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bucketbueckers · 2 days ago

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BIGGER IN TEXAS

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: filth (and some plot, as a treat)!! language, light alcohol/body shots, oral, fingering, strap, fuck ass cowboy hats, freak shit im talm bout inittttt, slight overstim, mirror, light choking (author is unoriginal we know this), reader is honestly thirsty as hell but so is paige, idk how to tag smut properly just know im losing my spot in heaven for this fic

wc: 10.5k

synopsis: A Dallas Wings rookie and a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader walk into a club together. What could possibly go wrong?

notes: i wasn't ovulating when i drafted this but i am now! maybe tmi. sinners changed my life and my main takeaway from that movie is everyone is a munch and thats a life philosophy i think everyone should have. make sure you all say "thank you kali uchis" because i actually got insane writers block after waking up this morning but her album saved me. not much to say but im actually going to hell for this so please make it worth it and hit up my inbox pls and ty 🫶 as always i hope yall enjoy!

Let the record show that you weren’t serious.

Okay. You were like, 50% serious. As in if you were presented with the opportunity, you would take it, but if any of your friends were to ask about it, you would probably deflect.

You realize now that you tend to get a little overzealous on Twitter – it’s far more unhinged than your Instagram is, where you share pictures of your everyday life and action shots as a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader. You have less followers on the bird app (it is not X), you’re a little more…real, and as a bonus, your mom doesn’t follow you, so you feel like you can be a little more insane on there.

Although you’d probably apologize to her later – because one of your recent tweets is going a little crazy.

It didn’t start as anything crazy. Being a Dallas athlete, you kept up with nearly every sports team – the Mavericks, the Stars, the Cowboys, obviously, but you loved the Wings, too. You watched the WNBA draft as did countless others in the country.

When the Wings admin posted the Welcome to Dallas, Paige Bueckers! tweet, you’d giggled to yourself, mostly because you were nursing a Chili’s margarita and because she looked insanely good in the graphic.

You retweeted it, typing, welcoming you into dallas w open arms @.paigebueckers1 🤠

Then, almost like an afterthought, you commented on your own retweet, typing, and with open legs 🙏

You didn’t think much of it. Obviously. You didn’t have a huge following and if anyone asked, you’d just be kidding. The next ten minutes are peaceful as you finish off your margarita and scroll aimlessly through TikTok, keeping one ear out for the next draft pick. And then your phone starts blowing up.

A bunch of likes. A few people retweeting your second comment with various laughing or crying emojis. But what makes you pause is the notification reading Paige Bueckers has liked your tweet!

Oh. You click just to make sure, and – yeah. Definitely the one about having open legs.

Any other day, this would probably be mortifying, but today you’re a little emboldened by the margarita in your veins and you can’t help but think this is a little funny. You’ll probably regret it later when everyone remembers that you’re kind of a public figure and decides to flame you for being a little unhinged on main. For now, though, it’s not that big of a deal.

When you wake up in the morning to an unread DM from Paige – who’d followed you back, mind you – on your Instagram, you suddenly realize that it actually is a big deal.

Paige 💕: I’m flying into Dallas on the 23rd for media Paige 💕: If the offer still stands maybe you could show me around the city?

You stare blankly at your phone. Then you blink once. Twice. You power off your phone, press your pillow to your face, and you scream.

You weren’t serious, but you think you’re being presented with the opportunity – and, well, who are you to look a gift horse in the mouth?

After you finally come back to your senses, you reach for your phone again, navigating back to your DMs with Paige. You only have to contemplate for a few seconds before your fingers are flying across the keyboard.

You: i’ve been known to be a thorough tour guide You: let me know what your schedule looks like and i’ll show you the pretty parts of dallas

Her response comes quicker than you were expecting.

Paige 💕: Looking forward to it 🫶 Paige 💕: Not sure how Dallas compares to you but I can be open minded

Admittedly, you have to reread her message twice to fully grasp the cheesy pick-up line, but you hate the way it makes your cheeks flush. You’re not sure how to respond to that.

You settle for screaming into your pillow again.

The week passes by quickly. You and Paige talk — a lot — truly enjoying getting to know each other during your rare moments of free time. Paige is busy with flights and appearances while your schedule is packed with practice and learning the audition choreography for the next season of DCC.

Despite yourself, you can’t help but think how nice it is. There’s no expectations. You’re both athletes with a combined two hours of free time. For now, you’re just content to see where this goes. You enjoy her company, and honestly, you’re really into her. Paige flirts relentlessly, but you can tell there’s an undercurrent of respect and admiration that makes you feel like that feeling is mutual, too.

She texts you a picture of the Dallas tarmac when she lands on the 23rd, a coy reminder that you did promise to show her around. Paige has media for a good portion of the day, though, so you know you won’t be seeing her for a while. You tune in for a little bit of her rookie press conference, and no, you weren’t cheesing while listening to her speak. But if you were, that wouldn’t be anyone’s business but your own.

You don’t hear from her for the next few hours, which doesn’t bother you. You do get a call from one of your squadmates, Lielle, asking if you’d be down to hit the club before the DCC season starts – and who were you to say no to that?

You settle for a light, natural makeup look, throwing on a blue, mesh, halter corset top that sparkles in the light and a pair of cropped, white denim shorts. They’re long enough to cover what they need to, but it’s the perfect club outfit – something with the right amount of tease and will make you feel confident enough to truly let loose.

Lielle picks you up along with a few other of your friends who tease you relentlessly for your actions on Twitters – it’s no use defending yourself, although they’re nearly howling in excitement when you point out that Paige is in your DMs, so you’re probably doing something right.

You and your girls enter the club with high spirits, the atmosphere already electric, and two of your squadmates break away to find a table while you and Lielle make your way to the bar to order shots and drinks for everyone. Lielle leans over the bar, already laying it on thick for the bartender, who grins politely like he’s seen just about every variation of whatever game Lielle is playing.

On the bright side, he does end up discounting your drinks on account of being a DCC fan, which makes you think Lielle never truly had a chance, anyways – but a cheaper drink is a cheaper drink, especially in Dallas. Lielle walks away with a wink and the drinks in her hands as you remain to order something for yourself. The bartender has just slid the drink your way when you feel the heat of someone’s body next to yours. At first, you’re alarmed, but you soften when you hear their voice, followed by finally looking at their face.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.” In person, Paige Bueckers is so much taller than you’d anticipated, which is probably a really stupid thing to say for a professional basketball player. She’s tall, her cologne a heady scent of warm vanilla and something distinctly floral, and she rests her arm against the bar in a way that’s devastatingly casual and dangerously alluring. Paige is wearing a black and white striped Nike sweater, the very same she’d done media in, a look not befitting of the club but you can’t help but think about how perfectly her it is.

You crack a coy smile, taking a quick sip of your drink for some liquid courage, because Paige is staring at you like she knows exactly what she wants from you and your heart thrums because if she said the word, you’d be willing to give it to her. “What, is this place too scandalous for a cheerleader like me?” you joke, and the heat of her gaze travels down your body in one quick motion.

“Nah, nothing like that,” she assures you. “Just didn’t think that out of every club in this city, I’d be lucky enough to run into you my first night out.”

“Seems we’re both feeling a little lucky tonight, huh?” you say, and she laughs gently under her breath. Paige holds out a hand to you. In lieu of a shake, you settle for hugging her instead, which she relaxes into immediately, her hands resting respectfully at the small of your back. “It’s great to finally meet you in person,” you say genuinely, pulling away at the right moment. “You enjoying Dallas so far?”

Paige shrugs a little, a smile on her face and gratitude on her tongue when the bartender slides a drink her way, too. “Haven’t got the chance to see much,” she says honestly. “Was in media all day, then I stopped by Costco so my apartment looked a little less pathetic. Now I’m here. Something about rookie initiation, according to Rike, but I think she just wanted someone to buy her drinks.”

You laugh. “Look at you already taking care of people,” you comment, your grin widening at her playful expression. “You’re here with your team, then? Where are y’all sitting?”

Paige purses her lips, her eyes squinting as she peers through the dim lighting of the club. “I think over there?” she says, pointing at the VIP section towards the back. She’s closer to you now, her chin resting just above your head, and you follow her gaze. You can’t help your smile, something she picks up on immediately. “What’s funny?”

“I think your team’s already hitting it off with mine,” you say, easily spotting Lielle handing a shot to Arike and clapping when she downs it in one go. You don’t think Lielle is drunk yet, but she has a natural excitement and zest for life that makes her the easiest person in the world to befriend.

Paige huffs a little under her breath, amusement lacing the sound, and her hand finds your waist. “Must be meant to be,” she says to you. Despite yourself, you preen, your smile widening when her hand finds your skin. “After you.”

Paige walks almost protectively behind you, the crowd of club-goers parting instinctively for the both of you. When you make it back to the VIP section, both of your teams cheer – like they know something you don’t – which causes a blush to rise on your cheeks and a nearly smug expression to take over Paige’s.

Introductions are swift, if a little unnecessary. You’d run into many of the Wings players before, having made a genuine effort your first year as a professional cheerleader to show up to many of the Dallas sports games.

Before you know it, Arike has ordered more shots for the table, and Paige slides into the booth next to you with a dangerous glint in her eye and two shots of tequila in her hands. The table is lively, raucous, with Kelsey – one of your squadmates – going shot for shot with Aziaha James and Lielle and Arike instigating.

But here, now, in this little corner you and Paige have tucked yourselves into, you’re enjoying the intimacy of the moment far too much, feeling as though you’ve been afforded far more privacy than you actually have.

Paige presses one of the shots into your hands, a loose smile on her face. “To Dallas?” she asks you, raising her glass.

You tap yours against hers, a matching smile of your own as you agree, “To Dallas.” You down your shots in one go, the liquid warming your belly pleasantly. “And to Twitter,” you add a little jokingly, but your blush deepens when Paige smirks, raising a thumb to your lip to wipe away the excess tequila beading on your mouth.

She sucks her finger into her mouth, humming a little insufferably, and you’re burning for an entirely different reason now. Your gaze hones in on her hand, flicking between her lips and her eyes. And, sure, she was constantly flirting with you over text. You knew she was feeling you as much as you were feeling her – but to watch her behave so confidently in front of you, to unravel you like it was nothing… The confirmation makes you ache. It reminds you that you’re not the only one feeling the warm buzz between the two of you.

“You always that forward?” Paige asks you, referring to your tweet. “Or am I just lucky?” Her words are punctuated with a heated grin, one that makes you shift in your seat. You hope that she didn’t notice, but you see the way her eyes darken and how she leans in a little closer to you.

“Only when I’m tipsy, apparently,” you mutter. You glance up, taking in her expression, the curiosity and desire in her eyes. Your lips quirk into an amused smile. “But I don’t think I have to tell you about the effect you have on people.”

“Good thing I don’t really care about other people,” she says, her gaze dropping down again. You can’t tell if she’s looking at your lips or your chest, but it makes warmth bloom under your skin, anyways. Paige makes eye contact as easily as she drinks you in. It’s disorienting, unwavering. It’s almost like you can see exactly what she’s thinking by the way her pupils dilate. Her fingers brush against the inside of your wrist, setting each and every one of your nerve endings on fire. “But you? Didn’t know I was affecting you like that.”

“Oh, you’re not,” you laugh, which just makes her laugh, too, something dangerous flashing in her eyes. Dangerous because you know you’ve already given in. Any other attempt at saving face or trying to look a little less down bad is just meant to make you feel a little bit better – like she hadn’t already won you hook, line, and sinker the moment you promised to show her around Dallas.

“Lying is a sin,” Paige murmurs.

“Lust, too,” you retort.

Paige’s subsequent grin is a little too wicked. “Touche,” she agrees, and you can’t help but lean into her touch when her hand splays over the expanse of your toned waist, her thumb brushing your skin like she’s trying to memorize every shift in your muscles. Her voice drops a few decibels, only loud enough for you to hear as she presses in closer to you. Your hair raises when her lips ghost across your temple, the shell of your ear. “You’re already burning for me, though. Probably soaked through these fucking shorts, aren’t you? So why pretend you ain’t?”

“Paige,” you whisper, your heart beating a little faster, pounding against your ribcage. Your hand finds hers, linking your fingers together, and you don’t stop her when she maps out every inch of skin not hidden by your top. If anything, you arch into it slightly, enjoying the heat of her palm against your belly. She grins like she knows, like she’s already called the Uber and is thinking about how she can ruin you in the car without alerting the driver.

“Jus’ say it, mama,” she murmurs, her breath hitting your ear. You should feel some type of way for how easily your body betrays your brain, pressing further into her without your permission. “Tell me what you want and we don’t gotta play these games in front of your girls.”

Your mouth opens, the words getting caught in your throat when Paige finally grips the meat of your thigh with her hand, not hard enough to bruise, but enough to claim.

But before you can give into the feeling of it all, the bubble of peace between the two of you is broken by Lielle exclaiming, “Who wants to do body shots?!”

Breathless, you glance up at Paige, who stares back at you with mischief. She squeezes your thigh gently, whispering, “Be good,” before tugging you to your feet and towards Lielle, who holds the salt, lime, and the bottle of tequila. You sigh a little, already feeling like you could combust.

Your combined teams cheer when Paige volunteers you. Her smile, which is borderline smug and nearly possessive, makes your skin burn, but her eyes betray the ease in her features. She scans her teammates like she’s waiting for one of them to think that they could take her place.

Kelsey clears space on the table while Lielle uncaps the bottle of alcohol. One of the other Dallas rookies – JJ, you think her name is, extends a hand to help you onto the table, but all it takes is one glaring look from Paige to make her raise her hands in surrender. Paige steps up, her gaze dark, and she grips your hips, raising you onto the table with a weightless ease. Her eyes never leave yours, watching you with rapt attention as you lean back, getting comfortable.

“You good?” she asks, her hand resting over your stomach, which rises and falls steadily under the heat of the moment. You nod quickly, needing her hands on her body more than you think you need air, and she allows herself a quiet smile as she reaches for a lime wedge. Gingerly, she holds it out to you. Your teeth part at her wordless command, clamping down on the lime, trying not to wince at the taste. Her fingers linger on your lips, pupils blown wide, and it makes warmth coil low in your belly when you realize just how reciprocated this feeling is.

She reaches for the salt next, uncapping it, too, and meets your eyes with one last unspoken question. You don’t hesitate before you nod, uncaring of where she lines up the salt. You are surprised when she leans down, licking a stripe between the valley of your breasts, wetting the skin there so the salt can stick. You hardly register the wolf whistles around you, far too focused on the satisfied, focused grin on Paige’s face as she sprinkles the salt on your skin.

Finally, Lielle hands over the bottle of tequila, and you try to steady your breathing as Paige pours a generous amount in your navel. A drop slips, trailing down and soaking into the fabric of your shorts. You swear you can hear Paige’s breath hitch, but the club is too loud for you to be certain.

Lielle is probably recording. There’s no way she isn’t – she’s the life of the party, and whenever you wake up tomorrow, you’re sure you’ll find the video of Paige doing a body shot off of you on her close friends. But right now, when Paige is staring at you like you’re the only person in the room, like she can’t wait to get you alone and ruin you? You can’t think about anything but the blonde athlete and how willing you are to let her unravel you.

With one last glance to check in on you, Paige leans over you, caging you in with her arms. Her head dips down, licking the salt off of your chest with a devastating slowness. You catch the edge of her grin as she trails her lips down your torso, settling at your belly and drinking the tequila directly off your stomach.

Her tongue probes for the last drop and she presses a farewell kiss to your skin that makes your breathing stutter. Then, finally, she makes her way back up to your lips, her skin a little flushed, and she parts her lips to take the lime wedge in between her teeth.

But Paige isn’t through with you. You watch with wide eyes as she punctures the flesh with her teeth. She takes the lime wedge in between her fingers and with her free hand, she cups your jaw, her thumb brushing against your lip. You adhere to the silent demand, your lips parting again, and she presses down on the bottom row of your teeth with her thumb, keeping you open as she squeezes the juice of the lime into your mouth.

You shudder, eyes slipping shut in a non-physical pleasure – Paige hasn’t even touched you yet, but you feel like you’re ready to fall apart. The lime juice makes your face contort from the sourness, but you hardly think about it when your eyes blink open once more to take in Paige’s lazy expression. She’s already gone – her smile wide, reverent, satisfied, proud, and she discards the lime peel.

Paige removes her finger from your mouth, closing your jaw for you, her features softening with pride as you swallow the juice dutifully. You barely hear her whisper, “Good,” before she helps you off of the table, steadying you when you sway a little unsteadily, and the both of you make every effort to ignore your friends.

They don’t focus on the two of you for too long – JJ is helping Kelsey onto the table to keep going, so you take advantage of their distraction and pull Paige down to your level by her collar. She grins insufferably, like she knows she’s teased you to the point of no return. Her smile widens when you demand, “Take me home. Or we’ll cause a scandal in the middle of this club.”

Her lips brush against yours. “Uber’s already here,” she informs you, her expression far too satisfied. If you were any less pussy drunk, you’d probably hate yourself for being too easy, but all you can think about is how her skin would feel against yours.

You let her pull you through the club. You let her hands linger on your hips when she helps you into the Uber. And without so much as a noise, you part your legs for her in the car, letting her fingers trace the inside of your thighs discreetly. Paige doesn’t give you what you need – you knew she wouldn’t.

You keep your reactions tempered, even when she leans in closer to you, her nose brushing against your ear as she whispers filth that the driver is none the wiser to. And when you make it to her apartment complex, you hardly hear the driver’s farewell before she guides you out of the car, through the apartment lobby, and into the elevator.

Paige’s grip on your hips is tight, like you’re not sure if she’s trying to keep you close or trying to restrain herself from defiling you in the elevator. Either way, you don’t mind. You press your hips to her front, grinning in satisfaction when her fingers tighten and her breath hitches, a groan building in her throat. The ding of the elevator breaks you both from your stupor and you follow her to her door, watching in amusement as she fumbles with the key in her haste.

“Do you remember my tweet?” you ask a little offhandedly, sliding your fingers under the hem of her sweatshirt. She curses under her breath when your fingers find her waist, splaying across her abdomen – it’s more for your pleasure than it is hers, feeling her muscles jump under your hold. Her eyes are a little wide and blown out when they meet yours.

“S’all I’ve thought about for weeks,” she confesses, finally getting the lock to turn. Her words give you pause as she throws open the door. Catching you by surprise, she picks you up, one arm looping under your ass, and your arms slide around her neck for stability as she shuts the door behind her, making sure to turn the lock back.

It’s all speed from there. Paige kicks her shoes off in the entryway, her hands gripping the back of your thighs as she blindly walks the both of you through the hallway towards the bedroom. You silently thank her coordination as an athlete, more so when she starts mouthing at your chest like it’s been the only thing keeping her going. Her tongue darts out, wet against your skin, and she hums against your breast as she tastes the residual salt from the shot and the sweat. Paige nips at your skin and holding onto her tighter with a wordless sigh is all you can do to keep it together.

Finally, she finds the bedroom door, throwing it open without a care in the world. Paige deposits you safely on bed and then almost falls over herself following – the dichotomy makes you ache, the way she’s so desperate to get her hands and mouth on you, but the evident care she makes sure to treat you with despite her need. You want her to turn you out in every single way she’s thought about since draft night, but the respect is touching.

She clicks on the dim lamp at her bedside, her eyes returning to your figure when her vision adjusts. She shakes her head like you’re not real, her hands touching your hips, your waist, your breasts covered by the thin material of your top. You’re sure she’s burning this image into her mind forever – you’re doing the same. You may never be able to forget the image of Paige Bueckers hovering above you, eyes wild and gone, messy like you’re already five rounds deep and not just pent up from fucking around in the club.

The first press of her lips against yours makes you keen, arching into her exploring hands while yours cups her cheeks. You’ve thought about this for weeks, too, how it would feel to have her on top of you like this. She tastes like a tequila shot and something distinctly fruity from the cocktail she was sipping on. Combined with the lime juice on your breath, your kiss is intoxicating for several different reasons, and the heat coiling in your belly reminds you of how badly you want this.

She tugs your bottom lip between her teeth, pulling it back and letting it snap back before her lips find every inch of your skin. The hinge of your jaw, the tender spot on your neck that makes you thread your fingers through her hair to pull the tie loose, the dip in your throat where your moan vibrates against her lips. Paige is ravenous. Like there’s a million different things she wants to do to you before the sun comes up. You’d let her.

“Thought about this forever,” she murmurs, her voice hoarse and wrecked. Your breath stutters, back arching to help her untie your halter top and letting her pull it off you. She goes almost painfully silent when she takes in your breasts fully, your pebbled nipples. “Fuck.” Her curse sounds like a filthy prayer, one that you’d give up almost everything to respond to. One of her large hands splay over your breast while her mouth finds the other one, alternating between kneading and sucking and here – you’re sure you could fall apart completely, your hips jumping up for contact.

“You don’t know what that stupid comment did to me,” she continues, almost to herself, but she knows you’re listening. She feeds off of the way your breath hitches as she pulls back long enough to rip her sweatshirt and sports bra off in two quick motions, the chains around her neck tangling briefly before they trail cold caresses across your stomach when she leans back down to take your skin in her mouth. Your jaw falls open in pleasure, gripping onto her, the sheets, anything to stay rooted.

“Looked at your page, and those–” Her fingers find the waistband of your shorts, popping the button and pulling the denim off while she rambles. She falters when she takes in the white lace covering your body, a low, wrecked groan spilling from her lips at the sight of the wet patch at the apex of your thighs. Paige brushes her fingers against you, relishing in the way your hips jump and your whispered plea.

“Those stunts you do,” she continues finally. “That fucking uniform is sinful, you know that? Got myself off thinking about you, how good you’d be. You offered yourself up and all I could think about at the presser was how many different ways I could get you to come for me. I wonder if I could do it without my hands.”

You’re not coherent enough to tell her she could probably do it with words alone, but you reach for her and pull her back to your lips, kissing her hungrily, like you’re on death row and she’s your only chance of salvation.

Your hands explore while her kiss disorients you. Finding the waistband of her pants, you reach for the belt, undoing it. Paige helps you pull her pants off, leaving her in a dark pair of boxers. Her skin is impossibly warm against your palms as you press your fingers into the small of her back, undoubtedly leaving marks.

She pulls back to trail her lips down your body, sucking marks everywhere, her hands holding you like she’s afraid you’d float away if she didn’t keep you rooted.

Paige doesn’t make any effort to strip you out of your damp underwear – if anything, she stares at it like she’s more proud of it than getting drafted first overall, and she presses her lips to the skin just above your waistband until it blooms red and purple. She soothes it with a kiss, her expression far too smug and satisfied.

“You’re soaked,” Paige murmurs, pressing her thumb to your cunt again, her grin widening when you moan, your hands shooting down to grip her hair. She makes eye contact with you and sucks her thumb into her mouth, eyes slipping shut as she tastes you. You can’t help the curse that tumbles from your lips. “That ‘open legs’ offer must have been a cry for help, huh?” she teases, but her voice is rough, like the very taste of you is a drug and she’s addicted. “Nobody else doin’ it for you?”

“No,” you admit, cheeks burning under the weight of your confession. The truth is you’d stopped looking after a while, but now, with Paige tucked between your legs and staring at you like you’re the most beautiful girl she’s ever seen, you briefly consider the fact that she’s going to ruin you for anyone else. For yourself.

She grins again. “Shame,” she murmurs, her lips trailing down to the inside of your thighs, where she presses gentle kisses. “Someone got to you before me and they couldn’t even make it worthwhile.”

She nips at your skin, the pain blooming into pleasure instantly. Your breathing comes to you a little faster the closer she moves to your aching cunt, but she soothes you with a hand to your belly. “I got you, mama. Gonna be the best you’ve ever had. Swear.”

You don’t doubt it, your head already swimming, and she presses one last kiss to your clit through the damp material of your underwear. It makes you jolt, but she steadies your hip with her hand as she pulls the lace to the side slowly. You can’t help but gaze down at Paige, locked in on the way her eyes glaze over with desire when your cunt is finally revealed to her.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet in your life. Maybe it’s been a fire that has been slowly burning ever since she initially hinted at flying out and taking you up on your offer. Now, all you can focus on is the way her hands grip your strong thighs, holding you open as she dives in to lick a long, slow stripe up the length of your slit.

You both moan in tandem – yours of pleasure and hers in awe. You’re dripping onto her comforter, hardly able to feel much remorse about it, but something tells you that Paige is really fucking into the fact that she has you so pliant beneath her.

Her tongue is exploratory, drinking in every drop of your arousal, her brows pinched together as she focuses on building you up. Her nose brushes against your clit while her tongue finds the source, licking you clean like she’s stranded in a desert and you’re the only thing that could satiate her thirst.

She’s wild, her tongue everywhere all at once, muttering messily into your cunt about how you “taste so fucking good,” but you’re sure you fall apart completely when her lips close around your clit and she sucks.

Your brain is mush. You’re not sure if you want to keep your eyes on her or let your head fall back into her pillows, unable to process the pleasure fully.

Paige makes the decision for you when your eyes slip shut and she nips at your clit gently – not enough to hurt (even though it sends a surge of pleasure up your spine, anyhow), but enough to get your attention.

The message is clear – she wants your attention. Thinking about how she’s probably getting off from you watching her makes the heat coil in your stomach, ready to snap at any given moment.

You tangle your fingers in her messy hair, pressing her deeper into you, head tipping back in pleasure when she doubles down on her motions. Paige is ravenous, tongue circling your clit, never once stopping or slowing.

Not until your thighs are shaking from pleasure. Not until the tears bead at your waterline. Not until she encloses her lips around your clit again, her cheeks hollowing from the pressure, and releasing you to drag the arousal from your entrance to your clit, coating it completely.

You’re wholly unprepared for the first press of her fingers against your entrance. Paige doesn’t push in – not yet. She drags her fingers through your folds, soaking them, listening and looking for your reaction as she probes deeper.

The first finger sinks in until it reaches her knuckle, punching a breathless moan out of you, and she curls her finger as she pulls out. She’s a quick study – learning what you like and how much pressure she needs to unravel you completely. But she’s slow, not adding in another finger. You get the message instantly when her eyes find you, her gaze dark and imploring.

Not above begging, your voice is hoarse, rough from your moans, your lips split-slick and bitten. “Please, Paige, keep going,” you request, clenching around the single finger in you. “More, please, fuck–” The words get caught in your throat when she smiles against you, taking your clit in her mouth again just as she slides in a second finger. Too far gone, you can’t help the repeated, delirious ramble of “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” or the choked out, “So fucking good.”

The more vocal you get, the more she gives you. Her lips and her tongue speed up, flicking against your clit with a devastating intensity. Paige’s finger’s scissor inside you more firmly, sliding in deeper with every thrust, particularly timed with her mouth. It’s a Pavlonian response. The pleasure is overwhelming, and you can’t find it in yourself to be too embarrassed by how loud you are.

You chant her name, breathless little sounds that sound more like pleas than sentences. The grip on her hair must be painful but she never slows. She’s fucking you closer and closer to the peak, and when it finally arrives, warning her is all you can do.

She’s heedless, her pace somehow intensifying even more, and you come with a sob that’s a mix of her name and a string of curses as the pleasure washes over you.

Paige doesn’t stop, drinking in every drop of you like she’s parched, her fingers slowing as they work you gently through the shockwaves. You’re breathless, stuttering through the euphoria, gratitude lacing your words.

When she pulls away, the bottom half of her face is slick with your arousal, her tongue darting out to catch the edges of her lips, but it’s like drops of water in a bucket. For all intents and purposes, she’d been drowned, but her grin tells you she would have been more than happy to go out that way.

Boneless and limp in bed, she trails her lips up your body until she finds your lips, kissing you deeply and allowing you to taste yourself on your tongue. The taste is heady, something you’d probably attribute to the taste of her, too, and you can’t help but moan against her lips, your body burning under the touch again.

“Don’t think I’m letting you tap out so soon,” she murmurs, squeezing your waist and peering down at you. “We haven’t even started.”

“Greedy,” you say teasingly.

Her subsequent grin is sharp, nipping your lip gently. “And proud,” she states, already leaning over and digging through the drawer of her nightstand. When her hand comes back into view, she’s holding a strap and the harness.

The sight of it makes your brows raise – it’s modest in size, but it’s still bigger than anything you’ve ever taken, both in length and girth. “What?” she asks, a smirk appearing on her lips as she fastens the harness around her hips.

“It’s big,” you point out obviously, but the heat is already licking at your skin again as you stare at it longingly.

“Everything’s bigger in Texas,” she retorts. The strap hanging from her hips makes your mouth water, and you suppose this is what you wanted anyway – for Paige to ruin you. She glances at you curiously, able to read how your hesitation washes away. You’re safe with her. She wouldn’t hurt you. That thought alone makes you a little more hungry for it. “Trust me, you ain’t gotta worry.” She drags her fingers through your folds again, raising it to the lamplight and showing you how they shine. It makes you blush, but her smirk is a little insufferable. “But, I mean…if you wanna try something smaller–”

“No,” you disagree a little too quickly. She raises a challenging brow, one that infuriates you. She’d been mean all night – teasing you and working you up. And, sure, she delivered, but you think that she deserves to be knocked down a peg or two.

You wrap your legs around her waist, and in a quick motion, you flip the both of you over, straddling her waist with your hands on her chest. She’s a little breathless, eyes wide and pupils dilated, yet you can spot the impressed look in her gaze. “You don’t think I can handle it?”

“Didn’t say that,” she says, her eyes drinking you in, the fucked out look on your face and she bruises covering your skin. Her hands find your waist, pulling you onto her fully – onto the strap – and she guides you into a slow grind, taking back the control seamlessly as you gasp. Paige grunts, too, the strap pressing back into her clit, and the fact that she’s feeling as good as you are makes you tremble with want.

“You insinuated it,” you argue, a little miffed.

She grins like your indignance is cute. “Just tryna be in you, mama,” she says, tugging you down a little harder, and it punches a moan out of you. “You gonna let me do that or are we gonna sit here and argue all night?”

You narrow your eyes at her, but you don’t say much else, and she draws her bottom lip between her teeth as she gazes down at where your centers connect. “That’s what I thought.” Her words are mostly said to herself.

She grips the waistband of your underwear and pulls them down your legs – you adjust to help her pull them off, and she throws them to the side.

Now that you’re completely bare, she pulls you down onto the strap again, your arousal coating the silicone. The unrestricted contact makes you shiver and you loop your arms around her neck for stability while one of hers finds your waist again.

With her free hand, she reaches for the base of the strap, guiding it to your entrance and holding you steady – the tip of the strap brushes against you, but she doesn’t allow you to move.

Her eyes are zeroed in on where you’re clenching around nothing, your arousal leaking out of you. Then, finally, she pulls you down slowly, controlling each and every small movement. Your breath hitches when the head breaches inside, pressing into you, and Paige kisses all over your chest to soothe you.

“Good, that’s it,” she murmurs, lips encircling a nipple as she pulls you a little further down. The stretch is delicious, splitting you open, her hands mapping out your skin. She grips the flesh of your ass in one large hand, the other reaching around to rub featherlight circles on your clit to distract you.

The sensations are overwhelming in the best way possible. Her mouth drags wet kisses across your body while she listens for your reaction. Paige lowers you further down, drawing a drawn out moan from you, and you feel her grin against your breast as you tighten your grip around her neck, pulling her tighter against you.

“Perfect girl. Taking me so well,” she coos. Her body is impossibly warm against you and you can feel yourself relaxing into it, wanting to sink down completely, but she doesn’t let you. “Want you to feel good, baby. Don’t rush it.”

Still holding onto your annoyance from earlier, you can’t help your slight eye roll as you nip at her neck, sucking a matching hickey into her skin. She hisses, letting you fall another inch before gripping your hips tightly. “Would feel good if you just fucked me,” you state, staring at her with an expression that’s borderline pathetic. “What’d you say earlier? Just tryna be in you?”

“Think you have a patience problem,” she muses. “I’d heard so much about this southern hospitality bullshit growing up in the north, but it seems like you got a manners problem, too. I gotta teach you how to say please and thank you?”

You barely resist a sigh. Instead, you let your lips pucker out in a pout, the motion drawing Paige’s attention immediately. You press closer to her, your breasts dragging against her chest, and she sighs from the feeling. “Please, Paigey?” you beg in a near whimper, taking the hitch in her breathing as a sign that you’re doing something right. “Just want you to fuck me. Been good for you all night, haven’t I? And I promised to welcome you to Dallas. Let me make you feel good.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, but the way her throat bobs tells you she’s minutes away from flipping you over and making you forget your name. “You’re dangerous,” she whispers.

“I’m yours,” you respond, and that’s enough for her. Paige drags you down the last few inches, bottoming out. You moan into her neck, the hand at the small of your back pressing you into her. You’re sure that you’re soaking her lap, but judging by the way her hips rut up into yours, she likes knowing how fucked she has you.

Her hands settle at the bottom of your ass, pulling you up as she mouths at your chest, her tongue darting out to taste your skin. You sink down on the strap again. The sound is obscene, drawing a gasp from you, and you repeat the motion.

Up, then down. Up, then down, beginning to set the pace for yourself, but making sure you grind at the bottom of your strokes to make sure that Paige is getting off too. Her eyes are hooded, darting from your face, to your chest, to the apex of your thighs where you’re soaking the strap.

“Fuck,” she groans, her voice rough, and it sends white hot desire up your spine. She speeds up your motions, the veins on her hand protruding from the effort of keeping you upright, her jaw unhinging in awe as she stares at you.

You allow yourself a small smirk, your right hand tilting her head back, revealing the expanse of her throat as you grind down onto her. With your ears so close to her mouth, you can hear every stutter in her breath, every jilted moan she tries to hold back, the hiss of pleasure when you bite down, sucking dark marks into her skin.

When her motions start becoming desperate, her hips bucking up into yours in time with every drag down like she’s trying to chase her high, you reach down for her hands, tangling your fingers together and pressing them into the pillows over her head.

“Really?” you murmur, your lips ghosting the dip in her throat. “You’re this close just from helping me get off?”

She laughs a little, something that sounds like a sob mixed with a whine, and her jaw falls slack in a low groan when your lips attach to the sensitive spot below her ear. “Can’t help it,” Paige manages. Her lips are slick, bitten raw, so you kiss her deeply, swallowing the sound she makes when you grind down especially hard. “Think you like it, though.”

“Mmm,” you hum. You speed up your motions, feeling your thighs and your stomach burn with the effort, but also feeling yourself teeter on the edge of crashing down completely. Your thrusts draw out another moan from Paige, one that makes you grin – because she’d tried so hard to keep herself together, to pretend she was here to fuck you and not the other way around. “Think I just like you.”

That makes a lazy smile appear on her face. Paige pulls one of her hands out of your grip, inching towards your throat and tangling in the necklace there. “Yeah?” she goads, her tone a little insufferable. “Didn’t – fuck – didn’t think I affected you.”

You’re still rutting against her, sweat beading on your temples as you argue, “You don’t.”

But that just makes her grin turn a little more smug. She releases your necklace, her fingers pressing lightly into the sides of your throat, squeezing once in warning. It makes your hips stutter, your breath catching. “Keep lyin’, mama,” she mutters, something dark in her eyes as her fingers trail down your body. One tweaks a nipple, kneading a breast as you gasp. Then, she goes lower still, bracing her large hand over you while her thumb finds your clit, rubbing messy circles through the slick there.

You lose your rhythm again, whimpering, but you keep going despite the exhaustion. It’s less about your pleasure now. You need to get Paige off, to tear down that ego of hers, to silence her for once. Even as you stare down at her, your eyes a little hooded, you realize she enjoys receiving as much as she enjoys giving, and there’s truly no winning with her – she’s getting off either way.

“Actin’ like I don’t know you already,” she continues, her thumb as ruinous as her hips – as ruinous as her words. “What you like. What you need.” You could fall apart like this – her words picking you apart piece by piece, her thumb reminding you that she has you right where you want her. Paige gazes up at you, her pupils blown wide, but you can make out the challenge in the blue of her eyes – she’s daring you to get smart again.

But you’re just as competitive as she is. Without faltering in your movements, you lean slightly, reaching for the cowboy hat perched on her nightstand. It has Paige stitched on the bill. Her jaw falls slack again as she watches you slide it over your head.

“You talk too much,” you retort, and then you’re doubling down again. You can tell the image of you wearing Paige’s hat is doing something to her – the way it bounces in time with your thrusts, combined with the wrecked sounds leaving your lips, the slick sound of the strap deep inside you, the fact that Paige wants you so bad it makes her stupid.

It doesn’t take much longer after that. You and Paige were already pent up. Her thumb quickens on your clit, her free hand gripping your hips tight enough to leave a bruise as she drags you up and down relentlessly, her own hips meeting yours. You can tell she’s getting close when her breathing turns ragged and her face burns red. You’re right there with her, digging your nails into her shoulders for stability as you push yourself to your high.

Part of you expects Paige to open her mouth again, to say something slick that would leave you trembling, but you don’t give her the chance to. You pull her face to yours, silencing your cries with her lips. You shiver when she bites down on your bottom lip harshly, soothing the sting with her tongue. “‘M close,” you manage breathlessly, holding onto her tightly – feeling as though your orgasm would wreck you completely.

“I know,” she murmurs, her voice choked. “Let go, mama, I’m right here.”

So you do, the pleasure washing over you completely as you cry out, sagging onto her body bonelessly, the cowboy hat falling off to the side of the bed. Paige drags you against the strap, riding out the high, her jaw slack in wordless pleasure while her body burns. She doesn’t still until you push her hands off of you, the overstimulation buzzing under your skin.

Your thighs are still trembling, your breathing uneven. You hardly have the energy to slide off of the strap, so you settle for holding onto Paige, tucking your head into the crook of her neck where sweat glistens and the lingering scent of her cologne remains. You shift, feeling the soaked comforter beneath both of you. It’s enough to make you groan.

But then Paige is shifting, too, the strap brushing against a spot inside you that punches a moan out of you. You don’t have to look up to know she’s smirking. “Chill,” you admonish, your body still sizzling. You don’t know how she still has the energy and the stamina to go after she just turned you inside out, but she moves her hips again, on purpose this time, and the heat coiling in your belly returns tenfold. “You’re insatiable.”

“Look who’s in my bed,” she says as if it explains everything. You just shake your head, amused by her. Paige’s fingers trail down your sides, brushing against your skin while she presses featherlight kisses to your temple, your cheeks, the hinge of your jaw. “Know you’ve got one more for me, don’t you?”

You can’t find the words, but you don’t need to. You grab onto her chain – mostly to hold her in place, and you kiss her – deep, lingering, soft despite the moment prior. She grins against you, sliding the strap out as she maneuvers you. The emptiness makes you sigh, but the shift doesn’t take long. She angles you until you can see your bodies in the mirror across her room, your breath catching at the insinuation.

You watch through the mirror as she reaches for the cowboy hat again, settling it over her messy curls. Her smile is determined – like she’s not quite satisfied, not content with the two orgasms she’d pulled from you; ravenous like she can’t wait to have you again. It shouldn’t turn you on like it does, but the flame is licking at you once more and you can’t help but succumb to the fire.

She wraps her right arm around your waist, pulling you up to a kneeling position while she settles in behind you. The strap brushes against you. The sensitivity makes you jolt, but Paige soothes you with a hushed murmur, her hand pressing against your stomach and keeping you tethered. “Want you to watch,” she whispers in your ear. Her right hand abandons your waist to hold you by the jaw, gently tilting your head up until you make eye contact through the mirror.

You’re rendered breathless by the sight – Paige’s body eclipsing yours, the hickeys adorning your skin, the slick between your thighs that shines from the lamplight. Paige isn’t much better, either. Her hair is a mess, the hat on her head skewed to the side, her neck littered with your teeth marks, skin shining from exertion. For stability, you hold onto the arm that’s wrapped tightly around you, pushing back against the strap.

“Can you do that for me?” she asks, pushing her hips forward, dragging through your folds. You nod quickly, letting out a soft whine when the tip of the strap catches your sensitive clit. “Keep your eyes on me or I’ll stop.”

“I will, Paige, promise – just…please–”

She hushes you again, kissing your neck. “I got you, baby. Relax for me, okay? Gonna give it to you. Just need you to be good for me.” You nod again, melting into her body, and with the hand not holding you upright, she guides the strap to your entrance. You moan softly as she slides inside with little resistance, bottoming out as she murmurs, “That’s it, perfect girl. You take me so well.”

You can’t muster the words to respond to that, so you lean your head on hers when she drags the strap out, then pushes back in with a devastating slowness that you feel throughout your entire body. Your body is still buzzing with oversensitivity, but the slowness of her thrusts helps to ground you.

She glances up to the mirror to ensure you’re still looking at her – which you are, enraptured and unable to look away – before she trails her lips down your neck, pressing gentle, wet kisses to your overheated skin.

She’s softer now. Soft in a way that makes you clench around the strap breathlessly, tilting your head to give her more access to your neck. She recognizes that it won’t take much to build you up again, more focused on making sure you enjoy every second – every motion, every push and pull of the strap. Paige plants a kiss on every hickey she’d left on your body, her actions borderline reverent in a way that makes you want to come for her again and again and again.

With one arm still wrapped around your chest, holding onto your jaw, the other wraps around your hips, holding you by the stomach.

Unable to look away, you tighten your grip on her arms, trying not to fall apart too soon. Your stomach coils, already close, but Paige moves slowly, her thrusts hitting deep, and you’re all too content to float along the current of pleasure. Her lips still ghost across your body, licking the salt off of your skin, pressing gentle apologies to the dark spots on your neck.

“You want more, mama?” she murmurs in your ear, a gentle check in despite the question. You hardly have to think about it before you nod. With the hand braced over hers, you drag her left hand down, her fingers finding your clit with ease.

She doesn’t apply much pressure, just enough for you to feel it without overpowering the sensations. You don’t let go either, guiding her motions, moving it further down to gather more of your slick before bringing it back up to circle your clit.

The slide makes it impossibly sweeter – she tightens her circles, pushing deeper inside you with the strap, the tip brushing against the spongy spot inside of you that makes you keen.

Paige doesn’t slow. She doesn’t speed up. She keeps her pace deliciously consistent, the strap dragging in and out of you deliberately, her fingers working you up in tandem.

Her free hand keeps your gaze locked on the mirror, watching her as she kisses your neck, the shell of your ear, listening to her breath heavily as if she’s feeling everything you are, too. That thought alone makes your hips stutter, pressing back into her.

She soothes you with gentle whispers. “So good for me, baby,” she’d say, or she’d time the circling of your clit with a deeper thrust, murmuring, “You feel me? Want you to feel good.” And the stupid hat makes you unravel a little bit more – it hangs off of her head loosely, threatening to fall at any moment, but all you can think about is how you rode her wearing her hat, how she claimed you in the club and how she made you fall apart wearing something with her name on it. You’re hers now, and honestly, you don’t hate that idea.

It doesn’t take much longer before your eyes are slipping shut, confessing, “Close, P,” in a hoarse voice. The sensations are overwhelming – her hot skin pressed against yours, the strap sliding through you and hitting spots you’d never knew existed, the maddening feeling of her thumb against your clit, her breathing against your ear, the pounding of her heartbeat against your back revealing just how close she is to falling apart, too.

“Okay, baby,” she whispers, her motions never slowing, kissing your neck again. But she presses her fingers a little more firmly to your clit, her free hand tapping against your cheek to gather your attention.

Your eyes blink open, finding the mirror again, the ruined look on her face. She looks desperate – not to get off, but desperate to watch you get off. “Want you to watch yourself.” Her voice is a little broken, almost begging, and it makes your breath catch in your throat. “You look so pretty when you come for me, you know that? Wanna watch you do it over and over and over again.”

“Paige,” you gasp, the sound coming out like a half-sob, half-whine, the pleasure building and the heat coiling.

But she hardly hears you, her eyes glazed over and pussy drunk. Her jaw hangs slack like she’s the one being fucked, her breathing uneven and heavy. “You feel so good,” she rambles. “Like you were made just for me. Can’t get enough of you. Please, mama, wanna see you fall apart for me. You’re so good, so fucking perfect–”

The coil snaps, white hot pleasure coursing through your veins, electricity down your spine, and all you can do is sag back into her one final time, moans tumbling from your lips while she works you through the aftershocks.

