#or maybe out of pleasure that man is an enigma

[moondeetoo]

Ha was so excited to see one of the serpent sisters die by touching Mida's hand-

[tonycries]

Madam Kamo - C.K.

Synopsis. Bréeding kínk? Going feraI? What the hell is that? Maybe your sweet clan leader husband knows the answer…

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, clan leader! Choso, arranged marriage, mentions of heirs, he’s a little ínsane, elders are awful, MARATHONS, he goes FÉRAL, BRÉEDING, creampíes, a lot of cúmplay, semi-public, dóm Choso, oraI (fem rec), cervíx kíssing, making it fit, bulges, cúmflations, matíng presses, dúmbification, overstím, making him CRY, p talking, spítting, HEADLOCKS, slight 5 + 1 things, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 9.3k

A/N. CLAN LEADER CHOSO CLAN LEADER CHOSO

Choso Kamo - firstborn son of the ancient Kamo clan, more of a myth than a man.

Those who attended the sprawling Kamo Estate never dared utter a word about him; and those who didn’t, well, he was all that they could talk about.

He left no evidence, he left no remorse. 

Only rumors of a silent, stoic leader who could slaughter four entirely different clans before he let even a singular whisper of it spread amongst the masses. Ones of pretty mahogany eyes, and a silver bow and arrows that hit the target of your very soul - so fluid it was as if he’d forged the weapon with his own blood. 

And then there were the other rumors - more gossip than anything, really. Spread throughout every nook and cranny of stuffy social functions about how the deadly Kamo clan leader had another, secretive side. A softer side.

But, of course, rumors were rumors. Choso Kamo was simply an enigma.

And…your new husband.

“Zoning out, hm?” A hot gust of breath sends shivers sprinting down your spine, and in an instant you’re snapping your eyes to latch onto deep, hazel ones. Choso’s. The edge of his plump lips curl slightly upwards, “My apologies, this wedding reception is quite droning, isn’t it?”

Hastily breathing, “N-no! Of course not, I…” You’re wincing when yet another wizened elder saunters up to the raised platform of your table. Probably the hundredth of the night. “-yeah, maybe a bit.”

Choso stifles out a rumbling bout of chuckles as he catches your gaze, so close now that his pearly white teeth almost nick your sensitive earlobe. “Let me take care of this, my wife.”

And when Choso shifts over to nod curtly at your oncoming guest, you couldn’t help but appreciate how beautiful he is. All tall, towering lines of lean muscle, his silken black yukata wafting of heady cologne, and delicate features that made him have almost as many admirers as he did foes. 

Or, at least, delicate features that were currently twisted into something hardened. Something exactly like clan leader Kamo of all the stories. 

He’s tilting his head up, long lashes narrowed, “Elder Tanaka, a pleasure.”

“No no! The pleasure’s all mine.” The older man slurs drunkenly, and despite the way his words were just dripping with saccharine sweet politeness, years of suffering through these exact interactions had made it easy for you to spot faux niceties. Like right now. “Or should I say- the new madam’s. You must be glad to marry into a clan as esteemed as the Kamo’s.”

The plastic smile that smears all over your face is painful, and you’re biting your tongue before it betrays you. “Yes, of c-”

“My apologies for cutting in, madam.” You’re startling - but you don’t know whether it’s because of the softened fingerpads that intertwine around yours, or the utter fire curdling in Choso’s eyes. “But I must say, I am the lucky one here.”

Oh.

Elder Tanaka is more impressive than you thought - his mask of respect barely even cracks, other than the jerky twitch of one eye. Honestly, you don’t think he’s ever heard Choso speak this much ever before. Quickly gathering his bearings, “Ah- ah, of course, master Kamo! Correct as always!”

Fuck- you can’t hold back the way you roll your eyes, only remembering yourself when Choso’s engulfing hands loosen from your own to give your thigh a warm squeeze. 

“You have wedded quite the catch, of course of course.” Your unwelcome company finally, finally looks at you properly. A sneer coating his slow blinking, “I-I simply meant that considering the master’s incredible power, wealth, and options, what she brings to the table-”

“-is herself.” Choso finishes off monotonically. “And that’s all I need.”

Choso’s words were husky, his grip on you tight. And you wonder if he even realized just how hard he was clutching onto your heated skin - mountains of his palm dragging a smooth up n’ down your clothed leg.

You knew he was well-hidden underneath the lacy tablecloth, you knew that not a single elder, family member, or friend bustling about your wedding reception could see that particular touch over the dim yolky lighting. 

But something about it just made you feel hot. 

It takes you a few fuzzy seconds to realize that Elder Tanaka was still speaking - in fact, he’d even summoned over a few more members of the council to encircle your decadent table. All the more voices speaking at you rather than to you.

“-that’s what I was saying-” You’re catching croaked-out snatches of conversation, warily eyeing the way the men clap each other supportively on their backs.“-it’s about the right time don’t you think?”

Another one nods, “Jin has been waiting for so long, after all-”

“-yes yes, to have an heir-”

Oh.

That’s what had Choso’s high cheekbones currently dusted with a faintly blossoming rose pink. That’s what had his thickened digits dipping past your luxurious evening yukata to rover between your thighs higher, and higher- like he didn’t even realize what he was doing. 

Like he was yearning for it.

“The Kamo clan shall have an heir.” You’re interrupting their ramblings, the mere sound of your voice enough to make Choso’s fingertips twitch. Smooth skin prickling with heaps of goosebumps already when you lock eyes right with his. “As soon as my husband is ready, right?”

And Choso Kamo was brought up with the most rigorous of training, raised to never show even the barest flicker of emotion - especially one where he’s caught off guard.

But right now he knows that he looks as stunned as he feels.

Coral pink maw falling into a soft oh! dark whirlpools of his eyes glinting with something so utterly raw. The trembling tips of his fingers lurch up just the barest inch to drag a lazy line down your pussymound. 

He’s instantaneously shifting his free hand up in one, fluid motion to cover the feverishly flushed half of his face. Jaw clenching with a sharp click! of his teeth when he swipes the fat pad of his thumb down a fresh bead of your leaking slick, making such a flimsy mess of your drenched panties. Was this all for him?

Because now Choso’s getting…greedy.

And you’re almost letting off a slight whimper when he hastily drags his scouring hand away - that is, before every and any sound dies in your throat once your husband dips his wetted thumb past his lips and sucks. 

Subtly. 

And his voice cracks oh-so-pathetically, “R-right.”

Eyes staring deeply into yours when he parts his doughy fingertips mere millimeters to lather it with a fat wad of saliva. Your breath hitches in your chest, frantically glancing at the babbling group of men who were, thankfully, way too absorbed in themselves to notice your little…tryst.

And it’s only with all his years as a seasoned fighter that Choso’s nuzzling his soaked digits back between your jittery thighs. In a flash.

Planting exactly three soppy smack! smack! smacks! plapped onto the perfect arch of your drooling pussy. Choso’s raising his neat brows at just how those tremors make you squirm in your seat.

“Ch-Cho—so-” You’re gasping under your breath, hips repeatedly shuffling on your cushiony chair when he licks up repeated, sultry circles- no, wait, hearts along the slippery slit of your covered cunt. Up and down. “Th-they might see…”

“Shhh, don’t want them to hear, baby.” He’s leaning in to pant out a murked cloud against your ear, throat bobbing with a ravenous swallow of saliva as he then probes a few stuffy fingers under your panties. “You seem stressed– Let me take care of it.”

Oh, it was a promise - and the rasping growl that bled into Choso’s tone told you that he was well and fully intent on accomplishing his little task. “Spread those pretty legs now.”

With a steady, muscular calf hooked with your own, he’s cracking your thighs evermore parted. The scorching hot press of his big, beefy forearm over your shoulders making you feel as if you’re on the verge of melting. Practically on his lap now-

“Is everything alright, master–?” You’re hearing from what sounds like somewhere over in the distance, even though you already know that it’s from right in front of you.

“Everything is quite alright.” Choso’s plush pecs vibrate with his rapid answer, and you’re finding yourself leaning your weight onto his. Huffing and puffing near the crook of his neck, “It seems the madam is just feeling a little ah…tired, right now. Continue your talk, elders.”

Tired - you couldn’t feel more riled up if you even tried.

“Ngh- Choso-” You’re sinking your teeth into your wobbly lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. High, carved chair singing off a slight creak! when you’re bucking your hips up to jostle his gluttonous fingers closer to where you wanted him the most. “-need you.”

Well, whatever his wife wanted - you got. 

In simple nanoseconds, Choso’s snugly prying away your gauzy lace. Letting the too-thin fabric snap back against your sappy cunt with a teasing little swat!

Before you can blink, he’s gracing your panties with microscopic tears at just how eager he was to give your plump, buttony clit a good, hard push. Cold golden wedding ring perking up against your most tender spots. Flexible wrists bending towards an even vulgarly deep angle to keep you from escaping-

And you think you could scream, you think you could open your mouth to make a scene - before Choso beats you to it. Purring out an oblivious, “Is everything alright, my wife? You seem a little feverish.”

All the while slipping n’ sliding his fingerpads to smear your gluey pussylips open. Mazing down, down, down in a lecherous little pace to plug up your geysering entrance snugly full with two of his fattened digits. 

You’re clutching helplessly onto Choso’s thick yukata sleeve when the elders stare over at you curiously, “I-I’m fine, Ch- my husband. Just a few post-wedding jitters.”

“Awww, that’s alright.” He’s cooing from above you, words sugarcoated with such gentleness - but his hands were anything but. “M’here, m’here.” Setting out a vicious, ceaseless pace that has his manly fingers outlining numerous circles round n’ round your tight, flooding entrance. Motioning in slight, sleazy swirls all around your elastic hole just to fit inside properly. “Your dear Choso’s here, y’know? And I’ll take such good care of you.”

“Ah! Of course-” Ring out the replies, evidently your hurried-out shudders were not enough for your guests to lose interest. Or for Choso, either - because he’s just feeding your slobbering orifice with more fat inches upon grinding inches. “-producing an heir is a very integral part of the marriage contract. It’s understandable to be nervous.”

Shivering, “S-sure.”

“Mhm—” Choso’s trawling his pouted mouth down your perspiration-simmered temple, “-a very integral part. But, of course, we’ve got to make sure that my beloved wife is-” Quirking the very edge of his digits to clash right into the target of your g-spot. “-ready, after all.”

The clingy embrace of your warm cunt so cozy that it’s bumping Choso’s metallic ring further and further from his hilled knuckles to dredge out a chilling, languid massage along your channel. 

It takes everything in you to manage up a half-heartedly narrowed glare up at your chatting husband, easily conversing his way through every battering ram being placed on your pretty pussy. 

He doesn’t make a sign - he doesn’t even make a noise. Nothing except for a sharp, sudden inhale once another innocent peck at your lips makes your filthy hole fountain out a fresh lather of sickly sweet juices. 

Dripping all the way down to his wrist with thickly viscous adhesive, he’s making such a fucking mess. And a loud one, too. 

Slurp after slurp being wrenched out with every pound of his neatly cut nails patterning out little indents onto your most favorite spots - ones that have your legs shaking underneath the humid table. Choso’s bouncing his knee to drum out a staccato against the floor, just to cover up your cute little melody.

He has you going insane.

You’re pushing apart your legs to dig into either side of your chair with just how desperate you were for him. For more more more.

Bumping your thigh against one of his, and the mere touch is enough to send shockwaves down Choso’s sloped body. 

“Trying to tease me, baby?” He’s hovering over you even closer, darting out a hefty thud! of two fingertips- no, three - when did he even bully in another one - onto the goopy roof of your cunt. 

“M’not-” You’re biting out, head lolling ever-so-slightly backwards when Choso furrows his brows and pumps out copious thrusts that hit your forbidden g-spot dead on. Engulfed so deeply inside your hot core that the gentle curves of his palm smudge against your clit now. “J-just keep- talking.”

And, truly, it wasn’t just because your company was peering over the two of you expectantly - it was because Choso sounded so very hot. 

Vibrato husky with an animalistic sort of need, tremoring ever-so-slightly-

“Agreed, I would like a few sons and daughters.” Choso’s nodding along smoothly, although his full attention is focused on you. His wife. And the way your sweltering hot gummy walls clench around his bludgeoning fingers even tighter at the words. Faster. “Maybe three. Maybe five. Although, it’s up to the madam.”

In the corner of your eye, you’re catching them all staring at you, and you urgently force out a nod.

“C’mon now, answer them using your words like a big girl, why don’t you–?” He’s humming, tilting your burning face up. Faster. So that you can’t hide.

Lilting shrill just as unbalanced as your head was, “Y-yes-”

But of course, that wasn’t enough - that would never be enough. “Louder. They can’t hear you over the music, baby.”

Can’t do anything but claw down drawings of red, red lines all across Choso’s milky arms when he bustles into the targets of your honeyed spots even harder. Unsteady syllables spilling out from your lip before you can even register them, “Yes- yes. As…many as possible.”

“That’s it- good girl.”

Fuck. 

And those raked scratches make perfect artwork for him to admire - just as he was admiring you right now. 

It was just such a shame that the others here were, too, even if they didn’t know the complete and utter sin happening just underneath the table cloth. Sloppier. 

Choso’s kissing his teeth, broad deltoids of his shoulder positioning to hide you away from any sleazy gazes. Because they could be near, but they couldn’t see. You were his.

“Then, it’s settled-” He’s drawling, hooded eyes locked onto you. Memorizing your every minute twitch and reaction when he urges his free hand to hold onto yours on your lap. Or, at least, that’s what it looked like to the outside. In fact, Choso’s snugly prying apart your silken robes to roll over your throbbing clit and pinch. “-we can look forward to an heir, soon. Right, madam?”

And that’s all it takes for you to cum.

Your head tucking into his sculptured shoulder, thighs closing with a dull clap! as your high crashes into you headfirst. You don’t need to mutter a single sentence for Choso to know.

For his eyes to widen just a fraction at the way your treacly slit only got infinitely dewier, rounded gumdrops of your slick sprinkling down in a weepy sheen all over his messy hands. Mouth going parched at the realization that you’re orgasming right here, right now. 

“O-oh? Seems my wife agrees.” Choso’s waving those elders away now, not taking his eyes off of you for a single second. It was just too adorable how you were shaking like a leaf at his side, “Well, m’glad. So- so…glad.”

Motioning your hips in such salacious semi-circles to bump up his upright fingers against your every extra sweet orifice.

Your sticky walls were so staggeringly tightly wrapped around him that it’s making his forehead bead with sweat, low puffs of air escaping with every peak he fucks you through. Every peak of white-hot pleasure that he draaags out until your guests are finally - finally - walking back to their own tables. 

“Sh-shit-” you’re mewling when Choso barely hesitates - barely even takes a quick sweep around the room to check who might be looking - before parting from your sappy cunt with a resounding squelch!

Immediately popping those viscously-glazed fingerpads into his starved mouth, he’s letting his glassy eyes sprint to the back of his head. Musing out a moan, “Fuck- fuck!”

You can only watch with an awed gape whilst Choso stares right into your heart-shaped pupils as he cleans himself off. One by one. Before trekking his lustrous fingers back over to your cunt, and measuring out a wide few inches - perhaps nine - from the base of your teary entrance up to your tummy.

“Choso…” you’re whispering, hazy eyes blinking up at him as if through molasses. “Wha’s that for?”

And Choso only grins, stray range of knuckles thoroughly bitten underneath his gleaming canines while he measures you up. 

As if he was holding back. Keeping himself sane. And the half-lided greed in Choso’s eyes told you that he’d fuck you all proper right here and right now if he could. “N-nothing- just making sure of somethin’, my wife. Making sure that you can take me.”

Oh. 

This was far from over. You were fucked. 

And you were completely and utterly sure of it even if the topic of an…heir didn’t come up for the next few days after that. 

Not that you didn’t think about it, though - it was hard not to, when your fatally notorious husband showed such a tender side of himself with his younger brothers. 

With you.

And soon enough even through all the bustling meetings and duties of a madam, you’re still figuring out a way to tell Choso that you really weren’t kidding about what you said during that wedding reception.

Sure, you were drunk on his fingers but - that wasn’t just all, was it?

But you’d sorely underestimated just how busy a clan leader could get. And before you knew it, putting off the conversation for the morning after your wedding night had turned into putting it off for the weekend. 

Then putting it off for next week. Two weeks. 

All the way until you’re trudging along the winding corridors of the Kamo Estate during the most unholy hours of the night. Grumbling groggily to yourself about how you’d finally told him and it had ended supremely well - in a dream, that is.

Choso had been absent for almost the entire day today, attending an important land negotiation with a far-off clan, according to Jin. 

Now, you knew just how powerful your husband was - it was impossible to escape the legends and rumors, in fact - and you trusted him. Still, you couldn’t help but toss and turn the entire night away in your coldly empty bed as you wondered just how safe he would get home.

You’d been to such veiled conferences before, after all. 

And it’s simply pure worry that has you dragging yourself out of your king-sized bed to shuffle into the barely-lit kitchen. Stifling half-blindly in the moonlight through cabinets and coolers to find ah! Exactly what you’ve been looking for. 

Thank goodness this place was empty right now, you didn’t know if you could handle it if the chef was here to lecture you about balanced diets when you’re bites deep into your sugary, shaved icing.

And it’s exactly with this thought in mind that you hear a loud thud! emanating from the far end of the hallway. Your eyes widen, ears searching for more-

Footsteps. 

At this time? Your fingers itch towards the sparkling display of knives tucked in one corner of the granite counter. Ready to aim for that tall approaching shadow, ready to fling just as Choso had taught you when-

“Baby?”

“Oh–” Your breath comes out in a heavy gust of relief, eyes unable to tear away from the shaded outline of your husband, taking up every inch of the doorway. “It’s just you, Cho.”

It was. But there was something about Choso that seemed…different. Off. 

But not in a bad way - your eyes rover appreciatively over the tautly flexed muscles of his upper half, peeking out almost-blasphemously where he’d shrugged the upper half of his deep purple yukata off. 

Glinting bow and arrow stained with crimson, held in one tightly-gripped hand. Your nose wrinkles at the slight, dangerous scent of something metallic. Something not his. 

Yet, you can’t help but ogle the slow path of dewdropped sweat trailing down between the curvaceous bulge of his heaving pecs, bumping up and down over his washboard abs, before disappearing below-

It’s like you’re being bolted with an instant flash of lightning as soon as this happens, snapping your eyes over to find Choso’s weighty ones. And oh- the moment you do it’s like something in him melts. 

THUD!

You’re jumping when his weapons hit the floor - uncaring of whether this might alert anyone else in the household, uncaring of anything other than crossing the sizzling distance between the two of you in three urgent strides. 

You don’t even have the time to process it before Choso halts right before you and falls to his knees. Dark lashes fluttering up at you, he echoes, “Baby.”

Like a broken little mantra. 

“Ch-Choso- baby-” It’s just about the only thing you can manage out through hollowed gasps when he’s immediately digging two hands on either side of your hips to easily and pliably seat you on the icy counter. Just where he wanted. “-what’s gotten into you?”

“Dunno.” He’s garbling out, and you’re letting your boneless legs tumble further and further open to let him bury his face right at his favorite place - into your fluttering cunt. “Was jus’ thinking about you alllll day.”

And you could tell.

Because Choso’s every movement was depraved. Jerky. His sensory fingertips trembling when they card underneath your cottony sleep garments, bringing it up to his canines to rip–!

All with his mouth.

“Fuh-fuck-” You’re squealing at the sudden hit of cold air - followed very closely by a scorching hot breeze overtaking every inch of your cunt when Choso leans in and sniffs. Long, hard. Curdling out a feral keen at the back of his throat, “-that’s so filthy, baby.”

“Nothing’s filthy for me if s’you, madam.” At the glint of something slobbering and sharp, you can tell that he’s grinning. “If s’you or…her.”

He was enamored with your ready core, curving a gentle thumb down the glossy edges to give your driveling hole a good trickle of spittle. 

And Choso Kamo knew he had perfect aim - he knew he didn’t have to make a mess. 

But oh, he couldn’t keep himself from tilting his head just degrees to the side to let the splatters leave dripping wet splotches down your saturated folds, your inner thighs. 

Tongue so long, lolling out drunkenly to smear away that filthy excess. He’s poking heated ounces again and again back into your soppy entrance. You were practically flooding torrents of sweet, sweet juices around him, already making a mess that lacquers his dimpled chin. 

You were always so sweet - so good for him. And he can feel his ears pop already with the greedy anticipation of what he was craving to do. 

“Think you missed me, too.” He’s snickering, teeth sinking down onto the fleshy nub of your clit. It’s enough to make you want to sob. “Didn’t ya?”

Gyrating your hips in such hypnotizing little swivels off of the smooth counter, you’re feeling his candied breaths hit your gummy walls even deeper. Sloppier. Whimpering out, “Yes- yes. Missed you so badly, Cho–”

“Oh yeah?” He’s tensing up the dexterous edge of his tongue to swipe up unhurried skids of his roughened tastebuds around and around your quivering entrance. In and out. Syrupy slick leaking in heaps right as he does, Choso tilts his head back to let those gooey masses slide down his throat. “Mmm— you’re wetter than usual, baby. How badly do you want the ngh- clan leader on his knees for you, hm?”

It was true - and Choso can feel something coiling and coiling heatedly at the base of his stomach at the idea of giving you perhaps…a kid…or two to make sure you’re not so lonely anymore. 

Ah, he was pussydrunk. 

“So- too badly.” You don’t think you’d ever be babbling away like this if Choso wasn’t making out with your needy cunt like that. 

You’re tangling your fingers hastily into his dark, silken locks - gripping desperately onto his sweat-dampened scalp as you use up all your strength and push. All the way until the very tip of Choso’s button nose was meeting your pulsing clit in a harsh smooch, his chin smacking the teary ends of your cunt.

Words tremoring against the very outer ring of your puffy pussy, silvery strings of saliva n’ sap break off when Choso mutters, “Was talkin’ to her, y’know?”

Fuck. 

And you think you would be huffing and puffing about how he was talking with your dousingly wet cunt instead of you. 

That is, if you weren’t talking back to him from between your legs. 

Because the only thing louder than the slack-jawed ah! ah! ah! leaving your lips with every repeated thrust of Choso’s tongue, was the sound of your soppy squelches. “Ohhh- so that’s how your day was? Tell me more…”

So loud - so embarrassing that you can feel your heart race.

And Choso’s was, too, but for a much more lecherous reason as his tongue clashes even harder to draw out those very same pretty noises from you. He was craning his ears closer - he was addicted. 

“Yeah-  yeah, tha’s right.” Choso’s groaning, eyes faltering droopily until they were almost shut at the way his husking growls only make you wetter. Well, he could help with that. Hitting your hot core with wad after weighty wad of even more sugary spit. “Thaaaat’s fuckin’ right, missed how mouthy you hah- are. My talkative girl.”

“Cho- ngh!” You’re biting down on your tongue to hold back your words when Choso raises up a hand to leave a solid spank right on your bloated pussymound. 

He’s nodding along, head lurching intoxicatedly ever closer and closer. Wiping away a glistening streak of slick painted over his blushing cheeks - his blushing cheeks. “That’s right- would’ve made a- haaaah- a whole lotta b-better points than that stupid council does.”

Before pecking a lingering French kiss on your throbbing clit like a lover would. 

And you count one, two, three- partway through four before Choso seems to remember that he’s still in the middle of his conversation with your cute cunt. It’s rude to leave her hanging, he’s pondering.

“Well-” Stringing himself away with such a pained grunt, cerise lower lip plumping out in a pout at the mere thought of being away from you. “-better points than that stupid council d-did. They won’t be making aaaaany comments ‘bout you anymore, madam.”

Your leaden eyelids struggle to flitter open, “Wh-what do you ngh- mean, baby?”

But the only response you get is a quick staccato of swats at your leaky slit, before Choso’s curling in a thick thumb past your watering lips and in to your slicked entrance. Followed by the delicious drag of his lengthy tongue doubly slipping back inside.

Thrust after thrust. 

So extensive that he was skimming across all your ridges, mapping out every sweet spot of yours on his mouth. Your adhesive walls were clinging onto him like a vice, sappy mushes making him pry apart your thighs even more through furrowed brows. 

“Jus’- just means-” He can’t even bear to speak. To break off from stretching you staggeringly open. Your legs wrap mindlessly around Choso’s ravenous head, “-means I don’t let anyone- hah- say anythin’ about my wife.” 

Without a second thought, your eyes find his splayed-out arrows on the floor. The way they were sullied with red…

Oh. 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything other than let your head jerk backwards, muffing out slight whimpers when he alternates in such sloppy measures between swirling the fattened expanse of his tongue all over every possible spot of your gummy walls and sucking on your clit like his favorite candy.

“They won’t say- do- anythin’—” In so deep now that all you could make out were numerous wet gurgles. And the pure, unadulterated love in Choso’s tone when he twists his thumb to graze right against your bruised and battered g-spot. Hard. “Not when I love her so much.”

He’s gonna raise your kids to love you just as damn much.

And when you cum, you think you might be sobbing - you’re shaking. 

Flurries of stars bursting behind your eyes as you dig your fingers through your husband’s perspired strands. Keening out, “Fuck- m’cumming- m’cumming–”

“I know I know.” He smirks hotly against your puffy pussy lips, so close that you could feel the cratered dimple of his grin. “Yer cute cunt told me, baby– heh- wouldn’t mind being welcomed ah- home by my wife like this every day.”

He lets himself be manhandled, pulled and pushed to your every whim. One of the strongest clan leaders whimpering - whimpering - when you pull just a bit too hard to mash his cushiony mouth in a deeper kiss. 

Hot. Sappy. 

You’re still shaking with sparking bouts of heat that rush down and up your spine, legs twitching when Choso pulls away with a loudly kissed mwah! Overly exaggerated just to see that shy, fucked-out expression on your face. 

He was so unfairly pretty like this - a delicate red blush burning all over his face, eyes half-lidded like he was feverish. A shimmery spray of your juiced slick drips down his chin, his bruised lips, all the way up to his regal cheekbones. 

He made a mess. And he was wearing it like a badge of honor.

Rising up, up, up to shutter your ajar jaw and plant a drenching kiss. Choso always left your mind so melty and stupid no matter what he did. 

“Do you…do you want some hngh- sh-shaved ice?” You’re babbling with your cottony tongue, unsure of what exactly to say after something as intense as…that. 

“Nah-” One kiss. Another Two. Five. “-I jus’ had something a whooole lot sweeter, madam.”

Right now it was so quiet in your kitchen. Just you, Choso, and the gleaming moonlight illuminating his pussydrunken enchantment. Even more so than usual. 

You’re glissading your arms around his sweat-matted neck, reeling him in even closer. He smells so good, piney cologne searing your senses even despite that tint of iron. Nervously musing, “Hmmm, wonder if s’always gonna be like hah- this whenever I get…cravings.”

Well- it wasn’t exactly what you wanted to say, but, better than nothing.

“Cravings, huh?” Choso’s eyes twinkle - and you’re not sure if that’s a result of the muted lighting or because of what you just said. Hopefully the latter. 

“Well- well just saying I wouldn’t mind if-”

Cutting yourself off, you’re sure it’s the latter when he rests a massive palm, warm against your tummy. Just for a split-second before tucking his big, strong arms underneath your body and propping you in an easy princess carry. “If you have cravings then I’d be the one cooking for ya, my wife. 24/7, at your feet.”

Yeah, you were fucked. 

But you never really realized just how much - just how badly - until just a few days later; seated on the polished hardwood floor of the famed Kamo archery dojo. 

It was routine for your husband to practice his pinpoint precise shooting, and by now it was your routine to watch him. 

How could you not? Because it was such a heavenly sight.

Choso’s pristine, white yukata unravelled at one muscular shoulder; showing off the rippling curves and dips of his sculptured back. Strong. His honed eyes filmed with a focus he only ever gets in bed. Adonis-like biceps bulging in a lecherous little flex when he draws the string back, back, back and lets go-

“YES!” Yuji’s resounding cheer thunders across the vast chamber with way too much volume than a six-year-old should possibly have. “Let’s goooo- big bwother hit the target again.”

A simpering smile stretches across your lips as soon as he turns to you for reassurance, gesturing out a slow nod at the way Choso keeps piercing bullseye after bullseye. “He did, your brother is very talented, Yuji.”

Humming, “When I grow up m’gonna be just like him.” 

“Of course.” You’re chuckling at his enthusiasm - the youngest of your husband’s brother’s always did have a special spot in your heart. And you can’t help but wonder when - if - you had an heir with Choso, whether they would be much the same. “You are his brother, after all.”

You’re frantically hovering your hands behind him once he bustles to a haphazard stand. Stumbling only a few times as he races over to the neat line of inventory, “Then- I’ll be just like him now.”

“Be careful!”

Ah, he really was a handful - which meant, you really didn’t expect it to go over perfectly smoothly. You’d known that simply wouldn’t have been possible as soon as you met Itadori Yuji. 

Yet, you didn’t expect everything to go so wrong in just a mere matter of seconds. 

Before you can even blink, Yuji’d tottered his way over to one particularly large, wooden bow - one used only by Ryomen Sukuna whenever he visited. Puffing out his chest as he reeled out the massively heavy weapon - overly heavy, way too much for even the most determined child-

CRASH!

“Yuji!” You don’t know who yelps louder - you, or Choso. But with your proximity, you’re the one that reaches him first, cradling the sniffling boy in your arms. 

You jostle away the weighty bow - honestly, how he even managed to lift this in the first place you have no idea. 

“Awww, don’t cry don’t cry–” You’re cooing, distantly registering the worried pants of his older brother skidding to a stop beside you. He always did have him curled around his little finger. Pushing away the pinkish curls from his forehead, “-you’re alright. See? You’re alright.”

“Are you hurt? Are you dizzy? Are you feeling nauseous-”

“Choso.” You warn, catching the way Yuji’s eyes widen in panic. 

Taking a few deeply necessary breaths to calm down. “You- don’t do that-” Choso’s hissing, but you could practically feel the worry seeping into his tone. Thumbing slow circles on his aching shoulders, “-ask me for a bow instead.”

You have to bite back a grin - with the watery glaze taking over his eyes, you wondered who was really hurt - Yuji or Choso himself. 

“M’sorry big bwother.” Blubbering through big, pearly tears that dry salty streaks down his chubby cheeks. He’s batting those lashes in a way you’re sure gets him out of any sort of trouble. Ever. The full, merciless force of it hits your poor heart as Yuji turns to you. “Sorry, mama.”

Mama. 

Mama. 

You freeze. Choso freezes.

Hell, even the twittering birds outside freeze mid-song. 

It seems like everyone in the entire world freezes except for an oblivious Yuji who only continues inching his tiny hands closer towards that guilty bow. Clearly not having learned his lesson - but you didn’t even register that right now. 

You’re staring at Choso, only to find that he’s staring right back. Droopy eyes uncharacteristically wide, blinking rapidly - it didn’t even look like he was breathing right now. 

Maw parting and closing stupidly agape, and you’re almost tempted to reach out and check whether he’s doing okay - before he finally finds his voice again. Finally. Husking out a choked-out, “W-well- maybe we should- ah- should-” He’s turning towards his contrastingly okay younger brother, “Yuji?” 

“Big bwother!” Comes the, unfortunately, helpless answer. 

And something in his beaming expression seems to jolt Choso out of his reverie, something that makes him let out a tight nod. Scooping up the giggling boy over his shoulder, he calls out at you, “Wait here.”

As Choso walks out of the doorway, you could only watch.

Only sit there for what could be four seconds - or maybe even four hundred years - until he’d presumably dropped off Yuji at the safety of Jin. Taking steady, focused strides back to you that thud! thud! thud! right along to the beat of your racing heart.

Choso’s expression is blank - pale as if he’s seen a fucking ghost. And he doesn’t even look at you, can’t even bear to once he walks back to the thickened air of the dojo. Now pointedly alone. 

Very, very alone. 

Wordlessly, he picks up his famed bow. And you swear that you can see his practiced hands tremble. Something was happening. 

It’s like an artwork that you can’t look away from. The fluid motion of aligning a singular arrow to aim for his final, rounded target. Doughy pads of his fingers pinching the string back, back, back until it snaps!

