#I have written the ONLY fics for this tag on Ao3

[starmocha]

from osmanthus to snowdrop

[Zayne/Reader ★ 16.2K words ★ Masterlist ★ Snowdrop Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] “Might already be carrying my baby,” he continued, “You like this thought, don’t you?” chapters ★ one | two | three | four | five tag list: beneath cut 【 request to be added 】

A/N: Sometimes you let your intrusive thoughts win and casually mention, "hey, what if sweet little baby Snowdrop from my toddler series was conceived from Zayne and MC's brat taming and breeding session" and your followers enabled you....... THIS IS THEIR FAULT (I love you guys, pls keep enabling me and my shenanigans 🥺💖) Inspired by two past blurbs I had written: “Afternoon Lessons” and “Lesson Learned (?)”. You can also follow the madness that is the Snowdrop Conception Fic to see how far down the rabbit hole I was yeeted into. Anyway. Chapter 1 of 5. Updated whenever I fancy. Bye. 💖

You almost wished the honeymoon period would never end, feeling like this time alone with Zayne was truly special. The wedding had been five months earlier, and as expected, many people were surprised that there was no immediate baby announcement.

You had heard some hushed whispers, seen the curious looks in their eyes, but of course, it would be so rude of them to walk straight up to you or Zayne and start asking questions. It wasn’t any of their business, really.

Truthfully, the topic of family had come up between you and Zayne prior to the marriage. Zayne, as always, wanted to be prepared, to make sure there was no miscommunications or misconception between the two of you. It was so long ago, so you couldn’t quite remember who had initiated the conversation first.

It was probably during one of those late nights in bed together. The world was quiet and a comforting stillness settled, and you had laid with him, enjoying each other’s warmth. Even in the worst calamity ever, Zayne’s presence always seemed to ground you, bringing you peace and comfort. You had hoped you were the same for him, wanting to offer him the same serenity he had always brought to you and be the sanctuary he needed when the world wore him down.

Now after marriage came the baby carriage, but it didn’t mean it had to happen immediately, you had thought, or even at all. Babies were still the furthest things from your mind, as there were other important matters in your life you had valued more. You had your career, your youth and time, and also your new husband. You wanted to enjoy these first few months as newlyweds with your husband, keeping this fleeting precious private time to just the two of you.

It didn’t mean you did not occasionally enjoy indulging in the idea of having a baby with him. In fact, you knew Zayne was particularly turned on by the notion of impregnating you with his baby. You had seen it in the way he would sometimes caress your flat belly, and over time, you were the one who experimented with treading that fine line, learning for yourself just how much this aroused him.

As it turned out, you also enjoyed this, too. You loved the very idea of him leaving you with a part of him to carry, something permanent to bind you and him together for life. The idea of being pregnant with his child would also be, in a way, an open display of not only his love for you, but a possessive hold he had.

Of course, sweet as he was, Zayne would never pressure you into having a baby if you weren’t ready yet. Thankfully, you were on birth control, so at the very least, you were able to indulge in his fantasy a little, keep him satiated in a way only you could.

The sweet honeymoon period seemed so endless, like it could last forever and ever as you both basked in marital bliss together. You enjoyed this intimate period alone with Zayne, waking up in bed with him, catching a late lunch together from time to time, or getting whisked away for a last-minute weekend getaway. You enjoyed moments like those, getting lost together with him in new cities, gorging on delicious meals and pastries with him, and curled up in bed with him, enjoying each other’s company, whispering sweet nothings, and lazing away together as if all of the time in the world was yours and yours alone.

Alone with him. Together with him.

Everything about this time with him was so romantic and exhilarating, feeling like your own private movie where you two starred in the leading roles of your very own love story. You couldn’t imagine wanting any of this to end, or anything to disrupt this time between you and him.

Everything was perfect as is.

Then, one day, as you and Zayne sat eating Sunday brunch together at a bistro in downtown Linkon City, you noticed a baby at the next table. She still seemed fairly young, though you weren’t familiar enough with such young children to even guess how old she was. The baby’s parents, however, were about the same age as you and Zayne, you noted. They looked like new parents taking their little one out for the first time since she was born.

They looked so overjoyed. You couldn’t help but admired the beautiful couple and their baby. There was something charming about this new family. The couple seemed so enthralled and enamored with their little one, delighting in every movement and every expression shown no matter how miniscule or innocuous they seemed to other bystanders. To them, she was their whole universe.

You vaguely wondered if such parental love was common, an instinctive nature that would come along in time. To love someone this young so immensely, you wondered if later in life when you and Zayne had your own little family, would this same love come so naturally to you?

Unknowingly, you were smiling along, startling only when the baby appeared to notice you and gurgled happily, her little arm reaching out for you from a table away.

Unconsciously, you smiled back as sweet as you could, and gave a little wave.

“Who are you waving at?” Zayne’s voice broke your trance.

“Ah—” You blushed in embarrassment at being caught, and lowered your arm, redirecting your attention to your perplexed husband. His brows furrowed in confusion, head tilted a little, as he waited for your response. You picked up your fork and poked at the soft-boiled egg on your plate, breaking its yolk and watching it smeared over your arugula salad. Shrugging, you took a bite of your meal, answering him after swallowing, “That baby at the next table was smiling at me.”

He discreetly peered at the table behind him, catching a glimpse of the couple getting ready to leave after paying for their meal. The baby also appeared to notice him over her father’s shoulder, and she reached out for Zayne, giggling and gurgling happily at him.

He chuckled and gave her a soft smile, also instinctively waving at her with just his fingers. He turned back to you with gentle eyes, commenting, “She’s cute.”

You beamed at him. “Did you see that adorable little dress she was wearing? She has such chubby little legs, I want to bite—why are you laughing at me?”

Zayne covered his mouth, suppressing his chuckles, but you could still see the twinkle of amusement in his beautiful hazel eyes. He apologized with a smile, reaching across the table for your hand. You felt his thumb brushing over your fingers as he responded to you, “You’ve never spoken about children in such a way.”

“What way? What do you mean?” You frowned in confusion.

“That is…” He seemed to hesitate with his explanation, causing you to urge him to finish his thought. With a sigh, he resumed, speaking carefully, “One might… assume you were interested.”

“Interested?”

“Having a baby.”

“O-Oh…” Your cheeks pinked in embarrassment. Suddenly, this bistro seemed so much warmer than it was earlier. With Zayne’s steady gaze still on you, you tried to maintain your composure, though the words he had just planted in your head made you more flustered than you realized. “I mean… that is going to happen eventually. We’ve talked about it before.”

He nodded in understanding. “I hope you don’t think I am seizing this as an opportunity to bring this discussion back into the picture?”

“No, no, of course not,” you reassured him. “It just… hit me suddenly.”

“Hm?”

You averted your gaze with him, shifting your sight back down to your plate of food, but suddenly you weren’t that interested in the meal anymore. Your free hand held a fork as you poked at the avocado on your plate. Zayne didn’t rush your response, but you couldn’t help but still felt a pressure looming over you, and you pondered over your words before you gathered your courage to speak more openly with him, “What if… we do circle back to this topic?”

“Are you suggesting…?”

“Zayne, I—I think I’m ready to try for a baby,” you said quickly in one breath, your cheeks getting even hotter now. You could hear him breathed in quickly, his hand still holding yours tightened, his thumb brushing over your fingers faster.

When Zayne didn’t say anything, you mustered up your courage and glanced up, your heart beating faster when you saw the smile on his face. There was a dark gleam in his eyes, and you could practically see the wheels spinning in his head.

“We should… discuss this more at home tonight,” he said, voice lowered. You could almost hear a rasp in his voice, his suggestive tone nearly made you tremble in anticipation for the night, sensing there would actually be very little words exchanged between you both.

During the mostly silent drive home, there was a tension not quite different from when you and Zayne had first dated a few years ago. After leaving the bistro earlier in the day, you could hardly remember what you and Zayne did during your city outing, having been distracted all day by the conversation you both were planning on having later tonight.

Likewise, it felt like Zayne was just as distracted as you were. Throughout the day, he had responded with only monosyllable words, or sometimes he had just made a short noise either affirming or otherwise. Normally so quick-witted and sharp-tongued, today his mind appeared to be elsewhere as he went through the motions of the afternoon. The most shocking behavior change that you recalled from your husband, however, was his refusal to stop by a dessert shop for a treat or to buy something to bring home.

There was a sweeter treat Zayne had his eyes on. It had occupied his mind from the moment you had told him you were ready to have a baby. The dream future he had been waiting on was just within reach, and knowing you were ready to head down this path with him had him more elated than he would have ever thought possible.

With his eyes on the road, Zayne kept one hand on your thigh while the other gripped the steering wheel. You felt the way Zayne was rubbing along your thigh, occasionally squeezing, not even noticing his own actions until he heard your soft surprised gasp.

He apologized immediately, ears tinging red, almost unnoticeable with the sky darkening as the sun set.

“It’s alright,” you told him, though your heart was picking up speed and there was a coil forming in your belly. You placed your hand over his restless one, squeezing him back in reassurance.

As you silently consoled him, you felt your own nerves going haywire. You had opened a gate today, and though you knew Zayne would always let you have the final say whenever you wanted, always giving you room to back out if ultimately you changed your mind, you wondered if that was even something you needed to consider.

You loved Zayne. You wanted a family with him someday. That much you were sure of, so maybe, you wondered, that ‘someday’ had perhaps arrived today.

You peeked at his side profile, admiring his handsome sharp features. Unwittingly, you pictured a little mini-him. A mini-Zayne.

Without realizing it, you started to smile, delighting in the image forming in your mind. Zayne was so good with children. The children at Akso Hospital adored him. He may seem cold to most people at first, but to those willing to approach him, they would see how truly warm and caring he was, always prioritizing others before himself.

You knew in your heart the depths of his love would know no bounds for his child.

Along with the smooth drive home, the anxiety you were feeling earlier ebbed away the more you pondered over this. You still felt a sense of nervousness, knowing that he and you were going to embark down a path that would change the course of your lives forever. It would no longer be just the two of you, but perhaps, there was a different kind of joy, a new adventure awaiting you both in the future.

You and him and your little one.

You smiled softly, letting your mind drift further away as you watched the scenery passed by outside the car window.

The sun disappeared over the horizon, the last streaks of purple and orange giving way to twinkling stars as the car made a turn into your neighborhood. Streetlamps lit up one by one, lighting the way home down the quiet, near vacant road.

Once Zayne pulled into the driveway, you both exited the car, entering the dark house silently. Before you could even turn on the lights, Zayne grabbed your wrist, twirling you around and pinning you to the nearest wall. Your eyes widened in surprise when he gripped both of your wrists with one hand, holding them above your head as he leaned forward, his head bent lower to meet your gaze.

“Zayne—”

His lips crashed upon yours, swallowing your voice as he kissed you feverishly with only a few words slipping out in between.

“My baby…” he husked, breaking away just long enough to look at you, to search for any lingering doubts in your eyes, “Are you sure… you’re ready?”

Your heart beat faster again, cheeks flushed from his earlier intense kisses. You didn’t think he was going to be this impatient with circling back to this topic, having expected a more composed conversation on the couch or perhaps seated across one another at the dining table. Instead, whatever thoughts Zayne had been mulling over during the silent drive home had reached its peak and he was no longer willing to drag out this conversation another second.

“Yes… Yes,” you responded.

Your words didn’t seem to reassure him. He looked hesitant, as if he was afraid that this could just be a spur of the moment thought. You knew he prioritized your wellbeing above his own desires, and you also knew that he was aware of your impulsive nature. Of the two of you, he had taken on the role to be the one to hold onto any semblance of rationality, and in this moment, that was still true with how admirably he still managed to maintain that thinning hold of self-control.

You wriggled against Zayne, silently urging him to remove his hand from your wrists. He obliged, and just as quickly, you threw your arms around his neck, returning his earlier intense kisses tenfold.

Zayne stumbled back in surprise, one arm instantly around your waist to steady you.

“I’m not being flighty,” you told him firmly. “I’m serious this time.”

“You—”

“I’m not messing with you this time,” you insisted, feeling your emotions were heightening suddenly. You pleaded with him, “Zayne…”

He reached down, cupping your face in his hands, keeping his sight on you. He breathed in deeply, taking in the sincere tears brimming at the corners of your eyes.

“I want a baby,” you told him resolutely, emphasizing strongly, “your baby.”

Zayne breathed in sharply, feeling like time had just stopped. The words you had just spoken replayed in his mind, your earnest expression all he could see in this moment. Slowly, he smiled, letting his forehead pressed against yours.

“For real this time?”

“Uh huh,” you answered with a smile, feeling like you could drown in his beautiful green eyes. “Are you ready to fuck a baby into me?”

He laughed at your bold, outrageous question. With his tone a strange mix between amusement and exasperation, he chided you, “You’re ruining the moment.”

“I don’t care,” you answered back cheekily, leaning up to peck his nose with a kiss. “What do you say?”

“Once you are no longer on your birth control,” he started, ignoring your instant eyeroll at his sudden proper mannerism. He continued, the delight shining in his eyes revealed his true feelings on the matter in that instance before he could even finish his thought: “Absolutely.”

You almost threw your arms around his neck again, stopping only when he continued to speak, his tone suddenly stern.

“You better be ready,” he warned, a familiar smirk graced his handsome face.

You nearly trembled with anticipation, quite certain you could see a pleased, calculating glint in his eye.

Zayne was meticulous.

He did everything well.

And this…

This will be no different, you realized.

For the next several weeks, your sex life with Zayne felt more intense than past instances, since this time, you both were no longer playing out a fantasy or indulging in each other’s whims. All of those lecherous words you had exchanged before now held more truth than ever, and you answered his desires with your own, both of you having never been more in sync than during this period.

You wanted a baby, and so did Zayne.

You were no longer role-playing a secret shared fantasy.

Zayne was now actively trying to impregnate you, breeding you every chance he could. In the morning before work, or late at night when he came home, his stamina unheard of as he was always prepared to stuff your willing wet pussy with his cock, pumping you full of his virile seed until he had you crying from the intensity.

“Soon, soon,” he murmured against your ear as your legs locked around his waist, keeping him firmly to you.

“Yes… yes…” you sobbed back, “Don’t stop, don’t stop, Zaynie! I need your cum inside me. All of it. Inside me.”

His beathing grew erratic before he laughed into the crook of your neck. “You’re too much…” he said, nearly in disbelief by how uninhibited you were. He sighed heavily against you, “I’m going to lose my mind because of you.”

“You will keep me full like this, won’t you, Zayne? Please, Zaynie…”

He kissed your temple. “You’re so unfair,” he whispered, “You know I could never deny you anything.”

You cupped his face, your lips meeting his soundly, so sweetly he was pressing his weight onto you, trapping you within his hold.

“We’re not stopping,” he breathed heavily, his eyes darkened with desires, “Not until you are pregnant, my love.”

He kissed you again, ravaging your lips until you were sure they would bruise. His voice was soft, but the weight of his words stoked the growing flames of passion between you both. “Not until my baby is in your womb.”

And you knew Zayne was a man of his words.

You had thought you knew what you were expecting when you had decided to stop using protection, determined to get pregnant as soon as possible. You had expected that it would all happen immediately, but when you saw that first sign of bleeding signaling your period, you let your disappointment showed.

Zayne, as always, remained the most level-headed of the two of you.

As you curled up on the couch, under a warm blanket, hugging Mr. Seal close to your stomach, you watched as your husband approached from the kitchen with a cup of red date tea, such as he had done monthly for several years now. He sat down next to you and passed the cup over.

“Drink this,” he said, “It will help with your cramps.”

You reluctantly accepted it, taking little sips of the hot beverage. You felt a comforting warmth in your belly. You peered into the mug, your mind drifting back to linger further in your disappointments.

“Hey.”

You looked up, meeting Zayne’s gaze. His expression remained gentle and understanding, already having read you like a book, knowing full well the reason—or rather, reasons—for your current agitated state.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, taking the cup of tea back when you handed it to him. He placed it on a coaster on the coffee table and settled more comfortably on the couch, watching as you shifted over to rest against him. Instinctively, his arms were around you as he comforted you.

“No,” you whispered into his chest, feeling your eyes watering up. You quickly blinked them away.

“Alright,” he answered affably, his hand rubbing the back of your head soothingly.

You looked up, frowning. “‘Alright’?” you repeated in astonishment. “You’re not going to keep pressing?”

“You said ‘no,’” he reminded you with an insufferable, teasing smile. “Would you have also gotten upset if I had kept pursuing this discussion?”

Hearing his response, you hesitated for a moment before begrudgingly nodded in agreement.

“Ah,” he said with an exaggerated lilt in his voice, “So I take it this would have been a lose-lose situation no matter what from my position?”

You humph’d at him before burying your face back into his chest. “I think I’m allowed to be upset.”

“You are,” he agreed, smiling at your petulant attitude. He reached down, his hand holding your chin gently up so your eyes met his. Softly, he said, “It’s alright.”

From just hearing those two words spoken in his soothing tone, you felt the wall you had tried to put up breaking down and the tears you had attempted to hold back started trickling down your cheeks. Just as quickly, Zayne was cupping your face with his hands and his thumbs were already working to wipe away your tears. His voice remained calm as he comforted you while you cried silently.

You were sure you had been crying for a few minutes before you were able to compose yourself enough to speak. Suddenly, you felt a little insecure, feeling like you couldn’t fully look at him in the eyes. Reluctantly, you started to speak again, “I know I’m being silly…”

“You are allowed to feel the way you do,” he reassured you.

“But…”

“Yes?”

You looked down, feeling embarrassed. The feeling didn’t remain long, because suddenly you found yourself crying out in surprise when Zayne gathered you into his lap. You looked up shocked, eyes shutting when his warm lips met your forehead. You opened your eyes again and looked at him in confusion.

