#I CAN HELP YOU WITH DESIGNS. I CAN HELP YOU WITH CLOTHES. I AM A STYLIST AND ARTIST

[viperify]

Im late but congrats on the 1k mar!!

If possible can i get the dating booth?

I'm a Gryffindor with some Slytherin tendencies, a Virgo. I enjoy DADA and Potions. My ideal date would probably be walking around Hogsmeade and checking out clothing/accessory stores. A few character traits of mine are being an extroverted introvert (veryyy talkative with the right people), artistic, in love with fashion, and painfully observant.

You deserve this, im happy you've reached this point and I can't wait to see everything you'll write in the future! ❤️

1k celebration | ᴍᴀᴛᴛʜᴇᴏ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

౨ৎ Shopping Date.

A/N: hi baby!!! thank u sm for requesting and ur sweet sweet words. ilysm!!! <333 so sorry for the long wait, I am trying to catch up, I promise!!!

Weak sun rays tickle your skin when you pull aside the curtains of your window, letting light flood your dorm.

It’s a beautiful Saturday morning in late spring—deer grazing at the edge of the forest, fog slowly but surely lifting itself from the ground.

Especially beautiful because Mattheo invited you to a trip to Hogsmeade—one of your favourite places to spend a free afternoon. Strolling through narrow streets, checking out the shops’ displays.

Obviously also trying on various new outfits, accessories, dresses of the finest fabrics which you’d never be able to afford—not at the moment, at least.

After lunch, Mattheo picks you up at your dorm, a smile spreading on his lips as he takes your hand in his, leading you away from the busy corridors and towards Hogsmeade. 

As usual, you first end up in Madam Malkin’s shop. Walking through shelf after shelf of newly arrived summer clothes.

By the time you have seen everything, a pile of clothes has gathered on Mattheo’s arms—but he doesn’t complain, not once.

Not even when you take your time trying on everything—and ask for his opinion on every single piece.

“That skirt looks gorgeous on you,” he says, eyes scanning over your figure, stopping briefly at the ruffled hem against your skin.

“You say that every time.” You reply, rolling your eyes at him as he takes a step closer to run his fingers over the fabric, pulling you in for a kiss.

His eyes soften, tone gentle and genuine. “Because I mean it. You look stunning in everything you wear, sweetheart.”

“You’re no good help, Matty.” You tease playfully, disappearing behind the curtains again.

Mattheo proudly carries your bags around, just so you have free hands to feel and try on anything you want.

You stop at one particular window, displaying a short, red dress—your favourite shade of red, too. You’ve felt over it countless times, even tried it on—but never bought it.

It’s made of a soft, silky fabric, flowing nicely and not too thick—perfect for a little summer evening date.

“You should get it, you know.” He mutters, taking a step forward to stand beside you, looking at you—recognizing the spark in your eyes you always have whenever you want something.

“Maybe some day.” You reply, turning to head to your last stop for the day—the Three Broomsticks.

And when the night gets long, perhaps a little bit too long, your friends joining in for a few drinks—you don’t even notice Mattheo slipping away for a few minutes.

But what you do notice? The smirk on his face for the rest of the night.

And when you wake up the next morning, you realise why.

A white box, wrapped with a ribbon, waiting for you. You recognize the brand immediately—one of the finest dressmakers in England—specifically the designer of the dress you’ve wanted for months.

When you open the lid, your fingers brush over the material—soft, silky—familiar.

You don’t hesitate, immediately knocking on Mattheo’s door.

As soon as the door opens, he sees the impossibly happy look on your face as you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him.

And that’s how he knows it was all worth it.

thank you for reading! feel free to reblog and leave feedback <3

—

masterlist. | 1k celebration. <- event masterlist.

©2025 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own.

[thedrotter]

In the terms of cookie run kingdom you're kinda like the pure vanilla to my shadow milk cookie

i dont play crk but my friend explained to me the lore and those 2 sounded so much like yuu and shunkun so i had to(ФωФ)

(+process pics in read more!!!)

never drawing cookie run kingdom clothing ever again I fought for dear life even though ive drawn genshin clothing before /j

[killer-blowmybrain]

one of my dreams was to host a ask blog

BUT I DON'T HAVE ANY SANS OR CHARACTER TO MAKE A ASK BLOG FOR

I'M GOING INSANE!!!!!!!!!

DUDE HOST ME TO HELP U I BEG

I WOULD BE SO HAPPY AND I WOULD WORK ON THIS LIKE A FUCKING JOB!!!!!!

[bmpmp3]

Audine :)

[arolesbianism]

It's so miserable making side characters for a story and getting attached because now not only are you obsessed with a guy that only exists in your head even if they existed out of your head they'd still be basically just in your head. Like no you guys have to trust me they're so deep and intricate no none of this stuff ever comes up you just have to believe me and like them as much as I do

[where-does-the-heart-lie]

More Doki Doki Battle Academy OP AU

even MOOROEEE of themmmmmahhhhhhh babyeyyy i even added some dialogues fir some extra flavourrrrr (kuma and bonney's gif there would be a sprite he would have in his dialogue scenes. i dont think it would be a gif like this, more like everytime you look back at him, bonney would be in a different spot)

Master Post for this AU

imagining the vinsmoke/strawhat beef going like this video

design stuffs and more lore:

preface: sorry this is so much writing and im not going to grammar check it cuz aint no body got time for that.

The world of this au is like pokemon with different gyms you can fight through and beat, there's a big league of pro fighters, and there are schools for teaching you to be a better fighter.

One of the schools is called the Germa 66 Private Battle Academy, it goes from grades 1-12 and its where the Vinsmoke siblings all went too (at least until sanji broke off from the family at some point) and its run by Judge Vinsmoke, their father.

i am thinking that the Vinsmoke kids would still be genetically modified and Kuma would be a cyborg in this too.

design stuffs:

Ichiji: i tried to make him as punk as he would feasably get away with living under his father's rule. Big "combat" boots, fingerless gloves, black undershirt. He likes his style and would probably go all out if he didnt have to conform to his school uniform, thus i put a little heart on his boots.

Niji: i also made him like his style. The rings on his fingers, his nikes shoes, his big headphones. Like a gamer who thinks this is what fashion is. I think he would love listening to music too so i put his heart on his headphones.

Yonji: big stakly guy. Hes a lot more hands-on than his brothers so i put lots of emphasis on that area. i put his heart on his hand wraps because i think he would really love fighting. I think that Yonji is most like his father in that enjoyment, but i think Judge wouldnt like how casual Yonji's style is.

Reiju: y2k queen. I love this design on her so much im so bummed that she would have already graduated from the academy and i cant put her in a Hit Me Baby One More Time-esque uniform outfit, shed fucking KILL THAT SHITTT. Anyway though, reiju's heart is subtle yet in plain view, the locket around her neck. i dont think she would let anyone look at the contents but i do think that absolutly it would be her mother on one side and her brothers on the other. She wouldnt like people looking at it because that would mean someone could see that her dad isnt in there and she would get it a lot of trouble with her father about it.

Power ranger fits: i made them full on power rangers. its what they deserve. Since reiju has a butterfly motif in canon, i thought it would be fun to also give her brothers a bug motif of their own. ichiji is a wasp, niji is a dragonfly, yonji is a stag beetle. If sanji stuck around, hed probably be a lady bug lol. Also the masks they wear, the eye window part, it’s like tear tracks coming out but in a way that doesnt look like thats what they are. But it’s meant to show how judge forcing his children to be these people is causing them pain.

thank you @zethsdumpster for being my Vinsmoke specialist and helping me come up with a lot of their design stuff!

Doflamingo: i tried to make him a Nasty Nasty man. Like if a used car salesman made it big. Like if Macklemore was MackleMORE. i love the idea that he likes to tan himself, but he doesnt take any of his clothes off to do so, so he just has the absolute craziest tan lines ever. i put his hearts on the gold chain around his neck, he loves his wealth but not much else. i love the idea of him having two very expensive watches on each wrist. there may be more watches up his sleeve too. i also gave him fluffy dice around his neck, like he's one of the cars that he's selling.

Rosinante: i couldnt get away much longer without putting the heart man into the heart 'game'. i couldve went off more with the hearts of his design but i didnt want him to become nearly as flashy as his brother. i wanted him to be understated and fade into the background when doflamingo is around. he is dead in this au btw sorry :/ this is his design when he passed, but doffy's design is present day him. anyway, Rosi's hearts are everywhere, its in the outline of his big huggable fluffy coat, its on his hat thats pulling him down, it would be on his shirt too if it wasnt covered by his coat in this image.

Bonney: SHEEES SO CUUTEEEE AAAAAAAA i love her. I based her design off of Avril Lavigne with her iconic necktie/tanktop/baggy pants looks. i tried to make her outfit look like she could feasibly fit in it when she ages herself up, especially her big ol shoes. the heart in her design is in her neck tie. The stereotypical visage of a dad is a man in a tie who goes to work, and she loves her dad, so her heart is in her dad tie.

Kuma: I didn't change much of him from his design in canon, but since bonney would be more in his life in this version, i wanted to give him more visual indicators of her being there. like the height chart on his leg, or the fuzzy hat she crocheted for him (she also made her own hat for herself). Also, the pattern on his shirt is one that looks like a paw, but if you took off that outer layer, if the pattern continued, the design would be a sun, and i just think that was really clever ehe ehe.

Hancock: Basically i tried to make her the baddest bitch in the universe. My program crashed like 3 times making her which is so funny. Procreate couldnt handle her. I based her design off of Medusa. at first i had her snake be made out of marble, but it eventually wound up at Obsidian. She has no visible hearts on her design and thats because it would be the scar on her back, which she tries to hide. i like the idea that this very visibly revealing outfit would be perfectly tailored and reinforced to never move a single inch to let anyone see what theyre not supposed to. I dont know how i would justify her being able to turn people into stone in this AU, so im just not going to make a decision on whether or not she can do that.

ive been working on these designs off and on ever since i made the first post on this au and im real happy i can finally put more out.

if you got to the end of this, thank you so much for reading~ i hope you enjoyed :)

[silkentine]

Wha--?! Silk finally finished her fem Zoro design after (checks notes) literally 6 months since she made the canvas in procreate?

I'll break down design thoughts and share some fun bonus pics under the cut:

I LOVE long hair on Zoro, I think that was the first change I wanted to implement. Zoro in canon actually has a really interesting relationship with gender dynamics which (if for some reason you're reading this and you haven't watched One Piece) can seem out of left field for the "dumb brute" character. His rivalry with and reverence for Kuina suggests he doesn't adhere to the idea that women are weaker than men. Later on, however, during his confrontation with Monet and Tashigi during Punk Hazard, his hesitation to slash her down reveals that he's subconsciously over-protective of women because he thinks they're inherently weaker. I actually don't have any problem with this character trait, I think it makes him feel more real as a person and he obviously gets shit-talked enough about it in the story itself. But how did I want to reflect these beliefs if Zoro had been born a woman? Easy: internalized misogyny and applying value to herself via her appearance.

My version of Zoro grew up wanting to fight with swords but her only chance of entering the dojo was to work under the proprietress, Lady Shimotsuki to maintain the property, cook meals for the male students, and eventually be a good wife to the current heir, Kuina. She learns that, to get what she wants, she must be the ideal woman, even if she stays up all night training swordsmanship with Kuina when she isn't supposed to. He treats her love for swordplay seriously and treats her like an equal, which sparks a bond between them and eventually leads to Zoro's goal of becoming the world's greatest swordsman after his sudden, accidental death.

After years of intense training (now that Lady Shimotsuki admits that she'll need a new heir and Zoro is the closest thing she has) Zoro's finally old enough to leave and begin her journey. She starts letting go of the idea that she has to look pulled together to be taken seriously because she can just kill anyone who looks down on her. Her clothing falls into disrepair, she wears outfits that help her move in combat, and she starts tossing her hair up into messy, knotted buns under her bandana. Even so, she keeps her hair long like rolling hills of grass. (At least during pre-timeskip. She lops off her hair to prove to Mihawk that she's serious about being trained.)

I've put her in a thin sweater that she stitches (poorly) back together after her first interaction with Mihawk. (I kept one sleeve because I was inspired by the santoryuu Nami that Oda drew that one time.) I also wanted to girl-ify the ubiquitous haramaki so I picked leg warmers for her because I think they're sufficiently "dated" enough to be kinda analogous with his old man belly warmer. I also love gyaru fashion, sue me.

Here is a screenshot of her as a blonde:

And here is a sketch of her post-timeskip where she's fully embraced her butch nature:

Hubba hubba, am I right?

Check out my tag "girl piece original design" to see more of my genderbending art! Next post, I'll put all my East Blue Crew designs together! I can't believe it's taken this long but I AM SO HAPPPPPYYYYY

[miupow]

beeeestie i am a new follower aaaand im just in love w ur blog 😩❤️

plllllsssss talk about husband!skz, i just cant go to sleep without this on mind 😫😫😫

you can include nsfw if you are comfortable with

˗ˏˋ ★ ― HUSBAND!STRAY KIDS HEADCANONS .ᐟ

╰┈⪼ ot8 x fem!reader ✦ fluff + smut , NSFW minors do not interact !

����𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 。。。public sex , unprotected sex , creampies , breeding kink , marking , public sex , spanking , bondage , dom/sub dynamics , brat tamer minho , sex toys , shibari , oral (f. rec) , squirting , voice kink , oral (m. rec) mention , orgasm control , pet play sort of

notes from lia。ouuu husbant. my favorite genre of skz.. hehe thank u for the follow!! i hope u enjoy this.. it makes me so happy to hear that u love my blog ^^

SFW :

husband!bangchan who acts like he's your sugar daddy on top of being your husband. you could ask for the entire nation of korea and he'd try his best to give it to you. anything you want and more, it doesn't matter the price; chan just loves spoiling his baby girl. designer bags and jewelry, pretty clothes and expensive dinners... you don't even have to ask.

husband!minho who loves to cook with you, even though he acts like he doesn't. when he's complaining about you being in his way and making snide remarks about your culinary skills, it's out of endearment instead of actual irritation. he just finds it so funny when you throw your own retorts back at him, pouting in that way he adores so much <3 he just loves riling you up

husband!changbin who loves to work out with you! he sees it as a bonding activity, something for the two of you to do together to spend time with eachother. he helps you with all of your stretches, you spot eachother when you need to, exchanging kisses inbetween sets <3 holding his feet while he does sit ups, kissing u every time he comes up hehe

husband!hyunjin who views you as his greatest muse. his favorite subject to draw or paint is your pretty face, your smile his favorite to photograph. he shows you some of it, but most he keeps for himself-- for his eyes only, to admire when he's away on tour and he misses you.

husband!jisung who has an endless amount of inside jokes with you from all of your years together, showing up in gag gifts and one-liners that make you double over in laughter. ji loves to make you laugh, it’s his favorite sound in the entire world <3 he’s always doing something silly in hopes that you’ll give him a pretty giggle, smile and roll your eyes, make his heart skip a beat in his chest ~

husband!felix who treats you like a princess, maybe even a queen— he all but worships the ground you walk on, forever gushing about how beautiful and amazing his wife is <3 the honeymoon phase never ends with him, you’re still as disgustingly in love with each other as you were when you first started dating. he calls you all sorts of sappy pet names, giving you kisses everywhere he can reach, always needing to be touching you even if it’s just holding your hand

husband!seungmin who still acts like a tsundere even when you’ve been married for years lol. he complains about you being lazy but he’ll never let you lift a finger, he groans about you being needy when he’s the one always reaching for you and demanding ur attention >< you love him just the way he is, and he loves you more than he’ll ever care to admit. it’s so obvious that he adores you cos he’s always looking at you when he thinks you aren’t paying attention, eyes lit up like you hung the stars yourself <3

husband!jeongin who wants to spend absolutely every moment he can by your side, and he hates being away from you for any reason. a perfect day for him would be glued to your hip, from when you wake up to when you go to sleep, his favorite person and his partner in crime, his ride or die… he’d take you with him on tour if he could, but he’ll settle for being on facetime 24/7 while he’s away lol

NSFW :

husband!bangchan who can't wait to start a family <3 he figures that now you're married, it's only natural to start trying for a baby... fucks you hard and fills you up every night, fully intent on getting your belly all swollen with his babies… so much cum it’s spilling out of your hole down your hickey-marked thighs, chan pushing it back inside with his thick fingers talking about making sure it takes…

husband!minho who will put you back in your place when you’re being bratty. he will not tolerate his wife having an attitude with him!! he’ll put you over his lap and make you count in an instant, or tie you up and torture you with your favorite vibrator for hours, and he won’t stop until you’re crying and begging for his forgiveness <3 he doesn’t care if you’re out in public or out with friends, he’s whispering threats in your ear, and if you still don’t stop he’ll grab you by the wrist and drag you back home.

husband!changbin who can't help but find your workout wear incredibly sexy, the way your leggings hug your ass and curves, the way ur sports bra pushes up ur tits.. and he knows you find him sexy too, in his tank top and gym shorts, sweaty muscles all out on display.... he's drooling over you while you're drooling over him, and you can both only take so much... its not uncommon for the two of you to end up fucking in the gym showers or in the locker rooms, sometimes even getting touchy in the weight room if it's empty!! changbin slapping and gripping on your ass cos he can't stop himself from touching anymore, and you grind back onto his crotch to feel his erection... his fat dick splitting you open in the showers, his thick buff arms holding you up against the cold shower wall with your legs apart..

husband!hyunjin who loves to tie you up, more than any of the other boys. it’s like an art form to him and he takes it very seriously, buying expensive rope in pretty colors, taking immaculate care of it.. he loves to take pictures of his work, the intricate knots that bind you in place or suspend you from the ceiling— you look so beautiful like that to him, his perfect tied up angel for him to admire and destroy <3

husband!jisung who is an absolute pussy fiend… he could spend all day with his face buried between your legs, talented tongue making you cum over and over again until you squirt hehe <3 he’s not satisfied until his entire face is drenched with ur arousal, dripping slick from his nose and chin, and then he wants to fuck you until you can’t walk ! and you better believe he’s going in raw, because why would he wear a condom when his ring is on your finger? you better be careful, because jisung wants to fuck every day and every night… you wouldn’t mind if you got pregnant, would you? because he definitely wouldn’t

husband!felix who thinks it’s so cute that you find his voice so hot. all he has to do is whisper some dirty words in your ear and you’re blushing and squirming like a virgin… he just can’t help but do it all of the time. deep aussie accent mumbling about how he’s going to ruin your pussy when you get home, or about how hard and needy he is for you to take care of him <3 his hand on your thigh dangerously close to where you need him most… he loves to rile you up until you can’t take any more, till you snap <3

husband!seungmin who loves his wife submissive and needy <3 he won’t let you touch yourself without his permission, just because he loves to listen to you beg, so desperate and dependent on him … he’s trained you to be a perfect pup for him, down to the collar he likes to have you wear. you’d do anything to hear him say “good girl”, wouldn’t you?

husband!jeongin who loves to fuck in public !! getting head in the park, balls deep in your pussy in a bathroom stall, fucking under a blanket in the dorm living room, loud movie covering up your sounds. the riskiness of it gets him so hot, the idea of getting caught slutting you out in a dressing room, closet, break room… maybe it’s because he’s so possessive, that nasty freaky part of him relishing the idea of showing off to others how you belong to him… and he loves watching you stumble around with cum dripping down your legs from under your skirt, disheveled and redfaced desperate to hide what you and your husband were just up to…

[kthologue]

Dying thinking about gojo literally pinning and hardcore simping for reader, literally showering reader in praise, flattery and gifts because he no longer gives a damn about hiding his feelings, almost proposing to reader whenever he can and reader's just... completely clueless about it💀 and she thinks it's just gojo being friendly. Poor man would be absolutely devastated when he goes one day "[name] i'm in love with you" and she just goes "me too, i love all my friends!" 💀

she loves me, she loves me not! — gojo satoru x fem!reader

contents. fluff, lovesick!gojo (what’s new), highschool!gojo, he’s pathetic but in love your honor, oblivious!reader, ooc gojo i got carried away soz

notes. anon, when i first read your ask i literally started giggling and kicking my feet. that. is. so. gojo coded.

“please reject gojo and put him out of his misery,” utahime implored, taking hold of both of your hands. you think she’s asking, no, begging you to. beside her, shoko nods vigorously. 

“but why?” you furrow your eyebrows, perplexed by their sudden request. “i can’t reject someone who doesn’t like me.”

shoko giggles at your comment. her laughter only wanes when she notices the dead serious look on your face. “... you seriously have no idea what we’re talking about?”

“not really,” you shrug, criss-crossing your legs to find some comfort on the hard wooden floor in shoko’s small dorm. it was late, past midnight, and the three of you had a shared mission tomorrow, but for some reason your two friends managed to rope you into their drinking circle.

utahime and shoko exchanged a significant glance, their unspoken communication raising your curiosity. utahime takes a long sip of her beer. 

“hopeless. they’re both hopeless,” your short haired brunette friend lamented, pinching her nose bridge. it leaves a faint pink mark.

intrigued, you lean in closer towards the two, “care to elaborate?”

“you’ve never once questioned satoru’s borderline inappropriate behavior?” shoko asks you earnestly. you ponder for a moment, trying to recall any moments in the two years you’ve known the snow-haired boy.

“satoru is satoru…” you mumble, shaking your head in denial. 

utahime’s eyes bug comically. she slams her can of beer harshly on the ground. you wince at the loud noise of the metallic can hitting the floor.

“you’re kidding. even i can see through that jerk!” utahime’s black pigtails sway wildly. 

“[name], how about what happened in shinjuku last week on our day off?” shoko quietly reminds you of last weekend when the two of you along with satoru and suguru decided to empty your pockets in one of tokyo’s largest entertainment wards. 

utahime’s head whips back and forth from her best friend to you, “eh? what happened?!”

from behind the dressing room curtain, you voiced your concerns, “shoko, i don't think we can afford designer clothes on our student budget.” the cream-colored silk dress you wore clung to your body, its price tag undoubtedly surpassing a year's worth of your student earnings.

“don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” shoko’s voice carried a knowing smile. “just come out and show me the dress!” you think satoru’s carefree attitude is rubbing off on her.

with a nervous sigh, you emerged from the dressing room. the dress fit like a glove, accentuating your body in just the right places.

bright flashes from shoko's phone startled you, and she chuckled deviously while rapidly typing. she tossed her phone onto a luxurious cushion, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of exposure.

“you look so sexy. even better than the model.” she gives you two thumbs up, eyes roaming your figure. you feel flushed at her praise.

“as flattered as i am, there’s no way i can afford this,” you look down at the dress, lips downturned. “i’d be in debt for life.”

“no need to worry,” shoko winked, leaving you confused. given that her income was similar to yours, it didn't make sense for her to be able to even dream of shopping designer.

a soft thud interrupted your conversation. you turn around to see a blue lollipop rolling on the expensive carpeting of the store.

“suguru, are my eyes deceiving me or is that an angel?”  satoru's mouth is wide open as he shamelessly checks you out. he takes one of his hands and places it over his heart, gripping the fabric of his white shirt. the windbreaker he is wearing rustles at his dramatic movement.

“i think… i’m experiencing a heart attack! shoko help!” he kneels in the middle of the store dramatically. shoko shares an unamused look with suguru. the pair nod before simultaneously kicking satoru.

during all of the commotion, you stand awkwardly in the million yen dress. 

“satoru, are you okay?” you watch him take the two blows from your friends, concern evident in your voice. he grunts softly before gently taking ahold of your hand.

“no,” he croaks with a playful glint in his eye. “i’m wounded and there’s only one way to fix it.”

you look at him, your gaze heavy with concern.

“i’m afraid you’ll have to kiss me for the pain to go away.” he added, blinking at you expectantly with his blue eyes.

 you lightly shove him away from you. “you’re an idiot.” satoru laughs loudly.

“that’s what love does to a man.”

“yeah, yeah. i’m going to change out of this dress, don’t get into any more trouble while i’m gone.” 

 satoru’s grip on your hand strengthens, halting your actions.

“how much?”

“excuse me?”

“the dress. how much for it?” he stands up to his full height, reminding you of the obvious height difference between the two of you. 

you're at loss for words. gojo was crazy, but definitely not crazy enough to spend a million yen on a silly dress.

shoko happily chimes into the conversation. “one million yen. it’ll be two million yen with the rest of my purchases though!” 

suguru’s calm demeanor is replaced with shock. the black haired male’s jaw drops, “two million– satoru, you’re seriously not thinking about–”

“hah? who said i’m paying for your stuff?” gojo makes an ugly face at shoko.

she raises her hands innocently, “it’s not my fault the dresses come in a set. if you want to see your beloved [name] in that dress you’ll have to pay for mine as well.”

you watch shoko and satoru engage into a silent argument. the tension in the fitting room section is so thick, you think it’ll take a special grade weapon to slice through it.

trying to alleviate the mood you tell gojo, “satoru, you really don’t have to–”

“i’m buying you that dress.” 

“o-okay.” 

half an hour later, satoru happily strolls out of the store with an arm around your shoulder like he’d just won the lottery.

perhaps gojo is just naturally flirty, you had tried to reason to shoko and utahime.

it’s been a week since the eye-opening conversation with the two and you’ve found yourself on cleaning duty with said snow-haired boy. it was a miracle that satoru even showed up. he had a tendency to skip his turns, often resulting in a long lecture from yaga.

as the two of you worked silently in the empty classroom, you couldn't help but admire the setting sun. its golden rays painted the sky with hues of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over everything. unknowingly, while you gazed at the sky, gojo's gaze was firmly fixed on you.

breaking the silence, he asked, "have you ever thought about getting married?"

his question caught you off guard, causing you to momentarily pause from wiping the windows.

“not really,” you replied, biting your lip gently. “unless my family decides to arrange a marriage. you know how unforgiving the world of jujutsu sorcery is.”

gojo's grip on the broom tightened, his eyes locking onto yours with a newfound intensity.

"we should get married y'know," he blurted out.

the piece of cloth you were using slipped from your hand in shock. surely, he couldn't mean what he was saying. after all, the two of you were only second years.

“what?”

“i’m saying i think i’m in love with you.”

“oh.” 

silence engulfs the room once more before a soft giggle escapes your lips.

satoru can only watch, entranced.

“that’s good to hear! i love you too– and suguru and shoko! perhaps the four of us should all just get married.” you chuckle into your hand.

satoru can't help but stare at your hand in envy. perhaps if he were the palm of your hand, he’d be able to feel the touch of your lips.

but he couldn’t. he was cursed as a man with an overpowered innate technique, and despite it all he couldn’t even gain the one thing he desired. gojo satoru watched you, eyes filled with a mixture of longing and defeat.

his devastation does not go unnoticed by you.

you were under the impression that he was grumpy because yaga had forced him into cleaning with you.

"cheer up, satoru! if we finish early enough," you continue, your tone highspirited, "we can go to the new crepe shop that opened last week. my treat!" you winked, and that immediately caught his attention.

“like a date?” his eyes sparkled with hope.

you shrug, a smile on your face. “i suppose if you look at it from a certain perspective…”

“great, it’s a date!” 

good things come to those who wait, satoru thinks, humming happily as he starts to sweep the room at an inhumane pace.

maybe in ten years time the two of you will be happily married with eight kids, he smiles to himself.

[jjscrybaby]

hi! can you one with rafe where his girl as asthma — maybe she’s had shortness of breath throughout the day and he can tell she’s not doing ok. or like at night, he wakes up without her and she’s needing steam from the faucet or shower to help her with her attack?

just an idea! i just love when he takes care of his girl xx

rafe cameron x fem!reader | hurt & comfort | (asthma attack, cutie pie rafe, rafe being an amazing bf.)

thankyou for the req angel, hope you enjoy this! i don’t have asthma, so i did as much research as i could for this to be accurate so if it isn’t i very much apologise!

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

Rafe’s eyes blinked open, a soft groan leaving his mouth as he looked over to the window. It was still dark out, he definitely didn’t need to be awake yet. He closed his eyes again, turning over to throw his arm around your waist; his hand landed on an empty bed.

He opened his eyes in confusion, sitting up tiredly to look around the room. It was empty, no one there but him, but the bedroom door was ajar. He groaned again, forcing himself to his feet to go and find you.

The sound of the shower running caught his attention, he quickened his pace as he opened the door to the guest bathroom and stepped inside. You were sat against the bathtub, still clothed, taking sharp, croaky breaths. Steam filled the room, and he instantly knew what was going on.

“Hey, baby,” he cooed, kneeling down beside you. You let out another breath, it sounded painful. “Why haven’t you used your inhaler?”

“Can’t find it,” you croak out, he has to fight the urge to tell you off.

“Okay, baby. I know where the spare is, wait here one second, okay?” He murmured, running a hand through your hair as he stood back up and left the room.

