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snail-day · 25 days ago

Text

Everything is fine, really.

Sum: You’re moving. Starting a new life. Building a family. That’s what you keep telling everyone. What you keep telling yourself. Just sometimes, you hide the truth behind your words, don’t you? It's not like your relationship is a dumpster fire. Everything is fine, really.

Yandere! SatoSugu x Reader

WC: 3.7k

TW: Yandere Behaviors, Noncon/Dubcon, Power imbalance, Toxic Relationship Dynamics, Dehumanization (brief), Both are cult leaders, Heavy Angst, Dead Dove Do Not Eat. MDNI

There’s something surreal about leaving a place you once called your second home. You can’t help the soft smile tugging at your lips as you pack up your belongings from the sad little cubicle you once claimed as your own. Photos with coworkers, that are curling at the edges, a faint Polaroid here and there. A chipped dish from some forgotten potluck. A few dusty trinkets. Your stash of instant noodles tucked neatly into one of the dented metal drawers.

Change is good, at least that’s what you keep telling yourself. What Suguru keeps telling you. And he’s always right, isn’t he?

Though… why does it feel like dread is curling up in your lungs, breathing for you?

“We’re really going to miss you,” your friend murmurs, swirling her iced Americano, the clink of melting cubes loud in the silence that follows. “You know, people are worried about you. You just got into that relationship...”

Right.

A year ago, you started dating Suguru and Satoru. Time has felt slippery since then.

“Well,” you laugh, light, dismissive, a little too forced. You can feel the weight of her eyes on your hands, watching the way your fingers pick at your sleeves. The same kind of look Shoko gave you the first time she met you — concern disguised as polite curiosity.

Is love really something to be concerned about?

“They just… love me,” you say, the words light, almost too soft. A breathy chuckle follows, barely convincing.

There’s a pause.

Just a flicker too long.

You feel the weight of her eyes narrowing, the silence pressing in.

“That’s all,” you add, quieter this time.

But who are you trying to convince — your friends or yourself?

Because even as you say it, something in your chest curls tight. And you wonder if love is supposed to feel like this. Suppose it’s supposed to hollow you out just to fit someone else's shape.

“You just finished your master’s,” she says, brows furrowed as she leans in, eyes sharp, slicing right through you. “You were going to research in the States. Publish. Become something.”

That one stings. Her words land like Satoru’s when he gets upset, cruel, even when they're coated in care. It's funny how the more you get to know people, the more they start to resemble each other. Maybe those personality tests were onto something after all.

You part your lips to respond, but your friend cuts you off.

Nothing new. It happens more at your main home than it ever did here.

“I mean, come on. None of your friends have even met them yet. You keep coming up with excuses — that they’re busy, that timing’s bad — ”

“They’re building a church,” you say with a shrug, careful to keep your tone light, dismissive. You don’t let the rest slip out.

A church you’re not allowed to enter.

“They have their reasons. They’re just… homebodies, that’s all. Suguru can be a bit of a germophobe.”

Your friend huffs, something sharp, skeptical, half-muttered under her breath. Maybe it’s a complaint about religion. Maybe it’s the word cult. You don’t ask her to repeat it. It’s safer not to know some things.

So instead, you cling to the part that’s easiest to swallow: Suguru is a germophobe.

You’ve seen it, the way his serene face twists when he catches the scent of your job on your clothes. The way his voice drops, low and quiet, when he tells you you reek like them.

You still don’t know who them is.

Sometimes, when he thinks you’re not listening, he murmurs the word monkey.

You try to hug him. Like you used to after work. Before this shift in behavior.

He steps back. His expression doesn’t change, not really. Just a small downturn of his mouth, a sigh through his nose. That look he gives when you disappoint him again.

Still, you tell yourself, at least his eyes are always kind.

He loves you.

He just wants to keep the house clean. Safe. Protected from whatever it is he sees that you can’t.

He points. Wordless. The bathroom.

And you go. It’s easier to obey than to ask why.

The tub’s already filled by the time you get there, steam billowing into the air, curling against the mirror until your reflection vanishes.

You peel your clothes off slowly. Shirt first. Bra next. Then the skirt, tights, and frilly panties Satoru bought you last spring. Layer by layer until you’re bare and small beneath the bathroom light, spine curved, arms wrapped around your chest like that might keep something in.

The water smells like herbs. Bitter roots, crushed flowers, something sharp and metallic beneath it all. You wonder if this is what his sermons smell like. Or maybe its just medicinal.

You dip a foot in.

It burns.

And maybe that’s a blessing.

Because if your eyes water, if your lips tremble, if a quiet, broken sob tears out of your throat when you sink deeper into the tub — it’s just the heat. Just the scalding kiss of boiling water on fragile skin.

Not his words. Not the way Suguru wrinkled his nose when he said you reek like them. Not the muttered monkey you weren’t meant to hear. Or even the way he didn’t look at you as you stepped back into the house, just gestured vaguely like you were something to be fixed.

But once you’re clean — once you’re fixed — you get to be in his arms again.

He’s kind again.

He loves you again.

You ease in, inch by inch, until the water laps at your collarbones. Until your knees curl toward your chest. Until your skin prickles and stings. Until your tears become indistinguishable from steam.

The water wraps around you tighter than he did.

The silence is softer than his praise ever sounds.

And you breathe in the incense like it might turn your lungs into something purer. Something less dirty.

Something worthy enough for him.

You stay in until your fingers prune, until your thighs burn red, until you can no longer tell if what’s rolling down your cheeks is bathwater or heartbreak.

The water’s gone lukewarm by the time the door opens with a quiet creak.

Suguru doesn’t say anything at first.

He just walks in, unhurried, dark sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscular forearms, a soft white towel folded over one arm before he kneels beside the tub, his long fingers testing the edge of the bath.

Before a click of his tongue, “You stayed in too long again. You’ll get sick if you keep doing this.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t look at him. You just let him drain the water with a pop of the plug, allowing the water swirl away with a hollow gurgle. Allow him help you up carefully.

The good thing is, now that you’re clean, you can lean against him, and he’s gracious enough to kiss your wet temple.

He wraps the soft plush towel around you. Tucks it beneath your arms. Smooths his palm along your spine, which should be a soothing gesture.

Another kiss. Softer. Warmer. Your throat tightens.

A kiss like that used to make you smile, used to make you laugh, and lean more into him.

“There,” he whispers, voice low and soothing, almost reverent. “All clean.”

You nod, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. Because if you speak, you might cry again, and this time it won’t be from the heat.

His arms slide around you tighter, chin resting on the top of your head. The scent of him — faint cologne, incense, something metallic — fills your nose.

“I love you,” he murmurs, soft as breath against your damp hair.

But it lands heavy.

Not like a declaration. Not like warmth.

It feels like a bandaid smoothed over a wound he didn’t bother cleaning first. A phrase meant to patch, to hush, to make you forget the sting.

You want to believe it. You always do.

But when he pulls away and takes your hand to lead you down the hallway — bare feet on cold tile, steam trailing in your wake — you wonder if he only says I love you when you’ve made yourself small enough to deserve it.

A light tap on your shoulder pulls you back.

Right. You were living inside a memory again, and now you’re here, surrounded by friendly coworkers and the smell of the breakroom.

You turn and meet the smile of a coworker, the kind of easy warmth you used to exchange freely. The kind that once made you laugh without checking who was watching.

The smile reminds you of him, of the early days with Satoru. When his jealousy was still quiet. When his touches were only tender. Before you were told that certain smiles belonged to him. That kindness was currency, and you were overspending.

So you lean back, subtly. Laugh too softly. Let the conversation flow around you without joining in.

You keep your eyes on your drink instead, how the cold foam slowly fades into the coffee, thick white threads curling into dark brown. Blending. Disappearing.

White like Satoru’s skin.

Like his lashes when he blinks down at you.

Like his knuckles when they dig into your hips, holding you in place as he pounds up into you with something closer to desperation than desire.

“Who was he?” Satoru snarled into your mouth, voice hot and fraying at the edges. Breath burning, words catching on the cusp between annoyance and desperation. “The guy you were smiling at.”

You watched his brows knit, his jaw tight. There was hurt swimming in those bright blue eyes, a sharp, wounded gleam behind the anger. His voice cracked, just barely, softening into something too fragile, too bitter. “That’s my smile.”

Your back arched on reflex, mouth falling open in a gasp that twisted before it could become protest. Before it could become no.

But he wasn’t listening.

Or maybe he was, just not in the way that mattered.

