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norafaye · 1 day ago

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max verstappen x fem!reader

⟢ summary. max wasn’t doing a very good job at being an attentive boyfriend, always busy and not paying you any mind, so when you voice your dismay he gives you exactly what you want.

⟢ contains. slight angst, nsfw, smut : unprotected séx, côckwarming ♡, softdom!max, crybaby!reader, he’s stubborn and mean asf, you ride him in his gaming chair, dirty talk, creampie, begging, mention of alcohol consumption, usage of petnames (e.g. baby, sweetheart, love), wc : 6.4k

nora's ☆ note. peek-a-boo! srry for being gone, this has been in my drafts since jan LMAO. it’s my first time writing something angsty, hopefully it’s up to par w the rest of my writing (o´罒`o) anyway love u all, i’m going through all my work that’s been collecting dust <3

Your feet padded down the endless hallways of the penthouse you currently resided in, searching for Max with a glass of gin in hand. One of his favorites.

The boisterous district of Fontvieille Monaco has gone long quiet as the evening begins to fade in. It was the most treasured part of your day—when the sunset casts over the ocean and how the crowds of people start to diminish slowly one by one. Loud voices and laughter simmering down, back into their homes or into fancy restaurants and bars to enjoy the rest of their night.

Each roll of the blue waves along with the golden disk already beginning to touch the surface ocean water is a view you could never get sick of. The sun slips quickly behind the line of the horizon as it spreads its last rays—stunning hues of oranges and yellows seeping through the windows of your living room, allowing to emit a shadow of your figure on the floor and walls with each step you take as you continue your hunt for your boyfriend.

It is where you feel the utmost of tranquility—the calmness of this environment is a way for you to wind down without having to care for anything else outside of the place you call home, to help wash away any troublesome thoughts. Usually these hours are spent with you and Max watching a movie or making a home cooked meal together. Usually your limbs would be tangled with one another in sacred and intimate ways.

Though this time around, your surroundings don't put you at ease, it doesn’t shake away your worries. In fact, it’s worse than usual.

This current lifestyle by all means, was everything you could ever dream of. You were incredibly lucky to be the partner of someone like Max. The Dutchman who is portrayed and misunderstood as a villain half of the time is actually a gentleman.

Your lover was so genuine and kind, as sweet as the gleam of sun that is currently kissing your skin—the warmth filling your whole body, bringing an overwhelming sense of comfort. It’s the sole reason why you fell in love with him, and you fell hard.

His own love for you is like a garden—blossoming into heavenly flowers within his fast beating heart.

He dotes on you, cares for you when you need it most, like tending to a single daisy amongst a field of grass. Nurturing and watering it with the most fondness, just like he does when kissing you, and god his kisses are to die for. His lips soft against yours like a warm embrace, so tender and delicate, melting into each other's souls. It always felt as if it were the last, as if the world was crumbling beneath the bottom of your feet. Nothing around you mattered, just the two of you in that space sealing in the gap.

He’s a race car driver for crying out loud—bound to be blunt and direct. But the persona he shows to the crowds of people and millions behind a tv screen is only half of who he truly is. Sure he can have a nasty temper at times during the highlights of his career but those were all under heavy stressful circumstances. In no way shape or form has his impatience and anger on track reach you from behind closed doors…until recently.

That familiarity of admiration for you has suddenly turned into rushed and quick pecks on the lips, hugs lasting only a fracture of a second. There wasn’t any long lasting gentleness to those intimate actions anymore, no adoration laced behind them.

This switch in attitude has you dwelling on it in an unhealthy way. Concerns filling your brain as he hardly devoted any time to you recently. Perpetually blowing you off with an “I’m busy.” and other broken promises to make it up to you whenever you’d suggest going out together for the day.

You genuinely didn't mind it at first, you out of everyone understood how important his career was to him. But, he’s constantly conducting business calls, in emergency meetings, or practicing on the race simulator. You were aching for him, in more ways than one.

It’s lonely enough with him having to travel all around the world 12 times a year with an extra addition of other flights for further business matters. And, with your own work you aren’t usually there to accompany him more than you’d wish. So with the rare occasions of him actually having a break with you at home and to have him not pay any attention to you was, without any exaggeration…starting to annoy you.

In contrast to the beautifully painted sky outside your windows showcasing its eternal beauty of lovely colors, your mood was somber and gloomy. Almost like the soon to be night sky beneath a cascade of iridescent stars on the sandy shores of Monaco—the air thick with a cold breeze and scent of salt, the feeling melancholic.

With an intake of a breath through your nose, the tracks of your light footsteps halt when you finally reach the blackwood door that leads into his office you were positive he was in. You make sure to knock three times—an order you mustn't forget, not wanting to walk in on him potentially streaming a game or being in a meeting with his camera on.

Upon hearing a faint, “Come in.” from the other side of the door, you enter the office with caution. Staring into the dreary space, anyone would be aware of how grim it was; pens and papers scattered across his work desk messily, the trophies resting on the display shelf held a sheer layer of dust, and the cold temperature didn't make it any better. The atmosphere alone coerced goosebumps to emerge onto your skin.

Max himself looked disarrayed, sat in the race simulator on the other side of the room. You walk over to stand beside the makeshift car seat to get a better look at him. All the noticeable tell-tale signs didn't go unnoticed by you, he was pushing himself too much. It was really displeasing to see him not taking care of himself. His light brown hair framed his forehead with eye bags digging into his skin, and there was a prominent little line in between his eyebrows—indicating that he’s been focusing for too long.

“Hey, everything okay?” Setting down the cup of gin on the wooden desk concernedly, you pull off his headset and brush your hand through his locks—pushing them back into place. Max doesn’t tear his eyes off the screens of his multiple monitors, barely sparing you a glance or reacting to the contact of your touch like he normally would.

“Hi baby, yeah…yeah ‘m alright,” he mumbles slowly, almost as if he didn’t register what you said.

“I got you a drink.” A frown makes way onto your features when he doesn’t say anything after that, not even acknowledging the alcohol in front of him. With a tilt of your head you wait expectedly, continuing to burn holes on the side of his face—like you were trying to read into his thoughts. “You coming to bed soon? You should get some rest.”

“Mhm…in a bit.”

You didn’t know why you thought the outcome would be anything different. The monotone lack of response from him had you sneering as a combination of anguish and irritation consumed your body. He’s still looking at the screens, an intense focus in his irises—a need to complete the race laps of the simulator even with his headphones off.

You knew then that he’s not honest with his intentions, being dismissive as usual and leading you to the feeling of neglect yet again. Though this time you’ve reached your limit, patience running thin.

Whilst huffing out an annoyed breath you toss the headset into his lap without a care, “Liar.”

That was a terrible mistake.

His reaction was just about immediate, bewildered at your sudden outburst. “What was that?” Max finally turns his head, eyes narrowing to look at you as you saunter off to the door. You intended to just retire into your shared bedroom alone, tears already pooling at your lash line from all the pent-up frustration with your back facing him.

“If you knew what was good for you, you wouldn’t dare to walk out that door.”

Halting your footsteps, a shiver bolted up your spine, the previous anger briskly replaced with unease. You’d like to think it was from the cool air that was blowing from the vents instead of his bleak words.

“Get back over here,” he spoke assertively, voice low and ominous—like he was disappointed in your unexpected change of mood, making your skin crawl with uncertainty.

It was a dangerous gamble between wanting to defy him or to finally have all of his attention after two weeks. But you knew better than to test his warnings and tolerance especially after hearing that irked tone. Blinking away the unshed tears, you steel yourself to shift your body and face him again.

“Now. Sweetheart, don't make me repeat myself.”

Your breath hitches, this was probably the first time in days where he’s held eye contact intently with you for longer than twenty seconds and it just about has you stumbling over your feet. The icy glare spoke for itself, already irritated with the way you lashed out at him, which is rare coming from you. He’s got a pounding headache and the last thing he wants to deal with is your little attitude.

His mean demeanor nearly made your eyes water again by the time you returned to his side, following his order. Within a split second, Max chucks the headphones to the ground bitterly. The loud clank! it makes when it hits the wooden floor has you jolting out of your skin, his annoyance radiating off of the small scowl on his face and actions.

In swift movements he pulls you down to straddle his lap without a word, a squeak of surprise leaves your lips since you didn’t have time to process what was happening.

The proximity has your heart skipping a beat, a rush of heat spreading throughout your entire body with nervousness. It was slightly cramped in the space between him and the pc steering wheel—leaving you little to no room to breathe, chest brushing against his to not have your back pressed into the metal material.

You felt that familiar ache in your stomach building up from how close he was and how he was holding your waist to keep you steady. It really didn’t take much for you especially since you’ve missed his warmth—his big veiny hands on your body. Your mind begins to whirl already, making you desperate for more right away, it was easy to tell from your quickened breath.

He observes your small frame all but quivering atop of him, dressed solely in one of his t-shirts that was evidently larger on you and a pair of panties peeking from underneath.

“What’s gotten into you huh?” His eyes lingered a while longer on your bare thighs that were scantily covered. He strokes it with his hands lightly, the contact igniting a trail of fire in its wake on your supple skin before his sharp gaze snapped to return to your face, “always interrupting me.”

You can practically hear the erratic rhythm of your heart beating in your ears because of his fierce scrutinizing eyes, and it doesn't benefit you in the slightest when the expensive cologne he knows drives you crazy wafts into your nostrils—making it even harder to concentrate. The air gets thicker by the second around your heated bodies.

“What’s gotten into me?“ You’re muttering under your breath, looking everywhere but his burning stare to try and rein yourself, “Max you…you hardly have time for me anymore.”

He’s a busy man, engrossed and occupied in his job. You get it, you truly do, you understand the fear he must bear of not wanting to be last. Carrying that title of being number one is both a blessing and a curse. It doesn't help that he's his own worst critic, correcting what he thinks he could do better by practicing on the simulator as much as he possibly can—it’s the only thing that occupies his mind.

The amount of pressure he must feel has to be overbearing—all the more for a non-stressful winter break, he’s been losing too much sleep and he couldn’t even bother to mind your concerns. All you wanted was to take care of him in different ways, you’ve tried for days but those days turned into two weeks and you’ve had enough.

One of his hands smooths over your back, humming gruffly while the other jerks your chin to force you to look at him with a firm grip so you don't pull away, “Y’know I have to be on top of my work right?”

“Yes! Of course I do but—“

“I’m doing this for us.” He then takes both of his palms, dragging them down your sides tantalizingly to grasp your hips. Max kneads the flesh briefly before guiding you with a secure hold to have your clothed heat rub at his crotch that's already flinching, growing hard underneath you. He does so almost mockingly, knowing just what you want and eliciting a shocked choked gasp from you, “working so I could get you the things you want.”

Your small hands went to hold onto his broad shoulders at the unexpected friction, it was getting tougher to keep yourself grounded—body trembling with the effort to stay in check, to stop yourself from grinding down on him greedily like you so desperately wanted.

“Max,” your face is sullen as you speak just above a whisper, he was mere inches away, so close you can almost taste him. You could just…lean forward a bit, claim his lips and have him again, “I don’t care about that, I just want to spend—“

“Time with me.” He interrupts again, stealing the rest of the sentence out of your mouth like he’s heard it a hundred times before and you can't seem to get snarky with him at the moment because of the way he was gradually rolling your groin against his. A rush of butterflies stirs in your tummy from the staggering sensation.

Max reaches under the hem of his baggy shirt that's draped over you with an exasperated exhale, his touch ticklish as his fingers dance along the soft skin near the band of your underwear. You can start to feel your body seeking more of his attention, so close to being obtainable you can taste it on the tip of your tongue.

“Is that it? Fine. If that’s the case, then you’re going to sit still.”

His words pique your interest at once that you seem to ignore his condescending behavior—content with just getting to be in his presence again.

He takes notice of your tongue peeking out to wet your lips in expectancy, earning a flicker of amusement on his features before quickly masking it back with a stoic expression. You can feel him trail lower and lower until the tips of his fingers reach your sensitive bud to circle it delicately over your panties, almost feather-light to tease you. The response from your body was instant, mewling and arching your back. Your clothed breasts were now flush against his chest, allowing more warmth to exchange between the two of you.

“All you wanted was to get your little pussy wet huh?” He lets out a scoffing chuckle, making a wave of humiliation wash over you from the way he puts it. You shake your head in denial, not wanting to give him the satisfaction that you are in fact sexually frustrated.

“N-Ngh! No!” But he can see right through your miserable bluff, especially with your heavy puffs of breath and stammering.

You were utterly touch-starved that your underwear was already dampening under his touch with your growing arousal. All from just sitting on his lap and light traces of contact.

“No? Then why are you soaking my fingers right now?” A sense of pride always filled his body knowing the affect he had on you, to have you heat up and slip into that sweet headspace with just a few ministrations. “Aww my sweet baby, you just needed a bit of my attention? Is that it?”

Max continues to work you up with a lazy smirk on his lips, watching you closely for each little face twisting reaction, “answer me sweetheart.” He lightly taps at your clit, another chuckle almost slipping from his throat when you sit up straighter because of it.

“Yes Max, I…want you.” Your voice comes out a bit whiny than you intended but you don’t seem to care because of the way your brain is clouding, craving more without question.

“There’s my good girl.”

With your lower lip sucked between your teeth you brace yourself for more, blood pumping with excitement. He was finally going to fuck you like you’ve been wanting for days, right?

Wrong.

What you didn’t expect was to be fully naked, straddling his cock whilst he ignored you.

Dumbfounded was an understatement.

As you watch the clock on the other side of the office—perched on top of the door behind him, your sanity quickly dissolves with each passing tick. It took you about ten minutes to realize the vast amount of self-control he held. So while you were sitting on his lap, firm length sheathed deeply inside you—Max simply returned to the simulator, superbly content with this proposal. You on the other hand, couldn’t stop the tremor of your thighs.

Breaking the tense silence with an unsatisfied grumble, you wrap your arms around his neck in hopes to get more direct contact of his skin on yours. Your frame was taut and rigid above him, trying your damn hardest to not make any sudden movements like he ordered.

Being able to finally feel him again like this but not allowed to do anything about it has you on edge, you eagerly wanted—no needed some sort of relief. So with much contemplation your movements get bolder with a grind of your hips, though it only makes him give you a stern look in exchange, enough for you to force into a stop at once.

He clicks his tongue in disapproval, giving a light smack on your plush ass as a warning. “Stop fuckin’ moving,” he hisses through gritted teeth, still annoyed with you and it had your heart aching uncomfortably.

You should be the one that was upset but you felt so vulnerable and deprived, especially with him still being fully clothed, his shorts and briefs pushed down just enough to free his cock making you feel all the more exposed and in the mercy of his hands. You so miserably needed more of him, all of him.

“Max please,” you can’t help but beg now, knowing that it’ll usually weaken his resolve with that angelic voice of yours, “I can’t.”

It doesn't seem to deter him though. A sense of disappointment engulfs you, he was so hellbent on teaching you a lesson that you know you don't even deserve.

“You can and you will. What happened to being my good girl?” His hands never leave the steering wheel behind you and his voice, not even in the slightest—doesn’t waver whenever he speaks, practically like he was unaffected with your warm wet cunt wrapped around him, “besides, isn’t this what you wanted? Don’t make me punish you.”

He’s mocking you. You can almost see his lips quirking up into a smile as you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck with no retaliation afterward, so eager to please him.

The only thing you can possibly do was snuggle closer for the little bit of warmth his clothed body can radiate in the cold office and listen to the loud roar of V6 engines coming from the game. With tightly shut eyes, you try to think of something to distract you but nothing works as your mind parades itself from the feeling of his fat tip kissing your cervix, stuffed full.

This was already punishing enough, none of this was painful oh no—it was the complete opposite. But, the pleasure rising up and not having your desires fulfilled was tearing you apart. It was borderline torture.

The stretch makes slick from your pussy drool on his girth, a mess pooling straight down his balls and whenever he would move his feet on the pedals of the simulator—his thigh jumps, making you shift on his lap and bounce ever so slightly on his shaft. It has you whining against his ear like a bitch in heat.

Max’s eyes burn into the screen of his pc after perceiving the sound of your soft whimper and whines against his ear, breath tickling his skin and making it prick up. He always loved any noises that he could pull from you, his possessiveness and ego feeds off it. He's transfixed—entranced by how sweet it sounds. He can’t lie, he did miss you. Missed having you close like this, desperate and easily acquiescent for him, your soft voice all breathless and needy.

Just the feeling and connection of you.

He clenched his jaw when your velvet walls fluttered around him, his own self-control was close to snapping. But being an asshole just to spite you seemed more pleasing, he purposely moved his legs more forcefully on the pedals to elicit more of those pretty little cries of pleasure.

Though he completely freezes up the moment he hears you sniffling against his neck, hot tears hitting his shirt seconds after.

Max knows he's been a shit boyfriend but he's too prideful to admit it, so frustrated and harsh while his sole center of attention was on how to be better, better, better with his work that he seemed to forget your own needs. He’s conflicted at the moment as he thinks about it, infuriated at himself for taking it out on you.

You were trying so hard for him, to be his good girl that you always were despite your own discontentment and bitterness to his treatment towards you. You didn’t want to upset him any further even if this was his own doing, it made both his heart stammer and his cock twitch from how kind you are to him. He didn't deserve you.

When you feel that certain jerk inside of you, your one track mind really couldn't stop your lips from speaking once more through your small sniffles. “P-Please Max,” you attempt again with hesitation, lip bitten raw from your constant chewing, “I can’t take this much longer.”

His self-restraint finally snaps.

Your ears perk and pick up the sound of him sipping, completely downing the glass of alcohol that was disregarded earlier in one go. He hisses harshly after the burn cascades down his throat with each gulp and then leans forward, muscles flexing slightly as he places the now empty cup on the desk with a soft clunk before turning off the gaming system.

The unexpected silence causes your stomach to twist in a knot, no longer capable of hearing the thunderous engines of formula one cars—just his ragged breathing and ticking of the clock.

Anticipation nags in the back of your mind, a hundred things running all at once while you sit there pliantly and unmoving, silent tears cascading down your face.

You can't help but think that you’ve surely done it this time, you’ve pissed him off now haven’t you?

“So ungrateful for all the things I give you, hm?” He eventually speaks amidst the strained quietness. The words he utters out didn’t hold any actual malice, voice softer now. His anger giving away to more vulnerability as his hands went to pry your face away from his neck, holding it in his palms gently.

It ached to see you hurt, the pain in your features mirrored in his own heart. His hands trembled subtly while he cradled your soft cheeks, thumbs brushing away the salty tears that fell—trying to comfort and soothe you, “always complaining.”

You lean further back slightly to get a better view of his features, seeing a mixture of emotions swirling in his irises.

Pity. Sadness. Longing.

You could feel it with the way he held you with care, you could feel it in the air—through his soft breath against your skin. Your own heart tugs a bit when you realize that he was feeling guilty. Guilty for doing this to you, for mistreating you.

“I miss you.” You hiccup whilst his thumbs continue their calming motions on the apple of your cheeks.

He focuses on your pretty face stained with wet tears before brushing some loose strands of hair framing your face, tucking it behind your ear and he couldn’t help but marvel at how cute you looked. You were nuzzled into his hands like a kicked little puppy—doe glassy eyes staring into his own.

Max lets out a shaky breath out his nose when a pout adorns your pretty pink lips, he wants to kiss it away, hear those moans you’d make against him. But first, he really needs to apologize for his negligence.

He coos at your broken voice, torn between his self pity and yearning for your presence even if he didn't deserve the slightest bit of your leniency, “‘m right here baby.” His chest continues to sting as your tears increase, the weight of his words hitting you harder than he expected.

He knows that his reassurance has touched a nerve, that you've been longing to hear those words for days. That he was never really gone, he still cared for you the same, just too stubborn about his own emotions. While keeping his tender hold on your face, his gaze never leaves your watery eyes. He wants you to feel his unwavering love, a necessity to put your mind at ease, “let me kiss you, can I?”

A soft hum coming from your throat and a small nod is enough confirmation for him to pull you into a fulfilling gentle kiss, one that you were familiar with, the kind that you yearned for so severely. The adoration was felt again as he put much effort and devotion behind it. It felt so good being cherished like this again.

With a pleased sigh passing through you, Max tilts his head—removing one of his hands from your face to hold your nape, intending to deepen the kiss even further. He takes the opportunity to push his tongue past your lips when you part your mouth.

The taste buds on your own wet muscle begin to flood with the flavor of bitter alcohol as it dances and tangles along with his. It was all so, so intoxicating. And he revels at how your lips always manage to be plump and soft, as tasty as he remembered. He mutters against them gently yet firm as he speaks, trying to convey his conflicted feelings, “so sorry my love, ‘m so sorry.”

He places a few chaste kisses on you before pulling away slightly so he can stare up at you for a moment, his pupils tracing every inch of your naked body. He can't get over how beautiful you look with desire and need whirling in your eyes. His heart stutters again with so much regret when you sniffle and hug his shoulders, pressing closer like you were trying to meld into one.

A small glimmer of light breaks through the storm of emotions when the sound of a sheepish giggle comes from your mouth. The lighthearted noise that he’s grown to love over the years of knowing you filling the tense air. Your saccharine voice overflows his ears with words of forgiveness, too compassionate for your own good. He muses at the fact that even through the stressful and pressuring times—the neglect, you were always there to welcome him with open arms.

Max rids the confines of fabric still clinging to his body with a sense of urgency, like a man on a mission to make it up to you. He tosses them to join the pile of your clothes forgotten somewhere on the floor before returning his mouth on you, this time on the column of your neck, peppering it. Starved and parched for you, just as much as you were for him.

His kisses are hot and wet, tongue lapping at your skin while his hands wander over your chest. He can feel you responding to his touches once more, pulse quickening just beneath his fingertips, your breathing coming out in faint gasps.

Small “I love you’s.” tumble from him like a mantra without stopping his focus on your skin. The once pained expression on your face now changed into an alluring one within ticks—cheeks flushed, eyes blown wide, and mouth slightly parted from all the attention.

It only fueled his hunger even more, growing impossibly harder inside of your pussy. “So fuckin’ pretty, I could stare at you like this forever.” His lips work their way up to your ear, licking the shell of it provokingly, the action has the hair on your arms standing stiffly. Max’s voice was direct and rough as he whispers, “fuck yourself onto me, go on baby you can move for me now.”

It's like a fire switch has gone off in your brain. At last, you lift yourself up until his flushed pink tip peeks out to the point of almost slipping out and slowly sink back down. Both of your mouths fall open to let out a low satisfied moan in unison. Your eyelids flutter, half-lidded now, barely being kept open with furrowed brows as you gape back at him.

“Haah!—“ your breath gets caught in your throat as he braces his feet on the floor and plunges his hips up to meet yours when you lift yourself again, stuffing his fat cock into your soaking heat in one instantaneous push. Your small hands claw on his shoulders in surprise, leaving red scratch marks on his pale skin.

“Breathe for me baby…yeahhhhh just like that. I can see you dripping for me, my needy girl look at you—so fuckin’ wet,” he bites his lip to stifle the guttural moan that threatened to slip at the sight before his eyes, “Missed you so much too—shit.”

He continues to run his filthy mouth with a vein protruding his neck and stills his hips so you can set your own pace, your walls shuddering around him in response to his all of his words. Whilst you repeat the same action again and again, you’re already not able to formulate a single thought from the mind numbing sensations. Just mentally saturated at being filled to the hilt over and over and over.

“F-fuuuuuck, so good Max—feels so good!”

“That’s it, just focus on feeling good, ‘m here s’okay. You have me now.” He devours your mouth once more, this time with great fervor—his tongue exploring every inch of the wet cavern more hastily, tasting every bit of what you can give.

He swallows each and every little sound coming from you, every whimper and whine because of each drag of his length, feeling it reverberating through his mouth down to his chest—now full of warmth and contentment.

Max’s hands on your breasts continue to squeeze, fondling your mounds until his calloused fingers pinches and rolls your nipples between them to pebble up in the cool air, adding a jolt of pleasure in the mix. The feeling of you taking him inside, the sounds of your sweet gasps—it drives him insane. He groans deeply, breaking the kiss to have his head fall back against the chair.

You’re fucking him so good all of his tension and worries are melting away from each roll of your hips. Maybe a little too good that he’s biting the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from ramming into you like a madman.

"Keep using me however you want sweetheart, don’t stop ‘till you're satisfied,” he mutters, ragged and hoarse.

You can hardly focus, it was too much for you to endure. All you can make out is how good he feels, how his mushroom head hits that spongy spot with the way you’re taking him in so deep at this angle. This is everything you've ached for, so it’s no surprise how easily you’re falling apart so early on along with him. So overly sensitive and responsive to each stroke of his stiff cock, being able to feel every ridge and vein.

The observation of him splitting you open was incredibly arousing to gawk at. Strings of slick connects where the two of you continuously meet, hot and sticky with a translucent white painting the base of his length as you continue to cream around him.

He swears he feels like he’s floating, going absolutely delirious, and it’s obvious with the way he wouldn’t shut his mouth. Max always gets this way from the taste and feel of you, it’s like his mind couldn't fathom anything else around him.

“You're so good baby, so good for me," he praised, palms going to grip at your hips tightly. He’s clutching you so securely as if he can't bear to let go, leaving crescent shaped indents on your hips from his blunt nails. "You love this, you love being filled up by me, don't you?"

“Y-Yes, Max," you moan out needily, your own fingers digging into his shoulders, "I love it so much. Mnnh—so big.”

His grip on your hips tightens as he tries to hold back, to prolong the need to just pound into you, his breath coming in ragged, shallow pants. The sound of wet plaps! from skin slapping against each other fills the office walls when you move a little faster—air thickening around you further with the smell of sex. His brain clouds, losing himself in the pleasure you bring upon him. He can feel his willpower slowly giving way to his desire and need for you, but he wants you to have this.

The view of you riding him and your sweet whimpers was making it harder for him to control himself. He shuts his eyes and clenches his jaw to focus on not coming so quickly, “You're so tight, so perfect. Can’t even fuckin’—hah! Can hardly think straight.”

He makes it a point to hold out for you, so you can come at the same time just how he always likes. But you whine and suddenly stop, legs starting to strain. The vulgarity of his words, the sensations, it was all getting too overwhelming.

Max groans at the loss of pleasure, reopening his eyes to look at your flushed disheartened face, “What's wrong baby?”

“Need you,“ you whine frustratedly and press your forehead against his, swapping breaths as you both pant, “I can’t…”

"Need my help?" He grabs your hands to place it behind you so you can grasp at the steering wheel, this allows you more leverage and support to slam down onto him, “Lean back and hold onto this sweetheart, hold on tightly.”

For extra measure he snakes a strong arm around your back, holding your waist sturdily as he helps guide you to fucking him more harshly now.

“Oh f-fuck! You’re s-so deep!” You tip your head back, bearing your hickey covered neck to him. He almost came from the sight alone, a low groan bullying it’s way out of his mouth.

“Yeah? That’s better isn’t it baby?” He asks, his voice soft but there’s a clear hint of teasing, a playful mocking in his tone. Though his voice is finally starting to waver, all of it sends him into overdrive as he draws close to bursting at the seams. His fingers from his free hand tease the skin of your inner thigh, making your hips stutter slightly. “Oooh, s-shit just felt you squeeze around me, you like that?”

“No teasing Max,” you whine and cinch your brows together, looking back at him with a small scowl but it looks more of a pout in his eyes, “touch me please.”

“Demanding now are we?” Deciding to not be mean anymore than he already has been tonight because of how precious you looked—he licks the calloused pad of his thumb and presses it harshly against your clit, neglected and swollen. He circles it, spreading his spit and your wetness slowly. You shriek at the added stimulation and grip the steering wheel so hard your knuckles turn white.

“My good girl, my everything, all I ever need.” He’s babbling again when your pussy clamps down on him at the praise. Both of your brains seemingly go fuzzy yet in tune with one another, only thinking of one thing and it’s that sweet release.

With each moan from you, a sharp groan and grunt comes from him. His own hips begin to move with you again, no longer capable of keeping still, his thrusts matching each lift of your body. The pleasure builds and builds, becoming almost unbearable.

“So. Fucking. Good.” He punctuated his words with each buck, becoming more sloppy as time goes on—hanging so dangerously close to the edge. And he knew that you were almost there too, he could feel it in the way you were moving against him desperately, clenching and shaking around him. "You're close, aren't you, baby?"

Incoherent babbles of yes's and pleas were all you can respond with. Each drive of his hips were now constricted because of how hard you squeezed around him, your walls pulsing like a vice as your body goes taut.

He didn't stop, couldn't stop, he needed you too badly, needed to feel you as you fell apart for him, all because of him. His thumb rubs more vigorously against your bundle of nerves to heighten the pressure in your core, ready to burst at any given moment.

“Y-Yeah I know I'm right there with you, come on baby,” he urges and leans forward, licking and speaking against your ear, knowing that it’ll drive you even closer to your peak, “I want you to come for me–come with me.”

Your vision begins to blur, nerves on fire as you can only focus on the blissful pleasure. The moans coming out of you now louder and more high-pitched as you chase for your orgasm. He angles his hips and snaps up into you harder, now hitting your sweet spot more incessantly. You suddenly go quiet, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you come around him in a silent scream.

“Holy shit, gooooood fucking girl,” his concentration switches to pure ecstasy when he watches you shake atop of him, he can feel everything—every muscle and contraction around him, it was enough for the heat burning in his abdomen to explode along with you. The base of his cock throbs as spurts of cum shoots inside of you while a guttural moan rumbles deep within his throat.

His thrusts begin faltering as he tries to coax the most of your orgasm out of you, pushing his cum further into you as much as he can until the fat head of his tip burns in overstimulation.

You collapse onto his chest blissed out and limp when you finally come down from your high. Completely fulfilled again as he hugs you to his sticky body, not caring to pull out, keeping you plugged full of his cum. His chest heaves against your head, rising and falling almost like a soothing lullaby, sitting there and just listening to each others heavy breathing.

“I’m sorry again my love,” he speaks after a while of calming quiteness.

“Shhh don’t talk about it anymore,” you chide playfully, resting your chin on his chest to stare up at him, “just don’t ignore me like that again.”

“Oh I don’t plan on it.”

The familiarity of your bond re-emerges. The tension and hurt from earlier is entirely gone, replaced by a sense of comfort and ease with you lax in his arms. His eyes drinks in the sight of you with a content smile plastered on his face. He’ll have to book a getaway for the rest of his winter break and take you over and over to make up for lost time.

#┆ ˚₊· ⁀➷ 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐀 writes : fics!#animated dividers from @/cafekitsune #formula 1 #formula 1 smut #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x reader smut #formula 1 x y/n #f1 #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 x reader smut #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x reader smut #max verstappen x y/n

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astrobuggy · 1 day ago

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I really want Lunar to find stuff about himself now that he is living alone

For example(s):

□ They start to actually express themselves willingly now that they know nobody's in their vicinity that they could accidentally harm

■ Lunar starts to actually enjoy living by himself. Finding that there are benefits to it (he can finally have a whole room to nutella without being judged 😤🙌)

□ He finds a job he actually enjoys and is excited to go into whenever the hour comes

- Like an organization that helps teens (I saw this in a post, and I love that idea heavy!) with problems like emotions or family problems. And he's actually so happy to be there since now he can freely express himself since they aren't kids (exactly kids)

- Or Lunar opens up a small business that becomes a local store that the community he's built it around knows him and his store immediately whenever it's mentioned. Like a flower shop! Lunar does have nature powers at this point. Plus, it'd be such a great way to practice his powers

- Combined idea >:D! Lunar opens up a flower shop as a side hussle while his main job is the organization. And during his working hours at the shop, the teens he looks after come around his shop and just hang out with him there. Assisting him with the workload the shop provides. Lunar teaches them how to plant and take care of plants. Lunar does actually pay them a decent amount for the work they help him out with (I kinda see the business booming since Lunar can literally create flowers and change its colors willingly, only if the plant wants to). They come around so often that Lunar made them a hangout area at the back of the store. They appreciate it heavily (they try not to give Lunar such a hard time as payment)

■ Lunar finds a group of friends outside of the pizzaplex (FINALLY 😭🙏)

□ He starts to actually have a hygiene cycle. Lunar finds out he enjoys baths over showers. He finds bubble baths and bath bombs very enjoyable and fun to play with. And now he smells like vanilla with a mix of blueberries

■ They find hobbies other than gaming and watching shows (or nutella commercials 😐) Like gardening or even baking (shit, maybe even drawing, like how he used to during 2022)

I just need Lunar to be happy during this arc. PLEASE 😭🙏🙏 Ik I ain't getting that with the shit he's dealing (the astrals)

#lunar and earth show #the lunar and earth show #sun and moon show #the sun and moon show #tsams lunar #laes lunar #Lunar goes on a self-discovery journey #and finds out hes actually happier without his family #and without the astrals being a lurking problem he has to always worry about #ESPECIALLY TRAINING 😒

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ghostlyreader09 · 17 hours ago

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snapshots of love

kento nanami x (y/n)

enjoy!!! (i had yellow by coldplay in mind for this so give it a listen for a better experience!)

age 5: the garden grew twice

Kento Nanami was a quiet boy even at five, one who preferred the rhythm of solitude to the clamor of the playground. He found comfort in routine: the deliberate brushing of crumbs off a table, the orderly rows of books in the school library, the steady sound of his grandmother humming while she watered her garden. The world was large, loud, and unpredictable, but here in her small backyard, with the soil under his knees and the scent of marigolds in the air, he could carve out a piece of peace.

You arrived like a pebble breaking the still surface of a pond. His grandmother had called you over from next door, her words soft and warm as she introduced the neighbor’s granddaughter. Your sunhat was comically oversized, the wide brim flopping over your forehead. Dirt already streaked your cheeks, evidence of earlier mischief, but your eyes sparkled beneath the shade of the hat. Kento stared, unsure of what to make of you.

“I’m here to help!” you declared, hands on your hips, as though you’d been assigned a mission of the utmost importance. Without waiting for an invitation, you dropped to your knees beside him, your skirt pooling in the dirt.