And misses. For the first time in years.

“Fuck.”

You barely have the time to compute - to even suck in a gasp of surprise before your husband comes and crashes into you. It’s as if he was magnetized and couldn’t get away even if he wanted to. 

It’s a frenzy of white billowing sleeves and powerful arms, throwing you over Choso’s shoulder in only two seconds flat - much the same way that he’d done with Yuji moments prior.

Except more…urgent. 

“Choso- Cho!” You’re squealing, as he lurches into hurried treads away. Legs kicking weakly in the air, only for your stubborn self to be granted with an unapologetic spank! right on the mound of your ass. Your nose crinkles as his long, inky locks tickle your face, “What is-”

“Be quiet.” Choso’s rasping, so small that it could not have been more than a whisper. So close that you’re drinking in heady wafts of his masculine cologne. 

Something in his snarling tone makes your stomach tighten. Digits grappling precariously onto the toned curves of his shoulders, your fingertips slide down the sweltering expanse of his exposed skin. 

And only too late do you recognize the familiar pathway towards your shared bed chamber- oh. 

So that was what it was. 

And judging by the dark, primal look swimming in the clan leader’s eyes you could only hope that you made it out alive-

SLAM!

You don’t know what’s forcing you more out of your excited little reverie - the shuddered slam! of your mahogany double doors, so hard that it makes the golden hinges shake, or the way you’re thrown haphazardly on the bed. 

Like some glorified toy. One of Choso’s favorites. 

You’re throwing your arms over his broad shoulders as you fall, lugging him in even closer with each springy bounce on the bedcoils. 

But closer wasn’t close enough for your husband - he’s bullying into every ounce of your personal space, caging you in between two splayed-out palms on either side of your thoroughly spinning head.

“Mama, is it?” Choso starts out. Slow. Thick. Like he was approaching a cornered prey. “Baby, I want…I want it.”

You’re blinking up at him through eager eyes, “Want what, Cho?” 

“I want an heir. I want to make you…” He gulps. The circles of his fingertips were so warm on your skin, trailing down lovingly all across your cheek. Your collarbones, your heaving tits - down to where you predictably flinched as he palmed your tummy. “-a pretty momma.”

Fawny strands of chestnut brown curtain his gaze, but you could tell just how serious he was. Just how greedy. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Choso like this in his entire life. 

All you can breathe out is a crackling, “Yes.”

You said it. You finally said it after all these weeks. 

And it’s the only thing you hear before your yukata is all but torn off of you, Choso doesn’t even realize when he’s doing so. It’s melting away like butter underneath his strength, mere obstacles to where the real prize is - your gorgeous, shivering body.

Pebbles of goosebumps rise onto the surface of your flesh when he throws away those useless pieces of fabrics onto the tatami floor - you can have more newly tailored anyway. Many, many more with just how round and full you’re about to be very soon. 

He’d take care of it for you.

“Oh, madam- madam.” He’s spitting into your unfastened mouth, low growls sounding out across each four corners of your room. Held hostage by the arousal in your eyes, he can’t stop staring. “M’gonna ruin you.”

And Choso is feral like never before. 

Usually one to take his time during sex, finetuning you into it like a sultry waltz. His favorite hobby was to drive you mindlessly wild before he even thought of stuffing you full. But now…

Still not breaking his dreamy eye contact with you, Choso hooks a rapidfire finger over the cute bow-tied hem of your panties. Slurring down an oozing little snail trail of slick that laminates your jittery thighs with evidence of just how badly you wanted him. 

You feel the blistering pant of his mindless oh! fanning your features, leaning backwards with a loosened maw to admire just how glistening you are in this lighting. 

How ready.

With a low, fucked-up whimper breaking at the back of his throat, he rubs over the bloated curvature of your needy pussy. Slipping ever-so-slightly at the saturated puddles leaking out, Choso has no hesitation or shame when he tugs his fingerpads into his mouth once. 

Twice. Thrice. 

Dipping back down for more and more and more-

“Can’t-” He’s guttering out, eyes crinkling and- fuck, were those tears? “I c-”

You reach your hand up to smear away his hot rivulets of salt, and Choso stops his prattling like a broken record forced to a halt. He jolts as if your touch has just sent a zillion shocks of voltage down his spine, all the trekking trailway down to his furious, aching cock. 

Unsteady hands flinging apart his snowy robes - barely even bothering to remove them and wrench down his undergarments before you see it. You finally understand why Choso was so…restless.

Because he’s never been harder. 

Fuck being furious, his bawling cock was seething. Equally as red as the ripest of strawberries, the split-ended crown of his cockhead was just as plumply swollen. All proud inches nestled underneath his painfully-clenching breeder balls, ballooned and lush. Only the barest of your gaze is enough to make Choso’s lustrous tip twitch, laminating himself with a freshly dripping glaze of translucent pre. 

Though, it’s not like you were doing any better. 

Your gluey lips pucker and pout up at him once he’s wrangling your legs into a boneless hold. The feeling of his palms underneath your thighs are so soft - even despite his battle-hardened calluses. Worshipping. 

But the way he’s resting your legs on his shoulders, and folding you in half like a whining lawnchair is the complete opposite. Mercilessly into a-

“M-mating press-” Choso’s getting out through strangled breaths, as if the sole words had his poor sanity fraying at the edges. “-mating press- a- a-” Something he’s never tried out before. His head dips down, pearls of sweat simmering across his trembly upper lip as soon as your sticky folds leave a wet snog on his fattened mushroomy tip. Topping it with a generous heap of honeyed sap, “Well, hello there, baby. I have you in a mating press n’ m’gonna…gonna…”

He couldn’t even finish his sentence. 

Couldn’t even finish his thought before Choso was doing - body moving miles and miles ahead of his stupidly saccharine-sweet mind. 

“F-fuuuuck–” You’re letting off the keenest of whines, the edges of your nails leaving neat crescents all over his toned back. It was the perfect little present for the way he had you so split open. 

And he was barely even pushing past the tip. 

“Oh. Oh.” Choso’s grunts are throaty, as if they weren’t coming from the man himself but somewhere murked and dark inside him. And the same went for his feverish thrusts - tight, rigid little pushes past your slicked-up hole just to fit inside. He’s spitting into your slacked mouth, “C’mon- c’mon c’mon–”

Usually, it takes so long to prepare you to take his nine- no, ten inches. But currently, fast just wasn’t fast enough.

There’s a thundering slam! abovehead - only hours and hours later do you have enough brainpower to realize that it was Choso striking his palm down on the headboard - and it makes your clingy walls grip onto the battering mountain of his dewy head. 

Squeezing in a repeatedly adhesive-like tempo, Choso’s nose crinkles at the rubbery resistance of your snug hole. Still molding to the slightest curves and ridges of his drowned slit with every desperate rut-

“Please- take it- fucking take it.” His voice was trembling on the edge of a crack, thickened exactly the way one does when he’s about to cry. “H-how can I fuck! How can I breed ya…if I don’t-”

And you’re swearing you see his ruddied cheeks glisten with a few slipped-off tears - though, that just might be from the way that your own vision mists over when his stray hand plugs up your spilling entrance to pry two thickened, scissoring digits inside and stretch. “Fucking- take that big fuckin’- cock-”

Bullying in a few more long n’ girthy inches- You’re so full that it feels like Choso’s pushing his bloated crownhead against the spongy edges of your lungs. 

The bed dips and moans with frequent soft creaks! when he plants his curved knees firmly further apart. Flexibly so. And you’re getting a good, greedy eyeful of his pale, bulky thighs - angling at the perfect bend to snap his slender hips and jackhammer-

“Sh-shit-” Your head sinks into the cushiony pillows underneath you, and it already feels like you’re in heaven. “-don’t- don’t know if it’ll fit, Cho–”

With a bitten lip, Choso rovers down his sturdy hand from the surface of the bedframe to measure out ten solid inches. Bringing it down much the same way he did during your wedding reception, “Y-you can, baby–”

“But-”

“You will.” He’s gasping, gracing you with a soft brush of his curvaceous mushroomed head along one of your utmost favorite hidden sweet spots. It’s enough to make you buck. “Gonna take my cock, n’ you’re gonna haaah- take my seed ‘ntil you’re bloated. So I’ll make it fit- fuck- watch, I’ll make it fit.” Before you know it, that very same hand finds itself crowning your head, threatening to push you down- “C-can you say hngh- ‘biiiig stretch’ f’me?”

You’re hiccuping out, “B-big stretch?”

“Nuh uh-” By the time that Choso shakes his head, you’re being sprinkled with loose flecks of his sweat. He was in so deep now. “Say it with me- b-biiig stretch, baby–”

“B-biiig- stretch!” It takes you everything in your body to hold your own against the vicious pounds being planted and struggled into your goopy depths. Choso was determined. Frenzied. 

And god, the way you’re dumbly parroting his words is so hot. He can’t help but dollop out muggy icings of pre that slosh and swab at every nook and cranny inside you. 

“Good girl.” Rewarding you with a slow heart being patterned right on the throbbing peak of your clit, the roughened edges of his fingertips rub you just right. Not too hard. Not too soft. Your husband nuzzles his flushed head into the havened crook of your clammy neck, “S-say it again, madam.”

“Biiig-”

Honestly, it’s a wonder you manage to get exactly two syllables out at all. Because soon enough, Choso’s taking your distracted few seconds to lace his fingers onto your scalp push. To bump his hips back until your geysering cunt was struggling around his fat, bulbous tip.

Before stuffing you full all the way in-

“Fuck- no.” Choso’s spitting out venomously against your thrumming pulse, sharp fringes of his teeth digging in animalistically. Bottomed out but still pushing and pushing- Slamming a lazy stripe of luscious precum down your spongy cervix, “No- no no–”

No sooner are you full of all his massive, rummaging length, he’s making you take even more. This time in the form of dribbling, ribbony volumes of cum that leak and leak and won’t stop from his heated divot. 

It’s ballooning up your tight channel even more. Swashing around and sticking to your gummy walls like a treacly lacquer. Filling you to your very brim-

“S-so much.” You’re gaping, through tear-strung lashes. The shivering edges of your fingers subconsciously dance downwards to splotch over the puddling globs of seed tricking from either side of your sloppy slit. Squeezing out even more to coat Choso’s bulky base with creamy rings upon rings. 

And, usually, your husband might be just a bit embarrassed. Usually, he would have pulled out to make out with your pretty pussy until your scores were more than tied.

But that wasn’t your husband right now. 

“Don’t.” Choso clicks his drunkenly heavy tongue, lips pulling back into what almost looks like an oh-so-feral snarl. And you have to admit that it looks so sexy on him. He’s rudely swatting away your curious hand, “Move that fucking hand n’ let me see.”

It takes only a split-second for both your hands to be pinned underneath one of Choso Kamo’s. 

“Tha’s not enough to take.”

And only one more split-second for him to flip you over onto your tummy and stuff your head into the cushy pillows. 

He’s fucking you like he’s using you. Like he’s pumping his mushy, swollen head to nudge in the weighty heft of his cum deeper and deeper and deeper-

“Y’know I hate hngh- disrespectin’ my wife, baby–” He leans over to sigh against your ear in craving hisses, pinning you with his body. His muscles. You could count each n’ every one of Choso’s bulging abs, glissading damply against your perfectly arched spine. Bubblegum pink nipples pressed roughly into your scorching skin, “Hate it- but…”

You gasp at Choso’s audacity next - at the way it makes you so traitorously soaked when he hikes up one of his feet to rest upon your head. 

Gurgling out a stupid. “Ch-Cho–”

But he didn’t seem to hear you - you didn’t know if he was even managing to breathe at this point. Only letting his devious lips twitch up, up, up into such a satisfied grin. “-but ‘ntil I get my hngh- heh…heir, you’re gonna hafta be my cumdump, madam.”

And if the saturated slurps singing out at a near-deafening tone from your dripping pussy said anything - it was that you loved the idea. 

Especially when the changed angle makes his scouring cockhead maze between the most treasured spots of your jelly-like walls to strike numerous, merciless hits dead-set on your g-spot. 

Ah, there it was, pipes up that small voice in Choso’s overtaken brain. Jostling your hips back onto his with a sudden spank on the target of your drivelling hole, the stinging pressure makes you bump your tenderest spots again and again into his ruthless batters. 

It’s bruising - the proud circumference of his plummy cock against your elastic cervix with every recoiling bounce, the rounded patterns of his balls against the hind of your pretty pussy with each thrust.

If you didn’t think you were being fucked stupid before then you were sure now. 

Your velveteen pillowcase dampens with the ever-flooding saliva spilling from your mouth every time Choso rears his aching shaft back to plant rapid, precise strikes where you wanted him the most. 

Whimpering at how every ramming dab of his split cockhead leaves leakages of pearly white cum all over the bottom of your pussy. That sultry swirl of his dumped heaps inside of you making your head spin just as dizzily. 

You almost don’t notice it when Choso’s drifting both hands to skirt over about halfway down your tummy. Feeling for that bloated, cylindrical outline of him vulgarly messing up your insides, “Gonna be e-even fuller here soon, y’know-” He’s giggling - giggling. Erratically letting his hands slide down to your clit to give the peaked ends just a tiny pinch. “-have you all round. Full. Full-”

He can’t say anything else.

He can’t do anything else - other than watch in purely entranced awe when that makes you cum all over his fucking cock. 

So big n’ thick that your claggy walls can barely even squeeze around his throbbing shaft. The thought makes you huff as he rams rigorously through your blinding high - teeth grit, your fingers fist at the pillows and make sure you can clench-

When you do- oh, when you manage to cling your gummy cunt onto his girth as if to suck out his fucking soul, it makes Choso cum, too.

Fatigued hips somehow matching his cadence, your knees shiver on top of the softened mattress stuttering through every dousing mass of cum gliding inside your cute cunt. It was so heavy having his massive torrentials inside of you, spraying the door to your womb with a slippery sheen.

It was maddening. 

And maybe it’s been hours - maybe it’s been mere minutes. But all you know is that you’re put through rounds and rounds and more rounds. But he’s still not stopping. Still dredging out the tiniest of hollowing grinds. 

Until much, much later Choso’s breath hitches in feverish stutters. It was so steamily hot inside you, only getting more humid by the minute as you ride out yet another crashing high.

“G’na milk e-every ngh- drop-” He titters, fleshy edges of his fingers closing in around where your pussylips were the most buxom. The most leaky. “-n’ you’re gonna ngh- keep it. Keep ‘ntil you give me an h-heir. Remember that, baby– keep it.”

You’re fighting against the weight of his muscular leg on top of you. Was he clamming your pussy shut? 

“Choso, baby.” Your straining out, throat drier than the Sahara at this point. Even despite how the hypnotized way your husband looks at you makes your tongue lather with watery saliva. “Want- want more.”

You think you might just have broken Choso Kamo.

Might just have made him reach another surprising high all over again with just your simple request. He’s lifting off the powerfully pressurized foot crowned on your head in favor of lurching downwards to grab your tender throat into a headlock.

Manhandling you as he pleased. Lifting you off of the tattered pillow, the completely splintered bed frame now. 

Your chin juts over his thick, bulging biceps, fighting for both air and the space-

“More- more, she says-” He’s chuckling out, words cracking a few octaves higher than normal. From the corner of your eye, you sneak glimpses at the way that Choso’s eyes were wide, crazed. Flashing all sorts of feral promises when he plants one, two, three long thuds against your soppy cervix. “Fucking- m-more.”

You’re letting off a tiny whimper - your orgasm nothing but tingles at this point. Yearning for that the piping hot streak of seed flushed into your already-overspilling cunt. Syruping in with the rest of his numerous goopy volumes, it’s thick and needy. 

Only one.

“Sh-shit.” He’s wheezing against your ear, free hand flying down to tug at his reddened base for more more more- one’s not enough. Every possibly wiry wisp and speckle that could fill you up. Could give him an heir. “Can’t cum dry- won’t- oh.”

Rutting into you like Choso won’t stop - didn’t know if he even can stop anymore. You flinch at the suddenly hot splatter! of something warm…and wet at your shoulder. 

“Cho- oh!” Not only was the clan leader drooling out glossy spatters of saliva, he was crying. Hugging you even closer, you’re showered in neverending streams of overstimulated tears.

And Choso can only babble away, “Hope- hope s’a daughter, madam.”

A/N. AYYY y’all have been wanting more dom Choso saurrrr- Anyways hope you have a lovely week <3

Plagiarism not authorized. 

[hoshifighting]

Ways to Have a Man in the Palm of Your Hand.

— Synopsis: In the flow of uncertainty that defined your situationship with Mingyu, you decide to take action, making Mingyu start chasing after you like a loyal puppy. — WC: 3.9k — WARNINGS: Smut, unprotected sex, overstimulation, degradation, begging on knees, oral (f. receiving), fingering– he watches reader fingering herself, handjob, dick riding, penetrative sex, humiliating, manipulation and etc.

Your life connected with Mingyu's since you both first met through your groups of friends, and a situationship had emerged between you two. It was just sex, with no strings attached and no promises made.

Yet, as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, it became challenging to keep your heart safe from the unpredictable tides of emotion.

Mingyu had a way of making you feel special. He'd surprise you with homemade dinners, he was attentive, considerate, and made sure to put your self-esteem on the highest with his skillful photography.

The tall and good-looking guy wasn't just amazing during sex; he was an enigma that both fascinated and frustrated you. Mingyu could vanish for days, leaving you on blue. But just as you were about to write him off, he'd resurface, as if nothing had happened. It was a maddening cycle, and yet, you found yourself caught in its web.

Mingyu: Hey! Been swamped asf with work lately. Let's grab coffee or something stronger soon? Let me know when you're free!

You couldn't help but scoff as you read Mingyu's message. His casual tone and nonchalant invitation stirred a mix of irritation and amusement within you. Swiftly typing a response, you questioned his unpredictable appearances.

You: Are you planning on always popping up out of nowhere like this?

Mingyu: I always come back, don't I? So, when are we catching up darling?

Despite the inner conflict and your ego's warning signals, there was an undeniable allure to Mingyu's charm. His words, laced with playfulness, had a magnetic effect that bypassed rational thoughts. With a sigh, you found yourself succumbing to the familiar pull.

The room was filled with the echoes of skin slapping as you both lay on Mingyu's bed, your eyes locked as you two moaned out loud, the crescendo of pleasure punctuated by the rhythmic thud of the bed against the wall.

Mingyu lays beside you, the heat of the moment still lingering between your bodies. You rose from the tangled sheets, picking up your scattered clothes. Mingyu's gaze remained fixed on you, an intensity that betrayed a deeper connection than the situationship allowed. 

"I really like spending time with you Y/N" 

"Me too Gyu." 

[...]

Seungkwan leaned in "Okay, spill. What's the latest drama with Mingyu?"

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Honestly, I can't figure him out. It's like a cycle. We talk every day for a month, hang out, fuck, and then poof! He disappears for a week or more. I don't get it."

Seungkwan chuckled knowingly. "You know, maybe you should try something. Do the same to him, but take it up a notch. Make him miss you even more."

You furrowed your eyebrows, slightly taken aback. "Seungkwan, I'm not into playing games or being spiteful. It's not my style."

He waved his hand dismissively. "No, no, hear me out. It's not about being spiteful. It's about making him realize what he's missing. Mingyu knows you'll always be there, right? So, he takes it for granted. Maybe he needs a taste of his own medicine."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. "And how exactly do I do that?"

Your mouth hung open as Seungkwan delivered his comprehensive lesson in the art of emotional tactics. The confidence in his advice left you both amazed and slightly apprehensive. Unable to contain your curiosity any longer, you finally asked the burning question.

"How on earth do you know all of this, Seungkwan?" you inquired, eyes wide with disbelief.

Seungkwan leaned back, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, my dear friend, when you've been in the game as long as I have and witnessed enough romantic dramas unfold, you start picking up on patterns. It's like a survival guide for the heart."

You raised an eyebrow, still processing the information. "Survival guide, huh? And all this contempt, playing hard to get, and hurting egos – that's your secret weapon?"

Seungkwan chuckled, "Not a secret weapon, sometimes, a little strategic move can make all the difference. Trust me, I've seen it all."

With Seungkwan's advice resonating in your mind like a strategic playbook, you approached the next phase of your relationship with Mingyu, with a newfound determination. It felt like diving into a complex homework assignment, each step carefully calculated to shift the dynamics in your favor.

As you decided to implement the first step, a newfound sense of liberation washed over you. You stopped responding to Mingyu's messages immediately and resisted the urge to initiate contact. It felt strange at first, but there was a sense of power in reclaiming your time and not being at his beck and call. Mingyu's messages awaited your attention. 

The challenge of making Mingyu realize he could lose you sparked a newfound determination. Your calendar filled up with plans that didn't involve Mingyu. Mingyu, accustomed to your constant availability, seemed to sense the change, though he couldn't quite pinpoint it. He might have been the object of desire for many hoes, but your indifference challenged his accustomed narrative. 

After all, a man is not more important than your personal goals, right?

All while allowing Mingyu to observe your life unfolding without him. The realization that you were not waiting by the phone for him sparked a large curiosity.

Throughout the process, a mix of emotions surfaced. Doubt, at times, whispered in the back of your mind – was this the right approach? Seungkwan's advice, unconventional as it was, had brought a shift in Mingyu's behavior. Now, you wondered how Mingyu would respond to the transformed version of you – a person who refused to be taken for granted.

Mingyu's relentless messages flooded your phone. The janitor, a silent witness to the unfolding drama, discreetly shared the news of Mingyu's visits to your condominium entrance. Three times he had appeared, seeking a glimpse of you, only to be met with the absence of your presence, the deliberate distance, and the air of indifference were beginning to provoke a reaction from him.

You were determined to see this journey through, to understand whether Mingyu's renewed interest was genuine or a fleeting reaction to the perceived loss of control.

The persistent pings of Mingyu's messages had become a constant background noise in your life, infiltrating your workdays and even interrupting the serene moments of your brunches.

"Free today, Ms. Busy?"

"Pls respond to me. :(("

"Why are you acting like this?"

"Wtf…"

"Omggg, when are you going to answer me properly?"

"I'll invade your house."

"Y/N-ieeee, pleaseee!"

"I really want to see you right now."

"You make me so confused :("

The encounter at the pedestrian crossing unfolded in a scene of unexpected tension. Mingyu, spotting you in the midst of your Sunday morning run with Seungkwan, seized the opportunity to bridge the gap that had grown between you. As you halted, waiting for the light to change, Mingyu approached, a mixture of eagerness and confusion etched across his face.

"Hey there! Fancy meeting you here," Mingyu greeted, attempting to strike up a conversation.

Seungkwan, standing beside you, looked on with a side-eyed glance, a smirk playing on his lips as he sipped casually from his water bottle. As the pedestrian light shifted to green, you seized the moment to extricate yourself from the short encounter. "Sorry, Mingyu, I really need to finish my morning walk. Catch you later," you excused yourself, leaving Mingyu standing there, perplexed and surrounded by the bustling activity of the street.

He couldn't shake off the confusion – Why weren't you responding as before? Why weren't you as available as you used to be? Did you at least still like him? It dawned on Mingyu that the game had changed, and he wasn't sure if he understood the rules anymore. The pursuit, once fueled by the expectation of your constant availability, now seemed to slip through his fingers like grains of sand. The reality of being just one among the many who sought your attention was a bitter pill to swallow.

[...]

The doorbell's unexpected chime disrupted the tranquility of your self-care routine, with moisturized skin and a mind ready for a cozy movie night, you approached the door, curiosity dancing in your eyes.

As you swung the door open, the sulky face of Mingyu greeted you. A momentary pause hung in the air, your eyes meeting his in silent expectation. Before you could utter a word, Mingyu stepped inside, dropping to his knees and hugging your legs as if seeking solace.

Surprised by his sudden display of vulnerability, you widen your eyes, caught off guard by the intensity of his reaction. The door lingered ajar, and you managed to close it, arms crossed, a mixture of confusion and caution etched on your face.

Mingyu, still hugging your legs, looked up at you with pleading eyes, his voice laden with remorse. "What did I do, Y/N? Why are you treating me like this? I'm sorry."

"Hm?"

He looked up at you, his eyes brimming with a mix of confusion and regret. "I just… I don' understand. I miss you," he admitted, his voice trailing off.

Your initial surprise transformed into a mix of emotions – disbelief, a hint of empathy, and the need to assert your newfound boundaries. Crossed arms and a measured gaze met Mingyu's desperate expression. The sudden intrusion into your personal space prompted a silent assessment of the situation.

"What did you expect, Mingyu?" you countered, your voice steady but laced with the weight of unspoken questions. "You disappear, then reappear, and now you're kneeling in my living room. What's going on?"

"I messed up, okay? I thought I could keep things casual, but I didn't expect to feel like this. I miss the way things used to be between us." he confessed, his voice carrying a raw honesty.

"You ask me to come to your house, and then after you get what you wanted, you let me go. Do I look like a food delivery or something?" you confronted Mingyu, your words cutting through the charged silence that hung in the room.

Mingyu's eyes widened at your accusation, shock and a hint of hurt registering on his face. "No, no, no, Y/N, it wasn't like that."

You raised an eyebrow, a mix of skepticism and frustration evident in your expression. "It feels like you only want me around when it's convenient for you."

Mingyu, still on his knees, looked up at you, his eyes pleading for understanding. "It's not like that. I just... I didn't want to push you. I thought you preferred it this way."

You sighed, the weight of the unresolved tension palpable. "Mingyu, I can't read your mind. If you want me to stay, you have to say it. Communication goes both ways."

"Y/N, I'm truly sorry. I'll do whatever you want. I didn't see you as just a fleeting thing, and I want to be present."

Mingyu's earnest apology hung in the air, a plea for understanding and a promise to change. As he laid his face on your bare thighs, expressing his sincere regret, you cut through the moment with a tsk sound, a dismissive gesture that left him wide-eyed and caught off guard.

"Poor boy, begging on his knees for attention. What a shame," you remarked, a hint of teasing in your voice as you observed his reaction.

Mingyu, his hands now gripping each side of your thighs, sat back on his feet, his expression a mix of surprise and a subtle flush coloring his cheeks. He hadn't anticipated this response, your playful teasing catching him off guard.

"You didn't see me as a fleeting thing?" you continued, your tone mockingly contemplative. "Well, Mingyu, this is quite a sight – you, on your knees, practically begging for my attention. I'd never do something like this."

His widened eyes met yours, uncertainty and a trace of embarrassment flickering in them. Mingyu's bit his lip, cheeks flushing deeper.

"I'll do whatever you want, Y/N. Just tell me," Mingyu replied, his hands still holding your thighs.

You let out a soft chuckle, running a hand through his hair as you continued your teasing. "Oh, Mingyu-ah, the mighty one on his knees. Maybe you'll learn to appreciate what you have when it's not handed to you on a silver platter. Now, let's see if you can keep up with your promises."

As you spoke, Mingyu's cheeks continued to flush, a complex dance of emotions playing out on his face.  "How can you forgive me?" 

Mingyu's question hung in the air, a genuine plea for forgiveness. You paused, considering the weight of his words, before adopting a more serious tone.

"Get up," you instructed him, your voice carrying a command that seemed to catch him off guard.

Mingyu, without hesitation, rose to his feet from his submissive position. His eyes fixed on you. An arched eyebrow and a smirk played on your face, savoring the moment of dominance as you instructed him to follow you.

The atmosphere grew charged with anticipation as Mingyu attentively trailed behind you, his eyes inevitably drawn to your body covered only by a shirt. The click of your bedroom door signaled a shift in the dynamics, and when you turned to face him, his eagerness manifested in an attempted kiss.

Your finger halted his advance, a calculated pause preceding your question, "Do you think you deserve to kiss me?"

Mingyu, his eyes reflecting a mix of longing and remorse, shook his head no. Your smirk deepened as you delivered a verdict that left him whimpering.

"Then you won't kiss me today."

A whimper escaped Mingyu's lips, a sound that echoed the frustration and desire that simmered beneath the surface. The unexpected turn of events had left him yearning for a connection, yet you, in your assertive control, denied him that solace.

As the tension hung in the air, Mingyu's eyes glistened with unshed tears. The dynamics between you had taken a surprising turn, a power play that left both of you navigating the intricate threads of desire, forgiveness, and the consequences of a maybe – ex-complicated situationship.

With a commanding tone, you instructed Mingyu to kneel once again, a subtle smirk playing on your lips. He obeyed, sinking down to his knees with a mix of anticipation and eagerness. The air in the room crackled with a palpable tension as you laid down the terms.

"If you act like a good boy, maybe I'll forgive you," you declared, your voice carrying a hint of authority.

Mingyu nodded earnestly, a silent pledge to abide by your terms. As you proceeded to remove your shirt, next your pantie, allowing it to fall to the floor, the atmosphere became charged with a new layer of intensity. 

"How much do you want this pussy Mingyu?" you inquired, the question hanging in the air as you observed Mingyu's reaction. His shoulders slumped, a subtle expression of desire and longing evident on his face.

"A lot," he moaned, the words escaping his lips with a mixture of need and surrender. Your legs spread open, an invitation too tempting, as he feels his mouth waters at the view. 

"Open your mouth," you commanded Mingyu, your voice carrying an air of authority. He complied without hesitation, anticipation flickering in his eyes.

As he held his mouth open, you slid two fingers inside, the intimate contact a subtle exploration of boundaries and desire. Mingyu's tongue teased your fingers, a provocative dance that elicited a hiss from you.

"No teasing," you admonished, a note of warning in your voice. With a swift motion, you delivered a little slap to his chin as you withdrew your fingers from his mouth. The air crackled with a newfound tension, a moment that blurred the lines between control and submission.

Mingyu furrowed his eyebrows, as he watched your fingers slowly disappearing inside of your cunt, your fingers and your slick gushes out of you, and all he can do is watch. He sits patiently on his feet, watching your fingers leaving and entering your pussy in a too provocative rhythm. His bottom lip quivering to the desire of eating you out.

"Please Y/N…"

"What?''

"Please, let me eat you out, it looks so good…"

To tease him even more, you fastened your fingers, moaning while your cunt sounded like Mingyu's favorite song, wet, luscious, mouthwatering, appetizing, tempting. He cries out, his hands together on his lap. "Please, I beg you, I missed you so bad." 

The room was charged with a blend of anticipation and surrender as you stopped, taking a moment to look at Mingyu's mournful face. The desire in his eyes was palpable, and the silent plea for what he had begged for lingered in the air.

With a subtle nod, you allowed him to fulfill his request. Mingyu, starved and eager, approached the task with a concentration that hinted at a deep desire to please you. As he held you with a gentle yet fervent touch, mouthing your pussy, licking you clean, his focus on your pleasure was unwavering. The way he clung to you conveyed a fear of losing you, made you mewl as he sucked your clit, you held onto the sheets, a silent anchor in the sea of sensations. Mingyu's devotion and the way he concentrated on your pleasure only intensified the building release within you. Like a wave, you're cumming all over his mouth and chin, he hums in response flickering your clit with his tongue.

"Enough." You breathe out, closing your legs. "Strip, and lay for me." 

Mingyu rose from the floor, a determined look on his face, seemingly oblivious to any discomfort his knees might be feeling. The sounds of his clothing being discarded echoed in the room, punctuated by the soft thud as he settled onto the bed. The mattress shifted as he moved closer, his warm touch caressing your arm.

"What are you going to do?" he asked, his voice a low murmur, a hint of curiosity and desire lingering in the air.

"Don't touch me," you instructed Mingyu, your tone carrying a note of command as you climbed onto his lap. Leaving him momentarily frozen, his hands hovering in the air, uncertain of where to go.

The close proximity of his cock intensified the wetness between your thighs. Mingyu, eager and responsive, looked at you with a mix of desire and restraint, his hands now cautiously placed together on his chest.

The atmosphere crackled with a blend of dominance and submission as you straddled Mingyu, humping your wet pussy against his cock, your movements deliberate and provocative. His moans in response to your degrading words only heightened the intensity of the moment.

"Oh my god, look at you," you cooed, your voice a mix of mockery and desire. "I just stopped paying attention to you, and you came fucking begging me to talk with you. You're humiliating, Mingyu."

His moans, a symphony of pleasure and submission, filled the room. Mingyu's response to your degrading words conveyed a complex dance of desire and self-awareness. The acknowledgment that he deserved the degradation.