The head of his cock slammed deep — again and again — a brutal rhythm carved from obsession, not pleasure. Too cruel to confuse with intimacy. You could feel your cervix throb, the bruising pressure making your stomach turn. Bile clawed at the back of your throat as your fingers scrambled for purchase - on his shoulders, the sheets, anything that might save you.

“It hurts,” you tried to say.

But it came out as a moan. A strangled, trembling moan that sounded too much like a yes.

Because your body didn’t know how to protect you.

Because sometimes pain and pleasure braid themselves so tightly, you forget where one ends and the other begins.

You tried to shift your hips. Attempted to meet him halfway - to change the angle, to make the act bearable. But Satoru was stronger than you. He always was.

One of his hands clamped around your waist, holding you flush against him, unmoving. The other curled around your throat, thumb stroking slowly along your jaw. It should be a loving gesture, instead it caused you to crawl into yourself.

“Don’t,” he growled, voice shaking now, with something hungry and hurt. “Don’t you ever talk to him again.” His grip tightened. “You’re mine, okay?”

Then another thrust. Deeper. Meaner. His cock slammed into the softest part of you as punishment. Your fingers dug into his bicep, nails raking down to the bone, but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop. He liked when you clung to him like that. Blood bloomed in tiny crescents under your fingertips - small, red reminders of the shape your desperation takes.

Your vision blurred.

Tears pooled at the corners of your eyes, slipping free one by one, rolling into your hairline. Your mouth was parted in a silent gasp, breath hitched, lungs straining under the weight of everything left unsaid.

A burst of white bloomed behind your eyes, pressure building until you shattered, climaxing with a silent, choking gasp. Humiliation curled in your chest like a second heartbeat.

You didn’t want it.

But your body gave in anyway.

That’s the worst part.

But Satoru — Satoru always crumbles after.

That’s the best part.

The moment his breathing evens out, he’s already tucking you into his chest, pressing trembling kisses to your tear-stricken cheeks, your hair, your shoulders. His hands shake as they glide over your back, tracing the fresh bruises he left behind.

You can feel it in his body — the regret.

You can see it in his eyes — bright blue and glassy, guilt already welling at the corners. Too much, too hard, too far — all unspoken, tucked beneath the desperate softness in his touch.

“I love you,” he breathes, over and over again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Please don’t leave me. I didn’t mean it. I love you. I love you.”

And the tears in his voice feel like salvation. Like if he’s crying, then it must have been love.

He wraps you in the blanket, tucks you into the crook of his body, never allowing you to leave.

Because it’s easier.

Because even when his hands are cruel, his embrace is always kind.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if that’s love or just the only kind you know how to hold onto.

A shift at the table. A nudge against your knee. The hiss of a soda can opening.

“Really leaving us, huh?”

The voice cuts through your thoughts, pulling you back to the breakroom. One of your coworkers — grinning, oblivious — nudges your arm with a laugh. “Getting married, playing housewife? Man, never thought I’d see that coming from you,” he winks. “Sex must be that good, huh?”

Your friend slaps his arm before you can even blink, murmuring his name like a scolding. But even she leans in a little.

And denial settles in like fog, like sugar on your tongue — sweet at first, then sickening.

Don’t mention the cage.

Don’t mention the safe word being ignored.

Don’t cry.

Your throat tightens. Your vision wobbles at the edges. Smile. Smile.

“The sex is amazing,” you say, voice light, airy, like nothing is stuck behind your teeth. “I mean… two handsome men. What more could I ask for?”

They laugh. The table laughs. You look back down at your drink.

It is nice. Sometimes. When they’re gentle. When Satoru kisses every inch of you. Kissing beauty marks. Kissing the love bites that Suguru loves to leave behind.

When Suguru brushes your hair behind your ears and tells you you’re his good girl, gaze soft and adoring. When his touch his so soft as he cradles you in his arms and his thrusts are gentle.

But.

Sometimes Suguru grips your jaw too hard, pries it open to stuff his thick cock so deep down your throat you feel it in your stomach. Until your jaw aches into the next day. Until the taste of him lingers on your tongue. No matter how much you scrub or swirl around the harshest mouthwash you could find.

Nothing can erase the taste they leave behind.

And when you inevitably gag — when you choke and the mess spills out of your mouth — he clicks his tongue and calls you ungrateful. And locks you in the dog crate.

The one under the desk, four doors down from their room.

The one you thought was for a puppy.

“We already have you,” Suguru had cooed, stroking your cheek. You at the time thought he was teasing.

Now.

You don’t like the dog crate. Not when it’s cold. Not when it’s cramped. Not when you’re crying into your knees and they say it’s for your own good, cheek pressed against the metal bars slick with condensation. That obedience takes time. That love is earned.

Not when you’re tossed inside for something as simple as not moaning loud enough, not stretching wide enough to accommodate both of them. Not when your voice turns flat and numb and they whisper like it’s your fault they have to punish you.

It’s an awful feeling. Shrinking inside yourself. Folding in on something you once recognized.

Becoming smaller.

Quieter.

A voice cuts through the fog of your thoughts.

Your friend speaks again, gently this time, almost hesitantly. “Are you sure you’re making the right decision?” Her voice is tentative, concerned. “We’re here to listen, you know. If things aren’t…”

Why does that question make your shoulders feel so heavy?

Why does the air feel thicker?

Why can’t you look up from your drink?

Why does it feel like something is wrapping around your chest — vines, maybe, or rope. Something sticky and invisible threading through your ribs, curling tight around your lungs.

You swallow. Hard.

Suguru would just say it’s anxiety.

Would ease you into his lap, let you rest your cheek on his thigh while his fingers play with your hair. He’d smile softly, whisper gentle reassurances, then press a little white pill past your lips with two fingers and praise you for swallowing so sweetly.

He’s kind. He is. You’re just focusing on the bad. You’re tired. It’s the stress. It's not —

“I’m doing what’s best for my family,” you say, your voice sticky-sweet, saccharine. “My future family, you know?”

You look up. Smile. That same old cheerful smile that used to be real. You used to be so positive. So bright.

So why do you keep caving in on yourself?

Why does every word feel like it’s screaming inside you?

And you’re the only one pretending not to hear it?

You ignore the lingering eyes when you leave. Ignore the unbearable weight pressing into your shoulders, the subtle drag against your spine like something is slowly chaining itself to you.

When you unlock the apartment door, the dim light spills over cardboard boxes — stacks of your life, half-packed and waiting for a future that doesn’t quite feel like yours.

The move is for Suguru. He’s always dreamed of countryside quiet, of temples and shrines and misty mornings. Satoru says he’ll miss the buzz of the city, but jokes that the mochi tastes better in the mountains — and besides, that’s where their true lives begin. You’re not sure what that means anymore.

You set down the box of office knick-knacks — photos, notes, a chipped coffee mug — hoping the weight leaves your body with it.

It doesn’t.

If anything, it feels tighter. A tension you can’t stretch out. Like something’s pulling at your ribs from the inside. Weaving itself into your breath.

You glance up at the security camera above the door.

No blinking red light.

They’re not watching right now. For once.

It feels like a small victory, one you don’t let yourself enjoy too much.

There’s a note on the dining table. “Be home tonight — takeout’s on the way for you <3” The heart is big and round. Satoru’s handwriting. Underneath is a doodle — two smiling figures holding hands, a third one smaller between them. A family.

See? They can be sweet. They love you. They chose you.

You whisper that to yourself as you make your way to the bathroom.

Maybe you’re just tired. Maybe you’re coming down with something. You should really stop taking such long baths. Suguru is onto something with that.

You barely manage to hold yourself up in the shower. The steam wraps around you like something alive, something watchful. It fills the room in thick waves, clinging to your skin until your limbs feel heavy. You brace yourself against the cool tile, hoping it’ll ground you.

It doesn’t.

It just makes it harder to breathe.

There’s a pull beneath your skin now — something deep, low, and slow. Not painful, not sharp. Just tightening. Like invisible cords wrapping themselves around your body, pressing inward. Like something ancient and hungry has started to bloom beneath your ribcage.

But it can’t be real. You’re just anxious.

Suguru says stress does this to people. That your nerves are delicate. That you need to rest more, stop overthinking. That you’re safer with them than anywhere else.

Maybe he’s right.

You dry off slowly, body trembling. Each step toward the bed feels heavier than the last, your heartbeat distant and muffled, like it’s echoing in a room far away.

You crawl under the blankets. They smell like them. Like Satoru’s cologne and Suguru’s temple incense. Like a home you’re trying so hard to love.

You nestle into the warmth, deeper, deeper, as if you bury yourself far enough, they’ll find you and say you did well. That you were good.

