#neutrality in the face of conflict in the way that I just hang out with everyone still even if they're all shit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

honeyhae-svt · 3 months ago

Text

🎮On Off On🎭

Part-Time Lover | JxW - masterlist

⚠️ WARNINGS ⚠️: emotional tension, love triangle (we're getting serious), jealousy, angst, possessiveness, unresolved feelings, conflict, intimate situations, mature themes (smut), emotional hurt/comfort smut warnings: kissing, oral sex (f & m receiving), unprotected sex (fictional! not ideal IRL), rough sex (explicitly described thrusting, intense actions), overstimulation, desperate kisses, tension-filled build-up, power dynamics (m dom), creampie (fictional context), consent (implied and verbal), emotional vulnerability (expressed through intimacy), body worship and attention to physical details, breath play (heavy breathing, audible reactions), dirty talk, descriptive sexual acts (explicit descriptions of genital stimulation), post-coital intimacy (gentle moments after sex) wc: 10,994 ♪ playlist ♪ : adore you (harry styles), into you (ariana grande), slow hands (niall horan), you (the 1975) a/n: pls i think i made this shit messier. im gonna die wtf im just warning that its too much drama so read at your own risk (please enjoy tho ! dont let my own words deceive you lmaooo)

It started with little things. The way Jeonghan's gaze lingered a moment too long when he thought you weren't paying attention, the way he seemed to show up at your workplace more often—always with some excuse. "I was in the area," or, "I needed your opinion on something."

Today was no different.

You were packing up for the day when Jeonghan strolled in, hands casually tucked into the pockets of his coat. His hair looked freshly styled, loose waves framing his face in a way that made it impossible not to notice how effortlessly good-looking he was.

"You're getting predictable," you teased, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "What's the excuse this time?"

Jeonghan grinned, unfazed. "No excuse. I figured you'd want coffee after work. Am I wrong?"

You narrowed your eyes at him, pretending to consider. "Not wrong, but suspiciously convenient."

He simply held the door open for you, his smile widening. "I'll take that as a yes."

The café was one of those cozy, dimly lit spots with worn leather chairs and the faint scent of cinnamon lingering in the air. You'd been here before with Jeonghan, but today it felt different.

He ordered your usual without asking, then led you to a corner booth, his easy demeanor masking something unspoken.

"So," he said, leaning back in his seat as the two of you waited for your drinks. "How's everything going? Work, life... Wonwoo?"

You froze mid-reach for a napkin, your fingers curling back as you met his gaze. His tone was casual, almost too casual, but there was a glint in his eye—mischievous, probing.

"Wonwoo?" you echoed, feigning innocence. "Why are you bringing him up?"

Jeonghan shrugged, his expression unreadable. "No reason. Just curious."

The barista arrived with your drinks, breaking the moment, but the tension lingered. You stirred your coffee absently, unsure how to respond.

"We've just been hanging out," you said finally, keeping your tone neutral. "It's not a big deal."

"Hmm." Jeonghan's lips quirked upward, though his eyes remained sharp. "It's funny. I don't think I've ever seen him so... animated. He must really enjoy your company."

"Jeonghan," you said, a warning laced in your tone.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. "Relax, I'm just teasing. But..." He trailed off, studying you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. "I wonder what he'd say if he knew about us."

Your breath caught, the words hitting like a subtle jab and lingering in the air. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jeonghan tilted his head, his expression unreadable yet impossibly confident. "It means I think he'd be curious. Maybe even a little jealous."

You scoffed, though the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you. "There's no us, Jeonghan. You're just stirring the pot, as usual."

"Am I?" he asked, his tone softer now, almost teasing. "Or are you just trying to convince yourself of that?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you couldn't find the words to reply. He leaned back again, taking a sip of his coffee as if he hadn't just flipped your world upside down.

The conversation shifted after that, easing into safer territory—shared stories, light jokes, and discussions about work. But his earlier words lingered in the back of your mind, their weight impossible to shake.

As you walked out of the café together, the cool evening air biting at your skin, Jeonghan slid his hands into his coat pockets, his gaze fixed ahead.

"By the way," he said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence. "You've been distracted lately. Is something on your mind?"

You hesitated, your grip tightening on your bag. "Not really. Just... a lot going on."

He nodded, his expression unreadable once again. "Well, whatever it is, don't forget I'm here. You don't have to figure everything out on your own."

There it was again—that maddening ability of his to slip past your defenses without even trying. As much as you wanted to brush him off, the sincerity in his tone made it impossible.

"Thanks," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jeonghan turned to you then, his smile soft and almost wistful. "Anytime."

And just like that, the moment was over. But as you parted ways, his words echoed in your mind, leaving you more confused than ever.

That evening, as you settled into your couch with a blanket and your phone, you couldn't shake Jeonghan's words from earlier. "I wonder what he'd say if he knew about us..." They replayed in your mind, making it harder to focus on anything else.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. It wasn't like Jeonghan to speak so candidly—or maybe it was, but this time it felt different. Intentional. And the worst part was, he wasn't entirely wrong.

Your phone buzzed on the armrest, snapping you out of your thoughts.

Wonwoo.

The notification was simple:

Wonwoo: Hey, you free right now?

A small smile tugged at your lips despite everything. There was something about the way Wonwoo messaged you—straightforward, no games—that felt grounding.

You: yea what's up? Wonwoo: Feel like getting some air? I'm parked outside.

Your heart skipped a beat. It wasn't the first time he'd done this—shown up unannounced but with impeccable timing, as if he knew exactly when you needed a distraction.

You: give me five

When you stepped outside, Wonwoo was leaning against his car, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets, the cool night air making his breath visible. His gaze softened when he saw you, and he straightened up, opening the passenger door with a quiet, "Hey."

"Hey," you replied, climbing into the car. "You always this spontaneous?"

He chuckled as he slid into the driver's seat, the sound low and warm. "Only with you."

Your cheeks warmed at his words, but you brushed it off, letting the quiet hum of the car's engine fill the space.

"Where are we going?" you asked after a moment, glancing at him.

"You'll see," was all he said, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips.

The drive was peaceful, the city lights giving way to quieter streets as he took you somewhere more secluded. When he finally pulled over, you realized he'd brought you to a lookout point overlooking the city.

The view was breathtaking, the skyline glittering like stars on the horizon. Wonwoo turned off the engine but left the music playing softly in the background—a familiar tune you couldn't place but found comforting.

He leaned back, resting his arm along the top of his seat as he turned to you. "You've been quiet."

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. "Just... thinking."

"About Jeonghan?" he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide. "What makes you think—"

"You're bad at hiding it," he interrupted, his lips quirking into a faint smile. "And Jeonghan's been... different lately."

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. "I don't even know how to explain it. He's always playing these mind games, making me second-guess everything."

Wonwoo's gaze darkened slightly, his usual calm giving way to something sharper. "That's just how he is. But if he's messing with your head, maybe you should take a step back."

You stared at him, surprised by the edge in his voice. "Why do you care so much?"

He didn't answer right away, his jaw tightening as he looked out at the city. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost hesitant. "Because I don't want to see you get hurt. Not by him. Not by anyone."

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. Then, almost on instinct, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his hand where it rested on the console.

"Wonwoo..."

He turned to you, his eyes searching yours, and suddenly the space between you felt impossibly small. You didn't know who moved first—maybe it was him, maybe it was you—but before you could think, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was slow at first, careful and deliberate, as if testing the waters. But then his hand moved to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek, and something shifted.

You leaned into him, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his hoodie as the kiss deepened, all the confusion and tension of the past few days melting away in the warmth of his touch.

His lips moved with ceratainty, tongue seeking entrance to your mouth. You opened it for him, and that's when your tongues felt like they were tangled.

It was then when he adjusted to lean closer to your seat to kiss you better from different angles, leaving your lips all swollen and red, not because of the lipstick, but because of how he nipped and sucked at your lips like it's the last thing on earth to do.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed.

"This isn't just attraction anymore," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "At least not for me."

Your heart pounded in your chest, the weight of his confession crashing over you. You wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in your throat.

Because as much as you wanted to deny it, part of you knew he was right.

The night felt quieter than usual as Wonwoo drove you home. The streets were empty, bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, and the silence in the car was heavy, not uncomfortable but laden with unspoken words.

"Thanks for tonight," you said softly, breaking the quiet.

Wonwoo glanced at you briefly, his profile illuminated by the passing lights. "Anytime," he replied, his voice calm but distant, as if there was something on his mind.

When he pulled up in front of your place, neither of you moved to get out right away. The stillness stretched on until you finally turned to him, your curiosity getting the better of you.

"Wonwoo, are you okay?"

He let out a soft laugh, though there was no humor in it. "Am I that easy to read?"

"Kind of," you teased gently, hoping to lighten the mood.

But he didn't smile. Instead, he turned to face you fully, his dark eyes searching yours. "I'm not good at this... saying how I feel. But tonight, being with you, it just... felt different."

Your breath caught in your throat, the weight of his words sinking in. "Different how?"

"The way I look at you... it's not just about attraction anymore," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand reached out, hesitating before brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "It's more than that. You make me feel things I wasn't prepared for."

The vulnerability in his voice made your chest tighten. You wanted to say something, but the words escaped you. Instead, you leaned forward, your lips finding his in a kiss that started slow, careful, deliberate.

His hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek as the kiss deepened. It felt like all the confusion and tension of the past few days melted away in the warmth of his touch.

When you finally pulled back, breathless yet again, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed.

Your heart pounded, but before you could say anything, he leaned back, his hand dropping to his side. "It's late. You should get some rest."

You nodded, slipping out of the car with a soft "goodnight," though the weight of his confession stayed with you long after the door closed behind you.

The Next Morning

The café was unusually busy, but Jeonghan didn't seem to mind. He sat across from you, coffee in hand, his usual playful smirk firmly in place.

"You've been distracted lately," he said, his tone light but his gaze sharp. "Something—or someone—on your mind?"

You rolled your eyes, playing along with his teasing. "Don't flatter yourself, Hannie."

He laughed, reaching across the table to nudge your arm. "See, that's the fire I like. Don't ever lose that."

The two of you lingered over coffee, chatting about everything and nothing, and by the time you left, he had his arm slung casually around your shoulders, his laughter ringing in your ears.

What you didn't notice was the figure standing across the street, watching the two of you with a mixture of hurt and frustration.

Wonwoo stood frozen, his hands clenched at his sides as he watched Jeonghan lean in close, whispering something in your ear that made you laugh. The way you looked at Jeonghan—so relaxed, so comfortable—felt like a punch to the gut.

By the time he turned away, the image of the two of you was burned into his mind, and the questions he'd been wrestling with all night came rushing back with a vengeance.

It started with a text.

Wonwoo: Busy tonight?

You stared at your phone, the memory of Jeonghan's laughter from earlier still fresh in your mind. Wonwoo's timing felt uncanny, almost as if he could sense when you were thinking about someone else.

You: nope You: why Wonwoo: Come over. I found a new game you'll like.

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers hovering over the screen. The invitation felt simple enough, but there was something about the way he asked—direct, no room for excuses—that made your heart skip a beat.

You: whats the game Wonwoo: You'll find out when you get here. Don't keep me waiting.

The last message came with a small but unmistakable sense of urgency, and before you could second-guess yourself, you were grabbing your jacket and heading out the door.

When you arrived at his place, the atmosphere felt different. The usual dim lighting and faint smell of coffee greeted you, but there was an undercurrent of something unspoken in the air.

Wonwoo was already setting up the game, his back turned to you as you stepped inside. "I was starting to think you weren't coming," he said without looking up.

"You don't exactly leave much room for saying no," you replied, your tone light but teasing.

He glanced over his shoulder, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Good. I'd hate to lose my gaming partner to... other distractions."

The way he said it made your stomach flip, but you chose to ignore the implication. "So, what's this game you're so excited about?"

"Sit down, and I'll show you."

It had become a thing between the two of you—gaming sessions at Wonwoo's place, where you'd sit shoulder-to-shoulder on the couch, sharing laughter and mild trash talk over the sounds of button-mashing and victories. But tonight felt different. The way his knee brushed against yours when he adjusted his position, the way he leaned a little closer when explaining the controls—it all felt deliberate, as if he was trying to pull you into his orbit.

Tonight was no different, except something felt off. Wonwoo was quieter than usual, his responses shorter, his usual calm demeanor tinged with something heavier.

"Alright, spill it," you said after another round ended, setting your controller down and turning to face him. "What's up with you?"

He didn't look at you immediately, his fingers still hovering over the buttons as if debating whether to start another game. Finally, he sighed and leaned back against the couch, his gaze fixed on the TV screen.

"You're making this really hard for me, you know?" he said, his voice low but steady.

You blinked, confused. "Making what hard?"

"This," he gestured vaguely between the two of you, finally turning to meet your eyes. "Being around you. Pretending I'm okay with... whatever this is."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you were at a loss. "Wonwoo, I—"

"I know," he cut you off gently, running a hand through his hair. "I know you're caught up in something with Jeonghan, and I'm not trying to make this more complicated for you. But I can't keep pretending it doesn't kill me to see you with him."

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice, and before you could think, you reached out, your hand resting on his arm. "Wonwoo..."

His eyes softened at your touch, and for a moment, the tension seemed to dissipate. But then he shifted closer, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back up to meet your eyes.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn't.

The next thing you knew, his lips were on yours, the kiss slow and searching at first, as if he was giving you a chance to pull away. But when you didn't, when you instead leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his neck, the kiss deepened, becoming hungrier, more urgent.

Wonwoo's hands found your waist, pulling you into his lap as the kiss grew more intense. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his breath hitching as your hands slid under the hem of his hoodie, your fingers grazing the warm skin beneath.

"You're driving me crazy," he muttered against your lips, his voice rough with desire.

"Good," you replied, your own voice breathless as you nipped at his bottom lip.

He groaned, his grip on your waist tightening as he guided you against him, the friction making you both gasp. His lips moved to your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses that had you arching into him, your hands tangling in his hair.

"Wonwoo," you breathed, his name coming out like a prayer as he continued his assault on your senses.

His hands slid beneath your shirt, his touch sending shivers down your spine as he explored every inch of skin he could reach. "Tell me if I need to stop," he said, his voice strained but sincere.

"Don't stop," you whispered, your own hands tugging at his hoodie, eager to feel more of him.

His hoodie was the first to go, leaving him in just a plain black t-shirt that clung to his frame. You caught yourself staring for a second too long, but Wonwoo didn't seem to mind. His lips were back on yours before you could even form a coherent thought, his hands slipping under your shirt again, this time more purposeful, more confident.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice low and edged with restraint.

You nodded, your fingers tracing the curve of his jaw. "Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible but resolute.

That was all the confirmation he needed. In one fluid motion, he lifted your shirt over your head, followed by the unclipping of your bra. His eyes darkening as he took in the sight of your breasts. His hands were back on you immediately, roaming over your bare skin with a mix of reverence and hunger.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured against your shoulder, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin there before trailing down to your collarbone. His hands squeezing one of your breasts, thumbs grazing your sensitive nipples.

Heat pooled from your soaked cunt as he kissed his way lower, his hands firmly gripping your hips as if grounding himself. Your own hands found their way under his shirt, pushing it up and over his head, and the sight of him—flushed, disheveled, and entirely focused on you—made your heart race even faster.

When he leaned back to pull you closer, your legs straddling his hips, you felt every inch of him pressed against you, the friction sparking something primal between you. His lips were on yours again, his kiss deeper, hungrier, as his hands slid down to the waistband of your jeans.

"You can still stop me," he murmured against your lips, his fingers pausing just shy of the button.

Your response was immediate. "I don't want to stop."

His lips curved into a small, satisfied smirk before he made quick work of your jeans, tugging them down just enough to leave you exposed to him. He paused for a moment, his gaze raking over you with an intensity that made you feel both vulnerable and desired.

"You're perfect," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, before his hands were on you again, his touch igniting a fire that consumed every thought, every hesitation.

Wonwoo's hands trailed down your thighs, his touch deliberate and teasing as he mapped out every curve. The heat in his gaze was undeniable, a fire that matched the one building within you. When his fingers hooked under the waistband of your underwear, he paused, his dark eyes flickering to yours.

He slid your underwear down slowly, his lips pressing soft kisses along your inner thigh as he did, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. The way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—made you tremble beneath him.

When his mouth found your soaked pussy, a gasp tore from your lips, your fingers tangling in his hair as he worked you over with an expertise that left you breathless. His tongue moved in slow, deliberate circles, the pressure just enough to have your hips bucking against him, seeking more.

"Fuck, Wonwoo," you moaned, the sound of his name falling from your lips only spurring him on. His hands gripped your thighs, keeping you firmly in place as he pushed you higher against him, his tongue reaching that one spot, your body teetering on the edge of bliss.

When he finally pulled back, his lips glistening, he looked up at you with a satisfied smirk. "You taste so good," he murmured, his voice rough with desire.

Before you could respond, he was back over you, his body pressing against yours as he captured your lips in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on him, the intimacy of it only heightening your arousal. His hand slid between your legs again, his fingers teasing you, sliding through your slick folds before slowly pushing inside.

A cry escaped your lips, your back arching as he set a slow, torturous rhythm. "You're so fucking tight," he groaned, his forehead resting against yours as he watched your every reaction. "So perfect."

Your hands roamed his body, desperate to feel every inch of him. When you reached for his waistband, he let out a low chuckle but didn't stop you, his breath hitching as you freed him from his sweats. He was hard and heavy in your hand, and the guttural groan he let out when you stroked him made you feel powerful despite the way he had you unraveling beneath him.

Your palm did well enough, but when you took his cock in your mouth, that's when his precum was leaking out. You bobbed your head and licked the tip of his cock until he finally came in you.

His hot load leaking from your lips as you swallowed hard.

"I need you," he whispered, his voice rough with restraint as he positioned his cock at your entrance. He paused, his gaze locking with yours. "Tell me if it's too much. I don't ever want to hurt you."

You cupped his face, pulling him into a kiss as you wrapped your legs around his waist. "I trust you," you whispered against his lips. "Take it in."

With a quiet groan, he pushed into you slowly, filling you inch by inch until you were gasping, your nails digging into his shoulders. He stilled once he was fully seated inside you, his breath ragged as he gave you a moment to adjust.

"You feel so fucking good," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "Better than I ever imagined."

You whimpered in response, rolling your hips against him in silent encouragement. He took the hint, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in, his movements measured but deep, each stroke drawing a moan from your lips. The way he filled you, stretched you, left you trembling, your body meeting his with every thrust.

"Wonwoo," you gasped, your voice breaking as he picked up the pace, his hands gripping your hips to guide you. He buried his face in your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he lost himself in you.

His cock was slamming into you real hard as if there was no time to waste. Your moans only encouraging him to move faster to reach his climax and yours.

The room was filled with the sound of your labored breathing, the wet slap of skin against skin, and the occasional groan or whimper as he drove you both closer to the edge. The intensity of it—the way he worshipped your body, the way he whispered your name like a prayer—had you spiraling, the tension coiling in your stomach until it snapped.

You came undone with a cry, your body convulsing around him as waves of pleasure crashed over you. He followed soon after, his hips stuttering as he spilled into you, his groan muffled against your neck.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the only sound the heavy rhythm of your breathing. Wonwoo finally pulled back, cock dripping with your mixed cum, his lips brushing over your forehead as he gazed down at you with an expression so tender it made your heart ache.

"That wasn't just about lust," he murmured, his voice soft but certain. "Not for me."

Your chest tightened at his words, the weight of them sinking in. You wanted to respond, to tell him everything you were feeling, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, you cupped his face, pulling him into another kiss—slow, lingering, and filled with all the emotions you couldn't yet put into words.

You were almost too smug for your own good, leaning back with a satisfied grin as you glanced at Wonwoo, wearing nothing but his hoodie that was oversized in your frame.

"You got lucky," he grumbled, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Admit it," you teased, leaning toward him, your breath brushing against his ear. "I'm just better than you."

His eyes flickered to yours, a spark of mischief in their depths. "Oh, is that so?"

Before you could react, he reached out, pulling you onto his lap in one swift motion. You gasped in surprise, dropping the controller as his arms locked around your waist, keeping you firmly in place. Wonwoo swore under his breath when he recognizes his scent from your body.

"Still think you're better than me?" he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

You blinked, confused by the sudden change in his energy. "Wonwoo, what are you—"

Before you could finish, his lips were on yours, capturing them in a kiss that was anything but playful. It was deep and hungry, the kind that made your knees weak and your heart race.

The controller clattered to the floor, forgotten as your hands instinctively tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. His hands roamed over your body, sliding under the hoodie to grip your waist, his thumbs brushing over your skin in a way that made you gasp against his lips.

"God, you're distracting," he muttered, pulling back just enough to speak, his forehead resting against yours.

"You started it," you shot back breathlessly, your hands clutching at his plain black t-shirt.

"Maybe," he admitted, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "But you're going to finish it."

Before you could respond, he reached for the controller with one hand, the other still firmly on your hip. "Let's see if you can focus now," he challenged, restarting the game.

"Wonwoo, you can't be serious—"

"Oh, I'm dead serious," he cut you off, his voice low and teasing as his free hand trailed down to your thigh, squeezing gently.

"What's the matter? Can't handle a little distraction?" he murmured against your neck, his voice low and teasing.

You bit your lip, trying to focus on the game, but every inch of your body was hyperaware of his touch, the way his fingers traced patterns against your inner thigh, slowly inching higher. You could feel the heat pooling between your legs, the sensation intensifying with each teasing touch. It was getting harder to keep your eyes on the screen.

"Wonwoo, I swear—" you started, your breath catching in your throat.

But before you could protest further, his hand slid between your legs and grazed on your soaked cunt, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through you. You gasped, the controller slipping from your hands as your body leaned into his touch. The game was the last thing on your mind now. His fingers were careful, deliberate, and oh so teasing as they brushed against your soaked clit, sending waves of pleasure through you that you couldn't escape.

Wonwoo's teasing turned into something deeper, his desire evident in the way he touched you, his movements becoming more urgent as he lifted you slightly to adjust your position.

"Fuck the game," he muttered against your lips, his patience snapping as he pushed you down onto the couch, his body pressing against yours. "You win."

Your head fell back against the couch, the words tumbling from your lips without thought, every part of you overwhelmed by his touch. You couldn't think straight, couldn't even remember what the game was about as he kissed along your neck, moving lower, his hands never leaving you. His lips, warm and insistent, found your skin, marking it with soft bites and caresses that made you shudder.

"Wonwoo... please..." Your voice was thick with need, and you didn't care that he could hear the desperation in it. You wanted him closer, deeper, as your body arched against his, silently begging for more.

He smiled against your neck, a slow, confident grin that made your pulse spike. "You're so fucking beautiful, you know that?"

You let out a soft laugh, though it was shaky, breathless. "Stop teasing me."

"I'm not teasing," he murmured, his fingers slipping inside you, drawing out a sharp gasp from your lips. "I'm giving you exactly what you need."

His thumb circled your clit in rhythmic, deliberate movements as his lips found yours once again, swallowing your moans. It was slow, methodical, each movement pushing you closer to the edge. You could feel the tension building deep in your stomach, the pressure mounting with every stroke of his fingers.

You tangled your hands in his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss, your body pressing into his as if you were trying to become one. The connection between you felt almost overwhelming, like every touch, every kiss, was laced with raw emotion—desire, yes, but something more.

Something tender.

He pulled away for a moment, his eyes searching yours, intense and unguarded. "Are you okay?" he whispered, his voice soft, filled with genuine concern. It was a question that showed just how much he cared, how much he wanted to make this more than just physical.

Wonwoo positioned the tip of his cock onto the entrance of your pussy.

You nodded, breathless, and smiled up at him. "I'm more than okay."

And with that, he kissed you again, this time with a gentleness that sent a shiver down your spine, before he shoved his dick in you and began moving faster.

The game continued in the background, forgotten, as you surrendered completely to him. And this time, it was different—it wasn't just about the physical, it was about the intimacy, the way you fit together perfectly in that moment.

He groaned softly against your skin, his movements becoming more urgent. "Fuck, you feel so good."

Your hands slid down his chest, your nails grazing lightly over his skin as you urged him on. "Don't stop," you whispered, your voice thick with need. "Please don't stop."

He didn't.

The way he continued thrusting in you felt like a bliss. Every hard slam with his balls slapping your already-soaked ass added to the heat of everything.

The night had been nothing but kisses, gaming, sex, gaming, and sex.

Wonwoo grabbed one of your legs up to get him a better angle before thrusting real hard into you. His heart pounding like never before.

And when it finally came—when that wave of pleasure crashed over you both—it was nothing short of overwhelming. You clung to each other, bodies trembling as the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you tangled together, lost in the moment.

As you both slowly came down from the high, Wonwoo kissed your forehead softly, his breath warm against your skin. "You're incredible," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

"And you're a sore loser," you teased, a playful smirk tugging at your lips even as your heart raced.

He laughed lowly, a sound that made your pulse spike, and leaned down to kiss you again. "Maybe. But I think I'm about to make up for it."

Wonwoo brushed your hair back from your face, his thumb gently grazing your cheek as his dark, smoldering gaze softened. "You know, I wasn't just talking about the game earlier," he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

Your breath caught at the sudden shift in his tone. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you're incredible," he repeated, his fingers tracing along your jawline. "Not just here, not just now. I mean everything about you. You drive me crazy in ways I didn't even know were possible."