Kento said nothing. He liked quiet, and you didn’t seem to understand the concept.

“These seeds,” you said, holding up a handful of tiny kernels, “are going to turn into the biggest sunflowers you’ve ever seen.”

“They’re just seeds,” he replied, his voice flat.

You gasped, as though he’d insulted something sacred. “They’re not just anything! They’re magic. But only if we treat them right.”

“Magic?”

“Yup.” You nodded, utterly serious. “You have to talk to them. Cheer them on. Plants grow better when they feel loved.”

Kento frowned, skeptical. His grandmother had never spoken to her flowers—she simply tended to them with care. He returned to pulling weeds, dismissing your words as nonsense. But you were undeterred. With a dramatic flourish, you buried a seed in the soil, patted the dirt gently, and leaned down until your nose was almost touching the ground.

“You’re going to grow so tall,” you whispered to the seed, your voice soft and encouraging. “You’ll reach the sky one day.”

Kento watched, equal parts amused and baffled. Your determination was infectious, though he would have never admitted it aloud.

“Your turn,” you said, holding out a single seed to him.

He hesitated, his hand hovering over the seed in your palm. The idea of speaking to a plant seemed absurd. But your gaze was expectant, your eyes wide with the kind of belief only children possessed, and he couldn’t bring himself to refuse. Taking the seed, he pressed it into the soil and stared at it for a long moment.

“Grow,” he mumbled awkwardly.

You giggled, the sound as bright as sunlight breaking through clouds. “See? Now it knows you care.”

Weeks passed, and the garden bloomed as it always did. Kento had all but forgotten about the sunflowers until the day his grandmother called him outside. The air smelled of earth and rain, and the garden was alive with color. But it was the sunflowers that stopped him in his tracks.

Two rows of golden giants swayed gently in the breeze, their faces turned toward the sun. The first row was neat and orderly, the product of his grandmother’s careful planting. But the second row—slightly smaller, slightly wilder—was unmistakably yours.

Kento’s grandmother marveled at the sight, running her fingers along the sturdy stalks. “I didn’t plant these,” she said, her voice tinged with wonder. “How did they grow?”

Kento knew the answer but kept it to himself. He thought of your whispers, your dirt-streaked cheeks, the way you had spoken to the seeds as though they were friends. “(Y/N) told them to grow,” he muttered under his breath.

The next time you visited, he showed you the sunflowers, their golden heads bobbing in the wind. You beamed, your pride as radiant as the blooms themselves. “See? I told you they’d grow. They just needed someone to believe in them.”

Kento didn’t reply. He wasn’t good with words, especially when faced with your boundless enthusiasm. But he felt something stir in his chest as he looked at you, your eyes alight with joy.

It wasn’t love—not yet. He didn’t have the words for it, didn’t understand the quiet pull he felt toward you. But in that moment, standing beside you in the garden, he thought that maybe, just maybe, there was something magical about you after all.

Every time he passed by the sunflowers that summer, he thought of you. And every time, he felt that strange, inexplicable warmth bloom in his chest. Though he didn’t know it then, it was the first seed of something much bigger, something that would grow in the quiet corners of his heart, waiting for the right moment to bloom.

————

age 8: the day the sky broke

Kento Nanami wasn’t the sort of boy who ran headlong into chaos. He was deliberate, careful, and observant, already displaying a maturity that made him seem older than his ten years. At a glance, he might have seemed stoic or cold, but really, he was just trying to keep his balance in a world that often felt unsteady.

That day had begun with the heaviness of an oncoming storm. The sky hung low, bruised with dark clouds that rolled in like soldiers marching to battle. The air was thick and electric, and even the chatter of his classmates felt muffled, like everyone was holding their breath. Kento didn’t care for storms. Rain turned the ground slick and treacherous, and thunder rattled the air like a drumbeat announcing that everything could fall apart at any moment. He preferred days of clear skies and dry ground, where everything made sense and stayed where it was supposed to.

At recess, Kento had retreated to the edge of the playground, sitting under the shelter of the old swing set with a library book balanced on his knees. He wasn’t really reading—he’d read the same sentence three times without absorbing a word—but the act of holding the book gave him an excuse to stay apart from the noisy groups of children. It wasn’t that he disliked them, exactly. He just found their energy overwhelming, their laughter grating when it stretched too loud.

But then there was you.

You were part of the noise, part of the wild tangle of voices that raced across the field, but Kento had always thought you were different. You weren’t the kind of loud that made him want to retreat further into himself. Your laughter, for some reason, felt softer. More inviting. It didn’t push—it pulled.

He watched you now from the corner of his eye as you darted across the field, your ponytail swinging behind you like a banner. You were playing tag, your arms outstretched as you chased another kid, your sneakers kicking up clouds of dust. Even from a distance, Kento could see the determination on your face, the fire in your eyes. You ran like you had no intention of ever slowing down, like the world would simply have to keep up with you.

And then, as if on cue, the first drops of rain began to fall.

It started as a whisper, soft and tentative, but within moments, it was a roar. The sky opened up, unleashing sheets of water that drenched the playground in seconds. The other kids scattered, squealing as they raced for cover under the small awning near the swings. Kento closed his book, tucking it carefully into his bag to protect it from the damp.

But you didn’t run.

He saw you stop in the middle of the field, tilting your head back as the rain poured down. You stood perfectly still, your arms slack at your sides, your face upturned toward the sky. For a moment, Kento thought you were frozen, caught off guard by the sudden storm. But then you moved.

You spread your arms wide and spun in a slow, deliberate circle, your sneakers splashing in the growing puddles. Your laughter rang out across the playground, bright and unrestrained, cutting through the gray like a ray of sunlight.

Kento stared, unsure whether to feel embarrassed for you or annoyed by your recklessness. “What are you doing?” he muttered under his breath, though no one could hear him.

The other kids huddled under the awning, their jackets pulled tight around their shoulders as they whispered and pointed at you. Kento thought about joining them, about blending into the safety of the group. But something kept him rooted to the spot.

“Come back!” one of the kids yelled, their voice barely audible over the pounding rain.

You didn’t listen. Instead, you looked toward the awning—toward him—and waved. “What are you all waiting for?” you shouted, your voice carrying through the storm. “It’s just water!”

Kento felt his cheeks flush. He couldn’t understand you, couldn’t fathom why anyone would willingly stay out in the rain when shelter was so close. You were soaked to the bone, your hair plastered to your forehead and your uniform clinging to your small frame. But you didn’t seem to care.

“Nanami!” you called, your grin wide and infectious. “Come on!”

He shook his head, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “No thanks,” he muttered, though you couldn’t hear him.

You shrugged, unbothered, and returned to your puddles. Kento told himself you were foolish, reckless, even childish, but he couldn’t look away. There was something mesmerizing about the way you moved, how you jumped from puddle to puddle with abandon, each splash sending arcs of water into the air. You looked so alive, like the rain was an old friend you were welcoming home.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of recess, you finally trudged back to the awning. You were dripping wet, your uniform a mess and your shoes squelching with every step, but your grin was as bright as ever. “You missed out,” you said, shaking water from your hair like a dog. “It was amazing.”

Kento frowned, reaching into his bag and pulling out the small towel he always carried. He handed it to you without a word, his gaze fixed on the ground.

“Thanks,” you said softly, wrapping the towel around your shoulders.

As the two of you walked back to class, the rain still falling in a steady rhythm, Kento found himself glancing at you from the corner of his eye. You were dripping and disheveled, but you didn’t seem to mind. In fact, you looked… content.

That night, as he lay in bed listening to the rain patter against his window, Kento thought about you. About the way you had defied the storm, how you had turned something most people avoided into something to celebrate. He thought about your laughter, about the way it had cut through the gray and made the world seem less heavy.

For the first time, he wondered what it might feel like to step into the rain.

And though he didn’t know it then, that day planted something new in Kento’s heart. It wasn’t a neat row of sunflowers like before. This was wilder, untamed, like the storm itself. It was the start of something that would grow quietly, steadily, until one day it became impossible to ignore.

————

age 10: summer nights of fireflys

The summer seemed to stretch forever, each day warmer than the last, the sun high and unrelenting. The grass, golden and dry from weeks without rain, brushed against Kento Nanami’s legs as he sat on the edge of the porch, staring out at the quiet yard. He loved these long afternoons, when the world seemed to settle into a slower rhythm, when even the cicadas’ hum became a steady companion to his thoughts.

The evening breeze was cooler, carrying with it the scent of pine and earth, and the last rays of sunlight kissed the edges of the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of pink and orange. A perfect summer evening.

But then there was you.

Kento watched from his perch on the porch, the heel of his sneaker dragging across the worn wood beneath him, as you darted across the yard, your small form a blur in the fading light. Your hair was wild and loose, the strands catching the glow of the sun like threads of copper and gold. You wore one of those old summer dresses with little flowers on it, the hem flying up as you ran.

“You’re going to trip, you know,” he called from his spot on the porch, though his voice lacked any real heat. He knew you weren’t listening, anyway.

“Don’t be boring, Nanami!” you shouted back, without looking over your shoulder. “Come help me! They’re getting away!”

You were chasing fireflies, darting after them with the kind of joy that Kento could only admire from a distance. Your arms reached out, fingers almost touching the glowing lights before they flitted away again, your laughter ringing through the air like a bell. Kento’s gaze lingered on you, a mix of exasperation and something else bubbling up in his chest, something he couldn’t quite name.

He was always like this, wasn’t he? Watching from the sidelines. But he couldn’t bring himself to join you, not when you were so carefree, so wrapped up in the magic of the evening. His feet stayed firmly planted on the porch, while you ran wild through the yard, your giggles like music in the air.

But then you stopped, just a little bit out of breath. Your arms hung at your sides as you took a moment to catch your breath, and Kento saw you glance at him.

“Don’t just sit there!” you yelled, waving both arms at him. “Come catch them with me!”

Kento sighed, knowing you wouldn’t stop calling until he came over. He wasn’t really sure what he would do once he joined you, but you were relentless, and it was easier to give in than to ignore you.

So, with a huff, he pushed himself off the porch, his shoes scraping against the wood as he walked toward you. “Fine, but I’m not going to run around like you,” he muttered, though there was an edge of amusement in his voice. “I’ll just watch.”

You didn’t say anything at first, but your smile grew wider as he joined you in the yard, his hands tucked in his pockets. “It’s all about the surprise,” you said, a wink flashing in your eye. “You have to surprise them. Sneak up like this.” You dropped to your knees in the grass, your hands poised like a cat’s paws.

Kento knelt beside you, unsure how to mimic your movements. He was used to doing things by the book, following the rules, being patient and quiet. But the way you approached the fireflies was something else entirely. It was more like playing hide-and-seek than anything else.

“Watch this!” you said, bouncing to your feet. Then you took a slow, exaggerated step forward, crouching low as if the fireflies might somehow notice her. You reached out with one hand, and in a moment of perfect timing, you cupped a firefly in your hand.

Kento blinked, his mouth slightly open in surprise. “You got it,” he said, his voice more stunned than impressed.

“See?” You opened your hands to reveal the tiny glowing insect resting in your palm. Its tiny body pulsed with light, the glow soft but steady. It seemed to shimmer in the last bits of daylight, small enough to fit in your palm like a secret.

Kento looked at your glowing hand for a moment before he nodded. “Okay. Let me try.”

He moved his hands carefully, trying to be as quiet as possible. But as he reached for one of the little lights, it darted away before he could catch it.

“Oh, no!” you exclaimed, laughing. “You scared it away! You have to be slower!”

Kento sighed, annoyed at himself. “I know. It’s harder than it looks.”

You giggled, not in a mean way, but in that way you did when you were trying to encourage him without mocking him. “It’s not hard,” you said, grinning. “Just watch me. You can do it. Don’t think too much. Just… reach out, slow and steady.”

Kento bit back a grin of his own. “Alright, alright.” He crouched down again, trying to copy your movements. This time, as his hand hovered close to one of the fireflies, he waited. The light blinked, bright against the dimming sky, and he made his move. Slowly, he reached out, cupping his hands together as you had done.

“Got it,” he said, the smile in his voice.

You cheered, jumping up and down. “See? I knew you could do it!” You pulled your hands back, showing him the tiny, glowing insect caught within his palms. The firefly buzzed softly, trying to free itself, but Kento held it gently, just tight enough to keep it safe.

For a long moment, the two of you just stood there, looking down at the tiny creature. It pulsed faintly in the dark, like a little heartbeat.

“You did it,” you said, breathless, your eyes wide. “That was amazing!”

Kento didn’t say anything at first, just letting his hands stay still, watching the way the light in his palm reflected in your eyes. You weren’t looking at him the way most people did—you weren’t waiting for him to say something clever or show off. You were just… there, in the moment with him.

“Thanks,” he said, finally looking up at you. His voice was quiet, almost shy.

You smiled, and there was something warm in that smile, something unspoken between you, as if the evening had somehow woven a secret thread connecting the two of you.

“I’m going to let it go now,” Kento said, his voice soft.

You nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

He slowly opened his hands, watching as the little firefly blinked once and then darted upward, disappearing into the night like a tiny star.

For a while, neither of you said anything. The only sound was the distant rustling of the trees and the occasional soft chime of crickets in the grass. The fireflies began to thin out as the night grew deeper, but Kento didn’t want to leave yet. The moment felt too fragile, like if he moved, it might shatter.

“I’m going to go in soon,” you said suddenly, turning toward your house.

“Yeah,” Kento replied, standing up and brushing the grass from his knees. “I should too.”

You didn’t walk away immediately, though. Instead, you lingered, the two of you standing side by side, your shadows long on the grass in the dimming light.

“Goodnight, Nanami,” you said finally, your voice soft and sincere.

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” he replied, a small, shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

As you turned and ran back toward the house, your dress fluttering behind you in the summer night, Kento watched you go. Something shifted inside him, something warm and quiet, like a secret he didn’t know how to name yet.

And for the first time, Kento realized that the fireflies weren’t the only things that had gotten away that night. He had, too—lost in the glow of your laughter, in the quiet magic of just being beside you.

————

age 13: maybe something more?

The sun was bright, almost too bright, as Kento Nanami stood in the schoolyard, his uniform pressed neatly, the edges of his shirt stiff against his skin. It was one of those mid-afternoon moments where the air felt thick with humidity, making even the simplest movement feel like a slow-motion effort. He hated the weight of it, how the sun seemed to burn into his back, leaving his skin feeling hot and sticky, despite the fact that school was over for the day.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands shoved into the pockets of his pants, trying to cool his palms. The yard was filled with the usual bustle of students—some laughing, some chasing after balls, others in animated groups exchanging stories from the day. But Kento wasn’t really paying attention to any of them.

His gaze was fixed on you.

You were a few steps away from him, talking to one of the girls from your class. You were laughing at something she’d said, your smile wide and unguarded, that familiar light in your eyes—bright, wild, and completely free. Kento didn’t know why, but he found himself watching you more often lately. Maybe it was how you seemed to move through life so effortlessly, like you didn’t carry the same weight of responsibility he did, or maybe it was how you could make something as simple as walking across the schoolyard look like a kind of magic.

He swallowed hard and looked away quickly, hoping no one noticed the way his thoughts seemed to linger on you. It wasn’t something he wanted to acknowledge, not just yet. Kento was always careful with his emotions, keeping them tightly locked away, like precious objects in a box. Feelings were distractions—he knew that much. They didn’t make sense, didn’t follow rules. But lately, there was a tug in his chest, something odd that stirred every time you laughed or looked his way, something that felt less like a choice and more like something inevitable.

“Oi, Nanami! What are you staring at?”

The voice pulled him from his thoughts with the sharpness of a well-aimed dart. He turned his head, only to see Gojo and Suguru standing just a few feet away, both of them grinning from ear to ear. Gojo’s expression was that of someone who’d just discovered the greatest secret in the universe, while Suguru had that mischievous glint in his eyes, the one that always preceded trouble.

Kento felt his cheeks flush, but he kept his gaze steady. He hadn’t even realized they were nearby.

“I wasn’t staring,” Kento muttered, his voice steady, but his heart rate spiking ever so slightly.

Gojo rolled his eyes dramatically, stepping closer, his hands raised in mock surrender. “Oh, come on, Nanami. Don’t act like we don’t know.” He leaned in, lowering his voice as though sharing the most scandalous gossip. “You’ve been eyeing (Y/N) like a hawk for weeks now. What’s going on, huh? You like her or something?”

Kento’s heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, he couldn’t find his words. The teasing was sharp, but not unkind, and it stung more than it should have. Gojo’s eyes gleamed with that playful arrogance that always made him impossible to ignore. Suguru, ever the instigator, leaned in with an exaggerated expression of curiosity.

“Well, Kento? Are you going to admit it? Have you caught feelings for (Y/N)?” Suguru’s grin stretched wider, knowing he had the upper hand.

Kento couldn’t suppress the heat rising in his cheeks, and he quickly averted his eyes, looking back down at the ground, though it did nothing to quell the nervous flutter in his stomach. Was it that obvious? Did they know?

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kento muttered, but there was no bite to his words. It was almost a reflex, a defense against something he wasn’t ready to face. “I’m not interested in all that.”

Suguru gave him a knowing look. “Sure, sure,” he teased, crossing his arms over his chest. “You know, Nanami, it’s perfectly normal for a guy to like a girl. Don’t you think it’s a little strange to keep denying it?”

Gojo snorted in the background. “What he means to say is… maybe you’re afraid of her finding out you like her. You’ve got a crush, huh? That’s so cute.”

The words hung in the air like a heavy silence. It wasn’t that Kento didn’t know what a crush was. He’d seen his classmates laugh and blush when they talked about their crushes, and he understood the concept. But somehow, hearing it applied to him made his thoughts spin. Was it really a crush? Was he really feeling that way?

He couldn’t answer them, not right away. It was as if his words were tangled up with the feeling itself—something soft and confusing that was stirring inside him whenever you were near. He didn’t want to admit it, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He hadn’t just noticed you because you were always around. No, it was something deeper, something he didn’t know how to put into words.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kento muttered again, though it was a little less convincing this time.

Gojo laughed loudly, slinging an arm around Kento’s shoulders in that over-the-top, annoyingly affectionate way that always made Kento feel like a little kid again. “It’s fine, Nanami! We’ve all been there. I mean, come on, look at you. You’re practically glowing whenever you look at her. Your little ‘silent admiration’ thing is cute, but don’t you think it’s time to say something?”

“You’re both ridiculous,” Kento snapped, though the heat on his face was undeniable.

Suguru chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Hey, we’re just trying to help. So… what’s the plan? Are you going to keep pretending you don’t like her?”

Before Kento could respond, you walked over, still laughing with your friend, oblivious to the conversation happening just a few feet away. You gave a friendly wave in Kento’s direction, and his stomach lurched in a way he didn’t understand. His heart, as if on cue, gave a little jump, and his breath caught in his throat.

“See?” Gojo whispered to him, his voice low but teasing. “You can’t even look at her without getting all flustered. That’s your cue, Nanami. You’re whipped.”

Kento could only nod stiffly, his eyes following you as you walked past, his mind a flurry of thoughts he couldn’t quiet. Was he really being obvious? Was it possible that everyone could see it, even if he couldn’t bring himself to admit it?

You smiled at him, and something in Kento’s chest seemed to tighten. The world around him seemed to fade out for a moment, leaving only the soft sound of your laughter and the memory of your smile.

“Hey, Nanami,” you called, your voice light and carefree, like always. “You going to hang out with us later? There’s a movie marathon at my place.”

For a moment, Kento just stood there, unable to form a coherent thought. You were inviting him. You were inviting him to spend time with you. And that was when it hit him—the overwhelming flood of realization. It wasn’t just admiration. It wasn’t just a passing fancy. He liked you. He liked you in a way that felt like something real.

And the worst part? He was terrified. Terrified of what it meant, terrified of what would happen if he told you. He was sure of one thing, though—he couldn’t hide this feeling much longer.

“You should go,” Suguru said with a grin, nudging Kento in the ribs. “She’s waiting.”

Kento barely heard him. The only thing he could hear was the quiet pounding of his own heart, louder now than the teasing laughter of his friends.

“I’ll think about it,” he said finally, his voice softer than he intended.

You waved again, and for the first time, Kento didn’t feel the need to look away. He simply smiled back at you, quietly acknowledging the truth that he couldn’t deny anymore.

————

age 15: where the earth breathes life

The sky stretched endlessly above Jujutsu Sorcerer High, painted in hues of late-afternoon gold. A faint breeze swept across the training grounds, tugging at the edges of uniforms and sending whispers through the surrounding trees. Kento Nanami stood in the shade of one such tree, its branches sprawling like outstretched arms, a quiet sanctuary from the relentless sun.

His friends, Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto, were animated as ever, their voices blending into the hum of cicadas and the distant clash of training spells.

“Okay, okay, hear me out,” Gojo said, reclining against the base of the tree with his arms tucked behind his head. His infinity field shimmered faintly around him, a subtle but constant reminder of his strength. “If you had my technique—limitless and the Six Eyes—what’s the first thing you’d do with it?”

Suguru chuckled, twirling a loose strand of his dark hair between his fingers. “I wouldn’t waste it showing off like you, that’s for sure.”

“Showing off?” Gojo sat up straight, mock-offended. “I don’t show off. I demonstrate my genius. There’s a difference.”

Nanami exhaled through his nose, a small, barely perceptible laugh escaping him. He wasn’t one to get caught up in their endless banter, but their dynamic always managed to lighten the weight of the world they carried.

“And what about you, Nanami?” Suguru turned to him, tilting his head in genuine curiosity. “What would you do if your Ratio Technique wasn’t bound by limitations?”

Kento thought for a moment, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “It’s not about pushing boundaries for the sake of power,” he said quietly. “It’s about precision. Control. Efficiency.”

“Always so serious,” Gojo teased, leaning closer with a grin. “You know, Nanami, you might actually smile if you loosened up a little.”

Before Kento could reply, the breeze shifted, carrying with it a faint, sweet scent—earthy, alive, and tinged with something floral. It was subtle at first, but it drew his attention like a thread pulling him toward something unseen.

“Do you smell that?” Suguru asked, straightening up.

Gojo sniffed the air dramatically. “Yeah, smells like…” He paused, his grin widening. “(Y/N).”

Kento froze. Your name landed like a weight in his chest, tugging at something he wasn’t prepared to confront. He followed the direction of the breeze, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a figure in the distance, standing at the edge of the practice field.

It was you.

You were alone, your back turned to them, your posture relaxed yet purposeful. Your hands hovered over the ground, and as Kento watched, a faint glow of cursed energy began to pulse around you. The energy wasn’t sharp or chaotic like so many techniques he’d seen before. It was soft, flowing, and alive, like the rhythm of a heartbeat.

He stepped away from the tree, drawn toward you before he realized what he was doing. Gojo and Suguru exchanged knowing looks but said nothing, letting him go.

From his vantage point, Kento could see the ground beneath your feet begin to change. Where there had been only dry earth and sparse grass, something miraculous began to bloom. A single green sprout pushed through the soil, followed by another, and another, until a field of lush wildflowers surrounded you, their vibrant colors swaying gently in the breeze.

But it didn’t stop there.

With a graceful wave of your hand, vines erupted from the earth, twisting and curling as they reached toward the sky. Trees grew in fast-forward, their trunks thickening and branches spreading wide, leaves unfurling in shades of deep green. It was as if the earth itself responded to your call, breathing life into the barren space around you.

Kento’s breath caught in his throat.

He’d seen you practice before, of course. You were a gifted sorcerer, your nature manipulation technique as unique as it was beautiful. But this—this was different. There was something about the way you moved, the way your cursed energy flowed so effortlessly into the earth, that left him completely captivated.

Your face was serene, your focus absolute. Strands of your hair caught the sunlight, glowing like molten gold, and your expression—calm yet determined—was unlike anything he’d ever seen. You weren’t just commanding the earth; you were connected to it, in a way that felt almost sacred.

“Wow,” Gojo whispered from behind him, breaking the spell. “She’s something else, huh?”

Kento didn’t respond. His eyes remained fixed on you, unable to look away.

Suguru leaned against the tree, his arms crossed. “You know, Nanami,” he said, his voice teasing but quiet, “if you stare any harder, you might actually set her on fire.”

“Shut up,” Kento muttered, though there was no real heat in his words.

The vines you’d summoned began to move, twisting together to form intricate shapes—arches, spirals, and patterns so delicate they looked like lace. Then, with a flick of your wrist, the vines shot forward, striking a nearby training dummy with enough force to shatter it into pieces.

You stepped back, breathing hard, your shoulders rising and falling with the effort. The glow of your cursed energy began to fade, but the beauty you’d created remained—a lush oasis of life where there had once been only barren earth.

Kento felt something stir deep within him, a feeling he couldn’t quite name. It was more than admiration, more than respect for your skill. It was a quiet awe, a sense of wonder that left him both exhilarated and terrified.

You turned then, as if sensing his presence, your eyes meeting his across the field. For a moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you. You smiled—a small, shy smile—and Kento felt his chest tighten, his heart pounding like the rhythm of a distant drum.

“Hey, Nanami,” you called, your voice light but steady. “How long have you been standing there?”

He opened his mouth to respond but found himself at a loss for words. How could he explain the way he felt, the way you seemed to make the earth itself come alive?

“Not long,” he said finally, his voice quieter than he intended.

You nodded, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Just practicing,” you said, as if what you’d done was the most natural thing in the world.

Kento nodded, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. He wanted to say something more, something meaningful, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he stood there, letting the silence stretch between you, filled with all the things he couldn’t say.

“You’re incredible,” he wanted to tell you. “You make the world look different. Brighter. Alive.”

But he didn’t say any of that. Instead, he watched as you turned back to your practice, the glow of your energy lighting up the field once more.

Behind him, Gojo and Suguru snickered quietly, their whispers lost in the breeze. But Kento didn’t care.

For the first time, he realized that his feelings for you weren’t just a passing infatuation. They were rooted deep, like the vines you summoned from the earth—strong, unyielding, and impossible to ignore.

And as he stood there, watching you shape the world with your hands, he couldn’t help but wonder if you had already shaped him, too.

————

age 16: the weight of mortality

The rain had stopped hours ago, but the ground remained slick and treacherous as Kento Nanami and you navigated the forest. The air hung heavy, dense with the clinging scent of wet earth and decayed wood. Shadows twisted unnaturally among the trees, their gnarled branches clawing at the sky like broken hands.

“We should’ve run into it by now,” Kento muttered, his voice low, wary. His grip on his weapon tightened as his eyes scanned the path ahead.

“It’s close,” you said, your voice steadier than his. You knelt beside a patch of disturbed earth, fingers brushing the mud. There was no mistaking the lingering traces of malevolent cursed energy. “It’s watching us. Waiting.”

That was what unnerved Kento the most. The curse was grade one, and grade one curses didn’t wait. They attacked with reckless fury, their hatred for humanity so consuming they couldn’t hold themselves back. But this one—this one was different. It was intelligent.

“We need to keep moving,” he said, extending a hand to help you to your feet. The touch was brief, professional, but his heart still skipped in its chest.

You nodded, falling in step beside him, the soft glow of your cursed energy forming a protective aura around you. It lit the path ahead, a faint beacon against the encroaching dark, but Kento knew it was also a lure. The curse would come for it—would come for you.

And then the forest stilled.

Every sound vanished at once: the rustling leaves, the distant calls of night birds, even the faint hum of the wind. It was as though the entire world held its breath. Kento stopped in his tracks, holding an arm out in front of you.

“Kento?” you whispered.

He didn’t respond. His eyes narrowed, scanning the trees for any flicker of movement. The silence was oppressive, pressing against his ears like a scream held just out of reach. His body tensed, every muscle coiled like a spring.

Then, it came.

The curse emerged from the shadows with terrifying speed, a blur of jagged limbs and gleaming fangs. Its body twisted grotesquely, its long, spindly arms ending in claws that glistened like obsidian. Its head was almost human, but its eyes burned with a sickly yellow light, and its mouth stretched into an unnatural grin.

“Move!” Kento barked, pushing you to the side as the curse’s claws slashed through the space where you’d been standing.

The fight began in a whirlwind of chaos.

The curse was fast, faster than anything they’d anticipated. It darted between the trees, its movements erratic and impossible to predict. Kento swung his weapon, his Ratio Technique flashing as he aimed for its weak points, but the creature twisted out of reach with an agility that defied logic.

You were already in motion, your cursed energy flaring as you summoned vines from the earth. They erupted from the ground like serpents, coiling and snapping toward the curse in an attempt to restrain it. For a moment, it worked—the vines wrapped around its limbs, tightening like chains.

“Kento, now!” you shouted.

He lunged forward, his blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. The curse shrieked as the blade connected, severing one of its arms. But instead of retreating, it retaliated, its remaining claw slashing at him with feral intensity. Kento barely had time to raise his weapon to block, the force of the impact sending him staggering back.

The vines began to wither, the curse’s malevolent energy eating away at them. With a violent roar, it broke free, its twisted body writhing with rage. It turned its glowing eyes on you, and Kento felt his stomach drop.

“Get back!” he shouted, but it was too late.

The curse moved faster than he could, its clawed hand striking you with bone-crushing force. You were thrown into the air like a rag doll, your body colliding with the trunk of a tree before crumpling to the ground.

“(Y/N)!”

Kento’s voice cracked as he ran to you, his heart pounding in his chest. You lay motionless, your breathing shallow, blood seeping from a gash on your forehead. Your cursed energy flickered weakly, the once-brilliant glow reduced to a faint shimmer.

“Stay with me,” Kento said, dropping to his knees beside you. He didn’t dare shake you, afraid of causing more harm. “Can you hear me? (Y/N), look at me.”

Your eyes fluttered open, unfocused but alive. “I’m… fine,” you whispered, though the words were barely audible.

“You’re not fine,” he snapped, his voice trembling with barely contained panic. “Don’t move. Just stay still.”

Behind him, the curse let out a guttural growl, its twisted form shifting as it prepared to strike again. Kento turned, his jaw tightening as he rose to his feet. His body ached from the earlier blows, but he ignored the pain. He couldn’t afford to falter.

The curse lunged, and Kento met it head-on. His movements were sharp, deliberate, every strike calculated with the precision he’d spent years perfecting. But the creature was relentless, its hatred radiating from it in waves. It clawed and snapped, its attacks wild yet devastatingly powerful.

Kento ducked beneath one of its strikes, his blade slashing upward to sever another limb. The curse screamed, its body convulsing as black ichor spilled from the wound. But even maimed, it fought with a ferocity that made Kento’s blood run cold.

It was toying with him, he realized. It wanted to drag this out, to prolong their suffering.

Kento’s anger flared, hot and consuming. “You don’t get to win,” he growled, his voice low and venomous.

With a surge of cursed energy, he activated his Ratio Technique, his blade glowing with a golden light. He lunged forward, his movements swift and precise, and drove the blade deep into the curse’s chest.

The creature let out one final, ear-splitting shriek before its body disintegrated into ash.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Kento stood there for a moment, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. The glow of his cursed energy faded, leaving him in the dim light of the forest.

Then he turned back to you.

You were still slumped against the tree, your eyes half-closed and your breathing shallow. Kento’s heart twisted at the sight of you, so small and fragile against the towering trunk. He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as they hovered over your injuries.

“You’re an idiot,” he said, his voice breaking.

You blinked up at him, your lips curling into a faint smile. “Nice to see you, too.”

“I’m serious,” Kento said, his hands finally resting on either side of your face, his touch gentle despite the turmoil raging inside him. “You could’ve died. Do you understand that?”

You didn’t respond, and for a moment, the weight of his words hung heavy between you.

“I can’t…” Kento’s voice faltered, his throat tightening. He closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath before continuing. “I can’t lose you, (Y/N). I—” He stopped himself, the words catching in his throat.

He couldn’t say it. Not yet.

Instead, he let his actions speak for him, his touch tender as he began to bandage your wounds with shaking hands. His care was deliberate, almost reverent, as if tending to you was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You reached up, placing a weak hand over his. “I’m okay,” you said softly. “Really.”

But Kento shook his head, his jaw clenched. “You’re not okay,” he said. “You’re hurt, and it’s because you refuse to think about yourself. You’re always so focused on everyone else, and one day, it’s going to get you killed.”

You smiled faintly, your eyes meeting his. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Well, you did,” he said, his voice cracking despite his efforts to stay composed.

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the only sound the faint rustling of leaves in the wind. Kento’s hands lingered on yours, his grip firm but comforting.

“I care about you, (Y/N),” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “More than I can explain. So please… don’t ever do something like that again. I wouldn’t—” He stopped himself, swallowing hard. “I wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, your smile soft and tired. “I’ll try,” you said. “For you.”

And though the words were simple, they carried a weight that left Kento breathless. He didn’t know how to tell you the depth of what he felt, didn’t know how to put into words the way you seemed to fill the cracks in his carefully constructed world.

So he stayed silent, his hands still cradling yours, silently vowing to protect you—no matter the cost.

————

age 17: gravity, giggles, and grace(or lack of thereof)

The late afternoon sunlight poured through the windows of Jujutsu High’s ancient halls, casting golden streaks on the scuffed tiles. You and Kento Nanami walked side by side, a stack of textbooks in his arms and your hands swinging freely at your sides.

“Okay, Nanami, answer me this,” you began, already grinning. “Why do you carry your books like that? Are you afraid they’ll run away if you don’t keep them in a death grip?”

Kento, ever composed, arched an eyebrow without breaking his stride. “It’s practical. Less risk of them slipping.”

You rolled your eyes. “Practical. You are the human embodiment of that word. Do you dream about practicality, too? Like, ‘Oh, what an efficient cloud formation tonight!’”

There it was—the faintest twitch of his lips. A Nanami half-smile, as rare as a sunny day during monsoon season. “I’ll have you know I’ve never once dreamed about clouds.”

“Ah, right,” you said, nodding solemnly. “Your dreams are probably about perfectly portioned bread loaves.”