Your breath is slow now. Faint. Shallow. Your lungs are forgetting what to do.

You close your eyes and try to focus on the vision:

Satoru, stepping through the door with a grin, eyes bright, arms full of warmth. Kisses pressed to your face in quick succession — cheeks, nose, forehead — before gathering you into his arms.

Suguru, following quietly. Murmuring praise as he peels back the covers, as he brushes the hair from your face, his fingers gentle, reverent. Humming that lullaby he always hums — the one you never quite learned the words to. Something from his childhood that he never talks about.

They must be doing temple things. Preparing the next step. Building their new world - a world they haven’t let you see yet. Suguru swears it will be better. Purer. Safe.

Maybe... If you close your eyes and surrender, you’ll be allowed inside. If you’re quiet. Still. Good.

You’ll wake up there. Worthy enough for them.

But another part of you — the part that still aches in the silence, that tightens when they’re gone — knows the truth.

You’re not like them.

You’re not special.

You don’t see what they see.

You were never meant to be more than a decoration. A docile thing. A trophy to polish and put back in the cage.

Something pretty to keep.

And their heaven doesn’t open for people like you.

You curl tighter beneath the sheets. Breathe shallow. A broken sound catching in your throat — half a sob, half a pathetic laugh.

And then you go still. Drifting quietly into the dark, as whatever has etched itself inside you finally begins to take hold. To consume you whole.

#yandere jujutsu kaisen #Yandere #yandere jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere geto suguru #yandere geto #yandere geto x reader #yandere geto suguru x reader #yandere gojo satoru #yandere gojo #yandere gojo satoru x reader #yandere gojo x reader #yandere satosugu #yandere satosugu x reader #yandere x reader

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hyperfixationhobo · 3 months ago

Text

Xavier: “So what do you guys think? I made sure to follow the recipe to a t.”

Sylus: *Slowly turning red.* “Um…it’s…uh…*ahem* it’s a bit spicy.”

Rafayel: “A bit spicy?! My fucking mouth is on fire!”

Caleb: *Coughing to death at the end of the table.*

Zayne: *Constantly summing ice cubes and shoving them in his mouth.*

MC: “I’m so glad I let you guys try it first. How much habanero oil did you use?”

Xavier: “Two tablespoons like the recipe said.”

MC: “Two tablespoons? Xavier give the recipe.”

Xavier: “Mkay, don’t know why though.”

MC: “…Xavier…bunny, this says two teaspoons.”

Xavier: “…oops.”

Rafayel: “Fucking oops! That’s all you have to say?!”

Caleb: *Still coughing to death.*

Xavier: “Ok let’s go to the ice cream shop.”

MC: “I’ll drive.”

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mutable-manifestation · 8 months ago

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Ghost Chirps AU Part 4

A little treat in these trying times

Part 1 & 2

Part 3

***

The first time Daniel chirps (to Vlad’s knowledge, but it’s actually the fifth, he was just out of range in the GZ all the previous time) Vlad responds immediately.

The boy attacks him just as viciously as ever, and Vlad assumes from then on that the boy is merely taunting him, crying out for family only to go “no, not you.”

Vlad ignores it from then on. It isn’t particularly frequent anyway.

When he hears him chirping back and forth with some other ghost somewhere on the East Coast he feels his eye twitch.

He dismisses it, however. No doubt it is one of Daniel’s little ghost allies helping him try to antagonize Vlad into showing up just to be rejected again.

Well, Vlad won’t fall for Daniel’s petty tricks. He would be Vlad’s son in time one way or another, no need to indulge the boy’s temporary sense of superiority.

It is grating when it wakes him up in the middle of the night, but he goes back to sleep quickly after.

Midday, he thinks he might have to track down Danny’s little friend for a nice long chat about Not Doing That. But that’s an issue for later.

Before “later” can arrive, Vlad finds himself taken into “temporary custody” while the police search his house.

He goes peacefully, assured that they’ll find nothing amiss, all of his ecto materials tucked neatly away in a lab that is inaccessible any way other than phasing. And wrapped in lead just in case.

He does not notice that a member of the Justice League is involved, nor would he care, certain that none could find his lab. And utterly unaware of the JLD’s existence.

Not that the JLD is needed in this case.

Despite his best efforts to change every copy of the construction crews’ blueprints both digital and physical in order to eliminate knowledge of the inaccessible room, there’s no accounting for memory.

Officer Roger worked in construction before joining the force, and it was only less than a half a year ago that Masters’ Amity home was constructed. Officer Roger still remembers the doorless, windowless box they built alongside the small mansion itself. It’s nowhere to be found on the property, so he brings it up with his superior.

Orphan questions it - nearly giving the whole team heart-attacks in the process - but a simple “I used to work in construction” seems to be enough to satisfy her curiosity.

A two hour sweep with some metal detectors finds nothing.

Then Orphan reappears from the shadows, providing another jumpscare, before pressing a hand silently to the side of her head.

The crew watches in silence as well, giving their pulses a chance to slow.

A ten-count later Orphan’s hand drops, and she strides confidently to the rear-left corner of the mansion and points at the ground.

“200 feet beneath the foundation,” she says before disappearing back into the shadows.

The crew shares a look and gets to work.

The time it takes to dig up the cube is just more time spent in a cell for Vlad, where he waits patiently, assured he’ll be released soon enough.

The lab itself would be only a minor problem - there would be fines and inspections and a heavy watch until everything was brought up to code. Questions about how he accessed it would be a larger problem.

But worst of all, in the comfort of his lab? He’s not much for hiding away incriminating documents.

Of which there are many, given his propensity for keeping extensive records of his experiments, which include unethical cloning and what sums up to human experimentation.

Once they find the actual facilities for the experiments in his Wisconsin home? It will all be over for him.

Being a ghost he could, of course, simply flee the cell and start anew somewhere else, with a new identity or even in a new dimension altogether - so long as he could nab Maddie and her children to bring with him.

But within his labs, he also keeps extensive records of himself.

A copy of the Plasmius Maximus.

Other ghost- and halfa-capturing restraints.

When he hears steps approaching his cell 2 days into his stay when it is clearly not a mealtime, he thinks “finally” assured that he is about to be released.

He only registers that it is Batman after he’s been hit by the Plasmius Maximus - cut off from his powers for at least the next two hours.

He has no chance to complain, as he is subsequently tranqued unconscious to be taken to a more secure location.

***

It’s an hour and half after school let out when the cops - who had taken to trying to distract Jazz and Danny with cards games and work stories while they waited - step away to answer their radios.

When they return, they tell them that it’s “time to go.”

The siblings share a look, then shrug.

It wouldn’t be the first time the cops had to drive them home - rare though it was, there were at least 4 such occasions in their memories. It wasn’t a big deal.

They were less than enthused when the cops explained that they’d be heading to take them to the station instead of to home. Still, they chalked it up to the whole “questions about the Red Hood” thing and moved on.

At least it meant they could dodge a home visit like Danny had wanted.

Except when they get there, they are taken to a cushy room and introduced to their social worker, a woman with a kind smile and a soothing voice who introduces herself as Bethany Scott, sits them down and explains, very gently, that their parents are currently under investigation.

To her credit, she isn’t condescending. She doesn’t try to hide away the truth; when they ask why, she tells them.

It’s a surprisingly long list of charges. Of everything on it, the violation of the meta protection acts comes as the biggest surprise.

Their parents were obsessive about ghosts, but they were also good at it. They never attack anything that doesn’t have ectoplasm.

Well, barring a few misfires.

Another surprise comes then: the Anti-Ecto Acts don’t exist. Ghosts are covered by the MPA by design, the AEA would never have gotten off of the ground in any legal capacity. It is solely a creation of the GIW, an extreme “‘real’ humans only” supremacist group that had worked at every level to pull the wool over the eyes of the small town’s citizenry so thoroughly that they’d been thought a real government agency - the imitation of which would be just one of the many charges that every member they managed to capture would be facing.

Then Mrs Scott starts talking about placement options.

Their Aunt, they are told, is not an option.

It comes as a surprise to Danny. On quiet nights, when no ghosts showed up to interrupt him and Sam and Tucker weren’t up to distract him with a game of Doomed, his mind would sometimes wander back to that darkest of timelines.

He’d wondered how Vlad had ended up with custody. Being his godfather made him an option, but Danny would’ve wanted to go with Alicia. Will be damned, Danny would’ve plead on both knees with the judge to go with his aunt. Grieving or not, he’d have wanted as much distance between him and Vlad as possible,

He’d assumed Vlad must have done something to her or paid off the judge to rule in his favor.

