#he simply radiated comfort the moment i saw him...

[dreamersworldduh]

HIS HOME

• CLARK KENT x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — To the world, Clark Kent is Superman—the invincible hero, Earth’s mightiest protector, and a symbol of hope and strength. He’s the one who soars through the skies, battles formidable enemies, and saves countless lives without a second thought. But to you, he’s simply Clark—the shy, kind-hearted farm boy from Smallville you’ve loved since high school.

WARNING! FLUFF. Suggestive Langauge.

WORDS! 10k

AUTHOR’S NOTE! - Here's a little fluff for my favorite farm boy, I recently watched the Superman teaser and got a little inspired.

The early morning sun began its slow, graceful ascent over the towering skyline of Metropolis, sending soft, golden rays spilling through the sheer, cream-colored curtains of Clark Kent’s cozy apartment. The delicate fabric diffused the light, casting a warm, ethereal glow across the room. The gentle illumination danced over the simple but thoughtfully chosen furnishings: a well-loved leather armchair tucked into the corner, a sturdy wooden bookshelf overflowing with novels and framed photos, and a vintage record player resting on a low cabinet—small tokens of a life built together.

Beneath a thick, plush comforter in the center of the room’s focal point—a spacious, inviting bed—Clark and his longtime boyfriend, Y/N, lay entwined in peaceful slumber. Their breaths rose and fell in a quiet, harmonious rhythm, filling the serene space with a sense of intimacy only shared by two souls deeply connected. The soft weight of the comforter enveloped them, shielding them from the crisp morning air that lingered just beyond the windowpane.

Though Y/N remained fast asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady, calming rhythm, Clark was already awake. His piercing blue eyes, usually sharp with focus and responsibility, now gleamed with tenderness as he quietly admired the man sleeping beside him. For a few precious moments, the weight of the world slipped away—no urgent headlines to chase, no distant cries for help demanding Superman’s strength—just the quiet stillness of their shared sanctuary.

Clark’s gaze lingered, tracing every familiar line and curve of Y/N’s face. His fingertips, rough from years of fighting battles no one else could, hovered just above Y/N’s skin, hesitant to disturb the peaceful spell. He followed the delicate slope of his jaw, the curve of his lips—soft and slightly upturned, as though he were dreaming of something sweet—and the dark, feathery lashes that rested gently against his cheeks. How many times had he memorized these details? How many mornings like this had he silently counted himself lucky?

Here, in this stolen moment before the world woke up, Clark was simply Clark—the man who had fallen in love with his best friend back in high school and never stopped. His heart swelled with the same overwhelming emotion he felt every time he realized he got to spend another day with the person who grounded him, made him laugh, and saw past the cape to the man beneath.

As the sun’s rays grew bolder, stretching farther into the room, the stillness was broken by the sudden, jarring beep of the alarm clock on the bedside table. Its sharp sound shattered the tranquility like glass meeting stone.

“Morning,” Clark whispered, his deep voice warm and soothing, rich with a love that couldn’t be contained. His hand gently brushed a stray lock of hair from Y/N’s forehead, his touch as tender as the sunlight now spilling across the bed.

Y/N blinked slowly, his eyelashes fluttering. He shifted slightly beneath the thick, plush comforter, its weight a soothing barrier against the crisp morning air. He could feel the solid, steady warmth radiating from Clark’s body beside him, grounding him before he even opened his eyes fully. His fingers twitched reflexively, seeking out the comforting presence he knew was there.

When Y/N’s half-lidded gaze finally focused, the first thing he saw was Clark, lying on his side, already awake. His piercing blue eyes gleamed softly, filled with a quiet intensity that made Y/N’s heart ache in the best possible way. Clark’s expression was open, vulnerable, and utterly disarming—like he was seeing something precious he still couldn’t quite believe was real, even after all these years.

A sleepy, instinctive smile tugged at the corners of Y/N’s lips. He stretched slowly, luxuriating in the warmth of the bed and the quiet stillness that lingered in the room, allowing the peaceful moment to settle over him like a familiar melody. His fingers reached up lazily, brushing away a stray lock of hair from his face before his hand drifted down to rest gently on Clark’s chest.

The steady, reassuring thrum of Clark’s heartbeat pulsed beneath Y/N’s fingertips, calm and unwavering, like the rhythm of the earth itself. He let out a contented sigh, his body relaxing further as he nestled closer, resting his head against Clark’s broad shoulder. The fabric of Clark’s soft, well-worn T-shirt felt cool against his cheek, contrasting with the warmth radiating from his skin.

“Good morning,” Y/N murmured, his voice rough with sleep but laced with tenderness. His words were barely above a whisper, soft and warm like the first light of dawn filtering through the window. His hand idly traced slow, lazy patterns across Clark’s chest—small, unconscious shapes made in quiet affection.

Clark smiled, his hand moving with gentle certainty to rest on Y/N’s lower back, his fingertips drawing soothing circles through the thin fabric of his sleep shirt. His touch was familiar yet reverent, a silent promise etched into every small caress.

Y/N’s eyes flickered toward the faint glow spilling through the window, signaling the start of another day. The world outside slowly stirred to life, but inside their shared haven, time seemed suspended—just the two of them in a bubble of warmth and love that felt untouched by the outside world.

“What time is it?” Y/N asked softly, his voice still tinged with sleep and curiosity, though there was no urgency behind the question. His fingers continued their gentle, aimless tracing, not yet ready to break the fragile stillness of the moment.

With a reluctant glance, Clark shifted his eyes toward the worn alarm clock on the nightstand. Its glowing red numbers silently ticked forward, marking the steady march of time. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he registered the hour. “It’s 7:15,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, like a quiet breeze through the still room.

Y/N groaned playfully at the answer, dragging one hand down his face in mock exasperation before propping himself up on one elbow. His hair was delightfully tousled, a few stubborn strands falling across his forehead despite his half-hearted attempt to smooth them down. “We really need to get up,” he said, though the lack of conviction in his voice betrayed him. His fingers brushed lightly against Clark’s arm, lingering there as though reluctant to break the warmth of their embrace.

Before Y/N could move any further, Clark’s strong arms tightened around his waist with effortless ease, pulling him back down into the secure circle of his embrace. His hold was firm yet tender, a perfect blend of strength and comfort, silently promising that he wasn’t ready to let Y/N go just yet.

“Not yet,” Clark whispered, his voice soft but resolute, filled with quiet intensity. His piercing blue eyes met Y/N’s with such tenderness that it made Y/N’s breath hitch for a moment. There was something profound in that gaze, something unspoken yet unmistakably clear—love, deep and unyielding.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking upward in mild amusement despite the way his heart seemed to swell in his chest. “Clark, we really should—”

“Do you know what today is?” Clark interrupted gently, his tone playful but tinged with something deeper—something meaningful. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his expression equal parts teasing and expectant.

Y/N blinked, momentarily thrown by the sudden change in conversation, before a quiet laugh bubbled up from his chest. He let his forehead rest gently against Clark’s for a moment, savoring the warmth of their closeness, before pulling back just far enough to meet his eyes again.

“Of course I know,” Y/N replied softly, his voice steady but colored with affection. “It’s our anniversary.”

Clark’s smile widened, his eyes shimmering with something unmistakably radiant, though there was still a spark of playfulness there. He shook his head slightly, brushing his thumb tenderly over Y/N’s cheek, letting his fingers trail gently down to his jawline. His touch was reverent, as if the moment itself were fragile and precious.

“Not just any anniversary,” Clark corrected, his voice dipping lower, resonant with emotion. “It’s our ten-year anniversary.” His expression shifted into something more serious, almost reverent, as though the weight of a decade spent together was something sacred—something he still couldn’t quite believe he was lucky enough to have.

Y/N’s eyes widened briefly, a flicker of surprise softening into something far deeper, warmer. His lips parted as if to respond, but instead, he simply cupped Clark’s face with both hands, his thumbs tracing gentle, familiar lines along his jaw. His touch was slow, deliberate—a silent answer filled with love and devotion.

“Ten years,” Y/N echoed, letting the words hang between them like a whispered vow. His voice was quiet but steady, thick with emotion. “I can’t believe it’s been that long.”

Clark’s expression softened further, his smile turning just a little more playful as he leaned forward, pressing a lingering, feather-light kiss to Y/N’s forehead. His lips lingered there, warm and reassuring, before pulling back just enough to meet Y/N’s gaze again.

“And I’m not letting you out of this bed until we properly celebrate…” Clark whispered, his voice low and teasing but laced with unmistakable sincerity. His arms tightened just a fraction, drawing Y/N even closer. “…Starting right now.”

Y/N laughed softly, his eyes sparkling with both affection and amusement. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice light but affectionate, fingers still tracing slow, loving patterns across Clark’s chest.

Clark only smiled, leaning in to press another kiss—this time soft and lingering—against Y/N’s lips, sealing the promise between them with quiet certainty.

Y/N pulled away, letting out a soft breathy laugh, his lips curving into a playful smirk as he rested his hand gently on Clark’s chest. Beneath his fingertips, he could feel the steady, familiar rhythm of Clark’s heartbeat—strong, unyielding, and comforting in a way that felt like home. His fingers absently traced small, lazy circles over the fabric of Clark’s worn T-shirt, savoring the warmth radiating from his skin.

His eyes sparkled with affection, though there was a teasing edge in his voice as he arched an eyebrow. “Clark,” he murmured, his tone light but laced with mock sternness, “if we celebrate right now, neither one of us is going to make it to work on time.”

Clark chuckled, his deep, resonant laugh filling the room like a warm embrace. It was the kind of laugh that made Y/N’s heart swell, as familiar and comforting as the dawn’s first light. His smile widened into that boyish, slightly mischievous grin Y/N had fallen in love with all those years ago—a grin that still made his knees weak even after a decade together.

“You make a compelling point,” Clark admitted with mock seriousness, though the mischievous glint in his eyes betrayed him. His gaze softened as he took in every beloved detail of Y/N’s face—the curve of his cheek, the sparkle in his eyes, the way his lips quirked in that teasing smile that always left Clark feeling utterly captivated.

Before Y/N could fire back with a witty retort, Clark moved with effortless grace, gently shifting his weight as he rolled over, pinning Y/N beneath him in one fluid motion. His strong arms braced on either side of Y/N’s head, caging him in—but his touch was tender, protective, filled with nothing but love. Y/N gasped softly in surprise, though his eyes gleamed with amusement and affection.

Clark leaned down until their faces were mere inches apart, his breath warm against Y/N’s skin. His gaze never wavered, tracing every familiar feature with reverence, as though memorizing them all over again.

“I guess I could try to be responsible…” Clark whispered, his voice dropping into that low, velvety tone that always sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine, “…but where’s the fun in that?”

Before Y/N could respond—or even fully process the words—Clark dipped his head and captured his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. His mouth moved with unhurried purpose, savoring the connection as though time itself had ceased to matter. The kiss was deep but tender, filled with emotion that words could never quite capture.

Y/N’s breath hitched as Clark’s warm lips trailed away from his, leaving a path of feather-light kisses along his jawline. Clark’s mouth lingered just below Y/N’s ear—his most sensitive spot—his breath sending pleasant tingles down his spine. His lips brushed gently against Y/N’s neck, pressing soft, deliberate kisses that ignited a warmth deep within him.

A quiet, breathless laugh escaped Y/N’s lips as he arched into Clark’s touch, threading his fingers through Clark’s thick, dark hair. He tugged gently, earning a soft, pleased hum from Clark that resonated against his skin. “You’re impossible,” Y/N whispered, though his voice trembled with love, his words holding no real bite.

Clark pulled back just enough to meet Y/N’s gaze, his expression soft but still tinged with playful defiance. His piercing blue eyes sparkled with warmth, love, and something far deeper—something timeless. “Ten years,” he murmured, brushing his thumb gently across Y/N’s cheek, his touch reverent and tender. “I think we’ve earned a little celebration… even if we’re a bit late.”

Y/N laughed again, shaking his head in mock exasperation, though he made no effort to move away—he never could when Clark held him like this, when he looked at him like he was the most precious thing in the world. His heart swelled with overwhelming affection, threatening to burst from the sheer intensity of it all.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Y/N whispered softly, his voice thick with emotion as he tugged Clark down into another kiss—slow, deep, and full of all the love and devotion he couldn’t put into words.

Clark’s grin widened against Y/N’s lips, his expression radiating pure joy. “I know,” he whispered playfully, echoing the familiar words that had been exchanged between them countless times—but now, they held a deeper, more profound meaning.

In that moment, nothing else existed—no alarms, no deadlines, no responsibilities. Just the quiet, steady rhythm of their shared breath, the warmth of their intertwined bodies, and a love that had endured a decade and promised to last a lifetime.

By 8:15 a.m., the quiet intimacy of the early morning had dissolved into the familiar rhythm of Clark and Y/N’s weekday routine. The warmth of their shared bed now felt like a distant memory as they moved through their cozy apartment with practiced ease, the comfortable chaos of a typical workday morning unfolding around them.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mingling with the crisp aroma of toasted bread and the faint trace of Clark’s cologne lingering in the hallway. The kitchen was alive with quiet energy—drawers opening, shoes being slipped on, phones buzzing with notifications. The distant hum of Metropolis traffic outside was a constant, blending into the comforting sounds of home.

Clark stood at the kitchen counter, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie still undone around his neck. He poured steaming coffee into two familiar mugs—one emblazoned with the bold “Daily Planet” logo, and the other featuring a playful “World’s Best Partner” design, a sentimental gift from Y/N on their fifth anniversary. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, steady and sure, as though even the smallest tasks carried a quiet significance in their shared life.

“Babe, have you seen my laptop charger?” Y/N’s voice called from the bedroom, tinged with mild urgency. His words were punctuated by the sound of drawers sliding open and the soft rustle of clothes being shifted around.

Clark couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head fondly as he set the coffee mugs on the kitchen table. “Check the shelf by the desk!” he called back, his voice warm and familiar. In one smooth motion, he looped his tie into a perfect Windsor knot, fingers moving with expert precision—years of balancing superhero duties and tight Daily Planet deadlines had honed his multitasking skills to near perfection.

Moments later, Y/N emerged from the bedroom, holding his laptop charger triumphantly like a prize. His collar was only half-buttoned, his sleeves still unrolled, but he already looked every bit the driven professional Clark had admired from the moment they’d worked side by side as young interns. His hair was slightly tousled, still settling after a rushed comb-through, making him impossibly endearing.

“Found it!” Y/N announced with mock triumph, flashing Clark a cheeky grin as he hurried toward the kitchen. He grabbed his “World’s Best Partner” mug from the table and took a long, appreciative sip, savoring the warmth that seeped into his fingertips. A contented sigh escaped his lips. “You’re a lifesaver,” he said with sincere gratitude, the corners of his eyes crinkling with affection.

Clark smirked, leaning casually against the counter, arms folded across his chest. “I try,” he teased lightly, though his gaze softened as he watched Y/N sip his coffee, soaking in the familiar comfort of their shared morning ritual. It was in these small, ordinary moments that Clark felt the fullness of their life together—steady, warm, real.

Y/N gave a quick glance at the microwave clock—8:17 a.m. They were cutting it close but still technically on time if they hustled. He grabbed his well-worn messenger bag from the back of a kitchen chair and slung it over his shoulder with practiced ease. “Let’s roll,” he said with determined resolve, already mentally running through the day’s to-do list.

Just as Y/N reached for the door, Clark’s fingers gently brushed against his wrist, halting him with a soft touch. “Hey,” Clark murmured, his voice lower now, edged with something deeper.

Y/N turned, brow raised in curious question. His expression softened as he met Clark’s gaze, recognizing the quiet emotion shimmering in those piercing blue eyes.

Clark’s smile shifted into something far more tender, his earlier playfulness replaced by sincerity. “Happy ten-year anniversary,” he whispered, his voice rich with meaning, as though he still couldn’t quite believe how lucky he was to be standing there, sharing this life with the person he loved.

Y/N’s expression melted instantly, the rush of the morning forgotten. He leaned in, cradling Clark’s face gently in his hands, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. The world outside seemed to pause, leaving only the warmth of their shared breath and the quiet rhythm of their hearts beating in sync.

“Happy anniversary,” Y/N whispered back, his tone filled with unwavering love. His fingers lingered against Clark’s jaw for just a moment longer, as though reluctant to let the moment end.

With one last shared smile—intimate, knowing—they turned toward the door, ready to face whatever challenges the bustling city had in store. Whatever the day might bring, they would face it together—just as they always had, and always would.

Clark stepped through the revolving doors of the bustling Daily Planet building, adjusting his signature glasses out of habit as he took in the familiar symphony of the newsroom’s organized chaos. The air buzzed with the electric energy of a new workday—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, and conversations overlapping as reporters exchanged leads and debated headlines. The faint scent of fresh ink and brewed coffee lingered in the air, a constant reminder of the newsroom’s relentless pace.

A small, contented smile tugged at Clark’s lips as he strode across the polished marble floor, his polished shoes clicking softly against the tile. He felt right at home here, even after years of balancing the double life of award-winning journalist and Earth’s greatest protector. Still, even amid the familiar hustle, his mind lingered on the peaceful morning he’d shared with Y/N—the warmth of their shared coffee, the lingering kiss at the door, the whispered “Happy anniversary” that still echoed softly in his heart.

He was halfway to his desk when he found his path blocked—ambushed, really—by two familiar figures: Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen, his closest friends and trusted partners in journalistic crime. Lois stood with her arms crossed, eyebrows raised in playful expectation, while Jimmy hovered just behind her, his ever-present camera slung over his shoulder like he was ready to document something groundbreaking.

“Alright, Kent,” Lois announced with a sly smirk, tilting her head in that knowing way she always did when she was on the verge of uncovering something. “What’s the plan?”

Clark blinked, momentarily thrown off by her question. He adjusted his glasses again, a reflex whenever he felt caught off guard. “Plan? What plan?” he asked, brow furrowing in genuine confusion.

Jimmy let out an exaggerated scoff, stepping forward with wide-eyed disbelief. “The plan, Clark!” he urged dramatically. “Don’t tell me you forgot! It’s your ten-year anniversary with Y/N today!”

Clark’s eyes widened ever so slightly, though he quickly schooled his expression into one of practiced calm. “Wait—how do you two know about that?” he asked, his voice tinged with mild suspicion but tempered by curiosity.

Lois rolled her eyes, her smirk widening. “Please,” she said with mock disdain. “I’m a journalist, Clark. It’s literally my job to know things.”

Jimmy nodded enthusiastically, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “And I’m, like, super observant. You’ve had that goofy, ‘I’m-so-in-love’ look plastered all over your face for days.” He gestured dramatically around the newsroom. “It’s practically headline news at this point.”

Clark couldn’t help but chuckle despite himself, shaking his head. “You two are unbelievable.”

Lois stepped closer, her sharp eyes softening just a fraction, though the spark of mischief never left. “Seriously, though,” she said with a bit more warmth, “you do have something special planned, right? Ten years isn’t just any anniversary.”

For a brief moment, Clark’s mind drifted to the small velvet box tucked securely in the inner pocket of his coat—the one he’d been carefully keeping out of sight all morning. The memory of its weight was reassuring, grounding him in the quiet certainty of what the evening would bring.

“Let’s just say…” Clark began slowly, his lips curving into a knowing smile, “…I might have a few surprises up my sleeve.”

Jimmy let out a dramatic gasp, clearly intrigued, while Lois arched an approving eyebrow. “Now this is a story I’m dying to see unfold,” she quipped, already imagining the possibilities.

Clark chuckled, brushing past them toward his desk. “You’ll just have to wait and see,” he called over his shoulder. “No spoilers… even for journalists.”

Lois smirked knowingly while Jimmy fist-pumped in silent excitement, already speculating wildly about what Clark’s “surprise” might be. The newsroom’s steady hum continued around them, deadlines and breaking news still demanding attention—but for a brief moment, Clark allowed himself to savor the quiet anticipation bubbling within him.

Tonight would be more than just a milestone—it would be the start of something even greater. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Y/N’s face when he finally revealed what he’d been planning for weeks… and slipped that ring onto his finger.

The day carried on as usual—but for Clark, the countdown to that perfect, long-awaited moment had already begun.

The streets of Metropolis teemed with life far below as Superman soared effortlessly through the crisp morning sky, his iconic red cape billowing behind him like a banner of hope. The sharp edges of the city’s glass-and-steel skyline glinted in the morning sun, casting streaks of light across the bustling streets below. His keen eyes swept across the familiar cityscape, ever watchful, always ready.

The city pulsed with its usual symphony—honking car horns, hurried conversations, the rhythmic clang of construction equipment, and the distant chatter of morning radio shows drifting from open windows. The steady thrum of Metropolis’ indomitable spirit surrounded him, grounding him even as he hovered hundreds of feet above. To anyone else, it might have been overwhelming—chaotic—but to Clark, it was the heartbeat of home.

He had just finished assisting the Metropolis Fire Department with a hazardous warehouse fire down by the docks. The acrid scent of smoke still clung faintly to his uniform, though the crisis was long resolved. He allowed himself a rare moment of pause, suspended in the sky, arms crossed, his cape trailing like a protective shield over the city he’d sworn to protect.

Then something familiar tugged at his senses.

Cutting through the tangled web of urban noise, a voice—distinct, beloved—filtered clearly into his super-sensitive hearing.

Y/N’s voice.

Clark’s breath hitched as he stilled mid-air, hanging weightless against the wind. His sharp focus zeroed in instantly, his hearing filtering out the static of the city until only that familiar voice remained. His heart clenched with longing and quiet relief.

He traced the sound to the upper floors of a gleaming high-rise in the heart of downtown—the unmistakable, foreboding silhouette of LexCorp Tower, its sharp edges and mirrored surface reflecting the cold morning light. The sight alone made his jaw tighten, tension rippling through his frame. No matter how many years passed, Lex Luthor’s presence in Metropolis remained a constant thorn in his side.

But then Y/N spoke again, and Clark’s protective instincts flared.

“Yes, Mr. Luthor… I’ll have that report on your desk by noon,” Y/N said, his voice steady and professional, though Clark detected the faintest trace of exhaustion beneath his practiced tone. “I’ve already confirmed the logistics team’s data… Yes, sir, I’m double-checking it now.”

Clark exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. He could see Y/N in his mind’s eye—sitting at his immaculately organized desk, surrounded by gleaming tech and cool, polished steel decor, the harsh blue glow of holographic displays casting soft light over his face. His back would be straight, his sharp, tailored blazer fitting perfectly across his shoulders—a detail Y/N always insisted was necessary to “look the part.”

Clark’s chest warmed with quiet pride. Despite his unease about LexCorp—a company built on moral ambiguity and dangerous ambition—he knew Y/N. Driven, capable, relentless in his pursuit of success, yet unfailingly kind. He trusted Y/N implicitly.

Lex Luthor, on the other hand…

Clark frowned, his protective instincts prickling. Even now, he couldn’t entirely banish the concern that came with knowing Y/N worked within arm’s reach of one of the world’s most dangerous men. He strained to listen for anything out of place—any shift in Y/N’s voice, any hint of tension—but all he heard was focused professionalism.

Then, suddenly, Y/N’s voice softened—barely above a murmur—as though he believed himself to be completely alone. His tone turned warmer, more personal.

“…And maybe after work, I can figure out how to surprise you for once, Clark…”

Clark’s breath caught.

There was the faint rustling of papers, followed by a quiet, almost wistful chuckle that tugged at his heart.

“Ten years… Can you believe it?” Y/N whispered, almost as though speaking only to himself.

Clark’s expression melted into something achingly tender, a quiet warmth blooming in his chest that even the cold steel of LexCorp couldn’t diminish. For just a moment, he allowed himself this stolen glimpse into Y/N’s day—a reminder of the life they’d built together, of love that had endured through battles, secrets, and the challenges of his double life.

He hovered there, suspended in the stillness of the morning sky, wrapped in the memory of Y/N’s voice and the unspoken promise threaded through those words.

Then, from several blocks away, a sudden wail of police sirens split the air, snapping him back to reality. His gaze hardened instantly, his senses shifting back into sharp focus. The city needed him again.

But before he shot off into the wind, he cast one final, lingering glance toward the gleaming spire of LexCorp Tower, his voice a whispered promise meant only for the wind to carry:

“I love you, too.”

And then, in a streak of red and blue, he vanished into the sky—ready to protect the city he called home, and the man he loved more than anything.

The familiar creak of the front door closing echoed softly through the stillness of the cozy apartment. Clark Kent stepped inside, his broad shoulders relaxing as he shrugged off his thick, charcoal-gray overcoat. He smoothed out its fabric with practiced care before hanging it on the brass hook by the entryway, a small detail Y/N had insisted on installing when they first moved in together. The air smelled faintly of lavender and vanilla from a gently flickering candle on the bookshelf, mixing with the warm, inviting scent of home-cooked meals from memories past.

The apartment was bathed in a soft, golden glow from the dimmed overhead lights and the warm sparkle of fairy lights strung along the window. Framed photographs of shared adventures lined the walls—a snapshot from their first vacation, candid moments from friends’ weddings, and even a picture of Clark holding a grinning Y/N on his shoulders at a summer fair.

But tonight wasn’t just another ordinary evening. It was their ten-year anniversary, a milestone woven with laughter, challenges, and countless moments of quiet, steadfast love. Tonight, Clark intended to mark that journey in a way neither of them would ever forget.

With steady deliberation, he reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and carefully retrieved a small, velvet-covered box. He set it down gently on the cool marble countertop, as though the magnitude of what it held weighed heavier than any feat he had ever accomplished as Superman. His thumb brushed over the soft fabric of the box, tracing its edges with reverence. Inside rested a simple, timeless ring—delicate yet strong, much like the bond he shared with Y/N. He had spent months searching for the perfect piece, envisioning the way it would look on Y/N’s finger every step of the way.

Drawing a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and gently closed the box. The evening wasn’t going to prepare itself. He rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, exposing his strong forearms, and turned toward the kitchen. Fresh ingredients were laid out precisely as he had planned—Y/N’s favorite meal, every detail considered down to the garnish.

Moments later, Clark turned his attention to the living room, the heart of their shared memories. It was a space shaped by comfort and familiarity, where countless evenings had been spent wrapped in warmth and laughter. He moved with quiet purpose, selecting a small stack of their favorite movies from the shelf—classic comedies that never failed to make them laugh, heartfelt dramas that always left them holding each other a little tighter, and those feel-good romances they could recite line for line. He placed the DVDs neatly on the rustic wooden coffee table, arranging them just so, knowing Y/N would smile the moment they saw them.

Draped over the back of their well-loved couch was a thick, cozy blanket—soft, worn, and infused with memories of lazy Sundays and late-night cuddles. He smoothed out its folds, making sure it was within easy reach for when the night wound down, when dinner was just a memory, and only the quiet comfort of each other remained. A few plump, overstuffed pillows rested at each end of the couch, inviting and familiar.

The soft glow of the fairy lights strung along the window added a magical warmth to the room, their tiny bulbs twinkling like distant stars. On the coffee table, he placed a wooden tray holding two mugs—one ready for hot cocoa, the other for Y/N’s favorite tea, complete with a small jar of honey. A delicate ceramic bowl filled with chocolate-covered almonds—Y/N’s guilty pleasure—completed the thoughtful setup. Every detail was intentional, a reflection of the countless quiet nights they had shared in this very space.

But even as the living room felt ready, Clark couldn’t shake the sense that something was still missing.

He stepped back into the kitchen, enveloped once more by the inviting aroma of the special meal he’d worked so carefully to prepare. The rich scent of seared steak lingered in the air, mingling with the creamy, garlicky aroma of the mashed potatoes he’d whipped until they were impossibly smooth and buttery. The sautéed vegetables—green beans with a light char, caramelized baby carrots glistening with honey, and earthy mushrooms kissed with rosemary—were arranged in a serving dish, their vibrant colors promising comfort and warmth with every bite.

On the stovetop, the red wine sauce had reduced to perfection, its velvety richness gleaming as Clark gave it one last stir. The deep, complex fragrance of simmering shallots, garlic, and wine filled the room, tempting him to taste—but he resisted. This was for Y/N.

His gaze drifted to the marble countertop, where the decadent chocolate mousse cake he had picked up from their favorite bakery waited like the final act of a perfect evening. Its glossy, dark chocolate surface shimmered under the soft kitchen lights, adorned with delicate curls of bittersweet chocolate and a light dusting of powdered sugar. Plump, jewel-toned raspberries rested artfully around the edges, a splash of vibrant red against the dark richness of the cake.

Satisfied with the meal, Clark moved to the small dining table near the bay window. He tugged at the edges of the crisp white tablecloth, ensuring it lay perfectly smooth. Their best dinnerware gleamed in the soft light, paired with sparkling wine glasses and polished silverware arranged with precision. He folded two linen napkins into elegant triangles, placing them neatly by each plate.

At the center of the table sat a modest yet beautiful bouquet—soft blush roses, delicate white lilies, and fragrant sprigs of eucalyptus bound together with natural twine. Their gentle scent mingled with the meal’s intoxicating aromas, adding a romantic, timeless touch. Clark adjusted the bouquet slightly, ensuring it looked effortlessly perfect.

Finally, he lit three slender ivory candles in sleek, minimalist holders. Their warm, flickering flames cast a soft, golden glow across the table, their light shimmering off the delicate crystal and creating an atmosphere of quiet elegance.

With everything in place, Clark allowed himself a moment to pause. The apartment felt magical, transformed by love and intention. Yet his eyes inevitably returned to the small velvet-covered box still resting on the counter, its deep navy surface catching the candlelight like a secret waiting to be shared.

He stepped closer, brushing his thumb once again over its soft, textured fabric. Inside lay the ring—simple yet exquisitely crafted, timeless yet personal. He could still remember the moment he had found it, knowing instantly it was the one. Strong but delicate. Elegant yet enduring. Just like what they had built together.

He imagined Y/N’s face when he saw it—his wide-eyed surprise, the way his breath might hitch, the unmistakable light that would fill his eyes when he understood what Clark was asking. The thought made Clark usually steady hands tremble just a little.

It wasn’t about the meal, the setting, or even the ring.

It was about the ten years of shared memories, of challenges faced side by side, of whispered promises in the dark, and quiet mornings filled with warmth and love. It was about their story—one already filled with so much life and meaning—but with so much more yet to be written.

And tonight, Clark Kent was ready to ask Y/N to write the rest of that story with him—forever.

With dinner prepared, the apartment glowing with warmth, and every thoughtful detail in place, Clark found himself standing in front of the hallway mirror, tugging at the collar of his white dress shirt for what felt like the tenth time. His fingers smoothed the fabric, adjusting the top button, then pausing as he reconsidered, ultimately leaving it undone for a more relaxed look.

He straightened his tie, only to frown and pull it loose again. His reflection stared back, resolute but edged with vulnerability, a flicker of nerves in his usually steady blue eyes.

With a slow, measured breath, he adjusted his glasses—pointless, really, but the familiar motion gave his restless hands something to do. The thin frames rested perfectly on the bridge of his nose, though he still fiddled with them out of habit. He braced his palms against the edge of the dresser, leaning forward, forehead nearly touching the cool surface of the mirror.

“This is fine,” he murmured, voice low but firm, as though willing himself to believe it. “You’ve faced supervillains, alien invasions… even world-ending threats.” He let out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “This is just… one question.”

But this question mattered more than anything else he’d ever done.

He exhaled slowly, centering himself, and straightened his posture, rolling his shoulders back as if preparing for battle. His reflection stared back, still strong but undeniably human—vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.

“He’s already said yes… a thousand different ways over the past ten years,” Clark whispered, almost as though speaking the words aloud would steady his heart. “This is just… making it official.”

He ran a hand through his dark, slightly tousled hair, pushing it back in a way he knew Y/N liked. His fingers lingered for a moment, brushing against his temple as he let out another breath, more controlled this time. He reached into the pocket of his dress pants and pulled out the small velvet box once again.

Flipping it open, he let his eyes rest on the ring inside—simple but elegant, timeless yet meaningful. He had chosen it with absolute certainty, picturing Y/N’s hand wearing it, imagining how it would feel to place it there himself. The thought made his chest tighten—not with fear, but with overwhelming love.

For a brief moment, the rest of the world faded away. There were no distant cries for help, no looming threats or urgent responsibilities. In this quiet space, there was only the promise of forever, contained in the small, glinting circle of gold resting in the velvet folds.

A soft, affectionate smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, chasing away the last traces of doubt. His voice, low but steady, broke the silence.

“You’ve got this, Kent.”

Just then, the familiar click of the front door unlocking echoed softly through the quiet apartment. His head snapped up, heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and joy.

Y/N was home.

