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hoseoksluna · 2 months ago

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TANGERINE | myg (m)

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x fem!reader

genre: smut, fluff — comfort

rating: 18+

summary: yoongi has figured out a way how to make your life easier.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: brief sexual intercourse — controlled riding, anxiety, crying, feelings of fear, provider!yoongi, hoseoksluna's inner child trope, smoking habits as a form of coping.

luna's note: i wasn't planning to post anything as i was just trying to stay alive this week. i tried to write something, but the words felt weird, so i thought i was to abandon writing for the week. that is, until i saw a reel of a guy, a girl and a tangerine (not spoiling it for you). so i ran to my yoongi and allowed him to make me feel better. this took two days to write, and i hope you enjoy. i love you all with all my heart. thank you for all your comforting messages. i read them everyday. mwah. luna loves you so much.

𓂃 ౨ৎ

taglist | join here: @jjk7k, @tkslovechild, @euphoricmyth, @cinmmongirl, @ririkookiemonster,

@perfectiondazesworld, @https-mei, @bangtansonyeondanue, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl,

@hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk, @parkinglot-nights, @sadgirlroo

It was the color of the ripest, the sweetest tangerine that unfolded across the pendulous clouds, undulating around their soft, puffy bodies before it entered them, saturating them with its potent tint. You had just finished your cigarette on the darkened street outside of your home with your boyfriend by your side, who had dropped the last hour of his office work and came straight to you—simply because he sensed that you needed him.

Yoongi knew by your curt, short sentences, which lacked your usual zest and life, that something was wrong. He didn’t suffocate you with useless questions about the evidence of your sadness like anyone in his place would, but instead got inside his car and sped down the road, still wearing his midnight blue military shirt and dress pants that never fit him right. You always thought that detail perfectly illustrated how he doesn’t belong there, how he shouldn’t, in fact, be there at all.

But the office work does him good, thankfully. He gets the job done and gets to come home right after the fifth hour of the day—into the warmth between his music-strung walls. Sometimes, you wait for him there with dinner ready on the stove. Sometimes, he asks where you would rather spend your night, attuned to your moods and wishes like no one in your life is. They’re as important to him as the fact whether you’ve eaten at all, as you have the tendency to forget. Especially, when you sink inside the wooden cube of your sadness.

He knows, intimately, the color of the wood that once used to be a tree. Spent time inside that stifling confinement with you on many, many occasions. But something about this occasion is different.

It seems as though he’s no longer willing to dwell inside that unlit space with you.

On his way to you, he had called your favorite restaurant and ordered you a big bowl of beef broth with hotteok on the side. It’s the reason why he didn’t come up to your apartment, but instead called you and told you to come down so that you would both wait for the food to be delivered and go back inside. You grabbed your winter jacket, with your pack of Marlboros and your white lighter in your pocket, and, slipping your feet inside your thick-soled, fluffy outside slippers, you went down to him as fast as your legs allowed you. Your muscles were weary, influenced by your mental exhaustion, and they appeared to have loosened upon the sight of him, leaned against the sleekness of his black car, still wearing his military uniform, made discreet by the largeness of his long puffer coat.

At this point of your three-years long relationship, he doesn’t have to get out of his car, but he does—despite the fact you’d recognize his car even if your vision failed you. He does it out of his unfailing respect for you, and he had told you so, once upon a time. Guys that don’t get out of their cars for their girls are lazy and they don’t give a f—they don’t give a damn about them.

He never liked to swear around you. Said your ears were too precious to hear something so indelicate. Your heart swelled with a wave of such premature love for him at that time. It had been just the beginning of your relationship when his honesty, which bore such colored words as these, worked into the flesh of your too wounded heart. You knew, right then and there, that he was the one for you—the one you dreamed about having, the one you searched for in your closest and in strangers alike. No one was like him and it cost you welts that he regards as birthmarks, pathways of stars on your body that he likes to kiss. Likes to take care of. Likes to caress.

Husband, he became to you. At the freshness of it all.

His eyes were glossy as your feet took you to him. You wore your fuzzy, pastel-hued sleep pants with a few sizes too big sweatshirt of the same material that had the resiliency to protect you from winter’s cold alone. Your smoking sweatshirt, your sleep sweatshirt, too. Someone had comfort food or characters; you had a soft, teddy bear sweatshirt that you clung to. Yoongi didn’t reflect any surprise to see you dressed in this outfit. His mouth was lopsided in a firm line as he sprung from his car and swathed you in his arms, cradling your head in his hand, which he then pressed into the crook of his neck. The wind filtered through your unbrushed hair, tousled from your post-work lazing around, and his palm smoothed down those little hairs that have always managed to get on your last nerve.

He kissed them, too. Tamed them, for the sake of your mental health.

That hug and that gesture of his unknotted your sadness, giving them airways to breathe through. Naturally, while inhaling the briskness of the winter’s breath, you pulled away, and Yoongi knew what you needed next. He fished a pack of his Raisons and while you smiled at the little elongated, elegant cat drawn on it that resembled him more than anything, he nudged the butt of the cigarette between his lips, lighting it up for you before he placed it between yours, holding it as you took a drag.

Your heart palpitated—as if he did it for the first time in this lifetime, but he didn’t.

Acts of service was his love language and him lighting up a cigarette for you was one of the many ways he showed you how much he loved you. You never grew tired of it. Hell, you never got used to it. It invariably flooded your irises with a wetness of tenderness, no matter how many times a month he would do it for you.

No one could ever love you like he loved you.

The tangerine tinges cast a certain glow of homely familiarity as you quietly smoked your cigarette, sharing it with him every two puffs. And once he threw it out for you in the makeshift glass jar ashtray you stash in the thickness of the bushes lining the pathway to the apartment complex, the tinges darkened to the midnight blue of his shirt uniform and Yoongi took your hand and hid you away into the heated snugness of his car.

There he began to talk.

“Did something happen at work?”

You could only nod. Could only scoff with hatred for the cursed building and let out an unnecessary remark that felt necessary for your heart, for your mental well-being.

“Like always.”

And at times like these, when you emerge from the difficulties of your workplace, he never opens the suggestion of you finding another job. Your family members and friends, they always fling it at you, not aware of the deeper difficulty that would come with your leaving. They don’t understand that you have to push through, but Yoongi does—because he has done so many, many times throughout the eleven years of his idol journey.

You’re most thankful to him for it.

“Why didn’t you call me on your lunch break?” he asks, taking your flaccid hand in his, warming it up with gentle squeezes on his lap. His eyes glide over the side of your face, softly demanding your response, and you blink at the sudden pressure.

Something has changed. Something feels bigger than your vision is able to take in.

“I—I forgot,” you say, truthfully, inhaling this severity of the shift, and you straighten your spine, prepare yourself for whatever it is. “I’m sorry. I blanked out and then I ate, and then I had to go back to work.”

Yoongi sighs, lifting your hand to his lips. “I could’ve helped you.” He kisses your knuckles, made rough by the winter’s icy touch. “I could’ve done something that would prevent you from going home like this.” His lips pucker against your upper knuckles, and then he turns your hand and rests the side planes of his face against that little half-cocoon of your palm. “Is that not what I’m here for?”

Guilt compresses your clavicles, traveling all the way up to your throat. As you thickly swallow, a lump forms inside that column, triggering your tears that haven’t had the chance to pour out just yet.

“I know you don’t like to talk about what happened. I respect you don’t want to relive it, I understand, but it’s my responsibility to help you,” he rasps, his tone so low and woody, mimicking the surface of your sadness and destroying it in the process, for it punctures you in your gut, buzzing your butterflies for him with vigor. “I’ve thought about this for a long time and I came to a conclusion while driving to you.” The same glossiness that you saw filling his eyes liquefies and the extent of it all breaks his voice as he continues to speak. “Do you see your future with me?”

Something akin to a rock bashes against your heart and your stomach drops.

The panic doesn’t settle in. Not just yet. Not until you verify that you understood the meaning of his words in the way he was trying to get them across. You need clarity before the principality of it can force your world, your life to collapse over your delicate head.

“Are you breaking up with me?�� you ask, whispering—because if you use your full voice, it’ll break just like his, and you’ll break, too.

Like the tangerine hue unfolded across the clouds, pain permeates his countenance in the same way. Wrinkles dig into his skin as his features pull in, twisting them while he comprehends your question. The breath he lets out is short, coated with a kind of heaviness that you know by heart, that you know is induced by the enemy that carries the name ‘anxiety’.

And then his phone rings.

Yoongi wipes off his tears, lifting his head from the premises of the warmth of your touch. Clears his throat. Presses the green button on the screen of his phone.

“Yeoboseyo?”

He nods his head as though the other person on the other side of the phone call could see him, hums, talks and apologizes while you stand at the edge of the earth, about to be flung out into the bottomless space by one singular, uninterrupted sentence directed towards you.

That much power he has over you; that much he means to you.

Yoongi ends the phone call without saying goodbye, a fatigued huff of air escaping the small hole of his mouth as he stares down the screen of his phone, contemplating something. You can’t think about what it is, you can’t pivot on your feet and run away from the cliff to help him. Not when this is a life or death situation and you can’t breathe.

“My boss just cursed me off for leaving an hour early without excusing myself,” Yoongi explains without sparing you a glance, his eyes glued still to his phone that he soon rubs with both of his hands whilst he tries to compose himself. “I fu—I hate it here so much.”

A stab to your gut. You relate to him, relate to him in such heavenly and beyond heavenly measures that the tears that flow out next are for him, too. But this can’t be the matter to flesh out, not right now. You murmur his name, painfully so, bring him back to the airy context of your relationship because you need to know if you still have him.

Yoongi glances at you, at last. This thumb and forefinger are instantly drawn to your chin and he tilts your head to him, leaning over. He doesn’t kiss you on your lips. No, he kisses the glimmering traces of your tears upon your cheek, which are the only source of light upon this sphere. No sun, no moon in sight. Only your tears, only the remnants of it—the tears that are so very often internal, let out merely on the inside of your body. Never in front of him, never externally.

His kiss is hard, demanding once again, but this time you don’t know what he’s seeking.

“Don’t cry,” he purrs against your skin, against the shine of your tears—and because he didn’t ask about the reason behind them, you perceive what he’s truly demanding.

Mending.

Solace.

Mollification.

There, beyond those wishes, hides his regret. You feel it strongly, as if it were the veins that lined translucently your skin. He’s not the only one who’s attuned to your moods and wishes; you’re connected to him by an invisible string, which lets you in on the different hues of his heart, his emotions, his lacks and his wishes. It’s a team play that works, watering each other like that, and right now you need to overbrim with the essence of his intelligence, dominance and spoken word.

You need the truth.

“Are you leaving me?” you ask again, choosing alternative words with more softness, demanding his response with more power than he ever used. There’s no time to give substance to the reasons—perhaps they were already painted on the sunset you both watched together while sharing a cigarette. You simply need to be shown the roads of yes or no.

Yoongi blinks in this proximity, his wispy eyelashes brushing against your cheeks, and he withdraws, piercing his gaze through yours in a certain pensiveness, pain and poignancy that makes this even worse.

“I want to marry you.”

You gasp in a soft manner, which is an oxymoron to the firework that begins to pelt against your internal flesh. Your vision blurs in the speed of light, your liquid emotions pouring down and following the trails your past tears left behind without an ounce of care. Yoongi purrs as he witnesses it, his hand coming to pat down your unruly hair, giving heat to your cold fear, but the sound he makes isn’t of endearment.

It’s one full of ache.

“For the longest time I thought about how I could make your life easier,” he begins to explain, his thumb rooting at the apple of your cheek to collect all of your ceaseless tears. “I know you can’t quit your job right now just like I can’t quit mine so I had to think of other options.” He wipes the digit on the underside of your bottom lid, catching the blackness of your mascara. “And the only option is that I buy a house in the future, I marry you and I pay for your health insurance.” His mouth cracks into a half-smile that ripples beneath the blurriness of your vision. “You can be at home, focus on your hobbies. Maybe you can get an income from those, too. Whatever you’d like.”

You can’t hold yourself back from hugging him, and Yoongi can’t hold himself back from manhandling you and placing you on his lap. He rubs your thighs, let your feet rest on your seat, and he goes the extra mile to take off your slippers to be even more comfortable while you cling to his neck. And the way you transform into a little girl taken care of is the ultimate ointment to your stress-induced sadness. Its airways burst into smithereens, dispersing off and away from your system, and you begin to breathe in the aroma of his car and his personal scent as a girl forever changed, forever provided for.

He kisses your forehead, cradling your jawline. “That’s why I asked you if you see your future with me. I want to do that for you. I want to set you free from your stress and take care of you because I can.”

You whimper against the column of his neck, your fingers sinking into the length of his hair at the nape. “Of course I see my future with you. I can’t see myself with anyone else, Yoongi. I love you; you’re too important to me.”

The purr he emits next is different, covered with an overflowing fountain of love and pleasure for you from your words, and the sound penetrates your mind, untwisting all of those bad thoughts and pushing them away. “I love you, too. You want to marry me, baby?”

He pulls his lips away from your forehead to look down at you, that glossiness once again overwhelming his eyes, and you nod. “I do.”

And with those words, you perhaps did tie the knot somewhere in the spiritual realm.

Yoongi pecks your nose. “Are you gonna let me take care of you?”

You hesitate, shy all of a sudden, thoughts of how it’s not right, how you don’t deserve it, how it makes you less of a woman than you are resurfacing in your mind—and it is as though Yoongi can read them because he smooths out the wrinkles on your forehead with his thumb, fighting them.

“It’s your decision, think about it,” he says, softly, sweeping the belly of that digit down the slope of your nose. “And in the meantime when it gets bad again at work, I want you to remember it. Use it to distract your mind from the stress, even if you end up declining my offer in the long run. Nothing changes, I’ll still marry you, baby.”

The thoughts, once again, wither in the overgrown bushes of your mind, and calmness like a tide washes over your folded body on his lap. You nod, tucking that reminder into your heart to remember later in the future, and you rest your head against his chest, his heartbeat the accompaniment to your ultimate peacefulness.

Yoongi reposes with you for just a minute. He, then, begins to rummage through his glove box and only stumbles across a small tangerine that nearly gets lost in the width of his palm. He peels it for you while you watch—and once he’s done, he takes the ring finger of your left hand and holds the body of the fruit at the long tip of your nail.

“I, Min Yoongi, promise to take care of you until the day I die,” he proclaims and slides the tangerine down the length of your slender finger until it sits at the base like a true promise ring.

You hiccup, overloaded with another onrush of tears, and you scramble up to kiss him. And you do—you give him so many kisses until his lips are puffy and until your moment is again interrupted by another phone call. And it’s not his boss, who’s calling him this time around. It’s the food delivery guy, with your hot beef broth and hotteok in his bag, and together you step out of the car with carmine-wash cheeks.

Inside your apartment, Yoongi watches you eat. Sitting on the sofa beside you with his elbows propped on his knees, his blush deepens with each spoonful of soup you take to your mouth. And when you begin to share your soup with him just like you shared your cigarette with him, Yoongi is so smitten, so endeared that he can’t let out a full sentence without stuttering, without messing up so bad that he hides his face in his hands, his gummy smile prominent and lighting up the living room.

And then you’re in bed, but the love making isn’t as quick and lust-dripping like it traditionally is. Everything about the snap of his hips into your core is slow, yet meaningful as if he was fucking his promise into you. You’re supposed to be riding him, being on top like that, however Yoongi isn’t letting you. He’s fleshing out his promise of being the provider by having your wrists in a tight grip behind your back while he pounds your future into you with hard, yet controlled thrusts that empty your brain out of every little left-over fragments of your negative thoughts and emotions. His breathing is ragged as he works so hard, breaking a sweat as he changes your life, holding you upwards by your neck, maintaining an authoritative and vigorous eye contact that throws you over the edge.

But it’s not the edge you feared so much.

The bottomless space is a sea of his love he’s dipped inside of, ready to catch you with his arms stretched out in your direction—and he does. Together you swim in the afterglow of your orgasms, swim out into the openness of your shared future with you as a stress-free little girl and Yoongi as the provider.

Yoongi breaks your wooden cube as he feeds you the half-moons of the tangerine he used as a promise ring and you chew them while half-asleep on his chest—because, truth be told, you don’t need it anymore. You have his promise to envelop you from the inside, to keep you safe and to keep you feeling comforted, even when he’s away in the office and even when he’s travelling around the globe, singing for the world and for your tender heart.

You’re his wife and he’s your husband—and the bitter spirit of life can’t touch it.

You’re protected, and you’re taken care of.

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helloheyhihowdyheya · 3 months ago

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Cosmo Tips 🦇

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: On Halloween, Eddie finds Cosmo's "Top Ten Kisses to Spice Up Your Love Life."

Word Count: ~3.4k

Warnings: So much kissing, suggestiveness, Eddie is so in love with you

A/n: I'm glad I'm back for another Eddie Halloween fic 🎃 He's so goofy, I had to write this idea. And of course, include spider-man 🕷️🕸️

“Eddie?” you muttered out of the side of your mouth, your lips still occupied with kissing his. You watched his eyebrow raise in question, which — in any other situation — you shouldn’t have been able to see while kissing.

“I don’t think,” you began in between another kiss, looking at the soft brown of his eyes, “this one’s quite working.”

Eddie pulled away with a sigh, pushing his hair out of his face. He reached for the open magazine sitting on the couch next to you both. You just gave him a soft smile, a closed one, while rubbing your hand along his bicep.

“It says right. here.” he told you with a sigh, pointing his finger on the magazine article, “that kissing with your eyes open is supposed to, uh… ‘burn a fiery desire in your belly.’ Are you feeling a fiery desire?”

Your mouth flattened into a straight line, your head tilted to the side. “Maybe a sooty ember? It sorta felt like we were having a staring contest.” You leaned into him, resting along the crook of his neck.

“Yeah, and I was winning it,” he said, making a snort leave your throat. You felt the muscles of his face curve into a brief smile as he grabbed the magazine.

“You know, I’m not sure we should be taking romantic advice from Cosmo, Eds.” You muttered the words against the collar of his shirt, and after the other failed attempts, it certainly wasn’t the first time you’d said it.

Eddie had taken the Cosmopolitan magazine from the doctor’s office and excitedly told you about all the gossip and sex tips in it. And of course, he needed a volunteer to really see how well these tips worked.

The first one, which had you on the kitchen counter with Eddie standing between your legs, had bruised your ego a bit — the unsexy attempts to jump onto the annoyingly high counters and the crumbs sticking to your thighs had not inspired any fiery desires. And the second one extinguished it all together, where you both held ice cubes in your mouths so your lips and tongues would be cold while kissing. Except your teeth were way too sensitive for the ice, and Eddie had nearly choked on his ice cube.

And kissing with your eyes open hadn’t reignited anything. You let out a sigh. “They make these things look a lot sexier in movies. And easier.”

Eddie continued reading down the list. As your hand moved to his leg, you began running your palm along his thigh. The soft material of his sweatpants were warm from his body heat. Maybe you could salvage the moment…

“Okay, babe, one last one. I think we could make it work,” he told you, pulling out of your grasp and standing up.

Or not.

Slowly, you stood up after him, folding your arms over your chest. You watched him read the tip a second and then a third time. You found yourself unable to hold a laugh back. “And I think that you owe me big after all this.”

Eddie faced you, grabbing your wrists and uncrossing your arms. He placed them over his shoulders before his hands went to your waist. The weight of him felt heavy against you, the warmth from him almost intoxicating. He walked you backward, one careful step at a time. His mouth hovered right in front of yours.

You arched into him, finally finding relief rather than following that stupid list. Silently, you begged him to just close the gap. The tip of his nose brushed along yours. You were seconds away from just kissing him yourself when your back collided with something hard, your head hitting it a moment later.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie said, panicked and eyes wide.

Meanwhile, a long groan fell from your mouth. Your hand reached back to hold your head, feeling a dull throbbing radiate along your skull. Eddie pulled you into his arms, walking the two of you back to the couch. You realized that you’d been leaning against the wall of your apartment.

“Are you okay? Do you need any ice?” he asked, pulling away. He gently pushed against your hand, silently asking whether he can take a look at the back of your head.

You let him. “I’m fine, just a little dazed,” you laughed out, wincing slightly when his fingers brushed along the spot where a bruise was likely to form.

“Sorry,” he muttered as he continued looking.

“Was this another one of Cosmo’s greatest sex tips? Cause I don’t think head injuries are the smoothest way to get someone all hot and bothered.”

Eddie finished checking you over and pulled you back into his embrace. “I’m throwing away that stupid magazine. Maybe I’ll burn it. Or rip it to shreds.”

“You could rip it up and then burn it,” you offered.

“God, you’re a genius, baby.”

You answered with a distracted hum. The rise and fall of Eddie’s chest against yours made the ache in your skull a little less painful. “Maybe Cosmo’s tips are spicing up our sex life a bit too much.”

“Maybe,” he said, trailing his hand up to cup your jaw, “Comso’s tips are actually too bullshit for our sex life.” Drawing you back to look him in your eyes, he traced his thumb along your cheek before pressing his lips to yours. You leaned into their softness and warmth, letting your mind turn blank.

Until your landline began to ring. Eddie pulled away, grimacing at the interruption. “You alright if I go get it?” Eddie asked you, dragging his gaze across your face.

You nodded your head. “Only if I don’t have to fight any more walls tonight.”

“Deal.” His lips pressed a kiss to your nose, rising from the couch and pressing another to your forehead.

Resting back against the couch, you listened to him answer and talk to whoever was on the other side. Though it didn’t take long to figure out who it was.

“Christ, Harrington. That’s what you interrupted my makeout sesh for?” he asked into the receiver.

Your eyes widened, your body shooting forward as you sent a shocked look across the room. With gritted teeth, you admonished him. “Eddie!” You mouthed at him to stop as his cheshire grin widened.

“Oh, so now I can’t talk about my beautiful, amazing, hot, intelligent, sexy girlfriend anymore?” He put his hand on his hip, shaking his head. “Where’s the humanity in that? Steve, put this poor man out of his misery.”

His eyebrows slightly furrowed as he listened to Steve, the tip of his tongue sticking out in focus. “Okay, so I can talk about her? Great,” he said, settling in as he leaned against the wall. “Let me start with her ethereal soul capable of all things good in this world followed by the way no man deserves to even perceive her divine body. Then let’s go with her rockin’ pair of-”

“Eddie!” you said again, cutting him off before he could talk about that. And you weren’t the only one, hearing the loud interruption from Steve on the other side of the phone.

“Eyes! Her rockin’ pair of eyes. Get your mind out of the gutter,” Eddie finished, mock disappointment in his voice.

You couldn’t help but roll your “rockin’ pair of eyes” at him as that smirk covered his face again. You watched as he sighed and said, “Yeah, yeah. Got it, Mama Harrington.”

After hanging up, Eddie made his way back, flopping his body onto yours. His arms wrapped tight around you as he shoved his face in the crook of your neck. He snuggled closer, and the hum from his throat vibrated along your chest.

“So are you going to tell me what Steve said?” you asked, rubbing a hand down his back.

“Oh!” Eddie said, as if he’d already forgotten. “He said to be at his place by eight sharp since we’re bringing the snacks.”

You hummed, slowly nodding. “Like the snacks you bought for this Halloween party and then promptly finished by the following morning?”

“Those would be the ones…”

“So,” you began, narrowing your eyes at him as he avoided the point, “we need to get ready now so we can swing by the grocery store and make it on time then, right?”

The groan Eddie let out rumbled from deep in his chest. But you simply raised your hand and smacked it down right on his ass. “Come on. Go face the consequences of your actions.”

Slowly, he raised himself from you, his expression sinking into a grimace from a few inches away. “You were a lot cuter when we were making out.”

Despite his protests, he pressed a quick kiss to your lips before pushing himself up and making his way to the bedroom. A stupidly happy grin covered your face as you got ready as well. It sat there as you pulled your outfit on and as you adjusted the red wig on your head.

In the bathroom mirror, you saw the door creak open to reveal flashes of red and blue and black. Slowly, you turned, eyeing him up and down. “Well hey there, Spidey.”

Clad in a Spider-Man costume, customized by the man himself, Eddie walked over to you. With his hands on your hips, he said, “Hey there, Mary Jane.”

Your fingers crawled up to his neck, your thumb tracing back and forth across his cheek. You leaned in and kissed him through the mask. But as you opened your mouth to tell him that it was time to go, his fingers grasped the edge of the mask.

Eddie had barely pulled it off before bringing you in close and kissing you again. His breath came heavy against your cheek, his fingers pressing into your skin. As much as it pained you, your hands came to push gently at his chest.

“Easy there, tiger,” you breathed out with a grin. You reluctantly slipped out of his grasp, grabbing his hand to pull him toward the front door.

“Easy there?” he asked in disbelief from behind. “There’s nothing easy about how you look right now. In fact, if you ask me, things back here are getting pretty hard.”

You shot a glare back his way as the two of you walked to the van. “Hard like the wall you shoved my head into?” you jokingly asked, thinking again that there wouldn’t be any hard problem had you two not taken kissing tips from Cosmo.

Eddie reached his other hand to caress the back of your head. “Babe, I will spend the rest of my days redeeming myself. You know I’d fight that wall for you.”

You giggled, squeezing his hand before climbing into the van. “Or you could just get us to the store and Steve’s place on time,” you offered with a sweet smile, buckling your seatbelt. “Oh, and love me forever. There’s that part too.”

He beamed at you, his grin crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Now that I can do,” he said.

He held your gaze as his fingers reached for the radio dial, cranking the Black Sabbath song playing even louder. You merely leaned back against your seat, watching him shake his head and drum his fingers on the steering wheel while he drove.

And after you had a bag full of every kind of junk food to exist, the two of you walked up to Steve’s apartment. You continued to adjust your shirt, your jeans, your wig all the way to his door until Eddie grabbed your wrist with a gentle hand.

Even from behind the mask he’d just put back on, you knew the lovesick expression he wore. The one that told you everything you needed to hear.

You only looked away when the door swung open, revealing Steve in a pilot’s jacket and aviator sunglasses.

“Looking fly there, Mav,” you told him, offering the bag of snacks to him. Meanwhile, Eddie posed beside you with his hands out as if he were shooting webs at Steve.

Nodding his head at your words, Steve replied, “You two nerds don’t look too bad yourselves,” before inviting you both in. His place, except for the counter where he began setting up the food, was covered in decorations — everything from spider webs to orange and purple lights to rows of pumpkins. You recognized the jack-o-lantern designs from last weekend, when all of you spent the day carving and throwing pumpkin seeds at one another.

Eddie’s intricate design of the Hellfire Club logo sat next to your carving of a cat wearing a witch’s hat, which sat next to Steve’s unfortunate attempt at a skeleton’s face — but the teeth had fallen off, leaving the skull looking a bit gummy even without any gums.

And as you heard Nancy and Robin’s voices from the next room over, you could take a good guess as to who helped him decorate (and forced him to display his failed jack-o-lantern). And as if on cue, Nancy came out in a similar looking leather flight jacket and aviator glasses — Charlie from Top Gun you guessed. But what threw you into a fit of giggles was Robin coming out in a full flight suit, her hair piled on top of head to look short, and a fake blonde mustache.

From behind you, Eddie said, “Are you a porn star playing a pilot?”

“She’s Goose,” you loudly whispered to him.

Robin crossed her arms over her chest. “Top Gun was the only idea Steve wasn’t a total wuss about for our group costume.”

“Yeah, well you wanted to go as Pumpkinhead, Robin,” Steve shot back while Robin adjusted her fake mustache.

Not long after, you could hear the gaggle of kids outside the door — along with a heavy sigh from Johnathan as you swung the door open to reveal him standing surrounded by the kids. Their costumes looked familiar, especially Dustin’s Hawaiian shirt, but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

In an instant, the kids pushed past you, talking over one another about candy already. Meanwhile, you cocked your head at Johnathan still standing there — in a gray tank top with the sleeves cut off and red bandana.

“The Goonies,” Johnathan muttered, his voice clearly tired from wrangling the kids.

You made a quiet “ah” noise, raising your eyebrows. You give him a kind smile, letting him in and pointing him toward the drinks.

As you helped Steve finish putting everything together, endless laughter filled in the gaps of silence. You watched the smiles etched onto every person’s face and couldn’t help grinning in return. “Monster Mash” played in the background, Robin was ranting about the themes of different “final girls,” the kids were throwing M&Ms into each other's mouths across the room, and you were grabbing a handful of candy to keep you going for the night.

And the party continued like that — blurring between catching up and laughing so hard your stomach began to ache. Or maybe that was from the obscene amount of candy you ended up eating. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care, not as the smell of popcorn filled the air and the TV lit up.

The group had settled on — unsurprisingly — Ghostbusters once again. The theme song started while everyone gathered on and around the couch, which included Mike and Lucas fighting over one of the many available blankets.

But you walked over to Steve pouring the popcorn into large bowls and whispered, “Hey, do you mind if I hang out in your room for a minute?”

He turned to you, his eyebrows furrowing for a second. “Course. You okay?”

Waving him off, you said, “Yeah, just need a little break from all the commotion.”

A quiet huff left his mouth as he shook his head. “Don’t blame you. Not with–” his head whipped to the side. “Dustin, put that down!”

You just grabbed a handful of popcorn before backing away slowly. You giggled as you crept away to Steve’s room down the hall. Keeping the door ajar, you let out a long sigh. You pushed the wig hair out of your face and sunk down to the floor, your back resting against the frame of his bed. You leaned your head back and listened to the muffled sounds of the party.

Quietly snacking on the popcorn, you sat there enjoying the time alone. And just as your jaw was beginning to unclench, you heard the door creak open. You cracked an eye open, bracing yourself for more commotion, but peaked over to find Spider-man walking over to you.

“You left,” Eddie said, quite astutely, the words nearly coming out as a whine. You closed your eyes again as he climbed onto Steve’s bed behind you.

“You’re a little needy, you know that?” you muttered with a grin, no bite behind your words. He settled on his back beside you, his head barely hanging off the edge.

He bumped his temple against yours. “But you love me.”

Your smile widened, soft and sincere. “Yeah,” you breathed out. Humming softly, you leaned further into him. Loose curls of his tickled your cheek as you tilted your head his way.

The weight on the mattress shifted again. When you opened your eyes, you were face to face with an upside down Eddie, who had scooted his head farther off the mattress. It almost felt like the air around you both had shifted, electrified.

Your gaze flitted between his warm eyes and soft lips, his breath ghosting across your skin. His hand moved to rest along your cheek, the tips of his gloved fingers holding your neck.