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. For a moment, you didn't know how to respond, the weight of his words sinking deep into your heart. But instead of fumbling for the right thing to say, you cupped his face, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone as you leaned in.

Your kiss was slow and deliberate, a silent answer to the emotions swirling between you. He responded immediately, his lips moving against yours with a mix of tenderness and hunger, as though he wanted to pour every unspoken word into that kiss.

When you pulled back just enough to rest your foreheads together, you whispered, "You mean just as much to me, Wonwoo. Maybe even more."

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your lips. "That's impossible."

The teasing edge to his voice made you smirk, the playful tension between you rekindling. "Guess we'll have to agree to disagree," you quipped, your fingers gliding down the firm planes of his chest, now bare and warm under your touch.

His lips curved into a wicked grin, his gaze darkening as his hands roamed over your body, reacquainting themselves with every curve. "Still feeling smug, huh? Should I knock you down a peg?"

His hands slid down your sides, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The sofa creaked beneath you as he shifted his weight, his body pressing more firmly into yours. His fingers trailed lower, tracing lazy circles along your thigh before gripping it and hitching it higher around his waist.

"Smug? No," you teased, your voice breathless. "Just confident."

Wonwoo let out a low laugh, the sound rumbling against your skin. "We'll see about that."

Without warning, he dipped his head, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss that stole the air from your lungs. His tongue teased yours, slow and deliberate, his kisses deep and unrelenting as his hand slid between your legs, his fingers skillfully reigniting the fire that hadn't had time to die down.

You gasped against his mouth, your back arching off the couch as he explored you, his touch knowing and intentional. "Wonwoo," you whimpered, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes filled with desire and something deeper, something raw. "You're so fucking perfect," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he leaned down to kiss you again.

The rhythm of his touch became more insistent, drawing soft moans from you as your fingers dug into his shoulders. He didn't rush—each movement was deliberate, every touch meant to drive you closer to the edge.

"You're driving me crazy," you managed to choke out, your voice trembling with need.

"Good," he muttered, his lips trailing down to your neck, leaving a line of heated kisses as his hand disappeared to adjust himself. "Because you've been driving me insane all night."

Before you could respond, he lined his cock up and pushed into your cunt with one slow, deliberate thrust, your bodies melding together perfectly. Your pussy had already recognized the way his cock seemed to slip in you, it still had you gasping, your nails raking down his back as he buried himself completely, his breath coming out in a shaky groan against your ear.

The pace was slower this time, more intimate, but no less intense. Every thrust was deliberate, his hips rolling into yours as if he wanted to memorize every inch of you. His lips found yours again, silencing your cries as he deepened the kiss, his hands gripping your waist to keep you steady beneath him.

The air between you was thick with heat and unspoken emotions, your bodies moving together as if they'd been made for this—made for each other. His name spilled from your lips in breathless whispers, your hands roaming his back, his chest, desperate to feel more of him.

"Look at me," he demanded softly, his voice strained. When your eyes met his, the intensity in his gaze nearly undid you. "I want to see you. Every part of you."

Your heart ached at the raw vulnerability in his tone, your chest tightening as you reached up to cup his face. "Wonwoo..."

He leaned into your touch, his movements growing more urgent as he chased both your highs, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. "I love this," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the sound of your labored breaths. "I love you."

The words hit you like a wave, and for a moment, everything else faded away—the world, the room, the lingering tension that had always existed between you. There was only him, and the way he made you feel whole.

Your body tensed beneath him, the pleasure building until it finally crested, leaving you trembling and crying out his name. Wonwoo wasn't far behind, his own release crashing over him as he buried himself deep inside you, his groan vibrating against your skin.

For a moment, the room was silent save for the sound of your heavy breathing, your bodies still tangled together on the sofa. Wonwoo shifted slightly, pulling you closer as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

"You win," he muttered, his lips curving into a tired but satisfied smile.

You laughed, the sound light and breathless as you nuzzled into his chest. "Damn right, I do."

He chuckled, his hand trailing lazily down your back. "But you're still wearing my hoodie next time we game," he teased, his voice low and teasing. "You're too distracting without it."

"And you're not?" you shot back, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

"Fair point," he admitted, his grin widening as he pulled you into another kiss, one filled with unspoken promises and endless possibilities.

You and Wonwoo were still wrapped up in the warmth of each other's embrace, your body pressed snugly against his as you both lay tangled on the sofa. The soft glow of the paused game screen flickered across the room, the controllers forgotten on the floor amidst the aftermath of your intimacy.

Wonwoo's fingers traced lazy patterns along your bare back, his lips occasionally brushing against your forehead in quiet affection. You were just beginning to drift into that blissful post-climactic haze when the sharp sound of a knock broke through the quiet.

"Wonwoo," a familiar voice called from the other side of the door. "I'm here for the CD. Open up."

Your heart dropped into your stomach. "Oh my god," you whispered, your eyes wide as you shot up, scrambling to pull the throw blanket over your completely naked body.

Wonwoo cursed under his breath, sitting up as well. "Shit. I forgot he was coming."

"You forgot?" you hissed, grabbing at the nearest piece of clothing—Wonwoo's hoodie—but realizing it wasn't enough to cover you entirely.

"He said he'd stop by today, but I wasn't exactly thinking about it in the moment!" Wonwoo muttered, running a hand through his messy hair, now tousled from your earlier activities.

Another knock came, this time sharper, with Jeonghan's unmistakable impatience seeping through. "I can hear you in there. Don't make me wait, Wonwoo."

Your eyes met Wonwoo's in a silent panic. He quickly threw on his discarded black t-shirt and sweatpants, his movements hurried but calculated as he adjusted himself to look as composed as possible. Meanwhile, you grabbed the throw blanket and curled up at the corner of the couch, doing your best to look casual despite the unmistakable heat still lingering between you.

Wonwoo opened the door, and there stood Jeonghan, looking as effortless as ever in his beige trench coat and sharp gaze. He didn't bother with pleasantries, stepping into the apartment as if he owned the place.

"I told you I needed the CD back today," Jeonghan said, his tone light but edged with something sharper. His eyes flickered briefly to Wonwoo before scanning the room—and stopping dead when they landed on you.

His gaze narrowed slightly as he took in your disheveled appearance, the way the blanket was draped over you, and the faint blush still coloring your cheeks. "Oh," he said, his voice dipping into a dangerous kind of curiosity.

Wonwoo cleared his throat, trying to draw Jeonghan's attention away. "It's, uh, on the shelf. I'll grab it for you."

Jeonghan didn't move, his sharp eyes now pinned on Wonwoo. "Am I interrupting something?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but no sound came out. Wonwoo, on the other hand, let out a short laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "No, we were just gaming," he lied, but the slight crack in his voice betrayed him.

Jeonghan's brow quirked as he slowly crossed his arms. "Gaming," he repeated, the word dripping with disbelief. His gaze darted back to you, lingering on the blanket and the clear absence of any actual gaming activity.

"It's just a little warm in here," you blurted out, clutching the blanket tighter around yourself.

Jeonghan's lips curved into a faint smirk, but there was no humor in his expression. "Right. Warm."

Wonwoo returned with the CD, holding it out to Jeonghan. "Here. You can go now."

But Jeonghan didn't take it right away. Instead, he stepped closer, his eyes darting between the two of you. "This is the game you wanted to show her, isn't it?" he asked Wonwoo, his tone casual but laced with meaning.

Wonwoo stiffened, his jaw clenching slightly. "Yeah. It is."

Jeonghan let out a soft chuckle, finally taking the CD from Wonwoo's hand. "Took you long enough," he said, turning the case over in his hands. Then, as if suddenly struck by a thought, he glanced back at you.

"You've got good taste in games," Jeonghan remarked, his gaze lingering just a little too long. "I wonder if that extends to... other things."

The air grew heavier, the tension crackling like static electricity as Jeonghan's words hung in the air. You could feel your pulse racing, your hands gripping the edge of the blanket as Wonwoo's posture shifted, his protective instincts kicking in.

"Jeonghan," Wonwoo said, his voice low and warning.

But Jeonghan just smirked, slipping the CD into his coat pocket. "Relax," he said smoothly. "I'm just making an observation."

With that, he turned on his heel and made his way to the door. But just before stepping out, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "Enjoy your game," he said, his eyes locking with yours for a moment longer than necessary. Then he was gone, leaving behind an air of unease that neither you nor Wonwoo could shake.

The door had barely clicked shut behind Jeonghan when you exhaled shakily, the weight of his lingering presence still pressing on you. Wonwoo paced in front of the sofa, his jaw tight, and his hands clenched into fists. You could see the storm brewing inside him—frustration, jealousy, and a simmering anger that he was trying to keep under control.

"I should go with him," you blurted out, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

Wonwoo stopped dead in his tracks, his head snapping toward you. "What?"

You adjusted the blanket around you, avoiding his eyes. "I need to explain things to him. He knows, Wonwoo. He's not stupid. If I don't clear this up, it's just going to get worse—for all of us."

Wonwoo's expression darkened, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "So, what? You're just going to run after him and... what? Smooth it over with some bullshit excuse? Jeonghan doesn't care about explanations. He's probably already twisting this into whatever narrative suits him best."

You stood, the blanket slipping slightly as you moved to grab Wonwoo's hoodie from the floor. "I can handle him. You know I can."

Wonwoo stepped closer, his voice dropping into a low, urgent tone. "This isn't just about handling him. Do you seriously think he's going to let you walk out of there without digging deeper? Without trying to... to turn this into something else?"

You pulled the hoodie over your head, the familiar scent of Wonwoo enveloping you like a second skin. "And what do you suggest I do? Sit here and let him assume whatever he wants? Let him keep showing up, throwing out veiled threats and smirks until we all lose our minds?"

Wonwoo's hands found your arms, his grip firm but not rough. "You stay. With me. Let him stew in his own suspicions—who cares what he thinks?" His voice softened slightly, his eyes searching yours. "I don't want you to go."

Your chest tightened at the vulnerability in his gaze, but you shook your head. "Wonwoo, this isn't just about us. Jeonghan's your friend, your teammate. If we don't handle this carefully, it's going to blow up in all of our faces. Let me do this. For both of us."

He hesitated, his grip faltering as he weighed your words. Finally, with a frustrated sigh, he let go, stepping back. "Fine. But don't let him manipulate you, okay? He's... he's good at that."

You gave him a small, reassuring smile, though your heart was pounding. "I won't."

With that, you slipped on your shoes and opened the door, stepping out into the hallway where Jeonghan was leaning casually against the wall, as if he'd been waiting. His sharp eyes flicked to you, a hint of amusement tugging at his lips.

"Changed your mind?" he asked, his tone light but his gaze far too calculating for comfort.

"It's late," you said evenly, crossing your arms. "Wonwoo thought it'd be better if I went with you."

Jeonghan's smirk widened as he straightened, pushing off the wall. "Of course he did."

The two of you walked toward the elevator in silence, the air between you thick with unspoken words. It wasn't until you were both inside, the doors sliding shut, that Jeonghan finally broke the quiet.

"So," he said, his voice smooth and deliberate. "How long has this been going on?"

You turned to him, your expression carefully neutral. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Jeonghan chuckled, shaking his head. "Come on. Give me some credit. The disheveled look, the way you wouldn't meet my eyes, Wonwoo acting like a deer caught in headlights—do you really think I don't know?"

You swallowed hard, your grip tightening on the strap of your bag. "It's none of your business, Jeonghan."

He stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming in the small space. "See, that's where you're wrong. It is my business—because whatever's happening between you two is already affecting him. And if it affects him, it affects me."

You met his gaze head-on, refusing to back down. "What do you want from me, Jeonghan? An apology? Fine. I'm sorry if this complicates things for you, but it's not your place to judge."

Jeonghan's expression shifted, the smirk fading as something darker flickered in his eyes. "I'm not judging," he said quietly, his voice almost too calm. "I'm warning you. Wonwoo's not the only one who knows how to play games."

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open, breaking the tension. Jeonghan stepped out first, turning back to look at you with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Let's see how well you handle this, hmm?"

As you stepped out of the elevator with Jeonghan, you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, studying every shift in your expression. The silence stretched as you walked toward the parking lot, your nerves taut with anticipation.

When Jeonghan finally spoke, his voice was as smooth as ever, but there was a sharpness underneath. "You know, I almost didn't come by tonight. Figured I'd give you two more time to... bond."

You stiffened, but kept your voice steady. "You're reading too much into this."

He hummed, unlocking his car with a casual flick of his wrist. "Am I? You're wearing his hoodie. That doesn't exactly scream subtle, does it?"

You glanced down at the fabric, suddenly hyperaware of how it clung to you, still warm with the scent of Wonwoo. "It's just a hoodie, Jeonghan."

He opened the passenger door for you, his smirk returning as he gestured for you to get in. "Right. Just a hoodie."

The ride was quiet at first, the hum of the engine filling the space between you. Jeonghan didn't push, didn't prod—he just let the silence stretch, knowing it would fray your nerves more than words ever could.

Finally, he broke it with a question that felt more like a trap. "Did he tell you about the game?"

You frowned, caught off guard. "What game?"

Jeonghan chuckled, shaking his head as he turned onto the main road. "The one he's been obsessing over for weeks. The one he wanted to show you."

Your breath hitched. Of course. The CD. You hadn't even realized it was the same one he'd been talking about that night.

Jeonghan noticed your reaction immediately, his smirk widening. "Guess not. Too busy with... other things, I suppose."

You shot him a sharp look. "If you've got something to say, just say it, Jeonghan."

He pulled into a small café, the kind that stayed open late, and parked the car. Turning to you, he leaned against the steering wheel, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "What's your endgame here?"

The question caught you off guard. "What are you talking about?"

He tilted his head, his gaze unrelenting. "With Wonwoo. With me. With whatever this is. You're playing a dangerous game, sweetheart, and I'm not sure you even realize it."

You bristled at his tone, but before you could respond, he got out of the car, motioning for you to follow. Inside the café, the dim lighting and soft hum of conversation provided a strange sense of calm, though the tension between you and Jeonghan remained electric.

Over steaming cups of coffee, he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he studied you. "You're trying to fix this, aren't you? Trying to keep everyone happy, keep the peace. But you've already made your choice."

You frowned, his words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. "And what choice is that?"

Jeonghan's smile was slow, calculated. "You stayed with him. You didn't run when I walked in. That says a lot."

Your grip tightened on your mug, the heat seeping into your skin. "It's not that simple."

"Isn't it?" he countered, his gaze piercing. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you've already picked a side. You just don't want to admit it."

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed on the table. Wonwoo's name lit up the screen, and Jeonghan's eyes flicked to it, a hint of amusement tugging at his lips.

"Speak of the devil," he murmured, leaning back in his chair.

You hesitated, your heart pounding as you reached for the phone. But before you could answer, Jeonghan's hand shot out, his fingers brushing against yours as he slid the phone away.

"Let him wait," he said softly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You stared at him, caught between frustration and something you couldn't quite name. "What are you trying to do, Jeonghan?"

He smiled, slow and deliberate. "Just testing the waters. Seeing how far you'll go to protect him—or yourself."

As the tension in the café thickened, your fingers twitched, itching to pick up the phone, but Jeonghan's grip on it was firm, his fingers brushing against yours just a second too long, sending a jolt of something through you. His eyes locked onto yours, almost daring you to make a move.

"Jeonghan, let me answer," you said, your voice quieter than you meant it to be, the frustration barely masked by the cool facade you were trying to hold up.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a faint, knowing smirk. "Why? So you can pretend everything's fine with him? That you're not tangled up in this mess already?"

You swallowed, the words stinging more than you wanted to admit. His eyes were practically burning into yours, waiting for a crack, a sign of weakness. And before you could stop yourself, you found yourself speaking before thinking.

"You don't understand," you said, your voice low but steady. "This isn't about choosing sides. It's about—"

"About what?" Jeonghan interrupted, cutting you off smoothly, leaning forward with a gleam in his eyes. "Tell me. Is it about keeping everything under control? Because, trust me, darling, I can see it. You think you have all the power, don't you? But you're just as tangled in this as the rest of us."

His words sliced through the air, and you froze, the weight of them settling like a heavy blanket around you. You didn't know how to respond, how to argue against what he was saying. It was hard not to feel like he was right—like you were walking a tightrope between both of them, trying to balance something you didn't even know you wanted.

Just then, your phone buzzed again—this time, Wonwoo's name lighting up the screen, flashing with urgency. The phone vibrated against the table, the sound loud in the silence. You reached for it without thinking, but Jeonghan's hand was faster.

His fingers wrapped around your wrist, stilling you. His grip was gentle but firm, and for a moment, you couldn't move. You looked at him, your pulse quickening at the proximity. The tension between you two felt like it was about to snap.

"Don't answer," Jeonghan whispered, leaning in, his breath hot against your ear. "Let him wonder. Let him feel what it's like to be on the outside for once."

You inhaled sharply, your breath catching in your throat at how close he was. His thumb traced lightly across your skin, sending a wave of heat through your body. And even though you knew you should pull away, there was something magnetic about his touch, something that made you question everything you thought you knew about loyalty and desire.

But before you could fully process the moment, the door to the café swung open, and the sound of footsteps echoed across the room.

Wonwoo.

You felt your heart skip a beat as your gaze shot to him, standing at the entrance, his eyes immediately locking onto yours. His expression was unreadable, his jaw clenched tight, but you could see the storm brewing behind his eyes.

"Jeonghan," he said, voice low, like a warning. "You're not—"

But Jeonghan wasn't fazed. He didn't even look up, still holding onto your wrist with a gentle but insistent pressure. "I'm just making sure we're all on the same page. Aren't we, sweetheart?" he purred, eyes flicking over to Wonwoo.

Wonwoo's nostrils flared, his gaze flickering to you, his eyes softening just a fraction before hardening again. "Let go of her."

You could feel the tension snap like a live wire, the air between the three of you crackling with something you couldn't quite put into words. Jeonghan's smile didn't falter as he finally released your wrist, but there was something dangerous in the way he looked at Wonwoo.

"Why don't you take a seat, Wonwoo? We were just talking about how much of a mess all of this is. Don't you think it's time you joined the conversation?"

Wonwoo stepped forward, his fists clenched, but you could see the war raging in his mind—between walking away and confronting Jeonghan right there, in front of you. His voice was low, his patience wearing thin. "This isn't your business."

"Isn't it?" Jeonghan said with a cold chuckle. "You're both tangled in something you can't even control. You think this is some kind of game, but it's not. It's real. And now... the question is, which one of you will claim what's already slipping through your fingers?"

Your heart hammered in your chest, caught between the two of them, the world spinning as the air in the café seemed to close in around you. You wanted to scream, to stop this madness, but something inside you told you this was just the beginning of something bigger, something that would tear all of you apart.

With Wonwoo standing there, muscles tense, his eyes burning with something unspoken, and Jeonghan smiling like the puppeteer he was, you realized that no matter what choice you made next, nothing would ever be the same again.

The drive home was silent, save for the hum of the car engine and the occasional shift in the seats. Wonwoo didn't say anything, and neither did you. You were both still processing what had happened—the tension between you, Jeonghan's unexpected arrival, and the fact that everything felt like it was teetering on the edge of something much bigger.

When you arrived home, Wonwoo parked the car in the driveway but didn't immediately turn off the engine. He glanced over at you, his face soft but burdened.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

You nodded, even though you weren't sure if you were. "I'm fine," you muttered, but it was more for his sake than anything.

He reached over, placing a hand on yours, his thumb rubbing gently over your skin. "You don't have to pretend for me, you know."

You felt the weight of his words. The evening had shifted something in you, and you weren't sure where it was leading. "I just... don't know what to do about Jeonghan. Or us." Your voice trailed off, heavy with the unsaid.

Wonwoo sighed, a mixture of frustration and understanding in his eyes. "It's not easy," he admitted. "But I'm here for you. Always."

You leaned against his shoulder, closing your eyes, trying to gather your thoughts. After a long moment, you finally spoke again, your voice small. "I don't want to lose either of you."

Wonwoo didn't answer at first, but when he did, it was with such a quiet certainty that it made your heart race. "You won't. Just... let me figure things out with you."

He walked you to your door, giving you a soft kiss on the forehead before heading back to his car, leaving you standing in the doorway, lost in the silence.

The Next Day at Work:

The office felt colder than usual when you arrived. Your heart sank as soon as you saw Jeonghan. He didn't even acknowledge you. It wasn't like him to ignore you, but there he was, sitting at his desk, completely absorbed in his work.

You walked toward him, hoping to get a word in. "Jeonghan?" you asked quietly, trying to catch his attention.

He didn't look up, and the coldness in his demeanor made your chest tighten. "Busy," he said curtly, not even sparing you a glance.

The sting of his indifference hit harder than you expected. You stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. Were you supposed to apologize? Or was it something else? Before you could gather the courage to say anything more, Wonwoo appeared, stepping between you and Jeonghan.

"Hey," Wonwoo said, his voice calm but firm, a protective stance around you. "You should go take a break, Y/N. I'll handle things here."

You blinked, feeling both grateful and conflicted. But as you walked away, you couldn't shake the feeling that everything between the three of you had shifted in ways you couldn't fix overnight.

Later That Day:

You were sitting in the break room when Wonwoo found you, a cup of coffee in hand. He slid into the chair next to you, not saying anything at first. The silence between you felt familiar but different now.

"Jeonghan's... not speaking to me," you said, the words coming out before you could stop them. "I don't know what to do."

Wonwoo leaned in, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. "You don't have to fix everything right now," he murmured. "Take it slow. Let him come around, if he does. But I'm here for you."

You rested your head on his shoulder, trying to let the comfort of his presence sink in. Despite the chaos of the situation, there was a small part of you that felt safe in his arms.

The next day at work felt like stepping into a different dimension. Jeonghan’s presence had always been a constant—a mix of charm and sharp remarks that kept you on your toes—but now, it was as if he’d built an invisible wall around himself.

You caught sight of him as soon as you walked into the office. He was leaning against the desk near the window, flipping through some documents, but his eyes didn’t so much as glance in your direction. Normally, he’d throw in a sly comment or even a teasing smirk just to annoy you. Today? Nothing.

You tried not to let it bother you, but as the hours ticked by, his cold shoulder was impossible to ignore. He barely acknowledged your presence during the team meeting, speaking only when necessary and directing his comments to everyone but you. The tension was palpable, and it made concentrating on your tasks a Herculean effort.

By lunchtime, you’d had enough. As he stood by the coffee machine, you approached cautiously, your heart pounding in your chest. “Jeonghan,” you began, your voice softer than you intended. “Can we talk?”

He didn’t look up right away. When he finally did, his expression was unreadable, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something distant and closed off. “I’m busy,” he replied curtly, turning his attention back to his coffee cup.

The words stung more than you wanted to admit, but you weren’t about to give up. “Please,” you pressed, stepping closer. “I know something’s wrong. Can we at least clear the air?”

Jeonghan sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly as he set his cup down. For a moment, it looked like he might relent, but then he shook his head. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he said, his tone clipped. “Just focus on your work.”

His words were like a slap to the face. You blinked, struggling to keep your composure. “If this is about Wonwoo—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted sharply, his gaze finally locking onto yours. His eyes, usually so warm and full of mischief, were cold and piercing now. “Don’t bring him into this.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You felt a lump form in your throat, but you swallowed it down, refusing to let yourself break in front of him. “Fine,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “If that’s how you want it.”

The silence between you and Jeonghan was as heavy as the weight in your chest. His hands remained tucked into the pockets of his tailored coat, his jaw tight, his gaze somewhere beyond you. For a second, you thought he’d finally say something, but he only let out a quiet exhale, the faintest fog of breath forming in the cold air.

You took a hesitant step forward. “Jeonghan,” you started, your voice trembling, unsure if it was from the cold or the overwhelming tension. “I don’t—” You bit down on your lip, searching for words that wouldn’t make things worse. “I don’t know what you’re thinking right now, but I just need you to hear me out.”

His gaze flickered to yours, sharp and guarded, but he didn’t speak.

Your stomach churned. “It wasn’t—” You struggled, the words tangling in your throat. “It’s not what you think it is.”

Jeonghan’s laugh was bitter, sharp like the snap of a twig underfoot. “Isn’t it?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. The question hung in the air, daring you to answer.

“I—” Your voice faltered, and for the first time, you felt the hot prick of tears welling in your eyes. You blinked them away, refusing to cry now—not here, not in front of him. But the lump in your throat grew heavier.

Jeonghan’s expression hardened. “You’re unbelievable,” he said quietly, his tone devoid of the usual playfulness or charm you associated with him. It stung more than you cared to admit. “Do you even realize what you’re doing?”

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “Jeonghan, please, you have to believe me. I never wanted to hurt anyone. Especially not you.”

For a moment, his mask slipped. His eyes softened, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the man who used to tease you with sly smiles and effortless charm. But just as quickly, the vulnerability disappeared, replaced by that same cold, distant stare.

“I don’t think it matters what you wanted,” he said finally, his voice low, almost pained. “Because it’s already happened.” He shook his head and took a step back, the distance between you growing in more ways than one. “I need to go.”

“Jeonghan, wait—”

But he was already turning away, the echo of his footsteps fading into the night. You stood there, frozen, the tears you had fought so hard to hold back finally spilling over.

The sound of a door creaking open pulled you out of your daze. You turned to see Wonwoo leaning against the doorframe, his expression unreadable as he took in the scene. He didn’t say anything, just held out a hand, inviting you back inside.

You hesitated for a moment, staring at his outstretched hand. Then, with a deep, shaky breath, you walked back toward him, allowing the warmth of his presence to envelope you as he pulled you inside.