The room filled with a momentary hush as you sank your hips, Mingyu's length now fully inside. He shut his eyes, a silent surrender to the sensations that enveloped him. 

The unspoken admission hung in the air—though you wouldn't openly admit it, there was a trace of longing, a subtle acknowledgment that, despite the complexities, you had missed him a little. The air became charged with a mix of desire and restraint as your hips rode him, his length fully fulfilling the connection between you.

His angry tip brushed against that special spot, sending a surge of pleasure through both of you, cause now, you were so tight around him. "I'm going to cum, f-fuck"

"You better not." 

The charged atmosphere intensified as you edged Mingyu, denying him release, while simultaneously relishing in the control you held over his pleasure. He gasped for air, his eyes clenched shut, a desperate attempt to hold back as your dominating presence and the sensations of your movements threatened to overwhelm him.

Your hips moved with a purposeful intensity, driving him to the edge, and his body contorted in a desperate attempt to maintain control. The struggle was evident in the way his breath hitched and his eyes rolled back, succumbing to the overwhelming pleasure that surged through him.

"I-I can't hold it anymore," he stuttered, his voice strained with the effort of restraint.

"If you cum, I will-"

The moment of release was inevitable. Mingyu's hot cum filled you, triggering your own orgasm, he cried out your name, making your wall clench harder around him.

As Mingyu managed a string of apologies, you allowed him to slide out of you, leaving his lap coated with both of your arousal, your legs damp with his seed. 

The scoff echoed in the room, a mix of amusement and assertion. However, your actions spoke a different language. As you tighten your legs around the sides of Mingyu's legs, restraining his movement, your hands take control, pumping his cock fast. The focus on his red tip elicited a loud cry from Mingyu, his back lifting off the mattress in response to the overstimulation.

The wet sounds filled the bedroom as the intensity of your touch drove him to the edge. Mingyu's hands gripped the pillow beneath his head, a desperate attempt to anchor himself in the whirlwind of sensations that consumed him.

As Mingyu's body trembled under the heightened sensations, he felt a knot tightening in his abdomen, a sensation he hadn't anticipated. The overwhelming intensity built up to a point where he couldn't contain it anymore. A primal scream tore from his lips, his body convulsing in the throes of another orgasm.

His cum pooled on his abdomen, a physical manifestation of the powerful release that coursed through him. You observed his trembling body, struck by the raw intensity of his response. Mingyu's reaction seemed to surpass any previous experiences, his vulnerability and ecstasy on display in a way you hadn't witnessed before.

"Sorry, I came without your permission…"

"Enough with the sorry's, Mingyu," you said with a soft smile. "Let's just take a bath."

As the warm water cascaded around you, cleansing away the external worries, you both found solace in the simplicity of the moment. Emerging from the bath, you lay on the bed alone, the silence speaking volumes. Mingyu, holding his shirt, stood in contemplation. His gaze met yours, and he released a breath he seemed to have been holding.

The room felt charged with unspoken emotions when Mingyu finally gathered the courage to ask, "Can we sleep together tonight? Can I stay here with you?"

His eyes held a lot of shyness, and for a moment, you felt a genuine change in the air. You bit your lip, a subtle smile playing on your lips. In response, you patted the bed twice, a silent invitation for him to join you.

Mingyu threw his shirt away with a smile, a blend of shyness and excitement. He settled on the bed, maintaining a cautious distance, uncertain about what the night held. Your gaze met his, and you turned to face him. His eyes sparkled, and with a newfound boldness, he closed the gap and hugged you tightly.

"Don't be away from me again," he whispered, his voice tinged with vulnerability. And for the first time in those weeks, you let yourself savor the sweet taste of his pink soft lips, making him melt in response.

You smiled, your palms sliding gently along his back. The walls that once stood between you seemed to crumble as Mingyu embraced you, his actions speaking louder than any words. In that moment, it felt like a page turned, and a new chapter began.

Well, Seungkwan, you knew a lot. The five ways to have a man in the palm of your hand indeed. 

[ticifics]

Restoration

Count Vronsky x fem!reader

Summary: You allowed your heart to fill with a faint hope. Maybe Alexei could love you. Maybe time would make this more than an arrangement, more than a contract. But then Anna came along.

Warnings: angst, marriage in crisis, emotional conflict

A/N: My fourth request - anon, sorry if I strayed a little from the proposal, it's the first time I've written about marital problems, so I hope it wasn't too bad

Restoration Spin-Off

The hall was silent now, with the distant echo of the last celebrations echoing through the corridors. The moon streamed in through the window, its silvery light highlighting Alexei’s contours as he moved around the room with elegant ease, his jacket already undone, his cufflinks set aside. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, your heavy wedding dress still intact, your hands busy with the embroidery of the veil that you weren’t sure how to remove.

Arranged marriage. The word had been weighing on your mind since the moment you heard the news months ago. Your fate sealed in meetings between families; your life decided before you could even formulate your own wishes. But deep down, wasn’t that what every woman of your position expected? To grow up hearing that she should be an exemplary wife, produce heirs, build a respectable home. Yet, between the expectations and your solitary dreams, there was an almost childish desire for love—a love that blossomed in the unexpected, that overcame the cold barriers of a social contract.

And then Alexei had come into your life.

A tall man, with a presence that was impossible to ignore, eyes that held something between amusement and danger, a smile that seemed designed to disarm anyone. He was charismatic, that was undeniable. At every meeting before the wedding, his words had been gentle, but there was a confidence in them that seemed both unpretentious and rehearsed. He knew the effect he had—and he used it skillfully.

Yet he had never been cruel.

“You seem to be trapped in a maze of thoughts,” Alexei said, his low voice cutting through the silence. He was close now, closer than he should have been, and you could smell the faint note of brandy on his breath.

“My lord…” you began hesitantly, but he held up a hand, as if stopping her was a natural gesture.

“Alexei,” he corrected. The name sounded intimate on her lips, and it made him smile. “I want you to call me by my name. We’re not strangers anymore, after all.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He was watching you in a way you couldn’t quite decipher yet—not predatory, but as if he was studying your every reaction, as if he found pleasure in seeing you flustered.

With deft fingers, he reached out and effortlessly began to undo the delicate pins that held the veil together, his eyes still fixed on yours.

“Let me help you.” His voice held something softer now, almost intimate, and the touch of his fingers on your skin made heat rise up your neck.

It was this charm, this ease, that made you wonder if there could, in fact, be love in your marriage. He was an enigma: gentle, yet impenetrable. Seductive, yet never completely surrendered. And yet, throughout the weeks that followed the ceremony, he had been careful.

The wedding night had not been what you had feared. Instead, it had been marked by unexpected patience, by quiet words spoken in the dark, by touches that seemed almost studied to ease your tension. And the following nights were no different, filled with a passion that was restrained and yet intense.

For you, there was something sacred about these intimacies. You wanted to give him an heir, yes, but there was more: you wanted him to see you as more than a wife chosen for convenience.

You allowed your heart to fill with a faint hope. Maybe he could love you. Maybe time would make this more than an arrangement, more than a contract. Still enchanted, still nervous, by the idea that perhaps it was possible to find love in this man’s eyes.

The two weeks of your honeymoon passed in the blink of an eye, but you felt as if you had lived a dream. Alexei was the personification of kindness—attentive in every small gesture, tender in every word, always one step ahead in caring for you. Under the sun of a place that seemed so far away from everything, he made you laugh with his witty observations, gave you goosebumps with subtle touches, and looked at you as if you were the only person who mattered at that moment.

Now, as the carriage made its way to your new home, you watched the changing landscape through the window, but your mind remained anchored in those moments. There was something new growing inside you, a feeling you barely dared to name.

“Lost in your thoughts again?” Alexei interrupted your contemplation, his voice low and soft. He was leaning back against the seat, his eyes shining with something between humor and tenderness.

You smiled, blushing slightly, but before you could respond, he leaned forward, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles. “I hope those thoughts include your husband. It would be terrible to find out you’re dreaming about someone else.”

Your laughter escaped before you could contain it, and he followed suit, the sounds blending together.

Back at the house, the routine began to settle into a slow but comfortable dance. Alexei seemed to know exactly how to make every moment of the day special—the way he would take your hand at the dinner table, the smiles he would give you when you walked into the room, the casual touches that seemed to last longer than necessary. There was a magnetism about him that made your heart race without warning.

It was during one of those nights, after dinner, that he brought it up.

“Have you ever thought about how many children you would like to have?” he asked, his voice calm as he held a glass of wine in his hand, his gaze fixed on you.

The question took you by surprise, but the tone of his voice reassured you.

“I… I don’t know for sure,” you replied, looking down at your hands in your lap. “What do you want?”

He leaned back in his chair, resting his elbow on the armrest and his face in his hand, his eyes still fixed on you.

“Whatever you want, my dear. As long as it brings you happiness, that will be enough for me.”

The words were simple, but the way he said them—with a light seriousness, almost unpretentious, but sincere—made something inside you heat up.

It was then that you decided.

The nights—and sometimes days—of passion became frequent. You could never have imagined the intensity he brought with him, how each touch seemed charged with a greater purpose. He was patient and tender, but there was an almost electric energy that made it impossible for you not to lose yourself completely in him.

On one such morning, the sun timidly entered through the window, casting a golden glow over the bed. You were leaning against his chest, your fingers drawing lazy circles on his skin, while Alexei’s messy curls fell over his forehead.

“You’re thinking about something again,” he said, his lips curved in a lazy smile, his hands tracing soft patterns on your back.

“Maybe,” you replied, biting your lip to hold back a smile.

He tilted his head to get a better look at you, his eyes alight with amusement.

“Then tell me. I want to know what’s going on in that busy little head of yours. Don’t keep your secrets from me.”

You laughed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

“I was just thinking about how different you look like this…” you said hesitantly, but he arched an eyebrow.

“Different.”

“More…” You searched for the words. “Human.”

Alexei laughed, the sound vibrating through your body, and leaned down to kiss your forehead.

“Is that a compliment? I hope so, because my wife is seriously risking hurting her husband’s pride.”

The laugh was inevitable, and he joined in, a wide, disarming smile on his lips. You loved that smile—so rare in public, but so natural in moments like this.

There was a gentleness about Alexei that he seemed to save just for you, a kind of intimacy that made your heart yearn for more.

The halls sparkled with the reflection of the crystal chandeliers, the sound of the orchestra filled the air with elegant melodies, and you felt the eyes of many on you. Alexei had that effect—a natural magnetism that didn’t go unnoticed anywhere.

He looked particularly stunning that night, with his perfectly tailored suit and his golden curls combed with a charm that seemed casual but that you knew was meticulously calculated. Every smile he offered made the people around him glow as if they had been touched by a ray of sunshine.

And you were right there with him.

He made a point of keeping you close, his hand firmly on your back, guiding you through the circles of high society with unshakable confidence. Whenever someone made a comment or leaned in to talk, Alexei found an opportunity to whisper something in your ear—a witty observation, a sharp comment, a little teasing. It was impossible to hold back your laughter, even if you tried.

“They’re all watching us, you know?” he murmured, with that smirk that always made your heart race.

“Of course they are. Because of you,” you replied, trying to hide the blush that threatened to rise to cheeks.

“No. Because of you. You leave them speechless, my darling.”

Before you could protest, he pulled you into another dance, the third that night. It was more than protocol dictated as appropriate for a married couple, but Alexei seemed immune to the veiled criticism. His every move was fluid, as if he were born to lead a waltz, and he made sure you were the only one who felt it.

“Should I worry about what they’ll say about us?” you whispered, slightly breathless, as he twirled with calculated precision.

“Let them talk. I don’t care, and neither should you.”

And at that moment, you really didn’t care.

But then she walked in.

Anna Karenina didn’t need to say a word to draw their gazes. Her black dress contrasted with her pale skin, her hair shining in the light of the chandeliers, and there was something about her posture—a natural confidence that made the entire room seem less grand.

You noticed the subtle change in Alexei before you even looked at him. His eyes, always so intent on you, shifted. It was only for a moment, but it felt like an eternity.

He recovered quickly, turning to you with a soft smile, as if nothing had happened.

“It’s Mrs. Karenina, isn’t it?” he asked, his tone casual and unconvincing.

You simply nodded, keeping your expression neutral.

Out of courtesy, or perhaps something more, Alexei approached Anna. After a few brief, polite comments, he held out his hand. “May I have this dance?”

You saw it all.

The way Alexei bowed slightly, the slight tension in his shoulders as he waited for her answer, and then the way she smiled before accepting. They were a vision together—he with his natural elegance, and she with an almost defiant magnetism.

The dance was… different. There was no denying it. The entire room was watching them, and it seemed like they didn’t notice anyone else. The rhythm of the waltz seemed to be dictated by them, each step, each turn perfect, as if they were in another world.

You felt something tighten in your chest, but you kept your composure. When Alexei returned to your side, he smiled as always, as if nothing had changed. He took your hand and led you for another dance.

Later, back in the bedroom, he took you in his arms with a passion that seemed almost desperate. His touches were intense, each kiss carried an urgency that you didn’t fully understand, but accepted.

As he slept beside you, his golden curls falling over his forehead, you watched him in silence. He seemed so peaceful, so much yours in that moment, that you decided that everything you had seen before meant nothing.

“None of that mattered,” you told yourself, closing your eyes. “None.”

The days that followed were peaceful, almost idyllic. Alexei was still as affectionate and attentive as ever, filling the moments you spent together with laughter and tender gestures. He made a point of looking you in the eyes when he spoke, as if you were the only person in the world who deserved his attention. Yet, there was something different.

A sparkle in his eyes—an energy you couldn’t quite describe. He seemed more attentive, more restless, but never in a way that diminished the care he showed you.

That morning, he kissed her before leaving, holding your face in his hands. “Goodbye, my dear. Be well for me.” And then he was gone, leaving behind a void that the house could not fill.

It was the first time you had spent so much time alone. You tried to keep yourself busy, supervising the servants, organizing small details to make the home more welcoming and, finally, preparing to receive some ladies of society. The afternoon brought restrained laughter and lively conversation to the drawing room, as the women settled in with cups of tea and delicate sweets.

The conversation flowed as usual, until a name came up casually, but with a devastating impact. “Anna Karenina was stunning at the ball, don’t you think?” The air seemed to grow heavier around you.

You kept smiling, raising the cup to your lips, but your fingers tightened slightly on the porcelain.

“All the men only had eyes for her, even the married ones,” one of them commented, letting out a muffled laugh. “But of course, she’s a married woman, so it’s just… admiration, isn’t it?”

You forced a laugh along with the others, but the words echoed inside you. Her name seemed to have taken root in your mind, and each time it was repeated, the knot in your stomach tightened a little more.

When Alexei came home that night, the sound of his boots on the wooden floor made you straighten your posture and put a smile on your lips. He appeared in the entrance, as always impeccable, and his smile immediately widened when he saw you.

“My dear.” He greeted you with a kiss on the cheek, his warm hands holding your waist. “Did you miss me?”

You melted, as always. It was impossible not to get lost in the attention he gave you, in the low, intimate tone of his voice, in the warmth he seemed to carry with him.

“How was your day?” You asked, trying to sound casual as you followed him to his office. “Did anything interesting happen?”

He paused for a moment, taking off his coat and hanging it up carefully. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Just the usual business. And your day? I hope you weren’t bored without me.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “No, the ladies came to visit. It was a nice afternoon.”

He stepped closer, lightly touching your chin so you would look at him. “I’m glad you did. You deserve to be surrounded by good things.”

The knot in your stomach tightened again, but you pushed it away. Don’t be silly, you thought. He was a kind and caring husband, someone who always made you feel special. Your marriage was better than most other women’s, and wasting time on dark thoughts would be foolish. When Alexei kissed you again before going to change, you decided you had better believe it.

Time passed, bringing sunny days and starry nights as you and Alexei indulged in your mutual desire more and more. He seemed more than happy to respond to your attempts to conceive, and you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed seducing him.

There was something powerful in the way he looked at you, a glint in his eyes that told you he wouldn’t resist anything you asked. “Do you have any idea what you do to me, my dear?” He whispered as he pulled you closer, the heat of his words almost as overwhelming as the touch of his hands.

In the mornings, when the sun was barely breaking over the horizon, Alexei would sometimes hold you in bed, preventing you from leaving. “Don’t go yet,” he would murmur, his voice hoarse with sleep, his strong arms wrapped around you. “Stay with me a little longer.”

And in those moments, with your head resting on his chest and his fingers drawing lazy circles on your skin, any doubt that tried to sprout in your heart was forgotten. He made you feel loved, wanted. The world seemed to not exist when Alexei was only yours.

But the world, inevitably, kept turning.

Meetings with the ladies were a crossroads between gossip and appearances, and you did your best to maintain your composure. Still, the whispers about Anna Karenina and Alexei kept finding you, cutting like sharp knives disguised as smiles.

“He’s so devoted to his wife,” one of them would say, almost enviously. “But it would be a wonder if his eyes didn’t follow her too. Who could blame him? Anna is stunning.”

You forced a smile and stood up straight, as a good hostess should. But every word seemed to erode a little of your confidence.

Alexei was still the loving husband he had always been, but there were moments—small, fleeting, but undeniable—when he seemed distant. His eyes, though focused on you, were elsewhere.

And though he would never admit it, you knew there was something more. His schedule seemed different. He would leave early and sometimes come back late, always with a ready excuse, always with a reassuring smile.

“Just meetings, my dear. Don’t worry.”

You believed him. Or at least you tried to believe him.

That night, as he pulled you into a hug on the couch, you snuggled against his chest, listening to the rhythmic sound of his heart. He stroked your hair tenderly, and for a moment, you thought about asking. About Anna, about the rumors, about the absent-minded glances.

But then he whispered in your ear, “I’m so lucky to have you.”

And you decided you didn’t want to hear the answer.

The days passed, and although Alexei remained affectionate and attentive at times, something was off. He always seemed busy, and you began to notice the gaps—small delays, glances that strayed beyond where you were.

But that wasn’t the typical behavior of an unfaithful man, was it? He still held you by the waist when he passed by, still kissed you lingeringly before leaving. These displays of affection confused your thoughts and increased your anguish.

That night, determined to get an answer, you spent the time leafing through a novel, although the words were nothing more than blurs on the page. There was something on your mind, a restlessness that you could no longer ignore. You were wearing a nightgown that you had previously hesitated to wear, a soft and provocative fabric, with strategically placed lace.

When Alexei entered the room, exuding the freshness of the cold night, he stopped when he saw you. His clear eyes slid over you, shrewd and shining with something indefinable. “An unexpected reception,” he murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of surprise and something deeper.

You stood up, your heart racing, but your face carefully serene. You walked over to him and began to help him take off his gloves. The coat came next, feeling the weight of the fabric on your arms, while you asked trivial questions. “Was it very cold outside? Did you find who you needed?” He answered calmly, but there was something in his voice that seemed a little distant.

Then, before you could lose your courage, you looked at him. “Alexei…” you began, hesitantly, your fingers lightly touching the sleeve of his shirt. “Are you still happy?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer, and the pause made the air in the room seem thicker. But then, without a word, he pulled you to him. His lips met yours with an urgency you hadn’t felt in a long time, and the answer came not in words, but in actions. He adored you that night, as if you were something sacred.

Every touch, every gesture felt like a promise, and for a moment, you believed that everything was fine again. But when morning came, the unspoken words returned, and the promises evaporated like dew under the sun.

A few days later, at a gathering of the ladies, held in the gardens of a hostess’s house, the rumors reached you again. They spoke in low tones, but curiosity overcame discretion.

“It seems that Anna and Alexei were seen together in the garden, alone.”

You tried not to react, but you felt heat rise to your face and a lump tighten in your throat. “Don’t talk nonsense,” one of the women said. “She’s married, so is he. It’s just rumors.”

Rumors or not, the words hit you like a blow.

That evening, as you looked at Alexei at the dinner table, you noticed the shadow of weariness in his eyes. He smiled at you, the same smile that had so often calmed your fears. But something seemed out of reach.

“What’s wrong, my dear? Is everything okay?”

You just nodded, but in your heart, the distance seemed to grow ever wider, and the two versions of Alexei—the loving man who held you in his arms and the distracted husband who was possibly with another woman—began to overlap, leaving you without answers.

The days became a disjointed dance of avoided glances and touches that seemed more like habit than genuine affection. Alexei would arrive late, his face tired and his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

“Is everything okay?” You asked one night, as he took off his coat, his gaze lost somewhere in the room.

He smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Just my duties, love. Nothing to worry about.”

But you worried. His silence seemed louder than any words, and the way he took so long to answer you in certain conversations made the discomfort grow.

“You’ve been working too much,” you commented again, feeling the weight of loneliness as he left her at the dinner table to attend to a letter that had just arrived.

“It’s necessary,” He kissed your forehead before leaving, but the gesture seemed mechanical.

Meanwhile, Alexei, increasingly involved with Anna, felt torn between duty and desire. She was… fascinating. There was something in her way of speaking, in her eyes that seemed to decipher his thoughts before he even expressed them, that made him want to be close to her. Their encounters began to become frequent, and the longer touches were inevitable.

“That’s not right, Alexei,” she said in one of her hesitant moments, although she didn’t pull away when he took her hand.

“Maybe not, but how can you ignore something so… inevitable?”

And he was lost.

That night, at home, you were waiting for him. The dinner, untouched on the table, had already gone cold, but you remained seated, trying not to look at the clock. When Alexei came in, later than usual, something inside you gave way.

“It’s so late,” you said, his voice hesitant, almost a whisper.

He sighed, as if the guilt he was trying to hide was weighing more heavily than expected. “Yes, I’m sorry. The meetings went longer than planned.”

You stared at him, your fingers fidgeting in your lap. “Alexei… I need to ask you something.”

He stopped, his body tense, but he tried to hide it. “Sure, whatever you want.”

“Anna Karenina.” Her name left your lips before you could stop the tremor in your voice. “Do you… what do you think of her?”

For a moment, Alexei seemed to struggle with himself, and you could see the hesitation in his eyes. But then he took a deep breath and answered, almost as if he were talking to himself.

“I think she’s amazing.”

The word hit you like a blade, and the world around you seemed to stop. Alexei realized too late the impact of what he had said, but he didn’t try to correct it.

You stood up, unable to hold back the tears that were already stinging your eyes. “Amazing? Is that what she is to you?”

He tried to move closer, but you took a step back, your hand shaking as you gripped the back of the chair to steady yourself.

“It’s not what you think,” he tried to explain, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never… there’s nothing you need to be afraid of.”

But you were afraid. Not just for him, but for the shadow that was beginning to creep into your marriage, a shadow that now had a name and a face.

When he held you in his arms that night, trying to comfort you, you wondered if he really held you or if his mind was still with her.

The glances started as something subtle, almost imperceptible. A second longer of hesitation, a half smile that seemed fraught with pity. But now, it was unmistakable. When you entered a room, conversations would cease for a moment before starting again, whispers slithering like snakes around the corners.

“She’s admirable, don’t you think?” someone had commented once, their voice low but not enough to escape your ears. “To carry on like that, with such dignity. I don’t know if I could do it.”

“It really is impressive,” another replied. “Especially with… well, with everything that’s said.”

You smiled, as you had learned to do since you were a child: with the grace required of someone in your position. But inside, you felt as if a crack were forming, threatening to widen with every strangled comment and look of commiseration.

At home, Alexei seemed determined to erase the marks of whatever was causing your guilt. Fresh flowers appeared on your bedside table, delicate jewelry was left on your pillow, and he never failed to compliment your when they were alone.

“You look so pretty today,” he said one evening as he watched your dress for a social gathering.

“Thank you,” you replied, trying to force a smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

The truth was that the gifts were a cruel reminder. No matter how much Alexei tried to make up for it with kindness, his words about Anna that night echoed like a distant bell, ever present. He thought you were a good wife, a wife as one should be. But that wasn’t the same as loving you.

Meanwhile, Alexei was falling deeper and deeper into what he couldn’t quite name as anything other than fascination. Anna wasn’t just amazing—she was magnetic. Their encounters, though brief, were a relief in a world where everything seemed predetermined. She laughed openly, challenged his ideas with cunning, and the looks they exchanged grew more intense every day.

“You should stop coming,” Anna said during one of their encounters, her eyes shining with a mixture of irritation and provocation.

“I should have,” Alexei replied, but his hand lingered on hers, unable to pull away.

Anna felt her frustration grow. Alexei’s attention, once sufficient, now seemed like a mere crumb. He had a wife he returned to every night, and she… she didn’t want to be a shadow in anyone’s marriage.

“It’s unfair, Alexei.” Her voice sounded quieter, but no less intense. “I’m not the kind of woman who shares. And you know that.”

Back home, you tried not to fall apart. Your routine became a desperate cycle of busyness, trying to keep the house spotless, planning meetings, but none of it filled the growing emptiness. It was in the silence that the tears came, without warning, as you wondered how everything had become so fragile.

And then the nausea began. First, a slight malaise, which you attributed to fatigue. Then, a constant nausea, which seemed to intensify along with your anguish.

Alexei noticed, of course. He wasn’t blind to the changes in you—your lost gaze, your trembling hands, your increasingly hesitant responses. One night, he found you crying silently in the living room, your face hidden in your hands.

“My love…” he began, kneeling beside you. “What’s happening? Tell me, please.”

You shook your head, unable to find the words. How could you explain something that even you didn’t fully understand?

Alexei tried to take care of you in his own way. He brought you warm broth, promised to stay home longer, held your hand as if that would be enough to seal the cracks. But even as he did so, something in him remained distant.

And it was Anna that his thoughts fell upon when the silence of the house became unbearable. She was the opposite of what he had known, a breath of life amidst conformity. But he knew he was being cruel, to you, to himself, to Anna. And yet, it didn’t stop.

While you faced the loneliness and growing discomfort, Anna, in turn, began to feel an anger she couldn’t hide. The idea that Alexei was going back to another woman night after night was intolerable.

“You need to decide,” she said in a firm tone, her arms crossed as he looked at her, speechless. “I won’t be your second option, Alexei. If that’s what you want, leave. Now.”

He didn’t answer, and the silence between them was as heavy as any accusation.

Anna and Alexei had been apart for a few days, but the distance was never more than a pause. It only took a chance encounter — or maybe not so chance — for the attraction between them to rekindle. He saw her from afar at a social event, talking and laughing with a naturalness that seemed to light up the room. She saw him too, and a corner of her mouth formed, full of meanings that only they understood.

At home, you began to connect the dots of your nausea. It was hard to ignore the way the smell of some dishes, once appetizing, now made you nauseous. But you kept your suspicions to yourself, until Natalia, always so attentive, pulled you aside one morning.

“Madam, forgive me for being blunt, but I think I know what’s happening to you.” The maid hesitated before continuing, her voice low and careful. “It could be that… you’re expecting a baby.”

Her words were a shock and, at the same time, a spark of hope. Natalia helped you call a doctor in secret, a trustworthy man who guaranteed discretion. After a brief consultation, he confirmed what you already suspected:

“Congratulations, ma’am. It looks like you’re in the first weeks of pregnancy. Make sure you get plenty of rest and avoid unnecessary worries.”

The news was like a ray of sunshine breaking through dense clouds. It was the first time in a long time that you felt truly happy. The idea of ​​a child was not just a blessing — it was a promise of renewal, a new chance for your life with Alexei, something that could bring you closer together. Without realizing it, you had adopted the habit of running your hands over your belly, whispering little promises to the baby you couldn’t yet hear:

“You will be loved. Always. And you will have everything you need.”

One afternoon, while embroidering in the living room, you lost yourself in thought. Your fingers worked almost automatically, transforming a piece of linen into something delicate and intimate. The embroidery that was taking shape was of a small flower surrounded by arabesques, an image that referenced Alexei's family crest. A gesture that, in a way, linked the father's inheritance to the son's future.

You were so absorbed that you didn't hear Alexei enter the room.

"You're distracted, my love." His voice sounded low, but close enough to startle you.

The sudden movement caused you to prick yourself with the needle.

"Oh!" You exclaimed, bringing your injured finger to your mouth.

Before you could react, Alexei was at your side. He took your hand carefully, observing the small spot of blood.

"Let me see." His voice had a tone that bordered on authoritative, but his movements were incredibly gentle. He pressed his finger delicately, assessing the damage before bringing his lips to the small wound, sealing it with a gesture that made your heart falter.

Alexei, with his always impeccable posture, looked more tired than usual. His eyes, an intense blue that reminded you of winter skies, were shadowed with the hint of restless nights of sleep. His golden hair was slightly disheveled, and you noticed there was something almost vulnerable in the way he kept his expression neutral, as if carrying the weight of something he couldn’t share.

“You need to be more careful,” he said, with a slight frown that quickly softened. He looked down at the embroidery in his hands and arched an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

You tried to hide the linen, but it was too late.

“Oh… nothing much. Just something to pass the time.”

“Nothing much?” Alexei narrowed his eyes, as if trying to guess the reason behind the drawing. “You’re happier these days. It… relieves me, you know?”

His words were sincere, and it touched you. Alexei might have been distant, but there was genuine concern there, even if it was expressed hesitantly, as if he himself didn’t know how to handle it.

“I don’t want you to worry about me,” he continued, holding your hand for a moment longer than necessary. “There’s a lot I can’t control, but… you’re important to me. You always have been.”

You felt the weight of those words, but also the contradiction behind them. How could he say that, knowing what the others were whispering? Knowing that there might be a grain of truth to the rumors?

“Then why…” you began, but the words caught in your throat.

Alexei pulled his hand away, returning to his more formal posture, as if the moment had been a lapse. He cast one last glance at his embroidery before standing up.

“I’ll be in the office. If you need anything, please send for me.”

You watched him leave, and at the same time, something inside you remained torn between the warmth of your concern and the ice of the uncertainty he left behind.

Invitations to social events arrived frequently, but you rarely had the will to accept them. This time, however, was different. The news of the pregnancy seemed to have rekindled something inside you. As Natalia adjusted her dress, you looked at yourself in the mirror, trying to see yourself as Alexei would see you.

The fabric of her dress flowed like water in the yellow light of the room. It was a deep blue, almost black, with silver details that sparkled with every movement. Her satin gloves came up to her elbows, and a simple diamond chain rested over her elegant neckline. Her hair was tied in a low bun, with a few strands strategically loose to frame your face. For a tiny moment, you allowed yourself to believe that there were no problems, that your life was as beautiful as it seemed in the reflection.

The theater was a masterpiece of gold and velvet. Huge chandeliers hung from the domed ceiling, casting a warm light that bathed the boxes and the audience. The walls were adorned with mirrors and ornaments that seemed to dance in the light. You walked up the stairs with Alexei, feeling the light touch of his hand on your back, guiding you gently.

In the box, the seats were padded, covered in crimson brocade. You settled in next to Alexei, feeling almost safe in that moment. The murmur of the crowd filled the space, a distant sound that seemed to match the growing anticipation for the show.

Then it hit you. Alexei’s gaze was lost in the audience, crossing the distance like an arrow. You didn’t need to follow his gaze to know who he had found.

She was there. Anna.

You knew it before you even saw her. There was something in the way Alexei took a deep breath, the way his shoulders tensed. Still, your gaze shifted, and then you saw her. She was gorgeous, a vibrant red dress that seemed like a challenge, hugging her figure with unshakable confidence. Her hair was loose in perfect waves, falling over her shoulders. When she laughed—oh, that laugh—the people around her seemed to lean in like sunflowers facing the sun.

It was impossible not to compare. You were beautiful, yes, but Anna was a force of nature. There was something about her that transcended appearances. She was magnetic, and worst of all, she seemed unaware of her power.

When the break came, people began to stand, some going to get refreshments, others just to stretch their legs. You and Alexei were silent when she appeared, as if drawn by an invisible magnet.

“Alexei.” Anna’s voice was low, but it carried a natural musicality. Then her eyes fell on you. “And this must be your wife. What a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Your smile was impeccable, polite, but you felt the hidden blade beneath her words.

“The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Karenina.” Your voice was firm, but there was a tension in her shoulders that you knew she would notice.

“Anna, please. Formalities between us seem so… unnecessary.” She tilted her head slightly, as if assessing you. “You are even more charming than I imagined.”