He still made your stomach flip when he looked at you like this. Like nothing else existed in his eyes but you.

All you could do was whisper, “Hi.”

A slight smile crossed his face. “Hi,” he whispered back. And thankfully, he pressed his lips to yours so you didn’t have to search your clouded brain for words.

His touch left a trail of heat in its wake, from his mouth to his nose nudging yours to his palm cradling your jaw. The feeling of kissing him upside down was different, but with each push and pull of him against you, the more you melted into it.

Your hand curled into his hair, your grip growing tighter as your breathing grew heavier. His tongue slipped past your lips. You felt the quick beating of his pulse against your skin, and every inch of your body sparked alive.

A near whine fell from you when Eddie pulled away, but it quickly turned into a soft sigh when you felt him move down. From this angle, he easily kissed along your neck. You tilted your head back to give him more access.

“Eddie…” you whispered out, and you swore you felt a grin against your skin. When you couldn’t take anymore and you began pulling him toward you off the bed, a loud chorus of laughter erupted from the living room — making you jump and reminding you that the outside world existed.

Eddie nearly landed on you, a quiet groan leaving his mouth as he hit the ground. Quick breaths still fell from your mouth, your tongue licking your lips in his absence.

With a slight scowl, Eddie rubbed his back. But it quickly disappeared when you replaced your hand with his and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“So…” Eddie said with that distracting smile of his, “did that ‘burn a fiery desire in your belly’?”

You nudged him with your arm, playfully rolling your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“That wasn’t a no, sweetheart,” he pointed out, his voice deeper than usual. And he wasn’t wrong, you thought, while your body still calmed itself — which was never an easy task with him so close.

You kissed him again, slowly this time, to savor the feel of him. The hungry look he gave you as you pulled away said that he was going to stoke that fire until it burned you alive. And you were happy to let him, but Dustin’s voice called from the living room, telling you two to come back or you’d miss the best part.

Hand-in-hand, you two made your way back, sitting on the floor with your back surrounded by your friends. The movie and company were good, but you found yourself happily watching Eddie the entire night instead.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things

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storiesforallfandoms · 3 days ago

Text

extreme jealousy ~ thomas shelby;peaky blinders

word count: 2075

request?: no

description: in which she’s finally had enough of thomas shelby when he supposedly kills the man she’s been having a fling with

pairing: thomas shelby x female!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of death, use of y/n

masterlist (one, two, three)

Tommy was in his study when he heard the sound of his front door slamming shut. He knew exactly who it was. He had left the door unlocked for her, anticipating her appearance.

When she appeared in the doorway, her jaw was clenched and one of her hands was balled into a fist. Tommy simply glanced up from his paper work at her. “Hello, (Y/N).”

“You absolute fucking prick,” she sneered. “You fucking killed Alfie?!”

Tommy sighed, as if (Y/N)’s outburst was an inconvenience to him. “(Y/N) - ”

“No!” she cut him off. “I don’t want to hear whatever bullshit you have cooked up to tell me to try and justify what you did.”

If she was pissed off upon her arrival, then (Y/N) became furious when Tommy took off his glasses and placed them on his desk, then stood and calmly walked to his assortment of liquor. He picked up two glasses, without asking (Y/N) if she wanted one. He knew she’d just continue to throw profanities at him anyways. He dropped two ice cubes each into the glasses and poured them a glass of whiskey each.

Tommy didn’t have to ask how she found out about Alfie so quickly, because he had sent someone to tell her. The moment he knew he would have to kill Alfie, he called for Johnny Dogs to come with him. Johnny was confused at first, thinking Tommy was requesting backup for his meeting. However, when they arrived, Tommy explained he wanted Johnny to witness what was happening, and once it was finished, he wanted Johnny to go tell (Y/N) what had happened.

The news would’ve gotten to her either way, he knew. The smallest kindness he could give her was to make sure she knew right away, and that she knew the truth.

Mostly the truth.

When he offered her the glass, Tommy didn’t expect her to simply take it. He figured she would’ve hurtled the liquor at him, the glass too. He didn’t expect the offering to go well. To his surprise, however, (Y/N) looked at him for a long time before snatching the glass from his hand. She downed the contents in one gulp before handing the glass back to Tommy. Despite his amusement, Tommy knew better than to smile or chuckle.

“Alfie betrayed us,” he explained, as he handed (Y/N) his own glass and went to pour more whiskey into the empty glass for himself. “He gave Changretta information that led to Arthur almost getting murdered. You know I could not let the betrayal go, but especially not when my family’s life is on the line.”

(Y/N) scoffed. “You put your own family’s lives on the line all the time.”

“I never make them do something that could kill them. I calculate very move - ”

“Oh, bullshit,” (Y/N) cut him off. “I’ve known you long enough, Tommy. You don’t calculate shit. You send anyone out into the line of fire, and you get lucky enough that no one gets killed.”

There was a tense silence. (Y/N) had a moment of realization about what she said. She let out a heavy sigh and uttered a soft, “I’m sorry.”

Tommy simply took a sip of his drink. (Y/N) mirrored him, drinking this glass much slower than the last.

“You didn’t have to kill him,” she finally said. Her tone was a little more calm, but Tommy could still hear the anger.

“I had to prove a lesson.”

“You could’ve done that without fucking killing him, Tommy!”

“There’s no other way, (Y/N). If I just wounded him but let him live, it would put out a different message about me and about the Peaky Blinders. It would let everyone know that you can betray us and get away with it.”

(Y/N) was shaking her head. In the dim light of Tommy’s office, he could see tears welling up in her eyes. He had to look away from her so she didn’t see how much her upset was affecting him.

“It’s not just the betrayal,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “I know it’s not. You were looking for any reason to get rid of Alfie since you found out about us.”

Tommy’s hand tightened around his glass.

It had been merely a month ago that Tommy had walked into Alfie Solomon’s office and found him with (Y/N) on his lap. Luckily, their clothes were still on and nothing indecent was happening. If he had shown up a few minutes later they probably would’ve been, but all he walked in on was the two of them making out. (Y/N) was quickly off Alfie’s lap and out the door after Tommy’s interruption, muttering something about seeing Tommy later. Alfie nonchalantly explained to Tommy that he and (Y/N) had been fucking around for a while now.

Even now, Alfie’s explanation made Tommy angry. “Fucking around”, not even “seeing each other”, which would’ve indicated that Alfie saw (Y/N) as more than just someone to call for a quick fuck. And Tommy thought she deserved more than that.

Not that he’d ever say that out loud.

“It has nothing to do with you,” he told her.

“Bullshit!” (Y/N) snapped. “You need to have control over everyone in your life. You never liked Alfie, even though you two are exactly alike. So when you realized you were losing control over me because I was with Alfie, you wanted a reason to get rid of him! It’s not fucking fair, Tommy! You can’t keep controlling everyone just because you think you’re fucking God! We are all human beings, we are not your playthings!”

As she ranted, Tommy approached (Y/N). He grabbed hold of her shoulders and forced her to look at him. “(Y/N), Alfie isn’t dead!”

(Y/N) stopped talking abruptly. She furrowed her brows at him, as if she didn’t believe him. “But...Johnny Dogs came to my place. He said he was there, he said he saw you shoot Alfie in the eye. He said...he said you left him on the beach.”

Tommy sighed. He hadn’t planned on telling (Y/N) the truth, that he hadn’t actually killed Alfie. The more people who thought Alfie was actually dead, the better. Just like with their plan to fake Arthur’s death. But he couldn’t stand to have (Y/N) here yelling at him over Alfie’s fake death any longer. He thought he could convince her it was the right thing to do, but the more angry she was, the more he was afraid he was actually pushing her away.

“The shot missed,” he admitted. “It grazed Alfie’s cheek instead. After I sent Johnny Dogs to your place, I went back to check for myself. Alfie was still breathing, albeit he was bleeding out quickly. I made some calls, had some people go get him and patch him up so he wouldn’t die. And I sent a message to him to get the fuck out of Birmingham once he was fully recovered. I may have let him live, but he still betrayed us and my message still needed to be heard.”

(Y/N)’s eyes were searching Tommy’s face, trying to see if there was a hint of dishonesty. Finally, she asked, “Where is he?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Fuck sakes, Tommy!” She broke away from him, her anger ignited again.

Now, Tommy was starting to get frustrated as well. He thought telling (Y/N) would mean she would drop the subject. That she would stop getting angry with him and they could move on from Alfie. So, he also snapped, “I don’t want you to see Alfie anymore!”

“Why?!”

“Because I’m in love with you!”

The whole room fell still. (Y/N) literally took a step back at Tommy’s outburst. He wanted desperately to take it back, but it was out there now. He turned away from her and went to filled his glass again, which had managed to go empty in the last few minutes.

(Y/N) finally broke the silence to say, “So...did you kill - try to kill Alfie...because you were jealous?”

Tommy let out a humorless laugh. “I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t part of the reason.”

“But...but Lizzie...”

Tommy sighed. Indeed, Lizzie.

The woman who was currently carrying his child. The woman who he held such a high regard for. The woman he had used when he was missing Grace a little and was heartbroken after seeing Alfie and (Y/N) together. A brief moment of vulnerability that resulted in a child.

“I intend to marry Lizzie,” Tommy admitted. “I have to. I respect her too much to let her give birth to a bastard child.”

“But you don’t love her.”

Tommy shook it head. “She doesn’t love me, either. We’ve both established that. We accidentally created a child together, and the right thing to do in this situation is to be married so that Lizzie isn’t a mother out of wedlock and the child isn’t a bastard.”

Tears were welling up in (Y/N)’s eyes again. “Well then, you’ve managed to break my heart twice in one day, Tommy.”

(Y/N) had turned and left his office before Tommy would comprehend what she had said. He was quick to put down his glass and race after her. She was taking quick strides to get to the door before he could reach her, but in the end Tommy was faster. He took hold of her shoulders again, stopping her in her tracks and turning her to face him.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Just let it go, Tommy.”

“No. (Y/N), what do you mean I broke your heart twice?”

She was crying now, unable to stop the flow of tears. She looked up into Tommy’s eyes and said, “The first time you broke my heart was when you sent Johnny Dogs to tell me you killed Alfie. The second time was when you told me you loved me and made me think I had a chance, before telling me you intend on marrying another woman.”

Tommy could hardly comprehend what he was hearing. There was no way (Y/N) was admitting to loving him back. It just seemed impossible. Moments ago she was screaming at him for killing the man she was seeing (”fucking around with”), and now she was telling him that he had broken her heart by telling her he intended on marrying Lizzie. It just seemed too good to be true.

“Can you let me go?” she asked, her voice small. “I don’t think I can be here with you anymore, Tommy.”

He didn’t let her go. Instead, he pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers. It was an impulsive decision. He couldn’t let her leave like this.

When she pulled away, he let her. He let go of her, even though it risked her running off. He wouldn’t force her to stay there if she didn’t want to, but he couldn’t let her leave thinking that she had no chance of being with him.

But she didn’t leave. Instead, all she said was, “Lizzie...”

“I can work something out with Lizzie,” he said. “Maybe not marriage, but something. It’s my child she’s carrying, she’s got personal connections to the Peaky Blinders. Even if I don’t marry her, I can still make sure she is protected and respected.”

“But you just said - ”

“(Y/N),” he cut her off. “If you want me, then you will have me. There will be no one else. All you have to do is say the word, and it’ll just be you.”

A chuckle escaped her lips. “Of course, Tommy.”

Tommy wasted no time in taking (Y/N) into his arms and kissing her again. This time, she leaned into him. She let him envelope her in his embrace and hold her completely to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close.

“I’m still a little mad at you for making me believe you shot Alfie,” she mumbled against his lips.

Tommy chuckled. “It’s part of the job, love. You’ll have to get used to it.”

“As long as you’re no the one getting shot in the face, then I think I can be okay with it.”

He kissed her again. He never wanted to stop kissing her.

#thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine #peaky blinders #imagine #one shot #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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oddinarylani · 1 year ago

Text

'i wish you'd just care about me' arranged marriage skz.

pt 1: chan, lee know, changbin, and hyunjin.

w: blood, violence in changbin's

pt 2 is ⇀ here

𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷.↴

it wasn’t the best of circumstances. no. the day you were bathed in white, promised to a man, and walked down the aisle by your father to be given to the hands of your husband was one you spent in mourning, swallowed by grief. “i bet you’re so excited, yeah?” the makeup artist asked, brushing a pearly shade of pinkish red onto your lips. she had a soft genuine smile as she asked, surfacing you into reality from the fogginess in your head. you nod, once, “yes, i am.” you lie in an attempt to make conversation easy. most of the guests that day knew of the arrangement, but other’s hadn’t a clue - which made appearances dire to keep up with. part of you was pleased to move onto a new chapter in your life if it meant moving on from life with your parents. but the other part reminded you that you were going into a new marriage completely blind to the man you’d call your husband. you met him one singular time before changing your last name, the entirety of it was spent with your parents talking to his own - glances you cast in his direction, if only to study the face of the man you hoped to love one day.

his jaw was set coldly, eyes focused on the conversation shared between your parents. he was handsome but just stone. was anything there? you would wonder. is there a man beneath that face? the bone beneath his skin rippled in tender structure, ears pierced, nose rounded, and a heart-like shape to his mouth. while there was no longer hope to hold out for, you scrounged up a bit more in the depths of your chest in desire to love him one day. truly love him. and to be loved in return.

two months into your marriage and you still feel the brick wall dividing you from your husband. it wasn’t exhausting all the time, no. you saw him smile; a few times actually. sometimes you think of it when going to sleep. you hadn’t heard him truly laugh, but you still maintained that same hope from the first time you ever saw him that one day you’d be the reason for him to. your new routine as husband and wife took a minute to settle into; with chan slowly rising to ranks of his family’s company and your own growth in the business of your own. your days were spent at home in your office working from home, a lot of calls into business meetings that you kept your mic muted for, and phone calls to overseas clientele for holiday season.

chan would wake in the morning and rise from your shared bed quick to get ready for work, leaving you to fix coffee and shrug on a robe in the cold of your home (winters weren’t kind in the mornings) when he’d leave, you’d have a cup ready for him, cream and a sugar cube. “thank you, have a good day.” he’d wish, already halfway out the door with a small tired smile on his face. “you’re welcome, you too,” you’d say, scrolling through your phone as the door would shut.

he’d take little notice to your attempts at growing your relationship, and you hadn’t had the time to bring it up to him yet that you wanted to try to have a wonderful marriage. you’d step into the living room wearing a new dress for a banquet for the company, smile a bit wider and brighter than usual - he’d look up from the couch, phone still in hand and would give you a thin lipped smile. “you look nice.” you’d rent a movie, one he’d said he’d wanted to watch soon, and welcome him home with drinks by the couch and he’d brush it off, “ah, sorry. i have a company thing tonight. tomorrow maybe?” of course, he’d forget the next day anyway so it would all be for nothing. when he’d come home extra late and you’d be in bed, buddled in pjs in the comforter with a book and the lamp on next to you, you’d muster your best smile and set your book down. “hey, how was work?” he’d sigh, pulling the tie from his neck. “nothing new really.”

and then you’d beg yourself, beg yourself, to just answer the question of why were you in love with him?

maybe it was for all the times you’d get to see him smile, the chuckles as you’d watch a movie, the thank you’s for cooking, and everything in between. maybe you loved him for the way he stumbled into the kitchen almost late for work, his hair a bit messy and his tie disoriented and you stopped him - “wait,” you put a hand up, walking up to him to fix his tie. it was the closest you’d ever been to him besides the day you’d gotten married, you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. “sorry, my hands are cold.” your voice still laced with sleep as you straightened his tie and flattened his hair. “i-it’s okay.” he assured, clearing his throat. “eat some on your way to work, coffee’s on the counter. have a good day, okay?” you push a few pieces of toast wrapped in a napkin into his hands, pointing to his coffee before turning back to the stove. “r-right. thank you, have a good day.”

that was pretty cute. you even for a moment thought there’d be hope for you, as his cheeks flushed pink when you started working on his tie. sitting at your desk in your office you’d smile at the thought before catching yourself and smacking your own cheeks.

but time was catching up with you, and the unbearable ache of loving him was almost too much for your heart to handle. you at least needed to know if he felt the same or if he ever could - but in the following days after your realization, you proved yourself right. there was no way. no way this could work out. a steady stream of emotion was constantly running through you; you couldn’t focus on work, you couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat - and you wondered if he even noticed. you were growing increasingly frustrated with chan, and every passing day of limited conversation, barely any eye contact, and virtually no response from chan was wearing you down. one second you were smitten, and the other you were pissed.

and it eventually all came to a halt.

the front door of your house shut loudly, louder than usual. and you had a sneaking suspicion chan hadn’t the best day at work. well. that was a shame - you were still pissed, and to think he had the audacity to come home angry from work when he could barely prove to be a communicative partner was enough to leave your blood boiling. you’d let him have it if given the chance.

“how was work.” it wasn’t so much a question as much as a routine statement. you sat on the couch, shuffling through your movies to find the one he’d been wanting to watch, which upon realization, you didn’t know why you did that when you were pissed at him.

“fine.” he stomps into your shared bedroom, yanking the tie from his throat as he did so. you roll your eyes and keep shuffling with a much heavier hand this time. when he re-emerges from the bedroom, he’s shed his tie but still has on his button-down and suit jacket on, you furrow your brows and sit up from the couch.

“what’s wrong? what happened?” you ask out of the goodness of your heart. he tosses open the fridge, sighing. “nothing. nothing happened.”

“you wanna watch that movie you said you wanted to see?” he runs his hands over his face, closing the fridge door. he looks for a moment as if he’s thinking, his hands on his hips as he swallows. “no. not tonight.” he finishes, beginning to walk out of the kitchen before you stand.

“i really really wish you just cared for me.”

it was quiet, quiet, when you said it. the words left your lips before you could realize that your vision was getting a bit glossy. he freezes in his tracks, whipping his vision towards you at the sound of your voice. there wasn’t venom to your words like you expected there would be, no. just defeat. chan hears it, he hears it in you and all of his frustration, his anger, his annoyance, just melts away. instead, his chest is swallowed with guilt.

“i try,, i try so hard to make this work, chris. i really do.” you wipe your face even though tears haven’t fallen yet, and he thinks it’s to stop them from ever doing so, at least in front of him, and his chest aches. he’s turned to face you now, just six feet away or so, and his brow softens at the sight of you.

“i cook for you and make you coffee every morning and try renting your favorite movie because you said you wanted to watch it and wear pretty things out to work events and when i go out with friends but,, you don’t,,,” you look at him when you speak, he sees that water building in your eyes and takes a step closer to you, almost wanting to reach out but stopping himself before he’s to do so. your head shakes, you sniff one more time.

“because that’s what married people do.” this time he does walk closer, you don’t move, but you don’t look him in the eye either - it seems much to hard to do when you’re on the brink of crying.

“i promised myself,,” you lift a clenched fist to his chest, tapping him once with it, your lips screwing together in frustration though your voice is still soft and tearful. “that as your wife i’d love you one day.” your hand drops from his chest, you wipe your eyes when a single tear spills over your waterline, ducking your head to do so out of his line of sight. “is it too much to ask the same from my husband.”

it’s quiet for a minute, in one way he knows everything to say. every sweet word to soothe over your aching heart, because that’s what he’s suppose to do as your husband, and there’s another part of him that has no clue what to say.

because what kind of husband is he to leave you feeling as empty as this.

“i told myself on our wedding day that,, i never wanted to be the one to make you cry.” his palms come to cup your cheeks, though his large hands end up swallowing some of your jawline and neck as well. your eyes widen a bit at the feeling, “look at me?” he asks, voice quiet. you do so with guidance from his own hands. “i’m sorry. i’m really sorry.” even he has some water building on his waterline, you notice. you frown, feeling his thumbs dry your under eyes.

“i never wanted to make you feel uncared for or unheard. i appreciate everything you do for me. and i’m sorry i’ve made you question if i care for you.” he wipes his thumbs under your eyes once more before his hands lower a bit. “you’re my wife. i care about you so much. and i’ll show you that, i promise.”

you talk for a little longer, but disregard the movie for the night, instead, you settle on curling up beside chris who wraps an arm around you, his cheeks a bit pink as you adjust yourself in his hold. he feels the burn of your own cheeks against his arm. “is this okay?” he asks, his opposite hand settling on your hip. you smile, “of course. i’m your wife, you can touch me. can i touch you?” he hums, scooting closer, giving you the okay to lay your arm across his midsection. you close your eyes for a moment, if only to enjoy the feeling of holding your husband for the first time. the warmth that always seems to naturally radiate off of him, the closeness of his breath, the feeling of being the only woman who gets to see him like this.

“i didn’t know you were so cuddly, mr. bang.” you smile to yourself, his hand stroking soft over your hip. “only when given the chance, mrs. bang.” he replies. “ooh,, too smooth.” you admire.

when silence encircles the both of you, and you feel sleepiness begin to creep up on you, he speaks again, “did you mean it when you said you’d learn to love me one day?” his voice is quiet, so tender - it licks at the wounds of your heart and seals them shut. your heart pounds behind your ribcage and you breathe deep to settle the rage of affection steadily brewing in you. “of course.” you reply, your face beginning to bury in his neck.

“well, that’s a shame.” you furrow your brows, opening your eyes to look up at him. before you can reply he speaks again. “because i love you now.”

𝓵𝓮𝓮 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀.↴

“the summer berries on the bushels in the forest are getting ripe now, i brought you some.” you lift your basket, both hands wrapped around it’s weak woven handle, showcasing your proud supply of freshly picked goods. you set the basket down a moment later, your husband batting a quick eye to the basket before he looks back to his spread of books a second later. “mm.” is his only reply.

lee minho was the protector and guide of the largest castle in the northern part of your land. he was a renowned alchemist and practitioner of magic, known for being aid to a handful of people in the village you were raised in, and most notably - a fierce god of night. a vampire.

it was true the stories of bloodlust and killings that tainted centuries of vampire lore; but lee minho set out to do something different. he hadn’t a care of the human experience, which he shared with that of his ancestors, but he had no need to kill them either. animal blood tasted just as delicious as a human’s. and when befriending a human, their loyalty was like no other. so he didn’t kill them, no, he made pacts and promises, and if anything used them more like pawns but they’d die soon before he did.

and then there was you. his wife. promised to his hand by your family - a pact of sorts, one of which you both hadn’t necessarily agreed to if it wasn’t for both of your families stepping in to further push along the marriage. in a quiet candlelight scenery you were married to your now husband, and your seal of a kiss was shared. which, honestly, you didn’t regret. he was very handsome - and kissing handsome men was always a joyous occasion (well, mostly anyway)

he was rageful. not at you, maybe more to existence itself. he was never angry towards you, he never showed it, but you could see deep within the brown wash of his eyes that he was indeed an angry man. he had a hate you’d only seen a few times, and every time you looked a little too hard you felt yourself look away - to anywhere else in the room. afraid of what it meant, afraid of his own distaste.

“you’re wearing the dress.” he notes. his vision still wondering over the pages in his book. your slightly fallen expression gleams a little at his comment. “yes, of course. you bought it for me.” your hands smooth over your torso, he still doesn’t look up. your lips twist at the sight of your husband’s disinterest, but you turn to wash the berries and leave the room.

most of your marriage to minho felt like a huge disinterest on his side. he’d lived many years, this much was true. but in your short time to live, you longed for a husband who loved you; and part of you thought minho was largely incapable of this. he never showed it. he never showed anything for that matter; he was always so far away. life not only was nonexistent to him as a man, but in his very eyes. he showed not a shred of emotion, and even in your good memories with him, he showed very little. part of you blamed it on his years of living, but yet the other part of you reminded you it was all the more reason to care. every day felt like a slow drag, you weren’t really living, not really. survival maybe. but being bound to this castle with a man who rarely payed you mind left an ache worse than death. were you not to his standards? maybe that was it.

you’d shed too many tears over the situation, now every time you cry you try to pull yourself together in the face of your grief. upon talking to your family, a few members reminded you that your voice was powerful, and you should very much share your opinions to him on the matter if your marriage was to work - but that was the thing. a few months in with the man you were to learn to love, and you felt even now it was helpless. it was a sting that brought you to your knees, god how you wanted to just tell him. tell him you loved him - and hear it from his own mouth.

upon your ravage of feelings and your family’s request, you resorted to writing a letter to your husband. you surely wouldn’t have the guts to face this powerful man in person, not like this. so you took to beginning your note in scribbles in the isolated space of your bedroom.

your lips twitch in thought as you think over the contents of your letter, your hand stilling still quipped with a quill. you’re swallowed with silence in the stillness of your bedroom, word after word is brought to the front of your brain. there’s a number of things you could say, but not enough words in the world to describe how you felt.

“lee minho, i’m unhappy.” you speak aloud as you write, taking a moment to look back at your writing, quickly scribbling the line out before starting again.

“dear husband, i have a few things to bring to your attention.” you nod along as you write, happier with this line.

“i believe if we’re to work as husband and wife, we should talk more.”

“i try time and time again to gain your attention, to bring you happiness in a way i know how.”

“but,, it seems to never be enough.”

“if you don’t want me,” you pause, your fingers fumble with the quill in your hand as your palms begin to warm against the hardwood. your lips twitch again.

against all things in your brain reminding you a married couple should speak of their issues and this was a must in your relationship if either of you wish to continue - an overwhelming feeling of pure grief washes over you and your hand as you still to keep from writing.

every bright moment in your relationship flashes before your eyes like matches starting a fire. it’s so overwhelming that your voice dies, and a tight tug at the back of your throat halts you to a shred of reality you hadn’t dwelled on. you sit further back in your chair, eyes glossing over into thought - lost entirely to the contents of your brain. realization has hit you like a truck in the face of your confrontation.

because what about all of the wonderful times you’ve spent together.

what about the dancing of your wedding day, the golden burn of his watchful gaze, the presents, the meals shared, the wishes of good morning or good night? what about all of the times that kept you so closely tethered to him? what about the times that kept you in love with the man who barely spoke to you.

you take a breath - and as quiet as it would be, it’s blaringly loud in the silence of your bedroom.

“i want to love you. i do. and,, i think i do.” clarity has left your quill, and instead, you write from your heart. what you truly feel.

“i hate that you don’t notice when i try to do kind things for you.”

“i want to work in matrimony of us.”

“i know our marriage is against our wishes, but i want to make it work.”

“i just.. i just wish you cared about me.”

a hand sharply grabs your chin, pulling your gaze to meet that of your husband's golden gaze.

“not care?” he asks, his face screwed into a sort of confused expression. “not care?” he asks again as his expression contorts again, further - until his hand is tender.

you’re so sharply pulled from your own head that you’re left with whiplash. he’s heard you? where was he? did you leave the door open? your eyes are blown wide as you face him in the realization he’s heard everything.

your mouth dries as you look at him, his gaze cuts into your very being and you feel utterly frozen. “no-! i didn’t mean it-” “you do though. i’ve made you feel this way.” his gentle grip on your chin leaves you, and he shuffles away, sitting firmly on your bed. his gaze seems lost, as if he couldn’t keep up with the words you’d admitted.

“minho..” “i do care.” he cuts in. you swallow, your brows melding together as you do so. “i don’t… want you to feel this way. and i’m sorry for doing so.”

in the face of confrontation he seems genuinely distressed, not that any part of you doubted it - but it was comforting to hear the words leaving his mouth.

“if we’re to be married, i want you happy. comfortable. i don’t want you to feel bad because of me.” he explains.

“i just,, i want to work this out. i want us to talk more; tell me what makes you happy and what hurts you.” you reassure, holding onto the back of your chair as minho’s head hangs low. “i’m your wife, i want to hear all of that.” a small smile stretches across your mouth; it’s lopsided and a bit sad, but it’s there nonetheless, and the sound of your voice lets minho’s head rise as he meets your gaze once more.

he sees in you the beauty he sees across the room even as you just sit a few feet away from him. it’s overwhelming, suffocating; and part of him hates it a little bit for suffocating his heart in one swift swallow. you’re all encompassing and human - he’s learned self-control few could achieve, and yet even a few months into a marriage he didn’t agree to and he’s smitten. he wants to reach deep inside his chest and pull his heart out by it’s tethers, and apart of him wants to feel your love to the highest degree he could if just to be surrounded in heaven once more.

“were you lying then?” he pauses, hands wrung together. “when you said you loved me?” a small quirk in the corner of his mouth leaves your face and chest hot.

“i wasn’t lying.”

minho’s made home on your bed, lulled to his side as his pretty eyes wash over your face. you aren’t connected, in fact, you’re a little afraid to touch him - regardless of this fact, your wrist lifts to reach nimble fingers to his face, but you pause, your soft fingers retracting into your palm.

“touch me.” he needs. his hand cupping your own to bring to his face tenderly.

your face is flushed with a dusty pink, the feeling of his face beneath your touch lights the nerve endings in your palm alight. your brow quirks in thought, but not for a moment do you part with his sun-washed eyes.

“how did you become a vampire?” you ask quietly, your thumb strokes the soft skin beneath his eye, his hand stroking the back of your own.

“i was born into it. my family comes from a long blood-line of vampires.” you hum in response, taking a moment to study the wash of sun-like gold that overtakes your husband’s eyes. fractals of evening sun beam through the curtains in your bedroom, creating a soft sleepy haze in your room. dust is seen floating in the room in the portions of sun that reach into the room.

“you’re beautiful.” he beats you to it, realizing he too has been looking at you the entire time. you retract your hand nervously, a smile stretching across your face in sweet embarrassment. “thank you.”

“do you want to be one one day? or do you value your life?” he’s half joking, a floppy smirk on his lips as he sighs a laugh. you hum once more, looking to his mouth to see the slight glimpse of fangs visible to you.

“maybe. if it meant i got to spend more time with you, than yes.”

minho’s smirk widens, his eyes washing from your face to the curve of your jaw, to the drop of your neck. his mouth parts, his hand coming to the curve of your ribcage over your waist, his warm hand freezes you in place. he lowers his lips to the column of your neck, a lowly drunken gaze filtering over his face. “that could be arranged.” his breath meets the tender flesh of your neck before he presses your waist closer to your body, his soft lips meeting your neck in a single kiss.

𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓫𝓲𝓷.↴

“be careful on the job today.” you crane your neck out of the doorway of the kitchen to look at your husband as he tightens a holster around his thigh. he looks up for a moment, face momentarily stricken with something similar to surprise at your well wishes. he looks down a moment later, checks the clip of his pistol, and then shoves it into the holster. “i will. i’ll be back tonight.” the door closes sharply behind him and you’re left in the silence of your home yet again.

there’s a pool of melted ice on top of your coffee, you take a sip anyway, the palm of your hand now wet from the sweat off the glass. in truth, you were trying. very sternly trying to make your marriage work. but with circumstances of said marriage coupled with the dangerous reality of your lifestyles, it felt like your assumed fate was dwindling before your eyes - a thin bow ready to snap under pressure.

being born into crime wasn’t all good fellas or the godfather all the time - no. it was nasty business, some of which you came to regret but again this was the only life either of you knew, leaving the business would be impossible without a gun to your head. you persevered in the face of guilt anyway, not knowing fully how your husband felt about the situation. the sound of your phone ringing brings you out of your head for a moment, leaving you rolling your eyes at the sight of your mother’s name across the vibrating screen.

“yes?’’ your coffee tastes bitter now, too much water - you pour the contents into the sink as she begins talking.

“hey hun, there’s a job tomorrow that’s opened up. one of the boys got canned, we’ll pay his bail through an anonymous source but we have to wait a few days so the cops don’t catch on. you in?” your fingers tug a coffee filter out of it’s wooden box, stuffing it into the machine as you press a button on your grinder.

“mom,” your hand comes to your eyes, rubbing them tiredly. “i told you i was out of the dirty work. i’m doing that shit anymore. and i’m severely out of practice of doing anything hefty.” you explain, the grinder stops, you pour the grounds into the coffee machine. she sighs on the other end, her voice coming through more heated now - pressure started weighing on your shoulders. she says your name with a deadly tone, it leaves you feeling as though there’s a cold metal rod stiff in your back.

“why don’t you ever look out for this family? you think you can just leave and do the bare minimum when your father and i have slaved over making a good childhood for you?” and then you’d argue back and forth until you felt like ripping your hair out and you’d finally cave and you mom would end the call sharply and once again leave you in the silence of your home that was beginning to feel more like a prison.

when you heard the beep that ended the call, you tossed your phone to the couch and let your mind wander yet again - what else was there to do in your seemingly failing marriage and rocky relationship with your parents? you hadn’t many friends unless they were in the business, and that only counted for a few really close ones. you track around your kitchen with your fingers pushed into your hairline, and your mind wanders back to something she’d said on the phone a few weeks ago.

“we found you your husband, is that not good enough for you?”

you hadn’t even the energy to put up with audacity of that claim. so you ended the call and showered, but it still ate at you greatly - because no. no it wasn’t enough. changbin, as dedicated to the lifestyle as he was, and you respected him for his commitment, was terrible at showing you what he truly felt. most conversations were barely that, mostly exchanges if anything - and the few good times you’ve had together were truly the only thing keeping you around if it wasn’t for the godforsaken hope you managed to hold onto.

you saw the good in him - the good he was capable of, and every time you’d suffocate yourself in thought about being three months in and still not working together as a married couple should, you reminded yourself of this fact. it’s what kept you in, what drew you closer to him. because what could you both be? it’s already bad enough you have feelings for the guy and he clearly didn’t feel the same way.

“fuck,, what am i gonna do.” to clear your head you showered again, tying back your wet hair and slumming around the house until changbin arrived back home when you’d be drifting off to sleep. at least you had an opportunity to clean; and when the house was clean, you felt a bit better. you were correct about changbin returning late - you heard a long sigh as he entered your bedroom, the plop of a duffel bag could be heard. when you look at the time on your phone you see it’s just past three in the morning.

“how’d it go?” you ask tiredly from the bed, the bathroom light flickers on and he raises his head a bit. “oh i’m sorry i didn’t mean to wake you.”

“it’s okay. you okay?”

“yeah. yeah, everything went fine. what’d you do today?” you see the rings of exhaustion circling his eyes as he strips off his shirt and hides the smallest of winces.

you sigh heavily, rubbing your eyes as the sink begins to run. “i talked to my mom on the phone. doing a job tomorrow night. cleaned the house though.”

“what kind of job?” he asks as he starts the shower. you talk a bit louder so he can hear you over the sound of the spray. oh he wasn’t going to like the sound of this - these kinds of jobs were everyone’s least favorite in the business.

“there’s a warehouse on fifth, when you’re leaving the downtown area. apparently some guys are trafficking there. gotta take them out.”

“shit.. be careful. small time guys have been trying to make names of themselves.”

“i know, i will be.”

careful you were, but careful was not enough. those guys holed up in that warehouse with every corner covered, not only that, but with automatic weapons with full mags, dressed in black to blend with the shadows. the job was done, the victims released into promised care and with you aid in the following days, be returned to their families or brought to homes, but not without some wounds of your own. the guys dropped you off at the back of your house, granted it was past midnight but you couldn’t be too careful. your home was secluded - but what the law knew was unbeknownst to the organization in regards to this mission in particular.

you left your weapons in the van with the promise of getting them back the next day. “c-clean the blood off it for me, would you?” you grinned, shuffling from the van with your arm slung over your partner. you lean nearly fully into his weight as he aids you in finding your back door. you bang on the big sliding window before unlocking it, letting changbin know you were home.

“we gotta get the fuck outta here. you be careful yeah? call me tomorrow morning.” the driver calls before peeling away from your home. you nod, using the wall to stumble inside your house as the living room is suddenly flooded with light, and your husband walks out of your bedroom with his phone in hand and his brows furrowed.

“changbin,,” you push the door closed, leaving bloody handprints everywhere you touched.

“fuck- okay, okay, okay- it’s alright. come here.” his outstretched hands come to wrap your arm around his shoulders and stabilize on your waist as he helps you walk to your bathroom.

hot spots of pain blossom on your waist, ribs, and leg. it’s throbbing, all encompassing, and leaves your eyes watering when changbin’s palm presses a little harshly into your side. throughout the house your gasps and groans of pain are heard, changbin is working as diligently and carefully as he can to help you to the bathroom, only imagining how much you must be hurting.

“okay, okay- i’m gonna lay you on the floor okay?” he helps you rest along the floor after he’s put some towels down, and kneels by your side before grabbing the extensive first aid kit you kept in your bathroom. you nod, closing your eyes to focus on breathing, but every breath in hurts, and every exhale throbs your wounds.

“where are you hit?” he asks, you now notice his hands are tainted with your blood in just a few splotches. he rummages through the kit, reaching for the hem of your shirt as he cuts through your gear and clothing. “m-my sides, and,, one in my left leg.”

“alright. it’s gonna be okay - let’s get you sewn up. what happened?” he asks as a way of distracting you from how bad this was about to hurt. he pours some alcohol in his hands before barring your torso to his eyes, now seeing the festering wounds.

“t-they-” you laugh because it’s hurting so bad and your eyes are getting glossy as adrenaline leaves your body. “they had automatics… every one of them was geared the fuck up. and not only that but there must’ve been twenty,, twenty five of them and five of us.”

changbin’s head slowly shakes in disappointment that you were set up that badly for failure, his haw is tight - but he remains focused on the task at hand, cleaning you up. he lifts you up with one arm and helps you shred your arms of your sleeves completely, focusing now on the wound near your ribs. “why’d they send you in with only five people? did they want you to die? fuck.”

“seems like it.” you chuckle, his hand stabilizes before he reaches into your wound with medical pliers to grab the bullet still embedded in you. your grip tightens on the towels beneath you, eyes now swimming with tears as you groan at the feeling of the tug of the pliers.

“i know, i know. you’re doing good though, talk about something. tell me about the job or- your favorite music or something.” his hands dip into a bowl of water, returning to your wound to clean you from blood and put some pressure on the wound.

“the job was shit, but,, the guys are gone. all the victims are safe and i’ll work on paper work to get them home tomorrow.” he hums, nodding. he puts a bit of topical numbing around the wound before grabbing sutures to close the open wound. “as far as music,” you laugh to yourself again, your gaze focused on the ceiling. “you trying to get to know me? didn’t think you cared so much for that.”

his hands pause. then lower. he looks at you with a kind of genuinity you didn’t expect from the man you called your husband. “of course i care. you’re my wife.”

“you’re always so focused on the work, on your job. you’re gone a lot. i can tell you care about the organization i just,, i don’t know. i always hoped you’d care for us too.”

he frowns a bit, his gaze is focused back to his hands as he threads the string more diligently through the needle. he’s paused, he has a focused expression and you can tell when you look at him he’s thinking - part of you hopes you haven’t stumped him, or made him uncomfortable - maybe you did hold out too much hope.

“i do care about us. about you. i always figured since we were arranged to be married that you wouldn’t want much to do with me.” when he returns to working on your wound you wince, eyes closing tight. he apologizes quietly, but it’s over quicker than you expected.

“i want everything to do with you, silly. you’re my husband. i want this to work between us if we’re going to be married.” your eyes are still watery and the throbbing hasn’t subsided - you wonder if part of this is delusion since your filter has seemingly disappeared in the face of pain.

he smiles, softly. “i’m sorry that i’ve made you feel that way, and hey-” his hand reaches for yours, the one that bears the ring he gifted you on the day you were married. your eyes meet his as your head lulls to the side, you grasp onto his hand as if he’d stabilize you - and he does. “i do care about you. genuinely.”

you squeeze his hand, the wash of tears that drowned your eyes from pain spill finally. “i care about you too.”

“don’t cry, silly. i’m almost done, let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

after changbin coaches you through treating your wounds, he runs you a quick bath and helps you wash the dirt and sweat from your hair. it felt strange to say you felt an overwhelming trust to him - but maybe that was just the energy he exuded. he helps you to bed, and quickly showers off himself before laying next to you.

his arm wraps around you, and the pain in your side has dulled from the medicine he made you take after closing up your wounds and cleaning them. your head rests on his chest comfortably. “you never answered my question about music.” he says suddenly.

“i’ll play you all my faves tomorrow morning when you cook me breakfast because i got shot.” you grin cheekily against him.

“deal.”

𝓱𝔂𝓾𝓷𝓳𝓲𝓷.↴

“i am to be his wife.” there was no expression in the gaze you cast your parents, hands folded neatly in front of you, ever obedient in the face of nobility. before your eyes, in the face of your youth your life of freedom ever awaiting your embrace is taken from you and shackled. your life is to be given to a man you didn’t know, and when shoved his own in your hands you feel the pulse of forgotten life in your palms. there was more to say other than you didn’t want this, there was more words you could sputter in anger at your parents, other screams and cries for this to not happen, yet you swallow, let your eyes gloss over, and prepare a wedding in the following year to a man you’d meet only once before promising forever to him.

across from you at the altar he stood jaw tight, eyes glassy yet lifeless. when the wedding guests settled and your father handed you off to the prince’s hands, you breathed deep in an attempt to conceal the building tears that sparkled in your eyes. officiant you didn’t know, in the sea of people commending your marriage you knew few faces, and he spoke vows because of remembrance not because of promise. when he lifted the veil from your eyes to look at you, he for a moment faltered and his lips flattened.

you kissed him because you had to. and you slept beside him that night because you had to.

in marriage, you always imagined that life would blossom with a spark of light. as a seal to two people’s testament of their love it would grow into something truly beautiful - it would drink in the sun, bathe in the rain, paint its colors on pages and tell its story on lips through decades. as a young girl, the idea of one day marrying someone that loved you was thrilling to say the least. it was pure; and good. and every notion, every dream, every promise to your life you’d made, was stripped from you in a single evening.

you’d rise from bed when the maids would wake you to dress. you’d be dressed beside your husband, wearing the rings that testified your union, and would watch over the kingdom that would be given to your hands one day.

there was no use in trying, not even from the start.

but you wanted to love him. oh you terribly wanted to love him.

beside him you’d sleep - watching the curvature of his heart shaped lips, the breathing his body exuded - existence. how you were his without him even knowing. only in this state could you see him, really see him. the sprawl of his hair on the pillow before it was to be tied back that morning upon your wake. beautiful he was. when his eyes fluttered open, he wet his lips and you heard him speak - for the first time it felt as though it was to you.

“i’m sorry.”

for the entire rest of the day you spent in a haze in your own head.

two months have gone by, and you were achingly in love with him. but you couldn’t say the same for him; his headspace was unknown. you shared a great castle together, a smaller one just outside the village as your parents lived inside the city walls in the palace, but home felt like a restraint on you. nothing was sacred.

when you spoke, it was matters of business and a shred of the time was talk of personal matters. the only truth you spoke to hyunjin was in the hours before he’d wake when sleep would leave you too early. you tuck your folded hands together under your pillow, your eyes washing over his face as he slept. upon your movement, he turned to his side, his broad shoulders creating lines of his body beneath his sleep shirt. part of you wanted to reach out, to wrap your arms around him and tell him you believed in the both of you, but your thoughts still to silence.

“i wish you cared for me, in the way i care for you.” you mumble quietly.

“but i cannot say it yet. you’re a shadow; yet you’re sorry. i’m so confused in my love for you.”

that’s when he turned over, his eyes open. the maids walk in a second later and your wide eyes glance to them. they pause in their steps, looking between the both of you. had he heard you? surely not. you push yourself onto your elbows as he speaks to the maids, his own hands planted firmly in the mattress.

“i can dress her.”

they quickly excuse themselves after, mumbling as they leave the room hurriedly. the room stills, you’re left in the wake of his words with confusion bubbling through your head and your face suddenly flushed. he stands without another word as they’ve left the room, moving to the closet to fetch your under clothes, corset, and gown for the day.

“hyunjin,” you speak softly.

“i care greatly for you. i do, but-”

you swallow, still sitting on the bed with your legs curled beneath the covers. “you cannot dress me.” you hold a hand to pause him in his movements as he approaches with your day clothes in hand. he swallows, “you’re my wife. i can dress you. if you’d let me.”

hwang hyunjin was one of the most beautiful men you’d ever seen, and this he knew as well - yet the cool confidence he usually carried on his shoulders, in his handshakes, and in his voice, had dissipated. he looked at you with darting eyes that searched your own for the answers he needed, his hands gripped your dress tight.

his hand stretches out to you, offerance of aid. you look to his palm, the gentle length of his fingers, and find his exuding energy welcoming - so you take his hand. it’s warm as your skin washes over his own, his hands were smooth and embracing, and you stand before him with a sharp intake of breath.

“i’ve made you feel this way,” he begins, beginning to untie the laces that hang from the neck of your night dress. there’s a great deal of nerve vibrating through your body at the prospect of him dressing you, but regardless you let him in the wake of his tenderness. and if it meant a moment you could share closer to him - you’d take it.

“you only speak your feelings to me when you think i’m asleep.” at that your breath stills, panic settles in quietly to your bones.

“i-i’m sorry i-” “you have no need to apologize, it’s me. i’ve made you feel this way. and i’m sorry.” when your dress is removed, he kneels at your feet to gather it before letting you step into your under dress. you rest your hand on his shoulder for balance to do so.

“in truth, i can’t tell you why i love you.” he says, his hands working to tie your second layer skirt around your waist, once it’s firm and not uncomfortable, you turn your head to look at him with glossy eyes. “you cannot say such things to me and not mean it. you can’t.”

“i know i haven’t shown it, but it’s true, that i promise you.” with that, he gently guides your arms through the holes of your corset, and begins lacing it, leaving your eyes drowning in tears as your lips tremble.

“you-you haven’t shown it. how am i to know you love me or that i love you when we hardly have a relationship. you’re my husband, i want to love you as one.” you gasp as he pulls the strings to tighten it, his palm laying flat on your back as he tugs once more.

“it’s a promise i make now, to show you i do indeed love you. i want you to tell me when you’re hurting, i want to help, i want to grow with you.” his hands lay along your waist as your corset is tightened. when he rounds you, seeing your eyes fogged over, his heart pangs with guilt.

“i’m sorry, truly. that i have made you feel this way. but please, know my promise is true.” his hands come to gather yours in his grip.

you nod, wiping your face for a moment as you lift your gaze to look at him. “then i’ll tell you. i’ll tell you whatever you want to hear. i want to work to make this kingdom a happy place for our people, we must work together in that regard.”

hyunjin listens, strokes his thumbs across the backs of your hands and you speak for a while longer on your marriage, how you’re both willing to work to make your love make sense, how you wish to be a unit in making the kingdom a place of happiness for your people. he prepares for the day, wearing an outfit the same shade of off-white as your own with his long dark hair tied back into a bun.

he offers his arm to you before you both leave your bedroom, smiling softly. “thank you for talking to me.” he says, opening the door for you. “thank you for listening and talking as well. it feels nice to have this weight lifted.”

“i agree.”

sorry if hyunjin's is written weird i was listening to cornfield chase by hans zimmer and got lost in the sauce.

3K notes · View notes

dreamersworldduh · 16 days ago

Text

The Boy Who Broke Chains

• CONNER KENT x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — Conner Kent, known as Superboy, is a powerful figure, capable of great destruction and widely feared. He is respected for his immense strength and serious demeanor, making him a strong ally. However, to you, he is much more than that. He is Project Kr, a clone of Superman from Cadmus who once helped you escape from captivity. You remember his fierce determination and how he fought for his own identity while freeing you. To the world, he's Superboy, but to you, he's the boy who brought hope and light.

WARNING! 18+MDNI! Swearing.

WORDS! 16.5k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! Conner Kent is that guy, no one can tell me otherwise. The boy is fiooooneeeee, okay! This was a long one to write and it definitely trampled other fics I have planned, but I had get it out for the readers. Anyway, enjoy your reading! 😉 ✨

Acquiring the ability to control cosmic energy was never something you envisioned for your life, but desperate times can drive even the most ordinary person into extraordinary circumstances. For years, your family had been struggling under the suffocating weight of financial instability. Bills piled up like mountains, debts threatened to swallow your home, and your part-time job at the corner store barely scraped together enough to keep the lights on. Watching your parents age prematurely under the strain of endless stress made you feel helpless, as though you were merely a spectator to your family's slow unraveling.

But one evening, as you flipped through the faded pages of a secondhand newspaper, something caught your eye. It was a small, inconspicuous ad nestled between real estate listings and job postings. The bold letters read: "Volunteers Needed: Lucrative Opportunity. Life-Changing Rewards." Beneath it, the fine print offered no real details, just a phone number and one name: LexCorp.

You'd heard of LexCorp before—who hadn't? Depending on who you asked, it was either a beacon of technological progress or a shadowy conglomerate with too many secrets. Whispers about their projects varied from revolutionary to downright sinister. But desperation doesn't allow for hesitation. The promise of financial salvation was too tempting, so you dialed the number that same night.

A calm, professional voice on the other end of the line invited you for a preliminary interview. The process moved faster than you expected. Within days, you found yourself in a gleaming, sterile office building that loomed over the city like a monolith. You answered questions about your health, your resilience, and—strangely—your willingness to take risks. The interviewer never clarified what kind of risks, but when they slid the contract across the table, your focus locked on the reward: a sum so generous it could pay off all your family's debts and still leave enough for a comfortable life.

The contract was a labyrinth of legal jargon and densely packed paragraphs, punctuated by bold phrases like "irreversible effects," "assumption of risk," and "non-disclosure agreement." But the promise of freedom for your family outweighed any doubt, so you scrawled your signature across the dotted lines without looking back.

It wasn't until later that the grim reality set in. The "project" wasn't just experimental—it was dangerous. LexCorp had unearthed a crystalline artifact, a strange cube humming with energy not of this Earth. According to the scientists, it contained pure cosmic energy—an unstable force capable of reshaping matter, bending space, and altering the fabric of reality itself. They theorized that, in the right hands, it could create beings with abilities to rival even Superman.

You weren't alone in the program. A handful of other volunteers joined you, all desperate for their own reasons. The testing began almost immediately, a grueling process that pushed your body and mind to the brink. You were exposed to blinding flashes of the cube's energy, its chaotic currents coursing through containment fields barely strong enough to hold it. Each session felt like standing in the heart of a storm, your nerves stretched taut as the energy seared through your veins.

It didn't take long for the casualties to mount. One by one, the other volunteers fell. Some collapsed under the strain of the experiments, their bodies unable to adapt to the energy's raw intensity. Others met even darker fates as containment breaches unleashed bursts of uncontrollable power. The scientists treated each loss as a data point, scribbling notes on clipboards while their expressions remained disturbingly detached.

And then there was you. Somehow, inexplicably, you endured. Where others withered, you thrived. Your body didn't just survive the energy—it absorbed it, adapted to it, and transformed. You began to exhibit abilities that defied explanation: manipulating matter with a thought, generating bursts of pure energy, and sensing disturbances in the world around you as if you were tethered to something far greater than yourself.

At first, the scientists were ecstatic. You were their success story, their living proof that the experiment could work. But as your abilities grew, so did your unease. This power didn't feel natural—it felt like something alien, a force that didn't belong within a human shell. The memories of the other volunteers haunted you, their faces a constant reminder of the cost of your transformation.

The financial burden that had weighed so heavily on your family was gone, replaced by an entirely new weight—the realization that you were no longer just a person. You were a weapon, a product of ambition and desperation. Your life was no longer your own.

What began as a desperate attempt to help your family had turned you into something else entirely: a walking, breathing experiment. And while your body thrived on cosmic energy, your soul bore the scars of what you'd become.

The madness didn't end with your newfound powers. If anything, it spiraled into a nightmare beyond your darkest imaginings. LexCorp saw you not as a person, but as a priceless asset—an investment they intended to exploit to its fullest. To ensure you would remain under their absolute control, they delivered a cruel, calculated lie to your family: you had died in a tragic, catastrophic accident. There was no body, no closure, just grief. As far as your parents knew, you were gone—a victim of this cold, merciless world.

But you weren't dead. Far from it. LexCorp secretly transferred you to Cadmus, an infamous facility buried deep in classified government records, renowned for its cutting-edge but ethically dubious experiments in genetic manipulation and superhuman biology. The compound itself was a fortress, hidden in an unmarked location, surrounded by layers of security designed to ensure nothing—and no one—got out.

Your new "home" was a specialized containment cell, meticulously engineered to nullify your powers. The walls shimmered faintly with a metallic sheen, imbued with compounds and technology designed to absorb the cosmic energy flowing through your body. No matter how much strength you summoned, the cell rendered you powerless. It wasn't just a prison—it was a tomb for your autonomy.

The routines of captivity weren't physically harsh, but they were psychologically devastating. Each day was a dull monotony, a predictable loop that wore on your mind like sandpaper against stone. You were provided meals on a rigid schedule—nutrient-rich but devoid of flavor—and your quarters, while minimally comfortable, felt suffocating in their sterile, inhuman design. Time blurred into an endless expanse of sameness.

Occasionally, you had moments of interaction that broke the monotony. Conversations with the G-Gnomes, small, psychic creatures employed by Cadmus to probe your thoughts and monitor your mental state, offered a strange sort of companionship, though their eerie, insectoid features unnerved you. Then there was Kraig, a peculiar hybrid being who seemed almost amused by your predicament. He spoke in riddles, dropping cryptic hints about Cadmus's inner workings and the shadowy figures pulling the strings.

They also allowed you to practice your powers, but only under strict supervision. The training arena was a sterile, white void, filled with sensors that monitored your every move. You were tested to your limits—summoning bursts of energy, manipulating objects, even warping matter in controlled settings. But you weren't doing it for your benefit. Every session was another data point for Cadmus, another step in their quest to unlock and weaponize the full extent of your abilities.

The guards at Cadmus ensured compliance at all costs. They weren't your average enforcers. These were genetic hybrids, beings with enhanced strength, speed, and resilience, some of them augmented by alien DNA. Their presence was a constant reminder of the futility of resistance. Every hallway you walked, every glance from their cold, calculating eyes, made it clear that rebellion was not an option. Even if you managed to overpower them—which seemed impossible—the labyrinthine facility offered no clues about its location. No windows, no distinguishing features, nothing that hinted at where you might be in the world. For all you knew, you could have been on another planet.

The isolation began to chip away at your resolve. Days bled into weeks, the walls of your cell pressing closer with each passing moment. You began to lose track of time, your mind slipping into darker places. Dreams of escape faded, replaced by the oppressive reality of your imprisonment. And then, something unexpected happened.

On what seemed like an ordinary day, during one of your escorted walks to the training area, you encountered him. At first, you thought your eyes were deceiving you. Standing before you was a figure straight out of legend: Superman. The same chiseled jawline, the iconic red cape, the unmistakable "S" shield on his chest. Your heart froze in your chest. What was he doing here? Had he come to save you?

But Kraig, your enigmatic acquaintance, quickly corrected your assumption. This wasn't Superman. It was Project Kr—an imperfect clone crafted in Cadmus's relentless quest to control the power of Kryptonian DNA. Up close, you could see the cracks in the illusion: his slightly rougher features, the faint aura of instability in his demeanor. He was no savior, but another prisoner, bound by the same invisible chains that held you.

Meeting Project Kr changed everything. He wasn't just a clone; he was a person, struggling with his own identity, his own chains, his own quiet rebellion. In him, you saw a kindred spirit—a reflection of your own suffering and longing for freedom. For the first time, hope flickered in the darkness.

Finding someone to talk to was a relief, even if Project Kr wasn't exactly the warmest conversationalist. At first, your exchanges were brief—fleeting moments punctuated by short questions or observations. He wasn't particularly chatty, and his reserved nature made it difficult to know whether he even wanted to engage. Still, you persisted. Slowly, those terse exchanges began to grow into longer interactions. It might have started with a simple question—something about the sterile facility you both called a prison—but it gradually blossomed into hesitant conversations that carried the weight of mutual understanding.

Project Kr was captivated by your stories of the outside world. His eyes would narrow in quiet fascination as you described the mundane details of life beyond Cadmus. The way sunlight broke through trees in the morning, the scent of fresh rain on concrete, the chatter of strangers in a crowded marketplace—things you'd once taken for granted now felt like treasures as you recounted them. His questions were sharp and deliberate, as though each answer unraveled a world he had only dreamed of but never truly believed existed. You painted him pictures of blue skies and bustling cities, of quiet parks and chaotic streets. And every word seemed to stick, as if he was storing these glimpses of freedom deep within himself.

In return, you tried to nudge the conversation toward anything that might help you escape. You asked careful questions about the facility's layout, its security measures, and anything else that might give you a clue. But Project Kr's responses were vague, fragmented, and often unhelpful. It didn't take long to notice something was off about him. Sometimes, mid-conversation, his expression would cloud over, and he'd grow quiet, almost distant, as though listening to something you couldn't hear.

It was then you realized the truth: Kraig. The strange psychic hybrid who had been a begrudging presence in your life was manipulating Project Kr's mind. Subtly, perhaps even unconsciously, Kraig was twisting his thoughts and controlling his actions. The realization sent a chill down your spine. One day, in a rare moment of privacy, you managed to warn Project Kr. You kept your tone neutral and your words vague to avoid tipping off Kraig, but you urged him to be cautious, to question the voices in his mind. Project Kr didn't acknowledge your warning directly, but his thoughtful silence made you hope he'd understood.

Your chance at freedom came sooner than expected—and from a source you never could have predicted. One day, alarms erupted through the sterile corridors of Cadmus. The red lights painted the walls in flashes, and the normally unflappable guards scrambled like panicked ants. You had no idea what was happening. Then the sounds of muffled combat echoed through the facility, followed by explosions and shouts.

The chaos found its way to your cell when the door hissed open, and three figures appeared: Robin, Kid Flash, and Aqualad. Their presence was so unexpected that you thought it might be a trick or some elaborate test. But there they were, battered but determined, with Project Kr at their side. They wasted no time in freeing you. There was no room for questions or hesitation—only urgency. They needed to move, and you weren't about to argue.

The escape was a whirlwind of chaos. The five of you fought your way through the labyrinthine facility, dodging guards and tearing through security systems. The young heroes moved with reckless determination, their banter sharp despite the life-or-death stakes. You quickly found your place among them, using your powers to blast through obstacles and defend the group as the facility descended into absolute pandemonium.

Along the way, you liberated others—victims of Cadmus's cruel experiments. Some were like you, beings infused with strange powers, while others were creatures whose very existence seemed impossible. Together, you all made your way toward freedom, leaving destruction in your wake. Guards fell, alarms blared, and containment units shattered as the facility unraveled.

When you finally broke free, the night air hit your skin like a long-forgotten memory. You barely had a moment to savor the victory, though, before the Justice League arrived. The towering heroes descended like gods from the sky, their presence commanding. But instead of celebration, you were met with sharp disapproval. Batman's cold glare, Wonder Woman's disappointment, and Superman's shock all weighed heavy on the young heroes.

The League was unimpressed with the recklessness of Robin, Kid Flash, and Aqualad. But it was the sight of Project Kr that truly sent ripples through the group. Superman froze, staring at his clone with a mixture of disbelief, discomfort, and unspoken questions. The tension in the air was palpable as the League tried to make sense of what had happened and what Cadmus had been hiding.

You stood awkwardly amidst the chaos, unsure of where you belonged in this strange new reality. All you wanted was to go home, to finally see your family again and leave this nightmare behind. But it quickly became clear that wasn't going to happen—not yet. Batman's sharp, calculating gaze lingered on you, assessing your powers, your potential. You felt like a puzzle piece he was already trying to fit into a grander scheme.

It wasn't freedom you had walked into—it was the beginning of something much larger. The escape had torn open a new chapter in your life, one where you were no longer just a prisoner but a player in a game far beyond your understanding. And as the Justice League deliberated your fate, you couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the start of something far more complicated, far more dangerous, than you'd ever imagined.

Returning home should have been the end of your nightmare, but instead, it marked the beginning of a more complicated and harrowing chapter in your life. Batman, true to his word, arranged for your return to your family, but not without strings attached. Standing in the shadows of your old neighborhood, he issued a warning: he would be watching, checking in periodically to ensure you didn't lose control—or endanger anyone. His voice was steady, almost detached, but his presence left little room for argument. Exhausted, you didn't press for details. All you wanted was to go home.

The reunion with your parents was both heartwarming and devastating. When they opened the door, their faces were a storm of emotions—shock, disbelief, and overwhelming joy. The tears came quickly, followed by bone-crushing hugs, as they struggled to reconcile the son they thought they'd lost with the one standing before them now. But as relief gave way to reality, their joy turned to anger.

They didn't hold back, their voices rising as they scolded you for your recklessness. Volunteering for an experiment with LexCorp—of all places? What were you thinking? Didn't you know how dangerous they were? The words hit you like blows, but you understood the source of their anger. It was fear disguised as frustration, born from the agony they'd endured while believing you were dead. And though their scolding stung, it was underscored by a simple truth: they were just grateful to have you home.