He didn’t ask what happened, didn’t push for answers. Instead, he guided you to the couch, wrapping you in a blanket and sitting beside you. His hand found yours, his fingers lacing through yours as if to remind you that, no matter what, he was here.

The silence was comforting this time, a stark contrast to the tension that had followed Jeonghan’s departure. But even as Wonwoo’s thumb brushed gently over your knuckles, offering a quiet kind of reassurance, you couldn’t shake the lingering ache in your chest.

Because no matter how warm Wonwoo’s touch was, no matter how safe you felt beside him, the rift between you, Jeonghan, and Wonwoo was something that wouldn’t heal easily.

And deep down, you weren’t sure if it ever could.

an: ik its way too dramatic but lmao. you stayed till the end you definitely deserve an award. iloveyou.

taglist: @asyre @choppedballoondetective @kpoppiesofinternet @syluslittlecrow @minhui896

@october-saturn @kpop-will-kill-me @elegantdevill1 @shidily @angel-ishere

@lovrchl @codeinebelle @httpnamu-u @httpnamjoonie94 @6nadia9

@jjonghaniee @ateez-atiny380 @squishysquishjimin @jeonghaniya @thelost-soul

@foulcolorclodoaf-blog @133456789000000000000 @sunshinewonu @forsoonie @fyvubub

@soleihea @seuncheolcherrybaby @sigxx123 @hjs953012 @caratochan

@smileflawerr @indianmiss @kunfused0101 @jades-archive @i69flora

@whore-anghae @fyvubub @bemysolaces @09yyeol @kaepjjangiya

THANK YOU FOR READINGGG MWUAAAHH ! <3

knowing yall enjoyed this ongoing shitshow makes me really happy. all the late nights and used up free times writing this makes me really super extra happyyyy. loveyou guyyssss mwauuuuaaahhhh !

reblog / comment to be added on the taglist.

287 notes · View notes

distantdarlings · 6 months ago

Text

ANY FEELINGS // t. nott

RATING: R / 4.6K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Gender-Neutral Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested - based on this* As Theo plucks up the courage to ask you out on a date, you soothe your repressed feelings for the boy by filling your nights with other men.

+ WARNINGS - Mentions of smut! (But no actual). Sexual descriptions, language, gender-neutral reader, conflict between Cormac and Theo, very brief description of a fight (non-graphic), kissing, kissing w/o consent, not proofread (lmk if I missed anything!)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Consume - Chase Atlantic

- - -

“Dude, you're gonna have to grow some balls at some point…”

“Shut the fuck up, man!”

Theo laid a slap to the back of one of his best mate’s heads. Enzo was a great friend, but he tended to be a bit too judgmental when it came to you.

Theo had had some sort of feelings for you since he first met you, but whether they were platonic or romantic or…something else, he wasn’t sure.

Enzo seemed to be completely confident that Theo’s feelings for you—whatever they may be categorized as—could be chalked up to one thing only: love.

Every time Theo heard Enzo pleading with him to just ask you out or grab your hand while he was walking next to you, he lost more patience. The boy sitting next to him was stupid, but sometimes he wondered if he should even be permitted to attend Hogwarts.

“I don’t know, man,” Mattheo piped up. “Maybe Enzo’s right…you seem pretty into them every time we all hang out.” The dark boy diagonal from Theo shrugged his shoulders.

“How would either of you know how I’m feeling?” Theo asked, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s because you fucking gawk at them everytime they’re around—I mean, you’re practically fucking drooling,” Enzo said, pursing his lips.

“Whatever, I am not.”

“‘Not,’” Enzo mouthed to Mattheo, making air quotes with his fingers.

Theo clenched his jaw and shoved the boy over, before getting to his feet.

The three of them had been sitting next to the Black Lake during dinner, hoping to get away from some of the noisy chatter in the Great Hall.

“Look, just try it out,” Mattheo suggested, squinting against the sun. “Think about it tonight—”

“When you’re alone in bed and about to rub one out!” Enzo cut Mattheo off. Theo glared down at him in disgust. Just before he could react to what the boy had said, Mattheo smacked Enzo on the back of the head.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Mattheo started back. “I meant to mull it over as you’re about to fall asleep tonight. That’s generally when I can get the most thinking done. It’s quiet and nonjudgmental.”

He glared over at Enzo.

“Alright, then,” Theo sighed, pressing a thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. “I guess I will.”

Once the three of them had separated and gone their own ways, Theo decided to make a change to his evening plans.

He had originally planned on following Mattheo down to the Three Broomsticks for a mug of Butterbeer, but—upon the dark-haired boy’s suggestion of staying in—he decided to head back into the castle.

He’d have a bit of a shower then take an early night so he could think about what he wanted to do. What he wanted to do about you.

It wasn’t just the constant pressure from Enzo to ask you out that had you circling around his thoughts. He didn’t need the badgering from his friends to think about you.

Theo thought of you all the time anyway, with little being prioritized over you. The confusing nature of the feelings came from the fact that his thoughts of you were so often varied.

One minute, he’d be thinking of your laugh—the way you tilted your head back, eyes clenched, with mouth wide, smile glistening. Next, he’d be imagining you naked above him, begging for him to give you more.

It’d been this way forever. He wanted you in more ways than one, but just one of those ways would ruin every other.

If Theo admitted that he wanted to be the last face you saw every night and the first you saw every morning, and you rejected him, he’d never heal from it. He needed you too much in any way to let something get in the way of that.

So he’d held back for years and years, until, apparently, he’d started to become a little too obvious. At least, enough so that Mattheo and Enzo had noticed.

Now, with the support—and borderline bullying—from them, he was feeling confident. Like he could actually ask you to be his.

Still, he hesitated.

He made his way through the castle, counting the sconces on the wall and running through example admissions he could give you. If he were to tell you how he felt, he couldn’t fuck it up.

You deserved the best of him, if you even deserved him at all. Theo wasn’t much compared to you, but everything he felt for you was genuine and that wasn’t something that was so easy to explain to Mattheo and Enzo, assholes as they were.

He stopped before the entrance to the Slytherin common room, mumbled the password, and made his way through, hardly straying from his imaginary conversations.

Distractedly, he headed upstairs and prepared himself a shower.

Mattheo said he thought the best while laying in bed, but Theo wondered if the shower might be a better alternative for him. He worried that he might not ever get to sleep if he let all of his thoughts pool into one part of his day.

So, he shed his clothes, pulled the water as hot as it would go and stepped beneath the boiling rain.

Between the steam and the warmth, he could’ve fallen asleep, but the thoughts of telling you how he felt kept him wired enough to focus.

There were a thousand possibilities swirling through his head, trying to guide him in the right direction.

He weighed a couple options back and forth, trying to let imagined scenarios play out with each, but no matter what he said or did, it always ended with him embarrassing himself, you hating him, or him accidentally setting something on fire. Never mind that last option—there was a brief consideration of fireworks.

He let the water run across his shoulders and slip down his chest. He applied a bit of hair oils to his hands, letting the personal concoction he’d whipped up settle in his palm. He’d always had pretty dry hair but it tended to get a bit oily during this time of year, leading him to switch over to a different product—or, rather, a combination of products.

He lathered the oils in his hair and closed his eyes.

The massage his fingers applied to his head was just relaxing enough to keep his mind occupied for a second. He didn’t stop thinking of you—he never did—but he was allowed a few moments’ peace. He accepted the nurturing sensation, attempting to ignore his imagination trying to replace his hands with yours.

Then, suddenly, he got it! He knew exactly how to tell you how he felt.

He quickly rinsed all of the remaining bubbles from his hair and scrubbed the rest of his body, before shutting the water off and whispering a small spell. In an instant, the wetness coating his body evaporated into thin air, and he was bone-dry.

He slipped his pajamas on, gathered his day clothes, and made his way back to the dorm.

If he was going to do this, he wanted to make sure he did it properly. He had about a thousand ideas, a notebook, quill, and ten hours to kill. Needless to say, he wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.

- - -

You set yourself down at the end of the Slytherin table and poured a bit of coffee into your mug.

With the night you had just before, you could use a bit of caffeine. Nothing you had expected to happen yesterday did, and everything you hadn’t expected to happen had. In ten fold.

Between the three tests, the spilled pumpkin juice all over your bottoms, the near-fight between your best friend, Draco, and some Gryffindor, you had had enough by the end of all of it.

You had wanted to sleep after all of the activity. But, instead, you had Cormac McLaggen.

And you had gotten all of him. From his chestnut curls to his strong arms to his hips moving against yours. Thank Merlin he was a Quidditch player with immense stamina, else the two of you never would have lasted past the third or fourth rounds.

A smirk appeared across your face at the thought of him and everything he had given you last night. Even with how insufferable he was as soon as he decided to talk, his mouth seemed proficient in other things.

You sipped your coffee as students began to file in, lazily scuffing their feet across the floor, urgent to get a muffin.

Despite your urge to busy your mind with schoolwork and your plans for the day, it kept falling back to that stupid Gryffindor boy.

His fingers weren’t the most skilled, nor was the rest of his body, but he followed instructions like he was born to do so.

But even though he had done so well for you last night, and even though he’d seemed so eager to please, your mind couldn’t help but stray when you were with him last night. It couldn’t help but stray even now. Stray to a different boy.

Theodore Nott. The most gorgeous boy you’d ever laid your eyes on. Draco had introduced you to him during your first year; he’d said their fathers knew each other. Needless to say, you’d knew you wanted to be with him from the moment you saw him.

Even when you had no others, Theodore Nott was your goal.

Seconds into thinking about Theo, and you were already thinking about his body, and replacing Cormac’s touch with his. Just like you had last night.

Perhaps it was unfair to Cormac, but you both knew you hadn’t hooked up for ‘love’—more like mutual attraction and convenience.

You were thinking about the way Cormac had gasped above you and the way his mouth had felt on you, then suddenly it was Theo’s mouth where his had been, and Theo’s hands holding yours to the bed.

It was enough to make you readjust in your seat just a bit. Even your fantasies of Theo made you red in the face. How pathetic.

But, Merlin, if it wasn’t so nice to picture…his hands running down—

“Mind if I sit here?”

You glanced up suddenly, using every bit of will power in your body not to choke and spew coffee everywhere.

If it wasn’t Theodore fucking Nott standing right before your eyes, you might have mistook him for an angel. Your eyes widened instinctually.

“E-er, yeah, Theo…take a seat,” you said with a forced smile.

You watched him like a hawk as he seemed to effortlessly slide against the table, taking his seat before the hundreds of breakfast items lined along the oaken surface.

If you didn’t know any better, you figured that he knew you were staring at him over your coffee mug, but he was ignoring it. He seemed to be considering his meal options, rather than focusing on you.

“So, how are you?” you asked, swallowing thickly. He glanced up as if he’d forgotten you were there.

“Oh, good…yeah, pretty good. How are you?”

You felt crazy. There was no way he’d just shown up like this while you’d been imagining him in the dirtiest scenarios—it couldn’t just be a coincidence. Maybe he was a Legilimens. Or one of his friends was. Shit, wasn’t Mattheo Riddle one?

You smiled nervously. “Uh, yeah, I’m good.”

“Good.” He selected a mug and poured some tea.

“Yeah…” You took a sip of your coffee.

“Listen, I wanted to talk to you about—”

A kiss was pressed to the outer point of your jawline. Slightly rough, cracked lips with a hint of stubble across the chin. Warm breath. The scent of leather polish and something earthy. Shit.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” he said against your ear, sending chills down your arms. Perhaps you had been wrong. Perhaps Cormac had been interested in more of a relationship with you, past the purely physical aspect.

You swore Theo’s eyes widened and his face fell. He seemed almost shocked or disappointed. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

“Hey,” you whispered back, a bit of a smile spreading across your lips at the familiar smell. Despite your lack of real feelings for him, Cormac did make you pretty happy, at least on a surface level.

“I’m gonna grab something to eat then head back to bed if you want to join me…,” he let his voice trail off in a joking tone as he slipped away. He headed towards the Gryffindor table, never looking back. You watched him as he walked for a few moments then turned back to Theo.

“So, McLaggen, huh?” he asked. His jaw was clenched tightly and his eyes were surveying your face. He seemed to be searching for something.

“Oh, we—er, I mean, not really,” you chuckled.

“What does that mean?” He didn’t laugh in return.

“We kind of just—”

“Whatever…it’s none of my business.” He cut you off. He took one large sip from his mug, draining its contents before turning to go. You hopped to your feet.

“Theo, I—” you started to call after him, but he was already gone. Fuck, was he mad?

You sat back down and wrapped your fingers back around your cup. Something in you deflated like it had been poked with a needle—maybe it was your heart…or your stomach. You weren’t sure.

Cormac fluttered about the Gryffindor table, talking here and there, and grabbing bits of food. Your eyes followed him, watching his every movement.

You could see the muscles rippling beneath his pajama tee shirt—a gray cotton number that fit him in all the right places; could see the honey curls that curled over his eyes; could see the way his eyes flicked over to you every so often. Damn, the way he looked at you was so good…

But Theo was something else entirely. If Cormac was fire, Theo was electricity.

Theo replaced everything—Cormac’s eyes, lips, fingers. It was as if every memory was being replaced by him and there was nothing you could do to control it.

Then, before you could blink, and realize what was happening, Theo was walking back through the door. And also making a bee line for Cormac. Shit.

You stood slowly, waiting to see if you should intervene—or to see if you were just imagining the whole Theo-interested-in-you situation.

A few moments passed where Theo said one thing, Cormac said another, Theo pointed at you, Cormac said another thing and then laughed. Whatever he said earned a few chuckles from his friends sitting around him.

There was a beat.

Then Theo punched Cormac as hard as he could.

You gasped and rose to run toward the group that had now begun to swarm around Theo. It seemed that whoever had been laughing with Cormac obviously supported him enough to try and attack Theo, because once you’d gotten over there, they’d already laid a couple punches to Theo.

Never mind he was up against three other guys, he was holding his own. Every time they successfully landed a punch, Theo would fire back with one of his own. And he’d fire back hard.

“Stop!” you shouted, attempting to force yourself between them. Without looking, Theo spared an arm for a moment long enough that he could keep you pushed back behind him.

“No, Theo! Cormac! That’s enough!” You struggled against Theo.

Finally, you’d wrestled enough that you slipped free from Theo’s guard and slipped past them. You pushed him back as hard as you could, and turned to face the other boys as quickly as you could so they wouldn’t force themselves past you.

“All of you stop it right now!” You shouted, panting heavily from the effort it took to push Theo away. “You come with me.”

You pulled Theo behind you by his hand and exited through the looming doors of the Great Hall, leaving Cormac and his goons in shock. In their defense, a lot had happened in about five minutes.

Once through the doors, you Disapparated quickly, never letting go of Theo’s hand. You landed in your dormitory.

A quick survey of the room and a mumbled locking spell later, the two of you were alone and Theo was bleeding.

You conjured a bit of gauze and ointment from somewhere in the hospital wing, promising you’d return it later.

Sitting Theo down gently on the edge of your bed, you began to gently apply a bit of the soaked gauze to the cut on his cheek and the blood seeping from his nose. He hissed ever so slightly at the stinging, but kept his eyes on you.

“Why did you hit him?” you asked, finally breaking the silence. His eyes moved away from you.

A few moments of silence passed. The minute you thought he might never say something, he spoke up.

“McLaggen’s not a good guy.”

You scoffed. “Really? That’s all you have to say? You hit Cormac because he’s ‘not a good guy?’ There’s billions of people who aren’t good people that I don’t go around decking every time I see them! Why did you really hit him, Theo?”

You stared him down, demanding an answer with every glance he cast your way.

“Because of what he said about you.”

You were taken aback. “W-what did he say?”

***

Theo walked out of the Great Hall, trying his best to swallow the rage that was building up in his throat. Of course you were with someone. You were absolutely perfect. It was false hope for him to have thought he’d ever had a chance with you. He threw his plans from his mind.

As he stormed through the stone halls, flashes of the way McLaggen had come up right behind you and touched you like he owned you, pissed him off so badly he was shaking.

The way his lips had touched your cheek, the way you’d smiled so softly, the way you’d looked at him afterwards. It was clear you pitied him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be angry with you. It wasn’t your fault. If you wanted McLaggen, that was fine. He just needed…he just needed to make sure you were being treated right.

On a whim, he turned back around before he could stop himself, and marched back into the Great Hall.

If Theo couldn’t have you, he at least needed to ensure that whoever did have you was treating you right. You deserved it more than anyone did.

He spotted McLaggen leaned around a couple other guys, chattering and laughing. Honestly, just the sight of the jock pissed him off.

“Hey! McLaggen!” The dirty blonde boy glanced up, eyebrows quickly shifting from shocked to on his guard.

“Nott.” He nodded his head toward Theo. The boys gathered around him seemed to look up too, always prepared for some kind of conflict.

If they hadn’t known any better, Theo would have guessed they assumed this was a Quidditch issue. But it wasn’t.

“Can I talk to you alone?” Theo asked.

“What for? If this is about the Quidditch pitch this weekend, McGonagall already said—” McLaggen started.

“It’s not about that,” Theo interrupted him. He was right, Cormac did think this was a Quidditch issue. Why else would Theo want to interact with him?

“Oh, wait��this is about them, isn’t it?” McLaggen laughed, nodding his head in your direction. Theo’s jaw twitched at the thought of him talking about you.

“I just wanted to say that they’re really important to me, and I want you to take care of them.”

“What—are you their dad?” McLaggen snorted.

“No, man. But they’re a very close friend of mine and I want to ensure that you’re going to be good to them.” Theo pointed in your direction without thinking about it.

“Who are we talking about again?”

Theo’s jaw clenched at his response.

“Man, come on. I’m not asking for a lot. I care about my friend.”

“Are you sure they’re just your friend? I could’ve sworn they screamed your name last night.”

The blood drained from Theo’s face as he heard McLaggen’s words. He was stunned for a moment.

“What did you say?” Theo muttered, barely able to form words.

“I said, ‘when I was fucking them last night, I think they said your name.’ It didn’t really matter anyways, because they were just a distraction for me. They’re not the prettiest thing, but good enough when they’re on their knees—”

Theo couldn’t handle it anymore. Without a second thought or a blink, Theo swung his fist at Cormac’s jaw as hard as he could. He didn’t know who this fucker thought he was, but he wasn’t going to talk about you like that.

Somewhere distantly, he thought he heard you shout his name, but he’d started something he couldn’t just walk away from.

***

“That’s what he said about you… I couldn’t just let him get away with that. Someone had to show him some consequences.”

From the beginning, you had insisted that whatever was happening between you and Cormac was purely situational, but somehow his words still hurt.

You were flashing between angry and sad and hurt and mortified—you didn’t know what to feel. Had you really screamed Theo’s name last night? The fact that you genuinely couldn’t say whether you did or not, made you scared.

What did Theo think? Was he disgusted?

“Theo, I think the asshole was just trying to ramp you up,” you chuckled nervously. “I didn’t…s-scream your name last night.” The last words were little more than a whisper. You averted your eyes, finding the stone floor quite interesting all of a sudden. You couldn’t believe you were having to say that.

“Can I ask you one thing?” Theo breathed. He seemed much closer to you now, then he had been before. His breaths mingled with yours slowly…melodically…

Your eyes flickered between him and the floor, only viewing him through split seconds where his darkened skin flashed against the sunlight outside. Fuck, he was beautiful.

How many times had you imagined tracing that olive skin?

“Er, yes, of course,” you said distantly. “You can ask me anything, Theo.”

“Have…you ever…”

His words came out thickened and slow, as if they were honey dripping from his lips. They poured wetly through his teeth, hot and searing. You could feel them cover your body, sliding delicately over your skin and covering your mind. The syllables that left his lips had your head spinning. You felt as if you might be sick.

“...had any feelings…”

His lips shuddered slightly between words, his eyes were looking directly into yours, the contact never wavering. You had plucked up the courage to stare up into those oceanic features, but just enough to get the gist of what he was asking. You couldn’t bear to look at him as you debated your answer.

“...for me��?”

Fuck.

Your eyelids fluttered closed. A deep sigh pushed from your nostrils as your lips pinched together. If you had known that sleeping with Cormac McClaggen would somehow set into motion the timeline that would out your long-lived crush on Theodore Nott, you’d never have said yes to the bastard. Besides, it wasn’t as if you weren’t thinking of Theo the whole time—so much so that you apparently had “screamed his name.” Merlin, this was the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to you.

“Theo, uh… I don’t know if this is a good—” you started.

“Please,” he shuddered, his gentle hands pressing softly to either cheek. He tilted your head upwards to force more eye contact. The physical touch had you reeling. You had never been so close to him before, except for in your mind. “If you have, I need to know. I will not force anything from you, but I need to know.”

Your eyes flickered back and forth nervously as you summoned any strength that was left floating around in your fleeting esteem. You wanted so badly to tell him. Tell him about all those dinners you’d left early because your mind was so clouded with thoughts of him, about all of the classes you’d been called on to answer a question you weren’t even aware was being asked because you were too busy sketching him in your books, about all of the nights your fingers had slipped beneath your silk covers to pleasure yourself from a mere thought of him.

A glimpse of him in your mind’s eye had been more than enough for years and years, but now—with your head cradled beneath his strong hands—you feared it’d never be enough again.

“Yes,” you choked out. The word came out small and harmless, as if you’d been holding your breath for too long before letting it out.

And before you were able to wrench your face from his grasp, he’d leaned down and pressed his lips to yours.

A muffled yelp of surprise slipped out between the two of you, but he swallowed the noise with a deep sigh. Despite never imagining this was how your confession of love would go, you couldn’t help but appreciate that it was happening now.

Everything in you urged you to pull away and demand he leave for assuming you wanted to be kissed. But the child harboring a deep love for the boy they’d spotted on the train all those years ago pushed you to curl your fingers into the soft, brown strands atop his head.

A slight moan, almost in that of relief, was pressed into your mouth. His hands released your face and wrapped around your waist, clutching tightly to your waistband. He pulled you closer to him, his chest bumping yours.

He wanted you, he wanted you, he wanted you, and he’d fucking gotten you. He reminded himself to punch Enzo and Mattheo in the gut when he got away from you. That was, if he ever pulled away from you. The feel of your lips on his was something out of a dream—one that his wildly imaginative mind could not have even mustered up.

And finally, after years of debating, a shitty one-night stand, and thousands of shower pep-talks, Theo had finally worked up the nerve to taste your lips. And you had finally worked up the nerve to swallow your pride and confess your love to Theo, rather than projecting it through other vectors.

And though the two of you would eventually pull apart, giggle quietly to one another, and announce your newfound infatuation for each other to all of your friends the following day, you still couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Everything had fallen into place except for one thing.

Theo, as you would soon come to learn, always knew when something was wrong—oftentimes even when you didn’t realize it yourself. He would come to prove this many times over the following years of your relationship, but none better than when he had managed to learn a spell just for you.

A spell that completely evaporated all of Cormac McClaggen’s clothes from his dormitory—and his body—whilst in the middle of Defense Against the Dark Arts.

“That’ll show the fucker,” Theo had whispered into your ear amongst the loud bickering and laughing.

- - -

Tag List: @lilymurphy03, @mypolicemanharryyy, @clairesjointshurt, @bunbunbl0gs, @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303, @thestarlithhideout, @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw, @yhiiil, @ravenclawprincess33, @xxrougefangxx, @thatblackthorn, @robinyx, @starsval, @jolly4holly, @blvebanisters, @chgrch, @abaker74, @ilovehotmenandwoman, @kissesbyarabella, @synicaljah

(If you would like to be added to the tag list, please shoot me a DM! Thanks!)

432 notes · View notes

caystar13star · 2 months ago

Text

I really do love the idea of Jake being Ice’s son. They just have that look:

I can’t stop thinking about Jakey, who grew up in the shadow of greatness, with an unreachable standard he put on himself, not dissimilar to Rooster trying to embody Goose.

Tom had no intention of making Jake feel inferior, there was just literally nothing that could stop him from blazing his path to the top of the admiralty. He loved his son, and he did his best to encourage him in everything he did.

He loved that Jake was just as driven, determined to enter the Naval Academy early (though no one would ever do it as early as Tom had). He was an honor student, a great athlete (football and baseball, as he never took to water the way that Ice had).

It was just Jake and Ice when he was growing up. He was a consummate Navy brat, making a name for himself on every base. He did spend his dad’s deployments with his Aunt Sarah and Uncle Slider. They loved their nephew, and they loved sharing stories about Ice with their little Icicle.

They never thought about how much Jake was internalizing these fantastical stories, stories that made Ice seem even larger than life, more untouchable.

Jake heard stories about Mav, too, of course. His dad’s wingman had been in and out of Jake’s life as long as he could remember. He only met Bradley once though, when they were stationed close enough together and Bradley came to spend a few weeks with his Uncle Mav while his mom went to visit her sister (she wasn’t actually visiting, she was starting an aggressive chemo routine)

Jake and Bradley didn’t really click. They were eleven and fourteen, respectively, and had very different interests. Bradley was a little jealous of how Mav and Jake joked around, and Jake was suspicious at how awkward Ice was around Bradley (Tom had a hard time seeing Bradley looking so much like Goose, he never really faced the guilt he had from that cursed hop)

They didn’t see each other again until they met at the Academy. Jake had just turned 17 and Bradley was a bitter, angry 20. Bradley had cut off contact with his godfather, and didn’t particularly relish being in close quarters with Iceman’s only son.