You murmured a thank you, aware of Alexei’s gaze darting between you and Anna as if he were trying to navigate a minefield.

“And you, Anna, look, as always… stunning.” Alexei’s voice broke the silence, and the weight of his words was palpable.

For a moment, Anna looked away from him. It was brief, but long enough that you felt as if the ground had dropped from beneath your feet. The way they looked at each other… there was no need for words.

The conversation continued, polite and courteous, but each sentence was loaded with hidden meaning, like a game of emotional chess. You realized that Anna wasn’t just beautiful; she was perceptive, intelligent, and knew exactly how to use those qualities.

“I hope this evening is memorable for both of you,” Anna said finally, with a smile that seemed almost sincere. “Maybe we’ll meet again.”

When she walked away, you felt the weight of the comparisons that inevitably arose. Her posture, her grace, her naturalness… it was hard not to feel small in front of her.

Back in the box, the silence between you and Alexei was almost unbearable. When he touched your hand, just to help you sit down, the heat of his fingers seemed to burn your skin. You wanted to scream, to ask him what she had that you didn’t, but you remained silent. The show started again, but you could barely pay attention. Your thoughts were caught up in Anna, in Alexei’s gaze, and in the growing abyss between the two of you.

When you arrived home, the stillness of the night seemed to stretch even longer than before. The air was thick, permeated with a tension that neither of you dared to break. Alexei led you to the mirror, his eyes dark and attentive. With almost automatic movements, he removed the clips that held your hair, one by one, with reverent delicacy. His hands, firm but careful, touched your scalp, relieving the pressure, and you closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the touch and the lightness of the moment.

Silence spread between you, and you could feel the distance that had settled since the theater. You, with a heavy heart, tried to ignore the echo of those images, the way Anna caught your attention, her beauty, her magnetic presence. Alexei, unconsciously, cast furtive glances, and you, without needing more, knew that his thoughts were far away.

Suddenly, without warning, the tears formed and fell, silent, as if they were a chain that had been waiting for a long time to break. The tip of his fingers gently touched your face, the warm tears still on your skin.

“What is it?” He spoke, his voice low, full of a tenderness that seemed tailor-made for you.

You looked at him, and for a moment, the words were stuck, but the question escaped with a thread of voice, so broken that it seemed like a whisper:

“You… you don’t want me anymore?”

The question seemed like a blade, cutting through the air. Alexei stepped back a little, his eyes wide with surprise, but soon the expression gave way to compassion. He came closer, touching your face with his fingertips, as if he was afraid that you would fall apart in his hands.

“Never say that, never.” His voice was firmer now, and his eyes, which had previously been filled with tension, now reflected a softness that you couldn’t fully understand.

The silence returned, but it wasn’t the same anymore. You shook your head, a tired denial, and your voice, choked, made the air around you seem colder.

“Prove it to me.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, struggling with something inside, and then, with an expression of resignation and affection, he answered, in a tone so sincere that it almost hurt:

“I’ll show you, today. I’ll show you that I still want you.”

And that was how the night turned into an intertwining of touches and whispers, a desire that materialized in a careful, almost reverent way. He kissed your as if each contact was an oath, a commitment that he tried to seal on her skin and in your heart. You felt that he was sharing something, something that couldn’t be ignored — an internal struggle between affection and what was still left in his mind. But at that moment, with every touch, there was a real effort to connect, to show that desire, no matter how much it was confused with guilt and doubt, was still there.

The night was made of touches that spoke louder than any words. Alexei's body moved with a care you had never seen before, each gesture an attempt to fix what was broken. He knew it wasn't a solution, he knew the abyss still existed, but that night, as the two of you met, there was no room for fear — there was only now.

When dawn began to tint the sky with shades of orange and pink, you rested in his arms, exhausted and satisfied, your heart still beating with the memory of the night. The world was coming back into existence in its fullness, but a question still haunted your mind, one you didn't dare to speak out loud:

Why couldn't things always be like this?

The answer remained unexplored, somewhere far away from you, but for now, as the sun began to rise, the only thing that mattered was the promise, still uncertain, that he would be there. Even if the dilemma continued, even if love was divided, at least for that moment, there was something you could believe in.

The afternoon was filled with a light breeze that moved with a whisper, as if it were a warning, a caution. You sat in the armchair next to the window, with the needle in your hands, your eyes fixed on the work in progress. The embroidery fabric was still stained with soft lines, but the thought of your son's layette brought some peace to your heart. But that peace was shattered by a sudden pain that shot through you, a stab so sharp that the world seemed to stop for a second.

You lifted the skirt of your dress with trembling hands and a scream escaped your lips before you could contain it. The sight of those red stains, fierce and cruel, made you tremble, fear spreading through every cell of your body. The pain was overwhelming, but nothing compared to the feeling of terror of losing what was growing inside you.

“Natalia!” Your voice was a lament, a desperate whisper that echoed through the room, each word filled with fear and helplessness. The sound of your own screams seemed distant, drowned out by the frantic beating of your heart. You fell to your knees, your vision blurred by the tears that flowed uncontrollably.

The blood. The merciless red. Cruel. It was all you could see.

“Please… No… Not my baby.” The words were mumbled, disjointed, a thin thread of plea as your trembling hands held your belly in desperation. The pain was more than physical; it was a growing emptiness, a loss you weren’t ready to accept.

The hurried footsteps echoed through the house before Natalia burst through the door.

“Oh my God, ma’am! What happened?”

“Natalia, please… save him. Please do something!” Your voice barely came out, muffled by sobs, as you gripped the maid’s arm with a strength that seemed impossible for someone so fragile at that moment. “I can’t lose him, Natalia. He’s all I have. All I… Please!”

Natalia, pale with horror, knelt beside you, trying to calm you down while struggling to hide her own panic.

“Calm down, ma’am, calm down. I’ll call the doctor. Just stay with me. Breathe, please!”

But you barely heard her. The heat of the blood running down your legs was a constant reminder of what was being ripped from you, cruel and without warning.

Meanwhile, Alexei walked along the path that led to the woods, the cool breeze caressing his face with a cruel gentleness, as if the environment did not understand the weight he carried in his chest. Each step seemed heavier, each breath more difficult, as if his conscience fought against his body, insisting that he return. But he kept going. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

When he saw her, sitting on a carefully laid blanket, with a picnic basket beside her, her eyes shining with expectation, he hesitated. Anna was everything that should be perfect – beautiful, charming, captivating. But at the same time, she was a constant reminder of everything he was destroying.

“You came…” Her voice carried a softness that should have calmed him, but only increased the guilt that consumed him.

“I shouldn’t have,” he murmured, but still sat down next to her. The words were true, but his presence there made them empty.

Anna smiled, as if she hadn’t heard or as if she believed he didn’t mean it. Her hands touched his, soft, hesitant, but not rejecting. He should push her away. But he didn’t. The silence between them was heavy, each moment of stillness stretching the tension to the limit.

Then Anna moved closer. Her fingers slid over Alexei’s face, her eyes searching for something in his—a permission, perhaps, or a reciprocity she already believed was there. When her lips touched his, for an instant, Alexei gave in. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Every lingering touch, every lingering look, every time he’d allowed her to come closer—it had all been pointing to this moment. And now that he was here, how could she back away?

The kiss was passionate, almost desperate, as if they were both trying to erase doubts and insecurities in the heat of the moment. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer as his thoughts tangled in a confusing whirlwind. This was what he wanted. This was what he was supposed to want.

But then her hands began to unbutton his shirt, and something inside him stopped. These weren’t the hands he wanted. These weren’t the kisses he wanted. The realization hit him like a blow, crushing any illusion he’d been trying to nurture.

“Anna, no.” He held her hands, firmly but not harshly. The surprise in her eyes hurt more than he expected.

“Alexei…? What is it?” Her voice was confused, almost a whisper, as if she were trying to comprehend a rupture she hadn’t anticipated.

He was slow, an abrupt movement that left him standing, while she was still kneeling on the blanket.

“I’m so sorry.” The words came out quickly, but they sounded insufficient, empty in the face of what he knew they had for her. “I can’t go through with this, Anna. I can’t.”

“Why? Isn’t this what you want?” Her question was sharp, but there was pain in her voice, a vulnerability he couldn’t bear.

He ran his hand over his face, his fingers pressed against his temples as if to stave off the internal conflict tearing him apart.

“I thought it was. But I was wrong.”

“Wrong?” Her disbelief was palpable. “Are you telling me that this… us… doesn’t mean anything?”

“Anna, I don’t know what this means. I just know that… I can’t do this to her. Not anymore.”

She found herself gasping, as if the words had been a physical blow. Alexei knew he had hurt her, but there was no other way.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice low, barely audible.

He turned away from her before he could change his mind, each step back onto the trail feeling like an act of self-punishment. Your face, the pain in your eyes, the frustration and anger—all of it following him, like a ghost he knew he would carry with him forever.

On the way home, the silence of the forest seemed to mock him. Each decision, each choice took him further away from the peace he so desired. But one thing was clear: he needed to renew what was left.

When he finally saw the house, the familiarity of the sight hit him hard. Inside, you were there—the woman he swore to protect, to care for, to love. The woman he hurt every day with his absences, his lies, his indecision.

Alexei walked into the house, feeling the weight of each step. Something was wrong. The lack of noise, the way none of the servants looked directly at him, as if they were afraid that any word or gesture might ignite a flame they could not control.

“What’s going on?” His voice was firm, but with an urgency he could not disguise.

The servants hesitated, but it was the housekeeper who finally answered, her voice low and careful: “It’s your wife, sir… She… The doctor is with her now.”

Before she could finish, Alexei was already climbing the stairs, his heart racing in his chest. Each second seemed like an eternity, the echo of his footsteps amplifying the fear that was growing in his mind.

When he reached the bedroom, he stopped in the doorway, his body tense. The doctor was talking in whispers to the housekeeper, gesturing discreetly. The scene before him was a nightmare. You were lying in bed, the sheets disheveled around your pale body. Your fragility was a cruel blow – a vibrant, lively woman seemed broken, almost unrecognizable.

“What happened?” He was elegant, his voice sharp, almost desperate.

The doctor turned to him, straightening his jacket before answering.

“Your wife had a serious scare. There was some bleeding, but fortunately the baby is fine.”

The doctor’s words hung in the air, and Alexei felt as if the ground had disappeared beneath his feet. A baby. He blinked in disbelief as the weight of the information descended upon him. What had once been a distant murmur was now a deafening scream in his mind. You were pregnant. You were pregnant, and he didn’t know it.

Suddenly, everything began to make sense. Your sudden improvement a few days ago, the way the laughter had slowly returned to your voice, how you seemed lighter, almost radiant. And he… He hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t paid attention to the little signs.

Alexei raised a trembling hand to his forehead, unable to shake off the whirlwind of thoughts. How could he have been so blind? He, who should have known your better than anyone, had failed to notice something so significant, something that should have been shared and celebrated by both of them.

He didn’t need to ask why he hadn’t been called sooner. He knew the answer. He knew exactly where he was. He knew exactly who he was with. Guilt hit him like a blow, stealing his breath. There were no excuses, only the knowledge that he had failed you—again.

When he finally managed to take a few hesitant steps toward the bed, his eyes fixed on your belly, where his seed grew, protected but barely lost. His chest tightened, an almost unbearable knot. Here was something he hadn’t even known he had, and it had almost been ripped from him without him having the fight to keep it.

“Alexei…” Your weak voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he knelt beside the bed, holding your hand with a gentleness that seemed to contradict the storm raging inside him.

Your eyes were half-closed, the lids heavy with exhaustion, but there was a glint of pain he couldn’t bear.

“I’m so sorry…” Your voice shook, each word filled with overwhelming guilt. “I failed you. With… with the baby.”

He shook his head, his fingers squeezing your lightly, as if he wanted to push the pain away with his touch.

“Don’t say that. It wasn’t your fault. None of this is your fault.”

But he knew whose fault it was. Not yours, never yours. Every bit of blame, every mistake and omission was his. Alexei looked down at your belly again, unable to contain the tightness in his throat.

“You’re safe now. And the baby too. I’m here.” He tried to sound firm, but his voice was a broken whisper.

You closed your eyes again, exhaustion overcoming you, but not before a single tear ran down the side of your face. Alexei watched you in silence, his heart torn by the fragility you showed.

Natalia, standing near the door, took a small step forward, hesitant but determined to speak. “She called for you.”

Alexei turned his face to her, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

“What?”

“As she cried, in despair. She called out to you.”

The words pierced him like blades. He looked away, feeling the weight of her absence crush him even more. How many times had you called out to him? How many times had he not been there when you needed him?

He leaned closer, pressing his forehead against your hand, his eyes closed in a mixture of relief and despair.

“Never again,” he whispered, the promise escaping his lips like a prayer. “Never again will you call out to me and not answer.”

And as the night deepened around them, Alexei stood there, beside your, in silence. For the first time in a long time, he felt that the silence was more deafening than any storm.

The days that followed were an exhausting mix of silence and tension. Alexei seemed like a man possessed by an almost desperate determination, willing to do anything to ensure his wife’s well-being. He had the finest dishes the chef could prepare brought to you, even if you barely touched them. He hired musicians to play softly in the garden, hoping the music would help ease your paleness. He brought expensive fabrics, delicate jewelry, perfumes from faraway lands.

The mornings were always filled with Alexei at your side, urging her to eat another spoonful, to take a few steps into the room. When afternoon fell, he would have your sit by the window, the view of the garden filling the space where words failed between them.

But nothing seemed to work.

You didn’t push him away. You didn’t refuse his care. But the distance between you grew every day, a chasm that Alexei didn’t know how to cross. He could feel it in the stiffness of your shoulders when he entered the room, in the gaze that hadn’t met his for a long time.

And then came the blow he hadn’t expected.

You knew.

He realized the moment your gaze finally met his, charged with something he had never seen before. It wasn’t anger, but something worse. It was the stillness of someone who was too hurt to confront, the resignation of someone who had lost something that could not be recovered.

He tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.

“You were with her.” Your voice cut through the air like a thread of ice.

Alexei froze. He wanted to deny it, he wanted to make up an excuse, anything. But the lies stuck in his throat like a tight rope, because deep down, he knew that you deserved more than your lies.

“I… I didn’t want it to be like this,” he murmured, his voice so low it sounded like a lost echo.

You laughed, a bitter sound he’d never heard come from your lips.

“I didn’t want it to be like this? Then how should it be, Alexei?”

His name on your lips was like a slap. There was no affection, only the cold formality of someone who’s given up the fight.

“I didn’t know about the baby,” he said, his voice shaking. “If I had known… if I had known…”

You interrupted him with a weak gesture of your hand.

“And would it have made a difference? Would you have stayed by my side? Or would I have been just another responsibility to balance between your escapades?”

Alexei fell to his knees beside the bed, his eyes pleading. He wanted to say yes, that everything would have been different, that he would have chosen you and his son above all else. But the words wouldn’t come, because he knew he couldn’t erase her—Anna—from his mind with mere promises.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he finally said, his hands shaking as they held yours.

You looked up at him, your eyes brimming with tears.

“But you did. And now I don’t know how to fix it, Alexei. I don’t know if it’s possible.”

Silence fell between you again, heavy as a stone. Alexei lowered his head, his breathing ragged.

“I want to try,” he whispered. “For you. For the baby. For us.”

You closed your eyes, allowing the tears to slide silently down your face. You didn’t answer, and Alexei felt his heart break a little more. He released you slowly, feeling as if you were slipping through his fingers, a fragile rope fraying under the weight of your own mistakes.

As he left the room, Alexei stopped when he heard Natalia whisper to another servant:

“They try to protect her from everything, but what is really destroying the lady of the house is here inside.”

The weight of the words hit him like a blow. He knew that it was not only her body that needed rest, but her heart that he had broken.

And for the first time, Alexei had to face the possibility that there might be no way to mend what he himself had destroyed.

The distance between you became more palpable every day. Alexei felt it in your gestures, in the way you looked away when he entered the room, in the short words that left a cold space where there had once been warmth.

He knew he had no right to demand anything, much less forgiveness. But despair was a hungry animal that consumed him, tearing away pieces of his sanity with every blank look you threw in his direction.

When you announced that you were changing rooms, he froze. Since the wedding, there had not been a single night in which you had slept apart.

“Is this necessary?” he heard himself ask, his voice low, almost a whisper, as if your answer could crush him.

You just nodded, without even looking up at him.

That night, Alexei wandered the house like a lost soul. Sitting in the darkness of the empty room, he stared at the bed where you should have been, your absence an oppressive presence that stole the air from his lungs. He didn’t know what to do, how to bear it. The bed seemed bigger, the room colder, the silence deafening.

And then he saw you. The next morning, as he walked down the hallway to his new room, the door was ajar. Alexei stopped. He didn’t want to invade that space that was no longer his, but something compelled him to look.

You were sitting by the window, the sunlight gently touching your face. One of your hands rested on your belly, and there was a smile on your lips. A smile he hadn’t seen in a long time.

“My little miracle…” you murmured, your voice soft, as if you were talking to the baby you were carrying.

Alexei felt his heart tighten. He should have been by your side, participating in that moment. He wanted to be the one with whom you would share your hopes and dreams for the future. But now, he was just a spectator from afar, like a stranger looking through the window of a life that was no longer yours.

He didn’t dare interrupt. He stayed there, quiet, until you slowly got up, supported by Natalia, and disappeared into the room.

The days dragged on. He dedicated every moment to trying to win back something, anything, but you remained distant. He no longer saw the warmth in your eyes, only an icy formality, a barrier he didn't know how to cross.

Sometimes, he heard you talking to the baby. Little promises, loving words that made his heart ache. He wanted to kneel right there and beg for a chance, for a moment of grace. He wanted to tell you that he didn't know how he had lost so much. That now he saw.

Because now he saw.

He saw in the expressions of the servants who passed by him, the veiled judgment in each furtive glance. He saw in his own eyes when he looked at himself in the mirror, the emptiness that had taken over his face. For the first time, he saw himself outside the lens of fascination that had blinded him, outside the lies he had told to justify his actions.

But none of that seemed enough to fix what he had broken.

At night, when he lay in his empty bed, the darkness seemed to weigh on him. He wondered if you thought of him as he thought of you. If, when you caressed his belly, you imagined him as the father of that child, or if he was already a specter in your memory. And he knew that, no matter how hard he tried, your forgiveness was not something he could demand. It was something you would give, or not, and he would have to accept it. But the waiting, the silence, the distance, were a hell he didn't know how to bear.

That night, he sat in the empty room and whispered to the darkness: "Forgive me. Please… forgive me."

But the only answer was silence.

A few more days passed. The mansion, with its spacious halls and impeccably silent corridors, seemed smaller, more suffocating. Still, you kept trying. The weather, the garden, the cold breeze that announced the arrival of a new season — everything was an effort on her part to find some balance, to not let herself succumb to chaos again.

Your belly, although still discreet, was already the center of everything. The servants avoided talking more than necessary, moving carefully around you, as if each word could be another weight on your shoulders. But you were tired. Not of living, perhaps, but of suffering for him.

The walk in the garden came as an unexpected relief. The flowers were still resisting the beginning of autumn, and the wind, although cold, did not seem merciless. There, for a few minutes, your thoughts about Alexei gave way to a momentary peace.

But the calm never lasted long.

That same afternoon, while you were strolling through the streets, something caught your attention. It was a small shop with modest windows, where baby clothes were carefully displayed. You hesitated, but ended up going in.

Inside, the soft colors and soft fabric of the clothes seemed to scream promises of a better future. Your fingers touched a specific piece — a light blue jumpsuit with small, delicate embroidery. He looked so small, so fragile, that for a moment you closed your eyes and allowed the image of a baby to fill your mind.

A boy, you thought. He would have eyes like Alexei’s. And the smile too, that smile that once brightened your days.

The thought came without warning, but it brought a wave of mixed emotions. You didn’t know what it meant—this longing, this inevitable connection between the baby and the man who had broken your heart. But the tightness in your chest was real.

You bought the onesie. When you left the store, the fabric still in your hands, you realized you were shaking.

On the way back home, your steps seemed slower, as if they carried the weight of everything that had been unsaid, of everything that still hurt. The idea of ​​a new beginning, something that had once been a promise for you and Alexei, now seemed uncertain. How could you possibly rebuild something with so many pieces around it?

But as you held that piece of clothing, too small to imagine a body inside it, a silent truth began to take shape. No matter what happened to you and Alexei, that baby was real. He was the hope in the midst of chaos, even if you didn’t yet know how to fully grasp it.

And deep down, even without wanting to, you knew. Part of you still wished things were different, that he was different. That the warmth would return to your eyes, that he would be the father you imagined when you held the onesie in your hands.

The days passed with an unbearable slowness for Alexei. He tried desperately to find ways to get closer to you, but all his attempts seemed to be lost in the void. Dinner that night, the first you would share in weeks, seemed like a small miracle to him. The table was set, the delicate aroma of carefully prepared dishes filled the room, but the euphoria in your chest soon gave way to an anxiety that was hard to ignore.

You were serious, but not hostile. There were no more tears, nor any looks filled with pain. There was a calm that, for Alexei, was even more frightening.

The meal passed with little more than the sound of silverware, and he struggled to create some dialogue, anything that could fill the silence. But then you spoke, and your words shattered the faint hope he had.

“I’ve been thinking,” you began, your voice low but firm, as your eyes remained fixed on your plate. “I think it would be better for everyone if I moved to another house.”

Alexei froze. The knife slipped from his hand and hit the plate with a loud clang that echoed through the room. He looked at you, confused, as if he couldn’t have heard you correctly.

“What?” he barely managed to whisper, his voice hoarse and incredulous.

You didn’t look away, even as you felt your chest tighten at the look on his face.

“It’s not uncommon. Lots of ladies do it,” you continued, your tone almost clinical, as if you were explaining something obvious. “It’s a practical solution. I would be fine, and you could have your life… with whoever you want.”

The words were like knives, stabbing one by one into his heart. He shook his head slowly, as if denying the reality you were proposing.

“No…” Alexei murmured, standing up from his chair with an abrupt movement. He approached you, almost tripping over his own feet, his voice louder now, more desperate. “Don’t say that, please. Don’t do that.”

But you remained where you were, looking at him with an expression that seemed both hard and fragile.

“It’s not fair, Alexei. You could… keep seeing Anna, without having to worry about me.”

He interrupted before you could say more, urgency brimming with each word: “There is no more Anna.”

The silence that followed was sharp.

You blinked, disbelief evident in your eyes. Alexei took a step forward, as if he needed to close the physical distance to reach you somehow.

“It’s over. I… I broke up with her. There’s nothing between us anymore, I swear.”

Your expression remained firm, but he saw the doubt in your eyes, the hesitation.

“Why would I believe you now?” Your voice shook, but you kept your tone controlled.

He took a deep breath, running a hand over his face, the gesture of an exhausted and defenseless man.

“Because I couldn’t go on, not after…” He hesitated, his eyes darting to the floor for a moment before meeting yours again. “Not after realizing what I was risking. What I almost lost.”

Alexei knelt in front of you, his hands gripping yours with desperate strength, as if the mere contact could stop you from pulling away any further.

“I was a fool, a complete idiot, and I know that… that my apologies may not mean anything now. But please, believe me. There is no one else. Just you. Just you and…” He looked down at your belly, his gaze softening for a moment, before returning to your face, so full of hurt. “And our son.”

You wanted to believe him. A part of you screamed to accept those words, to allow the pain to be replaced by something sweeter. But there were wounds that were still raw, and the fear of getting hurt again was too great.

“Alexei… I…” You began, but the words died on your lips.

He felt the wall between you, knew that his words, as sincere as they were, might not be enough.

“Please, don’t go.” He spoke again, his tone lower, almost a whisper. “I know I have no right to ask this, but I… I don’t know how to live without you.”

The weight of his declaration hung between you, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. But you looked away, unable to bear the intensity in his eyes.

And yet, even when your hands released his, he didn’t pull away. He remained there, kneeling, caught between guilt and hope, waiting for a miracle that might never come.

The weeks that followed were a slow unraveling of us. The distance between you two still existed, but it was no longer an unbridgeable chasm. There were shared glances that lasted a little longer, less charged silences, gestures that seemed to seek something beyond the surface. And although fear still inhabited your chest, you didn’t leave.

That afternoon, the room was silent, the discreet sound of the fireplace being your only companion as you read. Alexei was there too, sitting in a nearby armchair with a book that seemed more like a disguise than something he was actually reading. He kept stealing glances at you, as if he was afraid of missing some detail of your expression.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice low and almost hesitant: “Can I… can I touch your belly?”

The question hung in the air, and you looked up from your book, meeting his. For a moment, Alexei almost regretted asking it, afraid that you would refuse. But to his surprise, you nodded slightly, a shy but genuine permission.

He approached you slowly, kneeling beside you as if each movement were a silent prayer. When his hand finally rested on the soft fabric covering your belly, it was with an almost reverent delicacy. He held his hand there, still, as if afraid that a bolder gesture might break the moment.

The heat from his palm seemed to pass through your skin, and you watched him as he leaned in slightly, his eyes shining in a way that made your heart clench. He was smiling, a soft but genuine smile, so full of happiness that it was impossible to ignore.

“He’s… still so young,” Alexei murmured, almost to himself, his voice choked with emotion.

You just nodded, unable to answer. Something inside you broke at that moment, and tears began to sting your eyes. It was impossible to reconcile the man in front of you, so vulnerable, so in love with something that was still just a promise of life, with the same man who had broken your heart.

He looked up at you, and for an instant, the connection between you was so strong that it seemed like nothing else existed. But the pain was still there, mixed with the tenderness of that moment.

“Alexei…” Your voice broke a little, and it took you a moment to gather your courage. “Tell me about her. About Anna.”

He froze, the happiness on his face replaced by an almost palpable hesitation.

“I don’t know if…” he began, but you interrupted him, your voice firmer now.

“Please. I need to know.”

Alexei took a deep breath, the weight of the confession weighing on him. Finally, he pulled away a little, sitting next to you on the couch, but keeping his hand on your belly as if it were his anchor.

“The rumors…” He began, choosing his words carefully. “They say we were in love. That there was… something between us. But that’s not true.”

You remained silent, allowing him to continue, although you felt your chest tighten with tension.

“There was never a night of love. There was never anything physical.” He shook his head, his eyes locked on yours. “I was foolish, I was blind. I fell for her… for an idea of ​​her, maybe. It was like… something I couldn’t have, and it made me want her even more.”

Alexei paused, his fingers lightly touching your belly, as if the gesture gave him the strength to continue.

“I wasn’t in love with her. Not really. How could I be? She was… an empty dream, a distraction. I was an idiot for not realizing it sooner. And by the time I did, I had already hurt you.”

You closed your eyes, allowing the tears to finally escape, running silently down your cheeks. He leaned in slightly, his free hand hovering in the air as if he wanted to wipe them away, but didn’t dare.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice was a whisper, filled with regret. “If I could go back, I would change everything. But now, all I can do is ask… ask that one day you forgive me.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but there was something different about it. It was no longer the oppressive emptiness of before, but something more… full of possibilities. And although you still didn’t have answers for everything, in that moment, you allowed it to stay.

Because, maybe, this was a start.

The days began to pass differently. The void that had seemed insurmountable between the two of you was now slowly being filled, not with the certainties that had once existed, but with something new. Alexei was present in a way he hadn’t been before, and every gesture, no matter how small, seemed to carry a greater meaning.

He was no longer just the husband you knew, but a man who seemed to strive to be worthy of any space in your life again. There were flowers left on your dressing table, always your favorites, though he never gave them to you directly. There were short notes with kind words placed next to your tea. Little things that you began to notice and eventually treasure.

The visits from the ladies close to you also contributed to this new rhythm. When they arrived, they brought with them not only laughter and pleasant conversation, but also a natural curiosity about how you were doing. They were different from the ladies who had come before, full of snide comments and innuendo. These were your friends, the ones who seemed genuinely concerned.

As they drank tea in the sunlit living room, one of them casually commented:

“It’s funny… no one sees Anna around anymore. It seems she’s gone back to her life, with her husband, as if nothing had happened.”

The remark made the room go silent for a moment, and you felt your heart sink, but you forced yourself to maintain your composure.

“Maybe it’s for the best for her.” Your answer was calm, almost rehearsed, as you sipped your tea.

“No doubt.” Another lady agreed. “After all, it was all so… scandalous. But it’s good that things are getting back to normal.”

The subject changed quickly, but the words stayed with you, a reminder of something that still weighed on you, even when you wanted to let it go.

Alexei kept trying, and each day seemed like a new opportunity for him to show you that he was there for you. One morning, while you were tending the flowers in the garden, he appeared, shy as someone who fears rejection.

“Can I help you?” The question was simple, but the tone begged for a yes.

You hesitated for a moment before handing him the pruning shears, allowing him to join you. The minutes that followed were calm, with him working beside you in silence, until, at some point, he began to speak.

“I know that nothing I do can erase what happened. But I want you to know… I will never do anything like that again.”

You paused, watching him as he continued, his voice full of sincerity:

“I will never let anything or anyone hurt you like that because of me again. I promise, with everything I am.”

His words touched something inside you, but it was hard to know if they were enough. Still, you didn’t pull your hand away when he lightly touched yours.

The nights changed too. Although you still slept in separate rooms, there were times when he would stay by your side for longer, talking quietly about the future, about the baby. He asked questions, listened carefully to your answers, and his eyes shone in a way that made something in your chest tighten.

“I want to be here. I want to be the father our son deserves.” He said one night, and there was sincerity in every word.

It was hard not to believe him when he looked at you like that, with a vulnerability you had never seen before. And even though the fear was still there, you began to let it in again, little by little, like sunlight filtering through the cracks in a curtain.

Things were still not the same. Maybe they never would be. But for the first time, you began to believe that they could be something new.

The night was quiet, the silence filled only by the sound of Alexei’s voice as he read softly, careful not to disturb the peace of the moment. He was sitting in the armchair next to your bed, holding the book with steady hands, but his eyes often strayed to you, searching for signs of fatigue or, perhaps, some trace that your presence was more than just tolerated.

You were lying on your side, your eyes closed, but you weren’t sleeping. It was a relief, somehow, to hear something familiar, something that wasn’t accompanied by excuses or explanations. He read with the same passion he always had, the words coming out as if they were his own creation.

Then, when he finished the poem, a comfortable silence settled in.

“I like it when you read to me.” Your voice was soft, almost hesitant, but true.

He paused, almost in disbelief, before responding with a small smile.

“I like it even more when I read to you.”

The room felt different that night, enveloped in something that went beyond comfort or closeness. It was as if the two of you were walking together in new territory, built on scarred ground but with real possibilities to flourish.

“Stay.” You murmured, the words spilling out before you could reconsider them.

Alexei’s gaze froze the moment he heard them, and he thought for a moment that he had imagined it.

“What?”

You opened your eyes, meeting his, and repeated a little more firmly:

“Stay the night.”

There was a second of hesitation, but only because he was trying to control the wave of emotion that threatened to overflow. Alexei nodded slowly, standing up carefully so as not to break the moment. He seemed nervous, almost as if it was the first time he had approached you this way, and maybe, in a way, it was.

He blew out the candle next to the armchair before lying down next to you, as if every movement could scare away the possibility of this moment existing. The bed seemed smaller with the two of you, but he didn’t complain, didn’t move more than necessary.

For a moment, he stayed there, just staring at the ceiling, unsure if you really wanted him to touch you. So when you turned onto your side and he felt your body settle closer, he took a deep breath and finally gathered his courage.

His arm slowly rose, wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer, until your body was completely fitted against his. Alexei’s breathing was shaky, as if he couldn’t believe this was real.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion.

You didn’t respond, but you shifted slightly, adjusting to his warmth, which was answer enough. The closeness was a balm for Alexei, a kind of redemption he never dared ask for, but yearned for every day.

His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t asleep. Not yet. He was too busy memorizing every detail of that moment: the way your hair smelled, the rhythm of your breathing, the feel of your body against his.

“Do you still like me?” Your voice cut through the silence like a barely audible whisper.