For a brief time, it felt like life might return to normal. You tried to fall back into old routines, helping out around the house, making small talk at dinner, and even considering the possibility of returning to school. But nothing about you was normal anymore. The cosmic energy flowing through your veins wasn't something you could hide forever.

At first, the signs were subtle—a glowing fingertip here, a static hum in the air when you were nervous—but it quickly escalated. Your emotions became dangerous triggers. A flash of frustration could send a burst of energy surging from your hands, while excitement might cause objects to levitate or shatter. Despite your best efforts to suppress it, your powers were volatile and unpredictable. You knew you were losing control, and worse, your family was beginning to notice.

Then there was LexCorp. They weren't content to let you slip through their fingers. Just weeks after your return, strange cars began appearing near your house, their darkened windows reflecting nothing but menace. Agents loitered on the edges of your property, their suits sharp and their gazes sharper. They didn't bother hiding their intentions, occasionally knocking on the door with thinly veiled threats, demanding to know where you were. Their intimidation tactics grew bolder by the day, turning your home into a pressure cooker of fear and tension.

The breaking point came during an argument with your father. He had been on edge since your return, and his concern for your future boiled over when you mentioned wanting to go back to school. He insisted it wasn't safe—not for you, and not for anyone around you. But you were desperate for a shred of normalcy, and the argument escalated until it was loud enough to rattle the windows.

And then it happened. In a flash of frustration, you lost control. A surge of cosmic energy erupted from you, sending your father flying across the room. He hit the wall hard, slumping to the floor in stunned silence. Thankfully, he wasn't seriously hurt, but the look on his face—the mixture of fear and disbelief—broke something inside you. He wasn't looking at his son anymore. He was looking at a stranger, someone dangerous, someone he couldn't protect.

You knew then that you couldn't stay. As much as you loved your family, as much as they loved you, you were a threat to their safety. And LexCorp's shadow looming over them only made things worse. You couldn't protect them here—not from yourself, and not from the enemies you'd made.

Desperate and unsure of what else to do, you made a decision that felt surreal: you called Batman. The fact that you even had the means to summon the Dark Knight was a strange reminder of how far your life had strayed from normalcy. When he answered, his voice was as calm and precise as ever. After you explained the situation, he listened quietly before offering a solution.

Batman extended an invitation—or perhaps a directive. He offered you a place at The Cave, a secret base for young heroes and sidekicks under the mentorship of the Justice League. It wasn't just a sanctuary; it was a training ground. There, you could learn to control your powers, defend yourself, and face the enemies who would inevitably come for you. It wasn't a retreat—it was an enlistment into a dangerous new world.

The Cave was unlike anything you'd imagined. Hidden beneath layers of earth and stone, it buzzed with cutting-edge technology and the faint hum of activity. This wasn't just a hideout—it was a hub for covert operations. The young heroes who called it home were unlike anyone you'd ever met. Aqualad, Robin, Kid Flash, and others moved through the space with confidence, their actions precise and their camaraderie sharp-edged. They weren't just kids—they were warriors in training, bearing the weight of their mentors' legacies.

You felt out of place among them, like an outsider in a world where everyone else already knew their role. They were fast, skilled, and experienced, while you were still struggling to keep your powers in check. But this was your new home, your new reality. It wasn't what you wanted—far from it—but maybe it was what you needed. Here, under Batman's watchful eye and surrounded by others who understood the burden of extraordinary abilities, you had a chance to find stability.

This was no ordinary life, but then again, you were no ordinary person anymore. You weren't just a kid trying to fix your family's problems. You were something more—a fledgling hero, a potential force for good. And as you stood in the Cave, surrounded by the hum of advanced technology and the determined faces of your new teammates, you realized this wasn't the end of your story. It was only the beginning.

Among the chaos, one thing brought you a measure of comfort: seeing Project Kr, now going by the name Conner. The sight of his familiar face, stoic as ever, made the adjustment a little easier. For Conner, the surprise was mutual. He hadn't expected to see you again, and though his expression didn't betray much, you could tell he was glad to have someone he recognized.

For you, it felt like a lifeline. You had barely interacted with the team members who had freed you—Kid Flash, Robin, and Aqualad—and they were already deep into their missions and camaraderie. While they were friendly enough, their bond made you feel like the odd one out. But Conner was different. He wasn't a polished hero or an experienced team player; he was just trying to figure things out, much like you. That small connection eased some of the tension.

Not long after settling in, you were introduced to two more members of the team: Artemis and M'gann. Artemis, with her sharp wit and cool confidence, made an immediate impression. She wasn't one to sugarcoat her words, and her tough exterior initially made her seem intimidating. But there was something about her—an edge of vulnerability beneath the bravado—that suggested she understood what it meant to fight for your place in a world that doubted you.

Then there was M'gann, or Miss Martian, who was the complete opposite. Her warmth and enthusiasm were like a burst of sunlight in the dim, serious atmosphere of the Cave. She greeted you with a beaming smile and an openness that immediately put you at ease. Her curiosity about you was genuine, and she made an effort to include you in conversations and activities, even when you felt like retreating into the background.

It didn't take long for you to realize how different each member of the team was. Robin was quick-witted and a little cocky but clearly brilliant; Kid Flash was an endless source of energy and humor; Aqualad carried himself with a calm, commanding presence that made him seem like the glue holding the group together. Conner, however, was still figuring out where he fit, much like you.

Through all of this, Conner remained a steady presence. While he wasn't one for long conversations, his quiet support was reassuring. Occasionally, the two of you would exchange a few words about Cadmus, your powers, or just the strange twists your lives had taken. Those moments of familiarity in an otherwise unfamiliar world kept you grounded.

Artemis and M'gann quickly became part of your routine as well. Artemis was the one who pushed you during training, challenging you to step up and prove yourself. M'gann, on the other hand, helped you feel like part of the team, her kindness and patience making the transition easier. Slowly but surely, you began to feel like you belonged—not just as someone seeking refuge, but as a true member of something bigger.

In your free time, you and Conner began spending more and more time together, falling into an easy, natural rhythm that neither of you had expected. At first, it was just casual conversations, catching up on everything that had happened since Cadmus. You talked about the weeks you'd been apart—how he'd adjusted to life at The Cave, how you'd wrestled with your powers and the lingering guilt of your escape. Those chats were brief but meaningful, moments of quiet connection amid the constant chaos of life as young heroes. But before long, they became something you both craved—moments of solace that grounded you in ways nothing else could.

It was impossible not to notice how much Conner had changed. He was still the strong, silent type, but there was a new layer to him now, a quiet confidence that made him seem more centered. Gone was the unsteady, uncertain figure you'd met in the depths of Cadmus. In his place was someone learning to take control of his life, to find his place in the world. That growth only deepened your respect for him, and soon, your conversations began to shift. What started as small talk about training sessions or team dynamics turned into late-night discussions about your fears, your hopes, and the strange, winding paths that had led you both to this point.

It felt effortless, natural, like you could say anything to Conner without fear of judgment. He listened in a way few others did—quietly, intently, as if every word you spoke carried weight. And when he opened up in return, you could feel the trust he was placing in you, each admission a window into the person he was becoming. The bond between you deepened with every conversation, and it didn't take long for you to realize that what you felt for Conner wasn't just friendship. It was something much more profound, something that scared and exhilarated you all at once.

You couldn't ignore it anymore. How could you, when every glance he gave you seemed to linger a little longer than it should, when every brush of his hand against yours sent a shiver down your spine? Those piercing ocean-blue eyes seemed to see straight through you, leaving you breathless and flustered in ways you hadn't experienced before. And then there was his physique—broad shoulders, a chiseled frame, and strength that felt almost mythical. You'd caught glimpses of him without a shirt during training, and those moments had a habit of staying with you, replaying in your mind at the most inconvenient times.

But it wasn't just his looks. It was everything about him—the way he could calm your nerves with a simple look, the way he listened to you ramble about the smallest details of your day, the way his presence made you feel safe in a way you hadn't felt since before Cadmus. Even his infamous temper, which should have been a warning sign, only drew you closer. You'd seen the fire in him, but you'd also seen the way he softened around you, the way your words could bring him back from the edge when no one else could.

And then there were the little things: waking up in the morning with thoughts of Conner already swirling in your mind, the sound of his voice echoing in your head long after he'd spoken, the way his rare but radiant smile could make your heart race. It wasn't just a crush—it was something deeper, something undeniable. You were falling for him, hard, and every moment you spent with him only solidified that truth.

Unbeknownst to you, Conner was wrestling with similar feelings. At first, he didn't understand what he was experiencing. Emotions were still a foreign concept to him, something he was learning to navigate, but the more time he spent with you, the clearer it became. The way his heart leapt when you smiled, the way your laughter could cut through the anger he so often struggled to contain, the way his pulse quickened every time you touched his arm—it all pointed to one undeniable fact: you weren't just a friend. You were someone who made him feel alive.

He began gravitating toward you without even realizing it. Whether it was during training sessions, missions, or quiet moments in The Cave, he found excuses to be near you. He volunteered to partner with you whenever possible and couldn't help but let his protective instincts take over whenever you were in danger, even though he knew you could handle yourself. It wasn't just habit—it was something deeper, something he couldn't deny no matter how hard he tried.

The rest of the team noticed almost immediately. The chemistry between the two of you was impossible to ignore, and it quickly became the subject of playful teasing. Kid Flash, ever the joker, took every opportunity to comment on the "will-they-won't-they drama," making exaggerated bets on how long it would take for one of you to confess. Robin smirked knowingly but kept his thoughts to himself, while Artemis alternated between amusement and light encouragement, often giving you both subtle nudges to just admit your feelings already.

But not everyone was thrilled. M'gann, who had her own complicated feelings for Conner, watched the growing connection with thinly veiled jealousy. She tried to hide it, putting on a brave face and pretending everything was fine, but her envy was apparent. It cast a shadow over the group dynamic, one that you and Conner both felt but didn't know how to address.

Despite the teasing, the jealousy, and the unspoken tension, nothing could stop what was building between you and Conner. Every shared glance, every accidental touch, every late-night conversation brought you closer to the inevitable. The feelings between you were too strong to ignore, and sooner or later, one of you would have to take the leap. Because this wasn't just a fleeting crush—it was something unstoppable, something that had already started to change both of you in ways you couldn't begin to explain.

The weight of your emotions kept both of you tethered in uncertainty. That is, until one quiet evening when the truth could no longer be contained.

It had been a long, grueling day at The Cave. Training sessions had pushed everyone to their limits, and the tension among the team was palpable. You needed a break from the relentless chaos, and as if reading your mind, Conner had suggested a walk along the beach near the cliffs. Without hesitation, you agreed. Wolf, his ever-loyal companion, bounded ahead, his paws leaving faint imprints in the sand as he explored the shoreline. Occasionally, he would stop and glance back, his amber eyes checking to make sure you were both keeping up.

The sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the sky in fiery hues of orange, pink, and gold. The ocean mirrored the colors, its surface shimmering like liquid light as waves crashed rhythmically against the shore. A gentle breeze carried the salty tang of the sea, tugging lightly at your clothes and hair. The two of you walked in comfortable silence, the only sounds the soft crunch of sand beneath your feet and the distant calls of seabirds.

It was a moment of rare peace, one that felt almost too perfect to be real. For once, there were no missions looming, no training drills to face, no external pressures demanding your attention—just the two of you and the endless horizon.

Conner was the first to break the silence. His voice, quiet and contemplative, barely rose above the sound of the waves. "You know," he began, his gaze fixed on the distant ocean, "a lot has changed since I left Cadmus." There was a hesitance in his tone, as if he were still trying to piece his thoughts together. "Back then, everything was simple. Not in a good way, just... empty. I followed orders. Did what I was told. I didn't think about anything beyond that."

You glanced at him but stayed silent, sensing that this was something he needed to say in his own time. His jaw tightened briefly, and he ran a hand through his hair, his expression flickering with uncertainty. "Since then, I've learned a lot—about myself, about the world, about what it means to... choose who you want to be." He hesitated, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "And about what I want."

The confession caught you off guard, your chest tightening as his words sank in. Conner glanced at you, his ocean-blue eyes filled with a mixture of vulnerability and determination. "Sometimes, it's overwhelming," he admitted, his voice dropping lower. "I feel like I'm always trying to catch up, to figure out who I'm supposed to be, what I'm supposed to do. But when I'm with you..." He stopped walking, turning to face you fully.

The wind ruffled his dark hair, and the fading sunlight bathed him in a golden glow that made his chiseled features look almost unreal. For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression soft but intense, as if searching for the right words.

"When I'm with you," he continued, his voice steady now, "everything feels... clear. Like none of the confusion or doubt matters. Like I can just be."

Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. The air around you felt charged, the world shrinking until it was just the two of you. Before you could respond, Conner took a small step closer, the sand shifting beneath his boots.

"I don't know how else to say this, so I'm just going to say it," he said, his voice firmer now, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. "I love you."

The words hit you like a tidal wave, stealing the breath from your lungs. He stood there, raw and unguarded, every wall he'd ever built stripped away in this one, vulnerable moment. "I didn't realize it at first," he continued, his voice quieter now, as if the confession itself had drained some of his resolve. "But I do. I love you. And it's not just some fleeting feeling—it's real. It's... everything."

The world seemed to stop. The waves, the wind, even Wolf's distant barking faded into the background. All you could see, all you could hear, was Conner standing before you, his words hanging in the air like the last rays of sunlight on the horizon. He looked at you with a mixture of hope and fear, his hands hanging uncertainly at his sides, as though he didn't quite know what to do with them.

"I love you," he repeated, softer this time, as if reaffirming it to himself. "And I don't care if it's messy or complicated. I just... I had to tell you."

It was then that you realized your hands were trembling, your emotions a whirlwind of shock, joy, and disbelief. You had imagined this moment so many times, but nothing could have prepared you for the sheer weight of hearing those words spoken aloud. For the vulnerability in his voice, the raw emotion etched into his features.

"Conner..." you began, your voice catching in your throat. His name felt like a lifeline, grounding you in this moment that felt too big, too important, to fully comprehend. You stepped closer, your trembling hands finding their way to his. The warmth of his touch steadied you, his calloused fingers gently enclosing yours as if to anchor you both.

Looking into his eyes, you saw everything you needed to say reflected back at you—the trust, the connection, the undeniable truth of what you both felt. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the world in twilight, you realized that this wasn't just a moment of confession. It was the beginning of something new, something real, and something worth holding onto.

"I love you too," you whispered, and the smile that broke across Conner's face was brighter than the fading light of the setting sun.

The confession lingered between you like a fragile thread, heavy with emotion yet pulsing with potential. For a long moment, neither of you moved, the weight of Conner's words and the silent tension locking you both in place. His piercing blue eyes searched yours, as though trying to read your thoughts, his vulnerability exposed in a way you had never seen before. Then, as if something inside him shifted, Conner took a step closer—close enough for the warmth of his body to cut through the cool ocean breeze.

He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The intensity in his gaze said everything. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in, his movements careful, giving you every opportunity to step back, to stop what was about to happen. But you didn't. Your feet stayed rooted in the sand, your heart hammering wildly in your chest as the world around you seemed to fall away. The rhythmic crash of the waves, the distant cries of seagulls, even the faint sound of Wolf panting nearby—all of it faded into nothing. There was only Conner, and the way he made the air between you feel electric.

And then his lips met yours.

The kiss was everything you hadn't realized you were waiting for. It was slow at first, tentative, like the beginning of a story you both wanted to savor. But it didn't stay that way for long. As the initial hesitation melted away, the kiss deepened, growing in intensity. There was a passion behind it, a rawness that spoke of everything the two of you had been holding back for so long. His lips were soft yet firm, his movements deliberate but hungry, as though he were pouring every unsaid word, every pent-up emotion, into this one perfect moment.

His hands, rough and calloused from endless training, moved to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing gently against your cheeks. The tenderness of the gesture contrasted with the fervor of the kiss, and it sent a shiver through you. It was as though he were afraid to let you go, afraid you might vanish if he didn't hold on tight enough. You leaned into his touch, your own hands instinctively finding their way to his shoulders, gripping him as if to anchor yourself in the surging tide of emotions threatening to sweep you away.

The kiss deepened further, and Conner pulled you closer, his strong arms wrapping around your waist. The feel of him—the strength, the warmth, the sheer presence—was overwhelming. His body pressed against yours, solid and steady, making you feel both consumed and protected all at once. You could feel the faint, steady thrum of his heartbeat against your chest, a grounding reminder that this moment was real, that he was real.

Your own hands slid up to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair as you kissed him back with everything you had. Each movement, each touch, felt charged, electric. It wasn't just passion; it was love—raw, unfiltered, and impossible to contain. The connection between you seemed to hum with a life of its own, as if the universe had been holding its breath for this exact moment.

Conner tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss further as his hands tightened around your waist, holding you close but still gentle, still careful. His touch sent warmth radiating through you, a heat that spread from where his hands rested to the very tips of your fingers. You felt as though you might burst from the sheer intensity of it all, yet you didn't want it to end.

And then, reluctantly, the two of you broke apart, gasping softly as you both remembered the need to breathe. Conner didn't move far. His forehead came to rest gently against yours, his breath warm and uneven as he tried to steady himself. His eyes remained closed for a moment, a soft smile curving his lips—a smile so rare, so full of affection, it made your chest ache.

When his eyes finally opened, they were filled with a tenderness that made your knees weak. He didn't speak right away, and neither did you. Words felt unnecessary in the face of everything that had just passed between you. Instead, he lifted a hand, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek, as if to confirm to himself that you were still there, still real.

"I've wanted to do that for a long time," he finally admitted, his voice low and almost shy, a sharp contrast to the confident strength he usually carried. The vulnerability in his tone only made your heart swell further.

"So have I," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the soft crash of the waves. The words carried a weight of truth that made him smile again, his rare, breathtaking smile that seemed to light up the darkening horizon.

For a while, neither of you moved, content to stay locked in this moment. His arms remained around you, holding you close as the ocean breeze swirled around you both. Wolf's distant bark brought a faint laugh from Conner, the sound rumbling low in his chest as he finally pulled back, though his hands never left your waist.

Standing there, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, you felt as though the world had shifted. The tension that had lingered between you for weeks, the unspoken feelings that had hung in the air, were gone. In their place was something real, something steady.

And in that moment, as you gazed into Conner's eyes and saw nothing but affection and certainty reflected back at you, you knew one thing for sure: this was only the beginning.

From that day on, everything changed. The kiss on the beach didn't just mark the start of your relationship—it was the foundation for something transformative, something neither of you had fully realized you were missing until that moment. You and Conner became inseparable, building a bond that was as powerful as it was tender. Over the next five years, your lives intertwined as you grew together, navigating the complexities of both hero life and the challenges of adulthood.

The beginning of your relationship was an adjustment period, filled with both excitement and learning curves. Conner wasn't the most expressive person when it came to words, but his actions spoke volumes. He showed his love in the quiet, meaningful ways that only he could. Whether it was standing protectively closer to you during tense missions, slipping you a cup of coffee just the way you liked it after a grueling training session, or silently sitting by your side during long, quiet evenings, his devotion was clear.

Conner wasn't one for grand romantic gestures, but the little things made up for it. He remembered details about you that no one else did—your favorite music, the way you liked to unwind after a stressful day, the exact spot on your shoulder that was always sore after combat training. His love wasn't loud or flashy, but it was steady and undeniable.

Of course, it wasn't perfect. Adjusting to each other's quirks and differences wasn't always easy. Conner's occasional temper and your own stubborn streak led to clashes, sometimes over the smallest things—who forgot to clean up after training, or which of you deserved the last slice of pizza after a long mission. Other arguments ran deeper, rooted in the immense pressure both of you faced as heroes. Sometimes Conner would shut down emotionally, retreating into himself when he felt overwhelmed. Other times, you'd push yourself too hard, refusing to admit when you needed help. But no matter how heated or difficult things became, the two of you always found a way to reconcile, your love proving stronger than any disagreement.

Not everyone was thrilled about your relationship—M'gann, in particular. It was no secret that she had feelings for Conner, and the announcement of your relationship hit her hard. Though she wasn't openly hostile, the tension was undeniable. At first, her actions were subtle: lingering a little too long in conversations with Conner, finding excuses to partner with him during missions, or offering advice that felt far more personal than professional. Her glances toward you were sharp, her words clipped and frosty whenever you were around.

You tried not to let it bother you, but there were moments of doubt. M'gann was stunningly beautiful, effortlessly charismatic, and had a connection with Conner from the early days of his life outside Cadmus. Part of you couldn't help but wonder if she could offer him something you couldn't. But Conner's loyalty never wavered. He made it clear where his heart lay, whether by politely but firmly shutting down M'gann's attempts or simply moving closer to you during team gatherings, taking your hand in his and grounding you in the reassurance of his presence.

Over time, M'gann began to accept the reality of your relationship. Her attempts to win Conner over became less frequent, and while the tension between you two never completely disappeared, it faded into the background. Eventually, her focus shifted toward her own growth, and though your relationship with her would never be warm, it settled into a quiet indifference. She became a minor distraction compared to the love and connection you shared with Conner.

As the months passed, you and Conner faced countless challenges together, each one shaping the bond between you. Life as young heroes wasn't easy—the missions were grueling, the stakes high, and the sacrifices often painful. But through it all, you were each other's constant. You celebrated victories together, no matter how small, and offered comfort during moments of doubt and loss. Conner's quiet strength became your anchor, while your unwavering support helped him find his footing in a world that often felt too complicated and overwhelming.

When life outside the team came calling, you tackled those challenges together too. From figuring out how to balance hero duties with the mundane struggles of daily life to simply learning what it meant to grow into yourselves, you became each other's greatest ally. On the days when it felt like the weight of the world was too much, Conner would pull you into his arms, his steady heartbeat reminding you that you weren't alone. And on the nights when his own doubts crept in, you were there to remind him of his worth, of the incredible man he had become.

Then five years passed in what felt like the blink of an eye. You went from two unsure teenagers navigating the chaos of the team to adults who had found not just strength in one another, but a deep and abiding love that had weathered every storm. There were still challenges, of course—every relationship has them—but the foundation you'd built together was unshakable.

The connection that began in the sterile halls of Cadmus had blossomed into something extraordinary. Conner wasn't just your boyfriend—he was your partner in every sense of the word. He was the person who stood by your side in battle, the one who held you close when the nightmares came, the one who believed in you even on the days when you struggled to believe in yourself.

And you weren't just his boyfriend—you were his rock, his constant in a world that had once seemed so alien and confusing. You gave him a sense of purpose, of belonging, that he'd never known before. Together, you had built a life filled with love, trust, and the unshakable certainty that, no matter what challenges lay ahead, you could face them as long as you had each other.

What began as a quiet connection had grown into a love that was steady, powerful, and enduring. Conner was your home, and you were his. And as you looked toward the future, you knew that whatever storms came your way, you would weather them together. Always.

You two had grown into your roles as senior members of the now-expanded Team, a transformation that felt both surreal and inevitable. What had started as a small, tight-knit group of young heroes had evolved into a sprawling organization with dozens of recruits, each bringing their own unique powers, personalities, and challenges. It was a far cry from the days when you and Conner were the rookies, scrambling to keep up with the veterans. Now, you stood among the most experienced, entrusted with leading the next generation of heroes and steering them through the chaos of their missions.

Stepping into leadership roles hadn't been easy at first. The weight of responsibility was daunting, especially when you remembered your own early missteps. But with time, you both found your footing, developing your own distinct styles as leaders. Conner's leadership was natural, almost effortless. His steady presence and unshakable sense of duty made him a rock for his squadron. He commanded respect without demanding it, his quiet authority inspiring trust and loyalty. Conner was the kind of leader who always showed up—whether it was to guide his team through a perilous mission or to quietly offer a word of encouragement to a struggling recruit.

Your leadership style was different but no less effective. Where Conner's strength lay in his consistency and calm, you excelled at connecting with your squad on a deeper level. You had a gift for understanding people, seeing their potential even when they couldn't. Your approach combined empathy with just the right amount of tough love, pushing your team to grow while making sure they always felt supported. You understood the importance of believing in someone, of showing them they could succeed even when the odds felt impossible. Your recruits respected you not just as a leader, but as someone who truly cared about their success.

Despite the demands of leadership, the dynamic between you and Conner remained as strong as ever. Though your duties often pulled you in different directions, you always found time to collaborate. Whether it was during strategy meetings, debriefing after missions, or those quiet moments when you both needed to vent about the latest recruit who thought they could "go solo," you leaned on each other. You balanced each other perfectly—Conner's pragmatic approach grounded you, while your empathetic perspective often helped him see angles he might have overlooked. Together, you made a formidable team, both in and out of the field.

The new normal was a far cry from the uncertain days of your early years with the Team. Back then, you'd felt like you were constantly running to catch up, to prove yourself. Now, you and Conner had become the ones others turned to for guidance. It was a strange realization at first, but also deeply rewarding. You weren't just fighting battles anymore—you were shaping the future, mentoring the next generation of heroes who would one day carry the mantle.

That didn't mean it was easy. The new recruits were a mixed bag, as new recruits always are. Some were eager but reckless, driven by the need to prove themselves in ways that often landed them in trouble. Others were more cautious, unsure of their abilities and hesitant to take risks. And then there were those who chafed under authority, testing the limits of your patience. Each recruit brought their own challenges, and managing them required different approaches.

Conner handled the rebellious ones with his usual no-nonsense attitude. He didn't tolerate excuses or slacking, but he was also fair, quick to recognize hard work and improvement. His squad knew where they stood with him, and while his methods were sometimes intimidating, they were undeniably effective. You, on the other hand, excelled at breaking through the walls recruits often put up, finding ways to reach even the most difficult personalities. You had a knack for making them feel seen and valued, which often helped smooth over the rough edges.

You and Conner frequently swapped strategies, often during late-night conversations in the Cave or on rare quiet evenings at home. These moments were a reminder of how well you worked together, your different styles complementing rather than clashing. You didn't always agree—Conner's straightforward, discipline-focused approach sometimes clashed with your more empathetic methods—but your shared goal of keeping the team safe and prepared always brought you back to the same page.

Conner had just wrapped up one of the most grueling missions he'd faced in weeks, tracking Clayface through the rancid, labyrinthine sewers beneath Gotham City. The mission had been long, messy, and exhausting. With Nightwing leading the operation, the team had managed to corner and neutralize Clayface, but not without a few close calls—and plenty of exposure to Gotham's less-than-pleasant underbelly. By the time they returned to the Cave, the stench of sewage clung stubbornly to Conner, his clothes ruined and his mood sour.

After a quick debrief in the command center, Conner wasted no time heading to the showers. The hot water was a welcome relief, scalding away the grime and the memory of slogging through filth. He scrubbed at his skin with almost aggressive determination, muttering under his breath about how the smell refused to go away. Finally, after what felt like forever, he emerged clean and refreshed, droplets of water still clinging to his short hair and glistening on his skin.

He made his way to your shared room in the Cave, his fatigue weighing heavy on him. The door creaked open, and as he stepped inside, the sight before him made every ounce of stress from the day begin to fade. You were lounging on the bed, wearing one of his black T-shirts, the oversized fabric swallowing your frame and hanging down to your thighs. It was comically large on you, but that only made it more endearing. You sat cross-legged, utterly engrossed in the book resting in your lap, your brow furrowed slightly as you turned the page.

At the sound of the door opening, you looked up, your expression softening instantly into a warm, affectionate smile. "Hey," you said, your voice light and soothing, as though you'd been waiting for him all day.

A small but genuine smile tugged at the corners of Conner's lips. "Hey," he replied, his voice still low and gravelly from exhaustion. Without a moment's hesitation, he crossed the room and climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He didn't bother with words, didn't ask for permission—he simply made his way to you, resting his head on your stomach as he settled himself between your legs. His damp hair pressed against the fabric of the T-shirt you wore, the coolness of it a stark contrast to the warmth of your skin beneath. His strong arms slid around your waist, pulling you close as though anchoring himself to you.

You didn't need to ask what he needed. Over the years, you'd come to understand Conner's unspoken language. He wasn't one to articulate his emotions easily, but his actions said more than words ever could. The way his body relaxed against yours, the way his breath slowed, and the way his grip on your waist tightened slightly—it all told you exactly what he was seeking: comfort, grounding, and the peace that only you could provide.

Your hand moved instinctively to his hair, your fingers threading gently through the damp strands. You stroked with slow, deliberate motions, your touch light but firm, knowing how much he loved this simple gesture. Conner let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, the tension visibly melting from his body. His arms flexed briefly around your waist, pulling you just a little closer, as though to ensure you wouldn't slip away.

"Tough mission?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper as your fingers continued their soothing rhythm.

Conner hummed in acknowledgment, his eyes half-lidded as he let himself relax fully against you. "Clayface. Sewers. You can probably imagine the rest," he muttered, his tone laced with weariness.

You chuckled lightly, the sound vibrating gently against his cheek where it rested on your stomach. "Yikes," you teased. "Bet that smelled like roses."

A faint smirk tugged at his lips, his dry humor peeking through despite his exhaustion. "Yeah, real refreshing," he murmured, his voice softer now. "Definitely one for the books."

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that came so naturally after years of being together. The sounds of the Cave—distant footsteps, the hum of machinery—faded into the background. You set your book aside, your attention fully on Conner now, your hand never ceasing its slow, comforting movements through his hair. His breathing grew steadier, his shoulders losing the last remnants of their tension as he melted into you completely.

The quiet intimacy of the moment wrapped around you like a warm cocoon. Conner's grip on you was secure but gentle, his presence grounding you just as much as you grounded him. You couldn't help but smile as you looked down at him, his face peaceful and relaxed in a way that made your heart ache with love. These were the moments you cherished most—the quiet, unspoken ones where words weren't necessary, where just being together was enough to make the world feel right.

As the minutes stretched on, you leaned down to press a soft kiss to his temple, your lips lingering against his skin. Conner responded with a barely audible hum of contentment, his arms tightening briefly around your waist before relaxing again.

"You want a massage?" you asked softly, your fingers threading gently through Conner's damp hair. His head rested heavily on your stomach, his body fully relaxed against yours, and the rhythmic motion of your hand seemed to ease away the tension he carried after his grueling mission. His eyes were half-closed, his breathing steady, and for a moment, it seemed like he might drift off completely.

He didn't reply right away, as if weighing the question or simply savoring the comfort of the moment. Then, slowly, a familiar smirk crept onto his lips—the kind that sent a shiver of anticipation through you every time you saw it. His ocean-blue eyes fluttered open, the corners crinkling with mischief as he tilted his head slightly to look up at you.

