#Crack is the Pulse of the Stars

[pulseofthestars]

Kamille seeing another Kamille, “... Did I go too long without sleep again?”

@astralmirrors​

[deepspacenova]

𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐒

4500 words | Dragon!Sylus. Banter. Sexual tension. Smut. (aka the holy trifecta)

Note: Basically written based on headcanons and vibes. Because no, I am not okay about this myth card. Let’s all be not okay together xx

The icy air prickled on her skin as she scrambled her way through the rocky terrain that led down to the cavern system. 

She couldn’t help but feel a thrum of adrenaline-infused excitement as she crept into the darkness, the fissures in the rock overhead illuminating the tunnel with speckled moonlight as she slipped through the silent shadows. 

She paused for a moment, her breath curling into silver mist in front of her. The stars were high, and the cave ahead was quiet and blissfully unaware of her presence; she had time for a moment of indulgence. She took a deep breath, the intense chill of the night air revitalizing her. 

She had certainly seen worse.

Once upon a time she’d loathed heights, but she’d experienced far worse things over the years than being a few extra metres from the ground. After the war she’d thought it would be easy to fall back into her life, thought it would feel like being back on solid ground, but she’d been wrong, so caught up in changing the world that she didn’t even realise that she had changed too. Now…

Now she had to get back to work.

She hugged the jagged rock walls, her boots crunching softly against the gritty floor of the cave as she crept deeper into the shadows. Overhead, the roof of the cavern became higher and darker, glittering with faint streaks of quartz that caught the dim light filtering through unseen cracks above. 

What would her younger self think of this? Sneaking into a monster’s lair to pilfer his treasure? She imagined that naive girl, horrified beyond belief, clinging to ideals about honor and fairness. But those ideals didn’t pay for food, for shelter. The truth was simple: wealth changed the world. And if she had to steal it from the claws of a monster, then so be it. 

The path curved sharply, and just ahead, the faintest glint of gold sparkled in the dim light. Her heart skipped, her pulse quickening. 

Something was wrong. 

The chamber’s massive iron door, usually sealed tight, was cracked open, its hinges groaning faintly as a draft stirred the cavern air.

Damn it. She’d been so close. So close she could taste it. But now—

The faintest sound reached her ears—a low scrape, like claws dragging across stone. It was so subtle she almost missed it over the hammering of her heart as she gripped the dagger at her side.

Carefully, she tilted her head to peek around the corner.

The chamber opened into a vast expanse of shimmering treasure. Gold coins, goblets, gems, and gilded weapons spilled across the cavern floor in glittering piles. But her attention wasn’t on the wealth — it was on the hulking figure sprawled atop the stone mound.

The dragon. 

His massive form was sprawled on the pedestal, onyx scales glinting in the faint light like shards of obsidian. Smoke curled lazily around him as he rested its head on a palm, like a domesticated creature in repose.

Her stomach twisted. She’d expected him to be there, of course, but seeing him in the flesh was another thing entirely. The beast was impossibly large, his spiked wings resting behind him like folds of a midnight curtain. His tail swished idly, the tip flicking lazily as it held his prize, her prize. The Thread of Celestia, the sparkling necklace she’d set out to retrieve.

The very sight of him irked her. The sheer arrogance of him. No disguise, no armor, no clothing, he wasn’t even sticking to the shadows, the cocky, brutish– 

“Your stealth skills could use some work.” He called, his voice low and resonant, cutting through the quiet night like a blade through silk.

She rolled her shoulders, cracked her neck and gripped her dagger. 

She stepped out into the moonlight, allowing the glow to illuminate her silhouette. His massive form shifted, but he didn’t move to hide. No, he continued to lay upon his perch insolently, as if daring her to try something. His gaze narrowed as he took in her figure fully. 

A few moments of silent stalemate, then, a long-suffering sigh.

“Again, little one?”

“Apparently.”

“How have we ended up here again?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who sent you this time? I doubt we move in the same circles,” he said with a pretentious little sniff.

“No one hired me, Sylus.”

“Oh?” he inquired, eyes glittering like rubies. “Just for the fun of it then?”

“This isn’t for fun.” She lied. It wasn’t just for fun anyway… “Just because you don’t care about anything but yourself–”

“You know that’s not true,” he said, sitting up. The Thread of Celestia disappeared somewhere on his person with a smoothness that made her wonder just how many secrets his body held. 

Sylus continued, “I don’t believe for a second that you don’t have a little giggle to yourself thinking of the look on your master’s face when he realises his favorite… toy is being played with.” His gaze sluiced like warm water over her body and she knew he didn’t mean the necklace. She took another step toward him, palm tensing around the dagger behind her back. “And before you start waxing poetic about causes, I’ll remind you that last time we were in this position, you told me that cretins like him get what they deserve.”

“They do,” she said lightly, taking a few more steps forward.

“If you’re waiting for me to fall prey to the dagger behind your back, little one, you’re going to be disappointed.”

She shrugged, using the action to subtly shift her stance.

“I’m always disappointed in you.”

“Careful, sweetie, you’ll make me cry,” he drawled, his lip curling. “Shall we get on with it, then?”

She stopped less than a foot away from him. “I think we should.”

“Then, we don’t have all night.”

“No we don’t.”

There was a moment of perfect stillness, perfect silence. Then the tension snapped.

She sprung forward like an arrow from a bow, lunging towards him through the thin gap between them, and at the very same instant he leapt off the ledge, conjuring a cloud of thick smoke that swamped her vision. She expelled it with a slash of her arm and as the fog cleared she tried to glimpse him to no avail. He’d disappeared.

She may well have changed a great deal over the years, but she still hated losing.

She prowled around the cavern, her lungs burning as she fought to catch her breath each time she felt a claw poke her back, a tail stagger her step, or his melodic chuckle reverberate through her chest. She was fast but so was he, and in terms of size, strength, and supernatural ability he had her beat tenfold. 

He was almost close enough to grab now, but still an elusive flash of body parts her blasted human eyes could barely make out. It was now or never, though. With a grimace and a grunt of exertion, whipped around, hands outstretched–

And caught nothing but air.

She heard the soft thump of his tail behind the gold pile next to her and, not one to be easily deterred, she followed. 

This wasn’t over until she said it was over.

But she felt his heartbeat too late, alarmingly close, and she didn’t even have time to turn around before the tip of his claw was denting into the delicate flesh at the side of her neck.

“Found me,” he whispered into her ear as his arm came around her. He chuckled under his breath as she shuddered involuntarily against his front. “I forgot we’d added ear-whispering to the list of dirty tricks. I know how much it… affects you.”

“Fuck you,” she spat, cursing her treacherous body.

“Really? Here?” he said, and she could practically hear the arrogance in his grin.

Well. One dirty trick begets another.

Angling her hips just so, she pushed her arse backward until she heard the sharp intake of breath she knew so well. Then she snapped her head back, and heard a satisfying grunt as it connected with his face.

She spun around as his tail replaced his arm when the tip of his middle finger brush a small drop of blood from the corner of his lip — ideally, she’d have aimed for his nose, but he was at least a head taller than her so she’d take what she could reach — and drew her fist back.

“Oh no you don’t,” Sylus growled, grabbing her fist in his hand and twisting her arm toward the small of her back. “Don’t you dare give me another black eye, little one.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she muttered, drawing her dagger with her unrestrained hand and aiming it at his face.

Sylus released her fist from his grip, then used her moment of unbalance to tighten his tail around the back of her knees, but she was still fast and trained. She dropped her entire weight onto his tail and tackled him to the ground while he was still regaining his balance.

“If you don’t want a black eye, then you should be faster,” she panted, wriggling on top of him as she attempted to pin his arms to his sides with her knees. “Now where is it?”

“You don’t already know?” he asked silkily, with an utterly shameless grin and a roll of his hips. And yes, of course she could feel the effect the friction was having on him, of course, she knew she was squeezing him with her thighs so it was hardly an unexpected outcome, of course, his ridiculous leather ensemble really did leave very little to the imagination, but–

“I’m not interested in that,” she said coolly. “Where’s the necklace? And don’t you dare tell me to search for it.”

“Why should I tell you anything, sweetie? I’m rather enjoying myself if I’m honest.” She felt his erection twitch beneath her as if it was agreeing with him.

“So help me, Sylus, I will search for it, and depending on which crevice you’ve stashed it in, that could be quite uncomfortable for you.”

“Why are you so damn insistent anyway?” he asked blandly. “This thing is a novelty at best.”

“An expensive novelty,”

“Well obviously, but surely a rock that supposedly prevents hangovers is beneath your exalted notice?”

“It just means I’m selling something harmless,” she said with a shrug, “Now where-”

A loud crack of thunder above them split the quiet of the night, startling her.

Sylus immediately bucked his hips up, destabilizing her just enough that he could pull his hands up from where she’d been pinning them. He grabbed the back of her thighs and flipped them over, managing to catch one hand but she was too quick for him to catch the one that mattered, and then they were still again.

Her dagger under his chin, his claw digging into the space above her heart, tail pinning her in place, their chests heaving.

“Now why do we always have to solve our problems with violence, little one?” he purred, his voice barely more than a wisp of air. “Can’t we act civilized for once?”

“Maybe.”

“Fancy moving your little blade then?” he murmured, leaning forward a touch so she could feel the soft vibration of his voice humming through the length of her weapon into her hand.

“No,” she said stubbornly, “Why don’t you move your- your talon?”

“Because if I move mine you’ll cut my cheek, take the jewelry, and leave me,” he bit out, scowling, “Like last time.”

“Last time was different.”

“I wouldn’t have cared, you know,” he whispered, moving a fraction closer. She kept her blade against his throat, and he pressed his a little harder into her ribs. “I would have let you take that amethyst too, but waking empty handed and alone? That did sting a bit, sweetie.”

“So sorry,” she muttered sarcastically.

“No you’re not,” Sylus growled.

“No,” she said, almost breathless now, “I’m not.”

He let out a huff of exasperation, and they surged together. The kiss was hot and hard and vicious, and it stole the air from her lungs. She could taste the blood on his lips, and resisted the urge to bite it harder, oddly proud she was the one who’d put the mark there, who made the great beast bleed in the first place. He had no such qualms, and he nipped sharply at her lower lip, grunting in satisfaction when he felt her shudder beneath him.

“We can’t,” she gasped as he turned his attention to her neck. 

“If you want to leave then move your damn knife out of my face,” he rumbled into her jaw, and she realised that she had instinctually kept her weapon stuck firmly under his chin. His claws had moved to wrap around her throat. 

“Fine.” The sound of metal hitting metal echoed around them as the blade landed into a small pile of gold. 

They lay there, their faces a hair’s breadth apart for several seconds before she yanked the silvery-white hair at his nape and kissed him as if she wasn’t expected to be back in the city soon. 

Sylus didn’t complain. On the contrary, he growled into her mouth and his tail constricted harder around her hips, keeping her flush against him. Gods, she really did wish he wasn’t quite so attractive. She could feel every muscle through her clothes, smell the comforting scent of smoke on his warm breath, see every piece of white and black that covered this man who lived in the grey. 

“Every time,” she murmured as he kissed and nipped his way down her chest. “Every time I say it's the last time.”

“You did last time.” He hummed. 

She flicked her tongue against the pulse point she’d wanted to press her dagger into a few moments ago, “That’s why I left.”

He roughly shoved his thigh between hers and smirking at the way she gasped and tightened her grip on his shoulders, she could feel every wrinkle of fabric brush against her sensitive skin. “I’m sure that’s why,” he whispered in her ear sardonically.

“Dirty tricks,” she managed to pant out.

“Have I missed something, little one?” Sylus asked, pushing his thigh harder into her so she was practically rocking on his leg, “I thought we were well into the list? My lip’s still healing by the way.” 

“I need to get out of here, you beast,” she said, uncomfortably aware of how thin and unconvincing her voice sounded. “You can have all the dirty tricks you want once I–”

“That a promise?” he asked with a wolfish grin. 

She couldn’t help but smile back, even as she felt her cheeks heat. “Just a few hundred metres to the exit of the cave”

“Hm, winner keeps the necklace?”

“Wait, that’s not–”

He silenced her with a searing kiss, all tongue and teeth, then pulled away with an unbearably arrogant smirk, getting up and vanishing from her sight.

“Sylus!” She shouted in frustration before sprinting after him.

That confusing, adrenaline-fueled joy was back as they chased each other around the cave. 

She had no clue if she was really gaining on him, or if he was letting her for the fun of it, but in that moment she didn’t care a bit. When she spotted his tail from the corner of her eye she leapt forward and this time she caught more than air. She barreled into his chest like a warrior. Her light build was mitigated by the sheer momentum and together they tumbled onto the stone-cold floor.

They tussled clumsily for a few moments, rolling over and over without either one getting the upper hand. 

She saw a tantalising glint in her peripheral vision.

He was dangling the Thread of Celestia over her head from his tail — she didn’t even want to know which unholy nook or cranny he’d produced it from — and even in a gilded room it glittered, almost as if it was producing its own light. 

Then she realised that while she had been staring at the jewel, Sylus was staring at her, eyelids lowered, gaze soft. He cocked his head, questioning, and she couldn’t help but smile.

She reached out and gently closed her hand over the necklace, removed it from his tail, and flung it away from them.

“The usual rules?” Sylus murmured.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t wake me last time.”

“Last time we’d already agreed on the course of action.”

“You mean you’d agreed on the course of action,”

“Don’t pout, dragon. It’s not my fault all your attention had rushed south.”

“You were half-naked, sweetie.”

“So were you. That’s how I know where all your attention was.”

“Just… promise you won’t do it again,” he said, more serious than she’d heard him tonight.

“Fine,” she sighed. “I promise.”

“I’ll make you pay if you break this one,” Sylus rumbled, his voice low and dangerous.

She opened her mouth to retort, but he surged forwards with a low moan, their lips met, and her brain went blank for several wonderful seconds.

They were panting when they broke apart, but there was only a split second of stillness before they were back at each other, fingers and claws tearing at their garments between kisses. Eventually the clothing battle was won, and Sylus pressed his naked torso to hers as he brushed her hair over her shoulder with one sharp finger.

She ran her hands indulgently down the length of his back and he shuddered under her fingertips, sinking his teeth into the soft skin between her shoulder and neck.

She gasped and he chuckled. “Tit for tat,” he murmured into the crook of her neck, running his hands down the outside of her arms all the way down to her hips, where he hooked his thumbs inside her underwear. 

She tore them down her legs, the tease of real touch not nearly enough.

“So impatient,” he tutted, his lips brushing her jaw with every syllable.

In answer she slid her hand back up to palm him and grinning smugly to herself when she felt him shudder.

“You are always so-” he pulled one bra-strap down off her shoulder, “-demanding-” he slipped the other strap down, dragging his tongue over her collarbone, “-and greedy.”

“Tease,” she managed, trying and failing to disguise the growing desperation in her voice.

He pulled back and smiled slowly, the dusting of pink on his cheekbones and the soft grinding into her palm the only signs he might be as overwrought as she was. 

He dragged a fingertip across her lips, just barely grazing her tongue for the smallest second, and then it was too late to stop herself. She sucked it into her mouth, and for that moment every shred of composure vanished from his expression.

Apparently all his patience vanished too, because he let out a hoarse groan and grabbed her, flipping her around so her front was pressed against the gold-splattered floor. She longed to feel his heated skin against hers, so when he flicked open her bra she scrambled to shrug it off, gasping when her nipples brushed the cold metal of his treasures.

“You know how I know you like me here?” he growled into her ear, running his sharp finger down her spine. 

“How?” she panted, and he laughed quietly, a soft vibration against her neck.

“Because, little one,” he purred, “You’ve already headbutted me once this evening. I don’t believe for a second you wouldn’t do it again if you wanted to,” he nuzzled the nape of her neck, an oddly tender action given the way he was gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, “So logically I have to conclude that you’re letting me do this… but why is that, sweetie?”

He trailed off and his tail lowered around her thighs, leaving her exposed but still constrained. He swept his hand down her arse and the inside of her thigh, and then back up again to dip one finger into her. She tried to arch into his touch, but he’d already pulled away, and she huffed in frustration.

“Tell me why you’re letting me do this,” he commanded softly.

She bit her lip to stop herself from moaning. How was he so good at this?

The first time it happened it had been a fight from start to finish, brutal and frantic and without the smallest trace of softness, and she’d screamed so loud they’d had very nearly brought the cave down. The second time was more of a negotiation. He’d trapped her here for a few days, and after the first time had been so successful, it seemed like there were certainly worse ways to pass the time.

Every time they both agreed it was the last. Sometimes she told him to shut up, wrestled him to the floor, and made him shut up. Sometimes it was the other way around. But every time it became just a little harder to convince herself that this time really was the last.

“Tell me, little one,” he breathed, grinding each ridge of his cock slowly against her backside.

And every time, they would get to this point, the point where her resistance would evaporate, she’d say fuck it.

“Because I love it,” she gasped.

“Hmm,” he hummed, leaning forward again to reach between her legs, cupping her but not pushing inside. She groaned and arched into him again, and the arrogant bastard laughed. The worst thing was that his brazenness only riled her even more. “Now, are you going to be good for me, sweetie?”

“Don’t push it,” she snapped, and he laughed again.

“As you wish,” he said smoothly, and as much as she was enjoying this, his hand between her legs and his warm weight pressing her bare front against the floor, it didn’t do to let his ego run amok.

She moved to turn around, and surprisingly he didn’t try to stop her, just pulled her to him, kissing her deeply. For once there was no fight for dominance, no semblance of a struggle, just a frenzy of movement as they both scrambled to devour each other.

She traced his scales with her tongue. He stamped hot, open mouthed kisses on the bruises that were beginning to bloom from their escapades. Skin to skin, it was like a moment out of time, a bubble where nothing outside this underground cavern existed.

A sigh of satisfaction vibrated from his chest, when he slid a finger inside her and choked on a gasp of pleasure. His tongue swirled around her nipple and his thumb found her clitoris, and suddenly what she’d thought would be a marathon became a sprint.

“Sylus, I- I’m-”

He withdrew his hand and she groaned in disappointment, but her thighs were already cradling him and his cock was already teasing at her entrance. She ground down, desperate for friction, but he tightened his tail around her and before she could even blink he had flipped her over again. She had wanted to watch him unravel above her but now he was pushing her knees apart, and pushing further and further into her and- well, actually, this was fine too.

The moment the tip of his cock bottomed out she arched up into him as if she’d been electrocuted. Even so, it wasn’t enough. She squirmed for more.

“So demanding,” he purred, his hot breath torturous against the curve of her cheek.

“Stop stopping!” she growled, grabbing his hair to push his face into her neck and pushing back into him.

He chuckled against her and flexed his hips once, just once, and she was so close she felt like a live wire, her skin buzzing with the anticipation of it. Without warning he punched her clit and she screamed into the top of her own hand.

Sylus caught her wrist and pinned it to the ground.

“Don’t you dare,” he grunted, pushing in further, “I want- fuck- I want to hear every single sound.”

She moaned loudly. Much as she hated to admit it, she really did love his voice like this.

“Just like that,” he groaned, and she clenched around him involuntarily as he began to move. “Oh fuck- I fucking love-”

“Gods, I’m going to-”

“Yes, come on my cock,” he snarled, thrusting harder and tightening his grip on her wrist.

Her other hand fisted around his nape, her whole body clenched, and her awareness narrowed past this room, even past him, and all she could do was hold on for dear life as her orgasm claimed her.

In the fuzzy edges of her perception she heard her name, his voice low and rough, almost reverential, and finally he came with a wordless moan, his body shuddering against her. As the waves of pleasure began to recede, she thought distantly how strange it was that this was so good. It didn’t make any sense at all. They didn’t make any sense. This couldn’t ever work.

But there was something profoundly, sinfully delightful about taking something you were never meant to have. And in that moment, she thought she understood this dragon more than she ever had.

There weren’t any more words. This part was always oddly quiet for how much they both loved to talk. They just silently curled their exhausted bodies around each other. There wasn’t anything left to say, they both knew that, all too quickly, dawn would arrive, and reality would catch up with them once again.

As the tendrils of sleep coiled around her mind, the last thought in her head was that maybe she would quite like to do this one day without any of the usual shit. Maybe they could fall asleep together and wake up together. Maybe they would… maybe……

When she awoke, she felt unusually comfortable. She hummed in contentment and stretched, and let out a little sigh of disappointment when she realised that she was alone. Then the context caught up with her, and all the sleepy indulgence evaporated.

She bolted upright, ignoring the twinges of protest from her limbs and the rush of lightheadedness at getting up so quickly. She’d half expected him to be lounging there next to her, waiting for her with the necklace dangling from his tail like an insolent bastard, but no. The cave was as empty as the silks she’d been lain on, and her heart sank.

She should have known this would happen, especially since she’d done it to him last time. She shook her head in exasperation at herself. This couldn’t keep happening, it was-

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a small package on the bedside table, a leather pouch with a folded note propped up in front. She reached for the pouch, undoing the drawstring and peering inside.

And there it was. The necklace. The very thing that had brought her to him in the first place.

She pulled the drawstring tight, as if looking at it too long might make it disappear, and reached blindly for the note. It was just a few scrawled words.

Just this once, sweetie. I have a monstrous reputation to maintain. -S

[heron-knight]

decided to crack open my skull and pour the contents of my brain onto the keyboard. thought the denizens of tumblr might enjoy it. bon appetite

Mech Pilot Care guide

You never expect it, do you. Even as you see the flashes of pulse-decay fire in the sky, illuminating a scene of violence on the cosmic scale. Planetary defense satellites forming Monolithic structures in the sky, their purpose now revealed as they scatter constellations of destruction across the night horizon, drowning out the stars and replacing them with ones born of death. The oxygen in a ship catching fire and burning away in an instant, a flash of light that marks the death of its crew of hundreds. Even if you take your telescope to watch this spectacle, this war in a place without screams, you still feel profoundly disconnected from it. Even as you see a pilot cleave through a drone hive with a fusion blade, the molten metal glistening in the light of the explosions around it, scattering without gravity to the corners of the universe, even as two mechs dance across the sky, their reactors pouring into the engines enough energy to power the house atop which you sit for ten thousand years, flying in a 3.5 dimensional dance with only one word to the song that can reach across the vacuum: “I Will Kill You.” you don’t feel even the slightest glimpse of what goes on inside their minds. You don’t feel the neurological feedback tearing across the brain-computer interface, filling her mind with more simultaneous pain and elation that an unmodified human could ever experience. You don’t feel it as the pneumatic lance punctures through steel and nanocarbon polymer, the mech AI sending floods of a sensation you could never truly know through the skull and into every corner of the body carried on enhanced nerves for every layer of armor punctured, tearing into the enemy chassis with a desire beyond anything the flesh can provide. Let the stars kill each other. After all, I am safe on earth. No, you don’t expect it when the star is hit with a sub-relativistic projectile, piercing through both engines in an instant. You don’t expect it to fall. You never would have expected it to land, the impact nearly vaporizing the soil and setting trees aflame, on the hill beyond your house, and you would never have expected, beneath the layers of cooling slag, for the life-support indicator light to still be visible.

All the fire extinguishers in your house, your old plasma cutter that you haven’t used in years, and whatever medical supplies you think they might still be able to benefit from. All that on a hoverbike, speeding at 120 kilometers per hour through the valley and up onto the hill, still illuminated by the battle above, unsurprisingly unchanged by this new development. 200 meters. 100 meters. You don’t know how much time you’ve got. It wasn’t exactly covered in school, how long a pilot can survive in an overheating frame. You’ve heard rumors, of course, of what these things that used to be human have become. That they don’t eat and barely need air. That they don’t feel any desire beyond what instructions are pumped directly into their brains. Not so much of a person as much as an attack dog. It’s understandably a bit concerning, as if they are alive, then it’s not guaranteed that you will be. Three fire extinguishers later, the surface of the mech is mostly solid, and the cutter slices through the exterior plating. With a satisfying crunch, the cockpit is forced open, revealing the pilot, and confirming a few of the rumors, while refuting others. Pilots, it seems, are not quite emotionless. In fact, there seems to be genuine fear on its face when it sees you, followed by… a sort of grim certainty as it opens its mouth, moves its jaw into a strange position, and you only have half a second to react before it would have bitten down with all its force on the tooth that seemed to be made of a different material then all the rest.

Your thumb is definitely bleeding, and is caught between a metamaterial-based dental implant, and one containing a military-grade neurotoxin. You’re not sure exactly why you did it. The pilot looks at you for a second, before the tubes that attach to its arms like puppet strings run out of stimulants, and it passes out after who knows how long without sleep. This battle has been going on for weeks already. Has it been fighting that long? Its various frame-tethered implants disconnect easily, the unconscious pilot draped over your shoulder twitching slightly with each one you remove. It’s a much longer ride back to the house. Avoiding having the pilot fall off the bike is the top priority, and the injured thumb stings in the fast-moving air. 

An internet search doesn’t lead to many helpful sources to the question of “there is a mech pilot on my couch, what do I do?” a few articles about how easy targets retired pilots are for the “doll sellers,” a few military recruitment ads, and a couple near-incomprehensible legal documents full of words like “proprietary technology” or “instant termination.” However, there is one link, a few rows down from the top-- “Mech Pilot Care Guide.” It’s a detailed list, arranged in numbered steps. The website has no other links on it, just the step-by-step instructions: a quick read reveals that this isn’t going to be easy, but looking at the unconscious pilot, unabsorbed chemicals dripping from the ports in its arms and head onto the mildly bloodstained towel, you come to the conclusion that there’s no other option.

Step one: the first 24 hours.

The first thing you should know is that pilots aren’t used to sleeping. They’re used to being put under for transport and storage, but after the neural augmentations and years of week-long battles sustained by stimulants that would fry the brain of anyone that still has an intact one, they’ve more or less forgotten what real sleep is. If they see you asleep, they’ll think you’re dead, so don’t try to let them stay in your room yet. Once you’ve removed the neurotoxin from the tooth (it breaks easily with a bit of applied pressure, but be careful not to let any fall into their mouth or onto your skin.), start by moving them into a chair (preferably a recliner or gaming chair, as the mech seat is about halfway in between), and putting a heavy blanket over them. Don’t worry, they don’t need as much air as normal humans do, and can handle high temperatures up to a point. This is an environment similar to the one they’re used to. It’ll stay like this for about 12 hours-- barely breathing, trembling slightly underneath the blanket. Feel free to check if it’s alive every few hours, not that you could help it if it wasn’t. It won’t freak out when it wakes up. In fact, it doesn’t seem like they can. Turn down the lights and remove the blanket from its face. It’ll stare blankly at you, trying to evaluate the situation with a brain that’s not connected to a computer that’s bigger than they are anymore. Coming to terms, if you could call it that, with the fact that it isn’t dead. Don’t expect it to start reacting to things for a while yet, give it a couple hours. 

It’s been a bit, and its eyes are starting to focus on you. The next thing you should know is this: pilots only have two groups into which they can categorize non-pilots: handler and enemy. You need to work on making sure you’re in the right one. Move slowly, standing up and walking toward them, making sure they can see where you’re going to step. Place both hands on their shoulders, then slide one under their arm and carefully pick them up. Don’t be startled by how light they are, or how they still shake slightly as they realize their arms don’t have anything connected to them. Most importantly, don’t break. Don’t reflect on how something can be done to a person so that this is all that’s left. Just focus on rotating them as if you’re inspecting all the brain-computer interface ports, while holding them at half an arm’s length. Set them back down, wrap the blanket around them, then lean in close and say “status report.” they won’t say anything, as they usually upload the data via interface, but what’s important is that now they recognise you as their handler. Their entire mind will be focused on the fact that they exist now to do what you want. Now it’s up to you to prove them wrong.

Step two: the first week.

They’re shaking so hard that you’ve had to move them from the chair back to the couch, sweating heavily as they pant like the dog they’ve been trained to think they are. This was to be expected, really. Pilots are constantly being filled with a mix of stimulants, painkillers, and who knows what else, and you’ve just cut them off completely. You’ve woken up several times in the night and rushed to check if they’re still breathing, debating whether you should try to tell them that they’re going to be okay. The guide says they’re not ready for that yet, whatever that means. They’re still wearing the suit you found them in, made from nanofiber mesh and apparently recycling nutrients and water before re-infusing them intravenously. It’s been three days since you tore them out of the lump of metal atop the hill outside. Long enough that the suit’s battery, apparently, has run out. You lift them gently from the couch and carry them to the bathroom. The shower’s been on for the past hour or so, meaning the temperature should be high enough. You set them on their chair, which you’ve rolled there from the living room and covered with a towel. Removing the suit normally isn’t done except in between missions, and it’s only done to exchange it for a new one. Without the proper tools, you’ve opted for a pair of scissors. Cutting through the suit takes a bit of time, but you manage to cut a sizable line from the neck down to the front to the bottom of the torso. The pilot recoils slightly from the cold metal against their skin, but you manage to peel off the suit without incident, The Temperature of which was roughly the same as the steam filling the room, and you’ve done your best to minimize air currents. They’ve got a bit more shape to them than you expected of someone who’s been so heavily modified. Perhaps what little fat storage it provides helps on longer missions, or perhaps this is for the purposes of marketing. Just another recruitment ad that appeals to baser instincts. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Using a cloth with the least noticeable texture possible, you wash off as much sweat and dead skin as you can, avoiding the various interface and IV ports, as you’re not yet sure that they’re waterproof. Embarrassment is the enemy of efficiency, so you’re slightly glad that their eyes never completely focus on you. They shift their weight slightly, however. Despite the difficulty moving with their current symptoms, they lean in the direction opposite the places you wash once you're done, allowing you to more easily access the places you haven’t got to yet. An act of trust that you have a suspicion they weren't “programmed” to do.  As they dry out, you prepare for the difficult part. You take the blanket that previously wrapped around their suit, and gently touch a corner of it to their shoulder. Pilots are used to an amount of sensory  information that would overload any normal human in an instant, but most rarely experience textures against their skin. After about half an hour, they’re used to it enough that you’re able to replace what’s left of the suit with it, and after another you’re able to wrap them in it again. You carry them back to the couch, and place a few of your old shirts next to their hand. They pick one and touch it with one finger before recoiling slightly. Eventually, they’ll be used to at least one of them enough that they can wear it. It’s slow progress, but it’s progress.

Step 3: food

It goes without saying that it’s usually been at least a year since they’ve eaten anything. The augmentations scooped out much of their knowledge on how to survive as a human, assuming that they would die before ever needing to be one again. Start them off with just flavors. Give them a chance to pick favorites by giving them a wide selection and firmly telling them to try all of them. Avoid anything solid for the first month or so, both because they can’t digest it and because they associate chewing with their self-destruct mechanism. Trying to and surviving might make them think the “mission’s fully compromised” and attempt to improvise. They’ll typically pick out favorites quickly with their enhanced senses, so once they’ve sampled everything, tell them to pick one. Remember it, not in order to use it as a reward or anything, but them still being able to have a “favorite” anything is something you should keep in mind for later. 

Use a similar method anytime they become able to handle the next level of solidity. Don’t be alarmed if one of their favorite foods is the meat that’s most similar to humans (such as pork.) they’re not going to eat you, they just will have already formed an association between that flavor and the moment they went from being a weapon to living in your house. Don’t worry about your thumb getting infected, by the way. Pilots barely have a microbiome.

Step 4: entertainment:

Roll them over to your computer and give them access to your game library. No, really. They need enrichment, and there’s only one activity that they’re able to enjoy at the moment. A simulation of it will make the shift from weapon to guest easier. Start them off with an FPS with a story. Don’t go multiplayer, as your account may get banned for being suspected of using aimbots. Watch as they progress the story. The military left pilots with just enough of a personality to allow them to improvise, and that should be enough for them to make decisions on this level. They won’t do much character customization, but keep an eye on which starting character body shape they pick. No pilot would consciously think they have enough of a “Self” to still have a gender, but keep track of the ones they pick in the games. As for the one you’ve found, it appears that she’s got a player-character preference. You even saw her nudge one of the appearance sliders before clicking “start game.” Whether this means that a pilot doesn’t think of themselves as “it” or that it means there’s still enough of their mind left for them to know there’s more to themselves than the body they have, it’s a handy bit of information to know. Some pilots might have had this decision influenced by their handlers having referred to them as “she” in the way it refers to boats, but still, on some level they always know that “it” meant that they’re a weapon. 

Step 6: outside:

There’s a profound difference between experiencing the world through information fed directly into your brain and standing up for the first time, wandering around the room and investigating with hands not made of a half-ton of metal. She’s not used to feeling the air on her skin as she stands in front of the window, visual data coming from two eyes instead of seven cameras. It’ll take a while to get used to it again. New old data, reminiscent of a time before she’s been trained not to remember. It’ll take a while until she’s walking like a human and not a mech, as the muscles used are different, and the ones to hold herself upright haven’t been used in a while. She’s going to fall down at least once. Be sure you’re standing next to her when it happens, as pilots that fall aren’t trained to think they can get back up. It’s worth it, though, when she opens the door herself and strides into the yard, still wobbly but standing. Be careful not to let her look into the sun, partially because it looks nearly identical to the barrel of a pulse-decay blaster milliseconds before it fires. She would get hurt trying to dodge it. It will be somewhat confusing for her, standing on a hill as she once did, but not contained within a 12-meter metal chassis. A feeling of being small and alone without the voices of the computer. This means it’s time for step seven.

Step 7: 

All this time, and any idea that she’s still a person has, for her, been subconscious. Any thought of humanity is stopped when it slams into the wall of her handlers and mech AIs reminding her for years before now that she is a weapon. She’ll still ask for your permission before doing just about anything, and that’s just the rare times that she’ll do something you don’t tell her to. Even after you’ve moved her into your room, she’ll still try to sleep on the floor. She still thinks that beds are only for humans. Kneel next to her as she curls into a ball on the ground, assuming that’s what she’s supposed to do. Expect her to try to move down to the foot of the bed after you set her down on it. Gently move her back up until her head’s on the pillow. Sit on the edge of the bed, and hold out your hand to her. After a bit, she’ll take it, wrapping both hands around it and tracing her fingers along the scar on your thumb. Lie down next to her, an arm’s length apart. Place your other hand on her forearm, then slide it up her arm to her shoulder. Don’t move too quickly, and don’t surprise her. Whisper softly but audibly every movement you’re going to make in advance. Move in a bit closer, until you’re wrapped in her arms. Mech pilots aren’t used to this. They aren't used to feeling someone next to them. Not above them, but next to them, getting exactly as much out of this as they are. Even after several months, many won’t admit they deserve it. You wouldn’t waste time lying next to a gun. So why do they feel so strongly that they don’t want you to leave? Why do they hold on tighter? They often feel they’re doing something wrong. Overstepping a boundary. There’s a rift between what they want and what they’re told they can want that nearly tears their mind in half, and it hurts. No normal human will ever know how much it hurts them to think they’ve broken some instruction, that they feel things they aren’t allowed to. Nobody said it was easy, learning how to become human again. Tell her it’s okay. That she’s allowed to feel this way. She still won’t know why. It’s time to tell her. The guide can’t tell you what to say, only that you have to say it. It has to come from you. You have to be the one that tells her what she is underneath all the modifications. It’s time, say it.

“Do you feel that? Do you feel your heart start to beat faster as it presses up against mine? Do you feel your own breath against your skin after it reflects off my shoulder? Do you feel your muscles start to tighten as I slide my hand across them, then relax because you know it means that you are safe? It’s because you’re alive. Because despite everything, you’re still alive. Still someone left after all the changes, all the augmentations. And I know you’re someone because you are someone that likes food a bit spicier than most would prefer. Someone that closes her eyes and gets lost in music whenever it’s playing. Someone that added that one piece of customization to her character, even though they would wear a helmet for most of the game and nobody would know it was there but you. Maybe you aren’t the same person you were before. Maybe they did take some things from you that nothing can give back. But you’re still someone. Someone that people can still care about, and I know because I do.”

You can feel her tears drip down onto your neck as she pulls you closer. She tries to say something, but you can’t understand what. You tell her it’s okay. That it’s not easy, and that she doesn’t have to pretend that it is. Not for you, and not for anyone anymore. She doesn’t have to be useful anymore. No need to keep it together. All that matters is that she’s alive. 

There’s another battle going on in the night sky outside. The same flashes of light you saw the night you stopped living alone, even if the other person couldn’t admit that they were one yet. She still flinches at the brighter bursts of pulse-decay fire, still stretches out her hand on reflex to prime a pneumatic lance that isn’t there. But she knows it’s not her, it’s just a ghost of the weapon that died when it hit the ground. You can feel her relax as she realizes this, moving her hand back to dry her face before reaching out towards yours. You hadn’t noticed the tears on your own face. You place your hand on hers as she wipes the corner of your eye. Outside and above, the war continues on a cosmic scale, so far apart from where you both are now that you barely notice it. Let the stars kill each other. After all, the one before you has already fallen, and she doesn’t have to return to the sky. Together, you are safe on earth. 

[mrsmangi]

past life - luigi mangione

♡ summary: luigi has never dreamed, but one night he finds you—familiar in a way he can't fathom. the dream of you blurs reality and fiction, leaving him yearning for more. ♡ w.c.: 1.6k ♡ a/n: hi. this is my first luigi fic. i was inspired by the post of luigi that has been going around about how moles are where your past lovers have once kissed you. i had to write something about it. enjoy!

—

Luigi does not dream. It’s a strange phenomena to him–one that draws his lower lip between his teeth and nibbles until the taste of blood floods his mouth. His friends are always telling him about their dreams: ones that are frightening, some exhilarating, others that are lustful. Dreams are illogical, irrational, and confusing.

There has never been an instance in Luigi’s life that he has been inherently ungrateful that dreams do not come to him in his slumber. He has other things to focus on: school, his family, his friends. Plenty of things keep him busy on a day-to-day business. Dreams are no fuss, but even he has to admit: when his friends are recalling their dreams to him, with stars in their eyes, he wonders if he’s missing out on something. That’s what bothers him.

He ponders it for hours at a time. Why doesn’t he dream? When he sleeps, why is he pulled into a vast pit of nothingness? He’s done his research, but it all just points him to the same direction: difficulty sleeping properly. But how? He’s done everything right: he gets 8 hours of sleep a day, wakes up in the morning without trouble, and feels properly rested each time. What is he missing?

Lack of REM sleep and fucked memory recollection just can’t be it.

Remembering your dreams can’t be distilled down to a science, but there are some tips you can try–

“Bullshit,” he groans tiredly, tilting his head back and dragging a hand down his face. With a sigh, he shuts his laptop and begins to prepare himself for bed. In the shower, it annoys him. As he brushes his teeth, gazing at his face, it annoys him. When he’s finally beneath the warm sheets of his bed, he is exasperated. As he falls asleep that night, Luigi’s thoughts drift into a thoughtless abyss and sleep overcomes him.

–

Something shifts that night in Luigi’s slumber. He can feel it in his bones, in his head that pulses with pain. He lets out an uncomfortable noise, shifting in bed. He suddenly becomes aware of the bed he’s in: one that doesn’t feel like his own.

There’s a soft linen beneath him, the kind he can’t imagine buying because it’s too expensive to afford, but somehow there it is. The smell of the sheets is faint, not entirely familiar, but not unpleasant. A little floral and musk, like the lingering scent of perfume.

The bed creaks and he feels himself stiffen. There’s someone beside him.

He wants to open his eyes, but his body won’t allow him. He really wishes it would because there’s a stranger in his bed (or is this his bed?). He feels the soft pressure of their arm against his own and hears the soft hum of their breath.

“Luigi.”

The sound of it is so clear, like a bell ringing out, and he realizes, even in his paralyzed state, it sounds different on this stranger’s lips than it ever has on anyone else’s. It’s quiet. It’s intimate. A tenderness he’s never quite known. If he could, he thinks he would laugh, but all he does is pause, stunned to a place that rests between awe and disbelief.

He’s dreaming. This is finally it. He’s dreaming and he knows it.

The air is thick around him, heavy with silence until they break it once more.

“Luigi,” they repeat, this time a bit louder, more insistent. It sounds like a girl. Her voice is warm and soft and so close–he feels like he could lean into her and let himself fall.

His eyes finally flutter open.

The first thing he sees is your smile. You’re looking at him with a calm, knowing expression. The sunlight catches your eyes as it slips through the cracks of your curtains. The room is bathed in the early morning light, the kind that makes everything look softer and unreal.

As he drinks in your appearance, Luigi is sure he’s never met you before. Your skin glows in the slanted light, a golden stripe drapes across half your face down to your bare neck.

It’s the oddest thing. He doesn’t question any of it as your smile softens and grows. The kind of smile he could never find himself deserving of, but somehow he’s found it anyway. Then, you lean in, pressing two soft kisses to each of his cheeks. One after the other–each more tender than the last. Your lips peck his cheek beneath his left eye, and linger further down when you bring them to the right side of his face, near the curve of his cheekbone.

At this gesture, he can’t help himself. He stares at you as though you’ve just grown two heads.

You laugh softly and melodically, as if his bewilderment is the most natural thing in the world.

“Luigi,” you say, playfully. “You’re staring.”

“I–,” he starts, voice catching in his throat, but you shake your head, still smiling.

“You should get used to this, you know,” you tease, rolling to your side. The blankets shift away from your body and your bare back is revealed to him. You stretch lazily, and he can’t find it in himself to look away. He watches you, transfixed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You pause, crossing your arms over your chests to cover your breasts. You look over your shoulder at him, hair glowing in the light like a halo. “Except to make us breakfast,” you grin and lean over once more to quickly peck his lips. You push yourself off the bed and pick up a plain white tee, previously discarded, from the ground, throwing it over your head. It fits you, just a bit too big, covering your body. He vaguely realizes it's his.

“Breakfast?” he murmurs. The word feels foreign on his tongue, as he attempts to piece together the pieces of a puzzle he can’t recall beginning.

“Yes, breakfast,” you reply, laughing again. You make your way to his side of the bed and place, yet again, another loving kiss to his forehead. The entire motion feels so natural, so lived-in, that he swears this isn’t the first time. It can’t be, but he doesn’t even know your name.

“Unless you’re planning to keep staring at me all day,” you call over your shoulder as you make your way to the door.

I might, he thinks and he startles himself. That doesn’t sound like himself, at all. Before he can say anything, though, before he can make sense of any of it, the room begins to fade. The light dims, you’ve walked out the door and your voice is growing distant, and he feels himself slipping away. He’s being pulled into something more uncertain than this.

He’s waking up. Panic sets in, but before he can get up to follow you, it’s too late.

–

He awakes with a sharp gasp, chest heaving and back aching. His heart pounds erratically, thrumming against his ribcage frantically, while a dull sting blooms in his chest. A longing he doesn’t fully understand settles in the pit of his stomach.

When he looks around the room, he’s certain that it’s his own, but it feels colder, heavier, emptier. His blinds are drawn shut, no traces of sunlight slip through to warm his face.

He sits up slowly, hands gripping the sheets as he attempts to ground himself. His cheeks burn faintly, and he swears he can still feel it–the plush of your lips.

Luigi feels his breathing become uneven as he swings his legs over the edge of his bed. The cool floor beneath his feet jolts him into wakefulness. Something inside him screams–check, see, know. With great rendition, he stumbles out of the room, his steps unsteady but urgent. His mind chases phantom traces of his dream–the very first dream he’s ever remembered–as if he can catch it before it vanishes from his grasp completely.

When he reaches the bathroom, his hand trembles as he flicks on the light. The stark, fluorescent glow floods the confined space, and for a moment he’s blinded. Then, he steps forward but hesitates, afraid of what he might, or might not, find. Shaking his head, he leans over the sink, his gaze meeting his reflection.

His face stares back at him, disheveled and familiar, but he doesn’t look away. He stares at himself with an intensity he’s never felt before. Eyes dark and searching himself, darting over every inch of his face–his brows, furrowed; his cheekbones, sharp and shadowed in the harsh lighting; his wild curls of brown hair, tousled from his sleep. He scans himself for something–anything–that might prove what he felt was real.

His eyes trail lower, to the faint flush of his cheeks, and there, just beneath his right eye, is a small mole. His gaze lingers on it for a moment before shifting to the left side of his face, where the second one rests near the curve of his cheekbone. He lets out a sharp gasp, clutching the sink until his knuckles begin to lighten. Though he’s seen them a thousand times before, something about them feels different now, as if they’ve been marked. By you.

Something stirs in his chest, a sensation that’s warm and blazing. The flicker of a flame.

He doesn’t even realize how much he’s trembling until he releases the sink from his grasp, hands raising to touch his face. His fingertips brush over the spots where your lips pressed against his skin. The memory of your warmth lingers, faint but undeniable.

It sends a shiver through him–not from the chill of his bathroom, but from the inexplicable comfort it brings. His chest tightens as a soft, quivering breath escapes him.

“It couldn’t have been real,” he says aloud, softly, as if it could make the statement indisputably true. Still, the warmth that blooms beneath his fingers says otherwise.

For the first time in his life, Luigi feels the ache of what he’s been missing all along.

[faebled-stories]

A Journey to Belong

Kinkvember Day 26: Collaring

LOONA/Lossemble Kim Hyunjin x Male reader

12.2k words

AN: Woke up this morning to see an anon sharing a picture that was absolutely perfect. I'm a little gutted I didn't think to use it first, but I'm swapping out the original because it fits so well. Shoutout to that anon!

Hyunjin used to wear her collar with pride. To her, it was more than just an accessory; it was a quiet proclamation of something deeper, something grounding. The soft leather always warmed against her skin, like a second pulse in tune with her own. She would touch it absentmindedly, her fingers brushing its edge when she was lost in thought or overwhelmed by emotion. It wasn’t just a tether—it was comfort, a mark of belonging, a secret she carried that only the two of you truly understood.

Sometimes, you’d catch her tracing its curve, her lips curling into a playful, knowing smile. She seemed to radiate joy in those moments, a quiet confidence that reflected her connection to you. When she laughed, her head tilted just enough for the light to catch its polished surface, creating a subtle gleam that felt like it winked just for you. That collar wasn’t just part of her identity—it was part of yours. A symbol that carried the weight of something words couldn’t touch, a connection that went deeper than mere appearance.

In the past, she treated it with reverence. Her hands would move with care as she adjusted it in the morning, her fingers slow and deliberate, as if the act were a ritual. When you fastened it around her neck, her posture straightened, her shoulders set, as though she were bearing the weight of something noble, something cherished. But lately, that reverence had begun to fade.

The world had grown heavier on her shoulders, its quiet burdens pressing into her with relentless persistence. It dulled the gleam in her eyes, dimming the light that once made them shine like distant stars. She moved slower now, less deliberate, her rhythm disrupted by the constant push and pull of responsibilities she could never quite shake. You saw it in the way her hand brushed the collar less often, in the way it hung around her neck without the same meaning. It had begun to feel like an afterthought—a once-sacred symbol reduced to just another thing she wore.

The rituals that once anchored her, those small acts that reminded her of who she was and what she meant to you, had grown scarce. The quiet moments where meaning was woven, thread by thread, had been replaced by silence. It wasn’t just the collar losing its weight—it was the spaces between you that felt heavier now, filled with an unspoken distance that you couldn’t quite bridge.

