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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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starkeymeow · 2 days ago

Text

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter nine, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, rafe and y/n spending a day together, violence, blood, hunting, them also figuring out the rose thorns in the arena are a paralytic, first sponsor gift bc lowkey i forgot those exist LOL, capitol loves them sm ik it

main masterlist | series ml | tag list | previous next

the fire crackles in front of you, but it’s the only sound that doesn’t make your skin crawl.

your fingers rub up and down your arm. you don’t even realize you’re doing it at first because your eyes are locked somewhere on the ground. your mind is far, far away.

the bruises are already there. you don’t feel them, not really. not yet. you just remember how tight rafe had gripped you. you know it wasn’t out of anger, never that, but out of desperation, or panic, or survival. he saved your life.

you try not to think about what would’ve happened if he hadn’t been there, if he hadn’t come running, it that thing had chosen you instead of topper. your jaw tenses, throat burning as the memory flashes again behind your eyes—topper’s hand slipping from yours, the blood, the sound, the screaming.

your stomach twists.

you don’t even have your backpack. or your blanket. or your water. all of it is back wherever kie and jj are. or were.

earlier, you and rafe had searched, not too far, not too deep into the woods. every step further away from the cliff made your heart pound louder in your chest, your ears tuned to the smallest noise like the crunch of leaves, the snap of a twig, the awful clicking you now associate with death. but there was nothing. not even a whisper. not a sign of your allies. not a sign of the mutt either, which was somehow worse. so you gave up, just for the night.

rafe found the spot where the cliff bent in slightly, like a broken edge in the wall, where the fire wouldn’t be seen unless someone was really looking. he said it was as good a place as any. and you didn’t argue. you just nodded and sat down.

now, he’s sitting a few feet away, hunched over the small creature he must’ve caught sometime after sunset. it’s long and lean, probably some kind of hare the capitol thought would be a ‘humble’ meal source for tributes. you can hear the soft snk-snk of his knife as he skins it, his hands sure and quiet, knuckles scratched and drying with blood.

he hasn’t said much. neither have you.

your knees pull tighter toward your chest. like the thing is that you’re not mourning topper, not in the way you probably should. you feel sorry, you feel sick, you even feel guilty. but you’re not crying. you’re not lost in grief.

you’ve seen people die before. it’s the games. it’s expected. you’ve always told yourself you’d be fine. you knew death wasn’t going to shake you.

but you weren’t prepared for that.

you remember the way the mutt moved, its eyes, how fast it tore topper apart like he was made of paper and meat, and how real it was when it wanted to tear you apart next. you breathe slowly through your nose, but it doesn’t comfort you.

rafe shifts slightly. you glance toward him and watch as he pauses what he’s doing, adjusting the meat like he’s mentally figuring out how to suspend it over the fire. his brows are furrowed, jaw clenched.

you think maybe he’s trying not to break down or show any emotion. not unless it’s snark, maybe. you go back to rubbing your arm, slow, distracted. at least there’s no screaming now. at least there’s no clicking.

“you should eat,” rafe says finally after a while. you don’t even move. he leans forward, still hovering the piece of meat on the makeshift stick he’s cooking it on. it’s not much. rabbit’s a little paler, probably undercooked, uneven. but it’s warm. and it’s food.

you stare at it for a second too long before answering, “i’m not hungry. i’ll eat in the morning.”

“doesn’t matter,” he says, more quietly this time. “you gotta eat now.”

you swallow hard, eyes flicking away from the fire to the trees again. “you think it’s still out there?” you ask after a long pause, not looking at him.

“probably.”

you nod once, like you already knew the answer. he doesn’t say anything else for a while, and neither do you. then, after another minute of silence, “you did good,” rafe says suddenly.

you blink, turning your head toward him slowly. “what?”

“back there,” he nods, barely. “you didn’t freeze. you held onto him as long as you could.”

“yeah, whatever,” you murmur with a shake of your head, a faint smile on your face to call his bullshit. “i let him go, and he died.”

“you would’ve died if you didn’t.”

your lip twitches. you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth, blinking fast. “yeah, but i mean that’s the game, right?” you mutter. “some of us die. the rest of us . . . eat half-cooked rabbit and pretend we’re not next.”

he doesn’t respond. you think he wants to, but the words don’t come. instead, he just watches you.

“you ever seen something like that before?” you ask after a moment.

rafe doesn’t answer right away. “no,” he admits. “not like that.”

you nod again, swallowing, “it’s different when you’re not watching from a screen.”

“yeah.”

he stares at the rabbit like he's not really seeing it for a second, just holding it near the fire. his mouth twitches, jaw flexing like he’s turning something over in his mind. then, without saying a word, he pulls one of the legs off and reaches it toward you.

“just you ‘n me for right now, huh?”

you look down at his hand first, then you look up at him, catching the way his eyes meet yours. you guess he’s right. it is just you and him. kie and jj are gone. maybe not forever, but for now, yeah. it’s just the two of you.

you don’t say anything, just take the piece from his hand. your fingers brush his knuckles for a second, and you feel how warm he still is.

your teeth sink into the meat anyway. it’s dry and tough and probably cooked more by accident than skill, but your stomach grumbles the second it hits your tongue.

you keep chewing, blankly staring at the fire.

rafe pulls the other leg off for himself and sits back with a grunt, picking at it with his fingers, ripping a strip off the bone with a smug kind of smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth.

“greatest thing you’ve ever eaten?” he says, watching you.

you pause mid-chew, blink at him like you can’t even believe he’s trying to be funny right now. “you’re a fucking idiot,” you mutter, food still in your mouth.

“wow,” he says, pretending to look offended. “a simple ‘thank you, rafe, for saving my life and cooking me a gourmet meal’ would’ve been nice.”

you roll your eyes, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “you nearly dislocated my arm dragging me through the trees.”

“yeah, well. you weren’t exactly moving on your own.”

“i was in shock.”

“you were crawling like a drunk baby deer.”

you let out a breath through your nose, half-exasperated, half like you actually want to laugh but don’t have the energy. you shake your head. “you’re unbelievable.”

“you’re welcome, by the way,” he says again, softer this time, like he means it for real now. like he’s not just teasing.

you pause, still chewing. your gaze flicks toward the fire, then back to him. and when your eyes meet his, it kind of settles there in the space between you, so you murmur, quiet and almost too low to hear over the fire crackling, “thanks.”

and you hold his gaze, just for a beat. long enough that he knows you mean it. you’re not brushing it off, not pretending it didn’t matter. because it did. he did save your life.

rafe’s expression shifts. not all smug and cocky like before, just something softer, more real. he smiles, and for the first time since all of this, it actually reaches his eyes. the firelight flickers just enough that you see it. there’s faint dimples on either side of his mouth that clearly only show up when he’s not trying too hard.

your lips twitch before you can stop them. just a small, quick smile. there and gone.

then you both go quiet again. but it’s not tense.

you take another bite, slower this time. he eats too, not looking at you but still kind of aware you’re there. then you tuck your feet closer beneath you, exhale quietly through your nose.

the next morning, your hand brushes against the damp forest floor as you wake, fingers threading through the moss and scattered leaves that make up your bed. it’s still early. beside you, rafe’s already awake, sitting upright with his arms resting over his knees. he doesn’t say anything at first, just glances over once he feels you stir. it’s like he’s been waiting for you to wake up.

you press your palm into the dirt and push yourself up, back aching from the way you slept, but you move quietly.

“i think the coast is clear,” he mutters, eyes scanning the woods ahead. “that thing, whatever the hell it was, it's probably gone now.”

you nod once, just enough to show him you’re listening.

“we should try to find kie and jj. there weren’t any cannons last night, so . . . they’re probably still good.”

your response is silent, but he gets it. you both rise, weapons in hand, neither of you saying much more. the walk stretches into an hour, maybe longer. your legs eventually ache and your throat’s dry.

conversation stays light, if it even happens. just the occasional comment about direction, maybe a weak joke from rafe when a squirrel startles out of a tree and makes you jump. the forest somehow looks familiar now, even though every tree is just like the last.

you stop by the stream again, the same one from yesterday, kneeling to drink as your reflection ripples beneath you. the water’s cold, a little metallic on your tongue, but it works. you wipe your mouth with your sleeve and glance over at rafe just as something sharp pierces the silence.

a yelp.

you both freeze. your head snaps up like a deer hearing the first crack of a branch behind it. your instinct screams to move, to run and find out what it is, but your feet stay planted, waiting, searching.

rafe’s already scanning the trees, his body still but tense like he’s ready to lunge. you both start forward, slow at first, stepping through bushes and uneven terrain. it’s hard to see where the noise came from. your eyes dart around, expecting someone, or something, to burst out from behind the trees, but all you see is green. trees, roses, more trees. nothing.

until something catches your eye near the base of a tree trunk. it’s a rabbit. it’s small, lying still in the grass. not in a way that says it’s sleeping, but like something happened to it. its body is stiff, unmoving, but its eyes are wide open.

you glance up at rafe. he looks back at you with the same cautious confusion, then crouches beside the rabbit. his hand hovers over it like he’s expecting it to snap or vanish. nothing happens. he inspects it, quiet, then slowly lifts his gaze to sweep the woods around you both. his fingers twitch toward the mace strapped to his back.

you get the hint. your hand slowly reaches for one of your daggers, your gaze scanning the trees again.

but nothing moves. no sounds. no twigs snapping under footsteps. the rabbit’s just there. like an offering. a meal.

rafe doesn’t hesitate long. he snatches it up, holding it by the legs, and gives you a look that says he’s not about to question free food.

but there’s a noise.

you don’t notice any at first because you’re too focused on the rabbit, your stomach already reacting to the thought of food. but rafe freezes, and that’s enough. your gaze snaps to the side a beat after his. a branch. like someone stepped on a fucking branch.

your jaw tenses. of course it was a trap, you both think immediately.

your gaze flicks across the trees, and then you see them, two tributes.

they’re standing not far off. the second they spot you and rafe, they go stiff. one of them grabs for something at their side while the other tightens their jaw. they don’t speak. their eyes harden.

you stare at them, straight through them, your breathing slowing like your body’s gearing up for something it already knows how to do. you need to kill them. rafe’s standing beside you still, and for a second, neither of you move. it’s silent.

then one of them takes a step back.

you almost smile. it’s not a real smile, it’s the idea of one. just the hint of amusement pulling in your chest. because it’s been too long since it’s felt like this. the rush. the clarity.

rafe drops the rabbit to the forest floor without a word, the body landing with a thud in the dirt. his hand swings back, fingers curling around the handle of his mace.

you’re already moving.

you vanish into the bushes like a shadow. your body stays low but your eyes stay up, locked on the two tributes even as leaves brush against your cheek. they can’t see you anymore, only rafe, and that's the point. they’ll be so focused on the obvious threat that they’ll forget about the one hiding in the dark.

he doesn’t call after you, doesn’t check to make sure you’re in position. he just knows. that’s the difference between you and them. you’re not clumsy. you don’t break branches.

guess the show’s back on, rafe thinks as he steps forward, the weight of his mace dragging through the air. and just like that, he makes his way over. you don’t wait long to follow either.

rafe barrels toward them like a force let loose. he doesn’t hold his mace back, lets it swing wild in the open air, not to strike just yet, just to warn.

one of the tributes lunges first, the boy. he’s taller than he looked from a distance, quick-footed too. he ducks low, swiping at rafe’s legs with something dull and rusted, a sickle maybe, cut down from a farming blade. it makes a sharp whoosh in the air, and rafe barely steps back in time, the weapon missing his knee by an inch.

rafe exhales hard and pivots, twisting his body with the motion of his mace and slamming it toward the guy’s ribs. the boy blocks it with his shoulder. it’s a bad idea, because the sound it makes is disgusting, bone and muscle crunching under steel, but it works. it slows rafe down. enough for the other tribute to rush him from the side.

the girl, older than you, faster.

rafe’s not fast enough to avoid her punch. it hits his jaw hard enough to rock his head to the side. they’re good. they’re actually good.

he fights both of them like it’s a dance and a slaughter, parrying one while dodging the other. but they’re working together, pushing him back, closing in . . . until you strike.

you explode out of the brush with no warning, boots crashing over the forest floor as you launch yourself at the girl’s back. she hears the snap of leaves too late. she spins, but not enough. you slam into her with the weight of your full body, driving your shoulder into her stomach and taking her to the ground.

the two of you crash hard into the dirt, her elbow slamming against your ribs in the fall. you grit your teeth and roll first, pinning her under you. she twists her body, trying to buck you off, clawing at your arms. you grab for your dagger, but it slips in your grasp, sliding a few feet away in the scuffle. you hiss and reach again, but she elbows you in the jaw.

your head rings, but you don’t move. your knee presses harder into her stomach as your hands close around her wrists. she growls and kicks, wild like she’s dying already, and you feel your lip split as her head knocks yours. pain. blood fills your mouth. you’re holding steady, but you’re not giving her the chance.

meanwhile rafe’s still fighting the boy, both of them panting now, exchanging blows that don’t always land. the boy’s relentless, and even though his shoulder’s broken, or close to it, he still comes at rafe like he’s possessed. rafe gets shoved back, his boots skidding on the dirt, and the boy tackles him.

they hit the ground with a loud thud. his blade catches rafe in the side, and rafe’s face twists in pain. his free hand comes up hard, cracking into the boy’s jaw. it barely fazes him. he’s not just fighting to win. he’s fighting not to die.

you hear the hit, the bodies slamming together, and it drives you harder. you snarl through your teeth and drive your elbow into the girl’s throat, just enough to make her choke, just enough to get her hands to weaken, and you shove her off you, dragging yourself toward your fallen dagger.

you grab it and turn. she’s already on her feet. but so are you, and rafe’s still fighting to his last breath just a few feet away.

your vision blurs for a second when the girl throws a punch that clips your cheekbone, but your body reacts before your brain can catch up. you duck her next swing, grab her arm, and shove her backward with everything you’ve got. she stumbles, hits the tree behind her with a sharp, solid thud that makes the whole trunk vibrate. you don’t stop. you grab the front of her shirt, grip it hard like it’s a lifeline, and throw her to the ground again.

she hits the ground awkwardly, the back of her head catching something behind it. it’s not a loud crack, more like a sudden stop. a soft thump. and then nothing.

you stand over her, chest heaving, face raw and sticky with blood, your own or hers or both. her eyes are open, glassy almost, wide, staring up at you. your grip tightens around your dagger, ready to lunge, to finish it, but she doesn’t move. like not even a twitch.

you hesitate, blinking. what? your blade hangs heavy in your hand, not yet stained. she’s just . . . staring. not really struggling, and not grabbing for her weapon. she’s just lying there. your breath catches. for a second, you think—did it end that fast?

you crouch beside her, slow, and grip her collar again and pull her up by it, trying to see if she’s playing dead. her body’s slack, but not lifeless. her arms dangle, her chest barely rising.

but that’s when you see it.

beneath her neck, a thorn is lodged deep under the skin. a thick one, twisted red. she’s still shaking faintly from the force of her fall. your gaze drops to the ground behind her. there’s a rose. it’s flattened now, crushed by the weight of her body, petals scattered, one’s stuck in her hair.

you look back at her face. she’s still staring. it’s almost worse than death.

you don’t think she can blink or even move. her lips are parted just slightly, but there’s no breath pushing through. the thorn—it must’ve been poisoned. paralytic, you think immediately, like some sick trick of the arena. so the rabbit wasn’t a trap most likely, it must’ve just gotten caught with a thorn like this girl did.

there’s a cannon behind you that makes you blink out of it. rafe killed. so should you. you don’t wait for anything more.

your dagger moves before you even register the decision. you aim clean, right into her chest, right where the heart is. it sinks in deep and quick, and her whole body jolts with the force before it slumps completely. her eyes don’t close. but the light goes out, like someone hit a switch and turned her off. cannon.

you don’t look at her again, but you spit the blood pooling in your mouth onto the dirt beside her body and stand up slow, wiping your blade on your pants. your chest still rises and falls, and your cheek throbs from where she hit you.

when you look up, rafe is already watching you. he’s waiting by the other tribute’s body, one foot pressed against the boy’s back like a hunter posing over his kill. his knuckles are split, mace sticky with blood. but his expression is calm now, like he’s already processed it and moved on. he doesn’t say anything when he holds out his hand.

you take it without a word, and he pulls you to your feet. you wobble just for a second, boots skidding on the dirt, but you find your balance. his eyes lift to scan the trees again, quiet, thinking, his brow tightening just slightly. there’s no celebration. just calculation, like figuring out what your next steps should be.

you wipe your nose on your sleeve again, smearing blood across the fabric, then step over the bodies without hesitation. your eyes scan the ground for weapons, supplies, anything useful. there’s a smaller blade and a matchbook. you pocket both. the girl’s pack is torn but intact, so you unzip it, digging through with one hand as you sling it over your shoulder, then your fingers catch on something small and metal.

a locket.

you pull it free and it dangles in your palm, swinging slightly as you flip it open. inside, there’s a photo. a family, her family. the photo is blurry, probably printed just for this. her arms are around two little boys, maybe brothers. maybe cousins. you don’t know.

your gaze drifts back down to her body, still sprawled on the forest floor. her eyes are still open. the rose beneath her is crushed into the dirt, red petals stuck to her cheek.

you’re not upset. not really. maybe a little. but it had to be them. it was them or you, you and rafe.

