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pellucid-constellations · 8 months

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If It All Fell (2)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Angst!! (poor Az :/)

a/n: I hope you enjoyy!! :) More to come obvi <3 This is gonna be a long one.

Part 1 ♡, Part 3 ☾

Series Masterlist

Did the small wooden box on the top shelf of the closet have meaning?

Was it significant?

From the bed centered in the middle of the room, you let your eyes take you along the delicate carvings in the wood. They looped and curved, dropping off in the pattern of a star, and then a moon, and then a misshapen cloud.

You knocked your head to the side, ignoring the deep pain lingering there, and glanced at the empty spot on the dresser by the door. It was the exact size of the box. And the box—in its new, seemingly hidden location—looked haphazardly placed.

Did they move it for a reason?

Did they think you wouldn’t notice?

Was this even your bedroom?

You figured it must be. Clothes that looked to be your size were hanging in the closet. A vanity sat by the window with products on it that might compliment your complexion. There were paintings you found yourself enjoying hanging on the walls.

So this must be your bedroom… but there was something missing.

And it looked as if nothing was in the right place, but you had no frame of reference for where it was all supposed to be.

You just knew that that wooden box didn’t belong under a knit sweater in the closet.

The creak of the door drew your attention away from the apparent inaccuracy of the room. Two people entered, and it was a small mercy that you found some recognition in their faces. Majda and Mor slinked into the room, the latter with a sheepish, shy smile on her face, and clicked the door shut with a muted click.

“Hi,” Mor greeted, as Majda set an absurdly large bag on the bedside table. The blonde shifted her weight between her feet. “My name is Mor. We met in the forest, do you remember?”

Do you remember?

It was unintentionally cruel.

You nodded your head, not trusting your voice when it was so unfamiliar.

Mor’s smile brightened a touch. “I was hoping you would. Although, with everything that happened I wasn’t going to put too much pressure on you.” She winked, and you were left feeling like an outsider in your own conversation.

Majda bustled around your bed, asking permission before touching your head and your neck. You granted it to her, if only because she was the only person in the room not attempting to drive an uncomfortable conversation. Mor seemed very sweet, but she was hovering over you and glancing your way as if you were going to explode.

Maybe you were going to explode.

It’s not like you would know if that was a common occurrence for you.

“I know you’ve woken up a few times since returning ho—here,” Mor quickly corrected, playing with her fingers and shifting onto her toes. “You were confused for a while before you fell back to sleep. Do you remember that?”

Do you remember that?

You shook your head. Majda’s hands glowed and warmed against your skull.

Mor pursed her lips. “Hm, I suppose that’s to be expected. It was all a bit disorienting.”

There were a few moments of silence. Mor dropped herself into the chair that had been pulled up beside the bed, fidgeting every so often. The old healer continued her assessment of you as you stared blankly out the window and tried to pretend there weren’t a pair of brown eyes burning a hole into the side of your face. You could hear footsteps beyond your door.

They would pace one way, and then the other.

“No change.” Majda’s voice startled you out of your stupor. She gave you kind eyes and a pat on your cheek. “This is above my abilities. I’m sorry. You are in good health, otherwise.”

“My head,” you croaked out. Gods, how long had you been asleep? “It hurts. Hasn’t stopped.”

The healer hummed. “I can give you some tonics, but until the source of this amnesia is sorted out, there will be no definitive fix.”

A few glass vials clinked against the side table as Majda placed them there and slung her bag over her shoulder. She shared a few hushed words with Mor and then went to the door, swinging it wide as she stepped through it. You caught the tip of a wing in the doorframe, saw those same shadows from before curve around the hinges and pull towards you.

They were ushered back just as quickly, and then the door shut as well, hiding the hints of your visitor.

You hadn’t noticed you’d craned your neck to catch a glimpse until you righted it. When you heard more voices in the hall, you looked down at your fingers, blinking back tears you didn’t understand the origins of.

“Sometimes, you like to read,” Mor said, breaking the silence. “You were in the middle of this book.”

She placed the thick novel on the blanket beside your legs. Glancing up at Mor’s encouraging smile, you picked it up, feeling its weight in your hand instead of giving in to the one in your chest. You thumbed along the spine and then at the edges of the pages, stopping when your fingers caught on a sharp edge at the top.

A bookmark—a place where you’d left off. You flipped it open but couldn’t follow a bit of it.

More tears left your throat feeling thick.

“What happens now?” you quietly asked, trying desperately not to cry in front of this woman that you didn’t know.

“Now—” Mor began, clearing her own throat, her voice just as raw as yours. When she sat by your legs, you let some of the glossiness in your eyes show. “—we take things slow. Majda said we shouldn’t rush things until we find a source. Rhys—Rhysand… the one with the pointed ears and a pompous attitude—is in contact with other courts to try and get some help. There are other people in our Inner Circle that might be able to help as well.”

You bit into your bottom lip until it hurt. “I’m part of this circle?”

Mor’s smile was sad. “You are.”

You shifted in front of the mirror, uncomfortable despite being alone. It had been three days since you woke up, and each of those three days had been spent in your bedroom. Your bedroom, you had confirmed with Mor.

The only two people you had been in contact with were Mor and Majda. You could hear other voices in the hall, sometimes see a shadow pass by your balcony at night, but you only ever spoke to Mor. Majda didn’t say much when she came in to check your head and drop off more vials.

“We don’t want to overwhelm you,” Mor had said, but there was something else, too. You weren’t comfortable enough to pry. She looked disappointed that you accepted her reasoning so easily.

The three days were spent mostly alone, which you hadn’t minded, but the time spent with Mor was filled with stories about you. Where you grew up, how long you studied, all of your favorite things; she was in the business of introducing you to yourself, and she was definitely qualified for the job.

You had asked her who she was to you, and you received a simple answer at that.

“I’m your family,” she had said, and then she began talking about you again.

She always got quiet when you spoke of your connection to others.

Which was why you had suggested a lunch.

You spent the better part of the last three days panicking, and then moping, and then aimlessly searching your bedroom for any hints of the life you led before this. All avenues either left you with a headache or emotional exhaustion.

You remembered the three other men from that day—Rhysand, Azriel, and the one with the longer hair—Cassian, Mor had called him. You wanted to meet them properly… introduce yourself? A ridiculous notion; according to Mor, you’d known everyone for the past 300 years.

But you didn’t know them, not really.

And Azriel’s shadows—you wanted to see them the most. You’d been searching for the calm they offered you since the day you woke up, but couldn’t find it in their absence.

“Are you ready?” Mor asked, a soft knock on the other side of the door.

“I think so,” you called back. You’d grown more accustomed to the sound of your voice. It was still strange to hear the sound echo back in your head, but as long as you didn’t scream or yell, it was tolerable.

Mor opened the door, took in your choice of clothes—a purple dress with sleeves that flowed past the wrists—and tried to hide the flutter of her lashes.

Embarrassment immediately found you. “Was I not supposed to wear this? It was in the back of the closet so I thought—”

“You look lovely,” Mor assured, linking your arm with hers. Touch was another thing you were growing accustomed to. It was easy with Mor. “You just haven’t worn that in a while. I was surprised to see it.”

As she walked you down halls you had never seen before, you huffed out a dry laugh. “Well, this is the first time I’m seeing it.”

Your joke fell flat. Mor smiled back at you, but it was the same smile you always saw. Sad, pained, bittersweet.

“Who did you say was attending?” you asked, attempting to steer the conversation away from her sad smiles.

“Just me, Azriel, and Cassian. There are a few more people we typically see on a daily basis, but we wanted to start out small.”

“To not overwhelm me.”

“Precisely.”

Your steps were silent on the marble floor, the silk slippers you chose allowing some of the chill to seep into your toes. “So, why did they choose you?”

Mor blinked and turned a confused expression your way. “What do you mean?”

“Why did they choose you as the one person that speaks to me? Are you the least overwhelming of the bunch?”

“Well that title certainly wouldn’t go to Cassian,” Mor grumbled out. She guided you to a large wooden door and offered you a shrug of her shoulders that looked far too nonchalant. “I was just the best fit for the job. I love you, but… I could handle this.”

“Handle this? Am I really so terrible?” you asked, trying your hand at another joke.

Mor’s smile looked more genuine this time as she shook her head. “No. No, you are absolutely wonderful. And that’s the problem.”

You took a moment to try and decipher her words. Did you mean that much to these people? Did they care so deeply about your memories that only one person could stand to be around you now that they were gone?

It was difficult not to fall into the immense vat of guilt you now found yourself teetering on the edge of. It was difficult to pretend Mor wasn't looking at you as if you had stolen something from her.

That was the truth that was missing before—you would be too overwhelming to everyone else. Not the other way around.

Mor gave your hand a fond squeeze as if she could hear your thoughts, and then opened the door. The hinges squeaked and the sheer size of it caused a rather loud echo in the room, but neither of those sounds drowned out the sharp intake of breath from the dining room table. Your eyes immediately shot to the blue glow and the shadows twisting around wide wings.

Azriel.

He looked back at you, unblinking, mouth parted. His hair was clean cut and cared for, but something about it looked frazzled and untamed. It didn’t suit the stiffness with which he sat, nor the white-knuckled grip on his fork that he maintained.

Black wisps slinked across the floor, stopping at your slippers and twisting around your ankles. You broke your stare from Azriel in favor of watching them swirl up your legs. True to your memory—which wasn’t a testament to much these days—their cool presence eased some of the pain in your head.

A throat cleared.

You snapped your head up.

“Uh, I’m Cassian. I don’t know if you remember me from the other day—”

“I do,” you softly interrupted.

Azriel choked out a shuddering breath. Your eyes lingered on the side of his face before returning to Cassian as he continued with, “Good. That’s good. New memories and all that. Very nice.”

“Cauldron, Cassian,” Mor admonished. “She’s not an invalid.”

He threw his hands up in a placating gesture. “I didn’t say she was! I was being encouraging.”

“Great, I’m sure we all feel very encouraged. Come, y/n.”

You followed Mor blindly until a chair was pressed to your back and a plate was ushered in front of you. There were a few moments of silence, just the clinking of plates and forks, before the panic began to build in your chest. It was a familiar feeling for you, one of the only you could draw memories from.

You should say something.

Azriel and Cassian, they were doing this for you—taking time away from whatever it was they were supposed to be doing to have a silly lunch. In a normal world, you wouldn’t need to have lunch as a way to reintroduce yourself to your family.

Were they still your family?

You knew nothing about them, could reciprocate nothing.

There had been no news about the witch that did this to you and no one told you if Rhysand found anyone to help.

What if you were stuck like this?

What if they grew tired of you wasting away in your room and forcing them into lunches and—

“That dish is your favorite.”

Azriel’s deep voice rasped at the end of his sentence and sent every thought shooting away from your brain. You came back to present, catching yourself taking quick, shallow breaths and staring down at the table with no clear target.

“You eat it every other week. I—We picked it up from a restaurant along the Sidra, a river in town,” Azriel explained.

You brought your gaze up from staring a hole into the wood to find Azriel directly across from you, his posture more relaxed than before. His expression was patient, kind, and you nodded back at him.

“Thank you,” you whispered. But that was odd—whispering during a meal. “Thank you,” you tried again, clearer this time. “I appreciate that—”

“Azriel,” he filled in, not allowing you the possibility of a mistake. “My name is Azriel.”

You knew that. You knew all of their names as well as their faces. There were a few paintings shoved into the back of your closet that you had taken the time to study.

Did they shove them back there on purpose?

“It’s nice to meet you, Azriel.”

Azriel’s jaw quivered, his lashes fluttered.

He took a bite of salad.

“I don’t know if you’d be interested,” Cassian began, clearing his throat again. “But we used to—well, no, we currently have a weekly arrangement where you drag me to the theater and make me watch a show and I pretend I hate it but I actually have a great time.”

The lingering joy on his face made a small smile creep up onto your own.

“Sound fun to you? Might be nice to get out of that room.”

You took a deep breath, biting the inside of your cheek. This was a good sign, him wanting to spend time with you… him wanting to be in your presence and not break down into tears or anger or distaste.

“I would love to,” you said. “Although, I don’t know much about theater.”

Cassian dropped a heavy hand on your shoulder. “Wouldn’t expect you to know much about anything, sweetheart.”

Mor snorted the water she was drinking back into her glass, you let out a surprised, scoff-like laugh, and Cassian grinned from beside you, all teeth and snark and playfulness.

But Azriel.

Azriel stood up, his chair screeching as it pushed out abruptly. His napkin was clenched tightly in his hand and the rigidness from before was back and in full-swing. The shadows that had stayed with you for the duration of lunch zoomed back to their master, displacing the material of your dress as they went.

He had a bleak, hard look in his eye as he stared at no one.

“Azriel?” you asked, and it was the first time you’d started any semblance of a conversation on your own. Even when you spoke to Mor, she was the one prompting you to speak.

At the sound of your voice, Azriel quickly turned his gaze toward you, his eyes softening immediately. But just as quickly, his shoulders slumped, his napkin fell to the floor, and his hand came up to cover his mouth. “I—I’m incredibly sorry. I can’t do this.”

And then he was gone.

Part 3 ☾

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel angst #acotar

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fraugwinska · 6 months

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um hi! can I request an embarrassed Al with s/o who likes to kiss on him repeatedly? :))

Hey there Anon! I hope I got it right? =D I just needed a bit of fluff and sickly-sweetness! ❤️ Thank you for your suggestion!

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

Pandoras Box

“You are looking grumpy today, my love.”

“I’m not grumpy. “

You and Alastor sat on the sofa next to the fireplace in the salon, a common occurrence that you had developed over the past few months. Whenever one of you had some time to spare, you'd find yourself on this very sofa, with the other magically appearing to keep you company. Sometimes your read together, sometimes you listened to music, most of the times you talked, about this and that, about light and heavy things, whatever came to mind.

One fateful time, you had told him that you loved him. and a few other times later, Alastor had told you he loved you too.

Everything could've been perfect if there wasn't the huge difference in need for physical affection. While you were a very touchy-feely person when it came to the people you liked (much less, loved), someone who loved to hug, kiss and cuddle - Alastor was reserved, to say the least.

You understood, he came from another time, another culture, his tight-wound manners and gentlemanly behavior deeply ingrained in his personality. You loved him because of it, wanting to give him time to maybe someday get used to the idea, but sometimes the wait frustrated you - seeing Charlie and Vaggie lovingly hug each other every day on their way to the kitchen before breakfast, or Husk and Angel sneaking around the hotel (like no one would see them), making out in dark corners. You wanted to be respectful of his boundaries, but that didn't mean you weren't longing for more - or any - PDA.

“The little wrinkle between your brows says otherwise, little doll.”

He looked up from his newspaper and rubbed the space between your brows with his long, slender fingers. You swatted them away and huffed.

“I'm not grumpy. I'm…”, you searched for the right words, feeling Alastor's worried gaze on you. “...restless.”

He tilted his head in confusion, his smile more tense than usual. you knew him well enough to know he was worried. “And why's that, dear?”

You decided that the time has come where honesty was the best measure.

“Because I want to kiss you.”

He stiffened, his fingers dug deep into the newspaper he held. You fiddled with the edges of a throw pillow - now pandoras box was opened, so you had to see it through. You lifted your eyes to look at him. His ears were folded back on his head, his smile seemed strained… and from under his collar, you could see the beginning of a flush.

Oh. That was interesting.

“Right now, here? That's a little... inappropriate, don't you think?”, Alastor said quietly, smile still tapered on but his eyes quickly scanning the empty foyer.

“No one's here Al… besides, I just… Sometimes I just want to kiss you, or hug you, without care where we are or who might see it.” you say softly. “But I know you don't like that, so… I repress it.”

Alastor sighs, the redness creeping from his neck up to his jaw.

“I suppose,”, he starts, voice slightly distorted - he's looking away from you, fixating on the double doors of the entrance, “since we are indeed alone, I could allow… “

Before he could even end the sentence, you darted forward, taking the vague opening he gave you, and pressed your lips on his.

Different than the kisses you shared in the 'secrecy' of your bedroom, this kiss felt daring, exciting and oh-so-sweet. You could taste the way Alastor was flustered by your sudden brazeness, although he reciprocated. Hesitantly at first, but when you sighed into his lips he visibly and audibly relaxed, his hand tenderly weaving into your hair, scraping your scalp and pulling you closer.

You broke the kiss, radiating happiness, it must've shown on your face because Alastor chuckled quietly, cheeks now as flushed as his neck.

“My, that wasn't half as bad as I thought it… “

Another kiss cut him off again, like an addict you moved onto him, straddling him while you couldn't stop yourself, kissing his lips, his cheeks, his temples, searching for any spots that haven't been covered by your lips.

Alastor had no chance in stopping you, mumbling things like “Enough dear!”, “Silly girl, you!”, even coming as far as “Give you an inch and you take a mile!” while you attacked him with feverish pecks.

With a last, soft and long kiss on his lips, you slid your arms around his waist and let yourself rest on his chest, giggling content into his lapels.

“Are you satisfied now, little vixxen?”

You nodded happily, still tightly pressed into him.

“Good.”, he mused, wrapping his arms around you.

“And you.” his voice fell an octave, and you lifted your head to see Angel, Husk and Niffty standing not too far at the end of the foyer, visibly shaking with - in order - suppressed laughter, horrification and morbid curiosity, “will cease that memory from existence if you value functioning organs.”

You couldn't help but laugh and kiss his nose as he sent death glares to the retreating demons, his ears flicking and cheeks still painted in the sweetest shade of red.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #angel dust #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel niffty #fraugwinskawrites #quick fic

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slytherinslut0 · 1 year

Text

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter One. Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Thèos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: Sub/Dom, Toxic Behaviour, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Blackmail, Praise Kink, Begging, DubCon, CNC.

FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

You were a good girl, and an exemplary student. One who consistently demonstrated exceptional discipline and commitment. Your dedication to academics was unwavering, as you diligently followed the rules and guidelines, never straying from the prescribed path.

Your singular focus was on nurturing your intellectual curiosity, and you showed no interest in indulging in activities that might distract you from your educational pursuits. Your life was calm, quiet, and focused.

Until, one day everything fucking changed.

———

In the enchanted realm of Hogwarts, there resided a studious and exceptionally bright seventh-year Ravenclaw witch, known for her unwavering dedication to academics and her steadfast commitment to the noble pursuit of knowledge. This young sorceress, a paragon of virtue, refrained from the temptations that often lured her peers, steering clear of parties, alcohol, and the haze of smoke that veiled the Ravenclaw common room during clandestine gatherings.

Her life was meticulously ordered, her goals sharply defined. But the universe had a curious sense of humor, for it threw her into an unexpected affiliation with the most notorious bad boy in Slytherin:

Mattheo fucking Riddle.

He, the embodiment of rebellion, was a stark contrast to her pristine existence. Mattheo's reputation preceded him: a Slytherin troublemaker, one who was almost always found in the midst of chaos. His devil-may-care attitude was a challenge to authority, and there was not one singular individual that could tie him down.

Yet, fate had woven their paths together, forcing the astute young witch to confront the complexity of human nature, unraveling layers of his defiance while simultaneously testing the boundaries of her own steadfast resolve.

And that witch; that poor fucking witch--well, that was you.

———

"Please, Riddle...if you'd take a seat," you ran your tongue along the backside of your teeth, straightening your posture in your chair as you tried to contain your irritation. "...I must express my desire to commence our endeavors prior to the conclusion of the academic term."

"Eager, are we?" Mattheo sneered, sauntering toward the desk painfully fucking slow. "You know, Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither is mastery. I'll sit when I'm fuckin' ready to sit."

His voice was low, the sadistic drawl of his tone making your bones ignite with fury. Gods, he certainly fucking loved testing you.

