“You may have been a gang in the past, Mr. Kim,” you said in a low voice. “But my father also has various gangs at his disposal. Mr. Jeong almost got killed that night.”

“Oh, you’re underestimating him if you think it’s that easy to kill him,” Hongjoong scoffed. “He’s avoided death far too many times to be simply called lucky now.”

You shrugged– that might be true but that did not help you feel any better.

“We are part of the underworld and always will be, y/n, no matter how posh we try to appear,” Hongjoong began. “We are the leaders of the underworld– the underworld that no one escapes from. Secretary Park has always operated from above and he does not know how we play. He may try to get to us with his little gangs or whatever, but he is a man of light.”

“And you are a man of the shadows,” you completed for him. He nodded. “If I join you at the meeting, Major General Wi will think that I am someone of importance– he might even recognise me.”

“Well, aren’t you?” He asked almost nonchalantly. You sighed– they sure had been taking you around everywhere and getting you more acquainted with the business, but was your role in the Crescents this important now?

“I meant to remain in the shadows, Mr. Kim. It was never my intention to step in the light for the world to see.”

“You said you wanted a better life,” Hongjoong locked eyes with you. “A way to avenge the life that was stolen from you because you were too helpless and could do nothing except be pushed wherever your father wanted.”

“Not only that,” you admitted. “My conscience does not allow me to know that my father may be doing something immoral and detrimental to this nation and do nothing about it. I have wasted far too many opportunities because I feared the consequences.”

“And now?”

“Now you’re telling me not to be afraid,” you rested your back on the chair in resignation. “Now you’re telling me to involve myself with you.”

“And what’s so bad about that?” Hongjoong’s smile revealed that he might be hiding something. You knew that– they were dangerous. It was better for you to be with them than to stand against them, but could you follow their journey without looking back? Could you swear loyalty to them?

“It was never your intention to step out in the light and fight for yourself, or for Eden, or for your conscience, but y/n… maybe you were meant to rule from the light and the shadows both.”

You looked at Hongjoong in surprise. He watched you with a certain fondness– his little bookkeeper, he still called you. You could understand why Jaemin and even some others referred to him as ‘the Captain’– he cared and accounted for each one of them. These men… they heard you. They did everything they had to to protect themselves and their family. And now…

Now Kim Hongjoong said that you were a part of their group, and he would have you rule from the light and back you from the shadows if you wished to.

“I’m just a bookkeeper though, aren’t I?” you said but couldn’t stop your lips from curling into a smile.

“Maybe I’ll start calling you my little secretary from now on. How does that sound?”

“Oh, no,” you shook your head. “The workload.”

Hongjoong burst out laughing and you looked down to hide your smile– he had such a carefree, almost childish laugh. You thought about his remark and figured that it must have been Seonghwa’s doing. You knew that Seonghwa was planning something and he had hinted this quite often but to actually be Mr. Kim’s secretary? Was he pulling your leg or was he serious?

“I’m serious,” he confirmed as if he saw right through you. “I need one especially now that I’m going to be stepping into the light too. I’ve operated from the shadows for long enough. Who better to have by my side than someone who knows how the underworld of the elites operate?”

“I’m not sure if I’m the right person,” you said. “I’m from Edenary, yes, and I do know how things work there, but I’ve never been much involved.”

“But so far… you’ve not betrayed our trust once, and that is something I value a lot, Luna. You prevented a disaster when you ran away with the content of Yeosang’s locker that night. You stopped a deal that would have ended very badly for us. And you put yourself in danger to save Yunho– I don’t know who else I would want by my side if not you.”

“That is a high compliment,” you took a deep breath, overwhelmed by his proposition.

“You’re still willing to do so much more,” Hongjoong said, outstretching his hand on the table and you were confused for a moment before you realised that he was waiting for you. You frowned– while Seonghwa had always been casual with his affection, much like a boss with a pat to the shoulder that he often gave to everyone else too, and Yunho had been, well, purposely making you jumpy you were sure, the boss had never done much. Every action of his was motivated by something.

And this might be his attempt at persuasion.

Hongjoong raised a brow as if to ask if you were going to keep making him wait and you rolled your eyes before hesitantly placing your hand in his palm. Hongjoong noticed the pause and almost smirked. His hand was cold but comforting when it held yours.

“You’re still willing to do so much more for Eden,” Hongjoong repeated. “I’m doing all I can for Eden too. We share the same goal, Luna. Don’t ever think that it is a shame that you couldn’t do anything about it earlier– you did everything in your power. You can leave it to me now. All you have to do is stay by our side.”

You must have looked half-convinced because he continued.

“I’m not saying you have to be the secretary yet– I would like you to fully know what it is that we do, and I would like the rest of the boys to meet you and hear their opinion too. I may be the boss but their word is equally as important as mine.”

“A captain, then?” You offered and he grinned.

“Yeosang did well choosing you,” Hongjoong said and your heart fluttered at the mention of him– the actions of that drunken night were keeping you awake in your sober ones. “San speaks highly of you. Yunho, well… I think his intentions are clear. And Seonghwa is the one who convinced me to look at you.”

You raised your brow at his wording– sometimes, the way they spoke with so much implication behind their words made you wonder just what was going on inside their heads. Especially Hongjoong– he knew what he was talking about but he always concealed his intentions carefully.

And you were going to make him more direct with his words. With a caress to his fingers, you locked eyes with him.

“Well… you’re looking at me now, Captain. Do you like what you see?”

For once, he was caught in surprise, his brow raising involuntarily and you grinned inwardly. There was nothing more satisfying than having the leader of this establishment speechless. The person you thought was a scary, stuck-up individual with his even scarier military rankings, turned out to be just a man with big dreams for his people and his land.

Hongjoong raised your joined hands in answer. You bowed your head mockingly.

What a turn of events.

When Seonghwa said that he would like you to accompany him to the warehouse so you could meet the rest of the Crescents officially as a potential secretary to Kim Hongjoong and, well, a ‘crucial unit’ of the Crescents, you didn’t think he would actually let you take a peek at the illegal– or the underworld side of the business.

It was just another dusky day in Sector 1, a bit livelier inside the office than usual during the midday slot. Johnny dropped by and while he waited for Yunho, he struck up a conversation with the three of you– more like recount the events of the night you were attacked at the bar and tell Eunha and Jihoon all about how you had looked like a lost mouse while running away with the content of Yeosang’s locker. He went as far to tell them how you looked even worse when you came out of the meeting room. If it weren’t for Yunho interrupting him, Johnny might have done a reenactment.

You were about to sign off for the day after lunch with Eunha and Jihoon when Seonghwa called you in his office and told you about his plans for the day. You agreed to accompany him to the warehouse, having no other prior engagements until your night shift. With Seonghwa’s bodyguard and assistant Yuta, the three of you took his Ford to the outskirts of Sector 1 near the Sector 8 border. It was only a few miles from the Sector 1 Port so the ride took about forty minutes.

It was surprising how comfortable Seonghwa made that ride for you. He talked about his family and told you that he had two siblings and that his family had moved to Utopia before the war began. His father was already a war veteran and an influential person so he had little to no trouble leaving to protect his family– however, since Seonghwa was of age, he had no choice but to get drafted. You asked him if he missed his family and visited them often but he told you it had been quite a while since he saw them and would like to pay a visit soon, once things settle down here a bit.

Somehow, you found yourself telling him about the time you spent in Wonderland, something you hadn’t really talked about ever since you came back. While the woman you looked after– Madame Cha, wasn’t your aunt by blood, she was someone really wise and with a lot of knowledge to share. You often wondered if your father was aware that Madame Cha would make sure that you learnt everything needed to survive in this sick world as an independent woman. She taught you various practical skills, kept you busy and kept your mind away from home. Perhaps, that was the purpose all along, but even if it was, you were still grateful to her.

Seonghwa asked you more about Wonderland, mentioning that he always wanted to visit the country. Wonder City, the capital, was known for its ruins. It was a place rich with history and the people had done a lot to preserve it. The lavender fields which were symbolic of Wonder City only added to its beauty. It had truly been a healing sight for eyes and you told him that you missed the evening walks through those fields the most.

The scenery shifted from cityscape to factories while you chatted, Yuta joining occasionally– apparently, he was one of the oldest employees and had served in Seonghwa’s unit so the two had almost always been together. You liked that most of the employees were more like ‘friends’ than acquaintances. Johnny was quite the example of just how casual they were with each other. While Yuta was a bit more reserved than Johnny, he was still a very charming man.

One of the factories towards the end of the expressway to Sector 8 was what the Crescents addressed as ‘the warehouse’. It belonged to Pledis Manufacturers where the Crescents were major shareholders and business partners. As the car came to a stop near the building, you heard the sounds of laughter reverberating from the inside accompanied by the harsh sound of machines and metal clanging. There were tables and chairs lining the margins and a few men could be seen eating what you presumed was their lunch. At the sight of your car, they got up and gathered around, making way to you and Seonghwa laughed to himself, shaking his head.

“Easy, boys. We’ve got a guest.”

“Oh, what a sight for sore eyes,” a man of medium stature wearing a casual denim outfit placed his hand over his chest as he bowed dramatically, making you a bit shocked though laughter erupted from your mouth. “I’m Boo Seungkwan, Manager of Pledis Manufacturers, at your service.”

“Pleasure,” you bowed back mockingly, noticing the others dressed just as casually.

“That’s Seokmin,” he introduced the tall guy with a contagious smile, and then pointed to another handsome man. “That’s Jun. We’re all managers here.”

The three exchanged looks filled with caution but Seonghwa nodded to let them know it was alright. “They play a vital role in the production part of the business.”

“Lovely,” you said, following Seonghwa inside and waving back at the three men who were almost jumping up and down while they waved at you. You laughed again, falling in step with Seonghwa. “Do they not get to go home often?”

“Oh, them?” Seonghwa scoffed. “They go home every weekend, but that’s normal behaviour from them.”

You smiled but it changed into a wince when you got hit with a wave of heat and the smell of metal and sweat filled your nostrils upon entering the warehouse, the dim lights making it a bit hard to focus. When your eyes finally adjusted, you gasped at the setup– it was truly something. The centre was an open, double-heighted space with the heaviest machines and Seonghwa told you that the main factory was situated at the very back which was connected to this section by a gate. The upper story seemed to be rooms and offices that were lined along the perimeter.

The workers greeted Seonghwa casually– there was no rushing, no scrambling and no awkwardness. Just comfortable acknowledgement of each other’s presence. You did get stares which wasn’t unexpected and you thought that it was because there weren’t any women here, but you spotted one in a causal fit working on operating one of the machines. Seonghwa told you that she was one of the best engineers they had– Umji.

You greeted a few more people including the CEO of Pledis– Choi Seungcheol. He was in the office just about to leave, dropping by for a visit and was glad to have caught Seonghwa. While the two talked, you settled down and a familiar face entered the office room.

“Oh– Luna!”

You smiled at the enthusiasm with which Jung Wooyoung greeted you.

“Mr. Jung,” you shook hands with him. “How have you been?”

“Ay, just call me Wooyoung,” he waved a hand in dismissal. “I’m not used to people calling me Mr. Jung.”

“That’s what I’ve always called you though…”

“And I always tell you to just call me Wooyoung,” he winked, adjusting his black tank top and slumping down on a chair. “So. How are you finding our workplace?”

“Pretty impressive,” you nodded. “What exactly do you do here?”

“Supervise and make sure we have enough stock,” he said. “Mingi is basically the guard dog and Jongho… he likes to play boss.”

“Oh,” you stifled a smile. “Interesting.”

Wooyoung smiled knowingly and Seungcheol said his farewell, leaving the three of you in the office. Seonghwa smiled at you. “We’ll wait for Mingi and Jongho and then you can get to know more about the business in detail.”

“You’ll have to do a lot,” you shrugged. “I’m not very well-versed in machines and the like.”

Wooyoung and Seonghwa shared a look and you caught that, the dots starting to connect. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be showing me something else entirely.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you might be well-versed in that,” Wooyoung grinned. “At least more than these boring old machine parts.”

You looked at Seonghwa who nodded in confirmation. “Are you sure?”

“I am, which is why I brought you here,” he straightened the navy blue coat of his suit. “After all… you should know these things as Hongjoong’s personal secretary.”

“Ooh, so it is happening,” Wooyoung was grinning shamelessly now. “I just knew they would like you when you made that deal that saved you your life. Not that Seonghwa was going to kill you anyway, right?”

“I don’t quite believe that,” you said. It was true, and Seonghwa only smiled in answer, giving away nothing. “But I think you might have liked me way back, Wooyoung. When you shouted at the bar for the whole world to know–”

“Oh, I’m still sorry for that,” Wooyoung laughed, making you share the sentiment.

It was a funny story– Wooyoung had been drunk and yapping, if you were to put it simply, about losing to the boys in a game of cards two times in a row. While passing a message to Yeosang, you secretly gave Wooyoung a tip, having observed the game and finding their weak spots. Wooyoung won the next game and while pompously boasting about how he had turned the tide of the game, he craned his neck out of the window to shout ‘Luna, I could kiss you right now!’ making half the bar groan at the confession while the other laughed and moved on. You were surprised for a few moments but when Eunbi told you that this was typical Wooyoung, you shrugged the nervousness off.

“But my offer still stands,” Wooyoung winked at you. If it had been anyone else, you would have become a mess. But since Wooyoung was… well, Wooyoung, you rolled your eyes in response and the conversation shifted to recent updates.

It wasn’t long after when the line rang and Wooyoung led you to the backside of the factory, playing the role of a tour guide, to everyone’s amusement. He explained how everything was a perfect cover for their weapons business– the material they used for both the machines and the weapons was more or less the same and in case of an inspection, they simply switched the display and transported the half-made weapons to trucks. The vehicles would sneak the weapons away into the thick forest that was not far from here. It was a perfect cover and since Pledis was an old, renowned manufacturing company, there were little to no inspections.

Sure, the police suspected that the Crescents may be dealing weapons but they would never suspect that they actually made their own weapons now.

Song Mingi and Choi Jongho lit up at the sight of the underboss, sharing fistbumps and hugs. You greeted them and they asked how you were doing, offering you a drink and scolding Wooyoung when they found out he hadn’t offered you anything yet. You assured them that you were okay but the conversation took an amusing turn as they pointed fingers at each other.

Mingi was surprised to learn that you knew your guns– Madame Cha, who was a collector of guns and the like, had shared her knowledge of guns with you a lot in passing and you had been able to retain some. The gun that you carried in your purse, a ruger revolver, had also been a gift from her. It was interesting to learn just what role the Crescents played in the making of these guns and an hour passed by with you simply talking about the mechanism with the boys.

Jongho noticed just how much fun you were having chatting with Yerin, one of the lead designers of the guns, and when you caught them waiting for you, you got flustered. You promised Yerin that you would visit again and have a more in-depth conversation with her and joined the Crescents afterwards. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Oh, no, it’s all good,” Jongho said. “I’m happy to see that you’re having a good time.”

You smiled and checked the time– there was still about two hours until your shift would begin. Jongho cleared his throat, catching your attention and asked, “Would you like to test some weapons before you go back?”

Your eyes widened with excitement at the offer and soon, you were in a car with Jongho driving and Seonghwa in the front seat. Wooyoung, who was sitting next to you in the backseat, explained that they often went to test the guns in a specific part of the forest and since it was hunting grounds anyway, the sounds went unnoticed– and it wasn’t like there were a lot of residents here.

If the police or someone else did notice, they could buy their silence. You shot him a dirty look but you both knew that it was far too easy to buy silence in Eden, especially after the war.

There was also something bothering you ever since you learned about the weapons project, and that was… who exactly were they delivering the weapons to? Were they really the right people to mingle with? What exactly was right and wrong anymore?

