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callsigns-haze · 2 months ago

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Greatest treasure

Summary: Eris, newly crowned High Lord of Autumn, prepares for a grand ball while keeping his wife and their three-year-old son, Azer, a secret from the courts. During the event, Azer accidentally reveals his fire magic, causing panic and leading the Inner Circle to discover his existence. Meanwhile, Eris and Y/N, lost in their own world, share a passionate moment in the rain before returning to find their son distressed.

Warning: Contains alcohol, cursing, teasing, mentions of smut, kissing, court politics, mentions of war, distress.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x reader

English is not my first language so I apologies for mistakes

Eris stands by the window of Azer’s nursery, the late-afternoon sun casting a warm golden glow over the room. The space is cozy, filled with soft autumn hues—deep oranges, rich reds, and browns, like the leaves of the season his court embodies. Your three-year-old son, Azer, sits on the plush rug near his bed, his copper hair glinting like flames in the light. His amber eyes, so much like his father’s, are rimmed with unshed tears as he clutches a small wooden fox, one of his favourite toys.

“Mama, Dada,” Azer says, his tiny voice trembling. “Why can’t I come? Wanna come, too!”

You kneel beside him, smoothing back a lock of his fiery hair. “Oh, my little love,” you say gently, your heart breaking at the wobble in his voice. “This ball is for grown-ups. You get to stay here and have fun with Miss Lyra tonight.”

“But I wanna see,” he hiccups, his face crumpling as tears begin to fall. He tries to hold them back, but soon, soft sobs wrack his small body. “I wanna be with you, Mama. With Dada.”

Eris moves from the window, his regal presence as commanding as ever, though his sharp features soften as he crouches beside you. He reaches out, his long fingers tenderly brushing away Azer’s tears. “Little firefox,” he murmurs, his voice rich and soothing, “I know you’re upset. But you’re my biggest treasure, and treasures like you need to be kept safe.”

Azer hiccups again, his small chest heaving as he shakes his head. “Not treasure. Azer!” he cries, his voice breaking. “Wanna go with Mama and Dada!”

Eris chuckles softly, though his eyes glisten with emotion. “Oh, you are most definitely Azer,” he says, his lips quirking into a smile. “But you’re also my treasure. And treasures stay where they’re safe. Do you understand, little firefox?”

Azer clings to your dress, burying his face against your leg, his tiny fingers fisting the fabric. His sobs quiet slightly, though his hiccups continue. “No ball,” he mumbles, still unconvinced.

You exchange a glance with Eris, your heart aching at the sight of your son’s distress. Eris leans forward, lifting Azer into his arms despite the toddler’s reluctance to let go of you. “Come here, little one,” Eris says, his voice soft as he cradles Azer against his chest. “I know it’s hard, but I promise we won’t be gone forever. And while we’re away, you’ll have a grand time with Miss Lyra. She’ll tell you stories, maybe even about foxes.”

Azer sniffles, his arms wrapping tightly around Eris’s neck as he presses his tear-streaked face into his father’s shoulder. “Don’t wanna,” he whispers, though his sobs are slowing.

A knock at the door signals Lyra’s arrival. The young fae woman steps inside, her kind smile unwavering even as she takes in the scene. “Hello, Azer,” she says gently. “I hear we’re going to have an adventure tonight.”

Eris looks at her over Azer’s head, his expression unreadable but his tone laced with quiet authority. “Good luck,” he murmurs.

Lyra nods, her smile unwavering. “We’ll be just fine, my lord.”

Gently, Eris pulls Azer away from his shoulder, holding him so they’re eye to eye. “Be good for Miss Lyra, little firefox,” he says softly. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

Azer sniffles but nods reluctantly, his small hand reaching out for you one last time. You kiss his forehead, murmuring reassurances before Eris passes him to Lyra.

As you and Eris leave the nursery, the sound of Azer’s soft hiccups follows you, tugging at your heart. Eris takes your hand in his, squeezing gently. “He’ll be fine,” he says, though you suspect he’s reassuring himself as much as you.

Eris strides down the corridor beside you, his hand resting lightly at the small of your back. The grandeur of the Autumn Court is on full display tonight, with servants bustling to and fro, preparing the grand hall for the event of the decade. Despite the meticulous perfection surrounding you—the gleaming floors, the intricate floral arrangements of russet and gold—you can feel the tension radiating off him like heat from a flame.

His jaw is set, his golden eyes narrowed in thought, and his long fingers occasionally twitch at his side, as though yearning for something to grip. You pause mid-step, turning to face him fully.

“Eris,” you say softly, resting a hand on his chest. “We still have two hours before the ball. What’s on your mind?”

He blinks down at you, momentarily startled, before his expression softens. Still, the strain remains etched in his features. “All the High Lords and their families under one roof,” he murmurs, his voice low and thoughtful. “It’s an honour, but also a risk. There’s no telling what alliances may shift tonight—or what grievances may surface.”

You reach up, cupping his cheek, and he leans into your touch for just a moment, closing his eyes. “You’ve worked so hard for this, Eris,” you say, your voice steady and reassuring. “Your father ruled with fear, but you’ve brought peace. Everyone will see that tonight.”

His lips twitch into a faint smile, though his eyes remain shadowed. “Peace is fragile,” he replies, his hand covering yours where it rests on his face. “One misstep, one word out of place, and it can shatter.”

Before you can respond, the sound of hurried footsteps echoes down the corridor. You turn just in time to see Lucien rounding the corner, his auburn hair slightly dishevelled as though he’d been in a rush. His russet eye sparkles with mischief, but the golden mechanical one remains as stoic as ever.

“Ah, there you are,” Lucien says, his tone light as he approaches. “And here I thought you might still be in the nursery with Azer. Poor kid looked ready to stage a rebellion when I passed by earlier.”

Eris snorts softly, though the tension in his shoulders eases ever so slightly. “He’s not happy about missing tonight,” he admits, glancing toward the direction of the nursery.

Lucien raises a brow, his trademark smirk firmly in place. “Well, can you blame him? I wouldn’t want to miss a chance to see all the High Lords bickering like children either.”

You laugh, and even Eris’s lips curve into a reluctant smile. “You always know how to lighten the mood, Lucien,” you say, grateful for his timing.

Lucien winks at you, then looks back at his brother. “Don’t let them get to you, Eris. This is your court now. They’re all just guests in your house.”

Eris inclines his head, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. “Wise words,” he says, his tone laced with amusement. “For once.”

Lucien feigns offense, clutching his chest dramatically. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” he quips before straightening. “I’ll see you both later. Just try not to burn the place down before the ball starts.”

As he saunters off, you glance at Eris, catching the way his lips have softened into a true smile. For a moment, the weight on his shoulders seems lighter, and you take his hand in yours.

“Lucien’s right,” you say quietly. “This is your court. And tonight, they’ll see the ruler you’ve become.”

Eris squeezes your hand, his gaze holding yours with a warmth that speaks louder than words. “With you by my side,” he murmurs, “I can face anything.”

Eris’s golden eyes hold yours as the tension in his frame melts away, replaced by something softer, more intimate. Without a word, he steps closer, his hand sliding from your waist to the curve of your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. He leans in, his breath warm against your skin, and presses a feather-light kiss to your lips. It’s tender and unhurried, a quiet moment in the chaos of the day.

When he pulls back, his gaze searches yours, his expression open in a way he allows only for you. “How are you feeling?” he asks softly, his voice low and laced with concern.

You hesitate, glancing down at your joined hands before looking back up at him. “Nervous,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “This is my first ball, Eris. And not just any ball—it’s your ball. Everyone will be watching, judging.”

His brows knit together, and he shakes his head slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a reassuring smile. “Let them watch,” he says, his tone firm but soothing. “Let them judge. You are my wife, my queen. No opinion matters more than mine, and in my eyes, you are perfection.”

Your chest tightens at his words, emotion welling up inside you. “You make it sound so simple,” you murmur, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

He leans down again, his lips brushing your forehead this time, lingering as though to anchor you. “Because it is,” he murmurs against your skin. “They’ll see your strength, your grace, just as I do. You’ve already won them over, my love. They just don’t know it yet.”

His confidence, steady and unwavering, wraps around you like a protective shield. You nod slowly, the tension in your shoulders easing as you draw strength from his presence. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice steadier now.

Eris straightens, his hand still cradling your face, his thumb tracing idle circles on your cheek. “Thank me later,” he says, a playful glint in his eyes. “After you’ve dazzled them all.”

A laugh escapes you, soft and light, and you realize how much he’s managed to calm you with just a few words and a single kiss. “I’ll hold you to that,” you reply, your smile widening.

“You always do,” he says with a smirk, his fingers lacing through yours as he leads you further down the hall, his hand a steady, grounding presence in yours.

The grand staircase of the Autumn Court’s palace gleams before you, each step a work of art with intricate carvings of leaves and vines, polished to a mirror-like sheen. You descend slowly, your arm looped through Eris’s, the weight of the evening settling over you with each step. The chandeliers above—crafted from amber and crystal��cast a warm glow that dances across the walls, making the entire space seem alive.

As you step onto the marble floor of the ballroom, you pause, taking in the sheer magnitude of the space. The room stretches farther than you remember, its high vaulted ceilings adorned with autumn leaves that seem to flutter as though caught in a gentle breeze. The rich hues of gold, crimson, and burnt orange dominate the décor, and the air is filled with the soft hum of string instruments warming up in the far corner.

You glance around, your brows furrowing slightly as you take in the grandeur. “Did it… get bigger?” you ask, your voice quiet but tinged with awe.

Eris glances down at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Not exactly,” he replies, his tone amused. “Though I did make a few… adjustments.”

“Adjustments?” you repeat, arching a brow as you look back at the ballroom.

He gestures subtly toward the far end of the room, where a raised dais now sits, flanked by towering arrangements of fiery flowers. “The ceiling was enchanted to give the illusion of more space,” he explains, his voice laced with pride. “And the dais was added to ensure everyone has a clear view of their High Lord and Lady tonight.”

You bite back a smile, glancing up at him. “You mean so they can have a clear view of you.”

His golden eyes glint mischievously as he leans in closer, his breath brushing your ear. “Perhaps,” he murmurs, his voice low, “but I suspect they’ll find their gazes drawn to you.”

Heat rises to your cheeks at his words, but you quickly compose yourself, your gaze sweeping over the ballroom once more. The attention to detail is staggering, from the delicate leaf patterns etched into the marble columns to the soft golden light that seems to bathe everything in warmth. The room hums with anticipation, even though most of the guests have yet to arrive.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you say, your voice soft but sincere.

Eris tilts his head, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “It’s not just for me,” he says quietly. “This is your debut as well. I wanted it to be perfect for you.”

Your heart swells at his words, and you squeeze his arm gently, your nerves settling ever so slightly. “It’s perfect,” you assure him, and for the first time that evening, you truly believe it.

As you and Eris walk further into the grand ballroom, the low hum of the musicians tuning their instruments fills the air, mingling with the soft rustle of your gown as it sweeps across the polished marble floor. Despite the grandeur surrounding you, your thoughts drift back to the nursery, to the way Azer clung to you, his little hands trembling as he sobbed.

You stop walking, your steps faltering as a pang of guilt twists in your chest. Eris notices immediately, turning to face you, his golden eyes filled with concern. “What is it?” he asks, his voice low and gentle.

You glance around the empty room, ensuring no one is near enough to overhear, before looking back at him. “I feel terrible about leaving Azer,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “He was so upset, Eris. The way he cried, the way he begged to come with us…” Your throat tightens, and you shake your head, willing yourself not to let the guilt overwhelm you.

Eris’s expression softens, and he steps closer, his hand coming to rest against your cheek. “Little firefox is safe,” he says gently. “Lyra will care for him as if he were her own. You know that.”

“I know,” you murmur, your voice trembling slightly. “But it doesn’t make it any easier. He doesn’t understand why we had to leave. All he knows is that we’re not there, and he wanted to be with us.”

Eris sighs softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a soothing gesture. “I feel it too,” he admits, his tone quieter now. “Every time he cries like that, it feels like my heart is being torn apart. But this—tonight—is important. For our court, for our family. He’ll understand one day.”

You look up at him, searching his face for reassurance. “What if he doesn’t, Eris? What if he remembers this as the night we chose the court over him?”

His brows knit together, and he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. “He won’t,” he says firmly. “Because when this ball is over, we’ll go straight back to him. We’ll hold him, kiss him, tell him how much we love him. Azer knows he’s our world—he feels it every day in the way we care for him.”

The conviction in his voice eases some of the tension in your chest, and you close your eyes, drawing strength from his presence. “I just hate seeing him so upset,” you whisper.

Eris tilts your chin up, his golden eyes locking with yours. “So do I,” he says softly. “But Azer is strong, just like his mother. And Lyra is with him. He’s safe, loved, and cared for. That’s what matters most.”

You nod slowly, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “You’re right,” you say, though the ache in your chest lingers. “I just needed to say it.”

His lips curve into a small smile, and he presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment. “You never need to keep anything from me,” he murmurs. “Not your fears, not your guilt. I’ll carry them with you, always.”

The grand ballroom is serene for a moment, the soft hum of the musicians and the flicker of enchanted autumn leaves overhead creating a tranquil atmosphere. You’ve just started to steady yourself, leaning into Eris’s calming presence, when the sound of frantic footsteps echoes through the halls.

Eris straightens, his golden eyes narrowing as he turns toward the source of the commotion. The double doors at the far end of the ballroom burst open with a resounding thud, and Alev, one of Eris’s younger brothers, comes barrelling in. His crimson hair is wild, his face flushed with exertion. Behind him, Lucien storms into the room, his expression murderous, his mechanical eye glowing ominously.

“You little bastard!” Lucien shouts, his voice reverberating off the marble walls. “I’m going to kill you!”

Alev skids to a stop in the centre of the ballroom, his chest heaving as he glances around wildly. His gaze lands on you and Eris, and he raises his hands in mock surrender. “Eris! Help! Your psychotic brother’s lost it!”

Lucien’s growl is low and dangerous as he stalks toward Alev, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “Lost it? You set my bloody room on fire, you little menace!”

Alev’s eyes widen in mock innocence, his lips twitching as though he’s holding back laughter. “I didn’t set it on fire! I just—enhanced the ambiance! You know, for the ball.”

“Enhanced the ambiance?” Lucien roars, his mechanical eye flaring brighter. “You scorched half my wardrobe!”

Eris pinches the bridge of his nose, a long-suffering sigh escaping him. “For the love of the Cauldron,” he mutters under his breath before stepping forward, his authoritative presence silencing the chaos.

“Alev,” Eris says, his tone calm but laced with warning. “What did you do?”

Alev shifts nervously, the smirk fading slightly under his older brother’s piercing gaze. “It was just a little spell,” he admits, his voice lighter than it should be. “A small spark to set the mood. I may have underestimated how... flammable Lucien’s curtains were.”

Lucien points an accusatory finger at him. “Curtains, rugs, half the bloody furniture—Eris, I swear, if you don’t deal with him, I will.”

Eris raises a hand, silencing Lucien with a single look. “Alev,” he says slowly, his voice like a crackling flame, “do you have any idea how much chaos you’ve caused? Tonight of all nights?”

Alev grins sheepishly. “I was trying to help! You know, add a little Autumn Court flair to his otherwise... bland quarters.”

Lucien lets out an incredulous laugh, clearly seconds away from lunging at his brother. “Bland? You—”

“Enough,” Eris snaps, his voice sharp and commanding. Both brothers freeze, their gazes snapping to him. He exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose again. “Alev, go fix what you’ve destroyed. Now. And if I hear so much as a whisper of another incident tonight, you’ll wish it was Lucien dealing with you instead of me.”

Alev blinks, then nods quickly. “Right. Fix it. Got it.” He turns on his heel and bolts for the doors, though not without throwing Lucien a cheeky grin over his shoulder.

Lucien groans, running a hand through his hair as he turns to Eris. “You see what I have to deal with? How have you not strangled him yet?”

Eris smirks faintly, his composure returning. “Patience,” he replies, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “And the knowledge that one day, he’ll slip up enough to give me a good excuse.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, the tension from earlier momentarily lifted. Eris turns to you, his expression softening. “Shall we expect more dramatics tonight, or are you ready to face the ball?”

“With your family?” you tease lightly. “I’d say both are inevitable.”

Eris chuckles, offering you his arm once more. “You’re learning,” he says with a smirk, leading you toward the doors. “Now, let’s see if we can survive the evening without another catastrophe.”

You pause just before the grand ballroom doors, your arm still looped through Eris’s. Your gaze lingers on him, soft and questioning, and he stops in his tracks. He knows that look of yours—he’s learned it all too well. The unspoken request, the subtle tilt of your head, the way your lips press together as though you’re carefully choosing your words.

“You want to go check on him,” Eris says quietly, his voice laced with understanding.

You nod, biting your lip. “I know Lyra is with him, and I know he’s fine, but… this is the longest I’ll have been away from him since he was born. It feels—”

“Strange,” Eris finishes for you, his golden eyes softening as they meet yours. “I know.”

You glance down at the floor, guilt pooling in your chest. “I just… I need to see him, Eris. Just for a moment.”

He gently lifts your chin with his fingers, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “My love,” he says softly, his tone carrying a calm authority, “I understand how you feel. Truly. But Azer is safe. This is good for him. He needs to learn a little independence, and so do you.”

You blink at him, your emotions warring within you. “I just feel like I’m abandoning him,” you whisper.

Eris sighs, his hand slipping to rest on your waist. “You’re not abandoning him. You’re showing him that his mother is more than just his caretaker. That she’s strong, graceful, and capable of leading beside me. And when we go back to him tonight, he’ll see that too.”

You nod slowly, his words sinking in, though the ache in your chest remains. Before you can reply, the sound of hurried footsteps echoes behind you, and you both turn just as Alev comes bounding into the room.

“Alev,” Eris says sharply, his brows furrowing, “what now?”

Alev skids to a stop, his hair still slightly dishevelled, though his grin is as irreverent as ever. “Relax, brother,” he says, holding up his hands. “I just thought I’d let you know—I stopped by the nursery on my way back down.”

You inhale sharply, your attention snapping to him. “And? How was Azer?”

Alev hesitates for half a second, glancing nervously over your shoulder. It’s only then that he sees the warning glare Eris is shooting him—a silent command to tread carefully.

“Oh, uh… he’s fine!” Alev says quickly, his grin widening. “Totally fine. Lyra had him all snuggled up in his favourite blanket. He wasn’t crying or anything. Just… looking at his little fox toy. Happy as can be.”

You exhale a shaky breath, relief washing over you. “Thank you, Alev,” you say sincerely, your shoulders relaxing.

Alev shrugs, his grin turning a little sheepish. “No problem. Figured you’d want to know.”

Behind you, Eris arches a brow, his golden eyes still fixed on his younger brother. “Thank you for your… insightful report,” he says dryly, though his tone carries an unspoken promise of consequences if Alev had dared say anything to upset you.

Alev throws him a mock salute before backing away, his grin still in place. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it. Try not to burn the place down while I’m gone.”

As he disappears back into the corridor, Eris sighs and turns to you, his hands sliding to rest on your arms. “See? He’s fine,” he says softly. “And now, so are you. Let’s do this together.”

You nod, leaning into him for a brief moment before squaring your shoulders. “Okay,” you whisper, allowing him to guide you forward.

With Eris by your side, you take the final step into the ballroom, ready to face whatever the evening holds.

-----

The ballroom is alive with music, laughter, and the soft clinking of glasses, but it all feels distant, a blurred backdrop to your rising tension. You sit at one of the ornately carved tables near the edge of the room, the deep burgundy of your wine a sharp contrast to the delicate gold trim of the goblet you hold. You take another sip—no, more like a gulp—your grip on the stem tight enough to make your knuckles ache.

Three hours. Three endless hours. You’ve smiled, curtsied, and exchanged pleasantries with the High Lords of Spring, Dawn, Summer, and Winter. Each interaction had felt like a delicate dance, one misstep away from disaster. Tamlin of Spring had been cordial enough, though his words carried a stiffness that matched the tight line of his jaw. Thesan of Dawn had been polite and warm, his genuine curiosity about your role as Lady of Autumn easing some of your nerves, if only for a moment. The Summer Court’s Tarquin had offered a quiet strength in his presence, his words measured but kind. Kallias of Winter had been formal, his icy demeanour a stark contrast to the fiery warmth of the Autumn Court.

And through it all, you’d managed to maintain the poised, composed exterior that Eris had assured you would command their respect. But now, seated alone at the table, your mask of grace and elegance is beginning to crack.

Your gaze flicks across the room to the Night Court delegation, where Lucien is engaged in animated conversation with Rhysand, Feyre, and their inner circle. Even from this distance, you can see the easy camaraderie between them, the subtle smiles and the occasional laughter that spill from their group. You know Lucien feels more at home with them than he does here, and while you understand, it does little to soothe your unease.

Helion, at least, had been a comforting presence earlier in the evening. You’d known him long before tonight, ever since Eris’s mother, Arlene, had moved into the Day Court after Beron’s death. Helion’s warmth and humour had provided a brief reprieve from the relentless formalities of the evening, but now, with him occupied elsewhere, you feel untethered.

Eris is across the room, locked in conversation with one of his advisors, his expression sharp and unreadable. You know he’s keeping an eye on you, even from afar, but right now, his watchful presence does little to ease the knot of anxiety in your chest.

As you lift your goblet for another sip, a familiar voice cuts through the noise. “You look like you’re plotting someone’s demise,” Alev remarks, his tone laced with amusement as he slides into the seat beside you.

You glance at him, raising a brow. “And if I were?”

He grins, leaning back in his chair with an air of casual defiance. “Depends. Is it someone I’d enjoy watching you take down?”

A small, reluctant smile tugs at your lips, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I think the only thing keeping me from snapping is this wine,” you admit, swirling the liquid in your goblet. “And even that might not be enough.”

Alev chuckles, his crimson hair catching the golden glow of the chandeliers above. “Come on, it can’t be that bad. You’ve survived half the High Lords already. What’s one more?”

You cast a pointed glance at the Night Court, where Lucien is still deep in conversation. “It’s not just one more,” you say quietly. “It’s Rhysand and his entire inner circle. They’re… intimidating.”

Alev follows your gaze, his expression thoughtful. “They don’t look so scary to me. Lucien seems to be holding his own.”

“Lucien is used to them,” you counter. “I’m not.”

He shrugs, his grin returning. “Well, if they give you any trouble, just sic Eris on them. Or me. I’d be happy to cause a little chaos on your behalf.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “That’s the last thing we need tonight, Alev.”

“Maybe,” he concedes, his tone teasing. “But it’d make for a more entertaining evening, wouldn’t it?”

You can’t help but smile at his antics, the tension in your shoulders easing just slightly. Alev may be a troublemaker, but in moments like this, his irreverent humour is exactly what you need.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, your voice barely audible over the din of the ballroom.

He glances at you, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “Anytime,” he says, his voice steady and sincere.

As the night drags on, the noise in the ballroom seems to grow louder, the laughter and chatter blending into an indistinct hum. You glance over at Eris, still engaged in conversation with his advisor, his posture rigid and his expression betraying the strain of the evening.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you see him step away from the group. His stride is slower than usual, his shoulders slightly slumped, and his usually sharp golden eyes seem dimmer, weighed down by the demands of his title.

He spots you immediately, his gaze softening as he makes his way across the room. The exhaustion etched into his features is stark, his mask of courtly perfection slipping now that he’s out of the scrutinizing eyes of the other lords and advisors.

When he reaches your table, he lets out a long, quiet sigh and sits down heavily beside you. His hand brushes over yours briefly before he leans back, rubbing his temples.

“Tired already, my Lord?” you tease lightly, though your voice carries a note of sympathy.

He lets out a dry chuckle, his lips twitching into the faintest smile. “If I hear one more thinly veiled threat disguised as flattery, I might set the whole ballroom on fire.”

You laugh softly and pick up your goblet, extending it toward him without a word. He glances at you, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, but he doesn’t hesitate. He takes the wine from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours, and drinks deeply.

When he sets the goblet down, he exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

“Anytime,” you reply, your lips quirking into a small smile. “Consider it a perk of having me as your wife.”

His golden eyes meet yours, a spark of warmth cutting through his exhaustion. “The best perk,” he says quietly, his hand finding yours under the table and giving it a gentle squeeze.

His hand still resting over yours, his thumb tracing idle circles against your skin. There’s a spark of something in his eyes now, a lightness that hadn’t been there earlier. He shifts in his seat, straightening slightly, and turns to face you fully.

“Dance with me,” he says softly, his voice low and inviting, though it’s more a request than a command.

You blink at him, momentarily surprised. “Here? Now?”

His lips curve into a faint smirk. “Why not? I’m owed at least one dance tonight, and I’d rather have it with you than anyone else.”

You glance around the bustling ballroom, the glittering gowns and polished boots of the other guests reflecting the glow of the chandeliers above. Before you can voice any hesitation, Eris stands and offers his hand to you, his golden eyes glinting with determination.

“Come,” he murmurs. “I know a better place.”

Intrigued, you slide your hand into his, letting him guide you away from the crowded floor. He leads you toward the grand doors that have been opened to the gardens, where the fresh, crisp scent of rain drifts in on the cool night air. The gardens, transformed into an extended ballroom, glimmer under the soft glow of floating lanterns.

The rain is gentle, a light mist that barely kisses your skin as Eris steps into the open garden, the soft patter against the stone tiles creating a melody of its own. He turns to you, his hair catching the golden light, and extends his hand again.

“Will you dance with me here?” he asks, his voice softer now, almost tender.

You glance up at the misty sky, the droplets shimmering like tiny diamonds as they fall. “It’s raining,” you say, though there’s no protest in your tone.

“A little rain never hurt anyone,” Eris replies, his lips quirking into a playful smile. “Besides, it’s quieter here. Just us.”

Your heart flutters at the sincerity in his words, and you place your hand in his once more. He pulls you close, one arm wrapping around your waist while the other holds your hand, his grip steady and sure.

As the music from the ballroom drifts faintly into the garden, Eris begins to sway with you, guiding you effortlessly across the rain-slicked tiles. The world feels smaller here, the distant chatter and laughter fading away until it’s just the two of you, moving together under the soft drizzle.

The rain cools your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of Eris’s touch as he holds you close. His gaze never leaves yours, golden and intent, filled with a quiet affection that steals your breath.

“You’ve been incredible tonight,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the gentle patter of rain. “I know how hard this is for you. But you’ve handled it all with grace.”

You shake your head slightly, a small laugh escaping you. “If grace means aggressively sipping wine and hiding from the High Lords, then sure.”

Eris chuckles, his breath warm against your temple as he pulls you even closer. “To me, it means being yourself. Even when it’s hard.”

The sincerity in his words makes your chest ache, and you rest your head against his shoulder, letting him lead you in the quiet dance. The rain falls softly around you, catching in his fiery hair and soaking into the rich fabric of his suit, but neither of you care.

In this moment, with the garden as your ballroom and the rain as your accompaniment, the weight of the evening lifts, leaving only the warmth of his presence and the steady rhythm of your hearts.

-----

From the balcony overlooking the garden, the Night Court’s inner circle had gathered, drawn by the faint sound of laughter and the soft glow of lanterns spilling into the misty rain. Feyre leaned against the railing, her hand loosely intertwined with Rhysand’s, while Cassian and Azriel stood nearby, their dark wings slightly folded, their gazes sharp. Mor and Amren were seated on a cushioned bench, but even they couldn’t resist peering out into the rain-soaked garden below.

The scene unfolding before them was nothing short of surprising.

“There,” Mor murmured, gesturing with a tilt of her chin.

Eris Vanserra, of all people, was dancing in the rain. But it wasn’t the stiff, performative kind of dance they’d expect from the newly crowned High Lord of Autumn. This was… intimate. Genuine.

He moved with an easy grace, his hands firmly guiding his partner—you, his wife—across the rain-slicked stones. The faint music from the ballroom drifted into the night, but it seemed almost irrelevant. The two of you were lost in your own rhythm, your laughter carrying softly on the cool breeze.

“Is that…?” Cassian began, leaning forward as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“It’s his wife,” Feyre confirmed, her lips curving into a faint smile.

Rhysand said nothing, his violet eyes narrowing as he observed Eris’s expression.

They had seen him many times before: sharp, calculating, cruel. A predator dressed in finery. But now? Now, he looked like someone entirely different.

As the inner circle watched, Eris suddenly dropped to one knee, his fiery hair damp with rain, his hand disappearing beneath the delicate folds of your gown. The motion was quick, fluid, and in an instant, he pulled out a dagger from some hidden sheath at his side.

“What the hell is he doing?” Azriel murmured, his shadows swirling with tension.

But their apprehension faded as Eris took the dagger to the hem of your dress, his movements precise as he carefully cut another slit along the fabric. The silk parted easily beneath the blade, creating a matching slit opposite the one already present. He sheathed the dagger just as quickly, the glint of the blade vanishing into the folds of his coat.

You were laughing, your head thrown back as you leaned against his shoulder, and Eris stood, brushing his fingers along the edge of the fabric to ensure it wouldn’t catch. He whispered something to you, too soft for the onlookers to hear, and then—without warning—he lifted you off the ground.

Your laughter rang out, light and joyful, as he spun you in a circle, his hands steady at your waist. The movement was effortless, as though he had done it a thousand times before. The lantern light caught the droplets of rain clinging to his hair, his suit, and most notably, the smile on his face.

A real smile.

Not the cunning smirk he so often wore, nor the sly grin meant to unsettle his enemies. This was something deeper, something softer, something the inner circle had never seen before.

“Is he… smiling?” Cassian asked, incredulous.

Mor leaned forward, her golden hair glinting in the light. “I think he is,” she said, her voice tinged with equal parts awe and disbelief.

“That’s a first,” Amren muttered, though even her silver eyes softened at the sight.

Feyre glanced at Rhys, her brow slightly raised. “Do you think he’s actually happy?” she asked quietly.

Rhysand didn’t answer immediately. His gaze remained fixed on Eris, watching as he set you back on your feet with a gentleness that seemed impossible for the man they thought they knew. The way his hands lingered at your waist, the way his head tilted down to hear your laugh more clearly—it wasn’t an act.

“I think,” Rhys finally said, his voice low, “we’ve never seen the real Eris Vanserra before.”

Below, Eris leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, his smile lingering as he pulled you closer. The rain continued to fall, unnoticed by either of you, and the inner circle watched in silence, captivated by the unguarded, unexpected display of love from a man they had always considered unfeeling.

For the first time, Eris Vanserra seemed… fae. And it left them with far more questions than answers.

The inner circle remained silent, captivated by the unexpected scene unfolding in the rain-soaked garden below. None of them had ever thought Eris capable of such tenderness, let alone joy. It was a moment so foreign, so incongruous with the man they had come to know, that they could hardly look away.

“Enjoying the show, are we?”

The voice came from behind them, sharp and laced with amusement. They all turned to see Alev Vanserra, Eris’s younger brother, leaning casually against the doorway that led to the balcony. His crimson hair was damp from the rain, and his amber eyes gleamed with a mischievous light.

Cassian narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms. “You’re surprisingly cheerful for someone who just fled the ballroom with your brother shouting after you.”

Alev smirked, shrugging one shoulder. “Eris is always shouting about something. I’ve learned to tune it out.”

Mor arched a brow, stepping closer. “And what about you? Shouldn’t you be inside, causing chaos?”

“I could,” Alev said with a mock-serious nod. “But then I wouldn’t get to see all of your reactions to this.” He gestured toward the garden, where Eris had just twirled you again, your dress fanning out as you laughed.

Azriel’s shadows coiled tighter around him, his expression unreadable. “What do you want, Alev?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Alev said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Just thought I’d join the peanut gallery for a moment. Watching Eris act like an actual person is a rare event, after all. Wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Feyre tilted her head, studying him. “You don’t seem surprised.”

Alev’s grin softened, just slightly. “Why would I be? He’s always been like this with her. The rest of you just never get to see it.”

That earned a flicker of interest from Rhysand, who regarded Alev with his usual inscrutable expression. “You’re saying this is common?”

“With her? Absolutely,” Alev replied, his gaze drifting back to the garden. “With everyone else? Not so much. She’s… different for him. Special.”

Cassian scoffed, but there was no real malice in it. “Hard to imagine Eris Vanserra being soft for anyone.”

“Maybe that’s your problem,” Alev shot back, his tone still light but carrying an edge. “You’ve all only ever seen the mask he wears for court. That’s not who he is—not completely.”

Rhys’s violet eyes narrowed slightly. “And you’d defend him, after everything?”

Alev’s smirk faded, and for a moment, his gaze hardened. “I’m not defending him,” he said quietly. “I’m just saying there’s more to him than you know. That’s all.”

The inner circle exchanged glances, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

“And if you’ll excuse me,” Alev added, his usual smirk returning, “I’ve got a drink waiting for me inside. Enjoy the show.”

With that, he turned and disappeared back into the ballroom, leaving them to mull over his words as they returned their attention to the rain-drenched garden below.

The rain had picked up slightly, but you hardly noticed, lost in the rhythm of Eris’s movements as he twirled you around the garden. The music from the ballroom drifted faintly on the air, but the sound of your laughter drowned it out, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

Eris spun you faster this time, his hand firm on yours, the other resting at the small of your back. You let out a surprised laugh, swatting at his arm when the spinning became a little too enthusiastic.

“Eris!” you exclaimed, breathless. “You’re going to make me fall.”

He smirked, the playful glint in his golden eyes shining brighter than the lanterns. “I’d never let you fall, my love,” he replied, his voice smooth and teasing. “But you do look rather adorable when you’re dizzy.”

Before you could retort, he abruptly caught you mid-spin and pulled you close, dipping you dramatically. The world tilted, your hands instinctively flying to his shoulders to steady yourself, but his grip was unyielding, his strength evident even in the gentlest touch.

“I’ll have to remember that move,” he teased, his fiery hair falling slightly into his eyes as he leaned down. “It keeps you right where I want you.”

Your heart fluttered at the intensity of his gaze, at the way the rain clung to his lashes and dampened the sharp lines of his face. “You’re impossible,” you said, though your voice lacked any true heat.

“And yet, you’re still here,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours in a fleeting, tantalizing kiss.