That evening, the house was quiet. The golden hues of sunset filtered through the curtains, pooling in soft puddles of light on the wooden floor. You stood in the bedroom doorway, your shadow stretching long across the room as you watched her. She was tucking her legs beneath the blanket, her movements slow, tired. Normally, this hour was sacred. She would kneel beside the bed, her posture straight, her head bowed, her breaths even as she let the weight of the day melt away. It was a small ritual that belonged to the two of you, a moment of balance in a chaotic world.

But tonight, she simply climbed into bed. Brushing a few stray strands of hair from her face, her expression was one of quiet resignation, as though that ritual were nothing more than a faint memory.

“Hyunjin,” you said softly, your voice steady but questioning.

She glanced up at you, her eyes heavy with exhaustion, faint shadows beneath them betraying just how long the day had been. “Hmm?”

“Your ritual,” you reminded her gently, careful to keep your tone light.

“Oh,” she murmured, shifting slightly as she pulled the blanket higher over her shoulders. “I’ll skip it tonight. I’m tired.”

The word hung in the air between you, cold and unyielding. It felt like the first crack in something you’d thought was unshakable. You wanted to press her, to remind her that it wasn’t just a routine but a connection—a space for her, for you, for what you’d built together. But something fragile lingered in her gaze, a weariness that ran deeper than physical fatigue. She looked like a bird perched precariously on a wire, ready to take flight at the slightest movement.

So instead, you nodded and stepped away, the sound of your footsteps fading into the quiet of the house. Still, the tightness in your chest lingered, an ache settling deep as you heard the soft creak of the bed springs signaling her restless sleep.

-----

A couple of mornings later, sunlight poured through the kitchen window, a golden warmth spilling across the tiled floor. Faint motes of dust swirled lazily in the still air, catching the light. The soft hum of the refrigerator was the only sound breaking the silence. You stood at the counter, the warmth of your coffee mug grounding you, your gaze fixed on the corner of the room.

It was the spot you’d asked her to clear days ago. Yet, it remained untouched, the clutter seeming to expand every time you looked at it. Books with dog-eared pages teetered in uneven stacks, half-empty mugs marked with faint coffee rings sat beside plates with crumbs still clinging to them. Papers—some folded, some crumpled—spilled across the surface, as though she’d abandoned them mid-thought. It wasn’t just a mess; it was her mess. Her habits left to fester, her tasks left undone, her things bleeding into the shared space as if their importance extended only as far as her immediate need for them.

You took a slow sip of your coffee, the bitter warmth grounding you as irritation flickered faintly in your chest. Turning toward the sound of soft footsteps, you saw Hyunjin shuffle into the room. Her hair was loosely gathered in a bun, messy strands framing her face, and her phone cast a pale glow across her features. Her thumb moved idly, scrolling with an almost hypnotic focus that made the rest of the world feel distant.

Without looking up, she moved toward the counter, her movements slow and distracted. You waited, letting the silence stretch for a moment, then finally spoke. “Hyunjin, why haven’t you cleaned the corner yet?”

She paused mid-step, her thumb hovering over her phone. For a fleeting second, she looked genuinely confused, like she wasn’t sure what you were talking about. Her eyes followed yours to the mess, and recognition flickered faintly across her face.

“Oh,” she said lightly, her tone casual, as if the neglected corner was an afterthought. “I haven't gotten to it yet.”

You set your coffee mug down carefully, keeping your voice calm but deliberate. “You didn’t get to it?”

“Yeah,” she replied, her tone dismissive, already brushing off the moment. “I’ll do it later. It’s not a big deal.”

Her hand waved vaguely toward the clutter, and she didn’t even glance up from her phone. Her thumb resumed its slow scrolling, her focus absorbed once again by the screen in her hand. The dismissiveness in her words stung more than you expected. It wasn’t the mess itself—it was the meaning behind it, the erosion of care, the growing distance her casual attitude revealed.

“Hyunjin,” you said, your voice tightening slightly. “When I ask you to do something, I expect it to be done.”

She didn’t even glance up, her gaze fixed firmly on her phone. “Okay, okay,” she mumbled, the words quick, automatic, more reflex than acknowledgment. As she turned slightly, she muttered under her breath, “Jeez.”

The word was quiet but sharp enough to cut. It hung in the air, a small jab that carried a weight far heavier than the sound should have. Your jaw tightened, the flicker of irritation blooming into something harder to ignore.

The warmth of the sunlight streaming through the window felt out of place now, incongruous against the tension crackling in the air. The room, once a peaceful haven, suddenly felt heavier. The silence was no longer soothing but charged with something unspoken. You turned back to the window, gripping your coffee mug a little tighter as you stared out at the trees swaying gently in the breeze.

It wasn’t about the mess, not really. It was about what it represented—the slow, creeping disconnection that seemed to settle in the spaces between these moments. You wondered how something so small, so seemingly insignificant, could feel so monumental. But the distance was there, undeniable, growing wider with every careless dismissal, every idle word. You stared out at the golden light playing across the trees and wondered when things had started to slip away.

-----

That evening, the restaurant was softly lit, the golden glow of candles casting flickering shadows across the table. The low hum of conversation mixed with the gentle clinking of silverware, creating an atmosphere that felt both intimate and alive. You and Hyunjin sat among her friends—Go Won, Yeojin, Hyeju, and Vivi—whose chatter flowed easily, punctuated by bursts of laughter that seemed to brighten the room. The five of them shared an easy rhythm, their teasing and playful banter weaving a language they all seemed to instinctively understand.

Hyunjin looked radiant tonight, her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the room and the laughter bubbling from her lips. She leaned forward as Yeojin said something outrageous, her eyes crinkling with genuine amusement, her smile wide and uninhibited. It was the kind of joy that drew you in, making the rest of the room blur around her. For a moment, you let yourself get lost in it, in the way her laughter lit up the space between you, in the quiet pride of seeing her so at ease.

Then, Go Won leaned forward, her grin mischievous, her tone teasing. “So,” she said, drawing out the word, her eyes glinting with barely contained glee, “is it true that Hyunjin’s partner is, like, totally in charge?”

Yeojin giggled, her eyes darting between you and Hyunjin, while Hyeju smirked knowingly. Vivi, who had been sipping her wine, set her glass down delicately and raised a curious eyebrow, her lips curving into a subtle smile. Their teasing filled the air with an electric anticipation, the kind that came before someone said something bold. All eyes turned to Hyunjin, waiting for her response.

Hyunjin laughed, but it wasn’t the soft, genuine sound you’d heard moments before. This laugh was sharp, cutting, her tone tinged with something defensive. “Yeah, right,” she said, flipping her hair with an exaggerated flourish. “He thinks he’s in charge? Oh please.”

The table erupted in laughter. Go Won clapped her hands while Yeojin practically doubled over, her giggles carrying across the room. Even Hyeju, who often played it cool, cracked a grin. Vivi, ever poised, hid her smirk behind her hand, but her eyes sparkled with amusement. You smiled along, but it felt stiff, a hollow gesture as her words sank in.

Beneath the table, you reached for her hand, a subtle gesture meant to ground the moment, to remind her of the connection that should have been there. But her hand shifted slightly, pulling away as if she hadn’t noticed—or perhaps as if she had and didn’t care.

“Hyunjin,” you said softly, leaning toward her so your words wouldn’t carry to the others. Your tone wasn’t angry, but there was a question in it—a quiet nudge toward something unspoken.

For a fleeting moment, her smile faltered. She glanced at you, her eyes flickering with something—hesitation, regret, a sliver of guilt—but it disappeared as quickly as it came. “What?” she said, her voice light, brushing off the moment. “It’s just a joke.”

Her words hit harder than you expected, their casual dismissal cutting deeper than they should have. The conversation rolled forward without missing a beat, the others picking up where they’d left off. Vivi leaned toward Go Won, quietly asking a question that made her laugh, her soft voice adding to the warm hum of the room. Hyunjin, meanwhile, turned back to Hyeju, her smile slipping back into place. On the surface, everything seemed normal, her laughter blending seamlessly into the rhythm of her friends’ banter.

But beneath that surface, her thoughts tumbled. She told herself it wasn’t a big deal—that it was better this way, keeping things light, keeping her independence in view for others to see. They didn’t need to understand everything. They didn’t need to see what happened between the two of you, the private bond that defined her. That was hers to guard. And yet, as she laughed, the thought settled heavily in her chest, an unease she couldn’t quite push away.

You leaned back slightly, withdrawing into the golden light of the restaurant. The room around you was alive with warmth and conversation, but it felt distant, as though it belonged to another world entirely. You watched her across the table, the way she tilted her head toward Hyeju, sharing a private joke, the corners of her lips lifting just enough. It should have been enough to warm you, but instead, a quiet ache gnawed at the space between you.

There was a disconnect now, sharp and unyielding, like an invisible chasm that had opened in the space of a few words. It wasn’t the laughter or even the teasing that stung. It was the way she pulled away—the way her words had drawn a line that neither the candlelight nor the soft hum of the restaurant could cross. The warmth of the evening felt muted, its glow unable to soften the weight of the unspoken distance. You sat back in silence, watching her laugh and smile, and wondered when the connection you shared had started to feel like a memory rather than something real.

The days had begun to blur together, the weight of unspoken tension threading through the quiet of the house. Little moments that once felt warm now felt distant, replaced by a growing disconnect that neither of you had yet acknowledged aloud. You found yourself noticing the small things more—the sound of her keys dropping onto the counter, the way her shoes landed haphazardly by the door, as if she no longer cared where they fell. It was as if the rhythm you once shared had gone slightly out of sync, a subtle discord that lingered in every interaction.

This evening was no different. The house was still, the muted hum of life outside barely audible through the windows. You sat on the couch, a reading lamp casting a soft glow over the book in your hands, the quiet, a fragile balm you hadn’t realized you needed. The words on the page barely registered, your mind wandering to the space between you and Hyunjin, to the way things had begun to fray. You turned the page absently, your focus more on the soft creak of the house settling than on the story in front of you.

The sudden slam of the front door shattered the stillness, the sharp crack slicing through the quiet like a thunderclap. Hyunjin stormed in, her movements hurried and agitated. Her bag slipped off her shoulder and hit the floor with a heavy thud, the sound reverberating in the space like a dropped weight. It landed crumpled and forgotten, a statement as loud as the door she had slammed behind her.

Tension radiated off her in waves, her presence electric, charged with barely contained frustration. She moved with a restlessness that seemed to fill the room, suffocating in its intensity. Her breathing was uneven, her fingers twitching as they reached up to push her hair back from her face, her movements sharp and unrelenting.

From your spot on the couch, you looked up, your grip tightening slightly on the book as the soft light from the lamp illuminated your face. You studied her, taking in the way she paced slightly, her gaze flickering over the space like she was searching for something to anchor her. The energy she brought into the room was undeniable, sharp and restless like the air before a downpour.

“Rough day?” you asked, your voice neutral, carefully measured as you closed the book and set it aside on the small table next to you.

“Don’t start,” she snapped, her voice taut and edged with irritation, each syllable cutting through the stillness like a blade. She kicked her shoes off with thoughtless movements, one landing askew near the door while the other slid across the hardwood with a soft scrape. Without so much as a glance in your direction, she headed toward the kitchen, her movements brisk and full of a frustration she seemed unable to contain.

You rose from the couch, moving calmly in her wake, each step deliberate and unhurried. The tension radiating from her seemed to fill the air, but you kept your own energy steady, refusing to be drawn into the storm she was carrying. “I’m not starting anything,” you said, your voice low and even. “I’m asking.”

“Then don’t!” she said, whirling around to face you, the sharpness in her tone reverberating between you. Her eyes burned with an emotion that went beyond anger—it was raw, layered with exhaustion and something deeper, something tangled and unspoken that caught you off guard. “God, you’re always hovering. Can’t you just give me some space?”

Her words lingered in the air like smoke, acrid and stinging. They cut through the fragile quiet that had filled the house before she arrived, leaving it broken and jagged in her wake. Her shoulders rose and fell with shallow breaths, her chest heaving slightly as though even the act of speaking had pulled something out of her. You took a small step closer, your movements measured, keeping your gaze steady as you tried to read the tension in her stance. Her posture was tight, defensive, her arms twitching slightly as though she wanted to cross them but couldn’t quite commit to the action.

“Hyunjin, come here,” you said softly. Your voice was calm but firm, a quiet invitation edged with a gravity that couldn’t be ignored. It wasn’t loud, but it carried weight, a steady anchor in the turbulence that crackled in the space between you.

Her jaw tightened, her teeth pressing together as she hesitated. For a moment, her arms wrapped around her chest defensively, her body closing off. Her eyes flickered with something between defiance and vulnerability—an emotion she seemed desperate to mask. “What now?” she muttered, her tone laced with sarcasm and exhaustion. “Another lecture? Another rule I’ve broken?”

You let the words hang in the air for a moment, refusing to take the bait. “Come here. Now,” you said again, sharper this time. The calm authority in your voice sliced cleanly through her deflection, leaving no room for argument.

Her body stiffened, her lips parting as if to fire back a retort, but the words caught in her throat. She froze, her arms tightening against her chest as she stared at you, her expression caught somewhere between rebellion and hesitation. The air between you felt impossibly heavy, thick with the weight of all the things left unsaid. Her defiance was still there, simmering just below the surface, but quieter now, edged with uncertainty.

Slowly, deliberately, you reached for the collar around her neck. The movement was calm, but its intent was unmistakable. Her breath hitched audibly, her eyes widening as your fingers brushed the soft leather, warm from her skin. The cool buckle under your touch seemed to amplify the tension, vibrating in the charged silence.

Her reaction was immediate. Her hands shot up, grasping yours with sudden urgency. Her palms pressed against the backs of your hands, trembling slightly as though to stop you—or at least to understand. The contact struck you both, heavier than the action itself, more intimate than any argument could ever be.

Her fingers curled lightly against yours, delicate but insistent, as if trying to cling to something intangible. She didn’t speak, but her eyes searched yours, wide and pleading. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, but the emotion in her gaze spoke louder than any words she could muster.

The buckle clicked open, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet. Her hands lingered on yours for a moment, trembling as though reluctant to let go. When the leather slipped free from her neck, her hands fell away slowly, brushing over her collarbone as if trying to feel the weight that was no longer there.

Her gaze darted downward, her expression shifting between shock and raw vulnerability. “What—what are you doing?” she stammered, her voice faltering, unsteady. Her fingers rose instinctively to the bare skin of her neck, searching for the familiar presence of the collar, now conspicuously absent.

You held the collar in your hands for a moment, its weight feeling heavier than it had ever been. The leather seemed darker under the dim light, more imposing in its absence from her neck. Without a word, you turned and walked toward the mantle, your footsteps deliberate, every step sinking into the silence like a nail into wood.

Carefully, almost ceremoniously, you placed the collar on the mantle. Its dark band stood out starkly against the pale wood, a silent reminder of what it represented. You let your hand linger for a moment before stepping back and turning to face her again.

“If you can’t respect what this collar means,” you said, your voice steady and measured, “then you don’t deserve to wear it.”

Her breath hitched audibly, sharp and hollow in the heavy silence. For a moment, she stared at you, her lips parting as if to argue, but no words came. Her shoulders sagged slightly, and she looked away, her hands twitching at her sides. Then, her gaze snapped back, flickering with faint resistance, though it was muted—more defense than defiance.

“That’s not—” she began, but her voice faltered, the words tapering off. She looked down, her fingers brushing her neck as though searching for the familiar weight that was no longer there. Her jaw tightened, and her voice came softer, almost subdued. “You’re… overthinking this,” she muttered. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

You stayed silent, your gaze steady, letting her words linger in the charged air. She shifted uncomfortably under your scrutiny, her hands falling away from her neck as she glanced toward the collar resting on the mantle. The sight of it made her flinch, her shoulders drawing inward, but she refused to let herself stay vulnerable for long.

“Whatever…It’s just a stupid collar,” she said finally, the words tumbling out too quickly, too defensively, as though trying to shield herself from the enormity of the moment.

Your expression didn’t waver, your silence speaking louder than any response could. Her dismissive tone lingered in the air, but it felt brittle, as though it could shatter under the weight of her unspoken emotions. The room settled into an oppressive stillness, the warmth of the house replaced by a cold tension that neither of you could escape.

Her gaze flicked back to you for a fleeting moment before dropping to the floor. She stood frozen, her fingers twitching at her sides, her vulnerability laid bare despite her words. And as the silence deepened, you wondered if she truly believed what she had just said—or if it was simply easier to say than to confront what the collar, and everything it represented, meant to her.

-----

The absence of the collar should have been no big deal. That’s what Hyunjin told herself that first night, staring at the faint shadows cast by the moonlight on the ceiling. The glow of the streetlights outside spilled through the curtains, painting shifting shapes that danced with the breeze. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, the cool air brushing against her bare neck—a subtle but insistent reminder of what wasn’t there. She pulled the blanket higher around her shoulders, seeking warmth, but it didn’t help. No matter how tightly she cocooned herself, the emptiness followed her, clinging like a shadow she couldn’t shake.

Her fingers fidgeted at her sides, brushing against her throat as though searching for something that wasn’t there. Each time they met bare skin, a pang of frustration mingled with something deeper—something she refused to name—flared in her chest. She shifted onto her side, then her back again, the rustle of the sheets doing little to calm the restless energy coiling within her. The room felt colder, quieter than it should have been, the stillness pressing down on her like a weight.

“It’s just a strip of leather,” she whispered into the dark, her voice barely audible. The words felt hollow even as they left her lips, a weak attempt to convince herself of something she didn’t truly believe. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Saying it aloud should have helped. It should have silenced the thoughts, dulled the ache in her chest. But the words dissolved into the silence, weightless and meaningless, leaving behind only a sharper awareness of the void they couldn’t fill. She turned her face into the pillow, her fingers clutching the blanket as though holding onto something tangible could ground her. But even that felt futile, like trying to grasp smoke.

Sleep, when it finally came, was fractured and uneasy. Flickering images and sensations haunted her dreams, vague and ungraspable. The sound of your voice lingered in her subconscious—steady, grounding, sure. The firm yet comforting pressure of your hands left an imprint that refused to fade. And the collar—it haunted her, its weight vivid in her dreams, so real she could almost feel it pressing against her skin.

She woke several times throughout the night, her body restless, the blanket tangled around her legs. Each time, her hand instinctively reached for her neck, her fingers brushing the bare skin as though to confirm what her mind already knew. The absence felt like an accusation, a silent reminder of what she had dismissed too easily. By the time the faint light of dawn seeped through the curtains, her body was drained, but her thoughts were relentless, circling the same question: Why did it feel like so much more than just a collar?

-----

By the third day, the weight of the collar’s absence had become unbearable. The void it left consumed her thoughts, gnawing at her relentlessly, each quiet moment amplifying the ache. The collar sat on the mantle in the bedroom, unmoving yet commanding, its polished leather gleaming faintly in the soft light of flickering candles. It seemed so small, so unassuming, yet its presence loomed large, dominating not just the room but her every thought.

At first, she avoided looking at it directly, telling herself it didn’t matter, that it was better to stay busy and keep her focus elsewhere. But the effort was futile. Her eyes betrayed her, flickering back to it again and again, her chest tightening with each glance. The ache inside her grew sharper, more insistent. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her fingers twitching at her sides as though resisting the urge to reach out. It wasn’t just the object that unsettled her—it was the creeping realization of what it symbolized: trust, connection, submission, and the bond she had taken for granted.

She tried to leave the room, to find distraction in other parts of the house, but the bedroom pulled at her like a tide. Each step away felt heavier, harder, until she couldn’t bring herself to leave at all. By midmorning, she was back, sitting on the edge of the bed, her gaze fixed on the mantle. Hours stretched long and quiet around her as she lingered, her presence a silent acknowledgment of the tension she couldn’t escape.

By evening, Hyunjin’s resolve had crumbled entirely. She remained in the bedroom, the air thick with the faint scent of mint and the lingering trace of your cologne. The room seemed heavier than usual, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath, waiting for her to face what she had been avoiding all day.

Her gaze locked on the mantle once again, drawn to the collar as if by an invisible force. Its polished leather caught the flickering candlelight, the buckle gleaming faintly like a distant beacon. Her chest tightened with every passing second as she stared, her reflection faintly visible in the metal, distorted and fragile. Her breath grew shallow, her thoughts swirling into a chaotic storm of guilt, longing, and determination.

Unable to stand the weight of it any longer, she slowly sank to her knees. The wooden floor felt cold against her skin, grounding her trembling body as she settled into position. Her hands rested lightly on her thighs, but her fingers quivered, unable to stay still. She bowed her head, her breath uneven, as though the very act of submission was drawing the truth out of her.

The room pressed down on her in its quiet stillness. Each flicker of candlelight seemed to illuminate the depths of her turmoil, the flames dancing in time with the raw emotion that churned within her.

Her heart pounded steadily in her chest, her body aching from the strain of holding the position, but she refused to move. The act of kneeling felt like the only thing tethering her, a physical manifestation of the submission she had neglected.

She whispered to herself, soft and uncertain, the words carried by the silence. “It wasn’t just a stupid collar. It never was.”

The admission felt raw, vulnerable, but the weight of it didn’t lift. Her breaths came shallow and uneven as the minutes ticked by. Her muscles burned, her knees aching against the hard floor, but she stayed resolute, unwilling to let the discomfort deter her. This was where she belonged—waiting, asking without words for the chance to prove herself.

When the sound of the front door opening echoed through the quiet house, her heart leapt in her chest. Her body stiffened, the faint creak of your footsteps growing louder as you moved closer. She didn’t dare lift her head, the air around her thickening with anticipation. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her thighs, her breath catching as your familiar presence filled the doorway.

You stopped, your shadow falling over her as you took in the scene: Hyunjin kneeling at the foot of the mantle, her head bowed, her form trembling slightly with emotion. The flickering candlelight cast soft shadows across her figure, accentuating the strain in her shoulders, the tension in her hands. She didn’t look up, but the weight of your gaze pressed into her like a tangible force.

“Hyunjin,” you said, your voice low and steady, cutting through the quiet like a blade.

Her head lifted slightly at the sound of your voice, her eyes wide and glistening as they met yours. “Sir,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I… I know I wasn’t called here. But I needed to be here.”

You studied her, your expression unreadable, and she hurried to continue, her words spilling out in a rush. “I’ve been so foolish,” she admitted, her voice cracking slightly. “I thought I could brush it off, that it didn’t matter. But I was wrong. So wrong.”

Her fingers twitched against her thighs, her entire body trembling as she spoke. “I’ve learned… that submission isn’t automatic. It’s not something I can take for granted or expect without effort. It’s something I have to give—fully, every day. And I failed to do that, Sir. I failed to value you, to trust you, and to honor what this collar represents.”

Her voice broke, a sob catching in her throat. “I thought I could handle its absence. That it wouldn’t affect me. But it does, Sir. It does more than I ever imagined. Without it… without you, I feel so lost.”

Her head dipped lower, tears spilling over as her breath hitched audibly. “Please, Sir,” she whispered, desperation threading through every syllable. “I don’t deserve it yet, but I want to. I want to earn it back. I’ll do anything. Just… just let me prove myself.”

“Words are easy, Hyunjin,” you said, your tone calm but unyielding. “They don’t mean as much as action.”

Her breath hitched, and she quickly looked up, her wide eyes searching your face for any hint of mercy. “Please, Sir,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’ll show you. I’ll prove it. Just… please, let me earn it back.”

“You’ve been working hard,” you acknowledged, stepping closer, the collar still in your hands. “But hard work isn’t enough. What makes you think you deserve this again?”

Her lips parted, trembling as she struggled to find the words. “Because I—I know what I lost,” she said finally, her voice trembling. “I know what it means now, Sir. I’ll do anything to earn it back. Please, don’t keep it from me.”

You took another step forward, looming over her. The weight of your presence made her lower her head again, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. “Anything?” you asked, your tone steady but sharp. “Because this collar isn’t just about obedience. It’s about trust. Commitment. Do you even understand what those mean?”

“Yes, Sir,” she said quickly, her voice rising in desperation. “I understand now, I swear. I didn’t before, but I do now. Please… let me prove it to you.”

Her hands twitched against her thighs, instinctively wanting to reach for you but staying frozen in place. The room fell silent again, the tension thick as her pleas hung in the air. You stayed quiet, letting her squirm under the weight of your gaze. Her breathing grew more frantic, her fingers curling into fists as her composure began to crack.

“Sir,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m begging you. Please… I need it.”

You crouched in front of her, the collar dangling from your fingers. Her eyes locked onto it instantly, her breath catching as if the air had been knocked from her lungs. But you didn’t move to put it on her. Instead, you leaned closer, your voice a low murmur. “Needing it isn’t enough. You’ll have to earn it, Hyunjin. Through action, not words. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Sir,” she said, her voice trembling but resolute. “I’ll do anything. I’ll prove myself.”

“Then keep proving it,” you replied, your tone firm as you straightened again. Her body tensed, and for a moment, she thought you were going to walk away. The thought must have terrified her, because she moved without thinking, her hands clasping around your ankle.

“Please, Sir,” she begged again, her voice raw with emotion. “Please… I’m sorry for taking it for granted. I’ll never do it again, I swear. Just give me a chance.”

You watched her for another long moment, letting her desperation sink in. Finally, you knelt again, holding the collar at eye level. Her eyes widened, hope flickering across her face, but she stayed still, trembling as you leaned in.

“This collar is not just a decoration,” you said, your voice low but deliberate. “It is a gift. A privilege. And for it to stay on, you’ll need to show me that you understand that.”

Her breath hitched as you moved closer, the collar brushing against her neck. Slowly, with deliberate care, you fastened it around her throat. The soft click of the buckle echoed in the room, final and absolute, like a vow being made. Her chest rose sharply as the familiar weight settled back into place, grounding her once again.

Her fingers twitched again, instinctively wanting to reach for it, but she stopped herself. You tilted her chin up with a single finger, your gaze locking onto hers.

“To keep this collar,” you said, your tone soft but firm, “you will face tests. Challenges that show me you’re worthy of wearing it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly parted, and her wide eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Thank you, Sir. I won’t let you down. I promise.”

You let your hand linger on her chin for a moment longer before releasing her, your gaze steady as you straightened to your full height. Towering over her, your presence filled the space, commanding without a single word. She remained kneeling, her hands resting on her thighs, her posture perfect but trembling slightly as the weight of the moment settled over her.

“Good,” you said, your voice steady, firm. “Because this is your second chance. Don’t waste it.”

She swallowed hard, her breath shallow, her gaze flickering between your face and the collar now secure around her neck. The room seemed to hold its breath, the tension shifting into something heavier, warmer, charged with the quiet promise of something restored.

Slowly, you leaned down, your hand brushing her cheek as your lips met hers. The kiss began tentative, a gentle press of lips, testing the waters of the bond you were rebuilding. But it deepened quickly, fueled by the unspoken emotions of the past week. Her hands, still trembling, reached for your shoulders, clutching at you as though afraid you might pull away.

Your hand found the collar, your fingers curling around the leather as you tugged gently, pulling her closer. The sensation sent a visible shiver down her spine, her breath catching in her throat.

“You’ve missed this, haven’t you?” you murmured against her lips, your voice low and knowing.

“Yes,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “So much, Sir.”

A faint smile played across your lips as your grip on the collar tightened slightly, guiding her as the kiss deepened. The heat between you grew steadily, the air thick with the mingling scents of mint and her rising need. She pressed closer to you, her hands sliding down your chest, fingers clutching at your shirt as if anchoring herself in your presence. Each touch, each movement was an affirmation of the connection you had rebuilt, the trust slowly returning.

Her body leaned into yours instinctively, the energy between you palpable. You pulled back just enough to let her feel the tension lingering in the space between your bodies. Your hand, still curled around the collar, applied the slightest pressure, keeping her gaze locked on yours.

“Then show me ,” you said softly, your voice steady, deliberate.

Her breath hitched, her hands falling back to her thighs as she lowered her gaze slightly, the flush on her cheeks deepening. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her voice filled with reverence. The atmosphere between you was electric, charged with anticipation as she prepared to prove herself once more, piece by piece, rebuilding what had been fractured.

Hyunjin nodded, her body visibly tense with anticipation. Her fingers moved with care, unfastening the button on your pants and sliding the zipper down. The soft sound of fabric shifting against the leather chair seemed deafening in the silence. Her breath hitched as she tugged your pants and boxers down, her cheeks flushed as you were exposed to her fully.

Her wide eyes flickered upward, a mix of nervousness and need shining in them as she hesitated for a moment. You didn’t speak, letting her feel the weight of the moment, your hand moving to rest lightly on her head. That gentle guidance was all she needed to lean forward, her lips parting as she placed a soft, tentative kiss at the base of your length. Her warm breath brushed against you as she began, her tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path upward.

Her movements grew more confident as she worked, her lips wrapping around you, taking you deeper with each pass. The soft moans that escaped her vibrated against your skin, the sound sending a jolt of heat through your body. You threaded your fingers into her hair, your grip firm but not harsh, guiding her pace as she moved with increasing fervor.

“Good girl,” you murmured, your voice low and approving. She responded immediately, her pace quickening, her tongue and lips working in perfect harmony. But just as the tension in the room began to build, you tightened your grip in her hair, pulling her back sharply.

“Stop,” you said firmly.

Her lips slipped off you with an audible pop, her eyes snapping up to meet yours, wide and questioning. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, her hands still resting lightly on your thighs as she froze in place. The sight of her—lips glistening, cheeks flushed, her pupils blown wide with desire—sent a wave of satisfaction through you, but you held your expression steady.

“Look at it,” you commanded, your voice calm but unyielding. “Just look.”

She swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to your length. Her hands twitched against your thighs, her lips parting slightly as she stared, her breathing ragged. The heat between you was palpable, thick in the air as the seconds stretched on.

“Sir,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Not yet,” you replied, your tone firm. “You’ll wait until I say.”

Her fingers dug slightly into your thighs, her need evident in the way her body shifted, her legs pressing together subtly. The denial was working—her arousal was unmistakable, her lips trembling as she obeyed, her gaze fixed on you.

“Resume,” you said after a long moment, your hand loosening its grip on her hair.

She dove back eagerly, her mouth enveloping you with renewed fervor. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, her movements quicker, more precise. The warmth of her mouth, the slickness of her tongue, and the soft, muffled sounds she made sent sparks of pleasure through you.

Just as her pace became frantic, you tugged on her hair again, pulling her back abruptly. Her head tilted up, her lips red and swollen, her eyes glassy with desperation. A soft whimper escaped her as she looked at you, her need etched into every line of her face.

“Stop,” you said again, your voice sharp.

“Sir,” she whimpered, her voice breaking. “Please.”

You tilted your head slightly, observing her with quiet intensity. “Please, what?”

“Let me continue,” she begged, her voice trembling. “I need to, Sir. I need to.”

Your lips curled into a faint smile as you leaned forward slightly, your thumb brushing over her swollen lower lip. “You’ll wait,” you said, your tone commanding. “Until I’m ready.”

Her body visibly trembled, her arousal spilling over into every movement. Her thighs pressed together tighter, her hands clutching at the fabric of your pants as if anchoring herself. She was desperate, her need growing with every second you held her back.

Finally, you tugged her closer pulling her head down slightly. “Resume,” you said, your voice low and rough.

She whimpered softly, the sound drenched in need, her lips parting as she immediately obeyed. Her mouth found you again, her movements feverish, as if every second away had only amplified her desperation. Her tongue glided along your length with reverence, each flick and swirl precise, her lips sealing around you as her moans vibrated against your skin. Her soft, muffled sounds filled the room, fueling the intensity of the moment. Her submission was complete, every movement a display of her devotion and longing to please.

The tension inside you built higher with every stroke, every delicate movement of her lips, her frantic need feeding your own growing pleasure. Her breath came in quick huffs through her nose as she worked, her hands lightly gripping your thighs for stability. She was utterly lost in the moment, her entire focus on serving you, and it was intoxicating.

With a firm tug on the collar, you pulled her head back once more, her lips slipping off you with a soft, breathy whine of frustration. Her wide, pleading eyes locked onto yours, her need written plainly on her flushed face. Her breaths came in shallow, desperate gasps, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself.

"Strip," you ordered, your voice steady and commanding.

Her trembling hands immediately moved to obey, her fingers fumbling slightly in her haste as she shed her clothes. The fabric slid from her body, pooling on the floor as she stood before you, bare and vulnerable. Her skin glowed in the flickering candlelight, every curve and line of her body laid out for your gaze. She shivered, a mix of anticipation and arousal coursing through her, but she didn’t waver, her eyes cast downward in submission.

“Now, get on the bed,” you said, your tone leaving no room for hesitation. “On all fours.”

She scrambled to comply, her movements quick but deliberate, the urgency in her actions undeniable. The mattress dipped slightly beneath her as she positioned herself, her knees sinking into the plush surface. Her back arched instinctively, her head bowing submissively, her hands gripping the sheets tightly as if anchoring herself. Her breath hitched audibly as you stepped behind her, the leash in your hand taut, its tension a constant reminder of your control.

Reaching for the leash attachment on the bedside table, you let the quiet sound of metal against wood fill the room. Her body tensed at the faint clink, her breath catching as she froze in place, her anticipation palpable. The polished attachment glinted in the candlelight as you clicked it into place on her collar, the sound sharp and commanding. A tremor ran through her as the leash went taut, and you gave it a testing tug, pulling her head back slightly.

“You’ve done well,” you murmured, your free hand trailing over the curve of her spine, feeling the way her body shivered beneath your touch. “But I’m not done testing you yet.”

Her whimper was soft, her voice barely audible over the quiet tension in the room. Her hips shifted instinctively, pressing back slightly, seeking more of your touch as though her body had a will of its own. The leash in your hand grew taut as you pulled her back, her movement halted with deliberate precision. A shiver ran through her, and the small sound that escaped her lips was almost a plea, fragile and raw.

You smirked at her eagerness, letting your hand slide to her hips, gripping them firmly to keep her still. “Desperate already?” you murmured, your tone edged with amusement. The heat of your palm against her skin only heightened the tension, her trembling body betraying the effort it took to remain obedient.

Slowly, you teased her, letting the tip of you brush against her entrance, the barest touch enough to make her tense and gasp. Her thighs quivered, her breath catching audibly as her body trembled with restrained anticipation. Her need was palpable, her entire form aching for more, yet she remained frozen, holding herself steady with a visible effort that only deepened your satisfaction.

“Patience,” you said sharply, your voice slicing through her whimper. The leash tightened slightly, a reminder of your control. “You’ll take what I give you. Nothing more.”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her voice shaky yet obedient, her words punctuated by shallow, unsteady breaths.

You pressed forward just enough to enter her, your movements slow and deliberate, the sensation electric as her body responded instantly. Her muscles clenched tightly around you, a soft, broken cry escaping her lips as her fingers curled into the sheets. Her need was overwhelming, radiating from her trembling frame, yet she didn’t move, her submission absolute even as her desire consumed her.

“Don’t move,” you commanded, your tone low but firm.

“Yes, Sir,” she gasped, her voice filled with effort as she fought to remain still. Her fingers dug deeper into the sheets, her knuckles white as her body vibrated with barely restrained longing. Every breath was a struggle, her soft whimpers growing louder as you stayed motionless, letting the weight of the stillness press down on her.

But then, instinct betrayed her. Her hips shifted ever so slightly, seeking more of you, her desperation winning out for a fleeting moment. The rustle of the leash was sharp as you pulled it taut, her head jerking back as your hand came down sharply on her ass with a loud, resounding smack. She yelped, the sound a mix of pain and pleasure, her body jolting forward even as she froze in realization.

“What did I say?” you growled, your voice low and commanding, the leash a firm tether in your hand.

“Not to move,” she whimpered, her voice trembling with both need and apology.

“Then don’t,” you snapped, your tone sharp, leaving no room for argument.

“Yes, Sir,” she replied quickly, her words laced with desperation as she braced herself, her hands gripping the sheets tighter.

Leaning forward, you pressed in further, filling her slowly, deliberately, her sharp gasp echoing in the room as her body quivered around you. Her whimpers grew louder, her breaths shallow and uneven as her restraint began to unravel. The tension between you was palpable, the air charged with her aching desire and your unyielding control.

Again, she moved—a tiny, involuntary tilt of her hips, but it was enough. Without hesitation, you tugged the leash sharply, pulling her head back as your hand came down on her other cheek with another sharp smack. Her cry was louder this time, her body jolting beneath you as the sting radiated across her skin.

“You’ll wait until I allow it,” you said, your voice a growl. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her voice breaking, her body trembling as she tried to steady herself.

The leash tightened in your hand as you leaned over her, your lips brushing against her ear. “Good girl,” you murmured, the words low and deliberate, sending a shiver down her spine. “Now, let’s see if you can do better.”

You stayed still inside her, savoring the way her body clenched around you, her desperation growing with each passing second. Her soft, broken whimpers filled the room, every sound a testament to her struggle and her need. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the sheets, her entire body trembling with the effort to obey.

When she moved again—a subtle, instinctive tilt of her hips—you didn’t hesitate. The leash tightened sharply, pulling her head back as your hand came down once more with a sharp smack. The sound reverberated through the room, her cry echoing louder, her body jolting before falling still.

“Again?” you growled, your tone low and dangerous. “Have you not learned?”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” she whimpered, her voice cracking, her words tumbling out quickly. “I’ll be good. I’ll be still.”

“Prove it,” you said sharply, your grip on the leash firm, holding her exactly where you wanted her. “Show me you deserve this.”

She nodded frantically, her breaths coming in soft, broken gasps as she fought to hold herself steady. Her body quivered beneath you, every inch of her radiating need, but she didn’t move again. The leash in your hand was a constant reminder of her submission, the tension pulling her further into the moment as her fingers gripped the sheets tightly, her knuckles white.

You pressed into her fully, slow and deliberate, filling her completely. Her sharp gasp echoed in the room, her body instinctively clenching around you as she felt the stretch of you inside her. But you didn’t move. You held her there, buried deep, the weight of the stillness pressing down on her.

“Do you want me to move?” you asked, your voice low, calm, and teasing.

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need. “Please.”

You stayed perfectly still as the tension built between you. Without warning, you twitched inside her, the subtle movement making her entire body jolt. A broken whimper spilled from her lips, her thighs trembling as she clenched around you again, her breath shaky.

“Is that what you wanted?” you asked, your tone almost mocking.

“More,” she whimpered, her voice cracking. “Please, Sir. Give me more.”

Another twitch. Her cry was louder this time, her back arching slightly as the sensation rippled through her. Her hands clutched at the sheets, her entire body quivering with desperation.

“Why should be so generous?” you murmured, your voice calm, almost curious. “Have you earned it?”

“I—I’ll earn it,” she stammered, her words tumbling out in a breathless rush. “Please, Sir, I’ll do anything. I’m sorry. Please.”

You leaned over her slightly, the leash in your hand taut as your free hand slid down her back, your touch soft, teasing. “Anything?” you asked, your lips brushing against her ear.

“Yes,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “Anything.”

Her body tensed as she waited, anticipation written in every trembling muscle. Then, you twitched again, the small, deliberate movement sending another jolt of sensation through her. Her cry was a mix of frustration and arousal, her thighs pressing together as she fought to stay still.

“Please,” she begged, her voice raw and desperate. “Please, Sir, I’ll be good. I won’t move. Just—please.”

Her desire was palpable, her submission complete as body trembled beneath you. You stayed still for a long moment, letting her desperation simmer, the leash pulling her head back slightly as a reminder of your control.

Finally, you pulled back all the way, the cool air brushing between you as her breath hitched, her body trembling with anticipation. Her hands gripped the sheets tighter, her entire form taut, waiting for your next move. Without warning, you thrust into her fully, your entire length filling her in one deliberate motion. A loud cry escaped her lips, raw and unrestrained, her body clenching tightly around you in response. But she stayed completely still, every muscle tense, holding herself in perfect submission despite the overwhelming sensation.

You stayed there, buried deep inside her, your hand trailing down her back in a slow, soothing motion. Her breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, her entire body trembling with the effort to hold herself still. “Good girl,” you murmured, your voice low and warm, laced with pride. “You listened this time.”

“Thank you, Sir,” she whispered, her voice trembling but steady, filled with quiet gratitude. Her submission radiated from every inch of her body, her fingers gripping the sheets so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Slowly, you pulled back again, her breath catching as she braced herself. Then, without warning, you thrust into her a second time, your motion smooth and deliberate, your entire length filling her completely. Her cry was louder this time, her voice breaking as her body clenched around you again. But once more, she didn’t move. She held herself perfectly still, her submission unwavering, her breath shaky as she fought the overwhelming sensations.

The leash in your hand stayed taut, keeping her aligned with your control, her body bent to your will. You leaned forward slightly, your breath warm against the back of her neck as you murmured, “That’s what I wanted to see. You’re doing so well.”

“Thank you, Sir,” she gasped, her voice barely a whisper, trembling with relief and pride.

This time, you began to move, your pace slow and deliberate, the shift a clear and deliberate reward for her obedience. The relief in her voice was almost tangible, her muffled cries spilling out with each thrust, each sound a testament to the weight lifted from her desperation. Her body responded instinctively, perfectly aligned with your rhythm, the curve of her back arching as though offering herself entirely to you.

The leather leash in your hand stayed taut, a constant tether to her submission, its tension drawing her further into the moment. Each measured thrust pressed her hips forward, only for her to press back with a growing urgency, her movements eager yet restrained, still seeking your permission in every motion. The slick heat of her enveloped you completely, her body clinging with a fervent need that made the air between you crackle with intensity.

Her cries grew louder, each sound a mix of pleasure and surrender, her voice rising in raw emotion with every deliberate thrust. Your grip on the leash tightened, and you pulled her head back sharply, eliciting a sharp gasp from her lips. Her neck arched beautifully, her vulnerability on full display as she submitted to the pull of the leather.

In a fluid motion, you wrapped the supple leash around her head, positioning it snugly between her lips. The soft leather pressed firmly into her mouth, transforming her cries into muffled, broken sounds of pleasure and need. The gagged whimpers and desperate breaths filled the room, blending with the rhythmic sound of your movements. Her body trembled beneath you, every shudder and quiver a display of her surrender, her raw need laid bare.

"This," you murmured, your voice low and edged with a commanding roughness as you leaned in, your lips grazing the delicate curve of her ear. "This is who you truly are," you continued, your breath warm against her skin, each word sinking into her like a brand. "Your best self," you whispered, the possessiveness in your tone undeniable, each syllable deliberate, drawing her deeper into the moment. "Completely mine."

Her muffled response was unintelligible but filled with emotion, her entire body reacting to the weight of your claim. Her hands gripped the sheets with white-knuckled intensity, her nails scraping against the fabric as her body buckled beneath the steady, purposeful rhythm you set. The leather pressed into her lips, the tension in the leash anchoring her fully in the moment, as if nothing else in the world existed except your control and her submission.

Her cries reached a fever pitch as you slowed abruptly, pressing deep inside her and holding completely still. The sudden lack of motion made her freeze, her muffled whines of frustration breaking the quiet tension in the room. She clenched around you instinctively, her body desperate for the friction and release that had been so cruelly denied. Her desperation filled the air, thick and electric, as she quivered beneath you.

“You don’t get to cum until I give you permission,” you growled, your voice low and commanding. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whimpered, her voice shaky, her words muffled by the leash pressing against her lips. Her hands gripped the sheets tightly, her knuckles white as she fought to obey, every fiber of her being screaming for relief. Her body trembled violently, her thighs quivering as she remained perfectly still, holding herself together only through sheer willpower.

You began to move again, deliberately slow, each thrust measured and purposeful. Her muffled cries grew louder, her hips instinctively pressing back into you, desperate to match your rhythm, to take more of you. But each time her movements matched yours, you slowed again, the leash taut in your hand a constant reminder of her place.

"Patience," you said sharply, landing a firm slap on her ass. The sound echoed in the room, followed by a sharp gasp as she jolted slightly under your touch. Her body trembled, the sting blooming across her skin as a mix of pain and pleasure heightened her arousal.

You smirked at her reaction and spanked her again, your hand coming down with enough force to draw a muffled cry from her lips. Her muscles tightened around you, her body reacting instinctively as her breath hitched. “You take what I give you, nothing more, nothing less” you ordered, your voice a low growl. 

She nodded frantically, her breaths ragged as her body trembled with the effort to obey. Her submission sent a thrill through you, and you rewarded her with another deliberate spank, your palm landing squarely on her other cheek. Her cry was louder this time, her body jolting forward as the sensation spread through her.

“Good girl,” you murmured, your tone approving but firm. “I can feel how much you want it. Is this all it takes to make you fall apart?”

Her muffled cries grew more frantic as you thrust into her again, slow but deep, her body tensing with every motion. The deliberate pace was maddening, designed to keep her on edge without letting her tip over. You spanked her once more, the sound of the impact followed by a sharp whimper that was pure need.

Then, leaning over her, you tugged the leash tighter, tilting her head back. Your breath was warm against her ear as you growled, “Where do you deserve my cum?”

Her muffled response was immediate, frantic. “Inside, Sir,” she gasped, her voice trembling as her hips instinctively pressed back against you. “Please, Sir, inside. Fill me.”

You smirked, leaning closer, your voice low and teasing as you asked, “Do you think you’ve earned that?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whimpered, her voice cracking with desperation. “I’ll be good—I’ll do anything. Please, Sir, I need it.”

You spanked her again, the sharp smack drawing a broken cry from her lips. Her body jolted, her thighs trembling as she clenched tightly around you. “Then beg for it,” you commanded, your voice thick with authority.

“Please, Sir,” she sobbed, her voice trembling with emotion as she broke completely. “Please let me have it. I’ll do anything—I’m yours. Please let me feel it.”

Tightening your grip on the leash, you thrust into her slowly, deeply, savoring the way her body trembled beneath you. “Good girl,” you murmured, your voice a low rumble against her ear. “You’ve earned it.”

Your pace quickened, each thrust deliberate and deep as the tension between you reached its peak. Her muffled cries turned to sobs of relief and pleasure, her body responding instinctively as she gave herself over completely. The connection between you was electric, her submission feeding your control as the leash stayed taut in your hand, keeping her exactly where you wanted her.

Leaning closer, your voice dropping to a low growl. “Who do you belong to?” you demanded, the authority in your tone leaving no room for hesitation.

“You, Sir,” she gasped, her voice trembling but resolute, her entire body arching under your control.

You thrust harder, making her cry out as you repeated, “Say it again.”

“You, Sir! Only you!” she sobbed, her voice raw with submission as her body shuddered.

"Good," you murmured, your voice thick with satisfaction as you leaned in closer, tightening your grip on the leash-turned-gag. The leather pressed snugly between her lips, muffling her cries as her body quivered beneath you. "Never forget it."

You didn’t give her time to respond. Your hips began to move with unrelenting purpose, each thrust harder and deeper than the last. The room was filled with the rhythmic sound of your movements and her muffled cries, raw and desperate, vibrating through the leather gag. Her body arched beneath you, trembling with the effort to hold herself steady, her fingers clutching the sheets so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Her thighs quivered as she clenched around you, her body reacting instinctively to your relentless pace. Each sharp motion drew another muffled moan from her lips, her cries growing higher, more frantic, as her body teetered closer to the edge. The leash stayed taut in your hand, pulling her head back just enough to keep her perfectly aligned to your will.