He kept two spares, one in his bedside table and the other in his truck for when the two of you were out. He rushed to the bedroom and pulled open the drawer, grabbing it before making his way back to you. You’re now holding your chest, letting out wheezes and dry coughs.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he urged as he shook the inhaler and then pushed it past your lips. He pressed down on it and you inhaled the medicine slowly. “Good girl,” he praised softly as you breathed it in.

Your breathing slowly went back to normal, your chest loosening and your head starting to feel less dizzy. You leant against his chest, his hand rubbing up and down your back. You’d felt off all day, breathing had been difficult but not difficult enough for you to mention anything to Rafe.

“Why didn’t you wake me, huh?” He asked, reaching over you to switch the shower off. “Hate the thought of you strugglin’ in here by yourself.”

You looked down at your hands, nibbling on your bottom lip. “Didn’t want you to be mad that I lost my inhaler.”

“Silly girl,” he murmured, kissing your temple. He stood up and helped you to your feet, arm wrapping around your waist to lead you back to bed. “We’re gonna get a designated spot, yeah? You need that shit, y’know that.”

“I know,” you pouted, leaning your body weight on him.

He hummed, laying you down in bed before crawling in beside you. His arm wrapped tightly around your waist, tugging you backwards so you were fully in his arms.

“Next time, you tell me. What kinda boyfriend am I if you’re doin’ this shit alone?” He reprimanded, leaving open kisses to your cheek to soften the blow of his telling off.

“Promise,” you nodded, holding onto his hand that was wrapped around you.

“Get some sleep, baby. Know you must be tired out,” he urged.

He stayed awake until he was sure you were asleep, and he made a mental note to come up with a plan so you’d stop losing your damn inhaler. He just couldn’t bring himself to properly tell you off, not when it means he gets to take care of you.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

bonus i came up with when finding the header pics (i don’t want to talk about how long it took me to make, someone lmk what app they use for fake messages pls)

[alamoudi-ghazi]

Help Us Evacuate Gaza

Hello everyone, I am Ghazi Alamoudi from the northern Gaza Strip, displaced in Deir Al-Balah, and living in a tent with my family.😢🥺

My family and I are facing unimaginable hardship due to the ongoing war in Gaza. We have lost our home, my career, and our sense of safety. Now, we are living in a small tent, trying to survive each day amidst the chaos and destruction.

Before the war, I worked as an instructional designer, building a future for my family. But that life has been shattered. We are now desperate to find safety and start over. But we need your help. We are trying to raise funds to escape Gaza and rebuild our lives in a place where we can finally find peace.

Before — This was my life before the war, filled with hope and promise.

After — This is what remains after the destruction.

What once stood as a symbol of hope, my Home is now nothing but shattered walls and debris. I had just finished building our home, a place where I could finally feel safe. But in the blink of an eye, everything was destroyed by the ongoing war. The sounds of explosions filled the air, and I fled with nothing but the clothes on our backs. Now, where our memories and dreams once lived, all that remains is devastation.

My campaign is Vetted by: 1- @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #89 ) 2- @dlxxv-vetted-donations Click here

3- @a-shade-of-blue Click here 4- @90-ghost Click here

I KINDLY ASK ALL OF YOU TO HELP ME AND DONATE IN THE LINK PLEASE @90-ghost @communistchilchuck @northgazaupdates2 @el-shab-hussein @fairuz @vakarians-babe @nabulsi @sarazucker @fairuzfan @a-nautilus-as-pixel-art @13eyond13 @stil-lindigo @baby-indie-blog @just-browsing1222 @sar-soor @sayruq @appsa @akajustmerry @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @feluka @marnota @el-shab-hussein @sayruq @tortiefrancis @flower-tea-fairies @tsaricides @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @vivisection-gf @belleandsaintsebastian @ear-motif @animentality @kordeliiius @commissions4aid-international @brutaliakhoa @raelyn-dreams @troythecatfish @the-bastard-king @4ft10tvlandfangirl @queerstudiesnatural @malcriada

I need your support more than ever. Please, if you can donate, any amount helps. If you can’t, sharing our story is just as important. Every reblog and donation brings us one step closer to safety and rebuilding our lives."

[flux1563]

Best choice of my life ft tzuyu

Something new part 2

Words: 25k

The digital clock on the nightstand flickered to life, casting a blueish hue over the room. 6:00 AM. The time had come for him to rise and prepare for the day ahead. With a gentle sigh, her husband's eyes fluttered open, his gaze immediately finding hers in the dim light. He offered a sleepy smile, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "Morning, love," he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep. Tzuyu sat up in bed, the sheets slipping down to reveal the swells of her breasts. She returned his smile, trying to ignore the heaviness in her chest. "Already time to go to work?" Tzuyu ask. Her husband nodded and stretched, his muscular body flexing with the motion. "Yeah," he yawned. "Big meeting today. I'll be home as soon as I can." He leaned over and kissed her gently on the forehead before swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

As he padded towards the bathroom, Tzuyu couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and anxiety build within her. She quickly grabbed her phone from the nightstand, her thumbs flying over the screen. Her heart raced as she typed out the message to y/n: "I want to feel you again this time. Can I come to your house?" She hit send before she could talk herself out of it, her stomach flipping with anticipation. She watched her husband's back as he disappeared into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him.

Y/n's response is swift: "Just come to my house, Tzuyu." The simplicity of his message sends a thrill down her spine. She knows she shouldn't, that it's wrong, but the memory of his touch is too potent to ignore. Her mind wanders to what she should wear, something that would drive him wild with desire. She opens her closet, her eyes scanning the rows of clothes. Her fingers glide over the fabric of her usual attire, but she knows none of it will suffice for what she has in mind. Instead, she reaches for the drawer at the bottom, where she keeps her secret collection of lingerie. Her heart races as she pulls out a sheer, black set. The lace is intricate, leaving nothing to the imagination. The thong is so thin it might as well not be there, and the bra is designed to expose her nipples, the fabric barely covering the sensitive peaks. Tzuyu's body flushes with excitement and nerves as she dresses in the seductive ensemble. She looks at herself in the mirror, her reflection looking like a stranger, a woman bold and hungry for desire. With one last, deep breath, she grabs an oversized hoodie from her husband's side of the closet to cover herself. The softness of the fabric feels like a comforting embrace, a stark contrast to the naughty secrets it conceals. The short walk to y/n's house feels like an eternity. Each step is a silent confession to the betrayal she's about to commit. Yet, the anticipation is intoxicating, making her heart race and her breath come in shallow pants. The early morning light casts long shadows across the lawn, and the dew on the grass feels like a kiss from the cool, indifferent world outside her tumultuous thoughts. She tries to calm herself, focusing on the familiar squeak of the gate and the comforting scent of her garden as she passes by.

When she reaches y/n's door, she takes one final, deep breath before raising her hand to knock. It's a soft sound, barely louder than the whisper of the wind through the leaves. Yet, almost immediately, she hears the sound of the lock turning, and the door swings open. He's waiting for her, dressed in nothing but a pair of shorts that hang low on his hips, showcasing the trail of hair that leads down to the promise of his cock. His eyes widen with lust when he sees her, taking in the barely concealed allure of her attire. Before she can even say a word, he's on her, pulling her into his arms and claiming her lips in a kiss that's both fierce and passionate. His hands roam her body, tracing the curves of her waist and the swell of her hips. Tzuyu melts into the kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair. It's as if her body has been waiting for this, craving the feel of his touch like a plant craves the sun. With a sudden jerk, y/n pulls her hoodie open, exposing her lingerie-clad breasts to the cool morning air. The contrast between the soft fabric and the roughness of his calloused hands sends a jolt of electricity through her, making her nipples peak into tight buds. He breaks the kiss to look down at her, his eyes dark with desire. "You came to me," he murmurs, his voice low and thick with need.

"Yeah," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "I couldn't wait for you to take me again." His eyes flash with a primal hunger that makes her knees weak. Without warning, he rips her lingerie from her body, the fabric tearing like paper beneath his powerful grip. Tzuyu gasps, feeling the cold air against her bare pussy. He smirks at her, the sound echoing through the house like a declaration of his dominance. "If that's what you want, then that's what you'll get," he says, his voice a low growl. He grabs her by the waist and lifts her onto the kitchen counter, her legs wrapping around his hips. She gasps as she feels the tip of his cock, thick and insistent, press against her opening. Without further ado, he slams into her, his length filling her in one swift motion. The suddenness of it makes her eyes roll back in her head, a high-pitched moan escaping her lips. He doesn't stop, pounding into her with a ferocity that leaves her breathless. 

His grip on her hips is like iron, holding her in place as he claims her body without mercy. "Yeah, fuck my pussy like that," Tzuyu pants, her nails digging into his shoulders. The wetness she mentioned was indeed still present, a testament to the longing she'd felt for him since their last encounter. She could feel her juices coating his cock, making each stroke smoother, deeper. "You like that, don't you?" He grunts, his eyes dark with lust. "You want me to make you squirt again?" Tzuyu nods frantically, her pussy clenching around him in anticipation. She's never felt anything like this before, the feeling of his cock hitting all the right spots, the way her body responds so eagerly to his touch. She feels a familiar pressure building within her, and she knows she's close. "Ajh, yes, y/n, I'm going to squirt," she moans, her voice a mix of pleasure and desperation. He quickens his pace, driving into her harder and faster, his grip on her hips tightening. The kitchen counter digs into her back, but she doesn't care. All that matters is the feeling of his cock inside her, the promise of the release that's just within reach.

Her pussy clenches around him, and suddenly, it's there. The intense pressure builds up, and then releases in a powerful spurt of liquid that soaks his cock and the counter beneath her. She throws her head back, her eyes squeezed shut as she rides the waves of pleasure that crash through her body. She feels it from her toes to her fingertips, a rush of euphoria that makes her tremble and shake uncontrollably. He watches her with a mix of amazement and hunger, his eyes never leaving her face as he continues to pound into her. "How long can I fuck you this day, Tzuyu?" he asks again, his voice strained with effort and desire. "Until 6 PM," she gasps, her voice barely a whisper. The thought sends a new wave of heat through her body, the anticipation of hours of passionate fucking making her pussy clench even tighter around his thick cock. Y/n smiles wickedly, his eyes gleaming with excitement. He glances at the clock on the kitchen wall, the hands pointing to the 7 AM position. "Eleven hours," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Eleven hours of pure pleasure, just for us." With surprising strength, he flips Tzuyu over onto her stomach, her legs dangling off the edge of the counter. He grips her hips, pulling her back so that her ass is in the air, her pussy wet and begging for his cock. The sudden change in position makes her gasp, her breasts pressing against the cool countertop. He doesn't miss a beat, lining himself up with her soaking wet entrance and sliding back in, filling her completely. Her moans echo through the kitchen as he starts to fuck her in standing doggy style, his powerful thrusts sending her hips slamming into the counter. She can feel the bruises forming, but the pain only adds to the intense pleasure that is consuming her. Each time he hits her g-spot, she squirts a little more, the wetness making his movements even smoother, even more delicious.

"Already squirting countless times, Tzuyu?" he says with a smug chuckle, his grip tightening on her hips. "It's only been a few minutes. You're going to be a mess by the time I'm through with you.". Tzuyu can't help the moan that escapes her as she nods, her voice strained with pleasure. "It's your fault," she whispers, her words barely audible over the sound of skin slapping against skin. "Your cock is so good inside my pussy.". Y/n's smug grin widens, and he starts to fuck her harder, his movements more deliberate as he watches the pleasure wash over her face. She's lost in the sensation, her body responding to his every touch with a desperation that she's never felt before. "Beg for it," he growls, his voice low and commanding. "Beg for me to fill you up again." Tzuyu's eyes roll back in her head, and she can't help but whimper. "Please, y/n," she says, her voice needy. "Please, I need your baby in me." It's a heady feeling, saying the words out loud, and she feels a new wave of arousal crash over her. She's never talked like this before, but with him, it feels so right. He grabs her hand, interlocking their fingers behind her back, pulling her closer to him. His other hand snakes up to her hair, gripping it firmly as he fucks her even harder. The tug on her scalp sends a bolt of pleasure through her, making her toes curl. She moans loudly, the sound echoing in the quiet of the kitchen. "You're such a good slut," he whispers, his breath hot against her ear. "Ask for it."

Her eyes widen, the pain mixing with pleasure as she begs, "Please, y/n, fuck me harder. Make me squirt again." He obliges, his hand moving faster, his cock pounding into her with a ferocity that borders on brutal. She feels the pressure building inside her, her pussy clenching around him like a vice. And then it hits her, the most intense orgasm she's ever felt, her body shaking as she squirts all over the kitchen counter, soaking his hand and the floor beneath them. He groans with satisfaction, feeling her walls tighten around his cock, the sensation of her release pushing him closer to the edge. Without warning, he pulls out and spins her around, slamming her back against the fridge. His grip on her hand tightens as he pins it behind her back, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies. His other hand tangles in her hair, yanking her head back to expose her neck, which he kisses hungrily, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. He enters her again, his movements now erratic, driven by his own need to release.

Tzuyu's eyes roll back as he fucks her relentlessly, his cock hitting that spot deep within her that sends waves of pleasure crashing through her body. She feels his desperation, his need to claim her fully, and it only serves to increase her own desire. Her body responds, her pussy clenching around him, begging for more. With a final, primal roar, y/n releases himself inside her, filling her to the brim with his hot, sticky cum. Tzuyu gasps, her body spasming with the force of her own orgasm, her walls milking him for every last drop. She feels him swell and pulse, his seed painting the walls of her pussy with his brand of ownership. For a moment, they stand there, chests heaving, bodies entwined. But the reality of their situation crashes down on her like a tidal wave. She's just cheated on her husband with her neighbor, a man she's known for years but never felt this intense connection with before. Her legs threaten to give out, and she's certain she would have fallen if not for his iron grip holding her upright.

"Is so good, y/n fuck," Tzuyu whispers with trembling voice, her eyes fluttering shut as the aftershocks of pleasure wash over her. Her words are a mix of English and her native language, a testament to the overwhelming nature of their encounter. She leans into him, her naked body pressing against his, desperate for his warmth and the illusion of safety that he provides. "You're amazing," he murmurs back, kissing the side of her neck gently. His voice is filled with genuine admiration and lust. He releases her hand, letting it fall to her side as he wraps his arms around her waist, holding her tightly as he slowly pulls out of her. The feeling of emptiness is stark, and she can't help but whine softly. He chuckles, the sound sending a shiver down her spine.

They both take a moment to catch their breath, the only sound in the kitchen the ticking of the clock on the wall, a constant reminder of the time slipping away. Tzuyu opens her eyes to find y/n looking at her with a smug smile, his chest still heaving from exertion. "Are you okay?" he asks, his eyes searching hers for any signs of distress. She nods, still trying to process the intensity of what just happened. "Yes," she manages to murmur, though her voice is hoarse from the screams of passion. He releases her from his embrace, and she wobbles slightly, her legs still unsteady from the powerful climaxes. He chuckles again, and this time it's a gentle sound that doesn't make her want to run away. Guiding her to the living room, he pulls a soft blanket from the couch and wraps it around her shoulders, leading her to the plush cushions. They sit down, their bodies still touching, the heat between them palpable. "I don't usually do this," Tzuyu says, her voice still shaking. "But I couldn't resist you." Y/n nods, stroking her cheek gently. "I know. It's like we were made for each other." His words hang in the air, filled with an unspoken understanding that this wasn't just a one-time thing. They share a knowing look, their eyes locked in a silent promise of more to come.

"Are u want to take a rest first?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down her spine. She nods again, her body aching from the intense passion they've just shared. They move to the couch, the plush cushions a welcome respite from the hard kitchen counter. He settles her into his arms, the warmth of his bare skin a stark contrast to the chill in the air from the open refrigerator door. Tzuyu takes a moment to appreciate the sight of her sprawled across his couch, the blanket barely covering her splayed legs and the wetness between them. He traces a finger along her collarbone, watching as goosebumps rise along her skin. "No, just fuck me like a slut I am," she whispers, her voice needy and raw. He leans in, his breath hot on her ear as he says, "Are u sure? U can't take back what u say tzuyu." His words hang in the air, a challenge and a warning. She nods, eyes blazing with desire. "Yes," she murmurs, her voice thick with lust. "I want it all. Every part of you, every dirty word, every rough touch." He stands up, towering over her, his cock still hard and glistening with their combined juices. "Which room do you want me to fuck you, Tzuyu?" he asks, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. She swallows hard, her heart racing. She's never been so brazen, but with his, she feels like she can be anyone, do anything.

"Maybe the work room first," she says, her voice low and sultry. "Fuck me above your desk." The thought sends a thrill through her body, a delicious mix of excitement and naughtiness that only fuels her desire. She watches as his eyes darken with lust, the challenge accepted. With surprising gentleness, he picks Tzuyu up, his arms cradling her against his chest as he carries her through the house. Her legs wrap around his waist, the blanket slipping away to expose her nakedness to the cool air. She nuzzles into his neck, her lips leaving a trail of kisses along his collarbone as he navigates the hallway. The anticipation builds with every step, her pussy clenching with need. He kicks the door to his work room open, the sound echoing through the house. The room is cluttered with paperwork and the faint scent of ink and leather, a stark contrast to the garden's serenity. He lowers her onto the sturdy desk, the wood cool against her skin. His eyes are dark with desire as he takes in the sight of her laid out before him, her legs open and welcoming.

"Fuckk, so wet and tight," he groans, the words escaping him like a prayer. Tzuyu feels a thrill at his crude language, the raw desire in his voice making her even wetter. He grabs her hips and aligns his cock with her entrance, his hands trembling with restraint. The moment he enters her, she feels the familiar rush of liquid heat, her pussy squirting around him like a fountain. It's a sensation she's never felt with anyone else, a testament to the intensity of their connection. His eyes widen with surprise before a smug smile plays on his lips. "You're just too much," he says, his voice thick with lust. He starts to thrust, his movements powerful and commanding. She gasps with each stroke, her body bouncing on the desk with the force of his passion. The room is filled with the sound of their slapping flesh, the occasional squeak of the chair, and their ragged breaths. She looks down to see his cock disappearing into her over and over again, her juices coating his shaft with every plunge.

"You're not ruining anything," he growls, his eyes dark with desire. "You're just making it more interesting." He pulls out almost completely, only to slam back into her, making her cry out. His grip on her hips tightens, his nails digging into her skin as he finds a rhythm that makes her pussy pulse with each thrust. "Fuck, so fucking big," Tzuyu screams, her voice bouncing off the walls of the room. She can feel him filling her completely, his cock reaching places inside her that she didn't know existed. Each time he pulls out, she feels the emptiness keenly, only for it to be replaced with a wave of pleasure as he slams back in. "Yes, cum for me," she pants, her eyes fluttering shut as she feels the beginnings of another orgasm building deep within her. She can sense that he's close, his strokes becoming more erratic, his breathing more ragged. His hand snakes up to her throat, gripping it gently, and she moans, the sensation pushing her closer to the edge.

With a roar, y/n pulls out and sprays his cum across her face, painting it in thick ropes that cling to her skin. She opens her eyes, watching in fascination as he marks her, claiming her once again. The sight of his release on her face sends her over the edge, her pussy convulsing around emptiness as she squirts uncontrollably.

The room is a chaotic symphony of moans and wet sounds, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. His desk, once a bastion of order and productivity, is now a canvas of their desire, papers and files scattered haphazardly, drenched in the evidence of their passion. Her squirt covers the leather surface, pooling in the indentations of his chair, creating a mess that mirrors the tumult in her heart. Without a word, y/n picks her up, her legs still trembling from the intensity of their last encounter. His eyes burn with a primal hunger that makes her insides quiver.

He carries her to his bedroom, his strong arms a stark contrast to the softness of her curves. The room is bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, the shadows playing across the walls like a silent film of their carnality. The bed is unmade, the sheets tangled from his last encounter with his right hand. He lays her down gently, his cock still rock-hard and glistening with their combined juices. She looks up at him, her eyes glazed over with lust, and straddles him. Her pussy is a slick, swollen mess, begging for more of his thick, delicious cock. He watches as she slides down onto him, her walls stretching to accommodate his girth.

"Ahh...fuck," she gasps, her nails digging into his shoulders as she feels him fill her completely. She starts to ride him, her movements erratic at first, a mix of pleasure and pain. His hands roam her body, cupping her breasts, squeezing her ass, his fingers leaving trails of fire in their wake. His cock hits all the right spots, and she feels herself spiraling towards another orgasm. "Your dick is everywhere," she cries out, her voice hoarse from the screams of ecstasy that have already left her throat. She's lost in a sea of sensation, her body moving on instinct as he takes her to new heights. Her pussy clenches around him, and she feels the warmth of her squirt, the liquid proof of her desire. He takes control, thrusting into her with a ferocity that steals her breath away. His strokes are deep and demanding, each one pushing her closer to the edge. "Cum for me," he growls, his voice thick with lust. "I want to feel your sweet cunt milk my cock." Her eyes roll back in her head as she feels it building again, the pressure in her core threatening to explode. Her pussy clamps down on him, and she squirts uncontrollably, her juices coating his shaft and their skin. He doesn't let up, his rhythm never faltering as he continues to pound into her.

Finally, with a roar, he pulls out and covers her back in his cum, his seed spraying across her skin like a declaration of war. But it's not war she feels, it's a strange sense of belonging, of being claimed by this man who brings her such exquisite pain and pleasure. And just as she thinks she can't take anymore, he turns her onto her back and slams into her again, her legs splayed wide. His cock is a beast, demanding and relentless, and she's helpless to resist. Her pussy clenches around him, and she feels another orgasm building, her body a live wire ready to snap. He fucks her with a brutal efficiency, his eyes never leaving hers. She can see the darkness in them, the desire that fuels his every thrust. And she knows that she's just as lost in this as he is, her own needs driving her to match his ferocity. "Cum inside me," she begs, her voice a desperate whisper. "I want to feel you fill me up." He grunts, his strokes becoming more erratic as he gets closer to his own release. And when it hits him, it's like a dam bursting. He fills her with his cum, each spurt a hot, thick reminder of his power over her. Her pussy clenches around him, eagerly drinking him in.

They lay there, panting and spent, their bodies entwined. The world outside their bubble of passion doesn't exist, and she's never felt more alive. She knows that this is wrong, that she's playing with fire. But she can't help craving the burn.

"Again," she whispers, and he's only too happy to oblige. He rolls her onto her stomach, her breasts pressed into the damp pillow. His hand traces the curve of her ass before he slides into her from behind. Her pussy is still sore, but the pain only heightens the pleasure, making her squirt uncontrollably with every thrust. "Ahh, yes," she moans, her voice muffled by the pillow. "Your dick is so deep. " She can feel him stretching her, filling her completely. It's a sensation that's both terrifying and exhilarating, like riding a rollercoaster with no safety bars.

He fucks her with a fierce determination, his strokes deep and punishing. Each time he hits her g-spot, she feels her body shudder, her juices soaking the bed beneath them. The sound of their skin slapping together fills the room, a testament to their carnality. His grip on her hips tightens, and she knows he's close, his thrusts growing more erratic.

He pulls out, and before she can even register the loss, he's flipped her onto her back. He's still hard, his cock glistening with their combined arousal. He looms over her, his eyes dark with lust. "Look at me when I cum," he commands, and she can't help but obey.

He starts fucking her again, his strokes slower this time, more deliberate. She can feel him savoring every moment, every inch of her. His cock slides in and out of her, the friction setting her nerves alight. And then he explodes, his seed spraying her body like a fine mist. She can feel it on her face, her neck, her chest, a warm, sticky mess that only makes her want more.

They lay there for a moment, their breathing the only sound in the room. Then he leans in, kissing her softly, his cock still semi-hard between her legs. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice hoarse. Tzuyu opens her eyes, meeting his gaze. She can't find the words to respond, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. She's torn between the guilt that weighs on her and the intense desire that still thrums through her body. "For what?" she finally asks, her voice a mere whisper. "For letting me be the one to give you what you truly crave," he says, his eyes searching hers. "For letting me be the one to make you squirt like a fountain."

The truth of his words hits her like a sledgehammer, and she feels a mix of shame and excitement. She's never felt so used, so owned. And she can't help but want more.

They move to the living room, the plush carpet beneath them a stark contrast to the harsh reality of their situation. He takes her from behind, his hands gripping her hips tightly as he pulls her back onto his cock. She's so wet that he slides in effortlessly, filling her up in one swift motion. The couch cushions sink under their weight as he starts to pound into her, each thrust sending her body rocking forward.

The TV flickers in the background, the mundane sitcom playing out its canned laughter as Tzuyu's own cries of pleasure echo through the room. Her pussy is a river, gushing around him with every push, and she knows that the sound of their fucking is only adding to the illicitness of the moment. She can feel her orgasm building again, and she tries to fight it, to draw it out as long as possible.

He's relentless, his hips moving like a piston as he fucks her with a ferocity that borders on the violent. She's lost in the sensation, her body moving with his, her mind a blur of need and desire. And when she does finally come, it's like a dam bursting, her squirt soaking the carpet beneath her.

Yet he doesn't stop. If anything, his movements grow more intense, his grip on her hips tightening as he speeds up. He's like an animal in heat, his need for release all-consuming. And she's his prey, willingly offering herself up to his every whim. The sound of their skin slapping together fills the air, punctuated by her cries of pleasure. She can feel him swelling inside her, his cock thickening as he nears his climax. And when he does finally come, it's with a roar that shakes the walls. He pulls out and sprays his cum all over her, painting her back and ass with his seed.

The warmth of his semen on her skin is the final straw, sending her over the edge once again. Her pussy clenches and spasms around his cock, her squirt mixing with his cum to create a sticky mess that she knows will be impossible to clean up. As they lay there, panting and covered in each other's juices, she can't help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction. This is wrong, she knows it, but it feels so right. And as she looks over her shoulder at the man who has just claimed her in the most primal way possible, she knows she's in too deep to turn back now.

He scoops her up, his cock still hard and covered in their combined arousal. She wraps her legs around his waist as he carries her to the balcony, the cool air kissing their sweat-slicked skin. The lights from the sun cast a soft glow over, and she can see the silhouettes of people going about their evening routines, oblivious to the depraved acts unfolding in her neighbor's house. Her heart races at the thought of being caught, but it's the thrill of the risk that fuels her arousal. "What if someone sees us?" she gasps, her voice a mix of fear and excitement.

He smirks, placing her on the edge of the balcony railing, her legs draped over his broad shoulders. "Just hope there's no one watching," he says, the challenge in his tone making her stomach flip. His cock, still slick with her cum, slides back into her pussy, and she gasps as he starts to thrust again. Each movement sends her a little higher, the railing digging into her back as she holds onto the railing for dear life. "AHHHHHH..." she screams, the sound echoing through the night air. She can feel the cool breeze on her face, the stars above seeming to pulse in time with her heartbeat. The world outside fades away until all that exists is the feeling of his cock inside her, the way he fills her completely and owns her body. She's lost in a sea of pleasure, her moans and cries the only sound in the universe. Tzuyu's nails dig into the wood of the railing, leaving deep grooves as she tries to hold on. Each thrust from he sends her closer to the edge, not just of the balcony, but of sanity itself. "FUCK Y/N," she moans, her voice hoarse and desperate. She's never felt so alive, so wanted, so utterly consumed by another person's desire. Her orgasms come in waves now, crashing over her like the tide, leaving her gasping for air.

He grunts in response, his hands gripping her hips tightly as he pumps into her with increasing ferocity. His cock hits her g-spot with each stroke, and she can't help but scream his name as she feels another squirt building inside her. "Cum for me, baby," he whispers in her ear, his voice a dark promise. "Show me how much you love it." Her eyes squeeze shut as she feels the pressure building, the world around her fading away until all that exists is the sensation of his cock inside her, the warmth of the sun on her bare skin, and the sound of their bodies slapping together. The orgasm hits her like a tidal wave, and she squirts again, the warm liquid spilling over the railing and down into the garden below. She gasps for air, her entire body trembling with the force of it. "Look at that," y/n says, his voice filled with dark amusement. "You're like a fountain of pleasure." He pulls out of her, his cock glistening with their combined juices. He strokes himself, watching as the last drops of her cum fall to the ground. "The world will know," he says with a wicked smile. "They'll all know how much you love my cock”.Tzuyu gasps, trying to catch her breath, her legs still shaking from the intensity of her climaxes. She watches him with a mix of fear and desire, knowing that she's lost control, that she's become the slut he's always wanted her to be. And yet, she can't find it in herself to be ashamed. Every time he fills her, every time he makes her squirt, it's like he's filling a void she never knew existed.

Her eyes widen as he takes her hand, guiding her to the bedroom, his grip firm yet gentle. He lays her down on the bed, and she can't help but whimper as he climbs over her, his cock still rock hard. "Please," she whispers, "please fill me up."