Alexei paused, his throat tightening with the force of the question. He leaned in slightly, pressing his lips against the top of your head, the only response he could muster without breaking down completely. “I never stopped.” It was the last thing he said before you finally fell asleep, and he lay awake for a long time after that, holding you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever had—because to him, that’s exactly what you were.

The room was bathed in soft light, filtered through the curtains that danced lightly in the morning breeze. Alexei woke first, his eyes blinking against the brightness as he adjusted to the surroundings. For a moment, he lay still, as if afraid that any movement would undo the scene before him.

You were still asleep, your face relaxed, your breathing slow and even. He let out a sigh, not of exhaustion, but of relief. As hard as the journey here had been, there was something immensely comforting in simply being able to be by your side again.

His hand moved almost on its own, his fingers tracing invisible lines over your skin, from your shoulder to the delicate curve of your arm. He didn’t dare do more than that, afraid of intruding on the moment. But when you sighed in response, still asleep, he let a shy smile appear on his lips.

When your eyes finally opened, Alexei was already there, watching you with an intensity that almost seemed new, but at the same time familiar.

“Good morning.” He murmured, his voice low and a little hoarse from sleep.

You blinked a few times before answering, still adjusting to reality.

“Good morning.”

The soft voice made something in his chest tighten, and for a moment, he wanted to say everything he felt, but didn’t know where to start. So, he opted for something simpler, safer.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes.” You answered, your gaze meeting his. “And you?”

“Better than I deserve.” The confession was out before he could stop himself, and when he realized what he had said, he blushed slightly, looking away for a moment.

You studied him silently, noticing the still faint dark circles under his eyes, the way he looked anxious, but at the same time… content.

“Do you still tolerate me?” He asked, finally gathering the courage, though his voice carried a palpable hesitation.

The question made your heart clench, but you didn’t look away.

“Alexei…” You began, your voice thick with emotion. “It was never about tolerating. I never stopped loving you. That’s why it hurt so much.”

The words hit Alexei with the force of a wave, his breath catching in his throat. It took him a moment to process, but when he finally did, something in his gaze changed. It was a mix of relief, pain, and an emotion he couldn’t name, but it pulled him closer to you.

And then he couldn’t resist.

Your faces were inches apart, and the hesitation disappeared the moment your lips touched. The kiss started out timid, careful, as if you were both testing the waters after so long. But the initial softness gave way to something more intense, more urgent.

Alexei held your face in his hands, as if he needed to anchor you there, next to him. His lips moved with silent desperation, each touch loaded with months of unspoken words, of accumulated pain, of a love that, despite everything, had never disappeared.

You returned it with the same intensity, feeling his heat envelop you like a flame that didn’t burn, but healed. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, as if the space between you was unbearable.

When you finally pulled away, you were both panting, your faces close, testing the newly rediscovered intimacy. Alexei rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he tried to catch his breath and his words.

“I love you.” He whispered, his voice thick with vulnerability and conviction. “I always will.”

You didn’t respond with words, but the way your eyes sparkled was answer enough. And when your lips met his again, it felt like a silent promise that this time, things would be different.

[shadyfestivalperfection]

Love, Lies And Loki~7

Summery: Y/n’s parents invite Y/n and her boyfriend Loki to thanksgiving dinner at their place.

Characters: Loki x girlfriend!reader

Note: All characters except Loki are mine!

||Master List||

8. The Thunder Between Us

🦃 Turkey,Tension And Truth Bombs 🦃

The invitation arrived in the form of a phone call — a cheerful, slightly chaotic one from Y/N’s mom.

“Sweetheart, are you coming home for Thanksgiving?”

Y/N held the phone between her ear and shoulder, standing in the kitchen while Loki casually levitated a tea kettle without touching it. He raised a brow at her, as if eavesdropping was beneath him — but clearly, he was listening.

“Yeah, Mom,” Y/N replied, “I was planning to. But I, um… wanted to ask something.”

“Is it about bringing that boyfriend of yours?”

Y/N blinked. “How did you—?”

“Oh, honey, you’ve been dropping hints for weeks. ‘He’s charming, a little weird, he has long hair, mysterious eyes…’” Her mother chuckled. “Bring him! We’d love to meet him.”

Y/N hesitated.

See, it wasn’t that Loki couldn’t behave. He could — in theory. But he was still Loki. The god of mischief. A former villain. A current enigma. And the idea of placing him in a suburban home with her Midwestern family, mashed potatoes, and a very judgmental tabby cat named Pickles? It was a lot.

But he had been trying. He’d been gentle with her. Honest. Loving, in his own Loki way. And maybe — just maybe — this was the next step.

She glanced at him. “You want to meet my parents?”

Loki looked up from pouring tea, his expression unreadable. Then, smoothly, “If they raised you, I suppose they can’t be completely insufferable.”

“Was that a yes?”

He shrugged. “It would be my honor. Besides…” He took a sip of tea, smirking. “I’ve never celebrated Thanksgiving. I assume it involves feasting and awkward human rituals?”

Y/N groaned. “You have no idea.”

⸻

Two days later, they were in a car headed to her childhood town. Loki wore a sleek black coat and a green scarf, looking infuriatingly majestic. Y/N, on the other hand, was trying not to have an stress-induced aneurysm.

“Okay,” she said, gripping the steering wheel. “Ground rules.”

Loki slouched in the passenger seat, looking out at the endless lines of trees and highways. “Mm.”

“Don’t use magic in front of them. Don’t mention you’re a god. Don’t insult the food. And please, for the love of all things holy, don’t start a debate with my dad about politics. He’s—he’s very passionate.”

Loki turned his head, amused. “Darling, I once brokered peace between warring realms and survived an interrogation by Thanos. I believe I can handle a holiday dinner.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You say that now…”

⸻

Her parents lived in a cozy, two-story house with a wraparound porch and an actual white picket fence. It smelled like autumn leaves, firewood, and cinnamon — the kind of place where everything was always slightly too warm and you had to take your shoes off at the door.

“Okay,” Y/N whispered as they stepped onto the porch. “Just be yourself. But, like… the less stabby version.”

Loki gave her a playful smirk. “No promises.”

The door flew open before she could knock.

“Y/N!” Her mom pulled her into a hug, eyes misting over. “You look so beautiful. And you—” she turned to Loki, inspecting him like a rare museum artifact “—are exactly what I expected.”

Loki blinked. “I… am?”

“Oh yes. That hair? That posture? You look like a prince.”

“Technically, I am—” Y/N elbowed him hard. Loki coughed. “—pleased to meet you, madam.”

Her mother beamed and ushered them inside. The living room was decked out with fall-themed decorations, a pumpkin-scented candle flickering on the mantle, and a turkey-shaped centerpiece already on the dining table.

Her dad appeared from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He had the stern, weathered look of a man who read newspapers every morning and considered black coffee a food group.

“You must be Loki,” he said, extending a hand.

“I must,” Loki said, shaking it. “It’s a pleasure.”

Her dad raised a brow. “You don’t look like a ‘Loki.’ Thought you’d have more piercings or something.”

Loki grinned. “Give me five minutes.”

Y/N groaned. Her parents laughed.

⸻

They settled into the living room where Loki was immediately subjected to the full parental barrage.

“What do you do for a living?” her dad asked.

“I… dabble,” Loki replied smoothly. “A bit of diplomacy. A bit of artifact recovery. Occasional world-saving.”

Her mother gasped. “Oh! So you’re like one of those treasure hunters? Like Indiana Jones?”

“Exactly,” Loki said with zero shame.

“And how long have you two been dating?” her mom asked, eyes twinkling.

Y/N answered quickly, “Almost two years now.”

Loki added, “But I’ve adored her far longer.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Her mother melted.

Her father grunted. “Hmph.”

Y/N blushed so hard her ears went pink.

⸻

Enter: Pickles. The ancient, grouchy, orange cat with a Napoleon complex and laser-beam judgment.

The second Pickles saw Loki, he arched his back and hissed.

“Ah,” Loki said. “A fellow deity.”

Y/N laughed nervously. “He’s… just not used to strangers.”

Pickles darted past Loki and scratched the back of his coat.

“I will turn you into a ferret,” Loki muttered under his breath.

“Loki,” Y/N warned.

“Fine,” he said with a sigh. “But if he pees in my shoes, I will retaliate.”

⸻

It started with the gravy.

Y/N’s mom was bustling around the kitchen, her sleeves rolled up, humming to herself. Steam curled from bubbling pots, the smell of roasted turkey filled the air, and everything was going smoothly… until Loki offered to “assist.”

“I can be helpful,” he insisted, watching her chop carrots with mild horror.

“Sweetie, that’s kind,” her mom said, handing him a whisk, “but just stir the gravy, okay?”

Stir the gravy. Seemed simple enough. Until Loki got bored and decided the process was “inefficient.”

One flick of his fingers later, the whisk was stirring itself in midair, the pot hovered for “even heating,” and steam took the shape of miniature dragons dancing above it.

Y/N entered the kitchen just in time to see the gravy pot rotate like a carousel.

“Loki—!”

“It’s fine,” he said cheerfully. “I am controlling it.”

“I said no magic!”

Y/N’s mom just stood there, wide-eyed. “Did… did the steam just wink at me?”

The gravy suddenly boiled over and spilled down the front of the stove.

Y/N grabbed a dish towel and groaned. “Okay. You’re on table duty. Only table duty. That means folding napkins and staying away from fire.”

Loki smirked, unbothered. “I can fold a mean napkin.”

Y/N’s father walked in a few minutes later to find Loki conjuring tiny napkin swans, each one with a crown made of glimmering gold thread.

Her father blinked. “What the hell is this?”

“Ambiance,” Loki replied.

Her dad stared at the enchanted table setting, looked at Loki, then muttered, “You’re lucky she likes you.”

Loki smirked again. “I’m lucky she loves me.”

Her father did not smirk back.

⸻

Later, while Y/N and her mom finished prepping the pie, her father cornered Loki on the porch with two mugs of cider.

“You’ve got a past,” her dad said bluntly.

Loki took the mug, his voice calm. “I do.”

“Criminal records, world domination, all that.”

Loki chuckled. “Yes, I’m aware of my… reputation.”

Her dad sipped his cider. “She’s had her heart broken before. You hurt her, and—”

“I’ll suffer?” Loki finished. “Yes, I’ve been given that speech many times. Sometimes with weapons.”

“She’s my daughter,” her dad said, his tone sharp.

“And she’s my everything,” Loki replied, more seriously than expected.

The silence stretched.

Her dad gave him a long, unreadable look. Then finally: “…You’re not as smug as you act, are you?”

Loki smiled faintly. “Not when it comes to her.”

⸻

By 5 p.m., the table was set, candles were lit, and everyone gathered for the feast.

Y/N sat beside Loki, across from her parents. Pickles the Cat watched from the hallway like a tiny, furry judge. The turkey was golden, the wine was poured, and the moment had come.

“Loki,” her mom said sweetly, “Would you like to say grace?”

Y/N nearly choked on her water.

But Loki surprised her. He stood, adjusted his sleeves, and placed one hand lightly over his chest.

“I’m not familiar with this tradition,” he began, “but I suppose I can offer a few words.”

Everyone fell silent.

“I give thanks for this home — warm, welcoming, and full of character. I give thanks for good food, though I still don’t understand cranberry sauce. And most of all…” His eyes flicked to Y/N. “I give thanks for love. For the people who show it, protect it, and make mortals and immortals alike feel as though they belong.”

There was a soft “aww” from her mom. Y/N’s hand found his under the table and squeezed it.

Pickles sneezed in the background.

⸻

Dinner conversation drifted from harmless topics to slightly more dangerous ones.

“So Loki,” her dad asked, cutting into a yam, “Where did you say you were from again?”

There was a pause.

Loki smiled. “Originally? Asgard.”

Y/N kicked him under the table.

“I mean—uh—Norway!” he corrected. “We moved a lot.”

Her mom perked up. “Oh! Do you speak Norwegian?”

“A bit. And Latin. And a few… celestial dialects.”

Y/N sighed. “He’s really into languages. It’s a hobby.”

“And artifacts,” Loki added, ignoring her. “And illusions. I have a small collection of ancient relics.”

Her dad raised a brow. “Any of them… legal?”

Y/N gave a pained laugh. “He’s kidding.”

“I’m not,” Loki replied with a straight face.

Y/N dropped her fork.

⸻

After dinner came dessert. Pumpkin pie, whipped cream, and coffee.

Y/N and Loki sat beside each other on the couch while her parents cleaned up.

“You okay?” she whispered.

He looked at her. “Have I embarrassed you?”

She sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Only slightly. But you’re lucky you’re charming.”

He kissed her forehead. “I didn’t even bring out the fireworks.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Just then, her mom walked in, holding a photo album.

“Oh no,” Y/N muttered.

“Oh yes,” her mom said gleefully. “Baby photos.”

Loki lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Was she adorable?” he asked.

“She had chubby cheeks and an obsession with glue sticks,” her mom said proudly.

Loki leaned forward. “Tell me everything.”

⸻

They lay on the guest bed that evening, the sounds of soft jazz and Pickles knocking something over in the hallway filling the quiet.

“I think they like you,” Y/N said sleepily, tracing patterns on his arm.

“They didn’t curse me. That’s progress,” Loki murmured.

She smiled. “You were amazing. Even when you made gravy dragons.”

He kissed the top of her head. “They’re your family. I wanted them to know I’m serious about you.”

Her breath caught slightly.

“Are you?” she asked, barely audible.

He looked at her, green eyes warm. “Y/N, I would face every Midgardian holiday — no matter how strange — if it meant being by your side.”

She blinked, heart full.

“You soft little frost giant.”

“Don’t ruin the moment.”

The house had settled into its nighttime quiet, the kind that made you feel safe and full — not just from food, but from comfort. The dishes were done, the wine had worn off, and even Pickles had curled up in a basket like a tiny, furry sentinel.

Y/N had drifted off for a moment, her head on Loki’s chest as he read some Earth novel he’d picked up from the living room bookshelf. Something about a detective and a haunted house. He liked the drama of it.

He was just reaching the twist when there was a soft knock on the door.

“Loki?” It was her mom’s voice, gently muffled.

He looked to the sleeping form in his arms, then eased Y/N off him with care. “Come in.”

Her mom peeked in, holding two mugs. “Chamomile tea. Thought you might want something warm.”

He nodded, taking the mug with a small smile. “Thank you.”

She stepped into the room and sat on the cushioned bench near the window. Loki followed, sitting opposite her.

For a few moments, they just sipped in silence.

Then she said softly, “She talks about you a lot.”

Loki glanced at the closed door, then back at her. “Hopefully only the flattering things.”

A quiet laugh. “Only the ones that matter. How you listen. How you make her feel safe. How you see her.”

He said nothing, humbled.

“I’ll admit,” she continued, “when she told us about you — the real you — I was… terrified.”

“Understandable,” Loki said. “I’m not exactly the picture of stability in your world’s history books.”

“But I’ve seen the way you look at her,” her mom said gently. “You look like someone who found something they didn’t think they’d ever deserve.”

Loki’s throat tightened slightly.

“I didn’t,” he whispered. “Not until her.”

Her mom smiled. “Just don’t let her forget that.”

⸻

The next morning arrived in a flurry of snow.

Y/N woke to find Loki sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing an oversized sweater with a reindeer on it and — to her absolute delight — fuzzy socks covered in tiny cartoon turkeys.

“Oh my god,” she laughed, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “Where did you get those?”

He held up a foot proudly. “Your mother left them outside the door. I am wearing them under protest.”

“You’re not protesting very hard.”

“They’re… surprisingly soft.”

She scooted over and poked one socked toe. “You’re adorable.”

He leaned down, catching her in a kiss. “Say it again.”

“You. Are. Adorable.”

He tackled her with a mock growl, both of them dissolving into laughter and blankets.

⸻

Later that morning, bundled in coats and mittens, they took a walk through the backyard. Snow clung to the trees, soft and white, and their footprints were the only ones marking the path.

“I never grew up with this,” Loki said, watching his breath curl in the air.

“Snow?”

“No. A place like this. A home. A family that bickers and cooks and embarrasses you with baby photos.”

Y/N smiled. “You’re part of it now.”

He looked at her, something quiet and vulnerable in his expression. “Do you think they’ll let me be?”

“They already have,” she said. “They just wanted to know you’re real.”

“I’m… trying to be. For you.”

Y/N stopped, tugging him down so she could kiss the tip of his nose. “You’re doing beautifully.”

He laughed under his breath, then reached into his coat pocket and pulled something out.

A small, delicate charm — silver with a green gem, shaped like a tiny leaf.

“I know this weekend was about giving thanks,” he said softly. “So this is mine. A token of gratitude. For choosing me, loving me, dragging me to dinner with your very nosy relatives.”

She blinked, touched.

“You’re giving me a leaf?”

“It’s from Yggdrasil. The World Tree. It symbolizes connection. And fate.”

She held it to her chest. “Loki…”

“It’s enchanted. Always warm to the touch. So you’ll remember I’m close.”

She grinned. “Are you proposing?”

He gave her a wicked smile. “Not yet. But you’d know if I was.”

They kissed again as snowflakes danced around them.

-The end

[pillow-ghost-nan]

VERY LONG wolfstar fic rec list PART 2

PART 1

PART 3

Again, since I almost exclusively read smut, most of these are M or E lol

Please let me know if any link needs fixing or if there are any mistakes

Multi-chapter:

Carry Me Away by greyeyedmonster18

Rating: M, 105k words “You know I need you, and that's for sure, you’re just the kind of crazy I’ve been looking for.” Sirius had devised the perfect plan. Two weeks in London before he started University. Two weeks of bars and football games and time spent out from under his parents gaze. Two weeks without rules or expectations. He concocted the perfect ruse to fool everyone about his whereabouts. And then he met Remus. And suddenly two weeks couldn't have ever been enough time. (non-magic, AU; Sirius is a sheltered posh boy on his first rebellion, Remus is an attractive stranger who make's him re-think all his plans).

Sacrifice by abyss_valkyrie (Technomancer28), muse_in_absentia

Rating: E, 48k words In a world where Demons are the top of the food chain, the Shadow Demons are in charge of it all. Sirius, the heir apparent, would really like to shake that up, with a little help from his friends, of course.

For the Love of Ducks by viwrites

Rating: E, 74k words Remus Lupin is freshly twenty years old and sitting on a park bench in central London, he has a squashed pastry bag next to him and a cup of tea clutched between perpetually cold fingers. He moved to London eight months ago in search of a new doctor after having grown up on a little farm in Wales, and he hasn’t taken well to city life. He's taken to this park mostly because the trees are dense, the people are sparse, and there are birds. Nice ones that sing and hop from bench to bench scavenging for dropped bits of food or else pulling worms from the earth. Today he’s watching a pair of ducks glide easily across the pond. He thinks they must have a nest nearby, and in a few weeks there will be ducklings. Or... Remus Lupin has always been sick, and he'd just like to feel normal for once. Sirius Black seems like the perfect man with a perfect, exciting life.

'tis the damn season by moonymoment

Rating: T, 72k words “Where are you going?” Remus turns. Sirius looks delightful; wine-flush and December drizzle painting his pale, pretty face the deepest carmine red. His spindly hands are twiddling at his front, as if he doesn’t know quite what to do with them. He sniffs, and exhales corporeal ice that sends a shiver running down Remus’ spine. He’s not sure if it’s from the cold or the alcohol or… something else. and it always leads to you, and my hometown

ten reasons (to go to michigan) by greyeyedmonster18

Rating: M, 59k words Best-selling novelist Remus Lupin, distraught and torn after his relationship of 10 years ends in nothing but doubt and litigation leaves the bustle of New York City, and retreats to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan in hopes of reconnecting to his childhood and getting his writing spark back. Sirius Black is a local ceramicist and single parent with a backstory all his own, who happens to frequent the coffee shop Remus grew up studying in. Remus for the first time in his life didn't have a plan when he booked a one way plane ticket--except for maybe the plan to never fall in love again. Except... A story of simple pleasures, love, and home. (Modern, Adult Wolfstar AU; set in the states)

Notting Hill by WrappedUp

Rating: M, 23k words Of course, Remus has seen his films and has always thought he's... well, fabulous. But a million miles away from the world he lives in; here, in Notting Hill.

Enigma Variations by Coriaria

Rating: Not rated (officially but actually E), 68k words When Sirius Black is unmasked as a spy, it seems that nearly everyone in Bletchley Park knew all along that something wasn't right about him. But Lily Evans thinks otherwise. She knows that if Black really was a spy, he'd have done it properly, and would have never been caught. Remus Lupin doesn't believe Sirius is a spy either. According to the landlady, she found the stolen ciphers in his room between the pages of a magazine filled with photos of half-naked women. And Remus knows that such a magazine would hold no interest for Sirius. It's not much to go on, but both Remus and Lily are determined to get to the truth. A man's life depends upon it.

Blind and Deaf by Cocomouse

Rating: E, 18k words Remus doesn't do blind dates. They must be the worst possible social situation humankind has ever invented: two strangers some people have decided that maybe they should get in a committed relationship. You have two hours. So no, he wouldn't touch that with a ten yard stick, not if he can help it. But he knows better than to try and argue with Lily, so, here he is.

Text Talk by merlywhirls

Rating: T, 141k words Sirius is in boarding school, Remus is in hospital, and they don't know each other until Sirius texts the wrong number.

Seventeen Hours by eyra

Rating: E, 16k words They had a year in Berlin, and then Orion ordered Sirius back to England to help set up a new department under the firm's South American division. Sirius had been thrilled when Remus turned up in London three weeks later, shrugging and telling him that he'd tired of Berlin, and something in the grey capital had sparked back to life when Sirius returned from reunion drinks at the pub with James and Peter to find Remus - key acquired from Sirius's secretary, he later uncovered - naked on the bed in Sirius's room, head cushioned on folded arms on the silk sheets, knees tucked under and waiting. Sirius and Remus have an arrangement, of sorts. But they’re definitely not together.

Meet Me In The Exosphere by EuripidesTrousers

Rating: E, 108k words “Black, status”, the controller calmly requested. He gritted his teeth and panted as evenly as he could, sounding like he’d just run a marathon, “Maintaining descent… four three zero.” “Copy.” He levelled out just above the 10,000 foot deck and veered right, craning his neck over his shoulder to see Remus’ plane not far behind. Remus’ voice crackled through the comms, deep and smooth, and he had the audacity to sound amused. “Alright, Black? Sound a bit out of breath.” Sirius’ stomach somersaulted. “S’cakewalk, Lupin.” “Good”, Remus rumbled, dropping an octave, “Warm up’s over.” The year is 1996 and Sirius Black is adrift, bouncing numbly between deployments to aircraft carriers with his best friend James Potter, existing purely for the thrill of flying. The year is 1996 and Remus Lupin is desperately holding his aviator career together with all the determination and stubbornness of someone told "You don't belong", in a place that he carved out for himself with his own two hands. When they meet, it's dislike at first sight. Somehow, it ends up being a love story.

Practical Oddities by lurikko

Rating: M, 48k words Regulus needs a place to stay, Remus needs to get over Sirius. It’s August 1979 and things are getting out of hands.

Pas de Deux in the Upper West Side by wilteddaisy (taotu)

Rating: E, 31k words Remus Lupin is a principal dancer with the New York City Ballet. A lead role comes up for grabs in the company's newest ballet and Remus is determined to have it. But only when Sirius Black — oozing talent, charisma and all the elements of a world-class distraction — joins the company does it hang in the balance.

Disarm You With a Smile by five_ht

Rating: E, 45k words Me: hi mr lupin 😊 Mr. Lupin: Hello Mr. Lupin: Are you going to tell me who you are today? Me: i have another hint for you Me: i don't have a dad, but i could sure use a daddy ❤️ Mr. Lupin: And you figure I'm the man for that job? Me: 😜 Me: you tell me

Wilder than Mountain Thyme by TracingPatterns

Rating: E, 110k words Remus Lupin is a disillusioned werewolf who has mostly turned his back on the Wizarding society, content to work his mundane muggle job. That is until his best friend convinces him to join an exclusive study on the Wolfsbane potion at the well-renowned centre outside of Edinburgh. Sirius Black is wizarding royalty, or at least he was until he walked away from his pureblood family to follow his own path in life. After travelling the world and pursuing a career in Magizoology he now finds himself working at one of the highest-ranked centres for magical creatures in the Wizarding world. Their first meeting makes sparks of disdain crackle between them and it seems unlikely that anything, not even the old magic of Edinburgh, will be enough to bridge over the reality of who they are and where they come from.

Beneath a Big Blue Sky by eyra

Rating: E, 68k words The four-by-four heaves its way down long, twisting lanes, little more than dirt tracks scuffed into the surrounding fields and hemmed in by serpentine walls of flat, grey stone. They truly are in the middle of nowhere: the countryside rushes past, all rolling green hills and vast, endless skies, and it's odious. Sirius wants to murder James with his bare hands. Sirius and James accidentally find themselves on a Yorkshire farm during lambing season. The farmer’s son thinks that’s a bit annoying, actually.

To All a Good Night by MsAlexWP

Rating: E, 36k words Sirius Black was supposed to spend Christmas in a luxury Airbnb in Vermont with his best friends. Instead, there's a record-breaking snowstorm, a tiny cabin with no electricity, a viral video, a mysterious last-minute breakup, and sharing a bed with Remus Lupin.

Blends by rvltn909

Rating: M, 192k words Words got in the way sometimes, but Remus got the sense Sirius knew what he was trying to say. - Another coffee shop au.

Heatwave by Krethes

Rating: E, 9k words "Remus strips the soaked shirt from his back, shimmies out of the snitch-emblemed boxers, and pads out into the humid hallway. Despite the temperature outside, it still shouldn’t be so hot in here -- they were wizards, weren't they, and they’d only put about a thousand-and-one bloody cooling charms on this place when they moved in. He pauses at the top of the stairs and sighs -- that had been some thirty-five years ago now, he realizes with a pang of misery that comes when one remembers just how old they are. Grumbling to himself about aging people and aging spells and the absolute unfairness of it all, Remus fetches his wand from the dresser before walking through the entire house. He performs detecting charms in every corner of the house, each room revealing that yes, indeed, there were once cooling charms here, but that they are no longer active. Well, fuck." OR: Another installment of DILF/Mid-Fifties Wolfstar getting their happy ending! Broken cooling charms, a bit of roleplay, and shower sex keep a man young.

call it fate, call it karma by veridity

Rating: E, 103k words Remus wants to be a journalist and Sirius wants revenge. They absolutely hate each other, but they have something in common; an appetite for justice. Or; a University AU in which enemies join forces to take down a corrupt and influential empire through the power of journalistic integrity and unresolved sexual tension.

The Art of Falling in Love by MessusMinnow

Rating: M, 68k words Sirius is a loose cannon who can’t seem to tame himself or actually let people in. Moony is his texting pen pal who he’s never met and is slowly falling for. Remus is slow to trust and scared to be open with anyone except for his mystery pen pal Padfoot.

Forever Live and Die by wolfpants

Rating: E, 84k words It's 1990, and Petunia and Dudley Dursley have been killed in a car crash. Remus Lupin is now Harry's reluctant ward. Thrown back into a world he has long since abandoned, he's forced to confront some painful truths of his past. Or, "what if the Dursleys died and Remus and Sirius reunited earlier"?

My Moony by Whoops_e

Rating: E, 43k words For all that the teasing in the Great Hall hurt him, two words float back to Remus’ memory making him ache. ‘My Moony.’ Remus stares pointedly back into his book. He knows he won’t be able to look at Sirius and not cave. “Remus, darling,” Sirius starts with a teasing melodrama, effectively punching Remus in the stomach. “You have got to start talking to me again.” Don’t look at him. “Because someone used a sticking charm on the Potters and they physically cannot be parted. Peter is snogging now, and all the girls hate me.” ‘You’re better company than being completely alone, I guess,’ is what Remus hears. It’s better this way. “And I miss you,” Sirius adds quietly. - In which Remus loves Sirius so much it hurts, and Sirius can’t figure out why Remus doesn’t want to be his friend anymore.

wading in waist-high water by colgatebluemintygel

Rating: E, 82k words Remus is a PhD student and hobbyist baker who finds himself adrift following his father’s death. On a whim, he enters the Great British Bake Off and is swept up in a flurry of curdled custard, shrunken souffle, and under-proved dough. Remus expects to be challenged and to embarrass himself on public television. What he doesn’t account for are the friendships he develops with the other contestants and the deep connection he forms with his teenage crush, Sirius Black: charming ex-boy band member and Bake Off presenter. or, Sirius groans, dropping his head back into his hands. “It’s the dough,” he mumbles into the skin of his palms. “It’s the kneading. It’s his hands. They’re obscene.” Lily laughs. “They are a bit, aren’t they?”

Fuck It, It’s Fine by R33sesPieces

Rating: E, 25k words Sirius and Remus are madly in love, until they’re not. But even then, they can’t seem to stay away from each other. They’re perfect together, if only everything would stop falling apart. Something that feels so good can’t be a bad idea, right?

tearing air from air by Anonymous

Rating: M, 18k words “Stop,” he spits viciously at the empty room, “fucking haunting me!” or, Sirius is stuck in the Veil and Remus is stuck on the other side. An exploration of grief, family, and loving people even when they want to kill you.

All the Good Things by lurikko

Rating: E, 44k words The summer of 1999: Remus loses his flat and Sirius asks him to stay in Grimmauld Place.

Drifting by Eniaos

Rating: E, 44k words The marauders have been slowly falling apart as they start to build their adult lives. Remus doesn't know if he should fight for his old friends or let them go. A weekend stuck in Edinburgh alone with Sirius changes everything.

Of Bookshelves and Baby Carriers by poppunkpadfoot (StormVandal)

Rating: T, 12k words The customer standing in front of him is quite possibly the most beautiful man Remus has ever seen. Like, he looks like a model or something. He has long, black hair, flattened by water, and just the slightest amount of scruff on his face, and… And a baby strapped to his chest. Okay.

You Can Teach An Old Dog New Tricks by orphan_account

Rating: E, 21 k words This was written for the R/S Kink 2013 challenge. The prompt was: remus / sirius sexy skype call while one is on a mission for the order [this is obviously a modern au] i dont care who gets naked but it’s gotta happen

Just what the doctor ordered by WrappedUp

Rating: E, 97k words This is the story of how Sirius Black finds a dog. Except, it's not really that. This is the story of how Sirius Black finds a dog and meets a skilled veterinary surgeon with crinkly eyes and dimples in his cheeks. Except, that's not really it either. This is the story of how Sirius black finds a dog, meets a skilled veterinary surgeon with crinkly eyes and dimples in his cheeks, and grows the fuck up (at least a little bit).

The Fragile House of Black Series by Fantismal, Jormandugr

Rating: from G to E, 557k words Following the lives of Sirius and (to a lesser extent) Regulus Black as they navigate their family, Hogwarts, and the first wizarding war. Everything follows the story as you know it... until Kreacher decides the young Master Regulus is not going to die tomorrow. This series will get dark. It was also have moments of light. There will be character death and character birth and Remus/Sirius. There will be trust and betrayal and curses and torture and smut and love. But first, you need the childhood. I recommend to start this series with Power the Dark Lord Knows Not

Oneshots:

The Incomplete Recounting of Four Nonconsecutive Tuesdays in the Spring of 2002 by BrujaBanter

Rating: M, 11k words A Few Reasons Remus Suggested They Pursue Couple's Counseling: 1. Sirius was DEAD (no matter how many times he says he wasn't, which is a lot), so that's bloody complicated. 2. They're a "blended family" now and, well, that's also bloody complicated. 3. Sirius Black is an utter fucking mess. 4. They can't just have sex all the time. They can't. Well, maybe they....no, no. They really can't.

Then I Would Come and Find You by RuinsPlume

Rating: M, 3k words This is what saves them every time.

Indiana Lupin and the Search for the Conqueror by nerakrose

Rating: E, 67k words Remus Lupin is an undercover archaeologist for the British Museum and is sent to Greenland to investigate a Roman shipwreck. In Greenland he meets Sirius Black, makes a real discovery and soon enough the two of them are racing through the world in search of the remains of the Library of Alexandria with Remus’ arch-enemy right at their heels.