Clark gently closed the ring box, slipping it back into his pocket with practiced care. His pulse quickened, but his hands were steady now. He smoothed his shirt one last time, inhaling deeply, letting the love he felt ground him.

This was the moment. The beginning of something new, built on ten years of shared memories, quiet mornings, and promises unspoken but always understood.

Y/N stepped inside of the apartment, already shrugging off his coat after a long, tiring day at work. He reached out automatically to flip the light switch, expecting the familiar glow of the overhead light—but paused, his fingers hovering in midair.

Something was different.

The apartment was already softly illuminated—not by the usual bright lights, but by the gentle, flickering glow of candles scattered throughout the living room and dining area. A delicate floral fragrance, light and fresh, mingled with the mouthwatering aroma of something savory and richly seasoned wafting from the kitchen. Y/N blinked, his eyes widening as he slowly took in the transformed space before him.

The usually simple, everyday dining table was unrecognizable—draped in a pristine white tablecloth that gleamed softly under the warm candlelight. Two polished wine glasses stood side by side, catching the soft light like tiny prisms, while their best silverware lay neatly arranged on elegant dinner plates. In the center of the table sat a beautifully arranged bouquet of fresh flowers—roses, lilies, and eucalyptus sprigs woven together with thoughtful care. Their delicate petals glowed softly in the candlelight, their fragrance blending seamlessly with the warm, inviting smells of home-cooked food.

Y/N’s gaze drifted toward the kitchen, where a small serving tray waited, holding a carefully plated dinner beneath a gleaming silver cover. Steam still gently wafted from beneath the lid, hinting at something savory and delicious inside. The mouthwatering scent of garlic, herbs, and seared meat hung in the air, making his stomach growl despite the emotional tightness building in his chest.

He took a tentative step forward, feeling his breath hitch as he noticed the living room. There, on the rustic coffee table, was a familiar stack of their favorite movies—the ones they always watched on cozy nights in, when they just needed to be close. A thick, cozy blanket was neatly folded over the back of the couch, inviting and familiar, ready for when the night wound down. Everything was arranged with such intention, such thoughtfulness… such love.

Y/N pressed a trembling hand over his mouth, overwhelmed by the sheer care and intimacy behind every detail. His heart thudded against his ribs, pounding with disbelief and something deeper, something warmer. Was this really happening? Did Clark… do all of this?

Before he could fully process the scene, a quiet creak of the kitchen floorboards caught his attention. He turned slowly, his breath still uneven, and his gaze landed on Clark standing just a few steps away.

Clark’s hands rested loosely at his sides, fidgeting slightly—a rare crack in his usually steady composure—but his expression was soft, warm, and impossibly tender. His deep blue eyes held an intensity that stole Y/N’s breath—not the intensity of a hero prepared for battle, but of a man utterly, irrevocably in love.

“Clark… what is all this?” Y/N whispered, voice trembling with emotion.

Clark’s lips curved into a gentle, familiar smile—the kind that had always felt like home. His eyes shimmered with warmth, reflecting ten years of shared memories, quiet mornings, and late-night talks. “Happy anniversary,” he murmured, taking a slow, measured step closer.

Y/N let out a shaky breath, his gaze flickering from the candlelit table to the familiar stack of movies—and finally back to the man who had done all of this. The man he loved with every fiber of his being. “You… you did all this… for me?” His voice cracked, disbelief and affection tangling in his throat.

Clark’s smile widened just a fraction, his eyes softening even further. “For us,” he corrected gently, his voice steady but filled with quiet vulnerability.

Y/N felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, his heart swelling so much it almost hurt. Every detail—the flowers, the meal, the movies, the candles—felt like a physical manifestation of the life they had built together. A life filled with love, warmth, and quiet, shared moments that meant everything.

His hands trembled as he reached for Clark, closing the space between them in a heartbeat. His arms wrapped tightly around Clark’s strong frame, pulling him into an embrace filled with every unspoken word he couldn’t seem to say. Clark held him just as fiercely, his face burying into Y/N’s shoulder, breathing him in like he was the only thing that mattered.

Y/N’s breath hitched against Clark’s neck, a soft, broken sound of love and wonder. Neither of them moved for a long moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, grounded in the familiarity and promise of what they shared.

In that moment, there was no world outside, no responsibilities, no distant cries for help—only them. Two hearts, intertwined and steady, standing at the edge of something new, something even deeper than what had come before.

Surrounded by the gentle glow of candlelight and the quiet warmth of home, Clark held Y/N tighter, silently promising that this—they—would always be his greatest adventure.

And tonight, their forever was just beginning.

The warm glow of candlelight flickered softly across the cozy apartment, casting gentle, golden light over every familiar surface. Y/N and Clark sat comfortably on the well-worn couch, plates balanced carefully on their laps while the familiar sounds of their favorite movie played quietly in the background. The soft crackle of the candles still burning on the dining table blended with the movie’s soundtrack, creating an atmosphere of warmth, intimacy, and quiet joy.

Clark had insisted on serving the meal himself, carrying each perfectly plated dish with the care of someone offering up something precious. The garlic-herb steak, creamy mashed potatoes, and perfectly sautéed vegetables looked like something from a five-star restaurant—but tasted even better. Each bite was rich, savory, and cooked exactly the way Y/N liked it.

“This is so good,” Y/N mumbled around another bite, eyes widening with genuine delight. “Seriously… did you take a secret cooking class or something? How do you always nail this?”

Clark chuckled, a faint blush rising in his cheeks. He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish but clearly pleased. “I might’ve… practiced a little,” he admitted, his voice low and warm. “I just wanted tonight to be perfect.”

Y/N’s heart swelled at the quiet sincerity in Clark’s words. The love behind every carefully considered detail of the evening hit him all at once—the flowers, the candles, the dinner, the movies—all thoughtfully chosen, all crafted with so much care. He set his plate down on the coffee table, suddenly unable to focus on the food when something far more important was sitting right beside him.

Without a word, Y/N reached out and gently placed his hand over Clark’s, his fingertips tracing slow, familiar patterns across the back of Clark’s strong, calloused hand. The warmth of his skin was grounding, comforting, home.

“You are perfect,” Y/N whispered, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. “This whole night… the dinner, the movies, the candles… everything. It’s perfect.”

Clark’s breath caught, his eyes softening as he gently turned his hand to entwine their fingers together. His thumb traced slow, reassuring circles over Y/N’s knuckles, a quiet gesture that spoke volumes.

“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” Y/N continued, his gaze never leaving Clark’s. “But you did. You always do… You always find a way to make me feel so loved.”

Clark’s breath hitched slightly, his fingers tightening just a little around Y/N’s hand. His voice was low but steady, full of quiet intensity. “You are loved… more than anything… more than I could ever say.”

Y/N’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, his heart pounding with affection so deep it felt impossible to contain. Slowly, he leaned in, resting his forehead gently against Clark’s, savoring the quiet, shared connection. In that small, still moment, surrounded by the warm glow of flickering candles and the familiar hum of their shared life, nothing else existed—only them.

“Thank you… for all of this,” Y/N whispered, his voice breaking just slightly. “For everything.”

Clark smiled softly, tilting his head just enough to brush his lips gently against Y/N’s in a tender, lingering kiss. It was slow, filled with all the love and devotion words could never fully express. His hand cupped Y/N’s cheek, fingers sliding into his hair as he deepened the kiss just enough to make the world fall away.

When they finally parted, their foreheads still resting together, Clark’s voice was barely above a whisper—but steady and sure.

“There’s still… one more thing.”

Y/N blinked, momentarily caught off guard, curiosity sparking in his expression. “What do you mean?”

Clark’s hands trembled ever so slightly as he reached for Y/N’s, threading their fingers together with practiced ease, grounding himself in the familiar warmth of that touch. His heart pounded with a mixture of nerves and anticipation, but the feel of Y/N’s hand in his steadied him, like it always had.

“Come with me,” Clark whispered softly, his voice low but sure.

Y/N blinked in surprise but let Clark gently guide him off the couch and into the softly glowing living room. The flickering candlelight cast a warm halo around them, creating a setting that felt timeless, intimate, and entirely their own. Y/N’s expression shifted from curious to something deeper, something tender, as he felt the subtle tension in Clark’s usually steady grip.

Clark exhaled slowly, forcing himself to breathe, to be fully present in this moment he’d imagined countless times. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles over Y/N’s knuckles—a silent reassurance for both of them. When he finally met Y/N’s gaze, his deep blue eyes shimmered with emotion—vulnerable but unwavering, filled with love so profound it left no room for doubt.

“Y/N…” Clark began, his voice trembling just enough to reveal how much this meant to him. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to say… something I’ve been thinking about for a long time.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, his lips parting slightly in surprise, but he stayed quiet, his gaze steady, urging Clark to continue.

Clark tightened his hold ever so slightly, his hands enveloping Y/N’s like a protective barrier, keeping them both anchored in this moment. His voice grew steadier, though still thick with emotion.

“From the very first moment I saw you… back in high school… I knew,” Clark said softly, his eyes shining with memory and meaning. “I didn’t know exactly what ‘forever’ looked like back then… but I knew you were going to be someone important. The someone.”

Y/N’s eyes shimmered, already brimming with unshed tears as the weight of Clark’s words settled over him.

“We’ve built this incredible life together,” Clark continued, his voice deepening with quiet intensity. “Through moves, jobs… everything life’s thrown at us. And through it all… I’ve known one thing with absolute certainty.” He swallowed hard, his lips quirking into the faintest, most affectionate smile. “I want to spend every day, every moment… with you.”

Y/N’s breath shuddered as a tear slipped free, trailing slowly down his cheek.

Clark’s eyes softened even further as he gently wiped the tear away with his thumb. “I thought about this night so many times… about what I’d say… but I kept coming back to something you said once.”

Y/N blinked, his brow furrowing faintly as he tried to recall.

“It was a long time ago… back when we first talked about marriage,” Clark murmured, his deep voice softening into something reverent, as if he were holding a fragile, cherished memory in his hands. His gaze lowered for a brief moment, lost in the weight of what he was about to say. When he looked back up, his eyes gleamed with something raw and unguarded—love, hope, and nostalgia woven together.

“‘Don’t marry me just because we’ve been together forever…’” he repeated, his voice trembling ever so slightly as he spoke the familiar words. “You said that to me.”

The memory hit Y/N like a crashing wave—vivid, intimate, and achingly familiar. It had been during one of those long, late-night talks when the world outside didn’t matter, and the future felt like a distant, untouchable dream. Y/N remembered the quiet stillness of that night, the soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminating Clark’s thoughtful expression as they both lay tangled together, speaking from the heart without hesitation.

Clark’s warm fingers brushed gently over Y/N’s, grounding him in the present even as his words pulled him back to that deeply personal moment. His touch was familiar, steady, and reassuring—the same touch Y/N trusted through every joy, every storm, every uncertain tomorrow.

His voice softened even further, dipping into something more intimate, more earnest, as though he were speaking directly to your soul. “‘Marry me because you want to,’” he continued, his thumbs tracing slow, tender circles over the backs of Y/N’s hands. “‘Because you can’t see yourself with anyone else. Marry me… because you love me.’”

Y/N’s breath hitched as those words echoed through him, every syllable steeped in memory and meaning. They weren’t just words from the past—they were a promise him had once made without realizing how much they would come to define his future.

Tears welled in Y/N’s eyes, blurring the sight of Clark’s face, but Y/N could still see the love etched into every line, every tender curve of his expression. His gaze held Y/N’s with such fierce intensity that it felt like nothing else in the world existed—just the two of them, tethered by a shared history and an undeniable, enduring love.

Clark’s hands tightened around Y/N’s just slightly—not possessive, but grounding—anchoring them both in the weight of the present. His breath hitched as he whispered, “I never forgot those words… not for a second.”

His voice cracked, just faintly, but he pressed on, his expression resolute and filled with quiet determination. “I don’t want to marry you because of how long we’ve been together… or because it’s ‘what comes next.’ I want to marry you because there’s no one else I could ever imagine standing beside me. No one else I want to build a future with… grow old with.”

He let out a shaky breath, his eyes glistening as he whispered, “I want to marry you… because I love you.”

Y/N let out a soft, broken laugh, tears spilling freely now as he clung to Clark’s every word.

Clark’s breath hitched, his chest tightening with emotion. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered himself onto one knee, his gaze never wavering, his hands still cradling Y/N’s as though letting go was unthinkable. With quiet reverence, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the small velvet box he’d carried close to him all night. His fingers trembled only slightly as he opened it, revealing the simple yet elegant ring—a perfect symbol of the love they had built: enduring, strong, timeless.

“I do, Y/N,” Clark whispered, his voice raw with unguarded emotion. “I love you… endlessly. I see my forever… and it’s you. It’s always been you.”

His gaze softened further, shimmering with hope, love, and absolute certainty. “Will you… will you marry me?”

The room seemed suspended in breathless stillness—time stretching endlessly in the space between the question and the answer. Tears streamed down Y/N’s face as a choked, tearful laugh escaped his lips. He covered his mouth for just a second, overcome, before reaching down and pulling Clark up into his arms with a fierce, unrestrained embrace.

“Yes,” Y/N whispered, voice trembling but resolute. “Yes. A thousand times… yes.”

Clark let out a shaky, relieved laugh, wrapping his arms around Y/N like he never intended to let go. Their foreheads pressed together, tears mingling as they clung to the enormity of the moment—the life they had already built and the future they were now promising.

Time seemed to stop the moment Clark gently slid the ring onto Y/N’s finger. His large, warm hands trembled just enough for you to notice, though his grip remained steady and sure—like he was grounding himself in the reality of this moment. Clark’s ocean-blue eyes glistened with unshed tears, swirling with relief, joy, and an overwhelming depth of love that stole Y/N’s breath away. His expression softened as though the weight of anticipation he’d been carrying for weeks had finally lifted.

For a moment, all Y/N could do was stare at the ring sparkling brilliantly in the soft candlelight. Its elegance and meaning were undeniable, but even its beauty couldn’t compare to the way Clark was looking at Y/N—like he were the most precious, extraordinary person in the world, the very center of his universe.

Emotion swelled in Y/N’s chest, leaving him speechless. Tears blurred his vision, but through the shimmering haze, he could still see Clark—standing there, still holding his hand like he couldn’t bear to let go, his breath uneven as he searched your face for reassurance that this was real.

With every ounce of love, joy, and unspoken promise between them, Y/N closed the distance and pulled Clark into the most heartfelt, soul-deep kiss they had ever shared. It wasn’t rushed or urgent—it was steady, certain, and profound, like the turning of the earth, like something that had always been meant to happen.

Their lips met with a softness that carried ten years of shared history—nights spent laughing until their sides hurt, quiet mornings tangled in sheets as sunlight streamed through the windows, whispered promises exchanged in the dark when the world felt too heavy. This kiss held all of that—and more. It was the culmination of a thousand moments, big and small, that had built the life they shared.

Clark’s hands came up slowly, almost reverently, cradling Y/N’s face with a tenderness that spoke of how deeply he cherished this moment. His fingers brushed against Y/N’s jaw, his touch light but grounding, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was real. His lips moved against Y/N’s with aching sincerity, pouring his heart into the connection, into the unspoken vow that they would never have to let go.

Y/N’s arms wrapped securely around Clark’s broad shoulders, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them—only warmth, only love, only them. He felt Clark’s breath hitch ever so slightly against his mouth, felt the way his shoulders relaxed as though the weight of the world had finally fallen away, leaving only this perfect, timeless moment.

The soft glow of the candles flickered gently around them, casting dancing shadows across the familiar walls of their home. The delicate scent of roses and eucalyptus lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the comforting warmth still radiating from the hearth of the kitchen. The world outside seemed to hold its breath, quiet and still, as though honoring something sacred unfolding in that small, candle-lit apartment.

But the only warmth they truly felt was the steady, enduring fire they had always kindled in each other—the kind of warmth built over years of shared dreams, quiet comforts, and unconditional love.

When they finally pulled away, their foreheads rested together, breath mingling as they lingered in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Y/N’s fingers gently traced the edge of Clark’s jaw, his touch still trembling from the overwhelming rush of emotion. Clark’s eyes opened slowly, his deep blue gaze shining with love, awe, and absolute certainty.

“I love you,” Clark whispered, voice thick with emotion, as though the words weren’t nearly enough but still everything he needed to say.

Y/N smiled through tears that still shimmered in his eyes, his own voice breaking. “I love you… so much.”

Their fingers entwined again, holding on as though they never intended to let go—and they didn’t. They wouldn’t. This was forever.

Their story—already filled with so much life, so many memories and shared adventures—was only just beginning.

And in the soft, golden glow of their home, surrounded by the quiet beauty they had built together, they stood hand in hand—ready to write the next chapter, together.

[jjenthusee]

Enthusiasm

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Sometimes the most intimidating can be the most tender.

A/N: HAPPYYY NEW YEAR i give u soft Jason 😌 i’ve been on and off (so sorry about that) but im excited to see what stories will be posted to this account this upcoming year :D so much has happened to end December, but i powered through and i wanted to finish something that was sitting in my drafts. so please ENJOY :) comment if you’re comfortable, reblog if you like the story, and have some flowers 💐

Tags: Fluff, hurt/comfort, i just wanna kiss his beautiful face fr, reader and jason are in competition of who can out fluff the other

Word Count: 2.5k

previous work linked here

The smell was strong.

Gunpowder and soaked clothes. Jason felt like a wet dog coming home with his tail between his legs. Holding onto the door frames, trying to not bump into the walls.

He had hoped the rain would have washed away most of the blood and burnt smell that radiated from his skin, but no matter how much he tried to rub it off, it was still there. Lingering after his every step, after every breath he took.

Each step into your apartment felt like he was contaminating more of the air, that he was diminishing the warmth you exuded so effortlessly.

His fingertips burned as he tried to grab a dry shirt and some sweats to change into, but his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

His mind raced and raced as he couldn’t focus enough to grab a single hanger in the closet. He already felt like he was standing underneath a beacon of light from the single bulb illuminating the entire closet and he couldn’t afford to wake you up now, you might smell him and you would find him disgusting until he would beg and beg that he could strip all the smell away.

Jason felt dizzy at the thought of you leaving. He had imagined many scenarios, all kinds of ways you would be gone. Tortured, kidnapped, or you simply walking out the door as he watched because you didn’t want to love him anymore.

It sickened him. A kind of bile that stuck to his throat when he tortured himself with the thought of you leaving him. He rubbed his face, feeling his calloused hands scratch against his skin as he tried to rub more of the smell away.

He could imagine the sound of your voice, screaming his name in fear or even quietly fading as you faded from his arms.

Sometimes the hallucinations felt so real, like you actually left until he found you at home. Living your life, perfectly fine.

“—on. Jason.”

He instinctively grabbed the knife from his utility belt, so quickly and efficiently that it felt like breathing for Jason.

He was still dizzy, but parts of your face were slowly focusing through his lashes, readjusting until your entire face was clear in his vision. He saw your wide eyes, opened because of the suddenness of him aiming a knife to your neck, but what made him feel even more sick to his stomach was the worried look on your face despite the survival instinct overpowering his brain.

It screamed how much you cared about him. The same man that pointed a blade at you.

He couldn’t breathe.

“Jason, it’s me. I’m right here.” You stood still. Watching the intense adrenaline rush from Jason. It had been a while since you’ve seen him escalate this badly.

“No, no. I‘m—you’re not real.” He pleaded, talking more to himself than at you.

“You’re home. You’re back home.” You tried to reach out with your words, giving him something to metaphorically grab onto.

“Please go away.”

Your heart pinched at his broken words.

“Everything is okay. I’m okay. I am right here.” You repeated.

As adamant as Jason was about stopping his hallucination, he couldn’t raise his voice. He was quietly whispering his pleas as you stood at arms length, confusing his reality and mental images. You didn’t waver to call out to him because he felt more wary of you than you did of him.

The blade he held to you was something he hadn’t done before and as frightened as you were in that moment, you stayed calm. Not for yourself, but from how much he shook and his disheveled appearance, Jason was just scared.

You continued to speak to him, giving him tender reassurances, explaining and truthfully telling him how safe he was and how he could relax from the anxiety plaguing him.

Jason’s eyes were relaxing as he listened to your voice, his muscles were loosening his grip from the blade the more in tune he felt with reality, and he suddenly felt all the exhaustion weigh on him. His knife felt so heavy. Every second he was growing more tired as he realized he was safe enough to finally let it go, so he threw it to the side.

The blade bounced to the floor, reflecting and shining the light from the closet back into the dark bedroom.

You took a deep breath watching the blade leave Jason’s hand, then you looked back to him, seeing his soaked hair stick to his face. His armor caked with dirt and blood blending into the fabric.

As much as you wanted to call Alfred, Jason was in no condition to see another person right now.

As you analyzed him, you saw, physically, how much the night had roughed him up. Jason’s hands were limp at his side, his head hung to your feet as you stepped closer to him, testing how close he was willing to let you get.

“Jay? You’re still in your armor, we need to get you out of your soaked clothes.” You gently spoke.

He said nothing to you, focusing on pacing his breaths in a way that didn’t cause him more anxiety. He kept his eyes closed.

“Do you need my help? I can help, but if you want to do it yourself—“

He grabbed one of your fingers, his frozen hand stinging your warm one that absorbed the heat from your blankets not too long ago. His large hand held onto your singular finger, feeling your smooth skin, trying to sink into the soothing feeling of physical touch.

You patiently waited, letting him go at his own pace to grasp that he was safe enough to ask for this much from you.

“I’m glad you made it home.” You spoke. Feeling Jason’s skin trace your knuckles and veins in your hand like he was memorizing and analyzing the living being he cared so much for.

As he continued his small rubs, he eased his touch to a feather light hover over your arm. Feeling up to press his thumb underneath the fabric of your shirt sleeve, mentally talking to himself about the feel of the fabric and its color.

You let him ground himself, taking note of how still you kept your body. All control was in Jason’s hands like a puppeteer over your entire self. He wanted to scream out to himself that he was selfishly touching you, but he was walking a very thin line of losing his mind any second and the feel of you was keeping him focused on something other than his racing head.

He was so tired that he grasp his hand onto your shoulder to gently pull you toward him, resting his head into your hair, smelling how familiar you were.

He thought you smelt so much better than the gunpowder and burning flesh from his body.

He rested his hand behind your back, slowly feeling up to cusp behind your neck, letting his fingers settle onto your pulse. Counting the thumps and feeling the repeated rhythm he memorized numerous times to fall asleep to.

Jason brought you in closer, matching his breaths to yours because if he felt like passing out, he reasoned to himself that it should be completely because he wanted to be one with you.

You settled your forehead onto his neck, taking a deep breath into his skin.

Jason flinched, feeling his skin tingle to your warm breath exhaling to his hair. He hummed before he was about to pull away from you, remembering his stench.

“I’m sorry, I…stink.” Jason apologized, fighting against himself to release you, but also grip you harder.

You pulled him back to you by his neck and arm, leaning his damp hair onto your head.

“You don’t need to apologize. Besides, I love your smell. I think I stink ‘cause I haven’t showered ever since I got back from work.” You lazily smiled up at Jason, appreciating that he was talking to you.

“You don’t smell.” He emphasized, whispering his sincerity into the small space between your bodies.

“I was sweating a lot today, so we can be stinky together if that’s what you’re worried about.” You comforted him, reaching up to cusp his cheeks. Soothing the redness on his face from his harsh rubs. “We can wash up together if you want to. It’s also okay if you want to do it by yourself. I’m always open to what you tell me, no matter what I’ll be right here until you let me know.”

Jason felt the ease in his shoulders, the voice in his head calming. It wasn’t completely silent, but it was a little quieter when you were speaking so gently to him.

“Can we wash up together?” He asked into your palm, rubbing his nose into your warm hand.

“Of course we can. I can get the water ready while you get out of your gear.”

“Hm.” Jason agreed into your touch.

“I won’t make the water too hot. I also got a new shampoo yesterday and I haven’t used it yet, so we can smell like eucalyptus together.” You could feel Jason’s frozen nose on your hands. “Hon, you’re freezing.”

Your worries were unanswered, leaving you to only furrow your brow at the man in front of you. Jason could only look up from your hands, clearly having nothing to say, but patiently waiting for you to give in to his tender gaze.

He knew you would give in, you always did and he wanted to use it to his advantage to not speak about his night.

He removed his gloves and you heard the slightly damp fabric being pulled from his fingers. With free hands, Jason reached out to rub off the furrowed look on your face, in attempt to cover his tired appearance.

“You’re lucky I’m going to be nice about this. I was about one call away to summoning Alfred or I would’ve drove your motorcycle all the way there if I had to.”

Jason chuckled as he kept kneading the line between your eyebrows. Listening to your stubborn worries that felt like music to his ears as much as he didn’t want to admit it.

“Threatening me now?” Jason asked. Amused, but willing to listen to your voice continuously. The way his voice teased you made your heart tingle, enough to distract you for a moment to look at the way his hair fell onto his face. His features were carved by wavy hair, elegantly placed hair strands that made you waver between frustrated and enamored, but unable to stop your heartfelt lecture.

“Maybe you can distract me, but Alfred is too experienced to even consider hesitating with you.” You tried to go move your eyebrows in defiance against Jason’s thumb, not backing down just yet. “I was about to haul you on my shoulders and dump you onto the back of your motorcycle. I didn’t go through all those lessons with you to not use it against you.“

“I knew it, you were always too excited to take it out for a drive. Can’t believe my own student was actually plotting against me all along.” Jason held onto your face, shaking his head as he traced your jaw with his fingers.

“It’s called “enthusiasm,” Jason.” You started to feel for the zippers of his jacket, moving your fingers against the leather as you slowly took it off his shoulders, carefully watching his body language to ensure you weren’t making him uncomfortable.

“Enthusiasm.” Jason repeated. In the same tone you always swooned at, hearing the familiar low roughness in his voice that was only reserved for you. A dangerous combo as he touched your face so affectionately, you could feel your face heat in the dim closet light. “I know all about enthusiasm.”

He leaned in to slightly peck your bottom lip, feeling his own lips barely touch yours. He felt how dry his lips were, but yours were soft enough to drown out his other worries and insecurities. Enough to feel the intimacy, but not enough to solidify something more.

You smiled, clearly won over by Jason’s charm. In one swoop you pulled the jacket off Jason, leaving him in his usual patrol skintight top with his emblem reflecting what little light was in the room.

You couldn’t imagine the fear that red bat symbol brought to the bad people lingering at night, realizing the bad shit they brought on themselves because that emblem was the last thing they would remember.

But you always liked what was beneath it, what it tried to protect. The part of Jason that he relentlessly tried to hide and you had the patience to slowly unveil every bit of it.

“Save that enthusiasm because we might not be able to wash up if you kiss me one more time.” You rubbed your hands into the back of his neck, feeling the tense muscles and wanting to help him relax for a bit with some warm water and rubbing some shampoo into his hair to hopefully allow him to sleep a little tonight. “Clean your gear in the morning, I wanna warm up with a shower and you can help me dry my hair.”

“Hm.” Jason agreed as he kept rubbing your lips with his thumb. You felt accomplished as you felt his hands slowly warming from your physical touch.

“I’ll get us some fresh towels. Grab the new shampoo after you remove your gear.” You released yourself from Jason and made your way to the bathroom. “It should be in the bag by the bed. I forgot to take it out.”

With some soreness, Jason removed his utility belt and picked up the thrown knife to safely secure it back in its place. He felt the weight in his eyelids as he made his way to the bathroom, hearing the water turn on.

When he pushed the door open silently, he watched the way you moved. Adjusting the heat of the water, placing freshly dried towels on the counter, and the way you were so perfectly domestic.

Jason didn’t want to disturb you, soothing himself to the sight of you after he exhausted himself from the repeated torture his mind put himself through.

When you looked back, the look you gave him almost made him melt to the tile floor. That it was unreal he was allowed this.

You pulled him into the bathroom, much like the other ways you introduced him to various simplicities he started to enjoy in his life.

He didn’t want to admit it to you, in case you would be offended, but he cherished how mundane you were. That he could feel as close to ordinary next to you. That the scars that littered him weren’t going to drive you away.

Piece by piece, clothing were removed from the two of you. It was comfortable to bare yourself, to share this intimate experience of bathing together. Washing and holding each other under warm water. Massaging and lathering soap.

The steam was filling the bathroom, slight humidity relaxing your skin and your shared scent radiating off each other.

The night was turning into dawn, but you dried each others hair. You gently laid into the bed to slowly rub at Jason’s head, easing him and yourself into another slumber.

[angelpregdreams]

a fruitful union (1)

content: fpreg, half-elf/half-orc offspring, hard labor, hard birth, praise

wc: 4145

When Eirian Estainfae had been told of her fate as the bride to feared Orc chieftain, Rhesh Kharr, she sat in shock for several days. At no point in her life had she considered her future husband would be anyone other than an Elf - let alone an Orc. 

She had never imagined it would be Rhesh Kharr, even in her wildest dreams. 

The night before her wedding to the Orc chieftain, Eirian’s mother came to her chambers, sending the servants away as soon as she entered. Myfiria was nearing her third millennium but still radiated grace and beauty. It was something Eirian always admired about her mother, something she always prayed she acquired from her.

With how she had been feeling lately, she doubted her own grace very much.

“My darling,” Myfiria cooed at her daughter, smoothing her hair away from her face. Eirian couldn’t help but feel tears burn her eyes once she looked up at her mother. “Oh, cry if you must, my dear. But cry here, in my arms, and not again from this night onward.” Her hand tucked a stray hair behind her daughter’s pointed ear, then slowly drew her fingers up under Eirian’s chin - keeping her eyes upwards, “do you hear me? Do not cry in front of them.”

Eirian sobbed, remaining in Myfiria’s arms until the sun rose. By then neither of them had any more tears to shed, simply comfort in silence. 

After her mother left, Eirian sat in her bed to wait for her maids to come in to dress her, bare of all clothing, and her long black hair hanging down her back, loose and slightly tangled. She began to lose track of time after that, her chest aching and her mind moving too slow for her body. One moment she was in her childhood bed chambers, and the next she stood in an opulent war tent, listening as her…husband explained…something she hadn’t caught the start of.

“...-thers, they will not bother you either, so you are free to go about the camp as you wish.” Rhesh finished saying, using the common language. His back was turned towards her, and Eirian finally noticed that he had removed his tunic, the broad expanse of his back exposed her eyes. 

After a beat, she cleared her throat slightly and stepped towards him, replying in the common tongue as a courtesy in return. “I appreciate that-” Eirian stumbled over her next word, at a loss of what to call him, before the silence grew a second too long, “husband.”

A muscle in his shoulder twitched and she rose her eyes from it before the motion captivated her again, as he turned to stare at her. Rhesh lingered in silence after that, his hard stare pinning her in place, but she didn’t look away. After a moment, Eirian noticed his brow quirk slightly, then his face returned to a blank mask. 

“...You look troubled, wife.” Rhesh replied, his eyes roving over her form, not even attempting to hide his lingering gaze. He then turned towards her fully and Eirian felt her cheeks burn. 

His cock pressed against the seam of his trousers and took no effort to hide it. Unabashed, he took two steps closer to her, and lifted up a hand to her cheek. His thumb brushed over her skin and Eirian stilled completely - except for her heart beating rapidly against her breast. His hardened, dark grey eyes searched over her face, looking for…something she couldn’t figure out. 

“I won’t hurt you,” he finally said, dropping his hand and walking away from her, barely brushing against her as he did so. Rhesh left the tent without another word. 

For the following week, he did as he promised. He didn’t hurt her. He spoke to her every day, common things. About how the food was, how comfortable her cot was, if anyone was bothering her. It was charming, and the start of a very tentative romance. 

He gave her time, and she felt like she could never repay him for it. His kindness showed through, but only for her. Every interaction she saw Rhesh have with the others in his warband, he was rough and near-cruel and it never stopped making her stomach turn. But then he would sit across from her for dinner and ask her about what she studied. 

As the days passed, Eirian began to speak more and more, opening up to her husband. Both emotionally and physically. 

Rhesh expressed his worries about their need to please both of their people and the reality of now being split between two nations. She listened, inputting her opinion, the stress of the last few elven councils she had attended. 

When Eirian began to speak about her sadness, Rhesh placed a large hand on her thigh, squeezing gently but not pushing beyond that. That was the moment Eirian realized that she began to fall for the massive Orc. 

From there, their touches were casual occurrences. She would reach for his arm while walking near him through camp. He would slip a hand around her waist while guiding her through the entrance of their tent. It was innocent, it was gentle. 

Surprising both of them, Eirian made the first move. She was in the bath, a tub set up in the middle of their tent while he was out on a patrol. Except Rhesh returned sooner than she expected, leading to him walking in on her, naked, wet, and flushed pink in the hot water. Her eyes caught his, and she swallowed her nerves, beckoning him to join her in the bath. 