“Let’s talk.”

“I thought you said I didn’t have to…”

“None of that attitude anymore,” he chided you. “You are clearly more upset than you let on, so let’s talk. You will feel better and I will also feel better.”

You tilted your head to the side in confusion at the latter part of his comment. Seeing your expression, he clarified, “I don’t like seeing you this troubled and feeling like I can’t help alleviate your frustrations or anxiety.”

His arms wrapped around you again, pulling you into a warm hug with his chin resting lightly atop your head. “Let’s help each other out,” he said, “I want to know what’s exactly on your mind and I want you to ease my own concerns.”

“Okay,” you said quietly, your hand touching his arm. You contemplated for a moment, unsure of how to put your feelings into words at first. After a few seconds, you admitted to him openly, “I’m sad I didn’t get pregnant immediately.”

He kissed the side of your head. “I understand,” he said, “Is there more to this than simply sadness?”

“I’m… worried that I might not be able to get pregnant,” you added, your voice getting softer, as if you yourself were afraid of hearing your secret inner fear spoken aloud. This was a different kind of vulnerability than you were used to sharing with Zayne, so you didn’t dare look at him in spite of knowing full well that he would never judge you for your feelings and fears.

You heard a soft sigh before Zayne spoke again. “We’ve only started trying recently,” he said, “There is nothing abnormal about not conceiving immediately.”

“I know…”

“Do you feel like I am pressuring you to get pregnant quickly?”

You shook your head and Zayne smiled. “Good,” he said, “Because I am not. I do want a baby with you, but not at the risk of your own wellbeing—and that includes your emotional wellbeing as well.”

You looked at him quizzically.

“Let’s take it slowly,” he said, his hand under your chin again. He tilted your chin up, his lips approaching yours, and his voice remaining that soft, even tone, “When it happens, it will happen.”

“Ah—but—”

“And if a year from now,” he interrupted you, “we are still unsuccessful, then we can begin looking into our fertility.”

He kissed you quickly, and you blinked in surprise. He smiled at you helplessly, saying, “I do believe you might be overreacting a little. It hadn’t been long—”

This time you were the one who surprised him, catching him off-guard when you suddenly leaned up to kiss him and stopped him from speaking further. He didn’t even try to resist, letting you take charge. You felt his hands on your hips, holding you steady while your hands rested on the plane of his chest. You broke away first, breathing a little heavier than earlier.

“Goddamn you, Zayne,” you said breathily.

He quirked his eyebrow up, his own breathing also a little unsteady. He wasn’t expecting you to curse at him.

You smiled. “Why do you always have to be so level-headed?”

He rolled his eyes. “I do not believe the two of us spiraling together would be beneficial in the slightest.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” you conceded lightheartedly. You hugged him back. “Thank you for letting me be the insane one in the relationship.”

He chuckled and returned your hug. “I have never once said you were insane…”

You hummed against his chest, your mood feeling brighter now. Mulling over his earlier words, you knew Zayne was right about what he had said, feeling like you were overreacting a little. Now that everything was out in the open, you even felt a little silly, wondering why you were in such a rush to get pregnant all of a sudden when your recent bout of baby fever came not so long ago.

“Okay!”

Zayne startled, unprepared for your sudden outburst. He peered down at you, waiting, wondering what was going through your head in this moment.

“I’m done moping,” you declared, smiling at him. “I wasn’t stressed about this before, so why should I stress now?”

He nodded in agreement.

“And like you said… when it happens, it will happen.”

He nodded again with a smile, pleased to see you returning to your usual bright demeanor again.

“Zayne?”

“Hm?”

“When you said ‘take it slowly’… you weren’t thinking of taking a break, did you?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Not unless you tell me to—”

“I’m not,” you interrupted, grinning, “I want things to keep staying the same.”

You leaned forward, resting your head on his chest as his strong arms held you against him. You winced suddenly and Zayne looked down in concern.

“My cramps…”

He smiled helplessly again and kissed your forehead. “Why don’t I take you back to our bed and I’ll massage your stomach and you rest?”

“Sounds wonderful,” you agreed. You pouted at him. “Carry me?”

“Darling, you didn’t even need to ask,” he responded, kissing you again before he lifted you into his arms and headed for the bedroom.

It seemed like life fell back into its old routine after you and Zayne had discussed your current situation again. As it turned out, time together quickly became fleeting as both of your careers monopolized the majority of your time.

There were still moments together, but it was mostly exchanging text messages, or meeting for a quick meal once in a while, or simply just catching one another in passing. Time spent together—particularly intimately—were sparser than either of you would have liked, but it couldn’t be helped.

Zayne had numerous surgeries lined up for weeks and you yourself also had missions that required your full attention.

“Just look on the bright side,” Zayne told you over a video call one night. You were currently away in another town for a disaster relief mission while Zayne had to remain back in Linkon because of his own work schedule. He smiled at you through the screen in an attempt to reassure you, though your persistent pout proved to him that he was not doing an exemplary job at the moment. In any case, he continued, “At least both of our busy schedules aligned together, so neither one of us has to feel lonely.”

“I guess so,” you mumbled at him as you paced your hotel room. “I still miss you… and not because I am in another town.”

“I know,” he responded, “I miss you, too.”

You gave him a small smile, feeling somewhat placated by his own admission and mutual feelings.

“It won’t be long,” Zayne reassured you. “By the end of this month, I won’t have as many surgeries lined up for a while and I’m sure your own workload will lighten as well.”

Your smile widened.

Next month, you remembered, would be September.

As in, Zayne’s birthday month.

Instantly giddy, your brain started working in overdrive to plan a birthday surprise for Zayne, feeling like it would be the perfect opportunity for you both to rekindle your relationship after this recent spell of busyness that had been keeping you both apart from one another.

“Alright, I’m glad to see you smiling again,” Zayne said, seemingly unaware of the true reason behind your sudden mood change.

You decided it was best to let him believe otherwise so you could maintain the element of surprise for his birthday. You simply nodded and tried to redirect the conversation to him instead.

It worked. You smiled along as Zayne described his days, picturing in your mind the image of him going around the hospital and after work walking home, passing by a dessert shop he wanted to try out with you when you returned from your mission. After a few more minutes of speaking, your eyes felt heavier, but you still tried to keep the conversation going since after all, this was the first lengthy conversation you and Zayne had together in a while.

“It’s late,” Zayne said suddenly, catching on to your attempts to stay awake. He smiled and continued, “Say good night to me.”

You instantly perked up at his words and tone. You frowned a little, asking, “Why do you always do that?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t ‘hm?’ me!” you said, vexed, “You know what you just did.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he answered evenly, though you could have sworn there was a mischievous smirk on his face. You stiffened up a little when he continued in that same authoritative tone again, “Say good night to me.”

You waited a few seconds.

He also remained patient as well.

Your lips twitched.

Zayne smirked.

“…Good night, Zaynie…”

He smiled, pleased. “Good night, my love,” he answered, “Sweet dreams.”

Zayne was right.

He was pretty much always right, you realized, feeling both pride and annoyance by the fact.

As August neared its end, you felt like you could breathe again at work as the tasks you had to perform lessened and the increased number of hunters available meant that there was no need for you to cover as many areas as you have been doing these last few weeks.

Since returning home from your previous mission, you had also managed to find ways to sneak in some alone time with Zayne whether it was surprising him in his office or waiting for him after his late shifts. In time, he even returned the gestures, stealing moments with you when he could.

It wasn’t uncommon to see him dropping you off at work, or meeting him for a quick milk tea break. You still missed the long hours alone with him, but for now, the little moments together were still more welcomed than not seeing him at all.

In some way, you began treating this temporary period like when you two had first started dating and was struggling to find that balance of work and meeting one another. You smiled at the memory.

“What’s making you smile so much?” Zayne asked when he approached your waiting spot on a park bench. He held up a paper bag. “A croissant breakfast sandwich or a honey castella?”

You smiled wryly, noting the obvious choice of savory versus sweet. While Zayne would not be disappointed if you did take the sweet treat instead, you liked the small smile he would wear on his face when you let him have the sweeter choice. “The breakfast sandwich.”

He chuckled and passed the paper bag of food to you. You reached inside and pulled out the breakfast sandwich. Wrapped in a beige parchment paper, the croissant sandwich was still warm and smelled of egg and sausage. Your stomach grumbled a little.

“Now,” he continued with a playful smile on his face, his other hand holding up a paper tray containing two cups of coffee, “a cinnamon maple latte or salted caramel mocha?”

You licked your lips a little. “They both sound good,” you said, still pondering.

He smiled and sat down next to you on the bench, setting the drinks to the side. “Then we’ll share both.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, smiling in delight. “I’m glad you can have breakfast with me today.”

He peered down at his watch. “I’m afraid it won’t be long though,” he answered. “I need to return to the hospital by ten.”

“I understand,” you responded, a little disappointed, “I can’t take a long break either. We have a team meeting at eleven today.”

You bit into your sandwich, enjoying the instant savory flavor dancing on your tongue. “Okay, no more talks about work! We can’t waste our precious time together with things like that.”

Zayne nodded in agreement, amused by your bright personality. “Okay, then you still haven’t answered my earlier question.”

“Hm?”

“Why were you smiling so much earlier?”

You pondered over his words before remembering. Your cheeks turned a little rosy, feeling somewhat embarrassed. “It’s silly…”

“Tell me,” He urged, taking a sip of his drink. He appeared surprised by the flavor.

Noticing this, you tried to use it as a way to deflect the conversation from you. “Which flavor is that?”

“The latte,” he said, clarifying, “The cinnamon maple latte.”

“Do you not like it?”

He took another sip. “They overdid it on the cinnamon,” he said after taking three more sips.

You laughed. “Then why are you still drinking it?”

You stole the cup from him and took a sip yourself, grimacing at the overpowering scent of cinnamon. You decided to chase the drink with the salted caramel mocha, preferring the latter over the former. You held up your half-eaten sandwich to your husband. “Want a bite?”

He shook his head.

“Have a bite,” you demanded.

“When did this offer turn into a demand, Miss Hunter?”

“Right now,” you said, grinning as you pushed the sandwich closer to his mouth. He eyed you with a look of amusement, feigning exasperation before he bit into the croissant. You watched him chewed and swallowed the food, your voice exclaiming suddenly, “Oh, you got something on your mouth—"

Before Zayne could react, you already leaned up and kissed him, playfully nipping and licking his mouth clean. When you pulled away, he pretended to glare at you, though the smile on his face gave away his true feelings. He kissed you briefly again before poking your nose with his finger.

“I see Miss Hunter has resorted to trickery to get what she wants.”

“It was just a—”

He kissed you again, a bit longer and a bit deeper than earlier, feeling like he was making up for the long absence and all of those times apart. When he finally paused, his lips just mere centimeters from your own, you heard him murmured, “You never need to trick me to get what you want. I would give you everything you ask for.”

Your cheeks tinged pink, your mind dizzied by the kisses, by his words, by him. Your food was left on the bench, now forgotten as your entire attention was on him. You cupped his face, feeling like it had been a while since you were this close to him—both physically and emotionally. A smile crept onto your face as you relearned his features, noticing he appeared slimmer than you remembered.

“I know you’ve been busy, but you need to eat on time,” you chided him.

He smiled at your scolding and nodded.

Your eyes glanced at the faint bags under his eyes. “And sleep when you can,” you added. You reached up, your thumb brushing under one of his eyes. “Even a doctor needs to rest and follow his own advices.”

He chuckled. “How did this breakfast together turned into my wife scolding me?”

“You don’t like having a naggy wife?”

He laughed. “I did not say that,” he protested. He kissed you again, and murmured to you, “I know why you’re doing this.”

“Hm? Doing what?” you feigned obliviousness.

“I’ve missed you, too,” he said instead. “I’ve missed you a lot. So, so much…”

“Ah—our…our coffee is getting cold…”

He huffed in amusement. “I do not care,” he said, “Do you?”

“No…”

Just as Zayne was about to lean in for another kiss, you both heard the sound of a timer going off. Glancing down, you saw that it was your phone, signaling the end of your breaktime with him. You both sighed in disappointment.

“You better head back to the hospital or you’ll be late,” you said, voice tinged with clear disappointment. Unconsciously, you had grabbed onto his hand, holding tight in spite of your words. He noticed the gesture, but did not say anything.

Suddenly, you felt Zayne cupping your cheek, and you looked to him, seeing that same disappointment in his smile. He reassured you gently, “Just a few more weeks. I don’t have that many surgeries left this month, and my schedule should lighten by next month as well.”

You tried to smile and nodded. Suddenly, you remembered the birthday plans you had secretly made. There was so much to look forward to and preparations you still needed to do, so you began to forget about the current situation.

“You know…”

“What is it?” Zayne asked.

“This feels like when we first started dating,” you said, seeing the immediate confusion on his face.

“Hm?”

You laughed at his puzzled expression. “Don’t you remember?” you asked, poking his cheek in jest. “We were always so busy with our jobs, so it was a task just trying to find time to meet up.”

As if a lightbulb had gone off in his head, Zayne’s eyes brightened in understanding. He chuckled and nodded.

“There was something you said once that stayed with me for a while…”

“Something I said?”

“I remember telling you how if we’re seeing each other on Sunday, then I would start getting ready on Saturday. And you said—”

“‘If I’m able to see you Sunday… I’ll start getting excited Thursday.’”

“You remembered…”

He smiled and leaned forward, closing the small gap between you both. “How could I forget anything when it comes to you?”

“Zayne…”

He brushed his lips over yours, whispering softly, “But thankfully now whenever I want to see you, I just need to come home.”

You smiled. “You are going to be late heading back,” you reminded him.

“Right,” he said, brushing his lips against yours once more before standing up.

Nodding again, you saw him off as you made your own trip back to your workplace, smiling brighter as you still felt Zayne’s lingering kisses on your lips.

As Zayne had said previously, his own schedule was becoming less hectic in the coming weeks, which meant soon, you would have him all to yourself.

Or so you had thought.

“Wait a minute,” you said one morning, startled by a seemingly innocuous comment your husband had just made. You furrowed your brows in confusion before asking softly, “So you are going to be working on your birthday again?”

Zayne turned to look at you, already knowing all of the thoughts racing through your head. It also didn’t help that you couldn’t maintain a poker face, your true feelings seen clearly in your disappointed expression. He walked over and cupped your face, his lips pressed to your forehead in reassurance.

“It wasn’t intentional,” he said. “It had slipped my mind that it was going to be on a weekday, and besides, we can always celebrate the weekend before or after.”

You mumbled in agreement, though it remained obvious to your husband that you were still not appeased by his rational reasoning. You yelped in surprise when he suddenly pinched your cheeks. “Ah—quit it, Zayne!”

He chuckled and apologized immediately, though you couldn’t help but noticed the lack of sincerity, feeling like his smile was just a tad wider than it should be. You lightly glared at him and he apologized again. “Come now,” he said, “Wipe that glare off your face. You’re acting like it was your birthday I had ruined.”

“It’s just…”

“Just what? Tell me.”

You sighed in defeat before relaying to him the plans you had made. You were planning on taking him out for breakfast at a nice café before spending the morning wandering through an art museum with him. There was even a new bistro in town you wanted to try out with him, and later you thought of taking him to a bookstore and for ten whole minutes, you were going to let him pick out as many books as he wanted and you were going to pay for everything. Afterwards, you had even planned on an afternoon break at a bakery, letting him indulge in as much sweets as he would like.

Just before you could continue onto the next phase in your birthday plan for him, Zayne stopped you, his hands resting on your shoulders and his eyes a little wider than normal, completely surprised by the level of planning you had already made. To your confusion, he suddenly laughed, appearing delighted.

“Thank you,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “It sounds like it would have been a wonderfully… packed day.”

You pouted in spite of his laughter. “It would have… I even scheduled a day off to be with you,” you told him, adding accusatorily, “I thought you would have done the same…”

He apologized again. “I’m sorry. The meeting came up suddenly, and I can’t back out of it on short notice.”

You continued to sulk.

“Hey,” he said softly, his hand gripping your chin. He lifted it so your eyes met his. “How about a raincheck then? We can do a makeup day the next weekend.”

“It won’t be the same,” you said softly, realizing you were also behaving like a petulant child right now, but you couldn’t help this immense feeling of disappointment you felt.

You gasped when Zayne’s arms suddenly wrapped around you tightly, your face now pressed to his chest. You peered up just as he leaned down to meet your lips. You started to smile again, feeling the warmth of his lips on yours.

“Thank you,” he said suddenly.

“For what?” you stared back quizzically. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Just for remembering my birthday—better than me, even—and for…” he kissed you again before his forehead pressed to yours. “Just for caring about me this much.”

As you gazed into his kind, loving eyes, a thought popped into your head. A new idea had sprouted, already making you forget your earlier disappointment. Zayne said you were bad at hiding your feelings, but in this moment, he hadn’t seemed to notice that telltale mischievous glint in your eye. You feigned disappointment again, hoping he wouldn’t catch on.

“I just wanted you to have a nice birthday, Zayne.”

He laughed. “I know you do, and you always make them memorable.”

You almost wanted to laugh along with him, but you maintained your despondent demeanor. You continued to act stiff with him. “Just remember it’s your fault if this year is not as nice as everything I’ve planned previously.”

“Yes, yes,” he sighed as you scolded him, holding you more firmly to him again. “I think I can survive dealing with the occasional underwhelming birthdays.”

“Just remember, this is your fault.”

“Yes, yes, it’s my fault I will have such an unmemorable birthday.”

You snuggled into his embrace, hiding your mischievous smile from view.

Unmemorable? Ha! We’ll see about that, Zaynie…

On the morning of Zayne’s birthday, you woke up to an empty bed, surprised that he had already left for work without saying anything to you. You sighed and stayed lounging in bed for a while, your eyes occasionally darting to the clock to check the time every few minutes.

