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spider-stark · 11 months ago

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PRECIPICE

Aegon II Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary - Forced to attend a stuffy ball, you find yourself hiding beneath a table with Aegon.

Warnings - implied targcest as always

Word Count - 4.5k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts //

The delicious aroma of roast mutton is wafting over you as you pass one of the many long serving tables lining the walls of the ballroom. Your gaze drags along the vast spread that has been prepared for tonight; a variety of artisan breads, cooked meats, and candied desserts are laid out upon silver serving dishes.

As you reach the end of the first table, a pile of lemon cakes snag your attention. Neatly stacked atop an ornate porcelain platter, the cakes are coated in a thin glaze that shimmers in the light. Your mouth instantly begins watering at the sight, your stomach growling in a way that would be deemed improper for a Lady.

Beside you, holding a plate that has been loaded with mashed potatoes and honeyed chicken, Jace turns his head to cock a brow at you.

“Hungry?” He asks, chuckling softly.

You suck in a deep breath before forcefully tearing your gaze from the cakes. “Extremely.”

It takes an enormous amount of will power to turn away from the serving table while still empty-handed, but you somehow manage to do just that. Having hardly even walked a few steps, though, Jace is abandoning his plate to rush after you, softly seizing your wrist to keep you from moving any further.

“If you’re hungry, then you should eat.”

His concern is obvious, not only through his tone, but his expression as well. With his furrowed brow and tight-mouthed frown, you’re fairly certain that he’s already considering the consequences of dragging you back to the table and feeding you himself if need be.

Jace had always been that way—not only with you, but with everyone. He was kind hearted and considerate to fault.

“I would,” you smile, shaking your head slightly to dismiss his concern, “but I’m afraid that if I do, I might very well pop right on out of this ridiculously tight corset.”

You wave an idle hand down to your waist, unnaturally cinched by the intricate lacing and boning of the garment beneath your evergreen gown. His eyes follow the motion, tracing along the intense curve, lingering for a moment too long.

The explanation seems to wash away much of his concern, relieved to know that discomfort was the only reason you had chosen to abstain from the treats being served. Even so, a touch of empathy remains, accompanied by the faintest hint of desire gleaming in his amber gaze.

Amber—an unusual color for a boy of Velaryon blood. His eyes were one of the many reasons that your mother, the Queen Alicent, felt so confident in labeling Princess Rhaenyra’s boys as bastards behind closed doors. And, if you were being honest with yourself, you knew that there was likely truth to her claims. Your nephews probably were bastards—but you didn’t particularly care.

Jace was nice to you, and that was all that had ever mattered to you.

He clears his throat, realizing that he had been gawking at your body for far longer than he should. “It looks uncomfortable,” the words spill out without permission, and you nearly laugh when his eyes go wide. “That didn’t come out right, nothing about it actually looks uncomfortable—it looks stunning! I mean, you look stunning! It’s just that, I don’t know, I imagine that having something squeeze you so tightly might be-”

“Jace, it’s okay! Truly,” you interrupt his rambling with a soft giggle. “You should know that I’m not so easily offended,” you playfully chide. “Besides, you’re right. It is quite uncomfortable!”

Actually, quite felt like an enormous understatement. But you didn’t figure that Jace was particularly interested in hearing about how your breasts were aching from being roughly shoved up by the tight garment.

Jace looses a breath, his shoulders sagging in relief. “Then why bother wearing them? Many noble-women go without corsets. Even my mother hardly ever wears one—she believes they’re vile things that only aid in the objectification of ladies.”

Your brows rise, agreeing with the claims of your half-sister. But then you let your attention shift to the dais, meeting the rough stare of the reason why you had been forced into the tortuous garb—your mother.

She’s already watching you when you meet her eye, her lip curled as she sends you a pointed look, silently urging you away from your nephew. It takes a great deal of effort not to shrink beneath the weight of her attention, and you’re beyond grateful for the group of women who shuffle past you towards the dance floor, giving you an excuse to break the hold she has on you.

“I wear it because my mother wishes for all of her children to look their best,” you answer, shifting your focus back onto Jace. “And who am I to disappoint the Queen?”

He notes the sudden callousness of your tone, as well as the way you clasp your hands together at your waist, fidgeting with the golden ring on your index finger. He doesn’t bother asking if you’re okay, however, knowing well enough that you were not—and already knowing why, as well.

You imagine that Jace doesn’t much like your mother; both for her part in the rumors spread about him and his brothers and for the way she has treated his mother.

It makes you upset in a strange way, a part of you always wishing to defend the Queen, no matter how abhorrent her actions. After all, she was your mother—whether you like it or not—and you knew very well that if someone were to try to hurt you or your siblings, then she would gladly lay her life on the line for you.

You were thankful for her; even if her protection hurt, even if her maternal love only exists when your life is at stake.

“Speaking of your siblings,” Jace suddenly notes, veering slightly off-subject as his own stare drifts towards the dais, “how did Aegon manage to weasel his way out of attending tonight?”

Your brows snap together before letting your head snap back towards the dais, managing to avoid your mother’s nasty stare this time by looking to her right, taking note of each of your siblings.

Aemond is sat directly by her side, his posture rigid as his eye scans across the room, alert and on-guard as usual. Next to him is Helaena, leisurely picking at her plate of food and mindlessly bobbing her head along to the symphony being played for court musicians. Daeron, who your mother insisted fly Tessarion here from Oldtown so that he might be present for tonight, is sat next to your empty chair, making idle chatter with those around him.

But Aegon’s chair, sat between yours and Helaena’s, is vacant.

A knot forms in your stomach when you look back at Aemond, his piercing violet eye catching yours, gleaming with a silent order—find our imbecile brother before he makes a fool of us all.

You give him a curt nod before looking away, head whirling as you begin searching the crowd around you for any sign of your eldest brother.

“Simple,” you huff, “he didn’t.”

Jace hums his understanding as you politely excuse yourself, turning away from him to begin shoving through the throng of people filling the room.

You decline invitations to dance and spout excuses as to why you can’t stop to chat as you push past noblemen-and-women from various Houses, trying to maintain the pleasant persona your mother favored while still moving fast enough that you might find Aegon before he finds any new ways to publicly bring shame upon the Targaryen name.

It’s exhausting work—and by the time you have shoved yourself to the other end of the room without finding him, you nearly consider giving up. Your chest hurts and your scalp is itching from being poked and prodded by a dozen or so pins, all of which had been meticulously placed by servants to arrange plaits into a fanciful half-updo.

In many ways, you look like your mother; with your elaborate hairstyle and green dress, the look is tied together by a pendant of the Seven-Pointed Star dangling from your neck.

And, in many ways, you hate it.

Much to the Queen’s dismay, you’ve never much liked the elegant styles preferred by many women at court. No, instead you spent much of your time donning mail with your hair lazily pulled back, joining Aemond for practice in the training yard.

She hated how unrefined you were, how indelicate you were; fearful for how others at court might view you for it, for how much attention you might draw to yourself.

You blow out a sigh, resisting the urge to pull all of the pins from your hair as you will yourself to keep walking, to keep looking for Aegon. A table overflowing with carafes of arbor wine and flagons of ale catches your attention, setting off alarm bells in your mind.

If Aegon were going to choose anywhere to hide at this godsforsaken ball, then it would certainly be in close proximity to the alcohol.

A cacophony of laughter and clinking goblets surrounds you as you approach, scanning over rows of bottles and skimming the faces of those nearby. Spinning your ring on your finger, you walk along the entire length of the long serving table, disappointed when you reach the end of it and find that your brother is still nowhere in sight.

Chewing on your cheek, you fight the urge to pour yourself a drink when you notice a carafe of blackberry wine. The plum colored liquid seems to call your name, singing promises of sweet oblivion, an escape from the restless feeling clawing at your chest.

You’re out of place here in court, and you always have been—you know that, and you worry that everyone around you knows, too.

Sensical enough to recognize that alcohol would likely just exacerbate your current ill-feelings, you shun the carafe and turn towards the grand entrance. Lifting your chin and squaring your shoulders, you try to appear more composed than you feel as you saunter towards the large wooden doors.

If Aegon had snuck off with one of the serving girls, then there was a good chance that he was still somewhere in the hall, either flirting or feeling up their skirts. And, if you were wrong, then at least he had provided you with an excuse to slip away from this mess of a ball.

As you pass by the last serving table, the platters and dishes atop it already thoroughly picked over, you feel someone tug at your dress. You whirl around, a fiery retort already falling off your tongue, fully intending to rip into whoever had found the audacity to touch you without permission—only to find yourself insulting the air.

There was no one there, at least not close enough to have touched you.

For a heartbeat you begin to reel, wondering if you’ve started to lose your mind before feeling the sensation again. A sharp tug at the fabric, just by your knee. Your head snaps down towards your dress, covering your mouth before a gasp can slip your lips.

An arm is peeking out from beneath one of the finely embellished tablecloths, and a well-groomed hand is clutching your skirts. You instantly recognize the hand as Aegon’s, having become intimately familiar with your brother’s touch throughout your life.

Taking a step closer to the covered table, you try to look natural as you hunch over it slightly to get closer to his level, feigning an interest in a half-eaten roast duck.

“What in the Seven Hells are you doing, Aegon?!” Your voice is hushed, not quite a whisper, but low enough so that no one other than him might hear.

Releasing his hold on your skirts, Aegon lifts the tablecloth a little higher, revealing his face. “Get under here,” he tilts his head, motioning for you to join him beneath the table.

“No!”

He swiftly presses a finger to his lips in response to your incredulous shout, shushing you. You stiffen, nervously flicking your eyes to each side, checking to ensure that no one had heard you. Fortunately, the courtiers around you appear far too invested in their conversations and drinks to notice how you appear to have shouted at a roast duck.

Aegon’s lilac eyes are wide, pleading as he shoves the tablecloth up higher, giving you more room to slip beneath it. “Would you just shut up and come?”

It’s the sheer urgency of his tone that piques your interest, although you wish that it hadn’t. You huff out an annoyed sigh, taking another look around the room before gathering up your skirts and sinking to your knees, crawling underneath the table.

Once you’ve successfully sat down beside him on the stone floor, he drops the cloth, shielding the two of you from any prying eyes. The material is thin enough that it allows some light to pass through it, very dimly illuminated Aegon’s grinning face, all urgency having suddenly vanished.

“Welcome,” he almost sounds breathless, the word airy—and utterly unnecessary.

You can faintly see the rosy coloring of his cheeks, a few messy silver waves tumbling across his face, and you’re immediately willing to bet that he’s extremely buzzed. “What are you doing, Aeg?”

Your tone is firm, but there’s a certain gentleness to it that was specially reserved for your eldest brother. While you maintain that you love all three of them equally, it’s undeniable that your relationship with Aegon has always been… different.

He reaches to his side, lifting a carafe from the ground beside him. “Having a party,” he says, raising it towards your face and playfully swirling the garnet colored liquid.

“I’m unsure if you’re aware,” you motion towards the cloth shrouding you from the bustling ballroom, “but our mother has already planned quite the celebration for tonight—and she likely does not wish for it to be ruined by her drunkard son ducking beneath tables like an imbecile!”

Aegon pokes his bottom lip out into a pout. “Why must you assume that I am drunk?”

“Because you’re you,” you drone, cocking your head at him, “and you are always drunk.”

Rolling his eyes, he sits the carafe down on the ground between you. There are only mere inches separating the two of you, both of you squeezing your limbs close to your body to avoid having a foot peek out from beneath the table. Sitting this close to him, you can smell the sweetness of the arbor red of his breath—as well as the faintest hint of sulfur, a sign that he had clearly gone riding on Sunfyre earlier and had failed at washing off the dragon’s strong scent.

You take another breath, inhaling the smell of him into your lungs. It was familiar—comfortable, urging your taut muscles to slacken in his presence.

“And what if I told you that I am sober right now?”

A snort escapes you, sparing him an incredulous look. “Then I would call you a liar,” you tell him, tapping a finger against the rim of the half-empty carafe.

His stare drops down towards it, watching as the liquid ripples when you pull your hand back. When he looks back up, he’s wearing a crooked smile that makes your heart flutter. “Mostly sober, then.”

It’s nearly impossible to stifle your laugh, clamping a hand over your mouth so that you might muffle the sound and prevent passersby from becoming suspicious. The sound only makes his smile grow wider and more genuine, an expression that he graced very few people with.

“I’ll ask again,” you say, speaking only when you're confident that no more laughter will tumble out. “Why are you down here? If mother finds out then she will be furious and-”

Aegon tosses his head back, cutting you off with a groan. “Mother will be furious no matter what,”

Disdain drips from each syllable, thickening the air around you. He didn’t like talking about her much, and you couldn’t blame him for it. Of all your siblings, Aegon had been dealt the worst hand, simply by being born first. He got the brunt of your mothers vile behavior; and you hated that, too.

“Because,” lazily rolling his neck so that he can look at you again, he answers, “I’d rather spend my night under here,” he flicks a hand up, lazily gesturing around himself, “than be forced to sit through even one more tedious speech from some ancient Lord of gods-know-where!”

You bite your tongue, holding back another laugh.

“And,” he continues, nodding in your direction, “I am now saving you from the same mundane fate. You’re welcome.”

“What makes you think that I needed your saving?” You ask, brows rising.

Aegon purses his lips, placing a finger against his chin as he feigns contemplation, studying the intricate styling of your hair, the modest long-sleeved gown, and the Star resting against your covered breasts. “Perhaps it was that our mother has you dressed up as though you’re an aspiring Septa.”

Thinking of the plain women, with their simple gowns and traditional head coverings, you nearly laugh again as you ask, “How many Septa’s do you know that wear corsets and jewelry, brother?”

“None,” he admits, shoulders lifting into an indolent shrug. “Though, if they looked more like you, then I might finally have a reason to attend prayer. Beautiful women would be more than enough to turn me into a pious man.”

A warmth creeps up your neck as blood rushes to your cheeks, unsure if his statement was meant as a compliment—was he saying that he found you beautiful? If so, it shouldn’t have been a particularly shocking revelation. After all, Aegon had complimented you before, many times.

In all fairness, however, most of those times had been when he was thoroughly besotted. He had a habit of sneaking into your rooms and practically draping himself off of you, muttering drunken nonsense about how breathtaking you were. You had never placed much truth in the statements though, assuming that Aegon likely didn’t even recognize who he was speaking to, much less whose bed he had crawled into.

But even if this was a genuine and mostly sober attempt at complimenting you, the flattery of it doesn’t last nearly long enough. Your own insecurity washes back over you far quicker than you like, reminding you of just how unlike yourself you currently feel.

“I do not believe that anything would be capable of turning you into a pious man,” you joke, trying and failing to cover up the melancholy that has settled into your bones. “Not even beautiful women.”

“You could.”

The answer comes far too quick, spilling from his tongue with an eagerness that even seems to catch him by surprise.

“Though, I must say, for as exquisite as this dress makes you look,” his hand reaches across the short expanse dividing you, mindlessly running his fingers along the fabric covering your shoulder, “I much prefer the way look in armor—sweaty skin, messy hair, sword in-hand—all of it.”

Your breath catches in your throat as his touch drifts towards the center of your chest, fingers dragging along the thin chain leading to your pendant, lifting the Star into his palm. He stares at it for a moment before yanking it roughly from your neck, grinning when you yelp. “But this,” he lifts the Seven-Pointed Star slightly, “I absolutely hate.”

With that, he tosses it from underneath the table, sending it skittering across the floor beyond the tablecloth.

Your jaw drops open, a hand pressed against the now-sore spot along the back of your neck. Despite yourself, your lips start to curve into a playful smile. You try fighting against it, try pressing them into a firm line, but fail. “Mother will not be happy about that-”

“She’s never happy,” Aegon interjects. His own expression shifts, the line on his forehead deepening as he says, “Do not let yourself bear her misery. Life is too short—and you deserve more than that.”

A palpable silence is thickening the air, and your breathing seems to synchronize as you simply stare at one another.

Slowly, nervously, you say, “I’m not sure what it is that I deserve,”

“You deserve,” he pauses, lips still parted despite the absence of speech. Then, swallowing back the words that had been building in his throat, he says, “you deserve whatever it is that you want, sister.”

Your hand falls from your neck into your lap, and you avert your gaze, watching your fingers as they fidget with your ring. “And what if I do not know what I want?”