“c’mon,” you hear him call for you.

you sigh, slow and sharp through your nose, and toss the locket back beside her body, then you walk away.

you make your way back to the little camp you claimed by the water. you glance over at rafe, at the red streaked across his hands and his knuckles, the corner of his jaw dark with it. there’s a cut on his cheekbone, dried blood where it dripped from his nose. some of it’s splattered up near his eye. it’s mixing now, sweat and dirt and blood, all dried together.

you grimace at the sight. “let me clean you up.”

he glances at you once, silent. no smirk, no smug response. he turns and drops the rabbit beside your things, its neck already twisted at an odd angle. he must’ve done it quietly on the way over, like he said he would. didn’t want to waste the paralytic, didn’t want it running off after all of that.

but he doesn’t argue or shrug you off. he just walks toward you and stands still.

you step toward the stream’s edge and lower yourself into a crouch. the water’s cold. you dip your arm in, just halfway up to the elbow. your sleeve soaks heavy almost immediately. when you pull it back out, water runs down to your fingers and drips off the edge, but it’s the best you’ve got.

you take the edge of your sleeve and hold it between your thumb and fingers, palm cupped beneath it, and step back over to him. he doesn’t move when you reach up.

you drag the wet fabric across his cheek, the water instantly mixing with the dried blood, turning it a little pink before it runs down across his jaw. some of it drips to the ground. that’s fine. better out than dried up and stiff on his skin. you sweep across his cheekbone, over his brow, then down the side of his nose. his eyes close once, just briefly, like it stings.

you make your way to his jawline and just as you reach the curve of it, he flinches.

your hand pulls back by an inch. your eyes scan his face. “sorry,” you murmur.

he doesn’t answer. he’s watching you now, eyes flicking from your hands to your face, unreadable. that must’ve been where the girl hit him.

you move a little slower after that, more careful. your fingers adjust and you press the soaked cloth to a spot just under his eye where there’s a faint trail of red. he hisses again, not loud, but enough to let you know he feels it.

you glance up at him. “you’ve got more cuts than i thought.”

he breathes through his nose, lips parting slightly. “they’ll close.”

you don’t argue. you keep wiping. your sleeve’s half drenched and streaked with red by the time you finish, but his face is mostly clean now.

you reach for his hands next, but rafe pulls them back before you can touch them, his mouth tight as he crouches down near the water, like as if to say that he’s got it. he leans forward and dips his hands in deep, blood loosening off his knuckles and swirling away into the pond.

you crouch down beside him. your legs burn from the motion but you ignore it, your hands reaching for the edge of your soaked sleeve, wringing the blood out into the pond with a twist of your wrist. it turns the water red all over again. you dip the fabric in to clean it. maybe you’ll use it on yourself next, wipe down the parts you can reach. your mouth still tastes like blood, your nose is stinging, and you know you’re probably just as much of a mess.

rafe brings both hands up to splash cold water over his face, rubbing it over the parts you already wiped, like he’s making sure there’s nothing left. you hear his breath hitch a little from the shock of it, but he just wipes the water away with his palm and shakes his head slightly.

and then you feel it. there’s a sudden shift beside you. rafe flinches forward like he’s just remembered something, like something sparked in his head and now he can’t sit still.

“lemme get you,” he says, voice low, already reaching for your arm.

you blink at him, caught off guard, and for a second, you almost ask why, but then you don’t. instead, you pull your sleeve back in, wring it out one more time, and turn toward him.

he dips his own sleeve into the pond and soaks the fabric until it drips between his fingers like you’d done. he reaches out slowly, using his free hand to brush your hair gently out of your face, tucking it behind your ear to see you better.

he doesn’t say anything. he just starts dabbing the wet cloth gently along your cheek, across your jaw, under your eye, just like you did. his movements are careful, maybe softer than you were. you stare at him the whole time, trying not to shift or tense, but your chest feels a little tight.

his eyes stay on your face, focused in a way that makes it feel like you’re the only thing in the world right now. and maybe to him, you are.

you’re his only ally at the end of the day. kie and jj are cool, and topper was useful for the time he was still here, but when it really comes down to it, he knows you’re the only one he can rely on in here. and you know it too.

his gaze flicks up and meets yours, and something about the way he’s looking at you makes your stomach flip. there’s something quiet behind his eyes, something vulnerable.

you stare right back, your lashes wet, your face damp from his sleeve. but he doesn’t break the eye contact. he just keeps cleaning you off, like he’s in no rush at all . . . until something comes.

the beeping starts off faint, almost ignorable, but there’s something about the pattern of it that makes your head snap up. you pause mid-motion, eyes lifting toward the sky. it’s not the kind of beep that belongs to something broken or distant. no, this one moves. it’s getting louder as it gets closer.

you scan the open air beyond the trees. at first, there's nothing. then, in a flicker of motion, you catch the metallic glint of something small descending, slow, swaying slightly as it comes down beneath a small, thin parachute. the beeping is coming from that.

your eyes drop briefly to rafe. he's already watching it too. it’s sponsor gift. has to be.

you stand, cautiously stepping forward to track its float path, watching the way it drifts in the light breeze. it’s soft, almost mocking, the way it takes its time like the capitol wants you to want it. you can’t even imagine how many times tributes in here have been angry just watching it come down while being dehydrated, hungry, or in pain.

the beeping fades with each sway, then spikes again as it shifts direction. it gets lower. lower. almost close enough that you jump. fingers snatch the container mid-air, and you drag it down into your hands. the beeping cuts off.

it’s small in your palm, steel-like and matte gray with a faint latch on the side. you glance down at rafe again as you walk back toward him, but he still hasn’t said anything. he’s watching you now, watching the box.

you try to lift the lid, but it doesn’t budge, locked tight. you frown and twist instead, the seal popping with a quiet hiss as the lid loosens and unscrews in your hands.

a piece of card is folded on top, right on cue. it’s nothing handwritten, just a clear, printed message in bold black type:

BLOOD IN THE WATER ISN’T THE WORST THING YOU’LL TASTE.

STAY SMART.

ENOBARIA

your brows furrow. you flip the card over. nothing on the back. vague. warning? encouragement? enobaria was a career victor. she was brutal and clever. maybe this means something you’re not necessarily getting right now. you tuck the card into your palm and check what was underneath.

nestled into a foam base are two slim vials. clean, unmarked at first glance except for the slightest tint of color. one is a deep navy blue, the other being a darker green.

you lean in, squinting to catch the fine print near the bottom of each vial. it’s almost microscopic but it’s there:

acetafrexan-hydrothrexate. a long name, but your mind sorts it quickly. painkiller. potent and fast. just two capsules inside.

chloralis-wrhydrin compound. it’s a water purifying agent. breaks down bacteria, neutralizes acidity. you’ve seen it used in training. it works.

your pulse kicks a little faster. it’s useful, necessary.

you run your fingers along the vials, thoughtful. two capsules for one dose, as far as the painkillers go. that's how these usually work.

but still, is it for you? or meant to be split between the two of you? there's no label saying ‘district two’ or ‘y/n’ or ‘rafe,’ no names, no confirmation. for all you know, someone up in the stands just liked the blood on your sleeve.

“come here?” you say quietly, reading over the card again. it’s still clutched between your fingers, a little smudged at the corner from your damp sleeve. you let your gaze lift to rafe, who straightens from where he’s crouched by the pond. he meets your eyes and moves.

you walk over to him to meet in the middle, tucking the card into your back pocket with one hand and then pulling out the painkiller vial. you hold it out toward him. he doesn’t take it right away. he hesitates, blinking once, then reaches for it slowly, brows knitting slightly.

“need to figure out the water purifier,” you mutter to yourself, stepping to turn away, already mentally sorting the capsules and what to do next. but his voice stops you before your foot even fully lifts from the ground.

“y/n,” rafe calls. you look back over your shoulder. “these are yours.”

you blink at him. “there wasn’t a name on the sponsor, rafe. it could’ve been either of ours.” he opens his mouth but you keep going, your voice a little too quick, like you’re trying to outrun the argument you know is coming. “you took more of the blows, so just . . . take them. two pills is for one person.”

you’re waving it off. but before you can get another step away, his hand is around your wrist, fingers wrapping gently but firmly, grounding you. you look down at where he holds you, then up at him.

he’s not being rough. not even stern, really. it’s just him.

“one for you, one for me,” he says, calm. “yours hurt too. i know it.”

you open your mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. your jaw shifts. your teeth grind just barely. of course they hurt. your ribs, your shoulder, the side of your face that caught the girl’s elbow. you feel every inch of it, but you’d rather he have the full dose, because that’s what logic says is smarter. because that’s how you survive: by giving someone else what they need more.

but rafe’s looking at you like he sees right through it. through you.

and then it hits you that the cameras are probably still watching all of it. the sponsor gift, your hesitation, his insistence.

it’s probably better for the viewers too, this stubborn little compromise. two halves of one dose. it might be dramatic, tender. they’d eat this up.

you swallow hard, then look down at his hand still holding yours. you don’t pull away. you just nod once.

rafe shifts, turning the vial and twisting the cap open with a faint pop. he tilts it and catches the two capsules in his palm. he holds one out to you, and you take it.

he’s quick with his, actually swallows his dry without a blink, then shakes his head a little.

you hesitate again as you look at the pill in your hand, then rafe, then back again. finally, you tip your head back and force it down. it sticks a little in your throat, dry and bitter. you cough once, then breathe through it.

there’s a weird aftertaste to it that almost pisses you off. you will never understand the capitol and what chemicals it must take to make something as fast-acting as these are supposed to be. the aftertaste is all you’ll need to worry about, if anything.

rafe watches you, just for a second longer, then you both shift back into yourselves. you head toward the edge of the pond again with the green vial in hand, fingers already twitching to open it and check the contents. your eyes flick briefly to the rabbit’s limp body where he left it.

“you should start on lunch,” you say, barely turning your head as you speak.

behind you, you hear rafe huff softly through his nose.

at least now you know the capitol’s watching.

let them.

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae @belle101200 @hiimbrina @nomup @ayy1234567 @girxwrp @k4yr14 @amterasuu @theteenagementality @maggscr @hey-you22w @delilah22pbp @hayleynott @silkenthusiasts ++

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lil-shiro · 3 days ago

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Hey Ann! I hope you don't mind another question from this new Fetus Lance fan: How was Esteban and Lance's relationship prior to their F1 career? I found them to be very fascinating since it seems like they never really share feeder series year and I just found out recently about how lance is kind of responsible to esteban not having a seat in 2019, but he seems to be very close to lance even after that meaning that their friendship is stronger than esteban career.

Hello! First of all I never mind, especially this type of question because I have done extensive research on this topic + I fucking love these two.

Before I dive in I will say that: I don't think it's necessarily that "their friendship is stronger than Esteban's career" it's more that they keep their personal relationship and professional career separated very well (I will get into this).

Karting Days

Lance and Este had one year where they karted together (2011). This was Lance's first year of karting in Europe and Este's last year before he went onto single seaters. They had a few overlapping races and even shared a podium together.

WSK MURO LECCESE - Category KF 3 | June 26th 2011 (link) Not pictured but gif-ed here -> ERDF Masters Kart, 10-11 December 2011

This is when they first met and from this interview, Este recounts racing against Lance at that time.

“He was so small, he could barely keep his head upright,” the Frenchman remembers. “He still beat me in some races. He was very quick, but also very dainty, which is why he always had his problems in duels.” (source)

Prema Days

After that, they weren't in the same racing sphere until Lance joined Prema in 2014 for F4 while Esteban was there currently doing his F3 campaign.

(Fun fact Este won the championship that year and when Lance won 2 years later, it was Este who presented him with his trophy)

They had this Ferrari / Merc thing going on and it was cute aha (1) (2)

You can also watch them in a Prema video here (2:30 mark)! They also had a running joke with the engineers, where the engineers would call them monkeys. This is why in 2017 for secret santa (2:40 mark), Este gifted Lance a monkey plushy.

I would say that this is where they really became friends. On a broadcast, (I think it was from an FP session from Bahrain'23), one of the commentators mentioned their relationship and how they were both outcasts in their own right. Lance because he came from a lot of money, and Este because he didn't, so naturally they had each other.

Martin Kodrić, who used to kart with Lance stated on a Croatian podcast in 2021, that Lance wasn't liked during that time. He also said that

"nobody [on the grid] likes lance." well i like him, and este likes him, and checo and seb too. so fuck everyone else they're irrelevant." (source)

(personally I think this statement is somewhat exaggerated but it's what he said)

F1 Era

Like you mentioned, there was a lot of public scrutiny when Este was out of a seat in 2019. However he's never once blamed Lance or badmouthed him. You've probably seen this first pic that Este posted after. (I added the second pic for formatting lol)

He was also asked why he came to Lance's defence and said that

“I did that because Lance is my best mate in the paddock and we have a great relationship since a long time”. (source)

In a 2018 interview Lance was asked about their friendship situation to which he said

"I have my management team, he has his management team, we're both trying to do what's best for our careers, and there's our friendship. "We competed together in karts, we fought wheel-to-wheel in karts, he was in Prema Formula Three, he won the championship, I came in. "We've always had a good friendship and it's good to see that bridge hasn't burned." (source)

This is also a very sweet interview where he says that their friendship is above and beyond racing.

Like I said, they are VERY good at keeping their personal and business relationships separate. They often hang out on and off track, and I think it's very admirable, and not the easiest thing to do- to want to preserve friendship in such a cut throat environment.

It's funny though, because there are times where you can see it blend together.

Such as during the 2020 British GP where Este didn't complain that Lance was moving under breaking a little bit because, "we’ve known each other a long time. He knows he can do that a little bit to me, but at some point I’m going to go for it so he knows that as well".

Or prior to Hungary 2021 (when Este got his first win) Lance gave him advice for the start of the race.

The Frenchman later said he spoke to his friend Stroll about how to make the most of the start in wet conditions. “Yes, we had a chat with Lance before the race because Lance is an awesome starter in races and he loves those conditions as much as I do,” said Ocon. “Normally we always end up closer to the front in those [conditions] and he said when it’s the moment to go..." (source)

Normally I feel like these are things that teammates more often do, so it's really cute haha.

Extra

That's basically the end, but have some culturally relevant photos!!

If you want to see more feel free to go through my Lesteban tag because there's a whole lotta stuff I didn't include!

#asks #anon #lance stroll #esteban ocon #lesteban #f1 lore

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randominchident · 22 hours ago

Text

you came? you called.

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. oscar piastri x reader ⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

you broke up with oscar months ago. you know you should delete his number. but after a terrible mental health week, you send him a text on a whim. you just never expected him to actually show up. warnings: dicussion of poor mental health and general angst

You’ve had the kind of week that grinds you down until you’re nothing but nerves and noise. You stuck feeling the kind of tired that sleep doesn’t fix. No matter what you've tried, you couldn't seem to make the feeling go away.

Instead, you've sunk deeper into it.

Dishes have piled up. The laundry’s still in the dryer from days ago. You haven’t replied to texts, even from your friends who get it. The friends who would want you to reach out. The friends who always now what to say.

You went to work, you came home, and you stared at the ceiling for hours while your chest caved in on itself for no reason you could name. The days drag onwards. And, somehow, so do you.

You cried in the shower on Tuesday. And again in the car on Thursday. It feels like you're ghosting yourself. You barely recognise yourself in the mirror.

And tonight, when it gets too quiet, too loud—both, somehow—you do the thing you promised yourself you wouldn’t. You scroll back through your memories.

You end up in the photos. In the messages Oscar used to send you. In the blurry voice notes where he was laughing at something you’d said, where your voice was still soft when you said his name. Old videos of the two of you together. A happier version of yourself you barely recognise dancing across the screen.

You don't even think about it. You just type it. Send it. You've done it before you can even comprehend the repercussions.

I miss you.

Then you throw your phone face-down on the couch like it might bite you.

He won’t respond. You’ve blocked him before. Twice. You’ve made it clear. You ended it—and for good reason. You doubt he will even think twice about the text. He's probably already deleted it, if he is even awake at all right now.

You bury yourself in a plush blanket and let your mind spiral the way it tends to lately. The sadness doesn’t even feel sharp anymore. It’s dull. Like background radiation. Like fog on the inside of your skin. Everything is muted.

So when there’s a knock at the door. You freeze.

No one would come here this late. Not unless...

You open it before you let yourself think twice.

He’s standing there.

Oscar.

Soaked in that soft Melbourne drizzle, hoodie clinging to his shoulders, hair slightly damp and longer than you remember it being. He looks... tired. As if he’s had the same week you have.

You blink once. Twice. But he's still standing there. It doesn’t make sense. And yet it does. It hurts. Your voice comes out quiet. Broken.

“You shouldn’t be here, Osc.”

He looks at you for a long second. Not pleading, not smug—just present. Like this was never a question to him.

“I got your message.”

You shake your head like it’ll undo it all. “I wasn’t thinking straight. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have— I didn’t mean for you to—”

Your breath hitches and you feel like crying. Instead, your voice cracks as you say:

“You came?”

Oscar exhales. His voice is calm, low. Almost a whisper, yet so loud in the quiet of your apartment.

“You called.”

You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed like you’re cold. You are. But not from the air blowing in.

“I didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

His expression softens, almost imperceptibly.

“You never say anything unless you mean it.”

You want to argue. You want to tell him he’s wrong. But you did mean it. Maybe not in a way that makes sense. Maybe not in a way that’s fair. But your week’s been hell, and your brain's been screaming. The last time you remember it being quiet was when you were with him.

“I’ve had a really shit week,” you admit, voice cracking. “Like… crawling-out-of-my-own-skin shit. And I know I shouldn’t. I know better. But I just… I needed someone who knew me. Even if that someone shouldn’t be you anymore.”

Oscar’s quiet for a beat. Then he steps forward just enough that he’s inside, closing the door behind him iwth a soft click.

“I don’t care if it shouldn’t be me,” he says. “You said you missed me. So I'm here.”

You look away.

“I don’t know if I meant it like that,” you say, smaller now.

“That’s fine.” He nods. “I’m not asking for any promises. I just want to be here for you. Please. I'd hate to leave you alone knowing you're feeling like this again.”

Right, again. Because he has been with you through so much. He knows what you brain is like. He knows about the heaviness that surrounds you.

He drops onto the couch where he always used to, like he never left. Like he still belongs here in your space.You sink down beside him.

Not close. Not far. Just enough.

The room feels heavy with everything unsaid. Everything too big to name.

Finally, you whisper, “I’m tired of pretending I’m okay.”

He leans back slowly, arms resting on his knees. “Then don’t. Not with me. Not tonight.”

You glance sideways, and for a second, his eyes meet yours—full of quiet understanding, not pity.

And maybe that’s all you needed. Just someone to be there. You say nothing else. Neither does he. He doesn't need to.

At some point, your shoulder brushes his. He doesn’t pull away.

You fall asleep like that—sitting upright, wrapped in silence, his hoodie still damp against your skin and your thoughts finally, finally quiet. You head drops onto his shoulder, and his head rests on top of yours.