It was just about eight, and you surmised that Zayne would probably be settling into his office by now going through reports and the likes before his meeting at ten. Had it been any other day, you would also be at your own job either writing up a report or being out in the field, but since September 5th was such a special day to you, you had planned a month in advance to have this day off for your husband’s birthday.

You realized it was a tiny bit of your own fault for not at least reminding him to schedule the day off as well. You huffed, mildly annoyed. Well, you thought, after several birthdays together, one would think he would be more in tune with your yearly plans.

Apparently not.

Forget it, you thought, tossing the bed cover to the side. You rolled out of your bed and went to freshen up in the bathroom. In your shared master closet with Zayne, your hand skimmed across the array of neatly hung dress shirts before settling on a simple white one. The fabric felt so soft, and you smiled as you stripped down to just your underwear. It was a very risqué black rose lace panty that left very little to the imagination. You slipped on his dress shirt, the length of it reaching down all the way to your thighs. You intentionally left the first four buttons undone, revealing more than enough of your cleavage for him to witness later.

After doing your hair and makeup, you grabbed your phone, smirking as you realized you had one hour before Zayne would be out of his meeting.

Perfect.

The moment Zayne turned his phone back on, he saw a notification for a message from his wife. Unsurprised, he figured you wanted to greet him a happy birthday, but the moment he opened the message he realized how wrong he was.

There was a birthday message—of sorts—but it was not delivered in a way he had thought you would send it.

Thankfully, he was in the privacy of his office.

“This girl…”

You had sent him one message: For the birthday boy. 💋

And afterwards he saw a series of photos taken in provocative positions of you wearing what appeared to be nothing but just a shirt of his. He swallowed slowly as he scrolled down the conversation, seeing photos of you on your knees and leaning forward enough to show off your cleavage. Some had you on your back, your legs tucked close to your chest, while a few had your legs spread apart while you stared at the camera all doe-eyed and sweet.

Zayne gasped, suddenly startled when another attachment was received.

You were straddling his pillow.

His breathing grew a little unsteady, his eyes taking in what appeared to be—

He immediately turned his phone off again and raced out of his office. On the way out, he asked Greyson to cover him for the rest of the day, giving little explanations other than “something came up.” Had he been paying attention, Zayne might have caught Greyson exchanging a knowing smile with Yvonne, forgetting that they both were previous attendants to his past birthday parties.

As Zayne drove home, he knew he should have been wary of how his wife had seemed to be so compliant after the earlier disappointments. In the days leading up to his birthday, he hadn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. On the contrary, you had seemed very cheerful, no longer upset that he was working on his birthday.

He hadn’t thought that you would have a Plan B, or perhaps, he should call it Plan XXX considering the nature of it all. The moment he arrived home, with his phone in hand still pinging every so often with new messages, he found his darling wife lounging on the couch, appearing proud of yourself as you had just finished taking the latest photo.

There was a sudden buzzing noise.

You froze.

Zayne opened the text message he had just received and smirked.

“My love, are these my so-called birthday presents from you?”

Slowly, you turned around, unprepared to see Zayne had actually come home early from work.

“We-welcome home, Zaynie,” you managed to squeak out.

“Hm,” he responded in acknowledgement and in just a few short strides, he made his way over to the couch, sitting down next to you. Before you could say another word, he grabbed your wrist, startling you when he dragged you to lay over his lap and suddenly you felt a coolness, feeling your panties had been pulled down to expose your bare ass.

“Za-Zayne—ah!"

He had loosened his tie, removing it, and with expert quickness, Zayne had your wrists bounded together. You attempted to struggle, but found that he had tied it secured enough that it would not undo while still loose enough that it wouldn’t harm your wrists. Before you could question him, you felt that first sudden strike on your bare bottom, the rough feel of his calloused hand making contact with your ass had you crying out in both surprise and pain.

He instantly rubbed soothing circles where he had struck. There was nothing apologetic about his tone, his words firm and domineering. “One slap for every photo you had sent me today.”

You gasped in surprise.

You had sent him thirteen photos.

His hand struck your ass again. “Now count,” he commanded sternly.

“T-two…”

“Louder.”

Another strike.

“Three!”

He hummed in approval, his large hand smoothed over your reddened cheek. “Good girl,” he praised, and from just those two words alone you felt butterflies beginning to flutter in your belly, a sudden innate desire to please him was awakened within you.

He gave you a moment of reprieve, eyeing you with amusement. When you attempted to squirm again, another slap landed on your sore bottom without warning and you cried into the couch cushion.

“Did I say you could move?” he asked tauntingly. “How many was that?”

“F-four…”

He continued, experimenting with the strength each time and not leaving any hint to the pattern of his actions for you to discern or prepare for, although with the current state he had you in, all rational thoughts had left your head the moment he had tied your wrists together and laid you over his lap.

You winced and gasped, not expecting such strength from the normally gentle doctor. Every so often, your fingers dug into the couch cushion, nails scraping along the fabric whenever the pain was stronger than you could handle.

While a part of you knew you shouldn’t be feeling anything other than fear and shame, your body was having a completely different reaction to his mean treatment. You wondered when he would notice the growing wetness between your legs. His tone and this persona he had taken on were arousing you more than usual.

A part of you instantly wanted to submit to him, to act and behave in a way to earn more of his sweet praises, but there was also another side of you that was so aroused by seeing the once gentle doctor take control, asserting his dominance in a way that left you so breathless and shaken, you wanted to rile and provoke him more, needing to see just how far you could push him before he retaliated.

He didn’t give you long to gather your thoughts to think further. His hand was once more circling your smooth bottom. You glanced up at him, breathing heavier as you took in the way his gentle eyes had darkened with desires.

Another forceful slap.

You gasped again, crying out his name, nearly mewling whenever he quickly switched from his rough treatment to soothing you with gentle words and touches. “Z-Zayne…”

“How many?”

“T-ten…”

“Almost done,” he said. “Just a little longer.”

You panted quietly, almost feeling ashamed that you were disappointed he was going to be done soon. You wondered about other ways to push his buttons, to keep this side of him out for a bit longer. The thought left your mind when you felt the next slap, the sharp sound of his hand meeting your bottom was louder than the previous instances.

The immediate sting was so painful, but oh-so good.

“E-eleven!”

You cried into the couch, feeling that wetness between your legs worsened. You squirmed a little, needing relief from this growing ache.

Another strike.

“Twel-twelve… Zayne… Zayne, please…” You could barely speak, feeling overwhelmed by his punishment and your growing arousal.

It didn’t appear he had caught on yet as to why you were pleading with him, mistaking your cries for pain instead of arousal. The last strike was the gentlest, barely felt after everything you had endured.

“Thirteen…”

He leaned down and kissed your neck, his voice gentle again as he whispered apologies to you. “Was I too rough just now?”

Before you could respond to him, Zayne was chuckling as he chastised you once more, “You’re not supposed to enjoy your punishment.”

There was no anger or annoyance in his voice, just amusement tinged his tone, but before you could even utter a response, he had you crying out in both shock and pleasure when his fingers slipped into your wet folds, thrusting in and out a few times experimentally to see just how wet you were. You were moaning his name, begging and pleading for more than just this simple stimulation, but in that moment, he had decided to pull out, leaving you empty and throbbing with a need to be filled. You cried out in shock and frustration, looking behind to see his fingers coated in your essence.

You didn’t have time to be upset with him, your mind blanking the instance you watched those beautiful fingers slipped into his mouth, seeing him sucked long and slow those digits clean before he removed them, his tongue running over his lips before he smirked at you, whether in amusement or tauntingly, you weren’t entirely sure, too dumbstruck to fully think straight and too captivated by how handsome he was.

It felt like you had stopped breathing. You could feel your heartbeat growing erratic, getting caught in this moment of excitement as you ached for more of him.

He had no business looking so sexy doing that, and that simple act alone shouldn’t have had such an effect on you, but it did. Suddenly, you startled when you registered that he was pulling your panties back up, and now you were whining at him, begging for him to relieve you of this growing ache inside of you.

“N-no, Zaynie, please…”

He peered down at you with that same provoking smirk, one eyebrow raised in question, though it was clear he was very amused by the state of frustration you were in. “Please? Please what?” he asked mischievously, adding sternly, “Use your words, my love, or I won’t know what you want.”

You wanted to snap back at his taunt. Perhaps during any other instances, you would have countered his teasing with your own, but by this point, you were in no state to be so sassy with him. The wetness between your legs had worsened so much, the need to be filled by him was all you could think about, knowing just how full and satisfied you would feel with his beautiful cock buried deep inside you.

Zayne continued to gaze at you with such a haughty smile, as if he was pleased to see how frustrated you were because of him. Perhaps, he might have even considered this a fitting punishment for how you behaved earlier today with sending him those risqué photos while he was working.

Practically sulking, you complied with him. You twisted your body on the couch to peer up at him, your bounded wrists pressed close to your chest, and you said softly with tears brimming in your eyes, “Please… fuck me.”

He breathed in quickly, unprepared for your brazen obedience.

As if a dam had broken and all of your feelings and inner desires were rushing out in torrents, you continued your shameless pleas, ready now to beg him to satisfy you in ways only he could. “Please, Zaynie… I need your… your cock… inside… inside me.”

He laughed softly, amazed by your bold plea. He settled down on the couch, laying on his side behind you, and pulled you flushed to him. Your back pressed to his toned chest, your sudden squirming stilled the moment Zayne wrapped his arm around your middle to trap you to him.

His hand reached around to tug his tie free from around your wrists, releasing you from your silk shackle. His fingers soothingly glided across your wrists, appearing to appraise you for any lingering marks. They were faint, but nothing too harmful. He was always mindful that way, wanting to discipline your petulant behavior, but never wishing to harm you. He pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Such lewd words,” he murmured, his tone more amused than disappointed. “Now when did my lovely wife learn to say such obscene things?”

You grinded back against him, feeling his bulge against your ass and hearing his instant hiss before his hand grabbed your hip, holding you in place again. Suddenly, you heard the sound of his pants zippers, and you were whining now, feeling his fingers dragging your panties to the side. The needy whines turned into long, slow moans the moment he eased into you and you felt that massive intrusion stretching you just deliciously as you clenched around him.

“F-fuck,” he gasped, those rare curses he would say somehow the most erotic thing you had ever heard. He gripped your leg, lifting enough so he could have an easier access before he started rocking into you with a steady pace. With every shallow thrust, his pants and your moans intermingled in tandem to the lewd sounds. He peered down at you, taking in the sight of your flushed face buried in the couch cushion as you gasped and moaned to the feeling of him penetrating you so perfectly. His breathing grew unsteady as he husked softly, sounding almost amazed by the fact, “So fucking wet… it’s like you’re swallowing me.”

Every stroke you felt was heavenly, this mounting pleasure practically sinful. You gasped into the cushions, your nails dragging along the fabric of the couch again, feeling like he was drowning you in this intense pleasure. Zayne’s arm slipped under your head to rest, and instantly you grabbed his hand, his thumb slipping into your eager mouth. Immediately, he groaned, the feeling of your warm mouth around his thumb and the sight of you so shameless and pretty like this made him want to fuck you harder, reduce you to an even more helpless mess than you already were. He dragged his shirt on you to the side, his lips finding your shoulder to kiss, branding you with his marks.

Everything he did, his entire being, was overwhelming your senses, your mind lost to this intense haze of pleasure. You continued to suckle his thumb, your hands grasping his firmly, not wanting to part from him, feeling his heat so close to yours. Distantly, you heard him groaned, “Say my name.”

There was a warm tightening in your belly, and you answered him with a sweet gasp, “Za-Zayne…”

He roughly pulled his hand away, and you protested and whined from the abrupt loss.

“Louder,” he hissed, driving into you harder.

“Z-Zayne!”

The same hand he had pulled away reached lower, grasping your breast, fondling and squeezing tightly as his hips continued to move steadily faster. Sweats dripped along the sides of his face, his hair sticking to his skin, and his expression flushed with heavy arousal at the sight of how beautifully you were taking him, your own cheeks red and hot, eyes squeezed tightly shut as you felt him thrusting deeper inside you.

“My pretty wife,” he murmured, his lips pressing into the crook of your neck as he continued to praise you, “My love, let me hear more of your sweet voice.”

“Za-Zayne… ah… ah… you feel so, so good…”

He hummed in approval, his hand kneading your breast harder, his thumb swirling over your sensitive nipple before pinching them, making you squealed in surprise. He showed no sign of stopping any of his ministrations, wanting to lure out more of your sweet moans and whines, your heavenly voice making him dizzy with desires.

His arm suddenly wrapped tightly around your chest, pulling you back firmly against his own as his movements quickened to a brutal pacing. Your hands reached up to grasp at his arm, nails digging into his skin as you cried harder, your squeals growing in pitch as a familiar pleasure crested, reaching closer and closer to its peak.

“Za-Zayne! …Gonna… gonna cum… oh, god… I’m gonna cum!”

“Good girl,” he praised, kissing your neck soundly as he groaned softly, “I’m close, too…”

You panted, your breathing even more unsteady after hearing his words. The overstimulation was too much, your mind barely able to focus on anything other than the feeling of him bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

Your walls tightened around him and he groaned again, his face burying into your neck.

“In-inside me! Please, Zayne, please…!”

“Bu—”

“I want you to knock me up, Zayne!”

His breath hitched. His hand reached lower, resting over your flat belly. He almost wanted to chuckle, both amused and delighted by your exclamation. You both had been fucking so recklessly lately, all precautions abandoned, submitting to your primitive desires completely, he wouldn’t be surprised if you were already pregnant at this moment, already carrying his baby in your body.

His hand circled your belly, his mind drifting away to a secret fantasy of his, already imagining a small swell forming, his baby resting in your womb, growing day by day bigger. You would need new clothes, he realized with a small smile. He would delight in choosing the prettiest dresses that would be comfortable for you, but still snug enough that the fabric stretched around your round belly, letting you show off the cute swell, the very evidence that he was the one who had impregnated you.

People would congratulate the doctor and his wife for their growing family, not knowing that he had been actively breeding you every chance he could, but most importantly, when he knew for certain that you were ovulating, your body just begging for him to impregnate you with his child.

If people even knew the number of times he had stayed buried inside of you, letting you milk him completely dry and making sure not a single drop of his cum would go to waste, they would surely be scandalized that such a respectful, revered, and well-mannered young man could harbor such a perverse side that he kept well hidden behind closed doors. If they only knew the extent of his fantasies, of his desires and need to make sure all of his virile seed stayed inside of you, needing just one to take. He knew you were fertile, your womb just begging to carry his child. He was going to make this fantasy a reality.

You were already the prettiest little wife for him, so sweet and charming, he was completely smitten by you entirely, but Zayne knew he would be even more enamored when you carry his baby. The proof of his love for you, a baby who would be the perfect blend of you both.

“My baby…” he husked, giving your flat belly another rub, “You want my baby in your belly?”

“Ye-yes… please…”

He huffed, almost laughing breathlessly. He was going delirious. Your willingness and pleas were only fueling his desires. Suddenly, he pulled out completely and you cried in frustration at the sudden loss of him, but just as quickly he had flipped you onto your back and you stared up in wide-eyed confusion as he parted your legs before driving into you deeply.

You nearly choked on your cries, unprepared for his sudden brute force. Your nails dug into the fabric of the cushion again as he spread you more, pushing in deeper and harder, his every movement had your breasts bouncing as you gasped out his name in desperation over and over again.

“C-cumming… Zayne, I’m cumming…”

“Yes, yes, cum. Cum for me, darling,” he murmured, his own pants nearly matching yours. He was smirking as he drank in the sight of you, completely cock-drunk by him, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, mouth opened in silent euphoria. His words sounded more frenzied. “You might already be pregnant.”

You whimpered, and your nails dug even deeper into the cushion.

“Might already be carrying my baby,” he continued, “You like this thought, don’t you?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, Zayne!”

“Oh, fuck,” he sighed, “But it wouldn’t hurt to keep filling you up until we’re sure…”

His hand found yours, gripping it tightly as he pressed it into the cushion. He rocked into you deeply, his sweat-slicked forehead pressing against yours briefly before his lips found your own. As he ravaged your lips, leaving no room for you to breathe, he continued to taunt you with his tantalizing words in between every searing kiss: “Want my baby so badly, you’ve been begging for it every time, haven’t you?”

You nodded helplessly, eyes brimming with tears as you felt your climax was approaching faster now. He was practically bruising your lips with his relentless kisses. You could barely think straight, having completely succumbed to him, letting his soft but firm voice hypnotize you, lead you to the edge.

“Have you thought about the changes that will happen?”

You broke free from his kiss and buried your face into the crook of his neck. He pressed your legs further back and you squealed as he plumbed deeply into you, hitting that same sweet spot over and over again as he continued to pant such deliciously sinful words.

“You’re going to be even more beautiful… carrying my baby… have you… have you wearing only clothes that would show off your adorable round belly—” He was growing feverish, his own words having more of an effect on him than he realized. He was already imagining the changes. “Everyone will know it’s my baby in you.”

He chuckled suddenly, as if amused by a joke only he knew. “I don’t think I will be able to keep my hands off of you,” he confessed, “I’m going to want to touch you more, feel you more, need to be buried in your sweet pussy and fuck you again and again and again while you’re pregnant.”

“Ah… Za—”

You felt Zayne’s hands grabbed at your buttocks, lifting you up as your legs locked around his waist. You moaned into his shoulder, your arms wrapped around his neck tightly, holding onto him as he took you past the point of no return, his thrusts rushing more frantically as you both neared your releases.