Once, you had thought that you wanted a life like Jaces. A happy life, with a mother that knew how to love you and siblings that hadn’t been raised in fear of their half-sister ascending the throne, taught that their very existence was a threat to her power. But, suddenly, you felt as though you were no longer sure.

Aegon hesitates, watching you carefully. His lilac eyes appear as though they’re searching for something within your own—a hint of recognition, or reciprocation. If he found what he was looking for, then you were unaware. “Then you’ll figure it out,” he sighs, his smile not reaching his eyes. “You have all the time in the world to decide.”

There is something reassuring about his statement, making it resonate with you in a way that you hadn’t expected. You look up, holding his gaze for a heartbeat, then two, and you almost swear that you can see it—the silent invitation, the plea to delve deeper into his words, to decipher exactly what it was that he was promising you.

You have all the time in the world—all the time in the world to decide if he might ever be something you want.

Suddenly you find yourself dancing on the edge of a precipice, chest tightening as you grapple with the idea that, maybe, something more might exist between you and Aegon.

That, maybe, he had always known who he was complimenting and what bed he was slipping into.

That, for him, it had always been you.

“Aegon, I-”

He shakes his head, cutting you off before you have a chance to say something that he fears you may regret. Then, sliding the carafe between you to the side, he scoots closer. “If you plan on staying under my table,” he teases, clearing his throat, “then we need to do something about your hair.”

“I thought you said I looked exquisite?” You stay still as he starts toying with the strands, trying to swallow the tumult of your own emotions.

Aegon’s plucking various pins from your hair, tossing them to the ground. “Yes, but I also said that I prefer your hair when it’s messy. It’s more…” he sucks in a breath, unable to hide the admiration swelling in his chest when he finally exhales, “you.”

Your cheeks are burning hot, and you’re suddenly very thankful for the lack of light around you. On instinct, you almost tell him how your mother wouldn’t agree—but then you think better of it.

“You’re… generous.”

Something about your voice sounds foreign in your ears. You sound nervous—and you’re not used to feeling nervous around Aegon.

His fingers are combing through the plaits forming your updo, his brow drawn taut, framing his lilac eyes, shining bright with concentration. “Generous,” he snorts softly, nails raking lightly against your scalp as he shakes the strands loose, “I don’t hear that one often.”

“Well perhaps you’d hear it more if you weren’t such an ass,” you shoot back, slowly trying to slip back into your usual self.

“Me? An ass?” He’s untangled the final braid, scooting away from you slightly now as he presses a hand to his chest, feigning innocence. “Never.”

Now falling in loose waves, free of those incessant pins, you brush your hair over your shoulder. “Just earlier I heard you telling Lord Grover that if wisdom were measured in wrinkles that he would be named Grand Maester.” You point out, unable to mask your amusement while recalling the old man’s shocked expression.

“Is it not true?” Aegon smirks. “The man is nearly seventy, and his age certainly shows.”

“Lord Grover is only two-and-fifty, brother.”

His brows shoot up, gaping at you. “Tell me that you’re not serious!” When you nod, confirming that you are, he sucks his teeth. “Wow—how unfortunate. He looks positively dreadful for his age, then. I thought that he surely had one foot in the grave by now.”

“Aegon!” You rebuke through your own sputtered laughter, shaking your head at his insolence. “See? This is what I was talking about! If you weren’t so crude then you might get more compliments.”

Swinging his arm back to grab for the carafe, Aegon’s nose scrunches slightly. “Why bother?” He implores, a hint of mischief in his tone. “My crudeness is what you like most about me, is it not? Without it, dear sister, your life would be quite boring.”

Just before he brings the carafe to his lips, he inclines his head towards the tablecloth, emphasizing his words. A reminder—that, without him, you would still be out there, sitting miserably amongst your siblings and being forced to dance with Lord’s twice your age.

There was something more beneath the veil of humor and arrogance, however. A craving that had him tipping the carafe back, hoping that the stinging of the alcohol might numb his gnawing desire for validation—to hear you say that you yes, my life would be boring without you.

“I suppose you’re right,” the admission has him pausing, the carafe lingering against his bottom lip. “Truth be told, I had never put much thought into it before, but you do have a way of keeping life interesting, Aeg. So, I must agree that, without you, my life would be positively dreadful.” Staring at the ground in-between you, you smile before adding, “After all, who else would be able to convince me to risk our mother’s scorn and crawl beneath a table to drink wine and fix my hair?”

There’s a slight tremor in his voice when he speaks, trying to mask the warmth swelling in his chest, “You have yet to drink a single drop.”

“Then I suppose that is the next thing you’ll have to fix,” you say, sticking your hand out towards him, urging him to pass you the carafe. He hands it to you while biting back a grin.

“Careful,” he warns, “drink too much and you may end up like your drunkard brother.”

“I don't mind,” You mirror his expression, your own lips curving as you raise the glass upwards, the strong scent of the arbor red stinging your nostrils. “I quite like my drunkard brother.”

His gaze burns against your flesh as you tilt your head back, allowing the alcohol to slip over your tongue, and you suddenly realize that you are no longer standing on the edge of that precipice.

You’re falling.

a/n - i was honestly just thinking about jude and cardan hiding under a table in the cruel prince and ended up with this? so yeah, definitely inspired by jurdan content (but y'know... no coup d'etat lmao).

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ambrosiagoldfish · 1 year ago

Note

I've never sent a request before, but I'm fiending for more adam, like anything, anything at all

Benefit of the doubt

Adam x 3rd Spouse! Reader

Viewer discretion is advised

Warnings: Angst(?), Not exactly fluff at the end but it gets better, typical Adam TW’s, reader low-key high-key has a complex about being loved, this is set way before the show, and Gn! Reader. (Also Y/n isn’t used, which also surprised me, the author, LMAO)

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Request Box: Open

Word count: 1760

A/N: Hi! Thanks for the request! I haven’t had a chance to write something that was originally my own idea in a while, so this was very refreshing! I’ve had this idea since I’ve watched the show so I hope you enjoy it!

I’m entirely up for making a small series from this oneshot, but I would need to know y’all’s opinion on it! (So don’t feel scared to let me know if you want some more of this idea in my Request box/the replies on this post!!)

Also Adam may be slightly OOC but please just chalk it up to him not yet getting his ego’s dick sucked 24/7

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy, let me know if you do!

Proofread but of course could have left mistakes!

You’ve existed for almost all of human existence, Almost.

You were the 4th being to be created during the time of Eden. But unlike the other 3, you weren’t human. In fact, you technically never lived before. An honestly hopeless existence, yet it was so beautiful in every way. But for what purpose? Well…

You were created shortly after Eve ate the apple, before she and eventually Adam committed the first act of sin that caused evil to latch onto humanity like a leech.

The reason for your existence was simple. To be Adam’s new spouse, except for when after he died. From the very moment Eve bit the fruit of temptation, it was already decided she would hold no place in heaven. Adam was given mercy due to him not possessing any knowledge of the fruit Eve had shared with him, he trusted her wholeheartedly. Which is exactly why heaven gave him mercy… no, pity would be a better choice of words.

Upon your creation you learned immediately of the happenings before your existence. About Lilith and Eve, and about Lucifer

And so, after Adam and Eve were casted away from the Garden, they continued to live their lives, fostering the existence of mankind for the rest of time. And when they eventually died, Adam was given pity while Eve was thrown to the wayside, the vast unknown.

You thought it was finally your time to experience existence with the one you loved, the one you were made for. Of course you never would know life as he did but surely your life never-after life could be just as meaningful as his.

How excited you were, how completely enamored by the thought of it. But there was a problem with that, Adam had grown into a new person, he was meant to of course, he was human. But he had grown selfish, abhorrent… insecure.

You understood why, to be betrayed by not one but two of his wives for the same person. You couldn’t possibly imagine what he could be feeling. Before you were to meet your future husband, Sera informed you that he had asked for a mask, and once on, he has refused to take it off.

That didn’t bother you, it’s irrelevant to your love for him. You've only heard descriptions of his features. Short Brown hair, gold eyes, bushy eyebrows, some scruff on his chin. All in all, he sounded perfectly fine, ordinary even. But even then it’s his choice to wear the mask, so you’ll respect it.

Finally, the time he arrived in heaven, and when Sera finally introduced you, his new spouse, the one to whom would be by his side for the rest of forever.

He rejected you outright.

“What?” Your breath hitched as you stuttered over the word, the sharp inhale of your lungs through your mouth flicked through the air.

Sera looked just as shocked as you but she quickly regained her composure “What is the meaning of this Adam?”

“If you think I’m going to let my life get fucked over by another one of your “gifts” well, you’ve got another thing coming!” He crossed his arms and shook his head defyingly. “I’ve already learned my lesson with those last 2 bitches.”

“Adam I’m sorry that happened to you but I would never-“ almost like lightning his finger shot to your mouth, shushing you.

“Save it, Sweetcheeks, I really don’t care what you have to say, so just stay there and look pretty, k?” His hand fell and grabbed the sides of your face, squishing your cheeks together, his LED mask flashing a sharp smile.

You saddeningly looked down at the clouds below you.

“Adam!” Sera’s voice sounded through the air, still soft but firm, she continued, placing a hand on your shoulder, “Divine judgment allowed you to be the first human soul in heaven, so I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I expect you to give your new spouse that same grace.”

Slowly your eyes looked up at Sera with a soft smile. Adam only groaned “Ugh, Fine but don’t be fuxking annoying, capiche?” You nod your head quickly.

“Very good, glad we have it settled.” Sera gives a quick smile, “now, I have some business to take care of so I’ll leave you two alone to get to know one another” With that, Sera flew away leaving the both of you alone.

The silence was thick in the air, the only sound being the occasional wind breeze blowing past. The sunlight creeps in through the clouds painting an orange sky above you both. In every sense of the word, it was perfect.

It was almost funny. You had waited so long to finally meet him, your true love, the one you were made for. All the things you dreamed about, the laughs you’d have together, the warm embrace of the person who you loved. But now… you didn’t know what to say…

“I’m… happy to finally meet you.” Your voice is quiet, almost non-audible. “I’ve been waiting for you since… well, forever…”

He doesn’t respond. He seems to be transfixed on something below you both. You train your eyes on whatever he’s watching only to see the dark cavernous abyss below you. Finally he breaks his silence.

“The fuck is that?” He asked pointing down, a sound of genuine intrigue hidden behind his abrasive voice

“That’s hell?” You stated confused “where would-be sinners will go to be punished, didnt you k-“ you suddenly realized that perhaps Adam really didn’t know what hell was. It was only created relatively recently, after Eve and Him ate the apple, of course he wouldn’t know. “it’s also where Lucifer-“

“Don’t fucking say his name.” Adam spoke, his voice rough in his speech. LED mask putting a harsh frown on his face. “Let’s get one thing straight M”Kay babe, if you’re my “new spouse” that’s something you should remember.” The “new spouse” was said with a tone clearly meant to mock you.

“Sorry…”

“Ugh, It’s fine, just don’t do it again.” He groaned before a wicked smile crept onto his mask “Sooo, that means he’s going to be stuck with all the wasteful beings of existence, HA fuxkin’ hilarious. Guess that makes them the losers and us the Winners!”

His laugh filled the air, the sound was like music to your ears, sure maybe it wasn’t really what you’d hoped he’d fine funny, but you loved it all the same but eventually his laugh died down

Silence again… in admits of all of it you suddenly was sparked with a thought “oh!” Adam looked confused at the random exclamation. “I had almost forgotten… I brought you something, as a welcome gift or was it a nice to meet you gift? Both? Eh, it doesn’t matter but the point is-“ you suddenly snap your fingers.

Golden light began shining, the light seemed like liquid hot magma as it moved and molded slowly into a shape. Light seemed to be overlapping and churning into itself, forming your desired outcome. With one final snap of your fingers, the gleaming gold liquid took hold, and quickly hardened to a solid.

The object that had formed quickly fell down, landing in your arms with a light thud.

“I’m still learning this creation stuff, so I’m sorry if it’s not perfect but-“ you hold out the object in your arms as an invitation to grab it “I learned from Sera that you liked to play guitar when you were alive, so I thought you might like to have one here…”

Adam looked at the instrument in your hands. The base color was gold, the neck was pearly white with gold strings. To be honest it looked more like a harp then anything, like if a guitar and a harp had a baby.

Silence again. Did he not like it? Did he hate it? You go to pull it back to you and apologize when suddenly it’s ripped out from your hands.

“Holyshit, this is sick as Fuck!” Adam immediately started playing some rifts on the new guitar. The sound wasn’t what you were expecting but you guess Sera was right about his talent with the instrument. The whole time his mask had a wide and sharp smile as he mimicked guitar sounds with his voice, the occasional laugh leaving his mouth.

“I’m really glad you like it” you say, a sigh of relief leaving your body.

Adam looked at you, one you missed. He saw how relieved you were, how nice you were being. No person who supposedly loved him ever gifted him something, well, one other did. Someone he trusted and loved more than everyone, anyone. But look how that ended, with them being removed from the garden, away from an eternity of happiness until he died. All from someone giving him what he thought was nothing but love, a gift.

But he could see that this was different, you were different. When Eve gave him the apple, she didn’t explain what it was or why she wanted him to eat it, even when he asked her she didn’t explain. But with you, you had not only given him something you knew he liked but also expressed the reason behind it. Yes, you were different, even Adam could see it.

“Anyways, thanks for the axe, I guess…” Adam for the first time was stunned, but quickly he continued “What was the thing that Sera chick said about me and “divine judgment” or whatever the fuck? That she gave me the “benefit of the doubt…”

You were a bit confused but continued listening, “I guess I should at least try to give you a chance, since you got me this sick ass guitar an’ shit.” Your face lit up, you about began to speak before you were, once again, shushed “B-B-But-” his finger tapped your lips with each repeated syllable ”-only a chance. If you betray me like those last 2 bitches then you’re done, got it?”

To say you were overjoyed would be an understatement, a smile quickly plastered across your face as you quickly nodded your head

“Alright good, so uh, what do ya say about showing me the best places to get a bite to eat around here, I could really go for some ribs right about now.”

“ I’d… love to, thank you Adam”

“Yeah don’t mention it Sweetcheeks” Adam quickly wrapped his arm around your shoulder and you two began walking.

Maybe you will get your eternity of happiness.you can only pray you do.

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pixii33 · 6 months ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑: 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺, 𝘴𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺?

You were out of breath, heart pounding from the sprint you had just made across town, dodging pedestrians and traffic like your life depended on it. In many ways, it did.

You were late.

Of course, you were.

Balancing high school and your part-time job had already stretched you thin, and now you were trying to squeeze in an interview for a babysitting gig with one of the wealthiest and most influential families in the city. If you could land this job, it could make a huge difference in your life, maybe even help with the tuition you could barely afford.

But as you stood there in your slightly wrinkled school uniform, hair mussed from running, you couldn’t help but feel entirely out of place. Surely, the other candidates—who had likely arrived on time, impeccably dressed—had already made a much better impression than you ever could.

You took a deep breath and knocked on the door. Before you could even process the sound of your knuckles against the wood, the door swung open to reveal a scene you hadn’t anticipated.

Inside, the vast living room was in utter chaos. The elegant furniture was scattered with toys, and the air was filled with the high-pitched wails of a very upset child. A child was in the middle of the room, throwing a toy dragon at a group of nervous-looking women.

“NO! NO! NO! UGLY! UGLY!” he screamed, his tiny face scrunched up in a mix of anger and tears. His mother, stood nearby, looking harried as she tried to calm him down, but nothing seemed to work.

The women—the other candidates, no doubt—were doing their best to placate the child, offering forced smiles and cooing words, but it only seemed to enrage him further.

You froze in the doorway, unsure of what to do. Every instinct told you to back away slowly and leave this mess behind, but you were already here, and this was your last chance. So, swallowing your nerves, you stepped into the room.

“Hi,” you said awkwardly, your voice barely above a whisper.

It was as if the world had stopped. The moment the word left your lips, Aegon’s crying halted abruptly, his tear-filled eyes snapping to you. His mouth fell open in a perfect little ‘o,’ and for a second, you were terrified that you had somehow made things worse.

But then, to your astonishment, his expression softened, a toothy grin spreading across his chubby face. Aegon dropped the toy he had been ready to launch, pushing past the other candidates as if they were invisible, and toddled over to you with an excited gleam in his eyes.

“Pretty,” he declared with the certainty only a toddler could muster. You felt your face heat up as every pair of eyes in the room turned to you.