Jake gave back just as good as he got, matching Bradley’s barbed words with vicious cuts of his own. While Ice used his expansive vocabulary and cool tone to arrange the Navy into his own personal chessboard, Jake twirled his sharp tongue like a samurai sword, laying out everyone in his path.

While Jake shamelessly used his personal connections to ingratiate himself to the officers teaching, Bradley acted as if he didn’t even know Captain Wells or Commander Neven. The flyboys who remembered both boys’ fathers at the academy mourned for the lack of affection between the two.

Flight school was a constant source of conflict and competition, and their friends felt pulled in opposite directions, though Javy and Natasha declared themselves neutral as they didn’t want to give up either friend (Nat was the first to suggest that the two needed to fuck out their differences)

Bradley finally found his mark when he bestowed Jake’s callsign. He gleefully pointed out that if Jake kept running off and leaving their squadron hanging, he would never be the leader his father was.

Javy was the one to find Jake crying in the locker room, and he finally got the story out of Jake about how inferior he felt being constantly compared to Iceman. Javy didn’t understand at first, as he had been home with Jake and seen firsthand how proud the (youngest) Rear Admiral Kazansky was of his son.

Bradley was sitting a row behind them in the locker room, listening in shock as he finally found common ground with his nemesis. He understood all too well trying to live up to a Navy legend.

The next few days were peaceful, as Jake (now being called Hangman by everyone) was quiet and withdrawn, and Bradley was thoughtful. It came to a head when Bradley dragged himself to Jake’s quarters, to offer his apology for the callsign situation.

Jake was doing a rather impressive impersonation of Iceman’s patented stare down. Bradley didn’t think he would appreciate the comment though.

Surprised by the apology, and honestly just feeling lonely, Jake invited him in.

Things were good for a while. They had to hide their relationship, with DADT and all, but their closest friends knew and helped cover for them.

Everything fell apart when Mav showed up with Ice to see them get their wings. The way Bradley completely snubbed both (decorated officers) made Jake’s stomach turn. What made things even worse was that his dad introduced Mav to Jake officially. As his partner.

When Bradley chose a post as far away from Jake as he could, Jake accepted that it was the end of their relationship. He would never give up his dad, and the more time he spent with Mav, he knew that he would never give him up either.

Mav kept Jake going through Ice’s cancer treatments, and Jake dutifully woke the older man when his nightmares about the Bradshaw family were too deep to escape. Jake broke his self-imposed radio silence with Rooster only to make sure the man had received the invitation to Mav and Ice’s wedding.

It was only after the Mission, after Bradley and Mav made their peace, after Ice’s second cancer scare was behind them, that Jake and Bradley began to tentatively explore their own relationship.

This was one thing that Jake would accomplish faster than his father.

#top gun #top gun maverick #icemav #hangster #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake as ice’s son #my writing

241 notes · View notes

moonlitcelestial · 1 month ago

Text

Chapter 3

Beyond the Lens - Logbook Videographer!Reader x Poly OT8 Ateez

W/C 3,003

🎥 Series Masterlist 🎥

☽ Masterlist ☾

Inspiration Pictures

Pinterest Board Masterlist

Previous Chapter (Chapter 2)

Disclaimer: This story is purely a work of fiction. It is not meant to assume or mock anything about Ateez, Atiny, or anything relating to what I do not know about being a videographer. I will be attempting to keep it as gender neutral as possible but it will have she/her pronouns.

The logo in the center is mine. Please do not reuse or copy.

I strongly recommend looking at the inspiration pictures (which will be updating as the story goes on).

Warnings: slow burn, cussing, conflict, possible angst, fluff, and obliviousness.

This list will be updated as the story goes on.

A/N - This chapter will have she/her pronouns and it will continue in the coming chapters. Honestly I am very thrilled with this chapter and I cannot wait for you guys to read it

Thanks for reading <3 Moonie

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

You stepped out of the dressing room following just behind Willow. “Give me just a second. I am going to throw my clothes in my office.” You said just loud enough for her to hear. You took the stairs in twos making sure you had the door closed all the way once you reached the top. You quickly walked to your office and threw the clothes in the corner behind your door. You stopped to pet all three of the giants and made your way back down. As you stepped into the hall you could see some sitting down on the couch and some standing and speaking through the glass door. Your team seemed to be speaking to Ji-Yu as she was the only woman present. They are all dressed nicely. You stopped and took a big breath in and out.

You stepped through the door and all heads turned to you. You were the last to join the party. You smiled and bowed to all of them. “Hello, I am Y/n.” As you were straightening up you could see each of the boys eyes locked on you. Well fuck if that didnt make you nervous you don't know what would. You looked over all of them, they were the most spectacular looking men you had ever seen, on video and in person. Your eyes caught on Seonghwa your bias, he was smiling kindly at you and he bowed his head slightly.

★☆☽ O ☾☆★

When she walked into the room my breath caught. She is gorgeous. Her curves are in all of the right places. Her e/c eyes sparkled behind the round black framed glasses that suited her face perfectly. Her light makeup accentuated her face very well. There were tattoos peeking out from under her sleeves and near her left collarbone were paws. I wonder where else she has tattoos. She is simply magnificent.

★☆☽ O ☾☆★

Hongjoong stepped up to you and bowed slightly, reaching both of his hands out to you for you to shake. Having lived in Korea for almost a decade you returned the gesture smoothly. “Hello Y/n I am Hongjoong and this,” he motioned behind him, “is Ateez.”

You bowed and waved shyly at the group before you, it was very difficult to not embarrass yourself. You had been a follower of their music for years. “It is wonderful to meet you in person. If you would like, we can step into our conference room and get started.” you said motioning to the viewing room door. You had attempted and barely succeeded in keeping your voice level.

“Before we do, I heard one of your teammates mention that you took the pictures hanging on the wall. They are amazing! I cannot wait to see more of your work.” you turned in a half circle to see who was speaking, it was San. Leave it to the resident cat owner to notice and love the cat pictures.

“Actually that isn't even half of it” you began, “those are my cats actually.” You said with a smile. His eyes widened and you could hear Wooyoung snicker at the comical look on his face. San beamed at you. You wouldn't mind being at the receiving end of that smile any day.

“Alright cat lovers, let's head into the conference room” Hongjoong said with a wink to you. All thirteen of you walked into the room, Forrest holding the door open for everyone. Aurora was the first one in and you heard her offer drinks or snacks to all of the boys and Ji-Yu. Looking at her and having known her for several years you could tell that she was a ball of nerves. She clasped her hands as she sat down toward the head of the table with you. Ji-Yu took the head of the table and you took the seat to her, leaving your team sitting next to you and Hongjoong directly in front of you. With the rest of the boys wrapping around the table.

After you guys had finished all of the official talk you offered to show them around. Ji-Yu had declined and went back to KQ to get the process started on her end. You stepped into the studio from the door in the conference room and showed them the white curtains and the hanging lights.

“This is where we make our magic, all of the curtains in here are automatic and can be drawn with the push of a button. The lights are programmable by the small computer that is in the corner. The door in the back is to our enclosed patio, which we hope to use in the future for hosting get-togethers after successful projects.” You spoke gesturing to all of the things you mentioned. You heard a rolling chirp like one of the cats was beckoning you to them. You looked up to see all three of the giants looking down at you from the balcony in curiosity. Everyone’s eyes drifted upward and someone let out a squeal at them.

San turned to you and started firing off rapid questions, “can we meet them? What are their names? Are they friendly?” You snickered at his enthusiasm. The rest of the people in the room, who weren't on your team, looked surprised that they were even here.

“Yes, you are more than welcome to meet them. They are gentle giants. I will show you the dressing rooms in the hall and then I will open the door for them to come downstairs. The all white one is Mocha, the one in the middle that is black and gold is Beans, and the one that is all black on the far right is Toothless.” you said motioning to each of them, you were almost interrupted by a small gasp. You turned to look at who you knew would have a reaction to that name, Seonghwa. You knew he would love the name. Never in a million years would you have thought that your bias would be meeting your cat named after one of yours and his favorite movies. What are the odds? He smiled big at you, he seemed happy to find someone who knew and loved the How to Train Your Dragon movies.

“Let's continue then, I am absolutely positive that someone is very eager to meet them” Hongjoong said with a smile at San. You looked at the others and noticed that Wooyoung was still looking at all of them. He was definitely sizing up Toothless for a competition to see who was the best black cat you thought with a snicker. You walked over to the other glass door and opened it politely for them. They all filed into the hallway, “we have two dressing rooms just in case we have different gendered models or clients. There is also a bathroom in each corner of the room.” Forrest opened one door while Willow opened the other.

“The dressing rooms are the exact same, just mirrored.” You said to them as they split and explored the rooms. “Now, the moment I know at least one of you is waiting for. If you will give me just a second I will go and open the door for the giants. If you would like, you are welcome to have a seat on the floor in the studio or on the couches in the front room. They are very lovey and absolutely will get in your lap. So be warned,” you said with a chuckle while heading up the stairs. You pushed open the door and clicked at them a couple of times to summon them to you. You propped open the door to keep it open while you walked down the stairs the two girls following and Toothless rushing past you to the voices. You followed Toothless to the studio where the boys had taken a seat on the floor. As you walked in with the giants the boys all exclaimed at how big they were, apparently they had never seen a Maine Coon.

“Yah, why are they so big?! I've never seen a cat this big!” Wooyoung chirped in surprise from the left of the group. Toothless sauntered over to San who had his hand out.

“They are called Maine Coons, they are one of the largest breeds of domesticated cats. They are known to be temperamentally very similar to dogs and they actually don't mind the water.” You said sitting down on the floor while watching as Mingi and Yunho both started petting Beans who had meandered slowly over to them. You looked over to Seonghwa who squeaked in surprise as Toothless got into his lap. He looked at you in surprise, you nodded that it was normal and he looked back down to Toothless and started petting him. San was still petting him and you watched Hongjoong hold his hand out for Toothless to sniff. Toothless bunted Hongjoong and Hongjoong let out a small giggle and started petting him. You looked to the left and saw that Mocha had approached Jongho, Yeosang, and Wooyoung. She was always drawn to quiet people which is only two out of the three of the people she just approached.

“Look at her eyes! They’re so pretty!” Yeosang commented. You smiled at the interaction, she immediately went up to him and got into his lap and made herself comfortable.

You laughed at her, “she always knows who compliments her. She is the resident princess of the three of them. Much like Mingi over there, she will either be a stubborn hardass to get through too or will absolutely be one of the most excitable cats you will meet. This is tame for her.” They looked at you with surprise. Oh Fuck, you had carefully hidden the fact that you knew them until just now. You hid your face in your hands and sighed to yourself.

“Are you an Atiny?” Jongho asked with curiosity. You peaked through your fingers to see if the rest of them were hearing the conversation. You saw that all of their eyes are on you. Fuck, again with this making me nervous. You relented and nodded your head, taking your hands away from your face. “I have been for a few years. You guys are one of my favorite groups.” You said softly.

Wooyoung ever the instigator asked, “who is your bias?” You let out a nervous chuckle. All of them leaned toward you after he asked. You turned to look at your team to find that they had disappeared presumably back to their offices. Shitheads.

“Come on, tell us!” Mingi practically whined from across the semicircle.

You sighed, knowing these men they would not give up. “I will tell you on one condition.”

“Name it,” Hongjoong said quickly with a smirk in your direction. Damn him for being persistent.

“It does not change anything between us, not whatsoever, I don't want my liking your group to mess up this contract and our possible friendship.” you said wringing your hands together in your lap. Toothless had gotten off of Seonghwa’s lap and made his way over to you, head butting your hands. You smiled and started to pet him.

“Deal,” they all said in unison. You looked up at all of them, they were looking at you with respect. All of their dark eyes held such depth to them. You could get lost in every set of them.

“It is the person who has a favorite movie that one of the giants is named after.”

Everyone looked momentarily confused before Seonghwa gasped, he quickly caught on and started to celebrate that it wasn't anyone else. You looked at him nervously and he smiled genuinely at you. You gave him a small smile back and hid your face in Toothless’ fur. They all started speaking gibberish trying to come up with the reason that it wasn't them. You laughed quietly. This is not how you thought this meeting would go.

“Yahhh why isn't it me?” San complained with a pout and then a smile. “I am clearly the cat person here”

“Yah it could be me too. I am literally the black cat of our group” Wooyoung said loudly.

“I already have my black cat, he's right here,” you sniped back at Wooyoung grabbing Toothless to bring him into your lap from his sitting position. Wooyoung let out an over exaggerated noise of protest. All of the boys started laughing at Wooyoung’s expense.

You looked up to check on the other two giants, Beans had made her way to Hongjoong from Mingi and Yunho. He held his hand out to her just like he did with Toothless and she head butted him. He smiled and started petting her too. Mocha had had enough of how loud Wooyoung was and decided to go over to Jongho to get a little farther away from him. Jongho let out a noise of surprise when she rubbed on him. It seemed like he was not sure how to take her affection. Once she was done she walked over to Mingi and Yunho. You looked over to Yeosang who pouted when she left. You chuckled at the pout, “Yeosang, you can come over here and pet Toothless since she left. He is a big cuddlebug.” He looked over at you with a small blush and nodded while he got up. Wooyoung and San also decided to get up and come over to pet Toothless. You set him down on the floor again in the middle of the four of you. Yeosang was the first one to reach out to him.

“Wow, so soft.” He murmured. You couldn't help but to let out a giggle at his words.

“He is alright I guess. Now I have competition for the best black cat energy.” Wooyoung said as he scratched Toothless’ head. San let out a chuckle.

“Only you would be in a battle with a literal black cat for black cat energy.” Wooyoung swiped at him and they started squabbling. Yeosang leaned over away from the two and said, “Toothless is better.”

You let out a loud laugh and said, “Agreed.”

Beans had made her presence known by climbing over the top of the two men that had laid out on the floor after their squabble. They both groaned under her weight and you hear Yunho and Mingi let out little huffs of laughter at her antics. Somewhere in the middle of all of the chaos Mocha had made her way onto Hongjoong’s lap and was now fast asleep. He was slowly petting her and speaking in hushed tones with Seonghwa. Beans decided that she was interested in Jongho and made her way over to him. He looked at her with surprise and hesitantly held his hand out to her. She chirped at him and trotted the rest of the way over immediately head butting his hand. He smiled with his gummy smile and started petting her.

You smiled at all of them. You could get used to having these boys around. They fit in well with your dynamic, and were very similar to your team. You could tell that they were already comfortable here, especially after the giants cuddled with them. The giants always seem to bring peace to a room. In fact Beans had made her way back over to the two laying on the floor and laid herself on top of San. He grunted, not expecting her to get on top of him and loaf up. You could hear her purrs from where you sat by his feet shoulder to shoulder with Yeosang. He had leaned toward Toothless to continue petting him, which put him closer to you. Damned bias wrecker you thought. Seonghwa had gotten up from his place next to Hongjoong and came to sit next to you on your other side. He was letting Toothless sniff him before he started petting him.

“So I'm your bias huh?” He asked with a quiet teasing tone bumping his shoulder with yours. You nodded silently and kept your eyes on Toothless in the middle of the three of you.

“Do you have a bias wrecker so I know who to look out for?” He asked, you could hear a smirk in his tone. You quickly looked at him and he lightly laughed at the shock on your face.

“I do have one, he is very close in proximity to me right now actually.” Fuck, why did I say that, you thought. The filter from your mouth to your brain is missing today apparently. You sneaked a look at Yeosang and he was already looking at you. He had surprise written all over his face, and then raised his hand to gesture at himself. You nodded and his eyes widened, he looked away from you quickly but you were perceptive enough that you caught the blush on his face that was quickly spreading to his ears. Seonghwa laughed at the entire interaction.

A few minutes later Hongjoong had asked to trade numbers before he left to coordinate things. Somehow your phone ended up being passed around the group so they could all add their numbers. San had been the last one done, insisting that you send him all of your cat pictures as he handed you your phone back. Not too shortly after the boys had left with smiles on their faces promising to see you soon.

As you were preparing the giants to leave you heard several pings from your phone. You walked across your office and looked at the new group chat that popped up with several messages. All of them were expressing how excited they were about getting to see you tomorrow to show you around KQ. You chuckled at the names they had given themselves. Cat Dad, The Better Black Cat, Bias, Bias Wrecker, Princess Minki, Yuyu, The Best Singer, and Captain.

You were in so much trouble with these men. So much fucking trouble.

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

Next Chapter (Chapter 4)

Taglist:

@breadedloafs @a-short-ass-disappointment

74 notes · View notes

lambsixtysix · 2 months ago

Text

PEISKOS...

⋆ rollo flamme x baker!reader ⋆

word count : 2k+ ⋆₊˚⊹

You wait outside his chambers expectantly, silently praying that he'd soon acknowledge your presence with some sort of rude remark directed towards you. You didn't come all this way for nothing, trudging through the halls of Nobel Bell College in the dead of night, knowing well of the consequences of trespassing on such prestigious grounds.

With as much care as you could, your knuckles rap gently against the carvings in the door. You hoped that the baked goods you had tucked away in your basket were still warm. You'd rather them be warm and fresh than stale and cold.

Only the best for Nobel Bell's student council president, Rollo Flamme.

Hearing the soft knock on his door meant one of two things for Rollo. Either someone has broken the carefully set rules he had in place in order to honor the sanctity of the bells of the college, or it meant your arrival at his door.

A part of him wished it was you, but he tampered those feelings down as soon as they came.

Rollo could not, would not risk his reputation over some baker's child. Even if his deep set eyes lingered on the dark wood of his door when you left. The knocks become more incessant as he sits there, his grip on his pen tightening just enough to make ink bleed through his page. Rollo clenches his jaw to say something, but for some reason, he can't think of anything harsh to say.

“The door is open. You may come in.”

Rollo's voice is just loud enough to be heard over the sounds of the crackling fireplace, quiet yet still holding that authoritative tone many looked up to him with. The door opens, and he's met with you carrying a wicker basket under your arm, red gingham print cloth sticking out of the lid, reminding him of your parent's bakery. Fittingly named The Little Sophia, after one of the many bells at the college.

The day he met you changed the way he looked at the same vices he chastised others for.

Rollo was never one for sweets. He believed that eating frugally helped him stay on the righteous path set before him. He thought that by not swaying from his familiarity of eating the same meals at the same time by himself, he was on the true path of righteousness.

That was until he met you.

The baker's eldest, doing your daily chores right inside of the bakery window. The contentment in your smile as if inviting him inside for a look himself. Like a pastry on display, you looked sweet enough to taste.

Your eyes seemed to light up in recognition of him, particularly at his uniform. The dark colors and maroon ribbon hanging from his large beret seemingly connecting the blanks in your brain to invite him inside.

The sun caught in the roots of your hair as you opened the door, the soft morning light of the city forming a halo around your features.

“Good morning, come in!”

You greet him with a warm smile, the little bell above the door ringing softly.

One thing led to another, and Rollo left the small, unassuming bakery with a small paper bag of pastries you recommended based on what was currently selling and your own personal tastes and feelings. How he kept his cool as you guided him around the shop was incomprehensible to him, handkerchief held to his face to hide the fact that he was blushing as you held onto his sleeve. Usually, he'd fray away from such touches, but for some reason, he welcomed yours. Even if it was only his sleeve, just one touch from you was enough to make him come back to the shop more frequently.

He swore you must've used some sort of charm on him. Some sort of spell.

Why else would he be thinking about you while staring like a crazed man at his fireplace?

His growing feelings for you conflicted within him like a raging fire as he watched you place the basket down, unrolling the gingham printed fabric to tastefully place each pre-packaged sweet treat down on his table.

“I see you still have an eye for the aesthetics even outside of the bakery.” He comments, voice neutral as he watches you.

He raises his hand to fix his sleeve, his pointer and forefinger going to his ring. “Of course, my family has a reputation to uphold.” you reply back, tone light and cheery. “What have you brought me this time around?” he asks, tearing his eyes away from your deft hands to look at your face.

“Oh, the usual.” The way you danced around his question made him want to laugh. Rollo covers the space between his nose and upper lift with his hand, the quickest thing he could think of at that moment. He mentally reprimands himself for not using his handkerchief, which was right beside the wicker basket you just brought in.

He raises a brow when you pull out a thermos of sorts, adorned with your family's logo as if it were a crest. “The usual, hm? What is..this?”

He gestures vaguely to the thermos you were unscrewing, wondering if you were planning on poisoning him for going against his own rules. Your own form of judgment, maybe. He surely was a hypocrite. He deserved to be punished for indulging in such vices.

Being poisoned by your hand would be an amusing end for him.

He voices his thoughts out loud, sprinkling a bit of his own humor with a silent chuckle. “You're not attempting to poison me, are you?” He asks, slowly grabbing his handkerchief and putting it to his face to hide his expression once again.

“Me? Poison you?”

He hears you repeat, as if you didn't hear him right. You smile as you twist the cap off of the thermos, shaking your head.

“I would never.” You say, pouring out whatever you had inside the thermos into the cap. “You don't mind, do you?” You ask, placing the bottle down onto the desk with a soft metal clunk.

“Mind what?” He asks back, handkerchief still to the point of his nose.

“Me pouring you a drink, of course.”

You gesture vaguely to what was in front of him, a silver colored thermos with faint scratches on its bottom. Marks of merit, of use, of being well worn. Loved. Oh, what Rollo would do to be loved by you. Maybe, if he had the courage, he'd tell you how he truly felt.

“And why would I mind such a thing?” he asks again, tone incredulous. “Would you rather have your drink in a glass of your own instead?” You ask back, smiling at the back and forth between you and him.

Seeing the look of amusement on your face makes Rollo set down his star patterned handkerchief.

He has a faint smile on his face once he realizes what you're doing. To the common eye, it looked like he was irritated. But in your months of knowing him, behind closed doors, in the flames of his dying hearth, you knew there was something more behind the slight tug of his cheeks.

Rollo puts a ringed finger to the corner of his brow, tilting his head in a negative sort of manner. He tries to look annoyed as he sighs. “Must you dance around my questions, dear baker?” he queries, attempting to sound exasperated by your play.

“Grab me a glass. Second shelf, oak drawer.” he says, expecting you to do it without question.

He knew he was playing a dangerous game, allowing himself to talk to you like this. He caught a glimpse of the grin on your lips when you turned. Rollo watched as you danced across the room, the grace you carried yourself with as you reached for a glass inside the hollow of the oak drawer as he requested.

“You have a penchant for silver.” He hears you comment, sounding as though you were making an observation of his habits. Rollo doesn't know what to make of that, so he keeps quiet, not used to you being in his study for this long. Usually, you'd leave by now, happy with your pay like a dog given its bone.

“Quit stalling and bring me my glass.” He demands, though there is a barely detectable softness in his voice as he speaks. “Hurry along now. You want your pay, don't you?”

All this labor for nothing but for a few solid coins. He wonders if you think what you're doing is charitable. Even if he was paying you for your work.

Perhaps you felt bad for him. Maybe that's why you kept up with his demands of powdered sugar desserts and sweets.

You come back to his desk with a silver cup, placing it down next to the thermos you brought from the bakery. You pour him a drink. “It's getting cold now, isn't it?”

You try to make conversation as you plop a spoon in with a push of your fingers, as if you were putting on some sort of performative art for him alone.

Rollo slips a few coins for you, placing them in your basket. “I suppose so.” He replies, watching as you slide the drink to him. His fingers make contact with yours in the exchange. And, for a moment, Rollo felt that same sparking sensation he had on his skin he first felt when meeting you.

He watches quietly as you pull away, beginning to gather your things for the night.

A silent signal of your work being done, another successful night of serving the student council president, Rollo Flamme.

“I've prepared you hot chocolate to go along with your food for the night. Do tell me what you think of it later.”

Rollo's met with the sight of your back turned to him again.

Though, this time, he doesn't want you to leave.

His voice cuts through the air, with a slight falter of his breath.

“Wait. Don't go. Not yet.”

He was slipping.

And by the bells, he knew he was falling. Deeper and deeper into his feelings for you.

He covers his nose with his handkerchief. Rollo catches himself quickly once you turn back around to meet his gaze, basket held under your arm, a curious look in your eyes.

“Is something wrong?” You ask, already walking towards his desk. Rollo can feel his heartbeat spike in his chest with every step you take. He did not know what to make of the foreign feeling in his chest.

So he pretends to keep his head on his shoulders, the blush that spreads from the apples of his cheeks to his neck hidden behind the cloth he held onto.

“No, nothing's wrong.” He answers, mixing the spoon in the cup you just poured his drink into. He tries to collect his thoughts and think of the next move of action for him to do.

Once you're a reasonable distance away from his desk, Rollo finally calms down. His heart rate settles, and the color in his cheeks fades.

Oh, if only you knew what you did to him. Rollo takes a breath.

With one languid movement of his sleeve, he lets go of the spoon, the intricacies of the silverware highlighted and shimmering in the light of the fire.

His eyes meet yours, the legs of his chair digging into the carpeted floor as he stands, cape billowing behind him. “What is it that you seek from me in return, hm?” Rollo studies you with jaded eyes, searching your features for any sort of falter. “I can offer you many things, though I don't think many will match your expertise in pastry making.”

Rollo's finger drags along the dark oak of his study table, his finger and thumb pinch together as if assessing the table's cleanliness.

“Tell me, dear baker. What is your wish?”

Rollo's hand runs along the table until he's in front of you. His hand now clasped in front of his robe, cupped in the other as his shoulders square.

“To see you enjoy my pastries.”You reply.