"Nah," he murmured, his voice low and edged with a playful undertone that made your heart skip a beat. "But I do have another idea."

You raised an eyebrow, feigning suspicion, though your pulse quickened at the teasing glint in his eyes. "Oh? And what idea might that be, Mr. Kent?" you teased, your fingers momentarily pausing in his hair as you waited for his response.

Conner shifted lazily, propping himself up on his elbows so that he could get a better look at you. His smirk widened as his gaze swept over you, taking in the sight of you curled up on the bed, still wearing his oversized black T-shirt that fell just above your thighs. The amusement in his expression was almost predatory, his eyes darkening slightly as they met yours.

He didn't answer right away, letting the silence stretch. His hand moved with deliberate slowness, brushing against your thigh in a way that sent a jolt of warmth through you. His fingertips lingered, tracing idle patterns on your skin, the touch both teasing and intimate.

"Well," he drawled at last, his voice dipping into that deep, gravelly tone that always made your stomach flutter. "I was thinking..." He trailed off, leaning in closer, his face just inches from yours now. The smirk softened into something more tender but no less dangerous as his hand slid up your leg, his palm coming to rest firmly on your hip. "Maybe we could do something a little... more fun."

You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up, a mix of nervous energy and anticipation. "More fun?" you echoed, your hands instinctively moving to his shoulders, your fingertips grazing the solid warmth of his muscles beneath his shirt. "And what exactly do you have in mind, Conner?"

His chuckle rumbled low in his chest, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. He leaned in even closer, his forehead nearly brushing yours, his breath warm against your skin. "Why don't I show you?" he murmured, the suggestion laced with affection as much as mischief.

Before you could respond, he moved with effortless strength, his arms tightening around you as he shifted your positions in one fluid motion. You let out a surprised gasp as he flipped you onto your back, pinning you gently beneath him. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, and the warmth of his body enveloped you as he braced himself above you.

His smirk was back, but there was a tenderness in his gaze now, a softness that made your breath catch. His hand remained on your hip, his thumb brushing gently over the fabric of the shirt you wore—his shirt. "You've been taking care of me all night," he said softly, his voice quieter now, laced with gratitude and something deeper. "I think it's my turn to take care of you."

Your heart raced as his lips found yours, the kiss starting slow, almost reverent. His mouth moved against yours with a tenderness that sent warmth blooming through your chest, but it didn't take long for the kiss to deepen. The passion that simmered beneath his calm exterior broke through, his lips pressing against yours more firmly, his hand sliding from your hip to the small of your back to pull you even closer.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, still slightly damp from his shower, as you kissed him back with equal fervor. Every movement, every touch felt electric, the world narrowing to just the two of you. Conner's weight above you was grounding, his warmth seeping into you, his presence wrapping around you like a cocoon.

He broke the kiss just long enough to meet your gaze, his forehead resting against yours as his breath came uneven. His eyes, now darker with emotion, held a mixture of love and desire that made your heart swell. "You're all I need," he whispered, the words so soft you almost didn't hear them over the sound of your own pounding heartbeat.

You smiled, your hands sliding down to his shoulders as you pulled him back down for another kiss. "Then don't let me go," you murmured against his lips, your voice just as quiet but filled with all the affection you felt.

Conner didn't reply with words—he didn't need to. The way his arms wrapped around you, the way his lips moved against yours, the way he held you as though you were the most precious thing in the world—it all spoke louder than anything he could have said. And in that moment, with the warmth of him pressed against you and the world fading into the background, you knew there was nowhere else you'd rather be.

His rough, calloused fingers slid beneath the hem of the oversized black shirt you wore—his shirt, which hung on your frame like a dress. The fabric bunched slightly as his hands traveled upward, the contrast of his warm touch against your skin sending shivers down your spine.

His movements were unhurried, almost teasing, as though he wanted to savor every moment. His eyes stayed locked on yours, the intensity in his ocean-blue gaze making your breath hitch. When his fingers found the waistband of your underwear, he paused, his lips quirking into a playful smile as though silently asking for permission. The anticipation was electric, crackling in the air between you.

You nodded, barely able to contain the heat rising in your body. That was all the confirmation Conner needed. Slowly, he slid your underwear down, his fingers grazing your hips and thighs as he removed the final barrier between you. The sensation was maddeningly soft, yet charged with an undeniable intimacy that left you feeling completely exposed—and utterly desired.

As your underwear slipped away, Conner's hand trailed back up, his touch firm yet gentle as his fingers brushed against your dick. His palm enveloped you, his grip warm and steady, and the simple act sent a surge of pleasure coursing through you. His movements were slow at first, deliberate, as if he were mapping every inch of you, learning the way your body responded to his touch.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against the curve of your jaw before murmuring in a low, husky tone, "You're perfect, you know that?"

The words made your pulse race, your heart pounding in your chest. Conner's gaze softened, though the intensity never wavered, and his hand moved with practiced care, each touch sending waves of pleasure rippling through you. There was something deeply intimate about the moment—more than just the physical connection, it was the way he looked at you, as if you were the only person in the world who mattered.

The shirt you wore—his shirt—slipped further up as he moved, exposing more of you to him. His free hand slid around your waist, holding you in place, anchoring you to him as his movements became more deliberate. The warmth of his touch, the weight of his body pressing against yours, and the sheer love in his gaze all combined to create a moment that felt nothing short of breathtaking.

"Conner..." you breathed, your voice barely a whisper as you felt yourself surrender completely to him. He smiled at the sound of your voice, leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss that was as passionate as it was tender.

His hand moved with deliberate slowness, sliding up and down your dick in a rhythm that was maddeningly precise, designed to make you unravel beneath his touch. The heat of his palm, the strength of his grip—firm but never rough—had your body responding instinctively, arching slightly into his hand as your breath hitched.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his deep voice dropping to a low, husky whisper that made your entire body tremble.

"You're so hard for me," he murmured, his words laced with a teasing edge that sent a flush of heat straight to your cheeks. His tone was rough, raw with desire, but there was also a playful affection in the way he spoke, like he loved seeing how easily you came undone in his hands.

"Look at you," he continued, his voice like velvet, each word dripping with intent. His grip tightened slightly as he stroked you, the added pressure drawing a quiet moan from your lips. "You're so perfect like this—so needy. You like when I touch you, don't you?"

Your heart raced, your breaths coming faster as his words hit you like a spark to kindling. Conner's hand never faltered, moving in a steady rhythm that left you teetering on the edge of control. He pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot just below your ear before continuing, his voice filled with a delicious mixture of command and tenderness.

"Every inch of you belongs to me," he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin with every word. "And I'm going to make sure you never forget it."

His free hand slid around your back, pulling you closer to him, as though he couldn't stand even a fraction of space between you. The heat of his body pressed against yours was overwhelming, and the way his words filled your ear—dirty, possessive, and utterly irresistible—made it impossible to focus on anything else.

"You're mine," he growled softly, the roughness in his voice sending another shiver down your spine. "And I'll make you feel so good you won't be able to think about anyone but me."

Every touch, every word, every deliberate stroke of his hand was a symphony of pleasure, building higher and higher until you felt like you might explode from the sheer intensity of it. Conner's lips brushed against your neck now, his teeth grazing your skin lightly as he whispered one final promise, his hand moving just a little faster, driving you closer to the brink.

"Let go for me," he murmured, his voice a mixture of command and reassurance. "I want to feel you completely lose control—just for me."

And with that, the overwhelming combination of his touch, his words, and his presence pushed you over the edge, your body surrendering completely to the man who held you like you were his entire world.

The tension in your body built to an almost unbearable peak, every nerve alight as Conner's skilled hand continued its deliberate rhythm. His grip, his pace, the heat of his touch—it was all too much and not enough at the same time. Your breath quickened, a series of soft gasps and quiet moans escaping your lips as you felt yourself spiraling closer and closer to the edge.

Conner must have sensed it, because his lips found their way back to your ear, his voice a low, sultry murmur that sent a shiver down your spine. "That's it," he whispered, his tone both commanding and tender. "Don't hold back. Let me feel you."

His words were your undoing. The tension coiled deep inside you snapped all at once, and you cried out softly, your body arching instinctively into his hand as you reached your climax. A rush of heat surged through you, and you felt yourself release, your hot seed spilling over his hand in a wave of pure, unrelenting ecstasy.

Conner didn't stop, his hand slowing just enough to draw out every last pulse of pleasure, his touch grounding you even as your mind reeled. His other arm wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you closer as your body trembled against his.

"That's it," he murmured again, his lips brushing against your neck now, pressing soft kisses to your heated skin. "You're so beautiful when you let go like that."

You couldn't form words, your breath coming in uneven gasps as you tried to steady yourself. Conner's touch became gentler, soothing now, his thumb brushing lightly along your hip as his free hand reached for a nearby cloth to clean you up. His movements were tender, his eyes filled with a quiet affection that made your chest ache.

As he finished, Conner leaned back slightly, his gaze meeting yours. The corners of his lips turned upward in a small, knowing smile, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "You okay?" he asked softly, his voice steady and warm.

You nodded, still catching your breath, and managed a faint smile in return. "More than okay," you murmured, your voice laced with both exhaustion and contentment.

Conner chuckled, pulling you into his arms and holding you close. "Good," he said simply, his tone filled with quiet pride. "Because I'm not done spoiling you yet."

Suddenly, Conner had you straddling his waist, your thighs resting firmly on either side of his hips as his hands roamed over your body with an intensity that made your pulse race. His calloused palms gripped your ass firmly, fingers digging in just enough to leave a lingering warmth against your skin. The strength of his touch sent a shiver through you, a perfect mix of control and affection that made you feel completely consumed by him.

He shifted beneath you slightly, his muscles flexing under your weight as he adjusted your position to pull you even closer. His lips curled into a teasing smirk as his hands tightened on your backside, the possessiveness in his gaze making your breath hitch. Without warning, he raised one hand and brought it down with a sharp, deliberate smack against your ass.

The sudden sting was quickly followed by a rush of heat that spread through your body, the sound of the slap echoing in the room. You gasped softly, the mixture of surprise and pleasure making your body instinctively arch toward him. Conner's smirk grew wider, his ocean-blue eyes darkening with desire as he watched your reaction closely.

"You like that?" he murmured, his voice low and rough, filled with a teasing edge that sent a thrill through you. Before you could respond, his hand came down again, another firm smack that made your skin tingle and your heart race. The way his strong hand lingered afterward, kneading the spot he had just struck, sent shivers down your spine.

He leaned forward, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck as his other hand slid up your back, holding you steady. "You drive me crazy," he whispered against your skin, his voice thick with raw affection and desire. His breath was hot, his kisses deliberate as he nipped lightly at your neck before trailing his tongue along the sensitive area.

His hand on your ass delivered another firm smack, the impact sending a jolt of pleasure through you. "I could do this all night," he muttered, his tone both playful and commanding as his lips moved back to claim yours in a kiss that was as consuming as it was passionate. His grip on you remained firm, his hands alternating between soothing caresses and sharp, tantalizing slaps that kept your body tingling with anticipation.

Every movement, every touch, every deliberate action reminded you just how deeply Conner desired you, his actions a perfect blend of strength, passion, and unwavering affection.

Your body pressed firmly against Conner's, your fingers tangled in his short, dark hair as his lips claimed yours with a fiery intensity. The kiss was deep and unrelenting, filled with passion that made the rest of the world fade into insignificance. Conner's hands gripped your waist firmly, pulling you impossibly closer, as if the space between you was unacceptable.

A low moan escaped your lips, muffled against his, as the heat between you built to an overwhelming crescendo. You felt his lips curve into a small, satisfied smile against your mouth, his body reacting to every sound you made. Breaking the kiss for a brief moment, you tilted your head slightly to whisper in his ear, letting out another soft moan, the sound raw and unfiltered. His sharp intake of breath and the way his grip tightened on you told you exactly how much it affected him.

Just as Conner's lips trailed down to your jawline, leaving a path of slow, deliberate kisses, a loud knock echoed through the room, startling you both. The sound cut through the intimate atmosphere like a knife, and you felt Conner stiffen beneath you, his grip on your waist momentarily freezing.

A low growl of frustration rumbled in his chest as he turned his head toward the door, his expression shifting into one of pure annoyance. Without letting go of you or breaking the connection between your bodies, he raised his voice, his tone sharp and commanding.

"Go away," Conner barked, the edge in his voice leaving no room for argument.

You couldn't help but smile at the irritation lacing his words, finding his reaction both protective and endearing. His attention shifted back to you almost instantly, his hands moving back to your hips as he resumed where he left off, his lips brushing against your neck now.

"They better not knock again," he muttered against your skin, his voice low and full of barely restrained frustration. The way his breath warmed your neck sent shivers down your spine, and the momentary interruption quickly melted away as Conner's focus returned entirely to you.

The knock may have broken the rhythm for a moment, but the intensity between you two reignited almost immediately, pulling you both back into the heat of the moment as if nothing had happened.

Conner's body was taut beneath you, every muscle coiled with tension as the heat between you both continued to build. His breaths came heavier, his chest rising and falling beneath your hands, and you could feel the unmistakable hardness pressing against you. His arousal was evident, firm and insistent, a clear sign of just how much he wanted you.

The way his hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, left no room for doubt. Conner's smirk turned devilish as he shifted slightly beneath you, making you acutely aware of the growing pressure. "You're killing me," he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire, his ocean-blue eyes locked onto yours with a gaze that felt like it could set you on fire.

As you shifted in his lap, the friction only made the tension between you more palpable. His arousal strained against the fabric of his pajamas, firm and ready to break free from its confines. The way his body reacted to every subtle movement of yours sent shivers of anticipation through you, and the intensity in his expression made it clear he wasn't planning on holding back much longer.

His hands slid up your thighs, his touch deliberate and teasing as his lips found their way to your neck once again. "You've got me ready to lose control," he whispered against your skin, his tone filled with equal parts affection and raw, unfiltered want. The promise in his voice was enough to make your heart race as you felt the full extent of his desire, firm and eager to join the moment.

Conner removed his hands from your body briefly, his gaze locked onto yours as he reached for the waistband of his pajamas. The tension in the air was almost palpable, each second feeling like an eternity as he slowly pushed both his pajamas and underwear down in one fluid motion. The fabric slid over his hips, revealing the taut, sculpted muscles of his lower body, every inch of his physique a testament to his raw strength.

And then, there it was—his dick sprang free, standing proudly, thick and fully erect. At nine inches, it was impossible to ignore, commanding attention with its sheer size and firmness. The sight alone sent a rush of heat through your body, making your breath catch in your throat. The way he exuded confidence, his body radiating a natural, effortless dominance, only added to the allure.

Conner's smirk widened slightly as he noticed your reaction, his piercing blue eyes gleaming with a mixture of affection and desire. He stepped closer, the tension in his movements now replaced with a sense of ease and purpose. His hands found their way to your hips, pulling you closer as his body pressed against yours, the heat of his skin intoxicating.

"You've got me all worked up," he murmured, his deep voice low and teasing as his fingers brushed lightly against your sides. The weight of his dick against you was undeniable, a reminder of the intensity simmering between you two.

The moment was electric, the anticipation thick in the air and before you knew it, Conner's hands gripped your hips firmly, his touch grounding and steady as he positioned himself beneath you. The heat of his body pressed against yours, and his ocean-blue eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. Every movement he made was deliberate, filled with purpose, as if he wanted to savor every moment leading up to this.

His dick, thick and pulsing with anticipation, rested heavily against you. You could feel its heat, its weight, as he shifted slightly, aligning himself with your entrance. The sheer size of him made you gasp softly, your body trembling with a mix of excitement and nerves. Conner's hands slid back up to your sides, his thumbs brushing soothing circles into your skin as he leaned in closer.

"Relax," he murmured, his voice low and full of reassurance. His lips found the curve of your jaw, pressing gentle kisses there as he adjusted his position. His dick pressed lightly against your ass now, the sensation sending a spark of heat through your body. The deliberate way he moved, slow and measured, showed how much care he was taking—not just to avoid rushing, but to ensure you were ready for him.

His gaze flicked back to yours, his blue eyes softened with affection but still darkened with desire. "Tell me if it's too much," he said softly, his hands tightening slightly on your hips as he aligned himself perfectly with your hole. The pressure was subtle at first, a promise of what was to come, but it was enough to make your breath hitch and your heart race.

Every touch, every movement felt charged with emotion as Conner held you steady, his body and his presence radiating both strength and tenderness. This was more than just physical—it was intimate, personal, a moment that seemed to transcend words as he prepared to join with you completely.

Your hands gripped Conner's strong shoulders for balance as you slowly began to move, your body adjusting to the fullness of him. The first motion was tentative, deliberate, as you raised yourself just slightly before sliding back down, taking him deeper. The sensation was overwhelming, every inch of him stretching and filling you in a way that made your breath hitch and your heart race.

Conner's hands remained firm on your hips as he guided your movements with subtle pressure, his touch a blend of control and encouragement. His ocean-blue eyes stayed locked on yours, his gaze filled with both awe and desire as he watched you take him, inch by inch. The way his chest rose and fell with deep, uneven breaths told you he was holding back, letting you set the pace.

As you moved again, the motion became smoother, more confident. Slowly, you began to find a rhythm, rising up and sliding back down, feeling every ridge and curve of him as you did. The sensation sent waves of pleasure through your body, building steadily with each motion. Conner's low groan rumbled through the air, his fingers digging into your hips just enough to send a delicious shiver down your spine.

"You feel so good," Conner murmured, his voice rough and filled with raw emotion. His head tilted back slightly, exposing the strong line of his jaw, but his eyes never left you. His hands began to move with you, guiding your rhythm as you continued to ride him, the intensity between you growing with every passing moment.

The connection between you was electric, every touch, every motion building a tension that seemed to radiate through the room. Conner's quiet groans and whispered encouragements spurred you on, his voice wrapping around you like a warm embrace as you continued to move together in perfect harmony.

Soon Conner's fingers pressed into your skin just enough to ground you. You could feel the subtle shift in his energy, his need to guide you taking over as his hands began to set a rhythm, slowly increasing your pace.

"Let me take care of you," Conner murmured, his voice low and husky, filled with both affection and desire. His eyes met yours, their ocean-blue depths darkened with passion, and the look he gave you made your breath catch. His grip on your waist tightened slightly as he moved you, raising your body just enough before lowering you back down onto him, the deliberate motion making you take him deeper.

The change in pace was subtle at first, his guidance smooth and controlled, but you could feel his need building with each motion. His powerful hands worked in perfect synchronization with your body, lifting and guiding you to move faster, the rhythm between you becoming more intense. The sensation of him filling you completely, again and again, was almost overwhelming, pleasure radiating through you with every movement.

"You feel so damn good," Conner groaned, his voice roughened by the sheer intensity of the moment. His hands slid slightly up your waist, his thumbs brushing against your ribs as he continued to guide you, his strength making the faster pace feel effortless. The sound of your bodies moving together filled the room, accompanied by his soft groans and your quiet moans, the connection between you electric and all-consuming.

As he urged you to go faster, his own hips began to rise slightly to meet your movements, the added force sending jolts of pleasure through your body. His head tilted back slightly, his lips parting as he let out a deep, guttural moan that made your heart race. His hands never faltered, holding you steady and ensuring every movement brought you both closer to the edge.

"Just like that," Conner whispered, his voice dripping with both encouragement and need. The rhythm between you built steadily, the intensity growing with every second as his hands guided you faster, harder, deeper. The room seemed to blur around you, leaving only the feeling of him beneath you, his touch on your skin, and the overwhelming pleasure that consumed you both.

Before you could fully register the shift, Conner's strong hands moved with purpose, gripping your hips as he adjusted his angle. In one fluid motion, he leaned forward, gently pushing you onto your back while still buried deep inside you. The sheer strength and control of his movements sent a shiver through your body, the sudden change in position amplifying the intensity of your connection.

Your back pressed against the mattress as Conner hovered over you, his broad shoulders and sculpted frame casting a shadow over you. His hands slid to your thighs, gripping them firmly as he repositioned himself, adjusting his angle with precision. His piercing blue eyes met yours, the intensity in his gaze stealing your breath.

"Hold on to me," he murmured, his voice low and filled with both command and affection. The sound sent a jolt of heat straight through you, and without thinking, your hands found their way to his back, your fingers digging into his firm muscles.

Conner's hips began to move again, the deliberate thrusts sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. The new angle allowed him to go deeper, each motion hitting places that left you gasping. His pace was steady at first, a mix of controlled power and tenderness, as if he wanted to savor every moment of being this close to you. His gaze never wavered, watching your every reaction as if committing them to memory.

"Damn," he groaned, his voice rough with desire as his hands slid along your thighs, pulling you closer to him. His thrusts grew faster, his hips meeting yours with increasing urgency as he surrendered to the intensity building between you. The sound of your bodies moving together filled the room, accompanied by the deep, guttural groans that escaped his lips and the breathless moans spilling from yours.

His head dipped lower, his lips finding your neck as he pressed kisses to your heated skin. The combination of his movements and the sensation of his warm breath against your neck left you completely overwhelmed, your body arching beneath him in response. His hands slid up to your waist, holding you steady as his rhythm became more forceful, his need for you evident in every deliberate thrust.

Each movement sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. The room felt electric, every nerve in your body alight as he drove deeper into you, his hips moving with an unrelenting pace. Your breath hitched, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders for stability, but nothing could ground you against the overwhelming sensations.

"Conner..." you moaned, his name spilling from your lips without thought, raw and filled with the intensity of everything he was making you feel. Your voice trembled, the sound echoing in the heated air between you. The way his name left your lips seemed to spark something in him, his movements becoming even more deliberate, each thrust hitting deeper, harder.

Hearing you call his name made Conner groan deeply, his breath warm and heavy as he leaned closer, his body pressing against yours. His blue eyes darkened with desire, locking onto yours with an intensity that left you breathless. "Say it again," he growled softly, his voice low and filled with a mix of command and need.

"Conner," you gasped again, louder this time, the sound unfiltered as the heat between you built to an almost unbearable peak. His hands tightened on your waist, his grip firm as he pulled you closer, his thrusts coming faster now, each one sending a jolt of pleasure through you. Your body arched beneath him, completely at his mercy as his name tumbled from your lips over and over, a desperate chant that only seemed to spur him on.

"Just like that," he murmured, his voice thick and ragged as he pressed his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours. "Let me hear you. I want to hear how good I make you feel."

His pace quickened even more, his hips moving with a raw, unrelenting passion that left you clinging to him, your nails digging into his shoulders. The sounds of his groans, the slap of skin against skin, and your own voice calling his name filled the room, a symphony of unrestrained desire as he drove you both closer to the edge. Conner's strength, his control, and the sheer depth of his connection to you left you completely undone, your moans of his name the only thing you could manage as he pushed you to heights you'd never imagined.

The pleasure built inside you, overwhelming and unstoppable, as Conner's relentless pace drove you closer and closer to the edge. Your body tensed, your breath hitching sharply as you felt the rising heat coil deep within you, ready to burst. Each thrust sent another jolt of pleasure through you, the intensity mounting until you couldn't hold back any longer.

With a sharp cry of his name, you surrendered completely, your body arching against him as you released. A stream of your hot seed spilled out, the sensation crashing over you like a tidal wave. The release was overwhelming, leaving your mind blank and your body trembling in his grasp. Your nails dug into Conner's shoulders, your moans spilling freely from your lips as the waves of pleasure rippled through you, one after another.

Conner groaned deeply, his breath ragged as he held you steady, his strong hands gripping your hips to keep you in place. His eyes flickered down to take in the sight of you completely undone beneath him, your chest heaving, your cheeks flushed, and your release marking the moment with undeniable evidence of the connection you shared.

"You're so damn handsome," he murmured, his voice low and full of awe as his pace slowed slightly, letting you ride out the final tremors of your climax. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he continued to move within you, savoring the closeness and the heat radiating between your bodies.

The moment felt infinite, your body still trembling from the force of your release as Conner's steady presence anchored you. His lips brushed against your cheek, his hands gently caressing your sides as he whispered, "We're not done yet." The promise in his voice sent another shiver through you, and despite the blissful exhaustion settling in, you couldn't help but crave more.

Suddenly, Conner's grip on your hips tightened, his fingers pressing into your skin as he buried himself deeper inside you. His thrusts became faster, harder, and more relentless, the sheer power behind them taking your breath away. It was as though he'd reached a breaking point, his self-control unraveling as he chased his own release with an intensity that left you completely at his mercy.

"God, you feel so good," Conner growled, his voice rough and strained, each word punctuated by the force of his movements. His head dipped down, his lips finding the crook of your neck as he kissed and nipped at your skin, his breath hot and uneven against you. The sounds he made—deep, guttural groans that seemed to come from deep within his chest—only added to the electricity crackling between you.

Your body rocked with every thrust, the sheer power of his movements sending waves of pleasure coursing through you all over again. His pace was unrelenting, his hips snapping forward as he lost himself completely in the moment, his need for you driving him into overdrive. The room was filled with the rhythmic sound of your bodies moving together, accompanied by his moans and your breathless gasps, the air thick with heat and passion.

Conner's grip on you became almost desperate as his pace quickened even more, his thrusts deep and hard, pushing both of you to the brink. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles coiled beneath your hands as he reached his limit. His breath came in ragged gasps, his groans growing louder and more primal with each thrust.

"Can't hold it anymore," Conner growled, his voice rough and raw as he thrust into you one final time, burying himself as deeply as he could. His body tensed, and with a low, guttural moan, he released, a hot surge of his seed spilling inside you. The heat of it sent a shiver through your body, the sensation overwhelming as you felt every pulse of his release.

Conner stayed buried inside you, his body trembling slightly as he let out a long, shuddering breath. His arms slid around you, pulling you close as he rested his forehead against yours, his ocean-blue eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and satisfaction.

"Perfect," he murmured, his voice soft and filled with a quiet reverence as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. His hands moved to caress your sides, his touch soothing as you both basked in the afterglow, the intensity of the moment leaving you breathless and utterly content in each other's arms.

After a moment of stillness, Conner let out a deep, contented sigh and slowly pulled out of you, his movements gentle and careful. The absence of him left a mix of relief and longing, but his warm presence remained as he immediately shifted closer, wrapping his strong arms around you. The weight of his body against yours and the soothing rhythm of his breathing anchored you in the moment, bringing a quiet sense of comfort and safety.

He pulled the blanket over the both of you, tucking it snugly around your shoulders as you nestled into his chest. His fingers traced idle patterns along your back, a tender gesture that made your body relax further into his embrace. The steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, combined with the warmth of his skin, lulled you into a state of pure tranquility. Your eyes grew heavier, the exhaustion from the intensity of the moment pulling you closer to sleep.

Just as your breaths started to slow, the peaceful atmosphere was interrupted by a sudden, sharp knock at the door. The sound startled you awake, and you felt Conner stiffen beside you, his body instantly alert. His protective instincts kicked in immediately, and without a word, he reached for the blanket, pulling it up to cover you completely before sliding out of bed.

"Stay here," he murmured softly, his voice low and reassuring as he pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. He grabbed his boxers from the floor, slipping them on with practiced ease before making his way to the door. His movements were fluid but purposeful, his broad shoulders and muscular frame silhouetted in the dim light as he approached.

Conner placed a hand on the doorknob, pausing for a brief moment to glance back at you. His expression softened when he saw you peeking out from beneath the covers, and he gave you a small, reassuring smile before turning his attention back to the door.

Conner cracked the door open just enough to see who was on the other side, his body positioned to block the view of the room. When he saw M'gann standing there, her expression bright and hopeful, he let out a quiet sigh, his irritation easing into polite patience.

"Conner," M'gann said, her tone light and cheerful as she leaned slightly into the doorway. "We're all about to sit down for dinner. I thought maybe you'd want to join us?"

Conner glanced back toward the bed for a brief moment, his protective instincts kicking in as he ensured you were still tucked away and comfortable. Then, turning back to M'gann, he gave her a polite but firm smile. "Thanks, M'gann, but I'm going to pass tonight," he said, his voice calm and even. "I've already got plans."

M'gann's expression faltered slightly, the smile on her face tightening for a brief moment, but she quickly recovered. "Oh... okay," she said, trying to keep her tone casual. "Maybe next time?"

"Yeah, maybe," Conner replied, his tone kind but noncommittal as he gently closed the door. He stood there for a moment, letting out a small sigh before turning back toward you, his expression softening the instant his gaze landed on you.

Sliding back under the covers, Conner wrapped his arms around you once more, pulling you close against his chest. "Sorry about that," he muttered, his voice low and soothing as he pressed a kiss to your temple. "Now, where were we?"

You smiled sleepily, your head resting against his chest as you let the warmth of his embrace pull you back into the peaceful haze of sleep. "Right here," you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Conner chuckled lightly, his grip on you tightening just enough to remind you that you were safe and loved. "Exactly," he said, his tone filled with quiet affection. "Just us. Always." And with that, the world faded away again, leaving only the sound of his heartbeat and the warmth of his arms as you drifted back into sleep.

#dc x male reader #x male reader #dc #superboy #conner kent #conner kent x male reader #superboy x male reader #young justice

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revelboo · 2 months ago

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Revel i love u, (platonically) its such a treat to see a notification from you and im scrambling to read it.

no need to write or anything, but what do you think about Pharma?

Thank you! I’ve been meaning to tackle him anyway since I’ve gotten 3 or 4 requests for him, but wasn’t entirely sure how to write him. He does horrible things, but he does them to survive, so he’s a bit complicated. And unstable.

Pulp Fiction

Pharma x Reader

• Guilt a living thing in his spark, it’s almost become a routine now. A deft incision and a few little snips to paralyze the motor functions of his patient. Part of him is relieved that it gets a bit easier every time, while the rest of him dies a little more. They’re going to offline anyway, he knows it. There’s nothing he can do to save them, he didn’t kill them. None of this is his fault. Only taking their T-cog, since they don’t need it anymore and he does. Paralyzed, their optics still stare up at him. Accusing him until he wants to drive the end of the scalpel into those awful optics again and again so they can’t stare at him like that. Shoving away from the berth before he gives in to the impulse, he feels energon running down his servos, down under his plating as he carries the T-cog to the hidden bin and adds it to the rest. Turning away, he almost misses the furtive little sound.

• Sneaker squeaking on the floor, you hold your breath as the giant turns and looks around. Praying it won’t see you. That you’re so small, you won’t be noticed as you fight another wave of nausea. You don’t know where you are or how you got there, but you feel awful and your head is pounding. If you retch, it’ll definitely find you. But it doesn’t matter as those blue optics spot you and widen. Upper lip curling as it snarls something unintelligible at you and lunges. Screaming, you take off.