Before you could react, Aegon wrapped his small arms around your leg, clinging to you like you were the most precious thing in the world. “Up! Up!” he demanded, his tiny hands making grabby motions toward you.

You stood there, frozen in shock. This was not going at all how you had imagined. The other women looked on in disbelief, some with obvious annoyance, as Aegon’s demands grew more urgent.

“Up! Up!” he repeated, his voice wobbling as tears began to well up in his eyes once more.

Panicking, you quickly bent down and scooped him up into your arms, praying you were doing the right thing. The moment you did, Aegon’s tears dried up, and he burst into a fit of giggles, snuggling into your neck as if he had known you his entire life.

“Mine,” he announced to the room, his voice muffled against your shoulder.

You could feel his breath tickling your skin, his little body warm and soft in your arms. He nuzzled closer, sighing contentedly, while you stood there, stiff as a board, unsure of how to process what had just happened.

Alicent stepped forward, her eyes wide with a mix of surprise and… was that relief? She looked between you and Aegon, a soft smile curving her lips as she took in the sight of her son, who had moments ago been a terror, now transformed into a content little angel.

“Well,” she said, her voice laced with amusement, “it seems Aegon has made his choice.”

You blinked at her, still holding the toddler close. “Wait… you mean…?”

Alicent nodded. “The position is yours if you want it. I’ve never seen him take to someone so quickly.”

You looked down at Aegon, who was gazing up at you with wide, adoring eyes, and felt a flutter of something warm and unfamiliar in your chest. It wasn’t just relief—it was something more. Something that told you this job was going to be more than just a way to make ends meet.

You smiled awkwardly, still trying to wrap your head around it all. “I guess I’m your new babysitter then.”

Aegon beamed at you, his little arms tightening around your neck as he whispered, “Mine.”

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

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ikkyfics · 2 months ago

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The Return

Alexei Vronsky x f!reader

Summary: "Darling, I’m sure Anna doesn’t want to monopolize our evening. Perhaps we should..." "Don’t worry," you cut in, your voice as sweet as it was sharp. "I’m just catching up. Three months is, after all, quite a long time to be away."

Warnings: angst, hurt, reconciliation, sensitive topics, mention of betrayal (not consummated), rebuilding trust, intense and emotional dialogues

A/N: anon, I hope I do justice to your request - I hope you enjoy reading <333

Masterlist

The train moved through the vast whiteness, cutting through the snow like a pioneer in unknown lands. The rhythmic sound of the wheels against the tracks filled the silence of the cabin as you gazed at the landscape through the window. Snowflakes gathered on the glass, creating ephemeral patterns that quickly disappeared with the warmth of the cabin. The winter was always harsh, but there was something poetically beautiful in the monotony of the icy horizon.

You pressed the small bundle of letters against your chest, feeling the rough paper in your hands. Alexei's words echoed in your mind, the familiar phrases you'd read and reread countless times over the past three months. "I hope the snow is gentle with you," he had written in the last letter. "Natasha misses you, and so do I. Come back to us soon."

Alexei's handwriting had always been precise, almost meticulous, but it seemed to have lost something. Perhaps a fluidity, or the warmth with which he used to end each message with affectionate declarations. Not that he had been cold; far from it. But there was a restraint in the words, as if he were trying to hide something. You shook your head, pushing the thoughts away. There was no room for doubt. Alexei was your husband, and your nearly three years together had been surprisingly harmonious for an arranged marriage. You had built something real, something that seemed unshakable.

The longing tightened like a knot in your chest. It was almost impossible to be away from Natasha, your daughter, who was under two years old and already the light of your days. You could imagine her now, perhaps playing with the blonde curls she had inherited from Alexei or dragging some toy across the floor of the hall. Alexei would surely be close by, attentive, although not the type to show excessive affection. He had a magnetic calm, a charisma that drew looks and trust from everyone around him.

You closed your eyes for a moment, remembering his face. The sharp features, the hair he always kept immaculate, but which seemed to rebel against control in the most intimate moments. His eyes, as clear as ice melting under the sun, held a depth that disarmed anyone who looked at them long enough. And yet, there was gentleness there, a softness he reserved only for you and Natasha.

The train made a turn, shaking lightly. You held your purse at your side and glanced at the clock. Only a few hours remained until you reached the station, and the thought quickened your heartbeat. What would the reunion be like? You felt your hands anxious, the words you might say to him forming and dissipating in your mind.

You opened the last letter again, your eyes following the familiar words. "The house is emptier without you. Natasha calls for you every night. I’ve been distracting myself with... events, but it’s not enough. Please come back to us soon." Something in the sentence felt hesitant, as though there was more he hadn’t said. But before you could reflect further, the train gave a final jolt, announcing the approach of the destination.

You took a deep breath, putting the letter away and straightening your posture. Soon, very soon, you would be home.

The station was alive with the sound of carriage wheels on the pavement, hurried footsteps, and voices muffled by the steam of the trains coming and going. The air was heavy with the smell of burning coal and the biting cold of winter. You gripped your suitcase tightly, your heart pounding in your chest as you stepped off the train. It had been almost three months away from home, away from him, away from Natasha.

Your gaze swept over the crowd, searching for a familiar figure. Men in top hats and heavy coats hurried past, women wrapped in shawls shielded their faces from the cold, but it wasn’t any of them you were looking for. Then, you saw him.

Alexei stood near a cast-iron column, his imposing stature setting him apart from the chaos around him. He wore a dark gray overcoat that accentuated his broad shoulders, and a black hat partially shaded his face. But it was impossible not to recognize those eyes—clear as ice in the sun, watching you with intensity, as though the world had stopped.

You paused for a moment, unable to breathe, unable to believe that you were finally here. He took a step forward, removing his hat with an elegant gesture, revealing his perfectly styled blonde hair, though a stubborn lock fell over his forehead. Time seemed to freeze around him, the bustling station blurring into an indistinct haze. All that remained was him.

"Alexei," you whispered, your voice choked with the emotion rising to the surface.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he walked toward you with long, determined strides, his face controlled, but his eyes betraying a storm of feelings. When he stopped just inches from you, the silence between the two of you seemed to speak louder than any words.

"You’re back," he finally said, his deep voice heavy with something you couldn’t name. He seemed so calm, so restrained, but the way his eyes traced every line of your face, as if making sure you were real, betrayed how much he had missed you.

You let the suitcase fall to the ground and took a step toward him, unable to hold back. The distance between you vanished when you threw yourself into his arms, your fingers gripping the heavy fabric of his overcoat as you buried your face in his chest. He seemed stiff at first, as though the moment had caught him by surprise, but in seconds, his arms closed around you, strong, protective, as if he never wanted to let go.

"Alexei," you murmured again, the sound muffled against him. The words failed, but it didn’t matter. The way he held you, with an almost desperate firmness, said everything he couldn’t express.

He tilted his head, his face buried in your hair. You felt the warmth of his breath on the top of your head, the subtle touch of his lips against your strands. "I was counting the days," he murmured, his voice so low you almost didn’t hear it. "Every damn day."

You pulled away just enough to look at him, your eyes full of the tears you’d tried to hold back. "Me too. I counted them too, Alexei."

He raised one of his hands, his broad, strong fingers sliding along the side of your face, wiping away a lone tear that had escaped. "You’ve lost weight," he observed, concern evident in the softness of his voice. "But still beautiful." The corner of his lips curved into a brief smile, a shadow of the charisma you knew so well, but still devastating.

You laughed, even though the emotion still tightened your throat. "And you look... more tired. Is everything okay? And Natasha? Is she okay?"

"She misses you. We both do," he replied, the smile fading as seriousness returned to his face. "She’s at home, waiting for you. She kept looking at the door every day, asking when you’d come back."

Your heart squeezed at the words, at the image of your daughter so small and eager for your presence. "I need to see her," you said, the urgency growing.

"Let’s go home," Alexei said, effortlessly taking your suitcase and holding your hand with the other. "We’ve waited long enough."

As he guided you through the station, his hand firm on your back, you felt that despite the chaos around you, there was something solid in being next to him again. The connection between you both seemed to have withstood time and distance, but deep down in your heart, you still felt a shadow, something you couldn’t name. Something hiding in the corners of your thoughts and in the glances that Alexei, as loving as they were, couldn’t completely mask.

The carriage jolted gently as it moved through the icy streets of St. Petersburg. Outside, the sky was painted a dark gray, and the snow covered everything like a white blanket. Inside, warm and cozy, you couldn’t stop looking at Alexei. He was sitting beside you, one hand holding yours, his gaze fixed on the window as if he were lost in thought. The silence between you was only filled by the sound of the horses’ hooves on the road.

"So," you began, your voice breaking the silence, "what happened while I was gone? How is Natasha? Is she eating well? Is she sleeping properly? And you? Alexei, is everything okay?"

He turned his face slowly, his clear eyes landing on you with an intensity that almost made you shrink. "Natasha is fine," he replied, his voice low and controlled. "She missed you, but she’s strong. I... I’m fine. Don’t worry about me."

"Of course I worry," you retorted, narrowing your eyes. "Three months, Alexei. Almost three months without seeing her. Without seeing you. Don’t tell me not to worry."

He sighed, his free hand rising to loosen his tie. "It was... a busy time," he admitted, looking away. "But now you’re here. That’s what matters."

Busy. The word hung in the air, heavy and vague. You studied him in silence, noticing small details that hadn’t been there before. The stiffness in his shoulders, the subtle dark circles under his eyes that the soft light of the carriage couldn’t quite hide, and something in his eyes – a shadow, a weight that seemed to have settled in during your absence.

"Busy how?" you insisted, feeling an increasing need to understand.

"Society matters," he said, evasive. "Ball after ball, endless appointments... nothing worth mentioning now. We’re almost home. Natasha’s waiting for you."

His words were like a barrier, a calculated response to end the subject. You wanted to insist, wanted to ask what exactly had been consuming him, but something in his tone – and maybe something in you – made you pull back. It wasn’t the time, not yet.

When the carriage finally stopped in front of your house, your heart raced. Alexei stepped down first, extending his hand to help you down, the gesture so natural and courteous it seemed like an extension of who he was. You accepted, stepping down carefully and looking at the familiar facade of the residence. Everything was the same, yet at the same time, something felt different.

Inside the house, the warmth of the fire in the hearth and the scent of burning wood wrapped around you in a feeling of comfort. Your eyes scanned the space, searching for her – your daughter, your Natasha. And then you saw her.

She was in the arms of a nanny, sitting near the fireplace. Her blonde hair shimmered in the warm light of the fire, and her rosy cheeks were rounder than you remembered. She turned her head when she heard your steps and blinked, as if trying to confirm that it was really you.

"Natasha," you called, your voice thick.

The little girl blinked again before a wide smile lit up her face. "Mommy!" she cried, squirming in the nanny’s arms until she was placed on the floor.

You couldn’t wait. You knelt on the rug and opened your arms, barely believing you’d finally have her in your arms again. Natasha ran towards you with hurried, awkward steps, stumbling slightly but not stopping until she threw herself into you.

"My girl," you murmured, holding her against your chest and burying your face in her soft hair. She smelled of soap and something sweet, something you could only describe as her.

Natasha began to speak excitedly, her words tumbling over each other as she told you about things that, to her, were grand adventures – the new toys, the walks in the garden, the stories her father had told her before bed. You laughed and cried at the same time, absorbing every detail, every word, as if you needed to make up for all the lost time.

"You're so big now," you said, holding her face in your hands. "My big girl. I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, Mommy," she replied, her words coming out a little jumbled, but still clear enough to warm your heart.

For a moment, you forgot everything – the station, the unanswered questions, the subtle changes in Alexei. All that mattered was the comforting weight of your daughter in your arms and the feeling of finally being where you were meant to be.

You lifted your eyes to Alexei, who was leaning against the doorframe, watching the scene with an expression that was impossible to decipher. "We're together again," you said, your voice soft and full of emotion. "Finally together."

Something passed through his eyes, something that made him look away for a brief moment before he replied. "Yes," he said, but the word seemed to carry more weight than it should have. He took a step forward, kneeling beside you.

"Natasha," he called gently, and the little girl turned to him with a radiant smile. "Are you happy now? Mommy is home."

"Happy," Natasha replied, laughing and grabbing one of his hands while still holding yours.

The moment was perfect, almost. But the way Alexei looked at you – as if there was something he wanted to say, but couldn’t – left a small shadow lingering over your heart. You pushed the thought aside, determined to enjoy the reunion. After all, you were home. With them.

Dinner went by in a mix of light conversations and moments of pure joy. Natasha, always chatty, monopolized much of the attention with her stories and childish laughter, and you could hardly contain your smile seeing her so excited. Sitting at the table with your family again felt like a balm for your heart, something you had longed for through endless weeks. Alexei, in turn, remained a bit quieter than usual, but still participated with occasional comments, always attentive, always directed to you or your daughter.

After dinner, you took on the task of putting Natasha to bed, refusing any help. It was a moment you wanted for yourself, a ritual you had missed so much during your absence. In the little one’s room, you dressed her in a soft cotton pajama, decorated with tiny flower designs, and sat by her bed while she snuggled under the covers.

"Sing to me, Mommy," Natasha asked, her sleepy eyes already blinking slowly.

"Of course, my little flower," you replied, stroking her hair before you began to sing a soft lullaby, one that your own mother used to sing to you.

When Natasha finally fell asleep, breathing softly against her pillow, you stayed for a few more minutes in the room, just watching her. Her chest rose and fell in a peaceful rhythm, and her little face, lit by the dim light of the lamp, seemed like the perfect picture of peace. Your heart filled with an almost overwhelming love, so intense that it was hard to put into words.

As you left the room, you made your way to the master bedroom. The house was quiet, and the hallways seemed bathed in a cozy dimness. When you opened the door, you found Alexei sitting in an armchair near the fireplace, a glass of wine balanced in his hand. He had changed out of his formal dinner clothes into a white linen shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, and lighter pants. His golden hair was a bit messy, as if he had run his fingers through it several times. The fire cast soft shadows on his face, highlighting his strong jawline and marked cheekbones.

You paused for a moment in the doorway, watching him without saying anything. He seemed lost in thought, his clear eyes fixed on the fire. There was something about him that always made him seem a bit younger and yet filled with a maturity that made him irresistible – a mix of vulnerability and strength that seemed uniquely his.

"You’re very thoughtful," you said, finally breaking the silence as you closed the door behind you.

Alexei lifted his eyes, and his expression softened when he saw you. "Just thinking about how much I missed you," he replied, his voice low and filled with sincerity.

You walked over to him, feeling the warmth of the fire as you drew closer. "Three months," you murmured, stopping beside the armchair. "It felt like an eternity."

He set his wine glass aside and reached out his hand, pulling you gently into his lap. You let yourself be guided, snuggling against him as his strong arms closed around you. His scent – a mix of wood and something subtly citrusy – was so familiar that it made your eyes close for a moment.

"You’ve lost weight," you said, a touch of concern in your voice as you traced your fingers along his collar. "Haven’t been eating well?"

"Do you think food tastes the same when you're not here?" Alexei replied, a slight smile curving his lips. He tilted his head, his clear eyes searching yours. "You’re the heart of this house. Nothing feels right without you."

His words, so simple and direct, made your heart race. You lifted one hand to touch his face, your fingers brushing the line of his jaw. "You have a way of saying things that completely unravels me, Alexei," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

He smiled, the kind of smile that seemed to carry so much affection it almost hurt. "Just being honest," he replied, leaning in to brush his lips against yours. The kiss was soft at first, almost hesitant, but it quickly deepened, becoming more intense, filled with longing and need.

When his lips finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his warmth surrounding you completely. "Promise me you’ll never stay away for so long again," he asked, his tone more vulnerable than you were used to.

"I promise," you replied, feeling a lump form in your throat. "But you have to promise me something too."

Alexei tilted his head, his clear eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart race. "Anything," he said, his voice low and deep, filled with sincerity.

"If something is wrong, if something is weighing on you, I want you to tell me," you continued, holding his gaze. "We’re a team, Alexei. We always have been."

For a moment, he didn’t respond, just watched you as if trying to memorize every detail of your expression. Then he slid one of his hands to your face, holding it with a gentleness that contrasted with the evident strength in his fingers.

"I promise," he murmured, but the way he said the words – slow and measured – suggested something deeper, something he wasn’t ready to share yet.