You reckoned you could simply ask at this point. Since they intended to involve you in the business, you could ask such things, right? You turned to Wooyoung, about to ask but you caught an incoming speedy truck through the window and a scream got stuck in your throat. You flailed your arm, trying to catch their attention but it looked like Jongho noticed at the same time that you finally managed to yell ‘watch out!’.

Jongho swerved the car to the side just enough to avoid getting yourselves into a horrible car crash but still couldn’t prevent a light bump and you braced yourself as your body rocked to the side violently. Before you could react, you heard the shatter of glass and you screamed this time, Wooyoung grabbing you by the back of your neck and making you crouch down as the fragments of the glass window rained over you.

You looked at Wooyoung in panic who also let his defence down just for a moment as he made sure that you were okay. You nodded and just like that, his gaze turned steel as he raised his head to inspect just who was trying to kill you guys.

“I’m driving– provide cover!” Jongho pressed the pedal with all his might, steering away from the minitruck that was hell bent on crushing you. Wooyoung loaded his gun and started shooting, Seonghwa doing the same from the front but mostly to protect Jongho. You put your hands over your ears for a moment as you tried to make sense of what was happening–

You were under attack. You had almost died.

You scrambled in your purse for the gun, taking it out and loading it. Wooyoung spared you a glance, tsk-ing in disapproval. “We’ve got it, Luna. Just stay down.”

“I’d rather take my chances,” you muttered, but also obeyed him. You stayed crouching down, focusing more on having Wooyoung’s back. Your shot wasn’t bad but Wooyoung was moving a lot so you couldn’t risk shooting in case you hurt him instead. However, when Wooyoung ran out of bullets, you passed him your gun which he gladly took. Meanwhile, you reloaded his gun with the bullets in the inside pocket of his jacket. You noticed the shards of glass buried in his skin but it was too chaotic to comment on that at the moment.

“Recognise them?” Jongho asked before he took a sharp turn to the right, the road getting bumpier now that you were further on the track in the forest.

“Nah,” Wooyoung sniffed, a sharp frown on his face as he took a breather having shot down the tyres of the minitruck and halting it. “Need help, hyung?”

“I’m good,” Seonghwa said, groaning when the car started to leave. He ordered Jongho to turn the car around so they could catch them and you silently prayed that no one gets hurt. Now that you were gathering your wits, you realised how much the air had changed.

They had become the men you used to watch from afar and were a bit afraid of. Ruthless, calculating and powerful.

Jongho stopped the car near the abandoned truck and you all watched the other car disappear into the forest– they had been at a disadvantage or perhaps, they had underestimated you. Whatever the case was, all that mattered to the Crescents was the reason they attacked you.

Jongho and Seonghwa looked back to make sure you were okay. While you were very surprised, you were okay for the most part if you could ignore the erratic heartbeat. While the younger two checked the perimeter, Seonghwa got out of the car and opened the door for you to help you out.

“You must have been shocked,” he said, caressing your gloved hand and frowning at the cut on your cheek, unable to stop himself and tracing it gently.

“I– I’m fine,” you gulped at his actions. “Uh, we should check the car. Does this happen often?”

“Not really,” he ran his hand through his messy long hair in frustration. “Someone’s really got a grudge against us lately.”

You raised a brow as if to say that that wasn’t new and he chuckled a bit, letting go of your hand and going towards the truck. You followed him, making note of the number plate– it was a registered Sector 1 vehicle. The two of you got inside the front seats of the truck, rummaging through the stuff when a certain something caught your eye.

An emblem of a cube within a cube. It might have gone unnoticed by the rest but you could recognise the unofficial emblem of Park Pharmaceuticals anywhere– it was only used personally by your father and you had seen it on some of his old employees’ uniforms and stationery as well.

Seonghwa noticed you staring at the emblem printed on a card and frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Your father must have learned that you had joined hands with the Crescents– or at least that you were now someone important to them. He must be suspecting that you were sharing information that you shouldn’t have told a soul. Was this supposed to be a warning, or did he really intend to kill you this time?

And he almost hurt the Crescents too. Wooyoung could have been shot. Seonghwa or Jongho could have gotten seriously injured. Just how low was this man going to stoop?

“Luna,” Seonghwa’s voice sounded again. “Do you recognise this emblem? You need to tell us if you do so we do not point at the wrong people.”

“This was my father’s doing,” you sighed in defeat. “This emblem is something he uses privately within his inner circle and gangs. I’m so sorry, Mr. Park. I should have known.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said, taking the emblem from you and examining it.

“But it is,” you got out of the truck, going towards the car, your chest tightening with every step because your father almost killed them just because you were acquainted with them. They almost died because of you. And he must have also been the one behind Yunho’s attack– Yunho almost got shot because of you too–

“Luna,” Seonghwa grabbed you by the wrist and shook his head. “Do not blame yourself for something your father did. He intended to kill you.”

“But he almost killed you guys because of me!” You said through gritted teeth, shutting your eyes and willing yourself to calm down. You looked at your side to see Wooyoung and Jongho watching. “I should not have involved myself like this.”

Wooyoung tsk-ed, searching inside his car and taking out a bottle of water. He motioned for you to sit by the tree and you did, thanking him and drinking a few gulps. Jongho sat down beside you, trying to pick a tiny shard of glass that was buried in his wrist.

“I’ve heard about your father,” Jongho said. “Secretary Park Byung Eun. He’s after you, isn’t he? Just because he’s afraid that you’ll spill all his dirty little secrets?”

“Well… yeah, that’s the gist of it,” you took a deep breath. “He must be mad that his own daughter is after him. What parent would kill their child just to silence them?”

You watched Seonghwa and Wooyoung clean the mess of a car, Wooyoung stealing glances at you occasionally. Seonghwa was mostly noting down the details of the truck, saying something about how he needed to find out just which gang your father had employed for this job.

“Some parents don’t need a reason to want to get rid of their child,” Jongho said, looking at you. “They just do it because they’re selfish like that.”

You frowned. Was he talking from personal experience?

“I’m actually an illegitimate child too,” Jongho shared with a smile and your mouth curved like an o in surprise. “My mother is from Eden and my father from Halaland. She gave birth here, which is why I’m considered an Eden citizen, but I spent my early childhood in Halaland. Quite a combination, right?”

He was right. People from Halaland had always been treated with wariness and after the war, it just got worse. They faced discrimination. To be an illegitimate child who was half Hala…

“I guess we do have something in common then,” you shrugged, Jongho laughing at your joke.

“The reason I’m telling you this, Luna, is because the fact that I am both of these has never hindered my path,” he said and you turned your attention to him. “Hongjoong and the others, they never discriminated. We were all children of war and we bonded with each other because we have more in common-like values and morals. Not family background or useless things like that. And you… just because you’re unwanted does not mean you have to bend under your father’s will.”

“I have not,” you shook your head. “I am resisting. I’m just trying to be careful, because this is what happens when I slip.”

“This did not happen because you were careless,” he assured you. “This happened because he is scared of you, Luna. Don’t you realise? He’s scared he will be exposed because you know that he has joined hands with Strictland. He’s scared that you will uncover the truth and expose him. If he gets exposed, he will lose everything and so will the people he has associated with. Are you gonna let him stomp over you, or are you going to try to be one step ahead?”

You clasped your hands in thought– he wasn’t wrong. You had just been too cowardly to see it.

“Jongho’s right,” Wooyoung joined you, Seonghwa watching with a smile. “Show them what you’re made of, Luna. Accept the secretary position with your whole heart and use us to take your revenge on him– after all, we share the same goals.”

“Where did that come from,” you laughed, finally feeling calmer when Wooyoung grinned back. “What is it to you if I become his secretary?”

“My precious Luna,” he teased, grinning cheekily. “You really think we’re asking you to be the secretary here? You’re already one right now.”

“Wooyoung,” Seonghwa warned but Wooyoung waved a hand.

“I mean,” he said, “Being Hongjoong’s personal secretary, or assistant, or whatever you call it… it will just be a term. What we’re really asking you is to become a part of our inner circle. We’re asking you to walk with us, plan with us, help us so we can help you. It’s more like being a partner, isn’t it?”

“That’s… a lot,” you laughed nervously, overwhelmed by his proposition.

“But we need you,” he said matter-of-factly. “And so do you. Neither of us can do this without each other.”

He was right. They could get more information on whatever Secretary Park was doing, but you still had so much more that you were keeping from them. To be a part of their inner circle, be a part of Ateez was what they were asking from you. Being Hongjoong’s personal secretary would just be the job you would officially do but really–

You walked with them. Dined with them. Planned with them, even now. No one else did it like you were doing. You were already a part of them, whether you liked it or not.

Not that you were complaining. They had treated you with more respect and given you more authority than you’d ever gotten in your life. You were seen and you were heard here. It was overwhelming but if you looked past that…

It was kind of heartwarming.

“We’re here to protect each other,” Seonghwa said, having noticed your features shift from nervousness to acceptance. “And that means that we will protect you, and you will protect us. It doesn't matter who you are or what your background is. Our goals are the same.”

“For Eden,” you said, looking at them. “Are we really doing this for Eden? Will it really benefit our homeland?”

“You must have some doubts about what we do. Rightfully so,” Seonghwa nodded, offering you his hand and you grabbed it, getting up. “You can ask me anything, Luna. On our way back– it’s getting dark, and we really must get going now.”

You went back to the warehouse first to switch cars. You were worried Mingi would be angry but he was surprisingly only glad that you all made it back in one piece. They offered to patch you up but you told them you really did not want to be late for your shift which made them laugh. It was only a scratch so you could take care of it in the office. The trio let you go with a can of beer for the way back ‘to calm your nerves’. You gladly accepted.

Seonghwa told you that it was okay to ask– apparently, Yuta was one of the insiders too. So candidly, you asked him why exactly did they need to manufacture their own weapons.

You learned that Eden had actually suffered in the war more than you imagined with a lot of soldiers having gone missing, suspected of defecting or worse. A lot of the existing weapons channels had also either shut down or stopped business for unknown reasons. The underworld dealing came to a halt for some time after the war and while the treaty between Halaland and Eden ensured that there wouldn’t be a war in the foreseeable future, if Halaland learned that Eden was basically defenceless, they might start something again.

Seonghwa also told you that Eden’s military could not be trusted because their sole purpose seemed to be power and politics, referring to the clashes ex-President Son had with the military when they enforced the ‘over-17’ law. Hence, a few old gangs like MX and others resumed the weapons dealing and even collaborated with gangs from Wonderland and Utopia.

You told Seonghwa that you had qualms about their drug project too but he promised that they would tell you the details soon. You understood and a few minutes later, you reached the Crescent office. You still had some time to spare so you freshened up before going upstairs.

You were arranging your things at the desk and just taking a breather when the door to Yunho’s office opened. Seonghwa appeared to be leaving. Yunho followed behind and they exchanged a few words before Seonghwa disappeared downstairs and Yunho turned his attention to you.

You had to admit it, you missed him a little. He hadn’t been in the office a lot recently, probably busy with other things, but he appeared as sophisticated as ever in his black button down shirt and cream slacks. He smiled at you faintly, slowly walking towards you and shaking his head.

“You need to do something about that,” he pointed at your cheek. You had taken a look at it in the mirror earlier in the bathroom– the blood had crusted so you let it be. You didn’t have any band-aids in your purse and decided to start keeping some.

“Good evening to you too. It’s only a scratch,” you said and Yunho shook his head.

“Come to my room,” he said, not waiting to hear a response and you huffed, surrendering and following him. He was rummaging through his drawers and found the little first-aid box, bringing it towards the couch and beckoning you to sit.

“A simple bandage would do,” you started but he raised a finger in warning and that shut you up pretty quick. He settled down next to you and took out a bottle of disinfectant and a cotton pad, soaking it in and then turning towards you. You extended your hand so he could pass you the pad but he ignored that, leaning in to do the job himself. You reflexively shut your eyes as his hand neared your face and he didn’t miss that.

Your heart rate picked up and you willed your eyes to open, finding him watching you with curiosity. He cleaned the scratch, his brows furrowing in concentration and then he discarded the pad, taking out a box of salve. This time, he picked some on his index finger and you pursed your lips to keep a comment from popping out of your mouth.

With the pad of his thumb, he turned your face sideways so he could properly see the scratch and then he started applying the salve. You took a deep breath, the air thick with tension. He decided to break the silence.

“Are you okay? You must have been shocked,” he said.

“Yeah, I was,” you admitted. “But I recovered pretty quick this time.”

“Ah, did you?” A smirk made its way on his lips as he finished applying the ointment, now opening the bandaid. You just knew he was thinking about that night when you freaked out when he was going to be attacked and kept him close so he wouldn’t risk his life trying to find answers.

“Yes. I owe that to Wooyoung and Jongho,” you huffed. “They are good with words.”

“Was I not?” He asked, referring to that night.

“They also let me use my gun,” you half-lied but when he gave you the look, you rolled your eyes. “Okay, technically, I only loaded it for Wooyoung. He’s the one who used it.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they wouldn’t let you get your hands dirty,” he chuckled, carefully applying the band-aid over the scar.

“Maybe I’ll need to,” you shrugged and he looked at you. “I should learn how to use the gun properly if I’m keeping it. I mean, I do know how to use it but I lack practice.”

“But you shouldn’t actually use it,” he reprimanded but you shook your head.

“I need to learn to protect myself… and protect you.”

He looked at you in surprise and you continued. “All of you. If you claim to have my back, I should return the favour. I should be able to protect myself, not be a burden to you guys, and protect you all in return.”

“Luna… you really don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Yunho assured you calmly. “And you’re not a burden to us. Don’t ever think that.”

“I can’t just sit back and watch you guys risk your life trying to protect me from someone who’s after me!” You started. “You can try to convince me that it’s not my fault that you almost got shot that night or the boys almost got hurt today, but I know it’s my fault.”

“Luna–”

“Yes, it’s not exactly my fault,” you rambled on. “It’s my father’s. But the fact is that he is after me and if to get to me he needs to wipe out all of you, he will, just so he can continue with his awful dealings that I’m sure will cost Eden something–”

“Y/n,” Yunho scooted forward, taking both your hands in his and intertwining them, making you stop mid-sentence. He took a deep breath, watching how your small hands fit in his and when you looked at your joined hands, your heart melted at the way his fingers gently caressed yours. “Are you done now?”

You didn’t respond and he tried not to comment on how you always shut up when you were in close proximity with him or, well, whenever he was touching you. He took a deep breath.

“You’re ours now,” he locked eyes with you, his tone almost containing a hint of warning in them that made your heart sink a little. “You’re a Crescent now, a part of our team, and that means that you will protect us in any way that you can, and we will return the favour. The information that you provide us with… that is our protection, and that is enough. If you wish to learn defence or offence, sure. I won’t stop you. But it should only be to protect yourself, okay?”

You pursed your lips but he was being adamant, squeezing your hands a little. “We would have gotten in trouble with Secretary Park one day anyway. Eventually, our secret drug project was going to lead us to him and it could have taken an even more dangerous turn. But what happened today… that is enough. He’s crossing a line. I will send him a message, and I will make it clear that you are under our protection and we will not tolerate any more misbehaviour from him. Is that okay?”

“He will consider it a call for war,” you warned him. “He will not stop.”

“So be it,” Yunho smiled almost sadistically. “We are children of war, all of us, aren’t we? The personal battles too. We are survivors, you and I. He won’t know what’s coming for him.”

You nodded in answer, looking down. You weren’t sure you were ever going to get used to someone treating you not just as an equal but offering you their power and so much more. But Yunho… he always knew just what was going on in your head. He drew back one of his hands from your hold only to draw it towards your face, lifting your chin up so you would look at him.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

It must have been an order because his gaze compelled you to spill.

“It’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that you’re all doing this… willingly. For me.”