He stares into your guileless eyes as you respond. The simplicity in it makes the look of disdain on his face soften ever so slightly. It almost makes him bite down a laugh at how simple your words were.

He swiftly covers the change in his expression with his handkerchief, brows furrowed to express his emotion for him. “Such an innocent response. Very well then, if that is your wish.” He comments, Rollo's imposing air making his words and stature more grand than they seemed.

The air in the room seemed to stand still as he decided whether to indulge in your request or not. Everything in him was telling him not to, his brain was screaming at him to tell you to leave. To go until next time he needed you again.

He surely was a fool, wasn't he?

Telling you to stay in one moment and mentally decide if you should leave in the next. What a fool he was.

For once, he listens to his heart. He honestly didn't think he still had it in him to do such a thing. All the intimidation and authority in him seems to melt away like the sugar you used in your baking.

“Sit with me, dear baker.” He says, his tone softening when he says his title for you. He hopes you don't notice the hint of possessiveness behind it.

Though, a part of Rollo hopes that you do. Even if you didn't realize his feelings for you, he wanted you to know how much you meant to him.

Neatly, he folds his handkerchief back into his pocket.

“Let us eat.” He says. He hesitates to say his next words, but he does anyway.

“Let us enjoy your food..together.” He adds, plastic packaging crinkles underneath his hand when he extends his arm to offer you a pastry.

Rollo attempts to smile as he offers the pastry as some sort of token for your affection.

For now, this was the best he could do. He was trying, all for you. Only you.

Only you, his dear baker.

⋆ fun fact , peiskos is a Norwegian word used to describe the sensation of being in front of a warm fire !! ⋆

#written by the lamb #read to your hearts content! like the fic? reblog and show your love in the tags!!#rollo flamme x reader #rollo flamme x yuu #twst x yuu #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x yuu #twisted wonderland fanfic

94 notes · View notes

spextr1m · 7 months ago

Text

Growing up with Ben Tennyson (headcanons-Scenario)

⚠️ = Spoilers, jealousy, kidnapping, mutation (reader), Mpreg, swearing, Ben's hand is the Thing from Addams Family, heartbreak moments, childhood enemies to lovers (sorta of?), arachinchimp coded reader, fear of rejection, OOC Ben

A/N: Gender neutral reader

10-11 years old

- You first met him when Ben was framed

- It didn't go off well was because he was being brat which led you getting irritated

- You two are pretty much schoolmates in same school but you didn't know him well

"Bleh! I am not gonna hang out with other doofus!" Ben crosses his arms and makes a face only you get irritated

"Will you just SHUT up?" You immediately riled up and replied back.

- Even though you're quite an opposite of him, it didn't stop you from calling him out

- Only you realized that he's hiding something from you which is him being "Silly" (to cover up his fear)

- But if you get kidnapped by aliens or human like, it's time for Ben to confess that it should've be him not you (Remember Gwen got kidnapped and he went apeshit) shows that he does care for you.

- You two like Sumo Slammers which strengthen your bond with him.

- That's where he'll open up to you although slowly.

-When Ben unlocked Feedback and favoring that alien, you cant help but to feel replaced so you got heartbroken the way that he favors Feedback.

- Remember how he's secretly sorry for Kevin? Yeah you're conflicted whether you should feel bad for him or... No.

- But in return, you tease Gwen for simping over Kevin

- You and Gwen get along quite well

-You ended up crushing on Ben but you felt tad sad that he has a crush on Kai.

- Unfortunately before the event of AF-Omniverse, your parents have to move out of town and you bid farewell to Tennyson family.

15-16 years old

-You went back in Bellwood and you'd think that nothing change in here until.. It sorta did?

- Gwen is now mature while Ben... Well

-He's now showing maturitiy besides him being silly all the time

-You headed to Mr. Smoothie and being overwhelmed by its changes until you bumped into a green jacket

"Oh sorry, I didn't see you here" You apologize to that guy who's standing by

"Y/N?" Your eyes shot opened when you hear familiar voice and you looked at this person revealing to be Ben.

-You two at first, awkward since you two haven't talk for long time now until he broke the silence about how you're doing in other town

- Turns out you have a boyfriend (which he congratlute you but tingle of jealousy filled him), your parents are very much bus than the usual, and normal life too than him.

- You're also shocked when you realized that Ben was preggo (pregnant) was because of Big Chill being a seahorse

"Wait, you're a mother this whole time????" Your jaw drops when you see mini versions of Big Chill, now staring at Ben who's also disbelief

"Uhhhh yeah?" He's embarrassed that he gave birth to mini Big Chill while staring.

"Damn... No wonder why you ate a pickle" He's surprised you notice smallest details about him but secretly happy that you notice small details about him.

"The next thing was you supposed to be stringray alien but then you ended up becoming THAT thing!" Of course you didn't know about his new aliens' names to be honest with you, you get mixed up with Big Chill and Jetray was because they're both flying aliens well sometimes.

-Sometimes you made a joke that Kevin loves his car than Gwen

-Which Ben spit his smoothie, laughing his ass off.

"He's planning a wedding and his bride would've be a car-" You made a comment about Kevin's car only Ben spit his smoothie, laughing his ass off while his hand slapping your back.

"What? I'm being honest-" Which it also makes him laugh harder.

-You also freaked out that Ben's hand was sentient and crawling onto you which you immediately threw his hand at almost everything including him

"BENJI, YOUR FUCKING HAND IS CRAWLING AGAIN-" You freaked out as you began to grab Ben's hand which also makes Kevin laugh at you freaking out

"NOT FUNNY DUDE!" You added up right after you threw his hand at the wall, annoyed that Kevin continues to laugh.

-Unfortunately, your parents had to call you again to go back to other town which you bid bye to Ben again hoping you'll return someday.

-Bad luck tells you that, your boyfriend has broken up with you because two of you are now pursuing different school times and distant too.

-Ben got famous thanks to that kid who exposed his identity to the entire damn fucking world which you cannot help but to be worried about him and his family which adds his burdens as a teen.

-Luck is in your hands that your parents moved back to Bellwood

-You're also shocked to hear that Ben and Julie broke up (Writers fucked up their love life)

- So fame gets to his head that he becomes arrogant so bad that you called him out (he apologizes afterwards and wants to make it up for you)

- Unfortunately because of alien shenanigans, you ended up being... mutated into an alien. You immediately freaked out bout your new form and have many thoughts that Ben wouldn't like your ugliness and your parents rejecting you for being a mutant.

- Since you now see yourself as a "monster", you immediately distance yourself from Ben which he cannot help but to be worried about you.

- Like he ASKS Gwen what to do when your friend went missing and she replied that he'll find you.

- Okay now setting to Omniverse, still cocky teenager boi but he does concern for you

- Like if you have an ID mask, Ben will ask plumbers to track while worrying for you.

- It wasnt until a random ass villain and then you of course, you have basic knowledge about your newfound powers thanks to the id mask that makes you unrecognizable even though you easily forgetting your own face.

- *Inserts Ben fighting villain*

-You try to save Ben only the mask got knocked off immediately exposing your true form

-You freaked out when you see yourself again which you began to run away until Ben stops you from running away

"WAIT DONT GO Y/N!" He stops you from running away, fearful that he didn't like you AT all.

"Just go away, Ben." You shoo him away while distancing yourself away from him, his eyes are shot opened when he sees you in that mutant form

"Where have you've been? I haven't see you for time like this and... I've thought that I'd lose you." Ben shows his concern towards you for going missing, his eyes are filled with sad, care and worry..

But you take it as rejection, this self loathing intensifies that he didn't like you for being a mutant which you sadly looking down which also makes Ben begins to reassure you

"I don't really think you're hideous." Your eyes blinked, registering what he said, his footsteps getting near to you and his voice is now sincere.

"You.. Think so?" Your extra arms are crossing while your other arms are hanging, still saddened that you look like this.

"Of course! Do you really think I'll reject you because you're no longer human? I don't care what other people think of you so please... Y/N, let me help you." Ben offers his hand for you, at first you'd thought he's bluffing until you offer your hand which he pulled you into a hug.

You and Ben slowly blossomed into more than friends

-You continue to wear an ID mask but in the indoors, you showed up your mutated form and hang out with him but the outdoors, you still continue to wear ID Mask unless if its Undertown

- You two usually hang out in Undertown

-If Ben has bad day, don't worry you'll comfort him

- But if you have shitty day, Ben will also comfort you

- These feelings showed more

- Who kiss first?: Ben

- You slowly reverting your old personality

- He lets you mess his hair up

#Ben 10 x reader #Ben Tennyson #Benjamin Kirby Tennyson #Ben 10 headcanons #Angst to fluff #headcanons #scenarios #imagines #x reader

132 notes · View notes

monsterbachelors · 1 year ago

Text

The Three Don'ts of Sabertooth Brewing

[contains semi-public sex + fem!reader]

SUMMARY: You visit Yanu at work on a slow night. One thing leads to another and just when things get exciting, something both unpleasant and unexpected forces you to take a rain check on back-alley romps.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2k

A smile brightens your face when you see the Sabertooth Brewing sign from across the street. The venue doesn’t look like an appropriate place for a young lady without nefarious motives but at the same time, the entirety of the Copper Valley district doesn’t appear so. Nonetheless, you couldn’t think of a safer place to be. Whatever turf wars the former copper miners lead, they all agreed to omit Yanu and his business. It reached the point where some locals called the bar “the embassy” as it’s the only neutral ground in the neighbourhood.

The rough-looking miners curtly nod at you as you walk past them. A cloud of smoke and soot surrounds the two men. They always stand near the entrance of the locale but never go inside. Smoking one cigarette after another, their job must be to ensure that Yanu stays largely unbothered by the conflicts of Copper Valley. So far, they’ve been excellent at doing their duties.

You giggle quietly as you read the sign hanging on the front door:

Don’t: - fight - spill drinks - ask Q’rill to make a mojito

A bell chimes when you push the door open. Low, yellow lights make the interior look cosy. Conversations held by the patrons sitting in booths and around small tables are drowned out by a trio playing a familiar swing tune. The smell of cigarette smoke fills your lungs and sticks to your clothes. Two waiters weave between tables and clients, faux joy plastered to their faces. One of them notices you - she gives you a quick wave and nods towards the long bar counter.

Although he is surrounded by bottles filled with colourful drinks, it’s impossible to overlook Yanu. Maybe it’s a general rule or perhaps it’s just your fatal affliction. He’s wearing a shirt, a vest and a pair of tailored pants - exactly what one would expect a bartender to wear. Seemingly lost in thought, he’s just wiping some glasses but still, there is something unspeakably captivating about him. An aura that paints him as extraordinary and not just the way he is.

Yanu must notice you approaching out of the corner of his eye. When his gaze meets yours, his expression immediately changes. The deep, pink scar across his blind right eye gives the rakshasa a certain edge but even that isn’t enough to hide the pure adoration painted all over his face. His blue iris stares at you lovingly until a shadow of mischief dances across Yanu’s features.

“My, my, I don’t recall having an appointment with a princess,” he speaks with pretend surprise.

“Princesses don’t make appointments,” you answer casually. Sitting on the high bar stool, you’re still significantly shorter than the rakshasa behind the counter. “They just show up when they want to.”

He chuckles in a low voice. “Gods bless them for that.”

Yanu leans on his forearms on the counter and hangs his head to let you kiss his cheek. Round, furry ears adorned with silver jewellery flutter as they brush against your hair. It tickles when his whiskers touch your face.

Feeling his breath against your skin, you don’t have to speak loudly. “I hope I’m not interrupting you.”

“You,” he points an accusatory finger at you, “interrupt my every coherent thought but I’ve learnt to enjoy that.”

Suddenly, your face gets hot. “I’m being serious, Yanu,” you say through flustered giggles. Even after all this time, it’s beyond easy for him to make you giddy.

“Likewise.” He winks at you before standing up straight. “So how can I spoil a princess’s palate?”

“Hm… I feel like elderberry.”

“Drunk all the time, feeling fine on elderberry wine*,” he sings while looking around for ingredients. The idea for a cocktail comes to him in an instant as befits a true connoisseur.

Yanu appears to be in a trance as he pours and mixes lemonade, vodka, St-Germain and some thyme. Every action is quick and decisive but never careless. Similarly, you are in a sort of trance, too - watching his white shirt and elegant black vest strain around the muscles of his arms. One day the seams of the garments might just let go but say, would it really be so bad?

The rakshasa pours elderflower syrup into the shaker. With a swift flick of his wrist, the shaker with your cocktail-to-be flips in the air. The metal cup makes a full circle only to be caught again by his hand, its content poured into a square drinking glass.

He looks at you in anticipation. Satisfaction is written all over his face. “Pretty nice, right?”

But you’re in a bantering mood tonight. Not letting him see how in awe you truly are, you only raise your eyebrows. “You have huge arms. It would be more impressive if you dropped that.”

Yanu sighs dramatically. He shakes his head and crosses his arms across his chest. If it wasn’t for the glimmer of amusement in his good eye, you’d think he’s genuinely upset. “And here I thought that a lowlife like me could impress a princess.”

“Well…” you ponder for a moment, “there are a few things you could do with your hands that would be impressive.”

Something changes about his demeanour. The amusement stayed but now it is joined by some darkness that leaves an aftertaste of chocolates with brandy - warming and rejuvenatingly bittersweet.

“Really?” he asks in a low voice. His blue eye is watching you intensely, almost looking through you. “Pray tell, what do you have in mind?”

Perhaps there’s some perversion to it but you enjoy leaving his question unanswered for a while. Slowly, you sip on the drink, silently enjoying the perfectly balanced flavours. Not too sweet, not too sour. A true testimony of how well Yanu knows you. That passionate gaze of his never once leaves you, catching even the smallest of movements. A predator or a lover? - how similar these two can be.

“A princess shouldn’t be saying such things out loud,” you finally say.

Yanu leans on his arms against the bar counter. With each exhale, his warm breath gently brushes against your face. There’s some intensity hidden under his casual demeanour as though if you were to play your cards right, he might just cause scandalous immodesty in full view of the clients.

“Will she share them away from prying ears?” More than a question, it’s a suggestion. One that you have neither the will nor the want to reject.

Feigning innocence, you shrug your shoulders. “Perhaps.”

The rakshasa only chuckles. He stands up straight and calls out to someone:

“Hey, Q’rill! Watch the bar for me for a bit, eh?”

The drow, equally well-dressed as Yanu, doesn’t even look your way. Still cutting a lemon into pieces, he answers in a heavy accent, “Got you, boss.”

Not waiting for a sign or a word of encouragement, you get off the stool and walk towards the closer end of the counter. Ever the gentleman, Yanu lifts the wooden part, letting you go behind the bar. But that’s not where the two of you are headed - you follow him through the back of the brewery, only to leave through the staff door.

The alley is dark and narrow. Something rattles in the skip filled with trash, probably a rat or two. In the distance, far away from where you’re standing, cars drive by every now and again. Muffled swing music played by the trio inside the bar sounds like an ambience of a faraway world.

Yanu pushes you against the wall. He’s towering over you - if he so wished, he could effortlessly throw you over his shoulder and carry off. The bricks are cold against your back but soon you find them refreshing when compared to the warmth beaming from the rakshasa. His rough tongue slowly licks the side of your neck. It’s strange, tickling and absolutely delightful.

One of his hands lifts your leg, resting your knee against his hips. Lustful greediness has him grabbing and groping whatever part of your thigh and ass.

Just when a pleased sigh leaves your lips, Yanu stops licking your neck and nuzzles it instead.

“So how can I impress my princess?” he purrs into your ear.

He’s not waiting for an answer - not really. Not when you feel his clothed erection grinding against your groin. You can almost feel your arousal dripping down your legs.

Yanu’s other hand slides into your underwear. His fingers, thick and furry, sensually rub your clit in circles. Breath hitches in your throat. “Would this impress her?” he asks.

“Maybe,” you manage to say between whimpers.

The rakshasa only hums in response. It’s hard to say whether your answer satisfies him.

A loud moan escapes your lips as Yanu easily slips his fingers inside your pussy. The stretch is already more than enough for you. Slow strokes have him reaching deliciously deep inside you.

“You look so pretty like this, princess.”

Looking for support, your hands grab his shoulders. It feels as though your abdomen is suddenly set on fire, your coherent thoughts swimming away and turning into static, if not disappearing completely. There is only Yanu, his quiet groans against your neck and his thick fingers hitting that perfect spot.

“Faster, please,” you squeal.

With utmost pleasure, he obliges immediately. It feels so good you could scream but not a sound leaves your agape mouth. If you weren’t so lost in your pleasure, maybe you’d notice your legs quivering. Your grip on his shoulders only tightens, earning a chuckle from him.

“My princess is going to come?” Yanu coos.

No answer comes from you, only another pathetic moan. Desperate to orgasm, you begin rubbing your clit. It’s “allowed” in these extraordinary circumstances. No doubt Yanu’s “I live to please you” attitude will come back behind closed doors and between the white sheets of your bed.

Your vagina is clenching around his relentlessly thrusting fingers, your whole body begins shaking. A cry gets stuck in your throat. The wave of pleasure, the climax he so eagerly gives you, washes over you more like a tsunami than a wave. It drowns out your thoughts, your breathing, your strength. Fortunately, Yanu has a tight grip around your leg, keeping you standing straight. He’s still sliding in and out of you, letting you ride out your orgasm.

Finally, he slips his fingers out of you. You’re about to say something, thank him or praise him, when a loud crash resounds from inside the bar. Someone’s yelling but the voice is too muffled for either of you to understand what’s the matter.

Yanu and you exchange a look of both confusion and worry. Then, as though lovers know something akin to telepathy, the two of you chuckle.

“Mojito,” you say simultaneously.

When your laughter, contrary to the row next door, dies down, you let out a sigh. “Guess we’ll have to postpone our little escapade.”

Yanu brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean. He’s a cheeky man, staring right into your eyes while doing something so indecent. “I’m fine with that,” comes the answer.

But you can play that game, too.

Low groan rumbles inside his chest when your hand teasingly rubs his prominent bulge. He clenches his fists, doing his utmost best to keep himself collected. You could so easily make him fail at that…

“Are you, though?” you ask with faux innocence.

Although you’ve just had a great orgasm, you can feel your pussy throbbing again. As your mind wanders for a second or two, pondering possibilities, your mouth starts watering.

Yanu firmly grabs the wrist of your hand caressing his crotch. Keeping you in place, he grinds against your palm. Through clenched teeth, he growls into your ear.

“I’m a big boy,” the rakshasa purrs. “I can wait a few hours.”

“I know you’re big, boy,” you retort in an equally sultry voice. “I’ll see you home.”

In a loving gesture, he nuzzles against your neck one last time. “Don’t stray.”

After that, he watches you walk away. Only when you disappear behind the corner does he go back inside the bar. As much as he likes Q’rill, he’d much rather go back home with you.

_____

*Lyrics from "Elderberry wine" by Elton John. A bit of an anachronism, yes, but a damn good song.

If you see any books, plays, movies, paintings or songs mentioned, it's most probably something very close to my heart :)

I'm also a complete greenhorn in writing smut, so bear with me as I learn on the go.

#monster romance #monster boyfriend #monster smut #teratophillia #monster fucker #monster bachelors of dawncrest #monster x human #monster x female #monster x reader #monster x you #rakshasa x reader #rakshasa smut #rakshasa x you #rakshasa x human #monsterkink #monster kink #monster fucking #terato

173 notes · View notes

persephone11110 · 2 months ago

Text

Lover Boy | J.S

prompt: "I can never figure out what you want from me..." credit: @delusionisaplace

tw: ons-> lovers, fucking your enemy turned friend ex gf, curse words, insecurities, self esteem issues, jealousy, jealousy- induced love confession, angst with happy ending

—

“Bradshaw wasn’t a good enough fuck?” Jake asks you.“I know Birdman goes slow but jesus darlin I don’t have fucking horse stamina”. You almost allow a laugh to escape.

“Not even three seconds after fucking me you start talking about Bradley”, you can see his jaw tightening—jealous bastard. “This is the last time Jake”. you murmur, but like usual he ignores you.

Like usual you two find a way back into eachothers bed.

“Darlin I’m just reminding you of what you could’ve had-if I gotten you first, if only you let me take you home like i asked you to”—he smirks giving you his notorious grin.

“Any other time Jake you fuck me and let me leave in silence whats different about tonight?”your voice heavy with curiosity. You figure Jakes silence is a answer,

This isn’t like Jake Seresin, the Jake you know only has one thing on his mind— one night stands. You don’t bring a man home like Jake and expect to wake up to him in the morning laying next to you. Its expected that he either leaves right after sex or after a hour atleast.

“Sweetheart you can’t tell me this isn’t getting tiring, and no I don’t mean the sex part”. You nibble at your bottom lip conflicted if you should be honest with Jake or lie until he believes you. Wanting to choose the second option, afraid if you lay out your heart for Jake to see, he’ll leave you in the dust. “C’mon Y/n I know you’ve thought about this before”.

“Look Jake, I admit I like the idea of us— but the foundation of this relationship would be. based on us being fuck buddies”. Jake raises an eyebrow, might be the first time you’ve seen the texan man so shocked. Your both full of surprises.“If we go forward with this relationship, what about Bradley?”

Bringing up Bradley again seems to make Jake stop dead in his tracks. He can’t get mad you, because your right— what type of man would Jake be if he brought around Bradley ex- girlfriend, especially with them finally being neutral towards one another. It took a decade in half for those two be eachother presence without any conflict.

Yet Jake was willing to throw all away for you.

Whats Jake angle here, Is this a way to get back at Bradley?

Despite ending nearly twenty years of conflict between them, it be a boost to Jakes ego to be walking around with the girl his teammate once had. Hell any man would feel immense amount of pride if they finally got the girl they lost to another man, you almost shivered at the thought of this being a sick game Jake made up in his head, did he really love you or did he love the idea of competing with Bradley.

“You must really think I enjoy being the asshole every time?”. Jake scoffs, then again what he can expect from you- he’s asshole in the skies and on the ground. Jake Seresin is man who threw the death of a mans father in face just to get rise out of him. “If you think I want to betray my teammates trust, you must not really know me at all”.

Its to damn early to be expressing this much feelings for a man who you see a couple times out of the month, the sun barley even out and here you are on the brink of letting the confession thats sitting on the tip of your tongue slip.

Laying in the bathtub that belongs to the man you swear you don’t have feelings for.

“Well Jake I don’t know you”. you softly glare at him, “Only person I know is Hangman— the man that leaves everyone hanging”. Your stomach in knots wondering what made Jake want to have this conversation in the first place. You can’t just outright say your in love with him, you can’t just say it- thats insanse. “You haven’t given me the chance remember?”

“I don’t do girlfriends, If you want one nightstand Im your guy— you need a distraction from reality im your guy”.

Jake shakes his head at the accusation, “And I should have, I should’ve fought harder for you”. He perched aganist his bathroom sink, “He didn’t deserve Y/n and you know that”. He whispers, yet the heat behind the words betray how Jakes really feeling.

“Back to Bradley again”, you scoot closer to him despite being in a tub filled with bubbles.“Why are you so obsessed with him, is it because he had what you wanted?”. His posture changes from calm to defensive, his arms are crossed over eachother, his jaw clenched again.

“Yknow darlin for someone who always one step ahead you sure as hell aint right now”. His tone dripping with anger, “I’m not jealous of Bradshaw, I’m angry because he hurt the girl I love”.

“Damn it Y/n”, Jake hissed as he pushes himself off the sink. You need second to think, first you and Jake are seconds away from a argument and now hes telling you he loves you.

Only you don’t get the chance to think more, Jake slips himself into the bathtub with you, theres no inches between you two— like its a reflex your head is in the crook of Jakes neck.

“Darlin”, Jake whispers into your ear, “I’ve been in love with you for awhile now”, the water spills over the tub.

“I’m love with you too Jake, I just didn’t want say it and be for nothing”. You twiddle with a strand of your wet hair, anxious of what Jakes going to say next. Jake grabs your hand into his, he traces a finger over your hand.

“Lets just stay like this for minute baby”.

——

author note: 25 Album by Adele came on and the plot bunny crossed my mind,Enjoy 😊

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #top gun maverick

34 notes · View notes

indigo-greer-collins · 3 months ago

Text

wanderer's soul✧.*

OKAY UH HI GUYS

author's note: i wish i knew how to make this little intro thing all aesthetic and shit, i do not though, this is my first time with this thing. i was inspired by @samfucker to write something kinda angsty about teen darlin, so thank u matt!!! this is my first time posting like an actual fic here so i am so sorry if it sucks but uhhhh i'll improve i promise! lemme stop yapping now

content includes: gender neutral pronouns for darlin, teen darlin, autistic darlin, underaged drinking, mentions of parental conflict(?), teen shaw pack, depictions of meltdown/spiralling, angst-ish(idk if its that bad)

word count: 1.6k! (woah thats kinda long)

They just needed to leave.

The circumstances weren’t ideal. To get away from a house that hated them, they had to hang out with a bunch of wolves who didn’t like them. But the lesser of the two hells was obvious. They grabbed some old, worn-out sneakers they were unhealthily attached to; the first pair of sweatpants they could find and a hoodie that had (barely) stood the tests of time. Hanging out at a park was hardly a special occasion, so they defaulted to their usual look: homeless. But the look wasn’t complete yet. They took a flask from the kitchen and mixed some of their parents’ alcohol with some soda. Now it was perfect. Their parents had less to drink as punishment for all the insults they'd thrown at them, and as a bonus, the Shaw pack would make a way more tolerable bunch if they were slightly drunk.