Her entire form shook beneath you, her body taut with tension as the heat between you built to a fever pitch. Her muffled sounds became a pleading melody, her desperation spilling out with every motion as her submission deepened. You could feel the way she clenched tighter, her body begging for permission even without words, every inch of her crying out for release.

You pulled the leash back, the leather taut between your fingers, leaning into her ear as your voice dropped to a sharp, commanding growl. “Now. Cum for me.”

Her release was immediate, her body convulsing beneath you as a muffled scream tore from her lips, raw and unrestrained. Her walls clenched tightly around you, the intensity of her climax gripping you like a vice, pulling a guttural groan from your throat. Her limbs shook uncontrollably, her strength failing as her muscles gave out. Her body became weightless against the collar, her submission leaving her completely at your mercy.

The leash in your hand became a lifeline, pulling her back as her head tilted, her breath hitching in sobbing gasps. Each wave of her release rolled through her, leaving her trembling and arching into you, her body unable to do anything but feel. Her fingers clawed weakly at the sheets before falling away entirely, her arms limp, her legs shaking so violently they could no longer support her weight.

You didn’t let up, your thrusts deep and deliberate, each motion designed to draw every ounce of her climax from her quivering body. Her walls pulsed around you, the sensation almost too much as she squeezed tighter with every tremor, her body desperately holding onto you. The heat of her, the way her back arched instinctively, and the desperate, muffled cries that spilled from her lips pushed you closer to the edge.

“That’s it,” you growled, your voice low and rough, satisfaction lacing every word as her sobs softened, her trembling body still clenched tightly around you. Leaning over her, your breath brushed her ear, sending a shiver through her overstimulated form. “Take it all.”

Her submission fueled your own release, the way she surrendered entirely to the moment, her body collapsing beneath you. You thrust into her one final time, burying yourself as deep as possible as the pleasure surged through you, your groan low and primal as your release hit. The sensation of filling her completely, the warmth of it spreading between you, sent another shockwave through her. Her body tensed again, her climax reigniting in perfect rhythm with yours, her walls tightening and pulsing as if to draw every drop from you.

Her muffled cries broke into breathless sobs, her body trembling violently as the overwhelming sensation left her utterly undone. The collar pressed firmly against her neck, grounding her even as her limbs refused to obey her, her submission total. Each pulse of your release seemed to extend her own, the shared intensity forging a connection so powerful it felt as though the air around you crackled with it.

As the last tremors of your climax subsided, you stayed buried inside her, the weight of your body pressing her into the mattress. The leash remained taut in your hand, a steady reminder of her surrender, the collar snug against her flushed skin. Her body slowly relaxed, her trembling subsiding into soft, uneven breaths, her whimpers barely audible as her submission became absolute.

You leaned down, your lips brushing softly against the back of her neck, your breath warm and soothing as it ghosted over her flushed skin. “Good girl,” you murmured, your voice low and filled with satisfaction. “You took it so well.” The heat between you lingered, a tangible reminder of the bond you had just reaffirmed, the connection pulsing in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

Her voice was a trembling whisper, filled with gratitude and exhaustion. “Thank you, Sir.”

You loosened your grip on the leash slightly, one hand sliding soothingly along her back as her breathing steadied. The quiet weight of the shared moment settled over both of you, a tangible understanding of control, devotion, and the bond that held you together. Her body relaxed beneath you, pliant and trusting, the tension of the night ebbing away.

As you moved to release the binding and settle beside her, she surprised you. Slowly, shakily, she pushed herself up, her limbs trembling with effort, and turned to face you. Her knees met the floor, her movements reverent despite her exhaustion. She knelt there, her gaze steady but soft, shining with unspoken emotion as she clasped her hands lightly in front of her.

“Thank you, Sir,” she said, her voice wavering but firm, her head bowing slightly in deference. “Thank you for giving me another chance. I promise I’ll never take it for granted again.”

The sincerity in her tone struck something deep within you, her submission layered with gratitude and determination. You reached out, cupping her face gently in your hand, tilting her chin so her eyes met yours. For a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you, the depth of her devotion reflected back in her gaze.

“I believe you,” you said softly, your thumb brushing over her cheek as her eyes glistened with unspoken emotion. “And I’ll hold you to that promise.”

The connection between you was palpable, the quiet intimacy of the moment settling like a balm over the intensity of everything that had come before. As she knelt there, a renewed sense of trust and devotion radiating from her, you felt the unbreakable bond between you solidify once more.

You reached down, your fingers brushing lightly against her chin as you guided her off her knees. Her body moved with a hesitant grace, her legs trembling slightly from the intensity of the moment. She followed your lead without question, her wide eyes flicking up to meet yours, silently searching for reassurance as you helped her onto the bed. The mattress dipped beneath her weight as she settled, her hands clutching the sheets tightly, knuckles whitening as though anchoring herself.

When you reached toward the collar around her neck, her breath hitched audibly, her entire body going rigid beneath your touch. “Sir…” she whispered, her voice trembling with uncertainty. “Please… don’t take it off. I’ll do better, I promise.”

Her plea was laced with desperation, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as her gaze darted between your hands and your face, searching for any hint of mercy. A small, involuntary shiver ran through her, and her fingers twitched against the sheets, her need to hold onto the collar palpable.

You paused deliberately, your hand still resting against the cool leather. Leaning closer, you met her panicked gaze, your voice calm but firm, the tone leaving no room for argument. “This isn’t punishment,” you said, your breath warm as it ghosted over her cheek. “You’ve earned it back, but I need to take care of you first.”

The words hung in the air, steady and unyielding, and her resolve cracked just slightly. She nodded, swallowing hard, the submission in her posture softening into trust as she tilted her head, baring her neck for you. Even as she complied, her lips parted as though she wanted to speak again, but no words came. Her breathing quickened as the soft click of the buckle echoed in the room, impossibly loud against the quiet backdrop. You slipped the collar off carefully, her skin faintly red where the leather had rested. The collar felt heavier in your hand than usual as you set it on the bedside table, its presence a silent promise.

Her gaze followed the collar until it was out of sight, her trembling form still taut with unspoken emotion. Before she could voice any of it, you leaned in, your lips brushing against the now-bare skin of her neck. The first kiss was featherlight, your breath warm and soothing against her flushed skin, a deliberate reassurance. Her body shivered beneath you, a soft, involuntary sound escaping her lips as you began to trail kisses along the delicate curve of her neck.

Each kiss was purposeful, slow and deliberate, leaving a path of heat in their wake. You felt her breath catch, the tension in her shoulders melting under the tender press of your lips. When you reached the sensitive spot beneath her ear, you lingered, your teeth grazing her skin gently before sucking just enough to leave a faint mark. Her gasp was sharp, her hands tightening their grip on the sheets as a visible shudder ran through her.

“These,” you murmured against her skin, your voice low and possessive, “will be your substitute until tomorrow. A reminder of who you belong to.”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, trembling with emotion. Her body sank deeper into the bed as you continued, your mouth leaving faint marks that dotted her neck like a constellation of your claim. Each kiss was deliberate, your teeth grazing her skin just enough to send another wave of sensation coursing through her. By the time you finished, her breaths were shallow, her body completely relaxed, her submission absolute.

Satisfied, you reached for the lotion on the bedside table, the faint scent of vanilla filling the air as you warmed it between your palms. “Lift your chin,” you instructed gently, your tone soft but commanding. She obeyed instantly, her head tilting back to expose the expanse of her neck, her trust in you evident in the way she remained perfectly still.

The cool lotion met her heated skin, and she shivered under your touch, the contrast heightening her awareness of the care you were giving her. Your fingers moved slowly, deliberately, smoothing the lotion over the faint redness left by the collar. Each stroke was tender, soothing, a tactile affirmation of her worth and your devotion.

When you finished, you leaned in one last time, pressing a soft kiss to the base of her neck. “Tomorrow,” you promised, your voice steady, carrying the weight of your conviction. “You’ll wear it again.”

Her voice broke slightly as she whispered, “Thank you, Sir.”

You stayed close, your hands resting lightly on her shoulders as her breathing steadied. The room settled into a quiet hum of intimacy, the bond between you unspoken but profound. The collar rested nearby, waiting for its return, but the marks you left on her skin and the care you had shown were enough to remind her of everything she had earned.

[reidmarieprentiss]

i love you

Summary: Spencer falls in love with a famous singer, Spencer also has a hard time controlling his jealousy.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x pop star! fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: insecurity, cheating accusations, arguing, lack of trust, regrets, being famous, paparazzi, bestie Billie Eilish

Word count: 13k

a/n: helloooo hehe sorry about the angst again butttt i have ideas for a happier story line if y'all want a part 2 !!!!

update! part two is here!!!

main masterlist

February, 2006

In the heart of New York City, where towering skyscrapers meet the pulse of creativity, you find yourself stepping into the sleek, modern office of a prestigious publishing house. Today’s interview isn’t just any ordinary sit-down; it’s being conducted by the chief editor themselves—a rare honor reserved for only the most influential figures. As one of the world’s most celebrated pop stars, the stakes are high, and they’ve rolled out the red carpet for you, eager to delve into the stories behind your meteoric rise and iconic career. 

You had barely wrapped up your latest thought, answering a question about the creative process behind your new album, when a soft knock interrupted the flow of your interview. The chief editor, who had been so focused on your words, paused, a small frown creasing their brow as the door cracked open. 

The person who had greeted you and your team at the front desk earlier poked their head into the room, eyes wide with apology and urgency. “Hi! I’m so sorry, but we have two agents here from the FBI. They say they are working on a case that could involve some of our publications. What should I tell them?”

The editor’s eyes flicked back to you, concern knitting their features together. “Y/N, I am so so sorry. Do you mind if I step out for one second?”

You offered them a reassuring smile, waving a hand dismissively. “No! Not at all! Take care of whatever you need.”

“Thank you, thank you,” the editor breathed, clearly relieved as they stood and followed the receptionist out of the room, leaving you alone for the moment.

After a few minutes, they returned, apologizing profusely for the interruption, but you could see the tension still etched on their face, the slight edge of distraction in their voice. The rest of the interview passed without incident, but once it wrapped up, you couldn’t shake the curiosity bubbling inside you.

As you gathered your things, you politely declined their offer to show you to the bathroom. "Thank you, but I think I can manage," you said with a smile, wanting to stretch your legs a bit and maybe take a peek at the source of the earlier interruption.

After wandering down the corridor for a minute or two, it became clear that you had no idea where you were going. The building was far larger than you anticipated, with identical doors lining each hallway. You turned a corner, hoping you were heading in the right direction when you noticed a room with an open door.

Inside, two men stood by a large table filled with neatly organized files and documents. Their presence was commanding, unmistakably official, and more than a little bit attractive. One was tall, with broad shoulders and dark hair, his expression serious as he sifted through a stack of papers. The other, slightly younger, had sharp, intelligent eyes behind a pair of glasses, his movements precise as he carefully handled what appeared to be an older document.

You hesitated for a moment, not wanting to intrude on whatever important work they were doing, but your need to find the bathroom was becoming more pressing by the second.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped into the doorway and cleared your throat softly. “Hi! I’m sorry to bother you, but do you happen to know where the bathroom is?”

Both men looked up, their attention snapping to you as if they had been pulled out of deep concentration. Aaron Hotchner blinked in surprise, his composed demeanor faltering just slightly before he offered a polite, practiced smile. “No bother at all. I don’t believe I know where the bathroom is. Reid?”

Spencer Reid barely looked up from his work, his attention already drifting back to the papers in front of him. “Out the door to the left, down the hall, last door on the right,” he mumbled, his voice soft and almost distracted.

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. Oh, he was pretty—and not immediately bowled over by your presence? You liked a challenge. “Oh! Thank you!” you chirped, your tone a bit more enthusiastic than you intended, but it wasn’t every day you met someone who didn’t immediately fall into the rhythm of your world.

After finding the bathroom, you couldn’t shake the thought of that cute, nerdy man with the sharp intellect and distracted charm. You quickly texted your assistant, Dylan—who was also your brother—asking him to pick up two coffees and some pastries, and to meet you on the floor where you were currently stationed.

When the delivery arrived, you approached the room where the men were working once again. You knocked lightly on the doorframe to announce your presence. “Hi! Thanks again for helping me out earlier. I thought maybe you two could use a little pick-me-up,” you said, holding out the goods with a bright smile.

Aaron looked at the offering with a hint of suspicion, his eyes narrowing slightly as he assessed your motives. “Wow. That’s very kind of you, thank you,” he said, his voice polite but guarded.

You quickly picked up on the hesitation and offered an explanation. “Sorry, I know it’s a little odd to get gifts from strangers. I just like paying it forward. You helped me, so I do something kind for you, and maybe you’ll do something kind for someone else later.”

Aaron’s expression softened at your explanation, a hint of warmth creeping into his eyes. “I like that. Thank you again,” he said, this time with more sincerity.

Meanwhile, Spencer still hadn’t fully reacted, offering only a tight-lipped smile and a nod of acknowledgment. You handed the coffee and pastry to Aaron before turning your attention to Spencer, who was already drifting back into his work. “Here,” you said, holding out the coffee to him.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, glancing up briefly. “Any sugar?”

“Uh, no, just black. I’m sure there’s some in the break room…?” you offered, tilting your head slightly in question.

He nodded again, his attention already starting to slip back to the papers in front of him. “Alright… I’ll just put this here,” you said, placing his pastry on top of what appeared to be his satchel, casually slipping a note underneath the paper bag. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself—maybe he’d notice, or maybe he wouldn’t. Either way, you’d planted a seed of curiosity in that brilliant mind of his, and that was enough for now.

—

Spencer's eyes lingered on the note, the neat, playful handwriting contrasting sharply with the serious documents scattered across his desk. He blinked a few times, trying to piece together the brief interaction he had with you earlier, but the details were frustratingly fuzzy. He’d been so engrossed in his work that he barely registered your presence, let alone your face. The only thing he could recall was the faint scent of coffee and the sound of your cheerful voice, but nothing more.

Across the room, Hotch was watching the scene unfold with a faint smile, his amusement barely concealed. He hadn’t known who you were either, but he found the situation oddly endearing. Spencer, brilliant and socially awkward as he was, seemed utterly baffled by the note in his hand. Hotch couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head at his younger colleague’s bewilderment.

“Staring at it won’t help,” Hotch advised, his tone light. “Maybe you should call?”

“I don’t know her,” Spencer replied, his brow furrowing as he continued to scrutinize the note as if it held some hidden meaning he was missing.

Hotch leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest with a knowing look. “You could get to know her,” he suggested, the amusement in his voice evident. “She obviously went out of her way to reach out to you. It’s not every day someone leaves their number like that.”

Spencer hesitated, his mind racing through all the possible outcomes of making that call. On one hand, he was intensely curious about you—who you were, why you’d left the note, and what you’d seen in him that made you interested. On the other hand, the idea of reaching out to someone he didn’t know, especially in such a personal way, was daunting.

But Hotch had a point. He always did.

Spencer glanced down at the note again, reading the words over and over as if they would change with each pass. 

Give me a call when you’re not so busy? Promise I’m more interesting than some old prints <3 Xxx xxx xxxx.

There was a lightness to your words, a promise of something different, something outside the usual routine that consumed him. Maybe, just maybe, it was worth the risk to find out what that was. Taking a deep breath, Spencer carefully folded the note and slipped it into his pocket, the decision made, even if he didn’t fully understand it yet.

Hotch’s smile widened just a fraction as he watched Spencer’s resolve take shape. “Good choice,” he said simply, returning his attention to his own work, leaving Spencer to contemplate when—and how—he’d make that call.

—

March, 2006

Life as a pop star was nothing short of chaotic, especially when you were barely 24 and on the brink of releasing yet another album. Your days were a whirlwind of recording studios, press conferences, interviews, and the constant need to stay relevant on social media. It was a lot to handle, but having your brother, Dylan, by your side made it all feel a little more manageable. He was your rock, keeping things running smoothly even when the demands of fame threatened to overwhelm you.

Currently, you found yourself back in LA, swept up in a relentless schedule that Dylan had meticulously organized. The days blurred together—back-to-back interviews, recording sessions that stretched into the early hours of the morning, and brief moments snatched away for obligatory social media posts. In the midst of all this, the memory of the mystery man you’d given your number to in New York had faded into the background. It was easier not to dwell on it, to keep your expectations low. After all, not everyone was going to reciprocate your interest, and you’d learned early on in life not to take things personally.

Weeks passed, and your mind was consumed by the demands of your career. The mystery man became just that—a mystery you tucked away, almost forgotten amidst the chaos. That is, until one quiet evening in your LA apartment, when you were finally able to unwind, your phone buzzed with a call from an unknown number. 

You stared at the screen, your instincts urging you not to answer. In your line of work, you never knew when or if your number might get leaked, and you weren’t about to take any chances. But as soon as the call ended, curiosity got the better of you. Who could it have been? You needed to know.

With a quick text, you reached out to your tech-savvy friend, Kade. Their enthusiasm for solving puzzles like this made them the perfect person to track down the owner of that mysterious number. Within minutes, Kade had the information—and a picture too. When the image popped up on your screen, your heart skipped a beat.

It was him. The mystery man from New York. The one you’d thought might never call.

Without a second thought, you hit the call button, your nerves tingling with anticipation as you listened to the line ring. Finally, after weeks of wondering, you were about to hear his voice again.

—

Spencer stared at his phone, the dial tone echoing in his ear before it abruptly ended, signaling that the call had gone unanswered. He felt a pang of disappointment, a weight settling in his chest that he couldn’t quite shake. He’d taken the leap, albeit a few weeks late, and now it seemed like it might have been for nothing. Maybe you’d forgotten him, moved on with your life. 

He let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he placed the phone back on the table. It had taken him so long to muster the courage to call you, to push past his own reservations and insecurities.  He leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling, trying to convince himself that it was just a phone call, just a moment in time that didn’t have to mean anything. 

But deep down, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss, like he’d let something slip through his fingers before it even had a chance to begin. Spencer was no stranger to disappointment, but this time, it felt different. It felt like an opportunity he might never get back.

Spencer sat there, lost in his thoughts, the weight of his insecurities pressing down on him. His mind wandered through all the reasons why you might not have answered—maybe you really had forgotten him, maybe you had better things to do, or maybe he was just one of a hundred people you’d encountered that day. The more he thought about it, the more his doubts began to take root, spreading through him like a slow, creeping fog.

Then, breaking through the haze of his thoughts, his phone began to ring on the table in front of him. The sudden sound jolted him from his reverie, and for a moment, he just stared at the screen, as if unsure whether it was real. The number flashing across the screen was the same unknown one he’d dialed just moments ago. 

His heart raced, a mix of hope and disbelief surging through him. Could it be you? Had you actually called him back? He hesitated, his fingers hovering over the phone, almost afraid to answer. But the ringing continued, insistent and almost impatient, pulling him back into the present.

With a deep breath, he swiped to answer, bringing the phone to his ear. “Hello?” he said, his voice a little shaky, betraying the nervousness he felt.

“Hi! Is this Spencer?” Your voice came through the line, bright and unmistakably warm, instantly cutting through the tension that had been building within him. 

For a moment, Spencer was too stunned to respond, his mind scrambling to catch up with the fact that you were actually on the other end of the line. “Yes, it’s Spencer,” he finally managed to say, his voice steadier now, though his heart was still pounding.

“I’m so sorry I missed your call earlier!” you continued, your tone light and genuine. “I didn’t recognize the number when I saw it. But I’m really glad you called. I’ve been hoping to hear from you!”

Spencer’s doubts began to melt away, replaced by a growing sense of relief and excitement. You hadn’t forgotten him, after all. You were as curious about him as he was about you. “No, no, it’s fine,” he replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me.”

“Of course I remember you! How could I forget the cute, smart guy who helped me find the bathroom?” you teased lightly, your laughter filling the space between you and putting Spencer at ease.

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh along with you, the tension in his chest finally easing. “Well, I’m glad I could help,” he said, the smile now fully blossoming on his face. “So… what’s up?”

“I was wondering if you’d be free sometime soon? I’d love to actually get to know you better, maybe over coffee or something? I should be back in New York in a few weeks!” Your invitation was casual, but the sincerity in your voice was something Spencer couldn’t ignore.

“I would like that,” Spencer began, hesitating slightly before continuing. “Um, I actually live in Virginia…”

“Oh! That’s no problem, I can come to Virginia,” you replied without missing a beat, your tone so effortlessly confident and reassuring that it caught Spencer off guard.

He blinked, momentarily confused. What kind of life did you lead that allowed you such flexibility, such willingness to drop everything for a spontaneous trip? “Are you sure? It’s a three-hour train ride,” he said, the logical part of his brain struggling to grasp the ease with which you offered.

“No problem! I’m in Los Angeles right now, but I should have a bit of freedom in, say, two weeks? Would that work for you?” Your words were filled with a casualness that suggested this kind of thing was just another day in your life.

“Uh, yeah, I think so,” Spencer responded, still wrapping his mind around the idea that you were so eager to see him, despite the distance and the logistics involved.

“Amazing! Are weekends better for you?” you asked, the excitement in your voice making it clear how much you were looking forward to this.

“Yes, weekends are good,” Spencer confirmed, feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness bubbling up inside him.

“Okay, Spencer,” you said, and he could practically hear the smile in your voice. “How about you pick a time and a café in Virginia for Saturday two weeks from now, and I’ll meet you there?”

“Uh, sure, I can do that,” Spencer replied, a bit overwhelmed but in the best way possible. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

“Great! I can’t wait,” you said, your enthusiasm palpable even over the phone. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

As you ended the call with a cheerful goodbye, Spencer found himself staring at his phone again, but this time, the feeling of defeat was replaced with something entirely different—a sense of anticipation, of possibility. He had two weeks to figure out the perfect place to meet, and the thought of seeing you again made his heart race in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

—

Two weeks flew by, and soon you were landing in New York, excitement and nerves swirling inside you. Instead of flying to Virginia, you chose the train, savoring the slower pace after the constant rush of airports in your career.

As the train glided smoothly along, a calm settled over you, the rhythmic sound of the tracks providing a rare moment of peace. You were anxious about meeting someone new, but also excited—Spencer seemed down-to-earth and refreshingly different from the usual whirlwind of fame. And he was undeniably attractive, with a quiet, intelligent charm that had caught your attention.

Though your security detail accompanied you, the ride was peaceful. Most passengers didn’t mind having a pop star in their car; a few asked for autographs and pictures, which you happily provided. For the most part, you were left alone to chat with your security and enjoy the journey.

—

Arriving at the café was agonizing for Spencer. His nerves had been on edge the entire day, and he’d debated countless times whether he should even show up. The closer he got, the more his anxiety spiked. What if you didn’t show up? What if you were a soon-to-be unsub? His mind raced through every worst-case scenario, each one more unsettling than the last.

As he approached the café, he felt a knot tighten in his stomach. What if you just wanted to hurt him? What if you had forgotten about him entirely? The uncertainty gnawed at him, making each step feel heavier than the last. It took every ounce of his willpower to push through the doubt and walk through the door, hoping—desperately—that this wasn’t all a mistake.

But to his surprise, when Spencer finally entered the café, he saw you already there, seated at a small table near the window. You were early, a black coffee in front of you, with a canister full of sugar beside it, waiting to be poured. The sight of you, so relaxed and genuinely present, eased some of his lingering fears.

You had arrived first, intentionally choosing a slightly hidden booth and quietly informing the staff of your presence to avoid any unnecessary attention. It wasn’t about having a big head, but rather wanting to keep the date as normal as possible, just in case someone recognized you and caused a scene.

“Spencer! Hi!” you greeted him warmly, your smile lighting up the room as you waved him over.

“Hello,” he responded, raising a hand in a shy wave as he walked toward you, feeling a mix of relief and nervousness.

“It’s so good to see you!” you exclaimed, your enthusiasm evident. “Can I hug you?”

“Um,” Spencer hesitated for a split second, caught off guard by your openness. He cleared his throat, trying to shake off the nerves. “Yes, sure.”

You stood up and gently wrapped your arms around him, your embrace warm and welcoming. Spencer felt the tension in his shoulders start to melt away, the simple act reminding him that maybe, just maybe, this could turn out better than he’d feared as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“So, I hope you don’t mind, but I went ahead and got you a coffee,” you said, gesturing to the cup in front of him. “I wasn’t sure how sweet you like it, so I just asked for a whole thing of sugar.”

Spencer couldn’t believe how thoughtful you were, the small gesture meaning more to him than you might realize. “Oh, thank you so much,” he replied, his voice soft with gratitude. “That’s perfect.” 

He felt a warmth in his chest, a sense of comfort in knowing that you had already taken the time to consider his preferences. It was a simple act, but to Spencer, it spoke volumes about the kind of person you were.

Spencer took a seat across from you, feeling the warmth from your earlier hug still lingering. You watched as he carefully added just the right amount of sugar to his coffee, stirring it with a quiet focus that made you smile.

"So," you began, breaking the silence with a gentle tone, "how have you been? I hope your day wasn't too stressful."

Spencer looked up, meeting your eyes with a small, appreciative smile. "It’s been… a bit nerve-wracking, to be honest. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I’m really glad I came."

You leaned in slightly, your expression softening. "I’m glad you did too. I’ve been looking forward to this."

He felt a flutter in his chest at your words, the sincerity in your voice easing some of the anxiety that had been gnawing at him. “I’ve been looking forward to it too, though I was worried I might say something awkward.”

You laughed softly, the sound warm and reassuring. “Don’t worry about that. I like awkward—it’s honest. Besides, I’m probably just as nervous as you are.”

Spencer looked at you with surprise. “Really? You seem so confident.”

You shrugged, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “I guess I’ve had a lot of practice pretending to be. But trust me, I get nervous too, especially when I’m meeting someone new.”

There was a pause as your words sank in, making Spencer feel a bit more at ease. “Well, if it helps, you’re doing a great job of making me feel comfortable.”

Your smile widened, your eyes sparkling with warmth. “Good, that’s exactly what I was hoping for. I just want us to enjoy this, no pressure, just two people getting to know each other.”

Spencer nodded, feeling the last of his nerves start to fade away. “That sounds nice. I think we’re off to a pretty good start.”

You raised your coffee cup in a mock toast, your grin contagious. “Here’s to a good start, then.”

Spencer clinked his cup against yours, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “To a good start.”

After you both took a sip of your coffee, the conversation started to flow more naturally. Eventually, Spencer asked, “What do you do for work?”

It was at that moment you realized that Spencer genuinely didn’t know who you were—he wasn’t just pretending for your sake. “Oh! Um, I sing,” you replied, trying to keep your tone casual.

“You sing? That’s so great! What kind of music?” Spencer’s enthusiasm was genuine, and it warmed your heart.

“Mostly pop, but I’ve been called indie pop before too,” you explained, trying not to let your nerves show.

Spencer nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t listen to much pop, but I would love to come to one of your shows sometime. Where do you perform?”

You laughed nervously, not sure how to break it to him. “Ha ha, well, a little bit of everywhere? I could invite you next time I perform close by!”

“That would be great,” Spencer said with a dopey smile, clearly pleased with the idea.

“So, what do you do, Spencer?” you asked, eager to shift the focus.

“I work for the FBI,” he replied, almost bashfully.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “That is so much cooler!”

“Oh, well, thank you,” Spencer said, blushing slightly at the compliment.

“Do you take down bad guys?” you asked, leaning in with genuine curiosity.

Spencer chuckled softly. “Yeah, something like that. I’m a profiler, so I help catch criminals by understanding how they think.”

You couldn’t help but be impressed. “Wow, that’s amazing! You’re like a real-life Sherlock Holmes.”

Spencer’s eyes lit up at your words, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “I think that’s the best compliment I have ever gotten,” he said, clearly touched by the comparison.

You smiled back, pleased to see how much the compliment meant to him. “Well, it’s true. It sounds like you have a pretty incredible job.”

Spencer’s smile softened, a hint of shyness returning. “Thank you. It’s not always easy, but it’s rewarding.”

You could see the passion he had for his work, and it only made you more curious to learn about the man behind the profiler. “I have a feeling you’re really good at what you do,” you added, feeling more drawn to him with each passing moment.

As the conversation continued, you felt a growing connection with Spencer, charmed by his sincerity and humility. It was refreshing to talk to someone who saw you as just a person, rather than the pop star you usually were.

—

The date was, in a word, phenomenal. You and Spencer clicked in a way that felt effortless, the conversation flowing naturally, and the time slipping by unnoticed. By the end of it, you both agreed to meet again the next time you were close by. Spencer left the café feeling lighter, with a genuine smile on his face. From what he gathered, you traveled often for work but mostly lived in New York, which suited him just fine. The idea of seeing you again was something he looked forward to.

Monday morning came around, and as Spencer walked into the office, he barely had time to settle in before Derek Morgan sauntered over, a teasing grin on his face. “So, pretty boy,” Derek started, leaning against Spencer’s desk, “heard from Hotch you had a hot date this weekend.”

Spencer felt a blush creep up his neck, trying to play it cool as he adjusted his tie. “It wasn’t… I mean, yeah, I had a date,” he admitted, though he couldn’t suppress the small smile that tugged at his lips.

Derek raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this. “And? How’d it go? Are we gonna see wedding bells soon, or what?”

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head. “It went well, really well. We’re planning to meet again soon.”

Derek gave him a playful nudge. “Look at you, Pretty Boy, out here dating like a pro. So, what’s she like?”

Spencer hesitated, his mind racing back to the date. “She’s… incredible. Smart, funny, down-to-earth. I really enjoyed spending time with her.”

Derek nodded approvingly. “Sounds like a keeper. Just make sure you bring her around sometime so the rest of us can vet her properly.”

Spencer laughed, rolling his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As Derek walked away, Spencer found himself thinking back to the date, the smile still lingering on his face. He had no idea what the future held, but for now, he was more than happy with the way things were unfolding.

—

May, 2006

Even though your schedule was packed, you managed to carve out moments in your day to text Spencer. It became a little ritual—finding those brief pauses between studio sessions, interviews, or flights to send him a quick message. Sometimes it was a simple Good morning! or Hope your day’s going well! Other times, you’d share something funny or interesting that happened, enjoying the way his replies always seemed to brighten your day.

Spencer, in turn, did his best to keep up with the texts, even when his work took him deep into intense cases. He found himself looking forward to your messages, the small glimpses into your life offering a welcome distraction from the often grim realities of his job. 

A month after your first date, the stars finally aligned again, and you both found yourselves free at the same time. Spencer had been looking forward to seeing you, but as luck would have it, the BAU team had already planned a bar night for that weekend. There was no way he could bow out without raising suspicions, so instead, he decided to invite you along.

He texted you with a mix of excitement and nerves.

Hey, I know we’ve been planning to meet up again, and I was wondering if you’d like to come out with me and my team this weekend? We’re having a bar night, and I’d really like for you to meet everyone.

That sounds like so much fun! I’d love to meet your team. Just tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.

Spencer smiled as he read your reply, feeling a sense of relief and excitement all at once. It wasn’t what he’d originally planned, but he realized that introducing you to his team felt like a natural next step. Plus, he was curious to see how you’d fit in with the people who had become like family to him.

As the weekend approached, Spencer found himself growing more and more eager to see you again. This time, he wasn’t just looking forward to spending time with you—he was excited to see how you’d interact with the people who meant so much to him.

—

You decided to meet Spencer at his apartment before heading to the bar, a decision that filled you with both excitement and nerves. The idea of seeing him again, of spending time with him in a more casual, intimate setting, was thrilling, but it also made your heart race with anticipation. You stood outside his door, taking a deep breath to steady yourself before finally mustering the courage to knock.

Meanwhile, your security team was stationed discreetly at the base of the building, sitting in their cars to avoid drawing attention. You didn’t want to alarm Spencer with an obvious security presence, especially since he didn’t know the full extent of your fame. They had already done a thorough sweep of the bar, learning all the exits and identifying the best spots to keep watch over you without intruding on your evening. 

As you waited for Spencer to answer the door, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of nerves in your stomach. This was a big step—meeting his team, blending your two worlds, and trying to keep the balance between your public life and the private connection you were building with him. But as the door opened and you saw Spencer’s familiar, warm smile, those nerves began to ease. 

“Hey,” he greeted you, his voice soft and welcoming.

“Hey,” you replied, returning his smile, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. Being here with him, seeing that look in his eyes, reminded you why you were doing this. The rest of the world could wait; tonight was about the two of you. 

Spencer stepped aside to let you in, his apartment cozy and inviting. “You look great,” he said, his tone slightly shy as he took in your appearance.

“Thanks,” you replied, feeling your cheeks warm. “You do too.”

There was a brief pause, the two of you just standing there, enjoying the moment. Then, Spencer gestured towards the door. “Ready to go? The team’s probably already at the bar.”

“Yeah, let’s do this,” you said, feeling a surge of confidence as you linked your arm with his. 

—

As you and Spencer arrived at the bar, your nerves returned with full force. You had been feeling confident earlier, but now, faced with meeting his entire team, the reality of blending your world with his hit you hard. Spencer seemed to sense your hesitation, offering you a reassuring smile as he led you inside.

“Hey, guys, this is Y/N,” Spencer said, introducing you to his team with a hint of pride in his voice. “Y/N, this is my team.”

Before anyone else could say a word, Penelope Garcia practically barreled through the group, her eyes wide with excitement. “Oh. My. God. Y/N Y/L? I love your music! How did you two meet?”

You couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm, though it made you a little self-conscious. “Um, we met at a publishing house in New York,” you said, trying to keep things casual.

Spencer looked adorably confused as he turned to Penelope. “How do you know Y/N’s music?”

Penelope’s face lit up even more. “I’ve been a fan for years!”

You felt a warm blush creeping up your neck. “Thank you so much,” you said kindly, appreciating her support. But you were also eager to shift the focus away from your celebrity status. “But, uh, let’s not focus on me. I want to get to know all of you.”

The team exchanged glances, a mixture of curiosity and amusement playing on their faces. It was clear that they were intrigued by the dynamic between you and Spencer, but they respected your wish to keep the conversation light and inclusive.

“Fair enough,” Derek said with a grin, extending his hand to you. “I’m Derek. It’s nice to meet you.”

You shook his hand, relieved that the introductions were moving forward. “Nice to meet you too, Derek.”

As each member of the team introduced themselves, you felt the initial wave of nerves begin to subside. They were a friendly, welcoming group, and their easy going nature made it easier for you to relax. Spencer stayed close by your side, his presence comforting as you navigated this new and somewhat intimidating social landscape. 

Unfortunately, as pleasant as the evening had been, things took a sharp turn when it was time for you and Spencer to leave the bar. The moment you stepped outside, you were met with the overwhelming sight of a large crowd waiting by the entrance, their faces eager, some shouting your name. The flashes of cameras lit up the night as paparazzi swarmed, snapping photos in a chaotic frenzy.

“Y/N, come with us,” your head security guard, Emerson, called out firmly, their voice carrying over the noise. They were already moving to shield you from the crowd, their team efficiently surrounding both you and Spencer.

Spencer was beyond confused, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. The crowd, the screaming, the relentless camera flashes—it was all a world he had never experienced before. One moment, the two of you were having a quiet night out with his team, and the next, you were being hustled into a black SUV by your security detail.

As the vehicle sped away, leaving the chaos behind, Spencer finally found his voice. “Y/N, what the hell was that?” he asked, his tone filled with concern and bewilderment.

You let out a sigh, knowing this was something you’d have to explain sooner or later. “I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you began, turning to him with an apologetic look. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. Someone must have recognized me and tipped off the paparazzi.”

Spencer frowned, still trying to piece everything together. “Recognized you? But why would…?” He trailed off, the reality slowly dawning on him. “Wait… Are you famous?”

You nodded, feeling a mix of guilt and apprehension. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. That’s why there was a crowd outside—they wanted pictures and autographs, that sort of thing.”

Spencer sat back in his seat, processing what you had just told him. “I had no idea,” he said softly, a hint of shock still in his voice. 

“I know,” you admitted, your voice tinged with regret. “I didn’t want it to be a big deal between us. I just wanted you to get to know me for who I am, not because of my career.”

He looked at you, his expression a mix of understanding and concern. “Y/N, I don’t care about any of that. I just… I wasn’t prepared for this.”

“I understand,” you said, reaching out to gently take his hand. “I should have been more upfront with you. I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

Spencer squeezed your hand, his gaze softening. “It’s okay. I just need a little time to process everything.”

You nodded, grateful for his understanding. “Of course. We can talk more about it when you’re ready. I don’t want this to change anything between us.”

Spencer gave you a small smile, the initial shock beginning to fade. “It won’t,” he assured you. “I still want to get to know you, the real you. We’ll figure this out together.”

His words brought you a sense of relief, and as the car continued to drive away from the chaotic scene, you felt a renewed sense of hope for what lay ahead.

— 

The security team swiftly brought you and Spencer to a hotel with a private parking garage, ensuring that you wouldn’t be followed or harassed any further. It was a relief to be away from the chaos, but you couldn’t help feeling bad for dragging Spencer into your world so abruptly.

“I’m sorry, Spencer,” you said softly as you both exited the car. “Do you mind hanging out here for a bit until everything dies down? Or I can have Emerson take you home.”

“No, no, I want to stay with you,” he quickly replied, his sincerity evident.

You smiled, grateful for his support. “Okay.”

The two of you were guided up to the room where you’d be staying for the weekend. Your security team stood guard outside, some doing security sweeps to ensure the area was safe. Inside the room, the atmosphere was much calmer, but you could sense Spencer’s curiosity lingering.

“Alright, so tell me about it. How famous are you?” Spencer asked, his tone light but clearly curious.

You hesitated, not because you didn’t want to answer, but because you hated that question. Measuring your fame felt strange and impersonal. You valued your fans and appreciated the love they showed you, but fame was such a nebulous concept. “Uhhh…”

Spencer quickly backtracked, noticing your discomfort. “Sorry, that was a weird question.”

“No, it’s okay,” you reassured him. “I, uh, guess I have quite the fan base.”

Spencer nodded thoughtfully, sensing there was more to your reluctance. “Would it bother you if I looked you up when I get home?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his thoughtfulness. “That’s fine, Spencer. Just… don’t judge me too harshly.”

He looked at you with that soft, earnest expression that always seemed to put you at ease. “I would never.”

“I know, I know,” you said, letting out a small sigh. “It’s just—there’s a lot of nasty rumors, and bad things people say about me. Just, keep an open mind?”

Spencer’s gaze was steady as he reached out to take your hand. “Y/N, I like you. I don’t care what some idiot says about you on the internet, okay?”

His words were like a balm to your nerves, and you felt a warmth spread through you. “Okay. I like you too,” you admitted, feeling a surge of affection for the man sitting beside you.

Spencer’s eyes softened even further, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, his voice low and full of hope.

“Please,” you whispered, your heart racing.

Spencer leaned in, his hand gently cradling your cheek as he pressed his lips to yours in a tender, heartfelt kiss. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you in that quiet, perfect moment. It was a kiss that spoke of understanding, of acceptance, and of something that had the potential to grow into something truly special.

And so began the beautiful relationship between you and Spencer. Every chance you got was spent together, each moment building the foundation for something truly special.

—

June, 2006

As you and Spencer strolled hand in hand through the grand halls of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the world around you seemed to blur into the background. The marble floors echoed softly with your footsteps, and the air was filled with the quiet hum of visitors lost in their own reverence for the art surrounding them. But for you, the real masterpiece was right beside you, his voice animated as he guided you through the exhibits.

“And here,” Spencer said, his eyes lighting up as he gestured toward a stunning Greek statue, “we have a marble sculpture of Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty. What’s fascinating is that this particular piece is from the Hellenistic period, where artists began to explore more dynamic poses and emotions in their work.”

You looked up at the statue, trying to see it through Spencer’s eyes. “It’s incredible,” you murmured, squeezing his hand lightly. “You make it all sound so alive, like we’re stepping back in time.”

Spencer smiled, a soft blush coloring his cheeks. “I’ve always loved how art can connect us to the past. It’s like a conversation across centuries, where every brushstroke or chisel mark tells a story.”

You could hear the passion in his voice, and it made your heart swell with affection. “You know, I’ve been here before, but it’s never felt this… magical,” you admitted, looking up at him.

Spencer’s eyes softened as he gazed back at you. “It’s not just the art,” he said quietly. “It’s who you’re experiencing it with.”

You felt a warm blush rise to your cheeks, his words sending a flutter through your heart. “You’re amazing, you know that?” you said with a smile.

He chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “I’m just a guy who likes art history,” he replied modestly.

“And I’m just a girl who’s falling for that guy who likes art history,” you teased, leaning in to rest your head on his shoulder as you continued your walk.

Spencer’s smile grew as he squeezed your hand a little tighter. “Then I’d say we’re both pretty lucky.”

—

August, 2006

The weekend in Los Angeles felt like a breath of fresh air, a pause from the relentless pace of your lives. The sun was warm against your skin as you and Spencer strolled along the beach, the Pacific Ocean stretching out endlessly before you. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore provided a soothing backdrop to the easy conversation that flowed between you.

“I never imagined LA would be so…relaxed,” Spencer remarked, his gaze drifting out over the water. “I always thought of it as this fast-paced, high-energy place.”

You smiled, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. “It can be, but there’s a whole other side to it too. It’s not all about Hollywood and traffic. Sometimes, it’s just about finding those quiet corners where you can breathe.”

Spencer nodded, looking thoughtful. “I can see why you like it here. It’s like the city has this dual nature—busy and vibrant, but also peaceful when you know where to look.”

“Exactly,” you agreed, your hand slipping into his. “I wanted to show you that part of my life, the part that isn’t all about work and appearances. Just… the real me.”

He turned to you, his expression softening. “I like the real you. I mean, I liked you before, but getting to see this side of you…it makes me feel closer to you.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you squeezed his hand gently. “I feel the same way. It’s nice to just…be with you, without any distractions.”

The two of you continued walking, the sand shifting beneath your feet as the conversation turned to lighter topics. You talked about everything from your favorite movies to childhood memories, finding joy in the simplicity of sharing these little pieces of your lives.

Later, as the sun dipped low on the horizon, you found a cozy spot at one of your favorite hidden restaurants, tucked away from the bustling streets. The atmosphere was intimate, the kind of place where you could lose yourself in conversation without worrying about being recognized. The soft candlelight flickered between you, casting a warm glow over the table.

“This place is amazing,” Spencer said as he looked around, taking in the rustic charm of the restaurant. “It’s like a little secret.”

You grinned, pleased that he liked it. “It’s one of my favorites. The food is great, but it’s the atmosphere that keeps me coming back. It’s like a little escape from everything.”

As the evening wore on, you both savored the delicious food and each other’s company, the rest of the world fading into the background. The conversation flowed easily, and you found yourself laughing more than you had in a long time, Spencer’s wit and intelligence making every moment more enjoyable.

By the time you made your way back to the beach for a final stroll under the stars, you felt a deep sense of contentment. The city’s vibrant energy had melted into the tranquility of the night, and it was just the two of you, walking hand in hand along the shore.

“I could get used to this,” Spencer said softly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

“Me too,” you replied, leaning into him as you walked. “I wish we could stay here forever.”

Spencer smiled, a serene look on his face as he glanced down at you. “We can always come back. Maybe this could be our little escape.”

You looked up at him, your heart fluttering at the thought. “I’d like that.”

—

September, 2006

Spencer stood in the audience, his heart swelling with pride as he watched you perform, captivated by the way you commanded the stage. The lights bathed you in a warm glow, and your powerful, confident presence mesmerized the entire crowd. To Spencer, it was like seeing a new side of you, one that was awe-inspiring yet deeply connected to the person he knew so well—the one who shared quiet moments and deep conversations with him.

As the final notes rang out and the audience erupted in applause, Spencer clapped with fervor, pride evident in his eyes. After the show, you headed backstage, your adrenaline still high, but the moment you saw Spencer waiting for you, all the excitement of the stage melted away. His eyes shone with admiration, and in that instant, nothing else mattered but you.

Without a word, he pulled you into a tight hug, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go. “You were incredible,” he whispered in your ear, his voice full of emotion.

You smiled against his shoulder, the warmth of his embrace grounding you after the high of the performance. “Thank you,” you murmured, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “I’m so glad you were here.”

Spencer’s gaze was intense, filled with a mixture of awe and love. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Seeing you up there, it was… it was something else. I’m so proud of you.”

Your heart swelled at his words, the sincerity in his voice making you feel even closer to him. “It means everything to me that you’re proud,” you replied, your hand resting against his chest.

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I am. More than you know.”

—

November, 2006

Visiting Diana Reid in Las Vegas was a deeply personal step for both you and Spencer, a gesture that spoke volumes about how much you meant to him. The significance of the visit wasn't lost on you, and as you arrived at the care facility where Diana lived, you could feel the weight of the moment settling in.

Spencer’s hand held yours tightly as he led you inside, nervousness and pride evident in his eyes. You knew how important his mother was to him, and the fact that he was introducing you to her was a clear sign of the depth of his feelings. As you walked through the halls, you felt the butterflies in your stomach, but the steady pressure of Spencer’s hand in yours reassured you.

When you finally reached Diana’s room, Spencer paused, taking a deep breath before gently knocking on the door. “Mom, it’s Spencer,” he called softly, his voice filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

The door opened, and there she was—Diana Reid, with a warm smile that instantly made you feel at ease. “Spencer, my sweet boy,” she greeted, her eyes lighting up as she saw him. Then her gaze shifted to you, curiosity and kindness mingling in her expression. “And you must be Y/N. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Spencer squeezed your hand, his nerves clearly still present, but his voice was steady as he spoke. “Mom, this is Y/N. I wanted you to meet her.”

You stepped forward, offering a genuine smile. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Diana.”

Diana’s smile widened as she reached out to take your hand in hers. “The pleasure is mine, dear. Spencer speaks so highly of you.”

Diana welcomed you with warmth, her kindness evident in every word. It was clear how much Spencer loved her, reflected in the way he cared for her.

As the three of you chatted, you found it easy to connect with Diana—her sharp wit and stories filled the room with laughter. Spencer listened intently, his eyes often on his mother, revealing the deep bond they shared.

At one point, as Diana shared a funny childhood story about Spencer, you glanced at him and saw the soft, affectionate smile on his face. It made your heart swell with love for both him and the woman who raised him.

Throughout the visit, Spencer's hand never left yours, a silent sign of pride in introducing you to his mother. The connection you built with Diana added another layer to the bond you and Spencer were creating, one that grew stronger with each moment.

As the visit came to an end, Diana hugged you warmly, whispering in your ear, “Take care of him, won’t you?”

You hugged her back, your voice soft but sincere. “I will, Diana. I promise.”

When you and Spencer left the care facility, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. Meeting Diana had been a significant step, one that solidified the love and trust you and Spencer shared. And as you walked together under the bright Las Vegas sky, you knew that your relationship had grown even stronger, rooted in the love and connections you were building together.

—

December, 2006

The final piece fell into place when Spencer met your family in New York. Both of you had been a little nervous, knowing how important this moment was, but those nerves quickly dissolved as your family welcomed him with open arms. They were eager to meet the man who had captured your heart, and Spencer, with his quiet charm and genuine kindness, fit in seamlessly.