Y/n grins, his eyes gleaming with lust. He lines up his cock with her entrance and pushes in, filling her to the brim. She gasps, her eyes rolling back in her head as she feels him stretch her open once more. He starts to fuck her slowly at first, drawing out her moans, her pussy still quivering from her previous orgasms. He picks up the pace, and she feels herself building again, her body responding to his every touch. She begs him to go harder, faster, to fill her up until she can't take anymore. He obliges, pounding into her with a ferocity that makes the bed shake. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by her desperate cries. Her orgasms come in waves, one after the other, each one more intense than the last. She can feel him swelling inside her, his cock pulsing with the promise of release. "Cum inside me," she whispers, her voice hoarse from screaming. "I want to feel your seed." His eyes narrow, and he gives one final, powerful thrust. With a roar, he empties himself into her, filling her womb with his hot, thick cum. She clenches around him, her body milking every last drop as she squirts uncontrollably. Her pussy spasms, gripping him tightly, and she arches her back, lost in the sensation of his seed flooding her.

For a moment, they lay there, panting, their bodies slick with sweat and cum. He pulls out, and she feels the warmth of his release spilling out of her, down her thighs. It's a messy, delicious mess, a testament to their carnality. She can't help but smile, even as guilt starts to creep in. This isn't who she is, but she can't deny the thrill of it all.

"Tzuyu, the next of tomorrow, I will go to the Maldives for two weeks" he says, his voice breaking the silence like a sledgehammer through glass. Her eyes widen, and she sits up, pushing her hair out of her face. "What?" she asks, not quite understanding what he means.

"I want you to come with me," he says, his eyes searching hers for a hint of what she's feeling. "I know it's sudden, but I can't bear the thought of being apart from you for so long."

Tzuyu's heart skips a beat at his words. She had never felt this way before, not even with her husband. The idea of being with him for two weeks, just the two of them, is both thrilling and terrifying. "But what about your job?" she asks, already knowing the answer. "I can work remotely," he says, his eyes never leaving hers. "All I need is you."

Tzuyu's cheeks burn with a mix of excitement and fear. "But what will I say to my husband?" she whispers, her voice trembling. "Tell him you're going on a gardening retreat," y/n suggests, his tone casual despite the gravity of his words. "You can say you need some time to yourself to focus on your hobby. He won't suspect a thing."

Tzuyu nods, her mind racing. It's a flimsy excuse, but desperation has a way of making the impossible seem doable. She looks up at y/n, her eyes filled with a mix of excitement and fear. "Okay," she whispers, her voice shaky. "But I need to make sure he believes me."

He leans in, his breath hot against her ear. "Just give him a little show," he murmurs. "Let him think you had the best sex of your life. He'll never question it." His words are a challenge, and she feels a thrill run through her body at the thought of deceiving her husband. It's wrong, but the temptation is too great. Tzuyu nods, her heart racing. "Okay," she whispers, the word hanging in the air like a declaration of war. She knows what she's agreeing to, but she can't bring herself to care. All that matters is the feeling of y/n's cock inside her, the way he makes her body sing with pleasure. She's addicted to it, and she's willing to do whatever it takes to get her fix.

He stands up, pulling her to her feet with him. "Let's go," he says, his voice gruff. "But remember, you're still my little slut." He grabs her by the arm and leads her out of the house, not bothering to dress her. She's naked and vulnerable, but she doesn't care. The thrill of being seen is a part of the game now, a part of the thrill. The short walk to her house feels like an eternity. Each step she takes is a silent confession of her infidelity, her bare feet leaving a trail of wetness on the ground. She can feel the cum trickling down her legs, and she knows that y/n is enjoying the sight of her vulnerability. His eyes are dark with lust, and she can see the smirk playing on his lips as he looks down at her. As they reach her door, he leans in and whispers in her ear, "Remember, this is our little secret." He kisses her, hard and possessive, leaving no doubt in her mind who she truly belongs to. His hand slides down to her ass, giving it a firm squeeze. "Now, go inside and get ready for your husband. I want you to think of me every time he touches you."

Tzuyu quickly dressed and returned home, her mind racing with thoughts of y/n's possessive words. She knew she had to clean up and compose herself before her husband returned. As she stepped into her bathroom, the smell of their combined lust still clung to her skin, a potent reminder of the carnality she had just indulged in. With trembling hands, she turned on the shower and stepped under the hot spray, the water washing away the evidence of her infidelity. She scrubbed herself clean, trying to erase the feeling of y/n's touch, but his presence remained, etched into her very soul.

With a deep sigh, she stepped out and dried herself off, feeling the lingering ache in her muscles and the sensitive throbbing of her pussy. She applied her makeup with meticulous care, painting a picture of innocence over her swollen lips and flushed cheeks. Her eyes held a secret, a glint of the depraved desires that now ruled her.

Choosing a dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, Tzuyu slid it over her head. It was a deep crimson color, a stark contrast to the white dress she had worn earlier, symbolizing the shift in her nature. The fabric was soft and luxurious, whispering against her skin, a silent declaration of her sexual awakening. She knew that her husband would not suspect a thing, but the thrill of her secret made her pulse race. The dress ended just above her knees, leaving her long, slender legs bare. She slipped on a pair of matching heels, standing tall and confident, the woman she had always been, yet somehow changed. The neckline plunged low, revealing the swells of her breasts, a silent invitation to her husband to take her in his arms and claim her as his own. Yet, she knew that even as she presented herself to her husband, her thoughts would be consumed by the neighbor who had so thoroughly claimed her body and soul. As she made her way to the living room, Tzuyu felt a strange mix of anxiety and excitement. She knew she had to keep her secret, to hide the dark thrill that now consumed her. The house was quiet, the only sound the ticking of the clock, counting down to the moment her husband would walk through the door.

In those moments of solitude, she allowed herself to remember y/n's touch, his cock filling her up, his mouth on her neck. The guilt was a heavy weight in her stomach, but it was overshadowed by the desire to feel him inside her again. She took a deep breath, pushing the thoughts aside as the key turned in the lock. Her husband's footsteps echoed in the hallway, and she forced a smile to her lips, ready to play the role of the devoted wife once more. The door opened, and her husband walked in, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her. "You look beautiful," he said, his voice filled with love and admiration. She felt a pang of guilt, but also a thrill knowing that she had just come from the arms of another man.

Tzuyu stepped closer, her heart racing. "Thank you," she said, her voice a soft purr. She leaned in, her lips brushing against his, and felt a shiver of anticipation. The taste of y/n was still on her, and she knew she had to be careful not to give herself away. But as she pulled away, she couldn't help but wonder if her husband would ever be able to satisfy her the way her neighbor had. The rest of the evening was a blur of forced intimacy and stolen glances. Dinner was a dance of deception, her husband's hand on her thigh sending shivers down her spine, but not the same as when y/n had claimed her earlier.

As the plates were cleared, Tzuyu leaned in, her eyes gleaming with a mischief that didn't quite reach her heart. "How about we have a little fun before bed?" she whispered, her voice low and seductive. She watched as his eyes lit up with excitement, oblivious to the dark desires that had been stirred within her. Her husband didn't need much convincing, his hand sliding up to cup her breast as they kissed, his tongue exploring her mouth. She responded mechanically, her body going through the motions of desire while her mind was elsewhere. In the bedroom, she undressed slowly, the crimson dress pooling around her ankles like a sea of forbidden passion. She felt his gaze on her, hungry and expectant, and she knew she had to perform. Their lovemaking was gentle, a stark contrast to the roughness she had experienced with y/n. His touches were tender, his kisses sweet, but they couldn't dull the ache inside her. She found herself imagining y/n's strong hands, his dominating presence, as her husband moved above her. She moaned and arched her back, trying to find the release she craved, but it remained elusive.

The act was a farce, a tragic play where she was the star, forced to hide her true desires. Yet she played her part well, her body responding to the familiar rhythm despite her heart's betrayal. She felt the beginnings of an orgasm, a pale shadow of the earth-shattering climaxes she had shared with her neighbor. She bit her lip, stifling a cry that was more frustration than pleasure. Afterwards, as her husband lay spent beside her, Tzuyu couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness. She had once cherished these moments, but now they felt hollow. Her mind was a battlefield of guilt and lust, love and deceit, and she wasn't sure which side would emerge victorious. As the room grew quiet, she stared at the ceiling, her thoughts racing. She had agreed to go to the Maldives with y/n, but the reality of her decision was now sinking in.

Summoning her courage, she turned to face her husband, her voice a whisper in the darkness. "I've been thinking," she began, her heart pounding in her chest. "I need some time for myself. A vacation, maybe two weeks?" Her husband stirred, his eyes half-open. "Two weeks?" he repeated, his voice thick with sleep. "Where do you want to go?". Tzuyu took a deep breath. "I thought maybe I could go to Maldives," she lied, her voice trembling slightly. "Just to clear my head and relax a bit."

He propped himself up on one elbow, studying her. "You sure you'll be okay?" he asked, concern etching lines on his forehead. "You've been so busy with the garden and work."

"I'll be fine," she assured him, forcing a smile. "It's just what I need." His expression softened, and he leaned in to kiss her forehead. "If that's what you want," he said, his voice filled with love. "But don't overdo it."

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with relief. She had the green light for her illicit getaway, and she knew she had to use this opportunity wisely. The next few days passed in a blur of preparation and secrecy. She packed her bags, her mind racing with thoughts of what awaited her in the Maldives. Each item she placed in her suitcase felt like a piece of her soul being torn away from her husband and given to y/n. Yet she couldn't deny the excitement that bubbled up inside her. The anticipation of those two weeks of unbridled passion was a siren's song, luring her further into the depths of her own depravity.

When the day of her departure finally arrived, she kissed her husband goodbye, feeling the weight of her lie pressing down on her like a leaden blanket. "I love you," she murmured, her voice filled with genuine affection and a hint of sadness. He held her tightly. "I love you too," he said, his eyes searching hers for any sign of trouble. "Call me if you need anything, okay?"

With one last kiss, she stepped out of the door, her heart in her throat. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a warm glow over the neighborhood that felt eerily deceptive. As she walked to y/n's house, her thoughts swirled like a tornado. Was she making a mistake? Could she really go through with this?

But when she saw his car parked out front, her doubts evaporated. He was waiting for her, a dark figure silhouetted against the early morning light. His eyes met hers, and she knew she had made her choice. With a final look back at her house, she stepped into the car, leaving her old life behind. The drive to the airport was tense, filled with unspoken words and heated glances. His hand found hers, and she felt a spark of electricity run through her body. It was wrong, she knew it was wrong, but she couldn't help the way her body responded to him. The thought of two weeks of unbridled lust was intoxicating, and she was already drunk on the anticipation.

As they boarded the plane, she felt a sense of excitement that she hadn't felt in a long time. This was it, the start of her secret life. A life filled with passion, danger, and a love that she knew she could never confess. She was about to embark on a journey that would change her forever, and she couldn't wait to see where it would take her. The flight to the Maldives was long, but the anticipation kept her awake. Every bump of the plane brought her closer to y/n, and she found herself leaning into him, craving his touch. He whispered sweet nothings into her ear, his breath warm and tantalizing. His words painted a picture of what awaited her when they arrived at the homestay, and she couldn't help but let her imagination run wild.

"When we get there, Tzuyu," he murmured, his voice a seductive whisper that sent shivers down her spine, "you won't be able to wear a single fabric. You'll be mine, to do with as I please." His hand slid down to her thigh, his fingers tracing the line of her panties, and she couldn't help but gasp at the sudden intrusion. The promise in his eyes was clear: she would be his plaything, his personal sex doll to use and discard at his will. Her heart raced at the thought, a delicious blend of fear and excitement coursing through her veins. She knew she should be scared, that this was wrong on so many levels, but she couldn't help the way her body responded to his touch. She was a moth to his flame, and she knew that she would burn if she got too close, but she couldn't resist the pull.

The homestay was more luxurious than she had ever imagined, a private villa on a secluded island, surrounded by crystal clear waters and lush vegetation. It was a paradise, and she knew that she was about to experience the kind of passion that most people only dreamed of. As they stepped into the villa, he grabbed her hand, pulling her into the bedroom. "Now," he said, his voice low and demanding. "Strip." She knew what was expected of her, and she didn't hesitate. Her clothes fell to the floor in a heap, leaving her naked and vulnerable before him. His eyes devoured her, and she felt a thrill of power knowing that she had this effect on him.

He approached her slowly, his own clothes disappearing piece by piece until he stood before her, his erection proud and thick. "Now let's go sleep first," he said, a smirk playing on his lips. It was clear that his idea of 'sleep' was anything but innocent. Tzuyu felt a thrill at his words, her body responding to his dominance in ways she hadn't thought possible. They climbed into the large, plush bed together, the softness enveloping them like a warm embrace. He pulled her into his arms, her back pressed against his chest as he spooned her, his cock nestling between her thighs. His breath was hot on her neck, and she shivered with anticipation. As they lay there, she felt a strange sense of peace. Despite the guilt and fear that plagued her, she knew that she had made the right choice. This was what she needed, what she craved. The gentle stroking of his fingers along her skin was like a balm to her soul, calming the storm of emotions that raged within her. She closed her eyes, letting herself drift off to sleep in the safety of his arms.

When she awoke, it was to the sound of waves crashing against the shore outside their window. The room was bathed in soft, early morning light, and y/n's arms were still tight around her, his body spooning hers. She could feel his hardness pressing against her, and she knew that he was already awake, waiting for her. Slowly, she rolled over to face him, his eyes opening to meet hers. They were filled with a gentle, almost tender expression that she had never seen before. He leaned in, his breath warm against her face, and kissed her softly. "Are you happy, Tzuyu?" he asked, his voice low and thick with sleep. The question hung in the air, and she felt a lump form in her throat. How could she answer that? Was she happy? She had a husband who loved her, a beautiful home, and a life that was the envy of many. Yet, here she was, in a foreign country, in the arms of a man who was not her husband, feeling more alive than she had in years. She looked into his eyes, searching for a hint of what he was truly feeling. The tenderness in his gaze was unmistakable, and she knew that he cared for her. But was it enough? Was this fleeting passion worth the risk of losing everything she had built with her husband? "I... I don't know," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I know that when I'm with you, I feel alive."

Y/n's smile grew, and he kissed her again, deeper this time. His hands roamed over her body, reawakening the desires that had kept her up half the night. "Good," he murmured against her lips. "Let's enjoy the beach from our terrace," he said, standing up and holding out a hand to help her to her feet. Tzuyu took it, the warmth of his touch sending a thrill through her. She allowed him to lead her to the large, open-air balcony that faced the sea. The view was breathtaking, the sun rising over the water, casting a warm glow over the white sand and the palm trees that swayed gently in the breeze.

He handed her a glass filled with a fruity concoction, the aroma of tropical berries and mint filling her nose. "It's a Maldivian specialty," he said, watching as she took a sip. The drink was cool and refreshing, a perfect balance of sweetness and tartness that made her taste buds tingle. In his other hand, he held a plate piled high with breakfast: fluffy pancakes, crispy bacon, fresh fruits, and a dollop of cream. "Thank you," Tzuyu said, her voice thick with emotion. The gesture was so simple, yet it felt like a declaration of his affection. They sat at the small table on the balcony, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore acting as a soothing backdrop to their conversation. They talked about everything: their hopes, their fears, their secrets. The air between them was charged with the electricity of their shared confessions, and she found herself opening up to him in ways she never had with her husband.

"When we arrived, you told me to always be naked," she said, looking down at her plate, her cheeks flushing a delicate shade of pink. "Until now, you didn't tease me. What do you actually plan?" Y/n's eyes twinkled with mischief as he leaned back in his chair. "Oh, I plan to enjoy every moment with you, Tzuyu," he said, his voice dropping to a low, seductive tone. "But I want us to savor this time together. To remember it for the rest of our lives." He took a sip of his coffee, watching her over the rim of his cup. "Life is not just about sex, as amazing as it is. It's about the connections we make, the experiences we share."

Her heart fluttered at his words. She had never heard anyone speak to her with such tenderness, such raw emotion. It was as if he saw right through her, into the very core of her soul. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice a whisper. He placed his hand over hers, his thumb brushing lightly against her knuckles. "I mean that I want to know you, Tzuyu," he said, his eyes searching hers. "Your thoughts, your dreams, what makes you happy, what makes you cry. I want to be the one who brings you pleasure, not just physically, but emotionally and mentally as well." The sincerity in his voice took her by surprise. She had never expected their relationship to evolve into something so profound. Yet, as she looked into his eyes, she could see that he meant every word. She felt a warmth spread through her chest, a feeling she hadn't experienced in a long time. "I... I want that too," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

They spent the rest of the morning exploring the island, hand in hand. The turquoise waters of the ocean sparkled in the sun, and the gentle breeze played with their hair. They talked and laughed, sharing stories of their pasts and dreams for the future. It was as if the weight of the world had lifted from her shoulders, and she could breathe again. Tzuyu felt free, truly free for the first time in what felt like an eternity. As the sun began to dip below the horizon, they made their way back to the homestay, their stomachs rumbling with hunger. The scent of the sea lingered on their skin, a tantalizing reminder of their adventure. Inside, the room was cool and inviting, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light over the disheveled bed where their passions had unfolded earlier that morning.

Y/n pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her waist as he leaned down to capture her lips in a kiss that spoke of love and passion intertwined. His mouth moved with purpose, his tongue exploring the depths of hers with a hunger that had only grown with time. The tender way his fingers traced the contours of her face made her heart flutter, a stark contrast to the fiery need that had driven their earlier encounters. Tzuyu's breath hitched as he gently guided her to the bed, his eyes never leaving hers. She could see the love and desire swirling within him, and it filled her with a warmth she had never known. His touch was like a balm to her soul, soothing the ache that had been festering since her wedding day. As they lay down, she felt the coolness of the sheets against her skin, a stark reminder of the heat that they had generated together. He took his time, his lips tracing a fiery path down her neck, across her collarbones, and finally reaching the swollen mounds of her breasts. He took one nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his teeth before switching to the other, making her gasp with pleasure. His hands roamed her body, relearning every curve and dip, as if committing them to memory for the long nights when she wouldn't be by his side.

"Make me feel good, y/n," she begged, her voice a breathy whisper. "Please, suck my pussy until I can't stop squirting." Without a word, he complied, his eyes dark with desire as he positioned himself between her legs. He took a moment to admire her bare pussy, glistening with arousal, before lowering his head and pressing his mouth to her clit. Tzuyu's body arched off the bed as he began to suck and lick, his tongue flicking and swirling in a way that made her vision swim with pleasure. He was relentless, his mouth a vortex of sensation that she couldn't escape from, even if she wanted to. 

Her hips began to rock against his face, her movements growing more erratic as the tension built within her. The feeling was exquisite, a symphony of pleasure that grew more intense with every passing moment. She could feel the beginnings of her squirt, the dam threatening to burst, and she knew that when it did, it would be a flood unlike anything she had ever experienced before. The first wave hit her like a surprise summer storm, her pussy gushing wetness into his mouth. He groaned, the vibration of his pleasure sending shockwaves through her body. She looked down at him, his eyes locked onto hers, and she felt a strange sense of power. Her body was responding to him in a way she had never thought possible, and she reveled in it.

As her orgasm subsided, y/n didn't stop. He continued to stroke his cock, the sound of his hand moving up and down his shaft a rhythmic counterpoint to the soft cries of pleasure that escaped her lips. His eyes never left hers, and she felt a strange sense of vulnerability in that moment. He knew her body better than anyone else, and the thought made her pussy clench around his tongue. He pulled away, and she felt the cool air of the room kiss her sensitive flesh. His hand was a blur as he stroked himself, the head of his cock shiny with pre-cum. She watched, mesmerized, as he brought himself closer to the edge, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. The sight of his barely contained desire was intoxicating, and she found herself eager for what was to come.

"Do you want it?" he growled, his eyes never leaving hers. "Do you want to feel me inside you again?" Tzuyu nodded, unable to form the words that would express the intensity of her need. She watched as he began to stroke his cock, the motion of his hand a mesmerizing dance that had her pussy pulsing with anticipation. He stood up, his erection bobbing with every step as he approached her. The head of his cock was a deep shade of red, a stark contrast to her pale skin.

Without a word, he leaned in and placed the tip of his cock at her entrance, the precum glistening in the soft light. He pushed in slowly, savoring every inch of her, making sure she felt every part of him. Tzuyu moaned, her body stretching to accommodate his girth. It was as if her pussy had been made for him, a perfect fit that sent sparks of pleasure through her with every movement. Their bodies moved in harmony, a symphony of passion that resonated through the quiet room. Her walls clenched around him, begging for more as he thrust deeper, filling her completely. The sound of their flesh slapping together was a sweet music that only they could hear, a testament to their illicit bond. The scent of their desire filled the air, a heady aroma that made them both drunk with lust. 

Tzuyu felt so loved in that moment, the sex was different from what they had experienced before. It was no longer just about the raw, animalistic need to be filled. There was a tenderness in his touch that she hadn't felt previously, a gentle caress that sent shivers down her spine. His kisses were no longer just about claiming her, but about expressing the depth of his feelings. It was as if the walls between them had crumbled, and she could feel the love that had been simmering beneath the surface all along. As they lay on the bed, their bodies entwined, she watched him with a newfound admiration. His eyes searched hers, looking for any sign that she felt the same way he did. He whispered sweet nothings into her ear, words that seemed to hold the power to heal her soul. The passion grew with every breath they shared, and she felt herself climbing to a peak that she had never reached before. Tzuyu's body arched as y/n's cock slid in and out of her, their movements slow and deliberate. He knew her body like a maestro knew their instrument, playing her to perfection. She felt the pressure building, the familiar feeling of her pussy clenching around his shaft. And then, it happened. The dam broke, and she squirted again, her juices soaking the bed beneath them. The intensity of her orgasm took her by surprise, and she screamed his name into the quiet night.

Y/n felt her pussy contract around him, the warmth of her squirt enveloping him, sending waves of pleasure through his body. He had never felt so connected to someone, so in sync with their desires. As she came down from her climax, her eyes searched his, and he knew that she felt it too. The bond between them was unbreakable, forged in passion and desire. He continued to move inside her, the sound of her squirt mixing with the slap of their skin. With each stroke, Tzuyu felt herself falling deeper into the abyss of pleasure. It was as if every nerve ending in her body was alive, singing with the sweet agony of ecstasy. Her pussy was still spasming, trying to milk every last drop of cum from him, even though he hadn't come yet. The feeling was unlike anything she had ever experienced with her husband, and she couldn't help but crave more of it. Y/n's cock was like a living, breathing entity, a beast that demanded her full attention. Each time he pushed into her, she felt like she was being claimed, owned. His eyes never left hers, and she saw the same hunger reflected in their depths. The connection between them was palpable, a live wire that sizzled and crackled with each touch. Tzuyu's pussy clenched around him, desperate for release. She felt the pressure building, a dam ready to burst. "Again," she whispered, her voice hoarse from her screams. "Make me squirt again." Y/n grinned, feeling the challenge in her words. He knew her body better than she did, and he was eager to push her to new heights of pleasure. He picked up the pace, his cock sliding in and out of her with ease, the squelching sounds of their lovemaking echoing through the quiet room.

Tzuyu's eyes rolled back in her head as she felt the familiar sensation building within her. Her body tensed, her muscles tightening as she approached the edge. "Oh god," she moaned, her voice barely audible. "I'm going to squirt again." Y/n's grin grew wider, his strokes becoming more forceful. He could feel her pussy tightening around his cock, the walls contracting in anticipation of her release. He knew she was close, and the thought of her squirting all over him again was driving him wild. He thrust deeper, his own need for release growing with every passing second.

The pressure inside Tzuyu was unbearable, a dam ready to burst. With a guttural cry, she squirted again, her pussy spasming around his cock. The warmth of her juices coated his shaft, sending him spiraling into his own climax. He roared, his hips jerking as he pumped his hot cum into her, filling her to the brim. They both stilled, their breaths coming in ragged gasps, their bodies entwined in a sticky mess of sweat and cum.

Y/n leaned down, kissing her cheeks and forehead with gentle reverence. The tender gesture was a stark contrast to the brutal passion that had just taken place. His kisses were like a balm to her soul, soothing the guilt that had been gnawing at her. He looked into her eyes, and she saw a mix of satisfaction and something else, something deeper, something that made her heart clench in her chest. Tzuyu felt a single tear slip down her cheek. The emotions that were swirling within her were too much to contain. She had never felt so alive, so desired, so...free. His thumb brushed away the tear, his gaze never leaving hers. "What's wrong?" he murmured, his voice filled with concern.

"I don't know," she whispered, her voice shaking with a mix of love and lust. "It's just...you make me feel so much, y/n. More than I ever thought was possible." Her eyes searched his, looking for a hint of what he was feeling. Was it just lust, or was there something more? He pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her in a warm embrace. "You make me feel alive, Tzuyu," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I've never felt this way before." His words echoed through her, filling her with a warmth that seemed to melt away the last of her inhibitions. She leaned into him, her body fitting perfectly against his, as if they had been made for each other. Their breathing grew synchronized, and the sound of the waves outside the window became a lullaby that soothed them into a deep sleep. The room was filled with the sweet scent of their love making, a potent reminder of the passion they had shared. In the quiet, Tzuyu felt safe, protected by the very arms that had brought her such pleasure.

As they lay there, wrapped in each other's embrace, the lines between reality and dreams began to blur. Her mind drifted to the life she had left behind, the quiet mornings in her garden, and the comforting warmth of her husband's arms. Yet, here she was, nestled against the very man she had been warned about, her neighbor whose intentions were anything but neighborly. Y/n's chest rose and fell rhythmically, his heartbeat a steady drum beneath her ear. His arms were strong and warm, holding her close as if she might slip away at any moment. Tzuyu felt a pang of guilt at the thought of her husband, but it was quickly drowned out by the delicious feeling of y/n's skin against hers, the memory of his cock still pulsing inside her.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the room grew dark, but the heat between them remained a constant presence. "Good morning, beautiful," He murmured into her hair, his voice a gentle rumble that vibrated through her body. The scent of sizzling bacon filled the room, a welcome intrusion on the cocoon of sleep that had wrapped around them. Tzuyu stirred, her eyes slowly opening to see y/n standing in the kitchen, already dressed in a simple white tee and shorts. She watched him move around the kitchen with the grace of a man who knew exactly what he was doing. His muscles flexed and relaxed as he cooked, a silent dance that was as mesmerizing as the passion they had shared just hours before.

"Good morning," she murmured, her voice thick with the remnants of sleep. Y/n glanced over his shoulder, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her. "Morning, beautiful," he replied, a warm smile spreading across his face. "I hope you're hungry. I've made your favorite breakfast."

Tzuyu felt a rush of affection as she sat up, the sheets pooling around her waist. "You take care of me so well," she said, her voice filled with genuine appreciation. It was true; y/n had a way of making her feel cherished, even in the simplest of gestures. He had seen to her every need, both in the bedroom and out of it, and it was a stark contrast to the loveless routine she endured back home. As she slid out of bed, her eyes caught the time on the clock. "My husband always busy for his work," she said with a sigh, the weight of her words sinking into the quiet of the room. Her thoughts drifted to her husband, a man who had once been her rock, now a distant figure consumed by his career.

They enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, the sound of their laughter mingling with the clinking of cutlery. The taste of the crispy bacon and the sweetness of the pineapple juice seemed to amplify the joy bubbling within her. Y/n's eyes never left hers, his gaze a silent promise of the passion they had shared and the secrets they now kept together. After they had finished eating, they decided to take advantage of the Maldivian sunshine. They ventured out to the beach, where they set up a makeshift volleyball net with the ease of two people who had done this countless times before. The sand was hot against her skin, but Tzuyu didn't care. Each step she took was lighter than the last, as if the weight of her guilt had been washed away by the salty ocean air. Their games grew increasingly playful, the ball often forgotten as they chased each other around the beach, their laughter echoing across the shoreline. The warmth of the sun kissed her skin, and she felt alive, more alive than she had in years. Y/n's touch was like a brand, leaving a trail of fire wherever he touched her, a stark reminder of the intensity of their connection.

As the sun reached its zenith, they retreated to the shade of the palm trees, their bodies sticky with sweat and saltwater. They talked for hours, sharing stories from their past and dreams for their future. For the first time, Tzuyu felt truly seen and understood. His every word was a balm to her soul, soothing the wounds that her marriage had left behind. Their conversation grew quiet as they lay there, the gentle lull of the waves providing the perfect backdrop for their shared silence. Tzuyu felt a warm hand slip into hers, and she looked up to find y/n's eyes on her, filled with a tenderness that made her heart ache. The rest of the day was a blur of laughter and exploration, their connection growing stronger with every shared smile and touch. They swam in the crystal-clear waters, the fish darting around them like living jewels, and Tzuyu felt a sense of freedom she had long ago forgotten.