The journey to the park was a blur - their feet took them in the right direction but their mind was in a different place, repeating the harsh words thrown at them by the people that allegedly loved them so much. Were they eternally destined to be surrounded by people who were supposed to care, but didn’t? That’s stupid. They cut off the line of questions they saw their brain preparing. You don’t need people anyway. People don’t want you, and you don’t want them either. Or at least that’s what they told themselves. Before they knew it, they were sat cross-legged on a park bench watching the other shifters their age play and laugh together. How did people their age even make so many friends? Big groups are so exhausting, and every conversation seemed to be some kind of stupid secret code or guessing game that only a select few knew the rules of. Everyone got a little bigger and a little older and suddenly just going up to people and bonding over legos or sandpits or hand painting wasn’t enough. You had to look right. You had to talk right. You had to act right. You even had to think right or somehow they’d know you aren’t one of them.

No one was going to tell you what “right” was either, they just point and laugh if you happen to be wrong.

Their less-than-sober spiral was broken by a familiar face deciding to take a seat beside them without even asking. They didn’t care that he didn’t ask, but whenever it was them, people usually looked at them strangely. “Chrissy.” They finally said, wanting to know what the hell he was up to. “Yeah?” He sounded snarky, but they were used to that. Sometimes his snark was a little better than being alone with their thoughts. “Why?” Silence fell for a short while, so they elaborated on their question. “Here, why are you sitting here?” “Well you’re not waiting for someone are you?” The sip they took from their flask said enough. Of course they weren’t keeping the spot for anybody, they hardly had anyone to sit with. “What’s that?” “None of your business.” “Boring. Can I have some?” “No.” They turned to glare at him, to which he pouted back. They needed the alcohol to hit faster, Christian was already finding their last nerves and tap dancing on them. “Answer my question.” “The others were annoying me, and you don’t have any friends, so I’m here now.” He put it bluntly. The bluntness was actually sort of refreshing. They looked less tense now. “Is it alcohol?” “Fuck off.” Never mind then. “I’m snitching-“ “-No the hell you are not.” They insisted before being presented with Christian’s open palm. It looked like their options were a) share the wine that they took the time to steal with their own 2 hands or b) get chewed out by even more adults that pretended to care out of obligation.

And with a grumble, they let him have a sip.

Christian’s face twisted in disgust at the bitter taste, which at least amused the angsty teen wolf before they snatched the drink back. They would’ve been reprimanded for a face like that too, but that was also stupid - why did they constantly have to restrain every facial muscle so that people liked them? Is everyone constantly trying to keep up a more pleasant expression? It felt unnecessary.

“That’s nasty.” “You did that to yourself.” They rolled their eyes before chugging more of their drink, mostly to prove a point. They then wiped at their chin with their sleeve “You gonna go back to your friends now?” “They’re not really my friends.” Chrissy scoffed, though they weren’t quite convinced that was true. He might not be best friends with everyone in the pack, but he was definitely accepted in a way that they weren’t. “And I am?” They stifled a laugh, to which he answered with a shrug. The ambiguity of that answer was frustrating, but now they were too tipsy to be bothered by it. Nobody liked being clear anymore. It was always shrugs, “whatever”s and “I don’t know”s. But everyone did know, and just didn’t want to tell them. “Why are you drinking anyway? I thought being an alcoholic this young was a European thing.” “I’m not an alcoholic.” They defended, narrowing their eyes at him. “You and your friends are just impossible to deal with sober, actually.” They snapped back. “So you’re drunk at every pack meeting then?” He asked with a slight tilt of his head. If they weren’t restrained by the drink in their hand, he would’ve earned a whack to the head. And everyone calls their questions dumb. “Obviously not, jackass.” They glared again before looking back at the others. They were kicking a ball around now and yelling at each other from opposite ends of the grass. It was loud enough to drown out whatever Chrissy was rambling about now. They almost felt hypnotised, fantasising about how things could be if they could just fit in. Sure it felt impossible, but everyone made it look so easy.

If they could just learn the rules.

If they could just force a bigger smile.

If they could be smaller, just take up less space.

If they just weren’t so much of them self they could be running around, playing the sports they love, yelling to friends who actually cared.

But in the end that’s all it was. A fantasy. No amount of watering down or pretending was going to make it feel right. Once these social circles form and bonds are created, there’s no magically changing them.

“—Are you even listening?” They finally heard Chrissy say before the ball came flying in their direction. They’d barely moved their head out the way in time, but managed to catch it in their hands. In this one minor instance, luck was actually on their side. “No, I did tell you we aren’t friends.” They answered, staring at the ball in their hands.

Everything and everyone seemed to stop. Did they have to fucking stare like that? They thought, looking up to several expectant pairs of eyes. It honestly infuriated them more that they still cared. People were always staring and squinting and waiting for them to do something. Why can’t they just let it go? Why did they have to be so self-conscious? “…How did you even manage to kick the ball over here?” They finally asked, trying to be lighthearted.

No one caught on though. Instead, David awkwardly walked over, blankly staring at them. Was he mad at them for the question?

“Are you okay-?” “What-? Yeah I’m fine, it didn’t even hit me—“ “Okay, you don’t have to be so aggressive, I was just asking.” He rolled his eyes before taking the ball from them. “You don’t have to be here with us y’know,” “Well they aren’t spoilt for choice, who else do they hang around?” Christian asked, making a smile tug on David’s lips before he threw the ball back to the others.

Are you fucking kidding me? They chugged the rest of their drink and tossed the flask aside, glaring at the ground. Apparently these people were fine with Christian’s shitty jabs when it was them, but not when it was Asher, or Milo, or David or literally anybody else. This was stupid. All of it was so damn, stupid. “Wait, are you crying?” “What the fuck— no!” Their head snapped up, but inconveniently their voice was starting to break. “I was only joking jeez, I thought the drink was supposed to make you less— whatever this is—?” This?? They furiously repeated in their head, glaring into Christian’s soul before looking down at the grass again. The drink wasn’t going to make them less of anything. In fact, all it did was make those buttons easier to push. Why was everybody so against them? Who did they wrong in a past life to be born this way? Is there nothing and no one that can fix them being such a failure? Is this really completely out of their control — had they somehow become a helpless puppet to their useless, clueless mind?

“Christian, go away.” “Someone’s a sad drunk,” "I said get the fuck, away!” They shoved him, and he stared, taken aback by the yelling. Everyone had stopped again to figure out what was going on, but no one dared interfere with the newer freak and that snarky Aussie. Their shoulders tensed, they were heaving, every thought in their brain came crashing down on them and there was a burning sensation in their throat to match their glistening eyes. Home, some desperate part of their soul begged, home I want to go home, it insists while they pick off the empty flask and storm away.

But for them, there was no home. For their soul there was no rest. No one could hear their hearts cries behind the bars of their mental prison. The young wolf was doomed to be an eternally wandering soul. They will never truly feel at home.

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redactedverse #redacted fandom #redactedasmr #redacted headcanons #shaw pack #redacted darlin #redacted david #redacted christian #redacted shaw pack #redacted fanfic #redacted angst #writeblr #if you made it all the way to the end thank you!#god i hope this doesnt suck LMAO #if u see spelling mistakes #no u didnt

53 notes · View notes

christopher-bangnaldoskzz · 3 months ago

Text

Pairing: Minho x Reader

Genre: Romance

Word count: 0.8k

Warnings: none

A/N : honestly I’ve been looking at some of my old posts and thinking, God this is horrible 🤣😂🤣 expect more rewrites while I work my life out.

"We need to stop doing this, Minho," you said, your voice tinged with an unsteady blend of determination and vulnerability. As you spoke, Minho's warm lips pressed against the delicate curve of your shoulder blades, sending a shiver down your spine. His touch was tender and lingering, filling the air between you with a heavy tension that made it hard to breathe.

“I don’t understand what you’re referring to,” he says, his breath warm against the sensitive skin near the crook of your neck. The proximity sends a cascade of shivers racing down your spine, and you feel a flush creeping up your cheeks. You close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing while the world around you seems to fade, leaving only the intensity of his gase and the electric tension between you. The space between you is charged, and for a moment, you find it hard to focus on anything but the way his presence envelops you.

You take a deep breath, allowing the air to fill your lungs as you try to gather the courage needed for what you're about to say. The weight of your decision presses heavily on your chest, each heartbeat amplifying your anxiety. You can feel the tension in the air, a quiet anticipation hanging between you like an unspoken truth. With a trembling voice, you finally manage to utter the words that have been echoing in your mind. “We need to stop seeing each other,” you say, watching for his reaction.

You can feel your heart shattering into a million pieces as you witness the shock and betrayal wash over his face like a tidal wave. His eyes widen in disbelief, and for a moment, it seems as if time stands still. He stumbles backward, the weight of your words crashing down on him, leaving him momentarily speechless. You can see the internal struggle etched across his features—a mixture of hurt, confusion, and anger battling for dominance. As he processes the reality of what you’ve just said, the vulnerability in his expression pulls at your heartstrings. The air around you feels heavy, charged with unspoken emotions, and you can't help but feel a pang of regret as you observe the many emotions flickering in his eyes, each one deepening the chasm that now stretches between you.

Why are you saying this?" His voice trembles as he raises his gaze to meet yours, his eyes shimmering with vulnerability and a hint of desperation. You can feel the weight of the moment hanging heavily in the air. Taking a deep, steadying breath, you gather your thoughts, bracing yourself for the words that are about to come. "I’m sorry," you begin, your heart aching with every syllable, "but I can’t do this anymore.”

He locks his gase on you for a fleeting moment before diverting his eyes, his face a mask of neutrality. The air is thick with unspoken tension, yet deep down, you’re convinced this is the right decision to make.

He inhales deeply, his chest rising as he gathers air, then slowly exhales, releasing a shaky breath that seems to carry the weight of unspoken thoughts. The atmosphere feels heavy, laden with the gravity of the moment, and you can sense his hesitation, as if each second is stretching into eternity. "No," he finally utters, his voice barely above a whisper, reflecting an inner conflict that is palpable in the silence surrounding him., I don't agree" you are so confused. He looks away, avoiding your gaze. Your heart sinks as you realise he isn't going to change his mind.

"Minho" before you can finish your sentence. He cuts off your words.

"I'm sorry, but I can't let you go," he declares, his voice steady and resolute. The weight of his words hangs in the air as he furrows his brow, a deep crease forming in the middle of his forehead. His eyes, filled with a powerful determination, lock onto yours, revealing the conflict churning within him. The tension between you thickens as his posture grows rigid, making it clear that he won't back down easily from this decision. in his eyes shows he won't back down.

"Minho please.... my heart is already braking"

"No, I love you," Minho declared, his voice steady yet filled with emotion. He gazed deeply into your eyes, as if searching for any sign of doubt. "I know we promised that once feelings began to develop between us, we would take a step back. But the truth is, I can't walk away from what we have. I love you too much for that."

With a passionate sincerity, he leaned in closer, his heart racing as he brushed his lips against yours. The kiss was soft, tender, and lingering; it felt like the world around you faded away. In that moment, nothing mattered except the deep connection that enveloped you both, fueling a determination to fight for your love, no matter what happens.

Taglist : @daceydeath @armystay89 @krishastumblernow @bakedlilgoonie

51 notes · View notes

onechicagolife · 1 month ago

Text

ABSENTIA | JAY HALSTEAD

Detective Jay Halstead is a senior member of the Intelligence Unit, where he is partnered with Detective Hailey Upton after his former partner went missing undercover. While he never wanted to give up hope, the CPD assumed her dead and he was resigned to accept it. Now, two years later, Jay gets a sudden phone call with news that changes his life forever. Avery Clarke is alive. want to be tagged? link in bio <3

Chapter 16

The room was dark again, save for the faint orange glow of a single bulb hanging above her. It swayed slightly with the draft from somewhere unseen, casting shifting shadows along the cracked concrete walls. Avery sat slumped in a chair, her wrists bound behind her back with coarse rope that bit into her raw, scabbed skin. Every breath was shallow, every movement sharp with pain from what she was sure was a cracked rib. She didn’t know how many days she had been here—long enough for her body to feel hollow, her stomach a constant ache of hunger, her throat raw from dehydration. Long enough to feel like she was becoming someone else entirely.

But she hadn’t broken.

Her name was Talia Peters. She worked for the Aleksov family. She would never betray Nikolai. That was her truth now, the story she had repeated so many times it was etched into her bones. She clung to it because letting go, even for a moment, meant letting them win. And she couldn’t afford that.

The sound of the door creaking open set her heart racing, though she kept her expression neutral. She had learned early on not to show fear.

Nikolai stepped inside, the soft click of his shoes on the concrete steady and deliberate. He paused just inside the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture composed. But Avery knew him. Knew the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers flexed ever so slightly against his palm. He was angry. And frustrated.

But most of all—he was conflicted.

“You are very stubborn, Talia,” he murmured, his voice smoother than it should have been in a moment like this. He circled her slowly, his gaze scanning her as though searching for the cracks in her armor.

Avery tried to keep her face impassive, even as every muscle was taut with fear. “Thank you,” she rasped, her voice hoarse and weak but edged with defiance as she glared up at him.

He stopped in front of her, crouching slightly so they were eye level. His scent was sharp—cologne and cigarette smoke, laced with something darker. “I would admire it,” he said softly, his cold blue eyes locking onto hers. “If it wasn’t so… inconvenient.”

She didn’t flinch. She stared back at him coolly, even as her heart pounded against her ribs.

“You think you’re winning this game,” he continued, tilting his head slightly, “but you are not. Every moment you keep this secret, you suffer. You bleed. And for what? For people who will never come for you?”

Avery swallowed hard, her throat aching. She wanted to believe her team—her family—was out there, searching for her. But she knew the odds. It had been weeks. They probably thought she was dead. She blinked slowly, her mind racing, reaching for any semblance of a plan. This was her chance. If she was going to survive this, she needed to shift the narrative, give him just enough truth to make him stop digging.

She leaned back in the chair, her lips curling into a faint, almost bitter smile. “You’re right,” Avery said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Nikolai’s eyebrows lifted slightly, surprise flickering across his face, “Am I?”

“I have been lying to you,” she admitted, letting her gaze drop for a moment before meeting his again. “But not in the way you think.”

He leaned in closer, his expression unreadable. “Explain.”

She exhaled shakily, letting her shoulders sag as if in defeat. “The wire—it wasn’t the police. It wasn’t the Feds. It was me.”

“You?” he repeated, his tone sharp with skepticism.

She nodded, her voice steadying. “Me, and a few others. People who work for Aleksov. We were… frustrated. With the way things were being run. With the profits we weren’t seeing. We wanted out. We wanted more.” She let her voice waver, adding just the right amount of bitterness, “The wire was to gather intel, to find leverage. To make our move.”

Nikolai straightened, his lips pressing into a thin line. He studied her, his eyes narrowing as if trying to piece together a puzzle. “And you expect me to believe this?”

“It’s the truth,” she said firmly. “Think about it, Nik. If I was working for the police, don’t you think they would’ve come for me by now? Why would I still be here?” She leaned forward as much as her restraints would allow, her voice lowering, “I know what happens to people who betray you. I’m a lot of things, but you know I’m not stupid.”

His jaw tightened. He was considering it. She watched his mind turn over the possibilities, weighing her words against what he already knew. Avery knew she had to push him further. So she softened, just slightly. A slow inhale, a hesitant glance away. A vulnerability that wasn’t real—but he wouldn’t know that. “You know me, Nikolai,” she murmured. “Even after all this… I would never betray you.”

He stiffened at the way she said his name, how it rolled off her tongue softer than before. His fingers twitched slightly, his usual mask slipping just for a second.

Avery watched it happen—the hesitation, the flicker of something unspoken. His feelings for her had always been his weakness. She had seen it in the way he looked at her, how he lingered just a little too long, how his hand would brush her arm just a little too often. He was never possessive—not like some of the others—but he watched her. Admired her. And whether he meant to or not, he had let her in.

So now, she let herself play the part. She dropped her voice lower, almost pleading, “Please, Nik. Please stop this.”

His nostrils flared, his jaw clenching as if he was trying to keep himself in check. Nikolai turned away from her, exhaling sharply as he paced to the other side of the room. “You will stay here,” he said finally, his voice tight, like it cost him something to say it. “Until I decide what to do with you. And if I find out you’re lying…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to—the threat was clear. He turned back to her one last time, his gaze lingering, something undecipherable flickering in his eyes before he stormed out of the room.

The door slammed shut behind him.

Avery exhaled shakily, her body sagging against the chair as the adrenaline began to fade. She was trembling, her mind spinning, but she knew one thing for certain.

She had just bought herself time.

And now, she had to figure out how to use it.

Avery sat in the center of the room, her arms tied loosely in front of her for the first time in what felt like weeks. The ache in her muscles remained, but the freedom of movement, however small, was almost disorienting. She flexed her fingers subtly, testing the blood flow. The soreness in her ribs pulsed with each shallow breath, a stark reminder of everything she had endured. Her surroundings were eerily quiet, the only sounds the faint hum of a generator and distant patterns of footsteps.

Near the door was Nikolai, his posture relaxed as he buttoned his suit jacket. His expression was unreadable, but the glint in his eyes told her that he was enjoying this moment. He always did.

“You’ve done well,” he finally said, his voice measured, the smooth cadence curling around his accent. “The Aleksovs are finished. Thanks to you.”

Avery didn’t react, didn’t flinch, didn’t let her stomach twist the way it wanted to. She had played the part, fed him the right words, the right intelligence. Enough to bring the Aleksovs’ operation crumbling down like he wanted. But she knew Nikolai. He was never satisfied. She had learned that much over the past few months.

“But loyalty, Talia,” he stepped forward, his polished shoes echoing ominously in the small space, “is not something that can be proven with words alone. Actions… actions speak louder.”

Her hands clenched into fists in her lap, her pulse quickening just slightly. “Funny,” she narrowed her eyes, “I thought helping destroy the competition was everything you needed.”

“Not everything.” Nikolai said with a thin smile, before he let out a sharp whistle. The door creaked opened and two of his men dragged someone inside.

The moment Avery realized who it was, her breath caught in her throat. “Cam,” she whispered, the name barely making it past her lips.

He looked bad, his face bloodied and bruised. His wrists were bound in front of him, his head lolling slightly before he snapped to attention, his dark eyes locking onto hers. Even through the pain and exhaustion, there was something defiant in his gaze.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be involved in any of this.

Nikolai moved closer, stepping between them, tilting his head as he observed her reaction. “Your friend here has some very interesting things to say,” he said smoothly, but Avery didn’t miss the weight behind his words.

Cam couldn’t have told them the truth. If they knew she was a cop, she would already be dead. But the way he looked at her, the flicker of raw fear in his gaze, told her that whatever he had said—it hadn’t been enough to save him.

Avery straightened in her seat, forcing steel into her voice. “Let him go,” she demanded, sharper than she intended. “He had nothing to do with this.”

Nikolai let out a quiet chuckle, the sound low and amused, “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a knife. He twirled it between his fingers before flicking his gaze back to her, his expression unreadable. “You see, Talia, this is exactly what matters to me. He was with the Aleksovs. Which means he was against me.”

Her entire body went rigid, her breath shallow, her mind racing ahead.

“I need to know that I can trust you,” Nikolai murmured. “That your loyalty lies with me and no one else.”

He nodded toward his men. One of them stepped toward her, and instinct made her tense up, angling her body away in anticipation of another strike. But none came. Instead, he loosened the ropes around her wrists, the rough fibers slipping away from her raw skin. She immediately rubbed at the raw skin, watching as the other man did the same to Cam.

Nikolai watched her carefully, then dropped the knife onto the floor between them with a sharp clatter that echoed through the room. “If you are truly mine,” he said, voice cold as he arched a brow, “you will kill him.”

Avery’s breath caught, her eyes darting between the knife and Cam. “What?” she balked.

“This is not a negotiation,” Nikolai interrupted sharply, his tone cutting through her protest. “Kill him. Or I will kill you both.”

Avery shook her head, rising onto unsteady legs, pleading now. “Nik, please. He’s just a kid.” She knew begging wouldn’t work—she had seen what happened to men who begged before—but she had to try.

Nikolai just watched her. And the way his gaze softened, just for a fraction of a second, was all the confirmation she needed. He wanted to believe her. Wanted to believe that she was his. That she was loyal. She could get them out of this.

But before she could say another word, Cam lunged. The knife scraped against the floor as he grabbed it and swung at her without hesitation. Avery barely had time to react, stumbling back in surprise as he came at her. He attacked with a ferocity that made her question everything, her mind racing as she struggled to defend herself without hurting him.

“Stop!” she shouted, dodging another swing. Cam pressed forward, but she managed to knock him off balance sending the knife skidding across the floor. She pinned him down, her forearm against his throat, her knees bracketing his hips. Her voice dropped, only loud enough for him to hear, “Don’t make me hurt you.”

His dark eyes met hers, something desperate in them. Then, he twisted, using her half-hearted hold to roll her off. Avery hit the concrete with a grunt, pain flaring through her already sore and battered body. She managed to push up onto her elbows, eyes widening as Cam advanced again. She shuffled back, but he just kept coming. Kicking her leg out, she knocked the knife out of his hand, giving her enough time to struggle to her feet. She barely had time to stand up straight before Cam ran at her with a shout, knife raised.

Lifting her arms, Avery was able to stop the blade from hitting its target. Cam used his height and weight advantage to shove her stumbling backwards until she hit the wall. She whipped out an elbow, connecting with his nose with a loud crack that sends his body twisting around. The moment to catch her breath didn’t last long as he swung at her again.

But then, as she managed to grab his wrist and stop the knife advancing towards her stomach, his movements faltered. His eyes met hers, and in that split second, she saw the truth—the pain, the desperation, the unspoken apology. “Please,” Cam whispered, his voice so quiet she almost didn’t hear it, “Find my sister.”

Her grip on his wrist loosened, her heart breaking as the weight of his words sank in. “Cam—”

Before Avery could say more, he grabbed her hand, forcing it around the knife. With one swift motion, he drove the blade into his own stomach, his grip on her hand keeping it steady. Her breath hitched as the warmth of his blood spilled over her fingers, the world around her narrowing to the horrifying reality of what had just happened.

Cam’s knees buckled, and she caught him by the elbows as he fell against her. His breathing was shallow, his body trembling, but his gaze remained steady, locked onto hers. Her chest tightened as tears blurred her vision. She wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything but stand there in silence, holding the lifeless body of someone who had trusted her. But his words rang in her head, and she knew what she had to do.

Avery schooled her features into cold detachment, ripped the knife free, and threw Cam’s body off of her with a violent shove. She wiped her bloodstained hands on her pants before lifting her chin, her expression hard as she met Nikolai’s gaze. “You made me get blood on my clothes,” she snapped, spitting blood onto the ground.

For a second, Nikolai just stared at her. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a satisfied smile. “Well done,” he said, voice laced with dark amusement. “I always knew I was right about you, Talia.”

Avery swallowed down the grief clawing at her throat. She had done what she needed to do.

Now, she just had to survive long enough to make sure Cam’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain.

And one day, she would make Nikolai pay for every last thing he had done.

Avery sat in the back of the sleek black car, her heart pounding against her ribs as the lights of the city streaked past in a blur. The air inside was thick with the harsh scent of cigarette smoke and sweat, the two men up front filling the space with muttered Russian. They still didn’t fully trust her—she could feel it in their watchful glances, in the way the locks engaged automatically the second the doors shut. But for the first time in months, she wasn’t being dragged somewhere against her will.

She shifted slightly in her seat, pressing closer to the man beside her as she adjusted her seatbelt. Her fingers brushed against the inside of his coat pocket in a slow, practiced movement. The hard edge of his cell phone pressed against her palm. He didn’t notice. At the perfect moment, the car hit a pothole, and she wrapped her fingers around the device, quickly pulling it free in time with the bump.

A few moments later, the car slowed, headlights illuminating an abandoned lot near the docks. The warehouse loomed in the distance like a shadow against the night, its metal siding rusted and weathered. It looked empty, but she knew better. The men in the front exchanged a few more gruff words before stepping out, their boots crunching against the gravel. The one beside her followed, glancing at her expectantly, “Get out.”

Avery shoved her hands into her pockets, curling her fingers around the phone she’d managed to slip away, and climbed out of the car. It took everything in her not to glance down, not to make it obvious, trying to make it seem like she was just adjusting to the wind.

“You stay outside,” one of the men barked. “Nik doesn’t want you in on this yet. Watch the perimeter.”

She nodded, keeping her expression impassive. This was a test—to see if she’d run, to see if she’d betray them. But she wouldn’t. Not yet. She would wait. She would plan.

As they disappeared into the warehouse, she turned toward the shadows, her boots crunching softly against the gravel. She slipped behind a stack of wooden crates, her breath visible in the frigid night air. Heart hammering, she pulled out the phone, fingers working quickly as she scrolled past the unfamiliar Russian menus to find the keypad.

She didn’t hesitate before dialing. She knew the number by heart—had known it for years.

The line rang once. Twice.

“Halstead.”

The breath left her lungs in a stuttering exhale.

Jay’s voice. It had been so long since she’d heard it, and it hit her like a physical blow. She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, her entire body frozen, her mind suddenly blank. Tears stung her eyes as she tried to find her voice, but nothing came.

“Hello?” he asked after a beat.

Her fingers clenched around the phone as she tried to steady her breathing. She needed to answer him, needed to tell him where she was. But the weight of everything she’d been through, everything she’d become, pressed down on her chest.