You watched with a smile as he effortlessly engaged in conversation with your parents, his gentle demeanor putting them at ease. He listened intently to your father’s stories and shared thoughtful insights that sparked lively discussions. Your mother was instantly taken with his manners and the way he looked at you with such clear affection.

It was your brother, though, who really put Spencer to the test, teasing him playfully and cracking jokes that had the room roaring with laughter. Spencer, to your delight, not only kept up but even managed to throw in a few quips of his own, earning him a slap on the back and a hearty laugh from your brother. 

As you observed them all interacting, a warm feeling settled over you. Seeing Spencer so naturally integrated into your family, like he had always been a part of it, made your heart swell with happiness. You knew then, without a doubt, that he had become an irreplaceable part of your life.

Later that evening, as you walked hand in hand through the quiet streets of your old neighborhood, you turned to him with a smile. “I think they love you,” you said softly, leaning into his side.

Spencer glanced down at you, his eyes full of warmth. “I was more nervous about meeting them than I was about joining the FBI,” he admitted with a small chuckle. “But your family is wonderful. I feel really lucky.”

You stopped walking, turning to face him fully. “I’m the lucky one,” you said, your voice filled with emotion. “You mean so much to me, Spencer, and seeing you get along with my family… it just makes everything feel even more right.”

He pulled you into a gentle hug, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “I feel the same way,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “This—us—feels right.”

—

June, 2007

It wasn’t until you and Spencer had been together for a year that the first crack in the armor began to form. A year ago, Spencer had kept his promise and looked you up online. But what he didn’t tell you was how much he hated what he found. The dating rumors, the fan crushes, the obsession from your fans—he saw it all, and it gnawed at him. The jealousy simmered beneath the surface, his insecurities festering as he watched the world fawn over you.

At first, Spencer’s comments seemed harmless enough—slight jabs and subtle jokes about the rumors and fan pages. You thought he was just teasing, playing along with the absurdity of it all. But over time, the tone changed. The jokes became sharper, more pointed, until you couldn’t ignore the underlying resentment.

The breaking point came when you and Billie Eilish, a close friend since the beginning of your career, collaborated on a song for her new album. The promo involved interviews, social media posts, and what Spencer hated the most—a chicken shop date. The chemistry between you and Billie was undeniable, something that couldn’t be faked. Watching the video, Spencer felt his stomach churn with jealousy, convinced there was something more between you two.

Unable to keep his feelings in check, Spencer picked a fight over it. The tension that had been building for months finally erupted, his words laced with bitterness. “You and Billie looked like more than just friends in that video,” he snapped, unable to hide the hurt in his voice.

You stared at him, stunned. “Spencer, we’re just friends. You know that.”

He shook his head, frustration clear in his eyes. “It didn’t look like that to me. Everyone sees the way you two are together, and I can’t stand it.”

The pain in his voice cut deep, and you realized how much he had been holding back. “Spencer, there’s nothing between us but friendship. You have to believe me.”

But the damage was done. The fight opened up the insecurities Spencer had tried so hard to suppress, and the trust that had always been the foundation of your relationship began to waver. As the argument continued, it became clear that this wasn’t just about Billie—it was about everything Spencer had been silently battling for months. The dating rumors, the fans, the world’s obsession with you—it had all taken its toll, and now it was threatening to tear you apart.

—

August, 2007

You and Spencer were lost in a heated makeout session, the tension that had been building between you two finally dissolving as you straddled his lap on your couch in New York. It had been too long since you’d had a moment like this—no schedules, no distractions, just the two of you reconnecting in the way that always felt the most natural. Spencer’s hands roamed over your body, and you could feel the urgency in his touch, the desire to be close to you after so much time apart.

Just as things were beginning to escalate, your phone started ringing. You ignored it, too wrapped up in the moment to care who might be calling. After all, the most important person in your life was right here with you. But the ringing didn’t stop. It kept going, over and over, cutting through the haze of your desire and pulling you back to reality.

Spencer pulled back, clearly annoyed by the persistent interruption. His breath was ragged, his frustration evident as he grabbed your phone from the coffee table. He glanced at the screen, and his expression quickly shifted from irritation to something darker—anger mixed with jealousy. 

“Seriously?” he said, his voice dripping with venom as he flipped the phone to show you the screen. 

You looked at the image and felt your stomach drop. It was a picture of you and Billie, taken during a trip when the two of you had gone swimming under a waterfall, wearing little more than bathing suits. Spencer had once liked looking at that picture, a reminder of the carefree times you’d shared. But now, that same image seemed to fuel his insecurities, the sight of you and Billie together igniting a seething jealousy within him.

“Spencer…” you began, but he cut you off, his eyes blazing with anger.

“Why is she calling you? Now, of all times?” he demanded, the hurt in his voice unmistakable.

“She’s just a friend, Spencer,” you said softly, reaching out to touch his arm, but he pulled away slightly, the distance between you suddenly feeling like a chasm.

“Is she, though?” he shot back, his tone laced with bitterness. “Because it sure doesn’t feel that way. Not when she’s always there, in your life, interrupting us even now.”

You could see the pain behind his words, the way his jealousy had been festering for far too long. “Spencer, you’re the one I’m here with. You’re the one I love,” you tried to reassure him, but it was clear that the tension between you two wasn’t going to dissolve as easily as it had built up.

The moment that had been so full of passion just minutes ago now felt heavy with unresolved emotions. The weight of Spencer’s jealousy and your own guilt for not addressing it sooner pressed down on you both, leaving you to wonder how you could mend the growing rift between you.

—

October, 2007

The article was nothing more than a piece of sensationalized gossip, a tabloid’s attempt to stir the pot with baseless claims. It wasn’t even on your radar as you prepared for your upcoming tour of the Americas, your mind focused on rehearsals, logistics, and the excitement of performing for your fans. But Spencer had seen it. And instead of brushing it off as the ridiculous fabrication it was, he believed it.

His rational mind—the one you had always admired—had been overwhelmed by months of festering insecurities and jealousy. The TMZ article, with its blurry, barely discernible photo of two women who vaguely resembled you and Billie, was the final straw. In his mind, it was proof that his worst fears were true.

Spencer’s heart raced as he stared at the article, his eyes blurring with tears. The image, though unclear, fed into his paranoia. He could barely think straight, his emotions a chaotic storm of anger, hurt, and betrayal. He grabbed his phone, his hands trembling as he dialed your number. You were in Brazil, preparing for the first leg of your tour, oblivious to the storm brewing back home.

When you answered, you were met with a voice you hardly recognized—sharp, cold, and filled with rage. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Spencer had never sworn at you before. In fact, you weren’t even sure you’d ever heard him use the word “fuck” at all. The venom in his tone made your stomach drop, a cold dread seeping into your veins.

“What happened, baby?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, but the unease was already gnawing at you.

“Don’t ‘baby’ me!” he snapped, his voice breaking with emotion. “You made out with Billie in public, and you got caught. I have photo evidence that you’re cheating on me now. I’ve known for months! Months! How could you lie to my face?”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You could hear the pain and betrayal in his voice, but all you felt was a profound sense of disbelief and heartache. “Spencer, what are you talking about? That’s not true. I would never—”

“Stop lying!” he interrupted, his voice thick with tears. “I saw the picture! How could you do this to me? To us?”

Your heart broke at the sound of his despair, but the accusation, the deep mistrust, cut even deeper. “Spencer, I didn’t do anything. There isn’t a picture because I’m not cheating on you,” you pleaded, your voice cracking under the weight of your own emotions.

But Spencer was too far gone, his mind too clouded by jealousy and doubt. “I can’t believe anything you say anymore,” he whispered, his voice filled with resignation. “I thought we had something real, but now… I don’t even know who you are.”

The fight that followed was explosive, both of you hurling words that only deepened the wounds already festering between you. Every attempt you made to explain, to reassure him, was met with anger and disbelief. Spencer’s trust in you had been shattered, and no amount of reasoning could bring him back from the edge.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. The constant jealousy, the mistrust, the way he had let a baseless article destroy the bond you had worked so hard to build—it was too much. “I can’t do this, Spencer,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “I love you, but I can’t live like this. I can’t be in a relationship where I’m constantly accused and doubted. It’s tearing me apart.”

There was a long, painful silence on the other end of the line, and then, in a voice that was barely above a whisper, Spencer said, “Maybe we both deserve better than this.”

Tears streamed down your face as you realized what had just happened. “Goodbye, Spencer,” you choked out, hanging up before he could say anything else.

As you stood there, staring at the phone in your hand, the enormity of what you had just done hit you like a tidal wave. You had ended things with the man you still loved deeply, because the relationship had become a minefield of jealousy and mistrust. It was the hardest decision you’d ever made, and the pain of it felt unbearable.

You were heartbroken, knowing that despite everything, your feelings for Spencer hadn’t changed. But the relationship had become toxic, and you couldn’t continue down that path. As you tried to pull yourself together, preparing to go on stage and perform as if your world hadn’t just crumbled, you couldn’t help but wonder if either of you would ever truly heal from this.

—

Spencer sat in the silence of his apartment, feeling like a shell of the person he once was. The shock of what had just happened left him numb, his mind struggling to grasp the reality of it all. You were gone, and it was his fault. 

—

In the months that followed, Spencer couldn’t escape the crushing weight of what he had done. He replayed every argument, every moment of doubt, and came to a painful realization: he was the bad guy in this story. 

He watched as your tour progressed, each new headline a reminder of what he had lost. The press coverage was relentless, but what struck him most was how your relationship with Billie remained the same—close, supportive, but nothing more. There was no secret romance, no hidden agenda. Just the friendship that had always been there, and that he had been too blinded by jealousy to see for what it was.

Then, the truth about the photo came out. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t even Billie. It was a completely different couple—Phoebe Bridgers and her girlfriend. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. He had destroyed everything over a lie, over a distorted perception fueled by his own insecurities.

Spencer spiraled into self-loathing, he knew he had been an asshole—an irrational, emotional, accusatory, jealous, ignorant asshole. And now, he had to live with the consequences of his actions, knowing that he had let the best thing in his life slip through his fingers. 

—

June, 2008

“So, Y/N… you just finished the first leg of your tour, how does it feel?” the interviewer asked, leaning forward with genuine curiosity.

You couldn’t help but smile, the emotions from the tour still fresh in your mind. “Oh, it feels amazing! The energy from the crowds, the love and support—it was incredible. I miss them all so much already. Honestly, I wish I could go back and say thank you again to every single person who showed up for me and made this possible. They’re the reason I get to do what I love, and I’m so grateful for that.”

“Isn’t she great?” the interviewer exclaimed, prompting cheers from the live audience. After the applause died down, the interviewer leaned in with a mischievous grin. “I have to know, if you’re comfortable, what happened to that sexy string bean you used to have on your arm?”

Spencer, who had been half-listening to your interview as usual, suddenly found himself on high alert. His heart pounded in his chest as he waited for your response.

You shifted slightly in your seat, a small, wistful smile on your face. “Oh… um, we separated. But I still care for him deeply and hope he’s doing well.”

The interviewer nodded sympathetically before pressing on, “Are you seeing anyone new?”

Spencer held his breath, not sure if he wanted to hear your answer.

You shook your head, your smile more focused now. “No, I’m not. Just focusing on the tour right now! It’s hard work!”

The interviewer grinned. “I bet it is! Keeping busy with something you love is the best way to go.”

Spencer released a breath he’d been holding, a mixture of relief and lingering regret washing over him. He hadn’t moved on either.

—

July, 2008

(we pretend this is our song for the sake of the plot <3)

You released a few new songs before the second leg of your tour started, wanting to keep things fresh and exciting for your fans. Among the tracks was a deep cut, a raw and emotional song about your love for Spencer. It was a piece of your heart, a reflection of the pain, regret, and lingering love that still existed despite everything that had happened.

Spencer, however, had stopped listening to your music after the breakup. Every song felt like a reminder of what he had lost, especially the love songs that once brought him joy. The melodies that used to connect you two now only deepened his regret, making him avoid your music altogether.

But when Garcia heard your new song, she knew immediately that Spencer needed to hear it. Without hesitation, she sent it directly to him, attaching a message that read: You need to listen to this. Trust me.

Spencer hesitated when he saw the message. He knew it would hurt, but something made him press play. As the song played, the lyrics washed over him, each word piercing through the wall he had tried to build around his emotions. It was as if you were speaking directly to him, baring your soul in a way that was both beautiful and heartbreaking.

As the song ended, Spencer sat in silence, the weight of your words pressing down on him. He realized that despite everything, the love you had shared was still there, buried beneath the pain and mistakes. The song was a painful reminder of the depth of your connection, and it left him wondering if there was any way to mend what had been broken. 

But as much as he wanted to reach out, he knew that no apology or explanation could undo the hurt he had caused. Spencer felt lost, grappling with the knowledge that he had loved you—and still did—yet had let his own insecurities destroy the best thing in his life.

—

Spencer had endured just about everything in his time at the FBI—being hit, kicked, shot, drugged, kidnapped—but never, in all those years, had anyone flicked him on the forehead. Until now. Derek Morgan’s fingers connected with a sharp flick, jolting Spencer out of his thoughts.

“We all know, Reid. Garcia sent the song to all of us,” Derek said, his voice laced with both sympathy and frustration. “I don’t know what you did, but I’m sure a flick doesn’t cover it.”

Spencer shook his head, the weight of guilt heavy on his shoulders. “It doesn’t,” he admitted, the truth settling like a stone in his stomach.

That night, Spencer decided he couldn’t ignore it any longer. Swallowing the last remnants of his pride, he picked up his phone and dialed your number. But when the automated message informed him that the line was no longer in service, his heart sank. You had changed your number. Still, the adrenaline coursing through his veins wouldn’t let him stop. He dialed the next number he knew by heart.

“Hello?” came the familiar voice on the other end.

“Dylan?” Spencer’s voice trembled slightly, betraying his nerves.

“Who is this?” Dylan’s tone was cold, guarded.

“Spencer Reid. Please, don’t hang up.”

“What do you want, asshole?”

Spencer flinched at the anger in Dylan’s voice, but he knew he deserved it. “I deserve that.”

“Damn right, you piece of shit. I watched my sister cry for months over you. And she didn’t do anything wrong—it was all you.”

“I know,” Spencer replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“So let me repeat myself, what do you want?”

“I want to talk to her,” Spencer said, desperation creeping into his tone.

“No fucking way.”

“Please, I need to apologize.”

“She’s moved on, she doesn’t want to hear from you,” Dylan shot back, his words cutting through Spencer like a knife.

“She moved on?” Spencer’s voice wavered, the reality of those words hitting him hard.

“Yeah, most people would by now.”

Spencer felt a painful twist in his chest, but he pressed on. “I still… I still want to apologize.”

Dylan’s voice was ice-cold. “If you actually cared about her, you’d let her go.”

“Dylan—” Spencer tried to plead, but the line went dead, the dial tone echoing in his ear.

Spencer stared at the phone in his hand, the finality of it all crashing down on him. He had lost you, not just because of his mistakes but because he hadn’t been able to see what was in front of him until it was too late. 

—

“He called today.”

“What?” you asked, looking up in surprise.

“He called me.”

“Who?” But even as you asked, you felt a knot forming in your stomach, dreading the answer.

“Spencer.”

You froze. That name hadn’t been spoken around you in what felt like forever. Hearing it now sent a wave of emotions crashing over you, emotions you’d worked so hard to bury.

“Why?” you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Jackass said he wanted to apologize to you,” Dylan replied, his tone laced with disdain.

“After all this time?” The disbelief in your voice was evident, and you could hardly process what you were hearing.

“Mhm,” Dylan confirmed, watching your reaction carefully.

“What did you tell him?” you asked, already fearing the answer.

“That you’d moved on, that he should too,” Dylan said, his voice firm and protective.

“Oh.” The single word hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken thoughts and lingering feelings.

Dylan’s voice softened, sensing your turmoil. “Y/N… he’s not worth it. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“I know,” you replied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thanks, Dylan. I’m going to bed. Goodnight. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Dylan said, his concern palpable even through the phone.

That night, as you lay in bed, you couldn’t help but wish your number hadn’t been leaked. You knew Spencer would have called you directly if he could have. And if you had answered? You might have at least heard him out, given him the chance to say the things he had left unsaid for so long.

But now, as you stared up at the ceiling, the what-ifs swirled in your mind, keeping you awake long into the night. You had moved on, or at least you told yourself you had. But the unresolved feelings, the remnants of a love that once meant everything, were still there, lurking just beneath the surface. And as much as you wanted to push them away, tonight they were impossible to ignore.

—

Hey Kade – think you can find a number for me? And not tell Dylan…

For sure, just give me a name and a city

God bless Kade. They didn't ask any questions, just worked their magic. Within minutes, Kade had sent you Spencer's number. You stared at it for a long moment, the screen glowing in the dim light of your room. Your thumb hovered over the call button, knowing that if you didn’t do it now, you’d lose your nerve.

With a deep breath, you tapped the number and pressed the phone to your ear. The ringing felt endless, each second adding to your nerves. But then, the line clicked, and his familiar voice came through.

“Spencer Reid.”

“Spencer Reid’s ex-girlfriend,” you said, your tone shy yet teasing, trying to mask the anxiety bubbling inside you.

There was a brief pause, then his voice, softer now, almost incredulous. “Y/N?”

“The one and only,” you replied, your heart racing as you tried to steady your voice.

There was another pause, this one filled with emotions that neither of you knew how to express just yet. 

“You called Dylan,” you said, your voice a mix of curiosity and caution.

“I know, your old number didn’t work,” Spencer replied, his tone tinged with regret.

“Someone leaked it…” you explained softly, the memory of that chaotic time flashing through your mind. But you quickly refocused, your heart pounding as you asked the question that had been weighing on you since you heard he’d tried to reach out. “Why were you calling, Spencer?”

“I love you,” he blurted out, the words raw and desperate.

“What?” The sudden confession caught you off guard, your heart skipping a beat as you tried to process what he had just said.

“Your song, i love you. Did you mean it? Do you still love me?” His voice cracked with vulnerability, and you could hear the pleading in his words, the desperation of a man who had realized too late what he had lost.

“Spencer…” You hesitated, the pain and love intertwined so tightly within you that it was hard to speak.

“I’m begging you, Y/N. Do you love me?” The vulnerability in his voice was palpable, and you could almost see him, his heart in his hands, waiting for your response.

“Of course I do,” you finally admitted, the truth spilling out before you could stop it. 

“Are you in New York?” Spencer asked, his voice filled with hope.

“Yes,” you replied, your heart racing as the conversation took a turn you hadn’t expected.

“Can I come see you?” His question hung in the air, the possibility of seeing him again making your pulse quicken.

“Right now?” you asked, still trying to catch up with the sudden shift in your emotions.

“Right now, I can be there by 4 pm,” he responded, the determination in his voice unmistakable.

“Okay,” you said, the word slipping out before you could second-guess yourself.

“Okay? Really?” Spencer’s voice was filled with a mix of surprise and relief.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, a small smile forming on your lips. “You remember where I live?”

“By heart,” he replied, and you could hear the warmth in his voice.

“See you soon, Spence,” you said softly, the familiar nickname bringing a wave of nostalgia and comfort.

“See you soon,” he echoed, and with that, the call ended, leaving you with a whirlwind of emotions and the realization that in just a few hours, Spencer would be standing at your door.

—

Spencer spent the entire train ride to New York mentally rehearsing what he would say to you. He went over every possible scenario, trying to find the right words to express everything he felt—the regret, the love, the longing. But as the train pulled into the station and he made his way to your apartment, his mind went blank. By the time he was standing at your door, all his carefully planned words had vanished.

His hand, seemingly moving on its own, raised to knock. The sound echoed in the quiet hallway, and within moments, the door swung open.

When you appeared in the doorway, his breath caught in his throat. You looked even more beautiful than he remembered, if that was even possible. 

“Hey,” you said softly, your eyes searching his, filled with emotions.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list <333 @spencerreidsreads @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @reggieswriter @loumouse @mentallyunwellsposts @time-himself @chaneladdicted @kathrynlakestone @furrybouquettrash @hearts4spensco @gilwm @khxna @charismatic-writer @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @noelliece

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Stress Relief

Summary: After a recent promotion, Javi has had a lot on his plate. Thankfully, you know just what to do to help him de-stress.

Word Count: 2.8K

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n, post season 3)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (make safe choices pls), oral (m receiving), creampie, size kink (ish?), praise kink, sex as stress relief, Subby, whimpering Javi because giving him a surprise blowjob when you know he's stressed would make him crumble, this is literally porn without a plot WHOOPS

A/N: Shoutout to my job for having a system wide data outage today so I didn't have to work and got to write this instead 🤪 Poor bby cow eyes deserves all the stress relief in the world, and who am I to deny him 🤷🏼‍♀️ Also proud of myself because this is the first thing I've written without an obscene breeding kink in God knows how long, gold stars for me LMAO

Can be read as a standalone or as a part of the Never Too Late Series!

“You’re still working?” 

“No, I just really like sitting here and going through all this fucking paperwork for fun.” Javi sighed, sarcasm oozing out of his words as he leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. 

As thankful as Javi was for his much more structured, low risk job at the Laredo Sheriff's Department compared to his time back in Colombia, his recent promotion had put way more on his plate than he had expected. 

Begrudgingly, Javi had been bringing work home with him most nights to make up for what he couldn’t finish in the office, leaving him in an exceptionally sour mood that he was spending his nights finishing paperwork instead of spending time with you. 

“Sorry, I’m not trying to be an asshole, Querida.” Javi huffed, upset with himself that any ounce of him was resorting to taking his frustrations out on you. “I just- I’ve just been really stressed about trying to get all this shit done.” 

“Really? I can’t tell. You don’t seem stressed at all.” You quietly teased, your sarcasm enough to at least crack a small smile out of his pouted frown. 

Pushing the office door open, you softly padded into the room, placing yourself behind Javi’s desk chair and draping your arms around his shoulders, gently resting your chin on his shoulder. His hands reached up to wrap around your arms now resting against his chest, his thumbs rubbing soft circles onto your skin as he let out a heavy sigh, your presence flooding him with at least a little bit of calm amongst the chaos.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” You asked, pecking a soft kiss onto the scratchy stubble of his cheek. 

“No, it’s just some paperwork shit.” 

“You sure?” 

“No, thank you though, Hermosa. I promise I’ll be done soon, baby.” 

Javi assumed his reply and gentle pat to your arm still wrapped around him would have enough to send you back out of his office so he could finish the rest of his work, but as your lips began to slowly travel from his cheek to down his neck and back up to nibble at his ear while your hands slid down his chest, he slowly realized that your offer to help had nothing to do with the actual work he needed to finish. 

“You sure there’s nothing? It sure seems like you could use some stress relief, Javi.” The tone of your voice shifting from sweet and innocent to low and sultry, the whisper of your words dancing in Javi’s ear and fingertips raking lower across his stomach and thighs making his breath hitch in the back of his throat as he realized what kind of “help” you were planning to offer him.

You smirked as you watched the bulge in his slacks begin to stiffen, your hand just grazing along the seam of his crotch while you kissed his neck, sucking at his pulse point and nipping at his skin. You could practically feel Javi melting into his chair at your touch, hoping that your plan would provide your husband with some much needed stress relief. 

“Pobrecito (Poor thing). You’re so tense. And so hard,” You laughed quietly to yourself, hand now cupping the full blown erection in his pants, “You gonna let me help you, baby? Help you get rid of some of this stress?” 

You began to swivel his desk chair to face you, Javi’s lips already parted for his heavy breaths as his hungry gaze met yours. Slowly, you climbed into his lap, your legs straddling over his hips as your hands ran up and down his chest, toying with the buttons of his dress shirt to expose his soft and tanned skin. 

Your mouths met in a hungry clash of tongues and teeth, capturing Javi’s muffled moans as you kissed him with an electric intensity that already had him needily bucking his hips up into you, desperate to ease how painfully hard he was from the few short moments since your proposition. 

Javi could barely find it in his mind to string together a coherent sentence, frantically nodding his head in agreement to your question between sloppy kisses, letting his hands roam down your back until they were grabbing your ass, kneading the plump flesh in his grasp. 

“Use your words, Javi. You want me to take care of you?” You cooed, grinding your hips into his lap as you watched his head tip back against the chair, jaw going slack and mind running blank as you rubbed against the straining fabric of his pants. 

“Fuck. P-Please, baby.” He moaned, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he gulped, trying to use any ounce of composure he could to somehow make words travel from his brain to his mouth. 

“Good boy.” You smirked, placing one last kiss on his lips before climbing off his lap to settle yourself between his legs on the floor, letting your fingers toy with the clasp of his belt buckle until it broke free.

“Fuck me.” Javi whispered to himself under his breath, watching you free his belt to carefully unzip his slacks, lifting his hips just enough to help you pull down his boxers to reveal his aching cock, tip already red and precum weeping from his slit. 

“Maybe if you behave and let me take care of you, then yes.” You teased before letting your kisses trail up his thighs, inching closer and closer to his length, only making him groan more. His hand ran through the dark locks of his thick brown hair, trying to center himself enough to keep from busting right then and there. 

Your hands ran up and down his thighs as you scooted closer to him, kisses trailing behind the gentle graze of your fingertips up towards his length. You couldn’t help but smirk at him with a devilish grin, seeing how needy and worked up he already was without you even touching him yet. 

Letting your lips inch closer and closer to the base of his cock, your hand wrapped carefully around him, your thumb swiping over his tip and collecting the precum that had been leaking from it, sending a shiver down his spine and a low groan in his chest.

Slowly, your kisses made their way up his length, your lips replacing your hand, tenderly licking at sucking at his tip, eliciting a low groan from deep within his chest. “Relax, Javi. Let me take care of you, okay?” You cooed, letting his cock tap against your tongue before licking a long strip from base to tip, the sensation making him shutter. 

“O-kay. Fuck- Yeah, okay, baby.” He managed to stammer out, looking down at you perched between his legs, beginning to sink your mouth down on his length, hollowing out your cheeks until you could feel him hitting the back of your throat, coming back off him with a pop and a satisfied smile, batting your lashes at him. 

Javi’s head hit the back of his chair as you began to repeat the motion, slowly taking the full length of his cock in and out of your mouth, letting his tip graze the back of your throat with each movement.

Letting your tongue drag up his shaft, your lips wrapped around his tip, sucking and flicking at his most sensitive spots. One hand was wrapped around his cock and working in tandem with your mouth, while the other grasped at his bare thigh, fingertips digging into his skin. 

You began to pick up your pace, shifting your hand to cup his balls so you could take him back into your throat, sinking down just enough to let the deep, musky scent of the curls at the base of his shaft tickle your nostrils. 

You couldn’t help but let a small smirk form between your lips as you worked at his cock, seeing and hearing just how wrecked Javi was from the short time that you had gone down on him, quiet whimpers and moans escaping from his lips, followed by muffled whispers of mixed expletives in Spanish and English to himself in any attempt to keep from spilling down your throat just as soon as you had started. 

“Jesus fucking Christ… F-fuck me. You feel- mierda- you feel so good, Hermosa.” Javi managed to stammer out between gasps, looking down at you nestled between his legs with a desperate expression painted across his face, already feeling his balls beginning to tense and stomach start to swirl. 

While you knew it wouldn’t take much more to get Javi to your intended point of stress relief, you selfishly couldn’t deny the fact that you were now also in need of your own relief, feeling the arousal that had been pooling in your underwear, coating the inside of your thighs and forcing you to squeeze them together in attempts to ease your growing ache. 

Pulling off Javi’s cock and planting a soft kiss to his tip, you peered up at him with a devilish grin, phrasing your next proposition as a question, even though you undoubtedly already knew what his answer would be. 

“You wanna cum down my throat, or cum inside me? You choose, handsome.” You cooed, fingertips grazing the inside of his thighs as your kisses trailed behind, teasing Javi to the point you were half convinced he might cum just like this, considering his half coherent babbles as he tried to string together words to form any sort of thought. 

“I-inside. Fuck- Let me cum inside you, please.” He stammered, nodding his head frantically in confirmation of what you already knew would be his answer. 

Gripping your hands around his thighs to push yourself up to stand, you reached down to tug the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head, quickly followed by your bra, both now crumpled in a pile on the floor. 

You couldn’t help but let out a little giggle at how Javi was gawking at you and your now bare chest, eyes bulging out of his skull and jaw hitting the floor as if he was a goddamn cartoon and it was the first time he had seen you topless in his entire life. 

Your bottom half slowly followed the same fate as your top, pants and underwear shuffling down your hips and legs until they were pooled around your ankles, leaving you completely naked as you began to crawl back into Javi’s lap. 

You let your legs straddle over his hips, your cunt ghosting over his cock as you placed your hands on his stomach, letting them slide up his chest until they were buried in the thick locks of his dark hair, gripping and tugging his curls while your mouth engulfed his in an electric kiss. 

A soft moan rumbled in your chest as his firm grasp found a home on your hips, his fingers digging into the meat of your stomach, holding on for dear life while he felt you hovering over his length. 

“Please, Hermosa. I need to feel you, baby.” He whispered into your ear, now all but begging for you to sink down onto his cock and let himself get lost in the mesmerizing warmth and wetness of you. 

Reaching below you, you wrapped your hand around his cock, positioning it beneath you to lower yourself down, whimpering at the sweet stretch and sting of his girth, letting his tip kiss your cervix as he filled you with every inch of himself that you could take. For as many times as you had found yourself in this position, you were convinced that you would never get over just how full you felt with Javi inside you, and how breathtakingly incredible it felt. 

Cupping Javi’s strong jaw in your hands, your forehead rested against his as you let your hips start to grind into his, long and languid circles of your lower half, rolling back and forth, burying Javi’s cock deep inside the warm, wet walls of your cunt. 

“Fuck me. Holy fuck.” Javi groaned, his hands snaking up your front to grab your breasts, kneading the soft flesh greedily in his hands. His fingers reached for your pebbled nipples, rolling them between his thumb and index finger, the new sensation sending a jolt of pleasure to your core. 

That, combined with the hairs at the base of Javi’s cock rubbing deliciously on your clit and the way Javi’s cock punched against your g-spot was already making you see stars, vision going white and brain going blank from just how good he felt buried inside you.

Instinctively, you rocked your hips faster, feeling an all too familiar tingle begin to build at the base of your spine. Almost as if Javi could sense the way your cunt was starting to clench around his length, he couldn’t help but buck his hips up into yours, his thrusts filling you in a way that had you absolutely reeling and breathless, the two of you both teetering on the brink of collapse to chase your own highs. 

“You feel, oh shit- you feel so good, Javi. Feel so good inside me. I’m close, baby.” You whimpered, burying your hands in the sweat curled hairs at the nape of his neck, lost in your own pleasure as your stomach swirled faster and faster with arousal. 

You could tell Javi was close, too- The gritting of his teeth, the wild and wanting look in his sweet brown eyes, the sloppy pace of his dick pounding into you and nearly incomprehensible babbles were all the tells you knew far too well to realize he was quickly about to come undone. 

“Yeah? F-fuck, I love being inside you. So fucking wet and tight, holy fuck.” 

You could feel your walls beginning to tighten around him, moaning as you buried your head in the crook of his shoulder, fingernails digging crescent moons into his skin as you braced yourself for the wave that was about to crash through you. 

 “Fuck baby, don’t stop- ahhhh- please don’t stop.”

“I know, baby, I know. Let go for me, Osita. Wanna feel you soak my lap before I fuck you full of me. Gonna cum so deep inside this tight little pussy.” Javi reached down so the pads of his fingers rubbed along your clit as you rolled your hips, sinking yourself deeper onto his cock with each thrust, your vision going white as you could feel yourself come undone. 

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckkkkkkkk!” You cried out as you felt your orgasm pulse through you, pleasure shooting through your body as you came, clamping down around Javi’s cock and gushing with your arousal, your body melting limp into his as he followed suite. 

“That’s it, baby. I’m gonna- fuck- g-gonna cum too. Fuck me, gonna fill you so full of me you’re- oh shit- gonna be dripping out of me f-for da- Oh fuckkkkkk-” With a final stutter of his hips, Javi thrust up into you, letting the warm rush of his spend coat your walls, milking himself of every last drop before carefully pulling out, letting the rhythmic breathing of your chests rising and falling sync together. 

“Holy fuck.” Javi sighed, kissing your bare shoulder before letting his plush lips peck across your neck and jawline before meeting yours. “I think it worked.” 

“Think what worked?” You asked, still trying to come to in your blissed out state, gently combing your fingers through the sweat ridden curls of Javi’s hair, giggling as he knowingly ghosted his fingers across your stomach, smiling to himself at your ticklish laughter. 

“The stress relief. God, I love you. I’ll never know what the fuck I ever did to deserve you, but I won’t question it. Thank you, baby.” Javi grinned, softly swiping his thumb across your cheek, leaving his other arm to wrap around your waist and pull him closer to his chest. 

“I love you, too, Jav. Glad I could help. Hopefully this was enough motivation to get you through the rest of your work.” 

As you started to scoot yourself off Javi’s lap to clean up the mess of arousal, clothes, and a few scattered papers you had left in your wake, you were taken aback to feel his grip tighten around you, holding you in place. 

“It’s gonna be a long night, because I’m not even close to being done.” Javi smirked, his tongue darting between his lips as his eyes darkened with a hungry gaze. 

“Then you need to let me get off you, you goofball. Last time I checked, your naked wife sitting on your lap isn’t helping anyone to get paperwork done.” You teased, playfully crossing your arms over your chest, tilting your head at Javi in a mix of sass and confusion until a shriek of surprise escaped from your chest as Javi stood up to set you on top of his desk, caging his broad body over yours. 

“Oh I’m done with all of this shit,” He paused, gesturing to his desk before letting his kisses lazily trail down your body until he was on his knees with your legs draped over his shoulders, spreading them open to reveal the swollen and glistening mess still between your thighs, “but there’s not a chance in hell I’m done with you.” 

Taglist:

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @purpleprincess75 @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper r @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[humanpurposes]

August

Part 2: Tell Me What You Want

You and Aemond are getting closer. Things aren't so hostile but there's a new kind of tension between you and it's starting to get unbearable.

Aemond Targaryen x Reader // Modern AU

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected p in v sex, sexual tension, competitive siblings

Words: 8k

A/n: thank u for waiting everyone, I had a rough few weeks of character building 😙 This is a three part series so one part to go

Nights like these come straight from a song, a music video from your favourite band, a moment in a book that stays with you for weeks, months. Crackles and pops come from the fire, smoke and embers rise into an inky sky dotted with stars. In a few months you’ll be looking back on the memory, wishing you could have bottled this feeling, or let it drag its feet so it would never have to end.

The wine has gone to your head. You’re blissfully fuzzy, your mouth slightly numb, a sickly sweet taste lingering on your tongue. Helaena and Aegon are in hysterics over something Daeron has said, a joke from years ago that the siblings had all forgotten until now. Even Aemond cracks a rare smile. You’re sat beside him tonight, leaning against his arm. His hand sneaks its way onto your thigh underneath a blanket, tracing patterns on your bare skin, dangerously close to the hem of your shorts.

The light from the fire looms over his face and you watch him like you did on the beach below Dragonstone. His smile is less refined than the rest of him. You’re not sure what makes you think this. Maybe it’s because he tries to hide it and shrink into himself. Maybe it’s because his mouth is a little crooked and you’re not used to seeing his teeth. 

He turns his head to look down at you. Your heart is frantic in your chest; his nose is so close to yours. You could tilt your head a little further and capture your lips with his, but you won’t, not in front of Helaena and the others.

His eye glances across the fire at his siblings. “Ah,” he mutters under his breath, understanding your hesitation.

You allow your head to settle against his shoulder, adjusting your body, letting yourself mould into the shape of him. “This is nice,” you say with a sigh, just loud enough that only he will hear.

“Hmm,” Aemond says, the sound of his voice and the steady beat of his pulse humming through your chest and limbs. You wonder what he’s thinking about, what’s happening behind that beautiful eye.

Settled against Aemond, a different sort of tipsy ensnares you. Your eyelids are heavy, your body feels at ease. You start to worry if you don’t get to bed soon you won’t make it at all.

Aemond nudges you softly. “You’re falling asleep there, darling.”

Darling.

“I think I should go upstairs,” you mumble.

“Come on,” he says, whisking away the blanket so the mild air jabs at your skin. His body is gone, his warmth is gone, but he’s standing above the bench, holding out his hand for you to take.

When you stand you stumble a little. Aemond’s hand clasps around your wrist to steady you. Your eyes meet his and you giggle to stifle your nerves.

“Lightweight” Aegon calls.

“Piss off,” you return with a grin as Aemond walks you towards the patio doors.

Somehow your arm finds its way to become intertwined with Aemond’s. He leads the way through the gold accents, tall windows and mirrors of the west gallery, but with the light gone it takes on a gloomier, eerier air, darkness reflected into darkness, broken by the chandeliers overhead. You gaze up at the soft light and sparkling crystals. In the morning you’ll probably have an awful hangover, but for now everything around you takes on a fascinating sort of beauty. You hardly realise you’re losing your balance and falling into Aemond. 

He holds your hand as he guides you up the stairs, along the route towards the east wing. When you come to the corridor where your room is, Aemond’s arm snakes around your waist. His fingertips linger softly against your skin, above your shorts where your top has ridden up a little. You don’t mind– gods, he could do anything to you and you wouldn’t mind. 

With this thought, you look at him. Your legs move slowly but synchronised, one slow step after another. You lift a finger and trace it along the length of his nose, down to the little cleft at the tip.

He huffs a laugh. “What?”

“I like your nose,” you say.

“Thank you.”

“I’m just being honest.”

“I like you being honest.”

You both come to a halt when you reach the end of the corridor and the door to your bedroom. Aemond’s hand slips from your waist but he lingers, watching you, his eye roaming over your face. You don’t quite reach for the door handle yet.

“You didn’t have to walk me,” you say. It’s not dreadfully far to get from the garden to the moat room, and besides, you know your way around Dragonstone now.

“I didn’t have to.” Aemond takes a step into you, placing a wide palm at your side and guiding your back against the wall. He sighs slightly as he exhales and excitement floods in your gut. “Maybe I just wanted to get you alone.”

What can you possibly say to that? The lowness of his voice has rendered your mind useless. But you’ve been wondering if that’s what he thinks when he looks at you. It’s hard to tell with Aemond. His pupil is blown wide, wine, darkness, wanting. His lips are parted and each breath he takes is a gentle stroke of air on your skin.

“You could have just said,” you utter.

His hand tightens at your waist. “Now where would be the fun in that?”

His lips are curled at the corners and it’s just too inviting. He inches closer into you and like a jolt of electricity has sparked in your bloodstream, you surge into him. You melt into one another so effortlessly, lips and tongues, his hands on your sides pulling you into him, your arms around his neck and your fingertips teasing his hair.

It’s been inevitable, hasn’t it? All his smug glances, the way he catches your eye in a crowded room or across the garden. It’s pure energy, hot and visceral, every part of you overwhelmed and yet craving more.

He pauses for a breath and kisses you again, then pauses again. He makes a humming sound in his throat and squeezes your body in some kind of finality before he steps away.

You don’t understand it. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, of course you haven’t,” he says quickly. He takes a breath and runs his hand through his hair, his gorgeous, gorgeous hand. “I just… it wouldn’t be fair on you right now.”

You frown. You know you’ve pushed past your usual limit of drinking, and Aemond seems at ease, not in a state where he should be questioning his decisions. But then that probably makes him the sensible one and you haven’t realised how far gone you are.

“No, you’re right,” you say, unable to look away from his eye.

Aemond swallows thickly. “I want to, I really want to.”

“Me too,” you say, heart starting to sink, or is that just the wine?

“Gods, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you’re reaching for the collar of his t-shirt, pressing your fingertips into the fabric and the hard points of his collarbone underneath, “we can be grown ups about this.”

He curls his hand around your wrist. “We get on, don’t we?”

You shrug, hoping he’ll think you’re not that bothered. “I think so.”

“And I think we could have some fun together.”

“Fun?” 

“When we’re both in the right mind.” He lifts your hand away from his chest and brings it to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss against your knuckles. His eye stays fixed on your face, bright blue and hypnotising. You watch his lips, savouring the feeling of them against your skin. You could pull him into you, beg him to kiss you until you can’t breathe…

“Because you’re cute,” he says with a soft click of his tongue.

“Cute,” you repeat.

He leans in to peck your lips. It’s quick, nice, cute.

“Sleep well,” he says and turns away, wandering idly along the corridor. 

“You too,” you say after him, finding your voice feeble and quiet. Before he disappears from your sight you throw open the door to your bedroom and hide yourself away inside.

Back against the closed door, you breathe and clasp your fingers over your mouth to hide your smile from the empty room.

The next day you skip breakfast, needing a lie-in, some painkillers and a large glass of water, provided by Helaena knocking on your door long after you’re usually awake. 

“I didn’t think you were that bad last night,” she says, opening one of the windows.

“I’m not usually a wine drinker, maybe that’s what killed me off,” you grumble, wincing at the light she lets in. Maybe it’s the wine, maybe you just need the sleep, maybe it’s the image you’ve been replaying of Aemond’s body pressing into yours and his vague promise floating around in your head. “I think we could have some fun together…”

You snap yourself out of that pretty quickly considering his sister is perched on the edge of your bed.

“And Aemond walked you up, that was nice of him.”

Apparently there’s no escaping it. “Yeah, it was.”

“So… he was all over you in the garden last night.” When you drag yourself to sit up Helaena is looking eagerly at you.

You blurt out without even thinking, “nothing happened.” You need to get it off your chest, but saying it out loud you don’t feel especially relieved, more embarrassed.

“No of course not,” Helaena says with a mischievous grin. “But you’ve been rather friendly with each other since your little misunderstanding.”

Enough for his siblings to notice at the very least. “It’s not weird, is it?”

“Is what weird?”

You tilt your head with a pleading look. 

“Oh babe,” she says. “No, not weird at all. If anything it’s a little obvious, Aegon’s been waiting for the penny to drop for weeks.”

You cover your head with your hands and groan. For you, attraction, liking someone, has always come with a sense of humiliation. Your friends don’t get your type, and while Aemond is a little unconventional for you he fits the bill well enough, tall, smart, not too boisterous. He also just happens to be pretentious but subtle and perhaps even sweet… the more you think about him the deeper you’re digging yourself into this hole. 

Healena is clearly in hysterics but is trying not to laugh too much to spare you. “It’s cute actually, Aemond’s been a bit… well it’s nice to see him being excited about something for once.”

Once you’ve regained a bit of composure and gotten over the fluttering feeling in your chest, you say, “he kissed me last night.”

“Liar! What happened to ‘nothing happened’?”

“I thought maybe he was a bit drunk.”

“Are you joking? He looks at you like a lost puppy.”

“Please don’t tell me that.”

“No look, here’s what you do. You and him are living under the same roof for another, what, two weeks? What have you got to lose? Live a little, flirt with him, and don’t overthink it.”

If only ‘don’t overthink it’ was a sentence that could actually compute in your brain. 

You’re lying in a lounger by the pool in one of your bikinis, having moved on from Crime and Punishment to Frankenstien. Your body is lathered with suncream, the scent of artificial coconut clinging to your skin. The sun makes you sweat, but you’re enjoying the position you’re in.

Then you take a breath and you smell the cigarette smoke.

You don’t move your head too obviously, your sunglasses hiding where your eyes are looking, but you see Aemond at the edge of the patio, as close as he can get to you without stepping onto the grass. He’s dressed in a black t-shirt and shorts, sunglasses perched on his nose as he watches you. Even from a distance his gaze burns into your skin, you can feel it writhing there.

You wish you could be closer, so you could hear his inhales and exhales, see the flexes of his hands as he lifts the cigarette to his lips, the pout as he blows smoke into the air. It’s intoxicating. It’s infuriating.

He disappears into the house before you’ve reached the end of your chapter. You tut to yourself, furious you hadn’t read the lines fast enough so you could accidentally run into him on your way inside. You swing your legs round and slip on your pair of sandals. “Don’t overthink it,” you whisper to yourself. So what if he looks but never comes over? So what if he left whatever this is between you as a wine-fuelled kiss outside your bedroom? When all he had to do was open the door, lay you down on the bed. You would have said yes, sober or not. Would he?

Don’t overthink it. Whatever happens happens.

You leave your towel and book by the pool, but you need a drink to fight off the dry feeling in your mouth. Or maybe you’re just restless. Maybe you need something else to do than sit around and wait.

You go into the kitchen, thankful to see there isn’t anyone around. No Criston sitting at his laptop, no Alicent leaning on his shoulder. There’s noise coming from the staff kitchen, tonight’s dinner prep, which won’t be served for a good few hours. 

In the fridge you find an array of drinks, all sorts of iced teas and flavours of lemonade all in glass bottles. You pick the first thing you see, something pink and labelled as raspberry flavoured. As you’re digging through a drawer trying to find a bottle opener, you hear a few soft footsteps against the tiled floor. There’s a faint scent of cigarettes and aftershave.

“Want some help?” Aemond says.

Conveniently, you close your fingers around the bottle opener. “No, actually, I’m all good,” you say, turning around to flick off the metal cap. 

His eye follows your hand as you place the cap and the opener down on the counter, as you bring the bottle to your lips and take a small sip so that the drink doesn’t fizz.

He’s a friendly distance from you, not close to touching you, but every muscle in your body tenses. You’re so aware of everything he does, the subtle change in his gaze, how his eye darkens as he tilts his head down to look at you, how he holds his mouth, how his nose twitches ever so slightly when he breathes.

And you’re painfully aware of how indecently dressed you are, how good you thought you looked when you last checked your reflection, a bead of sweat trailing down the side of your neck. Can he see it? Does the heat drive him to restlessness too?

“This is nice,” he says, looking over the bikini, a shade of blue that compliments your complexion perfectly. You see his hand twitch at his side. 

Is he thinking about touching you? Is he desperate to pull you in like he did the other night?

“Do you think so?” you say, leaning back on one hand against the counter, waiting for his eye to come back to yours. “You’ve never complimented any of my outfits before, Aemond.” 

His eye seems to light up when you say his name. “Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate them.”

You take another casual sip from the bottle, watching how his throat bobs when he swallows. 

He takes another step forward. He’s testing the waters, you realise, seeing how close he can come before you squirm. You take your weight off your hand on the counter, closing the distance by just another fraction.

“Did you think about me last night?” he mutters. You’re close enough that you can hear him, even when he speaks under his breath. 

“After you left me standing outside my bedroom door?”

He raises a brow.

“Maybe I did.”

“I thought about you,” he says.

“But you didn’t do anything about it.”

With one more step he’s pressed against you, the counter digging into your lower back. Aemond puts his hand at your waist, his thumb resting on your front, not firmly, but noticeable. Your breath hitches.

Aemond smiles to himself. “I said we should both be in the right mind, and you agreed, didn’t you?” His hand trails, moving down to the waist of your bikini bottom. He slips two fingers under the fabric, sliding them up, along the conjuncture of your thigh and your hip. 

You dig your teeth into your lower lip for a moment, determined to keep your composure, desperate to deny him the satisfaction even though it’s already written all over his face. He can see you’re breathless, that your heart is racing in your chest.

The pull to him is like gravity, something that binds the world together, crushing and impossible to deny. 