"And I won't tell you again...call me Mattheo."

You inhaled a sharp breath, flattening out your blue uniform skirt against your thighs as you bit your tongue hard enough to make it bleed.

"Rome may not have been built in a day, but it certainly collapsed in one--now, I won't ask again, Riddle..." you looked up, meeting his dark obsidian eyes, fighting back a sadistic smirk of your own as he narrowed his gaze in challenge. "Take. A. Seat."

The words were clipped behind your teeth with an obvious urgency that shut Mattheo up for a few seconds, the gears turning inside his head as he contemplated how he could one up your little jab--a constant occurrence that seemed to happen every single fucking time you met with him.

At this point, your tutor sessions were an easy seventy percent bickering with the remaining thirty being a half-assed session of one-sided discussion where he mostly offers you fleeting blank stares while zoning you out. You hated that you'd agreed to this, but you knew you needed to get on (and remain on) Professor Dumbledores good side if you wanted a career here at the school after you graduated--and you were so fucking hungry for it you'd do almost anything to solidify your fate.

Even if it meant surrendering your sanity to the hands of Mattheo fucking Riddle.

You chose not to let him, of all individuals, tarnish your path. Your reputation, fragile as it may have been, resembled a tinderbox, and he was the combustible element, ready to erupt at any given moment. This resolve became your steadfast anchor, shaping the direction of your choices.

"You know," Mattheo said as he finally slumped down into the chair across from you, his tousled brown hair falling effortlessly over his forehead. "I was under the impression that the brilliant Ravenclaws such as yourself valued intellect over impulsive haste..." he tilted his head, his gaze scanning every movement of your body as you stared at him. "It was my understanding that impatience was more of a Gryffindor trait."

Your fingers trembled with palpable irritation, yet you understood the imperative need to suppress it. You couldn't afford to reveal just how deeply he affected you, realizing that acknowledging it would subject you to endless taunts and jibes, a fate you were determined to avoid at any cost. This restraint became your shield in moments such as these.

"You wish to discuss house values, Riddle?" You tilted your head, straightening out your posture once again. "Because I, in complete honesty, was under the impression that Slytherins were known for their resourcefulness...your reluctance to cooperate suggests a rather curious lack of ambition."

Mattheo narrowed his eyes, his expression growing icier. "Resourcefulness doesn't mean blindly following every stupid instruction thrown at you, and ambition means choosing the battles worth fighting, not wasting time on pathetic, trivial matters."

With a subtle smirk, he leaned back, hooking his arm on the back of his chair as he eyed your discomfort--seemingly undisturbed by your challenge--and you chewed on the inside of your cheek, somehow knowing he wasn't finished.

And of course, he wasn't. "If you really believe this seemingly-stubborn insistence on when or if I sit reflects a lack of ambition, you clearly misunderstand the depths of Slytherin cunning. We pick our battles wisely, and right now, this isn't one of them."

Your blood pressure surged, the crimson currents in your veins reaching their boiling point. Months of enduring relentless bickering and one-upmanship had pushed you to the edge--this man may be an utter degenerate but he certainly knows how to use his mouth when it matters. You could no longer bear the weight of this incessant game, and in a fleeting moment of frustration, you finally succumbed to the pressure.

You knew this was your breaking point.

"I'm just trying to fucking help you." You said, before you even realized you had. You hardly ever cussed, never out loud--that is. "If you don't want to be here, then get out. I promise you, you won't be hurting my feelings if you do."

He huffed, leaning forward and crossing his hands together on top of the desk as he wet his stupidly plush lips, a devilish grin swallowing his cheeks while he revelled in the fact he'd so clearly fucking won. Yet again.

"No," he said. "I don't think I will."

You clucked your tongue, irritated even further at his response, gaze narrowing ever-so-slightly before you rolled your eyes--brushing off his suffocating arrogance and pulling your textbook out of your bag, slamming it down on top of the desk between your bodies.

"The Grimoire of Arcane Relics?" Mattheo read the title out loud, voice laced with a confused, almost offended undertone. "We don't cover this until the middle of second term..."

You cocked an eyebrow. "And?"

"Seems a bit...hasty, to shove this down my throat so early on," his voice carried a sadistic drawl that nearly made you leap across the desk and choke him unconscious. This man knew how to fucking test you. "Would it not be far more beneficial to proceed in the order the books are taught?"

You drew in another swift breath, the fabric of your navy robes clinging to your form, trembling fingers smoothing out any wrinkles on your button-up blouse as you adjusted it.

"I was unaware..." you said, not bothering to look up. "...that the individual I'd be tutoring this term was in fact a professor, and not a seventh year student..." you glimpsed him now, offering him merely but a slight tilt of your head as you watched his jaw tense. "...I must have been ill-informed, do pardon my ignorance."

"A moment of self-awareness? What a fucking breakthrough for you, Raven...pity it took you so long." He was clasping his hands together on top of the desk with enough force to involuntarily crack his knuckles. "Maybe there's hope for you yet, though I wouldn't hold my fucking breath."

"Please don't," you said, teeth gritting. "We wouldn't want to deprive your already-oxygen-starved brain of any more, now would we? It needs all the help it can get."

Mattheo's gaze sharpened, his lips curving into a teasing smirk, highlighting the scars that adorned them. The effect he had on you was undeniable, a sensation you longed to dismiss more than anything. However, with every passing moment in his presence, resisting the pull of attraction became an increasingly futile endeavour--yes, he was suffocatingly arrogant, but Gods, he was fucking attractive.

And he knew it.

"Quite the fucking mouth on you, I'll admit..." he dropped his voice to a low whisper, so deep it practically rattled your bones as it vibrated through you. "Never met a Ravenclaw with such an attitude problem...maybe I could tutor you on how to fix that issue, once we're done here, of course."

Your stomach twisted, heat spreading through your veins like wildfire. Curse him and his painstakingly arrogant charm. Curse him to bloody hell.

"It'd be a cold day in hell before I take any sort of guidance from you, Riddle..." you whispered, your voice accidentally reverberating as a seductive pitch. "And even then, I'd probably still refrain."

"You don't know when to shut the fuck up, do you?..." his eyes darkened, an evil mischief crawling its way through his irises. "What would daddy Dumbledore think about the way you're speaking to me, huh?"

Your heart stalled. "I-"

Your words faltered as Mattheo stood up, moving leisurely like a predatory creature circling its prey, until he was right beside you. His eyes, sharp as daggers, bored into your skull, and he loomed over you, a sadistic smirk twisting his lips into a cruel curve. The sight sent a shiver down your spine, knotting your stomach with an unsettling mix of fear and desire.

He placed a singular hand on your desk, leaning down closer to your level. "Perhaps I pay him a little visit...perhaps I tell him that you've been missing lessons, that you've been extremely unprofessional...perhaps I somehow fail my next exam...perhaps-"

"Okay, okay!" You panicked, cutting him off. "You've made your point, Riddle...I'm sorry, okay?" The words were fucking painful as you forced them past your teeth, and you swallowed your ego, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "Let's just get this over with, please?"

Mattheo huffed, gratified by how effortlessly his threats appeared to compel your submission. The gears turned in his head as he grasped the extent of the power he truly wielded over you. He fully understood that your entire post-graduate career almost certainly depended on his decisions, and he was eagerly anticipating taking action.

"I like the way you say please..." his voice was breathless, his dark eyes consumed by something you couldn't really identify as he slumped down in the chair directly next to you, his sight never once leaving yours. "Do it again."

Your body tensed, immobilized as he inched closer, his penetrating eyes scrutinizing your features with intense focus. It was no secret that Mattheo had been oblivious to your existence until he was placed under your guidance--despite being the most popular Slytherin student in the school, you, a practically invisible Ravenclaw, were easy to overlook. It had taken him over three weeks to even remember your name, a fact he never bothered to acknowledge, let alone use.

But within that time frame, within the time you'd been tutoring him; as much as he drove you mentally fucking insane, you couldn't deny that every time he'd show up for lessons with torn knuckles, cut lips and alcohol radiating from his breath--you couldn't help but to feel something in the pit of your stomach.

Whether that sensation was disgust, arousal, or sheer terror, you couldn't quite pinpoint. It was a feeling that whispered in your veins, urging you to surrender to the dominance he held over you. It screamed for you to let him have his way without resistance, because just as he commanded your obedience, he wielded the same control over the entire damn school. The prospect of defying him felt like a dangerous game you weren't willing to play.

"Riddle-"

He tilted his head, his face dangerously close to yours now, his eyes peering into your soul as he stared. As he wet his lips, his breath turning shallow, you felt a feeling brewing in the pit of your stomach, and one between your thighs as well.

"I said, do it again." His voice was a mere breath as it left his lips, his eyes studying you as though you were a page of a textbook. Not that he'd ever read one of those. "Go on, Raven...beg for me..."

Your breath hitched, and you involuntarily clutched the edges of the wooden chair between your fingers with an indescribable force. You didn't want to admit it--not to Mattheo, not to anyone really--but you were a virgin. You'd never even kissed a boy; your entire life was devoted to your studies...so this...this was extremely fucking new to you.

When you remained silent, Mattheo's eyes darkened even further, turning a shade of obsidian so intense they put even the stormiest midnight skies to shame.

"You want me to keep your perfect little reputation intact, hm?" He breathed, leaning closer. "You want me to help you stay on Dumbledores good side?"

Your throat was more arid than the desert, and you nodded, unable to blink--unable to peel your fucking eyes off of him.

"Then do as I say..." he murmured, a large battered hand finding purchase on your thigh, your entire body involuntarily flinching at the foreign contact. "I want to hear you, Raven."

You stared down at his hand resting lazily over the fabric of your blue uniform skirt--it's massive size swallowing up almost the entirety of your thigh, calloused palm catching on the pleats as it slid upwards, agonizingly slowly--and when he paused, stretching his fingers around the diameter of your thigh the best he could, fingers digging into your flesh as he squeezed; you gasped, involuntarily, and he huffed--bringing his lips dangerously close to your ear.

"One more chance..." he purred, and you could practically hear the smirk on his lips. "You won't like what'll happen-"

"Please!" You snapped, squeezing your thighs together out of pure desperation. "Please, Mattheo...please, let's just get this over with..."

"Mm." He hummed in satisfaction, slowly pulling his hand off of you. "That's fucking right..." he murmured, warm breath tickling your ear. "Nothing is sweeter than your submission, Raven."

You swallowed, not daring to look at him, nodding your head frantically in response as he pulled away, slumping back in the chair--not once peeling his eyes off of you, spreading his legs way-too-fucking wide as he made himself comfortable--he was silent, now, watching your chest rise and fall with each shallow breath, watching the way you squirmed in your chair at his sudden dominance--a dominance that had an effect on you that you couldn't even begin to describe.

And then, before you could even realize what was happening, Mattheo leaned back in, his fingers gripping your jaw and tilting your face towards his--and as you meet his dark, intoxicating eyes, your lungs stalled, entire body shrinking in your seat as he stared at you with such intensity that you felt like he could see right through you.

"From now on, I'm in charge here," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "Understand?"

You swallowed the lump of anxiety in your throat, and watched his darkened amber eyes as they glanced over your lips, lingering there for far too long, before returning back up to meet your gaze--something swimming in his irises that made your stomach twist.

When you were silent, he tilted his head, cocking an eyebrow. "Use your words, Raven..."

"Yes." You squeaked, voice barely audible. "I understand."

He hummed, a devilish smirk crawling across his lips, fingers digging into your jaw with added pressure as he pulled you closer, lips so close you'd touch with a deep enough breath.

"Understand, what?" He breathed, eyes dipping over your lips yet again. "Say my fucking name."

"Mattheo..." you couldn't breathe, couldn't move, could only obey his words as though he was controlling you like a puppet on strings. "I understand, Mattheo."

He huffed, smirking. "Good girl, Raven..." his voice was a mere breath as it left his lips, his full lashes fluttering as he blinked, meeting your eyes. "You learn so quickly...I should have done this months ago..."

When he pulled back, slowly releasing you, air slowly returned to your lungs; not enough to rid the dizziness from your brain but just enough to keep you conscious. Mattheo turned toward the desk now, as though nothing even happened, gesturing for you to start the lesson.

And somehow, you did.

—————-

Chapter two->

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the-goddess-of-mischief-writing · 7 months

Text

Sideways waltz

summary: Price wakes up with a boner and with you sleeping right next to him he can't help himself.

pairing: cpt. John Price x reader (sunshine universe)

tags/tw: afab!reader, mention of canon related injury, NSFW, mdni 18+ please and thank you, clothed grinding, slight somno (consensual), p in v, teasing, unprotected sex, creampie, implied age-gap, Price's pov

a/n: sigh, I wish Price could start my mornings like this

Sunshine universe MASTERLIST & John Price MASTERLIST

It wasn't unusual for Price to wake up before you. If anything, it was the typical routine.

If he felt cheery enough and if it wasn't the typical British weather outside, he could fill the time between his and your sleeping schedule with a run. Other times, if his body was sore after deployment or the weather was far from perfect —because he dealt with enough piss-poor climates while out in the field to willingly venture into one while at home— he would stay inside, either right by your side or in an adjacent room.

With the hazardous melting of snow outside and his injury, Price was less willing to leave the warmth of sharing a bed with you. The past month was proof, as he more or less found himself right by your side as you woke up every day.

It settled a comfort in his body, one that eased his sharp wake-ups dwelling from deployment. Rather than rousing quickly and clearly with a single opening of his eyes, it was a gradual rising to consciousness, one where he felt his surroundings before observing them— the warmth wrapped around him, the softness giving away beneath the weight of his body, the dull discomfort that grew more tolerable each week beneath his skin.

What was neither as peaceful nor as common was that he woke up due to a raging boner.

It was the first thing Price felt as his consciousness slipped closer, and sleep gave way to his senses. A prickling heat in his limbs. The throbbing between his legs. The uncomfortable restrainment of his underwear. All sensations that made him irritably groan in his emerging slumber.

There were few times he woke with a hard-on. Long over and done with the near-everyday occurrences during his teen years. And less, but still remarkably often, during his twenties. He had grown out of it due to age and the military, or so he thought.

Since getting together with you, Price has found himself waking up with a morning wood much more than he likes to admit. Sometimes, it happened when he'd spent the day with you before deployment, and his mind didn't register that he was on duty again but expected you nuzzled close within his frame. But most of the time, it happened when you were sleeping by his side.

You never seemed to mind if you woke to find his cock rock hard against you. You would only giggle in that newly woken-up fashion that made you seem even softer, somehow finding a way to wiggle closer to him no matter how close you were and with a light, musing voice comment on how 'someone seems excited for this early in the morning'.

Despite always considering it a nuisance, Price couldn't complain all too much about the soft morning sex that always followed. Everything was unhurried, the both of you still waking up.

It was at the top of his ways to indulge in your sweet body, having you so pliant and submissive as you allowed him to pull you close, gentle noises spilling from your lips as he most often slid into you from behind.

In the rare instance you'd woken up facing each other, he got to meet your half-lidded eyes so lovingly gazing at him while that little furrow between your brows and parted lips told him how good it felt to start the day just like that.

And you never failed to mention just how much you loved waking up to him touching your body with a spent smile and eyes still closed as you returned from your high.

As on cue, you were the second thing his gradually awakening mind registered.

Price felt your warmth much further away than he desired. When his eyes ultimately opened with a heaved sigh, he found you in a similar side-ways position as him, facing away as the covers reached your ribcage. You were still soundly asleep, even and deep breaths whispering you were none the wiser of his situation.

It was never hard to lean over, loop his arm around your waist, and slide you over to him, like it was the natural cause of action from how it settled a deep, sated feeling in his chest and from how you always settled right against him as if your unconscious knew what was happening, fidgeting until you settled with a heavy sigh and went still again.

God, Price loved how perfectly you fit against him, his thick bicep filling the dip of your waist as he burrowed his face into your neck.

He inhaled deeply, your hair tickling his cheeks much softer than what his beard on the daily must do to you. You smelled fresh —your body-wash from the night before still lingering— and something inherently sweet that always lingered on your skin. Price could drown in your scent that clouds his mind with pleasant thoughts and memories. All of which intensifies the heat in his gut, the throbbing need making his cock twitch.

The first roll of his hips is unconscious, but the relief it brings makes the second a chase for more.

It's a dull pleasure, the worn-soft material of his underwear an unwanted barrier as Price rubs himself against your backside. And yet, he finds himself unable to push any clothing aside, still drowsy and desperate enough that he only shuffles his hips, angling himself to grind just beneath the swell of your ass.

Price shudders at the sensation, expertly muffling his groan not to ring too loudly this close to your ears. It's addicting. You are addicting, you and your soft, warm body with no choice but to accept his lust-stricken action.

He shuffles impossibly closer, momentarily dropping his hand to shift himself in his pants so his member slots between your thighs.

Price needs to bite his lip forcefully as his eyes press harshly shut, his sharp exhale disturbing your hair when the head of his cock juts against your panty-covered core.

With the groan brewing in his throat, hand fisting the dark shirt covering your body, he moves his lips to your nape, occupying himself by kissing you gently as he starts moving his hips, thick cock twitching between your thighs.

More, he needs to feel more.

Price rucks up your, his, sleeping shirt to worm his way beneath it. Your smooth skin makes him exhale gruffly, stomach clenching, hips jumping. So unbelievably soft.

He feels the flush heating your unconscious body as he trails his palm upwards until his big hand settles over your breast. A warmth radiates off of your skin as he gently kneads the soft flesh in his palm, tweaking your nipple into a stiff peak until paying equal attention to the other.

A soft sound escapes you, a low whine stuck in your chest. It doesn't deter Price. If anything, it sends a shiver down his spine, causing his fingers to pinch your nipple just a tad bit harder.

He grinds more directly against you now, the tip of his cock knocking against your entrance and sliding along the covered heat of your pussy, presumably knocking against your clit from how your body twitches and legs clamp together.

The groan he's been holding off claws out of his chest, guttural and pleasured as your soft flesh nearly traps him between your thighs so perfectly when he rocks his hips. However, his action finally ceases when you continue to stir, your body squirming and breaths switching from deep to stuttering.

"Mm... John?" Half a pitch deeper and much quieter as you rise from a dream state, your voice made him curl his arm tighter around you, fingers digging into your breast still in his grasp.

"G'mornin'". Price knew you liked the roughness of his morning voice, now no different as he catches your wordless, whine-like reply.

Coming to, you writhe in his arms, hands extending forward then upwards before your body roll as you stretch like a cat.

When your hips rock backwards in your attempt to fend off the sleep in your limbs, the flex of your ass —just an inch, a sweet, sweet inch— has you stilling suddenly, without a doubt feeling the stiffness forced almost between your asscheeks by the angle of his hips and the groan he releases into your hair.

Price feels you take a deep breath, now possibly also noticing his hand on your chest from the added weight. If you'd been facing him, he reckons he would've seen the slow smile spreading on your lips that he now hinted at in your voice as your hand dropped to trail along the skin of his arm not hidden beneath your clothing.

"That's why you're still in bed?"

"Didn't feel like goin' on a run", he humours you lowly. Your chuckle is faint, but he feels it vibrate against his hand.

"Because you wanted some help with that?" You grind backwards.

He answers by knocking his hips forward in return, cock prodding into your crotch from behind once more. You inhale, a swift heave of your chest beneath his hand. Price feels how your cunt throbs and your thighs squeeze, humming contently.

"Did I wake you?"

"Yeah", your voice is gentle, senses concentrating on his hand running down your body.

"Sorry", his apology is christened with a low 'fuck' as his hand slips beneath your panties, feeling your heat radiate against his palm.