Yunho smiled, shaking his head. “For you, and for us. Get used to this treatment, princess.”

With an affectionate tap to your cheek, he drew back and started packing the kit. You sat there, baffled at what he just said and also, taking the loss of his touch to your heart. When he looked at you, your hand seemed to be outstretched as if you aimed to rest it on his back. You drew it away but he caught that, raising a brow.

“Princess? Really?” you asked, making him laugh.

“I can do worse too,” he offered and you shook your head, about to leave but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards him, a surprised yelp escaping your mouth when you found his face way too close to yours, his eyes searching yours for answers that you didn’t possess yet. You felt the urge to draw his ruffled hair away from his forehead. His gaze flickered to your lips and god, he was going to be the death of you.

“No thanks,” you scoffed in answer but then he purposely raised your hand slowly, shifting his hold so he could kiss your knuckles softly, all the while maintaining eye contact with you. Your own lips parted in surprise at his actions– he was crossing the line, but–

What line? The question hung in the air as he waited for you to challenge him, to respond to him.

What line, really.

“Is this a challenge?” You dared to ask.

“If you make it to be,” he responded, eagerly waiting for you to make the next move.

And oh, he did not realise that you would never back down from a challenge. You licked your lips, leaning forward and smiling in satisfaction when he started tilting his face, expecting the obvious. You drew closer until you were inches away and when his eyes fluttered shut, you made your move.

You blew lightly at the tip of his nose, earning a shocked sound from him and with an almost childish giggle erupting from your mouth, you backed away and started to go towards the door, looking back to find him flustered but amused. You saluted mockingly, making him laugh before you shut the door.

Oh. You were done for.

next chapter

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taglist pt 1:

@lorensonebraincell @sungbeam @waywardstaytiny @lluvia1415 @woohwababes @jjaemasung @fruithoughts @fancypeacepersona @propinquitypsithurism @kyomiingi @ateezswonderland @janetsarttrove @thenopekid @justconniez @daniela-f-uwu @hwasbestlover @vcutparis @missbangtangirl @zaynsfl4m3s @beabatiny @slowitdownmakeitb0uncy @alliethequeen @lavishloving @haowonbins @franbowesax @klllerwaifu @katerade23 @selfishw4ltz @paramedicnerd004 @atzlordz @curse-of-art @meowmeeps @intowxnderland @faeriehwa @staytiny-yaps @ishz @dumplingsyum @bunnychui @kandy108 @chanst1ddies @softsanglix @yongility @sang-09 @sweetinsaniiity @a-teez-4-exo @omgsuperstarg @saintriots @bihwabi @pshwifey @emotionallyanaemic

#ateez x reader #poly ateez x reader #ateez ot8 x reader #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong angst #yeosang x reader #yeosang angst #yeosang fluff #yunho x reader #yunho angst #yunho fluff #ateez mafia au #ateez angst #ateez fluff #ateez series #ateez fanfic

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ronearoundblindly · 2 days ago

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This Busy Building

Steve Rogers x agent!Reader, teammates-to-lovers

follow-up to This Lonely Place

Summary: After being rescued from an op-gone-wrong, you and Steve address the elephant in the room.

It's perhaps not as poetic as the last one, but a bit. Keep in mind I have purposefully messed with words, sentences, and structure. Warnings for implied smut, sneaking 'orbs' into this, thirsty thoughts, weirdly Christmas-themed because I took too long to write it YIKES! (There's word-mirroring from the original in this which might not strictly make sense if you didn't read that, fyi, but it's not a huge deal.)

Visions of him dance in your head...

The jingling soundtrack of holiday cheer repeats in the common room while you read. Everyone dances around, tucking away the last of work before going home. A fire place blazing needlessly, too close you, closer than Steve in the huge armchair opposite yours.

Opposites interact. Searing ice and neutral air. Insufferable silence trapped in the open forest then a pounding, humming reverb in the packed medivac. Him and...not you.

Not anymore.

Treated separately. Treated differently. Steve nearly fine. You nearly dead. At first two medics between you, then ten agents, then hundreds of employees; separate even when you two return to rooms together.

Always others--two or tens or hundreds--and zero words since. No direct connection of touch or tone, only a sad and withering glance here and there.

You're fine.

The same-old will be fine. You've warmed to the idea. Your hope for more has cooled.

Without the threat of danger, Steve has no reason to get close, certainly not as close as before, not as close as begging you not to claw at your clothing while hypothermia sets in, not as close as pinning you harshly with both legs and both arms and a forehead pressed to yours.

Please. Please. Please hang on.

You still want to. Fine. That's the truth.

You want to hang on his every word. You want to feel every texture of his suit and his skin, his beard and his breath, grounding and grinding you into the snow.

Please.

You would have begged, too, if your teeth would quit chattering, if your lungs could stop spasming, bleeding your precious heat in billowing wisps of steam past his handsome face. His terrified face...

He looks serene these days. Normal. Still handsome. Not terrified. And he doesn't look at you. He seems to never look directly at you.

Too cold. Too close.

Now too far...and too hot.

Just as suddenly as that mission went south, a pile of cookies set on the table between you tilts eyes north, his hand reaching at the same time as yours.

There's that withering glance again.

There's that sad, blue gaze.

Opposites interact when the amber flames dance on unwavering orbs. He won't look away, he won't move closer, but he won't slink into the distance either. Steve is stuck on you, in this moment, in the din and the dust, without touching you at all.

His fingers twitch above a snowman, and you want them to be itching to grasp something else. Perhaps your thigh or your waist. Perhaps your face.

The vision of him in the heat...it sustains you while the hundreds become ten, ten becomes two, and finally you're alone with the jingles.

Baby, it's cold outside.

He's sat back, opened his arms, spread his legs, and pulsed an anxious grip into the upholstery, all while attached by nothing but searing air and a neutral room.

The fire has died but the heat crackles on.

Still no words.

You lean forward, pick up the fat, buttery snowman, and slowly close your lips around him. Steve stares. His nostrils flare, resolve chipped away, and you are ready to sink in the depths.

A shiver.

A shiver of sweet hitting your teeth and need hitting your core.

You'll take satisfaction over words. You'll take him over air right now.

Neither of you knows how to get to the other. No one is in danger. No one has been ordered to cross. He's not selfish. You're not bold. There is no excuse.

Wanting him doesn't feel like enough. Wanting him is all you have until--

"Bring me a cookie."

A mission, and you oblige, fast, hard, hot. Everything you've imagined. Everything you've fought. His hands everywhere. Your breath together again.

Sweating. Moaning. Screaming to come.

You won't waste this moment, but you'll be lucky if you survive his passion.

Is it...is it something? Idek anymore.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #nomad steve #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader smut #steve rogers x female reader #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america fanfiction

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gothwizardmagic · 13 hours ago

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god ok also gotta say as a choreographer, whoever did the superbowl choreo was a fucking GENIUS like. it manages to be so effective without ever being flashy or complicated & like. flashy & complicated are great but to do the basics this effectively is PHENOMENAL. the repeated motifs are so striking and so strong and so CLEAR in their meaning its PAINFULLY effective - the contrast of more relaxed dancers just vibin and having a good time at the beginning & end, when its just people being themselves vs. "what america wants" - disquieting, emotionless, rigid lines of soldiers throwing salutes while kendrick & sza are singing on stage in the middle, keeping the people entertained & distracted as the goose-stepping dancers circle like sharks

and thats not to even mention the SCALE - working with such crisp colour lines in such an ENORMOUS group is staggering to even fathom like. making sure all the reds are in the right place at the right time & you dont have someone who was a blue in one section but accidentally wound up in the white group somewhere in the shuffle....... the formations are UNBELIEVABLY complex & span such an enormous space, its mind blowing to think about. over a hundred dancers. over a HUNDRED people to keep track of at all times to make sure they're getting from one place to another in the right way at the right times in the right formations. over a HUNDRED.

the dancers executed FLAWLESSLY too - taking big steps and remaining PERFECTLY in line is incredibly hard & they made it look effortless. the amount of split-second transitions to nail and vibe-shifts to hit.... oh my god. also shot to the camerapeople who were working their asses off on those transitions just as much as kendrick & the dancers were

also thinking of scale like... arena choreography and stage/film choreography are VERY different things. on a stage or in a music video etc. you have ONE front. at most on a big stage the audience might wrap slightly around the sides but generally speaking, you're choreographing for the people or camera in front of you, and they're gonna have a pretty good view of your face the whole time. arenas are MASSIVE, and there are people on ALL SIDES. you can't pick A Front, you have to be entertaining people all around you simultaneously, which means completely rethinking how things are structured. you also can't rely on detail nearly as much, because the audience is Really far away. even if there are screens, you want to make sure that there's something to look at on the stage itself, so the audience doesn't feel like they're just watching a music video. it's still a live show & you want it to feel like one

so theres a balance to strike between giving the individual artist focus & acknowledging that they literally... can't face every direction at once. even if kendrick is facing away, there are always dancers doing something that'll be visually striking at a distance for the audience to enjoy. but at the same time because there ARE cameras, it also has to work for video & HAVE those detailed up-close elements, so the footage doesn't just look like a guy bopping around with people walking past him for the whole time. the most effective example i can think of is in peekaboo - the groups of white-clothed dancers in the X is visually strong from a distance - even if you can't see exactly what's going on, it's an interesting visual, whereas up close you have the strong music video feel of kendrick popping up out of nowhere; of all these different up close groups of dancers giving their full performance directly to one front while that front is rotating from one group to another, as opposed to the multiple surrounding fronts on the main stage. it transitions from an arena show to a music video (and then back when he walks out onto the main stage with that trail of dancers so the visual is most effective from above rather than up close) SO EFFORTLESSLY and makes absolutely brilliant use of the space

this is literally jsut stream of consciousness it could definitely all be phrased better & honestly i could keep talking for a Long time like i didnt even get in depth abt the use of colour in the costuming & the way every costume is slightly unique in the up close shots but when you pan out to the stadium they become lines of clones like. god i could go on!!!! i coudl go on!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! its a masterpiece choreographically fr its elegant its communicative its mindbogglingly complex ive watched it five times now trying to absorb as much as i can

#chewing on my hands chewing on my hands chewing on my hands #i also watched a video of t-pain reacting & he said this is the kind of choreo/staging he wants at coachella so expect a trend coming #(honestly the t-pain video is worth watching its very funny he spends the whole thing basically going. ''this is so good i hate you'')#(and roasting kendrick for only knowing 3 dance moves lmao)#kendrick lamar #long post #lmao oops i went on way longer than expected #honestly dont Ever ask me about any dance video unless you want this kind of speech

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reidingandallthat · 22 hours ago

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what's in a name?

a last late night conversation, where you confront lauren and start questioning if that's even her real name.

emily prentiss x reader words: 1.8k genre: angst cw: set in when emily was undercover as lauren, reader's role isn't mentioned, feel free to assume. lyric prompt: I will not ask you where you came from, I will not ask and neither should you. honey just put your sweet lips on my lips, we should just kiss like real people do.

a/n: my submission for my beloved @mggslover 's event, lovers1kevent, again congratulations lovely. tried something different so im terrified. ill just hide out after i post don't hmu kekfjrlfk. idk if the stove and fire thingy worked out as I wanted but oh well.

Nightfall fell like a blanket around the cold winter, three steps into the kitchen with just a lamp on. Dim lights remind you of the same moment just a few months ago, hurried hands roaming through kitchen drawers, hoping for just one clue.

You take a knife, an untoasted piece of bread laid out on a plate, not much patience to turn on the stove so you spread out jam over it. Cold to touch, just like she was before the calamity.

The thought was scary, not very surprising, but you had your suspicions. You only hoped for them to not be true.

A clutter shakes you awake, looking around for any intruder or perhaps Declan, maybe he had a nightmare. The sound was brief as if the intruder had only realised the sound they made but you had heard it.

Slow and tentative footsteps, careful to never make a sound, you try to decipher the direction of the sound. It's hard, now that it's so quiet.

But then you hear it again, the scraping of a drawer. So you take the knife left on the kitchen counter, yielded in front of you as a warning.

Just three more steps till you find out who's here but something stops you. You only see a glance of it, but it's all too recognisable. It's her.

Her expressions are calm but her hands tell a different story. She doesn't dare look up, her eyes glued to the file she's holding open, determined to look at every word on the paper.

“She must have stayed over,” You think as you see Lauren hurriedly turning over pages.

Her looking through anything in the house isn't that much strange to you, but it's the middle of the night and her breath quickens at every second that passes. You know there is nothing normal about this.

But you rest your weapon anyway, making sure to make a sound so she can hear you coming. And as you anticipated, her body reacted instantly, the file being closed and hidden, her hands busying themselves with the water bottle on the table.

You slowly walk in, suspicion clouding your face. You don't know yet, but she can tell. She can pick out everything you want to say just by seeing your face, but you don't know that, yet.

“Hi.” You say,

“Hey,” she chuckles, “I was just making a sandwich, do you want one?” she asks, a smile betraying her narrow escape, and perhaps even the objective of her arrival, but she doesn't know that yet.

The red color of the jam stares back at you in fluorescent lighting, eyes strained from being open for too long.

You're not even hungry anymore.

You can sense her now, a presence too heavy to ignore. You haven't looked up in a few minutes but you could feel her staring at you, brown eyes too enticing to ever look into.

“You should eat,” she says.

Your eyes close heedlessly, a sharp stab of pain you desperately hoped you never felt, but it was common nature now. You look up and force a smile, not caring much to make it look natural, she can always tell anyway. Another thing that haunts you most days.

It's very hard to hide from her, but you can never find her, always looking at a distance, never too close or too far.

You’ve told her it's unfair, she only laughs. Cruel.

“I’m not hungry anymore.”

She smiles, amused, endeared. Cruel.

“So you were sleep cooking?”

You're grateful she can't see you smiling, you don't want to give her the satisfaction. So, so cruel of you.

“Don't make me laugh.”

“Is that a crime now?”

The garden was more beautiful to you at night, the smell of jasmine was much more prominent but you had to stay away, if you got too close it made you dizzy.

You hear a sound, but instead of panic a warmth causes goosebumps all over your body.

You know how you can tell someone's footsteps apart?

Hers are unmistakable to you, you're positive you can tell her breathing apart from a crowd of thousands. But that's not appropriate to say out loud.

You learned that pretty quick, nothing was to be said out loud, it made it too real. You can't really tell why she comes every time you call, or why you oblige to her insistences, but you do anyway. Why would she kiss you senseless then laugh and tease, why would she let you roll your eyes at her? Why was it fine by you to sleep next to her when no one was home, why did you let everything happen even if it killed you, little by little?

You’d asked her once, her fingers tracing meaningless patterns on your face, running a line up and down your nose.

“Memory of a goldfish. Do you know how long that is?” She asks.

“A few seconds.” You answer.

“You think we can be goldfish?”

You laugh, it's music to her ears.

“Strange way of foreplay, but sure.”

She laughs, it's music to your ears.

“Schadenfreude,” You say as you assemble another piece of bread with the jam covering only one side of it.

You turn on the stove, I don't want to eat it cold justifying your actions but you know it's not accurate. Excuses, excuses.

It's because she's talking to you, and a sick need to hear it again and again and again until it grates your ears but that moment never comes. Somehow you're always looking for reasons to extend the time, finding excuses to turn on the stove.

“Taking pleasure in other's misfortune.” She explains and you roll your eyes, of course she knows.

“Mhm. Good job.” You bite into a separate piece of bread as you wait for the pan to warm.

“Why is that relevant right now?”

“You're a classic example.”

Her eyebrows crinkle in offense and you want to laugh but it only pesters your heart, a rope tightening around your neck.

“I don't take pleasure in anybody's pain,” She clutches her heart, mock pain, and it's a joke for her, but it's three in the morning. And you're tired.