• What is that? Some kind of horrible, little organic that screeches at him and runs away when he grabs for it. And it’s surprisingly fast as he gives chase, spark thrumming. Snatching up an empty energon cube from a gurney, his peds slide as he overtakes the thing and it falls trying to change directions. Yelping when he slides the cube toward it and it jumps inside to avoid being crushed against the wall. Tipping the cube flat, it cries out as it slides to the bottom before shoving back into a corner away from him. “Little pest,” he mutters, picking up the cube and studying the thing, noticing the coverings. A domesticated pet, maybe? One of his late patient’s? It takes him a moment to realize the noise it’s making isn’t random. It’s talking, or at least trying to. He can’t understand a word of it’s nonsense. “You’re almost cute for a filthy organic.” Big eyes stare up at him as he vents, wondering if he should just toss it in the incinerator.

• Cringing against the side of the clear box when the giant reaches in and touches the top of your head, it takes a minute to realize it’s petting you like a lost kitten. As scary as the thing is, it occurs to you that being on its good side probably significantly increases your life expectancy until you can escape and figure out what’s going on. So you awkwardly reach up and pet his giant servo. “Hi.”

• That tiny hand is surprisingly warm as it touches him, the little thing tipping its head back to smile at him, expression uncannily like a Cybertronian’s. What is this thing? Venting tiredly, he carries it to his office and sets it on his desk and wipes the energon from his servos. “It’s not like I enjoy helping that psychopath. I don’t have a choice,” he mutters to himself. “If I don’t do it, I die and he finds someone else to do it.” You make a noise and he glances over to find you staring at him, a hand pressed to the inside of the cube. Babbling your nonsense as he huffs out a laugh. “Right?” It not like he has anyone else to pour the poison out to, no one who wouldn’t turn him in anyway. And he needs to say it or he’ll go mad. “You understand, don’t you?”

#transformers x reader #Pharma x reader #mtmte pharma

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ohsunnyboy · 8 months ago

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stopping me now | jung sungchan ˚₊‧⁺˖

early mornings, bitter coffee and jung sungchan, all staples of your office life until one morning goes wrong just right

TAGS: office!au, gn!reader, romcom type of vibe, forced proximity, strangers to lovers, sorta mutual pining, awkward!reader who is rly intense abt their spreadsheets

A/N: office au is my fav au so sungchan in one is my ultimate self-indulgence! sorry it's been a while :] (first riize fic let's goooo)

WORDS: ~1950

Jung Sungchan is missing.

Ding!

You don't actually know each other. Counting the months, it's been almost a year of standing in silent acknowledgement within this tiny elevator. In fact, you shouldn't even know his name! You only managed to find it out when he dropped his lanyard when you two were clocking out, and you picked it up for him, but he only blushed, yelped his thanks and ran!

Was he hiding unapproved invoices? was his department over budget? you swear that the accounting department isn't that scary!

Ding!

Should standing in an elevator for nearly fifteen minutes count as your morning commute? It really shouldn't but here you are. The coffee in your hands went cold about 5 floors ago, the usual ache in your feet is starting to kick in, and you can feel the humidity wreaking havoc on your hair. You really do want to curse out the big shot who thought that having offices on the 40th floor was a good idea. Partly, you think that Sungchan would also curse them out as well.

By floor thirty something, you almost fall asleep before a familiar sight steps into the lift. And unfortunately enough, he looks to be in the same state as you are.

Ready to murder, or be the first one to die in said horror film. You wonder if Sungchan likes horror movies too. Every office worker should: it gets the stress out very well. In fact, he might’ve been staying up late watching them; the bags under his eyes really don’t compliment the lack of caffeine in his hands. You almost feel half tempted to give him your own cold cup to help tide his morning over.

Sungchan slots right into place at the back of the elevator next to you. His broad shoulders knocking into you slightly due to the cramp of the lift.

After a year of it, you’d like to think you’re used to the space he takes up in your life; physically and mentally.

The thing is, for a guy that works an office job, Jung Sungchan is not a bad looking man at all. Always looking like he's attending the first day of school with a pressed collar and ironed tie, it's hard to look... and not fall in love with him in the process. Never once in your commuting life have you ever seen a hair out of place on him. He's closest you've ever physically gotten to the picture of corporate happiness and 100% customer satisfaction, while you get into daily arguments with your Excel spreadsheet.

Ding!

A trolley of files comes wheeling into the cube of claustrophobia, forcing you to squeeze further into the corner until you find yourself between a cold corner and a warm place. The thought of whatever department’s budget goes flying out the window when — Ah.

The smell of citrus falls over you like a waterfall. Sungchan’s cologne must be dumped in his hair because it’s suddenly all you know. It makes you dizzy, so much so, that you barely notice him sheepishly grinning down at you. He’s leant on his forearm, next to your head, caging you in, and his other is desperately trying not to dig his messenger bag into your side.

"So sorry about this," he whispers. It feels conspiratorial in the tight space, but almost everyone else has earbuds in and probably have bigger things to worry about.

You tilt up to look at him, not forgetting to linger on the long column of his throat exposed by his grey suit. "S'fine,” you mumble up to him, sorely aware of the way his wide eyes stare into yours. "Nice to meet you?" you eke out. You try and go for casual and smooth, but your heart sounds like a clattering of the subway: raucous in your ears.

Maybe it has been a year of pining away. Staring after Sungchan and his unfairly good proportions and rolling mountain shoulders. You don’t know how the PR interns haven’t already kidnapped him to make some sexy corporate calendar. However, you do know that it would increase revenue for the entire first quarter and save you about 10 less board meetings on budget caps. The content of said photoshoots is all you can dazedly think about as he shifts again, shuffling further into the wall and further into your mental mess.

Ding!

Sungchan’s smile is wicked as it breaks you from your thoughts. "Lovely to meet you, elevator buddy." And he sends you an overconfident wink for your efforts – with a small blush to dash. “Would love to shake your hand but, we’re ah – a bit occupied.”

You quirk a brow. “Elevator buddy?”

Sungchan’s grin doesn’t relent, even at your scrunched expression. "I've spent the past year calling you that, you're not stopping me now.” He says the last bit under his breath, as the lady with the trolley backs up even further into him and pushes him impossibly closer to you. His lips end up skimming your forehead and sending an involuntary chill down your spine, while your right hand ends up flat on his chest, your left jammed awkwardly into your side with your coffee.

Pull it together, please God, pull it together.

“The last year?” Is all you can get out coherently. It’s impossible to take deep breaths when every thought in your head is being thrown out of a metaphorical window. Citrus and smoke, hands and lips, months and quarters. This elevator crush is going to haunt you for life if you go back to silence after all this. Stop asking questions damn it!

Sungchan hums, the sensation sinking into your bones. “It’s about then, no? It was my first time in the building because it was the BigHit and Pledis merger last year,” he says, awfully fond. “You had a massive dossier of balance sheets, and I crashed into you in the elevator lobby because you never saw me. Your papers went everywhere!” Sungchan trails off in a laugh, however your mind starts taking very careful steps back into the past…

You barely remember last year. Only the stress piling up on your table from one too many days working after hours in the quiet with Eunseok. The grid lines of spreadsheets permanently etched onto your screens and into your retinas. Neither company was willing to give an inch for each other in spite of the whole “merger” idea, forcing far too many revisions, far too close to the deadline those prissy higher ups set. And so, the entire fate of departments rested on your two heavily overworked shoulders.

Running into someone like Sungchan would have never crossed your mind then. Being all wrapped up in your stress, there was no way you’d pay that much attention to a pretty face. One incident in particular though… ding!

“Wait… you’re the one that spilt their pretentious oat milk chai latte on the finalised budget reports?!” You don’t even know if that was his actual drink order but all you remember was flying into a fit of red rage when green bled all over your precious, freshly printed work.

To hell with kissing him; a kiss with your fist was way more overdue.

Sungchan practically squawks as he jumps to justify himself. “I didn’t spill anything! I just accidentally walked into you and the papers – and my latte – went flying! Not my fault.” His hand snakes down from the wall and onto yours resting on his chest. If you could physically look him in the eyes, you’d be sure there’d be some fire of determination in them.

Now, it’s his heartbeat, clattering under your ear like the ticking of keycaps; it’s his heat, sticking his shirt under your palm like tack; it’s his voice, shaking like an intern at the barest critique. His hand dwarfs yours: long fingers tracing the lines of yours.

Your temper matches in step with your heart, beating against your mind in double time. “Do you know how long it takes to print double sided for a full dossier?! All of it to end up on the floor, covered in your hipster green tea latte! I have full authority to half whatever budg—"

Ding!

— “Hey, you two, this is your floor.” The tired voice of general manager Kim Doyoung chirps in. Red floods your face at the thought of someone watching you lose your head. Nevertheless, Doyoung watches on with a boredom only he could achieve. “You, save the death threats for feedback week, and Sungchan — don’t mess with someone from accounting.”

Sungchan takes the hint and peels himself off you, the smell of citrus still making you dizzy. The crowd barely parts, but he uses his size, pushing the way for the both of you. His enormous hand holding yours through the crowd and guiding you out of the cube of stress. When the doors whir shut behind you, he takes your empty coffee cup and dumps it into the bin.

Never would you think you’d be left hand in hand with Sungchan in an isolated elevator lobby. He’s still clasped onto you with a vice grip: his heat searing into your palms like hot iron. It burns being this close. The buzzing AC in the lobby being the only thing keeping you alive.

Nobody talks for a second, letting the silence say it’s piece before your mouth starts moving before you’ve processed what it’s doing. "If anyone reports us to HR, I am so so sorry.”

Sungchan takes a breath, blinking those wide doe eyes at you before his face splits into a grin. “No, don’t worry. I don’t think Doyoung-hyung will kick up much fuss,” he smiles.

Only now do you remember Doyoung is the head of HR and your heart kicks into double time again, but how is Sungchan so calm about this? As if reading your mind, he squeezes your hand to reassure you before dropping your it. “Stop looking so worried! Just look.” He pulls his lanyard out from where he usually stashes it in his breast pocket, and you nearly trip over your feet when you see it.

"I am HR." What the hells.

The look on your face must give it all away as Sungchan’s laugh echoes in the empty elevator lobby. And hells, the kid – is he even younger than you?? – knows he’s got you wrapped around his finger. "Maybe I will just file a complaint,” he says with a smile. “What was that again? Threatening to half our department budget?”

He tilts his head all coy like he’s not the one at fault here. The audacity, really. You shake your head in mild disbelief and shrug off your nerves. Oh, you know what? Might as well go for it. What’s stopping you now? Definitely not HR.

"Bold words from someone who singlehandedly setback the entire Bighit-Pledis merger back by a whole day,” you counter, head raised in even challenge. Sensible accountant alarm bells are ringing in your mind, but you clamp down on them. “Shouldn’t you, be making up to me?”

It’s your turn to fan your lashes and pout your lips. Savouring in the way he pretends to think and avoid staring at your pouted lips.

"There might just be something..." His long fingers pull you in by the lapels, just a hair away. A blush must flush all the way down you from the way his eyes light up. You watch his lips curl into that grin of his, already thinking about what’s next. Citrus and smoke, hands and lips, months and quarters.

"Not here, sweetness." And his smile is just as deadly as yours.

Fuck the spreadsheets. You’ve got a private meeting in board room #127 with corporate happiness.

hope i haven’t lost my touch :) thanks sm for reading and if you enjoyed, a reblog would be nice to help encourage more <3 ⭒ masterlist

#you can pry office aus out of my cold dead hands #riize #riize x reader #jung sungchan x reader #kpop #kpop fanfic #office au #jung sungchan imagines #jung sungchan fanfic #jung sungchan fluff #riize imagines #riize fluff #jung sungchan #fanfiction #sunny forecast: writing nights

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odiesdayoff · 4 months ago

Text

Kinktober: Jonathan Crane

Pair: Jonathan Crane x fem!reader

Summary: Gotham's more of a nightmare than it used to be and Crane has his sights on you.

Warnings: On the tin. NON-CON (Kidnapping/Restraints/Leashes/Collars/Breeding)

You poured a fresh whiskey into a short glass over ice cubes, then pushed it to another faceless man sitting at the bar. Lights were flashing and the music was a bit too loud for your liking, but money was money and the protection that the job gave you was probably the only reason you were still a free woman.

The knock on the counter brought you from your serving-induced stupor. Oswald Cobblepot. “Hey, sweetheart. Need you to work a double tonight.” He pushed aside the man drinking the whiskey.

“Tonight? Isn’t Stacey scheduled after me?” You washed the shaker cup and placed it upside down to dry. As much as you needed the money, you’d much rather get home before it got too dark and monumentally more dangerous for you.

He sighed, reaching over the counter and pouring some of the whiskey into a free glass. “Got collared. Don’t know when or if she’ll come back.” Of course, the number one reason for the girls leaving the job. Two weeks ago, the bar staff and performers totaled 50. It was now 27.

You instinctively pursed your lips and took a deep breath. The thought of what she might’ve been going through was bad enough, but the reality was the truly horrifying part. Your freedom was slightly stealth, but mostly luck. “By who?”

“Firefly. I should have you all escorted home before these schlemiels steal all my girls.” He finished his drink and slammed it against the counter. “Eh, too much money.”

A few more men sat around the bar while he walked away. Of course he was not one to waste his money on something that actually protects his staff. Too busy spending it on drops and whatever other drugs that he can sell to his customers. Asshole.

Acts as if he doesn’t have a girl collared in his house. You’ve seen her once or twice. She’s pretty, but it was clear that he did a number on her before parading her around the club. “What the hell is wrong with this city?” One of the men finally asked as you handed him a dry martini.

“What isn’t wrong with it?” You grumbled under your breath, starting on the Manhattan for another one of the men.

They laugh, a bit too loud. Clearly, this wasn’t the first bar they’d been to tonight. “No, seriously. Got mugged twice and we’ve only been here two days. All the women are on fucking leashes. Or people fucking out in the open.” He took a long sip of his drink, looking around at the debauchery still happening around the bar.

“You know how most cities have a hero? Ours was killed. Chaos ensued.” You mixed the drink, shaking the bottle. “Basically, they made a whole set of rules that give absolute control to those who fought Batman. Territory, people…you get it.”

The day that the Batman died was something you’d never forget, as if it was your life stopped at that moment the news broadcast was shown on every screen in the city. Nobody thought the Joker would be able to do it. Both Batman and the Joker were natural enemies, bound never to end their feud.

Some say it was a mistake. But the second it happened, he had his plan to create chaos and eventually, everyone else followed suit. Just as his (somewhat) partner in crime, Harley Quinn, was planning on leaving him, he locked her onto him. With the same collar she used for her pets.

He let all of the inmates of Arkham escape, taught them the new rules, and everybody else had to play catch up or try to get out of the city as fast as possible. Especially after the mayor fell. Bella Reál was ambushed in her office by the newly escaped Riddler. Nobody has seen her since.

It felt like the shift lasted forever, but you appreciated the extra tips from the more drunken customers wishing they could fuck you and knowing they couldn’t. It was raining when you stepped outside, through the back where nobody could see. You threw your hood over your head and ran in the direction of your apartment.

It was well known that it was more dangerous than normal for a woman to be out at night. More likely to get caught by a man with a little bit of power under his belt. You were cutting through the alley right outside of your apartment when someone grabbed your arm.

The man yanked you back and pushed you against the wall. “Well, well, well. It’s been a while since I saw a free woman that was this gorgeous.”

His face was familiar, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. Your panicked state overrides facial recognition. “Who the fuck do you think you are? I have nothing to give you.”

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head as if you told a joke. “Let me tell you a bit about me. I fought the Bat more than you can imagine, which gives me more than enough of a right to pin you down and take what I want." His hand cupped your cheek and a finger glided across your quivering lips. "I pride myself as a man with class, so I'm going to take you home, give you a nice meal, then I'm going to shove my dick in you."

You fought against him, though he barely showed his struggle to keep you still. "You're really going to make me do this?" He rolled his eyes and reached into the briefcase-like bag around his shoulder. He pulled out a small leather collar, swiftly bringing it over your head and slipping it onto your neck.

The tightness of the collar restricted your breathing enough to stop you from struggling to save air and he wrapped the connecting leather strap around his hand. "There you go. Now you're on a leash. Happy?"

You spat at him. "No! I'm not fucking happy!"

He tugged at the leash, effectively pulling you to the black car that waited on the curb right outside of the alleyway's opening. You wondered how long he'd been preparing for this moment. How long he knew who you were.

In the defense of Jonathan Crane, he did try to give you a nice dinner. The man cuffed you to a chair and made small talk as he cooked, then fed the meal to you. Of course, you refused it. Nothing could get you to accept this life, no matter how legal it was now.

His rough hands dragged you from the chair to the neatly made bed and he pushed you on your stomach, climbing on top of you.

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be, slut." He whispered hoarsely into your ear as he pulled the clothes from your body. The fabric of his pants dragged against your skin and the outline of his erection was unavoidable. "Get on your fucking hands and knees."

You had no choice but to obey, afraid of whatever he could do. Other than the obvious. He teased your opening with his leaking tip, then pushed into you without warning. His groans of pleasure drowned out the whimpers and cries coming from you.

He wasted no time in fucking you, taking what he wanted as he called it. His thrusts were hard and full of need. When was the last time he'd done something like this with someone else? Had he ever?

He wrapped the leash around his hand and pulled so that your head was up and facing the headboard. You choked, not that he showed any concern. "Bet you're used to this, huh? Leaving that club every day?"

He slapped your ass with his free hand. "Those days are over. You'll be my little housewife. Cook my meals. Wet my cock. Have my children."

He sped up, desperately chasing his high. He whimpered and laid his chest against your back, pushing himself as far as he possibly could. That's when you felt it. That overwhelming warmth inside of you that you knew could only be one thing.

"Don't think it's over now. Still have to make sure it sticks."

#jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #odiesdayoff #kinktober

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sunflowersbones · 4 months ago

Text

High Fidelity

Warnings: This fic will contain DUB-CON/NON-CON, Manipulative behavior, Spanking, Somnophilia. My warnings are not exhaustive, proceed at your own risk.

[STEVE ROGERS x reader]

Summary: The captain has unwritten rules laid out, ones you blindly follow. No questions asked, only orders followed. You’re like a loyal dog at his feet, ready to obey his every whim and command; only that you don’t realize how close your collar is to strangulation, and you're terrified that you won’t learn your lesson even when it snaps your neck.

NOTE: I suppose this could be my kinktober fic! Happy Autumn. Reblogs and comments are really appreciated, this is tumblr after all. I hope you enjoy!.

DIVIDERS: @writeyourmindaway l BANNERS: @vase-of-lilies

You look out of the window as the sun shines through, lightening up the break room. The slight bitterness of the last remains of your coffee mellow on your tongue as you start preparing it for the others. You make his at the end to ensure that it remains warm until he drinks it. An Americano, with three cubes of sugar. Just the way he likes it; you can only hope that he’s appeased by your attempts, even if it’s not much.

You walk back to the conference room, one hand balancing the coffee and the other carrying a few files Pepper needs. Your life as Pepper’s assistant involves having to clean up everything for her as well as for Tony. Well, more for Tony than Pepper.

As you walk through the corridor, you hear the regular good morning charades. You smile and nod too tired to say anything as your eyes beg you to get some sleep. Tony’s plethora of mishaps as of recently has only increased your work load. This boy leaves around more paperwork than Pepper can handle.

While work can be strenuous at times, you’re extremely grateful for what you have. Who wouldn’t want to work for Stark Internationals and… you got to meet him, talk to him, get to know him, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

“Ahh, there she is; we were wondering where our coffee monkey is.” You hear Tony chime.

“What he means is, good morning, Y/N.” Pepper snorts.

“Morning Pepper, Tony, everybody. Pepper, the files you needed.”

“Oh, thank you!.”

Most of them flock around you to get their hands on the coffee, but Sam and Tony beat them to it, like indecent children. The only ones with a little decency are Pepper, Nat, Bucky, and, of course, Steve.

You walk over to Nat and Bucky after you give Pepper hers. Both utter a small thank you as you give them theirs. You slowly turn around and place Steve’s cup near him on the table. He barely acknowledges you, his eyes concentrated on the file in his hand. You’ve always admired that; his ability to never get distracted from what he deems important—you could only wish to have such discipline.

You bask in his scent for a few seconds and immediately leave. You hope nobody caught you staring; you tend to do that a lot. If they knew, they’d make fun of you for being such a love-sick fool.

You finish entering all of last week's finances when you see him approach you. You avert your eyes immediately; to avoid too much eye contact is something he insists upon. You stare at your computer as you type in a few more numbers.

He clears his throat as he stands in front of you, a file in his hand.

“Hello captain.”

“Pepper wanted to return this to you.” He says as he extends the file to you.

“Oh yes, I’ll need this for...,” you stop as you realise he’s barely listening. You see him look around to make sure no one is nearby as he turns to you.

“You didn’t stop by yesterday.” His tone was laced with disappointment.

“I… I didn’t leave office until late, and I had to come back early; there was a lot of work left.” You wait for him to say something but soon realise he’s not going to. His face is as clam as ever, yet his eyes seem to be throwing a reproachful look at you.

“You’d just arrived from a mission too; I assumed you might be tired.”

"Yeah, I was; don’t you think that’s when I need you the most?” He whispers.

“I’m sorry, you never said anything, and I—

“Do I have to? After all this time.” You feel your heart clench at his accusation.

“I’m sorry, Steve.”

He stares at you for a few seconds, and you feel yourself shrink at his presence.

“I should leave; you’re not the only one with work here.” Before you could say anything, he’s gone, only the echo of his footsteps left behind.

The whole day passes by uneventfully, and Steve’s words stung. You tried to immerse yourself with work, but your mind seemed inclined to relive your conversation from the morning. You really hadn’t meant to upset him.

At about nine, you receive a text from Steve.

“Stop by tonight.”

Simple and direct your conversations never went past that. You still have some more work left, but you don’t want to upset him any further, so you pack your stuff and decide to head to his room.

You wish that Steve would come over to your place instead; having to sneak around like this can be really difficult at times. If it were your place, there’s nothing to worry about—nobody to catch you. But now... does he not think of these things?, you wonder.

You’re not particularly afraid of the others finding out, considering Pepper and Tony have themselves breached the professionalism code of conduct. Nat and Bruce are on their way to; there’s nothing new about finding love at the workplace, right?

You’re more worried about how he’s going to react when people find out; you really didn’t want to deal with the burn of something you could have avoided.

As you turn around the right corner, your heart jumps out of your body as your eyes meet a pair of questioning blue ones.

“Why haven’t you left yet; isn’t it late?” Bucky enquires; he seems to have changed into his workout attire, his hands warped in bandages. Who works out at this hour? You ponder. He seems to have read your mind through your face as he answers, saving you the trouble.

“Couldn’t sleep; thought I’d punch some of the energy out.”

“So, why are you still here?”

“Uhh work, there were a lot of emails and I lost track of time.” He gives you an understanding nod. His mouth slightly parts to say something but then thinks better of it. You move around to pass through, when he suddenly says, “I’ll walk you out.”

“Oh, it’s ok. I wouldn’t want to ruin your workout.”

“You won’t. I’ll walk you to your car and then head to the gym.”

“Really I — But, before you can finish, he turns back towards the elevator and presses the button. The doors swing open, and he steps inside, leaving you no choice but to follow.

Bucky leans onto the side, pressing himself to the cool glass walls as you stand rigid on the opposite side. You don’t think you’ve ever been alone with him before or this close to him. Now that you notice it, he’s built quite a lot like Steve, although Steve might be a tad bit taller or it could just be the hair.

You quickly avert your eyes as he catches you staring at him. He clears his throat as he says, “You really shouldn’t be working so late, Y/N; it’s not healthy, you know.”

“Overworking will only make things more difficult in the future; Pepper wouldn’t want that for her favourite employee.”

You chuckle at that, “I’m not Pepper's favourite employee.”

“Of course you are; she couldn’t manage a day without you. She’s always praising you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, plus we like having our morning coffee, and you’re the only one who’s kind enough to get it for us.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really.” You smile back.

“Still, thank you. We really appreciate it.” He says, a slight smile warming up his face.

The lift arrives at the parking lot, and you get out of it into the well-lit space. The cluster of cars overwhelming you as you look around in search of yours, lost in the myriad of similar-looking vehicles.

“Well… Thank you for acknowledging it, Mr. Barn—

“Bucky.” He cuts you to it, his voice carrying a timber of shyness.

“Bucky.” Your whisper back, happy at the aspect of knowing that after all, maybe the supersoldier doesn’t despise you. You don’t know why you ever worried about that; your communication with each other might have been limited, but he was never anything but kind and respectful.

You say your final good-byes and walk towards your vehicle. You open it and get inside, fumbling with your key, hoping that he would leave soon. You did not want to actually leave the building for the pretence of it.

You turn your key around, the car engine roaring at you. You look over ahead to see Bucky turning around to ride up the elevator again. You decide to stay put for some more time. You don’t want to ride the elevator just yet. What if he hasn’t left?

If you get caught again, you have no excuses left. So you stay put for a good 40 minutes before you make your way up. Bucky’s bound to be in the gym by now.

You slowly sneak towards his room, heels in your hand, to avoid the loud tenor of its click-clacking. You arrive at his front door and repeat the pattern twice. A knock-pause, followed by two rapid knocks. You’re received by silence, and you grow a little uneasy. What if someone shows up? What will you say? Was he really that mad?

You repeat the knock again and pause for a few seconds. The door swings open, and your breath hitch’s at the sight in front of you. He has a towel wrapped around his hip, his hair wet as the droplets still cling on to him. His face and body; glistening. There’s a frown etched between his eyebrows as he stares at you.

“You’re late.”

“I was—before you can finish, his hand extends to latch on to your belt as he pulls you in. He shuts the door close as he presses you against it; you feel your entire face heat up. You’ve seen him naked so many times, yet you can’t help but ogle at him and admire him every time you see him.

Every time he needs you, there’s a bloom in your heart that radiates through your whole body. One that just wants him near you, on you, inside you. And you just want to be there for him whenever, wherever, however he wants you to be.

He gives you a questioning gaze as you mumble. “Bucky kinda noticed that I hadn’t left yet, so I had to play around a little.” His frown still remains as you let out a “Sorry.” His hand moves around you to lock the door, the sound of it synchronising with a beat of your heart. His hand moves to rest on your lower back; it curves around you and pushes you towards him. Your breasts press tightly against his chest as he traps you between him and the door. He presses his mouth on to yours as he kisses you; it's messy, all teeth and tongue. His desperation seeps through you as you feel yourself get wet.

You feel his hard length against your core as he presses his hip to yours. You let out a loud moan, your head leans back onto the door as you attempt to take in shallow breaths. He moves his face ever so slightly to look at you as he moves his hips back and thrusts into you with a force that knocks the wind out of you. You gasp at that as he adorns a devious smirk.

His hand travels down your thigh, he lifts it up and hooks it around his hip, spreading you apart as he nestles in between you.

“Been thinking about this pretty cunt, the whole time I was away.” He whispers into your mouth. One of his hands travels under you skirt as he cups your core, his fingers maneuver around your underwear as he plays around with you.

“Well somebody’s excited.” He sighs out, hot breath fanning your face.

“On the bed, ass up, right now.” He sternly recites. Your body immediately moves on its own, pealing your clothes off of yourself. Anticipation overwhelming you as you lay down, just like he told you to. You can hear him pumping himself with the hand that was covered in your slick just a moment ago.

He climbs onto the bed behind you as his hands move to grope your ass. With a smooth clean thrust he slides himself inside you. He lets out a moan as you feel yourself clench around him. His right hand rear back and as he smacks you, you feel the sting pass through your entire body.

You bite your lips and start counting; you haven’t forgotten, the last time he made sure you won’t. “…3,4,5,6,” you feel hot tears well up you eyes, “…8,9.” His left arm gropes your titts and moves forward to your neck, he squeezes it as he yanks you back.

Your back collides with his chest and he increases his pace, thrusting into you. Your knees are falling apart and the only thing that makes sure you stay upright are his hands. Your own hand maneuvers back to play with his hair, you ruffle your fingers through the short strands and slowly scratch his head. His eyes shut close as his breath falters and his thrusts start to get sloppier. You press yourself even closer to him as you tilt your head sideways. You lean forward and place a light peck on his lips. He opens his eyes as his grip on you tightens at that, you’re sure that it’ll bruise by tomorrow morning.

He moves your upper body around uncomfortably so as his lips find yours. He growls into the kiss as he twists your body, you’re almost afraid that you’ll snap like a twig, but you felt reassurance course through you when you realize its him. You wouldn’t mind if it’s him but you also know that nothing would happen because it’s him; he would never hurt you, he would never hurt anybody. He is Captain America after all.

You feel yourself close and you cling on to him desperately. “Sir… sir, I’m clo—

“Hush, hush let go… just let go, I’ve got you.” You come apart around him as you clench him tighter and he closely follows you.

You fall on to the bed as exhaustion overcomes you. You can hear his soft, shallow breaths behind you as you close your eyes and focus on it. You feel him shift as he gets out of bed and leaves the room; he comes back a minute later carrying a bottle with him. His eyes are on you as you turn around to sit upright.

“Water?” he asks, his hand extended, his gaze never leaving you.

“Yes, please!” You timidly reply, your eyes finding the ground. You greedily drink up; you’d been parched, and you hadn’t even realised it.

He moves around to his bedside table and fiddles with the clock. With your thirst now quenched, you feel the soreness ripple through your body. You’re ready to drop right now; you don’t even want to think about the pile of work you’ll have to deal with in the morning. Some sleep would do you good, yet you know you’re not going to get any, simply by the way he stares at you. He’s waiting to rip that bottle out of your hands.

The minute you give him the bottle back, he’s on you. His entire weight pressed onto your aching body, his thrusts sending you to oblivion as he takes you over and over throughout the night.

You jump up as the alarm rings through your brain, the blaring noise annoying your ear just as its bright red numbers annoy your eyes. You absentmindedly notice that it's 4:00 am. You don’t have to turn around to know that he’s gone; the lack of warmth already suggests that. Not that you ever got a semblance of the next morning; you’re never privy to seeing his beautiful sleep-ridden form in the morning.