"Mm, know I don't -oh", a soft moan breaks your drawled sentence when his fingers find your clit. "Yeah, mhm, don't mind", you finish the sentence breathily as Price starts circling your bundle of nerves.

He coaxes the deep, airy breaths from your lungs along the gentle rocking of your hips as he circles his middle finger over your clit. Your shifting working wonders to grind yourself on his cock.

He sits hot and hard between your legs, wetness seeping through his underwear, a combination of his precum and the slick already having soaked through your panties. The damp fabrics convey the illusion he's got fewer layers between your dripping cunt and his throbbing cock.

"John..." you moan, not continuing your sentence as your hands find his wrist, pushing his hand further into your heat with just a fraction of your usual strength, hinting at your still partly-woken state, all while swivelling your hips to have him push right against your entrance repeatedly.

Your urge is all Price needs to pull his hand from your underwear —amusedly sushing your whining complaint as he stops playing with your clit— to pull his pants down and kick them off his legs. Without the confines of his underwear, he notices his tip is flushed a scarlet pink, dribbling pre-cum.

Hooking your panties aside, he twitches in his fist as he guides himself down the curve of your arse as you arch your spine so prettily for him.

Price grunts deeply as he rocks his hips, now without any of the layers between you keeping him from your wet heat. You stutter out and exhale as he bumps your clit with his rocking while coating himself in the wetness already covering your thighs.

The way the wet walls of your pussy give way to his girth when he finally notches himself against your entrance and pushes in is heavenly. Your drooling heat a silk fist unbelievably softer than his calloused fist ever could come close to.

He grunts something into your skin —praise, he reckons, for opening up to him so good despite nothing more than the unconscious prepping of your body— but can't even dissect precisely what he says himself. But the sound is enough for you as you fidget in return, walls clenching around him in tandem with your already consumed whines as he fills you up.

As he hilts himself, he stays put for a moment, eyes closed, revelling in how tightly you're squeezing him, how close your body presses against his, how your breaths are soft even if they're shaky.

The first few rocks of his hips are slow, a grind more than anything. Deliciously making him slide into your sweet spot on both the drag back and push forth. It has your face shoving into the pillow, sounds muffled as you moan into the fabric.

"Let me hear you", he breathes against the back of your neck as his arm —which up until now had been resting beneath the pillows, clutching the feathery cushioning— moves beneath your neck, anchoring around your upper chest, making his forearm rests right along your clavicle, as Price tugs you flush against his chest.

His strength overpowers yours any other day, but the difference shines even brighter in your present state, as you can't resist him when he forces you out of your hiding.

Your soft breaths and moans fill the air as you let yourself be moved by him, head notching backwards against his shoulder.

His hips move slowly still, pausing with a dirty grind when he bottoms out, the hair on his arms standing up when you whine so wantonly when he hits your pleasurable spots. Yet, he moves with purpose when your hands attempt to wrap around his forearm, fingers not even brushing as your nails crest his skin.

Price slides the hand that has been lodged between your waist and the bed down your body, groping his way over your hip down to your thigh, gripping the soft inner flesh as he directs your leg up and backwards over his leg.

It opens you up, tilting your body backwards against his front, making him sink even deeper into you.

He can't contain his growl of pleasure, mouth falling open, warm breath fanning over your shoulder as his teeth gently dent your skin.

You're partly laying on top of him at this point, half your body elevated from the mattress, cushioned instead by his body. His hips are more beneath you than aligned from behind, the position helping him persistently fuck himself deep.

Price embraces your weight more steadily by once again curling an arm around your mid-drift, elated when your arm curls backwards —tentatively to not knock against his still healing shoulder— and somehow reaches around his neck, submitting yourself to the weightlessness of him propping you up.

Digging his heels into the bed, he snaps his hips upwards. He groans in pleasure when you squeeze him so tight, his head pressing backwards against the pillows. You're in no better state. Sleep a memory as the same need that had woken him guides your hand down your body.

Price senses your fingers as they reach your cunt, a finger settling on either side of where he spreads you open, a pitched moan deflating your lungs as you feel how he repeatedly enters you. His thighs quiver, your much cooler fingers a stark, but not unpleasant, contrast compared to your indulgingly warm cunt.

As you press against the sides of his shaft, feeling the way you clutch to him each time he pulls out, Price knows you disturb the creamy ring that's gradually been developing at the base of him. The messy mixture of fluids now coating your entrance, much like the slickness seeping down the crack of your ass paints his abdomen.

And then your fingers shift upwards, playing with your clit. You grow louder, keening at the added sensation, and Price groans at how the squelching sound of your wet pussy grows when you clench around him.

His beard scratches your ear when he angles it towards you. Although feeling how you twitch at the rough sensation, your body is lax enough that you can't escape it, having Price smiling as he speaks.

"Yeah? That what you needed, love?" Your body attempts to arch, shivering in his hold as he husks the words against the shell of our ear. He doesn't let up on his grip around your waist, forcing you down against him, moulding your body to his as he speeds up his thrusts as if punishing you. "Feels good, does it?" His groaned sentence fades at your moaned 'mhm' as you flutter around him.

He puts more force behind his thrusts, rutting against harshly enough for a slapping sound to fill the room, only muted by the covers still covering your lower bodies. You gasp, clenching hard around him, hurtling his edge dangerously close as he feels you shiver with pleasure.

And then everything grows too blindingly good that the muscles at the back of Price's neck tense before going lax, making him angle his face into the side of your neck, grunting against your skin. The centre point between his shoulder-blades tenses, and a warm shiver runs down his back while his stomach clenches and something in his toes tingles.

Price releases a hoarse groan, his orgasm rolling through his body well before the last drive forward of his hips as he continues rocking into you, barely pulling back, hitting that deepest part inside you, messily coating himself with the cum filling you.

As he leaves his cock to settle inside you, twitching in the warm aftermath, you grind backwards and continue to chase the high that he usually spoils you with reaching first. He feels your desperation, the flexing of your ass, the twitch of your legs that can't close from how he keeps you spread.

With a lazy smirk, his hand moves beneath yours, overtaking and matching the frantic speed of your fingers with his own to let you concentrate solely on the pleasure, making you shiver, and your hips squirm.

You release a broken moan before going silent as you come. If not for how your hand shoots to his, attempting to still his movements, and Price's arm flexing to keep you grounded against his front, you would've curled to your side from how violently you squirmed.

Your body blankets his in a comfortably added weight as you gasp for air, your body twitching as he treats you to a dragged-out release by rolling your engorged clit between his fingers.

It's not until he lets up on his overstimulated teasing, which has your walls massaging his gradually softening cock, that your high ebbs and your entire body seemingly loosens.

Your overstimulated chokes and whines fade, much like the weight of your body as you slump to the side the same second Price straightens his leg, and yours slide down from his thigh.

His arm, still trapped beneath your head, is bathed with your warm breaths. Price rolls with you, spooning you from behind by slotting his knees to the back of yours and enveloping you with his arm, heavy over your waist.

His lips graze your clothed shoulder, pressing kisses until he nuzzles into your neck. You don't speak, and neither does he.

Price catches your breathing, much more laboured and deep than the one fanning back into his face. He can practically envision how your face presses into the mattress, eyes closed, features blissfully relaxed as you try to wring your mind back in place and out of the messy cloud of pleasure you're floating on.

When you finally catch your bearings, you push yourself against his chest, upper body no longer slumped forward.

The slight shift makes Price slip out of you. Though spent, he immediately twitches against your thigh upon feeling the warm aftermath that leeks from between your legs.

Your frame shakes against his seconds before you twist in his embrace to face him.

Your eyes are droopy, barely open as they flutter to meet his gaze through the stray strands of hair covering your face. He brushes away the worst of your unruly curtain, uncloaking your glowing skin, only softened further by the quirk at the edges of your lips.

"Can't be ready for another round that quickly?" Your voice is gritty, not entirely in your power to make it even as pleasure is still evident in the edges.

"Gimme a minute, and we'll... see." His sentence becomes something muttered before the last word, its entirety shorter than when correctly spoken.

His body is heavy, sleep closer now than previously, pleasured stained content making him lazy. And he knows you see it, notices the mock behind his words as his hand doesn't travel down your body but comfortably stays tracing shapes against the small of your back.

You chuckle softly, leaving the first of many kisses against his lips for the day. The peck is soft, making him hum as you leave another against the tip of his nose before nuzzling beneath his chin and into his chest. It is the perfect position for Price to press a kiss against your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin as he can't bother pulling away when you sigh blissfully against him.

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qwimblenorrisstan · 3 months

Text

Kindred Spirits Pt. 2 | Azriel x Rhys’daughter!Reader

Summary: After getting approval from your father, you and Azriel get to enjoy your mating bond in the privacy of the cabin in Illyria, eagerly experimenting with each other.

Word Count: ~3.7k

Warnings: SMUT, p in v penetration, oral (both ways), wingplay, sub Az, bath together, nudity, cutesy cuddles

Minors, do not interact!

A/N: Since this was so highly requested here it is, got a buncha inspiration from requests, hope you enjoy<3

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Requests are open!

A low groan slipped from your lips as you shifted beneath him in the bed. For the past hours, he’d been pounding into you, filling you over and over until both of your bodies were aching and sore.

He had been panting against your skin, harsh breaths slowly calming into the smooth, deep rhythm you were accustomed to.

Even now, you still wanted more, needed more, despite your body’s aching protests.

“We need to get some food, Az.”

You murmured against the warm planes of his chest, the urge to lick and bite gnawing at you, only to shove it down. He sighed, slowly easing out of you and sitting on the edge of the bed. You couldn’t help but miss the feeling of being filled by him almost immediately.

He turned to you, helping you sit up, his large, scarred hands supporting your back, one wrapping around your waist.

“Are you alright?”

His gentle tone had asked, hazel eyes gleaming with concern as his gaze ran over your body, hungry as ever, but noticing each little bruise on your hips from him holding you, or the bites and hickeys left on your neck.

Your mind immediately started wandering as you saw his bare body, eyes running over his muscular and lean form. He looked like he’d been sculpted by a god, scars marring some of his skin, running the length of his midnight wings that when the light hit them just right, purple would show through them, as well as the veins.

Not to mention the shadows, always swirling around him, now thick in the room and still leaving lingering whispers of touch on your skin, or his eyes…

Focus.

You snapped out of your imagination, glancing up to meet his eyes, still concerned, but with a knowing, and amused, glint to them. He knew that you were absolutely enthralled with him, and he wouldn’t expect any less from his mate, an adult but still a teenage female with all sorts of hormones flooding your system because of the bond.

“I..I’m fine, just a little sore.”

He let out a hum at that, his gaze going down to your legs, still just barely trembling from your last climax. In a smooth motion, he scooped you up into his arms and began walking into the kitchen.

“I said I’m sore, not disabled!”

You said, giving him an amused but exasperated look. He returned it with a level gaze, a smile on his lips.

“I wouldn’t want you wasting any energy. You’ll need it for tonight.”

His sinfully charming voice spoke quietly, bringing a flush to your cheeks and making you shut your mouth for a good while, that familiar heat and slick that seemed ever-present these days building yet again in your body.

He sat you gently onto one of the chairs, the wood cold against your bare ass. You watched as he walked over to the stove, not bothering to throw any clothing on, and began making some food.

The smell of breakfast filled the kitchen as he scrambled eggs, and fried bacon, and threw a few pieces of bread into the toaster. Your gaze quickly wandered to the curve of his ass, how it sloped down into his muscular thighs, and hanging down between them…

“Here,”

He spoke quietly, still startling you out of your thoughts, which seemed to be a common occurrence these days. He lifted you up, sitting in the chair before setting you down on his lap. Your eyes glazed over with lust and you whined, shifting to grind down against him, you felt his cock twitch, and his body tense, but he only shook his head, picking up your fork with one hand and offering you a bite of scrambled eggs, his other hand holding your hips still.

“Patience, love. You can have me again after breakfast.”

That statement sent a bit of embarrassment through your veins. You could barely even control your own body and thoughts, all consumed by him, and were so terribly impatient. You huffed, not feeling much like his equal in this moment as you leaned against his chest, taking the eggs into your mouth, chewing and swallowing, before giving him a bite of eggs from his plate.

“I know, but I can’t help it. Not with the bond and..everything.”

He slowly chewed his food, looking down at you thoughtfully, your embarrassment probably palpable through the bond, which only further increased it.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

He reassured you after swallowing. You sighed, fork dropping from your hand with a clatter onto his plate.

“But it feels like it is. You always turn me into an absolute puddle and take care of me, and I feel like I can’t do anything for you.”

His eyes softened at your admission as he shifted your body up in his lap, so you were eye to eye with him.

“You’re already doing everything for me, being my mate, letting me have you and provide for you.”

You opened your mouth to speak again, only for a piece of bacon to be pushed inside, effectively shutting you up as you glared at him. He thought a moment, before hesitantly speaking.

“We could take a bath after this, and I could show you how to turn me into a…’puddle’?”

He offered, at which you nodded, still chewing the surprisingly good bacon. Learning how to turn the shadowsinger into an absolute mess sounded wonderful and also impossible at the same time. He was always so calm and collected that you couldn’t picture him as a mess like you always were.

*********************************************************

Azriel knew he was in trouble the moment he stepped into the warm bath, wings spreading behind him as you eagerly joined him, chest to chest as the two of you began washing each other’s bodies off, barely able to resist the hazy scent of arousal rising between you two in the air.

You were always so eager.

He found it adorable. How you were willing to do anything and everything for him, to try new things, bend over backward, both literally and figuratively, and test things. He knew you were a virgin, it had been quite obvious by how nervous and antsy you’d been, or just how sensitive and responsive you still were with him.

You whined as he slowly slid you down on his cock, throbbing again already even after the entire night’s worth of activities.

He knew the mating bond would cause a frenzy, he’d heard Feyre and Rhys talk about theirs, not to mention Nesta and Cassian who he sometimes thought were still in the midst of it when he heard their feral fucking through the walls of the House of Wind at night, or day, or any time. He’d once walked in on them in the library of all places.

But he hadn’t known just how urgent it would feel, how every muscle in his body and his shadows demanded him to be buried deep inside you, fucking and filling you over and over until he was empty.

His hands went to hold your hips as you began grinding down on him, slowly guiding you and trying to stop himself from bucking up into you.

“You want to know how to make me a mess?”

He asked, your little desperate nod confirming it. Always so eager to please. One of his scarred hands wrapped around your hand, leading it to the base of his wings.

“There. Touch me, starting on the bottom and sides, and slowly get closer and add more pressure to my pulse point in the middle.”

He instructed, his wings already flaring out as you followed his instructions, soft hands with small callouses from the training Cassian gave you roaming the very base of his wings first, on the edges of it.

His breathing grew harsher, more resembling pants, and you could’ve sworn his bottom lip trembled slightly as his eyes rolled up, hips arching into yours.

“Just like that, sweet girl, so — oh, fuck..”

He groaned, hips slowly beginning to roll into yours, making his throbbing cock rub against that heavenly spot he’d already memorized inside of you. Your movements became a bit more desperate and frenzied as your entire hand then went to hold the bottom of the base, cupping and squeezing in a way that made him jerk.

His breathing was shaky, tears pricking his eyes as Azriel, who had the patience of a god and seemingly never-ending will, began whining and begging.

“Please, right there, right - ahhh, good-“

It was so unbelievably hot seeing your stoic shadowsinger crumbling to pieces beneath your hands. As another climax rolled over your sensitive, shaking body, clenching around him, your hands moved to his pulse point, a sensitive vein in the center of the base of his wings, and squeezed, he came with a sound that you could only describe as a mix between and roar and a cry, body going limp and laying against the tub behind him as he painted your insides.

You settled against his chest, pressing kisses all over him, anywhere you could get them as he slowly recovered, eyes unglazing as he slowly blinked and caught his breath. One of his arms was wrapped around you.

Azriel wasn’t sure what must’ve come over you, but as he relaxed, he saw a hint of something in your eyes, before you leaned forward and sunk your teeth right into the sensitive skin of his neck. He’d let out an embarrassingly loud moan at it, his length immediately rising back to attention and hardening inside you.

From the way he looked down at you, eyes dark with hunger, you knew that you were in for a long night.

*********************************************************

And a long night it had been.

He’d spent hours fucking himself into you, tasting you, licking up all you had to offer with that sinful tongue of his.

It was only when you’d agreed to let him stay inside throughout the rest of the night that he’d finally gone to sleep, and you’d slept like a rock, dreamless until waking up in the morning with a dry throat.

His hair was tousled, wings and arm wrapped around you in a protective cocoon, face serene and body relaxed in sleep. It was a sight you hated to interrupt, but you needed water. You shimmied your way out of his grasp, giving him a little kiss on the forehead and mumbling something about being thirsty.

He’d groaned and seemingly went back to laying down, though not as good as when you were there.

You’d trudged off to the kitchen, body sore and aching but wanting more, and gulped down an entire glass of water when you felt a familiar nudge against your mental walls.

‘How’s my girl doing?’

Your father’s voice rang out in your head, familiar and soothing to you. You smiled to yourself while drinking another cup of water.

‘Good.’

‘You’ve been gone two full days and all you have to say is that you’re doing good?’

You snorted into the water you were drinking, a small sly smirk curling on your lips.

‘If you’re so curious,’

You began, before letting him see a quick flash of all the activities you and Azriel had been getting up to. You felt him recoil from your mind almost immediately, clearly scarred from that alone.

It was then that you heard a light, almost imperceptible patter of feet against the wood, and saw Azriel, bare as you, rubbing his eyes with one hand and stroking his cock with the other, stalking quietly towards you.

You must’ve forgotten to put your mental walls back up because you heard your father’s voice chuckling before speaking.

‘Enjoy yourself.’

He spoke simply, before fully withdrawing and your attention went to Azriel, who had a gleam of curiosity in his lust-clouded eyes.

“My dad. He was checking in on me. I’m not sure what he expected.”

You murmured, taking another sip of water as a low growl rumbled from Azriel’s chest, his lip curled up slightly and face contorted in what could only be described as territorial Fae bullshit. He huffed, clearly knowing he was ridiculous but not able to stop it.

“I don’t want any other male talking to you. Not now.”

He said with what could easily be described as a pout, coming to wrap his arms possessively around your waist from behind, wandering up to your breasts, slowly kneading them.

You sighed, leaning back against him.

“He’s my dad. He’s just worried, Az.”

He huffed again.

“I know, I just..”

“Can’t help it?”

“Yes.”

You let out a little bit of laughter at that. That was the same way you felt. Unable to help anything your mind and body wanted, which right now, was him.

His nostrils flared as he easily scented your arousal, he leaned forward, slightly pushing your body against the counter.

“Here?”

You asked, a bit exasperated. His shadows swirled around you both, slowly easing your upper half onto the counter, bending you ever so gently over it.

“I want to..try something.”

He said, voice thick with desire. You were already dripping down your legs, and his cock easily ran through your folds, settling between your legs as you whined for him to just put it in already.

“Pick a safe word.”

He said, all the while slowly easing into you. All the rabid fucking the past two days meant you didn’t even need to be stretched for him anymore, you were more than used to the mind-numbing size of him. Your mind felt blank as you tried to come up with a decent safe word, easy to say and get out. Your gaze went to the fruit bowl on the counter, and you thought of the fruit you’d offered to your mate.

“Apple.”

You said, immediately mentally facepalming at how stupid it was. Azriel only smirked and continued, inch after inch slowly sliding in. Shadows began sliding up your body, teasing your pert nipples before their forms settled on your wrists, pushing them forward, over your head, and in front of you on the counter, binding them down in a firm grip, but also careful not to hurt you as they whispered amongst themselves and to their master.