Gold and Silver Days by busaikko

Rating: E, 2k words Prior to Christmas at Grimmauld Place: Watching the light from the fire play over Remus' hair and face had been what had started the memories. He didn't have many good ones left, and he liked to savour them.

Almost an Accident by lurikko

Rating: E, 5k words A shared bed, a full moon, and a declaration of love, not necessarily in that order.

Frog and Toad Aren't Friends Anymore by swordfishtrombones

Rating: M, 10k words “Is this really all because I wouldn’t live with you?” Remus is still feeling a little fuzzy, but he’s beginning to get chilly and fed up, and he wants to be on common ground. “Some people just aren’t good flatmates. I wasn’t trying to say I liked Adrian and Mary better than you, or whatever you’re thinking.” Sirius runs a hand through his hair and squints at the streetlight, twisting his mouth like Remus is truly hopeless. “It hurt,” says Sirius, “my feelings.”

Sex and Dying in High Society by fluorescentgrey

Rating: M, 12k words London, 1980. It's not yesterday anymore, or: a retrospective as told through '77 punk.

Enjoy Your Worries, You May Never Have Them Again by Anonymous

Rating: E, 6k words “I still don’t trust you to begin a brew after you singed off James’ eyebrows when you forgot to start with water.” “That was one time and I was sixteen.” “That was last spring and you were barred from volatile substances for a month.” Remus mimics the pitch of Sirius’ toshy scoff with such virulent accuracy that Sirius almost drops to one knee and proposes. — Potions: love it or love to hate it, Sirius Black is a sap with an entire Christmas break to brush up on skills he needs to sharpen. If, along the way, he sweeps his favorite prefect ever further off his feet, he won’t complain about it.

Ways to be Gentle by Quietlemonhush

Rating: E, 4k words It wasn’t usually like this. It was usually a little rougher than this. Usually Sirius didn’t really consider it fucking until Remus bit him, until his arm was pulled behind his back. They’re rough together, pushing and snarling even in jest. Even when it was simple, when it was just sex, Remus knew Sirius liked to be held down, to be grounded beneath him, and Sirius knew Remus liked to see a lovemark on the column of his neck. And when it wasn’t simple, when it was more play than sex, then Sirius expected to be thrown against walls, desks, couches, to bounce off the mattress, to shake apart under the force of Remus around him. This was nothing like that. — Sirius has a bad day. Remus reminds him what softness feels like.

Born Under Punches by orestesfasting

Rating: M, 13k words The truth is that he’s kept this love on the back burner of his heart for so many years that he’s grown accustomed to the smell and can sometimes almost ignore it completely. He likes to think he’s made peace with the fact that he’ll never know what it tastes like.

Harmonicas, Hinky-punks, and Heather by mblematic

Rating: M, 24k words Sirius and Remus get stranded in Scotland on Order business, and decide to walk to Hogwarts. Featuring the Brontës, a harmonica, a shrinking tent, and some self-discovery.

two imperfect souls might touch perfection by soloorganaas

Rating: E, 13k words The war is over and Remus is busy running a school for abandoned wizarding youth with his friends. Or rather - they're busy. Remus is trying to figure out who he is after years of his youth were stolen... and how to finally find the words for what he feels for Sirius

tip of my tongue by trustingno1

Rating: E, 3k words "I want to lick you," Sirius announces, and Remus glances up from his parchment. "You do," he says, briskly, "Frequently. In fact, it’s nothing short of miraculous that I don't have worms." "Padfoot does not have worms," Sirius replies. That is an outrageous attack upon his person - his Animagus? - but he won't let the blatant slander sidetrack him - "Not as Padfoot," he persists. "As a sex thing. Sexy licking." Sirius wants to rim Remus. He just wishes he had the words to explain that.

in lieu of beaujolais by aeridi0nis

Rating: M, 19k words Somewhere, there is a very long, meticulously catalogued list of things that Sirius Black does not know. It spans several volumes, actually, page after page bound up in pristine leather, scrawled, dog-eared entries, including (but by no means limited to): what they’re doing here, with all this. How long this could possibly last. What he’ll do when it ends. What he does know, however, is this: he knows that Remus keeps his toothbrush with Sirius’, in the cup by the sink, and his jacket next to Sirius’, on the stand by the front door. He knows he feels odd. If he were to be honest instead of eighteen, perhaps he knows why. or: In which flat-sharing after graduation entails green-tiled bathrooms, cheap red wine and indolence. In which such novelties might be enough to distract a luckier man from his flatmate in the bedroom over. And in which Sirius Black is not a luckier man.

The Great Gay Pornstar Twitter Feud of 2020 by Vixeree

Rating: E, 9k words “So what I’m hearing is that you’ve got a date with your hot, clever, fellow porn-star twitter nemesis, of whom you once said ‘I’d rather die than let that pretentious knobcloud touch my dick’... is that about right?” “... Yes.”  Or; Remus Lupin forgets to turn the fucking camera on.

We Build Our Own Unfolding by imochan

Rating: M, 18k words A welcome overstayed, a funeral at the farmhouse, a diary, a welcome overstayed (again), and a long walk over the hills.

The Rivers of Your Palms by estas_absentis

Rating: E, 5k words 1979: Remus has been away for the Order, Sirius welcomes him home.

[darlingkaveh]

can i make a request?

aventurine with insistent reader who straight up doesn't understand his attempts to push them away. who just straight up doesn't care. ride or die type of thing.

of course! my first request ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡ ty anon ! and for u others out there, feel free to ask, too. check out my request info on my pinned

anyway, since you didn’t specify what gender the reader is, anon, i’ll just do gn and give ‘em an interesting personality, ‘cause i think aventurine deserves that kinda love. hope u don’t mind!

synopsis: aventurine has been avoiding you, as of late - and you’re set on trying to find out why. (ig this is angst? hurt/comfort, maybe…it’s not flat out depressing or anything, it’s just kind of sad when you think about it lol). pairing: aventurine x gn!reader tw: alcohol consumption, intoxication (nothing happens)

𝘾𝘼𝙇𝘾𝙐𝙇𝘼𝙏𝙀𝘿 𝙍𝙄𝙎𝙆𝙎

Aventurine was an interesting man. Truthfully, he puzzled you. You had met him through Ratio, who some might call an enigma - but to you, the doctor was light years easier to understand. He was calculated. The numbers behind his every move spoke to you.

The gambler, on the other hand, was a cacophony. A jumble of pitches that melted together into a song few could comprehend. And to you, that was a delight. A challenge. One much needed, to soothe your restless mind.

Perhaps that was why he seemed to dislike you.

Aventurine was not fond of that look in your eyes - the one that said you understood him. Or, at the very least, were beginning to. He was meant to be the one reading others, not the other way around. Simply put, it was unnerving how you took note of his every move, and seemed to use it against him.

It wasn’t as though he hated you. No, that was…that was far too strong a word. He was disinterested in being your friend. Yes, that was better. You were a nice enough person. You were sharp, kind, charming…all things that made you dangerous.

You had been friends, at first. But he had underestimated you - and had let you close. Too close.

“Haha! A straight flush.”

His opponent - a wiry man, with a weaselly face - crossed his arms in triumph after spreading out his hand. “Let’s see you beat that.”

Aventurine’s lips quirked.

“Yes, let’s.” He set down his own hand, revealing a royal flush. He smiled as he took his pile of chips, to the dismay of the man. His eyes tracked the weaselly man as he was dragged away by his peers, kicking and shouting. “Well, that was fun,” he chuckled, crossing his legs. He draped an arm over the edge of his seat, his head lolling back. “Anyone else care to challenge me?”

“I would.”

Something cold shot up his spine as your voice touched his ears, a tad too close for comfort, and he sat up, suddenly on edge. His lips rose in their usual fashion, though his smile was tight as he watched you take a seat across from him.

“…Ah,” he mused, “Ratio’s acquaintance. A pleasure to see you.”

“Isn’t it?” You kept your eyes on his hands as he began to shuffle the cards. “Its been a while, Aventurine, yet I see you haven’t changed in the slightest.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, my friend.” He watched as you slid forward a large stack of chips - your starting bet. Anyone else who dared to place that much money into the pot, in front of his face, he would’ve called foolish.

He waved over an acquaintance, to act as the dealer. “Let us begin, then.”

“Let us.”

The cards were passed out. He glanced at his hand. It was good. Not that he had expected anything less, but it suddenly felt like a lifeline.

“Call.” He slid forward a stack of chips that matched yours. It was fine. He could afford to lose this much.

“Raise.” Your expression was unchanging as you offered more chips. He could feel his jaw twitch.

“Fold,” he gritted out.

“Not going overboard tonight?” You arched a brow. “How frugal.”

He forced himself to laugh. “Lady Luck might smile upon me, but I would rather not exhaust her goodwill.”

“A smart choice.”

He played through a few turns with you, narrowly winning. His hands trembled slightly as he reached out, taking his share.

“Well,” he mumbled, “good game.”

“Quite.” Your eyes glinted under the warm lighting of the bar. “Again?”

“Ah…” he chuckled nervously, “I think not. I’m a bit tired, you see.”

“Of course.” A hint of a smile touched your lips. “A drink, then?”

He couldn’t exactly refuse.

“Why not?”

He nodded at the bartender as he was given a glass of whiskey. The golden liquid slid down his throat easily, burning as it went down. It untangled his nerves, and loosened his tongue.

“So.” You leaned forward. “How’ve you been, Aventurine?”

His eyes met yours. “As well as I can be, I suppose.”

“Busy?”

“No.” He downed another glass.

“Then why’ve you been avoiding me?”

He paused.

“Avoiding you?” He glanced off to the side, feigning ignorance. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Don’t you?”

His tongue ran over his lips. “I suppose I do.”

“So?”

“Mm…” his leg started to bounce. “You make me nervous.”

Your expression contorted, before you laughed. “Me? Why?”

“You’re too smart.” The bartender offered him another glass, but this time, he refused. His vision was already blurring. “I don’t like it.”

“Ratio’s smart, too. You don’t avoid him.”

“You’re…” his lips pursed. “Different.”

“Hah.” You tilted your head at him. “And there’s nothing I can do to help you relax?”

Aventurine huffed. “No. Nothing.”

A thoughtful expression took over your face. “We’ll see.” Still, you rose. “Alright, then, I suppose we should go, no? You seem like you’d want to.”

“Yep.” He stood up, stumbling a little - not expecting his body to feel like lead. You grabbed his arm, helping him up. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

He leaned on you as you walked him home, head spinning. When was the last time he had gotten so intoxicated? The amount of glasses he had drank had blurred together, honestly.

He couldn’t believe he was in this situation now. Relying on you, of all people. The one he trusted the least. This was dangerous. This was bad. In this state, he was powerless to stop you from whatever you wanted to do. You could -

“Hey, relax, you’re okay.” Your hand brushed past his head in a gentle manner, startling him. “You’re in your room.”

He blinked dazedly, eyes adjusting to the darkness in the room. Oh. He was home. In his bed. He was…okay.

God, was he tired.

You rubbed his shoulder, humming a soft melody.

Before he knew it, he was lulled to sleep.

fin. not my best work, but i was eager to get this out there. aventurine’s an interesting fella, though i ain’t the best at writing him :’) if there’s anything i misinterpreted, anon, feel free to let me know! lmk what y’all thought.

requests are open.

[mullermilkshake]

Locked eyes

Part 1 <- Part 2 -> Part 3 ???

Just one drink.

Curator!Kento Nanami x Fem! Reader Non-con,References to drugging,References to casual hook up and angry sex,Coercion,Restraints,Facial,Pillory,Masturbation,Alcohol

<<< For more Nanami content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

One drink. “That’s all I’m having so don’t bother trying to buy more.”

You were already pissed that you had to go back to the museum to get your car because for some bizarre reason, he was able to convince you to let him drive you.

Kento Nanami had a way with words and they got to you before you even realised. Like the man could insult you and he probably already had, and you wouldn’t have clocked on in time to retaliate proficiently to counter him.

“That was the deal. I intend on fulfilling it to the letter.” Why was he so formal all of a sudden?

That alone made you more nervous than it should have. You kept your drink close and never took your eyes off of him. If he was obnoxious and scheming enough to do what he did with the Scold’s bridle, then it was logical to assume that he wasn’t totally innocent from drugging your drink.

You wanted him fired immediately.

“Why did you do that?” You hadn’t spoken to him in the car, not until he asked you what your drink order was.

“Do what exactly? All I did was ask you out for a drink. You said yes.”

You didn’t have time for this shit, so you stood up to leave. “You can’t be serious-”

“Sit down.” He was quick. Quicker than you realised by the way he wrapped his long fingers around your wrist. “You did promise me that drink.”

It was firm, but not painful. It still caught you off guard and knocked you down a peg enough to sit down when he told you.

Nanami didn’t smile exactly, he had more of a smug look about him that only you could see, like he was invisible to the rest of the entire room. The overworked, tirelessly serving bar staff and cleaners keeping the tables clear or lipstick stained glasses, none of them noticed him.

Only you did.

“What is your problem?”

“I’d like to know why your feelings of animosity are so strong towards me. It’s not everyday I have a woman glare at me the way you do.”

“You really want to know?” Only three sips into your drink and you were all ready to give it to him.

“I believe honesty is the best policy.” You could have laughed at that statement.

“I think you’re a smug asshole who takes great pleasure in the oppression and torture of people and use it as some weird way to get the girls gawping at you. Of all the moments in history, you use torture as a jumping point?” It all came out, far harsher than it should have been.

“Do you want to know what I think of you?” You didn’t care what he thought of you. 

Those shrugging shoulders of yours made that quite clear. Not that you were bothered if he did, maybe it would actually get a lot out on the table. Who knew, who cared?

He shuffled over in his seat and leaned closer so that you could hear clearly. “I think you’re frustrated. I think you’ve been thinking about it.”

“About what exactly?” You were not sexually frustrated. And you were not going to hate fuck him.

You could not hate fuck him.

“How it would feel getting fucked by someone you hated.” So close, he attempted to graze the back of your hand with his little finger.

Gross. You backed away from him and chugged your drink. “Yeah no. That’s not going to happen. I had a drink. It's time to go now. I’ll get a cab back.”

He shook his head dismissively and got up from his seat. “You’ll do no such thing. I’ll take you back. It’s clear I misread the situation so for that, I apologise.”

Hm. Something wasn’t quite right. His change unsettled you and warned you not to get back in that car but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

Kento Nanami was an enigma you had no hope in understanding so there was no point in doing so. But at least he apologised.

“Let me take you back to your car, it’s the least I can do.” He downed his drink too. “It’s dark and I don’t think it’s wise heading back on your own. I have to go past the museum on my way home as it is. It just makes sense.”

It did make sense. That thought didn’t subside the guys feeling that he was going to try something on with you on the way there though.

The drink was getting to you, being such a lightweight made you a cheap date, but got you into all sorts of trouble when you needed it least.

You weren’t going to hate fuck him, but the idea did cross your mind. The self worth you held was more valuable than a cock inside you hatefully whilst you had finger tips at your throat.

When you thought about it, it was better just to touch yourself when you got home, alone with your thoughts and frustrations of the day and let it all out.

Yeah, you’d touch yourself alright. But not thinking about this asshole in front of you.

“Fine.” It was against your better judgement.

“Perfect, we’ll be back in no time.” Nanami held his arm out to let you pass and lead the way, straight to the car and not another word.

It was best for the both of you to remain silent. No word exchanged and glance made awkwardly at a stop sign or red light. Nothing.

You slipped out of the car before it even rolled to a stop, unclicking your seatbelt as he pulled into the parking lot. Your car was the only other there right in the middle by a stand alone street light.

“Thanks for the drink.” See you never. 

It was one hundred percent certain that you were to run to the director first thing and complain about Nanami’s inappropriate behaviour.

Rummaging for your keys seemed to take forever, despite the lamp light it was darker than you anticipated. Of course they were right at the bottom of your bag. 

And of course, you didn’t clock on to Nanami opening his car door and walk right up behind you. Your fight or flight instinct hadn’t even kicked in. 

Fucking alcohol.

He took a hold of you up against your own car door, pressed close and hot. He’d grasped his hand firmly on the back of your head to keep you there.

“You looked so pretty with that bridle on. It’s a real shame you did not take my offer to fuck you sensless. It would have been so much kinder to you had you not lied to yourself.”

“Nanami- shit, what the hell are you doing?!” Pushing away from the car did fuck all, you had no purchase or the upper body strength to counterack his height.

You were not going to hate fuck him. “I said no because I didn’t want to- are you serious right now, let me go and leave me the hell alone. Once the director finds out about this he’ll-“

“He’ll what?” Nanami ground your face into the car, applying increasing pressure, making your cheek squish and cringe against the dry metal. “Listen to your every word because he wants you to warm his bed? That’s not exactly ethical if you ask me, you could tell him anything and he’d listen.”

“Nothing I’d say would be a lie. Fuck-” You jolted into the car to the pressure of his hips on your ass.

“We both know I create much more than just a stir. The director would have much trouble deciding what to do with me. I’m sure if you offered to suck his cock, that decision would be much easier. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’m nothing but… honest- shit, get off of me!”

He tutted. He fucking tutted in your ear, almost growling in his throat to follow. “I’m afraid I can’t let that happen. High risk is high reward. But I know you despise me so… I know exactly where to put you if you want to run your mouth to the director.”

And one swift smack towards the car turned the lights out. You certainly felt it after you woke, almost sure that your nose was broken.

“Did you know that the pillory was used for public humiliation just like the scold’s bridle? Usually a punishment for those who cursed and took drunkenness to a whole new level.”

You were bent over and didn’t feel any sensation in your wrists. Wet lips weren’t a good sign covered in drool and the blood spat out haphazardly with a hollow splat on the floor should have been a sign.

What happened?  

“I’ve put you somewhere you belong. Somewhere you can think about how you want this to play out.” Nanami wandered over towards your eye line, you couldn’t see his face.

Just the hips down in your blurred gaze of vision. A piece of paper waved in his hand right in front of you.

“What… what is that?” 

“This? This doesn’t apply to you right now. But what I would like from you, is your compliance.” He knelt down, his face right in front of you.

“My…” You realised just then, that you were secured in the pillory inside of the museum. That was why you couldn’t move.

And Nanami was giving you a history lesson.

“What the hell, what the- fuck get me out of here…”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. The hit to the head was harder than you knew now that you were coming around. Nanami put you in the fucking pillory and he could do anything to you if he wanted.

You were bent over to his mercy, resting on something so your unconscious body wouldn’t asphyxiate once secured and you doubted he was feeling merciful. He proves that the moment he kissed you. And you could not pull away.

Slow. Almost caring. His slender fingers supporting your chin, like you actually had the will to move on your own. Then, he slipped his tongue inside, pulling your jaw down to keep your mouth open.

There was nothing you could do.

“There.” He backed away. “I would have rathered if you had bitten me or said something hateful. But I think we can work up to it. You’re still in a daze, I get that.”

“Leave me alone and let me out. I want to go home.” You were close to sobbing with a concussion.

“Maybe begging suits you better?” Standing up, his hips were right there and you noticed. How could you not?

His huge bulge, his free hand palming himself so close you panicked and struggled against the wood wrapped around your wrists and neck.

Would he fuck you? Play with you until you couldn’t stand? He never made it clear. He only played with the buttons of his pants and pulled his hardened cock free from the material, moving his hand back and forth slowly, pointing the tip right at your face.

“Begging is a form of humiliation, is it not?” He played with himself, looking down at you from above. “It’s fascinating how you’re so quiet now.”

It was far better to close your eyes and let him get on with whatever he wanted to do and get it over with. You were adamant that he lost his job now and as soon as you got out of the pillory, you’d march right over to Director Yaga’s office.

If he didn’t fire him on the spot. You would leave.

When you didn’t answer, Nanami stroked your hair with his free hand, fiddling with the loose strands between his fingertips to keep you there in the moment, grounded to reality that at any moment, he could push the tip between your lips and make you suck it.

But he didn’t do that. He continued jerking himself, you hadn’t known how long for, in the silence of his hushed breaths. “Something to leave you with while I figure out what to do with you.”

He came all over your face, the hot ropes spluttering over your cheeks and nose, dripping down to your lip you spat away. 

Humiliated didn’t cover it. You were degraded. Lower than low, like a trapped animal.

“Perhaps I’ll leave you here for now.”

You spat the warm fluid away with a harsh will to keep yourself from breaking. “Someone will find me in the morning, so do what you have to do. But I’m still talking to the director tomorrow.”

He turned to you, placing himself back into his pants. Cockily, he left a hand in his pocket and that same sheet of paper in the other. “This is your formal resignation. And that pillory isn’t a part of any display we have here.”

“What?” Panic really set in.

“No one knows you’re down here.” Then he just left in the night.

Kento Nanami was a fucking Monster.

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[valentine-cafe]

Hi there! I normally walk just past this place, but something smelled particularly good. The croissant, maybe? Chocolate? (Dark content, smut)

Yeah so like this is a bit of a weird ask and I know that... but the aesthetics of your page just made me think of an enigma whose body was like that of taffy? Squishy, soft, sticky, and most importantly, stretchy. I was thinking reader would be a man, who was working for the Resistance but ended up in the clutches of some very nefarious people.

Maybe they can start out with just invasive physicals, but it slowly worsens and... yeah. Do as much as you feel comfortable with, please!

Yours truly, Hush~

. ˚◞♡ 𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓�� 𝒎𝒂𝒅 𝒅𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝒙 𝒃𝒕𝒕𝒎 𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ꒰ 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒅 𝒅𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒏𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 ꒱◞ ₊˚

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ 209 jingyi / bttm male reader ꒱ you caught the mad doctor's eye. he hated the idea of feeling attracted to an experiment. and no matter how much he tried to sate it, he needed to get his hands on you

𖹭. content warnings◞  dark content . experimentation on reader . implied torture . dub con . mind control . explicit content . rough sex . penetrative sex . 0.7k

𖹭. receipts◞  glad that you decided to stop by dear customer<3 one croissant coming up! this honestly was so much fun to write and quickly became my favourite request because I have been itching to write some dark stuff with the herrera husbands<3

. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍰 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔 ꒱ m.list . guidelines . characters . lorebook ⊹ ۪ ࣪ 

𖹭. the mad doctor of valence has certainly seen many peculiar enigma around, but you by far were quite the special case. he is well aware of the classification of “body morphers” under the enigma hat, but you caught his eye in quite the special way.

𖹭. jìngyí had seen you around his brother a few times. he was uncertain why the depths of his soul burned with bitterness. he assumes it was the idea of an enigma type being out there that he had not quite explored. in reality it was you. the fact that a lowly enigma had sparked his interest in a way he never thought it would.

𖹭. he was disgusted, yet thrilled. like a snake eager to sink its fangs into new prey. one can imagine his excitement when his husband admitted to the same dark desires.

𖹭. lucky them. you’d found yourself caught in the last hunt and now found yourself along an examination table. jìngyí did well in exploring your limits. how far your body could go. viscosity? durability? compressibility, torsion, extensibility and temperature? oh he was salivating like a kid in the candy store.

𖹭. he especially loved the way that you would scream. how your voice would change depending on the shape and condition your elastic body was in. he found himself especially fascinated with how you’d cry when his hand would bury into your squishy side or around your sticky neck. even your tears tasted sweet.

𖹭. no matter all his experiments, he couldn’t rid himself of those dark desires that plagued his very being. so what better than to offer you a place in his circus? to perform, to live - while he induced you with a mind control mechanic?

𖹭. oh how you begged for him. how he adored the way your body would wrap around him and cling like a lovesick fool while he pounded your tight, gummy walls. one strong arm wrapped around whatever amalgamation your figure took while the other palmed at your squishy ass.

𖹭. you felt amazing. his mind would swim with pleasure every time his thick cock buried and throbbed into your warmth. he’d cream you so many times an over. it mattered how much or how long he fucked you over whatever surface he could find — he’d always end up cum drunk.

𖹭. jìngyí would be in a state when you started wrapping around him more intensely. extending your hands to provide him more pleasure as well. he’d bite down on whatever soft, messy flesh he could and buck his hips into yours like a feral animal.

“god you are so tight,”

a pant. a ragged groan. snake pupils constrict and his lips part. displaying fangs extended and blood on his tongue. soon to be more when he buried his cold face into your chest and bit again.

“h-hngh fuck -” your hand reaches to cling onto his hip. feel the way that he’s pounding your poor ass raw. filling it to the brim and fucking out his cum onto your thighs from the sheer intensity of his thrusts.

“d-don’t stop - dontstopdontstopdont -”

you choke out when strong fingers squeeze around your dick. a calloused thumb rubbing messy circles around your tip.

“you are disgusting.” the deep hiss finds your ear. followed by a hiccupping moan. his brows crease and he messily thumps his hips against yours as he tenses and squirts your walls white once more.

“d-disgusting little creature. but ah, d-damn. . . do you feel so good.”

he’d hoist you up. twisting your limps into whatever way he wishes as he presses you up against the examination table and goes for a third round. a fourth. a fifth. anything to ease this insatiable sweet tooth.

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. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍰 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒔 ꒱ tip jar . masterist ⊹ ۪ ࣪

[anarchy-and-piglins]

After a mere half hour spent in the same room as these people, Philza has already been reminded of why he doesn't normally answer a summons.

The constant staring annoys him to no end. He supposes it's to be expected, what with his country's reputation for being a complete enigma. The Antarctic Empire is one of the lucky few nations that operates entirely self-sufficiently, producing all their own resources. They do not trade with other countries often. In fact, the mountain ranges that border the very south of their peninsula do not offer any convenient trading routes to begin with. And since that same treacherous terrain also cuts the empire off from the continent in such a way that passing through becomes a challenge in wilderness survival, they're mostly left to their devices. Some folks still believe Phil's nation is a myth, a story conjured up by fairytales.

So Phil coming all the way out here for Dante's attempt at diplomacy must be quite the sight. Most people will die without ever having seen the king of the Antarctic Empire, no wonder they have a hard time looking away.

That won't stop Phil from getting some satisfaction every time one of these pompous nobles cowers if he so much as flexes his wings and turns toward them. He's currently locked in a bit of a staring contest with a man across the room. Phil doesn't know if he's another royal or random noble, but he does know he can't stand the look on this fucking guy's face.

At one point the man smiles more broadly, as if pleased that Phil caught him staring. He bows his head a bit, with Phil half-heartedly returning the courtesy, tucking in his wings to keep them from flaring automatically with the gesture. However, this leaves Phil's elbow to bump into somebody trying to slide past him.

Phil didn't expect anybody to be there, the entire crowd had been giving him a pretty wide berth all evening. He's even more surprised when he sees it's a child, maybe ten or eleven years old. His fancy clothes and intricately braided pink hair with golden jewelry betray him as a prince.

"Sorry," Phil says. He reaches out to steady the boy, but the kid flinches and steps back at his attempted touch, pulling his sleeves up over his wrists. "I didn't see you there, are you okay?"

The boy looks up at him and instead of answering, his blue eyes widen a bit. "You're the emperor of the Antarctic Empire," he says. The statement is delivered in a deceptively neutral tone, especially for somebody of such a young age. Phil is used to more dramatic reactions.

"I am. Call me Phil. What's your name?" Phil smiles gently at the boy. He always had a soft spot for children.

Again, he doesn't receive an answer. Instead, the boy's gaze moves across him for a moment, pondering. He grins slightly, but it's a strange sort of expression. Almost private. As if nobody else is supposed to see. "You're shorter than I thought you'd be," the boy says. Before Phil can blink or respond, he's disappeared into the crowd.

Phil is very much left completely flabbergasted.

Curiosity ever the greatest motivator for him, Phil walks up to the man who was staring at him earlier. The guy pales three shades at seeing Phil approach him, maybe thinking his rude behavior is getting retribution after all. But Phil couldn't care less about this man anymore.

He wants to know who the boy is.

"The child I was just talking to, do you know who he is?" Phil asks, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

"Who- Oh, he's nobody, sir." The way the man blunders and becomes overly formal brings Phil little pleasure. "Prince Techno. From the Blade family."

"From the Blade family? What is he doing so far away from home?"

"He's King Dante's ward." 

Phil glances over to where the man is looking, in the direction of Dante himself. Techno is standing next to the king, head bowed a bit and seeming pretty disgruntled to be there. But when Dante lays his hand almost delicately on the nape of Techno's neck, the boy flinches again and forces a neutral expression on his face.

"You know how the Blade family is," the man says grimly. "Ferocious beasts of war, all of them. It's a wonder Dante has managed to secure an allyship. They even got close enough bonds to leave their son in Dante's care."

Thinking about the summons, about how Dante was a nobody three years ago who since managed to overthrow several small countries by using superior weapons and strategies - those the likes of which only the Blade nation is known for - makes several things click into place. Allyship? It makes sense. A lot of sense.

Then what is the uncomfortable feeling that seems hooked into Phil's gut?

(Maybe it's because of the flinching. Or because of how Techno seems to move around like a ghost. Or because when he pulled up his sleeves, Phil was sure he saw the faded blue and purple of bruises on the boy's pale skin.

The Blade family runs their kingdom in a similar way to the Antarctic Empire. They don't make allies. Only enemies.)

"Are you staying for the peace conference, sir?" the man is brave enough to ask, now that Phil has broken the ice. It's probably a question for many of them. Despite Dante's ruthless way of overtaking other countries, Phil's empire isn't threatened by him. He's only here as a formality. He has no reason to stay, no stakes in this game.

Dante pulls his hand away and it's like Techno can finally breathe again. Phil's eyes meet his for a moment, then the boy looks away.

"I think I'll stick around to see how things unfold," Phil says pleasantly.

[sylvesterelle]

A few months ago I knew fuck all about Call of Duty. Then I saw one (1) TikTok of John Price, hallucinated an entire novel-length slow burn poly!141 fic on a 12-hour drive, then wrote the first 60k of it for NaNoWriMo. To get myself going again, I'll be posting chapters here as they're edited! Estimating 100-120k when complete and aiming for a chapter a week (though best laid plans of mice and men and all that).

ok love you enjoy

The Fallout Zone - Chapters 1 & 2

Poly!141 inc. Price/OFC, Gaz/OMC, Soap/Ghost, Price/Gaz/Soap/Ghost/OFC, and various other combinations within that

Images: X, X, and X

Sure, a murderous multinational network had very recently tried to bury them under a mountain, but lots of people had wanted to kill Price for some reason or another. He’d had the good pleasure of offing each and every one, and didn’t doubt he’d do the same here. The truth of the matter was that his boys were tired, he was tired, and this was the exact fucking break they needed. Heat off their back, a spacious—if fucking odd—safe house to shelter in, and a thoroughly enchanting enigma of a host he could already feel himself itching to take apart. A right bit of luck indeed, and John had long since learned to appreciate his blessings. Or: a poly!141/found family fic in which deaths are faked, hearts are healed, conspiracies are uncovered, and home is found in the most unlikely of places.

Chapters 1 & 2, 7.4k, general audiences (rating will go up), cw: canon-typical violence

Read on AO3 I Chapter 3 I Chapters 4 & 5

Chapter One - Price

John Price had had better days. 

The captain tugged his gloves off with his teeth and dug his thumbs into his aching temples. God, his fuckin’ head hurt. Maybe not a concussion, but his bell had been rung but good.

The drone of the rotor blades was the shit icing on a shit cake, but Price was too grateful for the chopper’s role in their escape to take it personal. 

Might actually kiss the old bird out of gratitude, really, delivering them from the apocalyptic shitshow they’d been stuck in. Definitely owed Nikolai a good snog for saving their bacon, Kate too—though she’d box his ears for trying.

The woman in question was currently sat up front, consulting a map and muttering directions in Nik’s ear. “Somewhere safe,” was all she’d said when he’d asked their heading, but that was more than enough for now. 

Price scrubbed a hand over his beard, letting out a low hiss when he prodded the split in his lip, the blood throbbing angrily below. Dove when he should have ducked and took it straight to the gob like a right fuckin’ muppet, as Ghost would say. 

The man in question was dead asleep between the bench seats; he’d collapsed from sheer exhaustion shortly before they’d boarded and it’d taken all three of them to heft his bulk on to the helicopter.

No one had gotten much rest in the past days, but Ghost least of all—the underground cave too much a reminder of things he’d rather forget. Three days they’d spent hidden away like rats under a peak in the Caucasus. Unsure if their desperate call for extraction had even made it through before running for the hills with a god damned army at their back, so many bullets in the air it looked like rain. 