He’s always been punctual about his morning runs; they weren’t going to change for your sake. You pick up your clothes—the ones you’d scattered around, the ones he’s picked up and placed on his chair—and get dressed as you brace yourself for the day to come. At least he’s not far away on a mission; at least you don’t have to worry about how he’s doing, where he’s gone, or when he’ll come back, and you most definitely don’t have to worry about Tony’s inquisitive gazes as to why his assistant’s secretary would care about Steve Rogers.

The last time you chalked it up as concern for the team and worry about the authenticity of the Intel, but you won’t get such chances anymore, so you learn to apply patience into your daily regime. At least now you can take comfort in small glances and the echo of his voice; it fills your heart with a kind of warmth that you don’t think you can explain. Yet you know it; you recognise it. It blooms within you every time you see those baby blues.

Tony’s meetings have always brought a frown upon Steve’s brows; that wouldn’t surprise you, however the way he gazes at you does. It never lingers for more than a second, but now... you feel his gaze burn through you. You focus your attention on the second pair of eyes that have been longing for it as you hand over the cup of espresso to him.

“Thanks doll.” Bucky whispers back a nonchalant remark.

Steve’s eyes flick on to Bucky and then back to you. For a split second, his face hardens, but it immediately reverts back. His attention now back on the monitor in front of him.

“Hey, Steve, this is important, you know? It would be great if you were paying attention to what I’m saying instead of laser-eyeing my coffee monkey.” Tony quips.

All eyes are now on you, yet his remains stoned towards Tony. He gives him an unimpressed shrug, “You do have my attention, Tony.”

“Wait a sec, she gets everyone coffee, so why is she your coffee monkey?” Natasha asks, an eyebrow raised in your direction, “Shouldn’t she be our coffee monkey?” she smirks.

“Well, Nat,” Tony replies, “it’s my coffee, and she works for me, so...”

“First and foremost, she’s my assistant; second of all, she’s doing you guys a favor. She doesn’t have to do this. Now please stop hogging her and let her work.” Pepper tones suggest humour and a slight disappointed nod at Tony.

“Yeah, well, you work for me, Pepp, so technically everything’s mine.”

Tony squeaks out as the room breaks into smiles and low hollers. The attention is back on Tony now; you use this opportunity to escape. As you leave, you turn back slightly to look at Steve. Only to be met with his back towards you.

Once again, you leave work late. The workload these past few days has made taking care of yourself impossible. As you walk towards home, you mentally plan on what you should do to relax. Tomorrow is a Sunday, and you really want to spend some time for yourself. You turn around as you head in the direction of your apartment building and are momentarily surprised to find Steve perched up on his motorcycle.

He looks up at you, his eyes locked onto yours. Even a simple gaze from him brings a shiver down your spine. He walks into the building, and you quietly follow behind him. A part of you feels guilty for not lending him a key, but he never asked, and you didn’t want to seem overbearing. He moves towards the corner of the lift as you enter right behind him.

Even though it is quite late into the night, the overflow of people moving about was no less. You move over to the right to create space for the incoming group of people. An unbothered shove from the person in front of you pushes you back. Your body slightly leans towards him, his chest pressed to your back as his hands land on your hip, pulling you closer. You feel him hard against your ass, and you heave a shuttered breath.

While Steve has always been handsy, he never acted out in public. Although no one here recognised him, nor were there any cameras in the lift—unlike the all-seeing eyes of the stark tower—it still doesn’t help calm your nerves.

Your floor arrives shortly, and you weed your way out; however, you don’t see him behind you. You presume he’ll get out on another floor and descend the stairs. You slowly walk towards your apartment and unlock the door. You enter and switch on the lampshade in the hall, the low yellow colour dancing through the entire room.

You hear his heavy footsteps as you place your bag on the table. He enters and closes the door; his figure leans on to it as he lingers there for a few seconds, gazing at you.

Before you know it he moves forward in lightening speed. His hands find your body as he lifts you off of the ground. You wrap your legs around his hips as he hungrily kisses you. His right hand lands on your ass and he gropes a handful as his other hand squeezes the nape of your neck. You revel in the pleasure and slight pain he provides and you lightly bite his lips.

He places your body atop the table as he moves to nip at your neck. His hand rides up your thigh as he slowly drags your panties down. You hike your skirt up in an attempt to help him as your lips desperately try to latch itself on to his again.

He kisses you a few more times in an attempt to placate you before his arm pushes your upper body onto the table. He slightly bends his knees and leans over to lower his head in between your thighs.

His heated breath dances against your slick core, as he swipes his tongue over your folds. He laps from you hungrily as his hands tighten on your thigh; adjusting them.

“Please Steve.” You receive a slight bite on the inside of your thigh at that; a reminder.

“Captain. Sir, Please.” You moan a whimper out.

“Use your words sweetheart, what do you want?”

“I want you.”

“Yeah? What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to make me feel good.”

“Atta girl.” He whispers.

His tongue slightly licks your clit before sucking on it. You let out an embarrassingly loud moan as you move your hands over to run through his short Blond strands, you slowly massage his head and he pushes his face further into you.

You can barely handle it anymore as you let yourself go with a muffled scream and you nearly see stars around you. He moves his hand to the back of your hip as he stands straight and you know you’re not done for the day.

It’s been nearly three weeks, and he hasn’t said a word to you. Your lack of communication wasn’t anything new. But he hasn’t come to you even once, and you know he’s here and not away on a mission; you’d seen him at the tower chatting away with almost anybody but you.

Sometimes you’d encounter the supersoldier pair in passing, Bucky was the only one who would stop by to greet you; your Blond-haired nightly companion would simply walk past you. You’re unsure if it’s his usual impassiveness or if you did something wrong again.

It could be really difficult when it came to Steve; he had high expectations but was never precise about what he wanted. A part of you loved it when you could figure it out on your own without him having to spell it out for you. But sometimes you couldn’t understand what it is that he wants. It angers and terrifies you; that’s when the dread settles in. You don’t want to admit it or acknowledge it even,though a small part of you is terrified of being discarded away.

By the fourth week, you finally found the courage to talk to him, only to find out that he’s been gone for about three days now. A part of you felt guilty that you hadn’t talked to him earlier, but another part of you knows that it was the better decision to make.

The days flit through in a gloom as you realise how disheartening expectation can be. The only positive side to your loneliness and boredom was the better sleep schedule you managed to incorporate into your routine. The depths of sleep now welcome you without much hesitation.

You don’t really perceive the feeling of your bed dipping at the weight of another. Not even the feather-like touch of fingers skimming over your body. Sleep lulls you into a pleasant dreamscape; not even at the slight intrusion that your body felt could your mind understand anything.

It wasn’t until you felt his cock plunged into you that you truly registered what was happening. Your mind had just been in the cradle of sleep, and it felt like you had been snatched out of it. Your body felt trapped between the bed and the weight of the body pressed on top of you. The weight of it was the only thing you could focus on until the sting of him stretching you out coursed through your body.

You could hardly breathe; fear surges through you as your heartbeat increases. Your brain felt like it was on fire due to the sudden change your body felt.

The room was veiled in darkness except for the small shine of moonlight. Your eyes hadn’t been able to register to it in the beginning, but now they had become accustomed to it. You couldn’t decide if the sight in front of you put you at ease or if it alarmed you further.

It was the same blue eyes that you’d always longed to gaze at, the same glittery Blond hair that you long to touch, the same sharp nose, and the same clenched jaw. Except there was something in his eyes that terrified you, along with the dirt and blood that covered his face; his lip nearly torn apart. It almost felt like it wasn’t him, and your heart both feared and ached for him.

With a little more clarity now you notice the brushing of the sharp clothes against yours. He was still wearing his tactical suit; this— a first. Now that you think of it, you don’t ever remember him coming to you while wearing it; he’d never been desperate enough. You were a part of his leisure, not a need. Your hand moves to feel the shape and pattern with a sense of wonder.

He leans down to kiss you, the copper taste of his blood stinging your tongue. He bites on to your lip making you yelp; sure that now you’ve started to bleed too.

“Ahh ste— Steve, slow— slow down please.” You beg.

His hand moves to wrap itself around your throat as he slightly tightens his fingers around it. His pace not differing at the slightest. In fact, you're sure he’s slightly increased his pace.

“Talk to me... what’s wrong?” Your right arm moves up to hold his face as your thumb gets imprinted with his sweat and blood.

His gaze that had been on your lips this entire time, now flickers to your eyes as his pace slows a tiny bit.

“Just go to sleep.” The gravel of his voice a slight whisper.

You’re exhausted by him, and his voice lulls you even more; you feel the ceiling slowly blur. Your body moving along with the rhythm of the bed as you slowly fall asleep again.

A surprise party for Pepper's birthday would involve the utmost amount of planning done solely by you and the credit taken away by Tony. But the warm smile lingering on the strawberry Blond's face makes it all worth it.

The humdrum within the Stark tower makes you gleam inwardly; the initial stress and discomfort from the morning washed away. In fact, you had completely forgotten about him. The excitement of the party overtaking you—it felt so nice to see everybody like this. At ease in their own skin, today they were no different from any other office member celebrating a colleague's birthday, albeit a slight difference in luxury.

The long-haired brunet walks over to the quieter side of the party where you reside. You notice him walking over and slice a piece of the cake and extend it to him.

“It’s a real nice party you pulled off in such little time, Y/N.”

“Whatever do you mean?, this is all Tony." You say, a light gist in your voice.

“Oh please, everyone knows this is your work; pretty sure Pepper does too.”

“Tony was away with us on the mission; he wouldn’t be able to pull this off.”

“Well, I think you underestimate him, Bucky.”

“No, they underestimate you,” he sighs, anticipation brewing within. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was nervous.

“Do you like the cake? It’s got a complicated name, but I’m pretty sure it's got plum in it; I know you like it.”

His eyes light up just a tad bit as the corners of his mouth slightly turn up.

He chuckles again, “You’re supposed to get Pepper a cake of her choice, not what I like.”

“Everyone likes plum!. Anyway, I had to buy multiple cakes; sneaking this in was easy.”

“Thank you. It’s really goo— a thud on his back nearly chokes him as Sam comes up from behind, eager to receive his share of the sugary dessert. As you cut the slice for him, their regular jab of bickering continues. Sam says something in an almost teasing tone as Bucky tries to strangle him with his eyes. You like this version of them much more.

You slightly tap your feet as you gaze at the room you’re most familiar with. He hadn’t spoken to you the whole day, but his piercing gaze could not be shaken off of you. You recall the previous night's events; you’re unsure what to make of it. You simply couldn’t leave, at least not without hearing his voice.

“What are you doing here?” His voice startles you out of your thoughts.

“I- wanted to talk to you… about last ni—

“Oh, so now you wanna talk?”

“You seemed content with the company of others the whole day.” The harshness of his tone surprises you.

“What, Steve, what are you-?

“I believe it’s cap for you. Since when did you two get this close?” he says a finger pointed towards you.

“who?”

“Don’t act like a fool, Y/N; I see the way you look at him; act around him.”

“Who!?”

“Bucky.” He barks back.

“Are you trying to fuck him? Bored of me? Is that what this is about?”

The crassness of his words shocked you. You feel a lump form in your throat as your eyes sting.

“No, no...” you can barely form any words as tears start brimming up, your palms brush against your eyes harshly as to try to stop the free fall.

He sighs at that, his voice now a whisper, “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not. I’m— sorry…” you coarsely whisper.

He sighs again and moves over to sit on the bed, a hand extending to latch on to your dress. He pulls you with it, your slight resistance casually ignored. His grip becomes stronger as he pulls you onto his lap, his hand tight around your waist.

He simply gazes at you, and you start crying all over again, “I don’t know—I just don’t know what I did to make you feel that way. I never—you sob words stuck in your throat.

He tilts up your chin with his finger, forcing you to look at him. He leans forward to kiss you. The hand around your waist forcing you to straddle him as the other latches on to your hair. You try to stop, to get a word out but he uses this opportunity to shove his tongue in. The force of him making you relent.

“Steve, I—

The sudden swing of the door startles you just as your presence startles your visitor. He averts his eyes in shock, but his eyes move back to look at you, an ache painted upon them as he looks at your dishevelled hair and messy form.

“Hey, Buck. Need something?” Steve asks, his face slightly turned backwards.

Bucky’s eyes finally reside on the other man in the room, snapping him out of his trance.

“Uh… yeah. no- No, it’s ok.” He rambles as he moves back and closes the door.

You feel a sudden sense of shame course through you, and you move to get off of him. Only to have him shift you as he pins you under him.

“Don’t worry, he won’t tell anyone. It’ll be fine.” He says in between kisses. His hand toying with your dress.

Of course; you’re still his secret, one that he’s unwilling to share. But it’s ok. For him, you’ll do just about anything, as he would for you.

His insatiability and your incredulity, twisting around and consuming you into a single burning fire.

#dark!fic #x reader fic #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x reader #x reader #steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers fic #dark!fanfiction

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 9 days ago

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madam herta is the first snow of winter.

crisp air flooding your lungs, ice-slicked pavement crackling beneath your feet. skeletal trees that glitter with frozen dew and freshly coated snowflakes. broken skin, nips of icicle-teeth, wonder.

she’s beautiful. beautiful in the way everything crumbles around her.

”well, what are you waiting for?” comes a high-pitched voice, one of her puppets. the same tone, same air of expectancy; like she’s never gotten a no. ”keep up, duckling! we’ve got no time to dilly-dally.”

”sorry, madam!”

she’s walking ahead before you can even get the words out. egoistical, self-absorbed, expecting you to follow. being her assistant isn’t easy, far from it— but it’s worth it just to see her. a puppet, a replica, it doesn’t matter. it’s worth it to be able to follow at her whims, wherever they take her, into the star-soaked sky. you think yourself lucky to have her attention on you — just for a minute or two every day.

everything madam herta does is beautiful. a miracle. if she told you she was god, you wouldn’t hesitate to believe her, fall at her feet. she’s a genius, she can do anything. can even make the world seem worthwhile.

she is on a ceaseless journey, to devour every star. you’ll never grow tired of watching her glimmer, sitting at the edge of the cosmos and watching.

(every star maps out her name.)

”here, carry this,” she clicks her tongue, leaving a pile of abandoned documents in your arms. it comes to you naturally, leaning down to her height to scoop them up. catch the sharp edge of her violet eyes.

there’s a weight there. something knowing.

— the answer to the universe is the number 42.

back home, your professor had called it meaningless. a world without an answer to gain isn’t worth living in at all — not worth the hassle. you remember the dullness in his eyes, the crease between his brows. young, susceptible, you were inclined to believe him. you believed him when he told you magic was a hoax, when he told you the galaxy had an endpoint. when he told you life was devoid of meaning—

you believed him, too.

”that’s wrong,” your lady scoffs. ”is he stupid?”

there’s a cup in your hand, steam wafting up to meet your nostrils, smelling of bitter espresso. a dark, swirling pit. a memory from before — new to the space station, new to her. she took you into her office, and you told her more than you should have.

(she was drinking too. madame herta likes her coffee with cream and sugar — only one cube, though, no more or less. just a touch of something sweet.)

”… what do you mean?”

your own voice sounds foreign, when she’s around. like nothing exists but her, her, her. like it’s all you can see. frosted landscapes and bambino eyes, the bite of winter sinking into your jaw. she’s always had that charisma, the kind only a genius could possess.

a tilt of her head, and a raise of her brow. you stiffen, curl in on yourself, ready to be berated — and she puts her porcelain cup down with a satisfying clink.

”a world without questions,” she exhales, a misty breath on her tongue. ”isn’t worth living in at all.”

a tug at your subconscious. a crack in a frozen lake.

her eyes swim with precision. decision. a cleave into your skin, her greedy fingers slipping under it. you wonder what it’d feel like to be held like that.

”a man who can’t understand that much isn’t suited for teaching in the first place,” she huffs, sipping from the rim of her cup and scowling. ”you should tell him to go back to the academy. i mean, geez. what are they even teaching you these days?”

”… not much.”

(nothing, compared to what you could teach me.)

your lady knows you like no other. the universe like no other. you knew from the start that it’d be her. what she carries is wisdom, experience, a childlike sense of wonder — she’s older than you by centuries and counting, yet she feels purer than you could comprehend. purer than anyone around you. even with her complaints, harsh words, the paperwork she leaves behind for you to finish. that much is fine.

because she’s more than you. she’s beautiful, a genius, she tugs you along and she’ll cast you aside, once you’ve grown too boring to stomach. you think yourself fine with that conclusion— fine with picking at scraps and following at her trail. egoistical, self-absorbed; you wouldn’t have her any other way.

madam herta is the lump between your tongue and throat.

(you’ll fall into her forever.)

#this is my herta catalyst #PLEASE come home queen im so severely mentally ill about you #would deadass let you snap my neck baby PLEASE 😭😭😭#herta x reader #<- is this the first post . in that tag #the herta x reader #hsr x reader

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strawberrystepmom · 4 months ago

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neuvillette x fortune teller f!reader. semi established rapport/friendship, mutual pining, flirtation, references to astrology. / wc 2.1k, divider thanks to @enchanthings

The heavy door separating Neuvillette from the rest of Palais Mermonia opens up with a drag across the floor, grasping the attention of the man himself while he works at his desk. The sun is hardly visible through the window behind him, still making an arrival into this world and taking her time just as you have.

“Please forgive my tardiness.” You curtsy with as polite a smile as anyone could accomplish while stepping through the crack. “You know how particular Mona can be when discussing, well, anything at all.”

The judge laughs to himself, aware of the mage’s tendency to mumble and subsequently hold others captive to her ramblings. Shuffling papers between his hands, he settles on tapping the bottom edges of the documents against his desk to organize the stack. Placing it down, he casts a measured if not nearly warm smile in your direction and nods toward the set table that has been awaiting your arrival.

“It’s quite alright. Although if I may, I’d like to encourage you to remind her that your time is as valuable as hers in the future.”

Entering his office, you shut the door quietly behind you and nod in agreement with his sentiment. You’ve always been terrible at asserting yourself, especially if you get the sense that someone needs to be heard.

It’s always strange to be in a place so grand. When compared to your office back at the newspaper, scattered with books and half scribbled messages that your connection to the stars has given you to spread to others, this place becomes a museum. Despite the differences in standing and work environment both, you never feel out of place amongst the hanging portraits and the stacked gold spined books across the shelves.

The Iudex also rises, making his way around the ornate desk where he does most of his work and arriving at the small table set for two to pull out your chair and then his. Nodding appreciatively, you sit down and immediately begin preparing your tea. You set the pitcher of cream next to your saucer, tidying everything while he looks on fondly.

“I’ve already added two sugar cubes to your cup so proceed with caution,” he mentions offhandedly, watching you reach for the small bowl in the middle of the table containing a perfectly aligned pile of them.

The pair of you have been engaged in this dance for long enough that he has become very familiar with your tea and how it’s taken; two sugar cubes, the tiniest splash of cream, four shallow stirs and your spoon will always gently clang against the lip of the cup on the final one.

Pouring tea over the sugar, you tilt your head to watch it pour. Neuvillette watches you intently, refusing to move even an inch as he settles into his seat.

“Mona is more than aware of the one appointment I maintain yet insists upon making my mornings complex for reasons I have yet to discover,” you sigh theatrically, lower lip jutting out slightly. Neuvillette steals a glance at your mouth but averts his gaze quickly, reaching for the chalice sat in front of his place at the table to sip his water.

This buys him blissful time to consider his next move. Perhaps he’s too careful in his approach to you, insisting upon his life being unfit for romance to avoid confronting the truth about why his chest flutters when you peek your head around his door. He swears he smells your perfume if he shuts his eyes and sniffs deeply enough, your essence permeating every inch of his office and consciousness until he can hardly think.

These feelings are hardly something he can run from or face head on. He’s caught in a trap made of his own desire for your company but at the same time finds himself haunted by the very real notion that his feelings may not even be shared.

“Then it’s paramount that we begin enjoying the time we have together while we can, no?”

This is the sentiment he settles upon as he works through his internal struggle, giving you a practiced smile and placing his chalice down.

Noticing the slight change in his demeanor, you lift your cup and sip demurely, smiling against the lip as the promised sweetness covers your tongue.

How could one not smile at such a kindness? A man who is not indebted to you yet enjoys you enough to understand your desires is a rarity. You’d be foolish not to flutter your lashes at him ever so slightly while leaning forward and placing the cup back down on the table below, handle turned toward you.

“It’s wonderful that you are ready to begin because the stars have spoken and given me some excellent news for you, Iudex.”

The pearls adorning the collar of your gown create a lush sound as you move, one that Neuvillette has long come to associate with your presence. It’s similar to the comfort of rainfall but accentuated by your laughter which he has not heard enough of yet today.

How can a laugh chase away his loneliness yet send him spiraling into its depths at the same time? A puzzling situation to find himself in, to be sure.

In an effort to compose himself, he raises his brows and crosses his legs with one knee bent over the other.

“Is that so?” Thoughtfully humming, he drums his fingers against his impeccably well dressed thigh.

You sneak a glance at his thigh and the way his impeccably tailored pants stretch across it while leaning in to hook your finger around the handle of the teacup in front of you, sipping and nodding to play off your own lecherousness lest you be caught.

It’s not uncommon that you attempt to shroud your readings in mystery though he’s never quite sure if it’s in an effort to thrill or further confuse him. He has never been one to indulge in games unless it is for the enjoyment of another but there is a compulsion in him to play along with yours.

The effusive smile you’ll graciously bless him with when you leave as thanks for being allowed this indulgence will make it worth his while anyway.

“May I guess what they’ve said first?”

A slight lilt of amusement in his voice draws your attention back toward his handsome face, head tilted to the side playfully.

It’s impossible to deny such a kind and charming man a thing. You nod affirmatively with a giggle, leaning forward in your chair but taking pains not to place your elbows on the table, instead keeping them resting on your thighs with your hands linked together.

“Be my guest.”

Your light as a feather response draws an elegant laugh from the man. He has left you no choice but to hide your pleasure at being the one to make him laugh by drawing your shoulders inward, going against your body’s natural response to shimmy them in excitement.

The mere thought of being someone Neuvillette enjoys enough to smile with thrills you. You could do nothing but make him smile for a lifetime. You’d feel permanently satisfied draped across the chaise in his office with a story or a quip or a joke to uplift him. Anything to hear the laughter that stirs a storm inside of you.

Realizing you’re losing yourself in romantic notion rather than reality, you focus back on the task at hand. Being fortune told by the judge while you’re the judge of his telling, a strange bit of role reversal. Maybe he isn’t so stuffy after all. You’ll let your mind wander to that possibility later while you’re alone.

He clears his throat, shifting his face to admire you from the corner of his eye. You feel his gaze upon you and fix your posture, shoulders no longer drawn inward but rolled back, head held high and neck extended.

“I bel –” Eyes traveling down to your now very exposed neck and throat, he stumbles on his words. This leads him to stop himself and reach for his water.

Taking a quick sip and shooting you an apologetic glance, you hold up your hand to dismiss him and nod to encourage him to continue. Swallowing, he follows your example and straightens out his posture.

“I apologize for that.” You shake your head and smile at him, holding your hand up again. “As I was saying. I believe that the stars have foretold that I’m going to have a wonderful day and that great fortune will befall me, correct?”

Smiling, you shake your head and bite back another giggle. He’s so loose with his tongue when you’re around, your sense of humor clearly rubbing off on him at least the slightest bit. It gives you false hope that these meetings are actually as you’ve seen them which is a shared joy rather than strictly business.

“Not entirely inaccurate though if you begin telling your own fortunes I believe I may be out of a job.”

This is, of course, untrue. Your employment with The Steambird is as ironclad as your reputation for being as trustworthy as you are lovely. The man nods thoughtfully, his face shifting enough that you notice it and you decide to give in.

“Would you like to know what they truly told me about you?”

“Be my guest.”

He echoes your prior sentiment with a gracious smile on his face. Now looking at you head on, he nods in defiance of his concern about what is to come from your sweet lips.

How could something so desirable ever foretell calamity?

“The stars tell me that love is coming your way, monsieur.”

He must have spoken too soon. Calamity it is.

“Is that so?”

He raises his eyebrows in surprise, leaning back into his chair in an effort to hide his distress.

It’s not that the notion of love itself is distressing, it’s unavoidable in every aspect of his life even in the justice that he doles out. It’s simply that it feels daunting to consider having to juggle the responsibilities of caring for another person, something he will never take lightly, with the existing extraordinary life that he has.

Considering what it would be like to love another thrills Neuvillette, against his better judgment. A less unapproachable part of him longs to hold and be held; to wake and sleep next to the same person every night. These meetings with you are the closest he’s ever come to a practical relationship.

The moment the true picture of how he views your gatherings enters his head, he visibly stiffens.

What if the love coming for him isn’t…you?

“Are you alright?”

He nods in response to your question, the slightly uncertain look on his face quickly replaced with his usual smile.

“Of course, mademoiselle. I have simply been caught off guard by the stars and their plans for me.”

Reaching for his water, he grips the stem of the chalice tightly in an attempt to ground and comfort his racing mind.

“I didn’t mean to offend,” you begin but you’re stopped when he raises his hand and extends it.

You follow his lead, offering your hand to him gingerly. He presses his fingers against the tips of yours and his thumb to your palm, closing the distance between the two of you slightly. This may not be the wisest choice but he’s following the flutter in his chest that only grows with each passing moment he spends gazing down at you, large eyes looking back up at him.

“You could only offend me if you stopped sharing your readings completely.”

The sentiment makes you smile, looking away to hide it. Warm cheeks that you feel from the inside out tell you everything you need to know about how it makes you feel to receive his reassurance and praise.

You’re in too deep.

“Excuse me, Iudex?”

The two of you turn toward the door when you hear a voice, that of an assistant coming to alert Neuvillette that it’s time for his next appointment. He carefully - tenderly - squeezes your hand while placing it down with a different kind of smile from his default across his face. You collect your hand back and place it in your lap, settling it beneath its twin so that you can rub the spot he just touched with your own thumb to memorize how it felt.

“Forgive me but I must go.” He rises and bows before you, making his way to the door slowly but not before stopping to look over his shoulder once.

“And do tell me if the stars speak any more on these developments.”

He meets your returned look, satisfied with the dazed expression on your face. You nod dumbly, struggling to find the words to form an actual response, watching him leave. The door shuts behind him, leaving you alone to gather yourself.

The stars may like to know about these developments themselves.

#neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #kendall writes #dragonfruit

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really-fanny-longbottom · 6 months ago

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echoes of the past

summary: a new rebellion in the court of nightmares brings the revelations from the past to the surface.

warnings: angst, mentions of death, loss, grief, forced marriage, violence, blood and fights.

words: 8.2k

rhysand hated this day.

he wished he had the power to be able to skip it every year.

as always, he found himself unable to sleep.

so, without the intention of disturbing his beautiful mate who was sleeping peacefully next to him, rhys slipped out of the room and went to his office, where he made sure to fill a glass to the brim with his most expensive whiskey and add three ice cubes before sitting in his black leather chair.

he sighed, passing a hand through his face and through his black hair, his violet eyes piercing into the painting on the wall.

the painting that caused pain in his heart every time he saw it but would never dare to get rid of.

not only because of the person who had offered it to him but also because of the two persons who were represented in it.

the two people who were dearer to him than anything in this world — his mother and sister.

the painting was remarkable.

his sister was sitting in a wooden chair with her long black hair loose over her shoulder, a violet dress with small sparkles at the ends of the fabric matched the color of her eyes, a silver star-shaped pendant decorated her neck and a pair of matching earrings in her slightly pointed ears.

his mother was standing next to the chair with one of her hands on her daughter's shoulder. she was wearing a shiny black dress with a small golden necklace decorating her neck while long earrings of the same color took place in her round ears.

their wings were beautifully painted with dark tones and a light red on the membranes, and both females had a tiara resting on top of their heads to match with the color of jewelry they wore.

rhys' favorite part was how feyre managed to portray the motherly love that filled his mother's eyes and his sister's innocent and caring smile.

it was just like he remembered.

feyre gave him the painting as one of her gifts for winter solstice.

the painting was given to him in the privacy of their bedroom, as feyre darling, thoughtful as always, felt that receiving the painting in front of their family might have been too much for rhys.

so, she gave him the gift after everyone went to their own rooms when the night of celebration came to an end.

there, rhys stared at the painting with tears in his eyes and a sinking heart.

when feyre had asked him to see his mother and sister, he had no idea it was for this reason.

there weren't enough words to express how grateful and loved rhys felt that night.

the painting now hung on the wall of his office behind his desk next to the painting of feyre that rhys had placed there after they moved into the river house.

the most important females in his life gathered on the same wall and how he wished it wasn't just on the wall that they were side by side.

it had been so long, but rhys remembered that day as it had been yesterday.

today marked the anniversary of their death — one hundred and ninety-seven years, to be exact.

one hundred and ninety-seven years since the day that changed his life forever.

one hundred and ninety-seven years of longing.

gods, how he hated this day.

his glass has already been refilled three times since he sat down in his chair, but before he could continue to drown his sorrows, several knocks on the door sounded throughout the office.

"come in," rhys said without taking his eyes from his loved ones.

heavy footsteps reached his ears after the door opened and stopped when they reached his desk.

with one last look at the beautiful females, the high lord turned in his chair and to find his brothers.

the males were wearing their illyrian leathers and weapons.

at the sight of his brothers, the ones he loves so dearly and went through so much together, he knew something was wrong.

because it wasn't his brothers that rhysand was seeing.

it was his general and spymaster, he realized.

rising to his full height and placing an air of indifference on his features, rhys assumed his role as high lord "what is it?"

"the court of nightmares." azriel began by telling him, "my spies haven't detected anything this past week. no fighting, no commotion, not even a sound. nothing."

the hairs on rhysand's arms stood up, and a shiver ran down his spine.

to an outsider, this would seem like a good sign, a sign of peace — it wasn't.

silence in the court of nightmares was worse than any reports of violence and screams.

rhys braced himself — they all knew what this meant.

cassian broke the silence, and his general's voice filled the office. "it's happening again," he said while crossing his muscled arms over his chest. "they're preparing for a new rebellion."

rhys let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, "not this again," he leaned against the desk before continuing. "why do they keep doing this?"

"have you noticed that it always happens around the same time?" azriel asked him, making his brother's gaze meet his, "the first rebellion happened on this same day one hundred and ninety-seven years ago. the second rebellion also took place on this same day, one hundred and thirty-four years ago."

"as did the third and fourth rebellions." cassian finished his brother's thought, "always on the same day."

"the same day that your family was killed, rhys, and you became high lord." azriel completed.

"you think it's related?" rhys furrowed his eyebrows, confusion in his voice.