Before you could respond, Alexei leaned in to kiss you again, and this time, there was no hesitation. The kiss was a fusion of longing and need, filled with everything that had gone unsaid during the three months you had been apart. You felt his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer, as if he needed to prove to himself that you were there, real and present.

"You have no idea how much I missed you," he said against your lips, his voice rough and broken.

You closed your eyes, absorbing the warmth of his confession as your fingers slid into his hair, messing up the golden strands even more. "I know," you whispered, your heart tight with the weight of lost time. "I missed you too... everything about you."

Alexei didn’t respond with words. Instead, he rose from the armchair with you still in his arms and walked toward the bed. The movement was so natural, so full of intention, that you found yourself unable to look away from him.

"Three months," he murmured as he gently laid you down on the sheets, his eyes roaming over your face as if he were trying to memorize every detail. "It was the longest three months of my life."

You reached up to touch his face, tracing the line of his strong jaw and the contour of his lips, now curved into an almost imperceptible smile. "Then let’s not waste another moment," you replied, your voice soft but filled with conviction.

He didn’t need any more encouragement. Alexei leaned down, his lips finding yours again, but this time with a passion that was both raw and controlled. His hands explored every familiar curve, as if he needed to remember every part of you.

The night unfolded in a mix of whispers, touches, and moments of pure connection. He was gentle, as always, but there was a new intensity, something that spoke of lost time and how much he had longed for you. Every gesture, every word whispered in your ear seemed to carry the weight of everything you both hadn’t been able to express during the months of separation.

In the end, you found yourself nestled against his chest, your heart still racing while his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back. His breath was deep and steady, and you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to relax completely for the first time in months.

"Promise me you won’t leave again," he whispered, breaking the silence.

"I promise," you replied, your voice thick with exhaustion and the overwhelming love you felt for him.

And while the world outside continued with its concerns and challenges, there, in Alexei’s arms, you finally found the peace you had longed for.

The following days brought a routine that you embraced with more joy than you expected. After three months apart, every detail of life at home seemed more significant. The familiar scent of the freshly tended garden, the soft laughter of your daughter echoing through the halls, the sound of Alexei talking with the servants — all of it formed a comforting mosaic, bringing back the feeling of belonging.

Still, there was something different.

Alexei remained attentive and engaged, but you noticed moments when he seemed lost in thought. His eyes, so expressive, carried a restlessness that he masked well. It wasn’t anything glaring, but you noticed. A lingering stare into nothing, slightly delayed responses, a subtle change in tone by the end of the day. It was subtle, but you could feel the difference, as only someone who knew him so deeply could. Still, you decided not to press him. The reunion was still recent; maybe time would erase any shadow that was troubling him.

It was in this context that the first big event since your return took place: a ball.

The night arrived with a light chill, which seemed to accentuate the elegance of the event. The mansion hosting the ball gleamed like a jewel under the starry sky, with torches lighting the path flanked by snow-covered trees. Carriages arrived one after another, unloading elegantly dressed guests, while servants hurried to collect coats and organize the entrance.

Inside the hall, the atmosphere was even more breathtaking. Crystal chandeliers reflected the candlelight in a sparkling display, casting golden and silver patterns on the ornate walls. A string quintet played softly, filling the air with elegant music, while the scent of fresh flowers and wine lingered in the atmosphere. Guests in luxurious dresses and impeccable suits moved gracefully through the space, their voices in animated murmurs, interspersed with restrained laughter.

You entered the ballroom alongside Alexei, his arm firmly resting on yours, a gesture that seemed natural and yet carefully displayed for society. He looked impeccable in his formal uniform, with golden details accentuating his broad shoulders and proud posture. His hair, always carefully styled, reflected the light as if it were made of golden strands, and his light eyes scanned the room with a gaze that was both warm and vigilant.

You had also prepared carefully for the occasion. Your deep blue dress contrasted with the lighter tones around you, the silver embroidery seeming to capture the light with every movement. The elegant neckline and long sleeves accentuated your silhouette, and you felt the gazes following you as you walked past him.

"Everyone’s watching you," Alexei murmured in your ear, his tone both protective and proud.

You smiled, not looking directly at him. "Maybe they’re watching you."

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering your response, but the playful gleam in his eyes revealed that he liked the idea.

However, as the evening went on, something changed.

As you conversed with some acquaintances, you noticed diverted glances, muffled whispers, and a growing discomfort began to settle in. It wasn’t paranoia; people were definitely talking about something. Their polished smiles and courteous greetings barely masked the tension on the faces of those you knew well.

It was during a pause in the music that you saw it.

Alexei was on the other side of the room, speaking to someone you immediately recognized: Anna.

She looked stunning in a red dress, her dark hair perfectly arranged, and a smile that seemed to enchant everyone around her. Alexei was slightly leaned toward her, which in itself wasn’t unusual—he had always been attentive in conversations. But there was something in the way he looked at her, an intensity you had never seen before.

Your heart tightened, and you felt the world around you slow down for a moment.

You quickly averted your gaze, pretending to be interested in a glass of champagne that a servant offered. Your face betrayed nothing; you knew how to control your emotions in public. But inside, questions began to form, each one more difficult than the last.

Alexander approached with a cordial smile, his imposing figure standing out in the already rich environment of ornaments and luxurious dresses. His suit was impeccable, a deep gray that contrasted with his brown eyes, so different from Alexei’s. Despite the physical and personality distinctions, there was something about him that inspired the same aura of confidence and power as his brother.

"Allow me to steal you for a walk, my dear sister-in-law," he said, his voice low and polite, but still carrying the warmth that always made you feel welcomed.

You accepted without hesitation, offering him a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. "It would be a pleasure."

Alexander extended his arm, and you took it, allowing him to guide you away from the conversation circle you were in. The murmurs and laughter from the ballroom seemed to grow in the background as you moved at a slow pace, wandering between the marble columns and the glow of the chandeliers.

"How has your return been so far?" he asked, the conversation casual, but his observant eyes betrayed something deeper.

"Tiring," you replied, with a practiced lightness. "But I’m relieved to finally be back."

Alexander let out a soft, almost imperceptible laugh. "I imagine it wasn’t easy to leave everything behind for so long."

"It wasn’t," you admitted, turning your face to watch the guests dancing in the center of the ballroom. "But some things can’t be ignored, as you well know."

He nodded, but didn’t say anything for a moment. Then you felt it: the looks he gave you, longer than they should’ve been, almost condescending. There was no judgment in them, but a kind of compassion that made you feel an increasing discomfort.

"Does something about my appearance seem off?" you asked, trying to hide your unease with a light joke.

"Not at all," he replied quickly. "You look stunning tonight."

You knew he wasn’t just being polite, but the weight behind his words was hard to ignore. Alexander wasn’t one to speak too much, but his ability to convey the unspoken was almost unbearable.

"Did Alexei mention anything about my absence?" you asked, finally gathering the courage to address the matter that had been on your mind since you entered the ballroom.

"Alexei..." Alexander began, but then stopped, his eyes fixed on something—or someone.

You followed his gaze. There was Alexei, still by Anna Karenina’s side. She was laughing at something Alexei had said, her head slightly tilted toward him. And Alexei… He had that look in his eyes. Something soft, something captivating. Something you rarely saw when he looked at anyone else.

The world around you seemed to slow down, every sound muffled, as if the entire ballroom had fallen silent. You felt Alexander’s arm move slightly beneath your hand, bringing your attention back to him.

"Anna is a remarkable lady," Alexander said, his voice low and controlled.

"I know who she is," you replied, almost not realizing you had spoken out loud.

"Of course you do," he murmured, but there was something in his tone that suggested more than mere confirmation.

You continued walking, but your attention kept drifting back to the sight of Alexei and Anna. The way he leaned slightly toward her, his smile—not forced, but genuine.

"Alexander," you began, your voice sounding more hesitant than you would’ve liked. "Is there something I should know?"

He hesitated, just enough for the tension in the air to rise. "You know Alexei has a restless heart. He’s like a bird who sees an open window and can’t resist the curiosity."

"That doesn’t answer my question," you retorted, your hand tightening slightly on his arm.

"Because some questions don’t need to be answered," he said, giving you a look that was both understanding and protective.

There was a latent pain in his words, as if he understood perfectly what you were feeling, but knew that no explanation could ease the weight in your chest.

You glanced at Alexei again, and this time, you met his gaze. He saw you, and for a moment, something in his expression changed. It was as if the magic of that moment with Anna had been broken, as if he were a boy caught in a forbidden act.

You adjusted your dress with an automatic gesture, while the muffled sound of the orchestra seemed like a distant soundtrack to the turmoil inside you. Alexander stepped away after a brief farewell. Each step he took toward Alexei and Anna was a decision that reverberated in your chest like the echo of a heavy bell. The distance between you seemed like an abyss, but still, you kept going. There was no turning back now.

Alexei straightened up, adjusting his suit as if that could somehow protect him from the intensity of your gaze. Beside him, Anna turned, offering a calculated smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

"Darling," Alexei began, his voice sounding controlled, but without the familiarity you so longed for. "We were just talking about—"

"Don’t worry," you interrupted softly, your tone impeccable but with a hint of ice. "I don’t want to interrupt."

Anna tilted her head, as if analyzing every word you said. "It’s always nice to meet such a courteous soul," she said, the smile remaining but with something sharp hidden in her expression. "I was just commenting to Alexei how charming this ballroom is. It’s no wonder so many important events happen here."

"Ah, yes," you replied, keeping your tone polite but feeling the lump in your throat grow. "This is the kind of place where people meet, isn’t it? But I must say, I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting your husband, Anna. Isn’t he joining you?"

Her smile faltered for a moment, but quickly recovered. "Unfortunately, he couldn’t come today. Business, you understand."

"Certainly," you murmured, letting the word hang in the air, laden with meanings that no one dared mention. "I imagine it’s difficult to keep up with all the engagements when one is so busy. I’ve felt the same since I returned. It seems there’s so much I’ve missed."

Alexei cleared his throat, his unease evident. He shot you a quick, almost pleading look, but you ignored it, keeping your eyes fixed on Anna. "But it’s good to know that Alexei has been in good company while I’ve been away," you added, a soft, almost imperceptible smile touching your lips.

Anna responded with a polite laugh, but you noticed the slight tension in her shoulders. "Ah, of course, Alexei is a gentleman. He was just telling me about some… society matters."

"He’s truly very helpful," you said, tilting your head, as if reflecting. "Always so thoughtful."

Alexei intervened, his voice low but firm. "Darling, I’m sure Anna doesn’t want to monopolize our evening. Perhaps we should..."

"Don’t worry," you cut in, your voice as sweet as it was sharp. "I’m just catching up. Three months is, after all, quite a long time to be away."

The words fell like stones on a glass surface. The ballroom around you seemed to grow quieter, or perhaps it was just your perception, distorted by the growing pain inside you. Your fingers trembled slightly, but you hid them between the folds of your dress, struggling to maintain the flawless appearance.

Anna smiled, but this time the gesture seemed more like a mask than anything else. "Well, I won’t steal any more of your time. It was a pleasure, as always."

"Certainly," you replied, nodding your head in farewell, but the look you cast at Alexei was not one of farewell. It was something deeper, something you knew he would understand.

As she walked away, the silence between you was deafening. Alexei reached out to touch your arm, but you took a step back, keeping your gaze fixed on him.

"Not here," you murmured, your voice low and controlled, though the tremor in your hands betrayed the chaos inside you.

He hesitated, as if wanting to argue, but the weariness in his eyes seemed to silence him. You turned on your heel, head held high, and began to walk away, but the weight in your chest was overwhelming.

As you moved through the ballroom, the noise around you slowly returned, but it felt distant, as if it came from a world you no longer belonged to. With each step, you felt the pieces of the puzzle falling into place, and each one pierced your soul like a sharp blade.

As you walked between the guests, your dress impeccably adjusted and your smile carefully positioned, the emptiness in your chest seemed to expand with each passing moment. The conversation with Alexei and Anna had revealed more than words could express; it was as if a veil had been torn, exposing something you had suspected, but refused to accept.

The glances that always seemed to last a second longer than necessary, the muffled whispers when you passed... now it all clicked. It wasn’t just your imagination, it wasn’t just the insecurities of a wife who had been away too long. It was something tangible, something that everyone there knew and that you were just beginning to understand.

You moved between the groups, smiling and waving mechanically, refusing to stop long enough for anyone to notice the crack growing in your mask. Alexei, for his part, kept his distance, respecting the space you clearly required, but still, you felt his gaze on you, heavy and silent, as if each time your eyes met, he was trying to say something.

The dinner table was a lavish sight, filled with delicacies that would have been irresistible on any other occasion. But now, just looking at the dishes made you feel nauseous. The last thing you could bear was pretending to have an appetite. You grabbed a glass of wine, more out of a need for something to hold than a desire to drink.

You tried to engage in the conversations, but the words of the others reached you like indistinct echoes. It was as if everyone in the room spoke a language you no longer understood. When someone mentioned Alexei, even casually, you felt the weight of the words, as if they were stones thrown at you.

The night seemed to drag on endlessly, each minute a silent torture. You deliberately avoided Alexei, moving from group to group.

When the moment to leave finally arrived, relief mixed with anguish, as if leaving the ballroom could ease the pain, even if only for a moment. Alexei waited for you by the entrance, as he always did, but this time there was something different about him. He didn’t try to touch your hand, didn’t make any casual remarks to break the silence. He simply opened the carriage door, and you stepped in without looking at him.

The ride back home was enveloped in an almost unbearable silence. The carriage swayed gently along the road, but every movement seemed to intensify the tension in the air. You kept your eyes fixed on the window, watching the passing lights and trying, in vain, to find some sense of normalcy in what had once been so familiar.

Alexei tried to speak once. "I..." he started, but his voice died the moment you turned to him, your gaze firm yet silent, saying everything that needed to be said. He sighed, leaning back in his seat, and didn’t try anything further.

The ride home was a blur, and when the door to the bedroom clicked shut behind you, echoing in the heavy silence of the house, it felt like an inevitable trigger. What had once been carefully controlled—the expressionless face, the calculated steps, the impeccable posture—crumbled as soon as you found yourself alone.

The first tear slipped silently down your cheek, warm and heavy, followed by another, then another. You tried desperately to stifle the sound rising in your throat, but the sob came, breaking the silence like a desperate wail.

Your legs gave way, and you leaned against the edge of the bed, your hands trembling as they gripped the fabric of your dress. All the weight of what you felt seemed to collapse at once—the pain of betrayal, the humiliation of the glances in the ballroom, the emptiness growing inside you.

Then, without warning, you heard footsteps behind you. Alexei. He must have heard the muffled sound of your crying or simply knew he couldn't leave you alone in that moment. He entered the room, and upon seeing you like this, his eyes filled with something impossible to describe — regret, pain, perhaps even desperation.

"No," you managed to say, your voice choked, your teary eyes meeting his. "Don't come closer."

But he didn’t stop. He ignored the warning in your voice, the protests in your expression. His large, firm hands gently landed on yours, which were still trembling, trying to push him away, but he didn’t give in.

"Don’t do this, Alexei," you whispered, your voice breaking. "No... I can’t..."

He didn’t respond with words. He simply pulled you close, wrapping you in his arms, the firmness of his touch contrasting with the gentleness with which he held you, as though you were something precious and fragile he feared breaking even more.

"Why?" you asked, your voice desperate, almost a muffled scream against his chest. "Why wasn’t I enough? Why, Alexei? I tried... I always tried..."

Your hands pushed against him, or at least tried to, but he remained still, his own hands holding you tighter, as if fearing you would escape. You struggled, but it was futile. He was stronger, and you didn’t have the energy to fight against his grip or the storm of emotions consuming you.

"I loved you," you continued, the words coming out in broken sobs. "I still love... And that wasn’t enough, was it? I gave up everything for you, and you... you..."

But the words were lost in the crying. Your voice disappeared, but the tears kept coming, hot and relentless, soaking the fabric of his shirt as you collapsed. Alexei still hadn’t said anything. He didn’t try to explain, didn’t try to justify. He just held you, pressing your face against the top of your head, his lips touching your forehead in a gesture that seemed desperate.

"Why don’t you say anything?" you murmured, your voice weak and hesitant, mixed with the sobs. "Say something, Alexei... Please..."

But he couldn’t. His hands held you as if he could keep you whole with just his touch. His breathing was irregular, almost as frantic as yours. He seemed as lost as you, as incapable of dealing with what was happening as you were.