“You’ll let me, won’t you?” he smirked, already knowing the answer himself, panting even harder as he felt your approaching climax, “Let me have you, let me feel you when you’re so round and heavy with our child. Let me fuck you, claim you over and over again—”

“Oh, fuck, yes!”

Zayne’s eyes widened suddenly at your euphoric cry, your hold on him tightening, submitting to the intense climax that had steadily been building since his earlier punishment. Your nails sank into his back, dragging across his skin and leaving deep marks on him. He gasped, hissing in pleasure, as he thrusted more erratically, yielding to his own need for his release. With a few more hurried strokes, Zayne groaned deeply as he emptied into you, feeling your pussy squeezed his cock and milking him dry.

“Ah… Za-Zayne… ah, so—ohhh!”

You rested against him, whimpering into his shoulder, feeling the heavy spurts before he started to soften inside of you, but he didn’t appear to be ready to leave your warmth just yet. Your mind still clouded by the intense pleasure just now, you didn’t realize he pulled you away from his neck, only aware of him when his fingers rested under your chin and gently tilting up so his lips could claim yours, so light and fleeting, just a gentle brush before he asked softly with his warm hazel eyes watching you with genuine concern, “Are you sore? Was I too rough with you just now?”

You smiled at him with lazy bliss and shook your head.

“Won’t speak to me?” he teased, giving you a quick peck on the tip of your nose, his smile widening at the sound of your gentle giggles.

“Happy birthday, Zaynie,” you said instead, making him chuckled in amusement.

“Thank you,” he laughed. “It turned out more… memorable than I originally thought it would be.”

You blinked at him confused and said not-so-innocently, “You’re speaking as if this is all you are getting for your birthday.”

He eyed you with suspicion. “What are you up to now?”

“Nothing,” you said with a cheeky smile. You wrapped your arms around his neck again and said with a pout, “Zaynie, I’m tired, can you carry me to the kitchen please?”

He chuckled. “Are you asking me to serve you on my own birthday, Miss?”

“Please?”

He pulled out of you with a groan, your damped panties readjusted. Sighing, Zayne kissed your cheek before his arms slipped under you. “Very well,” he said, “Hold on tight.”

As you held onto him, you gasped into his shoulder again, feeling some of his seed dripping into your soaked panties.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, confused by your behavior change.

“N-nothing,” you fibbed, keeping you face buried against him. You hummed happily, and reminded him, “Kitchen please.”

You giggled when he stood up and shifted, his arms were holding you securely to him as your legs wrapped around his waist tightly before he headed to the kitchen. With your guidance, he walked to the fridge, watching in confusion when you reached for the handle and opened the door. On one of the door shelves, you grabbed a can of whipped cream, making Zayne lift his eyebrow, even more baffled by your actions.

“Whipped cream?” he questioned.

“I couldn’t get you a birthday cake since you had said you would be working all day today,” you explained.

He chuckled and shook his head in amusement. He readjusted his hold on you, shifting the weight more comfortably against him. He gazed at you with so much warmth in his eyes as he spoke lightheartedly, “Ah, so it’s my fault I only get whipped cream instead of a birthday cake then?”

You made a face at him, puffing your cheeks up in annoyance. “What do you mean ‘only whipped cream?’”

“Hm?” He was about to question you, but you stopped him.

“Bedroom first,” you commanded.

“Ordering me around on my birthday?” he questioned with mock offense, but his feet were already moving to the next location. He chuckled when you yelped in surprise when his large hand rubbed over your bottom that was still a little sore from his earlier ‘punishment’. He continued in the same light-hearted tone, “I see my earlier… lesson didn’t have the expected effect on you. I should have known better.”

“I’m sorry, Zaynie,” you said unapologetically, “I’m a bit of a slow learner. Could you discipline me again—I mean teach me agai—ah!”

He had entered the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him and made his way to the large king-sized bed at the center of the room. Without any warning, he had tossed you onto the bed midsentence. Once you were able to recover from the shock, you were about to demand an explanation for his behavior, but you paused, startled when he started to unbutton his shirt.

“Zayne?”

“Hm?” He smiled down at you as he loosened the cuffs of his sleeves, revealing a glimpse of the faint scars on his arms. He tilted his head to the side, pretending like he was disappointed in you. Your gaze followed his fingers, watching him unbutton his shirt with intentional slowness. Once the shirt was completely unbuttoned, he walked to the bed, crawling on top until he was hovering above you while you leaned back, caught beneath him like a captured prey. You eyed him with surprise, wondering what was going through his head in this moment.

You glanced appreciatively downward, catching sight of Zayne’s toned abdomen beneath his unbuttoned shirt, but he didn’t let you look for long, his hand grasping your chin and lifting it up, directing your gaze back to him.

“Eyes on me,” he commanded.

“Technically, I was—”

“Behave,” he interrupted firmly and you clammed up under his stern look. He smirked in amusement at your immediate obedience before he lowered his glance. Wordlessly, his fingers brushed over the waistband of your panties.

“Za-Zayne?”

He huffed in amusement. “They’re completely soaked,” he murmured. He pulled them down, taking them off of you. He breathed in sharply before letting out a slow exhale. “I’m going to have to buy you some new lingerie it seems.”

You readjusted his shirt on you, covering your sudden exposed body from his view with lightly pinked cheeks. Noticing your not-so subtle actions, he pulled your hands away with a knowing smirk, and guided the shirt off, tossing it to the side, letting you sit completely nude to him.

“Suddenly shy now?” he teased, “What happened to that boldness you displayed earlier, my love?”

“I-I’m cold,” you fibbed with faux annoyance.

He nodded in understanding, humoring your defiance. “Then I should warm you up, shouldn’t I?”

You breathed in quickly, watching as one by one, all article of his clothing was removed until he was also completely nude in your presence. Even though as his wife, you had seen him completely naked numerous times before, it never stopped you from appreciating his beautiful physique, much the same way he also always adored seeing you completely exposed to him—only for him.

“We should both warm each other up,” he rephrased with a mischievous smirk. Zayne leaned forward and you lost your balance, your back hitting the mattress as he loomed above you, keeping you trapped beneath him. Perhaps it was because of the sudden heightened sexually-charged atmosphere, but you could feel your heart was beating faster than normal again, practically pounding within your chest.

You were excited. Excited by the feeling of anticipation for what could happen next tonight. Excited by the way Zayne was behaving, roguishly domineering as he took control of the situation. And excited by the prospect that whatever had happened and was going to happen could also lead to you and him expecting—

“Come here,” he whispered, his body pressing down closer to yours.

Caught under his beautiful hazel gaze, you didn’t notice Zayne had grabbed the can of whipped cream that had rolled to the side on the bed. He leaned down and kissed you deeply, distracting you as he shook the can a few times. When he pulled away, you whined softly from the loss of his sweet lips, making him chuckled.

“This can of whipped cream,” he murmured, though you barely registered his words, still intoxicated by his kisses. “What were your intentions with bringing this into our bedroom?”

“Hm?” You peered up at him doe-eyed, and he laughed again at your coyness. Suddenly, you yelped in surprise, brought back to the present when Zayne squirted a small dollop of the cold whipped cream above your chest. “Za-Zayne!”

“You said you didn’t get me a birthday cake, but you also insisted on bringing this can of whipped cream into our bedroom,” he continued in his soft tone thoughtfully. “One might surmise you were planning something… deviant with this, am I correct?”

You huffed, sighing, “You’re such a smart boy, Zaynie.”

He smiled in amusement at your vexed expression. “Then, as the… birthday boy, am I allowed to decorate my… treat?”

You felt a fluttering in your belly, an excited anticipation from hearing the heavy implication in his words. You nodded slowly, eyes following him as he shook the can again. You inhaled quickly, holding your breath when he squirted enough whipped cream to cover both your nipples before he set the can aside on the bed.

“Hm, I won’t be able to make a wish, will I?” he pretended to sound disappointed before he made eye contact with you. “Unless Miss Fairy here can also grant me my birthday wish?”

“What is your wish then, birthday boy?” You smiled at his playfulness.

“Will it come true if I say it aloud?” he wondered, leaning lower, letting the warmth of his breath brushed against your breast, a welcoming contrast to the cold cream that covered you.

Your breathing grew shaky, watching him with half-hooded eyes. “Te-tell me and we’ll find out together…”

“My love,” he whispered, his warm breath fanned against you once more, “I think you already know what I truly want…”

Zayne didn’t leave you any time to respond, his tongue already beginning to lick away the whipped cream from one breast. You squirmed from the stimulation, feeling his tongue brushed over your sensitive nipple.

His hands found your hips, gripping you tightly to keep you grounded beneath him. “Stay still,” he ordered, “I’m not finished with you yet.”

You felt that ever familiar coil tightening in your belly, conditioned to always listen to him when he used that particular stern tone with you. You whined again, feeling his tongue licked around your nipple thoroughly before he showed the same meticulous attention to your other breast.

Your cheeks felt warm again, face flushed with renewed arousal as you peered down at him.

“Za-Zayne, the whipped cream is already all gone,” you said feebly before your hand suddenly covered your mouth, suppressing your startled cry when he sucked on your nipple hard before parting and staring up at you with a pleased smirk.

“It’s my birthday,” he reminded you, “Am I not allowed to indulge?”

“Y-You—”

He stopped you before you could protest. “Whose idea was all of this?”

He grabbed your soaked panties, fingering the stained fabric with a look of amusement. “Those photos you’ve sent earlier today.”

“We-well, they were just…”

“Just…?”

“Just… a preview,” you attempted to explain, “I didn’t think you would come hom—”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed dismissively, grabbing the can of whipped cream again, “And this?”

“I didn’t have time to get you a cake, so I thought we could…”

One of Zayne’s eyebrows lifted up. He pretended to be puzzled, but you knew he saw through your flimsy act long ago. He interrupted you again, his tone sounding over-exaggeratedly thoughtful, “Ah, you thought we could have just the whipped cream in lieu of a birthday cake, is that correct, my love?” 

There was a stiff, noticeable silence after his question. You stared at him, lips twitching in annoyance briefly before you answered insolently, “Yes, just the whipped cream. You had said you would be working all da—”

“Open your mouth,” he interrupted once more, his tone commanding.

Confused, you obeyed him, opening your mouth a little.

“Wider,” he demanded.

Startled, you complied, unsure of what was going on in his head. You almost gasped when he squirted a decent-sized dollop of whipped cream into your mouth.

“Close,” he said with an amused smile.

You complied, tasting the lightly sweetened cream before it melted away on your tongue. Unconsciously, you licked your lips clean, almost wanting another taste of that cold sweet treat.

“This brand is delicious,” he said lightly, amused by the different expressions you had displayed in less than a minute because of this current situation. “We should buy another can tomorrow.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “Why tomorrow—"

“Now lay back down,” he ordered, pointedly ignoring your question.

You did as you were told, gazing up at him with utter confusion, having never seen him act so terse and dismissive with you like this before. It was… intriguing, and perhaps admittedly, even… arousing.

Your eyes followed Zayne’s movements, watching curiously as he shook the can several times, his own eyes never leaving yours. You wondered where he was planning on squirting the cream next, but as it turned out, you didn’t have to wait too long for an answer, because in the next instance, your body jolted on instinct when it felt that cold whipped cream squirted between your legs.

Instinctively, you wanted to close your legs, but Zayne kept them nudged apart. “Stay still,” he ordered again. He tossed the empty can of whipped cream off the bed before settling between your legs. He gripped your thighs, holding them apart as he leaned forward, his tongue running over the small mound of white cream in front of him.

Reflexively, your hand clamped over your mouth again, cry muffled when his tongue brushed against your sensitive lips.

“Don’t hide your voice,” he ordered, peering up long enough to see your flushed, aroused face, your trembling hand barely covering your face as you breathed shakily. He leaned forward, his tongue diving forward again, mouth pressed closer, tasting you as his hands gripped your trembling thighs tighter.

“Za-Zayne, it’s too much—”

He hummed back in response, showing no sign of slowing. Shakily, one of your hands pressed deeply into the mattress in an attempt to steady your balance while the other one found their way into Zayne’s hair, fingers wrapping around thick dark strands, tugging hard whenever he sucked deeply. Unwittingly, you thrusted your hips forward against his mouth.

“Zayne!"

He continued to only hum his replies, the only other noise besides the lewd sounds of him eating you out, hungrily tasting your slick essence. You threw your head back moaning, your entire body wracked with pleasure. “Ah… ah…”

“I will never get enough of you,” he mumbled. “I could spend my whole life devouring you and my appetite would never be fully satisfied—”

You could hear him groaning, his own voice sounding shakier than before. You peered down through half-opened eyes, your mouth opening wider in shock at seeing his right hand wrapped around his cock as he stroked himself urgently while he indulged in you.

Oh, god… Zayne…!

You could see the precum on the tip of his cock, the sight had you trembling with need. You struggled to find your voice before you were able to beg him hurriedly, “F-fuck me, fuck me, Zayne.”

He paused and looked at you, appearing to also be catching his breath now. Seeing the desperateness in your eyes, he smiled and leaned toward you, taking your lips for himself. You moaned in between his kisses, the weight of his body pressed you down into the mattress, keeping you trapped beneath him.

“Want my cock inside you?” He teased, his lips finding your neck.

Your hands steadied themselves on his strong, broad shoulders as he planted deep kisses along your neck, leaving his mark on you. You could feel yourself completely dripping, aching to have his cock inside you once more.

“Y-yes,” you said breathily.

“You were so close to coming just now,” he murmured almost thoughtfully, “Why did you stop me from making you cum?”

You moaned at how sweet his voice sounded. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, nudging your hips up closer to him, hearing his instant hiss of pleasure as you brushed against his erection. “In-inside me,” you gasped, “I want your cock inside me again. Want you to cum inside me again.”

“Is-is that so?” he asked breathlessly. He pressed a kiss to your temple.

You whined at him, feeling yourself clenching around nothing, needing him so much in this moment. The building desperation in you had robbed you of any inhibitions, your words were rushing out shamelessly as you voiced your desires to him: “Yes! Want your cock inside me, want to cum on your cock, want you to cum inside me—with me, please, Zaynie, please, want you to fuck your baby into me, please, Zayne!”

Zayne’s breathing grew erratic, feeling like he was getting dizzy by how sweetly obscene your tantalizing words and pleas were.

He wanted this as well, he realized. He wanted everything you were begging him for. Wanted so much and more.

“What a good girl you are,” he breathed, almost laughing in astonishment at what his ears were hearing. His fingers dove inside you again, delighting in the way you instantly moaned at the feeling before he pulled out, his fingers dripping again with your wetness. With that same hand, he let it wrapped around his cock again, stroking it leisurely as he covered himself with your essence before he guided himself to your waiting, willing entrance.

You squealed, feeling the tip pressing in and then more and more of him started to ease forward, dragging out a long, low moan from you as he filled you so deliciously full.

“Still this needy,” he groaned, “Still wanting to be stuffed full…”

You whined, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he pulled out slowly and thrusted back in. He continued this languid pacing, letting you stretch around him again before he started to build a faster rhythm.

“You didn’t want to cum by yourself earlier, did you, my love?”

“N-no…” you whimpered at him, meeting his own aroused gaze. “Want to cum with you, want us to cum together.”

He seized your lips, kissing you deeply before he groaned softly, his breath feeling so hot against your mouth. “So sweet…”

You leaned forward and kissed him back, wanting to taste him again. With your arms wrapped around him, holding tight, needing to feel the weight of him on you, you felt Zayne holding your legs apart, keeping you spread for him as he drove deeper and harder into you.

“Want me to cum in you again?” he asked, sounding like he was close.

You could feel your own climax was also approaching again. “Inside me,” you urged him with a gasp, “Want you to fuck your baby into me, please Zayne!”

He shuddered at your words, his pacing growing more brutal by the seconds. “I want this, too,” he panted. “Want to see your belly growing round with my baby.”

You smiled at him deliriously. “M-more… tell me more,” you pleaded, his words having a euphoric effect on you as you felt that familiar feeling of your approaching climax.

He smiled back, nearly laughing at your eagerness. “You like that, darling? Want to feel your body changing for me?”

“Oh, yes… yes!”

“Good girl,” he groaned when he felt you pulsing around him. “You are going to be even more beautiful when you are pregnant.”

“Ye-yeah?”

“Of course,” he breathed, “Seeing you carry my baby will be the most beautiful sight I will have ever seen.”

“Oh… oh, Zayne, h-hurry, almost—”

He was no longer thinking straight. Hearing the way your voice pleaded with him, feeling your climax was fast approaching and knowing he was just as close, he hurried with his words, his movements rushing, pounding into you harder and deeper.

“I need to see you in tight clothing,” he said, gasping, “Want to see how big and round your belly can get.”

You moaned in agreement. “Yes… yes, I want you to see what you did to me—”

Fuck. Zayne nearly gasped again, his hips stuttering as it seemed you were the one edging him now. His hands grabbed your hips, tightening his hold as he continued to pound into you at that same rushed pacing. “What I did to you?” he almost laughed in disbelief at how you could still manage to be this audacious with him even when you were also about to come undone because of him. He laughed again, this time in agreement. “Yes, you’re right. What I’m going to do to you.”

You whined as you felt the intensity of his movements. “Za-Zayne!”

“I’m going to give you everything you want. Everything that I want,” he said, letting his inhibitions go as he succumbed to his desires and to you, “I’m going to keep breeding you like this, like how I’ve been doing for weeks now. You like being bred like this, don’t you?”

“Yes, Zayne, yes!”

“Want me to fill your womb, want me to fuck my baby into you, is that it?”

You nodded at him.

“Say it.”