He leans over your, his lips hovering by your ear, circling an arm around your middle. You can smell the beads of sweat on his neck, the scent of his shampoo, something naturally him that you think will linger in your mind for a while. “So why don’t we stop tip-toeing around each other and enjoy the rest of the summer?”

Why shouldn’t you? Really, why? It’s been so long since you felt a draw like this, since you felt wanted. He’s grovelled enough surely and something about his mask of perfection slipping to reveal something primal and reckless, excites you. Proud Aemond Targaryen, digging his hands into your flesh, grazing his lips over your ear, your jaw–

Your eyes flicker to the door. Daeron’s standing in the doorway in his tennis gear, face pink and sweat dripping from his silver hair.

Aemond notices you’ve frozen. He slowly pulls away and glances over his shoulder. His posture instantly shifts. 

“Alright, kids?” Daeron says, shoulders swaying as he walks into the kitchen.

Aemond’s standing in front of you, nudging you with his hand to keep your body concealed behind his. From over his shoulder you watch Daeron take a bottle of iced tea from the fridge. He opens the cap on the side of the counter.

“Don’t stop on my account. I’m not even here.” Daeron chugs from the glass bottle, making a smacking sound with his lips and taking a breath with a smug “ah!” when he pulls it away from his mouth.

Aemond turns to face you. “Thinks he’s so fucking funny.”

Daeron shoots you a wink. With the moment firmly crushed under his younger brother’s Asics tennis shoes and Adidas socks, you slip from Aemond’s grip.

“I’m gonna get my book,” you say.

Aemond angles his brows like he’s begging you to stay, but he lets you go out to the garden without much more of a fight.

His lingering stares and double takes are becoming more brazen now.

You sit with your parents that night at dinner. Your father tells you about the golf club on the neighbouring island of Driftmark, which Corlys Velaryon is insisting the men should all go to visit sometime this week. It’s not far, a quick journey on one of the yachts. Your mother had gone into the town today with Alicent and shows you the photos she took of some adorable clay figures of animals and seashells in a local craft shop.

This doesn’t seem to deter Aemond at all. He’s where he usually is, at the head of the table, looking over at you every so often while Helaena speaks at length to him. You catch snippets of this one-sided conversation, sea birds and prey, wingspans and something about dinosaurs?

The distance between you is starting to feel unbearable.

After dinner Aegon leads you and the others to the library where he rummages through a floor to ceiling shelf of DVDs.

You and Aemond find yourselves sat together on the same sofa, with space for an extra person between you. Helaena is elated when she finds Dreamfyre the cat curled up on one of the arm chairs, scooping her up into her arms and hugging her close to her chest like a teddy.

Daeron takes the other arm chair, his arms full of snacks. He throws a packet of salted popcorn at Aemond and it hits him on the blind side of his face. “Fuck, sorry.”

Aemond turns his head to you and gives you a pointed look. 

You tilt your head. Ignore him, you think, then realise the absolute insanity of thinking that Aemond can hear what you’re saying in your head. You huff through your nose, a smile on your face, and shuffle closer to Aemond so you can claim the popcorn. The fact that you’re sidled up to him and his arm has found its way around you to get more comfortable is a happy coincidence. 

“A-ha!” Aegon presents his finding like it’s an ancient heirloom; a copy of American Psycho. 

Helaena groans. 

“It’s a masterpiece,” Aegon insists.

“Yeah, I so want to spend my evening watching some self absorbed investment banker brutally murder women.”

“Even if he’s played by Christian Bale?”

Helaena does a double take of the DVD cover. “Put that shit on right now.”

As Patrick Bateman goes through his psychotically perfect skincare routine, does crunches to the sounds of screaming women and lodges an axe in Jared Leto’s face to ‘Hip To Be Square’, you and Aemond melt into one another. It hits you how settled you feel lying against Aemond’s chest, your ear against his ribcage so you can feel his heartbeat, your head rising and falling with his breathing. His fingers start to trace over your arm, up and down, lulling your mind until you’ve forgotten to be nervous about being so close to him, so self conscious that you might be in the wrong position, how your cheek might look slightly squashed against him.

It’s not very ‘Letterboxd enthusiast’ of you to be thinking less about the film, instead wondering if Aemond will walk you to your room tonight, if he’ll kiss you again, if he’ll ask to come into your room and shed the simple layers of your t-shirt and jeans.

You press your lips together. You haven’t touched any wine tonight, and neither has he. 

Once the credits have started rolling you sit up, noticing how stiff your body is having been in the same position for the entire length of the film. You stretch your arms out and catch Aemond looking at you, trying to hide a smile.

Aegon, Helaena and Daeron are arguing about the next film.

“Scream.”

“Aegon, please, no more horror.”

“But Matthew Lillard!”

“What?” You say, meeting Aemond’s eye.

He makes that cryptic humming sound again. “Feel like going to bed?” He says quietly.

Your stomach drops, but you want to play this cool. Don’t overthink it. Don’t overthink it. “Whose?”

Aemond half smiles. “Mine.”

You make your excuses. Aemond makes his. As soon as he shuts the door to the library the boys start howling like dogs.

Your heart is racing. Every part of you is screaming at you, begging for more contact, to have that beautiful eye on you again.

“Sorry about my family,” Aemond says, running his hand through his hair. You’re trying to pinpoint the notes of his aftershave, sweet and dark, like black coffee and honey. “As you can see they’re all very good at minding their own business–”

Your hands are on the sides of his jaw, against the gentle sharpness of his silver stubble, pulling his lips into yours. 

Aemond immediately offers you his hunger. It takes you off-guard for a moment, how he grabs at your waist, pushing his body against yours so he can devour you how he wants to. His mouth moves down to your neck and you sigh without meaning to.

“Moaning for me already?” he teases, dragging his teeth over your skin.

“You fucking wish,” you say but your voice sounds utterly pathetic at the feeling of his hands on you, your hips, the backs of your thighs, cupping between your legs. “Aemond…”

“Sorry, I’m getting carried away,” he says, kissing up along your cheek and your temple. He pulls away from you, pupil blown wide in the darkened corridor, roaming your not quite flattering David Bowie t-shirt. He reaches for your hand and presses a peck against your knuckles.

You let him lead you towards the east wing, to the corridor where you’d usually part ways if you were going to your own bedrooms. Once you’ve gone past the door that would lead you back to the moat room, you start to feel lightheaded, disorientated. Somehow it feels nice.

Your heart beats more furiously with every door you pass. You don’t know which one will lead to his room, but there’s one at the very end, which he seems to be eyeing.

“Aemond?” You’ve stopped walking.

He grips your hand tighter. “Yes?”

“I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“Oh. No, that’s fine.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t– don’t say sorry. Fuck, I should be the one apologising, I didn’t– I thought you wanted to?”

Seven hells, I’ve made it awkward. He hasn’t misread you, you’ve played into everything he’s given you, but something’s still holding you back. His grip on your hand is getting loose, his gaze is dropping. The moment is slipping and you can’t let it happen.

“Wait,” you say, reaching for him. Your fingers close around his forearm, slim but strong. “I don’t know, I’m not great at asking for what I want.”

His eye comes to yours, determined, more intense than you think you’ve seen before. “That’s alright. You can tell me, what do you want to do?”

You take a moment to consider, your eyes tracing the curve of his lips, the shape of his nose. You hold your breath so you can listen to his. You want this. You want this. You want him. “I want to kiss you more.”

He takes your hands in his, circling his thumb over the delicate skin of the inside of your wrists. “Yeah?”

“And, I want to be near you.”

He lifts your right hand and replaces his thumb with his lips. A surge of wanting shudders through your limbs. “And?”

You close your eyes and whisper. “And I want you to make me come.”

He smiles against your skin. “How do you want me to do that?”

“With your mouth,” you say. You feel his fingertips at the pulsepoint of your left wrist. You love watching his hands, you can picture them perfectly in your head. “And your fingers.”

“There’s a good girl,” he says.

Aemond steps away from you, opening the door and inviting you inside. You weren’t sure what you were expecting from his room but this seems about right, dark wood panelled walls like the rest of the rooms in the house. The curtains are wide open, overlooking the front of the house and you’re high up enough that you can see the sea, or you would in the daylight. He has bookshelves, mostly full of fantasy novels, children’s books. He explains most of these are from his summers spent here as a kid, plus a few text books, Comparative Politics, The History of Philosophy…

“The impressive collection of classics is at my place in King’s Landing.”

“I’m sure it is impressive,” you say. You wonder if you’ll ever get to see it.

He has a vanity, a hairbrush, a few bottles of aftershave, face serums and deodorant all placed neatly underneath a mirror. He has posters on the walls, all in black frames and hung in an orderly fashion, of sci-fi shows and movies and bands that were popular ten years ago. There’s another stack of shelves by the wardrobe with trophies, plaques, medals, photographs of Alicent with four silver-haired children, a certain little boy with a tennis racket in his hands, another with a fencing mask under his arm.

“I haven’t changed the room much,” he mutters.

“It’s adorable,” you say.

His arms circle around your middle, pulling you in close so he can kiss your neck again. “You’re moaning again,” he says when you let out a heavy breath.

“No I’m not, I’m just breathing.”

“Liar,” he teases. One of his hands slides along your body to your rear and he squeezes you through your jeans. 

When you catch a glimpse of a silver chain under his collar you’re suddenly insatiable. Your hands are clawing at his t-shirt and he wastes no time in pulling it off, coming back to kiss you like he cannot bear to be parted from you, and kissing him feels as perfect as it did that night when you both tasted like wine. 

You don’t care where your clothes fall, which pile of fabric is his, which is yours. He lays you down on the bed with a gentle but commanding grip on your neck. He kisses you over and over again, grinding a growing hardness between your legs against the fabric of your panties. He smothers you, his bare body sinking against yours, your lips grazing against his skin, your legs parting to make room for him, desperate for the friction. 

He works his way down, trailing his tongue along your throat, kissing your bare chest, teasing your nipples with his lips, tongue and teeth. Maybe you are moaning. The thrill of it echoes through your body and serves to stir the wanting in your belly, the tightness that’s going to drive you insane.

He keeps kissing down, pausing when he comes to your panties. He looks up at you, lips parted, your fingers starting to slip into his hair. “Look at you,” he says. “You’re so hot when you’re needy.”

He’s barely touching you and you can’t take the teasing.

He doesn’t keep you like this forever. He kisses around it, the soft skin of your inner thighs before he finally, finally pulls your underwear down your legs. He starts slowly, gently, each swipe of his tongue tortuous and divine. 

And usually your mind would wander. You’d try so hard to focus on the pleasure, think of some depraved scenario so you could actually come. Aemond commands your attention and you can’t bring yourself to look at anything other than the sight of his mouth working against your cunt, the obscene sounds he makes, the roughness of his voice when he stops to remark how wet you are, how good you’re doing for him.

Your grip of his hair tightens. You don’t worry if it will hurt him, not with the way he whines when you do, how his body jerks as he tries to grind his hips into the mattress. 

It’s too much and it’s perfect. It builds and builds until it bursts and the pleasure tears through your body. Aemond holds your legs apart to see you through it, until you’re shaking and begging him to stop.

When he lifts his head he’s as breathless as you are, his brow dewy with sweat. “How was that?”

“Good,” you say, then decide that isn’t quite enough. “Really fucking good.”

Aemond smirks. His eye stays on your face as the tip of his middle finger rests at your entrance. As soon as he slips inside, your body is weightless. You could almost laugh to yourself, all those times you’ve looked at his hands and now you know you were right. He feels good, thicker, longer than your own digits, reaching deeper than you ever could.

He makes a game out of this, seeing how he can make you react, praising every movement of your hips, every noise you make, how many times he can get you to come.

When it’s done and you can’t take any more, he lies beside you, putting his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest. You let your hand settle on his stomach, on the patch of hairs that trails down to the waist of his boxers. 

“You don’t have to…” he says, as you start to feel over his skin with your fingertips.

“Do you mind if I return the favour?” you ask, sitting up and leaning on your palm, looking down at him.

Aemond stares at your face. “Of course, as long as you want to.”

“I do,” you say,  enjoying the way his expression lightens.

You position yourself along his body and rid him of the boxers. His cock is an impressive size, a little intimidating, but you’re already craving the feeling of him in your mouth, hard and needy, especially after he’s watched you come undone so many times. 

You trail your tongue along his length, teasing over the tip and savouring the taste of him. You work him with your mouth and your hand where you can’t take him. You love the sounds he makes, his sighs and moans.

“Good girl,” he coos, “can that pretty mouth take more?”

You want to, you want him to feel good. You look up to him, trying to take more every time your mouth moves down.

Aemond watches you in wonder. He gathers your hair in one hand. “Tap my leg if it gets too much.”

You hum in agreement.

He pushes your head down. “Relax,” he utters, “fuck, just relax, you’re doing so good.”

You hardly understand how it makes you want more, the weight of him, the discomfort in your jaw, but you like it. You feel your stomach starting to tighten again.

Aemond pulls your head up and you catch your breath, quickly working your hand over his cock. He’s squirming now, pleading for release. You move your mouth to his balls and he doesn’t last long after that.

He pulls you by your hair again, prodding the tip at your lips. “Swallow it,” he growls as he slips into your mouth once more. You feel the warmth over your tongue and he comes, wincing slightly at the taste, letting it dribble from the corner of your mouth. 

You must look like a fucking mess, his cum dripping from your mouth, your hair ruffled from his grip, trying to catch your breath as his cock softens.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he utters. 

You fall asleep in his bed, your head against his chest and his arms around you. As you drift off you try not to think about the summer’s impending end, that the days are already getting shorter.

Don’t overthink it.

You think you could allow yourself to enjoy this, the light feeling in your body, the relief of being held by someone else, the sound of Aemond’s fluttering breath soothing you to a deep, dreamless sleep.

When Helaena suggested that you join her and the boys for tennis, you thought it meant you might actually get a chance to play. You and Aemond could have played a doubles match. He could have given you some pointers on your technique, and if you won he could have looked at you with that smug look of his. Or you could have gone head to head. He would have won, inevitably, but he’d be looking at you with a competitive intensity which could easily be switched into a different kind of eagerness.

You’ve not got a terrible view. Aemond’s face is dark with determination, every part of him drenched with sweat and his hands gripping the racket like it’ll purposefully try to jump out of his grasp. He grunts every time he hits the ball, and he does it with a terrifying amount of power. 

“Match point!” Aegon’s made himself comfortable in a plastic chair at the side of the court, sipping bottles of beer from a cooler box he made Daeron carry over.

At first you were worried you might have to watch Aemond lose this. Daeron started off strong. He’s young, slim, quick, but he’s running out of stamina. This is where the match turned in Aemond’s favour. He hasn’t tired out so easily. 

Daeron serves. Aemond sends the ball flying back. Daeron has to run for it but he just manages to hit it into Aemond’s court. And while Daeron’s far over on the left, Aemond hits it to the right. There’s no chance that Daeron will get it and he knows it, not even running for it. But Aemond’s hit it hard, if it’s out of the court then Daeron has another chance to win.

You all freeze. Aegon leans forward, eyes on the line and…

“In!”

“Fuck!” Daeron cries.

You and Helaena break into cheers. Aegon wipes his brow as if he’s the exhausted athlete and helps himself to another beer.

Aemond looks at you, trying not to smile. He offers his hand to Daeron but he’s having none of it.

He comes straight to you, lifting you into a spin like you’re in a rom-com.

“Why do I feel like you’ve just won Wimbledon?” you say as he sets you down.

“Please, this is more competitive than Wimbledon,” Helaena says, evidenced by the fact that Daeron has grabbed his racket and is already walking back towards the house.

“It’s a valuable lesson to learn how to lose gracefully,” Aemond insists. 

On the walk through the gardens, Aemond keeps his arm around you, even when you protest that he’s literally wet with sweat. Not that you mind, you’re in a t-shirt and some sports shorts you’ve borrowed from Helaena. It’s all very sweet, very intimate all of a sudden, after you’ve spent the last few weeks acting like you dislike each other.

It’s early evening and the sun is inching closer to the horizon. The crashing of waves surrounds Dragonstone, no matter where you stand, the tennis court, the gardens, the front drive. Helaena and Aegon announce they’re going to have a few more drinks on the patio. And Aemond leads you upstairs to his room.

The moment the door is shut his lips are on yours, hands lightly touching your jaw. Is he afraid he’ll douse you with sweat, that his hands will feel too rough on your skin, that he’ll break you somehow?

There’s a nagging feeling in your heart and in the back of your head, the overwhelming urge to be close to him, to feel him. You stumble over yourselves and you drag him towards the bed by the collar of his tank top.

He’s on top of you, palms on either side of your head, his hair falling over your forehead, keeping you flat on the mattress with his body. “Don’t get me all worked up, darling, I need to shower–”

You interrupt him with quick, needy kisses. You can’t get enough of him, the softness of his mouth, his heat, the taste of him on your tongue.

He has to drag himself away, grinning, stroking his jaw with the backs of his fingers. “You’re tempting,” he muses.

“Not tempting enough,” you say with a playful pout.

“Give me two minutes.”

“I’ll be counting.”

He huffs a laugh. “That’s a good girl.”

Your brain short circuits. In that moment you’d wait for hours if he asked you to. 

He strips off in front of you, his trainers, his top, the shorts and the pair of boxers. You sit on the edge of the bed, hypnotised as you watch his muscles and tendons flex under his skin, all his sharp edges, the contented look on his face.

He leans over you once more, kissing you lightly on your head before he disappears into his ensuite. You listen to the rush of water, the sound of his footsteps when you can catch them. You imagine him there, water running over his body, hands working some shower gel into a lather and rubbing it into his skin. 

You take shallow, steady breaths, telling yourself you’re not trying to commit the smell of his sheets to memory. But you feel comfortable here, in his bed, in his room, in this small fraction of his world. There’s only so much you know of him, the books he likes, how quiet and commanding he can be, how his mouth feels and how his brow scrunches when you make him feel good. You’re sitting amongst fragments of him now, the sports trophies, the old photos, the text books, trying to piece it all together into the man you fell asleep with last night.

What’s his place like in King’s Landing? You bet it’s in some expensive neighbourhood, Visenya’s Hill or one of those squares by Regent’s Park. You picture marble surfaces, vintage furniture, rows and rows of books, dark wood floors, deep shades of blue and green, tall windows, maybe a bed for Vhagar.

There’s so much you want to know about him, so many questions you could ask.

The shower stops. You try to act as casually as you can and like you haven’t been restless on his bed waiting for him to come back to you.

When the door opens a cloud of steam wafts into the bedroom. Aemond has dried himself off mostly, ruffling the towel in his hair. You can taste the sweetness of the water on your tongue, and breathe in the scent of his shampoo. His eye is on you as he tosses the towel aside and approaches the bed.

He kisses you tenderly, slowly tugging away your t-shirt, then the shorts. Once you’re naked his demeanour shifts. His hands are firm on your thighs, spreading your legs apart, holding you down as he drags your panties to one side and devours you. 

You can’t stop moving but it doesn’t matter, Aemond keeps you right where he wants you, circling and pressing with his tongue where you need him. Has he remembered from last night? Has he thought about this since?

When you come undone Aemond hums lowly in his chest, pleased, satisfied, to a point. He grinds his hardened length against your bare cunt, effortless with the aftermath of your orgasm. Each push of his head against your clit sends a shockwave through your spine. He’s teasing you, you can see it on his face.

You let out a quiet noise from your throat.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Aemond says sweetly.

You try to angle your hips and rock against him, but he knows what your game is and keeps his tortuous movements steady.

“That’s not good enough, tell me what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you mutter, looking away from his face.

He’s having none of that. There’s a weight on your neck, his hand, forcing your gaze back to him. “Say that again.”

He’s slowed down, any hint of pleasure is fading quickly. You can’t let it happen, you need more. “I want you to fuck me,” you say again.

Aemond leans into you, forehead against yours, breath hot against your open mouth. “Beg me for it.”

“Please,” you whisper, lips grazing over his, “please fuck me, Aemond.”

The tip of his cock slips down to your entrance. He whispers in your ear, “is no condom okay?”

You nod. “I’m on the pill.”

Without any more preamble he slowly starts to rock his hips again, inching inside. You gasp at the stretch, clinging onto his shoulders as he works himself into you. You let your forehead rest against his chin, focusing on him, the little grunts he makes as he fills you.

“So fucking tight,” he whispers. Maybe he’s just as desperate and needy as you are.

His thrusts are shallow at first, but he presses in deeper. He keeps it slow, thorough, propping himself up on his hands, letting his pelvis grind into your clit. Your legs curl around his hips to keep him close, to keep yourself open for him. 

He’s reaching so deep, then he ups his pace, fucking into you quick and hard, and you can do nothing but cling to him and take it. 

You feel yourself clench around him, letting out a strangled sort of cry.

“That’s it,” Aemond rasps in your ear, “that feels good doesn’t it?”

You utter a mindless “yeah,”

“Are you going to come for me?”

“I…” you think so, something’s tightening inside you. You can’t speak or help the moans that slip from your mouth.

“I wanna feel you come around my cock,” Aemond says, “please, sweetheart, please,”

The pleasure snaps and your whole body lurches, back arching, your nails digging into Aemond’s skin. He fucks you through it, panting and sighing until he stills. With a few more gentle thrusts you feel a warmth blooming inside of you. He pulls out slowly, leaning back on his haunches to admire his work.

There’s a quiet moment, when you’re both catching your breath. Your eyes meet and you smile at him. He’s sweating again.

You go back to your room to shower and dress for dinner. Helaena knocks on your door before you head down together, a pleasant ache between your legs that feels like a shameful secret.

“Aemond seemed happy about the tennis,” she says.

“Mm hmm,” you offer.

“So did you…”

“Seven hells, he’s your brother,” you whisper, feeling blood flush in your cheeks.

“Well obviously I don’t want details about him, but as your friend I want you to be happy and have good sex.”

You wish you could shrink into your shoulders. “Yes, it was good.”

She squeals with laughter and tickles under your chin like you’re a child. “I’m so proud of both of you,” she says.

You and Helaena sit together around the table, this time you’re next to Aemond. Daeron is opposite you, Aegon to his right, opposite Helaena. 

Alicent is keen to hear about the result of the tennis match. 

“It was a tough call,” Aegon says like a sports commentator, “going in, expectations were high for Mr Targaryen, and equally Mr Targaryen is a promising young player, as we all know well–”

Otto chuckles from the other side of the table. The rest of the table starts to become engrossed in Aegon’s retelling of events, even Viserys.

“But ultimately the younger player was worn down, and it was in fact Mr Targaryen who prevailed!”

“But, who actually won?” Alicent asks, completely lost until she sees the scowl on Daeron’s face.

“Who knew Aemond still had it in him?” Aegon says, raising a piece of steak on a fork to him like a toast, “after all those office hours, I thought you were officially a boring bastard.”

“You know Aemond,” Daeron says, “he’s full of surprises.”

You frown with a flicker of confusion. Aemond’s glaring at his younger brother. Aegon raises his brow, taking a deep drink from his wine.

“A man of many talents,” Helaena adds lightheartedly.

“Take this development for example,” Daeron says, nodding to you.

“Daeron,” his mother warns.

Anger rushes through you like a fist around your heart. “What’s so interesting about it?” you ask.

Daeron shrugs. “It’s just that Aemond’s usually into older women–”

There’s a scraping sound as Aemond rises from his chair. He doesn’t shout, or glare, or slam his fist on the table. He simply leaves.

Daeron’s smirking. Everyone else is looking at you, Aegon, Alicent, your own parents.

“You’re a fucking arse,” Helaena hisses across.

You’ve had dreams before, when something’s chasing you and you can’t run, like your legs are made of ice and you can’t convince them to move, to keep out of the reach of danger. That’s exactly how you feel now, like you’re living in a nightmare, pulse pounding in your chest, no way to escape.

You don’t wait to consider what Daeron might have meant. You get up from your chair and follow Aemond from the dining hall.

No taglist, follow @ficsbygee and turn on post notifs for updates <3

[pulseofthestars]

@nobuverse Rare unedited footage of Nobunaga coming to an epiphany.

[bimbosandbubbles]

Thinking about men who love teasing their chubby little wife to tears and babbles

Warnings-mean/nice dom,yandereish but in a soft appealing way, fingering,humiliation done in a gentle way,degradation and praise and ofc hairy pussy mentions bcs it’s natural! Daddy kink!

“You’re so good to me baby,thank you so much for making me that delicious lunch!”

A soft kiss is placed on your chubby cheek—a cheek that’s stretched with a bright smile. You’ve always loved how your husband praised you,always appreciated whatever you’d do for him no matter how big or small.

It could be,”My angel,you look so cute today! That outfit you’re wearing makes me wanna kiss you all over!”

Or range to,”My pretty little wife is so good at listening to me,so perfect for me.I think you need a little reward,huh? What does my good wife think?” He smiles in a innocent way that would fool anyone except you, into thinking he had pure intentions. That hypothesis would be so wrong…because usually a promised reward leads to you you laying nude on the huge king size bed—legs parted to show the patch of hair covering your sopping cunt and your thighs shaking in knowing anticipation.

He’ll slot himself right in between the throbbing area—taunting you when he moves his big thigh against the lower half of your slit. “I know you’ve been such a good girl for me but you have show me how much you want this,okay sweetheart?” You know exactly what he wants so you give it to him. You compliment how good he makes you feel in and out the bedroom—coaxing him with honeyed words straight from the heart and the aching cunt pulsing to be touched.

“Tell me I’m the only one who can make you feel this good—I’m only one who can make you see shooting stars—go on,tell me pretty baby.” You do and emphasize each word by placing a pudgy hand onto his veiny one,making sure to squeeze just enough to let him know how much his effort means to you. “Good girl,thank you for telling daddy how much he means to you…but since you told it’s my turn to show.” He’ll say this and make it sound he’ll finally fuck you—finally free you from the shackles dubbed as excitement.

He doesn’t though instead his slender finger traces the opening and closing entrance—teasing the hole with the thought of fullness. “Tell me more,my sweet girl. Tell daddy how good he makes you feel.” You whine and moan—desperate voice cracking into teased tears that tumble down your cheeks in a way that your husband groans at. “You said I’m a good girl! I want m’ reward already. Please daddy.”

“Aww my good girl,you’re right. No need to be rude. Now tell me”—he pulls a strong hand away from your wet canal. “How bad do you want it?”

He’ll watch you babble and cry for minutes and minutes on end because his cute wife is just so irresistible. With your watery eyes,your trembling plump belly,your cooing and pleading lips—God and that desperate cunt of yours.

The torture and teasing only gets worse once he eases his two digits in you. He’ll often do this one maneuver where his other hand rubs and squeezes the fat of your belly even leaning down to give the pudgy flesh a few bites and marks. He does this all while fingering you til you see white. But once you do he’ll stop,over and over and over until you full on start crying for him to just fuck you.

“Yeah? You want daddy to fuck you? Are my fingers not good enough for you,greedy girl?” You tell him his fingers are oh so good but right now all you need is daddy’s fat cock in you. That’ll make him smile and kiss your little warm chubby face. “You’re such a good girl. Perfect baby—so worthy of daddy’s cum.”

He’ll have you folded to the point your cellulite ridden thighs are pushed all the way to your squish your plump belly so he can see your pretty pussy. He’ll stop and stare as he stokes his aching red cock to the view—he just adores barely getting a sneak peek of what your fat lips and hair covers. He loves being able to see your pubes get stuck to the pure slick everywhere.

When he finally puts it in you’re already telling him how thankful you are for his cock. “So good,my wife. So so so good. You deserve my cock all the time,don’t you?” He’ll have you say over and over that you do deserve his cock and that you love it so much. That no one can ever replace him and no one ever will.

He’s groaning and grunting,thrusting harder into your oh so welcoming pussy. But then he’ll stop,pull out,and force you to hold your legs back for him. He’s stroking his cock again and grinning at your tearful expression that he can barely see over your cute pudge. You look so sad—so empty and upset that his cock isn’t in you no more. But he’ll assure you that you’ll fuck you nice,long and hard to the point you’ll begging him for no more.

But despite the affirmation you’ll still whine and beg for him to just come back inside you. Because you need him,because your pulsing pussy is just so void without his fat cock plugging into it. And of course he gives into you—his sweet precious wife.

The whole night you’re left being edged and empty until finally he makes you see stars three separate times. But oh no—believe for a fact he’s never ever done teasing his wife because he could always make whine for more and more.

Characters

Nanami,Gyomei,Giorno,Taiju,Geto,Higuruma,Uzui,Douma, Eustass Kid,Luci,Aki,Toji,Hisoka,Chrollo,Uvogin, Doflamingo,Barou,Bachira.etc

Reblogs are greatly appreciated!<3

[bodybaggage]

Phantom in the League

---

The Watchtower hummed with its usual low energy, the heartbeat of Earth's greatest defenders. The Justice League had just wrapped up their latest meeting, discussing the increasing dimensional rifts appearing across the globe. Batman, ever the detective, had been the first to suggest the possibility of a more mystical cause. Naturally, the League looked to Zatanna and Constantine for guidance. But before they could dive too deep, another voice cut through.

"We could always ask Phantom."

Superman’s suggestion was simple, straightforward, and met with a few curious looks. The Kryptonian had always been one to trust his teammates, but Phantom’s origins had been one of the best-kept secrets in the League. Phantom, the young yet mysterious ghostly hero, had been a valuable ally since he’d been recruited after saving Star City from a rampant ghost attack nearly a year ago.

The League had grown used to his presence. His ethereal glow, the way he seemed to fade in and out of sight like a wisp of smoke, and the cryptic smile that often played on his lips. He was a mystery, one they had chosen to respect, but now? Now, they needed answers.

"Do we even know where to find him?" Green Lantern asked, hovering a few inches off the ground. "He just… shows up."

"I can find him," Batman declared, his voice a low growl that brooked no argument. "He can't stay hidden forever."

"He's never been a threat, Bats," Flash pointed out, leaning casually against the conference table. "He's just… Phantom. He helps out, doesn't ask for anything in return, then he's gone."

"That might be true, but we need to know who or what we’re dealing with," Wonder Woman added. "If these dimensional rifts are tied to his abilities or his world, we need to be prepared."

Superman nodded in agreement, his arms crossed over his broad chest. "Let’s just ask him directly. If he trusts us enough to fight alongside us, then he’ll trust us with the truth."

---

Phantom had never been easy to track, but Batman had his ways. And when Batman wanted to find someone, he did.

The Batcomputer pinged with a soft alert as he isolated Phantom’s spectral energy signature, something the Dark Knight had painstakingly compiled over the past few months. It was faint, almost undetectable, but there was enough to trace a general location: an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Gotham. Fittingly enough.

---

When the League arrived at the warehouse, it was eerily silent. The only sign of life—or unlife—was a soft, pulsing green light emanating from the cracks in the walls. Superman could hear the faintest murmur of voices, and Wonder Woman felt the magical energy in the air thickening, almost like stepping into another world.

“Stay on guard,” Batman instructed, though he knew everyone was already on high alert.

They pushed open the rusted doors, revealing a scene none of them had expected. Phantom was there, hovering mid-air, his back to them. But he wasn’t alone. Standing before him was a massive, imposing figure, crowned with a spectral crown and draped in regal, ghostly armor. The very air around the figure crackled with power—power that seemed to warp reality itself.

"Who the hell is that?" Green Lantern whispered, his ring already flaring to life.

"That's Pariah Dark," Phantom’s voice cut through the silence, clear and calm. He turned slowly, his eyes glowing a vivid green. "The former Ghost King of the Infinite Realms."

“Former?” Wonder Woman questioned, her brow furrowed in concern.

“Yes,” Phantom continued, descending to the ground as he spoke. “He’s no longer the king because… I am.”

The League froze. Superman’s eyes widened slightly, and even Batman seemed taken aback, though he quickly masked it. The implication was massive.

Phantom noticed their reactions and sighed, looking almost tired. “I was hoping to keep this quiet, at least until the time was right. But I suppose now is as good a time as any.”

He walked forward, the green glow around him dimming as he shifted from his ghostly form into that of a human boy—one who looked no older than seventeen. His black hair fell into his face as he offered them a weary smile, his bright blue eyes meeting theirs with surprising warmth.

“My name is Danny. Danny Fenton. And, yes, I’m the current King of the Infinite Realms.”

“The Infinite Realms?” Superman asked, though the name already resonated with him. He had heard of it before—an interdimensional realm of ghosts and spirits, a place of both immense power and danger.

Danny nodded. “It’s… complicated. The realms are like a web of dimensions, all interconnected and constantly shifting. I inherited the throne after defeating Pariah Dark.” He gestured towards the massive ghost, who remained silent, his eyes glowing with an eerie intensity. “It wasn’t exactly by choice, but it’s my responsibility now.”

“So, you’re a king,” Flash summed up, trying to wrap his head around it. “And you’ve been, what? Just hanging out with us, fighting bad guys on Earth?”

Danny chuckled, a sound that held a hint of bitterness. “Pretty much. The Infinite Realms are my duty, but Earth… Earth is my home. I couldn’t just abandon it, not with everything that’s happened.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Wonder Woman asked, her tone gentle but firm.

Danny hesitated, his gaze falling to the ground. “I didn’t want you to see me differently. I’m still me, still the same guy who fought alongside you. I just… have a lot more on my plate than most.”

“Kid,” Green Lantern said, lowering his ring, “we’ve all got our secrets. But this? This is big. You could have told us.”

“I know,” Danny admitted, his voice soft. “But I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want to bring my problems into your world. But with these rifts appearing… they might be connected to the Realms, and that means it’s my responsibility to fix it.”

Batman stepped forward, his eyes never leaving Danny’s. “And Pariah Dark?”

The ghost king finally spoke, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to echo through the very fabric of reality. “I am here at the behest of my king. I no longer seek to conquer. My past… transgressions have been put aside.”

Danny glanced at Pariah, his expression unreadable. “Pariah Dark is… complicated. But he’s under control. I’m keeping him in check.”

There was a moment of tense silence before Superman spoke, his voice carrying the authority of a leader but the warmth of a friend. “Danny, we’re a team. We face these challenges together. If the Realms are a threat, we’ll help you. But you need to trust us, just like we trust you.”

Danny looked up, meeting Superman’s gaze, and for the first time, he truly felt like a part of something bigger. Not just a king, not just a hero, but a member of the Justice League.

“Okay,” Danny agreed, his voice firm. “I’ll tell you everything. And together, we’ll stop whatever’s threatening both of our worlds.”

The League nodded in unison, the tension slowly dissipating. They were in this together, just as they had always been.

As they prepared to leave, Danny couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. The burden of his secret was still heavy, but now he wasn’t carrying it alone. For the first time in a long while, he felt like he truly belonged.

And as the Watchtower’s doors closed behind them, Danny knew that whatever came next, he wouldn’t have to face it alone.

pt.2

---

[heartcereql]

velvet crowbar

childhood friends torn apart as Viktor rises to the elite world of Piltover while you remain in Zaun, neglecting feelings out of fear.

cw: use of y/n, angst angst !!!, viktor acting like an ass out of pure fear and love ://

a/n: we're sooooo back hehe:)

The sky over Zaun always seemed to press down on you, a heavy blanket of gray smoke and the faintest glimmer of dying light. The city never slept, its heartbeat thrumming through the cracked streets and rusted pipes, a constant reminder of its pulse. Yet, despite all the noise, all the chaos, there was a quiet corner of your mind where the memories of him still lingered—of Viktor, the boy who once dreamed beside you, in a world where you both could be more than this.

But now, as you stood on the rooftop of your building, on the verge of collapsing, staring out toward Piltover, the city of metal and glass that seemed so far removed from everything you knew, it felt like a lifetime had passed since those dreams. You could see the lights beginning to twinkle in the distance, an endless sea of gold, cold and untouchable.

You had once imagined running to Piltover with him, escaping the smog and decay of Zaun, finding a place where dreams were not just for the rich, but for the willing. You had imagined standing beside him in the light, where he was the brilliant inventor, the genius, and you were... whatever he needed you to be.

But that was before.

Before the city had swallowed him whole. Before the distance between you had stretched out like the gap between the stars. Before Viktor became the man Piltover needed, and you were left with nothing but memories and an aching chest.

You hadn’t seen him in months, not properly. Letters had become few and far between, the words that used to come so easily now barely reaching the paper. And when they did, they felt distant, almost like he was writing from another world—one that didn’t have a place for you.

You tried not to let it bother you, tried to pretend that you didn’t still wait for his visits, for the sound of his voice. But the truth was, you missed him. You missed the boy who had been your anchor in this crumbling place, the one who used to say your name like it was the only thing that mattered.

Today, however, something was different. You didn’t know what it was at first—maybe it was the way the wind shifted, or the way the light in Piltover seemed to call to you, pulling your gaze towards it. Maybe it was just your heart, too tired of pretending that nothing had changed.

You heard him before you saw him. The soft shuffle of boots against stone, the quiet exhale of breath in the cool air, the metallic clink of his crutch against the pavement. And then, there he was, standing at the bottom of the steps that led to your rooftop.

Viktor.

For a moment, you just stood there, frozen, as you looked at him. His figure was taller now, his frame more angular, the clothes he wore no longer the worn fabrics of Zaun, but the fine, immaculate garments of a Piltover citizen. His face, still familiar but so different, looked as if it had been shaped by something far away from the world you both had once shared.

You didn’t know how long you stood there, just watching him, before you found your voice.

"Viktor," you whispered, as if the sound of his name could pull you both back to what you used to be.

He smiled, but it was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was a smile of politeness, of formality—a smile that didn’t know you the way he once had.

"Have you been well?" His voice was smooth, but there was a distance to it, something colder than before.

You nodded, but your throat tightened. There were so many things you wanted to say—things that had festered in your chest for far too long. But you didn’t know where to begin.

You used to tell him everything. Now, you couldn’t even bring yourself to ask how he was.

"I’m managing," you said, your voice sounding weaker than you intended.

He stepped closer, but the space between you felt impossibly wide. Every step he took was a reminder of how far apart you had become. He wasn’t the boy who had climbed up here in the dead of night just to whisper dreams of a different life. He was Piltover’s Viktor now, and you were still here, in the shadow of Zaun, holding onto the remnants of a life you once shared.

"I’m sorry I haven’t visited sooner," he said, and for a moment, you thought you could hear the weight of guilt in his voice. But when you looked at him, all you saw was the stranger who had once been your closest friend.

The silence between you stretched, heavy with things unsaid, until he finally spoke again. "It’s just... things have been busy. There’s a lot I’ve had to focus on in Piltover."

You swallowed, trying to ignore the sting in your chest. You knew what he meant—Piltover had taken him. Taken him away from everything that had once been important to him.

And you had been left behind.

"Of course," you managed to say, even as your heart twisted. "You’re doing important things. I understand."

The air between you both felt thick with unspoken words as you both lingered in the quiet aftermath of your meeting. Viktor’s hand stayed close to his chest, his fingers twitching as though he wanted to reach out but didn’t know how.

You swallowed hard, finding your voice again, though it trembled.

"What is it, Viktor? What’s going on? You've been so distant. I don’t— I don’t get it. You used to tell me everything." Your eyes searched his, desperate for a glimpse of the Viktor you once knew.

He shifted his weight, his gaze flickering down to the ground before meeting your eyes again. There was hesitation in his expression, something raw, like he was fighting with himself to say the right words.

"I’ve been... busy." He let out a long breath, and there was a heaviness in it, like explaining it to you wasn't something natural, but something to be elaborated. "I’ve been working on something important in Piltover. It's… something that could change everything, for both of us."

"Piltover?" The word left your lips before you could stop it, disbelief in your voice. "You're really living there now? You’re—you're working there?"

He nodded slowly, almost reluctantly, like the confession itself pained him.

"Yes. I’m working under a researcher—Jayce Talis. He... he and I are developing something that could revolutionize technology. It’s hard, Y/N. So hard. But it’s the only way forward." His words were heavy with the weight of his ambition, but something in his eyes betrayed him, a flicker of doubt, or maybe regret. "I wish I could have told you sooner."

Your heart twisted at the mention of Jayce, and the strange unfamiliarity of Viktor’s words lingered in the air. There was no more talk of your shared dreams, no more talk of Zaun, only Piltover’s cold steel and polished streets. The world he now belonged to felt so far from you—like something that could never belong to someone like you.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" You wanted to ask if he missed you, if he even thought about you anymore, but the words felt selfish, fragile. You felt small in this new space he had carved for himself.

"I didn’t want to drag you into it," Viktor said, his voice quiet, almost a whisper. "The people in Piltover… they’re not like us. They wouldn't understand. It’s complicated." He looked away, the distance between you both growing as he ran a hand through his hair, his breath ragged. "I didn’t want you to be caught up in it, Y/N. Not with everything that’s happening now. I—I thought it would be better this way."

You felt your chest tighten, the hurt festering behind your ribs.

"Better for who, Viktor?" You swallowed, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. "You think it’s better for me to be left in the dark? For you to pretend that nothing’s changed?"

His eyes softened, and he took a hesitant step forward.

"No, it’s not like that. It’s just… I can’t put you in danger. Not with how things are moving. I’ve seen how Piltover treats people like us." His words were raw, heavy with the weight of everything he had seen, everything he had become part of.

You shook your head, forcing back the wave of bitterness threatening to spill over. "So, what? You just want me to stay here and wait? Wait for you to get so far away that you forget who I am?"

"I could never forget you," he murmured, his voice a gentle plea. "But Y/N, you need to understand. This place, it’s changing me. It’s changing everything. And I need you to stay safe. That’s why I..." He stopped himself, the words falling short of the meaning you both needed.

You were silent for a long time, the air between you both thick and awkward. You could feel the cracks forming between you both, widening, pulling you apart with every unspoken word.

Finally, you spoke, though your voice was shaky, almost uncertain. "Where are you working? Piltover... I mean, you said you’re working with Jayce. I just... I need to see you, Viktor. Please. I need to understand."

For a moment, Viktor seemed to hesitate, his face creasing with the weight of what he was about to say. Then, with a sigh, he muttered, "I’m at the Hextech Labs now. It’s in the heart of Piltover. If you really want to understand, that’s where you’ll find me."

The words hung in the air between you like a challenge, like a door you could either step through or close. You clenched your fists, a strange resolve settling in your chest.

“I’ll come,” you said, your voice firmer now, despite the coldness creeping up your spine. “I’ll come to see for myself.”

Viktor’s eyes widened as if he hadn’t expected you to say that, and for a moment, there was panic in his gaze, a flicker of fear. But he didn’t stop you.

“Y/N, I don’t think you should—” he started, his voice tight with a warning.

But you were already turning away, the weight of your decision pressing down on you like the very world you were about to enter.

You’d never imagined Piltover would feel like this. Its gleaming towers, so pristine and far removed from the chaotic, gritty streets of Zaun, made you feel small. As you stood on the edge of the grandiose bridge that separated the two cities, the weight of your own breath felt louder than the bustling crowds around you. The air was too cold, too crisp. Too polished for someone like you.

But you were here.

You didn’t know what you expected to find when you crossed the bridge—perhaps an entirely different Viktor, one who had shed the layers of their shared past, a man too far gone into his new life. Maybe a part of you thought that if you came here, you could still see the boy who used to walk alongside you in the alleys of Zaun, whose hands you once held with reckless hope.

The Hextech Labs stood in front of you now, a towering monolith of glass and steel that seemed to radiate the ambitions of the city. You could see its grand entryways, the carefully crafted banners that fluttered above, the people walking in and out with an air of purpose, none of them even sparing you a second glance.

And there he was, inside. Viktor.

You took a step toward the door, your heart thudding loudly in your chest. This wasn’t just a visit anymore. This was the final step to understanding. Or, perhaps, to unraveling everything that had grown between you two in the silence.

You didn’t know how much time had passed since Viktor told you where to find him, but now that you were standing here, you couldn’t turn back.

The automatic doors opened with a faint hiss, and you stepped inside, blinking against the sterile brightness of the lobby. No one took notice of you as you walked through, a stranger to this world. But the path was clear, a hallway that led to the heart of the lab. Your footsteps echoed softly, each sound a reminder of the difference between you and the world you were entering.

You found Viktor just where he’d said he would be—standing near one of the Hextech machines, deep in conversation with a group of people in polished uniforms. The sight of him, now fully immersed in his new life, took your breath away. His lean on his crutch was firm, his hand moving as he explained something, his voice steady and authoritative. The Viktor you knew—who fumbled over his words in Zaun—was gone. In his place stood a man who carried the weight of Piltover’s expectations on his shoulders.

When he turned and saw you standing there, his expression flickered, just for a moment, before he masked it. He excused himself and dsimissed the other topsiders. The word burned in your thoughts.

His lips pressed together, and for a second, he looked like he might say something. Instead, he only took a hesitant step toward you, his brow furrowing as he took in your presence.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice colder than you remembered. “What are you doing here?”

You flinched, the sting of his words hitting you more than you’d expected. His tone wasn’t warm. It wasn’t affectionate, either. He sounded distant—almost as though you were an intrusion. His eyes, those familiar honey orbs, seemed to search you for an answer he already knew but wasn’t willing to accept.

“I—” You paused, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. “I came to see you, Viktor. I needed to understand.” Your voice shook, and the resolve you’d built up back at the entrance began to waver. “You said you were working here. I wanted to see... see where you’ve been. What you’re doing.”

Viktor’s gaze hardened, and he quickly glanced around the room, as though the walls themselves were listening. He took your hand and led you to a stark corner, hidden by all the machinery, dark and dusty.

Viktor’s eyes softened, but there was something restrained in the way he looked at you. He glanced over his shoulder, as though calculating something, before turning back to you. “I’m glad you came,” he said, though his words felt heavy, like they were forced out of him. “But you shouldn’t be here, not like this. It’s… it’s different here.”

The hesitation in his voice only made your heart ache more. You stepped closer, trying to reach him with your gaze.

“Different how? Viktor, I came all this way. I just want to see you. I just—”

“You don’t understand,” he interrupted, his words quieter now, but there was a slight urgency behind them. “This place, Piltover—it’s not like Zaun. It’s... it’s hard to explain. There are things here—things I didn’t expect that... I didn’t want you to see.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture you recognized. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Y/N.”

You blinked, confusion mingling with the rising frustration in your chest. “Hurt? What are you talking about?”

His eyes darted away for a moment, as though searching for the right words.

“The judgment here... the way they look at people from Zaun.” He shook his head, looking at you as though seeing you for the first time in a new light. “I’ve endured so much to be here. They don't take it easy with us. I don’t want... I don’t want you to be part of that. It’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be involved with any of this.”

Your heart sank. “So, that’s it, then? You’re ashamed of me? Of where I come from?”

Viktor’s eyes widened slightly, and he stepped back, clearly shaken by your words.

“No, Y/N. That’s not it. It’s not about you, it’s about—about the risks. I can’t ask you to put yourself in that position. I... I care about you too much to let that happen.”

You felt the sting of those words hit harder than you expected, each one feeling like an unspoken apology, but still holding you at arm’s length.

“You care about me?” you echoed, a bitter laugh bubbling in your throat. “Then why won’t you let me be with you? Let me see the life you’ve built? You’ve kept me at a distance for so long, Viktor.”

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said quickly, stepping forward. But then he hesitated again, as if the distance between you felt like an insurmountable barrier. “But this is... this is bigger than us, Y/N. I need you to understand that.”