As the sun began to set, casting the sky in a symphony of pinks and oranges, they returned to their homestay, their bodies exhausted but their spirits soaring. They showered together, the water cascading over their entwined forms as they washed away the remnants of the day's adventures. Their night was spent in each other's arms, their bodies moving in a dance as old as time. The guilt had receded to the back of her mind, replaced by the all-consuming need for his touch. His cock filled her once again, stretching her to the limits of pleasure and pain, making her squirt uncontrollably. Each thrust was a declaration of his ownership, and she reveled in it, her cries of ecstasy a testament to their shared passion.

Their bodies finally stilled, their hearts pounding in unison. Tzuyu looked into y/n's eyes and knew she was lost to him, body and soul. Her marriage was a fading memory, replaced by the vibrant reality of their affair. As they lay there, basking in the afterglow, she knew she had made her choice. The question now was how she would face the consequences when she returned home. But for now, all that mattered was the warmth of his embrace, the sound of his heartbeat, and the feeling of his seed still warm inside her. Their days in the Maldives were numbered, but their bond was unbreakable, forged in the heat of passion and tempered by the salty sea air. As they drifted off to sleep, she whispered the words she had been too scared to say aloud. "I love you, y/n." His reply was a gentle kiss on her forehead. "And I love you, Tzuyu." It was a simple declaration, but it held the weight of the world. They had crossed the point of no return, and she knew that she would never be the same again. The quiet night outside their window held the promise of tomorrow, and all the secrets it would bring. They decided to watch a movie, a romantic film that mirrored the tumultuous emotions swirling within them. As the plot unfolded, their eyes remained locked, the unspoken understanding between them speaking louder than any words on the screen. His arm was around her, her head resting on his chest, and she could feel the steady thump of his heart. It was a comforting rhythm that seemed to sync with her own erratic beat. The movie's soundtrack swelled, and Tzuyu felt the warmth of his breath against her ear as he whispered sweet nothings, his voice a gentle caress that sent shivers down her spine. She was lost in the moment, her hand playing idly with the soft hairs on his chest as she listened to the soothing lilt of his voice. It was a stark contrast to the silence she had grown accustomed to in her own home, and she found herself craving more of it. As the credits rolled, the room was bathed in the soft glow of the TV, casting flickering shadows across their entwined bodies. Without a word, y/n turned off the screen, and the darkness wrapped around them like a velvet blanket. She could hear the gentle crash of the waves outside, a lullaby that sang of passion and freedom.

Tzuyu shifted in his arms, her head resting on his bare chest. His heartbeat was steady and strong, a comforting rhythm that seemed to sync with the ebb and flow of the ocean. She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the day's events pressing down on her eyelids. Her body was sated, her mind a whirlwind of emotions that she didn't dare untangle just yet. With a gentle sigh, y/n lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as if they belonged there. He carried her through the villa, their steps silent on the cool marble floor. The moon cast a soft glow through the windows, painting the room in a palette of blues and grays. The air was thick with the scent of their lovemaking, a heady mix of sweat and desire that clung to their skin like a second skin. He laid her down on the bed with the same care that he had shown in her garden, his movements smooth and precise. She curled into him, her body fitting against his like a perfect puzzle piece. His arms wrapped around her, cradling her to his chest as if she was the most precious thing in the world. For a moment, she felt like she could stay in this cocoon forever, protected from the storm that was brewing outside.

The next few days were a blur of passion, laughter, and stolen moments. They explored the island with a hunger that went beyond the scenic beauty that surrounded them. Each glance, each touch, was a silent promise of the nights to come. Y/n treated her like a queen, ensuring she was pampered from dawn to dusk. He took her to the best restaurants, where they feasted on exotic foods that danced on her tongue, and he whispered sweet nothings that made her heart flutter like a caged bird. 

In the afternoons, they would retreat to the villa, where the air was charged with a tension that could only be relieved by the fiery kisses and desperate embraces that led them back to the bedroom. He would take his time with her, exploring every inch of her body as if it was the first time, making her squirt with every stroke of his tongue and every thrust of his cock. Her screams of pleasure echoed through the walls, a siren's call that seemed to beckon the very ocean to their doorstep.

And when the nights fell, they would make love with a fervor that was both terrifying and exhilarating. Each orgasm was a declaration of their love, a secret shared only between them. He whispered sweet promises into her ear, and she clung to him as if he was her lifeline, her only source of oxygen in the vast sea of her own desires. The vacation was not just about fun and lust; it was about finding a part of herself that she had buried deep within, a part that only y/n had the power to unleash.

But with each day that passed, the shadow of their impending separation grew longer. The laughter grew a little less genuine, the kisses a little more desperate. They both knew that the end was approaching, and yet, neither of them dared to speak of it. Instead, they filled their days with a passion that was as intense as it was bittersweet, trying to memorize every moment, every sensation, as if it could somehow preserve the magic of their time together.

On their last night, they stood on the balcony, holding each other tightly as the waves crashed against the shore. The moon was a silver sliver in the sky, casting a gossamer veil over the world below. He whispered her name, and she knew that she had to tell him how she felt. The words tumbled from her lips, a confession that had been building for days. "I love you, y/n," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. He pulled her closer, his heart pounding in his chest. He had hoped, prayed even, that she felt the same way he did. But hearing her say it was like being struck by lightning. "Tzuyu," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I love you too."

They kissed, their bodies pressed together as if they could somehow merge into one. The wind whipped around them, carrying their whispers out to the sea, a silent testament to the love that had bloomed in the most unlikely of places. The night was theirs, a stolen treasure that they would hold onto for as long as they could. The bedroom was a sanctuary, their final bastion of passion before the cold reality of their lives would come crashing down on them. They made love, their bodies moving in a dance that was as old as time itself. Each thrust was a declaration of war against the world that sought to tear them apart, each kiss a silent promise to find a way to make it work.

But as the dawn approached, the inevitable truth dawned on them. This was not a fairy tale where they could live happily ever after. They were two people from different worlds, bound by a love that was as fierce as it was forbidden. With heavy hearts, they dressed in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The plane ride home was a stark reminder of the life that awaited her. The empty seat beside her was a gaping hole, a painful reminder of the man she had left behind. She knew she had to return to her husband, to her garden, and to the quiet life she had built for herself. But she also knew that she could never be the same.

The taste of y/n's kisses lingered on her lips, a sweet agony that she both cherished and despised. The vacation had been a gift, the best she had ever received, but it had also unleashed a beast within her that she could no longer ignore. Each day was a whirlwind of sensual delights, a buffet of carnality that she feasted on greedily. They had explored every corner of the island, every hidden cove and sandy beach, making love under the shade of palm trees and in the warm embrace of the tropical sun.

Yet, amidst the fun and lust, y/n had been more than just a lover; he had been a caretaker, anticipating her every need. He had pampered her, spoiled her, showered her with affection that she had longed for in her loveless marriage. He had taken her to the heights of pleasure, whispering sweet nothings that had her toes curling and her pussy gushing. He had treated her like a queen, and she had reveled in the attention, letting herself be swept away by the current of his passion.

The final night in the Maldives was a crescendo of their love. They made love with an intensity that was almost violent, as if trying to imprint every sensation into their very souls. The bed was a battlefield, their cries of pleasure piercing the quiet night. His touch was a brand, searing into her flesh the memory of his love. And when the final orgasm had left her trembling and spent, she knew that she could never go back to the way things were before.

The next morning, as they packed their bags, the weight of their impending separation was palpable. They had shared two week of unbridled passion, but now they had to face the cold, hard truth. They were not teenagers with endless summers ahead of them; they were adults with responsibilities, with lives that didn't include each other. The air was thick with unspoken words, a fog that clouded her vision and made her heart ache. He looked up from his suitcase and met her gaze, his eyes filled with a desperation that mirrored her own. "Can you be mine, Tzuyu?" he asked, his voice raw with emotion. The words hung in the air, a question that held the power to shatter the fragile world they had built together. She swallowed hard, her eyes filling with tears. She wanted to say yes, to scream it from the rooftops and let the world know that she belonged to him.

But she knew she couldn't. She had a husband, a life that didn't include y/n. A life that was safe, predictable, and utterly devoid of the passion that had come to define her existence in the last two weeks. She felt torn in two, her heart a battleground for love and duty. "I don't know, y/n," she said softly, her voice trembling with the weight of her words. "I'm married. I can't just leave him." His eyes searched hers, desperation and hurt fighting for dominance. "But you said you loved me," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "You said I was the best you've ever had." Tzuyu felt the truth of his words like a knife to her heart. She had said those things, and she had meant them in the throes of passion. But love was not just about passion; it was about a lifetime of shared moments, commitments, and trust. "I do love you," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I also love my husband, and I don't know how to tell him that I want a divorce."

Y/n's eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flickering in his gaze. "How about we fuck in front of your husband?" he said, his tone cold and calculating. "Let him see what he's been missing out on." Tzuyu felt the blood drain from her face at the mere suggestion. "What are you talking about?" she stammered, her heart racing. "That's insane." Y/n shrugged, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "It's just an idea," he said, his eyes dark with a mix of anger and lust. "But think about it. He'd see how much you truly crave me, how much pleasure I give you."

Tzuyu's mind raced with the implications of his words. The thought of her husband watching as y/n claimed her body was both terrifying and arousing. She knew it was wrong, that she shouldn't be feeling this way, but she couldn't shake off the temptation that whispered sweet nothings into her ear. "I don't know if I agree," she said, her voice shaking.

"Why not?" he demanded, his grip on her wrist tightening. "You said you love me. You said you want me to fuck you every day. What's the difference if he watches?" Tzuyu's heart hammered in her chest. "I...I need time to think," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper. The thought of her husband seeing her with y/n, of the pain it would cause him, was too much to bear.

Y/n's smile faded, replaced by a look of cold calculation. He released her wrist and took a step back. "Fine," he said, his voice clipped. "But don't take too long. I won't wait forever."

The tension in the room was palpable as they both dressed in silence. The magic of the Maldives had been shattered by the harsh light of reality. Tzuyu felt a deep sadness in her heart, knowing that their perfect bubble of passion was about to pop. They had to face the truth of their situation: two people in love, trapped in separate lives. They made their way to the airport, the weight of their secret hanging heavy in the air between them. The ride was tense, filled with unspoken words and furtive glances. The tropical paradise outside the window was a stark contrast to the turmoil in the car. Tzuyu's mind was a whirlwind of emotions, torn between the love she had just discovered and the life she was returning to.

At the airport, they checked in for their flights, the mundane process feeling like a slap in the face.  They found a quiet corner away from prying eyes, and Tzuyu reached for y/n's hand, lacing her fingers through his. He looked down at her, his expression a mix of love and desperation.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. "I don't know how to do this." He squeezed her hand tightly, his gaze intense. "Just think what I planned before, it's the only way." His voice was firm, a declaration of his resolve to claim her fully. Tzuyu felt a shiver run down her spine at his words. She knew the depth of his jealousy, the possessiveness that had grown within him during their time together. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to agree to such an extreme act. The thought of her husband watching, of the humiliation and pain it would cause, was too much to bear. But she also knew that y/n's love was like a tempest, unyielding and all-consuming. Her husband's arrival at the airport was a blur of smiles and hugs. She forced herself to play the role of the loving wife, while her heart was a tumult of passion and guilt. Y/n's gaze never left them, his eyes dark with unspoken anger and desire. She could feel his longing, his need for her to be his alone. As she walked away with her husband, she looked back over her shoulder, her eyes meeting y/n's. He mouthed the words "I'll be waiting." The car ride home was awkward, her mind racing with thoughts of the man she was leaving behind. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched, that y/n's eyes were following her every move, even though he was miles away. Her husband noticed her distant behavior and attributed it to jet lag and the emotional strain of their vacation.

"Why are all your clothes clean?" he asked as they unpacked their suitcases in the bedroom, a hint of confusion in his tone. Tzuyu's heart skipped a beat. She had been so lost in her thoughts she hadn't realized she had brought back her dirty clothes from the Maldives. "Oh, I did a bit of laundry while you were away," she replied with a casual shrug, hoping her lie wasn't too transparent. The truth was she hadn't worn anything other than y/n's cum-stained clothes for the entire duration of their vacation. Each piece was a silent testament to their passionate encounters, and she had wanted to keep them close, a secret shrine to their love. But she couldn't risk her husband discovering her infidelity.

The days that followed were a blur of mundane routines and stolen glances at her phone, hoping for a message from y/n. She found herself replaying their moments in the Maldives, the way his hands had touched her, the sound of his moans in her ear, the feel of his warm cum filling her up. Her body ached for him, a craving that no amount of self-pleasure could satisfy. Her thoughts were consumed by the idea of y/n, his dominance, his love, and the intensity of their bond. Her husband noticed her distant gaze and the lack of enthusiasm in her voice when they talked. He attributed it to the post-vacation blues, not realizing that her heart was elsewhere, entangled in a web of guilt and desire for a man who wasn't him. Tzuyu forced a smile, going through the motions of a happy marriage, all the while feeling the emptiness of her bed, the coldness of the sheets that hadn't felt y/n's warmth in days.

Each night, she lay beside her husband, her body tense and unyielding. She tried to ignore the whispers of y/n's name that danced in her head, the memories of his touch that made her skin crawl with need. But the silence between them was a stark reminder of the passion she had left behind. She missed the way he had made her feel alive, the way he had claimed her, heart and soul. And as she stared into the darkness, she wondered if she could ever truly go back to the life she had before y/n. Her thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of her phone on the nightstand. She reached for it with trembling hands, her heart racing at the sight of his name. **"U have three days left,"** the message read, **"If you don't give me an answer, I will leave you."** She read the words over and over, the ultimatum sinking in like a dagger to her heart. She knew she had to make a choice, one that would change the course of her life forever.

For two agonizing days, she walked around in a daze, her mind consumed by the images of their shared passion and the fear of losing the love she had found in his arms. She felt like a moth drawn to a flame, unable to resist the allure of his dominance, his touch, his love. The guilt of her actions sat like a heavy stone in her stomach, but the thought of never feeling his warmth again was unbearable. The final day came, and with it, a strange sense of clarity. She knew she couldn't keep living a lie, torn between her duty and her desires. With trembling fingers, she typed out her response. **"Okay,"** she sent back, her heart pounding in her chest. **"I will do it."** It was a decision that would shake the very foundations of her world, a declaration of her willingness to embrace the forbidden.

The anticipation grew with each passing hour, her body thrumming with a mix of excitement and dread. She knew what was coming, the ultimate test of her love for y/n and her commitment to their illicit bond. The night of the dinner party loomed over her like a dark cloud, but she couldn't bring herself to back out. Her fate was sealed; she had accepted his plan.

With trembling fingers, Tzuyu sent the message: **"How is the plan?"** She watched the screen, waiting for his response with bated breath. **"Good, I've been waiting for this,"** y/n replied with a smug smile. **"When he leaves for work, send him a message."**

The next day, Tzuyu waited anxiously for the right moment. As her husband packed his briefcase, she took a deep breath and typed out the message. **"Come home right now, there's a mysterious guy outside, i'm getting scared."** She sent it and waited for his response, her heart pounding in her chest. The seconds ticked by like hours, and when she finally heard the notification, she couldn't bring herself to look.

**"Who is this?"** Her husband's reply was swift and filled with confusion. She had never played games like this before, and the risk was palpable. **"It's me,"** she replied, her voice quivering. **"Just come back. I need you."** She watched the screen, willing him to read the urgency in her words. As the time for his return approached, she felt a strange mix of fear and excitement. Her hand shook as she unlocked the door, her body tense with anticipation. Y/n had instructed her to wear something that would drive him wild, so she had chosen a sheer negligee that barely contained her curves. When she heard the sound of his key in the lock, she took a deep breath and leaned against the wall, her heart racing. 

The moment he stepped inside, y/n was on her, his kisses rough and demanding. He pushed her against the wall, his hands roaming her body as if claiming her once more. She gasped into his mouth, the fabric of her lingerie doing little to protect her from the heat of his touch. His hands found her breasts, squeezing them with a ferocity that made her moan, her nipples hardening under his palms. He whispered sweet nothings in her ear, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down her spine. "You're mine," he murmured, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "I own every inch of you, Tzuyu. You know it, and now everyone will know it." Her eyes searched his, looking for any hint of doubt or regret, but all she found was a fiery determination that mirrored her own. She nodded, her heart racing. "I sent the message," she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. "He'll be here soon."

With a smirk, y/n scooped her up in his arms, the strength of his embrace leaving her feeling both protected and vulnerable. He carried her to her bedroom, the same room where she had shared countless passionless nights with her husband. The difference was stark, like stepping from a black-and-white photograph into a world of vibrant color. He placed her gently on the bed, his eyes never leaving hers, and she felt a strange sense of belonging. He began to tear at the fabric of her negligee, his movements swift and sure, as if he had done this a hundred times before. The sound of the delicate material ripping apart sent a thrill through her, the anticipation of what was to come making her wetter than she ever thought possible. He revealed her breasts with a flourish, the nipples already erect and begging for his touch. His eyes grew dark with lust, and she couldn't help but feel a thrill of power knowing she was the one who had brought that look to his face.

With a low growl, he leaned in, his tongue darting out to taste her. He started licking her body like an animal searching for food, his hot wetness leaving a trail of fire wherever it touched. His tongue danced across her skin, exploring every inch of her with a feral hunger that was both terrifying and exhilarating. He licked her neck, her collarbone, the tops of her breasts, and the sensitive skin of her stomach, his movements growing more urgent with every pass. Tzuyu's body arched off the bed.

"Oh god," she gasped, her hands fisting in the sheets. "Please, y/n, I can't take it anymore."

He looked up at her, his eyes gleaming with victory. "You're going to cum for me, aren't you?" he whispered, his voice a dark promise.

Tzuyu could feel the tension coiling tighter within her, her body a tightly wound spring about to snap. She nodded, unable to form coherent words, as the waves of pleasure grew stronger with every touch of his tongue. Y/n took one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking hard while his hand found its way to her pussy. His fingers slid inside her with ease, the wetness of her arousal coating them instantly. He began to pump her, his thumb circling her clit with a rhythm that made her vision blur.

Her orgasm hit her like a freight train, and she screamed out his name, the word echoing through the room. Her pussy clamped down on his fingers, releasing a torrent of juice that soaked the bed. She thrashed against the sheets, her body a wild canvas of passion and desire. The intensity of her climax took her by surprise, and she could feel her cheeks flush with a mix of pleasure and embarrassment.

Y/n pulled away from her breasts, his eyes locked on hers as he slowly slid his fingers out of her. He took her hand and brought it to his mouth, licking the juices from her skin with a wicked grin. "You taste so sweet," he murmured before kissing her deeply, sharing the taste of her pleasure with her.

Her heart was racing in her chest, a wild drumbeat that seemed to echo the pounding of the waves outside their beachside villa. She knew what he wanted, what she had been craving since they had returned from the Maldives. The time for secrets was over; the time to face the consequences of their desires had arrived.

"Now is the time to fucked u," he growled, his voice thick with need. He didn't wait for a response, instead.

He lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist, arms tightly around his neck. Her heart raced as he carried her to the balcony, the cool night air brushing against her skin as she clung to him. She felt like a wild creature being claimed by its mate, the thrill of the forbidden mixing with the fear of being caught.

With one swift motion, he bent her over the railing, the wood biting into her skin. The world below was a blur of lights and shadows, a stark contrast to the intense intimacy of their union. His cock slammed into her, filling her up as the waves crashed against the shore, the rhythm of their passion mirroring the fury of the sea. The sound of their skin slapping together echoed through the quiet night, a secret symphony for their ears only.

Right now, he fucked tzuyu in flying squirrel position in front of the door of her bedroom,it makes tzuyu leg spread wide while his cock keep slamming into her g spot.

The world around them disappeared as they became one, lost in the throes of passion. Tzuyu could feel the eyes of the night on them, a silent audience to their clandestine dance. Yet, she didn't care. All that mattered was the feeling of he's cock inside her, the way he filled her up, the way he made her feel alive.

Her eyes rolled back in her head, and her mouth formed a silent "O" as he hit her g-spot with unerring precision. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through her body, making her quiver and moan. Her breasts bounced with every impact, and she knew that the sight of her exposed to the elements would only add to his excitement.

And then she heard it. The sound of the door opening, the soft murmur of voices. Her heart skipped a beat, and she pushed against him, trying to get away from the railing. "Y/n, my husband," she whispered frantically, her eyes wide open.

Y/n's grip tightened around her waist, his thrusts becoming more urgent. "Let him see," he breathed into her ear, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "Let him know what a whore you are for me."

The sound of her husband's footsteps grew louder as he ascended the stairs, oblivious to the betrayal unfolding in the open. Tzuyu felt a mix of fear and excitement, the danger of discovery making her pulse race even faster.

The bedroom door swung open with a creak that seemed to echo through the house. Her husband's eyes widened in shock and disbelief, taking in the scene before him: Tzuyu's naked body bent over the railing, y/n's muscular frame pounding into her from behind. The sight of her eyes rolled back in ecstasy, her mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure, and the unmistakable gush of her squirt painting the floorboards was too much for him to comprehend.

Y/n didn't miss a beat, his rhythm never faltering as he continued to claim Tzuyu's pussy with fierce determination. He smirked at the shock on her husband's face, savoring the moment of victory. " she was a slut for my cock," he whispered in her ear, his breath hot and ragged. "did you know she squirts like a fountain when she's really turned on?"

Her husband's face was a mask of rage and betrayal, his fists clenching at his sides. He couldn't believe what he was seeing, the woman he had vowed to love and cherish being used so roughly by another man. But as Tzuyu's eyes met his, filled with a passion that had been absent from their own lovemaking for so long, a spark of doubt flickered in his gaze.

"What is this, Tzuyu?" he repeated, his voice low and dangerous.

Her husband's words barely registered in the haze of pleasure that clouded her mind. "I just want to show you," she panted, her voice thick with lust, "that I crave for his big cock."

Y/n's grip on her hips tightened as he drove into her deeper, his own pleasure spiking at her blatant disregard for the consequences. He could see the rage in her husband's eyes, the betrayal etched deep, and it fueled his own desire. "Look how this big dick stretches you out," he murmured, his voice a dark caress that sent shivers down her spine.

Tzuyu felt the beginnings of another orgasm coil in her belly, her pussy tightening around him. "Yes, y/n," she moaned, the words slipping from her lips like a confession. "I want to squirt again. Please, don't stop."

Her husband's eyes bore into them, but she couldn't look away from y/n's, lost in the depths of her own betrayal and the overwhelming pleasure he gave her. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice strained with the effort of speaking through the waves of pleasure. "I've been cheating behind your back."

The silence was deafening, only the sound of their breathing and the slap of skin on skin filling the room. Her husband's expression shifted from shock to anger, his fists clenching at his sides. "You what?" he roared, his voice cracking with emotion.

"I just can't, myself was begging to his cock from the first time we did," Tzuyu repeated, her voice a mix of apology and defiance. She felt the warmth of y/n's semen dripping down her legs, the evidence of her infidelity a stark reminder of the choice she had made. The words hung in the air like a noose around her neck, tightening with every passing second.

Her husband's face crumpled, the weight of her confession too much to bear. He stumbled back, his knees buckling as he sank to the floor. His hand came up to cover his eyes, as if to block out the sight of his wife's betrayal. A single tear traced a path down his cheek, a silent testament to the pain he felt in his heart.

Tzuyu watched him, her own body still trembling from her recent climax. She felt a pang of guilt, but it was quickly dwarfed by the fire of lust that burned within her. Y/n's cock was still deep inside her, his hips still moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm. He speak to tzuyu husband"Did you know that she was with me two weeks in Maldives, with her body always naked and I could fuck her whenever I wanted?" His words were a taunt, a declaration of victory that echoed through the room.

Her husband looked up at them, his eyes wide with disbelief. "What?" he choked out, his voice barely a whisper. "Is this true, Tzuyu?"

"Yes," she replied, her voice steady. "It was in the Maldives. He made me feel things I've never felt before." She didn't bother to hide the raw emotion in her voice, the love and desire she had for y/n shining through like a beacon.

Her husband's eyes flicked to y/n, his face a mask of fury and pain. "You're a monster," he spat, his hand clenching into a fist. "How could you do this to me?"

"It wasn't just me," y/n said, his voice cold and unapologetic. "It was both of us. She wanted it just as much as I did."

Tzuyu felt his cock pulse inside her with each word, a silent declaration of his claim on her body and soul. She watched her husband's face contort with rage, his eyes flickering between her and y/n, unable to believe the man he had trusted could do this to him.

"Tzuyu, tell him," y/n demanded, his voice thick with his own release. "Tell him how I made you squirt for the first time. Tell him how good I made you feel."

Her eyes flicked to her husband's face, the anger in his eyes a stark contrast to the passion that had just claimed her body. She took a deep breath, the words sticking in her throat. "It's true," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "Y/n was the one who made me squirt for the first time."

"How many times i made u squirt and how many times i came inside your womb ?" Y/n ask tzuyu.

Tzuyu felt the weight of his question, the reality of their transgressions pressing down on her like a heavy blanket. "Too many times," she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears "maybe thousand or hundred times.".

Her husband's fists clenched at his sides, his eyes dark with betrayal. "Is that all you want from me?" he spat. "To be used like some kind of... some kind of whore?"

Y/n's grip tightened around her, his hips grinding into her. "Tell him," he murmured again, his voice a seductive whisper in her ear. "Tell him you want me, that you need me."

Tzuyu's chest heaved, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "I do," she admitted, the words tearing from her like a confession. "I want to marry you, y/n. I want to have your children."

The room was silent, the only sound the heavy thud of her husband's heart beating against the wall of his chest. Y/n's eyes gleamed with victory, his cock still buried deep within her, her pussy clenching around him in silent agreement.

"You can't be serious," her husband choked out, his voice thick with pain.

Tzuyu looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of regret and determination. "I am," she said softly. "I've never felt this way with you." The words were like a knife, twisting in the wound that had been festering for years.

Her husband's face crumpled, the realization of her betrayal and the depth of her feelings for y/n too much to bear. He pulled away from her, his hand slipping from her cheek. "I'll leave you two," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

He turned, his eyes avoiding the sight of his wife's nakedness, and walked out of the room. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Tzuyu and y/n in a heavy silence that was as thick as the scent of their mingled arousal. Tzuyu felt a tear slip down her cheek as she watched her husband's retreating back, the man she had once loved so fiercely now just a shadow of the life she once knew.

Y/n pulled out of her, his cock still hard and slick with her juices. He reached out, his hand tenderly cupping her cheek, and she leaned into his touch. "Don't worry," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "We'll be together now."

The words sent a shiver down her spine, and she nodded, unable to form coherent thoughts. Her body was a live wire, still humming with the aftershocks of her orgasms. She had never felt so alive, so desired, so utterly consumed by someone else's touch. Her marriage felt like a distant memory, a fading photograph that no longer held any significance in the vivid tapestry of her life.

Her husband's footsteps grew fainter as he retreated into the other room, the sound of his pain a stark reminder of the chaos she had just unleashed. But even as the guilt began to creep in, she couldn't deny the pull of y/n's embrace. He leaned in, capturing her lips in a gentle kiss that seemed to promise a future filled with passion and excitement. And she kissed him back, her body responding instinctively, as if it had always been meant for him.

As their kiss deepened, y/n's hand slid down her body, his fingers finding her still-sensitive clit. He began to stroke her again, his movements slow and deliberate, and she moaned into his mouth, her legs parting of their own accord. She didn't care if her husband heard them, didn't care if the entire neighborhood knew. All that mattered was the feel of y/n inside her, the way he made her squirt with every thrust, filling her up with his hot cum.

Their lovemaking was a symphony of desire, each movement in perfect harmony with the other. He took her again and again, their bodies a testament to the power of their connection. She felt him swell inside her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him deeper. "Don't stop," she whispered, her voice a desperate plea. "Make me come again."

He complied, his strokes growing faster, his breath hot against her neck. She could feel her orgasm building, the pressure in her core growing tighter and tighter until she could hold it no longer. She screamed out his name, her body shaking with the force of her release. He followed her over the edge, his cock pulsing as he filled her with his seed. They clung to each other, their hearts beating as one, their bodies slick with sweat.

When the waves of pleasure finally receded, they lay there, their breathing ragged and their hearts still pounding. Tzuyu knew that she had made a choice, a choice that would change her life forever. She looked up at y/n, her eyes filled with love and regret. "What do we do now?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze intense. "We do what we should have done from the start," he said, his voice a mix of passion and determination. "I want to claim every part of this house, to erase the stain of your husband's touch from your life." He kissed her again, his tongue exploring the depths of her mouth as if he could taste her soul.