“You take pleasure in my pain,” an emphasis on the word ‘my’.

Her eyes turn knowing, pitiful and sorry and you hate it. You hate that she has the upper hand, that she can tell you're a desperate, pathetic mess.

“I don't take pleasure in your pain, honey-”

“Don't you fucking honey me.”

You think you can hear your heart beating, you can feel it in your neck, as if it will jump out any minute. The light sound of the clock ticking fills the silence. The pan is too warm now, so you turn down the heat. You don't want to burn your sandwich.

She knows not to push, it's a known routine now. It stays silent until you take another piece of bread when she speaks again, just like clockwork, memory of a goldfish.

“Why did you turn on the stove if you were just going to eat them like this anyway?”

“I have free will, go away.”

“Just warm them you already have the stove-”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Okay, what's going on? Why are you being so dismissive?”

“Because I can-”

“Y/n.”

You only look at her, it's too hard to string together sentences anymore. This is one of the few select times you're grateful she can read you like a book. She knows what this is about.

“What's your name, Lauren?”

It's only the second time you've asked that question. The first time the consequences felt too real. Her eyes hold betrayal, anger and every other thing you can think of.

She should have been confused, dumbfounded when you asked her the first, she should have brushed you off. But she was angry, the biggest mistake on her part.

“What are you asking me??”

“Your name isn't Lauren.”

“How would you know?”

“Because you don't answer me when I call you Lauren, it's someone else. It's not the same person who responds when I call her honey, sweetheart, angel, just anything else.”

It felt like a dare, who could win the argument, who would say the harshest words, ask the hardest questions.

“You promised not to ask.” It's an accusation.

“You won't tell me your name Lauren.”

“I can't.”

Your head hangs low as you take deep breaths. Fire burns underneath the pan, small and timid like it's tired. You put the sandwich on the stove, not keen on asking anymore questions, they never get answered anyway.

You don't notice her get up, or walk towards you. You were hoping she'd just disappear, like none of this ever happened. But her hands cup your face and force you to look up. You keep your eyes closed, too afraid you'll recognise the look on her face.

The same one she adorned when she was looking for answers, begging you to not ask anymore.

But you're tired.

“You don't have any secrets? What is this then?” She gestures between the two of you, and a shadow falls over your face. It's unkind of her to ask this, it's not a fair question. She knows that, but she asks anyway.

“Are you kidding me? Are you seriously saying that? You?”

“We all have our secrets. You have yours, I have mine.”

A ringing alarm sound breaks your memory. Her hands leave you, hurrying to turn off the sound, to not wake anyone up.

She flips the sandwich over, and the other side is burnt, too dark.

“I don't feel real,” You say. It's a quiet admission, only meant for her. You're not even sure if you yourself want to listen to it.

“You're not real, Lauren. Neither of us are.”

You take the sandwich off the pan, soothing your fingers after the hot surface touches your fingertips.

You look at her and she looks puzzled, it's adorable. The inexplicable urge to kiss her pesters you again, you had vowed not to do it, but she's too close for you to not to, so you reach her lips anyway, just for a second. But she keeps you in place, just a few more minutes, a phrase you've heard too often when sunlight starts peeking through windows.

You turn the stove off as she lets you go, you take her silence as an apology. You don't think you could take anymore reasonings and explanations.

...

The everyday noise of the mornings shakes you awake, you can't even tell when you fell asleep. It's only eight am, you've definitely not gotten enough sleep, but you force yourself off the bed.

The housekeeper is in the kitchen, chopping vegetables with the same knife you held last night.

You can't really tell if it was real or a dream, if you imagined a horrible goodbye or if that was it.

But you hear Lauren giggling in the living room, and you hear Declan’s laugh accompanying hers.

The dream was real, you know now but you don't try very hard to convince yourself that it was real. It's better off as a dream, you think.

As you look at the scene in front of. you, you think of the same sentence you've thought every morning for the past few months, Memory of a goldfish.

#emily prentiss x reader #lovers1kevent #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss angst #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss criminal minds #criminal minds #emily prentiss x fem!reader

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 2 days ago

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okay you said you like angst so a ominis x mc x sebastian where she ends up breaking down because to pick one would be to hurt the other and neither deserves that. they both have been through so much

An Impossible Choice | Sebastian x Reader x Ominis

UGH okay this was TOUGH, so many directions I could have taken this, but I think it turned out good (and angsty ahah) enjoy!!

Words: ~2,800

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Angst, Emotional Turmoil, Hurt/No Comfort

You never expected to find yourself here—trapped between two people who mean the world to you, each step forward feeling like a betrayal of the other. But lately, that’s all your friendship with Sebastian and Ominis has felt like: a careful balancing act, an impossible equation with no solution.

The three of you have been inseparable since fifth year, bound by shared secrets, whispered laughter in candlelit corridors, and the safety of knowing that, no matter what, you’d always have each other. But something changed. And you don’t know when, or how, or why, only that the weight of it presses down on you like a vice, squeezing the air from your lungs.

It’s in the way Sebastian’s gaze lingers too long when you speak, as if memorizing the shape of your lips. It’s in the way Ominis’s voice softens when he says your name, something reverent and unspoken curling around the syllables. It’s in the sharpness of Sebastian’s posture whenever Ominis leans too close, the flicker of something dangerous in his brown eyes. And it’s in the way Ominis stiffens when Sebastian’s hand brushes yours, his grip tightening on his wand like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

Neither of them has said anything outright, but they don’t have to. You feel it in every stolen glance, every tense silence. And the worst part is, you love them both.

Not in the way a friend loves, but in the way that keeps you up at night, staring at the ceiling, your heart aching with the knowledge that no matter what you do, someone is going to get hurt.

So you try to ignore it.

You pretend that everything is fine, that nothing has changed, even as the moments between you grow heavier, thick with things unsaid. But ignoring it doesn’t stop the way your stomach knots whenever Sebastian throws an arm around your shoulders, his touch possessive in a way that makes your skin burn. It doesn’t stop the way your breath catches when Ominis murmurs your name, tilting his head toward you as if you’re the only thing in the world worth listening to. It doesn’t stop the guilt that coils inside you like a living thing, twisting and writhing every time you laugh too easily with one of them while the other watches in silence.

You tell yourself it will pass—that they’ll move on, that you’ll somehow find your way back to the friendship you once had. But deep down, you know better.

Because you can feel it. The tension, the inevitable breaking point, pressing against your ribs like a warning as you sit between them, a book open on your lap. You haven’t turned a page in ages—not with the way Sebastian and Ominis keep shifting, the air between them drawn tight as a bowstring, poised to snap.

They’ve been like this all night. Every glance between them is sharp-edged, every word that passes their lips too carefully measured. It’s not a fight. Not yet. But it’s something close, something simmering just beneath the surface, waiting for the wrong word, the wrong move, to send it all spilling over.

You pretend not to notice. You keep your eyes on the book, fingers gripping the pages a little too tightly. If you acknowledge it, if you so much as breathe wrong, everything will collapse.

Then Sebastian shifts beside you, leaning in, his arm brushing yours as he points at a passage in the book.

“You’ve been staring at the same page for minutes,” he murmurs, voice low, amused. “Need me to read it for you?”

You barely have time to react before Ominis snaps.

“Do you ever give her any space?”

The words lash through the air, cold and cutting. Sebastian stills, his expression darkening as he turns to face Ominis.

“What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” Ominis lets out a humorless laugh, standing to his full height. “Is you, Sebastian. You can’t go five bloody minutes without draping yourself over her like she belongs to you.”

Sebastian’s jaw clenches. “And you can’t go two bloody minutes without acting like you know what’s best for her.”

Ominis scoffs. “Someone has to.”

It’s spiraling too fast. You sit up straighter, reaching out. “Can we not—”

“Maybe if you weren’t so busy hovering, you’d realize she doesn’t need you to control everything she does,” Sebastian bites out, ignoring you entirely.

“Oh, that’s rich,” Ominis sneers as he gets to his feet. “Coming from you. The man who never knows when to stop.”

Sebastian’s hands curl into fists. “You want to say that again?”

“I’d love to.” Ominis tilts his head, voice sharp as glass. “You’ve always been selfish, Sebastian. Always taking, never thinking. And now you can’t stand the idea that you might not be the only one she cares about.”

Sebastian rises, and for a moment, you think he might actually swing at Ominis. You shove yourself up between them, pressing a hand to each of their chests.

“Enough,” you say, breathless, desperate. “Both of you. Just—stop.”

But neither of them are looking at you. They’re locked onto each other, eyes burning with something raw, something ugly, something that has been coming for a long time, creeping in at the edges of their friendship, poisoning it from the inside out.

And you? You’re the catalyst. The excuse they need to finally let it all unravel.

The thought makes you sick.

“You really think you’re the better man, Ominis? That you’re any less selfish?” Sebastian laughs. “At least I don’t hide behind self-righteous bullshit and pretend I don’t want her.”

Ominis' expression flickers—just for a second—but the crack is there, sharp as a splinter. His lips part, then press into a thin line as if he’s forcing something down, something dangerous. When he speaks, his voice is quieter now, but no less venomous.

“And yet, you act as though she’s already yours.” His head tilts, eerily precise. “Like you have some unspoken claim on her.”

Sebastian’s laughter is sharp, humorless. “Oh, I’m sorry—am I supposed to sit back and watch while you play the noble, brooding protector? While you pretend you aren’t thinking the same damn things I am?” He steps closer, pressing up against your hand. “At least I’m honest about it.”

“This isn’t a competition,” you snap, your voice cutting through the rising tension. “I’m not—”

But Ominis speaks over you, his voice razor-sharp. “Honest?” He laughs, a brittle, scathing sound. “You think she doesn’t see through you, Sebastian? That she doesn’t know how you manipulate everyone around you when you don’t get your way?”

Sebastian’s eyes darken. “And what about you? Hm? You stand there, acting like you have some moral high ground, pretending you’re her protector, her friend—but you’re nothing more than a coward. At least I have the nerve to fight for what I want.”

Ominis’ lips curl, but there’s something restrained in his stance, something barely held back. His next words come slow, deliberate. “No, Sebastian. You don’t fight for what you want. You take. You push. And you never think about the consequences.”

Sebastian scoffs, stepping even closer, his breath warm against your skin as he looms just inches from Ominis now. “You’re so full of shit.”

Ominis doesn’t flinch, but you feel it—the way his fingers twitch at his sides, the way his throat bobs, the sharp intake of breath like he’s fighting to hold something down.

“Tell me,” Ominis says suddenly, turning toward you. His voice isn’t cruel, but it’s raw, pained. “Are you just going to stand there and

let him decide everything for you? Let him pull you into whatever game he’s playing?” His head tilts, the weight of his words pressing into you, sharp and insistent. “Or do you have something to say?”

Sebastian’s hand twitches at his side. “Don’t put this on her.”

“I’m not putting anything on her,” Ominis counters, voice low, controlled—but there’s something beneath it, something breaking. “I’m giving her the chance to speak for herself. Which is more than you’ve ever done.”

The air is thick with tension, suffocating. Your heart pounds against your ribs, loud enough that you swear they must hear it, too. Your mouth feels dry, your fingers curled into fists at your sides as their gazes burn into you from both angles.

And the truth is—you don’t know what to say.

Because every word you could give them feels like a betrayal to one of them. Every choice, every step, every breath feels like tipping the scales in a way you can’t undo.

Sebastian’s eyes are locked onto yours now, something desperate, something pleading flickering behind the frustration in his gaze. “Just tell him,” he murmurs, voice softer now, edged with something dangerously close to vulnerability. “Tell him that you—”

“Don’t,” Ominis interrupts, and his expression is unreadable, his hands trembling just slightly at his sides. “Don’t try to put words in her mouth.”

You shake your head, feeling the weight of both of them, the history, the heartbreak that you haven’t even let yourself acknowledge until now. This is it. The moment where everything shatters.

“I can’t,” you whisper.

It’s barely a sound, but it’s enough.

Sebastian’s face falls, just slightly, just enough for you to see the hurt flash through his features before he masks it behind a clenched jaw. Ominis exhales sharply, sounding almost relieved, before he schools his expression into something carefully composed. His shoulders loosen, and there’s the briefest flicker of something in his posture—hope, maybe, or something close to it.

Before you can speak, Sebastian brushes past you, his hand shooting out to grip the front of Ominis’s shirt.

“Don’t look so fucking smug,” Sebastian snaps, his voice low and dangerous. “She hasn’t said anything yet.”

Ominis doesn’t flinch. He stands his ground, lips pressed together in a thin, unreadable line. His hands remain at his sides, but you see the faintest tremor in his fingers. His voice, however, is steady when he replies.

“Does it scare you, Sebastian?” he murmurs, his head tilting just slightly. “The idea that, maybe, for once, you’re not the only one who matters?”

Sebastian’s grip tightens on Ominis’s shirt, and for a moment, neither of them moves. The air is taut, stretched thin like a wire about to snap. Ominis is taller, his presence sharp and imposing, but Sebastian is the one with strength on his side, his stance coiled tight like a drawn bowstring.

“Say that again,” Sebastian growls, his voice dropping even lower, roughened by barely restrained fury.

Ominis doesn’t hesitate. “You heard me.”

And then, to your horror, Ominis reaches for Sebastian’s shirt in return. His fingers, slender but firm, curl into the fabric, mirroring the grip Sebastian has on him. It’s not quite a shove, but the tension between them spikes, raw and volatile. Your breath catches, panic clawing at your chest.

“Ominis,” you breathe, stepping forward, but neither of them acknowledges you.

Sebastian’s fingers flex against Ominis’s collar, his jaw locked tight. “You think this is about me?” he spits. “You think I don’t care what she wants?”

“Do you?” Ominis presses. His grip tightens. “Because all I’ve ever seen you do is pull and pull and pull until she’s too caught up in your orbit to break free.”

Sebastian’s whole body goes rigid, like Ominis just landed a direct hit where it hurts most. You see it in his expression—that flicker of something deep and wounded before it twists into anger.

“She’s not yours to defend, Ominis,” Sebastian bites out, voice shaking with barely contained frustration. “And she’s sure as hell not yours to decide for.”

“And yet, here you are,” Ominis returns, unyielding. “Acting like the only person who gets to have a say is you.”

The muscles in Sebastian’s arms flex, his fingers trembling against the fabric of Ominis’s shirt, as though he’s on the verge of pushing, of shoving, of—

“Stop it!”

Your voice cuts through the space between them, raw and desperate.

They freeze.

The silence that follows is deafening.

You take a step back, breath shuddering, hands curling into fists at your sides. You feel the heat rising up your throat, the sharp sting of frustration prickling behind your eyes.

"You—" Your voice shakes with something raw, something close to fury. "Do either of you even hear yourselves right now?"

Sebastian's gaze snaps to you, still burning with frustration, but something else flickers beneath it—something hesitant.

Ominis’s lips part slightly, as if he wants to say something, but he doesn't.

"You’re both acting like children," you spit, your voice rising. "Like this is some petty fight over who gets the last fucking piece of cake instead of a real, human person standing right in front of you!"

Sebastian tenses. "That’s not—"

"Don’t," you snap, cutting him off, chest heaving. "Don’t you dare try telling me this isn’t exactly what it looks like. Like I haven’t just stood here and listened to you two rip each other apart over me."

You shake your head, anger curling hot in your chest, almost unbearable. "Neither of you are fucking listening. Neither of you are stopping for one second to actually ask me what I want. You’re both just deciding, making assumptions, thinking you know what’s best, thinking you have any right to—"

Your voice catches, but you don’t stop. You can’t.

"Did it ever occur to you—either of you—that if you wanted to know how I felt, you could have just asked?! And if you had, then you'd know—" You let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking your head. "You'd know I can't choose!"