Rhesh raised a brow, silently asking if she was sure - to which, Eirian gave him a slight smile and nodded. 

His armor was removed, something dropped from his body with every step towards the bathtub, but his eyes never left her form. When he stood at the side of the tub, he was fully nude and Eirian couldn’t pull her eyes away from his massive erection. There was no hiding it, and it made her belly twist in excitement at his unabashed nature regarding his attraction to her. Knowing he was turned on by her, and her alone, it made her crave him just the same. 

The bath was tight with the two of them in it, but when Rhesh pulled Eirian onto his lap, straddling his hips, did they fit in it more comfortably. Eirian was a blushing mess, but she couldn’t help herself, and grinded her hips down against his throbbing member. His growl was encouraging and, if that wasn’t enough, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her down, his lips finding hers passionately. 

Eirian wasn’t a virgin when she met Rhesh but the amount of time it took to adjust to him was far longer than either of them expected. By the time she was comfortable, Rhesh swiftly set a quick pace, bouncing her up and down on his thick cock as she dug her nails into his muscled shoulders. Neither of them were quiet, his grunts and her whines were heard through the camp, but no one would comment on it later. 

When Rhesh pounded upwards, pulling her downwards at the same time, he rocked his hips against hers - then Eirian felt the warmth of his cum spill into her belly. She couldn’t help but whine, having sensed her own orgasm quickly approaching but when he stilled to cum in her, Eirian wiggled her hips needily. 

He grumbled into a chuckle, releasing her hip and reaching down to her clit, flicking over her sex swollen nub only a few times before she finally orgasmed. Her cunt clenched around his softening member and he groaned in approval, rocking his hips up to urge her orgasm to linger. 

From then on, their relationship shifted. 

They were friends, and now lovers - the two of them falling into a working marriage as a bridge between their people. 

However, the biggest bridge came when Eirian’s belly began to swell outward. Rhesh commented on it first, holding his hands over her lower abdomen and rubbing the slight pouch developing over her middle. As he did so, Eirian had the sudden realization, she had not bled in a while. No one ever confirmed the pregnancy, in fact, the two of them decided to keep their first child between them for as long as possible. A small act of rebellion against those that arranged their marriage without them. 

The problem came when Eirian was reminded she was quickly swelling with a half-orc child, and hiding her growing belly was harder as months dragged on. Someone finally caught a glance of Eirian and Rhesh together by a river, the two of them lost in each other, and not realizing a servant now had spread the word of her pregnancy throughout camp. From his war camp, it was quickly spread back to their home countries, and from there - a mess of missives and letters making demands of their unborn child. 

Pregnant and worried for her baby, Eirian cried one evening, the first time since the night before her wedding. Her hands were splayed over the expanse of her large middle, their child nearing full term now, at least with a normal Orc pregnancy. Elven pregnancies lasted longer, but considering the weight around Eirian’s hips, she realized this would not be like a normal Elven pregnancy. 

Silently, Rhesh came to her side and brushed the tears from her eyes, gently lifting her into his lap. He cradled her and held a hand over her belly, his thumb rubbing over her popped out belly button over her dress. There were no words spoken between the two, just her quiet tears and his silent support. 

The conversation about their first born needed to be addressed but for the night, the couple simply found solace in each other. From then on, it quickly became the two of them versus their own people to try and protect their future children. 

Eirian’s belly continued to grow, albeit slower than a normal Orc pregnancy, but just as big. Rhesh became concerned as the days drew on, his eyes and hands never straying from her swollen form in one way or another. His worry became palpable, the entire camp felt the pressure under his harsh orders. Everything had to be right, and Eirian had to be protected. 

Neither of them said it outloud, but they both knew that the Orc elders and the Elven council would be above subterfuge to identify the babe. Eirian knew that her uncle would pull no punches with this alliance, including swiping her first born if it meant he could manipulate the child of their union. 

Rhesh kept his camp in one spot for several weeks, not wanting to be on the road when Eirian began to labor. He wanted his camp set up so their tent was deep in the middle, making sure his men and personal guard were between them and those that posed a threat to his wife and unborn child. It made his men nervous but he was quickly becoming steadfast in his care, ignoring their comments of disapproval. 

After a long day, Rhesh finally came back to their tent. He had been out on a patrol, and after being waylaid by a group of river bandits, finally able to come back to Eirian’s side. She sat draped over their plush chair, specifically bought for her by her husband quickly after her pregnancy showed itself. Her legs were stretched out in front of her, her head tossed back over the chair, her dark hair messily thrown over one of the arms. Eirian rubbed her distended abdomen with both hands, a focused look upon her features. 

Her eyes fluttered open and she gave him a lingering look, one that told him everything he needed to know. 

“Our babe is ready?” Rhesh asked her, coming to her side immediately. He knelt beside the chair and took her small hand into his larger one. “Are you well, Eiri?”

Eirian released a long breath, continuously rubbing her stomach with her left hand. Rhesh squeezed her right, bringing it to his lips to gently press a kiss in her palm. She gave him a reassuring smile, “labor is taking a toll on me, I fear.” Her body tensed and she squeezed his hand tightly, attempting to control her breathing as she continued to speak through the pain, “it’s been…all day, I hadn’t expected…you…to be gone so long.”

The Orc held her hand, shaking his head, “I hadn’t either, forgive me. Do I-” he paused for a moment, letting her ride out the pain before continuing, “shall I get someone?” 

“No, no, please no.” Eirian shook her head, teary eyes boring up at him. “Do not leave me again. I just want us.”

Rhesh nodded, brushing away hair that stuck to her sweaty forehead. She pressed her head into his hand, giving him a tired smile. 

“The little one sits low, I think it’s almost time.” Eirian said, grunting and shifting in her seat. Her thighs were sitting wide apart, her massive belly jutted upward, the pressure on her hips intense and unable to be ignored. She groaned and tossed her head back, belly tensing as a contraction took over her again. 

“Fuck!!” She cried, the pain lingering for longer than before. Wiggling her hips slightly, she gestured for him to help lift her dress up. Rhesh complied quickly, shoving the fabric up her legs and pushed it over her hips and massive belly. Her taut skin was splattered with stretch marks, the soft pink flesh between her legs was darker, and swollen. Eirian spread her legs apart farther, gasping in slight relief as she was able to shift into an open position, the head of their babe sitting deep in her body. Rhesh grabbed on her legs and placed her foot on his shoulder, allowing her to push against it as she needed. 

Eirian gave him a grateful look, not pausing her focus as she felt another pain take over her lithe frame. On his shoulder, her foot trembled, her strength pressing against his and it was no match, even as she labored. 

“Breathe, Eiri,” Rhesh murmured, reaching up and caressing her thigh, “listen to your body.”

She made a noise of acknowledgement, a soft huff as she tugged the dress she wore up and over the rest of her body. Fully nude now, Eirian tossed her head forward and looked at her husband, whispering her discomfort, “...there’s so much…pressure…”

Rhesh nodded, sensing the strain on her body as she heaved heavy breaths, thighs now fully spread open to reveal her slit to him. Her foot on his shoulder dug into him, Eirian grunting as the pressure shifted even lower into her core, the weight of it causing her to rock her hips forward slightly and groan out, “fuck..fucking…pressure!” 

“Keep breathing,” he reminded her. In response, she gasped out a deep breath, eyes screwed shut in pain. “Good, good, again.”

Eirian continued to follow his instruction, even as a few minutes passed and several pains came and went. Her body began to arch with each pain, the tightness of her muscles around her middle making the movement nearly impossible to avoid. The foot not on Rhesh’s shoulder now draped over the arm of the chair, fully apart enough for her body to finally give her the urge to push with her next pain. The pressure between her thighs was too much to ignore and Eirian finally gave a grunt and pushed, her body wound tight and tense as her body began to strain. 

“Good push, Eiri,” Rhesh cooed up at her, reaching up to rub her other thigh, his fingers trailing over to her swollen womanhood, feeling every tremble in her muscles along the trail. “Good girl, good push.”

In the chair, Eirian groaned and pushed with her body, the pains now never letting up and the child sitting so deep in her core that she felt if she moved forward it would push the child back into her womb. “Nughhhh…” She moaned, pushing down hard. “Ah!”

For several long minutes, Eirian continued to push, making little progress, but still progressing. Rhesh watched her pussy turn a darker red and began to bulge outward. But as the next half an hour passed, that was the most progress she was able to make. His fingers rubbed the bulging folds softly, urging her to push as the next pain came and went and again very little progress was made. 

“It’s…it’s too big…fuck…” Eirian breathed, releasing her push with a whine. 

She brought up a very valid concern Rhesh had remained silent about for most of her pregnancy. The genuine fear of her body not able to deliver his child, their different sizes painfully clear to notice. If she wasn’t able to do this, if his child was too big and this hurt her…killed her?

Before he could consider his word to express his worry, Eirian began to push again, her body naturally trying to urge the massive child from her womanhood. 

She groaned and it quickly turned into a shout, crying out as she strained and pushed. Her pussy bulged out even more, and Rhesh cupped her lips, the head poking out just a sliver before sliding back in when she relaxed her body.

“Yes!” Rhesh encouraged, “I saw it, I saw our child, Eiri.”

After her mind was able to register his words, Eirian was able to release a breathy laugh, and immediately moaned as another pain began to build. In his hand, her folds pushed against his palm, the skin parting as the head was brought to just visible. This time remaining closer to her opening, the sliver of the head just in sight now and staying there.

The babe came down into a wide, wide crown, very slowly. Eirian whimpered and cried out with every push and urging down her body strained to do, fluid dripping out of her swollen folds with each time. The foot on his shoulder, lifted off, her hand coming up to grip the back of her thigh and lift it up and apart from the other. As her cries and grunts elevated in volume, Rhesh rubbed her skin as gently as he could to ease the pain but it didn’t matter, her pussy was burning. 

Eirian’s pushes lasted longer, and as the next pain began, she began to push down just barely and the head finally lurched free from her tight womanhood in a messy gush of her fluid. In surprise she cried out and reached a hand down over Rhesh’s, the both of them holding their baby’s head. Tears fell over her cheeks as she felt around the head and felt for the cord, remembering that small part of childbirth in the back of her head from her mother. No cord was present and she felt her body relax slightly, some of the worry and paranoia leaving her as she went through the action. 

The rest should be easier. At least, Eirian prayed the rest of it would be easier. 

With how far the babe had spread her entrance open, she knew the shoulders would be an issue if she couldn’t get them out with the help of her body. Waiting for the next pain, she felt the little one in her jolt, the sensation making her hips buck as she jutted them into both Rhesh and her hand. The babe nestled at her entrance even more at the action.

Between her legs, Rhesh smiled up at her with awe, the sight of his small, perfect, Elven wife in the middle of birth was just something he would cherish forever. She grunted and groaned and sweated and cried, but to him, right now - she was perfect. 

Eirian looked at him with watery eyes and gave him the smallest smile she could, the pain making it the only thing she could focus on in the moment, but she still cherished him and his care. 

Their baby, however, seemed more than a little eager, now that the head had been introduced to the world. 

“Ah - oh, fuck!” Eirian cried, grunting and pushing down as she felt the baby shift in her body again, the shoulders rubbing against her entrance. Her noises got louder as she strained and bore down with all of her might. Her husband offered soft cheers of encouragement but she was far too lost in her own world. 

As the more pushes she did, Eirian’s strength began to fade quickly. Her last push was almost half-hearted, the grunts turning into whines again, the pain and the pressure making everything that wasn’t the baby - hard to focus on. 

Rhesh tried to ground her, and her body continued its natural urges to push, but Eirian sobbed and shook her head. “I c- I can’t…” She whimpered, eyes wide and directed at her husband, the look of fear crossing her features made him wish he could take this from her. “Rhesh,” she begged, “please…don’t make me…”

“You must.” Rhesh returned firmly, the hand next to hers near the babe’s head brushed their fingers together,  just slightly in comfort. “You know you must, Eirian. The babe is almost here, feel…” 

He guided her hand to fully cup the head of their child, it barely fit in the palm of her hand, the head huge and impossibly wide. Her breath caught in her throat, realizing that they were so close to meeting their child and that she had already pushed out something so massive. Their eyes met and she continued to cry, but nodded barely, once. 

Grinning, he nodded back at her, pride bursting from his chest as she readied herself to push again. Eirian’s hand still rested on the baby’s head, supporting it as she leaned her body forward towards the edge of the chair to push with as much of her might she could still muster. 

The first one was painful, Eirian screaming as she pushed. The only payoff being a slight gush of amniotic fluid dribbling around the head, spilling out of her straining womanhood, and around their fingers. As she took a breath and began to push again, her entire body shifted. Several things happened at once. Her body lurched as far forward in the chair it could, her knees coming up as close to her shoulders as she could bring them, and then one of the baby’s shoulders slipped free. 

Rhesh cheered, urging her to push one last time, their child almost free of her body. 

Eirian didn’t hear him, her entire focus now on her final push. Her cries went silent, her mouth just open and eyes screwed shut. Her pussy was pink, pulled tight around the huge half-orc baby that hung out of her. The weight of it put more pressure around her entrance as it pulled downward into Rhesh’s other hand. With her own hand, she felt the shoulder that popped out, and reached down to wrap her fingers under it’s armpit. As she began to lose steam at the end of her push, Eirian kept going, her hand now helping her as she pulled and pushed the huge child out of her.

A splatter of fluid gushed out of her as the babe came out, and Rhesh helped keep the child in their arms in the mess, guiding the child to rest on Eirian’s chest. 

Instinctively, she rubbed the child’s back - a girl, Rhesh said - and cooed, tears spilling over her cheeks as she stared at the little one in her arms. 

The cry that errupted from their daughter’s lungs was shrill and it made both of them laugh in relief and pride. Rhesh came up closer to the two of them now, rubbing the head of their little girl. 

“She’s loud and looks healthy,” Rhesh mumbled without attempting to hide his proud tone, “mama did a wonderful job.”

Eirian still cried, but sniffed, unable to take her eyes off the babe, her fingers trailing over her daughter’s features. Every part of the girl was perfect to her already, the pale green skin, the wide doe-eyes, and the obvious Elven ears. A beautiful combination of both parents. She would be beautiful and strong. 

A sudden stake of fear pierced her heart, coming back to the reality that their first born was a girl. Both of their people needed a male heir to secure the alliance for the foreseeable future, meaning she would have to go through this again. At least twice. 

Eirian swallowed, glancing back down at her perfect daughter, Rhesh’s hands caressing both her and the child lovingly. The worry of the future still nagged at her but she smiled, reaching out to cup his cheek - fully intent on cherishing this moment as long as she could.

[thelostconsultant]

Double surprise

pairing: Lando Norris x reader

summary: Lando wants to surprise you, but in the end you surprise him too.

Lando could tell Max was already planning to bang his head against the coffee table, but it honestly wasn't his fault. Maybe he was terrible at making decisions at the moment, yes, so what? It's not like he had anywhere to rush at this time, and if he was a true friend, he would stay to provide emotional support.

Because Lando was preparing for something big, and the first step was asking a jewelry store employee to jump in the hotel he was staying in with a bunch of engagement rings. If he showed up in the store himself, social media would be full of pictures within a matter of minutes. He didn't want to ruin the surprise. And it was also much more comfortable this way.

“Lando, just pick the third one. You said it yourself, that's her style,” Max tried.

With a thoughtful hum, the Brit picked up the said piece and took a better look at it. “Yeah, it's true, but,” he began, then came to a halt as he grabbed the last one the jeweler showed him. “I don’t know, the first one is a classic, but what if she prefers something modern and trendy?”

The jeweler watched him in silence, the patience of a saint radiating from his smile. He had been there for two hours now, it was already nine in the evening, but he not once made a comment about still being there. “Which one is closer to what she usually wears?” he asked softly, trying to guide him towards a decision.

Lando thought for a moment. “The classic one,” he replied while he took a closer look at it again.

One big, round white diamond with two smaller stones on its side, completed by a yellow gold band. It was clean. Nice. Something simply elegant for her. But then he glanced over at the other one and saw the curved white gold band with a big, pear shaped yellow diamond, and a voice in his head told him that was the one. People would go insane over it when you shared it on social media.

He looked up at the jeweler with a thankful smile, then turned to Max. “All right, I'm buying both. She'll get the trendy one, but if she doesn't like it, all I'll have to do is pull out the classic option. She can even wear whichever she prefers depending on the day,” he explained his master plan.

Max let out a sigh of relief and mouthed ‘finally’ under his breath, while the jeweler clapped his hands together and closed the box with the rest of the rings. Meanwhile Lando had a huge grin on his face, clearly satisfied with his decision. He solved the problem. Sure, it took two hours, but he wanted to pick the perfect ring for you.

Since he specifically asked for rings already available in your size–which he only knew because he stole one you wore on that finger–he kept the chosen ones and said goodbye to the jeweler after paying for the items. Once they were left alone, Max picked up the rings and took a closer look at them, carefully examining every centimeter, every curve, and every stone. As if he was waiting for approval, Lando raised an eyebrow at him.

“Good choice if you ask me. Seeing her disappointed in your taste wouldn't make you feel good, even if she said yes,” Max said with a short laugh before putting down the jewels.

Rolling his eyes, Lando stretched his arms above his head and fought back a yawn. Media day always took a lot out of him and today wasn't any different. Add the stress of making the right decision and he felt like a truck had hit him. “Thanks, mate,” he told his friend.

“When will you ask her?”

“She arrives tomorrow, so I guess I'll get it over with as soon as I can. I need an extra boost for qualifying,” he added with a laugh.

Max gave him a ‘good luck out-qualifying me’ look, but Lando was too hyped to notice. So he let out a sigh and decided to voice his only concern. “So you want to get this over with? Sounds romantic.”

“You know what I mean,” Lando said defensively, giving him a disappointed look that was mixed with the hurt feeling because he dared to joke about him not being serious enough about it.

“Well, tell me how it went.” Max patted his friend on the shoulder before standing up, then watched him with a small smile. “But I'm proud of you. She's nice and has a good influence on you… You chose wisely.”

“Thanks. See you tomorrow at the track?”

Max nodded, then he raised his hand to wave him goodbye and left the hotel room. This left Lando alone with his thoughts, and he began to wonder if he would succeed. The two of you had been going through a bit of a rough patch lately, and he told you this trip was all about fixing that. You would join him for the race weekend, then you would stay in the area for a little trip, just the two of you, away from curious eyes.

His mother told him this plan of his might backfire, because you weren't entirely pleased with him right now, and who knew, maybe you would consider this a way to force you to stay in this relationship. He obviously didn't want you to feel that way, but he didn't want you to leave him either.

His phone buzzed next to him, and when he took a look at it, a wide smile grew on his face. “Hello, beautiful,” he answered happily.

“Hey, you have a moment?” you asked him hesitantly.

“For you? Always.”

There was a short pause, he could hear the traffic in the background, but before he could ask you where you were, you took a deep breath and began to talk. “So I said I'm gonna arrive tomorrow, but I won't.”

Lando felt like he was stabbed in the heart, like the air had been knocked out of his lungs. “What do you mean you won't? You promised to come here, you can't just back out of it! Unless it's a family emergency. Is it a family emergency?” he asked, barely able to hide the anger that latched onto his voice.

You remained silent for a while and he silently cursed under his breath. How could you do this to him? You had agreed you would join him two months ago, there's no way you couldn't plan that much ahead back then. But then you let out a laugh, one of those adorable laughs he loved so much, and his anger disappeared at once.

“I'll send you an address. Get in the car and meet me there,” you told him.

“I'll be at the track all day and you arrive in the morning, don't tell me you won't–”

You cleared your throat to interrupt him. “I was talking about now, you muppet. Or are you about to sleep?” you asked him teasingly.

Lando huffed and rolled his eyes. But then it struck him, you were talking about now, you were talking about him driving to that mysterious location, which meant… “Wait, you're already here?” he asked you.

“Just meet me. There's something I need to tell you.”

And with that you ended the call. He didn't have the brain capacity to stop you, and it didn't occur to him that he could have called you back. Instead he stood there, staring at the screen of his phone until the notification popped up. He put the address in the search bar and checked the map. It was close, only a fifteen minutes drive from his hotel.

Without hesitation, he grabbed his keys and headed to where you were apparently waiting for him. He was already standing in front of the elevator when he realized he left the rings in his room, and he didn't want to leave without them. So he ran back and picked up the two boxes, putting them safely in his pocket.

After a car ride that seemed painfully slow, he finally arrived at his destination. According to your message, you were right here, but when he looked up, he noticed it was a private clinic. Hoping this was the right address, he went closer to the door and it opened right away, so he went inside and tried to figure out where to go next. This place was huge, and at this time it felt like he was in The Walking Dead.

“Mr. Norris? Please, follow me,” a woman in her thirties told him with a polite smile, gesturing towards the elevator.

“Where are we going?” he asked when the door closed behind them.

The woman only watched him with a mysterious smile, probably perfectly aware of what was happening, but she didn't say a word. She probably promised to keep your secret, which was nice, but also extremely annoying. Why in a clinic? Did something happen to you? But you sounded happy, surely everything was okay.

Before they stopped, the woman handed him an eye mask and asked him to put it on. At this point he didn't dare to ask questions, so he did as he was told and followed her guidance after the elevator came to a halt. After she made him stop, he heard a door open and he was soon pushed ahead to enter.

He waited. Someone would hopefully come over to tell him what this was all about, and until then he decided to remain silent. And then he felt soft fingers trace his cheek, only to find the edge of the mask and slowly pull it off his head. There you were, happy and in one piece. With a smile, he was quick to pull you into a hug.

“I missed you,” he whispered as he kissed your head then buried his face into the crook of your neck. “What are you doing here? Or rather, what are we doing here in a clinic?”

“I have a surprise for you,” you purred into his ear, and he could feel your nails scratch the skin on the back of his neck as you spoke. It felt nice. He missed this.

For the first time, he took a look around the ultrasound room, and when he noticed the posters on the walls, his suspicion began to grow. “Wait a second,” he began as he took a step back and looked you in the eye. “Are you…?” He pointed at your abdomen with a raised eyebrow.

With a laugh, you took his hand. “I am. Eight weeks in,” you informed him.

For a while he was staring at you with a dumbfounded look on his face, but then he stepped closer to pull you into a passionate kiss. What started out as something serious soon turned into a series of giggles from the both of you. Lando was the one who pulled away, suddenly remembering something.

He excused himself and stepped outside for long enough to find the main ring’s box in his pocket, then returned with his hands held behind his back. There was no plan, at least not for these circumstances, so he had no choice but to improvise. You looked confused and he had to flash a smile at you to let you know it was okay.

“I… You know… Damn it. Okay, so there was a plan, I promise, but you didn't really leave me a choice. Pick a hand.”

“What?” you asked with a confused look.

“Choose a hand. Left or right?”

You let out a thoughtful hum, visibly thinking about the answer. Then you flashed a wide grin at him and said, “Right.”

It was in his left hand, but nevermind, he grabbed the box with his right one and held it out for you. “This is yours,” he said nervously.

The shocked look on your face made him worry, but it slowly melted away as you slowly opened the box and saw the ring inside. You took it out to take a better look at the piece of jewelry, and soon a smile grew on your face before you finally turned to him.

“What do you say?” Lando asked.

“You didn't ask me anything.”

With a roll of his eyes, he reached out to take the ring and took your hand as well. “Will you marry me?” You nodded without hesitation, tears already forming in your eyes, and he quickly put the ring on your finger before you could change your mind. He kissed you again, but he could tell you were looking at your new ring behind his back. “You like it?” he asked once he pulled away and took a look at it as well.

You nodded. “It's beautiful.”

Lando reached into his pocket for the other box, and showed you his plan B. “If you'd prefer something classic, here's this one too,” he explained.

“You're insane. One ring is more than enough,” you told him with a laugh.

“Well, I know how many shoes you have, this can't be any different.”

With a playful laugh, you slapped his arm. “An engagement ring is different, trust me,” you said as you leaned closer. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He looked around and motioned towards the machine in the corner. “So… Are we here so I can take a look at my child?”

You nodded and went out to ask the doctor to come in. Meanwhile Lando couldn't help but think about how much organizing it must have taken to get this ready, but he was honestly grateful, because it was a big surprise. A big and amazing surprise. This was one of the reasons why he loved you so much, and all he wanted was to make your life as good as he could in return.

[mythicalninjas]

Hii! First I want to say I LOVE your fics. They're amazing!!

I saw your requests were open and came up with one. How about a jealous Raphael? Maybe reader was training with Leo once because Raph was busy. And he came in the dojo to see them laughing and getting along well, with reader who fell and fell on top of Leo they were just laughing it off. But Raph geta angry and drags reader away to fight about it and maybe some make up smut???

Awwn thank you! Happy to read that!

Rate/Warnings: +18, jealousy, anger, happy ending (make up smut)

Jealousy had always been a shadow that clung to Raphael like a second skin. It was something he tried to keep buried, but in moments like this, it reared its ugly head. The dim lighting of the dojo cast long shadows across the room, flickering slightly with every movement. Raph had been preoccupied all day, leaving his brothers to their training while he handled his own matters. But something had been gnawing at him, an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. It wasn’t until he wandered into the dojo that he realized why.

There you were, laughing—laughing—with Leonardo, the eldest brother. Sweat glistened on your brow, and the sound of your laughter echoed off the walls as you and Leo sparred. You had fallen, clearly tripped during your training session, landing squarely on top of him. For a moment, it was nothing but shared amusement, an easy, innocent moment between friends. But to Raphael, it felt like a dagger to the chest.

His blood boiled at the sight. The way you and Leo seemed so comfortable with each other, how naturally your body lay sprawled over his brother’s. The sight was too much. Without thinking, Raphael stormed into the room, his broad shoulders tense, and his face twisted into an expression that was far from friendly.

“Hey,” he growled, his voice low, eyes narrowing. “What the hell is goin’ on here?”

You scrambled off of Leo, confusion flashing in your eyes as you glanced between the two brothers. Leo, ever the calm and collected leader, simply raised an eyebrow, not yet catching onto what had set his hot-headed sibling off.

“We were just training, Raph,” you explained, brushing off the dust from your clothes. “You were busy, so Leo stepped in.”

“Training?” Raphael spat, his fists clenching at his sides. “Looked like somethin’ else to me.”

Before you could respond, Raphael grabbed your arm—not hard, but firm enough that it was clear he wasn’t asking. “We’re talkin’. Now.”

He dragged you out of the dojo without another word, Leo watching silently, his lips drawn into a thin line. The tension was thick as Raph pulled you into one of the side rooms, slamming the door behind him. The room was smaller, more intimate, and with each second, you could feel the heat radiating off of him.

“What the hell was that, huh?” Raphael snapped, his emerald eyes flashing with hurt beneath his anger. His breathing was ragged, his broad chest rising and falling quickly. “You think I wouldn’t notice? You think I wouldn’t care?”

You stepped back slightly, taken aback by the intensity of his reaction. “Raph, it was just training! Leo was just helping me out because you weren’t around.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe I don’t like the idea of you ‘n him gettin’ all buddy-buddy when I’m not lookin’,” he muttered, though now there was something softer in his tone. The edge of insecurity that he tried so desperately to hide.

“Raph…” You sighed, moving closer, your hand finding his. “It’s not like that. You know it’s not.”

He glared at the floor for a moment, jaw clenched tight, his large hand trembling slightly beneath yours. “I know, but… seeing you like that. With him. It just… it messed with my head.”

You could feel the heat of his jealousy simmering down, though the air between you was still charged. Your fingers slid up to his wrist, tracing the tense muscles there. "You don’t have to be jealous. You know I’m here for you, right?"

Raphael grunted, his body relaxing under your touch, but there was still an intense, lingering tension. Slowly, his eyes met yours, the fire in them shifting from anger to something else entirely. The air between you thickened, and you could feel his grip on your arm tighten, but this time, it wasn’t out of anger.

Without warning, he pulled you closer, his lips inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. “You think I’m lettin’ this go just like that?” His voice was a low rumble, full of heat and unresolved feelings.

And just like that, the conversation shifted, the jealousy morphing into something far more primal, something that needed release. In the heat of the moment, the frustration, the possessiveness—all of it—boiled over, and Raphael’s lips crashed into yours, full of a raw intensity that made your knees weak.

His hands were everywhere, pulling you close, desperate to remind you exactly who you belonged to. Every ounce of his jealousy poured into that kiss, a bruising, passionate clash of emotions as he pressed you against the wall, leaving no room for doubt about how much he wanted you.

And in that moment, as the world around you disappeared, you knew one thing for certain: no one could ever make you feel the way Raphael did.

"You're... mine.", he growled, sliding his hands down your thighs slowly. Very slow... The way it feels you couldn't describe, but your body can.

Tongues intertwining, hands exploring each other bodies, moans feeling the room. The red-clad huge turtle moves his waist foward, pressing his hardness agaist you. "It is not the en', honey."

[pequins]

hear me out hear me out a schlatt fic where hes up late editing and reader is in bed waiting for him so they go check on him, telling him to come to bed and stuff, but when he doesnt, they climb on the chair, sitting on his lap so they block the view, and schlatt obv is now turned on and then they get freakyy 😈 perchance afab!reader, f!reader ‼️

nonnie you’re so smart come kiss me

cont: sleep deprived perfectionist schlatt, afab!reader, unprotected sex & creampie

an: any typos were the work of my opps and i am not liable for them (i wrote this after staying awake for 27 hours)

word count: too many

Jay leaned back in his chair, letting out a low groan as his muscles ached from the prolonged sitting. He had spent the whole day recording and editing a vlog for his channel, unintentionally neglecting you and his need for rest in the process. He was exhausted, his eyes strained from staring at the screen for so long.

he glanced up the time on his screen, wincing as he saw how late it was, 3:46 am? He could’ve swore it was just 9, “jesus..” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. despite his eyes burning from lack of sleep and extensive time staring at a screen, he was determined to finish this video before going to sleep.

meanwhile, you were watching him from the door frame, leaning against it with a disapproving look. Although you understood his dedication to his work, you worried about the toll it was taking on him. “Jay, it’s late, you gotta sleep sometime or you’ll go crazy.” you said, he sighed, glancing at you with a mixture of fatigue and stubbornness. “I know, I know. I’m almost done, just let me finish something real quick.”

you sighed, sounding similar to that of a disappointed mother, knowing that ‘real quick’ is just his way of excusing hours more of work. you approached him, standing behind his chair and gently resting your hands on his tense shoulders. “yknow, the video will still be there tomorrow.” you remarked, silently pleading for your giant boyfriends comforting presence while you slept.

he groaned quietly as you began to massage his shoulders, feeling a few knots that had formed after hours of hunching over the desk. your touch was soothing, and for a moment, he was tempted to drop everything and curl up with you in bed. unfortunately, his perfectionist tendencies were too strong, the thought of leaving a project unfinished being simply unbearable. “I promise I’ll come to bed in just a minute,” he said, eyes remaining fixed on the screen.

you grew increasingly frustrated with his relentless dedication to his work, your touch transitioning from a therapeutic massage to something more intimate, your fingers tracing along his collarbone. your breath tickling his ear as you lowered your voice to a sultry whisper. "come on, you work too much.”

he let out a shaky exhale, his eyes closing for a moment. “baby..” he muttered quietly, his breaths becoming more uneven. your hands slowly slid down his chest, sending a shiver down his spine. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks as his resolve to finish the video slowly crumbled.

“what do I have to do to get you off this damn chair?” you asked, your touch was like electricity to his senses. he felt his resolve weakening, the allure of your words almost too much to resist.

“toots, i’m—“ he stopped himself, clearing his throat. “i’m almost done, you’re distractin’ me.” he huffed, his voice strained and breathless. you smiled as you continued your assault on his senses, “cmon,” you whispered.

“take a break.”

schlatt's eyes widened as you abruptly climbed onto the chair, straddling his lap in a way that certainly had his attention. he felt the heat radiating from your core as you settled the weight of your body against him.

his hands instinctively found their way to your hips, “you're playing dirty, y'know." he muttered. you could feel his resistance faltering as your presence made it hard for him to focus on anything else. he tried to keep his eyes fixed on the screen, determined to finish his video, but you both knew you had him right where you wanted him.

your body pressed against his chest as you left a trail of kisses along his exposed collarbone. "i think you've worked enough for tonight, don't you?" you purred, your fingers tracing along his jawline. a low groan escaped his throat as the growing pressure in his boxers made him painfully aware of your closeness.

he knew he should resist, but the allure of your body against his was overtaking his logic. "cmon, come to bed," you whispered, your hands snaking underneath his large sweater. "you need to rest."

he could feel the heat of your breath against his skin, your teasing ignited a fire within him. his heart was racing, the room suddenly felt unbearably hot as he tried to resist the pull of your kisses.