And for now, that's enough

#f1 #f1 fanfic #y/n #f1 x reader #formula 1 #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #angst with a happy ending #oscar piastri #op81 #fanfic

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its-luna-noel · 1 day ago

Text

fluctuations of the mind | jason todd x reader

01. steinbeck

summary: working at the local library while you work on your phd thesis seems like the perfect fit. you don't expect it to bring your childhood friend back to you after over a decade. now that you have him back, you refuse to let him go, no matter the challenges you face together.

contents: 18+, MDNI, f!reader, english phd student reader, fluff, angst, smut, drinking & drugs, past abuse, trauma, mental health issues, mental instability, ptsd, depression, suicidal ideation, classic literature, dark academia

word count: 2.4k

chapter 1/? (probably 20ish) next chapter

masterlist | link to ao3

notes: hi! welcome to the first chapter of my first jason todd fic. i hope you enjoy!

“All great and precious things are lonely.”

― John Steinbeck, East of Eden

Jason knew it was you as soon as he stepped up to the library front desk.

He’s not sure what exactly gave it away – the slope of your nose, your eyes, your brows scrunched in that expression of concentration that hasn’t changed in the decade that he’s been away. You’re processing returns, but you look up when you see him standing there dumbfounded, staring at you like a freak. He’s bundled up for the winter, a beanie drawn down over his hair and a coat zipped up to his throat, so it shouldn’t hurt when you look up at him and smile like you don’t recognize him, but it does.

Your gaze shouldn’t send a thrill through his body, but it does.

“Hi there!” you chirp, your voice warm and unfamiliar. It’s lower than he remembers, more womanly, like you’ve grown up, and he supposes you have. “How can I help you?”

“I, uh,” he clears his throat. “I’m here to sign up for a library card.”

Jason isn’t sure this is exactly where his priorities should lie, but he hasn’t had a library card since he was a kid, and he’s tired of spending his meager money on books or resigning to reread tattered copies he’s read three or four times. You perk up, seeming overjoyed to spread the gospel of the public library to a young man like him.

“Okay! Do you have an I.D. and proof of address?” you ask, setting aside your previous task to dedicate your attention to him. Your eyes are tender, so achingly familiar.

He slowly slides the necessary documents across the table towards you, his gloved fingers lingering, almost like he wants to keep them from you. It’s not that he doesn’t want you to know – though he’s not sure he does – that it’s him. But he’s successfully cut out most of his life from before, avoiding memories when he can, and though the memories of you are the sweetest, he’s not sure he’s ready to face them yet.

But you don’t give him much of a choice; you take the documents, and you read off his name, the syllables rolling off your tongue, “Jason To–” And then you freeze, your mouth still agape with the last vowel of his name, and your eyes flicker up to meet his, wide. Like you’ve seen a ghost.

He supposes you have.

You whisper, “Jay?” and your voice holds so much shock, so much relief, so much raw emotion that he folds.

“Yeah,” he says, voice thick, “it’s me.”

You look over at your coworker, who’s watching the exchange with rapt interest. “I have to step away for a second,” you breathe, and then you’re pushing through the swinging gate to come see him. You’re practically running, and you drag him away from the front desk, favoring the corridor between the front doors to talk. He prepares to explain himself, to tell you that you didn’t have to worry, that he was fine.

When you round on him, he has all these things on the tip of his tongue. But instead of asking him where he’s been, or why he left, you just throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and burying your face in his neck.

He blinks, shocked. And then he wraps his strong arms around you and hugs you back, pressing his face into your hair.

Your voice trembles when you whisper, “I thought you were dead. I thought you were worse than dead, I– I thought someone took you. I thought–“

He cuts you off. “I know, bug.” He’s surprised the nickname slips out; it’s like muscle memory has taken over after all these years, like he’s reverting to an old version of himself.

Like no time has passed at all.

But that would mean you’re two scared little kids back in Park’s Row, with nothing but darkness ahead. And though that may be true for him, it doesn’t have to be for you.

You finally pull away, letting your arms fall from around him. Instead, your hands rest on his arms, and you look at him – really look at him – for the first time.

You looking gives him time to look at you, and he realizes you’re crying. Watery eyes trail over his bundled form, cheeks flushed with emotion. Startled, he says, “Bug–“

You wave him away, letting out a breathy laugh. “You look great!” you blurt, wiping your hand across your face to brush away tears. “You’re– you’re huge!”

He can’t help but chuckle at that. “It’s the coat,” he says, though he knows it’s not.

Your hand squeezes his arm through his jacket, finding his massive bicep beneath. “What happened to the scrawny kid I used to know?” you ask in wonder.

He gives a bitter smile. “I guess he grew up, same as you.”

And at that, your eyes finally find the scars on his face, and you whisper, “Oh, Jay… Time’s not been kind to you, has it?”

He has to clench his jaw to avoid letting emotion through at your words, your kind, broken-hearted words. You have no idea what’s happened to him, and yet you can see him right where he’s vulnerable.

You turn over your shoulder, back towards the library’s front desk. “Let me go clock out,” you say. “It’ll just take a minute, and then we can go get coffee or something. I want to catch up.”

He tilts his head to the side, smirking a little. “You sure that’s okay?”

You scoff, smiling back. “I’ll tell them I had a family emergency or something. It doesn’t matter; you’re more important.”

His heart seems to glow in his chest at your words. “I’ll wait here,” he says gruffly, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms over his aching chest.

You flit back inside, and Jason keeps his eyes on you while he can. Meanwhile, you step back behind the front desk, whispering to your coworker, “Hey, River?”

They glance at you, looking curious. “Who was that?” they whisper back.

You don’t know how to explain what Jason is to you. You haven’t seen him in over a decade, didn’t even recognize him because he’s nothing like the snappy, glowering child you used to know. But he’s occupied your mind almost every day for those years, never straying far from your mind as you worried what happened to him.

And now he’s back.

“A family friend,” you finally decide. “I need to go; we’ve got an emergency.”

They raise an eyebrow at you, seeming unconvinced. They hum, examining you for a moment, before finally saying, “Fine. I’ll cover for you, but you have to take my Saturday morning shift.”

You roll your eyes but concede. You don’t have time to barter with them. “Fine. I’ll see you later.”

They wave, watching you go. Eyes locked on the gigantic man waiting for you in the corridor.

You return to him, offering a nervous smile. He returns the expression; it isn’t a big smile, just a twitch at the corners of his mouth, and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You can’t help but wonder what’s happened to him in these twelve years since you last knew him. What took his fiery disposition and turned him into something quiet.

“Ready to go?” you ask, gazing up at him. Wondering what it’ll take for him to let you in.

He nods, sticking his hands in his pockets. He watches you silently as you pull your coat on and zip it all the way up, throwing a scarf around your neck. Then he walks outside, holding the door open for you. “Know a good coffee place around here?” he asks.

You nod, sticking your nose under the collar of your coat. You point down the street. “Couple blocks that way, if you want to walk.”

He glances at his car, parked in front of the library. He would offer it – it’s far too cold to be walking around like this – but he’s sure the weapons in the backseat and the Red Hood helmet on the floor of the passenger side would bring up several questions he isn’t ready to answer. So he just nods and follows you, making sure to stand on the street side of the sidewalk like a gentleman.

It’s quiet between the two of you for a while, and he’s not sure if it’s the cold keeping you from talking or if you just have nothing to say to him.

Finally, you glance over at him. “Hey, Jay?”

He grunts. “Yeah, bug?”

“Um…” You trail off, like you’re unsure you even want to ask. Here it comes, he thinks. The tough questions, the things he doesn’t want to answer, doesn’t have answers to. But your tone quickly shifts, and you ask brightly, “Uh, what brought you to the library?”

He glances at you. “Like I said, I wanted a library card.”

You quirk an eyebrow playfully. “So it really was just…serendipitous that you stopped by?”

He chuckles quietly, watching his feet as they make their way down the street. “I guess so.”

“You’d think you were checking up on me or something,” you tease.

And he feels a pang in his heart, because he could’ve been checking up on you. He could’ve found you after all these years, could’ve sought you out and followed you and finally showed himself to you.

But the truth was, he didn’t. He didn’t come find you, didn’t seek you out. He just stumbled upon you in this dark, dingy city after all these years.

Serendipitous, indeed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You shake your head, eyes forward. Unseeing into the distance. “Don’t be sorry.”

Both of you fall quiet again.

You reach the small coffee shop down the street from the library and swing the door open. He catches the door over your head and holds it for you, and you toss a small, grateful smile over your shoulder at him before walking inside. The warmth of the shop helps defrost that bone-deep chill, and you both unzip your coats, slowly shedding your layers as you approach the register.

You order your favorite coffee, and you pay for it before Jason can realize what you’re doing. He frowns as you slip away to go find a table, and then he turns back to the barista, who’s looking up at him with starry eyes. “And for you?” she asks.

“I’ll take an earl grey,” he says, ignoring the look she gives him. He’s not in the mood to be flirting, not when he’s seen you for the first time in ages and just wants to catch up.

He finishes paying and walks over to the table you took up, a cup of hot tea cupped in his large hands.

You smile up at him as he sits opposite of you, watching him take off his winter coat, revealing his broad chest beneath a dark long-sleeved t-shirt. You have to avert your eyes to refrain from staring. Your eyes instead flicker back to his face, examining the scars on his face, the crisscrossing white lines marring his skin. You slowly, hesitantly, reach across the table and gently touch the scar on Jason’s cheek, shaped like a ragged “J.”

He flinches, catching your wrist and pulling your hand away. “Don’t,” he whispers.

You do as he requests and drop your hand, reaching for your coffee mug instead. “I’m sorry,” you say, still watching him.

It’s quiet between you for a second. Then you mumble, “‘To be alive at all is to have scars.’”

A small huff escapes from between his lips, and he brightens a little, recognizing the quote from Steinbeck’s The Winter of Our Discontent. “When’d you get so smart, bug?” he asks, shaking his head.

You smile a little. “I’m in the English PhD program now. I guess you can say I’ve put the work in.”

He’s blown away by the fact. “Wait, really?”

You nod, sipping at your coffee. “I want to be a professor. To teach people like us, who just want to do better.”

His heart aches at the idea that you want to put back into the community that took so much from you. But at the memories, the memories of those dark times, your eyes flicker to his face once more, and you finally ask the question that’s been burning in you since the first moment you saw him.

“Where did you go?” you ask, sounding mystified. “I know– I know your mom’s death hit you hard but… I thought something happened to you. Did something happen to you? I just–” You shake your head. “I missed you.”

He sighs. “I know, bug. I missed you too.”

“Where did you go?”

He hesitates, trying to figure out how to respond. What could he even tell you? “I…went to stay with a family member, outside of Park’s Row. He took me in, brought me up until I could go off on my own.”

“But you never left the city?” you ask, confused.

He shakes his head. “Not for any meaningful amount of time.”

You avert your eyes, looking down at your coffee in your hands. Then, “Why didn’t you ever come back?” you whisper, slowly lifting your eyes to meet his again.

He clenches his jaw, letting out a quiet breath. His eyes, like sea glass, color shifting in the yellow glow of the coffee shop lights, stay trained on yours. “I’m sorry,” he says, not for the first time.

You shake your head, pursing your lips. “No, Jason,” you say, “not sorry. Explain to me. Why didn’t you come back? Or even tell me you were leaving? I– I was so worried–”

“I couldn’t,” he whispers, slowly shaking his head. “I just… I didn’t have time. It was all so sudden.”

You sigh, lowering your eyes again. Drawing patterns in the wood grain of the table for a moment. “I guess…you’re back now.”

He nods. “I’m back now. I’m…I’m sorry I never reached out.”

You nod, too. Not raising your eyes for a long time. Taking a moment to calm yourself. Then you say with a soft smile, “And I’m not letting you leave again.”

He huffs softly, smiling back. “Alright, bug. Don’t let me.”

And so you take his request to heart. You won’t let him leave; not again. This time, you’re keeping him for good.

thanks for reading! -luna xx link to ao3 | next

(taglist: @corpsedogs)

#dividers by cafekitsune #jason todd #jason todd x reader #batfam #dc batfam #batfamily #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you

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brinasheqrt · 3 days ago

Text

Overthinking

pairings - sabrina carpenter x fem!reader

wc - 1.7k

warnings - mild angst, spiralling(?)

You tell yourself it’s fine. That people get busy. That performers on international tours probably don’t have the time to FaceTime their girlfriends every day. Or even every other day.

But when it becomes seven days—seven—with no call, not even a half-asleep voice note or a badly typed “love u,” something shifts. And your brain, ever the dramatic little gremlin that it is, decides to do what it does best:

Panic.

You’re not mad. That would be easier, cleaner, safer. You’re something worse. You’re convinced she’s slipping away.

It starts subtly, in the quiet moments.

You look at your phone a little too often. Open your messages just to stare at the last one she sent—a red heart, a week ago, after her Madrid show. You imagine her typing it fast, distracted. Maybe half-smiling. Maybe not.

Then you check her Instagram.

Bad move. Always a bad move.

She looks radiant, of course. She always does. New post from Berlin: her on stage, glitter under her eyes, hand reaching toward a sea of lights. Caption: “thank u for making my dreams real.”

Nothing about missing home. Nothing about missing you.

And that’s when your mind kicks into high gear.

Maybe she’s grown out of this. Maybe you were a good in-between. A soft place to land before the next chapter started. You, with your overthinking and your silent panics and your inability to just chill.

You hate how quickly you spiral, but there’s no stopping it now.

You sink into the couch and stare at the wall like it might blink first. It doesn’t. It’s blank. Still. Just like your phone.

You start replaying every conversation from the last few weeks. Was she distant last time you talked? Did she rush off the call? Did she sound bored? Did she stop saying “I love you” with that softness in her voice?

You remember the last call. She was in bed, face barely lit by her phone screen, eyes heavy. She smiled at you. Said she missed your voice. Said she wished you were next to her.

But maybe she didn’t mean it. Maybe she was just tired and saying what she thought you wanted to hear. Maybe the tour, the crowd, the adrenaline—it’s all more alive than you are to her now.

You’re not fun. You don’t dance like her backup singers or laugh at the right moments in interviews. You’re just here, in a quiet apartment, too many time zones away, loving her like it’s a full-time job.

Maybe that’s too much.

Maybe she needs something lighter.

You lie down sideways on the couch, blanket wrapped around you like armor. Your stomach hurts. Your chest is tight in that way it gets when your feelings outgrow your body and start pressing against your ribs, like they’re trying to break out.

You tell yourself you’re being dramatic. But that doesn’t help.

You wonder if she’s met someone new. Someone who understands the chaos of tour life. Someone beautiful and magnetic and not lying on a couch somewhere, crying into a hoodie that smells like her perfume.

You try to text her. Delete it. Try again.

You settle on: “Hey. Hope tour’s going okay.”

But you don’t send it.

It feels weak. Or maybe you do.

You end up typing and deleting so many times that your fingers go numb.

Eventually, you just stare at the wall again. White. Quiet. Unchanging.

It’s weird how loud a blank space can be.

You think about your life.

About how you used to be fine before her. Not happy, necessarily, but stable. Safe in your routines. And now? She’s rewired your entire nervous system and you don’t even know if she remembers to miss you anymore.

You think about all the people who say, “If they love you, you’ll know.”

You did know. At first. Every call, every kiss, every sleepy “baby, I don’t wanna hang up yet.” It was so clear. You never had to ask. Never had to wonder.

But now?

Now you feel like a question she hasn’t answered in days.

The wall still doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

You fall asleep at some point—restless, dreamless, curled in on yourself like a bruise.

And then your phone buzzes.

It’s 2:17 a.m.

Unknown number.

Your heart stops. Then jumps.

Voicemail.

Sabrina.

Your fingers shake as you hit play.

“Hey. Hi. Um… okay. I suck.”

She laughs, breathless and soft. The kind of laugh that only comes after running or crying or both.

“I’ve been trying to call all day and it just… didn’t happen. We had back-to-back shows and the WiFi’s garbage and my voice is gone and I miss you so much I almost cried during soundcheck.”

A pause. A long, shaky inhale.

“I know what your brain’s probably doing right now. You’re spiraling, aren’t you?”

You exhale sharply. God. She knows you.

“I hate that I let it get to this point. I hate that I disappeared. I didn’t mean to. I just—I didn’t want to call you when I only had five minutes. I wanted to really talk. But five minutes became a day, and then the days stacked up, and now it’s been a week and you probably think I don’t care.”

Another pause. Softer this time.

“I care. I love you. I love you so much it’s actually ridiculous. I’ve been falling asleep thinking about your voice, your face, the way you roll your eyes when I leave dishes in the sink.”

You smile, tears burning behind your eyes.

“I haven’t stopped loving you. Not even for a second. I just forgot how loud silence can sound when someone’s waiting on the other end.”

Her voice cracks a little.

“Please don’t let your mind tell you you’re too much. You’re perfectly much. You’re my favorite overthinker. My favorite everything.”

She exhales. “Okay, I have to go. But I’m gonna call again tomorrow. For real. We’ll talk as long as you want. Or say nothing. Whatever you need. I just… I love you. So much.”

The message ends.

And you just sit there. Staring at your phone.

The wall’s still there. Still blank. But somehow, it feels less cruel now.

You wrap the blanket tighter, curl up on the couch again, and let yourself cry.

Not because you’re broken. Not because you’re panicking.

But because someone who loves you knows what your brain does, and calls anyway.

⸻

#sabrina carpenter #sabrina carpenter x reader #wlw #soft angst #sabrina carpenter x you #sabrina carpenter fluff #sabrina carpenter angst

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anonymous-dentist · 24 hours ago

Text

A night in the lab: a short fic

For all the nights that Pangi has spent in the newer lab, he’s slept in the water tank with a snorkel sticking out of his mouth and a water breathing potion going through an IV in his wrist. Even while corrupted, he stayed at the lab, and he stayed in the tank despite the way the skulky water made his skin itch like a real motherfucker.

But he doesn’t need the tank anymore.

But his house is still under quarantine, and it will be for the next week until the final round of soul vials are released onto it, the bed inside long compromised.

He could stay with Pili, but he’d also, like, rather die, actually, than do that; he’d either be stuck sleeping in Zam’s old room (which- what?) or on an uncomfortable couch surrounded by the Corruption, and that all sounds real unappealing.

There’s also Aimsey’s house, but Pangi, uhhh… he doesn’t want to get in the way of them and Ros.

And so he’s back in the lab trying to find a safe place to set his spawn in that isn’t a gross vat of pangolin soup. Wasn’t Lukey gonna make a bedroom at some point? Fifteen blocks apart and shit, the living quarters.

But also… isn’t Lukey fucking homeless? Homeless and poor?