His words hung in the air, but you could hear the crack in his voice. Still, the weight of his protection felt like a cage.

You wanted to say more, to demand that he explain himself further, but instead, your body turned of its own accord. Without another word, you walked away from him, your footsteps heavy with the disappointment you couldn’t shake. It wasn’t the rejection that hurt the most, but the way he couldn’t see you—couldn’t see what you needed from him.

The journey back to Zaun was a blur. The twisting alleys and rusted walkways passed by in a haze, the familiar scents and sounds of the Undercity failing to ground you. All you could think about was the way Viktor had looked at you—the hesitation in his eyes, the tightness in his voice when he told you to leave.

This isn’t your world.

The words echoed in your mind, each one sharper than the last. You had always known that Viktor’s life in Piltover was different, that it wasn’t the same as the life you shared in Zaun. But you had never thought that difference would grow into a chasm, one wide enough to push you apart.

You sat down on a rusted bench near the bridge, your hands clenched into fists. The sting of his rejection burned hotter with each passing moment. It wasn’t just the fact that he had told you to leave—it was the way he had said it. As if you were a liability. As if you were something to be hidden, something to be ashamed of.

And yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from making excuses for him.

Maybe he really was trying to protect you. Maybe the people in Piltover were as judgmental as he said. But even if that were true, it didn’t explain why he had let their opinions matter more than yours. Why he hadn’t trusted you to decide for yourself.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. Viktor had always been your anchor, the one constant in your ever-changing world. And now, for the first time, you felt adrift.

You didn’t cry, not then. Not when his sharp words cut through the air, nor when the weight of his rejection sank deep into your chest. You refused to let yourself break while standing in his polished, lifeless world.

But later—when you reached the safety of your rooftop, its closeness to the sky wrapping around you like an old, tattered blanket—you let yourself unravel.

His words had replayed in your mind, over and over, like the static from a broken radio: “You shouldn’t have come.” The pain wasn’t just in what he said but in the way he said it. Quiet. Unyielding. Like a door closing in your face.

It didn’t make sense. He had always been proud of his roots—or so you thought. You’d seen the fire in his eyes when he spoke of the change he wanted to bring, of how Zaun deserved more than what it had been given. But when you stood there in his world, it was as if all of that had been erased, replaced by something cold and distant.

You couldn’t stop wondering: Was it me? Did I remind him of what he’s trying to leave behind?

Yet even as doubt gnawed at your resolve, another voice in your mind fought back.

This was Viktor. Your Viktor. The boy who used to stay up all night with you on the rooftops, whispering dreams of a better world into the dark. The boy who had limped to your door with bruises on his knuckles and a wild grin on his face, holding up a gadget he swore would make life better for everyone. The boy who had looked at you—really looked at you—in a way that made you feel like you weren’t just surviving. You were alive.

That boy couldn’t just be gone. Could he?

The lab was quieter than usual, save for the faint hum of the machines and the occasional clink of tools on metal. Viktor sat hunched over his workstation, his eyes fixed on a piece of Hextech equipment that had been giving him trouble all afternoon. Yet, for once, it wasn’t the device that occupied his thoughts.

It was you.

The memory of your face lingered in his mind, the hurt in your eyes when he had asked you to leave. He could still see you standing there, a stark contrast to the polished, sterile surroundings of his lab. You were a reminder of everything he had fought so hard to leave behind—and everything he couldn’t bear to lose.

He had wanted you to stay. More than anything, he had wanted you to stay.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

The thought of you being dragged into this world made his stomach twist. This cold, unfeeling place where everything was measured in worth and potential, where people like you were judged for where they came from rather than who they were. He had barely managed to claw his way into their circles, and even then, he wasn’t truly accepted. Not fully.

They whispered about him—about his accent, his limp, his strange inventions. He could feel their stares, their skepticism, every time he entered a room. And if they saw you, they wouldn’t just judge you. They would judge him.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. And yet, he couldn’t ignore it.

Viktor leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t afraid of how they would see you. He knew exactly what they would see: your resilience, your warmth, the fire in your eyes that refused to be extinguished. But he was afraid of how they would use you—how they would turn your presence into a weakness, a chink in his already fragile armor.

And more than that, he was afraid of how they would use him against you. He had seen it before—the way the topsiders wielded power, how they twisted vulnerabilities into leverage. If they decided you were a liability, if they decided you were expendable…

He closed his eyes, gripping the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turned white. He couldn’t let that happen.

“I’m protecting her,” he murmured to himself, as if saying it aloud would make it true.

But deep down, he knew the truth was more tangled, more shameful.

He wasn’t just protecting you. He was protecting himself.

Because if you saw him through their eyes—if you saw him as less, as weak, as someone who didn’t belong—it would break him in ways he wasn’t sure he could endure.

He didn’t sleep that night.

The lab was silent, save for the hum of machinery and the occasional crackle of electricity. Normally, that sound was comforting—a reminder of the work waiting to be done. But tonight, it only grated against his nerves.

He should have gone after you. He knew that. The moment the words had left his mouth, he had known. But instead, he had stood there, rooted to the spot, watching as you walked away.

The way you had looked at him before you left... it haunted him.

Viktor leaned heavily on his cane, staring down at the blueprints spread out on the table before him. None of it made sense anymore. Not the equations, not the diagrams, not even the goals he had once clung to so fiercely.

He wanted to tell himself he had done the right thing, that pushing you away had been for your own good. Zaun and Piltover were two different worlds—worlds that didn’t belong together, no matter how much he wanted them to. No matter how much he wanted you.

But the truth he didn’t want to admit was far less noble. He hadn’t pushed you away just to protect you. He had done it because he was afraid.

Afraid of what it would mean if you stayed. Afraid of how they would see you. Afraid of how you would see him.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling in his chest. For all his intelligence, for all his inventions and ideas, he couldn’t figure out how to bridge the gap he had created.

But the thought of losing you completely? That was a problem he couldn’t solve.

The smog of Zaun had a way of clinging to your skin, a reminder of where you belonged—or at least, where the world thought you belonged. But you couldn’t shake the thought that there was more, that you deserved more. That he deserved more.

That’s why you found yourself on Piltover’s shining streets again, your resolve hardening with every step closer to the towering building where you knew Viktor would be. This wasn’t just about the words he had said, or even the ones he hadn’t. It was about answers. About understanding why the boy who once promised you everything now seemed intent on giving you nothing.

You didn’t announce yourself this time.

The lab doors slid open with a soft hiss, and you stepped inside, your presence breaking the sterile quiet. Viktor didn’t look up immediately, his focus pinned to the contraption in his hands—a sleek, glowing device you couldn’t begin to understand.

“Viktor,” you called, your voice firm yet trembling at the edges.

His head snapped up, the familiar amber of his eyes flickering with surprise, then something else you couldn’t place. Guilt, maybe.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone careful, as though the wrong inflection might shatter the fragile air between you.

You ignored his question, stepping further into the room. The scent of metal and ozone filled your nose, and you noted how starkly this world clashed with the smoke and grit of Zaun. “I needed to see you.”

His jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line, eyes avoiding yours. “I thought I made myself clear.”

“Clear?” you echoed, incredulous. “Viktor, you’ve been avoiding me. And then, when I came to you, you—you pushed me away like I was nothing. Do you have any idea how that felt?”

His fingers twitched against the cane, his weight shifting uncomfortably. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

“Why not?” you challenged, your voice rising. “Is it because I don’t fit into this perfect, shiny world of yours? Because I’m not one of them?”

“Stop,” he said sharply, and the word hit you like a slap. He drew in a shaky breath before continuing, softer this time. “You don’t understand.”

“Then make me understand, Viktor,” you shot back. “Because all I see is someone who’s ashamed of where he came from. Of who he left behind.”

His head dropped, his hair falling into his eyes as he exhaled a long, heavy breath. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he spoke, his voice low and laced with something raw.

“You think I left you behind?” He looked up, and there it was again—that guilt, etched into every line of his face. “I would never... you are the one part of Zaun I’ve never wanted to leave.”

“Then why?” you demanded. “Why push me away? Why say those things?”

He turned from you, limping toward the far table where his tools lay scattered. His grip on the cane was tight, knuckles white. “Because I am not proud of what I’ve become,” he admitted finally. “Not here, not in this world.”

“What are you talking about?” you pressed, your frustration giving way to confusion.

“I have fought for respect, for a chance to prove that people like us can be more than what they think. But they do not see me. Not truly. To them, I am a... novelty. A curiosity. And if they knew about you, about us...” He trailed off, his hand curling into a fist on the table. “They would see you the same way. Or worse.”

“Let them judge,” you said, taking a step closer. “Let them think what they want. I don’t care, Viktor. Why do you?”

“Because I do not want you to endure what I have endured,” he said fiercely, turning to face you. “You deserve better than this place. Better than me.”

The words hung between you, heavy and damning.

“Don’t you dare decide what I deserve,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You think I don’t know what this world is like? What people like them think of people like us? I do, Viktor. But I would endure it a hundred times over if it meant being with you. So why can’t you let me decide that for myself?”

He stared at you, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched, filled only by the faint hum of the machinery around you.

Then, finally, he spoke. “Because I’m afraid,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “Afraid of losing you. Afraid that... that if you stay too close to me, this world will crush you the way it has tried to crush me.”

You stopped, his words robbing you of your breath. The anger that had carried you here faltered, giving way to something softer, something more vulnerable. He wasn’t ashamed of you. He was afraid.

Though his words didn't extinguish all of the fire of your frustration, your gaze softened, and you stepped closer, close enough that you could see the slight tremor in his hands, the way his chest rose and fell as though each breath was a battle.

“Viktor,” you said gently, “I’m not afraid. Not of you, not of them. I’ve survived Zaun, haven’t I?”

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Zaun may be harsh, but it is honest. Piltover... it is sharp in ways you cannot see. You do not know what it is to be dissected, to be dismissed with a smile. It is cruelty dressed in gold, and I—” He broke off, his voice catching. “I could not bear to see it touch you.”

You reached out, your fingers brushing his hand where it rested on the table. He flinched, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you slipped your hand into his, squeezing gently.

“I’ve been through storms, Viktor,” you said softly. “I won’t shatter because someone here thinks less of me. You have to trust me.”

He met your gaze, the weight of his fears reflected in the golden depths of his eyes. And then, as though the dam had broken, he closed the distance between you, cupping your face with trembling hands.

“I have tried,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I have tried to keep you safe, to keep you away from all this. But I... I cannot. I cannot keep myself away from you.”

His lips met yours in a kiss that was both tender and desperate, as though he was pouring every unsaid word, every unspoken fear and hope, into that single moment. For a heartbeat, the world outside the lab fell away—Piltover’s gleaming towers, Zaun’s shadowed streets, the endless weight of their struggles. There was only him, only you.

You hesitated, your body frozen in the whirlwind of emotions. Then you felt it—his tears on your cheeks, warm and unyielding, as though they carried the weight of every burden he had shouldered alone. It was that touch, more than the kiss itself, that undid you.

For so long, you had built walls of your own, convincing yourself you could carry the unspoken love in silence, that it was enough to be near him. But in that moment, you knew: love demanded trust, not just from him, but from you. Trust in the man before you, in the bond you had forged through years of hardship and laughter, hope and pain.

You gave in, melting into him as your hand found the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Your lips moved against his, answering every plea with a promise of your own. The kiss deepened, your tears mingling with his as you surrendered to the love you had carried for him, quietly, always.

When the kiss finally broke, you were both trembling, breathless. His forehead rested against yours, his hand lingering at your cheek as if afraid to let go. His voice came as a whisper, raw and vulnerable.

“I was wrong to push you away,” he said, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I thought I could protect you, but I see now... I was only hurting us both.”

You searched his eyes, finding the weight of his apology there, but also something deeper—a glimmer of the man you had always known, the boy you had grown up beside. “You don’t have to carry everything alone, Viktor,” you murmured, your hand covering his. “You never did.”

He closed his eyes, exhaling a shaky breath. “I just...” he began, his voice faltering. “I didn’t want to risk losing you.”

“You won’t,” you said firmly, your voice steady even as your heart ached for him. “Not to Piltover, not to your fears, not to anything. I’m here, Viktor. I always have been.”

His gaze softened, the tension in his shoulders easing as if your words had pulled him back from the edge. “I don’t deserve you,” he said, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips.

“Then it’s a good thing love isn’t about deserving,” you replied, your own smile breaking through your tear-stained gaze.

For the first time in what felt like years, you saw hope in his expression—a fragile, flickering thing, but real nonetheless. And for the first time, you let yourself believe that the fractures between you could be healed, that together, you could weather the storms to come.

The lab was quiet again, but this time it felt like a sanctuary, a place where the past and future could finally meet.

“Come back to Zaun with me sometime,” you said after a while, your voice soft but carrying a playful edge. “Even if it’s just to remind yourself where you belong.”

Viktor’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile.

“I will,” he said, his voice steadier than before, “It's about time I stop running. And I start trying to make this right.”

© heartcereql, 2024 || thank you for reading ! 𓆩 ♱ 𓆪

[ye4gerz]

blood moon — ldh

‧˚⭒ pairing: lee donghyuck x afab!reader. 18+MDNI ‧˚⭒ genre: thriller!au, horror!themes, smut. ‧˚⭒ word count: 9.2k ‧˚⭒ warnings: mentions of death, blood, magic, sharp objects, dark entities, clowns, smut. ‧˚⭒ starring: haechan, jihyo, ningning, chenle, jeno, jaemin, jisung, mark. ‧˚⭒ summary: in the middle of nowhere where shadows lie beneath the surface, you're led back to a place that unravels your past. in this cursed place, time is of the essence, only to meet donghyuck, the one capable of setting you free.

The small, dimly lit room feels suffocating, the walls pressing in on you with an almost deliberate weight. You draw your knees up to your chest, sitting on the edge of the creaky bed, your head lightly resting against the cold glass of the window. Tonight was supposed to be perfect, yet an invisible unease clings to you, wrapping itself around your thoughts.

You were back at your family’s old cabin, surrounded by friends who had come to this remote countryside to celebrate the annual festival. This land, once the backdrop of your childhood, was now a nostalgic glimpse into a life you hadn’t revisited in years. Sharing this piece of your past with the people closest to you had felt like a good idea. Yet, something about being here again unsettled you in ways you couldn’t explain.

Earlier in the day, the town had been alive with energy. Crowds of locals and visitors had flooded the streets, some dressed up to honor the town’s peculiar traditions. There were games, horse rides, and even the timeless festival classic: bobbing for apples—though you’d never been a fan. Watching your friends laugh and immerse themselves in the festivities had been enough to keep a smile on your face. But beneath the surface, an inexplicable weight lingered, heavy and persistent.

The cabin creaked softly in the night breeze, the faint smell of aged wood and pine wafting through the air. Outside, the dense woods stood like silent sentinels, their gnarled branches clawing at the smoky sky. The moon hung low, its hue casting an eerie glow over the landscape. Somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of music drifted through the trees—a melody so soft it felt more like a memory than reality.

A soft knock at your door broke the silence, making you flinch.

“You doing okay?” Jihyo asked, leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed.

Her presence immediately comforted you. Something about the way she stood reminded you of your mother, a bittersweet memory you hadn’t expected to surface tonight.

“I’m okay, Jihyo,” you replied softly, your gaze distant. “Just… taking it all in.”

She gave you a gentle smile and stepped into the room. The matching flannel pajamas she wore, along with the rest of your group, brought a sense of warmth to the chilly evening. A cool breeze slipped through the cracked window, brushing against your skin like a ghost of the past.

“We had so much fun today,” she said, sitting beside you on the bed, the old frame groaning under her weight. “Ningning won’t stop talking about the horseback dude who asked for her number.” She rolled her eyes playfully, letting out a small laugh.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking your head. “Sounds like Ningning.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, your eyes drawn to the window. The night sky stretched endlessly, the moon casting a faint, eerie glow over the land.

“Take a look at that,” Jihyo said suddenly, her voice filled with awe. “It’s a blood moon.”

Your gaze shifted upward, and there it was—a smoky red orb suspended in the heavens. Its haunting beauty mesmerized you. For a moment, you thought the light seemed to pulse, almost beckoning, though you dismissed it as a trick of your mind.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jihyo smiled and pulled you into a gentle hug. “I know how much this place means to you,” she began softly, her words carrying a rare tenderness. “And I know how hard this time of year must be, especially being back here. I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to lose both parents, but I want you to know I care about you. We all do. And if it helps, we can make this a yearly thing—just us, with good food and drinks, hanging out in the countryside. How does that sound?”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You nodded instead, swallowing the lump in your throat. “That sounds really nice. Thank you, Ji. I appreciate it.”

She hugged you one last time before standing and heading for the door. “Goodnight,” she said, smiling back at you as she closed the door behind her.

Exhaustion crept over you like a heavy blanket as the house settled into stillness. You slipped under the covers, the warmth lulling you into a dreamless sleep.

A soft whisper cuts through the silence.

“Come…”

Your eyes fluttered open, disoriented. The room was bathed in shadow, the faint glow of the moon casting eerie streaks of red across the walls. You sat up, straining to hear, and rubbing your eyes. The whisper came again, louder this time.

“Come find us…”

It was faint but unmistakable, the voice achingly familiar. Your heart skipped a beat as chills raced down your spine. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, every nerve in your body on high alert.

The red light outside pulsed faintly, casting the woods in an otherworldly glow. The whispers seemed to wrap around you, tugging at your very soul. You glanced toward your now opened door, the adjoining guest room, where your friends were fast asleep. Their soft snores and murmurs reassured you they were blissfully unaware of the eerie disturbance.

Your feet moved almost of their own accord as you slipped on a pair of shoes and grabbed a sweater. The wooden floor creaked under your weight as you tiptoed out of the room, careful not to wake anyone. The cabin door groaned softly as you eased it open, the cool night air biting at your skin.

The whispers grew louder, clearer, as if guiding you.

“Come find us… we’re waiting.”

With one last glance at the cabin, you stepped into the woods, the pulsing red light ahead of you like a beacon.

You didn’t look back.

The whispers grew louder, drowning out the crunch of leaves beneath your hurried steps. The pulsating red light loomed closer with every breath, an unnatural urgency filling the air and compelling you forward.

“Sweetheart…” The familiar voice reached your ears, tender yet chilling, like a memory resurrected from the depths of your mind.

“M-Mom?” Your voice cracked, trembling as you stumbled forward, breaking into a run.

This couldn’t be real. It was impossible. Your mind grappled for an explanation. Was this a dream—a vivid, warped projection of your subconscious? Maybe you were caught in a lucid nightmare, wandering through some uncharted corner of your own mind. Yet, the cold air stung your skin, and the steady thudding of your heart told you otherwise.

Finally, you stopped, your breath catching as you stared, wide-eyed, at the scene unfurling before you.

A carnival.

Towering red-and-white-striped tents stretched high into the night sky, glowing unnaturally under the moon’s light. Flashing bulbs blinked erratically, casting shadows that danced with unsettling energy. The air was thick with the syrupy scent of popcorn and candied apples, mingling with the faint metallic tang of something unrecognizable. Strangers in capes and masks strolled arm in arm, their laughter melodic and strangely distorted.

Something about the place was deeply, fundamentally wrong.

“What… is this?” you murmured, your voice breaking as you took in the chaos. You stood frozen, painfully aware of how your pajama-clad form stood out against the surreal revelry of the carnival-goers. Their gazes lingered too long, curious and invasive, making your skin crawl.

“WELCOME IN, FOLKS!” boomed a voice from above. You jumped, startled, and turned to see a figure perched impossibly high on stilts, towering over the crowd. His face was a riot of bright, garish paint, his grin stretched unnaturally wide across his face.

“I, Chenle, your gracious host, welcome you to the annual Blood Moon Celebration! Grab your tickets and make your way to the freak show!” His voice rose and fell theatrically, delighting the crowd with every exaggerated gesture.

The air buzzed with cheers and applause as he gestured grandly toward a smaller, dimly lit tent behind him. Then, as if drawn by some unseen force, his gaze locked on you. His grin faltered for the briefest moment, a flicker of something—recognition?—flashing in his sharp eyes.

He tilted his head, studying you with unnerving intensity, before his grin reappeared, wider and more calculated than before.

Balancing with ease, he descended his stilts, each movement precise and deliberate as he made his way toward you. His painted face loomed closer, his sharp eyes scrutinizing every detail of your appearance.

“You…��� His voice was quieter now, almost a whisper, laced with something unreadable. “I’ve never seen you here before, Miss. Do you have your ticket?”

The weight of his gaze was suffocating, like a spotlight trained on you. You swallowed hard, your voice faltering. “N-No. I’m visiting my hometown with my friends. I don’t remember there ever being a carnival… especially not during this time.”

His sharp eyes raked over you once more, his painted grin frozen in place. For a moment, you thought he might dismiss you—or worse, see right through you; but then, like a switch had been flipped, his grin stretched impossibly wider, his painted cheeks crinkling unnaturally.

“Well, well,” he said, voice bubbling with false cheer, “I’m sure the ringmaster will make an exception for you and your friends. Speaking of which…” His gaze darted past you, his grin unwavering. “Where are the rest of the bunch?” His voice dipped lower, feigning casual curiosity while his eyes scanned the shadows behind you.

A chill ran down your spine as you realized you hadn’t even thought about your friends. “I… I’m here alone,” you admitted, unsure if that was the right answer. Every instinct screamed at you to turn back, but his painted face held you in place, a sinister magnetism radiating from him.

For a moment, Chenle’s body stilled, his movements unnaturally controlled. Then, his eyes widened with exaggerated excitement, and he gasped loudly, clasping his hands together in delight. “Even better!” he exclaimed, voice rising with manic glee. “Come on in and enjoy the show!”

With a grand sweep of his arm, he gestured toward the main tent, the light inside pulsating like a beating heart.

You hesitate before stepping forward, Chenle’s lingering gaze burning into the back of your head. A chill creeps down your spine, but you shake it off, convincing yourself this must all be a dream—nothing more than a figment of your imagination.

As you step into the tent, the world transforms into a chaotic burst of color and sound. Confetti rains down from above, swirling through the air like a storm of celebration. A thick rope stretches across the audience, separating them from the performers. Jesters glide effortlessly on unicycles, their painted faces lit by flickering stage lights. Clowns honk their oversized noses, their wide, artificial grins aimed directly at you as you pass.

Your eyes dart nervously around the space, searching for an escape or a distraction. The only open seat is at the very front of the stage, directly under the spotlight. Swallowing hard, you make your way toward it, each step weighted with unease. As you sit, you sense every pair of eyes in the room shifting toward you, an unspoken curiosity in their stares.

Beside you, a cloaked figure sits unnaturally still, his face hidden beneath a stark white mask. Slowly, almost too slowly, he turns his head to look at you. Without saying a word, he raises a hand and waves.

Your stomach twists, but you manage to lift your hand in return, offering a weak, trembling wave. A strange weight settles over you—a pull, almost magnetic, keeping you rooted to your seat. Every instinct screams at you to leave, to run back to your friends and the safety of the cabin, but your body refuses to move. It’s as though the air itself has wrapped around you, binding you in place.

“You must be new,” the masked figure says suddenly, his voice muffled but friendly.

Before you can respond, he lifts the mask, revealing a strikingly handsome face. His dark eyes are sharp yet cheery, his smile so charming it feels out of place in the eerie setting. The sight of him loosens some of the tension in your chest—he looks normal. Safe.

“I’m Jeno,” he says, extending a hand.

You hesitate before shaking it, introducing yourself. You study his features closely. There’s something oddly familiar about him, but you can’t place it. “You look… familiar.”

He chuckles softly, his laugh low and pleasant. “I think I’d remember a pretty face like yours.”

Your cheeks flush as you quickly glance away. The compliment feels genuine, but it catches you off guard, especially in such a surreal environment. “So, what is this place?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jeno leans back in his seat, a casual confidence in his posture. “It’s a late-night tradition that started a few years back,” he explains.

The timeline aligns with when you left for university, but unease creeps back into your chest. The way he speaks about the carnival feels rehearsed, as though he’s said these words to countless others before.

“The circus only comes around for special occasions,” Jeno continues, his voice steady but laced with something you can’t quite name. “This year’s theme is the blood moon. Guess they wanted to add a little extra mystery to the usual town festivities. This is my third year here. It’s funky, but fun.”

As he speaks, something clicks in the back of your mind. You’ve seen him before—or someone who looks like him. The memory is hazy, but it sharpens with every passing second. It was in a news article years ago, about a man who had gone missing from the area. The resemblance is uncanny.

Your throat tightens as you glance at him again, searching for any sign that he recognizes you, too. Jeno’s expression remains calm, unreadable. Maybe it’s just a coincidence, you tell yourself. Maybe the lights and the atmosphere are playing tricks on your mind.

“The show’s about to start,” Jeno says suddenly, breaking the silence. His lips curl into a sly smirk as he adjusts his mask back into place. “You don’t want to miss this.”

His words send a shiver through you. There’s something unsettling about the way he says it—playful, yet cryptic. Before you can respond, the stage lights dim, and the crowd erupts into cheers.

The curtains rise, revealing a kaleidoscope of performers in elaborate costumes. A dancer twirls at the center, her movements hypnotic under the spotlight. The air fills with a haunting melody, each note wrapping around you like a spell.

Jeno leans slightly closer, his mask glinting in the dim light. “You’ll want to pay attention to this part,” he whispers, his tone carrying an edge of excitement.

Your hands grip the edge of your seat as the performance unfolds, a sense of foreboding settling deep in your chest. Whatever this is, it’s far from ordinary.

The performance was truthfully very entertaining. You were engrossed by all the acts—the dances, the daring stunts, and even the silly little fights between the clowns. It wasn’t until the end of the performance that the spotlight shined on a few new faces standing at the center of the stage.

There were two men; the one on the right with striking white hair wore a tag that read “JAEMIN”, but it was the man in the center who immediately caught your eye.

He stood with an aura of confidence, his movements deliberate and captivating. The light reflected off his beautifully tan skin, and his black, slicked hair glistened under the stage lights. His dark eyes carried a heavy intensity, as though they could pierce right through you. He was dressed in all black, his fitted attire complemented by gloves and a cane, which seemed purely for dramatic flair. His name tag simply read, “HAECHAN.”

"As for the grand finale!" Haechan’s unique, rich voice echoed through the tent, pulling everyone into his gravity.

That voice. It sent a chill down your spine. Despite being front row, you found yourself leaning forward, desperate for a closer look. You cursed yourself for how intoxicating you found him, annoyed by your own curiosity and attraction.

Two assistants wheeled out a young man strapped to a table, his torso encased in a box, his face carried a nervous smile, betraying his unease.

“My lovely assistant here—” Haechan gestured toward Jaemin, whose smirk was both charming and sinister. “Will perform our infamous sword box trick on the ever-so-gracious volunteer, Jisung.”

The crowd cheered wildly as Jaemin stepped forward, dramatically unsheathing a long, gleaming sword. He spun it in his hands with practiced precision, earning gasps and applause.

You, however, felt an unease prick at the back of your mind. Something about this didn’t feel like an ordinary performance.

Jaemin’s grin widened as he lined the sword up with the box. Haechan raised his arms dramatically, rallying the audience with his booming voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, I assure you, this is an illusion of the highest skill. Prepare yourselves for the impossible!”

Jaemin plunged the sword into the box with terrifying speed.

At first, you expected silence. For Jisung to feign a scream, for the illusion to go off without a hitch, but the sound that filled the tent wasn’t pretend.

Jisung’s screams were gut-wrenching, his body convulsing as blood spilled over the edges of the box.

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, but you couldn’t move. The scene felt wrong—too real, too visceral.

You ran toward the stage, desperate to stop the performance. “Stop! He’s hurt! This isn’t a trick!”

The audience’s laughter turned into a low murmur, but Haechan’s gaze snapped to you like a predator locking onto prey. His lips curled into a grin, dark and calculating, his piercing eyes gleaming under the crimson light.

“You…” he murmured, almost inaudibly.

Jaemin, unfazed by the chaos, twirled another sword in his hand with eerie precision. “Time for the finale!” he announced, his voice dripping with showmanship.

“No!” you screamed, trying to climb over the rope line to reach the stage, but a pair of clowns grabbed your arms, pulling you back into the crowd.

Jaemin plunged the final sword into the box. Jisung’s screams echoed through the tent, chilling you to your core. Blood pooled from the base of the box, the metallic scent thick in the air.

Your heart pounded as tears pricked your eyes. “He’s dying!” you shouted, thrashing against the clowns holding you. “Somebody stop this!”

But the crowd roared with laughter and applause, cheering louder than ever as if nothing was wrong.

The lights flickered once, twice, and then everything went dark. Gasps rippled through the audience, and you froze in the suffocating darkness, your breath caught in your throat.

A single spotlight blazed back on, illuminating the stage.

Jisung was standing. His body was whole, unharmed, not a single trace of blood in sight. He stood beside Haechan and Jaemin, both of whom bowed deeply to the roaring crowd. Confetti rained down as if nothing had happened.

Your stomach churned. Your eyes darted between the three men on stage, your mind screaming at you that this wasn’t just a trick. You had seen the blood, heard the screams. It was real.

You shoved your way through the sea of clapping hands, panic and confusion clouding your thoughts. You needed to get out, to breathe, to make sense of this.

As you stumbled through the tent flap and into the night air, you collided with something—or rather, someone.

“Whoa there,” a smooth voice said. Strong hands steadied you, keeping you upright.

You looked up, your breath catching as you met Haechan’s intense gaze. His face was just as captivating up close, his dark eyes glittering with something unreadable.

“Leaving so soon?” he asked, his tone dripping with amusement. “The show’s only just begun.”

You took a step back, your body trembling. “What… What was that? That wasn’t a trick. I saw—”

“Blood?” he interrupted, his grin widening. “You must be mistaken. Our performers are highly skilled. It’s all an illusion.”

“No,” you said firmly, your voice shaking. “I know what I saw. That man—he was screaming—”

“Perhaps your imagination got the better of you,” he said, his tone smooth and condescending.

The way he stared at you, like a cat toying with a mouse, sent a wave of unease through you. You shook your head, taking another step back. “I need to leave.”

Haechan tilted his head, his grin never faltering. “Go ahead, but you’ll be back.”

His words clung to you like a curse as you turned and bolted, the sound of his low chuckle echoing behind you. You ran as far as your legs could carry you, not daring to look back. Dream or not, everything about this place felt wrong. Your chest heaved as you made it past the stand where Chenle once stood, and without a second thought, you made a beeline straight toward the exit.

Only to find yourself… entering again?

“W-What… No, no, no,” you stammered, panic settling deep in your bones. You turned and tried again, running faster, more desperately, but every time you crossed the threshold, you were spat back to the same spot.

It was like a cruel loop, trapping you in its surreal embrace.

“Stuck?” a smooth voice startled you.

You whipped around to find Haechan standing a few steps away, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. His gaze was dark and amused as he watched you, your chest rising and falling with frantic breaths.

“Let me out,” you demanded through gritted teeth, the fire in your voice masking the growing unease in your chest.

“Perhaps it’s best if you follow me,” he said, extending his arm toward you in an oddly polite gesture. “That’s if you truly wish to leave.”

You eyed him warily, your heart racing. There was something disarming about his charm, but every instinct screamed at you not to trust him. Still, what choice did you have? You nodded slowly, stepping toward him but ignoring his offered arm.

“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug, his grin unwavering. He turned and began walking, and you hesitated for a moment before falling into step beside him.

The two of you weaved through the bustling carnival crowd. Strangely, people seemed to part like the sea as Haechan walked by. Some stopped to bow at him, their faces expressionless, while others whispered in hushed tones or pulled their companions out of his path.

You couldn’t ignore the growing question in your mind. Who is this man?

The further you walked, the quieter the carnival became. The music and laughter faded into an eerie stillness as Haechan led you away from the chaos and toward a secluded area far from the lights and festivities. Finally, you stopped in front of a large, ornate tent, its fabric shimmering under the crimson light of the blood moon.

“This is my home,” Haechan said, gesturing for you to step inside. “It’s quieter here. We can talk.”

You hesitated at the entrance, your gaze darting between him and the ominous structure. “What are you going to do?”

“Talk,” he repeated, his tone calm yet laced with impatience. “Unless you’d rather keep running in circles.”

Swallowing your fear, you stepped inside. The interior was surprisingly luxurious, adorned with plush velvet seating, velvet bedding, golden trinkets, and flickering candles that cast long shadows across the walls. It felt strangely intimate, though the air carried an unshakable sense of foreboding.

Haechan walked past you, settling into a chair and gesturing for you to sit across from him. Reluctantly, you obeyed.

“So,” you began, your voice shaky, “what is this place? Why can’t I leave?”

Haechan leaned back, resting his chin on his hand as he studied you. “You’re stuck here,” he said simply. “Just like the rest of us.”

His nonchalance sent a chill down your spine. “Stuck? What do you mean?”

“This carnival isn’t what it seems,” he said, his tone growing somber. “Everyone you’ve seen tonight—the performers, the guests, even me—aren’t alive in the way you understand. We’re spirits, cursed to live in an endless cycle.”

Your heart sank as his words sank in. “Why? Why are you cursed?”

Haechan’s smirk faltered for the first time, replaced by a distant, pained expression. “Because of me,” he admitted. “Years ago, I made a mistake. I was desperate to save someone I loved, my best friend Mark. He… died too young, too tragically. I couldn’t accept it.”

Your breath caught. “What did you do?”

“I summoned something,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “A dark entity, one that promised to bring Mark back in exchange for a price. I thought it would be something simple. I was wrong.”

His jaw tightened, and his hands curled into fists. “The price was this carnival. My soul, and the lost souls of those who entered, would belong to the entity. We would perform endlessly, night after night, to entertain it. As long as Mark remains alive, this cycle continues.”

Your stomach churned. “If Mark is alive after all these years, can’t you stop? Can’t you break the cycle?”

Haechan shook his head. “Mark probably doesn’t remember me, his soul is forever immortal, and I can’t leave. The demon made sure of that. I’m trapped here, forever watching over this hellish spectacle.”

His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of his confession suffocating. You stared at him, trying to process everything. The charming, confident man you had seen earlier now looked vulnerable, haunted by centuries of regret.

“But why me?” you asked. “Why am I stuck here?”

“I don’t know,” Haechan admitted, his gaze locking with yours. “But the fact that you’re here, that you can see through the glamour, means you’re different— and that terrifies me.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. You couldn’t deny the pull you felt toward him, the way his pain resonated with you. Yet, the thought of being trapped here forever sent shivers down your spine.

Haechan’s voice softened. “I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into this, but if you want to survive here, or at least find a way out before sunrise, you’ll need to trust me.”

His words left you conflicted. Trust him? The man who admitted to summoning a dark entity and cursing countless lives? Yet, as his dark eyes searched yours, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was your only ally in this twisted nightmare.

Haechan sat across from you in the quiet solace of his tent, the air heavy with the weight of the truth he’d just revealed. His expression softened as he leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly together.

“This tent has been glamoured,” he explained. “No spirit, entity, or curse can touch us here. It’s the only place where you’re safe.”

You glanced around the dimly lit space, noticing the intricate symbols etched into the canvas walls. A faint hum seemed to vibrate through the air, a quiet magic you couldn’t quite grasp. Though his words were meant to reassure you, they only deepened your confusion.

“You’re telling me this whole carnival, everyone here… they’re lost spirits?” you asked, your voice trembling.

He nodded solemnly. “Every single one. Bound here to perform endlessly. Now, you’re a part of it, only you’re alive.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest. You were desperate to find an answer, to find a way out, but as your thoughts spiraled, flashes of your past came unbidden; your mother’s gentle voice as she read you bedtime stories, the warm glow of your father’s laugh as he told you tales of old, and the cryptic conversations you’d had with them before they passed.

“Sweetheart, you have a light in you,” your mother had once said, her hand brushing against your cheek. “One day, that light will guide you somewhere important.”

“But why me?” you whispered to yourself, the memory blurring into the present.

Haechan’s voice broke through your reverie. “You’re holding something back. What is it?”

You hesitated, unwilling to share the lingering suspicion that your parents had somehow lured you here. Instead, you shook your head. “Nothing… I just—this doesn’t make sense.”

Haechan frowned but didn’t press further. “There’s one place that might help you understand,” he said after a pause. “The Mirror Maze.”

“The Mirror Maze?” you repeated, the name alone sending a chill down your spine.

He nodded, his tone more serious now. “It’s where no performer dares to go. The maze reveals the deepest fears and memories of anyone who steps inside. It’s dangerous, unpredictable. Even I can’t enter, it’s the one place my spirit doesn’t have power.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “So, you think it might help me?”

“I’m not completely sure,” he admitted. “But if there’s a clue about why you’re here—or how to break the curse—it might be there, and as someone whose still alive, you’re the only one who can find out.”

You felt a lump form in your throat but nodded, “Take me there.” 

The entrance to the Mirror Maze loomed before you, a twisted archway draped in dark velvet, the words “Face Thyself” etched ominously above it. Haechan stopped at the threshold, his expression grim.

“This is as far as I can go,” he said quietly, his eyes locking onto yours. “Be careful. The maze doesn’t lie, and it doesn’t show mercy.”

You swallowed hard, stepping through the archway. Instantly, the air grew cold, the dim light of the carnival fading behind you. The mirrors stretched endlessly in every direction, reflecting distorted versions of yourself—some familiar, some eerily foreign.

“Hello?” you called out, your voice echoing.

The reflections shimmered, and suddenly, the maze came to life.

One mirror glowed brighter than the rest, drawing your attention. In its reflection, you saw Haechan, but not as you knew him. His black suit was replaced with simple, worn clothes. His laughter rang out as he was with a younger man, under a summer sun.

“Donghyuck, don’t go!” His voice echoed through the maze, his fragile frame chasing after him.

“Mark…?” you gasped, recognizing the younger version of the name Haechan had mentioned.

The scene shifted, they’re older now. Mark was lying in a clearing, blood staining his clothes. Haechan kneeled beside him, his hands shaking as he tried to stop the bleeding. Tears streaked down his face as he begged, “Don’t leave me. Please, I’ll do anything.”

The air grew colder as the mirror rippled, revealing Haechan standing alone in the same clearing. His expression was hollow as he held a weathered book, its pages inked with symbols that seemed to crawl across the surface. His voice was shaky, desperate.

“I’ll give anything,” he whispered into the void. “Bring him back.”

A dark figure emerged from the shadows, its form obscured by smoke and tendrils of darkness. Though its face was hidden, the presence was suffocating. The entity’s voice slithered through the air, low and haunting.

“Anything, you say?” it hissed. “Love, devotion, life—pour it all into this wish, and you shall have what you desire.”

Haechan didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Take it all. Just bring Mark back.”

The scene shifted again, and you watched as the entity consumed Haechan’s love, twisting it into a curse. The same love that fueled his wish now tethered him to the carnival, an eternal performer trapped in a cycle to entertain the entity.

The mirror rippled once more, and your reflection appeared. Only, it wasn’t just you. Your parents stood beside you, their faces hollow and eyes void of life.

“You let us go,” your mother’s voice accused. “You couldn’t save us.”

“Stop!” you cried, reaching for the reflection, but the glass was cold and unyielding.

“Your light is fading,” your father added, his voice cruel and distant. “Now, you’ll be trapped here forever.”

The reflection twisted, and suddenly, you were staring at yourself—alone, aged, and hollow-eyed, forever wandering the carnival grounds.

“No!” you screamed, stumbling backward. The surrounding mirrors cracked with a deafening noise, sending you into a panic.

You bolted through the maze, desperate to escape. At last, you stumbled out of the exit, gasping for air as you collapsed onto the grass.

“Breathe,” Haechan’s voice said urgently as he crouched beside you, his hands steadying you. His palm rubbed circles on your back, and the sensation sent a jolt through you—a feeling almost electric. Your skin buzzed where he touched you, and a strange familiarity bloomed in your chest.

He felt it too. His hand froze for a split second before he continued, brushing it off as you did. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Your chest heaved as you clung to him, the images still flashing in your mind. “I saw you. I saw your past—Donghyuck.”

Haechan froze, his grip on you tightening. “How do you know that name?”

“It was in the maze,” you whispered. “That’s your real name, isn’t it?”

He nodded slowly, his eyes dark and unreadable. “It is.”

“What happened?” you asked, your voice trembling.

He hesitated, but then his shoulders sagged, and he looked at you with a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before. “I made a mistake—a terrible one. And now we’re all paying the price for it.”

Your breaths had finally steadied, but the weight of what you'd just seen pressed heavily on your chest. The air around him seemed heavier now, his usual confidence dimmed by the vulnerability in his expression. His hand lingered on your back, as though grounding both himself and you.

"Donghyuck," you began softly, "how did Mark really die? And why did you have that book?"

His body stiffened, and for a moment, you thought he might brush off the question. Then his hand fell away, and he exhaled deeply, running a hand through his dark hair.

"I guess you deserve to know," he muttered, his voice thick with regret. "Mark... he wasn't just my best friend. He was like a brother to me. We did everything together-built dreams, made plans, fought over stupid things, but one day, everything changed.”

You stayed silent, giving him space to continue. He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes fixed on a spot on the ground, as if he couldn't bear to meet your gaze.

"I found this book," he said finally. "It was old, leather-bound, and covered in strange symbols. It looked like something out of a bad horror movie. I thought it was a joke-a prop someone left behind in a dusty attic, but the more I read, the more... real it felt. The spells in it, they worked.”

"Spells?" you echoed, your heart pounding.

He nodded. "At first, it was little things. Moving objects, changing the weather, making small things happen that shouldn't have been possible. I didn't think about the consequences—was too caught up in the power. I thought I could do anything. Be anything."

He paused, his jaw tightening. "Then... one day, Mark and I got into a fight. It was over something so stupid I can't even remember it now—but I was angry-so angry.

I let the power go to my head. I used the energy l'd built up from practicing the spells.

I wanted to scare him, to make him stop yelling. I didn't realize how strong l'd gotten.

He swallowed hard, his voice breaking. "The energy hit him full force. It wasn't just a scare—it... It killed him. Right there in front of me.”

Your breath hitched. "Oh my god..."

Haechan's hands trembled as he continued.

"I was devastated. I didn't mean to-he was my best friend. I'd do anything to take it back. That's when the book showed me something else; a way to bring him back."

He glanced at you, his dark eyes filled with shame. "I didn't care about the cost. I summoned... something. An entity. It promised to bring Mark back, but l'd have to trade my soul and spend eternity entertaining it."

"And Mark?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"He was brought back... somewhere," Haechan said, his voice hollow. " I haven’t seen him since. It's like he exists in the world, but I can't reach him. I've been stuck here ever since, performing for the entity that cursed me. Reminding me of my past and reminding me I can never get my best friend back.”

You look at Donghyuck, his eyes reflecting the faint glow of the carnival’s lights, and feel a knot tighten in your chest. The pieces are starting to come together, though they’re jagged and painful to hold. “My parents,” you say hesitantly, your voice low but steady. “They died so suddenly. It never made sense. Now… Now I think their souls are tied here, just like the others. Maybe that’s why I was lured here. Maybe it wasn’t just this place calling to me—it was them.”

Donghyuck’s expression falters, the angry glint in his eyes replaced by something more somber. He doesn’t speak right away, and you press on, needing him to confirm what your heart already knows. “You knew them, didn’t you?”

He shakes his head, his gaze steady but solemn. “No,” he says firmly. “I didn’t know your parents, but if their souls really are tethered to this place like we think they are, then we need to break the curse now. We can’t waste any more time.”

The air feels heavy, almost suffocating, as the truth settles over you. All this time, the whispers had felt familiar, like the voices of the people you’d lost. Now you understand why—they weren’t just figments of the curse. They were real. “So, if I help you break the curse…” You look at him, your voice tightening with emotion. “I can free them too?”

He meets your gaze, the vulnerability in his eyes raw and unguarded. “If we do this right, yes. You can free them. The others too. All of us.”

The thought of freeing not just your parents, but every soul trapped in this wretched carnival, stirs something fierce inside you. “Then I’ll help you,” you say, the words firm and sure. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Donghyuck’s eyes widen, and for a moment, he looks like you’ve spoken a foreign language. “You’d really want to help me?” he asks, his voice tinged with disbelief and something else—hope.

“Yes,” you say, stepping closer. “We don’t have much time. This place resets at dawn, right? We need to get to your tent and find that spell book.”

He nods, snapping out of his shock. “Follow me,” he says, leading you through the twisting paths of the carnival. The whispers grow louder as you walk, almost guiding your steps. Despite the danger ahead, you feel a strange sense of clarity. This is where you’re meant to be, and for the first time, you believe you have the power to change how this story ends.

The weight of the spell book feels heavy in your hands, its leather cover pulsating faintly with an eerie warmth, as if alive. You stare at it, your mind racing with the realization that has gripped you. The darkness that spurs out of it. The book itself—this cursed, vile object—has been the entity all along. It’s not just a tool; it’s the root of everything. The curse. The carnival. The cycle. The deaths. It’s a trap.

Donghyuck stands frozen, his dark eyes widen with fear, realizing your intentions. “Stop— you can’t destroy it,” he says, his voice trembling. “If you do that, there’s no way out. No way to help me. No way to help Mark. No way for us to ever—” His voice cracks, and for the first time, you hear true desperation in his tone. “Please.”

You step closer, gripping the book tighter. “Donghyuck, I know this is hard. But this—this thing—it’s been keeping all of us trapped. You, Mark, my parents, everyone. If we don’t destroy it, the cycle will just keep going.”

His hands shake as he runs them through his hair, pacing frantically. “You don’t understand,” he mutters. “Without it, I’ll lose everything. I won’t even get to know what’s next. What if this—this emptiness—is all that’s waiting for me? What if I can’t see you or Mark again?” His voice softens, breaking under the weight of his words. “I’m scared.”

You reach out, your hand brushing his arm, and the familiar electric spark flickers between you. “Donghyuck,” you say, your voice steady. “I don’t know what’s waiting for you, either, but isn’t that better than this? Better than being stuck in a place that’s killing you over and over again? You have to give it some faith. We’ll figure it out. Together.”

His gaze meets yours, the walls he’s built around himself crumbling as tears well in his eyes. Slowly, he nods, swallowing hard. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay. Do it.”

You take a deep breath and open the book. The pages are stiff, almost glued together by some unseen force. You try pulling at one, but it doesn’t budge, no matter how hard you tug. A frustrated sob escapes you as you glance back at Donghyuck, his expression torn between fear and hope.

Closing your eyes, you think about your parents—the love they had for you, their unwavering belief in doing what was right. You think about Mark and the unyielding bond he shared with Donghyuck, the lengths Donghyuck went to for him. Love, in all its forms, floods your chest, and with it comes strength. When you pull again, the page tears free with an audible crack, bursting into flames before disintegrating into dust.

One by one, you tear the pages. Each piece of paper ignites, dissolving into nothingness. The room grows heavier with every rip, the air charged with an otherworldly energy. Donghyuck watches, his breath hitching, his body tense. When the last page burns away, the book’s cover collapses into ash in your hands, leaving only silence behind.

“What have you done?” Donghyuck whispers, his voice shaking. “What if it didn’t work?”