Her hips and her fingers slow, murmuring incoherent sentences into your ear, her words dripping in both gratitude and a satiated desire like watching you get off finally quenched a thirst she’s been harboring for years.

You don’t have to say anything, either – it’s like she knows your body by heart now. Gingerly, she slips the strap out of your soaked cunt and detaches her fingers from your sensitive clit. As much as you’d love to feel her skin against yours, her hips dragging against yours, you can barely keep your eyes open. The final aftershocks dissipate, your thighs calming, the pleasurable fog in your brain clearing.

“You still with me?” she asks softly, smoothing the hair at the crown of your head with her clean hand.

At that, all you can do is muster a laugh, your eyes opening blearily. “Yeah,” you say, “no thanks to you, though.”

“Hmm,” she scoffs, amusement in her eyes. “Coulda sworn this was exactly what you wanted. You know, open legs and all.”

“Alright,” you deadpan, attempting to roll on your side, but you can’t summon the strength. You settle for some weird half angle that’s hardly worth the drama of the moment. “Goodnight!”

“No way,” Paige laughs. “C’mon. I need you awake. Lemme run you a bath and change these sheets so you can rest, okay? You good with that?”

You meet her eyes again, your smile softening at the gentle earnestness on her face. If she hadn’t already ruined you before, you’re sure you are now. But there’s something in her eyes that promises this might not be a one night thing after all. “Yeah,” you whisper, drawing her closer to plant a chaste, affectionate kiss to her lips. You feel her grin. “You’re gonna have to carry me, though.”

“Whatever you want, baby,” she assures you, crawling off the bed and unbuckling the harness on her hips. She throws it haphazardly into the adjacent bathroom and you try not to laugh when something clatters to the floor. Paige picks you up with ease, one arm looping under your knees and the other wrapping around your back. She sets you on the edge of the tub as she heats up the water, helping you into it gingerly and tossing in a eucalyptus bath bomb for your aches. Before she leaves to swap the sheets, she plants a soft kiss onto your forehead.

You soak for a few moments until she returns, offering you a small smile before she slips in behind you. Her body is almost as warm as the water and twice as soft. She massages the shampoo and conditioner into your hair and jokingly points out her assault on your neck with a mixture of pride and concern. You tell her she’ll have to buy your concealer in bulk but when she murmurs, “As long as I get to see you again,” you find that you don’t really care about the marks on your neck as long as you get to keep this annoyingly charming, devastatingly beautiful athlete in your life.

Paige helps you out of the tub, your eyes drooping once more, dressing you in a pair of her boxers and an oversized t-shirt from her college days. She guides you back to bed gingerly, the sheets fresh and clean, and you have your head on her chest before she’s even got her head on the pillow. She grins because it doesn’t bother her at all. You smile because her heart’s pounding and you think you know why it is.

Just before you fall into a blissful, exhausted sleep, Paige’s voice cuts through the fog once more. “About that offer,” she whispers, tapping on the leg you have slung across hers. “Does it expire?”

She jokes, but you can hear the truth of her question beyond it. She’s not referring to your legs. Not literally.

Your smile is tired, but it’s no less affectionate. “For you?” you echo, drowsiness lacing your tone. “No. It’s renewable.”

“How long?”

You’re quiet for a beat, just enough to consider your words.

Is this something you want? Relationships can be hard. Tricky. But something about Paige tells you she’s in for the ride. That you can trust her – with you and your heart.

So you press a kiss to the hinge of her jaw, feeling her cheeks stretch with a smile, and you make her a promise:

“As long as you want.”

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers smut #dallas wings #wnba

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ichorai · 17 hours ago

Text

xerox ; robert reynolds ; part two.

part one.

pairing ; robert (bob) reynolds x reader, thunderbolts & reader

synopsis ; you had one last job before you were free. no more splitting, no more deaths. unfortunately, that job seemed to rope in four other assassins and a... a man in hospital-wear?

words ; 11.8k

themes ; action, angst, slowburn, the beginnings of romance

warnings / includes ; much more intense violence/gore/death than in part one, suicide, self-harm, human experimentation, child abuse, reader has the ability to split into multiple bodies (think dupli-kate from invincible), foul language, mentions of pregnancy, everyone's mental health sucks!

a/n ; the support so far has been so sick guys! thank you so much! i initially wanted to cover all the events of the movie in two parts and move on to avengers tower type of stuff in the next part but i decided this part was already long enough and was itching to post LMAOO regardless, i hope you all enjoy!

main masterlist. read on ao3!

There was rarely a time in your early life when you weren’t being under surveillance. Cameras, everywhere. Nurses making their rounds. Scientists probing you. Surgeons with their hands on you, over you, inside you.

But once, when you were sixteen, there was a black-out in the facility, which you later learned to be a total power outage through the entire city. No cameras to watch you. The nurses who had been drawing your blood scurried out with owlish eyes, spooked. Moving gingerly, you pulled the needle out of your arm, bandaged it with the gauze on the medical cart, and glanced out of your barred window. The past few weeks, the scientists had been trying to use your DNA to perfect biological cloning technology. As revolutionary as it sounded, you really didn’t like the idea of someone having to live your reality, death and pain constantly hovering over your shoulder.

For a few minutes, however, you got to be alone with yourself. Nothing but you and your own thoughts. You began to shake, but you didn’t register it. The only thing you clearly remembered was the scalpel on the medical cart. A pale silver, but reflecting the hazy green of the emergency exit signs from outside your cell. You’d always thought the sign taunted you. Exit here, just in case you have to, even though you can’t.

The blade was cold in your touch, cutting the warmth of your skin.

You watched the blood drip down the first arm, and then sliced through the next. It hurt, of course it did. But then it wouldn’t hurt anymore, and it would all be over.

Your shaking had intensified so much that the bed frame rattled like bones. Then, you began to split. Whether it was subconscious or your body’s natural, instinctive reaction, you weren’t sure. You sobbed, a mangled noise caught in the back of your throat, trying to merge back together. But this had never occurred before—you had never tried to stop yourself from duplicating. Typically when you split, you carried forth the same wounds as the original, but that wasn’t the case this time.

It was as if your body had stored a clean, woundless back-up in case of a singular copy’s dire emergencies. You still felt it—the throbbing, searing pain on your arms—but no signs of the gash on you at all. You were wiped clean from your choice. A fresh restart.

That was the first time you had to watch yourself die by your own hand. You tried to give your copy some sense of comfort during the last few moments, but it felt futile knowing you craved the very same thing. You never tried committing suicide again. Mostly because, well, you were a walking paradox. Unkillable, yet you’ve died a thousand and one deaths.

And so—when you watched Valentina’s cavalry pierce poor, innocent Bob with round after round of bullets, a guilty, nasty part of you thought about how lucky he was to be able to die so quickly. Of course, you felt terrible as soon as the thought entered your mind. You rather liked Bob and his warbly doe eyes, his skittish but considerate demeanor, and his eagerness to help. It was an awful shame you didn’t get to know him better. You were still reeling over seeing him in your nightmare—was that your mind playing cruel tricks on you or was Bob less innocent than he came off to be?

His sacrifice certainly wasn’t going to be in vain. Walker had begun to drive the truck out of the compound down winding, sandy paths.

Except—it seemed Bob was a lot more similar to you than you thought. When someone shot you down, another cropped right back up. Bob, to your relief and utter confusion, did just the same.

The streaking figure across the sky was no star. It was flailing about amongst the grey clouds and bore the pale, baggy silhouette of hospital clothes.

Bob. Your Bob. He was alive!

“Palindrome,” you whispered in awe, face just about pressed up against the warm glass of the truck’s window. It was only a few seconds that he was suspended up in the air, but it felt like ages. Then, he began to plummet back down to the earth. “Oh, no.”

His landing was not a graceful descent—in fact, the impact was so massive that it sent a strong gust of wind billowing across the base, knocking your truck clean off its path. The vehicle tumbled in rotation as it made its way down the sandy slopes. You would’ve likely gotten a concussion from being jostled about had you not split yourself into as many copies as you could fit, which was nearly forty, and stayed nice and tight amongst your own nervous copies.

It landed on its side, and you reabsorbed all the duplicates into one body. Moonlight spilled into the vehicle when John hacked at the truck’s metal with his shield. It caved noisily beneath the initial strikes, then eventually split. You might not have liked the man, but he was impressively strong. Was he super-serumed up just like the previous Captain America? The scientists in Madripoor that had been working on you were sure as hell trying their best to make their own formula of super serum, to no avail.

“Oh,” he said, peering into the dark belly of the truck and seeing your deer-in-headlights expression. “I was worried you’d died in here. Good.”

“Xerox,” Yelena had said, helping you climb out of the truck. You took caution to avoid the sharp edges of the gap Walker carved for you. “Are you okay? Did you see that?”

You nodded. “That was Pal—Bob. Right? I wasn’t just seeing things?”

“Not unless all of us had a collective hallucination,” Ava put in. The group began to walk away from the totaled truck. There was no point in trying to get it up and running now—it was ruined beyond saving from the crash.

“Weirder things have happened,” you said, looking around the great expanse of nighttime desert. “Where did he land? Maybe we can help him.”

“On the other side of the base. We couldn’t possibly get to him in time before Val and her crew,” Yelena said. Then, she handed you a file. “Valentina did this. To test on someone like that… it’s inhuman. She plans to use him.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, then you looked down. It was designs of superhero suits—a collage of striking gold and blue, all sharp angles and bold flares. Lacking all the soft gentleness you would’ve attributed to Bob. It even had a cape.

“The power of a thousand exploding suns? Golden Guardian of Good?” Ava read over your shoulder, scoffing. “That’s a mouthful.”

“Sentry,” said Walker, taking the case file from you, to your annoyance. He wrinkled his nose in distaste as he took a quick gander. “Very shiny. I didn’t think any of them were still around.”

“Did you know about this?” you asked.

Walker shoved the file back into your awaiting hands. “There was a rumor that O.X.E. had some kind of big breakthrough. I don’t know much, but whatever it was, it was apparently way too extreme. Test subjects were dying. And then when the government looked into it, Val shut it down, and she put me on clean-up duty. I was meant to take care of him.”

“Take care of him,” you scathingly echoed. “Kill him.”

“Well, yeah,” John bit back. “We all were sent to kill each other. Haven’t you gotten over it by now?”

Your eye twitched. “I’m sorry I haven’t warmed up to the idea just yet!”

Ava drew a large, heaving sigh. It seemed she had no energy left to bicker. “Let’s just get home without getting caught.”

John, to your delight, found cactus berries for everyone to eat. You were starving. When you thanked him, quietly, he twisted his mouth to the side and nodded. Not embarrassed, not prideful, but… something more muted, as if he wasn’t sure how to accept gratitude.

The rest of the group ate and walked in relative silence, save for the occasional complaint, grumble, and irritated tongue-click.

The Red Guardian—and Yelena’s adoptive father, which you later came to find out—had come to pick her and everyone else up in the middle of the desert, waving his arms about and screaming like a madman. He was a giant of a man, so large that he had to drive his beat-up limo hunched over the steering wheel, despite putting his seat as far back as it would go. His shoulders were broader than the sticky leather seat itself. He donned a shoddy red suit that looked like it belonged in a museum dedicated to decades-old artifacts. And he was terribly loud, always spouting out something about collaboration, family, and the terrific rag-tag team the lot of you made. He seemed intent on calling the group the Thunderbolts in honor of Yelena’s peewee soccer team.

You found him rather amusing, even if he was obnoxious, overstimulating, and smelled of stale tortilla chips.

Both Yelena and Alexei were arguing about the next course of action—the former wanting to hunker down and hide, while the boisterous latter seemed intent on defeating Valentina with the power of… friendship. You decided to stay silent on the matter. You couldn’t deny that going home sounded like a brilliant idea. But… so did saving Bob.

Before a proper conclusion could be reached, Walker announced a convoy approaching the limo from behind, three chunky vehicles gaining speed. Alexei tried to engage “defensive measures”, but he’d forgotten which of the several buttons to press, and instead engaged a “party mode”, where the lights turned flashy pinks and purples, and a ridiculous EDM song began to blare from the built-in speaker system, nearly shocking you into splitting.

And then the gunshots started firing. Walker made himself useful by deflecting the majority of the bullets with his shield. Ghost tried to climb out one of the windows, only to be met by a piercing blast of concentrated, high-frequency sound waves, instantly disabling her suit’s phasing abilities. Yelena currently had nothing but a gun, and Alexei was busy driving. That left you.

With a determined puff of breath, you multiplied once, then climbed out the car window. Distantly, John barked at you to stay behind the shield but he went largely ignored.

This was going to hurt like hell. But, on the plus side, you never really knew if you had a limit to the number of clones you could produce before you exhausted yourself. Maybe today you could find out. Within the blink of an eye, there were a hundred of you, growing exponentially by the second.

Yelena realized what you were doing before the others. You were forming a human wall.

One of the military vehicles plowed right through the weakest part of the wall, your blood and guts splattering every which way, staining the sand a deep shade of crimson. Another tried to swerve around, but ended up skidding too quickly, tipping over and crashing to the side, tires moving fruitlessly in the air. Your copies, still multiplying, swarmed the vehicle like angry, hell-bent ants, slipping into the open windows and pummeling the few soldiers in there. You could feel the bullets empty into your body, but you swallowed down the pain and kept going. But exactly as you told Yelena before—limited bullets, inifinite of you. And good Lord, did it hurt like—well, like you were being run over a thousand times over because you quite literally were.

The remaining car was taken care of by an explosion so loud that it seemed to reverberate through the very ground. Initially, you wondered if someone from the car had thrown back a grenade, but when you caught sight of the sleek motorbike, you knew it was a newcomer.

You heard Walker distantly yell, “Bucky!”

And true to his word, It was Bucky Barnes, in the flesh. Your eyes widened ever so slightly. You reabsorbed your copies—the few remaining that were still alive—and watched from a distance as he swerved past the last car’s gunfire, pinned a cable to its underbelly, and fell back to hold the wire down with his metal arm. The car flipped in the air as if it were an omelet on an oiled skillet. You blinked, impressed.

Then, to your dismay, Bucky took off his sunglasses, and proceeded to shoot an explosive disk at Alexei’s limo. Similar to the previous car, it did an uneven pirouette before crashing onto the road upside-down. You winced, hoping none of them were killed in the crash. Even if they weren’t your friends, you thought that killing them went a step too far.

Bucky was a little ways ahead of you, but he turned and fixed you with an expectant stare. Was he going to shoot you, too?

But you should’ve known—Bucky Barnes was smarter than that. He pulled out a different gun—and when he shot, electric ropes shot out as if they were sticky webs. You came crashing to the ground as they wound about your body, spasming with the sharp current frying your skin. To your panic, duplicating was not an option if you were bound.

“If—” you choked out as he drew nearer to you. “If you’re going to kill me, please do it quickly.”

The ex-Winter Soldier looked down at you with a cocked head. “I’m not going to kill you. You’re evidence.”

Bob couldn’t remember the last time he woke up in a nice bed. In fact, this was probably the nicest bed he’s ever been in. His fingers twitched beside him—silk sheets. Just from that, he knew that this wasn’t his home (thank God for that), nor was it a hospital. He sat up.

There was a woman sitting by his bedside, watching him.

“Hi,” she said, voice soft and meticulously tender. “How are you feeling, Robert? Are you comfortable?”

He stared at her for a moment before awkwardly saying, “Yeah.”

She nodded in satisfaction. “Good, good. My name is Valentina Allegra de Fontaine.”

The name immediately had Robert backing up to the headboard, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “No, you—you tried to kill us!”

She began shushing him as if he were a child throwing a fit. On the glass table beside her, she put down what looked and sounded to be a metal plate.

“Let me explain. Would you like that?”

Bob stared at her for a moment, before looking down at his hands fidgeting with the silk. “Yeah,” he whispered.

“You signed up for a medical study, which was, as advertised, at the cutting edge of human improvement. But not everybody could handle the amount of greatness that we had in mind—”

As she spoke, Bob took to looking around. The room was rather empty save for the bed, the glass table, and the chair Valentina was sitting on. Where was he? He hoped he wouldn’t have to stay here long… he didn’t like empty spaces very much. The blankness of the walls always made him worse than usual. When he was younger, he wasn’t even allowed to put up posters because his father would tear them down the minute he saw them. Bob swallowed the lump in his throat, realizing he hadn’t been listening to what Valentina was saying.

“Where—where is everyone?” he asked, interrupting her long-winded explanation. “Xerox? Yelena?”

“Xerox?” she repeated, pulling a distasteful face. Bob frowned. “Yelena… Oh, Bob, those people you were with… they’re not honest people. They’re criminals. Villains, really.”

Bob inched closer to the headboard until his back was flush against the leather. “No, but they… they helped me.”

Well, if they weren’t here, he hoped everyone managed to get to safety. That he was useful for once in his damn life and not just… in the way.

Valentina stood up from the chair and sat down on the bed, inches away from him. Bob stiffened at the sudden movement.

“Let’s just forget about them for a bit. Let’s focus on you,” the woman said, “and how perfect you are.”

Perfect? Him, perfect? Perfect Bob. It sounded like an oxymoron. An embedded contradiction.

“You always thought of yourself as the victim. But you overcame it! You went to Malaysia—you were lost. You were searching for something, someone to help you. And you found me,” she crooned.

Bob could feel his breath hitch in his throat. “How do you know about that?”

It was embarrassing—mortifying, even—that someone found out that he was looking for help because he was a pathetic loser who couldn’t do anything on his own, as if he even deserved help to begin with. And now she was confronting him about it! Bob wanted a hole to open in the ground so he could crawl inside of it and hide away for the rest of his stupid life.

“I know all of it,” Valentina assured, though it wasn’t very reassuring. “I know about your mom’s mental illness, I know about your addiction, your juvenile record, and, you know—I even know about the times your father—”

Bob felt his insides seize at the mention of his father. “Stop!” he said, hands immediately coming up to cup his ears. “No, I didn’t say you could know that.” The lights began to flicker, a dangerous hum filling the room.

Valentina shook her head, scooching even closer. “Robert, I know everything about you—and I still want you to be my guy! All the bad things you’ve done… and I accept it. I accept you. Isn’t that what you want? To be chosen? No one else sees it. But I do. I see you. And I think, Robert, that your past is what makes you so special.”

At this, Bob could feel a small part of him cave. She wanted him. Out of all people, she thought he was capable! Capable of what? Did it even matter? He was picked. Wanted, chosen, special, needed, valuable, a true asset!

That was what he wanted. Yes, a dark voice whispered in the back of his mind. She’s your ticket out. You won’t be a useless fucking loser anymore.

Then, Valentina took his hand. His eyes narrowed a fraction. He dove into her mind and he saw it all—her father, the tears on her chubby nine-year-old cheeks, the bullet in his chest. When he pulled away, he regarded her with a mixture of pity and confusion.

This woman was just as sad as him. Was everyone equally messed up in the head or did he just attract like-minded people?

Valentina cleared her throat, trying her best to give him a warm smile, but it ended up looking more like a grimace than anything. “Would you excuse me for just a moment?” she said, getting up from the bed. She looked a bit frazzled. Bob supposed being forced to live your most traumatic memory again did that to someone.

Before she could leave, she picked up the metal disk. He caught a glimpse of the shiny golden S engraved on the front side.

Your ticket! the dark voice hissed. You fucking idiot.

“No,” he croaked out, scrambling away from the headboard. “No, wait!” He swallowed the bile in his throat. “I can control it.”

She smiled, victorious. “Great,” she said. Then, she turned and left, leaving Bob alone in the empty room.

Bucky Barnes was very good at ignoring you. He only seemed to listen after tying the super soldiers up with bent metal rods, and you, Ava, and Yelena with special power-defusing cuffs. And even then, he dismissed everyone trying to tell him about Bob, Project Sentry, and how Valentina betrayed all of you. He made a scathing remark to John about his wife and kid deciding to leave him—it was clear the two had a tense, troubled history.

Finally, after about half an hour sitting around and wasting time, Bucky got a phone call. Who with, you didn’t know. Someone close to Valentina, maybe. But she mentioned Bob, and suddenly Bucky straightened. His scowl deepened upon realizing that this group of misfits and criminals—were telling him the truth all along.

“So…” he said after hanging up the phone. “Bob.”

“Bob,” the rest of the group echoed in both exasperation and relief.

“We have to help him,” you said, emphatically wriggling your wrists and shoulders to indicate the cuffs. “Valentina is only going to hurt him or use him to hurt others.”

“Or both,” Ava chimed.

Bucky thought on it for a long second, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Finally, he stalked over and uncuffed you, Yelena, then Ava. He unwound the metal pipe around Alexei as if he was snapping a string. He paused behind Walker, clearly unhappy to let him back on his feet, but he also broke him free of his bonds.

“You guys know Valentina,” he said. His eyes met yours. “Like you said—people are going to get hurt. And if your knowledge of this Bob can help… then you’re coming with me.”

“Us?” Yelena said, incredulous. “Bucky, you have the wrong people. Isn’t there anyone else you can call? Thor?”

“Off-world.”

“Captain America?” you asked, venturing a glance at Walker.

“Busy. Out of the country.”

“The Hulk?” Ava asked.

Bucky shook his head, patience wearing thin. “Listen. I’ve been where you are. You can run, but it catches up. It doesn’t go away. I’m giving you guys the opportunity to do something about it now. It’s either you come with me, or it’s a prison cell. Take your pick.”

Alexei needed no convincing. “This is great!” he roared. “All of us will be fighting together, like a team!”

More reluctant, Yelena drew in a breath. “Stop Val. Save Bob.”

You nodded. “I’m in.”

Walker pursed his lips. “Fine,” he gruffed.

Ava nodded, solemn. “Come on, then.”

Alexei looked around with a wide, oafish grin on his face. “YES!” he yelled. “Come on, then, you slowpokes! What are we waiting for?”

The plan to save Bob was really no plan at all—which was to be expected from a group of mercenaries and assassins who were typically used to working alone.

Crash into the Avengers Tower. Beat up the guards. Find Valentina. Take care of her (you still weren’t very sure what this bit meant). Save Bob. Easy, right?

Well, crashing into the tower and beating up the guards certainly were a piece of cake. Finding Valentina, which you suspected to be one of the harder steps, turned out to be handed over to you on a silver platter.

Her voice echoed on the intercom, effectively halting everyone mid-punch or mid-kick. As for Bucky, he dropped the guard he’d been strangling. “Jesus, you guys,” Valentina sighed. “I literally just had a new drywall installed. Should’ve known you lot would mess that up, too. I left the door unlocked for you. Come up.”

Yelena stood beside you, chest heaving. “Think it’s a trap?”

“Probably,” you said. “But do we have a better plan?”

“We didn’t have one to begin with,” Ava retorted. She gestured to the elevator. “Come on.”

The elevator took the group up to one of the very top floors of the tower. You stepped in with wide, scrutinizing eyes. Most of the original Avengers were dead now, weren’t they? Dead or retired. A vague memory of heroism and destruction. You were gone during the Blip—and you thanked God for that—so the Avengers bringing you back was more of a curse than a blessing on your end.

“Crazy, isn’t it?” Valentina greeted everyone from behind an island counter. There was the pop of a champagne bottle as she poured herself a glass. “Think of all the monumental fights that happened exactly where you’re standing. I mean, I don’t really care—the place wasn’t cheap, but it’s got good optics.”

That’s all she ever seemed to care about, wasn’t it? Image. Branding. It was no wonder she always sent you on undercover missions. You weren’t marketable. No little girl or boy would buy your figurine when there was an Iron Man or Black Widow to pick from.

“It’s over, Valentina,” Bucky said, expression stoic. “This ends now.”

“Congressman Barnes,” Valentina greeted, voice snippy. “I never thought you’d have a promising career but—you managed to disappoint even the lowest of expectations. Not even half a term, huh? Yikes.”

“We’re taking you in, Val,” Walker interrupted.

This made her laugh, though it was inauthentic and hollow. “I don’t think so… junior varsity Captain America.”

His hand fell on his gun, and he only paused when Bucky said his name with a warning tone.

“It’s good to see you, Ava. Yelena. You look awful, by the way. You sure you’re really ready for that public-facing role you asked me about?”

“Eat shit, Valentina.”

“Where’s Bob?” you said, feeling the tensions creeping up until it felt near suffocating. “What did you do to him?”

“Xerox. I thought you wanted to leave… And yet here you are. Just makes me wonder why you haven’t left. You had every opportunity to. Are you getting attached already? That was always a weakness of yours, wasn’t it?” She took a long sip from her champagne flute. “You know, he asked about you. Even mentioned the little nickname you gave him. Palindrome, right? It’s a little bit of a mouthful, but that’s just me.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Why were you still here? You didn’t owe Bob—or anyone else in this group—anything.

Your evident hesitation made Valentina’s eyes light up. “Just look at you guys! So adorable, really. I sent you all down there to kill each other… but you made nice, and you form a team. Who would’ve thought?”

To your relief, Bucky cut through her condescending tirade by asking for Mel, who you assumed to be the person he was on the phone with earlier.

“Oh, Mel,” she said, dismissive. “She’s having loyalty issues. But I’m just so grateful that she stuck around long enough to lure you all in—”

As she spoke, Bucky took the flute of champagne from her hands and placed it onto the island with a resounding tink. His hand then moved to close around Valentina’s throat.

But it never got there.

His hand froze mid-air, vibrating with strain. Bucky stared down at his arm with furrowed brows.

With a sharp, satisfactory grin, Valentina hummed, “I’m not alone. Robert?”

You turned to see a pair of dark boots descend down a flight of stairs. Each step revealed more of him—flashy golden suit, cinched blue belt, a dark, flowing cape. Blonde hair. A confident stance. A set jaw.

“Oh, my God,” Yelena said.

“That’s Bob?” Bucky asked, words laced with disbelief.

“He looks… a little different from when we last saw him,” Ava said.

You stayed silent, watching him with what could only be described as a crestfallen expression. This wasn’t the Palindrome you remembered. What did Valentina do to him?

“It is my great honor to introduce to you… the Sentry,” Valentina beckoned to Bob as if he were a shiny new car she was parading.

Bob nodded at the rest of you. “Hey, guys.” His eyes met yours for a brief second, but he was quick to look away. Your insides felt as if they were curdling.

“All powerful. Invincible. Stronger than all the Avengers combined—and soon to be known as Earth’s mightiest hero,” Valentina announced.

Ava narrowed her eyes at him. “Have you dyed your hair?”

Bob blinked. “Yeah. It was—”

“My idea,” Valentina nodded.

“I preferred the dark hair,” you said, though you weren’t sure if you were saying it to spite Valentina or because it was the genuine truth. Perhaps both. “Brought out your eyes.”

Bob looked at you as if you had slapped him.

“People love a classic hero,” Valentina said. “All the strongest and most beloved were blondes. The original Captain America, blonde. Thor, blonde. Hawkeye, blonde-ish. Black Widow… blonde for some time.”

The mention of her sister made Yelena flinch. Valentina didn’t seem to notice.

“So what’s the plan?” Bucky said. He wasn’t here to discuss frivolities like hair color.

“You haven’t figured it out yet, Bucky? Geez. Did all that time in the freezer slow your brain down? At least you’re kinda cute—you have that going for you.”

“You’re not going to hurt people?” the Guardian intervened, his inflection cautious and mildly confused.

“Oh, no! No. I’m not going to hurt people. I’m going to hurt you—or, well, Robert here will. You see, the press is on their way here now. They’re going to witness the magnificent power of Sentry as he takes down this group of ruthless, rogue agents. Thus beginning a new era where I decide how to keep the American people safe, answering to no one. I’ll be unimpeachable.”

“Cool,” you snarked, lips curling into a snarl. “You got the villain monologue down and everything.” Then, you turned to Bob, trying your best to ignore Valentina’s presence right beside him. Your expression softened considerably. “You told her about Palindrome?”

Bob froze, as if pondering if he’d done something wrong. “Ye–yeah. I thought—at first, I thought it would be a cool hero name. But yeah, uhm… Sentry is… better. Rolls off the tongue.”

You nodded. “Okay. No, you’re right, maybe. But Palindrome—same backwards as it is forwards, remember? Are you the same Bob I met down in the vault? Because I liked that Bob a lot more than what I see in front of me now.”

Initially, Bob’s expression crumpled. Any hope of seeking the team’s approval was immediately crushed under the heel of your foot. Then, to your dismay, Bob—no, Sentry’s—face grew stony.

“Valentina fixed me,” he said. “I’m better now.”

The team’s incredulous, disbelieving faces told Bob all he needed to know. None of you were on his side.

Valentina nodded at the tall, now-blonde super. “Sentry. Your first mission is to take out these criminals.”

Bob swallowed heavily, brows furrowed as he weighed between his options. “I don’t want to hurt you guys,” he finally said. “Why don’t you just turn yourselves in?”

With a scoff, Walker said, “You don’t wanna do this, Bobby.”

A vein jumped on the side of Bob’s neck. “You can call me Sentry.”

“Please, you do not need to listen to her,” Yelena attempted to rationalize.

“See?” Valentina exclaimed. “It’s exactly as I told you—they don’t think you’re good enough.”

“That’s not true!” Yelena asserted. “You can trust me, Bob! I know you!”

Bob fixed her with what looked to be a disappointed gaze. “I don’t think that you do.”

“But—you saved us. Only a few hours ago, you sacrificed yourself to help us escape. What was any of that for?” You loathed how your voice broke with desperation.

Bob had a hard time swallowing around the rising lump in his throat. His mind darted back to the many times you died just to save him. None of this sat well with him, but… it needed to be done.

“It was a mistake,” he said, simply. He chanced a glance to Valentina, who nodded in approval.

You recoiled like a wounded snake.

“ENOUGH TALKING!” Alexei bellowed. Bob still wasn’t very sure who he was. “No one messes with the West Chesapeake Valley Thunderbolts!”

Just as Val incredulously echoed, “Thunderbolts?” Alexei stormed forward, pulling all his weight into a barrel-slam. It was as if he were hit with a solid, thick wall of dense lead. Bob punched him straight in his round belly, and like a ragdoll, the super soldier went flying backwards, crumpling into a red heap against a nearby pillar. Immediately, the rest of the team dove into action and attacked Bob. Save for Yelena, who was still trying to make peace with him.

Bob was, as Valentina had alluded to earlier, seemingly invincible. Able to fling people away without having to disturb a single dyed hair on his head. Stop special-grade bullets mid-air and send them right back to the assailant at twice the speed. Withstood the sharpest of blades and the strongest of punches.

You split into two copies. One to assist Walker, whose shield was embedded into a sofa, nearly cleaving it in two, and another running after Valentina, who you spotted hurrying to hide behind a corner.

“You lied to us,” you hissed, grabbing the collar of her dress shirt, yanking her close until her nose was inches away from yours. “I came to you for help. I thought you would save me.”

“I did,” she said, and began to howl and laugh like a maniac. “When I found you, you were an empty husk of a person. Now look at you. Fighting with your friends. There’s a spark that wasn’t there before. You know, if I hadn’t only stuck you to do my dirty work, you would’ve made a good hero. A lack of planning on my end, I’m afraid.”

You felt your eyes sting with the promise of tears. “I could’ve been good?”

“Yes,” she said, shrugging. “But you chose this. Sure, I gave you the order… but who, in the end, pulled the trigger?” Without giving you the chance to respond, she lolled her head to the side. “Oh, Sentry!”

Bob, who had been preoccupied smashing Alexei through the windows as if he were playing frisbee, snapped his head to see you holding Valentina. Immediately, his eyes started glowing, and you were ripped away.

There was no hope in fighting against a man more powerful than all the Avengers rolled into one. You braced yourself for pain, squeezing your eyes shut. But there came none. Instead, when you cracked an eye open you were suspended midair outside of the penthouse.

“How far?” he asked you, striding to the window, its frames lined with shattered bullet-proof glass.

“What?” you choked out, trying to struggle, though you knew that if he dropped you, you would be met with a terrible fall that was likely worse than the fall you had in the vault.

“How far until you lose control and get a seizure?” He turned and bent Walker’s shield until it caved around his arm, now shaped like a curved taco shell. “I don’t want to send you too far. I’d prefer not to hurt you.”

“Fuck you!” you snarled. A second too late, you realized that was probably a terrible thing to say to him when he had you floating mid-air, completely at his mercy. “Wait, Bob—please just stop this—!” The rest of your plea was lost to the wind as he sent you streaking further away from the tower, going so fast that the civilians down below must have thought you were some sort of high-tech drone.

Your duplicate watched in horror, knowing there was nothing you could do for your other-you. You were taken farther and farther until you grew limp, convulsing hundreds of feet above the ground. The copy in the tower crumpled to the ground with not a sound. Ava, battered and bruised, dragged your convulsing body away from the action so you were less likely to be struck while down.

And when the rest of the team gave up and turned to retreat, Bucky was the one to pick you up by the scruff of your dark suit, dragging you into the elevator. He was missing his metal arm, which Sentry had torn off like it had been attached with paperclips, hot glue, and a dream. Ava picked it up on her way into the lift.

Sentry advanced on them with glowing eyes. “Forgetting someone?”

He reached out behind him, fingers curled into a beckoning motion. Your copy came flying back into the tower, crashing into the rest of the team as if you were a bowling ball, and the rest of the team the pins. Your skull rattled as it knocked into Alexei’s, and you gasped for air, dizzy and disoriented. If you had been more lucid, you would have apologized to Walker for your boot crashing into his eye. That was likely going to leave a terrible bruise. Yelena took your arm and wound it around her to help you stay upright.

“I’m so glad you were able to catch a glimpse before your… retirement,” Valentina called out, slinking out from the shadows she was hiding in. “Camera crews are assembling. Finish the job, Robert.”

Bob waited until the elevator doors slid to a close, hiding all the fearful faces from his observant gaze, and he could hear the lift move downwards.

“Finish the job?” he echoed. “No. They’re not a threat to me, so… why do I need to kill them?”

Valentina gave him a tight-lipped smile. “You need to do what I say, Robert.”

Confusion washed over his polished, golden features. “Why?”

“Why?” Valentina parroted, almost mocking. Bob could feel anger bubble behind his chest.

“I just…” He exhaled in frustration. “I feel like there’s an… unwarranted power imbalance here.” He motioned between himself and her. “There needs to be more of a collaboration between us if this is going to work. Like, the hair—I don’t know. Maybe I should have more of a say.”

She rolled her eyes to the broken ceiling from when Yelena was flung upwards. “Don’t let those idiots get to your head. The blonde is great.”

“You sure?” said Bob, now pacing back and forth, wringing his hands. “I thought I liked it, but now I’m not so sure. Xerox said—”

“Forget Xerox!” Valentina exclaimed. “That’s enough about the hair, Sentry.”

“It’s not just about the hair, though—”

“Well, you keep bringing it up, so—”

“No, but it’s everything!” Bob asserted. “It’s all of it. My suit, my name, my missions. I didn’t even want to be Sentry. I thought Palindrome was good. It… it is good.”

As if she were consoling a child, Valentina relented. “Fine. If you want to change it so bad, be my guest. We’ll just have to re-do all the paperwork all over again and—”

Bob shook his head. “Why would a god… take orders from anyone at all?”

Brow cocked, Valentina slowly said, “I think you’re throwing the word god a bit loosely there.”

“No,” Bob said. “No, but you said… I was all-powerful and stronger than the entire team of Avengers, which includes at least one God. I’m starting to think that maybe you don’t actually know what I am, nor what I’m capable of. I’m the only survivor from the medical trials, aren’t I? I’m the only one left.”

Val drew in a sharp breath, folding her hands behind her back. “Oh, God.”

“Yeah,” said Bob. “Yes, that’s more like it.”

Before she could draw out the emergency killswitch, Bob took her by the throat and sent her flying across the room, pinning her against a metal support frame. She struggled against his hold fruitlessly.

“You were going to turn on me,” said Bob, narrowing his eyes. “Just like the rest of them.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Robert,” she croaked before he began to apply more pressure against her esophagus.

“It’s not Robert you have to be afraid of,” he said, voice as cold as the steel behind her. His eyes began to glow a terrifying golden hue and—

There was a click and a zap, and Bob’s hold on her loosened. Sentry crumpled to the ground in a heap of golds and blues. Mel was standing behind the pair, holding the killswitch, legs shaking.

“I want a raise,” she demanded.

“Fine. Order cleanup and it’s yours,” said Val, gripping the support beam with shaking hands. “And help me up, damn it!”

The two eventually stumbled into the elevator, leaving Bob’s body alone in the Avengers tower. A minute after Val abandoned his corpse, however, the floors darkened to an inky blank around him. His suit and face was now pitch-dark, absent of any sort of color. His finger twitched. First his pinky, then his thumb, then his whole hand. By the second minute, he began levitating, floating a meter above the cracked floors.

Bob, Palindrome, Robert, Sentry, the Golden Guardian of Who Gives a Flying Fuck—what he used to be… was gone now. And what was left of him?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

Just a void.

Once outside the Avengers Tower, you reabsorbed into one body, stumbling away from Yelena to sit on the curb. Behind you, they were bickering, as always. Alexei wanted to go somewhere to regroup and try again. As if being completely beaten to a pulp wasn’t enough.

Yelena was done. She was fed up with his bullshit.

“Stop. Just stop! There is no us. There is no we. Bob is gone. He changed into that thing—and there is nothing that any of you could do about it,” she hissed.

“Right,” Ava said, rolling her eyes. “And what did you do, exactly? Because I seem to remember you getting your ass beat way worse than mine. Xerox didn’t even try to stop Bob.”

“Because we didn’t stand a chance. There was no point,” you gritted out, getting back up to your feet. “Sorry I prioritized getting Valentina over him.”

“Fat load of good that did!” Ava exclaimed, throwing her hands up in defeat.

“Yeah, I get it! I suck! We suck! We’re all terrible!” Yelena screamed. The pedestrians going about their day eyed the rag-tag team of bloodied, bruised, suited individuals. “Ava, you’re not a hero. You’re not even a good person.”

Ava pretended that didn’t sting. “Bitch,” she muttered under her breath.

When Alexei tried to step in, Yelena exploded at him, too. “I am not your little girl! I haven’t heard from you or seen you in a year! It’s like you didn’t even care about Natasha. You’re a fucking fake and a coward and I wish you never pretended to be my father!”

Walker stepped in, saying, “Come on, go easy on him.”

“Oh, so you’re nice now?” Yelena said, rounding on him.

“What, is it my turn?” he said, tone flat and unimpressed.

“No, you know you’re a piece of trash,” Yelena spat. “And so does your family.”

“Jesus,” said Walker, grimacing at how much that stung.

“Yelena,” you said, weary of her biting your head off for even speaking. “We tried. We failed. We move on. Can we do that?”

“No, but you didn’t try, did you? I saw you talking to Valentina. You could’ve done it. You had the chance to kill her, but you didn’t. You were too caught up in your selfish fantasies of self-fulfillment that you’ve doomed the rest of us!”

You nodded, withdrawing, clearly wounded. “Mhm. Okay.”

Maybe she was right. Maybe it was your fault. You had Valentina. You did. Was your need for closure selfish? Did it cost everyone a potential victory?

“We lost,” Yelena said with a tone of finality. She turned around and began to stalk away. “This fucking team was built on delusions. We were never anything, not ever.”

Alexei went after her. The rest of the group slowly started to retreat into different directions. You looked to Bucky with sad eyes he thought resembled a kicked animal.

“Does it get better?” you asked. Your gesture to your head was vague and hard to interpret, but Bucky seemed to understand you almost instantly.

“I wish I had an easy answer for you, kid.” The soldier pursed his lips, regarding you with furrowed brows. “But not like this, it won’t. Not like this.”

“What are you going to do now?” you whispered.

Bucky clenched his jaw. It was clear that he had no idea what the protocol was for a situation like this. “As of now, Valentina’s intentions with Sentry are unclear. She could be planning out acts of terrorism as we speak. I think the smartest course of action is evacuating the premises.” He eyed you warily. “You can go home. You’ve done enough.”

“I want…” The words lodged in your throat. “Bucky, I know I’m a fuck-up. I’ve done bad, terrible things. I know there’s no coming back from that. But I want to help. I want to be better.”

Something flickered in the blue of his eyes, as if he was recalling something. Someone. “Okay, kid,” he said after a brief pause. “Come on.”

The two of you began to usher the crowd away. You multiplied a few dozen times, scattering to hoard as many people you could off the streets. You heard many shocked whispers amongst the passerby. Is that Congressman Barnes? No fucking way—that’s the Winter Soldier. Is Captain America around? Why are there four of you? That’s freaky as shit.

“I’m Xerox,” you hurriedly told a family loitering by the entrance to the subway station, trying your best to seem friendly but you likely came off as a raving lunatic instead. “You need to evacuate the premises now. Someone dangerous could be—”

“Are you a hero?” a little girl asked you in wonder, taking a gander at your suit, which was battered and covered with dust and soot. It definitely had seen better days. “You don’t really look like one.”

The mother flinched with shock, and began to frantically apologize for her daughter’s lack of a filter.

“It’s okay,” you reassured. “I’m no hero. I just want to help.”

The mother nodded, looking worried. “That’s good enough for me.” It was clear she was no stranger to bizarre happenings in New York. “Come on, Adeline. Let’s go.” They hurried off, and you returned to Bucky, who was urging a gaggle of laughing teenagers not to go into a theater.

“Good. You cleared the street,” said Bucky. “We should set up some sort of blockade to—”

Abruptly, Bucky stopped mid-sentence. His eyes were trained up to the sky, and you turned to follow his gaze. You felt your heart painfully skip a beat in your chest.

A dark figure floated above the city. Caped, with a suspiciously similar silhouette to Sentry. You squinted, straining your vision, barely making out his arm extending out as if he was mimicking grabbing something.

“That’s—” Bucky started.

“Bob,” you breathed out.

You watched in horror as helicopters came flying towards him. At first, you thought they were press, just as Valentina promised—until they started shooting at him. The bullets seemed to disappear through him. And after a second, the helicopters came crashing down, as if they were completely void of pilots. The vehicles spun into construction scaffolding, pieces of unfinished building breaking apart and falling to the world below.

You and Bucky were quick to move then, yanking civilians out from under falling rubble. You multiplied more in an effort to help, even if it meant getting hit by falling concrete once in a while. You caught sight of Alexei using a metal sign he had torn off a shawarma restaurant to protect citizens as they escaped down the subway tunnels, and Yelena saving an elderly woman from getting run over by a news van. Another helicopter was tumbling down from further down the street, and Ghost phased through rapidly-rotating blades to shove people out of the way. Walker was stopping a large slab of concrete from crushing a civilian. Your clones being as scattered as they possibly could meant you had eyes in all directions. A dozen of you hurried over to help him push it upwards, gritting your teeth with the solid weight.

Another one of you dragged the woman out from underneath. She was sobbing profusely, praying in a language you couldn’t understand. But she signed something—the tips of her fingers touching her lips, then beckoning out to you. Thank you.

It felt like something finally clicked into place. Was it inherently selfish of you to want to help people because it made you feel good? Or did it cancel out?

Yelena joined, then Alexei. Ghost phased through and began pushing beside Walker. Bucky put all his weight in with his metal arm, and the slab finally tipped over, crashing onto the street with such a weighty thud that the asphalt beneath fractured.

And then the crowd around you started clapping. Quietly at first, but rising up to a deafening applause.

“Mom?” called a small child across the street. There was a shadow falling over her, growing larger. Alexei was there before anyone else, shielding the little girl from the falling debris that would certainly have crushed her to death if he hadn’t been there.

“You’re safe, little one,” said Alexei, kneeling down to her height.

The dry tear tracks on her chubby cheeks bent as she smiled at the red giant before her.

And then she was gone. The only thing left in her place was a shadow in a blobby, vague shape of the girl, spilling darkness across the street.

You flinched. Three civilians across from you disappeared in the same way. Then two to your left. Another pair behind you. Your eyes flew upwards to see Bob—Sentry—whoever that was descend down to hover only a few feet above the totaled street.

“You will all know the truth,” his voice echoed. “You can’t outrun the emptiness.”