The words hang heavy in the air, and you feel the weight of them settle into the space between you. You don't even know if you mean won’t or can’t. You just know it’s the truth, and you want them to hear it, to feel it, to finally understand the weight they’ve been forcing you to carry.

Sebastian’s mouth opens, but you cut him off before he can even start.

"Because if you had asked," Your voice wavers, and you hate it, hate the way your throat tightens, the way tears burn at the edges of your vision. "You’d know that every time I’m with one of you, I feel like I’m hurting the other. That my heart is breaking constantly because I see it, I see the way it destroys you both. And I don’t know how to fix it."

Your breath is unsteady, fists clenching at your sides. "You think this is easy for me? That I like feeling like I’m being torn in two? Like no matter what I do, I’m going to end up hurting someone I love?"

You shake your head, feeling heat creep up your neck, anger and grief colliding in a whirlwind you can’t stop. "I am so tired. Tired of feeling guilty just for existing in the space between you. Tired of knowing that no matter what I do, I’ll never be enough for either of you because you both want me to be something I can’t be!"

The silence is suffocating, but you don’t stop.

"You think he pulls me into his orbit?" you snap at Ominis, eyes blazing. "Then what the hell do you think you do? You sit there, self-righteous and brooding, waiting for me to prove something to you, like I have to earn your permission to exist between the two of you!"

Ominis swallows hard, and for finally, his composure cracks.

"And you," you turn on Sebastian, breathing hard. "You think he’s the only one who makes decisions for me? You do it all the time. You assume what I want, what I need, what I’m thinking, and you don’t even ask before making a choice for me!"

Sebastian’s expression shatters, his hands flexing like he wants to reach for you, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t dare.

You take a step back, throat thick with everything you’ve held inside for too long. "You both act like you know what’s best for me. But you never once stopped to listen—to really listen—to me."

The words hang heavy between you, and in their silence, you finally hear it. The sound of your own breaking heart.

You exhale shakily, swallowing hard before whispering, "I love you both."

Sebastian lets out a quiet, almost pained breath. Ominis turns his face slightly away, as if the words physically struck him.

"And I hate it," you continue, voice barely above a whisper. "I hate that it’s not enough. That no matter how much I love you both, it's destined to end like this. With fighting. With pain. With one of you walking away while the other pretends they’ve won something."

A pause. A silence so thick it almost drowns you.

And then you take another step back.

"I can’t do this anymore."

Sebastian inhales sharply. Ominis’s hands twitch.

You shake your head one last time, voice hoarse, empty. "If you really cared about me, you wouldn’t put me in this position at all."

With that, you turn and walk away.

74 notes · View notes

kenobers · 13 hours ago

Text

scorn to change my state | jason todd x fem!reader valentine's special ♡

but first free palestine !! jason and sionis!reader exchange valentines and make it clear that they really really really like each other. featuring sonnet 29 by william shakespeare. tw: insecure reader, slightly less insecure reader. lots of kissing. abuse of italics a/n: this is my over the top boquet of valentines flowers for all of you, forgive the corniness. for more sionis!reader, see the links below. magic hands | is this love | tremble & shake

Jason is fairly certain there’s a small amount of dynamite lodged in his chest, ticking along with his heartbeat.

He’s beginning to worry that this was a stupid Valentine’s present. But what else was he supposed to get a woman who didn’t need anything? He wasn’t well versed enough in jewelry to not fuck it up and neither of you had time for some kind of excursion. A fancy date seemed like too much of a given, like that couldn't be the present.

Maybe it wasn’t even the right move to get you something. You're...prickly. He’s prickly. Outward affection is a rarity in this relationship. Physical affection makes him jump. Praise makes you defensive. Neither of you are good at receiving gifts - you hadn’t even exchanged Christmas presents. You’ve been lowering your emotional walls brick by stubborn brick, so maybe such a direct gift would be too much. Maybe making a point to celebrate a holiday all about love would be too much for you.

But then you’d thrown him through a loop the other morning when you let out a sweet sigh and declared that you “just love Valentine’s Day.”

Then this had quite literally fallen from the shelf and into his hands with a mighty thump in Gotham Used Books. The worn cover was the same shade of red as his helmet. The rose pattern looped around the title in a similar fashion to the floral stitching on your favorite top; the one you always wore on formal dates. And when he flipped the book open, the medieval sketch in the forward could easily be you.

You had mentioned that you wanted to read more this year. And the cashier with the English degree had assured him that this was a safe pick. It's sweet, the kind of thing a good boyfriend buys. The content is romantic, but it’s not over-the-top-teddy-bear-diamond-ring-romantic. Most importantly, he thought you would like it.

He just wants you to like it.

Now he's not so sure.

Of course you’re wearing the damn flower shirt. His eyes keep drifting to the swirl of gold, blue, pink and red flora that thread your chest; particularly the blush petals that sit right over your nipples. Your perfume turns the room into a garden, clean like iris, dark like cherries and warm like chocolate. Even simply sitting crossed legged in your bed, you’re regal.

You shove a small white box wrapped with expensive ribbon in his hands. He’s never seen such a look of pride on your face until he pulls the ribbon and opens the lid to find another box, this time in black leather with a gold trim.

“A box within a box? How did you know!”

“C-orny,” you blow a raspberry at him. “It’s in the box, dummy.”

“Will wonders never cease,” he teases back, flipping open the clasp. You scoot forward in anticipation. Your excitement can’t mask the anxiety in your eyes. Takes a breath, mentally preparing himself for whatever lays inside. You’re not the kind of woman to waste her time. Whatever’s in the box, he’s deserving of. At least, he is in your eyes - but that counts for a lot.

Nestled in plush cream satin is a round silver rendition of di Vinci’s Vitruvian Man on a thin curb chain.

“You have the same glower,” you simper with a full set of teeth.

Jason scoffs in amusement. You really aren’t wrong, he thinks to himself as he traces over the meticulous detail, trying to be as feather light as his heavy touch can be. He’s just not sure if that’s a good thing.

“Flip it over,” you urge him, your voice shrinking ever so slightly. He does so, holding the coin sized pendant to his eye to read the engraving.

For My Hero.

Jason’s chest swells with something that must be joy. A amygdaloid chorus of ‘She loves me! She loves me! She loves me!’ drowns out every other noise in his brain. For a moment, a red filter colors his vision and he’s certain the only explanation can be that his pupils have morphed into comically large cartoon hearts.

But when he looks back at you, you’re about to combust. Your eyelids have receded into your eyebrows, which in return have receded half way up your forehead. You’re keeping your rosy fingernails from fidgeting by digging them into your heated cheeks. The corner of your lip is twitching and he can tell that you’re resisting the urge to chew on it. The smudge of lipstick on your front teeth tells him you’ve already given in at least once.

“Geez, dude, take a breath,” he snorts.

“If you don’t like it, we can always return it and exchange it for something else,” you squawk nervously. “Or we can find a different chain if you want it longer or-or a different style or, y’know, like whatever…”

Jason grins a dopy, lopsided grin. It’s such a rare treat to see you so goosey. He knows he should probably feel bad about much he’s savoring the nervous look on your gorgeous face. However, his usually so ceaseless voice of guilt cannot be heard as the ‘She loves me! She loves me! She loves me!’ chorus begins to belt.

“It’s beautiful, baby,” he says, lifting it out of the box and clasping it around his neck. He can feel the weight of it on his sternum; not too heavy, just enough to remind him it’s there. He glances over at your full length mirror and admires the way the metal gleams from across the room, proudly shining against his charcoal t-shirt. His face contorts into the same glower as the design, turning back when it makes you giggle sweetly.

“So, you like it?”

He leans forward and kisses you softly, running the pendant through his fingers.

“I’m never taking it off,” he swears on your lips. He means it too.

You laugh again and when you pull away, Jason catches the heavenly scent of your skin. The rustle of newspaper on literature yanks him back down to earth.

“My turn?” You ask, the trademark coy smile returning to your lips. You tap the poorly wrapped package in his lap. The chorus in his head reverts back to the tick of the bomb strapped to his arteries, drumming in time with your fingers.

Fuck, he got you such a bad fucking gift.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, sure,” he says, the words rolling out of his mouth before he can grasp them.

You snatch the package with a bounce and your mattress creaks like a disappointed groan.

“The comic section? How’d you know!” You tease, poking the tip of your tongue between your teeth.

“Just open it, princess,” he chuckles, despite how badly he does not want you to open it. He threads the ribbon from the necklace box between his fingers, painfully aware of how fine the velvety material is as he watches you tear back the coffee stained Garfield and Charlie Brown he used as wrapping paper.

Your eyes narrow in what he hopes is concentration, following the flowers and vines to the title. “Shakespeare’s Complete Sonnets and Poems,” you read aloud in a tone too flat for his liking.

“I know it’s not…You said you wanted to get more into reading, so I just…thought…It’s…” he trails off dumbly, rubbing the back of his overheated neck. “Poet..try?”

You don’t seem to be paying his bumbling much mind, however. You flip open the front cover and recite, “To my Sonnet Twenty-Nine. With all my love and respect, J.T.”

Oh God, he forgot he'd written that.

Jason thinks he maybe makes another attempt at speaking that comes out as little more than a sad gust of air. You waste no time rifling through the book until you find the poem in question. Every swish of a turning page clangs like the beat of a death march.

He sucks in a breath when you land on the right page. You read the poem in dead silence, your lips moving soundlessly in tandem with your eyes flying along the words.

‘When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, and trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope, With what I enjoy most contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at the break of day arising From sullen earth sings hymns at Heaven’s gate; For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings That I scorn to change my state with kings.’

He recites in his head. He’d read it over and over and over again up until he wrapped it up this morning. It was as if Shakespeare had reached into the storm of Jason’s brain and pulled out the eye of the hurricane. How many times has he sulked over all the ways his life could be different and resented those who represented the things he could no longer have- only to look beside him and remember he had something they didn’t. You.

Despite everything he’s seen, Jason is a skeptic. He’s not a non-believer, in fact, he’s pretty sure he believes in God. But he’s apprehensive about the forces of the universe. If they’re out there, they aren’t looking out for anybody…except for when Aphrodite or Jesus or Shakespeare created you.

Ol’ Will must’ve had a vision of you; the lark with the sharp mouth and the soft lips. He must’ve foreseen you sitting in your floral shirt with the petals over your nipples and the blue jeans that hug your ass, the ones that make you feel good about yourself. He must’ve dreamt about the way you make a saggy dollar bin paperback look like it cost a million dollars. It's the only way the poem makes sense.

Ever since Jason started seeing you, the whites of his eyes shine brighter and gold flecks have begun to twinkle in his hazel irises. His skin is clearer, his hair is softer, his posture straighter. Even the tension in the crease of his scowl has been alleviated. His laughter has become more frequent, much to the amusement of his friends. His fashion has become more deliberate. Maybe he's dressing for your approval, but it's made him feel more confident, attractive even. He doesn’t feel so in pain all the time.

And his scars…those ugly faults that become medals of honor when blessed by your holy caress. God only knows how you manage to soothe the discolored purple of his bruises into a dark cherry. And he had never noticed how the pale pink of his autopsy scar complimented his cool undertones under you had given him a wine-fueled verbal dissertation on why he looked so good in red.

You reach the end of the poem and Jason’s chest constricts with dreadful anticipation for you to say something. However, your gaze goes back to the start. Of course it is, of course you’re reading this stupid sonnet with care and attention. For someone who throws caution to the wind with her own words, you’re painstakingly analytical about everyone else’s. Jason adores that about you until it’s him pinned under your microscope.

He's predicted the next movement of masked criminals based on the quiver of a nerve without breaking a sweat. For whatever reason, his skills mean nothing when it comes to you. He tries to analyze your face, but it’s so furrowed in concentration. Your eyes are flitting back and forth between verses, breaking everything down.

Fuck, he’s an idiot. You have an allergy to compliments and he’s just given you a damn book oversaturated with them. You must be uncomfortable, you look uncomfortable. This is too intense for you. It's too much all at once. It's suffocating. Embarrassing. Needy.

Why can't he just be normal? He's scared you off. This is why he can't be in relationships. He can't not fuck it up. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

“It's like the most basic one after the one about a summer's day," he mumbles. At this point he's kneading a sore in the nape of his neck. "I know, it's-"

"It's beautiful," you correct whatever he was about to say. You finally raise your head and your eyes are misty. He straightens his spine as he realizes he’s made you cry. "It's really beautiful, Jaybird. It's..."

You draw your arms into your side. You're getting shy on him.

"What is it?"

But he's not much braver.

"Is this...Why did you pick this one?"

“I…What do you mean?” he asks dumbly.

You shift, looking down at the sonnet, “It’s just that you said in the inscription, ‘to my Sonnet 29.’ What’s special about this one?”

HIs cheeks burn something fierce. He has no good answer. Well, he does, but you’re going to think it’s stupid, "It just...it, y'know, it stuck out to me."

You peer back at him with that laser sharp precision, “Why?”

“Why?” he repeats, leaning forward like he hadn’t heard you correctly. You nod, cocking an eyebrow like you’re suspicious of his intentions. He trips over his tongue as he tries to come up with some nonchalant answer, “it’s just…it’s, like, really iconic, y’know-”

“Do you like me?” you ask suddenly. There’s an insecure waver in your voice.

Jason blinks.

“Do I like you?” It’s a stupid question. He’s shocked you even have to ask. No shit he likes you. He adores you. He loves you. “Of course, I like you. You’re my Valentine, of course, I like you.”

“I’m…yours?”

His heart races. It’s been so long since he actually did this.

“Would you like to be?”

You immediately open your mouth, but your answer hesitates on your honeyed lips.

Cruel cold doom spreads through Jason’s chest, icing over all the joy he just felt. You’re going to tell him no. You’re going to tell him no and he’s going to have to live with that.

But instead you say, “Are you being serious?”

You’re scared. He’s scared you. He doesn’t dare speak, doesn’t risk a tone. He nods slowly, holding your gaze.

“Because I do want to be yours. I want you. I-I…I really like you,” you continue with a slight shake. “But I just have to make sure that you’re one hundred percent sure that you want me. Like really want me. Like in this poem.”

You’ve never been this vulnerable without the influence of substances. He has to take a moment to admire your bravery. When it first became clear that this relationship warranted more than sex, you would’ve rather died than be this open. If you’re being this honest with him, then he owes it to you to do the same.

After all, he’s already let you this far into his life. He’s already told you he’s the Red Hood. He’s already shown you every inch of his body. He’s already given a book of sonnets.

“If I didn’t want you, I wouldn’t have given you that poem. Fuck, baby, I wouldn’t even be here with you right now,” he swears. He gently takes the book from you and wraps his hands around yours. His palms cover the backs of your hands completely, calluses on lotioned knuckles. Just touching you made him softer. If only you could see yourself the way he sees you.

When you drop your eyes to your lap, he keeps going, “Look, I know I’m not Shakespeare and I’m not…great at being romantic. But I don’t get close to people very often. I definitely don’t get this close to anyone ever. I don’t even do hook-ups, but from that first night in that bar, I knew there was something special about you. I…”

“But why? I mean,” you shift uncomfortably. “I’m mean. I’m not even nice to you when all you do is tell me I’m beautiful and give me fucking sonnets. So why-” your voice catches in your throat and you blink rapidly, as if to hold back tears. “I just…I’m not worth more than the sex, Jay.”

For a fleeting moment, Jason congratulates himself on picking the right Valentine’s present. You really do get each other. However, the horror that you aren’t feeling the same relief keeps him from preening.

“No, no, no, baby,” he shakes his head vigorously. “You-” he lets go of your hands. “Are-” he grips your hips. “The light-” he pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Of my life.”

You sniffle as you roll your eyes, “Don’t be cheesy.”