There’s music coming from Lukey’s (coughs-their-coughs) office: the music disc that Lukey and Pangi had spent hours trying to track down in the trial chambers a few months ago, and Lukey humming along. He’s probably still working, but not on anything actually useful. He’s probably doing, like, science or something, but not the important kind of science over in the new alchemy room. He’s doing…

Pangi pokes his head around the corner and is met with the sight of Lukey setting up a little wooden cot in the corner of the room with his back to the doorway, head bobbing along to the music. His lab coat and hoodie are both off, and his jeans have been swapped out for a pair of Mario-themed pajama pants that Pangi remembers losing just before the Corruption took him over. And, wait, is that shirt one of Pangi’s too?

The bastard. If he wants to steal clothes, he should at least steal clothes that fit him!

(The collar of the shirt is low enough on Lukey that it’ll probably let his collarbones show if he was to turn around and let Pangi see. The thought of that does not make Pangi want to get his attention.)

“Heyyy, Lukey!” Pangi calls, getting Lukey’s attention.

Lukey, of course, jumps and legs out a little yelp and spins around in the air, hand fumbling in the air where his belt would be if he was actually dressed.

(Collarbones.)

Pangi leans against the archway with his arms crossed, the very picture of cool. And awesome. And intimidating. And badass.

Lukey sees it’s him and visibly relaxes, shoulders loosening. A hand goes to his chest right over his heart as if to steady it.

He smiles. “Hello! You scared me. What’s up?”

The shirt is way too big on him. It’s red with a picture of Zam’s stupid face drawn on it with black permanent marker, the remnant of a sleepover from a couple seasons back.

For whatever reason, the sight of Lukey wearing a shirt with Zam’s stupid face is enough to make Pangi pop the question that’s been in the back of his mind for over a month now: “Do you wanna get married?”

Lukey’s smile freezes on his face. It freezes so hard that it doesn’t match the rest of his face as it slowly started turning tense and red.

“Uh,” says Lukey, voice hoarse, “what?”

Pangi is sooooo fucking nonchalant.

He shrugs, the very picture of nonchalant. “Do you want to get married? Like, for tax benefits.”

“For…” Lukey shakes his head, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Pangi, we don’t pay taxes. Are you paying taxes?”

Zam’s stupid face looks like it’s saying, ‘Okay, gayboy, tell him the real reason now.’

Instead, and incredibly nonchalantly, Pangi replies, “Maybe. But if I marry you, then I don’t have to pay as much.”

And then, before Lukey can ask any more stupid questions, Pangi adds, “And we can get everyone to give us expensive wedding gifts.”

Lukey turns thoughtful at that. “I do need some more gapples…”

And, see? He did get better while Pangi was corrupted, he actually wants to carry gapples on him!

But he doesn’t need someone else to get him what Pangi has always given him.

“Hold on,” he sighs, pulling his enderchest out and rummaging through it for his food shulker.

Lukey shamelessly crosses the room to stand by Pangi’s side expectantly. “Thank youuuu… and can I have some more pearls, by any chance?”

Pangi rolls his eyes, but he shoves a stack of gapples into Lukey’s arms and moves on to look for his backup pearls.

“Are those my clothes, by the way?” he tactfully asks.

“Hm?” Lukey nonchalantly asks. “What, these? No, I just found them the other day at Green Castle.”

Pangi gives him a Look over the rims of his sunglasses; Lukey just grins and bites into a gapple.

(Collarbones…)

“Lukey…”

“Mmm? What’s up?”

Pangi’s hand closes around a stack of pearls. “Here.”

He holds them out, and Lukey takes them; their fingers brush, and electricity shoots down Pangi’s spine.

Pangi quickly goes back to his enderchest, definitely not fighting a stupid stupid stupid blush. He is straight, goddamnit!

There’s an audible skip in Lukey’s step as he goes back across the room to his makeshift bed, saying, “So, the wedding…”

“What wedding?” Pangi immediately responds.

“Oh my- we are not doing this right now, I’m too tired.” Lukey groans and flops down onto his cot. “I’m still thinking a blue and white color palette.”

Pangi’s favorite flower is blue. Lukey’s favorite color is obviously white.

Pangi chooses not to think about that.

Instead, he asks, “Did you finish the living quarters?”

“Ugh, not yet, I’ve been busy.”

“Oh, you’ve been busy, huh?”

“Yes! Curing you! You wouldn’t even be talking to me like this if it wasn’t for me!”

“Yeah, using the cure I started.”

“Oh, please, I started that cure before you were even born.”

Pangi turns to look at him in horror. “You’re old!?”

Lukey gives him an exasperated look. “I’m one year older than you. If it wasn’t for the Null, I-”

Immediately, Pangi thinks to that hallway and the painting in it showing a terrified Lukey curled up in a glass tube. There were circles under his eyes and needles sticking out of his skin and Keepers surrounding him holding all kinds of tools.

Even from across the room, Pangi can see the scars littering Lukey’s arms. The hair at his temples is white, probably from the little electric nodes Pangi saw one of the Keepers holding in the painting.

(What are marriage vows, again? To love and to cherish, in sickness and in health… to serve and protect? Or is that the army?)

“So, what, you’ve been sleeping in here?” Pangi asks.

Lukey shrugs. “It’s warm.”

The Null is cold.

But, well, if this is the bedroom for the time being…

Pangi puts his bed near Lukey’s- not next to it, but near it.

“Okay, then,” he simply says. “Let’s work on the living quarters tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Lukey sighs, as lazy as ever. “But you have to get the prismarine. I’m not going anywhere near one of those temple things.”

“That’s fine. You’ll just have to get the glowstone by yourself.”

Lukey sits up at that, shock and horror and betrayal crossing his face and making his eyes narrow and his mouth twist into a frown.

“Move your bed,” he orders, not remotely threatening in the slightest.

But even annoyed, Pangi can’t help but think that Lukey’s face is something truly… nice. In a straight way. He’s… symmetrical.

So he tries again: “Marry me?”

“Is that even a question?” Lukey huffs. Amusement glitters in his eyes, though, and his frown softens. “Try it with a ring next time.”

Needy, Pangi thinks, already deciding to commission Bad to make some legendary-quality netherite diamond rings for the two of them.

(But it wasn’t a no.)

#the realm smp #pangkey #a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#idk sometimes I get caught up when I have a headache #I love them

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 2 days ago

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MISTAKEN IDENTITY

A/N: I'm gonna warn you ahead of time, this is gonna be unhinged as fuck. Just stay with me ok. There's not enough fics about Noah Wyle characters (I was the bitch complaining about it like three days ago), so I'm gonna start mashing shit together so I can enjoy them all.

Very "Marvel What If?" ish, if that makes sense. So, here we go.

WHAT IF... Aliens took over the world while John Carter was working as an ER attending at County General and this all happened while his friend from residency, Jack Abbot, came to visit him between deployments, and he meets you but you confuse him for your husband Tom Mason? [aka I’m taking John Carter and shoving him into the Falling Skies universe, but because I know The Pitt better than ER I’m mixing up the staff at County General with Pitt characters] [aka aka I saw a pictures of Noah Wyle and Shawn Hatosy in an apocalypse AU and it altered my DNA]

John Carter x F!Reader; mentioned Tom Mason x F!Reader

Warnings: cursing, mentions of death and destruction, the world ended, uhhh description of mild injuries, that's really it for this one

Word Count: 1,646

The world ended.

It happened suddenly, without warning, and it came from the sky. The fucking sky. Carter never spent a lot of time wondering how the world would end. If someone had forced him to guess though, aliens would’ve been very, very low on the list. Thinking back, he was pretty sure the staff once held a bet about the end of the world. Somebody had bet on aliens, but Carter couldn’t remember who. Maybe Jerry? Whoever it was earned a hell of a pretty penny.

Not that money mattered anymore.

Carter peered around the tipped over car he was hiding behind. There wasn’t any motion he could see, but there was still skittering in the distance. Too close for comfort. He locked his jaw and rechecked his weapon. He still hadn’t gotten used to the weight of a gun in his hands. Prior to the end of the fucking world, he had never held one before. A shotgun for skeet shooting, sure, but this was different.

The sound of steps grew more pronounced. Carter stiffened where he sat. Every muscle freezing as his breath caught in his throat. He had only gone head-to-head with the aliens a few times. Hell, he could count the encounters on one hand. Obviously, Carter considered himself lucky to be able to claim that, but the doctor in him was still curious. The anatomy alone was so unusual. A head that reminded him of a sea creature, maybe a squid, a torso similar to humans with only two arms, but connected to six legs with tripod-like feet.

Roaches. Skitters. Cooties. They had all sorts of names. Some more clever than others.

Shuffling became more pronounced, only a few feet away, and Carter peered around the car once more, this time with his gun raised and ready. His aim landed on Abbot who huffed in response. His friend looked worse for wear. His wavy, brown hair messier than usual and his features still showcased the highlights from the last brawl he was in—a busted lower lip and dark bruising under his right eye. Unlike himself, Abbot seemed built for this new world. It was probably his recent deployment overseas as a combat medic. Carter counted his blessings that the end of the world came when Abbot was back in the states visiting him on leave.

“You know how pissed I’d be if you fucking shot me?” Abbot snorted. Carter tucked the pistol back into its holster and rose to his full height as Abbot passed him. “You turned on your safety, right?”

“Course I did.” Carter replied. Behind his friend’s back, he checked his gun and flipped the safety when he realized it was off. “What’d you find?”

“Nothing good. Place was ransacked of any useful supplies. Almost ran into a couple of scabs though a few blocks down.” Scabs, or scabies, were what their little group had gotten accustomed to calling the creatures which was less creative and more a testament to their science focused minds. “Fuckers are getting closer and closer to us.”

Fuckers was their other name for the creatures—less creative or scientific and more a testament to their rage.

“We’re running out of everything other than medical supplies.” Carter commented as he caught up to match Abbot’s stride. The upside of making base in the ER was it left most of the hospital to be scoured. Carter would never complain about their stash of medicine, but he’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t trade an absurd amount of it for a hot, well-cooked meal. God, he was starting to miss the cafeteria food at this point. “Any ideas for that?”

“We can make the med students eat gauze.” Abbot offered, unhelpful. “Save us three shares right there.”

“You’re just pissed Whitaker stepped on your prosthetic this morning.”

“I can’t exactly take it to get fixed if he fucks it up.”

“He apologized.” Carter chuckled, but Abbot just huffed. “C’mon. You can’t stay mad at him. He looks like a kicked puppy.”

“More like the ghost of some Victorian era child that drowned at sea.”

Carter laughed but quickly bit back the sound knowing it wasn’t safe to make so much noise. He shook his head with a small grin. “The point is, you should cut the kid some slack.”

“I didn’t kill him this morning, did I?” Abbot retaliated with a scoff.

They reached the mouth of the alley that would take them to the back of County General’s ER. It was blocked off by a couple dumpsters, a car, and a few other bulky items they had been able to push together. The other entrance into the ER had been barricaded closed entirely. An attempt to control access to their makeshift camp.

“Heya, docs. Please tell me you’re bringing lunch.” Olsen called out from where he sat on watch.

Abbot snorted, “Does it look like I’m carrying supplies?”

Olsen let out a low whistle as Abbot slid past the barrier and down the alley. He met Carter’s eyes, “He’s in a mood.”

“That’s his baseline.” Carter replied. He paused, “Hey, who bet on aliens for that end of the world pool? Was it Jerry?”

“Nah, Jerry bet on mole people.” Olsen hummed. “I don’t remember who put money down on aliens. I guessed asteroid. Just take us all fuckin’ out.” He snapped his fingers. “Like that.”

Carter gave him a pat on the shoulder before heading in. Maybe it would’ve been better if whatever apocalyptic disaster had just ended humanity. It was a grim thought, but everything was grim these days. Death wasn’t new to Carter. That’s what he told himself.

Every time they lost someone, he’d try to pretend it was just another work day—just another patient. But, it wasn’t. The faces he was losing were ones he knew. Ones he loved. Just last week they lost Julie. She worked in med-surg. Carter hadn’t met her until the world ended.

Julie was sweet. Funny. No local family, but a sister who lived in upstate New York, and she had been studying and applying to move to the ICU. It was a stray bullet that had taken her. Not even fighting against the scabs. It had been a pair of guys, trying to rob a small group of them as they were out scouting, and it had gone badly.

They had enough time to bring her back to County General. Carter worked on her for over an hour. It hadn’t been enough.

Death was still death, but Carter was getting worse at pretending like it didn’t fucking ruin him.

“Carter!”

As he passed what used to be the physician lounge, McKay stepped out to grab his attention. He turned to greet his second-year resident. Though, none of them were his residents anymore he supposed. The red head motioned for him to walk with her.

“Everything alright?” He asked.

“Yeah, but while you were gone we picked up someone new.”

Carter furrowed his brow, “New?” Seven months ago they were actively looking for strangers to save. That had stopped about two months back when it burned them—bad. “Who went out—”

“No one went out.” McKay shook her head. “She came here. Limped up to the barrier. We’re thinking it’s a high ankle sprain. I wrapped it up, gave her some Percocet, and a liter of LR.” Carter couldn’t help but give a soft chuckle as McKay inadvertently gave him a patient check out. She seemed to catch herself and shook her head. “Sorry, anyways, she said she was in Montana when everything went to shit.”

Carter’s eyes widened, “Montana??”

“Yeah, and she’s making her way to Boston. Trying to, at least.”

“Jesus Christ.”

McKay was leading him back to one of the trauma rooms. Through the doors' windows he could see a woman lying on the bed. Carter ran a hand through his hair and stopped outside.

“She’s alone?”

“As far as we can tell.” McKay hesitated with her hand on the door. “She says she’s alone, and we haven’t noticed anyone lingering around outside.”

Carter blew out a breath and nodded once. McKay pushed the door open and went in first. He followed a step behind her. As he did, you sat up on the bed—attached to an IV pole with a bag of LR that was nearly empty. As McKay had said, your ankle was wrapped up and based on your sluggish movement it had been a higher dose of Percocet.

Locking eyes with him, he heard you suck in a sharp breath. Carter didn’t get a chance to say a word. You leapt off the bed, nearly toppling to the ground with heavy and injured limbs, and he watched in shock as you ripped the IV from your arm. McKay cried out and rushed over to help you, but you shoved past her and made a beeline to him. Carter grunted when your body slammed into his—arms locked tightly around his neck. He had no choice but to wrap his own arms around your body to keep you from slumping to the floor.

Carter opened his mouth, to question you or McKay or the universe itself, but you pulled your head back just enough to roughly press your lips to his. His eyes widened as your warm, chapped lips slotted against his. The kiss lasted only a few seconds. Not long enough for Carter to understand or appreciate the moment of softness.

You pulled back to stare at him. Pretty eyes clouded with confusion as the exhaustion was growing more clear on your features.

“Uh, hi.” Carter breathed, still holding you.

Exhaustion crumpled into heartbreak, and he was alarmed at the agony taking hold as tears collected at your waterline. You shook your head and mumbled, voice broken and pained, “You’re not Tom.”

#john carter #noah wyle #fanfiction #the pitt #jack abbot #cassie mckay #ER #Tom Mason #Falling Skies #ER AU #Falling Skies AU #I'm still so fucking bad at tags #reader inserts #female reader #john carter x reader #tom mason x reader #er fanfic #falling skies fanfic #the pitt fanfiction

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itsstrange · 3 days ago

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The Promise

Chapter 2: One Step At A Time

Relationship: Rip Wheeler x Reader

A/N: Hey Ya’ll!! Here’s part 2 of this series!! I’m not sure how many more updates there will be, but i think it won’t be more than three chapters! But For Now, Enjoy Chpt 2! 💗

Summary: Reader Comes Home After Being Away For 7 Months. Rip Immediately Noticed A Change In Their Appearance, But Keeps His Promise In Getting Them Through It All.

Word Count: 8.7k

Warnings: (Yes) Fluff, Reunited Lovers, Hugs, Comfort, Kisses, Small Angst, Reader Has PTSD, Rip Being A Gentlemen, Protective Rip, Splash of Smut.

<< Previous Chapter

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ENJOY! 💗🐎

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“Thank you,” You tell an old couple as you climb off their 1968 F-250. They wave at you and offer to drive you further, but kindly decline as you grab your backpack and duffle bag from the truck bed,

“Well.. you get home safe sweetheart,” The older lady claims as she reaches a hand for you, which you take with a thankful smile,

“I will and thank you, again,” You tell them once again before watching them drive down the street of the small town,

As they turn the corner, disappearing from your sight, you bend down to grab your backpack to shrug on then your duffle. With a heavy exhale you begin making your way down the familiar roads.

Probably would have been best and a lot faster to get a ride to the Dutton ranch, but at this moment, you just wanted to walk alone. Clear your mind, clear the noise, and the walk to the ranch would do just that. The ride on the cargo plane helped ease them, but now your mind fought hard to not rattle. So a walk should help.

Hopefully.

The birds chirping, trees moving with the wind, horses trotting here and there, cows mooing, the peaceful sound of the lake flowing against the rocks was everything you wanted to hear at the moment. It would soothe you, calm you, ease the anxiousness that your entire body felt, ease your mind.

Montana’s cold weather helped ease it just a little. Distracting you by helping you focus on the freezing cold instead of the noise banging on the walls inside your head. Snow still laid on certain parts of Montana, but most of it has already melted, leaving the grounds wet and moist, yet, despite it being somewhere in the middle of February, the weather still feels freezing cold. Another thing your body had gotten use to.

You would receive drive offers from random folks that would pass by, but you’d decline each one, prefer walking to the ranch, it was your therapy without admitting it.

After 7 months or so—you honestly can’t remember— of traveling on your feet, one gets accustomed to walking for so long. Your body is on autopilot, hasn’t left its mission, your mind.. hasn’t left. Yet, with this walk, the peaceful sounds surrounding you helped ease it to calm down, to come back home.

After what seemed like 30 to 40 minutes of walking through dirt roads, passing multiple private homes, declining more lifts from random strangers, ignoring idiotic men on motorcycles who think they can pick up any females they see, you finally make it to the Dutton ranch. Everything was the same as you left. Maybe a few new cattle’s, a brand new fence in one section of the ranch, the Dutton ranch sign at the entrance of the home did look a little off balance, which you made a mental note to fix the following day or at least inform one of the boys to give it a fix. But other than that, the ranch looked the same as it ever did since you were a kid.