Eventually, his strength gave out. The crying subsided, the sobs becoming more spaced out until exhaustion overtook you. You stopped trying to pull away, stopped fighting against his grip. Your body went limp in his arms, exhausted, defeated.

Alexei remained there, holding you as if he could rebuild everything with the strength of his embrace, as if he could erase the pain with his closeness. But the space between you, invisible and overwhelming, seemed to grow with each passing second. Your breath, once broken by crying, was now just a tired whisper against his chest.

He finally loosened his grip, just enough to look at you. His eyes, so familiar, were now filled with a weight you had never seen before — something almost unbearable to face. He raised one hand, hesitantly, to touch your face, but you turned away slightly, pulling back in a way almost imperceptible. It was enough for him to freeze.

"Please," you whispered, your voice hoarse and broken, barely more than a thread of sound. "Please, Alexei, go away."

His eyes widened slightly, as if your words had hit him hard. He opened his mouth, perhaps to say something, to protest, but the silence in the room seemed to swallow any attempt.

"I can't..." He stopped, his voice faltering. "I can't leave you like this."

You turned your gaze away, unable to bear the way he looked so desperate, so lost. "I can't sleep with you here tonight. Not like this," you admitted, feeling each word tear at you like glass as it left your mouth. "Please, Alexei. Just... just go."

He took a step back, as if the words had physically pushed him away. The pain on his face was evident, as if you had taken something essential from him. He looked at you with a mix of disbelief and anguish, before slowly shaking his head.

"You can't push me away like this," he murmured, his eyes shining with torment he couldn’t hide. "We never... we never sleep apart."

You closed your eyes tightly, trying to ignore the tremor in his voice, the weight of the memories those words brought. "I know," you replied, your voice barely audible. "But tonight... I need it. I need space, Alexei."

For a moment, he seemed about to argue, to take another step toward you. But then he saw something in your eyes — something that made him stop. The pain you were feeling was there, raw and open, impossible to ignore. And seeing it, something inside him seemed to break.

He stepped closer one last time, hesitantly, as if each movement was a battle. "I..." His voice faltered, and he swallowed hard. "I never meant to hurt you. Never."

You didn’t respond. Not because you had nothing to say, but because you were too broken to find the words.

When he raised his hand, this time to touch your cheek, you instinctively pulled back. It was subtle, but enough for him to notice. The pain in his eyes turned into something deeper — pure despair, as if that small gesture had taken away any ground he still had left.

"I will," he finally said, his voice low and rough, each word weighed down with something that felt like a ton. "But that doesn’t mean I’m not here. I... I’m not going anywhere, understood?"

You just nodded, not meeting his eyes, your body still tense with the weight of everything that had happened that night.

Alexei stood still for another moment, as if trying to memorize the moment, or perhaps gathering the courage to leave. When he finally turned, the sound of the door opening and closing behind him was both a relief and a final blow.

You stayed there, alone in the room, the silence once again filled only by the sound of your irregular breathing. And for the first time in a long time, the bed felt immense, cold, and empty.

The night was an endless torment. The silence of the room felt larger than any physical space, filled only by the echo of what had happened. You stayed sitting at the edge of the bed, staring into the emptiness, unable to lie down on the surface that still held his warmth. The feeling of Alexei’s absence was suffocating, but the thought of sharing the same space with him again so soon was even more unbearable.

The minutes dragged on until they became hours. Every sound in the house seemed amplified: the distant creaking of wood, the rustling of the wind against the windows, the occasional footsteps of someone downstairs.

When morning finally began to break the sky, painting the room with a gray, hesitant light, you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps in the hallway. Slowly, almost hesitantly, they approached the door. The knock was soft, almost restrained, but still it echoed like thunder in your chest.

"I'm leaving," his voice came through the wood, low and hoarse, carrying a weight that seemed to suffocate every word. "Please... take care of yourself."

You remained silent. Every part of you screamed to respond, to open the door, but the pain weighed heavier. Silence became your only answer. On the other side, you heard a nearly imperceptible sigh, and then the footsteps receded. When the front door closed, the sound reverberated through the house like a final warning, leaving everything even emptier.

When you finally found the strength to leave the room, the sun was higher, casting a soft glow over the halls of the house, but you didn’t feel any warmth. The cold seemed to have settled inside you, a constant weight that made each movement feel like a Herculean task.

Little Natasha was in the living room, playing with a set of dolls, her face illuminated by the innocence you knew you should protect at all costs. But at that moment, even before she looked up at you, something changed in her expression.

"Good morning, Mommy," she said, her sweet, hesitant little voice.

You forced a smile, but it felt as if every muscle in your face was being pulled against your will. "Good morning, my love."

She put down the dolls and ran to you, her small arms wrapping around your legs. It was such a simple, genuine gesture that it made something inside you break again. You bent down and held her, squeezing her to your chest as if she were your anchor.

"Are you sad?" Natasha asked, her voice muffled against your shoulder.

"No, my angel," you replied, but the hoarseness in your voice was deceitful. "Mommy is just a little tired."

Natasha pulled away slightly, her blue eyes — so incredibly similar to Alexei’s — locking onto yours. They were curious, deep in a way that seemed impossible for someone so small.

"You look sad," she insisted, her little fingers reaching up to touch your face, as if she could wipe away a tear that hadn’t even fallen yet.

You held her tiny hand, squeezing it gently. "Mommy is fine, I promise," you said, but the lie was so fragile that it felt like it could shatter at any moment.

She didn’t respond, only nestling back into your arms. You closed your eyes, inhaling the soft scent of her hair, and allowed yourself to simply feel the moment. But even in that tenderness, there was a throbbing pain.

Natasha was a living reminder of Alexei. Every feature of hers — the eyes, the soft hair, the curious expression — was a painful reflection of the man you loved, but who now seemed so distant. With each glance at her, you were reminded of what was at risk, of what seemed to be crumbling beneath your feet.

You held your daughter a little tighter, trying to find comfort in that closeness. But the pain was there, persistent and unbearable, like a shadow you couldn’t shake off.

The attraction to Anna had been as unexpected as it was unsettling. It wasn’t something Alexei had sought or even desired, but there was something about her that seemed to challenge every fiber of his sensibility. She was enigmatic in a way that eluded him, a vibrant presence amid the salons and social gatherings that otherwise seemed so monotonous. Her beauty was undeniable, but that wasn’t what fascinated him. It was the way she seemed to exist in her own world, as if she were always one step ahead of the expectations society imposed on them.

In the early casual encounters, he had thought it was just a passing curiosity, an innocuous distraction. But as the months dragged on and the absence of his wife was felt more acutely, Anna became a beacon of something undefinable, something he couldn’t ignore. They never crossed any lines. Not a touch, not a kiss. But the long conversations, the glances that lasted a second longer than allowed, were enough to create a chasm of doubt within him.

Now, looking back, Alexei hated himself for letting it happen. It was a betrayal not only to his wife but to everything they had built together. He couldn’t deny that the distance between them during her absence had fed something dark. With her gone, the days had become unbearably empty. Her absence was a constant echo that resonated in every corner of the house, and he, in his weakness, had sought comfort in a presence that should have meant nothing.

But Anna wasn’t his wife. She wasn’t the woman who had shared his fears, his dreams, his life. She wasn’t the mother of his daughter, the companion he had sworn to protect above all. And now, in the present, the price of that weakness was almost unbearable.

The days since the ball had been torture. She avoided him with an almost supernatural skill, and he couldn’t blame her for that. All he knew about her came from the servants, who neutrally mentioned the places she was or the hours she spent with Natasha. He didn’t see her, and it was killing him.

That morning, while holding his daughter in his arms, Alexei felt an almost suffocating despair. Natasha, with her silky hair and eyes so incredibly like his, was a reminder of everything he could lose. She nestled against his chest with unwavering trust, her small fingers clutching his collar as she murmured something about playing in the garden. He ran his fingers through her hair, trying to find some peace in that moment, but the guilt was overwhelming.

“How could I do this?” he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. His wife’s face came to mind, not the hardened look from the ball, but the way she used to smile at him when she thought no one was watching. The memory was so painful it almost made him lose his balance.

His mother had warned him countless times, her words as sharp as they were precise. He still remembered her stern tone during a recent argument, one of the few moments when she had truly lost her patience with him.

“Anna is not for you, Alexei,” she had said, her eyes flashing with something bordering on disdain. “Your wife deserves more. Your daughter deserves more. And you... you should be ashamed.”

He had stormed out of that conversation furious, but now he understood the weight of her words. He was ashamed. Deeply. And the worst part was knowing that, no matter how hard he tried, there was no way to go back in time and undo the damage he had caused.

Natasha, sensing the tension in his body, lifted her face to look at him, and her innocent gaze completely disarmed him. She was so small, so confident that her father was the best man in the world. He felt a sharp pang of desperation as he realized that, if he continued like this, he might lose that too.

Alexei couldn’t take it anymore. The silence that once was an almost invisible wall between you two now felt like an impenetrable barrier. He saw the servants walking through the halls, casting furtive glances of pity and caution, bringing scarce news about you. “She’s still in the room, sir,” they would say. “She hasn’t eaten anything again today.” Every word was a stab, and that morning was no different. When the maid returned with the untouched tray, Alexei felt something inside him break.

Without a word, he took the tray from her hands and climbed the stairs, his heavy footsteps echoing through the house. The door to the room you used to share was closed, and for a moment, he hesitated. Since that night, he hadn’t crossed that threshold. He hadn’t dared. But now, he had no choice.

Pushing the door open, he found you sitting in front of the vanity, impeccable as always, but so different. The dress perfectly aligned, your hair styled with perfection. Not a strand out of place. But what hit him the most was the absence. The absence of color in your face. The absence of the sparkle in your eyes. And the absence of any trace of the love he used to feel, even without you needing to say it.

“You need to eat.” His voice came out harsher than he intended. He placed the tray on the small table next to the bed, watching you through the reflection in the mirror. “If you keep going like this, you’ll end up sick.”

You didn’t respond, your fingers busy with a small brooch pinning your collar. The silence that followed was suffocating, until your voice cut through the air like a blade: “Alexei, I want a divorce.”

“Please,” he said, his voice hoarse, almost inaudible at first. Then, stronger, more desperate. “Please, don’t do this. Don’t say that. No…”

You remained firm, your eyes fixed on him, but the trembling line of your lips betrayed the colossal effort you were making to keep your composure.

“Alexei…” your voice was low, almost a whisper, but the weight of what you said was like a direct blow. “I can’t anymore… I just can’t.”

“But you love me.” He said it like a prayer, as if repeating those words could undo everything that was happening. He stepped forward, his eyes pleading, shining with a desperation he could barely contain. “You said you loved me. You still love me.”

“I love you.” Your confession came quickly, but as harsh as a blade. “And you know that. But it wasn’t enough, Alexei. It was never enough.”

He fell to his knees in front of you, his chin trembling, his hands outstretched toward you as if begging for his very life. “Then what do I do?” He asked, his voice breaking. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix this. I’ll do anything, anything you ask. But don’t ask me to let you go. Please, I can’t…”

You turned your gaze away, but he saw the tears threatening to spill, even as you held them back with all your might. “I don’t know if there’s anything to fix.” Your voice faltered, but you quickly regained composure, lifting your chin. “I don’t know who we are anymore, Alexei.”

“We are us.” He almost shouted, desperation taking over him. “We are us! No matter what happens, we are us. I can’t... I can’t imagine my life without you. Without Natasha. I can’t bear that.”

“And I can’t bear being with someone who destroyed me like this.” Your tone was firm, but the pain you felt was as evident as his. You saw him close his eyes tightly, as if trying to push away the weight of your words, but they had already lodged themselves in him like splinters.

"Please." He reached out again, this time gently holding your arm, his touch trembling, almost reverent. "Please, don't do this. Tell me what I need to do to fix this. Tell me... anything."

You finally looked at him, and his eyes were so full of desperation that for a moment, something inside you wavered. "I need time." Your voice broke, and you hated how much saying that hurt. "I need time, Alexei. I can't even think straight with you like this. With us like this."

He slowly shook his head, as if he didn’t want to accept it. "Time?" He asked, the word coming out like a sentence. "I can give you time, but... what if you decide you don’t want to come back to me? What if you decide that... it's over?"

You took a deep breath, the tears you were trying to hold back finally streaming silently down your face. "I don’t know, Alexei. I don’t know."

The room fell into unbearable silence, broken only by the uneven sound of his breathing and your stifled sobs. Finally, he stood up, his hands trembling, his eyes red. "I’ll wait." His declaration was low, but carried a firmness that seemed impossible given his state. "I’ll wait as long as it takes. But don’t give up on us."

You didn’t answer, unable to find the words. And as he left the room, the door closing softly behind him, you collapsed to the floor, feeling as if every part of you was falling apart.

In the days that followed, Alexei’s absence in the room was like a constant shadow, a gap you didn’t know how to fill. He had respected your decision for space, yes, but he wasn’t truly absent. It was impossible to ignore the small gestures that betrayed him: a tray of tea and biscuits appearing on your table, accompanied by a short but warm note. “At least this,” the latest one said, with slanted handwriting and a palpable care.

The servants didn’t comment, but you knew. You knew he asked about your meals, about your health, about anything that could ease the guilt he carried. He was present in a discreet way, almost invisible, but so tangible that you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was always near, still caring, still watching.

Alexei’s mother’s visit came without warning, on a gray morning, when the heavy clouds outside mirrored the weight you carried in your chest. The maid announced her presence, and you felt your stomach churn. Though there was respect between you two, Mrs. Vronskaya had always been an imposing figure, surrounded by a natural authority that seemed to demand reverence.

You hesitated before going downstairs to meet her, but you didn’t have the strength to refuse. Deep down, you knew this conversation was inevitable.

When you entered the room, Alexei’s mother was already there, sitting impeccably in one of the armchairs, her heavy coat carefully folded beside her. She raised her gaze as soon as you entered, and for a moment, something in her eyes seemed to soften.

“You’re so thin,” was the first thing she said, instead of a greeting, her tone direct but filled with concern.

“I’m fine,” you replied, your voice soft but firm.

“No, you’re not.” Her response was immediate, with no room for debate. She gestured for you to sit, and when you did, the silence that followed was as thick as the cold morning air.

Mrs. Vronskaya wasn’t a woman who minced words, and you knew she was there for a reason. Still, it was you who broke the silence. “Why are you here?”

“For you,” she said simply, her eyes fixed on yours. “And for Alexei.”

You clenched your hands in your lap, trying to maintain composure. “If you came to defend him, know that you don’t have to. He’s already done that on his own.”

His mother slightly tilted her head, as if weighing her words before responding. “I didn’t come to defend him. I came to listen to you. Do you think I don’t know what’s going on in this house? That I don’t see the pain in both of your eyes?”

The mention of pain stung like a sharp needle. You looked away, staring at the floor, but her voice continued, firm and soft. “I never supported Alexei’s involvement with Anna. I made that clear from the start. Not because she’s married, but because I knew something like this wouldn’t end well. My son has always had this weakness... this tendency to be captivated by the new, the different. It’s part of who he is. But I also know he’s a man who loves deeply. When he loves, he gives himself completely.”

You raised your eyes to her, and there was something there, a mixture of hope and desperation that you couldn’t hide. “And what guarantees me that this love will be enough?”

“I can’t guarantee,” she admitted, her words direct but without cruelty. “But I can say that, since you entered his life, Alexei has changed. He found balance in you. I saw it with my own eyes. And I know that, even with the mistakes he’s made, the love he feels for you is real. I know that you still love him.”

Your heart tightened, and for a moment, you almost wanted to deny it. But what would be the point? “Loving doesn’t seem like enough,” you murmured, more to yourself than to her.

“Maybe it’s not,” Alexei’s mother replied, leaning slightly forward, her hands resting on her knees. “But sometimes, love is what gives you the strength to find a way, even if it’s painful. I’m not here to ask you to forgive my son. I’m here to tell you that, whatever your decision is, you won’t be alone.”

The sincerity in her words hit you like an unexpected blow, and you felt your eyes burn. But no tear fell. “I don’t know if I can get over this. Sometimes, it feels like the distance between us is insurmountable.”

“The distance is great,” she agreed. “But you’re speaking as if he’s on the other side of an abyss. He’s not. Alexei is trying to reach you, even if awkwardly. Don’t you see that?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to control the emotions threatening to overflow. “I see. But every gesture of his just reminds me of everything that’s been lost.”