Any words that had been formed immediately fell to pieces as he began pounding into you only moments after bottoming out, moving like a rabbit in heat, desperate to fuck and fill. It was a dizzying, punishing pace he set, your hands bound above you only adding to it.

Wet squelching noises mixed with your moans and screams of him and his name, the sound of skin slapping against skin resounding as his balls hit the curve of your ass, tightening as he spilled inside of you.

He didn’t stop.

It felt like you were there for hours, bent over that counter, some shadows rubbing your clit, Azriel’s hands groping your breasts and pinching your nipples, your hands bound. You couldn’t count the number of times you fell completely apart around him, or the number of times he came.

“Mine.”

He growled, the sound of his voice so possessive and animalistic sending heat straight into your core.

“Yours, all yours.”

You managed to get out between your screams. It was too much, and he could feel it through the bond, how overwhelmed and overstimulated you were, but unless you said the safe word, he wasn’t stopping.

“T- too much, Az, I can’t-“

“Yes, you can,”

His voice had growled out, pace somehow getting more frenzied and sloppy.

“You can take it, just one more, I know you can.”

You took one more somehow, your body feeling heavy and overwhelmed with heat. You whined, wriggling underneath him. He only glanced down at you, hand now in your dark curls, and spoke.

“One more.”

*********************************************************

His wet mouth came up from between your legs, his tongue darting out to lick his lips and clean off your remaining essence.

Azriel ate pussy like a starved man, licking and sucking everything he could, lapping it all up until you were falling apart around his tongue over and over. He saw your fucked out look and smiled softly, something that made your heart warm, before he slid up next to you on the bed.

He cradled your body against him, pressing wet kisses to your forehead. Your face was scrunched up in what looked like a thoughtful frown as you glanced up at him, a flush creeping up your cheeks. He tilted his head to the side a bit as curiosity took over.

“What is it?”

He asked quietly, clearly wondering if something was wrong or anything. You opened your mouth, closing it again, before just blurting it out.

“Can you teach me how to suck dick?”

You asked, wincing at the sting of embarrassment from you that had probably gone down the bond to him. His eyes widened a bit before he seemed to think. Thinking badly of his silence, you just began stammering.

“I mean, you don’t have to, it’s just you’re always-“

“I’ll teach you.”

His calm voice, holding both desire and affection in it, cut through your sentence as he looked down at you.

He leaned back, adjusting the pillows behind him, and gently spread his legs for you to access. He gestured to between his legs, and you shifted there and settled, eyes on his cock, already hardening again.

“Stroke it first, to get it ready.”

He said, his hand guiding yours to his length, gently wrapping your fingers around it.

“How do I…?”

You asked, trailing off as his hand covered yours, making your hand slowly go back and forth, gently twisting and pulling on the thin, sensitive skin. He guided your thumb to swipe over his slit, then have your hands softly palm the head while he groaned softly.

“Like that, just keep doing that until it’s hard.”

He murmured to you, giving a nod of approval as his hand then drifted off to lay on the bed beside him as he leaned back, and loosely watched you.

It was a learning curve, for sure.

You tried to mimic the motions he’d made on it earlier, and after a few minutes of fumbling, you got a basic rhythm of stroking it up and down, lightly squeezing and stimulating the head. You watched his every reaction, even as precum beaded at the tip, you swiped it away with your thumb.

You followed through with that until it was stiff and firm as a rock, slapping against his stomach when you finally let your hand slip off of it.

“Now what?”

You asked, watching as Azriel then took his cock in one hand and pumped it a few times, before his other hand went to cup your cheek, gently pulling you closer between his legs.

“Give the tip a few licks, maybe a kiss or some light sucking, and hold the base with your hand and stroke it while doing that.”

He instructed you. Your hand went to hold the base of his cock, lightly squeezing and stroking it in the familiar rhythm. You hesitantly put your mouth to his cock, first your tongue only darting out to give little kitten licks against his slit, and a few kisses. After a moment of figuring this out, you then took the red, leaking head into your mouth, tongue swirling around it as you lightly sucked. It was just like sucking a lollipop, you supposed, as you eagerly suckled on it, cheeks hollowing out, except it was a bit salty and smelled musky.

Azriel groaned at that, hips almost bucking up before he stopped them.

“Good girl,”

He purred, one hand sliding into your hair, and ever so gently tugging you further onto it.

“Your tongue — lick the underside of it.”

He managed to gasp out, breathless as you followed his instructions almost perfectly, tongue flattening and rubbing against the underside of his dick. You simply looked up at him with those bright blue eyes, eager for more instructions, eager to please and satisfy him; to satisfy your mate.

His hand on your hair guided you to move your head forward and backward, gently bobbing as you suckled and licked him. Within no time his words turned to strained groans, especially when he guided one of your hands to tenderly squeeze and play with his balls.

His eyes had gone watery by then, and with a sharp cry, he came in your mouth, and not knowing what to do, you lapped it up with your tongue and swallowed.

You slipped your mouth off of him, and his legs remained open as he tried to work through his orgasm. You crawled up next to him in the bed, settling under the warm blankets, and pulling his body close, nuzzling into him and taking in his scent deeply. It was a mixture of pine and rich earth, delicious to your senses in every way.

When he’d finally recovered enough to speak without ever word coming out a whimper, he turned on his side to you and his arms moved on their own, wrapping around you and pulling you tight against him, one of his wings draping over you. It was as if to cover your naked body so that none could see the beauty that was you other than him.

“Did I do it right?”

You asked, whispering the question into his ear. He chuckled, the deep sound vibrating through his chest and your being.

“You did it perfectly.”

He replied, voice tired but satisfied, the mating bond content enough to let the both of you sleep without any further frenzy activities.

With a sigh of satisfaction, he rested his head against the top of yours, breathing in and smelling the shampoo and conditioner, and all of the haircare products you use. The thought made him smile.

“I love you.”

The shadowsinger said softly. He felt you smile against his skin before speaking just as soft and quiet as him.

“I love you, too.”

Tags:

@marvelsmylife

@mischiefmanagers

@lilah-asteria

#acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction #writers on tumblr #acotar x reader #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x rhys’daughter #azriel comfort #azriel smut #azriel x you #azriel fluff #mating frenzy #sub azriel

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solar-wing · 2 months

Text

⚣ Too Late 💙

⚣💙 A/N → request for @alexanderstarhero! Hope you enjoy it! Also, I apologize for my extended absence. I have a job, I'm starting a new school program, and business-related things keep me busy, but I'm still here guys! I promise! Not sure how I feel about this one. I feel like I could've done better but we desperately need some more Clark Kent x male reader though so here you go. Which, by the way, if you haven't checked out @nouearth, his Clark fics and literally everything else makes me melt and feel unholy things. Churches beware. ANYWAY, Hope everyone likes it! WARNINGS: Magical Male Reader | Angst & Fluff | Childhood Friends To Lovers | SFW |

⚣💙 Summary → You know, one would think moving to a completely different city in hopes of forgetting your past life and feelings would be enough. But fate is a sneaky little bastard that just loves to play with your feelings. Is it too late for a do-over?

⚣💙 Words → 12.4K

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💙

⚣ ENJOY 💙

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The city lights of Metropolis flickered through the windows of a small, cozy apartment, where the hum of traffic below provided a constant background noise. Y/N stood by the window, a glass of juice in hand, staring out at the skyline. Since moving to the city, he often found himself feeling nostalgic, with old memories of Smallville popping into his mind more frequently than he’d like. Most of those memories had a common thread.

A soft sigh escaped his lips as he took a sip of his juice, the cool liquid doing little to ease the anxious tightness in his chest. Moving to Metropolis was supposed to be a fresh start—a way to leave behind his past and focus on building a better, normal life for himself, free from the constraints of small-town life.

Since he was a baby, Y/N had been gifted with magical abilities. How he got these powers was a mystery to both him and his parents; they could never find any trace of magical ability in their ancestry. With no idea where the powers came from, and no one to turn to for help, his parents did everything they could to hide their son’s abilities from the outside world. They tried their best to teach him control, but without expertise, they were flying blind.

Growing up, Y/N barely knew how to control or use his powers. You’d think in a small town like his, people would have noticed or called in the town priest, but that wasn’t the case. In Metropolis, when something strange happened—something that often happened to Y/N—people would give him odd looks, but then they’d move on with their day as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. In Smallville, though, everyone treated it as normal.

After the Kents arrived with their new kid, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere, the town acted as if every strange occurrence was just part of everyday life. They quickly shut down anyone who dared to question it, and that extended to both Clark Kent and Y/N.

Small towns were usually known for everyone knowing everyone’s business. Gossip was the native language. But not in Smallville. Y/N couldn’t help but smile a little at the memory of how the line between the ordinary and the extraordinary seemed to blur there. Most places would have been up in arms if they noticed the strange occurrences that happened in Smallville. But in that little Kansas town, people had an uncanny ability to overlook the impossible, shrugging off the extraordinary as if it were just another quirk of life.

Take Clark Kent, for instance. Anyone could see that something was different about him. He was stronger, faster, and able to do things most grown men couldn’t even imagine, let alone a small farm boy. But the townsfolk never questioned it. They simply accepted that he could do things no one else could and moved on.

It was the same with Y/N. He might accidentally cause a book to float off a shelf or a light to flicker when he was upset, but no one in Smallville ever made a fuss, something his parents were very grateful for. There were whispers—there always are in small towns—but they never left closed doors. The people of Smallville had learned long ago to mind their own business, especially when it came to the Kents and Y/N.

Even more so when a bunch of guys in black suits, glasses, and SUVs showed up one week, probing around town and asking strange questions. It had been after one of the more noticeable incidents—a moment when Clark saved someone in a way that couldn’t be easily explained. If there was one thing you could count on from a small town, it was that they weren’t saying anything to those types of Feds or government officials.

The memory was still vivid in Y/N’s mind: the way the town closed ranks, the polite but firm way the locals deflected every question, sending agents on wild goose chases until they finally gave up. His parents had mentioned that it was nothing compared to when that strange meteor hit the Kent farm and a bunch of government agents and scientists showed up—the same week the Kents got a new kid named Clark.

It was as if the entire town had decided, collectively and without speaking a word, that whatever was going on with the Kents—and by extension, Y/N—was their business and no one else’s. The unspoken rule in Smallville was clear: if you saw something strange, you didn’t see it. You didn’t ask questions, and you certainly didn’t talk about it. It was a kind of willful ignorance, a way for the town to protect its own from prying eyes. And in some strange, twisted way, it worked.

Y/N often wondered how much of it was a conscious choice and how much was just the way Smallville was. It was as if the town itself had decided to shield them, to create a bubble where the extraordinary was just another part of everyday life.

But as comforting as that was, it was also suffocating. Because even in a town that turned a blind eye to the unusual, Y/N couldn’t escape the feeling that he was different, that there was something wrong with him. He couldn’t shake the fear that one day, the bubble would burst, and everyone would see him for what he really was—a freak, an outcast.

At least he had a friend.

Imagine the two kids in town who both had episodes of strange, inexplicable things happening to them or around them becoming friends. Completely ironic, like something straight out of a story. Unless...

...

Nah.

But in a place where the extraordinary was treated with a shrug, having someone like Clark as a friend made all the difference. It was as if fate—or whatever unseen force governed the universe—had decided that these two oddities should find each other. And find each other they did, in the most natural, unassuming way possible.

Clark and Y/N became fast friends, drawn together by their shared experiences of feeling different, even if neither of them fully understood why. They never talked about the strange things that happened to them, never discussed how Clark could lift bales of hay like they weighed nothing, or how Y/N could sometimes make things move with just a thought. It was an unspoken agreement, a mutual understanding that whatever was happening to them was theirs to carry, together.

In a town that turned a blind eye to the impossible, Clark was the one person who made Y/N feel like he wasn’t alone. There was a quiet comfort in their friendship, a sense of belonging that Y/N had never felt before. They were both outsiders in their own way, but together, they found a place where they could be themselves, where they didn’t have to pretend or hide.

But as they grew older, that comfort became a source of anxiety for Y/N. The more time he spent with Clark, the more he realized that his feelings for his friend were deeper than just friendship. He cared about Clark in a way that went beyond the bond they shared, and it terrified him. In a town that could overlook floating books and superhuman strength, there were still lines that couldn’t be crossed, and Y/N knew that his feelings for Clark were one of them.

He tried to suppress those feelings, to bury them deep inside where they couldn’t cause any harm. But the harder he tried, the more they grew, until it became impossible to ignore them. He started to pull away, putting distance between himself and Clark, hoping that space would make the feelings fade. It didn’t.

Plus, Y/N still didn’t understand the extent of his abilities, and he knew sometimes his powers would react to his emotions. He didn’t want to risk doing anything that could hurt Clark. He didn’t think he’d be able to live with himself if something happened because of his inability to control his powers.

Yet, good old noble Clark, always perceptive and caring, noticed the change. He didn’t push or pry, but there was always that look in his eyes, a quiet concern that only made Y/N’s heart ache more. Clark didn’t know why Y/N was pulling away, but he never stopped trying to bridge the gap. He was always there with a smile, a warm word, or an invitation to hang out, never letting the distance between them grow too wide.

It was those small gestures that made it so hard for Y/N to keep his resolve. Every time he saw Clark, every time Clark reached out, Y/N was reminded of why he had fallen for him in the first place. Clark was kind, selfless, and endlessly patient—the kind of person who would give you the shirt off his back without a second thought. How could Y/N not fall in love with someone like that?

But that love was exactly what made Y/N so afraid. The more he cared about Clark, the more he feared losing him, either because of his uncontrolled magic or because of the feelings he couldn’t keep buried forever. He knew that if he stayed in Smallville, if he stayed close to Clark, something would eventually slip. Maybe he’d accidentally reveal his powers, or maybe his feelings would come spilling out in a moment of weakness. Either way, Y/N was sure that it would end with Clark looking at him differently, seeing him as something strange, something other.

Thankfully, the age of adulthood and high school graduation came, and Y/N took that as his way out. His parents were as worried as ever about him moving to a college so far away, but he reassured them he’d be fine.

He decided on college in New York, thinking the change from small town to big city was exactly what he needed. At least there, it made sense for people to turn a blind eye to whatever strange things were going on around them.

But even throughout his years of undergrad, Y/N could never shake the memories of Smallville, and more specifically, he could never forget Clark. No matter how much distance he put between them, the memories of their friendship lingered, haunting him in the quiet moments when he was alone. He would often catch himself thinking about Clark—wondering what he was doing, if he was still in Smallville, if he had moved on with his life the way Y/N had tried to.

Y/N thought that maybe, over time, those feelings would fade, that he would move on and forget the boy who had once meant everything to him. But they never did. Even in the crowded, bustling city of New York, where life moved at a breakneck pace and there was always something new to distract him, Y/N found his thoughts drifting back to Clark.

He tried dating other people, hoping that maybe if he found someone else, someone who wasn’t Clark, it would help him move on. But it never worked. No one else could compare to the boy who had always been there for him, who had seen him at his worst and never judged him for it. Every relationship ended the same way, with Y/N feeling like he was chasing something he could never have, like he was trying to fill a void that only Clark could fill.

Then, after graduation, Y/N was offered a job in Metropolis. It was a great opportunity, the kind of offer he couldn’t turn down. It wasn’t too far from where he was already living, but he figured a new change of scenery couldn’t be too bad.

Plus, he wanted to check out the rumors he’d heard of some sort of superhero who had started making headlines in Metropolis. The stories seemed almost too wild to believe—a man with superhuman strength, speed, and the ability to fly, saving people and fighting crime in the heart of the city. It was the kind of thing that would have been dismissed as tabloid nonsense anywhere else, but Y/N knew better. If there was one thing Smallville had taught him, it was that the extraordinary often hid in plain sight.

So, with a mix of curiosity and the desire for a fresh start, Y/N packed his bags and moved to Metropolis. He found a small, cozy apartment in a quieter part of the city, close enough to the action but far enough to avoid the chaos. The job was great—challenging, fulfilling, and exactly what he needed to take his mind off things. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape the feeling that he was still running, still trying to outrun the shadow of his past.

Despite his attempts to leave his old life behind, Y/N couldn’t completely ignore his powers. He had spent too long hiding them, too long fearing them, but deep down, he believed that if he had these abilities, he should use them for good. In Smallville, he had been careful, using his magic only when absolutely necessary, but here in Metropolis, he found himself with more opportunities to help in small, subtle ways.

He’d mend a broken bike chain with a whisper of an incantation or quietly heal a scraped knee when no one was looking. He’d use his magic to nudge a stray cat away from traffic or to coax a wilting plant back to life. He was always careful, always discreet, making sure that no one noticed the little miracles he performed. It was his way of giving back, of using the gifts he had been given to make the world around him just a little bit better.

But there were times when he couldn’t help but step in and do more.

One evening, he walked past a small, family-owned bookstore that he had become fond of. The owner, an elderly man who had run the shop for decades, was sitting behind the counter with a look of deep worry on his face. Over the weeks, Y/N had noticed the shelves becoming sparser, and the customers fewer. The man had confided in Y/N once, mentioning how the business was struggling, how the bills were piling up, and how he feared he might lose the store if things didn’t turn around soon.

Y/N couldn’t bear to see the man lose everything he had worked so hard to build. So, that night, under the cover of darkness, Y/N returned to the bookstore. He stood outside the shop, focusing his energy on the building, weaving a spell that would attract more customers and give the store a sense of warmth and welcoming. He whispered incantations for prosperity and good fortune, sending out waves of magic that would subtly influence the minds of those who passed by, drawing them in with an inexplicable urge to browse and buy.

Over the next few days, Y/N was delighted to see the shop bustling with customers. The owner’s smile returned, and the store was once again filled with the chatter of people and the smell of fresh coffee brewing in the corner. The shelves began to fill up again, and the old man even had to hire an assistant to help him manage the increasing business.

Another time, he found himself playing guardian angel when he was walking home from work one night and spotted a young woman on the opposite side of the street, her pace quickening as she noticed a group of men following her. Y/N’s heart raced, and he quickly assessed the situation. He couldn’t confront them directly—he wasn’t a superhero—but he could help in other ways.

A few thoughts and concentrated focus, and suddenly a series of events unfolded: a nearby street light flickered and went out, casting the area in shadow; a loud crash from behind pulled the men's attention away from her; a gentle breeze nudged her toward a more populated, well-lit area. With the streetlight out, it gave her natural cover long enough to slip out of sight and into the safety of a nearby diner, the sound of her heels muffled by Y/N’s magic.

Y/N watched from a distance, relieved when the woman was safe inside, her would-be attackers now lost and confused. It wasn’t the first time he had done something like that, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Recently, he visited a local hospital where a friend’s child was being treated. The doctors were worried; the illness wasn’t responding to treatment, and the prognosis was grim. Y/N spent hours by the child’s bedside, speaking softly to him, holding his hand. When no one was looking, he let his magic flow through him, just a touch, just enough to help the child’s body fight back.

The next morning, the doctors were stunned by the sudden improvement. They couldn’t explain it, chalked it up to a miracle or a sudden turn of fate, but Y/N knew better. He slipped away before anyone could question it, leaving behind only a whispered prayer of thanks for the child’s recovery.

Y/N never took credit for any of his acts. And while they weren’t grand, weren’t the stuff of legends, they were enough to give him a sense of purpose, a way to use his gifts without drawing too much attention. He was careful, always careful, to remain in the shadows, to let the world think these small miracles were just coincidences, nothing more.

But now, standing in his apartment, staring out at the city skyline, Y/N couldn’t help but feel like he was right back where he started. The memories of Smallville were stronger than ever, and the loneliness he had tried so hard to escape felt more suffocating in this big city than it ever had in the small town.