Screams erupted around you as people fled every which way. You reabsorbed your copies closest to the growing darkness.

“Come on,” Walker said, yanking your arm. “We need to get people off the streets!”

You nodded, rushing ahead to direct people into the subway tunnels.

“Yelena!” you heard Alexei bellow. “Yelena, what are you doing?”

You turned to see her calmly striding towards the darkness.

“No,” you whispered. Your closest copy ran towards her, only a few feet away.

“It’s like you said,” the dark figure murmured, his voice somehow loud enough to reverberate in your ears like a piercing drum. “We’re all alone. All of us.”

“Yelena,” you said, taking her forearm. “Yelena, we have to go.”

“Aren’t you tired of fighting?” Bob asked. Instinctively, you knew he was speaking to you. “I can fix it. Let me fix it.”

“No, Pal,” you said, edging away from the darkness, which was eating at the streets. “I don’t need you to fix me, thank you. I haven’t even tried a licensed therapist yet. Come, Yelena, please.”

Your words fell on deaf ears. The assassin shut her eyes and let out a sigh. She stepped forward, and then she was gone. You heard Alexei’s anguished screams somewhere behind you.

The Void reached out and turned a few more panicked civilians into shadows. Before you knew it, the entire street was blackened, leaving only a circle around you.

“I promise it won’t hurt,” The Void said. He floated down to the ground to stand in front of you, just inches away. If you reached out, you would be able to touch him. You could feel the cold emanating off his body, tempting you to just—fall into him. “The darkness will keep you company.”

“And that’s you?” you whispered, trying your best to look for an expression in such a blank canvas of darkness. “Where’s Bob?”

“He doesn’t matter anymore,” the Void said.

“He does,” you insisted. “He did to me.”

“You died for him,” he said, tilting his head.

You nodded. “And I would again.”

“Why?”

The question, though it was just one word, weighed heavy on your mind.

“I’m not the bad guy I thought I was,” you finally told him. You stared at the darkness closing in around you with a heavy heart. “If I went in—would I find Bob in there?”

“Your Palindrome is hiding. He isn’t looking to be saved.” The Void motioned around him. “Look at this mess. This is no place to be. Step in with me. I’ll take care of it. You wouldn’t need to worry anymore… it’ll be just us.”

“Can I try to help him in there?” Your voice broke, betraying your own fear.

The black figure’s shoulders trembled as if he were smothering a laugh. “You can try. I’d advise giving up, though. It’s never worth it. Now… come.”

His arms spread wide open, inviting you in. Distantly, you could hear Bucky and Ava call out your name. You swallowed heavily.

Then you fell forward, willingly embracing someone for the first time since you were a child. He was solid for a split moment. All frigid edges and hard muscle—then you collapsed into the soft darkness, and sat back up in a hospital room.

It was the same vision as before. Two of you. One whole and one cut. Without hesitating, you kicked at the surgeon, grabbing a scalpel from the table and slitting his throat. You watched the blood gush out of his wound, dark and bubbling. Too dark to be real blood.

You turned to free yourself with the missing leg from the operating table, slicing at the leather straps. And then, to your shock, young-you began attacking yourself.

It was disorienting to see your younger self snarl like a rabid animal, leaping from the table to claw at you, sinking sharp little teeth into your exposed throat. You made a garbled noise of pain, and threw the kid off. Your throat stung, but it was a hollow pain that was quick to fade back into nothingness.

“I’m you!” you screamed before the kid could leap at you again. “I’m you!”

“I don’t know you,” little Xerox said. “You’re not real. You can’t be real.”

“I’m you,” you whispered. You put the scalpel down and approached like one would a nervous horse. “Honey, I’m you. I’m okay, see? You’ll be okay.”

Little-you swayed. You began to cry in the silent way you always did, smaller frame wracking.

“It’s okay,” you said with an aching chest, gathering yourself up in your arms, stroking the back of your head. “Let it out. There you go.”

The child began to bawl into your chest. You reached over for the scalpel again, slicing through the bonds of the young, whole copy. “Here. Take care of each other, okay?”

“Okay,” the whole copy said. Both of the younger Xeroxes held onto one another. You stepped away with a heavy heart.

“Palindrome?” you called out. “I’m here to help. Come talk to me.”

Nothing.

With a huff, you turned out of the hospital room, shoving your way through the doors, though not before bidding a respectful goodbye to your younger copies.

You found yourself in a different room now. You had escaped the hospital at this point, now living off of the meager cash you earned by doing the dirty work for Madripoorean crime lords. Your gun was trained on a woman as she sobbed for mercy.

“I didn’t mean to—” she said, wiping away the snot that dribbled from her nose. “I didn’t mean to, please tell him that for me!”

“I don’t speak to my bosses,” your copy said. Current-you rounded about to look at Xerox’s face here. Gaunt, with glassy, empty eyes. “He wants you gone.”

“I can be gone!” she said, nodding. “Please. You can pretend you shot me. I can disappear without a trace.” When you said nothing, she doubled over, wailing out a pitiful noise. “I’m pregnant. Please. Please don’t kill me.”

Past-Xerox’s eyes thinned into disbelieving slits. “Lie.”

“I’m not lying. Please. It’s his child, but I can—”

“Don’t tell me that.”

“Just listen to me—”

Your younger self began to panic. “Why would you tell me that?”

“If you could—”

“Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

“Is—do you need money? Is it money you want?”

“No.” Yes. “I don’t need your charity.”

The woman shakily pulled out crumpled bills from her bag, offering them to you. You gritted your jaw and pulled the trigger. She fell to the ground with her mouth frozen mid-plea. Before you left, you took the bills and stuffed them into the holey pockets of your ratty trousers. You took the silver necklace the woman was wearing for good measure, too.

Your past-self looked up at you. “Do we ever find out?”

“What?”

“Was she really pregnant?”

You stared down at the dead woman with horror. “I don’t know.”

Young Xerox straightened, shoulders rolling back. “We don’t deserve to be forgiven. Not for this.”

“Maybe not,” you agreed. “You’re also only eighteen.”

“So?”

“You were just a kid. You had no money. No food. No home. No family. Just you and your copies and your missions,” you whispered.

“Tch. Sounds like a bunch of excuses to me.”

You nodded. “It is. It’s an excuse.” You looked down the alleyway. “Valentina will be coming soon for you. She’ll be too good to be true at first. A house. A clean bed. Food in the fridge. But it’ll be the same thing again. Just… repackaged.”

Your younger self’s face twisted with a rotten, disappointed look. “Do we ever get better?”

“We try to. I try to.”

“Good.” Young Xerox pointed up a rusty metal fire escape. “He’s up there. Your Pal.”

“Thank you,” you said, about to make your way up the creaky stairs.

“He wants to be found,” said young you, nodding. “He made the rooms easy for you. There’s a lot worse that he could’ve chosen from.”

“That’s true,” you whispered, though saying that made you feel all the more terrible for the dead woman on the ground. “What about you? Did you want to be found?” you asked, unsure if you wanted to hear the answer.

“You tell me,” retorted the younger you with a wolfish grin. “I’m all me, remember?”

Your final room was when you lived in America. It was dark in your apartment. You were twenty-five, looking a bit healthier than you had been at eighteen, but still just as miserable.

You stood in front of the stove, which held a pot that was almost halfway full to the brim with boiling water. “Come on,” younger you said, jumping up and down on the spot, psyching yourself up. Your palm raised to slap yourself across the face. There was a belt tied about your mouth so as to not alert your civilian neighbors. “Come on, you pussy,” you hissed at yourself from behind the belt.

Inhaling sharply, you held in your breath as you dove your left palm into the boiling water. Your scream went muffled behind the belt. After a moment, you quietened to an occasional whimper. It was strange being able to watch yourself and not feel the same pain. Only the memory of it.

It wasn’t self-harm. At least, you didn’t consider it to be so back then. It was endurance training. Upping your pain tolerance for the job. Valentina had told you that you were useless if you couldn’t handle dying.

Younger you pulled your raw hand out of the pot after about thirty seconds, then flipped the tap on to its coldest setting, sticking it beneath the running water with a hiss. The next day, you would repeat the process until you lost all feeling in your left hand, frying your nerve endings to shit.

As the room began to repeat itself, you stopped your younger self from plunging a hand into the pot by grabbing your wrist. “You don’t have to do that,” you said. “There are other ways of being strong.”

“If I don’t do this, I’m not worth anything,” young Xerox said. “I’d be nothing.”

“Hurting yourself doesn’t make you stronger,” you deadpanned. “You’re wasting your time.”

“I know,” the younger you sighed. “I know that. It’s just nice to be in control of my own pain for once.”

“You can be in control by consciously trying to keep yourself from the pain,” came your soft whisper. “Hurting yourself doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t solve anything. It only leaves scars that take way too long to heal. Trust me. I still can’t wear short sleeves.”

Younger you barked out a laugh. “Oh, I know. Summers are hell.”

“I know, right?” you said, smiling for the first time in what felt like weeks. “You know what helped me?”

“What?”

“Crosswords,” you said. “The newspaper stand across the store sells entire books. Every time I had the urge, I would solve a puzzle or two.”

“Oh, God,” said the younger you, bending over into what sounded like a cry, but it was actually an incredulous laugh. “I’m such a nerd. Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Just try it. It helps.”

“Okay, okay. Fuckin’ geek.”

“We memorized every single element of the periodic table in order by age eleven. I think the nerd has been with us all along.” As you spoke, you took the pot of boiling water and carefully maneuvered to dump the steaming water into the sink. You turned off the stove, and past-you didn’t try to stop you.

Your younger self smiled, and it was clear that it’s been a while since that happened, too. Then, it faded just as quickly as it appeared. “What happens if we run out of crosswords?”

The question didn’t seem to be just about crosswords.

“We can always try something new,” you ventured. “I think crocheting is all the rage now.”

“Is it?”

“Probably not, no. I’m not really sure what the youths are into these days. It changes every other day.”

“We can try crocheting anyway,” past-you laughed. Then, you pointed into the living room. “Look in the TV. He should be there.”

“Alright. Thanks.” You gave mid-twenties Xerox a two-fingered salute, then turned to sit down in front of your TV.

And, as promised, you caught a glimpse of Bob in the reflection. When you looked behind you, it was still your regular, dim living room. You looked back at the dark screen.

“Found you,” you murmured, a relieved smile playing at the corner of your lips. “Hey, Bob? It’s good to see you.”

Despite the warped reflection, you could see him look up with a creased, almost guilty expression. “You found me,” he said, surprise evident in his tone.

“I did. Will you let me in?”

“... I don’t know.”

“Please let me in. I want to help.”

Bob drew his knees up to his chest, cradling himself. The darkness surrounded you, and in the blink of an eye, you were in a different room. One you didn’t recognize. Your gaze flickered about. This must’ve been one of Bob’s rooms. An attic, by the looks of it—cluttered with junk.

You sat down in front of him. He was fiddling with a Rubix cube. “I used to love solving those,” you told him.

“I’m—” He handed the cube over to you. “I’m pretty bad at it. I don’t know.”

“I was, too,” you said, turning the squares about. Bob watched you gradually align the colors together—orange with orange, green with green, blue with blue. You struggled with one side, but after moving back a few paces, you managed to get it right. “I was terrible at it. I kept giving up and reshuffling. But I got better with time and practice.”

You handed the cube back to him, neatly solved. Bob took it with soft fingers, inspecting your handiwork. “I don’t know how.”

“I can help you,” you said. “And there’s people out there that can help you, too.”

“They can’t help me. I’m… broken.”

There was screaming coming from downstairs. The noise made Bob flinch, his hands instinctively going up to his ears. As you listened, you could hear a man yelling, the sound of skin smacking skin, and the sound of a woman crying. A little boy intervened. More thuds, smacks, a shattering glass. The woman began berating the little boy for making things worse. It made your heart sink low to the pits of your stomach.

“Just ignore that, please,” he said once the noise died down, as if afraid you would leave now. “Don’t mind them.”

You drew in a breath. Tentative, you asked, “Can I touch you, Bob?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice croaky. “Yeah, you can. What are you doing?”

“I’m going to give you a hug. Is that okay?”

Bob nodded again. His mom used to give him hugs, but that was a long time ago. Before she…

“Yeah,” he said, and he felt shame wash over him when tears pricked the corner of his eyes. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held him. He patted at your back awkwardly, but eventually took to mimicking your embrace when you sank into him, holding you close.

“This is the first time I’ve hugged someone else in a very long time, you know. I’ve mostly just hugged my clones, as sad as that sounds,” you mumbled into his shoulder.

“I don’t think that’s sad. I like to hold myself, too.”

“I like your hair like this, by the way,” you said as you tried to pull away, but he was holding onto you rather tightly. “Bob.”

“Oh!” He cleared his throat shyly, forcing himself to relinquish his grasp on you. “Sorry. Thanks. That was nice.”

“It was,” you agreed. There was some more silence. Bob put a fist up to his mouth and began to weep, utterly overwhelmed but nearly silent. You placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing circles over his back. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“No, I’m—” Bob let out a quaky breath and began to cry all over again. You scooched closer to him and let your hand lay over his. He enjoyed feeling your fingers trace shapeless patterns over his skin.

“Bob,” you murmured after he began to calm down. “I don’t want to stay here forever. Do you?”

He swallowed around nothing, and avoided the question. “It’s quiet here. Quieter than the other places. The rest are… worse than this.”

“Hm.”

“It’s not me, you know. I wish I could fix it, but I just can’t. I can’t stop it,” he muttered. “It’s—it’s the Void.”

You nodded. “Could you let Yelena in here, at least? I saw the Void take her. We can help you together.”

Bob blinked back his tears. He nodded. The room slowly rotated ninety degrees, and you could hear creaking footsteps outside. Yelena busted the door open with a sharp kick to the doorknob, which you found amusing, considering the door didn’t look to have a lock on it. The team had a troubling tendency not to check if doors could just open on their own without breaking them down first.

“Bob!” she exclaimed. Then, her brows rose upon seeing you. “Xerox.”

“Hi,” you greeted. Bob waved at her besides you.

“What’s going on?” she asked, surveilling her surroundings in typical assassin-fashion.

“Therapy session,” you said, only half-joking, patting the spot beside you.

There was screaming downstairs again. Yelena wandered over to look down the attic’s opening, where she could see a man with a glass bottle in his hands. She looked up at you and Bob, then sat down where you gestured.

“I’m sorry, you had to live through this, Bob. And listen,” she said, lips pursed, meeting his watery gaze. “What I said to you before was wrong. You can’t stuff it down. You can’t hold it in all alone. No one can. Nobody should. We have to let it out. We have to spend time together. Even if it doesn’t make the emptiness go away, I promise you… it’ll make you feel lighter.”

Bob sniffed. “How do you know?” he whispered.

“Because it already has for me,” Yelena told him. “I found a team of people I could trust.”

At this, she looked to you, expression apologetic. “I’m sorry for what I said to you out there, too. You are not selfish. In fact, you’re probably the most selfless person I know. Not a lot of people are willing to die all the time for others.”

“Thanks, Yelena,” you said, simultaneously warm with sincerity and stiff because you weren’t at all used to receiving compliments. “So what do you say, Bob? Will you help us get out of here?”

To your delight, Bob nodded. You smiled, taking his hand. Yelena’s eyes bounced between the two of you—absent-mindedly wondering what the two of you were talking about before she arrived. She didn’t have much time to dwell on it, however, because the walls and furniture began to hum with a low-tone frequency.

“Look out!” Bob exclaimed, pulling Yelena down as a lamp flew across the room, nearly hitting her square in the head. A plastic kiddie chair whizzed into his back, striking him painfully. There were papers—monstrous childhood drawings—flying every which way. The curtains broke free of their hooks on the railing, wrapping around you and Yelena. Bob hurried over to try to claw the fabric off you, to no avail. It wouldn’t let go.

“Just try to get used to it, okay?” he called out over the whizzing and smashing of objects. “If you try to resist—the pain only gets worse!”

You could feel your vision swim with black dots as you gasped for breath—and all of a sudden, there was a slicing noise, and you were falling to your knees, filling your lungs with air. It was Ava, holding a sharp blade in one hand.

She nodded at you, helping you up to your feet. “I should start keeping track of how many times I’ve saved you.”

Before you could respond, Walker and Alexei burst in through the walls, followed by Bucky through one of the windows. You only narrowly managed to dodge his metal arm cuffing you across the head with his dramatic entrance.

“You came for us,” Yelena said, looking at her father with a touched frown. “What did you see? Are you all okay?”

Bucky only shrugged. “Oh, I’m fine. I have a great past, so I’m totally fine.”

“We’re probably going to need another one group therapy session once we’re out of here,” you said, which made both Bob and Yelena smile to themselves, nodding.

“Thank you guys,” said Bob. “Really.” He was about to say something about how he didn’t deserve this—but when you put a hand on his arm, he bobbed his head again and kept his mouth shut.

“How do we get out of here?” asked Walker, glancing back at the ruined walls. “I’d prefer not to have to go through my rooms again.”

Bob scratched at the back of his head. “As far as I know, it’s just… endless rooms.”

“You said that this was the quietest room, right? That all the others are worse?” you asked, and Bob nodded hesitantly.

The Thunderbolts team all exchanged determined looks. Alexei cracked his neck, John rolled his shoulders, and Ava flexed her fists.

You gave Bob a gentle push towards the broken doorway. “Okay, Palindrome. Show us the worst of ‘em. We’ll take on whatever comes our way together.”

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deesseshesca · 2 days ago

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PAC: What they would do to your naked body that they will be afraid to admit ? (18+)

(SINGLE SINCE BIRTH - ERA ~4 )

No, you are NOT dreaming ... SHE'S BACKKKK !

Pile 1

Hey girl/boy hey ! How are you doing ? Miss y’all so much ! Anyways don't look at me like that … in what kind of mess did you put yourself into ? Imma move on but we definitely circling back to this next time. Now we are all about the way your next partner would dream about treating your naked body but will be too afraid to admit it.

First thing first, y’all know I am not the one to sell y’all dreams, right ? No coming back did not change that side of me but babe you are the turning point in your next lover's life. I mean there's a clear before and after effect. Now I’m hearing the lyrics of Brokey: When a real one hold you down, bae, you supposed to drown

You ain't never fuck with no boss bitch, I turned you out (turned you out). There's a difference; the second part of the verse does not apply to you. Like you did not do anything to make that person change. You did not want that person to change. They saw what you were about and decided to change their way. You might never know how much of a trash lover they were until they decide to be honest with you. In my vision, I see a guy dressed like a bad guy in the 50s looking at the pretty preppy girl in pink from a mile away and instead of wanting to do bad to her he want to show her how good love can get.She's the only one worth his good side. I aint saying y’all fit that narrative is just an analogy.

In their mind, there's no crazy possessive act or even passion. If we stick to my vision, they want you in their pretty car, caressing your leg, keep losing themself in your pretty brown eyes (some of y’all have green eyes and enjoying deep conversion. They don't even want to take you out at night because they want to make sure you know they are serious and this is not some kind of trap. Now sometimes, late at night in their room, they may catch a boner because they mind is almost ``forcing`` them to think of you in a more sexual manner. They will think of kissing your neck (not leaving hickeys because the mere fact that you let them this close to your delicate energy is a privilege). Most of y’all in this pile have the bra game crack and under control (I am jealous tell me all your secrets, NOW !), your tits always look the fuck good. They would love to stare at them and you letting them do so not thinking he's a creep or not risking his chance with you. Caressing your inner thigh and also maybe playing a bit with your panties does cross their mind. They never go further than that because they need to focus on the bigger picture which is a long term commitment with you. At the end of the day, their passiveness depends on your energy. If you ever give them hint of wanting more (fuck me eyes, playing with your tits, nasty texting …), they will jump on the occasion.

They also enjoy how strict you are and love it when you remind them that you are not the one to play with. The fact that you can drop them that easily is a turn on for them. They also imagine you, squirting all over them. Overstimulating you with their munch abilities and flipping you around on their dicks at night they cant their mind out the gutter.

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PILE 2

Hey to my lesbian girlypop. How is your cherry doing ? I hope you had all the fun you wanted while I was gone, if not good news the fun is coming.

Your next partner's sexual thoughts about you, that they would be afraid to admit is that they want you. I think this person presents themself as straight until they meet you and you set fire to their POV. You may actually never know this person is thinking about you that way and if you miss the clue, you are going to miss out on a beautiful opportunity for some good sex because they are pretty lowkey. I ain't going to lie no matter what, this is not going to transform into a full blown relationship. You may have a habit of falling in love with a good box so guard yourself. Don't worry, this person is a gentle soul. I see y’all being FWB. Everytime they are going to think about it in a sexual manner is going to shook them because that's not who they are. They never wanted and thought of playing in the rainbow before you. They will take extra time reminiscing about your tits and your natural curvy body. Most of y’all reading this have an hourglass body or pear body no matter slim or thick. Y’all going to have good sex after having an honest discussion regarding y’all desires and the way y’all want to deal with it.

Her love language is physical touch. She might get extra affectionate with you because she loves the feel of your bust on her. Another hint, you may need to catch. Funny enough, she also has a habit of falling in love which is quicker than you. Idk the relationship may be chaotic not the toxic kind and the sex bomb. Maybe because it comes with forbidden feelings. Anyways the ball is in your court, you decide if you want to mess with that or keep going in your dry spell era.

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PILE 3

How are you doing queen ? It has been a whole month since I left and you are still bedrotting ? What happens with all your goals set in Jan 2025… huh ? No, don't go away, I'm not stepping on your neck (this time at least). I am not here for that TODAY. Today is all about love and good vibes and you deserve all that. Even when you think you don't …

Let's dive into it ! To begin with, your next partner is going to think you are porn star beautiful. Don't worry I was mad for you when I got that message. Me (yesterday) : WTF DO U MEAN PORNSTAR BEAUTY ! Are u sex addicts because I swear my babes deserve better than that … Until my spiritual team told me to calm my butt down. Your next partner is no sex addict and he dont think your makeup is cakey. What he tries to make me understand is you have every attribute to make any man fall on their knees yet you are too insecure. In his sexual dream regarding you, you are more confident. Your dominant planet may be Venus and you may have a stellium in Taurus because everything you do is so sexy and sensual. Some of y’all have a rising sign in Scorpio with all that I have mentioned, damm another day wishing I could see y’all gorgeous face. Your voice is sweet like honey but very sexually inviting. Like you can be reciting a grocery list and you would make these men have blue balls. He could be on facetime masturbating to you just doing your laundry. You have a natural pretty face, your mannerism is enchanting and your voice oulalala dont worry they will not. If in your future you are down for that, you don't have to ask them twice. Calling you is their bad habit. They love receiving voice memos from you. Also they think you are hiding some kind of sexual talent. Maybe you know how to ride it well or you give good head. They know you are uncomfortable when it comes to sex. Most of you, your ex took your spark away when it comes to being sexy (funny this is single since birth …). Or maybe somebody you thought you were in a relationship with the whole time he was cheating with you which took your confidence away and left you with nothing but guilt.They want to feel like a boss, they would probably daydream about taking charge in the bedroom. Not full blown dominatrix but telling them where you want them to put their hands. Where you want them to kiss. Holding their head down while their munching. Would love for you to express how good you make them feel and how it is only them making you feel that way. They LIVE for your validation and YOUR validation ONLY. For some it is someone from your past not the bad ex/situationship is actually somebody you have good moments with but you naturally drift away and you are going to reconnect again. Fucking them would be full of longing and euphoria. Is almost like fucking on the clouds, so dreamy and soft. They can sense a growth in you when they see again, that you may take for granted. When they left you were more of a people pleaser and when they are coming back you have an ease in displaying your boundaries which they are going to be so proud of you for changing. I keep hearing : babygirl & ‘’ I am so proud of you’’. Throughout all your relationship they are always going to celebrate your wins whether they are small or huge.

This man is definitely a white one. There's a high chance he has blue eyes and blond hair. Also he walks around with a sex playlist … lol.

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PILE 4

Hey my wild rides. I missed your chaos. Don't tell the other you are secretly my fav energy (y’all : I could have swear a couple post ago, you said gentle & delicate soul were your fav… me: No need to fight ladies, Shesca has enough love for all of you (no me entering my douchebag era)). Anyways what kind of mess did you create and left like it was not your fault while I was gone. Is ok, you right … How could it ever be your fault?

That being said, let's go back to the business that pays me (shameless promo, go get a private reading !). Talking about shamelessness, you like big dicks. Don't try to hide the cards rat you out a long time ago. Since it is supposed to be for my single since birth, y’all may have a size kinks. Which shows me that your type may be tall muscles guys. You may have something for big biceps. You don't want them gym rat way but more nerds type way that still go to the gym and send you pictures after they are done. I know your pussy just did that crazy twirl, let's calm down lady. The next person you are going to deal with is going to be your dreams come true. They are going to want you to be hooked on them and to only have eyes for them. Honestly they may be quite stoic from the outside in even their sense of style is quite minimal ( just wanted to add that they smell extra good) but inside they are fucking golden retrivers. They would do anything for you to compliment them. They will put that work in the bedroom girl ! Just for you, the pillow princess to say it was good. Is like a reward for them. You guys will need to find a middle ground. That is what they think about because compared to them you are tiny. They can easily break, they are actually scared of hurting you. Or embarrassing you with a run at the emergency room because he decided to go to deep inside. He will have an Aries mars … shit. Big dig, size kink and Aries mars … don't worry I am already calling the police on your behalf. In their daydream regarding your naked body, they are not actually picturing you naked. They are pictureing y’all kissing, caressing each other's body and you asking for more and them telling you, he can't because he is scared of hurting you.

That person is an amazing cuddler and loves cuddling. Do not joke around about cuddling time, it may be one of your couple's traditions. Maybe before bed is mandatory y’all cuddle. Y’all may also have a tradition of always showering together. He is also very vocal in the bedroom, talks dirty, moans, grunts and may even beg …

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#tarot #tarotcommunity #tarot reading #divination #tarot cards #18+ tarot #pac #pick a card #pick a picture #pick a pile #free readings #free tarot readings #free tarot #divine timing #divine guidance #intuitive messages #intuitive guidance #intuition

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violetrainbow412-blog · 2 days ago

Text

A little bit of jam [B. R.]

Bob Reynolds x fem!mutant!reader

wc: 2.5k

Marvel and I are so fucking back, baby!! I think this mass love hysteria toward Bob is the best, and I honestly wanted to play with the "found family" trope a little because I love it so much. I hope you like it!

and if u have any idea, let me know ;)

Two months had already passed.

Two months since the sky split in two, since the world almost went to hell—again—and since a dysfunctional group of dangerously competent people were thrust into the headlines as the new “heroes.” No one was sure if the title was too big or too accurate. The only clear thing was that, after surviving hell together, you had ended up sharing something more than a mission.

Now you lived in the old Avengers Tower. Together.

It wasn't an official government decision or part of any rehabilitation protocol. It just happened. Most of you didn't have a fixed place to return to, and the few who did... didn't want to return at all. So, without saying it out loud, you started staying. One night. Then a week. Then a sofa became a bed, a kitchen became a habit, and lights left on at all hours stopped seeming strange. Without seeking it, you had made it work. As if the disaster had woven an impossible routine between people who, otherwise, would never have shared more than one mission.

Nobody said it, but you knew it.

You finally, amid all that chaos, felt like you fit in somewhere. You weren’t an Avenger, you weren’t an X-Men, you were never officially from anywhere. You’d grown up far from anyone who could explain to you what to do about your mutation, and you’d spent more time evading labels than claiming them. But now… now you had a room with your name written on the door in permanent marker (thanks to Yelena), a mug for your coffee (which sometimes Alexei stole from you), and an old Bob sweatshirt that you’d sometimes find hanging on your desk chair for no reason; as if someone knew when you needed it more than you did.

So, little by little, you began to look more like a team, a real team. But also, in a way, you shared a certain familiarity that all of you definitely needed in your lives.

Weekends were occasions, without explicitly stating it, to spend time together. Sometimes you'd just gather in the living room, put on a movie, and the rest would join in, or someone would start drinking, and soon you were all doing it.

Speaking of which, that day you had decided that a few boxes of donuts wouldn't hurt you and your friends. Maybe you could even make some coffee, since with the rain that had started to fall in the city, that seemed like a good plan.

When you walked in, you could see most of them. Yelena was sitting on the floor, completely wrapped in a huge blanket, eating a bag of chips with her feet up on the coffee table. Ava was leaning against the wall, silently observing everything, her arms crossed and a neutral expression that didn't quite hide her curiosity. John Walker was flipping through a magazine upside down, clearly just pretending to read while he kept an eye on what you had brought. Alexei was snoring in the largest armchair, face up, a remote control resting on his chest, as if it were a sacred artifact. Bucky was leaning against the counter, probably making himself a drink or reviewing policy documents.

And Bob… Bob was probably in his room. You noticed he was sleeping a lot lately. Not because he was lazy, not because he was idle, but because he was carrying his own mind, his memories, The Void… exhausted him in ways the others could barely understand. So none of you blamed him for taking long naps.

“I brought donuts,” you announced, in case anyone hadn’t noticed the packages you were holding.

NO one refused the food, and even Alexei, who seemed to be asleep, got up to get a couple upon hearing your announcement. You'd bought a variety of flavors, a box of classics and some more sophisticated ones, so almost all of you sat down at the coffee table to enjoy.

You exchanged a few pleasantries, talked about things that had happened and possible future missions. At one point, when everyone had already eaten at least two pieces, you saw Walker's hand reach for the box of donuts.

Serious mistake.

“NO!” you screamed, almost like a spring.

John froze, his finger brushing the blackberry's glossy glaze.

“Why not?” he asked, offended, as if you had denied him the last glass of water on the planet.

“That one’s for Bob.”

“But Bob isn’t here.”

“But it’s for him!” you insisted, crossing your arms, as if that closed the case.

“There’s more!”

“But don’t eat that one. Eat anything else.”

“It’s my favorite!”

“Well, what a shame, there’s only one and it’s not yours.”

Suddenly, everyone seemed interested in the donut. It was a blackberry donut with vanilla glaze, a small work of art in dessert form. The fluffy, lightly browned dough was covered in a smooth, glossy glaze that smelled of natural vanilla extract, not the cheap, cloying imitation. Above the glaze, a purple swirl of homemade jam snaked like a miniature galaxy, with tiny pieces of blackberry peeking out here and there like barely revealed secrets.

“I saw it first,” he replied, his hand now closer to the box.

“DON’T TOUCH IT!”

By then, Ghost had already materialized behind John, her head peeking out from over his shoulder.

"What if I cut it into two equal parts? Half for each of you."

“I said no!” you shouted.

“Do it,” John concluded, lifting the box to give it to Ava.

Yelena, sitting on the couch, gave a curious look while she chewed her third donut with total shamelessness.

"Why don't we just hide it and see who finds it first? Like a stupid, grown-up version of a treasure hunt?"

“No one’s going to hide that donut. I already told you it’s Bob’s,” you complained, twisting around to shield the box with your body as if it were a nuclear device.

Alexei, sitting at the bar with a beer in his hand, licked his lips.

"I say the only fair solution is hand-to-hand combat. Whoever wins keeps it!"

“No!” you shouted, and Bucky joined in. However, your friends had a different opinion.

“I fight,” Ghost said.

“You didn’t even want it in the first place!”

“Me too,” Walker said, already taking off his jacket.

“I can eat it while you guys fight!” Yelena said, but you had already thrown a pillow at her with surgical precision.

The room became a chaotic choreography: Walker dodging Ava, Yelena climbing the back of the couch like a cat on sugar overload, you trying to put the box on top of the cupboard, Ghost dematerializing mid-leap.

From his position, Bucky watched you like an exhausted dad and issued a warning about not breaking any of the furniture. Alexei, at his side, was shouting to encourage the fight.

Peace only returned when a sleepy voice was heard from the hallway:

“Why are you shouting? What time is it?”

Bob peeked out, his hair a mess and his eyes still squinting from his nap. The chaos stopped. You all looked at him. And you held the box up in the air like it was a trophy.

“Take it away!”

"What?"

“Take it!” you practically ordered him.

The poor man stumbled over to you and snatched the box from you, hearing a collective sigh. You were relieved, the others were annoyed.

"What is this?"

“I bought you a donut,” you explained simply.

Then he frowned and opened the box. It was a little squashed, but the blackberry dessert was still in one piece.

Bob blinked.

“Were you all killing each other over a donut?”

Perhaps it was the incredulous tone of voice, or how ridiculous the situation sounded when said out loud, but suddenly all of you found yourself holding back a laugh. A few seconds later, laughter erupted.

“What a shitty team we are.”

“We can share it, if you want…”

"Yes!"

“No!” you shouted in unison. Bob flinched slightly at the tone of your voice. “Walker can choke on all that’s left, but that one’s for you.”

You said it in a way that left no room for argument and he smiled slightly.

“It’s my favorite.”

“That’s what I said!” John complained. However, he didn’t pursue the matter further and approached the others, taking two more donuts as a sign of resignation.

As quickly as chaos had appeared, it was gone.

Alexei occasionally expressed his approval of what had just happened, arguing that this kind of situation was an exercise in group bonding. You thought you heard Bucky call you idiots, but in a tone that made it clear he didn't mean it.

"Here"

Your murmur brought Bob out of his thoughts, and he smiled broadly when you placed a mug in his hand. It was a gift from Yelena and was inscribed with: Today is a good day. Very appropriate, in your opinion.

"Thanks”

“Two of milk and one of sugar,” you announced with satisfaction.

His happiness only increased when he realized that you were actually paying attention to him.

You plopped down next to him on the soft couch—most people's favorite when it came to a nap—and he shrank down to give you space, sitting in the lotus position as he always did.

You watched him out of the corner of your eye. That day, he was wearing a thick, slightly baggy olive-green sweater with slightly long sleeves. The color had a muted hue, like moss or old pine, which brought out the sparkle in his eyes.

There was a white T-shirt underneath, barely visible at the neck. A pair of soft, dark gray sweatpants, the kind with drawstrings and deep pockets. And on his feet, a pair of dark socks with which he glided around the tower.

He didn't look scruffy, just comfortable.

“I got scared a little while ago. I thought something bad was happening.”

You let out a soft chuckle at his confession, feeling the tension in the air melt away.

“I’m sorry we woke you up.”

“Don’t worry. At least it wasn’t in vain,” he smiled reassuringly, taking a sip of his hot drink. The steam brushed his face before he opened the dessert box and looked at him with more than just hunger.

“How did you know this was my favorite?” he asked, surprised, as he carefully turned the box over in his hands.

“You told me.”

He looked up at you, clearly confused.

“Well… you didn’t tell me directly. I heard you muttering it in your sleep.”

“Do I talk in my sleep?”

“Apparently so. And you actually answer. Because when you said I'd give you a donut, I asked you what you were talking about… and you said you wanted this one.”

"How embarrassing.”

“It’s kinda cute, if you think about it.”

The rest of the group was absorbed in their conversations, muted laughter, and the occasional impromptu board game. Between you, the air felt more intimate, softer.

Bob took a bite of the donut. The slight crackle of the glaze broke with the sound of a deep sigh, as if something inside had loosened.

“When I was a good kid, my mom used to give me money to buy one of these,” his voice lowered slightly, almost as if he wasn’t sure if he should share “It wasn’t all the time, of course. And sometimes we went together, on the… the better days, you know. I think everything seemed simpler back then.”

He was silent for a moment.

“I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately, maybe that’s why I mentioned it in my sleep.”

“Oh… I… had no idea.”

“But it's a good thing. I forgot how good it tastes” a soft, nostalgic smile spread across his face. “I always liked this flavor because it has just the right amount of sweetness, with a hint of sourness. “I feel like it’s very similar to what life is like.”

He was silent again for a second, fiddling with the napkin between his fingers.

“It’s probably not something you’re interested in, but…”

“Yes, I’m interested,” you quickly interrupted “Any story you want to tell us will interest us, Bob. There’s Alexei with all his anecdotes from his years in the service… we’ve never complained, even though he tells them over and over again.”

He laughed a little, brief but genuine.

“Do you want to try some?”

“But it’s yours”

“I'd like you to try it. It's something I want to share.”

You hesitated for only a second before accepting. You leaned closer and took a small bite from the side opposite the one he'd tried. The flavor was more intense than you expected: sweet, sour, and smooth all at the same time.

Bob watched you silently, as if observing your reactions was more important than the dessert itself. When your lips curved into a smile, he nodded, satisfied.

“It's delicious.”

“Um, you have a little bit of jam left…” he said softly, leaning slightly towards you. He raised a hand, hesitant, then pointed a finger at your lower lip “This way.”

His gaze dropped to your mouth. The air seemed to stop for a moment.

For a moment, just a moment, it seemed as if he was going to lean closer. That he was going to wipe the jam off with his lips instead of his hand.

His eyes searched yours. And then, he took a deep breath. He lowered his hand, barely brushing your chin with his fingertips, and pulled away with a shy smile.

"That's it."

You didn't say anything at first. The warmth was still there, floating in the air, unnamed.

“You should, uh, drink your coffee. Before it gets cold.”

Your friend nodded at your suggestion and after that you tried to shake the nervousness from your mind, ignoring the sting that still burned where he had touched you.

Minutes later, fatigue began to take its toll. The noise of the group became a distant murmur, almost like a lullaby in the background. Bob leaned back slightly on the couch, still holding his cup in one hand. Without thinking twice, you approached and rested your head on his shoulder.

“Do you mind if I stay like this for a while?” you asked quietly.

“No. Stay”

His words were gentle. There was something so serene about him that made you close your eyes. Your arm instinctively reached for his, wrapping it around him in a gesture that didn't ask for permission, only offered shelter.

Bob stayed still, careful with every movement, as if breathing deeply could bother you. He felt your weight against his side, your breathing slowing. The warmth of your body was unlike any blanket; it was human, alive.

He felt held, loved, in a way he hadn't known he needed so much.

The team was always affectionate toward him. Many patted him on the back, hugged him unexpectedly, or sat very close without question. But this… this was different. It wasn't a casual display of affection. It was something that asked him to stay. Something that said: you're safe here.

He looked at you once more. You were already asleep, your lips parted and your brow barely relaxed. And although the chair wasn't entirely comfortable, and the noise continued in the background, Bob didn't want to move.

Not that night.

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popcornpoppypop · 2 days ago

Text

Broken Smile

Summary: You are one of PTMC's best ER residents, but it's your day off. You head to Pittfest. Robby and Abbot have to pick up the pieces. Reader x platonic!Abbot and Robby

Warnings: Blood, Death, injury, vomit, trauma, Gore

A/N: This was a request from an anon, I hope this is what you were looking for. Please let me know if I missed any warnings.

“How in the hell did you manage to get a half-shift?” Samira asked you in disbelief.

“I know how to flatter the right people. It’s a gift.” You smiled, nonchalantly shrugging your shoulders.

“You better get me something or I’ll never forgive you for leaving me.” Samira scoffed as she typed at her computer.

“I’ll think about it.” You chuckled as you started to gather your things.

“Y/N will you do me a favor?” Robby waltzed up to the desk. “Just keep an eye out for Jake while you're there.” He asked, his shoulders tense.

“Yeah, of course. We were meeting up for one of the bands anyway.” You nodded, slinging your backpack on your shoulder. “I’m out of here, don’t call me if you need me.” You smiled and pranced out the door.

Pittfest was in full swing when you arrived. Everyone of age was mostly drunk or high as you made your way through the crowd. You had stopped at home to change, a pair of jean shorts and a black tank top. The sun was already blistering your skin, but it felt nice even if you knew it would hurt tomorrow. It was a rare good day, you thought to yourself.

“Jake!” You ran up to the teen, his arm hung around his girlfriend.

“Y/N! Hey! Leah, this is one of Robby’s coworkers. She’s one of the cool ones.” He laughed.

“I think you mean the coolest.” You corrected.

“Nice to meet you! Jake, we should call him and thank him.” Leah suggested. She seemed sweet, it was probably because you were there. She looked like she could cause mischief, you liked her.

Jake pulled out his phone, facetiming Robby. The music was blasting, you knew there was no way that old man heard a thing they were saying.

“Y/N made it too!” Jake moved the phone to put you in shot.

“Don’t worry boss, I’m making sure they keep room for Jesus!” you winked at Jake who started to blush.

“And that’s why you’re my favorite resident.” Robby chuckled.

The day went on easy. You had a beer, enjoyed the music, ate terrible fried food and watched Jake fall completely in love. It was sweet. They looked good together, you thought. You were glad he had a nice girl for his first love. Even if the odds of it lasting past college were slim to none.

You were at one of the food trucks fueling up on beer and fries for the rest of the evening when there were a few pops. They sounded like fireworks from where you were, until they were accompanied by screams. A chill ran up your spine, palms sweating as you moved to investigate. More shots. Someone screamed that there was a shooter.

“Oh shit.” You felt yourself start to shake. Your first thought was get to Jake.

You ran through the crowd, trying to see where he was. You tried calling, he wasn’t answering. You stopped to help up a few people who had fallen, when you saw the blood-soaked grass. Something in your brain clicked, your training taking over. Fear mostly forgotten, something you knew was part of your brain trying to get you to survive.

You took off toward the first aid tent. You needed supplies, they wouldn’t have enough, but it was a place to start.

“I’m Dr. L/N, I need gloves and anything you can spare!” You shouted as you ran behind the table, gathering everything you could into a spare bag. You ran back out into the crowd, shots echoed overhead.

You worked to stabilize everyone you encountered, instructing other concertgoers to take them to safety as you ran from person to person.

“Hey! Here, I brought out all the food trucks first aid kits! Not much but it’s something!” You recognized one of the cooks as he came running up to you.

“Thank you so much, now get the hell out of here.” You barked.

“Oh hell yeah.” He smiled. He smiled at you. Then he wasn’t. His smile, replaced by a gaping wound. You felt warmth dripping down your face. You were confused for a moment. Something on your forehead stung. You raised your hand to the spot, pulling away to see blood. A bullet fragment grazed your forehead you thought. A fragment from the one that went through that kind man’s smile. The realization crashed down on you as you watched him crumple to the ground, lifeless. The air was knocked from your lungs, you couldn’t move. You wanted to run, vomit, scream, but none of it happened. You just stood there. Frozen.

“Help! Please!” The screams echoed, bouncing around your skull. You had to move. You had to help. You finally felt you could move your legs and ran to help the next person, wiping the blood and brain matter from your face. Another shot echoed and you felt something burning your thigh, you fell to the ground.

A bullet was lodged in your left thigh. You felt the panic fill your throat. You tried to push it down, you had to asses and treat. The bullet hadn’t hit the femoral, it wasn’t in too deep. You’d be in pain but you’d survive. You gathered yourself to your feet and limped your way to the next patient.

This went on for hours. Scrambling to get to each patient, never having enough time to help everyone. People were screaming for you, grabbing at your body to get you to help them or someone they loved. You couldn’t move fast enough. You weren’t fast enough.

“Y/N!” You heard Jake’s voice, something in your chest broke. You felt the tears rolling down your cheeks but ignored them.

“You got shot!” You yelled looking over his leg.

“I’m fine! Leah, you gotta help Leah!” He cried. You looked at the girl, her face pale and the wound on her chest oozing blood from between Jake’s fingers where he was holding pressure.

“Okay, okay. I’ll try.” You said, your voice shaking. You took his hands away. She wasn’t going to make it. You knew she wouldn’t, but did your best to get her stable enough to make it to a truck.

“You need help getting out of here!?” A small group of men ran up to you.

“Get these two to PTMC as soon as you can, do not stop for anything!” You yelled as they gathered Leah up into their arms.

“Jake, keep pressure on her wound! Don’t stop!” You yelled as they took him away.

You ran around the fairgrounds, blood soaking through your jeans, the bullet was grinding into you thigh more and more. You sat down and dug through your bag of supplies, finding a pair of forceps. You had no medications, no lidocaine cream, just hand sanitizer to clean them. You took a deep breath and dug them into your thigh. White hot pain surged through your body, you screamed out as you dug the bullet from your thigh. Your hands were shaking as you lifted it to your eye level. It looked intact, no fragments. You put it in your pocket and did your best to wrap your leg.