Kento stopped walking, turning to you with an expression caught between amusement and exasperation. “Do you even listen to yourself when you talk?”

“Constantly,” you replied with mock pride. “It’s part of my charm.”

He let out a soft huff, adjusting the books under his arm. “I don’t know how I let myself get roped into this.”

“Because I’m delightful,” you said, spinning around so you could walk backward and grin at him. “Admit it, Nanami. Studying with me is the best part of your week.”

“I admit nothing.”

“Oh, you love me,” you teased, waggling your eyebrows.

Kento was about to retort, probably with some dry remark, but you didn’t give him the chance. Too busy laughing at your own antics, you didn’t notice the top step of the staircase behind you.

And then—gravity intervened.

Your foot slipped, and for a split second, you felt the universe itself betray you. Arms flailing, you let out a startled squeal, your body tipping backward.

“(Y/N)!” Kento shouted, lunging toward you.

It was a valiant effort, really. His arm shot out with all the precision of his Ratio Technique. But fate, or perhaps just bad timing, was not on his side. His fingertips brushed your sleeve—just enough to not catch you.

You tumbled backward down the stairs in a whirlwind of arms, legs, and increasingly hysterical giggles.

It should’ve been a scene of chaos, maybe even concern, but instead, laughter erupted from your lips as you hit step after step. “Oh noooo!” you cried between fits of uncontrollable snickering, your voice bouncing off the walls.

“Are you serious?!” Kento shouted from the top of the staircase, staring down at you in absolute disbelief. “How are you laughing right now?”

Your body finally came to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, where you sprawled out like a starfish. There was a brief silence—save for your wheezing giggles—and then you erupted again, full-bodied and tear-inducing.

“Oh my—Nanami!” you managed, clutching your stomach. “Did you see that? I just—I went full acrobat mode!”

He was down the stairs in three long strides, his books abandoned somewhere behind him. Dropping to one knee beside you, Kento hovered uncertainly, his hands ghosting over your arms and legs. “Are you okay? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Oh, I’m peachy!” you replied through your laughter, flopping dramatically onto your back. “Ten out of ten! Would recommend falling down a flight of stairs to anyone!”

His lips twitched again, the corners threatening to pull into a smile. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re the worst catcher ever!” you countered, sitting up and pointing at him accusingly. “What happened to your vaunted precision? Your super reflexes? Did you even try?”

Kento’s mouth opened in protest, but then he hesitated. “I—well—”

“Oh no, you don’t get to explain your failure!” You doubled over, laughing so hard your face turned red. “Your face—oh my God, Kento—your face when I fell! You looked like someone just insulted bread!”

That did it. A chuckle slipped past his defenses, quiet at first, but then it grew. The usually unflappable Kento Nanami let out a full-bodied laugh, deep and rich and entirely uncharacteristic.

“Don’t make me laugh,” he said, though he didn’t sound remotely serious.

“But it’s so easy!” you shot back, tears streaming down your face as you wiped them away.

Kento leaned back against the wall, his laughter mixing with yours in the echoing hallway. It was contagious—every time you started to calm down, one look at his rare, genuine smile sent you spiraling into giggles again.

“I still can’t believe you’re okay,” he said after a while, shaking his head in disbelief. “You fell like… twelve steps.”

“I told you, I’m made of steel,” you said, flexing an imaginary bicep. “Nothing can take me down.”

“Except stairs.”

“Except stairs,” you agreed, grinning.

The two of you stayed on the floor for a while, leaning against each other as the last remnants of laughter faded into the warm quiet of the hallway. The sunlight streamed in, illuminating the dust motes swirling in the air, and for a moment, everything felt light.

“Thank you for trying to catch me,” you said after a while, glancing over at him.

He shrugged, his expression soft but unreadable. “I’ll catch you next time.”

“You better,” you teased, nudging his shoulder.

And as you both sat there, side by side at the bottom of the stairs, Kento let himself relax. Your laughter was still ringing in his ears, and for the first time in a long while, he thought: Maybe the world isn’t so heavy after all.

————

age 18: the words that wouldn’t come

The golden hues of the setting sun bathed the grounds of Jujutsu High in a dreamlike light, illuminating every blade of grass, every stone, and every goodbye exchanged in hushed tones. The ceremony had concluded hours ago, the caps tossed, the congratulations shared. And yet, the air hummed with lingering anticipation, as if the day hadn’t truly ended.

You and Kento Nanami stood at the edge of the training field, where countless battles had unfolded, where victories and bruises were won in equal measure. Now, it was quiet, the echoes of sparring matches and laughter replaced by a solemn stillness.

“Well,” you said, breaking the silence, your voice light and teasing as always. “That’s it. We survived.”

Kento looked at you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his tall frame still and composed. But there was a tension to him, something barely concealed under the ever-present calm he wore like armor.

“We did,” he said simply, his tone even, his gaze steady.

“You don’t sound very thrilled,” you teased, nudging his arm. “Come on, Nanami. It’s over. No more grueling training sessions, no more Yaga yelling at us to get up at the crack of dawn. Aren’t you even a little excited?”

“I don’t think ‘excited’ is the right word,” he replied, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Of course not. You’d probably use something like… ‘adequately satisfied with the progression of events.’”

That earned a soft huff from him—half a laugh, half a sigh. It was a sound you’d grown to love over the years, even if he didn’t realize how often he made it when you were around.

The breeze picked up, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming flowers from the nearby garden. You turned your face to the wind, closing your eyes for a moment and letting the cool air brush against your skin.

Kento, standing just a step away, watched you quietly. There was something about the way the light caught in your hair, the way your expression softened in the glow of the setting sun, that made his chest tighten.

“I need to say something,” he said suddenly, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

You opened your eyes and turned to him, your brows lifting in curiosity. “What’s up?”

He hesitated, his fingers twitching at his sides. How did one even begin to explain years of unspoken feelings? How did he tell you that you weren’t just a friend to him, that you hadn’t been for a long time?

“I’ve been thinking about what’s next,” he started, his voice low but steady. “Now that we’ve graduated, things are going to change.”

“Well, yeah,” you said, leaning against the old wooden fence that bordered the field. “That’s kind of the whole point. Change is good, right?”

“Not always.”

There was a weight to his words that made you pause. Your teasing smile faded, replaced by a look of quiet concern. “Kento, what’s wrong?”

He looked at you then, his gaze searching, as if trying to find the courage he so desperately needed.

“I just… I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he said, his voice faltering slightly. “For a while now.”

You tilted your head, waiting patiently. But that was the problem—you were always so patient, so kind, and it made this even harder.

Kento exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “I—” He stopped, the words catching in his throat. How could he say it without ruining everything? Without changing the way you looked at him, the way you smiled so easily in his presence?

“You…?” you prompted, your brow furrowed in confusion.

He clenched his fists at his sides, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. For all his precision, for all his calculated movements, this was something he couldn’t master.

“It’s nothing,” he said finally, his tone clipped.

Your frown deepened. “Nanami, come on. You’ve clearly got something on your mind. Just say it.”

“I said it’s nothing,” he repeated, his voice sharper this time. But then, as if realizing he’d spoken too harshly, he softened. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”

You stared at him for a long moment, your lips pressing into a thin line. “If it didn’t matter, you wouldn’t have brought it up,” you said quietly.

He looked away, his jaw tightening. He hated this—the way he couldn’t find the right words, the way his heart betrayed him every time he tried to speak.

“I just wanted to say… thank you,” he said finally, though it felt like a coward’s escape.

“For what?” you asked, your voice softening.

“For everything,” he said, meeting your gaze at last. “For being you. For sticking by me all these years.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “Well, yeah. Of course. What are friends for?”

Friends.

The word hit him like a blow, and he swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.

“Yeah,” he said, forcing a small smile. “Friends.”

You seemed satisfied with that, your usual grin returning as you reached out to lightly punch his arm. “You’re such a weirdo sometimes, Nanami. But you’re my weirdo, I guess.”

The words warmed and stung in equal measure, and all he could do was nod.

“Come on,” you said, pushing off the fence and gesturing toward the main building. “The others are probably wondering where we are.”

He followed you without a word, his heart heavy with everything left unsaid.

As you walked ahead, chatting about Gojo’s ridiculous antics or Suguru’s latest half-serious plan to prank Yaga, Kento allowed himself one stolen glance at you. The way you moved, carefree and full of light, the way your laughter seemed to fill the air—it was unbearable and beautiful all at once.

He clenched his fists, the words he couldn’t say swirling in his chest like a storm.

One day, he promised himself. One day, I’ll tell you.

But today wasn’t that day. And as much as it hurt, he knew he’d wait as long as it took.

————

age 20: the rift between us

The café was nearly empty, a quiet refuge from the torrential downpour outside. Rain cascaded down the windows, blurring the world into a wash of grays and silvers. The air inside was warm, thick with the scent of roasted coffee beans and something bittersweet—regret, maybe, or something close to it.

You sat across from Kento Nanami, your hands curled around a mug that had long since gone cold. His gaze was fixed on the table, tracing the grain of the wood as though it might tell him how to explain the mess inside his head.

“So, that’s it?” you asked, your voice low but sharp, each word a carefully aimed dart. “You’re quitting.”

Kento didn’t look up, his fingers tightening around his own mug. The coffee in it remained untouched. “I’ve made my decision,” he said finally, his voice even, too even. “This life… it’s not sustainable.”

The calm in his tone infuriated you, made the ache in your chest twist into something hotter, sharper. “Not sustainable?” you repeated, your voice rising slightly. “That’s what you’re going with? After everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve built together—‘not sustainable’ is your excuse?”

“It’s not an excuse,” he said quietly, still refusing to meet your eyes.

You leaned forward, your hands trembling now, whether from anger or desperation you couldn’t tell. “Then what is it, Kento? What is this if not you running away?”

His jaw tightened, a flicker of something—guilt, perhaps—crossing his face before his mask of composure slipped back into place. “I’m not running away,” he said, the words clipped. “I’m making a choice. A rational choice.”

“And I’m just supposed to accept that?” you shot back, your voice breaking despite your best efforts to hold it steady. “I’m supposed to just sit here and watch you throw everything away? Watch you throw us away?”

At that, his head snapped up, his eyes meeting yours for the first time. There was something raw there, something unspoken and unsteady, and it made your breath catch.

“This isn’t about us,” he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “It’s about me. About what I can handle—what I can’t handle.”

“You can’t handle this anymore?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Fine. But did you even think about what this means for the rest of us? For me? Did you even consider—”

“Of course I considered it!” he interrupted, his voice rising for the first time, startling you. “Do you think this was an easy decision for me? Do you think I wanted to walk away?”

“Then why are you?” you demanded, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

“Because I can’t keep doing this!” he shouted, the frustration in his voice cutting through the thick air between you. “I can’t keep waking up every day wondering if it’s going to be my last. I can’t keep watching people I care about—people I love—throw themselves into danger over and over again.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The rain outside seemed louder now, a relentless drumming that matched the pounding of your heart.

“This life,” he continued, his voice quieter now but no less intense, “it’s a death sentence. You know that as well as I do. And I can’t—I won’t—let it consume me.”

You stared at him, your chest heaving, your hands trembling around your mug. “So that’s it,” you said finally, your voice hollow. “You’re leaving because you’re scared.”

“It’s not fear,” he said, his tone defensive. But the flicker of something in his eyes—something vulnerable, something fragile—betrayed him.

“Then what is it, Kento?” you pressed, your voice rising again. “Because all I see right now is someone who’s running from everything he’s ever cared about.”

“I’m not running,” he said, his voice strained. “I’m trying to survive.”

“And what about the rest of us?” you asked, your voice breaking now. “What about me? Do you think I don’t want to survive too? Do you think I don’t dream about a life where I don’t have to fight, where I don’t have to wonder if the next mission will be my last?”

He didn’t answer, his silence more damning than any words he could have said.

“But I don’t get to walk away,” you continued, your voice trembling. “Because if I do, then all of this—all the pain, all the loss—it’ll have been for nothing.”

“You don’t have to keep doing this,” he said softly, his eyes pleading. “You don’t have to sacrifice yourself for a world that doesn’t care.”

“And you think the corporate world is going to care about you?” you shot back, bitterness creeping into your tone. “You think pushing papers and chasing profits is going to fill the void you’re running from?”

His face hardened, his hands curling into fists on the table. “At least it’s a life,” he said.

“Is it?” you asked, leaning forward. “Or is it just a way to numb yourself from everything you’re too afraid to face?”

The words struck like a blow, and you saw the flicker of pain in his eyes before he looked away.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the rain.

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words settling in your chest like a stone. You wanted to scream, to cry, to shake him until he understood what he was throwing away. But instead, you swallowed the lump in your throat and forced yourself to speak.

“Fine,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “If you’re so eager to leave, then go. But don’t expect me to wait around while you figure out what you’re running from.”

“What are you saying?” he asked, his voice tight, his composure finally cracking.

“I’m saying I can’t do this either,” you said, standing abruptly. “I’m taking a long-term mission in the States. A year, maybe two. Maybe longer. I need space, Kento. From you, from all of this.”

His eyes widened, panic flickering across his face. “(Y/N), wait—”

“No,” you said, cutting him off. “You made your choice. Now I’m making mine.”

You turned and walked away, the sound of the rain swallowing the sound of your footsteps.

Kento sat frozen, his chest heaving, his heart pounding against his ribs. He wanted to call after you, to stop you, to say something—anything—that might make you stay. But the words wouldn’t come.

And as the door closed behind you, the weight of what he’d done crashed down on him, suffocating in its finality.

He sat there long after you were gone, the rain outside a relentless reminder of the storm he had unleashed. He told himself he had made the right choice, that this was the only way. But as the silence pressed in around him, all he could feel was the aching void where you had been.

And for the first time, Kento Nanami wondered if survival was worth the cost of losing you.

————

age 22: a call across the ages

The sun was setting on a city Kento Nanami had never intended to visit. It was a business trip—nothing more, nothing less. The skyline of Chicago stretched out in front of him, jagged and unfamiliar, a maze of concrete and glass that seemed to mirror the labyrinth inside his chest. The golden light painted everything in soft hues, but for him, the world felt muted, heavy with the weight of things unsaid and undone.

Two years. Two long, quiet, endless years since he’d last seen you. Two years since you had walked out of that café, your eyes filled with tears he hadn’t been able to stop. You had left for America, and with you, you had taken a part of him he hadn’t realized he’d given away until it was gone.

The first few months had been unbearable. He’d asked Gojo, Suguru, even Shoko, where you were, how you were doing. Every time, he was met with silence or vague reassurances that you were fine. He had stopped asking after a while, realizing that they were protecting you from him—or perhaps protecting him from himself.

Life had become a series of routines after that. Wake up. Go to work. Pretend not to miss you with every breath. But now, standing in the shadow of a foreign city, something stirred in him, a restlessness that had been dormant for far too long.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, jolting him out of his thoughts. He frowned, pulling it out to see an unfamiliar number lighting up the screen.

“Hello?” he answered, his voice steady but distant, as though the call were just another part of his endless routine.

What he heard on the other end shattered that façade instantly.

“K-Kento…” Your voice was barely a whisper, broken and raw, like shattered glass scraping against stone.

His breath caught. For a moment, he thought he might be dreaming. But then you spoke again, and the panic in your voice was unmistakable.

“Kento, I—I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to call. I—” A sharp gasp cut through your words, and he could hear your ragged breathing, the tremor in your voice that made his stomach twist into knots.

“(Y/N)?” he said, his voice sharper now, the calm businessman replaced by something far more primal. “What’s going on? Where are you?”

“I—I tried,” you sobbed, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I tried so hard, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t do it without you. I thought I could, but I can’t. Kento, it’s too much. It’s too much—”

“Slow down,” he said, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst. “Tell me where you are.”

“I don’t know,” you cried, your voice trembling. “I’m hiding—I don’t even know where—there’s this curse, and I tried to exorcise it, I tried, but it’s too strong. I’m so tired, Kento. I can’t do it alone anymore. I can’t—”

His free hand clenched into a fist, his nails digging into his palm as he forced himself to stay calm. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “You’re not alone. I’m here. I’ll find you, (Y/N). Just hold on.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice so small it made his chest ache. “I’m sorry for everything. I—I never should have left. I never should have let you go.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he said, his voice breaking despite himself. “Just stay with me. Keep talking. I need to know you’re okay.”

The city’s shadows grew longer as Kento Nanami sprinted through the streets, his coat billowing behind him. The call still echoed in his ears, your trembling voice, fractured and desperate. His heart felt like it had been torn from his chest, dangling by a fragile thread as he raced against time. Two years of silence, of unspoken longing, and now your voice—broken and pleading—was the only thing tethering him to the present.

His breath came fast, the ache in his legs a distant memory compared to the pounding in his chest.

“(Y/N), where are you?” His voice was sharper now, teetering on the edge of panic.

“I—I don’t know,” you stammered, the sounds of labored breaths and distant crashes filling the line. “It’s dark, Kento. I don’t know where I am anymore. I’m so sorry—I thought I could handle it, I really did, but it’s too much.”

“I’m coming for you,” he said, his voice low and trembling with determination. “Stay on the line. Tell me what you see.”

Another crash sounded on your end, louder this time, followed by your muffled cry. “I don’t think I can make it, Kento. I’m so tired,” you whispered, each word cracking like glass against his ears.

“Don’t you dare give up,” he growled, his voice harsh but laced with fear. “Just hold on. I’m coming, I swear.”

The line went dead.

“No!” he shouted, the emptiness on the other end making his stomach plummet. His cursed energy flared unconsciously, his body moving on instinct as he followed the faint traces of cursed energy in the air. He didn’t have time to think, didn’t have the luxury to wonder what would happen if he was too late.

He wouldn’t let himself be too late.

The abandoned warehouse loomed ahead, a decaying monolith at the edge of the city. The cursed energy here was suffocating, a rancid, tangible thing that coiled around him like smoke. He pushed forward, his teeth gritted, his body tense with anticipation.

Inside, the dim light barely illuminated the chaos. Splintered wood and shattered glass littered the floor. The walls were smeared with dark, claw-like marks. And then, he saw you.

You were crumpled in the corner, your body trembling, your hands pressed weakly against the ground as if trying to summon cursed energy you no longer had. The faint glow of your nature manipulation flickered and died, and a monstrous, hulking curse loomed above you, its grotesque form pulsating with power.

“(Y/N)!” he yelled, his voice cracking as he rushed toward you.

Your head lifted weakly, your eyes dazed and unfocused. “Kento…” you murmured, your voice so soft it barely reached him.

Before he could reach you, the curse lunged. Its claws sliced through the air, forcing him to dive to the side. He rolled to his feet, his cursed energy crackling around him like lightning as he turned to face the creature.

“You don’t touch her,” he growled, his voice low and filled with fury.

The curse roared in response, its twisted form shifting as it charged at him. Kento met it head-on, his blade slicing through the air with precision honed over years of practice. Sparks flew as the curse’s claws met his weapon, the impact sending shockwaves through the room.

The fight was brutal, every strike a test of his endurance, every movement a desperate attempt to keep the curse away from you. His breaths came in ragged gasps, sweat dripping down his face as he fought with everything he had.

But the curse was relentless. It struck with terrifying speed, its claws narrowly missing his chest as he dodged and countered. Blood splattered across the ground as one of its strikes grazed his arm, the pain sharp and immediate.

“Kento…” your voice, faint but urgent, pulled his focus.

He glanced back at you, his heart clenching at the sight of your pale, trembling form. The curse took advantage of his distraction, its massive arm swinging toward him. He barely managed to block the blow, the force of it sending him skidding across the floor.

For a moment, he faltered. The weight of the fight, the fear of losing you, pressed down on him like a crushing tide.

Then he saw you, your eyes locked on his, a flicker of trust and desperation in your gaze. And something inside him snapped.

With a roar, he surged forward, his cursed energy exploding around him in a blinding burst. He struck the curse with everything he had, his blade cutting through its grotesque form like a scythe through wheat. Blow after blow, he fought with a ferocity that surprised even himself.

Finally, with one last, devastating strike, the curse disintegrated into nothingness, its screams fading into the stillness of the warehouse.

Kento turned to you, his chest heaving, his body trembling from the effort. He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands hovering uncertainly before finally resting gently on your shoulders.

“(Y/N),” he said, his voice breaking. “Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

Your eyes fluttered open, your lips curving into the faintest of smiles. “You came,” you whispered, your voice so weak it was almost inaudible.

“Of course, I came,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’ll always come for you.”

Tears welled in your eyes, spilling over as you tried to speak. “I’m sorry,” you said, your voice cracking. “I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have let you go. I—I thought I could do it on my own, but I can’t. I can’t do anything without you.”

His breath hitched, his chest tightening as the weight of your words settled over him. “Don’t you dare say that,” he said, his voice firm but filled with emotion. “You are the strongest person I know. But you don’t have to do it alone anymore. I’m here, (Y/N). I’m here.”

You reached out, your hand trembling as it brushed against his cheek. “I missed you,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. “Every day, I missed you.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as tears slipped down his face. “I missed you too,” he said, his voice shaking. “More than you’ll ever know.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath, the words he had kept locked away for years finally breaking free. “I’ve loved you for so long, (Y/N). Since we were kids, since the moment I realized how incredible you are. Every smile, every laugh, every moment we’ve spent together has been etched into my heart. And when you left…” His voice cracked, and he took another breath, his hands tightening on your shoulders. “When you left, it felt like I lost a part of myself. But I was too much of a coward to tell you.”

Your tears fell freely now, your gaze locked on his as you listened to every word.

“I don’t deserve you,” he continued, his voice soft but resolute. “But if you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for the time we lost. I love you, (Y/N). I always have, and I always will.”

You let out a soft, choked laugh, your tears mixing with your smile. “You’re such an idiot,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “I’ve loved you all this time too, you fool. How could you not see it?”

Kento felt his heart stop at the words, like a dam breaking free of its restraints. The words he had kept buried for years, those painful truths that he never allowed himself to speak, were now spilling out, mingling with the soft echoes of your confession.

“You—” His voice wavered as he looked down at you, disbelief still playing in the edges of his mind. He never imagined this moment would come like this. But there you were, staring at him with eyes full of tenderness, the very same gaze that had haunted him for so long, and now it was his. All his. “You’ve loved me all this time?”

You nodded, your face crumpling slightly as you leaned into his touch, the warmth of it sending a wave of relief crashing over both of you. “Yes. I’ve loved you. I’ve been a fool for thinking I could do it without you. And when you left… when you turned away from the sorcery life… I thought maybe I had lost my chance to tell you how much you meant to me. I thought maybe we were better off apart.” You winced, the truth spilling out raw, as it always did when one was faced with their deepest fears. “But I realized I was wrong. So wrong. Life doesn’t make sense without you in it, Kento. I don’t want to live in a world where you’re not by my side.”

The words hung between you like a delicate thread, and with each passing second, that thread grew stronger, binding you together in a way that nothing else could. Kento’s fingers trembled as they brushed against your skin, pulling you closer in a desperate but tender motion. His hands were shaking, as though he were unsure if this was a dream, unsure if he had finally found his way back to you after years of wandering in the dark.

He leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours. “I don’t want to live in a world without you either,” he whispered, his breath shaky. “It’s like… like something was always missing. Every day, I felt it. But I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t find the right words. And when you left, I thought maybe I was better off alone. That maybe the life I’d chosen would be enough to bury what I felt.” His voice cracked, and his grip on you tightened. “But every time I thought about you, I realized I was wrong. I can’t live like that. I can’t be without you, not for a single second. You are my world, (Y/N). You’ve been my world for so long, I never knew how to tell you.”

Your hands found his, your fingers intertwining with his as you held on to each other like you might disappear if you didn’t. The air around you was thick with the weight of your confessions, with the unspoken years that had passed in silence, with the tension that had built between you like an unspoken promise. Now, those words you had both held back for so long were finally released, and it was like the entire universe had shifted.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret. “I’m so sorry for not telling you sooner. For not realizing it sooner. All this time, I thought I was doing what was right for us, for our futures. But I was wrong.” His breath caught in his throat. “I should’ve been with you, (Y/N). I should’ve been by your side.”

You shook your head, tears spilling from your eyes as you pressed your forehead against his. “No, Kento. No apologies. We were both lost, weren’t we? We were both afraid to speak the truth. Afraid of what it might mean. But now… now we have each other. We’ve found our way back.”

His eyes searched yours, wide with a mix of astonishment and hope. It was as if he were seeing you for the first time again, as if everything he had lived through, every hardship and every silent plea, had led him to this very moment. He felt your heartbeat beneath his hands, steady and strong, matching his own. And, for the first time in years, he felt a sense of peace. A sense of belonging that he hadn’t known since the day he’d let you slip away.

“I love you,” he whispered again, his voice quiet but certain, like a promise made in the depths of his soul. “I love you, (Y/N). More than I ever thought was possible. More than anything. You’re the one I want. You’re the one I’ve always wanted.”

Your heart swelled at the words, the depth of his confession breaking through every wall you had built. “I love you too, Kento,” you breathed, the weight of the years, the heartache, and the loneliness melting away. “I’ve always loved you.”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting the truth sink in, a soft exhale escaping him. When he opened them again, he saw you—his (Y/N), his everything, the only person who had ever truly understood him. The only person who had ever been able to bring the storm inside him to rest.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he promised softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Not again. I won’t let you leave me again.”

You smiled, your heart blooming in your chest. “I’m not going anywhere, Kento. Not this time. Not ever again.”

As the words echoed in the quiet space, time seemed to slow. All the uncertainty, all the regrets, all the lost years fell away. In that moment, nothing else existed but the two of you, standing in the ruins of everything that had tried to pull you apart. And as you stood there, hands clasped tightly together, hearts beating in sync, the curse of the past, the weight of the unspoken, was broken.

For once, it was simple. There were no barriers, no walls, no reasons to keep your distance. The only thing that mattered was the truth that had been there all along—the love between you, undeniable, eternal.

And as Kento pulled you into his arms, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go, he whispered once more, his voice full of wonder, of everything he had never dared to hope for.

“I love you. I’ve always loved you. And I always will.”

And in your arms, you whispered back, your voice soft but strong. “I know, Kento. I know.”

————

age 23: a promise in the garden

The garden was alive in a way that felt almost magical, golden light streaming through the sprawling branches of the ancient oak tree. The air carried the faint hum of life—the rustle of leaves, the soft buzz of insects, and the scent of blooming flowers swaying gently in the breeze. It wasn’t the overgrown wilderness it had been when you were children, nor the empty, desolate space it had become during your years apart. Now, it was vibrant, flourishing—a living testament to patience, hope, and love.

Kento stood beneath the oak, his hands in his pockets, watching as you stepped into the clearing. Your footsteps slowed, then stopped entirely, your gaze sweeping across the scene. The flowers you’d planted together as children were still there, their colors more radiant than ever—wild yellows, purples, and whites scattered among neatly tended beds. The tree’s gnarled roots stretched like a crown beneath it, embracing the earth you’d dug into with small, determined hands so many years ago.

“Kento…” Your voice was soft, almost reverent. “How… how is this possible? It looks—”

“Alive,” he finished for you, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “It’s alive now.”

You turned to him, your expression full of wonder, though your brows knit slightly with confusion. “Did you… do this?”

“I did,” he admitted, stepping closer. His voice was steady, but there was an edge of something else beneath it—nervousness, anticipation, a depth of emotion he could barely contain. “It wasn’t easy. But for you… for us… it was worth it.”

You blinked at him, your eyes softening. “For us?” you repeated, your voice catching slightly on the words.

His hand reached for yours, enveloping it in a warmth that steadied you. He led you to the base of the oak tree, to the small weathered bench that had been there for as long as you could remember. The two of you had sat on that bench countless times—laughing, dreaming, arguing, and, in the quietest moments, simply existing side by side.

The weight of the years pressed down on you as you both sat. For a long moment, there was only silence, broken by the faint rustle of leaves overhead. Kento looked out at the garden, his gaze far away, as if he were sifting through the memories that lingered here.

“This place,” he began, his voice quiet but certain, “has always been ours, hasn’t it? Even when it was nothing but weeds and brambles, it felt like… like it belonged to us.”

You nodded, your fingers brushing over the edge of the bench. “It did,” you agreed. “Even back then, I could see it. The potential. I knew it could be beautiful if we just tried.”

He turned to you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve always been able to see things I couldn’t. You looked at this place, at me, and you saw something worth saving.”

Your throat tightened at the quiet reverence in his voice. But before you could respond, he continued, his gaze dropping to the patch of flowers you’d planted so long ago.

“I think that’s when it started for me,” he said softly. “When I realized how extraordinary you were. How you could bring life to things that seemed beyond saving. I didn’t understand it back then. I just knew I wanted to be near you, to see the world the way you did.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with years of unspoken truths. You felt your heart ache with the weight of them, the quiet sincerity in his voice leaving you breathless.

“We’ve come a long way since then,” he continued, his voice dipping into something deeper, more vulnerable. “We grew up, faced things no one should ever have to face. Missions, losses, mistakes…” His voice faltered, his hand tightening slightly around yours. “And then I walked away. I thought it was the right thing to do, the practical thing. But leaving this life—leaving you—was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And the worst.”

You swallowed hard, the memory of those years apart rushing back like a tidal wave.

“When I heard your voice that day in the States,” he said, his tone quieter now, “when I thought I might lose you…” He broke off, his jaw clenching as he struggled to steady himself. “I realized then what I should’ve known all along. That you’re everything. That you’ve always been everything.”

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, and you turned to him, your voice trembling. “Kento…”

But he wasn’t finished. He stood suddenly, his hand slipping from yours as he moved to the base of the oak tree. His fingers brushed over the bark, his touch reverent, as if he were grounding himself in its solidity.

“This tree has been through so much,” he said, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “Storms, winters, years of neglect. And yet, it’s still here. Still standing.” He turned to you, his eyes soft but resolute. “It’s like us, in a way. No matter what’s tried to tear us apart, we’ve always found our way back. We’ve always stood through it.”

He gestured to the flowers at the tree’s base, their vibrant colors glowing in the golden light. “And these… they’re proof that even the smallest acts of love can grow into something lasting. Something beautiful.”

Your breath caught as he stepped closer, pulling something from his pocket. The small velvet box in his hand seemed to glow in the fading sunlight, the sight of it sending a wave of emotion crashing over you.

“I don’t know what the future holds,” he began, his voice trembling slightly. “I know our lives will never be simple. There will be battles we can’t avoid, losses we’ll have to endure. But I also know this—whatever time I have, I want to spend it with you. I want to stand by your side, to face everything together.”

He knelt before you, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You’ve given me so much,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Your patience, your kindness, your belief in me… I don’t deserve any of it, but I promise you, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of it.”

He opened the box, revealing a ring that was simple yet radiant, its design a quiet reflection of everything he felt.

“I should’ve told you sooner,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “I should’ve said it years ago, when we were kids planting flowers in the dirt. I should’ve said it every day since. But I’m saying it now, and I mean it with everything I am—I love you, (Y/N). I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember, and I’ll keep loving you for as long as I have.”

Tears streamed down your face as he held the ring out to you, his hand steady despite the weight of the moment. “Will you marry me?”

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The garden, the oak tree, the flowers—all of it seemed to lean in, waiting for your answer. Finally, you nodded, your voice breaking as you whispered, “Yes. A thousand times, yes.”

Relief flooded his face, and he slid the ring onto your finger with care. When he stood, you threw your arms around him, holding him as tightly as you could.

“I love you,” you murmured against his shoulder, your voice trembling with the depth of your emotion. “I’ve always loved you.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered, “And I’ll love you for the rest of my life. However long that may be.”

The words hung between you, bittersweet and beautiful, a quiet acknowledgment of the dangers that still lay ahead. But in that moment, beneath the oak tree and surrounded by the garden you’d built together, the future felt distant, almost irrelevant.

For now, there was only this: two hearts, battered but unbroken, promising to face whatever came next—together.

————

age 24: yes now and forever

The morning was one of hushed anticipation, as if the world itself held its breath for the event to come. Soft rays of golden sunlight streamed through the windows of the venue, casting dappled patterns across the stone floor. It wasn’t an opulent cathedral or a grand ballroom; it was a small, ivy-covered chapel nestled in the countryside, its charm lying in its quiet beauty. The ancient oak tree they had planted so many years ago stood just outside, its branches adorned with ribbons and lanterns. Around its base, wildflowers bloomed—a living testament to her magic, their love, and the journey that had led them here.

Inside, chaos brewed as friends bustled to prepare for the ceremony.

“Where’s Nanami?!” Gojo shouted from the chapel hallway, holding up a pair of sunglasses like they were a crucial piece of the wedding puzzle. “I need to give him my trademark advice before he ruins his life—I mean, begins his new life!”

Shoko rolled her eyes, perched on the edge of a pew, sipping champagne from a flask. “The only advice you’re giving is how to be insufferable for eternity. Leave him alone, Gojo.”

Suguru leaned against a wall, smirking. “Pretty sure he’s too busy freaking out to listen to you. My money’s on him crying when she walks down the aisle.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Shoko chimed in. “Man’s a softie. He’s gonna lose it the second he sees her.”

“You’re all underestimating me,” Kento grumbled as he entered, adjusting the cufflinks on his impeccably tailored gray suit. The tie was perfect, the pocket square precisely folded, but the man himself looked like he was barely keeping it together.

Suguru raised an eyebrow. “You’re sweating.”

“I am not.”

Gojo slapped him on the back with an exaggerated laugh. “Nanamin, it’s okay! I cry every time I look in the mirror. Today, it’s your turn.”

Kento glared at him but didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he glanced toward the closed doors at the far end of the chapel, beyond which she was preparing. His stomach churned. He hadn’t even seen her yet, but the weight of the day—the promises they were about to make—was overwhelming.

In the bridal room, (Y/N) was surrounded by her closest friends, who busied themselves with last-minute touches to her gown and hair. The dress was stunning in its simplicity—white as freshly fallen snow, with vines and blossoms embroidered into the bodice and train. The design was an homage to her abilities, subtle yet unmistakable. Her veil was a delicate gossamer, pinned in place over a braid adorned with tiny flowers she had grown herself.