"dammit toots..." he exhaled, his voice strained and low. your close proximity was making it difficult for him to think clearly, his usually sharp mind becoming foggy with want. you gently pushed yourself off of the chair with a coy smile, an obvious gesture for him to follow.

he grumbled, reluctantly pushing himself off of the chair and standing up, his body protesting the movement after being stuck in the same position for so long. he followed you silently, his mind still fighting to hold onto his work as you led him into the bedroom.

you stopped as you hit edge of the bed, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. the air was heavy with tension, the desire between you both palpable.

his hands roughly grabbed your hips, pulling you flush against him. his grip possessive yet filled with a tenderness that betrayed his usual rugged exterior. you shivered as his hands began to roam your body, exploring every inch of you with a hungry desperation.

his touch was electric, igniting a that spread throughout your body. his lips now pressed against your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down to your collarbone. his voice was low rough as he muttered, “fuck, i need you"

the weight of his body pinned you to the soft sheets as his hands continued their exploration, pushing your shirt up and discarding it on the floor. he took in the view of your body, his eyes dark and dilated with need. "you're so fuckin’ beautiful." he said, his voice a low growl, his hands now digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. he positioned himself between your legs, pressing himself against your heat. you reached up, his words sending a thrill through your body, your fingers tangling in his dark hair.

he let out a guttural moan as your fingers gripped his hair, the sensation heightening his already sensitive state. his hands gripped your hips, lifting them up, positioning himself closer to you as he trembled with restraint. "i need you, right now." there was a possessive edge to his words, a hint of vulnerability that betrayed his usually guarded nature.

his hands ran over your body, tracing patterns on your skin, desperate to feel you, to claim you. he abruptly pulled your soaked panties down to your ankles, almost drooling at the sight of your bare pussy. he slatternly slid his gym shorts and boxers down to his ankles, briskly freeing his thick cock, tip already shiny and leaking precum.

he braced himself on your hips as he roughly slid into you, gripping at your hips so tightly they’d probably bruise, pulling out just to the tip before thrusting back in. "fuck" he groaned, eyes glassy and desperate as he soaked in the needy moans erupting from you. he threw his head back, letting out deep, gutteral groans as your cunt tightened around him.

the sound of his breathing grew heavier as he continued his movements, reaching deep inside of you, brushing against all the right spots. each movement forced a strangled moan to escape your mouth, mouth agape as your breath was knocked out of you with every thrust. His thrusts became less rhythmic and more sloppy, the sensations almost too much.

"oh god—“ he moaned, his voice cracking as he pounded into you, just hearing you was enough to send him over the edge. It didn't take long for you to become cockdrunk, gripping at the sheets to stay grounded as you mewled and trembled.

his pace faltered, groans getting louder and more gravelly as he chased his high. you whimpered as you felt him abruptly release inside of you, his chest heaving as he buried his head into the crook of your neck, pressing soft, breathy kisses on your collarbone. you both huffed, giggling with what little breath you had left after the intense high.

[shortnspidey]

CHAPTER ONE: ECHOS OF THE PAST

bucky barnes x fem!stark!reader || WC: 3.7K

A/N: In honor of Sebastian getting his first Golden Globe (which was long overdue), I present to you all the first chapter for this series! Thank you for all the love on this series before it was even published! This first chapter is really angsty, BUT there is certainly more to come! Dividers by @sister-lucifer <3

➩ next chapter

➩ main masterlist

➩ series masterlist

The familiar hum of New York City quickly faded as you stepped into the quiet sanctuary of your apartment. It was a stark contrast to the bustling campus of MIT, a place that had once held so much promise. The weight of the past few months hung heavy on your shoulders as you let out a long, weary sigh. You had returned home, defeated and disillusioned.

The keys in your right hand felt heavy, almost like an invisible weight was pushing you down. You shook your head, trying to clear the fog of disappointment and frustration. The sense of relief from being back home was met with the bitter taste of unmet expectations. You had dreamed of making a mark, of proving to yourself and to everyone else that you belonged at one of the most prestigious institutions in the world.

Instead, you found yourself constantly questioning your place, your purpose, and your abilities. As you finally turned the key and stepped inside, the familiar surroundings offered a small comfort. However, that relief was short lived. What you didn't expect was to see your father, in the flesh, sitting in your living room. His presence felt like an additional weight on your already burdened shoulders, amplifying the emotions swirling inside you.

Choosing to ignore him, you walked past the living room and into your room. You could bet that he would be following close behind you not even a second later. Sure enough, as you settled to unpack the little clothes that lay in your suitcase, you heard his footsteps approaching. "F.R.I.D.A.Y told me you were back in New York," The stern voice of Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist or as you knew him, your father, interrupted behind you.

Letting out a sigh, you could practically feel the disappointment radiating off of him from your doorway. "Which I find very odd since it's nowhere near your winter break." You avoided eye contact as you fiddled with the items on your desk. "Funny enough, I gave a lecture at MIT and to my surprise my daughter was nowhere to be found. Especially since the academic advisor stopped me to inform me you haven't been attending classes for almost a month." God you wished he'd just get right to the point.

"Care to explain?" Not bothering to hide the nonchalance in your voice, you simply shrugged and mumbled, "Dropped out." The tension in the room was palpable, his silence spoke volumes, a mixture of disbelief and frustration hanging in the air. "Dropped out? What do you mean, you dropped out? You were doing so well." You could hear the strain in his voice, the effort it took to keep his emotions in check. “MIT was your dream, not mine.” His eyes widened, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of hurt cross his face.

You almost felt bad. Almost. "But you had everything going for you," He insisted, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at you with what you could only assume was utter disappointment. "The scholarships, internships, the many opportunities they offered… Why would you throw all that away?" You sighed, feeling the weight of his disappointment. "Because it wasn't making me happy," You replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I finally realized that I was living someone else's dream, not mine."

You had finally admitted it.

As you finally mustered the courage to confront him, a bruise blooming on his right eye suddenly stole your attention. The conversation about MIT, now seemed like the last thing on your mind. After what seemed like an eternity, you tried to gauge his expression, but came up short. "Well in that case," He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're grounded." Clenching your jaw you scoffed in disdain. "What the hell do you mean I'm grounded?" You spat, crossing you arms over your chest. "I don't think I stuttered." Tony rolled his eyes which only fueled your anger.

"I'm not five dad, I'm almost twenty-five, you can't ground me." You growled, digging your freshly manicured nails into your palm in frustration. "As your father, I believe that is one of the many privileges I still hold. You're clearly not thinking straight. You need time to reflect on your choices and figure out what you truly want." He looked at you with a mixture of worry and disappointment, his eyes searching for a way to reach you. "This isn't about punishment, it's about helping you." The more he talked, the angrier you became.

Of course, he was making this about him, as he somehow always seemed to do. Completely disregarding what you wanted, he continued to impose his will. The familiar feeling of being trapped under his expectations washed over you, instantly making your blood boil. "Helping me?" You echoed, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "You do realize that I just confessed that I don't want to go back to MIT, and instead of asking me why, you ground me instead. Real mature." You could feel the tears of frustration welling up, but you refused to let them fall.

You weren't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing that he had affected you. This was your life, your decision, and you were growing tired of being treated like a child. He opened his mouth to respond, but you cut him off, the words spilling out before you could find will to stop them. "You don't get it, do you? It's like you only hear what you want to hear. I’m not some kid who needs to be sheltered from the world. I need you to listen for once!" His expression hardened, and you could see the frustration creeping into his demeanor.

Taking his silence as a sign to continue, you pushed back your nerves and tears, and decided a different approach to somehow get your point across. "Can’t you see that I’m trying to figure things out on my own? Grounding me isn’t going to help me in any way." He sighed, and you could tell he was struggling to find the right words. Tony Stark may be the smartest and most successful man in the world, but he sure as hell didn't know how to express himself. In words, at least. "I just want what’s best for you," His voice softer now, was almost pleading.

It almost made you feel bad for yelling. "Then try trusting me for once," Your voice trembled with a mix of anger and desperation. "I'm tired of people not knowing my name, and only knowing me as 'Tony Stark's daughter'. You have to understand that, dad." The silence hung heavy between you, both of you staring at each other, the weight of unspoken words filling the room. You could feel the tension shifting, and for a brief moment, you wondered if he finally understood. After a pregnant pause, he suddenly found the words, just not the ones you were expecting.

"Well, I'm off, there's cheeseburgers in the kitchen." The casualness in his voice, as if the conversation hadn't happened made your frustration and anger resurface. "Just like that you're leaving," You scoffed in disbelief, but never the less expected it. This was typical of him, avoiding the deeper issues with a quick exit. "You really think cheeseburgers is going to make up for this?" You added, hoping for once in his life he was joking. Oh how wrong you were. “Settle in, watch movies, but do not leave this apartment under any circumstances.” He instructed, his tone firm as he moved toward the door.

"And if I leave?" You challenged, standing your ground as his hand hovered over the front door knob. He paused, his back to you. "Just remember I have eyes everywhere," Without so much as a final glance in your direction, he shut the door behind him. The thud echoed through the apartment, leaving you alone with your thoughts. As if on cue, your phone which laid abandoned in your bedroom went off startling you. Looking at the door one last time, you let out a huff, the frustration and disappointment evident in your breath. It was clear your father wasn't coming back.

With a resigned sigh, you turned and made your way to your bedroom. As soon as you picked up your phone, your heart dropped. Notifications filled the screen, each one more alarming than the last. You had been tagged in numerous social media posts, not to mention the messages from colleagues and acquaintances at MIT. Even Pepper had sent you a text regarding something called the Sokovia Accords. Your fingers trembled as you scrolled through the posts, the images and videos of chaos and destruction filling the screen. Your mind raced, trying to piece together what had happened while you were unaware.

Among the thread of messages, Pepper's stood out the most. "We need to talk. This is serious. Call me as soon as you can," it read. You could almost hear the urgency in her voice, and it made your stomach churn. You quickly dialed her number, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for her to pick up. The phone rang twice before she answered. "Hey sweetheart, are you okay?" She asked, her voice filled with concern. "I don't know," You admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "What even are the Sokovia Accords?" You heard Pepper sighed on the other end of the line.

"It's a long story, but to put it in the simplest terms, it's a set of legal documents that will regulate the activities of enhanced individuals." You felt a cold chill run down your spine as Pepper explained the implications. The weight of the situation pressed down on you, and you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. "Just be careful, okay?" You nodded even if she couldn't see you. "I will, I love you." As she echoed those words back, you hung up. The world seemed to be against you today, because not even seconds after you set your phone down, there was a knock present at your door.

It made your heart drop, especially since no one knew you were back in New York. Slowly, you reached for the knife hidden by your bedside table, adrenaline coursing through your body as you slowly inched toward the front door. Your heart pounded in your chest as you approached the door. Taking a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. Peering through the peephole, you saw a shadowy figure standing just beyond the threshold, their features obscured by the dim hallway light. With your hand gripping the knife tightly, you cautiously unlocked the door, ready to defend yourself if necessary.

As the door creaked open, the figure stepped forward into the light, revealing a familiar face. "Uncle Clint," You breathed out immediately tackling the man in a hug. He instantly reciprocated, tightening his hold on you. “You ready to get the hell out of here, kid?” You couldn’t contain your smile, immediately nodding. Not needing anything else but your phone and keys, you locked your door following Clint down the steps. "Where are we going?" You asked, your curiosity piqued. "Germany," He replied nonchalantly making you stiffen momentarily.

Turning back as if sensing your unease, he gave you a reassuring smile. "I'm assuming you've heard the news about the Accords." You nodded, climbing into the passenger seat of his van as he unlocked it. "We just have to make a quick pitstop first." As you settled into the seat and the van roared to life, your thoughts instantly started racing. "What's the pitstop for?" You asked, trying to keep your voice steady. Clint glanced over at you, a smirk playing on his lips. "Just picking up some... backup," He said cryptically as the sense of anticipation grew as you wondered what lay ahead.

Arriving in Germany at the Leipzig-Halle Airport, it was safe to say you were a nervous wreck. Especially since the 'backup' Clint had meant was breaking Wanda Maximoff out of the Avengers Compound and picking up someone named Scott Lang. Thankfully, the witch had promised to stay out of your head so she couldn't read your inner turmoil. However, just by your body language, anyone could tell you were not 'okay'. "You okay, kid?" Clint's voice asked softly, his paternal instincts kicking in.

You managed a weak smile. "Yeah, just… thinking." The van's engine hummed softly as it entered the airport car garage, the dim lighting casting long shadows on the concrete walls. Clint raised a brow in your direction as the van entered the airport car garage, his eyes searching yours. "About what?" You hesitated, unsure of how to answer. "Everything," You finally admitted. "The Accords, my dad…" Clint nodded understandingly. "Yeah, it's a lot to take in." He paused, then added, "You don't have to do this, you know. You can still walk away." His words echoed in your head.

He was right, there was nothing stopping you from walking away, especially since your father was in support of the Accords. However, something about how he was willing to start a divide within his closest friends made you angry. Maybe it was because he had failed to hear you out, just as he had failed to hear Steve’s side of the argument. The memory of your father’s dismissive tone and the way he brushed off your concerns played over and over in your mind, fueling your decision. It was safe to say you had already made up your mind.

Turning in your seat, you gave Clint a smirk, a spark of defiance lighting up your eyes. "No chance in hell." His smile widened at your words, and he reached over to squeeze your hand. The van came to a sudden halt, jolting you slightly. Only then did you realize that Steve Rogers was a few feet away, his broad shoulders and familiar stance unmistakable. He had his back turned to you, deep in conversation with two other figures. "Does Steve know I'm here?" You asked, a mix of anticipation and apprehension threading through your voice.

"He does now," Clint shrugged, his tone casual but reassuring. "Here goes nothing" You mumbled to yourself as you unbuckled your seatbelt. "You know I wouldn't have called if I had any other choice," You heard Steve say to Clint as he extended his hand in a firm handshake. His voice was steady, but you could detect the underlying strain. Only then did his blue eyes find yours over Clint's shoulder. They widened slightly, a mix of surprise and relief washing over his features. "Y/N?" Steve breathed out, almost as if trying to decipher if you were real or not.

You lifted your hand in an awkward wave, finding the courage to step forward. Only, the super solider beat you to it. In two strides he was at your side, scooping you up into a much needed hug. His embrace was strong and warm, enveloping you in a sense of security you hadn't felt in a long time. You squeezed him back just as eagerly, hoping that through the hug you could tell him you were on his side. "It's so good to see you," He murmured into your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "I just wish it was under different circumstances." You nodded, pulling back your eyes searching his face for any signs of the unease you knew he must be feeling.

"You know I've always got your back." You smiled, giving him a mock salute which made him laugh. "Nice to see you again, kid." You turned locking eyes with Sam Wilson who was giving you a teasing smile. "Hi Sam." You grinned, eyes landing on the figure standing beside him. Dressed in a red Henley, his posture was rigid, and his expression was guarded. "Y/N, this is Bucky." Steve introduced him, almost as if reading your mind. Bucky's intense gaze met yours, and for a moment, you felt a shiver run down your spine.

His eyes were a stormy blue, filled with a depth of experiences that seemed to weigh heavily on his shoulders. Despite his tough exterior, there was something about him that intrigued you, a vulnerability that was almost palpable. Here it comes. Bucky thought to himself watching as your eyes flickered with recognition. "You're Sergeant James Barnes," You couldn't help but feel a mix of awe and empathy for the man standing before you. Bucky nodded slowly, his expression softening just a fraction. "Just Bucky," He corrected gently, as if trying to distance himself from the past that still clung to him.

You offered a small, understanding smile. "It's an honor to meet you, Bucky. I've heard a lot about you." You could have sworn you saw his lip twitch into a faint smile, almost as if for a brief moment the walls he had built around himself seemed to lower. Steve cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "Thanks for having my back." He nodded towards Wanda who stood behind you with her arms crossed. "It was time to get off my ass." Her expression was one of casual indifference, but her eyes held a spark of determination. "It was time to get off my ass," She shrugged nonchalantly, her tone light but her commitment evident.

The corner of your mouth lifted into a smile at her straightforwardness. "How about our other recruit?" Steve questioned, turning his attention to Clint. His eyes met Steve's with a knowing look, and he gave a slight nod, signaling his readiness. "He's ready to go," He coaxed turning to open the sliding door of the van. "I had to put a little coffee in him, but he should be good." As Scott slowly blinked the sleep from his eyes, Wanda stepped in front of you, her stance protective, almost as if shielding you from his gaze. "What time zone is this?" You heard him huff, his voice gravelly and tinged with sleep as he climbed out of the van with Clint's encouragement.

You watched as his eyes widened when they landed on Steve, almost as if not believing Captain America himself was standing in front of him. His expression shifted from confusion to awe, his mouth slightly agape. "C-Captain America," He breathed out, the words barely more than a whisper. "Mr. Lang." Steve nodded politely, extending his hand out for him to shake. The gesture was calm and composed, a stark contrast to Scott's jittery excitement. "It's an honor," Scott beamed, his face lighting up with a wide grin as he proceeded to shake Steve’s hand longer than was deemed normal.

"Wow, this is awesome," You heard him mumble to himself. The awe in his voice was infectious, and you had to stifle a laugh as Steve and Sam shared a knowing look. "I know you too, you're great," He praised, turning to Wanda with an earnest smile. You saw her eyes light up, a genuine smile spreading across her face as she acknowledged his compliment. "Y/N Stark," His attention now shifted to you. "I'm a huge fan, your Mind-Weaver pitch was compelling. Should help a lot of people too." His words were sincere, and you could see the genuine appreciation in his eyes.

That was the first time you had heard someone acknowledge you as well as your work outside of being Tony Stark's daughter. It was a refreshing change, and you had to admit it felt good. A sense of pride swelled within you, and you couldn't help but smile back at him. Turning back to Steve, Scott nervously fiddled with his hands, his fingers twitching as he tried to gather his thoughts. "Uh, look, I want to say, I know you know a lot of super people, so thanks for thinking of me." He smiled appreciatively. "They tell you what we're up against?" Steve asked, his voice steady and calm.

"Something about some psycho assassins," Scott replied, his tone a mix of curiosity and concern. Steve nodded, his expression grim. "We're outside the law on this one, so if you come with us you're a wanted man," Steve warned, his eyes locking onto Scott's, ensuring he understood the full implications of joining their cause. "Yeah well, what else is new," Scott shrugged. "We should get moving." Bucky suggested, speaking up for the first time in a while. His voice was low but carried a sense of urgency. Clint nodded in agreement, his eyes scanning the room as if already planning their next move.

"Thanks to Y/N's help, we got a chopper lined up," He added, acknowledging the crucial role you played. Suddenly, a buzz emitted from the intercom, sharp and insistent, cutting through the tense atmosphere like a knife. It sounded urgent. "They're evacuating the airport." Bucky translated, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information. "Dad," You breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper. You picked at your nail polish, trying to distract yourself from the anxiety that was building up inside you, avoiding everyone's piercing gaze that seemed to bore into you, seeking answers.

After a moment of heavy silence, Steve seemed to mull over his options, his jaw clenched tightly. The tension in the room was almost palpable, each second stretching into an eternity. Finally, he made his decision. "Suit up," He commanded, his voice firm and resolute. You held your breath, suddenly feeling the realness of the situation wash over you like a cold wave. The gravity of what lay ahead settled in, and the room seemed to shrink as your heart pounded in your chest. This was it. You were officially going to face your dad in what very well might be the endgame.

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Best Unremembered

Love Bites, Chapter 1 // Love Bites {Masterlist}

Ship: Astarion Ancunin x fem!vampire spawn!elf!Tav/reader

Summary: Waking up with a spotty memory and the only person you do remember is jarring enough—but it only gets worse when the people who remember you are monsters and strangers.

Word Count: 3,095 words

Warnings: exposition chapter, vampire spawn, Astarion lies, amnesia for the reader

Note: This is the first chapter of a nine chapter fic! It will be updated weekly. Check the posting schedule on my {Updates Page} and enjoy the fic! Please be warned it does contain some heavy themes related to Astarion's trauma.

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Rough hands grabbed you from the comforting darkness surrounding you, ripping you violently from deep sleep. As your eyes fluttered open, you became aware of a constant, throbbing ache throughout your body. You were quite certain, without apparent reason, that your rest had not been all that restful.

He was nothing but a shadowed figure above you, his white hair a glowing halo around his head, outlined by the sun, as he shook you awake. He hovered above you and you couldn’t see his face, but you could tell he was afraid—he gripped your shoulders with a tightness that suggested he was afraid you’d disintegrate if he let you go. In fact, the fear radiated so strongly from him you were certain you could smell it. 

Your name. He was saying it, calling to you, begging you to wake up. The moment he realized your eyes had cracked open, he relaxed, his head dropping to your chest and a sob of relief escaping him. Without thinking about it, you put your hand in his hair; the move felt natural and practiced, like you’d been doing it all your life.

But who the hell was this man and why was he crying on your chest?

“What—” You coughed; your lungs felt heavy and full of…something. Your voice was rough as you asked, “What happened?” The words had barely gotten out when you started to wheeze. Suddenly very certain you were going to throw up, you sat up quickly, throwing him off and rolling onto your side. At first you dry-heaved, aware of his hand on your back.

“Let it out,” he told you, patting your back. “Trust me, you’ll feel better once you do.”

His words were magic. Perhaps it was simply how familiar he suddenly was or how silky smooth that voice was, but your body listened to him. You hacked up everything: slime and black dirt and congealed blood. He held you as you heaved. When you finally stopped coughing, you leaned back into his chest.

“Astarion,” you breathed, his name and his person once again firmly in your mind. You knew him, you trusted him, and by gods, you loved him.

“I’m right here,” he soothed. “Oh, darling.” He leaned his head into your shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“I’m not sure,” you panted. “Gods, what happened to me? Where the hells are we?”

You looked around, taking in the dirt path the two of you were sitting on, tall plants and trees casting some shadows across the path. You sat in the blaring sun, both of you dusty. And you recognized absolutely none of it.

“I wish I knew,” Astarion said. “We were on that ship—”

You practically choked. You turned in his lap to stare at him. “A ship?”

Astarion brushed your hair out of your face, nodding as he did, and you got your first good look at him. His silver hair was covered in a fine layer of dust and he squinted his crimson eyes to stare at you. He was paler than the Astarion you remembered, the skin around his eyes darker than they were on the face that had smiled at you in your childhood. 

Your eyes dipped to his neck out of wary instinct. You saw the twin puncture wounds and your memory seemed to play catch-up. Your Astarion, your elf—now a vampire. You reached out one hand to touch his scars and he flinched. Unfazed, you brought your hand to your own neck and found with your fingers the same marks on your neck.

“You don’t remember very much, do you?” he said.

“I… I don’t know.” Your chest seemed very tight. “Astarion, I don’t know what I don’t remember, everything’s all…all jumbled!”

Astarion seemed to catch on to your panicking before even you did. “Hey, hey, hey. Darling, look at me. It’s alright. We’ll figure it out together. What’s the last thing you remember?”

You wracked your brain. “Well…I remember drinking together last night. I remember you taking me to bed. And then…nothing. Just waking up right here, right now.”

He looked disappointed. “Is that all you remember of me?”

“What? Oh, no! That’s just the last thing I remember. We…we grew up together, didn’t we? We’ve been together since we were little.”

Relief crossed his face. It was a strange sight; some of it seemed genuine, and some of it seemed very forced. You chalked it up to your spotty memory as he hugged you tightly to his chest. You wrapped your arms around him as one of his arms curled around your waist, melting into his hold. Despite the building panic in your chest over the gaps in your memory, you felt yourself relax the longer he held you.

“Oh, thank gods,” he breathed. “I’d hate to have to start from scratch again. It would be a little bit difficult to catch up on two hundred some-odd years, eh?”

You cuddled into him. “Astarion?”

“Yes, dear?”

“How are we in the sun?”

He froze. After a moment, he pulled away from you and cupped your face. “Darling?”

You touched the marks on your neck again. “We’re vampires, aren’t we?” He nodded, biting his lip a bit guiltily; the sight of his fangs led you to run your tongue across your own, confirming your suspicion. “So how the hell are we in the sun? How is this possible?”

He hesitated, a frown forming on his beautiful face. “Well, I—I don’t know, but I suppose it has something to do with what happened on the ship.”

You sighed. “I don’t remember a ship, Astarion, what the hells are you talking about?”

Astarion pulled you to your feet. “We should find you some water—it might help you remember what happened—”

You stopped, not letting him drag you down the dirt path. “Astarion, please!” He froze, glancing back at you. It took only a few seconds before your lower lip started to wobble and for tears to start to spill over. He immediately pulled you into his arms. “I don’t remember anything. I don’t remember being turned into a vampire, I don’t remember what we’ve been doing for two hundred fucking years, my body aches and I have no clue why, and I certainly don’t remember a ship, so please, for the love of every god I couldn’t possibly name, tell me what happened last night and tell me why I don’t remember anything.”

He kissed the crown of your head, pulling you in and keeping you close to his chest. “Oh, darling. We went out last night. We were drinking. We were…” He huffed out an embarrassed laugh. “We were very drunk, love. I suppose that’s why we…went out again last night. After we…made love. Gods, if we had just stayed in…”

You looked up and searched his face; regret had overwhelmed his features and his eyes had filled with tears. “Asty?” The nickname came naturally and seemed to bring him out of his memories and back to you.

“They stole us from the street,” he said thickly. “We’d gone out for a…a walk. Like we always do, in the last few hours of night. And then those—those Mind Flayers took us and put parasites in our eyes. I…I don’t know what they do, but it can’t be good.”

“Can’t it?” you asked. “We can walk in the sun again. Isn’t that good?”

“Well, yes, but we know nothing else about it,” he said, biting his lip. “I don’t trust it.”

Some part of you wanted to argue, but you could sense his agitation and dropped it. “So what happened to the ship? How’d we get to the dirt?”

“It crashed,” he said simply. “Someone—or something—must have found a way to force us to crash land. We were thrown a ways away, and then I dragged you out of the rubble to try and wake you.” Astarion cupped your face in his hands and pressed your foreheads together. “Gods, I was so scared I was going to lose you.”

You held his wrists and kissed the tips of his fingers. “There are others, then? Other people from the ship?”

“If any of them survived, yes.”

“We should find them,” you said firmly. “Maybe they can help us figure out if these…parasites, or whatever they are, are good or bad.”

“You want to find other people? As vampires walking around in the full light of day?”

You considered his fear for a moment, then tugged his collar up to hide the punctures better. You did the same for yourself. “If we’re careful, no one will suspect us. If we don’t tell them we’re vampires, how will they know? We’re out and about in the sun. Perhaps we’re just really, really pale elves.” You rubbed your neck cautiously. The wound, though closed, was tender. “I can’t believe I don’t remember being turned. That’s the sort of thing someone would remember, right?”

Astarion shrugged. “Those Mind Flayers may have messed with your mind. They certainly poked around in my head too much for my liking.”

You rubbed your arms and leaned into his chest again. He hummed softly and wrapped you in a cool embrace. “Even if I don’t remember much, I’m glad you’re here with me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He kissed your cheek. “I’m glad—” He frowned. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Shouting.”

The two of you listened, bodies pressed close together, until the sound came again: a man’s voice, shouting for help. You spared a quick glance at Astarion and chose to ignore the apprehension on his face before dragging him in the direction of the shouting.

Just over the crest of a steep hill, you found yourself staring straight into a hole in the stone mountainside, glowing and pulsing with a deep purple magic—and a hand sticking out of it.

“Hello? Hello! A little help here!”

You and Astarion exchanged a glance. He shrugged. You rolled your eyes and took the man’s hand. You grit your teeth as you tugged. It was only when you slid toward the portal that Astarion grabbed on, too, and yanked you back—and the man out with you.

He dusted off his deep purple robes and stood up straight, smiling at you and Astarion. His smile wavered when he realized the two of you were little more than distressed vagabonds. But he brought it back up to his face and waved. “Hello! I’m Gale of Waterdeep. Who might you be?”

You blinked at him, then gave your name and stated that you were a barkeep in Baldur’s Gate, pleased that you had remembered even something about yourself, and introduced Astarion as your partner and husband. You noted how pleased he looked and wondered if you were exaggerating the truth a little bit—after all, Astarion claimed you had spent over two hundred years together, but you didn’t remember a wedding.

“Pleased to meet you!” Gale said, cheery. “Now how did you two come to be, well, here?”

You glanced at Astarion. “I, um, don’t remember much, but it’s got something to do with Mind Flayers and parasites.”

~❊~

In all your adventuring, with all your gaps in your memory, you hadn’t felt such an innate fear until the moment you stepped into the Szarr Palace. The feeling worsened as you followed Astarion deeper into its walls, feeling very certain you’d done this before, despite Astarion’s promise that he had kept you as far away from your vampiric master as he could, taking the brunt of Cazador’s rage. Such was why your back did not bear the same scars as your lover’s, scars you had painstakingly translated and attempted to soothe with balms and creams. 

As for Astarion, he was faring no better. In fact, he was much worse than you, his fingers trembling viciously and his eyes darting from shadow to shadow as if he expected Cazador himself to leap out of them. For all you knew, perhaps he would. 

The sickness in your stomach reached its peak as soon as you saw the cages. They bore other spawn and you knew that you and your lover had once been behind those bars, hard as it was to picture. Seeing the filth and hatred and despair that hung like a cloud over the spawn, accompanied by the thick smell of decay and rot, you were suddenly glad the Mind Flayers had decided to relieve you of much of your memory. You knew they had not been so kind to your lover; Astarion woke often from nightmares of this place and everything Cazador had done to him—putrid blood, physical torture, claustrophobic stone walls. The very same thing Astarion had protected you from.

“Astarion, what is this?” you whispered, moving closer to his side.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Cazador hid this from me. And the others. I never saw this while I was his…”

“He didn’t do this to us, then?” 

Astarion shook his head. “No. They…must be part of his ritual. But how did they get here?”

As soon as the spawn saw you and your little group, the shrieking started, so at odds with their blank, hollow faces. In amongst the screams of fear, of anticipation, of sick and twisted delight, you heard your own name and Astarion’s passed around. Spawn pressed themselves against the bars to get a closer look. One in particular, clad in a destroyed red frock, his dirty face half-hidden by matted, dirty grey hair, seemed to recognize Astarion. He pushed to the front and you caught sight of a rune carved into him—matching some of the ones on Astarion’s back. 

“You. I know you.”

You glanced at Astarion. He was staring at the spawn with a mixture of disgust and confusion. 

“You’re the one from the tavern. You smiled and joked and…got me drunk.”

Your stomach twisted. You looked between the two of them; Astarion’s confusion was melting away into horror, and the spawn stared at him with such bitter hatred that you knew he wasn’t wrong. He knew Astarion. 

“You— No. You’re dead,” Astarion insisted. Guilt crossed his face. A weight like lead sunk from your chest to your stomach. Astarion had talked, in fits and starts, about what Cazador had made him do, explaining why you remembered so few nights spent with him. Was it possible this spawn was one of his many conquests? One of the victims Cazador had forced him to bring back?

Had Cazador really kept them alive for this long? 

“You called me so many sweet things,” the spawn continued, his voice broken. “My name sounded like a lyric on your tongue.”

Astarion squeezed his eyes shut. “Sebastian.” Gods above, it really was beautiful to hear him say it. And you, better than anyone, knew just how sweet Astarion could be.

“You remember me,” the spawn—Sebastian—whispered, amazed.

“You were handsome,” Astarion remembered. “Shy. You’d never been kissed.”

Sebastian was almost nodding. “You taught me how.” Your heart shattered in your chest. “And then you destroyed me.” The spawn screamed, lunging, his hand reaching through the bars to grab at Astarion. But he was just out of reach. In his despair, Sebastian fell to his knees.

“It can’t be,” Astarion whispered, his face falling. “He kept them. He kept them all. My conquests. He told us he was feeding on them, not that he was turning them!” His eyes scanned the locked up spawn. “I know so many of these faces. I don’t… Gods.”

“How long?” Sebastian demanded.

“What?” Astarion asked, startled.

“How long have I been down here?” Sebastian asked, getting back to his feet. 

Astarion looked at his feet, then back up at him. “One hundred and seventy years,” he said, his voice heavy. You released a slow breath, feeling the weight of every one of those years harshly, even if you remembered very little of them. “You were one of my first.”

“My family,” Sebastian whimpered. “My friends… They’re gone. You took them from me. You took everything from me!”

“We can help them, can’t we?” you asked, looking at Astarion. His lower lip trembled. “Can’t we?”

“Help? Help? There’s no helping us while that monster lives,” Sebastian spat. 