You let out a soft laugh, your fingers curling into the fabric of his coat. “For now.”

He arched a brow, his smirk deepening. “Careful, little fox,” he said, his voice low and teasing as he dipped you even lower, his grip unshakable. “You wouldn’t want me to think you’re challenging me.”

The rain fell heavier now, but the warmth of his breath against your skin, the steadiness of his hold, and the fire in his eyes made you forget the chill. Then, without warning, he kissed you again, this time deeper, his lips stealing the last of your breath and leaving you utterly lost in him.

When he finally pulled back, he straightened, bringing you with him as he set you back on your feet. “Admit it,” he said, his voice a mix of smugness and affection. “You’re having fun.”

You rolled your eyes, though your flushed cheeks and lingering smile betrayed you. “You’re lucky I love you,” you muttered, swatting his arm again.

He caught your hand this time, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before spinning you once more, his laughter blending with yours as the rain continued to fall.

Back on the balcony, the inner circle remained transfixed, watching the scene unfold below. Eris’s laughter—actual, genuine laughter—carried faintly through the rain, blending with the sound of your own.

Cassian let out a low whistle, shaking his head in disbelief. “I think I’ve seen everything now. Eris Vanserra laughing, smiling, and dancing in the rain? Who knew he had it in him.”

Mor leaned against the railing, her golden hair glinting faintly in the lantern light. “It’s not just the laughing,” she said, her voice quieter, more contemplative. “Look at him. He’s… happy. Like, actually happy.”

“That’s what love will do to you,” Feyre murmured, her lips curving into a small smile as she watched Eris dip you low, your laughter ringing out like a melody.

Amren snorted from her seat, her sharp silver eyes flicking briefly toward the scene. “Or madness. The line between the two is thinner than most think.”

Azriel, standing slightly apart from the group, didn’t respond. His shadows swirled around him, reflecting the tension in his stance, but his gaze remained fixed on Eris. “He’s not who we thought he was,” he said finally, his voice low and even.

Rhysand, who had been quiet for some time, rested his hands on the balcony rail, his violet eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “No,” he agreed. “He’s not.”

The High Lord’s gaze flicked to Alev’s empty chair, a shadow of a smirk tugging at his lips. “His brother wasn’t wrong. We’ve only seen the side of him that benefits his games. This…” He gestured vaguely to the garden below, where Eris had just spun you again, your dress fanning out as you swatted at him, both of you laughing. “This is new. For us, at least.”

“And you’re telling me this,” Cassian said, pointing toward Eris with an incredulous look, “is the same bastard who tried to burn Lucien alive as a kid? The same Eris who—”

“Yes,” Rhys said simply, cutting him off. “But people are more complicated than their worst moments, Cassian. He’s been playing a role for a long time. Maybe too long.”

Cassian grunted, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t argue further.

Mor crossed her arms, her gaze still fixed on the garden. “Do you think he’s changed?”

“Not entirely,” Rhys replied, his tone careful. “But maybe he’s… trying.”

“Or maybe she’s the one who changes him,” Feyre added softly, her eyes warm as she watched you laugh and lean into Eris’s chest.

Amren huffed. “Let’s not start romanticizing the brute just yet. A few dances in the rain don’t erase centuries of cruelty.”

“No,” Feyre agreed, turning her gaze toward Rhys. “But it does mean there’s more to him than we thought. And maybe that’s worth watching.”

As the conversation continued, Eris dipped you once more, pressing a kiss to your lips that left you smiling even as the rain began to drench your hair and dress. The sight of his rare, unguarded happiness lingered in their minds, sparking a quiet, uneasy realization: the man they thought they knew might not be the whole story after all.

The rain, which had started as a light drizzle, suddenly intensified into a downpour. The soft patter turned into a symphony of heavy drops, soaking through your dress and Eris’s fine clothes in seconds.

You let out a startled laugh, trying to shield your face with your hands as the water cascaded down. “Eris!” you exclaimed, blinking against the deluge. “This is no longer romantic—it’s a storm!”

Eris, his fiery hair plastered to his forehead, grinned mischievously. “Didn’t you say you wanted an unforgettable night, little fox?”

Before you could respond, he grabbed your hand, tugging you forward with an energy that made your heart race. “Come on!”

“Where are we going?” you called, laughing even as you stumbled after him.

“To the other side of the garden!” he shouted over the roar of the rain, his voice carrying above the chaos.

The two of you darted through the garden, your soaked skirts clinging to your legs and slowing your pace. Eris kept a firm grip on your hand, guiding you expertly around puddles and flowerbeds as you both ran toward the sheltered pavilion on the far side.

The rain lashed harder, drenching every inch of you, but neither of you seemed to care. Your laughter mingled with the storm, and despite the chill, there was a warmth in the way Eris glanced back at you, his golden eyes bright with exhilaration.

Finally, you reached the pavilion, the stone archway offering a reprieve from the downpour. You collapsed against one of the columns, breathless and laughing, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

Eris joined you, his hands braced on either side of the column as he leaned in close, droplets of rain rolling down his sharp jawline. “You’re drenched,” he said, his tone teasing but his gaze soft.

“So are you,” you shot back, flicking a strand of wet hair from your face.

He chuckled, his fingers reaching up to tuck the errant strand behind your ear. “You look beautiful like this,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in his words. “You’re impossible,” you whispered, though your smile betrayed your affection.

“And you love me for it,” he replied, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your rain-slicked lips.

For a moment, the world faded—the storm, the ball, the weight of the crown Eris now wore. It was just the two of you, drenched and laughing, hidden away in your own little corner of the garden.

The inner circle remained on the balcony, now huddled beneath the stone awning to avoid the storm's reach. The rain lashed against the marble, a distant echo to the laughter that had accompanied you and Eris as you darted out of sight into the garden. The scene below was empty now, the storm masking all but the faint music from the ballroom.

Lucien approached from the stairwell, his auburn hair slightly damp, his gold and russet eye catching the flickering light of the lanterns. He paused when he saw them, his lips curving into a wry smile.

“You’re all watching him like he’s some sort of rare creature in the wild,” he said, crossing his arms as he joined them at the railing.

Cassian leaned against the stone, smirking. “You can’t tell me that wasn’t worth watching. Your brother, spinning his wife like a lovestruck fool in the middle of a downpour?” He chuckled. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

Lucien arched a brow, his good eye narrowing slightly. “Careful, Cassian. Eris isn’t as oblivious as you’d like to think. He’s likely aware of every one of you standing here gawking.”

Mor scoffed, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “He didn’t even glance this way. He was too busy playing prince charming.”

“He didn’t need to,” Lucien said, a hint of exasperation in his tone. “Eris always knows his surroundings, especially now. But I suppose none of you would understand how much that crown weighs—on him, on her.”

Rhysand tilted his head slightly, watching Lucien with mild curiosity. “You sound almost… sympathetic, Lucien.”

Lucien shrugged, his gaze drifting toward the rain-soaked garden. “I know what it’s like to have people assume they know you, to reduce you to your worst moments. And I know what it’s like to see someone you care about carry more than they should.”

His words hung in the air, a quiet truth none of them could argue.

Azriel’s shadows coiled tighter, his voice breaking the silence. “Do you believe he’s changed?”

Lucien hesitated, his jaw tightening as if weighing his words. “I believe he’s trying. For her, for their-... And that’s more than I ever thought possible.”

Feyre studied him, her expression softening. “You’ve seen it firsthand, haven’t you?”

Lucien nodded, a faint, almost reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “He’s still Eris—sharp edges and all. But when he’s with her…” His gaze flicked to the garden again, where the rain still fell heavily. “It’s like those edges dull, just a little. He loves her. Fiercely. And I think that scares him as much as it comforts him.”

Cassian snorted, shaking his head. “Fierce or not, he’s still the same arrogant bastard who—”

“Cassian,” Rhys warned, his tone light but carrying enough weight to make the Illyrian warrior pause.

Lucien’s smile didn’t falter, but there was a dangerous gleam in his russet eye as he turned toward Cassian. “He is arrogant,” he agreed smoothly. “And he’s made mistakes. But don’t let your biases blind you to what’s in front of you.”

Mor looked ready to interject, but Rhys raised a hand, silencing her. “That’s enough,” he said, his gaze lingering on Lucien. “We’re not here to pass judgment—yet.”

Lucien inclined his head, though the tension in his frame didn’t ease. “Just remember, Rhysand. Whatever you think of Eris, she chose him. And she seems happy.”

With that, Lucien stepped back, his gaze once again drawn to the stormy garden. His expression softened, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his face before he turned and walked back into the ballroom, leaving the inner circle to ponder his words in silence.

The rain continued to fall in heavy sheets as Eris led you deeper into the garden, his steps purposeful despite the mud slicking the stone paths. The storm seemed to heighten everything—the cool, wet air against your skin, the pounding of your heart, the way his golden eyes burned with something primal and unrestrained.

Before you could fully process his intent, he stopped abruptly, turning to face you. Without a word, his hands slid to your waist, and in one swift, commanding movement, he pressed you back against the soft grass beneath the open sky.

“Eris,” you murmured, your voice breathless as your hands instinctively reached up to grip the lapels of his soaked coat.

He leaned down, his body caging yours, every line of him sharp and unyielding against the storm’s chaos. “Shh, little fox,” he whispered, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver through you. “You’re mine tonight. All of you.”

His lips descended on yours, fierce and demanding, yet somehow achingly tender. The rain pelted down around you, but you barely felt it, too consumed by the heat of his kiss. His hands roamed your sides, his touch grounding you even as it left you utterly undone.

The kiss deepened, his tongue teasing yours with a skill that left you breathless. You arched into him, your fingers threading through his damp hair as his hand slid to the curve of your hip, pulling you impossibly closer.

When he finally broke the kiss, his lips brushed against your jaw, your neck, trailing heat in their wake. “You drive me mad,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and unguarded. “Do you know that?”

Your heart thundered in your chest, your voice a trembling whisper as you replied, “You’re one to talk.”

He laughed softly, the sound vibrating through you as he leaned back just enough to meet your gaze. The storm raged on around you, but in his eyes, there was only fire—fire that promised he’d never let you go.

“You’re mine,” he said again, the words a vow as his lips claimed yours once more, his body sheltering you from the storm even as his kiss consumed you completely.

Eris pulled back slightly, his breath warm against your rain-cooled skin, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His golden eyes roamed over your face, his expression caught somewhere between reverence and possessiveness, as though he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

You opened your mouth to say something, to tease him or demand another kiss, but he beat you to it. “I should take you back inside,” he murmured, though his hands stayed firm on your hips, pinning you to the soft, rain-drenched earth. “But I can’t seem to let you go.”

You let out a shaky laugh, brushing a soaked strand of his hair away from his face. “Maybe I don’t want you to.”

His grin was slow and wicked, the kind that always made your pulse race. “Is that so?” he asked, lowering his lips to the hollow of your throat, pressing a kiss there that made you shiver despite the heat pooling in your stomach.

The rain continued to fall, soaking through both your clothes and the soft earth beneath you, but neither of you cared. Eris shifted slightly, his body a solid, grounding weight against yours, his hands sliding from your waist to your thighs, his thumbs tracing lazy circles through the fabric of your dress.

“You’re everything to me, little fox,” he said softly, his voice raw with emotion. “Do you know that? My world begins and ends with you.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, though you weren’t sure if it was from the intensity of his words or the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing that mattered. “Eris,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you cupped his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I love you. More than anything.”

His breath hitched at your words, his lips parting as if to respond, but instead, he kissed you again, pouring every ounce of his devotion into it.

The storm raged on, but in that moment, nothing else existed—just you, Eris, and the fire that burned between you, unquenchable even by the rain.

-----

The ballroom carried on in its lively revelry, the swirling gowns and vibrant music disguising the absence of its new High Lord and his lady. Most were too engrossed in their conversations, drinks, or dances to notice that Eris and you had slipped away, though the inner circle, seated near the grand doors, had kept an eye on the evening’s events with quiet curiosity.

Feyre, lounging at the table beside Rhysand, tilted her head toward the doorway, her brows furrowing. “Do you see that?” she murmured, her voice low but sharp enough to catch her companions’ attention.

Cassian, who had been nursing his drink, looked up and followed her gaze. Near the doorway, a small figure stood hesitantly, his auburn hair glinting in the flickering light of the chandeliers. His clothes were finely made but slightly rumpled, as if he’d been running or hiding.

“That’s a child,” Mor said, her tone incredulous. “What in the Mother’s name is a child doing here? This isn’t exactly a family gathering.”

Azriel’s shadows curled tighter around him as he observed the boy. “He’s too young to be here alone,” he said quietly. “Someone should—”

Before he could finish, Feyre gestured toward Lucien, who was standing nearby. “Lucien,” she called, her voice cutting across the noise. “Come here for a moment.”

Lucien approached, his gaze sharp as he followed their pointed looks toward the boy. The moment he saw him, his body stiffened, his eyes widening in recognition. “Azer?” he muttered under his breath before suddenly striding forward.

The inner circle exchanged puzzled glances as they watched Lucien kneel in front of the boy, his expression softening as he gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Azer,” Lucien said, his tone both firm and kind. “What are you doing here, little one? Where’s your sitter?”

The boy’s wide, teary eyes looked up at him, his lower lip trembling. “There was… a fire in my room,” Azer hiccupped, his voice high and distressed. “She told me to step away.”

Lucien’s jaw tightened. “A fire?”

Azer nodded, tears spilling down his cheeks. “I—I made a spark, Uncle Lucien,” he confessed, his tiny voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to! I didn’t know I could do that.”

The revelation hit Lucien hard, but he quickly scooped the boy into his arms, holding him close as Azer began to sob in earnest. “Shh, little fox,” he murmured, trying to calm him. “It’s okay. You’re not in trouble.”

“Where’s Mama? Dada?” Azer cried, his small hands clutching at Lucien’s tunic.

Lucien’s heart clenched at the desperate plea, but his focus remained on soothing the boy. He turned back toward the inner circle, carrying Azer with a protective arm around him.

As he approached, the group’s expressions ranged from confusion to shock. Feyre, in particular, seemed stunned. “That’s—” she started, her gaze darting between Azer and Lucien. “Is he…?”

Lucien didn’t meet her eyes. “Yes,” he said shortly. “This is Azer. Eris and Y/N’s son.”

The table fell silent, the revelation striking like a thunderclap.

Cassian was the first to break the silence. “Wait, Eris has a kid? And no one told us?”

Mor blinked, her mouth opening and closing as if trying to find words. “How… when…?”

Before anyone could press further, Alev appeared, his expression one of mild alarm as he approached the group. “What’s going on?” he asked, his gaze flicking to Azer.

Lucien, his tone sharp, said, “Azer lit a spark in his room. It’s his first time using his powers.”

Alev’s face paled, his hand instinctively running through his hair. “Oh, cauldron,” he muttered. “This might be my fault. I told him a story earlier—about how I accidentally set your curtains on fire. He must’ve…”

Lucien’s glare was deadly. “You what?”

Azer hiccupped, his small body trembling in Lucien’s arms. “I didn’t mean to,” he sobbed, his face buried in Lucien’s shoulder. “I just wanted to see if I could make a spark like Uncle Alev.”

Alev looked stricken, his guilt plain as he reached out to touch Azer’s back. “Little fox, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to try that.”

The inner circle exchanged stunned glances, their earlier judgments of Eris and you now tempered by the sight of the distraught child.

Rhysand, always the calmest, leaned back in his chair and said quietly, “Well, this certainly explains a few things.”

“It explains everything,” Feyre added softly, her gaze lingering on Azer, who clung to Lucien as though his life depended on it.

Cassian let out a low whistle, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair. “So, not only does Eris have a kid, but he’s been hiding him? Makes you wonder what else he’s keeping secret.”

“More like why he hid him,” Mor added, her voice laced with sharpness. “If he was so proud of his son, why wouldn’t he—”

“Enough,” Lucien snapped, his voice cutting through their remarks like a blade.

The group stilled, turning to face him. Lucien’s expression was uncharacteristically hard, his russet eye blazing with anger while his mechanical one whirred faintly as it focused on each of them. Azer, still clinging to him, hiccupped softly, his tiny hands fisting in Lucien’s tunic.

“You can say what you want about me,” Lucien began, his voice low and fierce. “And you can say what you want about Eris. But you will not speak of Azer like he’s some kind of scandal to be dissected.”

“Lucien—” Feyre started, but he cut her off with a glare.

“No,” he said firmly. “You don’t understand. Azer wasn’t hidden because Eris wasn’t proud of him. He was hidden because he was born during Beron’s rule.”

The air in the room seemed to grow heavier at the mention of Beron, the former High Lord of Autumn whose cruelty was well-known.

“If Beron had known Azer existed,” Lucien continued, his voice shaking with restrained fury, “he wouldn’t have lived to see his first birthday. Eris and Y/N kept him hidden to protect him, not because they were ashamed.”

Mor’s expression softened slightly, but her tone remained skeptical. “I’m not saying they didn’t have reasons, Lucien. But keeping a child secret for years—”

“You don’t get to judge them,” Lucien bit out, his tone sharp. “You have no idea what it was like in this court. What it took to survive, let alone to keep a child safe.” He adjusted Azer in his arms, his hold protective. “Azer is not to be a topic on your tongues. Not now, not ever.”

Azriel, who had been silent until now, leaned forward slightly, his shadows curling tighter around him. “We weren’t trying to judge the child,” he said carefully. “But it’s… surprising. That’s all.”

Lucien’s gaze narrowed, but he nodded curtly. “Surprising or not, Azer is off-limits. I don’t care what you think of me or Eris, but you will leave him out of it. He’s innocent in all of this.”

The inner circle exchanged glances, a mixture of unease and understanding passing between them. Rhysand finally spoke, his tone measured. “Fair enough, Lucien. We’ll respect your wishes.”

Lucien’s shoulders relaxed marginally, but the fire in his gaze didn’t fade. “Good. Because Azer isn’t just Eris’s son. He’s my nephew. And I won’t let anyone treat him like he’s some kind of stain on our family.”

Azer whimpered softly, his little voice breaking through the tense silence. “I want Mama and Dada.”

Lucien’s expression softened immediately, and he pressed a kiss to the boy’s rain-damp hair. “I know, little fox,” he murmured. “We’ll find them soon.”

For the first time, the inner circle seemed to see Azer not as a symbol of Eris’s secrets but as a scared, vulnerable child. And in that moment, no one dared say another word.

Alev came rushing back into the ballroom, his normally composed expression frazzled as his eyes scanned the crowd. His coat was slightly askew, his hair damp from the rain outside.

“I’ve looked everywhere,” he said breathlessly, his voice tight with frustration as he approached Lucien and the inner circle. “I can’t find Eris or Y/N anywhere.”

Lucien’s jaw tightened as he shifted Azer, still rocking the boy gently in his arms. Azer clung to him, his tiny fingers fisting in Lucien’s tunic, his sobs quieter now but no less heart-wrenching.

“Keep your voice down,” Lucien hissed, glancing around to ensure no one else overheard.

“They’re probably somewhere in the gardens,” Alev muttered, running a hand through his hair. “But it’s pouring out there, and they’re not answering any of the usual signals.”

Before Lucien could respond, a soft but firm voice interrupted. “Azer? What are you doing down here?”

Everyone turned to see Lady Arlene, her elegant figure framed by the light from the grand chandeliers. She moved with a regal grace, her auburn hair swept up, her amber eyes sharp but filled with concern. Helion followed closely behind her, his expression curious as his golden gaze flicked to Azer.

“Mother,” Lucien said, his voice heavy with relief.

Arlene’s eyes widened when they fell on her grandson, who was still trembling in Lucien’s arms. Her expression softened instantly as she stepped closer, her skirts brushing the floor. “What happened?” she asked, her voice gentle as she reached out to stroke Azer’s hair.

Lucien sighed, his grip on Azer tightening protectively. “There was a fire in his room,” he explained, keeping his voice low. “He… lit a spark. For the first time.”

Arlene froze, her hand stilling against Azer’s curls. “A fire?” she repeated, her tone laced with both shock and understanding. “Oh, my little firefox.”

Azer sniffled, lifting his tear-streaked face to look at her. “I didn’t mean to, Grandmama,” he whimpered. “I just wanted to try like Uncle Alev said.”

Alev visibly winced, muttering, “I really shouldn’t have told him that story.”

Arlene shot him a pointed look but said nothing, focusing instead on her grandson. “It’s alright, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice soothing. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Powers like yours can be tricky at first.”

Helion stepped forward then, his golden armour glinting in the light. His expression was equal parts curiosity and pride as he looked at Azer. “First sparks, hmm?” he said, his voice warm and deep. “A sign of strength, little one. Nothing to fear.”

Azer sniffled again, his big, teary eyes meeting Helion’s. “But I scared my babysitter. And I couldn’t find Mama and Dada.”

Lucien tightened his hold, rocking Azer gently. “They’ll be back soon,” he promised. “You’re safe now.”

Arlene exchanged a glance with Helion, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I’ll go find them,” she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Helion nodded, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. “I’ll come with you.”

As they turned to leave, Arlene glanced back at Azer, her expression softening once more. “Stay with your uncle, little fox. I’ll bring your parents back to you.”

Azer nodded weakly, his head resting against Lucien’s shoulder. The boy was exhausted, his earlier sobs having worn him out, but the occasional hiccup still shook his small frame.

The inner circle watched the exchange in silence, a mix of emotions flickering across their faces. Feyre’s gaze lingered on Azer, her expression unreadable, while Cassian and Mor exchanged wary looks. Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his eyes sharp as they followed Arlene and Helion’s retreating forms.

Lucien finally broke the silence, his voice low and firm. “Say what you want about Eris and me, but Azer isn’t up for discussion, I said it more than once but I'll say it again. Not tonight, not ever. He’s a child—a good child—and he deserves better than to be the subject of your scrutiny.”

Feyre nodded slowly, her tone soft as she said, “You’re right. He doesn’t deserve that.”

Lucien’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though the fire in his gaze didn’t dim. He glanced down at Azer, his voice softening as he murmured, “You’re safe, little fox. Your parents will be here soon.”

As the room settled into a tense quiet, Azer stirred in Lucien’s arms, his hiccups subsiding into soft breaths. He sniffled, his small hands clutching at Lucien’s tunic as he lifted his tear-streaked face. His wide, amber eyes��so much like his father’s—scanned the room, landing on Cassian, Azriel, and Rhysand.

Azer blinked, his curiosity breaking through the haze of his earlier tears. “Why do they have wings?” he asked, his voice small but clear as he pointed a tiny finger toward the three Illyrians.

The question caught everyone off guard, and for a moment, the tension in the room softened. Cassian exchanged a glance with Azriel, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“We were born with them,” Cassian said, leaning back in his chair and giving his wings an exaggerated stretch. “They’re part of being Illyrian.”

Azer tilted his head, his small brows furrowing in confusion. “What’s an Illyrian?”

“They’re warriors,” Lucien explained gently, his tone patient. “They come from a different part of the Night Court.”

Azer’s eyes grew even wider as he looked back at the three males. “Warriors? Like Dada?”

Azriel’s lips twitched in what might have been a smile, though his shadows curled tighter around him. “Something like that,” he said quietly.

Cassian chuckled, his grin widening. “I bet we could teach you a thing or two about being a warrior, little one.”

Lucien shot him a sharp look. “He’s three, Cassian. Let’s not give him ideas.”

Azer ignored the exchange, his attention fixated on Rhysand now. “Can I have wings too?”

Rhysand, who had been watching the interaction with quiet amusement, leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “I don’t think wings are something you can grow, little one,” he said, his tone light. “But you don’t need them to be strong. You’ve got fire in your veins, just like your father.”

Azer’s face scrunched up as he considered this, then turned back to Lucien. “But wings would be fun,” he insisted, his small voice earnest.

Lucien sighed, a soft chuckle escaping him despite himself. “You’ll have to make do without them, little fox.”

The inner circle exchanged subtle glances, their earlier wariness giving way to quiet intrigue as they observed the boy’s innocent curiosity. For a moment, the weight of secrets and past grievances seemed to lift, replaced by the simple wonder of a child discovering the world around him.

Azer’s gaze lingered on the Illyrians for a moment longer before he nestled back into Lucien’s shoulder, his tiny voice murmuring, “Maybe one day…”

Lucien smiled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Maybe one day,” he agreed, his voice filled with quiet affection.

The tension in the room only deepened when Lady Arlene, Helion, and Alev returned, their faces marked with worry. Alev’s hair was even more dishevelled than before, and both Arlene and Helion looked like they had braved the worsening storm outside.

“No sign of them,” Arlene announced, her voice tight as she approached Lucien and Azer. “The gardens are sprawling, and the rain is turning into a storm. They could be anywhere.”

Helion placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, though his own concern was evident. “They’re clever. They’ll be fine. But we should keep searching.”

Azer, still in Lucien’s arms, babbled softly to himself, seemingly unaware of the adults’ growing unease. His little voice carried a mix of words and toddler gibberish, his fingers playing with the collar of Lucien’s tunic. His eyes, though still red-rimmed from crying, were wide with curiosity as he noticed the way Azriel’s shadows danced around him.

“’Shadows,” Azer murmured, his small hand stretching out toward the wisps of darkness that curled and swirled around Azriel like living things. “Wanna play.”

Azriel glanced down at the boy, his expression unreadable. His shadows seemed to hesitate for a moment before one daring tendril crept closer, teasingly twirling around Azer’s outstretched fingers.

Azer giggled softly, the sound tinged with sniffles as he tried to grab at the shadow. “Gotcha!” he exclaimed, his toddler speech slightly garbled. “No… no run!”

Azriel allowed a rare, faint smile to tug at the corner of his lips as his shadow darted away, only to circle back and flick at Azer’s tiny fingers.

Lucien sighed, adjusting Azer in his arms as he watched the interaction. “Don’t encourage him, Azriel,” he muttered, though his tone lacked any real bite.

“I’m not doing anything,” Azriel replied smoothly, though there was a flicker of amusement in his voice.

Azer giggled again, distracted from the earlier upset as he babbled nonsense words to the shadow, his sniffles gradually fading. The storm outside intensified, the sound of rain pounding against the grand windows of the ballroom filling the room.

Arlene stepped closer, her hand brushing over Azer’s curls. “We need to find them,” she said softly, her worry now etched plainly on her face.

Helion nodded, his gaze moving toward the doors. “They can’t have gone far, even with the storm. We’ll keep searching.”

Alev, standing nearby, hesitated before adding, “I’ll check the garden pathways again. Maybe they found cover somewhere.”

As the adults strategized, Azer turned his attention back to Azriel’s shadows, a tiny smile breaking through his lingering tears. His little hand swiped through the air again as he mumbled, “Come back, shadow. No hide!”

The sight of the toddler’s innocent determination seemed to soften even the tension between the inner circle and the Vanserras, at least for a moment. But the storm outside raged on, a reminder that the ones they were all looking for were still nowhere to be found.

-----

The storm had turned the garden into a shimmering maze, the rain coming down in heavy sheets that drenched everything in its path. You ran through it, your laughter ringing out despite the chaos, your hand clasped tightly in Eris’s. The muddy ground squelched beneath your feet, and your gown, once pristine, clung to your body, the fabric soaked through.

Eris, his hair plastered to his forehead, glanced back at you, his golden eyes alight with amusement even as the rain poured down around you both. “You’re going to ruin that dress,” he teased, though his own immaculate attire wasn’t faring much better.

“Better the dress than my ankles!” you shot back, already fumbling to pull off your soaked shoes. The delicate heels were no match for the slippery garden paths, and you nearly tripped as you tugged them free.

Eris caught you before you could fall, his strong hands steadying you as he grinned. “Careful, love. I’d hate for you to twist an ankle before our grand re-entrance.”

You laughed breathlessly, finally kicking the shoes off and tossing them onto the wet grass. “I think it’s a little late for grand, don’t you?”

Eris raised a brow, clearly unbothered by the state of your dishevelled appearance. “You forget who you’re with.” His voice was low, teasing, and entirely too self-assured as he pulled you closer. “I can make anything grand.”

Rolling your eyes, you tugged him forward, your bare feet splashing through puddles as you both ran toward the faint glow of the ballroom ahead. The rain was relentless, but it only added to the thrill of the moment, each step a mix of wild abandon and shared laughter.

As you reached the edge of the gardens, the sound of music from the ballroom grew louder, mingling with the rhythm of the rain. You paused for a moment under the partial cover of a sprawling oak tree, catching your breath as Eris leaned down, his hands braced on his knees.

“You know,” you panted, brushing wet strands of hair from your face, “we probably look ridiculous.”

Eris straightened, his golden eyes gleaming despite the storm. “We look like royalty,” he said smugly, though the grin tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. “Just… slightly soggier than usual.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you grabbed his hand again. “Come on, Your Highness. Let’s get back inside before they send a search party.”

As you reached the edge of the gardens, the rain pelting down harder than ever, Eris tugged you back beneath the shelter of a sprawling oak tree. His golden eyes glimmered with mischief as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“Do we really have to go back inside?” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, barely audible over the storm. “The ballroom’s full of people I’d rather avoid… and you’re far more interesting.”

Before you could respond, his lips found yours, warm and insistent despite the chill of the rain soaking through both your clothes. His hand slid up your back, fingers tangling in your damp hair as he kissed you with a fervour that made you momentarily forget the storm raging around you.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing uneven. “Why don’t we just stay out here?” he suggested, his tone teasing but his intent unmistakable. “The rain, the grass… It’s far better than listening to advisors drone on or exchanging pleasantries with people who don’t matter.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, though your teeth chattered from the cold. “Eris, it’s freezing, and we’re both covered in muck. Look at us!”

He glanced down, his shirt clinging to his chest and the once-immaculate fabric smeared with dirt. His boots were caked with mud, and your gown was a waterlogged mess. He grinned, utterly unbothered. “We’ve looked worse. And I still think you’re stunning.”

You swatted at his chest, though it lacked any real force. “As flattering as that is, I’m not about to let my teeth chatter out of my skull just to indulge you.”

Eris sighed dramatically, though his grin remained. “You ruin all my fun, you know that?”

You arched a brow, stepping back and tugging him toward the glowing lights of the ballroom. “Come on, High Lord. Let’s go before the muck starts seeping into places it shouldn’t.”

Eris followed reluctantly, though his hand remained firmly clasped in yours. “Fine,” he said, his tone half playful, half resigned. “But don’t think for a second that I’m done with you tonight.”

You rolled your eyes, your heart still pounding from the intensity of his kiss. “You’re insatiable,” you muttered, though the warmth in your chest betrayed how much you loved it.

“And you’re freezing,” he shot back with a smirk. “Let’s get you inside before you catch cold.”

The grand ballroom was alive with music and chatter as you and Eris entered, soaked from the rain and slightly dishevelled. The golden chandeliers cast a warm glow over the room, a stark contrast to the storm still raging outside. Water dripped from the hem of your dress, forming a small trail as you both walked further in. You reached up to smooth your hair, hoping to appear somewhat presentable, but Eris was already scanning the room, his sharp eyes cutting through the crowd.

It was then that his entire demeanour shifted. His gaze landed on Lucien, seated at a table near the far side of the ballroom, cradling a familiar bundle in his arms. Eris froze for a fraction of a second, his shoulders tensing before he took off in a sprint, leaving you to trail behind him, startled.

The inner circle, seated with Lucien and Azer, noticed Eris immediately. Cassian leaned back in his chair, exchanging a look with Rhysand and Feyre. They’d spent the past hour piecing together the puzzle of the little boy, thanks to Lucien’s quiet but firm explanation, but now they were about to witness the truth first-hand.

Eris reached Lucien in moments, his golden eyes darting over Azer’s tear-streaked face. Azer was clutching Lucien’s tunic with trembling fingers, his breaths coming in quick hiccups as his wide amber eyes filled with tears.

“Dada!” Azer cried out, reaching for Eris with both arms. His voice cracked with the effort, his small body shaking as his emotions overwhelmed him.

Eris immediately knelt, his hands steady as he took Azer from Lucien’s arms. “Shh, little firefox,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing despite the storm of worry in his gaze. “I’m here. Dada’s here.”

Azer buried his face in Eris’s soaked chest, sobbing uncontrollably. His little fists clutched at Eris’s tunic, his cries muffled but heart-wrenching. The room seemed to shrink as the High Lord of Autumn cradled his son, his usual composed mask cracking just enough for those closest to see.

Lucien stood, his expression grim as he addressed Eris. “There was a fire,” he explained quietly, his voice laced with both worry and frustration. “The babysitter told him to step away, but… Azer lit the spark. His powers manifested for the first time.”

Eris’s jaw tightened, his pride momentarily overshadowed by the need to comfort his son. “He’s alright?” he asked, his voice steady but low.

“He’s fine,” Lucien assured him. “Just shaken. And terrified.”

Eris closed his eyes for a moment, pressing a kiss to Azer’s curls. “It’s okay, little one,” he whispered. “You’re safe now. You’re so brave.”

Azer tried to speak, but his words came out in broken sobs. “D-Dada… fire… I—”

“Shh,” Eris soothed, rubbing small circles on Azer’s back. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re just like me, aren’t you? Full of fire.”

The pride in his voice was subtle, carefully masked by his fatherly concern, but those who knew him well could hear it. Cassian and Azriel, who had been quietly observing, exchanged a glance before stepping forward.

“You’ll soak him through,” Azriel said, his voice calm as he shrugged off his jacket. Cassian did the same, handing theirs to Eris.

“Wrap him in these,” Cassian added, his tone unusually soft.

Eris hesitated for a moment, his pride warring with practicality, before taking the jackets and wrapping them around Azer’s trembling form. The little boy clung to him, his cries quieting to soft hiccups as the warmth of the jackets and his father’s presence surrounded him.

The inner circle continued to watch, their expressions ranging from surprise to quiet understanding. This was not the cold, calculating High Lord they had expected. This was a father—protective, proud, and deeply devoted to his son.

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful as he observed Eris murmuring soft reassurances to Azer. “I never thought I’d see the day,” he said quietly, his voice just loud enough for Feyre to hear.

Feyre glanced at him, her lips curving into a faint smile. “There’s more to him than we realized,” she said.

“Clearly,” Rhysand replied, watching as Eris stood, cradling Azer close as if shielding him from the world.