Getting a better grip on the straps of your duffle you begin walking past the entrance of the ranch. As you grew closer the familiar smell of the place invades your senses, bringing a beautiful familiar warmth in your chest, a safe space, a home you had fought to come back to. Everything around you brought you such happiness and peace when you knew at that moment you were back on familiar grounds. Yet despite all that, dark, loud cloud still hovering over you, you did your best in ignoring it, blocking it from taking control. What also helped in distracting you from those memories and thoughts was the sound of horses running and trotting, then deep familiar voices talking and arguing with each other.

Getting closer to the home you spot familiar faces inside the gated field. Ryan and Colby sat on the fence as they laughed about something, then your focus turns to Lloyd who leaned against the fence with his forearms as he yelled at someone, which then your focus averts to two people on horses who seemed to be competing.

On one horse was Jimmy and the other looked like a female who you didn’t recognize. Did they end up finding a replacement or something? You think to yourself as you continue inching closer. No one had noticed you yet, until Jimmy makes an odd turn with his horse that has his eyes averting to you. In an instant a high pitched scream comes from the man as he points with a wide smile, he looks over his shoulder to grab the attention of his comrades but ends up falling off his horse completely and landing with a hard thud. Yet, the rough fall doesn’t phase him, instead he jolts to his feet before running towards the fence where he hops over to meet you halfway.

A sincere, yet, foreign chuckle slips from your lips as you watch Ryan and Colby fight each other off the fence before they too run towards you. Both men were surprisingly fast and had past Jimmy with a rough shove to either side of his arms, sending the poor man stumbling on his feet before once again darting his way towards you. The first to reach you was of course Ryan who had instantly lifted you off your feet in a brutal hug, leaving a fit of giggles to fall from your mouth as he spins you around the air. Once planting you on your feet Colby shoves the man aside as he takes his turn to engulf you in his large frame.

Both their musky scent of cologne, dirt, sweat and grime invades your senses. Another reminder that you were safe, home.

“Where the hell did you come from?!” Ryan asks breathless, wide smile displayed on his face,

“Yeah why the hell didn’t you tell us you were coming home today!?” Colby asks after, gripping your shoulders to slightly put a gap between you two to look into your eyes,

“Phone was dead. Didn’t charge it. Just came straight here,” You vaguely explained, but they didn’t care about any further explanation because they were back to pulling you into a firm hug,

You let out a muffled chuckle as both men wrap their large arms around you, hugging you tightly as they both overlapped their words as they each shared how much they’ve missed you and how much you’ve missed since you’ve been gone. As they pulled away from you, giving you oxygen from their heated huddle, you watch as Jimmy now stood behind both men, sweat dripping visibly on his face as he panted with a large smile. He spreads his arms to give you a welcoming hug, but before he can Lloyd and his horse cut him off.

The older man swiftly climbs off his horse before hugging you tightly.

“Good to see you again, Lieutenant,” The man claims with a proud smile as he gently but firmly pats your back before letting you go,

You scoff with a shake of your head. Small smile forming at the corner of your lips, you absolutely hated when he’d bring your rank. Something that you were proud of obviously, but just something you’ve never cared for. Something you rather not remember on how you got promoted a few years back.

After partying ways from Lloyd you go ahead and give Jimmy his awaiting hug with a soft chuckle. He hugs you tightly, claiming how he missed you before pulling away. Both Ryan and Colby grab your bags as they all walk with you back towards the ranch. A few more ranchers stopped their work to welcome you back, giving you respectful handshakes or respectful hugs before once again getting back to work while some remained huddle around to chat with you.

As the boys were still excitedly overlapping their words you noticed the female you had seen from a distance make her way towards the small group that huddled around you.

She wore a grey tank top with a red checkered sleeveless flannel on top, washed out blue ripped jeans, cowboy boots on her feet and a black SnapBack cap. Short faded pink strands of hair were displayed on either side of her ears. As she walked towards the group that excitedly fawned over your arrival, you noticed how she had a tough demeanor as she made her way over, an attitude that most likely proves to others that she was not one to be fucked with and an attitude that proves she likes to get in trouble.

She held her head high as she itched closer, small smile tugging on her lips as the boys remained talking over each other, fighting each other to get their chance in talking with you.

“Heya. I’m Tator,” She introduces herself—more like shoving herself between Colby and Jimmy, strong Texan accent filling your eardrums, causing a whistle to fall from your lips at the nostalgia,

“Haven’t heard that accent in a minute. Thought I left it back in basic,” You tell her with a smile, reaching out to shake her hand,

The woman snickers with a wide smile, gripping your hand to shake, “Well we motherfuckers tend’ta stick on ya like a piece of fuckin’ chewing gum,”

You let out a chuckle, “Ain’t that the truth. I’m (L/n). (Y/n) (L/n),”

It literally only took seconds to feel comfortable around her. Her entire aurora read toughness, strong loyalty, but it also read that she would be a good person to count on for a lot of shit. And that, was something you liked about her.

“Just to help clarify, it’s Teeter,” Colby softly joins with a proud, warm smile,

Another, sincere, chuckle slips your mouth, your eyebrows raised, “Yeah.. I got that Colb,”

“You did?” Ryan genuinely asks, eyebrows knitted together at the fact that you were able to understand the woman with such ease,

“Thank fuck to tha’. This old bow legged bastard thought I said Peter when we first met,” Teeter starts again, pointing a thumb at Lloyd who shook his head from embarrassment,

Another round of laughter was shared from the group, reminding you just how much you missed it all. How much you missed them.

Yet, despite them having hired another ranch handler and most likely took your spot, you still were glad they all kept each other company. And speaking of, you turn to face Ryan and Colby, who still held your bags in their hands, wide smile on their faces.

“I see you ended up replacing me,” You tease them, smile tugging on your lips when you see the way their smile slightly falter at your words,

“No we didn’t! Well.. we did.. I guess. But we.. we tried to keep your space ready. Until Rip took the rest of your things to his place,” Ryan quickly explained, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck,

The mention of his name has your heart fluttering in your chest. That excitement and electric feeling travels through your veins to the tips of your fingers at the thought of him. Your eyes are quick to scan the ranch in hope to spot his large frame, but disappointment settled in your chest when he was nowhere to be found.

“He around?” You finally ask the boys after searching the place,

Ryan shakes his head, bringing his hand to fix his hat, “He’s out taking care of some things with Kacey. Should be back in a couple of hours,”

“I’d say an hour. Once he gets word that you’re finally home, he’ll all but cut the break lines on the truck to get here sooner,” Colby joked about his foreman, causing another fits of chuckles to slip from the small group,

“Hell, he’d fly over here if it was optional,” Lloyd joins in on the fun before passing his reins to another ranch handler, who without question takes his horse towards the stables,

You turn to face Ryan. A serious look on your eyes as you hold his gaze, “Anything I gotta worry about?”

He’s quick to shake his head, “Nothing like that. Just business,”

You give him a short nod before they’re once again back to cracking jokes with one another. Even sharing a few embarrassing stories about Jimmy that had happened not too long ago.

Faint chuckles slips from you as you stood there, hearing them joke around with each other, something you missed dearly. Yes there were times where you’d be able to sneak a call or two with the boys while you were away, share some sort of laughter despite of the situation you were in. And it helped sooth you when days were tough, when days seemed long, when it seemed dark. But like always, the Yellowstone boys never failed to not make you crack a smile.

Same thing with Rip. He always managed to keep that faith in you, keep that strength going. When days only seemed to grow worse as you grew closer to finding him, his words, his voice was there to keep you grounded. Keep you from tilting the edge. Hell, the promise you made of coming home to Rip saved your ass. Saved you from those two torturous days.

In fact.

You should have died. You really should have, but your promise is what gave you that power, energy, rage, to fight back. To escape.

If it wasn’t for that, you knew you wouldn’t be here. Laughing with the boys once again.

A soft, but firm, hand settling on your shoulder brings you out of your thoughts. Turning, you lock eyes with Lloyd. A knowing look written on his face as he gently squeezes your shoulder.

“You should head up to the Dutton home,” He softly tells you, then continues with a small smile, “I’m sure he’ll be glad to know that his favorite ranch handler is back,”

You scoff with a roll of your eyes. But still can’t help the smile from forming on your lips as you take his word for it and begin walking towards the home. Not before doing your best in convincing the group— meaning Ryan and Colby— that there was no need for a welcome back party, but of course, when do they ever listen to you.

So after multiple failed attempts of getting them to undo the gathering, you sighed in defeat as Lloyd simply guided you away from the arguing men, telling you it’s no use wasting your energy in talking them out of it and to just go with their flow.

Another exhausted sigh falls from your mouth as you shake your head at the older man. Small smile still playing at the corners of your mouth as you walked down the dirt road.

The sun was an hour or less away from setting. The day was still early but quickly reaching towards nightfall. As you got closer to the breathtaking home of the Duttons, you couldn’t help but glance out to the beautiful view. Seeing the way the sky was forming bright to dark orange colors as the sun was getting ready. Nothing compared to murky dark clouds hovering the sky, the smell of burnt lingering in the air, the sound of rubble falling and breaking against the floor, the sound of distant gunfire. Sounds of painful cries. Of pained screams.

The smell of blood, burnt flesh——

“You little bitch!” A loud voice interrupts your thoughts, causing you to turn around, feeling the way a wide smile spreads on your face as you lock eyes with the one and only Beth Dutton,

“Well that’s one way to greet me back,”

“Oh baby, if my hands weren’t so bruised then I’d gladly welcome you back in a different manner,” The blonde head claims as she walks towards you, large smile on her own face as she hugs you tightly against her frame,

Your own arms wrap around her. Holding her just as tight as you bury your face into her messy golden locks. Another person you missed dearly and who would always send you love letters. Just for the fuck of it obviously. But also to keep in touch. As much as Beth Dutton had the intelligence to work a simple laptop and technology these days, she oddly enough preferred sending you ‘love letters’ as she called them.

What she didn’t know was that you held onto them still. Another reason that kept you from going down to hell. Her and her family. They were also part of your reasons to keep going.

“Am I ever gonna know the why to your bruised hands?” You asked with a chuckle, still hugging her till she pulls away to look into your eyes,

“Not in the slightest baby girl. But just know. I won the fight,” Beth claims with a smirk as she tugs you inside her home, earning a chuckle from you,

“Of course you did,”

Beth sends you a smirk over her shoulder as she leads you further into the beautiful home. Calling out to her father and letting him know a special guest has arrived. A few moments later the famous John Dutton is appearing from the top steps. Shock visible on his face but quickly forms into a rare smile.

“Well I’ll be damned,” His hoarse voice bounces off the walls along with a chuckle as he slowly descends from the stairs, you catch a glimpse of him limping on a leg, but before you can ask John is engulfing you in his large frame, “Welcome home kiddo,”

You smile into his shirt as you hug him back, “Thank you Mr. Dutton, it’s good to be home,”

John chuckles as he pulls away from you. Blue eyes looking directly into your own, “How many times I gotta say it kid? It’s just John (Y/n), you’re apart of this family, whether you like it or not,”

Your heart makes a small tug at his words. Feeling the truth and sincerity in them. No matter how much they’ve showed their love, loyalty, and protectiveness towards you, you never will get accustomed to their love. They always treated and considered you as a Dutton member, but till this day, it was still a foreign feeling.

Loneliness and pain is all you ever felt growing up, so of course when a wealthy man and family took you in under their wing, it was hard to accept. Yet, you were learning to accept it all. Little by little.

“So, what do you want me to start with? How are the animals doing?” You ask the man, wanting to get out of his way to get to work,

John chuckles with a shake of his head, “Straight to it huh?”

You give him a sheepish smile with a shrug of your shoulders, “Just tryna help around. Don’t wanna get in your way,”

This time the older man scoffs at your words, “There’s no work for you today (Y/n), you just got back,”

“I don’t mind. Could use the work anyways,” You tell him as you follow him through the house, Beth right behind you,

John stops in the kitchen to grab a drink before turning to you. He stares at you for a moment, blue eyes scanning— observing your entire frame. You knew what he was doing, he was trying to analyze you, see if a a broken girl stood staring back at him, but you knew you hid it well. It was a negative thing about you, you never did showed what you felt.

After a while, John simply finishes his drink before placing it on the counter behind him and glancing up at you once again.

“Beth take (Y/n) here into town. Have a girls day, ya know the whole..,” He pauses as he waves his hand in the air, “Spa— nail treatment thing,”

You’re quick to shake your head, stepping closer to the island in front of you, “Mr. Dutton—,”

“And I’ll have the boys set up the pit out there. We’ll make something out there and I’ll also have Gator make some desserts,” The man in charge ignores your attempt of declination and simply talks to his daughter as if you weren’t there,

“Please Mr— John I don’t-..,” You try but was once again interrupted by Beth pulling you out of the kitchen with force,

You try fighting her, trying to convince her to not take you out of the ranch, but it was no use because you were simply given a raised brow from the blonde head as a threat. So, with an annoyed, slightly irritated huff you climb into the luxury car, earning a satisfied hum from the woman before climbing into the car herself.

The whole ride a sour face was displayed on your features. Arms crossed in front of your chest as you look out the window, but you knew deep, deep down, it was something you definitely needed.

You were just too stubborn to admit it yourself.

****

Two Hours Later

Okay.. you will admit. The spa that Beth had planned for the both of you was something you definitely didn’t know you needed in life. You’ve had massages sure. But a spa day? You seriously didn’t understand why you’d never thought of doing a spa day. Or go to a spa in general! For the last two hours you felt at peace. Literally at peace. You even woke up with a slight jolt thinking you had died from relaxation, however, when you turned to your left and saw Beth faced down on the bed with a female attendant working on the blonde heads shoulders you relaxed once again.

The remainder of the day was you floating into peaceful thoughts. Gentle, firm massages throughout the body, 20 minutes in the jacuzzi, then another hour of massages onn your tensed shoulders and back. At first you were hesitant, not wanting to be completely bare in front of the worker, not that it made you uncomfortable, only thing that made it uncomfortable was the fact you had to show your old and new war scars. It was something you never liked sharing or seeing, so you’ve always kept them hidden. For multiple reasons obviously.

However, after some convincing and comforting support from Beth, you eventually stripped off your clothes and wrapped your frame in a white towel before letting the attendance get to work. For the remainder of those two hours you were in oblivion.

Sadly, it wasn’t for long because now you were back in the car and Beth was turning into the Dutton ranch once again. It was a blissful day while it lasted, something you’ll consider in doing again.

From a distance the boys can be seen gathering around the fire pit. Chatting, drinking, sharing jokes and laughing with each other. John stood by the grill, flipping what smelled to be burgers with a beer in the other hand. Kacey and Tate also stood next to the man, talking and chuckling with each other. The closer you got the better you were able to see who exactly had joined. Literally everyone who worked at the ranch was huddled by the fire pit enjoying the night, and when they saw you approaching with the bosses daughter they all greeted you with a raised cup in the air.

Tate all but ran and embraced you in a tight hug, nearly unbalancing the both of you. A soft giggle rumbles in your throat as you hug him back with a small smile.

“I knew you’d be back,” The young boy claims, words slightly muffled as his face hid in your shirt,

Your shoulders tense up once again at his words. The heaviness wanting to settle on your chest as your mind tries to wonder back to those dark, brutal days, but you pushed it aside and fought to keep your mind from losing itself. You focused on Tate’s voice as he rambles about god knows what, about things he’s learned at the ranch, movies he’s seen, moments he’s spent with his grandfather. It helped ease the tension but as you walked side by side the young boy before watching him dart towards his mother who waited for him with a plate full of food, your eyes instantly find him.

The heaviness vanishes. Disappears.

He was currently standing by John, handing another pack of frozen patties to the man, but his focus was on you. Your steps halt to a stop as you keep eye contact with him, just observing him, cherishing the sight, reminding yourself that this moment was indeed real, he was real and standing right there. Just a few feet away from you.

John glances up at his foreman with curiosity for his rigid form but then immediately whips his focus to the direction he’s staring at and can’t help the small chuckle to fall from his lips when he spots you standing in the same position. From the corner of your eye you see Dutton tell him something before motioning his head to the side and in less than a second Rip makes his way towards you. The pack of patties left on the grill near the boss. His legs taking long, quick strides on the pavement, eyes never leaving your frame, as if you’d vanish from his sight if he did.

You wouldn’t blame him because you too matched his pace, feeling desperation crawling in your veins to reach him faster, once close you instantly wrap your arms around his neck where you feel his own large arms wrapping tightly around your frame.

You didn’t know when the tears started flowing down your cheeks but you could care less at this moment because all you cared for was Rip, in your arms. And you knew he did too from the way he only held you tighter against his large frame. From the years you’ve known him, you knew the foreman was never the type to show any sort of emotion except leadership and firmness around his men, but at this moment they can all fuck themselves if they decide to tease him. Which of course, would never happen unless they wanted a boot shoved up their ass.

Rip eventually is the one to slightly break the hug, only to hold your face in his hands, fingers placing strands of hair behind your ears to get a better look at your face. Your eyes. Despite exhaustion being clearly visible in your features he still thought you were beautiful. Nothing had changed. Except for the new small scar on your left eyebrow which he gently traced with the pad of his thumb. Heat bubbled in his veins at the thought of your face being marked with any sort of physical harm, but he knew it was part of your job. He knew how dangerous it was and he knew coming back from missions with cuts and bruises was a norm in the military field, but that didn’t mean he liked it one bit.

“I’m home,” You whisper with a small smile, your voice slightly quivering as more tears slide down your cheeks,

Rip softly chuckles at you, tears of his own sliding down his cheeks as he wipes away yours with his thumb.

“Yeah, you are. You’re home baby,” He whispers back, a wide smile of his own spreading on his face as he gently but firmly collides his lips with yours,

Your salty tears blend with your kisses, but neither of you cared or worried about it, in fact he only kisses you firmer as he cherishes everything about you. Your lips, your warmth, your happy sobs and happy faint chuckles that fan his mouth as he pours everything into the kiss.

A few cat calls can be heard from the group of men by the fire pit, earning a chuckle from the both of you, yet Rip still sends them a raised finger without looking over his shoulder. He can punish them tomorrow by making them walk instead of riding their horses when they go check the cattle, or maybe he’ll kill them later in the night as they sleep.

Either way, they’ll never see it coming.