“That’s why we’re here—to destroy Cazador,” Astarion explained.

“You can’t. It’s not possible.” Sebastian’s eyes landed on you. “You tried it once. And look what came of it.”

Your skin crawled. “What? Astarion, what does he mean?”

Astarion wouldn’t meet your eyes.

Sebastian barked out a terrible laugh, roughened by years of intermittent screams and silence. “He hasn’t told you? Of course not. And you don’t remember. Most of us don’t. It’s like he breaks us, ruins us and our minds when he turns us, feeds on us.”

“Astarion!” Your voice was rising with alarm. “What the hells is he talking about?”

“We thought you might be the answer,” Sebastian whispered, his glowing red eyes fixed firmly on you now. “You were so strong. So brave. You faced him with a smile, even though you were crying. None of us were like that. We all screamed as we went to our graves. So we…hoped. It was a mistake to hope that you could change things.”

You took a step back, swallowing harshly. You were trembling. “Sebastian, please… We’ll free you from this nightmare. We just need to know where Cazador is so we can kill him.”

“Kill him?” he questioned, almost scoffing. “It’s not possible. You of all people should know that. You tried to run. And Cazador took you anyway. Because of him.”

His last growl was directed at Astarion. 

Your heart dropped to your feet. Every gnawing feeling you’d ever had that Astarion wasn’t being completely honest with you rushed back, hitting you so heavily it was hard to believe you’d ever ignored your doubts. You kept your eyes glued to Sebastian, not sure you wanted to see your lover’s face. “Astarion. What is he talking about?”

Please. You had no idea who you were praying to, but you knew you were. Please, let me be wrong. Let Sebastian be wrong. 

“Why do they know me, Astarion?” you asked. “Why do they remember me, when I don’t remember them?”

At last, you looked at him. His eyes were fixed on you, shining with tears, his guilt even more obvious than it had ever been. It felt as if your body was collapsing in on itself. A steady ringing built in your ears as he whispered your name, the first of his tears falling, and it was lost in Sebastian’s terrible, terrible laugh.

☞ ❊ ☜

[Image Caption: I do not give permission to repost, translate, or publish my work on any other site or app by anyone except myself. I do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI (for audio, art, or writing).]

Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Ancunin

Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the Astarion taglist!} @wayward-hel@cheeslyy@ofmyth-andmagicart@neetheslayer@whispering-depths@freesidexjunkie@lightsinmycity@the0ldmann@gobbodoggo@oooof-ifellforyou@beeblisss@fangboner@aquaarietes@fiercest-eigengrau-skies@niqhtfell@call-me-nyxx@lueji-m@ceres-xiv@tricksy-trinity@graynstairs@rosa-rubus@ynisthatyou@thegoodwitchs-blog@catching-fire-in-the-wind

[sherlocks-blanket]

Drunk Confessions

A/N: Finally, after having not posted for such a long time... I can post a fic I had as a WIP since last year... I hope I get to write more again, but I can't promise anything. Anyway, I hope you guys like it.

Words: 1k

Warnings: Nothing, just some drunk sherlock?

After you received a message from Sherlock, that you should come as soon as possible to Baker street, minus the spelling errors; which you dismissed he messaged while being in trouble… You dropped anything you where doing and hurried outside to hail a cab; to take you to 221B.

The moment the cab halt, you paid the driver and rushed up the stairs to find Sherlock with John sitting towards each other with notes attached on their foreheads and from the liquor in their hand; you could probably tell, that they had too much for this evening, with how wasted they are…

As you gasped for air, you let yourself drop on the doorframe, drawing the attention from the two men. You noticed a smile spreading on Sherlock lips the second his eyes where on you, but it wasn’t a fake one; it radiates warmth like he was pleased to see you came, which was unlike for Sherlock to do. Not that he can’t do it, but when he does; it’s either false ones that you can tell apart from the real, since the real ones are rare and shows how comfortable he is with someone, that he shows it; unlike the fake ones, where he drops his smile immediately the moment the person turns they face away from him; which you noticed a few times…

A giggle from John broke the awkward silence in this room. You turned your gaze to the doctor and raised an eyebrow at him.

“I kneeeeeeeew it!” he exclaimed, pointing to Sherlock, then he took a sip from his drink.

You furrowed your brows in further confusion, but shaking your head; you got your phone out of your pocket and wrote Mary; telling her she should pick up her drunken fiancé… Just as you were done writing the text; a client walked into the flat and asked for Sherlock; but you kindly explained she should come tomorrow, since it gotten late. It made you wonder if clients show up at any hour of the day…

Sherlock, of course…He protested that the client shouldn’t leave even after the client had already left. After all, who knows? It could’ve been a missed opportunity for a case that could have gotten his interest; but you simply pushed him back in his armchair when he tried to stand up.

“You can work tomorrow…Now you better rest, so you’ll be sober for the next day…”

He stared with a sharp glare, like he wanted to prove with some deductions he’s capable of working, but he faltered instantly; which you took as a sign that he gave in. When you turned to help John downstairs; where Mary would pick him up; still you felt his eyes bore onto you.

As Mary left with John; she gave you an apologetic glance before they got into a cab; leaving you to deal with a drunken Sherlock.

When you stepped through the door, Sherlock sat still in his armchair, his posture relaxed; his eyes on something. You never saw him resting like that, but it most likely came from the alcohol…

His eyes wandered to you, noticing you were present again. There was this again…

This warm smile.

“Well…let’s get you sobered up…” you mumbled, leaning your hand on his shoulder to animate him to standing up, which he didn’t and instead, he took your hand in his own; staring at it like it was a piece of art.

“You have such soft hands...”,he murmured, keeping his eyes on your hand; rubbing his thumb along your palm.

You gently withdrawn your hand feeling the a heat rise on your cheeks; before you could say something again that he needs to rest, he slowly stood up wobbly on his own; leaning his hand your shoulder for support.

With you by his side, you brought him to his bedroom and only helped to remove his shoes and his suit jacket. It didn’t need to get more awkward than it already was for you.

Just as you turned the night light off and wanting to head to the living room; you felt your hand taken again and a warm feeling on it. You peeked over your shoulder; seeing Sherlock lean his cheek on it, with his eyes closed.

You tried to withdraw your hand, but at the same time, you didn’t mind it much. So, you stayed for a while and heard Sherlock snoring softly.

**********

The next morning you were preparing some tea and some water with some painkillers. You assumed he'll have a headache after yesterday…

Just as you wanted to get your stuff from the couch and leave for your own flat; you heard a door open followed with some footsteps.

“Morning.” You greeted him with a smile, which disappeared the moment you thought about yesterday again... It made you wonder if he remembered his drunken behavior or if he ‘deleted’ it from his ‘hard drive’.

Sherlock acknowledged you with a slight nod and went for the water and painkillers.

You watched him silently drink the water but felt uncomfortable for you staring at him. So you thought it was better to go. As you took a single step; Sherlock called your name, drawing your attention back to him.

“About yesterday-“

You interrupted him, holding your hands up in defense; ”No! It’s alright…I know you didn’t mean that…“

Sherlock stared at you, and you could tell he thought for his next words, as he slowly opened his mouth to only closed it again.

“I..I really like you, and I mean... It”

You raised your eyebrows in confusion from this explanation about yesterday until he added.

“ I mean…I like you more than a friend…”

You froze on the spot at his confession as weird as the situation was you wanted to show him you felt the same, so you got out of your stupor and hugged him. It definitely caught him by surprise.

“Do you…feel the same?” he asked cautiously.

You only nodded and said while chuckling; “Yes.”

Sherlock hummed in thought. “I might have to thank John for this…it was his idea to text you…”

You thought again before you slowly connected the dots about yesterday. Like when John said he knew it…Did he see that you liked Sherlock or Sherlock, you or even both? You shook the thoughts away since they didn’t matter anymore. The only thing what mattered…

…was now.

[mothwingwritings]

What Picture Of You The Baki Men Choose As Their Phone Background, Pt. 1 <3

Reader X Baki, Retsu, and Katsumi

I saw this prompt for some other fandoms and thought it was absolutely adorable, so here are some silly little sweet headcanons for your reading pleasure!

Thank you and I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Mostly fluff, some mentions of suggestive themes and spicy texts, but other than that it’s rather mild. Also, it’s pretty lightly edited. No gendered words, but leans towards a female reader.

/)/) /)/) ( . .) (⸝⸝ᵕ ᵕ) ~ ♪ (ა📱ა૮( )ა

Baki Hanma 📱

Lock Screen- A cute picture of the two of you from one of your first official dates. It was at an amusement park and some of the park employees were greeting oncoming guests dressed up as mascots, milling around the front of the park posing with and taking pictures with the newcomers. At the time you were rather embarrassed, the characters mostly flocked to the children that were entering the park, but since there were no children in your party they all buzzed around you instead. The huge, florescent pink cat-suited individual that danced around you commented on what a lovely couple you were, urging you and Baki to form a heart with your hands as they posed energetically behind you, their cohort (an equally bright blue dog) snapping a quick picture of the three of you with Baki’s phone. Though the photo was rushed and a little blurry, you are all smiles in the shot, both yourself and Baki looking both bashful and genuinely happy. The love radiating through that image alone warms his heart each time he glances at it, and it warmed yours in turn to know he cherished the memory as much as you did, going so far as to set it as his lock screen so that he could be reminded of it each time he checked his phone.

Home Screen- A candid picture of yourself on another one of your dates, taken quite some time after the amusement park picture was taken. The newbie awkwardness in your relationship had greatly diminished at this point, a peaceful sort of comfort and familiarity now reigning supreme in your romance. Years of being with another person does that to you, your new-relationship jitters subsiding as you get to know all about your partner, their best and worst sides. With time all their obnoxious or gross habits have long since been laid bare, but you are still somehow simultaneously finding new things about them that make you love them even more. Your love changes with time, morphing from something fresh and new to something much deeper, more concrete, more real. The picture he displayed on his homes screen was taken on a random day at a random time when nothing in particular was going on. You were simply walking in front of him and stopped for a brief moment to look at something across the way. He wasn’t even sure what it was that caught your attention, didn’t even really care, he was just fully fixated on you and how breathtakingly gorgeous you looked in that average, everyday moment. Before he even realized he was doing it he snapped a pic, and he was very grateful that he did. Each time he stares at his screen his heart races, beating so rapidly it’s as if he was back in the puppy-love stage of the relationship, and he falls for you all over again.

/)/) /)/) ( . .) (⸝⸝ᵕ ᵕ) ~ ♪ (ა📱ა૮( )ა

Retsu Kaioh 📱

Lock Screen- Like Baki, Retsu is rather fond of candid pictures. Something about capturing you spur of the moment in your day to day life really appeals to him, his heart fluttering when he catches glimpses of reminders that you have become a part of his daily routine. He gets to witness you in all states of being, and knowing you are comfortable enough around him to be your most natural, unguarded self, warms his heart like nothing else. You yourself didn’t find anything super special about the picture he took of you at the home and garden store. If anything you felt the image of yourself holding a succulent in a death grip, eying it a little too intensely as you debated whether you wanted to purchase it or not, was embarrassing. Retsu begs to differ, and each time you gripe about it he goes on a mini spiel, explaining to you in a little too much detail just how endearing he finds your ‘suffering an internal crisis as you try to find the perfect plant for the kitchen windowsill’ expression. This never ceases to instantly make your cheeks blush bright red at the impassioned nature of his tone. Still, the fact that he can find such ardent moments of love in the mundane is one of the reasons why you fell for him to begin with. You hope to share many more little adventures with him that yield even more random pictures you can look back on and smile, whether you personally find them flattering or not. As long as they bring Retsu joy, you will find joy in them as well.

Home Screen- If the picture of you at the store made you a little self-conscious, then his home screen was enough to make you want to bury your face and cry. At some point he had snapped an image of you asleep on the couch. This wasn’t some cutesy ‘I just fell asleep and look like a peaceful little angel’ snooze either- you were DEEP in the troughs of a nap, completely dead to the world. Mouth wide open with a rivulet of drool seeping out the side, old shirt rumpled up with your hand rested on your exposed belly, hair an absolute rats nest as it messily framed your head, it was the kind of picture that could easily be used as blackmail. Yet Retsu cherished it, beaming down at it like a parent looking at their child’s straight A report card. While you cringed each time you peered at his phone screen, questioning why in the world he would pick such an unflattering picture of you to stare at each day, it crossed your mind that maybe he set it as a joke, or to poke fun at you. That thought was quickly laid to rest however, as the sheer look of pure love that reflected in his eyes each time he stared at it made you keenly aware that his choice of setting it as his wallpaper was no prank. Somehow he found true beauty in that gross picture of you, and that in and of itself melted your heart a little bit. So it didn’t really matter how much you loathed the picture, after seeing Retsu’s puppy dog eyes as he stared at your passed out visage you decided it was fine to let him keep it as his background in lieu of something a little more complementary (as long as no one else was allowed to use his phone and potentially see it, that is).

/)/) /)/) ( . .) (⸝⸝ᵕ ᵕ) ~ ♪ (ა📱ა૮( )ა

Katsumi Orochi 📱

Lock Screen- He is definitely the type of dude to have some kind of dweeby, professionally done picture of the two of you as his lock screen. You remember thinking he was kidding when he asked you if you were interested in booking a couples photo session, but when you noted the serious look in his eye as he pressed the issue, you knew the offer wasn’t a joke. Though hesitant, you found yourself unable to turn him down, and a few days later you found yourself in a photo studio posing awkwardly while a photographer happily snapped away, complimenting what a cute couple you were as he directed you to pose this way or that. Despite the previous uncertainty and slightly uncomfortable atmosphere, quite a few gems were born from the shoot, and you ended up being very happy to have some beautifully charming shots to look back on. A certain picture stood out from the rest, one grabbed just as some silly, random comment from Katsumi made you both burst into a fit of laughter. With his arms wrapped around you from behind and huge genuine smiles engulfing both your faces, you leaned into one other, reliant on each other’s support lest you collapse to the ground into a pile of giggles. It was such a fun, happy capture that it very easily became your all-time favorite picture of the two of you.  So you couldn’t help but smile when you happened to spy his lock screen, finding it ironic that he chose your favorite picture to grace his background, especially when your own lock screen displayed the exact same pic. <3

Home Screen- A spicier selfie you sent him in the past. While there is no nudity in the shot itself, you can pinpoint the precise moment you took the shot, remembering it as one that definitely led to some much more revealing pictures (with provocative text to match). You also remembered being quite proud of the selfie- the seductive smolder in your eye, the way your shirt had slunk down your shoulder, the coy little smile on your face as you bit into your bottom lip, all of it came together for a truly sexy presentation. You weren’t one to often brag about your looks, but that day you worked hard to look hot and it had certainly paid off.  That day had also blessed you with good lighting and one of the best hair/makeup days of your life, so to see the image grace his phone screen made butterflies burst in your stomach, a feeling of elation washing over you with the realization that the effort you put in was not in vain. Though it made you blush a little to see that he had made one of the private pictures you sent him his phone background, there was no denying that it pleased you greatly. He was the type of man that earnestly believed that you were the most gorgeous thing on the planet no matter how much or little you were dolled up, but realizing that he took extra notice of when you put in effort to look your best for him, liking it to the point of making it a picture he could stare at all day (while all manner of fantasies were surely buzzing through his brain)…. Well, it certainly set your heart a flutter, for more reason than one.

/)/) /)/) ( . .) (⸝⸝ᵕ ᵕ) ~ ♪ (ა📱ა૮( )ა

[legionofshaza]

❀The gentleman of❀

🌺Spring 🌺

Lucien week day 1 @lucienweekofficial

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

The night was soft and cool as Elain Archeron stood on the balcony of the manor, the silvery moonlight casting a gentle glow across the garden below. The Night Court’s vast expanse of stars glittered overhead, but it was the breeze that carried a hint of spring—a scent that reminded her of home. Of the past. Of peace.

She leaned against the stone railing, taking in the scent of the blooming roses. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the quiet footsteps behind her until a deep, familiar voice spoke, his tone as gentle as the breeze.

“Elain.”

She turned slowly, already knowing who it was. Lucien stood in the doorway, his russet hair catching the moonlight, his golden eye gleaming softly. Yet it was the expression on his face—careful, tender—that caught her breath. There was something about Lucien Vanserra that always radiated warmth. It wasn’t just the color of his hair, or the subtle scent of pine and cedar that clung to him; it was his very presence, as though he belonged in the wild places of the world where things grew and bloomed without constraint.

“Elain,” he said again, his voice a gentle murmur now, “you shouldn’t be out here alone. It’s getting colder.”

His concern made her heart ache, but she shook her head softly, offering a small smile. “I needed some air.”

Lucien nodded, stepping closer but keeping a respectful distance. He had always been this way with her—careful, considerate, a gentleman in every sense of the word. He never pressed her, never demanded more than she was ready to give. His gentleness had surprised her at first. She had expected fire, given his ties to the Autumn Court. But instead, she found him to be more like Spring: patient, warm, and full of quiet hope.

“If you don’t mind,” he said, after a moment’s pause, “I’ll keep you company.”

She looked at him then, truly looked at him. There was something comforting about Lucien. Perhaps it was the way he always seemed to know when to speak and when to simply be there. He never forced himself into her space, but rather, he let her choose the terms of their interactions.

“Of course,” she replied softly, moving aside so he could stand next to her.

Lucien joined her at the railing, his hands resting loosely on the stone, his posture relaxed yet alert. They stood in silence for a moment, watching the garden sway in the night breeze, the quiet sounds of the world around them filling the space between them.

After a few minutes, Lucien spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. “You remind me of the spring.”

Elain blinked, turning her head to him. “Spring?”

He smiled faintly, his gaze still fixed on the garden below. “Yes. Not just the flowers you tend to, though they certainly remind me of you. But you... you are like spring itself. Gentle, but strong. Full of life and promise.”

Her heart stuttered at his words, at the sincerity in his tone. Lucien was always like this—thoughtful, kind. He saw her, truly saw her, in a way that sometimes left her feeling exposed, but not in an uncomfortable way. It was as if he understood her without her having to say a word.

“I’m not sure I’m as strong as you think,” she said softly, turning her gaze back to the garden.

Lucien shifted slightly beside her, his warmth closer now, though he still didn’t touch her. “Strength doesn’t always have to be loud or forceful, Elain. Sometimes, the strongest things are the quietest. Like the way you care for others. Or the way you’ve chosen to heal, in your own time.”

She swallowed, his words sinking deep into her chest. It wasn’t often that someone spoke to her like this—without expectation, without judgment. Just... understanding. She had grown used to feeling like the fragile one, the one who needed protection. But Lucien didn’t see her that way. He never had.

“I... I don’t know what to say,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he replied, his golden eye meeting hers now, filled with warmth and something else she couldn’t quite name. “I just wanted you to know how I see you. How I’ve always seen you.”

Her breath caught, and she felt a sudden rush of emotion. This male—her mate—had been so patient with her, so kind. He had never once pushed her to acknowledge the bond between them, never demanded more than she was ready to give. He had waited, quietly, gently, letting her come to terms with it all at her own pace.

Lucien shifted slightly, moving to stand directly in front of her. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though he was giving her every opportunity to pull away if she wished. But she didn’t. Instead, she found herself looking up into his mismatched eyes, her heart racing.

“Lucien...” she began, unsure of what she wanted to say.

But he shook his head, a soft smile curving his lips. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Elain. I’m not here to rush you, or to ask for more than you’re ready to give.”

He lifted his hand, hesitating for a moment before gently tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. His touch was feather-light, barely there, but it sent a shiver down her spine.

“I’m just here,” he said softly. “For as long as you want me to be.”

The weight of his words settled over her, and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel overwhelmed by the bond between them. She didn’t feel pressured or frightened. She simply felt... safe.

“I do want you here,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

Lucien’s expression softened, and he gave her the smallest nod, as though acknowledging the weight of her words without making it feel too heavy. Then, slowly, as if giving her every opportunity to stop him, he leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead.

It wasn’t demanding or passionate. It was gentle, reverent—just like him.

When he pulled back, his hand still lightly brushing her hair, Elain felt her heart swell with something she hadn’t felt in a long time. Hope.

She smiled up at him, her voice steady now. “Thank you, Lucien.”

His smile was small, but it was real, and it lit up his whole face. “Anytime, Elain. Anytime.”

And with that, they turned back to the garden, standing side by side, the warmth of his presence a quiet comfort in the cool night air.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

🌸End 🌸

[raspberryslxt]

UNEXPECTED TURNS - PART 2

TVD X OBX FANFICTION

jj maybank x gilbert!reader x rafe cameron

-

The Outer Banks had its own rhythm, one that y/n was still trying to settle into. The days stretched endlessly under the blazing sun, while the nights buzzed with laughter, music, and a quiet kind of chaos she didn’t yet understand. It was a far cry from Mystic Falls, where life had been defined by routine and familiarity. Here, everything felt unsteady, like the sand beneath her feet during high tide—beautiful, but constantly shifting.

When she first arrived at the Camerons’ estate, she hadn’t been sure what to expect. The sprawling house sat on a pristine patch of beachfront property, every inch of it radiating the kind of wealth and polish she’d never been comfortable around. The Camerons themselves weren’t much different. Ward was polite, almost overly so, always eager to remind her of how close he’d been to her father. Rose was distant, her warmth reserved for appearances.

Sarah had been a saving grace, her easy smiles and spontaneous energy pulling y/n out of her shell. But even with Sarah, there was a part of y/n that felt like a visitor, someone who didn’t quite belong in this world of yachts, garden parties, and trust funds.

And then there was Rafe.

From the moment she’d arrived, Rafe had been an enigma. He could switch from charming to cutting in the blink of an eye, his words often laced with sarcasm or subtle barbs. But there were moments, fleeting as they were, when y/n thought she saw something deeper—a vulnerability he kept buried under layers of bravado.

She’d been at the Camerons’ for a couple of weeks now, and though she’d adjusted to the routines of their household, she still found herself feeling like an outsider. The loss of her parents hung over her like a shadow, and while she appreciated Ward’s generosity, it was hard to shake the feeling that she was simply another obligation for him to manage.

It didn’t help that Rafe seemed determined to remind her of how out of place she was.

-

The day began like any other, with the sun streaming through her window far earlier than she would’ve liked. Y/n rolled over, groaning as she reached for her phone. A quick glance at the time told her she was already behind schedule.

Throwing on a casual sundress, she made her way downstairs, the smell of coffee pulling her toward the kitchen.

Rafe was there, leaning casually against the counter with his usual air of confidence. His tousled hair and the way his T-shirt clung to his chest made him look annoyingly effortless, as if he hadn’t just rolled out of bed.

Y/n hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping into the room. She wasn’t in the mood for another one of Rafe’s lectures, but retreating wasn’t her style either.

“Morning,” Rafe said, his voice low and smooth. He didn’t look up from his coffee at first, but when he did, his gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary.

“Morning,” y/n replied, heading to the fridge to grab some juice.

She felt his eyes on her as she poured herself a glass, the silence between them stretching just long enough to make her heart skip.

“So,” Rafe said, breaking the quiet. “What’s on the agenda for today? Off to hang out with your little Pogue friends again?”

Y/n rolled her eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yeah, I am.”

Rafe smirked, setting his coffee mug down. “Figures. You’re getting pretty comfortable with them, huh?”

“Why do you care?” y/n shot back, turning to face him.

Rafe shrugged, his smirk softening into something unreadable. “I don’t. Just don’t want to see you get in over your head, that’s all.”

His tone was casual, but there was an edge to his words, as if he wasn’t telling her the whole story.

“I can handle myself, Rafe,” y/n said, meeting his gaze.

“I’m sure you can,” Rafe replied, stepping closer. He was only a few feet away now, close enough that y/n could see the faint stubble on his jaw and the way his blue eyes softened ever so slightly when they locked onto hers.

For a moment, the air between them shifted. The tension wasn’t just combative anymore—it was something heavier, something that made y/n’s breath catch in her throat.

“You don’t get it,” Rafe said, his voice quieter now. “They’re not like us. They’ll drag you down, y/n. And when they do…”

“Let me guess,” y/n interrupted, trying to break the spell. “You’ll be there to say, ‘I told you so?’”

Rafe’s smirk returned, but this time it was faint, almost reluctant. “Maybe.”

Y/n shook her head, brushing past him to set her glass in the sink. As she did, Rafe leaned against the counter behind her, his proximity sending a jolt of awareness through her.

“Just be careful,” he murmured.

Y/n turned, meeting his gaze once more. “Why do I get the feeling you’re more worried about me being with them than them being with me?”

For the first time, Rafe didn’t have a quick comeback. Instead, his eyes flickered down to her lips for the briefest of moments before he stepped back, grabbing his phone and coffee.

“Do whatever you want,” he said, his voice back to its usual sharpness. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving y/n standing alone in the kitchen, her heart pounding harder than she wanted to admit.

-

By the time y/n arrived at the Chateau, the tension from her argument with Rafe had mostly faded, but the lingering frustration still sat heavy in her chest. Her steps quickened as the wooden porch of John B’s weathered home came into view. The Pogues’ unofficial headquarters looked like it had seen better days, with its peeling paint and mismatched furniture scattered haphazardly around the yard. But to y/n, it was perfect—a stark contrast to the pristine, soulless beauty of the Cameron household.

Laughter rang out from the porch, instantly lifting her mood. John B was hunched over a map spread out on the floorboards, Pope sat beside him taking notes, and Kiara was reclining on an old beach chair, tossing a tennis ball to J.J., who was half-heartedly attempting to catch it with a lacrosse stick.

“Look who decided to show up!” J.J. called out, grinning as he finally swatted the ball back at Kiara—missing entirely and sending it rolling toward y/n instead.

She bent to pick it up, tossing it back to him with a raised brow. “Not exactly pro material, huh?”

“Hey, I don’t have to be good,” J.J. replied, spinning the lacrosse stick dramatically. “I just have to look good doing it.”

“That’s debatable,” Kiara muttered, earning a laugh from y/n.

“Y/n!” John B said, standing up and waving her over. “Get over here. We’re making history.”

“Again?” y/n teased, climbing onto the porch.

“Always,” Pope said without looking up from his notebook.

She set down the bag of snacks she’d brought, watching as the group poured over their latest obsession: a lead on the Royal Merchant. John B explained the details with a mixture of excitement and determination, pointing to a faded map and the old compass they’d recently found.

“Okay, I need context,” y/n said, sitting cross-legged beside John B. “Why is this shipwreck such a big deal?”

“It’s not just any shipwreck,” Pope said, straightening up. “It’s the shipwreck. The Royal Merchant went down in the 1800s with $400 million in gold.”

“And we think we’re getting closer to finding it,” John B added, his eyes gleaming.

“Closer-ish,” Kiara corrected, earning a snort from J.J.

Y/n leaned over to examine the compass, her fingers brushing against its worn surface. “So, you’re saying we could be sitting on top of a literal fortune?”

“Exactly,” Pope said.

“But it’s not about the money,” John B interjected, his tone more serious now. “At least, not just the money. My dad dedicated his life to finding this, and if we can figure it out…”

“It’s about more than gold,” Kiara finished softly, giving y/n a small smile.

The weight of their words wasn’t lost on y/n. For all their jokes and carefree attitudes, the Pogues carried their own burdens—ones that tied them together in a way she envied.

“So,” J.J. said, breaking the momentary silence. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he grinned at her. “What about you, newbie? You ready to risk life and limb for a little adventure?”

Y/n laughed, meeting his gaze. “Depends. Do I get a cool nickname like you guys?”

J.J. smirked. “Only if you survive the initiation.”

“What’s the initiation?”

“Marsh wading, treetop diving, and avoiding death by Kook,” J.J. said dramatically.

“She’s already avoiding death by Kook,” Kiara pointed out, nudging y/n with her foot.

“She’s practically one of us,” Pope agreed.

Y/n felt a warmth spread through her chest at their easy acceptance of her. Even though she’d only known them for a short time, she felt more like herself around the Pogues than she ever had at the Cameron estate.

“Alright, I’m in,” y/n said, standing up. “What’s next?”

-

The group piled into the Twinkie—John B’s rusted van that seemed to run on sheer willpower—and headed toward the marsh. John B drove, Pope navigated, and Kiara provided snacks while J.J. insisted on hanging out of the window like an overexcited dog.

“You’re gonna fall out,” y/n warned, pulling on his shirt to keep him steady.

“Not with you holding me, princess,” J.J. teased, flashing her a grin.

“Don’t call me princess,” y/n said, though she couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips.

The marsh was as messy and chaotic as expected. They waded through knee-deep mud, following a trail John B swore was important to their search. Pope and Kiara argued over whether they were going in the right direction, while J.J. took every opportunity to splash y/n with water.

“Seriously?” y/n said, shoving him playfully as he laughed.

“You’ve got mud on your face anyway,” J.J. pointed out.

“So do you,” y/n shot back, smearing a streak of mud across his cheek.

J.J. froze, his grin widening. “Oh, it’s on now.”

The ensuing mud war left all of them drenched and filthy, but it also left y/n feeling lighter than she had in weeks. By the time they returned to the Chateau, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed that much.

-

Later that evening, y/n found herself at a bonfire on the beach—a Kook party Sarah had dragged her to. The music was loud, the air heavy with smoke and salt, and the crowd was an overwhelming mix of Kooks and a few brave Pogues who’d dared to crash the event.

Y/n wasn’t sure where she fit in this scene. She stuck close to Sarah at first, but her mind kept drifting to the Pogues. She scanned the crowd, half-hoping to see them and half-worrying about what Rafe would say if they showed up.

Then she spotted them—J.J., John B, Kiara, and Pope standing near the edge of the firelight. J.J. caught her eye first, raising a hand in greeting.

“Hey!” he called, grinning.

Y/n hesitated, glancing at Sarah.

“Go,” Sarah said, nudging her. “You obviously want to.”

Y/n didn’t need more encouragement. She made her way over, her heart racing a little as J.J. handed her a drink.

“Miss us already?” he teased.

“Maybe a little,” y/n admitted.

The group settled into their usual rhythm, their jokes and energy making the party feel less suffocating. At one point, J.J. leaned close, his voice low enough that only y/n could hear.

“Bet you’re regretting that Kook life now, huh?”

“Not at all,” y/n said, smirking. “I get the best of both worlds this way.”

J.J.’s grin widened. “Smart girl.”

For the rest of the night, y/n let herself get lost in the chaos and camaraderie of the Pogues. It didn’t matter that the lines between Kook and Pogue were supposed to be rigid. Here, with them, she felt free.

This expanded section emphasizes y/n’s growing connection with the Pogues, her playful chemistry with J.J., and the sense of belonging they bring her. It also highlights the contrasts between her life with the Pogues and the Kook world she’s trying to navigate.

-

Later that night, after the bonfire had dwindled to glowing embers and the party began to dissolve into scattered laughter and hushed whispers, y/n walked along the shoreline, her sandals dangling from her fingers. The cool sand squished under her toes, the rhythmic crash of waves offering a moment of calm after the chaotic energy of the day.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, breaking the silence. Pulling it out, her heart skipped when she saw Elena’s name flash on the screen.

“Elena?” y/n said, sliding her thumb across the screen to answer.

“Hey,” Elena’s voice came through, familiar but tinged with an exhaustion y/n could hear even over the crackle of the connection.

Y/n smiled despite herself, her chest tightening at the sound. “It’s been a while since you called. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Elena replied quickly, too quickly. “It’s just been… busy.”

Y/n stopped walking, her toes digging into the sand as she frowned. “Busy how? Elena, what’s going on?”

There was a long pause on the other end, punctuated by the faint hum of static. When Elena finally spoke, her voice was softer. “It’s just… a lot. With school, with life. And…” She hesitated, then let out a laugh that sounded forced. “I think I might be seeing someone.”

Y/n blinked, the admission catching her off guard. “Oh, really?” she asked, her tone teasing but curious. “And you’re only telling me now? Who is he?”

“His name’s Stefan,” Elena said, and though her voice warmed slightly, there was an undercurrent of something else—something y/n couldn’t quite place.

“Stefan…” y/n repeated, testing the name on her tongue. “What’s he like?”

Elena hesitated again, a pause so slight that anyone else might have missed it. But y/n knew her sister too well.

“He’s… great,” Elena said finally. “Really sweet. A little mysterious, but in a good way, you know?”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, her suspicion growing. “Elena, you’ve never been one for mysterious guys. What’s the deal?”

“There’s no deal,” Elena said quickly, but her laugh sounded nervous. “I just… I like him. He makes me feel… safe. And seen.”

Y/n softened at that. “Well, that’s good, right? You deserve someone like that after everything.”

“I guess,” Elena said, though her tone didn’t sound entirely convinced.