You were out of gloves. Your hands were stained red. You kept going. You didn’t know how you kept going, but you did. The ground was soft and wet, each step forcing blood to puddle up from the grass. You pronounced too many people dead. You worked on teenagers and elderly, holding hands with them as they took their last breath. You tried to do cpr for every one of them. Even the ones you knew were a lost cause.

“Dr. L/N?” You heard a voice that was vaguely familiar from behind you. You were stood in the middle of the fairground, bodies surrounding you.

“Doc, they’re gone. There isn’t anyone else to save.” The voice said. You turned and saw one of the medics that frequented PTMC.

“Huh?” You mumbled.

“Doc, let’s get you checked out.” They walked up to you slowly, as if you were a stray dog.

“I tried…” You mumbled.

“You’re okay. Let’s get you out of here.” They said, wrapping an arm around you. You didn’t remember the ride to the hospital. You didn’t remember the medics trying to clean your wounds only for you to flinch and push them away. You didn’t remember them asking if you wanted help out of the truck. You saw the ambulance bay doors and walked in like you did everyday.

The chaos was dying down; the ER was in the process of cleaning up from the mass casualties. There were still signs of what happened: gloves thrown on the floor, blood smeared across the tiles. You wandered in, your feet dragging as you looked around confused.

“Oh my god!” You heard Dana’s voice as she took in the sight of you. You looked like you’d walked through hell. Your clothes were covered in blood and dirt, your once white shoes now a dark burgundy. Even your hair was sticky with blood.

“Y/N!?” Dr. Abbot came running over to you, putting his hands on your face, examining your forehead.

“Get a gurney, now!” Robby barked. You stood still. Your whole body was shaking as the adrenaline started to leave.

“I tried to help…” Your voice was small. You looked around and saw the ER had come to a standstill at the sight of you. Everyone looking at you in horrified sympathy.

“You did, kid. You helped a hell of a lot of people.” Dr. Abbot said as he guided you onto the gurney. They wheeled you into a trauma bay, which you thought was too much.

“Where’s all the blood coming from?” You heard one of the nurses ask.

“It’s not mine. It’s not…they kept grabbing me to help.” You said, the tears starting to fall.

“Bullet graze to the forehead, looks like a bullet wound to the left anterior thigh.” Abbot rattled off.

“I took it out.” You mumbled.

“What?” Robby and Abbot looked up, shocked. You pulled the bullet from your pocket.

“I couldn’t keep going with it in, I took it out.” You said, dropping the bullet onto the tray next to you.

“Jesus Christ.” Robby gasped.

“Okay, let’s get her in line for head CT. Get her a fluid bolus to help with shock and get me a closure kit.” Abbot ordered.

“Is Jake okay?” You mumbled, grabbing onto Robby.

“Yeah, yeah. He’ll be okay.” You saw something break in him. “Said you helped him. Said you helped everyone.” He held your hand.

“Did Leah make it?” Your breath hitching in your chest, knowing the answer.

“We’re giving you some morphine for the pain, Kid. You might fall asleep, let yourself.” Abbot interrupted, shooting Robby a look.

“I should have gone with her. It would have been better, she would have made it.” The sobs took over your body.

“No, it wouldn’t have. You did everything you could for her. We did everything we could. There was no more anyone could have done.” Abbot’s voice was firm but gentle.

“I wasn’t fast enough! I couldn’t move fast enough! I should have saved them! I couldn’t Save them!” Your voice cracking, breaking everyone in the rooms heart. Robby turned away to hide the tears. Abbot clenched his fists and shook his head.

“Let’s get propofol on board. Kid, I’m going to sedate you for this. You need it.” Abbot said, clearing his throat.

“I wasn’t good enough! I failed! I failed them, I failed all of them!” You were in hysterics. Abbot held you down by the shoulders as Princess came in and administered the propofol with red, glassy eyes.

“Don’t fight it, Kid! Don’t fight it.” Abbot pleaded. Robby’s hand never left yours. You sobbed yourself into sedation. Finally, able to rest.

“What are we going to do with her?” Robby sighed.

“We take care of her. We make sure she’s safe from herself.” Abbot said as he worked to close the wound.

“She’ll need to be put on leave. There’s no way she can treat patients after this.” Robby shook his head.

“We’ll figure it out. I’m not letting this break her. She’s too good for that, she deserves better.” Abbot clenched his jaw.

Your head was pounding as you started to regain consciousness. The lights were too bright, sending shock waves through your skull as you tried to open your eyes. Your leg was throbbing in time with your heartbeat, it was irritating. All of your muscles were sore; you felt like you’d been steamrolled. Then the memories came flooding back. The blood, the mud, the screams.

“Easy, you’re okay.” You heard Robby’s voice. “You’re safe, you’re in the hospital.” He said, a hand on your shoulder.

“too bright.” You mumbled. Robby got up and turned the lights down.

“You have a concussion, but nothing serious.” He said sitting next to you.

“What time is it?” You robbed at your eyes.

“It’s a little after midnight.” Robby looked at his watch.

“You shouldn’t be here.” You said, your throat dry and spit thick in your mouth.

“We’re taking shifts. Abbot will be here in a bit, I’ll go sleep. You don’t need to worry about it.” He told her, leaning on the guard rails.

“When can I go home?”

“In a few hours. With a follow-up appointment with psych tomorrow.” He told her.

“I don’t want-”

“Not negotiable. You’re getting evaluated, it’s protocol after what you’ve been through. You’re also on medical leave for the next three weeks.” He said, knowing you were going to fight him.

“That’s a bit excessive. I can still do desk work with my leg.” You argued, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“You need to heal more than that leg. We all do. But you saw things, did things, none of us had to. It’s going to stick to you for a while. We need to make sure that you’re okay before bringing you back in.” He offered you a tissue. You pushed it away.

“Sitting at home, with my thoughts isn’t going to heal anything.” You snapped.

“Neither is putting your head down and pushing yourself beyond your limits.”

“I just want to go home.” You said, bottom lip trembling.

“I know.” Robby sighed, squeezing shut his eyes in frustration. “You’re going to stay with Abbot for a week.” He knew you’d hate the idea.

“What? No! I can go home!” You shouted, tears streaming down your face. The door opened and in walked Abbot.

“You told her then.” He said as he sat across from you.

“I don’t need a babysitter! I’m fine!” you yelled.

“You aren’t. You aren’t fine. It’s okay to be not okay. But we aren’t letting you fall through the cracks. You will let us take care of you, it’s not a choice. You saw things, Kid, that you won’t be able to forget. The human brain is not equipped for the things you had to do today. It’s going to take time to figure out how to deal with all of this. If anyone here is qualified to tell you that it’s me.” Abbot said, putting a hand on your arm.

“I don’t want to be this…pathetic thing, everyone is going to look at me different.” You tried to stop the crying but failed.

“You aren’t pathetic. No one thinks that. If anything, everyone here looks at you and sees the strength that they don’t have.” Robby said.

“Kid, you’ll get through this. It’ll be a bitch, but you will. We aren’t going anywhere. Besides, I’m not that bad to live with.” Abbot shrugged.

“It’s asking too much.” You shook your head.

“Well, we weren’t asking so no, it’s not.” Abbot smirked.

“You deserve a chance to get better. That’s all we’re doing, giving you that chance.” Robby said.

You wanted to fight it. Something in you not able to accept such kindness after what you had just witnessed. But you didn’t. You kept quiet as they told you their plans and nodded along when they asked if you understood. You weren’t sure if you’d ever be okay, but at least you knew they’d be looking out for you. They’d catch you if you fell.

#dana evans #dr. jack abbot x reader #dr. jack abbott #dr. robby #jack abbot fanfic #jack abbot x oc #jack abbot x reader #the pitt #the pitt fanfiction #michael robinavitch #michael robinavich x reader #tw blo0d #tw death

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prince-septimus · 1 day ago

Text

calm mornings

pairing : robert reynolds x reader

summary : just two lonely people learning of a thing called affection.

word count : 1.5k

You find yourself staring at him often -- the man with the power of a thousand suns. Sometimes you have to remind yourself of the power he wields because when you see him occasionally sitting in the little corner he's created with books surrounding him and an overlook of New York to add on, you forget the events of a few months ago when the city fell to shadows.

When you see Bob now, all you see is the softness he carries with him, the comfort he brings even after years of not having it for himself. How could someone who has been through so much manage to continue on with such a soft heart?

You guessed the same could be said for the whole team. The ruined assassins who spent part of their lives being brainwashed and tortured. The super soldiers who never did quite reach their potential, and spent their entire lives dwelling on it. The experiments and the suffering and the darkness that the rest of you had endured. The whole team had that in common, and it was something you thought made you better than the Avengers.

The Thunderbolts were a family.

(You always were fond of the nickname, even after having to put that 'A' on your uniform.)

Maybe that's why you would find yourselves gathered late into the night, recapping missions and watching shitty 80s movies. Maybe that was what you all needed to keep the nightmares and dark thoughts away. You all had done bad things, unforgivable things, and yet you could still find yourselves together on a Saturday night fighting over who got the last slice of pizza and picked the next movie.

It was one of those nights you woke up early after. You had only been asleep for a few hours, but the weekends were sometimes a little more peaceful, almost like the job followed that weekday schedule you remembered from school. It was nice sometimes to get up early and drink coffee in a corner somewhere while the sun was still rising. Usually you were left alone during that time.

This morning you were not alone.

The coffee machine is still dripping the last dregs into the pot when you hear his quiet footsteps. The others had tried to convince you to get a better coffee pot -- one of the ones with a million buttons that made all sorts of espresso drinks and could add different things. You're sure that sort of appliance was here when the building belonged to Tony Stark, but you liked your tried and true, traditional pot. Even if it was a bit loud.

"Made enough for two?"

Bob's voice is still full of sleep. You wonder if he actually fell asleep or just dozed like he did sometimes. He had seemed tired towards the end of the last movie, after everyone had began to settle down, and you hoped that meant he at least got a good few hours in.

You smile gently at him as he pads over to lean against the counter. "I always make a full pot. You know that."

You hadn't bothered with the lights, preferring the soft glow that had started to enter the space as the sun began to rise beyond the windows. You enjoyed this time in the morning, when everything was still quiet and calm. You wondered if he preferred it too.

He leans over you to reach in the cabinet above, grabbing two mugs and setting them on the counter beside you. He looks cozy in his sweater and soft lounge pants, the thick socks on his feet silencing his movements on the floor -- though you wonder how he sleeps like that at night, the layers of fabric confining him in his sleep.

Maybe it makes him feel safe.

"Can you grab the creamer from the fridge?" you ask, beginning to fill each cup from the pot. You leave a bit of space in each mug for the added components you both enjoy.

Everything is so still as you watch Bob stroll across the kitchen, grabbing the required item before padding back towards you. He gives you a small smile as you finish off both cups of coffee before handing his to him.

He cradles it in his hands as he looks at you. "You're up early."

"I always am." You take a sip, careful not to burn your tongue. "Any bad dreams?"

He shakes his head. "The nightmares aren't as frequent now. It's been easier."

Your mind goes back to when all of you first moved into the tower. It was the easiest way to go about things, being listed as the New Avengers. You all were in close proximity when needed, and even though Bob currently didn't go on missions, he still was around and had his own room just like everyone else. He liked to keep the place put together and cleaned up when the rest of you didn't have the time to. He told you once that it was because he finally had the motivation to do it after years of being in a daze.

You had been to his room several times over the months. It had become almost as familiar as your own to you, with books covering every surface.

(Most of them finished, as Bob did not like to buy a new one until he finished the previous.)

The nightmares were immediate in the beginnings of Bob's stay. It didn't come as a surprise. All of you had your own demons, as proven by the Void months ago, but something told you being stuck in his nightmares was a whole different beast.

You didn't want him to go through that alone.

It had started slow, you keeping him company on those nights. You couldn't stop the nightmares, but you could offer a break from them, an ease of the conscious. At some point it had transitioned into the sleeping in the room together, still keeping each other company but finally taking advantage of that much needed sleep when you both felt it coming on.

Then it turned into sleeping in the same bed. That was after one really bad night. Neither of you were sure what brought the nightmares on so strongly, but they hit you both and you ended up in each other's arms, begging the bad dreams to leave you be.

Eventually they did, and eventually you never left.

It wasn't exactly a relationship -- you weren't sure either of you were ready to label it as such, or even fully address that as an option. The signs were there, very much so, cradled in those shared nights and castaway nightmares, but the trauma bond was clear and neither of you wanted to base your entire future off of that.

"I didn't notice you leave the bed."

You grin. "You never do. You sleep like a log when you're peaceful." Another sip. "But seriously, no bad dreams after I got up?"

Sometimes when you were away on missions and Bob found himself alone in the bed, those nightmares came back. Sometimes he'd call you. Sometimes he wouldn't.

"Nothing. It was nice."

His hair falls into his eyes when he dips his head down to take a drink from his mug. He had got it cut after everyone moved into the Tower, a small trim to hold him over and to appease everyone as his hair got just a bit too shaggy. You liked it -- the length on top and the short bits on the side -- and thought it suited him better than what he awoke with in that room where he had been stored away.

You reach up to run your hand through it, Bob leaning into your touch. Your fingers slide across his short curls, gently straightening the bed head out.

Bob reaches up to cradle your hand in his, moving it down to press a kiss to your palm.

The kisses were a more recent thing, a testing of the boundaries. You and Bob had both gone without a real sort of relationship for so long that a lot of things were practically a new thing, an experiment. It was a way for you both to see how far you wanted to take things, and so far neither of you had said to stop.

"Got plans today?" you ask, careful not to let your coffee spill in your grasp as you push against him, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear.

A soft smile just for you. "Nothing that involves going out anywhere."

You scoff. "You never go out anyway."

"Not ready for that just yet."

You pull softly on the hair at the nape of his neck. "Wanna go watch a movie?"

He leans to brush a kiss to your cheek. "That all you want to do?"

You let out a laugh, pulling back from him when his lips run across your ear. His free arm snakes behind you and pulls you back to him. A few drops of coffee splatter between the two of you. "There's always more we can be doing."

"Nothing we don't want to, of course."

You smile wide as his arm squeezes your waist. "Of course."

#my fics #my writing #sentry #sentry x reader #robert reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #thunderbolts #sentry imagine #robert reynolds imagine #marvel #thunderbolts imagine #marvel imagine #i wrote this on my phone so excuse any mistakes pls #writing actual storybuilding anymore? dont know her #if i wrote a full on fic for him itd be 10k before id realize it and i just cant commit to that rn #bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds imagine

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saturnyo · 2 days ago

Note

Heyyo, if you're still taking request, could I request a Joel x reader smut

They're in situationship and Joel keeps trying to push reader away and socializing with other women until he sees reader with another older guy instead of a guy around her age(maybe a 10 year or less age gap) and Joel says fuck it, she's mine.

His to Ruin

Thanks to anon for this. I had a lot of fun writing about possessive Joel. Hope you enjoy !!! :)

Pairing: Joel/Reader

Summary: Joel was the boss, but that didn't stop an attraction forming between you. Your relationship was purely physical, no romance of any kind. You tried to have dates and other relationships knowing the back and forth wasn't good but he did everything in his power to keep you to himself no matter the cost

WC: over 3k words

Warnings: not too much dialogue, a bit of smut, power imbalance

Even at 3 a.m., the city streets were alive, the constant traffic flow muted yet steady as it moved beneath rows of flickering streetlights. Porch lights and convenience stores dotted the blocks, their windows spilling soft light onto the sidewalk. Neighbors, many lost in their own world, and the occasional laughter or conversation blended into an endless hum.

The go-go, fast pace of Austin feels muffled as you remember the last time Joel's lips were on your body. He explored every curve like it was braille, and he was figuring out the language of your bare soul. He knew too much about you, but somehow very little at the same time. Entering into a relationship with him was complicated from the start. There was a bit of a power imbalance with him being your boss and having to see him at work every day, watching him work those muscles as if they didn't pin your arms to bed the night before.

Well relationship is a bit too much to describe, whatever it is between you. it's more of like when he or you are horny in the middle of the night or even a quickie in his office so he can fuck you so deep making you moan like a banshee to where there would be noise complaints. That's the type of "relationship" you two have.

The things he's done to you in bed, in the kitchen, in the living room, and in his car while the two of you were on break would make a nun blush. No matter how much you tried to end it, knowing this back and forth, no attachment deal wasn't good, every time he texted I miss you twenty minutes later, you were in his bed and his name on your lips. Purely carnal desire with no true feelings involved

Your mind clearly doesn't function well in Joel's presence. You were on drugs, and he gave you your fix every time he made you scream his name like a devotee worshipping their god.

His head was between your legs, and his tongue was expertly circling your clit as you saw stars and were in absolute heaven.

There was one thing neither of you could forget. Something you two agreed on at the very beginning

Do. Not. Fall. In. Love.

And yet there were signs. Little slip ups you couldn't ignore. Like how he always just happened to show up when you were on a date. Those dates always ended early because they had to leave, or something went wrong. Every time you requested time off, Joel suddenly needed you at the office for something urgent, like he couldn’t function without you standing beside him.

But the second you started to open up a bit more emotionally, Joel backed away like your presence disgusted him

If you savored his kiss for a moment too long, or your hand resting on his arm was just a bit too gentle, he would step away as if you burned him or committed the worst act of betrayal

There was a moment when you asked him to stay the night so you wouldn't feel lonely for once. You try to plant a kiss on his lips, a tender one, different from the soul punishing kisses he would give you. But he quickly turned away

You tried to play it off and acted like it didn't sting. Which was probably the biggest lie you ever told yourself. You stopped trying after that.

Joel constantly made it clear that it was just sex, no love, no partnership, just purely physical.

He confused you with his actions. Saying one thing but doing something that spelled out the complete opposite

The way his hand would gently brush your shoulder as you went over work plans for the day. He would also randomly remember things about you. Bringing you gifts ranging from a small snack from the store to a brand new piece of jewelry whenever a job you two worked on was completed. He would also remember how you hated cheese pizza but loved pepperoni. Joel kept your favorite drink in the work fridge in his office, where you were the only one in the entire company who had access.

He wanted you close but still at arm's length. Wanting no one else to have you, but still not changing the nature of what your relationship is with him. Date after date and woman after woman it's like he made sure you saw him or somehow knew what he was doing. But like an idiot, you stayed, hoping and waiting for him to say I love you like one of those angry love confessions in a romcom.

You were ok is a mantra repeating in your head 24/7 until you saw him with another woman. That night, you decided to go out for a drink, and Joel, for once, didn't bombard you with texts and phone calls, which was strange, but you took it in stride and decided to have fun. Shot after shot that you threw back, ignoring the burning sensation running down your throat, trying to forget the gruff grey haired man with a sweet southern drawl.

Fate had other plans for you, it seems

Sitting at the bar, you see Joel at the other end, but he wasn't alone. A beautiful woman was sitting beside him, rubbing her hand on his thigh, seemingly trying to convince him to come home with her. She was gorgeous, and you can see why he was on a date with her. But the sudden rush of jealousy that coursed through your veins. The walls closed in on you as she flashed a sweet smile, like she belonged there beside Joel.

Heat rose in your cheeks as the cold, shaky feeling settled in your heart. You didn't realize how long you were staring at him until someone walked up to your table trying to get your attention. Your eyes finally tear away from Joel as you take in the man in front of you. He had his hair slicked back with a few strands falling over his forehead. His leather jacket accentuated his arms as they bulged slightly against the fabric, but they weren't as big as Joel's.

His eyes were a light grey like clouds on a stormy day. This man was handsome, of course, but he just wasn't Joel. Even from across the bar, a pair of eyes burned into the back of your head. out of the corner of your eye, his brown ones were suddenly filled with malice and ill intent. Ignoring him and his possible hissy fit, you turned your attention back to the guy in front of you.

“Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?” The guy asked. His pickup line was so painfully awkward and cheesy that it made you want to vomit. But you forced a sweet smile, acting like it was the smoothest thing you ever heard.

"Name's Jake, and you are?"

"Y'N"

You could still feel Joel staring Jake down like he would commit murder. This was your payback.

Joel felt he was being tortured but by his own hand. It was his fault that you were now being felt up by some other guy instead of him. He wanted to just walk over there and just beat the shit out of him leaving the bastard a bloody beatened pulp. It was only supposed to be his hands exploring your body, but deep down, he knew he was a hypocrite. Here he is on a date, his hands on another woman while simultaneously hating yours. Keeping you at arm's length was to protect himself from being hurt, especially after being cheated on and divorced. Lately though his feelings grew beyond just wanting to fuck something to get the edge off after a long day. He started to really look forward to seeing your beautiful smile and smelling your vanilla scented perfume every time he headed into work. His day didn't start off right if he couldn't.

The night went on with back and forth looks, challenging each other in some petty game. Finally, having had enough, you decided to leave and go home.

"Lemme take you home," Jake said. "It's the gentleman's thing to do."

You were drunk, not even enough where you couldn't remember where you were, but enough to agree with him taking you back instead of getting an Uber. Jake's hands on your waist as he slowly guided you out the door felt warm and...gentle. Like you were a porcelain doll that would break at the slightest jolt.

You hated it

But you needed to forget Joel, even just for a night.

Standing outside the bar as you waited for Jake to get his car, Joel decided to come and ruin the obvious fun you were having.

"Y/N? What the hell are you doin’ here?"His voice dropped low, rough with warning. His jaw clenched as he looked past you to the man at your side. "You leavin’ with him? Sugar, you don’t even know this guy. That’s not safe—and you damn well know it." He stepped closer, voice tighter now. "Let me take you home, Darlin’. Please. Don’t make me watch you walk off with some stranger like it don’t matter."

His calloused hands, made by years of hard construction work, gripped your arms tightly but not enough to make you wince. You stepped away from him, tears welling in your eyes.

"Why are you doing this, Joel?" Your chest stuttered as a quiet sob fell from your lips. "You don't want a relationship, but here you are ruining any other potential ones I can have."

His beautiful brown eyes softened when he saw you crying. Guilt panged in his chest. He didn't mean for it to go this far. He didn't mean to care so much.

Joel's hand caresses your cheek, leaning into it as you start to waver beneath his touch. Why can't you just give him up?

You hear a voice calling your name as you see Jake walk up to you, concern etched on his face. Pushing Joel away, already missing the smell of his cedar and whiskey smell of his clothes as you walked towards Jake.

"Is everything ok, Y/N?" Jake asks, trying to be intimidating towards Joel. "Is he bothering you?"

You see Joel's jaw clenched and his fists balled up tightly, barely restraining himself.

Joel didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “This ain't your business, pal,” he said, calm as a rattlesnake. “She’s with me. Walk away.”

Jake's eyes widened in fear, mortified and stuck in place like he was turned to stone by Medusa. He sees Joel's hand rest on your hip as his face twists into a look of disgust

"Oh...i see," his voice filled with venom. "you are just a slut sleeping with whatever man you can sink your claws into"

That was Joel's final straw as the sound of his fist connecting to skin threw Jake to the ground. He didn't waste a moment picking you up, cradling you gently in his arms as he placed you into his truck. The door loudly slammed shut as the sound of the truck's engine rumbled to life.

You finally pull into the driveway, jumping out of the truck before it even comes to a complete stop. You're angry, livid, even at Joel’s actions.

The man who claims not to want anything romantic just ruined your chance at something with someone else.

Granted, that guy turned out to be a jerk. But still. This wasn’t the first time Joel had done this.

“For fuck’s sake, would you just wait a damn minute?” Joel’s voice is rough, like gravel dragged across concrete. “I ain’t done talkin’ to you.”

You ignore him. Your keys jingle in your hand as you try to unlock the front door, fingers fumbling in your slightly drunken state. The mix of alcohol and anger makes it worse. You keep dropping them, cursing under your breath, before finally getting the door open.

Joel stomps in right behind you, blocking the door before you can slam it in his face. He shuts the door behind him before grabbing your arm, pulling you in for a kiss.

This kiss was different. It wasn't one that was demanding; it was gentle, as if Joel was pouring every unspoken word into it. His lips were soft, memorizing the shape of yours. There was no urgency and no need to rush, but just the moment you are now in. Both of you found yourselves stumbling into your bedroom, desperate to be closer together, to remove the clothes that are between you.

You needed to feel him, to anchor yourself

Tugging the hem of his shirt over his head, seeing the same happy trail you have many times before. Joel's gaze never leaves your face, committing every inch to memory. There was something deeper within it now. more than lust but something reverent. The many times before you had sex with Joel was good too but this was...fucking amazing. Every feeling, every touch, every time he held back was now released onto you, not being able to hold it back any longer.

The air charged as each piece of your and Joel's clothing fell onto the floor.

His hands rubbed over your hips, learning your body like he was going to live forever. Joel kissed down your neck as you both sank deep into the mattress with him above you, his weight keeping you in the moment.

"You okay, Darlin?"

"I'm more than ok."

He places light kisses across your collarbone as he pushes your leg aside, sinking deep inside you. You arch your back at the feeling, he felt perfect, making you moan into his ear, driving him to go faster.

"Y/N..."

Joel moans your name like a devout priest on his knees praying for salvation. You moved your hips in rhythm with his thrusts, creating more delicious friction as his hands grip your thighs, marking you. In that moment, time and space had no meaning; it was just you and him

You

*Thrust*

are

*Thrust*

Mine

The amazing feeling that Joel gives you is threatening to spill over. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back, leaving indents in his skin. Your body unravels beneath his every thrust, every gasp whispers his name, coiling tight until your climax crashes like a wave against a shore.

You cried out his name, your voice raw with need, breaking whatever restraint Joel had left.

"Fuck Y/N..." he groaned, burying his face into your neck as he drove his cock into you a few more times harder and faster. his own body shuddered against yours as he spilled into you filling you up until it's dripping out of your wet cunt. He held you close as he chased his own release as if you were tethering him to the earth.

The sound of steady breaths fills the room with the soft creak of the bed as Joel shifts to lay beside you cradling you to his chest. He didn't immediately pull away like he normally does. He stayed there slowlymoving his fingers up and down your back as you lazily draped your leg over his grounding yourself in this moment.

Joel presses a kiss on your forehead, an act so simple yet it made your breath hitch at the tenderness of such a sweet gesture.

"You ok, Darlin?" Joel asked more gently this time

You nodded, your eyes drifting close as sleep began to overtake you. "I'm more than okay."

A deep chuckle bubbles up from Joel's chest. It sounded perfect. There was no rush to speak, no need to fill the silence. it was enough to just be....

Whatever you and Joel had between you changed tonight. It wasn't just sex anymore

His fingers slowly tilted your chin up, gazing into big brown eyes.

"I meant what I said," he murmurs. "You are mine".

You kissed him slowly and softly, "And you're mine."

#joel miller #joel the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you

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marvelstoriesepic · 17 hours ago

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A Home for Now

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Bucky and you are hosting a dinner party for undercover purposes.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: intimacy under false pretense; tension; mild alcohol use; fake relationships

Author’s Note: This is a continuation of Five days, Five bouquets. Thank you so much for the request, my lovely!! I hope you’ll enjoy! ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

You tell yourself this is just another mission.

That the dress you’re wearing is just fabric. That the home is just a set. That James Buchanan Barnes is just playing a part.

But the soft clink of glasses, the glow of candlelight dancing across Bucky’s cheekbones, the heat of his palm resting gently against the small of your back - it all feels too much like something you’ve dreamed of, too often, with no permission.

This was supposed to be easy. A brunch-turned-dinner party, timed perfectly with the arrival of your targets - Camille and Julian Coyle, a picture-perfect couple with dark secrets. You were meant to observe. Collect. Charm.

But now people are seated in the house you’re supposed to call home for a dinner you prepared in a kitchen that doesn’t belong to you, pouring wine into glasses you didn’t pick. Shoes scrape against the still unworn wooden floor, napkins are folded in laps. The kitchen still smells of rosemary and warm butter. And you are someone else’s wife.

You are Bucky’s wife.

And it’s alarmingly easy to believe.

He came home earlier than expected today. Claimed he wanted to help you prepare for the evening. He tossed aside his boots and extended the next bouquet of roses, small daisies, and greenery intertwined within them toward you with a charming smile.

It’s been over a week now, and he doesn’t stop.

And then he watched you set them down, the house slowly becoming a greenhouse in bloom.

And you have to watch yourself not to start counting petals instead of seconds now.

You have to watch yourself not to slowly build a fantasy with every stem he brings home, though that might already be too late.

Because this house - your temporary home - is soaked in fragrance and color. Glass vases placed behind books, ceramic pitchers filled with fresh-cut peonies, lilies, and so on. It doesn’t matter where a guest turns - beauty meets them.

Bucky then leaned against the kitchen doorframe before the guests arrived, sleeves rolled to his forearms, tie loosened as if he didn’t care much but still wanted to look nice for you. He held a dish towel and pretended it mattered, but he was really just watching you.

And it was that kind of gaze that made the air bend. The kind of gaze that could pin the moon in place. The kind of gaze you currently get too much of because it makes reality blur with fiction.

He helped you set the table. Brushed past you and let his fingers graze your back and you felt it sing through your skin.

And that was just the beginning.

Bucky’s arm was at your waist in an instant when the people filed into your living room. They are friends of the target couple, acquaintances, coworkers, your neighborhood. Some are innocent. Others, less so. Julian Coyle is an arrogant man, with oozing confidence, who seems to think everyone in the room is there for him. Camille is impeccably dressed, observant, dangerous. You’ve been watching her for days.

But tonight, she gets to watch you.

And she does. Like them all. They watch the two of you move like a couple who knows each other’s footsteps before you take them. He refills the drinks before you even notice the glasses are low. You nudge him with your hip when he forgets the dessert forks. He kisses your temple in front of them all, and for a second, it doesn’t feel like acting.

“Oh my god, these are everywhere,” a woman gasps, reaching for a floral arrangement on the sideboard, the fourth one in this room alone. “Did you do these yourself?”

Before you can answer, Bucky shrugs, a hand in his pocket, eyes low. “Nah. Just… pick a few up every day. She deserves nice things”

You feel yourself flush.

There’s a ripple of admiration in the room. One of the men raises his glass in mock salute. “Setting the bar real high for the rest of us.”

But Bucky only smiles that small, private smile. He rubs the back of his neck and gives a low chuckle. It shakes through your bones. “She’s everything,” he says, eyes never leaving you. “I just want her to be happy. If she is, then I am. That’s all.”

You almost drop your glass.

Someone in the corner says you two are disgustingly cute. Another swears you belong on a postcard. And you wonder if it’s possible to blush yourself into unconsciousness.

It doesn’t help that Bucky keeps brushing crumbs from your shoulder, keeps leaning in too close to whisper if you’ve eaten enough and presses his lips to your cheek, keeps his arm around you when you sit too long beside a suspect who might very well be plotting something that could get both of you killed.

You’re hyper aware of Camille and Julian - arms looped through one another, but their smiles always just an inch too tight, their words too rehearsed. Julian jokes a little too loudly. Camille’s eyes linger a little too long on your wedding ring.

And Bucky senses it.

You feel the way he stiffens beside you when Julian rakes his eyes over you and how he snaps the man’s attention away from you with casual questions. But you know he’s forcing them out through gritted teeth.

You feel the way his hand inches to yours underneath the table, and how he closes his fingers around yours, squeezing softly.

You don’t mean to lose yourself in him. But it happens, over and over, in the quietest moments. In the curve of his mouth when he smiles at someone else but glances at you first. In the way his fingers don’t leave you.

In the way he tenses when Camille leans over - sleek, sharp, and watching. “So tell us - what is it really like being married to someone like James? He seems-” She pauses, smiles a smile that makes you uncomfortable. “Intense.”

You freeze for half a second. You don’t like the way she says his name.

You turn to her with a laugh. “I like to say he’s just passionate. About everything. About cooking. About justice. About making me tea exactly the way I like it.”

Bucky’s thumb strokes across your knuckle. Absentminded. Devastating.

“And the flowers,” someone else adds, a woman whose name you’ve already forgotten. “I counted nine vases around the house. You’re not secretly a florist, are you?”

You’re secretly something else entirely, but you don’t say that, of course.

Instead, you smile that polite smile again and turn to Bucky the way you’ve done it a hundred times before. As if this whole thing is more than carefully arranged coincidence.

The hand that is not laced with his, is sliding gently along his forearm as you lean in. You let your voice soften. “He brings them home for me every day. No matter how tired he is. No matter how late. He says I should never forget I’m loved.”

Your hand lifts to cradle his jaw, thumb grazing the stubble there. He stiffens slightly, going completely, utterly still. Pressing a kiss to his cheek, you linger enough to feel the moment catch fire between you.

His breath stutters. Enough for you to feel it. The pause in his chest. The sharp inhale as if he’s caught by something he wasn’t ready for. His eyes find yours, ocean-dark and painfully wide.

There’s an entire confession in the way he looks at you.

And then he smiles, slow and adoring - but for show - and turns to the group.

“She deserves it,” he says, voice roughened slightly. “Everything good in this world - I’d give it to her as many times as I can.”

Around the table, there are soft sighs, one or two awws. Someone claps gently. The couple you’re surveilling exchanges a glance, but even they can’t quite fake the same glow.

Bucky’s gaze doesn’t leave you, not even when you lean back into your chair, pretending the moment was nothing more than part of the act.

But you can feel him looking. Like gravity. Like tether.

His fingers squeeze your hand beneath the table.

The conversation meanders through business and hobbies and travels. And you and Bucky don’t stop trading glances.

It’s seamless. It’s convincing.

It’s almost real.

At some point, you’re standing beside Bucky while he carves the roast, your hands brushing when you pass him a plate. The woman seated closest to the kitchen, a silver-haired guest named Lorraine who works with the local history society, tilts her head and smiles at you both.

“You two,” she says warmly, eyes crinkling, “you’ve got that thing. That soft sort of love. I see it. I see it in the way you move around each other.”

You feel yourself go still. You glance at Bucky. He’s already looking at you.

He smiles, slow and quiet. “Well,” he starts, wiping his hands on a towel, “some things don’t need saying, do they?”

Camille raises an eyebrow, her smile just a fraction too interested. “How long have you two been married, again?”

“Almost two years,” Bucky answers smoothly. Immediately. Taking your hand. His thumb brushes over your knuckles. “She’s stuck with me now.”

There’s laughter. Cheers. A few light-hearted groans about how hard it is to find a man who brings flowers every day.

But there is something in his touch, in the way he moves. You don’t know what to make of it, but you notice it.

You notice the way he pulls your chair closer to him when you sit down. The way he leans in just enough when someone else tries to speak too familiarly to you. The way his smile fades just slightly the moment your focus shifts to anyone other than him, just for a heartbeat.

And when the evening winds down and guests begin to leave, you’re still holding hands. Still playing the part. Still unsure if you’re acting anymore.

Camille offers to help you clean up while her husband talks to yours and you catch a glimpse of her rifling through your drawers when she thinks you aren’t looking.

By the time she returns to the kitchen, Bucky is already there.

He leans against the counter with the ease of a man used to watching every entrance, every twitch, every glance. His smile is polite. His eyes are ice.

You see her shiver.

“My wife’s got it handled. Thanks, though,” he says evenly.

She leaves with an arrogant huff and it’s only Bucky and you for a moment.

“You okay?” he murmurs, brushing your hair behind your ear with the gentleness of a secret. When you nod, he continues. “Did she touch anything?”

“Went through our drawers, but there’s nothing she could have seen,” you ease gently.

But Bucky still watches you. “You sure?”

You nod. “Just keep looking at me like that,” you tease. “Then we’ll make it.”

He huffs a laugh. And then he’s kissing your temple - light, fleeting, but with intention. Your breath is somewhere you can’t follow.

Maybe you forget where the act ends and reality begins. Maybe it doesn’t matter anymore.

Because when the last guests tickle out and you close the door behind them, you both just stand there, in the silence, surrounded by petals.

It still smells of rosemary and clove. Half-melted candles bleed wax down antique brass. Empty wine glasses stand smudged with fingerprints and lipstick. The illusion lingers, soft and honey-thick. The echo of polite applause. Compliments about your cooking. About your dress. About how lucky you both are.

You start gathering stray plates, not because they need cleaning yet, but because your hands feel too empty otherwise. Too aware. The ring on your finger glints in the low light, a perfect fiction.

Bucky’s shadow flickers into the frame of the doorway. The top buttons of his shirt are undone. His sleeves are rolled up again - he always does that when he’s grounding himself, pulling himself into the present with the simplest, most human movements.

He doesn’t speak right away. Just watches you for a second too long. As if he’s still playing the role of the doting husband and doesn’t yet know how to stop.

“You holdin’ up?” His voice is quiet. A little coarse. Rough. As if he tried to soften it but it wouldn’t work.

You nod, setting a glass down a little too carefully. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” he asks, not as a challenge, just gently. As though he learned to ask without pushing too hard. His presence brushes behind you.

“This just isn’t something I thought I’d ever do. Host a dinner party. Invite guests. I don’t know, it feels weird,” you murmur, not looking up.

Bucky hums. “I get that,” he says after a pause. Quiet, still. “But you were amazing, doll.” He says it low. Even. As if he’s cataloging something unspoken and locking it away.

And you feel the heat burn and bubble along your spine.

“Thanks, Buck. As were you.” You only glance up briefly, before putting away a dish towel that didn’t need to be put anywhere at the moment.

Seconds pass. Bucky clears his throat. “Did Camille say anything to you?”

You nod again, slow. “She asked for a tour of the house.”

He swears under his breath. Just a whisper. “Anything off?”

“She acknowledged the flowers.” You look up at the vases scattered around the space. “Said she thought they were romantic.”

Bucky lets out a breath that isn’t quite a laugh. “You think she bought it?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, fingers brushing over the counter. “But at least she thinks that we’re in love.”

He doesn’t respond to that. Just lets the silence curl for a beat longer. “Julian clocked me from across the room. Could feel it. That kind of stare - it’s not professional. He’s suspicious, but not sure why.”

“He’s watching your movements?”

“Every second he wasn’t pretending not to.”

You press your palms flat to the marble.

“Didn’t like you talkin’ to him so long,” Bucky mutters suddenly, and there is something else underneath the words. A tension. Not anger - but concern. “Didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

You look at him now.

He’s facing you head-on, and there is something in his eyes that glimmers just shy of vulnerable. Protective. Fiercely so. The kind of protectiveness that isn’t written in the mission brief. That wasn’t asked of him. That wasn’t rehearsed.

“I had to,” you say softly, “to keep her distracted. If he’s on edge, then she’s not far behind him.”

“I know,” he sighs. “Just…”

His jaw tightens. Then softens.

“You did good.”

And the air is thick again, charged with too much closeness and not enough language for it. You brush past him to grab another dish, and his hand hovers - for a second - as if he might reach for your waist. As if the shape of you in motion is something he has to resist tracing.

He doesn’t touch. But the ghost of the thought stays between you.

“I’ll get these,” he insists, nodding toward the glasses. “You go sit.”

“I’m fine, Buck.”

He gives you a look.

You relent after a moment, settling at the edge of the sofa, legs curled beneath you. From here, you can still see him - sleeves rumpled, brow furrowed, his mouth tugged slightly at the corner as if he’s still thinking about the way you laughed earlier. Or the way someone complimented how gently he looked at you.

He is quiet for a while, hands moving with the ease of someone used to messes, used to cleanup. Used to taking care of what’s left after the damage is done.

Then, without looking up, he asks again. “You sure you’re okay?”

And this time, the question feels heavier. Not because he doubts your strength, but because he knows the toll this takes - the pretending. The almosts. The press of a thousand small moments that make you forget where the story ends and the truth begins.

You don’t answer right away.

You look at the flowers instead. The ones he brought you. Every day. Quiet declarations of bloom.

“Yeah. I am,” you finally respond.

And it’s not exactly a lie.

Because in this moment - under this roof, with the mission pressing in on all sides and the feel of his gaze always somewhere just behind you - you are. You are okay.

Even if you’re not sure for how much longer.

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starmocha · 2 days ago

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from osmanthus to snowdrop

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alone with him. Together with him.

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

Everything was perfect as is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Interested?”

“Having a baby.”

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

“Are you suggesting…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and him and your little one.

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

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

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

“Zayne—”

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

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

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

“Yes… Yes,” you responded.

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

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

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

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

“You—”

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

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

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

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

“For real this time?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zayne was meticulous.

He did everything well.

And this…

This will be no different, you realized.

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

You wanted a baby, and so did Zayne.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you knew Zayne was a man of his words.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But…”

“Yes?”

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

“Let’s talk.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know…”

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

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

You looked at him quizzically.

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

“Ah—but—”

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

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

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

“Goddamn you, Zayne,” you said breathily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay!”

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

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

He nodded in agreement.

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

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

“Zayne?”

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

“My cramps…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your smile widened.

Next month, you remembered, would be September.

As in, Zayne’s birthday month.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

You waited a few seconds.

He also remained patient as well.

Your lips twitched.

Zayne smirked.

“…Good night, Zaynie…”

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

Zayne was right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

“Why were you smiling so much earlier?”

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

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

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

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

“Do you not like it?”

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

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

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

He shook his head.

“Have a bite,” you demanded.

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

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

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

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

“It was just a—”

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

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

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

He smiled at your scolding and nodded.

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

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

“You don’t like having a naggy wife?”

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

“Hm? Doing what?” you feigned obliviousness.

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

“Ah—our…our coffee is getting cold…”

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

“No…”

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

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

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

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

“You know…”

“What is it?” Zayne asked.

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

“Something I said?”

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

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

“You remembered…”

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

“Zayne…”

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

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

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

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

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

Or so you had thought.

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s just…”

“Just what? Tell me.”

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

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

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

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

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

You continued to sulk.

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

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

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

“Thank you,” he said suddenly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just remember, this is your fault.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apparently not.

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

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

Perfect.

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

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

Thankfully, he was in the privacy of his office.

“This girl…”

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

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

Zayne gasped, suddenly startled when another attachment was received.

You were straddling his pillow.

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

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

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

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

There was a sudden buzzing noise.

You froze.

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

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

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

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

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

“Za-Zayne—ah!"

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

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

You gasped in surprise.

You had sent him thirteen photos.

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

“T-two…”

“Louder.”

Another strike.

“Three!”

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

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

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

“F-four…”

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

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

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

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

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

Another forceful slap.

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

“How many?”

“T-ten…”

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

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

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

“E-eleven!”

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

Another strike.

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

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

“Thirteen…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“N-no, Zaynie, please…”

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

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

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

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

He breathed in quickly, unprepared for your brazen obedience.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Z-Zayne!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bu—”

“I want you to knock me up, Zayne!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ye-yes… please…”

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

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

“C-cumming… Zayne, I’m cumming…”

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

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

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

“Yes! Yes, yes, Zayne!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah… Za—”

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

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

“Oh, fuck, yes!”

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

“Ah… Za-Zayne… ah, so—ohhh!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Whipped cream?” he questioned.

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

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

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

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

“Bedroom first,” you commanded.

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

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

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

“Zayne?”

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

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

“Eyes on me,” he commanded.

“Technically, I was—”

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

“Za-Zayne?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y-You—”

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

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

“We-well, they were just…”

“Just…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wider,” he demanded.

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

“Close,” he said with an amused smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Za-Zayne, it’s too much—”

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

“Zayne!"

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

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

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

Oh, god… Zayne…!

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

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

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

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

“Y-yes,” you said breathily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, yes… yes!”

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

“Ye-yeah?”

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

“Oh… oh, Zayne, h-hurry, almost—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Zayne, yes!”

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

You nodded at him.

“Say it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

“I… might not be pregnant yet…”

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

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

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

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

“What if… we had conceived today?”

He looked at you in wonder.

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

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

“Surely, you are not planning on telling—”

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

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

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

“I would,” you declared proudly.

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

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

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

“‘I,’” Zayne said.

“Good job,” you praised brightly.

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

“‘Love.’”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Z-Zayne—!”

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

“Happy birthday, my love.”