To find out it was because she simply wouldn’t take him?

A part of him understands. He doesn't - Aunt Alicia is a kind person, yes, but not particularly loving or caring. When his parents brought up the subject of children with her on one of their rare visits, she described herself as having “less motherly instinct than a starving axolotl.”

Not an encouraging description after he read a book on axolotls for context.

With their options being “Aunt in a small wood cabin in the middle of nowhere with the emotional sensitivity of a bull in a china shop” and “Rich friend of the family who would enable them to stay in contact with their friends and could hire them therapists even if he’s personally useless for helping them through the grieving process” she probably also figured marking herself down as a solid non-option would just expedite them getting the help they need (because she does care, even if she herself can’t - won’t - be there for them in that way).

He doesn’t hate her, but the knowledge burns. To know that there really was no avoiding Vlad - in that horrible future and in the now - makes him sick to his stomach.

Except-

Except before he can spiral, Mrs Scott tells them that Vlad is also not an option. Because he’s also under investigation.

A hysterical giggle bursts past his lips before he can think to stop it.

“Why?” he asks, ignoring Jazz’ disapproving grimace.

It’s less funny when they’re told that he’s under investigation under suspicion of mostly the same violations as their parents - including MPA violation, given the whole “million dollar ghost” incident and related propaganda. As the mayor especially, he should’ve known the AEA weren’t real and that the GIW were frauds and it was his responsibility to do something about them.

Depending on how he’d interacted with the group, he might be looking at aiding and abetting treason - or just outright treason - charges.

“If Aunt Alicia and Vlad both aren’t able to take us, then where are we going to go?” Jazz asks, shoving her emotions aside to deal with the matter at hand.

“Ordinarily, we would call up a few local fosters and see if one could take you in for a few days while we look into more long-term options. Worst case scenario you would have to spend a night or two in a hotel suite connected to mine while I found someone,” she answers. “But the two of you are in luck; Batman is the one who brought the case to our attention - apparently some erratic behavior from Red Hood brought them here, don’t ask, I don’t have all the details - and offered to run your parents’ DNA to check for other relatives that could take you. There was a match.”

The siblings share another look.

Both grandparents on their mother’s side had been only children and both were dead. Aunt Alicia had already said no and had no children of her own. Their father had been disowned by his family, and even if their other Aunts and Uncles would have been willing to take them in it didn’t matter, because all 5 had died in various accidents on their “hunts.”

“Apparently your uncle, Jerry Fenton, had a fling before he passed with one Ms Sheila Haywood. Their son, Jason, was thought to be the son of Willis Todd and Mrs Haywood until the DNA test today. He was raised by Willis and Mrs Catherine Todd until his subsequent adoption by Mr Bruce Wayne, and is currently living in Gotham.”

And it sounds wrong - the only thing most Fentons could love was mystery and danger - thus why only one out of six had survived. But they don’t know enough to dispute it.

Also. The involvement of another billionaire is setting off alarm bells. On the one hand: this could be a fruitloop paying someone off in order to forcibly adopt them. On the other hand, maybe Jason Todd really was a Fenton and being adopted by fruitloops was some kind of curse on the current generation.

“We contacted Mr. Todd the moment the connection was made. He has expressed an interest in taking you in, and flew out immediately to come and meet you. He arrived not five minutes ago.”

She paused and gave them a sympathetic look.

“I understand that this is all a lot to take in. Please know that placing you with Mr. Todd is not the end of my duties; even after he takes you, I will be following you to Gotham. I’ll be looking into counselors for the both of you, and we’ll have a follow up on that topic in a maximum of a week’s time. I’ll also be doing regular home checks to ensure you’re both settling in well and that you’re being taken good care of.

Even with what little I’ve gleaned, it is obvious that the environment you both grew up in until now was neither a safe nor a healthy one. It is my job to ensure that doesn’t happen again. If you have any concerns about your placement home now or in the future, please do not hesitate to bring them up with me. If you worry something is not “important” enough to mention, rest assured that if it bothers you in the slightest, then it’s important to me.��

She gives them each a long look.

Then she brings in Jason.

#dpxdc #Ghost Chirps AU #finally updating this after...#*checks notes*#most of a year #oop

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theshitpostcalligrapher · 8 months ago

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parents figured out replacement flight so I'm getting breakfast

International Hotel breakfast buffet is a lawless land what do you mean I can eat dim sum, bulgogi, crispy bacon, lox and charcuterie style cheese cubes within one meal

#Will post pics after I eat my final plate I've been eating little tapas style plates #Food #Travel

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dreamersworldduh · 6 months ago

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The Boy Who Broke Chains

• CONNER KENT x MALE!READER

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

WARNING! 18+MDNI! Swearing.

WORDS! 16.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then his lips met yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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sufficientlylargen · 1 year ago

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This is the greatest number of consecutive cubes of any year since 2016.

#of course nobody does it like year 0 #which was the sum of ALL THE CUBES

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mikuni14 · 7 months ago

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15 Day BL Challenge - Day 9

Day 9: Most Visually Pleasing Love Scene

(I took into account the love scenes and the heavy making out sessions)

The Sign the pink one

TharnType the ice cube one (please don't hate me 🥺)

every MaxTul scene, I mean.. come on, it's them

every scene of Kinn and Porsche

Siew Sum Noi - IG and Ruk scene

Be Loved in House: I Do

Love Class 2 this scene

gif by @nanihirunkits

Twins both scenes, I especially like this one

Ghost Host, Ghost House this scene

every DaouOffroad scene in Century of Love and Love in Translation

cold blue:

red hot:

Destiny Seeker

The Eighth Sense so beautiful

Bake Me Please both their scenes

4 Minutes all scenes, it's the same as with KP

well I'm not 😭

#blchallenge2k24 #bl drama #thai bl #korean bl #taiwanese bl #the sign the series #kinnporsche #tharntype #maxtul #love class 2 #siew sum noi #be loved in house: I do #twins the series #ghost host ghost house #daouoffroad #destiny seeker #bake me please #the eighth sense #4 minutes

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bucketbueckers · 6 months ago

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I'D RATHER PRETEND

CHAPTER THREE

tags: @angryflowerwitch @avvwritesstufff @melpthatsme @rebecca-woso @bueckersg1rl @l0verl4ne @clouded-whispers @dolliest-thena @katemartinlvr @numberonepartyanth3m @glamourdaya @pbbucks @unadulteratedcyclepaper @paiges-1vur wc: 7.3k notes: same shit, different chapter, masterlist, content warnings, place name backstory stuff. not my favorite chap but lots of paige & tess content so hopefully that makes up for it being boring af 😸 hope we enjoy 🫶

‘Prepare for Take Off! Tess Kennedy and Paige Bueckers Share Sweet Goodbye in Crowded Airport’

Tess Kennedy and Paige Bueckers have been a trending topic ever since Wednesday morning when fans speculated that Bueckers flew out to support Kennedy during her ACL recovery. In that time, Kennedy and Bueckers have shared a total of five pictures to their Instagram stories, each becoming more and more obvious as to who they are spending time with. Kennedy’s most recent story included a photo of her injured leg in the lap of (you guessed it!) a faceless individual, though just a half hour later, both Kennedy and Bueckers were pictured together at the Columbia Metropolitan Airport.

Onlookers said that Bueckers and Kennedy were attached at the hip, all smiles as they navigated the busy airport. Before Bueckers boarded the plane back to Connecticut, she and Kennedy shared a sweet hug before they pulled away. One commenter said that they seemed to share a few words, then Bueckers was off. Another commenter noted a sort of sadness etched on Kennedy’s face as she lingered. She seemed to be deep in thought. While, obviously, we are not in the business of being mind-readers, it is clear that Kennedy had some strong feelings about Bueckers leaving. In the short three days they have been seen together, their bond is evident, and fans are anxiously awaiting their next interaction.

-Penelope Lancaster, Bleacher Report

MAY 6, 2023

Tess is nursing a cup of half-melted ice when the FaceTime call from Paige comes through. It’s nearly startling – she’d been scrolling TikTok for the past hour, trying to distract herself from literally everything. It was difficult at first. Her feed was mostly basketball related things and huge think pieces about her and Paige – people seemed to think that Paige was saving her, which was ridiculous. It took about thirty minutes and countless refreshing, but she’s sure she successfully factory reset her algorithm. She was seventeen parts into a pirated movie and it was nearing the good part when Paige’s contact photo took over her screen.

She accepts the call, forgetting to control her face. “Hey! Woah, who pissed in your Cheerios?”