The moment you spotted Eris standing with Azer wrapped in the jackets, your heart clenched. You ran toward them, your bare feet still damp from the rain, your gown dragging slightly behind you. The sight of your little boy nestled against his father, his tear-streaked face peeking out from the folds of fabric, was enough to quicken your pace.

As you reached them, you instinctively placed a hand on Eris’s arm, your gaze immediately falling to Azer. “What happened? Is he okay?” you asked breathlessly, brushing damp curls from your son’s forehead.

“He’s fine,” Eris assured you softly, his golden eyes meeting yours. “Just a little shaken. He—”

Lucien cleared his throat, stepping forward. “I’ll explain later,” he said, his voice low but steady. “He’s alright now, though.”

It was then you noticed the table behind them, where a group of unfamiliar faces watched the interaction with curious and calculating eyes. You quickly straightened, smoothing your sodden dress as best you could.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” you said, addressing the group with a polite smile despite your racing heart. “I’m Y/N, Eris’s wife. Thank you for… for helping with Azer. It means more than you know.”

The High Lady of Night Court—Feyre, you recognized her from Eris’s descriptions—was the first to speak. She stood, her expression warm and welcoming. “It’s lovely to meet you, Y/N,” she said. “You have a beautiful family.”

You smiled, a touch nervously, as the others introduced themselves: Rhysand, Azriel, Cassian, and Mor. Their gazes flicked between you, Eris, and Azer, a mix of curiosity and guarded interest in their eyes.

Azer squirmed slightly in Eris’s arms, his small hand reaching out for you. “Mama,” he mumbled, his voice still thick from crying.

You took him gently, cradling him close as he rested his head on your shoulder. His little body relaxed almost immediately in your embrace, though his pout remained firmly in place.

“This is a boring ball,” he mumbled, his tone disgruntled.

The room went silent for a beat before laughter rippled through the group. Even Eris let out a low chuckle, his hand resting on your back as you shook your head, biting back a smile.

“Well,” you said, kissing the top of Azer’s head, “he’s not wrong.”

Cassian grinned, leaning back in his chair. “I like this kid,” he said, earning a glare from Eris that only made him smirk wider.

Azer peeked up from your shoulder, his amber eyes still wet but curious as they scanned the group. He gave a little sniffle, then buried his face back against you with a contented sigh.

“Thank you,” you said again, your voice softer now as you looked at the group. “For everything.”

Feyre smiled warmly. “He’s lucky to have you both.”

You nodded, your heart swelling as you looked down at Azer. Despite the chaos of the night, everything felt a little more steady now with him in your arms.

#eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris acotar #eris x you #eris x y/n #autumn court #eris fanfic #eris imagine #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra acotar #eris vanserra fic #acotar x reader #acotar #acotar x you #a court of thorns and roses #eris vandaddy #eris fic #acotar fics

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harrysfolklore · 6 months ago

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omg! little bitch headcanon after a long time hehe - it’s reyes’s birthday this week so i was imagining piastri sis being with the sainz family celebrating it and she’s the one taking the family photograph and reyes tells her to join in on the photo because she’s family too ☺️☺️☺️

i said that i would post a little bitch blurb if carlos had a podium finish and he did soooo here it is! i hope you like it READ LITTLE BITCH HERE

The private jet touches down in Madrid, the setting sun painting the sky in vibrant hues. You stretch in your plush leather seat, feeling the familiar ache of a long-haul flight.

"Rise and shine, little bitch," you tease, poking Carlos who's still dozing beside you.

He cracks open one eye, a smirk playing on his lips. "Such a charming way to wake me up, Piastri," he retorts, voice husky from sleep. "I should leave you at the airport."

"You wouldn't dare," you laugh, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips.

Carlos hums appreciatively, deepening the kiss before pulling away with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Maybe not, but I might make you sleep on the couch, cariño."

As you make your way through the VIP customs area, Carlos' hand finds its way to the small of your back, his touch sending a shiver up your spine.

"Cold, hermosa?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear.

You elbow him playfully. "Behave yourself, Sainz. We're in public."

This isn't just another trip to Spain - it's the first time you'll be staying at Carlos' house in Madrid, spending time with his parents celebrating his mother's birthday and meeting his sisters. The significance of this step in your relationship isn't lost on either of you.

Carlos leads you to his waiting car, he insists on taking your luggage despite your protests. "You've had a long flight," he says, easily lifting your suitcase into the trunk. "Let me take care of you."

As Carlos pulls into the driveway of his house, you feel a mix of nerves and anticipation. He turns to you after cutting the engine, his brown eyes soft in the dim light. "Ready to see your home away from home?"

You nod, unable to keep the smile off your face. "More than ready."

As Carlos unlocks the front door, you hear the scrabbling of paws on hardwood floor.

"Piñon!" Carlos calls out as he pushes the door open. A ball of fluffy fur comes bounding towards you, tail wagging furiously.

You crouch down, laughing as Piñon jumps up to lick your face. "Hello, handsome boy! Oh, it's so nice to meet you!" You ruffle his fur, delighting in his excited yips. "You're much cuter than your dad, aren't you?"

"Hey!" Carlos protests, but his eyes are soft as he watches you interact with his dog.

After giving Piñon some attention, Carlos takes your hand to lead you on a tour of the house. In the kitchen, you can't resist teasing him.

"I'm surprised you even know what this room is for, Sainz," you quip, gesturing at the state-of-the-art appliances.

Carlos crowds you against the counter, his body pressed against yours. "I know exactly what it's for, mi amor," he murmurs, his voice low and suggestive. "Want me to show you?"

You push him away with a laugh, trying to ignore the heat blooming in your cheeks. "Later, you menace. Finish the tour first."

The apartment is spacious and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of Madrid's skyline. Carlos leads you through each room, pointing out little details and sharing anecdotes.

You notice several framed photos on the shelves - Carlos with his family, with his teammates, and to your surprise, a few of you and him together. Your heart swells at the sight.

"And this," he says, pushing open a door, "is our bedroom."

Your heart skips a beat at the casual use of 'our'. The room is dominated by a large, comfortable-looking bed, and more of those amazing windows.

Carlos wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. "What do you think?" he murmurs.

You lean back into him, sighing contentedly. "It's perfect. I love it."

"Mm," Carlos hums, his lips finding your temple, "I love you."

You turn in his arms, meeting his gaze. The intensity you find there makes your breath catch. "I love you too," you whisper.

Carlos's eyes darken as he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss. You respond eagerly, your hands sliding up his chest to tangle in his hair.

"We should probably get some sleep," Carlos murmurs against your lips, even as his hands slide down to your hips, pulling you closer.

"Probably," you agree, already working on the buttons of his shirt. "But I'm not very tired. Are you?"

Suddenly, Piñon barks from downstairs, breaking the moment. You both laugh, a little breathless.

"I should probably take him for a walk," Carlos says, pressing one last kiss to your lips.

"Don't take too long," you call after him as he heads downstairs. "I might get into bed without you."

The next morning, you wake to the sound of Carlos humming in the shower. You stretch lazily, a smile playing on your lips as memories of last night flood your mind.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Carlos says, emerging from the bathroom with a towel slung low on his hips. "Ready for the big day?"

You groan, pulling the covers over your head. "Do we have to go? Can't we just stay in bed all day?"

Carlos chuckles, tugging the blanket away. "Tempting as that is, mi amor, I'm pretty sure my mother would hunt us down if we missed her birthday party."

"Fine, but only because I like Reyes more than I like you."

"Ouch," Carlos clutches his chest in mock pain. "You wound me, Piastri. And here I was, about to offer to join you in the shower."

You laugh, swatting him with a pillow as you head to the bathroom. "Behave yourself, Sainz. We can't be late to your mother's party."

An hour later, you're standing in front of the mirror, smoothing down your outfit for the hundredth time. Carlos comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"You look beautiful," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "Stop worrying."

You meet his eyes in the mirror. "I can't help it. What if your sisters don't like me?"

Carlos turns you to face him, his hands cupping your face. "They're going to love you, cariño. Just like I do." He pauses, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Well, maybe not exactly like I do. That would be weird."

You can't help but laugh, some of the tension easing from your shoulders. "You're such an idiot."

"But I'm your idiot," he grins, leaning in for a kiss.

The drive to Carlos's parents' house is filled with Carlos telling you stories of past birthday celebrations. As you pull up to the house, however, your nerves return full force.

"Ready, mi amor?" Carlos squeezes your hand.

"As I'll ever be. Let's do this, little bitch."

The door swings open before you even reach it, revealing a beaming Reyes. "Carlos! YN! Come in, come in!" She pulls you both into a warm embrace.

"Feliz cumpleaños, Mama," Carlos says, kissing her cheek.

"Happy birthday, Reyes," you add, handing her a beautifully wrapped gift. "Thank you for having me."

"Nonsense, cariño," Reyes waves off your thanks. "You're family now."

Carlos Sr. appears behind his wife, clapping his son on the back before turning to you with a warm smile. "YN, lovely to see you again. How's that brother of yours? Giving our Carlos a run for his money on the track?"

You laugh, falling easily into the familiar banter. "Oh, you know Oscar. He's doing his best to keep up with your son, but it's a losing battle. Though he'd never admit it."

"Please," Carlos snorts, "Little Piastri could only dream of keeping up with me."

"Is that so?" you raise an eyebrow. "Remind me again, who beat who in the last race?"

As you and Carlos enter the living room, you spot two women sitting on the couch, engaged in quiet conversation. They look up as you approach, and you immediately recognize them as Carlos' sisters from the family photos you've seen.

Blanca, the older one, rises first with a warm smile. "You must be YN," she says, stepping forward to greet you with a gentle hug. "It's so nice to finally meet you."

"Welcome to the family madhouse," Ana follows, her smile equally warm.

You return their smiles, feeling some of your nervousness dissipate. "It's great to meet you both. I've heard so much about you."

"All good things, I hope," Blanca says, shooting a playful glance at Carlos.

"Of course," Carlos replies, wrapping an arm around your waist. "I only told her about the times you weren't being complete pains in my-"

"Carlos!" Reyes's voice carries from the kitchen, cutting him off mid-sentence.

You all laugh, and the tension in the room eases further.

"So, YN," Blanca says as you all settle into the living room, "I was just telling Ana about this amazing spa resort I discovered. I was thinking it might be fun for us to take a girls' trip there sometime - you, me, Ana, and Mama. What do you think?"

Before you can respond, Carlos interjects, "Hey, why are you trying to steal my girlfriend already? She just got here!"

"Relax, hermanito," Blanca rolls her eyes good-naturedly. "We're not going to whisk her away forever. Just long enough to share all your embarrassing childhood stories."

"Speaking of embarrassing stories," Ana chimes in, a mischievous glint in her eye, "has Carlos ever told you about the time he tried to impress a girl at school by saying he could drive a real F1 car?"

Carlos groans, burying his face in his hands. "Ana, no..."

"Ana, yes," you say, leaning forward eagerly. "Please, do tell."

Ana grins, clearly enjoying her brother's discomfort. "Well, he was about 14, and there was this girl he had a massive crush on. So, he tells her that Papa lets him drive the car all the time. Of course, she doesn't believe him, so he offers to show her."

"Oh no," you mutter, already seeing where this is going.

"Oh yes," Ana continues. "He sneaks her into the garage where Papa keeps one of his old cars. Tries to climb in, but he's too short to reach the pedals properly. Ends up falling face-first into the cockpit, gets stuck, and Papa has to come rescue him."

You burst out laughing, picturing a young Carlos in such a predicament. "Please tell me there are photos."

"There's video," Blanca says with a smirk.

"I hate all of you." Carlos groans again.

You pat his knee consolingly, still chuckling. "Aw, don't worry, babe. I'm sure you were very suave while stuck upside down in an F1 car."

"The girl never spoke to him again," Ana adds, causing another round of laughter.

"Alright, alright," Carlos says, trying to sound stern but failing to hide his own amusement. "That's enough embarrassing stories about me. Don't you have some photo albums to bore YN with or something?"

"Photo albums!" Blanca exclaims. "What a great idea, Carlos. I'm sure your girlfriend would love to see your awkward phase."

As Blanca goes to fetch the albums, you lean into Carlos, whispering, "You know, that girls' trip doesn't sound so bad. I might learn even more interesting things about you."

Carlos shakes his head, a resigned smile on his face. "Why do I get the feeling I'm going to regret introducing you to my sisters?"

"Probably because you are," you kiss his cheek, "But you love me anyway."

"That I do," he murmurs, pulling you closer as Blanca returns with a stack of photo albums.

As the evening wears on, Reyes announces it's time for cake. The family gathers around the dining table, where a beautiful cake adorned with candles takes center stage.

"Alright, everyone," Carlos Sr. calls out. "On three. Una, dos, tres!"

The room erupts into a somewhat off-key rendition of "Cumpleaños Feliz," with Carlos deliberately singing out of tune next to your ear. You elbow him in the ribs, trying to stifle your laughter.

As the song ends and Reyes blows out her candles, she turns to Carlos Sr. with a smile. "Cariño, why don't you get the camera? We should take a family photo."

Your heart swells at being included in this intimate family moment, but you also feel a twinge of uncertainty. As everyone starts to gather, you quietly slip out of the room, giving the family their moment.

You're examining some family photos on the wall when you hear Reyes's voice from the other room. "Carlos, ¿dónde está tu novia? Where is your girlfriend?"

A moment later, Carlos appears in the doorway. "Hey, what are you doing out here? We're waiting for you."

"Oh, do you want me to take the picture for you?" you ask.

Carlos's expression softens. He crosses the room, taking your hands in his. "Mi amor, you're part of this family now. That means you're in the photos, not taking them."

"But-" you start to protest, but Carlos cuts you off with a gentle kiss.

"No buts," he murmurs against your lips. "Come on, Piastri. Time to make it official."

He leads you back to the dining room, where the rest of the family is waiting. Reyes beams when she sees you. "There you are, cariño! Come, stand next to Carlos."

"I thought maybe I should take the picture..." you begin, but Reyes cuts you off with a wave of her hand.

"No, no, querida. You join in too. You're family now."

"Oh, but I couldn't—" you begin.

"Of course you can," Carlos Sr. insists, while Ana and Blanca nod in agreement.

"Yeah, come on, Piastri" Blanca teases, "You're not getting out of this one."

Carlos appears at your side, slipping an arm around your waist. "Come on, mi amor. You heard Mama. You're one of us now."

Feeling overwhelmed by emotion, you allow Carlos to guide you into the group. As you stand there, surrounded by the Sainz family, you're struck by a profound sense of belonging.

"Everyone ready?" Reyes asks, setting the timer on the camera.

As the flash goes off, capturing the moment, you realize that's exactly what you've become – part of this wonderful, loving family. And as Carlos presses a kiss to your temple, whispering "Te amo" in your ear, you know you wouldn't have it any other way.

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 1 year ago

Text

COME REST YOUR BONES NEXT TO ME ; SATORU GOJO, SUGURU GETO

synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most.

word count; 4.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoru’s pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues

a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33

”holy shit!”

the raspy tilt of satoru’s voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguru’s lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace — smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.

”satoru, it’s too early for this...”

”it’s snowing!” said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. he’s standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes.

your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.

(snowing.)

with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguru’s grasp — a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine — allowing you to scramble out of bed. ”really?” you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.

satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen — brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks.

maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the window’s glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguru’s long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth.

it’s beautiful.

satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory — blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded.

all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere.

the first snow of the year.

and he’s loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers — a reminder of his capacity for ache.

there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.

like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.

and before either of you know it, satoru’s pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again.

(probably by satoru himself, though he’ll always insist it was suguru’s doing. overcome by his jealousy, surely, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does — he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3’0 cat plushie of yours.

and, sure, maybe once or twice he’s been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumon’s subsequent fall to the floor — but he’ll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if he’s really lucky.)

high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands don’t fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.

and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling.

a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering — but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.

he feels you let go of him, but doesn’t mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguru’s poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.

— until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.

satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.

(you’re cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)

”oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. ”fine by me.”

he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair — and you waste no time in making your own.

it’s a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoru’s arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.

so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal — falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.

satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. you’re out of breath, and your hands are red, and he’s fairly certain you’re gonna catch a cold. suguru’s going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown you’re wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.

”ready to admit defeat, sweetheart?” he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.

”never.”

a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.

a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. ”fine, fine…” a soft pout forms on your lips. ”you win.”

and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. there’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. ”that’s all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,” he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.

his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ”now, for my prize…”

his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste — a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoru’s smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.

he lingers, for a bit. like he’s trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face.

when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. they’re not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.

you can’t help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips.

hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.

satoru loves winter. always has. but now, he’s certain he loves it even more.

because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people who’ll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs.

what more could a man want?

”hey, idiots!”

the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguru’s got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. there’s a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.

”i’m making breakfast,” he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. ”come in and warm up before you catch a cold.”

”is that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?” satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.

suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoru’s lips, as if they were always meant to be there.

(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)

with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husband’s chest.

”look, suguru. isn’t it pretty?” you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors — brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.

then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”

satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. ”suguru, my hands are cold,” he whines. ”warm ’em up for me?”

a click of his tongue. ”should’ve put some gloves on, satoru.”

a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. ”my hands are also cold.”

and, like clockwork, suguru’s eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. ”aw, c’mere, my love…” his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. ”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. he’s acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows you’re just exaggerating suguru’s double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.

despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. ”oh, i see how it is,” he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. ”you hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.”

”satoru,” you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do — a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.

”we’re just joking around,” you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. ”love you sooo much. you know that.”

satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguru’s gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes — a meaningful look.

suguru sighs.

”yes, yes. we love you oh so much.” he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ”now behave and go change out of your pyjamas. they’re soaked.”

his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but it’s suguru, so satoru accepts it — following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.

he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguru’s cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot.

when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. he’s not as slick as he thinks.

the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.

(yours and satoru’s are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguru’s is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things he’d like for himself.

and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)

suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate — topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.

when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.

that’s when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.

”still sleepy, baby?” he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.

satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping it’ll come off as endearing. ”mhm.”

but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ”not you,” he tuts, patting your arm, ”this baby. i wasn’t asking you.”

a pout. ”why are you so mean to me?” he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. ”sweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.”

you smile. indulgent, as always. ”don't be so mean to him, suguru. you know he’s sensitive.”

a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you — stifling a shared chuckle at suguru’s exasperation.

and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he can’t deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguru’s spine. so he only inches closer, without a word.

his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.

and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear — an excuse to touch him. a silent apology.

(i'm sorry, you big baby.)

satoru grins.

you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husband’s gaze.

”satoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?”

he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp — followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. ”… which sweeteners do you mean, honey?”

”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”

”and don’t play dumb, either.”

a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. ”suguru, who’s side are you even on?”

said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoru’s way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the world’s biggest clown.

and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.

”don’t steal their sweeteners.” he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. ”buy your own.”

satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. ”ah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?” he clicks his tongue. ”chivalry is dead.”

you bite back a little chuckle — satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do — and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. ”remind me next time i go to the store and i’ll consider it.”

”hmph.”

suguru is smiling. it’s small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguru’s back.

and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again.

that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago — watered by the sweet looks on your faces.

this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that he’s been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.

(married.)

sometimes he still can’t believe it.

”it’ll be done in a minute,” suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. ”you two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.”

and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but it’s laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.

and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home you’ve built for yourselves.

your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.

his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. it’s decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.

(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. he’s a simple man.)

and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguru’s hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year — but satoru couldn’t be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heart’s content.

a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.

and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.

”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”

”— you’re disgusting.”

the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoru’s lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you — sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.

and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.

you curl up in satoru’s lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.

then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. ”there we go,” he coos. ”what does my angel want for christmas, hm?”

”i want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,” comes your answer. instantaneous.

silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.

”… santa can only do so much, baby.”

two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.

”just kidding!” he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”don’t you worry. santa’ll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.”

you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. ”and he won’t end up using them all himself?”

”of course not! blasphemy.”

a moment passes.

”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”

a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste — pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.

then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesn’t melt his heart down to the marrow.

he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguru’s lips.

and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.

he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a woman’s voice.

for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?

(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)

— he can’t recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.

it should’ve been frightening, but it wasn’t. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.

and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety — a ghost he doesn’t need to chase anymore.

warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoru’s favorite thing about winter.

he looks at the two of you, hoping you won’t pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes you’ll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguru’s face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself.

and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest.

he hopes it never goes away.

#genuinely fucked up that suguru geto isnt in my kitchen rn </3 #i just think sugu is such a caretaker. makes u breakfast and peels ur satsumas w/o u even asking. bc it makes him happy :’3 hes so Mother #i think he lowkey gets just a little bit uncomfortable when u or gojo try to do the same for him… he likes doting on u #but obv he deserves to be pampered too!! just gotta ease him into it #and i think gojo has a hole in his heart where love should be. bc he wasnt given enough as a child #im not sure what to think when it comes to his parents (since we know literally nothing abt them) but...#the idea of him finding some comfort in the memory of his mom…. maybe not realizing that he misses her…..… i think its very sad. and good.#listened to ricky montgomery while writing this i think it mightve healed me #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto x reader x gojo #gojo fluff #geto fluff #satosugu x reader #satosugu x you #satosugu x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #……… thats… a lot of tags.

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flux1563 · 8 days ago

Text

The Beast Party

Another part of The Best Party

tags : orgy, sex party, squirting, ass and pussy gape, gangbang.

Words : 11245

On a relaxing afternoon, Kim Minju, a former member of the idol group IZONE, and Kim Chaewon, a current member of LE SSERAFIM and also a former IZONE member, were hanging out together in the heart of Seoul. It had become somewhat of a tradition for the two to catch up whenever their busy schedules allowed — a comforting return to familiarity amidst the whirlwind of their separate lives.

Chaewon, true to form, was a whirlwind of energy, her laughter echoing through the cozy café they had chosen for their meetup. A free spirit with a penchant for spontaneity, she launched into vivid tales of her latest adventures, her eyes gleaming with excitement. Her stories, often filled with late-night escapades and unexpected twists, left Minju both amused and slightly horrified. As Chaewon animatedly shared the latest gossip, her hands moved like a silent film starlet narrating a scandalous drama, drawing laughter and wide-eyed reactions from her old friend.

One evening, as the two friends lounged on the couch, surrounded by takeout boxes and forgotten TV shows, Chaewon's latest idea struck like a bolt of lightning. "Remember that wild party we had?" she began, her voice low and mischievous. "What if we went even wilder? Like, really wild. We could go on vacation and throw a beast party!"

Minju's eyes widened, and she sat up straight, a forgotten chopstick slipping from her fingers. "Africa?" she whispered, her mind racing with the possibilities. The continent was a canvas of adventure, a place where their most daring desires could become reality.

Their conversation grew heated, a tangible excitement charging the air. They scoured the internet, eyes glossing over images of vast savannahs and exotic beasts. They weren't just looking for a party, but a once-in-a-lifetime experience that would blow the doors off their mundane lives.

Their excitement grew with each click, and before they knew it, their dreams of a wild African adventure had crystallized into a plan. They'd leave the concrete jungle behind and immerse themselves in a place where the rules were theirs to rewrite. Little did they know, this journey would be the catalyst for a tale of passion and debauchery that would make their previous escapades seem tame.

Minju and Chaewon took a much-needed break from their frenzied preparations and stepped onto the golden sands of a secluded African beach, the sun setting in a fiery blaze behind them.

The villa they'd rented was a modern marvel, nestled in the embrace of lush palm trees, its gleaming white walls and thatched roof whispering of luxurious secrets. Inside, the cool embrace of air conditioning and the scent of tropical flowers greeted them like a soothing balm. They flopped onto the plush couches in the open-plan living area, their laughter bouncing off the high ceilings.

"Can you believe we're actually here?" Minju said, her eyes wide with wonder. "It's like a dream come true."

Chaewon leaned back, a smug smile playing on her lips. "I told you we could make it happen. Now, let's get down to business. We've got a party to plan!"

But Minju's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, where the fiery sun melted into the sea. "But we need to take a rest first," she murmured, the fatigue of their travels finally catching up to her.

The next day, they prepared themselves for the ultimate beach day, each donning an erotic bikini that screamed of their daring spirits. Minju's was a simple yet elegant black two-piece that accentuated her curves without revealing too much, while Chaewon opted for a flamboyant red number that barely contained her ample assets. The fabric was so skimpy it was practically a second skin, leaving little to the imagination.

Their eyes met in the mirror, and Minju felt a jolt of excitement as she took in Chaewon's reflection. She'd never seen her friend look so... predatory. "You're going to turn heads," she said, her voice thick with desire.

"That's the idea," Chaewon purred, her hands smoothing over her hips. "But we need to make sure everyone's invited. Let's start with the locals. They know how to throw a party like nobody's business."

They spent the next few hours exploring the beach, their eyes peeled for any signs of life. The ocean rolled out before them, a vast, untamed sea that mirrored the wildness they sought. They approached a group of muscular young men playing beach volleyball, their dark skin gleaming with sweat. Chaewon wasted no time, sauntering over with a seductive smile. "Hey, guys," she called out, her voice carrying over the sound of the waves. "You wouldn't happen to know how to throw a party around here, would you?"

The men stopped mid-game, their gazes drawn to the two foreign beauties. The tallest one, a man named Kofi, grinned, flashing a set of perfect white teeth. "We throw the best parties on this coast," he boasted. "But we need more than just us."

Minju and Chaewon exchanged glances, their hearts racing with anticipation. "We want to invite everyone," Minju said. "Make it a week-long celebration. We've got the villa, the drinks, and the stamina. What do you say?"

Kofi's eyes lit up. "Seven days, seven nights of pure madness," he mused, a hint of challenge in his tone. "You're on. But you'd better be ready for what we bring to the table."

The two friends nodded eagerly, their imaginations already running wild with the possibilities. They had eight days to make their wildest fantasies come true, and they were going to use every single moment to its fullest. They returned to the villa, adrenaline pumping through their veins as they set about transforming the serene retreat into a hedonistic playground.

The days that followed were a whirlwind of excitement and preparation. They spent hours on the beach, soaking in the sun's kiss while they discussed party themes and guest lists. They swam in the warm waters, letting the waves crash over them as they laughed and plotted. The local market became their personal treasure trove, as they bought exotic foods and decorations that would make their event the talk of the town.

"This night gonna go wild for us," Chaewon said with a knowing smile, her eyes sparkling like the diamond necklace she'd bought from a street vendor. She lounged on a sunbed, sipping a cocktail that was as vibrant as the setting sun. The alcohol had loosened her inhibitions, and she began to dance to the music playing softly from a nearby radio, her body moving in a way that was both sensual and uninhibited.

Minju watched her friend with a mix of admiration and nervousness. She knew Chaewon's power over men, and she hoped that their plan would not only be successful but also safe. They had spread the word far and wide that their villa was open to any man who sought a night of unbridled pleasure, a promise that had sent whispers through the local community like wildfire.

As night descended upon them, the air grew thick with anticipation. The scent of spicy meat sizzling on a makeshift BBQ mingled with the sweet aroma of tropical flowers, creating an intoxicating bouquet that hung heavy over the partygoers. The DJ, a local talent they had discovered in the market, had set up his decks on the beach, the bass thumping through the sand. The lights from the villa cast a warm glow over the gathering, which grew by the minute.

Minju and Chaewon didn't know how many men had responded to their invitation, but as they surveyed the growing crowd, they realized it was more than they had ever dreamed of. Each one was a potential dance partner, a conversationalist, or perhaps even something more. They felt a thrill of excitement, their hearts pounding in their chests like drums echoing the rhythm of the night.

As the party grew wilder, so did their drinking. The cocktails flowed freely, each one more potent than the last, and the two friends threw caution to the wind, letting the alcohol dissolve their inhibitions like sugar in water. Minju giggled as she sipped from a concoction that changed color with every sip, feeling the warmth spread through her body like a lover's embrace. Chaewon, ever the social butterfly, flitted from group to group, her laughter as potent as the drinks she handed out.

The music grew louder, the beats pulsating through the night like the heart of the jungle itself. The sand beneath their feet vibrated with the rhythm, and before long, the two friends found themselves at the center of the makeshift dance floor, their hips swaying to the hypnotic melody. The men watched them with hungry eyes, their gazes lingering on the way their bikinis barely contained their voluptuous forms.

Suddenly, the DJ couldn't resist the siren's call any longer. He abandoned his decks, leaving the music to play on repeat, and strutted over to Minju and Chaewon. His movements were fluid, almost feline, as he slipped between them, wrapping an arm around each of their waists. They laughed in surprise as he began to grind against them, his muscles flexing with the beat. The other partygoers cheered, creating a circle around the trio, egging them on with whistles and claps.

The air grew electric as the music's tempo increased. The men in the crowd, their eyes glazed with lust and alcohol, began to step closer, reaching out to touch the two friends. Minju felt a hand slip beneath the fabric of her bikini top, and she gasped, her body tensing. But instead of fear, she felt a thrill of excitement. This was what they had come for. Chaewon's eyes met hers, and she saw the same hunger reflected in her friend's gaze.

As if on cue, the DJ reached behind him and untied the string of his board shorts, letting them fall to the sand. He stepped back, revealing a cock that was indeed larger than any they had ever seen. It was thick, with a girth that could easily wrap a fist and a length that seemed to stretch on forever. The men in the crowd murmured in awe, their own desires swelling as they took in the sight.

The DJ's confidence grew with every beat of the music, and soon, more men began to follow his lead. They pulled down their swim trunks, exposing themselves to the warm night air. Each cock was a testament to the raw, unbridled lust that pulsed through the gathering. The sight was overwhelming, a veritable smorgasbord of male virility.

But it was the DJ's member that truly stole the show. With a diameter that could easily wrap a hand and a length that defied belief, it stood proudly before them like a monument to carnality. The crowd's murmurs grew into a dull roar, a primal chant that seemed to resonate with the very earth beneath their feet.

The sight was both terrifying and thrilling, and Minju felt her pussy throb in response, wet with a need she hadn't realized she had. Chaewon's eyes widened, and she licked her lips, a wicked smile playing on her face as she took in the display before her. "Looks like we're in for a wild ride," she whispered into Minju's ear, the heat of her breath sending shivers down her spine.

Minju could only nod, her eyes still transfixed on the monstrous cock that seemed to have a life of its own, pulsing in time with the music. The DJ took a step closer, and she could feel the heat radiating from him, the promise of pleasure and pain wrapped up in one delicious package. She knew that she'd never be able to handle something so... substantial, but the thought of trying sent a thrill of excitement through her body.

"All of us are naked now," they murmured in unison, their voices a siren's call that echoed through the night. One by one, the partygoers began to shed their clothing, revealing their own desires for the world to see. The beach became a sea of naked flesh, each body a canvas of wanton need.

Minju's eyes were drawn to one man in particular, his cock a testament to the beauty of the African night. It was as big as her forearm, thick and veiny with a girth that had to be at least three inches in diameter. "Look at that," she whispered to Chaewon, her voice a mix of awe and apprehension. "It's like nothing we've ever seen before."

Chaewon followed her gaze, her pupils dilating with excitement. "Twelve inches lengths and three inches diameter, if it's an inch," she murmured, her hand absently reaching down to caress her own clit. The thought of taking such a monstrous member inside her was both terrifying and exhilarating. "I want to feel it," she breathed, her voice barely audible over the music.

Minju felt a tremor of excitement run through her as the man with the colossal cock approached them, his stride confident and predatory. "You'll get it soon, baby," he said, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to resonate in her very core. His eyes were dark with lust as he looked her over, his cock jutting out before him like a spear.

The other men gathered around, their tongues already out, eager to taste the sweetness that was Minju and Chaewon. They began to lick them, starting at their toes and moving slowly up their legs. The sensation was strange, a mix of tickling and pleasure that made Minju's knees wobble. Chaewon moaned, her eyes rolling back in her head as the men took turns, their tongues dancing over every inch of their skin.

One by one, the men knelt before them, their tongues flicking out to taste the nectar that was their pussies. Minju gasped as the first man's tongue met her clit, sending shockwaves through her body. The sensation was unlike anything she'd ever felt, a symphony of pleasure that had her bucking against the sand. Chaewon's eyes were squeezed shut, her body arched as she rode the waves of pleasure that crashed over her.

Their hands reached out, tentatively at first, to the men surrounding them. They touched, explored, and teased, learning the contours of each cock as if they were sacred artifacts. The men groaned in unison, their hips jerking with every stroke of the girls' soft fingers. The party had become a ritual, a tapestry of desire that wove together the wildness of the jungle with the decadence of civilization.

Minju and Chaewon's tongues danced over the velvety heads of the men's cocks, tasting the salty pre-cum that beaded at their tips. They took turns, each one eager to prove their skill, to show the others what they were capable of. The air was thick with the scent of arousal, a heady perfume that intoxicated them further.

The men groaned in unison, their eyes rolling back in their heads as the two friends worked in tandem, their mouths moving in a rhythm that was as ancient as it was erotic. Chaewon took the lead, her mouth sliding over one cock while her hand stroked another, her movements a symphony of seduction. Minju watched, her own desire spiking as she saw the effect they had on the men.

"Give us all that cock," Chaewon demanded, her voice a sultry purr that sent a shiver down Minju's spine. The words were a declaration of war on their inhibitions, a battle cry for their most primal instincts. The men didn't need any more encouragement. They surged forward, eager to satisfy the hunger in the girls' eyes.

Minju's breath hitched as she felt a cock nudge against her wetness, the tip teasing her swollen clit. It was the DJ, his member so thick it was like a battering ram at her gates. She spread her legs wider, welcoming the intrusion, the anticipation building to a crescendo within her. Chaewon, on the other hand, was surrounded by a group of men, each eager to claim a piece of her for themselves.

The man with the twelve-inch monstrosity didn't waste any time. He grabbed Chaewon's face and forced his cock into her mouth, his grip unyielding. Her eyes watered as she took him in, her throat stretching to accommodate his girth. He began to thrust, the sound of her gagging muffled by the cacophony of the party. Despite the fear and discomfort, she felt a twisted thrill, her body responding to the sheer power and dominance he exuded.

Meanwhile, two more men positioned themselves behind Minju, their cocks standing at attention. She felt the tip of one nudging at her pussy, the other at her ass, both so thick they seemed to be testing the limits of what she could handle. Her heart raced as she looked over at Chaewon, who met her gaze with a look that was a mix of terror and excitement. This was it, the moment of truth.