They moved through the house, their bodies entwined, leaving a trail of passion in their wake. Every room held a memory of a mundane moment from her married life, and every time y/n fucked her in a new place, it felt like a declaration of war against the stagnation she had suffered. They were a whirlwind of desire, a force of nature that could not be contained.

In the living room, y/n bent her over the couch, his cock sliding into her from behind as she gripped the cushions. The sound of their flesh slapping together echoed through the space, a stark contrast to the quiet evenings she had spent watching TV with her husband. In the bedroom, she straddled him, her walls clenching around him as if trying to keep him with her forever. Each thrust was a silent promise that she would never again belong to anyone else.

And when they reached the final room, the office where her husband had spent so many nights ignoring her, y/n picked her up and placed her on the desk, her legs spread wide. He took her with a ferocity that seemed to shake the very foundations of the house, and with each stroke, she felt herself breaking free from the chains of her old life. The room was filled with the scent of sex and sweat, a potent mix that intoxicated them both.

As they reached their climax, y/n pulled out and painted her stomach and breasts with his cum, marking her as his. He then took out his phone, capturing the moment forever. The image of her, her pussy still spasming with the aftershocks of pleasure and his seed leaking out of her, was like a trophy of their conquest. Her face was a canvas of ecstasy, her eyes glazed over and her lips swollen from his kisses. She watched him through the reflection in the window, the moonlight casting a glow on their intertwined bodies.

"Send that photo to ur husband to make him envy," he whispered into her ear, his voice a dark caress that sent another shiver down her spine. The idea was thrilling and terrifying in equal measure, but she knew that it was a declaration of war, a declaration that she belonged to him now. Her hand trembled as she took the phone, her thumb hovering over the send button. The weight of the decision was like a boulder on her chest, but she knew she had to do it.

With a deep breath, she send out the photo with caption: "U never make me like this, only y/n can. That's why I choose him." She hit send, and the message disappeared into the digital ether, the final nail in the coffin of her marriage. The silence in the room was deafening as they both waited for a response, the only sound their ragged breaths and the distant wail of a siren outside.

The tension was palpable, but then, y/n leaned back, a smirk playing on his lips. "Let's see what he says," he murmured, his eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and malice. Tzuyu couldn't help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation bubbling up inside her. The sound was a strange mix of relief and hysteria, a release of all the pent-up emotion from the past few days.

The response was almost immediate. Her husband's furious message filled the screen, a torrent of anger and betrayal that only served to reinforce her decision. She read the words with a detached calm, knowing that she had chosen her path. The photo had been a declaration of her newfound freedom, a declaration of her love for the man who had taught her the true meaning of passion and desire.

Tzuyu looked up from her phone to find y/n watching her, his expression a mix of excitement and concern. She met his gaze, and in that moment, she knew that she had made the right choice. He was her future, the man who had brought color to her once-monochrome life. The man who had made her squirt like a teenager and brought her to heights of pleasure she had never before known.

With a shaky smile, she turned to him, her heart racing with anticipation. "It's done," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the thunderous pounding in her chest. "I've sent it."

Y/n's eyes lit up with triumph, and he pulled her into a fierce embrace. "You're mine," he murmured against her ear, his voice a low growl that sent a thrill down her spine. "Mine to fuck, mine to love, mine to marry."

The days that followed were a whirlwind of emotions. The divorce was swift and brutal, a battle of wills that Tzuyu emerged from with the victory she had sought. Her husband's disbelief and rage only fueled her resolve, and she walked away from the ashes of their marriage with her head held high, her heart filled with the promise of a life with y/n.

Their wedding was a small affair, an intimate gathering of those who truly mattered. As she exchanged vows with the man who had claimed her so thoroughly, she felt a sense of belonging that she had never known before. His hand in hers was a promise of forever, a promise she eagerly accepted.

Their honeymoon suite was a sanctuary of love, a place where y/n could continue to worship her body in every way imaginable. The walls echoed with her cries of pleasure, her pussy squirting in response to his relentless lovemaking. Every thrust of his cock was a declaration of his love, and she reveled in the feeling of being filled by him, over and over again.

In those passionate moments, time seemed to stand still. His love was an intoxicating force that consumed her, leaving her breathless and begging for more. Her body was his playground, and he explored it with a hunger that never ceased. Each orgasm was a testament to their connection, a shared secret that bound them closer than any vow could ever do.

Yet, amidst the passion, Tzuyu was acutely aware of the world outside their bubble. She knew that their love was not universally accepted, that there would be whispers and judgments. But as she felt his cum fill her once again, she also knew that she didn't care. The only thing that mattered was the love they shared, the love that had set her free from the shackles of her old life.

Their love was a storm, wild and untamed, and it raged on unabated. Each day brought new heights of ecstasy, each night a symphony of moans and whispers of love. They were lost in a sea of passion that neither wanted to navigate out of. And as Tzuyu lay there, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure, she whispered the words she had been longing to say. "I want your baby," she said, her eyes shining with hope.

Y/n's smile was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, a smile that spoke of joy and love and a future filled with the sweet chaos of a family. He leaned in to kiss her, his cock still nestled inside her, and she knew that she had made the right choice.

Their love grew with each passing day, and soon, her belly grew too. The thought of carrying his child was a miracle she had never dared to dream of. Yet, as her stomach swelled with new life, she felt a sense of peace that surpassed all understanding.

But with the joy came the fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of the judgmental eyes of the world, fear of the future. Yet, every time she looked into y/n's eyes, she found strength. His love was a bastion she could always retreat to, a force that could vanquish any doubt or insecurity.

Tzuyu had never felt more alive, more loved, more cherished. Her life was no longer a series of mundane routines but a tapestry of passion and excitement, woven together by the threads of their love. And as she watched him sleep, his hand resting gently on her rounded belly, she knew that she would face whatever the future held with the same fierce determination that had brought them to this moment.

For she was not just a woman in love; she was a woman transformed, a woman who had found her true self in the arms of the man who had claimed her heart and her body, forever.

Years passed, and with each season, Tzuyu felt y/n's love for her deepen. His cock had become a symbol of their union, a beacon of pleasure that pierced through the darkness of doubt and uncertainty. He gave her his essence, his very life force, with every creampie, filling her womb with the hope of new life. Yet, as the months grew into years, the absence of a child grew heavier, a question mark hanging over their love nest. Despite the relentless passion, the fertility tests remained negative, the doctors puzzled.

Tzuyu's mind swirled with questions, each more troubling than the last. Had she waited too long? Was there something wrong with her? Yet, y/n's love remained unwavering, his desire for her as potent as ever. He whispered sweet nothings in her ear, promising her the world, and she believed him, for she had seen him move mountains with his love. His semen was a sacred elixir, a gift that she craved and revered, and she took it gratefully, her pussy swelling with each injection of his love.

Their lovemaking had become a ritual, a dance of desire and need that transcended the physical realm. He would fuck her until she was nothing but a trembling mess of pleasure, her pussy gushing with the evidence of her love for him. And then, he would fill her, his cock pulsing with life, his semen spilling into her with a warmth that seemed to reach the very core of her soul. Afterwards, they would lay entwined, her body a canvas for his adoration, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts.

But the whispers grew louder with time, the shadows of doubt creeping in. Why wasn't she pregnant? Was it the universe's cruel joke, to give them so much pleasure yet deny them the fruit of their love?.

After five long years, the miracle they had both been praying for finally happened. Tzuyu's belly swelled with life, a testament to their unyielding passion and love. When y/n heard the news, he was over the moon, his eyes shining with a joy that could outshine the stars. He took her in his arms, his cock already hardening at the thought of what they had created together.

He showered her with love and attention, preparing her favorite meals and rubbing her swollen belly with gentle strokes that never failed to elicit a contented sigh from her. He whispered sweet promises to the little life growing inside her, pledging to protect and cherish it as he did its mother. Every creampie now had a purpose, a sacred offering to the child that would soon be a part of them.

Their love grew even more intense with each passing day, the bond between them tightening like a coil about to spring. Y/n took her to the finest doctors, ensuring that she and the baby would receive the best care. He painted the nursery in soft pastels, filling it with plush toys and tiny clothes that made Tzuyu's heart swell with joy. The anticipation of their child's arrival was a constant presence, a drumbeat that grew louder with each passing week.

But the fear remained, a snake coiled around her heart. What if something went wrong? What if she lost the baby? She clung to y/n, drawing strength from his unwavering belief in her, in them. And with each squirt of his love, she felt a surge of power, a reminder that she was not alone in this.

Their love was a force to be reckoned with, a tempest that had weathered the storms of doubt and despair. And as she felt the first flutters of life within her, she knew that together, they could conquer any challenge that lay ahead. The future was uncertain, but in the arms of her lover, with the promise of a new life growing within her, Tzuyu felt ready to face it all.

Y/n was her rock, her anchor in the tumultuous sea of change that washed over her. He anticipated her every need, his gentle touch and soothing words a balm to her frazzled nerves. He knew her body was changing, knew the fears that haunted her dreams. He was there with her, every step of the way, whispering reassurances into her ear as he cradled her swollen belly. His eyes shone with a fierce protectiveness that made her feel like the most cherished creature on earth.

He pampered her, making her favorite meals with a care that bordered on the obsessive. He knew her cravings, her mood swings, and her ever-changing body like the back of his hand. He massaged her sore feet, her swollen ankles, and the small of her back, where the weight of their unborn child rested heavily. He talked to the baby, his deep voice a gentle rumble that made Tzuyu's heart melt. His love was boundless, and she felt it in every stroke, every kiss, every tender caress.

But even as they basked in the glow of their love, the whispers grew louder, the shadows stretching further. Her mind was a maelstrom of what-ifs and fears, her thoughts racing faster than the galloping heartbeat of their child. What if she wasn't enough? What if she failed as a mother? Y/n could see the turmoil in her eyes, the doubt that gnawed at her from within. He took her in his arms, his grip firm yet gentle, and whispered the words that had become their mantra. "We're in this together." And she believed him, because she had no choice but to.

The days grew longer, the nights shorter, and still, y/n was by her side. He held her hand through every doctor's appointment, every ultrasound, his face a mirror of her own excitement and fear. His cock was a symbol of their unity, a bridge that connected them to the life they had created. Whenever she felt overwhelmed, he would fill her with his love, his semen a warm embrace that reminded her that she was not alone.

And in those quiet moments, when the world outside had ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the rhythm of their hearts and the gentle dance of their limbs, she found peace. Their love had become more than just a passionate affair; it was a lifeline, a promise that no matter what the future held, they would face it as one.

Tzuyu felt the weight of his gaze on her, the love in his eyes a beacon that guided her through the fog of uncertainty. And in the stillness of those moments, she knew that she had made the right choice. Her body was changing, her life was transforming, but with y/n beside her, she was ready to embrace it all. For in the chaos of creation, they had found their sanctuary, their love a beacon that shone through the darkest of nights.

The last trimester of her pregnancy brought with it a new set of challenges. Her body had become a vessel for the life they had created together, and y/n's love for her grew in tandem with the child within her. Despite the fear that whispered in the back of her mind that her changing body might push him away, his desire for her only grew stronger. He worshipped her swollen belly, her heavy breasts, and the soft curves that had once been so toned.

Every day, he made love to her, his cock sinking into her swollen pussy with a reverence that brought tears to her eyes. His love was a force that transcended the physical, reaching into the very core of her being. And as they climaxed together, her body convulsed with a pleasure so intense it was almost painful, her juices spurting out like a fountain, soaking their bed, their bodies entwined in a dance of passion and creation.

The sight of her squirting brought him to his own peak, his face a mask of ecstasy as he filled her with his cum. And in those moments, she felt complete, whole. Her breasts grew heavy with milk, her nipples hard and sensitive. And when the sprays of white began, he was there, his mouth eager, drinking in the essence of her love. It was a ritual that bonded them in a way that nothing else could, a testament to their love and the life they had created together.

The sound of their love filled the room, echoing off the walls that had seen so much passion and pain. And as the tremors of their shared climax subsided, she looked into his eyes and knew that she had found her home. Her fears dissipated like morning mist, replaced by a fierce determination to face the future as his slut, as his wife, as the mother of his child. For in the end, it was not just her body that had changed; it was her soul, forever intertwined with the man who had claimed it.

The final days of her pregnancy were a blur of anticipation and fear, of joy and doubt. But through it all, y/n's love remained a constant, a beacon that guided her through the storm. And as they prepared for the birth of their child, Tzuyu felt a sense of peace she had never known before. The whispers of the past had been silenced by the roar of their love, and she knew that she had found her place in the world, nestled in the arms of the man who had claimed her heart.

The contractions began with the softness of a whisper, a gentle nudging that grew into a crescendo of pain and power. Y/n was with her every step of the way, his hand in hers, his eyes never leaving her face. He encouraged her, whispered sweet nothings into her ear, his love a balm to her soul. And when she felt the overwhelming urge to push, she knew that she could do it, because she had him.

Their love was a force of nature, unstoppable and all-consuming. And as she bore down, her body a battleground for the miracle of life, she felt the warmth of his love surrounding her, lifting her up. His encouragement was a symphony in her ears, his touch a lifeline that connected her to the world outside the pain.

And then, with a final, triumphant push, their child was born. A perfect little being that looked at them with wide, wondering eyes. Y/n's face was a picture of pure joy, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears as he cut the cord that bound them all together. They had done it, they had created life from love, and nothing could ever break that bond.

The midwife placed the squalling baby on Tzuyu's chest, and she felt a rush of emotion so profound it stole her breath away. This was the culmination of their love, the ultimate proof that they were meant to be together. And as she looked into the tiny face that mirrored hers, she knew that she had never been more loved, more complete, more alive.

In that moment, with their newborn child nestled between them, their love story was rewritten. It was no longer just about the passion that had brought them together, but the love that had grown from that fire, a love that had survived betrayal, doubt, and societal judgment. It was a love that had created life, that had transcended the physical to become something sacred and unbreakable.

Y/n took her hand, his eyes never leaving hers as they watched their child nurse at her breast. The sight of her, so vulnerable and beautiful, filled him with a love that was both fierce and gentle. He leaned in to kiss her forehead, his lips lingering on her skin, tasting the salt of her sweat, the sweetness of her love. And when she looked up at him, her eyes filled with unshed tears, he knew that she felt it too.

Their love had been tested, but it had not wavered. It had grown stronger, a testament to their resilience and the depth of their bond. They were no longer just lovers, but partners, bound together by the life they had brought into the world. As they held each other, the whispers of doubt and fear faded away, replaced by the soft cooing of their child and the gentle beat of their hearts.

Their future was a blank canvas, a tapestry of moments yet to be woven. They had no idea what challenges lay ahead, what joys or pains would come their way. But in that moment, as they lay entwined, surrounded by the warmth of their love and the new life they had created, they were ready to face it all. For in each other's arms, they had found their home, their sanctuary, their forever.

And so, as the sun set on the first day of their new lives, Tzuyu and y/n held each other tightly, their love a beacon in the night. They whispered promises of forever, of always being there, of never letting go. And as their child slept, the symphony of their hearts played on, a melody that would carry them through every storm, every heartache, every moment of pure, unbridled joy.

For in the chaos of creation, they had found their harmony, their love a force that could conquer any challenge. They were ready to face the world as one, to show the world that love was not bound by convention or expectation, but by the simple, unshakeable truth of two souls that had found each other.

In the days that followed, Tzuyu watched y/n with new eyes, his every move a declaration of his love and dedication. He was a doting father, his rough hands gentle as he cradled their child, his eyes soft with wonder as he watched their baby grow. He was a devoted husband, his love for her a constant reassurance that she had made the right choice.

Their love had not just survived the storm; it had thrived in it. It had grown from a passionate affair into a love that was unshakeable, a bond that nothing could break. And as they faced the world together, hand in hand, they knew that they had created something beautiful, something that would last a lifetime.

The whispers of their past had been silenced, the shadows of doubt banished by the light of their love. They had come through the fire, and emerged stronger, more in love than ever before. The world had not ended with their revelation; instead, it had opened up, revealing a path they had never dared to dream of.

Tzuyu knew that she had found her place in the world, not as someone's possession, but as an equal, a partner, a mother. And as she watched y/n playing with their child, his laughter ringing through the house like a bell, she knew that she had found not just love, but a life that was truly hers. A life filled with passion, with purpose, with the promise of forever.

And as she felt the warmth of his gaze on her, as his hand found hers and gave it a gentle squeeze, she knew that she had made the right choice. For in the end, it was not about societal norms or the expectations of others; it was about the love that burned between them, a love that had created a life that was more beautiful than any garden she had ever tended. A love that was wild, untamed, and utterly, completely theirs.

Y/n looked up from her breast, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Only one baby," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "But your breasts are definitely more than enough for the both of us." He took the other in his mouth, the suction causing her to arch her back and gasp. The sensation was exquisite, a reminder of the passion that had brought them to this moment.

The baby's cries grew louder, a symphony of need that pierced the haze of their desire. Tzuyu's laughter was breathless as she reached down to stroke his hair. "You're insatiable," she whispered, her voice a caress that sent a shiver down his spine. He pulled away from her, his cock standing at attention, and stood up from the bed. "Let's go take care of our little interrupter," he said with a grin, his hand outstretched to help her up.

They moved in unison, their bodies still attuned to each other's rhythms despite the chaos of their new life. The nursery was a soft glow of moonlight, their baby's tiny face scrunched in a frown. Y/n picked her up with ease, cradling her in his arms as he began to murmur sweet nothings that had always had a way of calming her. Tzuyu watched them, her heart swelling with love, her hand absently tracing the contours of her own body, marveling at the changes that had occurred.

Her breasts were full and heavy with milk, her stomach still rounded despite the baby's birth. Her pussy, so recently ravished, was now a soft, tender bud waiting to bloom once more. And as she watched her husband with their daughter, she felt the stirrings of desire once again, the hunger that never truly left her. The sight of them together was a reminder of the love that had started it all, the love that had created this perfect little being.

With the baby latched onto his finger, y/n turned to Tzuyu, his eyes dark with want. "Let's get her back to sleep," he said, his voice low and seductive. "And then, I want to taste that sweet cunt of yours again." She felt a thrill at his words, the ache between her legs growing more insistent. She knew that despite the interruption, their love was far from over.

They rocked the baby to sleep, their movements in sync as they had become in every aspect of their lives. And when the cries finally subsided into gentle snuffles, they laid her down in her crib, their eyes never leaving hers. Then, as if on cue, they turned to each other, the tension between them palpable.

He took her hand and led her back to their bedroom, the door clicking shut with a finality that seemed to seal them in their own world once again. The bed was a rumpled mess, the evidence of their love scattered around them like confetti. He kissed her, his tongue delving into her mouth, a promise of what was to come.

Her body responded immediately, her nipples hardening, her pussy growing wet. He pulled her nightgown over her head, his hands exploring her curves with a familiarity that sent shivers down her spine. His cock was hard and insistent, pressing against her stomach, leaving a trail of pre-cum that she eagerly followed with her finger.

He groaned into her mouth as she stroked him, the sound vibrating through her. Her hand grew bolder, her grip tightening as she felt him grow even harder. And when she finally led him to her waiting entrance, she moaned, the feel of him inside her a balm to the ache she hadn't realized was there.

Their lovemaking was slow and gentle, a sweet symphony of sighs and whispers. His cock filled her completely, his movements a tender exploration of her body's new landscape. And as they moved together, the whispers of their love grew louder, drowning out the cries of their past, the fears and the doubts.

Y/n could feel her milk let down, her breasts leaking with every thrust, and he couldn't resist the temptation. He pulled away from her kiss to lean down, his mouth closing over one of her erect nipples, suckling deeply. Tzuyu arched her back, her eyes rolling back in her head at the sensation. The taste of her milk was sweet and addictive, a flavor that seemed to hold the very essence of her love.

He groaned against her skin, his hand moving to her other breast, kneading and caressing as he drank his fill. Her milk soaked the bed, mingling with their sweat, creating a scent that was uniquely theirs. And as he fucked her, the rhythm of his hips a steady beat, he felt something inside him shift. It was more than just desire, more than just the need to claim her. It was a hunger that went bone deep, a craving that only she could satisfy.

Her walls tightened around him, her orgasm building like a crescendo. He could feel the warmth of her milk on his chest, the stickiness of their love coating them both. And as she came, her body shaking with the force of her release, he knew that he had found his heaven. This was where he belonged, inside her, surrounded by the proof of their love.

Her milk flowed freely, and he lapped it up with the same fervor that he had used to kiss her mouth, her neck, her breasts. It was a declaration of his love, a claiming of her body and her soul. And as they lay together, their hearts beating in sync, their bodies entwined in a tapestry of love and need, they knew that nothing would ever come between them again.

The whispers of doubt had been silenced by the roar of their passion, the shadows of fear banished by the light of their love. They had created a world unto themselves, a sanctuary where they could be free, where they could love without limits.

And as he pulled out, his cock still hard and slick with their combined juices, he watched her body with a sense of awe. She was more beautiful than any garden, more precious than any jewel. And as he reached for her hand, their fingers interlocking, he knew that he had found his home.

Their love had grown from a secret affair into a love that could conquer any storm. And as they lay there, their hearts open and raw, they knew that they had been given a gift. A child, a love that was pure and unshakeable, and a future filled with promise.

Their bodies were still slick with passion when they finally collapsed onto the bed, their breathing ragged and their hearts pounding. Y/n wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close as he whispered sweet nothings into her ear. They were the same words he had whispered countless times before, but now they held a new meaning, a promise of forever.

Tzuyu felt a sense of peace settle over her, a warmth that started in her chest and spread throughout her body. She knew that she had made the right choice, that she had found her soulmate in the most unexpected of places. And as she drifted off to sleep, her body sated and her heart full, she whispered the words that had become their mantra.

"I love you, y/n," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "Forever and always."

He pulled her closer, his hand cupping her still-leaking breast, his thumb stroking her nipple gently. "And I love you, Tzuyu," he replied, his voice a soft rumble in the darkness. "With every beat of my heart, with every breath I take."

They lay together, their bodies a tapestry of love and trust, their hearts beating in a duet that was theirs alone. The taste of her milk still lingered on his tongue, a sweetness that seemed to echo the purity of their love. As he drifted off to sleep, the warmth of her body against his, y/n felt a sense of contentment that washed over him like a gentle rain.

The night was a canvas of shadows, the moonlight playing across their tangled limbs like an artist's brush. Their baby slept peacefully in her crib, a testament to the love that had created her. The whispers of doubt and fear had been silenced by the roar of their passion, the shadows of the past banished by the warm glow of their future.

As they slept, their bodies entwined, their love grew stronger, the bond between them unbreakable. Tzuyu dreamed of the days ahead, of watching their child grow, of the adventures they would share as a family. Y/n's arms were a warm cocoon around her, his breath steady and comforting. In the quiet of the night, she knew that she had found her home, her heart's true north.

The next morning, the sun streamed through the windows, casting a golden hue over the bed. Tzuyu stirred, the warmth of the sun caressing her skin. She looked down to find y/n still sleeping, his hand curled around her breast, his mouth open slightly. She felt a thrill of desire, her body responding to his touch even in slumber. Carefully, she lifted his head, the pillow of her arm giving way to the softness of the mattress.

He blinked sleepily up at her, a smile playing on his lips as he took in the sight of her. "Good morning," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

"Good morning," she replied, her voice a soft purr that made his cock twitch. "How did you sleep?"

He chuckled, his eyes dropping to her breasts. "Like a baby," he said, his voice filled with mischief. "And speaking of babies..." His hand moved to the baby monitor, pressing the button to check on their daughter. Her gentle coos filled the room, a sweet melody that brought a smile to both of their faces.

They lay there for a moment, listening to the sound of their child's breathing, their hearts swelling with love. Then, with a yawn that stretched his whole body, y/n sat up, his eyes never leaving hers. "I have to admit," he said, his voice low and husky with desire. "I've developed quite a taste for your milk."

Tzuyu felt a blush creep up her neck, her nipples hardening under his gaze. "Well," she said, a smile playing on her lips. "I suppose I'll have to keep producing it, then."

He leaned down to kiss her, his mouth lingering on hers as he reached for her breast once more. "Oh, I have every intention of making sure you do," he murmured, his eyes dark with need.

Their love had grown from a secret to a garden that bloomed in the light of day, a testament to their strength and the depth of their feelings. And as they kissed, the taste of her milk mingling with the sweetness of their love, they knew that they had found their forever.

For in that moment, there was only the two of them, their bodies joined as one, creating a new melody that resonated through every fiber of their beings. They were no longer just lovers, but parents, a bond that went beyond the physical, beyond the confines of their own desires.

Their love had been tested, but it had not just survived; it had evolved, grown into something more profound, more meaningful. And as they lay entwined, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the night, Tzuyu knew that she had found her place in the world. A place filled with love, with passion, with the promise of forever.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Words to Die By

The Rookie x Criminal Minds Crossover

-> Part 2: Strikes to Die By

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!BAU!reader

Summary: Seven years after failing to become an LAPD officer, you return to Los Angeles as a literary analyst with the FBI's behavioral analysis unit to catch a serial killer.

Warnings: angst, violence, discussions of autopsies and forensic science, literary references, fluff and banter, improper use of a meat locker

Word Count: 13k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

As the slick black SUV with US government plates parks outside the LAPD Mid-Wilshire station, you try not to reminisce. It would be too easy to remember how excited you were to walk in on your first day after the police academy, too easy to remember the devastation and heartbreak you felt walking through the same doors after surrendering your badge. You open the car door and focus on the current job, keeping your head down as you follow your team into the station that once felt like home. After finding an empty space out of the officers’ way to wait while your boss speaks to the watch commander and captain, you unlock your phone and scroll through the case details you reviewed on the flight, looking for anything you might have missed.

“Can I help you?”

You look up from your phone, the case detail email disappearing as you press the power button and smile at the LAPD officer standing before you.

“Sorry, I’m waiting for the rest of my team,” you explain before brandishing your badge.

“Oh, no worries. This is my first time working in a task force,” she replies. “It’s exciting.”

You nod and subconsciously tug on your sleeves. Officer Chen is obviously a rookie, and her enthusiasm is refreshing.

“Is this your first time in LA?” she asks.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Chen, Bradford wants to see you before roll call,” another officer calls.

“Is Bradford your training officer?” you ask.

“He is. Do you know him?”

You look around, then say, “Tim is on, what? His tenth plain clothes day washout?”

“Eleventh,” she answers, surprised.

“Nice to meet you, Officer Chen.” You offer your hand and say, “I’m number five.”

Chen’s jaw drops before she asks, “And now you’re FBI? How did that happen?”

“Long story… But I’m a literary analyst for the behavioral analysis unit, not exactly a field agent.”

A passing officer stops, then steps backward to look at you. “Are you on Hotchner’s team?”

“I am. I assume you remember him?”

“You know an FBI agent, Officer Lopez?” Chen asks.

“He was responsible for over 100 convictions of corrupt cops six or seven years ago. Five of them were LAPD, and one was our watch commander,” Lopez explains. “Chen, we need to get to roll call.”

You nod to Lucy, then return your attention to an email from Penelope.

“Your phone should be at least twelve inches from your face to limit blue light exposure,” Spencer says as he enters the station. “Sixteen to eighteen inches is preferable.”

“Spencer,” you reply, smiling as you turn toward him. “Penelope used what appears to be 6-point font and then zoomed out. I appreciate the concern for my eye health but take it up with her.”

Spencer frowns and murmurs, “Sounds like a job for Morgan.”

“What’s that, pretty boy?” Derek inquires as if he was summoned by the utterance of his name. “Gettin’ girlie here a date?”

“In Los Angeles?” you ask incredulously. “Hard pass.”

“Right, because the location is the issue with the plan. Not the fact that we’re working a case, and new evidence was discovered this morning,” Hotch deadpans from your side.

“I can multitask, boss man,” Derek defends, tossing his arm over your shoulders.

“Psychologists have determined the human brain isn’t designed for successful multitasking,” Reid begins. “It can cause switch cost, which results when attention and information retainment are suddenly redirected from one task to another, and cognitive efficiency and performance diminish-“

“Says the walking brain with at least fourteen tabs open,” Derek jokes.

“They’re waiting for us,” Hotch reminds. “I mean, only if you’re ready.”

“Your station,” Derek tells you, shaking your shoulders gently as he follows you toward the roll call room.

“… and there is no excuse for failure to communicate,” Sergeant Wade Grey continues as you follow Hotch into the roll call room.

You stand between Hotch and Derek as he speaks and look around the room. Fourteen officers are seated at the tables, listening intently even as their eyes stray to the case board. JJ joins you a moment later, mouthing an apology to Hotch before passing him a folder.