"i'm not sure. i think if it was related to you, you would be the target of their attacks, but you're not and never have been."

"exactly," cassian continued, "instead, they attack each other, and it's always the same two groups: the nightmares and the dreamers."

they never discovered the reason for the rebellions.

no one ever spoke, not even when interrogations were carried out.

when the first rebellion happened, rhys and his inner circle assumed it was due to his ascension to the throne and that one side defended him as the new high lord while the other side opposed him.

but the truth is that it continued to happen, so that thought no longer made sense.

but the fact that it always happens on the same day his family left this world?

it couldn't be a coincidence.

whatever it was, had to be related to the events of that day.

rhys turned to look at the painting one more time.

longing and pain always invaded him on this day. he had no doubt whatsoever that if they were here, things would be very different.

after a long minute of silence, rhys turned and met both his brothers' gazes and began to say, his voice serious and firm "these rebellions need to stop. the last one caused too many deaths, and we can't continue to tolerate them."

rhys still remembers when he received the report of the fourth rebellion.

that one happened during amarantha's reign, and with rhys trapped in under the mountain and azriel, cassian and mor trapped in velaris, it meant that there was no one to stop them, leaving them at each other's mercy for days until they decided to put an end to it.

that was the most violent and bloody rebellion of all and caused a high number of deaths.

"i want answers. i want to know what is causing these rebellions, and we are not leaving without getting them first."

cassian and azriel nodded their heads in agreement before cassian proceeded to speak. "feyre and mor insist on coming with us."

"very well," rhys said and started heading towards his office door and down the hallway with his brothers right behind him "let's get this over with."

•••

the hewn city didn't look like the hewn city.

the well-known court of nightmares was ruled by chaos with violence, shouting, and despicable activities as its style.

silence and peace were unknown to it's inhabitants.

but it was the first one that was happening when the inner circle arrived.

silence hovered over the interior of the mountain, making the footsteps of the newcomers echo throughout its entire extension.

not a soul was in sight, making the place not only look abandoned but cursed. it was as if there had been a war a long time ago, and it had exterminated everything and everyone who lived there, leaving behind the taste of destruction in the air.

while walking, no one dared to speak with the thought that it might be an ambush.

that thought was proved false, when minutes later, on the other side of the mountain, on a level below them, rhys and his family found two armies facing each other with armor on their bodies, weapons in their hands and the promise of blood written in their eyes.

keir was in front of what appeared to be the nightmares while a young man with dark hair and skin was in front of what could only be the dreamers.

the moment rhysand prepared to speak, a war cry filled the air, causing a tremor through the mountain walls.

the two armies advanced.

and so the fifth rebellion began.

•••

two hours.

it took two hours for them to declare the fifth rebellion over.

no deaths had been caused this time, only leaving both sides injured and much angrier after being doused by the high lady who used her powers to distract them while they were separated by the high lord and his brothers.

those who were involved in the fight were taken in turn to the room where azriel was carrying out the interrogations but despite the male's persuasion and insistence, none of them broke.

rhysand couldn't understand why no one was talking. it was as if both sides had made a pact with each other not to reveal what was happening even if they fought each other until they shed blood.

with the interrogations over a few hours later, the inner circle began heading to the meeting room where they would finally speak to keir.

with a little luck, perhaps he would be the one to give in and finally reveal the reason behind all of this.

however, their paths were interrupted, as they passed by the orphanage, they came across something that caught their attention.

azriel was the first to see it.

to his right, a large painting of a young female encased in a gold frame rested against the wall of the mountain.

several bouquets of flowers of all types, shapes, and colors occupied the place at the foot of the painting.

azriel found himself captivated by it.

he was never an admirer of art, but of course, he could tell when a painting was well executed, but this one — this one was a true work of art.

the painting captured the beauty and details of the young female in a stunning way.

azriel could feel her sympathy and generosity through it. he could feel that she had a good heart, that she gave warm hugs, and had a sweet voice accompanied by an even sweeter smile.

azriel also didn't miss the sparkle in her eyes, which was rare considering the place they were, but it was there.

he couldn't look away — she must be the most beautiful female he had ever seen.

'the artist who painted this must be very talented,' azriel thought.

but the shadowsinger wasn't the only one captivated by the painting — feyre was too.

the high lady went through every brushstroke represented in the painting, every detail that the artist managed to represent, and it was simply incredible.

feyre had always appreciated art, she never had the opportunity to see much of it in her life but she had no doubt that the painting in front of her was the best she had ever seen and that not even herself, with all of the time in the world at her disposal, would ever be able to recreate such piece.

she could admire the painting forever, and if it weren't for the movement she caught in the corner of her eye, she probably would have.

to her left, feyre saw an old female wearing a black dress and her hair in a bun coming out through the orphanage door.

the old female carried a bouquet of lilac tulips in her hands and feyre saw her lowering herself to the foot of the painting where she rested her tulips next to the other flowers and began to organize the floral arrangements.

seeing that her family was still observing the painting, feyre decided to approach her.

she stopped to pick up a fallen flower in front of her before approaching the female and crouching down beside her.

feyre was aware that this was not the type of behavior she should display in the court of nightmares, but after witnessing what had happened earlier, she did not care how she was seen in the old female's eyes.

"here," feyre said gently as she lifted the flower towards her.

when their eyes met, the female didn't shrink from who she was staring at. it was as if she didn't care that it was the high lady who was at her side.

"thank you," she replied in a quiet voice before taking the flower from feyre's hands and adding it to a bouquet of flowers that matched it.

feyre looked around and took in all the flowers around her, there were dozens — if not hundreds — of them.

but the ones that stood out the most were tulips, especially lilacs tulips.

she shifted her eyes to the painting, which was now so close that she could see details she hadn't had before — it was even more beautiful in this proximity.

when feyre looked at the old female again, she noticed her crooked posture and dark circles under her red eyes, revealing tiredness and sadness.

it was after a long moment that feyre dared to ask, "who is she?"

the old female stopped her movements, and without taking her eyes off the flowers, she hesitated before calmly responding, "y/n."

ignoring the female's hesitation, she continued, "is she your daughter?"

she let out a sad little laugh and arranged the flowers again as she replied, "something like that."

feyre gave a weak smile at the statement and watched her start a flower crown for a few seconds before her voice filled the air around them again. "i don't think i've ever seen you before. who are you?"

still without meeting the high lady's eyes, she said, "my name is agatha. my children call me mother agatha," she smiled a little before continuing. "i'm responsible for the orphanage and for all the children and teenagers who live there.

before feyre could respond, a sensation appeared on her back, and when she turned around to find out the cause of it, she saw that it was her mate.

it was rhysand who asked this time, "is y/n one of the orphans you take care of?"

if agatha was surprised by the new voice, she didn't show it. the female remained calm, just as she had been when feyre crouched beside her.

"not exactly," agatha paused for a few seconds and feyre watched her swallow the lump in her throat before speaking, "y/n wasn't an orphan but i took care of her, yes. her parents were noble and had no interest in her when she was a child, so i took her in. i took care of her, educated her, kept her warm and her belly full."

agatha continued working on the flower crown while finishing her answer, and this time, the old female eyes met the high lady's blue ones for the first time. "so, yes, in a way, she was my daughter," another faint smile made its presence on the female's face. "all my children are."

"that's very nice of you" cassian told her.

at the sound of the General's voice, Agatha lowered her eyes again and focused on finishing the crown.

feyre saw the change in the female's face. she saw sadness coming back to her eyes and couldn't help but feel guilty that she and her family could be the reason for it.

"where is she now?" azriel asked.

agatha didn't respond. she didn't even look at azriel, whether out of fear or lack of interest, none of them knew.

to her silence, morrigan spoke, "you don't know where your children are?"

silence.

"i thought you were responsible for them" she added.

more silence, and then. . .

agatha stood up faster than any of them could have predicted, sadness had left her face that was now dominated by anger.

agatha could be old and a simple inhabitant of the hewn city with no powers, but courage was not something she lacked as she stood up to the most powerful group in the night court, if not prythian.

she stared at the blonde female without blinking, "i do everything i can for those children. but unfortunately, i can only hold them in my arms until they turn eighteen. after that, they are on their own, and you can thank that to your terrible father. his rules, not mine."

morrigan was lost for words — no one in that despicable city had ever dared to speak to her like that.

before things could escalate, rhys put an end to it by apologizing for his cousin, making agatha calm down.

rhys took a step forward, making the female's eyes move away from morrigan and focus on his violet ones.

"today's rebellion. do you know what caused it or the previous ones?" he asked calmly but with his high lord voice present.

agatha showed signs of discomfort at the question and again, hesitated to answer.

azriel recognized that behavior — he has seen it many times throughout his life.

that was the behavior of someone who knew what was going on but was too afraid to speak.

"tell us," he said with a look of indifference on his face.

agatha didn't respond, what led to Cassian crossing his arms over his chest before speaking again. "we need to know. don't you want your children to be safe?"

agatha looked at the ground for a few moments before looking at the male and slightly nodding her head.

the children were her weakest point, and as she said moments before, she would do anything for them.

"it happened a long time ago. after the first and second rebellions, i thought it would stop, but. . .it kept happening."

rhys nodded for her to continue.

"even though it happened a long time ago, it's still a sensitive issue for us. usually it's just shouting and small fights but when this day comes. . .well, you've seen what sometimes happens."

"the day my family died and i became high lord." rhys added.

confusion flashed across agatha's eyes at the male's words, and this time, she didn't hesitate to respond. "oh, that's-"

before agatha could finish, new sounds began to invade the interior of the mountain.

the inhabitants returned to their daily activities as if a rebellion had not happened just a few moments ago.

a few meters away, keir stood, talking to another lord and the sight was enough to make agatha shrink and turn her back to avoid being seen.

with her eyes focused on the other side of the mountain, she asked in a low voice, "if i help you, will you promise to stop the rebellions? i want my children to be safe."

feyre was quick to assure the old female that everyone wanted the same.

when agatha showed intentions to speak, she was interrupted again, but this time with a younger and closer voice.

"mother agatha?"

the group turned at the sound of the new voice and were met with the boy who had led the dreamers' army.

"dain," Agatha said almost in a whisper.

dain was young and tall, he had blue eyes that contrasted with his dark skin and hair, muscles were visible under his clothes and a sword rested on his right side while he carried a large wooden box with both hands.

"is everything okay, mother agatha?" dain asked, his eyes scanning the group.

agatha smiled at his words, placing both hands on the sides of his face before saying, "yes, my boy."

the boy was quick to reciprocate the smile, and when she noticed the box he was carrying, she asked while lowering her hands. "you're still going?"

"of course," the boy didn't hesitate to say. his gaze drifted to the painting, and with a sad smile, he added, "she would've kick my ass if i didn't."

the two shared a heartly laugh at the his words before the old female became serious again, a thought forming in her head and with a last look to the group she said to her boy "they're going with you. take them to harry."

dain's eyes swept over the group, an tone of annoyance appearing in his voice. "oh, he's not going to like that."

"i know, but they want to know the reason for the rebellions," dain's mouth opened, ready to protest, at his small action, the female placed a hand over her heart, "i know, but they can stop them and it will be safer for all of us, especially for the children."

"mother ag-"

"please, dain."

"but-"

"i know, believe me, i know, but it's the only way." the old female begged and the suffer that appeared on her face was enough for the boy to give in.

"okay," dain agreeded defeated, knowing he couldn't say 'no' to the female who did everything for him.

agatha smiled and addressed the group. "go with dain, he will take you to harry, who is another one of my children," she let out a sigh before continuing. "he won't like to see you, but he will tell you everything. it's safer that way."

she gestured to the people around them with her head, and it was then that the group noticed how many people were already there.

too many eyes and ears.

after the old female kissed the boy's head several times and he complained but with a smile on his face, the group, now with one more member, began to head towards the outside of the mountain.

it was cassian who asked the question everyone wanted to know "where are we going?"

dain, leading the group, didn't turn or look at any of them, his smile was long gone, and now an annoyed expression was on his face when he answered.

"spring."

•••

they had arrived at spring about ten minutes ago.

dain was very vague about where they were going, only sharing that they were going to a house that was nearby and that they would have to walk due to the wards that protected the house.

the next few minutes were filled with just the wind hitting the leaves of the trees and the flapping of the wings of some birds flying nearby.

"do you know the reason for the rebellions?" rhys broke the silence.

"everyone who lives in that hell knows. shouldn't you know? you are the high lord, after all." the boy questioned him.

rhys deflected a tree branch that was in his path before replying, "i know they happened on the same day my family died, and i became High Lord."

dain stopped in his tracks, making everyone else do the same.

he laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.

he turned to face the people behind him before focusing on the violet-eyed male. "with all due respect, high lord, but no one cares about you or your family. not in the hewn city, at least."

rhys didn't react. not even a muscle.

he knew that he and his family, including the inner circle, were not liked in the hewn city, but hearing those words from the boy's mouth had an effect that he had not anticipated and for some reason, he didn't like it.

before turning back to the front, to lead the group through the rest of the way, he added, "the rebellions are not because of you. they never were."

and with that, dain continued his way.

silence returned, bringing awkwardness with it.

the group looked at each other, no doubt trying to digest the boy's words. rhys nodded, signaling for them to resume their walking.

however, the silence didn't last long "so, are you going to tell us who harry is, or are we going to have to wait to find out?"

dain turned his head slightly in the direction of the general's voice, and it only took a few seconds before he replied, "he's my brother."

azriel asked this time, letting his curiosity get the better of him. "what did agatha meant when she said he won't be happy to see us?"

dain laughed again, his response only increasing everyone's curiosity. "it's not just him, no one will be happy to see you."

"why?" morrigan asked, but the only response she got was a disapproving look from the boy in front of her.

the same look agatha had given her.

when she repeated the question, the boy once again preferred silence to talking to her.

realizing she was being ignored, the blonde female locked eyes with her family, only to see their confused looks.

feyre decided to intervene and asked, "does this have anything to do with the female in the painting?"

"y/n?" azriel added.

and once again, without them being able to predict it, the boy turned quickly, letting the box fall to the floor with a loud noise and his hand reaching for the hilt of the sword. "don't you dare say her name! You have no right to that."

the gesture surprised everyone, while rhys raised his hands in the form of surrender to calm the boy, cassian and azriel placed their hands on their sword and knife, respectively.

azriel was aware that if a fight broke out, the boy didn't stand a chance but he was also aware that the boy in front of him was the same one who had led an army against keir's just a few hours ago and managed to emerge unharmed and for that same reason, azriel wasn't going to underestimate him.

he studied the boy. the centuries he spent as a spymaster helped him to perfect how to read people effortlessly.

azriel got all the necessary information in a matter of seconds.

he noticed how dain's hand was squeezing the hilt of the sword too tightly, revealing that he was nervous; he noticed how the boy's eyes did not show violence but rather hurt and suffering and how his breathing was rapid, showing the fear that ran through him.

the boy didn't want to fight — he simply wanted to make a stand.

when azriel realized that dain wasn't going to swing his sword, he spoke again, "it is because of her, isn't it?"

dain's eyes looked away from azriel, and he stared at the ground, making it clear that the topic of the conversation didn't please him, but that didn't make the shadowsinger stop.

"something happened to her," the male felt his family's eyes on him, but his attention was focused on the boy. "agatha spoke of her in the past, and so did you."

the male's last words made the boy's eyes dart to theirs, thus regaining his attention, and it was then that azriel took the opportunity to ask one last question.

"what was she to you?"

dain was taken by surprise, and everything he felt at that moment was revealed on his face, allowing the inner circle to read him like an open book.

when the young male opened his mouth to speak, several sounds appeared in the forest around them, and before the group could prepare themselves, three figures emerged from behind the trees.

two of the figures wore silver armors with black cloaks and swords in their hands. the third figure, the one in the middle, wore a black suit and looked extremely similar to dain, except that he was taller and more muscular.

"harry," dain said.

harry's blue eyes swept over the group, and he didn't hide the displeasure he felt when he recognized them.

meeting his younger brother's eyes, harry asked through gritted teeth, "what are they doing here?"

dain crouched down to pick up the wooden box that had been forgotten in the grass before returning to his full height and replying, "they want to know the reason for the rebellions."

"no," harry was quick to respond, "leave. now."

"harry-"

"i said no. they're not welcome here."

before harry could say anything else, dain interrupted him, grabbing his arm gently "mother agatha sent them," that was enough for harry's eyes to soften slightly "she believes they can stop the rebellions."

feyre realized in that moment that agatha was more respected and considered than she had thought.

a mere mention of the old female's name and the males in front of her calmed down.

a fight wouldn't happen today.

regardless of what they thought of the situation, they would respect the wishes of the female who had raised them.

"for mother agatha." dain gently let go of his brother's arm and received a slight nod.

when dain and the rest started to make their way back to the house, the group followed them, disappearing silently through the forest.

•••

as they passed the wards, a mansion and a vast garden came into view.

green dominated the garden — several bushes, plants and trees surrounded the mansion, a stone fountain was in the center with some ducks swimming in the crystal clear water.

several lilacs tulips beds were along its entire extension.

the mansion was white, with tall windows and a large oak entrance door, several vines decorated the corners of the house and the roof.

but that wasn't what caught their attention.

it was the children, teenagers and even adults — all females.

the children played with each other, some girls painted while others read and some older ones did gardening, all while smiling and talking.

no signs of fear or pain.

as they approached the mansion, it was then that the inner circle realized that this was not a simple mansion.

above the oak door, a white signal with black words came into view: 'y/n 's association for young girls and females'.

it was a shelter.

•••

the entrance to the mansion was majestic, just like its garden.

the hallway was painted with white walls and golden lines, some tall vases in light shades of blue were leaning against the walls with various flowers and a bright chandelier hung in the middle of the room.

a white carpet stretched from the front door to the end of the hallway where a staircase was with two sets of stairs on each side, one on the right and one on the left.

but what stood out most were the various paintings in golden frames that decorated the walls.

Paintings that represented the same female over and over again — y/n.

there were paintings in which the young female was alone and others in which she was accompanied.

the inner circle's eyes swept past them all and recognized some of the people accompanying her.

a painting where y/n was with harry, another where she was with dain and a third one with the two boys on either side of her.

the three of them had their arms around each other's shoulders and big smiles on their faces.

one contained y/n with agatha and rhys recognized the emotion that occupied the old female's eyes as it was the same one he encountered every time he looked at his mother in the painting — maternal love.

everyone was smiling — Azriel realized — genuine, sincere and warm smiles.

both in the paintings in which she was alone and in those in which she was accompanied, y/n smiled just like everyone on her side — as if her smile was contagious.

his eyes focused on the last painting at the end of the corridor.

y/n wore a blue dress with silver sparkles, her hair cascaded down her shoulders and a graceful smile filled her face.

"she lit up the room when she walked in, no matter where she was."

azriel found dain beside him, his blue eyes directed at the painting and not at him.

dain continued, without moving his eyes even as the shadowsinger watched him. "that was her. always smiling, always seeing the good side of things even when there wasn't one."

"what was she to you?" azriel repeated the question that was left unanswered by the boy.

one of Dain's hands touched the painting, his eyes now shining with tears, "everything," he swallowed the lump in his throat "she was everything."

not giving azriel time to answer, the boy disappeared into the hallway.

before azriel could realize where dain went, his attention was caught by the voice of the boy's older brother.

"my office is this way."

•••

the inner circle was sitting in front of harry's desk, except azriel who preferred the back of the wall to the comfort of the seat.

he despised the group and if it were up to him he wouldn't tell them anything, that was clear in his eyes, but out of respect for mother agatha, harry decided to respect her decision.

"y/n was born in the hewn city, just like me. i met her at the orphanage after my parents died. y/n had already been there for a few years, her parents were noble and close to the keir and had no interest in her so they left her to fend for herself until mother agatha decided to take her in."

"when i initially went to the orphanage, i was problematic. i got into a lot of fights and messed up a lot until. . ." harry paused for a few seconds, clearing his throat before continuing, "until y/n decided to intervene and gave me a big lecture about what i was doing with my life."

harry let out a weak laugh, his eyes distant with memories of the past, "we became inseparable, even though she was a few years older than me."

harry picked up a pen from his desk and began twirling it between his fingers, distracted by the movement, until the high lady caught his attention.

"what happened?"

the pen stopped and harry let out a long sigh before leaning against the back of his chair, running a hand through his hair.

"she turned eighteen and that's was when she first bled. suddenly, her parents were very interested in her, suddenly, she was the most valuable 'thing' they had." he said that word with disgust.

the memory of what had happened to morrigan half a millennium ago invaded the inner circle's minds.

a long time had passed, but those events would haunt them forever.

harry gripped the pen so hard his knuckles turned white.

"keir was trying to form an alliance with the spring court. he believed that he and the former high lord had the same. . ." harry twirled his hand in the air as he searched for the appropriate word, ". . .ideals."

morrigan winced slightly — she knew what that meant.

the truth-speaker had fallen victim to keir's 'ideals' and no matter how hard she tried, she would never be able to forget the feeling of those nails on her skin.

harry leaned back from his chair and rested his arms on the table as he faced each member of the night court in front of him.

"he decided to use y/n as a mean to achieve his goal and sold her in marriage to the high lord's eldest son."

rhysand sighed loudly — he never understood how anyone could be in favor of this but before he could say anything, azriel, still leaning against the wall, intervened.

"we never heard about the former heir getting married."

harry snorted, "of course not. do you really think Keir would let someone ruin his plans again after the fiasco with the autumn court?"

harry concluded, his eyes travelled to morrigan, in time to see the female looking down at the ground.

"she married that bastard five days after turning eighteen." harry added with a disgusted face.

"what about her parents?"

harry laughed loudly before facing the High Lady and replying with the truth she didn't want to hear.

"her father was the first to accept the offer when he heard the amount of money the high lord was going to pay for her."

"where are they now?" Cassian asked, this reminded him of losing his mother and the actions that followed it.

"they were killed in the first rebellion. i made sure of that."

harry's eyes settled on rhysand's face and as he followed his line of vision he noticed what he was looking at.

feeling the boy's eyes on him, rhysand asked "what was she to you?"

harry didn't hesitate to respond this time "my big sister."

azriel was surprised by the answer. he had assumed, from the way harry spoke about y/n, that he had feelings for her.

but now as he watched the young male, he realized that he had misinterpreted it.

What harry had in his eyes wasn't romantic love — it was sibling love.

with his brother still looking at the painting, azriel finally pushed himself away from the wall and approached him, directing his eyes to what caught rhys's attention.

the high lord of the night court was looking at the painting where the young female was with harry.

y/n was sitting on the floor with a much younger harry sitting between her legs as she read him a story.

the young boy had the biggest smile on his face.

a smile that, by the looks of it, had disappeared a long time ago.

"do you recognize her?" harry asked rhysand.

the male found a set of blue eyes already looking into his violet ones. "should I?"

the response that followed caught everyone off guard, especially rhys.

After the conversation in the forest, the group had already come to the conclusion that the reason for the rebellions involved y/n.

but just that.

everything else still remained a mystery, and no matter how many hypotheses rhys had thought of on the way there, they couldn't be further from the truth.

never in a thousand years, would rhys and his inner circle have guessed the true reason if it weren't for the male in front of them.

"you should," harry began, his eyes darkening, letting the anger behind them show, "considering it was your father who killed her."

a heavy silence filled the hall and the air became cold like a winter night.

and that time, no one disguised their reactions, now, it was the inner circle that could be read like an open book.

"what?" the high lord's voice trailed off, at that moment he was not the most powerful being everyone claimed he was.

his heart was beating so fast he could have sworn everyone in the room could hear it.

"she was at the mansion that night," harry clenched his jaw, his anger no doubt deepening, "the night you and your father killed tamlin's family for what happened to your mother and sister."

rhys' mouth opened in shock. the only regret he had from that night was not being able to stop his father from killing tamlin's mother.

harry felt the weight of several eyes on him "when we found out about the attack on your mother and sister, it was almost the end of the day. we knew your father was going to retaliate. we tried to send a message to y/n, to warn her, so she could run away, but. . .," harry sniffed "it was already too late."

a short silence filled the office before aki spoke again. "the news of her death arrived a few hours later."

"that's not possible." morrigan said.

harry stood up so quickly that his chair hit the floor at the same time his hands hit the table" my sister was innocent and he took her from me!”

rhys's throat was dry and when he finally managed to calm his heart enough to speak, every word that came out was scratchy.

"i didn't know about her. my father never mentioned a female in the heir's room."

his eyes were still fixed on the blue ones, the boy's face didn't show what he was feeling and when harry didn't speak, he continued.

"the only thing my father said when he left tamlin's eldest brother's room was that he had already taken care of the little heir."

harry's face contorted in pain and the male backed away from the table as if its material had burned him. his mask of indifference fell, his eyes shining with tears.

harry turned his back and, taking a hand to expel the tears before they stained his face, he revealed the last secret.

the secret that would forever haunt the inner circle and rhysand's reign.

"your father wasn't talking about tamlin's brother when he said that."

rhysand's heart dropped.

feyre clapped a hand over her mouth.

cassian's knees almost gave out.

azriel took a step back.

morrigan held back her vomit.

harry let out an ironic laugh and stared at the ceiling as he uttered the following words "things could be different. the hewn city could be different. you had the power to change everything. you still do but you choose not to."

and then, his eyes met the blonde female "especially you."

morrigan watched the young male.

"you were born and raised in that prison. you, better than anyone, know the hell it is. how females are treated, how you were treated."

morrigan's brown eyes began to shine and she gripped the arm of the chair so hard that her nails left marks.

even so, she didn't interrupt the male — nobody did.

fed up with games, harry let the tears fall this time, and the relief that action brought him was immeasurable.

he let out another ironic laugh, but this time so loud that feyre jumped a little from the chair where she was sitting.

"you don't know what they do, do you?"

the question was directed at morrigan. she wasn't enjoying all the attention being directed at her, she wanted to go back to being ignored, just like she was in the forest.

"when girls become 'eligible' for marriages, their parents chain them to the bed at night," he studied the female, and with her attention all on him, he dropped the bomb "so they can't escape. so they can't pull a morrigan."

the truth-speaker needed all her strength and concentration not to vomit.

"you got out, butt the others didn't. not all females have the luxury of having a cousin as a future high lord." harry finished the last sentence with his attention shifting to the male in question.

rhysand didn't protest.

"what about you? you had all the potential to be a better high lord than your father. yet you've sat on the throne for almost two hundred years now and the only thing you care about is your precious velaris."

deep down, they knew harry was right.

they all knew that not all people in the hewn city were bad like keir, some of them were good.

Like y/n.

"my sister was a dreamer," harry glared at everyone, "and she died in her worst nightmare."

'i was a dreamer born into the court of nightmares. so i got out.' morrigan's words echoed in her mind.

she got out — y/n didn't.

how many more females like y/n would there be? How many more like her would come?

"this conversation is over," harry said, heading towards the door, "you are welcome to stay and watch the ceremony. after that, i want all of you out of here."

harry didn't wait for a response as he left the office and slammed the door, leaving his almost guests to brood with guilt.

•••

sunset had finally begun.

the garden was full of people, all of them dressed in white and with a lilac tupila in their hands.

rhys, azriel, cassian, feyre and morrigan were in the last row behind everyone.

final arrangements were still being made while everyone waited for the ceremony to begin, giving Rhys time to be tormented by his thoughts.

the secret was out.

after almost two hundred years, they had finally discovered the reason for the rebellions.

not because rhys or his family.

but because of a young female, who was loved and important to many, and had fallen victim to a terrible fate.

the high lord's heart was heavy and he could not remove his eyes from the painting that stood in the center of the garden.

The painting everyone was looking at.

another painting of y/n but now one where they could see the small swelling of her belly.

rhys always knew that his father was a horrible male, and in certain situations, he considered what he did to be horrendous.

but this? his father was a monster.

before rhys's thoughts could torment him any further, harry's voice filled the garden.

"today marks another year. another year since our y/n left this world and joined the stars."

"everyone says that when we lose someone we love, the best thing we can do is give it time, that with it the pain goes away and we finally begin to heal."

"but I think all of us who were lucky enough to know and love y/n know that's a lie. The pain will never go away and the void she left on us can never be filled."

with harry's speech made, dain began his "this was y/n's dream. this shelter was her idea when she was still a teenager. she always said that one day, she would build a shelter for young girls and females, so that they wouldn't be victims of their own families."

"where they could be whatever they wanted. where they could be more than just wives and mothers. where they could be free and in charge of their own futures."

"unfortunately, y/n was never able to fulfill this dream on her own, so harry and I, who had the greatest honor of being her little brothers, decided to do it for her, and d for all of you, ladies."

"y/n was one of the best people I've ever met and it was impossible to know her and not love her. she will never be forgotten and her legacy, without a doubt, will live on forever."

mother agatha came out of the crowd and stood between the boys. "it is tradition to use white roses in these celebrations, but everyone who knew y/n knows that tulips were her favorites. especially-"

"lilac tulips" several voices said in unity, followed by some giggles.

"exactly," agatha said with a small smile, "so it will be with her favorite flowers that we will honor. . ." her voice broke and she took a few seconds to compose herself "that we will honor my daughter tonight."

harry placed a hand on the old female's shoulder and gave her a small smile before crouching down to pick up a floating lantern and lighting it.

"although the loss of y/n causes us great pain, none of this would be possible without her" harry kept his eyes on the lantern. "i would give anything to see her one more time but i know she is okay. i know that she is watching over us."

"and i know she and her baby are together, in peace. that's all i need."

"as you know these ceremonies are to celebrate y/n's life, so, today two hundred and eighteen floating lanterns will be released because that would be the age she would have if she were still with us."

dain passed a lantern to agatha before grabbing his own. everyone started grabbing the lanterns and attaching the tulips to them.

when the moon was high in the sky and the stars were shining brighter than ever, the lanterns were finally ready.

harry raised his lantern and with his bright eyes and a calm voice "to y/n."

"to y/n." a union of voices was heard.

several floating lanterns began to fill the starry sky.

the light from the lanterns allowed everyone to see the dozens of lilac tulips that floated with them.

it was a magical view — all this for one person.

harry's words weighed more and more with the truth in them.

they only found out about y/n today but rhys and his family had no doubt that her memory would haunt them forever.

the five of them looked at the painting one last time.

the beautiful female in a white dress with such a warm smile and hands that caressed her small baby bump.

they would never forget it.

her name.

her face.

her smile.

they would never forget what they could have saved.

a/n: thank you for reading! i had this idea while rereading acomaf and decided to give it a try.

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