“Relax, (Y/N),” Shoko said, expertly applying the final stroke of eyeliner. “You’ve fought grade-one curses. You can handle saying ‘I do.’”

“I’m not nervous about that,” she murmured, her voice soft but tight with emotion. “I’m nervous because… this feels like a dream. What if it’s too perfect?”

“Perfect?” Gojo poked his head into the room uninvited, earning a chorus of groans. “Nanami’s in the other room, looking like he’s about to hurl. Trust me, it’s not perfect yet. You will be.”

Shoko shoved him out, rolling her eyes. “Ignore him. You’re gorgeous, and this day will be perfect because it’s yours.”

(Y/N) smiled, though her hands trembled as she adjusted the lace on her dress. “Thank you, all of you.” She looked at herself in the mirror one last time, inhaling deeply. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

The chapel doors opened, and the entire room turned to look at her. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, but Kento didn’t notice anyone else.

His breath caught the moment he saw her. His usually composed demeanor crumbled as tears welled in his eyes. She looked like a dream—no, she looked like the most tangible, real thing he had ever known, a manifestation of light and love walking toward him.

“Holy crap,” Suguru whispered from his side.

Gojo nudged him. “Called it.”

Kento’s lips parted, his eyes glistening, but no words came. He didn’t even realize the tears slipping down his cheeks until Suguru handed him a handkerchief.

(Y/N) caught his gaze and smiled, her own eyes misty. Step by step, she came closer, and with every step, Kento felt his heart swell, nearly breaking with every heartbeat. The world fell away, and there was only her—only the woman he had loved for so long, in every quiet moment and in every tumultuous battle.

When she reached the altar, her eyes never left his. Kento didn’t know if he could keep standing, his knees weak as if they might give out at any moment. But somehow, he stayed rooted, his hand trembling as he held out his palm for hers. She took it with a smile so tender it felt like the beginning of everything.

The officiant’s voice barely registered in Kento’s ears as he stared at her, his pulse racing. He couldn’t believe this moment was real. It felt like a dream he had never dared to hope would come true.

When it was time for the vows, the silence hung heavily between them, the air thick with meaning.

(Y/N) smiled softly, her hands clasped in front of her, eyes never leaving Kento’s. She took a deep breath, her voice quivering with emotion but steady in its resolve.

“Kento,” she began, her voice like a prayer, “for years, I have lived a life filled with chaos and strife, yet you have always been my constant. You’ve been the calm in every storm, the one person I’ve trusted with my heart, with my fears, and with all of me. You’ve shown me love in ways I didn’t think were possible. And in return, I vow to spend every day of my life showing you the same love, the same support, and the same devotion. You have given me your heart, and now, I give you mine. No matter what the future brings, I am yours, always.”

Kento’s eyes glistened, and his hands tightened around hers, his throat tight with emotion. He had never expected this, never expected to be here, with her, in this sacred space that seemed to transcend time itself.

When it was his turn, he almost couldn’t speak. His voice wavered as he began, his eyes never leaving hers.

“(Y/N), for as long as I can remember, I’ve been afraid. Afraid of being vulnerable, afraid of loving too deeply, afraid of losing the one person who means everything to me. And yet, here you are, standing before me, and I know—I know—that I was wrong to be afraid. You are my heart, my breath, the reason I push forward even when everything seems dark. I’ve been given so many chances to tell you this, to let you know just how deeply I care, and I’ve always hesitated, always been too afraid to admit what was right in front of me. But I’m not afraid anymore. I stand before you today, telling you with every ounce of my being, that I love you. I will love you every day for the rest of my life, no matter what comes our way. And I will be here, with you, beside you, for as long as you’ll have me.”

The room was silent, holding its collective breath, as Kento’s words settled into the air. His tears fell freely now, a testament to the years of unspoken emotions, to the weight of all the times he had longed for this moment but could never quite bring himself to claim. But now, here he was, and he would never take it for granted again.

And then, as the officiant pronounced them husband and wife, Kento leaned down, his hands cradling her face with such reverence that it made her heart ache. When their lips finally met, it wasn’t a simple kiss; it was a promise, a culmination of everything they had endured, everything they had fought for, and everything they would become together.

The reception that followed was a whirlwind of love and laughter, a celebration so full of joy that it felt like time had slowed, as though the universe had conspired to make this one day eternal.

The hall was alive with music, its golden chandeliers casting warm light over the gathering of family and friends. Gojo, as expected, was the life of the party, making grand speeches and trying to get everyone to join him in embarrassing dance routines.

“Come on, Nanamin!” Gojo shouted over the music, dragging Kento onto the dance floor. “You’re married now! You’ve got to dance, or I’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

“Not even if I beg?” Kento deadpanned.

“Nope!” Gojo grinned mischievously. “Now twirl your wife, or I’ll make a speech about how amazing your moves are.”

(Y/N) laughed, slipping her hand into Kento’s and pulling him toward the center of the dance floor. The moment they began to move together, the world seemed to fall away once more, their laughter blending with the music as they swirled beneath the shimmering lights.

Suguru, who was never one to shy away from a joke, stood nearby, an amused smirk on his lips as he clinked his glass to get their attention. “Now that’s a love story, folks. What I want to know is, who’s going to teach me to dance like that?”

Shoko rolled her eyes. “There’s no hope for you, Suguru. You’re all posture and no rhythm.”

“Hey, I’m all rhythm,” Suguru retorted, eyes glinting with challenge. “I just need the right partner to prove it.”

Laughter erupted around them, the joy of the evening spilling over into every corner of the room. But even in the midst of the lighthearted chaos, there was a quiet serenity between Kento and (Y/N). They weren’t just married—they were finally living the dream they had once thought was too far out of reach.

The night went on, each moment becoming a memory etched in their hearts, a story they would tell their children one day. As the last song played and the guests began to filter out, Kento and (Y/N) stood together beneath the oak tree, bathed in the soft light of the moon.

“I never thought we’d get here,” (Y/N) said softly, her hand slipping into his. “I used to wonder if it was all a dream.”

“It’s not a dream,” Kento replied, his voice hushed but sure. “It’s real. And I’m here, with you, forever.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, her heart full, her body tired but content. She had everything she had ever wanted. And in this moment, surrounded by love and laughter and the promise of a future together, she knew that the journey was just beginning.

And as they stood there, in the quiet of the night, the future stretched before them, a beautiful, endless road, paved with love, laughter, and every step they would take together, side by side in the beautiful life they had built together.

————

age 26: a slice of peace

It had been a long day—too long, if you asked Kento—but when he stepped through the door of their cozy home, the weight of the world seemed to lift just a little. The soft glow of the living room lights, the aroma of something simmering in the kitchen—it was everything he needed after a day spent surrounded by curses, chaos, and endless meetings.

Kento hung his jacket on the back of a chair, loosening his tie as he crossed the threshold. He was met with a familiar sight: (Y/N) standing at the stove, her back to him, humming softly to herself as she stirred something in a pot. The sound of her voice—however quiet—was like a melody to his ears, a reminder that after every battle, there was peace. And peace, it seemed, was always found with her.

“You’re late,” she said, her tone playful but somehow still teasing, even though she didn’t turn to face him.

“Am I?” Kento raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. “Sorry. I had to deal with a particularly stubborn curse today. It didn’t want to die—or follow orders.”

She laughed softly, turning to glance over her shoulder. “I don’t blame it,” she said with a wink. “If I had to face you all day, I’d want a break too.”

Kento’s lips twitched into a smile. He could never resist her teasing. It made everything feel light, like they were in their own little world—a world far removed from the heavy responsibility of being sorcerers. “Are you cooking again?” he asked, knowing full well she was. (Y/N) was always the one who made their meals, though it had started as a joint effort. Over time, she’d made it clear that she enjoyed it more than he did, and he, in turn, had enjoyed the results.

“Obviously,” she replied, her voice full of playful confidence. “I figured since you’re so great at taking down curses, I should balance things out by feeding you.”

He chuckled as he made his way into the kitchen, catching the faint scent of garlic and herbs in the air. “I don’t think I’m the one who needs balancing. You’re the one who’s been feeding me perfectly every night, making me gain at least five pounds from your cooking.”

“Who’s counting?” she teased, waving her hand dismissively. “At least you’re not the one who accidentally set off the fire alarm three days ago.”

“That was one time,” he protested with mock indignation, though he knew she was right. (Y/N) had made a batch of cookies, and they had almost set the kitchen ablaze because she’d gotten distracted by the latest mystery novel she was reading. “Just a little smoke. Nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about? Kento, I think the neighbors thought we were hosting a fire drill.”

“I think they were just worried the smoke was coming from the neighbor’s apartment, not ours,” he teased, stepping behind her to take a look at whatever she was cooking. “What’s for dinner, then?”

“Beef stew,” she said with a smile. “With extra carrots—since I know you like them so much.”

He bent down to kiss her cheek, his lips brushing her skin lightly. “I’ll take it. Just don’t make me go for seconds… I might need to squeeze into my suit for that charity gala tomorrow.”

She gave him a mischievous look. “Are you trying to tell me I’ve been feeding you too much?”

“Maybe…” Kento smirked, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. “But I’m not complaining. In fact, if it weren’t for your food, I’m pretty sure I’d be too thin from all those sleepless nights we’ve had recently.”

(Y/N) shook her head fondly, her hair catching the light as she moved. “You’re impossible,” she said softly, but there was warmth in her voice. “You’re impossible and perfect, and you know it.”

A silence stretched between them, comfortable and steady, like the calm before the storm. Kento watched her for a long moment, his gaze softening. There was something about the way she moved, so graceful, so at peace in their home, that made everything in him feel steady. This was their life now—quiet moments like these, after the chaos of work, before the next battle, before the storm.

She glanced back at him, catching the look in his eyes. “You’re staring at me again,” she said, raising an eyebrow, but the hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“I can’t help it,” Kento replied, pushing off the counter to stand next to her. “You look beautiful, even when you’re just cooking dinner.” His voice was quiet, and there was an edge to it, the kind that only came when he was being serious, when he didn’t try to hide how much he loved her.

She turned to face him fully now, a slight blush coloring her cheeks, but there was something else in her eyes—something more intense, more profound. “Stop making me blush,” she said, trying to play it off, but her voice was softer than usual, more vulnerable. “You know how much I love you too, right?”

Kento didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned in, pressing his forehead gently against hers. The moment felt eternal, like the world was paused around them, just for a second. There was no curse, no mission, no threat hanging over them—just the simple, steady rhythm of their breathing and the warmth of their connection.

“You make everything feel like it’s worth it,” Kento said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was rougher than usual, filled with emotion. “The world is chaos, but I’d face it all over again—if it meant getting to come home to you. You… make this life worth it.”

She smiled at him then, the corners of her lips curling up into a soft, knowing grin. “You’re sappy sometimes, you know that?”

“Only for you,” Kento teased back, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “And only because I’ve got you figured out. You make me want to be better… just by being you.”

(Y/N) laughed softly, her head tilting back in that way that always made his heart swell. “And you make me want to stop burning things… just by being you.”

Kento grinned and pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist. She melted into him, her warmth seeping into his bones, as they swayed together to an unspoken rhythm that only they understood. This was life now—peace after the storm, home after the chaos, simplicity in the face of all the complexities of their world.

After a few moments of silent contentment, (Y/N) broke the calm with a mischievous grin. “So… when are you going to admit that you’re hopelessly in love with me?”

Kento chuckled and placed a soft kiss on her lips, his hands resting at the small of her back. “You already know the answer to that.”

She tilted her head in mock curiosity. “Oh? And what’s the answer?”

He smiled, his eyes full of affection and tenderness, his voice low and sincere. “I’m madly, irrevocably, and completely in love with you. But you already knew that.”

Her lips twitched with the tease of another smile, and she leaned in for a kiss, letting it linger just a moment longer than usual. “Well, I guess I’ll have to keep you around, then.”

“Oh, I plan on staying,” he said softly, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face. “And I’m never leaving.”

For once, they didn’t have to fight curses or fear the world beyond their door. The peace, the love they’d cultivated, was enough. They were enough. And in this small kitchen, with flour in their hair, the faintest scent of burnt cookies still lingering in the air, everything was as it should be. Perfect in its imperfection.

They spent the rest of the evening together, laughter and love filling the air—before the next mission, before the next challenge. For now, they had each other, and that was everything.

————

age 27: what if?

The air had grown heavier with each passing day. The world of jujutsu sorcerers, for so long a constant whirlwind of curses, danger, and conflict, had finally reached a new precipice—a moment where the known threats no longer made sense. As they all gathered at the table in the heart of the Jujutsu High’s war room, it felt as if something far darker, far deeper, had begun to stir once more.

Kento Nanami stood at the head of the table, his usual calm demeanor softened only by the tension in the air. His fingers drummed idly, a rhythmic, almost involuntary gesture as he pondered their situation. He glanced around at the others, each of them readying themselves for a battle they hadn’t been prepared for.

For months, rumors had spread. Whispers in the underground world of jujutsu had suggested something sinister was in the making. But even those who had the most insight into the curse-riddled world hadn’t anticipated the return of Suguru Geto—or, rather, what Suguru Geto had become.

The once-esteemed ally had become a dark force, someone who sought to tear down everything they had built. His alliance with Mahito, the twisted curse that had wreaked havoc on their lives, had sealed their fate. The two were no longer isolated threats—they were a unified front, hell-bent on reshaping the world.

Kento wasn’t alone in his thoughts. (Y/N) sat beside him, her posture upright and composed, yet her eyes betrayed the storm brewing in her chest. There was no denying the severity of the situation. They had fought together for so long, weathered every storm, but this felt different. This wasn’t just a fight for survival; this was a fight for their very way of life.

A tense silence settled over the room as the sorcerers gathered, all awaiting Gojo’s entrance. When he finally did arrive, it wasn’t with his usual exuberance—his confident smile was absent, replaced by a heavy seriousness that sent a ripple of unease through the group.

“Alright,” Gojo began, his voice steady but tinged with an edge of concern. “I know we’ve all been trying to prepare for this day. Suguru’s been on the move. Mahito’s been gathering power. And now they’ve come together in a way none of us expected.”

The room fell even quieter, if possible. Kento’s gaze never wavered, his focus sharp on Gojo as his former teacher continued, detailing the threat they now faced.

“What we’re looking at now isn’t just another curse,” Gojo said, his voice dropping a notch, becoming more serious. “Suguru’s intentions are clear now. He wants to reshape the world—our world. But this time, he’s not working alone. Mahito’s power has evolved. He’s no longer just a dangerous, unpredictable force; he’s something else entirely.”

(Y/N)’s grip tightened around her coffee cup, the usual quiet fire in her eyes flickering as the gravity of the situation set in. Kento reached over and gave her hand a subtle squeeze, his own thoughts swirling with dark uncertainty. They’d fought so many battles together, faced impossible odds, but this? This was different. Suguru Geto had always been a threat, but now, he was a living nightmare.

“Mahito’s power—his manipulation of souls—has become much more sophisticated,” (Y/N) spoke up, her voice calm but heavy with the weight of the truth. “He’s learned how to twist souls even more efficiently, and Suguru… Suguru has learned how to weaponize that power for himself.”

Kento felt a deep chill settle into his chest. Mahito’s ability to reshape souls was already something that they had struggled to combat, but hearing that he had grown even stronger made Kento question if they were truly prepared for the coming fight. His mind replayed the last battle they had fought against Mahito, how terrifying and grotesque his curse had been then. The thought of facing him now, knowing his abilities had only grown, sent a shiver down his spine.

“The problem isn’t just their power. It’s their coordination,” Gojo added, folding his arms as he leaned against the wall. “Suguru and Mahito are working together in ways we haven’t anticipated. If they’re allowed to continue unchecked, they’ll tear through the sorcerers—and worse, they’ll start targeting civilians.”

Kento’s eyes narrowed. This wasn’t just about fighting curses; it was about defending everything they had worked for. The lives of innocents, the future of Jujutsu High, and the very stability of their world were at stake. But even with all their power, even with their best strategies, the reality was becoming clearer: Suguru and Mahito were far more than anyone had prepared for.

“They’ve taken steps to turn the tide in their favor,” Kento muttered, his mind churning as he thought of their next move. “But we can’t let them gain any more ground.”

“Agreed,” (Y/N) said, her voice cutting through the tension in the room. “Suguru and Mahito think they have control over the cursed energy—but we can’t allow that to happen. If they manage to manipulate the energy the way they want to, it will be chaos.”

Gojo stood up straighter, his eyes flashing with determination. “We’ll hit them before they can make that move. But we need everyone on this mission. We need to be smarter than we’ve ever been before.”

Kento felt his pulse quicken. This wasn’t just another cursed spirit to hunt. This wasn’t an ordinary mission. This was a war.

“What’s our game plan?” Kento asked, trying to stay focused amidst the rising tension.

“We need to break their alliance. That’s the key,” Gojo explained, his mind working quickly. “We split them up. Isolate them. Mahito thrives on chaos, and Suguru on control. If we separate them, they’re not as strong. But we have to act fast.”

(Y/N)’s gaze sharpened, and Kento could see the determination in her eyes. She was ready, just as he was. They had faced impossible odds before, but this? This felt different. This felt personal.

Kento had never doubted their ability to win, but this time, there was an eerie feeling in the pit of his stomach. Suguru and Mahito weren’t just enemies—they were harbingers of a new, terrifying age of curses. And this time, they were ready to break everything down.

As the meeting adjourned, Kento stood, his mind racing through strategies, his heart thundering in his chest. (Y/N) caught his eye, and the unspoken bond between them flared with intensity. They were in this together. They always had been. And though the threat before them was greater than anything they had encountered, Kento knew, in the quiet recesses of his heart, that they could face it.

But even as his thoughts aligned with hers, the bitter truth began to creep in. They were staring at a war, and wars often had no victor.

The day of the battle was swiftly approaching, and as the sorcerers gathered their forces, the weight of the situation settled over them all like a thick fog. Suguru Geto and Mahito were no longer the isolated threats they once were. They were a force, united in their plan to reshape the world of jujutsu sorcery, and the heroes that stood against them had to act quickly.

Kento and (Y/N) stood side by side, preparing for the fight of their lives, knowing full well that their victory might come at an unimaginable cost. When they arrived home, the tension was almost a living thing.

The tension that hung in the air as Kento Nanami and (Y/N) prepared for their battle felt suffocating. Every passing moment seemed to stretch into eternity. They had fought together countless times, against curses of all kinds, but this… this was different. This was a battle against the very fabric of the world they had sworn to protect. This was a war against the forces of destruction that threatened to tear apart everything they knew and loved.

They stood in the quiet of their shared space, the soft hum of the lights and the distant sound of voices in the other rooms of the compound the only things breaking the silence between them. The night was quiet, too quiet, as if the entire world was holding its breath. It was in moments like these, when the weight of what they were about to face hung over them like a stormcloud, that the unsaid things began to creep to the surface.

Kento turned to (Y/N), his usually composed demeanor flickering with a hint of something deeper. Something unspoken.

“What if we don’t make it out of this?” he asked, his voice low but clear. The words hung in the air, heavier than any curse they had faced before.

It wasn’t like Kento to voice his doubts. He had always been the steady one, the grounded one, the one who gave others strength when they needed it most. But this was different. The weight of the situation had begun to erode the walls he had so carefully built around his heart. He needed to know—needed to understand—if this was it. If this was the end of everything.

(Y/N) looked at him, her gaze intense, searching, as if she, too, could feel the tremor of uncertainty that was quietly shaking the foundations of their resolve. The world outside was preparing for battle, but in this room, in the space they had created together, it was just the two of them and the unspoken fear they each carried.

She took a deep breath and stepped closer, her fingers brushing against his. “What if we don’t? What if this is the last time we see each other?” she whispered, her voice trembling just slightly. “What if this is the end of everything we’ve built?”

Kento’s heart clenched at the sound of her words. He had never been one to indulge in what-ifs. He had always focused on the mission, always believed in the future they could create if they fought hard enough. But the reality of what they were facing now was different. There were too many unknowns, too many variables they couldn’t control. Too many things that could go wrong. And the possibility of losing (Y/N)—the woman who had become his anchor, his everything—was a thought too painful to bear.

“Do you ever think about it?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly. “About what happens if we don’t make it through? About the things we’ve left unsaid? The things we might never have the chance to say?”

(Y/N) was silent for a long moment, her expression unreadable as she let his words settle. She had always been strong, always able to keep her emotions in check, but in this moment, with the reality of the threat they faced so close, the façade slipped just enough for Kento to see the vulnerability she rarely allowed to show.

“I think about it every day,” she admitted softly, her gaze dropping to their intertwined hands. “I think about the things we could have said… the things we should have said. But I also think about the things we’ve done, the life we’ve built. What if we never get the chance to… to have more time? What if this is the last memory we make together?”

Kento’s breath caught in his throat. Her words echoed in his mind, her quiet vulnerability striking him to his core. He had always been so certain, so steadfast in his resolve to protect those he loved. But now, in the face of this unknown, he couldn’t escape the nagging doubt that perhaps he hadn’t done enough. Perhaps he hadn’t said enough. Perhaps they hadn’t had enough time.

“(Y/N), I—” Kento started, but the words faltered on his tongue. What could he say? How could he express everything he had kept buried for so long? He had always been so careful, so calculated with his feelings, but this… this was different. This wasn’t a mission. This was his heart on the line.

Her hand squeezed his gently, the touch grounding him. “Kento, we don’t know what the future holds. We never have. But we’ve always fought together. And no matter what happens tomorrow, I want you to know…” She paused, her eyes locking with his, her voice steady but filled with an emotion that left him breathless. “I don’t regret a single moment of this. Of us.”

The sincerity in her voice—so raw, so full of love—made Kento’s heart ache with a longing he had tried to ignore for so long. He had always held back, always buried his emotions behind duty and responsibility. But with (Y/N), he had learned to open up, to trust, to be vulnerable. And now, in this moment of uncertainty, all he wanted was to hold on to that trust, to hold on to her.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he confessed, his voice breaking with the weight of the truth. “I can’t imagine a world without you in it. I’ve spent so much of my life thinking I had to protect you, thinking I had to keep you safe, but I—” He stopped, unsure of how to continue, unsure of how to express the depth of his feelings.

(Y/N) reached up, her fingers brushing the side of his face, her touch gentle and comforting. “Kento, I’m not going anywhere. No matter what happens, we’ve been through too much to let this be the end.”

A silence hung between them, the unspoken promise in her words sinking deep into his heart. They didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. They didn’t know if they would survive the coming battle, if they would make it through the storm that was about to crash down on them. But in that moment, standing together in the quiet of their shared space, they both understood one thing: they had each other.

And that, in the face of everything that lay ahead, was enough.

Kento drew her into his arms, holding her tightly, his breath coming in shaky gasps as he tried to steady his racing heart. He knew the coming battle would be unlike anything they had ever faced, but for now, in this moment of calm before the storm, he allowed himself to bask in the warmth of her embrace.

“I don’t know what the future holds,” Kento whispered against her hair, his voice filled with a quiet resolve. “But I know that I can’t face it without you. I’ve never needed anyone more than I need you.”

(Y/N) smiled, a soft, knowing smile that spoke of years of shared battles, of late-night talks, of love that had grown so strong it had become the very foundation of their existence. “And you never will,” she replied, her voice filled with the same determination. “We’re in this together. Always.”

The silence between them felt sacred, a moment of peace before the world would demand everything from them. As the weight of the war loomed large on the horizon, Kento and (Y/N) allowed themselves this brief respite. Because no matter what came next, they knew that as long as they had each other, they could face anything.

And perhaps, that was all they really needed.

As the night stretched on, the sorcerers prepared for the battles that lay ahead. But for now, Kento and (Y/N) allowed themselves one last moment of peace—a quiet conversation, a soft kiss, and the certainty that no matter what happened, they would face it side by side.

————

age 28: the final stand

The streets of Shibuya were eerily silent under the bloodshot sky, the moon half-hidden by the suffocating clouds that rolled over the city like an endless tide. Shattered glass crunched beneath the soles of boots. The usual hum of city life had been swallowed whole, replaced only by the distant echoes of battle—snarls, curses, and the constant reverberating thrum of cursed energy. The city had fallen into chaos.

Kento Nanami’s breath came in uneven gasps as he pressed forward, his eyes flickering over the chaos. The air was thick with cursed energy, the dark, corrosive force tangling with the very fibers of the world around him. His fingers gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, knuckles white, his every move sharp and precise. And beside him—always beside him—was (Y/N), her dark eyes gleaming with determination, her hands weaving through the air, bending the earth and the wind to her will.

It was a beautiful thing, the way she controlled nature. How the trees seemed to bow to her, how vines erupted from the cracked ground like the earth itself was alive—alive with her power. She was a force of nature, unstoppable and fierce. The thought of her had always kept him going, in every mission, every battle. And in this one? In this hellish night? She was his anchor. His world.

And yet, as the fighting wore on, he saw it—saw the cracks in her resolve, the way her shoulders hunched a little lower with each strike, each breath growing more labored than the last. Her power, magnificent as it was, came at a cost. The earth, it seemed, was exhausted as well.

“Don’t push yourself,” Kento’s voice was gruff, a hint of panic creeping in as he shot a glance over his shoulder, meeting her eyes for only a moment before turning back to the front lines. “We need to pull back.”

But she was already casting again, her arms sweeping the air as the ground cracked open beneath her feet, plants rising to form barriers, blades of grass becoming whips, branches of trees turning into spears of unyielding nature.

“We can’t stop now,” she said, breathless but unyielding. “We have to end this. For everyone.”

Her voice trembled as she spoke, but her eyes remained firm. They locked for a moment, as if sharing a silent vow: they would make it through. They had to.

But the world had other plans. The moment she cast her final spell—a wall of twisting, gnarled branches and vines—there was a shift. A cold gust swept through the air, and Kento’s heart skipped a beat. The trees… they weren’t just twisting. They were bending, breaking, and snapping in a violent, unnatural rhythm. Her energy was draining faster than he could keep up with.

Behind them, a curse—a towering abomination of shifting shadows and jagged, broken limbs—crept from the blackened streets.

“Y/N!” Kento’s voice broke as he turned to face her, a shiver of dread crawling up his spine.

Her body trembled with the strain, but she pressed forward, bringing the earth beneath her to life with the last of her strength. And then the creature charged, its massive clawed hands outstretched.

“NO!” Kento screamed, rushing to intercept, but it was too late.

The creature was upon them in an instant, its claws tearing into the earth, and in a blur of motion, it swept her off her feet. Her scream echoed through the air, a piercing, gut-wrenching sound, as the curse’s claws raked across her side. Blood stained the earth, and Kento’s heart shattered in that instant.

“(Y/N)!” His voice was raw, hoarse, barely a whisper as he lunged toward her, his sword raised to strike. But the curse was faster, its claws digging deeper into her flesh as it pinned her to the ground.

The earth she had so desperately controlled began to falter, the vines curling up as if recoiling from the monstrous presence. Her body convulsed, the energy she had fought so hard to control draining from her with each tortured breath.

Kento could feel his chest tighten, as if something inside him was slowly being crushed. Time slowed in that moment—her blood, so dark against the dirt, her body so small and fragile in the creature’s grasp.

She met his eyes, her lips curling into a pained but fond smile. “I love you,” she whispered, barely audible through the suffocating storm around them.

“Don’t—” he began, but he never finished. The monster’s claws descended again, sharper, faster, and with an inhuman screech, it pierced her body.

The world seemed to collapse around him.

Her scream was silenced by the gurgling, choking sound that escaped her lips as her body was impaled. She was still smiling, through the agony, her eyes locked with his, even as the life slowly drained from her.

“No… please… no…” His voice cracked as he dropped to his knees, reaching out toward her. But he couldn’t get close enough.

Her hand reached for him, shaking, but the weight of the curse was too much. The earth she had commanded refused to rise, her power fading faster than she could fight it. And in the final moment, she was gone.

Her body went limp, her eyes closing as the curse ripped her from him.

Kento’s scream tore through the air, raw and guttural, as he watched her slip away.

It felt like his soul had shattered, but he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t let her go, even as her body was ripped to pieces before him.

And then, before he could move, before he could even gather his bearings, a cold presence loomed behind him.

Mahito. Jugo.

The two curses stood before him, their faces twisted with cruel delight.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Mahito’s voice was smooth, mocking, as if everything about this moment was some twisted joke.

Kento gritted his teeth, his hands shaking as he reached for his sword. He couldn’t let them win. Not after all this. Not after her.

But he knew he was too late.

Mahito’s cursed energy wrapped around him, tightening like a vice, while Jugo’s immense power loomed behind.

“You should have stayed out of this, Nanami,” Jugo said with a low growl, before lunging at him with terrifying speed.

The fight was brutal.

Kento’s sword clashed with Jugo’s fist in a flurry of sparks and violence, but his body was already worn down, his mind shattered from the loss of (Y/N). His strikes were slow, weak, and he knew—he knew—he wouldn’t survive this.

Mahito stood back, watching with that sickening, twisted grin as Kento fought, desperately, to stay alive.

But the world had abandoned him.

Jugo’s next strike hit Kento square in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground. Blood stained his lips, but even as he struggled to breathe, the pain, the agony, the heartache—it all felt so familiar. She was gone.

And just like that, in that moment of anguish, Mahito moved in for the kill. His fingers brushed against Kento’s forehead, and Kento felt the chilling touch of the curse wrap around his soul.

In that moment, Kento realized what he had been fighting for, what he had always fought for. It had never been just survival. It had always been for her. And now, as the world faded, as the pain and the blood mixed together, all he could think of was the life he never got to share with her.

Mahito’s laughter echoed in his ears as he faded into darkness. His body went limp, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he let go.

And then there was only silence.

As Kento’s body lay still on the cold, unforgiving ground, his thoughts were scattered. They drifted to her—the only thing that mattered now, the only one who had ever mattered.

Her face, her smile, her laugh… All the memories that had once been so vivid now felt like they were slipping away, like smoke dissipating into the night air. His heart, which had once beaten for her, now lay heavy and silent within his chest. The world he had fought so desperately to protect, the mission he had once lived for—none of it mattered. Not without her.

The weight of that truth was crushing, but at the same time, there was a strange peace in it. He had failed. But in the end, he had given everything for her.

His consciousness began to fade as the cursed energy of Mahito wrapped around him like a shroud. The darkness crept in, inch by inch, until there was nothing but an emptiness he could no longer fight. The sounds of battle—the distant screams of curses, the clash of swords—dissolved, becoming a faint hum. And just as the light of the world blinked out before his eyes, one single image remained.

Her face. Her eyes.

He saw her, not broken or bleeding as she had been when he last laid eyes on her, but alive. Smiling, her hand reaching for his as she always did, her warmth, her essence filling his soul.

For a moment, he felt a flicker of something—something gentle, something soft—as though her spirit had reached out to him. She had been the light that guided him, the anchor in the storm, and in the end, he had followed her, reaching out for her even in death.

And then, as the world finally went black, Kento Nanami’s last thought was simple, pure, and filled with longing:

I’m coming for you, Y/N. Wait for me.

The cold night air stretched on, silent now, save for the flickering embers of the chaos that had consumed Shibuya. The curses were no more, their twisted forms scattered like broken toys across the battlefield. The city, in its death throes, was still. The streets that had once been so full of life were now empty. A hushed, sorrowful calm had fallen over it, and the earth mourned its bender and her lover.

————

an eternal love

Kento’s first breath in the afterlife wasn’t a breath at all. It was something far deeper, something that swirled in the very essence of his being, as though his soul had been waiting for this moment all along.

At first, everything was nothing. Blank, vast, and weightless. The kind of silence that presses into your ears until your thoughts blur. But then, a glimmer.

A soft light appeared on the horizon—a soft, golden glow, like the first rays of dawn kissing the earth after a long, dark night. His feet, though weightless, moved instinctively toward it. There was no pain. No burden. No scars. Only warmth and the promise of something that had always been missing.

As he stepped forward, his heart—still tethered by the love he had once known—began to beat again. He felt it as a quiet thrum within his chest, a comforting pulse that reassured him everything would be okay. That everything already was.

And then, as the light grew clearer, he saw her.

Y/N.

She stood there, bathed in soft gold, the light wrapping around her like a halo, but not in a way that seemed distant or unreachable. She was tangible. Real. Breathing in the same rhythm as him, as though they’d never been apart.

Her hair, once torn and tangled from battles, now flowed freely in a gentle breeze, like a field of flowers dancing in spring. Her eyes—those beautiful eyes that had always seen him—were more radiant than he had ever imagined. She stood tall and strong, no longer a broken soul but a piece of the very heavens themselves.

His breath caught in his throat, even here. The very sight of her, her existence—this moment—felt like a dream he had fought so long for. But it was real.

Her eyes met his, and for a heartbeat, time paused.

She smiled—oh, how she smiled, and it was a smile that reached deep inside him, threading its way through the soul he thought he’d lost. It was the kind of smile that, in its simplicity, made everything right again. It said everything they had never said, everything they never needed to.

She stepped toward him, her pace slow, deliberate, each movement graceful as if the space between them could never be fast enough. He didn’t wait. He moved toward her as well, almost desperate to close the distance, but this time—this time, he wasn’t afraid.

When their hands touched, it was as though the entire world breathed in at once. Their fingers intertwined like it was the most natural thing in the universe. Her skin was as warm as it had always been, but there was a lightness in it now—a peace that hadn’t existed before. She wasn’t a warrior anymore. She wasn’t the person who had been dragged through a life of curses and bloodshed. She was simply Y/N, and she was perfect.

“I thought I’d lost you forever,” Kento whispered, his voice rough, a silent tear slipping down his cheek. It was a tear not of sorrow, but of relief. Because here she was. Here, with him, in this place that wasn’t an ending, but rather the beginning of something far more beautiful than he had ever imagined.