Before you can respond, a soft glow fills the tent. You turn to see a figure stepping through the curtain, translucent but unmistakably familiar. “Mark…” Donghyuck breathes, his voice cracking as tears spill down his cheeks.

The two of them stare at each other for a moment that feels eternal, before Donghyuck stumbles forward, wrapping Mark in an embrace that somehow feels real despite the faint shimmer of his form. “I’m so sorry,” Donghyuck sobs. “For everything. I was selfish. I—I ruined everything.”

Mark smiles gently, his own voice thick with emotion. “You did what you thought you had to, Hyuck. I was never angry. I just wanted you to be okay.” He pulls back slightly, his hand resting against Donghyuck’s shoulder. “You saved me, you gave your life for me.”

The glow around Mark intensifies as his spirit begins to fade. Donghyuck chokes on a sob, whispering a tearful goodbye as Mark disappears into the light.

Then, more figures appear. Your parents. Their familiar faces send a fresh wave of tears streaming down your cheeks. They smile warmly, pride shining in their eyes. “You’ve done it,” your mother says, her voice soft but steady. “We’re so proud of you.”

“We can finally rest now,” your father adds, his hand reaching out as if to brush your cheek. “We love you. Thank you, sweetheart.”

You try to speak, but all that comes out is a choked sob. They give you one last look, filled with love and peace, before their forms dissolve, leaving you standing in the silence of Donghyuck’s tent.

Donghyuck steps forward, his arms wrapping around you in a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispers, his voice raw. “For everything.”

For a moment, the spark between you flickers, faint but unmistakable. You feel his warmth, his touch, and for a fleeting second, you wonder how it’s possible. As the weight of the moment settles, you let it go, clinging to the sense of hope that remains. Together, you’ve broken the cycle—and for the first time, the future feels like your own.

“Will I ever get to see you again?” you ask, your voice trembling as you look up at him, your eyes pleading for an answer you’re not sure whether you’re ready to hear.

Donghyuck’s breath hitches, and for a moment, he just stares at you, his golden eyes shining with a mix of longing and sorrow. Slowly, he steps closer, his hands trembling as they come up to cradle your face. His touch is warm, grounding, and for the first time, it doesn’t spark—it burns, searing this moment into your soul.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “But I wish I could stay here with you. For just a little longer.”

Before you can respond, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that feels like both a goodbye and a desperate plea to hold onto the moment. His hands tighten slightly, as though he’s afraid you’ll slip away, and you can feel the raw emotion pouring from him—fear, gratitude, and a deep, unspoken connection that neither of you can fully explain.

The world seems to fall away around you, the weight of the carnival, the curse, and the souls you’ve freed fading into the background. All that matters is him—the warmth of his lips, the way his fingers gently press against your skin, and the silent promise you feel between you.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath shallow and uneven. “Thank you,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “For saving me. For saving all of us.”

Your hands rest over his, still cupping your face, and you close your eyes, letting the moment linger even though you know it can’t last forever. “We’ll find a way,” you murmur. “I don’t know how, but we’ll find a way.”

His lips curve into the faintest, bittersweet smile. “If anyone could, it’s you.”

You smile up at him, unable to resist the pull any longer. Giving in to your temptations, you grab him by the collar and tug him down into another kiss, this one more fervent, more consuming. His lips crash against yours with a desperation that matches your own, as though you're both trying to cling to the moment, to each other, for as long as the universe will allow.

Everything had worked out—Mark was free, your parents had moved on—yet he was still here. Still with you. You both knew this borrowed time wasn't guaranteed, but that only made it more precious. You kissed through gasping breaths, every exhale mingling with his as the burning connection between you grew hotter, fiercer.

It was now or never.

The kiss deepens suddenly, urgency overtaking the both of you. He presses you back, guiding you until you stumble against the velvet bed in the center of the room. His hands trail along your body, tentative at first but quickly growing bolder as you pull him closer, refusing to let even a sliver of space come between you. Your fingers tangle in his hair, your touch setting every nerve alight as that fire you've felt since the beginning roars to life.

The world outside the tent fades entirely. All you can feel is him-his lips, his hands, the way his heart ironically pounds against yours. That burning sensation builds, but it isn't just desire-it's something deeper, something ancient. This feeling, this moment, is what you were meant for. It's as though your very soul recognizes his, as though you've been tethered together through time and fate and whatever lies beyond.

This is where you belong. This is who you belong with, and you're both finally allowing yourselves to embrace it. 

Your body sinks into the mattress as he hovers over you, his eyes roaming over you with an intensity that makes it feel like he can see straight through your clothes. The weight of his gaze causes heat to rise in your cheeks, and you turn your head slightly, unable to meet his eyes. He notices instantly.

"Hey, it's okay," he murmurs softly, his voice low and reassuring. "You're safe with me. I'll take good care of you tonight, the way you did for me."

His words, gentle but filled with conviction, send a shiver down your spine. His voice alone stirs something deep inside you, and the heat pooling between your legs grows unbearable. You press your thighs together instinctively, seeking any kind of relief.

"Dong...hyuck..." you whimper, his name falling from your lips like a plea.

The sound draws a heavy grunt from his throat, primal and raw. Hearing his real name come from you like that seems to undo something in him, fogging his mind completely. He leans closer, his hands moving to the edges of your clothes. Slowly, almost reverently at first, he begins to slide them off, tossing each piece aside with little care for where they land. His focus is entirely on you, the fire between you growing with every passing second.

You join him, a soft moan escaping your lips at the sight of his unbuttoned dress shirt slipping off to reveal his golden-toned torso.

The way the red moon light dances across his skin makes your breath hitch. Without hesitation, he yanks the shirt off completely, quickly discarding his pants as well, leaving the both of you in nothing but your undergarments.

He notices the dazed look in your eyes and takes advantage of the moment, gently lifting one of your legs. The movement exposes the damp patch at your clothed core, and his breath hitches audibly. A low moan escapes his throat as he lowers his head closer, his lips just brushing against the fabric.

"So desperate for me, aren't you?" he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Fuck, you're so beautiful." His breath fans over the dampened spot, which only grows darker with every passing second, his words and closeness pushing you further into blissful surrender.

He starts kissing over it, his lips applying pressure exactly to where your clit is, causing you to squirm around.

“Please… I want more,” you beg desperately, looking down at the sight of him teasing you.

Locking eye contact together, he rips off the last piece of your clothing, he starts licking up every bit of your juices that started leaking out of you. Your hand immediately reaches for his hair like a reflex, and you push his head closer to you, not wanting a split second of separation.

Donghyuck moans against your cunt, bringing his fingers to your entrance, and plunging them inside of you while his mouth starts playing with your clit.

He releases his mouth, a popping sound echoing throughout the tent when he does so. His fingers still working on your insides—he refuses to take his eyes off your face as it scrunches in pleasure.

“My own personal heaven,” he whispers to himself.

He feels your insides squeezing around his fingers, reaching your climax.

“Hold it for me baby, I want you to cum around my cock,” he whines, that alone nearly causing you to finish.

He slides his fingers out of you, and your eyes start to water—missing the feeling of him so close to you. You didn’t realize your tears were starting to trickle down your face until he kissed them away, adjusting your hair out of your face as he positioned you up.

“It’s okay baby, shhh, it’s all going to be okay,” he holds you gently, flipping you over so this time you were arching right into his tip, your head pressing against the pillow now damp from your previous tears.

“I know you want this as badly as I do, isn’t that right, babe?” He snickers, teasing the both of you as he continues to only insert his tip in and out of you.

An almost animalistic groan escapes your lips as you cry out, “I can’t take it… Please, Donghyuck, I’m begging you!”

“Begging me to do what?” he teases, his voice low and challenging as he tests your resolve.

“Fuck me—Please Hyuck just please—Fuck!” You scream as he plunges his full length into you.

His grip tightens on your ass as he yanks you closer, pounding into you harder by the second.

“Acting like such an angel, but look at you. You like it rough, don’t you? Drooling everywhere all because of me,” he grunts through each thrust.

He grabs your hand and guides you to your clit, making you rub it in circles while he continues to go deeper.

“Donghyuck… I’m going to…” your voice shakes.

“Do it. Cum all over me baby, I’m so close,” he demands.

In a blink of an eye, you’re now squeezing all over his length, chasing your high. Your eyes completely roll back as you continue to scream his name, your voice echoing.

Soon after, he follows you, releasing himself inside you with a deep groan, his movements slowing but never stopping, even as the two of you grow sensitive. It's as if he can't bear to let even a single part of himself go to waste.

Finally, he collapses beside you, both of you turning to face the pointed ceiling of the tent. Your breaths are ragged, your chests rising and falling in unison, but slowly, they begin to even out.

Suddenly, you feel his arms wrap tightly around you, his breath warm against your ear. "That was perfect," he murmurs, his voice husky and satisfied.

You let out a soft chuckle, a hum of contentment escaping your lips. "Yeah, it was." For a fleeting moment, you allow yourself to bask in the warmth of his embrace, but the growing light filtering into the tent pulls you back to reality. The sun is rising, its golden rays piercing through the fabric, and with it comes a sinking realization: this might be the last time you see him.

You turn to him, your heart clenching with fear and sadness. He notices instantly, his eyes meeting yours, reading the emotions written plainly across your face.

Without a word, he places a tender kiss against your forehead, his lips lingering there as though trying to reassure you.

When he pulls back, his voice is clear, steady, and almost too calm. "Don't worry, love. It's just the two of us now. Just us, forever."

Your breath catches in your throat, and your eyes widen. You push yourself up, staring at him with growing dread. "What do you mean, forever?" you ask, your voice trembling as you swallow hard.

An eerie yet soft grin spreads across his face, a look that chills you to your core. “I made one last wish before you tore the book," he says, his tone light but filled with something darker beneath the surface.

The color drains from your face as his words sink in, dread washing over you in waves.

"What... what did you wish for?" you whisper, though part of you already knows.

"I didn't need the power, the magic, or even my friendships to set me free," he continues, his gaze never leaving yours. "I needed you. Now that I have you, I'm never letting you go."

The sun streams through the tent, lighting up his features in a way that should be comforting, but instead fills you with icy terror. His eyes glint with yearning, his arms tightening around you as though he's afraid you'll disappear. You lie there frozen, realization dawning like the sunrise breaking across his face.

You'd set everyone else free, but in doing so, you'd unwittingly trapped yourself.

He was the real entity all along—and now, you belonged to him. Your soul tied to his, forever.

[xhoess]

Dangerous Desires part 1

Nicholas chaves x reader

PART 2 HERE

Summary:In "Dangerous Desires," you are a private investigator hired to find missing Hollywood star Nicholas Chavez, only to discover he’s hiding from a dangerous criminal organization. As you delve deeper into his secret life as an undercover agent, a powerful attraction ignites between you. Together, you confront betrayal, navigate high-stakes missions, and fight for survival, ultimately forging a bond that transcends danger and chaos.

Wc part one: 10.6 K

Warnings: killing, sex, stalking, unprotected, semi public sex, angst

The rain pounds against the window, the steady rhythm a distant echo in your office as you stare at the file on your desk. The name leaps off the page in bold black ink: Nicholas Alexander Chavez. You’ve seen it before, attached to glamorous headlines, interviews, and red carpets. The rising star of Hollywood. Handsome, charming, with a smile that could melt hearts and a presence that demanded attention. But that’s not why you’re looking at his file now.

No, this is different. He’s gone off the grid. Vanished without a trace from a world where visibility is everything. And now, someone—a very wealthy someone—wants him found.

You lean back in your chair, the leather creaking under the weight of your thoughts. The client had been as secretive as they come, hiring you through intermediaries, leaving no name or personal contact. All they’d provided was a briefcase of cash and the insistence that Nicholas Chavez be found discreetly. No police, no press, and certainly no publicity. You specialize in missing persons cases, and you’ve had your share of tricky assignments, but something about this one feels different. It’s not just the money—though the payment alone could keep your agency afloat for a year—it’s the way Nicholas’s disappearance has been cloaked in shadows.

You’ve been in this business long enough to know when someone is running from something. The real question is, what was Nicholas running from? Or worse, what was he hiding from?

Your thoughts are interrupted by the soft chime of your phone. A message flashes across the screen. It’s a lead, one of the few you’ve managed to gather in the last few days of digging into Nicholas’s last known whereabouts. You thumb through the message quickly, your eyes catching on the words East End Hotel. Not exactly the kind of place a Hollywood actor would be seen—more like the kind of place you’d go to disappear.

Without hesitation, you grab your jacket and head out into the storm, the streets slick with rain. The city pulses with life around you, but you’re already focused, your mind running through possibilities, mapping out what you’ll do if you find him. What happens next depends on the man you find. The rain falls harder as you make your way through the back streets, the neon signs reflecting in puddles beneath your feet.

The East End Hotel looms ahead, its faded sign flickering against the wet night sky. The place reeks of neglect—peeling paint, cracked windows, and the kind of clientele that would rather not be noticed. You slip inside, immediately hit with the smell of cigarette smoke and mildew. A bored clerk barely glances up from behind the counter as you head toward the elevator, your senses on high alert. You’ve done this before—many times—and you’ve learned how to move unnoticed, to slip through the cracks just like the people you’re chasing.

The elevator rattles as it ascends, each floor passing with a creak and groan. Room 304. That’s where your lead pointed you. Third floor. Your heart rate picks up slightly, anticipation mixing with a familiar surge of adrenaline. You can’t help but wonder what state you’ll find Nicholas in. The golden boy of Hollywood hiding out in a place like this—it doesn’t add up.

The hallway is dimly lit, long shadows creeping along the walls as you approach the door. Room 304. You pause for a moment, listening for any sound from the other side, but it’s silent. Too silent.

You knock, the sound dull against the hollow wood. No answer. You knock again, harder this time. Still nothing.

Without hesitating, you try the doorknob. It’s locked, of course, but the kind of lock that a little persistence can work around. A few seconds later, the door clicks open, and you step inside, the faint smell of stale air greeting you.

The room is dark, save for the muted glow of the streetlights filtering through the rain-streaked window. You move quietly, scanning the small, dingy space. Clothes are strewn across the chair, a duffel bag half-packed by the bed. Whoever was here wasn’t planning on staying long.

You step further into the room, your eyes adjusting to the shadows when suddenly, a figure emerges from the corner. Before you can react, a hand grips your arm, twisting it behind your back and slamming you against the wall.

“Who the hell are you?” a low voice growls into your ear, rough and dangerous.

Your breath catches in your throat, not because of the pain, but because of who’s holding you.

Nicholas Chavez.

You’ve seen his face a hundred times in photos, on the screen, but nothing could have prepared you for the reality of him. Up close, he’s taller than you imagined, his presence overwhelming in the tight space. His grip is strong, bordering on brutal, and his scent—something dark and masculine—fills your senses.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” you manage to say, keeping your voice calm despite the sharp edge of adrenaline coursing through you. “I was hired to find you.”

“By who?” he demands, but you can tell he already knows the answer. There’s tension in his body, something dangerous lurking just beneath the surface.

“I don’t know,” you admit, your heartbeat accelerating under his unrelenting grip. “Anonymous client. They want you found, and they’re paying a lot of money to make sure it happens.”

His jaw tightens, and for a brief moment, his eyes flicker with something—fear? Anger? It’s hard to tell, but whatever it is, it’s deep. Nicholas releases your arm, stepping back, but he doesn’t take his eyes off you. The intensity in his gaze is almost palpable, like he’s trying to decide whether to trust you or get rid of you. For a moment, you can’t tell which way it’s going to go.

“You need to leave,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “Now.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you shoot back, straightening despite the lingering ache in your arm. “Not until you tell me why you’re hiding in this place and why someone’s paying top dollar to find you.”

Nicholas’s eyes narrow, and for a second, you wonder if he’s going to throw you out. But then something shifts. His expression softens—just a fraction—and the tension between you sharpens in a way you didn’t expect. His eyes, dark and brooding, flicker over you, and you can feel the crackling energy between you.

“I’m not hiding,” he says, stepping closer, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. “I’m trying to survive.”

There’s a pause, the air between you thick with unspoken questions. He’s close enough now that you can feel the heat radiating off him, the tension between you a live wire, humming with something unspoken.

“You should go,” Nicholas murmurs, his gaze lingering on your face. “Before it’s too late.”

But as you stand there, heart racing, you know it’s already too late. You’re in too deep now, and there’s no way you’re walking away.

The rain hasn’t let up. It’s relentless, like the gnawing feeling in your gut. You know you should walk away from this case. Nicholas had warned you—stay away—but you can’t. Something about him, about this entire situation, has hooked you, and it’s too late to turn back.

You sit at your desk, staring at the notes you’ve gathered over the last few days. The crumpled paper with scribbled names and dead ends mocks you. Nicholas Chavez isn’t just missing—he’s hiding from something, something dangerous. Every instinct you’ve honed over years of tracking down missing persons tells you there’s more to this story. More than just an actor gone rogue.

You lean back in your chair, the quiet hum of the city outside barely penetrating the silence of your office. He’s out there, somewhere, slipping through the cracks, but no one can hide forever. You pull out your phone, your fingers hesitating over the screen. You’ve spent hours going over every lead, every hint of where Nicholas might turn up next, but nothing solid has come through yet.

Except for the faint trace of something that feels like a trap.

You push the thought aside, dial the number of one of your informants, and after a few short exchanges, you get something—an address, this time on the other side of town. It’s risky. You’ve already crossed paths with Nicholas, and you doubt he’ll be pleased to see you digging into his business again, but that’s not enough to stop you.

You grab your jacket and leave the office behind, stepping out into the wet, pulsing city once more. The rain slicks the streets, the occasional burst of light from passing cars reflecting off puddles as you make your way toward your destination. It’s late—too late to be roaming these parts of town alone—but danger has always been an old friend of yours.

By the time you reach the address, the place is exactly what you’d expected—another seedy, low-end corner of the city, where people go to disappear. A bar, tucked into a narrow street, almost invisible unless you know it’s there. You can feel the weight of eyes on you as you approach, the kind of place where newcomers stand out, and where asking the wrong questions might get you hurt—or worse.

You step inside, the stench of stale beer and smoke wrapping around you like a blanket. The interior is dimly lit, shadowy figures huddled in dark corners nursing their drinks. You make your way to the bar, your eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of Nicholas. Nothing. You’ve learned to trust your instincts, and right now, they’re screaming that something isn’t right.

Then you feel it—someone watching you. You turn slowly, scanning the room again, but no one stands out. Yet the hairs on the back of your neck rise, a prickle of awareness flooding your senses.

“Looking for someone?” a voice asks, low and dripping with suspicion.

You glance at the bartender, a middle-aged man with a weathered face and eyes that have seen too much. He wipes down the counter lazily, his gaze never leaving you.

“I’m just here for a drink,” you say, playing it cool. You’re not here to cause trouble—not yet, anyway.

The bartender raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push it. You order something light, just to blend in, but your focus is elsewhere, your eyes darting from one shadow to the next. And then you see him.

Nicholas.

He’s not seated in the crowd but lingering near the back, half-hidden in the shadows. His eyes lock onto yours, a flicker of recognition crossing his face before his expression hardens. You can feel the tension crackling between you even from across the room. He stands there, tall and imposing, his presence as magnetic as it is dangerous. For a split second, you think he’s going to turn around and leave, but instead, he starts walking toward you, his movements slow, deliberate.

Your pulse quickens. You weren’t expecting to find him this easily—or this soon.

Nicholas reaches you, his gaze piercing as he leans in close enough for you to catch the scent of rain and something darker, more primal, clinging to him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks, his voice a quiet growl.

“Looking for answers,” you reply, meeting his gaze head-on. “You can’t disappear without a trace and expect no one to come looking.”

“I told you to drop the case,” he says, his jaw tight. “This isn’t a game.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” you shoot back, heart pounding in your chest. There’s something about him, the way he looks at you—part frustration, part something else—that makes it hard to think clearly.

Nicholas leans in even closer, his breath hot against your skin, and you suddenly feel trapped between the bar and his looming figure. “You don’t know what you’re getting into,” he warns, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “This isn’t some missing person case you can wrap up neatly. People are going to get hurt. You could get hurt.”

Despite the warning, the heat between you spikes, the tension simmering just beneath the surface. You can feel his intensity—his anger, yes, but something else too. There’s a spark of attraction, a pull that’s impossible to ignore, and it’s enough to leave you momentarily breathless.

“I can handle myself,” you say, but your voice is softer now, your bravado slipping under the weight of his gaze. Nicholas’s eyes flick down to your lips, just for a fraction of a second, and the air between you thickens with something neither of you can name.

For a moment, you think he might kiss you. His hand brushes against your arm, sending a jolt of electricity up your spine. The closeness, the sheer heat of him, is almost unbearable. But then, as quickly as it began, he pulls back, breaking the moment. You catch your breath, trying to steady the rush of emotions that came so suddenly.

“You need to leave,” Nicholas says again, but this time, there’s less venom in his voice, as if he’s not entirely sure whether he wants you to go or stay. His eyes linger on you a beat too long before he turns and walks away, disappearing into the shadows as if he was never there at all.

You stand there, heart still racing, the taste of that almost-kiss still on your lips. Nicholas is dangerous, that much is clear. But the danger isn’t enough to keep you away. If anything, it only draws you in deeper. And now, with each passing second, you’re more intrigued than ever.

Hours later, you’re back in your apartment, pacing, replaying the encounter over and over. The way he looked at you. The way you felt, pinned against the bar, caught between distrust and desire. You can’t shake the feeling that Nicholas is more than just a missing person. There’s something else going on—something bigger, darker, and much more dangerous than you initially thought.

A soft knock on your door pulls you from your thoughts. You freeze. It’s late. Too late for visitors. Your heart jumps into your throat as you approach the door cautiously. You don’t have to guess who it is.

When you open it, Nicholas stands there, rain dripping from his hair, his expression unreadable.

“I warned you to stay away,” he says quietly, but there’s no threat in his voice now—just exhaustion. “I meant it.”

You don’t move, don’t say a word, as he steps closer, the space between you charged with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. For a moment, you think he’s going to leave again, but instead, he does the one thing you didn’t expect.

He reaches for you, pulling you against him in one swift motion, pinning you to the wall just like before, but this time, there’s no mistaking the desire burning between you. His breath is warm on your skin, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. The tension is unbearable, a tightrope strung between passion and control.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, Nicholas pulls back, leaving you breathless, wanting more, and more confused than ever.

“Stay away,” he says one last time, his voice low, almost pleading. Then he’s gone, leaving you standing there, heart pounding in the silence, knowing full well you’re in too deep to turn back now.

And the chase isn’t over. It’s only just begun.

It’s late—far too late for you to still be working, but you can’t stop. Nicholas has burrowed under your skin, an unsolved puzzle, pulling you deeper into a world you weren’t ready for. The usual thrill of a case has transformed into something sharper, more personal. Every lead you chase only tightens the knot in your chest, the sense that something terrible is looming just out of reach.

You sit at your desk, a dim lamp casting a weak glow over your scattered notes. Every piece of the puzzle feels disconnected, as if the truth is buried beneath layers of deceit you haven’t yet peeled away. Nicholas’s warnings replay in your head—Stay away—but how can you? There’s something about him that doesn’t fit with the Hollywood star persona. The charm, the danger, the secrets—they’ve drawn you in like moth to flame.

Your phone buzzes, cutting through the silence. You glance at the screen, an anonymous number flashing. Your gut twists in warning, but you answer anyway.

“There’s someone you should see,” a gruff voice on the other end says without preamble. “Nicholas isn’t the only one hiding.”

Before you can respond, the line goes dead, leaving a heavy sense of dread in its wake. Whoever that was, they know you’re looking for Nicholas. And more troubling—they know where to find you.

A flicker of fear sparks in your chest, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the burning need to see this through. You gather your things and head out into the night, the cool air biting at your skin. You should be more careful. You should probably stop digging into Nicholas’s life altogether. But curiosity—and something much stronger—drives you onward.

The address from the mysterious call leads you to a warehouse on the city’s outskirts, a place that looks abandoned, forgotten. But you know better. Abandoned buildings like this are where secrets hide. You step out of your car, pulling your jacket tight around you as you approach the entrance. The air feels heavy, thick with anticipation.

As you enter, the dim light inside reveals a few figures moving in the shadows. Instinctively, your hand moves to the small knife tucked in your coat—just in case. You’ve been in situations like this before, where danger isn’t just a possibility; it’s a guarantee.

Suddenly, you catch movement to your right. A figure darts past one of the broken windows—a man, tall and lean, but definitely not Nicholas. You follow, slipping deeper into the warehouse. Your pulse quickens as you realize you’re not alone in tailing him.

You crouch behind a stack of crates, watching as the man exchanges something with another figure—money, perhaps, or information. You can’t quite make out the details, but whatever it is, it’s important. Your gut tells you it has something to do with Nicholas. You edge closer, trying to catch a clearer glimpse when—

BAM!

The sound of gunfire rips through the air, sharp and deafening. You drop to the ground as instinct kicks in, adrenaline surging through your veins. Shouts echo around the warehouse, followed by the screech of tires outside. Whoever fired those shots isn’t here to negotiate.

Before you can react, more shots ring out. You press yourself against the cold concrete, your breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. You’re caught in the middle of something you don’t fully understand. This isn’t just about finding Nicholas anymore—this is something far more dangerous.

Suddenly, you hear rapid footsteps approaching from behind. You whirl around, your knife ready in your hand, but you’re not fast enough. Strong hands grab you, pulling you upright and slamming you into the nearest wall. Your heart races as you catch a glimpse of your attacker’s face—one of the men from earlier. His eyes are wild with fury.

“Who the hell are you?” he growls, his breath hot on your face.

You don’t have time to answer before another gunshot rings out, this one close enough that you feel the vibration through the wall. The man jerks, his grip on you loosening as his eyes widen in shock. Blood seeps through his shirt, and he crumples to the ground in front of you.

Standing where the man had been is Nicholas.

Your heart lurches as he steps toward you, his expression dark and unreadable. He’s holding a gun, still aimed at where the man fell, his posture rigid with tension. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the sounds of distant shouting and footsteps echoing in the background.

“Are you okay?” Nicholas asks, his voice rough and low, the concern in it barely masked by the sharp edge of adrenaline.

You nod, still breathless from the close call. “What the hell is going on, Nicholas?”

His eyes flash with something unreadable, and instead of answering, he grabs your arm and pulls you toward the far exit. “There’s no time. We have to get out of here.”

You resist, yanking your arm back. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s happening!”

Nicholas glares at you, his jaw clenched tight. For a moment, you think he might actually walk away and leave you to fend for yourself. But then, his shoulders sag just a little, and he looks at you with something like regret in his eyes.

“There are people after me. Dangerous people. You’re caught in the middle of something bigger than you realize.” His voice is low, intense. “Now, come with me, or you won’t get out of here alive.”

You hesitate, your mind racing. You should be furious with him, should demand more answers. But the urgency in his voice and the way his eyes flick to the shadows behind you tells you that now isn’t the time for questions. There’s real danger here, and it’s closing in fast.

Without another word, you let him lead you out through the back, dodging the shadows that seem to creep closer with every step. Once outside, Nicholas pulls you into a narrow alley behind the building, pressing you both against the wall, listening for any signs of pursuit.

The night feels impossibly still compared to the chaos you’ve just escaped, and the tension between you is suffocating. You’re pressed against him, both of you breathing heavily, the cold night air doing nothing to cool the heat radiating from him.

“Why did you come back?” he asks suddenly, his voice raw with something you can’t quite place. “I warned you to stay away.”

“I couldn’t,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I needed to know the truth.”

For a moment, he just looks at you, his dark eyes searching yours as if trying to decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. And then, before you can process it, he’s kissing you.

The kiss is hard, desperate, fueled by adrenaline and fear. It’s as if both of you are trying to erase the danger, the chaos, by clinging to this one moment of connection. His hands cup your face, his lips urgent against yours, and you feel yourself melting into him, into the heat and intensity of it all.

When he finally pulls away, both of you are breathless, your heart racing for reasons that have nothing to do with the danger you’ve just escaped.

“This is going to get worse,” Nicholas says quietly, his forehead resting against yours. “You need to leave this alone. For your own safety.”

But as you look into his eyes, you know that leaving is no longer an option. Not now. Not after this.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say softly, and you mean it. Whatever this is—this danger, this desire—you’re in it now, and there’s no turning back.

Nicholas nods, as if he expected nothing less from you. His grip tightens on your hand as he pulls you deeper into the night, into the shadows, and into a world far more dangerous than you ever could have imagined.

The only question now is whether you’ll survive it.

The morning after the warehouse incident dawns with a strange sense of calm, but you know it’s deceptive. The sun filters through your blinds, casting faint patterns on the floor, but the warmth it offers does nothing to ease the cold knot in your stomach. You’re on edge, constantly looking over your shoulder, waiting for the next explosion of danger.

It’s been two days since Nicholas pulled you out of that warehouse, his hands still warm on your skin, his kiss lingering like an unresolved question. Two days since you promised yourself that you wouldn’t walk away from this, no matter how deep it pulled you into his world.

But you need answers. Not just about him, but about everything that’s happening. You’ve followed enough leads to know that this isn’t just about a missing person anymore. Nicholas is hiding something, and not just from the world—he’s hiding it from you.

You head into your office, determined to sift through the clues you’ve gathered. You spread out the files, notes, photos, all of it in disarray but slowly coming together like a jigsaw puzzle. Every piece points to something bigger. There’s more than just a criminal network involved; it feels like you’ve stepped into a web of international proportions. And Nicholas? He’s at the center.

The knock at the door interrupts your thoughts, and before you can respond, it swings open. Nicholas strides in, his presence filling the room instantly. He’s dressed differently today, no longer the laid-back Hollywood star or the dangerous figure from the warehouse. There’s something official about him, almost… professional.

“Do you ever knock?” you ask, standing up from your desk, your tone sharper than you intend.

Nicholas stops in front of your desk, his eyes scanning the mess of papers, his jaw clenched. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” You cross your arms, trying to keep your guard up even though his very presence makes it difficult. “About how you keep dragging me into your world without giving me any answers?”

He glances at the files on your desk, his expression darkening. “You’ve been digging.”

“I’m a private investigator. It’s kind of what I do.”

Nicholas lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair as if he’s trying to figure out how to begin. His gaze meets yours, and there’s something raw, almost vulnerable, in his eyes. It’s a look that makes your stomach tighten with anticipation.

“I owe you an explanation,” he admits, his voice low, barely above a whisper.

You blink, surprised. This is the first time he’s willingly offered anything close to the truth. Your defenses lower just slightly, and you gesture for him to sit.

He doesn’t. Instead, he leans against your desk, folding his arms across his chest, his eyes never leaving yours.

“The reason I disappeared,” he begins, “the reason I’ve been in hiding—it’s not just about me. It’s about something much bigger. I’m not just an actor. I’m… working undercover.”

You feel your heart skip a beat, the words hitting you like a punch. “Undercover? As in law enforcement?”

“Not quite.” Nicholas’s jaw tightens. “I’ve been working with an international task force. We’re taking down an organization that’s been running an extensive criminal network for years. Drugs, weapons, human trafficking—it’s all connected. I’ve been posing as someone they could use, someone with enough money and fame to help them move product under the radar.”

You stare at him, trying to process what he’s saying. It makes sense, all of it. The danger, the secrecy, the way he’s been acting. But it doesn’t make it any easier to digest.

“So, all of this—the disappearances, the shady dealings, everything I’ve been following—it’s part of your cover?” you ask, your voice a mix of disbelief and frustration.

Nicholas nods. “Yes. And now that you’re involved, you’re in danger too.”

A heavy silence falls between you, and the weight of what he’s saying sinks in. You’re no longer just chasing a missing person case. You’re entangled in something far more dangerous—an international criminal ring, and Nicholas is right in the middle of it.

“How long have you been doing this?” you ask, your mind racing.

“Almost two years,” he replies, his voice grim. “At first, it was just gathering intel, getting close to the people running the operation. But it’s grown bigger, more dangerous. The deeper I go, the more risk there is.”

You sit down, trying to wrap your mind around everything. Two years. He’s been living a lie for two years, pretending to be someone he’s not. The Hollywood persona, the actor’s life—it was all just a cover for his real mission.

“And now you’ve dragged me into it,” you say, a mix of anger and resignation in your tone.

Nicholas pushes away from the desk, stepping closer to you, his expression serious. “I didn’t want to involve you. I told you to stay away, but you wouldn’t. You kept digging, and now you’re in as deep as I am.”

You meet his gaze, your heart pounding. There’s no turning back now, no way to untangle yourself from this mess. And a part of you, the part that’s always been drawn to danger, knows that you don’t want to.

“So, what happens now?” you ask, your voice steadier than you feel.

Nicholas takes a deep breath, his eyes softening just a fraction. “Now, we work together. You’ve already gathered valuable information. You can help me finish this.”

A surge of adrenaline pulses through you at the thought. The idea of working alongside Nicholas, of diving even deeper into this dangerous world, sends a thrill down your spine. But there’s something else, too. Something that makes your heart beat faster whenever he’s near.

“I’m not just going to be your pawn,” you warn, standing up and facing him.

He smirks, but there’s a seriousness beneath it. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Before you can respond, his phone buzzes, breaking the tension. Nicholas glances at the screen, his expression hardening. “We’ve got a problem,” he says, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “There’s been a development. We need to move fast.”

Your pulse quickens as he explains that a crucial meeting with one of the criminal leaders is happening tonight—a meeting that could blow his entire operation wide open. You’ll have to go undercover with him, posing as his partner to get inside.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Nicholas asks, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

You meet his gaze head-on, adrenaline surging through your veins. “I’ve come this far. I’m not backing out now.”

He nods, a look of approval crossing his face. “Then we’re in this together.”

The rest of the day passes in a blur. You spend hours preparing, going over the details of the plan, getting into character. Nicholas coaches you on what to say, how to act, but it feels like a performance you’ve been preparing for your entire life. You’re ready.

As the sun sets, you and Nicholas head out, the tension between you palpable. Every glance, every touch feels charged with the weight of what’s to come. The mission is dangerous, yes, but there’s something else simmering beneath the surface—something neither of you can ignore.

The plan is simple: attend the meeting, gather as much intel as possible, and get out before anyone realizes who you really are. But as you stand beside Nicholas, dressed in a sleek, professional outfit that screams wealth and power, you can’t help but feel the electricity in the air. The danger, the thrill—it’s intoxicating.

When Nicholas slips his arm around your waist, pulling you closer as you enter the meeting, your pulse quickens. You can’t tell if it’s because of the mission or because of the heat radiating from him.

The room is filled with high-profile criminals, their eyes assessing you both as you make your entrance. Nicholas plays his part flawlessly, his charm and confidence drawing people in, but his grip on you tightens ever so slightly—a silent reminder that the danger is very real.

As the meeting progresses, tension mounts. You exchange subtle glances with Nicholas, every look charged with unspoken meaning. But the mission takes a dangerous turn when one of the men—a high-ranking figure in the criminal network—fixes his gaze on you.

“Who’s this?” he asks, suspicion lacing his voice.

Nicholas doesn’t miss a beat, his arm tightening around your waist as he pulls you closer. “This is my partner,” he says smoothly, his voice dripping with authority. “She’s been helping me with some of our more… delicate matters.”

The man’s eyes narrow, but Nicholas’s confident tone seems to placate him, for now. The rest of the night passes in a blur of tense conversations, subtle glances, and mounting danger. You can feel the eyes on you, the suspicion lurking beneath every smile.

By the time the meeting ends, you’re on edge, your heart pounding with adrenaline. But you and Nicholas managed to gather the intel you needed, and for now, you’re in the clear.

As you step outside into the cool night air, Nicholas finally relaxes, his grip on you loosening. But instead of stepping away, he pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “You did good tonight.”

The warmth of his breath sends a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, you forget the danger. All you can feel is him—his body pressed against yours, his hand resting on your hip.

“We’re not out

“We’re not out of this yet,” Nicholas finishes, his voice a low whisper that hums against your skin.

You tilt your head slightly, your pulse hammering in your ears as you force yourself to focus. The mission isn’t over, not by a long shot. But it’s hard to think when his proximity stirs emotions you’ve been trying to keep buried. You step back slightly, creating just enough distance to breathe, but his hand lingers on your hip, as if reluctant to let go.

“I did what I had to,” you say, trying to ignore the way your heart skips a beat at the intensity in his gaze. “Now, tell me the rest. You didn’t drag me into this just to play dress-up.”

Nicholas sighs, running a hand through his hair. He looks away for a moment, scanning the darkened street, as if making sure you’re alone. Finally, he turns back to you, his expression conflicted.

“I didn’t want to bring you in at all,” he admits, his voice rough. “But I had no choice. After what happened at the warehouse, you were in too deep. They know about you now.”

The words hit you like a blow to the chest. You knew, on some level, that stepping into Nicholas’s world meant putting yourself in danger, but hearing him confirm it solidifies the gravity of the situation. You’re a target now, just like him.

“Who’s ‘they’?” you ask, your voice more controlled than you feel.

“The Syndicate,” Nicholas says grimly. “The organization I’ve been working to take down. They run everything—from trafficking to black-market arms deals—and they have eyes everywhere.”

The Syndicate. You’ve heard whispers of the name before, but now, hearing it directly from Nicholas, the weight of it feels even more ominous.“And you’re undercover, trying to take them down from the inside,” you say, piecing the puzzle together. “That’s why you’ve been on the run.”

He nods. “I was getting too close. My cover started to slip, and they began to suspect me. So I disappeared for a while, laying low. But now things are escalating, and they’re looking for any loose ends to tie up. That includes you.”

The realization of how close you’ve come to the edge settles in. You’ve tangled yourself in something far more dangerous than you anticipated, but instead of fear, you feel an unexpected surge of determination. If the Syndicate thinks they can use you as leverage, they’ve underestimated you.

“So, what’s the plan?” you ask, your voice steady. “How do we take them down?”

Nicholas steps closer again, his dark eyes searching yours. “We work together. I need your help. You’ve already uncovered more than you realize, and with what we learned tonight, we’re closer than ever to getting inside their inner circle.”

Your chest tightens with the weight of his words. He’s putting his trust in you—something he’s clearly not accustomed to doing. But there’s more to this than just the mission. The tension between you, the undeniable pull—it’s growing stronger, more dangerous. And right now, you’re not sure which is the greater risk: the Syndicate or Nicholas himself.

“Alright,” you say, your voice firm. “But I’m not just some bystander. If we’re doing this, I’m all in.”

Nicholas’s eyes flash with something unreadable, but he nods, his expression softening slightly. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

You both linger there for a moment, the quiet street around you contrasting the storm of emotions churning inside. There’s so much left unsaid between you, so much unresolved tension. But right now, the mission takes precedence. The Syndicate is closing in, and you can’t afford any distractions—no matter how intoxicating they might be.

“We need to go,” Nicholas finally says, breaking the silence. “It’s not safe here.”

You nod, falling into step beside him as you head toward his car. The ride back to your safe house is filled with an uncomfortable silence, both of you lost in thought. The night’s events have raised more questions than answers, but one thing is clear: you’re in this now, and there’s no turning back.

When you finally arrive at the safe house, you both slip inside, the tension still thick in the air. Nicholas locks the door behind you, his movements tense, alert. You watch him for a moment, studying the lines of his face, the way his jaw tightens as if he’s constantly on edge.

“You’re different now,” you say, your voice softer than you intend. “Not just because of tonight, but… this whole thing. It’s changed you.”

Nicholas turns to face you, his expression guarded. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“Then tell me,” you push, stepping closer. “You owe me that much.”

He exhales sharply, his eyes darkening as he regards you. “I didn’t ask for this life,” he says, his voice low, almost bitter. “I was supposed to just be an actor. That’s all I wanted—to live a normal life, to stay out of all this. But then I got pulled in, and once you’re in, there’s no getting out.”

The vulnerability in his voice catches you off guard. You’ve seen him in control, always keeping his emotions in check, but now there’s a rawness to him that makes your heart ache. You reach out, placing a hand on his arm, and the contact sparks something between you.

“Nicholas…” you start, but the words die in your throat.

He looks at you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch. And before you can think, before you can stop yourself, you’re closing the distance between you.

The kiss is explosive, like a dam breaking, releasing all the pent-up emotions and tension that have been simmering between you for weeks. Nicholas’s hands are on you instantly, pulling you closer, his lips rough, desperate against yours. It’s like he’s been holding back for too long, and now that he’s let go, there’s no stopping it.

Your back hits the wall as Nicholas presses against you, his body hot and hard against yours. The room feels like it’s spinning, the heat between you building with every frantic touch, every gasp of breath. It’s overwhelming, consuming, but you can’t stop—neither of you can.

For a brief moment, the danger, the mission, the Syndicate—all of it fades away. There’s only the two of you, lost in the whirlwind of desire and need.

When you finally pull apart, breathless and flushed, you stare at each other, the weight of what just happened hanging in the air. Nicholas steps back, his chest heaving, but his eyes are still locked on yours.

“We can’t… we can’t let this get in the way,” he says, his voice rough, though it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than you.

You nod, though you’re not sure you believe it either. The pull between you is too strong, too undeniable. But he’s right—there’s too much at stake to let your emotions cloud your judgment.

“I know,” you say, your voice steady, even though your heart is still racing.

Nicholas runs a hand through his hair, his gaze softening as he watches you. “We’ll figure this out. But for now… we need to focus on the mission.”

You nod again, forcing yourself to push aside the emotions swirling inside you. The Syndicate is still out there, and every second you waste is a second closer to them finding you.

“Right,” you say, your voice firm. “Let’s finish this.”

And as you stand there, the weight of the mission hanging between you, you realize that no matter what happens next—whether you take down the Syndicate or not—nothing will ever be the same between you and Nicholas.

The next few days are a whirlwind of preparation and anticipation. With Nicholas by your side, the world feels different—charged with an energy that both excites and terrifies you. The thrill of the mission looms large in your mind, but so does the tantalizing reality of your deepening connection with him.

You spend hours poring over files, piecing together information about the Syndicate and its operations. Nicholas is meticulous, guiding you through the layers of deception he’s encountered. Every moment spent working together intensifies the bond between you, and despite the underlying tension, you find yourself lost in his focus and determination.

Finally, the night of the high-profile event arrives. As you stand in front of the mirror, putting the finishing touches on your outfit, you can’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves. The black dress clings to your curves, the neckline daring yet elegant. It’s the perfect outfit to play the role of a wealthy socialite. You glance at the clock, your heart racing as you anticipate Nicholas’s arrival.

When he steps through the door, time seems to stand still. He’s dressed in a tailored suit, the fabric hugging his frame perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders and lean waist. The moment you lay eyes on him, your breath catches. There’s an air of confidence about him that’s magnetic, and as he moves closer, you can feel the heat radiating between you.

“Wow,” he breathes, his eyes roaming over you appreciatively. “You look stunning.”

“Thanks,” you reply, feeling a rush of warmth flood your cheeks. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that sends a thrill down your spine. But his expression shifts as he steps closer, his gaze turning serious. “Remember, this is just a performance. We have to stay in character at all times. The moment anyone suspects us, everything falls apart.”

“I know,” you say, swallowing the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “But we’re also pretending to be a couple, right? That adds a layer of complexity.”

Nicholas’s lips curl into a smirk. “Complexity is one way to put it. Just stick close to me, and let’s keep our story straight.”

You nod, trying to suppress the rush of excitement mingled with anxiety. This isn’t just a game anymore; it’s a high-stakes dance on the edge of danger.

As you both make your way to the event, the ambiance shifts from the quiet intimacy of the safe house to the bustling energy of the gala. The venue is an opulent hotel ballroom, adorned with crystal chandeliers and elegant décor. The air is thick with the laughter of the elite, the clinking of champagne glasses, and the soft strains of a live band playing in the background.

“Stay close,” Nicholas murmurs as he takes your hand, his grip firm and reassuring. The touch sends a jolt of electricity coursing through you, and you instinctively lean into him, feeling safe and exhilarated.

The crowd swirls around you, and as you navigate through the sea of well-dressed guests, Nicholas introduces you to various attendees, spinning tales of your wealth and influence. He’s in his element, effortlessly charming everyone with his charisma, and you can’t help but admire the way he commands the room.

But beneath the polished surface, you can sense the tension in the air. You keep your eyes peeled for any signs of danger, scanning the room for familiar faces associated with the Syndicate. Each time Nicholas leans in to whisper something sultry in your ear, the heat between you ignites, making it harder to maintain your focus.

“Let’s find somewhere a little quieter,” he suggests, a playful glint in his eye. You nod, your heart racing as he leads you away from the crowd, toward a secluded balcony that overlooks the city lights.

The moment you step outside, the cool breeze brushes against your skin, providing a stark contrast to the heat radiating between you. Nicholas leans against the railing, looking out over the cityscape, and you take a moment to admire him—his profile strong and defined against the night sky.

“You okay?” he asks, glancing at you sideways. “You look a little overwhelmed.”

“I’m fine,” you assure him, even though your heart is racing for a different reason. “It’s just… a lot to take in.”

Nicholas steps closer, his body radiating warmth as he closes the distance between you. “Just remember to breathe. We’ve got this.”

As he speaks, the chemistry between you crackles like electricity. The way he looks at you makes your heart skip a beat, and despite the looming threat, the desire swirling in the air is palpable. You can feel it—their shared breaths, the closeness drawing you in, and the way his gaze flickers down to your lips.

Before you can think, you lean in, seeking the warmth of his body, and he meets you halfway, their lips colliding in a heated kiss. It’s hungry and desperate, an unspoken promise of everything you both want but can’t yet fully embrace. The world around you fades, leaving only the two of you suspended in this moment of passion and chaos.

When you finally pull away, your breath mingles with his, both of you panting as you struggle to regain your composure. “We should… get back,” you murmur, though part of you longs to stay in this intimate bubble, away from the prying eyes and dangers of the night.

“Yeah,” he agrees, though his eyes are still dark with desire. “But I think we’re going to need to play this part a little more convincingly.”

Your heart races at the implications of his words. “What do you mean?”

“I mean we need to give them a show,” he says, stepping back slightly but keeping his gaze locked on yours. “If we’re going to convince the Syndicate that we’re a couple, we need to act like one.”

His words hang in the air between you, charged with potential. You know what he’s suggesting, and a thrill of excitement runs through you. This is more than just a mission now; it’s a game where the stakes are life and death, but it’s also a dance that tests the boundaries of your connection.

“Alright, show me how it’s done,” you say, your voice steady as you take a step closer.

Nicholas smirks, that devil-may-care charm igniting a spark of courage within you. “Follow my lead.”

He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close as you head back inside. The energy shifts as you rejoin the crowd, the vibrant chatter surrounding you. You fall into step beside him, the charade deepening as you lean into him, playing the part of the enamored socialite.

Nicholas effortlessly navigates through conversations, keeping up appearances while subtly gathering information from the people around you. You watch him work, fascinated by how he switches from charming to serious in an instant, his eyes sharp and alert beneath his playful demeanor.

As the night unfolds, you find yourself drawn into the role more than you expected. When Nicholas leans in, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, you realize you’re not just pretending anymore. The way he touches you, the way he looks at you—it all feels too real, too intoxicating.

At one point, he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “The main players will be here soon. We need to find out who they are.”

“Right,” you nod, your heart racing as the adrenaline of the mission heightens your senses.