“Who is this?” his tone was annoyed now, and she felt a watery smile tugging at the corners of her lips at the familiarity. The normalcy.

Her lips parted, but before she could speak, a hand clamped over her mouth. Avery let out a muffled gasp, the phone slipping from her fingers and hitting the gravel with a muted crack. Panic surged as she thrashed against the iron grip, digging her heels into the ground to stop herself from being dragged further into the dark. Her elbow shot back, connecting with something solid—a grunt of pain echoed in the silence. The hold on her mouth loosened just enough for her to spin, her fist already swinging.

Before she could land the hit, a hand caught her wrist midair. Her breathing was ragged as she blinked through the darkness, her vision adjusting. The man before her wasn’t one of Nikolai’s. “Lang?” she narrowed her eyes.

He nodded once, his grip still firm on her wrist. “Not here,” his voice was low, urgent. He glanced over his shoulder before jerking his head toward a nearby alley. “Come on.”

Avery hesitated, her mind racing in relief and confusion. At the insistent look he sent, she glanced toward the warehouse to make sure no one had seen, she followed. Agent Lang led her into a secluded alley between two buildings. The dim streetlights barely reached this far, but she could see him clearly enough.

“How did you find me?” she demanded once he faced her.

“We heard chatter,” he said instead. “I had a hunch. I’ve had agents sitting on their biggest locations for days, waiting for you.”

She gritted out, “Then why the hell haven’t you raided the warehouses and shut everything down?”

Lang exhaled, irritation flashing across his face. “We don’t have enough on Volkov,” he admitted. “You know that. We take down one location, a dozen more pop up. But you—you’re in deeper than anyone else has ever gotten. Do you have any idea what kind of opportunity this is?”

Her stomach knotted. “Opportunity?” she echoed, barely holding back the laugh bubbling in her throat. “I’ve been trying to get the hell out of here.”

“And then what?” Lang challenged, stepping closer. “You really think they won’t come after you? After your friends? Halstead?”

Avery’s breath caught in her throat, and she brought a hand to her forehead.

His voice softened just a fraction, “You run now, you spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder. But if you stay—if you finish this—we can make sure they never come for you.”

She swallowed hard. “What does finishing this even mean?”

“You’ve earned their trust, right?” Lang pressed, his tone coaxing now. At her slight nod, he continued. “They’re letting you in. That puts you in the perfect position. We have another agent inside—low-level right now, but solid. You help get him higher in the ranks. You keep feeding us intel. And when the time is right, we take them down for good.”

She shook her head, the weight of his words pressing down on her. After a movement, she sighed, “And how long am I supposed to do this?”

“Not long,” Lang promised, though she didn’t believe him. “A couple of months, tops.”

The thought of spending even one more day under Nikolai’s watch make her sick to her stomach. Avery huffed a laugh, “No.”

“Detective—"

“Does Voight know you’re here?” she interrupted. He hesitated, and his silence was answer enough. Her tongue poked out, wetting her cracked lips. “What does my team think happened to me?”

His silence was answer enough. She swallowed, “What does my team think happened to me?”

“Right now, you’re just a missing person.”

Lang’s words echoed in her mind. They’ll come after you. After your friends. Halstead.

She closed her eyes, the harsh reality of her situation washing over her. She thought of Cam. Of the blood on her hands. Of the way Jay had sounded on the phone. And she knew that Lang was right. When she opened her eyes, her decision was made. “I’ll do it.” When he opened his mouth, she cut in before he could say anything, “Conditionally. I help get your guy higher up in the ranks, and then I’m out.”

Lang nodded, his expression unreadable. She still didn’t believe him. “Take this.” He handed her a small burner phone, “I’ll be in touch.”

As he turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone in the shadows, Avery felt the weight of her choice settle over her. She shoved the phone into her waistband and forced her legs to move, stepping back into the light and resuming her position.

Even though it would only be a few months, it would only be long enough to help their agent, deep down, she knew what she just signed up for.

And deep down, whether she wanted to accept it or not, she knew that she would have to finish this.

The fluorescent buzz of the diner lights hummed over the quiet murmur of a few late-night patrons. The scent of burnt coffee and fried food lingered in the air, thick and stale. She sat in the booth furthest back, facing the door, her hands wrapped around a ceramic mug that had long since gone cold. She barely noticed the warmth had faded. The coffee had just been something to hold, something to ground her.

The ringing of the bell snapped her head up just as she was about to check the time, and she sat up straighter when she spotted Lang. He headed straight towards her, eyes scanning the restaurant and lingering on the three other people that occupied it.

“You’re late,” she snapped as he slid in across from her.

Lang raised an eyebrow, shrugging off his coat, “Traffic.”

Her glare hardened, “It’s after midnight and I’ve been sitting here, waiting. Do you know how hard it is to get even an hour away without having Nik up my ass?”

He opened his mouth to respond but paused as the waitress approached with a mug and fresh pot of coffee. They waited, offering polite smiles until the older woman left. Grabbing the cream and sugar, Lang began adding some to his coffee and arched a brow, “This wasn’t scheduled. But I’m here, so what was so important it couldn’t wait until our debrief next week?”

Avery bit back her annoyance, running a hand through her hair. She’d been running on fumes, her exhaustion catching up to her with a long sigh. “I said I’d stay to help Sanford get further up,” she started. Her fingers drummed against the chipped rim of her mug, her leg bouncing beneath the table. “That was the deal. I’d stick around, feed you intel, and when he was in a position to do damage, I’d get out.”

Lang nodded slowly, tilting his head as if waiting for her to finish the thought. He didn’t push—he never did, which is one thing she liked about him.

Inhaling sharply, she closed her eyes for a moment and forced the words out, “But I can’t walk away now.” She glanced up, noting the slight surprise on Lang’s face. She couldn’t really blame him—she talked about being done at every single one of their meetings. Lowering her voice, even though no one was around them, she swallowed hard. “They’re trafficking girls.”

His eyes widened slightly. He wasn’t expecting that. “Are you sure?”

Her jaw clenched, “I heard them talking about it. On the device I planted in Nik’s office. He still doesn’t trust me fully, but he’s hinted at something bigger going on. And it makes sense. I mean, I’ve seen girls before. At his parties. But I didn’t—" Her breath hitched, and she had to look away for a moment. It took her a beat, but she continued, “We have to stop it.”

Lang sighed, leaning back against the booth, drumming his fingers against the table in thought. “You realize how dangerous this is.”

She let out a humorless laugh, finally looking back at him. “I think I passed dangerous a long time ago. You said it yourself—no one’s ever gotten this deep. Nik’s never going to trust Sanford, he’s never even met him. You’ll never shut Volkov down without me. You’ll never find those girls without me.”

Lang smirked slightly, but it faded fast. He was quiet for a moment before reaching into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. He slid it across the table toward her.

“This came across my desk yesterday.”

Avery hesitated before picking it up, her hands trembling slightly as she unfolded it. The words blurred together at first, her mind refusing to process them. But when she did, her stomach dropped.

It was a photo. Of Jay.

Her breath caught in her lungs, struggling to make it past her clogged throat. “Whe—” she cleared her throat, “Where did you get this?”

“One of our agents from the new task force spotted him at a suspected Volkov location.”

She tightened her grip on the paper, knuckles white. “But Major Crimes took the case from them,” she said, her voice barely audible. “How did he—”

“He’s resourceful,” Lang interrupted. “And relentless. But he’s putting himself—and you—in danger. When Volkov finds out there’s a CPD detective sniffing around, a detective whose girlfriend is a missingdetective, how long do you think it’s gonna take for him to figure it out?” He lowered his voice, softening a bit, “They’ll come for him, and you know it.”

The words barely registered. Her ears were ringing, her pulse a drumbeat against her ribs. She imagined Jay—pacing, searching, chasing ghosts in the dark. She knew him. Knew the way his mind worked. If he thought there was even a chance she was alive, he’d burn the city down to find her. And he’d never stop.

She closed her eyes, willing her breathing to slow. But it wouldn’t. Jay was going to get himself killed. Because of her. And all of this, everything she’d been through, Cam… it would all be for nothing. “We have to stop him,” she muttered, the words slipping out before she’d even fully decided to say them.

Lang studied her, his expression unreadable, “I agree.” He took a slow sip of coffee. “But how?”

Her fingers curled into the paper, crumpling the edges. She had to make him stop. The answer came before she could talk herself out of it.

“CPD has to think I’m dead.”

The warehouse was alive with activity, the hum of machinery blending with the murmur of voices. Pallets of sealed crates lined the walls, their labels cryptic but unmistakably tied to Volkov’s operations. Avery stood near the edge of the commotion, arms crossed as her eyes scanned the scene. She was hyperaware of every movement, every voice, every glance in her direction. Because this was her world now.

And at the center of it was Nikolai.

He was a few yards away, commanding the room with the same calm authority that made everyone fall in line. He wore a perfectly tailored suit, as always, but there was a tension in his posture as he spoke to a group of his men. But attention was never off her for long. Even as he conducted business, his gaze flicked toward her, his expression unreadable. It was a habit of his—one she was learning to use to her advantage. The possessiveness disguised as protection. The guilt hidden behind control. The affection he forgot to mask.

Avery didn’t miss the way Boomer lingered near the edge of the group, his arms crossed, his sharp glare fixed on her. He made no attempt to hide his suspicion, his distrust. She met his gaze head-on, refusing to flinch, even as her stomach churned. She knew his type—paranoid, eager to catch anyone slipping. And she knew she couldn’t slip. Not now. Not ever.

Nik dismissed the group with a wave of his hand, his lips curving into a faint smile as he approached her. “Talia,” he greeted, his voice low and warm in the way that always made her skin crawl. His fingers brushed her arm, lingering too long, as he usually did. “You’re quiet tonight.”

She forced a small smile, stepping back just enough to make the movement seem casual. “Just taking it all in,” she said evenly, her tone giving nothing away.

Before Nik could respond, Boomer’s voice cut through the air. “Maybe she’s quiet because she’s got nothing to say.”

Nik's smile vanished instantly, his head snapping toward Boomer with a cold, dangerous precision. "Is there something you’d like to share with the group?" his voice was deceptively soft, but the warning was clear.

Boomer shrugged, his stare still locked on Avery, "Just saying. She shows up out of nowhere, all shiny and new, and suddenly she’s your second-in-command. Some of us have been here a lot longer. Maybe she hasn’t earned it."

The tension in the room shifted. The faint hum of conversation died down as the men sensed the impending storm. If they were smart, they’d learned not to question their boss. And if they were smarter, they knew not to insult her in front of him.

She narrowed her eyes, and she uncrossed her arms. She took a step forward, prepared to defend herself, but before she could speak, Nik stopped her with a hand on her arm and an intimidating step of his own. “Talia has proven her loyalty in ways you cannot begin to imagine.”

“I’m sure she has,” he bit out, eyes scanning her from head-to-toe, the implication clear.

Nik took another step, looming over him as he growled, “You would do well to remember your place.” Boomer finally looked at Nik, the way he quickly averted his eyes betraying the fear running through him. Wisely, he said nothing, his lips pressing into a thin line as he backed off. Nik turned back to her, his expression softening, though the tension in his shoulders remained. “Ignore him,” he said quietly, his hand reached out, lightly brushing his fingers against hers. “He’s a fool.”

Avery swallowed the bile rising in her throat, willing herself to keep playing the game. She brushed it off with a shrug, "I’m used to it."

Something shifted in Nik’s eyes, a flicker of guilt behind thinly veiled anger at the thought of his men disrespecting her. "You shouldn’t have to be."

Her chest tightened at his words, the sincerity in them. She hated it. Hated the way he looked at her like she was something precious, something worth protecting. He didn’t get to act like that, not after what he’d done. Not after the chains he put her, not after he stood there and watched every single thing that he made his men do to her.

But she swallowed her anger andtilted her head slightly, letting just enough vulnerability slip into her expression, just enough to make his fingers tighten around hers. Because if she knew one thing about men, it’s that they were so fucking simple. “Maybe I just need to prove myself a little more,” she said, her tone light but deliberate. “You’ve given me a lot of trust. I want to make sure I deserve it.”

Nik studied her for a moment, his gaze searching hers, “You’ve already earned it.”

“To you, maybe. But not to them. They don’t respect me.”

“They will if I tell them to,” he grit out through clenched teeth. He was angry for her. Like she was his.

“But I can do more,” she pressed. “I’ve been looking through the numbers from the shipment last week. There are discrepancies in the overseas accounts. Small, but enough to raise a red flag. I think someone’s skimming off the top.”

His entire body stilled.

Avery knew exactly what she was doing. Nikolai was obsessed with loyalty, with control. But the one thing that threatened him the most? Betrayal. And betrayal tied to his father’s operations? A wound she knew he would never ignore.

His jaw tightened, his gaze darkening, "You think someone is stealing from my father?"

So. Fucking. Simple.

She shrugged, letting a touch of reluctance slip into her expression, as if she truly cared. "It’s possible. Or it could just be sloppy bookkeeping. Either way, it’s worth checking out."

He exhaled sharply, turning the idea over in his mind. She could see the war behind his eyes—the fury, the intrigue, the need to know if someone close to his precious daddy was threatening everything. "I’ll handle it," he said finally.

"Let me help," her voice was steady, firm. "You’ve already got too much on your plate. I know the accounts. I can start digging, see if there’s anything real there."

Nik hesitated, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. She took a step closer, wrapping her fingers around his even though his touch stung. “Let me do this for you,” she said, quieter this time.

His expression softened again. This time, it looked like hope. Hope of something more. She wanted to scream, to grab him by the hair and smash his face into the concrete surrounding them. Instead, she held his gaze, let the moment stretch, let him feel the weight of it. Made him believe she was his.

Finally, he nodded. “Fine,” he lifted his other hand to tuck a loose curl behind her ear, fingers grazing her cheek, “but be careful.”

Forcing a smile, forcing herself to pretend it was someone else touching her just to stop herself from pulling out her gun, she nodded gratefully. “Always am.”

As Nik turned to address another group of men, Avery glanced toward Boomer, feeling his eyes on her. His suspicion was etched across his face, clearly having witnessed the entire exchange. She rolled her eyes, unable to bring herself to care. Nik’s men could think what they wanted—that Nik only kept her around because she warmed his bed. She could handle the whispered insults, the lewd stares and gestures. Frankly, she faced similar treatment as a female police officer. All she cared about was taking the Volkovs down. And if that meant she had to flirt a little bit to keep Nik on the hook, she would.

She turned away, gripping the edge of her sleeve between her fingers to keep her hands from shaking. Trying to wipe away the feel of his hand on hers and replace with the memory of a touch she hadn’t felt in too long.

Because she was in this.

And no matter what it took, she was going to finish it.

The private lounge in the back of the club was dimly lit, the golden glow from the overhead chandelier casting long shadows against the leather furniture. The scent of expensive cologne lingered in the air, mingling with the faint tang of whiskey and smoke. Avery sat on the armrest of a chair, her legs crossed and one hand resting casually on her knee. She twirled a glass of red wine lazily between her fingers, her eyes flicking toward Nik, who lounged on the couch opposite her, his suit as immaculate as ever. He loved taking her back here, away from prying eyes. And she let him because this was where he let his guard down, talked like they were getting closer as they opened up about their lives, their deepest, darkest secrets. If only he knew it was all a lie.

“You always drink wine,” Nik observed, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Never vodka. It’s almost... unpatriotic.”

Avery tilted her head, giving him a teasing smirk, “Maybe I just like to keep you guessing.”

“Ah,” he said, raising his glass of vodka with an amused chuckle. “A woman of mystery.”

She leaned forward slightly, the silk of her low-cut top shifting against her skin. She let him look. Let him think he was winning. “You know what they say about women of mystery... we’re always more trouble than we’re worth.”

His gaze darkened with interest, his wandering eyes returning toher face. His gaze bore into her, as if searching for the puzzle pieces only he could put together, “I think you underestimate your worth, Talia.”

Her stomach twisted at the sound of the name, but her mask didn’t slip. Instead, she let a slow, knowing smile stretch across her lips. "Careful, Nik. Flattery might get you somewhere."

Before he could respond, the door swung open abruptly, the sharp creak of its hinges cutting through the charged air. Two of Nik’s men strode in, dragging a third between them. The man stumbled, his face already sporting a nasty bruise, his shirt torn and stained with sweat.

Nik’s entire demeanor shifted. Gone was the easy amusement, the soft smirk. Cold calculation took its place. He straightened, rolling his shoulders, his expression unreadable as he set his glass down. "What is this?" he asked coolly.

The taller of the two men stepped forward, his grip tightening on their prisoner. “Caught him trying to skim off the shipment, boss. He was pocketing product.”

Avery didn't move, didn’t react, but inside, her stomach clenched as she watched the man try to stay standing on shaky legs. He was young, couldn’t be more than early twenties, and terrified.

Nik rose to his feet, adjusting his cufflinks slowly. The air in the room shifted, tension thickening like a storm about to break. He stepped forward carefully, stopping just short of the trembling man. “Is this true?” Nik asked, his voice too quiet for the situation. It was unsettling, to say the least.

The young man shook his head violently, a southern lilt to his voice, "No, boss, I swear—"

The slap came without warning, the crack of the back of Nik’s hand echoed through the room, sending him reeling. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth, and the two men became the only thing stopping him from hitting the floor. Nik hadn’t even raised his voice. He didn’t need to.

Avery shifted in her seat, her grip tightening around the wine glass. She forced herself to appear casual, indifferent. Like she belonged here. Like she hadn’t been in this very position once before. "I’m guessing we’re not giving him the benefit of the doubt?" she asked lightly, her voice laced with mock curiosity.

Nik glanced over his shoulder at her, his amusement flickering back for just a second. "Do you think I should?"

She shrugged, pretending to consider it, "I’m just saying, sometimes people make mistakes. Doesn’t mean they’re not useful."

His lips curved into a faint smirk, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he turned back to the man with a quirked brow. “Is that what you did? Make a mistake?”

“I swear, I wasn’t—" the young man stammered.

Nik cut him off with a sharp laugh, leaning closer, “I don’t believe you.” He gestured to one of his men, and she knew what that meant.

Her stomach plummeted. The man left the room and returned minutes later, carrying a familiar device in his hands. The same one they had used on her. Her breath caught in her throat.

No. Not this.

Her body froze, a phantom pain searing through her at the sight of it. The memory of it—the agony, the helplessness—ripped through her like it was happening again. "Wait," she heard herself say before she could think.

Nik held up a hand, halting his man’s movements. He turned to her, curiosity flickering behind his empty eyes, "Oh?"

She swallowed the lump in her throat before standing, "Let me get him to talk."

For a brief moment, Nik looked… surprised. But then, his surprise shifted into something else. Admiration. Excitement. Sick, twisted pride. "Be my guest," he said smoothly, stepping back and gesturing toward the prisoner.

The two enforcers released their hold, shoving the young man down onto his knees. He whimpered, the scent of fear rolling off him in waves. Avery stepped toward him, slipping effortlessly into the role she had perfected. Cold. Detached. Dangerous. “Are you working alone?” she asked, her voice steady, almost bored.

He shook his head, sobbing, "I didn’t—"

She cut him off with a sharp knee to his face. Blood splattered onto the floor. He choked on a cry, cradling his nose as fresh crimson dripped between his fingers. It wasn’t broken—she didn’t hit him hard enough for that. But even if it was… She would take a broken nose over that machine any day.

Crouching before him, she gripped his hair tightly and tilted his head up, forcing him to meet her eyes. "This doesn’t have to be difficult, babe," she murmured, her tone almost soothing. "Just answer the question."

“I swear,” he sobbed, rambling as his entire body shook, “Ma’am, I swear, I didn’t do anything.”

She let out a quiet, amused laugh, glancing over her shoulder at Nik. He was watching her with open appreciation. With something more. Something possessive. "Ma’am,” she mocked, making Nik bite back a laugh of his own. She let go, stepping around the young man. Her hand went to the gun at the back of her jeans. She pulled it free, pressing it to the base of his skull and clicking off the safety.

The room held its breath, the only sound being the man’s whimper, knowing exactly what the sound was.

"I’m not a very patient person," Avery growled lowly, applying just enough pressure to make the barrel dig into his skin. As the silence stretched, though, she was starting to worry that this wouldn’t work. That she would have to pull the trigger.

But then—he broke. “I’m sorry!" the man cried, collapsing under the weight of his own terror. "It was just me! My mom—she’s sick, I needed—"

Avery barely heard the rest, focusing on suppressing the sigh of relief threatening to escape. She clicked the safety back on, tucking the gun away as she turned to Nik with an arched brow. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Nik’s smirk returned, but his gaze had darkened. Lust. Admiration. Possession. He stepped toward her, too close, his voice low and warm, "You always like to play the savior."

"I just think killing should be a last resort,” she met his gaze, forcing her expression to remain cool. “Dead men can’t fix their mistakes. And there are quicker ways of getting people to talk than torture.”

A flicker of something passed through Nik’s eyes—something deep. Regret. Guilt. For a moment, she saw the memory of what he had done to her reflected in his own expression. Good.

Let him remember. Let him suffer. Let him believe she had forgiven him. Let him believe she was his.

Because one day, he would regret it.

The office was eerily quiet. Avery's fingers trembled as she rifled through the stacks of papers on Nik’s desk, flipping through pages of coded transactions, logistics reports, offshore accounts—evidence of an empire built on destruction.

She was running out of time. She always was.

Frustrated, she threw down the papers and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as she leaned her hands on the desk. Think, Avery. She scanned the office carefully before lingering on a painting hanging on the opposite wall. More than once she’d walked in on Nik standing before it, “admiring its beauty” as he put it before brushing her hair from her face and saying that the artwork paled in comparison to her. Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes at the memory, she quickly moved over to the painting and started feeling around the edges until—

Gotcha.

Avery clicked the button, and the painting came off the wall like a door. Her relief was short-lived though as she was faced with an electronic keypad. Five digits, but each number also had letters, so the possibilities were endless. She swore under her breath, glancing over her shoulder towards the door. Her gaze traveled to the couch where Nik usually sat. She’d spent hours on that couch listening to him open up about his life and his feelings and pretending like she gave a damn. She only had one shot at this. She had to be sure.

4-7-4-6-2

She held her breath and watched as the light turned from red to green, a disbelieving laugh escaping past her lips. There weren’t many things in this world that Nikolai cared about. But he would always get a sad, wistful look on his face when he talked about his late mother. Irina.

Opening the safe, Avery moved around the stacks of money and passports until her eyes caught on what she’d spent months searching for. A ledger—a thick book with worn edges, its contents scribbled in a mix of Russian and English. Dates. Locations. Names. At first glance, it looked like another inventory list, but she knew better. This wasn’t the drugs or guns.

This was it. This was them.

She’d slowly been keeping records of the girls—sneaking photos at Nik’s parties, copying the ‘advertisements’ from the cell phones of his men that she’d cloned. Proof that they existed, because she didn’t know if she would ever find them. Her breath hitched as she ran a finger along the entries, feeling bile rise in her throat. Shipments. Transfers. Payments. All meticulously documented. The girls were nothing more than transactions. Then, something stood out. An address. It was scribbled hastily in Cyrillic but unmistakable. She forced herself to read it twice, a slow exhale leaving her lips. It was in Chicago. It had to be where they were keeping them.

Avery tore the page free and folded it into a tight square, tucking it into the waistband of her jeans. She knew she should wait, bring this to Lang, but—no. She couldn’t risk it. She already knew someone in the DEA was on Volkov's payroll. She’d been feeding Lang just enough to keep him from suspecting her, but the truth? She was keeping her own files. Gathering her own evidence. Until she knew who she could trust, she wasn’t giving this case to anyone but herself. And leaving it to the person she trusted most in the world if something happened to her.

She couldn’t wait for back-up. She couldn’t wait for dark. The girls couldn’t wait.

When she got to the warehouse, she sat across the street and watched the pattern of the guards, waiting. Waiting for an opening. Until she saw it. One set of guards disappeared inside, the others dragging their feet toward a cigarette break. The side door remained unmanned.

Avery slid out of the car, her breath coming slow and steady. She moved quickly, pulling the hood of her jacket up to conceal her face. The cold metal of her gun pressed against her back as she approached the door. A quick check. A silent prayer.

She slipped inside and immediately felt suffocated by the stale air. She crept through the building, peeking around corners until she got to a bolted door. Avery reached for her tools, her hands slick with sweat as she picked the lock, her fingers shaking as she worked. Seconds stretched into eternity before she heard the soft, satisfying click, and she pulled it open.

Rows of cages lined the walls. Her stomach twisted violently. Young girls—some barely in their teens—locked behind metal bars, their faces pale and hollow. Their eyes empty. She knew that look. She’d seen it staring back at her in the mirror, seen it behind Nadia’s glare the moment she met her.

Avery felt a lump lodge in her throat. She recognized a few from their photos, but it was so much different seeing them. For real, like this. Her hands clenched into fists. Rage burned hot under her skin.

"It's okay," she whispered, her voice barely holding steady as she approached the closest cage. "I'm here to help you."

The girl inside didn’t move, her eyes darting to the door as if expecting someone to burst in at any moment. Avery working quickly on the lock, this one much easier than the door, until it finally clicked open. She pushed the door wide, gesturing for the girl to step out.

“Come on,” she said urgently, holding out her hand. “You can trust me.”