"Ready?" one of the men murmured in her ear, his breath hot and heavy with desire. Minju nodded, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she braced herself for what was to come. With one swift movement, they entered her, one after the other, filling her completely. She screamed out, the word "fuck" torn from her throat with the force of a tornado. It was more than she'd ever felt, a sensation that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

The man with the colossal cock took his position at the back, his grip firm as he guided himself into her tight, unexplored depths. Minju's eyes rolled back in her head as she felt herself stretched to the limits of endurance, her body trembling with the sheer size of him. Chaewon, on her knees beside her, watched with wide eyes, her own mouth full of another man's cock. She could feel her friend's pain, a mirror to her own, and she reached out to grip her hand, a silent offering of solidarity in their shared debauchery.

The two men inside her began to move in unison, their rhythm a brutal dance that had her body jolting with every thrust. She could feel every vein, every pulse of their cocks as they claimed her, their girth stretching her to the point of agony. Her pussy and ass burned, but amidst the pain was a blossoming flower of pleasure, a sweet agony that had her hips rising to meet them, eager for more.

"Aghh, my pussy and ass stretch so much," Minju groaned, her voice a desperate cry that was swallowed by the roar of the party. Her words were a siren's call, drawing more men to her, eager to claim a piece of the exotic beauty before them. They watched with hungry eyes, stroking themselves as they waited for their turn, the sight of her being used so thoroughly only adding to their arousal.

Chaewon's mouth was a cavern of pleasure around the thick shaft in her mouth, her cheeks hollowed with the effort of taking him in. She could feel his cock pulse with every beat of his heart, his excitement growing as he watched his friends claim Minju. The taste of him was musky, a blend of sweat and lust that she found oddly intoxicating. Despite her own discomfort, she felt a thrill run through her, a heady mix of power and submission.

Minju's eyes rolled back in her head, her body responding to the relentless pounding. She felt her orgasm building, a tsunami that she had no hope of holding back. The man with the colossal cock was a maestro, his strokes deep and sure, hitting a spot inside her that she didn't even know existed. The pressure grew, a tight coil in her belly, until she could bear it no longer.

With a scream that was lost in the din of the party, Minju squirted, the force of her release so intense it drenched the men behind her. Chaewon watched, her eyes glazed with a mix of shock and arousal as her friend's body bucked and writhed in pleasure. The sight of Minju's pussy gushing was a revelation, a display of sexual power that had the men around her stumbling over themselves to get closer.

The man with the massive cock took this as his cue to let go, and with a triumphant roar, he began to pump his seed into Minju's welcoming depths. The sensation of being filled so completely was almost too much for her, and she collapsed onto the sand, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm. Chaewon felt a wetness spread between her own thighs, the sight of Minju's pleasure triggering a climax of her own. She squirted, her pussy spraying the man who had been fucking her face, her juices mingling with the spit and cum that already coated her features.

As the first round of passion waned, the men withdrew, their cocks slick with the girls' cum and their own. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a heady mix that seemed to intoxicate everyone present. The men looked down at Minju and Chaewon with a mix of awe and lust, their seed spurting from their pussy and ass, painting the sand with a sticky, white trail. The girls lay there, panting and spent, their bodies limp as ragdolls.

"Our dreams come true, Chaewon," Minju murmured, her voice shaky with the aftermath of her climax.

"I think my pussy keep spasming," Chaewon gasped, her breathing still ragged as she leaned against Minju, their bodies sticky with a mix of sweat and cum. The feeling of the cool sand against her back was a stark contrast to the fiery passion that had just consumed her.

"Mine too," Minju agreed, her voice a hoarse whisper. The man who had just filled her to the brim with his seed looked down at her with a smug smile, his eyes lingering on the gaping O her pussy had become. His friends crowded around, their own cocks still erect and glistening with pre-cum, eager to take their turns.

One by one, they stepped up, each taking a moment to admire the sight before them. They were like animals in heat, each more primal than the last, as they claimed Minju's body with a ferocity that was both terrifying and exhilarating. She felt their weight upon her, their cocks sliding into her, stretching her until she thought she would split in two.

The men took turns, their grunts and groans mixing with Minju's cries of pleasure. Each round was a new adventure, a new level of depravity that she had never before experienced. She felt her body respond to their every touch, her pussy contracting around their cocks as if it had been made just for this. Chaewon, not to be outdone, was busy taking on two men at once, her mouth and pussy a never-ending source of pleasure for them.

Their juices flowed freely, mingling with the sweat that coated their bodies. The sight of Minju's pussy, stretched and dripping, was too much for the men to resist. They took turns, each one more eager than the last to feel her squirt around them, to be the one to make her body convulse with pleasure. Her moans grew louder with each round, her voice hoarse from the sheer volume of her passion.

The partygoers watched, their own desires stoked by the sight of Minju and Chaewon being taken so thoroughly. The beach had become a carnival of lust, a place where inhibitions were left at the door and every desire was allowed to roam free. The music continued to play, the bass pounding in time with the rhythm of their hips, as if the very earth was in sync with their carnality.

As the night wore on, the men grew more aggressive, their strokes more frenzied. They were like a pack of wild animals, each fighting for dominance, each eager to leave their mark. Minju felt herself become a part of the landscape, her body a battleground for their desires. Yet, through it all, she never once felt less than the queen of the night.

The men took her to the edge and beyond, pushing her to heights she had never dared dream of. Her squirts grew stronger with each round, her body a fountain of pleasure that seemed to have no end. Chaewon, too, was lost in her own world, her eyes glazed with lust as she took on more and more men.

Ten rounds, then eleven, and still they came. Each man took his turn, each one more vigorous than the last. The beach was a blur of limbs and flesh, a tapestry of desire and debauchery that stretched as far as the eye could see. And through it all, Minju and Chaewon remained the center, their bodies a canvas for the men's pleasure.

Their cries grew louder, their bodies weaker, until finally, with a collective roar, the men released their seed. It spurted into Minju, filling her to the brim until she could take no more. She collapsed, her body trembling with the force of her climax, her pussy pulsing with the aftershocks of pleasure. Chaewon followed suit, her legs giving out as she was drenched in cum.

As the twelfth round came to an end, the crowd erupted into applause. The men, their cocks now sated, stepped back, their chests heaving with exertion. They had given the girls the experience they had craved, and in return, Minju and Chaewon had given them a night they would never forget.

The two friends lay there, panting and exhausted, their bodies slick with sweat and cum. They looked at each other, the reality of what they had just done setting in. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss, a moment that had surpassed any party they had ever thrown in Seoul.

Minju's eyes rolled back in her head, her body shaking as she felt another round of pleasure build up inside her. She didn't think it was possible, but her pussy was still pulsing, begging for more. Chaewon, equally spent, leaned into her, their bodies sticking together with the remnants of the men's passion.

Their breathing grew shallow, their hearts racing like wild horses as the men continued to worship them. Each new cock brought with it a fresh wave of sensation, a symphony of pain and pleasure that seemed to never end. It was as if their bodies had been taken over by some primal instinct, a hunger that could never be fully satiated.

With each new round, Minju felt herself slipping further into the abyss, her mind a whirlwind of sensation and emotion. The men's grunts and groans grew fainter, the world around them a blur of color and sound. The only thing that remained clear was the feeling of their cocks inside her, a never-ending dance of dominance and submission.

As the night grew darker and the stars twinkled above them, the men grew bolder. They pushed and pulled at her, their hands roaming over every inch of her flesh as if they could never get enough. Her pussy clenched around them, her ass spasming with each thrust, a silent scream of pleasure that echoed through the night.

The girls' moans grew weaker, their bodies no longer able to keep up with the relentless onslaught. Yet even as they reached their breaking points, the men didn't relent. They had become beasts, driven by a lust that seemed to have no end. Minju felt her vision swim, the world going dark at the edges.

Suddenly, with a gasp, she felt it. Her orgasm hit her like a sledgehammer, her body arching off the sand as she squirted once more, the force of it so intense that it sent shockwaves through the very air. Chaewon's eyes rolled back in her head, her own body responding to the symphony of pleasure.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The men stepped back, their cocks still erect but their eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and awe. They had taken the two friends to the very brink of their limits and back again.

Their bodies lay still, their breathing ragged and uneven, as the reality of what they had just done set in. They had given themselves over to the night, to the wildness of Africa, and had come out the other side forever changed.

"I think we should stop, it's been fifteen rounds," one of the men spoke up, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate with the very fabric of the universe. His words hung in the air, a sobering reminder that even the most hedonistic of nights must come to an end.

Minju's body continued to quiver, her pussy and ass clenching around the two cocks still buried inside her. Her squirts had turned into a constant flow, a river of pleasure that seemed to have no end. She could feel her muscles protesting, begging for respite, but the desire was too strong, too all-consuming to ignore.

Chaewon lay beside her, equally spent, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her own climaxes. Her face was a mask of ecstasy, her eyes glazed over as she too succumbed to the relentless pounding. The men had become a blur of skin and muscle, a never-ending stream of cocks that filled her to the brim.

Finally, with a collective groan that seemed to shake the very foundation of the earth, the men withdrew. The last of them pulled out of Chaewon's pussy, leaving it gaping and swollen, a testament to the night's excesses. Minju felt a pang of jealousy as she watched the cum dribble out of her friend's tight hole, her own desires flaring up once again.

The beach was silent except for the sound of the waves and the heavy breathing of the exhausted partygoers. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a reminder of the carnival of lust that had unfolded before their very eyes. Minju's body was a map of bruises and bites, a roadmap of pleasure that she would wear proudly for days to come.

Her eyes fluttered open, the world coming into focus slowly. Chaewon lay next to her, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath, her face a mask of exhaustion. The men had moved away, leaving them alone in their post-coital bliss. Minju pushed herself up onto her elbows, her body protesting the movement but her spirit unbroken.

Her eyes traveled down to her pussy, still glistening with cum, and she watched in amazement as it spasmed, releasing another stream of fluid into the night air. It was as if her body hadn't gotten the memo that the party was over, the orgasms still coming in waves even when she thought she had nothing left to give. Chaewon's body seemed to echo her own, her pussy clenching and releasing in a silent symphony of pleasure.

"Done for tonight guys, they got faint," one of the men announced, his voice a mix of concern and satisfaction. The crowd of men around them nodded in agreement, their cocks still hard but their eyes filled with a newfound respect for the two friends who had taken them on a journey they would never forget.

Minju and Chaewon were hoisted up by the strong arms of the beach volleyball players and carried back to the villa, their legs limp and their bodies covered in the sticky residue of the night's festivities. The moon cast a soft glow over the path, lighting their way as they stumbled through the door, their hearts racing from both the exertion and the excitement of the evening.

The girls were brought to a grand floor-to-ceiling bathroom, the white marble gleaming in the dim light. They were laid down gently on the cold, hard surface, their bodies shivering from the sudden change in temperature. The men looked down at them with a mix of lust and affection, their own cocks still standing tall despite the hours of use.

Without a word, one of the men stepped forward and positioned himself between Minju's legs, his cock still slick with her juices. He began to piss, the warm stream hitting her swollen clit and sending a jolt of pleasure through her body. Chaewon watched, her own desire flaring up again as she felt the warmth of another man's urine cascade over her. It was a strange, almost tender act, a communion of bodies that transcended the mere physical.

The men took turns, their golden rivers mingling with the cum and sweat that coated the girls. The scent was pungent, a potent mix of sex and bodily fluids that seemed to fill the room. Minju's body reacted involuntarily, her pussy clenching around the warmth, her squirts joining the stream to create a small pool on the marble. Chaewon moaned, her own pussy spasming as the urine hit her sensitive flesh.

The sensation was oddly soothing, a balm to their abused bodies. They lay there, letting the piss wash over them, cleansing them of the night's excesses. It was as if the very essence of the men was being transferred into them, marking them as their own.

When the last man had emptied himself, they stepped back, their eyes never leaving the girls' prone forms. The music from the party outside grew faint, the night air a gentle caress against their skin. The moment hung in the air, a tableau of desire and submission that neither Minju nor Chaewon would ever forget.

With a nod to each other, the beach volleyball players turned on the jet shower, the powerful stream of water hitting the marble floor with a sharp hiss. The spray arced over the girls' bodies, the water a warm embrace that began to wash away the evidence of their night of unbridled passion. The men stepped aside, leaving them to the mercy of the water, their eyes lingering on the two friends as they retreated from the bathroom.

Minju felt the water hit her face, her eyes still squeezed shut from the intensity of her experiences. She let out a soft moan as the warmth began to soothe her, the pressure of the jets massaging her sore muscles. Her pussy, though still pulsing with need, seemed to have finally found a moment of reprieve. Chaewon lay beside her, equally spent, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.

The men had been surprisingly gentle in their aftercare, their rough hands tender as they had helped clean the sticky residue from their bodies. They had worked as a team, wiping away the evidence of their passion with a thoroughness that was almost clinical.

As the last of them left the bathroom, the door closing with a soft click, Minju and Chaewon were left alone. The only sound was the steady drip of water from the showerhead, a gentle reminder of the river of fluids that had flowed between them.

Minju's body was a canvas of ecstasy, her pussy and ass gaping open like a pair of surprised O's, a silent testament to the men's unyielding dominance. Chaewon's legs were sprawled out, her own pussy and ass still pulsing with the aftershocks of their shared experience. They lay there, unmoving, their bodies a testament to the unbridled passion they had just endured.

"Wow, their pussies are still gaping," one of the men said to the others, his voice filled with amazement. The rest of the group chuckled, their laughter a mix of disbelief and admiration. They had never seen anything quite so depraved, and yet, there was something undeniably alluring about the two women's vulnerability.

The night had been a blur of pleasure and pain, a symphony of flesh that had left them all reeling. But as the first light of dawn began to peek over the horizon, the reality of what they had done set in. They had pushed the boundaries of what was acceptable, and the aftermath was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Minju and Chaewon lay there, their bodies a tapestry of bruises and bites, their pussies and assholes gaping open like open flowers, begging for more. The cool water from the shower had brought a slight respite, but it was the gentle touch of each other's hands that truly helped to soothe their spirits. They climbed to their feet, their legs wobbly as newborn foals, and stumbled into the massive bathtub that was part of the villa's luxurious bathroom.

The shock of the sperm continuing to ooze out of them was something they had not anticipated. It was as if their bodies were a sponge, soaked in cum and now slowly releasing it back into the world. They giggled to themselves as they slid into the warm embrace of the water, feeling the last remnants of the men's seed slide out of them with a soft plop. The tub filled with a murky white mixture, a silent testament to the marathon of fucking they had just endured.

"Did we go too wild last night?" Chaewon whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming.

Minju chuckled, her body still buzzing from the endless stream of pleasure. "Maybe," she said, her voice equally raspy. "But look at us now. Our pussies are still giving us a standing ovation."

They slid into the tub, the warm water enveloping them like a comforting embrace. It washed over their sore muscles, the jets massaging away the tension of the night. The sperm and piss swirled around their bodies, a bizarre mix that seemed to symbolize the unity they had shared with the men.

As the water grew murkier, Minju reached for the soap, her hand shaking slightly. She began to lather herself up, her movements methodical and precise. Chaewon watched her, a strange sense of awe filling her chest. Despite the pain, she felt a sense of pride at what they had achieved.

They had pushed themselves beyond their limits and come out the other side, forever changed. The soap slid over Minju's bruised skin, bubbles popping as they touched the myriad of bites and scratches that adorned her body. Chaewon followed suit, the foam clinging to her curves as she washed away the remnants of their wild night.

When they could no longer ignore the call of their weary bodies, they stepped out of the tub, the water draining away and revealing their exhausted forms. The plush bathrobes that had been left for them were like a warm embrace, the soft fabric caressing their sensitive skin as they wrapped themselves up in them. Their feet padded softly against the cool marble, leaving wet footprints as they made their way back to the bedroom, the warmth of the robes a stark contrast to the chill of the floor.

The bed was a heavenly sight, the crisp white sheets beckoning to them like a cloud. They collapsed onto it, their bodies entwined in a tangle of limbs. Despite the pain and the stickiness that lingered, they felt a deep sense of satisfaction, a bond that went beyond friendship, forged in the crucible of their shared experience. They lay there for a moment, panting and trembling, their hearts slowly returning to a more normal rhythm.

Then, the knock came.

It was a firm, insistent knock, echoing through the quiet villa, a stark contrast to the symphony of pleasure that had filled it just hours before. Minju's eyes snapped open, her heart racing. Chaewon stirred beside her, a sleepy groan escaping her lips as she too was jolted from the haze of their afterglow. They stared at each other in shock, the reality of their situation crashing down upon them like a tidal wave.

Minju's hand trembled as she reached for the knob. As she pulled the door open, she was met with a sight that was both erotic and intimidating: a sea of naked, aroused men, their eyes hungry with desire.

"We heard it was a week-long party," Kofi, the DJ from the beach, said with a wink. "We didn't want to miss our turn."

Minju and Chaewon shared a look that was half fear, half excitement. They had never intended for things to go this far, but there was something in the air that night, a primal energy that had taken control of everyone involved. With a collective sigh, they allowed their bathrobes to be taken off, their bruised and swollen bodies once again on full display.

The men's eyes were like those of hunters who had just spotted their prey, filled with a mix of awe and greed. They had seen these two women in their most vulnerable state and were eager to claim them once more. The air grew thick with lust as the robes fell away, revealing the two friends' still-dripping pussies and the marks of the previous night's passion.

Minju felt a rush of excitement and fear mingle in her chest. Her body was still raw from the previous night's festivities, but the sight of the men's hard cocks made her stomach flutter. Chaewon, ever the wild one, gave a low, guttural growl, her body visibly responding to the challenge laid before them.

With a grace that seemed almost predatory, the men stepped forward, their bathrobes sliding off their muscular frames to reveal their arousal. The room was filled with the sound of fabric hitting the floor, the gentle thuds echoing in the quiet. Their cocks stood tall and proud, a silent promise of more pleasure to come.

The first man approached Minju, his cock thick and veiny, the head glistening with pre-cum. Without a word, he pushed her onto her back, her legs falling open as if on instinct. His hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as he positioned himself at her entrance. With one swift movement, he plunged into her, filling her up without a moment's hesitation.

"Fuckk, still sore," Chaewon screamed, her voice a mix of pleasure and pain as she was claimed by another man. Her body arched off the bed, her toes curling in ecstasy as he slammed into her, his cock stretching her beyond what she thought possible.

Minju felt a similar wave of sensation as she was taken by Kofi once more, his rhythm relentless and demanding. Despite her exhaustion, she found herself meeting his every thrust, her pussy clenching around him like a vice. Her body had become an instrument of pleasure, a vessel for the men's desires.

The days turned into a blur of sexual excess, each night more intense than the last. The local men took turns with them, their appetites seemingly insatiable. They had become the main attraction of the week-long party, the center of a sexual circus that never stopped. The girls' bodies bore the marks of their encounters, a tapestry of bruises and bites that grew more intricate with each passing hour.

And yet, through it all, there was a strange sense of camaraderie that had developed between them. They had become a team, each one pushing the other to new heights of pleasure, each one eager to explore the depths of their sexuality. They had discovered something within themselves, a power that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

As the week progressed, the men grew more daring in their requests, eager to claim every inch of the two friends. They had become a part of the fabric of the party, a symbol of the unbridled lust that had overtaken the beach villa. The other guests watched with a mix of envy and admiration, their own sexual escapades seemingly tame in comparison to the marathon sessions that Minju and Chaewon endured each night.

The two women had grown to crave the attention, the pain a strange comfort in the sea of pleasure. They had become addicted to the feeling of being used, of being the object of so much desire. And with each new cock that filled them, they grew more confident, more in tune with their own desires.

The days passed in a haze of orgasms and exhaustion, the two friends rarely leaving the bed except to eat or use the bathroom. Their bodies were pushed to the brink, their pussies and assholes gaping and swollen from the constant attention. Yet, they never said no.

On the final night, as the party reached its peak, the men gathered around the bed, their eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and satisfaction. They had saved their best for last, a night that would be talked about for years to come. The girls lay there, their bodies trembling with anticipation, their hearts racing with a mix of fear and excitement.

The last man stepped forward, his cock the largest they had ever seen. Chaewon looked at him with a mix of trepidation and desire, her eyes wide with the knowledge of what was about to happen. Without a word, he positioned himself at her tight, stretched asshole, her pussy already filled to the brim by another man. With one hand, he gripped her hair, pulling her head back, exposing her throat.

With the other, he pushed into her, the head of his cock stretching her open. She screamed, her body bucking against the intrusion, but he didn't relent. Inch by inch, he filled her, his cock claiming her in a way that was both brutal and beautiful.

Minju watched, her own pussy being pounded by a different man, her body a trembling mass of nerves and pleasure. She felt a strange sense of pride as she watched her friend take the final challenge, her body stretched to its limits.

And as the night grew darker and the music grew louder, the two friends reached new heights of ecstasy, their screams mingling with the crash of the waves outside. They had become legends, the center of a sexual odyssey that had changed them forever.

As the last man pulled out, their bodies lay there, spent and used, their eyes glazed over with a look that was half-defeated, half-triumphant. They had done the unthinkable, and in doing so, had discovered something new about themselves. They had become more than just Minju and Chaewon, the roommates and idol from Seoul. They had become the embodiment of desire itself, a living, breathing testament to the power of sexual freedom.

The partygoers erupted into applause once more, their cheers a cacophony that filled the night air. The two friends looked at each other, their bodies slick with cum and sweat, their spirits unbroken despite the relentless onslaught of the past week. They had become the embodiment of sexual endurance, a spectacle that drew both admiration and envy from the crowd.

The men took turns, each one more eager than the last to claim his piece of the two exhausted women. They approached with a hunger that was almost feral, their cocks hard and insistent. The rhythm of their fucking never changed, a steady beat that had become a part of Minju and Chaewon's existence. The pain was a familiar friend now, a constant companion that they welcomed with each new thrust.

Each man took his time, savoring the feel of their tight, abused pussies, pushing deeper and harder as if trying to conquer some unspoken challenge. Minju felt a strange mix of pride and fear as she took each one, her body adapting to the relentless pace, her mind a haze of sensation. Chaewon lay beside her, her body a mirror image of her own, a symphony of pleasure and pain that seemed to have no end.

The night grew wilder, the air thick with lust and the scent of sex. The men grew more aggressive, their movements more primal as they claimed the two friends in every conceivable way. They were no longer individuals; they were a single entity of desire, a living, breathing representation of the human capacity for pleasure.

And through it all, Minju and Chaewon held on, their bodies stretched to the limit, their minds soaring on the wings of ecstasy. They had become one with the night, with the beach, with the very essence of the party. The line between reality and fantasy had blurred, leaving them in a state of perpetual arousal that seemed to have no end.

The final round approached, the air in the villa electric with anticipation. The men had saved their most extreme desires for last, a crescendo of depravity that would leave the girls forever changed. They had pushed them to their limits, and yet they still hungered for more.

The local DJ, Kofi, took the lead, his eyes burning with a hunger that was almost frightening. He pulled Minju onto all fours, her ass in the air, a silent invitation to the men who waited eagerly. One by one, they took her, filling her pussy and ass with their seed, the sounds of their pleasure a symphony of grunts and groans that seemed to shake the very walls.

Chaewon watched, her own body being used by the others, her eyes never leaving her friend's. There was a connection there, a bond that went beyond friendship, beyond any experience they had ever shared. They were in this together, two souls forever linked by the wildness of the night.

The final man stepped up, his cock the largest of all. With a roar that seemed to shake the very earth, he plunged into Minju's gaping asshole, his thrusts brutal and unyielding. She took it all, her body shaking with each powerful stroke, her eyes never leaving Chaewon's.

The tension in the room grew palpable, the men holding their breath as they watched the two friends reach the peak of their endurance. Chaewon's own climax grew closer, her pussy clenching around the cock that filled her. The room was a blur of skin and sweat, a maelstrom of passion that seemed to have no end.

And as the final man reached his climax, filling Minju with his hot cum, the two friends shared a look that was part triumph, part terror. They had survived the week, their bodies a testament to the power of sexual desire. They had become more than mere mortals, they had become goddesses of lust, worshipped by the men who had sought to conquer them.

As the last of the men withdrew, the two friends collapsed onto the bed, their bodies trembling with exhaustion. They lay there, their breathing shallow and uneven, the room silent but for the sound of the waves outside. The party had reached its climax, and as the sun began to rise, casting a soft glow over their bruised and spent forms, they knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

The second night of the week-long party had been just as intense as the first. The local men had once again claimed them, their hunger for the two friends seemingly insatiable. As dawn approached, they had been led into the bathroom, their legs shaking with fatigue. The men had taken turns pissing on them, their warm streams washing over their bodies in a strange ritual that had become a nightly occurrence.

But this time, something was different. The men didn't wait for the shower to be turned on, they didn't watch the water cascade over the girls' bodies, washing away the evidence of their lust. Instead, they simply left, their eyes filled with a mix of respect and awe. The urine grew cold on Minju and Chaewon's skin, a stark reminder of the power dynamics that had been established.

Their bodies continued to spasm, their pussies pulsing with each aftershock of pleasure. They had pushed themselves to the brink and come out the other side, their bodies no longer under their control. The men had used them, claimed them in the most primal of ways, and now they were left to bask in the aftermath.

The silence was deafening as they lay there, their breathing the only sound in the cavernous bathroom. The marble was sticky beneath them, the floor a testament to the night's events. They were alone, their hearts racing from the sheer intensity of their experiences. And yet, there was something exhilarating about it all, a sense of freedom that neither had ever felt before.

Their bodies grew still, the tremors of pleasure subsiding as the last of the men's cum oozed out of them. The bruises and bite marks stood out starkly against their skin, a roadmap of their week of excess. But amidst the pain, there was a sense of accomplishment, a knowing that they had tapped into something deep within themselves.

As the last of the men disappeared from view, Minju reached for Chaewon's hand, their fingers entwined in a silent promise. They had been through hell and back together, and their friendship had emerged stronger than ever. They had become warriors of desire, untouchable and unbreakable.

They lay on the cold marble floor, the stickiness of the cum beneath them a constant reminder of the night's events. Despite the discomfort, exhaustion claimed them, their bodies succumbing to the much-needed reprieve of sleep. Chaewon's breath grew deep and even as she drifted off first, her chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.

The sun had barely crested the horizon when they were jolted awake by the acrid scent of urine and the sticky warmth of cum seeping from their overused pussies and assholes. Their eyes snapped open, the harsh reality of the new day assaulting their senses. Minju groaned as she pushed herself up onto her elbows, her body protesting every movement. Chaewon's hand found hers, a silent offering of comfort as they took in the aftermath of their sexual marathon.

"I think... I regret it," Chaewon

murmured, her voice thick with sleep and pain. The words hung in the air, a stark contrast to the wild cries of pleasure that had filled the villa just hours earlier. Chaewon stirred beside her, her eyes opening to meet her friend's gaze.

Minju looked down at her own pussy, still sticky and bruised from the relentless pounding. A small trickle of cum slipped out, a silent answer to Chaewon's question. "Yeah," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "It still feels... full."

They managed to get to their feet, their legs wobbly and unsteady. The floor felt like it was moving beneath them, a gentle reminder of the waves that had crashed against their bodies the night before. Chaewon reached for the shower handle, her hand trembling with the effort. The water came on with a rush, the steam billowing out to fill the room.

"Come on," she said, her voice still thick with the night's pleasures. "Let's clean up."

They stumbled into the shower, the hot water washing over their bruised bodies like a balm. They stood under the stream, letting the warmth soothe their sore muscles and wash away the stickiness of the night. Minju looked at Chaewon, the question in her eyes. "Did your pussy keep squirting a little bit until now?" she asked, her voice filled with a mix of curiosity and concern.

Chaewon nodded, her eyes closed as the water cascaded over her face. "Mine too," she murmured. "It's like it's not finished with us yet."

They stepped out of the shower, the steam clinging to their skin like a lover's embrace. They wrapped themselves in plush towels, the softness a stark contrast to the rough treatment their bodies had endured. The bedroom beckoned, the bed a sanctuary from the world outside.

And, as if by some unspoken agreement, the villa remained pristine, the evidence of their depraved night erased as if by magic. The sheets were fresh, the floor clean, the air faintly scented with the sweet smell of tropical blooms. It was as if the very walls had absorbed their cries of ecstasy, the room a silent witness to their sexual odyssey.

Minju couldn't help but feel a twinge of gratitude as she looked around the space, her body still humming with the aftermath of pleasure. "We are lucky," she said to Chaewon, her voice filled with wonder. "The guys always clean up the room for us."

Chaewon nodded, her eyes distant. "It's like we're in some kind of twisted fairy tale," she murmured, her fingers tracing the fresh bruises that adorned her breasts. "But instead of a dragon, we have an endless supply of cock."

They climbed into bed, their exhausted bodies sinking into the plush mattress with a sigh of relief. The clean, crisp sheets enveloped them in a cool embrace, a stark contrast to the sticky mess they had left behind. They lay there, side by side, their hearts beating in sync with the gentle pulse of the ocean outside.

Minju closed her eyes, her mind racing with images of the men's faces, the feel of their cocks inside her, the sound of their moans. Despite the pain, she felt a strange sense of satisfaction, a feeling of having conquered something profound. Chaewon's hand found hers, their fingers intertwining as they lay in silence.

The third night of the week-long party had started innocently enough, with the two friends sipping cocktails by the pool as the sun set over the horizon. The local men had been more attentive than ever, their eyes never leaving the girls' bodies as they flitted from guest to guest, ensuring everyone's needs were met. But as darkness fell and the party grew more raucous, the air thick with desire, something within Minju had shifted.

As she lay on the plush bed, her body still sticky from the shower, she felt the mattress dip as the first man of the evening joined them. She didn't even bother to open her eyes, the anticipation of his touch already making her pussy clench with need. But when she felt his cock pushing against her, she was taken aback by the suddenness of it all.

Without a word, without a single gesture of consent, she was filled once again, his thickness stretching her already tender pussy. Chaewon stirred beside her, a soft moan escaping her lips as she too was claimed by another eager participant. They had become so accustomed to the constant intrusion that it almost felt natural now, a part of their daily routine.

"When did you come in?" Minju managed to ask, her voice a hoarse whisper as she felt the weight of the man's body on top of her. "Is it already night?"

Chaewon moaned with a little voice, her eyes still closed, lost in the sensations of the man's rough entry. "I don't know," she murmured, her hips already beginning to rock back to meet his thrusts. "Does it matter?"

The man chuckled, his grip on her hips tightening. "Not at all," he said, his voice a dark rumble. "You're both so beautiful, so open." He leaned down, his teeth grazing her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. "So eager."

Minju felt a strange mix of fear and excitement as she heard the click of cameras, the flashes of light piercing the darkness. She knew they were being watched, their every move recorded for posterity. It was a thrill that she had never experienced before, a heady mix of power and vulnerability. She looked at Chaewon, whose eyes were open now, the same mix of emotions swirling in their depths.

The men took turns, each one eager to leave his mark on their bodies, to claim a piece of the two friends for himself. The cameras rolled, capturing every gasp, every moan, every drop of cum that spurted from their abused holes. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed through the room, a symphony of desire that seemed to have no end.

The night was a blur of cocks, of hands and tongues and teeth, of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. They were drilled in every possible way, their pussies and assholes stretched beyond what they had ever thought possible. The men took turns, their faces a mix of lust and concentration as they sought to outdo one another in their pursuit of pleasure.

And as the gallon of cum filled them, their bodies quivering with each new round, Minju felt something within her shift. It was no longer about the party, the fashion line, or even the money. It was about this, the raw, primal connection between flesh and desire. She had become a conduit for their pleasure, and in doing so, she had discovered something about herself that she never knew existed.

The local men had noticed their lack of vocal response and took it as a challenge. "The video is bad when you two don't moan and speak," one of them said, his voice low and demanding. The words sent a jolt through Minju's body, and she understood what he wanted. The cameras were rolling, the audience eager to hear the sweet sounds of their pleasure.

Chaewon, ever the performer, took the lead, her moans growing louder, more exaggerated with each thrust. Minju followed suit, her voice joining the chorus of passionate cries that filled the room. They spoke to the men, whispered sweet nothings and dirty words that made them growl and pump harder. It was a symphony of lust, each note a declaration of their surrender to the night.

Their lovers grew more aggressive, their strokes more punishing as they sought to elicit the reactions they desired. Minju felt a strange sense of power as she watched the men respond to their cues, their eyes glazed with need as they pushed themselves closer to the edge. She had become a maestro, conducting the symphony of their desires with her voice and her body.

The room grew hotter, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. The men took turns filming and fucking, their phones capturing every moment of the two friends' degradation. And amidst it all, Minju couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of pride. They were the stars of this show, the center of a universe that revolved around their pleasure.

"Again, squirt for us," one of the men ordered, his voice gruff with desire. Chaewon's eyes snapped open, a look of determination crossing her features. She knew what they wanted, knew the power that lay in her ability to perform. With a deep breath, she pushed back against her partner, her pussy contracting around his cock as she forced herself to orgasm once more.

The room erupted in cheers as she squirted, the evidence of her pleasure arcing through the air like a fountain. The man filming her let out a groan, his hand shaking with the effort of capturing the perfect shot. Minju felt a thrill run through her at the sight, her own pussy clenching with envy. She had never felt so alive, so in control.

The third night had started with a ferocity that had taken even Minju by surprise. The local men had wasted no time, their cocks already hard and demanding as they claimed the two friends the moment they had settled into the bed. There was no gentle warm-up, no tender kisses or sweet whispers. It was raw, animalistic, and it was exactly what they needed.

Minju's mouth remained open, a silent scream of pleasure escaping her lips as cock after cock filled her to the brim. Each time she came, the cum of the man before spilled out of her mouth, mixing with her own saliva as she gagged and swallowed. Chaewon, equally lost in the haze of pleasure, had her face buried in the pillow, her cries muffled by the fabric.

The party had become a marathon of lust, and the two friends had become its champions. As the night stretched on, their bodies had become a canvas for the local men's desires, painted with sweat and cum. The air was thick with the scent of sex, a potent cocktail that intoxicated them further. They had transcended the limits of pleasure, each new sensation a revelation of their own carnality.