Jason snorts, hugging you close to his chest, “I’ll be as cheesy as I want.”

He kisses your cheek and when it makes you smile, he kisses your nose, then all the way down both sides of your jawline. He catches either corner of your lips before leaning you back to shower your neck, basking in the way your throat vibrates with laughter.

“‘Cause,” he continues, cupping the back of your head. “It’s Valentine’s and the most beautiful girl in the world is crying ‘cause she doesn’t know how beautiful she is. Or how she’s made an amateur romantic out of scraggly old miser.”

He grazes his teeth along the crook of your neck, groaning as his crooked nose brushes against where you sprayed your perfume this morning. “I think about you every second of the day. I count down the minutes until I get to see you again. There are days where the thought of coming home to you keeps me going through the worst kind of bullshit. Because when I’m with you, life is worth living - just like the sonnet said. You make everything worth it because you are worth everything.”

You let out a tiny gasp when Jason rolls you onto your back. His biceps flex as he hoists himself on top of you and bends his elbows to trail his reddening lips down the v plunge of your shirt. The medallion sits heavy on your bra line. You can feel its coolness seep through your shirt, if only because it’s such a stark difference from his body heat.

“Haply I think on thee, and then my state,” he recites between the kisses he’s leaving on your collarbone. “Like to the lark at the break of day arising.”

You give him a full belly laugh and it’s the most lovely sound he’s ever heard. Now he lets himself preen, rubbing his cheek along the green stitches dotting your neckline.

“I like who I am when I’m with you,” he hums along your sternum. He can’t believe how easy these words are coming to him. “I like having something to feel happy about all the time. I like you.”

“Even when I’m mean to you?” You whisper cautiously.

He repositions himself to rest his forehead against yours, “You’re not mean.”

“Yes, I am-” you protest, but Jason’s having none of it.

“No, you’re not. You’re a little snarky, but it’s sexy as hell,” he says. “But yes, I like you even when you’re snarky. Especially when you’re snarky.”

He kisses you again, deeper this time. He lavishes your favored lip, setting a comfortable rhythm. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull his body flush against yours. Manicured nails comb through the base of his hair, the way only you know he likes it. A large hand cups your cheek, a thick thumb stroking your cheekbone because only he knows how it makes you purr.

“Like to the lark at the break of day arising,” he croons when he comes up for air, pink mouth newly adorned with gloss. “From sullen earth sings hymns at Heaven’s gate.”

“For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings,” you pick up, taking a moment to admire the silver pendant hanging in your face before tangling your fingers in the chain and tugging your man back to you.

You sink into each other with ease. Your touch exchanges a thousand sonnets without speaking a single word. Maybe he didn’t buy the book for the flowers or the drawing or your desire to read. Maybe he bought it because the universe saw a chance for him to tell you the things he can’t quite say himself.

“That I scorn to change my state with kings.”

65 notes · View notes

wendichester · 21 hours ago

Note

Darling! How are you? How is your week?

🍄 here

You said I could send more asks… so I’m going to reaaaally use that! Hope that’s ok :)

Hear me out… Dean an HER are undercover in a bar/roadhouse whatever to gather intel… SHE has to sing on stage because of reasons (you’re the genius writer you’ll figure it out 😘) and she sings “rhinestone ring” from Abby Cone cause she’s cheesy and her and Dean are idiots in love who have to talk about their feelings eventually?

Can be fluffy can be steamy… you decide

Luv ya 🍄

⋆˚˖° rhinestone ring,

summary. serenading dean in the middle of a case because the tension between you two is becoming unbearable

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 957

notes. first time hearing this song but it clicks so well with dean imo ehe thanks for the request lovely 🩷🍄

This is not what Dean signed up for.

He leans against the bar, whiskey in hand, watching as you step onto the stage, bathed in warm, golden light. The roadhouse is packed tonight—truckers, bikers, hunters, all of them turning to watch as you adjust the mic stand.

He should be watching the room. Keeping an eye out for their mark.

Instead, he’s watching you.

Your eyes flick to his before the music starts, and even from across the bar, Dean can see the teasing glint in them. You’re loving this.

He grits his teeth, rolling his shoulders. This is all part of the plan—cozy up to the locals, get the information they need, maybe shake a few hands and flash a few flirtatious smiles. The singing part? Not in the original game plan.

But you took one look at the stage, grinned like you had a secret, and next thing he knew, some gruff-looking guy was handing you a guitar and calling your name into the mic.

Now, Dean watches, breath held, as you bring the mic closer and let your voice pour into the room.

"Some girls want a big old diamond on a hand they hold too tight, Some girls wanna be in a fairytale, that’s just not my style..."

Your voice is smooth, soft but full of warmth, curling around every word like honey. Dean swallows hard, his fingers tightening around his glass.

He should have known you’d pick something like this.

You smirk as you get to the next part, eyes locking on him.

"I just want a rhinestone ring, Buy it with a neon glow, From a pawn shop down on Broadway, We’ll keep it on the low..."

Dean can feel the heat creeping up his neck. The crowd is eating it up, nodding along, tapping their fingers against their beers. They don’t know that this is for him, that you’re looking right at him like the words mean something.

He hates that his chest aches at the thought.

Because this is just a job. Just a cover. Just another night spent pretending.

Right?

You keep singing, strumming along to the melody, your voice turning sweeter, softer.

"I don’t need forever, just tonight with you..."

Dean exhales sharply. You have got to be kidding him.

He pushes off the bar, needing to put some space between himself and whatever the hell this is stirring up inside him. He moves to the edge of the crowd, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

You finish the song with a little flourish, sending a wink in his direction before handing off the guitar and hopping off the stage.

The bar erupts into applause.

Dean doesn’t move.

You weave through the crowd, stepping right up to him, eyes shining with amusement. "Well?"

Dean raises an eyebrow. "That was real cute."

"Admit it, Winchester." You nudge him with your hip. "You liked it."

Dean huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. "You’re a damn menace, you know that?"

You grin. "And yet, you love me."

The words slip out so easily, so casually, that you don’t even seem to realize what you just said.

But Dean does.

His heart stutters, his smirk faltering for half a second before he covers it up with another sip of whiskey.

You tilt your head, watching him. "What?"

Dean sets his glass down on the table behind him, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "Nothing."

But you don’t let it go.

Your fingers brush against his wrist, just for a second. A fleeting touch. A spark.

"Dean," you say, softer now.

He clenches his jaw, eyes flicking over the room—looking for an excuse, a distraction, anything.

But there’s nothing. Just you. Just this.

"You ever think about it?" you ask, voice quiet, hesitant.

Dean exhales sharply. "Think about what?"

Your lips quirk up. "A pawn shop ring. A neon glow."

His chest tightens. He should lie. He should. But when he looks at you, standing there with that damn knowing look in your eyes, he can’t.

"Yeah," he admits, voice rough. "Maybe."

You stare at him like you’re waiting for something else, something more.

And hell—maybe you deserve more.

But all Dean can do is shake his head with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "We should get back to work."

You study him for a beat longer before nodding. "Yeah. We should."

Neither of you move.

Dean swears under his breath before grabbing your hand and tugging you into the shadows of the hallway leading to the back of the bar.

You barely have time to gasp before his mouth is on yours, hungry and desperate, kissing you like he’s been dying for it.

And maybe he has.

You kiss him back just as fiercely, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, like you knew this was coming. Like you knew all along.

Dean presses you against the wall, hands gripping your hips, feeling the way you fit against him like you were always meant to be here.

"Thought you didn’t do fairytales," he murmurs against your lips.

You smile, breathless. "I don’t."

His lips trail along your jaw, down to your neck. "Then what the hell was that song about?"

You laugh softly, tilting your head back to give him more access. "Not every love story needs a fairytale ending."

Dean pulls back just enough to look at you. "And ours?"

You search his face, your fingers brushing over the stubble on his jaw. "Ours is whatever we want it to be." You shrug slightly. "As long as you're next to me, I don't really care,"

His breath catches.

And maybe a pawn shop ring and a neon glow don’t sound so bad after all.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @kayleighwinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @img14 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @beakaleak32

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #supernatural #.docx #.req

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bubbleggum444 · 17 hours ago

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—❝𐌋ITTLE MIƧƧ AC𝚃IVIST!❞

contents damian wayne x fem!reader, new hero!reader au, fluff + angst (n comfort), 3k+ wc. synopsis he knows all too well what it is like to feel like you don't fit it.

This felt so... wrong. Everything and everyone around ___ was just so frustrating, so difficult to deal with.

She had been an activist for as long as she could remember, fighting for what she believed in. But everything changed when she became a hero.

For better or worse? She wasn’t sure. No—oh great, Starfire just burned another tree down. Just perfect. Yeah, definitely worse.

Time and time again, this path hurt. It pulled at her, tore at her, like two different people were fighting for control inside her body.

One part of her—the old her—was someone who spent hours protesting, climbing trees to protect them, boycotting inhumane brands, and helping the vulnerable.

The other—the hero—was someone who saw, day in and day out, just how much destruction heroes left behind in their wake.

She knew her thoughts must have been tiring to others. Maybe even annoying. But she didn’t care. They weren’t her, and she wasn’t them. No one had the right to tell her how to feel about this.

Still, she could only bite her tongue for so long.

During a mission, Beast Boy casually tossed a used water bottle onto the street.

She hesitated, not wanting to sound like a nag. So instead, she simply picked it up, intending to throw it in a trash can.

Then she heard Garfield chuckle.

"Are you our new teammate or the trashman, newbie?"

Ouch.

Even the other Titans fell silent at the remark.

Her fingers clenched around the plastic, her vision burning. She didn’t dare look at any of them. She was too close to breaking.

So she walked away.

She hadn’t planned to. It was an impulsive decision, but that was who she was—rash, reactive. Always ready to act against injustice, even before becoming a hero.

She kept walking until she reached a park bench and collapsed onto it. The moment she was alone, the tears came. She hated this—hated feeling weak, hated that everything was finally catching up to her. The pressure of expectations, the weight of two halves of herself pulling in opposite directions.

It felt suffocating.

Like the disappointment she had seen in her parents’ eyes when she struggled to balance school and activism. The kind of disappointment that didn’t hurt physically but cut so much deeper.

A shiver ran down her spine as something cold wrapped around her from behind.

Whack!

On instinct, she swung back, landing a solid smack on whoever had just grabbed her.

"Damian?!" Her eyes widened.

"Oh my God, I’m so—"

"No, I deserved that," he admitted, rubbing his arm. "I came after you... I just didn’t know how to approach you."

Her chest tightened.

She hadn’t expected anyone to follow her. Least of all Damian.

She couldn’t stop the fresh wave of tears that spilled over, but this time, he was ready. He pulled her into another hug, and she let herself sink into it, gripping onto him like she might fall apart otherwise.

"There’s nothing wrong with being someone who picks up trash," she mumbled, voice still thick with emotion.

"That’s a decent, respectable job."

Damian huffed a small laugh.

"That’s not funny—"

"I know."

He tilted her chin up, his touch uncharacteristically gentle. His green eyes searched hers, steady and unreadable.

"I’ve noticed how much you’ve been pushing yourself, ___," he murmured.

"Stepping out of your comfort zone. Going against things you once believed in."

His hand brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary.She held his gaze, her breath catching.

"It’s admirable," he continued, voice softer now. "And... I understand more than you think."

She swallowed hard.

She barely knew Damian. Out of all the Titans, he was the most closed off.

Yet here he was. In a park. In the middle of the night. Holding her. Comforting her.

Was it always this warm at this time of year?

Her voice wavered slightly when she spoke. "Meaning...?"

He exhaled, thumb brushing over her cheek like he was afraid she might break.

"Meaning I’ve been where you are," he admitted. "I know what it’s like to feel like an outsider. To think that no matter what you do, you’ll never truly fit in."

His voice dipped lower, carrying something raw beneath it.

"And it hurt deeply. I rejected those who tried to help me because they were different, yet I embraced the pain from others simply because they were my familiars."

The air between them felt heavy—not with awkwardness, but with something deeper. It was as if their hearts had silently intertwined, speaking in a language beyond words. The weight of unspoken emotions filled the space between them, their rapid beats echoing a conversation only they could understand.

She felt it. The way her heartbeat stumbled, the way something in her chest tightened painfully.

And she could feel his too. Beating, racing—just like hers.

The silence between them was fragile, delicate, like the moment might shatter if either of them spoke.

With one arm dropping to his side, the other wraps itself around her shoulder in a gentle side hug.

"Let’s go get some dumplings," he murmured. "There’s a Chinatown nearby. The vendors stay open late."

Slowly, she let herself relax against him, nodding.

"Okay," she whispered. "Let’s get some pho."

As they walked along the cobblestone streets, ___ let out a quiet giggle.

His cheeks kind of look like dumplings…

She bit her lip to suppress her laughter, but Damian caught it anyway.

His gaze flickered toward her. "What’s so funny?"

She shook her head, smiling to herself.

"Nothing," she said softly. "I’m just really excited for the food."

Damian narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. But he let it go, walking just a little closer to her as they made their way down the dimly lit street.

And for the first time in a long time, ___ felt like maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t so alone after all.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated

ദ്ദി ≽^⎚˕⎚^≼ .ᐟ

alsooo BB would NEVA be like this. I just needed a "bag guy" for the story :)👌🏻

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne #damian al ghul #dc x reader #x reader #dc comics #dc comics x reader #fluff

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leyavo · 2 days ago

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| Coming home to you | Gaz

Summary: TF 141 boys and how their wife/gf helps them when they come home after a long and gruelling mission.

I enjoyed doing the wife/gf series and wanted to do some more 🥲 Ghost’s is already done. [Wife/gf masterlist]

Gaz x lawyer girlfriend!reader

The soft click of a clasp drew you out of your sleepy haze. You sat up, fluffy blanket falling around your hips and you frowned. The coffee desk surface visible, your scattered files and paperwork piled neatly together beside your closed laptop and stationary case. A flickering candle set on the coaster, one you’ve never seen before.

Kyle, his back facing you as he put away the shopping from the reusable bags on the kitchen counter. He liked to do the simple and mundane things to ground himself whenever he returned from a mission.

Going food shopping however sent your thoughts haywire, he hated doing it that you normally got it delivered. You pushed the blanket off and kicked it to the end of the sofa. Before your feet could touch the floor he spoke.

“Want a coffee, babe?” Kyle asked, head not turning fully to glance at you over his shoulder. Another red flag, no hello or reunion kiss.

You pushed off the sofa and padded across the cold tiled floor, slippers no where to be seen. Now that you walked to him, the bins have been taken out and every surface in your view is spotless, almost sparkling. As if he’s been cleaning around you all morning.

“I got some new blend, but I know you like the vanilla kind.” He’s moving around the kitchen, back to you as you walked closer as if he’s trying not to look at you head on.

You leant against the counter, picking the oat milk from a bag and sliding it across the marble top. “When did you get back?”

“Not long,” he shrugged, cup slamming to the side as his back muscles trembled. “A few hours,” he said, his voice rough and scratchy.

The milk steamer silenced you as you called his name, the fancy coffee machine he got you is only used by him. You can never be bothered to learn all the functions when you’re always in some rush. Kyle making you all different types of blends when he returned from work, as if he liked the loud sound to drown his thoughts out. Drown you out when you try to question him.

“Why don’t we just go back to bed, rest,” you said, palm lightly touching his back, but you’re removing it as soon as his body froze at your touch. He goes the other direction before you can round him, your steaming hot coffee left on the side.

“Slept on the plane home.” Kyle plumped the cushions, the sound of his fists pounding so hard you thought the feathers would explode from the inside.