*******

2:40 am

“You idiots better not go strollin’ around this late at night. Or so help me god I’ll cut your fucking legs off and feed you to the fucking vultures!” Rip threatens the highly intoxicated men with a long finger, earning complaints from each rancher,

“Ahh c’mon Rip! What you think we’re gonna do? Go to some bar and cause a brawl?” Ryan speaks with a slurred tone as he finishes his beer,

Rip stares straight at the man. Blue eyes burning with annoyance and irritation, causing the rancher to cower in his seat from the intense glare, as well as flinching when Colby slaps him on the arm.

“That’s exactly what you’d fucking do dipshits,” The foreman starts again, “Now I don’t wanna be woken up at ass crack of dawn being told that you fuck heads got arrested or that one of you got stabbed because I swear to god I’ll fucking strangle each and every one of you and finish the fucking Job!”

“I thought he said he’d feed us to the vultures?”

Now that earned Jimmy a good smack to the head by Lloyd and Colby, as well as an empty beer bottle being tossed his way from somewhere across from him. It was Ryan.

“Jimmy..shut the fuck up or I’ll break your fucking neck again,” The young rancher nods his head in fear before going back to drinking his beer,

You stood next to Rip, softly giggling as you watched the entire interaction in silence. It was small moments like this that you missed deeply. Just watching, hanging, drinking, chatting with the boys and making memories with them, despite them constantly making idiotic choices you still cherished those moments because everyone only had one life on this earth. After another moment of sending a threatening glare and more threatening words at the boys, Rip finally interlocks your fingers together as he leads you both away from the small bonfire and down towards home.

A faint chuckle slips from you when you hear the boys cheer for something that was said between them, earning a heavy sigh from Rip as he continues walking down the path. You wouldn’t be surprised if they woke up in a ditch the following day.

***

After locking every door and every window to keep the cold brisk Montana weather out, Rip grabs your backpack and duffle from the entrance of the home before heading towards the direction of his room. His soft but heavy steps creaked against the wooden floor as he walks up the stairs that lead him to the second floor of the home. The entire home was engulfed in silence, only the muffled sounds of faint crickets chirping, distant coyotes, thunder roaring above before rain beginning to fall onto the roof can be heard.

It’s nothing he’s not use to. He honest to god prefers silence over anything else playing in the background considering he’s surrounded by noise literally throughout the day, so obviously he’d rather do silence for the rest of the night. In fact, he sleeps better with no noise. Sends him into a deep, blissful sleep. The nightmares do come and go at times, only when it’s been a rough day or when he’s slightly drunk, but other than that, he’s usually dreaming of nothing or of you.

And if he was being completely honest, these past few months that you’ve been away, his dreams were always about you. Your smile, your laugh, your beautiful features, your love towards the job, the animals, just you.

It helped soothe him while you were away. Helped ease his anxiousness, his nerves, his fear. Dreaming of you helped keep the nightmares away, but once he’d wake up and wouldn’t find you next to him the same heaviness was back in his chest, reminding him you weren’t there. That everything he’d dreamed about was not real. You weren’t there snuggled in his arms in the morning, you weren’t there laughing with him as you shared your terrible jokes, you weren’t there loving him the way you should, you weren’t there by his side where he can keep you safe.

None of it was real. And it would sour his mood. He was never great at expressing his feelings, so instead he’d take out his frustrations, his anger, his anxiety, his fear on others. Per usual.

However, that was before. Because now, you stood standing in his bedroom. Alive and well. As he hovered by the entrance, his eyes were on you where you stood at the foot of the bed. From his position, he could tell just how tensed your shoulders were, how tensed your entire body was, and he knew right there that’d it be one of those nights where you’ll try and avoid sleep.

To keep the nightmares away.

He remained standing behind you in silence, observing and reading your body language before slowly and carefully putting down your luggage by the dresser that was near the entrance. With soft, careful steps he walks behind you, not wanting to frighten you or alarm you, he didn’t know just how fragile your mind was right now. After analyzing your breathing and noticed it was normal rather than those panicked short breaths you’d let out when it was those types of nights, he knew then you were still here, with him. He gently calls your name before letting a soft finger trace your skin. Beginning from your hand before moving it up towards your arm till he reached your shoulder.

He sees the moment you snap back from whatever thoughts you were trapped in. His finger still lazily trailed up and down your skin, causing a faint shiver to run down your spine.

“You tired?” He softly whispers,

You angle your head to the side, averting your eyes from the bed to the carpeted floor as you slowly shake your head.

“No,” It was a lie obviously. You were in fact exhausted. Both mentally and physically. And you knew he knew it too,

Yet, Rip softly chuckles at your response. He fucking missed your stubbornness. Definitely will not miss it in the future, but right now he was cherishing it.

Without another word you feel the pads of his fingertips tracing an invisible pattern on your skin before feeling them run up your arm till he once again reaches your shoulder. You then feel him slightly pull down your collar of your flannel to reveal new skin, then feeling him place a soft, gentle, warm peck, earning a soft shuddered inhale from you.

Another shiver along with goosebumps travels up your arms when you feel his lips once again latching onto your skin on your collar bone. Instinctively you angle your head to the side to give better access as he continues lowering your flannel to place more and more pecks. Any new skin revealed, Rip was there to kiss it. However, the moment you feel his lips traveling up towards your neck you turn to face him. With no hesitation you bring his face down to finally kiss those lips again.

The kiss was gentle, soft, careful and sweet. Like molasses mixing between you two. Both of you cherished each other’s lips, both your hands finding their place as you lazily kissed one another. He eventually does pull away, just enough to look down at your fingers that were hesitantly playing with the buttons of his dark button up. Hesitation was clearly written on your face, you wanted something but was struggling to ask for it. Yet, Rip being the observant decides to help you out.

“What do you need from me baby?” He softly whispers as he looks down at you,

You stay quiet for a minute. Fingers slowly but successfully freeing one button from its place.

“All of you,” You finally whisper back, your eyes now looking up to meet his beautiful blue orbs, holding his gaze you continue with, “Just all of you,”

Beautiful dark, yet bright blue eyes stare at you in silence for a good second before seeing him close the distance to place a long peck on your forehead. Then feeling his lips latching onto yours once again. The kiss holding a promise to take care of you tonight. For Tomorrow. For the Following. For Forever.

As Rip’s lips softly and slowly mold with your own, your fingers slowly unbutton his shirt before finally slipping it past his broad shoulders and letting the piece of fabric land softly against the floor, leaving him in a simple black Henley long sleeve. Rip’s hands that have been waiting patiently by your hips, giving them a comforting squeeze with each kiss, finally make their way upwards until his fingers slowly begin sliding your flannel off your own shoulders, leaving you in a plain white shirt. The moment the fabric lands behind your legs, a cold shiver runs up your spine when you feel the way Rip’s fingertips begin tracing feathery touches against your exposed arms awhile continuing in kissing you slowly.

His fingertips remain tracing invisible patterns against your skin for a few minutes before feeling them trace up towards your shoulder then feeling his rough palm cupping the side of your cheek. Then feeling him pull away. Opening your eyes you’re immediately met with those beautiful blues of his, staring at you fondly, with pure love.

“Whenever you need a breather, you let me know. We don’t gotta rush this baby,” Rip softly whispers to you. His eyes never leaving yours as his thumb now softly rubs against your cheekbone,

Your own hand that rested heavily against his chest slowly travels upwards until your fingers disappear into his dark locks at the base of his neck. You give him a small smile. The smile that spoke volumes to him.

“I trust you,”

You whispered to him. It was all he needed. The only invitation he needed from you. Rip remained staring at you for another few seconds, his blue orbs scanning you’re entire face, his fingers delicately placing a strand of hair behind your ear before gently cupping either side of your face and bending down to let his lips place a chaste peck on your forehead. Your temple. Your right eye, your left eye, the scar above, then your cheek, the corner of your lips, then finally molds his lips against yours. A soft sigh slips from your nose as you melt against the kiss, savoring his lips, the way they fit perfectly against your own and allowing him to carefully lead you towards the awaiting bed.

The moment the back of your knees hit the bed frame, Rip slowly and carefully guides you onto the mattress, both your lips not once parting from each other. Not even when your back rested against the soft sheets. Rip had chased after your lips as he climbs on the bed, his large frame settling in between your legs as his hands holds him upright. Both your lips continue molding against each other before feeling one of Rip’s hands slowly landing on your hip, then feeling his fingertips softly trace against your skin as they rise the hem of your shirt. Your shirt now bundled just below your bra, Rip’s thumb soothingly rubs against your ribcage, feeling the way they halt when they touch the new texture of skin there.

Your body slightly freezes, which doesn’t go unnoticed by the man hovering above. Breaking the kiss, Rip’s blue orbs stare down at you before seeing them slowly avert down to the scar that was just below your breast line. It was still healing. Looked like it was at least four weeks old, the skin was still red around the edges, but didn’t look to be at risk of an infection.

Then, the feeling of your slim fingers softly curling around his wrist has him lifting his gaze until they lock with yours. An unsettling, insecure and shameful look can be seen in those eyes of yours. Rip knew you weren’t very fond of the new scars that lingered on your skin, knew despite them healing on the outside, it was you who hasn’t fully healed on the inside. Each new scar that has claimed ahold on your skin held a story, a story that Rip knew it’d take time for him to learn about, but he wasn’t in a rush to know. He’d wait. Wait until you were ready to share. So for now, he’d cherish every scar, because they were just as precious.

Sending you a small smile, Rip slowly bends down until his lips softly begin pecking your soft flesh, earning a faint shuttered inhale from you. Your stomach reacting against his lips as they travel upwards, then a soft gasp filling the air when his lips place multiple kisses against your healing scar. Your eyes close at the feeling, tears slowly wanting to build in your eyes as he continues for another second, but the moment your fingers slide against his dark locks, Rip maneuvers his lips away from your scar and begins trailing them upwards awhile continuing in lifting your shirt. A shuttered sigh slips from you when you feel his lips pecking your left breast, then the valley, and onto your right breast before traveling his lips upwards once again until they softly latch on the side of your neck. Hot, warm lips leaving spine chilling kisses against your neck.

“Perfect,” Rips whispers as he trails his lips against your skin, then hovers above you to stare into your eyes, because you had to know just how true his next words were, “All of you. Every inch of you baby is perfect,”

A single tear finally does manage to slip down your cheeks, but Rip was there to wipe it away with the pad of his thumb and place his lips with your own. All the love he bottled up as you were away, all the kisses he wanted to give you, every emotion he held onto for the last 7 months, he poured it into the kiss. Showing, proving to you just how much he missed you. Just how much he loves you. And you, you showed him just as much by deepening the kiss, letting your fingers disappear into his long locks. The kiss started slow, gentle, then slowly began picking up its pace when Rip had removed your shirt completely. Tossing it somewhere in the room.

Your own hands then began pulling his Henley up his body until he helps you by removing it all the way and letting it fall off the bed. Your hands then roam around his muscular, firm chest that has grown and continues to work after hours upon hours of working with the horses, with the ranch. Your fingers then gently trace his outline of a scar, the brand against his skin, feeling the way his muscles contract at the soft touches, then hearing the way he sighs heavily as your fingers trace faint invisible shapes against his skin.

As your right hand rises upwards against his chest, he softly clamps his palm around yours to raise it towards his lips, where he kisses your knuckles, then the inside of your palm before wrapping both your arms around his neck as he bends to kiss you once again. Your hands fall around his waist, your fingers gently digging into his skin when Rip makes the first thrust of his hips, knocking his brick of a member against your own covered mound. Another heavy sigh falls from his lips, yet that same sigh turns into a shuddering sound when your fingers travel between both your bodies and downward until they land on his belt buckle.

Your fingers then make quick work in undoing the belt buckle before reaching for the button of his jeans then his zipper. Rip’s lips remained molding with yours awhile you worked on his jeans. A groan then rumbles in his throat, slightly vibrating against your lips when your hand cups him firmly through his black briefs. He was hard, hot, and heavy against your hand, making you react more to him just two layers beneath him.

Another soft grunt slips from him when you grip him a little tighter, but before you can slip your hand beneath the thin layer, Rip is pulling away from you to undo your own jeans. Once both the button and zipper have been undone, Rip slides the denim down your smooth legs until he stops around your ankles to remove your shoes before he slides the jeans completely off. Leaving you in just your underwear and bra. Quickly shucking off his own boots and jeans, he slowly, predator like crawls back towards you. His fingers tracing up your skin with his mouth following close behind, leaving you breathless and squirming under his touch. He stops just above your underwear, inches away from your naval. He places a kiss on your stomach awhile not once parting his dilated blue eyes from you, earning another desperate shuddered exhale from you.

Placing another soft kiss to your skin, he lets his fingers wrap around the lace of your underwear before sliding them down your legs. Once off and thrown somewhere in the room, Rip gently grips your knees as he spreads your legs open, a faint curse leaving his lips as he takes in the sight of you. Seeing just how soaked and raw you looked without even touching you yet has him ravenous for you. Without a word or wasting any more time, Rip bends down, seconds later his mouth latched on your own while his fingers begin running patterns against your folds. Earning a whine and a heavy exhale to emit from you. Fanning his lips as his fingers continued rubbing circular motions against your clit, rubbing your wetness around your center before slowly sinking two thick fingers past your folds.

Yet, as much as you wanted this. Wanted the feeling of his fingers or tongue doing wonders to you, sending you to the brink numerous times, you just wanted more. More of him.

“Rip.. please. Please,” It was all he needed.

The second those words fell from your lips, Rip removed his fingers before removing the rest of his black briefs. Displaying his thick member for you. The wet, hot tip of his cock rubs against your exposed, aching mound as he settles in between your legs once again. With quick fingers, he unclasps your bra before removing it completely off your frame, leaving you bare before him.

“I’ve got you. Relax for me baby,” Rip whispers as he pumps himself a few times before guiding his cock to your entrance,

He rubs the head of his cock against your folds, collecting your wetness before slowly sinking his member inside of you. Your eyes immediately shut at the feeling. A heavy sigh slipping along with a broken moan as he eases himself inch by inch until his pelvis connects with your own.

A strained grunt rumbles in Rip’s throat as he fully sheaths himself inside of you. One hand gripping your hip as your walls clamp and unclamp around him, forcing him to take a breather from the blissful feeling. If he didn’t know self control, he for sure wouldn’t have won against the feeling of your compressed walls. Yet, he knew you didn’t mind the breather, your tightness being stretched by his aching member was enough for him to understand, making him feel less guilty for dragging the moment.

Because despite the desperation you both felt for each other, Rip wouldn’t dare to hurt you. No. He only wanted to love you the way you should be loved. And that’s exactly what he did.

After taking a second to compose himself and giving you time to adjust around him, he looked into your eyes. A hand gently cupping your jaw before letting his lips connect with yours, just a soft peck before slowly moving his hips. Causing a gasp from you and a heavy sigh from Rip, your guys’ breath combining between your lips at the feeling.

Once bottoming out, Rip hooks his right arm beneath your knee before slightly hiking it upwards, giving him more space, more access. Which ignites another gasp and a moan from you when Rip slowly but gradually begins picking up the pace. Causing your fingers to pull on his long locks. Not hard enough to ignite pain, but enough to let Rip know you were close to the edge.

Yet, the blissful feeling of Rip cherishing you with feathery kisses against your cheek with each stroke his hips made, the feeling of him moving deliciously inside of you, the way Rip was caring for you, the way you were rapidly tilting to the brink of oblivion, the already broken wall you felt hanging by a thread, the relief of finally being home, of finally being in the arms of the one man you fought to stay alive for, all of it. Everything that you felt at this every moment suddenly felt too heavy. Your senses were extremely heightened that you didn’t notice the hot tears slipping down your cheeks, until Rip is there once again wiping them away with the pad of his thumb or kissing them away.

“I love you,” You whisper breathlessly. The words that you’ve been holding for far too long,

Rip’s, hooded, blue eyes lock with yours. His hips slightly come to a halt as he stares at you, his eyes softening as they hold your own tear-brimmed eyes. His thumb once again wipes away a tear that slips down your cheek.

“I love you, Darlin’”

A few more tears managed to slip down your cheeks at his words, but Rip wipes one streak before bending down to mold his lips with yours. Not caring for the salty taste, just pouring his caged love into the kiss. You softly gasp against his lips as he begins moving his hips once again, but it was the feeling of his fingers snaking between your bodies to rub firm circles against your aching clit. Matching its pace with his hips. It only took a few minutes to finally have you reaching the edge, your hold on his hair tightening as the coil in your stomach finally snapped. Endorphins spreading throughout your exhausted body like a wave crashing on flat land.

Rip grunts from the pain, but it only makes him pick up the pace. Using his free hand, he cups it just underneath your jaw, his fingers cradling the back of your neck, feeling them tightening their hold as his hips soon begin to stutter. Gripping your leg and hiding his face in the crook of your neck, deep grunts vibrate against your ear as his own peak begins rising. A few thrusts later, Rip is groaning deeply in your ear as he buries himself deep inside of you. His warm cum coated your walls, causing a shutter from you at the warm feeling.

Rip sagged against you, but leaned on one elbow to not fully crush you. His head remained hidden in the crook of your neck, hot breath fanning your skin as Rip tries gathering himself. Minutes later, blue eyes are locking with your own. You silently let your hand trace his beard before your fingers gently glide their way through his dark locks at the base of his neck. A shaky inhale is heard from you as you remain holding his gaze, your eyes still wet and red, but Rip didn’t mind it one bit. Instead. He again cups the side of your jaw as he stares in your eyes with his next words.

“You’re home, baby.” You’re safe. You’re here with me. Was the true meaning of Rip’s words.

You knew it the true. It might take a while for your mind to believe it, to relax, to heal, but you also knew you wouldn’t be alone to heal. You knew Rip would be there for you. Through the dark and light. Through the thick and thin. Through the highs and lows. All of it.

He would take it one step at a time with you.

——————

Tag List:

@sunshinecallie @kingofpiratesluffy @heinmypocket @brookie090 @wxnderingthoughts @mandysawesomeworld @sawarasenaikimiwashoujo @aprildecker-blog @ajordan2020 @jbabyx0 @nfr-girly @trainboom @giorgxx @papichulo120627 @helanaellie @silentbutscreaming @fanboilingwriter @justsimplyme93

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-> Just Want To Say Thank You To Those Who Were Patient & Continued To Support Me After Pushing & Pushing The Publish Date. But Like I Said In My Previous Post, So Many Things Had Happened In A Matter of Separate Weeks. When It Was One Thing, It’d Be Another. As I Wrote This My Family Is Seriously Going Through a Tough Time. We Still Are.