Y/n frowned, kicking at the sand as she resumed her walk. “You’re holding something back. I can feel it.”

There was another pause, this one longer. When Elena spoke again, her voice was lower, almost hesitant. “Things have just been… weird lately. In Mystic Falls, I mean.”

“Weird how?”

“Just… weird,” Elena said, her words rushed. “I can’t explain it. It’s like there’s this… undercurrent of something happening, but I don’t know what.”

“Elena,” y/n said firmly, stopping again and staring out at the dark ocean. “What’s going on? Is someone bothering you? Do I need to come back?”

“No!” Elena’s reply was immediate, almost panicked. “No, y/n, you don’t need to come back. I’m fine. It’s nothing like that, I promise.”

Y/n narrowed her eyes, her fingers tightening around her phone. “You’re lying to me.”

“I’m not,” Elena insisted, though her voice wavered slightly. “It’s just… hard to explain. But I’m okay, really.”

Y/n didn’t believe her, but she also knew Elena well enough to recognize when she was shutting down. Pressing would only make her retreat further.

“Okay,” y/n said finally, her tone softening. “But if something’s wrong, you’ll tell me, right?”

“Of course,” Elena said, though the words felt hollow.

Y/n sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I miss you, you know. Things here are… different.”

[holllandtrash]

better left unsaid | lando norris

pairing: lando norris x reader and some pierre gasly x reader

request: yes 'i was thinking 68 and 70 from your prompt list? maybe lando?' 68. “I wish I’d never met you.” 70. “I’m sorry [Y/N], I’m so sorry.” wordcount: 5.5k+ warnings/tags fuckboy!pierre, asshole!lando, they're all drunk, max (fewtrell) is the only wholesome one, just a bunch of angst rly

You loved Lando, how could you not? You loved everything about him. The way his laugh varied depending on the situation, on who was telling what joke, on how comfortable he felt with the people around him. Same with his smile. You liked to think you were a goddamn pro at being able to tell his smiles apart.

There were slight differences between them. The smile he gave Oscar at the end of completing a pretty successful weekend was proud, but not cocky. He was already thinking about how he could drag this type of energy into the next race as he fist bumped his teammate and made his way through the garage.

The cheeky grin he wore as he walked through the paddock at the end of the day was contagious. The more people who congratulated him, the bigger it grew. He stopped for anyone who asked for a photo or an autograph. There was this sense of joy that radiated off of him, he was on top of the world and everyone saw it.

And then there was the smile that spread across his face when he spotted you standing by the gates. The grin that went from cheek to cheek was the kind that made your jaw hurt if you held it long enough. This was his best weekend in a long time and you were there to watch the whole thing, which made it mean so much more to him.

Lando was one of your oldest friends. You grew up together, went on family vacations together. You were always at his side, metaphorically and sometimes quite literally, while he was making it in the karting world until he eventually made it to Formula 1. 

And it was only a matter of time until you fell for him. 

You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment, it was more of a gradual thing. What started as an I like being around him somehow spiralled into oh good god I think I love him. 

But of course you couldn’t tell him. Not only was a girlfriend so extremely low on his priority list, but in the past you had tried dropping signs and leaving hints, only for Lando to either ignore them or not even see them. To him, you were simply his best friend. That’s all you’d ever be because that’s all he needed from you. You were his rock, you kept him grounded, you were someone he could always rely on.

He loved you, you knew he did, but not the way you loved him. 

“P2 baby. Another podium in the books,” you beamed, your laughter becoming muffled when Lando pulled you in for a tight embrace. It had been well over an hour since the ceremony ended so he had changed and quickly stepped into the shower to rid himself of any grime or sweat from the race. 

Lando dropped the bag that was in his hand, wanting to hug you tighter. You didn’t care who in the paddock saw the way he pulled you against his chest. You weren’t concerned about the few curious eyes of those who managed to catch the way his fingers slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, sending goosebumps over your skin. 

“I want to celebrate,” Lando’s voice deepened as he spoke directly into your ear. Your heart skipped a beat at his words, knowing exactly what he meant. 

Lando rarely drank. The party scene wasn’t for him, with only a few exceptions. A podium, being one of them. You knew he wanted to let loose before the worries of a new race weekend sank in and he wanted you at his side. 

A car horn pulled you two apart. You turned your head to see your other friend Max, pulling up in Lando’s McLaren. He put it in park and got out, tossing Lando the keys over the access gate. 

“Are you two just going to stand there or are we going out?” Max yelled, earning a laugh from Lando. You watched his face light up before he swung the key around on his finger. He reached for you, quickly giving your arm a tender squeeze, a move so subtle you almost missed it, before he made his way to the car.

You were confused when Max stopped you from heading towards your own car. You drove to the track separately, knowing Lando’s car only had room for two. 

“I’ll just meet you guys at the hotel.”

“No you won’t,” Max scoffed, grabbing your keys that you had just pulled from your pocket. He nodded his head towards the passenger door of the black McLaren, “Ride back with Lando.”

“I can’t leave my car here.”

“I’ll drive it back,” Max raised his eyebrows, giving you that specific look he had given you so many times before. If there was anyone that wanted to see you and Lando together, it was him. He was your biggest wingman, he knew about your feelings for the driver and did whatever he could to push you two in the same direction. 

“He’s on a high right now, y/n,” Max pointed out. “If there’s ever a time to tell him how you feel, it’s tonight.”

The only reason Max knew about your feelings for Lando was because of one stupid night out almost a year ago. You had more to drink than you should have and while Lando was by the bar, chatting up some girl, you sat next to Max in the booth and straight up asked him what she had that you didn’t.

Needless to say, that sparked the start of a very long conversation. Max got everything he could out of you, knowing that you wouldn’t say any of this when sober. The next morning, he told you everything you had admitted to, but also promised he wouldn’t tell Lando about how you felt. That was something only you could do.

Max gave you an encouraging pat on the arm and pivoted on heels to find your car in the lot. You grabbed the door handle of the McLaren and slid in. There was a sliver of confusion on Lando’s face, but it soon vanished and was instead replaced by a smirk, watching you as you buckled in your seatbelt.

“Max driving your car back?” Lando asked. 

You came up with a lie on the spot as to why you weren’t driving it, “Yeah it’s making this strange sound, he said he’d listen for it and let me know.”

Lando nodded, humming to himself in response but you could see it on his face. He didn’t believe your words for a second. He wasn’t going to question you, or Max for that matter, but he knew there was nothing wrong with your car.

“You were incredible this weekend,” you told him after a few minutes of driving in silence. “I love watching you race, it’s exhilarating.” 

Lando’s smile grew, “I’m glad you came, truly. I love having you around. You’re my best friend, you know, it almost feels like somethings missing when you’re not here.”

He turned his head and met your stare. His words meant more to you than he’d ever know.

“You know I love you, right?” You said, knowing full well that Lando didn’t understand the true meaning behind that sentence. He tossed that word around so casually when talking about friends, you were no exception.

But he reached across the middle console and squeezed your leg twice, turning his attention back to the road in front of him, “Love you too.”

———————

You had packed for a night out. A black leather skirt, knee-length boots and a top so small that it probably had your ancestors rolling over in their graves. But you looked hot, that was the whole point. 

When Lando knocked on your day, he was visibly taken aback by your appearance, needing to do a double take before speaking.

“Are you-” his eyes dropped to your chest and he cleared his throat, “The Uber’s out front.”

You nodded, grabbing your phone from the table and following him out into the hall. You met up with Max who was waiting for the elevator. He let out a low whistle when you turned the corner and your cheeks flushed bright pink. 

“You look good, y/l/n,” Max said, not at all trying to hide the way his gaze lingered over your body. You playfully twirled and then rested your arm over Lando’s shoulder for support. When he instinctively placed his hand at the small of your back, you and Max shared a similar, knowing look. 

Maybe tonight was the night. Maybe you and Lando would finally get over that brick wall that kept you from being more than friends. 

The elevator arrived and the three of you walked in. When it came to choosing seats in the Uber, Max practically sprinted towards the front seat, leaving you and Lando to climb into the back. 

You didn’t say anything when his knee brushed against yours. You also didn’t say anything when he casually dropped his hand to your leg, his fingers spreading across your bare thigh as if he had done it fifty times before (he hadn’t). And you especially didn’t say anything when he told you there was an eyelash on your cheek when you turned to look at him and he gently brushed his thumb under your eye. 

But in return, Lando didn’t say anything when he most definitely noticed you glancing at his lips. He also stayed quiet when you flicked your hair over your shoulder, but the scent of your shampoo was definitely intoxicating and he just never noticed it before. Or maybe he had and refused to let himself think about it. 

And when you finally pulled up outside the club, Lando held the door open for you and held out his hand to help you out. He kept his fingers interlocked with yours until you made it inside and up the stairs towards the closed off VIP section. When he spotted Charles and Carlos, Lando headed off to start a conversation with them after assuring you he’d be right back.

Max appeared at your side, nudging his arm against yours, “So?”

“So what?” You asked. The two of you walked towards one of the empty booths. 

“So that entire car ride was filled with nothing but sexual tension and if you say otherwise then you’re either blind or lying.”

“I’m not saying anything,” you shrugged innocently, clasping your hands under your chin as Max just shook his head at you. 

Your gaze travelled across the floor, landing on the McLaren driver. He was laughing at something Carlos had said but every so often, he would glance in your direction. And then when Carlos leaned in and whispered something that only Lando would hear, both of their heads turned to look at you. Suddenly feeling very self conscious of potentially being the topic of their conversation, you told Max that you were going to go get a drink.

You were only at the bar for a few seconds before you felt a hand on your back. You glanced up to see none other than Pierre Gasly next to you. He trailed his fingers down your arm, that familiar devious glint in his eyes.

“Y/n,” he greeted you before resting his arms on the surface of the bar. “You came to watch the race?”

You liked Pierre, you did, but you didn’t like his intentions. You and every single woman who were associated with any of the drivers knew all about Pierre’s ways. You had heard the stories of the girls he brought back to hotels and you had even ran into one of them a few weeks ago when you were leaving Lando’s room in the middle of the night after passing out on his couch.

He had tried a few moves on you as well. He wasn’t disrespectful, he never crossed any boundaries. If you were being honest, Pierre was charming, but he wasn’t Lando. 

“Let me get your drink,” he offered when the glass was placed in front of you. He pulled out a black card from his wallet and told the bartender to start a tab. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you told him, but Pierre only leaned in close. His warm breath hit your ear and you swallowed in anticipation, wondering which of his lines he would try next.

“The polite thing to say is thank you,” he whispered. Pierre then pulled back the slightest bit, lifting his fingers to below your chin to keep your attention focused on him. “Or you can always find a way to thank me later, chéri.”

Pierre’s arm suddenly dropped and you knew why when you felt a protective hand slide around your waist. You didn’t have to turn your head to know that it was Lando pulling you into his side. Pierre didn’t see Lando as competition though, sending a wink in your direction and not even acknowledging the British driver before turning and walking off.

Lando waited until Pierre was out of earshot before speaking, “Don’t tell me you and Pierre are a thing.”

“No,” you scoffed, taking Lando’s hand in yours as you led him back to the booth. 

“Good,” Lando muttered under his breath, stopping you in your tracks. 

You turned around to face him, dropping his hand, “Good? What does that mean?”

“Pierre isn’t someone you want to waste your time with,” Lando told you, as if you didn’t already know this, but he didn’t stop his explanation there. “You deserve someone better than that.”

“Someone like you?”

You don’t know what came over you. You couldn’t blame it on the alcohol because you’d barely taken a sip of your drink. You were stone cold sober, and so was he. 

Maybe it was because of the way he looked at you in the car ride after the race or how he spoke to you with such truth and passion that set your entire body on fire. Maybe it was the way he was looking for any excuse to touch you all weekend. An hour didn’t pass without him tracing his fingers over your skin or reaching for your hand. Maybe it was because for the first time in years, it seemed like Lando was starting to see you as more than just his best friend and god help you, you needed to act on it.

But then that specific glint in his eyes faded. He inhaled a sharp breath that caused your heart to sink deeper into your chest because without even saying a word, you knew what was going through his mind. His features softened, like he felt sorry for you. 

“That wasn’t…” Lando trailed off, lifting his hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “Y/n, I don’t-” 

God he couldn’t even get the words out. Was this hard for him or was he trying to save you from the embarrassment? 

“I’m only teasing,” you lied straight through your teeth, curling your lips back into a forced smile that he undoubtedly saw right through. He was your best friend, he knew you like the back of his hand. 

You wanted him to laugh this conversation off. You wanted him to go along with the lie and say ‘Okay cool, we’re on the same page’. You wanted to take back these last thirty seconds and wipe that horrible, pitiful look right off his face. 

But Lando shook his head. This wasn’t something he could just push to the back of his mind and act like it never happened. 

“I don’t have those types of feelings for you, you know that right?” 

Lando’s words cut through your heart like a sharpened blade. The noise in the club faded into the background and you were worried that if you opened your mouth to say something, all that would come out would be a strangled sob. 

“I love you, y/n, I do, but the same way I love Max or Carlos or any of my other friends,” this just kept getting worse. “I’m not in-” 

“Don’t,” you cut him off, your voice barely a whisper. “You don’t need to say it. I get it.”

“I’m sorry, Y/n,” Lando’s hand twitched, like he wanted to reach for you but decided against it at the very last second. “I’m so, so, sorry.”

You felt like an idiot as a bitter chuckle escaped your lips, “Why? You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one-” you stopped yourself short. You were the one who fell in love with someone who had only ever seen you as a friend. It was your own damn fault you were hurt. 

Why would you think that something would radically change overnight? Lando had never once hinted towards having any sort of feelings for you, but you still managed to find new ways to fall for him every time you saw him. 

“It’s fine,” you finally landed on. Nothing about this felt fine. You forced another smile, softer this time, “Go celebrate your podium.”

And what could Lando say to that? This whole conversation was uncomfortable and heartbreaking and the only thing left to do was end it now before it got worse for both of you. 

Lando nodded and headed off, muttering something about trying to find Carlos. He didn’t give you a second look and you had to fight tooth and nail to not look over your shoulder at him when you made your way back to the booth.

You kept your eyes down, looking at the drink in front of you instead of at Max who quietly admitted that he overheard most of that interaction.

“You alright?” Max’s hand found your back, rubbing small circles on your skin. It wasn’t the least bit comforting. Your best friend was trying to console you after you had just been rejected by your other best friend. You wanted to crawl into a hole and hide away from the world. 

“No,” you sighed, grabbing your glass and raising it up to your lips. You swallowed all of it in a few short seconds and slammed it back down on the table. “I need another one.”

Max grabbed your arm before you could go anywhere, “Don’t do anything stupid, Y/N.”

“Oh you mean like tell my best friend I have feelings for him even though he has never once hinted at having any sort of feelings for me?” You asked, sarcasm dripping from your tongue. Max sank back against the cushion of the booth. “Yeah, too late for that one so I don’t think the night can get any worse.”

God you were so very wrong.

———————

Max tried to keep an eye on you for the rest of the night, but he was caught between you and Lando. He was his friend first and it was his race weekend so when Lando called him over to do shots, he couldn’t say no. You were all out celebrating his successful podium, the only person who wasn’t having a good time was you. 

You had just come back from the washroom when you spotted Lando and Max chatting by the bar. Lando himself was a few drinks in and if your conversation from earlier was weighing heavily on his mind like it was for you, he was doing a damn good job at hiding it.

And then Lando did something unexpected. 

When you approached them, with the sole intent of telling Max you were getting another drink, Lando’s hand slipped around your waist. It literally had you losing your train of thought mid-sentence. 

He had been touchy all weekend, but that was before you decided to wear your heart on your sleeve. His fingers on your bare skin sent a shiver throughout your entire body and you tensed up next to him.

On one hand, you wanted to lean into his touch. You relished over the fact that you were still the one he wanted to be around, even if you meant two completely different things to each other.

On the other hand, you wanted to scream at him. He was leading you on by putting his arm around you when you both knew he had no other intentions. Drunk Lando was still on a high from the podium, he felt like a king. He knew how much you craved being with him and he was eating it up, stringing you along for no reason at all.

“Lando,” you curled your fingers around his hand and peeled it off of you. “Please, don’t touch me.”

His eyebrows pinched together, “What? I’m supposed to treat you differently now because I know that you like me?”

Ouch. 

Max uncomfortably looked between the two of you, trying to decide if he should interfere or not.

“No, just don’t touch me. You have no reason to,” you kept your voice firm even though your heart was shattering on the inside. 

“It didn’t mean anything,” Lando assured you. The underlying sharp tone in his words struck a nerve as he turned on the defence. It didn't mean anything, it never meant anything. He looked you once over and turned towards Max, “I’m grabbing another drink.” He nodded his head towards the bar, signalling for Max to follow him. You were left alone with nothing but a flash of an apologetic look as he trailed behind Lando. 

You could have used another drink as well, but you didn’t want Lando to get the wrong idea and think that you were following him, so you waited, leaning against the railing that overlooked the first floor of the club.

“I’m still waiting for that thank you.”

You recognized the French accent and scoffed as Pierre came and stood next to you. He glanced at the dance floor below you for a second, but his striking blue eyes landed on yours. 

“Piss off, Gasly, I’m not in the mood,” you told him, turning your body completely so you were now pressed against the railing. You rested your arms on top of the metal bar, but that didn’t ward him off. If anything, Pierre appreciated the challenge and stepped in closer, knocking his hip against yours.

“What’s wrong, ma chéri?” 

“First of all, I’m not your chéri,” you tried to mimic his accent but he only found it amusing and chuckled. “Second, I said piss off.” 

Pierre rested his finger beneath your chin, once again guiding your attention towards him and away from the dance floor. You could tell by the look in his eye alone that he wasn’t about to give you the space you asked for. 

“I didn’t think you had a temper,” he said, his voice nearly drowned out by the bass of the song coming from the speakers. He then lightly dragged his thumb over your bottom lip and your breath caught in your throat. “You’re always so sweet in the paddock, but I kind of like this side of you.”

“You really can’t take no for an answer, can you?” You retorted, sounding a lot more confident than you felt. You were only human, Pierre was hot. Plus he had a way with words and could quite literally melt you if he tried hard enough. 

It didn’t help that you had lost count of the number of drinks you had. You also wanted to stay as far away from Lando as possible for the time being and if that just so happened to leave you falling into the arms of one of the other drivers then so be it. 

You weren’t with Lando, he made that perfectly clear. 

“Y/n, if you really wanted me to stop you would have walked away by now,” his accent rang through your ears, along with the truth that you didn’t want to accept. 

But his hand was still cupping your jaw. His eyes were still pulling you in. Your entire body had turned towards him, having given up quite quickly on trying to close him out. 

There was a physical attraction, you couldn’t deny that. Was it only making itself known because the future you wanted with Lando had now been ripped to shreds? Were you only attracted to Pierre because you were slightly intoxicated and wanted a distraction from the horrible turn this night had taken?

These were questions you didn’t want the answer to. 

Pierre dipped his head, his lips hovered over top of yours. If you tilted your chin up even the slightest bit they would have connected, but something told you that Pierre was holding off for a reason. He wanted to pull you in more, leave you begging for something you might regret in the morning. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” He asked, placing his hand on your waist. The feeling of his rings on your skin was intoxicating. The sterling silver band was cold but his touch was warm and inviting. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer so you just nodded. You told yourself this would be the one time you’d follow Pierre anywhere. 

He interlocked his fingers with yours and turned around, leading the way out of the club. The two of you got halfway down the staircase before you heard your name being called behind you. 

Craning your neck, you looked up to see Lando standing there. A mix of confusion and judgement was painted all over his face. 

“Where the hell are you going?” He called out, his eyes landing on where your hand connected with Pierre’s.

“Don’t worry, she’ll be home before ten,” Pierre joked, earning him a backhanded slap on the chest from you. You pulled your hand from his and walked back up the stairs, using the top of the bannister for balance when you stopped on the last step, looking up at Lando.

“Are you serious?” Lando scoffed, gesturing towards Pierre. “You said nothing was going on.”

“Yeah that was three hours ago,” you said. “I’m a grown woman, Lando. I can make my own decisions.”

“You’re making a shitty one.”

“Well it’s a good thing I don’t care about your opinion.”

“You seemed to care about it a lot this morning, and yesterday and every fucking day before that.”

You shrugged, “Things change.”

Lando shook his head, his tongue poking out to lick his lips. He was drunk, you both were. This was not a conversation that should have been happening, but no one was stopping you.

“You don’t get to become a bitch to me just because I said I don’t have feelings for you.”

Your eyes widened, “Excuse me how am I being a bitch? Because I’m leaving the club with someone other than you? Because someone else has my attention for once? So sorry I don’t want to sit on your couch for the thousandth time and watch reruns of the fucking Office until you remember to tell me that my flight home is booked for eight am tomorrow.”

Because that would always happen. Lando would send you your boarding pass late Sunday nights and it would be a silent reminder that you couldn’t go with him to the next race, that you weren’t someone he cared enough about to keep around permanently. You’d pass out on the couch in his hotel room and in the morning he’d drive you to the airport, telling you that he was happy you came. Not because he loved you, not because he performed better when you were around, but because you were just one of his friends. Nothing more.

“Okay, I’ll make it easier for you,” Lando said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. You couldn’t see what he was doing, but his screen lit up his face and you could see the concentration in his features. After a few seconds, he locked his phone and smiled at you, “There. If you want to be ungrateful then that’s not a problem, I just cancelled your ticket. Have fun finding a new way home.”

“Oh you asshole,” you pushed on his chest and he stumbled back a bit, the drink in his hand spilling over the sides. “You just want me to need you, that’s all it’s ever been. You don’t give a shit about me or my feelings, you just don’t want me needing anyone else.”

“I don’t give a shit about you?”  Lando practically yelled your words back to you. “Who’s the one who pays for you to come out to the races? Whose house do you stay at when you visit Monaco? Who makes sure you get five-start-fucking-treatment during race weekends?” He paused, his gaze landing on Pierre who had now walked up those few steps to stand behind you. “I’m pretty sure it’s not this French fucker.”

“You’ve been paying for my friendship, Lando,” you spat. “You bring me along to these things because you know I always put you on some kind of pedestal. I practically worship the ground you walk on, that’s the only reason why you keep me around.”

He opened his mouth to retaliate but his jaw tightened and his lips pressed into a thin line. If he had an argument to that, it wasn’t strong enough to prove you wrong. 

“It’s my own fault for thinking your gestures meant anything more,” you admitted to him. “And it’s my own fault for falling in love with you when I knew damn well you’d never do the same.”

There it was. That four letter word. It had remained unspoken in this context for so long, but it was out in the open now. You finally admitted, not just that you loved Lando, but that you were in love with him. And not in a past-tense sort of way.

You were still stupidly in love with him, despite everything that had been said. 

It probably only took a few seconds for you to realise just how much you loved him but it was going to take a hell of a lot longer for those feelings to disappear. 

Falling in love was quick. It was effortless. It was carefree and light and it left you feeling blindly optomistic.

Falling out of love was painful. It was hard, it was a treacherous path that would leave you feeling empty and scarred and the only person to blame was yourself. 

“Honestly, Lando,” your voice trembled, but you kept going, “I wish I’d never met you.”

For once, he was the one who looked like his heart had been ripped out of his chest, “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” you nodded slowly. You felt Pierre’s hand on your back, but you quickly shook it off. “You make my life a living hell because I am constantly chasing after a man who strings me along but never wants me. I would be so much happier if you didn’t consume all of my waking thoughts, if I didn’t have to worry about when I’d see you next, if I didn’t love you.” 

You didn’t want to give him a chance to respond. There was nothing he could say at this point that would make this situation any easier.

So you turned around, pushing past Pierre and making your way down the stairs. You heard the hurried footsteps behind you, but you didn’t get your hopes up into thinking it was Lando that was following you. 

It was Pierre. He placed his hand on the small of your back and led you towards the side entrance of the club, knowing that paparazzi would be crowding the main street. 

“You don’t need to stay with me, I’ll just get an Uber back,” you said, but the way your voice broke matched the defeated look in your eyes and Pierre just shook his head.

“I’m not leaving you, Y/N, not after that. I may not have the best track record with women, but I’m not a total dick.” Pierre slid his blazer off and draped it over your shoulders before stepping out of the crowded club and into a back alley. He glanced at his phone to see when the Uber would arrive and then looked back at you. 

There were tears forming in your eyes and Pierre reached out for you, gently grabbing your arm to pull you into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you and swayed back and forth on his heels, resting his chin on top of your head as your staggered breaths hit the front of his shirt.

“Lando will wake up one day and realise what he lost,” Pierre assured you, a slight chuckle followed his words. You wanted to believe him, you really did. 

But in the back of your mind, you knew that whatever connection you had with Lando was officially over. He wasn’t going to need you, not anymore, not after tonight. 

And those would be the words you would have to tell yourself over and over until eventually, you no longer needed him too. 

--

what do we think, are we team lando or team pierre? all parts here

[thegettingbyp2]

May I have Jasper Hale + Dominant Reader? Any gender. Because having a powerful man voluntarily get on his knees for you, to hand over power to YOU, to submit and willingly LET you break him? And to fall into subspace, knowing that he can TRUST you? With Jasper's past history? Wow. Bonus Points if Jasper gets all flustered feeling his dom's gentle&dark desire for him just LOOMING beforehand, because being an empath must make one's love life...interesting. 😏

Let Yourself Fall

A/N: I was so nervous when I first started writing this and then as soon as I got through the first paragraph it all just kind of came out! I really hope you enjoy it and it was really fun to write for a dominant!reader! I'm still more comfortable with sub!reader simply because I can write some things from experience with it but I did really enjoy writing this!

Buy me a coffee :)

It didn’t take Jasper long to figure out what the unusual emotion was that he was sensing from you. He was used to feeling love radiating from you towards him, occasionally lust mixing in. But this was something else entirely; he wouldn’t describe it as dark, but it wasn’t like your usual presence either. The two of you were fooling around in your bed, Jasper pinning your body to your bed as he kissed you breathless. It was in this moment he felt that new emotion seem to surge from you, almost knocking Jasper over with how strong he felt it.

‘Are you okay, darlin’?’ he asked, cupping your cheek with his palm, smirking slightly when he felt the heat from your skin burn into his cooler skin.

‘I just need you, Jas,’ you moaned and that sound in itself had Jasper leaning backwards a bit more, cocking his head to the side. He was used to pulling soft moans and small whimpers and whines from your lips; he always prided himself in how easily he could pull those sounds from you, how submissive you always were for him. However, this time, your moan was louder and didn’t sound anything like the submissive little sounds he was so used to hearing from you and he felt something akin to frustration roll over you.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, moving completely off of your body and refusing to do anything else until he was 100% sure that you were okay.

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ you insisted, slowly rising up onto your knees opposite him and placing your hands on both of his shoulders, pushing slightly. You knew that Jasper was letting you push him down onto the mattress, his unnatural strength preventing him from actually falling. ‘I just want to try something else tonight,’ you said, straddling his hips once he was flat on the bed. The moment Jasper felt your covered pussy lower onto his clothed cock, his hands shot out to rest on your hips.

‘And what would that be?’

‘Well, I’m always the submissive one in this situation,’ you began.

‘And you’re so good at it, darlin’,’ he cut in, sitting up to pepper kisses along your jaw line, causing your eyes to flutter shut before you snapped yourself out of it, knowing that if you gave into him now, you wouldn’t get what you really wanted tonight.

‘Well, what if I don’t want to be your darlin’ tonight, what if I want you to call me something else?’

‘Like what?’

‘Ma’am.’

You watched as realisation settled in his eyes when he figured out what you meant and you saw unease cloud his eyes almost immediately.

‘We don’t have to if you don’t want to though!’ You were quick to reassure him, bringing both of your hands up to rest on his cheeks, making him look at you.

‘It’s just, I haven’t been like that with anyone since Maria,’ he said quietly as he pulled you an inch closer to him unconsciously. ‘And we both know that story doesn’t end well.’

‘And, like I said, we don’t have to do it if it makes you uncomfortable. But you know that I’m nothing like her, I care about you Jasper, you’d be safe with me,’ you spoke gently, running your fingers over his face soothingly as he looked at you, his decision warring in his eyes.

‘I trust you,’ he finally said, bring his lips to yours for a gentle kiss. ‘I’m all yours…ma’am,’ he drawled against your lips, his Southern accent thickening with his desire. You couldn’t help the bubble of excitement that filled your body at his answer and you deepened the kiss.

‘I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. And if, at any point, you want to stop, just tell me, okay?’

Jasper nodded and let you push him back down against the mattress as you slid down his body, dragging your hands down the expanse of his bare chest before settling on your knees between his legs, your hands coming to a stop at the top of his jeans. You smirked to yourself when you felt his hips buck lightly against your touch and you made quick work of unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them along with his boxers down his legs, leaving him completely naked and you still in your summer dress.

‘You’re so pretty, Jas,’ you murmured as you pressed a gentle kiss to his hip bone, a sharp intake of air heard from above you and you saw as his cock twitched at the sensation. ‘What do you want?’

‘You,’ he gasped, seeming to have already dropped fully into his submissive role and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride that he trusted you that much.

You kissed his other hip bone, this time, lightly grazing your teeth against his skin. ‘Use your words, baby,’ you spoke softly as you lifted your eyes to look at him, leaving your lips to flutter around his hips and V-Line.

‘Can I have your mouth, ma’am?’ he asked quietly, clearly not used to the reversed dynamic between the two of you.

‘Good boy,’ you praised, grinning when you heard his little moan at your praise. You kissed your way down his V-Line and down the length of his cock before you took the head between your lips and suckled gently. Jasper threw his head back at the sensation of your hot, wet mouth engulfing him and he tried as hard as he could to not buck up into your mouth; wanting to be good for you. You slowly began to lower your mouth down him, humming in pleasure around him which only served to turn him on even more.

You felt the head of his cock brush against the back of your throat and you were quick to pull your head back up, a pained cry escaping Jasper’s lips.

‘Please,’ he whined at the sudden loss of your mouth and he started to squirm on the bed, trying to find anything that would give him even the slightest bit of relief.

‘Don’t be greedy, baby boy,’ you chastised, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock. ‘If you get impatient, you aren’t going to get anything are you? You were so good for me just a second ago, can you still be my good boy, Jasper?’

The sound of his name on your lips in such a dominant tone sent Jasper almost into a trance and he felt himself relax a bit more into the bed, the only thing he was focused on was making sure he was good for you.

‘Yes ma’am, I’m your good boy,’ he confirmed, nodding his head quickly. You hummed happily and took the head of his cock back between your lips, suckling gently as your hand began to work up and down his cock. His moans began to increase in volume, something that had you practically grinning like a Cheshire cat around his cock and you felt him twitch in your mouth and against your palm. The louder his moans grew, the closer he was to his climax and you waited until he was just teetering over the edge before you pulled away completely, you heart clenching with adoration as you saw that he already looked a wreck because of you. His eyes were damp as his orgasm died back down without being released in the first place.

You quickly pulled your panties down your legs before straddling him once again, keeping your dress on. The feeling of your bare pussy resting against his hard cock had his head snapping up to look at you and you knew that his grip on your waist was going to leave a series of bruises. ‘You’re so good for me,’ you hummed, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips and Jasper could only nod in response. ‘Do you feel how wet I am for you, Jasper?’ you asked coyly, slowly rubbing your pussy against him, causing a low growl to rumble in his chest. ‘You did this to me so I think that it’s only right that you fix it.’

Lifting your hips, you lined his cock up with your entrance and you slowly sank down on him, the two of you moaning in harmony at the feeling of him filling you up. Jasper’s hands made their way to you dress, and made an attempt to rip it off your body.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ you asked, stilling your movements on top of him.

‘Taking this off for you, ma’am,’ he whined, absolutely hating the fact that you were still covered up.

‘But I don’t need you to take it off, baby boy. I have everything just the way I want it,’ you confirmed much to Jasper’s dismay. You were loving the power that you were currently holding over him but something about the pained whine that escaped his lips made you take pity on him slightly. ‘You can pull the top of the dress down,’ you said and as soon as the words left your mouth, Jasper’s hands had ripped the top of your dress down so it was just sitting as a skirt around your hips.

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ he quickly spoke before latching his lips onto one of your nipples, his thumb and index finger coming up to pinch and toy with your other nipple. The sudden shock of cold on your nipples had them hardening to the point of almost pain in no time and you tipped your head back in pleasure as you began to ride him harder, your hips slapping against each other obscenely.

‘Close, ma’am,’ Jasper mumbled around your nipple, the vibration running through your body and putting you on the edge as well. Your fingers fisted into his blonde hair and you yanked his head up so you could look into his eyes. The sight of his hooded, dazed eyes had you clenching around his cock as your orgasm ran through your body and you could see in his face that it was taking Jasper all the strength he had not to follow straight behind.