You cried, your walls pulsing around him had him groaning deeply. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes, Zayne! I want a baby. I want to have your baby! Please, please, cum inside me, breed me, don’t stop until you’ve knocked me up. I need you. I need you, Zaynie. Zayne—”

You screamed, his rushed movements suddenly stopping as he groaned deeply and came inside you right as your orgasm coursed through your body, leaving you crying in pure pleasure. He was gasping as he felt you milking him completely, your belly bulging enough to give the illusion that you had a small bump. He swallowed dry, the sight had him so lightheaded, he thought he was going to pass out.

He didn’t dare close his eyes, wanting the lascivious image of you spread out like this, taking all of his seed to be ingrained into his memory. It was such a beautiful sight, he thought, seeing how your body always reacting so euphorically to him.

In time, you felt the last aftershocks of your shared orgasms fading, felt him softening inside you, but Zayne continued to remain in your warmth, not wanting to part just yet. He cupped your cheek and you looked up, meeting his gentle smile.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, his thumb brushing along your cheek in comfort.

You smiled back and nodded. As he pulled out, you gasped quietly, already missing the feeling of him buried inside you.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Zayne said softly, already prepared to leave the bed, but he stopped when you reached for his wrist. He peered down with a soft smile, his eyebrow quirking up in puzzlement.

“Later,” you told him, tugging him back to the bed with you. “I want to cuddle with you right now.”

“It’s my birthday, but why do I feel like I’ve been the one to indulge in your whims?” he teased, though he allowed you to drag him into bed with you again. He laid down, smirking in amusement when you squirmed your way back into his arms, nestling comfortably in his warm, loving embrace.

You peered up at him, grinning as you matched his playfulness. “You better get used to it.”

He raised a brow in question, waiting for you to elaborate.

“When I’m pregnant,” you clarified with a wider grin, “You will cater to my whims, won’t you, Zaynie?”

He sighed and shook his head in disbelief. “You act like I don’t do that already on a day-to-day basis.”

Before you could make a retort, Zayne pressed a kiss to your temple, smiling kindly as he spoke, “I will be at your beck and call, Miss.”

You gasped and squirmed when he walked two fingers across your abdomen. Your cheeks turned rosy as you struggled to maintain composure. “Z-Zaynie…”

“Hm?”

“I… might not be pregnant yet…”

“We don’t know that you’re not either,” he countered with a smirk, delighting in your sudden coyness. He continued, “Let me pretend tonight. It’s still my birthday, is it not?”

You peeked at the clock on the nightstand. “Four more hours until midnight. So…”

You smiled with rosy cheeks when he leaned down and nuzzled his face against your flat stomach. Instinctively, you threaded your fingers through his hair. As you indulged in his whim, a sudden thought snuck its way into your mind, and you couldn’t help but pondered aloud, “What if…”

“What if what?” Zayne peered up at you, noticing your thoughtful tone and the way you seemed to trail off with your words.

“What if… we had conceived today?”

He looked at you in wonder.

“What if…” you continued, steadily growing bolder with your words, seeing the gleam of interest in Zayne’s eyes. “…we had conceived our baby… on your birthday?”

He laughed, seemingly tickled by the very idea. He sat up and leaned over to kiss you briefly. It was his turn to brush your hair aside as he gazed down at you fondly. “Wouldn’t that be a story in and of itself?”

“Surely, you are not planning on telling—”

“Our little secret, if that was the case,” he interrupted.

“Our dirty little secret?” you amended with a smile.

He sighed helplessly. “I wouldn’t put it that way…”

“I would,” you declared proudly.

“Of course, you would,” he said, deadpanned. Suddenly, Zayne blinked in surprise when you grabbed his wrist, laying his palm face up. He jerked from the tickling sensation when you glided the pad of your index finger across his palm. He furrowed his brows in confusion, asking, “What are you doing?”

“Sending you a message,” you said, beaming proudly. You giggled at his perplexed expression. “Here, I’ll start over.”

You dragged your finger down his palm, smiling when he reacted again to the tickling sensation. You held his hand tighter and made two short parallel strokes.

“‘I,’” Zayne said.

“Good job,” you praised brightly.

You continued with the next word, occasionally peeking up to catch Zayne’s reaction, seeing a knowing smile forming on his handsome face as he answered confidently:

“‘Love.’”

“Uh huh,” you said with a smile. You made a few more strokes for the last word.

“‘You,’” he finished happily, repeating, “‘I love you.’”

“You are such a smart boy, Zaynie,” you praised again with a wider grin.

“I love you,” he said once more, leaning toward you with one hand cradling your cheek. He sighed again, his smile unwavering and infectious. “I love you.”

He was overwhelming you, drowning you with his sweet love confession, repeating over and over again that one sentence until it seemed like his heartfelt words and devotion were seared into your very soul.

You returned his affections, kissing him back and savoring this sweet intimate moment with him, a treasured memory for you to selfishly lock away in a keepsake box just for yourself. Likewise, you knew this was also a night he would never forget, another moment with you for him to add to his unending collection of cherished memories.

Sweet nothings were exchanged, along with laughter and giggles, and passing kisses in between. Time seemed to move so much faster when you were with him, you realized with despondency, wishing you could slow this moment down, to linger in this afterglow, in this quiet world of you and him.

You kissed him slowly, kissed him sweetly, letting yourself fall deeper under his spell, whisked away by a love so tender and true. You let the passion between you both guided you through the night, let your body welcomed him back in, sinking down on his length, feeling every glorious inch filled you again as he peered up at you with vibrant green eyes.

To have and to hold, you answered his moans with soft sighs, moving with him with practiced ease, feeling every stroke as he guided you up and down, his hold on your hips tightening more and more as you both neared your release.

“Z-Zayne—!”

His lips found yours, and you embraced him once more, relishing in feeling his heat so close to your own. As the night carried on, before the stroke of midnight announced the arrival of a brand-new day, you whispered back, your lips to his and your heart forever his:

“Happy birthday, my love.”

Tag list: @lavlynyan @rainbowsnowflake @jasmines-greentea @notisekais @solifloris @natimiles @callilypso @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @littleapplle @alfredosaws @nezuswritingdesk @valkyyriia @yourlocalcatscammer @qyuin @ladsarchivee 【 request to be added 】

[steddie-island]

Four Ring Circus

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest May Mayhem bingo prompt: Marriage of Inconvenience and for @steddiebingo round 1 prompt: Surprise Rating: M | WC: 943 | Tags: Steddie, implied Gareth/ Jeff/ Unnamed Freak, Las Vegas wedding, drunken shenanigans, crack fic For full list of tags see ao3! | Divider Credit

One of Eddie's rings is missing. It's the first thing he notices when he wakes up, is the lack of the weight on his finger. He cracks an eye open, groans and immediately covers his face with his arm to hide from the blinding sunlight. "Fuck—"

There's movement to his left. He gets flashes from the night before— teeth against his throat, his own digging into the hard line of a collar bone, his fingers surrounded by tight heat. Right, he didn't go to bed alone. And whoever he went to bed with is still there with him, warm and heavy against his side.

"Eddie?"

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.

Eddie knows that voice, is as familiar with it as he is with his own, or Jeff's.

"Stevie?"

There's a groan and a warm face buries itself against the crook of his neck. "Shhhh. Turn it down."

Whatever happened last night, at least Steve feels just as terrible this morning. Though, now that he remembers whose mouth was on his dick last night— Steve, Steve, holy shit it was Steve!!— he's feeling less awful with each second. He drags his hand over his face, which reminds him that his ring is gone.

Only when he opens his eyes, it isn't gone. It is, but there's still a ring on his finger. A simple gold band, right where his skull ring had sat before.

Oh goddamn fuck.

"Steve." Eddie's wide awake, much to the disapproval of the marching band in his head.

"Shhh—"

"No, Steve." Eddie shakes him, pushes him a little away, until he can dig Steve's hand out from beneath him and search for—

"Fuck." Eddie whips the blankets off, doesn't care that he's still naked or that Steve is looking at him like he's ready to throttle Eddie with the nearest object. "Did we get married last night?"

"What?" Annoyance is still plastered in every line of Steve's face. He opens his mouth, blinks, and then Eddie watches as it comes rushing back to him, too. He lifts his hand to see his own matching gold band. "I… We didn't… did we?"

Eddie feels like he's three seconds away from a panic attack, which is not how he'd wanted getting Steve in his bed to go. There was a massive difference in getting Steve into his bed and fucking marrying the guy.

"Fuck." Eddie digs through paperwork strewn over the hotel table alongside their empty bottles from the night before. He doesn't even have time to worry about his liver, can barely spare it more than a thought as he keeps digging through every piece of paper he can find.

"It's in the refrigerator."

"What?" Eddie asks without stopping his search.

"The marriage certificate." Eddie looks up and watches the way Steve presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. "We put it in the refrigerator. Something about it being… cooler in the morning."

That sounds exactly like something Eddie would say, three sheets to the fucking wind. He opens the door of the mini-fridge and— bingo. There it is, tucked into the little freezer slot. Eddie pulls it out, finds the license and certificate both there, on top of a pack of cigarettes— what the fuck did we drink last night?

Eddie had laughed when Wayne told him not to get married in Vegas, and now here he is. Sweaty, hungover, married to one Steve Harrington.

Er, Steve Munson, if the signature on the marriage certificate is correct.

"Ah, fuck." Eddie stands, nudging the fridge closed with his foot. "Jeff's gonna kill me. Gonna kill us."

"What makes you think he didn't go get himself married, too?" Steve asks. He still hasn't gotten out of bed, is still sitting there with both hands in his hair.

"That's not happening until next week." It's why they're here in the first place, a happy little sendoff for Jeff while they still had a few minutes to breathe.

"This wasn't supposed to happen at all." Steve slips out of bed and Eddie can't help the way he watches Steve's back, then his ass as he finds his underwear and gets them pulled up his thighs. Even hungover Steve's still the most gorgeous person Eddie's ever seen. He delights at the bruises he hadn't been able to see before on Steve's hips, a dark one on the back of his neck, several lighter ones down his spine. His cock gives a twitch of interest as his mind wanders to all of the other places and ways he could mark up Steve's body.

Before he can even think to move and actually do something about it the door on the other side of the room opens up. Eddie actually squeaks as he brings the paperwork still in his hands down to try to cover himself as much as possible— not that they haven't all seen each other in various states of undress before, being on the road and sharing a bus for as long as they have.

"We have a problem," Jeff says. He gives a tug and that's when Eddie notices the silver cuff around his wrist. Gareth is attached to the other end.

"Did you two—"

Jeff hangs his head and holds his uncuffed hand up, showing off his own gold band. "Yep."

"To Gareth?" Steve asks.

"Yep." Gareth holds his cuffed hand up. "That's not the only problem, though."

Eddie raises his eyebrows. The whole situation is so fucked he almost forgets to keep himself covered. "What is, then?"

Jeff and Gareth exchange a look before looking back at Eddie. "Dougie's handcuffed to the bed, and I think we flushed the keys."

[wheneverfeasible]

No Obligation (part 1.2)

wc: 1.6k || rating: T || story tags: omegaverse steddie, post-s4 au, eddie lives, max lives, o!steve, a!eddie, rockstar!eddie, mpreg, oc!kid, friends-with-benefits, second chance love, secret pregnancy, pining || story summary: after corroded coffin makes it big, eddie leaves hawkins and never looks back, while steve is unknowingly pregnant with their pup. which might have been fine, had they actually been together.

Heyoooooo. So I didn’t realize that I basically had this part written before I dipped out for a bit, so here’s the second part of the first chapter of my accidental/secret pregnancy omegaverse fic lol.

There will probably be only one more part to it before the first chapter is finished, after which I plan to post the chapter to ao3. Whenever that is. No promises or guarantees for it to be speedy as I’m working on other WIP as well.

~

Steve would forever be grateful that his omega instincts had understood the situation with Eddie. He wouldn’t pretend that he didn’t feel some sort of rejection sickness, but it had honestly been more aligned with just dealing with a standard broken heart than anything omega related.

And morning sickness. Part of it had definitely been morning sickness.

Robin had done her best to take care of him during the worst of it, but that had always been one of the main lectures about omega promiscuity and the belief that omegas and alphas belonged together. An omega’s bonded alpha was able to help curb the negative symptoms surrounding pregnancy, such as morning sickness, which made bonding seem so much more important before pregnancy.

Even unbonded though, the alpha parent was still able to help the omega through the worst of it, soothing omega and pup both with scent and proximity.

Steve had neither of those things. Robin tried to help as much as she was able, but there was only so much she could do when she wasn’t Steve’s alpha. Or an alpha at all for that matter. But she was always there to bring him ginger or peppermint tea and to rub his aching muscles as his body got bigger. He didn’t know what he would have done without her.

Honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that Robin only liked girls and was a beta, Steve would have been happy to bond with her if that had been a choice.

In any case, Robin helped him through the worst of the pregnancy, even taking a break from college to stay with him and help out during the pup’s first year. She’d only gone back to school once He assured her that he would be fine and she had set in motion her transfer to a nearer college so that she could be with Steve and the pup on weekends and any day she could make the trip to visit after classes.

Thank god she finally got her license.

That was all to say, things could have been worse. If he had let himself delude himself with Eddie, he might have had more than morning sickness to deal with those first couple months after Eddie’s departure.

Even now, Robin was always there to help Steve and his little nugget.

“Want me to punch him in the dick?”

Steve rolled his eyes in exasperation, shooting Robin an askance look where they were lounging on his thrifted porch furniture. She just grinned back at him, unrepentant, and sipped at her lemonade.

“There’s nothing to punch him in the dick for, Robin,” he said, repeating himself for the upteenth time. He glanced out into the little grassy area where Gregory was playing with one of the toy tractors he’d received for his birthday, the Barbie he’d also gotten riding it seemingly into battle against the army of troll dolls and army men lined up before him.

He let out a soft sigh. Honestly, it had been hard at first to go about his day and not think about Eddie. It got easier over time, however, and now he could go weeks without thinking about the alpha that a part of him would always love. A small smile curled his lips.

“If anything, I should thank him,” he murmured. “Without him I’d never have Greg in my life.” He shot Robin another sharp glance. “And that’s all we’ll say on the matter. Greg fully believes I had him without an alpha. He’s my son. Eddie is a friend and nothing else. I doubt there’s any reason for them to even meet while Eddie is in town, and if they do, it’s just as strangers.”

Robin held up her free hand in surrender. “I know, Stevie,” she softly said, apologetic. She knew it was a sensitive topic. Not so much the Eddie factor of it, but the idea that Greg could ever feel like he was missing something. It was the whole driving force behind Steve’s parenting; that Gregory never had to feel the lack of an alpha parent as an open wound.

When Greg first started school, Steve knew that it would come up more. Hell, even in the trailer park, there were parents who didn’t want their kids associating with the bastard child of the loose omega. Steve stuck to his story, however, about how he had chosen to have a pup sans alpha, stuck to the belief that there was nothing shameful about being an unbonded omega nearing his thirties with a pup already in elementary school.

Gregory was his and his alone. Steve was the one that carried him, birthed him, stayed up late at night with him when he was feeding or when he was colicky, helped nurse him back to health when he was sick, and was simply there. Steve was Greg’s parent and his only parent, though of course he had Robin as his godmother and plenty of aunts and uncles as well.

Eddie hadn’t wanted kids, didn’t want to be tied down to a shitty town that never cared to know him, and that was all okay. Steve never resented him for any of that or not being in the pup’s life. So…no, Eddie wasn’t Greg’s father. For both their sakes. He wouldn’t force that life that on Eddie, and he wouldn’t let Greg feel anything other than utterly and truly wanted.

“Flash!” Steve called out to his pup, and Greg lifted his head to grin gap toothedly up at him.

“Yeah, Poppa?”

It wasn’t uncommon for omegas of any gender to be referred to as “mom” as the birthing parent, just as alpha parents were frequently referred to as “dad” regardless of gender, but Steve had no interest in being seen as just an omega mother. It implied that the alpha father was missing, which he wasn’t. Steve was both the father and the mother for Gregory.

“Come drink some of your lemonade, sweetie,” he called out, making certain the pup’s Lion King cup was within reach. It was the first movie his son ever saw in theaters, Steve having taken him to see it when it came through the new drive-in theatre a couple towns over.

His pup had taken to the movie exceptionally, even getting to the point that he would even wake up early enough on Saturdays to watch the show that came out the previous year about the very obviously interspecies gay couple.

“Okay, Poppa,” Greg agreed easily enough, and Steve thanked his lucky stars every day that Greg had yet to become any sort of problem child. He’d had some issues as an infant as was common, but Steve had been worried that being around Steve’s first batch of nuggets would rub off on Gregory and make the pup as difficult as his uncles and aunts were—especially Uncle Dusty.

Greg left his toys where he’d been playing with them, wiping the back of his hand and wrist over his face and smudging a bit of dirt over his brow. The young pup bounded up the short steps to the porch and grabbed up his cup, sipping happily at the sweet and tart liquid.

Steve reached out, softly carding his fingers through his pup’s curls, reminded a little bit of Dustin, actually, all things considered. He was always glad when something of his pup reminded him of his pack, not anyone else.

He knew not everyone agreed with his decision, knew that Wayne especially wished to be more a part of the boy’s life as family, but that’s what everyone except Robin didn’t seem to understand; keeping the pup’s existence from Eddie wasn’t some sort of conniving subterfuge, but rather the simple truth that Eddie had never been the pup’s father. In the best way possible.

A part of Eddie would always be entwined in the pup’s existence for obvious reasons, but Steve had from the start seen his son as his and his alone because it was simply the kindest option for all three of them, especially since Eddie never wanted this like Steve had. But he would never see Eddie as some deadbeat dad, or someone who abandoned them, or anything else.

He would thus never begrudge Eddie for doing what was best for Eddie, nor would he let anyone else do so either, not even his soulmate. Everyone deserved their happily ever after, after all.