“More evidence?” you whisper.

She nods, then whispers something to Spencer, who furrows his brows and squints at the case board. You know the look, and it increases your concern about the case. Though there have been two notes and a book tied to the previous crime scenes, you’re unsure why  Hotch decided you needed to join them in LA. You could have stayed in Virginia with Penelope, you think, but you trust him and the rest of your team. Turning away from JJ, you fight the urge to peek into Hotch’s open folder as you run your eyes up and down the rows of officers. You recognize Chen and Lopez from this morning, but stop when you see Tim Bradford.

Hotch notices your shoulders stiffen in the split second before you relax, and he taps his elbow against you. You look up at him, and he nods once to reassure you. You’re not alone, and unlike the last time you were in this station, someone else knows the truth of what happened.

“Any questions about the case?” Grey asks. He sighs when someone raises their hand and says, “Yes, Nolan?”

Nolan doesn’t seem concerned with Grey’s lethargy. “What’s the connection between the zoo and the first victim?”

Spencer shifts beside you, and Derek shakes his head in amusement. You can imagine the rambling fighting to get out of Reid, and you smile at Derek rather than laugh.

“I should’ve been clearer. Any questions about our side of the investigation?” Grey amends, and this time the officers stay quiet. “In that case, I’d like to introduce Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner of the FBI, the BAU unit chief, who has brought his team across the country to assist in this case.”

Hotch walks to the front of the room and sets his files on the podium. He fixes an evaluating glare on the officers before him, then nods.

JJ leans toward you and asks, “Remember how intimidating that look used to be?”

“Still makes me stand up a little straighter,” you admit.

“We’re here to help,” Hotch begins. “But that means that we need you to be as committed to solving this case as we are. If you’re not ready for that, you’re free to go.” No one moves, so Hotch says, “Good. Sergeant Grey has briefed me on each of you. You’re good officers, but street smarts and police procedure won’t get this monster off the street.”

“But talking about the suspect’s feelings will?” one of the officers jokes.

Hotch’s eyebrows raise, and his serious look fades into a knowing glare. “You must be Bradford.”

JJ takes your hand, and Derek exhales. They know more about your history in LA than the people in LA do, and you appreciate their friendship and presence.

“Sorry, sir,” Tim replies. “I only meant that there is tangible evidence at these scenes, and it seems to me that concrete proof will help us find this guy faster than dissecting his mind through his habits and words.”

Hotch returns behind the podium and admits, “I understand how our process could seem like a waste of time, and criminal profiling is not an exact science, we’re wrong sometimes, but you know as well as I do that there’s no one right way to solve a crime. The important thing in this situation is to get a killer off the streets before he claims more lives. If our behavioral analysis can assist in that, we’d appreciate your cooperation.”

“I can assure you that you have the LAPD’s complete cooperation,” Sergeant Grey interjects, looking pointedly at Tim. “And anyone unwilling to do so will be removed from this task force.”

Tim crosses his arms across his chest and nods, a position you remember well from your limited days as a rookie. You expected this type of attitude from him and possibly more cops. You truly believe that the BAU can offer insights Tim can’t glean from analyzing a crime scene or going through the processed evidence.

“Do any of you have questions for me or my communications liaison?” Hotch asks.

Several officers ask questions about task force protocol, what your team does, and other run-of-the-mill inquiries about the federal agency and its duties.

“I believe it is time for introductions?” Hotch says, stepping to the side as he welcomes Sergeant Grey back to the front of the room.

“The LAPD has selected fourteen of its best officers-“ He turns away from the room and lowers his voice to tell Hotch, “If you’re against rookies on the team, I’ve got some other officers on standby.”

“If you trust them, they’re welcome to stay.”

Grey nods and turns, then continues, “Officer Lopez, Officer Bishop and her rookie, John Nolan, Officer Janssen…”

You tune out most of the officers’ names, trusting Spencer to fill in any blanks for you, until you hear, “Officer Bradford and his rookie, Lucy Chen.”

You were in Lucy’s position just over seven years ago, and now you’re looking in from the outside. You love your job and appreciate the FBI and the BAU for giving you a home and a rewarding career. Yet, sometimes you’re still plagued by the inevitable wondering, what if?

“Pleasure to meet you all,” Hotch responds. “I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner, behind you is my team: Special Agents Reid, Morgan, Jareau…” Hotch meets your eyes before introducing you, and you watch him rather than Tim, who turns quickly in his chair and stares wide-eyed at you before controlling his expression and returning to his usual composed demeanor.

“How is a literary analyst helpful?” someone questions softly.

“This unit has taken down more serial criminals than you can name,” Wade snaps. “Show a little respect.”

“We’d like to brief you before the media,” Hotch explains. “If it’s possible to reconvene before tomorrow’s patrol begins, of course.”

“Not a problem. I want all of you back in here fifteen minutes before beginning of shift tomorrow,” Wade tells his officers. “Keep the conversation in this room, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” the officers respond as they stand and file out of the door, some whispering together, others leaving quietly and alone.

“I think that went well,” Derek says as Hotch gathers his things.

“Socially speaking, there was a divide and a complete lack of faith in us,” Spencer argues. “Though there is the question of authority and a misunderstanding regarding our purpose and purview.”

“Pretty boy and I are going to go find some coffee.”

As Derek and Spencer leave, and JJ excuses herself to answer a phone call, you’re left alone with your current supervisor and former watch commander.

“It’s good to see you,” Wade says, smiling as he pulls you into a hug.

“You, too,” you respond. “Sorry I haven’t been back as much as I’d like.”

“I understand,” Wade assures. “And it seems that you’ve found your perfect place in the BAU.”

“We like to think so,” Hotch agrees. “Although…”

“Bradford won’t be a problem,” you interrupt.

Hotch tilts his head questioningly, and you add, “He fights back on new things, but he’s a good cop, so he’ll do what’s right in the end.”

Hotch hesitates, then asks, “Do you trust him?”

“With my life.”

“He’s the best I’ve got,” Wade comments. “But if there’s a question about him…”

“He’s Morgan, but more serious,” you tell Hotch. He doesn’t change his stare, so you sigh and promise, “I want him here. There’s no bad blood between us and he’s going to be invaluable in this.”

Hotch nods and looks away from you finally and begins asking Wade about one of the files turned in the night before, which you understand as your cue to leave. After you step out into the bullpen, Derek returns to your side.

“Where’s Spencer?” you ask, looking over his shoulder.

“Telling Officer Chen about the health benefits of doing something boring. How are you?”

“I’m okay. Hotch doesn’t seem to think so.”

Derek gasps and holds your shoulder to exclaim, “You have two overprotective father figures to work for now!”

You consider arguing for less than a second before you realize he’s right. Wade stayed in touch after you left LA. Hotch has never left room for you to wonder how he sees you and his need to protect you. So, you’re working on a case that feels like two different versions of your personality, and parts of your life have combined into one perfect yet terrifying case. And you haven’t even talked to Tim yet.

“I hope our hotel has a hot tub,” you lament.

“Plain clothes day washout number five, huh?” Lucy asks Tim as they patrol Los Angeles.

Tim shakes his head and doesn’t answer. He’s gone seven years without talking about you, only having to relive the heartbreak on your face and the disappointment he felt during his loneliest nights. Tim saw great potential in you, considered you more than a rookie, and taking your badge had affected him in a way he never expected. Now, you’re in the FBI, which is news to him, and you’re working on a case that he hasn’t been able to solve even with ten crime scenes to work with.

“What happened?” Lucy tries.

“None of your business, Chen,” he snaps. “That case, Hotchner’s team, all of it stays in the roll call room for now. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

A bell chimes above your head as you enter your favorite Los Angeles diner. It’s your first night in the city, and since you don’t know how long you’ll be here, you wanted to revisit it while you had a chance. When you mentioned the diner, your team gave you their orders to bring to the hotel, where they’re currently reviewing the autopsy reports. It feels wrong to leave them, but you sigh in the comfort of a place that once provided you a refuge after long days.

“Old habits?” you ask as you approach the counter.

Tim looks up from the laminate and watches you. You don’t meet his gaze but look at the menu while you wait for the waitress to return. This was your favorite diner when you started at the LAPD, and Tim has never given himself time to wonder why he kept coming back even after you left.

“Something like that,” he says. “So, uh, the FBI. That’s incredible.”

You shrug. “Not what I wanted, but I love it.”

Tim nods, unsure what else to say. You’re not the girl you were on day one in the academy, not even the girl who left the station in tears after washing out. Tim still sees you, the woman who fought for what was right never gave up, and was smarter than she ever realized. That’s not the person he saw your last week on patrol, but he knew you were still in there somewhere.

“How long have you been with the BAU?” he inquires.

The waitress returns, and you take the excuse to not answer Tim. You retrieve your phone from your pocket and read a large order from the screen, then pass a shiny, FBI-issued credit card over the counter.

“It’ll be a few minutes, hun,” the waitress informs as she returns the card. “Feel free to have a seat.”

You thank her and slide onto a stool, ensuring you leave an empty seat between you and Tim.

“Failing to become a police officer was one of the hardest things I’ve ever experienced,” you confess. “A few months later, Aaron Hotchner knocked on my door. There was a case nearby, a serial rapist who was leaving personalized love letters with every single victim. He found my résumé on a local job board and came to ask for help because of my background. The rest just fell into place, I guess.”

“You get to carry,” Tim points out, gesturing toward the holster on your hip, concealed from everyone else by your shirt. “They don’t let people who just ‘fall into place’ do that.”

“I did everything by the book, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’m wondering what changed on plain clothes day,” he responds. “You were on track to be an amazing officer, and then that last week, you just… something changed.”

“I did.”

“There’s more to it.”

“There’s really not,” you insist. “If you don’t want to be on this task force-“

“I do. I wish you could see that you have the potential to lead it.”

“Hotch saved my life. I trust him.” Tim understands the part you don’t say: that you trust him more than yourself.

The waitress returns with two full bags, and you stand as you take them from the counter.

“Goodnight, Tim. I’ll see you at the station tomorrow.”

As you leave, the bell chimes over the door again, and Tim hears your voice in his head, the promise of another chance, but he doesn't miss the fact that you leave every time you see each other.

“What if - and hear me out on this - you just told him the truth,” Derek suggests.

You take a drink from a cheap Styrofoam cup and nod. “You’re right, Derek, why didn’t I think of that?”

“You know, most hotel chains serving breakfast fail to maintain proper culinary heat-“

Hotch raises one finger before Spencer can ruin breakfast for everyone. “Don’t.”

“I agree with Morgan,” JJ says. “There’s clearly questions there, and if you explain what happened, he’ll trust you more.”

“And he can deal with some of the guilt,” Hotch grumbles.

“What guilt?” you inquire, pausing with a cheap metal fork in your hand.

“He clearly blames himself for letting you lose your position,” Hotch explains.

“He knows how good you are, so that final week probably doesn’t make any sense to him,” Derek adds.

“He doesn’t,” you mutter. “He told me last night-“

“You saw him last night?” JJ exclaims.

“I ran into him at the diner.”

“He still goes to your diner?” Derek questions.

“It’s just a diner! But I saw him there and he insisted that there was more to what happened than me changing.”

“And you lied to him?” Hotch responds. “It’s over, you can tell him, you can shout it from the top of the Chinese theater.”

“That would be illegal,” Spencer mumbles.

“And wouldn’t change anything,” you add. “We’re here to work a case, not mend a bridge that has been-“ you scramble for the right word before finishing, “disintegrating for nearly a decade.”

Derek groans as he leans back in his seat, and Hotch finally looks up to say, “If this gets in the way of the case, I’ll have Garcia email him everything he needs to know.”

“I’m cutting holes in all of your quarter-zips tonight,” you threaten in return.

Hotch frowns and mouths, You’ll never find them all.

“Good morning,” Sergeant Grey calls as the door closes behind the twentieth and final member of the task force. “SSA Hotchner is going to fill you all in.”

“Thanks for coming in early,” Hotch begins. “There have been no new developments in the case since yesterday, but my team has created a preliminary profile based on the preexisting evidence and details from the first ten victims.”

Your phone buzzes with an incoming call from Garcia, and you exit the room to answer. “Whatcha got for us, gorgeous?”

“Ooh, does Derek know you’re talking to me like this?” she replies, her keyboard clicking in the background.

“Not like he’s competition,” you say with a playful scoff. “Find anything on the deep dive?”

“Nothing inherently helpful. The prelim suspects are all pretty similar, though one of them did alibi out. Carson Gillery was working remotely from Chicago during the second and third murders. Hotel and airline checks corroborate that.”

“I’ll tell Hotch. Anything else?”

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Fine. Why?”

She stops typing suddenly and then inhales sharply.

“Garcia?” You ask.

The line beeps as she disconnects, and a phone on the desk closest to you begins ringing. A Virginia area code appears on the caller ID, and you stretch across the desk to pick up the receiver.

“Penelope?” you ask hurriedly.

“He’s in the data!” she explains, typing again. “He’s not doing much, but someone is overriding minor coding and there was another line tied into our call. I could hear him breathing; thought you were crying at first, but now I’m running a backward search to find this psycho.”

“None of the prelim suspects would know how to do that,” you point out.

“Uh oh,” Penelope breathes. “I think…  I think he left you a message.”

“What is it?”

“It’s in the seventh victim’s ME report, overwriting the details of the posthumous wounding to the back. It says 2/18/17… It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.”

“Henley,” you murmur, trying to connect the dots as you forget the first half of the message.

“There’s more,” Penelope says. “A copy of your one-way ticket to Virginia with an alternate ID that says, ‘thanks for the perfect opening night.’”

“It’s about me?” you whisper.

“I’m going to trace these messages,” Penelope declares. “You tell Hotch about this, and please, please do not try to investigate this on your own.”

“You got it. But can you send me a scan of page 39, no- 38, from the William Ernest Henley book in my office? I need the annotated copy of Invictus.”

“You got it. Tell Morgan and I said hi and I’m wearing-“

You hang up and take a deep breath as you return the receiver to the cradle.

“Agent Hotchner,” you call as you return. “I need a word.”

“Let me finish-“

“There’s been a development,” you interrupt. “An urgent one.”

Hotch sees the look in your eyes and calls Spencer to the front of the room to continue reviewing the patterns in the killings and to discuss the psychological traits and drivers they suspect the killer will have. Derek watches as Hotch and Grey follow you out of the roll call room. Meanwhile, JJ watches Officer Tim Bradford as he manages to conceal his concern but not his interest as he watches you through the glass walls.

“Garcia called with information on the prelim suspects,” you explain. “Someone tapped into the call, and then… whoever it was started manipulating her date on the FBI server. She did say that Carson Gillery alibied out, he was out of state for several of the murders, but whoever this guy is, he is incredibly close to this case.”

“Manipulated the data how?” Hotch asks.

You wring your fingers together as you answer, “He left a message. Garcia thinks it was for me.”

“Left it where?” Grey inquires.

“The seventh victim Mel Houghton’s autopsy report. It was a date and a line from a William Ernest Henley poem.”

“The date?” Hotch presses.

You inhale deeply before saying, “February 18, 2017.”

“The day you lost your position in the LAPD,” Grey remembers. “What does it mean?”

You look toward Hotch, and he shakes his head twice. There isn’t an obvious answer to Grey’s question, but the implication that this case has something to do with you isn’t good.

“He… he also had a picture of my plane ticket to Virginia and added a note, something about ‘thanks for the opening night,’” you add. “Hotch, if you have to take me off this case-“

“We need you,” he interjects. “The literary aspect of this case is progressing.”

“Does that mean we could limit our suspect search?” Wade asks, looking between you and Hotch.

“Not likely,” you reply with a sigh. “Plenty of literature enjoyers can’t be located purely based on that. There’s no evidence he’s educated or active in book clubs, debates, anything.”

“Garcia’s tracing the data changes?” Hotch assumes.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then we work what we can until she gets back to us.”

“I need to see the novellas left with the victims,” you request. Hotch begins to speak, and you add, “Not the scans, the actual, physical stories left with their bodies.”

“I’ll get someone to go through the evidence with you,” Wade assures. “Any preference?”

You look into the roll call room through the glass sheeting, your eyes drifting past Tim as you decide, “Officer Chen, please.”

Wade nods once, then returns to the podium inside as Spencer concludes his comments on the psychology of the killer’s modus operandi.

“What are you expecting to find?” Hotch asks you.

“I really wish I knew,” you answer softly. “Hotch, what if this is all my fault?”

“The delusions of a killer have nothing to do with you. If something you did as an officer triggered him to start, there is no reason to assume he wouldn’t have started later. He’s clearly reality-challenged, living in a space between this world and the events of his imagination, and that is not on you.”

You nod, rubbing your forehead as you think. “Literature is clearly important to him. If it comes to it, will you let me go with JJ to a press conference?”

Hotch hesitates, and you know he doesn’t like the idea of putting his team in public view, unless absolutely necessary, but he says, “Fine. Only if it gets that far.”

“Hotch? February 2017 had massive storms. Urban flooding, mudslides, wind, snowfall, there was mayhem that week. I mean, a police chase with a DUI driver, a car fell into a sinkhole. I used some of those cases to…” You trail off, remembering all of the things you did wrong.

“Talk to me,” Hotch encourages.

“Any one of the people who had contact with the LAPD that weekend could have been pushed over the edge. He could have been killing for seven years, since whatever happened, but just got bold and brazen enough to make it public.”

Hotch leaves your side for a moment to wave Spencer out. When he joins you and Hotch in the bullpen, Hotch gestures for you to explain your theory.

“I suppose,” Spencer muses. “The killings have progressed minimally since the first victim three months ago. It does point toward a more practiced unsub, someone who has, in their mind, perfected their method. Yes, it’s completely possible.”

“The books,” Hotch points out. “Those are new. Unsolved cases with novellas or poems shoved down victims’ throats would have caught someone’s attention by now.”

“Serial killers gain experience with each new offense,” Spencer explains. “The learning curve is steep because of the logistics it takes to commit a murder. If he’s been killing without being caught, the thrill of killing would empower him to take more chances. In this case, the trophy aspect of his MO could easily have changed, but his idiosyncratic psychological needs remain the same.”

“We don’t have enough people to comb through seven years of cold cases to find similar killings,” you lament.

“We do have the media,” JJ interjects, sliding her phone into her pocket as she approaches. “It’s a long shot, but if we could find one or two, would it be enough to complete a profile?”

“An estimate of how long he’s been at this, with Garcia’s trace and the analysis of the literature at the scene… Yes, we could establish a firm MO and improve the unsub’s psychological profile.”

“Hold on,” Derek urges into his phone as he joins the rest of your team. He looks at you and says, “Give me your phone.”

You pass it to him, and he flips it in his free hand as he listens. He gives you an apologetic look and then drops it.

“Morgan!” Hotch exclaims as Derek brings the heel of his boot down on your phone screen.

“Unless Penelope told you to do that, I’m going to be very mad,” you say.

“Alright, baby girl, tell us all,” Derek requests as he puts his phone on speaker.

“I found our guy, or his IP address at least,” Penelope says.

“And?” Hotch asks. “Where is he?”

“That’s the thing. He’s in an apartment a few miles from the station.”

You recite your previous address and Penelope murmurs, “That’s the one.”

Penelope explains how she traced his data trail before you interrupt to ask, “Is there anything about another cop in it?”

“Uh, there were some numbers,” she answers.

“34381?” you guess. “And 6147?”

“Amongst others, yeah. Do they mean something to you?”

“One is Officer Bradford’s badge number. The other is Sergeant Kenneth Adamson.”

“I’ll run the rest of the numbers against the LAPD database and get back to you.”

“Are all of our phones in need of stomping?” Spencer asks before Penelope hangs up.

“Not yet,” she replies, and then the line clicks.

“Running everything is going to take too long,” you complain. “He’s probably already targeted his next victim. He could be writing the novella for all we know!”

“His system is organized,” Spencer explains. “We can use that. The past victims have been a week or more apart. Even if he does change his timeline because we’re here, he needs time to plan, write, correct?”

“Yes,” you answer. “He could do it overnight if the circumstances called for it.”

“Assuming he’ll take a break between kills, however…”

“We have two days,” Derek concludes. “Let’s hope he’s not too organized, doc.”

“He’s a criminal,” JJ says. “They all get stupid and forgetful.”

“We don’t change anything. He’s changing the rules, pushing himself, but we’re not playing his game,” Hotch says. “And, for the moment, we keep the LAPD connection to ourselves.”

“What if they could help?” JJ argues.

“No.”

“Act like we have a week, and he won’t expect us to be ready to go,” you say. “In that case, I’ll start analyzing the literature.”

“Speaking of which.” JJ pulls a paper from her bag and says, “The homicide detective said CSI found this on a secondary scene analysis.”

You read the scan of the evidence, and your eyes widen as you look up at Derek. “Good thing you came with. He’s building a bomb.”

“Whoa,” Derek says with little intonation in his voice, but his hands raise as he moves his head in surprise. “Explain the progression from writing stories to bombs.”

“Postmodern literature is the most recent literary movement that contains vulgarity in diction and violence. It’s often used as an authentic portrayal of humanity, depicting violence against gender, race, and the human body,” Spencer answers. “Epic poetry was one of the first storytelling forms to depict interpersonal violence.”

Derek rolls his eyes at Spencer’s reply to the rhetorical question, and you add, “The Victorian literary period was marked by violence through the use of suffering and physical dangers as literary themes. The gothic genre aestheticized the darker elements of human life, explored sexual violence, dramatic monologues, and realistic violence like robbery, beheadings, even serial murders.”

“Which affects us how?” Hotch inquires.

“William Ernest Henley was a prominent figure in the later years of the Victorian movement. He sent lines from Invictus to Garcia, and that piece has been the poem of choice for extremists and terrorists to justify their violence in the last few years. There is some hardship beyond our killer’s control, and this is how he’s dealing with it.”

“Still doubting your hypothesis?” Hotch deadpans.

“Wouldn’t he have to stop all of the suffering somehow?” JJ asks.

“Yes. But he hasn’t decided on an endgame yet, we’ll see the signs of that when it comes. The beginning of a plan for a bomb isn’t concerning yet. For now, we continue as planned, but he will likely strike again in 24 to 48 hours.”

“They’re getting concerned,” Derek whispers, waving toward the roll call room.

“I’ll handle them. You have your assignments,” Hotch states. “We reconvene tonight after end of shift.”

“Yes, sir,” you agree with the rest of your team.

As you return to the roll call room between JJ and Derek, you keep your eyes on the front of the room, ignoring how Tim turns to look at you. Hotch gives an acceptable excuse for your team’s private meeting and then provides tasks with Sergeant Wade.

“What about me?” Lucy asks as the other officers exit into the bullpen.

“You’re with me,” you reply, stepping toward her as you smile. “If that’s okay.”

“Yes!” Lucy cheers. She clears her throat and amends, “Yes, of course, I’d love to help.”

“Keep me updated,” Hotch tells you.

“Yes, sir. Oh, and…” You move your fingers in a scissor motion to remind him of your previous threat before concluding, “Spencer has the information you asked for.”

Hotch nods once, and Wade smiles. Suddenly, you’re hit with the feeling of being torn apart, stuck between the life you wanted and the one you have. When the case is solved and the killer is behind bars, you’ll have to leave these people again. At least you’ve finally remembered that planes travel both ways.

“Ten victims,” you say as you pin the last picture to the bulletin board in the office you and Lucy have set up. “Six novellas, a book, two pamphlets, and a bloody poem.”

Lucy’s eyes follow the red thread connecting the victims to their evidence and the order of the killings as you stare at the T.S. Eliot poem from the fifth scene with your hands on your hips.

Plus, a William Ernest Henley poem meant to bring me into the killer’s world, you think.

“Ready?” you ask Lucy.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You laugh and invite her to use your first name, then spread the evidence pictures from the first murder on the metal desk. It isn’t the same as reviewing the physical books and poems, the thick paper holding the twisted ideas of a serial killer left warm from the printer beside the lives he claimed for the sake of his own story. It’s the best you can do for now.

“Janice Davis, our first victim. The killer stapled a San Diego Zoo pamphlet to her chest.” You flip through the case file and add, “Antemortem. Ouch.”

“That looks like a building staple,” Lucy muses, leaning over the picture.

“It is. Your forensics lab determined it’s a Powernail galvanized seven-eighths inch crown staple. Intended purpose is woodworking and flooring, and one side of the staple extends out at an angle, so even if she was conscious long enough to try removing it… well, it would’ve hurt more to take it out.”

“What was the cause of death?”

“Unknown,” you read, furrowing your brows. “Manner of death: homicide. But it looks like they couldn’t determine the cause. Any chance ME Daniella Smith is still around?”

“I don’t know,” Lucy confesses. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Sorry, you’re good at this, I keep forgetting you’re a rookie.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever told me.”

You smile, then return to the evidence before you. “The next victim, Gregory Hunter, was found with a copy of Orwell’s Animal Farm open beneath his head. The page, as far as I can tell, is irrelevant.”

“Then what’s the point of leaving it there?”

“Hunter was Davis’s boss, and apparently they had been involved a few years prior to working together. Animal Farm presents Orwell’s ideas on power, equality, socialism and corruption.”

“All things the San Diego Zoo has been accused of abusing throughout history,” Lucy adds. “Along with the animals.”

“Precisely. Then it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume that our killer was wronged by a failing class structure, abuse of power and control, inequality, or socialism.”

“That’s a lot of options.”

“Which is why we keep looking. Victim number three had a personalized novella…”

“The method of killing has been consistent with every victim. They’re injured, kept alive for three to twelve hours, and then killed. Janice Davis, victim one, was ruled as undetermined cause of death, but there was no evidence of blunt force trauma, gunshot wounds or poisoning, which we’d expect based on the sudden killings of the others,” Spencer explains.

“You can tune him out,” Derek whispers. “When his voice drops an octave, he’s about to ask a question.”

Tim nods, but he wasn’t listening to begin with. His mind keeps drifting to thoughts of you. He watched you talk to your team, has worked with you, and knows the depth of your talent and potential. Yet he continues to wonder how you truly came to work at such an elite division in the FBI and what you’re hiding.

“Do any of you have experience with crime scene investigation?” Spencer asks.

Several officers raise their hands, including Angela. Tim has guarded scenes and looked around on his own time, but he isn’t sure when his unique skills will be required for this case.

“Morgan,” Hotch calls from the doorway. “Take an officer to gather the literary evidence. Someone with a station ID has to sign it out for us.” He looks towards the front of the room and sighs. “And tell Spencer to wrap it up.”

“Doctor Morgan,” Derek calls as he stands. “Perhaps we should move on to the evidence snapshots and physical profile?”

Spencer nods and shifts his attention to the tools and proposed appearance of the killer.

“I’ve got a station ID,” Tim tells Derek. “If you need that evidence now.”

Derek sighs but waves for Tim to join him. He remains quiet while they walk to the evidence lockers, largely because he’s evaluating Tim. Derek knows about your time in Los Angeles, and even if he did encourage you to talk to Tim, he isn’t sure if Tim deserves your time.

“You were military?” Derek asks as they wait for the evidence to be thoroughly signed out and accounted for.

“Army,” Tim responds. “FBI always the goal for you?”

“Oh, nah, I started as a cop up in Chicago. Things just happened.”

“Seems to be a lot of that,” Tim murmurs, remembering your ‘fell into place’ excuse.

“Why be a TO?”

Tim shrugs. He’s never had a good answer for that question, and if he starts thinking, he might get caught up on his fifth washout.

“Special Agent Morgan,” the evidence officer says as he places a large box on the ledge. “Your supervisor has to sign this form upon evidence return.”

“Got it. Thank you.”

Derek picks up the box and steps back, but the officer places another box behind it. Tim takes it without a word and follows Derek to an office with a closed door.

He taps his foot against the door and calls, “Open up, pretty girl, these muscles are just for show!”

You smile as you open the door, and Tim clenches his jaw at the realization that Derek Morgan just called you ‘pretty girl.’

“I fear you’ve mistaken me for Penelope,” you tell him as you hold the door. “Thank you so much.”

Tim nods as he places the box down, and then looks at the case board.

“Oh, Tim,” Lucy says. “Do you know if ME Daniella Smith is still working?”

“She retired,” Tim replies.

You drop your shoulders and nod. “Thanks.”

“I can get her address and phone number, though,” he offers, partially to help and partially because he hates how disappointed you look.

“That would be amazing!” you reply happily. “Lucy, feel free to go with him, move around for a few minutes.”

Lucy follows Tim, and you close the door to talk to Derek. You explain that the literature points toward class structure, abuse of power, or socialism.

“Maybe he should move to Canada instead of killing then,” Derek muses. “Have you told Hotch?”