Alexei’s mother nodded, her gaze softer than you’d ever seen. “That’s natural. But I also want you to know that you’re important to me. Not just as my son’s wife, but as the woman who made his life better. If you decide that you can’t continue, I’ll understand. And even then, you’ll still be part of my family. Always.”

Those words broke something inside you, but they also brought a small relief. You stood up, and she did the same, holding your hand firmly for a moment before letting it go.

“Thank you,” was all you could say.

“Take care of yourself,” she replied, her voice carrying an unexpected gentleness.

Later, as you walked down the hallway, you heard Natasha’s laughter echoing through the house. Peeking through the slightly open door, you saw Alexei sitting on the floor, holding the little one in his arms, her golden hair shining in the light coming through the window. Your chest tightened painfully. It was impossible to deny how much Natasha looked like her father — in her features, her smile, even in the way she seemed to light up the room.

You stayed there for a few seconds, watching. Alexei could hardly believe it when he lifted his eyes and saw you standing there, at the door, your gaze fixed on him and little Natasha. For a moment, he froze, as if any movement could shatter that fragile moment. The weight in your eyes hit him like a punch, and for a second, he wondered if he should call you, ask you to join them.

But before he could even open his mouth, you looked away and disappeared, leaving the door slightly ajar. The absence was an immediate emptiness, a cold that spread through him even with Natasha still nestled in his arms.

“Daddy?” The sweet, small voice of his daughter broke the silence. Natasha tilted her head to look at him, her golden curls falling over her forehead. “Who was there? Was it Mommy?”

Alexei swallowed hard, trying to hide the tightness in his chest. He adjusted Natasha in his arms, snuggling her close. “It was, my little one. But... Mommy had to go.”

“Doesn’t she want to play with us?” Natasha asked, her big, bright eyes searching for an explanation.

Alexei closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his strength. How could he explain something that he himself didn’t fully understand? How could he justify the choices that had led them to this point?

“It’s not that, sweetheart. Mommy is... tired. And sometimes, when we’re tired, we need some time to rest alone.”

Natasha furrowed her brow, clearly thinking about the answer. “But Mommy told me she loves us. She still loves you, doesn’t she?”

Those words, so simple and direct, pierced Alexei. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of it all on his shoulders. “Yes,” he finally replied, his voice low and hoarse. “Mommy loves you very much. And I’m sure she still loves Daddy too.”

“Then why don’t you stay together? Grandma said that love makes everything better.”

He felt his stomach twist when he heard the mention of his mother. Her visit was still fresh in his mind, a reminder of how much he had failed — not just with you, but with himself. She hadn’t spared any words, and the silent disapproval in her gaze still burned in his memory.

“Because Daddy made a mistake,” Alexei finally said, choosing his words carefully. “And sometimes, even when you love someone, you need to show that you can get better before things get better.”

“Will you get better, Daddy?” Natasha asked, her little fingers touching his face as if she wanted to make sure he was paying attention.

“I will,” Alexei replied, his tone now firm. “I promise you, Natasha, that I will fix things. I’ll do everything I can to bring Mommy back to us.”

“Can I help?” Natasha smiled, as if the simple thought of being helpful could solve any problem.

Alexei chuckled softly, kissing her forehead. “Your help already means everything to me, little one. Just having you here with me gives me strength.”

He hugged her tighter, letting that moment between father and daughter carve itself into his memory. Meanwhile, behind the affection he shared with Natasha, Alexei felt the weight of a decision solidifying. He knew he couldn’t allow himself to fail again. He couldn’t disappoint you, or himself, or that little creature who looked at him with so much love and trust.

When Natasha finally got distracted with one of her toys, Alexei stayed there, silently watching her. His conversation with his mother echoed in his mind, every word heavy with meaning. He felt ashamed, crushed by the realization that he had ignored advice and gut feelings that could have prevented all this pain.

But the shame wasn’t enough to paralyze him. It was a flame, something he would use to fuel his determination. Alexei knew the road to you would be difficult, painful. But looking at Natasha, so much like you and so full of life, he found a new resolution.

He didn’t just want to fix things — he needed to. And he would do it, no matter how much time or effort it took.

The change didn’t happen all at once, but it was like spring after a long winter. Alexei didn’t let a single day pass without trying, without showing how much he was willing to repair the mistakes that had brought so much pain.

He started with simple gestures. A fresh rose picked from the garden, carefully placed in your room. He would stop in front of closed doors, hesitating, but not knocking, respecting the space you had asked for, yet unable to stop leaving something, no matter how small, to let you know he was there.

Over time, he began to include Natasha in his attempts, inviting both of you to join him for a walk in the garden or for a special snack. And although you still didn’t join him, he noticed that the coldness from before was fading, replaced by something more neutral. More human.

The maids would mention that you were starting to eat normally again, that the pallor that marked your face had begun to give way to its natural color. Alexei saw this too, in brief glimpses — a soft curve at the corner of your lips when Natasha said something funny, a distant look, but less painful, when you thought no one was watching.

And then, that night, fate brought the opportunity he had been waiting for.

The storm had started earlier, with thunder echoing in the distance and gusts of wind blowing through the windows. Alexei was in the living room when he heard the door open, and before he even turned around, he knew it was you.

You entered the hall, your hair drenched and stuck to your face, the dress weighed down with water. He immediately got up, his heart racing at the sight of you like that.

"My God, you're completely soaked." His voice was low but full of urgency as he approached. You hesitated for a moment, as if considering pulling back, but eventually allowed him to come closer.

Alexei grabbed a wool shawl from a nearby chair and gently wrapped it around your shoulders. "Come. Let’s get these clothes off before you get sick."

His tone was practical, almost automatic, but there was something in his movements — the way his fingers trembled slightly as he adjusted the fabric over you, the care he took to avoid looking directly into your eyes — that betrayed the depth of his feelings.

You followed him to the bedroom, your steps light and almost silent on the carpet. The tension was palpable, an almost visible thread between you both. He gestured for you to sit in the chair near the fireplace. You did, your eyes fixed on the flames as he moved around the room, grabbing clean towels.

Without saying a word, he knelt before you, gently removing the pins that held your hair with firm, yet tender fingers. Each pin made a soft metallic sound as it fell onto the towel he had spread across his lap. You didn’t pull away.

Alexei then stood up, hesitating for a moment before reaching for the ties on your dress. He paused, looking at you for permission. You nodded slightly, enough for him to continue.

The knots loosened slowly, and the sound of the wet fabric coming undone seemed to fill the room. He helped you stand and wrapped a dry robe around your shoulders before stepping back, giving you space to sit again.

When he finally spoke, his voice was almost a whisper. "I’m so sorry."

You lifted your eyes to him, something shining there that he couldn’t decipher. “What about her?”

Alexei froze. For a moment, it seemed as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. “Anna?”

You nodded, your expression still unshaken, but the tension in your shoulders betrayed the effort you were making to stay strong.

“It was nothing,” he said finally, his eyes searching yours as if he wanted to beg you to believe him. “Nothing that justified... nothing that was worth this.”

“And why?” Your voice was soft, but cutting, like a blade piercing straight through his heart. “Why her? What did she have that I didn’t?”

Alexei ran a hand through his hair, clearly distressed. “I don’t know. She was... different. Something new, something I had never known. But it wasn’t love, it wasn’t... you.” He knelt in front of you again, his hands gripping yours tightly, but without hurting you. “Nothing ever came close to you. I was a fool for letting this come so close.”

You looked at him, your face still unreadable, but your eyes starting to shine. “What if I had stayed away longer? What if it were someone else, Alexei? How can I trust that this won’t happen again?”

Alexei remained kneeling in front of you, his eyes glowing with a desperation that seemed to suck the air out of the room. He didn’t move, neither closer nor farther, as if even the slightest shift could break the fragile connection that still existed between you.

“You are everything to me,” he repeated, his voice heavy with raw vulnerability. “But I know that just saying that isn’t enough. I know I can’t erase what I did, the pain I caused.”

You didn’t answer immediately. Your mind was in turmoil, each of his words crashing against the walls of your own pain, echoing. Finally, almost in a whisper, you asked, “Did you... did you two ever...”

Your voice faltered before you could finish the sentence, but the meaning was clear. Alexei’s eyes widened, as if the question had cut deeper than anything else. He shook his head quickly, almost frantic.

“No,” he said firmly, his voice a little louder, but still choked. “Never. I never did that. I never even kissed her.” He swallowed hard, lowering his gaze for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “I was a fool, a complete idiot for letting her occupy so much space in my head, but it wasn’t... physical. It wasn’t love. It was... it was a weakness of mine, a fascination with something I didn’t even know I was seeking. And I hate myself for it. I hate myself for hurting you this way.”

You felt the weight of every word, the warmth of his sincerity reaching something deep within you, but the pain was still there, alive and pulsing.

Alexei leaned in slightly, his hands still holding yours, but loosely, as if preparing for the inevitable moment when you would pull away. “I’d give anything to go back in time, to make the right choices from the start. To never have allowed anything to come between us. But all I can do now is this. Ask, beg for a chance to be better for you.”

His eyes shone, tears threatening to fall, but he didn’t look away, as if he couldn’t allow himself to hide anything from you. When he finally moved, it was to wrap his arms around your waist, a hesitant, almost fearful gesture.

“Please,” he whispered against the fabric of the robe you were wearing. “Please, tell me there’s still something in your heart that will let me fix this.”

You stood still, your body rigid as if you were trying to decide what to do. He didn’t dare move any further, his face hidden against you, breathing deeply as if it were the last time he could do so.

And then, almost imperceptibly, you raised your hand, your fingers hesitantly touching his hair. It was a small gesture, but to Alexei, it felt as though the whole world had stopped. He lifted his face, surprised, but didn’t say anything.

Your fingers threaded through his blonde hair, the touch soft, but steady, and something in him gave way. He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against your stomach as he let out a sigh that sounded almost like a sob.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, your voice low but filled with emotion. “I don’t know how to get past this, Alexei. But... I can’t stop loving you.”

He lifted his gaze to you, his eyes misty, but with a spark of hope. “I don’t need you to know right now,” he said, his voice trembling. “I just need you to let me try. Let me prove that I will never disappoint you again.”

The silence that followed was thick, but not empty. It was full of all the unspoken things, all the emotions that still needed room to exist between you.

Finally, you nodded slightly, the gesture almost imperceptible, but enough for him to understand. He didn’t smile, as if he knew there was still no room for joy, but the tension in his shoulders eased, and he held you more firmly in his arms without hurting you.

“Thank you,” he murmured, so softly that you almost didn’t hear it, but the weight of that word hung in the air between you, carrying all the love, regret, and promise he had to offer.

The night was calm, wrapped in a stillness broken only by the soft sound of rain against the windows. You were in Natasha’s room, the little one’s hair illuminated by the warm light of the lamp. She was lying on the bed, hugging the battered teddy bear she insisted on carrying everywhere.

“Now close your eyes, my love,” you said, your voice low and gentle as you adjusted the blanket around her small body. “It’s time to sleep.”

“Will you sing for me?” she asked, her eyes, identical to Alexei’s, shining with expectation.

You smiled, a small but genuine smile, as you began to hum a melody your mother used to sing to you. Her little hand held yours, as if that gesture were essential to the moment.

The door creaked softly as it opened, and Alexei stopped in the doorway, his tall figure illuminated by the hallway light. He hesitated when he saw her there, his eyes resting on the scene with an expression of tenderness so raw that it seemed to contradict the strength of his presence.

For a moment, he considered turning back, letting that moment belong only to the two of you. But then Natasha turned her head, her sleep-messy hair spreading across the pillow.

“Daddy,” she called, a sleepy smile lighting up her face. “Are you going to put me to sleep too?”

Her request was an unexpected bridge between the two of you. Alexei looked at you, a silent question in his clear eyes, the same ones Natasha had inherited. There was something so vulnerable in his gaze that the air seemed to grow a little heavier.

You nodded almost imperceptibly, making space beside the bed. He stepped into the room, each movement carrying a rare hesitation from him. When he approached, Natasha reached out her arms, and he leaned in to kiss her forehead before sitting beside the bed, opposite you.

“Now we’re all here,” she said, content, holding both of your hands.

“Does that mean you’re going to sleep for real now?” Alexei asked, his tone soft but tinged with amusement.

She shook her head, a mischievous smile appearing. “But I like when you’re both here with me. Daddy, mommy...”

The sound of that word hit him like a sweet blow. Mommy. It was simple, but hearing it from his daughter’s lips, in the context of that intimate scene, felt like a reminder of everything he was trying to protect.

Natasha shifted between you, her eyes slowly closing as she mumbled random words about the day. “I want a brother,” she murmured suddenly, her eyes blinking lazily before closing again.

Alexei let out a soft laugh, surprised, and looked at you. “A brother, huh?”

“Yes,” Natasha answered with a yawn, her eyes already closed. “To play with me.”

You and Alexei exchanged a glance, his expression softening in a way that rarely happened. When she finally fell asleep, her breath light and steady, he carefully adjusted her in the bed, leaving a kiss on the top of her head before standing up.

He moved closer to you, extending his hand to help you rise. You accepted, and he didn’t immediately release your hand, holding it between his as if afraid that the moment might slip away.

“She’s just like you,” you commented, your voice low as you looked at Natasha.

“No,” he replied, his eyes fixed on the small, sleeping face. “She’s the best of both of us.”

There was a comfortable silence between you, the usual tension replaced by something softer, more hopeful. He looked at you, his clear eyes carrying a tenderness that seemed almost shy.

“About what she said…” he started, hesitating for a moment.

“Alexei,” you interrupted, your tone almost exasperated but with a small smile.

“I know, I know,” he said, raising his hands in surrender, but his smile was back, something rare and so genuine that it made your heart ache.

The door to Natasha’s room closed softly, muffling the sound of her calm breathing. You and Alexei stayed in the hallway for a moment, as if the moment required silence, a reverence for the scene you had just shared. He seemed to hesitate, his hands sliding into the pockets of his suit jacket, a nervous gesture you knew well.

“She’s always known how to disarm us,” you commented, breaking the silence, your voice low but full of tenderness.

He looked at you, the corners of his lips curving into a nearly shy smile. “It’s an innate talent. I don’t think she got that from me.”

“Maybe from me, then,” you replied, your tone playful, something he hadn’t heard in a long time.

His smile widened, but there was something deeper in his eyes, something that kept him quiet for too long. You were about to ask what he was thinking when he turned slightly, his body leaning as though about to leave.

“Alexei.”

He stopped immediately, turning to face you again. You took a deep breath, gathering the words you wanted to say.

“You don’t have to go back to the other room,” you said, your voice soft but carrying something more. “If you want... you can come back to our room.”

The words came out before you could reconsider, and for a moment, the silence in the hallway seemed absolute. Alexei blinked, disbelief written on his face, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly.

“Is that what you want?” he asked, his voice so low it was barely a whisper.

You looked at him for a moment, your eyes searching his, which seemed to scan every nuance of your expression. “It’s a step, Alexei,” you replied, sincere. “I think we’re ready to take a step.”

He let out a breath that seemed to have been held for a long time, his shoulders relaxing a bit. “I...” He stopped, shaking his head as if the words were too difficult.

“And besides,” you continued, your voice light but carrying something almost mischievous, “if we really want to give Natasha a sibling, I think it makes more sense for us to be in the same room, don’t you think?”

His eyes widened, surprised, and for a moment, he stood completely still, as if the words had been a shock he hadn’t expected.

“You...” He started but didn’t finish, his gaze fixed on your face as if trying to process the subtle, but significant change.

You raised an eyebrow, the playful look returning to your expression, something he immediately recognized. “It’s just a practical matter,” you finished, your voice slightly provocative.

He stepped forward, the hesitation giving way to something more determined, his gaze intense and fixed on yours. “Practical,” he repeated, as if testing the word.

The air around you seemed to carry a familiar tension, something that had always been there but now felt more tangible, more urgent. You saw the shadow of a smile play at the corners of his lips, and you couldn’t resist.

“You’re taking this very seriously, Alexei,” you teased, your voice lower now, only to be interrupted.

He leaned in, his lips meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart race. The kiss was both tender and desperate, as if he were pouring everything he couldn’t say into words. Your hands went to his shoulders, a gesture to steady yourself, but instead of pushing him away, you pulled him closer, allowing yourself to finally give in to the moment.