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

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace zayne #lnds fic — from osmanthus to snowdrop #love and deepspace x reader #zayne x reader #zayne x you #zayne x mc #zayne smut #zayne fluff #love and deepspace fanfiction #lnds fanfics #x — fanfics #orz #i guess this is happening frfr now #orz orz orz #i'm blaming my followers for this #also dedicating to all of the troublemaker anons who tickled my brain with this lmao <3333333 #love the hive mind that has happened because of our pookie zaynie <333333333

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manmuncher777 · 3 days ago

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Hiii it’s me again (split tongue fic ;) and I had another idea for Choso!? What about stoner!reader smoking with Cho and things get real steamy!?! 🫣🤭 -🪷

Hellooo gorg!!! You’re my first emoji anon omg!!! I feel so honoured, I hope you enjoy this. I absolutely lovvved writing this.

So High!

Choso Kamo x reader SMUT MDNI 18++

Getting high with your best friend for the first time gets hotter than expected…

It starts like nothing.

Just a casual hangout. Like always.

Choso’s sprawled on his couch in those stupid grey sweats that should be illegal, tattoos on full display under a loose black tank top, hair tied back, pierced lip glinting every time he grins. You’re perched beside him, a little nervous but trying not to show it—especially when he lights up.

“You ever smoked before?” he asks, already exhaling a lazy puff, voice deep and syrupy.

You shrug, lips glossed, lashes curled, outfit casual-cute in the way that says I didn’t try… but I did. “Not really. But I trust you.”

He raises a brow at that. “You shouldn’t.”

You laugh, taking the joint when he hands it over, fingers brushing.

His hand lingers.

You pretend not to notice. Kind of.

The first inhale burns. Makes your eyes water.

Choso’s already laughing low in his chest, watching you cough into your fist.

“Lightweight,” he teases, tugging the joint back.

But a little while later, when the world starts to hum and your body melts into his old couch, you’re not so worried. You’re warm. Loose. A little too aware of the way his thigh is pressed against yours, how good he smells—earthy, sharp, a little like smoke and something expensive.

You’re laughing about something stupid when it happens.

His hand rests on your bare thigh. Casually. No big deal.

Except it is.

You glance at him, your smile fading into something softer. Choso’s eyes are half-lidded, flushed from the high, jaw flexing as he watches the TV. But his hand doesn’t move.

And neither do you.

The air goes thick.

You shift slightly, your knee brushing his hand, and he looks at you.

Slowly.

Eyes heavy-lashed, pupils blown, mouth parted.

“You okay?” he murmurs, but his tone is low. Careful. Like he already knows the answer.

Your lips part to say something, anything—

But then his fingers slide up just a little higher on your thigh.

Just a test. A push.

Your breath catches.

And Choso smirks, lazy and hungry, like he’s just confirmed everything he suspected.

“Didn’t know getting high made you blush, pretty girl.”

You stretch your legs across his lap like it’s the most casual thing in the world. Like your skin’s not already buzzing where his hand still rests on your thigh, thumb brushing slow, mindless circles.

“So,” you say, voice a little hoarse from the smoke, “you always get this quiet when you’re high?”

Choso hums. “Nah. You’re just louder than usual.”

You scoff, nudging him with your toe. “Am not.”

He smirks down at your legs, those lazy eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Are too. You’re always giving me shit for being antisocial and brooding. Now you’re the one talking my ear off.”

Your face warms—not from embarrassment, but from how damn comfortable he looks with you draped over him, how soft that teasing edge in his voice is. You try not to focus too hard on the way his hand shifts, resting just a little higher now on your bare thigh. Not inappropriate… but close enough to make your stomach flutter.

You bite your lip and look away, suddenly very focused on the glowing TV screen. “You like when I talk too much anyway.”

He lets out a low laugh, the kind that rumbles from his chest and rolls into your spine. “Yeah. S’cute.”

Cute.

You try not to show how that lands. Your skin feels hotter suddenly, your breath catching just slightly in your chest.

You clear your throat and play it off. “So what’s this game you’re always obsessed with?”

He grabs the controller, shifting a little so his hand brushes your knee again. “Lemme show you.”

You’re barely paying attention. Not to the screen, not to the explanation.

You’re watching his hands. Long fingers, knuckles tattooed, veins prominent as they flex over the buttons. One of the rings he always wears glints under the dim light, and you wonder how it would feel dragging along your—nope.

You shut that thought down fast.

But then Choso leans in, murmuring something about the controls, his face close to yours, and that cologne hits you again—woodsy, sharp, him—and you swear your thighs twitch without permission.

He’s not even doing anything.

Just talking. Just sitting there. Just being Choso. And it’s driving you insane.

You grip a throw pillow against your stomach like it’ll somehow smother the ache building low in your belly. Your heart thuds heavy in your chest. And it’s so stupid, because he’s your best friend. Your tattooed, pierced, broad-shouldered, fuckable best friend.

And he has no idea.

…Does he?

Choso doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches you.

Your attention’s fixed on the screen, or at least you’re pretending it is, but your legs haven’t moved from his lap. In fact, you’ve somehow gotten even closer—your knee brushing his side, your arm lazily slung over the back of the couch behind him like you belong there.

And maybe you do. But the way you’re clinging now? Like his warmth is the only thing tethering you to reality?

Yeah. He notices.

“You good?” His voice is low, but there’s a teasing note woven in.

“Hm?” You blink at him like you weren’t zoning out thinking about how good his fingers would feel wrapped around your throat.

He raises a brow, letting his eyes drag slowly over you. “You’re just… all over me tonight.”

You scoff, cheeks going warm. “I am not.”

But your fingers are playing with the hem of his sleeve now. Fidgeting. Tucking your feet tighter against his thigh like you’re trying to curl into him. Your face is flushed, pupils wide and glassy. And your bottom lip is so red from where you’ve been nervously biting it.

Choso grins, all lazy and confident, like he knows exactly what’s going on.

“You’re clingy when you’re high,” he murmurs, shifting slightly so his thigh presses right up against your ass. “It’s cute.”

You freeze for a second—just long enough for him to feel the tension spike in your body—before you recover with a scoff and a roll of your eyes.

But it’s too late.

He’s seen it now. That flicker of panic. That guilty little hitch in your breath.

He leans in a bit closer, crowding your space just enough to make your pulse jump. His voice drops.

“You wanna sit in my lap or something?”

You look at him then. Really look.

And there’s a cocky little smile tugging at his pierced lip, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Your mouth opens—maybe to sass him, maybe to say fuck it and climb into his lap—but nothing comes out.

He watches your throat bob as you swallow.

“Just ask,” he says, voice like velvet and smoke. “I don’t bite unless you want me to.”

You inhale sharply, and his grin only deepens.

Yeah. He definitely knows now.

Your breath stutters as you stare at him, but god—you’re too high and too needy to fight the pull anymore.

You swing your leg over and lower yourself into his lap, trying to act casual. Like this is normal. Like your heart isn’t hammering in your chest and your skin isn’t burning with the heat of his body

But Choso’s not playing the pretend game anymore.

His hands are on your thighs the second you settle, big palms warm and slow as they slide up under your shorts, thumbs brushing over the soft inner skin like he’s testing just how far you’ll let him go.

“See?” he mutters, lips ghosting the edge of your jaw. “Knew you wanted to sit in my lap.”

You gasp softly, head tilting instinctively when he mouths at your throat. You can feel the sharp press of his piercings when he kisses your neck, a mix of softness and sting that has you whimpering already.

And Choso—fuck—he groans, low and dirty, the sound vibrating right through you.

“You’re so warm,” he mumbles, hand dragging higher until he brushes the curve of your ass. “Fuck—look at you. Already squirming, baby.”

You shift without thinking, hips rolling against him, and the pressure of his cock under you is unmistakable now—thick and hard, straining in his sweats.

You choke on a breath.

His hand slides around to grip your hip, forcing you to grind down on him slow.

“Feels good?” he asks, eyes locked on yours, half-lidded and hungry.

You nod, lips parting, breath shaky as your fingers grip his shoulders for balance. His other hand trails up your spine beneath your shirt, fingers splayed wide, hot and possessive.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, head falling back to stare at you, “I wanna ruin you so bad.”

You don’t even realize you’re grinding harder now, chasing friction, biting your lip so hard it aches.

And he notices. Of course he notices.

“Go on,” he breathes, cock twitching beneath you. “Use me.”

You shudder.

Then you move.

Grinding down slow and messy, gasping every time his cock drags right against your clit through your panties

He groans again, jaw clenched tight, hands everywhere—one tangled in your hair, the other guiding your hips just how he wants.

“Shit,” he growls, panting, “You’re so fuckin’ wet—bet you’d slide down my cock so easy, baby. Bet you’d take every inch like a good girl.”

Your head spins, his words pouring molten heat straight between your legs.

You’re so close and he knows it—he feels it. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your thighs trembling from the tension coiling tight in your belly.

And just when you think you’re about to fall apart, Choso grins up at you—dark and mean and starving.

“You gonna cum just from grinding on me?” he taunts, voice like silk-wrapped sin. “Didn’t even need my fingers. Fuck—you’re desperate, huh?”

You moan—broken and high and wrecked—and he groans right with you, burying his face in your neck.

“I’ll give you everything, baby,” he growls, voice ragged. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock. Wanna watch you fall apart.”

Your forehead’s pressed to his, hips grinding in lazy, needy circles, and your breaths are shared, shallow, desperate. The high fogs everything around you—except the heat between your thighs, and the thick press of his cock against your pussy through too-thin fabric.

Choso’s gripping your hips so tight it’s almost bruising, his eyes locked on your face like he needs to watch you fall apart.

“You’re close,” he breathes, voice barely a rasp, “you’re right there, huh?”

You nod frantically, eyes glassy, body trembling as you chase that high—rubbing yourself down on him with reckless need, soaking through your panties and his sweats. It’s obscene how wet you are, the slick, sticky drag of your clothed pussy over his cock making him groan.

“Fuck—look at you,” he grits, “fucking soaking me through—so messy, baby.”

You let out a whimper that turns into a gasp, thighs clenching tight around his waist. Your fingers tangle in his shirt, forehead pressed into the crook of his neck as your body jerks with every grind. So close. So high. So fucking needy.

He shifts beneath you, angling his hips, grinding up into you now—and that’s it.

You choke on a cry, thighs shaking, hips stuttering as you cum on him, still fully dressed, panties clinging to you like second skin from how wet they are.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, head dropping back as he feels the warmth of your release soaking him. “That’s it. Ride it out. Just like that—fuck, you’re perfect.”

You’re still twitching, panting hard, when he grabs your face and pulls you into a messy kiss, all tongue and teeth and need. You melt into it, still dazed—until you feel him tug the crotch of your shorts and panties aside.

“Wait—” you gasp, but he’s already lining himself up, already hissing through his teeth as the thick head of his cock catches on your soaked entrance.

“You’re fuckin’ dripping, baby,” he growls, “can’t wait. Can’t—need to feel you.”

And then he’s pushing in.

No teasing. No warning. Just one long, slow thrust—filthy and deep—burying himself inside you with a broken groan.

Your head falls back, a choked sob in your throat as he stretches you open, too big, too good, hitting every spot like he’s meant to be there.

“God,” he groans, eyes fluttering shut, “you’re so tight—fuck—so wet for me already.”

Your hands clutch at his shoulders, back arching as he starts to thrust—slow, lazy, possessive. He never pulls all the way out, just rocks into you, dragging his cock against every aching spot inside.

And it’s messy. Your cum smeared all over his length, slick sounds filling the room as he ruts into you through soaked panties.

You’re gasping again, already trembling.

And Choso’s losing his goddamn mind.

“Fucking knew you’d feel this good,” he groans, biting at your jaw, “fuck—I could die right here, inside this pussy.”

His hand finds your throat, not squeezing, just holding. Possessive. Grounding. His.

“Ride me, baby. Make me cum inside you. Fuckin’ ruin me.”

You’re straddling him still, thighs sticky, breath ragged, his cock still buried deep inside you. Your panties are shoved to the side, your shorts pushed away also —just enough for him to slip in, because neither of you had the patience to get naked. And now?

Now you’re riding him in slow, lazy circles, your soaked pussy sucking him in again and again, making him throb inside you.

“You’re so fuckin’ warm,” Choso groans, head tipped back against the couch. “You hear that, baby? Listen to this fuckin’ pussy.”

And you can hear it. Wet and obscene, every drag of your hips making another filthy sound echo off the walls of his tiny apartment.

He reaches for the blunt from earlier, burned low in the ashtray on the coffee table. Flicks the lighter with one hand, the other still gripping your hip. You watch through hooded eyes as he lights it, inhales deep, exhales even deeper—cloud of smoke curling past his lips like a fucking sin.

Then he holds it out to you.

“Hit it,” he murmurs, voice thick with lust and smoke. “Don’t stop riding me, though.”

You lean forward, his cock grinding even deeper inside you at the angle, and wrap your lips around the end of the blunt. His fingers brush your mouth, steadying it, watching you like you’re his whole fucking religion. You take a slow drag, eyes locked on his, before pulling back and blowing the smoke into his mouth.

He catches it, kisses you through it, tongues tangling—you moan into his mouth.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he rasps. “That pretty pussy and that fuckin’ mouth—goddamn, baby.”

You keep moving, keep grinding down, rolling your hips like you’re made for him. The high’s hitting again, warm and dreamy, blurring everything but the stretch inside you and the heat of his skin.

Choso passes the blunt again, and you take it with shaking fingers, barely able to hold steady as you fuck yourself on his cock.

“That’s it,” he coos, thumb rubbing lazy circles into your thigh. “Keep takin’ it. So fuckin’ good for me.”

Your head drops to his shoulder, and he tilts his chin to nuzzle your cheek, whispering filth right against your ear.

“You gonna cum for me again, huh? Gonna soak me while we’re fuckin’ blazed? Just sittin’ here like a good girl, milkin’ my cock?”

You whimper—tiny and broken—and his arms wrap around you tight, his hips finally starting to fuck up into you, slow but deep, so deep.

“Yeah. That’s it. Get high. Get full. Stay just like this, baby. My perfect fuckin’ girl.”

Your thighs are shaking, your hips barely moving anymore, and all you can do is cling to him—forehead pressed against his, hands gripping the collar of his tank top like a lifeline.

“Choso,” you breathe, voice trembling, too gone to say anything else. You’re not even riding him now—just grinding, slow and clumsy, pussy fluttering around his cock as you fall apart.

He knows. He can feel it.

“Aw, fuck, baby,” he grunts, holding you tighter. “You gonna cum again? That pretty lil’ pussy squeezing me so fuckin’ tight.”

You nod against his mouth, lips brushing his, your breath hitching as your orgasm crests again—hot and intense, ripping through you like fire. Your whole body trembles, thighs clenching around his waist, and you go soft, moaning into him like you’re breaking.

And that’s all it takes.

Choso groans—deep and ragged—and thrusts up once, twice, hard, and then stills, cock pulsing deep inside you.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” he hisses, head dropping back as he fills you, his arms locked around your waist to keep you in place. “Shit, baby—take it. Take all of it. Goddamn.”

You feel it—all of it—thick and hot, spilling deep inside, leaking out the second his hips twitch again.

You’re both quiet for a beat, just the soft haze of weed smoke and your breath in his ear. He strokes your thigh absentmindedly, hand sliding up under your shirt.

“Y’did so good,” he murmurs, nuzzling your temple. “Fuckin’ milked it outta me.”

You hum, blissed-out and dazed, letting your fingers trace over the chain around his neck.

He taps the end of the blunt, reignites it, takes a lazy hit—and then offers it to you with the ghost of a cocky smile.

“Ready for round two, or you need a minute, baby?”

#jjk #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jjk x you #choso fluff #choso x y/n #kamo choso #jjk choso #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso jjk #choso smut #choso kamo #choso kamo smut #choso x reader #choso x you #🪷 anon

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satorucci · 2 days ago

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Toji with his daughter? And a huge breeding kink

dad toji <3

♡ cw: incest, stripper reader x dad toji, breeding, possessiveness, manipulation, slight dumbification, slight hunter x prey dynamics/references, not proofread bc it's 1am :(((

currently listening to: your girl - lana del rey

nonnie note: thank you for this ask, nonnie! sorry it's so long! i love toji, so i went overboard :') i hope this satisfies your needs, i know it is a bit more on the ambiguous side for reader, but i wanted to do something a little playful <3 either way, i hope you enjoy mwah

author's note: remember kids, this is fiction! do not treat real-life adult entertainers like this, n' abide by what makes them comfortable!

MDNI

♡ dad toji, who you've never had the best relationship with - well, actually, who you've never had much of a relationship with. after he walked out on your mom, her downward spiral happened rather quickly. your childhood memories were filled with images of a woman in constant mourning, kneeling on the floor, head smashed into the duvet of her bed as she cried. spilled and empty liquor bottles littering your home. you wondered what could have possibly been so good about that man, your father. he'd walked out on her for another woman - one he claimed had changed him. you were so young when it happened, you didn't know what any of it meant. all you knew was that suddenly, you had been left alone with your mother who quickly turned into a drunken mess.

♡ dad toji, who hasd no contact with you after the age of five. sometimes you thought of him - tried to remember the face of the tall, muscular man who'd abandoned you and left you with a sorry excuse for a mother. sometimes your mother would mention that you resembled him, usually during her drunkest moments, when she wanted nothing more than for you to disappear from her sight. and in these moments, you hurriedly made yourself scarce, scrambling to your room or the basement where you would avoid each and every mirror you passed. if you resembled that man in the slightest, you didn't want to know. you found yourself trying to actively forget even the most minor of details about him - his raven hair and that scar on his lip.

♡ dad toji, who has little to no idea about who you are when you become a ward of the state at age 16. social services had tried reaching out to him multiple times, exhaustingly telling him over and over "mr. fushiguro, you do have a daughter. we're trying to find housing for her. wouldn't it be better that she be raised in a home with one of her biological parents?" to which he always responded, "nope, don't got a kid that age. at least, not one i remember. if she's really my kid, then i'm sure she'll make herself a way in life."

♡ dad toji, who, in reality, wanted nothing more than to move you into his house. but he was nowhere near being a fit parent. whatever your mother had done to get you removed from the home was sure to be less traumatic than living in toji's one-bedroom flat which was devoid of life. he had two children, neither of which he'd seen in a decade. contrary to popular belief, it wasn't because he didn't want to see them - it was to keep them away from him. from his lifestyle, his job, his lack of parental devotion. toji, who was scarred, physically and mentally, from years of earning less-than-clean money, didn't want to be hindered by a kid, nor did he want to bear the burden of fucking one of his kids up, though it seemed the girl's mother had done of fine job of that, anyways.

♡ dad toji, who sometimes wonders what you're up to two years after social services kept blowing his fucking phone up. no one ever called him about his son, so he figured he was doing just fine in the adoptive home he'd grown up in. the guy who'd adopted him, though despised by toji, seemed like a decent parental figure. the girl on the other hand, toji wondered about. you would be 18 by now, and he'd received no phone calls about you being in a prison or some shit, so he figured you had made your own way. he didn't remember your exact birthday, but he thought it'd passed some months ago, if the timeline he remembered was to be trusted. "ah, fuck it. why the fuck do i care?"

♡ dad toji, who had no clue that you'd aged out of the system when you turned 18, never finding a family that wanted such a "damaged" teen. by 18, you'd tried all there was to try. alcohol, drugs, sex, money. you'd clawed a path for yourself in this world without the help of your mother or your father, and you'd continue to do so. as soon as you hit 18, you found yourself dressed skimpily, twirling around a pole in a dirty club at a stripping audition. so long as you had a body, you had access to money, and you'd drain the pockets of anyone dry so long as it got you what you needed in life. you didn't have the luxury of affording wants, but maybe this could be a new beginning for you.

♡ dad toji, who doesn't know that his sweet little girl has become one of the most requested dancers at one of the hottest strip clubs in Vegas. the nightlife is dangerous, and you tiptoe a fine line with every customer you grant an audience. the customers you serve range far and wide - most are bald or graying old men, hoping for a secret reprieve from their wives, some are incredibly attractive men, too young to hold the wealth they do - and they throw it at you in droves as you take your top off, revealing perky tits, and gyrating your hips on their laps, "accidentally" grinding your cunt against their hard cocks. "anything for the money" is what you tell yourself.

♡ dad toji, who finds himself on a rare night out in the Vegas strip. for once, he's not here on official business, just hoping for a casual drink and maybe some action from one of those pretty, pretty girls who work at his favorite strip club. he hasn't been in two years and he's oh-so-curious to see what new stock they have. when he enters the club, it's packed from wall-to-wall with (mostly) men, eyes glued on the stage in front of them. even those in the very back are doing all they can to get a close-up of the beauty on the stage. from where toji is in the crowd, he can already tell she's not one of the usuals from a couple years ago, oh no, this one is new, and she's lively. she looks like fun. twirling around the pole, skimpy pink and white lace on display as her tits are nearly popping out of her tiny top. everytime she squats, the crowd gets a view of the tightness of her cunt against pink lace. toji can almost make out her clit in the getup, and he can think of no one else he'd rather drag back to his flat and fuck the sense out of. he imagines this one looks really good when she's fucked dumb.

♡ dad toji, who doesn't realize his daughter is the one gyrating on the stage when he walks in. toji, who doesn't realize that when he walks up to the owner of the club and requests "the new one in pink", that he's referring to his own daughter. toji, who, for the first time in a long time is thrumming with excitement as he waits in the private room for his woman of the night to come in and grind against his already-hard cock. when you walk in, he can't help but tilt his head back and smirk. yeah, you're just as pretty up close as you were from the back of the club.

♡ dad toji, who stops you before you get right to business. "woah, woah, pretty girl. slow down a bit. i like to get to know someone first. i'm a bit of an old man, so i can't keep up with a quick pace right off the bat." you let out a customary giggle, but he's attuned to notice the bit of annoyance that flashes behind your eyes. oh, you'll be fun. this time, when you start, you start slowly, circling the table in the center of the private room with intentionality, locking eyes with the man splayed across the curved loveseat. his stare causes a bit of intimidation to bloom in your gut. he's so intense, watching your every movement, examining you as if you were something of value and he was determining exactly what that value was - almost as if you were something to hunt. you'd seen those eyes only a few times before in the club, but these kinds of men weren't the type to request private dances, they were the type to hide behind the dumpsters outside of the dressing rooms, waiting to ambush dancers and ask them for their number or something more. this one - this one was bold. and undeniably attractive.

♡ dad toji, who notices the slight flush of your face as you struggle to maintain eye contact with him. he can't help the grin that spreads across his face as he readjust on the loveseat, making his hard-on more noticeable. for your entertainment, of course. you move in slow circles, using the table as a prop that you dance around, eventually stepping up on it, and dancing on it. there's a small pole that protrudes from the table, and you use it to do small spins and swings, nothing too elaborate, as they're not as sturdy as the ones on the stages. his eyes never leave you, they never wander listlessly from one part of your body to the next, they always wander with purpose. surveying each and every part of you. the sparkle in his dark eyes isn't lost on you every time you lift your leg in the air, giving him a peek of your cunt straining against the fabric of your panties. you hope he can't see the wetness.

♡ dad toji, who is thrilled when you finally step down from the table and the real show begins. your hands lightly creep up his thighs, touch as light as a feather, before you turn your back to him, giving him a first-class view of your hips and ass as you grind into him. you're delicate, unlike how you were on the stage. there, you were electric, but in this small room, one-on-one with a dangerously attractive man twice your age, you move with caution. toji wants more. he wants what he saw on the stage. as you grind into his lap carefully, cutely, his hands come up to roughly grip your thighs. you let out a gasp and quickly turn around. "there's a not touch policy-" toji cuts you off with a firm squeeze, and his thumbs rubs gentle circles into the fat of your thighs as you look down at him. his eyes meet yours, dark and sinister, but gazing up at you as if pleading with you. "you can't tell me you don't like it, darlin'. tell me you don't and i won't touch you again, but i promise i can make this worth your time, too." his hands travel up your thighs, finding their place on your lovehandles, kneading them lovingly. "n' i'm a really good tipper." you gulp down a protest and simply nod your head.

♡ dad toji, who, as you face him, and lower yourself onto his clothed cock, finds his hands roaming across your body. you're oh so delicate. so easy to maneuver, to sway. he wonders what in your life has led to you being so malleable. maybe a shitty boyfriend or an absent father. he chuckles to himself at the irony. what if his own daughter is out doing this shit because she had no daddy growing up? oh well, not his problem. not at this very moment. toji's hands guide your hips as you grind down on him, forcing a harder grind, more pressure on his aching cock. he can feel the outline of your cunt's lips against him and he wants so much more from you. his hand reaches for the flimsy string in the back that holds your top together, pulling it and watching as your tits come into view right in front of him. the music in the background is causing the room to vibrate slightly, the dim lighting in the room adding to the ambiance of sinister pleasure that's about to take place.

♡ dad toji, who forgets that he's in a professional establishment as he takes one of your perky nipples into his mouth and you gasp, a small hand finding its way into his hair and gripping harshly. "ah! t-too much-" he releases your nipple with a "pop!" and stares up at you. "wan' me to stop? i was just about to show you what a good patron i can be", and again, you give in. you let him do as you please, because you can't deny the throbbing in your own cunt. you don't know what all he's about to do to you, but you know that you've only ever slept with one customer, telling yourself you wouldn't make it a habit, but you think you might be about to break that rule.

♡ dad toji, who sucks on your nipples harshly while you grind against him. the dance has ceased and left only desperation in its wake. you're desperate to get off, and you can feel his hard cock beneath you. his hands guide your hips back and forth, back and forth, at a fast pace, your clit catching on his cock with each swipe and you feel as though you can barely catch your breath. toji, who reaches a hand up into your hair, tugging it harshly causing you to let out a breathy whine, and buck his hips up into your cunt repeatedly. his mouth only leaves your tits to leave small kisses along your chest, your neck, you jaw. you want more. you have to have more, but it can't be here. before you can pop the question, toji is, once again, staring at you with those onyx eyes. "wanna get outta here? my place is only a few minutes away." you know it isn't smart to say yes, but you want the raven-haired man in your lap to fuck you into another plane. so you nod.

♡ dad toji, who handles you with no mercy the moment the two of you cross the threshold of his door. his hands are all over you, your face, your neck, your back, pressing your body firmly against his own. he quickly discards the jacket around your shoulders - you'd been so turned on when leaving the club early that you didn't even change. you simply threw on a jacket that would cover your skimpy clothes as you left, struggling to keep up with toji in your high heels. your back hits the wall harshly as he's forcing his tongue into your mouth. you lean into the messy kiss, nipples hardening from the kiss and the cold air of his flat. he hikes your leg up, pressing his cock against your cunt, grinding lewdly. "so wet, you're soaking my clothes, too, darlin'" he whispers into your ear. you try to shy away from him, as if the comment had embarrassed you, but toji uses his free hand to grasp your cheeks, making you face him. "keep your eyes on me". his voice is a low, dangerous growl, and you comply.

♡ dad toji, who nearly drags you to his bedroom. you take note of how empty his living space is. there are no pictures, no decorations. it looks as if someone has just moved in, but you don't have time to make any deductions about this before you're being thrown on the bed. toji is on top of you in seconds, handing tracing up your arms, spreading them flat against the bed, and locking hands with you as he continues to kiss you into oblivion. you unconsciously rub your legs together, begging for some sort of relief, and toji laughs breathlessly when he notices. "my pretty girl wants more, hm?" and you nod. "use your words, then. tell me what you want." you look at him in disbelief. you'd been with dominant men before, but they didn't play with their food before devouring it. "tell me, or you'll get nothin'", and you can tell he's dead serious. you muster up your courage to tell him, "i want you..." he cocks his head and grins before leaning close to your ear. "want me to what? finger you? eat you? fuck you? what'd ya want from me? wanna hear you tell me." all of the above. you want him to do all of the above, but you don't think that's the response he wants. "i want you to use me". and that's all it takes for toji's self-control to snap.

♡ dad toji, who's making you hold your knees up as he lap at your soaking cunt, pink panties long gone. his tongue dips in and out of you at a rapid pace as the sound of squelching and your whines fill the room. the whines turn into loan, exasperated moans when two thick fingers find their place knuckle-deep inside of you as his mouth never leaves your clit. you don't know how long you can keep holding up your legs as they're already beginning to shake. toji cocks his head, angling his fingers even deeper and brushing against that sweet, sweet spot inside of you as he continues to lick your clit. pressing a flat tongue against it, using the tip of his tongue to tease you, sucking your clit into his mouth, as his fingers absolutely abuse your insides. you've never met a man like this. when he brings you to your first orgasm, it's so intense, you're not sure you'll be able to continue, but before you can even catch your breath, toji is rising from the spot on the bed where he was kneeling, wiping mouth and licking his fingers, before reaching for the waistband of his pants.

♡ dad toji, whose cock is the biggest you've ever seen. veins protrude, full of blood and arousal as his cock twitches in his hand. "what? ya scared?" you take a deep breath and shake your head, trying to convey some sort of confidence in your response. toji just laughs. "well, then, if you're not scared, then you're gonna be a good girl and take daddy's cock like a champ, right?" daddy? yes. yes, you'll be a good girl for daddy, so long as it's toji. "yes, daddy. i'll be so good". and toji thinks he might be enamoured by you. his hands find purchase on either side of your head, caging you in with no escape. he's so big, looming over you as he leans down to kiss your forehead. it's the kindest thing he's done all night, the only gentleness he's shown you.

♡ dad toji, who guides his cock inside you with little mercy. you find yourself holding your breath as the stretch burns your insides. "breathe" he commands, and you do, in small spurts. his hands find your knees, spreading them further apart for easier entrance. toji grunts. "damn darlin', you're tight. thought i'd worked you open." you try your best to focus on breathing as his cock splits you wide open, and by the time he bottoms out, you're sweating. your hands find his arms, holding onto them for some sort of support as you catch a big breath. he begins to pull out, and then slams his cock back in. in an instant the breath you'd collected is gone. toji begins at a breakneck pace, his cock bullying your cervix with each thrust. you can't help the near-screams that fall from your lips, and toji devours each one, grinning down at you as your grip on his arms get ever-tighter. your cunt grips him like a vice as his pumps in and out of you, over and over, listening to your coos and cries with so much pleasure.

♡ dad toji, who frees one of his arms from your grasp, to find your clit. he rubs small circles around it as he continues thrusting into you like he'll never get the chance to fuck a cunt like this again. your cries turn slowly turn into mindless whines, "please, please, keep going, keep going!" and toji obliges. he leans down, biting down on your neck, imagining what you'd look like pregnant and full with another one of his kids. if it were you, he thinks he just might stick around. you're so perfect. "good, huh, pretty baby? wan' me to keep fuckin' you good?" you nod furiously, nails digging into his arm. he leans down, biting down on your ear and you let out a cry. "wanna stay with me, have my kids?" for a moment, you're caught off guard, but the rhythm of his cock and the way he's stimulating your clit proves to be too much for you to think straight. "yes!" you scream. "yes, give me your kids, please! fill me up, make me yours!", and again, toji obliges you.

♡ dad toji, who was wrung three orgasms from you before he has his first. "wan' me to cum inside you, darlin'? wanna be daddy's girl forever? wanna be a mommy? raise all my kids, hm?" you nod over and over, begging him, "please make me a mommy!" toji's pace quickens as he begins to near his high. he can imagine you now, stuck in his house, round and pregnant with his kids, the whole world knowing that you're his and his alone. the thought alone is enough to make him cum, but the way your cunt is gripping him like a prayer has him going over the edge. "okay, baby, i hear you loud and clear. don't let a single drop go to waste." and you respond with a series of "yes daddy's" as toji cums harshly, fucking his seed even deeper into you. he keeps his cock in you, as your cunt pulses and spasms around him, cumming again. his pretty little stripper. hopefully, his pretty little wife, one day. who says you can't turn a whore into a housewife? toji's sure he can. if it's you, he can. toji, who slowly drags his cock out of you, only to replace it with his fingers. pushing his cum deeper yet into you, and placing a kiss on your lips.

♡ dad toji, who, surprisingly takes good care of you after fucking your brains out. he brings you water, snacks, a towel, but he doesn't let you wipe the cum from yourself, not yet. "we're guaranteed a baby if you keep it in a little longer", and you roll your eyes as he chuckles. "didn't know they had girls like you at that club." he says. you mumble back to him, "didn't know they had patrons like you, either. speaking of, where's my tip?" toji stares blankly at you before laughing. "was the tip you got not good enough, darlin'?" oh, it definitely was, but you still want your money. as he laughs, you notice a scar on his lips. one you haven't noticed all night long. it reminds you shockingly of your father. the one who walked out on you, the one you haven't seen in over a decade. "grab my wallet. it's on the nightstand beside you. just take what you want." you lift your eyebrows in surprise at him, and he shrugs. "you earned it." you don't argue with him, taking the wallet and opening it up.

♡ dad toji, who stares at you confused as you look at the wallet in horror and disbelief. "the hells wrong with you-" he begins, but before he can finish, he's cut off by you holding up the wallet, showing him the sole picture he'd ever had of his daughter. the one he kept with him always, the sole reminder that she was real and somewhere out there. "why do you have a picture of me?"

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro #toji smut #toji x reader #dead dove do not eat #dark content #smut #my nonnies <3

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prettydaisygirl · 2 days ago

Note

Can I make a request for Streamer!James who discovered that some people in his fandom are hating us, plssss I'm so obsessed with him 😩

Hiii, my love! Thank you so much for requesting this! I've been trying to figure out my next idea and this was perfect! I am literally so in love with streamer!James, I would do anything for himmmmm. Hope you enjoy <3

streamer!James Potter x fem!superfan!reader who is getting hate for dating James ✿ 1.4k words

cw: fem reader, marauders as live-streamers, online bullying/harassment, reader is getting disgusting messages/comments, James is sooooo loverboy, James-centric

james potter masterlist

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previous part | next part

You haven’t been in James’ chat for at least three of his streams now.

Not that you have to be, and James knows with the time difference and the increasing busy-ness of your schedule that you might not make every single stream. But you usually try not to miss more than one, and you’ve been quieter in DMs too. You’re usually always in his chat, always enthusiastic, always sweet and wonderful and sending him pictures that have him tripping over his words and drooling.

The boys have noticed your distance too.

“Trouble in paradise?” Sirius asks just after James clicks ‘end stream’, coming into his room without permission. James swivels around in his chair to face his best friend, a look of slight panic on his face.

“Do you think she’s mad at me? Did she say something?” James scrambles for any kind of information or explanation, but Sirius just smirks at him, leaning against James’ desk.

“Why’re you asking me? Ask Rem,” Sirius pushes his hair behind his shoulder dramatically as James darts out of his gaming chair and across the common space to Remus’ bedroom. He opens the door without knocking, much like Sirius did. The other man is still on his computer, downloading his VOD to work on a video, probably. Remus gives James a knowing look as he turns around.

“What did she say?” James asks, leaning against Remus’ desk, causing his little figurines and stacks of books and papers to rattle. “Did I say something wrong?”

Remus sighs, rubbing at his temples with his fingers. “Why would you assume she told me? You’re her boyfriend.”

James tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at Remus, who sighs and gives in.

“I don’t know why she isn’t coming to stream,” Remus shakes his head, his voice raspy as he pulls up his DMs with you. You and Remus have become quite close friends, though you don’t talk to him nearly as much as you talk to James, obviously. “She told me people have been messaging her since she surprised you at the convention.”

“Yeah, I know, people love us!” James beams, thinking about all of the love and support you and Prongs have gotten since announcing your relationship last month. A super fan who becomes his girlfriend? The fanfictions write themselves. He’s seen all of the edits of you and him, fan accounts, and even merch. He loves it, obviously, because he loves you. He just hasn’t told you yet.

When Remus’ smile falters, James’ does too, “What? What’s that look for?”

“I think… there are a lot of people who are happy for you,” Remus says slowly, scrolling through his chat log with you as he glances through previous messages. He frowns, his scrolling ceasing as he looks at one in particular. He clicks on it, and it takes over the screen. “But, I also think you have a lot of fans who don’t exactly love the fact that you’re taken. You know your audience James, a lot of them watch you because you’re… well, you know.”

Remus’ wrist gestures toward the monitor, and James leans down to take a better look at the screen, eyes taking in the picture. You’ve sent it to Remus, a screenshot of a message someone had sent you just last week. The day before you stopped coming to his streams.

Obviously he sees your username, his heart fluttering every time he does. God, he’s whipped. He doesn’t recognize the other username, maybe just a hint of familiarity from seeing it within the hundreds of usernames in his chat, but that’s about it. It’s the message itself that makes him feel sick.

he doesn’t really like you. he’s only talking to you because you’re the only whore in his chat that would actually send him pictures. slut.

James feels like his heart is sinking through his stomach. Someone sent this to you and you didn’t come to him?

When Remus clicks onto the next one, James realizes things are worse than he thought they were. This one is a screenshot of the comment section from a photo of you two kissing at the convention.

babyboiprongs_: he’s really dating yourusername??? babyboiprongs_: gross grtftntplyr00: prongs is ruined now rip o7 :(((((( prongswormpadmoon: prongs noooooo whyyyyy :/

James feels like he’s going to throw up. How had he not seen these comments? He feels like he scrolled through everything.

“She… she sent you all this?” James’ voice is light, like he is in shock or disbelief, and there’s a whirlwind of emotions happening behind his dark eyes.

“There’s… I mean, there’s more than this,” Remus tells James quietly, his eyes gentle with pity as he watches James, who runs a hand through his dark, unruly curls.

“Why wouldn’t she tell me?” James feels small in a way that he hasn’t before, and he hates it. He just wants to protect you, he doesn’t want to know you were upset and he wasn’t there to help you.

Remus gives James a bit of a deadpan look, “Of course she’s not going to say anything to you, Prongs. She probably thinks she’s ruining your career!”

“But she’s not!” James retorts quickly, his gaze growing more frantic by the minute.

“Well, I know that!” Remus rolls his eyes, “You’re allowed to date, James. Some of your fans won’t like it but it’s your life. You need to put a boundary there, tell them you won’t tolerate it.”

James looks down, his mind racing. And in that moment, he makes a decision.

✿　.　˚　. 　 ˚　✿

It took him a few days to get everything ready. He got what he needed, he filmed his video, edited it, and now all he needs to do is press upload. His finger hesitates over the button, and in a very un-James Potter-like decision, he decides to rewatch it one more time before uploading it.

Video Title: i love you

James beams at the camera, his headphones over his ears but he isn’t on the edge of the screen with a game taking up most of it like usual. There is no game, just him. He’s wearing a shirt with your face on it. Well, really, it’s a shirt with him kissing your cheek but his face got mostly cropped out and he doesn’t mind at all.

He waves at the camera, “Hello everyone! I know it’s weird seeing me in a video and not on live, but there is something I want to talk about.”

“It has recently come to my attention that some people in my community have been leaving rude, hateful, and honestly just disgusting messages in my girlfriend’s comment section and DMs. And I want to tell you to stop that right fucking now.”

He has never sounded so angry in anything he has uploaded before. He thought about re-recording it but he truly does feel that angry.

“Not only is online hate and bullying of any kind absolutely not okay, but if I see it in my chat, or anywhere in my girlfriend’s messages or comments, I will permanently block and ban you. That applies to hate about anyone on our team or in our lives. The other marauders have agreed to ban you as well.”

“And to my wonderful girlfriend, who has felt like she can’t come to my streams because she might ‘ruin my career’... baby, I love you. I know I haven’t told you that yet, but I do. I would give up my whole career for you, even though that won’t happen. I know most of my audience aren’t hateful and don’t leave those comments. I’ve seen all of the love we have gotten. But I want to protect you, I want to love you, and I want them to love you too. So please come back to stream, chat misses you. I miss you even more.”

“And, to those of you who have been leaving nice comments, thank you! I do read them, and they mean a lot to me, I know they mean a lot to her too. No true fan of mine would be upset at seeing me happy, and I appreciate you all so much for your support.”

He reaches for the camera like he might turn it off and hesitates. He leans back and beams even brighter.

“And no, you can’t buy this shirt. It’s one of a kind, just like my girl.”

James almost cringes at himself when the video ends. He knows he has to post it. Both for you and for himself.

He clicks ‘post.’ And he has no regrets.

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#daisy's writings #james potter #james potter au #streamer!james potter #streamer!marauders #streamer!james #james potter angst #james potter fluff #james potter drabble #james potter fic #james potter oneshot #james potter fanfiction #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x reader #hp marauders #james potter x you #james potter imagine #marauders fic #james potter x y/n

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mononijikayu · 2 days ago

Text

almost like being in love — nanami kento.

“You know, baby. People are intrigued about you.” you said, voice light, teasing. “I think you’re starting to develop a fan club in my silly circles.” He looked over, one eyebrow rising the tiniest bit. “Oh really? Do share.” “After the show, a girl in the bathroom asked if you were single. I told her you were married. To your job. And possibly to me, if I ever get you drunk enough near a temple.” He made a sound that might’ve been a laugh or a polite cough. Hard to tell with Kento. “Was she disappointed?” he asked after a beat. “Crushed. Said you had the quiet mystery of a yakuza lieutenant and the haircut of a disappointed private school teacher.” “I’ll take that as a compliment, darling.”

Genre: Alternate Universe — Actor’s AU (AU of the AU);

Warning/s: General Rating, AFAB! Reader, Use of She/Her, Use of Female Centered Identification, Pet Names (Pretty Woman, Pretty Boy, Etc), Romance, Fluff, Humour, Love, Hurt/Comfort, Age Gap Relationship (Reader is 30s, Nanami is late 40s), Strangers to Friends, Friends to Lovers, Post–Separation/Divorce, Dating, Feeling, Light–Hearted, Slice of Life, Idiots In Love, Domestic, Teasing, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Soft Smut, Actor! Nanami, Comedian! Reader;

Words: 17k words.

Note: this was a fic that was once again commissioned by @nanamin-chan, so please thank them!!! this was so fun to write because this is just another continuation of the nanami au in the actor's au. this is just romance, everyone. this is just fluff. so, enjoy it!!! i love you all!!!

masterlist

if you want to, tip!

the good life ― masterlist.

THIS IS NOT YOUR BOYFRIEND’S SORT OF PLACE. But he likes seeing you perform, more so now that you finally were a full–time comic. He told you before, together means together.

Nanami Kento meant that quite literally, and rather seriously. After all, he meant it when he said he’d be happy to be the concept of every other joke you write and make.

The jazz bar in Shibuya was its usual dim-lit self, smelling of shochu, yakitori grease, and dreams deferred by too many company meetings. A place where lost all the poets and tired office workers gathered to forget the trains they'd already missed, to drink themselves to a pounding headache in the morning.

You were on stage for the nth time this week, by a great popular demand no less. Beautifully poised in heels you hated but wore religiously, gripping the mic felt like a second pair of chopsticks.

It looked almost like you belonged there. You stood there like you belonged there, stood there like you were a shining star leading the way into this world. Ever so natural. Familiar. Slightly dangerous when misused.

There he was, as present as ever. Your boyfriend, Nanami Kento. Front row. Always in that tan suit, always punctual. Like time owed him something.

Your boyfriend looked expensive, as always. You didn’t know if he was wearing Gucci or Dior, though. And in some ways, it made him look out of place in such a rowdy space.

He sat with that straight–backed posture, like he’d come straight from a boardroom and not from filming some drama where he played yet another emotionally constipated genius detective.

He was sipping another shot of highball. Untouched plate of edamame. Watching you like you was a particularly intricate Noh performance.

You exhaled into the mic, smiling brightly. "Good evening, everyone. Hope you’re all enjoying your drinks and your snacks. And for the salarymen here tonight—don’t worry, I’m not about to talk about your boss with the beer bill on the company tab. That’s what group dinners are for.”

Light laughter. A few heads bowed knowingly. Kento didn’t laugh. But his caramel eyes merely shifted as much as the edge of his lips did. That was his version of clapping, you’ve learned. In public, your boyfriend has a lot of need to maintain appearances, after all.

“There’s this guy I know." you tilted your head slightly toward the front row. “Someone who comes to every single one of my sets. Every single one. Quite the dedication, no? It doesn’t matter if he’s been working for twenty hours straight or covered in fake blood from a shoot. Tan suit. Scotch in hand. Expression like a banker attending a funeral.”

The audience chuckled, and someone in the back shouted “kakkoii na!” which made you grin.