She laughed softly, a sound that filled his chest with a warmth that he hadn’t known in life. “You never lost me,” she said, her voice as soft as the wind, carrying a truth that wrapped around his heart. “I’ve always been here, Kento. I was never truly gone.”

And it was then he understood.

This was not an afterlife of sorrow or regret. This was peace. This was the love they had fought for, the love they had lived for—eternal, unbroken. In this place, there was no time. No distance. No fear.

They stood together, in a quiet serenity that washed over them, knowing that their souls had always been tethered, even in the darkest of moments. Their hands were still entwined, their bodies close as they both took in the purity of this moment.

Kento pulled her closer, his chest resting against hers, his arms wrapped around her like she was the only thing that could ever make sense of the world. His heart ached in the most beautiful way, full of longing and love. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself to completely sink into the peace she offered.

“Y/N,” he whispered again, this time his voice barely audible, “I don’t ever want to leave this place. With you, I’ve found everything. And if I could’ve told you sooner… how much I loved you… I would have.”

She pulled away slightly, her hands resting on either side of his face, her eyes full of softness, understanding. “I knew, Kento. I knew,” she said, her voice a melody that soothed his soul. “In every moment, I knew. And now… now we don’t need words anymore. Because this… this is our forever.”

And forever it was.

They stayed there, in the quiet of the afterlife, no longer burdened by time or fear. Every moment they shared was a memory woven into the very fabric of their being, a new chapter of their love story written in the stars above.

It was in the way their fingers brushed against each other, how the world around them stood still, as though even the universe itself honored their bond.

Kento didn’t need to speak. There was no need to confess, not anymore. Their love had never been about words or promises—it had always been about being together, despite everything the world had thrown at them. And now, here, in this place of peace, there was nothing to fear. Only each other.

They walked side by side, their steps light and effortless, no longer weighed down by the struggles of their past. There were no curses to battle, no wars to fight. In this place, there was only love.

Their love, eternal and pure, would echo through the cosmos, like a soft whisper carried on the wind.

And for the first time, Kento Nanami knew that everything had always been leading to this—this moment, this peace, and this love that would never fade. He’d choose her love and their story forever, and ever, and ever again.

thank you so much if you read all of this!!! im not so sure if i like it but at least its out there. feedback and suggestions are always appreciated! and if you see typos, no you didnt! also i take requests(please i yearn to write). much love💕💕

#x yn #nanami kento x reader #jjk kento #kento x reader #kento fluff #kento x you #jjk gojo #jjk geto #jjk x yn #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #fluff #angst with a happy ending

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darknessisafriend · 21 hours ago

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Everything will be okay - Commodus x you

Here's some Commodus piece! right in time as Gladiator II is out. I started writing this imagine a while ago, in August which was a particularly rough time where I lost my grandpa, I needed to write about it, but it took time, time to start grieving as well. (so obviously TW death)

I dedicate this writing to my grandpa and anyone who faced or is facing the hardship of losing a loved one. Everything will be okay loves ❤️

Everything will be okay

You were taking care of flowers in the imperial garden; you had chased slaves and gardeners wanting to help you out. Your face was puffy and red, your eyes swollen and a headache splitting your skull. You were trying to keep your mind distracted, away from the brutal shock of the news, the pain filling your whole being. The blank state of your mind was soon interrupted by a rumbling of armors and quick steps, your heartbeat quickening, you knew who it was.

“Leave!” ordered the voice of Commodus, your husband, making any person leave the gardens, even his praetorians. Before you turned around his strong arms wrapped around you, squeezing you tight. You clenched your jaw, feeling your heart going wilder, your eyes turning watery, unable to say anything, you bit your trembling lower lip.

“I’m sorry Y/N.” he breathed, pain filled his voice too, as if anything that affected you, touched him too. He gently turned you around in his arms, cupping your face to meet your eyes. The moment he did, you let out a strangled sob, tears escaping your eyes. You wrapped your arms around him, squeezing him, desperately trying to suppress the pain as your tears wet his chest plate. Commodus let go of you, undoing the laces of his armor, briefly parting from you to take it off and just as quickly as you parted, his arms were around you again. This time you could feel his reassuring warmth, his quick breathing, and that is all you needed in that moment. Commodus remained silent; he knew there were no words enough to express the comfort he wanted to give you, how much he wanted your pain to go away, take it all so you could smile again.

“I planted new flowers, Damascus Roses, I…sorry for disturbing your day…” you spoke after some, time, parting from him to pick a few leaves from plants, a way to distract yourself, trying to stop crying. Your husband approached, resting his hand on the small of your back, understanding.

“They are truly beautiful; I have no doubt they shall blossom soon. And you did not disturb me, you are always my priority.” He reassured you, kissing your temple. You looked down at the leaves between your fingers, tearing them into small pieces.

“I never expected father to die so soon…he was healthy…I used to say he would live close to a hundred years old…and now…” you then spoke, silent tears streaming down your cheeks “I couldn’t even see him…talk to him…one last time…I had so much to say…so many hugs to give…” you sniffled, biting the inside of your cheek, wanting to stop crying, but you couldn’t, the pain was too immense.

“Y/N. He knows you loved him dearly; I have seen you send him the letters; you have done your best. But the gods…decided to call him to their side as he was worthy of them…please do not hurt yourself with these thoughts…” he tried, his hand keeping on rubbing your back soothingly, guiding you to a marble bench to sit. You instantly leaned against him, letting him wrap his arm around your shoulders. “I know how you feel. I had a different relationship with my father but for so long, I craved to hug him, to speak about how I felt, to tell him how much I loved him and what I would be ready to do for him…yet I never really could, only when I lost him, I let it all out and it was too late. But you my love, you have been a good daughter, I am sure that from the Underworld he smiles at you.” He soke softly, his eyes wet, sharing your pain, your distress.

“In my religion, there is no underworld, but Heaven and Hell...I hope he is in Heaven; it is similar to what you call the Elysian Fields.” You explained between sniffles “He deserves to be in peace, he was always good to us and trusted you blindly without even knowing you really.” You smiled through tears. “I wish you had met him; he would have liked you…” your voice shook again, struggling to speak those words. Commodus looked down, swallowing his saliva, his other hand reaching for yours, his fingertips playing with your wedding ring.

“It is not too late to pay my respects to him. I could…Y/N just say the word I will bring back his body to you.” He let out, taken by passion as always, unafraid of the challenges he could face. “I can bring him to you so you can embrace him one last time, bury him as your beliefs requires.”

You turned your head to him; not sure you had heard correctly. You met his eyes; he was terribly serious. He was offering you a way to grieve, to make your peace. You pinched your lips together, searching his eyes, amazed by the man you had the luck to call your husband.

“Say the word Y/N. You only need to command, and I shall be your hand.” he said again, confirming his intentions, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing it devotedly. You swallowed down, torn, in this hard moment you wished for Commodus to remain by your side, yet to bring back the one you lost eased your spirit, a final goodbye.

“Bring him back to me, my love…” you finally managed to say “Please…” you whimpered, your hand cupping his cheek briefly, sorry to make him leave. And even if his eyes showed signs of yearning, he spoke none of it and stood, placing himself in front of you before kneeling, putting his fist on his heart.

“Your word is my command.” He vowed, looking at you determined, taking your hand and kissing it with equal devotion. “I leave the Empire in your capable hands my love. I will bring back your father.” He promised, and stood, turning away, calling his scribes and guards, giving instructions as he put his armor back on, ready to ride to Gaul to get your father’s body. He instructed that a priest had the body to be embalmed or preserved until he arrived so he could process to the roman rituals for the dead to allow the soul to pass and not remain wandering in the mortal world. He instructed as well that word doesn’t come out that he left Rome, for your safety; to pretend he was sick and that in the meantime his wife assisted by his counselors would rule.

And just as fast as he had arrived by your side, Commodus had left, it would take about a week or a little more. Thankfully as Commodus had left, you inherited most of his workload, drowning yourself into letters he received, papers from the Senate and more. It distracted you, to the point you worked yourself to exhaustion, otherwise when night came you would cry yourself to sleep, it was normal after all but in those moments, you missed Commodus’ comfort more than ever.

As days passed you grew anxious, where was Commodus? Did he manage to obtain your father’s body? In which state? Would he even be able to bring him back? You stared at the sleeping city from your balcony, your tired eyes looking out for any movement, any singular event…

“Your majesty.” You were startled by a knock on your door, in the middle of the night, it was rather unexpected and even worrying. No one woke the lords in the middle of the night unless it was extremely urgent. Your pulse instantly quickened at that thought. You rushed to the door to open it, not bothering to cover yourself.

“Did something happen?” you asked, your eyes traveling between your chambermaid and the messenger, looking for any clues of bad news. The messenger bowed, averting his eyes at your light clothing.

“Forgive my presence so late in the night, highness. But I was required to reach you as soon as possible and by any means from the Emperor himself.” He apologized, your heart skipping a beat, your hands rolling into fists anxiously. “The Emperor is on his way to the palace, he should reach you before dawn. And whishes to inform you that he brings back your father with him.” He announced, slightly widening his eyes as you froze, your eyes glassy and tears starting to escape. Your chambermaid sent the messenger away, grabbing a warm shawl to cover your shoulders as you walked outside of the sleeping quarters. You couldn’t rest, you couldn’t stand still for as long as Commodus wasn’t standing in front of you.

And for what seemed like endless hours, you paced restlessly in the halls of the palace, your mind imagining the moment you would see your father, what state was he in? would you lose all sanity at the sight?

From afar you could hear the rapid footsteps of a dozen horses, so you rushed to the entrance of the inner court, ordering the doors to be opened. The group instantly entered, each carrying torches, except for one, Commodus, his horse was dragging a tiny carriage and on it…a silhouette, wrapped entirely in linens…your father.

“Y/N” you barely heard him call your name as he stopped close to you. Your eyes were fixed onto the cadaver of your father, your heart pumping into your ears, your body frozen in place, scared to approach, scared to touch the icy skin, scared to lift the veil and see his face…

“Y/N.” repeated Commodus louder, as he got off his horse, nearly collapsing on his knees in front of you, his fist on his heart, he caught your gaze to make you look at him. “I brought your father to you…I thank the gods proper care was done to preserve his body. Do not fear to lift the veil as he seems to be only sleeping.” He spoke with confidence to reassure you, it had to be done, to help you grieve properly.

“Thank you...” you murmured, your lower lip trembling as tears began to fall freely, blurring your vision almost entirely. Commodus stood up and came to stand by your side, one arm wrapping around your shoulders as he made you approach the corpse.

“I am here. Do not be afraid.” He murmured, licking his lips almost nervously as he tried to do a cross sign to accustom your beliefs and respect your father as well. Then, he approached his hands, carefully uncovering the face of your father. It was like sleeping as he described…but more pale, quieter…at least you were glad to notice his face didn’t show any traces of suffering.

“He didn’t suffer, the healers told me he was gone in his sleep.” Informed Commodus as if he had read your thoughts. He took a step back to allow you to come closer, your hands trembled and your heartbeat so fast that you felt breathless. This was real, he was really dead in front of you and yet it felt surreal, like a nightmare you would wake up from.

“Papa...” you cried out, your hand going to brush over his gray hair, soothingly caressing them. “I am so sorry…so sorry we couldn’t talk one last time…sorry I couldn’t hug you…sorry I couldn’t be there...” you sobbed, tears falling on his burial shirt.

You stayed there for an hour, maybe more, touching him gently, speaking to him; during that time, Commodus remained standing by your side, ordering a few things to his praetorians so you two were left alone in that painful moment. As your eyes had no tears left, a headache splitting your skull, you turned to your husband, throwing yourself into his arms, burying your face in his chest, his tunic absorbing the wetness of your face as he squeezed you tight, kissing the top of your head, soothing you the best he could for long minutes.

“I have ordered my praetorians to fetch a Christian priest. We will have him buried in their cemetery if you wish.” He spoke quietly. You squeezed your eyes shut, moved by his care “Thank you...” you murmured against his chest before lifting your head to look at him. Only then you noticed the bags under his eyes, the dust covering his skin and clothes, his shoulders weren’t as straight as usual, he was exhausted, probably pushing through his limits to remain standing; he had been so fast, he had surely ridden days and nights, without truly resting. That was something you had always loved with Commodus and yet it also worried you; when he had an idea in mind, he would lose sleep and hunger until he had reached his goal.

“We should go prepare for the burial, you could rest a bit, my love…” you murmured tenderly, so thankful he was there for you, so thankful you he had chosen you as his wife. You headed with your husband to your private quarters, taking hold of his hand, a comfortable silence between you.

“Bring me a warm water basin, and the necessary to wash. Also, black clothing for the emperor.” You ordered your chambermaid and removed his armor piece by piece, dust flying all around the room, the scent of sweat reaching your nose. You threw away his under-armor tunic and undergarments as well.

“Y/N you don’t have to do this…” protested Commodus, as he understood your plan. Not wanted to be a burden on your heavy spirits already.

“You brought my father back to me, all the way from Gaul to here.” You simply replied, dampening the washing cloth in the warm scented water “Besides, it distracts me. I need to think about something else for a bit, clear my mind.” You added softly, your eyes burning from too much crying every time you blinked.

“How could I face you again if I didn’t even have the time nor will to do this for you? I couldn’t bear it…then, I wanted to meet him properly.” He spoke softly as you washed his feet, soundly exhaling in relief, his muscles relaxing.

“Circumstance could have been better. But yes, he would have liked you, I think… He deeply valued ambition. He used to say I deserved a man who knew what he wanted and who wanted to reach the sky to provide me and my future children the best life.” You smiled softly as you thought of him, yes, he would have liked him. “Look at your hands my love...” you commented, referring to how callous they had gotten but especially the small cuts he had on his palms from squeezing the reins as he rode.

“Can you tell me what he was like? What kind of man? I know things of course from public knowledge but you know better.” He replied, letting you apply oil on his palms.

“He was such a clever man, a scholar from the beginning. He read much, Greek classists, some Roman ones too. He always said that you couldn’t understand the world you live in and its future without understanding the victories and defeats of the past. He was very strategic in his decisions; he had that broad vision over things…he would have been an excellent counselor to you or would have enjoyed debating with you...” you chuckled nostalgic, grabbing a dry cloth to dry his skin.

“So that is where your sharp mind comes from when talking politics hm?” you heard the smile in his voice, trying to cheer you up “Wrapped in the sweetness of your mother. Any emperor around the world would bend the knee.” He cooed as you looked up, gently cupping your face and kissing your forehead protectively. “I would have been deeply honored to discuss with him.” You closed your eyes, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him more, your face against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, that was so calm and steady even after that exhausting trip, it soothed you too, everything will be okay.

“Now, if you are ready, let’s accompany your father to his eternal resting place. Let us not keep the gods...your God waiting.” Commodus spoke softly, a little encouraging smile, telling you he would always be there.

Tag list:

@skaravile @lyoongx @weirdflecksbutok @charlie-sisters @stardancerluv @sgtsavoytruffle @ohcarlesmycarles @rajacero @niniitah-ah @morrisonmercurryphoenix @fly-like-a-phoenix @thatdummy-girl @galos-writing @pstvchld @chiclunatic

@buttergirlie @rosebloodstuffandthangsss @clowndaddyfleck @jaylovesbats @dreamingmaria @just-a-fucking-comedy @lady-carnivals-stuff @sierraclegane @lemondedeniname @hvproductions @syvellsworld @papercut-paranoia @jokerflecker @bring-your-holy-water @five-miles-over @beatlebabe1996 @kfanniart @soulsfrostedheart18 @mayflower-gal @creativestorylove

#joaquin phoenix #commodus imagine #commodus x reader #emperor commodus #commodus x you

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day-dr3aming · 2 days ago

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Basic info:

Nicknames: Wennie (close friends), Little Snowflake (Grandfather), Peu de Glace (Rook), Penguin (Floyd), Herbivore (Leona), Child of Man (Malleus)

Class: 2-C

Dorm: Heartslabyul

Birthday: December 21st

Age: 17 years

Height: 1,54 m

Dominant hand: Right

Club: Mountain Lover club

Hobbies: Photography and collage

Best subject: Music

Hometown: Land of Pyroxene (Harveston)

Pet peeveis: Rudeness

Favorite food: Carrot cake

Least favorite food: Coffee

Talent: Gardening

Family: Unnamed father, Unnamed mother, Unnamed grandfather

Unique Magic: Build a Snowman Allows her to create living snowmen that can follow her commands or have a mind of their own. The bigger the snowman, the more magic is consumed and, consequently, more blot is accumulated. She can also control it from any distance, although it requires more focus when controlled from a long distance.

Background:

Before going to NRC, She spent her entire life in her homeland. She loved playing with Epel and helping her family with their business. She was known for being an energetic child who caused trouble, and because of this she got into a lot of trouble when she was little.

She loved listening to the stories her grandfather told about all his adventures around Twisted Wonderland and all diversity, from cultural to natural that you saw before deciding to live in Harveston. Because of these stories, Eirwen began to wish that one day she could visit all the incredible places that her grandfather had known. She also became obsessed with reading about all the different types of plants that exist, especially flowers, because of this, he acquired an affinity for gardening.

Personality:

Eirwen is known as the sunshine of her dorm, always looking cheerful, optimism and lively, She is also quite clumsy, which often results in her receiving a lot of lectures from Riddle. Her outgoing side makes her quick to make friends, which can be a flaw due to her naivety. They also has an ability to lift someone's spirits with jokes and pranks.

She is also very selfless and loving, often helping others without expecting anything in return, even if sometimes your help gets in the way. It may not seem like it, but they is very good at perceiving what others are feeling, and with that she is able to be a good listener and give advice, even if it seems silly at first.

Despite not seeming like it, Eirwen can take things seriously when necessary, refraining from making jokes and jokes about certain subjects. She can also be shown to have a cold temperament when irritated, although it is rare to happen, she is not rude or ill-mannered, but their personality still changes a lot when she is angry.

Trivias:

Eirwen is the Twisted version of Olaf from Frozen

Their name Eirwen, is the combination of the Welsh words, "eir"(snow) and wen (white or pure), which means white snow or pure snow

She is afraid of wolves

She has a nickname for each person related to a flower

She has a pet reindeer named Groff

Their grandfather is a brown bear beastman

She is a big fan of Vil and Neige

She is usually responsible for taking care of the flowers at Heartslabyul

She was born on a winter solstice

They ate grass as a child (she was a stupid child)

Galeria:

Divider by: cafekitsune

#✿! Eirwen ⛄#twisted wonderland #twst #twst oc #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #heartslabyul #twst disney

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dagrapesody · 2 months ago

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Applying nail polish💅💅💅

With the girlyyys!!!

#kirby #kirby marx #my art #marx kirby #magolor #art #fanart #kirby magolor #kirby fanart #old art #kirby susie haltmann #kirby susie #susie kirby #magolor kirby #marxolor implied honestly don’t ask me how #i don’t make the rules #susie haltmann #sorry that taranza isnt here #hes at his garden taking care of his flowers

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batnardomcfly · 1 year ago

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Post related to my headcannon

*Luigi chugging a bottle of Pepsi*

Mario, walking in to the kitchen: What are you drinking?

Luigi: Pepsi

Mario:….

Mario: It’s 7 in the morning

Luigi: And?

Mario, who is tired of it: Lu, just drink the coffee. Please.

Luigi: No!

#mario and luigi #luigi nintendo #luigi x peasley #luisley #superstar saga #prince peasley #update: peasley and luigi have been exchanging letters for a while now #peasley talks about all the different flowers he has in the royal garden and how he takes care of them #luigi talks about all the pasta recipes his mother taught him and how he loves to cook

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lukasdoodles · 2 years ago

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uhhhuhhhhhhh (Drops this with little explanation and runs)

#Super Macho Man #Punch Out oc #Ever Armstrong #she aint dead lol they just arent together anymore and he's stupid abt it #Macho's mansions now overflowing with rosebushes and tulips specifically bc those were Ever's favorities #the one thing he cares for by himself #doesnt let anyone touch his plants #dumb old man (Kisses his forehead)#also i cant draw bulbs i was gonna do lotsa tulips but realized how long it would take for this scribble of a comic so i cheated with a rose #with a rose brush instead lol thats why they plant a bulb and get roses out of it come ON its a nintendo world anything could happen #fire flowers sprout from the garden and then we get frost flowers after that or whatever #hhehehehehehehehehehehehe

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toothed-raven · 2 years ago

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Grampa :))

#struggling game #art #amadeus💖#fanart #I like to think he'd dress like that when he's outside picking some flowers or taking care of his garden!#✝️by me✝️

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winter-hoof · 4 months ago

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We had to stop by my boyfriend’s parents house today to drop something off & it’s just so sad to see his mom’s garden so overgrown and messy ☹️

#you can’t be upset about it b/c his dad was spending all day every day at the nursing home w/ her #for over a year so he hasn’t had the time to take care of it #but it’s just sad to see b/c she LOVED that garden & was out there every day taking care of it ☹️#once I get my own messy overgrown yard cleaned up I want to take some flowers from her garden & plant them at my house #p

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cloudwisp · 4 months ago

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✮ sylus x wife!reader

contents: fluff, suggestive. arranged marriage au. hints of slow burn. you like playing hard to get and he loves calling you his wife. 1.4k wc.

꒰ note ᰔ I had to deposit my messy thoughts somewhere and this headcanon post was the result.

part two here. ꒱

⭒ Arranged marriage with Sylus where he prefers to call it a “strategic partnership” as a means of appearances to flaunt that he has it all—an empire, riches, strength, influence and now a darling wife who waits for him at home. You’re not so much as a random choice, Sylus had been watching you from afar for a while and in exchange for his protection in the N109 zone he strikes a deal with you to play a simple role. You have every reason to be wary of him and know to keep your wits about yourself, but even you acknowledge that your chances are better with him. Though, if you asked him how he was so certain you’d agree to his proposal he’d admit that he wasn’t but he knew you’d consider it if he had an advantage over you.

⭒ He sets his terms and conditions—you reside in his humble abode, wedding ring always worn on your finger, and attend events with him as a pretty accessory on his arm to contribute to his image. But he’ll never admit that he actually enjoys your company at business functions that often feel dull to him. You are more than welcome to spend your days as you please so long you don’t cause him trouble, and that also means you have his black card privileges to spoil yourself rotten. Of course, he accommodates most requests you may have like sleeping in separate rooms if that’s what you wish (and redecorating because his furnishing decisions are quite bleak).

⭒ Luke and Kieran can sense that their boss feels something for you despite his nonchalance toward this little arrangement. It starts off small, it always does—Sylus takes note of your morning and night routine, your picky eating habits and has the chef make adjustments to your preference, how he sees you out in the gardens and come back with spring tulips to brighten the space and the next week he already replaced the slowly withering flowers with fresh ones. The twins whisper among themselves that he’s often less annoyed and irritated when you’re around, and their boss wouldn’t go through the trouble of being considerate unless he cares for you. It’s almost exciting for them both to witness a budding romance unfold before their very eyes and they do offer a helping hand here and there to keep things interesting.

⭒ Sylus thinks it’s adorable how you keep trying to resist him and that’s precisely the reason he loves seeking you out just to watch your resolve crumble under his touch. He finds you in the kitchen preparing a snack and cages you from behind with his hands planted on either side of you against the counter. “Hey kitten, I thought I’d find you in here.” You feel his hot breath down your neck as he pushes your hair aside just enough to lay a soft kiss on your shoulder. He chuckles when you comment that he’s being awfully touchy with you, and he purposely moves closer so that his chest is pressing against your back. “Perhaps I just can’t keep my hands to myself where you’re involved. Besides, you’re my wife now. I think I have the right to touch you whenever I like.”

⭒ You remind him that you’re his wife in title only, but that doesn’t discourage his flirtation and teasing as he allows you to nudge past him. He follows you into the common area and takes a seat on the couch, spreading his legs wide and taking up a lot of space. His gaze is settled on you as he pats his thigh and his lips curl into a smirk. “Come here, wife.” You naturally scoff meanwhile you place the plate of seasonal fruits on the side table and situate yourself closest to the armrest, taking a bite into a juicy red strawberry as you ignore his piercing stare.

⭒ For someone who always gets what he wants, Sylus isn’t used to being defied like this. And had it been anyone else his patience would wear dangerously thin, but he supposes that you’re a special exception because he seems to enjoy the chase and claiming its reward. With one small gesture, he drags you across the couch by a gravitational pull and you squeal when the swirling red easily turn and maneuver you so you’re forced to straddle him and your hands prop on his shoulders for support. “There, much better. Comfy? This is the best seat in the house.” His gaze locks with yours, and he thinks you huffing and frowning at him is simply cute. He firmly grabs your wrist with the bitten strawberry in your hand and lifts it to his mouth for a sweet taste.

⭒ “No fair… using your Evol against me like this.” You grumble under your breath as you gently trail your thumb from his chin to the corner of his mouth where the strawberry juices began to spill. Then an impulsive thought takes over and you pinch his cheek between your fingers, creating a sticky mess on his face. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself. That’s for treating me like a sack of potatoes.” He chuckles once more, his hand falling on your hip and he gives you a light squeeze. “Oh, I do have every intention of fully enjoying my wife tonight.” And by that, he means taking you out for a joyride on his motorbike and feeling your arms wrapped around him tightly as the engine roars through the streets under the night sky and sinking moon. Sylus would never engage in any intimate acts you weren’t ready for, but he loves seeing you fluster at his suggestive remarks.

⭒ As the weeks cross over into months, you never imagined that you’d be spending so much time with Sylus outside of your agreed terms. He’s everywhere in every waking moment of your life even when he’s not there physically. You’re learning new things about him each day and you (begrudgingly) like being around him—even when he can sometimes be a playful bully toward you. When he’s gone for long stretches of time to deal with negotiations and other important matters in the N109 zone, you can feel your heart yearning for him but you’d never say that you miss him out loud when you think he's still toying with you. But with the way he cares for you like you’re both in a real and genuine relationship, it’s hard to know his true intentions and keep your feelings buried deep inside your chest for long.

⭒ You accidentally confirm that Sylus does harbor romantic feelings for you when you carelessly bring up your replacement in a lighthearted joke. You’ve never seen his face falter so quickly at your words as he averts his gaze for a moment to collect himself—a hint of vulnerability in his crimson hues. “I wouldn’t have found a new wife.” He shakes his head and tells you, his voice a little rougher than before. You don’t know what to say, but you manage a soft “No?” that reaches his ears. “No. I wouldn’t have been able to replace you, kitten. You’re it for me. The only one. No one could fill the void you’d leave behind.”

⭒ You and Sylus have kissed before, but this is the first time you’re initiating it. As you brush your lips against his, there’s a softness you never noticed. His hand slips around the small of your back and he pulls you close against him, returning your kiss with the same tenderness as though savoring the taste of you. You lean back after a moment, your palm meeting his cheek in a sweet embrace. “You know, I'm still getting used to the idea that I’ve fallen for you.” You can see him returning back to normal when he offers you a cocky smirk. “And yet here you are. In my arms, with your lips on mine. I think you’re not being entirely honest, my beautiful wife.” Sylus has waited a long time to hear those words from you but you don’t need to know that right now.

#ᨳ ₊˚ 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐩.𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 #sylus #sylus x reader #l&ds x reader #love and deepspace x reader #sylus love and deepspace #lnds sylus #sylus lnd #sylus l&ds #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #love and deepspace

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d1stalker · 3 months ago

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Origin [Logan Howlett]

Summary: Two people, one shared past, and decades apart.

Warnings: fem!reader, angst, fluff, longing, things get bad before they get better! WC: 14k - MASTERLIST

A/N: there are plot points that are inspired by Logan's origin story (thank u marvelwiki), but they are so non-canon compliant its funny so don't call me out tyyy 😙

----

Before he was known as Logan, or as Wolverine, he was James.

Your James.

—

It’s quiet in the Howlett estate, the kind of stillness that only comes when everyone has long retired for the night. But while the rest of the mansion sleeps, you remain wide awake. Dressed in your nightgown and nestled under the blankets, you glance at the small, brass pocketwatch resting on your bedside table. The hands read 10:22 PM. Any minute now, you think to yourself.

Then, like clockwork, you hear it—a faint knock on your door. Three slow, deliberate taps, followed by two quick ones. The secret signal never fails to make you smile. You spring from the bed, feet softly padding across the floor as you hurry to the door. You open it as quietly as possible, your grin widening the moment you see who’s waiting on the other side.

James.

He stands there, dark tousled hair and that familiar mischievous smile that always manages to light up the dim hallway. You’ve known him your entire life, growing up together under the roof of the Howlett estate. Your parents, both loyal servants to the Howlett family, were fortunate enough to be granted permission raise you alongside their son.

From the moment you could walk, you and James were inseparable, sharing countless adventures in the woods, running across the estate’s gardens, and whispering secrets to one another under moonlit skies.

"About time," you whisper, teasing him with a playful glint in your eyes. "You really know how to keep a lady waiting, don’t you?"

A soft snort escapes his lips as he grabs your hand, pulling you gently into the hallway. "My deepest apologies, M’lady," he replies with mock formality, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. "I had to... attend to urgent business in the necessary."

You snicker, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "Ah, I see. Was it a fulfilling experience, sir Howlett?"

He glances over his shoulder, rolling his eyes with exaggerated exasperation, though you catch the small smirk tugging at his lips. He doesn’t respond, but his silence confirms everything. It was.

The rest of the trip is quiet, the two of you moving stealthily through the darkened corridors, careful not to disturb anyone or draw unwanted attention. After all, your mother would certainly disapprove of such late-night rendezvous. It is improper, she would say.

But what choice did you have? The day offered no time for moments like this. You were busy training to take over as the next chief maid, learning the endless routines of the household, while James spent his time with his family or other highborn friends. It was only after hours, when the mansion finally settled, that the two of you could steal away for these secret meetings.

Finally, you reach the gardens. The crisp night air greets you as you slip away from any prying eyes. There’s a familiar sense of peace here, among the fragrant flowers and the towering trees that shield you from the world. James leads you to your usual spot, a stone bench tucked beneath the shadow of the hedges. Wordlessly, he slips off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders before taking a dramatic bow.

"To keep you warm, M’lady," he says softly.

"Hush, James," you laugh, finding his antics endearing.

You’re grateful, especially as the cool night air nips at your exposed skin. The nightgown, while comfortable, offers little protection against the chill. You pull his jacket tighter around yourself, then pat the empty spot next to you, gesturing to him to sit, to which he does.

“How was your day?" you prompt.

James sighs, leaning back on the bench, his hand casually resting behind you as he stares up at the sky. "Same old, same old," he starts, a familiar twinge of annoyance creeping into his voice. "You know how it is. Dinners with my parents, listenin’ to old men talk about businesses I'll never care about, trying not to fall asleep while they drone on about investments or land expansions. It’s all so posh."

You stifle a giggle, nudging him playfully with your elbow. "Posh? You sound like you're living the dream."

He rolls his eyes dramatically. "If by 'dream,' you mean sitting there pretending to care while wonderin’ how quickly I can escape to see you, then yeah, it's an absolute dream," he quips sarcastically.

Sniggering, you bring your hand up to your forehead, acting distressed. "Oh, how tragic. The poor Lord James Howlett, trapped in a world of lavish dinners and fancy wine. Whatever will you do?"

"Mock me all you want, but it’s unbearable," he groans, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I hate it. All the stuffy clothes, the fake smiles, the way everyone acts like they're better than everyone else." He pauses for a moment, then glances sideways at you. "You're the only real thing here."

The sincerity in his words makes your heart flutter, and you’re suddenly grateful for the darkness hiding the faint blush creeping up your cheeks. Looking away, you try to play it off. "Well, if that’s the case, I guess I should charge you for my company," you tease coyly.

He lets out a huff of amusement, shaking his head. "I'll pay whatever price you want.”

There's a pause as you both sit in comfortable silence. Just then, a soft breeze sweeps through the garden, catching the edges of your nightgown and fanning it up slightly. Before you can even react, he swiftly moves his jacket from your shoulders to your lap, covering your legs. His hand lingers, making sure you're covered before he hastily wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you close against him.

The warmth from his body contrasts with the cool air, and you can't help but laugh softly at his sudden behaviour. "Wow, you really are a gentleman, James."

He tenses slightly, his grip on your shoulder loosening as he looks away, clearly flustered. "I—I just didn’t want you to get cold," he mumbles, his usual confidence faltering.

You smile at how shy he suddenly seems, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Thank you. It’s sweet."

For a brief second, he says nothing, but you can feel the way his heartbeat picks up just a little. Then, almost too quietly, he mutters, "I’d do anythin’ for you."

Your breath catches in your throat, and you tilt your head to look up at him. But you can’t respond, because he clears his throat, looking down at you with a small, sheepish smile. "What about you? Any exciting adventures in the life of a future chief maid?"

Grinning, you recognize his attempt to shift the conversation, and decide to let it go for now. "Oh, you know, the usual. A thrilling day of dusting, folding linens, and trying not to spill tea on your mother’s favourite rug."

He chuckles, pulling you a little closer. "Sounds way more exciting than my day."

You hum in acknowledgement, letting the moment linger. Neither of you speak for a bit, just relishing being in each other’s presence.

"So, do tell," you say after a while, breaking the silence, "if you could get away from all the fancy dinners and boring conversations, what would you do?"

He smiles slightly, his gaze still fixed on the star-filled sky. "I’d leave. Go far away from here, maybe somewhere quiet. Live in the countryside, where no one cares about wealth or titles." His eyes drop to meet yours. "Maybe you’d come with me."

You laugh gently. "And who would take care of your family if we both ran off?"

Shrugging, his expression grows more serious. "They don’t need me. They need someone who’ll do what they want—someone to follow in their footsteps. That’s never been me."

There’s a weight in his words, and you feel a pang of sympathy for him. You’re about to respond, to tell him you understand more than he realizes, when—

BANG.

Your body stiffens instantly, heart beginning to pound in your chest as you straighten up, eyes wide.

"What the hell was that?" James asks sharply. He turns to you, his face mirroring the confusion and unease you're feeling.