Sipping your coffee, you unplugged your phone from the charging station by the kettle. A chain of text messages from John lighting your phone. A warning, mission royally fucked, gal. Don’t let Kyle stew for too long, send him my way if he’s too stubborn. A few from Johnny too, don’t go looking into anything lass. That particular message telling you everything you need to know about the situation, something and someone had got in their way.

As if sensing your thoughts of getting involved, Simon texted you. He’d never done so before. Knowledge is power, give it to Gaz. Was he encouraging you to do some digging? To get involved with a classified mission? Maybe you even knew someone connected to them all.

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, finger tapping against the screen as you sent a few question marks back to Simon. Eyes glancing to Kyle unravelling the cord of the hoover across the room.

The phone buzzed, two names written in capitals and a big fucking lead from Simon. BAILEY AND ROANE. Fuck, no wonder Kyle couldn’t look at you. The same names printed on the neatly stacked files on the coffee desk.

“Did you look through my casework?”

Kyle turned to face you for the first time. Stitches holding a gash together near his hairline, grazed skin above his brow and on his cheekbone. You wondered what else laid beneath the layers of clothes he wore.

Your back straightened, tension holding your shoulders up at the implication. So stuck in his head, that he couldn’t talk to you about what’s really going on.

“I just tidied it up, the place was a mess when I walked in,” Kyle snapped, flinging the hoovers plug across the floor. His nostrils flared, he’s doing a good job of avoiding your gaze as if your mere presence angers him.

“Why won’t you look me?”

Kyle’s gaze flickered to you, then to the coffee table piled with your work. He picked the files up and threw them across the room. “Drop the case, give it to someone else.” His voice was cool and controlled, like he’d practiced it all morning. It wasn’t anger he felt, but frustration.

The little tasks he’d done this morning helped him sort through his the mess in his mind. The mess that you had created both in your shared home and the relationship.

“I can’t just drop it. This is my life’s work,” you said, kneeling down to collect all the scattered papers on the floor.

Kyle sighed, crouching down in front of you and handing you photos, one in particular not leaving his grasp as you tried to take it back.

“You have no fucking idea who you’re going after,” he snapped, snatching the photo and lifting it up to wave in your face. The same man in the picture that taunted you in your dreams.

“I don’t give a shit! If they hurt you, I want to help. I want to ruin them. So you tell me exactly what they did.” You yelled in his face and he doesn’t even flinch, your throat burning and eyes stinging.

How was he so calm with everything at stake? You were so angry, every little moment of your life led up to this case and there was no way you were giving up now. The reason you’d become a lawyer in the first place, to put these scumbags behind bars and serve justice.

Kyle stood up, tossing the photo across the coffee table. “They used you to rein me in. They fucking threatened your life!” His finger pointing at you.

And there it is. The thing keeping him from you. He released a deep breath, his chest rising up and down.

“I don’t need protecting Ky! My parents were killed for their work and if I have to put my life at risk to nail those bastards I will.” More fuel to add to the fire, everyone you’d cared about, gone and Kyle wasn’t going to be added to that list.

“They’re fucking war criminals, this isn’t a game baby.” Kyle grabbed your arms, anchoring you to the spot. His glassy eyes connecting with yours, the line between his brows relaxing as he held you there.

It had never been a game to you. Retribution, revenge or karma you didn’t know what to call it, but justice didn’t seem enough most times. Not when it came to Bailey and Roane.

You shrugged out of his hold. “Have you even read my parent’s files?” He doesn’t respond, shaking his head.

Most in the military knew your parents more than you did. Sometimes you got a glimpse of them when you met people they knew, trails of stories giving you an insight to their character and morals. To you they were just mum and dad. Something you didn’t really talk about not even to Kyle, he respected that you didn’t want to pick apart that wound so he never asked any more.

“I thought that’d be the first thing you looked into. I know you looked into my background to see if I’d done shady shit. Yeah, I know.” You fell back into the sofa, gaze dropping to your hands in your lap. The wedding ring your mother wore on your finger.

The cushions dipped under his weight as he sat next to you. “It wasn’t personal, our careers, we can’t take the risk.” His hands took yours and he brushed the rough pad of his thumb over your knuckles. A peace offering and an apology for looking into you. Little did he know that you also did one on him.

“My parents were high up in the military, everyone knows that. They know how they died, but they didn’t know that I was there or that my dad gave me evidence. I’m not trusting that to someone else.”

Nine year old you crammed into that tight space, you didn’t come out for hours. Not till it was dark, not till you knew you could walk the rooms and follow the shadows. Just like daddy taught you to.

“Bailey and Roane killed them. I have evidence,” you whispered, a rogue tear rolling down your cheek. The weight of your words pushing down the knot on your chest. Saying it out loud made it feel more real. You hadn’t shared it with anyone.

“You’ve got a target on your back, I don’t like this.” Kyle wiped your tear stricken face, forehead resting against yours as he released a trembling breath.

“It’s always been there Ky, just a whole lot bigger now. Recon you could get me a meeting with Laswell and Price? I have intel they might find helpful.”

Slipping away, Kyle’s eyes scanned your face. “You’re really not going to back down are you?” He paused, nervous laugh as you shook your head. “Thought so, we’ll have to this by the book and very discretely. I’m not letting you out of sight either.”

🤝 Kyle and lawyer!girlfriend teaming up to take down the baddies.

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chelseaknoo · 3 days ago

Note

hey girl i love ur writing 🩷🩷

i'd love to request a modern marshall with a younger rapper like doechii or megan thee stallion?? you can do whatever i just love that dynamic! ok!

love you, keep doing amazing and i hope you had a happy holidays! 🥰

Eminem x young rapper!reader

Note:Thanks! My holiday was semi-decent. My family barely spent any time with me and my sister, which was disappointing. On top of that, the internet was SO slow, I could hardly get any writing done.I also did Secret Santa for the first time. I gave a girl some Victoria’s Secret perfume and lotion, and in return, I got Crayola markers… She said she picked them for me because I like art.First time doing Secret Santa—and definitely the last!

Since you were young, rap has always been your passion. It wasn’t just the rhythm or the flow; it was the raw emotion and power behind the words that drew you in. You grew up listening to Eminem, idolizing his honesty and unfiltered style. While others may have looked up to artists like Nicki Minaj, you felt a deeper connection to Marshall’s music, his story, and the way he could use words to paint a picture so vividly.

At just nine years old, you found yourself on Dance Moms, juggling dance routines with a fire for something more. Despite the pressure of the spotlight and the competitive environment, you always felt like something was missing. It wasn’t until you were older, that the pull of rap grew too strong to ignore, pushing you to make music of your own. The stage lights of Dance Moms had been your introduction to performing, but the microphone and the verses? That’s where you truly belonged.

You sat in your small apartment, anxiously tapping your fingers against the edge of the coffee table. The email confirming Shady Records had received your demo had been sitting in your inbox for weeks. You had poured your soul into that song—a raw blend of your personal struggles, triumphs, and a beat that you prayed would catch someone’s attention.

Then it happened.

Your phone buzzed one evening, breaking your thoughts. You glanced at the screen and froze. The caller ID simply read: "Shady Records."

“Hello?” you answered cautiously, trying to keep the nervous tremor out of your voice.

“Hi, this is Paul Rosenberg from Shady Records. Is this [Y/N]?”

Your breath hitched. *Paul Rosenberg? THE Paul Rosenberg?* “Y-yeah, this is me.”

“We’ve been listening to your demo, and we’re impressed. Eminem’s heard it too, and he’d like to meet you in the studio tomorrow. Are you available?”

You barely registered the rest of the conversation after the mention of *Eminem*. The Eminem. Not only had he listened to your song, but he wanted to meet you. You somehow managed to give a coherent answer before the call ended.

The next morning, you stood outside the studio, dressed in your best casual-but-professional outfit. A fitted pair of jeans and a cropped hoodie that hugged your curves, paired with sleek sneakers. You weren’t going to show up looking like you hadn’t put thought into it, but you also wanted to be comfortable.

When you walked inside, the receptionist directed you to Studio A. You hesitated outside the door, your nerves threatening to get the best of you.

"Deep breath," you muttered to yourself, before pushing it open.

The room smelled faintly of coffee and leather. Behind the soundboard stood none other than Marshall Mathers himself, headphones around his neck, scribbling into a notebook. He glanced up at the sound of the door.

“Hey,” he said, his voice smooth but with a touch of curiosity. “You must be [Y/N].”

You nodded, stepping inside and closing the door behind you. “That’s me. Uh… hi.”

He smirked at your nervousness, but his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than you expected. “I’ve been listening to your track. It’s dope.”

“Really?” you asked, your voice breaking slightly with disbelief.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning against the console. “Your flow’s clean, your wordplay’s sharp, and you’ve got this… edge to you. It’s rare for someone to come in with that kind of energy.”

“Thank you,” you replied, the words feeling inadequate for how much that compliment meant coming from *him*.

Marshall tilted his head slightly, studying you. “You’re young, right? Twenty-four?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’ve got this kind of sound already?” He shook his head with a chuckle. “Shit, I was still finding my footing at your age.”

You smiled nervously, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. His eyes flicked downward for a brief second, lingering on your figure before darting back up to meet your gaze.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat, “what got you into this? Dance Moms, right? Paul told me.”

You laughed, a little embarrassed. “Yeah, that’s me. I was on it for two seasons. But even then, I knew I wanted to rap. Dancing was fun, but music… music was everything.”

“That’s dope,” he said again, leaning forward, his forearms resting on his thighs. “I can tell you’ve been through some shit, though. You write like someone who’s seen some life.”

“Guess that’s one way to put it,” you replied softly.

Marshall nodded, his expression softening. “That’s good. People connect to the real shit.”

As the conversation continued, you noticed how he seemed to pay close attention to everything you said. He asked questions about your process, your influences, your upbringing. But there was also a subtle, lingering tension in the air. His gaze would occasionally flick to your lips or your figure before he’d quickly refocus on the conversation.

“So,” he said finally, leaning back in his chair, “you ready to spit some verses in the booth? I want to see what you’re like in action.”

“Now?” you asked, slightly surprised.

“Hell yeah,” he replied, flashing you a quick grin. “No better time.”

You stepped into the booth, your heart pounding. As the beat from your demo began to play, you took a deep breath and let the words flow. It was a familiar feeling—like stepping into a zone where nothing else mattered. When you finished, you glanced through the glass to see Marshall staring at you, an impressed grin spreading across his face.

“Damn,” he said through the intercom. “That was fire.”

You stepped out of the booth, your cheeks warm from the praise. “Thanks.”

He stood as you approached, towering slightly over you. His expression was serious, but his eyes held a flicker of something else. “You’re good,” he said, his voice low. “Like… really good.”

“Coming from you, that means everything,” you said, your voice almost a whisper.

He smirked, his gaze sweeping over you again. “I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna be seeing a lot of each other, [Y/N].”

And just like that, your journey with Shady Records—and Marshall Mathers—began.

Working on your debut album under Shady Records was everything you had dreamed of—and more. The long hours in the studio, the back-and-forth about beats and lyrics, and the energy of being surrounded by some of the best in the game—it was exhausting but electrifying. And then there was Marshall.

From the moment you stepped into the studio, you felt his eyes on you. Not just in the way a mentor watches over a rising artist, but in a way that made your skin heat under his gaze. At first, you brushed it off. You weren’t blind; you knew the photoshoots you had been doing for the album’s visuals weren’t exactly *modest*. But then you started noticing it more. The way his gaze would linger, the way his jaw would tighten slightly before he forced himself to look away, the way he suddenly got a little quieter whenever you walked into the room after a shoot.

Today was no different.

You were in the middle of a shoot for the album cover, the dimly lit set giving off a sultry, moody vibe. Your outfit? A black leather bodysuit that clung to every inch of your body, cut low in the front to show off just enough cleavage without being *too* much. The sides were laced up, showing off hints of skin along your waist and hips, leading down to thigh-high leather boots with a sharp heel. Your hair was styled to perfection, and your makeup was bold—smoky eyes, glossy lips, the works.

Marshall had been in the studio all day, working on mixes, but the second he walked onto the set, you *felt* it. The shift in the air.

You were mid-pose, one knee bent slightly, hands resting on your hips when you caught sight of him standing just outside the lights. He had his hoodie up, arms crossed over his chest, but his eyes—his sharp, blue eyes—were locked on you. And not in a *casual observation* way.

You smirked to yourself. *Busted.*

The photographer called out another pose, and you turned, arching your back just a little, pushing out your hips. A subtle move, but one that had an *effect*.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Marshall shift, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck. You bit back a grin.

After the shoot wrapped, you grabbed a robe and walked over to where he stood, pretending like you hadn’t noticed his lingering stares all day.

“You good, Em?” you asked, sipping from your water bottle.

“Huh?” He blinked, snapping out of whatever trance he had been in.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been real quiet over there.”

He scoffed, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. “Nah, I’m just… watchin’. The shoot. You’re really leanin’ into the image, huh?”

You tilted your head. “You mean *sexy*? Yeah, I am. You don’t like it?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening again. “Didn’t say that.”

You smirked. “Uh-huh. You sure? ‘Cause you looked like you were about to combust over there.”

That earned you a *look*. “Man, shut up,” he muttered, shaking his head, but there was the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he was fighting back a grin.

You stepped a little closer, tilting your head up at him. “I get it, though. You’re used to being surrounded by dudes. You probably haven’t been around this much ass in a while.”

He huffed out a laugh, running a hand over his face. “Yo, stop.”

“Stop what?” you teased, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

Marshall glanced down at you, his eyes flicking briefly to the way your robe was still slightly open, giving just a peek of the bodysuit underneath. You caught the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“Man, whatever,” he muttered, shaking his head before turning toward the exit. “Go put some damn clothes on before we gotta fight.”

You laughed, calling after him, “Why? Afraid you’ll get distracted?”

He didn’t turn around, but you swore you saw his shoulders shake with silent laughter as he disappeared down the hall.

The day your debut album dropped, everything changed.

The moment it hit streaming platforms, social media exploded. Fans were dissecting every lyric, every beat, and every track. Your name was trending worldwide within hours. Critics raved about your wordplay, your delivery, and the *fire* you brought to every song. And, of course, having Eminem feature on two tracks didn’t hurt. Those songs? Instant classics. The kind of records people played on repeat, trying to memorize every bar.

You knew the album was going to do well, but *this*? This was beyond anything you had ever imagined.

You were sitting in the studio lounge, scrolling through your phone, trying to keep up with the thousands of notifications flooding in. Every time you refreshed Twitter, there were more posts.

“[Y/N] just dropped the best debut album of the decade. This girl is NOT playing!”

“Eminem and [Y/N] on a track together? Yeah, hip-hop won today.”

“She’s got bars, presence, and a whole lot of ASS. No wonder Em was looking at her like that in the behind-the-scenes footage.”

You choked on your drink at that last tweet. *Damn, people really don’t miss anything, huh?*

As if on cue, the studio door opened, and Marshall walked in, his hoodie pulled up, but you could still see the smirk tugging at his lips. “Saw the numbers yet?”

You grinned, holding up your phone. “Oh, you mean how my album is number one everywhere? Yeah, I *might* have noticed.”

He chuckled, plopping down onto the couch across from you. “Told you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. ‘You got this. You’re dope. People are gonna love it.’” You mimicked his voice with a smirk.

He smirked right back. “Damn, I sound sexy as hell.”

You snorted. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

There was a moment of silence, just the two of you sitting there, letting it all sink in. You had worked your ass off for this, and now it was happening.

Marshall leaned back, watching you with an unreadable expression. “You proud of yourself?”

You met his gaze, suddenly serious. “Yeah… yeah, I am.”

He nodded slowly, a small smile forming. “Good. You should be.”

A beat passed before he stretched his arms over his head and smirked. “Just don’t let this go to your head. I don’t need you startin’ to act all Hollywood on me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please. I could have a billion streams, and I’d still talk shit to you.”