The snatch-and-grab mission should have been a cakewalk, especially for a team like the 141. A separatist leader with ties to a global arms network they’d been tracing, lying low with his personal guard in a remote lodge. Small team, minimal support. In, out, extract the target, bring him to a nearby base for questioning. Nothing Price hadn’t done a thousand times before on less intel and worse odds. 

Maybe it was too easy, in hindsight. Maybe he should have expected a trap. But the 141 had been run ragged this past year, barely time to catch their breath and tend to their hurts between missions. No time to realize they’d missed the forest for the trees.

They’d been chasing their shadow network over five continents in nine months, with fewer successes than a man like John Price typically enjoyed. The enemy was diverse in their investments: funding a politically ambitious cartel leader here, facilitating a military coup there; illicit chemical and mining operations in half-a-dozen countries and a penchant for disappearing weapons transports that gave Laswell more than one sleepless night.

Wherever they went chaos followed, but for the life of him Price couldn’t figure out the pattern, the underlying goal. Every instinct told him there was a piece of the puzzle he was missing, something that would make it all make sense. 

So when Laswell called with lead on a target, one with exactly the kind of information they needed and tucked up in a secluded valley all snug for him, well. Like dangling a bone in front of a starving dog, wasn’t it. 

And so the trap had been laid, and laid well.

They lost comms the moment their boots touched ground, too swift and complete to be anything but planned. Took only a fraction of a second for Price to realize they were expected, a half-heartbeat more to shout a retreat, already ripping the emergency satphone from his vest. 

Could only hope that Laswell was listening as he bellowed their destination, the line going dead moments later. The rest was a little hazy. John’s head throbbed painfully when he tried to recall the grisly path they cut to the hills, each body seeming to be replaced by three more. 

A bloody fucking miracle they made it, in hindsight.

The 141 were built to be Hail Mary team. The knife’s edge was where they performed best, a unit uniquely suited to excel at the precise moment when all seemed lost. But their survival this time involved no skill, no strategy, no plan of mouse or man. This was a shitshow; this was a run for their fucking lives. 

The only reason the men of Task Force 141 were still among the living was a quirk of geology, a labyrinth of natural caves spiraling through the mountains of the Chechnyan border. They’d discussed the caverns as a contingency early in planning, but it was so far down the list of plans that it might as well have been another fucking alphabet. Not something they should waste time and resources LiDAR mapping, not on a mission as straightforward as this. 

It was a decision Price cursed repeatedly over the next three days, holed up in a dead-end tunnel close to the surface and waiting for a rescue that might never come.

Seventy-two excruciatingly long hours of near-constant shelling, nerves frayed to breaking and blood clotted with mortar dust from jagged rockfall. Small comfort knowing your enemy didn’t have your precise location when they seemed happy to level the entire mountain. In different circumstances, John might have been impressed.

As it was, by the first night he was seriously considering if death by gunfire wouldn’t be better than waiting for the hit that would finally bring the walls down on them. Certainly better than wandering the tunnels in the dark, just running out the clock until their bodies gave out.

If their faces were anything to go by, his men had been thinking much along the same lines. Ghost didn’t utter a single word the entire time they were underground, back pressed to a wall and eyes drilling holes into darkness—creeping in around the light of their rapidly-dying flashlights. Price spent most of his time sitting next to his lieutenant in silence, grounding him with a hand on his neck and a thigh pressed up against his own. Watched as Gaz paced a rut in the floor and Soap shadow-boxed violently against the wall.

Price had near made peace with the fact they were going to die in that hole when a faint whistle had come from one of the branching tunnels deep in the mountain. The three-note song of a wood thrush; a bird native to the eastern United States, just like someone else they knew.

They followed that sound like the salvation it was, squinting as they emerged into a too-bright twilight. Price was so sick with relief to see Laswell and Nikolai standing there that he didn’t pay much attention to the corpses at their feet. Wasn’t until Gaz made a strangled sound that he looked close enough to realize they wore familiar uniforms, no doubt lifted from their bags back at base. Hell, they’d even found a skull plate to complete the picture.

John was already pulling his dog tags up and off before they asked, his neck tingling with its absence. Wouldn’t be surprised if he looked down to see the letters seared into the shape of him, time-worn into his skin.

A few discrete charges was all it took to bring the tunnel down with sufficient force to disfigure the bodies, the sound blending with the chorus of shelling and camouflaging their takeoff. 

They’d been flying nonstop since, long enough that the dawn was creeping its tendrils over the horizon.

John groaned and stretched his legs out as far as he could, avoiding Ghost’s prone form. He could feel the weight of the past days in every aching bone, the lack of sleep burning acid in his veins.

God, he’d give his left bollocks for a cigar. Couldn’t even smoke it with his mouth all prettied up like this, but maybe the smell would steady his nerves, force down the acid in his gullet. 

Price had been in some truly shit spots in his life. It was a necessity of the job he’d been doing for nearly two decades and the job that would probably kill him in the end. So shit spots…well. He’d had plenty of those.

But rarely, rarely had John Price run away from a fight.

On this mission he’d felt like prey for the first time in his life, and it left him nauseous in his very bones.

In truth, they’d gotten lucky none of them were hurt worse. So lucky he’d call it divine intervention, the part of him that still believed in that sort of thing. 

Gaz got the worst of it: a dislocated shoulder yanked back into place on the cave floor, arm wrapped in a temporary sling. Ghost, like Price, had taken an unlucky blow to the head and bore a souvenir in the crack that spiderwebbed through his mask, threatening to shatter the whole thing. And Soap, well, Soap had been so soundly battered he looked like one huge bruise. But he was still breathing, snoring like a chainsaw into Gaz’s unhurt shoulder. 

Battered, but not broken. A bloody miracle by anyone’s count.

His moment of relief was interrupted when Ghost gasped into consciousness on the floor. His lieutenant jackknifed violently, his weight shifting the craft and sending John clutching at his chest like his granny after a good scare. 

Stunned into his own wakefulness, Soap moved faster than John could follow, gripping the back of Ghost’s vest and saving him from tumbling out into open sky.

“You daft, spooky bastard,” Soap yelled as he yanked the larger man back to safety. “Don’t go dying after we went through the trouble of haulin’ your carcass in here.” 

He settled the lieutenant against his legs, releasing his vest with an affectionate pat. 

“That’s no mean feat, ya ken. There’s a bloody lot of you.”

Price shook his head, amused in spite of himself. Soap was good for that; seemed to bounce back faster than the rest of them. Got into trouble faster, too, but it kept Price from getting too maudlin—no mean feat in itself, he could admit.

He reached forward and tapped twice on his lieutenant’s knee pad, gaze assessing. “You broken, son?” 

It took a worryingly long moment for Ghost’s eyes to focus on him, but the nod he gave was steady, and Price wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Laswell chose that moment to lean back, gesturing impatiently for them to grab the headsets off the wall. One arm out of commission, Gaz leaned over so Soap could slip the headset over his ears. Did the same for Ghost after, ignoring the man’s upraised hand and the little growl that followed. 

John donned his own, turning to the front.

“Hello Kate, good to see you, wish it was under better fuckin’ circumstances,” he greeted her, adjusting the mic. 

“You and me both, John,” she replied. “It’s good to see you boys mostly in one piece.”

Price snorted derisively. “In spite of all efforts to the contrary. You wanna tell me what the fuck that was? They were waiting for us with a fucking army, Kate. Four men against a bloody army.”He leaned forward with a finger punctuating his words, temper burning unchecked after the strain of the last few days. She’d understand. “You told us you the source was good, that the information could be trusted. You delivered us right into the mouth of the fucking tiger, Kate. What. Went. Wrong.” 

She ignored his accusing finger and met his gaze, serious and heavy with guilt. They hadn’t had much cause to apologize to each other, but he knew real regret when he saw it.

“I’m so sorry, John,” she said, “I had no idea the danger you’d be walking into.” 

“Danger, danger, she says,” Soap muttered beneath his breath, “more like a two-step with the grim bloody reaper.” 

Kate kept her eyes on John. “The orders came from above, cream-of-the-fucking-crop of actionable intel, or so I was told. But I confirmed it two days ago—the target was never there.”

She leaned forward, eyes intense. “It was always about you, John. They wanted to put the 141 in the ground.”

Price’s fists tightened on his knees, knuckles creaking painfully. He forced himself to take a breath, spread them out. Stay calm, stay clear for his men.

“Who gave you the intel?”

“The director himself, John. Told me it came from a trusted counterpart in another branch, asked me to put my best on it. The director, John,” Laswell said, “That’s not an order I can ignore.” 

“You think he’s in on it?” Gaz frowned. 

Laswell shook her head, certain. “He has no reason to get rid of your team—you’ve gotten us too many wins. Even if he did, this isn’t his style. I’m not going to pretend I like the man, but he’s not wasteful, and he’d never okay a plan that drew so much attention.” 

“So someone noticed the carpet bombing, then?” Ghost asked dryly, the grim humor a strangely reassuring sign.

John scrubbed his fingers through his scruff thoughtfully. “So we’re looking someone else. Someone high up enough that his intel wouldn’t be questioned. Someone who does have a reason to get us out of their way.” 

“You boys? Making enemies?” Nikolai chimed in from up front, “I can’t believe it.” 

John acknowledged the point with a low chuckle, “No shortage of enemies, but not that many with the power to call the director of the CIA to heel. That means top brass, someone protected. We’ll need to be delicate with this one, lads.” 

“Oh wonderful, your strong suit,” Laswell said wryly.

His two-fingered salute was instinctive and drew forth her usual laugh. 

“Delicacy takes time, which is a luxury we don’t often have,” Price said. “The stunt with the bodies—clever bit of work that—buys us time. We use it to rest and recover, to gather everything we know, then go at this with our heads on straight. We very nearly did not survive this mission, and that is on me.” 

John held up a hand, silencing the immediate protests from his men.

“That is on me. I know damn well I’ve been pushing too hard. Too set on the fucking mystery of it that I forgot the most important thing: we change no lives from the grave. I’m sorry, and I won’t make the same mistake again,” he promised solemnly to his men.

Soap opened his mouth to argue, but the bite of Ghost’s nails in his leg cut him off. “Oh aye, you’re just gonna sit there and pretend he’s not talking bollocks?” he said to Ghost, casting him a frustrated look.

Gaz’s elbow to his stomach cut off any further comment. Gaz gave his captain a solemn nod to continue.   

John hooked his fingers in his vest and leaned back against the wall. Let a little smile play at the corner of his mouth; something that might look friendly if you didn’t look too close. 

“Here’s the good part, lads: while we take our little holiday, fix all our broken parts, our enemy is going to deliver himself to us. The way I see it, all we need to do is lie low for a bit and see who gets a little bold in our absence. Who gets a little big for his britches, now he thinks mother isn’t looking over his shoulder.”

John let a little, pleased growl slip into his voice, already anticipating the pleasure of the hunt. Of the kill. “Maybe gets a little sloppy, our birdie. And there we’ll be, ready to clean up the mess.”

Even tired as they were, John could feel the energy shift in his men, hounds pricking up for the hunt. They would recover, they would recoup, and they would scorch earth on their return—that was a fucking promise.

“Alright boys,” Laswell said, “The more people we can convince that you died on that mountain, the more time we buy to uncover the whole rotten shape of this thing. That means you’ll have to go dark; lie so low you’re practically underground.”

“Too soon,” Gaz muttered under his breath.

“I’m taking you to stay at an old friend’s place—off the grid and not on any agency’s radar, as far as we’re aware. This is no crawl space safe house, boys, and I expect you to use every resource available to you. Whatever fight is coming, I’m going to need all of you at your best.”  

Up front, Nikolai tapped Kate’s shoulder, signaling their final approach. 

“Now, you boys ready to see your new home?”

Chapter 2 - Price

They’d put down in a small clearing a couple miles out from their destination, hefting duffle bags through dense forest. 

It should have been peaceful, all mossy green trees filtered with sunlight, a sky so blue it hurt to look at it, and birdsong the only sound on the breeze. 

But there was something…off about the woods. 

The fucking talismans, for one thing. They spotted the first only a few moments after they landed, woven with birch and something that looked suspiciously like hair. Hung at irregular intervals through the trees, catching in John’s periphery when they moved in the breeze and making him feel like there were bodies in the trees, moving just out of reach.

They were probably just a folklore thing, superstition, John tried to convince himself. Gettin’ himself all worked up over nothing. 

But then there was a flicker at the corner of his eye, a flash of blue and black and bone slipping through the trees. John startled like a babe when the image resolved into a fuck-off massive horse, all powerful legs and sweat-slicked black coat, steam rising from its nostrils in the early morning light. 

John had barely begun to process its rider when his men caught sight. Ghost dropped to one knee and had his eye to the scope in a moment, but horse and rider were already gone.  

Kate and Nik were entirely unphased.

“It’s just Jack,” Laswell said, like that meant anything to him. “Probably scouting the woods to make sure we weren’t followed. Now c’mon, we’re almost there.”

Price didn’t know of any asset of Kate’s by that name, but Laswell was a black box at the best of times; he’d gotten used to her seemingly inexhaustible resources and secrets alike. Whatever kind of man or beast this Jack was, they’d find out sooner than later.

John rested a broad palm on the back of his lieutenant’s neck and squeezed warmly. Bone tired and still protecting the rest of them.

“Good lad,” Price said softly, “let’s get you home.”

This thought proved less comforting in practice.

“Steamin’ Jesus, did you bring us to fucking Chernobyl?” Soap’s accent sharpened on the last two words, dragging them out in disbelief.

It should be a ridiculous question, but, well. The second they’d stepped out of the woods into a small clearing, all eyes went immediately to the narrow cement tower rising from the center of a dark structure, striped with red like a coral snake. A huge chunk was missing from one side, caved-in likely, and the sight of it did nothing for John’s nerves. 

Warning, every inch of it said. Hazardous to your health.

“Can I just say,” Soap drawled, “I do think the safety of a safehouse is somewhat in question when it’s in a fucking nuclear reactor.”

“It’s decommissioned,” Nikolai said. “Very safe. Scout’s honor,” he promised, eyes glinting with mischief. Price sighed in resignation. He had trusted Nikolai with his life more times than he could count and he’d trust him again, but Soap had a fair fucking point.

He scanned the rest of the surroundings with an appraising eye.

The forest air became tinged with salt as they’d neared the clearing and sure enough Price could see glimpses of gray-blue beyond the trees. Probably used seawater to cool the reactor when it was live, he reasoned. Quietly hoped that it was not and had not been for some time.

All of it was enough for Price to get a rough estimate of their location—likely somewhere on Russia’s northern coast, Kara Sea maybe. He frowned slightly, something niggling in his mind about nuclear testing on the nearby Novaya Zemlya. Ah well, beggars and choosers and all that. Could certainly appreciate that the threat of radiation poisoning might be effective in keeping visitors away. But who the hell would voluntarily live here full time?

Price swept his gaze over the dark, Brutalist façade of the structure built around the tower. Two, maybe three stories. More windows than he expected and a surprisingly charming study in contrasts, blocky concrete lines softened by the glossy, sprawling vines that covered its surface and crawled partway up the tower. With the forest surrounding it on all sides, it looked like the building was slowly becoming one with the wilds. He even spotted some quaint wooden structures through the trees—probably a stable for that damn demon horse.

All told, if Price ignored the distinct feeling of menace coming from the tower, the place could be something from a fairy tale. Maybe a princess waiting for rescue inside, he thought idly, uncharacteristically silly with exhaustion. Just as likely to be the kind of place a Bond villain would hole up, mustache twirling as he plotted world domination. If they found an underground submarine launch for a clandestine escape, John would happily stay there for a time, radiation or no. Maybe even grow out his whiskers to complete the picture.

Kate led them through the clearing into the open mouth of a concrete tunnel, Nik bringing up the rear. When the sea air blew the right way, rattling the metal lights above, it almost sounded like the tunnel was breathing. John wasn’t too proud to admit it brought up the hairs on his neck, especially after their little jaunt through the forest.

The discomfort didn’t abate when they reached the end of a tunnel, an eye-wateringly yellow metal door barring their way. John’s Russian was a little rusty, couldn’t quite translate the bold red Cyrillic on the door, but he knew a warning when he saw one.

Kate didn’t hesitate a moment, punching in a code before leaning over for the thumbprint and retinal scan. The resulting grind of dozens of locks went on long enough that Ghost muttered an impatient “fucking hell” under his breath. When the keypad finally flickered green, he grunted in the way that communicated reluctant respect. Price had spent enough time with Simon to learn he had a whole vocabulary of the things.

“There’s a more discrete entrance closer to the stables, but I wanted you boys to get the full effect,” Kate said with a knowing smile, heaving the door open. “Welcome to Wichita.” 

The first thing John noticed was the noise. 

Someone was playing music and loud. Christ, how thick must those walls be, that they couldn’t hear it even just outside the door? The sound was echoing off the curved walls of the large atrium they stepped into, flooded with light from a massive, circular skylight above.A casual glance around showed no visible speakers, but there must be a subwoofer the size of tank somewhere, heavy bass rumbling in Price’s chest as he swept over the three visible stories.

Not another person in sight.

Kate motioned for them to drop their bags and follow her down one of the halls leading off the atrium, following the noise.

“This some kind of sick CIA torture protocol, Laswell?” Ghost called over the music.

“Ol’ Dirty Bastard!” Soap crowed at him, and Price raised an eyebrow.

“Gonna let him get away with that, Simon?” he asked.

Soap rolled his eyes. “S’the artist, sir. Though now that you mention it…”

“That’ll do,” Ghost cut him off firmly, though with that undercurrent of amusement he always seemed to develop around Soap.

“‘Shimmy Shimmy Ya,’” Gaz piped up. “Fucking banger, that.”

“Wu-Tang Clan ain’t nothing to fuck with,” Soap said, nodding sagely.

“What do you think, Kate?” Nikolai’s warm, rumbling voice called from behind. “Good mood?”

Laswell tilted her head, listening thoughtfully. “Good mood,” she confirmed after a moment. “It’s that godawful emo crap you have to watch out for.”

“Don’t go giving away all my secrets now,” a light, amused voice came from down the hall.

John’s head snapped up. Christ, the thought came unbidden, a princess after all. 

But that thought only lasted a moment.

Price had seen a panther once, hunting below the sniper’s nest he’d built at the edge of a thick forest on a mission in the Cordillera de Talamanc. He’d been holed up in the perch for a few days, waiting on the target’s caravan, when he caught the glint of eyeshine in the undergrowth: a black body well-camouflaged in the night.

For all that Price would consider himself a fairly dangerous man, the sight had sent a wave of instinctual, hind-brain fear through him. He couldn’t tear his eyes away as he tracked the cat from his perch, watching as it patiently stalked a wounded deer through the edge of the forest for hours.

It wasn’t the size or muscle of the animal that made an impression on him, but the way it moved. Sinuously, even gracefully through the brush; all that potential energy coiled and waiting as it tracked its prey with complete, unwavering focus.

It was that panther he suddenly thought of as he took in the lass standing in an open doorway off the hall, one hip propped against the doorframe as they considered each other. Eyes bright for all she pretended ease, a coiled tension in her limbs just waiting for release.

She was somewhere in her late 20’s, if he had to guess. Tall for a woman and built strong--he knew a fighter when he saw one. Especially when they were dressed like goddamn Zorro, Price taking in her all-black outfit with a trickle of amusement. It was charmingly anachronistic: billowing linen shirt open at the neck, suede breeches curving along powerful thighs, wicked leather boots laced to the knee and flecked with mud.

Our forest rider, then, Price internally confirmed.

But for all the fright she’d given them this morning, her face held surprisingly more mischief than malice. He should know better; how many fools had failed to look past his own easy smile and paid the price for it? But still, there was something…disarming about her. She’d made a heroic attempt at tying up her dark hair but wonky curls sprung out to frame a face speckled with more freckles than he’d seen on one person, layered like stars on the darkest night. She had a rosebud mouth that sat incongruously above a stubborn chin, and a clear spark of humor in her eyes as she looked over the men in their tactical gear and black balaclavas—donned as an extra precaution on their trek through the woods. 

“Aw Kate, you brought me a stripper-gram? It’s not my birthday but you’re very sweet. I accept,” she said with a grin.

“Maybe if you ask them nicely,” Laswell snorted. “Meet Task Force 141. Captain Price’s men,” she said, nodding toward him. “They’ve run into a spot of trouble and need a place to lie low. Maybe some help to whip them into shape,” Kate tacked on with a grin, ignoring the noises of offense from Soap and Gaz.

“You don’t say?” the girl said with a curious glint in her eyes. “How very exciting. C’mon then, you can explain while I finish breakfast. No offense, but they’re looking a little…well-used. When was the last time they were fed and watered?”

“Too long,” Ghost muttered darkly.

Soap groaned in agreement. “My stomach’s cannibalizing itself.”

The girl led them into the room beyond, and John was pleasantly surprised to find it didn’t immediately give him the heebie-jeebies like the rest of the place.

It was welcoming, even—especially when she tapped a few times at the device strapped to her wrist and the pounding bass was replaced with something soft and classical that slipped into the background and calmed his nerves.

Price lingered in the entry, taking in the space. While the atrium and hallway had been constructed with the same Brutalist vision as the outside of the building, all concrete and stark lines, this space clearly must have been added later on.

The floors were a rough hardwood, the same material as the wood beams that braced the high ceilings and little lighter in color than the brick walls. Several massive, arched iron-paned windows were set into the far wall, flooding the room with early morning light and highlighting a few lazy specks of dust floating in the air.

It reminded John a little of a place he’d saw once on leave, years ago. Friend of a friend’s party, some factory-turned-loft on Brick Lane. Never cared much for the poncy shit who lived there but remembered thinking he’d like a place of his own like that one day. Somewhere open and warm, almost heavy with light. Like as not Price wouldn’t live long enough for real estate, but a lad could dream.

On the right side of the room was the kitchen, open wooden shelving interspersed with tall glass cabinets and a wrought-iron ladder on a neat track to reach it all. Glassy, emerald tile gleamed between the cupboards and the wooden countertops, the same material that topped an island roughly the size of a Fiat. On the far wall stood a bright red cast iron stove, big enough to feed a family of twelve (or roughly four SAS operators).

Price didn’t spend much time in kitchens, more used to shoveling down whatever high-protein slop was served on base and palate shot to hell from cigars. But even he could tell someone had poured a fortune into the space, all top-of-the-line appliances and gleaming copper cookware on the shelves, glass jars filled with ingredients Price couldn’t even begin to name.

The opposite side of the room was no less stunning. A long wooden table stretched under a cluster of pendant lamps that hung suspended from copper chains—green, petaled glass glowing in the sun. There were benches in place of chairs, but they looked wide and sturdy enough to hold even Ghost. Price also made mental note of two doors set into the wall behind it—pantry or storage, like as not, but he’d feel better once he could get a proper layout of the place. Not knowing his exits made him itchy.

Impressive as the space was, what rightfully piqued John’s curiosity was what lie beyond the kitchen. Moving further into the room, he realized what he’d taken as another set of arched windows in the far wall were actually doors, the slightly warped glass revealing verdant plants crowding beyond when he started forward. From what Price could see of the size of it, something less like a domestic greenhouse and more like a full-blown conservatory. 

Unusual that, for a nuclear reactor. 

Price’s curiosity would have to be sated later, as Ghost’s questioning presence at his shoulder had him up and moving, joining the others in the kitchen proper. He accepted the bottle of water and protein bar Nikolai pressed into his hand with a warm smile and leaned against the island, tuning in as Kate finished summarizing the legendary cock-up that had been their last mission.

“All that said, they need somewhere to disappear for a while,” she was saying to the lass, “and someone they can trust to aid in what comes next.”

“Oh, I do love a good resurrection,” the younger woman said, leaning by the range. “But I rather remember someone telling me I was retired.”

“Benched,” Laswell replied with the weight of an argument long held. “And, with any luck, your immediate threats will resolve well before theirs. I’m ‘thinking positively,’” she said, making quotations with her fingers.

The girl snorted. “Bea?” she asked, correctly ascertaining the source.

“The very one.” 

Price marked the mention of Kate’s wife; few knew she was married, much less the name of her spouse. Hell, Price had only been allowed to meet Bea for the first time only a few years prior.

The girl hummed, taking a moment to check on something in the oven and sending a wave of deliciously-scented warmth into the space.

“Alright, then,” she said good naturedly, straightening up to face the men. “Introduce me to the puppies.”

Price took that as his cue, pulling off his balaclava and scruffing down his hair a touch self-consciously.

“Captain John Price,” he said, nodding in greeting when Jack met his eyes, a lovely hazel threaded with blues and greens that caught the sunlight.

“These are my men,” he said, broad hand coming to rest warmly on Ghost’s neck. “Lieutenant Simon Riley. My right hand, though you’d do better to call him Ghost.”

Ghost grunted his acknowledgement, and the girl smiled at him, clearly undeterred by the cracked skull mask he still wore.

“Sergeant Kyle Garrick,” Price continued, moving down the row.

His sergeant had already removed his balaclava and gave her a charming smile and a wink, hurt shoulder or no. “Call me Gaz,” he said affably.

She gave Gaz the same warm smile she did Ghost before her gaze snagged to the side, eyes going wide as a newly-unmasked Soap rubbed a hand over his mussed mohawk.

“And this is Sargeant—”

“Johnny MacTavish,” she said in disbelief. “You devious little shit, is that really you?” 

Soap was clearly surprised, but Price could see something flickering in his gaze as he looked closer at the girl, eyes lingering on the wide smile that split her face. It was the deep dimple that finally did it, carving out of the girl’s right cheek as she grinned, waiting for Soap to catch up.

“You, you—” Soap stuttered, momentarily struck dumb with recognition. “You bonnie wee menace, get over here.” 

He moved even as he spoke, gathering her up and spinning her in dizzy circle as she hugged him back tightly, their exclamations and laughter overlapping. John shot a questioning look at Ghost, but his lieutenant seemed as in the dark as he was.

“I cannae say why or how you’re here, but I’m mighty fucking glad to see you, hen, really I am,” Soap returned her to the ground, running a hand wonderingly over her curls. “I didn’t recognize you with hair. Never realized you were hiding such bonnie curls under that buzzcut.”

“It’s called change, Johnny, it’s good for you,” she said, scruffing a hand over his own signature cut. She made a face when it came back covered in dust, wiping it on his shirtsleeve.

Soap didn’t react, too busy roving his eyes over her face. “Change indeed,” he said, tweaking the half-moon of hammered silver at her septum with delight. “Lookin’ like a wee highland cow and ev’rything.”

She batted Soap’s hand away only for him to grab her cheeks instead, eyes taking on an almost feral light as he squished them together until her lips pursed and she had to hold back a laugh. “D’ya still have it? Show me, show me, show me,” his sergeant begged, miles from the focused weapon of a man he was on the battlefield.

She rolled her eyes but obligingly poked out her tongue, revealing a matching glint of silver in the center. Soap crowed his approval, shaking her head a little as he grinned. He let go when she went to smack him in the stomach, stepping back with a laugh.

Price caught his eye with an amused smile. “Care to share with the class?” he asked his sergeant.While intellectually a recommendation from Kate was hard to beat, seeing the affectionate way Soap treated the lass—the way he was with no one but his team—set Price more physically at ease than he’d been since they landed. Bleeding out some of that tension inevitable with unknown quantities in their line of work.

“Oh aye, Captain,” Soap said grinning. “The lass and I are acquainted, sir.” 

“I gathered as much,” Price said dryly.

Soap spun the girl around to face his teammates, one arm slung proudly around her shoulders. “Her da was stationed at the same base as my cousin. Spent the summer wreaking havoc together fucking what, twelve? Thirteen years ago now? Christ. Thought I’d never see you again, lass,” he said, squeezing her tightly. “Let me introduce you properly. Lads, this here is—"

The girl slapped a hand across his mouth, cutting him off. “Nickname only these days, I’m afraid,” she explained over Soap’s muffled protests. “Just call me Jack,” she told the men with a smile.

And oh, Price should have guessed. Not like they’d seen anyone else here, after all.

“Jack?” Ghost asked, gaze resting on where Soap’s arm still curved around her shoulder.

“Of all trades, naturally. Blackjack if we’re being formal. But if you call me BJ, I’ll stab you in your sleep,” she told Ghost pleasantly.   

“That's my little Ripper,” Nikolai said fondly as he came forward to greet her, one big hand ruffling her hair. She tilted a cheek up to receive his kiss, smiling warmly.

“Jack is an artist with a knife. You’d like to see her work, Ghost,” Nikolai said with a nod to his lieutenant, who looked a touch skeptical, but at least not outright hostile. Ghost could be a right stuck-up bastard about his knives, Price knew well.

“I’m retired, remember, Nicky?” The lass—Jack—said, shooting an expectant glace at Kate.

“Benched,” the woman muttered right on cue. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Price saw Gaz mouth Nicky to himself in surprise. Fair point, that. John would consider Nikolai one of his closest friends—closer than that even, a time or two—but he still wouldn’t venture that nickname without expecting a swift punch to the gut (or more likely a titty-twister that would have him aching for days—Nik fought dirty as hell.).

Soap, now unmuzzled, had more questions.

“No’ a fan of your proper name anymore, then? It’s a fair pretty one,” he asked Jack, giving her the same pout that had gotten him out of trouble with Price more than once. Ghost every time.

Laswell answered him, brooking no room for argument. “Jack’s got as much heat on her as you do right now, maybe more,” she said firmly. “It’s as much for your own protection as hers.” 

“That right?” Price said, quirking an intrigued eyebrow.

Jack flashed him a grin, holding his gaze as she called to Nik. “What’s the current count, Nicky?” 

“Eh, twenty-seven, last I checked,” the man squinted, thinking. “Might be twenty-eight now, Mogilevich just found about those accounts you drained in Tambov.”

Her eyes shot to Nik, pleased. “Took him long enough,” she said.

Price found he didn’t much like the loss of her attention. “Twenty-eight what?” he queried, feeling little hum of satisfaction when her gaze flicked back to him.

“Contracts, of course,” Jack informed him with a proud smile.

“You’ve got twenty-eight hits out on you?” Soap said, outraged. “Are you out of your bleedin' mind—” he started to form something Price thought might be a name before Jack elbowed him in the stomach. Hard.

She ducked out from under his arm while he wheezed, grabbing the oven mitts off the counter and pulling out a couple trays trailing maple-sweet steam.

Soap glared pointedly at the seated men as he caught his breath. “Some back-up you are. Just gonna let her get away with that?” he groused, hooking a thumb in Jack’s direction.

“You earned it,” Ghost said, and Jack shot him a bright grin.

“Children, play nice,” Kate said, gathering plates and utensils together. But she, too, sounded more amused than angry.

Though Kate had been growing more comfortable with Price’s men, softened no doubt through the many years of their friendship, she was still somewhat…reserved with them. But this, well. This was as friendly and open as John had ever seen her, and he couldn’t help wondering about the nature of her relationship with Jack.

Kate wasn’t close with any of her family—had shared the details of that particular story with John long ago, a few fingers deep into some shitty whisky at a shittier bar. So not a blood relative likely, but she was clearly fond of the girl. Easy with her in a way she was only with Bea, Nik, and himself. But it’d taken him almost two years to get Kate to smile at him like that. Another year or two before she’d ever tease him back. She must have known the lass a long time, but then why wouldn’t have Price heard of her before now?

A stacked plate slid under his nose and drew him back to the present, the mouthwatering smell suddenly reminding him he was near fucking delirious with hunger.

“Hope you like French toast sticks,” Jack said, distributing plates to the rest of the men. “I figured quantity over quality would be paramount based on the fuckin’ size of you lot. These are my favorite though, so you better enjoy them.”

“I am going to kiss you on the mouth,” Soap told her seriously, earlier gripes forgotten.

“So fickle, Johnny,” Ghost chided, his lieutenant plainly enjoying himself.

John reveled a bit at that, at the sheer fucking luck of it all. Simon didn’t always…take to new people. And with the stress of that fucking cave still fresh in his mind, well. Not even Price’s best-case scenario had been this good. But Jack seemed to be capable of a trick only Soap had previously perfected—making Ghost laugh.