It was almost 3 AM, and yet the party showed no signs of winding down. The local men, fueled by a mix of alcohol and adrenaline, seemed to have an endless supply of energy. They took turns with Minju and Chaewon, their eyes gleaming with the thrill of the chase. The girls had become more than just participants; they were the embodiment of desire itself.

As the night grew later, the rhythm of the music grew more primal, the bass thumping through the floorboards like the pulse of a giant beast. The air grew thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a heady aphrodisiac that only served to drive the men to greater heights of passion. And yet, amidst the chaos, Minju and Chaewon remained the calm center, their bodies accepting each new partner with an almost mechanical grace.

Finally, as the first light of dawn began to seep through the curtains, the men grew satiated. They had taken everything the girls had to offer and then some, leaving them trembling and spent. With a final round of applause, they helped the exhausted duo to their feet, leading them unsteadily back to the bathroom. The cold marble floor was a stark contrast to the heat of the bed, sending a shiver up Minju's spine as she stepped onto it.

Chaewon's legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the floor, her body still quivering with the aftershocks of her last orgasm. The men chuckled, their eyes gleaming with satisfaction as they stepped over her, heading back to the party. Minju leaned against the vanity, her hand shaking as she reached for the shower handle. The water was cold, almost painfully so, but it was exactly what she needed.

The spray hit her body, the chill making her gasp as it washed away the sticky mess of the night. She looked down, her pussy still gaping, the muscles inside spasming with each aftershock. The sight of her own body, so used and abused, only served to heighten her arousal. Chaewon joined her under the spray, her eyes meeting Minju's in the steamy mirror.

They were a mess, cum dripping from their mouths and down their chins, their breasts red and bruised from the rough handling. Yet there was something undeniably erotic about it all, something that made Minju's heart race even as her legs threatened to buckle beneath her.

Chaewon leaned against her, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her own climax. "We can't keep this up,".

Minju nodded, her eyes glazed over with the intensity of the night's events. "We need to rest," she murmured, her voice barely audible above the pounding of the water.

Their legs finally gave out, and they collapsed to the floor, the cool tiles a welcome reprieve from the sticky mess that had been their bed. The water rained down on them, the coldness a stark contrast to the heat that still lingered in their loins. They leaned against each other, their bodies trembling with the effort of standing.

The men had retreated, their laughter echoing through the villa. "After they faint, they can still keep squirting and shaking" one of them said, his words carrying a mix of amazement and contempt. "Such sluts, the two of you."

#minju smut #chaewon smut

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dreamersworldduh · 4 months ago

Text

HIS HOME

• CLARK KENT x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — To the world, Clark Kent is Superman—the invincible hero, Earth’s mightiest protector, and a symbol of hope and strength. He’s the one who soars through the skies, battles formidable enemies, and saves countless lives without a second thought. But to you, he’s simply Clark—the shy, kind-hearted farm boy from Smallville you’ve loved since high school.

WARNING! FLUFF. Suggestive Langauge.

WORDS! 10k

AUTHOR’S NOTE! - Here's a little fluff for my favorite farm boy, I recently watched the Superman teaser and got a little inspired.

The early morning sun began its slow, graceful ascent over the towering skyline of Metropolis, sending soft, golden rays spilling through the sheer, cream-colored curtains of Clark Kent’s cozy apartment. The delicate fabric diffused the light, casting a warm, ethereal glow across the room. The gentle illumination danced over the simple but thoughtfully chosen furnishings: a well-loved leather armchair tucked into the corner, a sturdy wooden bookshelf overflowing with novels and framed photos, and a vintage record player resting on a low cabinet—small tokens of a life built together.

Beneath a thick, plush comforter in the center of the room’s focal point—a spacious, inviting bed—Clark and his longtime boyfriend, Y/N, lay entwined in peaceful slumber. Their breaths rose and fell in a quiet, harmonious rhythm, filling the serene space with a sense of intimacy only shared by two souls deeply connected. The soft weight of the comforter enveloped them, shielding them from the crisp morning air that lingered just beyond the windowpane.

Though Y/N remained fast asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady, calming rhythm, Clark was already awake. His piercing blue eyes, usually sharp with focus and responsibility, now gleamed with tenderness as he quietly admired the man sleeping beside him. For a few precious moments, the weight of the world slipped away—no urgent headlines to chase, no distant cries for help demanding Superman’s strength—just the quiet stillness of their shared sanctuary.

Clark’s gaze lingered, tracing every familiar line and curve of Y/N’s face. His fingertips, rough from years of fighting battles no one else could, hovered just above Y/N’s skin, hesitant to disturb the peaceful spell. He followed the delicate slope of his jaw, the curve of his lips—soft and slightly upturned, as though he were dreaming of something sweet—and the dark, feathery lashes that rested gently against his cheeks. How many times had he memorized these details? How many mornings like this had he silently counted himself lucky?

Here, in this stolen moment before the world woke up, Clark was simply Clark—the man who had fallen in love with his best friend back in high school and never stopped. His heart swelled with the same overwhelming emotion he felt every time he realized he got to spend another day with the person who grounded him, made him laugh, and saw past the cape to the man beneath.

As the sun’s rays grew bolder, stretching farther into the room, the stillness was broken by the sudden, jarring beep of the alarm clock on the bedside table. Its sharp sound shattered the tranquility like glass meeting stone.

“Morning,” Clark whispered, his deep voice warm and soothing, rich with a love that couldn’t be contained. His hand gently brushed a stray lock of hair from Y/N’s forehead, his touch as tender as the sunlight now spilling across the bed.

Y/N blinked slowly, his eyelashes fluttering. He shifted slightly beneath the thick, plush comforter, its weight a soothing barrier against the crisp morning air. He could feel the solid, steady warmth radiating from Clark’s body beside him, grounding him before he even opened his eyes fully. His fingers twitched reflexively, seeking out the comforting presence he knew was there.

When Y/N’s half-lidded gaze finally focused, the first thing he saw was Clark, lying on his side, already awake. His piercing blue eyes gleamed softly, filled with a quiet intensity that made Y/N’s heart ache in the best possible way. Clark’s expression was open, vulnerable, and utterly disarming—like he was seeing something precious he still couldn’t quite believe was real, even after all these years.

A sleepy, instinctive smile tugged at the corners of Y/N’s lips. He stretched slowly, luxuriating in the warmth of the bed and the quiet stillness that lingered in the room, allowing the peaceful moment to settle over him like a familiar melody. His fingers reached up lazily, brushing away a stray lock of hair from his face before his hand drifted down to rest gently on Clark’s chest.

The steady, reassuring thrum of Clark’s heartbeat pulsed beneath Y/N’s fingertips, calm and unwavering, like the rhythm of the earth itself. He let out a contented sigh, his body relaxing further as he nestled closer, resting his head against Clark’s broad shoulder. The fabric of Clark’s soft, well-worn T-shirt felt cool against his cheek, contrasting with the warmth radiating from his skin.

“Good morning,” Y/N murmured, his voice rough with sleep but laced with tenderness. His words were barely above a whisper, soft and warm like the first light of dawn filtering through the window. His hand idly traced slow, lazy patterns across Clark’s chest—small, unconscious shapes made in quiet affection.

Clark smiled, his hand moving with gentle certainty to rest on Y/N’s lower back, his fingertips drawing soothing circles through the thin fabric of his sleep shirt. His touch was familiar yet reverent, a silent promise etched into every small caress.

Y/N’s eyes flickered toward the faint glow spilling through the window, signaling the start of another day. The world outside slowly stirred to life, but inside their shared haven, time seemed suspended—just the two of them in a bubble of warmth and love that felt untouched by the outside world.

“What time is it?” Y/N asked softly, his voice still tinged with sleep and curiosity, though there was no urgency behind the question. His fingers continued their gentle, aimless tracing, not yet ready to break the fragile stillness of the moment.

With a reluctant glance, Clark shifted his eyes toward the worn alarm clock on the nightstand. Its glowing red numbers silently ticked forward, marking the steady march of time. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he registered the hour. “It’s 7:15,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, like a quiet breeze through the still room.

Y/N groaned playfully at the answer, dragging one hand down his face in mock exasperation before propping himself up on one elbow. His hair was delightfully tousled, a few stubborn strands falling across his forehead despite his half-hearted attempt to smooth them down. “We really need to get up,” he said, though the lack of conviction in his voice betrayed him. His fingers brushed lightly against Clark’s arm, lingering there as though reluctant to break the warmth of their embrace.

Before Y/N could move any further, Clark’s strong arms tightened around his waist with effortless ease, pulling him back down into the secure circle of his embrace. His hold was firm yet tender, a perfect blend of strength and comfort, silently promising that he wasn’t ready to let Y/N go just yet.

“Not yet,” Clark whispered, his voice soft but resolute, filled with quiet intensity. His piercing blue eyes met Y/N’s with such tenderness that it made Y/N’s breath hitch for a moment. There was something profound in that gaze, something unspoken yet unmistakably clear—love, deep and unyielding.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking upward in mild amusement despite the way his heart seemed to swell in his chest. “Clark, we really should—”

“Do you know what today is?” Clark interrupted gently, his tone playful but tinged with something deeper—something meaningful. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his expression equal parts teasing and expectant.

Y/N blinked, momentarily thrown by the sudden change in conversation, before a quiet laugh bubbled up from his chest. He let his forehead rest gently against Clark’s for a moment, savoring the warmth of their closeness, before pulling back just far enough to meet his eyes again.

“Of course I know,” Y/N replied softly, his voice steady but colored with affection. “It’s our anniversary.”

Clark’s smile widened, his eyes shimmering with something unmistakably radiant, though there was still a spark of playfulness there. He shook his head slightly, brushing his thumb tenderly over Y/N’s cheek, letting his fingers trail gently down to his jawline. His touch was reverent, as if the moment itself were fragile and precious.

“Not just any anniversary,” Clark corrected, his voice dipping lower, resonant with emotion. “It’s our ten-year anniversary.” His expression shifted into something more serious, almost reverent, as though the weight of a decade spent together was something sacred—something he still couldn’t quite believe he was lucky enough to have.

Y/N’s eyes widened briefly, a flicker of surprise softening into something far deeper, warmer. His lips parted as if to respond, but instead, he simply cupped Clark’s face with both hands, his thumbs tracing gentle, familiar lines along his jaw. His touch was slow, deliberate—a silent answer filled with love and devotion.

“Ten years,” Y/N echoed, letting the words hang between them like a whispered vow. His voice was quiet but steady, thick with emotion. “I can’t believe it’s been that long.”

Clark’s expression softened further, his smile turning just a little more playful as he leaned forward, pressing a lingering, feather-light kiss to Y/N’s forehead. His lips lingered there, warm and reassuring, before pulling back just enough to meet Y/N’s gaze again.

“And I’m not letting you out of this bed until we properly celebrate…” Clark whispered, his voice low and teasing but laced with unmistakable sincerity. His arms tightened just a fraction, drawing Y/N even closer. “…Starting right now.”

Y/N laughed softly, his eyes sparkling with both affection and amusement. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice light but affectionate, fingers still tracing slow, loving patterns across Clark’s chest.

Clark only smiled, leaning in to press another kiss—this time soft and lingering—against Y/N’s lips, sealing the promise between them with quiet certainty.

Y/N pulled away, letting out a soft breathy laugh, his lips curving into a playful smirk as he rested his hand gently on Clark’s chest. Beneath his fingertips, he could feel the steady, familiar rhythm of Clark’s heartbeat—strong, unyielding, and comforting in a way that felt like home. His fingers absently traced small, lazy circles over the fabric of Clark’s worn T-shirt, savoring the warmth radiating from his skin.

His eyes sparkled with affection, though there was a teasing edge in his voice as he arched an eyebrow. “Clark,” he murmured, his tone light but laced with mock sternness, “if we celebrate right now, neither one of us is going to make it to work on time.”

Clark chuckled, his deep, resonant laugh filling the room like a warm embrace. It was the kind of laugh that made Y/N’s heart swell, as familiar and comforting as the dawn’s first light. His smile widened into that boyish, slightly mischievous grin Y/N had fallen in love with all those years ago—a grin that still made his knees weak even after a decade together.

“You make a compelling point,” Clark admitted with mock seriousness, though the mischievous glint in his eyes betrayed him. His gaze softened as he took in every beloved detail of Y/N’s face—the curve of his cheek, the sparkle in his eyes, the way his lips quirked in that teasing smile that always left Clark feeling utterly captivated.

Before Y/N could fire back with a witty retort, Clark moved with effortless grace, gently shifting his weight as he rolled over, pinning Y/N beneath him in one fluid motion. His strong arms braced on either side of Y/N’s head, caging him in—but his touch was tender, protective, filled with nothing but love. Y/N gasped softly in surprise, though his eyes gleamed with amusement and affection.

Clark leaned down until their faces were mere inches apart, his breath warm against Y/N’s skin. His gaze never wavered, tracing every familiar feature with reverence, as though memorizing them all over again.

“I guess I could try to be responsible…” Clark whispered, his voice dropping into that low, velvety tone that always sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine, “…but where’s the fun in that?”

Before Y/N could respond—or even fully process the words—Clark dipped his head and captured his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. His mouth moved with unhurried purpose, savoring the connection as though time itself had ceased to matter. The kiss was deep but tender, filled with emotion that words could never quite capture.

Y/N’s breath hitched as Clark’s warm lips trailed away from his, leaving a path of feather-light kisses along his jawline. Clark’s mouth lingered just below Y/N’s ear—his most sensitive spot—his breath sending pleasant tingles down his spine. His lips brushed gently against Y/N’s neck, pressing soft, deliberate kisses that ignited a warmth deep within him.

A quiet, breathless laugh escaped Y/N’s lips as he arched into Clark’s touch, threading his fingers through Clark’s thick, dark hair. He tugged gently, earning a soft, pleased hum from Clark that resonated against his skin. “You’re impossible,” Y/N whispered, though his voice trembled with love, his words holding no real bite.

Clark pulled back just enough to meet Y/N’s gaze, his expression soft but still tinged with playful defiance. His piercing blue eyes sparkled with warmth, love, and something far deeper—something timeless. “Ten years,” he murmured, brushing his thumb gently across Y/N’s cheek, his touch reverent and tender. “I think we’ve earned a little celebration… even if we’re a bit late.”

Y/N laughed again, shaking his head in mock exasperation, though he made no effort to move away—he never could when Clark held him like this, when he looked at him like he was the most precious thing in the world. His heart swelled with overwhelming affection, threatening to burst from the sheer intensity of it all.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Y/N whispered softly, his voice thick with emotion as he tugged Clark down into another kiss—slow, deep, and full of all the love and devotion he couldn’t put into words.

Clark’s grin widened against Y/N’s lips, his expression radiating pure joy. “I know,” he whispered playfully, echoing the familiar words that had been exchanged between them countless times—but now, they held a deeper, more profound meaning.

In that moment, nothing else existed—no alarms, no deadlines, no responsibilities. Just the quiet, steady rhythm of their shared breath, the warmth of their intertwined bodies, and a love that had endured a decade and promised to last a lifetime.

By 8:15 a.m., the quiet intimacy of the early morning had dissolved into the familiar rhythm of Clark and Y/N’s weekday routine. The warmth of their shared bed now felt like a distant memory as they moved through their cozy apartment with practiced ease, the comfortable chaos of a typical workday morning unfolding around them.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mingling with the crisp aroma of toasted bread and the faint trace of Clark’s cologne lingering in the hallway. The kitchen was alive with quiet energy—drawers opening, shoes being slipped on, phones buzzing with notifications. The distant hum of Metropolis traffic outside was a constant, blending into the comforting sounds of home.

Clark stood at the kitchen counter, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie still undone around his neck. He poured steaming coffee into two familiar mugs—one emblazoned with the bold “Daily Planet” logo, and the other featuring a playful “World’s Best Partner” design, a sentimental gift from Y/N on their fifth anniversary. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, steady and sure, as though even the smallest tasks carried a quiet significance in their shared life.

“Babe, have you seen my laptop charger?” Y/N’s voice called from the bedroom, tinged with mild urgency. His words were punctuated by the sound of drawers sliding open and the soft rustle of clothes being shifted around.

Clark couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head fondly as he set the coffee mugs on the kitchen table. “Check the shelf by the desk!” he called back, his voice warm and familiar. In one smooth motion, he looped his tie into a perfect Windsor knot, fingers moving with expert precision—years of balancing superhero duties and tight Daily Planet deadlines had honed his multitasking skills to near perfection.

Moments later, Y/N emerged from the bedroom, holding his laptop charger triumphantly like a prize. His collar was only half-buttoned, his sleeves still unrolled, but he already looked every bit the driven professional Clark had admired from the moment they’d worked side by side as young interns. His hair was slightly tousled, still settling after a rushed comb-through, making him impossibly endearing.

“Found it!” Y/N announced with mock triumph, flashing Clark a cheeky grin as he hurried toward the kitchen. He grabbed his “World’s Best Partner” mug from the table and took a long, appreciative sip, savoring the warmth that seeped into his fingertips. A contented sigh escaped his lips. “You’re a lifesaver,” he said with sincere gratitude, the corners of his eyes crinkling with affection.

Clark smirked, leaning casually against the counter, arms folded across his chest. “I try,” he teased lightly, though his gaze softened as he watched Y/N sip his coffee, soaking in the familiar comfort of their shared morning ritual. It was in these small, ordinary moments that Clark felt the fullness of their life together—steady, warm, real.

Y/N gave a quick glance at the microwave clock—8:17 a.m. They were cutting it close but still technically on time if they hustled. He grabbed his well-worn messenger bag from the back of a kitchen chair and slung it over his shoulder with practiced ease. “Let’s roll,” he said with determined resolve, already mentally running through the day’s to-do list.

Just as Y/N reached for the door, Clark’s fingers gently brushed against his wrist, halting him with a soft touch. “Hey,” Clark murmured, his voice lower now, edged with something deeper.

Y/N turned, brow raised in curious question. His expression softened as he met Clark’s gaze, recognizing the quiet emotion shimmering in those piercing blue eyes.

Clark’s smile shifted into something far more tender, his earlier playfulness replaced by sincerity. “Happy ten-year anniversary,” he whispered, his voice rich with meaning, as though he still couldn’t quite believe how lucky he was to be standing there, sharing this life with the person he loved.

Y/N’s expression melted instantly, the rush of the morning forgotten. He leaned in, cradling Clark’s face gently in his hands, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. The world outside seemed to pause, leaving only the warmth of their shared breath and the quiet rhythm of their hearts beating in sync.

“Happy anniversary,” Y/N whispered back, his tone filled with unwavering love. His fingers lingered against Clark’s jaw for just a moment longer, as though reluctant to let the moment end.

With one last shared smile—intimate, knowing—they turned toward the door, ready to face whatever challenges the bustling city had in store. Whatever the day might bring, they would face it together—just as they always had, and always would.

Clark stepped through the revolving doors of the bustling Daily Planet building, adjusting his signature glasses out of habit as he took in the familiar symphony of the newsroom’s organized chaos. The air buzzed with the electric energy of a new workday—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, and conversations overlapping as reporters exchanged leads and debated headlines. The faint scent of fresh ink and brewed coffee lingered in the air, a constant reminder of the newsroom’s relentless pace.

A small, contented smile tugged at Clark’s lips as he strode across the polished marble floor, his polished shoes clicking softly against the tile. He felt right at home here, even after years of balancing the double life of award-winning journalist and Earth’s greatest protector. Still, even amid the familiar hustle, his mind lingered on the peaceful morning he’d shared with Y/N—the warmth of their shared coffee, the lingering kiss at the door, the whispered “Happy anniversary” that still echoed softly in his heart.

He was halfway to his desk when he found his path blocked—ambushed, really—by two familiar figures: Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen, his closest friends and trusted partners in journalistic crime. Lois stood with her arms crossed, eyebrows raised in playful expectation, while Jimmy hovered just behind her, his ever-present camera slung over his shoulder like he was ready to document something groundbreaking.

“Alright, Kent,” Lois announced with a sly smirk, tilting her head in that knowing way she always did when she was on the verge of uncovering something. “What’s the plan?”

Clark blinked, momentarily thrown off by her question. He adjusted his glasses again, a reflex whenever he felt caught off guard. “Plan? What plan?” he asked, brow furrowing in genuine confusion.

Jimmy let out an exaggerated scoff, stepping forward with wide-eyed disbelief. “The plan, Clark!” he urged dramatically. “Don’t tell me you forgot! It’s your ten-year anniversary with Y/N today!”

Clark’s eyes widened ever so slightly, though he quickly schooled his expression into one of practiced calm. “Wait—how do you two know about that?” he asked, his voice tinged with mild suspicion but tempered by curiosity.

Lois rolled her eyes, her smirk widening. “Please,” she said with mock disdain. “I’m a journalist, Clark. It’s literally my job to know things.”

Jimmy nodded enthusiastically, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “And I’m, like, super observant. You’ve had that goofy, ‘I’m-so-in-love’ look plastered all over your face for days.” He gestured dramatically around the newsroom. “It’s practically headline news at this point.”

Clark couldn’t help but chuckle despite himself, shaking his head. “You two are unbelievable.”

Lois stepped closer, her sharp eyes softening just a fraction, though the spark of mischief never left. “Seriously, though,” she said with a bit more warmth, “you do have something special planned, right? Ten years isn’t just any anniversary.”

For a brief moment, Clark’s mind drifted to the small velvet box tucked securely in the inner pocket of his coat—the one he’d been carefully keeping out of sight all morning. The memory of its weight was reassuring, grounding him in the quiet certainty of what the evening would bring.

“Let’s just say…” Clark began slowly, his lips curving into a knowing smile, “…I might have a few surprises up my sleeve.”

Jimmy let out a dramatic gasp, clearly intrigued, while Lois arched an approving eyebrow. “Now this is a story I’m dying to see unfold,” she quipped, already imagining the possibilities.

Clark chuckled, brushing past them toward his desk. “You’ll just have to wait and see,” he called over his shoulder. “No spoilers… even for journalists.”

Lois smirked knowingly while Jimmy fist-pumped in silent excitement, already speculating wildly about what Clark’s “surprise” might be. The newsroom’s steady hum continued around them, deadlines and breaking news still demanding attention—but for a brief moment, Clark allowed himself to savor the quiet anticipation bubbling within him.

Tonight would be more than just a milestone—it would be the start of something even greater. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Y/N’s face when he finally revealed what he’d been planning for weeks… and slipped that ring onto his finger.

The day carried on as usual—but for Clark, the countdown to that perfect, long-awaited moment had already begun.

The streets of Metropolis teemed with life far below as Superman soared effortlessly through the crisp morning sky, his iconic red cape billowing behind him like a banner of hope. The sharp edges of the city’s glass-and-steel skyline glinted in the morning sun, casting streaks of light across the bustling streets below. His keen eyes swept across the familiar cityscape, ever watchful, always ready.

The city pulsed with its usual symphony—honking car horns, hurried conversations, the rhythmic clang of construction equipment, and the distant chatter of morning radio shows drifting from open windows. The steady thrum of Metropolis’ indomitable spirit surrounded him, grounding him even as he hovered hundreds of feet above. To anyone else, it might have been overwhelming—chaotic—but to Clark, it was the heartbeat of home.

He had just finished assisting the Metropolis Fire Department with a hazardous warehouse fire down by the docks. The acrid scent of smoke still clung faintly to his uniform, though the crisis was long resolved. He allowed himself a rare moment of pause, suspended in the sky, arms crossed, his cape trailing like a protective shield over the city he’d sworn to protect.

Then something familiar tugged at his senses.

Cutting through the tangled web of urban noise, a voice—distinct, beloved—filtered clearly into his super-sensitive hearing.

Y/N’s voice.

Clark’s breath hitched as he stilled mid-air, hanging weightless against the wind. His sharp focus zeroed in instantly, his hearing filtering out the static of the city until only that familiar voice remained. His heart clenched with longing and quiet relief.

He traced the sound to the upper floors of a gleaming high-rise in the heart of downtown—the unmistakable, foreboding silhouette of LexCorp Tower, its sharp edges and mirrored surface reflecting the cold morning light. The sight alone made his jaw tighten, tension rippling through his frame. No matter how many years passed, Lex Luthor’s presence in Metropolis remained a constant thorn in his side.

But then Y/N spoke again, and Clark’s protective instincts flared.

“Yes, Mr. Luthor… I’ll have that report on your desk by noon,” Y/N said, his voice steady and professional, though Clark detected the faintest trace of exhaustion beneath his practiced tone. “I’ve already confirmed the logistics team’s data… Yes, sir, I’m double-checking it now.”

Clark exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. He could see Y/N in his mind’s eye—sitting at his immaculately organized desk, surrounded by gleaming tech and cool, polished steel decor, the harsh blue glow of holographic displays casting soft light over his face. His back would be straight, his sharp, tailored blazer fitting perfectly across his shoulders—a detail Y/N always insisted was necessary to “look the part.”

Clark’s chest warmed with quiet pride. Despite his unease about LexCorp—a company built on moral ambiguity and dangerous ambition—he knew Y/N. Driven, capable, relentless in his pursuit of success, yet unfailingly kind. He trusted Y/N implicitly.

Lex Luthor, on the other hand…

Clark frowned, his protective instincts prickling. Even now, he couldn’t entirely banish the concern that came with knowing Y/N worked within arm’s reach of one of the world’s most dangerous men. He strained to listen for anything out of place—any shift in Y/N’s voice, any hint of tension—but all he heard was focused professionalism.

Then, suddenly, Y/N’s voice softened—barely above a murmur—as though he believed himself to be completely alone. His tone turned warmer, more personal.

“…And maybe after work, I can figure out how to surprise you for once, Clark…”

Clark’s breath caught.

There was the faint rustling of papers, followed by a quiet, almost wistful chuckle that tugged at his heart.

“Ten years… Can you believe it?” Y/N whispered, almost as though speaking only to himself.

Clark’s expression melted into something achingly tender, a quiet warmth blooming in his chest that even the cold steel of LexCorp couldn’t diminish. For just a moment, he allowed himself this stolen glimpse into Y/N’s day—a reminder of the life they’d built together, of love that had endured through battles, secrets, and the challenges of his double life.

He hovered there, suspended in the stillness of the morning sky, wrapped in the memory of Y/N’s voice and the unspoken promise threaded through those words.

Then, from several blocks away, a sudden wail of police sirens split the air, snapping him back to reality. His gaze hardened instantly, his senses shifting back into sharp focus. The city needed him again.

But before he shot off into the wind, he cast one final, lingering glance toward the gleaming spire of LexCorp Tower, his voice a whispered promise meant only for the wind to carry:

“I love you, too.”

And then, in a streak of red and blue, he vanished into the sky—ready to protect the city he called home, and the man he loved more than anything.

The familiar creak of the front door closing echoed softly through the stillness of the cozy apartment. Clark Kent stepped inside, his broad shoulders relaxing as he shrugged off his thick, charcoal-gray overcoat. He smoothed out its fabric with practiced care before hanging it on the brass hook by the entryway, a small detail Y/N had insisted on installing when they first moved in together. The air smelled faintly of lavender and vanilla from a gently flickering candle on the bookshelf, mixing with the warm, inviting scent of home-cooked meals from memories past.

The apartment was bathed in a soft, golden glow from the dimmed overhead lights and the warm sparkle of fairy lights strung along the window. Framed photographs of shared adventures lined the walls—a snapshot from their first vacation, candid moments from friends’ weddings, and even a picture of Clark holding a grinning Y/N on his shoulders at a summer fair.

But tonight wasn’t just another ordinary evening. It was their ten-year anniversary, a milestone woven with laughter, challenges, and countless moments of quiet, steadfast love. Tonight, Clark intended to mark that journey in a way neither of them would ever forget.

With steady deliberation, he reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and carefully retrieved a small, velvet-covered box. He set it down gently on the cool marble countertop, as though the magnitude of what it held weighed heavier than any feat he had ever accomplished as Superman. His thumb brushed over the soft fabric of the box, tracing its edges with reverence. Inside rested a simple, timeless ring—delicate yet strong, much like the bond he shared with Y/N. He had spent months searching for the perfect piece, envisioning the way it would look on Y/N’s finger every step of the way.

Drawing a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and gently closed the box. The evening wasn’t going to prepare itself. He rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, exposing his strong forearms, and turned toward the kitchen. Fresh ingredients were laid out precisely as he had planned—Y/N’s favorite meal, every detail considered down to the garnish.

Moments later, Clark turned his attention to the living room, the heart of their shared memories. It was a space shaped by comfort and familiarity, where countless evenings had been spent wrapped in warmth and laughter. He moved with quiet purpose, selecting a small stack of their favorite movies from the shelf—classic comedies that never failed to make them laugh, heartfelt dramas that always left them holding each other a little tighter, and those feel-good romances they could recite line for line. He placed the DVDs neatly on the rustic wooden coffee table, arranging them just so, knowing Y/N would smile the moment they saw them.

Draped over the back of their well-loved couch was a thick, cozy blanket—soft, worn, and infused with memories of lazy Sundays and late-night cuddles. He smoothed out its folds, making sure it was within easy reach for when the night wound down, when dinner was just a memory, and only the quiet comfort of each other remained. A few plump, overstuffed pillows rested at each end of the couch, inviting and familiar.

The soft glow of the fairy lights strung along the window added a magical warmth to the room, their tiny bulbs twinkling like distant stars. On the coffee table, he placed a wooden tray holding two mugs—one ready for hot cocoa, the other for Y/N’s favorite tea, complete with a small jar of honey. A delicate ceramic bowl filled with chocolate-covered almonds—Y/N’s guilty pleasure—completed the thoughtful setup. Every detail was intentional, a reflection of the countless quiet nights they had shared in this very space.

But even as the living room felt ready, Clark couldn’t shake the sense that something was still missing.

He stepped back into the kitchen, enveloped once more by the inviting aroma of the special meal he’d worked so carefully to prepare. The rich scent of seared steak lingered in the air, mingling with the creamy, garlicky aroma of the mashed potatoes he’d whipped until they were impossibly smooth and buttery. The sautéed vegetables—green beans with a light char, caramelized baby carrots glistening with honey, and earthy mushrooms kissed with rosemary—were arranged in a serving dish, their vibrant colors promising comfort and warmth with every bite.

On the stovetop, the red wine sauce had reduced to perfection, its velvety richness gleaming as Clark gave it one last stir. The deep, complex fragrance of simmering shallots, garlic, and wine filled the room, tempting him to taste—but he resisted. This was for Y/N.

His gaze drifted to the marble countertop, where the decadent chocolate mousse cake he had picked up from their favorite bakery waited like the final act of a perfect evening. Its glossy, dark chocolate surface shimmered under the soft kitchen lights, adorned with delicate curls of bittersweet chocolate and a light dusting of powdered sugar. Plump, jewel-toned raspberries rested artfully around the edges, a splash of vibrant red against the dark richness of the cake.

Satisfied with the meal, Clark moved to the small dining table near the bay window. He tugged at the edges of the crisp white tablecloth, ensuring it lay perfectly smooth. Their best dinnerware gleamed in the soft light, paired with sparkling wine glasses and polished silverware arranged with precision. He folded two linen napkins into elegant triangles, placing them neatly by each plate.

At the center of the table sat a modest yet beautiful bouquet—soft blush roses, delicate white lilies, and fragrant sprigs of eucalyptus bound together with natural twine. Their gentle scent mingled with the meal’s intoxicating aromas, adding a romantic, timeless touch. Clark adjusted the bouquet slightly, ensuring it looked effortlessly perfect.

Finally, he lit three slender ivory candles in sleek, minimalist holders. Their warm, flickering flames cast a soft, golden glow across the table, their light shimmering off the delicate crystal and creating an atmosphere of quiet elegance.

With everything in place, Clark allowed himself a moment to pause. The apartment felt magical, transformed by love and intention. Yet his eyes inevitably returned to the small velvet-covered box still resting on the counter, its deep navy surface catching the candlelight like a secret waiting to be shared.

He stepped closer, brushing his thumb once again over its soft, textured fabric. Inside lay the ring—simple yet exquisitely crafted, timeless yet personal. He could still remember the moment he had found it, knowing instantly it was the one. Strong but delicate. Elegant yet enduring. Just like what they had built together.

He imagined Y/N’s face when he saw it—his wide-eyed surprise, the way his breath might hitch, the unmistakable light that would fill his eyes when he understood what Clark was asking. The thought made Clark usually steady hands tremble just a little.

It wasn’t about the meal, the setting, or even the ring.

It was about the ten years of shared memories, of challenges faced side by side, of whispered promises in the dark, and quiet mornings filled with warmth and love. It was about their story—one already filled with so much life and meaning—but with so much more yet to be written.

And tonight, Clark Kent was ready to ask Y/N to write the rest of that story with him—forever.

With dinner prepared, the apartment glowing with warmth, and every thoughtful detail in place, Clark found himself standing in front of the hallway mirror, tugging at the collar of his white dress shirt for what felt like the tenth time. His fingers smoothed the fabric, adjusting the top button, then pausing as he reconsidered, ultimately leaving it undone for a more relaxed look.

He straightened his tie, only to frown and pull it loose again. His reflection stared back, resolute but edged with vulnerability, a flicker of nerves in his usually steady blue eyes.

With a slow, measured breath, he adjusted his glasses—pointless, really, but the familiar motion gave his restless hands something to do. The thin frames rested perfectly on the bridge of his nose, though he still fiddled with them out of habit. He braced his palms against the edge of the dresser, leaning forward, forehead nearly touching the cool surface of the mirror.

“This is fine,” he murmured, voice low but firm, as though willing himself to believe it. “You’ve faced supervillains, alien invasions… even world-ending threats.” He let out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “This is just… one question.”

But this question mattered more than anything else he’d ever done.

He exhaled slowly, centering himself, and straightened his posture, rolling his shoulders back as if preparing for battle. His reflection stared back, still strong but undeniably human—vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.

“He’s already said yes… a thousand different ways over the past ten years,” Clark whispered, almost as though speaking the words aloud would steady his heart. “This is just… making it official.”

He ran a hand through his dark, slightly tousled hair, pushing it back in a way he knew Y/N liked. His fingers lingered for a moment, brushing against his temple as he let out another breath, more controlled this time. He reached into the pocket of his dress pants and pulled out the small velvet box once again.