The girl hesitated for a moment, frozen in fear, before she took a tentative step forward. But before she could grab Avery’s hand, the door slammed open behind them, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. The girls screamed, the one she freed jerking back and curling into a ball in the corner. Avery froze, her blood running cold as she slowly raised her hands to show she was unarmed.

“Well, well,” one of them sneered, accent thick as he stepped forward. She recognized the voice immediately as Maks, one of Nikolai’s most trusted men. “What do we have here?"

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath before turning around slowly, keeping her hands up. Maks’ eyes widened for a moment, and then his mouth curled into a wicked smirk. “Call the boss,” Maks ordered the man beside him, “Tell him we found his whore.”

She clenched her jaw and took a step forward, freezing when the man closest to her raised his gun. Avery scanned her surroundings quickly before meeting Maks’ eyes. “You don’t want to do that,” she reasoned.

He chuckled, “You can’t talk your way out of this one, ty tupaya suka.”

Avery arched a brow in challenge, pausing. Then she threw the lock-picking set still in her hand into the closest man’s face, taking him off guard for just a moment. But the moment was long enough to allow her to act. She dove to the right, grabbing a crowbar from a nearby table and swinging it with all her strength. It connected with the man’s arm, the impact sending a jolt through her own body. He stumbled back with a grunt as his gun clattered to the ground, but the others were on her in seconds.

She twisted one man’s arm, dislocating his shoulder with a crunch. He yelped as she wrapped an arm around his neck, using his body to block her own as the men fired. The sound of scream reminded her of the girls—she had to get out of here before one of them got hurt. Avery spotted another door over her shoulder and started walking backwards, dragging the man with her. She felt the impact as the bullets ripped through him and when he went limp, she held on as long as she could. When she was close enough to the door, she threw him down into a heap on the concrete floor and ran, dodging shots firing her way. She used the crowbar to bust off the handle, kicking the door open.

The commotion only attracted more guards, men yelling to each other in Russian over the pounding in her ears. She pulled out her gun and fired behind her before ducking behind a stack of crates. Her breaths came out in short pants as she waited. Heavy footsteps approached carefully and when she saw the barrel of the gun, she moved. Avery reached out and grabbed his arm, yanking hard, and he fired shots into the air as they struggled. She managed to land a shot to his shoulder before spotting another man approaching, firing twice in his chest.

Still alive and fighting back, Avery anchored her arm around the back of his neck and twisted her leg around his lower half. She focused all of her strength into her legs, rolling to the ground and bringing the man with down with her. He landed heavily with her weight atop him and she fired at another man approaching from the north before finishing off the one below her.

There was a brief moment where she was alone and she tried to catch her breath, glancing around for a way out. The rush of footsteps brought her back to focus and she quickly pulled out her clip, checking how many bullets she had left.

Fuck.

Two more men entered the room she was in, and she stood, pulling the trigger and watching as her last bullet ripped into one of them. She adjusted her grip on the gun and rushed at the other, hitting his hand just in time that she felt the bullet whiz past her face. Tightening her hold, she whipped the gun in his direction, connecting with his temple with a crack. His own gun tumbled from his grip, but he managed to knock her to the ground. Her elbows ached as they collided with the concrete, and she groaned.

The man stood above her, a smirk growing as he pulled out a pocket knife, switching open the blade with a metallic click. Knowing her gun was useless now, she slowly got to her feet and tossed it aside. Avery lifted her fists in a fighting stance, praying that all of those late-night sparring sessions would help her now.

She fought like hell, her movements frantic but purposeful. She ducked and weaved, landing punches and kicks wherever she could. A sharp pain exploded in her side as he landed a jab with the knife, radiating throughout her body as it stole the breath from her lungs. She couldn’t help the sound that escaped past her lips, broken and angry as her eyes screwed shut. A hand flew to the fresh wound, warm blood immediately covering her shaking fingers. She stumbled back, her vision swimming, but she refused to go down. Her watery eyes darted to the man’s gun a few feet away, and she knew he spotted it too.

They both lunged for it at the same time. Her fingers closed around the grip, but he was right on top of her, trying to rip it from her hands. Avery threw back her elbow, colliding with his nose and sending him tripping back with a yell. She spun around and fired, silencing him with a single bullet to the head. With a slightly relived breath, she lowered the gun and pressed again at her side with another pained sound. She had to get out of here, but it was like a maze, every door leading to another room.

Hearing the footsteps and yells of more men approaching, she didn’t have a choice. She spotted another door and rushed over to it, shooting at the lock. When she opened it, the cool breeze blew her hair in front of her face, and she blinked against the sunlight.

And she ran.

prev . . . next

#jay halstead #jay halstead x oc #jay halstead fanfiction #chicago pd #chicago pd fanfiction #story: absentia #gifs are not mine: ask if you would like yours removed

14 notes · View notes

royculkins · 2 years ago

Text

the universal curse of sensitivity — igby slocumb

Part One: Smoke and Mirrors

PART TWO

Pairing: Igby Slocumb x reader

Warnings: Drug use, explicit language, underage nicotine use, underage drinking, neglectful parents, predatory adults, and more that can be found in the movie: Igby Goes Down

Summary: Troublesome kids will always reach to find love and acceptance, even if it means making a mess where it's unintended. They’re just kids, but the older they get, the worse their inner conflicts haunt them. They want to please, but long to be pleased. They’re dramatic and self-sabotaging, they can’t help it⸺its the universal curse of their sensitivity.

Authors Note: Giving Igby the love interest he deserves!!! (one that is age appropriate and doesn’t lay a hand on him!). also! i made this gender neutral but this is my first time writing this way so please let me know if i made any mistakes!!

4.5k words

Igby hated being a fucking drug dealer.

The money was fine, the freedom was liberating and questionable, but the people he met fueled him full of disgust and annoyance. It had seemed that every person he had come in contact with was stupid and unworthy of such carefree lifestyles. A part of him wondered if it was jealousy. How could these people live their lives while he was on the run from his? It was unfair. However, it wasn’t like he could stop⸺he needed this; he needed the place to stay. Russel wasn’t his first pick, but it was the only one he currently had.

Run around, deliver drugs, and get a sometimes vacant spot on a stained couch that held onto an odd odor and sticky substance. It was the deal of a fucking lifetime⸺increasingly better than anytime spent at boarding schools and military academies.

As the sun followed his deliveries closely, it hovered over him⸺almost judgingly. Staring up at the building, the boy could feel a scowl twist upon his face as he squinted against the glare of the burning star in the sky.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

The building stood tall and glamorously, mocking anyone who passed it⸺casting condescending glances at those who couldn’t even afford to stand in the lobby. It was destined to be filled with rich people with reckless habits and internal madness. Just fucking peachy. Sending a fleeting glance to the people entering and exiting the building, the boy worked to smooth his jacket down in hopes to blend in with the proper fucks surrounding him. Rolling his neck as his frustration of the day settled between his shoulder blades⸺he caught sight of you. Your upper body lazily dangling out the window seal.

The sun formed around you like a halo, the glare too harsh to make out your features, but its rays caught onto the smoke from the cigarette hanging from your mouth. Pulling the burning cancer from between your lips, you tilted your head at the boy standing directly under the blazing light from the sky, “Are you Iggy?”

A loud scoff passed his lips as his eyes rolled toward the back of his head. Annoyance seeped through his skin as he threw his hands up⸺a wide, fake grin on his face as his words dripped with mocked enthusiasm, “Yeah, yeah, that’s fucking me!”

From the window, you let an amused grin stretch across your face at the boy's dismay. He couldn’t see your reaction⸺every time he tried to look up at you, the sun would blind him mercilessly. However, his frustration was clear as he kicked a rock and muttered the name to himself with disdain, “Iggy, yeah fuck you, fucking Iggy.”

“Come on up!”

Igby looked back to where your silhouette once was, only to be met with the light reflecting off your now closed window. Gone without a single trace of existence⸺not even smoke lingered, it seemingly disappearing with you. Letting out a huff, the boy pushed past the people on the sidewalk and toward the building, sending the doorman a brief glance as he entered the complex. He tried to stay neutral as he caught sight of every expensive piece of furniture in the lobby as well as the prestigious population that the large building held. However, as he entered the elevator, he became suddenly aware that he’d be trapped in a moving box with the very people he had spent so long running from. A smirk slid onto his face as he made eye contact with a woman in the elevator⸺she looked like his mother⸺only uglier.

The older woman tried to look away, but his hazel eyes bore into the side of her face, his smirk unmoving. Giving the boy a side-eyed glance, the resident of the building shifted uncomfortably and edged closer to the door⸺ready to get off on a floor that wasn’t her own. The action sent a gleeful spark into Igby as he stepped forward as well, he was getting off on his rightful floor, but it was entertaining to see the woman stumble over her next move. As the elevator doors slid open, the boy stepped off and turned to the woman who watched him with wide eyes. Grinning madly, Igby waved his fingers at her, “Don’t worry, I’ll get off with you next time.”

As the doors shut with a horrified woman behind them, the boy laughed wickedly⸺tormenting people would never get old. Licking at his cracked lips, the boy was pulled away from his entertainment at the sound of an apartment door opening behind him. His eyes fell onto you as you leaned your back against the threshold of the door and crossed your arms over your chest. Your eyes scanned his features, analyzing him so closely that he felt annoyance tug at his chest. He hated being observed. He hated being perceived. The feeling it gave him brought a soured expression to his face. Quirking up an eyebrow, you scoff lightly to yourself, “Jesus Christ, you’re just a kid.”

He would have let it go. Truly, if you had been the first, second, even third customer of Russels, then he might’ve been able to let your comment roll off his back. However, you weren’t the first or second, and you sure as hell weren’t the third⸺you were the last fucking delivery of the day, and his thin layer of patience had been ripped from him when he made contact with a woman who knew his perfect fucking brother.

“You’re one to fucking talk,” The boy snapped as he pushed past you into your apartment, letting his shoulder connect harshly with yours. His eyes naturally rolled as he caught sight of your rich people furniture, and your rich people art, and your rich people decor. The air was stiff with precision, and the room looked untouched; as if ghosts were the only ones who paced the apartment. The only indication that you lived there was the glass of water and ashtray that idly sat on the window seal, as well as your jacket that barely hung onto one of the perfectly placed floral couches. He turned to look at you, and with the sun's glare being outside, he could finally take in the features of your face. Huffing out a bitter burst of air, the boy shook his head, “What are you? Fucking fifteen?”

“Seventeen.”

Igby watched as you shut the door, noting to himself that you were the same age, but making no effort to inform you of that fact. Instead, he let his face screw up into a distasteful look. You had a delighted look on your face, one that only rich people could perfect when they felt notorious. It was unnerving, but what you said next only further irked him.

“The last few people Russel sent were junkies in their late thirties trying to be featured in his next ‘phenomenal’ project⸺so excuse my surprise to see someone youthful, and sober, for once.”

You now stood in front of him, eyeing his yellow and red striped scarf before allowing the pads of your fingers to reach out and feel the fabric. He wanted to rip the piece of clothing out of your grasp, but you had beat him to it, lightly placing it back against his chest before turning around and walking toward the window, where you lit another cigarette. Scoffing lightly, the boy trailed closer toward you as you opened the window, sitting on the seal just as you had before when he saw you from the sidewalk.

“You’re telling me that the seventeen year old rich, spoiled junkie didn’t like when fellow junkies entered the posh and prissy castle?” Igby hummed in question, mocking curiosity as his eyebrows raised and sarcasm shone brightly in his hazel eyes. His tone brought a spark to your chest and a jump to one of your eyebrows.

Blowing smoke out the side of your mouth toward the window, you let your knee bounce involuntarily before smirking with a nod, “Uh-huh.”

Sending you back his own sarcastic smirk, the boy began to dig through his bag for his intended reason for meeting you in the first place. Pulling out the crumbled brown paper bag with your name lazily scribbled on it, Igby held it out for you to take. He watched closely as you ripped it open with ease, throwing the tube of cocaine and baggy of heroin to the side as you clung onto the bigger bag of weed. Opening the Ziploc bag, you brought it to your nose and smelled the drug that made the everlasting headache dull, a relieved smile ghosting your features before your eyes locked onto Igby. At the sudden eye contact, the boy looked away, cursing at himself for staring at you for too long. But he couldn’t help it. The way you reacted to the smell reminded him of his time at the academy, when he’d sneak smoke sessions with the other troublesome kids. He remembered the liberating sensation of the high, and your response to just the smell felt like looking in a mirror. They were so obviously two kids with bigger feelings and conflicts than what met the eye⸺too bad; neither would ever be willing to admit it.

Stabbing the nub that was left of your cigarette into the ashtray, you close the window and held the bag of weed up for the boy to look at. Once his eyes shifted from the drugs to your face, he could see a suggestive smile coating your features, “What do you say, Igby, you wanna smoke with me?”

His name falling from your lips made his stomach turn, but not because it sounded perfect or romantic. No, because earlier, you had called him Iggy. Meaning you knew his name the entire fucking time, and you were just being annoying. The thought made his eyebrows crease with frustration, and his lips curl into a scowl. His reaction only further intrigued you; it had been a long time since you received such large reactions to your harmless mischief. Maybe that was why you had asked him to join you. Maybe you missed having someone actually respond like a human being rather than a porcelain statue of perfection. Your suggestive smile leaned toward a teasing gesture as you tilted your head, “What? You don’t smoke?”

“No, I do⸺with friends. Never with my drug dealer, though,” Igby’s voice, you noted, always held onto a relish of sarcasm. You wondered if he liked the taste of it, if the sarcasm tasted bittersweet against his tongue. At his words, you let your eyes fall briefly to your lap, causing the boy to gleam with pride. The very smile that he hated, the one that all rich people perfected when they felt notorious, was now slapped onto his own face, “What’s the matter? Rich girl can’t buy any friends to smoke with?”

“You’re not my drug dealer. You’re just the delivery boy, Russels gone through a few of them.” You couldn’t let him have it; you were both too stubborn to not have the last word. Too stubborn to not have superiority over the other. It was rooted deep in your veins and embedded into your bones. The children of wealthy parents⸺always prepared to kick someone off a pedestal with a smile on their faces. Oh, how the nasty cycle of generational responses continued onto the children, “And I do have friends.”

If what you had said bothered Igby, he didn’t show it. Instead, he brought his finger up to his mouth and tapped on his lips as he scanned the area of your empty apartment. He hummed lightly to himself before his eyes landed back on you, his finger leaving his face to point at you and the rest of the room with a condescending smile, “Really? I don’t see any.”

You smiled⸺he had just insulted you and claimed you had no friends, and you smiled. If he had been anyone else, you would’ve never let him stay in your apartment this long. He would have been just like the other delivery boys that Russel had sent, the ones that never made it past the threshold of the door and never got more than a few sentences out before you’d reach for your drugs and slam the door in their face. But Igby was entertaining to you; his reactions felt theatrical, and his burning annoyance was delightful against your boring and cold apartment life. The bite of his words left you wanting more, only leading to you instigating more from him⸺refusing to let the easy banter die.

“That’s because you haven’t met my best friend, Hugh. He’s the apartments doorman⸺total gossip but does more cocaine than a rockstar. I’m sure if you say pretty please, he’d snort it out of your asshole. You seem into that.”

There was a faint recognition in the boy's eyes as he recalled passing the said doorman on his way into the building. The older man who looked one harsh wind away from disintegrating into thin air. Sure, your words were vulgar and explicit, but Igby still found it funny. Not enough to laugh, but enough to let the right side of his lips lift humorously. You stared at his lips momentarily, a powerful emotion glowing in your chest at the reaction before glancing out the window. Suddenly standing up, you moved around the boy who followed you with his eyes, watching as you began to put your jacket on, “Look, are you coming or not? I’d like to smoke before the sun’s gone.”

He didn’t want to. Truthfully, he found you annoying, even more so now that he knew you did it on purpose. However, he hadn’t smoked in what felt like forever. You’d think living with a drug supplier would lead to an unlimited source, but Russel had landed a hard smack to the back of his head, refusing to give away any for free. Besides, you had already paid⸺it was free⸺how could he possibly say no?

That’s how you both ended up on the roof of your apartment, trying to stay warm against the nip in the air. Igby stood with his body leaning over the ledge, watching the people walk below, his left leg bouncing as he shoved his face further into his scarf. You sat beside him, facing him as you straddled the ledge. One leg grazed the rooftop while the other dangled over the side of the building. If you had begun to swing your legs, you could easily kick the boy in front of you, but if you did, you’d also risk losing your balance and sending yourself plummeting toward the cement in front of your apartment. You tried to work quickly in rolling the joint as your breath became more visible.

Glancing at you briefly, Igby sniffed before speaking, pulling his face away from his scarf so you could hear his words against the wind, “How does someone like you even meet someone like Russel?”

“Someone like me?” Your eyebrows jump in question as your eyes lift to meet his while bringing the paper to your lips to moisten the side. Haphazardly, he watches your tongue touch the paper before looking back at the people on the sidewalks.

“Yeah, I mean, I can almost guarantee you didn’t meet in the millionaire row at the fucking–Kentucky Derby–or whatever you waste your money on.”

You smile to yourself as you continue your work, shaking your head while recalling your first encounter with Russel, “I went to one of those art exposés, or whatever the fuck they are. He was there; he had a featured piece or something. Everyone kept saying how amazing it was⸺it looked like everything else in the damn place. He overheard me shitting on it and told me I was a small-minded imbecile who didn’t have the capacity to understand such large-scale art pieces.”

The boy listened closely to every word you said, your words tangling together to paint the picture of a memory in which he wasn’t a part of. His eyebrows knit together as he looked back at you. He was quick to notice the red tint at the tip of your nose and how your hands shook slightly from the cold. He didn’t understand how this story could possibly be true, but you didn’t look like you were lying. That morning, when Russel had given him the rundown of all of his customers, you had been the one Russel wanted Igby to take the most care of, claiming that you were his most valuable customer and told Igby to tell you that he sent all his love⸺Igby had yet to relay the message and still hadn’t planned on following through with the action. As you continued, it only became more unclear as to why Russel would ever send you ‘all his love.’

“He ended up inviting me to the afterparty, saying that maybe if I spent my time with those in tune with their creative side, then maybe, I could see the truth of the art. He was totally full of shit. It was just a bunch of junkies kissing each other's asses and repeating the same mantra over and over again⸺but the drugs were good, so I stayed. I told Russel that the whole art thing was shit, but he kept inviting me back⸺eventually started dealing me the drugs when I couldn’t attend any more of the parties.”

You finished your story with a nonchalant shrug, never lifting your chin from your chest, even when you could feel him watching you. Squinting slightly, Igby shifted on his feet, “Why would he keep inviting you when you kept shitting on his work?”

“Because I roll the perfect blunt,” You hold up the finished product with a playful and youthful grin on your face. Quirking his eyebrow, the boy smirked as he reached for it. As he took the joint from you, your fingers brushed together⸺both of you acknowledging that your fingertips had gone numb against the cold. Analyzing it briefly, the boy couldn’t deny your statement. It was perfectly rolled, unlike any of the ones he had let Sookie roll when they had smoked together. He could still remember his disdain when the blonde handed him the skinniest joint he had ever seen.

Putting it on the side of his mouth, the boy leaned back to search his pockets for a lighter, however, you had beat him to it. One hand flicked the lighter on while the other rose to shield the flame from the wind. Instinctually, the boy leaned forward, allowing the fire to light the end of the joint.

At the sudden closeness, you were able to see the faded freckles that littered across his nose, as well as the flecks of honey that decorated his irises. He looked young, and he looked beautiful with rosy cold cheeks and a slightly quivering lip. His eyes flicked up from the flame to your face as well, the both of you silently observing and collecting remembrances of the other's features. Even as you lowered your hands, the two of you stayed close in proximity, favoring the warmth that radiated between you.

It wasn’t until the sun peaked through the taller buildings and directly into your eyes that you pulled away from him. Rubbing at your nose and sniffling softly, you watched as Igby took the first hit, “What about you? How does a fellow rich kid meet someone like Russel?”

“What makes you think I’m rich?”

You roll your eyes as you reach forward and let your fingers grip onto his scarf, raising it into his eye line and slightly waving it as your main source of evidence, “It’s a dead giveaway⸺unless you stole it or something.”

“Maybe I did.” He smirks humorously as the smoke pushes through his nose, handing you the blunt as he spoke.

You take a hit of the joint, inhaling deeply before holding onto it, allowing the drug to spread through your body in a warm, tingling sensation. The feeling causes you to roll your head back before blowing the smoke into the sky, your shoulders no longer tense at the release. Letting your head fall back into place, you met Igby’s newly sparkling, intrigued eyes⸺you smile lazily, “I doubt it.”

The joint is once again passed into his hands, “And why’s that?”

“Call it intuition,” You shrug with a small smirk as he takes another hit. Truth was, it was all in the way he wore the scarf. If he had stolen it, he’d showcase it or even treat it a little better. Instead, Igby placed it on his neck out of habit and oftentimes forgot it was even wrapped around his neck. It seemed he only ever remembered it when you had it in between your fingers.

The boy watches you closely before exhaling, flicking at the joint softly before handing it back to you, “I met him through Rachel⸺I lived with her for a while.”

At the confession, your eyebrows pull together, trying to scan through your time spent with Russel and see if you could remember a Rachel. As the girl's face becomes clear in your mind, you begin to wonder what a kid like Igby was doing living with a twenty-something-year-old dancer. At the sight of faint recognition in your eyes, Igby rubbed his cold hands together, “You know her?”

“Yeah, I know her.” You recall the older woman sitting beside you at multiple different afterparties, yelling over the music and the noise about how evolved the expression of dance was and how influential it could be if the world weren’t so narrow-minded⸺like you. After nearly four different occurrences of the same conversation, you found that the only way to shut her up was by handing her a joint or a tightly rolled hundred-dollar bill with white residue on it, “How’s the bitch doing anyway?”

“She overdosed.”

You paused mid-inhale, your eyes locking with Igby’s brown ones as your body burned at the new information. Awkwardly pulling the joint from your lips, you shift on the ledge, your foot now heavily caressing the ground of your rooftop, “Is she..?”

“She’s alive.” For the most part. Igby couldn’t find it in himself to tell you that Rachel was a heartbroken ghost of a woman in a dying body. Not when your neck turned bright red at his words. You nodded somberly, handing him the joint before rubbing your hands against your thighs⸺a teasing smile ghosting over your features, “So you just brought that up to make me look like a bitch, huh?”

“Trust me; I don’t have to make you⸺you’re doing well enough on your own.”

You faked a laugh and gave the boy a wide, still fake, smile, “Alright, Igby.”

He caught sight of the way your face screwed up at his name. Obviously, finding it a little foreign to the tongue, even when you were lightly taunting him. And because of the pattern of people who mocked him or asked him what the fuck was up with his name⸺he decided to make the first move to avoid the dreaded conversation in the long run, “Are you going to ask me about it?”

“About what?” You look away from the setting sun and into Igby’s eyes, as he takes a hit, his eyes already trained on your face.

“My name. Don’t you want to know the story behind it or something?”

Your eyebrows pull themselves together as he blows the smoke out of the corner of his lips, letting the wind carry it out and away from you both. Crossing your arms in an attempt to warm up your hands, you shake your head, “Is it a funny story or something?”

“Oh, yeah. Just another story of how much of a disappointment I am to my family. Hilarious!” A grin had been slapped onto his face as his words dripped with fake enthusiasm. His eyes sparkled against the sun, a glimmer of dread disappearing before it had even properly introduced itself to you. The statement made you pause, finding yourself alerted by the similarities of your coping skills.

It was as if he had held up a mirror to show you how you looked every day. Dropping hints of unsettling family trauma with wide grins and humorous tones. But it was the eyes, it was always the fucking eyes. The window to your soul or whatever the fuck it was. They were always the one indicator of your truest emotion, shining dimly before being forced back underwater. You both had gotten used to pushing it away. Many didn’t see your emotions when it was present⸺no one considered you valuable enough to make eye contact, so your emotions went undetected. Everyone just assumed you took everything as a joke, unaware of how deeply your emotions crashed into your soul and bared a weight on your life.

But you saw it in Igby. You saw the dread that the statement brought before humor replaced it. You saw a little piece of him chip away as he said a mournfully honest thing with a laugh⸺as if he had this very conversation so many times that he was well rehearsed in turning it into a joke.

You saw it. So you decided not to pry for the haunting family stories, and you decided not to poke fun at his name so he wouldn’t need to continue on with act one of his neverending play. Instead, you took a hit of the joint, blew the smoke directly into his chest, and shrugged nonchalantly, “Eh, pass.”

Taking what was left of the joint out of your fingers, the boy's eyes jumped from it to your face. His stare was hard, heavier than it had been the entire afternoon⸺as if he was trying to dissect any microexpression that may have lingered. He also found himself waiting for you to change your mind. Neither came. Your face was smooth, and your decision was final. Maybe it was the effects of the weed finally catching up to him, but the longer he stared, the wider his captivating grin grew. It was only a mere second before a giggle pushed past his lips.

The sound caused your eyebrows to rise; you hadn’t expected the high-pitched noise. And maybe you had begun to feel the effects as well because soon your smile grew wide on your face until your own giggles easily escaped your lips, intermixing effortlessly with Igbys. And as the two of you continued to laugh, the chill of the air became warm with the unfamiliar sense of companionship.

Oh, how things would never be the same.

┗━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┛ ┗━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┛

PART TWO

#igby slocumb #igby slocumb x reader #igby goes down #kieran culkin x reader #kieran culkin #igby x reader #roman roy #roman roy x reader #rory culkin #rory culkin x reader #igby

192 notes · View notes