“I asked him once, ‘Why do you keep coming?’ You know what he said? ‘Because it's the only time I see you exactly as you are.’ Which is either the most romantic thing ever said in this country... or a veiled insult. Still undecided about that, folks.”

Kento raised his glass slightly, just once. A toast? A warning? Hard to say. But you do know it attracts you more to him than before.

“But honestly….” you went on to say. “Being with someone who’s so calm, so steady, so… emotionally economical… It's terrifying. Like dating the concept of wa itself. Harmony, order, beige interiors. It’s a whole thing.”

That got them. A big laugh, especially from the women. “You start thinking you’re the chaotic one. You drop your train card, misplace your umbrella, say something vaguely inappropriate in front of his co–stars. And he just blinks like you’re an unexpected side dish. Not unwelcome. Just… surprising.”

Now even your boyfriend Kento smiled. At least barely. The audience didn’t see it. But you did. And it was better than a standing ovation. That made you realize your set is pretty good. You tailored it to intrigue him after all.

“And yet, you should know, he’s dedicated.” you said, the laughter softening. “He never misses a show. Not one. I told him once he was my emotional support audience member. He just nodded, like I’d finally said something worth filing away.”

The crowd was quiet in that rare, good way. Not awkward. Reverent. Like they'd just been handed a small truth wrapped in a joke. You tilted the mic slightly. “If he ever does miss a show, you’ll know. Either I’ve finally pushed him too far... or he’s dead. Which, knowing him, is the more acceptable excuse.”

Roaring laughter. Applause. Even Kento laughed. Though he did so ever soundlessly, shoulders shifted once. You filed that moment away like a pressed flower between the pages of your memory.

You wrapped up the set with a joke you made up on the train and stepped off the stage. The bar noise rushed back in. The clatter of ice, the low thrum of jazz, someone arguing with the bartender about plum wine.

And there he was. Waiting, as he always did. Glass in hand. Tie slightly loosened but still too perfect. He didn’t go and immediately praised you. He never did, that just isn’t his personality. Instead, he handed you a bottle of water, gently tapped the top of your head.

He murmured to you lovingly. “You paused too long before the wa joke, you know that?”

You smiled. “It was still funny, wasn't it? You smiled!”

“Now, now, a lip ticking up isn’t always a smile, darling.”

“I’m still counting it to be one. That’s my rule!”

He shakes his head at you, finally smiling. “Little dominatrix, you.”

“As I should.” You winked at him, drinking the water.

The evening streets of Shibuya were still humming by the time you stepped outside. Neon signs flickered like cigarette lighters in the dark, and couples passed by hand in hand. You were sure some were freshly in love, others just trying not to argue before the last train.

The night air had that specific Tokyo chill to it: clean, quiet, and filled with possibility if you let it in deep enough through your lungs. Nanami Kento walked beside you, not behind, not ahead. Beside. Just like always.

He didn’t say anything at first, and you didn’t need him to. His presence was its own conversation. You could hear the rustle of his coat as he adjusted the collar, the soft clink of the ice in his highball glass still echoing in your memory.

He was warm and quiet, and the silence between you wasn’t empty. It was full of all the things he would never say unless prompted like a reluctant contestant on a quiz show.

You reached the corner near the bookstore that stayed open too late, the one you both liked, him for the solitude, you for the gossip magazines. He glanced at the window but didn’t stop. You didn’t either.

“You know, baby. People are intrigued about you.” you said, voice light, teasing. “I think you’re starting to develop a fan club in my silly circles.”

He looked over, one eyebrow rising the tiniest bit. “Oh really? Do share.”

“After the show, a girl in the bathroom asked if you were single. I told her you were married. To your job. And possibly to me, if I ever get you drunk enough near a temple.”

He made a sound that might’ve been a laugh or a polite cough. Hard to tell with Kento. “Was she disappointed?” he asked after a beat.

“Crushed. Said you had the quiet mystery of a yakuza lieutenant and the haircut of a disappointed private school teacher.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, darling.”

You both turned the corner. The convenience store buzzed behind you like a cicada that didn’t know it was out of season. The conversation faded again, but not awkwardly. Kento had a way of folding you into the quiet.

With him, you didn’t need to fill every space with words. Sometimes just walking next to him made you feel whole. With your arms almost brushing, your strides naturally in sync. It was enough to make the whole day feel worth it.

Then, after a while, he said, “You write your set differently when you know I’ll be there.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He looked straight ahead, not even a hint of a smirk. “There are lines you hesitate on. Jokes you aim directly at me. You don’t do that when I’m out of town.”

“So… you do watch the recordings.” Your brows furrowed, intrigued. “Did you subscribe to receive my content? If so, thank you for the money, baby.”

“I like to study my blind spots.”

You stared at him. He didn’t flinch. “I can’t tell if that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.” you murmured. “Or the most Kento thing.”

“Both.”

You stopped walking almost instantaneously. He took a few more steps before realizing you’d not been walking with him and instead, paused a few steps away. When he turned back, you were smiling, crooked and full of disbelief.

“I write differently because you’re the only person I’m scared to lie to, baby.” you said. “Even on stage.”

He tilted his head slightly, then stepped back toward you. Not dramatically. Just... close enough.

“I like the truth, my darling.” he said with suave. “You know this.”

“Even when it’s messy?”

He nodded. “Of course, I do.”

“Even when it’s about you?”

“I prefer it.”

You let out a breath, unsure if you were annoyed or completely undone by him. “You are quite a man.”

“I’m glad you like that.”

“Hm…You are truly….” you said, stopping yourself as you smiled, shaking your head. “You are the most frustratingly stable man I’ve ever met.”

“And yet.”

“And yet, my baby…..You’re amazing.” you echoed, stepping forward to walk again. “You never miss a show.”

He didn’t answer. Just walked beside you, as always. But this time, his pinky brushed yours. Deliberately. Barely. Like a secret. You couldn’t help but feel your cheeks turn red at how tightly his touch brushed on you.

And you thought, Maybe love in Tokyo doesn’t need grand gestures. Maybe it just needs presence. Precision. And a man who never misses a show. Even when the train’s delayed, the shoot runs long, or the punchline might cut a little too close to home.

You laced your pinky with his.

He didn’t look at you.

But he didn’t let go.

IT’S INTERESTING HOW YOUR HOME HAS BECOME MORE HOMELY SINCE YOU STARTED DATING KENTO. Your apartment smelled faintly of citrus-scented floor cleaner. It was sharp and clean in that way that almost tricked you into thinking everything was under control. That tricks you into thinking that chaos was not born in your life. That there was something softer beneath it.

The ghost of the candles you’d lit two nights ago remained unsettled in the abstract goo against the current flames that burned. They’d burned down unevenly on the kitchen counter, flickering over your half–hearted bowl of instant ramen, a quiet, silly attempt to romanticize solitude.

The scent still lingered ever so flagrantly, so still like a flower undoubtedly strident against the wind. Something so acutely warm and vaguely floral, like amber and smoke, clinging to the air like memory.

The lights were low, dim enough to soften the edges of the space, to make the piles of mail on the counter and the dishes in the sink blur into obscurity. Shadows pooled gently at the corners of the room.

Jazz murmured lazily from the Bluetooth speaker, the saxophone winding through the quiet like a thought you couldn’t quite hold on to. Mingus, maybe. Or Coltrane. Something you’d put on because it made the silence feel less lonely.

Your shoes were kicked off in the genkan, one lying half-turned on its side, the other nudged against the wall like it had simply given up halfway to the rack. It was the kind of careless placement that said: I live here.

Not performatively. Not as a curated space for guests or social media. But really live here, feel it with all the life it could offer, all the life you could give it. With all the uneven rhythms and soft chaos that came with it, of course.

The couch was slightly dented where you’d spent the last few nights curled up in the same corner, laptop balanced precariously on your knees, sometimes writing, sometimes watching old films you'd seen too many times before.

A rather comfortable blanket was thrown across the cushions in that deliberate yet accidental way. It was the kind of arrangement that only looks artful when you’re too tired to care.

Kento’s coat was folded over the back of your far flung armchair, ever so meticulously, of course. You could see his suit tie was draped over the edge of your couch, hanging like it had fallen asleep halfway through trying to relax.

He sat beside you, one arm stretched along the back of the massive sofa, a glass of Nikka whisky in his hand, fingers curled around it the way he did everything. It was quietly ever so controlled, and restrained, perhaps measured even. Just like your boyfriend’s entire person was.

You were curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked comfortably under you, your own glass resting lazily on your knee. The precious ice had long melted, leaving behind a diluted pool of amber at the bottom. The music from the party had faded into a distant hum through the walls, but neither of you spoke. Neither of you needed to.

There was a kind of peace in it that only the two of you would understand. In the way you simply were together, no demands, no expectations. Just two people sharing the same breath, the same silence.

You could feel his presence more than see him, the quiet gravity of Nanami Kento seated beside you, close enough that the air between you seemed to pulse with unspoken words.

It started slow. Barely anything, at first. A brush of his long fingers against your shoulder. It was casual, almost accidental. Your hand slid down, fingertips grazing the inside of his wrist where his pulse beat steady and sure.

The small, almost imperceptible movements spoke volumes, sentences of longing written skin to skin, against yours. It was too strong, too magnetic. It was something that even all the words in the world can’t explain to you or him.

Everything about your chemistry was as boundless as the deep expanse of the sea, thunderous in the world of troubles. Nothing else could matter in that, even if you were caught in the most dangerous beaconings of a troublesome storm.

Your desire, your pleasure, your need for each other was far more loud than all of it, far more powerful than what they think they could put between you or him. Nothing could separate you, you knew that. If anything, you could only want to stay stronger, beside each other. On each other.

A glance a little while later and then it became more than that. You found him looking at you like you were the only person in the world worth seeing. Like you were the only person that could ever be the apple of his eye. You felt your lips part for a moment, looking back at him.

In an instant, your lips melted against his in an outstanding kiss. At first, it was soft. It always starts out that way. It was like a whisper, a question neither of you had the courage to ask aloud. His lips met yours with the kind of careful tenderness that made your heart stumble.

But the second your hand threaded lightly into the fabric of his shirt, feeling the slow flex of muscle beneath, the kiss deepened. Firmer. Hungrier. It always ends up being something that drives you both to drown in the pleasure of the other.

Like every kiss you'd shared before, it built the way an argument does when neither side wants to win. If anything, pleasure dictates that both of you must lose. In this quiet battle of rhythm and stubborn, aching affection, there must always be surrender to the wiles of desire.

And desire between the two of you, it was subtle, magnetic, and once it started, there was simply no stopping it. That’s just how it was when two people are willing to love each other into the depths of pleasurable madness.

Your mouth tasted faintly of whisky and laughter, the easy, sun-warm kind that only ever happened when you were around him. His tasted like patience, like something deeper and more endless than you could ever hope to name. It was smoky and sweet all at once, carrying the faint, intoxicating notes of the highballs he'd sipped earlier at the bar.

When he tilted his head, deepening the kiss further, you caught that ghost of flavor again. All too smooth, warm, and utterly Kento. You made a soft, involuntary sound against him, and he responded in kind, a low hum deep in his chest that you could feel rumbling against your palms as you clutched at him.

One kiss turned into another. And another. It was an endless loop that you both couldn’t stop. Nothing was going to stop you both from taking and taking. Each one of those kisses saying more than words ever could: Stay. Want you. Need you. I love you.

Your glass slid forgotten to the side, a soft clink against the table as your hands found their way up his chest, memorizing the shape of him again, grounding yourself in the solid, steady reality of Kento.

When he finally pulled back, it was only by a fraction of an inch, his forehead resting lightly against yours, both of you breathing each other in. His hand cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing along your cheekbone in a silent promise.

"You’re dangerous, aren’t you, pretty woman?" he murmured, voice low and rough, sending shivers dancing down your spine.

You smiled, breathless and a little dizzy. "Only for you."

He kissed you again, slower this time, like he had all the time in the world to show you exactly what you meant to him and you realized, in a quiet, resounding way, that he really did.

But you knew that it was not going to last long. But even in the dullness, you know that your boyfriend liked having something intriguing, to keep the flames of passion burning.

Soon enough, it was messy in the way only sober-enough kissing is, all too intentional, all too knowing. His hand slipped under your shirt, not greedy, just certain. Yours tangled in his hair, already a little mussed from the night. You tugged lightly. He hummed, pleased with it all. You’d forgotten the song still playing.

You could barely come up for air. But when you finally did, your faces were beautifully flushed towards each other, your breath falling into his collarbone like a confession. Your lover leaned his head back, caramel eyes closed, chest rising slowly. He was a happy, fulfilled man indeed. And you liked seeing that.

And then, just like that, he asked, “Would you like to move in together?”

You blinked. Pulled back just enough to see his face. No smirk. No nerves. Just that classic Nanami Kento stillness with a dash of nonchalant. Like he’d asked if you wanted to order another drink to be poured on his drink.

“Did you hit your head on something when I wasn’t looking?” you asked, eyes narrowed. “Because that was a tone shift.”

“I’ve been thinking about it, darling.” he said simply. “For a while. It just….makes sense.”

You sat up, heart thudding now. Certainly not from the kissing, not from the whisky but from the quiet way he said for a while. Like it had been living in him. Like it wasn’t a sudden idea, but a decision that had already been made. He was just offering it to you now, carefully wrapped in calm.

“You don’t joke about things like this, Nanami Kento.” you said, half–teasing, half–terrified. “You’re going to be talking about what my shoe closet looks like.”

“I don’t joke about something this serious, darling. You know. Especially about the shoe closet.”

You stared at him. He stared back. You looked away from him, pursing your lips as you began to daydream about what he was saying. You don’t daydream too much, for your own sake, of course. But when you do now, it consumes you.

You begin to think of what your days could look like. Your shirt was crooked, and his button–up was half undone, and the air was thick with possibility and the slight scent of his cologne. You thought about your small closet.

His endless collection of ties. Your bright violet toothpaste. His expensive golden razor. The quiet mornings. The very occasional arguments that always ended in silence and leaning in. The space between you and him, shrinking.

You bit your lip. “If I say yes, will you be freakishly neat and reorganize my spice rack alphabetically once again?”

“Only if you want me to.”

You paused. “...And you’re sure you’re not asking because the whisky made me seem extra charming tonight?”

“You are always charming, my precious darling.” he said, with no irony. “And I’m asking because I want to come home to you. I mean, it’s nice to see you when I get home.”

You tilted your head at him, studying his face in the low light. You always did that when you didn’t quite trust the size of the moment. You held it up to the light like jewelry, trying to see if it caught the right kind of sparkle.

And then, as naturally as anything, you looked at him and sighed. “Well….you’re already always in my apartment anyway. Unless you’re sleeping in your trailer.”

That got him. He laughed. You could hear it reverberating in your ear. It was a soft, deep thing that cracked through the room like thunder far away, the kind that rolls more than it rumbles. Kento didn’t laugh easily. So when he did, it always felt like it belonged to you.

“Yeah, exactly.” he said, tilting his glass, warm caramel eyes still on yours. “It’s more homely than mine, comfortable beyond words.”

You smirked. “Homely? That’s a diplomatic way to describe the leaning bookshelf, the chipped kettle, and the constant state of sock–on–floor.”

“I like it here, darling.” he said. Simple. No room for embellishment. “It’s…..way more sunlight than my godawful apartment.”

You laughed at him. You leaned forward and plucked his glass gently from his hand, setting it down with yours on the coffee table. Then you tucked your legs under his, leaned against his shoulder.

“That's an interesting form of thought.” you said, playing with the hem of his shirt. “You’re saying all this time you’ve been camping out here like some beautifully stoic squatter, and now you’re just formalizing the situation?”

“I prefer to think of it as a mutually beneficial merger.”

You laughed into his shoulder. “That’s the most you thing you could possibly say, baby.”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” he murmured. “You have all the good coffee. And a much better pillow.”

“Obviously, I splurge on myself.” you said, chin tilted up to meet his gaze. “I have taste, after all.”

He nodded, slow and serious. “I did notice. You chose me.”

You paused. Damn him. You weren’t the romantic one. Not really. Perhaps that’s why none of your relationships have panned out the way you wanted it to. You were the wisecrack. The getaway car. The girl with the enraging punchline.

But the way he said things, there was just enough softness behind the deadpan, like the words had passed a board meeting of his thoughts before being released and you couldn’t dodge it. It’s also safe to say that you didn’t want to. You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his.

“Okay, okay. Fine.” you whispered. “Let’s do it. Let’s live together.”

He didn’t smile wide at those words. Kento didn’t go wide all the time, you knew that. But there was a shift in his bright eyes, a stillness behind them that deepened the more he looked at you. It was like a weight over his shoulder had dropped at anchor.

He squeezed your hand once and started caressing your fingers. Kento then leaned in, his mouth brushing yours. It was slower than the first time you’ve made out tonight. It was passionate but it was more reverent. It was like he was kissing the idea of a home rather than a person.

You deepened the kiss this time. Not messy. Not urgent. Just right. And somewhere between the quiet of the room and the cool press of his palm against your lower back, it dawned on you now.

Kento hadn’t missed a show, he never had any intention of doing something like that. And now, he wasn’t going to miss the mornings after, either. All at once, you found yourself falling in love all over again with him.

Later, the jazz music had slowly faded into silence, and the only sound was the rustle of his shirt as he took it off, careful, like he was folding it at the dry cleaners. He never left clothes in a heap. Even here, even now. You found that annoying once. Now it made your chest ache a little.

The two of you now laid there together on the couch soon after your joyous kissing, your legs tangled, your head tucked under his chin, the quiet holding you both like an extra blanket. This sort of silence comes ever so many times after blissful desires being fulfilled between the two of you.

“Where would we live?” you murmured, voice soft from the edge of sleep. “Here? Yours? Or are we doing the whole… new place, new life thing?”

He was quiet for a moment, long enough you thought maybe he’d dozed off.“Here, if you’re comfortable. Your place feels lived in.”

You chuckled. “That’s a poetic way of saying cluttered, don’t you think?”

He didn’t deny it. “But it’s better here despite that.” he added, looking at you tenderly. “You laugh here. And I adore that.”

You blinked, suddenly too awake. You tilted your face up to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“You laugh the most in this space, darling.” he said. “You’re yourself. You come home and sigh, and drop your keys like you’re shedding a persona. It’s honest.”

Your throat tightened, because it was true. And because you hadn’t even realized he noticed. You were always laughing, but this doesn’t mean it’s always as genuine as people think. But when you’re here in this space, comfortable and without prying eyes — only Kento’s eyes watching you, you become the truest form of yourself.

“I can bring my coffee maker too.” he offered to you. “And we can trade the bookshelf for one that doesn’t threaten to collapse every time you breathe near it.”

You snorted, pushing lightly at his chest. “Don’t touch my bookshelf.”

“But it leans like it’s in debt.”

“It’s got character!” You defended. “Besides, I got it for free.”

“$500 dollars is not free.” He raised an eyebrow, the edge of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And so do unstable men, darling. Doesn’t mean you bring them home.”

You laughed at these words, louder this time. It echoed even towards the other side of the kitchen walls. He smiled for real then, the kind he didn’t give to paparazzi or co-stars or anyone on set. The one he saved for you.

You shifted up to straddle his lap, your hands settling on his chest, warm and solid beneath you. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” you whispered, more a realization than a question.

He nodded. “I’ve never been more certain.”

“And what if I’m a terrible roommate?”

“You already are.”

You gasped, dramatic. “Rude.”

“But, it’s not the worst thing in the world.” he said, brushing his thumb against your jaw. “ I like that you’re my terrible roommate. And I’d rather trip over your shoes for the rest of my life than spend another night in a trailer with lukewarm green tea and no you.”

You stared at him. “You know you just tricked me into a lifelong lease, right?”

He kissed your temple. “No trick. Just a very long–term investment.”

You sighed. Surrendered. Sank into him. “You’re too much for your own good, you know that?”

“So are you.” He says, amused, eyes full of love. “But I love you anyway.”

Outside, Tokyo city central buzzed on with its neon lights, distant traffic, another weekend folding itself into the city’s rhythm. But inside, your little apartment held a different kind of electricity. The kind that came not from what was said, but from what had already been decided.

And if love wasn’t about staying through the chaos, the mismatched cups, the jokes that landed late and the ones that cut too deep, then what was it, really?

YOU WERE SATISFIED WITH THIS CURRENT SITUATION. Finally you and Kento got a day off where your schedules aligned. So, on this random day, you both embarked onto every facet of Tokyo Metropolitan in order to go house hunting together.

The real estate agent you got was all perfect. Too perfect, actually. Dressed in that crisp, tailored suit that looked like it came straight out of a movie. His hair was combed back like he was auditioning for a role in a historical drama about upper–class finance bros.

You had half a mind to ask if the place came with a butler who could direct you to your inevitable panic attack. But you didn’t. Instead, you found yourself trying to lock in and focus on making sure you had good water heating for your showers.

“You two are looking for something cozy?” the agent asked, smiling so professionally it made you suspicious.

“Cozy and comfortable.” Kento said, cool as ever. “But with enough space to store all her shoes.”

“I don’t have that many, baby.” you shot back, nudging his arm.

He gave you that tiny, unspoken smile, one that the agent can’t see. Only you saw it. It was the kind that you couldn’t figure out if it was because he was genuinely amused or because he had found a way to subtly insult you without actually saying anything. Either way, it was frustratingly attractive.

The agent beamed. “Ah, yes, of course. We’ll aim for something with great closet space then, yes? A walk–in? Maybe two?”

You looked at Kento. “Are we living in L.A. now? Do I need to start measuring the walk–in closet for a vanity?”

Kento was silent for a beat. Then, with the kind of dry humor only he could pull off.“You could definitely use a vanity. I’ve seen your makeup bag.”

“I heard that.” you muttered.

Meanwhile, the agent was nodding enthusiastically. “Yes, yes. A vanity. We can definitely make that happen. What about an open-concept kitchen? Something with a large island? Perfect for cooking together.”

You and Kento exchanged a look. A silent agreement passed between you. “Yes, that would be good.” Kento said smoothly, “I’ll do the cooking, she’ll do the eating. Well, when we have the time.”

“Hey!” you protested.

“I’m just saying, darling.” he continued, mirth in the corner of his eyes. “You’re more of a ‘delivery’ person.”

You threw a playful punch at his shoulder, but the agent didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy mentally planning the layout of your future life in a house that, as of right now, was just a pile of well-choreographed words.

“So, here’s the first place for you both to view.” the agent said, gesturing grandly as if he was presenting you with the last plot of land on Earth. “A beautiful two–bedroom townhouse, open space, natural light pouring in through those big windows. I know you both like that.”

You stepped inside. The place was nice, in that “too perfect, too clean, not a single imperfection anywhere” kind of way. The walls were white, the floors were polished wood, and there was one of those fancy glass showers with no curtain, because apparently, that’s a thing now. There was a room that could be a study, but you both knew it would be more of a “catch–all for all your stuff you don’t want anyone to see” room.

“It’s……interesting.” you started, trying to be diplomatic. “Very... minimalist.”

“Minimalist?” Kento raised an eyebrow, stepping into the living room. “It’s like they took everything from a showroom and put it into a place with no soul.”

The agent smiled, clearly too trained to let the comment rattle him. “Ah, yes. We can certainly add some personal touches. But the layout is ideal.”

You looked at Kento, who was already over by the window, staring out at the view like he was plotting a great escape. “It’s fine, really.” you said, but there was a hesitation in your voice. “It’s just... not us, you know?”

“Yeah, I agree.” Kento said, voice low but sharp. “It feels like someone else’s idea of a home. Not ours.”

You didn’t even have to say anything. You just knew. He knew. This was a ‘try again’ kind of place. The agent was already leading you to the next property, which was thirty minutes away from this place.

Neighborhood was quiet so far, which Kento liked. You just don’t know how they’ll like you afterwards when you make ridiculous jokes out loud to practice your sets. You were very loud after all. And that also happens more so, when Kento becomes too enamoured with you.

“We’ll have to move fast here.” he said, eager, “I’ve had quite a bit of interest in this one. A lot of competition.”

Kento turned to you, eyes twinkling with barely-contained sarcasm. “Oh good, maybe we can start fighting for it. Really amp up the drama.”

“Great, great.” you said, just as mischievously sarcastic. “I can finally get that dramatic screaming match in before we settle in. A few raised voices, maybe throw in a wine glass for good measure.”

Kento chuckled. “Perfect. Maybe the house will actually start to feel like home then.”

The agent led you to the next house, which was a bit further from Tokyo Metropolitan. But it’s not too bad. It was a slightly less–polished version of the first, but with more charm.

A real fireplace instead of the fake one that gave you heartburn just by looking at it. It felt... real in a way the last one didn’t. It was imperfect. But it had character. The kind of character you could shape, add to, make your own.

“Now this one, it's intriguing.” Kento said, the corners of his mouth turning up. “This feels like it could work.”

You walked through the rooms together, each step you took feeling a little more like it was yours. The light was warm. The space felt like it could hold both of you for as long as you both lived. It could fit your shoes, his ties, your inevitable pile of random things that just seemed to find their way into your life.

And when you looked at him, when you caught his bright caramel eyes across the room as he traced his finger along the edge of the counter, you realized something important.

You weren’t looking for perfection, that was for sure. You weren’t looking for minimalist or an open–concept kitchen with a huge island. You were looking for something that felt like it would fit you both. Something you could grow into, something that would hold your laughter, your fights, your quiet mornings.

“So, baby…..what’s on your mind?” you said, slipping your hand into his. “What do you think? Are you willing to share a closet with me?”

Kento looked at you for a long beat, then cracked the smallest smile. “I already do.”

“Well, that settles it.” you said, “I’m sold then.”

The agent looked confused, probably waiting for some big, final decision or maybe an overexcited explosion from both of you. But you and Kento were more calm about this than he probably thought. Yet you know that sometimes it’s not about the house or the grandeur of it all. It’s about what you bring into it.

You turned to the agent, smiling. “We’ll take it!”

“Do you not want to hear about the amenities—”

“Your pamphlet had the information and I read it on the way here.” Kento says, cutting the agent off with a suave look. “We’ll take it.”

“A–ah, I see….well, alright.” The agent rubbed the back of his head, flustered and confused.

You turned to the agent, who was still awkwardly waiting for some sort of real answer, and grinned. “Wrap it up for us, okay?” you said, voice as sweet as it could be. “We’ll take it. Seriously.”

The agent blinked, clearly not expecting you to make the decision so quickly. “You’re... sure?”

You nodded, a little too casually. “Yeah, I mean, it’s not perfect—but it’s good. It feels right. Right, Kento?”

Kento, who had been silently nodding in agreement for the past minute, raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, sure. It’s got potential. And I like that I won’t have to climb over a pile of shoes every time I come through the door.”

You shot him a look. “You’re one to talk. Your shoes multiply like they have a life of their own.”

He shrugged with that calm, nonchalant smile of his. “What can I say? I’m a high-maintenance guy.”

The agent was looking between the two of you, still a little confused but clearly relieved that you were on the same page. “Well, in that case, I’ll start drawing up the paperwork.”

You smiled, standing a little straighter now that the weight of the decision had settled into your chest. “Great. Let’s get this over with so we can go drink to our terrible, amazing decision-making skills.”

Kento leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as reality settled in. “We own a house together now.”

You beamed at him, almost jumping in his arms, giggling. “We own a house together! Oh, I’m so happy, Kento!”

“I think I’d rather make this place a home with you than spend one more minute pretending that’s what that other place was.” He says, placing a kiss on the temple of your head. “This is our home now.”

You sighed dreamingly, smiling. “Our home….”

“The packing is going to be crazy, though.” You whistled, looking around. “Oh, that’s where the bookshelves could be!”

Kento chuckled beside you. “You’re going to need a lot of whiskey for that.”

“I’ll bring the whiskey if you bring the moving boxes, baby.” you quipped, playfully nudging his side.

He grinned. “Deal. But you know, you’ll be the one organizing everything, right?”

You gave him a look of mock horror. “Are you trying to start a war, Kento? Because that’s how wars start.”

He raised both hands in surrender. “Fine. But I’ll do the heavy lifting.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you say now…”

Kento’s eyes twinkled with a touch of mischief. “I’m a man of my word.”

The agent watched you both banter, clearly fascinated by the easy chemistry between you two. He cleared his throat, snapping you back to the task at hand. “I’ll get everything started for you. You’ll have the paperwork to sign by tomorrow. Congratulations, you two. It’s a beautiful place.”

“Thanks so much.” you said with a smile, “We’re excited. It’s gonna be great.”

As the agent left, you both stood in the empty living room for a few moments, letting the reality of it all sink in. “You know, baby. Half of this was a nightmare.” you said, finally breaking the silence. “When I woke up this morning, I was kind of dreading this whole process. But now that it’s over, it feels…” You trailed off, glancing around the room.

“Easy?” Kento offered, his voice almost a whisper.

“Yeah.” You nodded, leaning against him. “Easy.”

He pulled you closer, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “So, what’s next?”

“Next?” You raised an eyebrow. “Well, we’ll need to unpack. And then maybe—”

“Then maybe we can do something.” he interrupted with a soft laugh. “You know, we can celebrate with a ridiculously expensive bottle of wine and a night on the couch, just the two of us. No packing. No organizing. Just... us.”

You looked up at him, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest. “That sounds perfect.”

And for once, you didn’t think about anything else. No performances, no deadlines, no next steps in the grand plan. It was just him, and the apartment, and the future you two had already started building, one whiskey-fueled kiss at a time.

“Alright, alright.” you said, looping your arm through his. “Let’s go home.”

“Home….together.” Kento repeated softly. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

And for the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel like the two of you were just visiting your lives. You were living them. Together. Forever and forever.

YOU ALWAYS ENJOY VISITING THEM. Regular people will think that it’s weird that you enjoy the company of Kento’s family, especially his ex–wife’s presence. But you do, you do enjoy it. And you aren’t ashamed of it. They loved you just as much as you loved them, after all.

The moment you stepped into his ex–wife’s house, you knew it was going to be a night. Not a “pass the soy sauce and let’s be civil” night—no, this was shaping up to be a “smile through the tension, eat too much, and pray no one brings up that thing from 2018” kind of evening.

The air smelled like grilled miso eggplant and inevitable chaos. Gojo Satoru answered the door in socks that said “Sexiest Dad Alive” and a kimono robe that was 100% not his. He still looked like a beautiful man, a ridiculous man just the same. And not your type.

But you know you can’t judge that much. You’re dating a man with a reputation like Kento as well. You smiled at him, greeting him. He grinned like a man who just knew he was going to stir the pot and was already preheating the spoon.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the power couple of the year.” Gojo declared, smiling brightly. “Come in! We’ve been emotionally preparing.”

Kento rolled his eyes so hard you heard it. “Can we go one night without theatrics?”

“You married a woman who schedules her sarcasm, Kento–kun.” Gojo shot back. “Clearly, you like theatrics.”

You patted Kento’s arm. “He has a point.”

“He spent years yearning for her too, you know.” Kento whispers.

“But you married her first, so….” You snicker at your boyfriend.

“Okay, what is this topic?”

Kenshin and Keiko were already on the couch, each with a plate of food and an expression that screamed, “We are only here for the drama.” Nanami Keiko was mid–bite with her lasagna bowl when she spotted you both.

“Oh god, you’re here for dinner!” Keiko said through a mouthful of snacks, eyes widening as you and Kento stepped into the living room. “Is this the dinner where you announce you’re getting a dog? Because I’m prepared to cry.”

“Is that how you greet your father?” Kento asked, raising an eyebrow at her, all dry patience and faint exasperation.

“Hey, it’s not too bad, Dad.” Keiko said, grinning as she brushed crumbs off her sweatshirt and stood up from the couch, “I thought it was just going to be a regular dinner, Dad. You didn’t say there’d be announcements. You’ve trained me to expect stoic silence and miso soup.”

You bit back a laugh, shrugging out of your coat as Kento exchanged a long-suffering look with the ceiling. “She’s gotten more dramatic since the last time.” he muttered. “My daughter, a doctor at the hospital but a menace at home.”

“It’s in the blood, isn’t it?” you said, grinning at him. “Just like her father.”

“Don’t encourage her, darling.” he replied, but the twitch of a smile betrayed him.

Keiko walked over and gave him a quick hug, the kind that started sarcastic but ended sincere. “How was your trip here?”

“Rather long, really.” he said, placing a hand on her back briefly.

Kenshin raised a brow. “But isn’t the trip only one hour max? I mean, even shorter if there was a bullet train.”

“Someone on the train was watching a drama at full volume.”

“Ah.” Keiko nodded. “Yeah, Dad hates that.”

“Dad’s better than me, I would have been crashing out.” Kenshin retorted, shaking his head.

“Did you ask them to turn it down?” she asked.

“I put in earplugs, [name] gave it to me on the way.” he said flatly. “And mentally rewrote the last act.”

Kenshin raised a brow. “What was the show?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You just saw the show an hour ago!”

“Well, it was that forgettable.”

“You’re such a dad.” Keiko said with a sigh.

“I am your dad.”

“I know. That’s why I said that.”

In the corner, Gojo Satoru popped his head into the room, already holding a beer and smiling like he knew exactly what chaos was about to happen. “Is this the dinner where you tell us you’re engaged? Or moving to Okinawa to open a soba shop? I need to mentally prepare.”

“It’s not that dramatic, you know.” you said quickly, laughing.

Gojo tilted his head. “You sure? Because Kento–kun here looks like he practiced something in the mirror.”

“He always looks like that, Gojo.” Keiko said. “Even when we were kids he was like that!”

Kento sighed. “Can we just sit down for dinner like normal people?”

“Sure, sure.” Gojo said, winking as he took a sip of his beer. “Right after you make your Very Important Announcement.”

Kenshin, who had been pretending not to eavesdrop from behind his phone screen, immediately perked up. “Wait, no, no. This feels bigger. This feels like living together level big.”

Keiko gasped, dramatically clutching her chest like a kabuki actress mid-tragedy. “You’re moving in together?! That is a dog-level announcement!”

Gojo pointed at her with his beer. “Told you. I can smell news. I’ve been around press conferences.”

Kento sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can everyone please stop shouting?”

“Seriously, Dad?” Kenshin’s eyes widened. “You’re moving in together? Wait, [name], are you pregnant?”

You and Kento froze in sync like a badly rehearsed improv duo at Kenshin’s statement. You were about to say something after recovering from shock but Kento’s ex–wife, bless her well–moisturized soul, appeared in the doorway with a bowl of tsukemono and the timing of a sitcom character.

“What’s this about living together?” she asked with a smirk that said I already know but I want to see him squirm.

You cleared your throat and elbowed Kento gently. “Well, funny you should mention it…”

Kento, ever the man of zero dramatic flair, stood up, adjusted his sleeves, and said flatly, “We’re moving in together.”

You turned to all of them, with wide eyes. "But not pregnant! Just clearing this out now. Not pregnant!"

Keiko blinked. “Wait, is this serious this time? Like genuinely, seriously happening?”

Kenshin choked on his drink. “Does that mean I can have Dad’s place?”

“Absolutely not, Kenshin.” Kento deadpanned. “You have your own place.”

“Wait, wait.” Gojo said, grinning like a man who just got handed a new toy. “You’re officially cohabiting? As in, toothbrushes next to each other? As in, shared Netflix password?”

“I’ve had his Netflix password for months, don’t worry about that.” you said sweetly. “But thank you for your concern.”

Kento gave you a look. “That explains the K-dramas in my watch history.”

His ex–wife laughed, which might’ve been the most surprising part of the night. “Honestly, I’m thrilled for you. He’s less grumpy since you started dating. Which is a miracle, because I thought his base setting was ‘dissatisfied salaryman.’”

“Still is, if we’re being honest.” Gojo Satoru whispered behind his hand, then dodged a kick from Kento under the table. “That sorcerer salaryman role never left your head!”

“Did you guys buy a new place or is one of you moving in together?” His ex–wife asked.

“Well, we decided that it was going to be my place originally but…..we’ve discovered we’re two maximalists with a dream and my apartment is not gonna fit all the shoes and his ties.” You say, with a grin on your face as she laughed. “We got a new place.”

Keiko grinned. “I’m just glad you got a new place. Dad’s current place sucks, you know? It’s basically a makeover show waiting to happen.”

“You’re right, it definitely sucks!”

“Seriously, though.” Kenshin added. “If you live in Dad’s apartment, you’ll come home one day and your books will be alphabetized by emotional trauma.”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough.” Kento muttered, setting down his chopsticks. “Can we eat without treating this like a roast?”

“No, never.” everyone, including you, replied in unison. Kento rolls his eyes as everyone giggles.

You leaned into Kento, whispering, “You know, for a guy with two kids, an ex-wife, and a Gojo in his life, you’re taking this really well.”

He sighed. “This was a mistake.”

You smiled, kissed his cheek, and said loud enough for everyone to hear, “Too late. I’ve got the closet rights now.”

Gojo raised his glass. “Well, we should celebrate. Go on, raise your glasses! To shared closets and questionable life choices!”

And just like that, the tension broke. Laughter filled the room. Food was passed. Kenshin asked if he could borrow your air fryer. Keiko tried to sell you on a shared Spotify family plan. Gojo tried to emotionally adopt you again.

And Kento, stoic, stable, secretly soft Kento. He just smiled that small, rare smile he saved for moments like this. Surrounded by family, chaos, and a woman who laughed too loud and wouldn’t let him alphabetize her spice rack.

Home wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t calm.

But it was his.

And now, officially, it was yours too.

Later that night, full of soy sauce and feelings, you found yourself wedged between Keiko and Gojo on the couch like some unwilling member of a variety show panel. Gojo was enthusiastically showing you a video montage of Kenshin’s high school stage play performance. Kenshin, from across the room, was groaning into a decorative pillow.

“Stop acting like you weren’t brilliant.” Gojo said proudly, pointing at the screen where Kenshin delivered Hamlet’s soliloquy with all the intensity of someone discovering existential dread and acne at the same time. “I mean, for an information science major, this is not half bad!”

“I think I stuttered somewhere around here….”

“But that really doesn’t matter in the long run, anyway! You held off your own despite that. Good job!”

“Though, the wig looks off.” Keiko whispered under her breath. “Where did you buy it?”

You nodded at her. “Yeah, this looks like you pulled it together from the shower drain!”

Kenshin blushed. “Look, I tried to style it myself but failed!”

Meanwhile, Kento stood in the corner of the kitchen, nursing a cup of tea and looking like a man watching his dignity dissolve into miso soup. His ex–wife leaned against the counter beside him, sipping her wine and trying not to laugh too obviously.

“You look like you’re regretting life choices.” she said, sipping with a knowing smile.

“I’m not, I promise.” Kento replied quietly. “I just didn’t realize how... loud everything was.”

“You always forget.” she said, nudging his arm. “Then you end up in a room with all of us and remember why noise–canceling headphones were the best thing you ever bought.”

“I guess.”

“I’m glad for you taking this next step, you know?” She says to him with earnest eyes. “It’s good that you finally got your shit together.”

“Hm, I’m glad for that too.” He crossed his arms, whispering under his breath.

Across the room, you were now trying to explain to Keiko and Gojo how you and Kento managed to choose an apartment without passive-aggressively breaking up at IKEA. For a moment, Kento and his ex–wife stopped what they were doing and looked at you.

“This was for the best.” Kento whispered, almost breathlessly. “I’m happy we’re friends, our kids are alright with this. And we’re happy.”

His ex–wife smiled. “I’m glad we feel all the same things.”

Keiko looked genuinely impressed. “You mean you agreed on furniture? Like, voluntarily?”

“Well, not really.” you said, “I said mid-century modern, and he said, ‘functional’ and then we bickered like children. But, we finally met somewhere between emotionally repressed and tragically tasteful.”

Gojo snorted. “So, beige.”

“Very beige, unfortunately.” you said to him.. “But with the possibility of color. Eventually. If Kento has a glass of wine and I cry about the lighting.”

Kenshin piped up from the other couch. “So basically, you guys are domestic now. Gross.”

You shrugged. “Deeply domestic. I saw him fold laundry last night with reverence.”

Kento, hearing that, called out: “Because you washed a red sock with my white dress shirts.”

“Oh please,” you said. “They’re barely pink. They're a millennial blush.”

Keiko whispered, “God, you guys are already like an old married couple.”

“We’re working on it even more than before.” you said proudly, raising your tea like a trophy. “Just watch!”

Eventually, the night started to wind down. The kids cleaned up dishes without being asked (a rare planetary alignment), Gojo offered to pack you both some leftover tamagoyaki “for energy” and Kento's ex–wife hugged you warmly by the door.

“I’m happy for you, both of you.” she said again, softer now, so only you could hear. “He’s better with you. Not different—just...better.”

You blinked, a little surprised by the lump in your throat. “Thanks. That means a lot. I really love him.”

��I know, I know.” she said. “So do I. Just... in a way that makes me happy he’s yours now.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you just squeezed her hand and tried not to get weepy over pickled vegetables.

Kento reappeared with both your coats and your leftovers packed like they’d been engineered by a Tetris champion. He kissed the top of your head. “Ready?”

You nodded. “Always.”

Gojo shouted from the living room, “Text me when you get home so I know he didn’t alphabetize your bookshelf while you weren’t looking!”

“He already did!” you yelled back.

Kento groaned. “You said it looked better.”

"It's not like I'm denying that, baby."

"Well, you might as well have."

You waved goodnight, stepped out into the chilly Tokyo evening, and slipped your hand into his. And for all the teasing, the noise, the unsolicited parenting advice from Gojo Satoru. This was what it came down to. Two people, moving in together. No fanfare. Just leftovers, pink shirts, and shared keys.

Home was no longer a place. It was walking down the street with him beside you, bickering about sock colors and furniture shapes, and knowing—without a doubt—you’d do it all again tomorrow.

YOUR SET WAS PRETTY GOOD TODAY. No, no. Scratch that. It was great. One of those rare, glittering Tokyo nights when everything just clicked. The mic felt like an extension of your arm, the spotlight hit you like a confession from someone you’ve secretly hoped would crack, and the crowd?

The crowd was yours. Eating out of your hand like you were handing out free matcha Kit Kats and emotionally healthy communication. You were flying. Every punchline landed smoother than a shinkansen on a clear track.

Your timing was tighter than your vintage Levi’s after a full wash and a late-night conbini run. Even the new material hit, especially the one about Kento’s deep, unsettlingly sexy relationship with organization.

You leaned into the mic, grinning. “So I live with this man now—yes, thank you, I know, I deserve a medal. And I’ve learned something: he doesn’t just organize the fridge. He curates it."

People start to laugh, but you shush them. "Oh, this is no joke, people. The soy sauce is labeled ‘fermented umami solution’ and it’s filled next to a vision board and a bottle of yuzu that has better lighting than I’ve ever had on a Zoom call.”

That earned a full-blown ripple of laughter. Someone in the front row clapped spontaneously, which was a bit much, but you’d allow it. You were willing to get what you were gonna get with that joke, you knew.

You pushed on. “And I opened the vegetable drawer, once—and found a mood calendar. With stickers. Stickers! Tuesday’s daikon was feeling introspective, Thursday’s was gassy but resilient. The carrots were listed as ‘optimistic but emotionally reserved.’ I haven’t touched a vegetable since. I’m afraid I’ll mess up the vibe.”

There was a sputtering sound from somewhere in the back, someone choking on their highball. You paused dramatically, then dropped the kicker. “And he doesn’t just store things, okay? He gives them purpose. I caught him whispering to a bottle of sesame oil. I said, ‘What are you doing?’ He goes—dead serious—‘Encouraging it to fulfill its potential.’”

The room exploded with that one. Even someone at the bar had to steady themselves on a stool. That has pleased you quite a lot. You giggled, moving about to reset in order to get into another joke.

You glanced sideways, second stool from the left. There he was once again. Nanami Kento. One elbow on the bar, tie slightly loosened, whisky in hand, that signature calm stretched across his face.

He wasn’t laughing out loud, as always, because of course not. But there was the twitch. The barest hint of amusement tugging at his mouth like a secret only the two of you shared. You’d hit the mark. The audience knew it. You knew it. And Kento? Kento knew it before you even picked up the mic.