‘Cum for me, Jasper, you’ve been such a good boy for me,’ you cooed softly at him and with a whimper, he clutched your body even tighter as you felt his cum fill you up and pool on both of your hips. You remained on top of him while you both came down, Jasper’s head falling to rest on your chest and your fingers lightly scratching at his scalp. ‘You okay?’ you spoke gently, knowing from the look in his eyes that he’d began to fall into subspace.

Jasper nodded tiredly and gave you a lazy smile that had your heart jumping in your chest. ‘I love you,’ he spoke so quietly that at first, you weren’t sure that you heard him.

‘I love you too, so much,’ you replied. You made to let him slip out of you so you could go and grab a cloth to clean the two of you up but as soon as he felt you move, Jasper held onto you even tighter, whining against your skin.

‘Don’t leave me,’ he mumbled sadly and your heart clenched at his words as a wave of white hot anger ran through your body when you thought of the way Maria must have treated him when he was with her.

‘I’m not leaving you baby,’ you kept your voice calm and quiet, hoping that it would soothe him. It was in this moment that you wished you had the power to influence his mood as he so often did for you. ‘I just need to go get something to clean us both up and then I can come right back and I won’t leave your side at all. But I need you to tell me you’re okay before I go, Jasper. You let yourself fall into subspace for me and I’m so proud of you for that but before I do anything else, I need to make sure you’re okay?’

Jasper looked into your eyes and instantly felt himself calm down when he felt the rush of love that came from you; something that he had never felt from Maria, with her it always felt like she threw him away after, but not with you. He nodded gently and gave you a soft smile. ‘I’m okay,’ he whispered before helping you off of his lap so you could carry on taking care of him.

[venny-the-chubbyblack-writer]

Title: An Unexpected Match

Part of the: kny blind date series

———

The sunset painted the sky in shades of pink and gold as you nervously adjusted the fabric of your dress, trying not to second-guess the entire idea of this blind date. You’d been through plenty of failed dates, and when a friend suggested this setup, you were skeptical. But then again, maybe fate was kinder than you thought. After all, it couldn’t be any worse than the past handful of awkward dinners, right?

And that’s when you saw him.

The man waiting by the hostess stand looked intense and out of place among the soft candle-lit ambiance of the restaurant. He had a sharp jawline, piercing eyes, and a frown that seemed permanently etched onto his face. Even from across the room, you could tell he radiated an aura of danger—no soft smiles or gentle gestures, just raw, unapologetic intensity.

Sanemi Shinazugawa. You’d been given only his first name and no warning about what to expect. Your friend had simply laughed, claiming this would be an “interesting” match.

As you walked over, you noticed the way his gaze cut toward you. His eyes took in your frame, flickering with something unreadable, maybe curiosity, maybe surprise, maybe… approval? You tried not to overthink it, focusing instead on your own excitement and anxiety colliding like two clumsy dancers inside you.

“Sanemi?” you asked, just to be sure.

“That’s me,” he replied, voice gruff but not unkind. His gaze settled on your face, sharp eyes studying you carefully. “And you’re (Y/N), right?”

“That’s right.” You forced a smile and extended your hand, and, after a pause, he shook it. His hand was calloused but warm, fingers strong around yours. He glanced down, seeming a bit taken aback by your handshake—formal yet friendly—but didn’t comment.

“Nice to meet you,” he murmured, his gruffness softened by a touch of curiosity.

The two of you sat, and the silence lingered for a moment. You picked up the menu, feeling his gaze still on you. He hadn’t looked away since you’d arrived, his attention intense and unwavering, as though trying to figure you out without a word. It was disconcerting but oddly flattering.

“So, uh… what do you usually do?” you asked, trying to break the tension.

Sanemi’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Work.”

You waited for him to continue, but he seemed to think that was enough of an answer. You chuckled, sensing he wasn’t the talkative type.

“Anything more specific?” you pressed gently.

“Hunting demons,” he replied bluntly, and you blinked in surprise. He raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered by your reaction. “Not the kind of work most people expect, I know.”

“No, but I like it,” you replied, smiling. “It’s… unique.”

He seemed to relax slightly, his shoulders loosening as he looked at you with a bit less guardedness.

“What about you?” he asked, surprising you with a return question. His gaze held a glint of genuine curiosity. “What do you do?”

“Marketing, actually,” you replied. “So, kind of the opposite of demon slaying. A lot of paperwork and creative pitches. Maybe not exciting by your standards, but it’s something I’m passionate about.”

Sanemi tilted his head. “Passion’s good. Too many people don’t have it.”

The waiter arrived, taking your orders, and you continued the conversation with small talk, mostly you doing the talking and Sanemi listening with his usual intense focus. Despite his reserved nature, he was attentive, nodding occasionally and offering curt responses when necessary. And although he rarely smiled, he seemed genuinely engaged—eyes never straying, as if your words and presence were enough to keep him anchored.

Finally, after some time, you started to feel comfortable enough to tease him a bit.

“So, Mr. Demon Slayer,” you began with a grin, “do you ever relax, or is that frown glued on?”

To your surprise, he snorted, a sound that was almost a laugh. “Frowning’s just how I look, apparently.”

“Well,” you replied, leaning forward with a smirk, “maybe it’s time you tried something different. Ever been on a date like this before?”

His brows furrowed, and he glanced away. “Not really my thing. This one was… a setup.”

“Same here,” you admitted, laughing. “Guess we both got roped in, huh?”

Sanemi’s eyes softened just a bit, and he seemed to relax more with each moment. As the main course arrived, he even surprised you by asking about your life outside work—friends, family, hobbies. You shared stories, and with every anecdote, his eyes seemed to brighten, his gruff exterior softening.

Then, as the night went on, he leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful. “You’re… not what I expected.”

“Is that good or bad?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s good,” he replied. His voice was softer now, more genuine, the usual edge to his tone fading. “You… make it easy to talk.”

You smiled, feeling warmth rise to your cheeks. “Same here. I didn’t expect you to be… like this.”

Sanemi chuckled, a low, almost foreign sound that you found unexpectedly endearing. “Like what?”

“Real.” You met his gaze, letting your smile widen. “Intense, maybe. But honest.”

He shrugged, but you could tell he was pleased. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”

After dessert, he paid the bill despite your protests, standing as he pocketed his wallet and gave you an almost shy look.

“Let me walk you out,” he offered. You nodded, following him into the cool night air. As you strolled along the street, he kept a respectful distance, hands shoved into his pockets, but you could feel the protective energy radiating off him.

Finally, at the corner near your place, he turned to face you. For the first time, he seemed unsure, his usual confidence wavering as he scratched the back of his head.

“I… enjoyed tonight,” he murmured, voice low. “More than I thought I would.”

Your heart fluttered, and you gave him a playful grin. “Does that mean I passed the test?”

He smirked, that guarded expression returning but gentler now. “Guess you did.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the city lights casting a warm glow. You bit your lip, mustering the courage to take a step closer.

“I don’t know what your usual life is like, but if you ever want a break from demons and… frowning…” you teased, nudging him lightly, “I’d be up for a second date.”

Sanemi’s lips quirked, his eyes softening as he looked down at you, the tiniest smile breaking through his defenses.

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that, (Y/N).”

———

I might have a Giyuu one posted in a couple of minutes because I had the the time to make his, but lmk if you enjoyed 😌

[pennyellee]

CHAPTER VII - mágoa

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, mentions of God, violence, bloodshed, history class on lacrimosa yall, nudity, blood, manhandling, slapping, mentions of suicide, gun use, genitalia cupping, gaslighting, anxiety, strong language, threats, misogyny, old social norms, lies-lies-lies, bone crunching, physical violence, suicide attempt

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 12K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

m.list CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VI CHAPTER VIII

mágoa (n.) a heartbreaking feeling that leaves long-lasting traces, visible in gestures and facial expressions

A pinch of sadness went through Y/N when she heard his words. She gave herself to him. Without any fight, simply accepting that this had to be done for her to build a strong base where he would trust her enough to let his guard down. After this day, her mind was barely holding up, therefore she went down the hill willingly rather than by force.

Her eyes were about to close slowly when he was taking the white sheet on which they consummated their marriage. Although her eyes were narrowed, she saw a significant portion of it being painted red with her blood. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she laid there, boring her eyes to the ceiling of the room rather than perceiving the reality.

The flames of the fire danced and flickered, casting a warm glow upon their entwined bodies. They laid there — he basked in the afterglow, and she in her own sorrow. He was caressing her hair while she laid on top of his naked torso where he moved her to rest just a moment ago, trying to not think about what had happened. She cared no more. Her mind and body were exhausted. Yoongi put a soft kiss on her forehead before he broke the serene silence.

“A bath, shall we?” Her body felt the mix of exhaustion and vulnerability as she went to get up, a soreness radiated in between her legs. Y/N could not wait till she would spread her limbs in the hot spring water. Yoongi gently swept her to his arms and carried her out of the room.

The corridor was softly lit by lanterns, their warm glow casting a gentle illumination. Paper windows filtered the moonlight, creating patterns of soft shadows on the wooden floor as he was taking her to the spring. He hoped it would ease her pain and relax her muscles so he could be a little more selfish and take her again and again until dusk.

Her naked nipples stiffened and reacted to the sudden change of temperature. Yoongi was yet again trying to control his urges to press her against the wall and take her from behind. But he knew better. She was sore, vulnerable, and he knew the time was ticking and soon a bigger wave of realisation would hit her.

The steam from the heated water mingled with the crisp air, creating a comforting atmosphere that embraced them. She could feel the cold wind hitting her body before Yoongi stepped inside the natural bath surrounded by ancient rocks, swiftly setting their bodies into the hot water. Y/N breathed out from the sensation of the water balming her sore muscles. She took a moment to embrace the peacefulness of her surroundings, momentarily forgetting the true nature of her situation and to whom is her naked body pressed to.

Her eyes snapped open when the nerve hit her senses, breath hitching in her throat, tears still struggling to dry on her cheeks. An epiphany. She tried to pull herself away from him, covering her chest when he pushed her against him even tighter.

“None of that, my love,” he whispered into her ear, nabbing at it and pecking her head. “You are finally doing so well, baby,” he spoke, his lips still pressed to her hair.

The soothing warmth of the water against her skin and the unsettling reality of her vulnerability in Yoongi’s embrace — it overwhelmed her from every perspective. His words, though tender, served as a reminder of the power dynamics that governed their relationship. She felt a surge of frustration and sadness, a silent plea for autonomy in a world that seemed determined to deny it and her resilience was coming back to life again.

“Yoongi,-” she said urgently, her voice carrying over the soothing sounds of flowing water. “When is it going to happen?” Y/N inquired, lifting her head up, her eyes searching for answers.

“It is already happening.”

The night had unfolded in shadows and whispers, and as the moon’s soft glow seeped into the bath, reality grew more elusive.

The infamous Yakuza, believing themselves five steps ahead of the Min clan, found their fortunes turned by the cunning moves of the young Kkangpae. The cards he tossed when luring out the enemy’s leader were not in their favour. Cut the snake’s head and it will die; Yoongi wished to see them all perish.

The headquarters of the Japanese clan, once a fortress of power, now stood vulnerable in the absence of its leader. Yoongi’s calculated manoeuvres had left them exposed, ripe for his seizing. From Japan to the north of Korea, with Hong Kong looming as the next conquest, the throne beckoned to him now.

The Kkangpae had played a dangerous game, and the stakes had never been higher. He realised this when the enemy held his beloved, poised to snuff out her life with vengeance. That urgency drove him to expedite matters. Within an hour, united soldiers of the Min and Wang houses moved to three different locations, armed and prepared for the Yakuza’s onslaught.

Yoongi knew the moment they set foot on his territorial grounds their intentions were not congratulatory. But one of the decoy. On that note, another three units secured warehouses, guarding the ammunition and the snow, as they called it, to maintain prosperity.

Y/N had underestimated him and the measures he would take to ascend the ladder. No man had dared challenge the Yakuza and lived to tell the tale, let alone dismantle the cruel syndicate over the span of a single lifetime.

The last of them were already en route to join infiltrators in Fukuoka, where all of Yamamoto’s warehouses lay, along with Tokyo’s headquarters. The command was clear: at the stroke of midnight — fire.

“Is Mother with Bó Chéng and Xiaoli, safe?” Her voice trembled. Y/N is no fool; her gut warned of temporary alliances and impending bloodshed once the Yakuza descended the stairs. This time, between Wangs and Mins. Yoongi never confirmed such a cruel assumption, yet, she knew.

He nodded solemnly, understanding her concern. “They are safe, love. I made sure of it,” he reassured, his voice a comforting anchor amidst the chaos. Yoongi’s eyes held a mysterious depth as he spoke, and the weight of his words lingered in the air.

The Kkangpae had unleashed a force that even he hadn’t fully anticipated, and the consequences were now playing out in real time. His vision was clear — The Min clan, a rising phoenix from the ashes, disrupting the status quo, plunging the city into disarray.

For years, no Korean clan had dared confront Japan’s Yakuza, the threat of annihilation keeping them in check. Hence, Korea’s underworld always stood divided until the former Kkangpae Min initiated revolutionary acts against both southern and northern enemies.

As the First World War unfolded, Yoongi’s father saw an opportunity to cover the blood traces left behind by the clans on the battlefield. The alliances formed, the battles fought—all of it became obscured by the larger narrative of global conflict. The revolution against both parties became a rallying cry for those long oppressed by the Yakuza.

The clan of Min knew if they wanted to succeed in this power play, attacking the northern foes was first in order before they could stand a chance over Yakuza and their international allies.

The war with its sweeping chaos and diversion, became a canvas for the Mins to redraw the lines of power. The world may be at peace now, the syndicate clans were nowhere near the fine line. A Cold War between the fighting clans arose and took its place now that they could not horrendously murder each other without drawing the attention of the upper world.

Not today.

His father’s revolutionary act set the stage, and Yoongi intended to finish it. With satisfaction, he watched as the wheels of change turned, irreversible.

The war ended over two decades ago and yet Yoongi still expected the unexpected. Hong Kong sought alliance with Tokyo. A marriage would seal it. Lineage was sacred, heavily valued. The syndicate, with its watchful eyes and ears attuned to the pulse of the underworld, murmured in speculation. Rumour was spread of Wang Zemo’s eldest daughter to be betrothed to Yamamoto Itsuki, the Yakuza’s heir.

Yoongi had just celebrated his 18th birthday when the murmur began. The girl, barely a decade old, promised to the Yakuza. No official betrothal could happen as she was still too young to be wedded.

Years went by and when she reached the 18th year of her life, Yoongi anticipated another bloodthirsty war to begin now that the arrangement could take place. But nothing happened. Holding her portrait in his hand, looking at the black and white photograph with a fresh cut on his eye, imagining how cherry red her lips must be and how he is going to drown in her eyes once he sees them for real. He saw opportunity, a golden ticket in this dangerous game.

Therefore, before her twenty-first birthday, Yoongi was already ahead of Yakuza, sipping tea with Wang Xiaoqing, the Triad leader’s older sister. His intention was clear from the beginning — the young gal in the portrait, undyingly beautiful.

Instead of wielding guns and knives at the northern enemy in China he was resolute in overthrowing the Triad by this calculated move of taking her and creating a powerful alliance in order to end Yakuza’s reign. He could have had any woman from his clan, but no woman ever spiked his interest as much as Wang Y/N.

He settled his mind on the path God presented him. He played his pieces, aiming for the Triad’s allegiance. The men of the Wang Triad, fiercely loyal to their established traditions, would not willingly follow an outsider — with or without war. To secure his grip on the Triad’s allegiance, Yoongi needed more than a coup; he needed a legitimate claim to leadership.

He played his pieces, aiming for the Triad’s allegiance. The young Kkangpae began his cockiness by taking the young woman to keep at his premises right before Yakuza would announce the engagement and followed the union.

Yoongi, the architect of this narrative, understood the power of perception. A move that seemed personal had far-reaching implications in the complex web of alliances that governed the criminal underworld.

The elderly woman was the smartest human he ever met. As she also held a mutual disdain for the house of Yamamoto that ran deep, an animosity fuelled by years of oppression and subjugation. The Yakuza’s supremacy over other clans, their unabashed acquisition of shares, land, and women, irked her. It was a political dominance that had cast a shadow over both Seoul and Hong Kong’s criminal underworld for far too long.

A shrewd strategist that Wang Xiaoqing was, recognised the potential for a successful revolution in Yoongi’s carefully laid steps — the blockade of docks, the seamless integration into the Yakuza’s business affairs, the subtle theft of opportunities, and the meticulous infiltration into their other operations—it was a game of chess played with finesse. Lastly, his determination on not letting Wang’s oldest daughter marry into Yakuza and form an alliance that could be a threat to his own kin.

Taking her niece would be a move that went beyond the surface, resonating with the desire to break free from the chains that bound them to the Yakuza’s dominance. Nobody dared to take what Yakuza claimed as theirs. Until him.

In the dimly lit warehouse where he was solely because the Luen’s shipment of ammunition to Taiwan got rampaged by Yakuza soldiers. Their attack on the shipment had disrupted his plans, leading him to intervene personally.

The captured Yakuza soldier, now a pawn in this unexpected confrontation, was brought before Yoongi for interrogation. The improvised setup within the warehouse served as the backdrop for the intense questioning that aimed to unveil the motives behind the Yakuza’s brazen attack that Yoongi already knew. It was their way of sending a message, a warning to the clans to not climb the ladder too high.

However, that’s not what aches Yoongi’s heart whenever he remembers that night. It was her, clad in her signature red qipao, in a dishevelled state, most likely chilled to the bone, lip split open.

The date on which Yoongi would arrive to collect her was settled two weeks from that day, but there she was, standing in the warehouse, most likely looking for a shelter from the cold.

In the silent exchange, Yoongi saw a glimpse of vulnerability and strength, a combination that both intrigued and captivated him. She looked straight to his eyes for what felt like hours without flinching away. The spark he felt that ignited between them in that warehouse would become the member of an unspoken understanding—a realisation that love, in its rawest form, had found its way to his heart.

He recalls how his breath stammered when he saw her for the first time. No matter how long she’s been running, no matter how the chilly wind ruffled her hair — she looked magnificent. All the love letters scribbled down that he had never sent to her were hidden in the drawer of his desk. He might give them to her one day once she will be ready to reciprocate his love.

Yoongi was convinced that it was destiny that she came upon the warehouse, as if God was leading her to his arms, where she belongs. At least according to the young leader of the clan. Y/N’s arrival to his land was unexpected and it certainly changed the whole trajectory. And that was one of the pivotal moments when he decided to rethink his steps.

This unforeseen encounter planted the seeds of a different kind of connection, one that deviated from the cold calculations of alliances and power and dark intentions loomed over the young Kkangpae Min.

Yoongi used to see marriage as a means to an end, a pragmatic choice made in the pursuit of power and influence. The emotions that typically accompanied such unions were to be set aside in favour of the greater goal at hand.

But her presence started to overshadow the original intentions of the alliance. How she fought him, stood her ground — all just made him want her more. As he found himself captivated by her company, the cold calculations of the former plan began to waver and he was decided.

The Yakuza’s move was thought-through, he did not expect any less—a challenge issued with violence and bloodshed and in the midst of celebration, chaos erupted. Min with his bride long gone to safety. Masked assailants, clad in the insignia of the Yakuza, stormed the hotel and one would think this is the end. But this conflict was nowhere near the grand finale.

At the time of the awaited attack of Yakuza men, echoes of screams of agony and crackling fire were far too loud. A clear symbol of the arising power of the Min clan. The two generations of Yamamoto's men, father and son, now lay as nothing more than ashes.

The night, which should have been a tender moment of intimacy, became the stage for a chilling chess move. As Yoongi and Y/N shared the vulnerability of their union, the Min clan, under his orders, descended upon the Yakuza with a relentless fury.

The sound of gunfire and explosions echoed in the night, a symphony of retribution that played out against the backdrop far away from their marital chamber. While Yoongi claimed the innocence of his wife, he orchestrated the downfall of those who dared to challenge his dominion.

The puppeteer of this grim performance, ensured that their legacy was erased, their power dismantled, and their grip on the criminal underworld shattered. In just one night, the war that lasted years ended.

Infiltrating the Yakuza was a meticulous plan, and his true intentions were hidden even from those closest to him. As the Min clan annihilated the Yakuza in cold blood, the night drew to a close and only those who would bend the knee and pledge loyalty were spared.

The night had witnessed the birth of a new order and the song of the dead echoed whilst the former empire shattered into pieces.

Morning arrived with a soft glow, painting the room in shades of muted light where Yoongi’s fingers traced gentle patterns on her naked back.

“Breakfast is ready,” he whispered, pressing a lingering kiss on her forehead. She nodded, wordless.

The table boasted an array of dishes, their enticing aroma filling the air. Yet Y/N could not eat yesterday nor today, the food simply did not go down her system.

Yoongi’s gaze remained fixed on her from time to time, while he was reading today’s paper the maid delivered together with the breakfast. His eyes, like a silent observer, bore witness to the aftermath of a night. Y/N’s eyes were bloodshot, cheeks stained with dried tears, her neck bearing bruises. Exhaustion weighed heavily upon her, yet he held onto the hope that all would settle now.

Yoongi sighed and reached into the pocket of his black vest.

“I have not read it,” said he once they finished eating breakfast and sat down in the lounge room. Y/N’s eyes moved to meet him, anticipating his next step. She did not want to speak to him. She did not want to look at him nor she did not want him to look at her.

“I appreciate that,” said Y/N, avoiding his eyes. Yoongi sighed again, reluctant to relinquish leverage over her, yet compelled to address the matter at hand. Deep down, he hoped the contents of the letter would bring her solace, perhaps even warmth towards him. Now, he stood as a fool in the pouring rain.

He carefully handed the letter, urging her to open it.

“Thank you,” she whispered, tearing open the envelope and extracting the yellowed paper within.

She looked at Yoongi one more time, and when she saw him spreading out the newspapers, she was glad he gave her at least some degree of privacy. Her eyes fell upon the cursive symbols of her beloved aunt’s handwriting.

The memories flooded back as Y/N read the words on the aged paper, transporting her to a time when life was less complicated. Yet, she remembers clearly the moment when the complications started to appear. She read the words, screaming at her whilst detailing Wang Xiaoqing’s declining health, her world halted.

The air grew heavy with a mix of medicinal scents and the weight of impending loss. Her aunt, a pillar of strength, lay frail on the bed, and Y/N’s heart ached at the sight.

As she recalls her last moments with her while reading the neatness of her handwriting Y/N finally sees the truth. Her breath caught in her throat, vision blurred by tears. Clutching the paper tightly, she read the words repeatedly, struggling to accept their meaning.

“I need you to understand, my dear,” her aunt’s voice, weakened but filled with determination, echoed in the room. 

“There are things, things I have kept from you to protect your mind and soul.”

Her aunt reached for her hand, the warmth of their connection grounding them in that vulnerable moment. The intricate dance between clans, the bloodshed, and the sacrifice her aunt had made to shield her from the harsh realities of their world.

“But it seems that my judgement was clouded—” In that moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, as if bracing for the revelation that would reshape the very foundation of her understanding. The vulnerability in her voice resonated with the unspoken sacrifices made for the sake of protection. Or at least that is what she thought she was doing by allowing Min Yoongi to take her into custody and use her as a leverage over the clans in negotiation of dominance.

“We do not have much time I fear,” her aunt continued, urgency etched into her every word. Y/N held her hand tightly, afraid to let her go.

“Once you burn me to ashes, I need you to run and not look back, Kai will help you get away—” a strong cough interrupted her speech and Y/N rushed to get her some tea to ease her throat. A bony hand landed on her forearm, stopping her in motion. Her eyes watered again at the sight of the state God let her aunt get in. Her fingers were turning purple and Y/N knew what that means. Oxygen was leaving her body and the end was near.

“Auntie—” she went to protest, at the time not understanding why she needed to run in the first place. But she listened carefully to her aunt closely when her sore and painful voice mapped out her next steps.

Back then Y/N wanted to believe it was a sacrifice born out of love and the desire to break free from the cycle of violence that had ensnared their family for too long. And her aunt presented her a chance to not be in the middle of the fire.

Peace was a fragile illusion. Min Yoongi may be a titan among the outside world, yet within the confines of his own home, his dominion was about to face its greatest challenge.

Yoongi, engrossed in his reading, spared his wife the intrusion of his gaze, allowing her the solitude to grapple with the weight of her aunt’s revelations. Not having a clue what the dying woman could write.

The revelations echoed in the silence of the room, and when Y/N finally looked up from the letter, her eyes met Yoongi’s. The vulnerability in that moment transcended the complexities of their current situation, forging an unspoken false connection on his side rooted in pain and the unravelling of hidden truths. In a burst of fury, she lashed out.

“You’re a fucking liar.”

An anger radiated from her, the heat rushing to her head. Yoongi’s eyes locked onto hers; he didn’t flinch at the sudden eruption of anger — it was nothing he didn’t already get used to. Instead, he folded the paper with deliberate care, setting it aside.

“Am I?” His response was laced with a hint of amusement, a calculated provocation that stoked the flames of her anger.

The contents of the letter, as it seems, are not what he hoped for. Nonetheless, he wondered whether he would fight this battle. Sooner or later she would learn the truth. It’s the timing that was not perfect and he knew it’s going to be hard to put the fire out.

“You manipulated her into agreeing—” Yoongi sucked the inner side of his mouth and released it with a loud click of his tongue, trying to compose himself for what is to come as she now knows.

“—with a choice, dove. A difficult one, yes, but she made the decision on her own accord,” Yoongi interjected, his voice maintaining a disconcerting calmness.

“You lied to her!” A wry smile played on Yoongi’s lips as he met her accusing gaze. Y/N was hanging on the farthest end of the branch and soon enough she would fall. Yoongi’s gaze remained fixed on Y/N, his calm demeanour a stark contrast to the storm brewing within her.

“She would not have approved if she knew of your intentions!” Yoongi leaned against a nearby table after he stood up, his gaze unwavering. He realised that what she is implying is true. But he also knew that this is not the world where Wang Xiaoqing would be stupid enough to give him her hand. She knew what it would mean.

“Power comes with a price. Your aunt understood that and made the necessary sacrifice.” Y/N scoffed at his words, incredulous. Yoongi’s response was a wry smile, a silent admission of guilt that he would never voice out.

“And what of my sacrifice? What about the life I wanted, the choices I never got to make? You took them from me!” He reached out to her, his fingers gently tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. Yoongi looked at her trembling lips and caught himself thinking how good they felt against his last night.

Y/N, caught between anger and grief, searched Yoongi’s eyes for any sign of remorse. Yet, all she found was the unwavering resolve of a leader who had chosen duty over sentiment.

Her patience was wearing thin, her anger boiling over like a cauldron on the verge of eruption.

“I did what I had to do for the survival of our clan—” she struck out, her hand connecting with his cheek in a resounding slap. Her whole body was shaking with grief, anger and hatred.

Yoongi’s head pivoted slightly at the sudden intrusion he did not expect. Yet, even as she railed against him, hitting him repeatedly, Yoongi remained steadfast. All the curse words she sent his way were only bypassing him. He knows she wouldn’t do this in normal circumstances. But to stop and think for a second — there were never normal circumstances to begin with.

“You took everything from me!” Her voice was a plaintive cry, a desperate plea for justice in a world gone mad.

“I gave myself to you!” She screamed furiously. Yoongi’s eyes, usually calm and collected, flickered with rage. She glared back at him, tears streaming down her face. The reality of her situation sunk in, and Y/N felt a profound sense of betrayal.

“You’re fucking liar Min Yoongi. You never fucking needed to-” Yoongi’s jaw tensed, the anger in his gaze burning like a smouldering ember. His calm façade cracked, revealing the storm of emotions within while she aimed to hit his face again.

“Are you done?” He forcefully grabbed her wrists, stopping her, holding them tightly while he pulled her towards him. She shook her head, trying to break free from his grasp to make more damage. Y/N refused to yield.

“Fucking listen to me, Y/N,” he spoke through gritted teeth, his voice a low growl.

“Yes, I lied to your aunt because I knew where your ambitions lay and where she wanted you to be.” His grip tightened as he continued, his words cutting through the charged air. She shook her head in disbelief, struggling to break free from his hold as he violently pulled her back.

“I knew she would never give me her blessing to marry you!” Y/N’s eyes widened with a mix of surprise and realisation of his confession, confirming the contents of the letter.

“So you fucking tricked her,” she gritted through her teeth. Min Yoongi never intended to send her overseas, just like he promised the dying woman. All this time, she blamed her aunt for choosing her path, unaware of Yoongi’s manipulations.

“I could have slaughtered the whole Triad. Think of this as me being merciful.”

The weight of his words settled in the room, a heavy silence following his chilling revelation.

“You even fooled my father into thinking this is all my aunt’s doing,-” she whispered unbelievably, her voice laced with a bitter realisation. Yoongi’s expression remained impassive, but the truth lingered in the air like a haunting melody.

“You made a promise to her that I will be safe overseas, so why am I here, Yoongi?!”

“Because I fucking fell in love with you!” he exclaimed, his voice rising, his eyes searching for any kind of emotion that would show that she understands his doings. Of course she does not understand, after all, he does not understand how much damage he has done either. He is selfish and he always will be.

“You betrayed her trust!” Y/N’s eyes, on the other hand, searched for any sign of remorse, any glimmer of the man she thought she knew. He exhaled heavily, the weight of their tangled destinies pressing down on him.

“It was either marrying you and having a legitimate claim or bloodshed. Would you rather the worse option?” Y/N’s gaze wavered between anger and hurt, her surroundings fading away.

“You justify cruelty with some deluded sense of righteousness,” she said, her voice strained from the last vestiges of her strength.

“You’re part of this world, part of my world, whether you like it or not—”

“This was never about Yamamotos right?—” She looked right into his eyes, scanning the angry red scar that ran up in his brow that he now raised at her remark.

“—you are going to break the alliance with my father the first chance you get. That is what you mean by legitimate claim, am I fucking right Yoongi?!” He clenched his jaw, frustration etched on his face. Y/N had seen through his carefully constructed façade.

“You only fucking love yourself and your fucking clan!” He hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words but whence she decided that getting physical with him again is the answer — he snapped.

His hand forcefully clutched her jaw in a tight grip, just like when she first opened her eyes under his imprisonment. The wall met her back and she gave out a painful yelp. He closed the proximity to her face and spoke the words right to her ear while watching her struggle to get out of his grip.

“One of the things I love about you, dove, is your cleverness. But this little clever girl needs to finally learn her place,” he said, his words seething with control. She was whimpering in his grip that got tighter and tighter with each word he uttered.

“I took you for a wife so when I blow the brains out of your Sire’s head and take over his Triad, I will be unopposed, that is the truth, now—” Y/N’s eyes widened in both shock and fear as Yoongi’s words penetrated the air around her.

The force of his grip on her jaw made her gasp, the pain radiating through her face. The cold, unyielding wall at her back provided no escape, and she felt a surge of helplessness as his words sank in.

“Yet, out of the love I have for you, I have ensured your lovely sister will have her place within our clan and your mother will be taken care of. It’s the little boy you are afraid I might hurt, innit?” The mention of her family sent a shiver down her spine, and her eyes flickered with a mix of dread and anger.

“Well let us say, if you shall not force my hand by your shenanigans, I shall spare him.”

“You are a psychopathic monster,” she hissed through gritted teeth, her voice barely audible as his grip was not allowing her to speak properly. He chuckled, a dark sound that sent shivers down her spine.

“You were not saying that when I spilled all my love inside of your cunt, claiming you” his lips brushed against her ear as he whispered, cupping her womanhood with his free hand.

“You have no choice in this, dove. You are mine, bound by vows and blood. And when the time comes, you shall see I am the only one who can protect you—” his lips dangerously close to her ear now moved, laying a small peck on her wet cheek, right under her eye.

“—to provide for you,” his lips brushed upon her skin moving to lay another peck to her forehead. Tears streamed down her face.

“—to love you.” He finished, pressing his lips to hers.

“I wanted you from the very beginning. It was always you,—” She narrowed her eyes, a fire igniting within her despite the fear. The taste of his lips lingered on hers as Yoongi pulled away, his eyes fixed on her tear-stained face.

“—even if I would slaughter every member of your Triad, I would have spared you, my love.”

“I would rather die,” she spat at him, a small act of defiance in the face of his cruelty.

“Death is easy, dove. It’s the living hell I can create for you and those you love that should terrify you—” He traced a finger along her jaw, a sickening smile playing on his lips.