“Not yet. There’s also the string of violence in the literature. At first, it was metaphorical violence, a symbolic representation of the dangers of power in society, but it’s gotten more blatant, more Victorian in its realism.”

“The novellas?” he guesses.

“I haven’t gotten to read them in their entirety yet, I’ll start that now, but I’d guess he’s outlining his preferred method of violence as well as the reason.”

“Think it will shed some light on the explosives schematics? Which, by the way, are pretty weak. A bomb like that would be hard pressed to flip a Prius, it wouldn’t do major damage unless it was an incredibly confined space.”

“Ask Spencer what he thinks about the space,” you suggest. “The killings have been in relatively open spaces, but he’d know better than me if it means anything.”

“I’ll run it by him if I can get a word in.”

You laugh at Derek’s joke, but he turns serious again to ask, “Are you okay? I know this can’t be easy for you, working a case here after seven years.”

“I’m okay,” you promise. “I’ll let you know if that changes and I need a Morgan hug.”

Derek smiles as he opens the door, and Tim and Lucy return soon after.

“She lives three miles from here and said she’d talk to you,” Lucy relays.

“Let me tell my team.”

Tim raises a hand to stop you as you gather your things and repeats, “She said she’d talk to you. She recognized your name.”

“Oh.” Hotch walks by the door, and you step out quickly to explain, “I found the ME who couldn’t determine Janice Davis’s cause of death. She’s retired, but lives nearby and agreed to talk to me, but only me.”

Hotch weighs his options, but when he sees Tim behind you, he suggests, “Then you should probably take your TO.”

Your eyes widen in shock, but you trust Hotch, so you nod and step back into the office.

“You don’t have to,” you begin as Tim asks, “Ready?”

You fail to find the right words for several moments, then say, “Lucy, do you want to help Agent Morgan review crime scenes for construction and security?”

“Sure! Let me know if you need more help with this stuff when you get back,” she responds. “Good luck!”

“Thanks,” you say, though you think I’ll need it.

“Do you want to drive or should I?” Tim asks once you’re alone.

You lift keys from your pocket and say, “I will. Do you think Smith will be any help?”

“We can hope.”

“Can I address the elephant in the room?” Sergeant Grey asks.

“Be my guest,” Hotch answers, not looking up from his improved profile.

“Bradford isn’t operating at his usual level.”

“She is.”

“Which is why I think there may be more to his side of the story.”

Hotch looks up to propose, “You think he had something to do with Adamson’s misconduct?”

“No,” Wade assures, “nothing like that. But two days of fire-able offenses and not a single correction from her TO? Bradford either didn’t care that she gave up or, for some reason, he wasn’t in a position to.”

“The corruption we found ran deep. There’s a chance he was hoping to get a piece of the takeaway… or he was in a similar position to her.” Hotch reaches for his phone quickly after he speaks and raises it to his ear. “Garcia, I need you to run the badge numbers again. Tell me how many of them had a direct connection to Keith Adamson.”

“One second,” Penelope requests. “Software’s running it now. Oh, the medical examiner, Smith, she resigned less than an hour after the charges against Adamson came in. Thought that was interesting.”

“That’s one connection.”

“Okay, yep, all ten of the badge numbers embedded in the coding have connections to Adamson. Seven subordinates, his captain, and two IA investigators.”

“Thanks, Garcia.” Hotch ends the call and tells Wade, “Whatever Adamson did, it wasn’t just skimming the evidence pile, it pushed our killer over the edge.”

“I remember Janice Davis,” Daniella Smith says as she passes you a mug of hot tea. “She was young, twenty-six, I believe, and had a construction staple in her sternum.”

“Your official report listed the cause of death as indiscernible,” you reply, wrapping your hands around the mug as your thigh presses against Tim’s on the small settee. “Do you remember if you may have had any hypotheses?”

Daniella sighs as she lowers into a chair across from you. “It was asphyxiation. Her mouth was sealed with superglue, and she couldn't get enough air after a few hours of lying horizontally.”

Tim looks at you before demanding, “Why didn’t you put that in the report?”

“I was scared.”

“And you think the people living here weren’t?”

“Tim,” you whisper harshly. You shake your head as Daniella shrinks in her seat. “Why were you scared, Ms. Harris?” She shakes slightly, and you give her a moment to breathe before you ask, “Did someone at the police station ask you to lie?”

She laughs once, a sad sound before she wipes her nose and corrects, “He threatened me if I didn’t.”

“Who?” Tim asks.

“Sergeant Keith Adamson. He was the watch commander at the time. My career, my life, my marriage, he threatened to ruin it all if I didn’t cover up how she was killed.”

“Was there residue?” you inquire. “From the superglue?”

“There were trace amounts, and the lab was able to identify it easily.”

“It was the only death to be covered up, why do you think that is?”

Daniella looks up quickly, her eyes wide as she states, “Because it was an experiment. The others were killed more conventional, faster: a slit throat, hammer to the temple. Her death would have taken time.”

“Was the time of death in your report accurate?” you ask. “Because it was around the same time as the others even with the changed MO.”

“It was,” she explains, “he must have taken her earlier to get a head start.”

“You said it was an experiment,” Tim repeats. “She was victim number one. If it didn’t go well, wouldn’t the others have just been an improved, or changed, MO?”

Daniella frowns, and you lean forward to ask, “How many more were there?”

Tim slams the passenger door as you return to the car. Daniella disappears from the front window, crying as you start the engine.

“The FBI will charge me if this car gets damaged,” you mumble as you shift into reverse.

“Thirty deaths that she knows of!” Tim exclaims. “How could she cover all of those up?”

“Pretty easily. Self-preservation is a powerful motivator.”

“This monster has been at it for years. You were probably on the job for some of his murders, how can you say that?”

“It’s not my place to judge everyone involved in this case, Tim. Not yours either.”

Tim scoffs, but he’s interrupted by your phone ringing. You answer by saying your last name and Hotch’s voice fills the car as he speaks.

“There’s been another murder,” he says. You slap the steering wheel before he continues, “A double murder. I’m sending you the address. Drop Bradford at the station and meet us there.”

“Yes, sir.”

After the call ends, you grit your teeth to keep yourself from yelling. You spent too much time with the retired ME, and two more people are dead now.

“I’m going with you,” Tim states.

“No, you’re not. You heard him, you’re going back to the station.”

“You need me-“

“Actually, we don’t. We have jurisdiction now, Tim,” you snap.

“Do they know about everything you did your last week on the job?” Tim challenges. “How you ignored calls, put yourself, and me, in danger just to let the clearly guilty criminals go? I mean, you let a guy get away with assault and your handcuffs!”

You don’t reply because your mind begins racing. You had forgotten about that specific incident. Your last two days on the job were a blur, just forty-eight hours you have done everything you could to forget.

“Alexander Riley,” you murmur.

“What?” Tim snaps.

“Nothing, Tim. I’m sorry you’re not happy, but you don’t have authorization to join me, and I’m done breaking the rules.”

“Convenient.”

You hit the brakes too hard as you stop outside the back entrance of the station. Tim slams the door again before he walks inside, and you shift into park to call Derek.

“Are you still at the station?” you ask when he answers.

“We’re about to leave,” he replies. “Did you beat us to the scene? You know speed limits still apply to federal agents, right?”

“No, I’m at the station too. I need you to - without raising suspicion - get Hotch and Sergeant Grey out here.”

“Okay,” he agrees slowly. “Why?”

“Because I think I know who the killer is. Bring the novella from the ninth scene, it’s Heralded Angels.”

“You got it.”

You can hear the strain in Derek’s voice, but there’s too much on your mind to dwell on his reaction right now. After Hotch, JJ, Derek, and Spencer join you in the FBI-issued SUV, you follow Sergeant Grey, driving an unmarked car, to the double murder scene.

“You had something for me?” Grey asks as you approach the townhouse.

“I do. Trust me for a few more minutes and I’ll tell you everything?”

Wade nods, and you enter the bloody living room with your team. JJ waits outside, and as you squat beside a bookcase covered in blood splatter, you know you’re right.

“Alexander Riley,” you announce, pushing against your knees to stand. “I think he’s our killer.”

“Why?” Spencer asks. “Wait, who?”

“Alexander Riley is one of the men I should have arrested my last week as a rookie.” You look toward Wade as you continue, “He assaulted a store owner while looting during a flood, and I let him get away. He ran away with my handcuffs, but I didn’t try to stop him because I was sure Sergeant Adamson would have used it against me.”

“Abuse of power,” Hotch deduces.

“Right, and class system. You know, cop doesn’t do what cop is supposed to do. So, he may have taken his escape as a sign that something needed to change.”

“Based on his killings, I’d agree that he saw a wrong that needed to be fixed, but why murder?” Wade asks. “How does that fit his idea of making things right, evening everything?”

“He chose victims he viewed as outliers,” Spencer explains. “The first two victims were romantically involved, and then she got a job in his company.”

“The fifth victim was a single man with adopted children, and he left a copy of T.S. Eliot’s ‘The Hollow Men,’” you add. “He went after people who didn’t fit into our traditional class system or who benefitted from misused power. And, if that isn’t enough… there’s an extra novella in here.”

“What?” Hotch and Wade say, stepping toward you simultaneously.

“It’s a little bloody, but the words cop, dirty, and corrected system are showing up pretty well. My name’s on the first page, and I’d guess it’s on the last, too.”

“He’s going to target you?” Derek translates. “That’s not okay.”

“We need to find him first,” you reply. “He’s not going to press pause until he can get to me, he thinks he has to fix the entire world.”

“I’ll get a BOLO out,” Wade offers.

“Wait, Sergeant Grey,” Hotch calls. “I think this should come from us.” He turns toward you and adds, “It would mean more from you.”

“I’ll do it. Although, some of those cops aren’t going to like hearing that I had something to do with it.”

“Just send ‘em my way,” Derek jokes.

“Our profile is complete,” you begin, looking at the entire task force. “And we’ve used that profile, along with scene evidence, literary analysis, and previous arrest records to identify Alexander Riley as our killer. Sergeant Grey has posted a BOLO, and we’d like to send you out in patrol teams to assist in the search for Riley.”

Tim has his folder open, and you’re sure he’s reading the incident report filed after you let Riley get away.

“Maybe you should get out there and find him instead of sitting in our station and reading,” he snarks, closing his folder.

“Bradford,” Wade begins.

“No, it’s okay,” you assure. “I will be assisting in the search, and I will admit that my incompetence likely played a role in Mr. Riley’s progression from petty thief to serial killer. However, we have reason to believe he was killing in private long before he felt the need to leave his victims in plain view for Los Angeles and all of America to see.”

“Officer Bradford, he listed you by name in the novella left at Liza Renner’s murder,” Hotch interjects. “Do you know why he may have done that?”

“No idea. Sir.”

“I’d appreciate if you would stay and help review the story to find an idea, then.”

You look between Hotch and Tim quickly, but their icy stares make you look away before you continue explaining what the manhunt entails and how the FBI will assist.

“Be safe out there,” you conclude.

As officers stand and leave, Hotch and Wade walk to Tim’s side, and then all three of them exit through a different exit.

“That was fun,” you mumble to Derek.

“On the bright side, no one has been publicly executed in the US since 1936, so it’s unlikely you’ll be burned at the stake,” Spencer says.

“That is bright,” you respond. “Thanks, Reid.”

An officer asks for your assistance and leads you to an observation room. Your eyes widen when you realize Tim and Hotch are on the other side of the glass in an interview room. Rushing into the room, you’re surprised when Hotch invites you to take a seat. As the door closes, Tim clenches his fists and begins to stand.

“Sit down,” Hotch demands, unmoving as Tim rises from his chair. Tim turns, face-to-face with Hotch. “Sit down,” Hotch repeats, quieter yet firmer.

Tim falls back into his seat and crosses his arms to stare at you.

“You can blame me if you want,” you offer. “But it won’t change anything. Twelve people are dead because of me.”

“Then why is my rookie still patrolling the streets of LA looking for the man your team decided did this? Hotch here covering for you again?” Tim challenges.

“Shut up,” Hotch says as he sits beside you, across the Table from Tim.

“Kenneth Adamson,” you say. “Do you have any idea of what he did?”

“Fired you for taking the easy way out when you decided you didn’t want to be a cop anymore?”

“Intimidated me,” you reply. “Got indicted for it, but it was never made public knowledge because ‘he was facing enough personal and professional issues for the widespread results of his corruption.’ Good excuse, right? Tim, I happened to be the person who put cuffs on Alexander Riley and allowed his delusion to take over. I didn’t mean to turn him into a serial killer, but I still feel like I have blood on my hands.”

“Wait,” Tim requests, raising his hand. “Adamson intimidated you?”

“Yes.”

“You could have told me.”

You scoff, and Hotch raises his brows. “Like you would have believed me,” you reply.

Tim leans across the table, ignoring how Hotch moves closer to you, protective and ready to finish this case.

“He intimidated me too,” Tim confesses. “We should have told each other, but we messed up, and I’m sorry for that. Adamson was going to tell IA about something I did in the Army and twist it to get me fired if I didn’t find a way to get you off the force. Then you suddenly stopped trying and I thought… I guess I didn’t think about it, or I would’ve seen it.”

You look at Hotch, who shrugs. There likely isn’t proof that Adamson did to Tim what he did to you, but you have to make a choice. You can believe Tim Bradford or walk away.

“I caught him stealing evidence,” you say. “Skimming money from scenes before CSI got there, pulling jewelry from robbed houses, little things he didn’t think anyone would miss. When I saw him outright lie to a victim who only wanted her late mother’s locket back, I said something. And he was going to make my life a waking hell for it. So, I did what he asked and threw away my career.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your apologies, Tim. I want you to help me find Alexander Riley and put cuffs on him before he goes after another innocent person, because there is nothing to stop him from progressing to killing cops he sees as corrupt. We kept it from the other officers because of that, so please don’t make me regret trusting you.”

Tim nods and murmurs another apology. You read his lips as he says it, and when Hotch stands, you’re prepared to accept it.

“One more out of line comment and you’re off this task force, Officer Bradford,” Hotch says as he buttons his blazer.

“Yes, sir. I’ll do everything I can to assist you.”

“Do you know why Riley would have used your name as a cursed wanderer in Liza Renner’s novella?” you ask, standing beside Hotch.

“Cursed wanderer?” Tim repeats.

“Remorseful, unabsolved character tormented by their fate and their actions.”

“He must not remember you well,” Hotch tells Tim.

“He’s not a very good writer,” Spencer mutters as he flips the page of one of Alexander Riley’s novellas.

“Maybe we should find a way to charge him for that too,” Derek grumbles. “I mean, ‘Tim Bradford carried the weight of his sins, heavier than the Kevlar on his chest. Each day he was forced to face the memories of how he’d failed his partner, the only woman he may ever love, but would never deserve.’ That’s awful.”

You and Tim turn to face each other quickly, each wondering if you heard what Derek read correctly.

“Derek, does that- when you read it, does it seem like he’s saying his partner is the only woman he’d ever love? Same person?” you ask.

“Yeah. You.”

“That’s what I got too,” JJ agrees. “There’s characters in the third novella that look exactly like the two of you, but they’re married. Doomed by the narrative to watch each other die, but…”

“Are there characters like that in all of them?” Hotch asks.

The sound of papers flipping precedes several firm answers of “Yes.”

“They always die?” you add. “But he doesn’t know. He sees a relationship that isn’t there.”

Tim doesn’t say anything, but you ignore him as you ask JJ to use her laptop. After signing in to your email, you pull up the scans Penelope sent you from the books in your office.

“In the clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeoning of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed,” you read. “Black as the pit from pole to pole.”

“Are you gonna explain it or is this like Jeopardy?” Derek questions.

“He doesn’t portray our characters as corrupt,” you cheer. “We’re unfortunate, ‘doomed by the narrative’ players in a bigger game. I need the newest novella, the extra one from the double homicide scene.”

Wade knocks on the open door as you look through the evidence boxes on the table. He glances between you and Bradford before he asks, “Have any of you heard from Lopez and West?”

“They’re revisiting the last scene,” Hotch says. “They haven’t checked in?”

“Not recently.”

Tim looks at you, and when you meet his eyes, he offers, “We’ll find them.”

“Be careful,” Wade implores. “And keep me updated.”

“Can you do me a favor?” you ask.

“Anything,” JJ and Derek answer together.

“Look for any sign of restoration or avenging. It’ll probably be in the first novella, but I need to know if my character in his story is avenged somehow.”

“Revenge is a psychological response to wounds from others,” Spencer says. “Why would he be motivated to retaliate and justify this level of violence for you, if you’re the one who did wrong?”

“I think he may have changed his motives after Keith Adamson was indicted. If you find something, let me know, if not, Hotch probably has a better idea.”

You follow Tim to an unmarked car and ride in the passenger seat like you’ve pressed play after seven long years of having this part of your life on pause. Somehow, it feels better than before.

Tim's radio crackles as he makes the last turn to reach the crime scene.

“07-Adam-07,” Angela radios. “Sergeant Bradford, contact on channel 3.”

Tim changes the dial to channel 5 as he slows on the curb. You point to the dial, and he raises a thumb to tell you it wasn’t an accident.

“07-Adam-19,” he replies. “Go ahead, Lopez.”

“I think we found something that might be helpful to the detectives. Meet me at the scene and see if you agree?”

“I was already on the way. To tell you the truth, I don’t trust the feds. ETA two minutes.”

Tim returns his radio to the dash and then sits back to wait.

“Don’t trust the feds, huh?” you ask, smiling as he rolls his eyes.

“You really think he realized we were just as aggrieved as him?” Tim asks.

“Big word,” you murmur before dodging Tim’s weak backhand. “Why else would he keep us in the grand story he’s trying to write?”

“You said your character died in the new one.”

“All I saw was my name. I made an assumption without enough evidence. It was stupid.”

“Welcome to the club.”

Your phone buzzes, and you shake your head as you read the message from Penelope. “FBI tech guru Garcia hacked into the house’s security system. She’s got cameras inside. Riley has Lopez and West holed up in the master bathroom. My team and your watch commander are watching, ready to breach if this doesn’t go well.”

“You think it will?”

“I think Derek is going to be very mad after I do something reckless. That’s how it usually goes.”

Tim clears his throat awkwardly, then asks, “Are you and Morgan…?”

“No,” you answer with a laugh. “He’s just one of the many protective men I work with.”

“It’s been a minute and a half,” Tim says, changing the subject and breathing a little easier. “Are you ready?”

“I hope so.”

You exit the passenger seat as Tim pops the trunk. He passes you an LAPD bulletproof vest and a standard-issue belt to help you look more like a cop and less like a fed. After pulling the vest over your head, you struggle to get the belt in place beneath it. Tim gently takes it from you, his hands moving carefully around your waist as he clips the tactical buckle and slides the gun holster to its correct position.

“Thanks,” you whisper as he straightens, mere inches from you.

Tim drops his hands away from your sides but doesn’t move away. “Channel 3 is Lopez’s code,” he explains. “She only uses it when something’s wrong.”

Your phone buzzes again, and you turn away from Tim to answer it. “Hello?”

“Riley is armed,” Hotch says. “He’s got Lopez and West in the master bedroom on the ground floor. They’re uninjured, but he’s fidgety.”

“Did Derek ask Spencer about the bomb?”

“He did,” Spencer replies. Hotch’s phone is likely on speaker, and you turn your phone to allow Tim to hear too. “The bomb schematics were for a very closed-in space… like the townhouse you’re about to go into. It’s not incredibly enclosed, but given that Riley has issues with control, it could be a manifestation of claustrophobia. If his anxiety has caused a fear of enclosed spaces, based on the fear of losing control in those spaces, then he may be attempting to overcome that by giving himself power in the situation.”

“Could he be a cleithrophobe?” Tim wonders.

“What is that?” Derek asks, and you can imagine him looking around Wade’s office.

“I haven’t seen evidence of it,” Spencer answers. “He doesn’t seem to mind being closed in; the murders in the townhouse didn’t seem to affect him, but he is clearly concerned with power, control, and the hierarchy of those. It relates more to claustrophobia. Though I wouldn’t advise locking any doors to test it.”

You hang up suddenly and gesture to the townhouse. Tim looks up in time to see the curtain in an upstairs room fall back into place. He takes the lead, walking to the door with purpose and his hand on his gun. You follow him and look around the front porch for any sign that Riley is planning to kill anyone today.

Tim pushes the door open carefully, nodding to tell you it is unlocked before Angela calls his name. The novella with your name in it is still by the bookcase, and you remove it from the evidence bag and slide it under your vest. You trade places with Tim, going up the stairs first as he covers you. At the top of the landing, Alexander Riley steps out into the hallway with a gun strapped around his shoulders.

“You made it,” he says.

“We’re here to help, Riley,” you explain softly, holding your hands where he can see them. “You know that.”

He nods before jerking his head toward the doorway. You walk past him and stop in the center of the bedroom, scanning Angela and Jackson for any wounds. Luckily, they appear to be fine other than the handcuffs secured around their wrists.

“What’s the plan here?” Tim asks. “Not much room for error, Mr. Riley.”

“Give me your gun,” Alexander replies, holding his rifle with one hand as he extends the other toward Tim.

Tim complies, but his glance at you is a clear communication to not surrender your FBI-issued piece.

“Against the wall,” Alexander tells Tim. “You’re right, there isn’t room for error. But I’m prepared. I’ve been preparing since I lost everything.”

Tim sits against the wall, less than a foot from Angela. Alexander turns toward you, and his gaze softens. You were right, it seems. Alexander Riley has a soft spot for you; he thinks you’re like him, wronged by corruption and abused power, and you’re going to work that soft spot until he’s in cuffs.

“Take your vest off,” he requests. “Please.”

You don’t move but look pointedly at his gun before raising your eyes to his face.

“I won’t hurt you.”

Despite your instinct to refuse, to call in the cavalry and help Tim incapacitate the killer before you, there is too much at stake, and the longer you’re compliant, the longer Riley will keep everyone alive. So, you pull the vest over your head, not bothering to catch the novella as it falls to the floor, the blood on the cover contrasting the neutral carpet below your feet.

Back at the station, Hotch clenches his jaw as you open yourself to Riley, and Derek says, “Don’t do it… I might kill her for that.”

“You wrote it, right?” you ask, gesturing toward the stapled manuscript. “You wrote all of them.”

Riley fidgets, then nods.

You step toward him, keeping your expression soft and conveying understanding as you add, “I read some of them. They’re good, Alex. Can I call you Alex, or do you go by something else?”

“Alex is fine,” he replies, whispering your name under his breath like a prayer.

Tim shifts as Alexander’s attention changes slightly, morphing from a fierce protector into someone who wants to be by your side after you’ve been saved. You don’t spare a glance toward Tim, and for a brief moment, he wonders where you learned to do this. Then reality crashes back in like a wave that knocks Tim off his feet, the reminder that he could have taught you if he hadn’t let Keith Adamson get to him.

“In Brightest Day, you wrote a character who was a young cop, naïve and desperate to do the best thing,” you continue. “Who was she?”

“You know who,” Alex mutters.

You smile and ask, “Was I in all of them?”

“Of course.”

“That’s why you went to my old apartment before you sent the message to my friend in the FBI? Because I’m part of this? No, because you’re improving the character, right?”

“You were so far away,” he whispers.

“Alex, did you learn how to code just to talk to me?” you inquire softly.

He nods, then looks to the novella at your feet. The toes of your boots are inches from the paper, and his mouth twitches like he wants you away from it.

“Kick it,” he demands.

“Why? It’s art, it’s part of your soul,” you argue.

“Kick it.”

Tim nods in your peripheral, and you swallow before kicking it toward the door. Alex doesn’t hesitate to shoot the paper. You turn away from the noise, covering your ears even though it’s too late to keep your head from pounding. As the noise fades and your hearing returns, you see the shredded paper surrounding the hole in the floor.

“How does the story end, Alex?” you ask, stepping toward him again. “Are you like the truck drivers in Animal Farm? The cursed wanderer in Render Down you wrote for Liza? Or are you some new character that only cares about usurping the power for yourself?”

“It was never about me!” he replies, louder than you’ve heard him before. He softens his voice to repeat, “Never.”

“She was mine first,” Tim interjects suddenly.

Alex spins on his heel, the barrel of his rifle rising as he faces Tim. You shake your head wildly, desperate to stop him from saying something that will make Alex pull the trigger again. Angela looks down quickly, and you see her gun beneath the bed. As Alex’s chest heaves, his eyes locked unblinking on Tim’s, you move closer to the weapon, to Alex, and to freedom where you all walk out of here alive.

“I was saving her!” Alex roars. “From corruption, from Adamson, from you!”

“Adamson is the only one who hurt her,” Tim argues.

“February 17, 2017. You took your rookie to a noise disturbance call, and when you got there, four stupid young men were looting a flooded store during a break in the storms. She handcuffed one of them, but the rest ran. Then… then you started yelling at her, blaming her for all of it. While you were busy berating her, the other man ran with the handcuffs. I got away, but the power, the corruption, the greed was all getting to be too much. We hurt the owner because she was too worried about not getting insurance money for the water damage to empty out the register.”

“Something changed,” you say from beside Riley.

He doesn’t move away from Tim but stops talking to listen.

“In the first novella, it was you and me, wasn’t it? You wanted to make a new world together, save me from the love you thought would corrupt me.”

“Adamson used you too,” Alex tells Tim. “I made room for you to come with us and this is how you repay me? Chasing me for making things better. You’re back where you started.”

“Maybe now isn’t the time to act,” Jackson West says. “What if the world could’ve healed on its own and the people you killed might have helped?”

“Fool! They’ve gotten to you, too.”

As Alex’s finger slides onto the trigger, he turns toward Jackson. You don’t hesitate to lunge forward, closing the distance between yourself and Alexander. While you tackle him to the floor, he squeezes the trigger, and the shot rings through the now-silent townhouse and seems to echo for hours as your team watches in horror.

Tim pulls the handcuff key from his belt and passes it to Angela before he crawls on his hands and knees to reach you.

“I hope somebody got scans of that novella before he shot it,” you groan as you sit up.

Tim sighs, taking your face in his hands as he wipes blood from your temple.

“Is his writing really that good?” Jackson asks as he stands.

“It’s a little preachy,” you reply with a smile.

Your phone rings, and you swipe the screen to answer, then immediately hang up.

“That was your boss,” Tim points out.

“He can yell at me when he gets here.”

“Alexander Riley has been charged in the deaths of twelve Los Angeles residents,” JJ says at the press conference the morning after your encounter with Alex. “His victims include Janice Davis, Gregory Hunter, Bryce Keller, Hank Sheller, Peter Bristol, Liza Renner, Mel Houghton, Destiny Crest, Angelica Thomson, Alissa Alvarez, and Jack and Cassidy Wilson. Nearly three dozen cold cases are now being reopened, and the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit supports the LAPD’s claim that Riley could have committed these crimes as well. I’ll welcome any questions at this time.”

You scrunch your nose from the side, resisting the urge to remove the bandage on your forehead. Tim stands beside you, watching you.

Tim notices that the bandage is loose but doesn’t move before Hotch warns, “Don’t do anything in the public view that you don’t want to get out and give Riley a chance at walking.”

When the conference ends, Derek sighs and walks past Hotch to return to the hotel and pack. As he approaches you, he smiles and says, “And you didn’t want to come because I can’t help, and LA is too sunny.”

You try to punch Derek for his poor impression of you but miss as he breaks into a jog. Shaking your head, you turn to Tim and prepare a joke about how you don’t sound like that. Tim’s serious expression stops you, though.

“You didn’t think you could help?” he asks. “You were going to be an amazing cop, and I regret playing a part in taking that opportunity from you.”

You shrug and respond, “I like the FBI, and I got to tackle a murderer, so it all worked out.”

“Yeah,” Lucy interrupts, walking to your side. “But now you have to go back to Virginia.”

“Thank you,” Wade says, stopping at your side. “Come back soon, okay?”

You smile as he hands you a paper. As you read it, you sigh, then shove it into your pocket. The email came in this morning telling all active FBI agents about the new tactical unit, one which will work closely with the BAU. They’re actively recruiting, but if you tell Tim, you’re asking him to choose between you and the job again, and you can’t do that to him. Asking Tim to leave LA would be cruel, you think, so you force a smile onto your face.

“Thank you for everything,” you tell him. “Especially the part where you saved my life and the apology. I’ll try not to stay gone so long this time.”

Tim nods, and you smile at Lucy before following your team. He watches you walk away, ignores Lucy’s encouragement for him to chase you, and waits until you leave to whisper what he wants to say. But Tim lost his chance again. Worse, he lost you again.

Two Weeks Later

“Which one of you wants to die first?” the armed suspect asks, swinging his curved meat hook between you and Spencer.

“Probably you, right?” you whisper. “You know, my blood’ll be on it if he kills me first.”