It had been years since he left, but the memories of that quiet town still lingered in his mind, especially the memories of Clark Kent. He just couldn’t figure out why they had suddenly become so strong. Maybe it was the time of year, or maybe it was because he had been thinking about how he used his magic to help people in Metropolis—something that Clark would surely approve of, even if he never knew about it.

Or maybe it was because, despite everything he had done to distance himself, Clark had always been there, a constant presence in his thoughts, no matter how much Y/N tried to move on.

He took another sip of his juice, the cool liquid doing little to ease the tightness in his chest. He hadn’t seen Clark in years, hadn’t heard from him since he left Smallville, but the feelings he had for his old friend hadn’t faded. If anything, they had only grown stronger, deepening with time and distance. And that was what scared him the most—how much he still cared, how much he still missed him.

Y/N set his glass down on the windowsill, running a hand through his hair as he tried to shake off the nostalgia. He had a new life now, a good life, and he couldn’t afford to dwell on the past. Clark was probably living his own life, happy and successful, just as Y/N was trying to do.

But the more he tried to push the memories away, the more they clung to him, like shadows that refused to disappear. He sighed, turning his gaze out the window, hoping that the familiar sight of the city would ground him, would remind him of the new path he had chosen.

The city lights twinkled in the distance, a sea of illumination against the darkened sky. Y/N’s eyes scanned the skyline absently, taking in the familiar sights he had grown accustomed to since moving to Metropolis. But something caught his eye, something unusual that made his breath catch in his throat.

High above the city, a figure streaked across the sky, moving with impossible speed and grace. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized the red and blue blur—a sight that had become increasingly familiar to the citizens of Metropolis. It was Superman.

Y/N watched, mesmerized, as the figure soared through the night, his movements precise and powerful. But as he watched, a strange sensation began to creep over him, a feeling that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It wasn’t just awe or admiration—though those feelings were there, too—it was something deeper, something unsettling.

There was something about Superman, something in the way he moved, in the way he seemed to command the air around him, that tugged at the edges of Y/N’s consciousness. It was as if some hidden part of him recognized the hero in the sky, even though he knew that was impossible. He had never met Superman, had never been anywhere near him. And yet…

Y/N pressed his hand against the cool glass of the window, his heart pounding in his chest. His magic, usually so controlled, began to stir, responding to the swirl of emotions inside him. The sensation was both familiar and alien, a strange mix of nostalgia and unease that made his chest tighten.

As he watched Superman disappear into the distance, Y/N couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that had settled over him. It was as if the presence of the hero had awakened something inside him, something that had been dormant for years. And with that awakening came a sense of foreboding, a nagging feeling that his past was not as far behind him as he had hoped.

Y/N tore his gaze away from the window, trying to dispel the uneasy feeling that had taken root in his chest. But even as he turned away, the sense of familiarity lingered, haunting him like a ghost from a life he had tried so hard to leave behind.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, but the image of Superman remained burned into his mind, along with the inexplicable sense that something—someone—was drawing him back into a world he thought he had escaped.

And deep down, Y/N knew that this was only the beginning.

The grand ballroom of the Metropolis City Hall buzzed with chatter, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter. The charity event his job was sponsoring was in full swing, a glamorous affair with the city’s elite mingling and donating to a worthy cause. Y/N stood near the edge of the room, awkwardly holding a glass of water and wondering how quickly he could make a polite escape.

This wasn’t exactly his scene. Networking? Sure. Small talk? Not so much. Especially with these tone-deaf, overly stiff airheads. He glanced around, trying to locate the nearest exit, but the sea of people made it difficult. And just when he thought found a suitable path of escape, a waiter with a tray of hors d'oeuvres suddenly appeared in front of him.

“Crab cake?”

“Uh, no thanks,” Y/N mumbled, sidestepping the tray, only to nearly collide with a woman in a sequined dress who was clearly on a mission to get to the bar. He offered a quick apology and finally made it to a quiet corner, where he could breathe again.

As he scanned the room, his thoughts drifted back to last night and a certain caped superhero. His curiosity combined with the still overwhelming feelings of longing and nostalgia had the magic in him feeling antsy. And the last thing Y/N needed was to accidentally cause a chandelier to implode or a champagne glass to refill itself endlessly.

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady himself, not wanting to make a big scene considering he wanted to make a hasty and sneaky exit. As he opened his eyes, Y/N forced his thoughts away from Superman, away from the strange connection he’d felt the night before. He needed to focus on the present, on getting through this evening without incident.

Y/N sighed, taking a sip of his water. This was supposed to be a fresh start. The past was behind him, and he needed to keep it that way.

But fate, as it often does, had other plans. Little sneaky bastard.

Just as he was about to make a break for the exit, Y/N’s eyes caught sight of someone across the room, and his heart nearly stopped. There, standing by the dessert table with a bemused expression, was Clark Kent.

Of course, Clark would be standing around looking lost with his cute little confused expression. Even now as a grown man, Clark managed to keep his boyish and innocent demeanor. Y/N’s mouth went dry as his eyes took in the sight of the male—older, more polished, and just as big as ever.

Since they were little, Clark always stood out among the other kids for his build and height alone. And it looks like that didn't change with the way he towered over everyone in the room and how his broad shoulders filled out his suit perfectly, the fabric clinging just right in all the places that mattered. Y/N felt a familiar flutter in his chest, a mix of nostalgia and something more complicated that he’d been trying to ignore for years.

Clark, as if sensing someone’s gaze on him, looked up from the dessert table. His eyes, those same bright blue eyes that Y/N remembered so well, scanned the room briefly before landing directly on him. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, and for a split second, he considered ducking behind the nearest potted plant.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Y/N could feel his pulse in his throat, and for a second, he entertained the idea of hiding behind the nearest potted plant.

But then Clark’s face lit up with a grin that could have powered the entire room, and he started making his way over, weaving through the crowd with the kind of determined politeness that only Clark could pull off.

Panic set in, and Y/N’s mind scrambled for a plan, but his feet were rooted to the spot, his body betraying him. All he could do was watch as Clark closed the distance between them, that familiar grin never leaving his face.

“Y/N!” Clark’s voice was as warm and friendly as Y/N remembered, and before he knew it, he was being pulled into a hug that was just as firm and comforting as it had always been.

Y/N stiffened for a moment, caught off guard by the unexpected embrace. When Clark finally pulled back, still keeping a hand on Y/N’s shoulder as if afraid he might vanish, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the slight smudge of chocolate on Clark’s tie. It was such a Clark thing to have—always a little messy, always endearing.

“Clark,” Y/N managed to say, his voice coming out more breathless than he intended. “It’s been a while.”

Clark beamed at him, the smile reaching his eyes in that way that always made Y/N feel like everything was going to be okay. “Yeah, it really has,” Clark said, his tone filled with a warmth that made Y/N’s heart ache with memories of simpler times. “I almost didn’t recognize you without the Smallville backdrop.”

Y/N let out a small laugh, trying to keep things light despite the sudden rush of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. “Yeah, I guess we’ve both changed a bit.”

Clark’s gaze lingered on Y/N’s face, a mix of curiosity and concern in his eyes. It was clear that Clark had questions, but to his credit, he didn’t push. Instead, he gave Y/N one of those easy, reassuring smiles that had always been able to calm him down. “I’m really glad to see you again. I’ve missed you, Y/N.”

There it was—the punch to the gut that Y/N had been dreading. He had missed Clark too, more than he wanted to admit. But standing here, face-to-face with him after all these years, all those old fears and feelings began to resurface. The fear of Clark discovering the truth about his powers, about his feelings. The fear of losing the one person who had always meant the most to him.

“I’ve missed you too,” Y/N said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. It was the truth, but saying it out loud made the tightness in his chest even worse.

Clark’s smile softened, and for a brief moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the room. Y/N could almost believe that they could pick up where they left off, that everything could go back to the way it was. But deep down, he knew it could never be that simple.

His smile didn’t waver, but his eyes narrowed slightly, a familiar look of concern flickering across his face. “You okay? You seem a little… off.”

Y/N forced a laugh, hoping it didn’t sound as strained as it felt. “I’m fine, just—uh—surprised, I guess. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Well, surprise!” Clark laughed with his usual shy manner that was somehow still charming for Y/N’s frayed nerves. “I’ve been working at the Daily Planet. Moved to Metropolis not too long ago. How about you? What brings you here?”

“Work,” Y/N answered quickly, trying to keep the conversation light. “Got a job offer I couldn’t turn down.”

Clark nodded, his eyes never leaving Y/N. It was as if he was trying to read him, to figure out what was going on beneath the surface. For a moment, Y/N was afraid that Clark could see right through him, could see the turmoil and conflict he was struggling with.

But then, the moment passed, and Clark was smiling again, his expression softening.

Y/N cleared his throat, forcing his thoughts away from the past and back to the present. "So, the Daily Planet, huh? That’s a pretty big deal," he said, trying to keep the conversation light.

Clark’s eyes lit up, and he nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! It’s been a dream come true. And the best part? I get to work with some amazing people—Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen. They’re right over there, actually," Clark added, his tone suddenly turning a bit more nervous. "You’ve got to meet them!"

Before Y/N could even process the idea, Clark grabbed his arm, leading him through the crowd with an urgency that caught Y/N off guard. He barely had time to adjust before they were standing in front of a petite woman with sharp eyes and a confident demeanor, who was mid-conversation with a young man enthusiastically fiddling with a vintage camera.

"Lois! Jimmy!" Clark called out, drawing their attention.

Lois turned first, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in Y/N. Then her expression softened into a warm, welcoming smile. "Clark! Who’s this?"

Clark beamed, looking from Lois to Y/N with a hint of nervous energy. "This is Y/N. We grew up together in Smallville."

"Smallville?" Lois’s eyebrow arched with clear interest. "Now that’s a place with some stories, I bet."

Jimmy, now peering at Y/N through the lens of his camera, quickly snapped a picture before lowering it with an apologetic grin. "Sorry, couldn’t resist. It’s a habit."

Y/N chuckled, shaking his head. "No worries. I’m used to it."

Lois leaned in, her curiosity clearly piqued. "So, Y/N, what was Clark like back in Smallville? I can only imagine."

Y/N glanced at Clark, who looked both hopeful and slightly anxious. "Clark and I were pretty much inseparable growing up," Y/N said with a smile, trying to keep the conversation light. "He was always the guy you could count on, the one who’d help you out of a jam and then offer you pie afterward."

Lois’s eyes twinkled with intrigue, clearly not ready to let the topic go. "Pie and jam, huh? Sounds like you two got into some interesting situations. Any fun stories you care to share?"

Y/N felt his heart rate pick up. He could sense the inquisitiveness behind Lois’s casual tone, the way she was gently probing for more. She was good—really good. "Oh, you know, small-town stuff," he said, forcing a chuckle. "Mostly just boring farm work and school."

Clark, sensing Y/N’s discomfort, quickly jumped in. "Yeah, nothing too exciting. Just your average childhood, right, Y/N?"

"Right," Y/N agreed, a bit too quickly. He could feel Lois’s eyes on him, studying him, and it made his magic stir uneasily. The last thing he wanted was for her to start asking more pointed questions that might lead her to the truth.

Lois didn’t miss a beat. "So, you two must have been really close, then. I bet you know all of Clark’s secrets," she said with a teasing smile, though there was a hint of genuine curiosity in her voice.

Y/N’s stomach dropped. He forced another laugh, this one more strained. "Well, everyone’s got their secrets, right?"

Lois raised an eyebrow, clearly catching the subtle tension in Y/N’s voice. "True," she said slowly, her eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to piece together a puzzle. "But something tells me you’re not just any old friend from Smallville."

Clark, sensing that the conversation was veering into dangerous territory, let out a nervous laugh. "Lois, come on, don’t interrogate him on the first meeting!"

Jimmy, sensing the shift in tone, chimed in, grinning as he tried to lighten the mood. "Yeah, Lois, ease up! You don’t want to scare off Clark’s oldest friend."

Lois gave a soft laugh, raising her hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I’ll back off… for now."

Y/N smiled, but there was a tightness in his chest that he couldn’t shake. Lois’s perceptiveness had always been one of her strengths, and it was clear she was picking up on more than he wanted to reveal.

"Seriously, though," Lois said, her tone softening as she gave Y/N a more genuine smile. "It’s good to meet you. Any friend of Clark’s is a friend of ours."

Y/N relaxed slightly, appreciating the warm reception despite his earlier nerves. "Thanks, Lois. I appreciate that."

As the conversation continued, Y/N found himself relaxing a bit more, though the earlier tension still lingered in the back of his mind. He knew he’d have to be careful around Lois—her curiosity and sharp instincts were not something to be underestimated.

Lois, ever the sharp-eyed reporter, leaned closer to Y/N. "So, what brings you to Metropolis? Work?"

"Yeah," Y/N nodded, "I got an offer I couldn’t turn down."

Lois nodded, impressed. "Well, welcome to the city. You know, we’re always looking for interesting people to feature in the Planet. Maybe we’ll run into each other more often."

"Maybe," Y/N said, feeling a bit more at ease. "It’s a small world after all."

Clark chuckled at that, his earlier nervousness fading as the conversation flowed more naturally. "I’m really glad we ran into each other, Y/N. We should definitely hang out more. I mean, if you’re not too busy with work."

Realistically, Y/N should have declined. He should have politely excused himself and gone home, putting an end to the whole thing. But when he looked at Clark, saw the hope and excitement in his eyes, he couldn't bring himself to say no.

All his nervous thoughts and reservations about what could happen if he allowed himself to get close to Clark again seemed to just fade to the back of his mind as he re-connected with him and got to know his two friends. A new familiar feeling also settled in place as well, but not so much nostalgia.

It was more of something he didn't even remember feeling. A sense of ease and comfort, his magic calm and feeling completely grounded. A feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time but something that wasn't new or unfamiliar, a very welcomed sensation and peace.

"I'd love to," Y/N said, his heart skipping a beat.

Clark's smile was brighter than the sun, and though Y/N knew he was in trouble just for that, emotions and impulse overtook his logic. Thus, he didn't really care.

As the night continued, Y/N found himself more at ease, the earlier tension gradually dissipating. Lois, ever the investigative reporter, kept throwing glances his way, but she seemed content for now, her curiosity temporarily satisfied. Jimmy, meanwhile, was snapping pictures of everything and everyone, his energy infectious.

Y/N had to admit, despite his initial apprehension, he was enjoying himself. The company was good, the conversation flowed easily, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was part of something. A small part of him wondered if this was what he had been missing—connection, camaraderie, a sense of belonging.

Clark leaned in closer, a warm smile on his face. "So, Y/N, how have you been? I mean, really been?"

Y/N paused, considering his answer. He could have brushed off the question, given a generic response about work being busy and life being hectic. But something about the way Clark asked, the genuine concern in his voice, made Y/N want to be honest.

"I’ve been… okay," Y/N said, the words coming out slower than he expected. "Moving to Metropolis has been a big change, but it’s good. I’m still finding my way, I guess."

Clark nodded, his expression softening with understanding. "I get that. Moving here was a big adjustment for me too. But you know, it helps when you’ve got friends around. People you can rely on."

Y/N smiled at that, a warmth spreading through him. "Yeah, it does."

Lois, sensing the shift in the conversation, jumped back in with her trademark curiosity. "So, Y/N, what exactly do you do for work? You mentioned an offer you couldn’t turn down."

Y/N hesitated, not wanting to reveal too much. "I work in consulting," he said, keeping it vague. "It’s a bit of everything, really. I help businesses with strategy, operations, that sort of thing."

Lois’s eyes narrowed slightly, clearly not satisfied with the lack of detail, but she let it slide, for now. "That sounds interesting. Metropolis must be a great place for that kind of work."

"It is," Y/N replied, grateful she didn’t press further.

Jimmy, ever the enthusiastic one, suddenly popped up between them, holding out his camera. "Hey, how about a picture? You guys look great together!"

Y/N barely had time to react before Jimmy was positioning them for a shot, his camera clicking away. Clark chuckled, clearly used to Jimmy’s antics, while Lois struck a pose with practiced ease.

As they waited for the flash, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a sense of surrealism wash over him. Here he was, reconnecting with an old friend, surrounded by new ones, in a city that was starting to feel less like a strange place and more like a potential home.

The camera flashed, capturing the moment, and Jimmy grinned as he checked the screen. "Perfect! This one’s definitely going in the album."

Lois nodded in agreement, a smile on her face. "Yeah, this is one for the books. You’re officially part of the crew now, Y/N."

Y/N laughed, the sound genuine and light. "Well, I guess there’s no turning back now."

Clark’s smile was warm, his eyes shining with something that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. "I’m really glad you’re here, Y/N. It feels like old times."

Y/N nodded, feeling a mix of emotions swirl within him. "Yeah, it does."

As the evening drew on, the four of them continued to chat, the conversation flowing easily between light-hearted banter and more serious topics. Y/N felt a connection with Clark and his friends that he hadn’t felt in a long time, and for the first time since moving to Metropolis, he allowed himself to relax and enjoy the moment.

But as the night wore on and the event began to wind down, Y/N couldn’t shake the nagging feeling at the back of his mind. Lois’s earlier questions had been harmless enough, but he knew her type—persistent, sharp, and always on the lookout for a story. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down too much, especially with his magic always threatening to reveal itself.

Yet, despite the risks, Y/N found himself wanting to spend more time with Clark, to catch up on the years they’d missed, and maybe even find a way to make this new life in Metropolis work. It was a dangerous line to walk, but for tonight, he was willing to take that risk.

As they all said their goodbyes and made plans to meet up again soon, Y/N felt a sense of contentment settle over him. Maybe this fresh start in Metropolis wouldn’t be as complicated as he feared. Maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to balance the old and the new, to keep his secrets while building something real with the people who were quickly becoming more than just acquaintances.

And maybe, this time, since he was older and more aware and mature, he could keep his feelings for Clark in check.

Yeah, that hope didn't last long.

Y/N sighed as he stared up at the ceiling of his apartment, reflecting on how quickly things had spiraled out of control since reconnecting with Clark. It had only been a few weeks, but in that short time, his life had become a whirlwind of old emotions, new challenges, and unexpected complications.

He’d spent more time with Clark, Lois, and Jimmy than he had anticipated. There were coffee runs, after-work dinners, and late-night brainstorming sessions where Lois would excitedly discuss her latest scoop while Jimmy showed off his latest photos. Clark, ever the supportive friend, would listen intently, adding his own insights with that same gentle warmth that had always made Y/N feel at ease.

Lois and Jimmy were friendly and welcoming, but Y/N could never fully relax around them. He still had to always be on guard, constantly aware of the magic simmering just beneath the surface.

And despite the camaraderie, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place. It wasn’t just that he was trying to reintegrate into Clark’s life; it was the constant need to keep his magic under control, especially around Lois and Jimmy. The two of them were sharp—Lois, with her inquisitive nature, and Jimmy, with his keen eye for detail. They’d pick up on any slip-up, any sign that Y/N wasn’t just an ordinary guy from Smallville.

And then there were the moments of crisis—because Metropolis was never short on those. It seemed like every time Y/N was with the trio, something would happen. A runaway bus, a building fire, some random new villain on the loose—something always required Superman’s intervention. And every single time, Clark would disappear with a flimsy excuse, only for Superman to show up moments later.

The first time it happened, Y/N had been at a food truck with Clark and Jimmy, enjoying a rare sunny afternoon. They were laughing about something silly Jimmy had said when suddenly, the sound of screeching tires and panicked screams filled the air. Without missing a beat, Clark had mumbled something about needing to make a quick call and bolted, leaving Y/N standing there confused with Lois and Jimmy. Moments later, Superman was on the scene, saving the day like clockwork.