“Oh, Nik, before I forget—new batch for you,” the lass in question said, grabbing a tin on the counter. “You know the rules, no more than two at a time. Don’t pout,” she chastised him. “Remember what happened last time?” She gave Price and his men a look of exasperated fondness. “He locked himself in the tank for two hours because he thought the KGB was coming for him. Lots of fun, let’s never do it again,” she said to Nikolai, patting him on the chest.

Soap perked up at that. “Fuck me, you got a tank in here?”

“Oh, Johnny, you’ll cream your shorts when you see what I’ve got stockpiled, you little pyro,” Jack said with a toothy grin that did nothing for John’s nerves. Just what Soap needed, another accomplice—like he and Gaz didn’t give John enough headaches (and paperwork) as it was.

“Fucking hell, there’s two of ya,” Ghost drawled, but he had a light in his eye that Price recognized as, well, not displeased.

“Eat your breakfast,” Kate told the men sternly as she pulled Jack from the room—like as much to do their own catching up as it was to give the men privacy. Nik stayed behind, snatching a French toast stick from Gaz’s plate and promising them showers and clean clothes after they ate.

As Price surveyed his men, happily tucking into their breakfasts and barely coming up for air, he found that he was rather pleased with the way their ship had turned ‘round.

Sure, a murderous multinational network had very recently tried to bury them under a mountain, but lots of people had wanted to kill Price for some reason or another. He’d had the good pleasure of offing each and every one, and didn’t doubt he’d do the same here.

As for the fiction of their death, well. Most everyone who would mourn John Price sat right there at the table. None of them had much in the way of family or friends. Wouldn’t do this job if they did. 

The truth of the matter was that his boys were tired, he was tired, and this was the exact fucking break they needed. Heat off their back, a spacious—if fucking odd—safe house to shelter in, and a thoroughly enchanting enigma of a host he could already feel himself itching to take apart. A right bit of luck indeed, and John had long since learned to appreciate his blessings.

Thus resolved to enjoy his afterlife, the captain tucked gratefully into his breakfast.

Read chapter 3.

[seoulmatez]

HSR selfship voice lines :3

SUHILL

About Sua

“Sua? I wouldn’t cross her—she may be small but she sure knows how to swing that scythe. She always shows me a good time when we’re together, causing trouble and wreaking havoc. We’re partners in crime really! What’s not to like about that little spitfire?”

About Boothill

"The cyborg cowboy, eh? He’s a bit brash, a little rough around the edges, but he has his charms. Quite likeable in my opinion. He’s got no filter, other than the obvious one, so I never have to guess what he’s thinking. I like a man who speaks his mind."

About Sua II: Nicknames

“I call her the Grim Reaper. The little lady tends to bring death wherever she goes. Certainly takes the ‘dead’ in wanted dead or alive to heart—well, I suppose I’m the one exception to that. I can only hope that when my time comes, she’ll be the one to show me my end and drag me down to hell!”

About Boothill II: Revenge

"Who wouldn’t hold a grudge after losing their home? Their family? It’s villainous exploitation and the perpetrators deserve to pay for it. Boothill could burn the entire IPC to the ground and I’d watch with a proud smile. A show like that definitely deserves a standing ovation."

DANNON

About Sua

She is certainly talented in her tracking skills… perhaps too talented. She managed to hunt me down upon hearing of Dan Feng’s reincarnation—and has yet to leave me alone since finding me. It seems as though she too cannot let go of the past.

About Dan Heng

I’ll admit, my motivation for meeting the guard of the Astral Express was born of my own selfish desires, though, I don’t regret it at all. I am quite taken with the man Dan Feng has become—although, the gentleman doesn’t seem to feel the same. Maybe I’m coming on too strong?

About Sua II: Galaxy Rangers

I’ve met my fair share of Galaxy Rangers and… they’re a unique bunch. Sua specifically is an enigma. She values pleasure above almost everything else and persistently wears a smile, even when cutting criminals down. The only thing capable of wiping it off her face is seeing the lives on innocents trampled on.

About Dan Heng II: Data Bank

I was truly surprised when he didn’t kick me off the moment he found out I snuck onto the express—even more so when he didn’t deny my request to have a look at the data bank. It’s rather impressive. I wonder if he’s interested inputing some information regarding me…

[fonulyn]

for @kreonweek day 1: First encounter.

-

“Jack Krauser, right?” What was probably the prettiest man in the damn universe asked, smiling as he looked at Krauser from those bright blue eyes, calm as if they weren’t about to set out on a mission that could mean they’d both be brought home in bodybags. “My name is Leon. It’s good to have your support on this one.”

At first Krauser only grunted, grabbing the offered hand, pleasantly surprised by the strength of the grip. “Are you sure I won’t be the sole muscle on this?” he asked, unable to keep himself from poking and prodding and teasing. “Looks like you’re straight out of middle school.”

Apparently Leon was used to that as he didn’t even react, unless one counted the littlest huff. “You’ll be eating those words later,” he said, a hint of a grin curving his lips. “That’s a promise.”

Interesting, Krauser thought, immediately intrigued. This was going to be worth his time, the mission be damned, Leon himself had already piqued his curiosity enough. He followed the man, holding back his questions for now, just observing. And the more he saw the more curious he got.

In all his years in the military, Krauser had never quite met anyone like Leon Scott Kennedy. Sure there had been pretty boys who surprised everyone with their strength and sadistic streak, and sure there had been kids who looked like they’d snap in two but ended up being vicious on the field. Krauser had known for years that judging a book by its cover was a very, very stupid thing to do.

But even then, there was something about Leon that defied all expectations. There was a kind of softness to him that didn’t end up pulling him down, but worked to his advantage. There was a kind of earnestness to him that Krauser didn’t know what to do with, as he followed Leon through that jungle, with laughably little information about what they were going to face in there.

Leon was an enigma, and Krauser wanted to peel back every single layer until he’d get to the truth. And it didn’t help that Leon was drop dead gorgeous, too. Something possessive reared its head within Krauser’s gut the first second one of those walking corpses almost managed to get its hands on Leon, and Krauser didn’t quite shake out of it before he was on his knees, his knuckles bloody and the attacker a warm puddle on the ground.

Whatever that feeling was, from then on it refused to die. Krauser put his life on the line for Leon, not even the mission anymore, but Leon. He threw himself into the fight recklessly, obsessively, without another thought. Too recklessly, as it turned out when pain exploded in his consciousness, one wrong move leading to the worst injury of his career.

Even then Krauser couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when Leon kissed it better. He let himself fall right into the mystery that was Leon, let himself get lost in the feverish kisses and wandering touches, let himself sink right into that willing body and the pleasure it offered.

Maybe it was time for a change, Krauser told himself. Maybe Leon was what he’d been meant to find.

In more ways than one, that first meeting changed the course of Krauser’s life forever.

[cherubnthechaoschoir]

ICHOR. BLOOD. WATER. (part i // ichor.) - Din Djarin x Witch!AFAB!Reader

summary: stranded. alone. a traitor to your people, your family. aeaea is the prison of paradise you call home, and he is the prophecy you like to call an enigma. the 'man made from metal', forged in fire, melted by your spell that is no witchcraft on your part. he is the hunter, you will always be the prey. it is the way as the fates designed it.

a note from lucy: so, its back. i'm officially back! basically, I went through it. accidentally deleted my blog. had to start from scratch. repost it all. but! I'm here. you're here. we're all here! Greek mythology is a huge love of mine. I always like to add a small sprinkling into my fics where possible. and now im writing one based wholly of two greek myths: eros and phsyche, and circe. I've read Madeleine Miller's 'Circe'. I fell in love with it, it's genuinely one of the best books ive had the pleasure of reading --hence the fact that this is heavily based off it in terms of 'lore'. Din is the perfect character for these myths to be translated into fic. So, without further ado, I present to all you lovely people (again lol), my mythology!au; ICHOR. BLOOD. WATER. for @inklore and @psychedelic-ink's haunted hoedown. A three part fic with our beloved space cowboy. I really hope you enjoy it as I put a lot of time and thought into this. I love you all, you wonderful Pedro fanatics.

playlist

wc: 2255 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! mythology!au, no use of y/n, reader is referred to as 'Circe' twice in this chapter alone, dubcon, smut, p in v sex (unprotected), reference to past sexual assault (very mild), cussing, mentions of witchcraft, voyeurism, mentions of drinking alcohol, mentions of food and descriptions of eating, choking, breath play, oral sex - f receiving, edging, orgasm denial, toxic relationships, dom!din/sub!reader dynamic, sex as a means for manipulation and control, manipulative!din, stockholm syndrome?

series m.list | m.list

You had done many things under the pseudonym of Circe. Bird. Crow. What your mother and siblings used as a knife to your throat. An insult in the form of a name. One that man whispered in myth around fires. One a sailor would call out in fear upon reaching the shore of any island in the vicinity of Aeaea. It clung to the disgusted curl of their tongue like the tang of sour fruits. Lemons of Sicily. Limes from crete. Wrapped in letter parchment, sweetened with ink. 

Across from you is the god responsible for many of those tall tales. In his gold sheathed glory, olive skin gleaming with a ripple of muscle against the warmth of your hearth. Under it flows ichor, steadily. His winged sandals flutter in a twitch every few minutes. A subtle sound that is heard little too often over the lilt of his voice. Hermes. A deity you invited to your bed when he would visit, indulge in the stories of how he stole cattle as mere youngling, delivered messages of ruin to mortals. Travelled the planes of the underworld from the Styx to Elysium Plains. Hades and his sunken eyes on his throne. Where winged sandals would carry him overseas with his travellers cap and staff of entwined twin snakes. 

He would sit upon your chair, open his loose lips and a drone would pour out, Maybe to a mortal he would seem all so interesting. One to dote hours of your day to the thick honey like pouring of his voice in your ear. But to you – the witch – a goddess in your own right, he was a mere drag. A rake. A god worthy of being turned to swine at the unjust sight of his curling smirk. 

You would have drifted off it weren't for his voice picking up in interest, your ears perking up with it. The high buzz from his drone of white noise faded, ebbing into coherence while his lips drifted in voice. Practised and perfected movement the way any divine being did. 

“The fates speak of a man. Made of metal.” He mused, studying his thumb and forefinger as a stand of your lionesses hair was snagged between it. You wished to singe it from his fingertips. “A warrior.” “From overseas of Greece?” Now, and only now,  he had your attention. 

“Further.” 

You muttered a curse under your breath. Where would be further. “He will sail on a ship, strand himself on your shores engulfed with fire. And you shall do as you have before.”

“Take it?” You sneered, sitting forward in your seat, teeth bared at him. “I suppose I shall feed him before he sets his disgusting hands upon me.” 

“Oh come now,” He smirked, “Were you not to take him to your bed regardless?” 

“I shall sew your mouth shut for such accusations.” 

Hermes sighed, rolling his eyes in all his dramatics. Lounging in his seat. 

“Circe, you humour me with your feral tongue.” 

“And you disgust me with your plight.” “Ah,” he held up a single finger, humour on his face at the top of his curled lip, “I may be bored. But at least I have the world. You, Circe,” he spat, raising a brow in sickening amusement, “have nothing.” 

Your face drained of colour. Your heart aching in its chasm of a chest, ribs pinching. He was right. Your oasis was still a prison. Despite its bars of gold, it still held you. Contained you. 

He stood in his victory over you, taking one last look around. “One last thing–”

“Oh, there’s more, is there?” You sighed, staying seated. For all his heirs and graces, he was no more worthy of your respect than the dirt caked to your bare feet in winter's first bite. The god merely crossed his arms, a diving wind rustling the blonde curls upon his head, wrapped in laurels, 

“You must never look upon his face.” 

You sat in a furrowed brow muddle. He had drifted to the wind, turned to a shimmering spectacle of dust, in nothing more than a blink. 

—

He came with a blundering sputter. In a ship that was no ship of wood that sailed on tides. A hunk of chrome with spitting fans of fiery heat. A thwip through your cloudless skies to crash upon sandy shores. 

He came…with a child. A green creature with pointed ears similar to satyrs, no taller than your mid calf, alien to you. Wide hickory eyes that masked his face with innocence, having seen things unspeakable to even brave sailors. And when they sat at your table, piled plentifully with sweet figs, legs of mutton infused with rosemary, steamed and seasoned greens, and honey in its jar, the man of metal left all deserted by his lips. His plate was clean, wine untouched in his cup. Never once needing an added refill. Nor did he speak kindly. Rather, reserved. Gruff, distorted by something in his helmet seemingly fused to his head. While the child chewed on the fleshy roasted bone of lamb. 

Rhythms of autumn, songs of summer, ballads of winter watched over you and the meadows you walked. Gardens you tended to. Woods you roamed. And he did too. There was something within him. Under that beskar. It called, howled, growled in insubordination. A vulgar hatred of being vulnerable out in this position. Where you held an advantage of both terrain and power. 

So he took in a way he knew. In carnal, biting desire paced by him. Phallically. Reversed the role of who won who, made you beg in your own bed, in the drowning pools of darkness. Never to see his face. 

But oh so familiar. 

The first time he took you was akin to a memory in the very moment it happened. A haze of something so absurd it couldn't possibly have been true. Played out the way it did. The Mandalorian watched while you bathed. In a creek not too far from the path. A rock for your lioness to splay out over, sunbathe and make her coat gleam gold like the ichor in your veins. Her ears pricked at a sound he made. One you did not hear with your head submerged under the clear pool. 

She looked up, lifting her whiskered chin from her large paws, and her eyes met his. He did not fret. Nor did he stop and turn away from the great willow he stood below. Only glanced from her to the curve of your bare chest rippling above the crystal waters rippling surface. 

From there, he had stalked you to the deeper parts of the forest where even your familiar did not follow. Watched as a wicker basket was tucked under your arm, flowers and mosses being picked from the ground as you went about gathering pharmakeia for your draughts. 

He appeared, bringing his musk while his hand clamped down over your parted lips. Pressed your front firmly into the tree, hands scraped gold raw by the silver birch’s peeling bark.  

“Don’t.” He growled upon your demand to turn around. “Face the tree.” 

And you obeyed in tandem with the hiss of something– his helmet– as it dropped to the dewy floor by your bare feet. A single kiss, seasoned with sparse prickled hairs was laid to the nape of your neck, a wondrous dichotomy to the events yet to unfold, noises of restraint on the tip of his tongue, the back of his throat. The skirts of your dress were gathered in messy haste, undergarments pulled to the side, revealing the shine of your own slick. How you dreamed in secret nights of this very moment. His taking of you, his claiming of your cunt— grunting while he invaded the tightness of your walls, flayed you open forever like a sacred text, ready for him to read once again. 

A large palm of his, gloved in leather, pressed to the nape of your neck where the notch of your spine ended and your skull began to curve, thumb pressed to flesh, fingers curled into gnarled hair. You gasped, cold air nipping the back of your exposed thighs, fully clothed still, yet bent to submission by the masculine will of him. Naked. 

The orgasm was The Mandalorians. And the Mandalorians alone. You never questioned the burning ache of pending release. Merely let it simmer in the tight heat of your walls at the mouth of your cervix. His noise still stinging in your ears, shocking the breath from your lungs. He took no time. It was a rush for his release. His domination of the witch of Aeaea. 

From that moment onwards, you imagined his lips, recited in drugged sleep to the egyptian cotton and goose down of your pillow. His irises. To write a poem on parchment about something you could not see, nor ever would per his and Herme’s telling. Fingertips itching to feel warmth of skin, not beskar. While his armour was smooth, buffed, polished to shine in rays of Helios's chariot, it was cold to the touch. You had his visage mapped in your mind. Well trodden by fingertips such as the paths by the tall cliffs. The Mandalorian. Nameless. Faceless. 

He spent each night for a fortnight in your bed. The first, he parted your legs himself, and the rest they were already spayed open for his wanting. He snuffed the candles with his thumb and forefinger, unsheathing them from his gloves before doing so. You watched with intent from the sheets as his visage dominated the tall door frame. Shoulders broad and intimidating the negative space he occupied. Only when he was shrouded in utter darkness did he remove his helmet, climb his way up to your parted lips. Curating a careful path from them, over the column of your throat, descending your navel to the forbidden fruit gleaming, ripe and juicy for his lips. Ready for his first damning lick of your sex. 

Like the apple in the garden of Eden, temptation on Lucifer's forked tongue, he delved deeper, rested his naked face between your tensing thighs. Broad arms, still sheathed in beskar curled under them, dragging you closer to his open mouth while your arousal, slick and thick as honey, drizzled out your weeping hole to his open, wanting mout. 

His tongue drew ellipsis over the twitching bud of your clit. Thick and firm, the tip pressing into your cunt, following your hot seam down to your quivering hole. He dipped inside, curling it to draw the taste out. You couldn't see his eyes. But you liked to imagine they were open to feast on the sight of your quivering and naked chest the best he could without the guide of the candlelight. Now snuffed into curling stings of smoke. Staring while you were shaking under the pleasure rolling up from your centre and cascading like a landslide down your spine. It made you shiver. The soft plush of your legs swallowing his exposed ears, the small, neatly trimmed curls tickling the sensitive flesh. His coarse beard, scruff scattered in a smattering over his sharp chin scratching your skin. 

A low groan rumbled from the back of his throat, your tang dancing with light feet over his taste buds And his nose bumped into your clit as he tasted more. Devoured your cunt like his last meal. 

It wasn't long before you felt the burn behind your eyes replicate in knots in your belly. Tightening at the mouth of your cervix while he ate at you. A cry of his name bursting from your chest as he flicked his tongue with vigour. He had one aim in mind. To taste your release. The sticky mess that would coat his lower face. 

“Give it to me.” He commanded. And oh, how you tried. You willingly left this realm while he licked at your pussy, his tongue languidly rolling up one side of your labia, up to your clit and circling it, then down the other side to plunge into your tight, clenching hole once more. 

You nimble fingers curled into his hair. It was coarse, wispy at its ends where it started to coil loosely. And you gripped it as you ground your core into his face. RIding and grinding into his face that was exposed to your quivering cunt. Not ready to part with the way his ips enclosed around your clit and added enough suction for you to see Ouranos and all the stars that tattooed his blue skin. 

You panted a chorus of heavenly oh’s. Breath came in heavy as he pulled back to spit. You felt it, cold in contrast to your own heat, drooling down to your slick entrance. It quivered when he added a finger, curling up from the second knuckle. It was merely one digit. But it stretched you out, had you reeling while he beckoned your orgasm closer to materialising in your belly. 

He could smell the musk of you and it was divine. 

He had your orgasm building and building into a near state of harrowing oblivion before he let it rip through you. The first wave was one of numbing pleasure. The one that fizzled through your legs until you were nothing but a mere speck for a second. And then it broke, like some great epiphany from him as an enigma. 

He stood, replaced his helmet, leaving you boneless. A quivering, babbling mess of sweat and slick in your own sheets.

[changbinisms]

Two Sides of the Same Coin - Choi Jongho x reader

Summary: Jongho had always been an enigma, holding most people at an arm's length, and you even further. What if there's a reason behind that?

wc: 1,797

non-idol au / office worker au

contains: minor angst?, jealousy, confusion over feelings, y/n is in denial, probably out of character Jongho, implications of alcohol, not proof read

[a/n: it's been a long, long time since I've posted a fic, and even longer since I wrote one, so I'm a little rusty. I'm not 100% happy with it but if I went back and reread it I'd probably talk myself out of it, so hopefully someone enjoys this.]

Few people had the pleasure of being in the company of Choi Jongho, and even fewer had the pleasure of having him enjoy the company too.

He always held the same stony-faced expression on his face, unless of course, he was in the company of his friend group. Then he could always be seen with a smile on his face, laughter leaving his plump lips, and his round eyes crinkled in delight.

That’s not to say that he was stuck up or rude, he just felt most comfortable around his friends, rather than the people that he only really saw in passing.

Unfortunately, you seemed to be stuck in some limbo in between. Not a stranger yet not quite a friend. You got on well with the rest of the group, some could say that you were friends. However, Jongho always seemed to hold you at an arm’s length. Which was a shame really since you had been quite enamoured with the man since you had started working at Aurora & Co. Media.

When it came to interacting with you, he always seemed to go quieter and developed a habit of mumbling. Some could say he had a crush on you but who could be sure? You hadn’t had enough interactions with him to know what he was like around people that he’d taken a fancy to, hell, you didn’t even know if he was interested in people at all. 

~~~~

The day seemed to drag in, almost as if it knew that you longed for the comfort of your cosy little flat, and the series that you had halfway binged into the early hours of the morning.

Staring at the clock in hopes of it making time pass faster clearly wasn’t cutting it anymore. Your day was almost done, and you’d ran out of work to do to fill in the gap between the start of your shift and the end of your shift.

Almost like a knight in shining armour, your view of the clock is obscured by Hongjoong’s lithe frame.

“Now correct me if I’m wrong, but I can count on you to turn up to the Halloween party, right?” his eyes almost pleading with you “half of the guys can’t give a straight answer on if they’re going, Hwa said he’s not going after the chaos at the last work party, and San and Wooyoung are going to be insufferable on their own,”

“Joong,” you chuckled at his distress, “you know I would never let you suffer through those two on your own,”

He physically relaxed at your answer, before a cheeky smile crept its way onto his face; “good - because Jongho is actually going to this one,”

And there it was… the “some” that could say he had a crush on you. Maybe Hongjoong had more of an insight into Jongho’s thoughts and feelings since he was in his inner circle, but you couldn’t quite work out what he stood to gain from telling you about a crush that may or may not even exist.

You let out a sigh.

“Hongjo-“

“don’t even try to hide that you’re happy about that, y/n” he cut you off, “we can all see the hearteyes you send him,”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, you fiend,” you hiss back, taking another peek at the clock, “oh would you look at that! My shift’s over! Bye!”

You quickly grab your phone, bag, and cardigan, and head to the cloakroom to collect your jacket and escape this conversation.

Unfortunately Hongjoong follows you, seemingly undeterred by your efforts to elude him.

~~~~

Despite your insistence that you were indifferent to the news that Jongho would be there, you found yourself panic-shopping online to find something that would somehow be both attractive and comfortable – there’s no way you can wear the pink, fluffy bunny costume you wore the year before, which was the product of an ill timed, dumb bet that you lost.

If anyone were to asl, you’d just tell them you were trying to rebuild your costume reputation. No one would know that it was actually an attempt to look good in front of Jongho.

Not that you wanted to look good in front of Jongho of course…

~~~~

Before you knew it, the end of October was upon you and you found yourself in the back seat of a taxi, wedged in between a (slightly) giddy San, and a (most definitely) tipsy Wooyoung on your way to the venue that your team leads at Aurora & Co. had booked for the party.

You prayed to whatever deity was out there to speed up the journey as there was only so much elbowing you could take from them (“oh come on! You totally imagine what it’s like to kiss him” “We finally won’t have to witness you both pining over each other anymore”) while Hongjoong sat in the front trying to contain his giggles.

Promise be damned, you were abandoning him at the first chance you get.

~~~~

Finally arriving at the venue, practically shoving San out the way to get out the taxi, you make your way into the venue, taking in the sight before you.

Twinkle lights adorned the high ceilings and gave the room a subtle ambience. True to typical fashion, your eyes immediately find Jongho, who had come dressed as a vampire complete with shirt, waistcoat, suit trousers and a typical gothic cape, with what you would assume to be droplets of fake blood trailing down his chin and almost trailing onto his neck.

Almost has if he could sense that you had arrived, he was already looking at you or, most likely, in your general direction (you did arrive with three out of seven of his friends), his conversation with Yeosang, the (at first) quiet man with a cheeky streak, seemingly forgotten.

The intensity of his stare proved too much for you, quickly averting your eyes with a light blush making its way across your cheeks.

Thankfully, you’re saved by your absolute favourite people to work with: Jeon Soyeon and, her equally devilish partner in crime, Kim Seungmin. Most people would assume that their personalites would clash, what with Soyeon having little time for shit-stirrers and Seungmin being the biggest shit-stirrer in the office, but it came as a surprise when they met and struck up what is possibly the funniest friend duo.

“Well look who decided to show up actually looking decent this Halloween!” Seungmin laughed, smile stretching across his face exposing his pearly whites. Beside him, Soyeon tittered and affectionately rolled her eyes. You wonder just how many times she had heard him say similar things before you arrived.

“Minnie, you know fine well that I rocked that bunny suit,” you fired back “much better than whatever the hell you’re wearing right now”.

~~~~

True to office fashion, the party only took off from there. You had long since lost track of Hongjoong, San and Wooyoung, and more importantly, Jongho. You didn’t need the ribbing that you would get from your friends for so much as glancing anywhere he was stood.

Coming out from the restroom, the drinks that you’d had finally taking a toll on your bladder and took advantage of the large mirrors to touch up your appearance, you turn down the hall to head back to the main room and bump into someone. A someone sporting suit trousers, waistcoat and typically gothic cape…

“Jongho… hey!” you awkwardly state, “glad to see you came, I thought it was just rumours that you were coming,”

He seemed to not know what to reply with as he looked at you, mouth slightly agape. You suppose that’s on brand for him, at least he’s looking you in the eye.

“uhhh… anyway,” you sidestep around him, the awkwardness starting to seep into your bones “I was just on my way back, I’ll see you in there, I guess,”

You go to continue your walk back to the festivities when a hand around your forearm stops you in your tracks.

“wait,” he breathes out before continue, “I wanted to talk to you,”

“sure… what do you want to talk to me about?”

“I-“ he started.

You waited for him to continue but the silence only extended into even more awkward territory, the minutes stretching on and on. Feeling the need to get out of the situation before you started spewing absolute nonsense in an attempt to fill the gap.

You step away from him with a quiet “Soyeon and Seungmin must be wondering where I am, I’ll catch you la-“

Your words are interrupted with a short “what do I need to do to get your attention?” You’re stunned into silence, which Jongho takes advantage of by continuing, “Why does everyone in the office get your attention easily, but you can’t give me a sideways glance? What do I have to do? What do I have to do to get you to like me?”

His short monologue must have caused your brain to short circuit, the words with a hint of jealousy must have flipped some switch in your brain, as you responded with an “is that what you think? You think I don’t like you? If anything, I thought you didn’t like me, you very rarely actually look at me never mind talk to me,”

Jongho seemed perplexed at your words before letting out a “because I can’t. I can’t look at you without getting my words and thoughts all mixed up. I thought if I had a drink or two, I might have been able to work up the courage to talk to you and I messed that up,”

You didn’t know what to say, would anyone know what to say in this situation if they were put on the stop this way? You couldn’t organise your thoughts, your brain processing both nothing and everything at the same time.

So, you did the only thing you could make out in the chaos of your brain. You stepped closer to him and placed your hands lightly on his shoulders and closed the gap.

Your lips pressing to his, relishing in his soft ones. He didn’t respond, his posture stiff causing you to regret your actions. Maybe you misinterpreted what he said, maybe he was wanting closure and nothing else.

Your thoughts finally got the better of you and you start to pulling away, ready to gush excuses and find the nearest exit so you could make your escape and think out how you’re going to get out of this one on Monday, when his body starts to catch up with his brain, and he does something you didn’t think he would.

He kisses you back.

~*~*~*~

[skylarmoon71]

Lex Luthor (Smallville/X-Men) AU - Fanfiction - Chapter 2

"Change the meeting, I'll be there on Tuesday."

Standing at his side, you kept your focus forward as Lex carried on with his work. The double doors to his main room opening caught both your attention and in walks his father. There was a man behind him. Clean suit, harsh eyes, noticeable muscles. Lex released a sigh.

"Yes, thank you."

With that he hung up the phone, standing, ready to deal with his father's newest game to prove he was the world's worst parent.

"Dad, to what do I owe the pleasure." His voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Well Lex, I thought that I would do you the honor of hiring a more qualified bodyguard. After that incident at the conference, you can understand why I would be worried."

It was almost laughable that he would say that. Lex knew better.

"While I do appreciate the feign worry, I already have a qualified person in that position."

Lionel merely smirked.

"If she is so qualified, how about a little test?"

The man cracked his knuckles and Lex frowned.

He barely had a chance to object, because Lionel waved his hand and the man came rushing at you. Lex intended to intervene, but he didn't have to. The poor bastard made it about a foot into your personal space before your fist connected with his face and he was down for the count. Lionel just gaped, and so did Lex.

He was out cold.

"Want to join him?"

Your words were directed at Lionel and he swallowed, sending a disapproving look in Lex's direction.

"Is this how you train your staff Lex?"

He was still trying to wrap his mind around your one punch that took down that beast of a man.

You kneeled, reaching over and grabbing the guy by his collar as you slapped him across the face. He jolted awake, obviously disoriented. When his gaze focused you glared and the man gulped.

"Get up and get out."

You released him and he scrambled to his feet, rushing out the room in record time.

"Not much of a guard I would say." You spoke.

Lionel looked anything but pleased, but he knew when to fall back.

"I'll be seeing you Lex."

He casted his gaze in your direction, lips in a tight line before he turned, leaving the room. The minute he was gone you spoke.

"Your father is an asshole."

Lex turned to you, then after a second, he laughed. Not only had you outwardly intimidated his father, but you were probably the first person that had the guts to say that to his face. Lex shook his head, moving back to his seat.

"How about a raise?"

"Sounds good to me."

He couldn't deny it, you were good.

It was strangely comforting having someone so indifferent.

You never got overly involved in his personal life and you never strayed from your task. Lex appreciated the professionalism. But there was a part of him that wanted to get closer. Understand how you'd ended up not only in this line of business, but in the army. You were an enigma. There was nothing he enjoyed more than solving a mystery.

"This is (Y/N) Howlett."

On one of his trips to the Talon he felt it necessary to introduce you since you would be at his side for the foreseeable future. On the more casual meetings he encouraged that you wear whatever you wanted. That's why he didn't expect the plaid. He couldn't help but smile at the similarity. You and Clark were literally wearing the same outfit. Maybe it was a universal protector's outfit.

Chloe was the one who pointed it out.

"You guys are like siblings." She joked.

Your eyes shifted in Clarks direction, and he raised a brow when you leaned over and sniffed him. Your eyes were narrowed suspiciously.

"You smell funny."

His cheeks flushed and both Pete and Chloe laughed.

"It must be the hay." Pete interjected in which Clark whined about. Lex was wearing a smile.

Despite your very unapproachable energy, they all seemed at ease around you. He'd sat down and you were at his side, a newspaper in your hands as they all spoke back and forth. Clark had not so subtly tried to ask you questions to make you feel more a part of the group.

"So where are you from?"

"Not here."

"Oh, well when did you move to Smallville?"

"A while ago."

"W-What do you like to do for fun?"

"Eat."

Chloe and Pete were trying to hold in their laughter and Lana just gave Clark a pat on the shoulder for good effort. Your hard gaze was now fixed on Clark and he looked away, changing the subject.

After a few hours Lex decided to call it a day. Chloe and Pete were the first to leave and Lana had returned to serving tables. Lex was grabbing some pastries to go. It was just you and Clark standing at the side. He was doing his best not to make eye contact since it seemed like you already didn't like him.

"You're not normal."

Those words had him looking at you in alarm. Your expression was still somewhat stoic.

"I-I don't know what you-"

"Don't lie to me. I'm not an idiot. I can smell it on you."

Now he was unnerved. He thought the scent remark earlier was just a jab.

"You smell different from Lex, and he's been infected by the meteors. Your scent is different, more pure. You don't smell human."

He didn't like this.

Not at all.

"I won't tell Lex."

That's not what he expected.

Your gaze moved to Lex momentarily before it shifted back to him.

"He told me what you did. Not just that day on the bridge, but all the other times that you've saved his life as well as a lot of your friends. I'm not usually someone who gives advice, but you should have more faith in him. He's a lot more understanding than you give him credit for. "

Clark meant to say something, but Lex returned with the paper bag.

"Ready to go."

You nodded.

"Yes."

You didn't say anything else and Lex just gave Clark a tap on the shoulder as you both were walking out the door.

Maybe it was then you realized that Lex was a lot more protected than you thought.

Still, you were diligent in your job.

As easy as it was to remain set on this mission, there were times where it was harder.

Harder to admit that maybe Lex was more than just a charge, or a means to get your next paycheck.