The set closed with a bang. Applause burst like confetti. You bowed to everyone, continuing to thank them. You were glowing, buzzing, alive as you waved back away to them. And then you saw him.

Near the exit. Holding a bouquet of slightly wilted pink roses like a man hoping flowers could make up for... well, everything. You feel like you are gonna puke. Why would he even be here? Your stupid ex. “There she is!” came a voice behind you.

You turned to where you heard the sound, and there he stood now. Your ex, this close to you. Everything felt like this was the human version of a paper cut that never quite heals. Holding flowers, because of course he was.

You remember why he was the Ex, with a capital E. The guy who once ghosted you after introducing you to his cat like that was a serious milestone. The one who once told you your ambition was “charming but exhausting” which is exactly what people say right before they buy a motorcycle and move to Kyoto to "find himself."

He was standing there. Holding flowers. Actual flowers. Like it was a school recital or a K-drama. Roses, of course, classic, dramatic, and completely impractical. You hated how you had no way around him on this stage design.

“Hey.” he said, with that familiar crooked smile that used to make your knees weak but now just made you want to check your emotional firewall.

You blinked. “You lost? Because I know a good therapist who can help you find closure.”

He laughed. “I came to see your set. You were great. Really. Like... better than I remembered.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Thanks…..Are you still ghosting your therapist or have you finally learned how to communicate in full sentences?”

Behind him, like a silent film villain with perfect posture, Nanami Kento was watching. Calm. Cool. And terrifyingly still. The kind of stillness that said I am not jealous, I am just evaluating the best time to throw this man into the river without disrupting public peace.

The Ex offered the flowers. “Thought I’d bring these. To say I’m proud of you. And sorry. For… y’know. Stuff.”

You crossed your arms. “Stuff? Wow. Really digging deep into that emotional vocabulary, huh?”

Kento finally walked over, not fast, just… decisively. Like a slow-motion threat in a beige trench coat. “Evening to you.” he said to the Ex, voice polite but with the undertone of someone who can fold a person like laundry. “Can I help you?”

The Ex straightened up, suddenly remembering that Kento existed and that he was, in fact, built like the kind of man who can deadlift emotional baggage and you, if necessary. Unfortunately, he is still a man who wants a woman.

“Just dropping off some flowers.” the Ex said quickly. “Friendly gesture, if you will.”

Kento nodded slowly. “They’re nice. But she’s allergic to cheap apologies and filler greens.”

You nearly choked on your laugh. But you knew you couldn’t stop it for so long. So you try to make it about coughing. The Ex looked between you two, clearly realizing he was very much not the main character anymore.

“Who are you anyway?”

“Isn’t it obvious who I am?” Kento retorted back at him. “I’m the guy she’s using as her material. That means I’m her boyfriend.”

“O–oh….wait, you’re dating this guy? And you moved in together?”

You nodded at him, snickering. “Hm. Why, you want him? I’m sorry, he’s one of a kind. I cannot share.”

“That’s—”

“Is there a problem with that?” Kento asked, raising a brow.

“No, no…not at all……Right. Well… good luck with the whole moving-in thing. Hope it works out.”

“It already is.” you said, plucking one of the roses and handing the rest back to him. “Here. Take these home. Maybe give one to that rice cooker you never committed to.”

He walked off, bouquet tucked awkwardly under his arm like regret wrapped in cellophane. You turned to Kento, who hadn’t said much after your former lover left, but you knew he didn’t have to. His hand brushed yours, tenderly touching you.

“You okay?” he asked.

You smiled. “Better than okay. That was almost fun.”

Kento raised an eyebrow. “You call that fun?”

You slipped your arm through his. “I call you fun. That counts, right?”

He looked at the rose in your hand. “You know that doesn’t match the rest of the flowers I got you last week.”

“I know, I know.” you said, smirking. “Yours will always be the prettiest, baby.”

Later that night, after your ex had limped out of the club like a man who’d just realized he’d missed the last train of a relationship he never really understood, you and Kento were back at your apartment, settling into the warm, familiar space that had become yours.

Kento poured the sake into the cup. He poured it ever so slowly, deliberately, as if he was pretending to focus on the glass in his hand, but you knew better. You could see the slight furrow in his brow, the way his fingers were wrapped around the glass, not in their usual composed manner, but a little... tighter. A little more tense.

You raised an eyebrow. "You okay?"

He didn’t look at you, still focused on the sake, as if contemplating its entire existence. "I'm fine."

You leaned in, amused. "Sure? Because I’ve known you long enough to know that ‘fine’ is a word you only use when you're pretending everything's fine, and we both know that's never true."

He sighed, finally meeting your eyes. "It’s just… you’re not really the only one with an ex who’s got unfinished business."

You blinked, surprised. "What does that mean?"

He gave a half-laugh, half-grumble. "I just think it’s… interesting, that’s all. How he—" He gestured vaguely with his glass, "—just shows up like that. After everything. And, I mean, flowers? Really?"

You couldn't help but smile, trying to mask the laugh bubbling up. "Are you jealous, Kento?"

He shot you a side-eye. "No."

"Uh-huh."

He looked away again, his tone cool but laced with something slightly irked. "I just think it's... unnecessary. All that 'sorry' talk. Like he’s trying to rewrite history, thinking he can come back in with flowers and make up for all of it. It's... a bit much."

You raised an eyebrow. "It’s flowers, Kento. Bad ones too, if I’m being honest. You know the kind you give when you’ve ruined someone's day. He was just trying to do something... nice."

He paused, then, slowly, as if to measure his words, he added, "Yeah, I just… didn’t like the way he was looking at you. Like you were his."

You blinked. “You’re seriously telling me you’re jealous of my ex right now? He’s an ex for a reason.”

He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "I’m not jealous, okay? I’m just saying it felt… off. Like he thought he had some claim over you. And you’re mine. You’re with me."

The way he said it, in the quiet, intense conviction in his voice had all but sent a little shiver through you. Nanami Kento, the man who was always the picture of control and composure, suddenly looked... vulnerable.

You set your glass down and leaned toward him, giving him a teasing smile. “You know, for a man who’s so secure, you’re acting like a guy who’s a little nervous.”

Kento didn’t look at you this time, his eyes focused firmly on the bottle of sake as if it were suddenly the most interesting thing in the room. "I’m not nervous. Just… protective, I guess."

“Protective?” You laughed softly, though there was a warmth in your voice. “You? The guy who’s basically a walking Zen garden?”

“Even Zen gardens need boundaries, you know.” he shot back, finally meeting your gaze.

That made you pause, the playfulness fading into something a little deeper, a little more real. Kento was never the type to show this side of himself. Not to you. Not about him. But here it was, this quiet, unspoken vulnerability, wrapping around the edges of his usual stoic demeanor.

You smiled, reaching out to touch his hand gently. "Kento… you don’t have to worry about my ex. He’s history. The past. You're my future. You’ve been that since the first time we walked into a room together and you didn’t even flinch when I accidentally spilled coffee all over your suit."

He half-smiled at that, the edge of tension softening. "That was a lot of coffee, and you did look very sorry about it."

"I did. But the thing is…" you trailed off, leaning closer to him, your voice soft but clear. “You’re the one I’m with now. You’re the one who’s here. The only one I need to see at the bar. The only one I need to come home to. So, please don’t start getting territorial over cheap stupid bouquets. They’re not worth the drama.”

Kento’s eyes softened, and he took your hand, squeezing it lightly. “I know. It’s just… I’ve never been good at sharing what’s mine.”

You smiled, feeling the warmth spread through you. "Well, good thing I’m not his to share anymore, right?"

“Right, alright….” he muttered, still a little grumpy but now, with that tiny smile tugging at his lips. “Just don’t expect me to be the one handing out flowers when you’re on stage next time. I’d rather just sit there and admire you from the back of the room.”

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, a little teasing, a little sweet. "I like it when you're watching me. But just so we’re clear, you’re the only one who gets to see me like this. No bouquets necessary."

Kento’s expression softened, that flicker of possessiveness melting into something more tender. “I’ll hold you to that.”

And as you both settled back into the quiet of your apartment, the soft sound of jazz filling the air, you realized that maybe Kento's little moment of jealousy wasn’t insecurity at all. It was just another layer of how deeply he cared.

Maybe next time you’d share a toast to that.

SO FAR IT WAS A SUCCESS. The housewarming party was everything you’d dreamed of and more. Or, more accurately, everything you didn’t know you needed. Nanami Kento and you had put so much thought into the place. Well, mostly Kento had, with his meticulous nature and borderline obsessive attention to detail.

There were minimalist touches everywhere, but it still felt warm. Your bookshelves lined the walls, filled with everything from manga to self–help books you’d never read.

There were candles, of course, because Kento liked them in a very “this is an art form” way. Even your kitchen, where you both spent more time than you probably should have lately, was a model of perfect order with an impressively organized spice rack.

Still, there was a sense of life in the place. It wasn’t just a showroom. You live here now. Together. For as long as you both are together, this was now home.The thought sent a little rush through you every time you passed by the key bowl by the door, or caught sight of Kento, elbow-deep in the fridge, reorganizing a jar of miso.

And now, you were standing in your brand new living room, a smile on your face wider than you could ever remember. The champagne flute in hand, bare feet on the cool marble, loud bright music echoing through the marble. You were surrounded by a familiar chaos of castmates, ex-co-stars, and industry friends who had somehow become real friends. Maybe even family.

Gojo Satoru, in a linen shirt so white it probably had its own lighting crew, was dramatically trying to convince Kenshin and Keiko, fresh from their busy days at their workplace, that you'd installed a karaoke machine just for tonight.

“I’m telling you, it’s voice–activated. You just say ‘Whitney’ and it boots right into I Will Always Love You.”

“That’s a lie, Gojo–san.” Keiko said flatly, sipping from her spritzer. “You know that Dad isn’t a big fan of karaoke.”

“Bold accusation for someone who couldn’t hit the bridge in ‘Chandelier’ last Christmas party, kid.” Gojo shot back with a wink. “At least I hit the high note in ‘Rolling In The Deep’ beautifully.”

Kenshin snorted. “She did better than you trying to moonwalk in socks.”

“Hey! That moonwalk was really damn good, you know that!”

The blonde young woman snickers into her drink. “Yeah, good enough to burn your eyes out.”

A few feet away, Nanami Kento’s ex-wife, now a working chemist, was diplomatically trying to keep her boyfriend Gojo Satoru from hyping up Yaga Masamichi’s children into performing a full musical number before bedtime.

“Satoru. They just finished preschool. Let’s not start casting Matilda tonight.”

Kento himself leaned casually against your kitchen island, deep in conversation with Ayaka, your friend from college who’d gone on to become a theater critic with a cult podcast following. The two of them looked like they were comparing notes on a Shakespeare revival no one had asked for.

Meanwhile, your next-door neighbor, whom you met literally five minutes ago when he showed up uninvited and somehow on the VIP list, was explaining, unsolicited, the real top five sushi places within the Tokyo Metropolitan. Loudly. To no one.

“I’m telling you, Sushi Marufuku is good. You wanna eat fish that changes your life? You go to this little spot in Hakkoku. That’s even better! But of course, Harukata is better! The chef doesn’t even speak, he just stares at you until you cry.”

You offered a vague smile and politely drifted away. You caught sight of Kento again, now at the bar, his tall frame still and watchful, a glass of something amber in hand. That familiar, quiet smile tugged at his mouth as he scanned the room, equal parts fond and faintly exhausted.

You made your way to him, pausing just long enough to catch Gojo Satoru once again. You found him amid a debate with your older brother, who had somehow become his favorite person to antagonize at this moment. But you were sure it was because of the alcohol. Most definitely.

“What do you mean ‘No one’s seen her perform in weeks’? She’s a comedian, not a shaman!”

Your brother arched an eyebrow. “Same thing, isn’t it? Both deal in spirits.”

Gojo cackled, practically doubled over. “Okay, that’s good. Write that down. I’m using it for my new comedy.”

Finally, you reached Kento. He turned as you approached, giving you a small, secret smile. “Are you surviving this, baby?” you asked, tipping your glass toward him.

He clinked it on his own. “Just barely. Your friends are… vibrant.”

“You are about to definitely more certainly marry into it, I fear.” you teased him. “Though, I’m the same with your family, don’t you think?”

“True enough, I suppose.”

You laughed, leaning into his side as Gojo’s voice rose again, daring your brother to duet with him on Total Eclipse of the Heart, Kento’s ex–wife trying to calm him down. Keiko is trying to stay away from the drama, while Kenshin was having fun playing with the little kids of your other neighbors.

“This is our life now, huh?”

Kento glanced around at the glittering mayhem, then down at you. “Yeah, it is.” he said, brushing his thumb lightly along the rim of your glass. “And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Well. Maybe minus the other neighbors, especially the one talking about the sushi.

You nudged Kento with your elbow, leaning in close enough for only him to hear. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? I mean, this?” You gestured around the party with a grin, voice teasing. “All the people who’ve seen us at our worst?”

He raised an eyebrow, his usual composure settling into something lighter. “I’m fine. They’re your friends. And I’m pretty sure they like me.”

“Just pretty sure?” You shot him a look.

Kento gave a mock shrug, then smirked, his eyes softening. “Okay, I’m sure. But I’ll never tell Gojo that. He’ll start calling me ‘Best Man’ at every event and then we’ll never hear the end of it.”

You laughed, leaning against the counter. “Yeah, well, you’re the one who’s already gotten my family’s approval. Can’t take it back now.”

That’s when your cue hit. You had promised a little something extra for the evening, and you’d already prepared. You grabbed the mic that you’d had set up in the corner earlier and called out to the crowd.

"Alright, everyone! Time for a little entertainment. Get ready to experience what you didn’t sign up for!"

The room went quiet like someone hit a mute button on a particularly rowdy dinner party. Everyone turned their attention to you. The wine glasses half–raised, chopsticks mid–air, Your brother and Gojo stopped bickering, your future step–children turned to pay attention. Kento’s ex–wife was already smiling from ear to ear about this.

You glanced over at Kento, who raised his glass to you with that signature Kento nod: respectful, restrained, and just the tiniest bit indulgent. You winked at him and stepped into the spotlight, or well, the stretch of living room rug between the couch and the bookshelf that you had declared your “stage�� for the night. Your mic was a pair of chopsticks. Commitment.

You cleared your throat dramatically. “Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here until Keiko decides we’re too embarrassing to be seen in public with.”

She booed from the couch. “Too late!”

“Alright, alright.” you said, tightening your grip on the chopsticks like they held the key to comedic transcendence. “Let’s ease into this. Like Japanese politics.”

Kenshin snorted. “This is gonna be so funny.”

“So I walked past a konbini the other day because obviously, I needed a snack, some affirmation, and maybe a reason to keep going and I saw an entire aisle dedicated to face masks. Not the regular kind. Skincare masks.” You say, motioning to it as if trying to get them to imagine it all.

“I mean imagine it. A whole aisle. One promised to make me look like a dewy beautiful drama lead who cries aesthetically in the rain. Another one said it was infused with horse oil. Horse. Oil. I held it up and said—out loud, to no one in particular. ‘I am not emotionally stable enough to glow like a racehorse.’”

Snickers could be heard from the corner of the room, giggles being heard in small echoes. “And this obaachan is next to me. She has this full perm, orthopedic sneakers, not a hint of irony—she nods solemnly, like I had just spoken her truth. She goes, ‘Hai ne… too powerful.’”

“That feels like a fever dream!” Kenshin suddenly said, way too loudly.

“Yes, it did feel like that. I was slapping myself, trying to think about how this is just some imagination.” You immediately sprung to reply to his sudden words. “But she handed me a juice box, so it was real. So now I guess we’re friends. We didn’t exchange numbers, but I feel like if I ever get arrested, she’ll be there. Just slowly walking into the police station with a hot pack and a sense of purpose.”

A few laughs. Gojo Satoru clapped once, dramatically. Kento was sipping his wine, not laughing, but you could see the smile lurking at the edge of his mouth. Like your jokes were a private show only he had the key to.

“Recently, though, I’m gonna tell you something that isn’t a fever dream. And it’s my ex showing up to a show, you guys.” you continued. “Which I usually try to avoid mentioning, but listen, when your ex shows up to your show with flowers like he’s the emotionally repressed lead in a Taiga drama, you have to mention it.”

Keiko whispered something to Gojo and they both cackled to each other. “He stood there like, ‘Hey, remember me? I was once almost good at loving you but got distracted by kombucha brewing and fear of commitment.’ — ladies, don’t lower your standards! You deserve better than this!”

More laughter. Your brother raised his beer in salute, as if he was happy about the fact that you were trashing your ex. He does in fact hate your exes more than you did. He doesn’t think anyone is worthy of you, after all.

“And now, let’s talk about my current, well beloved boyfriend. You know who he is.” you said, pausing for effect, nodding at Kento’s direction which earns some whistles and laughter. “I live with a man who arranges the fridge like a Zen garden. Like, there is intention behind the yogurt placement. Once, I moved a bottle of mirin and he looked at me like I had kicked a bonsai tree.”

Kento’s lips twitched. The corner of his eye creased. “I’m serious!” you said. “Last week I asked him why the carrots were stacked like architectural models and he said, and I quote, ‘They deserve a sense of structure.’ I live with a man who gives motivational speeches to root vegetables.”

The laughter rolled now, warm, loving, the kind of laugh that knew you and loved you anyway. You turned to Kento, your voice softening just enough for him to hear over the ripple of joy in the room. You smiled at him.

“But here’s the thing, everyone.” you said. “I’ve never been more grateful to live with someone who takes the time to make sure everything has a place. Even when I’m a mess, even when life’s messy. Because when everything’s upside down, he’s still there, calmly rearranging chaos into something beautiful.”

Kento didn’t smile. He didn’t have to. He just raised his glass again. Ever so silent, certain, his gaze steady and full of that quiet, impossible affection that said, I know you. And I’m not going anywhere. And for once, you didn’t need a punchline.

Laughter trickled out as you glanced over at Kento. “But he’s a silly man, I should let you know. I caught him one time whispering to a bottle of soy milk. I asked him what he was doing. He looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘I’m encouraging it to taste better.’”

Laughs were echoing in the living room harder than the first time. “I know, I know, that’s going to hit hard for many of you. But he adores cow milk better. That’s my boyfriend, ladies and gentlemen. Every time I buy groceries, it’s like I’m attending a TED talk on cow milk and soy milk, which is better. And you know what, I’m not even mad about it."

The room was laughing now, everyone relaxed, including Kento, who had an amused glint in his eyes. You leaned into the mic and continued as you looked him in the eye. You smiled into the mic and moved to the center.

"But you know what? It’s cute. I mean, yes, I could get used to it, but at least it’s not like my ex, who once called my fridge a ‘cold cave of disappointment.’ I mean, yes, maybe my ramen wasn’t art, but come on, cold cave of disappointment? I’m not keeping a shrine to my failed relationships, but if I did, that’s where he’d live. But of course, no offerings. He doesn’t deserve it—no, no, the ramen. He deserves the ramen!”

The laughter of the guests continued to spread through the room, with even Gojo cracking up in the back. You glanced over, and there he was, leaning casually against the wall, wearing that too-cool-for-school grin of his.

“But seriously, it’s great." you said, softening a bit. "This house? This life? I couldn’t imagine it with anyone else. My heart’s here. In every perfectly organized drawer, in every misused soy sauce label, in every meal we eat, misaligned veggies and all."

Kento’s smile softened, and you could see the pride in his eyes, like he was somehow more in love with you than he was five minutes ago. That look? The one that said this is everything? Yeah, it was one of your favorites.

You finished your set with a wink, your voice light. "So, that’s my set tonight, folks. I hope you like it. And if you ever need a tour of my fridge or a lesson on how to turn miso soup into a vision board….Hit me up!"

Applause rang out. The room cheered, and Kento raised his glass in your direction, a little glint of admiration in his eyes. You’d killed it and even better, you were doing it together. Your home. Your life. His subtle, hilarious quirks. Your set. It was yours.

As the cheers faded, Gojo grabbed a mic from the corner of the room, grinning wide. "Alright, alright, but can we all agree that Kento’s spice rack deserves its own reality show?"

People started to laugh and clap about that. Soon after, your brother and Gojo had taken over the high platform with their ridiculous conversation and soon enough, they were going bar for bar with their little jokes. You were certain you had to step in, but people were entertained by it. You were sure you didn’t need to go and butt in.

The party carried on long into the night, the music louder, the laughter thicker, the drinks more free–flowing. People drifted in and out, some chatting, others getting a little too competitive over the karaoke machine Gojo Satoru had definitely bribed someone to set up.

But, in the end, it was the kind of evening that didn’t require anything more than what was already there: good friends, good vibes, and, for once, a sense of complete contentment.

You and Kento found a quiet spot near the window, where you could see the city lights flicker in the distance and settled in with a couple of fresh drinks, just the two of you. You propped your feet up on the coffee table, your glass in hand, and looked over at him. He was still wearing that little smirk, the one that said, I’m happy, but I won’t admit it out loud unless you make me.

“Not bad for our first official housewarming, huh?” you said, nudging him with your foot.

Kento looked over at you, his expression softening. “It’s perfect.” he agreed quietly, his voice just loud enough to reach you over the hum of the party. “I never thought I’d end up with a karaoke machine in my living room, but I can’t say I’m upset about it.”

You laughed, your gaze flicking over to where Gojo and your brother were holding court near the mic stand, belting out some questionable rendition of an '80s ballad. “Yeah, well, you know Gojo. He probably brought it as a gift so he could claim he gave it to us. I’m just surprised my brother’s ended up galavanting with this too.”

Kento snorted. “I can’t believe you let him talk you into letting him sing.”

“Let him?” You raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t let him. I was overruled. My brother, the kids, that weird sushi neighbor. Besides, people don’t seem to mind.”

He leaned back, and you watched as his eyes softened, his focus shifting slightly, like he was remembering something in that quiet way he did. “It feels… good, though. You know? Having everyone here. Having a place of our own.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. “It really does. It’s like this little world we’ve built. I know it’s only been a few months, but it already feels like home.”

“It is home.” Kento said, taking a sip of his drink. His bright caramel eyes met yours, steady and sincere. “No matter how many parties we throw or who shows up, this? You and me? This is it.”

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him gently. The kind of kiss that lingered, not out of need, but out of sheer love and comfort. It was quiet, soft, and full of the promise that came with being exactly where you were meant to be.

The sound of Gojo’s off–key singing drifted over to you, and you pulled away with a playful groan. “I don’t think he’s ever going to stop, is he?”

Kento chuckled softly. “No, I don’t think so. Not with your brother matching his energy.”

You grinned, settling back into your seat and stretching your legs out again. “Well, as long as he doesn’t try to sing the theme song from Titanic again, I think we’ll be okay.”

“Famous last words, darling.” Kento teased, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

But the night was still young. The kind of young that shimmered on the edge of something golden and half-remembered, perhaps even half–scripted, half–spontaneous. Outside, the city blinked against the horizon like a marquee of dreams.

Inside, your living room was pulsing with off–key harmony and champagne bubbles. Gojo Satoru and your brother had officially hijacked the room fully and were deep into a dramatic duet of “Don’t Stop Believin’” by Journey.

Gojo Satoru crooning with Broadway flair, your brother several beats behind but making up for it in raw enthusiasm. Their voices rose and fell, mercifully more passionate than precise, echoing through the high ceilings and off the framed posters from shows you’d done, characters you’d once been, versions of yourself you’d already shed.

You looked around for a moment. You saw the laughter, the glasses raised in mid-toast, the glittering sprawl of people who had seen you fail, fly, weep in dressing rooms, triumph at wrap parties and realized it didn’t matter how loud the music got. Or how chaotic the night became. Or how many costume changes life had in store.

What mattered was this: you were here. With Kento. With your people. In a home that wasn’t just beautiful, but real. A home that felt like the beginning of something lasting. A home where you were truly, eagerly, happily, loved.

You turned, catching Kento's profile in the warm light. You could see his brow relaxed, his lips curved just slightly in that soft, almost secret smile he reserved for private moments. His glass was nearly empty, but he hadn’t moved to refill it. He was simply… still. Watching you.

“Kento…” you breathed, your voice so low it was almost lost in the noise.

He looked at you immediately, like your voice was a cue only he could hear. Your eyes locked with his, and something inside you lit up. Something you always felt when he looked at you like this. Like he saw you, not just the version that ended up on screen or the one polished for press tours. Just you.

“Let’s escape this little madness.” you said, eyes wide and shining. “For a little while.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward, slow and sure. There was laughter in his mischievous caramel eyes now, but something else too, something quieter, warmer. He knew that look in your face.

“And what do you want to do instead?” he asked, voice low and intimate, meant only for you.

You looked away, your cheeks blooming pink under the chandelier light. “You know that already, baby.” you murmured, bashful. “You know I don’t have to say anything.”

There was a beat, a pause in the air, in your breath, in everything. And then he stepped closer. He closed the space between you like it was the easiest thing in the world. His arm wrapped around your waist, grounding you. His other hand rose gently, fingertips brushing under your chin, guiding your gaze back to his.

His voice was velvet. Firm, but tender. “Then use your words, my darling.”

Time stopped. It always did, when he looked at you like that. And maybe the music was still playing, maybe Gojo was now standing on your coffee table yelling about encores while across your brother, who was banging his head, maybe someone had just broken a glass in the kitchen. But all of it faded.

Because Nanami Kento was looking at you like he already knew the words you hadn’t said yet but was going to make sure you said them anyway. He knew you too well, your lover. He knew too well that your desires for him will never change.

EVERYTHING FELT SO DESPERATE. Nanami Kento kicks the bedroom door shut behind you, his hands already tugging at your clothes. He pushes you against the wall, his lips crashing against yours in a heated kiss. You respond eagerly, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

His mouth moves to your neck, sucking and biting, leaving marks on your skin. You gasp, your head falling back against the wall, giving him better access. His hands roam your body, squeezing and caressing, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

Your loving boyfriend lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, and carries you to the bed. He lays you down gently, his body covering yours as he settles between your thighs. You groaned at him in pleasure.

"I've been wanting to do this all night, my darling." he murmurs, his lips trailing down your chest. "To strip you bare and worship every inch of you."He looks up at you, his caramel eyes dark with desire. "Tell me you want this, pretty, pretty darling.”

"I want this, I want……" you breathe, your voice heavy with desire. "I want you, Kento. All of you."

Kento's eyes flash with hunger at your words. He sits back on his heels, his hands going to the hem of your shirt. He pulls it off slowly, his eagerly hot gaze roaming over your exposed skin like a fire burning ever so vibrantly in the moonlight.

"You're so beautiful." he murmurs, his fingers tracing the swell of your breasts. He leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your collarbone, your sternum, the valley between your breasts.

His hands slide up your sides, pushing your lace bra straps down your arms. He unhooks the clasp with a flick of his fingers, freeing your breasts to his greedy gaze. He takes a moment to admire them, before looking into the other diverse essence of your precious skin.

"Perfect, utterly perfect." he whispers, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, making them pebble. He takes one into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around the hardened peak. You arch into him, a moan escaping your lips.

Kento's mouth moves to your other breast, giving it the same attention. His hand slides down your stomach, popping the button on your jeans and tugging the zipper down. He slips his hand inside, his fingers brushing against your core through your underwear. You gasp, your hips lifting off the bed, seeking more contact.

"So wet already, my……" He murmurs against your skin, his breath hot and teasing.

He pushes your jeans and underwear down your legs, tossing them aside. His fingers trace your folds, parting you, exploring you. He circles your clit with his thumb, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you squirm.

"Kento, my baby…..please…." you beg, your voice strained with need. He smirks, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Please what, pretty darling? Tell me what you need."

Kento lays back on the bed, his eyes dark with desire as he watches you. "Come here, my pretty woman." he murmurs, his voice low and commanding.

You crawl onto the bed, straddling his hips. His hands grip your waist, guiding you onto his erection. You sink down slowly, a moan escaping your lips as he fills you completely. His fingers dig into your hips as he helps you find a rhythm, lifting and lowering yourself onto his length.

From this angle, you can feel every inch of him, hitting places that make your toes curl. You lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest, your hair falling around you like a curtain. Kento's hands roam your back, your sides, squeezing and caressing.

He leans up, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking and biting gently. The dual sensations send shockwaves of pleasure through your body, building the tension in your core. You could only feel yourself losing it, mewls leaving your lips little by little.

Kento's hands slide down to your bottom, squeezing and kneading the flesh. He helps you move faster, his hips thrusting up to meet yours. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure.

"Fuck, you look so hot like this, pretty." he pants, his eyes glued to where you're joined. "Riding me like you own me."

His words send a thrill through you, emboldening you. You could only try to sit up straight, arching your back, your hands sliding up to cup your breasts. Moans drifted from your lips, over and over as you grinded against him. Kento's eyes widened, his pupils dilating with lust.

"Yes, just like that, pretty darling." he encourages, his voice hoarse. "Show me how much you want it."

You circle your hips, grinding down onto him, chasing your own pleasure. Kento's fingers dig into your hips, his grip bruising as he meets your movements thrust for thrust. You can feel the tension coiling in your belly, the pleasure building to a crescendo.

Kento's movements become more urgent, more desperate, as if he's chasing his own release. His thumb finds your clit, circling the sensitive nub in firm, deliberate strokes. The added stimulation sends you hurtling towards the edge.

"Kento!" you cry out, your voice breaking as your orgasm crashes over you. Your inner walls clamp down on him, pulsing and squeezing as waves of ecstasy wash through you. Kento follows soon after, his hips stuttering as he buries himself deep inside you.

He groaned your name, the sound rugged and raw, his body shuddering beneath you as he found his release, every muscle in his body drawn tight before he finally surrendered to the moment. The world blurred at the edges.

All that remained of the two of you was just heat and the desire to keep each other close to touch. It was the breathless way he clung to you as if he never wanted to let you go that felt almost like a drug to you.

You collapsed against his chest, utterly spent, your limbs tangled with his. Your skin was slick with sweat, every inch of you humming with the fading embers of pleasure. Your heart hammered wildly against his, the two of you breathing in tandem, the rise and fall of your bodies syncing like the closing lines of a well-rehearsed scene. It was all too perfect, all too inevitable.

Kento’s arms immediately wrapped around you, strong and steady, pulling you even closer, as if to shield you from the world beyond this bed, this night, this feeling. His palm found the small of your back, his touch tender now, his fingers tracing slow, grounding circles against your skin. You could hear the soft rush of his breath in your ear, feel the thrum of his heart still racing beneath your cheek.

For a long, quiet moment, neither of you moved. There were no words needed, at least not yet. Just the silent conversation of two bodies finally still, two souls finally at peace. In a little while Kento pressed a kiss to the top of your head, slow and reverent, like you were something sacred.

“You’re incredible, aren’t you?” he murmured, his voice rough from exertion but so full of affection it made your chest ache. He tightened his arms just slightly, as if to reassure himself you were still real, still his.

You smiled against his skin, your lashes fluttering shut. “So are you.” you whispered back, your voice thick with sleepy warmth.

Your face is buried in the crook of his neck. Kento's hand traces lazy patterns on your back, his touch gentle and soothing. The room is quiet, save for the soft sounds of your breathing and the distant hum of the city outside.

You can feel Kento's heartbeat slowing beneath your ear, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He shifts slightly, pulling the blankets up over you both, tucking you in securely. His arms wrap themselves around you even tighter. Exhausted, you let him.

“I really love you so much, you know that right?”

You could feel Kento’s heartbeat slowing beneath your ear, the frantic rhythm easing into something steady, calm — like a lullaby meant just for you. His chest rose and fell in a soothing cadence, and when he shifted slightly, it was only to tug the blankets up around you both, cocooning you against the cool night air. His arms tightened around you, firm and protective, like he was anchoring you to him.

Exhaustion tugged at your limbs, but you let him do it, let yourself be held, let yourself rest in the certainty of him.

For a moment, the only sounds were the distant, muffled laughter still echoing from the party downstairs, and the soft, rhythmic hush of Kento’s breathing. The world beyond this room — the chaos, the music, the endless expectations — felt a million miles away.

Then his voice broke the quiet, low and rough with honesty:

“I really love you so much, you know that, right?”

The words were simple, almost casual but they landed with the weight of something life-altering. You blinked slowly against his skin, your chest tightening, not in fear, but in the overwhelming vastness of what you felt for him in return.

You nodded against him first, too full to speak for a second. Then you tilted your head up, catching his gaze in the dim light and god, the way he was looking at you, like you hung every constellation he’d ever wished on.

“I know.” you whispered back, your fingers tracing soft, aimless patterns along his forearm where it wrapped around you. “And I love you, too. So much.”

A slow, genuine smile broke across his face, the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners, made him look younger than his years, almost boyish in his relief. He leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, lingering there like he was breathing the moment in, letting it fill every empty space inside him.

“Good…..That’s good to hear.” he murmured against your skin. “Because I don’t plan on letting you go.”

You chuckled softly, feeling yourself melt even further into him. “Good.” you echoed, your voice small and sure. “Because I don’t want you to.”

He pulled you closer still, if that was even possible, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head like something precious. Like you were the beginning and end of his whole world. Like you were everything to him.

“Go and sleep now, my darling. Let them all party their hearts out.” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

And you did. Because he did. As the moonlit night continued to drift into the brightness of a city that does not sleep, you both found yourselves the ones asleep. You both happily drifted off to dreamland, wrapped up in each other and the quiet, unshakable promise of everything you were building together.

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daycourtofficial · 3 days ago

Text

An Autumn Courting

Pairing: Eris x winter court!reader | WC: 12.5k | warnings: sexual tones, mentions of hunting

Summary: coming into his role as High Lord of the Autumn Court, the first thing Eris does is make a proposal of marriage to you, something you’re going to make him work for.

A/N: this has been in my drafts since October 2023, I’m so glad to let this be out in the world. Happy @sjmxreaderweek !! This is way too long but enjoy anyway

Eris Vanserra had three soft spots.

First: his mother - a female who spent her life trying to make his better. The first and perhaps only person to show him pure, unconditional love. Someone who did not balk at the terrible things he had to do and endure to survive. One of his most complicated and long lasting relationships where nothing truly made sense.

Second: Lucien. He had a soft spot for all of his brothers when they were born. Being raised by Beron sucked the life from most of them. He watched as they slowly became apathetic at best, cruel at worst. All except Lucien.

Lucien, his baby brother, who remained a good, loyal male, despite everything Beron tried to do to him. Lucien, who looked at him with wide eyes and a big heart. Lucien - his first contact leading up to his father’s death, the only person he wanted there.

Third: his hounds.

Eris adored his hounds. He spent thousands of hours training them, breeding them, and preparing for the next litter. Their kennels were a refuge for him, a place no one in the family ever ventured out to. Only a handful of servants ever got close and they merely mucked out the stalls and changed feed for the dogs. They were the first things to ever truly be his.

Eris had three soft spots. Now it was four.

Your continued presence, skirting on the outside of his periphery for years meant more to him than you could ever possibly know. The only fae willing to talk back to him but keep a twinkle in their eye.

He spent years trying to figure out why your eyes plagued his dreams, how the wind would blow past carrying your laugh. He could never quite pinpoint an exact reason.

Staying away from you during court events was the best course of action for everyone. He knew if he got too close to you, Beron would notice and insist on exploiting this weakness of Eris’s by either a) trying to arrange a marriage between the two of you, putting you under Beron’s control and driving Eris further under Beron’s thumb, or b) keep you far away from Eris.

He knew which one was worse.

You had known Eris for centuries, a tenuous friendship due to his lack of trust and your uncertainty as to where you stood with him. Something inside of you always felt there was more to him than the mask he wore to the public, but you could never truly be certain if it was just naivety and hopefulness.

Years of seeing each other at inter-court events, culminated in the two of you finding each other, having occasional moments that left you wanting to see more of him. You could never linger together for too long, lest Beron catch on to how his eldest son’s eyes bore into yours for a second longer than appropriate. Every meeting, dance, or word shared between you two always left you flustered, every moment shared was dissected at length afterward.

One night, while under the mountain, Eris took a risk and found you in your chambers. He had to know that you were okay - as okay as one could be in such an environment. He was used to this environment- he knew how to play the game, how to endure the atrocities in front of him. But you didn’t.

Eris had pushed his way into your chambers, quickly shutting the door behind himself. The intrusion had left you so flustered, you ran to him, prepared to chastise him.

Instead he grabbed your shoulders, quickly spinning you before he rested your back against the door, ensuring no one could burst in without his knowledge. He caged you in with his arms on either side of you, his amber eyes roaming your face, inspecting for injuries.

“I don’t have much time. But if this ever ends, it will not be long until I put the pieces into place to better my position.”

You understood the meaning behind his words, ones too worried to utter the real truth out loud.

He was going to kill Beron. Or someone was.

You knew he was concerned about ears in this place, so he didn’t speak freely.

“I cannot promise you much, but if you wait, I will do things properly. But I would not hold it against you if you cannot wait.”

He hung his head, his long, red hair falling into his face before taking a deep breath and slipping out the door before you could say anything.

So, you waited.

You had survived the atrocities that happened under that cauldron-forsaken mountain and helped your brother Kallias rebuild the Winter court.

Then the war with Hybern happened. You continued your work trying to provide security and sanctuary to your citizens, but it was hard and draining.

The years carried on, until one day Kallias was called off quite quickly by mail, leaving you and Vivian quite confused but not for long. News of the death of Beron Vanserra traveled quite quickly through all of Prythian.

Kallias had returned for mere minutes before a letter arrived in front of you, a second one appearing in front of Kallias a moment later.

The envelope was sealed with the Autumn Court insignia, one that you’ve admired for many years now: a fox curling around a fire. It felt homey.

It was the Court’s official crest - and the Vanserra family’s familial crest resembled it. You broke the seal, reading the letter.

Fawn,

It is my hope that this letter finds you in good spirits and good health. I am writing this as a formal declaration of my intentions.

With your agreement, it is my intention to court and wed you, making you the Lady of the Autumn Court. It would be my honor to serve my court as your husband with you at my side.

This decision lies solely with you. I have, however, written a similar letter to your high lord, Kallias, so he will not feel blindsided should you accept.

Take your time over this decision. I will be busy in the coming weeks, adjusting to life as High Lord, however I will make whatever time is necessary for you shall you wish it.

Yours,

Eris Vanserra, High Lord of the Autumn Court

You smiled at the title in his signature, sure that this was the first time he got to write it out.

Your eyes glanced up to find Viviane and Kallias’s peaking glances at you as they read the letter Eris had sent them.

“It would appear as though you’ve caught the eye of Prythian’s newest High Lord.”

It was no question that you would attend his coronation. Autumn was a direct border to Winter and Kallias had been waiting decades for Beron to die to potentially work with one of his sons on building better relations. He had always hoped it would be Lucien, the easiest and most diplomatic Vanserra. The two had a working relationship and he would be a lovely neighboring ruler.

During the whole affair, Eris’s eyes hardly strayed from yours. They followed you, not straying to any of the hundreds of fae gathered, not to the other court nobility that had arrived.

Just you.

His eyes had followed you as you lingered after the ceremony, finding Lucien just as the letter had instructed. You kept his gaze as you spoke to the youngest Vanserra, giving him the answer to Eris’s letter. You nodded just enough for the new High Lord to see, and his posture immediately relaxed. You stood taller knowing on a day all about him, he clearly had only been thinking of you.

You had written back to Eris after the coronation quite quickly, much more quickly than a proper lady should, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Excitement coursed through your body, almost impossible to sit still.

Corresponding with Eris was more fun than you had anticipated. It took a few letters, but he began opening up more and more, telling you stories about his day or some memory long forgotten. Most letters include some story about Lucien, but they felt much more relaxed than the version of him you knew at court events. He even stopped signing them with his full name, shortening it to just ‘Eris’ eventually.

You had made the mistake of mentioning to Kallias about Eris’s intentions. Your brother had been upset at first to find out his sister had caught the eye of a Vanserra - he had never trusted the family, always on guard in their presence. But when he heard the words ‘courting’ and ‘traditional’, you swore his eyes danced with amusement as he plotted something.

Official courting was very similar across Prythian, with minor details changed for each court. For members of nobility and highly esteemed families of the Winter Court, it was usual custom for the betrothed pair to visit each other’s villages. Time spent partaking in the customs of each village was essential - life in Winter could often feel very insular. Villages less than a day’s travel from each other could be quite different, even language differences occurring. Holidays across the court looked similar to outsiders, but traditions held a wide range of activities.

Kallias would allow you to do as you wished as long as you weren’t tricked or coerced into anything. However, your brother would make Eris regret his exact words of a ‘traditional courting’.

Eris had agreed to the terms, but sent many letters about his brother in forewarning and to not take him seriously. Having met the youngest Vanserra on several occasions, you were well prepared for what he might do.

An agreement was formed - Eris was to spend two weeks in Winter before you would spend two weeks in Autumn. At that point, you would provide some form of answer. You had some idea of what you would say - you wouldn’t be wasting everyone’s time otherwise. But it would be foolish and rash to wed without spending any time alone with the male.

Eris was set to arrive in a week’s time, coming to your home, coming to Winter. It felt surreal, not quite allowing yourself to believe it until the male was standing before you. A week was nothing for a High Lord - Kallias’s visits to other courts usually required several months of notice. But seven days still felt too long after seeing him at the coronation. You did anything to make yourself busy - planning activities for the two of you, reassuring your brother once again that this was what you wanted, trying to showcase Winter in the best light.

Still, every night when you laid in bed, everytime you closed your eyes, you were brought back to the coronation, how his eyes followed you across the room. A room full of the most powerful and important people in Prythian, and his gaze never left yours.

You hardly slept the night before he was set to arrive, waking with the sun as if it would bring Eris here more quickly. The morning went by at a snail’s pace, the palace unhurried for the day. You had bathed, dried your hair, paced around, tidied your room. You did anything you could think to keep busy, to keep your mind off the clock.

Eventually enough time passed for you to make it to breakfast, sitting across from Kallias and Vivianne’s amused glances. They chatted idly, amused smiles directed at you that you pretended to ignore. You only pushed the food around on your plate, watching the sun through the window, trying to will it to move faster.

“Something wrong?” Kallias’s question made its way through the fog, the only words he had spoken you had been able to make sense of.

“Sure, sure.” You waved him off with your fork, eyes moving to the entryway to the dining room every so often. He laughed, amused at how little you were listening to them, but you had tuned him out once more. Doubt crept in as each second passed, your anxieties certain something would keep the two of you apart. Had he changed his mind? Was it all in the chase for a hunter like him?

As if your doubts had conjured him, he was striding through the entrance hall, his red hair practically melting the walls as he went past. Over the years, you had seen Eris in a variety of wardrobe: deep reds ranging to bright green, a variety of embroidery threads on every piece. He made every color his own, gravitating towards richer, earthier shades. The dark blue jacket that hung from his shoulders made the color seem so new and exotic, despite being a significant portion of your own wardrobe. The depth of color popped beneath his pale skin somehow, unjustly proving there truly was no color he couldn’t make his own.

The piece looked like anything you would find in Winter, but somehow like nothing you had ever seen before.

He had looked so sure of himself at the coronation, steadfast in a way a High Lord needed to be. In the few weeks since, he had somehow grown even more into himself, standing tall and sharp. His hair was much shorter now than it was under the mountain, the weight of that place chopped off with the fiery locks.

Eris stopped before you, smiling as he took you in, a bit of shock mixed in with the delight. Too caught up in your wandering eyes, you completely forget to even pretend to courtesy until it’s too late and you fumble a short bow. His face lit up with amusement, and you hoped he'd ignore it. Your prayers seemed to be answered until he leaned in and asked, “see something you like?”

The question sent chills down your back, your spine straightening. Your mouth became too dry to respond, and even if you could, you couldn’t think of anything to say. This thing with Eris, however mutual it may be, had alway been fleeting - small conversations, loose promises. No matter how your heart pulled to him, you still knew so little about him.

Kallias cleared his throat from behind you, his focus completely on Eris. The males only nodded to each other, not even attempting small talk. Kallias had been on edge ever since the first letter arrived - you heard him pacing at night, sure that the Autumn male was planning something. But those concerns hardly made it to your ears, your brother staying tight lipped about his reservations.