Flipping it open, he let his eyes rest on the ring inside—simple but elegant, timeless yet meaningful. He had chosen it with absolute certainty, picturing Y/N’s hand wearing it, imagining how it would feel to place it there himself. The thought made his chest tighten—not with fear, but with overwhelming love.

For a brief moment, the rest of the world faded away. There were no distant cries for help, no looming threats or urgent responsibilities. In this quiet space, there was only the promise of forever, contained in the small, glinting circle of gold resting in the velvet folds.

A soft, affectionate smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, chasing away the last traces of doubt. His voice, low but steady, broke the silence.

“You’ve got this, Kent.”

Just then, the familiar click of the front door unlocking echoed softly through the quiet apartment. His head snapped up, heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and joy.

Y/N was home.

Clark gently closed the ring box, slipping it back into his pocket with practiced care. His pulse quickened, but his hands were steady now. He smoothed his shirt one last time, inhaling deeply, letting the love he felt ground him.

This was the moment. The beginning of something new, built on ten years of shared memories, quiet mornings, and promises unspoken but always understood.

Y/N stepped inside of the apartment, already shrugging off his coat after a long, tiring day at work. He reached out automatically to flip the light switch, expecting the familiar glow of the overhead light—but paused, his fingers hovering in midair.

Something was different.

The apartment was already softly illuminated—not by the usual bright lights, but by the gentle, flickering glow of candles scattered throughout the living room and dining area. A delicate floral fragrance, light and fresh, mingled with the mouthwatering aroma of something savory and richly seasoned wafting from the kitchen. Y/N blinked, his eyes widening as he slowly took in the transformed space before him.

The usually simple, everyday dining table was unrecognizable—draped in a pristine white tablecloth that gleamed softly under the warm candlelight. Two polished wine glasses stood side by side, catching the soft light like tiny prisms, while their best silverware lay neatly arranged on elegant dinner plates. In the center of the table sat a beautifully arranged bouquet of fresh flowers—roses, lilies, and eucalyptus sprigs woven together with thoughtful care. Their delicate petals glowed softly in the candlelight, their fragrance blending seamlessly with the warm, inviting smells of home-cooked food.

Y/N’s gaze drifted toward the kitchen, where a small serving tray waited, holding a carefully plated dinner beneath a gleaming silver cover. Steam still gently wafted from beneath the lid, hinting at something savory and delicious inside. The mouthwatering scent of garlic, herbs, and seared meat hung in the air, making his stomach growl despite the emotional tightness building in his chest.

He took a tentative step forward, feeling his breath hitch as he noticed the living room. There, on the rustic coffee table, was a familiar stack of their favorite movies—the ones they always watched on cozy nights in, when they just needed to be close. A thick, cozy blanket was neatly folded over the back of the couch, inviting and familiar, ready for when the night wound down. Everything was arranged with such intention, such thoughtfulness… such love.

Y/N pressed a trembling hand over his mouth, overwhelmed by the sheer care and intimacy behind every detail. His heart thudded against his ribs, pounding with disbelief and something deeper, something warmer. Was this really happening? Did Clark… do all of this?

Before he could fully process the scene, a quiet creak of the kitchen floorboards caught his attention. He turned slowly, his breath still uneven, and his gaze landed on Clark standing just a few steps away.

Clark’s hands rested loosely at his sides, fidgeting slightly—a rare crack in his usually steady composure—but his expression was soft, warm, and impossibly tender. His deep blue eyes held an intensity that stole Y/N’s breath—not the intensity of a hero prepared for battle, but of a man utterly, irrevocably in love.

“Clark… what is all this?” Y/N whispered, voice trembling with emotion.

Clark’s lips curved into a gentle, familiar smile—the kind that had always felt like home. His eyes shimmered with warmth, reflecting ten years of shared memories, quiet mornings, and late-night talks. “Happy anniversary,” he murmured, taking a slow, measured step closer.

Y/N let out a shaky breath, his gaze flickering from the candlelit table to the familiar stack of movies—and finally back to the man who had done all of this. The man he loved with every fiber of his being. “You… you did all this… for me?” His voice cracked, disbelief and affection tangling in his throat.

Clark’s smile widened just a fraction, his eyes softening even further. “For us,” he corrected gently, his voice steady but filled with quiet vulnerability.

Y/N felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, his heart swelling so much it almost hurt. Every detail—the flowers, the meal, the movies, the candles—felt like a physical manifestation of the life they had built together. A life filled with love, warmth, and quiet, shared moments that meant everything.

His hands trembled as he reached for Clark, closing the space between them in a heartbeat. His arms wrapped tightly around Clark’s strong frame, pulling him into an embrace filled with every unspoken word he couldn’t seem to say. Clark held him just as fiercely, his face burying into Y/N’s shoulder, breathing him in like he was the only thing that mattered.

Y/N’s breath hitched against Clark’s neck, a soft, broken sound of love and wonder. Neither of them moved for a long moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, grounded in the familiarity and promise of what they shared.

In that moment, there was no world outside, no responsibilities, no distant cries for help—only them. Two hearts, intertwined and steady, standing at the edge of something new, something even deeper than what had come before.

Surrounded by the gentle glow of candlelight and the quiet warmth of home, Clark held Y/N tighter, silently promising that this—they—would always be his greatest adventure.

And tonight, their forever was just beginning.

The warm glow of candlelight flickered softly across the cozy apartment, casting gentle, golden light over every familiar surface. Y/N and Clark sat comfortably on the well-worn couch, plates balanced carefully on their laps while the familiar sounds of their favorite movie played quietly in the background. The soft crackle of the candles still burning on the dining table blended with the movie’s soundtrack, creating an atmosphere of warmth, intimacy, and quiet joy.

Clark had insisted on serving the meal himself, carrying each perfectly plated dish with the care of someone offering up something precious. The garlic-herb steak, creamy mashed potatoes, and perfectly sautéed vegetables looked like something from a five-star restaurant—but tasted even better. Each bite was rich, savory, and cooked exactly the way Y/N liked it.

“This is so good,” Y/N mumbled around another bite, eyes widening with genuine delight. “Seriously… did you take a secret cooking class or something? How do you always nail this?”

Clark chuckled, a faint blush rising in his cheeks. He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish but clearly pleased. “I might’ve… practiced a little,” he admitted, his voice low and warm. “I just wanted tonight to be perfect.”

Y/N’s heart swelled at the quiet sincerity in Clark’s words. The love behind every carefully considered detail of the evening hit him all at once—the flowers, the candles, the dinner, the movies—all thoughtfully chosen, all crafted with so much care. He set his plate down on the coffee table, suddenly unable to focus on the food when something far more important was sitting right beside him.

Without a word, Y/N reached out and gently placed his hand over Clark’s, his fingertips tracing slow, familiar patterns across the back of Clark’s strong, calloused hand. The warmth of his skin was grounding, comforting, home.

“You are perfect,” Y/N whispered, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. “This whole night… the dinner, the movies, the candles… everything. It’s perfect.”

Clark’s breath caught, his eyes softening as he gently turned his hand to entwine their fingers together. His thumb traced slow, reassuring circles over Y/N’s knuckles, a quiet gesture that spoke volumes.

“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” Y/N continued, his gaze never leaving Clark’s. “But you did. You always do… You always find a way to make me feel so loved.”

Clark’s breath hitched slightly, his fingers tightening just a little around Y/N’s hand. His voice was low but steady, full of quiet intensity. “You are loved… more than anything… more than I could ever say.”

Y/N’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, his heart pounding with affection so deep it felt impossible to contain. Slowly, he leaned in, resting his forehead gently against Clark’s, savoring the quiet, shared connection. In that small, still moment, surrounded by the warm glow of flickering candles and the familiar hum of their shared life, nothing else existed—only them.

“Thank you… for all of this,” Y/N whispered, his voice breaking just slightly. “For everything.”

Clark smiled softly, tilting his head just enough to brush his lips gently against Y/N’s in a tender, lingering kiss. It was slow, filled with all the love and devotion words could never fully express. His hand cupped Y/N’s cheek, fingers sliding into his hair as he deepened the kiss just enough to make the world fall away.

When they finally parted, their foreheads still resting together, Clark’s voice was barely above a whisper—but steady and sure.

“There’s still… one more thing.”

Y/N blinked, momentarily caught off guard, curiosity sparking in his expression. “What do you mean?”

Clark’s hands trembled ever so slightly as he reached for Y/N’s, threading their fingers together with practiced ease, grounding himself in the familiar warmth of that touch. His heart pounded with a mixture of nerves and anticipation, but the feel of Y/N’s hand in his steadied him, like it always had.

“Come with me,” Clark whispered softly, his voice low but sure.

Y/N blinked in surprise but let Clark gently guide him off the couch and into the softly glowing living room. The flickering candlelight cast a warm halo around them, creating a setting that felt timeless, intimate, and entirely their own. Y/N’s expression shifted from curious to something deeper, something tender, as he felt the subtle tension in Clark’s usually steady grip.

Clark exhaled slowly, forcing himself to breathe, to be fully present in this moment he’d imagined countless times. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles over Y/N’s knuckles—a silent reassurance for both of them. When he finally met Y/N’s gaze, his deep blue eyes shimmered with emotion—vulnerable but unwavering, filled with love so profound it left no room for doubt.

“Y/N…” Clark began, his voice trembling just enough to reveal how much this meant to him. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to say… something I’ve been thinking about for a long time.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, his lips parting slightly in surprise, but he stayed quiet, his gaze steady, urging Clark to continue.

Clark tightened his hold ever so slightly, his hands enveloping Y/N’s like a protective barrier, keeping them both anchored in this moment. His voice grew steadier, though still thick with emotion.

“From the very first moment I saw you… back in high school… I knew,” Clark said softly, his eyes shining with memory and meaning. “I didn’t know exactly what ‘forever’ looked like back then… but I knew you were going to be someone important. The someone.”

Y/N’s eyes shimmered, already brimming with unshed tears as the weight of Clark’s words settled over him.

“We’ve built this incredible life together,” Clark continued, his voice deepening with quiet intensity. “Through moves, jobs… everything life’s thrown at us. And through it all… I’ve known one thing with absolute certainty.” He swallowed hard, his lips quirking into the faintest, most affectionate smile. “I want to spend every day, every moment… with you.”

Y/N’s breath shuddered as a tear slipped free, trailing slowly down his cheek.

Clark’s eyes softened even further as he gently wiped the tear away with his thumb. “I thought about this night so many times… about what I’d say… but I kept coming back to something you said once.”

Y/N blinked, his brow furrowing faintly as he tried to recall.

“It was a long time ago… back when we first talked about marriage,” Clark murmured, his deep voice softening into something reverent, as if he were holding a fragile, cherished memory in his hands. His gaze lowered for a brief moment, lost in the weight of what he was about to say. When he looked back up, his eyes gleamed with something raw and unguarded—love, hope, and nostalgia woven together.

“‘Don’t marry me just because we’ve been together forever…’” he repeated, his voice trembling ever so slightly as he spoke the familiar words. “You said that to me.”

The memory hit Y/N like a crashing wave—vivid, intimate, and achingly familiar. It had been during one of those long, late-night talks when the world outside didn’t matter, and the future felt like a distant, untouchable dream. Y/N remembered the quiet stillness of that night, the soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminating Clark’s thoughtful expression as they both lay tangled together, speaking from the heart without hesitation.

Clark’s warm fingers brushed gently over Y/N’s, grounding him in the present even as his words pulled him back to that deeply personal moment. His touch was familiar, steady, and reassuring—the same touch Y/N trusted through every joy, every storm, every uncertain tomorrow.

His voice softened even further, dipping into something more intimate, more earnest, as though he were speaking directly to your soul. “‘Marry me because you want to,’” he continued, his thumbs tracing slow, tender circles over the backs of Y/N’s hands. “‘Because you can’t see yourself with anyone else. Marry me… because you love me.’”

Y/N’s breath hitched as those words echoed through him, every syllable steeped in memory and meaning. They weren’t just words from the past—they were a promise him had once made without realizing how much they would come to define his future.

Tears welled in Y/N’s eyes, blurring the sight of Clark’s face, but Y/N could still see the love etched into every line, every tender curve of his expression. His gaze held Y/N’s with such fierce intensity that it felt like nothing else in the world existed—just the two of them, tethered by a shared history and an undeniable, enduring love.

Clark’s hands tightened around Y/N’s just slightly—not possessive, but grounding—anchoring them both in the weight of the present. His breath hitched as he whispered, “I never forgot those words… not for a second.”

His voice cracked, just faintly, but he pressed on, his expression resolute and filled with quiet determination. “I don’t want to marry you because of how long we’ve been together… or because it’s ‘what comes next.’ I want to marry you because there’s no one else I could ever imagine standing beside me. No one else I want to build a future with… grow old with.”

He let out a shaky breath, his eyes glistening as he whispered, “I want to marry you… because I love you.”

Y/N let out a soft, broken laugh, tears spilling freely now as he clung to Clark’s every word.

Clark’s breath hitched, his chest tightening with emotion. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered himself onto one knee, his gaze never wavering, his hands still cradling Y/N’s as though letting go was unthinkable. With quiet reverence, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the small velvet box he’d carried close to him all night. His fingers trembled only slightly as he opened it, revealing the simple yet elegant ring—a perfect symbol of the love they had built: enduring, strong, timeless.

“I do, Y/N,” Clark whispered, his voice raw with unguarded emotion. “I love you… endlessly. I see my forever… and it’s you. It’s always been you.”

His gaze softened further, shimmering with hope, love, and absolute certainty. “Will you… will you marry me?”

The room seemed suspended in breathless stillness—time stretching endlessly in the space between the question and the answer. Tears streamed down Y/N’s face as a choked, tearful laugh escaped his lips. He covered his mouth for just a second, overcome, before reaching down and pulling Clark up into his arms with a fierce, unrestrained embrace.

“Yes,” Y/N whispered, voice trembling but resolute. “Yes. A thousand times… yes.”

Clark let out a shaky, relieved laugh, wrapping his arms around Y/N like he never intended to let go. Their foreheads pressed together, tears mingling as they clung to the enormity of the moment—the life they had already built and the future they were now promising.

Time seemed to stop the moment Clark gently slid the ring onto Y/N’s finger. His large, warm hands trembled just enough for you to notice, though his grip remained steady and sure—like he was grounding himself in the reality of this moment. Clark’s ocean-blue eyes glistened with unshed tears, swirling with relief, joy, and an overwhelming depth of love that stole Y/N’s breath away. His expression softened as though the weight of anticipation he’d been carrying for weeks had finally lifted.

For a moment, all Y/N could do was stare at the ring sparkling brilliantly in the soft candlelight. Its elegance and meaning were undeniable, but even its beauty couldn’t compare to the way Clark was looking at Y/N—like he were the most precious, extraordinary person in the world, the very center of his universe.

Emotion swelled in Y/N’s chest, leaving him speechless. Tears blurred his vision, but through the shimmering haze, he could still see Clark—standing there, still holding his hand like he couldn’t bear to let go, his breath uneven as he searched your face for reassurance that this was real.

With every ounce of love, joy, and unspoken promise between them, Y/N closed the distance and pulled Clark into the most heartfelt, soul-deep kiss they had ever shared. It wasn’t rushed or urgent—it was steady, certain, and profound, like the turning of the earth, like something that had always been meant to happen.

Their lips met with a softness that carried ten years of shared history—nights spent laughing until their sides hurt, quiet mornings tangled in sheets as sunlight streamed through the windows, whispered promises exchanged in the dark when the world felt too heavy. This kiss held all of that—and more. It was the culmination of a thousand moments, big and small, that had built the life they shared.

Clark’s hands came up slowly, almost reverently, cradling Y/N’s face with a tenderness that spoke of how deeply he cherished this moment. His fingers brushed against Y/N’s jaw, his touch light but grounding, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was real. His lips moved against Y/N’s with aching sincerity, pouring his heart into the connection, into the unspoken vow that they would never have to let go.

Y/N’s arms wrapped securely around Clark’s broad shoulders, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them—only warmth, only love, only them. He felt Clark’s breath hitch ever so slightly against his mouth, felt the way his shoulders relaxed as though the weight of the world had finally fallen away, leaving only this perfect, timeless moment.

The soft glow of the candles flickered gently around them, casting dancing shadows across the familiar walls of their home. The delicate scent of roses and eucalyptus lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the comforting warmth still radiating from the hearth of the kitchen. The world outside seemed to hold its breath, quiet and still, as though honoring something sacred unfolding in that small, candle-lit apartment.

But the only warmth they truly felt was the steady, enduring fire they had always kindled in each other—the kind of warmth built over years of shared dreams, quiet comforts, and unconditional love.

When they finally pulled away, their foreheads rested together, breath mingling as they lingered in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Y/N’s fingers gently traced the edge of Clark’s jaw, his touch still trembling from the overwhelming rush of emotion. Clark’s eyes opened slowly, his deep blue gaze shining with love, awe, and absolute certainty.

“I love you,” Clark whispered, voice thick with emotion, as though the words weren’t nearly enough but still everything he needed to say.

Y/N smiled through tears that still shimmered in his eyes, his own voice breaking. “I love you… so much.”

Their fingers entwined again, holding on as though they never intended to let go—and they didn’t. They wouldn’t. This was forever.

Their story—already filled with so much life, so many memories and shared adventures—was only just beginning.

And in the soft, golden glow of their home, surrounded by the quiet beauty they had built together, they stood hand in hand—ready to write the next chapter, together.

#dc x male reader #dc #superman #superman x male reader #clark kent x male reader #henry cavill x male reader #x male reader #fluff #clark kent #henry cavill

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sha-biest · 4 months ago

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SHA's Golden Future DTIYS [Art & Writing]

Close ups of Mikey

About 10 days ago I had the idea to host a DTIYS and even though I told myself it wouldn't happen anytime soon.. the idea struck and it wouldn't let me go. SO, here it is! One thing before everything else:

1st place: One handmade custom plushie made by me

More information about this DTIYS down below

I am aware that this is a rather challenging DTIYS but it was done so intentionally by me. (Trust me, I tortured myself too 🙃) HOWEVER. you are allowed to chose to draw only one segment of the whole piece and not every single one! You will however get more points for including all 3 parts of it. I will judge the pieces based on: • How many segments of the whole piece were drawn • Creativity (in what way was it changed from the original to emphasize your own style for example) • Colors (did you chose to use colors or is it black and white?) • Hands. I do accept written entries for this as well! I love reading and I don't want to exclude writers for this one should they decide they want to tackle this! You are allowed to use my art up top of the DTIYS to promote your writing!

If you want to participate be sure to @sha-biest and use the tag #GoldenFutureDTIYS Additionaly, let me know what YOU would like to get as a plushie! (don't worry, you don't have to stick to that decision should it change over the course of the DTIYS)

Deadline: 10th March 2025 1st June 2025

More Info: • #GoldenFutureAU art tag • Written Story by Co-Creator @rosesofenvy (More about Mikey's mindscape and him unlocking his full mystic powers can be read in "Keep You Safe" especially within Chapter 4 and Chapter 8) • The Sun God's appearance here and here References:

Mikey's mindscape in Golden Future:

In the beginning he thought it was black water but it's actually black sand

He can dive into the sand and uncover "treasures" (parts of his mystic energy)

Diving down means no vision, sound or air gets through to him

He can uncover the mystic powers by pulling them up with his chains

Uncovering a "treasure" will turn that part of the desert golden

Disclaimer: • The plushie that can be won cannot be used to be reproduced and/or sold • The size of the plushie depends on the character chosen by the winner and by the package size I can send • I am by no means a professional plush maker so I do have the right to decline a character should I not be able to turn it into a plushie • Changes might need to be made to the chosen character for the plushie for more complicated details (I will provide sketches of possible versions) • Minors are permitted to participate, but only with the express permission of a guardian and limited correspondence if they win • You can chose to get a full illustration piece instead of a plushie should you win! (if you are too uncomfortable sharing your adress for example)

Plushie examples:

Questions can be send in via my ask box! I will try to compile them in here or give them a dtiyas specific tag! I'm curious what you guys come up with and most of all.. have fun! :D

PS: I will consider doing two first places (one for writing and one for art) depending on how many entries there are

#biestart #goldenfutureau #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #tmnt #rottmnt mikey #goldenfuture #GoldenFutureDTIYS

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wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 1 year ago

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Hiiiii could you do a fic where reader is pregnant for the first time? I need more soft!young president coriolanus so so bad

Soft as Snow || Young President!Coriolanus snow x reader

A/n: thank you for this request anon!! I need more soft coryo too 🥹

Warnings: fem!reader, mention of death

Wc: 860

Divider by @firefly-graphics

In the opulent sun room of the presidential mansion that you call your home, you sat in a plush chair with a bowl of fresh lychee perched carefully on your pregnant belly. The brightly lit room, adorned with decadent furnishings, seemed to reflect the weight of the world you carried not only as the First Lady but also as a soon-to-be-mother.

The door cracked open and Coriolanus entered with an air of authority that seemed to dissipate as he laid eyes on you, his precious wife. Coryo gestured the servants to leave the two of you alone as his steely gaze softened, and a small, genuine smile graced his lips as he approached.

"May I?" he gestured toward the empty space on the chair beside you. You nodded with an eager smile and he took a seat, his eyes fixed on your protruding belly which was covered by the softness of your silk dress. Gently, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. "How are you feeling, my love?"

His voice, usually reserved and commanding to people outside of his inner circle, held a tenderness and softness that sent a comforting shiver down your spine. You couldn't help but smile at the sincerity in his question.

"I'm well, Coryo. Our baby seems to be quite content by these lychees," You chuckle as your rub your stomach. Coryo smiles, lychees were a rare fruit to come by this time of year but he made sure that you were fed only the most juiciest, ripe, lychees.

"I'm glad," he hums. His hand finds its way to your belly, fingers tracing delicate patterns on the fabric of your dress, ghosting over your skin underneath. "It's a remarkable thing, life," he mused, his eyes reflecting a mix of emotions—awe, anticipation, and a hint of vulnerability.

You watch him knowing where his mind was at. The thought of his mother dying during birth along with his baby sister. You knew that he was scared. Scared that maybe you would have the same fate as his late mother. But you assured Coryo, that times have changed and that you would be alright.

The weight of his responsibilities seemed to momentarily fade as he focused on you and the life growing inside you. Your fingers dipped into the fruit bowl, a lychee in between your fingers as you bring it to your lips, Coriolanus watching with fascination. The atmosphere hung in a delicate balance, as if time itself had slowed down to savour this tranquil interlude.

"Have you thought about names," he asked, breaking the silence. You chuckled softly, the sound echoing through the room, "I have actually. Vicky," you watch Snow's features contort into a mixture of emotions.

"Vicky. like my mothers-" "Yes, like your mother's name." You interrupt him as your thumb brushes over the back of his hand, a comforting gesture that spoke volumes. "I love it. Vicky Snow," He says with a smile on his face.

As you continued to share the bowl of fruit, the conversation drifted from politics to dreams, hopes and the shared future that awaited your family. Coriolanus, a man known for his strategic mind and politics, revealed a more vulnerable side, a side reserved for you, his wife carrying his child.

Time slipped away, and the room glowered in the soft hues of twilight. Coriolanus stood, his eyes lingering on you with an affectionate gaze. "I've got state matters to deal with, my dear. Just know, you and our child are always on my mind."

Days turned into weeks, and the swell of your belly grew more pronounced. The Capitol buzzed with excitement over the impending arrival of the newest member of the Snow legacy. Coriolanus, ever the stoic leader, became a pillar of support, attending to your needs with a grace that contradicted his ruthless reputation.

One evening, as the two of you stood on the balcony overlooking the Capitol, he wrapped his arms around you, his hands resting protectively on your belly. The lights of the city below shimmered like a sea of stars, and for a moment, it felt like the world paused to witness the union of power and vulnerability.

As the days dwindled down to the eagerly anticipated arrival, Coriolanus stood by your side, a beacon of strength. The birthing room, stark and sterile, contrasted sharply with the opulence of the Capitol. Yet, in that space, you found an intimacy that transcended the political stage.

The first cry of your newborn filled the room, and Coriolanus held the tiny bundle in his arms with a reverence that bordered on awe. His usually composed demeanor crumbled, replaced by the unfiltered joy of fatherhood.

"She's so beautiful, just like her mother," He whispers, his eyes never leaving the small face nestled in his arms. "Thank you, thank you for gifting me a gift beyond measure," Coryo looks at you as you couldn't help but let a teardrop roll down your cheek as you gazed at the future you had brought into the word.

You couldn't help but marvel at the unexpected beauty that had blossomed in the heart of the Capitol's calculated power.

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satellite-evans · 5 months ago

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sea view

Pairing: Harry Styles x wife!reader

Summary: Harry and his pregnant wife spending a day at the beach <3

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: fluff

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The golden sun hung lazily on the horizon, stretching its warm fingers across the beach. Each wave that lapped at the shore seemed to echo the steady rhythm of your heart, entwined with his. Harry’s hand slid down to yours, lacing your fingers together as you walked along the edge of the tide, the cool water occasionally licking at your toes. His thumb traced idle patterns against your skin, the gesture almost absentminded but deeply affectionate. The closeness of him made your chest feel full, as if the love you shared could hardly be contained in such a quiet moment.

Harry stopped suddenly, letting out a content sigh and stretching his arms out wide as if to embrace the entire ocean. “Do you ever stop to think about how mad all this is?” he asked, his voice tinged with wonder. He looked back at you, his eyes softening as they landed on your growing bump. “Me, you, this little bean in here.”

His free hand grazed your belly, his fingertips trailing delicately over the fabric of your sundress. The tenderness of the gesture sent a wave of warmth through you, a shiver of excitement and love.

“Mad is one way to describe it,” you replied, a smile curling on your lips. “Miraculous is another.”

“Miraculous,” Harry repeated, the word rolling off his tongue as if savoring it. He stopped walking entirely, tugging your hand gently to pull you closer. The sight of him then—bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun, his features soft with awe—took your breath away.

“I don’t think there’s a single word that could do justice to this,” he said, his voice quieter now. His hand splayed fully over your belly, his fingers flexing slightly as if memorizing the curve of your form. “Or to you.”

You felt your cheeks flush under his gaze, and you ducked your head instinctively, embarrassed by the intensity of his admiration. Harry wasn’t having it, though. His fingers tilted your chin up with a gentle insistence, and his smile—equal parts cheeky and adoring—melted your heart.

“Don’t you dare look away,” he teased, his voice low and playful. “I want to see that glow.”

“Harry, you’re ridiculous,” you mumbled, though you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling.

“Ridiculously in love with my wife,” he corrected, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against yours. “And ridiculously lucky that she agreed to carry my baby, even if I did forget to take the bins out last night.”

“Oh, don’t think I’ve forgotten that,” you quipped, poking him lightly in the chest. “But maybe I’ll forgive you… if you’re good.”

“Define ‘good,’” he murmured, his voice dropping into that lower, teasing tone that always turned your knees to jelly.

Before you could answer, he kissed you. It was slow and deep, like the tide itself had paused just to give you this moment. His lips moved against yours with a kind of reverence that made your heart race, and when he finally pulled back, you were breathless, leaning into him for support.

“Good enough?” he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You laughed, pushing lightly at his chest. “Barely. But you’re getting there.”

By the time you reached the blanket he’d set up on the sand, Harry had already shrugged off his shoes and set down the picnic basket he’d carried. The blanket was oversized and ridiculously plush, covered in cushions that looked far too fancy for a beach day. You arched a brow at him as you lowered yourself carefully onto it.

“This is very… elaborate,” you teased, smoothing a hand over the soft fabric.

“Only the best for my girl,” Harry said, dropping to his knees beside you and immediately pulling a container of strawberries from the basket.

“For the lady,” he said with a theatrical flourish, holding one up to your lips. The grin on his face was pure mischief, but it softened when you took the strawberry, your teeth sinking into the juicy fruit. He watched you like you were performing magic, his gaze warm and unblinking.

“You’re spoiling me,” you said, leaning back against the cushions with a smirk.

“You deserve to be spoiled,” he replied, his voice turning serious. He shifted to lie on his side next to you, propping himself up on one elbow. His free hand found its natural place on your bump, his fingers spreading wide as though he wanted to feel every inch of the connection between you and the baby. “Can I spoil you a little more?”

“What are you up to, Styles?” you asked suspiciously, narrowing your eyes.

“I was thinking,” he said, a mischievous glint sparking in his gaze, “that the sea looks awfully inviting. Fancy a swim?”

You hesitated, glancing out at the gentle waves. “I don’t know. I feel like a beached whale these days.”

Harry let out a laugh, his eyes crinkling in that way that made your heart flutter. “Don’t even joke about that. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And I mean it. Come on, love. Let me hold you in the water. It'll feel good.”

The water was cooler than you’d expected, but not unpleasant. True to his word, Harry’s arms were around you the moment you waded in, holding you close as if you might drift away.

“See? This isn’t so bad, is it?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. The closeness made your heart flutter, and you wrapped your arms around his neck for balance.

“No, not bad,” you admitted, leaning into him. The sensation of the water buoying your weight was freeing, and you found yourself relaxing completely against his chest.

Harry’s hands roamed gently—one resting against the curve of your lower back, the other slipping under the water to cradle your belly. His thumb rubbed soft circles, and his touch felt reverent, almost worshipful.

“You’re carrying a part of me,” he said, his voice quiet, almost as if he was talking to himself. “Our baby. How do you do it? How are you this strong?”

Your throat tightened at his words, but you managed a small laugh. “I think you’ve got a romanticized view of it. There’s a lot of complaining and ice cream involved.”

“And I’ll listen to every complaint and buy every pint of ice cream for the rest of our lives,” he vowed, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder. “You’re everything to me, you know that?”

You nodded, suddenly overcome with emotion. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.

Harry kissed you then, his lips capturing yours with a tenderness that made you feel as though the entire world had disappeared.

When you returned to the blanket, the sun was dipping below the horizon, leaving the sky painted in hues of pink and orange. Harry handed you a towel and then promptly decided it was a better idea to dry your legs himself, taking far longer than necessary and sneaking cheeky kisses every time he bent closer.

“You know what I think?” he said, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Hmm?”

“I think our baby is going to be just like you—kind, strong, stubborn as hell,” he teased, earning a light elbow to the ribs. He winced dramatically. “Oi, I’m fragile, you know!”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” you replied, trying to sound annoyed, though your smile betrayed you.

“Insufferably handsome,” he corrected, puffing his chest out a little. “And insufferably mad about you.”

“Oh, here we go,” you groaned playfully, covering your face with your hands. “Should I prepare myself for another Shakespearean sonnet about my ‘radiant glow’?”

“Not just a glow—your divine luminescence,” he countered with a grin, rolling onto his back and pretending to gaze at the sky. “It rivals the sun, the moon, the stars—”

“Alright, enough!” you said, laughing as you reached for a pillow from the blanket and swung it at him. Harry caught it with a laugh, holding it above his head like a trophy.

“Violence against a man praising his wife!” he exclaimed, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “What will the baby think?”

“They’ll think you’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love,” he shot back, leaning over to kiss you despite the pillow still clutched in his hand. “But you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly as you pushed him back onto the blanket. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Harry grinned, tossing the pillow aside and pulling you closer until your head rested on his chest again. “I really am,” he said quietly, the humor giving way to genuine affection in his tone. After a beat, he added, “But if the baby gets my sense of humor, you’re in trouble.”

“Oh, God,” you groaned, shaking your head. “Then I really will be outnumbered.”

Harry let out a loud laugh, the sound blending with the waves as the sky deepened into twilight. The two of you stayed there, bickering playfully and exchanging kisses until the stars began to appear, painting the start of your next chapter in a perfect blend of love and laughter.

#fluff #harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles x wife!reader #harry styles x pregnant!reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x fem!reader

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queenofwands89 · 9 months ago

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Stolen Hearts and Cuddles

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Reader

Summary: While cuddling, Jake tells Y/N that she made him believe in love at first sight.

Warning: Tooth rotting fluff.

Notes: Hello, this is my first Jake fic. I just watched twisters with my family last week, and it got me back in my Glen Powell feels (Always been down bad for him the movie just reignited that spark lmao), so yeah I hope you enjoy byeeee.

The sun has set, and the soft glow from the table lamp casts a warm, cozy light across the living room. You’re nestled together on the plush leather couch, your head resting on Jake's chest as you listen to the gentle hum of the city outside your window. The faint aroma of popcorn lingers in the air, remnants of your impromptu movie night.

Jake's arm is draped protectively around you, his fingers tracing absent-minded patterns on your shoulder. You find solace in these moments – the simplicity of being close to him, away from the chaos of the naval base and the pressure of his duties as a aviator.

“Y’know,” Jake's voice breaks the comfortable silence, a confident lilt even in his softer moments, “I used to think love at first sight was just a myth. A fairytale people tell themselves to make life seem a little more magical.”

Tilting your head slightly, you look up at him, your curious eyes meeting his green, mischievous yet earnest gaze. “Oh really?” you tease, a playful smile dancing on your lips. “The great Lieutenant Jake Seresin, charmer extraordinaire, didn’t believe in love?”

A chuckle rumbles from his chest, making you vibrate with the sound. “Hard to believe, huh?” he smirks. “But yeah, I was always about the next mission, the next challenge. Love seemed like a distraction.”

Your fingers play with the hem of his navy blue T-shirt, your touch sending electric shivers down his spine. “So, what changed?” you ask softly, genuinely intrigued.

Jake’s expression softens, the cockiness melting away to reveal the depth of his feelings. He gently cups your face with his hand, his thumb caressing your cheek. “You,” he says simply. “You changed everything.”

Your heart flutters at his words, and you lean into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palm against your skin. “How?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Jake’s eyes lock with yours, reflecting a sincerity that’s often hidden behind his confident exterior. “The first time I saw you, it felt like someone had flipped a switch inside me. Suddenly, life wasn't just about flying high and chasing adrenaline. It was about finding a way to keep you by my side, to protect you, to love you.”

He takes a deep breath, as if steadying himself to say something deeply personal. “You didn’t just capture my attention, Y/N. You stole my heart. Completely and irrevocably. And for the first time, I realized that love isn’t a distraction. It’s what makes all the risks worth taking.”

You feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, your emotions welling up at his heartfelt confession. “Jake…” you begin, but he gently hushes you, his gaze soft yet intense.

“I’m serious, Y/N. You’re my everything. My whole world. The one I’d sacrifice everything for,” he continues, his voice filled with unwavering conviction. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as your lips meet in a tender, passionate kiss. Each touch, each breath seems to reaffirm your bond, a silent promise of the future you will build together.

When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his, your heart racing. “I love you, Jake. More than words can say.”

“I love you more baby,” he replies, his voice a soft murmur in the intimate space you share. “More than you could ever know.”

You settle back into his comfortable embrace, the weight of the world outside disappearing as you lose yourself in each other. In that moment, in the safety of your love, you find a tranquility you have never known before.

As you drift off to sleep, the world outside continues to spin, but for you and Jake, your universe is right there on that couch – wrapped in each other's arms, in a cocoon of stolen hearts and unyielding love.

#jake seresin #top gun maverick #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #hangman x reader #jake hangman x reader #top gun fanfiction #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x you #tgm #top gun #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin fic #jake seresin imagine #hangman fanfiction #hangman imagine #glen powell #glen powell fanfic

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renhanaschewtoy · 5 months ago

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Coworkers

FINALLY. I'm so sorry it took so long. All the chaos and junk really got the better of me. I hope y'all like this, I really tried. I can't wait to write more. Strade's Favorite Bartender will be next! 💚 NSFW MDNI

You’d always had a certain fondness for Lawrence you supposed. He was always the quiet guy at work, hesitant to ever really speak or have attention be directed his way.

And it wasn’t like you’d bulldozed into his life either.

It had started small, really. He was stronger than he looked and often you both shared shifts. You’d asked him a few times if he could help you move some things, speed up the task and he’d always given a little nod and followed you to do so.

You wanted to bridge that gap, you bought some tea you kept in your locker, offering it to Lawrence on breaks. At first he just stared at you for a long moment before slowly giving a nod of his head, crystalline eyes directed anywhere but you. And then grabbing the sandwiches or other items from the corner Mart you saw him buy from time to time. You simply wanted Lawrence to feel appreciated in the warehouse. That you were grateful he helped you.

And it turned into routine after a little while.

Sharing breaks, eating together in the silence that was the wee hours of morning before the sun broke. Settled in the stale smelling break room or outside on the bench in the parking lot, side by side. You usually did most of the talking but from time to time, it was exciting to hear Lawrence talk. When he'd mention his plants, the most recent time he went on a trek through the park or on a hike, better was when he’d actually give you his opinion. Even if it was differing. If it weren’t for the occasional stutter or stammer, you’d reckon to say he’d have a rich voice. Dulcet to you, if you dare say so.

You gave him your number, just in case you switched shifts at work or something came up of course! Though that didn’t stop you from sending the occasional message asking how he was doing, or if you shared a shift a “have a good night! Oops, I mean morning!” sort of text. You wanted to endear yourself to Lawrence.

And you had.

You wormed your way under his skin and into his heart like vines of twisting ivy, you made it hard for Lawrence to breathe around you sometimes. The saccharine scent about you that was so alien, so absolutely opposite of damp rot and soil he’d become accustomed to. You were the fragrant bulbs of flowers he tried to nurture and fight the impulse to cut. You were soft, you were succulent in a way Lawrence didn’t understand like the occasional ones he had spotted around his apartment. Visions of you swam in his head at night in his bed, in the fog of his shower. Emboldened by the haze of burnt hash of a blunt that was discarded on the ashtray nearby. Lawrence wondered how you would feel…from the inside. How different you would feel from his hand. Water or lotion made do in a pinch when he’d fist himself to completion, more often than not he would grow frustrated after the clarity hit him.

“huff…huff…nngh…f-fuck…(Name)...” Water cascades down Lawrence’s pale body, head bowed with one hand braced against the cool tile wile the other hand stroked his weeping cock. You brushed up against him on more than one occasion today, he felt the soft warmth of your skin through your clothes, caught a peek of skin when you’d reach up high, Lawrence swore…goddamn it, he could hear the blood in your veins. Your hand brushed against his when you handed him a paper cup of some herbal tea you’d been so proud to prattle about hoping he’d like it. And he’d die before telling you that it was actually too sweet for his taste. But maybe that was you and your influence on the moment. Too sweet. His breathing grew ragged as his glacier eyes screwed shut, trying a slight twist of his wrist as Lawrence fisted his cock; reliving the encounters behind his eyelids.

The warm flush of your cheeks, he wondered how much blood could reach the apples of them…the plush look of your lips that always curled into a little grin, what might they look like swollen from his own pressed to them or his teeth sinking into them? Would your heart hammer in your chest? Or would it be slow and calm? Would you let him touch you? Actually touch you? To crawl inside of you and feel your warmth from the inside, to break your ribs and truly be in your embrace until you were cold and still like he often felt. A grunt passed Lawrence’s lips as he grappled with the thoughts– did he want that? No…no, he didn’t think he did. Lawrence wanted to savor you if he was ever presented the opportunity. You’d feel different. You were different. His mind rewound and pulled forward like a video on a loop, searching for just the thing to focus on. That breathless face you made after exerting yourself, the way your breathing drew a little rough and you tried to chuckle through, the way your (color) eyes would look up at him so gratefully in a way only you ever looked at him.

“Hhngh…haah…(N-Name)...” Lawrence choked your name from his throat as a shudder ripped down his spine, hips jerking erratically in a rhythm that grew sloppy before pearly, viscous cum splurted forward, coating his hand and dropping into the water to disappear down the drain. The smell of stale, foggy air and eucalyptus as the evidence of his mild perversion disappeared from sight. Maybe that’s why it was always easier in the shower. His panting eventually subsided into just one heavy sigh, the heaviness left him and again the frustration followed.

It wasn’t the same.

It wasn’t you.

Maybe Lawrence was getting greedy. Not that he could ever act on it. It always made him seize up worse when you were just looking at him with those eyes of yours. So patient for whatever he may say or do. It was maddening that he let it get this far. That you somehow had sunk so deeply into him instead that keeping you was now a regular rotation in his fantasy. That fire fed and fanned by content he consumed on the internet. But there was always just a slight pause on maybe trying such on you. Maybe. Exhaling through his nose, Lawrence turns off the water and steps out of the shower. His brow is deep set in thought as he lazily towels off his pallid skin and blonde hair that falls over his shoulders limply still damp.

Dressing for bed, Lawrence dares to glance at his phone- he never gets notifications. Not really. Just from you. And today must be one of those nights that the stars just align, one message from you.

(Name): “Hey!! I have some news tomorrow!”

Lawrence’s brows furrow and lips press in a thin line, he’s not sure how to reply. If he should. But he wants to.

Lawrence: Okay.

Like most or any social interaction- not his best work. Not that you cared. It never stopped you at all or caught you off. Most might find him brusque and socially awkward, which wasn’t untrue. Lawrence doesn’t linger on the thoughts of what it could possibly be, it could be anything with you; infinitely more optimistic than himself. You found the silver linings in most things, took joy in the small victories or whathaveyou. Something he would possibly find overwhelming or even annoying but you seemed to broach him a way just so that it never…felt that way. Lawrence didn’t want to keep you at an arms length like he had the first handful of shifts where he’d nearly tried to avoid you. And now he craved you. You were sunlight, warm and necessary. You were nourishment Lawrence didn’t believe he needed. He was starved in ways that didn’t make sense.

Tugging on old, worn sweatpants, Lawrence crawls into his bed and tries to settle in and stares at the ceiling for a while before his breathing lulls into sleep.

The next day, the next shift. Stars litter the sky and the moon hangs along them. The streets are mostly dead, the silent stillness of the parking lot of the warehouse is usually comforting but there’s an odd looming sense regarding your news and Lawrence doesn’t know why. Why his stomach turns and twists so strangely when he sees you eagerly wave him over as he pushes the heavy door open after a swipe from his employee badge.

“Hey, Law!” you greet, warmly as ever- you were probably the only one who forced themself to adapt to the lifestyle of working this shift and still function. Or function better than most of the other workers here. Granted it made sense to Lawrence, it was what he preferred though it never showed.

Lawrence gives a low hum of acknowledgement you had grown accustomed to as you met him halfway to walk to the lockers together. “You…mentioned you had news…?” After spinning the dial on his lock, those piercing baby blues turned to you, seeming to perk up at his voice addressing you.

You bite your lip in that way that makes him wish he could be one of your teeth. To feel the plush skin under pressure. Lawrence blinks before turning his focus back to your eyes. “Yeah! Yeah, I finally got a grown up job, heh…” You run a hand through your (length) (color) (type) hair, your grin faltering to something almost akin to nervousness or anxiety. Because all Lawrence can do is stare at you with a blank, unreadable expression. The silence hangs over heavy as you scuff your shoe on the floor.

“... you're quitting…?” It feels like he's choking it out but if he did, you didn't seem to notice. And he's grateful for it.

“Well, yeah, I mean…I gave my two weeks. It's just…I can't work here forever. It doesn't pay enough and I'm not exactly cut out for it long term.” You admit with a little bob of your head, glancing around the warehouse stacked with pallets and equipment. And it was true if Lawrence was being honest, you weren't as strong to continue this sort of labor for long without it doing something to your musculature or God forbid your beautiful bones. It was bad enough when you bruised.

“...oh.” There's an odd sort of thrum in his chest he can't discern, a tension that settles tight in too many places for his liking. Your sharp eyes seem to snap to him at the monosyllabic reply and soften. That look. Not of pity, just soft.

“But we can still text! Or meet up on off days! I'd like to check out that trail sometime, if you'd be down?” You're quick, so quick, to offer him the modicum of comfort. That you somehow, some way, want to be around him even when no longer coworkers. You were so odd. But it wasn't unwelcome. “But uh…I was gonna throw a little party. At my place with people from our shift. If you wanted to come.”

Lawrence raises a brow at that, it isn't a “no” (it would be for anyone else)but it's more of that confusion. He didn't do parties. He didn't do other people. Crowded spaces. Not without some sort of necessity or incentive tied to it. His pause seems to make you fidget. “I know it's not your thing, so don't feel you have to or anything. But it would really nice to have you there.” You uplilt your word with that hopeful tone.

He shifts on his feet, his eyes unable to hold your gaze. Honestly? He doesn't want to. He really doesn't want to. Lawrence shifts on his feet a little as if still chewing all of the information over. He didn't like any of it. Most of all your leaving. Your absence would be felt so deeply. Lawrence felt like had something, had someone, even on the humdrum shifts you shared. Be it normalcy, warmth, Lawrence didn't know. But he wasn't about to let it go. Let you go. He couldnt. You might be vines constricting around him, but Lawrence could be all the thistles, barbs, and thorns in the world of it kept you ensnared to him.

Sometimes the stars just aligned like that.

“But, like I said- I know it's not…”

“I'll come.”

You blink up at Lawrence, surprise stark on your face for just a moment at his definitive tone. It lingers before your lips curl into a toothy grin making his heart thud against his ribs. “Yeah? That's great. Really great.” You pull out your phone and tap on it few times before a buzzing comes from his pocket. “That's my address, it starts at seven but y'know…it's a party so show up whenever.” You shrug casually.

Lawrence glances to the side, racking his brain for a moment, thinking of what next, of what to do when he gets there- nevermind that it's days away. “Alright! Well, let's go kick this shift in the teeth!” You chime, clapping your hands together and wandering off to whatever task you were assigned and Lawrence slowly trailing after you.

×××

Relationships were complicated. People were complicated. Well…living people were complicated anyway. For the briefest moment Lawrence thinks back to his family, people that meant little to him in the grand scheme of things but whether he liked it or not was part of his building blocks. At least a little.Which brought a vague memory of a muffled voice from childhood, “We can’t go to a dinner party empty handed.” A few hours before Lawrence decided he would make his appearance, he stopped at the liquor store on the corner to bring a bottle of…fuck. What did you even like?? All you drank when you were together was whatever was at the vending machines, the convenience store, or tea. Lawrence stood near the door of the shop- bottles lined all over the shelves and walls. Advertisements of several brand plastered all over in bright colors or neons.

Augh.

Eventually Lawrence meanders over to the wine section, staring at the bottles blankly, drifting from label to label. White wine? Red wine? If you would even drink it. Dry? Semi? Sweet? It was alcohol for fuck’s sake, why did it have to be so complicated. With a shake of his head, frustration beginning to simmer in the pit of his stomach, Lawrence swipes a bottle of sweet red with a delicate looking label adorned in little gilded flowers. Maybe even if you didn’t like it, you would think it’s pretty. Or maybe you’d think he was weird, like most other people– no…no, that wasn’t true. It was you. None of his antisocial tendencies seemed to deter you or bother you, opposite; you’d been nothing but accommodating and patient with Lawrence.

Keeping his head down, Lawrence shoves a few bills at the unbothered clerk who bothers to spare him a second glance before he begins the trek to where your apartment is supposed to be. Gingerly stepping through the building, Lawrence lingers in the hallway probably a beat longer than necessary before rapping his knuckles against the door. His palms are sweaty as he cradles the bottle of wine and waits…and waits…he can hear the thrum of bass through the door, music playing paired with a few voices…by the sound of it, not to many people (thankfully) or so he hoped. Just as he debated leaving and tossing away any hopeful ideations, the door is abruptly pulled open to reveal you. In more casual clothes. A warm flush blooms beautifully over your cheeks that has his breath hitch ever so slightly.

“Law! Oh man, I was beginning to worry you weren’t gonna show up!” You lilt, posture so much more relaxed and…oh. Lawrence spies the red plastic cup in your hand, of course. It was a party. People drank. He brought a bottle that he’d almost forgotten about seeing you the way you were. The drunk blush on your cheeks looked ever so enticing. “C’mon, c’mon in!” You usher him in warmly and he can take in your apartment. Posters decorate the walls, well loved furniture, a small cozy kitchen…that same sweetened perfume that was so uniquely you seemed to seep into the very walls. Lawrence shuffles inside, keeping his eyes down, only sparing glances to the other coworkers mingling around your place. Some chatting, some playing video games you had set up on your television, others bobbing a little to the music.

Lawrence’s hands tighten around the bottle before looking up to you and awkwardly thrusting it towards you. “I…I didn’t know what to bring…If I should bring anything.” He admits, biting the inside of his cheek as you blink and accept it, looking it over.

“Huh? That’s real sweet of you, thanks Law! Wine, huh? Fancy. I’ve never really tried it.” You inspect it, but keep it carefully tucked in the crook of your arm, though before Lawrence can feel embarrassed about his actions you give a mischievous grin. “You’ll have to come over again and maybe try it with me, huh? Can’t drink alone.” You chime warmly before disappearing only briefly to tuck it safely in the kitchen so nobody thinks to open it. Something for just the two of you…it ignites a spark of hope that he allows himself to buoy on for comfort now that he’s vastly out of his element. You poke your head out of the kitchen, “You want something to drink? I can mix you something or uh…I’ve got water, soda, juice…” Lawrence takes the opportunity to follow you and the variety of beverages and snacks.

Opting for water, Lawrence takes up post along one of your walls, simply watching you and everyone else. Time ticks on as his hands worry the label of the water bottle to shreds. The music feels too loud, he can feel the bass in his bones. Nobody but you really wants to talk to him, he’s spared a nod of acknowledgement or a brief greeting but nothing more- if anything people seem surprised to see him here at all. Lawrence swallows thickly and glances to the clock and moves to stand up and you seemingly appear out of nowhere. Your eyes seem to trace over his features, lingering on his face for a beat before you do that wonderful thing you do. Soften up. Relax. “Hey...I know this isn’t really your scene. It can probably be a lot huh? Here…my room is quieter, you can chill there for a bit maybe? Kinda decompress? I really…hah…I really don’t want you to go yet…if that’s okay?” The alcohol has you emboldened, your lips a little looser, your thoughts more apt to slip between them.

And a strange warmth is surging through his veins, he feels it in his own cheeks, feels his fingers twitch slightly before Lawrence finds himself nodding. Your hand slips in his smoothly, gently- and he’s tempted to flinch but instead he squeezes, carefully. True to your words, your room is notably quieter than the living room, the length of hallway giving a decent berth. You settle on your bed with a dramatic sigh and Lawrence almost shyly sits beside you, hands in his lap. “...I’m glad you came.” You admit as you fall onto your back on your duvet and tilt your head to look up at him. “Is it greedy I wanted to keep you a little longer? Just to myself?”

It’s not greedy.

You’re not greedy.

You’re perfect.

Lawrence swallows thickly, your words reverberating in his skull, echoing his same thoughts. You wanted what he wanted. He could only hope anyway but you said what he was thinking aloud. You made it real. You were real. “N-No..No I don’t think that about you.” Lawrence manages to mutter out and it makes that smile grow wider on your lips. Your hand reaches for his again, delicately, as your fingers trace his knuckles.

“We could hangout more often, y’know. I meant it when I said I still wanted to see you even after I’m outta there.”

He doesn’t know what to say. Nobody’s ever wanted to hang out around him, much less. Well beside that one friend he made online who seemed down to maybe talk in person. But they weren’t you. Nobody compared to you. The silence hangs for a moment but in the soft lighting of your room, your eyes roam over his face again before you push yourself to sit up again, shuffling a little closer to him that Lawrence can feel the warmth of your body next to his. “...is it okay if I…” You dip your head slightly, lashes fluttering to make a point of looking down at his lips before meeting his gaze again. Just barely, Lawrence shakes his head before you give a breathy little chuckle and press your lips to his, a hand raising to cradle his jawline. The light stubble there is felt against the soft, smooth skin of your palm. Your lips are plush and sweetened by whatever alcohol you’d been drinking before, slightly sticky and sweet that Lawrence savors before clumsily kissing you back. Pushing back against you perhaps with an eagerness you hadn’t anticipated that draws a soft sound from your throat. Lawrence swallows down your groan, wanting more, feel you more, taste you more, feel all that livelihood that seems to emanate from you.

The kiss grows, heat building as your arms string around his neck and hands tangle in his blonde hair as it falls messily from its elastic. Lawrence leans, arms circling around your waist, a soft grunt muffled against your lips as he dares to deepen the kiss, tongue tracing your lower lip before being granted. Being able to explore inside of your mouth before pressing you down into the mattress. He can feel every breath you take, the expanding and compression of your chest, the way your heart thrums against your chest- Lawrence swears he can hear your heartbeat. Or maybe it’s his own pounding in his hears. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is more. More.

And you seem of the same mind. Your hands drift down to his hoodie, moving to push it off his shoulders and Lawrence awkwardly shrugs out of it, loathe to part from your lips even to breathe. With you on your back, his hands take the opportunity to roam, albeit shakily. Taking in every curve, noting the muscle and fat on your body- soft under his larger hands and so very warm. Lawrence could get lost in you endlessly. He wanted to. Parting only for a moment, his breathing ragged, you seem to waste no time as you greedily take in air while yanking your shirt up and over your head and reaching for the buttons of his plaid shirt. It isn’t long between the two of you, clumsy hands- some from alcohol and others from lack of real heated experience, before clothes are strewn over your floor and you and Lawrence are a tangle of limbs on your bed. His body cages you in, body anchored to you as he savors each sensation, each beautiful sound he’s able to pull from your lips, feeling the way your body moves and the way it works against his own. Lawrence reminds himself to be affectionate, what he was taught affection is supposed to look like through media consumption anyway, though with you it’s easier. It’s so lovely to kiss along your neck, feel you gasp and shudder, to feel your pulse flutter under his lips. “...feels…fuck…so good…” he groans lowly against your skin.

Lawrence can almost picture the expression on your face as you give a chime of laughter and dare to roll your hips against his own, feeling his erection straining against the cotton of his boxers in a very obvious tent. “It can feel better…I can make you feel better…” You croon softly and that’s the snap that breaks him. Pulling away so abruptly you look up at him owlishly, he shoves his boxers down his pale thighs, impulse and need overriding most if not all thought in this moment. The desperation that burned through Lawrence to feel you from the inside.You lift your hips accordingly as he paws at your underwear before they slip down your legs and carelessly discarded with everything else. Bare before each other, there’s the briefest moment between the way the two of you have been interlocked, drinking the other one in. Before Lawrence’s hands grip the meat of your hips and tugs you closer with a strength you usually thought was reserved for the warehouse, not that you minded. The feeling of his fingers digging into your skin, you certainly wouldn’t mind a little bruising if not more come morning.

“Just…Just stay still…Just let me…” He pants, his eyes clouded and glazed over, transfixed as he mumbles almost to himself and you arch your back just so to give him a better angle as one hand releases you to line his aching cock up to your sweet entrance.First he notches the bulbous head in and groans, chest heaving with every breath as you bite your lip with a soft whine- spurning him on, urging him to just push. And so he does, inch by inch, Lawrence spears you on his length and his eyes threaten to roll back into his skull. You feel divine; tight, wet, impossibly warm around him as you clench like a vice that his his hips already stutter the first time within you. Sweat already begins to bead his forehead as Lawrence’s jaw clenches- as tempting as it is, he couldn’t bear the embarrassment if he came undone within you so quickly.

You keen below him, hushed little murmur of, “Please…fuck, Law…need you, please.” While resting your hands on his shoulders with a little squeeze, you don’t mean to rush him, really you don’t- but you’d wanted this, thought about this, more times than you cared to count. And with a little liquid courage in your veins, you finally fucking had it. Had him.

And surely, he begins to rock his hips. The push and pull between you growing as Lawrence begins to rut within you, rhythm building and pressure mounting as you buck your hips in kind, pushing him deeper until his cockhead nudged against that delicious spot within you that made your lashes flutter and moans spill from your lips. Ordinarily, Lawrence wasn’t one for much noise- but the music muffled anything beyond your door and these sounds were for him and him alone. Shouldering your legs over his shoulders, Lawrence picks up his pace and his hips snap against you, heavy balls wetly slapping against your ass that has you squeak until you relax some in his grip. It leaves you helpless, putty as he fucks you into the mattress with reckless abandon now- your headboard knocking against the wall with each brutal thrust as he moans and grunts above you. While the sight of your is ever enticing, something Lawrence wants to burn into the folds of his brain, the need to feel close to you wins as he hunches over, nearly folding you in two. Hands bracing on the bed as he buries his face in the crux of your neck and shoulder as he kisses along the skin, breathing hotly into your ear as he continues to pump his cock into you. “...close…so…need to feel you…so warm…so fucking good…” Lawrence babbles to you, drunk on the euphoria as he feels pleasure coil hot in his stomach, on the brink.

So close.

“L-Law…’m not…a-ah, oh fuck…!” You gasp and choke on your words as you’re pinned below him, bliss drawn over your flushed features as your brain struggles to send words to your mouth, “...’m not gonna last...just like that, like that…!” You encourage as he surges with renewed vigor. Lawrence wants, no, needs to feel you come undone around. What you feel like when overcome with pleasure, what you look like, all of it. He grits his teeth before finding better use for his mouth, latching onto your throat to suckle a deep mottled mark into your skin that has you nearly scream into the room before he claps a hand over your lips to muffle it as he feels you contract around him. Convulsing, throbbing, spasming all around him in a way that Lawrence shuddering as his engorged cock finally empties itself within you, the excess forming a creamy ring around the base of his shaft and dripping down the plush swell of your ass onto the duvet. Ragged huffs fan over the hickey now left into your skin as Lawrence gives a few more languid, shallow strokes to enjoy the lingering feeling of you tightly wrapped around him as you try to catch your breath with a few low sounds of complacency. Sated, Lawrence almost begrudgingly lowers your legs carefully and his piercing eyes look up at you- trying to gage if you might be disappointed or upset, but instead is met with a bleary, satisfied smile and a breathy chuckle.

“...fuck, Law. I knew you had in you.” You mutter playfully before resting your arm over your sweaty forehead and Lawrence can feel his lips quirk ever so slightly. Something akin to pride settling in him slightly, but he remains knelt between your legs as a silence settles over the pair of you and you raise your arm to peek at him. Wordlessly, you pat shift and shuffle, peeling back the blankets and patting the spot next to you.

“But…your party…?”

“I’m pretty sure people heard and I’m pretty sure they didn’t. What’re they gonna do? Rob me? I don’t have shit.” You chuckle, though Lawrence seems to give pause and glance to the door. His reluctance seems to sober you some as you sit up slightly. “Uh…unless you wanted to go.” You try to keep your tone steady not to betray the tinge of hurt that creeps in all the same.

“No…! No, that’s not what I want…uhm…” Lawrence awkwardly scoots off your bed and grabs his boxers to tug on padding to your door and opening it a crack, peeking and listening for any other life in your apartment. The music had since stopped and it was still silence.With the knowledge your apartment is now empty, Lawrence locks your door for you before returning into bed and you just smile. The simplest thing, as if this was normal. Maybe it was, Lawrence sure as fuck didn’t know what that was, but this was nice. This was beautiful. You were beautiful.

Slowly, he moves to the other side of the bed and slides in beside you. Lawrence has not slept next to another person, honestly it was never something he thought he would like but it feels like it’s both what you want and what is expected. And frankly- it could be worse. “...Can I…?” He shuffles under the blankets, swathed in your detergent and perfume, his frame shifts over yours and his head presses to your chest where he can hear the steady beat of your heart. The intrusive thought rings in through his head that he could have it, have that piece of you forever. Sealing this moment forever between the two of you...but he pushes it to the back of his head. No, another part of him didn’t want that- as tempting as it may be. If he took that part of you, this wouldn’t be possible. And Lawrence wanted this, whatever this may be, and more of it. More of you. Sex. Intimacy. The touch and warmth of another living being. It was odd, it was still something Lawrence was trying to make sense of. A way that this could remain but you might still be wholly his. All his. Only his.

Lawrence’s reverie is broken only by your arms encircling him and hugging him close to you, one hand carding through his hair to keep his head pressed to your chest as you hum in contentment. “Night, Law.” You mutter with an affectionate kiss to his head as you reach an arm out to turn off your lamp and succumb to sleep. Lawrence lingered awake a while longer, his nocturnal nature something he was grateful for as he relished in the soft breaths while you slept, how your heart slows, the sweet silence as he curls around your body and eventually, an hour or so after observing you, Lawrence sleeps as well.

Eventually sunlight dapples through your blinds, making Lawrence crinkle his nose slightly- he wasn’t accustomed to this. Not that he slept poorly necessarily, but it would take a day or so to get his circadian rhythm back. But it hadn’t been a waste as you groggily rouse beside him with a sleepy smile. “...Hey.” You greet warmly, throat still raspy from sleep as you push some of his bangs from his face. “You sleep okay?” Lawrence nods slowly, drinking in this vulnerable vision of you as you yawn and roll to look at him on your pillow. “You want breakfast or something?” You offer up with that languid smile and something akin to adoration lingering in your eyes, the afterglow looked all the more prepossessing on you. “I have some of that tea still that I brought you a few days ago.”

He pushes up to sit and chews his lip for a moment. Maybe a part of Lawrence had hoped. Had known. “Uh…actually I, uh…I brought some tea for you. I can make us some.” He replies slowly, shifting his gaze to look at you, testing your reaction, if you would find it odd that he brought something besides the wine.

“Aw! Yeah, I’d love that.” You grin and sit up as well, moving to tug fresh underwear on and a large shirt, “You know where the kitchen is, the kettle is on the stove. I’m just gonna freshen up quick.” And with that you disappear into the bathroom while Lawrence prepares you his own specialty brew.

#lawrence oleander #btd lawrence #lawrence oleander x reader #btd lawrence x reader #btd x reader #boyfriend to death lawrence #boyfriend to death lawrence oleander #boyfriend to death #boyfriend to death x reader

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ticifics · 3 months ago

Text

Deer Plush

James Potter x f!reader

Summary: In which James Potter, determined to impress you, takes on a shooting game at a carnival, all for a deer plush that made you smile.

Warnings: muggle!au, fluffy, est. relationship

The amusement park was wrapped in a golden glow under the late afternoon sun. Laughter echoed all around, mixed with the sounds of the attractions and the vibrant music playing through the speakers. You and James walked side by side, your fingers intertwined as if the touch were the most natural thing in the world. And it was.

You’d already explored practically everything — from the ferris wheel, where he’d joked that the wind was trying to ruin his impeccable hairstyle, to the haunted house, where you offered to hold his hand when James paled after a particularly scary jump scare, and though he didn’t confess his fear, it was clear by the way he squeezed your fingers.

Now, you walked leisurely through the park, laughing and sharing small moments that seemed to exist only between the two of you. It was then that your eyes stopped at a target-shooting booth, and your face lit up. At the top of one of the shelves, a deer plush seemed to wave at you. It was big, with bright, friendly eyes, and something about it immediately enchanted you.

James noticed right away. He always did — how your eyes sparkled at simple things, how your smile could change his whole day. He followed your gaze to the plush and already knew what he had to do.

“Want to try this game?” he asked, already sporting that mischievous smile you knew so well.

“I don’t know if you’re good enough for it, Potter,” you teased, raising an eyebrow, your tone challenging, but the sweetness in your smile made it clear you were enjoying yourself.

“Oh, is that so? I’ll show you that you’re dating the best shooter... at least on the east side of the park.” He laughed, pulling you by the hand toward the booth.

The person running the booth quickly explained the rules, but James was already focused — his blue eyes shining behind his glasses and that determined air he used to display when he wanted to impress you.

The first attempt was disastrous. He aimed, released the ball, and it missed by a mile, hitting the side of the booth with a hollow sound. You covered your mouth with your hand to stifle your laugh, but it escaped anyway, and James turned to you with a mock-indignant expression.

“Laughing at me, huh?”

“A little.”

He laughed along and shook his head but didn’t give up. James had that charming stubbornness of someone who wanted, above all, to make you smile. He grabbed another ball, took a deep breath, and aimed again. This time, he hit one of the smaller targets, but it was still far from the grand prize.

“It’s okay if you want to give up…” you teased, leaning slightly toward him, your voice carrying a playful tone. But as you said this, you couldn’t help but let your gaze linger on him — all focused, his dark hair tousled as if it were part of the sunlight, the glasses sliding slightly down his nose. He pushed them back with his finger, his forehead furrowed in determination, and you felt a comforting warmth in your chest. James had that peculiar ability to make anything seem extraordinary.

He turned to you with that mischievous smile you loved, his blue eyes sparkling behind the lenses.

“Give up? No way. That’s not how this works.”

Before grabbing another ball, he hesitated, tilting his head slightly as he watched you closely. You raised an eyebrow, unsure of what he was plotting.

“Actually...” He stepped closer, reducing the distance between you, and his voice became deliberately casual. “I think I need a little help here.”

“Help?” You tried to sound skeptical, but the softness in his smile melted your defenses before they even had a chance to rise.

“Yes. A good luck kiss.” He leaned in closer, letting the words hang in the air between you, filled with carefree charm.

You felt your cheeks warm and laughed, shaking your head. “Isn’t that a little unfair? Using magic like that against the poor target?”

James placed a hand on his heart, pretending to be indignant. “Unfair would be not giving me the best chance possible, considering I’m doing this for you.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile he knew so well, the one that said you wouldn’t resist much longer. Finally, you stood on your tiptoes, cupped his face with one hand, and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

James sighed dramatically when you pulled away. “I think I can do this now.”

You crossed your arms, feigning impatience. “Let’s see if that kiss was really so miraculous, Potter.”

He picked up the next ball with an expression completely renewed, concentration mixed with a happiness that seemed to radiate from him. But you kept watching, not caring so much about the game. It was the way he slightly furrowed his brow as he aimed, the gleam of excitement when he thought he was close to hitting the target, the way he bit the inside of his cheek in an almost childish gesture. You were so absorbed in him that you almost forgot to pay attention to the moment he launched the ball and hit the target.

The bell rang, and James raised his arms as if he had just won a world championship. He turned to you with the biggest smile in the world, and the heart in your throat only confirmed what you already knew: you were absolutely lost for him.

“I told you!” He walked over to you, holding the plush deer the attendant handed him, but stopped before passing it to you, pulling it close to his chest as if he were already completely attached to the prize.

“James.” You narrowed your eyes, trying to hide the growing smile. “Give it to me.”

He shook his head, his blue eyes gleaming with pure mischief. “I don’t know... I think this little guy already likes me.”

You huffed, but the laugh that escaped your lips betrayed any attempt at seriousness. “Potter, I’m serious. Hand it over.”

He tilted his head, pretending to ponder. “Hmm, I don’t know if I can. He reminds me a lot of someone I know. Charming, impressive, impossible to resist...”

You rolled your eyes and took a step closer, grabbing the deer with a quick motion. He released it without resistance, letting you hug it against your chest, victorious. However, James’s smile didn’t fade.

“Thank you, Jamie,” you said, lowering your eyes to the plush in your arms. It was a simple deer, with large expressive eyes and a curious expression. You hugged it a little tighter, smiling more than you intended.

James crossed his arms and watched you with a satisfied gleam in his eyes. “So? Was it worth all my heroic effort?”

You looked up at him, feeling an inexplicable warmth take over you. “Yeah, it was.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but you continued, the words coming out before you could stop them. “Because it reminds me of you.”

James paused for a moment, clearly caught off guard. His smile softened, and his eyes locked onto you with an intensity that made the world around you disappear. “Reminds you... of me?”

You nodded, squeezing the deer one more time and trying to keep your voice casual, even with your heart beating faster than usual. “Yeah... He’s kind of awkward, but has this adorable way about him, you know? And it’s impossible not to like him.”

He was silent for a moment, but then took a step closer, so close that his warmth seemed to envelop you. “If you think a deer is adorable, then I’m done for.”

You let out a giggle, but didn’t have time to respond because James lowered his head, his lips touching yours in a kiss so sweet and delicate that it felt like it was made of sunlight and the warmth of the moment.

When he pulled away, you saw the smile that always seemed reserved only for you — a smile that made every cell in your body feel special. He took your hand again, intertwining his fingers with yours as if it was the natural place for both of you.

“I’d do all of this again,” he said, squeezing your hand lightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Because seeing you happy like this is worth every second.”

You looked at him, at his shining eyes, his sincere smile, and knew that James Potter would always be much more than you could have imagined.

And as you walked through the park, with the plush deer firm in your arms and his hand in yours, the world seemed exactly as it should be: perfect, simple, and full of love.