His grin widened. “That’s what I like to hear.”

### **A Celebration to Remember**

Marshall wasn’t usually the type to throw parties—not really. He never cared for industry events or massive gatherings, but tonight was different.

Tonight was about *you*.

Your debut album was a massive success, and he knew how hard you had worked on it. So, despite his usual reservations, he decided to celebrate properly—with an exclusive party at one of his favorite low-key venues. Nothing crazy, just the Shady Records team, a few producers, and a couple of close friends. It was intimate, comfortable, and filled with the people who had been there for every late-night session, every rewrite, and every breakthrough moment.

You walked in wearing a fitted, short red dress that hugged every curve just right, paired with sleek heels that added to your height. Your makeup was flawless, your hair cascading down your shoulders effortlessly. You weren’t about to downplay your success—you had worked for this, and you were going to *look* the part.

The second you stepped into the venue, you felt eyes on you. More specifically, *his* eyes.

Marshall was already there, standing near the bar with a drink in hand, deep in conversation with Paul and a couple of producers. But the second he saw you, his words slowed, and his blue eyes dragged over your figure, taking in every detail before snapping back to your face.

You smirked. *Busted—again.*

“Damn,” Royce muttered from beside him, nudging Marshall with a grin. “She cleanin’ up nice, huh?”

Marshall rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. He just took a sip of his drink and muttered, “She always looks like that.”

Royce laughed. “Man, shut up.”

The party itself was smooth. Drinks were poured, music blasted through the speakers, and everyone was in high spirits. You spent the night bouncing between conversations, laughing with the crew, and soaking in every moment. Marshall? He was his usual self—watching from the sidelines, engaging when needed, but mostly keeping a low profile.

But that didn’t stop the lingering looks.

Every time you caught him staring, he’d look away a second too late. Every time you passed by him, you swore his eyes dipped to your curves before snapping back up. It was subtle, but it was *there*.

And you weren’t going to let it slide.

Toward the end of the night, the crowd thinned out. Most people had already left, leaving only a few stragglers and, of course, *him*.

You found him sitting on one of the leather couches in the lounge area, nursing a drink, scrolling through his phone. You took the opportunity and slid into the seat next to him, close enough that your knees brushed.

“Tired already, old man?” you teased.

Marshall huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “First of all, fuck you. Second, I ain’t tired. Just chillin’.”

You smirked, tilting your head. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

His eyes flicked to you, and for a moment, he just *looked* at you. Like he was trying to figure something out. You leaned in slightly, resting your arm on the back of the couch.

“You know,” you mused, “I’ve been noticing something lately.”

He raised a brow. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You licked your lips before saying, “You stare at me a lot.”

Marshall froze for a split second. It was brief—so brief that if you weren’t paying attention, you would’ve missed it. But you *were* paying attention.

He scoffed, playing it off. “Man, you full of yourself.”

You grinned. “Am I?”

“Yes.” He took a slow sip of his drink, but you could see the way he shifted slightly in his seat.

You leaned in a little more, your voice dropping just enough to make it *dangerous*. “So, you’re saying you *haven’t* been looking at me?”

Marshall exhaled through his nose, setting his drink down. “I’m sayin’—” He paused, then shook his head. “Look, don’t start.”

You bit your lip to hide your smile. “Start what?”

He gave you a *look*. “You know what.”

You laughed softly, letting a moment of silence stretch between you before saying, “You’re kinda fun to mess with.”

Marshall sighed, shaking his head with a smirk. “Yeah, I *bet* I am.”

Another pause. His eyes flicked to your legs, just for a second, before he looked back up.

You tilted your head, deciding to push just a little more. “You scared or something?”

He chuckled, rubbing his jaw. “Ain’t *nobody* scared.”

“Then why are you acting all cautious?”

Marshall sighed, leaning back. “Because.”

“Because *what*?”

He exhaled, looking at you for a long moment before finally admitting, “Because there’s an age gap, and I ain’t tryna be that dude.”

You raised a brow. “*That* dude?”

“You know what I mean.”

You smirked, letting your fingers trail along the rim of your glass. “So, it’s not that you *don’t* want to…”

He didn’t say anything.

And that silence? That *pause*? That was an answer in itself.

You leaned in just a little more, lowering your voice. “Marshall.”

He swallowed, his eyes flicking to your lips before forcing himself to look back into your eyes.

“Hmm?”

You smiled. “Relax. I’m not gonna jump on you.”

That made him chuckle. “Good. ‘Cause I’d like to make it outta this party alive.”

You grinned. “Fair enough.”

For now, you let the conversation settle, leaning back into the couch. But the tension? The chemistry? That wasn’t going anywhere.

And you both knew it.

The night had been long, and after the party, everyone had dispersed—leaving just you and Marshall in the quiet of your hotel suite. The music, the chatter, the laughter were all behind you now, and the silence between you two felt strangely intimate.

You hadn’t expected things to turn this way. Marshall had always been careful—keeping his distance, always professional. But now, in the privacy of this room, you could feel the weight of the tension between you.

The soft glow of the city lights filtered through the window, casting a faint light across the room. Marshall had changed into a plain black tee and sweatpants, looking more relaxed than he had all night. You, on the other hand, had opted for something more comfortable too: a silk robe over your slip dress. You knew it wasn’t much, but it felt right for the moment.

You sat on the edge of the bed, looking out at the skyline. Your thoughts raced—too many questions, too many unspoken things hanging in the air. Marshall was leaning against the dresser, sipping from his drink, his eyes occasionally flicking over to you when he thought you weren’t looking.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” you said, breaking the silence.

He chuckled, leaning back slightly, his gaze never leaving you. “Well, I’m not just gonna leave you alone after a night like that, am I?”

You shrugged, turning your gaze toward him. “I guess not.”

The air between you thickened, and even though the conversation was casual, you both knew there was more beneath the surface.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silence, Marshall took a step toward you. “So… you good?”

You nodded, but there was a slight tremor in your voice when you spoke. “Yeah. I’m good.”

He took another step, his eyes not leaving yours, his lips curling into that familiar, yet soft, smile. “You sure about that?”

You hesitated, your pulse quickening as his proximity increased. Something about the way he was looking at you made your heart race, and you could tell that he felt it too.

Before you could respond, Marshall reached for his drink, his hand brushing against yours. His touch was brief, but it left a spark. “You know, I’m not usually the type to be all... forward. But with you?” He paused, taking another sip, his eyes scanning your face. “I’m startin’ to wonder if I’ve been too careful.”

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. The way he said it made it clear that he wasn’t talking about being cautious professionally. It was more personal than that.

“You think so?” you asked softly, leaning back on your hands.

Marshall’s gaze never wavered. “Yeah. I mean, I’m just sayin’, you’ve been on my mind all night, and it’s hard not to notice the way you—” He stopped mid-sentence, as if weighing the consequences of saying too much.

You smiled to yourself, leaning in slightly. “What, Marshall?”

He set his drink down on the bedside table, his fingers brushing the edge of your robe, his expression suddenly serious. “You know I don’t want to mess this up. But every time I look at you…”

You felt your breath catch in your throat as his words trailed off, his hand now resting lightly on your knee. The tension between you two was palpable, both of you clearly holding back, but neither of you willing to walk away.

“I get it,” you whispered, your voice low and soft, “but I’m not going anywhere.”

Marshall’s eyes softened, his hand moving from your knee to your thigh, slowly, almost as if testing the waters. He looked at you for a moment longer, as if trying to read you, before finally taking the plunge.

His lips brushed against yours, hesitant at first, almost as if he was waiting for you to pull away. But when you didn’t, he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer until there was no space between you two.

You responded instantly, your hands moving to his chest, feeling the strong muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. Every inch of his body against yours sent a wave of warmth through you, and before you knew it, your hands were tangled in his hair, tugging him closer.

Marshall groaned softly, his hands now firmly on your hips, guiding you backward onto the bed as he hovered over you. The air between you two crackled with something undeniable.

“I’ve wanted this for a while,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “But I didn’t want to make things weird.”

You looked up at him, your chest rising and falling with every breath. “You didn’t, Marshall. You didn’t.”

And that was all the reassurance he needed.

As the night stretched on, the only sounds in the room were the soft whispers and the quiet sighs as you and Marshall gave into the moment. The world outside ceased to exist as everything you both had been holding back fell away.

The room felt like it was closing in, the atmosphere thick with the weight of everything unspoken between you and Marshall. His hand rested on your waist, firm but gentle, as he hovered over you, lips moving with purpose but not urgency. There was a sense of exploration, of unraveling something long held back. He paused, just inches from your face, as if waiting for a signal—an indication that this was what you both wanted.

“Are you sure about this?” Marshall’s voice was low, almost a growl, the words barely a whisper in the quiet room.

You could feel the raw vulnerability in his tone, like a man who’d spent so long protecting himself from getting hurt. But this—*you*—this felt different. You could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t just looking at you anymore; he was *seeing* you.

“I’m sure,” you whispered back, lifting your hand to gently stroke his jaw. His stubble scratched your palm lightly, the sensation sending a thrill through you.

Marshall let out a breath, and in one swift motion, his lips were on yours again, harder this time, more desperate as if he couldn’t hold back any longer. He moved, shifting his weight and pressing closer, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss, matching his urgency.

His hands explored your body, hesitant at first, but as your touch urged him on, his fingers moved with more confidence. He traced the outline of your dress, his thumbs slipping under the fabric, sending shivers down your spine. The way he touched you felt different—like he was both careful and eager, wanting to savor each moment.

You gasped when his lips moved down your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “Damn, you don’t know how long I’ve been thinking about this,” he murmured against your skin, his hands inching higher, brushing the straps of your dress off your shoulders.

You shivered at the way he spoke, feeling every word as if they were meant for you. “Then stop thinking,” you said, your voice breathless. “And start acting.”

Marshall chuckled softly, a dark edge to his amusement. “You sure you can handle me?”

You met his eyes, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “I’ve been handling you all night.”

With a sharp intake of breath, Marshall moved in, kissing you with a renewed intensity. You could feel the pulse of desire in every movement, every soft caress. His hand slid down your body, reaching for the hem of your dress and pulling it up slowly. The fabric felt almost like a barrier between you two, and you couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of urgency.

You tangled your hands in his shirt, pulling it over his head, feeling the hard lines of his muscles under your fingertips. Marshall’s lips left yours for a moment, just long enough to catch his breath. He looked down at you, eyes flicking between your eyes and your lips, as if debating something internally.

"Is this… too much?" he asked, his voice rough.

You reached up, cupping his face with your hands, forcing him to look at you. “No. It’s not too much. It’s exactly what I want.”

There was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced with something else—something deeper, more raw. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” he warned softly, his lips brushing against your ear.

You smiled, a playful glint in your eyes. “I think I do.”

Marshall didn’t waste any more time. His lips found yours again, more demanding now, and you responded in kind, meeting his intensity. The world outside the hotel room ceased to exist as the two of you lost yourselves in the moment.

His hands roamed freely now, lifting your body against his, and you could feel the heat radiating between you both. He moved with purpose, a mixture of tenderness and passion in every touch. The barrier between you—your clothes—vanished with a few swift movements, and soon, it was just the two of you, skin against skin.

As the night stretched on, time seemed to lose its meaning. Everything faded into the background except for the feeling of Marshall’s body against yours, the warmth of his breath, the soft whispers between kisses. Each touch was a promise, each kiss a question, and neither of you seemed ready to stop finding the answers.

This wasn’t just about the music, about the fame, about everything else that had brought you here. This was something deeper, something more real than either of you had expected.

But for now, all that mattered was the moment. And in this moment, you were exactly where you wanted to be.

The fluorescent lights of the recording studio cast a warm glow on everything, but it felt different now that you and Marshall were officially together. There was a new energy in the air, something between you two that hadn’t been there before. The work was still the same—people moving around, adjusting equipment, going over tracks—but it was harder to focus when Marshall was right next to you, his presence magnetic in a way you hadn’t expected.

You were sitting on the couch in the corner of the studio, legs crossed, working on some lyrics for the next track. Marshall was sitting across from you, his fingers absentmindedly tapping on the surface of a nearby desk, eyes glued to his phone. Despite the steady pace of the workday, the space between you two felt full of unspoken things—things that went beyond the music.

"How’s the writing going?" he asked, glancing over at you from behind his phone, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

You looked up from your notebook, feeling a flush on your cheeks from the way his eyes lingered on you. "It’s good. Just working through some ideas," you replied, trying to keep your focus. But you could feel his gaze on you, the weight of it, and it made your heart race.

"You sure?" He tilted his head, as if he could sense the distraction. "You seem a little... off."

You smiled, biting your lip. “Maybe I’m just distracted by you.”

Marshall’s eyes darkened for a split second, a spark of amusement flashing across his face. “Oh, really? Me?”

“Yeah,” you said, leaning back into the couch, trying to act casual even though every fiber of your being was aware of the way he was looking at you. “You’re kind of hard to ignore these days.”

His smirk grew, and he stood up, moving toward you with that same cocky yet confident stride that always made your stomach flutter. "I’m hard to ignore, huh?" His voice was low, almost teasing as he stood in front of you, looking down at you with that familiar intensity.

You looked up at him, heart thumping in your chest. “You’re *definitely* hard to ignore.”

Marshall’s lips curled into a smile, but this time, there was something different about it—a softness that hadn’t been there before. He bent down slightly, just enough to be closer to you, his face hovering inches from yours. “You know what else is hard to ignore?” he whispered.

Your breath caught in your throat as his lips brushed against your ear. “What’s that?” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let his lips hover by your ear for just a second longer before pulling back and looking you straight in the eyes. “This.”

He leaned down again, this time kissing you gently, almost like he was testing the waters. It wasn’t hurried or aggressive—it was slow, deliberate, as if he wanted to savor the moment. When you kissed him back, your hands instinctively reached for his shirt, tugging him closer, the electricity between you two undeniable.

You pulled away slightly, trying to regain some composure. “We’re at the studio, Marshall,” you murmured, your voice a little breathless.

He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound. “Yeah, I know. But who says we can’t have a little fun in between sessions?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, a playful grin creeping onto your face. “Isn’t that a little unprofessional?”

Marshall gave you that signature smirk of his, leaning back just enough to look down at you. “Maybe. But I’m not exactly known for being the most professional guy, am I?”

You laughed softly, knowing that was true. His rebellious streak was one of the things that made him... *him*. And somehow, it made you even more drawn to him.

Just then, someone from the team walked by the room, momentarily breaking the tension. Marshall straightened up, giving you a wink before walking over to the mixing board to check in with the sound engineer.

You watched him, still trying to shake the warmth his kiss had left on your lips. You were officially dating Marshall, and yet, the chemistry between you two was so palpable it was hard to believe it wasn’t some kind of dream.

As Marshall worked on a few adjustments to the track, you stayed on the couch, jotting down some more lyrics. Every now and then, you’d catch him glancing over at you, a look of something deeper than admiration on his face.

You could feel it now, the shift from business partners to something far more personal. And despite all the layers of fame, the industry, and the people in your lives, it felt like this—right here—was the most real thing either of you had.

"Ready to lay down your verse?" Marshall asked, his voice suddenly breaking your train of thought as he returned to you, his hand reaching out for your notebook.

You nodded, standing up and moving toward the booth. As you stepped into the soundproof room, Marshall followed, his presence close behind you.

“Let’s make some magic, huh?”

You grinned at him, feeling more confident than ever. “Let’s do it.”

And as the beat dropped and you stepped up to the mic, you knew that this was just the beginning—both for your music and for your relationship with Marshall.

#eminem #eminem x reader #marshall mathers x reader #eminem imagine #marshall mathers #marshall mathers imagine #slim shady #famous!reader

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