I’m Not Asking For Pity, Just Understanding On Why This Story Took Long To Publish & Why I Pushed The Dates On a Daily Basis. It Was Hard For Me To Write Or Put My Focus On My Stories With Everything Happening In My Life. Yet, I Finally Managed To Finish It and Give It To Ya’ll. I Was Excited Writing It Then, And Excited Now That It’s Finally Yours To Read!

Appreciate The Love & Your Constant Support. To Many More With You Guys. ❤️

Sincerely,

ItsStrange.

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#yellowstone x reader #yellowstone #Yellowstone x OFC #Yellowstone x female character #rip wheeler x female character #rip wheeler x you #rip wheeler x ofc #rip wheeler x reader #rip wheeler smut #cole hauser x reader #cole hauser #Cole hauser fics #fluff #pain and fluff

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karusthings · 24 hours ago

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.⋆˚࿔ b e t t e r a l o n e - t. todoroki ࿐˚⋆.

ꎫ──[ husband au ; headcanons ]

character dynamicꎫ── husband!dabi x f!reader

summaryꎫ── request! when his family discover that Touya had a family; a wife and two beautiful twins.

content warningsꎫ── hurt no comfort, angst, mention of trauma.

wordsꎫ── 664.

comissionerꎫ── anon ♡

¡! ❞ masterlist mha.

After all this time, after everything you've heard about them… you couldn't bear to see them. You were angry, hurt, and determined to keep them away from you and your family.

Rei would be decayed.

– The fact that her little boy had a family made her happier than you could ever imagine.

– She remembered you. You used to play with him every time he had some free time, and you were the first to witness his progress with his quirk. Rei was deeply surprised when you said "I would never take the risk of you throwing boiling water on one of my children"... A wave of sorrow washed over her, knowing for certain that she would never get to see her grandchildren.

– When you reminded her of that fateful moment, she couldn't help but understand your point of view, feeling something break inside her. So, she wrote you a letter, even though she knew it would probably never be read.

– "I hope that they grow as strong as their father."

Enji would be shocked.

– If he felt useless when he found out his son was alive, discovering that he had a family who loved him brought both relief and shock. The worst part was that he didn’t even remember you. He couldn't recall seeing you around the house, or on the street... never near Touya. That’s how distant he had been from his own son.

– The look in his eyes was tired. Because of him, his wife and children had lived difficult lives. And now? He had broken them once again.

– He wouldn’t argue with you. Instead, he would understand your decision and lower his head gently. He had changed a lot over the years.

– "I just ask you to please give them a chance. It’s only my fault."

Fuyumi would be broken.

– She was overjoyed when she found out her older brother was alive —despite the situation— and when she learned about the little twins, Fuyumi nearly fainted from happiness.

– But once you told them about your decision, she was the most affected. In her mind, she had already made countless plans with you and the children, all of them crushed beneath the weight of the past.

– She understood, of course she did. But even so, she had held onto a sliver of hope that everything could become just a painful memory, nothing more. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She had tried so hard to reunite the family, to piece together a life made of dust… but you didn’t give in.

– "I can still be their teacher, if you please let me..."

Natsu would be angry. But not at you.

– He thought his mind had finally stopped torturing him with memories of his father tearing their lives apart, but now… they were back.

– He couldn’t help but feel the urge to punch something every time he remembered that, because of Enji, Fuyumi was now crying behind the next wall, aching to meet her nephews. And he wouldn’t deny his own feelings either. His chances of being the “cool uncle” to those twins already felt lost.

– He used to take long walks, and now he couldn't help but notice the children running through the streets, imagining if this is what the twins were like.

– “He was also a little kid. This is so unfair.”

Shoto would be happy.

– Touya had never truly been part of his life, so not being included in his new family didn’t feel entirely strange. As for pushing their father away, he had done that too.

– He couldn’t deny it pained him that his mother and siblings didn’t get that same chance, and your words had been sharp, heavy with disdain, but the wounds had long since faded into scars.

– What mattered now was that, after everything his older brother had endured, he had a family. Someone who truly mattered to him, two beautiful children that will always remember him.

– "We won’t be able to share those soba noodles, but I really hope they can enjoy them as a happy family."

¡! ❞ masterlist mha.

¡! ❞ little note; I've been wanting to write for Touya for a long time, and even if I'm not completely satisfied with the result, I'm still really excited to finally respond to this request!! Again, sorry for the delay <3

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mikayuumouse · 2 days ago

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what do you think about atsushi's development with akutagawa after chapter 122?

Short answer: gay

Long answer: oh my God there's a lot. I will say, the latest chapters have definitely given us more Akutagawa introspection than Atsushi introspection, but Atsushi's character has definitely developed a LOT (well, I would say he's less developed right now and more as, we're finally seeing his development. Like I don't think just then in 121.5 did he decide Akutagawa is worth dying for, he had that realization/development forever ago, but in 121.5 is when lots of his development was confirmed)

This ask is specifically about chapter 122 but ykw I might as well talk about 121.5 and 123 too lmao. I think 121.5 was crazy revolutionary, like not only did it just show how much Atsushi will do to save Akutagawa, but it also shows that Atsushi remembers the exact words that Akutagawa said back to him with their fight against Fukuchi. Like wow fellas is it gay to think about your "dead" rival so much you can repeat his final dying words back to him in the middle of a war against a literal god??

Okay but all jokes aside, 121.5 does really show how much Atsushi thinks about Akutagawa and how heavy his death really was to him. (Also this ask only asks about Atsushi's development with Akutagawa and not the Headmaster so I won't be rambling on about that lol)

Now 122. Oh boy 122. Not only did Atsushi see Akutagawa's past, but this time he didn't see it/hear it from someone else's perspective. He saw the cold truth. He knew of Akutagawa's abuse, but now he knows how it really truly was, with his own eyes. The dark side of Dazai he's never really seen, the vulnerable side of Akutagawa that Akutagawa hates...

This really shifts their relationship. 122 had lots of development for both of them— especially with Akutagawa's introspection on his real feelings— and it's so monumental. This isn't just Atsushi seeing Akutagawa's abuse, it's Atsushi fully understanding Akutagawa and understanding why Akutagawa is the way he is. Atsushi relates to Akutagawa more than ever now, and he sees their similarities and where their paths individually changed them as people

One thing is, I don't think when Akutagawa finds out Atsushi knows about his past, that he'll be mad. He trusts his weak side with Atsushi, he trusts his truth and his secrets and his life with Atsushi. And vice versa.

These last few chapters have greatly furthered their relationship. And what I think about it is honestly; I love it. I love how Asagiri writes them (he better make them kiss like literally the romantic potential is perfect), I love how far they've come, and I love how they are incredibly meant for each other

Another thing is, now that Atsushi has seen Akutagawa's past, and Atsushi's understanding of Akutagawa is even deeper now, I think Atsushi is closer to Akutagawa because of this. Atsushi's seen all sides of Akutagawa's story, and in the end, he still cares for and loves Akutagawa. He still thinks Akutagawa is strong and deserves to live. When Atsushi eventually gets out of the fourth dimension (probably??) and he gets his reunion with Akutagawa, he's going to see Akutagawa in a different, better light

Oh, and in regards to 123, there's not a whole lot to say, but Atsushi says "Why us? Why our hearts?" to his hallucination of his Headmaster instead of "Why me? Why my heart?", because Akutagawa isn't an afterthought to Atsushi. Atsushi's going through all of this, and yet Akutagawa is not far from his mind; he never is. Akutagawa makes Atsushi feel no longer alone and gives him strength, and 123 shows that Atsushi thinks about Akutagawa as much as Akutagawa does about him

Thank you so much for the ask! It was fun to answer, and I hope my thoughts on Atsushi's development with Akutagawa make enough sense LMAO I kind of ramble

#ahah sorry for going off the rails and talking about 121.5 and 123 too #122 had ridiculously good sskk development oh my Lord #bsd #sskk #bungou stray dogs #shin soukoku #bsd atsushi #bsd akutagawa #akutagawa #atsushi #bungoustraydogs #asks #bsd analysis #atsushi analysis #akuatsu #akutagawa x atsushi

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ceyanabbiolo · 2 hours ago

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CONTRACT // C.S [14]

Summary: Christopher Sturniolo, a 26-year-old billionaire CEO, agrees to a strategic marriage with Aurora Devereaux, the 21-year-old daughter of his rival, to save his company during a crisis. Raised in a cold, arrogant environment, Chris is used to control and detachment. Aurora, a final-year fashion student, is forced into the arrangement by her powerful father and struggles with the fear of losing herself. As the two navigate their unexpected marriage, they begin to confront emotional walls and develop a connection that challenges everything they thought they knew about love and trust. But with their families’ influence looming, will their bond be strong enough to survive—or will it fall apart?

Warnings: smut. (fingering, blowjob, humping, making out). slight angst. crying.

wc: 5883

Chapter 14: We Can Meddle About

Chris and I had spent five unforgettable days in Greece. Tomorrow morning at 10 AM, we’ll be flying back.

New Year’s Eve was something out of a dream—we spent the countdown in Fira, the capital, surrounded by lights and music in the town square. Everything shimmered with celebration, but all I remembered was holding his hand as fireworks burst in the sky above us.

New Year’s Day was quieter. We stayed at the villa, curled up on the couch, watching movies, trading lazy kisses, and simply existing in each other’s warmth. I hadn’t felt that kind of peace in a long time. Not with everything going on.

For our final night, Chris had brought us to Lycabettus Restaurant. We sat on the open-air terrace, the Aegean Sea stretching into darkness just beyond the cliffs. The restaurant's golden lights cast a warm glow around us, and the soft sound of waves below filled the silence between bites.

I glanced across the table at him, that familiar, relaxed look on his face. “I don’t want to leave yet,” I admitted softly, resting my chin in my palm. “This trip felt like hitting pause on everything else.”

Chris let out a low chuckle from across the table. “As much as I hate to disappoint you, ma, I think it’s time we have to head back.”

“I know,” I sighed, offering a mock pout. “Real life’s waiting to punch us in the face.”

“Maybe…” I started, tracing the rim of my glass. “Maybe we can come back. Again. Just us.”

Chris’s fingers brushed mine again, slower this time. “Maybe… after the wedding,” he said, voice quiet but deliberate.

I blinked, looking up at him. “After the wedding?”

He held my gaze. “Yeah. Maybe we can come back then. No pressure”

“Chris,” I said, tilting my head at him. “That’s five months away.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah? So?” He leaned back, fingers still lightly tracing mine. “It’ll go by fast. You’ve got your show coming up, then school wraps up... and then it’s us.”

There was a strange comfort in how he said it—like everything that felt so uncertain could still fall into place. I let out a breath. “Five months isn’t that long when you say it like that.”

I wasn’t going to lie, I was everywhere in my mind. The reality of this trip was that it was only a momentary escape.

I looked back up at Chris, a certain question floating in my mind—one I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer to.

“Can I ask you something?” I said quietly.

He met my eyes, his expression softening. “Of course.”

I hesitated, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “I know we like each other now. I mean… we’re close, and it’s real, but—” I paused, searching his face. “Do you actually think this is going to work? Like… in the long run?”

His brows furrowed, clearly caught off guard.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

I looked away, letting out a soft breath. “I mean, if this were a regular relationship-no, no contract, no engagement deal—would we even be this far in? We'd probably still be in the early stages. Figuring things out. Instead, we're getting married in five months. Sometimes I wonder if we skipped the part where people actually decide if they’re right for each other.”

Chris didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened just slightly, and he leaned back in his chair, eyes flickering over me like he was trying to read between every word I’d just said.

“So… what are you saying?” he asked finally, voice low. “That you’re not happy? Do you want out?”

My heart sank a little. “No—no, Chris. That’s not what I’m saying.”

I reached across the table, my fingers brushing his. “I’m not saying I want out. I’m just being honest. I care about you. A lot. But sometimes I think about how fast all of this is moving. And how much of it was decided before we even had the chance to just… be. Us.”

Chris leaned forward, his voice suddenly hard. “Aurora, I need you to get something straight.”

His tone made me sit up a little.

“I don’t give a damn how this started,” he said, eyes sharp. “You think I’m here playing fiancé because of a contract? No. I don’t waste my time like that.”

I opened my mouth, but he didn’t let me.

“Maybe at first, sure. It was nothing, but now? I’m in it, and I’m not the type to half-ass something once I’m in. So, no—I don’t sit around wondering if this is gonna work. I’ve already decided it will.”

He paused, jaw tight. “You don’t have to feel the same. But don’t question where I stand.”

I could see his whole demeanour change, and it made me suddenly regret my question, and I felt uncomfortable.

“I didn’t say I don’t feel the same way…” I mumbled, eyes fixed on my lap.

Chris didn’t respond.

I heard him call the waiter over and quietly ask for the bill. A few moments later, he stood up and told me we were leaving.

Earlier, I’d thought about suggesting we walk back to the villa—just to soak in our last night here. But now, I kept that to myself. All I wanted was to get back and disappear into a dark room somewhere.

I didn’t fully understand why he got so worked up. But deep down, I knew—Chris hated having his loyalty questioned, especially by people he cared about.

The car ride was quiet. I kept my eyes out the window while he stayed on his phone. At one point, I peeked over and saw he was texting one of his brothers—probably Matt, judging by the name at the top of the screen.

My fingers were fiddling with the edge of my dress, heart heavier than I wanted to admit. I wasn’t trying to upset him. I just wanted to know where we stood—for real.

When we got back to the villa, Chris paused near the entrance, turning to me briefly. His expression was unreadable.

“I’m heading to bed,” he said flatly. “Make sure you’ve got everything packed for tomorrow.”

Before I could respond, he was already walking away, disappearing down the hall to his room. No goodnight. No glance back. Just silence and distance.

I stood there for a moment, letting the quiet settle around me before dragging myself to my room. I peeled off my dress and stepped into the shower, letting the warm water roll over me, hoping it would wash away the tight knot in my chest. It didn’t.

Afterward, I slipped into a thin silk nightgown and towel-dried my hair before settling into bed. I picked up the book I’d brought for the trip—a romance novel I’d been looking forward to for weeks—but the words blurred together, refusing to hold my attention.

Every few seconds, my eyes flicked to the door. Waiting. Wondering.

Was he still mad? Would he even come talk to me tonight? Was I overthinking everything? Fuck.

I had half-expected him to come into my room tonight, like he had for the past three nights, but the villa was too quiet now, too vast and empty. It felt cold in a way that the warm Greek air outside couldn't touch. I set the book down on the nightstand, my mind far too restless to focus on anything.

I tossed and turned, staring at the ceiling, trying to push thoughts of Chris out of my head. But the more I tried, the more they lingered. Eventually, I couldn’t lie to myself anymore—I needed to see him.

I threw the covers off and stood up, walking down the hall to his room. My heart was pounding, and I hesitated just outside his door. After a few moments of uncertainty, I knocked softly.

"Chris?" I called quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

There was no answer.

I knocked again, louder this time.

"Chris?" I repeated.

Still nothing.

I stood there for a moment, defeated, my hand lingering on the doorknob. What had I expected? That he would be waiting for me on the other side, ready to pick up where we left off? I sighed, turning to walk back down the hall.

But just as I took a few steps, I heard it—my name.

"Aurora."

I turned, startled by the sound of his voice. Chris stood in the doorway, wearing a grey sweater over a plain black tee, his hair still damp from a recent shower. He looked tired, but something about his eyes told me he hadn’t been sleeping much either.

“You okay?” he asked, his gaze drifting over me, searching. “Do you need something?”

I shifted on my feet, suddenly unsure of why I’d even come. “No. I’m fine,” I mumbled, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, my voice quieter than I intended.

He raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t look like it.”

I looked down, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my sleeve. “I just couldn’t sleep. That’s all.”

A beat passed between us, heavy but not tense. I could feel his eyes still on me.

“Come here,” he said quietly, gesturing with a tilt of his head.

I walked over slowly, stopping just a few inches from the wall, unsure of what to expect.

After a beat, I finally asked, “Are you mad at me?”

Chris looked at me—looked—and I caught the slight flare in his nostrils before he exhaled through his nose.

“No, ma,” he said, voice firm. “I’m not mad.”

“Really? You seemed pretty upset earlier,” I added, trying to get him to open up.

“Yeah,” he said bluntly. “I was.”

I waited, but he didn’t leave it there this time.

“I just don’t get it,” he said, shaking his head. “Why is it you are always having second thoughts?”

My brows pulled together. “It’s not—Chris, I’m not having second thoughts.”

“Yes, you are,” he snapped, not angrily, but with a kind of heat that made me straighten.

“You said it yourself—‘Do you actually think this is going to work?’ That’s not nothing, Aurora. That’s you doubting us. Again.”

I opened my mouth, but he didn’t give me time.

“You always act like I’m the one who kept pulling away, who was unsure—but now that I’ve made up my damn mind, now that I’m actually here, it’s like you’re the one constantly questioning everything. Me, this engagement, if we’re real.”

His jaw tightened, chest rising and falling heavier now.

“I don’t get it,” he said again, quieter this time, but with more weight. “You wanted me to care. You wanted me to choose you. I did. But the second I do, you start pulling back.”

“I’m not pulling back, Chris…I just wanted to know,” I said, my voice quieter than before, hands slightly shaking at my sides.

He stared at me, unmoving. The space between us felt dense, like even the air was holding its breath.

“Know what?” he asked, his voice low but sharp. “That I’m not gonna leave? That I’m not faking this? That I’m not just in this because someone told me to be?”

I swallowed hard, unable to answer fast enough.

“Because if you don’t know that by now, I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.”

My chest tightened. “That’s not what I meant,” I murmured.

His eyes were colder now, less soft, less patient. “Then what did you mean?”

I looked away, focusing on a spot on the floor, trying to find the right words.

“I just—I’ve never had something like this,” I said. “Not something that feels like it could actually matter, and it scares me that maybe I’m the one who’ll ruin it.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he stepped closer, not touching me, but close enough that I felt the heat off him.

“You’re not the one ruining it,” he said, voice low and tense. “But you questioning me like that? It makes me feel like I’m the only one all in.”

I looked up at him finally, eyes meeting his.