“Even the strongest wills can be broken, I still have some ways to make you obey and be a dutiful loving wife.”

“I will not become the submissive wife you fantasise about.”

But the scarred leader had a trick up his sleeve that only time will show whether she will need that kind of fixing.

“You are a challenging one, and I do love a good challenge. However, your defiance is only temporary,” he smirked, a predatory glint in his eyes.

Y/N recoiled, a sense of dread settling in her stomach. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to his plans, something insidious lurking beneath the surface. The scarred leader had shown a glimpse of a darker side, a side that made her shudder with apprehension. The voices in her head never left and now they were louder than ever.

“In the end, you will crave me,” his words echoed, each syllable dripping with a sinister certainty. “—And what a good life I can offer. I have all the time in the world to make you mine. Soul and mind.” He continued his monologue. She clenched her fists, steeling herself against the onslaught of doubt and fear.

“If my mind does not betray me, I told you what will happen once you disobey me again, did I not, dove?” her heart pounding in her chest as Yoongi’s words sent waves of revulsion through her. She fought against the oppressive grip on her jaw, her eyes ablaze with a mixture of defiance and fury.

“How exactly did I disobey you, hm?” she demanded, her voice rising with each word.

His chuckle resonated in the room, and he released his hold on her jaw. Y/N slumped against the wall, gasping for a deep inhale of air. The tears blurred her vision and her head seemed too heavy. Yoongi took the little bell on the side table, turning to Y/N, a cold glint in his eyes.

“I assume, the last time I disciplined you, was not simply enough.” He carried on without taking her comment to notice. She struggled to regain her composure, wiping away the tears that clouded her vision.

His fingers toyed with the small bell in his hand, and the room seemed to constrict around her.

The sound of the bell echoed, a disconcerting prelude to what awaited her. Yoongi’s gaze bore into her, a chilling determination evident in his demeanour.

“It seems you need a little reminder.”

Y/N’s pulse quickened, her mind racing with the fear of the unknown. She heard footsteps approaching the room and her head swiftly turned to follow the sound.

“Yoongi—” she pleaded. He remained unmoved. The approaching footsteps grew louder, and a sense of dread settled in the pit of her stomach.

“I hope this will be the final lesson, dove,” Yoongi said, the edge of cruelty evident in his voice. When she saw him reach for the walther in his holster, her pleas became more urgent.

“I am sorry, that’s what you want to hear right, Yoongi? I am sorry!” she implored, her voice shaky with a blend of terror and disbelief. “I will do whatever you want, just don’t—”

But her words were cut short as Yoongi’s hand gripped the handle of the walther. The room seemed to close in around her, the walls similarly closing in on the remnants of her hope. His gaze remained cold, his resolve unyielding as extended hand with the gun in his grip aiming for the incomer sliding the hanji paper door open.

Yoongi’s gaze shifted toward the figure entering the room, and Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Panic surged through her as she redirected her plea, desperately trying to avert the impending danger. His finger hovered over the trigger. He patiently waited till the door slid all the way in before loading the gun that alarmed Y/N even more.

“Yoongi stop, let us talk—” he had to laugh at how quickly he can have her on chokehold, smothering the fire in her. He was having none of it this time.

But before she could act, Yoongi’s grip tightened on the gun, his finger inching closer to the trigger. The figure in the doorway froze, sensing the danger that lurked in the scarred leader’s cold gaze.

Y/N needed to think quickly, her gaze momentarily meeting the poor made, stopping to look her over, she gulped down. It was her. The young girl’s tears were already falling to the wooden floor once she slumped down to her knees and begged for her life, just like she did months ago near the koi pond that she almost drowned in.

“I told you the Lord has a plan—” Y/N closed her eyes shut tightly, trying to think of a way to save the girl’s life. She owes her so much already and she certainly does not deserve to die because the man cannot handle being rejected each time there’s progress within the messed up relationship he formed in his deluded head.

Her palms pressed to her eyes she breathed the air in. With a surge of determination, she stepped forward, her heart pounding in her chest. Yoongi’s gaze bore into her, his cold eyes reflecting the twisted depths of his obsession.

With a deep breath, Y/N made her move. Ignoring the fear that threatened to paralyse her, she closed the distance between them in a swift motion. Her hand reached up to cup his cheek, her touch gentle yet calculated. His gaze locked with hers in a silent battle of wills. It confused him. What does she think she is doing? The scarred leader was too selfish to stop her. Feeling her warm hand on his cheek made him lose his hardened features.

If he could rule with fear and violence, she can rule with the love he desperately wants her to reciprocate, even if it will be pretended. And pretend she planned to.

Y/N was not stupid, she knew he would not believe her one bit that she is going to be a pitch-perfect mafia wife overnight. But gradually, till she can think of a way to leave. A plan was already writing itself in her conflicted mind. For now, she needed to get the girl out of danger, and if she had to forget about where she was standing and with whom, she would. For a life that can be spared.

And then, without hesitation, she pressed her lips to his in a desperate kiss. It was a gamble, a risky move born out of necessity. But in that fleeting moment, as their lips met in a deceitful embrace, Y/N prayed it would be enough to distract him.

Her heart raced with adrenaline as she poured every ounce of determination into the kiss, willing him to succumb to the illusion of affection. She could feel the tension in his body, his grip on the gun momentarily faltering as she moved her lips against his.

Yoongi was too taken aback to react differently than kissing her back as if this was the last time he was. She used his own tactics against him, and for a fleeting moment, it seemed to pay off. Winning this round with flying colours as the gun with a swift motion was sent clattering to the floor. The sound echoed through the room.

When Y/N finally parted from him, her eyes filled with determination, Yoongi chuckled softly, the façade of affection slipping away. Yoongi took an estranged string of hair and tugged it behind her ear.

“I told you your defiance is only temporary.”

“And you just proved your threats are empty.”

She refused to let his words intimidate her, to succumb to the fear that threatened to consume her. She knew Min Yoongi’s weakness all too well.

Her — it was her greatest advantage now, and she planned to use it to its fullest extent. Her defiance was far from being temporary. One step at a time; she planned to win.

Y/N watched the falling snow from the Cadillac’s window, her mind swirling with the events that had transpired. Min Yoongi sat beside her in stony silence, still seething from their confrontation. He dragged her to the car kicking. His pride was wounded by her defiance. Again. But she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her falter, of breaking under the weight of his control.

This was not the right time for her shell to crack. He needed her composed and Y/N was not feeling like a puppet he has had made of her these past months. He overstepped the line with the knowledge that and in their world, truth can kill.

He dusted his coat and hat from snow once they stepped inside of the hotel they vacated not even a day ago. Y/N felt small once she walked by his side, not because he would intimidate her, that was never the case — her eyes creeped at the hallway where her body was pressed to the wall, strong hand on her neck.

A sense of unease settled over her. She raised her own hand to touch the still sore space covered by the neckline of her qipao, white fur coat draped around her shoulders.

His sharp eyes noticed it and for a fleeting moment he paused, his gaze softening imperceptibly as it fell upon Y/N’s form. Despite the coldness that often characterised his demeanour, there was a flicker of something akin to remorse in his eyes.

That is where Min Yoongi’s remorse lies. He did not regret taking her as wife, he did not regret all the lies, damage and deception he employed to achieve so, what he did regret was her getting physically hurt. He regretted listening to her sister when she said he should stay with the guests instead of attending to you. But as quickly as it had appeared, the moment passed, and Yoongi’s expression hardened once more.

She followed him into the dining hall, her steps hesitant as they walked side by side. The room erupted into applause once they stepped in. The sound echoing off the walls in a cacophony of celebration of the genocide they just performed.

The celebration was a mockery of the destruction they had caused, the lives they had taken in the name of power. Y/N scanned the faces in the room, searching for her family among the crowd. Relief washed over her when she saw Xiaoli, hanged on the arm of Kim Taehyung; she nodded, a silent reassurance that they were safe.

There is never a guarantee that ordinary civilians won’t be harmed as that’s how clan’s limit the possibility of attacking the headquarters which were strategically located in the heart of the city. Therefore, no assurances that innocent lives would be spared.

Her steps remained hesitant as they made their way through the crowded room. Number of men and women patted him on his back, congratulating him on the plan he orchestrated worked just right. And as she cast a glance at Yoongi, she couldn’t help but wonder whether they all would ever find redemption for the sins they had committed.

Yoongi raised his hand once they got in the middle of the dining hall, attempting to silence everyone. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to him expectantly.

But Y/N paid him no mind, her thoughts consumed by the dark undercurrents that lurked beneath the surface. She did not bother to pay attention to her so-called husband’s propagandic words to his blind worshipers. The voices in her head would outcry him or anyone else. For what little her ears caught, there was a sense of pride in his words, a conviction that they had done what needed to be done to protect their interests.

“We must remain vigilant,” he concluded, his voice a warning. “Our enemies may have been vanquished, but new threats will always emerge. We must stand together, united in our resolve to protect what is ours.” Yoongi’s gaze lingered on Y/N possessively. When his gaze fell back to the crowd, he saw his right hand man making a way to the centre, rather urgently.

“Excuse me,-” Yoongi murmured to those around him, his tone clipped as he stepped away from the crowd. He had little time for idle chatter, especially in the midst of their celebrations.

Namjoon’s expression was grave as he spoke, his words measured and deliberate. “There’s been a development,-” he began, his voice becoming too low to understand what he was saying. Y/N’s eyes flickered to all of them before they landed back on Yoongi and still whispering Namjoon.

Yoongi’s expression remained unreadable as he listened to Namjoon, his features schooled into a mask of stoicism. But as Namjoon’s words sank in, a flicker of something dark and dangerous glinted in his eyes. As Yoongi turned to face her, his gaze piercing and intense, she could not predict what was going to happen.

The scarred leader encouraged everyone to continue with celebrations with a big smile plastered on his face, his voice ringing out with false warmth and cheer. But the persona was long gone once he turned to face the group of his most trusted man.

“Tae, take Xiaoli to her room and come back, the rest, office now—” Yoongi ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

“I’m going to see Bó Chéng and Ma, Yoongi.” She announced, interrupting the stream of his command. Yoongi’s gaze snapped to Y/N, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before his expression hardened once more. He attempted to make a reasonable argument why she cannot go, but there was none, only his selfishness remained. Clutching his fist tightly, he spoke.

“Thirty minutes, then I need you downstairs.” Yoongi’s jaw clenched as he struggled to contain his frustration. Y/N nodded curtly, she knew that this is a rare occasion that he would agree without a fight.

“Dove?” Yoongi called when she turned to walk away. He hesitated for a moment, his thoughts racing as he searched for the right words. The darkness and possessiveness that loomed over him overshadowed any kind of sincerity he wished he would say instead.

“Do not make me come and get you.”

The atmosphere was heavy with tension as Yoongi sat behind his desk, his expression unreadable as he listened to the reports from his subordinates. The news of Chanyeol’s demise lingered in the air like a dark omen, casting a shadow over the room.

“Are you certain it was a suicide?” Yoongi’s voice cut through the tense silence of the room.

“They found him hanging in his cell,” Namjoon replied, his tone cautious. “No signs of foul play.”

Yoongi’s mind raced with questions. The absence of a trial meant that Chan-yeol’s fate had been sealed, his sins catching up to him in the most final of ways.

“His death was inevitable,” Yoongi murmured, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation. “But it serves as a reminder to all who dare to betray us.”

“He fucking deserved to have his balls cut off, Hyung.” The youngest member of the board spoke with venom in his voice. The sentiment was shared by many in the room, but Yoongi knew that dwelling on revenge would only serve to distract them from their true objectives. Nonetheless, he silently nodded in agreement.

“Are all our goods secured, Jimin-ah?” Yoongi shifted the conversation to more practical matters, his focus unwavering despite the weight of recent events. Their operations could not afford to falter.

“They’re secured, Hyung,” Jimin replied, his tone confident. “We’ve taken the necessary precautions to ensure our assets remain protected.”

“Good,” Yoongi said, his voice firm. “We can’t afford any mistakes. Keep a close eye on everything, and report any unusual activity immediately—”

“What is it, Yoongi?” The doctor’s voice resonated throughout the room. He was sitting near the fireplace, nursing a glass of liquor in his hand, his eyes sharp and thin while looking at his brother and leader.

The moment he stepped inside of the hotel, Seokjin knew something had happened that got under Yoongi’s skin. The only reason is still absent in this room, her time slowly waning.

Yoongi’s gaze flickered towards Seokjin, his brother’s interruption breaking the flow of their conversation.

“We have matters to attend to, Seokjin,” Yoongi replied, his tone clipped but not unkind. “Important ones.”

“Rumour has it—” he stood up, ignoring the scarred boy’s dismissal he had known forever, Seokjin’s eyes bore into Yoongi’s, a silent challenge passing between them.

“That while you celebrate the victory, your own household is on fire.” Yoongi’s jaw tightened, a silent acknowledgement of the truth in Seokjin’s words.

“So tell us what is bothering you.” Despite his efforts to maintain his composure, he couldn’t entirely mask the unease that gnawed at him. Reaching the spot where his bride imprinted her hand earlier, he spoke.

“She knows Wang Xiaqing did not give me any blessing to marry her.” He could visibly see his right-hand man pressing his fingers to the root of his notes and sighing loudly. The youngest could not help but chuckle at his leader’s words as he sympathised with Y/N to most. Not enough to help her out of this situation though.

Seokjin’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, his gaze locking onto Yoongi’s with intensity. The revelation hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the room.

“And how did she come to know this?” Seokjin’s voice was low, a mixture of concern and curiosity. Yoongi’s jaw tensed, his expression clouding over with frustration.

“I gave her the letter without reading it first.”

“Yoongi why the actual fuck you would do that?!” Namjoon’s voice cut through the tension in the room, his anger palpable. Yoongi’s gaze hardened as he turned to face Namjoon, his frustration simmering beneath the surface.

“Because she was making good progress, and I couldn’t deny it any longer,” Yoongi replied. Namjoon’s expression softened his features, reflecting a mix of sympathy and understanding.

“It does not matter, Hyung, she is your wife and that cannot be undone, right?” Hoseok’s voice carried a note of reassurance when he softly smiled at him.

Seokjin held up a hand, silencing the room. His pointing finger aimed at Yoongi next. “Yes, whatever happens, she is still your wife.”

“Yeah, well, go and tell her that, see if she listens.” Yoongi muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration, sinking back to his armchair. Namjoon exchanged a knowing glance with Seokjin.

“Does she know about your plans for her father’s Triad?” Namjoon’s question hung in the air, injecting a new layer of tension into the room.

Yoongi’s hand was pinching his lip when the question was raised. His eyes on neither of the men questioning him.

“She figured,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. Seokjin’s expression tightened, his gaze narrowing as he processed Yoongi’s words. Namjoon’s eyes widened in surprise, his brows furrowing with concern and the rest of the man reflected the same kind of emotions.

“Hyung, but you just said she made progress, right? All will be good.” Namjoon’s question hung in the air, injecting a note of uncertainty into the conversation. Yoongi’s jaw clenched, his mind racing as he considered Namjoon’s words. He had believed that Y/N understood her role in their world, but recent events had shaken that belief to its core.

“I thought she did,” Yoongi murmured, his voice heavy with regret. “But now, I’m not so sure.” The remaining six were staring at their leader, expecting them to fill him in. They needed to know the situation in case little Mrs Min attempted to ruin every ongoing operation by running away.

“Well then, humble her like you always do—” Namjoon began, his tone suggesting a ruthless solution to the problem. The rest of them were not as right with their brother’s drastic intentions. Apart from Seokjin, he knew the young gal enough to know that being soft wouldn’t move her. But Yoongi’s interruption cut through the air like a knife.

“She said my threats are empty.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of Yoongi’s words hanging in the air.

“Fucking show her they are not, Yoongi. You’re the Kkangpae, and she is your wife, goddammit.” Namjoon’s frustration boiled over, his voice laced with urgency. They needed her well, alive and here as an obedient and loyal wife.

Yoongi had given her the chance to do so willingly, he had even gone against his trusted men’s words when he suggested she be involved in the business however she liked. He tried to play nice numerous times. In his mind. Not in hers.

Yoongi shall never fully scope how much he took from her. He is selfish enough to never even accept the possibility of letting her go for the better course in their damaged relationship. He always ruled with fear and kindness was only recently added to his vocabulary once he fell in love with her. Deeply, quickly and too hard. Whether he was willing to make that sacrifice, to truly change the way he ruled his empire, remained to be seen.

He wanted to mould her into the perfect wife for a Kkangpae. But he also wished that she would reciprocate his love. He had demanded too much of her, without ever truly understanding the cost. And as he looked around the room at the faces of his most trusted allies, he realised that he was not the only one who had underestimated the strength of her will.

Every one of them thought this matter would be solved after the wedding and she would slowly succumb to what life they offered her. But if there was one thing he was certain of, it was this: he would do whatever it took to keep her by his side, even if it meant confronting the darkest parts of himself in the process.

“I can always fix her, Yoongi.” Yoongi’s jaw clenched as he processed the implication behind Seokjin’s statement.

“That shall be the very last option, aight?” Yoongi finally replied, his voice firm despite the doubt that gnawed at him.

They may not have agreed with his decision, but they recognized the weight of his words. And in that moment, Yoongi thought that he had taken the first step towards redemption. Only to fall back down for what he is going to do.

“You underestimate the power of discontent, brother,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “It festers, grows until it consumes everything in its path. You would do well not to ignore it.”

“I’ll handle it,” he said, his voice filled with determination.

The door creaked open, revealing a figure standing in the doorway. Fashionably late, she at least arrived after she made sure that her little brother and mother were safe and sound. She has put him down for his afternoon nap, promising him to make a snowman when he wakes up.

The men’s looks met her eyes with a hint of little something Y/N could not interpret.

“What is it?” She asked carefully, scanning their faces.

“We were just discussing some matters concerning the recent events.” Seokjin steadied his voice and fixed his tie.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at the tension in the air, but she forced herself to maintain a calm façade. She stepped further into the room, her eyes flickering between the faces of the men gathered around the table.

“Is there something I need to be aware of?” she asked, her tone carefully neutral.

“Chan-yeol’s dead,” said Yoongi coldly. She swallowed hard, trying to process the information.

The tension in the room seemed to thicken as the men exchanged guarded glances. Yoongi’s gaze bore into hers, searching for any hint of vulnerability. But Y/N held his stare, refusing to show any weakness in front of him or his associates.

Truth to be told, she did not know how to feel. The man was an accomplice in an act not worthy of heaven’s gate after death. The numbness that was creeping in her brain was spreading further and further.

“Does Daiyu know?” She gulped down the question, avoiding direct eye contact with any of the men.

“She knows. There will not be any funeral as he was a traitor to our clan.”

In their world, traitors were dealt with swiftly and without mercy. There would be no mourning for Chan-yeol, no funeral to honour his memory. He had chosen his path, and now he would face the consequences.

Y/N breathed the thick air of the room deeply in and licked her lips, her teeth scraping the bottom lip, a subconscious gesture of anxiety. The world of the Kkangpae was unforgiving, its rules and consequences absolute.

“Well, if you excuse us Buin, we shall take our leave.” Hoseok sensed that it was the right time to flee this room before more private and intense conversations could start between the man and his wife.

“Of course,” Y/N replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She watched silently as the men filed out of the room one by one, their expressions unreadable as they passed her by. Alone in the room with Yoongi, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that they will not have a pleasant conversation.

She turned to face him, searching his expression for any sign of what was to come. Their inner problems were never concluded, rather set on pause and Y/N had a hunch that Yoongi would not let her earlier shenanigans go.

“I want to speak to her, Yoongi.” She knew that asking to speak with Dayiu was a bold move, especially given the recent events and the strained dynamics between them.

“Why?” he asked, his tone betraying none of his thoughts or emotions.

“I want to express my condolences.”

“Condolences?-” he echoed, the scepticism evident in his tone. What kind of condolence she wanted to express when the very same man was an accomplice of such a sinistrous act.

“She lost a husband and the little boy lost his dad—” He knew Y/N well enough to recognise when she was being genuine and when she was attempting to manipulate the situation to her advantage. There was a flicker of something in his eyes, a hint of guardedness, perhaps even suspicion.

“Do you want to perchance tell her to run, dove?” Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at the directness of his question.

“I want to offer my condolences sincerely,” she replied, her voice steady despite the tension in the room. “Whatever may have transpired between us should not affect her, Yoongi.” Yoongi’s gaze remained fixed on Y/N, assessing her words and the sincerity behind them. She meant to say that whatever happens in their messed up relationship, Daiyu should never be used as bargain anymore.

“I agree. But you just won’t ever learn, will you?” Their eyes locked, each of them holding their ground in the midst of their complex emotions.

“Yoongi, you ruined my goddamn life. Please don’t expect me to play house with you.”

“I’m offering you the life of a queen and all I ask for in return is obedience, perhaps love in time.” She heard this kind of proclamation way too many times for it to waver her.

“Well, I certainly did not ask for it.” She clasped her hands together, aiming to leave the room and find her cousin.

“Sit your ass back down. I’m not done.”

Y/N froze at Yoongi’s command, her muscles tensing as she slowly turned back to face him. Despite her inner turmoil, she complied, sinking back into the chair with a heavy sigh.

“You needn’t tell her to run. I have no intention to hurt her in particular. She played her part.”

“What else do you want from me, Yoongi?” she asked, her voice laced with frustration and exhaustion, not believing a word he was saying. “Haven’t you taken enough?”

“You needn’t concern yourself with her fate. Focus on your own.” Y/N’s heart sank at his words.

“I want you to see that everything I do, I do for us. For our future.” Y/N’s eyes narrowed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. Yoongi’s jaw clenched, his frustration palpable.

“I won’t be a part of your game anymore, Yoongi,” she declared, her voice unwavering. “I won’t—” a knock on the double door echoed, interrupting her.

Yoongi’s gaze flickered towards the door, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his features before he composed himself.

“Come in,” he called out, his voice firm. The siblings came just in time. Afterall, the Kkangpae requested their presence.

Dayiu’s eyes were red and swollen, a testament to the grief she carried, while Kai’s expression was hardened, unknowingly walking to a trap.

She greeted the young Kkangpae with a respectful bow. Kai remained silent, his eyes darting between Yoongi and Y/N.

Y/N watched the interaction, her earlier confrontation with Yoongi momentarily set aside in the face of a new development.

The room teetered on the edge of chaos she obviously did not see coming, and the consequences of this confrontation were poised to reshape the dynamics in their relationship. For good, he hoped.

They exchanged small talk with their leader while Y/N sat there silently. Only now and then did she raise a sympathetic look Daiyu’s way. She did not have a chance to speak with her since Chan-yeol drugged her and sold her out just to betray the very same man months later.

Y/N wished to apologise for every single unpleasant discontent she caused to her because of the fire she burnt Yoongi with.

Leaning in close to Daiyu, Y/N whispered her apologies, her words a quiet admission of remorse for the pain she had inadvertently caused.

She reached out, squeezing Y/N’s hand in a gesture of understanding her desire to live her life the way she wants. Daiyu shares the same ambition now that her husband is no longer in the picture. But that is, of course, not going to be granted.

As she was not paying attention to what Yoongi and Kai are further discussing, a mistake on her part. The next shocked her to the core.

Kai went to stand up just to be sent flying to the ground by Yoongi knocking him down. Y/N’s heart lurched with horror.

“Yoongi, what the fuck!” Y/N yelled, shielding Daiyu with her body.

“Missus Park?” Yoongi called. “I would rather you not stay for the next couple of moments.” Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at Yoongi’s words.

“You see, Missus Park. I need to show my wife just how much my threats are not empty.” His voice was full of violence and Y/N’s heart pounded too loud and hard. She shot a concerned look at Daiyu, silently communicating her support and urging her to leave the room.

“Both of you. Leave, right now!” With a nod of understanding, Dayiu rose from her seat, casting a final glance at Y/N before quietly exiting the room. Panic surged through her veins as she watched Daiyu leave the room, her gaze fixing on Kai, struggling to stand up and run, his eyes reflecting fear.

Yoongi’s gaze locked onto hers, his expression dark and foreboding. She knew she couldn’t escape his wrath, not now.

“Yoongi, stop!” Her palms blunt against his torso, trying to stop him from proceeding further, just to be pushed back to the armchair, little too hard than Yoongi intended to. His mind and fists aimed at the younger boy’s face. Her words fell on deaf ears as Yoongi continued his assault, his rage unchecked and his fury unleashed.

The sickening sound of bone crunching beneath his blows and painful cries from Kai’s mouth was haunting the room. Yoongi dragged him to the nearest wall and pressed his head tightly to the concrete with his hand. The skin of his knuckles was torn and full of blood. Not as much blood as Kai’s face produced after being beaten numerous times. Kai’s painful cry got louder once Yoongi kept pressing his cheek to the wall.

With each crunch of bone and each agonised cry that echoed through the room, Y/N’s desperation grew. She knew she had to act, to do something to protect Kai from further harm.

“Yoongi, this is all me. Punish me!” She scrambled to her feet, her hands shaking with fear and adrenaline as she desperately tried to intervene, to stop Yoongi from inflicting any more harm on Kai. She did not expect him to take a hit on Kai, he followed his orders thoroughly, the younger boy even pledged his loyalty to him. Y/N's mind scratched his name from the list, another mistake on her part.

Y/N’s voice cracked with emotion as she made her desperate plea, hoping to redirect Yoongi’s rage away from Kai and onto herself. She knew she was risking everything by putting herself in the line of fire, but she couldn’t bear to see Kai suffer any longer.

“I was thinking you know—” said the scarred leader. With each passing moment, the weight of their situation pressed down on her, threatening to suffocate her with its overwhelming intensity.

“Forbidding you from this and that won’t work on you nor killing a worthless maid—”

Yoongi’s voice trailed off, his gaze turning back to Kai, whose head was battered and bloodied pressed to the wall, so painful that his consciousness was waning. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she waited for Yoongi’s next move, unsure of what to expect.

“—but hurting someone you care about...” His voice was chilling, the threat implicit in his words. Y/N’s blood ran cold as she realised the full extent of Yoongi’s intentions. He was using Kai as a pawn in his twisted game, manipulating her emotions to bend her to his will.

“His life and blood are on your hands, love.”

She looked into Kai’s eyes, seeing the pain and terror reflected in them, knowing that his fate now rested in her hands. Yoongi did not plan to kill him altogether, he just wanted her to succumb to submission and obedience.

“No, Yoongi, please!” she pleaded, her voice trembling with emotion. But Yoongi’s expression remained cold and impassive, his resolve unyielding. She felt as though her soul was being torn apart, torn between her love for Kai and her desperate need to protect him.

She had had enough. She had seen enough. And she was ready to give up her life to save his. Y/N thought about this option way too often lately. Whether her sacrifice would be enough to save Kai from further harm remained to be seen.

In that moment of desperation and despair, Y/N’s mind raced as she weighed her options. The thought of sacrificing herself to protect Kai from further harm consumed her thoughts, and with a sense of grim determination, she reached for the same unfortunate knife that saved her from her father’s wrath before.

With a steady hand, she withdrew the weapon, its cold metal glinting in the dim light of the room.

“Y/N…” he had to look back at her twice before he realised what was going on. Yoongi’s gaze flickered toward her, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes as he realised her intentions. But before he could react, Y/N pressed the blade against her own throat, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and resolve.

“Let him go Yoongi, or I swear I will do it,” she declared, her voice quavering but firm. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as they all grappled with the gravity of the situation. Y/N waited, her hand steady against her throat, her gaze unwavering as she dared Yoongi to make his next move.

Yoongi’s hand left the already fractured skull of his wife’s cousin, and Kai slumped down by the wall, grunting loudly. The scarred leader who thought is holding the young gal in chess mate was taken aback by the sudden turn of events.

“I let him go, baby, now put the blade away.” Y/N hesitated, her grip on the sharp letter opener tightening involuntarily.

The rush of adrenaline had drowned out her fear momentarily, leaving her with a fierce determination to stand her ground.

“No,” she said firmly, her voice tinged with defiance. Yoongi took a step towards her small form. Her eyes crimson red, tears streaming down as she said that.

“We can talk—”

“It always starts with a talk, Yoongi, doesn't it?” Y/N interrupted, her voice trembling with emotion but her resolve unwavering. She held the knife steady, its blade gleaming in the dim light of the room.

Yoongi’s expression darkened, a mixture of frustration and anger flashing across his features. He took another step closer, his gaze locked on Y/N’s determined face. He was afraid and the young leader was only afraid of one thing. Losing her.

“Love, fuck, please I beg you to put it down, baby.” Y/N shook her head again.

“I told you I am your weakness, Yoongi, now you see for yourself.”

For the first time in a long time, Yoongi felt truly afraid. Not for himself, but for Y/N. He knew that he had pushed her too far, that his actions had driven her to this desperate act. And as he stood before her, pleading to put down the knife, he couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that he had already lost her.

He had always prided himself on his ability to maintain control in any situation, but now, faced with the prospect of losing Y/N, he felt powerless. He made her go mad.

As Yoongi reached out his hand towards her, a silent plea in his eyes, Y/N knew she couldn’t back down. It is him who will never learn, not her. Pressing the knife tighter, piercing the first layer of the skin, painting the blade red. A thin crimson line trickled down her neck making Yoongi’s eyes widen in panic. She could not feel a thing through the adrenaline and post traumatic experience from the events that led her to close her mind and not feel, her eyes were still fixated on him and how terrified he looked.

“Y/N, please,-” he begged, his voice raw with emotion. Now it was her who remained unmoved, her eyes blazing with defiance as she held her ground.

“Say it, Yoongi.” She declared. Giving him the taste of his own medicine. And the dark sickening part of Yoongi knew that he had finally met his match. She wanted him to suffer just as much as he made her suffer.

“I’m so sorry, love,-” what he always forced her to say, thinking he is teaching her of accountability, now left his lips. Yet, he could never be accountable for his own actions, could he?

“You’ve taken my life from me!” her voice filled with bitterness and resentment.

“I know,-” he whispered, gulping down the lump in his throat. His voice was heavy with remorse that did not reach sincerity. “And I will spend the rest of my life trying—”

“Fuck you! You are like a broken record, a lying one!” She had seen through his façade, seen the darkness that lurked beneath his composed exterior, and she refused to let him off the hook so easily. But he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, couldn’t bear the thought of spending the rest of his life haunted by the memories of what he had done.

“I will do everythi—”

“But you will never let me go.”

For a moment, Yoongi was speechless, his mind racing as he grappled with the realisation that he had pushed her too far. There were no words he could say to make her put the blade down from her neck. The absence of words only confirmed hers.

“The only blood I shall have on my hands shall be mine.”

He immediately crossed the distance to reach out - to stop her - to tell her that he would do anything to make things right, but he knew it was too late for that.

“NO!”

With a desperate scream from his mouth, Yoongi watched as Y/N swiftly swiped the blade against her own skin, cutting deeper, painting the qipao embroidered with pink roses and green leaves she was clad in crimson red with her hot blood.

.

.

.

©pennyellee. please do not repost

author's note: sheesh, here we go, i thought that no chapter will be hard for me to write since the last one, but this one did a number on me tbh. But more importantly for yall my beautiful chummers, if you feel like this is the end you imagined for lacrimosa and y/n, I strongly encourage you to not proceed to read the following chapters. Not every piece of media is meant for everybody and I totally respect if the way in which will lacrimosa continue won't be everyone's cup of tea or simply not the trope they wanted. I hold the pen and I love yall, I won't change the outline of lacrimosa I planned because of relativity tho. Therefore, those who are satisfied with this kind of ending - I love you, I'm grateful, and I thank you hundred times that you took the time to read this fic. Those who wants to follow the "couple" a bit more, stay tuned and patient for other chapters. I love you 🫧♡ ︎

shout-out to Bex, the queen @chaoticpuff17, for beta another chapter!

Love you all!! ♥

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not an expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.

let's be friends chummers 🫧♡ ︎

lots of love, p.

tag list: @beautifulcloudfestival - @honsoolgloss - @jingerbreadoutofstock - @moscow778 - @januara26 - @dinosolecito - @yoongislatinagff - @xyahrinx - @hi12345567 - @nochuel - @deltamoon666 - @bbkissme99 - @darkuni63 - @nansasa - @sazsazsaz - @missmin - @strxwbloody - @royallyjjk - @jaiuneamesolitaiire - @shadowyjellyfishfest - @bbgniecyy - @elayne321 - @seojunandsoju - @bun-27 - @whipwhoops - @wobblewobble822 - @whofan88 - @haneyyyyyy - @lostgirlinthewoodss - @secfir - @btspurplesky - @elleflying07 - @pamzn - @megseungmin - @selenophileforlife - @idkjustlovingbts @seonghwaexile