Lois and Jimmy had immediately sprung into action, Jimmy snapping photos while Lois started interviewing witnesses. They had been weirdly calm about the whole thing, a lot of things actually when Y/N thought about it. It was like Smallville all over again, things that should cause people to react with caution and apprehension, but instead, they barely blinked an eye.

It didn’t help that every time Clark returned, he looked winded and disheveled, and Lois would give him a knowing glance that made Y/N’s stomach twist with unease.

Meanwhile, he'd also been using his magic discreetly in these various scenarios to help keep people safe and minimize destruction and casualties. But in the chaos, he’d nearly been caught by Lois, who had turned around just as Y/N was subtly redirecting a beam of wood away from a trapped child.

“Hey, how’d you do that?” she’d asked, her sharp eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Y/N had stammered out a weak excuse, something about adrenaline and luck, but he could tell Lois wasn’t convinced. She’d given him that look—the one that said she wasn’t done with him yet.

And it wasn’t the last time, either. Every time something happened, Y/N found himself using his magic to help, and every time, he came dangerously close to being caught by Lois. She was perceptive, and it was clear she was starting to get suspicious. Her questions about his past, about his connection to Clark, were getting more pointed, and Y/N could feel the pressure mounting.

But there was another element to this that Y/N hadn’t anticipated—jealousy. The more time he spent with the group, the more he noticed how close Clark and Lois were. It wasn’t just their professional partnership; it was the way they interacted, the easy banter, the shared looks, the inside jokes. Y/N couldn’t help but notice the way Clark’s eyes lit up whenever Lois was around, how he seemed more at ease with her than anyone else.

It irritated Y/N more than he wanted to admit. He knew it was irrational—Clark was allowed to have close friends, and Lois was obviously important to him. But every time he saw them together, it felt like a thorn in his side, a constant reminder of how complicated things had become. It didn’t help that Lois was so naturally curious, always asking questions about his and Clark’s past, digging into their history with a relentless enthusiasm that made Y/N squirm.

And then there were the quiet moments—those rare instances when it was just Y/N and Clark, away from the chaos of the city. They’d talk about everything and nothing, slipping into the easy rhythm of their past friendship. But every time, Y/N felt the old feelings bubbling up, stronger than ever.

Like the night they’d gone for a walk along the Metropolis River. The city lights reflected off the water, casting a soft glow over everything. Clark had been unusually quiet, his hands tucked into his pockets as they strolled. Y/N had felt the tension between them, the unspoken words hanging in the air.

“I’m glad you’re here, Y/N,” Clark had said suddenly, breaking the silence. “It’s like… it feels right, having you around again.”

Y/N had smiled, but it hadn’t reached his eyes. He wanted to say something—anything—that would match the sincerity in Clark’s voice, but the words had caught in his throat. Instead, he’d just nodded, trying to ignore the way his heart raced every time Clark looked at him like that.

But every time they were together, every time Clark smiled at him or brushed against him accidentally, Y/N felt his resolve weakening. It was getting harder to pretend that everything was fine, that he didn’t still have feelings for Clark.

And as they spent more time together, Y/N couldn’t help but wonder—did Clark feel it too? There were moments, subtle ones, where Y/N thought he saw something in Clark’s eyes, a lingering gaze, a soft smile that seemed meant just for him. But then Clark would pull back, or Lois would step in, and Y/N was left questioning if it was all in his head.

But now, lying on his couch and staring at the ceiling, Y/N couldn’t ignore it anymore. The old feelings hadn’t just resurfaced—they were drowning him, pulling him under with a force he couldn’t fight.

It wasn’t just about Clark, though that was a huge part of it. It was the fear of what would happen if Clark—or worse, Lois and Jimmy—found out about his magic. They were all so caught up in their own world of secrets and dangers, and Y/N wasn’t sure if he could handle being part of it. He wasn’t sure if he could keep up the act much longer.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table, pulling him out of his thoughts. He glanced at the screen and saw a message from Clark: Hey, want to grab dinner with Lois and Jimmy? We’re thinking Thai.

Y/N hesitated for a moment before typing a quick reply: Sure, sounds good.

As he grabbed his jacket and headed out the door, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking a tightrope, balancing between the life he had built for himself and the one he had left behind. And with every step, he was getting closer to falling off.

As Y/N walked to the restaurant, he kept his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, trying to calm the unease that had settled in his chest. He needed to get a grip, to find a way to keep his feelings in check before they, and thus his magic spiraled out of control. The last thing he wanted was for Clark to notice—or worse, for Lois to start asking questions.

By the time he reached the restaurant, Y/N had managed to push his anxiety down, forcing a smile as he spotted Clark, Lois, and Jimmy waiting outside. Clark waved him over, his smile as bright as ever.

"Hey, glad you could make it," Clark greeted him with his usual warm and bright tone.

"Heh, wouldn't miss it," Y/N chuckled, trying to keep his voice casual.

As they ate, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the easy dynamic between Lois and Clark. There was a familiarity there, an unspoken understanding that made Y/N’s chest tighten with a mix of jealousy and longing. He wanted to be part of that, to be as close to Clark as Lois was.

But then Lois turned to him, her sharp eyes studying him with that same curiosity he’d noticed at the gala. “So, Y/N, what was Clark like back in Smallville? He never talks much about his hometown.”

Y/N felt his pulse quicken. He shot a quick glance at Clark, who was suddenly very interested in his pad Thai.

“Oh, you know,” Y/N began, trying to keep his tone light, “just your average small-town kid. We spent a lot of time getting into trouble and trying to keep out of it.”

Lois raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with the vague answer. “Really? I find that hard to believe. Clark’s practically the poster boy for responsibility.”

Y/N forced a laugh, trying to deflect Lois’s probing gaze. “Yeah, well, even poster boys have their moments. We were just kids, you know? Doing dumb stuff like exploring abandoned barns or sneaking out to the creek after dark. Nothing too wild.”

Lois leaned in slightly, her eyes narrowing with that trademark inquisitiveness. “Come on, Y/N, you’re holding out on me. I want the juicy details. What kind of trouble did Clark get into?”

Y/N could feel the heat rising in his face, a mix of nerves, and the pressure of trying to avoid any slip-ups. “Honestly, it was mostly me dragging him into stuff. Clark was always the one keeping me out of serious trouble.”

Clark chuckled nervously, his eyes darting between Y/N and Lois. “Yeah, Y/N was always the adventurous one. I was just along for the ride.”

Jimmy, sensing the tension, tried to lighten the mood. “I don’t know, Lois. I think Clark’s just good at covering his tracks. Bet he’s got a whole secret rebellious side we don’t know about.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at Jimmy’s words, the irony of the statement not lost on him. If only they knew just how many secrets Clark was hiding—or how many he was keeping himself.

Lois, however, wasn’t so easily deterred. “I don’t doubt it,” she said, her eyes flicking back to Y/N with a knowing smile. “And I bet you’ve got some secrets of your own, Y/N. You seem like the type who’s good at keeping things under wraps.”

Y/N’s smile faltered for just a second before he forced it back into place. “Who doesn’t have a few secrets?” he replied, trying to keep his tone light and nonchalant.

Lois’s gaze lingered on him a moment longer, and Y/N could practically feel her trying to piece together the puzzle she was sure he was hiding. He shifted uncomfortably, desperate to change the subject.

“Anyway,” Y/N said, his voice a bit too loud in his haste to redirect the conversation, “what about you guys? You’ve all been working together for a while now. Any crazy stories from the Daily Planet?”

Clark gave him a grateful smile, clearly relieved at the change in topic. “Oh, you know, it’s mostly just chasing down leads and trying to stay out of trouble ourselves.”

Lois smirked. “Mostly. There have been a few close calls, though. Like that time we were covering that gala and—”

But before she could continue, there was a sudden commotion outside the restaurant. The sound of screeching tires and shouting filled the air, followed by the unmistakable sound of something crashing into a building.

Clark’s expression immediately shifted to one of concern. “I’ll, uh, be right back,” he mumbled, already moving toward the door.

Moments later, Superman was on the scene, and Y/N found himself once again in the midst of a crisis, trying to discreetly use his magic to help those around him. He directed falling debris away from pedestrians, subtly reinforced a crumbling wall, and calmed panicked civilians—all while trying to stay out of Lois’s line of sight.

As Y/N moved through the chaos, he couldn’t help but keep one eye on Lois. She was already pulling out her phone, likely trying to reach out to sources or start documenting the scene for the Daily Planet. But more than once, Y/N caught her glancing his way, her sharp eyes narrowing as if she were trying to figure something out.

It didn’t help that every time Y/N used his magic, Lois seemed to notice something was off. Like when he subtly redirected a falling streetlight away from a group of bystanders, Lois had been nearby and had whipped around, her eyes narrowing as she spotted Y/N standing there, his hand half-raised.

“Where, how did you—” she started, but Y/N cut her off quickly.

“Uh, just lucky timing,” he said, flashing what he hoped was a convincing grin.

Lois didn’t look convinced, but before she could press further, another explosion rocked the area as Superman swooped across the sky in a fight with some new villain. Lois’s attention was immediately drawn away as she dashed off to get closer to the action, leaving Y/N with a brief moment of relief.

But it was short-lived. He could feel the weight of his secret bearing down on him, the fear that at any moment, Lois would start putting the pieces together. She was too perceptive, too determined to uncover the truth, and Y/N was running out of excuses.

Y/N’s heart pounded as he watched Lois dart away, her focus now on Superman’s battle overhead. The city block was in chaos—buildings crumbling, cars overturned, and terrified civilians running for cover. Y/N could feel the familiar tingle of his magic, urging him to act, but he hesitated. He was too exposed, too close to Lois and Jimmy, who were both still in the thick of things, trying to stay safe while getting their story.

But then he saw it—a mother and her young child, trapped beneath a fallen piece of debris, their terrified cries cutting through the noise. Without thinking, Y/N moved. He knew he couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.

Darting through the chaos, he reached the trapped pair, his heart racing. The chunk of concrete pinning them was far too heavy for him to lift on his own, but that didn’t stop him from trying. He pretended to struggle with it for a moment, glancing around to make sure no one was watching too closely. Then, with a whispered incantation, he let his magic flow, lifting the debris just enough for the mother to pull her child to safety.

“Go! Get out of here!” Y/N urged them, and they didn’t need to be told twice. They scrambled to their feet and ran, not looking back.

But as Y/N released his grip on the concrete, allowing it to crash back to the ground, he felt a prickling at the back of his neck. He turned just in time to see Lois standing a few feet away, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and suspicion.

“Y/N…” she started, her voice barely audible over the sounds of destruction around them. “How did you—”

Before she could finish, a loud crash interrupted her, drawing their attention to the ongoing battle above. Superman was locked in a fierce struggle with the villain, who was wielding some kind of energy weapon that was tearing through the city with reckless abandon.

Lois hesitated for a split second, torn between confronting Y/N and rushing to cover the story. The journalist in her won out, and she turned to run towards the action, but not before shooting Y/N one last look, a promise that this conversation wasn’t over.

Y/N let out a shaky breath, but there was no time to dwell on what Lois had seen. The battle was escalating, and the destruction was growing worse by the second. He knew he had to do more, had to use his magic more openly if he wanted to save lives. The fear of exposure warred with his instinct to help, but his desire to help won out.

As Y/N wove his way through the chaos, he could feel his magic surging within him, responding to his need to act. With each subtle spell, he could feel the pressure mounting, the risk of being discovered growing with every passing moment. But he couldn't stop, not when so many lives were at stake.

As Y/N moved through the chaos, helping people where he could, he lost himself in the urgency of the moment. He pulled a child out of harm's way, extinguished small fires with a flick of his wrist, and used his magic to steady a teetering scaffold that was threatening to collapse onto a group of bystanders. Every action was instinctual, his focus so intense that he didn’t even notice how close he was getting to the epicenter of the danger.

Meanwhile, Superman was engaged in a fierce battle with the villain, their clash sending shockwaves through the city. Clark’s attention was divided, trying to subdue the threat while keeping an eye on his friends below. But in the midst of the fight, he noticed Y/N inching dangerously close to the conflict.

“Y/N, get back!” Superman shouted, his voice strained with panic as he saw Y/N unwittingly step into the path of a collapsing billboard that had been dislodged during the battle.

Time seemed to slow as Clark realized he wouldn’t reach Y/N in time, especially with his opponent actively trying to block his way. His heart pounded in his chest, fear gripping him like a vice. But just as the massive billboard was about to crush him, Y/N’s instincts kicked in.

Without even thinking, Y/N threw up his hands, and a powerful force field erupted around him, deflecting the billboard away and sending it crashing harmlessly to the ground. The magic burst out of him like a tidal wave, raw and unfiltered, saving him in the nick of time.

The impact of what had just happened hit Y/N all at once. He stood there, breathless and trembling, staring at the spot where the billboard had fallen. His heart raced as he realized how close he’d come to being crushed—and how easily he had saved himself with powers.

Superman, who had seen the entire event unfold, hovered in the air, momentarily stunned. His mind raced, trying to comprehend what he had just witnessed. Y/N had powers—real, undeniable powers. And in that instant, a dozen memories from their time together in Smallville flashed through his mind, moments that suddenly made sense in a new, startling way.

The villain took advantage of Superman’s distraction, launching one final attack. But Superman, fueled by a surge of determination, quickly regained focus. With a swift, powerful strike, he knocked the villain off his feet, sending him crashing to the ground, unconscious and defeated.

The battle was over, but the tension in the air was far from dissipated.

Superman landed softly on the ground, his eyes never leaving Y/N. The adrenaline from the fight was still coursing through him, but now it was mixed with a cocktail of emotions—shock, confusion, and something deeper, something more personal.

Y/N looked up, locking eyes with Superman for the first time. The two of them stood there, surrounded by the remnants of the battle, but it felt as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of them.

“Y/N,” Superman began, his voice uncharacteristically shaky. He took a step forward, but before he could say more, Lois and Jimmy rushed over, their faces a mix of concern and relief.

Superman took a step toward Y/N, his mind racing with questions, but before he could say more, Lois and Jimmy rushed over, their faces a mix of concern and urgency.

"Superman," Lois called out, her voice edged with urgency as she glanced around. "We’re in the middle of the street. People are starting to notice."

Jimmy nodded, his camera hanging by his side as he scanned the area. “Yeah, maybe we should take this somewhere a little less… public.”

Superman blinked, realizing the gravity of the situation. There were indeed a few onlookers, phones out, capturing the aftermath of the battle. The last thing he needed was more attention, especially with Y/N’s secret now out in the open.

He turned to Y/N, his eyes filled with both concern and determination. “Y/N, we need to talk. But not here. Do you trust me?”

Y/N, still shaken from everything that had happened, hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Yeah, I trust you.”

Superman gave him a small, reassuring smile before glancing back at Lois and Jimmy. “I’ll explain everything later, but right now, I need to get Y/N out of here.”

Lois gave a curt nod, understanding the need for discretion. “We’ll cover for you. Just… be careful.”

Jimmy shot Y/N a quick thumbs-up, though his expression was tinged with curiosity and concern. “We’ll handle the crowd. Go.”

With a final nod, Superman wrapped an arm around Y/N’s waist, holding him securely. “Hold on tight.”

Before Y/N could fully process what was happening, they were airborne, the ground falling away as Superman lifted them into the sky. The wind rushed past them as they soared above the city, the chaos of the battle below quickly becoming a distant memory.

Y/N clung to Superman, his heart racing not just from the flight but from the whirlwind of emotions and revelations that had just unfolded. He had always admired Superman from afar, but now, being so close, knowing that this was Clark—it was almost too much to take in.

They flew in silence, the cityscape sprawling out beneath them, until finally, Superman began to descend, landing gently on the rooftop of the Daily Planet building. The iconic globe loomed above them, casting long shadows in the setting sun.

Superman set Y/N down carefully, stepping back to give him space. For a moment, they just stood there, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between them.

Clark, still in his Superman suit but with the familiar warmth of his old friend in his eyes, took a step closer. “I know. It’s a lot to take in. For both of us.”

Y/N nodded, his mind racing with a thousand questions. “So, you're Superman?”

A faint blush along with his nervous smile appeared on his face, a glimpse of the boy Y/N had known. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

A moment of silence passed before Y/N spoke again, "I really don't get how people don't catch on faster. The only visible difference is the glasses," he said, gesturing to the frames on Clark's face.

Clark looked confused for a moment, "Wait, huh? Did you know?"

"Well, not for sure. But I had my suspicions. I mean, the glasses, the timing of your disappearances, the fact that you were never around whenever Superman showed up... it wasn't exactly hard to put the pieces together. But, I didn't know until I saw you up close. Until now, whenever you were Superman, I wasn't close enough to get a good look. Then, you were right in front of me, and well, it was like, 'Oh yeah, that makes complete sense,'" Y/N admitted, rambling a little.

"Oh," was all Clark could manage, a sheepish look on his face.

"Why did you never tell me?" Y/N asked, his voice soft.

Clark sighed, his expression conflicted. "I wanted to, believe me. But it's not exactly something I can just go around telling people. And after everything that happened back in Smallville, I didn't want to put you in any more danger. I guess, we were both keeping secrets."

Y/N paused for a moment, now realizing the irony of the situation before laughing under his breath, "Sneaky little bastard strikes again."

"Huh?"

"Nothing, just a little joke to myself," Y/N explained, before pausing and looking at his friend, taking in his entire superhero appearance, "Wow, looking at you now, and thinking back to everything, everything now makes so much sense."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you being able to stop cars without getting injured. Or people always calling your parents to ask for you when their tractor was broken down. And that time you and Suzy were playing in Old Man Ferris's field and he almost mowed her over with the shredder but you saved her and broke the shredder in the process. I always thought it was weird, but now, it's obvious," Y/N said, his tone a mixture of amusement and disbelief.

"I mean, it could've just been weak metal," Clark tried to argue, but the blush creeping up his neck betrayed his embarrassment.

"Clark, no offense, but anyone else verse that shredder would've been minced meat. And yet, one run-in with you and it had been totaled with no chance of repair. Which, did he ever get a new one?"

"Yeah, the town all chipped in to get him one while my parents got him insurance on it for a year as an apology."

"Hmm, you know for the amount of weird things that have gone on in that town between you and me alone, you'd think someone would've said something or freaked out," Y/N commented, shaking his head.

"Yeah, well, Smallville is a weird place," Clark chuckled, a hint of nostalgia in his voice.

"That it is," Y/N agreed, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

Clark cleared his throat while rubbing the back of his neck, "I guess things also make sense for you too. All those times that lights and power in school went out after you got angry, things disappearing and reappearing in random places, and that one time you got in an argument with a squirrel. Can you talk to animals with your powers?"

"Okay, first of all, we didn't have to bring that specific instance up. You remember everyone made fun of me for like a month after that happened. And either way, that squirrel had it coming," Y/N said, a slight pout on his face.

"It was a squirrel, Y/N."

"And it was a jerk!"

"How was it a jerk?"

"It kept throwing acorns at me and always running at me like it wanted to fight. I can't understand animals naturally unless there's a spell for it that I just haven't figured out, but they do seem to gravitate towards me for whatever reason. But, that squirrel had it out for me since freshman year and I was just trying to defend myself," Y/N argued, his voice taking on a slightly whiny tone.

"By arguing with it?"

"Well, yes," Y/N said, crossing his arms, "But, it was a very heated argument."

"If you say so," Clark laughed, his eyes bright with amusement.

Clark's laughter filled the air, and for a moment, it felt like they were back in Smallville, two friends joking around like they used to. But the reality of their situation quickly settled back in, and the weight of everything that had happened—everything that had been revealed—hung between them.

"So, magic," Clark said after a beat, his tone more serious. "I can't believe you were hiding that all these years."