“You’re not,” I whispered, barely getting the words out as the weight of everything crashed into me. My chest tightened, and before I could stop them, the tears started slipping down my cheeks—slow, quiet, stubborn.

Chris noticed instantly. His expression shifted, the tension in his jaw easing as he reached out and gently cupped my cheek. His thumb brushed away a tear, his eyes fixed on mine with a quiet intensity, no longer guarded—just open.

“What do you want, Aurora?” he asked, voice low but firm. “Do you want to be with me?”

I looked up at him through glassy eyes, my breath caught in my throat. My lips trembled as I tried to respond, but all I could do was shake my head at first—not in denial, but in disbelief at how much I did. Then the words finally broke free.

“Yes,” I said, my voice breaking. “I do.”

Chris’s grip on my face tightened just slightly—not in anger, but to anchor me there, to make sure I didn’t look away.

“Okay then,” he said quietly, wiping away the remaining tears with his thumb. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to my cheek, “Be with me,” he murmured against my cheek.

I nodded, barely, my breath hitching. I looked at him, really looked at his steady gaze, the tension still resting in his shoulders, the way he was holding back.

Chris leaned in, kissing me slowly—softly, and deliberate, like he wanted to make sure I felt every second of it. His lips moved against mine with a kind of patience that made my chest ache, as if he was trying to say everything he couldn’t with words.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, our breaths mixing in the stillness between us.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, voice low but serious.

I looked up at him, surprised by the question. His eyes searched mine, steady and intense, like he needed the truth more than anything else.

“I do,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I really do.”

He nodded once, his hand still resting at the back of my neck. “Then stop fighting me,” he said. “Stop pulling away every time.”

I blinked slowly, the sting of his words lingering, but not in a cruel way. He wasn’t trying to hurt me. He was asking me to meet him where he was, to stop hesitating.

“I’m not trying to fight you,” I said.

His lips found mine again—firmer this time. No hesitation. Just him and me, like the weight of everything had finally been shaken off, even if only for tonight. I kissed him back, letting myself fall into it. Into him.

His hand slid from my cheek to the back of my neck, pulling me impossibly closer, while his other arm wrapped around my waist, holding me firm against him.

I melted into it, my fingers gripping the front of his sweater. His kiss deepened, rougher around the edges now, like he couldn’t get enough. His mouth trailed down to my jaw, slow and hot, then to the curve of my neck, leaving a trail of heat behind.

“Chris…” I breathed, my voice barely a whisper.

He paused for half a second, his mouth hovering near my skin, chest rising and falling fast. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said, voice hoarse, lips brushing against my collarbone.

I shook my head, the words catching in my throat. “Don’t.”

That was all it took.

He pulled away for a moment, his breathing still heavy, then took my hand firmly in his.

Without a word, he led me out of the hallway and down the stairs, his grip never loosening. The villa was dim, quiet—only the soft hum of the waves outside filled the silence.

“Where are we going?” I asked, glancing at him as we stepped into the living room.

“My bed’s a mess,” he said, glancing over his shoulder with a faint smirk. “I was packing.”

Before I could react, he guided me toward the large lounge chair facing the glass doors that looked out at the sea. With one gentle push, I landed against the cushions, big enough for both of us. The cool fabric contrasts with the heat rushing up my neck.

He hovered above me, eyes darker now, jaw tight.

“Here’s better,” he muttered, before leaning down again—this time, slower. More deliberate.

He leaned over, hands on either side of me, “You’re driving me insane, you know that?”

His gaze dropped, lingering for a moment where the hem of my nightgown had ridden up, just high enough to reveal the curve of my thighs and the soft lace of my underwear.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “So you don’t wear anything under these little gowns,” he murmured, voice low, teasing.

He leaned in, his hand grazing the bare skin just above my knee. “I always wondered. You walking around the house like that—had me guessing since the first night you moved in.”

His words sent a heat rushing up my spine, especially when his fingers traced along the edge of the fabric.

“And I like it,” he muttered, brushing his lips against mine again.

My body was starting to get this needy feeling, the same one I felt a week ago, the first time Chris went down on me.

He sat up slightly, his eyes trailing down the length of me. He took his shirt off, probably for more comfort. Gosh…he was hot.

“Take it off,” he said, voice low.

I looked up at him, caught off guard. “What?” A slow, lazy grin pulled at his lips. “Your gown. Take it off.”

“I–” my cheeks turned red. I didn’t have anything on other than my underwear. I don't wear a bra to sleep.

“I’ve already seen most of you, beautiful,” he said, lifting the hem of my gown slightly. “No need to be shy.”

I shifted, tucking my feet beneath me as I slowly rose to my knees. My eyes stayed on his while his gaze stayed locked on mine. I lifted the gown over my body, pulling it off in one motion. Now bare, my chest exposed, I watched as his eyes finally dropped.

“fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“What?” I asked, instinctively covering myself, a sudden wave of insecurity washing over me.

Chris immediately reached for my wrists, gently pulling my hands back down.

“Don’t ever hide yourself from me, Aurora,” he said, his voice firm but low.

He leaned in, kissing along my collarbone, then lower, his lips lingering just above my chest.

“May I?” he asked, eyes flicking up to meet mine—asking for permission.

I gave a small nod, breath caught in my throat, and the moment his mouth met my tits, a quiet moan escaped me.

A stray thought crossed my mind—God, this would feel amazing during my period.

Chris leaned down, placing a final kiss on each of my tits. Next, he removed my underwear and put it to the side. My wetness on display for him–my inner thighs sleek with arousal.

Chris suddenly pulled back slightly, his hand still wrapped around mine. I looked up at him, confused. He held my gaze for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Touch yourself”, he said, his voice low but steady. “Show me what feels good to you.”

I blinked, caught off guard by his request. “Chris,” I said with a nervous laugh, unsure if he was serious.

But his expression didn’t change—there was no teasing in his eyes, only quiet patience. “Show me what you do when you’re alone,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand. “At night, when it’s just you.”

A flush crept up my cheeks. I looked down, then back up at him. He placed my hand on my chest, slowly dragging it down my lying body. His gaze never leaves mine.

He guided our joined hands down slowly, stopping just at the center of me. My breath hitched when he pressed my palm gently against myself. The warmth of my touch startled me—and yet, his steady presence beside me grounded the moment.

Chris didn’t say anything, but the way he was watching me—attentive, calm—gave me a quiet confidence. I didn’t feel embarrassed. I didn’t feel pressured. I felt…understood.

So I didn’t pull away. I let myself keep going.

I felt the pressure buildup in me. My eyes started to shut on their own, but from the slight opening I was able to see Chris looking down at my hands moving.

My legs started trembling, a familiar sensation down from my stomach. I needed something more.

“C–Chris…” I gasped, my voice barely a whisper as my hand slowed, finally stopping. “I–I need you.”

He looked up at me then, eyes dark but focused entirely on my face.

“You need me, ma?” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he gently took my fingers and brought them to his mouth, tasting the traces of me with a quiet kind of reverence that sent a shiver down my spine.

He placed his hands on me, finally. I let out a soft moan of pleasure when his slightly rough hands moved down to my aching clit. He slowly rubbed his thumb in circles.

“o-oh my gosh…Chris,” I let out a whimper, my back arching off the lounge chair.

He stopped rubbing but instead took his index finger and put the tip of it into me, “This good?” he asked. I nodded, and he shoved the whole thing into me.

I let out a cry of pleasure, his finger inside my walls feels amazing.

His fingers started to pump in and out of me, stretching my walls out perfectly–hitting all the right spots. “Feel good, princess?” He asked, his free hand caressing the side of my thighs.

I couldn’t speak, I just started to nod frantically, whispering to him to go faster.

I felt the knot start to form in my stomach.

“G-gonna cum..” I managed to speak despite the pleasure. My back arched against the lounge chair, and I felt the knot in my stomach feel like it was about to burst.

Chris’s fingers moved with unrelenting precision, and the moment he murmured, “Let go for me, baby,” I shattered beneath his touch.

My orgasm came crashing. The feeling is making me stutter.

I let a minute go by, letting the feeling subside. I felt amazing. His touch was amazing.

“You okay princess?” he asked me, his voice caring. I nodded, feeling the comfort and warmth of his embrace.

I nodded, my eyes drifting from his face down to the outline beneath his pants.

Chris started to move off me, but I gently caught his hand.

“You’re forgetting something,” I murmured, glancing downward.

His eyes followed mine, and a gentle smile tugged at his lips. “I didn’t forget anything.”

“Then let me,” I said, my voice soft but steady as a wave of confidence rolled over me. I reached for the hem of his sweats, pulling him gently back toward me.

Chris caught my hand, stopping me with a quiet firmness. “You don’t have to, Aurora.”

“I want to,” I replied, gently moving his hand away.

He exhaled, his resistance faltering. “Aurora…” he said again, but this time it came out more like a breath than a warning—like he was trying to convince himself.

I pulled his pants and reassured him, “It's okay”.

He nodded slowly, his breathing deepening, the tension between us thick in the air.

“Okay then,” he murmured, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Stand up.”

I rose to my feet, facing him, our eyes locked for a moment until he sank back into the chair.

His hand rested gently on my shoulder, guiding me downward with quiet intent until I was kneeling in front of him, heart racing.

He slowly lowered his boxers, and when he was fully exposed, my breath caught in my throat. Oh my…he was well, bigger than I expected. Like big, big. His pre-cum was evident at the top. When I looked up, he was already smirking, clearly amused by my reaction. That tease. “Go on, baby,” he said, stroking himself a few times before letting his hand fall away. “Show me how you want to help me.”

My fingers tremble slightly as I touch him, my hands wrap around him, fingers struggling with his skin to properly hold his girth. I was slightly unsure what to do, still being new to this all.

Chris groans sharply, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

“Here,” he rasps, his voice strained “move your hands up and down for me”.

I did as he said.

His head falls back slightly, his thighs flexing, and his hands struggling to hold onto the lounge chair.

“Fuck….y-yes that’s it, ma.”

I watched him curiously. I’ve never seen Chris like this before. In a way, him being in this flushed state made him even more handsome.

Chris groans again, his head tilting back further, his body tensing beneath my touch.

“Go a bit…faster,” he muttered, his voice low and uneven. I hesitated, my thoughts suddenly catching up with me. My hands paused, unsure.

Chris looked down at me, his brows furrowing in concern. “Hey… everything okay?” he asked. “Do you want to stop? Because that’s fine–”

I cut him off and quickly shook my head. “No, it’s not that”.

Hesitated, then looked up at him, nervous but honest. “I just… wanted to ask if you wanted me to…You know, use my mouth?”

His gaze flicked up to meet mine, surprise flashing in his eyes, but it quickly turned into a smirk.

“Are you asking to blow me off, sweetheart?”

I nodded twice, shyly.

“Only if you want to, ma.”

I swallow, heat curling into my stomach. Chris looked wrecked and desperate.

I looked up at him.

“Tell me how to do it,” I said, shyly leaning down to press a few gentle kisses on his tip, his thighs clenched.

“Fuck.”

I parted my lips and inserted him slightly into my mouth. His skin pre-cum hits my tongue.

“Good, beautiful,” he murmurs. “Now, hollow your cheeks for me, and go down a bit more.”

I do as he says, taking him a little deeper, my tongue swirled around, trying to experiment. Chris’s hips jerked forward instantly at that, a hiss escaped his lips.

We began to find a rhythm, and with every passing second, I felt myself growing more comfortable. That heat, that familiar ache, started to stir in me again. Without thinking, I shifted slightly, subtly grinding against the back of my heel for some relief.

Chris noticed instantly. His hand reached out, gently but firmly tugging at my nipple, drawing a gasp from me. “Don’t do that, baby,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Right now, I want you focused here.”

I nod and he lets out a low chuckle, his thumb tracing my lower part of my breast, before letting you continue.

I started to move my hands and my mouth against him now.

“Fuckk, sweetheart- ”

His lips parted, his fingers tilting my chin up slightly, a deep, strangled groan slipped past Chris’s lips as he watched me swallow him.

“My beautiful fiance…you were–urgh–made for me.”

He says, suddenly thrusting himself slowly into my mouth, while I was still working on him as well.

His fingers flex on my jaw, his chest panting. “I’m-I’m gonna cum, ma…f-fuck.”

“Take your mouth off–Aurora…I’m gonna cum into y-you”.

I didn’t though, I kept my mouth on him, and sucked harder, just like how he’d go faster on me when I said I was close.

It worked because with a sharp whimper, he came hard into my mouth. His cum released into my mouth and I swallowed what I could, the rest dripped down the side of my mouth.

Chris took his hand and wiped it, shoving it back into my mouth.

“My perfect girl,” he said, watching me, while he was still subsided from his orgasm.

His striking blue eyes flicked between my face and the way I was still kneeling. For a moment, we just stayed there, the air thick with tension. I shifted slightly, and Chris noticed again.

“Come here, baby,” he said softly, his voice firm but gentle.

He leaned back into the lounge chair, eyes still on me as he waited. Slowly, he reached for my hand.

“Get up,” he said, pulling me gently.

I rose to my feet, and he guided me to sit with him, pulling me into his lap. I was straddling him, his hands steady on my waist, his gaze searching mine.

“You still need me, huh?” he asked teasingly. I nodded immediately.

I saw him take him still hard dick, and bent it onto his chest and looked up at me.

“Sit on it,” he said, nudging me forward. I did just that.

“Now move, back and forth, baby.”

I slowly started to grind my pussy onto his dick. The sensation immediately hit me, and it seemed to hit Chris too. His legs jerk a bit. He put his hands on my hips, moving me himself.

One hand came up to gently cradle my jaw. “My beautiful fiancée,” he murmured.

The words settled into my chest, heavier than I expected—warm and intimate. A knot twisted low in my stomach, not just from the way our bodies were pressed so closely, but from the weight of those words alone.

I looked down at him, and a quiet wave of admiration began to rise in me. There was something in the way he held me—steady, patient, unwavering—that made me feel safe. With Chris, I never felt judged or rushed. When we weren’t fighting, he was my calm, my grounding force. That moment, I realized how deeply grateful I was that he always let me move at my own pace.

“I’m gonna cum a-again Chris” I started to move faster and he started to jutt me against him faster.

“Come with me sweetheart”, he said, his voice just as wrecked.

In a few moments, we both unraveled together, our moans tangled in the quiet air between us. My hands pressed gently against his chest as I tried to steady my breathing, heart still racing. Chris’s release squirted onto his chest.

A minute passed in silence, our bodies slowly coming down from the high. He reached over to the small table beside the lounge chair, grabbing a tissue and wiping himself clean.

Then, without a word, he wrapped an arm around me and pulled me gently into his chest, cradling me against him. His hand traced slow circles along my back, and I let myself melt into the safety of his hold.

Chris’s fingers moved gently through my hair, his other arm still wrapped around my waist. I could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear, grounding me.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, his lips brushing my temple.

I nodded against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the soft thrum of his voice vibrate beneath my cheek. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

He smiled, I could feel it more than see it. “You wore me out too, ma,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “But I got you.”

Neither of us said anything for a moment. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was warm. Full. His heartbeat thudded steadily beneath my cheek, grounding me in a way nothing else could.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, his voice low and soft.

I smiled against his chest. “I like it like this.”

“Yeah?” His hand paused, then resumed its slow path across my back. “Me too.”

I felt him rub slow circles onto my back. My breathing started to be normal again.

“You okay, pretty girl?” he murmured, “Did I hurt you at all?”

I shook my head. “No, not at all.”

Chris shifted slightly beneath me, his fingers gently brushing my back. “Come on, baby,” he murmured, kissing the top of my head. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

I hummed sleepily in protest, not wanting to leave the comfort of his chest just yet.

He smiled softly, then reached over the side of the couch and grabbed the thick throw blanket draped there. Without a word, he sat up and carefully wrapped it around me, tucking it snugly under my arms, covering me.

I looked up at him, my heart squeezing at how gentle he was. He held out his hand, waiting for me to take it.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he added with a small smirk, “before we fall asleep like this and wake up glued to each other.”

I let out a quiet laugh and took his hand, still wrapped tightly in the blanket. He led me toward the bathroom in his room. His other hand on my back the entire way—protective, warm, and steady. He wasn’t wrong when he said his bed was messy earlier.

Inside the shower, the warmth was immediate. Chris stayed close, his touch slow and gentle. He helped rinse soap through my hair, fingers massaging my scalp with so much care it nearly made my knees weak. When I closed my eyes, he pressed a kiss to my temple, and I leaned into him instinctively.

“This is my second shower of the night,” I giggled.

He smiled down at me, “Mine too”.

I felt… safe. Not just because of how tender he was being, but because I knew, deep down, that I could be fully myself with him.

When we stepped out, he wrapped me in one of the soft towels like I might break. Then he took another and began drying my hair, his hands still so gentle. No teasing. No rush. Just this quiet comfort I never knew I needed so badly.

Chris tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear before pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. I was already dressed in one of his black t-shirts, it hung loose and comfortable on me, smelling like him.

We made our way to my room quietly. I grabbed a pair of underwear from my luggage and slipped into bed, pulling the covers over myself. Chris followed right behind, wearing just his boxers, and slid in beside me.

He wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me into his chest. His warmth surrounded me, and I sighed, feeling instantly at ease.

“You’re not done packing,” I murmured sleepily, my voice muffled against his shoulder.

He gave a tired little hum. “I’ll finish in the morning,” he said, already sounding half-asleep.

A thought popped into my head, and I lifted my face a little. “My nightgown and some of your clothes are still in the living room.”

He chuckled softly and kissed the top of my head. “Guess the living room’s seen enough tonight,” he teased. “I’ll grab them later.”

“Mmhm,” I said, nestling closer. “You better.”

Chris just smiled against my hair, holding me tighter. “Goodnight, baby.”

“Goodnight,” I whispered, letting my eyes close with his arms still wrapped around me.

This was a trip well spent, with not much meddling.

READ ALL RELEASED CHAPTERS HERE!

[a/n: Who gets the song lyric in the title? If you do your special. Next chapter, soon. Sort of busy this week, but I'm aiming to get stuff out quick. Like, comment, and reblog. mwah] –Ceyana

tags: @loser41ifee @bluestriips @mattsfrenchtoast @slvtf0rchr1s @courta13 @emeraldsturns

(I want to add a lot of people to this tag list, so comment! Don't be shy. kisses <3)

#ceyanabbiolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo #fanfic

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