Paige’s voice flows through her airpods and Tess corrects her scowl, popping another ice cube in her mouth. “You did. I was watching Hidden Figures on TikTok and you interrupted me.”

Paige’s brows furrow dramatically. Tess takes the moment to study her screen, noting the headboard behind Paige and the dim lighting. She’s wearing a pair of glasses that sit low on the bridge of her nose, and judging by the blanket furled around her exposed shoulders, Paige must have just rolled into bed. “My bad, jus’ thought you would wanna talk to your girlfriend or sum’ after a really long plane ride.”

“It was like, four hours,” Tess states, rolling her eyes, though there’s a lingering fondness.

The blonde hums, shifting. “Try four hours and one minute. I sat next to this old guy and he snored the entire time. Like, I had my airpods in and everything and here comes Thomas the fucking train engine and shit. And in case that wasn’t bad enough, none of my teammates could pick me up so I got an Uber home and the driver just kept yapping about how South Carolina destroyed UConn’s last year.”

Tess nearly chokes on an ice cube as she laughs, much to Paige’s chagrin. “Yeah? How’d that make you feel?”

Paige narrows her eyes at her. “Stop gloating.”

“I’m not!”

Paige waves her hand, kissing her teeth before refocusing. “What’s with the ice cubes?” she asks.

For a moment, Tess considers playing it off. She doesn’t want Paige to think of her any differently if she admits the truth about it. She was slowly getting used to feeling guilt all the time, but she was wholly unprepared for the amount of shame weighing her down. Thinking about the fact she drank herself into an alcohol dependence – not addiction; she is not addicted and that’s a hill she’s willing to die on! – is humiliating. Tess would never lord anyone else’s struggle over their head, but it’s different with her. She’s still not sure how to give herself the same grace and compassion she’d give others. Her Uncle Gio had his fair share of alcohol issues, though he was also a war veteran; Tess understands why he’d turn to drinking, but how could their issues ever compare?

She recalls the promise she made to Kam and Bree, to herself, to Paige before she boarded the plane. She gave Paige her word that she wouldn’t do this alone, so she sinks into her pillows and confesses. “The ice cubes distract me from, you know, wanting to drink. Feels like it kills the urge a little bit – I don’t know. It’s probably fucking up my teeth, but better those than my brain and my liver, right?” She tries to mask the discomfort with a laugh, but it sounds dry coming out of her mouth.

Paige’s eyes soften. “Whatever works, right?” she says. “As long as you ain’t replacin’ it with like, chain smoking?”

Tess rolls her eyes, appreciative of the sentiment, but also Paige’s humorous approach as it takes some of the pressure off. “No chain smoking here,” she vows.

The blonde is silent for a moment. “When’d they start?” she prods. “The urges. If you wanna talk about it.”

Tess contemplates her words for a moment. Paige has given her an out, but at this point, she’s not sure if she wants to use it. “Thursday night. Couldn’t sleep at all. I wanted to drink so bad. So I stayed up, ate ice, and watched TV. I was honestly in the trenches but you know…that happens when you drink for a month straight and then suddenly stop.” When she glances down at her phone screen, Paige’s eyes are laser-focused on her, absorbing every word. Tess cracks a small smile. “My first therapy appointment is on Monday, so I’ll see what my therapist suggests. I’m pretty sure the urges will be here to stay for a couple weeks. Sounds more like a fact of life than anything else, I guess, but if push comes to shove, I’ll get Kam to tie me to the bed so I can’t run away.” Paige smirks and Tess rolls her eyes. “Chill!”

“I wasn’t even gonna say nothin’!” Paige exclaims. Tess shakes her eyes, though she can’t keep the smile off her face. “For what it’s worth, ‘m proud of you for, you know…thuggin’ it out.”

Tess grins. “‘Thugging it out?’” she asks in disbelief.

“I’m being genuine,” Paige says with an eye roll. “I’on know what you’re going through besides the knee. I understand that it’s not easy, though. Everyone thinks I’m like, your knight in shining armor or some bullshit, but you don't need me. Yeah, you got me and I’m here to support you, no matter what. But I’m not saving you or anything. You’re doing that yourself. And I think that’s really cool.”

Tess chuckles, trying to ignore just how touching Paige’s words were. “Don’t get sentimental on me now.” She wipes the tear beading at her waterline, and when she glances down, Paige is smiling at her.

“Alright,” she concedes. “I won’t say anything nice ever again.”

“You?” Tess mocks. “Saying nice things?”

“Fuck off,” Paige says. Her words lack heat and her smile brightens. She runs a hand across her jaw, as if deep in thought. “So, about the airport.” Tess raises a brow in what she hopes is nonchalance, trying to keep her nerves at bay. She’s been trying to push it deep into the recesses of her mind, but it’s clear Paige has other plans. “Was it…okay? Like I didn’t make you uncomfortable or nothin’?”

“Paige,” Tess deadpans, smile widening in amusement, but it does little to hide the flush on her cheeks. “It was a hug.”

Paige scratches the back of her neck. “I mean…it – nevermind, forget it,” she says, her voice trailing off.

“It what?”

Paige shakes her head, pushing her glasses further up her nose. “Nothing, don’t worry,” she says, flashing an easy grin, but something in her expression betrays her image of comfort. “Just checking in with you, s’all. Wanna make sure we’re selling the story, yeah?”

Right. The story. Reminding herself that this was all fake is somehow the only thing on Tess’s mind, but she still manages to forget about it at the worst moments. Trying to mask the foreign feeling burning a hole in her gut, she hums. “I think we’re doing a good job. Have you seen those articles on Bleacher Report?”

Paige nods, the tension on her face dissolving. “A couple, yeah.” Her smile turns smug. “D’you actually look sad when I boarded?”

Tess throws her head back with a heavy sigh. “Paige–”

“C’mon, you don’t gotta hide it,” she says teasingly. “Coulda chased me, begged me to stay, all that cheesy romcom shit.”

“Chase you?” Tess guffaws. “First of all, with whose knee?” Paige snorts, tilting her head as if to say, touche. “Second of all, I don’t chase. I have too much self-respect for that.”

“Yeah?” Paige asks, a laugh bubbling in her throat.

Tess narrows her eyes. “I’m hanging up on you.”

“You won’t.” Tess raises a brow, pressing the red end call button. The silence hardly lasts three seconds before Paige is calling back. Tess answers with a shit-eating grin. “Don’t do that shit to me again,” Paige says, indignant.

“Who’s chasing now?” Tess asks smugly.

Paige rubs the back of her neck again, having the decency to look caught, but she smiles at Tess regardless. “I’mma let you go take a nap,” she declares. “Let you sleep off this attitude.” Tess shakes her head, but her smile turns fond. “Call me after your appointment tomorrow, okay? Lemme know how it goes…if you feel up to it.”

Tess’s face softens. “Sure.” Tess bites her lip in contemplation. Before she has the chance to chicken out, she clears her throat. “Um, I just wanted to say thank you. For….” Tess’s voice trails off, unable to put to words how much Paige’s support has kept her sane for the past few days.

The lighting in Paige’s room is dim, but Tess can distinctly see the way her smile reaches her eyes, the way she understands what Tess is trying to say. “No need to thank me,” Paige says. “Just focus on getting better.”

Tess flashes one last quiet smile. “I will.” With a final farewell, the line clicks dead, and Tess leans back on her bed, releasing a long sigh.

Fuck.

MAY 8, 2023

Sunday passes by in a blur and Tess finds herself awake at 6am Monday morning. Sunday was chill – with nothing better to do, she spent the day (to no one’s surprise) binging more TV and working through some of Craig’s recommended independent PT exercises. She even treated herself to a solid hour outdoors, which, as popular opinion suggests, actually does wonders for your mental health.

She tries her best to ignore the intrusive thoughts at the back of her mind, urging her to go back on her promises. They become less and less appealing as the hours tick by. Sleep slowly becomes easier, though she’s unsure if she should attribute it to finally taking care of her leg or losing the fog that used to cloud her brain.

Just a week ago, Tess was rolling into bed at dawn, well past drunk and in body shuddering pain. Now, she’s on her sixth day of sobriety and genuine rehabbing, and she holds a different kind of hope for the future that she’d never felt before. There’s a small part of her that’s terrified to feel too positive about the days ahead of her considering it’s hardly been a full week, but she can’t help but feel like things are finally shaping up. And at this point, the only thing standing between her and that positive future she can’t stop thinking about is literally her.