Just as he pulls back, a figure catches your eye across the room—a man clad in a sharply tailored suit, his presence commanding. There’s something about him that sets your instincts on high alert. You don’t recognize him, but Nicholas’s body stiffens slightly beside you.

“Do you see him?” he murmurs, eyes narrowing as he observes the man. “That’s Victor Reyes. He’s one of the top operatives in the Syndicate. If we can get close to him, it might lead us right to the heart of their operation.”

You glance back at Nicholas, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through you. “What do we do?”

Nicholas’s eyes flicker with determination. “We get close to him, but we can’t blow our cover. Let’s keep our act together while we gather intel.”

You nod, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you both weave your way through the crowd, each step bringing you closer to the danger you seek. As you approach Victor, you feel the tension in the air rise, a palpable anticipation buzzing between you and Nicholas.

“Act natural,” Nicholas whispers as you reach the group surrounding Victor. “And remember, you’re with me.”

You plaster on a smile, feeling the weight of the moment as you engage with the other guests, keeping the conversation flowing as you subtly edge closer to Victor. Your heart races in your chest, both from the thrill of the encounter and the sheer proximity to the man who could unravel everything.

As the night continues, you and Nicholas play your parts perfectly, dancing between flirting and feigning disinterest in the dangerous conversations that swirl around you. With each passing moment, the connection between you grows deeper, electrifying the air around you.

But just as you feel yourself getting lost in the moment, Victor’s gaze flickers toward you, and a glimmer of recognition sparks in his eyes. You freeze, heart pounding as you try to maintain your composure. You can feel Nicholas’s presence beside you, an unspoken reassurance as you both play your parts flawlessly.

“Ah, you must be the new socialite everyone’s been talking about,” Victor says, his voice smooth and laced with curiosity. “Tell me, what’s your secret?”

Your pulse

Your pulse quickens as Victor’s eyes narrow, scrutinizing you with a blend of intrigue and challenge. You can feel Nicholas tense beside you, his protective energy radiating off him, but you maintain your composure, forcing a smile as you meet Victor’s gaze.

“Just the usual secrets of success,” you reply lightly, your voice steady despite the intensity of the moment. “A little charm, a little finesse. You know how it is in this world.”

Victor chuckles softly, leaning closer as if to catch every word. “Indeed, charm is essential. But I find it’s also about knowing the right people.” His gaze drifts over to Nicholas, a knowing look passing between them. “And who you associate with.”

Nicholas steps in smoothly, his arm tightening around your waist as he tilts his head slightly in Victor's direction. “This is my partner, after all. She’s got a knack for finding the most interesting circles to mix in.”

“Interesting circles, indeed.” Victor’s gaze shifts back to you, a flicker of curiosity igniting in his eyes. “I’d like to know more about you. What brings you to this particular gathering?”

You catch the glint of danger in his question, the way he’s trying to gauge your motives. Instinctively, you lean a little closer to Nicholas, allowing the chemistry between you to speak volumes. “Just looking to expand my horizons and connect with influential people,” you say, your tone light, but your mind races as you consider your next words.

“Always a good idea,” Victor replies, his expression unreadable. “And with your partner here, you couldn’t have made a better choice.”

“Absolutely,” you say, your smile unwavering. “Nicholas has been quite the guide in this world.”

Nicholas smirks, his confidence radiating as he interjects, “And we make quite the team, don’t we?” He leans in slightly, his breath warm against your ear. “Stick with me; I’ll keep you safe.”

The intimacy of his words sends a shiver down your spine, and you fight to keep your composure. You glance around the room, noting how the other guests watch the interaction unfold, some with mild interest, others with palpable curiosity.

“What do you do, Nicholas?” Victor asks, shifting his focus, his tone deceptively casual. “You seem quite well-connected.”

Nicholas chuckles, a lighthearted sound that belies the tension in the air. “Let’s just say I dabble in a few businesses. A little of this, a little of that. It’s all very exciting.” He leans forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “But nothing nearly as thrilling as our friend here.”

“Thrilling, indeed,” Victor replies, his smile tight, but his interest piqued. “I have a keen eye for talent. Perhaps we could discuss opportunities that might interest both of you.”

The suggestion hangs between you, and a warning bell rings in your head. You know Nicholas’s real agenda here, and while the prospect of working with someone like Victor could be advantageous, it also carries significant risks.

“Opportunities are always welcome,” you say smoothly, masking the tension building within you. “But I’m sure Nicholas has a busy schedule. Isn’t that right?”

Nicholas’s gaze meets yours, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. “I’m always open to exploring new ventures, but tonight’s more about enjoying the festivities, wouldn’t you agree?”

Victor studies both of you, his expression inscrutable. “Of course. But let’s not let this opportunity pass us by.” He gestures toward the grand room filled with guests. “Perhaps you’d like to join me for a drink later? I know a few spots that might be more… enlightening.”

A chill runs down your spine. The invitation feels loaded, as if he’s testing the waters to see how deep your involvement runs. You exchange a glance with Nicholas, who nods subtly, his demeanor calm but alert.

“We’ll see,” Nicholas says, his tone noncommittal but friendly. “For now, let’s enjoy the night.” He expertly steers the conversation away from Victor, guiding you back toward the crowd.

As you walk away, your heart races, the weight of Victor’s gaze lingering on your back. “That was close,” you murmur, leaning closer to Nicholas, your pulse pounding in your ears. “He’s definitely onto us.”

Nicholas nods, his expression serious now. “Yeah, we have to tread carefully. He’s smart and observant, which means we need to keep our wits about us.”

“What’s our next move?” you ask, glancing back to ensure Victor hasn’t followed.

“For now, we gather more intel,” Nicholas replies, his gaze scanning the room. “Let’s keep mingling and see if we can spot any other players. If we can get a sense of who’s who in this crowd, we can better navigate our next steps.”

As the night wears on, you move through the gathering, chatting with other guests while keeping a watchful eye on Victor. Nicholas remains by your side, his presence both comforting and electrifying, a constant reminder of the stakes involved.

After an hour, you find yourselves near the bar, exchanging pleasantries with a group of wealthy patrons. You laugh and flirt, letting the act come naturally as you try to gather information. The tension between you and Nicholas is palpable, though, and every time he leans in to whisper a witty remark, it sends your heart racing.

“Do you think we can trust anyone here?” you ask quietly, scanning the crowd. “Everyone seems to have their own agenda.”

Nicholas nods, his expression thoughtful. “It’s a dangerous game we’re playing, but the risk is worth it if we can gather enough information. Just stay alert. We need to keep our cover intact.”

As you sip your drink, you notice a commotion near the entrance. A group of men in dark suits has arrived, their demeanor sharp and commanding. They move through the crowd with an air of authority, immediately drawing attention.

“There they are,” Nicholas murmurs, his focus shifting. “The ones we need to watch. The Syndicate’s higher-ups.”

You turn to look, and your breath catches as you spot a familiar face among them—a man with a scar running down his cheek, a haunting reminder of the dangers you’ve been trying to evade. You didn’t expect to see him here, and the realization sends a shiver down your spine.

“Is that—” you start to say, but Nicholas interrupts.

“Keep calm,” he warns, his voice low. “If they see us panicking, it could blow our cover.”

You nod, forcing yourself to breathe steadily as you watch the group. Nicholas stands close, his arm around your waist, the connection grounding you in the face of potential danger. But as the men circulate through the crowd, their presence feels like a storm brewing.

Suddenly, the tension becomes palpable, and without warning, the lights flicker, dimming for a moment before returning to their full brightness. You can feel Nicholas tense beside you, his eyes narrowing as he scans the room.

“What was that?” you whisper, looking up at him.

“Just stay close to me,” he replies, his voice low but firm. “It could be a distraction. They might be planning something.”

As the music swells and the guests resume their conversations, you can’t shake the feeling of unease settling in your stomach. The air feels charged, and you sense the impending danger lurking just beneath the surface.

Nicholas tightens his grip on your waist, pulling you in closer. “We need to move,” he says, his tone urgent but controlled. “Let’s find a way to gather more information about those men without drawing attention to ourselves.”

With every ounce of your instincts telling you to run, you follow his lead, navigating through the crowd with purpose. You can feel your heart racing, the thrill of danger intensifying as you blend in with the other guests, slipping further into the shadows of the evening.

As you weave through the throng of people, Nicholas stays close, the heat of his body radiating against yours. You exchange glances, a silent understanding passing between you—this isn’t just a mission anymore; it’s a fight for survival, and you’re in it together.

Finally, you spot a quieter corner of the ballroom, away from the main flow of guests. You duck into the alcove, the darkness enveloping you as you press against the wall, breathing heavily from the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

“Is this a good spot?” you ask, glancing up at Nicholas, who remains focused, his eyes scanning the area.

“Let’s listen in,” he replies, nodding toward a nearby group of men, one of whom is speaking animatedly about recent dealings with the Syndicate. You strain to hear, the tension thickening as you grasp for any useful information.

The conversation is tense, filled with veiled threats and promises of loyalty. The men are discussing operations, their words dripping with malice, and you can’t help but feel a chill run down your spine as you realize just how deep the web of corruption runs.

Nicholas glances at you, his expression serious. “We need to be careful. If they catch us eavesdropping—”

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifts. The men stop talking, their eyes narrowing as they scan the room. You can feel the tension in the air as they shift, their attention honing in on your alcove.

“Let’s go,” Nicholas hisses, grabbing your hand and pulling you deeper into the shadows. You follow his lead, heart racing as you duck into a narrow hallway, desperately hoping to escape their gaze.

But as you navigate the darkness, the sound of footsteps follows closely behind, the realization dawning that the men are

The sound of footsteps echoes through the narrow hallway, a relentless reminder that you’re not safe yet. Panic bubbles up inside you as you sprint alongside Nicholas, the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You can hear the hushed voices behind you, growing closer.

“Quick, this way!” Nicholas urges, pulling you into a side corridor that leads to a series of smaller rooms. The dim light flickers overhead, casting long shadows that play tricks on your mind as you press forward.

As you run, you glance back, catching a glimpse of the men as they round the corner. Their expressions are hard and determined, the dangerous glint in their eyes sending a chill down your spine. You can’t shake the feeling that they’re on to you.

Nicholas leads you into an empty storage room, its contents stacked haphazardly against the walls. The door creaks shut behind you, and he quickly moves to block it with a nearby crate. The sound of footsteps draws nearer, and you hold your breath, your heart pounding in your ears.

“Stay quiet,” he whispers, his voice low but urgent. You nod, the gravity of the situation sinking in as you press against the cool wall, trying to calm your racing heart.

The footsteps pause just outside the door, and you can hear the men’s hushed voices, discussing your appearance and the fact that you had been near Victor. Your stomach knots as you realize how close you are to being discovered.

“They were definitely eavesdropping,” one of the men says, his voice gravelly and filled with menace. “We can’t let them get away.”

“Split up and search the area,” another replies. “They can’t have gone far. We’ll find them.”

Your breath quickens as you grip Nicholas’s arm tightly, feeling the tension radiate off him. His gaze is intense, his mind racing as he weighs their options.

After a tense moment, the footsteps recede, and Nicholas releases a quiet sigh of relief. “We need to move, now,” he murmurs, scanning the room for an exit. “If they’re searching for us, we can’t stay here.”

He leads you to a back door, and you follow closely behind, your heart racing. As he pushes it open, the door creaks, and you wince at the sound, fearing it might draw attention. But the hallway beyond is empty, the only light filtering in from a small window at the far end.

“Go!” Nicholas urges, gently pushing you forward. You step into the hallway, adrenaline flooding your system as you hurry to keep pace with him.

As you move cautiously, you hear muffled voices growing fainter in the distance. Nicholas pauses, glancing back to ensure you’re not followed. “We have to find a way out of this area,” he whispers. “Stick close to me and stay quiet.”

You nod, focusing on his words as he leads you further into the maze of hallways. The tension in the air feels electric, and you can’t shake the fear of being discovered. The stakes are higher than ever, and with every step, the danger looms closer.

Finally, you reach a stairwell leading down. “This way,” Nicholas says, his voice firm as he guides you down the steps. The silence envelops you, broken only by the sound of your footsteps and the distant chatter of the gala above.

As you descend, you can feel your heart racing. You can’t help but wonder how this night, filled with excitement and seduction, has turned into a desperate escape. The thrill of danger hangs in the air, intertwining with the electricity between you and Nicholas.

When you reach the bottom, you emerge into a dimly lit hallway that seems to lead to a staff area. The distant clinking of glasses and soft music echoes from above, a stark contrast to the tension you feel.

“Let’s find an exit,” Nicholas says, his voice low but steady. “We can regroup outside and plan our next move.”

You nod, glancing around at the unfamiliar surroundings. As you move through the corridor, you catch a glimpse of a door marked “Employees Only.”

“Here,” you suggest, pointing toward the door. “This might lead us out.”

Nicholas moves toward it, pushing it open just enough to peek inside. After a brief moment, he nods and gestures for you to follow him. You step inside, the faint scent of cleaning supplies mingling with the air.

The room is small and cluttered, filled with boxes and supplies. You can hear the muffled sounds of the party echoing outside, and for a moment, you feel an overwhelming sense of isolation in this hidden corner of the world.

“Over there,” Nicholas whispers, pointing to a door at the far end of the room. “That should lead to a back entrance.”

You nod, your pulse quickening again as you move toward it, feeling the weight of the moment. As you reach for the handle, a sudden thought strikes you. “Nicholas, what if they find us? What if they—”

“Shh,” he interrupts, placing a finger against his lips to silence you. His eyes are intense, full of urgency. “We have to keep moving. Trust me.”

With that, you push the door open and step outside, the cool night air hitting you like a wave. You squint against the sudden brightness of the outdoor lights, your senses heightened as you scan your surroundings.

You find yourselves in a small alley behind the hotel, a stark contrast to the opulence of the gala. The sound of music and laughter fades behind you, leaving only the hum of the city.

“Is there a way to blend in?” you ask, glancing around nervously. “We can’t just walk out into the street.”

Nicholas nods, his expression thoughtful as he scans the alley. “There should be some staff uniforms in that supply room. If we can change, we might be able to slip past anyone looking for us.”

You nod, your heart racing with the idea of disguising yourselves. “Let’s do it.”

You move quickly back inside, rummaging through the boxes until you find a couple of staff uniforms. With a mix of urgency and adrenaline, you change as quickly as possible, slipping into the dark trousers and button-up shirts that disguise your evening attire.

Nicholas pulls his hair back into a neat ponytail, the uniform transforming him into someone entirely different. You can’t help but admire how effortlessly he pulls off the look, even in the face of danger.

“Ready?” he asks, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

You nod, straightening your own outfit. “Let’s do this.”

As you step back outside, you take a deep breath, trying to suppress the anxiety swirling within you. With Nicholas by your side, the thrill of the mission mingles with a sense of hope. You have a chance to escape, to regroup and plan your next move, but you also feel the heat of the connection that’s been building between you.

“Stick close,” Nicholas says, his tone serious as you both start to walk down the alley, blending into the shadows.

You navigate your way back to the street, the bustling energy of the city wrapping around you. The gala feels like a distant memory, a world of glamour and danger that you’ve left behind.

“Where to now?” you ask, glancing up at him, your heart racing at the thought of being out in the open again.

Nicholas’s gaze flickers around the street, his mind clearly working. “We need to find a safe place to lay low for a bit. There’s a café a few blocks away that I think we can use.”

You nod, trusting his instincts as you walk side by side, the tension of the night still crackling in the air between you. The thrill of the mission intertwines with the undeniable chemistry, and with every step, the stakes feel higher.

As you reach the café, you both duck inside, the warm ambiance contrasting with the cold reality outside. The smell of coffee fills the air, and you take a moment to catch your breath, the adrenaline of the night still pulsing through your veins.

“Let’s grab a table in the corner,” Nicholas suggests, his eyes scanning the room. “We can talk strategy without anyone overhearing.”

You nod and lead the way, settling into a small booth at the back. The café buzzes with activity, the soft murmur of conversations creating a comforting backdrop as you both take a moment to regroup.

After ordering drinks, you lean across the table, your eyes locked on Nicholas. “What now? What do we do about Victor and the Syndicate?”

Nicholas takes a deep breath, his expression serious as he considers the options. “We need to gather more intel, especially on Victor and the men he was with. They’re dangerous, and if they suspect we’re onto them, we could be in real trouble.”

“But how do we do that without raising suspicion?” you ask, your mind racing with possibilities. “They know we were close to them at the gala.”

Nicholas leans back, his gaze thoughtful. “We’ll have to play a careful game. Keep mingling, stay in touch with contacts who can provide information. And if we can get a lead on where they’re operating, we might have a chance to expose them.”You nod, feeling the weight of the task ahead. “And what about us?” You hesitate, the question hanging in the air between you. “I mean… after all of this?”

Nicholas meets your gaze, his expression softening for a moment. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly. “Right now, we need to focus on the mission. But… I won’t lie; this connection between us complicates things.”

Your heart races at his words, the heat of desire and uncertainty swirling within you. “It

Your heart races at his words, the heat of desire and uncertainty swirling within you. “It complicates things, but in a good way, doesn’t it?” you ask, leaning forward slightly, searching his eyes for clarity.

Nicholas hesitates, his brow furrowing as he contemplates the tension between you. “It does. But we need to keep our focus. There’s too much at stake right now.” His gaze drifts away, momentarily lost in thought. “Once we’re out of this, we can figure out what this is… whatever it is.”

The unspoken words linger heavily in the air, and a thrill runs through you at the idea of what could be once the chaos subsides. The connection you share feels electric, but with danger still lurking, you can’t afford to let your guard down.

Just then, your drinks arrive, interrupting the moment. You take a sip, the warm coffee grounding you. As you glance around the café, you notice a few familiar faces in the crowd—other guests from the gala, their expressions ranging from jovial to cautious.

“Do you recognize anyone?” Nicholas asks, noticing your gaze.

“Not sure,” you reply, straining to see more clearly. “But it looks like the party might still be going strong. We might want to be careful.”

“Right,” he says, his eyes scanning the room with renewed vigilance. “We can’t afford to be seen. Let’s finish up here and regroup. I think we should check in with some of my contacts to see if they’ve heard anything about Victor or the Syndicate.”

You nod, feeling a sense of determination settle in. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep us safe,” you say, your voice steady. “I can help gather information too.”

Nicholas smiles, a hint of admiration in his gaze. “I know you can. You’re resourceful, and you’ve got skills. We’ll need that.”

As you sip your coffee, you can’t shake the feeling of being watched. You glance around again, searching for any sign of danger. “Do you think they’ll come looking for us here?”

“Maybe,” he replies, frowning slightly. “But we’ve got a little time. The café is bustling, and the last thing they want is to draw attention to themselves. If we play it smart, we can slip away without a hitch.”

You finish your drink, the warmth settling in your stomach but unable to quell the tension building inside you. “What’s our exit strategy?”

Nicholas leans in closer, lowering his voice. “Once we leave here, we’ll head toward the alley. It should be clear, and then we can take a back road to avoid the main streets. I have a car parked a few blocks away.”

“Perfect,” you say, feeling a sense of relief at having a plan. “Let’s get moving then.”

After a quick check of the café to ensure the coast is clear, you both slip out the door, stepping into the cool night air. You can still hear the distant sounds of the gala, but the thrill of the chase keeps you focused on what’s ahead.

As you navigate through the back streets, the atmosphere changes from the glamour of the gala to the gritty reality of the city. The shadows stretch long against the walls, and you feel the adrenaline kicking in as you walk quickly, the fear of being discovered pushing you forward.

“Stay close,” Nicholas instructs, his voice low as he walks beside you. “If anything feels off, just follow my lead.”

“Got it,” you reply, trying to keep your pace steady. The night is filled with sounds—distant sirens, the hum of traffic, the murmur of voices—but it feels like an illusion, a reminder that danger lurks just beyond your periphery.

As you turn a corner, you spot a group of men loitering at the entrance of an alley. The uneasy feeling in your stomach tightens, and you glance up at Nicholas, who’s already assessing the situation.

“We can’t go that way,” he whispers, pulling you back slightly. “Let’s find another route.”

You nod, instinctively clutching his arm as he leads you further down the street. Just as you round another corner, a figure steps out from the shadows, blocking your path.

It’s a tall man, dressed in dark clothing, his expression unreadable. “Going somewhere?” he asks, a smirk playing on his lips.

Nicholas tenses beside you, and you feel a surge of fear. “We don’t want any trouble,” he says evenly, stepping slightly in front of you as a protective gesture.

“Oh, I think you do,” the man replies, his voice dripping with menace. “You’re a long way from the party, and I’d say you’re in a bit over your heads.”

“We’re just trying to get home,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “No one wants any trouble.”

The man chuckles, but it’s devoid of humor. “Home? This isn’t your neighborhood, sweetheart. You shouldn’t be wandering around here alone.”

Nicholas shifts closer, his protective instinct kicking in. “We’re fine. Just let us pass.”

But the man steps forward, blocking your way. “I don’t think so. Not until I get a little something in return.”

Your heart races, and the realization hits you: he’s not just looking for a simple exchange. The threat in his voice is clear, and you can see the glint of danger in his eyes.

“What do you want?” Nicholas asks, his voice firm, but you can hear the tension lacing his words.

“Information,” the man replies, his eyes flicking between you and Nicholas. “I heard some interesting chatter at the gala about a certain Victor. You two wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

You exchange a glance with Nicholas, fear pooling in your stomach. This man has ties to the very people you’re trying to avoid. “We don’t know anything,” you say quickly, trying to maintain a façade of confidence. “Just leave us alone.”

The man’s expression darkens. “That’s too bad. I think you do know more than you’re letting on. And if you don’t want to make this difficult, I suggest you start talking.”

Nicholas takes a step closer, his body blocking you from the man’s view. “We’re not going to share anything with you. Just let us go.”

For a moment, silence hangs in the air, thick with tension. The man’s gaze sharpens as he considers your words, weighing his options.

Suddenly, you hear a commotion in the distance, the sounds of shouting and footsteps approaching. The man’s expression shifts, irritation flickering across his face. “Looks like you’ve got some company,” he says, glancing back down the street.

Without thinking, you take the opportunity. “Run!” you shout, grabbing Nicholas’s hand and bolting past the man.

The adrenaline surges through you, propelling you forward as you sprint down the alley, your heart pounding in your chest. You can hear the man shouting behind you, but you don’t dare look back.

Nicholas keeps pace beside you, his grip firm around your hand as he guides you through the maze of alleys. “This way!” he urges, leading you toward a side street that opens up into a dimly lit park.

You burst into the park, the cool night air rushing past you. The sounds of the city seem to fade as you find yourself surrounded by trees, their branches swaying gently in the breeze.

“Over there!” Nicholas points to a nearby bench, and you both duck behind it, gasping for breath as you hide in the shadows.

“Do you think he followed us?” you ask, trying to catch your breath as you press your back against the cool metal of the bench.

Nicholas shakes his head, his expression serious. “Not yet, but we can’t stay here long. We need to figure out our next move.”

You nod, the gravity of the situation settling in. “What do we do now?”

He takes a deep breath, looking around the park as if searching for something. “We need to find a way to get back to the car without drawing attention. Let’s stay low and avoid the main streets.”

As you move cautiously through the park, you can feel the tension between you and Nicholas growing. The thrill of danger is intermingled with a pulse of excitement, an awareness of the connection that’s been simmering beneath the surface.

“Are you okay?” Nicholas asks, glancing back at you, his expression softening momentarily.

“I’m fine,” you reply, though you can feel your heart racing—not just from the adrenaline, but from his concern. “Just a little shaken.”

“Let’s keep moving,” he says, his voice low and steady. “We’ll find a way out of this.”

You nod, your resolve strengthening as you follow his lead. The night stretches ahead of you, filled with uncertainty, but with Nicholas by your side, you feel a flicker of hope.

As you make your way through the park, you suddenly spot a figure in the distance, standing near the edge of the trees. Your breath catches in your throat, and you grip Nicholas’s arm tighter.

“Do you see that?” you whisper, pointing toward the figure.

Nicholas squints, his expression hardening. “I see it. Stay behind me.”

As you move cautiously closer, you can make out the silhouette of a man—broad shoulders and a confident stance. The closer you get, the more familiar he looks.

“Is that…?” you start to say, recognition dawning.

“Victor,” Nicholas murmurs, his voice low. “We need to avoid him.”

But before you can respond, Victor suddenly turns, his gaze piercing through the dim light as if he senses your presence. Your heart races as he scans the area, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“We can’t let him see us,” Nicholas whispers urgently, tugging you back into the shadows of the trees. You feel the heat of his body against yours, and the sudden closeness sends a shiver of adrenaline coursing through you.

As Victor continues to search the area, you and Nicholas crouch low behind a thick bush, your breaths shallow and quiet. You can see Victor’s silhouette clearly now; he’s talking to someone on his phone, his expression tense.

“I’ll find them,” he says, his voice low and menacing. “They can’t have gotten far. They’re too curious for their own good.”

Nicholas clenches his jaw, and you can feel the tension radiating from him. “We need to stay out of sight. If he catches wind of us, it’ll be game over.”

You nod, the weight of his words pressing down on you. The stakes have never felt higher, and the danger of being discovered is palpable. You watch as Victor paces back and forth, his frustration evident.

“We can’t let them interfere with the plan,” he mutters into the phone. “I’ll send a couple of guys out to keep an eye on them. We need to control this before it gets out of hand.”

Your stomach drops at his words. They’re already planning to hunt you down, and the thought sends a chill down your spine. You glance at Nicholas, who meets your gaze with a fierce determination.

“We can’t let that happen,” he whispers. “We have to find a way to turn the tables on them.”

You nod, the idea igniting a spark of hope. “What if we gather information on them? Use it against them?”

Nicholas looks thoughtful, his eyes scanning the park for any potential routes of escape. “That’s a good idea. If we can find out where they’re meeting or what they’re planning, we might be able to expose them.”

Victor hangs up the phone, a scowl on his face. “They’ll regret crossing me,” he says under his breath before stepping further into the park, clearly looking for you.

“This is our chance,” Nicholas murmurs, his grip tightening around your hand. “We can slip away while he’s distracted.”

You nod, feeling a surge of adrenaline as you both carefully maneuver through the trees, keeping low and quiet. As you inch away from Victor’s sight, you feel the thrill of the chase and the undeniable connection between you intensifying.

Finally, you reach the edge of the park, peering around a tree to check if the coast is clear. Victor is still moving further into the shadows, the distance between you growing. “Let’s go,” Nicholas whispers, leading you toward a nearby street.

Once you’re safely across the road, you take a deep breath, the cool night air filling your lungs. The adrenaline from the encounter still buzzes in your veins, and you glance up at Nicholas, whose expression is a mix of relief and determination.

“We made it,” you say, your voice low but filled with awe.

“For now,” Nicholas replies, his tone serious as he scans the area. “But we need to keep moving. I don’t want to stick around here longer than necessary.”

You both set off down the street, your pace quickening as you make your way toward the car. The thrill of the evening has taken a turn, and now the tension between you feels electric. With every step, the danger that surrounds you only seems to amplify the connection.

As you near the car, you glance at Nicholas, your heart pounding with more than just fear. “What happens next?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turns to you, his gaze intense. “We’ll regroup and figure out our next move. But we need to keep our heads down for a while. I’ll reach out to some contacts, see if they can provide any intel on Victor and his operations.”

You nod, feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety at the thought of what lies ahead. “And what about us? What if they’re always watching?”

Nicholas pauses, searching your eyes for a moment. “Then we’ll have to be smarter. We can’t let our guard down. But I promise you, once this is over, we’ll figure things out.”

His words hang in the air, a promise tinged with uncertainty. The tension between you feels thick and unyielding, a connection that transcends the chaos around you.

Just then, you reach the car, and Nicholas opens the door for you, a small gesture that feels both protective and intimate. You slip into the passenger seat, your heart racing with anticipation.

As he starts the engine, the low rumble fills the silence, and you look at him, feeling the weight of the night’s events. “No matter what happens, I’m with you,” you say, your voice firm. “We’ll face this together.”

He meets your gaze, a fire igniting in his eyes. “Together,” he agrees, a determined look crossing his features.

As he drives away from the park, you can’t help but feel a surge of adrenaline mixed with something deeper. The night has brought you closer, forged a connection through danger and intrigue, and as you navigate the dark streets, you know that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

The city lights flicker outside the window, and as you lean back in your seat, you find comfort in the thought that this was just the beginning. The game was far from over, and with Nicholas by your side, you’re ready to play.

The drive back to your apartment is filled with an unsettling silence, the weight of the night’s events hanging heavy in the air. The rhythmic thump of your heart feels louder than the engine, and each passing streetlight casts fleeting shadows across Nicholas’s face, illuminating the tense lines of determination etched there.

“Do you think Victor knows we were there?” you ask, breaking the silence as you watch him navigate the darkened streets. “What if he contacts the Syndicate?”

Nicholas tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “I don’t know, but we can’t assume he doesn’t. We need to be smarter about this. They’ll be looking for us now.”

The reality of the situation settles over you like a fog. The danger is real, and it feels as though every moment you spend together increases the stakes. You glance at Nicholas, whose jaw is set in a firm line, eyes focused on the road ahead. His intensity both excites and unnerves you, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’re both walking a razor’s edge.

Arriving at your apartment, you follow him inside, the door clicking shut behind you, muffling the noise of the outside world. You take a moment to catch your breath, still reeling from the night’s close calls. The adrenaline that had propelled you through the evening now leaves you feeling a mix of exhilaration and dread.

Nicholas moves around your living room, checking the windows and ensuring the curtains are drawn tight. “We need to lay low for a while. I’ll make some calls, and we can try to figure out our next move.”

You nod, feeling a rush of gratitude and concern. “What if they come looking for us?”

“We’ll be ready,” he says, his voice steady but firm. “But for now, I need you to trust me. I’ll keep you safe.”

His words send a ripple of warmth through you, mingled with fear. You’ve never been in a situation like this, but as you look at him, you realize that your trust in him has grown deeper than you anticipated. There’s something about his fierce determination that draws you in, making you feel a sense of security amidst the chaos.

“Can I help?” you ask, moving closer to him. “I want to do something, not just sit and wait.”

He glances at you, surprise flickering in his eyes. “You’re already helping just by being here. But if you’re serious, I could use your perspective. We need to figure out how much Victor knows and who he might be working with.”

You nod, determination surging through you. “Okay, let’s brainstorm. I might have some ideas.”

As you sit on the couch, Nicholas joins you, his body angled toward yours. The tension in the air shifts, morphing into something different, charged with an undercurrent of attraction that seems to grow with every passing moment.

You take a deep breath, willing yourself to focus. “First, we need to think about how he found out we were at the gala. Did anyone see us together?”

Nicholas shakes his head, his brow furrowed in thought. “I don’t know. But he must have had someone watching. That means we have to be careful who we trust.”

His gaze is intense, and you can feel the heat between you rising as the conversation deepens. You want to reach out, to close the distance that feels both electrifying and overwhelming.

“Do you think there’s a mole?” you ask, attempting to steer the conversation back to safer ground, though the awareness of the attraction lingers.

“Maybe. Someone close enough to us to gather information. I’ll need to make some calls to my contacts to see if they’ve heard anything,” he replies, but his eyes linger on you a moment longer than necessary.

Just then, your phone buzzes on the coffee table, interrupting the charged moment. You glance down at the screen, your heart dropping as you see a message from a familiar name: Mia.

Mia: I’ve been trying to reach you. Are you okay?

The worry in her message pulls you back to reality, the reminder of your life outside this whirlwind of danger. You hesitate, feeling the pull of your normal life but knowing you can’t share the truth with her.

“I need to respond to Mia,” you say, your voice slightly strained.

Nicholas nods, his expression serious. “Be careful. Don’t share too much.”

You pick up the phone and quickly type back, trying to keep your response vague.

You: I’m fine, just busy with work. Can’t talk now. I’ll call you later.

You hit send, but the knot in your stomach remains. The betrayal of keeping secrets from your closest friend gnaws at you. You look up to see Nicholas watching you intently.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his tone softening slightly.

“I’m just… worried about Mia. She’s my best friend. I don’t want to put her in danger,” you admit, the weight of your concern spilling out.

Nicholas shifts closer, the space between you growing smaller. “I get it. But right now, your safety is what matters. If Victor is looking for us, then anyone close to you is at risk too.”

You nod, swallowing hard. The reality of the danger sinks in further. “I understand. I just feel so trapped in this situation.”

“Just remember, we’re in this together,” he reassures you, his gaze steady and fierce. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The sincerity in his words ignites a spark inside you. You want to believe him, to trust that he will keep you safe. But as you study his face, the shadows of the night reflect in his eyes, revealing the weight he carries. There’s something deeper in his gaze—something raw and vulnerable that makes your heart race.

“Thank you,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “That means a lot to me.”

He leans in closer, the heat radiating between you palpable. “I don’t want you to worry about anything else. Just focus on us.”

The way he says it sends shivers down your spine, igniting a fire of desire that had been simmering beneath the surface. You can feel the electric tension drawing you closer, the lines between safety and attraction blurring as you find yourself caught in his gaze.

“Us,” you repeat, the word heavy with meaning. The air thickens with anticipation as you inch closer, the urge to bridge the gap overwhelming.

Then, in a sudden rush of boldness, you reach out, fingers brushing against his hand. The contact sends sparks shooting through you, and you can’t help but lean in slightly, drawn by an invisible force.

“Do you ever think about what happens after this?” you ask, your voice shaky yet steady.

Nicholas’s breath hitches slightly, and for a moment, he looks caught off guard. “I do. But right now, we have to stay focused. We can’t let our emotions get in the way.”

His words sting, but you understand the need for caution. “You’re right. But it doesn’t change what I feel.”

He studies you for a moment before responding, “What do you feel?”

You take a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. “I feel like there’s something between us. Something more than just… this.”

Nicholas leans in, his voice low. “And what do you want to do about it?”

You bite your lip, your eyes locked onto his. “I want to explore it. I want to know where this could go.”

“Are you sure about this?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

He nods, closing the distance between you. “More than anything.”

His lips find yours in a soft, exploring kiss. Your hands roam his back, pulling him closer. The kiss deepens, tongues meeting and dancing in a tantalizing rhythm. You moan softly, your body pressing against his.

Nicholas trails kisses down your neck, his hands exploring your curves. You arch your back, a soft gasp escaping your lips. “You taste incredible,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse with desire.

He leads you to the bedroom, where the soft glow of a lamp casts shadows on the walls. You stand before him, your breath coming in quick gasps. He reaches out, his fingers gently tracing the line of your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. You shiver under his touch, your body aching for more.

He unbuttons your shirt slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. You help him, shrugging it off your shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. His hands cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra. You let out a soft moan, your head tilting back.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his hands moving to unhook your bra. You step out of it, standing before him completely bare from the waist up. His eyes darken with desire, and you can feel the heat of his gaze on your skin.

You reach for his shirt, your fingers trembling slightly as you unbutton it. He helps you, pulling it off and tossing it aside. Your hands run over his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath your touch. He groans softly, his hips pressing against you.

You can feel his erection through his pants, and it sends a jolt of excitement through you. You unbuckle his belt, your hands fumbling slightly in your eagerness. He kicks off his shoes, and you help him out of his pants and boxers.

He stands before you, naked and aroused. You take a moment to appreciate the sight of him, your eyes roaming over his body. He smiles, a slow, sexy smile that makes your heart race.

You guide him to the bed, lying down next to him. Your hands explore his body, tracing the lines of his muscles, the soft skin of his inner thighs. He groans softly, his hips moving against yours.

You reach down, wrapping your hand around his cock. It’s hard and hot in your hand, pulsing with his heartbeat. You stroke him slowly, your thumb brushing over the tip. He lets out a soft moan, his hips bucking slightly.

“You feel amazing,” he breathes, his hands roaming your body. He cups your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple. You arch your back, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

He rolls you onto your back, his body covering yours. His lips find yours in a deep, passionate kiss. You can feel his cock pressing against your entrance, and you lift your hips, inviting him in.

He enters you slowly, inch by inch, his eyes locked onto yours. You let out a soft moan, your nails digging into his back. “You feel so good,” he whispers, his voice hoarse with desire.

He starts to move, his hips thrusting against yours. You wrap your legs around his waist, your body moving in sync with his. The room fills with the soft sounds of your lovemaking, the wet smack of skin against skin, the soft moans and gasps of pleasure.

“Faster,” you whisper, your body aching for more. He complies, his thrusts becoming harder, faster. You can feel the pleasure building inside you, your body tensing with anticipation.

“Yes, right there,” you moan, your hips meeting his. He leans down, his lips capturing one of your nipples. You cry out, your body convulsing with pleasure.

He continues to thrust, his body slick with sweat. You can feel the orgasm building, your body tensing with each thrust. “I’m close,” you gasp, your nails digging into his back.

He groans, his body tensing with you. “Me too,” he whispers, his voice ragged.

You come together, your bodies shuddering with the force of your release. You cling to each other, your bodies slick with sweat, your hearts pounding in sync.

He rolls onto his back, pulling you with him. You lie there, your bodies intertwined, your breaths slowly returning to normal. You look into his eyes, a soft smile playing on your lips.

“That was…” you start, but the words fail you.

He smiles, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. “Incredible,” he finishes for you.

But just then, the ringing of your phone breaks the moment, and you both startle. You glance at the screen, your heart sinking as you see another incoming message, this time from an unknown number.

Unknown: We know where you are. You can’t hide forever.

Panic grips you as you look up at Nicholas, whose expression shifts from calm to alert in an instant. “What does it say?” he demands, his voice low and tense.

You swallow hard, the words echoing in your mind. “It’s from someone who knows where I am. They’re… they’re watching us.”

Nicholas’s eyes blaze with intensity, the protective instincts surging back to the surface. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

Your heart races as you stand, urgency flooding your veins. “What do we do?”

“Grab your things. We’re moving,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

[aventurineswife]

Hi! Could you make a fallen angel-like reader(similar to a halovian) with Aventurine, Sampo and Dan heng please?

-🩵

“You're my fallen angel in the dark”

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Emotional Vulnerability, Slow Burn(?), Fluff and Angst, Gentle Romance.

Warnings: Mentions of Past Trauma, Themes of Isolation and Loneliness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Gambling and Risk-Taking (Aventurine), Light Tension and Danger.

In the dim light of his office, you leaned back on the sleek leather couch, wings folded gently as Aventurine sat across from you, his vibrant eyes fixed on you with that familiar playful spark. The soft glow of city lights framed his figure, lending an almost ethereal hue to his features.

"So, tell me," Aventurine leaned forward, fingers steepled, "what does an angel from the heavens need in a place like this? Surely you aren’t here to save me."

A smirk tugged at your lips. "Maybe I thought you could use a little saving, Aventurine."

He chuckled, the sound rich and smooth, like a well-aged vintage. "Oh, I’m a lost cause, trust me." His tone was light, but you sensed the depth behind it—the carefully guarded wounds he hid behind his charm and wit. As you brushed your hand across the roulette detail on his coat, you noticed his breath hitch, just for a moment.

"But perhaps…you’re not," you murmured, brushing a feather along his hand, sending a ripple of warmth over his cold skin. Aventurine’s hand slipped into yours, fingers interlocking as his eyes held yours. His usually mischievous demeanor softened, vulnerability slipping through the cracks.

"Maybe," he said, his voice softer now, "just maybe. But I think if anyone could change my mind… it might be you."

In that moment, you saw through his mask, felt his hand squeeze yours just a little tighter. And for once, Aventurine felt like more than just the gambler he pretended to be.

The streets were bustling with noise and color as Sampo sauntered beside you, his bright green eyes glinting with his usual playful mischief. You cast a cautious glance his way, aware of his reputation, but something about him—perhaps that underlying sense of survival and charm—had drawn you in, despite your better judgment.

"So," he drawled, nudging you with a grin, "an angel with clipped wings, huh? Seems we’ve got something in common, don’t you think? Both of us can’t quite keep our feet out of trouble."

You chuckled, rolling your eyes as you noticed his hand slide a little too close to your coin pouch. “Funny you’d say that,” you replied, catching his wrist. “Though I think you’re more of the rogue variety than the fallen kind.”

“Guilty as charged.” He shrugged with a shameless grin, freeing his hand but remaining close, as though walking away was the last thing on his mind.

Curiosity sparked within you as you leaned closer, wings shifting around you both like a cloak. “What if I told you I could offer you something better than coins or trinkets?”

“Is that so?” He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “And what’s that, my angel?”

You took his hand, feeling his pulse quicken beneath your fingers. “Trust, Sampo. Someone who sees through the act.”

For the first time, his laughter faltered, and he stared at you with an expression you’d never seen before—a mix of awe and hesitation. “Careful now, sweetheart,” he whispered, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “You might just get more than you bargained for.”

It was a quiet night on the Astral Express. The stars glowed softly outside the window as you stood beside Dan Heng, wings folded behind you, as silent as the mystery that shrouded him. He glanced over, his blue eyes momentarily meeting yours before he returned his gaze to the starry void.

"I’m not quite sure why you’re here," he murmured, his voice low and reflective. "A place like this… doesn’t seem suited for a celestial being like you."

A soft smile touched your lips as you moved closer, reaching out to brush his hand with yours, gentle and cautious. “Fallen, not celestial,” you corrected. “I lost my way a long time ago.”

He looked at you, and in his gaze, you saw the reflection of his own scars, the history he carried but rarely shared. “And yet, you don’t seem lost,” he said. “You have… a presence.”

You chuckled softly, wings shifting. “I think we have more in common than you realize, Dan Heng. We’re both haunted by what we’ve lost, both searching for something we can’t quite name.”

Dan Heng’s gaze softened, and he allowed himself the smallest, rarest of smiles. “Maybe. But you… have given me something I didn’t think I’d find again.”

You met his gaze, feeling a warmth bloom between you as he reached out, his hand resting against your shoulder—a silent promise, a shared understanding. And there, under the glow of the stars, you knew that neither of you were as alone as you once thought.

[sweetestcaptainhughes]

Ooh for your drabble challenge:

125. “Quit moving, I’m trying to sleep. Wait...are you...what?!”

Angsty!! -> 🙈 and with Nico Hischier. Please and thank you! 🩵

ooo of course I love writing some angst and I don't ever remember writing angst for Nico yet... I am truly sorry this took me an embarrassing amount of days to answer. 😔Also this turned out so much longer than I thought it would but I kind of like the background I gave the prompt.

Drabble Challenge. Drabble Masterlist.

"Quit moving, I'm trying to sleep. Wait... are you... what?!"

Sharing a bed with Nico Hischier was not something you were planning on doing when you agreed to go on this weekend getaway with your best friend. But little did you know that everyone but you and Nico were the only two single people in the group. Of course they only room left in the house in your air bnb by the time you got there was a makeshift office with a small twin bed in the corner. So now here you were sharing a bed with Nico, who just so happened to be your friend's partner's best friend who also happened to your ex-boyfriend.

Once you both made it into the tiny office/spare bedroom, immediately the words left your mouth, "Uh I can sleep on the coach in living room downstairs." Already turning around with your hand still on your luggage as you start to turn around but Nico lightly grabs your arm to stop you.

"Stop, You're not sleeping down there Y/N that room is full of windows and the light will wake you up tomorrow morning or literally anyone going to the bathroom in the middle of the night." His voice soft, almost pleading for you not to leave him in this room by himself.

Sighing deeply, closing your eyes for a few seconds the exhaustion of traveling creeping in on you slowly, all you were craving was somewhere to sleep. "Fine." you grunt, taking a deep breath you continue. "I'll sleep on the floor in here."

After being with him, you can translate the curse words that leave his mouth in Swiss German. Something along the lines of 'goddamn me, bullshit.'

"So what's your idea then?" The irritation clear in your voice.

"I am not letting you sleep on the floor Y/N/N." His voice more defined from earlier, the stubbornness clear in his voice now. You can physically see him take a shaky breath as his voice cracks due to nerves as he suggests "We can share a bed?"

Finally making eye contact with him for the first time since entering the room, your face full of shock at his suggestion. But all you see starring back at you is his soft big brown eyes begging you to stay. "It's a twin Neeks." you whisper suddenly scared of making your voice any louder.

"I know. But were both tired and we don't have any other options. Can we just go to bed please." he begs lightly reaching for your hand and it was as if as soon as his hand lightly creased yours, you were back in time to six months ago before you both decided you needed space because neither of you had time due to your careers to be in a committed relationship. And in that moment, you felt your heart break a little and your pulse quicken. "Please baby." Nico begged the nickname rolling of his tongue so naturally, your not even sure if he heard it himself.

But in an attempt to protect yourself you find your arguing even though your voice was above a whisper as you close your eyes. "We have other options Nico. You just don't like them." Opening them again after a few seconds you meet his face again and you knew there was no other option, you were about to share a twin size bed with your 6'1 ex boyfriend Nico. "okay." you admit in defeat, you swear for a second you saw a smile on his lips as he slowly pulls you to the bed and climbs in first putting his back against the wall, laying on his side.

It wasn't an ideal situation, deciding it was best to let lay on your side facing away from Nico trying not to touch him despite having no space. Apparently Nico had different plans when you felt his arms circle around your waist pulling you so your back was flesh to his chest. He did it so fast, as i it was second nature, an instinct taking over. Nico was asleep in no time, he use to claim he always was with you in his arms, and you could tell he was asleep by the little breaths he was leaving on the back of your shoulder where his head was tucked down. Sadly for you, sleep didn't come as easily it was if your brain and your heart were having an internal battle on what was happening. Trying not to focus on how safe you felt being back in his arms because this was a one night thing, trying to remind yourself the reality of the situation.

Somewhere around 3 AM you fell asleep, but you didn't sleep long as you look at the clock and see it was just a little after 5 AM. Your not sure if it's from Nico's body heat or just the fact of sharing such a small bed. But you felt hot and sticky all of a sudden. Trying to carefully remove Nico's arms off of you so that you could attempt to get comfortable and all fall back asleep for a few more hours. But there was no hope when you felt Nico whine behind you due to the movement.

"Quit moving, I'm trying to sleep." he whined pulling you closer and shifting back to both of your orginial sleeping position. In an insenence Nico felt it his entire body stiffened and opened his eyes in fear begging that you won't say anything about his morning wood but his fear was coming true when you asked.

"Wait." you said trying to decide if you felt his hard cock poking into your lower back or if you were making it up, but when you were sure you knew you were right you gulped and whispered. "Nico are you?" Slowly waiting a response you knew Nico was embarrassed, he let go of your arms and tried to turn his body to face towards the wall but wasn't as fast as you. Quickly you turned around in his arms lightly grabbing his forearm and lightly whispered his name again trying to meet his eyes. "Nico, look at me."

He paused in his movements in a few seconds he slowly looked down at you and asked "what?"

"It's okay baby, I miss you too." Not sure if your words would even make sense to anyone else but you knew Nico would understand. Breaking up was the hardest thing either of you ever had to do. "Nico I miss you with every fiber of my being and I think it's kind of hot that I gave you morning wood without even trying." you smirk at him. In an instant he closed the gap between you both into a messy kiss pulling you to lay on top of him. Neither of you knew what this meant but you knew one thing, whatever the next step was both of you were doing it together.