Greg beamed up at Steve, his neon curly straw slotted into the space where one of his bottom central incisors was currently missing, filling Steve with a fondness that almost ached. He loved his pup so damn much.

“I love you, pup,” he murmured, sliding his palm along the boy’s cheek before booping him on the nose with a smile. Which only grew at his son’s affronted noise at the boop.

“I love you too, Poppa,” Greg still said regardless, and it made Steve’s chest ache again at the sincerity in his pup’s tone. His hazel eyes turned towards Robin with equal sincerity. “Love you too, Auntie Bob.”

Robin grinned, her entire face flushed with pleasure at being included in the pup’s love as it always did. “Love you too, Flash.”

This was truly all that he needed, Steve often thought. Just his pup on one side and his soulmate on the other; nothing could ever give him greater joy.

What was loneliness to the warmth of his true family? And if there was a small twinge in his chest at the thought of seeing Eddie again? Well.

No one needed to know. Especially not the best part of his life before him now, reaching out with small dirt covered fingers to wrap around his pinky and middle finger with an affection so pure Steve knew that he would and could never regret his decision in accepting this life.

If only he had known that the past could never truly stay buried forever.

part 1.1

~

I never want children of my own, but if I ever had a son, I would name them Gregory/Greg. It’s one of my favorite masc names. Greg’s nickname comes from Flash Gordon, however, which I headcanon as becoming one of Steve’s favorite movies once he starts letting himself like nerdy stuff.

Greg’s fascination with Lion King comes from the fact that it was also the first movie I ever recall seeing in theatres, at a drive-in as well. His love for the cartoon show Timon & Pumbaa also comes from me lol.

Hostage Hotties (open):

@derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @scoops-aboy86 @dotdot-weirdlife @everywherenothere @bumblebeecuttlefishes @hiei-harringtonmunson @estrellami-1

As always, if any Hottie would like to not be tagged in this story and other omegaverse or pregnancy/kidfics in general, please let me know and I’ll remove from the list for this story only.

[alexanderlightweight]

Wednesday nights are my new/old/new again favourite part of the week. I'm solo parenting bedtime with 2 little ones and a doggy on Wednesdays which can be stressful when one is an infant who cries when tired (who would have thought 🤔) and the other is my 5yo autistic angel who manages her displeasure at a baby crying by being louder to down it out.

All this to say when the dust settles I treat myself to a cup of tea and binge read anything/everything you post during writing Wednesdays. So thank you for being you and sharing your gift. It's a sweet treat to frayed nerves and a sign that the week is almost over.

With that in mind I selfishly ask for a continuation of either guide/sentinel verse or some other where they're essentially power boosting eachother against others who would be happier to have them weaker (for control reasons or to get rid of them).NSFW please (should you be so inspired) but will happily take anything.

PS I hope you're getting some R&R yourself or at least snuggles with your pets 🐶🐈‍⬛.

that sounds... that sounds like you need a whole pot of tea and i'm very glad that my fics help you recenter and also remind you the week is near its end! I hope this wednesday was nice to you!

indeed! so shocking that a tiny human who doesn't understand anything cries at the surprise of exhaustion they can't comprehend! why I certainly don't still cry when i'm over tired even now that I understand it (jk I totally cry but I only wail sometimes). seriously, I love how kids are like 'oh hey. I can problem solves this by escalating' and you're just sitting there going '... someone please stop this ride. I would like to be off and go sit in the quiet, dark corner of peace I know exists somewhere'. not that kids aren't amazing, but well. they come with quite a few features that are understandable but no-less exhausting for all that they're being reasonable considering they're brand new humans.

as tempted as I was i didn't manage to get this written on Wednesday (because the brain fog decided I was done) but I hope you still enjoyed the other prompts filled that night when you took your break and I hope you enjoy this because I may have had too much fun with it

that being said, if this ends up not sounding like (don't read if I accidentally added something not your thing) something youd enjoy or if you read and it ends up not being your thing, just let me know.

uhm so I need to be clear this is 3DNE and it's in gladiolus first part here, so it's both bloody and kinky. seeing as Magnus senses Alec and goes Enemies to Married in about five minutes.

uh..., slaughter, fucking on a battlefield and using blood as lube (corpse blood so corpse desecration I guess). kinky sex and Magnus has dick piercings. battlefield bonding and some blasphemy. a little outside pov for some added despair. not for malec, malec are having a blast. probably some more but i'm bad at tagging without ao3's helpful database so be advised, here be dead doves.

also I did have some lovely cuddles with Nightshade (tho they are never enough according to him)

<3 lumine

gladiolus

Izzy isn’t sure what’s happened.

All she knows is that Alec is at the center of something powerful, red mist gathering in, obscuring her vision as she tries to find him.. Her hermano is in the eye of a storm that’s taken down the entire field of combatants. 

The shockwaves have stopped and while the ground still feels like it’s trembling with aftershocks, Izzy can’t be sure it’s the earth or her.  However, she’s finally conscious again and that means she can fight.  She pushes up from her side up to her knees, leaning on her elbows as she tries to steady herself and gather the will to get up.

She’s lucky that whatever happened took out both sides, giving her time to gather herself and then gets a look at what’s actually happening.

The warlock — the High Warlock and the reason her parents are in a different location rather than here —  is still in front of Alec, even if they're both standing now.  Izzy isn’t even sure if Alec’s standing or if he’s being held up, she can’t tell from this angle or from how blood drips down into her vision.  His wings are out, but they’re not glinting adamas and they’re not being ripped away from him either.

Finally she sees Alec fully as he steps away from the warlock and looks towards her, even across the distance, she feels like their gazes meet.

Run.

The stern command against her mind is silent to her ears, but not her senses. Izzy’s never felt a louder truth or a more desperate and deadly emotion from her hermano.

It’s dangerous.

He’s dangerous and it’s with fear that Izzy realizes the warlock must be a guide and if he’s a guide and Alec’s giving her a warning then...

Izzy closes her eyes and grits her teeth, forcing herself up even though she’s struggling along with every other shadowhunter on the battlefield. 

On a field of slaughter, more like.

Unlike the other shadowhunters who are picking their blades back up and orienting themselves, Izzy runs. One foot after the other, first a staggering limp before her gait steadies as her training overcomes the pain and shock.  Alec didn’t give empathic orders like that unless lives were in danger... but Izzy is the only one he’s bothered to warn.

Tears stream down Izzy’s face as the screams start.  

These are people she knows. 

Some of them are people she cares about and while she doesn’t like all of them, she’s been fighting on a battlefield with them for what feels like a lifetime. 

Even as others join her in fleeing, Izzy knows it won’t be of any  use.  

She’ll survive for one reason and one reason alone, because the bonds of kin can temper Alec’s reason enough to spare her.  There’s no such grace for anyone else on the field. Especially since most of them are hunter’s Alec only tolerated because they were all equal fodder once on the field and each body counted.

Alec’s never let on just how deep his soul ache is.  If the echoes of his un-shielded mind feel like a canyon or a puddle, or how deeply he yearns for a guide, if at all. 

Izzy feels like a fool.

Of course Alec would want a guide.  

Who else will give him the unconditional love he deserves and has been denied his whole life.  Their parents threw him at the Clave the moment he emerged and the Clave have him throwing him at demons and then on battlefields ever since.

Alec has no true reason to stay loyal to their people, not even the Pride of Idris that he was a part of.  Alec turned his nose up at too many guides, snubbed too many families and bruised too many personal feelings, despite the blatant lack of compatibility between him and well, anyone.

He’s been alone for years, not just by choice but because he’s never matched.

Which is exactly why he’s slaughtering them.

All of them.

Tiers and rows and teams of nephilim, killed by one of their own.  Worse, a sentinel, the steadfast protectors of their people.  The very reason Alec leads troops despite being unbonded is because of his natural instinct as a sentinel to protect them and his territory. 

Yet now he destroys what he once shielded with a near manic glee. Why wouldn’t he, when it’s to prove his devotion to his guide, Alec’s never been one to half-ass anything.

Izzy can feel Alec's satisfaction grow with each death.  It lingers heavy in the air as if Alec’s warlock guide is magnifying it. Projecting it out to further torture the nephilim dying in droves and flaunt his own victory in claiming a sentinel even the Clave has given up on.

Most of them are trying to fight back but some know better and are running.  Alec’s deadly enough on his own, but now in defense of his guide?  There’s no hope for any of them.

Izzy stumbles, nearly tripping as the hunter in front of her drops, an arrow through their throat.  Izzy wants to fall and kneel, take advantage of the fact that Alec’s her brother and take a moment to mourn and just breathe but she can’t.

Alec may be her brother but Alec’s guide is her enemy.

This is Alec’s last gift.

Her life, before her brother completely turns to the other side.

That warlock didn’t demand this. 

Oh the Clave will assume so and so will their parents.  They’ll make it sound like the warlock mind-controlled Alec but Izzy knows the truth.  This is a gift.  A courting gesture. A Raziel damned promise, that Alec will never betray his new guide and is firmly by his side, despite being enemies only moments before.

Izzy gets past the runline and to the tents, where runed defenses normally keep those in charge and those wounded who are sent back to heal.

Her first step past the zone where her body can recognize nephilim grace and she collapses. Rolling with the force of her fall and barely remembering to tuck herself to take the brunt on her shoulder rather than head.

For a moment she lays there, blood and mud in her mouth and then she’s being hauled up.  Aline and Sebastian pulling her up and into a tent rather than in the mud.

“Izzy, what in Raziel’s name is happening past the runes? We can’t see anything.” Sebastian’s voice is soothing and familiar and Izzy chokes, turning to spit before accepting a canteen of water.

“The High Warlock, the one no one can get near. The reason my parents got called to Idris—” Izzy gets out and then she takes several more sips.  They’ve both paled but what they’re imagining is nothing as bad as the reality.  “He’s a guide. A powerful guide, he brought the entire battlefield down. Even his own side and by the time I managed to get up it was too late.” Izzy shrugs, laughing mirthlessly as she cries because she can’t tell if this is worse or better than losing Alec to death. “He’s claimed Alec as his sentinel.”

Aline turns to where the wardline is lit up with silver-blue wards and runestones and Izzy follows her gaze.  The field she ran from can’t be seen, hidden beneath a deep, dark unnatural fog of crimson.

“The screams stopped a few seconds ago.” Sebastian murmurs, “I can’t tell if that’s bad or good. You think the warlock killed them all so that Alec wouldn’t have to choose? It makes sense he’d spare Izzy then, since she’s Alec’s sister.”

Izzy shakes her head, not sure if it’s guilt, love or exhaustion that holds her tongue from spilling the truth.  Better to let them understand and see with their own eyes the carnage Alec’s wrought. 

“Can you see out there, if you go past the wardline?” Aline asks her and Izzy isn’t sure, she doesn’t remember anything but trying to make sure she didn’t trip on the bodies that dropped as easily as the apples Izzy used to throw for Alec to shoot.

—-

Pleased avarice fills the entirety of Magnus as he watches his sentinel slaughter his way through packs of his fellow shadowhunters.  No sooner had Magnus pulled Alexander to his feet and into a kiss to ground his boy with his touch as he pulled Alexander from a zone-out and his sentinel bristled.  Turning his backto Magnus and hand on his unlit blade.

Magnus had thought it to be symbolic, that his delightfully tall sentinel wanted to show that he’d protect Magnus despite it hardly being necessary or what Magnus wants.  Instead of posturing however, he’d launched forward, blade reaping lives and his psyche oozing grim satisfaction. He’s a scythe in a field of bodies ripe for the harvest. 

This isn’t protection, it’s carnage.

Magnus is quite frankly, shocked and delighted by Alexander’s brutal instincts and the way he cuts through bodies with both his blade and wings.  They’re bonded and even if it hasn’t settled that’s more than enough for him to shield Alexander from the mental agony ringing across the field.

His boy is drenched in the sacred and holy blood of his own people, uncaring of the gore as Alexander crushes bones and cuts off limbs. A battledance of gruesome beauty dedicated to Magnus alone.

Magnus hadn’t had any particular plans for the rest of the shadowhunters on the field before this. He’d fully intended on taking Alexander somewhere private, where he could make sure his sentinel wasn’t too overstimulated as they finished bonding. Sentinel senses could be rather delicate, especially before the final claim to complete and settle a bond. Alexander’s mind and soul submitted so sweetly to Magnus’ claiming that he thought he’d need to protect his boy until it settled.

Yet Alexander stands strongly, bow drawn and arrow aimed, feet steady and planted on bloodsoaked ground.  Quickly and efficiently picking off those who try to run, avoiding only one single shadowhunter.

That singular mercy would normally be enough to raise Magnus’ hackles, however the bond that thrums between his boy and the lone shadowhunter is familial and filled with farewell, not one of lust or yearning.

Still, it stokes something bitter in Magnus’ instincts that anyone was spared when this is a display from Alexander to himself.  It’s not even a display of protection, but one of devotion. One survivor won’t make him doubt his sentinel but it does make him wistful, as Magnus watches his boy decapitate one of the hunter’s actually trying to fight back.

Despite thinking of taking Alexander somewhere calm and isolated, where his senses could be soothed as they bonded, Magnus has changed his mind.

Because while it isn’t necessary, Magnus intended to finalized his bond with Alexander with sex. He wants a primal bond and considering Alexander is slaughtering the soldiers he was leading only moments ago, his boy can only want the same.

Magnus doesn’t want to tame Alexander’s tempest, he wants to unleash it and add his own gale to the storm.

—-

The minute every threat is neutralized — perhaps not yet dead, but no longer a threat, Magnus pushes his sentinel down onto the ground and follows. Kissing Alexander messily and marveling at how just how much blood his boy got on himself during the massacre he just gifted Magnus.

“You’re divine, Alexander.” Magnus praises as he kisses blood from Alexander’s jaw and they both groan when Alexander gets his viscera soaked fingers under Magnus’ shirt. They’re firm and calloused and slick with still warm blood and Magnus chuckles into Alexander’s mouth as he uses magic to get both their pants open.

“I hope you’ll forgive me darling, but I’m afraid after your little display we’re bonding here and now, Alexander. I’ll fuck you on silks and roses later if you like, but for now. I’ll have you like this.” Magnus means it too, his sweetly vicious sentinel deserves finery and gentleness as equally as he deserves to be ravaged in the pools of blood he’s created.

Alexander chuckles under him, eyes dark and wild as he pulls Magnus down so he can lean up and kiss him — teeth catching on Magnus’ lip in a taunt.

“You think I mind bonding on the land I washed clean for you with blood? You think I’d let you bond me somewhere else? I’m your sentinel now. You decreed it. So prove it here, where it can’t be denied.”

Magnus has to kiss him for that and then Magnus drags his fingers through the thick blood on Alexander’s clothes.

“Do you think your dead comrades ever imagined that the most useful thing they’d ever do in life or death is help me fuck you open?”  

Alexander whines, hips wriggling to give Magnus more room to pull his pants down far enough so Magnus can fuck him. 

Magnus pets his fingers across Alexander’s hole, anointing it with the blood of Alexander’s own hunters with a smirk.  There’s a whine of impatience and Magnus spits, letting blood and saliva mix and adding magic to slick the way as he presses into Alexander.

Magnus feels as impatient as Alexander looks, the way he’s urging Magnus to hurry with little hitching breaths and judders of his hips as he clenches down on Magnus fingers.

“I’m trying to loosen you sweetheart, let me in.” Magnus nips at Alexander’s ear, careful to avoid breaking or biting skin just yet. “If you keep clenching like that, how are you ever going to handle my cock, hmm?”

Alexander whines, tensing despite Magnus orders and finally after a deep, steadying breath he forcibly relaxes.  Magnus fucks into him with his fingers, curling them and twisting and holding down Alexander’s hip with his other hand. Unrepentant when he finds Alexander’s prostate and rubs teasingly at it.

“There, isn’t that better?” Magnus asks and Alexander’s gasp of his name is the correct answer as Magnus adds a third finger, twisting until he’s knuckle deep. The rings of his fingers pressing together and stretching Alexander’s rim tight against the cold metal.

Magnus crooks his fingers teasingly, the rings threatening to slip past Alexander’s rim and he laughs in delight as Alexander comes, breathless and untouched between them.

“Such a good boy,” Magnus praises him mentally and also petting him with emotions.  Laving him with affection and pride and Alexander squirms, clenching around Magnus’ fingers like he’s afraid they’ll leave.  Magnus gives him a moment to settle and then presses his fingers deeper, curling them so they press insistently against Alexander’s prostate this time.

It earns him a deep whine and Alexander tenses and trembles beneath him.  His wings are muddy, fluttering and gathering filth and blood and Magnus only allows it because he’ll personally clean each and every feather later.

Once Alexander is entirely his.

Alexander’s hole is pink and swollen and streaked with blood when Magnus pulls his fingers free.  It’s obscene to use nephilim blood to fuck Alexander, but how can Magnus waste such a precious opportunity when it’s been provided by Alexander.

Magnus slicks his cock with the blood on Alexander’s torso and then fucks into him.  He’s not nice or gentle about it and Alexander’s scream is silent as his nails claw into Magnus’ back and he bites at the shoulder of Magnus’ jacket.  His teeth nearly pierce through the leather, prickles of pain teasing at Magn us’ skin as Alexander moans.

“Did I forget to mention the piercings, darling?” Magnus barely manages to get the words out.  Breathless himself and too entranced by how tight Alexander is around him.  The jacobs ladder of platinum rings down his cock dragging and catching on Alexander’s hole had been blissful but it’s even better now, fully inside him. Magnus has to take a moment, just to let himself feel as Alexander’s soft walls flutter around him. Each of the nine captive beaded piercings ensure that his sentinel will never be able to forget the feeling of Magnus fucking him. 

Of Magnus claiming him from the inside out..  