Y/N shrugged, looking down at his feet. "It wasn't exactly something I could just go around telling people. Especially not in Smallville. I barely understood it myself, and my parents were terrified of what might happen if anyone found out. They were always worried that some government agency would swoop in and take me away if I ever slipped up."

Clark nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I get that. My parents had similar fears about me. We were both trying to protect each other, in our own way."

"Yeah," Y/N agreed quietly. He glanced up at Clark, a hesitant smile on his face. "It's kind of ironic, isn't it? Both of us with these...abilities and we never knew about each other."

Clark smiled back, but there was something in his eyes—something that made Y/N's heart skip a beat. "I wish I had known," Clark said softly. "Maybe things would have been different."

"Maybe," Y/N echoed, the word hanging in the air between them.

A comfortable silence settled over them, the kind that only old friends could share. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow over the city. Y/N found himself getting lost in the moment, in the quiet presence of his friend, the tension of the past few weeks slowly ebbing away.

But then Clark spoke again, his voice filled with an emotion that Y/N couldn't quite place. "You know, I've always felt like there was something more between us. Even back then."

Y/N's breath caught in his throat. He looked at Clark, his eyes searching his friend's face for any sign that he might be joking, but all he saw was sincerity. "What do you mean?"

Clark hesitated as if trying to find the right words. "I mean... I've always cared about you, Y/N. More than just as a friend."

The confession hung in the air, and Y/N's heart pounded in his chest. He had dreamed of hearing those words for so long, but now that they were here, he didn't know how to respond. His feelings for Clark had been buried deep for years, hidden away to protect both himself and their friendship.

"Clark, I..." Y/N began, but his voice faltered. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I care about you too. A lot. But this—" He gestured to the city below them, to Superman’s suit, to everything around them. "This is complicated. Our lives are so different now."

Clark stepped closer, his expression earnest. "I know it’s complicated. But maybe we can figure it out together."

Y/N looked into Clark's eyes, seeing the hope and the warmth there, and for a moment, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they could make this work. He thought about all the things they had been through, the secrets they had kept, the bond that had never really broken despite the years and the distance.

He smiled softly, his heart finally settling into a steady rhythm. "I'd like that," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Clark's smile was brighter than the sunset behind him, and Y/N felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the fading sunlight. For the first time in a long while, things felt right. Complicated, yes, but right.

But before they could say anything more, the door to the rooftop burst open, and Lois and Jimmy came rushing in, both looking out of breath and a little frantic.

"Clark! Y/N!" Lois called out, her eyes wide as she took in the scene before her. "You guys okay? We’ve been looking everywhere for you."

"Yeah, we’re fine," Clark said, quickly stepping back from Y/N, though he couldn’t quite hide the smile on his face.

Jimmy glanced between the two of them, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "You know, you guys really should be more careful. The paparazzi would have a field day if they caught Superman having a heart-to-heart with some random guy on a rooftop."

Lois rolled her eyes but nodded in agreement. "He's right. We should get off this rooftop before someone spots us."

Clark looked at Y/N, his expression a mix of reluctance and agreement. "Yeah, you're right." He turned back to Y/N, his voice softening. "We'll talk more later, okay?"

Y/N nodded, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nervousness about what that conversation would bring. "Yeah, later."

With that, they all made their way back down to the city, where the chaos of the day had finally settled. But even as they stepped back into the world, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that something significant had shifted between them.

And for the first time, he was ready to see where it would lead.

☀️ | Clark Kent/Superman | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

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arjwrites · 2 months

Text

left my heart at home for you to hold- dean winchester x fem!reader

summary: leaving you is the hardest thing dean has ever had to do, but coming back home is the joy of his life.

warnings: none, fem!reader

word count: .9k

a/n: my first drabble for my 100 follower event! based on the song russell county line by 49 winchester (how fitting!) thanks for the request, i hope you enjoy!! <333

arj's 100 follower event

xxx

“I miss you, sweetheart.” Dean's words came out almost desperately.

The giggling of your response through the phone speaker sent a pang of hurt through his body. He was so sick of being away from you. On hunts these days, Dean felt like he was just going through the motions. He used to enjoy hunting, at least to some extent. He felt a sense of satisfaction and purpose when he ganked the monster and saved the day. But ever since you came into his life, nothing satisfied him like you did.

“When will you be home?” Your sweet voice bounced around in his mind and he held tight to the shape of your words, imagining them in the shape of you. Sometimes, when his eyes darted up to check the rearview mirror, he would swear he could almost see you perched back there, nodding along to the music and throwing him a cheeky grin.

A few days was the answer to your question, though he didn’t like it very much. Hunts these days felt lonelier than ever, and a routine three-day hunt stretched into lifetimes apart from you. Of course, his brother was right there next to him, thumbing through newspapers and lore books. Sam would jump right into discussing this next case the second Dean snapped the phone shut. But he wouldn’t hang up just yet. He’d hang on to this little scrap of you for as long as he could.

The hunt would go on longer than expected, like they always did. Each snag in the road would enrage Dean. He was always desperate, needy, longing to return home to you. More often than not, Sam would catch him distracted. He’d be staring off into space while researching, or zoning out while interviewing a victim’s family member. He just wasn’t on his game. It was like he wasn’t fully there- a piece of him was always left behind, his heart all those miles away, tucked into your gentle hands for safekeeping until he returned.

Eventually, things would come to an end and the boys would emerge victorious- sweaty, tired, and often bloody, but nonetheless victorious. Before Dean had you, car rides after a successful hunt were full of classic rock sing-alongs and lazy diner stops. It used to be a common occurrence to stick around, hit the local dive bar, celebrate a little. These days, however, when the bodies hit the floor and the case was said and done, Dean put the pedal to the metal. The second their work was done, he was ready to hit the road. Sometimes, Sam would turn away to say goodbye and offer some comfort to a victim, and when he turned back around, like magic, their bags were all packed and Dean was already posted in the driver’s seat, revving the engine and honking the horn. “Let’s go, Sammy.” As they hit the open road, Dean would press his foot down, reveling in the growl of the Impala’s engine as they barrelled down the highway en route home to his girl.

There was a familiar routine when Dean returned from a long hunt. You’d always have some sort of meal ready, no matter the time of day, knowing he would be returning tired and hungry. He’d stroll in dramatically, tossing his bag down and throwing some sassy remark like “Honey, I’m home.” When you’d run up to him all smiles, he would wrap you in a hug that radiated the genuine love you had been missing. He’d pepper your face with kisses, absentmindedly recounting stories of the hunt that seemed boring now. Once he had you again, back in front of his eyes and in his arms, nothing else mattered.

In the days between hunts, when life was normal for as long as you each could manage, Dean wouldn’t leave your side. He’d follow you from room to room, lingering in your presence for as long as possible. His eyes were always locked on you, drinking you in. He couldn’t get enough. Most often, he was quiet. His love for you was strong, silent, reverent, yet ever-present. But there were always moments where the feelings inside him became too much. They bubbled up inside him and threatened to spill out uncontrollably. It was in moments like this where he attempted to turn his sentiments into words.

“I love you so much, you know that?” Dean spoke from his spot next to you as the two of you washed the dishes from dinner. Your beauty made the mundane so fascinating. He could see your face reflected in the shine of the plate you were drying, capturing your form in a way that was so uniquely you, and yet, could never live up to the real thing.

“I love you too, Dean,” you hummed in response, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you placed the final dish into the cabinet.

“No, seriously.” He wrung his hands, turning from the now-empty sink to face you. “You’re home now, kid. It’s always gonna be you. I hate leaving, but I’m always coming back to you.”

You smiled, wiping your hands on your jeans before taking Dean’s. You lifted his arms up, wrapping them around your shoulders and allowing him to pull you close. There you stood in the kitchen, swaying gently to a song that wasn’t there, yet you both could hear it so clearly. It was as if you could feel your life together growing up around you, sprouting and blooming. This was home, where Dean would always return. And you’d always be waiting.

#arj's 100 follower event #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester reader insert #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural x reader #supernatural one shot #supernatural reader insert #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester drabble #supernatural drabble #requests <3

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alt-vera · 2 years

Note

If you’re taking Joel requests, can I suggest a pre-virus where you’re being a good neighbourly citizen and always bringing him extra food you’ve cooked when you know he’s had a late shift (for Sarah and him) and one night there’s a knock at your door and he returns the favour of gifting you food, when Sarah’s at a friends house, so he stays for dinner and gets to know you except the dinner also comes with some slutty Joel

— cowboy take me away ⁀➷

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joel miller is surprised by how kind his new neighbour is. he decides he has to find a way to repay her.

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♡ | joel miller | 2.5k | ❛ cowboy take me away - the dixie chicks ❜

warnings: preoutbreak!joel miller. mentions of food/eating. thigh-riding. fingering. praise. piv sex. age gap. mdni.

note: very lowkey channeling that scene where jess brings rory food in gilmore girls n denies it was from him <3

❝ i wanna be the only one, for miles and miles, except for maybe you and your simple smile ❞

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JOEL HADN’T EXPECTED HIS NEW NEIGHBOUR TO BE SO… NEIGHBOURLY.

　Sure, he’d offer the polite wave and greeting every time the two of you would leave your houses at the same time, have small conversations when getting the mail, even sending out the offer to help you fix anything wrong with your new place.

　But Joel never imagined that he’d come home after a late shift to Sarah telling him how earlier you’d dropped off food for the two of them, and he certainly didn’t expect for it to become a common occurrence.

　It’s almost as if you had a sixth sense for when he’d be working late and couldn’t make Sarah a proper dinner. Or maybe you were just observational.

　At first, Joel was hesitant. Sure, he knew you, but he didn’t know you. What if you were some psycho freak who put poison in the food just for kicks?

　But one cautious bite into the dinner you made, and Joel knew that wasn’t the case. This food was prepared with heavy TLC; tender love and care.

　After two weeks of your graciously received meals, Joel decided to return the favour. He’d whipped up a hearty pasta salad, excusing it as a reason to use the stray veggies in the fridge for a nice summertime meal. You also seemed the healthy type; he’d snuck peeks of you doing yoga in your backyard multiple times, sports bra and leggings doing nothing to hide your figure.

　As he hovered his meaty fist over the solid wood of your door, the first pins of doubt began to needle him. Was this weird? Joel hadn’t been able to acknowledge your kindness at all, simply because he hadn’t seen you since you began your nearly daily meal runs. It was almost as if you were a ghost, dropping the food off to Sarah and disappearing into the simmering sunset.

　‘No,’ He finally decided. ‘I’m simply returning a favour.’

　He rapped at your thick door, the knocks echoing through the quiet neighborhood being painted by the hues of the sunset. A soft summer breeze flowed around him, cradling him with the smell of lilacs and faint barbecue.

　He tried not to jump when you answered the door almost instantly, a smile gracing your youthful features as your eyes scanned him. He suddenly felt very subconscious in his worn grey tee and ratty jeans. He shifted his weight in the soles of his workboots.

　“Joel Miller,” You greeted, elation present in your voice. “What can i do for you?”

　You didn’t address your dinner droppings at all, and Joel struggled to not let his eyes crinkle in confusion at that. Maybe it wasn’t you doing it? Or maybe you wanted to leave the simple kindness at that. Simple.

　Maybe he was overthinking everything, given he’d been there for only a minute.

　“I, uh, brought this for you,” He said gruffly, awkwardly holding out the tupperware filled with his delicately cooked pasta salad.

　“Come on in,” You welcomed, waving him into the house and shutting the door behind you. He took in his surroundings, breathing in the smell of lavender and linen, noticing how clean your house was despite being moved in for less than a month. He’d figured there’d still be boxes scattered around, like there was when he first moved into his house with Sarah, but everything was pristine and spotless.

　“Did Sarah put you up to this?” You asked, disappearing into the house. Joel took this as a cue to follow you, dinner still in hand as he clumsily shook off his heavy boots, listening to the sound of your voice to find you. “I told her you guys didn’t need to do anything in return. I just wanted to be helpful.”

　“Uh, yeah, she did,” Joel replied. A big fat lie. He did this entirely of his own volition. “Said I should return the kindness.”

　“Well, you might as well join me,” You replied softly, and Joel watched as you already moved to the cupboards, grabbing plates and cutlery. “Is it just you? Or should i grab another place setting for Sarah.”

　“No, she’s stayin’ the night at a friends house,” He replied, sitting down in the oaky chair at your kitchen table, putting the food down carefully, as if it were glass and he were afraid to drop and break it.

　You brought the place settings to him, and he watched you as you neatly organized everything, the smell of fresh flowers tickling his nose from the vase in the centre of the round table.

　You even went as far as to serve the food for him, pouring him a glass of water and making sure he had everything he needed before serving yourself and sitting down to eat.

　Joel tried not to relish in the domesticity of it all.

　“You really don’t need to bring us food,” He said after swallowing a bite of the meal, the sweetness of bell pepper lingering on his tongue. “Sarah can cook—well, she can cook grilled cheese and use the microwave, and that’s about it, but—“

　“No, no, I don’t mind,” You replied, smiling at him before taking a quick sip of water. “Sarah told me it was just the two of you, and I usually make too much anyway. I’m used to cooking for a big family, and now that i’m by myself…” You trailed off. “Well, i guess i’m just not used to portioning for one.”

　“Big family?” Joel prompted after a moment, not wanting silence to dig it’s sharp claws into the comfortable atmosphere around the two of you.

　You nodded. “Yup. Three brothers, all on sports teams. My mom worked a lot, ‘cuz she was an RN, so i’d have to make a lot of food for those knuckleheads. Learned how to barbecue at a very young age.”

　A chuckle escaped Joel at that. “Yeah, I know the feeling. My brother Tommy, well, he was on the football team. I mean, i was too, but boy he could turn a family sized meal into a meal for one.”

　The conversation flowed easily as the two of you ate. Talking about family, and the past, and the present. How the job Joel was currently working on was taking longer than it should. How you were settling into the neighbourhood.

　After the plates were cleared you set a chilled beer in front of Joel, the condensation beading and running down to create a wet ring on the top of your table.

　As he reached for a sip from the now half-empty bottle he winced, a sharp pain shooting through the muscles in his shoulder.

　“Bum arm?” You asked, and Joel nodded silently.

　“Been given me trouble for a few days now,” He mumbled, turning the cuff in a sloppy circle. “Must’ve pulled a muscle or somethin’.”

　You pulled your chair to him, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. “Here, let me see,” You offered, gently taking his arm into your hands.

　“I’m a physical therapist,” You said softly, as if to explain your actions. Joel tried to ignore the smell of your perfume, and the soft tingles your feather-light grip left in it’s wake as you gently stretched his shoulder.

　You pulled your hands away, and Joel’s arm suddenly felt very cold, goosebumps raising on his skin.

　“Is that better?” You asked with a lopsided grin.

　Joel nodded, eyes studying your face now that he was closer to you. He traced your nose with your eyes, zeroing in on the slight tint on your cheeks and the way your eyelashes fluttered as you blinked. How your lips turned as you smiled, and how the faint beginnings of crows feet settled into the corners of your eyes.

　Without thinking, he kissed you. It was all too much for him; the floral smells, the proximity, the domesticated actions. It gave him a sense of warmth, drawing something deep within him that longed for someone to share life with. The feeling of home that your presence gave him.

　You kissed back, as if you were waiting patiently this whole time for him to make a move. Your lips melded into his, becoming whole as his tongue moved along yours, muscles twisting and melting into each other. When you pulled away you gazed at him with wide eyes, face heating into a rosy bloom and lips dewy and parted.

　No words left either of you as you led him up the stairs, steps creaking under your feet, and the absent minded thought crossed Joel’s brain that he’d have to come back and fix those steps for you.

　He lost all train of thought, though, when the two of you entered your bedroom. Clothes were tossed lazily onto the floor as you stripped each other, shirts and pants being discarded haphazardly until you both stood in your underwear, bodies tangling.

　Joel laid you softly onto the cotton of your comforter, your head resting against the pattern of bluebonnets on your pillowcases. The air between you held so much raw animosity, such a strong difference from the homey aura you’d created down stairs. Your eyes were wild, waiting for him to decide what he wanted to do you first.

　His breath fanned your skin, hairs raising as he undid your bra, settling between your parted thighs as he gently took one pebbled bud into his mouth, his stubble creating small red marks on your breast in his wake. A light sound escaped you, airy and desperate. His fingers found your other nipple, twisting as he worked.

　He could feel the warmth radiating off your cunt, feel it clenching around his thigh as he pressed his leg against your panties, rubbing slightly to create a delicious friction that had you whispering his name.

　He couldn’t hide his smile at the sounds you were making. He inched himself lower, unlatching from your nipple as he peppered kisses down your stomach to your navel, stopping as he reached the band of your lacy underwear. He traced the fabric, fingers hooking into them as he pulled them down your thighs, calloused pads tracing shapes into the plushness of your thigh.

　You mumbled his name again, and Joel caught your gaze, eyes clouded with hazy lust. “You’ve been treating me so well, baby,” He said wantonly, “Now let me pay ya back.”

　He entered one finger into you, wetness coating him as your gummy walls sucked him in. It didn’t take long until you were ready for another, and as he entered a second digit he pressed a chaste kiss to your clit, sucking it gingerly. A high pitched whine left your lips, and Joel couldn’t resist as he grinned into your pussy.

　He loved the sounds you were making. They sounded like music to his ears, clouding his mind with a foggy lust that kept him on a single-minded train of thought. “Those noises all for me, baby?” He questioned, keen smile still on his lips as he watched you writhe beneath him.

　He watched you nod, mouth coming to form words that died in your throat as he hit a special spot inside of you, your eyes glazing over as you started bucking against his hand, holding his fingers in a vice grip as you came around them.

　“Please, Joel,” You breathed out after you recovered from your winded state. Your dainty fingers found the band of his boxers, curling around it as you looked up at him with pleading eyes.

　“I wanna hear ya say it,” He teased, watching as your eyes glanced uncertainly between him and his tented underwear.

　You hesitated for a moment before the words tumbled between your swollen lips. “Please fuck me, Joel.”

　Joel groaned as he lewd sounds left your mouth, nudging your hands aside to replace them with his own, quickly working himself out of his boxers. The simple way you said his name was enough to get him worked up.

　He palmed himself, running his hand over his cock to stroke himself skillfully, a drop of precum leaking from the fat tip. He pulled you closer to him by your hips, leaving prints that would be sure to mark you come tomorrow. He dragged his length through your folds, collecting the sloppy wetness that had accumulated.

　He began to push in, slowly, giving you time to adjust. You braced yourself, in turn your cunt began clenching around him, the tightness making it nearly impossible for him to continue to enter you.

　“You’ve gotta relax, baby,” He cooed gently, his thumb releasing pressure to rub tight circles around the jutted bone of your hip. You melted into his pleasant touch, relaxing just as he asked. He pushed himself further into you, your warm walls stretching around him. “That’s it. Good girl.”

　He continued to rub those soothing circles into your skin as he pressed himself into you, hips meeting as he reached the hilt. You let out a shaky breath, the pain of being spread soon turning to a dull pleasure.

　“Move, please,” You begged, and Joel was sure to give in right away, hips rolling indulgently against yours as you let out sounds of satisfaction. Your noises spurred him on further, and his gentle rolls soon turned into harsher snaps, heavy balls making sinful slaps against your bare skin.

　“Joel!” You exclaimed lewdly at his rougher actions, his thumb coming to brush your clit as you squeezed him, pleasure coursing through your veins.

　“So well, baby,” He murmured, barely being heard over the sound of skin on skin. “You’re takin’ me so well.”

　He changed his angle into one that mimic his fingers earlier, finding that spot inside you that had you cursing and clenching around him, eyes lolling back into your head as you squeezed your eyes shut, high over taking you. You felt as though you were in the clouds, wild blue sky washing you in it’s waves.