Shaking your head, you swallow the lump that’s forming in your throat. "It sounded like a gunshot."

The two of you stare at each other for a beat, then, right when you’re going to speak again, you hear it—his mother’s scream. It’s high-pitched, panicked, and it sends a jolt of fear through you both.

"Help!" she shrieks from inside the mansion. "James, help!"

Without a word, you bolt to your feet, the peaceful night forgotten as you rush back inside. Your heart is racing as your bare feet fly across the grass, nightgown fluttering behind you. James is ahead of you, moving fast, his expression shifting from confusion to pure fear.

As you reach the back entrance, your mind races with possibilities, none of them good. You burst through the door into the hallway, your breathing laboured from the sudden sprint. Something is terribly wrong.

"Mother!" He calls, his voice sharp with panic as he leads the way toward the main staircase. You follow close behind, anxiety coiling tight in your chest.

Once you get to the bottom of the stairs, you hear footsteps—heavy, hurried—and then you see her. Mrs. Howlett, wide-eyed and pale, comes hurrying down from the upper floor, clutching the banister for support. Her hands are trembling.

"James!" she cries. "Your father—he’s been shot!"

The boy beside you freezes, face going white. "What?" he breathes, disbelief etched into every syllable.

"He—he was in his study, and I—I heard the gunfire. I—I don’t know what happened. I don’t know who—" Her voice breaks, and tears stream down her face as she struggles to speak. "We need to get help!"

He doesn’t waste another second, taking off up the stairs, his long strides making quick work of the distance. You trail after him. How could this happen? Who could’ve done this?

When you reach the second floor, you see the study door slightly ajar, light spilling out into the dark hallway. James' hand wavers over the doorknob for only a moment before pushing the it open wide.

Inside, the scene is worse than you imagined.

There, slumped over his desk, is Mr. Howlett. His once pristine office now looks chaotic—papers scattered, a window broken, and blood, so much blood. A crimson stain is spreading across his shirt.

"Father," James chokes out, rushing to his side, his hands shaking as he reaches for him.

You stand paralyzed for a moment, the sight rendering you speechless, but then the adrenaline kicks in, and you move further into the room. Your mind is screaming at you to do something, anything, but all you can do is watch as James desperately tries to wake his father, calling his name again and again.

Trying to make sense of the horrific scene, your attention is dragged away by the sound of footsteps shuffling behind you. Thomas Logan, the groundskeeper, stumbles in, his movements clumsy, his face twisted with drunkenness. His bloodshot eyes are manic, and in his trembling hand, he’s clutching a gun—the same one that must have been used to end Mr. Howlett’s life.

"Thomas!" Mrs. Howlett yelps. "What are you doing?"

James turns sharply, still kneeling beside his father’s body, his expression hardening immediately. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Thomas lets out a low, slurred laugh, staggering further into the room. His eyes flick between you, James, and Mrs. Howlett, but his focus remains hazy. "I’ve had enough of this, enough of all of it," he mutters, waving the gun in the air. "Your precious mother thought she could keep the truth from you. But it’s time you knew the truth, boy."

"What truth?" The younger man demands harshly.

Swaying on his feet, he points the gun directly at James, his finger twitching dangerously on the trigger. "I’m not just the groundskeeper, you idiot," he snarls venomously, "I’m your damn father."

It’s as if the room has been put on pause. You feel the air leave your lungs, your mind scrambling to make sense of what you just heard. Glancing at your friend, you see the disbelief wash over his features, his eyes widening with shock, denial.

"No," he whispers, shaking his head, backing away slightly. "You're lying. You’re drunk."

But the older man just laughs, the sound hollow and bitter. "You think John Howlett was your father? That man never wanted you! He raised you because he had to, not because you were his. You’re mine, boy. My flesh and blood,” he jerks his head in the direction of Mrs. Howlett. “Go ahead, ask your mama."

You hear Mrs. Howlett begin to blubber in the background at the accusation, but your attention is solely on the boy in front of you.

Betrayal is written all over his face.

His breath quickens, and his hands clench into fists at his sides. You want to reach out to him, concern puling you forward, but then he lets out a scream—a sound so full of pain that you stop in your tracks.

"James!" you cry, but he doesn’t seem to hear you. His eyes squeeze shut, and his body convulses, as though something inside him is tearing him apart from the inside out.

The sickening sound of skin breaking fills your ears, and bone claws shoot out from his knuckles. They gleam in the dim light of the room, sharp and lethal. The sight of them is nauseating, but you’re unable to look away as James blinks, gazing down at his hands, dumbfounded.

"What—" he rasps, his chest heaving. "What’s happening to me?"

“What the hell is this?” Thomas sneers in disgust. He stumbles, reaching for the wall to steady himself. “Figures... Of course my son’s a freak.”

“You were always a fuck-up,” he continues in his drunken rage. “Useless, soft... a disappointment from the start. Just like your mother. Look at you now, boy.”

“I’m not your boy,” James snarls through gritted teeth, rage building inside him. His eyes flash dangerously. It’s as if something inside him has snapped, some deep, instinctual part of him that has been lying dormant, waiting for this very moment.

“You’re right. You’re no son of mine. Just a goddamn mistake. Should’ve left you in the dirt with your—"

Before he can finish, a roar rips from James’s throat. So raw, so animalistic, you get goosebumps. His entire body tenses, muscles coiled, and then, with terrifying speed, he lunges.

In an instant, his claws sink deep into Thomas’s chest with a thunk. The force of the blow sends the older man crashing back, disbelief and agony seizing his face as blood sprays across the room, spattering the walls and floor. His body thrashes, his hands weakly grasping at his son’s wrists, but there’s no strength left in him.

A gurgling gasp bubbles from his throat, and then it's over. He collapses to the ground, lifeless, as James stands over him, claws retreating back into his skin.

"James!" Mrs. Howlett screams, her voice piercing. "What have you done?!"

You don’t know how to react. You can’t process it, can’t breathe. All you know is that you need to get out of here—get James out of here, away from this nightmare before it consumes him. Without thinking, you rush to his side, grabbing his bloodied hand.

"We have to go!" you say urgently.

His eyes dart to you, frantic and unfocused but he doesn’t resist as you pull him toward the door. His mother's cries echo behind you, but you can’t stop, can’t look back.

You run—both of you—through the hallways, out the back door, and into the dark of night. The wind whips around you, stinging your face, but you don’t stop. You run until your legs burn, until you’ve entered the surrounding forest, and the Howlett estate is nothing but a distant shadow behind you.

All the while, James’s hand stays locked in yours.

Branches scratch everywhere, at your arms, your face, and the underbrush tugs at your clothes as if trying to hold you back, but you push on. Only after the first light of dawn begins to creep in, does the exhaustion hit. Bodies aching and bruised, the two of you collapse beside a small stream.

You’re on your back, catching you breath, when you tilt to your head to look over at your friend. He’s sitting down, with his hands out in front of him, leering at them. He struggles for air, his breaths coming in short, panicked bursts, and his clothes are torn, stained with blood—his father’s blood, Thomas’ blood.

His claws are long retracted, but the scars of where they came out of his skin are there, fresh.

"James," you whisper, but he doesn’t respond. Slowly, you crawl over to his side, pain flaring with each movement. When you reach him, you sit on your knees, looking up at him, trying to meet his gaze. You repeat his name, more firmly this time.

He finally looks at you, but he’s broken. His lips tremble as he opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a choked, almost inaudible, "What did I do?"

Your heart aches for him. Reaching out, you gently take one of his bloodied hands in yours, and as soon as your skin touches his, he flinches, pulling back slightly. "I killed him." he whispers, more to himself than anything. “I—I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t mean to!"

"Hey, listen to me," you say. "You didn’t know. You couldn’t have known this would happen."

"I killed him," he repeats. "I killed Thomas. I—" He glances down at his hands, at the scars along his knuckles, and his expression crumples completely. “He was my father.”

You don’t know what to say, don’t know how to fix this, but you know you have to try, so you wrap your arms around him. At first, he stiffens, but then he collapses to the ground, pulling you down with him. You land on top, your chest pressed against his as the weight of your bodies crashes into the soft earth. He squeezes you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, his face buried in your shoulder as his breath comes in short, broken sobs.

"I didn’t mean to do it," he repeats, the words muffled against your skin. "Something just changed inside me. What am I? What am I turning into?"

“Hush," you whisper, moving one of your hands to brush his hair. "Look at me. Just breathe, okay? You’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out together, I promise."

His arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer. It’s overwhelming, but you don’t push him away. Instead, you let him hold you as tightly as he needs, your fingers gently stroking the back of his head, trying to console him in any way you can.

"I’m a monster," he whimpers. "What if I hurt you, too?"

"You won’t," you affirm, lips brushing against his ear as you whisper. "You’re not a monster. This… this thing that happened, it doesn’t change who you are. You’re still you."

Beneath you, his body shakes, overcome by emotion he holds onto you. Your forehead is pressed to against his, your breath mingling with his while you continue to whisper reassurances, telling him over and over that it’s going to be okay, that he’s not alone.

Minutes pass, maybe longer—you lose track of time as you lie there together. Gradually, his cries begin to quiet, his breathing slowing as the storm inside him starts to subside. His grip on you loosens slightly, but he doesn’t let go fully, still cradling you in his arms.

Shifting, you raise your head to look at him. His eyes are red, his face pale, but he’s calmer. You start to pull yourself off of him, but as you're standing up, he grasps your hand again, and he looks at you with a tired, grateful expression, squeezing it gently as if to say everything he can’t put into words yet.

Then, you continue. Hand in hand, you move deeper into the forest. And finally, after a few more hours, you notice something in the distance. Through the trees, there are rooftops, small and clustered together, their chimneys trailing thin lines of smoke into the evening sky.

“A town,” you whisper, the first word you’ve spoken in hours.

He follows your gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the sight of the small mining town nestled in the valley.

In it, the people’s faces are etched with lines of hard labour and even harder lives, but still, you know you’ll be safe there.

—

Initially, it’s difficult—this new life you and James have carved out is a far cry from the comforts of the Howlett estate. The town you’ve settled in is rough and unpolished. You both share a modest shack on the outskirts, a place that feels foreign and strange, but over time, it starts to become home.

He finds work in the mines almost immediately. The foreman takes one look at him, his broad shoulders and strong arms, and practically shoves a shovel in his hand without asking any questions. The job is tough, but it suits him.

Every evening, he comes back to you covered in soot and dirt, his hands rough and calloused, his face lined with exhaustion. You can see the toll the work takes on him, how his body aches, but there’s something else too—a measure of peace that wasn’t there before. It’s as if he’s found a way to silence the chaos inside him, at least for a little while.

It’s not long before everyone in town begins to call him Logan, a name he offers with indifference when asked.

A new identity.

Logan is a man who works hard, who keeps to himself, who doesn’t ask for anything more than a paycheck at the end of the week.

Logan is a man who doesn’t need anyone, who can survive on his own.

To you, he’s still James.

In the quiet moments, when it’s just the two of you, he lets down the walls, lets you see through the façade. And when you whisper his name—James—he closes his eyes as if that one word alone soothes something deep in his soul.

After weeks of watching him silently carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, you offer him a rag to wipe his face as he sits down at the small table you’ve cobbled together from scraps. He takes it without a word, rubbing at the grime on his skin.

“You don’t have to do this forever, you know,” you say softly, leaning against the table as he tosses the rag aside. "There’s more to life than breaking your back underground."

He glances at you. "It’s all I’m good for now."

"You’re good for more than that," you reply walking up to him, reaching for his hand. He lets you take it, like he always does. "You can’t let what happened define you."

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he gives your hand a small squeeze, his eyes drifting to the floor as he mumbles, "What’s inside me… it’s different. You don’t know what it’s like."

You don’t argue. How could you?

The changes in him, the way his strength has grown, how his senses have sharpened, it all impacts him. He can hear things no one else can, smell the rain long before it falls, and even in complete darkness, he sees as clearly as if it were day. His powers are evolving, changing him.

But you know, deep down, that the man sitting in front of you is your friend—your James—no matter what he’s become.

You’ve seen him wrestle with the fear of what he might turn into, the fear of losing control, but you also see the man who leans into your touch, who lets you bandage his hands after long days in the mines, who presses his forehead to yours when the nights grow too heavy with silence.

And as your time together in the town goes by, there is a shift.

It starts with small things—a lingering glance, a brush of your fingers as you pass each other in the kitchen, the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

Then, it moves to bigger gestures. When you’d pack him his lunch fo the day, you slip in a small piece of parchment with a heart hastily drawn on it, or at night time, instead of falling asleep backs turned toward each other, awkwardly trying to ignore whatever tension is brewing, you fall asleep in his arms, and wake up the same way.

It gets to a point where you can neither of you can deny it.

You’ve fallen in love.

—

It’s late, and you’re sitting by the fire outside the small cabin, waiting for him to return from one of his now-frequent disappearances into the woods. You used to worry about where he went, afraid he was distancing himself from you, so one night you followed him. What you found took your breath away—him, sitting out on a ledge, with some wild animals surrounding him. There was something in him that they must have recognized, a mutual respect that seemed to transcend anything human.

Since then, you’ve let him go without asking questions, trusting that those nights in the woods bring him the peace he can’t find anywhere else. But tonight, when he returns, he’s different. He doesn’t just brush past you to head inside. Instead, he sits beside you by the fire.

You turn to him, about to ask if everything’s alright, but the words catch in your throat when his hand cups your jaw. His grip is gentle, hesitant, as if he’s afraid to break the moment, but in his eyes, you find a longing, a yearning, that mirrors your own.

His thumb brushes over your cheek, and for the first time in a long time, there’s no hesitation in his movements. Your heart stutters, and when he pulls you closer, you let him. His lips meet yours, careful at first, but as you kiss him back, you feel the stress drain from his body.

The kiss deepens, slow, tender, and everything you’ve ever wanted.

—

The next few years are a kind of peaceful bliss you never expected. With each passing day, you and Logan seem to fall deeper into each other, the bond you share growing stronger, more intimate, like you’ve finally found the rhythm of the life you were always meant to have together.

Mornings are your favourite. He always wakes up first, moving quietly so as not to wake you, and he’s gotten into the habit of making you breakfast. You always sneak out of bed and snake your arms around him from behind, pressing your face into his back as he grumbles about you not getting enough sleep. “You’re always up too early,” he’d say.

“I like being up with you,” you’d mumble in response, and he’ll turn around, his hands coming up to cradle your face, his eyes soft and full of that quiet, steady love he’s never really put into words. And then he’d kiss you like he has all the time in the world, even if he has to head over to the mines.

On your days off from your job at the pub, you’ll spend hours together, finding little ways to enjoy the simplicity of your life. He will sometimes take you out to the woods behind the house, where you’d walk the trails together. He points out the different wildlife, the plants you don’t recognize, and you tease him about being a mountain man. He’d smirk, giving you that low, raspy chuckle that never fails to make your heart seize in your chest, and tug you closer to his side.

In the evenings, oftentimes, you sit together while you knit, something that started as a hobby but quickly became one of your preferred pastimes. He always pretends to be uninterested, but he’ll watch you anyway. “You’re getting good at that,” he’d say gruffly.

“Want me to make you a sweater?” You smirk, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he’d grumble, but you can tell he’s secretly pleased at the idea.

The town itself becomes part of your life together, too. You’ve made friends with the locals, joining a small knitting club. If he has time, Logan drops by the pub on your shifts just to check in, sitting at the bar with a beer and watching you work. When your gazes connect very now and then, he gives you that look—the one that says he’s proud of you, that he’s content.

“We’ve got a good thing here,” he murmurs one night, holding you close.

“Yeah,” you agree softly, kissing his cheek. “We really do.”

But, all good things must come to an end.

The mining town, though small and isolated, isn’t immune to the tensions that fester beneath the surface. Harsh conditions, grueling work, and the endless grind wear people down, turning frustration into anger, and anger into violence. Fights break out often, especially in the saloon after a long day when men try to drown their sorrows in whiskey. You both have learned to keep your distance from such skirmishes, knowing nothing good ever comes from getting involved.

Still, one night, as you return home from your evening shift at the pub, you hear the unmistakable sounds of a brawl breaking out in the middle of the street. Shouts reverberate through the cold air, followed by the crash of breaking glass. Your heart races as you recognize the deep, guttural growl cutting through the noise—a sound you know all too well.

On impulse, you rush toward the commotion, dread pooling in your stomach. You know this won’t end well. Not here. Not for him.

When you reach the scene, your worst fears are confirmed. He stands in the centre of the chaos, fists clenched at his sides. Two men circle him, their faces twisted with drunken aggression, goading him. The small crowd that’s gathered seems almost entertained, too caught up in the spectacle to understand the true danger festering.

“James!” you shout, trying to get his attention, but to no avail.

One of the men—a burly miner you’ve seen around town a few times, always looking for trouble—lunges forward, his fist swinging. The punch connects with your man’s jaw, hard enough to stagger him back, but instead of falling, you see something shift in Logan’s expression. His eyes darken, his jaw tightens. Then, his claws slowly begin sliding out of his knuckles.

The crowd gasps, and the laughter dies immediately.

“Don’t come any closer,” he growls, his voice low and full of warning. His chest heaves as he struggles to keep control, but you can see the fire burning behind his eyes. He’s on the edge, teetering dangerously close to losing himself.

But the miner, too drunk and furious to notice or care, spits on the ground. “Freak!” he slurs, venom lacing every word. “You think you scare me?”

He charges at Logan again, fists swinging recklessly. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you scream for him to stop. But it’s too late. Logan tries to pull back, to stop what’s about to happen, but the man is too close, too fast.

Everything slows down, the world moving in fractured seconds. Claws slice through the air, meeting flesh with a sickening thud. The miner gasps, his eyes widening in shock as he stumbles, clutching at his chest where the claws have sunk deep. Blood blooms around his hands, staining the dirt beneath his feet.

And suddenly, you’re thrust back into the past. You see James as he was all those years ago, his claws dripping with blood after killing Thomas. The memory crashes into you—the look of fear on his face, the horror in his eyes, the way he stumbled back, realizing what he’d done.

Just like now.

Logan’s eyes go wide, his expression mirroring that same devastation. He steps back, staring at the miner who crumples to the ground, gasping for breath. What follows is a deafening silence, the air thick with shock and disbelief. The townspeople that had been so eager for a show now stand frozen, eyes wide, faces pale.

The man gasps one last breath, then goes still.

Logan stares at the body at his feet, his claws still extended, still dripping with the man’s blood. His chest heaves, his breath shallow, and he mutters under his breath, barely audible, "Oh god… Not again."

You rush to his side, grabbing his arm in desperation. "Come on, let’s go home."

He doesn’t move. He’s locked in place, staring at the man he’s just killed. His hands tremble, the claws still out, and you can see the raw pain in his eyes as the reality of what’s just happened sinks in.

"I didn’t mean to," he whispers again, his voice cracking. "I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…"

—

That night, while you're sleeping, Logan makes his decision.

And when you wake up the next day, the space beside you is cold.

The shack feels too quiet, too still.

All you can do is stare at the empty spot in your bed. You tell yourself that maybe he’s outside, chopping wood or he’s already left for work. But deep down, you know.

Throwing on your boots, you don’t bother to change out of your nightclothes, and rush outside. His name is the first thing out of your mouth, sharp and desperate. "James! Logan!" Your voice barrels through the small yard, bouncing off the trees and fading into the cool morning air.

There’s no answer.

Panic grips you as you search the familiar places—around the shack, the small trail he likes to take into the woods, by the creek where he often spends time when he needs to clear his head. There’s no sign of him.

No footprints, no lingering scent. Nothing.

The townspeople stare as you move through the streets. They know what happened. They saw the claws, the blood. And now, they see you—a reminder of the violence that tore through their quiet lives. But you don’t care about their judgment right now. You’re too focused looking for him, too frantic to worry about the whispers that follow in your wake.

"Have you seen him?" you ask one of the miners who had once shared a drink with him, but he shakes his head and pulls away from you, muttering something under his breath. Everybody keeps their distance, their faces closed off, avoiding your gaze.

By the time the sun climbs higher in the sky, the truth settles in your chest like a heavy stone. He left. You wander the streets a little longer, until exhaustion finally forces you back to the shack.

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t even leave a note. The man who you shared your life with, who you fell in love with, is gone—and he isn’t coming back.

In the days that follow, everything changes. The people who once greeted you with a nod or a smile now avert their eyes when you walk by. They speak in hushed tones, voices thick with suspicion and disdain.

Nobody cares that you had nothing to do with what happened in the street that night. To them, you’re guilty by association.

It starts slowly, but the gossip spreads like wildfire. Saying thinks like: you knew what Logan was all along, that you hid his secret, allowed him to kill their men. Their anger turns to you, and before long, you become the pariah—cut off, unwelcome, the person responsible for the death of one of their own.

The day they decide to exile you is gray and heavy, the sky thick with the promise of rain. No one has the decency to say it to your face. Instead, you wake to a note slipped under your door, the word leave scrawled across it in angry, uneven letters.

You pack what little belongings you have—a few clothes, some keepsakes from the life you left behind at the Howlett estate—and sling a small bag over your shoulder. Then, you walk away without looking back.

Stretching out before you is a desolate, abandoned looking road. Your legs ache with every step, your feet blistering inside your boots, but you don’t stop. The memories of Logan, the town, the life you tried to build together swirl in your mind.

The sound of a a horse whinnying pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn to see a carriage approaching. The coachman—a man with kind eyes and a weathered face—slows as he pulls alongside you. His voice soft and cautious as he asks, "Need a ride?"

Nodding, you’re too exhausted to respond with words, and climb into the passenger seat. He doesn’t ask many questions, sensing perhaps that you’re a soul in need of silence more than conversation. He drives in quiet companionship, the horses' feet against the dirt the only sound breaking the stillness.

He takes you to the nearest town, dropping you off with a quiet wish for better days ahead. You thank him and give him a few coins. You’re standing on the edge of a new beginning, unsure of where to go next but knowing, with painful certainty, that the past is behind you now.

—

In this new place, you slowly begin to rebuild what you’ve lost. It isn’t easy—there are nights when the loneliness threatens to swallow you whole and days when the weight of losing your best friend feels too much to bear. Still, you find work at a small shop, rent a modest room in the quieter part of town, and painstakingly, you carve out a new existence.

Though no matter how hard you try to move forward, he’s always there. A shadow, lingering in the corners of your mind. You can’t forget him—the way he looked at you with those intense, searching eyes, the way he held you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, the way he left without a word. Your entire childhood, your early adulthood, revolved around him. He was the best part of your life. Every moment spent with him was cherished, imprinted in your memory like a brand you can’t erase.

Nights are the hardest. When the world is quiet, and it’s just you and your thoughts, that’s when the ache becomes unbearable. Each night, your mind drifts back to him. You tell yourself it wasn’t his fault—he must have believed he was protecting you by leaving.

Maybe he thought you would hate him for killing another man with his claws, for unleashing the violence he tried so hard to contain. Maybe he thought you could never forgive him.

But the more you think about it, the more you realize: if he truly believed that, then he didn’t know you at all.

And that hurts. A lot.

You start to feel like him in some ways, burdened by secrets and anger with nowhere to go. More often than not, you slip out of the town in your nightgown and into the nearby forest, hoping the solitude will offer some kind of peace. It doesn’t, not really, but it’s better than suffocating in your room, choking on memories of what was and what could have been.

—

A year passes since the night he left, and you find yourself standing among the trees once again, lost in thought. It’s not fair—none of it is. You lost everything, and for what? Because you loved him? Because you could look past his mutation?

All of the emotions you’ve done a decent job at managing bubble to the surface, a torrent of grief and rage with nowhere to go. Mindlessly, you draw back your fist and slam it into the trunk of a nearby tree. The impact shoots a sharp pain through your arm, but it’s fleeting, drowned out by the rush of anger. You pull back to punch the tree again, harder this time, desperate for some kind of release.

But the tree doesn’t just splinter. It explodes.

The force of your punch obliterates the trunk, sending shards of wood flying in all directions. You stagger back, staring at the destruction, stunned. What was just a tall, beautiful arbor is now reduced to nothing but rubble, the strength of your blow far beyond anything a normal person could achieve.

Your breath hitches when it dawns on you. You’re standing in the middle of the forest, surrounded by the evidence of your newfound power. You aren’t just grieving the loss of Logan anymore; you’re discovering that you are, just like him, a mutant.

Except, unlike him, you’re alone.

He’s not here to hold you, to help you make sense of what’s happening. He’s not here to run away with you like you once ran away with him. You have no one to share this terrifying revelation with. You have only yourself.

Looking down at your trembling hands, the faint ache in your knuckles nothing compared to the pain in your chest. It’s as if your heart is breaking all over again.

If you had known—if you had discovered this power when he was still with you—would things have been different? Would he have taken you with him? Would you still be together?

You can’t stop the questions, can’t silence the what-ifs that plague you.

Finally, the dam breaks, and you cry.

Pressing your fists against your eyes, you try to stifle the sobs, but it’s no use. The grief crashes over you in waves as the life you tried to build together all plays out in your mind like some twisted, unending loop.

—

The days bleed into one another.

Each is marked by the slow, steady march of time. You continue to live, to survive, but the discovery of your mutant powers changes everything, setting you on a path you had never imagined.

You learn that you can channel energy through your body, whether that be your emotions, or external, and then amplify it for your own gain. It’s a power that protects you, that makes you feel invincible, but the more you use it, the more distant you become from the life you once knew.

And then there’s the other side of your mutation—the ability to heal others by absorbing their injuries.

The first time you did it, it was an accident.

You were closing up shop, and as you walked along the cobblestone roads, you saw a man lying face down. Instinctively, you quickened your pace, and crouched down beside him. Was he drunk? Dead? Gently, almost hesitantly, you reached out, placing your hand on his back with the faint hope that he was simply unconscious. Your intention was simple—just to check if he was breathing, to see if he would stir at your touch.

But the moment your fingers brushed his coat, a violent surge of pain exploded in your mind, like a thunderclap within your skull. The agony was so sudden, so sharp, that it nearly knocked you off your feet.

It was more than pain—it was as though the man’s suffering had become yours, pulling you into his darkness. Your vision blurred, and for an instant, you could feel it. Blood. Hot and sticky, trickling down your forehead in a slow, steady stream. You raised a trembling hand to wipe it away, expecting to feel the warmth of it on your fingertips.

But there was nothing. No blood. No wound.

Just the phantom sensation of pain that wasn’t your own.

Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the pain vanished. You blinked, gasping for air, trying to steady yourself. When you looked down at the man again, he was stirring, groaning softly. His eyes fluttered open, and he sat up, as if waking from a long sleep. He looked up at you, confused but grateful, oblivious to the power you had just unleashed.

It feels like a curse, the pain of others transferring to you in ways that leave you gasping for breath. But over time, you learn to control it, to take on only as much as you can handle, and to let the rest fade away.

You never stay too long in one place. Town after town, you move, always careful to keep your powers hidden. The people you encounter are kind enough, but you never allow yourself to get close. You can’t afford to—not when the memory of him still haunts you, his absence a constant ache in your heart.

What if they leave you too?

Every now and then, there are some nights of passion with a stranger, but you never find another lover, never allow yourself to even consider it.

As the years slip by, and you move through life like a ghost, always on the fringes, never fully there. In the beginning, you don’t notice it—time is something you stopped paying attention to long ago. But then, one day, nearly ten years after he left, you catch sight of yourself in a mirror.

Your reflection stares back at you, unchanged, unmarked by the years that have passed. It’s as if time has forgotten you, leaving you suspended in a state of perpetual youth. This knowledge—that you could live indefinitely—fills you with a sense of purpose you haven’t felt in years.

So, when the First World War breaks out, you volunteer as a nurse, determined to use your abilities to save as many lives as you can. The troops who come to you are broken, their bodies ravaged by the horrors of war. You take their pain into yourself, healing them with a touch, until there is nothing left but faint scars—a reminder of what they have survived.

It’s during the Second World War that you first hear the rumours. Injured men speak in hushed tones of a man they saw—a soldier who seemed invincible, fighting with a ferocity that borders on the inhuman. They talk of claws—long, sharp claws that can cut through anything, and a healing ability that allows him to shrug off injuries that would kill anyone else.

Could it be him? Could he still be out there, after all these years?

You dismiss the thought almost as quickly as it comes. It can’t be. He would be dead by now, just like everyone else from your past.

He is gone, and you are alone—that’s the truth you’ve come to accept.

—

Somewhere along the way, you meet Charles Xavier. You don’t know how, but he knows you. He knows you’re a mutant—how you helped in the war. And he wants you to join his team.

You’ve spent so long on your own, relying on your powers to survive, that the idea of joining a team feels foreign, almost impossible. But there’s something in his eyes, something in the way he speaks of his vision for the future, that resonates with you. This isn’t just about survival—it’s about making a difference, about using your powers to protect those who can’t protect themselves.

And, perhaps, it’s also about finding closure.

Maybe you can help mutants who struggle with their identity, like he did. Maybe this time, you can stop them from running away from themselves, the way you wish you could have stopped him.

So you agree.

And when you arrive at the mansion, you’re introduced to the others who will become your teammates—Jean Grey, Scott Summers, Hank McCoy, and Ororo Munroe.

The early days are challenging. Learning to work as a team, to trust one another, isn’t easy, especially for you, after so many years of solitude. But a camaraderie that develops between all of you, and it feels right. You’re no longer just a group of shunned mutants—you’re a family, united by a common goal.

—

This mission is supposed to be simple—investigate a remote facility rumoured to have ties to illegal mutant experimentation. Charles had briefed the team before sending you out, warning that there might be danger but nothing you couldn’t handle as a group. You’ve faced threats before, so when you arrive at the facility, it’s with the usual caution but no real alarm.

The structure looks forsaken at first glance, the exterior covered in years of grime, windows cracked and dark. But as you all approach, something feels wrong. There’s an energy in the air, a hum of activity beneath the surface. You can sense it, and by the looks of the others, they feel it too.

“We should be careful,” Scott mutters lowly as his hand hovers near his visor.

Jean furrows her brows. “I’m sensing...something. There are people here. This place isn’t empty”

Your stomach twists, and once the team cautiously makes its way deeper into the facility, you start to hear it—the muffled sounds of machinery, the low hum of voices, and then...a scream.

You freeze.

You’ve heard that scream before, in the dead of night, in memories you’ve tried to bury.

James.

Without thinking, you push forward, your body moving on instinct as you race toward the source of the sound. The others call after you, but their voices fade into the background as panic claws at your chest.

The scream grows louder, more desperate, until you burst into a large chamber. And there, in the center of the room, suspended in a tank of bubbling liquid, he is.

His body is thrashing against the restraints that bind him, wires and tubes connected to his skin. Machines whir around him, injecting something into his body—something molten, silvery.

A team of scientists in lab coats and armed guards surround the tank, all of them focused on the cruel procedure unfolding before your eyes.

You can barely breathe. The sight of him, after all these years—being tortured like this is too much. Pain and rage surge through you, and before you realize what’s happening, you’re moving again.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you scream.

The guards whirl toward you, but you’re already on them. The first one goes down with a single blow, your fist connecting with his chest and sending him flying into the wall. You barely register his body crumpling to the floor before you move on to the next.

Behind you, Jean and Scott rush in, their powers flashing as they help subdue the remaining guards, but your focus is on the man in the tank, whose eyes are squeezed shut in pain, body convulsing. You can’t think straight—you can only feel the overwhelming need to make this stop, to save him before the experiment finishes.

But it’s too late.

In a roar of destruction, he breaks free from the tank, glass and metal exploding outward in every direction. His eyes are wild, erratic, his mind lost to the pain and the transformation—he’s a force of nature now. A whirlwind of violence and fury.

You try to reach him, but Jean steps forward, her eyes glowing as she raises a hand. “I’m sorry,” she strains. Her telekinetic force slams into him, knocking him off his feet, and his body crumples to the ground, unconscious, the rage finally quieted.

Standing there, panting, your hands are shaking as you stare at his still form. You’re overwhelmed—by the sight of him after so many years, by the pain of seeing him like this, by the fear that you might lose him before you even got him back.

Scott places a hand on your shoulder, his voice gentle. “We need to get him out of here.”

You nod, unable to speak, and together, the team lifts Logan’s unconscious body and carries him out of the facility. The entire time, you keep your eyes on him, terrified that if you look away for even a second, he’ll disappear. When you finally make it back to the jet, Jean lays him on a stretcher, her powers keeping him sedated for the trip back to the X-Mansion. You sit beside him, your hand hovering just above his, too afraid to touch, too afraid to hope.

The jet lifts off, and your mind races with a thousand questions.

How did he end up here? Why did they do this to him?

But above all, one thought consumes you: He’s alive.

After all these years, after all the heartache and loss, Logan—James—is still here.

—

He remains unconscious for three days, his body healing from the horrific procedure he endured. You barely leave his side, watching over him as if your presence alone could somehow anchor him back to himself. His breathing is steady, but his face—it’s both exactly the same and entirely foreign to you. He looks like the man you’ve known and loved, but it’s what is on the inside that worries you.

You swallow hard, your gaze tracing the familiar lines on his skin. Where are you, James? you think. Are you still in there?

Jean had done a body scan soon after you brought him back to the mansion, and the results confirmed your worst fears: they’ve bound adamantium to his bones and buried his personality underneath the most powerful brainwashing you’ve ever heard of.

It’s devastating. Whatever relief you’d felt—if any at all—at finding him alive is now eclipsed by the crushing reality of what he’s become.

The day he is scheduled to wake, Charles calls a meeting. The team gathers in the briefing room, and you sit quietly in your chair, replaying everything that led up to this moment.

Following a seemingly endless stretch of silence from you, Charles clears his throat. “If you’re ready, perhaps you could tell us more about your history with him. It might help us understand what we’re dealing with.”

A deep breath fills your lungs as your hands clutch the table’s edge tightly. Talking about him, about everything you’ve been through together, feels like peeling at old wounds that never really healed. But you know it’s necessary. If anyone is going to help him, they need to know the truth.