Deciding to put a little extra effort in on Monday morning, she forgoes her usual sweatpants and opts for leggings. Between her brace and her knee, she wasn’t quite ready for jeans, but she figured leggings were at least a step up. Tess fully commits to her skin care, fixes her hair in a simple half-up half-down style, and even sends a sweet ‘good morning’ text to the team group chat – although Tessa, her almost-name twin, immediately responds and tells her to ‘take her ass back to bed.’ Tess sends the middle finger emoji and decides they are never seeing her be kind again.

She eats breakfast with Kamilla and Bree, who wish her luck for PT and her first therapy appointment. When she checks her phone for the time, she finds a couple of messages from Paige, which immediately warms her chest.

Morning Tess 🫶 Sent you a lil gift for PT It’s prolly outside your door Be nice to Craig and your therapist

Confused, although she feels inexplicably touched, she slides on her shoes, grabs her crutches, and with a final goodbye to Kam and Bree, exits their apartment. She’s careful when opening and closing the door so she doesn’t damage whatever Paige has sent. A grin slowly spreads across her face when she sees that it’s a cup of coffee tucked into a Starbucks bag. She snags a quick picture of it before carefully leaning down to pick it up. She sends the photo to Paige, leaning against the wall.

so this is actually insane

Just looking out for the people who gotta deal with you No more cranky Tess

did you order yourself something too since you’re ‘dealing with me’

Yeah lol

The selfie comes quickly – a photo of Paige with her lips wrapped around a straw in a coffee cup. She’s throwing up a peace sign for the camera and her face has an obviously smug expression. Tess can’t help the slight flush she feels, so she opts for reacting to the photo with a thumbs-down emoji.

have i mentioned how insane you are

You could start by saying “Thanks for the coffee” or something like that Wait you can post it on your story I didn’t even think about that

i feel like this was your plan all along

It wasn’t Swear I did it out of the kindness of my heart

somehow you just made it even more unbelievable

Believe what you want I got you coffee Post it on your story, be nice to people, and call me later

so bossy

Learned from the best Talk to you soon 🤩

Tess rolls her eyes, but she can’t keep the stupid ass grin off of her face as she swaps over to Instagram and shares the picture to her story. She ponders the caption for an embarrassing amount of time before writing, ‘845 miles away but still sending shit to my door.’ She hits post and slides her phone back into her pocket before walking to the trainer’s office for her PT.

When she arrives, Craig greets her warmly and they get right into it. He takes her brace off and unwraps her knee. Then, he leads her through some of their typical knee exercises, pausing in between for a cooldown where she ices her knee as he explains what their new recovery timeline should look like. As long as she does what she needs to, she likely won’t need her crutches anymore after two and a half more weeks of good behavior. In a couple months, her PT will change course entirely. They’ll begin introducing hydrotherapy and strength building exercises. For the past few days, she’s been working on the range of motion ones, so she’ll end up alternating and mixing the two somewhere down the line. Come February, she should be cleared for full contact practice. If all goes well by March, she should be able to play in full just in time for the last few days of the tournament season.

PT wraps up and Craig rewraps her knee, tightening her brace around it and sending her off with a kind smile and words of encouragement for her therapy session. Given that the university’s counseling center was across campus and Tess was not fucking with that walk, Amaya made arrangements for the psychologist to meet Tess in the athletic facility since she’d be there already for PT. She checks her phone for the room number that Amaya sent her (dutifully ignoring the Instagram notification reading ‘Paige liked your story!’) and makes her way down the hall to the office room.

Tess opens the door to find a shorter woman shuffling papers around on a desk. She looks up as the basketball player walks in, immediately flashing a beaming smile and sticking her hand out for Tess to shake. “Hey! You must be Tess.”

Tess shifts her weight, shaking her hand and returning a quiet smile. The psychologist has wavy, chestnut brown hair and kind brown eyes that have been softened by the passage of time. The crow’s feet and laugh lines on her face provide Tess with a sense of security, reminding her of a distant aunt who used to liven up the room. “Guilty as charged.”

“I’m Dr. Flanigan, but Yvette is just fine. Please, have a seat.” Tess pulls out the chair, slowly lowering herself into it, cautious of her knee. Yvette motions to the adjacent chair. “Would you want to prop your leg up? It might be more comfortable for you that way.”

Tess hesitates, but the comforting expression on Yvette’s face has her worries washing away. “Sure, please,” she says, and the older woman nods as she adjusts the chair and helps lift Tess’s leg to the elevated position. Almost instantly, some of the tension leaves her body and Tess sighs in relief.

“Perfect,” Yvette says, mostly to herself. She takes a seat in her own chair and begins looking through a couple of papers. “So, I see you’ve had quite the month.” Her words aren’t judgmental, just humorous, and Tess can’t help her snicker.

“Something like that,” she agrees.

“But you’re here now,” Yvette muses, sliding a pair of glasses onto the bridge of her nose. “That’s the hard part, isn’t it? Opening yourself up to receive help, putting aside your pride for long enough to realize you need help. I’m proud that you’re taking these steps.”

“Didn’t have much of a choice,” Tess jokes.

“You did,” Yvette says gently. Her eyes sparkle. “Your team gave you an ultimatum, but you could have said no, right? But here you are. It’s early, but you’ve already made so much progress in terms of rehabilitation. Can you share what your mental state has been like since Wednesday?”

Tess pauses to think about her words. Yvette doesn’t push her. Tess releases a breath of air, shifting, before responding. “I’ve been kinda all over the place, I guess. I mean, it was a complete 180 – I showed up to the meeting hungover and by the end of the day, I’d done PT, cried a couple of times, but like, my mind was also clearer… in a way? When I was doing what I was doing, sure, I was conscious of my own destruction, but sitting in front of a bunch of other people and having them tell you that you’re destroying yourself was different. It put things into perspective. Then…around Thursday night, the urge to drink started hitting, so I spent the entire night eating ice cubes and losing my mind.” She glances at Yvette, whose head cocks. “Um, losing it figuratively. It was really hard but I don’t think I was actively crashing out.”

“Perhaps the feeling was more like a battle with yourself for control?” Yvette asks kindly.

Tess opens her mouth, puzzled, then closes it. Damn. Yvette is good at her job. “Exactly like that,” Tess admits. “My body wanted it, but I didn’t want it. I felt like I was being pulled in two different directions – the pull was so strong. I sat for hours convincing myself that I knew what my body needed and not the other way around.”

“That’s a huge part of understanding and processing alcohol dependence,” the psychologist says. “The mentality. Treatment doesn’t always require medication – one of the most common ‘treatments’ is cognitive behavioral therapy, which helps people change unhelpful thinking patterns and reactions. A popular approach is what we call the recognize-avoid-cope method. Recognize your triggers, whether external or internal; avoid tempting situations, and cope with the triggers you can’t avoid.

“So, our two types of triggers – external and internal,” Yvette continues, and Tess listens to her every word. “External refers to your environment. Perhaps a person, place, thing, or time of day. You said your urge manifested at night time?” Tess nods. “For people who drank mostly at night, night time could be an external trigger. Your body gets used to drinking at this certain time, right? Internal triggers can be tricky. Many people struggle with identifying where they come from because they appear to come out of nowhere. However, these triggers can be set off by fleeting thoughts, responses to feelings. I believe in your case, an internal trigger could be a pain response from your knee, yes?”

Tess flushes. “I feel like you’re in my head,” she admits, drawing a laugh from Yvette. Some of the tension diffuses.

“Now that we know what to look for when we face that urge to drink, we can address it appropriately,” Yvette says. “It’s difficult to avoid internal triggers, so we just have to cope with them. Avoiding external triggers are more obvious. You may benefit from avoiding a bar or the liquor section in the grocery store, but you can’t avoid night time. This is where coping comes in. For you, chewing ice cubes was an effective distraction – perhaps one your dentist won’t agree with –” Tess chuckles, “– but it’s that idea that we want to work with. I struggled with alcohol dependence when I was your age. Meditation and yoga helped me out a lot, although those may not work for you considering your knee injury. The good thing is there’s a lot of healthy alternatives. Work on a hobby, talk to someone, take a hot shower – if it works for you and it’s not harmful, then it’s a good method! Remember, it’s all mental – if you feel the urge, challenge it. Find the error in your thinking and replace it. Remind yourself why you’re making this change to not drink. Ride it out. Urges are normal, but they’re temporary; they will pass.”

Yvette’s words leave Tess in a contemplative silence. Tess doesn’t think this first session was supposed to be anything revolutionary – Yvette literally just told her something she could have figured out from a Google search, but the psychologist's words just hit a little different. It’s similar to how she knew she was hurting herself after her injury but hearing it from Amaya, Diana, and Coach Staley rerouted the wiring in her brain.