You didn’t think there was any validity to Kallias’s concerns for even a moment, especially not as he stood before you, a glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes.

“I didn’t think you would allow this. I expected to be thrown out of Winter.” His voice was soft, the usual sneer or jestful tone gone, leaving room for something more vulnerable.

“Do you take me for a liar, High Lord? Not a good look for a new bride.” The quip sent him slightly off balance, surprise or pleasure at the change in your attitude.

“My apologies.” He bowed low at the waist causing you to go completely still. As High Lord, he didn’t have to bow to anyone. The other High Lords were his equals, but they didn’t deserve this level of respect.

“I’m just kind enough to forgive you, Eris.” He straightened at the sound of his name, the slight smirk enough to let you know how much he enjoyed it.

You spent the afternoon showing him the palace and the grounds, noting the amusement on his face at the ice gardens. You showed him the deep blues of the palace, listening as he compared them to his own home, the Forest House.

“I have arranged for some private dining for us. Kallias wanted some grand banquet in your honor, but I shot that down.”

“Wanted to get me alone?”

“Oh, we won’t be alone.” He waited for you to go on, still keeping stride next to you. “There are eyes everywhere in Winter. Why do you think we don’t have a chaperone?”

Eris turned in a circle, moving around the landscape, searching for anybody. There wasn’t another living thing for miles in the vast wintery expanse.

“Can you keep a secret?” He nodded, leaning his face closer to yours. You did the same, leaning up on your toes to meet him. You lowered your voice, soft as the snow fall. “It’s the animals.”

“The animals?” A mixture of shock and delight came across his face, a hint of disbelief as well. You nodded, not elaborating further. As far as you could tell, the animals in Winter were vastly different from the animals of other courts. They were larger, better at hiding, and were connected to Kallias somehow. You had tried for years to get him to explain it - why arctic foxes lingered at the palace doors, hares burrowed beneath every window. He always stayed tight-lipped about it, but he always knew things he shouldn’t. He was always the first to know your business, even if you never told him.

“I don’t really get it, but they like my brother.”

Eris followed as you led him to the west side of the palace. Light snow fell, crunching beneath your feet as you made your way down the path to the stables. You finally reached the surprise the servants had set up - a massive sleigh fronted by a team of large reindeer, stocked with blankets and food.

“What is this?”

“Our chariot.”

Eris looked over the sled, the reindeer all standing at attention, dark fur accented with lush garlands.

“Couldn’t we just winnow?”

“Yes, but where’s the fun in that?”

He huffed, his breath visible in the air. He followed you into the sleigh, his body pressing close to yours. You let out a low whistle, the reindeer taking off quickly. Eris fell back into the seat, unprepared for the quick takeoff. Your hand covered your mouth, trying to hide the laugh that escaped, but you knew he heard it from the way he looked over at you.

His magic made a warm bubble around the two of you, blocking out the wind as the reindeer picked up a good pace. The sleigh glided across the snow, making fresh tracks as it moved. Eris looked around, trying to find any hint as to where the two of you were heading off to.

“What are we waiting for?”

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

He studied you then, really focusing on you. You did the same, studying how much he contrasted the wintry landscape passing behind. His blue coat helped him blend in somewhat, but he stood out too much from the ice and snow to ever be able to fully hide.

“Have you ever been to Winter?” Your voice was louder, trying to be heard over the wind. You’ve seen him in Winter three or four times, the Vanserras never lingering long, only here to discuss things related to the border. Your father despised having them around, always tense in the days leading up to their arrival. But you wanted to hear it from him, wanted to know what your home was like to an outsider.

“Officially or unofficially?”

“Both.”

He leaned back on the seat, stretching out his long legs in the sleigh, his body still touching yours but not encroaching on your space.

“Officially, a handful of times. Unofficially, a few dozen times. I’ve snooped around the border a time or two.”

“To see the sights? Or do something a bit more?”

He gave a sharp look, some debate happening behind his eyes on how much to tell.

“I’d be lying if I said the land on the border between our courts was anything less than spectacular.”

You had never been so far north as the seasonal courts, but the lands connecting Summer, Winter, and Autumn were quite the sight. A blend of all three courts, a beautiful lake laid in the middle of the tricourt border. The wind blew falling leaves and soft snow across the water, but somehow the air was the perfect temperature to go swimming. It was a beautiful spot, popular with travelers.

“My excursions were less than savory.” His face was grim now, hard set with bad memories. Your breath hitched at how quickly the conversation had turned. It’s not too surprising to know Eris has snuck across the border - you have snuck off into Summer a time or two, emboldened by youth and recklessness.

But a few years ago, someone had done something so heinous the memory still made you gag.

“Have you ever harmed one of Winter’s citizens?” It still wasn’t known who killed those children, their deaths still a heavy tragedy for your court. Their wailing parents could be heard across the court. Your brother had long suspected the High Lord of the Night Court of it, but he had no leads.

“No. Mostly a neutral meeting site for discussions.” He seemed less than forthcoming, not wanting to linger too long, but willing to answer any questions you had. You only had one last question, needing it answered before letting this subject die.

“Did you have any involvement with the children?” You didn’t have to specify, you knew he’d know what you were referring to.

“No. I would never.” Relief washed over you. He seemed open in a way you’ve never seen before. You wanted to see more of it, let him tell you who he is in his own words.

The sled started slowing down at your whistle, halting in the middle of a barren field. The dark sky stretched on for miles, filled with galaxies of stars too numerous to count and too small to quantify. You unfolded the blanket, draping it across both of your laps, before opening the picnic basket. You passed him a small mug, filling it with hot chocolate from an enchanted kettle.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you.” You tried for a more hopeful tone, the lilt in your voice asking to move on from the tragedy. He thought it over seriously for a few moments, watching the steam from his mug dissipate before settling on something.

“I have twelve hounds, all named after ingredients in pumpkin pie or apple varieties.”

“You have hounds?” He nodded, allowing you to continue. “I’ve only seen hounds from afar around here. In Winter, they work either with hunting or guardians. I’ve heard in Day it’s popular to keep them as pets. Are yours more pet or worker?”

“Anyone else, I’d say they’re workers. But in the interest of honesty, they are more pet.”

The mug of hot chocolate in your hands was the only thing keeping you from squealing in delight.

“Do you spoil them?”

“No.” You eyed him skeptically, not accepting his answer. “Okay, fine. I spoil them. But I make them work for it.”

“That’s so sweet. I’m sure they all love you.”

He didn’t respond, but you were sure it was the truth. You couldn’t imagine any being not falling in love with him, especially after spending years with him.

You slowly leaned into him, trying to soak up all his warmth. He turned, his face only inches from yours. His nose was a hair away from bumping into yours. Amber eyes flicked down to your lips and back up, but he stayed where he was.

You pushed back from him, catching the glimpse of color from behind his head, telling him to look up.

The sky above you, previously pitch black, slowly allowed streaks of green and light blue to ribbon across its landscape. The sky was a living painting, bright hues stretching across the blank canvas. The movements seemed random, smooth strokes looking for a place to rest. Every stroke looked intentional, every color carefully picked to complement the ones around it.

The hundreds of times you had seen it before didn’t matter - each time was brand new, never looking the same as the last. Eris was quiet beside you, the silence stretching up to the sky in appreciation of its beauty.

For a long time, neither of you say anything, but Eris’s hand slowly moved closer - first resting next to yours, each finger slowly and gently making contact, until he was holding your hand in his, gazing at this new beauty to bask in.

You smiled to the sky, thankful for whatever reason it was here. It would be the first thing the two of you would share, your shared focus on the same thing. The whole ride home would be devoted to talking about it, sharing feelings and observations, but now the two of you stared, necks craning at something that had stretched across Winter for as long as fae had existed.

On Eris’s second day in Winter, the weather was just right for an activity you were determined to see Eris try before accepting any proposals. You bundled yourself up, donning several layers beneath a coat before you bounced down the hallway. His room was several doors down from yours at Kallias’s input no doubt, but it gave you an extra moment to smooth out any wrinkles in your coat.

Deep blue skies filled the windows you passed, the day outside exceedingly bright. It was springtime in Winter, one of the warmer days that brought fae outdoors in droves, but your intended destination would be quite cold.

Your knock on his door was quick, three taps before his face greeted you.

“You’re quite chipper this morning,” he greeted.

You beamed, excitement for the day coursing through you. “It’s a beautiful day, of course I’m chipper.”

You looked down from his eyes to find his chest bare, no shirt to cover the pale skin littered with freckles. A set of two moles beneath his left clavicle caught your eye, before your gaze stuck on the red hair beneath his navel, leading into his trousers.

“I can meet you for breakfast downstairs if you wish to eat.”

Your eyes snapped back to his, a hint of arrogance lacing his words at having caught your ogling. He spared you from any other jabs at your expense, at least.

“No need, we’ll be getting breakfast out in town.”

A surprised look crossed his face before he quickly changed it for one of intrigue.

“Spare a moment so I can change.”

He came out exactly a moment later, not letting you wait too long. He stepped out in brown trousers, brown riding boots, a loose white shirt, and a beautifully decadent emerald green vest with gold detailing. He looked so autumnal, almost like a crisp apple you were dying to bite into.

Your lips puckered. “You’re going to need more clothes.”

“Oh? You seemed quite happy with the lack of layers I was wearing earlier.”

You scoffed, trying to cover the heat that was spreading up your face. “I am a lady, High Lord. Of course I am happy to see a lack of layers in my attractive guests.”

He laughed through his nose, an almost pleased snort at your unabashed comment.

“Any hints as to the day’s plans?”

“None until you get dressed.” He grumbled something as he turned back, leaving the door open before rifling through his trunks again.

“You do know I can warm myself quite easily with my magic.” He found a larger coat, probably the thickest one he owned, but it looked thin in comparison to the large, feather coats of Winter’s citizens. You followed him, standing in his doorway as he spoke to you.

“That’s cheating, though. Besides, your magic could be a hazard.” He stopped buttoning his jacket, fingers pausing mid movement.

“I thought I wasn’t getting any hints until I was better dressed.”

“You are better dressed.”

“I would never leave with my buttons undone. I’m not an animal.”

You stepped aside, walking down the hallway and away from him. His door shut softly behind him and he quickly caught up to you, matching your stride through the palace. No matter how much he asked, you didn’t let up, leading him out of the palace and onto the cool paths that navigated around the property.

You thought he would give up - it would only be a ten minute walk, after all. But he was unwavering, determined to get the answer from you, so much so he wasn’t paying attention to the upcoming view.

“We’re going ice skating!” You declared proudly, pointing ahead at the frozen lake coming into view. Figures glided across the frozen surface, laughing loud enough to be heard from far away.

“Why are we going ice skating, my ice princess?”

The nickname caught you off guard, the title not sounding as stilted as it usually did. You tried to keep your composure, a difficult task as your tongue suddenly became very thick in your mouth. “It’s tradition.”

“Is it now? Or do you just want to admire me gliding across the ice in those tight uniforms your skaters wear?”

A sigh escaped you, careful not to let him hear your laugh.

“It’s tradition in Winter for betrothed couples to skate together.”

“We’re a betrothed couple now?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. You still hadn’t technically given him an answer nor did you plan to until the end of the trip. Everything was going so well, you had to ensure you liked being in his company before agreeing.

“We’re something.”

“I suppose ‘something’ is the most serious relationship I’ve ever been in.”

“Haven’t you been engaged to the Morrigan?”

“I was a child. I had met her all of a handful of times before it ended.”

“So us ice skating is the most serious romantic endeavor you’ve ever been involved with?”

“It would appear so.”

“If I may be so bold, that is quite sad.” A pair of ice skates appeared in your hands, the size determined by some servants who snuck into his chambers last night and measured his shoes. You held them out to him before gesturing for him to sit on a nearby bench to put them on.

“What’s sad is going to be seeing me out on the ice and that will be the end of my most serious romantic endeavor.”

You reached out, gently pinching his cheek between your thumb and forefinger.

“I wouldn’t end things with how pitiful you look on the ice. I find pathetic males endearing on occasion.”

“I will note to never allow you near Lucien again.”

Your own skates appeared in your hand as you sat next to Eris. The two of you laced boots in tandem, listening as a few kids played a game of hockey on one end of the lake.

“You’ll probably be a little wobbly getting out there,” you warned, standing up to help him. You held your hands out, which he gladly took, helping him find his balance on the mat.

“This is ridiculous.”

“Oh, just wait.”

You helped him waddle to the entrance, his body instinctively reaching for the short walls that had been erected around the lake. Eris moved onto the ice, attempting to keep the blades beneath his feet connected to the ice. It was much slippier than he anticipated, his feet moving at an odd angle before he quickly moved back to grip the wall once more. His eyes met yours, your face barely able to contain your grin. Your eyes shone with delight, your tone laced with wicked amusement as you held out your hands.

“Forgive me, High Lord. I didn’t realize I was in the presence of a skating prodigy.”

His jaw tightened at the jab, annoyance simmering beneath his skin. Everyone else on the ice made it look easy, skating past the High Lord in pairs. One male even did a jump right in front of him.

If there was one thing that would never change about Eris, it was that he was a sore loser if he wasn’t automatically good at something.

A skater passed by, ice shavings hitting Eris in the chest. It was enough to get him to remove himself from the wall, to move out toward your outstretched hands. He looked like a newborn foal, standing for the first time on fresh legs. You suppressed a giggle, reaching out for him.

He made it halfway between you and the wall when one of the kids from the other side of the lake hit the hockey puck too hard, the black circle skidding fast directly at Eris’s feet. It hit the blade of his left skate, sending him falling forward.

A loud, boisterous laugh fell from your lips. Your head tilted back, the sun nearly blinding you, but you couldn’t contain the joy you felt in this moment.

A beautiful male fell into your arms, looking more like a fresh fawn than the high lord he was.

He clutched at you, his feet giving out beneath him as he tried to find his balance. The blades slashed the ice, cutting and churning up slush until eventually he slowed down, his feet able to stay in place long enough for him to straighten up.

Eris still clung to you, but his face came close to your ear, whispering so only you could hear.

“I look ridiculous.”

“Yes, you do.”

“And you’re enjoying it.”

“Very much so.” A meteor couldn’t wipe the smug look off your face at his struggles. You pried his hands from your shoulders, holding them tight in your hands as you slowly started skating backwards. The shock on his face had you biting back another laugh, but you held him tight, gliding backwards without a concern in the world.

He slowly began figuring out how to move his feet, making short glides. Each sweep of his legs brought more confidence, but his hands still remained tight in yours.

Eris didn’t have many courtly duties to take up his time while in Winter. He had spent most of the last week preparing for this, but he only had to put up with daily updates and light correspondence taking no less than an hour a day.

You took him everywhere you thought of: nearby villages, sightseeing, trying restaurants. He was more receptive to Winter cuisine than you had anticipated, but it shouldn’t be too shocking that there was some overlap between your courtly palettes.

Today the snow came down in massive heaps, a sheet of white covering the windows, making it impossible to see past a few feet.

“Please don’t tell me we’re going out to do something like see how much snow we can catch.”

You smiled, turning from the window to find Eris looking down at you. You stood, practically bouncing the balls of your feet at the plan for today.

“I’d never do that to you and your delicate constitution.” A huff escaped his lips at your taunt, but no retort came back.

“We’re going to bake and assemble a gingerbread house.”

It was too early for yule, the ingredients necessary for the traditional dishes out of season. But you craved to showcase Winter in all its splendor.

“A gingerbread house? To live in?”

“Not for us to live in. For the gingerbread fae to live in.”

He only stared blankly, the concept clearly a new one to the High Lord.

“Do you not celebrate Yule in Autumn?”

“We burn bushes and the like, but we don’t make gingerbread.” He said it with a grimace, like the cookie was offensive.

“Well, you can help me build it and decorate it.”

A few hours later, when the cookies were taken from the oven, the two of you took a break, venturing around the palace grounds, talking about everything and nothing. At some point you were sure the cookies had cooled enough to work with, but there had been a break in the snow and you weren’t quite ready to return yet. Instead you had detoured into the nearby village, taking Eris to get hot chocolate.

“I promise, I’ve tried so much hot chocolate over the years, but this is the best.”

“Very convenient that they live so close by.” You smiled over the mug, taking your first sip, the sweet rich flavor one you couldn’t get enough of.

“I may have persuaded him to move his shop here.”

Eris held his drink, waiting for it to cool more.

“Here I thought I was the scandalous one of us.”

“It all worked out! He met his wife here and they’ve been very happy for a long time. And they have me to thank for it.” Pride was etched into every inch of your smile, to see happy citizens and watch things work out for them was a joy.

“Winter’s own little matchmaker.”

After enough time (and Eris admitting it was the best hot chocolate Prythian had to offer), the two of you had wandered back to the palace, taking your sheets of cookies into the dining room. Servants had already arranged all your decorating needs neatly onto the table: icing, gumdrops, sugar. Anything sweet your heart could desire was on the table.

“The world’s supply of sugar was dropped off in our absence.”

It didn’t take long before he was sucked into the work, determined to make a grand gingerbread house fit for a High Lord. You watched as he carefully iced one of the walls, applying windows and doors to it. His lines were perfect, a steely look of determination on his face.

This was what this trip was about. Seeing Eris for who he was at all times: relaxed, enthralled, annoyed. After a moment of watching him, you turned back to your own house, hoping a distraction would quell the butterflies roaring in your stomach. You picked up one of the tiny ginger males, picking out the perfect red icing to make his hair with.

Before long, Eris’s two weeks in Winter were coming to an end. It felt surreal to watch him winnow away, feeling juvenile over the longing you felt in his absence.

Eris would head to Autumn a day before you, so the two of you hadn’t lingered long on saying goodbye. It had taken longer than expected for him to depart, as if the both of you were unwilling to give the other up for any amount of time. The pull you had felt toward him all these years, the seemingly insurmountable obstacles keeping the two of you apart, and yet a whole day felt impossible.

Life had continued on in your whirlwind romance, but it felt different now. Two weeks away and it felt like being in someone else’s clothes, stepping into someone else’s life.

The silence felt louder, your room colder. The halls you grew up in, the room you’d known your entire life - they felt so empty now, so lifeless without a redhead blazing fires.

The next day Kallias winnowed the two of you to Autumn, somewhere about a mile from the perimeter of the Forest House. He spent the twenty minute walk probing you nonstop about if you were truly happy to do this.

“It would mean living here year round.” His arms spread out, sweeping across the landscape. It was so different from your home in the Winter Court, trees full of leaves that are about to shed, woodland creatures skittering all around, watching the two of you.

The air was always so still in Winter, but here it ebbed and flowed, carrying the scent of bonfires and apples wherever it went.

“I don’t think that would be so bad.” You failed to mention how excited you’d be to live with a certain male, not wanting to endure Kallias’s teasing or gagging noises from him.

Your brother escorted you through the woods, your arm tucked into his as you passed through the wards placed around the Forest House. The large, dark estate was tucked away in the woods, trees as tall as the sky surrounding it. The sun was hitting it just right, letting it shine in all its glory, as if even the weather was happy with the change in Autumn.

A servant had found the two of you - some guard, you assumed from the weapon at his side. He bowed quickly before the two of you, quickly turning on his heel for you to follow. You didn’t have to follow long, Eris already waiting in the front hallway for the two of you.

It was hard to decide what to look at - the male or the gorgeous interior of the home. You were set to be here for two weeks, plenty of time to ogle the decor and architecture, so you opted to keep your eyes on Eris. He looked different in Autumn, more at ease, but also brighter somehow, as if every room and background bent toward him, trying to complement his skin.

He kept his eyes on you the same way, likely figuring out how much you contrasted against the earthly shades of the court. You didn’t care, certain he would spin it in a more favorable light than you would. He eventually took his eyes off of you, turning towards your brother, reaching out a hand. Their hands met, slight steam coming off from their touch before your brother chuckled. It wasn’t until you peeled your eyes from Eris to find one of his brothers, Lucien, standing behind him

“Eris,” Kallias’s voice took on a more stern tone, one that had a groan coming from the back of your throat. Kallias’s blue eyes met yours, a silent conversation taking place while he was still shaking Eris’s hand. After a minute of glaring back and forth, he turned back toward Eris, patting his hand before retracting it.

“Eris.” It said all that Kallias wanted to. The threat hidden in the one word, the tight grip he had on Eris’s hand. Eris only nodded, a tight lipped smile at either Kallias’s rigid position or the tight grip he had on him. Kallias examined him for a moment before letting go, his arm moving to wrap you into a hug.

“Last chance,” he said quietly into your ear. You softly shook your head no as you leaned into his touch, the cool air enveloping you in such a familiar way. He patted your back before letting go.

“I’ll see you in two weeks then.” This time he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, accenting every word in a ‘I’m the High Lord’ way. You chuckled softly as he turned, nodding at both Vanserras before walking out of the house.

The three of you stood in silence for only a moment, no one quite sure how to continue on after Kallias’s departure. Lucien’s eyes gleamed with excitement, a smile full of mischief and trouble sent your way.

“Would you like to walk around the estate?”

It was an interesting sight to behold - two fae, each over several centuries old, strolling about Autumn with a much younger and louder chaperone following behind them.

“I have to say you do seem quite different since the last I saw of you in Autumn, High Lord.”

Lucien’s steps followed the two of you, his whistling an overt measure to ensure you both remembered his presence. When you had asked for traditional courtship, you hadn’t had Lucien in mind.

“Autumn is seeing a great change.”

“You may speak freely, if you wish. I understand double speak is common around here, but I am unfamiliar with it and find it tedious.”

“Autumn is doing quite well now that the blight that was my father has been taken care of.”

Lucien’s whistling stopped, an almost choking noise coming from his mouth. Eris shot a spark from his finger at his brother. Even though he couldn’t see it, he heard Lucien patting the fire out of his breeches and smiled. Your eyes caught Eris’s, unable to stop the enjoyment at seeing him so happy.

“How crass, High Lord. To speak of your departed father in such a way.”

Eris’s eyes nearly bulged from his head, an excuse sitting on the tip of his tongue until he caught a glint of amusement in your eye. He clicked his tongue, looking straight ahead toward the path.

“You sound like Lucien, my least favorite brother.”

A cough came from behind, but Eris didn’t turn to look at his brother before replying. “Chaperones are merely to ensure our innocence and chastity, not to butt into conversation.”

“Yes, we are quite innocent and chaste up here. No deflowering has occurred on your watch,” you added.

“I do love a good deflowering, but watching it happen to my brother is not what I wish to see.”

Steam practically shot out of Eris’s ears at Lucien’s quip, but your giggles broke him from his anger.

“A virgin High Lord. How noble of you, your grace. And you picked me to deflower you? I’m so honored.”

The High Lord of Autumn had half a mind to forego the frivolity of tradition. Two weeks of his brother following him around was sure to end in murder. He knew you were quite a fan of them, some romanticized notion of courting traditions in your mind he couldn’t quite bear to see squashed.

Your first night there had been enough for him to put up with meddling brothers for a lifetime. He had shown you around the Forest House per your request. He listened intently during the tour as you compared the Forest House to the Snowflake Palace, comparing your current home to what was hopefully set to be a future one. You were now comparing balconies, ones you had shown him on his tour, balconies carved in part from ice in the upper levels of the palace.

“I’m sure you could remodel here with your flames a bit.”

A chuckle made you smile, happy to amuse him over such silly imaginings.

“I don’t think they’d be structurally sound to stand on.”

“Hmm, that’s a shame. A flaming throne room would really make the place shine.”

The two of you moved through the house, wandering through centuries of history. Stories flowed from Eris’s mouth - items that were millennium old, passed down through the Vanserra line carefully. Things the high lord has grown so accustomed to seeing every day he had forgotten to enjoy the intricate details of them.

At some point on the tour, Lucien had stepped away, having to attend to some matter on his own.

“I could show you where your chambers would be if you moved here.”

You stopped, grabbing Eris by the elbow to get his attention. You held his arm as you spoke, the fabric of his jacket soft in your hand.

“Eris, if I am to wed, I would rather spend my nights with my husband. It’s no fun sleeping alone.”

He swallowed harshly, needing a moment before he responded. “Noted.”

“Would that be a problem?”

“Not at all.”

“Then can you show me your chambers?” Eris swore under his breath, the direct question straining his pants.

“Lucien steps away for an hour and you’re already trying to deflower me.”

“Maybe the chaperone was for me, Eris.”

Eris was still staying in his old chambers, wanting Beron’s old chambers completely renovated before he moved into them. His room was somewhere in the west wing, the windows facing a large field that had massive stables at the end of the horizon. You walked to the window, ignoring inspecting the rest of the furniture in favor of the lush green pasture.

“Horses?”

“Hounds,” he corrected, his voice dripping with pride. It jogged your memory - the brief conversation you had earlier about his pack of hounds.

“Do they sleep in the bed with you?”

The silence stretched on for a moment before he asked, “how important is the answer to that?”

You shrugged your shoulders, squinting your eyes as you looked at the field, trying to make out any dog-like shapes. “I’m often incredibly cold during the night and a warm, furry friend would be nice.”

“It’d be a shame then to not tell you that they all end up here during the night.”

You whipped your head to him, incredulity coating your words. “How many are there?”

“A dozen or so.”

A laugh escaped from you. Eris Vanserra, a male supposedly cut from Beron’s cloth who had half of Prythian annoyed at him and the other infuriated with him, had a pack of hounds to keep him company at night?

“This is delightful.” Only a few hours into the trip and you had already learned so much about Eris.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” You leaned against the wall, turning your body toward him. It didn’t go unnoticed when he stepped slightly closer, following to not let any more distance linger between you two. “The other courts think you’re the Mother’s curse upon faekind. If only they knew you liked snuggling.”

“Even cursed ones have hobbies when they’re not ransacking villages or plaguing the common fae.”

The day was supposed to end with a dinner in your honor, celebrating relations between Winter and Autumn, and a way for you to meet more people in the Forest House. Instead you had asked if you could share dinner in his chambers, citing the travels of the day making you weary.

An excuse Eris saw through, but elected not to say anything. He’d be damned to give up this much alone time with you, certain Lucien would make himself known at any moment.

The two of you ate and drank in Eris’s sitting room, not having ventured into his bedchambers. This trip was about you and he’d follow your lead, no matter how straining it became.

“We’ve been on our own for several hours now. Do you think our chaperone’s gone?”

“With any luck he’s fallen into an uncapped well or perhaps gotten lost at sea.”

“I don’t think we’re that lucky, Eris.”

He leaned back in his seat, the wood creaking as he stretched out his long legs.

“It’s night time. He’s likely off writing a letter, waxing poetry about how much he’s missing his mate.”

“You’re not concerned about any interruptions, then?”

“At this point Lucien should be old enough to know better. What he sees is on him.”

The words had barely left his mouth before you glanced down at his trousers, noting the clear outline of his bulge. You looked back up to find his searing gaze on you, amber eyes full of molten want, the air around the two of you hot enough to have sweat prickling at your neck. You patted his shoulder, trying to soothe the rejection before it came.

“Still, he only has the one eye. Wouldn’t want to completely blind him.” You wanted to - your legs practically shook with need. Something held you back from allowing him in fully, to take in every aspect of this potential relationship.

Eris had escorted you back to your room, unperturbed by the earlier rejection. He only waited as you stood across from him, not quite ready to open your door and bid him goodnight. The longer you stood here, his body heat practically inviting you closer, the more likely you were to cave into your carnal wants.

His own restraint did little to quell the ache between your legs. In fact, it made it worse. He was being respectful, never pushing or upset at the space you needed.

“I should go to bed.”

A half attempt at moving, to get your brain in gear, to retire for the evening, but as long as his eyes were on you, it was hard to pull away from his orbit.

If Eris had it his way, this whole visit would have been structured so differently. Every meal just the two of you, spending only a few hours apart for some necessary meetings he had.

But you had asked for traditional courting.

So he put up with more chaperoned walks through the garden, meals spent with others, hardly getting a moment alone with you for weeks until you slipped into his sitting room each night, recounting the time spent apart. You saw more of Lucien than you did him, his brother neglecting almost all of his duties in favor of entertaining at all hours of the day.

Eris was on the brink of wringing Lucien’s neck. Watching his eyes pop from his head would amuse him, wondering if the mechanical one would pop out too or if it would stay in its socket forever.

Most of Autumn’s rituals around love and commitment were saved for the day of the wedding or the ceremony itself. Fire night was a big event, but that was six months out and Eris couldn’t wait that long. He had been racking his brain for ages, trying to figure out something to showcase Autumn.

The proposal weighed heavy on your mind over the days you spent with him. While you were having a great time, Kallias never made you feel like you had to marry for political advantage. He actually seemed to prefer you to marry outside of it. Your brother desperately wanted you to marry any of the athletes of Winter, preferably from his favored teams.

You were having a great time being courted - finally being allowed to soak in Eris’s company was a delight. But you couldn’t quite say yes.

Eris had told you it would be an early morning and to dress in layers and to wear pants, but it was all he’d give you. You took his advice, layering well for the Autumn chill, lacing up your boots when a knock came at the door. Eris stood on the other side of the door, a tweed jacket unbuttoned, showing off a matching vest beneath it. Dark pants clung to his thighs, disappearing into the knee high boots hugging his calves. He said nothing, letting his gaze trail up the pants that hugged your thighs, a devilish smirk on his face that almost had you pulling him into your chambers.

“Ready?” He asked, extending an elbow toward you. You accepted it, letting him lead you on whatever adventure he wanted to show you.

“I thought I would show you one of my traditions.” You stayed silent, waiting for him to tell you more, but he didn’t say more, only looking forward as he walked. He guided the two of you through the house, up to some side hallway that led to the pasture behind the house. Barks came from the door at the end, either excitement or aggression you couldn’t say.

“And what is this tradition?”

“Whenever my mother would successfully give birth, I would take my hounds out and catch dinner.” He paused, one of his hands resting on the doorknob before he turned to face you.

“Would this bother you?” He fully faced you, close enough that you could almost touch him. You reached out, your hand brushing his, letting his warmth wake you up. Standing in the hallway with him felt like standing in the sun after a long, cold day, his gaze enough to warm your bones.

You shook your head, hunting for game a familiar one in Winter.

“I’ve never hunted with animals before.” The only movement was an eyebrow before his fingers held your hand. “Kallias is really into trapping.” Furs and meat were the two necessities to make it in Winter, most court citizens avid hunters.

He nodded, surprise evident on his face, but he said nothing. He squeezed your hand gently, looking deep into your eyes, fondness clear in his gaze. He looked on the verge of saying something, but only turned the knob, letting the early morning haze in, not quite clearing the lovesick haze that had settled in your stomach.

All the barking stopped immediately once Eris opened the door, the sound of dozens of paws hitting the ground thunderous in your ears. They quickly mobbed the pair of you, standing politely, tails wagging furiously. Several colors of fur tried to make their way to you, a dozen noses desperately trying to reach you. You giggled, reaching a hand out to pet one of them. You’d get to nuzzle one of their heads before another hound pushed it out of the way, trying to get your affection.

Eris gave a short, high-pitched whistle, sending the party into a frozen state, each one on high alert as they waited for his next order. It was almost terrifying how well they listened to his command, moving in tandem as if from one mind.

They all focused on him, a few with tilted heads. He let out a series of whistles, the meaning lost to you, but they understood. They moved as a group, their movements wispy and light, practically floating on air as they moved through the pasture, keeping a pace you couldn’t even dream of reaching.

“How do we find them?” Eris began trudging off after them, following the line in the morning dew they had made. From the front of the house, when you had arrived only a few days ago, you couldn’t have guessed at this large field hidden among the trees, this quiet sanctuary beyond a house containing Prythian’s greatest secrets.

“We follow as best we can. They’ll let us know when they find something.” A large crossbow was hung across his shoulder, not quite sure how you had missed it beforehand. It covered the muscles of his back, showing off his broad shoulders.

“What sort of expectations are there for the Lady of Autumn?” You had briefly met the previous one on this trip, Eris’s mother graciously inviting you for afternoon tea. You spoke for an hour with her, charmed by her while also being moderately terrified of her.

A woman married to Beron for centuries certainly had some skeletons in her own closet. You hadn’t thought to ask about her duties as Lady of the court, but rather mostly about Eris.

“There are a few, first and foremost being at court events.” Something you had expected - it would be silly to have a title and never be seen by the public. “My mother has her own passions and hobbies that take up her time, I don’t expect anyone,” he sent you a pointed look, “to do exactly as she does. Be present, be someone Autumn recognizes. Represent Autumn and see dignitaries from other courts. Other than that, it’s how much or how little sway she wishes to have.”

“Would I have to wear all green and red?” He laughed, the sound disturbing some roosting birds nearby, their wings taking flight.

“You may wear whatever color you like.”

“How often is Lucien around?”

“Not very. He comes usually for a day at a time, if that. He’s only here so frequently because he jumped at the chance to be a thorn in my side.”

Barks came from up ahead, the whole pack in an uproar, clearly catching the scent of something.

Eris grabbed your hand, the two of you running to catch whatever it was they found. You felt giddy at it all - his hand around yours, running through the trees. You felt so much younger and freer as the wind blew through your hair.

Could this be life with Eris?

The dogs had been unsuccessful. Eris did not want to admit it, but you were certain it had to do with how many questions you asked him, the chatter enough to scare off any nearby game, no matter the lead the dogs had on you.

The two of you spent the entire day outside, trying to find anything worthwhile, only calling it a day as the sun began to set. You had trudged back to the Forest House, unsure what you wanted more: a good meal or a long hot shower. Stepping inside, the house smelled divine - rich, fragrant foods that had your mouth watering.

The cooks must have heard your dilemma and answered for you. The two of you sat and ate, not much to say, too exhausted and gross to have anything of note to vocalize.

The silence gave you plenty of time to think. Eris had shown you a part of himself today, showing one of his favorite pastimes, it was only fair you did the same.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” It was the first thing you had said since coming inside, waiting until Eris was walking you to your chambers to ask it. The question clearly caught him off guard, his head lightly shaking in surprise.

“Of course.”

A rhythmic ceremony of sorts played out as the two of you prepared for bed. Taking turns bathing and changing into bed attire, nestling into bed, it all felt so comfortable and relaxing. The room smelled like him, coated in a smoky scent so thick it nearly made you dizzy.

As you lifted the covers laying next to Eris, two of the hounds jumped onto the bed, curling at his feet. You laughed, patting the bed next to you for one of them to come closer, but it only invited one of the ones on the floor to jump up.

Her brown fur was soft as it landed next to you, your hand petting her automatically. You curled around her body, an almost crescent moon shape to both of you. You felt the bed shift before Eris had done the same to you: contorting his body around yours, pulling your back flush to his chest.

The room smelled of Eris, but it also smelled like his hounds in the best way. The one in your arms, Cinnamon, nestled in for the night, and the contentment at being cocooned between their two bodies quickly lulled you to sleep.

A few hounds had made their way into the bed through the night, rotating as if in shifts to ensure they all got a turn. One or two were posted at each entrance, guarding both the bathroom and the door to his sitting room. One sat beneath a window, stationed there most of the night, her eyes on you whenever you woke up in the night.

Eris woke not long after you did, his arms circling tighter around you as he breathed you in.

“Does she sleep at all?” You asked, breaking the stillness of the morning. Eris only groaned, burying his face into your hair. His fingers dug into your hips, the millimeter of space between the two of you too offensive. He grumbled something incomprehensible into your hair, the words unintelligible.

“What was that?”

“Who?” You nodded toward the dog beneath the window, her gaze already on the two of you. She had a dark auburn coat, her long hair perfect to disappear amongst fallen leaves.

“That’s Lady. Not a cuddler.”

“Not even with you?”

“She cuddles in her own way. Sits near me and I have to stay very still.”

The image was incredibly endearing - the High Lord of Autumn letting his dog come to him in her own way, accommodating her as best he could. It had your heart practically bursting in your chest. You didn’t ask anymore questions, letting the room grow quiet with laziness.

Nobody moved for a long while, even the hounds staying still as they sprawled across the floor. Eventually a stomach growled - yours or Eris’s, you couldn’t tell. One of the hounds, Clove, you think, came over and nudged his back, her long snout attempting to get him out of bed.

It took longer than the dog had wanted, reluctance in every movement from both of you, but eventually the two of you left the warmth of the bed and took a walk in the woods, dozens of paws following you around.

Your remaining days in the court went by in a blur of red hair, warm skin, and explorations of the house and the forest surrounding it. You spent your nights tucked in Eris’s arms, the sweet domesticity of sharing a bed enough for both of you.

Each day brought a new confidence, that this was where you were meant to be, but every day something would hold you back, some new question keeping you from saying yes.

Before long, your shared two weeks in Autumn were up, your last night spent in Eris’s chambers, tangled in his arms and legs. He had held you tight all night, not wanting to let you go even as he slept.

A few hours before you were set to leave, luck had been on your side. One of the servants had let slip that Lucien had set off early that morning, some business in the Night Court requiring his immediate attention.

The sun was rising through the trees, chasing away the darkness of the night, bringing with it new life. The sun, for all its glory, hadn’t warmed up the ground yet, unable to fight the cool morning air yet. The cold in Autumn was different from Winter. It was familiar, a few details exchanged. The cold in Winter was dry and bone deep. The Autumn chill clung to you, stuck like a second skin.

Eris walked beside you, a few of his hounds trotting around the pair of you. The rest of them were out in the woods, chasing each other, investigating every scent trail they could find. The ones left behind were a guard of sort, likely expected to raise an alarm should anything happen.

The air was heavy with humidity and uncertainty, neither of you ready for what the afternoon would bring. Once you left, he’d have a busy day, ironing out the details of all the things he had pushed aside the past few weeks.

You weren’t sure when you would be back, if you would be back. Your mind was telling you stay guarded, to not give in. But you remembered Lady’s bright eyes, how she watched Eris everywhere he went, how he made time out of his day to spend a few moments alone with her, letting her come to him.

But now he walked beside you, silent and sure, unwavering as he walked over roots and bramble, a dog weaving between his long legs on occasion.

You bent over, crouching low to the ground and picking up a fallen stick. The leaves on it were still vibrant, some perfect color between orange and red. You held it up to the light before holding it close to Eris’s head, comparing it to his long, bright locks.

“They’re the same color as your hair.”

He moved one of his hands through the air, vaguely gesturing all around. The movement caught someone’s attention, a ball of red fur sitting in anticipation for the stick to be thrown their way.

“Most of them look like my hair.”

“Well that’s not fun.”

“I’m the High Lord of Autumn. It’s not far-fetched to think my lands resemble me.”

You only hummed, marching onwards, more determined with each step. After a moment of pretending to ignore the dog, you threw the stick off to the left when you figured they would least suspect it. The two of you continued in silence, the crunching of your boots crackling through the woods as four legs darted after the stick.

After a moment, you stepped off the path, looking for what had caught your eye. Quickly plucking the flower from its stalk, you hurry back to the bewildered male you left behind. You presented the flower to him before holding it next to his face, pointed so you could see the flower. The bright orange flower flared to life next to him, the perfect companion to the hundreds of freckles dancing across his cheeks.

The flower practically glowed next to him, its petals slightly bending in his direction. You’re not sure which came first: the magic or the life of the land.

“It matches your eyes.”

“My eyes are not orange.” You pulled the flower back, rolling your eyes as you did so.

“Not the petals, the eye of the flower. The center.” You pointed to make it clearer for him, the deep amber middle a perfect match for his eyes. He watched you carefully before looking down at the flower, the orange reflecting in his eyes.

He smiled, his mouth curved in a gorgeous upward tilt. He looked made of the woods, the forest around him bending to be seen by him or to catch a fraction of his warmth.

The crinkles in the corners of his eyes were enough proof you would go to great lengths to see them more permanently.

“So, to whom do I owe the pleasure of your undivided company all morning? I haven’t seen Lucien running about today.”

Eris only looked ahead, picking up a fallen stick and tossing it as far as he could, two of the hounds circling you chasing off after it.

“It seems he found a new toy to play with.”

“Must be some toy to pull him away from any opportunity to bother you.”

“I’m quite skilled at bargaining when there’s something I desire.”

“It wasn’t just luck that sent Lucien off this morning, was it?”

He merely shrugged, his hands clasped behind his back, the air of nonchalance he was attempting not quite landing right.

“I’m sure my brother’s told you I’m a selfish creature.”

A coy smile made its way across your face.

“Perhaps.”

“He’s not wrong.” The look he gave you felt all consuming. Amber eyes peering through every defense, every blockade of yours. He looked down at you, more resembling his hounds on the hunt for their toys than a male. The look pierced through every defense you had, nearly crumbling at the sight of it.

You had one last meal planned with Eris, one last time to speak over everything. He didn’t ask - staying silent, waiting for you to come to him.

There was one last question you couldn’t bring yourself to ask yet. It was the one thing keeping you from saying yes. Your last inhibition. It could all end depending upon his response.

“Eris, how are you different from your father?” He had only touched on the subject of Beron your first day here. It had been in an unfavorable manner, but you couldn’t tie yourself to someone without knowing the full truth.

“I haven’t burnt anyone alive so far.”

Your fork fell to your plate, so surprised at Eris’s words all of your senses stopped working. You knew Beron was a cruel man, but the extent of the harm he was producing in his court was unknown.

“That’s diabolical.”

Eris put his fork down softly, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“Forgive me, it’s a question I am asked over and over again, even by myself. It’s a bit frustrating.”

His hand reached across the table, holding yours softly. His eyes were molten amber as they looked at you, honesty pouring out of them.

“I fear becoming like my father. I fear it’s inevitable. That is why I wish to keep people around me who will keep me in check. Lucien does a decent job, but he’s an emissary. He’s not always around. My mother wishes to spend her time between Day and Autumn.

“I need a life partner. Someone that will keep me from my worst tendencies. Someone that will keep me from becoming him. Someone that I like spending time with.”

“And I’m all of those things?” Your voice was soft, a murmur amidst the candlelight.

“And more.”

“Well, for the sake of honesty, maybe you should continue on with that list.”

His smile made your heart beat wildly, erratic beats you couldn’t calm no matter how hard you tried. The incandescent glow of the candlelight made him so striking it almost hurt to look at his beauty.

“You have always seen me. And I made a promise to you all those years ago. I know you aren’t seeing anyone else, and I’m a lovestruck fool who can’t help but hope that that is because of me. That you return my feelings toward you.”

You leaned in, desperate to close the space between you.

“And what are your feelings toward me?”

“Ones of yearning and love.”

Your breath caught in your throat, his eyes pleading with you to return his affections.

“Eris Vanserra, the secret romantic.”

“Only for you.”

You reached a hand out, caressing his cheek. You watched him swallow hard, his adam’s apple bobbing with movement. Your gaze kept flickering between his eyes and his lips, debating where to pay attention to.

All along, every decision was yours. You took the lead while he waited, letting you guide whatever this was. He did it with Lady, taking his time, putting her comfort over his wants.

“You were right. I was waiting for you.” You closed the gap between your faces, bringing your lips to his. He tasted sweet and warm, a bit of spice to it. His lips captured yours, melding perfectly to the shape of them. It felt perfect as his hand slid down to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You almost fell out of the chair, breaking the kiss to squeal, but he caught you, pulling you into his lap. His lips reconnected with yours, more fervent this time. He had gotten a taste, and now he was desperate for more. His hands cupped your cheeks, pulling you flush to his body.

It felt right. This was the last thing you needed to say yes.

You pulled back from his lips just enough to speak.

“There’s one last thing I need to know before I can make up my mind.”

“Anything.” Looking into his eyes, you felt the truth to that one word. He would give you anything you wanted, all you had to do was ask.

“I’d never marry someone without spending the night with them.” Your low voice was dripping with innuendo. The smell of his arousal coated the air as you leaned in to kiss him once more. His hands moved down to your ass, gripping you tight against him. Too caught up in the moment, neither of you heard the door open, ana mused Lucien trying to look displeased.

“Well, well, well, High Lord. And you mocked me for needing a chaperone. I leave you alone for five minutes and you’re-“

Eris quickly pushed the door close with his magic, forcing Lucien from the room without leaving your lips.

He held you close to him, savoring the moment. His mouth curled into a smug expression, an arrogant look in his eye before he said, “I’m sure I was worth the wait.”

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