　Seeing you come undone from his actions fed Joel into his own orgasm, rutting into you tirelessly until he felt as though he was about to snap. He pulled out quickly, thick ropes of hot spend coating your stomach as he pumped himself.

　He barely caught his breath before he was grabbing tissues off of your bedside table and wiping up the mess he had made. Only after you were cleaned up did he allow himself to collapse beside you, thick arms pulling you to rest against his bare chest.

　“It wasn’t Sarah’s idea,” He confessed after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “I wanted to make ya dinner.

　“I know,” You replied, voice soft as he felt you smile against his skin.

　“I think i wanna make ya dinner again,” He spoke again, and you lifted yourself up to face him. His deep eyes stared back into your own, the corners crinkling as a grin spread across his face. It was warm, and sweet, like thick honey on a summer day.

　“If it means i can repay you the way you just repaid me, then i’m all for it.”

　You let out an airy laugh as Joel pulled you in for a soft kiss.

　“If it means I can be close to you like this,” He said fondly, “Then i’ll have to start cookin’ for ya more often.”

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lucysarah-c · 3 months

Text

Mother's smile

Summary: Raging war, it turns boys into men. Author note: Since the Marley world seemed to be around the 30s-40s, I’ll set this idea in a world that looks like the mid-50s. This is POST WAR. I've no idea what is this... the idea just came into my mind. Warnings: None...Angst? Perhaps? Word count: 3.8k Pairing: Dad! Levi x Mom! Reader

The muscles of his body twitched as he ran up and down, changing the train’s platform to return home. His hair flowed in the air, almost freezing from the bitter cold. He could feel the icy air biting at his undercut and chilling everything in its path. Exhaustion escaped with every puff of his reddened lips, the air condensing in front of his face. Yet, he kept running, desperate to connect one train to another.

If he didn’t time it perfectly, his family might begin to suspect he wasn't going to practice. He had quickly changed back into his regular school uniform in one of the train station's public bathrooms.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed a couple of girls. They couldn't be older than him, mumbling and locking eyes. He had no time to dwell on it, but he couldn't ignore it either. It was becoming a regular occurrence. People were starting to recognize him in the crowded streets of the capital.

"Why?" he wondered, even though he knew the answer. But he reasoned, "There are TV stars and movie actresses who take the train… I'm nobody."

He knew. Ever since someone took unauthorized pictures of him during practice, fully suited up, and they were posted first in the Paradise newspaper and then spread worldwide.

"Oh my- Sorry!" He almost tripped over someone. He quickly dodged a mother carrying two kids. "I’m SO sorry," he insisted.

"Please, something for my kids," she pleaded.

Levi's intuition told him something had been off lately.

"I’m so sorry… I have nothing," he replied, feeling a deep pang in his heart. The hunger and misery on the streets had only worsened since the war restarted.

—

"Could you set the table, love? Dinner is almost ready," Y/N said, breaking his deep thoughts as she handed him a pile of dishes. "It's just that the pot is old, and if I stop stirring it-"

"Sure," Levi quickly replied, not needing any further explanation. He stood up, grabbed the dishes, and wobbled a bit on his way to the dining room. "Tch," he clicked his tongue as he checked the clock. This was usually his son's duty.

Speak of the devil, the front door swung open. "I’M HOME!" Adrien shouted as he entered. 'Finally,' Levi thought. It was winter, and it got dark outside rather quickly.

"Welcome home, dear," Y/N said, peeking over from the kitchen to see her son taking off his shoes and coat in the hall. He quickly moved to give her a kiss on the cheek. "I was starting to wonder."

"I'm fine, I'm fine, mom," Adrien said, hurriedly.

"Dinner is ready," Y/N announced.

Adrien rushed into the dining room and almost bumped into his father.

"Where the hell have you been?" Levi demanded, almost pushing the dishware into his son’s arms.

"Sorry, I'll do it-" Adrien began, but as soon as he got closer, Levi grimaced in disgust.

"Shower, now. You stink," Levi commanded, holding onto the dishes.

Adrien took a quick sniff and seemed puzzled by his father's reaction. Groaning, he quickly moved upstairs. Levi frowned and continued setting the table. "The hormones are certainly working," he muttered.

Adrien had been arriving slightly late recently, not enough to raise concern but enough to annoy Levi. "The train services are delayed by the power outages…" Y/N tried to explain. These issues had become common since the war resumed and was edging closer to home as Paradise's forces, led by a queen Levi once helped put on the throne, continued their campaign.

Unauthorized pictures of his son had made it to the front page. His baby boy, photographed by spies. 'They fucking did not.' HIS baby boy, mocked by Paradise's news.

Initially, Levi thought it was a fluke. He went to grab the morning's newspaper at the front door and noticed the front page was missing. 'Maybe the boy tore it without realizing,' he thought. The delivery was usually smooth, so he dismissed it. He figured he could grab another edition on his way to his meeting. But when he saw it, his blood boiled.

Levi was furious. He broke every personal vow he had made to himself, that whatever war Paradise and the Jaegerists wanted to get into after almost 15 years post-Rumbling was none of his business. But taking pictures of HIS son and making fun of him? He made calls to people he hadn’t spoken to in years and simply stated, "Keep my son’s name out of your fucking mouth."

Adrien had been offered personal 3DMG training by the government from a very young age. Levi and Y/N were not naive. They knew since Adrien was a little kid why the government wanted him. He was Levi’s only child. The only available Ackerman after Levi and Mikasa stopped the Rumbling.

Levi had decided to break ties with the Paradise government because they continued to support the Jaegerists. He moved to another country, seeking peace for his family. That country was one of the few places the Rumbling hadn't devastated. He, Onkopop, Falco, Gabi, his wife, and his kids lived a peaceful life for many years.

Falco and Gabi eventually moved out as they grew older, though they visited frequently. Levi wanted to give his kid the childhood he never had. But he couldn't protect him forever. Adrien had insisted on practicing with 3DMG after being offered the chance as a kid. Levi stood firm on his decision. No. It was a firm no for months. Adrien was going to have a normal childhood, playing sports with his classmates and eating lunches packed by his mother. Levi had moved across the globe for his family to live without war, his family by blood and the one he made along the way.

The door slammed, surprising him. The family dog rushed to bark at the sound.

"Addy? You okay, kiddo?" Gabi asked, as they were still living with them. Hearing his son's name, Levi got up and walked as fast as his injuries allowed. It was too early for Adrien to be back from school. Also, Levi was the one who usually picked him up.

Wobbling, he reached the bedroom door, which was unusually closed. Even before he reached it, his heart began to ache as he could hear his 7-year-old boy's muffled cries. Adrien's chubby legs dangled from the edge of his bed, his face buried in the pillow.

"Oi, oi, oi," Levi said softly as he reached the bed and tried to gently push Adrien’s shoulder to the side to see his face. Adrien resisted. "Kid, what happened? Why are you back from school?"

Levi's mind raced, searching for injuries, any sign of hurt. Trying to come up with reasons, his brain was haunted by his baby’s endless tears.

"They kicked me off the team," Adrien finally managed to say between sobs. "The mothers complained that it’s not fair that I play."

Levi's heart sank. It had been hard for Adrien to make friends as a kid from another country, and he was obsessed with baseball since being allowed to join the team. He loved having a group of friends.

"I hate it, I hate it!" Adrien's soul-breaking cries echoed as his young mind couldn't comprehend the reasons. "Why can't I be normal?"

Levi forced himself out of his shock, slightly shaking his head to clear his mind. "Don’t say that. You’re normal. I'll talk to your teachers-"

Talking had never been his strength. He wished his wife was home.

“No, I’m not! All my friends look at me weirdly! Nobody wants to play with me anymore!” Adrien screamed at the top of his lungs. The frustration of his father not understanding only added salt to the wound. “I hate it!”

“No, Adrien—I'll talk—”

“I hate being an Ackerman!”

Levi felt as if he had been stabbed in the heart. White noise filled his head, merging with the sound of his son’s cries. Levi argued with himself that it shouldn’t have hurt as deeply as it did. “He’s just a kid who wants to play with the others,” he thought, remembering all the arguments he’d had with sports teams.

“It’s just not fair to the other kids, Mr. Ackerman.”

‘Next time, just point to my head,’ he thought bitterly. Watching his son sit on the benches with doe-like red eyes, trying to hold back tears at school, haunted Levi. He had come to pick him up and was forced to stay behind while the rest of the team practiced.

Falco and Gabi tried to play with him when they had free time, but they had their own responsibilities. Levi himself tried to play with Adrien as much as his injured leg allowed, but how fun could a one-on-one game be?

For many months, Levi refused to let Adrien take special training offered by the government. He knew they only saw his son as a potential new weapon.

“Daddy, did you see me? Did you see me?” Adrien’s face lit up with a smile that seemed too big for it, brimming with excitement after mastering a new 3DMG trick.

“Mm-hmm,” Levi hummed in approval, watching his son with a mix of pride and concern.

“He’s a prodigy, sir,” the female soldier standing next to him remarked. “You must be such a proud father.”

Levi’s death stare could hardly be disguised as he clenched his teeth. ‘This is wrong,’ he thought, but his hand, missing two fingers, reached for the Polaroid camera and took a picture. ‘It can’t be that wrong… if he’s smiling like this.’

“And then I twist! And then I jump! And then I—” Adrien rambled on excitedly at the dinner table.

“Addy, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Y/N gently reprimanded him, but he continued to beam, bright and cheerful, happy.

If teaching his boy everything he knew about 3DMG made him smile again, then perhaps it was worth it. He did it for his baby, only for his baby.

Adrien had grown into a moody teenager who now stole his car and rarely talked to Levi without an attitude. Levi wasn’t usually the melancholic type, but he missed the days when he was greeted at home with tight hugs and dreamy eyes.

Now, the war was getting closer to home. Paradise, untouched during the Rumbling, was growing increasingly tense. The Jaegerists wanted to finish what Eren had started, and the new regime wasn’t open to negotiation. They demanded blood; they demanded fire.

Admiring his reflection in the mirror, Levi noted how tired he looked. Time was unforgiving. He spotted several grey hairs among what used to be pristine raven locks. History seemed to be repeating itself, and sometimes he felt like he had fought for nothing. Small towns that were slowly rebuilding after the Rumbling were falling under the power of an island he had once defended with his blood and sweat.

The tie felt tight around his neck as he adjusted the bow tie. He had been asked—almost forced—to attend a charity event to raise funds for displaced refugees and military forces. They had declared war only a few months ago, and he felt strangely hopeless. “I’m just old,” he whispered to himself.

“Hey…”

Levi turned to his left to see his 16-year-old son leaning against the door frame with folded arms.

“Hey,” Levi greeted back cautiously. “I’ve no money,” he added quickly, the interaction feeling odd since Adrien rarely came into the couple’s bedroom, much less to talk to him.

Adrien rolled his eyes so dramatically Levi thought he might tear a muscle. “I wasn’t going to ask for anything!”

The teenager walked in and sat down on the bed, petting the cat. His long face and distant, translucent eyes were hard to ignore. Levi watched him for a while before turning back to the mirror to continue getting ready. The silence was so heavy it felt like breathing steam from the Colossal Titan.

After several minutes, Adrien's voice broke the silence, trembling with emotion. “You… you know I love you, Dad, right?”

Levi turned around, frowning deeply. “… What did you do?” he asked instinctively.

“Nothing!” Adrien's defensive tone only made him more suspicious.

“You got a chick knocked up?” Levi guessed quietly.

“W-what?!” Adrien’s face turned beet red with embarrassment. “NO!”

“What—”

“NOTHING! I did nothing!” Adrien protested, jumping up from the bed and heading for the door. “I’m never saying it again, you old man!”

The door slammed, and Levi clenched his teeth. The mood swings were something he wasn’t used to, no matter how hard he tried. Levi clicked his tongue. ‘What’s gotten into him lately?’

That was the issue; everything had been slightly off. Not enough to raise serious concerns, but as Levi walked downstairs to leave for the event, his mind kept replaying the scene in their bedroom. ‘Something smells off.’

‘I may be getting fucking old, but I’m not crazy.’

“He’s trying to grow up. Let’s show him that we trust him. Let’s give him some freedom, as long as he respects the curfew,” Y/N had tried to explain that shutting their son off wasn’t going to help.

Adrien’s insistence on coming home on his own… Levi had always driven him to and from school, especially since the school was quite far away by public transport. After the photo incident, Levi didn’t feel it was safe for his kid to walk back alone.

The front page of the newspaper had been missing the day his boy’s picture and the Paradise headline appeared:

“The Ackerman’s Cub: As Harmless as a Pussycat.”

Levi cursed at the memory, yanking his coat from the hanger by the door. Arms in—

It was too big.

He looked down at the sleeves, which hung past his hands. A part of his ego cracked a little—it was his son’s coat. His baby boy was growing non-stop, now 193 cm tall.

“Soon, he won’t fit through the damn door,” Levi muttered, half offended, half endeared. He wondered if he would have grown that tall if he hadn’t suffered so much as a child. “He truly inherited Kenny’s height,” his wife would say as their kid grew taller and taller.

Putting on his own coat—it was freezing outside—Levi sat in his car, but his mind kept circling back to it.

Adrien arriving late by only 10-15 minutes. His recent attitude wasn’t just typical teenage sulkiness; it was different. Adrien was distant but not moody.

Already at the party, Onyankopon, Falco, Gabi, and Y/N were talking around him, but Levi wasn’t there, at least not mentally. Call it the universe, call it signs, call it his Ackerman instincts. Call it what you want. But Levi knew something wasn’t right.

Suddenly, fragments of memories from the past month flashed through his mind. They hadn’t seemed suspicious at the time, just slightly unusual. Like that moment when he picked up something from Y/N’s boudoir table and got pricked by a needle.

“Ow,” he muttered, though it didn’t really hurt.

“Oh, I left a needle out? I thought I put it away,” she said innocently, placing it back in the sewing box.

Or when he was walking down the upper floor’s hall and noticed the string hanging from the attic hatch swaying. “Y/N, did you go to the attic?”

“No, why?”

“Nothing…” He meant to ask Adrien about it but got distracted by the teen blasting his record player.

Levi opened the door without knocking. He had warned Adrien to keep the door open multiple times. The teenager quickly turned down the rock music. “Hey!” Adrien complained, but Levi didn’t care.

“How many times do I have to tell you to keep the volume down? I’m half-blind; don’t make me deaf too,” Levi ordered. Before leaving, he added, “And get your shoes off the bed.”

Levi’s leg tapped against the floor uneasily. Something was not right. The silence of his brain seeking a logical explanation was becoming deafening. His wife squeezed his arm, drawing his attention.

“Captain Ackerman,” a man approached them, bowing slightly out of respect. Levi’s days as a captain were long gone, but he never lost the title in the eyes of some. “It’s an honor…”

The man’s hands fidgeted nervously as a timid smile appeared on his face. He pressed his lips together, wet them, and then opened them as if trying to find the right words. “It must fill your heart with pride that you and your family stood up in such a difficult situation and did the right thing. As a representative of the Eldian community outside Paradise, we don’t stand with the Jaegerist decisions—”

Levi dismissed him quickly. “No need to praise me,” he cut in, anticipating the man’s gratitude for his role in the fight against Eren during the Rumbling. “I fought for what I believed was right.”

The man’s face twisted in confusion. “No—I…” he stammered, his previous uneasiness turning to confusion. “I wanted to thank you and acknowledge your family’s altruistic action.”

“No need—”

“I mean, it must be an honor but also extremely hard for you as a father to allow your son to volunteer for the front lines.”

It hit Levi like a thunder spear, just as the one he had once used against Zeke. As if the explosion had gone off right next to him, and he could only hear the ringing in his ears. Y/N’s grip on his arm loosened in shock before her nails dug in as the realization sank in.

Despite his Ackerman powers, Levi felt control over his body slip away as his legs shook. It felt impossible to breathe as he drove back home as fast as he could, but it surely felt as if his lungs caught no oxygen.

He slammed the door open, his injured leg giving way as he rushed upstairs to his son’s bedroom. Pain fading into nothing as it once did during the war. The white noise in his brain was shattered by Y/N’s piercing scream when they found the bedroom empty, except for a single paper note on the made bed. Falco held Y/N as she broke down in tears.

Levi’s face remained expressionless, but it felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest. Holding the note in his hands, he sank onto the mattress. The bed where he had once read Mother Goose stories.

“I’m sorry… I just couldn’t sit back and do nothing.

P.S. Sorry for the coat.”

His baby, his baby boy. The mere thought of Adrien witnessing even half of what he had as a soldier brought tears to Levi’s eyes, a knot forming in his throat. His child, stolen from his arms, dragged into the chaos like pigs to a slaughterhouse. Everything Levi had fought for, everything he had done…

If only he hadn’t used that thunder spear, he would be as good as new. He would have fought a thousand wars and led a thousand more just to keep his baby safe at home. To wake up to Y/N making his favorite waffles on a lazy Sunday morning.

It should have been him. He should have been in better shape. If only—

After a few days, Levi understood what Adrien meant about the coat in the note. His lost eyes fixed on the piece of clothing that had been cut. His old scout’s jacket, stored in the attic, had been altered. Adrien must have cut and sewn the Wings of Freedom patch onto something else. The house had become a cemetery since the day Adrien left. Y/N hadn’t been able to sleep soundly as she usually did, waking at the slightest sound.

“I thought I heard the front door,” she said, as Levi tried to calm her down in the middle of the night.

Levi hated rock music; he found it too noisy. But one afternoon, he felt compelled to put on one of Adrien’s records. Each second felt like it was squeezing the life out of him.

As the days passed, the missing front page of the newspaper became a sign enough. The news arrived loudly at their home.

“Undaunted. As the higher-ranks abandoned the zone, giving up the strategic petrol supply, Adrien Ackerman held the front lines and won.

A kid worth an entire army, honoring his name.”

Levi’s eyes scanned the paragraphs without emotion. “While all wore the same uniform, Ackerman decided to stick a striking patch to his. ‘They called me powerless, so I made myself an easy target. If they want to come for me, let them come, and I’ll put up a fight,’” the article quoted Adrien.

A scoff escaped Levi’s lips; he had surely inherited his temper.

“I cut and stuck the article to my locker to remind myself who I have to show their place,” Adrien replied when asked about the Paradise press’s coverage.

“LEVI!” Y/N’s voice echoed through the house. He rushed to her side with worry, only to find her smiling softly and sobbing as she watched the black-and-white TV.

The screen showed his baby boy, his comrades ruffling his hair, beer bottles flying in celebration, and citizens offering him drinks. They hadn’t won the war, but it was clear this victory was much needed to lift their spirits. People looked at Adrien with starry eyes, much like they had looked at Levi after their first wins against the Titans.

Levi’s lips trembled as he bit the inside of his cheeks, trying to hold his composure.

“He’s alright,” Y/N whispered, slightly relieved. “God, he got your knack for giving me a heart attack.”

She tried to joke, but noticing her husband’s silence, she turned around. “Oh… Lev…” she sighed, quickly moving to hug him tightly.

Tears streamed down Levi’s cheeks as he watched his baby on the screen, basking in the attention and hope he gave to others. They hadn’t won the war, but for now, it was enough.

“We knew deep down we couldn’t shelter him forever,” Y/N said, caressing him. She understood the weight now on Adrien’s shoulders, responsibilities that had haunted Levi for many years. She sighed, making peace with herself. A part of her had known from the moment she gave birth to an Ackerman that this day would come.

However, through watery eyes, Levi saw something different. Watching the young man on the screen, Levi whispered with a broken voice the same words he had said when Adrien was born.

“He got your smile.”

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