Yvette gazes at her, calculating, before offering a small smile, like she understands that her words have hit home. She shuffles around her papers again. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to discuss your mental health history and your anxiety medication?”

That, Tess could answer without feeling like her world is going to flip upside down. She and Yvette discuss lighter topics for the remainder of their session, such as how long she’s been taking lexapro regularly, what it was like when she fell off schedule before and after her surgery, and previous psychiatric history. Yvette suggests other coping mechanisms for regulating her anxiety. Prior to the injury, Tess’s main source of relief was basketball; now, she has to figure out what else she could do with her life that doesn’t include sports.

Feeling as though a weight is lifted off her shoulders, Tess thanks Yvette for her time. Yvette sends her off with another gentle smile – and on her walk back to her apartment, Tess can’t help but feel like she’s on the right track.

Tess calls Paige later that day after she’s finally settled into bed. After some light stretches, she presses an ice pack to her knee as she waits for Paige to pick up her call. She doesn’t wait too long before the line clicks through and Paige’s face fills her screen. The blonde is laying in bed, her hair in a bun, presumably, but Tess’s eyes catch on the headset she wears and the familiar frame of glasses. She can see the reflection of the TV through her lenses and Tess raises a brow. “Bad time?” she asks, thinking Paige may be occupied.

“Nah, ‘course not,” she says. “Gimme a sec – I’ll hide in a bush.”

Tess laughs, hearing the slight clicking of a controller before Paige turns her attention to her fully. Tess didn’t grow up with siblings, but she did have many cousins with whom she was very close with – if there was one thing she learned, they rarely paused or stopped playing their games unless it was an emergency or their mother was yelling. “What are you playing?”

“Fortnite,” Paige admits shamelessly.

“So, she flirts like a twelve-year-old and plays games meant for one,” Tess muses.

Paige rolls her eyes. “Shut up, it’s fun. You play?”

“Nope,” Tess says. “Never got the appeal.”

“Dude,” the blonde says in near disbelief. “I got to put you on. Wait, do you even have a PS5?”

“Do you think I do?” she asks. “I’ve done literally nothing but basketball for almost fifteen years.”

“Gotta fix that,” Paige sighs. “Buy one and hop on Fortnite with me. Boom, new hobby and I get a duo.” The blonde grins at her through the screen, excited at the prospect, and Tess finds herself more accepting of the thought the more she thinks about it. Tess opens Amazon, scrolling through the console options and accessories, and Paige notes her sudden silence. “Wait, are you actually gonna get one?”

Tess shrugs a shoulder, smiling slightly. “I mean, might as well, right? I do need a new hobby and I don’t have a lot of options.” She adds the console to her cart as well as a controller, not giving it a second thought before she’s checking out. “Should be here tomorrow.”

Paige pumps her arm in the air, cheering. Tess can’t help but grin at her excitement. “You won’t regret this. Trust. We’re gonna run Fortnite like the navy.” Tess rolls her eyes good-naturedly as Paige adjusts her phone, flashing another smile. “So, what’s up with you? How was PT and therapy?”

Tess hums. “PT was the same as always. Still a little early to tell, but Craig says if everything goes according to plan, I should hopefully be back in time for the last month of games. Thinking about playing again is literally the only thing keeping my head on straight, so I just have to get my shit together for, what, ten or eleven more months? Easy peasy.”

“You’ll be back on the court before you know it,” Paige says confidently. “Do what you gotta do, but don’t lie just so you can play earlier. Don’t fuck yourself up.”

“Careful, Paige – keep saying nice things and I’ll think you care about me.”

“In your dreams,” the blonde says with a smirk. “Just want you at 100% when we play y’all in March Madness. I won’t have as much fun if I gotta drop 30 on Kamilla instead of you.”

Tess rolls her eyes. “You’re so full of shit.”

“Sharks.”

“Shit.”

“Sharks!”

“Sharks – god dammit.”

Paige grins gleefully as they both dissolve into fits of laughter. As she calms, she can’t help but stare at Paige, at the way her face scrunches and the unfiltered joy that permeates her expression. Tess hates how she softens ever so slightly, how any conversation with Paige is enough to collapse the walls she spent so long building. Tess has always been a little caustic, perhaps blunt to a fault, too sarcastic and so uncomfortable in showing affection. But there’s something about Paige that rounds out those edges. She feels like she can be honest; although vulnerability is still a difficult task, she finds that stomaching the thought is a little easier when Paige smiles at her. “So, therapy?” the blonde repeats, her tone light but not pushing her.

Her words drag Tess out of her thoughts. She shakes her head, as if trying to break the thoughts apart. “It was…informative.”

“Yeah?” Paige asks, interested. When Tess looks back at her screen, she can see the slight furrow in Paige’s brow, the look of concentration. Tess averts her eyes, feeling her face burn.

She hums, gathering her thoughts. “Basically, I just have to rethink my approach to drinking. Like, recognizing triggers and either just avoiding or coping with them. I do think I have to find something other than the ice. I bit into a chunk weird earlier and almost cried cause I thought I broke my tooth.” Paige snorts. “Not funny.” She raises her hands, grinning, and Tess sighs. “Being emotionally vulnerable is exhausting. I wish I could go play basketball and ignore most of my feelings.”

“Well, not to mansplain, but–”

“I know, I can’t actually avoid them,” Tess grumbles. Paige laughs again, and the sound is infectious enough that Tess can’t help but smile. “It’s barely been a week but I feel like…okay again. Is that a weird thing to say?”

“Nah, I get it,” Paige says. “You will be okay, though. You just need to believe it.”

Tess nods, leaning back in her bed and picking mindlessly at a loose thread on her blanket. “I think I do. Like, it doesn’t feel like the end anymore. I know that I need to put in a lot of work, but at this point, it’s a new opportunity to compete, but against myself, right? I can do that.”

“You can,” Paige affirms. “And you will.” She speaks so casually, as if Tess’s recovery is something that is already gone and past. Like it’s more truth than manifestation. When Tess smiles, Paige adds in a softer voice, “I know you can.”

“...Thanks, Paige,” is all Tess can muster. She tries not to think about it too much – Paige is so close to being fully healed from her own ACL tear. She, more than anyone else in Tess’s life currently, knows what that process is like, how the mental anguish affects you, how debilitating the pain is most days. Paige knows what it’s like to survive that. The sheer confidence, the belief that Tess can survive it means more to her than Paige will probably ever know. “Your turn, though. How’s, uh, Storrs?”

Paige shoots her a scandalized look. “You say that like Columbia is any cooler.”

Tess laughs. “Well, it’s no Brooklyn – but you know damn well that UConn is the only reason why Storrs has any relevance.”

“I’m startin’ to wonder if there’s anything you like about me,” Paige grumbles.

“I like it when you’re quiet,” Tess says.

“You called me!”

“I like it when you say the sweetest things,” Tess continues, purposefully ignoring Paige. “Like when you say I’m full of sharks or when you said we were star-crossed lovers because Caitlin broke my ankles.”

Paige huffs, trying – and failing – to hide the frown on her face. “You should not be talking about other women when you’re on the phone with your girlfriend. That’s like, relationship rule number one.”

Tess stares at her before erupting into laughter despite the warm, foreign feeling in her stomach. “Are you jealous?”

Paige rolls her eyes, but she angles her phone so Tess can’t see the flush creeping up her neck. “Chill. I’m jus’ saying – wait until that lady from Bleacher Report hears that you’re steppin’ out on me.”

Tess can’t hide her amusement. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Paige seems to forget about her earlier words as she grins proudly. “Been told a time or two,” she chirps.

The South Carolinian guard shakes her head fondly. “Okay, for real. What’s new with you?”

Paige shrugs. “Nothing much, but me and the team’s getting together later tonight ‘cause everyone’s heading home for the summer at some point this week. I’m flying back to Minnesota Thursday morning. You goin’ home, or…?”

“Haven’t thought about it much, honestly,” Tess admits. “My mom called on Sunday and asked if I was, but I’m nervous about flying with the knee and I’d feel bad having my parents drive down twelve hours just to pick me up. I could easily do Zoom or some shit with my therapist, but I feel like I really need good and consistent PT, so I’m not sure if I’d want to leave Craig.”

Paige raises a brow. “You live in Brooklyn, right? That’s where the Liberty is. I saw Sabrina in your comments – you could see if she could get you in touch with their physio.”

Tess laughs, mostly out of shock and because of the absurdity of the offer. “Do you really think I could cold call Sabrina Ionescu and be like, ‘hey, my knee’s fucked, I was wondering if you could see if your team physio would be willing to take over my rehab while I’m home?’”