Alexander is breathing wildly, wings puffed up and trembling and eyes clenched shut as he tries to breathe.  There’s blood and mud in his hair and on his face and Magnus snaps his hips forward, just to make Alexander look at him.

He does, gasping out Magnus' name in both complaint and awe.

—-

Alec can feel everything and it’s been too much since Magnus caught him and claimed him but that doesn’t matter. Because all sensation fades away, to where he can’t feel the mud or smell the blood or anything but Magnus.

Magnus cock breaks and remakes him, as he memorizes every imprint of metal and flesh inside him as Magnus fucks him. 

Alec could zone out on the sensation of cool metal that stays chilled and Magnus’ cock searing hot in contrast. He can’t though, Magnus keeps him on the edge of awareness, dragging his cock in and out in smooth, slow thrusts, as if he has all the time in the world. Each piercing catches on Alec’s rim, again and again every time Magnus pulls out only to slam back in and when he hits Alec’s prostate, it’s with metal kissing it.

Alec can still hear the gasps of the dying.  The gargle of blood in lungs, slowly drowning those he stabbed in vital places but didn’t personally finish off.

But what does that matter when he can also hear the way Magnus’ heart beats in tandem with his own and feel how Magnus cock pulses inside him, slicking his walls with precome and the blood Magnus opened him with. Alec’s too sensitive to come again, even if he’s half-hard and wishing he could. That kind of pleasure would black him out when he’s this open and overwhelmed or worse. Send him into a zone out..

Magnus is shielding him, but not completely, not yet.

He wants Alec to feel this and Alec wants to feel it even if he feels like he’s drowning.

Alec wants to feel the raw agony of death around him as he discovers the brutal joy of being found and claimed. Wants to be lost and then found again by the pained pleasure of Magnus fucking him, his cock erasing and rewriting every moment Alec ever felt lonely and aching and empty without Magnus.

Magnus fingers stroke his dick, forcing him fully hard and then slowing to jerk Alec off with unhurried, lazy movements as the thick crimson fog around them begins to disperse.  

It lingers on the edges of his vision before disappearing and Alec groans as he realizes Magnus did it on purpose.

Magnus wants everyone to see and feel the backlash as their bond finishes forming, to witness Alec’s guide fucking him in a valley of blood and as Magnus comes, the bond sears fully into place.

Existence roars and the world spins before it’s tucked away behind Magnus, the sensations that overwhelm Alec fading away. Even with as over sensitive and vulnerable as he is.

He comes, barely feeling and nearly blacking out from the feeling of Magnus’ limp cock and hard piercings sliding from his raw hole. 

Fingers pet over his face and he can hear each kiss of metal teeth as Magnus zips him back into his pants and then hauls him up.  Alec’s not sure how he does it, when Alec’s spine feels like jelly and his wings are a dead weight.

There’s the noise of a portal and Alec follows with relief, knowing that wherever Magnus takes him will be home.

Will be safe.

—

AN:

When Magnus dropped his shields, they connected on a psionic level and he claimed Alec mentally, he then locked Alec’s senses on him with a quick imprint, to ensure that Alec will know him no matter what.  The sex just finalized the bond and also cemented what kind of bond it is. The psionic melding shared the basics of who they are with each other. Not like, favorite color and food, but like the primal basics of a soul and mind and their names.

I’m gonna explain the sentinel/guide bonds in my universe because everyone kind of has their own thing and mine is aro/ace inclusive which a lot of them are really not. In fact in this universe stabilizing/formalizing/settling a bond via sex is the rarer of the three options.

Okay so full-bonding can occur with either sex/mutual full sense-imprinting (including psionic)/and mutual, scarring bites. There’s about a twelve hour window after you start forming your bond to stabilize it with a full/complete bonding. It does not take a full twelve hours, but that’s about the limit before you start going feral with the need to finalize the bond.

Full and (mutual) sense-imprinting is both physical and psionic and creates a bond based on a kind of mutual steadiness, a baseline bond that's got a firm and even foundation and is very grounded. If one half of a pair is especially hot-headed/reckless/impulsive or something, they might want this kind of a bond to help ground themselves just a little more. Or if both sides have anxiety etc. This is the kind of bond that helps stabilize you and your partner to the point where a lot of partners can work apart if they want/need to. It’s the most common bond. 

A mutual bite blood-shared bond creates a very protective more insular bond. It’s basically the most defensive version of the bonds and it’s very focused on each other. More contact platonic or otherwise is required, a lot of holding hands and leaning against each other and generally being in each other’s space. Which is less optional and more a need to feel each other as close as can be. Most pairs who bond like this don’t work apart ever. Second most common bond.

Sex bonding is actually in fact a sex ritual with a side of bonding and is more raw and primal driven. It’s a more rare form of bonding because of that. The bond it forms is a violent, decadent and feral energy that toes the line of humanity. It’s a more rare bond because it does symbolize a sacrifice of control for the raw, wildness of a bond that's also rabidly obsessive. Depending on the pair, you never know if they’re more or less dangerous together or apart and which they are depends on the sentinel/guide. Least common bond.

After a bond stabilizes, the acts of full sense imprinting, sex and biting each other don’t have any effect on the bond itself. They’re just fun things they can do or not do. 

Yes they still need to do full sense and psionics imprints, but if they’d done that first it would be a different kind of bond. Therefore, sex first.

There are nine captive beaded piercings (which are a hoop with a locking bead in the middle that seals the piercing shut) on Magnus’ Jacob’s ladder piercing and they represent the nine circle of hell because he’s extra like that.

also for anyone wondering, Magnus didn’t influence Alec at all even though he could have. Alec is just also extra and wants to make sure Magnus understands that he’s picking Magnus, just like Magnus chose him. Alec wants everyone to know what side of this war he now belongs to. there will be no allowance of someone even hinting he's not loyal to Magnus and Magnus alone.

[papercranesong]

Hi @peculiarreality thanks again for sharing your thoughts. I think a lot of concerns you’ve raised (both in your reblog and also in the comments bit) about AI are ones that reflect wider issues like injustice, consent, caring for the environment, and I’m sorry that I didn’t acknowledge these specifically in my original post.

Hopefully it’s okay if I just address the research concern first because it’s quite personal for me and maybe gives you some context as to where I’m coming from, and then it will lead into addressing the data scraping you mentioned.

So I do agree with you, generative AI models shouldn’t be fully trusted to give meaningful or accurate information on their own because they can hallucinate, promote misinformation, reflect bias etc., and people definitely need to be aware of that.

I have a Masters degree in Public Health, which involves critically analysing and evaluating existing health research. In UK academia, generative AI is being used as a really valuable and important tool for performing different kinds of analysis across existing literature (including journals that aren’t written in English), highlighting connections – with the end result being to reduce health inequalities. More broadly, generative AI is used as a tool to fight cancer, like this article from the University of Cambridge - “AI versus cancer”

I guessing that most people on here would probably be okay with the use of AI in those things.

However, as you said, the issue that bothers you most about my original post was that generative AI is trained on public data, including data scraped from AO3 (as described here on Reddit) – and that as @themurdochmemesteries rightly pointed out in the comments, when I use chatGPT, it’s able to give me suggestions and feedback in part because of that data. OpenAI, who developed chatGPT, train its models on public available data on the internet, regardless of copyright, and as described in this article in The Guardian (a UK newspaper), say that it’s impossible to train its generative AI tools otherwise.

So then in light of this – how can I, as a fanfic writer, be okay with using generative AI to help me write?

I'm sorry but I don’t think I’ll have an answer that will satisfy you because it’s not an answer that I’m comfortable with either. Scraping fanfics without consent isn’t okay, it’s theft, and openAI and other companies are being deliberately sketchy about what the data is being used for. I do think it’s important to advocate for generative AI to become more ethical, for the companies to act more responsibly and transparently, to support consent-based AI that’s trained on diverse, bias-aware models and that have safeguards against hallucinations (misinformation and fabricated content), and that’s environmentally friendly.

Like you say though, ethical AI models probably aren’t going to happen in our lifetime. So in the meantime we all have to make our own choice about how we’re going to interact with it now.

I’m choosing to use generative AI - acknowledging that there are ethical concerns as mentioned above, as well as environmental concerns (which I’ve tried to address in answer to this ask) whilst advocating towards using more ethical AI.

My intent is to use it as a tool to enable me to do something I love and to help me achieve Maslow’s top rung (the self-actualisation one) on the hierarchy of needs pyramid even in the bad days, whereas I wasn’t able to do that before.

I want to be transparent in my use of it, so that readers can make an informed decision. As I’ve written about in answer to this ask here, the use of tags in AO3 is difficult because there’s only one tag and so I think maybe tagging something like ‘created in accordance with my personal AI use disclaimer’ would be more helpful, and would then give writers the chance to outline their own use of AI in their AO3 profile, which would then help readers make a more informed choice about whether or not to engage with their fics. (I've now done that in my own AO3 profile).

But since my original post, some people have told me that the very fact that I use AI – regardless of how I use it, or don’t use it – means that they will stop engaging with me or my writing from now on. (Which is hurtful… but to be fair, they are probably feeling hurt by me too).

I’m just wondering if, by this logic, will people stop using AO3 also? AO3 actively host and publish fics that are generated by AI:

“At the moment, there is nothing in our Terms of Service that prohibits fanworks that are fully or partly generated with AI tools from being posted to the AO3, if they otherwise qualify as fanworks. Our goals as an organization include maximum inclusivity of fanworks. This means not only the best fanworks, or the most popular fanworks, but all the fanworks that we can preserve. If fans are using AI to generate fanworks, then our current position is that this is also a type of work that is within our mandate to preserve.” from AO3’s page on AI-generated works and AO3 policies

I really enjoy participating in fan gift exchanges on AO3, and I’m just wondering if I’m going to be banned from doing so by the event organisers because they they might have an absolute stance that “no fics using generative AI as a tool are allowed” – even if it’s just me using it as a proof-reader. It’s already starting to happen with some of the larger cross-fandom writing events. And yet these writing events and exchanges are taking place on AO3 which actively host and publish fics created entirely by chatGPT.

I don’t mean to be provocative – I just want to show that it’s a really difficult and complex issue.

Also, I don’t want to be a spokesperson for AI, but rather a spokesperson for having open AI discussion. I think people are fearful that any mention of using generative AI is going to subject them to anonymous hate and get them and their writing cancelled – because this is what’s happening to me.

Thanks again @peculiarreality for being willing to have this kind of respectful and thoughtful discussion. Happy for you or others to push back on any of these things!

Confessions of a Fanfic Writer: How and why I use AI 

So more and more, I’m seeing posts about AI and the place it has in writing. While some posts express justified concerns, the general discourse seems to be degenerating into “don’t use AI” and “if you use AI you’re a horrible person”, which suppresses conversation and doesn’t really explore the nuances of how AI can be used as a tool for writers.

I’m a fanfic writer who uses AI to help me write, especially when I’m in the throes of exhaustion or depression. I don’t always use it, and when I do, I’m aware it can become a crutch. But mostly it’s transformed my writing life, because it means I can write nearly every day now, instead of waiting for those rare moments each month when the sun comes up and I’m in a good place mentally and I’m able to write. 

So I thought I’d get specific and share some ways I use it. A couple of practical points first - 

AI is a broad term, and so when I talk about AI with regard to writing, I’m referring to a subcategory of AI called LLMs - large language models like chatGPT.

I don’t allow chatGPT to train on my fics. (There’s an option to not let it train its models on any data inputted). 

Ways I use AI to help me write 

One - to help me articulate my ideas

You know when you’re so tired and unable to express yourself properly, and you end up spewing a word cloud and gesturing inarticulately in the vague hope that the other person will understand what you’re trying to say? 

So with chatGPT I type that wordcloud in along with my half-baked ideas and unfinished sentences, and then it will make sense of what I’m trying to say and reflect back to me fully-formed ideas, giving me different suggestions for what I might mean. It’s the “make it exist first, you can make it good later” adage - chatGPT helps me to make my ideas exist first. 

Two -  for constructive criticism 

I might feel like a scene is sagging or that something’s not working but I’m unable to put my finger on it. So I’ll ask - “what’s not working?” and I’ve found it to be remarkably perceptive and accurate in identifying what and why something feels off - maybe it’s the beats and pacing, list-like repetition or lack of a character’s internal reaction.

(Could I just ask a beta-reader to do this? I could, but honestly - I’m an introvert and British. It’s just too awkward for me).

Three - as a sounding board 

If I’m stuck on a scene, it offers a fresh perspective by helping me figure out the motivations of the characters or identifying the emotional counterpoint of the scene and suggesting ways to build on it.

I sometimes ask it to rewrite the scene from the perspective of a different character, or to write the scene from a sensory point of view, just to help me experience it through fresh eyes. Other writers use it to make RPGs of their fics, for similar reasons. There’s also an audio option where it narrates what you’ve written -  the voice isn’t great but just hearing the words spoken aloud allows me to listen and visualise it and gives me a fresh perspective. 

Four - as a research tool 

I like doing research and making my fics as accurate as possible, but sometimes there’s no information available for my scenarios, e.g a character bleeding out in zero-G. So I type in the scenario into ChatGPT and receive information specific to my scene - for example, if my character is bleeding out in zero-G, is that even possible? How would it appear to an onlooker? Would the bleeding happen quicker or slower than in normal gravity? Would it still feel the same? (There’s always potential for the LLM to hallucinate though, so I wouldn’t trust it as the sole authority).

Five - for proof-reading and html code 

I can spend hours checking for typos, grammar and formatting errors, and it’s a lot quicker to ask chatGPT to clean it up for me initially and then to check it myself afterwards (or the other way round). It also speeds things up with writing html code for specific formatting. 

Six - as a writing therapist 

I have pretty low self-esteem and imposter syndrome etc. In the past I would either stop writing for a while - or worse, just delete my stories. 

Now when I feel like that, I tell ChatGPT and  then it responds by having a conversation based on therapeutic techniques such as externalisation (separating harmful thoughts from your identity), reframing techniques based on CBT etc. to explore with me what I’m feeling and to help me think differently about it. 

(Could I not just turn to actual humans for this? Yes, and occasionally I do. But I don’t want to pester my online fanfic friends with my writerly angst multiple times a day. It’s not fair on them, and they’re not counsellors. But with chatGPT I can be as honest and neurotic as I like). 

Conclusion

I guess I wanted to write this little essay because: 

it felt disingenuous not to speak up about my own use of AI when people were posting about it on Tumblr and elsewhere.

to maybe challenge the assumption that the use of AI in writing is automatically deviant, shameful or wrong. 

to hopefully be an approachable  person to chat to about the use of AI in fanfic. I’d love to find a friendly space in which to talk about how to use AI well in creating fanworks, and to discuss the angst, pitfalls and ethics that come with it. (Edit: I made a Tumblr community called Writing-with-AI, let me know if you’d like the link).

Anyway, if you’ve made it this far, thanks for reading and for keeping an open mind. I’m always happy to chat more - feel free to DM or leave me an ask.

Finally, you might be wondering whether I used AI to write this. What do you think?

[takaraphoenix]

I truly can not put into words how much I hate the tag limit on AO3.

Look, I get it, they put it up back then for a good reason with the bullshit spam in tags. But could we lift it again? Or at least raise it to a reasonable amount?

Because 75 tags is nothing.

Not when it is total tags. Not when you are writing elaborate multiple chapter fics.

Between character tags, relationship tags and additional tags? It is so damn easy to reach 75 tags.

Hell, if you are writing am OT3 BDSM fic set in the ABOverse, you are already 17 tags in with just the core basics (3 character tags, 4 relationship tags if you tag the OT3 and the individual relationships among them, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, Polyamory, Threesome - [constellation], BDSM, 3 tags for the characters' ABOverse designations, 3 tags for their Dom/sub roles), that is not even including what kind of kinks or sexual themes will be in it and those can, depending on how much fun you're having, easily take a dozen tags too. If you also have important side characters or pairings? Or platonic dynamics that matter? And if you also have... you know... plot? Tropes or other things that would be great if findable through a tag?

I get it, 75 tags sounds like a lot. If you're posting a oneshot. But a lot of things tend to happen in longer fics. I find it impossible to contain a 50k fic to 75 tags, I have no idea how people whose stories range in the 100k+ length handle this.

If it were, at the very least, just about additional tags? If relationship and character tags weren't included in that count? I think that would actually be a more realistic number. It'd still limit spamming, but it'd also give more freedom to actually tag the important parts of the story.

Because I do want to cover the things I think are important for people to be able to filter, either to find or to avoid a story. I don't want to have to choose which thing to leave untagged, just because the story is long, elaborate and contains a multitude of themes, kinks and tropes.

[daltonsnightmare]

MacGyver (2016) s3e13 Wilderness + Training + Survival | Cold Open

[yellowocaballero]

dude psyched ur reading orv, insanely curious about ur takes

My friend @charterandbarter put it best.

ORV is pretty fascinating to me. It's really just a self-insert isekai OP webnovel, and it is nothing else. Its medium is trashy and lowbrow, and its genre is almost devoid of high art. OP isekais are 'id' stories, meant to be satisfying and fun and contain very little of substance. ORV is a very well executed OP isekai - it contains the elements of the genre that make it satisfying, it understands why people read the genre and enjoy it, it reproduces those elements very well, and it is very concerned with telling an enjoyable story. ORV really, really loves webnovels and isekais and shitty wishfuillment stories. There's a lot more to ORV than the 'fist pump' moments of kdj doing something cool or pulling a fast one on a shmuck, but those moments are the undoubtedly the point of ORV, as they are the point of all SIOC isekai OP webnovels. And that's the point of ORV.