When you pulled apart, your breaths were shallow, and Alexei kept his forehead pressed to yours. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, full of emotion.

The night seemed silent, the kind of silence that embraced the house like a heavy blanket, protecting the sounds that belonged only to that space. The room you once shared was almost exactly as before, but something felt different now. It was the same space, but it carried the weight of everything you had lived through—and survived.

Alexei was sitting at the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, watching you as you took off your robe and prepared to lie down. His gaze was intense, but not unsettling. It was a gaze of reverence, as if he couldn’t believe he was here again.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” you asked, breaking the silence, your voice soft but full of emotion.

He looked up at you, a small smile appearing on his lips. “Strange... and familiar at the same time.”

You moved closer slowly, feeling the warmth radiating from him even before you sat down beside him. For a moment, you stayed there, side by side, your hands almost touching. The small space between you seemed heavy, but also filled with something new—hope.

“I thought about this so much,” he murmured, turning slightly to face you. “About what it would be like... having you here again. Being with you like this.”

“And how is it?” you asked, your playful tone trying to mask the vulnerability behind the question.

He chuckled softly, but there was a gleam in his eyes, something deeply sincere. “It’s better than I allowed myself to imagine.”

You felt your heart tighten, but it was a different kind of tightness now, something less painful and closer to healing. You reached out to him, your fingers touching his gently. He intertwined his fingers with yours, the gesture so familiar it brought tears to your eyes.

“Alexei...” you started, but he interrupted you, his eyes fixed on yours.

“I know,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I know it will take time. That this is just the beginning. But please, tell me there’s a beginning.”

You nodded, feeling your throat tighten with emotion. “There’s a beginning,” you replied, your voice almost a whisper.

He leaned forward, his forehead touching yours, and the world seemed to shrink to that moment, to that touch. “I won’t fail you again,” he promised, his voice heavy with something so deep that it made your eyes well up with tears.

“I know,” you said, the sincerity of your voice making him close his eyes for a moment, as if he were absorbing it.

You both moved together to lie down, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. When Alexei pulled the covers over you, he did it with the same care as always, as if every small gesture had meaning. You curled up next to him, his body fitting to yours as if it had never stopped being like that.

He ran his fingers through your hair, untangling the strands that had come loose throughout the day, the movements slow and almost reverent. “I feel like I’m holding a piece of the future in my hands,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“And what do you see in that future, Alexei?” you asked, lifting your gaze to meet his.

He smiled, the kind of smile that made your heart tighten with both longing and hope at the same time. “I see us. Natasha... maybe a little brother for her, if you still want,” he added, his tone lightly teasing, but his eyes shining with tenderness.

You laughed, a light and almost new sound. “Maybe,” you replied, teasing. “But one step at a time, right?”

He leaned in, his lips brushing your forehead in a gesture that seemed to carry all the promises in the world. “Right,” he agreed, his voice soft and full of emotion.

Silence fell again, but it was a different silence now. It was a silence of peace, of new beginnings. And as you curled even closer, your hearts beating in a slow, synchronized rhythm, you knew you were finally finding your way back to each other.

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freyaphoria · 6 months ago

Note

hey luv!! not sure how much are you into 'spanking' but, I was wondering if you would make a reaction of Yan!Matz, Seonghwa catching you escape while Hj is not at home so Hwa spanks you/punishes you?👉👈

I know that Hwa would probably tell Hj but I would really like to see how Seonghwa would punish her😭

(btw i'm in love with ur stories, keep going and take some time to rest🖤)

a/n: When you sent me this request at night, I screamed and started writing at 4 a.m. This request may have opened up my writer's block thank you soooo much♡

Dark Side (partI)

tw: spanking, restriction with ropes, dragging, failed escape attempt, yandere!Seonghwa, hair pulling, kinda force feeding, hurt-comfort, punishment and aftercare, crying

wc: 3.7k

taglist: @aim-blossom @bambisd0ll @oddracha @peqchplvto

part 2 ->

Your hands trembled uncontrollably as you grasped the handle of the back door, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anticipation. How could they have been so careless as to leave it unlocked? The realization dawned on you as the cold air rushed in, caressing your face with its crisp touch. You stood there, frozen in disbelief, as the door swung open, revealing the vast expanse of the backyard and the towering pine trees that seemed to stretch endlessly into the horizon. This moment felt surreal, as if you were standing on the precipice of a new reality.

This was the first moment you found yourself so close to freedom. For the first time, you felt that escape was truly within reach, especially with Hongjoong away from the house. In a normal situation, you would have been settled on the couch watching TV while Seonghwa busied himself in the kitchen preparing dinner. But your mind was elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of escaping.

You thought about telling Seonghwa and escaping together. But what he told you yesterday showed that he was gradually deteriorating psychologically, that his admiration for Hongjoong had escalated to a concerning level, one that left you feeling uneasy about his willingness to escape alongside you. Convincing him to leave in that moment felt impossible. Maybe, in a few weeks, you could plant the seeds of doubt in his mind, but right now, it just wasn’t feasible. You simply could not let this opportunity slip away when it was right in front of you. When you came back with the police, you were going to save Seonghwa and put the evil in jail.

With each silent step towards the door, the possibility of freedom made your heart race even faster.Could you truly manage to escape? You had lost track of how long you had been trapped here, and you questioned your ability to readjust to the outside world after such a prolonged period of isolation. All these thoughts filled your veins with more adrenaline, and you could hear your heart beating.

You found yourself standing at the threshold, that thin line separating captivity from liberty. Instinctively, you glanced back, scanning for any sign that Seonghwa might have noticed your absence. You imagined the scenario if he had caught you: his gentle voice calling out, "Angel, come here," followed by report to Hongjoong. But to your relief, there was no sign of him. You were alone, unobserved, with the path to freedom clear before you.

Your foot made contact with the small marble stone at the entrance of the garden, its cold surface sending a shiver through your body, it was a sensation both foreign and familiar. You started to walk quickly and felt that soft grass beneath your feet that you hadn't felt in weeks, maybe months. You moved quickly through the garden, the taste of freedom already filling your spirit. The ability to move without fear, without the looming threat of Hongjoong, was intoxicating. But there was something you missed: The kitchen window looked out onto the backyard.

When Seonghwa saw you speeding through the backyard, he muttered a curse under his breath and quickly left the kitchen. The back door hung wide open, a reminder that he had forgotten to close it when he stepped out earlier to tend to the flowers. Seonghwa was shocked to see you walking past the edge of the yard and heading towards the thick forest nearby. He knew he was in big trouble. The thought of Hongjoong returning home in this moment made his stomach drop; if he found both of you outside, he would kill both of you. Seonghwa knew he had to go after you. Hongjoong had told him to do whatever it took to keep you here while he was gone.

He didn't call out to you, thinking that if he called out to you, you would panic and start running faster. Instead, he ran towards you silently but quickly, his footsteps muffled by the soft grass beneath. Your heart raced in your chest, and your breaths came in quick bursts, anxiety coursing through your veins. In an instant, Seonghwa was upon you. He lunged forward, wrapping his arms around your waist, and with a forceful motion, he threw you down onto the soft grass. The air was knocked from your lungs as you hit the ground, and confusion set in.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Seonghwa's voice was sharp and raw with emotion as he positioned himself over you, pinning your arms to the sides, using his body weight to keep you down. His eyes, normally warm and inviting, now showed both anger and distress, with his messy hair falling over his forehead from the effort of chasing you. The sudden aggression from the usually calm Seonghwa caught you off guard, causing you to instinctively lash out. Your legs flailed wildly as you attempted to kick him off, your mind momentarily confusing him with Hongjoong in your panicked state. "Are you out of your mind?! Did you think you could escape that easily?!" Seonghwa's grip tightened as he shouted, one of his hands released your arm, only to grasp your face roughly, his fingers digging into your cheeks. "Seonghwa, what are you doing?! You’re the one who’s out of your mind!" you cried out, struggling against his iron grip. "Let me go! Your voice grew higher with panic. Seonghwa, out of breath, kept holding you down and grew frustrated trying to make you understand the seriousness of the situation. Your pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears.

"Let you go?" he scoffed, his voice dripping with disbelief. "What do you mean by let you go?" His hand released your face, only to seize your arm once more as he began to forcibly drag you back towards the house. "Don't you understand? You belong to me just as much as you do to Hongjoong. Did you think I’d just let you escape from us?!”

His words hit you like a jolt. You had never witnessed this side of Seonghwa before—so unyielding and forceful—but amidst the chaos, fear for your safety was absent. You thought you still had time before Hongjoong arrived to learn your escape attempt and avoid the fallout, and that Seonghwa would save you from Hongjoong's ruthless punishment. But in that moment, you couldn't have been more wrong.

Your arm throbbed with pain as you struggled against Seonghwa's iron grip, his strength far beyond what you had imagined. "Seonghwa! Please, it hurts!" you cried out, your voice laced with desperation. As he forcefully dragged you across the ground, your clothes caught on the rough terrain, tearing and collecting smears of grass and dirt. "Shut up, you asked for this!" he barked back, his tone sharp and harsh, devoid of any hint of sympathy or concern, as if he were completely indifferent to your suffering.

The journey home was too quick, and you realized you couldn’t get very far. As soon as you reached home, he threw you to the ground, knocking the air out of your lungs. Seonghwa then slammed the door with a force that echoed through the house. You winced, rubbing your sore arm from his tight grip. "I can't believe you," Seonghwa's voice cut through the air, harsh and devoid of its usual warmth. It was as if the gentle Seonghwa you knew had vanished, replaced by a doppelganger channeling Hongjoong's ruthlessness. "I thought I could trust you. I thought I didn't need to watch you 24/7." He closed the distance between you and knelt down, his hand gripping your hair, pulling your head up to meet his gaze. "But I was wrong," he said, his voice heavy with rage. Fear crept into your spine as he hovered over you, in this moment, he seemed even more terrifying than Hongjoong. While Hongjoong's actions were often predictable in their cruelty, Seonghwa now resembled a ticking time bomb, leaving you uncertain of when or how he might explode.

"Seonghwa, why are you so angry—" you began, but he cut you off. “You ran,” he said, tightening his grip on your hair until it became painful. You squirmed, desperate for the agony to cease. “I'm sorry!” you cried out, your hands fumbling to loosen his grip. “I didn’t ask if you were fucking sorry,” he retorted, his tone deeper, more menacing than you had ever heard. Fear began to course through your veins, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

Seonghwa was thinking about what he would do to you; he stared at you with a stern expression, his mind racing with worries about what could happen next. If he told Hongjoong about your attempt to escape, he would face serious consequences, especially since the escape happened because of his own mistake. He might even risk damaging his relationship with Hongjoong. After a moment of thought, Seonghwa decided it was best to deal with the situation on his own and not inform Hongjoong.

His jaw tightened as he watched you tremble more and more with fear. "Get up," he commanded, finally releasing his grip on your hair. "Hwa-" you started to protest, but he cut you off sharply. "Get up and go to the basement." Your eyes widened in disbelief and fear. The basement? Seonghwa had never before demanded such a thing from you. "What are you saying-" you stammered, only to be interrupted once more. "If you want to keep this from reaching Hongjoong, you'll go to the basement. Now!" he snapped, urgency dripping from his words.

You began a slow, hesitant walk towards the stairs, but Seonghwa's patience had evidently worn thin; he forcefully shoved you down, your feet stumbling to maintain balance as he flung open the heavy metal door. The chill of the basement air hit you like a wall, and the darkness felt heavy.

You dared not speak; his demeanor had changed to someone frightening and dominant, similar to Hongjoong when he's stern. Seonghwa closed the door behind you, the sound echoing loudly, and then grabbed your arm, pulling you toward an old couch in the dimly lit room. With Hongjoong still hours away from returning home, you realized how vulnerable you were. Seonghwa had the power to do whatever he wanted with you during this time, without anyone to stop him or even make a peep about it, sent a shiver down your spine. The basement suddenly felt more stifling than ever, closing in around you as you faced the unknown intentions of this new, frightening version of Seonghwa.

He settled into the couch, an aura of dominance radiating from him. Just as you were about to ask him what he was going to do, he yanked you onto his lap, positioning you face down with his knees pressing into your stomach. "Seonghwa! What the hell do you think you’re doing?" Panic filled your voice, but he was unfazed. In a swift motion, he tore off your already tattered shorts, fabric ripping as though it were paper. The moment you opened your mouth to protest further, he silenced you by crumpling your shorts and stuffing part of them into your mouth. You were taken aback, the fabric blocking your protest. Your hands instinctively went to remove the makeshift gag, but before you could, he seized both of your arms and bound them tightly behind your back with a rope you couldn’t even begin to fathom where he had found it. Now, you found yourself in a vulnerable position—sitting on his lap, face down, your backside fully exposed while your shorts muffled any cries for help. With your arms securely tied, you could do nothing but wait in confusion and dread for whatever he had planned next. The rush of blood to your cheeks was overwhelming as you squirmed, trying to regain some semblance of control, but he had you pinned, and the ropes tightened with every movement you made.

“Let’s get this over with before Hongjoong shows up,” he murmured with a hint of urgency, “I can’t have him finding out it was my fault the door was left open.” With that, he grasped the sides of your panties, adjusting them with a deliberate slowness that sent shivers down your spine, fully revealing your exposed skin. You wriggled slightly, desperation creeping in, but his grip was unyielding, and he quickly absorbed your resistance. His warm hand glided across your backside, gently at first, before suddenly delivering a sharp slap that echoed off the walls of the room. A muffled scream escaped your mouth as the pain shot through you—both a shock and a burn that lingered. He began to rub the spot he had just slapped, the gentle caress contrasting harshly with the sting. Each time you attempted to shift away, he would pull you back down into position, maintaining control over you.

“Hongjoong won't know about your little escape attempt or that I’m punishing you. Do you understand?" His words were firm, filled with a mix of warning and authority. The heat of embarrassment surged up your neck and across your face as you tried to understand what was happening. It was all too much. When the next slap landed, intensifying the throbbing pain in your ass cheek, you flinched involuntarily, mixing fear and humiliation. “Understood?” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. You nodded frantically. “Good girl. Now be a good little girl and accept your punishment.” Each blow that followed wasn’t just a physical hit but a toll on your spirit, the redness spreading across your skin becoming unbearable as tears threatened to spill.

"How many steps did you take outside? Fifteen? Twenty?" His grip didn’t loosen as he began to cup and rub your sore skin, contrasting sharply with the pain he had just caused. When he finally removed the fabric from your mouth, you coughed and struggled to catch your breath. His hands were soon back on your skin, delivering another loud slap, the echo causing your heart to race. “I asked you a question!” The authority mixed with anger in his voice had you trembling; you felt completely vulnerable and utterly at his mercy. “I-I don’t know!” you stammered, desperation clawing at your insides as the pain continued to radiate. “Give me a number or I’ll treat you as if you took a hundred steps and punish you accordingly.”

It all clicked into focus—he intended to deliver a spanking for every step you confessed to taking outside. Panic washed over you as you scrambled for a response, understanding that each number corresponded to another blow. “Maybe… eight? Nine? Hwa, I’m so sorry! I promise it won’t happen again!” You winced as another strike landed hard, pain surging through your entire body. A shrill scream burst from your lips, tears streaming down your face as you felt utterly broken. “You can’t even make it to the basement door in eight steps! You definitely took at least twenty.” The realization of how many more strikes you would have to endure set in, fear gripping you tightly. “Seonghwa, please! It hurts!” You could feel the ropes digging into your wrists as you writhed in discomfort, helpless under his control. “Count!” His voice was steady but filled with a tone that no longer held any traces of affection. There was now a different Seonghwa standing before you, far removed from the person you once knew. The Seonghwa that Hongjoong had molded through his rigorous training and relentless expectations had emerged, bearing the marks of his newfound identity. Park Seonghwa, with his warmth and kindness, was a ghost of the past, replaced entirely by Kim Seonghwa, terrifying and merciless, with traces of Hongjoong in his personality.

"I'll take it as four so far. Count from here. But if you miss, you start over."