“Uh, yeah?” Paige says like it’s obvious, her face contorting in confusion. “Have you not been online? Anytime Sabrina’s asked about college athletes or the future of the W, she’s always gassing you up. She might be in love with you, lowkey.”

“You better not be bullshitting me,” Tess says, opening her browser and Googling as Paige huffs dramatically. “You think she’d leave her man for me?”

“Rule number two, Tess Alessandra,” Paige reminds her. “No seeing other people on the DL. And you thought I couldn’t handle it.”

Hundreds of articles appear on her screen. Tess feels something tighten in her chest, even as she jokingly retorts, “It’s Sabrina Ionescu – I couldn’t pass that up.” She opens the first article, eyes scanning the headline as it reads, “Sabrina Ionescu On Tess Kennedy: ‘The Perfect NCAA Shooting Guard.’” Tess’s eyes nearly bulge out of her head, her shock only growing the more she reads.

“D’you seriously not know?” Paige asks curiously.

“No,” Tess answers, and it was the truth. “I stay far away from most basketball reporting and social media. Draft discussions always make me nervous and people always look for a story where there isn’t one. I’m here to hoop, not for someone to debate whether or not I’m the second coming of basketball Jesus.” She reads more, feeling both pleasantly surprised but also touched by how many kind things Sabrina Ionescu had to say about her – it was one thing for her to reach out after her ACL tear, but it’s incredibly flattering to know that she’s had someone like Sabrina in her corner all this time and she never knew it. “Do you really think they could do that?” Tess asks again, referring to their physio situation. “Like, they’re in preseason right now. I feel like their physio needs to focus on making sure their team doesn’t tear their ACLs.”

She watches Paige shrug through the screen, a tender sort of smile on her face. “Doesn’t hurt to ask, right? Plus, I got Husky connections – I can get Stewie to put in a good word.”

“You need to chill, I’m being so for real right now,” Tess says, narrowing her eyes. “You do not need to talk to Stewie for me.”

Paige is quiet for a moment, as if fully grasping what Tess is saying. “I won’t if you don’t really want me to,” she says after a lot of contemplation. “Don’t wanna fight your battles for you, but you know…if I can help, just lemme know.”

“I appreciate that,” Tess says, her voice a lot softer. “I’ll think about it.”

The blonde grins again. “No pressure.”

“So, excited to see your family?”

Paige leans back against her headboard, her grin turning fond. “You have no idea. I feel like Drew grows so much while I’m gone. He’s my little brother. Or was. He’s like a medium brother now.”

Tess can’t help but laugh at Paige’s words. “Yeah? Was he the one who put you on Fortnite?” she teases.

“You act like I can’t make choices for myself,” Paige says indignantly. “I actually put him on.”

“You see how that’s like, worse, right?”

Paige glares at her dramatically, but Tess can easily see the amused smile on her face. “You’re a D1 hater. It’s insane.”

“Been told a time or two,” she says, mirroring Paige’s earlier words, and they both dissolve into fits of laughter. “Do you–”

She’s cut off by the sound of a knock at Paige’s door. The blonde pulls off one airpod, turning to look at whoever’s walking in. “Hey, Lili and I are going to the store to pick up some stuff for tonight – you wanna come?” Tess is unable to place the voice, which doesn’t surprise her, but she watches the hesitation flash across Paige’s face. “Ohhh, are you on the phone with your lady friend?”

“Lady friend is crazy work,” Paige grumbles, which causes Tess to laugh. Paige glances at her screen again, as if studying Tess’s face for a reaction.

“Go hang out with your friends,” she tells her, knowing Paige is the only one who can hear. “Don’t let them think I’m the obsessive girlfriend who doesn’t let you hang out with other people.”

“If the shoe fits,” the blonde teases. Tess rolls her eyes at Paige’s smirk and she feels something simultaneously soften and break apart inside of her. That’s an issue to face another day. “I’ll text you later, okay? Make good choices.”

“Always,” Tess says innocently. Paige’s smirk melts into something more tender before she bids Tess one last goodbye and ends the FaceTime call. Tess exhales, staring at her phone screen, where her and Paige’s earlier text conversation remains. It all feels a little fast, but she can’t deny that she feels so incredibly comfortable with Paige. Sure, she and Paige bicker a lot, but she knows it’s all in good fun and she enjoys their banter and how Paige keeps her guessing. It’s the same way she is on the basketball court, but Tess recognizes something different in their little game: Paige’s slight acquiesce, the natural pauses in any of their conversations where Paige seems like she’s seeing Tess in a different way, understanding her in a way that’s beyond surface level.

It’s a double edged sword. Being known is terrifying. From a basketball perspective, the understanding that comes with knowing your opponent’s every move manifests in quick interceptions, knowing how to guard them on their favorite wing. On a personal level, being known opens you up to those same vulnerabilities. By now, she knows Paige better than that and she trusts that Paige wouldn't go out of her way to hurt her, but it’s hard to escape the thought that by letting Paige into her life and under her skin, she’s effectively arming her with her insecurities and shortcomings.

But at the same time, she’s letting Paige in, and it’s new and scary because nobody outside of Kamilla has ever wanted to look further. Tess has probably curated that issue herself — she keeps her teammates close enough that they’re privy to only 75% of her; that last 25%, each and every ugly thought or feeling or trait she’s ever had is kept so far away from them and Tess herself. Now, between her knee, her therapy and PT, and the whole situation of having to be Paige’s fake girlfriend, she’s suddenly faced with having to show someone a lot more than 75%. And it’s fucking frightening because Paige is getting to know Tess at her worst; although she doesn’t exactly have the option to run, she’s trying to be closer to Tess despite it all. Tess has spent so much of her life being afraid of the day the mirror would shatter and she would have to face the parts of herself she didn’t like. Knowing that she’s still here now, learning to love the girl in between the fractures, and that Paige has a heart big enough to not be offended by the scrapes and the nicks and the lacerations that come with handling something sharp and broken, fills her with an amalgamation of feelings. She’s hopeful, but she’s fearful and hesitant; she’s confused but so incredibly grateful.

So, she takes Paige’s advice and reaches out to Sabrina on Instagram. Tess isn’t alone in this. Between her teammates, her friends, her trainers and coaches and mentors, and now the women in the league, there’s so many people in her life that want to help her succeed if only they’d let her. Sabrina’s response comes 15 minutes later — she’d actually been in the trainer’s office getting her wrist checked out when she got her text. Sabrina said their head athletic trainer, Theresa, would be more than happy to take over her her PT while she’s back in Brooklyn, but obviously they would have to work around the Liberty’s game schedule. They would still be able to upkeep Tess’s three times a week requirement, and honestly, that was good enough for her.

Sabrina’s next message came in after Tess said her thank-you’s, reading:

No problem at all! Super proud of your progress and I can’t wait to see you on the court again. Let me know whenever you’re cleared, I would love to shoot around with you sometime

She decides she’d text Paige later, maybe let her know she was right if she felt like listening to her endless gloating. But she smiles as she texts her mom, telling her that she’s got another trainer lined up if she and her dad would be able to make the drive down to South Carolina.

We’ll be there about noon tomorrow to pick you up, piccola, no drive is too far

Then, feeling both hopeful and excited, she texts Amaya to let her know she’s going home for the summer but that she’ll maintain her PT and therapy sessions, to which Amaya responds with a simple thumbs up emoji that makes Tess immediately regret her thoughtful message. She lets Kamilla and Bree know she’s going and they remind her they’re both a call away if she needs anything. Tess packs most of her things before settling back into bed to relax.

She texts Paige later that night, shortly after midnight when she should have been well in bed, but she was struggling to sleep. Her thoughts were racing, but they were more positive than anything. She was excited to see her parents; she hadn’t really talked to them since her surgery. They had a lot to catch up on. She was anticipating the arrival of her Playstation, feeling unnaturally stoked to play Fortnite of all things, though a smaller part of her that she was slowly coming around to knew she just enjoyed her time with Paige, anyway. Unable to sleep, she writes:

you can say i told you so now the liberty’s trainer will take over my PT

I told you so Does this mean you won’t be gaming with me?

ill see if i can fit you into my schedule me and sabrina are super tight now 🤞

Don’t play with me.

don’t worry paigey you’re still my one and only

Better be Have a safe drive tomorrow 🫶

Tess sends back a single heart emoji, putting her phone on its charger and staring up at the ceiling. After a beat, a slow smile spreads across her face, and she can't help but think that she's making the right decision by letting Paige in.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige x reader #paige bueckers x oc #uconn #wbb x reader #uconn wbb

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