“I met Logan—James, as I used to call him—over a hundred years ago, when I was very young” you begin, and you can see the surprise ripple through the room at the admission of your age. “We grew up together. My parents were servants at the Howlett estate, and I spent most of my childhood by his side. He was my best friend… and eventually, he became so much more.” Your voice cracks, and you pause for a moment, collecting yourself.

“After a tragedy involving his family, we ran away together. We lived in a small mining town for years, trying to find some semblance of a life, but things fell apart. He left, and I—I spent years trying to forget him, but I never could. He was—is—everything to me."

Jean leans forward. “I can’t imagine how hard this has been for you,” she says softly. “But you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that when he wakes up… he may not be the man you remember, and not just because of how much time passed.”

You look up at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She hesitates, exchanging a glance with Charles before continuing. “The brainwashing they used on him wasn’t just designed to make him forget. It was meant to strip away his sense of self entirely. His mind was… broken down, piece by piece. What you saw back at the facility—his rage, his lack of control—that’s what’s left of him right now.”

Hank speaks next. “We’ll do everything we can to help him, but Jean’s right. You need to be ready for the possibility that he won’t recognize you. He might not even recognize himself.”

Nodding slowly, your heart sinks further and further with each word.

“We have tools, ways to work through the brainwashing,” he continues, “but it will take time. And patience.”

“Time,” you echo quietly. “I’ve already waited so long.”

Ororo reaches across the table, her hand hovering near yours. “I know this is overwhelming. But you don’t have to do this alone. We’re here to help.”

“I need to see him,” you whisper, your voice firmer than before. “When he wakes up, I need to be there.”

Charles nods gently. “Of course.”

—

When he finally stirs, it’s not a gentle awakening. His whole body jerks, his head whipping around in wild confusion. His breaths come in sharp, uneven gasps, and his eyes dart frantically across the room, taking in his unfamiliar surroundings, and just as his eyes finally land on you, he freezes.

And for a long moment, neither of you speak.

There’s a lump in your throat, and you wait with a bated breath for some flicker of recognition in his eyes, some sign that he remembers you—that he knows you.

But it never comes.

Instead, his gaze narrows, studying you. “Where the hell am I?” he grunts. “And who are you?”

It hurts more than you expected. You knew this might happen—Jean and Charles had warned you—and you thought you had prepared yourself, but it doesn’t make hearing it any easier.

He doesn’t remember you.

“Just take it easy,” you manage to say softly. “You’ve been through a lot, James.”

His eyes flicker with confusion as he shifts in the bed, wincing at the movement. "James?" he questions.

You quickly correct yourself. "Logan."

His hand instinctively goes to his chest, fingers brushing against his side as if testing for wounds that aren’t there anymore. “What is this place?” he asks again.

“You’re at the X-Mansion,” you explain. “You were... rescued. We brought you here to heal.”

“Rescued.” he repeats dryly. “From what?”

You hesitate, unsure how much to tell him. How do you explain everything—the horrors of Weapon X, the brutal experiments, the torture that nearly destroyed him? You can’t even bring yourself to speak the full truth, not yet.

“You were taken,” you say carefully. “By people who wanted to use you for something terrible. But we got to you before they could. You’re safe now.”

Logan lets out a short, bitter laugh, though there’s no humour in it. “Safe,” he mutters, his voice low and sarcastic. “Right.” He rubs a hand across his face.

“Why do I feel like I’m missing somethin’?” he mutters, his irritation growing. “Like... like there’s something important I should remember.”

Swallowing hard, your heart twists at his words. He is missing something. But you won’t tell him that now. He’s already grappling with so much, and the last thing he needs is the weight of your shared past thrust upon him before he’s ready.

“Don’t worry about it.” Your voice is gentle, coaxing. “It’s... normal to feel confused right now.”

Frowning, he runs a hand through his hair. “Like I’m supposed to believe that.”

“I know it’s hard to understand,” you say softly. “But it’ll get better. You’ll remember in time.”

He doesn’t respond right away, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling as if he’s searching for answers that aren’t there. After a moment, he sighs, his eyes returning to yours. “Alright. Who are you, really?” he asks. “Why do I feel like I should know you?”

Because we grew up together.

Because we were everything to each other.

Because you were the one person I never stopped loving.

“Just focus on resting,” you say, forcing a soft smile.

He studies you briefly, as if trying to figure out whether or not to trust you. Then finally, he nods, thought you can tell he’s still wary “Yeah... okay.”

The awkward silence returns.

“I should go,” you murmur, standing abruptly. The chair scrapes against the floor, the sound jarring in the quiet room. “You need rest.”

He doesn’t stop you, doesn’t ask you to stay. He just watches as you turn toward the door, and leave.

Your chest tightens painfully as you walk out of the room, the familiar ache of loss settling in once more. It’s worse this time, though—worse because he’s alive, and yet, in every way that matters, he’s gone.

You leave the room in a daze, your mind swirling with a storm of emotions. Your feet carry you down the hall, and before you realize what’s happening, you find yourself in the washroom.

The moment the door clicks shut, your stomach lurches. You barely make it a toilet before you’re retching. Tears sting your eyes, and you brace yourself against the cold porcelain, gasping for breath as your body shakes with sobs.

Standing up and flushing, you walk over to the sink, and press your forehead against the mirror. How did it come to this? You found him, after all these years, but the person in that bed isn’t the Logan—it isn’t the James—you once knew.

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you try to pull yourself together. It's not the time to breakdown, you think, and after splashing some water on your face, you turn toward the exit.

Pushing open the door, you’re met with the familiar gaze of Ororo. She stands in the hallway, her white hair cascading down her shoulders, her eyes filled with something that feels like both understanding and pity.

Your eyes widen, caught off guard, not expecting to see anyone, least of all her.

“I saw you come in here,” she whispers empathetically, “but thought you might need a moment.”

You pause, trying to blink away the redness in your eyes, trying to pretend you’re stronger than you feel. But she sees through it. She always has.

“I’m fine,” you say, the words slipping out automatically.

Stepping closer, her gaze softens as she studies your face. “No,” she disagrees, “you’re not.”

The vulnerability you’ve been trying to keep at bay rushes forward again, threatening to swallow you whole. You open your mouth to argue, to brush it off, but the moment you meet her eyes, the words die in your throat. The pity, the compassion—it’s too much.

Silently, she reaches out, her hand resting lightly on your arm. It’s a small gesture, but it feels grounding.

“I saw him,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “He doesn’t remember me.”

“I know,” she says quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

—

The next few days are a blur. You keep yourself busy—too busy—hoping that constant movement will keep the gnawing ache at bay. If you let yourself stop, if you let yourself think about what’s happened, the hurt would consume you, so you don’t stop.

Most of your time is spent in your room or the garden, taking refuge in the places where you can hide from everything, everyone.

Sometimes, you train, pushing your body past its limits in a desperate attempt to silence your thoughts. Every hit you land, every punch you throw, never feels like enough.

It’s easier this way, you tell yourself. Easier to avoid him, to pretend he never came back into your life. Because the alternative—watching him live here, knowing he doesn’t remember you, doesn’t understand what you once shared—that’s too painful.

You’d rather pretend he’s still a memory than face the reality that the man you love is here, but not really.

When you walk through the mansion, you see him from afar. You can’t help but notice how he’s begun to soften around the others, how the confused man who woke up in that bed is slowly adjusting to life at the mansion. He has daily appointments with Charles, who you imagine is sifting through his mind, doing his very best to retrieve something, anything.

While there is still a distance in his eyes, still a guarded edge to him, but you can see the small shifts—the way he listens when someone speaks, the faintest hint of a smile when Hank tries to crack a joke.

And sometimes, your eyes meet.

From across the room, you’ll catch him watching you. In those moments, your heart skips a beat, wondering if there’s a reason why he’s zeroed in on you specifically, but then he looks away, and it passes. You never approach him, never ask him how he’s feeling or if he’s starting to remember anything. You’re too afraid of the answer.

One night, you sit in the garden, letting the soft breeze play with your hair, eyes closed.

“Mind if I sit here?”

The voice startles you, pulling you from your thoughts. Your eyelids flutter, and as you turn, your heart jolts upon seeing Logan standing at above you. And momentarily, it’s like you’re teenagers again—sneaking out at night into the gardens to talk.

“Sure,” you nod, gently patting the space beside you, as you always did.

He steps closer and sits down, though not without leaving a small space between the two of you. “I’ve been seeing you around,” he says after a beat.. He doesn’t look at you, his gaze focused on the flowers in front of him. “But... you’ve been avoidin’ me, haven’t you?”

A small laugh escapes you, bitter and self-deprecating. “You noticed, huh?”

“Yeah, not much gets past me. Even that one guy’s attempts at being a leader.”

Despite yourself, you snort. “Scott?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “He’s too easy. Guy looks like a human stoplight with those stupid glasses.”

You bite back a snicker, feeling like a teenager again. The banter, the lighthearted teasing—it makes it seem like maybe, just maybe, there’s still something left of the man you knew.

He turns his head slightly, his expression growing more serious. “You know, I’ve been trying to figure it out,” he says, quieter now. “Why it feels like something’s missing. Every time I see you... I know you’re related to it.”

Shifting a little to look at him, you take in the way his facial hair is a little bit more kempt, how he still has his hair tufts. You miss him, and he’s right here with you.

“I... thought it would be easier,” you admit, staring down at your hands. “For both of us. If I kept my distance. I didn’t want to add to your stress.”

Frowning, his brows furrow as he processes your words. “Add to it? How?”

“Because you don’t remember me,” you say softly. “And I didn’t want to be a reminder of something you can’t recall.”

He stares at you for a long moment. Then, “you’re right. I don’t remember everything,” he says slowly, “but I know there’s something about you.”

You nod, your throat tight, but you don’t push him. You know it’s only a matter of time before the pieces fall into place. “You’ll remember,” you whisper. “I know it.”

He grunts. “I don’t want you to keep your distance.”

“I won’t. Not anymore.” The idea of him wanting to spend more time with you, fills you with joy.

—

For the next few weeks, it becomes a quiet routine—the nightly conversations in the garden. It’s like slipping into an old rhythm, the two of you always finding a way to gravitate toward each other once the sun goes down. You talk about small things, but it's never too heavy. Sometimes he teases you, and you tease him back, exchanging sarcastic quips. Nothing and everything has changed at the same time.

You’ve started training together too, spending more and more time together each day. It’s almost as if there’s a magnet between you that not even time could weaken.

This night, you’re in the gym together on the sparring mat. It’s the usual scenario playing out—dodging, blocking, throwing punches. He’s fast and strong. And it means a lot to see you see him finally embrace his mutant powers and use them, rather than try to hide and run.

You’re both breathing hard, the exertion pushing your bodies to their limits. You land a solid kick to his side, and he grunts, stepping back for a moment. Without warning, his claws extend, and your gaze locks in on them.

Of course you know about the adamantium, but seeing it like this, so up close, it’s different.

“What?” Logan asks, noticing your sudden stillness. His brow furrows, and he glances down at his claws, as if he’s only just realizing they’re out. “What are you staring at?”

“Does it hurt?” you question, clearing your throat. “When they come out?”

He tilts his head, his gaze flicking between you and his claws. “Everytime” he sighs. “But not as much as the old ones.”

Your eyes snap up from his claws to meet his. “... What?” you ask. The old ones?

“They were bone,” he continues, “Hurt like a bitch.”

Your heart starts pounding in your chest. Could this be it? Could he be remembering?

Stepping closer, your voice trembles slightly as you push for more. “What else do you remember?”

His eyes widen, and then he blinks, his stare glazing over for a second, like he’s trying to chase down a memory that’s just out of reach.

“I… I don’t know,” he admits with a bit of frustration. His claws retract, his hand flexing unconsciously as he stares at the empty space where the blades once were. “It’s all bits and pieces. I get these flashes, but nothing sticks. Charles said... he said the barriers in my mind are comin’ down, but it’s slow. Like finding a damn needle in a haystack.”

But the fact that he remembers even a sliver, is enough to fill you with hope.

—

This continues, the small fragments of memories coming back to him. They come unexpectedly, at random times in the day. It’s never anything big, never the full flood of memories you’re hoping for, but each time it happens, it feels like another piece of the puzzle falling into place.

You suggest a walk one afternoon. The mansion has felt a little too closed in lately, and you think maybe the fresh air might help clear his mind. Together, you wander along a little pathway that connects the mansion to a nearby river, the sound of the water in the distance a soothing backdrop as you walk side by side. He’s quiet, more so than usual, and as you glance at him, you notice his expression has grown distant.

“Logan?” you ask softly, nudging his arm. “What’s on your mind?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. His brow is furrowed, like he’s trying to fit together pieces of a puzzle, his thoughts distant, swirling. “I remember…” he starts, his voice quiet, as if he’s speaking more to himself than to you.

Your fingers begin to twitch at your side. Every time he remembers something, it feels like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to see if he’ll fall into the past, if this will be the moment he remembers it all.

“A cabin,” he says finally, his voice rough but certain. “There was a shack. In a small town. I used to stay there.”

You nod, urging him to continue, anticipated building within your chest. “Go on.”

“It was small. Cold most of the time. But I don’t think I cared.” He lets a chuckle. “I liked it. Felt... peaceful.”

You can’t help but smile a little at the memories he’s bringing up. His steps falter, and he stops in the middle of the path, turning to look at you. “Mining,” he mutters, as if the word itself is triggering something. “I remember mining.”

“That’s good,” you say. ‘I’m happy for you.”

—

The memories keep coming.

You’re in the mansion, passing through one of the long hallways together on your way to eat, when he suddenly stops, his hand reaching out to steady himself against the wall. You turn, concern flooding through you. “Are you okay? What is it?”

He frowns, his eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to force something into focus. “There was a girl.”

“A girl?” you repeat, not wanting to push him but unable to stop the question from spilling out.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “In a big house—like a mansion, I think. We'd play together. She was... she was always following me around. Always gettin’ into trouble.”

You know exactly who he’s talking about.

“Do you remember her name?”

Shaking his head, you can see the frustration etched onto his face. “No. But she must have been important, I can feel it.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you try to hold yourself together. It was me, you want to say. That little girl was me.

“It’s okay,” you say instead, your hand reaching out to touch his arm. “You’ll remember. You’re already so close.”

He looks at you then, his eyes searching yours for something—answers, reassurance. Once a few seconds pass, he sighs and shakes his head.

“I don’t know how you put up with this,” he grumbles lowly. “With me.”

“Because I know you,” you whisper back.

To have a chance at another lifetime with him, you’d put up with anything.

—

He’s busy with Jean and Charles this morning, the duo having started to work together last week, trying to finally break down the wall stopping Logan from recovering his memories. With nothing else to occupy you, you’ve retreated to the mansion’s library, seeking solace in the endless rows of books. The familiar smell of paper and ink is comforting, and for a while, you manage to lose yourself in the words on the page.

You’re curled up in one of the oversized armchairs, a book resting in your lap, when your ears pick up the sound of heavy footsteps—fast, purposeful, ringing out through the mansion’s quiet halls.

Concern rises in your chest. Those footsteps aren’t casual; someone is rushing, and you’ve been around long enough to know that in here, that usually means something’s wrong.

Setting the book down on the small table beside you, you stand and head toward the entrance of the library. The sound grows louder, the footsteps coming closer, and just as you reach the doorway, you collide with a solid wall of muscle.

"Ho—holy sh—" you gasp, stumbling back, startled. Your hands fly to steady yourself, and you look up, wide-eyed, to see Logan standing there. "Logan, you scared m—"

“James.”

You still.

"What?" you whisper, your mind racing as you stare at him. His face is different—not just the usual irritated-by-himself expression he’s been wearing lately, but something else. There’s a certainty in his eyes, relief and maybe even—

“My name is James,” he repeats. “I was born in Alberta. We grew up together. I... I killed my father.” His voice falters slightly at that, but he pushes through, his gaze locked on yours, unwavering. “You were the little girl in the mansion. You’ve always been there. And I—” His eyes brim with emotion. “I love you.”

The words slam into you, leaving you breathless. You can feel the blood drain from your face, your heart jumping so hard it feels like it might burst. “You... you remember?” You’re barely able to get the words out.

Logan—James—stares at you. “I remember everything.”

A sob escapes your throat, and you throw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as the floodgates open. His arms come around you immediately, holding you tight, his chin resting on the top of your head.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m so damn sorry. I should have never left. I should have gone back to find you.”

You shake your head, tears soaking into his shirt. “It doesn’t matter,” your voice breaks. “None of that matters anymore. We’re together now. That’s all I care about.”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that won’t stop falling. There’s so much love—so much everything—in his eyes, your knees nearly buckle. All you do is hold on to him, as tightly as you can, afraid that if you let go, this moment will slip away.

But it won’t, because he’s really here, he remembers, and he still loves you.

For what feels like hours, you stand there in the hallway, wrapped in each other’s arms. Eventually, you take a small step back, unwrapping your arms and instead grabbing his hands, squeezing them. “We have a lot to talk about.”

He squeezes your hands back in return. “Yeah, we do.”

—

You sniffle, wiping away the last of your tears as you lie in bed with him, pressed so close it feels like you’re trying to merge into one person. His warmth surrounds you, his arm wrapped protectively around your waist, hands drawing small circles. It’s like all the years apart never happened, like you’re finally back where you’re meant to be.

“So, what made it all come back to you?” you ask softly, your voice a bit hoarsefrom all the crying you’ve done in the last hour.

James takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly. “I guess having two strong telepaths diggin’ around in your mind will do the trick,” he responds. “Shit was brutal, but... worth it.”

Tilting his head down, he presses a small kiss to your temple. If even possible, you nestle yourself further into his hold.

“I thought I’d lost you forever,” you whisper. “All those years... I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Same for me. Thought I lost you too,” James murmurs, his hand running gently up and down your back. “After I left the cabin, I tried to forget. Tried to convince myself you were better off without me, but...” He trails off. “I was wrong—a coward. I shouldn’t have been runnin’ away. Especially from you.”

You look up at him, your eyes searching his. “What did you do all those years? Where did you go?”

He lets out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes. “I wandered. For a long time, I didn’t stay in one place. Fought when I had to, drank when I couldn’t forget. Got into a lot of trouble.” He grimaces slightly.

You frown. “What kind of trouble?”

“The kind where people like me aren’t supposed to be walking free,” he remarks bitterly. “I gave into the monster I thought I was.”

His words sink in, and you can feel the toll those years took on him, the way they left him scarred, not just physically, but emotionally. “It must have been so hard,” you whisper, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “Living like that, without... anyone.”

Leaning into your touch, “Yeah,” he admits. “It was. But... I didn’t know how to live any other way. Not after everything that happened.”

There’s a long pause, the two of you lying there, bodies tangled together as you both process the weight of what’s been lost and what’s been found. Then, he kisses the inside of your hand, looking at you with a faint, curious smile.

“What about you?” he asks softly, tugging you closer. “When did you... ya know, find out you were a mutant?”

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. You’ve never really talked about that part of your life to anyone, at least not in detail.

“I didn’t know for about a year,” you begin. “After you left, I was... lost. And then one day... I punched a tree.”

James raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that. “A tree?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the seriousness of the memory. “Yeah. I was angry—angry at everything. And when I punched it... the damn thing exploded.”

He stares at you for a moment, processing your words. Then, a slow, amused grin spreads across his face. “Exploded, huh? Guess that’s one way to find out you’re not normal.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Yeah, it wasn’t exactly subtle.”

His smile fades slightly. “What did you do after that?”

Taking a deep breath, you let the memories of those early days as a mutant flood back. “I tried to keep it hidden for a while. Didn’t really know what to do with it. But then... the wars started.”

Eyes narrowing, his expression changes instantly. “The wars?”

Nodding, you continue. “Yeah, the First and Second. I volunteered as a nurse. I figured if I could use my powers to help people, then maybe I could make up for everything I lost. I moved station to station, healing soldiers. I couldn’t save everyone, but I tried.”

He’s momentarily quiet, gaze never leaving yours, even as he processes what you’re telling him. Then, slowly, his features shift into disbelief.

“You were on the frontlines?” His voice low, almost incredulous. He reaches out to brush a few strands of hair out of your face.

“Yeah. I wanted to make a difference.”

Letting out a sharp breath, James sits up slightly in bed as he stares at you. “Holy shit,” he mutters. “I fought in those wars, too. In the trenches.”

You’re speechless, and the realization washes over you slowly. The whisperings you’d heard from the troops, the rumours you’d chalked up to be nothing more than drunken tales, suddenly come flooding back. A man who couldn’t be killed, who healed from every injury, who fought with claws that could tear through anything.

It was him.

It was always him.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “So it was true…all those rumours about the man who couldn’t die... that was you.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Guess it was.”

All those years, all those battles... and you were both there, so close, yet so far apart.

“We were so close,” you say, moving forward in to give him a kiss. “And we didn’t even know it.”

He kisses you back, his grip on you tightening. Then, when you pull away, he sighs, leaning back against the headboard. “It’s all so different now,” he begins gruffly. “You’re not the little maid in training anymore, runnin’ around that mansion, worried about getting caught”

You smile faintly at the memories of your younger selves, the girl you used to be, and the boy who was so much more to you than just a young lord.

“And you’re not sir James Howlett or whatever—Lord—anymore” you tease. “You’ve come a long way from the boy who used to sulk in the garden because he had to attend another dinner party.”

He lets out a noise that sounds like a mix between a huff and a laugh “Yeah,” he agrees. “That feels like a lifetime ago. And in a way, I guess it was.”

While neither of you are the same people you once were, in this moment, you can feel that connection—the one that has always been there.

“I’ve thought about you every day,” he speaks up again. “All those years.”

“James…”

“I love you,” he confesses. “And I’ve loved you my whole life. Before we ran away, after I left, even after I thought you were gone... I couldn’t forget. Didn’t want to.” He sucks in a harsh breath, grabbing your hand once more. “I shouldn’t have left. I should have stayed. We could’ve figured it out together, but I was so... so damn scared. I thought if I stayed, I’d only hurt you.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes again. “You did what you thought was right,” you whisper, intertwining your fingers. “You were scared, and so was I.”

“I wish I could take it all back,” he says, regret bleeding into his tone. “I wish I could’ve been there for you... We could’ve had so many more years together.”

“We have time now,” you say softly, assuring him. “We have all the time in the world to make up for it.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but rather he edges forward, brushing his lips softly against yours. “I love you,” he murmurs before closing the gap completely, kissing you passionately.

You smile against his lips, because while he may be known as logan, or Wolverine, he’s still James.

Your James.

----

A/N: I'm going to have to either write some crazy smut or excessive fluff now because this took it out of me LOL also I hope none of you got confused with the name switching! Thank you so much for reading <3

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silkentine · 5 months ago

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Me when they are the sisters ever: 😭😭😭 They came out soooo freaking well. I won’t lie, they took me a thousand years to finish but through the constant support from all of my buds (and my latent bisexuality), we made it 😤

Hopefully you guys know the deal by now: design choices, easter eggs, and (NEW!) closeup shots below the read more. ⬇️

I wanted Ace to have a very down-to-earth vibe and looked at Aussie beach-girls, coastal cowgirls, and vaqueras for reference. (IDK, I’ve just always envisioned Ace as part-Australian🌺 and Mexican 🏴‍☠️) Her clothing choices are mostly natural or utilitarian materials like the painted wooden beads on her top, her woven fabric and leather belts, and her denim jumpsuit. I gave her bikini top a zen-garden kind of feel because I read the first Ace’s Story Novel and I loved how idyllic and peaceful they made Sixis Island sound so I wanted to invoke that in some way.

Speaking of her painted wooden beads, they hang off the back of her top and represent her connection to Sabo and Luffy. They watch her back once she sets sail. She only wears one red glass bead earring because the other one got ripped out of her ear when a child, leaving her earlobe torn (don’t think about it too much 😢). Also, YES! she does wear a hibiscus flower just like Rouge (because I hate you and I want to make you cry, muhwahahahaha).

Also, I really wanted her to have super textured curly hair that licks behind her like flames. I am always considering whether or not a character should have long hair or not because I don’t want it to be a hindrance if they’re in a fight (or if they ARE a fighter with long hair, how to they avoid an enemy making use of that?). Ace is, of course, a Logia-type Devil Fruit User so I think she wouldn’t have trouble with people grabbing it LOL I get the feeling that she doesn’t take very good care of it even though it looks amazing. Like you’d think it would be soft and bouncy just by looking at it but if you ever get the chance to run your fingers through it, it’s a total rat’s nest and there’s sand and food all up in it. She still falls asleep while eating 😂 but she tries her best to only do it around people she can trust (woman moment 😔).

Honestly, her design is not that different from Ace’s canon look. It feels really vital to Ace’s character to have a lot of skin showing. And he’s always hanging all over himself with his hips all cocked like the weight of the world is too much to stand up straight. It is certainly not my OWN preference to make her an absolute smoke show. That’s just the character, okay? (I’m partially lying and the proof is that I turned the emblem on Ace’s hat strap into a sternum tattoo for no other reason than that it is sexy af.)

Here are some closeups of Ace:

Now for Sabo, I’ve made her very girly. I tried putting her in pants or something more militant but she told me that she’d wear the big poofy sleeves and hiked-up ruffled skirt. I think Sabo has always had a strong grasp on his fashion sense and individual flair and I truly believe that his personal style is one of the major influences for the rest of the Revolutionary Army resulting in the very flashy, queer, steampunk aesthetic (aside from Dragon’s plain-ass cloak). So of course I had to implement her nonconformist look when reimagining her as a woman and dress her up to the nines.

I’ve given her very ornate jewelry that is there to tell a story, even if she herself doesn’t know it. I like to think she picks up stuff from her travels that resonate with her, such as a damaged set of earrings with one stone missing or red cup-shaped shells featuring three nestled pearls. Another accessory that cannot go unmentioned is her dragon claw hat pin that keeps her top hat resting on top of her hair (and is definitely used as a weapon when the situation simply doesn’t call for trusty metal pipe). She also has a veil that obscures her prominent facial scar. I imagine she’s not very keen on the reminder of the incident from her childhood that took away her memories. I also kept her chipped toothed because 1) it’s fucking adorable and 2) is a visual reminder that she no longer aligns herself with the nobility who would have gotten such a thing fixed. She is so poised in almost every outward facet of her life from her dignified role as the Chief of Staff to the elegant materials in her clothing that it can be easy to forget she was also a rough and tumble forest dweller. Every time Koala remembers this, he lets out the biggest sigh.

Her hair is inspired by Gibson Girls and Elizabeth Swann from the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie. I wanted it to be fussy and tidy but fall apart when she’s in moments of distress. For example, when she remembers her sisters, her hair starts to look like Ace’s flaming mane. I’m so in love with her, I think she looks like an adorable little porcelain doll that would fuck you up. I made an effort to keep her eyes a little bit manic. I get lost in her steely black orbs (and also Ace’s warm brown ones, but we’re talking about Sabo rn).

Here are her close-ups:

Plot notes for this AU:

For this series of character designs, I wanted the expressions and outfits to be aligned with the canon plot but I don’t know if I have the heart to kill fem!Ace in my AU. I’m too attached and ASL has suffered enough!!!!! But Ace’s death is also a major defining moment for Luffy so it feels disingenuous to completely avoid it. Also a huge aspect of Sabo’s character is carrying on Ace’s will and I have so many thoughts about how the Dressrosa Colosseum scene would play out if they were all women. Oh well, I’ll cross that tragic bridge when I get to it. I’m definitely going to draw some Modern AU Girl Piece ASL though. They deserve to hang out with no stakes 😭 They are sisters!!!

Check out the tag “girl piece” on my blog for my other One Piece genderbends! 🥰

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witchywithwhiskey · 7 months ago

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the alpha next door

pairing: alpha!steve rogers x omega!female reader

summary: you and your neighbor are harboring feelings for each other, but both of you think the other is too sweet. then, things take a turn when your first heat since moving in hits, revealing the depth of your feelings for the alpha next door—and his for you.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), omegaverse AU tropes (heats, knots, purring, mating, scenting), piv sex, breeding kink/pregnancy kink (reader's on birth control tho), accidental voyeurism, masturbation (m + f), dirty talk, praise kink, daddy kink, little bit of mommy kink, size kink, pet names (baby), mutual pining, idiots in love, dual pov

word count: 8.9k

a/n: here's my entry for @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420's Cum Together Extravaganza!!! i used the A/B/O AU and breeding kink prompts—and this is my very first omegaverse fic!!! so uhhh please be kind because i don't know what i'm doing 😅 also loosely inspired by "too sweet" by hozier!! anyway, this ended up a lot longer than i thought it would be....whoops!! hope y'all enjoy!!!

When you first moved into the little pink cottage next door, Steve Rogers decided that you were too sweet for an ex-soldier alpha like him. An omega like you was filled with sunshine and gentleness, and you deserved an alpha who would treat you like the precious thing you were.

The kindest thing Steve could do for you was stay away. The thoughts you inspired in his alpha hindbrain had him hating the rough and greedy animal side of himself. He wanted to dig his fingers into your plush hips and bend you over, make you present your pretty little body in the way the alpha in him craved.

But he reminded himself you were too sweet. Too sweet for the obscene thoughts that plagued his mind. Too sweet to be defiled by a big alpha like him. Too sweet to be swollen and round and glowing because you were carrying his child…

Still, you were his neighbor and Steve couldn’t avoid you entirely, even though everything he saw only reaffirmed his belief that you were too good for him.

The little pink cottage beside his house had come with a front garden filled with pink roses and all manner of other pink flowers that Steve couldn’t even begin to name, but you tended to them like you’d planted them yourself. Steve would get home from work, park his truck in his driveway—which had a perfect view of your front garden. He’d watch you from behind his tinted windows as you took care of your flowers, looking like a garden fairy come to life.

When Steve eventually grew uncomfortable with how long he’d been watching you, he would get out of his truck and call a gruff hello to you as he made his way inside. Your melodic voice returning his greeting would follow him into his house, where he’d close his door and lean against it, panting like he’d just escaped a warzone while his cock strained against his jeans. But Steve wouldn’t stoop to jerking himself off to the thought of you—at least not while you were just outside.

On weekends, Steve would work in his backyard, mowing the grass and tending to the shrubs that ran along the line separating his property from yours. When the weather was nice and pleasantly warm, you would sit out on your small back porch, curled up in a wicker chair reading some book or another.

Steve would offer to mow your lawn, just for an excuse to stay outside longer, and be a little bit closer to you. You’d let him, and thank him for his efforts by giving him some ice cold lemonade, smiling up at him while he drank it. Steve wasn’t the least bit surprised the lemonade was more sweet than tart.

As the weeks and months passed since you’d moved in, Steve couldn’t help but feel his desire for you growing, becoming a living thing curling around his heart, making it beat for you. You were the sweetest and prettiest omega he’d ever met, and he’d be lucky to be your alpha, but he kept his distance, certain you could do better than him.

That is, until your first heat after moving in next door changed everything.

That was when Steve learned you were far more than the innocent little omega he’d determined you to be—you were a creature of sex and desire, made to take an alpha’s knot and be pumped full of come in the hopes that their seed would take root in your womb. When your heat hit fully, your keening wails echoed from your cottage, and they were a siren song that called directly to Steve’s alpha heart.

But he kept himself away. After all, there were polite ways of going about these things, and he’d never even asked you out on a date, so he certainly wasn’t going to assume you wanted his help to get you through your heat. Besides, you hadn’t asked for him to join you, anyway.

That didn’t stop Steve from keeping an eye on you, though.

He’d noticed the slight change in your scent a few days before your heat truly set in, his cock reacting even more to your perfect omega body than normal. Steve felt like he was walking around with a constant bulge in his pants after getting a single whiff of your scent, but he ignored the niggling feeling telling him he needed to be close to you and did his best to hide his reaction. He knew you had other things to worry about than the comfort of the alpha next door.

Even though something in him compelled him to go to you, Steve couldn’t bring himself to walk over to your cottage. It occurred to him that even if you didn’t want him to help you through your heat, he could offer to go to the store to get the food and provisions you’d need. But he didn’t. He was worried about what he’d do if he looked into your home and saw your nest and smelled your sweet perfume.

So Steve kept his distance, watching you from his truck and the windows of his house as you brought home a week’s worth of provisions—protein bars and sports drinks that would keep you nourished enough to make it through your heat. Steve wished he could carry the heavy-looking bags into your home, but his cock was pitching a tent in his sweatpants, and he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable with the way his alpha body reacted to your omega scent.

Finally, as your heat drew closer, you locked up your cottage, closing all the windows and drawing all the curtains. Steve couldn’t help but notice, though, that you left the skylight in your bedroom cracked open a tiny bit. Steve’s alpha hindbrain itched at the thought that you’d only left it open because you couldn’t close it yourself, and he had to hold himself back from going over to your cottage to offer to close it.

Steve knew omegas liked to keep their nests dark and warm and locked up tight. They wanted to keep all the scents created during a heat trapped in their nest, at least until their heat broke. So it was curious that you’d left the skylight open, even a little bit.

But when your heat hit in earnest that evening, your pitiful whimpers and desperate moans filtering through the open window and directly to Steve’s ears—through the window of his bedroom that he’d thrown open the moment he’d heard you—he forgot about what omegas typically wanted. Instead, all the blood in his body rushed to his cock, making him harder than he’d ever been in his life.

Steve stood at the window of his bedroom, which overlooked your cottage, his eyes glazing over as he listened to you pant and whine and cry out for an alpha that wasn’t coming. Because of course Steve had noticed that no alpha had arrived to help you through your heat. He assumed you were using any number of the toys that were sold precisely to help unmated omegas get through their heats without an alpha’s help.

But it meant you were alone, in your nest, riding out your heat on some silicone knot. That thought nearly made Steve storm from his house and barge into your cottage to demand you let him help you, but he reminded himself you were too sweet, too sweet, too sweet for him. So instead, he fisted his cock and listened to your raspy pleas fill the night sky.