You were lying down with a cold compress pressed against your swollen eyes, a result of the tears that had flowed so freely just moments before. Your eyes were puffy and red, and the ice was meant to numb the sting and reduce the swelling and since you couldn’t sit down, you were lying down and eating the fruits that Seonghwa had prepared for you to comfort you and apologize in his own way, which he forced into your mouth even though you shook your head as no. Your favorite show flickered on the TV screen, providing a backdrop to the tense atmosphere. Your head rested in Seonghwa's lap, his hands multitasking - one soothingly rubbing your back while the other continued to offer forkfuls of juicy peach to your lips. The silence between you was palpable; you hadn't uttered a word since the punishment, your last spoken syllable being the final count of "twenty."

There was about an hour until Hongjoong arrived and in that hour, you both had to put everything back to how it was and act like nothing had happened. You could find an excuse for crying, but you didn't know what excuse to come up with for not being able to sit at the dinner table. After Seonghwa finished shoving the last remaining slice of peach in your mouth, the taste still lingering, he tenderly caressed your hair, leaning down to plant a gentle kiss on your head. “I need to get back to making dinner before he arrives. Can you manage to stay by yourself for a bit?” You didn’t respond; silence enveloped the space between you, your gaze fixed on the TV screen, your mind hardly registering anything at all. The sharp, burning sensation in your lower body remained, a reminder of everything.

"Angel, please say something. You're making me worry," Seonghwa said, his voice filled with concern. You looked at him and saw his worried eyes and guilt. You reminded yourself that Seonghwa was just following orders and his feelings were shaped by manipulation. He was just doing his job and wasn’t to blame for this situation; he was a victim of Hongjoong's manipulation too. You knew running away would lead to punishment, and you had indeed been punished harshly. Your feelings towards Seonghwa were complicated; you weren’t really angry with him, more so upset by the dynamics that had forced you both into this situation. Yet, the tension was thick in the air. If only he had chosen to overlook your escape, perhaps downplaying it with a simple warning 'not to do it again'. However, that wasn’t Seonghwa’s way. His sense of duty drove him to enforce the rules. The thought of what Hongjoong might do if he discovered your escape hung over you like a dark cloud. Past punishments had left scars—physical and emotional—and the fear of more severe consequences loomed large over you.

“Seonghwa?” you finally broke the silence, your gaze still intensely focused on him. “You won’t tell Hongjoong, right?” Fear crept into your voice as the thought of another punishment sent chills through your spine. Your body was still recovering, aching from the last punishment, and the thought of enduring more pain was unbearable. "As long as you don't make it obvious, I won't have to tell him," Seonghwa assured you. You understood the implication - if Hongjoong sensed anything amiss, there would be no stopping him from digging deeper, and Seonghwa, unable to bear the weight of it all, would be compelled to share everything that had happened. You found yourself desperate to maintain a façade, aware that any hint of suspicion could unravel everything. Despite the persistent pain, you knew you had to summon the strength to act as though nothing was amiss - to sit through dinner and participate in whatever activities Hongjoong might propose afterward.

Seonghwa gently took your hands, examining your wrists and massaging them softly. "There are no visible marks here," he observed, placing a kiss on each wrist before carefully returning them to your sides. "You should rest now. If dinner isn't ready when he arrives, he'll grow suspicious." With careful precision, he lifted your head from his lap, placing a pillow beneath it before kissing your forehead once more. “If you need anything at all, just call out, and I’ll be right there,” he promised, his tone filled with a warmth that contrasted sharply with the icy fear that gripped your heart. If only Hongjoong could show just a fraction of that care. Even when he punished you, if he could take the time to heal the wounds he inflicted and offer a shred of comfort, perhaps you wouldn’t harbor such deep-seated resentment towards him.

This was the first time you saw Seonghwa’s dark side and the first time you witnessed Seonghwa's darker nature, and it filled you with a deep sense of fear that you had never felt before. Up until this moment, you had held onto the belief that he might be an ally in your desperate situation, someone who could empathize with you. After all, Seonghwa himself had been a victim of that crazy bastard, just like you. You once thought that if a chance arose for escape, he would be the person to help you, or at the very least, he would choose to ignore your attempts to flee. However, that hopeful perspective began to shatter before your eyes.When he caught you trying to escape and forcefully pulled you back into the house, you still clung to the flicker of hope that perhaps he would guide you to safety. Maybe he would suggest taking the front entrance. But after telling you to go to the basement and punishing you for almost an hour - because you forgot what number you were at halfway through and started over - you realized that Seonghwa was actually just like Hongjoong, only more merciful. And as your idea of running away with him was completely ruined. The realization that you had to tread carefully around Seonghwa was a harsh lesson learned, leaving you feeling more trapped than ever in this nightmarish reality.

Part 2 ->

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shalomniscient · 7 months ago

Note

i think you can tell im a yukong/ himeko/ natasha person by now gjfhlhgfklgslkj im out of ideas today but i would love to see your takes on your first time with them? id imagine they would be sooooo gentle and patient, and i feel like natasha would know all the ways to pleasure you considering shes a doctor and she would touch you in all the right places hehehe ~🍪anon <3

first time || hsr x reader [NSFT][MDNI]

cw. fingering, cunnilingus, first time with a strap-on specifically for yukong, entirely self-indulgent amounts of praise

notes. so............................ guess it's been a while huh

himeko

cw. cunnilingus

“If at any point it gets too much…”

You breathe out slowly, tangling your fingers in Himeko’s runy red hair. The tresses are soft against your skin, and you can glide your hand through it like silk. She so soft, but warms you like a hearthfire. “I’ll tell you, ‘meko. Promise.”

“Good,” she says, and leans down to capture your lips in a kiss. Her lips are as tender as the rest of her, and she tastes like sweet chapstick. Against the backdrop of the cabin lights, she looks like a goddess, a bright light in the vast cosmos stretching outside the cabin window. Her touch both sends you into orbit and draws you gently back to the ground—as if she is your gravity.

“I’ll go slow,” she whispers against your lips, and you nod mutely, only managing a soft mewl as she starts to kiss her way down your neck, her hands resting on your hips. She maps your skin with each kiss, pressing marks that she’ll later trace like constellations of affection. You gasp softly as her mouth finds your chest, and she uses her lips and tongue to lave all your sensitive spots with attention until you’re arching into her.

Himeko smiles, continuing to navigate her way down the plane of your body, drawing a path with her kisses until she settles between your legs. Her hands massage the jut of your hip bones as she shifts so that your legs are thrown over her broad shoulders. You shiver as her breath ghosts over your cunt, already embarassingly slick from her previous touches.

“I’m going to use my mouth on you, okay?” she murmurs, golden eyes flicking up to look at your from between your legs, and your heart nearly leaps into your throat at the sight, the coil in your stomach winding almost painfully tight.

“Okay,” you nod, voice a little small, and Himeko offers you a reassuring smile followed by a kiss to your inner thigh.

“Just relax,” she breathes, and then presses her mouth to your dripping cunt, drawing pleased, strangled noises from both of you. You, at the sensation of her tongue on your pussy, and her at the taste of you filling her senses. She has to hold back the urge to bury her face deeper into your wetness and just devour you—instead, she forces herself to take it slow as she had promised, and languidly laps up and down, from your hole to your stiff clit.

You mewl as her tongue prods the bundle of nerves, and the sound makes Himeko near-dizzy with need. She works you patiently with her mouth, though it doesn’t take much before you’re squirming in her hold, your body beginning to buzz with sensations, a knot winding tight in your lower belly.

Her tongue dips into you, two fingers assisting in spreading your lower lips for her. The wet muscle feels… odd, as it probes inside you, but certainly not unpleasant. Himeko drinks your wetness greedily, nearly voracious for you. The realisation only adds to your budding orgasm; to know you have her so needy, so desperate for you just by your taste—it’s certainly an ego boost of cosmic proportions.

Your hand tangles in her waves of fiery red, and Himeko smiles against your cunt. “Are you close, sweetheart? Just let it happen, let go. I’ve got you.”

Her lips move up from your twitching hole to your puffy clit, sealing around it. Then she sucks, a delicate pressure that nonetheless has stars exploding behind your eyelids as your eyes roll back into your head, your lips parting in a breathless cry of her name. Himeko moans into you as your cum wets her lips and chin more than it already is, and she laps up each drop eagerly.

Your hand in her hair flops down onto the bed as the wave of pleasure begins to ebb, and Himeko smiles as she pushes up, lacing your hand with hers. Her free hand brushes some hair out of your eyes, and she presses a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Good?” she asks softly, her eyes searching yours for any hint of discomfort. You only manage a tired nod, your entire body feeling floaty—in a good way. She chuckles lightly as how fucked out you look already, then lies beside you on the sheets. Her strong arms wrap around you and pull you close, your head resting over the softness of her chest.

“Rest now. You did so well, my dear.”

natasha

cw. fingering, kinda voyeurism

You’ve found that it’s a special kind of embarassing to be walked-in on while trying to get yourself off. That momentary beat of awkward staring between you and the person who walked in, that knowing look yet the refusal to acknowledge it for both your sakes—it’s terrible, and you’ve never wanted to crawl out of your skin more.

Thankfully, Natasha—angelic as she is—took it remarkably in stride, settling down at the edge of the bed, a patient expression on her face. Her hand encircled your wrist, drawing it from the waistband of your sleep shorts, her eyes glinting as she notes the slickness on your fingers.

“Were you close?” she asks gently, and all you can manage was a tiny shake of your head. Natasha smiles, relaxed and easy, and places her hand on your waist. Her touch is cool against your heated skin. “Do you want me to help?”

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head at her offer, a choked noise escaping you. “T-That’s— you don’t have to, Nat—“

Natasha only chuckles, pressing a finger to your lips to hush you. “I know, but I want to. May I?”

“I’ve never… you know,” you say, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I don’t know if I’ll…”

“Don’t worry,” she assures you. “I’ll take good care of you—and we can stop whenever you feel like it.”

And so, that is how she has you where you are now: squirming under her touch, one hand held tightly in hers while the other grips her other wrist, where two of her long, dextrous fingers sink all the way to the third knuckle inside you. The feeling of fullness between your hips is foreign but not unpleasant, the pads of Natasha’s fingers rubbing the softness of your cunt. She toys with a spot within you that has you seeing stars, your thighs almost snapping shut around her arm.

“T-Tasha—“ you cry out as her thumb finds your stiff clit, and she soothes you with a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. She draws delicate circles around the little bundle of nerves as her fingers continue to coax more pleasure from you, curling in a come hither motion to brush against your g-spot just right.

“You sound so lovely, my dear,” she hums, the hand holding yours bring it to her lips to kiss your knuckles. “So perfect.”

“Tasha, ‘m gonna—“ you whimper, eyes squeezing shut, and she speeds up her fingers ever so slightly.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” she coos, leaning down to press her forehead against yours. “Relax, and come for me.”

With one last expert curl of her fingers, Natasha sends you far over the edge, the strongest orgasm of your life winding up your spine and bursting like fireworks behind your eyes. You can distantly feel and hear her work you through the high, and you shiver as she withdraws her fingers. They glisten with your slick, dripping from her digits down to her wrist, and when Natasha’s tongue darts out to lick at the droplets you nearly whine.

“Tasha…”

She smiles at you, and it’s like the sun emerging behind grey clouds. She indulges you as you make grabby hands towards her, shifting on the bed so you can wrap your arms around her. “Yes, dearest?”

“Thank you,” you mumble against her shoulder, and she laughs softly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

yukong

cw. strap-ons

“H-Hurry up, already…”

Your whine is almost petulant as it leaves your lips. You wriggle your hips—or do your best to, what with Yukong’s firm grip on your waist—trying to push back on her silicone cock. Yukong grunts at that, her hold on you tightening ever so slightly.

“Patience, sweet thing,” she rumbles, low and soothing. “There’s no rush.”

Any smart-mouthed retort dies in your throat as Yukong pushes another inch into you, your head dropping down against the soft sheets. She’s filling you up in a way so different but just as good as her fingers—you can feel the artifical veins on her cock press against your inner walls, and the thickness of it creates a delicious pressure that has more of your wetness slicking the remaining length not buried in you already.

“Good girl,” Yukong breathes, leaning down to nose at your shoulder. “Such a good girl, taking me so well. That’s it, sweet thing, you’re almost there, just relax—“

By the time her hips meet your ass, she’s stuffed you so fully that you’ve already gone brainless. Your pussy squeezes and clenches around the false cock like a vise, tight enough that even drawing back is a challenge for Yukong. But she doesn’t, and lets you adjust to the length inside you first, her fingers traveling beneath you to tap on your clit to get you to relax.

Pleasure and an aching fullness buzzes throughout your body, and it is nothing but pure instinct that eventually drives you to rock back and forth on her cock. Yukong chuckles softly above you, her free hand gently tilting your head to the side. Her pupils blow wide as she notes your already fucked-out expression, and she kisses you with just the slightest hint of teeth as she starts to slowly pump her cock in and out of you.

The movement pushes breathless moans from your lips that Yukong devours greedily. The sound of your wet cunt taking her is the only thing she can hear, her sharp, foxian ears swiveled to focus only on you. She has to consciously pace herself, pulling back to nuzzle against your nape and drawing deep breaths through her mouth. If she breathed in any more through her nose, the scent of your slick would drive her to wildness and she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from pounding you into the bed.

But there’s always time for that in the future. For now, she moves slowly but rhythmically, hips slapping against your ass with each thrust. You babble her name in between whiny moans, your fingers clawing into the sheets.

“You’re doing so well,” she praises breathlessly, eyes flicking back to your cunt to see the way you spread around her cock, and it sends a bolt of need right down to her own cunt. “So good for me, darling, taking me so well. Such a good girl, aren’t you?”

You make a loud, keening noise at that, toes curling, and Yukong knows you’re close. She smiles against your shoulder, forgoing her slow, deep strokes for small, sharp thrusts as she’s buried fully within you. Her finger on your clit doesn’t let up either, and soon enough you’re squirming on her cock, that familiar tightness in your tummy ready to snap.

“Go ahead, darling,” Yukong croons, her teeth ghosting the soft flesh of your nape. “Come.”

And you do, beautifully, your cunt bearing down on her cock with enough force you nearly push her out. A white ring forms at her base, and Yukong swallows thickly as her throat dries at the sight. She manages steady, languid thrusts to work you through the daze of pleasure until you slump boneless into the sheets, utterly satiated. You whimper as she pulls out with a wet, slick sound, and she kisses your shoulder in apology.

“Come here,” she coos, discarding the strap somewhere on the bed and gathering you into her arms. You’re hardly able to move, all the sense having been fucked out of you, and Yukong chuckles at the sight, brushing a few strands of hair out of your eyes. “Good?”

You only answer with a pleased hum, snuggling close into her neck. Yukong smiles fondly as she cards her fingers through your hair, nose pressed to your temple to inhale your scent.

Seems like her strap will be seeing more action now.

#sev.responses #sev.writes #[nsft]#🍪 anon #hsr x reader #himeko x reader #natasha x reader #hsr natasha x reader #yukong x reader #himeko smut #natasha smut #hsr natasha smut #yukong smut

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moonpascaltoo · 10 months ago

Text

spencer reid

masterlist • criminal minds • 11/19/24

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs

𑣲 blurb I deactivated account

𑣲 easy fix I @judeswhore

after spending weeks searching for ways to ease the burden of his headaches, spencer has finally found a solution. you.

𑣲 heartbeat I @theonewiththefanfics

For seven months Y/N, the newest team member of the BAU, has been missing, kidnapped by an unsub they were hunting. But when the search comes to an end, Spencer doesn’t know how to feel.

𑣲 i can see you I @januaryembrs

Spencer may or may not have a little thing for the desk jockey on the floor below, and she may or may not have a thing for their silent elevator rides together.

𑣲 black cat girlfriend I @/januaryembrs

the team meet Spencer's new girlfriend and she doesn't look quite like they'd imagined.

𑣲 fugitive affections I @/januaryembrs

𑣲 clueless I @/januaryembrs

Spencer's got a crush, too bad you're entirely clueless to his dilemma

𑣲 practice run I @rreids

going on a platonic date with spencer (for him to know what it's like) that becomes very real.

𑣲 and then there were two I @sweetestspence

the bau recruits a new agent whose credentials arguably match their very own boy wonder’s.

𑣲 hearts pt2 I @violetrainbow412-blog

an intern pesters Spencer to get his attention and you help him get rid of it a bit, benefiting in the process.

𑣲 bolinus brandaris pt2 I @/violetrainbow412-blog

Reid loves the gift you just gave him and the whole team can notice.

𑣲 request I @reiderwriter

𑣲 don’t think i don’t like you I @luveline

Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think)