Metanarrative stories are cheap. Neil Gaiman's written 30 and millenials love waxing philosophical about the power of narratives. These metanarratives tend to describe stories as a theoretical framework through which we understand the world and our lives. Therefore, stories are tremendously important and valuable because they contain the totality of religion, history, culture, relationships, and lives. ORV says this too. But this theory tends to land at mystifying and exalting stories on virtue of them being stories, which I think misses the point. Stories aren't special because they're stories. They're not more sacred for containing our lives. What ORV says is that stories are important, because our lives are important. I like that a lot more.

ORV says that stories are our way of ordering a disordered world. A history, culture, nation, and religion are stories. None of those stories are true or real, because histories/cultures/nations/religions are constructs - they're how we interface with reality. They're created with a purpose, told for a point, pulled together into a narrative, and are satisfying or dissatisfying based on certain factors. ORV's perspective on fiction is deeply seeped in its own nature as 'low art'. There's something very cynical and commercialized about narratives in ORV, and every narrative in ORV is being told for a quick buck or to try and spread an idea for an individual's gains. It's a very unromantic, unimpressed view of narratives and fiction. It's pretty much the only way a SIOC OP isekai webnovel like ORV can talk about it without being disingenuous. And it's remarkably raw and visceral as a result, because ORV loves SIOC OP isekai webnovels like kdj loves yjh. Fiercely, insanely, like breathing, exactly for what it is. No pretensions.

It's bizarre, because ORV is about love. It's not about love for anything that deserves it. Not for a story with a lot of literary merit, a main character who is a remotely kind or lovable person, or art itself outside of its commercial or philosophical value. kdj really, really, really fucked loved TWS - because it was there, and because it lasted 15 years, and because it was fake, and because it was what he had. He loves yjh because yjh was his only companion in a dark world. That's fiction. Fiction helped him survive, because love is a way of ordering a disordered world.

I'm still reading myself, but ORV seems to be about how we manage to live in a hard world, and how to find it within ourselves to love each other and find meaning in that hard world. I see why kdj's the protagonist: he can find merit in something for existing, and loving it for being there, and he holds onto something because he has it. He sees the value in that. He read it in a book.

TL;DR: ORV is well-executed trashy commercialized art that is so obsessed with trashy commercialized art that it's looped straight back around into being somehow the most raw and visceral depiction of love I've seen in a long time.

[copia]

Cool Cat 🔞 — 3.5k, copia/aurora, temperature play, blowjobs, copia's eternally overheating balls — more tags on ao3

She’d made her excuses to the concerned Ghouls—some of whom knew the plan, all of whom would hear the full tale later that night—and left to fetch the last few ice cubes the building had to offer. The rest, of course, had gone down her Papa’s pants.  Copia pulls his signature move. Aurora decides she can do one better.

for ghostober by @kroas-adtam — day 3: temperature play

[stellewriites]

thanks for the tags @dwarvenagenda & @pricegouge !! 💓

it was fun to check my stats for this year :3

funny to compare how i started my year vs how its ending (fandoms im writing for, fic length range, themes and tropes i’m preferring, etc).

i’ve found that although ive maybe written less and had less interaction in general from readers this year i’ve truly found some amazing people that i consider good friends on here now :’) and i wouldn’t swap that for anything!!

blank copy below and npt: @pricetagged @ohlawdthebirds @sentientcave @syoddeye @gloard @wraithdance @buttdumplin @luvrodite @mikichko @lewistoferrari @disgustingtwitches

[shitouttabuck]

Buddie unintentional cuddles can power me through a whole week, so the prompt 3. Person A waking up to Person B curled up and sleeping on top of them really spoke to me <3

hiya thank u frida and @colonoscopys for sendin this one in (and an anon too!!!) very much distracted me from my wisdom tooth woes. i need to add a disclaimer that this is NOT kink it’s just sleepy drunkenness please trust me lol (rated t even!!!! not horny!!!!!!! just unbelievably stupid!!!!)

bed-sharing prompts: person A waking up to person B curled up and sleeping on top of them

put on a slow dumb show for you | 2.2k | read under cut or on ao3

Buck wakes with the same unshiftable heaviness on his chest that he gets mid-panic attack. Except—his body is incredibly confused, because while the physical pressure is bearing down, making breathing a struggle, every other cell in his body is telling him the opposite: no reason to panic, he’s warm and swaddled and safer than he’s ever been.

His brain scrambles to organise this juxtaposition of sensations. The room is dark, and not unfamiliar, even if he’s spent the night in here less than a handful of times. Eddie’s digital alarm clock is blinking at him, and Eddie’s recently mounted décor of three framed photographs on the far wall is facing him, and Eddie’s entire fucking body is draped over Buck’s and crushing the breath out of him.

Oh. Okay. The second half of his cells were right, then—he’s safe. His heart can stop racing now. And it does, a bit.

But his brain keeps reaching for puzzle pieces, laying them out for assessment before him. His mouth tastes like he licked the bottom of a public trash can, and there’s a sharp twinge behind his temple, and he feels more than a little nauseous.

That’ll be the last five tequila shots Ravi pressed into his hands pre-karaoke. Eddie’d just stumbled off stage, arm-in-arm with Karen, fresh off a You’re Still The One duet that had Karen sniffling half-way through and making grabby-hands at an amused but equally-smitten Hen. Buck had only enough time to whoop as Eddie curtsied dramatically before they were calling his name.

Buck’s good at a lot of things, but singing is not one of them. He’d whined and stammered and straight-up crawled under the table before Ravi, sweet, evil Ravi, had ducked down to join him with a tray of shots. After that is—a bit of a blur, to be honest. There was some Carly Rae Jepsen, maybe? He remembers sliding back into their booth next to Eddie and watching the rest of their friends be disgustingly romantic.

That, coupled with the best friend he’s a little unbearably in love with singing the most hopeful love song ever written, is just a recipe for Buck’s heart to get a little messy. And maybe it made him bolder with his affection than usual? Clingier, anyway. He must’ve been pretty needy for Eddie to let him crash in his bed. But Eddie’s always making sure Buck has what he needs, so that isn’t anything new. And Eddie must’ve been pretty wasted too, if this total lack of personal space is any indication.

Buck doesn’t think Eddie’ll mind waking up like this—a perk of having a physically affectionate straight best friend is that he’s mostly oblivious to a classic no homo situation. He breathes deep, weight on top of him grounding instead of suffocating, lets himself tentatively wrap an arm around Eddie to hold him steady as his chest rises with the depth of his inhale, and closes his eyes again.

Except Eddie snuffles and shifts and then jams his knee directly into Buck’s bladder. After the drinks he put away tonight? Buck’s dangerously full bladder.

“Fuck,” he squeaks, desperately trying to shift Eddie to the side. “Oh—fuck.” He clenches—everything, really, because he’s too old to wet the bed and too fond of the life he has to wet Eddie’s bed, as the aftermath of that really only involves fleeing the country.

In the end, fear of that outweighs any qualms he has about waking a peacefully slumbering Eddie, and he all but shoves him off, gasping a breath of relief when Eddie’s weight shifts from his bladder to his thighs.

“Whu—what?” Eddie slurs, scrambling up with a pinched expression. “Buck? What’s wrong?” He sits up clumsily, straddling Buck’s thighs.

“Nothing,” Buck says, voice strained. “Sorry, I’m sorry, just—really need to piss. And…” He gestures uselessly between them, face contorted in apology.

“Oh,” Eddie frowns. “Okay. Cool.”

“Cool,” Buck echoes, feeling hysterical. “Um, I’m gonna…” He tries to tug his legs free from under Eddie and Eddie clambers off obligingly.

Buck swings himself out of bed and hurries down the hall to the bathroom, cursing himself for everything from waking Eddie to ruining what could’ve been the cuddle session of his dreams to going and fucking falling in love with his best friend in the first place.

He lets the door swing shut behind him and absentmindedly lifts the toilet seat, shoving a hand into his boxers and then just about leaping a foot in the air when the door squeaks open again and Eddie shuffles over to stand behind him, resting his chin on Buck’s shoulder.

“Um,” Buck says, feeling dizzy for reasons that are only partly alcohol related. “Uh.”

“D’you need a hand?” Eddie asks sleepily.

Buck laughs nervously, frozen facing the wall with his hand down his boxers. “Uh. What?”

Eddie yawns, muffling the back-half of it into Buck’s shoulder and crowding closer, plastering himself along Buck’s back. Does Buck have alcohol poisoning? Is this the tequila version of an absinthe hallucination?

“D’you need me to hold it?” Eddie clarifies, nuzzling Buck’s shoulder gently.

Buck chokes on his own spit, body buckling as he pulls his hand out his underwear to thump his own chest. No, he skipped straight past the alcohol poisoning, he’s dead, not even a coma could dream this up.

Eddie steps back, frowning in concern when Buck finally spins to face him, eyes wide. His whole body is taut, stark contrast to the sleepy slump of Eddie’s shoulders.

“Do I—what?” he manages.

“Sorry, I wasn’t, like, trying to baby you,” Eddie says, looking unsure. “But after earlier—”

“Earlier,” Buck echoes. Eddie’s gaze has dropped to south of Buck’s navel, where his boxers have rucked up enough to leave a considerable amount of his happy trail on display. He yanks the waistband up quickly, and Eddie’s head snaps up too, cheeks dusted pink. Then his face, his perfect, beautiful face, falls.

“Wait, Buck—do you not remember? After karaoke?” he asks, taking a step back. “Oh, I—I didn’t think you were that drunk.”

“I wasn’t,” Buck insists, racking his brain, and oh.

The tequila-soaked memory swims up, Buck desperate for the toilet and stubborn about being able to get there himself, despite tripping over his stupid Bambi legs not two steps from their table. Eddie laughing and slinging an arm around him, half-carrying him to the men’s room. Buck standing in front of the urinal, frowning and arms flopping helplessly at his sides.

“Eddie,” he’d whined. “My hands aren’t working.”

Eddie’d laughed again, fond and warm, and asked if he wanted to sit in a stall.

“No,” Buck had pouted. “My zip…” He’d turned to Eddie, lopsided grin and beseeching eyes, and Eddie’d shaken his head and come to stand behind him. He’d undone Buck’s zipper and asked, “Alright?” and Buck had pouted some more.

“Can you help?” he’d asked, mortifyingly pathetic. Eddie’d raised an eyebrow and snorted, and then Buck had said, “Eddieee. These are my nice jeans. My hands don’t work. Your hands are perfect.”

Eddie’d muttered, “Might as well happen like this,” and slipped a hand into Buck’s jeans and—ah. Held his dick while he peed.

“Oh,” Buck says now, voice small. “Fuck, Eds, I’m sorry.”

Eddie narrows his eyes, somewhat blearily. “Why? I wouldn’t have if I didn’t want to.”

“Yeah, but I know—I don’t think we’re on the same page. I don’t—” Buck closes his eyes and presses the heels of his palms into them. “I don’t think it meant the same thing for us.”

“Oh,” Eddie’s face is suddenly unreadable. He crosses his arms over his chest and takes another step back. Buck wants to cry. He basically tricked his best friend into touching him—doesn’t matter if Eddie did it platonically, because drunk or not, genuinely needing help to piss or not, Buck’s pretty sure his own intentions were not all that innocent.

“I’m so sorry, Eds,” he says. “I was drunk as hell—that’s not an excuse, but it won’t happen again. I—I’ll be better at keeping it to myself. The last thing I ever want is to make you feel uncomfortable around me.”

Something passes over Eddie’s face. “Wait,” he says slowly, “you asked me to hold your dick as friends?” There’s an uncertain lilt to the question, like he truly doesn’t know what the answer is anymore.

“Uh,” Buck says. He could use the confusion to wrestle the cat back into the bag and then ship said bag one-way to Nicaragua, but Eddie’s looking a little lost, arms crossed in his black vest and boxers and mismatched socks. Buck can’t be the cause of that. “No. I’m sorry. I wasn’t—I swear I wasn’t trying to trick you. I was just really drunk.”

“Okay,” Eddie says, stepping forward again and reaching out to tug Buck in by the hem of his t-shirt. “What’s the problem then?” He slides a warm hand under Buck’s shirt, smoothing it across his skin.

Buck inhales sharply, blood rushing to his brain and cheeks and cock so quickly he reaches for the porcelain toilet tank behind him to steady himself. “W-wait. Were you holding my dick as friends?”

Eddie blinks at him, disbelief slowly overtaking the slack sleepiness of his facial muscles. “You thought—is that generally something your friends do for you?”

“No, but…” Buck falters. “Why—why did you, then? Why else would you…”

“I was holding your dick because I want to kiss it,” Eddie snaps, and then claps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide and horrified. “I want to kiss you,” he amends. “You, not your—I mean, sure, that too, but. Can you say something.”

The many million times Buck has daydreamed and fantasised and wished for this, he’s never anticipated fuzzy patches in his memory of it. But these things are clear: waking up with Eddie plastered to him like he wants to touch Buck at every possible point, Eddie following him in here unprompted and pressing up against him with unchecked affection, because even in his sleepy state Eddie just wants to make sure Buck has what he needs, even if what he needs is help holding his dick in a context that’s soft and sleepy and miles from sexual.

“You came in here to hold my dick,” he says, grin spreading.

Eddie’s cheeks are so rosy, rosier than they’d been with the flush of alcohol, even. “I came in here because I didn’t want your uncoordinated drunk ass pissing all over my bathroom.”

“Aw, Eds, you romantic,” Buck says, stepping closer. Eddie sighs exasperatedly, tilting his face up expectantly anyway. But, oh—

“Did we kiss already?” Buck asks, heart dropping. “Do I not remember?”

Eddie brings up one large palm to rub Buck’s sternum gently. “Nah. Didn’t seem like the right time. I kinda—I wanted to do that not-drunk.”

“Oh,” Buck says, sagging with relief. “Good.” Eddie gives him a sleepy, wonky smile, and Buck says, “I’m not drunk now.”

Eddie huffs a laugh, stepping back and patting Buck’s chest. “Nope, just hungover and harbouring the most toxic tequila-flavoured morning breath anyone’s ever had.”

“Don’t forget desperate to pee,” Buck grins. “You gonna help a guy out?” He flaps his arms limply, batting his lashes at Eddie.

Eddie grumbles unintelligibly, lips twitching with amusement as he bodily rearranges Buck to face the toilet again. Buck melts back into the cradle of his arms, safe and sleepy and sated enough that his dick doesn’t do any more than he needs it to right now, even with Eddie’s warm hand wrapped around it.

They stumble back to bed, Buck belatedly remembering he’s not washed his hands but deciding not to care if Eddie doesn’t, and when Buck flops down, Eddie’s right back on top of him.

Buck wheezes as the breath’s punched out of his lungs, and it becomes a laugh, and this time he wraps both arms firmly around Eddie to hold him tight. Eddie exhales into the crook of his neck, breath hot and a little gross, and then lifts his head to press a close-mouthed kiss to the corner of Buck’s lips.

“This one doesn’t count,” he murmurs against Buck’s cheek. “I just can’t believe you thought I wanted to hold your dick as friends, so. It’s an almost-kiss. An IOU. Tomorrow I’m gonna kiss you till one of us passes out. Not as friends.”

“As enemies,” Buck whispers solemnly and then grunts when Eddie digs an elbow into his ribs. “As anything you want, s’long as I can keep the kissing and the dick-holding and—this.” He tightens his arms around Eddie, feeling his chest reverberate against Buck’s as he laughs.

“Deal,” he agrees, nestling closer, messy hair getting in Buck’s mouth as he shifts. “But just so you know what I want—and I don’t mean to skip ahead—though I guess we’re doing the regular dating bases all out of order anyway—” He sighs, deep and satisfied as he gets comfortable, and says, “I’m ready to have and to dick-hold you every day of the week, you know?”

Buck didn’t know, but now he does, and in eleven months’ time when he and Eddie are saying these words in front of their friends and family, sans penis, not one single person can blame him for lurching forward and kissing the adoring smirk off Eddie’s face miles before poor ordained Bobby gives him the go-ahead. Doing true love in order is overrated, anyway.

[anamateurhumanbeing]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021) Rating: Mature Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Jinx & Vi (League of Legends) Characters: Vi (League of Legends), Vander (League of Legends), Mylo (Arcane: League of Legends), Claggor (Arcane: League of Legends), Ekko (League of Legends) Additional Tags: AU-gust Discord's April Showers Bring M-AU Flowers Mini Challenge 2025, Mentioned Jinx (League of Legends), Episode: s01e03 The Base Violence Necessary for Change (Arcane: League of Legends), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Death, Angst, Whump, Hurt No Comfort, Dead Jinx (League of Legends), Grief/Mourning, Depressing, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Cross-Posted on SquidgeWorld Archive Series: Part 4 of April Showers Bring M-AU Flowers Summary:

Powder explodes while Vi goes to rescue Vander

Also on SquidgeWorld Archive and Fanfiction.net

[orchid-merryweather]

Opening AO3 and opening my own fic that I posted litteraly just earlier today and giggling/kicking my feet as I read it because there's no other fics and I have to write anything I want to read

[galwithalibrarycard]

Title: a little rusty (nothing we can’t do together)

Author: galwithalibrarycard

Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV)

Ship: Henrietta “Hen” Wilson/Karen Wilson

Tags: Learning a language together, Foster Care, Deciding to be Foster Moms Again, Fluff, Season 7 but Pre-Mara, AO3 15th Anniversary Prompts Challenge

Word Count: 456

Synopsis: Hen and Karen practice their Spanish together to help Denny with his homework and come to an important decision about expanding their family. Or, how the Wilsons might have decided to start fostering again, before they took in Mara.

AO3 15th Anniversary Prompts, Day One: Learning a Language Together

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60827482

[grapehyasynth]

just made myself emotional imagining an au where wille is immortal but chooses to have himself made mortal so that he can live a human lifetime with simon 🥲

[littlespoonevan]

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