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wolverigrl · 7 months ago

Text

Thirst Tweets

Hugh Jackman x reader (actress)

!Disclaimer! I’ve got a lot going on right now, and I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get back to writing. There will definitely be more parts, but not this week. I also have two oneshots saved that might go online this week, so don’t be surprised if you see them.

I'd be happy about some feedback and just a reminder to you, I have my requests open, so feel free sending some of your ideas! :)

Warnings: tiny bit of fluff and some swearing here and there

Enjoy!

Previous Part

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Returning to New York felt like waking up from a beautiful dream I never wanted to end. Sydney had been a paradise - sunshine, the salty breeze from the ocean, and Hugh. God, Hugh. We couldn't keep our hands off each other, behaving like love-drunk teenagers. Whether it was our sunset strolls by the harbor or cozy nights in, wrapped in blankets, we found ourselves growing closer every day. There was something magical about that time - like we were in a world of our own, free from distractions.

Hugh would sometimes visit his family, leaving me to explore Sydney on my own. I’d walk through the city, admiring the sights, feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin. But no matter where I went, I was always thinking about him. It wasn’t long before I’d be back at his place, sharing stories of my solo adventures while he teased me with that wicked smile.

Of course, the paparazzi had a field day. Every moment seemed to be caught on camera - whether we were laughing together at the beach, wandering the streets hand in hand, or lounging in the park. There were endless photos of us everywhere, but I didn't mind. Honestly, I found it kind of funny how we had become some sort of internet sensation. I had even started posting more pictures of Hugh on my socials - candid shots of him with funny, flirty captions. The fans ate it up, especially when I started liking and commenting on their fan edits of Hugh. They said I was fangirling hard, and maybe I was, but could you blame me? The man is perfect.

The hate we used to get was slowly dying down, too. People were starting to root for us. It felt good.

Today, though, was on a whole new level of fun. We were shooting a "Thirst Tweets" video, and it was as chaotic as you'd imagine. The energy in the studio was electric as we settled into the plush chairs, both of us trying to stifle our giggles before the chaos of "Thirst Tweets" began. I glanced over at Hugh, who looked far too calm for what was about to go down, his long fingers tapping lightly on his knee, his face carrying that familiar smirk that always made my heart race. It was like he knew exactly what was coming and how I’d react.

The first tweet was mine to read. I grabbed the small card from the pile and cleared my throat dramatically. “Okay, here we go…” I scanned the text quickly before bursting into laughter. “Oh my God, okay. ‘I would let y/n punch me in the face just to say I’ve been touched by perfection.’ ” I couldn’t help it - I snorted.

Hugh chuckled beside me, shaking his head. “We’re starting off strong, aren’t we?” he teased.

I leaned over, nudging him with my shoulder. “What can I say? I have violent fans.”

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Perfection though? Can’t argue with that." he said, giving me a wink that made my face heat up.

It was Hugh’s turn next. He grabbed his card, took a quick glance, and then raised an eyebrow at me. “Alright, here’s a good one. ‘I’d like to officially announce that Hugh’s arms should be declared a public service. Like, those things could end world hunger. Use them for good, sir.’ "

I let out a loud laugh, slapping my knee. “See, this is what I’m saying! They should be protected. Maybe insured.”

He flexed a little - just enough to make me roll my eyes - and grinned. “I’ll take it under consideration.” he joked. The crew behind the camera was already in stitches, but I could tell this was just the beginning.

The next tweet was handed again to Hugh, and he gave it a quick scan before bursting into laughter. "Oh, this one's good. 'Hugh, you can call me baby girl and tell me to sit down, and I would happily obey for the rest of my life.' "

I raised an eyebrow, trying to hold in my laughter. "I mean.. you do have that commanding presence."

He turned to me with a devilish grin, his voice deep and teasing. "You think I should try it out, love? Call you baby girl and see what happens?"

I immediately blushed, my laughter betraying how flustered I was. "Oh no, let's not give the fans more material!"

He chuckled, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "Too late, baby."

He took the card with a dramatic flourish, his eyes quickly scanning it before he burst out laughing, almost choking on his words. “Oh no, this one’s for you, love. ‘Y/n really out here fangirling over Hugh like the rest of us. She’s one of us now.’ ”

I groaned, though I couldn’t hide my smile. "Listen, I am not fangirling!" I protested weakly, but Hugh gave me a look that said he didn’t believe a word of it.

"Oh, you totally are!" he teased, nudging me playfully. “You’re in deep.”

I shot back with a grin. “Okay, maybe I’m a little obsessed with you. Can you blame me?”

The crew behind the camera was losing it by now, and I could hear some of them whispering amongst themselves, probably trying to stifle their own laughter. But we were just getting started.

I grabbed another card, still grinning. "Hugh could choke me with his biceps, and I'd die happy."

Hugh started laughing again, clearly enjoying himself. "There's a lot of love for my arms in this, isn't there?"

I looked at him, pretending to be serious. "I mean, have you seen your arms?"

He flexed again, playing it up for the camera. "I guess I have no choice but to deliver." I snorted loudly and leaned against him while laughing and hiding my face behind my right hand.

Hugh took the next tweet, shaking his head in amusement. “Alright, here’s a spicy one. ‘Hugh, please, just throw me against a wall. Like, I’m begging you.’” He read it in such a deadpan tone that I nearly fell out of my chair laughing.

He raised an eyebrow at me as I tried to compose myself. “Well?”

I fanned myself dramatically. “That’s a strong request, but relatable."

Hugh opened his mouth to say something but instead snorted with laughter and shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

I picked up the next card, already giggling before I even read it aloud. " 'Y/n’s laugh could cure my depression, I swear. She could rob a bank and I’d still be like, wow, what a cute laugh!' "

Hugh looked over at me, grinning. “See? You do have a cute laugh.”

I shrugged, trying to play it cool even though my cheeks were burning. “I mean, if it works for bank robberies, maybe I should test it out.”

He gave me a look, smirking. “I’m not bailing you out.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to." I replied, laughing. “I’d just charm my way out of it.”

I grabbed the next card from the pile, glancing over at Hugh before reading it aloud. "Y/n, how do I sign up to be your sugar baby? I don't need much - just a little attention and maybe to sleep on Hugh's abs as a pillow."

Hugh let out a loud laugh, his eyes widening. "My abs, huh?" He leaned back, pretending to flex for a moment before winking at the camera. "I didn't realize they had so many applications."

I rolled my eyes playfully, unable to hide my grin. "I mean, you have to admit, they're not wrong. Those abs could solve a lot of problems."

He smirked, leaning in closer to me, his voice dropping a bit. "Is that what you think about every time you cuddle me, baby? Using me as your personal pillow?"

I nudged him, trying not to laugh. "What can I say? I'm resourceful."

The next few tweets were just as wild, some downright inappropriate but in a way that had us both cracking up. Hugh read a particularly bold one aloud: " 'Hugh in that leather jacket… sir, I’m on my knees. What do I need to do to get you to ruin my life?' " He paused, glancing over at me with a devilish grin. “What do they need to do?”

I covered my face, laughing into my hands. “Oh God. This is escalating so much!”

He looked at the camera and lowering his voice. “Maybe just say ‘please?’ ”

The crew burst out laughing again, and I could see the camera shaking slightly as the person filming struggled to keep it steady. By this point, even the sound guy was wiping away tears of laughter.

Hugh grabbed the next tweet from the pile, his eyes quickly scanning it before a sly grin spread across his face.

"Okay," he began, in that rich voice that could melt butter, "Here’s a fun one: ‘Hugh Jackman could breathe in my direction, and I’d immediately drop to my knees, ready to serve.’"

I let out an involuntary snort, burying my face in my hands. "Oh my!" I gasped between fits of giggles. "They went straight for it!"

Hugh, trying to maintain composure, turned toward the camera with a half smile. "Well, I appreciate the enthusiasm." he said, and then turned to me. "Is that something I should be adding to my skill set?"

I swatted his arm playfully, still laughing. "Please, let’s not turn this into a live demonstration."

Hugh chuckled and nodded towards the camera. “Fair enough. But hey, I’m flattered."

I grabbed the next tweet, scanning it quickly and feeling my face heat up even more. "Oh, this one’s good. ‘Y/n’s legs are so long, they could wrap around me twice, and I’d happily suffocate.’"

Hugh let out a low whistle, his eyes flicking down to my legs and back up to my face with a teasing grin. "I mean, they’re not wrong." he quipped, making the entire crew laugh again.

I gave him a playful serious look. "Careful, you might encourage more of this behavior."

He laughed, raising his hands in surrender. "Too late."

I passed the next tweet to him, still trying to suppress my laughter. Hugh's eyebrows shot up when he read it. “Oh, wow, okay. ‘Hugh could literally break me in half, and I’d say thank you.’” He paused, a devilish grin creeping onto his face as he looked up at me. “I’m sensing a theme here.”

The crew behind the camera was howling at this point again, and I could barely breathe through the laughter. "I mean… who wouldn't be thankful?" I teased, raising an eyebrow at him.

Hugh laughed, leaning back in his chair, clearly enjoying himself. "Should I be concerned for you people, or…?”

"Concerned, maybe. Grateful, definitely,” I replied, still giggling.

He handed me the next card, his smirk widening. “Your turn. Let’s see if it gets wilder.”

I took the card and immediately had to press my lips together to keep from bursting out laughing. “Oh God, here we go again… ‘Y/n could ruin my life, and I’d thank her by paying her rent for the rest of the year.’ ”

Hugh’s laugh boomed across the room, his head falling back as he tried to catch his breath. “Well, if you’re ever looking for a side hustle…”

I gave him a playful nudge. "Hey, rent’s expensive in New York. I might just take them up on that."

He wiped away a tear of laughter, still grinning. “You’d definitely have no shortage of offers.”

Another tweet landed in Hugh’s hands, and he gave it a quick read before raising an eyebrow at me. “Oh jeez, we’re diving straight into the deep end now. ‘Hugh Jackman’s voice is so hot, I’d let him read the phone book to me while I climax.’”

My jaw dropped. "NO." I immediately covered my face with my hands, laughing so hard. I would lie, if I'd say my body doesn't hurt of laughter by now.

Hugh, ever the professional, barely flinched. He just gave the camera a deadpan look. “The phone book? Really? That’s a bit outdated, but… hey, I’m here for it.”

I peeked at him from behind my hands, still laughing uncontrollably. “You’re not gonna let that one go, are you?”

He winked at me, his voice dropping an octave. “If that’s what the people want, who am I to deny them?”

I playfully shoved him, still blushing furiously, but loving every second of the ridiculousness. “We need to talk about boundaries later." I joked.

He shot me a grin. “Boundaries? What are those?”

I took a deep breath, composing myself enough to grab the next tweet. The second I read it, I was gone again. “Oh, this one’s golden. ‘Y/n, I will pay you $1,000 to sit on my face. I don’t even need to breathe. Just consider it.’”

Hugh burst out laughing, clutching his chest and wiping tears from his eyes. “A thousand dollars? Only? That’s a bargain!”

I covered my face again, my shoulders shaking with laughter. “This is officially out of control.”

Hugh leaned in closer, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Come on. You’re underselling yourself. You’re worth at least $10,000.”

I laughed so hard I almost fell off my chair. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, babe.”

By this point, the crew behind the cameras was barely keeping it together. The laughter was contagious, and it felt like the entire room was on the verge of tears from how absurd the tweets were getting.

Hugh, still grinning, took the next card, glancing at it before giving me a cheeky look. "Alright, last one for me. ‘Hugh, you could crush me between your thighs, and I’d die a happy person.’”

I dissolved into laughter again, leaning back in my chair. "See, this is what I’ve been saying!" I managed between giggles.

Hugh turned to the camera, looking far too amused. “I’m sensing a lot of… very creative fans.”

I wiped away tears of laughter, still grinning. “Creative is one word for it.”

With that, the video wrapped up, and the crew finally stopped laughing long enough to give us a round of applause. Hugh’s charm and my endless giggling made for the perfect combination, and I could tell this video was going to go viral the second it dropped.

One of the cameramen approached us, grinning. “I’ve been doing this for years, and that was easily the funniest shoot I’ve ever been a part of.”

Hugh smiled, thanking him, while I nodded in agreement. “That was insane!” I said, still feeling the buzz of excitement. “I don’t think I’ve ever laughed that hard.”

After the shoot, we headed back to Hugh’s place to get ready for dinner. Ryan and Blake were coming over with their kids and dogs, and Hugh was in charge of cooking, much to his delight. He loved being in the kitchen, and it was one of those little things about him that always made me swoon.

While he started prepping in the kitchen, I disappeared into the bathroom to get ready. I slipped into something simple but nice, touching up my makeup before making my way back to Hugh. He had his back turned, fully focused on whatever he was chopping up, so I tiptoed up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist, leaning my head against his back.

He jumped, clearly startled, but then relaxed into my embrace. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!" he chuckled, setting down the knife.

I grinned, squeezing him tighter. "Sorry, couldn’t resist." My hands slid over his chest as I pressed closer. "You look ridiculously good in that shirt, by the way."

He glanced down at himself - just a casual button up and jeans - but it worked for him in a way that made my heart race. “Oh yeah?” he asked, turning his head slightly to look at me with a playful smirk.

“Yeah. Like.. annoyingly good." I teased, letting my fingers linger on the fabric. “Distractingly good. It's kind of a problem.”

He turned fully then, wrapping his arms around my waist, and leaned in close, his voice low. “Maybe we should skip dinner then?"

I bit my lip, laughing softly as I pushed against his chest. "Nice try. We’re not blowing off dinner with Blake and Ryan. You know they’d never let us hear the end of it."

Before we could get any further into our flirt, the doorbell rang, and we both groaned. The Reynolds were right on time, of course.

With one last grin at each other, we reluctantly pulled apart. Hugh grabbed a towel to wipe his hands before we made our way to the door. When we opened it, we were greeted by a whirlwind of chaos - Ryan with the kids and Blake holding onto the dogs. It was loud and warm, the kind of energy that made you feel instantly at home.

Blake gave me a tight hug while Ryan and Hugh exchanged their usual friendly banter. We all gathered in the dining room, Hugh finishing up in the kitchen while Blake and I set the table, chatting and laughing about everything and nothing.

Dinner was filled with easy conversation, laughter, and the occasional bark from the dogs. Hugh caught my eye from across the table more than once, and each time, I couldn’t help but smile. This was our life now - full of love, friends, and shared moments that felt like they could last forever.

And honestly? I wouldn’t change a thing.

---------------------------------------------------

@spectorrrhgf @tinawantstobeadoll @appetencyfortacos @weskerussy @kellyxo1 @larkkyoris @shukirschtein14 @corvusmorte @carefree-flowerchild @rexmeshlasblog @melmel-fandom @needz1nk @nonamevenus @morganlolitta @angelofthorr @pickuptruck01 @inlovewithcharmers @gaulty74 @mega-kittyglitter-1

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#hugh jackman #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman x you #marvel #wolverine #x men #hugh #jackman #fluff #hugh jackman imagines #oneshot #fanfiction #hugh jackedman #thirst tweets

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fawnhunter · 9 months ago

Text

natural instincts…

sick and laying in my bed which also means i can’t stop thinking about cregan and the stark baby making gene that definitely runs in the family. cw: dis is mostly smut with a side of fluff, no angst at all. talk of breeding and imprégnation, as well as some talk of family life.

so it’s no secret to any of the beautiful brains on tumblr that the stark men have a certain habit of tripping and falling and maybe putting a baby in their pretty lady wives. and well i believe that cregan stark is no different. it’s so fucking cold in the north, and even though he is a man grown that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy a nice warm cunt to settle into at the end of the night. he works so hard :/ constantly walking around and performing his duty as lord of the north.

i can imagine how insufferable he’d be before you are wed. the thought of building a family with you always on him mind. sneaking into ur chambers before the sun is y over the hills, just to slide into bed with his hand on your stomach and dream about the life he can’t wait to have with you. talking over ir shoulder until you go to sleep and slipping back into his own chambers. it gets even worse once u finally belong to him under the eyes of the seven. on ur first official night together, during the bedding ceremony, he was incredibly gentle with you. so grateful to have you as his wife that he could even think to push you abt heirs. no he’s never allow those old fuck in the room to watch as he takes you over and over again, he allows them to listen to ur cries through the walls, opening the chamber doors and tossing the sheets at them after splitting u open on his cock for the first time that night. happiest man on the planet once he gets you back in his arm and under one of his favorite pelts.

i can imagine one day he sees you talking one of the young lords who had gotten lost and was search for his mother. stumbled upon you coddling him and wiping his tears until another his morhwr is found again. the whole ordeal has him feeling some kind of way, he can’t even find it in himself to approach you over the feeling of him stiffening between his thighs. he thinks about it for the rest of the day, the thought of making you a mother. just lalala scatter brained cregan stumbling around the training grounds things about stirring up ur guts the second you get back to ur shared chambers and keeping you on ur back until ur sure to be taken with his seed.

nsfw!!!!

baby making time! cregan is my man with a plan. he has been planting little seeds in ur brain for weeks now. talking about how cute having someone who looks just like you would be. or how much he would love to see ur belly get rounder with ever passing moon. wrapping his hands around ur stomach and pressing down right where ur womb would be, rocking you back and forth while pressing his slowly gardening cock into ur backside. his plan is going so well that it’s only be a matter of time before he has ur body crowded against the sheets of his bed. face down with tears wetting his sheets while his pillow sits comfortably underneath ur hips. sliding his cock in the space between ur thighs before finally oushing past the tight space of ur cunt. his front pressed against ur back while he lifts his hips and slams back into you at a toe curling pace. one hand keeping ur hips pressed against his while the other wraps around ur front, groping at whatever he can feel to lift you back into him, swallowing ur whines with a kiss. when all is said and done he likes to pull out and admire his work, the mess he’s made of you. rolling you over and sliding the pillow back under ur hips so you’ll be sure to bless him with a mini stark sometime soon.

he also is not the kind of man who refrains form touch you while you are with his child. it’s hard to ignore the way ur chest starts to swell along with your stomach, spilling out of the lovely dresses you wear. or the way ur body starts to beings softer.. more plush. completing him to dig his fingers into ur hips and revel in the marks he leave behind. so head over heels for his pregnant lady wife that he might wanna start keep her that way. swollen and sweet with his child.

this was typed during a fever dream so sorry for any mistakes. hotd requests are open!

#hotd #hotd imagine #house of the dragon #cregan fanfiction #cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #hotd smut #hotd headcanons #i’d give this man so many kid it’s not even funny #chatterboxclaire #cregan x you #cregan stark fanfic #hotd fanfic

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catscidr · 1 year ago

Note

Hiii I just found your acc and really like your stuff! Can I pls request lazy morning sex with Jing Yuan (and any character you think might fit this prompt) I just looked and there is not one fic like this of this man when he's like... right there. He's like so perfect for this scenario. Thank you sm and have a great day/night! <3

i just finished writing this its 3am i think i blacked out. everybody give it up for my man jing yuan i need himSO BAAAAD AAHHH i hope u like this nonnie ♡♡ cw: nsfw, mdni. semi-clothed sx, soft dom jy, clt stimulation, size kink if you squint, praise, pet names, slight overstimulation, cuddling n fucking face-to-face, riding, creampie. /not proofread ill do that in the morning. dies/ includes: fem reader, jing yuan, fu xuan mentionned wc: 3,2k

You loved and hated waking up next to Jing Yuan in the morning. On one hand, the rhythm of his beating heart lulls you to sleep, and he makes for a wonderful personal heater; but on the other... he’s a little too comfortable. So much so that every time you sleep with him, you, without fail, end up being late for work. That, or you barely make it in time. At times you would point your finger at him and accuse him of being a wholesome, sleepy version of an incubus, and he would laugh in that smooth, baritone voice of his.

Regardless.

This morning was one of those mornings, of course. Jing Yuan came back home for the first time in two weeks the night before- being the general of the Luofu means that he would occasionally have to leave for an unknown amount of time to take care of business. Every time he had to leave, you’d linger around him a little longer than usual, wrap your arms around him tighter than you normally would and let your lips linger on his cheek long enough for the sun to rise completely.

He’d come back so late last night that you were already sleeping in your shared bed, legs haphazardly thrown over the bed sheets in a poor attempt to regulate your body temperature. The button-up shirt you wore made his heart lunge in his throat in the best way, but the last thing he wanted was to wake you. So, he’d carefully remove his armored uniform, take his shirt off and slip into the bed with you with nothing but his briefs on, and pull you into his chest. You had unconsciously nuzzled closer to him, your body craving the warmth of his body you had missed oh so dearly.

Which explained the situation you were now in. The dilemma you found yourself stuck in. Jing Yuan was back; you had your face mere millimeters away from his plush chest, his arms held you tight against him, and his soft snores almost convinced you to fall back asleep. Keyword; almost.

As much as you loved him you knew that he’d be here once you came back from work, so with as much resolve as you could muster, you try wriggling your way out of his grip. With him being as big as he was, though, it didn’t surprise you when he tightened his hold on you, treating you as if you were his plushie threatening to fall off his bed and he was a child.

You let out a quiet oof from his strong grip and reevaluate your options. There weren’t many options, but at least you had choices; either you wake him up, convince him to let you go and then get to work early enough that you don’t risk getting written up again, or you let him hold you and... arrive at work late. Again. Which was the last thing you wanted, given the fact that your boss had specifically told you that she couldn’t allow you to miss another meeting.

Step one was to summon the ability to be even more stubborn than your lover. Step two is to carefully wriggle your arms up, high enough that you can move your hands and you can use them to your advantage against the beast. It took you some time, given the fact that they were stuck between his and your body, but you succeeded, nonetheless. And you only got one displeased grunt from the sleeping general in response.

As you’re about to proceed with step three, Jing Yuan cracks an eye open and buries his head into the crook of your neck while curling into you, effectively trapping you between his plush muscles and the duvet.

Could have gone better.

“Jing Yuan,” you huff, your voice sounding more like a whine than anything. The general doesn’t respond, leading you to believe he fell asleep again, but his morning voice graces your ears before you have the time to curse him out. “Mhm, I’m up,” he hums, pressing a lazy kiss to your neck in a false apology.

You wriggle in response, grunting from the sheer effort. One of the downsides that came with cuddling with Jing Yuan was the way he could keep you right there with him as long as he wanted, curse his strength.

Seeing as he wasn’t going to budge, you decide that two can play that game. You stare into his silky mop of silver hair, pondering whether you should negotiate your freedom or if you should play dirty- but where's the fun in trying to talk your way out of this predicament? You bring a hand up to gently brush his bangs away from his face. He makes a soft noise of contentment at the feeling of your fingers delicately brushing against his face and, before he can grow too comfortable, you lean in and bite his cheek.

The general makes a noise of surprise, grunting as he pulls away from you to narrow his eyes at his perpetrator. His pout morphs into a lazy smile as he holds your glare. “If you wanted to play you could have just said so, sweetheart,” he says lowly, moving his free hand from your back to letting it rest lazily on your hips, thumb rubbing gentle circles on the exposed skin.

You stick your tongue out at him stubbornly, “Not now, I have to get up.” Unfazed by your headstrong attitude, Jing Yuan shifts one of his legs to come between yours- his strong thigh sandwiched between your soft ones. A surprised gasp leaves your lips in response to the smooth way he molds his body to yours, but you refuse to allow yourself to be swayed by him.

“Aeons- ‘Yuan please,” you huff quietly, but he notices the way your voice catches in your throat. His golden eyes briefly shine with what could only be described as mischief and, with a smooth motion, Jing Yuan grabs ahold of your shoulder and swivels you around so that your back is against his chest. A surprised oof rips from your throat as you bounce lightly on the bed from the impact- he lowers his face to yours, a rich, deep chuckle echoing in your ears as your resolve begins to melt away.

Taking advantage of the new position, Jing Yuan throws a leg over yours to trap you in and, in turn, grinds his growing bulge against your ass. If he wasn’t hard at the sight of your face in the morning when he first woke up, he sure was now; while he slowly ruts against you, he allows his hands to wander down to the hem of your shirt.

You stifle a moan as the metaphorical dam in your head begins to crumble apart. Sure, you would see him when you would get back home later, but you were with him now. Laying here with your lover, safe and comfortable in his arms while his clothed erection lazily thrusts up into your heat.

As you let out needy whines that you aren’t even aware you’re voicing, Jing Yuan brings his lips closer to your ear. “Five more minutes?” he asks with a knowing smile, his own breath becoming more and more rugged the more he rubs up against you. Gods, he could feel you throbbing through his sweatpants and your panties.

You swallow thickly and whine in response, your head already fogging up with desire. Going a whole two weeks without sex wasn’t particularly hard; you had your trusty toy with you and your hands if it happened to run out of battery and you were that desperate. But you weren’t- and during these past two weeks you had felt just fine, totally not pent up or even the slightest bit sexually frustrated. Your job had kept you busy, but when you’re stuck in Jing Yuan’s arms after not feeling him for so long, after not feeling his cock twitching inside you, you felt like something snapped inside you.

Distantly, you think about how pathetic this must look for him; only a few lingering touches and his hips pressing up against yours from the back and that’s all it takes for you to drench your panties. But really, you couldn’t care less. You knew he was just as pent up as you were.

You bring one of your hands down to fumble with the hem of your panties to quickly take them off, down your legs. Hearing Jing Yuan’s hoarse breathing in your ears only made you even more eager to feel his skin right up against yours. Maybe part of the reason why you were so incredibly turned on was because of how tired you still felt, but either way, you needed him. And he needed you just as badly.

The general’s hands leave you temporarily to slide his sweatpants down to his thighs, low enough for his cock to leave its confines. Precum builds at the tip, swollen and pulsing with the need to bury itself inside you. He sighs, one of his hands coming up to stroke his length, thumb sliding over the slit every time his fist comes up. You whine at the loss of his hands on you and reach back to take his hand, bringing it between your legs to rub your clit. He laughs at your impatience, shifting his weight on his other arm to lean over you properly.

“Someone’s impatient and greedy,” he goads. “I thought you wanted to get to work, darling,” he purrs in your ear, his middle and ring finger coming together to tease your bud, riling you up further and making a mess between your legs. A strained fuck leaves your lips as you back your ass up into him, his hard cock tucked between your thighs, rubbing into your arousal. “Please just-” a whimper interrupts you as Jing Yuan increases the pace of his fingers, “-inside. I-I need to feel you,” you huff, feeling too empty. He considers teasing you some more, listening to the wet sounds of your pussy bounce off the walls of your shared bedroom, but his own patience was also waning thin.

A quiet noise of protest leaves you when the man takes his hand away from your bud. He brings his fingers up to his lips to lick your slick off of them, moaning at the taste. Your thighs clench in response, jerking the general’s cock unintentionally.

“Fuck,” he growls into your ear, hurriedly taking his length into his hand to guide it into your soaking wet cunt. Your mouth hangs open when you feel his tip slip between your lips, needy noises slipping from your mouth. Inch after inch he sinks into you, slowly letting you accommodate to his girth. He finally bottoms out, stretching your hole as you keen and whine from the satisfaction of feeling so full.

He waits a few beats to allow you to get used to him, your hoarse breathing matching his own. When he feels you clamping down on him less, he starts to thrust- pulling out slowly and thrusting back in sharply. You moan aloud, mouth agape as his cock bullies your spongy walls relentlessly.

“Jing Yua-aan,” you whimper, hands gripping onto his forearms weakly, nails forming crescent shapes into his skin. He reduces you to a sleepy, blabbering, moaning mess as the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes in the bedroom. With one hand splayed across your lower tummy, he presses down, making you arch your back into him from the sudden added pressure and pleasure.

“Y’ like that? You missed me, huh?” he taunts, though his own voice trails off into a needy moan the more he feels the drag of your walls along his cock. “I know I’ve- fuck, m-missed you,” Jing Yuan stutters, thrusts becoming increasingly sloppy as he feels a familiar coil form in his abdomen. His thigh muscles clench as he wills away his orgasm, needing to feel you all around him for a bit longer.

Unable to respond you simply nod dumbly, the words leaving your brain as it’s reduced to mush. Your lover hums, a smirk stretching his lips, “Yeah?” He brings his face closer to yours, your breaths tangling with each other before he smashes his lips against yours, the angle awkward and uncomfortable. But you don’t care- the added stimulation makes you melt as you crane your head back to kiss him properly, your lips occasionally leaving his from the force of his thrusts.

Jing Yuan moans into your mouth and breaks the kiss. He looks at you with pure lust swirling in his golden eyes, your face sinful and needy. An idea pops up in the general’s mind and he smiles down at you, pressing one last chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Ah, w-what are you-” you slur, your sentence interrupted by the general manhandling you to switch positions. He kicks the sheets off completely and places both of his large hands on your waist, gripping you firmly as he lays on his back, placing you on top him. His cock slips out of your walls with a wet shlick and you whine at the feeling of being so suddenly empty, twisting your body so that your thighs straddle his hips. Jing Yuan looks up at you with a small, cat-like smirk and your breath catches in your throat.

His silky hair splayed out on the pillows beneath him, cheeks flushed, and eyes piercing into yours made your knees buckle and you suddenly froze in your movements. Feeling your pussy throb against him, Jing Yuan chuckles heartily, one of his hands leaving your waist to stroke his hard cock, your slick dripping down on him.

“Lift your hips up and sit on my cock, darling,” he orders softly, a stark contrast to the way he looks at you- with pure, unfiltered lust and adoration. Your body moves automatically as you obey, hovering your tight pussy over his swollen tip, and lower yourself down. Your mouth opens in a silent moan, and you feel his girth stretching you out again as you begin to bounce on his hard cock.

“Yeahh just like that,” he hums, the hand that held his length moving up to rest on your stomach, thumb jutting out to rub tight circles over your sensitive clit. You squeak in surprise, your body jolting forward, and place your hands over his plush chest for balance. “Feels good, baby? Feel how deep my cock is?”

A moan leaves his kiss-bitten lips and you swear you physically felt yourself get pushed closer to your nearing orgasm, the noises leaving his lips amplifying your pleasure tenfold. “Taking me so well, look at that pretty pussy,” he coos, and you keen as his half-lidded eyes burn into yours. He feels your walls clench in response to the praise and flashes you a dangerous smirk; he places his feet flat on the bed and tightens his grip on your waist to buck his hips up, making you topple over him. Your gaze is unfocused and blurry as you look down at him, heavy breaths leaving your lips, tears threatening to roll down your rosy cheeks from the pace he set.

“And look at you,” he whispers lovingly under his breath. Jing Yuan throws his head back deeper into the pillows, keeping his eyes on you as he watches you lose yourself to the addicting feeling of his cock bullying your sopping cunt. “Y-Yuan,” you whine, your climax threatening to rip through you as you bite your lip to stifle your needy moans. He tuts, leaning up to bite your lip to pull you out of your pleasure-filled daze.

“Pay attention to me darling. Thaat’s it, let 'em out for me.” The general huffs, brows furrowing in concentration to focus on the feeling of your warm walls surrounding him, sucking him in endlessly. His thumb presses down onto your clit roughly to bring you closer to your orgasm; you whimper in turn, a chorus of oh fuck and please’s leaving your puffy lips. “I-I’m so close,” you whine, eyelids fluttering shut as you feel your control leaving your body, the tight coil of your orgasm threatening to snap.

Jing Yuan groans, hips bucking up into you, heavy balls slapping against your ass as he keeps up the pace, persistent. “Come on, give it to me, pretty girl.” He coos, voice breaking into a whine, close to climaxing himself. His thrusts become sloppier, and he bites his bottom lip to stifle a string of hearty, needy moans.

His hips still up into you as he cums, thick ropes of his seed painting your walls white. Jing Yuan’s thumb flicks your puffy clit until you climax as well, your cunt milking his sensitive cock. You whimper, feeling your clit buzz with overstimulation as he keeps rubbing it with purpose. “S-Stop, stooop,” you cry, your eyes burning with tears as the dull pain turns into pleasure, “Aeons you’re so tight.” Your lover slows down his movements, easing the tension in his muscles, until he stops circling your clit and gently places both of his hands on your waist. His hands slide up and down your sweaty skin, soothing the bruises that will inevitably form.

Your body slumps, exhausted and utterly spent, arms caging him as you rest your face in the crook of his neck. You both feel sticky and sweaty, but the warmth you shared made up for the need to jump in the shower to wash yourselves off. Jing Yuan shifts his hips so that his softening cock slips out of you; he inhales sharply, his cock still sensitive.

“I missed you,” you mumble quietly, voice muffled from the way you're pressed into him and the pillows and press a chaste kiss to his neck. “Yeah? I never would have guessed,” the general chuckles, arms coming up to hug you tightly, one hand placed behind your head to cradle you close to him. You hit him with a huff but then sigh, content.

“Mmh, but I missed you too, darling,” Jing Yuan replies softly. He holds you as your eyes droop, exhaustion taking ahold of your tired body. His own eyelids droop as he listens to your soft heartbeat, and soon enough, you’re both sleeping, legs tangled together while Jing Yuan’s strong arms keep you laid atop of him.

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

You’re not sure what time it is when you wake up, but you hear a phone ringing loudly in your ear, jolting you away from your peaceful dreams. You don’t recognize the tune, and as you’re about to wriggle your way out of the dozing general’s arms, he swings one arm over to the nightstand next to your bed and answers it without looking at the caller ID. “Jing Yuan speaking,” he says in a hoarse voice, eyes still closed.

Even without his phone on speaker you could make out a very loud, very shrill voice from the other side of the line, yelling out two hours late, a single mission and get your ass over here. Jing Yuan doesn’t react, the same sleepy, cat-like smile on his face as he listens to the person rant. They eventually let up and hang up, saying something you couldn’t quite catch. Your lover haphazardly tosses his phone somewhere on the bed and loops his arm back around you, nuzzling into your neck.

“Who was that?” you ask, voice cracking from how much you abused your vocal cords (apparently) two hours ago. He scoffs, amused, and pulls away just enough to speak clearly.

“Lady Fu Xuan,” he says slyly. “I should get dressed before she decides to read into my divination and sees things she probably shouldn’t.”

#୧ ‧₊˚orderup!#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x y/n #jing yuan x you #jing yuan smut #hsr x reader #hsr x reader smut #honkai star rail smut #jing yuan x reader smut #hsr smut

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