“Need your knot, alpha, oh god, please,” you babbled, your voice beautifully melodic to Steve even when you were desperately begging for something he knew he shouldn’t give you. “Fill me up, daddy, I need it—need your knot, alpha—daddy, daddy, alpha, please, please, please!” Your moans grew louder and Steve could only imagine the thick silicone knot that was filling you up the way he should be filling you.

One of Steve’s hands gripped the frame of his window tightly, using the feel of the wood digging into his palm to keep himself grounded as he physically fought with his alpha instincts. He wanted to break into your cottage and rip your toys away from you so he could help you through your heat. Like he was meant to. It should be him inside you, sinking into your warm, welcoming cunt while you looked up at him with those beautiful eyes of yours.

Steve’s other hand gripped his cock, pumping his hard, stiff length with a fist so tight, it was nearly punishing. It helped a little, but his fist was a far cry from your perfect cunt, which would be gushing with wetness and so hot, Steve would feel like he was sinking into heaven and hell at the same time. And when he came, it wouldn’t be anywhere near as satisfying as emptying his balls right against your cervix, pumping your womb full of his seed while knot locked your bodies together so it would be almost certain he’d knock you up.

That is, if you weren’t on birth control. Which most unmated omegas were, Steve reminded himself.

Still, the alpha in him was a beast barely caged—he wanted to breed you.

Steve wanted to see you impaled on his cock and his knot, so bloated from how full you were with his come that he could see it in the way your belly bulged, giving a preview of what you’d look like growing with his child. He wanted to knock you up, he wanted to see you swollen and round with his pup.

He wanted to keep fucking you even as you carried his child, watching you bounce on his knot, your tits swollen with milk and your belly big and round while he tried to fill your womb with another before you’d even popped out the first. Steve wanted to keep you pregnant all the time, your pretty little omega body always ripe and swollen with his pups, taking his knot and his come every moment of the day so he could make sure you were always glowing with the radiance of motherhood.

It was that image of you—beautiful and knocked up, your eyes hazy with pleasure that came only from being impaled on his cock, and being locked on his knot—that made Steve come.

He grunted as the pleasure of his fist and his thoughts of you finally became too much, wrapping both his hands around his thick length, one squeezing his knot while the other pumped the rest of his shaft. His come erupted from the tip, streaming over the windowsill and dripping down to his bare feet on the wooden floor of his bedroom.

A growl tore from Steve’s lips while he came, a deep, dark part of his alpha hindbrain responding furiously to the fact that he was wasting his seed. He should be emptying his balls deep in your fertile cunt while your slick walls gripped his knot and milked every drop of his seed into your womb, where it belonged.

Steve’s release seemed to last for ages, longer than he’d ever experienced before, and if it wasn’t for the fact that his head finally started to clear when it abated, he would’ve been worried he’d gone into rut. But finally, Steve surfaced from the depths of his pleasure, and winced when he remembered the thoughts that had made him come.

Steve was appalled by the direction in which his imagination had gone, and felt guilty for imagining you in such a state as pregnant and bouncing on his cock—even as the reminder made his cock leak one last spurt of his release. Cursing and castigating himself, Steve moved away from the window to clean himself up and wipe down the spot where he’d been standing.

The entire time he was cleaning up after himself, Steve felt off-balance. He’d never felt such a pull toward an omega before you, and he’d never been so close to going into rut just from listening to an omega whimper and moan. If he didn’t know better, he would think you were his mate—the one omega in the whole world who was perfect for him.

But Steve pushed that thought aside and reminded himself you were too sweet for an alpha like him. You might’ve sounded desperate and needy while you suffered through your heat alone, but you deserved better than an alpha who could think of nothing else besides pumping you full of come and knocking you up with his child.

Steve felt disturbed all over again when he thought of the vivid, obscene things he’d imagined while he’d jerked himself off. He’d never been the type of alpha to get off on the idea of breeding, let alone pictured anyone swollen with his kid while they were impaled on his cock. Steve felt so far out of his depth, he swiped his clean hand down his face to try to regain the equilibrium that had been shattered by your pretty omega sounds.

Thankfully, you’d gone blessedly quiet at some point when Steve had been coming all over his windowsill. He tossed the rag he’d used to clean up his mess into the laundry and flopped down on his bed, knowing he wouldn’t be getting any rest that night. It was a good thing he’d called out of work on heat leave.

Even as Steve lay in his bed, the refrain that you were too sweet for him repeating in his mind, he couldn’t help hoping that you were getting some much-needed rest. He’d never been one to worry over much about whether someone was sleeping or eating, but he wondered if you’d had a protein bar and drank a sports drink before falling asleep. He knew you needed to keep up your strength if you’d make it through your heat.

His thoughts spinning around in his mind, Steve fell into a light, fitful sleep, his alpha hindbrain remaining alert and attuned to the sounds coming from your cottage. Little did he know, it wouldn’t be long before everything would change. Something would happen that would force Steve to finally give in to the connection between him and the omega next door.

When you woke on the second morning of your heat, it was to a burning need cutting through your core, urging you to roll onto your knees and sink down on the silicone knot toy that had slipped from your pussy while you slept. Unbidden, the face of the alpha next door, Steve Rogers, popped into your mind and you sobbed through another wave of aching desire, wishing desperately that he was with you to help you through your heat.

You hadn’t met the alpha until after you’d moved into the little pink cottage next door to his much larger home, and you were instantly smitten with the former soldier. He was big—so much bigger than you—with broad shoulders and bulging biceps that were barely hidden beneath the tight t-shirts he always seemed to wear. But it was Steve’s thighs that were always so distracting to you, so thick they made you want to ride them until your slick was drenching his jeans.

A pitiful moan fell from your lips as you reached between your thighs, grasping blindly for the toy you’d discarded in your sleep. With your face still shoved into a pillow and sleep still clinging to the edges of your consciousness, you slid down on the thick silicone cock, pretending it belonged to Steve.

The alpha next door was just so…sweet.

It hadn’t taken you long after moving into your cottage to learn your neighbor’s schedule, and you made sure to always be working in the garden in front of your home when he got back from work. You lived for the growly greetings he would call to you, and the faint blush that would graze his cheekbones, like he was shy around you, his harmless omega neighbor.

And on the weekends, when you knew Steve wasn’t working, you sat on your back porch reading—though you were more often ogling the fit alpha’s shoulders and arms as he worked in his backyard. The sun would shine on Steve’s blond hair and make him look like a golden god, with sparkling blue eyes that would occasionally flick in your direction, though you didn’t think he was really looking at you.

Of course, when he’d offer to mow your lawn, you’d let him. Then, to show the alpha your thanks, you’d make him some nice refreshing lemonade. If that meant you could watch him quench his thirst while you imagined his sweet mouth on your body, drinking your slick as eagerly as he drank your lemonade, then that was just a bonus to being a good neighbor. Right?

It had become abundantly clear to you that you harbored a crush on Steve, and it was nearly excruciating living next to him when he didn’t seem interested in making a move on his omega neighbor. After all, it had been months, and he’d been nothing but friendly and respectful and sweet.

It was obvious, at least to you, that Steve was too sweet for you—too sweet to be the rough, dominant alpha you craved. Too sweet to bend you over and impale you on his thick cock with one stroke. Too sweet to shove his knot into your cunt and make you come so hard you saw stars. Too sweet to knock you up over and over again, filling up that big house of his with pups that you’d created together.

You’d told yourself it was for the best that Steve kept his distance. If he couldn’t be what you needed, then you didn’t want your crush to develop into unrequited feelings. But your heart didn’t listen, so you kept putting yourself in situations where you’d get to see your neighbor—working in your front garden when he got home, sitting on your back porch while he was in his backyard.

Then, you began to feel your heat coming on, and your thoughts about the alpha next door only worsened. It wasn’t uncommon anymore for unmated omegas to ask alpha friends or acquaintances to help them through their heats, but the prospect of asking Steve for his help, getting to come all over his knot for days on end, and then trying to go back to the way things were sounded torturous.

Instead, you went about your heat preparations as you always did, gathering supplies from the grocery store and stocking up the minifridge in your bedroom with sports drinks while you piled your bedside table high with protein bars. You closed and locked all the doors and windows of your cottage, drawing the curtains tight to keep out the sun.

You knew you were a bit of an odd omega, and you didn’t like total darkness in your nest, which was why you had been the only one interested in the little cottage. It had a skylight in the bedroom that any other omega would want closed and covered during their heat. The window itself was covered in a film that dampened most of the direct sunlight and you enjoyed the natural light, even when you were deep in your heat, so it was perfect for you.

It occurred to you, as you were preparing your room, that if you cracked open the skylight, the sounds you made during your heat would filter out from your cottage. Your desperate cries for a knot might even be heard by the alpha next door…

Later, you’d blame your decision to leave the skylight open on the dangerous combination of your pre-heat brain and the exquisite agony of your crush on Steve. But by that time, the little decision you’d made in the urgency of your heat preparations would’ve irrevocably changed your life—for the better—and you wouldn’t give a thought to regretting what you’d done.

Still, on that second morning of your heat, when you were woken by the need to be knotted and flooded with come, you didn’t even remember that you’d decided to leave the skylight open. So you had no idea whether it was working or not, whether Steve could hear you—but he wasn’t far from your thoughts as you rode your silicone alpha toy, trying to slake the need that burned through your body.

Your heats were always a little hazy, like most omega’s, with desire and need pounding through your blood so insistently, you couldn’t form any coherent thoughts. Your mind could only focus on getting a cock inside you, then a knot and, if you’d had an alpha to help you, the gush of their come. Since you were so mindless, you uttered words that you’d forgotten the second they fell from your lips.

The first night of your heat, when you’d had a moment of clear-headedness enough to gulp down a sports drink and scarf a protein bar, you’d hoped you hadn’t cried out anything that would embarrass you—like Steve’s name. You’d had a vague memory of calling out for an alpha, which was normal for an unmated omega, and a daddy, which was normal for you, given your desires when you weren’t going through your heat. But you’d breathed a sigh of relief when you didn’t remember calling out for Steve specifically.

You couldn’t imagine what would happen if you cried out Steve’s name while in heat. But you were about to find out.

The silicone toy in your cunt wasn’t cutting it. It had been just fine that first night, though you hadn’t felt as satisfied as you normally did, and you hadn’t slept as long as you typically did in between waves of your heat. Something about this heat felt different. You weren’t just desperate for an alpha’s knot and come, you wanted more…

You wanted a pup. You wanted an alpha’s cock shoved deep in your cunt, unloading their come against your cervix, filling your womb with a seed that would take and knock you up. You wanted to be bred—and not just by any alpha. You wanted the alpha next door to breed you.

Steve. You wanted Steve. You needed Steve.

“Please,” you gasped, the word leaving your lips as you thought of your big, sweet alpha neighbor. His face came easily to your mind, those sparkling blue eyes and soft lips, that strong jaw and the way a blush turned his cheeks the most perfect shade of pink. “Please, alpha, need your knot, need your come,” you whined, speaking to the image of Steve in your mind.

You pushed yourself up onto your knees, grabbing one of the many pillows from your bed and shoving it between your thighs, forcing the silicone alpha cock deeper into your cunt. Still, it wasn’t enough, even as you tried to make due.

You rocked your hips, trying to replicate the feeling of fucking yourself on an alpha’s cock, but it paled in comparison. A desperate whine worked its way up your throat, filling your room and slipping from the skylight into the morning air.

“Please, daddy, wanna have your baby,” you cried, your hands going to your tits and tugging on your nipples so roughly, pleasure and pain swirled through your body, creating a tornado of sensation that only fed the need burning in your core. “Wan’ you to knock me up, alpha, wanna give you pups, wan’ you to suck on my milky tits while you fuck me, daddy.” You groped your breasts, pinching your nipples like you were milking yourself, the sensations making your cunt gush slick all over the toy inside you.

The pleasure was gathering in your core, making you more desperate to reach the pinnacle of your climax. Your hips worked, humping the pillow and cock between your thighs, shoving yourself down against the knot at the base of the toy, knowing it was what you needed to come, but your pussy was still too tight to take it.

“Oh god, I need it, alpha, I need it, I need it,” you babbled mindlessly, fucking yourself furiously on the toy and still wishing it was Steve’s cock.

You pictured him beneath you, his cheeks tinged pink, not with a blush, but with the flush of his desire for you, his blue eyes nearly black from his pupils blowing wide as he stared up at you. His soft mouth parted as he groaned, his thick cock buried in your tight cunt, twitching as you squeezed him.

It was with that image in your mind that the fateful words spilled from your lips. You cried out desperately, “Knock me up, daddy, gimme your pup, please—please, breed me, Steve!”

So close to the edge of your release, you barely heard the distant crashing sound that echoed between your little cottage and the house that belonged to the alpha next door. All you heard were your gasping breaths and mindless moans, the toy shoving into your cunt making low squelching noises that only managed to turn you on more.

It was only when a much closer smashing sound preceded the swirl of cool morning air infiltrating your home, and flooding into your nest, that you were able to drag your attention away from your own desperate frustration. Your omega instincts were going haywire, part of you telling you something was wrong, while another part unfurled and shifted, like a flower blooming toward the sun.

Blinking your eyes to clear away the haze of your heat, your mouth fell open in an ‘o’ of surprise at the sight of the alpha in your bedroom doorway.

Steve’s big body filled the doorway, his hands clutching the wooden frame while his chest heaved with heavy breaths. It looked like he was trying to hold himself back, his grip so tight on your doorframe that a distant part of your mind worried it might splinter beneath his palms. But you couldn’t think too closely about that, not when your neighbor was staring at you with a crazed look in his eyes, like he wanted to fill you with his knot as badly as you wanted to be filled.

Your too sweet alpha neighbor’s mouth—which was normally curved in a soft, friendly smile—was twisted with ferocious lust, and when he spoke, his voice was a rough growl like nothing you’d ever heard from Steve.

“Invite me into your bed,” he rumbled, the order clear in his voice even if he didn’t use his alpha command. “Ask me to help you through your heat, tell me you want me here,” he went on through clenched teeth, an edge of desperation in his tone that called your heart—and your cunt. “Tell me you want me, omega.” His fingers gripped the doorframe tighter, and you heard the wood creak beneath his strength.

Your pussy spasmed and your heart lurched when Steve called you by your designation, but it was when his scent hit you that you felt something inside your being shift and lock into place. Steve smelled like home—like safety and security and love. He smelled like a future of wrangling children together and making love together and sitting on a porch swing together and growing old together.

In that moment, you knew what your instincts had known from the moment you met Steve—he was your mate. He was the one alpha in all the world who was meant for you, just as you were the omega meant for him. And once you knew that, it was the easiest thing in the world to part your lips and beg him to join you in your nest, in your bed, and help you through your heat.

“Please, Steve—please, mate, please help me,” you begged, your voice breathy with need and excitement, tears of joy shining in your eyes.

Something shifted in Steve’s expression when you called him your mate. You watched as he took a deep breath, scenting you the way you had him. A riot of emotions swirled in those beautiful blue eyes of his—disbelief, acknowledgement, acceptance, satisfaction, pride. You saw the moment he realized what you’d only just discovered, a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth.

“My omega, my mate,” Steve growled, finally letting go of the doorframe and launching himself at you.

Finally—finally—Steve was coming to you, closing the distance between you, and you’d never been happier in all your life. The alpha next door was your mate, and you hoped that meant he would be more than willing to knock you up and breed you like you needed.

Steve had woken from his fitful sleep to the sound of your sweet cries that morning, though they sounded much more desperate to his ears. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or not, but you sounded less than satisfied with whatever toy you were using and Steve slid a hand down to his already hard cock, thinking you should’ve been riding him instead of some silicone dick.

He’d lazily stroked his cock, trying to restrain himself from coming all over his stomach, while listening to your increasingly desperate cries. Steve had fisted a hand in the sheets of his bed, hoping it would be enough to hold himself back from storming over to your cottage and taking your heat into his own hands.

Then, Steve heard you cry out his name and something in him snapped. Before he even knew what he was doing, he’d thrown on some boxer briefs and stormed out of his bedroom, leaping down the stairs and throwing open the front door of his house so ferociously, he’d ripped it off some of the hinges.

Not even caring that he was leaving his door open, Steve charged over to your cottage, taking a little bit more care with your front door when he broke the lock and pushed it open, flinging it closed behind him. He knew it was likely stuck closed thanks to the broken lock, but Steve only cared that it would prevent anyone else from getting into your home. He’d deal with getting out later. Much later.

Finally, Steve got to the doorway of your bedroom, your nest, and he’d stumbled to a stop at the sight that lay before him.

You were perched in the center of your big bed, a pillow wedged between your thighs, the knot of a toy barely visible while you humped futilely on the fake cock. Your delicate fingers groped your tits, squeezing your soft flesh and pinching your nipples like you were milking yourself—that thought making even more blood rush to Steve’s cock. Desperate whimpers and whines fell from your lips, more pleas to be knocked up and filled with pups, and they were nearly his undoing.

At the last second, Steve gripped the doorframe, holding himself back from pouncing on you, as he tried to remember why he shouldn’t be there. You were an unmated omega, in heat, and he hadn’t gotten permission to be in your nest, let alone help you through your heat. And you were too sweet for him…

God, you looked sweet, though. Sweet enough that Steve’s mouth watered with the thought of how slick you were, how good you would taste on his tongue. Even from the doorway, he could see the way your wetness had soaked the pillow between your thighs. He wanted to taste you, to scent you, he wanted you.

Steve was seconds away from launching himself at you when your gaze finally landed on him. It was the delighted surprise in your eyes that urged him to ground out a desperate plea for consent to enter your room and help you through your heat. Blessedly, you seemed coherent enough to answer—but you didn’t only answer and beg for his help, you called him your mate.

That word struck a chord in Steve’s chest, his heart pounding even harder at the impossible prospect that you were his mate—that you were meant to be his. But he took a deep breath, taking in the scent of you and opening himself up to the possibility that you were his.

You even smelled sweet, like the pink roses in your front garden—or, rather, the peace Steve felt when he came home to find you tending to your flowers. You smelled like the warmth of a gentle fire and the giddiness of butterfly kisses. You smelled like life, like the time unfurling before the two of you, years and decades spent with each other, making each other happy.

It was as if Steve truly came alive for the first time when he scented you, and the last tether of the self-restraint holding him back from you snapped.

“My omega, my mate,” he rumbled in a low purr, a voice he’d never even heard himself use before. But he didn’t have time to think about that too closely—he only knew he needed to get to you.

As quickly as he could, Steve surged into your room, tearing off his boxer briefs—the only clothing he’d had the presence of mind to put on, and he was thankful for it, since it saved him the grief of a public indecency charge—in the few steps it took to get to your bed.

By the time Steve tackled you into the tangle of blankets and pillows, he was naked as the day he was born, his cock throbbing with need and brushing against swaths of your soft, bare skin, leaving his precum behind. The alpha cradled your body in his strong arms as he rolled you beneath him, his narrow hips slotting perfectly between your plush thighs, his hard length resting against your mound.

But there was something in his way, something that shouldn’t be inside you and Steve couldn’t help but growl, “Get that fucking toy out of my cunt, ‘mega.” He softened the fury in his voice with light, fleeting kisses to your cheeks and temple and forehead, greedy to taste the sweetness of your skin.

“Yes, alpha,” you gasped, fumbling between your bodies to wrench the silicone dick from your tight hole.

The sweet submission in your voice was too much for Steve—he had to taste it. Slanting his lips to yours, Steve kissed you for the first time, groaning into your mouth at the wondrous feeling of your mouth beneath his. You tasted better than you smelled, like radiant sunshine bursting on his tongue and casting a golden glow over his entire body.

Deepening the kiss, Steve plundered your mouth, stroking his tongue against yours and nipping at your lips until you were gasping and panting beneath him. Your entire body trembled with unslaked need, your fingers clinging to his bulging biceps as you cried out for him, all of which stroked Steve’s alpha ego so much, his cock twitched and leaked against your belly.

“Please, Steve—daddy—alpha—I need you inside me,” you wailed in a broken voice and Steve’s instincts took over.

He shifted his hips back, the tip of his cock finding your slick hole and he pushed forward, sinking his hard length into your cunt with one thrust. Steve’s entire world realigned, his heart stuttering in his chest at the feeling of your tight heat consuming him, overwhelming him. An animalistic groan left his lips, and he buried the sound in your neck, breathing in your scent as he tried not to come immediately.

With Steve’s cock finally buried inside you, he felt your body relax beneath him, your moan of pleasure dissolving into a sigh of relief. Steve’s hindbrain felt a deep satisfaction at the way you melted in his arms, your submission to him apparent in the loosening of your muscles. Finding your lips again, Steve kissed you sweetly, cherishing the moment of calm before your heat urged the two of you to move.

“Thank you, alpha,” you whispered, your voice soft and blissful and the most content Steve had heard it since your heat began in earnest the day before. “The toys weren’t working.” You pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek on your way to burying your face in the crook of his neck, breathing so deeply he could hear your inhale, making his cock twitch in the depths of your pussy.

Then, your words pierced through the haze of pleasure in Steve’s mind and he purred, smiling into your neck when you relaxed further beneath him, responding to him.

“You needed your mate, didn’t you, baby?” Steve cooed, lavishing your neck with kisses until you were whining and squirming beneath him. “Needed your daddy to pound your needy little cunt like only your alpha could, huh?” He started rolling his hips in tight circles, grinding into your cunt, his knot rubbing your clit in a way that had you clenching deliciously around him. “Needed me to pump your sweet little womb full of come, huh, needed me to give you a pup?”

As soon as the heated words fell from Steve’s lips, he wished he could take them back. He’d heard you beg him to breed you, but that was when you were riding a silicone alpha dick, not when you were seconds away from taking Steve’s knot.

Mentally, Steve chastised himself for letting his mouth run away from him so soon. He’d barely gotten his cock in you and he was already talking about knocking you up. He didn’t want you to think he was that kind of alpha, one that only wanted an omega to pump out babies for him—even though the thought did make Steve rock hard.

“Sorry, ‘mega,” Steve mumbled, shifting his arms beneath your body so he could cradle your head in one hand, holding you still while he rocked his hips into yours, kissing your cheek and jaw and neck and anywhere he could reach.

“Sorry for what?” you asked on a gasp, hooking your legs around Steve’s sides and clinging to him so you could grind on his thick cock.

Thankfully, you didn’t seem turned off or scared by Steve’s breeding talk. If anything, the way you arched your spine and shoved your cunt down on his dick made him think you liked it. But surely that couldn’t be true.

“Didn’t mean to mention pups so soon,” Steve said gruffly, hiding his face in your neck so you wouldn’t see the blush that he knew was turning his cheeks pink.

“Oh god,” you moaned, your cunt squeezing Steve’s cock as your body writhed beneath his. “Wanna give you so many pups, alpha,” you cried, humping up from beneath Steve’s big body, riding his cock harder than you’d been riding your toy when he’d walked in.

Steve went cross-eyed at the assault on his senses. Between the perfect heat of your slick pussy gripping his cock, teasing his knot every time you rocked against him, and the sound of your sweet voice confessing you wanted him to knock you up, Steve’s body shuddered with the effort it took not slam his knot home and flood your womb with his seed to give you exactly what you wanted.

“You like that idea, huh?” Steve rumbled, hungry passion and desire coursing through his body and urging him to move faster, to fuck you harder. He pulled out of your fluttering pussy and slammed back inside, relishing the desperate cry that left your lips and the way your fingers dug into the muscles of his arms. “You like it when your alpha tells you how much he wants to breed you?”

Despite his best efforts, Steve could hear the thread of insecurity in his question, and he wasn’t surprised when you cupped his face and moved his head up so you could look into his eyes. What he didn’t expect was the sheer amount of pleasure and desire in your hazy gaze, or the mixture of sweetness and depravity in the little smirk you gave him.

“I do, daddy,” you said, your voice breathy but no less firm in your resolve. “I want to hear everything you’ve thought about doing to your little omega—want you to breed me, alpha.”

Everything else in the world melted away as Steve focused on you—his omega, his mate—and the fact that he was going to try his damndest to give you what you wanted. After all, that was his duty as your alpha. You were his to take care of, to provide for, to protect, to cherish—to fuck and to knot.

You were his to love—you were his to breed. And Steve planned on loving you and breeding you plenty.

You’d never felt anything so good as Steve sinking his thick alpha cock into your weeping cunt, and you nearly sobbed in relief as the edge of aching, burning need finally abated. This was what you needed—not a toy or any alpha’s cock, but your mate’s. Your body and omega instincts had known something was wrong, and it had taken a slip of your tongue to fix it.

Even if it had been an accident to cry out Steve’s name, you couldn’t feel embarrassed about it, not when you finally felt something like satisfaction. The need of your heat still burned bright beneath your skin, but for a moment, you could revel in the feeling of being so intimately connected to your mate, your Steve—the alpha next door.

The words of thanks had slipped past your lips before you could stop them, and you loved the teasing way he responded. But then you felt a shift in Steve. He’d seemed to feel guilty for mentioning pups, but even his apology turned you on, making your arousal burn hotter. Your body had been unable to still when you needed him so badly—needed to give him pups, needed to grow round with his child and know that he had claimed you in the most primal way possible.

Your brain had short-circuited when Steve had said he wanted to breed you, but you’d still heard the anxiousness in his tone and you’d guided his head up so you could look at him. The uncertainty and guilt in Steve’s beautiful blue eyes nearly broke your heart. He was too sweet for words, wanting to make sure you were comfortable with even the words he said in the heat of the moment.

Between one breath and the next, you fell in love with Steve Rogers. He wasn’t simply the alpha next door, he was your mate, and he was yours. A fierce possessiveness filled your chest as you smirked up at your alpha, determining to show him exactly how much you wanted everything he’d said.

“Want you to breed me, alpha,” you begged on a moan, your hips rising up off the bed to meet the brutal thrusts of your mate. “Fill me up with your pups, daddy, please, I need it!” You held Steve’s gaze, letting him see the pleasure on your face, hear the genuineness of your words.

You saw the moment Steve’s insecurity and guilt melted into desire and determination. His blue eyes darkened and his face twisted into a mask of sinful resolve. He looked like a fallen god, with his golden hair and tanned skin, framed perfectly in the little bit of morning light filtering in through the skylight above your bed. Your pussy clenched around his cock, fluttering as he thrust inside you, teasing your hole with his knot.

“Don’t worry, ‘mega,” Steve rumbled, ducking down and capturing your lips in a sweet kiss that left you gasping for breath. He pressed his forehead to yours, staring deep into your eyes. “We’re making a baby today.”

“Yes, alpha,” you cried, spreading your legs wider in an effort to let Steve fuck you deeper. He grinned, shifting his hands to your thighs and pushing them up against your chest, folding you in half and pounding you into the bed.

“Gonna fill up your perfect cunt with all the seed in my balls, and if it doesn’t take today, ‘m gonna fill you up until you’re overflowing with my come—until your belly’s bulging with it,” Steve growled, rutting into you with a ferociousness you never would’ve expected from your sweet alpha neighbor. But Steve’s sweetness was never far from the surface, and he proved it by lowering his voice to a deep rumble that you felt in your belly, asking, “Mm, ’s that what you want, baby, want daddy to give you a pup?”

You were pinned beneath Steve, his cock fucking you so hard, your room was filing with the wet squelching sounds of your soaking cunt and the sharp rhythm of your alpha’s thighs slapping against your own. But still, it was his words that seemed to have the most effect on you, turning you into a writhing, needy creature who’d only be satisfied when Steve emptied his balls deep in your cunt.

“Yes, alpha,” you cried, your fingers clinging to Steve’s shoulders, digging into his warm, golden skin while he fucked you into oblivion. “Want you to knock me up, wanna give you a pup, wanna grow big and round with your child and feed you both from my milky tits,” you babbled, throwing your head back and screaming when Steve’s cock hit against your cervix, pleasure and pain swirling like an inferno in your body. “Please, daddy, god, I need it, I need it—knot me, breed, me, Steve, please!”

“Baby,” Steve groaned, capturing your lips in another kiss while he rutted into you faster and harder, his knot pressing against your tight hole with every thrust and teasing you with the stretch of it. “You’re gonna get a pup, alright,” he growled when he pulled away, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re gonna pop out a kid for me and then I’m gonna fill you right back up.” Steve moaned, his body shuddering and you knew he was close. “Wanna watch you bounce on my cock with your belly ripe and swollen with my pups, your tits heavy with milk—the prettiest mommy and mate an alpha could ask for.”

“Steve,” you sobbed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to hold him close, kissing him and thrusting your hips up to meet his. “Please, make me a mommy, alpha—wanna be a mommy, please, daddy, daddy, please!” Then your lips were too preoccupied with Steve’s, kissing him messily in between desperate moans while he fucked you hard and fast.

Finally, Steve pulled back and thrust forward with so much power, his knot pushed inside your tight cunt and you screamed in pleasure, the feeling of his thick bulge stretching your tight hole sending you over the edge into the most earth-shattering release you’d felt in your life. It was a transcendental experience, coming on your mate’s cock, your alpha surrounding you and filling you up in every way possible.

As your body squeezed Steve’s cock, he groaned loudly in your ear, burying his face in your neck while his hips stuttered against yours, trying to fuck you with his knot but unable to move because your bodies were locked so tightly together. Then, with a moan of, “my mate,” you felt the moment Steve began to come. His cock twitched deep inside your cunt, a warmth filling you as he shot rope after rope of come against your cervix, filling your womb.

For a long time, the two of you stayed locked together, riding out your releases in each other’s embrace. Giggles and moans filled the room, each of you kissing the other wherever you could reach while you basked in your pleasure together. You breathed in the scent of Steve, your lips dragging up and down the column of his throat while he kissed your neck and shoulder and just beneath your ear, making you shiver.

Eventually, when the squeezing of your cunt was reduced to a flutter and your body had milked every last drop of seed from Steve’s cock, the two of you settled. Your heat had abated for the moment. Though need still burned low in the core of your body, reminding you it wasn’t over just yet.

But you had a bit of a respite, and you took the time to revel in you newfound mate. Turning your head, you pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek, which was flushed pink with pleasure.

You felt Steve’s smile against your skin and then he was rising up so you could see the full blush that tinged your alpha’s cheeks. He looked so sweet and ruined, his blond hair a mess, his blue eyes bright with satisfaction, a deeply smug smile on his plump lips.

“Feeling better, ‘mega?” he asked, though there was so much male satisfaction in his tone, you were certain he already knew the answer.

Still, you liked seeing this side of Steve. Typically you didn’t like cocky alphas, but Steve looked so hot when he was confident, your pussy fluttered around his knot at the sight of his smirk.

“I am, daddy,” you said softly, smiling up at your alpha, enjoying the way his smirk deepened as you confirmed what he knew. You couldn’t help but stroke his ego a little more. “Now that you’re here to take care of me.”

Steve’s eyes softened and he pressed a heated kiss to your lips. “Good,” he said when he pulled away. Then his arms were wrapping around you and he rolled onto his back, dragging you with him until you were splayed across his broad chest, your bodies still locked together by his knot.

It would deflate soon enough, but you reveled in the feeling while it lasted, snuggling into Steve’s arms. Sleep called to you, but Steve was still moving and you when you opened your eyes, you found him reaching for your stash of provisions on your bedside table.

“Gotta eat and hydrate, baby,” Steve murmured as he unwrapped a protein bar and began feeding it to you. Even though you were exhausted, you knew he was right and you let him feed you, only sitting up when it was time to gulp down some of the sports drink he offered you. “Good girl, ‘mega, doing so well for your alpha,” Steve said, praising you while you ate and drank.

When you were done, Steve tossed the empty wrappers and bottles back onto your bedside table and relaxed into the many pillows on your bed. You settled down on his chest, your body sated in every way possible, muscles going loose when your alpha began to purr.

“Thank you, alpha,” you mumbled, the urge to sleep more insistent since you were fed. Steve’s hands smoothed down your back, tracing your spine lightly with his fingertips in a way that made you melt even further into him.

“Don’t need to thank me,” he grumbled, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple. “You’re my mate, ‘m gonna do everything I can to take care of you—and our kids.” He added the last bit like it was an afterthought, but you knew Steve meant it, and your heart warmed at his protectiveness.

You smiled into Steve’s warm skin, nuzzling into his neck beneath his jaw, breathing in the scent of him—the scent of home—but his words made you remember something you should tell him.

“Steve, ‘m on birth control,” you murmured sleepily, pressing a lazy kiss to the thick column of his neck. “Thought you should know.” You snorted a little, laughing at yourself for the silliness of your last statement, even though it was true.

The rumble of Steve’s purr changed as he chuckled, his strong arms tightening around your waist for a moment before he grabbed a blanket and pulled it up over your cooling bodies. “Figured, ‘mega,” he rumbled, his voice so warm, you could hear his smile. “Doesn’t mean ‘m gonna stop picturing you round with my pup, even if it’s a while before that happens.”

“Mm,” you hummed in acknowledgment, then pouted as you processed his words. “As long as it’s not a long while,” you muttered, hardly listening to what you were saying because you were so close to sleep.

Steve chuckled again, his hands squeezing you lightly. “It’ll be as long or as short as you want, baby,” he assured you in a gruff voice that was thick with just as much tiredness as yours. “I’d give you a pup today if I could.”

You smiled, your heart filling with emotion, and pressed your lips to your alpha’s neck. You might’ve been exhausted, but it didn’t stop you from murmuring the words your heart urged you to say, “I love you, Steve.”

Steve’s purr deepened, and he held you close, no hesitation in his voice when he said, “I love you, too.” Your alpha brushed a kiss to your cheek and smacked your ass very lightly. “Now rest, omega, we still have to get through the rest of your heat.”

You fell asleep with a smile on your face, feeling safe and protected and satisfied in the arms of your mate, your bodies still locked together by Steve’s knot. You never would’ve expected anything to come of your crush on your neighbor—and you never would’ve expected he’d be a perfect fit for your desires, let alone your mate.

But, you knew the two of you were going to live a happy life together—and you couldn’t wait to spend every moment of it with the alpha next door.

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