“The mean value of Staphylococcus aureus in raw meat is 3.84 in a butcher shop,” Spencer replies. “I don’t know where that thing has been. At least your blood has been relatively well contained. And any amount of water on that thing increases the number of bacterial specimens transferred from the meat surface.”

The metal door of the meat locker blows open suddenly, and when the butcher before you turns to see what caused the noise, two men in tactical uniforms subdue him and confiscate the meat hook. Spencer rushes out of the facility, and you watch as the new FBI team takes your suspect into custody.

“I could have done that,” you complain.

“Sure you could, boot,” one of the men says, his voice muffled by the helmet.

You look toward him with your eyebrows raised. He takes his helmet off, and your jaw drops. Tim Bradford.

Smiling, you step toward him with questions racing in your mind, but he extends a gloved hand, holding it against your waist to stop you as he whispers, “Morgan has cameras everywhere.”

As you walk into the BAU bullpen together, Hotch looks up from a paper. He looks at you, then Tim, then back to you, and smiles. With wide eyes, you hide behind Tim’s shoulder, unsure what a Hotch smile could mean in this particular circumstance.

“We’re wheels up to Los Angeles in forty-five,” Hotch says.

“Why?” you ask, stepping out from behind Tim.

“There’s a domestic terrorist leaving Shakespeare at foreign-owned businesses hours before they’re bombed or become mass murder scenes.”

You nod, but before you can speak, Derek calls, “Bring Bradford! We could use the Army experience.”

Hotch narrows his eyes at Tim, then shrugs and agrees.

“Good, good,” you mumble, wrapping your hands around Tim’s arms. “I’ll show him the ropes then and we’ll be back in thirty.”

“Please do.”

You quickly forget the ropes as you drag Tim into Penelope’s empty office. He smiles and prepares to ask what this has to do with terrorism, but you slide your hands onto his jaw and kiss Tim. Finally. Tim's hands meet your waist, and he pulls you closer as he kisses you, both of you melting into one another and getting lost in the moment you’ve waited so long for. When you pull back, Tim keeps you close, smiling like he’s seeing you clearly for the first time, though he’s known your heart and potential for nearly a decade.

A quiet gasp draws your attention, and you both look to the door as Penelope says, “I’m telling Chocolate Thunder!”

[subbmissivesuccubus]

Rut

Summary: The Hero is in heat thanks to his quirk and you, being a good wife, decide to help him through it. Unfortunately for you, you severely underestimated just how difficult ‘helping’ him would be.

A/N: Another Patreon request! I don't watch MHA but I always loved Hawks design so this was fun to write!

Disclaimer : Hawks X Fem reader. Overstimulation. Marathon sex. Rut.

“Baby- baby wait- fuck- don’t come closer!”

You froze, your hand stilled on the doorknob, about to open said door before you heard your husband call out to you from behind it.

“Keigo, what’s wrong?” you asked, listening to his wishes for the moment, “Did something happen? Are you hurt?!”

You felt your heartbeat fasten a bit, your mind conjuring up a multitude of scenarios. Being a Hero was no joke and you couldn’t count the many nights where you sat glued to the TV, heart pounding as you wondered if your husband was coming home that night alive.

“I- I’m fine baby. I’m not hurt.” He called out, making you sigh with relief, “but really- I can’t explain it but- I- I need to be alone.”

“Keigo, I love you and I would never do anything to make you uncomfortable.” You said, “but I am not leaving until I see you and make sure you’re ok for myself. I’m opening the door!”

“No- wai-“

But before he could get the word out, you pulled the handle and pushed the door open, eyes widening as you walked into…uh…

A huge mess of a room. The sheets were all pulled out and thrown around, the pillows were ripped up with feathers all over the bed. Your closet doors were thrown open and your clothes were all taken out, including your undergarments. On the bed, in the middle of all of the mess, was your husband, seemingly buried under a giant pile of your clothes. His usually styled hair was all over the place, adding onto the crazed look in his eyes and the flushed face. He was sweating profusely, hair matted onto his forehead, his eyebrows furrowed with an expression on his face that looked like he was in pain. His wings were wrapped around himself, feather shivering underneath the clothes.

“Fuck…” he cursed as he saw you, tossing his head back against the pillow made of your clothes.

“…What’s going on?” you asked, truly confused. You husband groaned loudly from under his cocoon, burying his head farther down the pile until you couldn’t even see him anymore, just his wings.

“…I’m in a rut.” He finally said, his voice muffled.

“What was that?”

“A. Rut.” He repeated louder.

“You mean…like…” you said, having heard the phrase before, “Like mating season?”

Hawks growled even louder, “Yes- fuck- my body is on overdrive and my dick is constantly hard. It sucks! I tried to calm myself down by jerking off and nesting with your clothes but- fuck me- it isn’t working.”

“So that’s what this is…” you said, at least getting an answer about the mess, “I’ve never seen you like this before. Is this the first time it’s happening?”

“…No. It happens every year.”

“What?! How have I never noticed it?”

“Because…I send you away. I buy you vacations to g-get you out of the house. S-Speaking of which- why are you back so early?! Your trip should have ended n-next week!”

“My dad fell sick so we had to cut things short.” You explained, wondering why you never questioned Keigo’s generosity in sending you on trips during the same time every year, “I can’t believe you kept this from me!”

“I’m sorry baby but-“ he hissed as his body shivered for no reason, “The rut can be…a lot to handle. My body just wants to fuck and fuck and fuck until my bones give out! It’s not pretty…”

“Then why do you not want me here?” you asked, still keeping your distance as you didn’t want to overwhelm your man, “I could help!”

That finally got him to push his head out of his wings enough for him to give you a look that said ‘you can’t be serious’. “Baby- you pass out after three rounds. There’s no way you can handle me when I’m like this.”

You gasped, an offended hand on your chest, “That’s not true- I mean- yes maybe- but my husband is in pain! What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t even try?”

Before he could even say anything, you grabbed your coat and shrugged it off of you, making him gasp as the fabric fell to the ground. You were just about to pull your dress off when Keigo broke out of his cocoon and surged forward so fast you could barely process it. He gripped you by the collar and pulled you towards him, the man still kneeling on the bed but even so, his face was in line with yours.

“You really- really don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.” He growled, looking more animalistic than you’ve ever seen him. You gulped as you felt his hot breath fan your face, the look in his eyes making you shiver. You sex life was perfectly fine and quite satisfying but even through your years long relationship, you’d never seen him have this look- this ferocity- this…desperation in his eyes.

You felt your pussy quiver already, Keigo hissing as he saw your pupils dilate.

“I’m serious!” he said, grunting as he could smell the heat off of you, trying his best to not jump you and rip your clothes off, “This won’t be normal. I’ll go round after round- constantly fucking you and cumming inside you- You can beg me to stop but once I start- there’s no stopping.”

You gulped, hands going back to your dress to start unravelling it.

“Baby- take this seriously!” Keigo snapped, frustrated, “I know you think it’s all fun and games but- but-“

His thought trailed off as you managed to push your dress off of your shoulders, the fabric falling in a heap on the floor, leaving you clad in your underwear.

“…Fuck it.”

You squealed as your husband grabbed you by the hips, picking you up enough to turn around and throw you onto the bed, making you crash into your pile of clothing. You licked your lips as he all but pounced on you, the man making work of his pants as he pressed his lips against your, stealing your breath away.

This was going to be a long night~

~~~~~

Slurp “Ah baby-“ Mwah schuck shuck “Just like that- fuck me- keep pumping that cock- mmmph~”

You gasped as Keigo latched onto your nipple mercilessly, suckling on you like a baby as he lied down on the bed, torso supported on your lap, wings and all. Your left hand pumped his hard member as he suckled on you, pre-cum dripping down it like a faucet, making his dick so slick- it was like you had lathered it with lube.

His cock was hot and needy, the tip so red you wondered if it hurt. He was panting against you like a dog in heat- but it was rather a bird in heat. Your nipple was slick with saliva, drool dripping down the curve of your tit. He was sucking on your sensitive bud so hard it took your breath away, you bare pussy gushing at his moans.

Both of you were stark naked, clothes tossed all over the place and in definite need of a wash once this was over. Your spine shivered as Keigo moaned against your nipple, biting down on it gently when your hand paid special attention to the tip of his cock.

“Babe- fuck- gonna cum!”

“Wh- already?” you asked, surprised. It wasn’t even five minutes since you got your hands on him. He groaned in frustration against you, giving your nipple another bite before he simply snuggled his face between your tits, sighing happily as he felt the weight of them against him.

“I’ll cum fast but- mmph- I’ll cum a lot- oh fuck- yes- yes- cumming- cumming!”

With a shout, Hawks arched his back as he climaxed, making you gasp as ropes and ropes of cum shot out of his tip. Your eyes widened at the amount, a seemingly never-ending stream of white ejaculated out of his cock and onto your hands, coating your fingers. Some of his cum spurt out with such force it stained his chest and a bit of his chin. He moaned loudly- shamelessly as he shivered from the pleasure, his balls throbbing from each pump of his cum.

Eventually, he relaxed a bit, taking in deep breaths as he snuggled his face harder against your breasts, a happy grin on his face. You blinked as you pulled you hand away from his cock, gulping at the sheer amount of cum on your fingers. Your whole hand was covered, webs of cum created as your spread your fingers apart. It looked like twice- maybe even thrice the amount of semen your husband would usually let out when he came.

“…The tissues are in the bedside drawer.” Keigo said, smirking at your shocked expression and getting off of you long enough for you to get the box of tissues and wipe your hand clean.

“Let’s go again.” He demanded, his hand groping at his still hard cock, looking at you like you were her prey, “I want to taste that pussy.”

~~~~~

“Ah- Ah- fuck- honey- right there!”

Hawks moaned against you, shaking his head from left to right, tongue dragging across every inch of your sopping cunt, “Here? Yeah?”

He gulped down your juices like he was a man dying of thirst, his hand in between his legs as he jerked off. Suckling on your nipples and getting a handjob was amazing- but he could never deny himself the pleasure of lapping at your cunt while he touched himself. It was one of his favourite hobbies.

“God- I love this pussy- love this pussssy so much~” he groaned, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he sealed his slick lips around your clit and gave it a toe-curling suck, your cries tuned out over the sound of him slobbering all over you. It was messy and sloppy but oh so good! You arched your back, your hands tangled in his hair and you wondered if you wanted to push him away or pull him in even more. The sloppy sound of him sucking you up and drinking your juices made your face turn so red, it reached your ears, the noises and moans leaving your mans mouth making your heart rate increase.

Was he in heat or was it you?

Keigo stuck his tongue out lewdly and started flicking at your clit, pumping his cock in time with every movement, your little bud at his mercy. His feathers shook with the force of his hand, the man moaning against your clit and making your ears ring from the sensation. He once again opened his mouth wide before he took your whole pussy in his mouth, making out with her like he does with you.

“Keigoooo- oh God- s-slow down!” you whined, trembling underneath his merciless actions. He shook his head no against you, once again dragging his tongue all over you. He sucked your pussy lips into his mouth for a second before he said:

“No stopping. No slowing down. Now- cum in my mouth.”

~~~~~

“Fuuuck!” Keigo gasped as he couldn’t control his hips as he started pumping into your mouth, “Take it- take it- take my fucking cock!”

You gagged around your husband’s member, his dick pumping in and out of your throat, fucking it like it was your cunt. Having you lying on your back with your head leaning over the edge, you felt his balls clap against your forehead as Keigo fucked into your face, blood rushing to your head. The position gave you no choice but to take it- saliva and spittle leaving your mouth and dripping upwards. Your pussy quivered from the ghost of your orgasm, the sensation of his tongue on your slit still lingering and the warmth of the semen he splashed over your cunt making you tingle. You were stained with copious amounts of his seed, his second orgasm just as explosive as the first one and your whole pussy was covered in white.

It was only a matter of time before it was pumped inside.

Gawk Gawk gawk- hah- slurp- slurp- gawk

“Fuck baby- I can see my cock- fuuuck- imprint on your throat! It’s so hot!”

You could only imagine the view. Your tits bouncing up and down with the force of his thrusting- your neck stretched to accommodate the position which made it more evident when the bulge of his member showed up. He hissed as his hands went to your chest, squeezing your jugs and using them as leverage to pump faster against you.

“Y-You ok baby?” he asked, mind dizzy from the pleasure, surprised that he was still able to string sentenced together, “You can take it- ah- right?”

You gurgled around his cock, the vibrations making his knees buckle as he picked up the pace. Drool coated his balls, his sack slapping against your face harder as he mercilessly pumped into you, chasing his pleasure. You squealed as he suddenly pushed himself as deep as he could go and stayed there, your nose pressing against his nuts as his hands left your tits to instead reach for your legs. Your back arched off the bed, eyes watering as his cock was pushed impossibly deep, your fingers gripping the sheets below you tightly as he spread your knees apart, baring him your cum stained pussy. You squealed, eyes rolling to the back of your head as his hand slipped between your legs, fingers gliding between your pussy lips as he sought out your dripping hole.

“Ah- fuck baby- let me- mmmph- stretch this cunt out for my cock~”

~~~~~

Plap plap plap plap plap

  Your fingers dug into the skin of Keigos back- well- as much as you could considering the wings sprouting from his back. Said wings were slightly flapping, almost helping him thrust into your cunt with as much force as possible. Legs wrapped around his waist, your moans were swallowed by his tongue down your throat, your husbands’ eyes open and drinking in your fucked out expression even as he pounded you.

His balls clapped against your ass as his fat, throbbing cock pumped in and out of you, the drag of his veiny member against the ribbed texture of your cunt making both of you groan from the pleasure. You gasped as you broke the kiss, turning you head away so you could get a second to catch your breath. You felt him licking your skin to occupy his mouth, grateful that he was giving you a moment to collect yourself even as his tongue dragged over your cheek and upto your ear. You shivered as he ran his tongue along your ear before sticking it inside, the sensation making your whole body shudder.

After swallowing his cum (to the best of your abilities) and cumming around his fingers, Keigo didn’t give you even a second before he changed positions, spreading your legs so he could slide his cock inside your poor, sensitive pussy. His hips moved like a machine, rutting into you like it was the last thing he’d do. You gasped as the curve of his cock constantly hit your special spot each time he thrust in, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at the sensation.

…maybe you did bite off more than you could chew.

~~~~~

“Haa-aa-aawks!” you called out, voice jumping from the force of his thrusting. He simply grunted in response; his cock somehow still rock hard as he took you from behind. The cum he had dumped into your pussy was leaking out and staining the sheets, but he didn’t really care. He was going to pump another load into you afterall.

“B-Break- fuck- I need a b-break!” you pleaded, ass clapping back against his hips, his mouth watering at the ripple of your plush skin.

“No way.” He growled, raising a hand and smacking your ass cheek, loving your squeal as he left a handprint behind, “I warned you. We’re not fucking stopping!”

Your hands couldn’t hold you up anymore, elbows giving in as your torso fell to the mattress, leaving you face down, ass up. You panted against the pillow as the position somehow drove his cock deeper inside you, his cum staining your thighs and his balls. His cock was practically covered in white, Keigo churning up the semen inside of you and it was so filthy, it made your head spin.

“Fuck- gonna cum baby!” he cried out as he felt his balls tighten, the familiar sensation of an oncoming orgasm making his body tingle, “Pump this pussy with my seed- let’s get you pregnant, ok?”

You simply moaned against the pillow; your noises muffled by the fabric as tears left your eyes. Your eyes widened and you shrieked as Keigo leaned over you and slid his hand down to your cunt, his fingers easily finding your clit.

“Ah- ah- Kei- fuck!” you panted against the pillow, your body going into overdrive as he started swiping at your sensitive, swollen bud, “too much- too- ah- fuck!”

The two of you climaxed simultaneously, the familiar sensation of your husband pumping copious amounts of cum inside you pushed you to your orgasm, your pussy squirting and spraying liquid all over the mattress.

You collapsed flat on the bed, eyes rolled to the back of your head as your pussy throbbed, Keigos’ cum seeping out of you like a flood. You didn’t need to look back to know he was still hard and ready to go again.

“…Spread your legs. I need to eat out your asshole.”

“Wh- Keigo- eep!”

You squealed as the man gripped onto your ass cheeks before spreading them apart, exposing your puckered rim to him before he surged forward, planting his face right between your cheeks. You babbled at he started greedily lapping at your hole, shamelessly moaning as he tasted you. You shrieked, body once again getting overstimulated as his ran his tongue over your rim. The two of you dabbled in a bit of anal over the years but never in such a…desperate manner.

He smacked your ass before he shook his head between your cheeks, motorboating you butt as he played with you like a toy, his cock hard and leaking between his legs.

You tried to remember where you kept the lube.

~~~~~

The sun was up.

Fuck.

The sun was rising.

And you two were still having sex.

Well, Hawks was. You passed out during the middle of things and you had given him permission to use you even after you blacked out. Your body really couldn’t take any more orgasms and it shut down at some point.

You awoke with a start, several sensations hitting you all at once, making your head spin. You were lying on top of Keigo, your head nestled against his neck as he pumped his hips up and into you. You gasped as you felt the burn of his cock in your ass, his thick member stretching out your barely used hole. The glide was significantly easier than the first time he fucked your ass tonight thanks to all the cum lubing you up.

“L-Last one baby!” Keigo panted, somehow looking stunning even through the many hours of sex and orgasms, “Ready? Yeah? Want my cum?”

“H-Hurry up…” you groaned, your body still weak and tingly from when you passed out. You had lost count of the number of times you came as well as the number of times Keigo came. You stopped counting after six. Your body was fucked within an inch of its life and you had no more energy and so, you simply lied on top of him like a ragdoll, panting against his neck as he embraced you tightly. His hips bucked up into you, his thighs flexing deliciously as he chased his pleasure.

“Cumming- fuck- cumming!!”

With a final shout, his head tossing back and eyes rolling to the back of his head, Hawks came one more time. You mewled as his seed filled you up but you noted that it was significantly less that what you had endured all night. You felt his chest deflate, like a load was taken off of his shoulders (and his balls), the man finally relaxing.

“Fuuuck…” he said, gently pulling his cock out of you and thankfully, he was now soft, “That was…insane…”.

You nodded against him, grimacing as you finally got a second to note the condition of your body, i.e. covered in sweat and cum and stuffed full of semen that was continuously leaking out of you.

“Y-You ok baby?” Keigo asked and you couldn’t help but smile. He was clearly trying to fight sleep, his rut having left him and rendering him exhausted yet satisfied, no longer tormented by the heat.

“I’ll be ok.” You said, kissing his neck, “…But no sex for a month. I think I almost died.”

You felt his chuckle rumble in his chest, “I warned you, baby bird.”

“Mmmm. You did.”

“Speaking of baby, you’re probably knocked up, right?”

“…Probably.”

“…Nice.”

[vanilleandclove]

carried away; jack abbot x f!trauma surgeon!reader 

fourth of july always has always dampened a stain on your relationship, for the betterment of it, it helps you both understand each other a little bit differently.

warnings: ptsd episode. mass casualty event (mce), pregnancy & pregnancy issues, samira deserves a boy/girlfriend outside of the ed THE GIRL NEEDS NORMALITY AND CARE, aggressive patients, a damn bomb, whole lotta robby yap, langdon goes to rehab but is that really a warning, jack is halfway codependent (man has trauma), there will be a fluffy chapter maybe word count: 4.2k notes: had to search up bizarre stories from the emergency room & ask my immigrant, can do no wrong, dad his crazy stories (radiologist in the emergency department), only for him to ask if i was going to give up film school. if you're unfamilar with emergency depts in america, fourth of july is the peak holiday for injurys and chaos, happy summer for me.

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“Hey can I use you during the briefing, the Fourth is always a hectic day here, got some new faces and these kids aren’t familiar with how we run things during the summer” Robby asked you as you walked out of the lounge, seeing you lightly waddle as you needed to pee.

“Robby, these kids survived Pitfest- they can handle an independence day- but, sure, let me just handle this real quick” you grunted, feeling your bladder overwhelming full. This time around the life growing inside of you decided to fill and harass your bladder rather than morning sickness. Week 13, you couldn’t wait to get to at least the second trimester. 

You and Jack decided to tell Dana, Bridget, Robby, and Heather. They were the only ones allowed to know, even though it killed Jack to not tell his mom, slowly hurt you to not tell your sister or mom. Heather was ready to throw you a baby shower by the first day, Dana already bought clothes for your little bean. But Jack, Jack was a nervous wreck. Monitoring you closely while you slept and ate, helped you shower as if it was strenuous. He loved seeing your belly grow as small as it did from week 1 to 13. It felt like a year, to him it felt like time slowed just to spare him any worries. 

From babe; 

How’s work? Anything yet? I just fully clocked in lmao, you coming in today? Probably gonna get called in you know how it is every year Not really, this is the first time we didn’t go on vacation Dr. Abbot  Way too early for the teasing honey. I’ll pick you up if I don’t get called in. I love you and bug. We love you too- would love you more if I got lucky tonight. Depends on if you’re a good girl or not doesn’t it?

The most intimate time you’ve both had in 5 weeks was him giving you a foot rub, other than that nothing. You were either too tired and slept in- the pregnancy pillow he got you works wonders, woke up in the middle of the night with indigestion, or you put the lingerie on and then got emotional seeing him- sometimes all the three. You missed your fiancé more than anything.

Upon exiting the bathroom there was Robby grilling into everybody, “Doctor L/n will give you the rundown on how things go surgical wise on today”. 

“Surgery is usually bombarded- it’s a peak day for the entire ED, night shift comes and helps out when they phase in about two to three hours earlier” you announced, you ran this shit as if it were the Navy- courtesy of your man back at home who taught you how his C.O.s talked to him, “We deal with the stroke & heart related issues- I get the more severe cases therefore I am not always going to be down here”. 

You made your way to the board, “Trauma gets a designated 4 operating rooms today, we have three surgeons on call, all trained under me or my predecessor Doctor Greene- bless our lucky asses, Greene comes in to help every Fourth of July” looking directly into everyone’s eyes, Jack’s habit directly rubbed off on you, “Worst we’ve had was Fourth of July 2022, I was up a near 24 hours. We’ve had someone be given a bomb instead of an illegal firework- didn’t detonate, had to call the bomb squad when we were in the OR”.

“20 year old male, Mark Coleman, mom said he bought fireworks in Texas last week only for the fireworks to be an actual bomb- didn’t detonate in the field, bomb squad is already on the way” The EMT ran over to you keeping his voice lowered in order to not panic the crowd, supplying oxygen from the kids intubation, you nodded and ran over to change your gloves as you saw Jack in a woman’s chest cavity trying to stimulate her heart.

“What do you got?” he asked, thinking it would be more interesting, only to be given a concerned and almost scared look from you, “Doctor Shen, take over” John didn’t hesitate to replace Abbot, “Stimulate for another three, if no response send her up with Walsh and Greene”.

He discarded his gloves and placed a hand on your elbow to follow you to Mark, “Have bomb squad come in through the helipad, we can’t afford freaking out anyone down here, we have to operate on the west surgical wing anyway” you told Dana as she nodded.

“Wait, you're operating?” Jack questioned.

“Bomb squad’s going to be in there with me the entire time, I’m the only surgeon available and willing” you looked into his eyes almost as if you were being stern and for your selfish reasons of looking at him, “This is my department Doctor Abbot, don’t question my job, I won’t question yours”.

“I will question it if you’re putting yourself in immediate danger” he told you, searching for the exact feeling you were hiding, fear. 

“It’s my job Jack” you whispered to him before walking off. 

It was a three hour surgery with no one other than your surgical team and the bomb squad on the floor, Greene came in to help if something were to happen to you. Truth was Jack yelled at him over the phone when he told him that you “had it under control”- which you did, Jack barely built up the courage to open up about his war PTSD since he just started going to therapy, you weren’t exactly someone he wanted to handle a bomb extraction. 

When you went back down, he could breathe again, you took your losses as Mark may not be able to speak again as the bomb landed just in the right spot to strain his larynx. 

“There are also a lot of worried parents with children who are the spawns of satan. I had a mom that same year scream in both mine and Doctor Mohan’s face about her son falling into their active fire pit with soot all over his body, minor burns, earned a beautiful punch in the chest” you told them, seeing the smile on Samira’s face as she recalled the memory on the first year of her residency.

“I don’t give a fuck! He is screaming, just take him!” she screamed at you and Samira as you did the exam while explaining to Samira in passing.

“Ma’am there are no burns on your son, enough for it to be surgical or an emergency, we are currently swamped here. We are going to give you three cold compresses and some cream to help, only use Tylenol to control the pain because NSAIDs can be dangerous if he hit his head while falling in” you told her, giving her son a pat on the back as he shook from the bass of her voice as she screamed. 

“You fucking bitch, I pay your fucking wages through all of those fuckass taxes just for you to dismiss my fucking son?”.

You formed a barrier between you and her, making sure Samira wouldn’t be spat on or hit if the mom became even more aggressive.

“Ma’am I can assure you, you do not pay my wage or my coworkers wage, now please take your leave before I have security come and hold you in front of your son- now would you prefer that or the care we just gave you to handle this at home?” you responded, she got in your face only to take a step back and aim directly for your chest, Samira swore she heard a light crack before she screamed for security.

You were fine, winded, but fine none of the less. Jack spent the whole night back at your home kissing the middle of your chest as it began to bruise. You insisted it was because it gave him free reign to play with and admire your tits.

“It’s a hectic day for everyone, best advice I can give to you is phase your main patient load out of here by 4 or 5 pm, firework shows start around that time, by 8 pm you’re hopefully already home and night shift is here, we get all the road accidents here” you told them, “Just like Pitfest, if you cannot find Doctor Robinavitch, Doctor Collins, Doctor Abbot, or myself, the next level of command is to get approval from Doctor Mohan or- Doctor Langdon. Robby, Abbot, and I run things down here, we’ve been doing this together for the past 6 years, today is just one of those days that gets convoluted, now eat and hydrate, good luck”. 

When Frank got back from rehab, Abbot was impressed he put in the work. Heather and you knew he was going to be given his position back immediately and by May Heather had finally completed her residency program- Frank having to make up for the time lost. 

You all had a calm morning, taking a half day to resort for an oncall schedule. By 4 pm you were at home, resting on the couch as Jack made you the lunch you didn’t have time for at work. 

“So far nothing, might just be a quiet Fourth of July” you shouted at him from the living room. 

“Some of my old buddies from the VA invited us down to grill with them at 6, I told them maybe- depends on my wife” Jack said as he brought your food to you on a tray.

“Baby all of them are your age, so old?” you joked, giving him a kiss as he set down your food on the coffee table, “Also wife, Mrs. Abbot hasn’t even been engraved on my social security or Facebook”. 

“Last time I checked you have an Abbot in you”. 

“Unfortunately not in bed” you teased yet again. 

“Eat. Y’Might just pass out if I ravage you before eating” with every dirty joke you gave, Jack’s stoicism would top it. Made for good laughs over the years. Jack made you pass out once from overstimulation, scared the shit out of him, you found it quite sexy that made you feel that good- ever since then, he makes sure you’re hydrated.

You and him were no strangers to calmness in the cusp of afternoons to evenings, especially since you became pregnant, all you both wanted were quiet times like these. By 5:30, you both had showered and got ready for the barbecue Jack promised to attend. Only before you both got the call from Robby and Gloria to come in as there was a shooting at the Fourth of July firework show. Normally, you admired your fiancés punctuality, but he stood there pondering while staring into your soul. 

“You’re going?”.

“It’s a MCE, of course I’m going” you responded, grabbing your spare scrubs you kept hung up and sneakers, you were on your feet all day.

The reality of it was Jack was worried about another miscarriage, worried about you overworking yourself. He put limits where he knew you misconstrued them. 

“You’re being reckless” he blurted out as you packed your bag, you froze from the words that left his mouth, “I’m sorry honey but-“.

You swallowed the heartbreak that came with your fiancé questioning if you had the strength to get through this while pregnant. Swallowed the doubt that he put on you because he was worried, the doubt that only shined to you where he thought you couldn’t do your job while pregnant. The same doubt men put other women through because they think it’s not their place or they don’t belong. 

“We’ll talk about this later” you told him, shrugging him off as you walked away. Jack knew your limits under the guise of understanding you, though as much as it prided you both it had its repercussions such as right now. 

The car ride was quiet and tense, the air thick and both of your throats dry. You wouldn’t argue before work, everything stayed at home. As much as you knew where  his concern came from, you knew if something were to happen, he’d silently blame you in the deepest part of him even if his body rejected that fact. 

You took your leave ahead of Jack, feeling the light jerks of your stomach, there’s a version of you and Jack and you’re carrying it. You felt the weight of your chest as your breasts were sore from the bra and hormones. You saw both Javadi and Langdon outside as they handled triage, giving them the best of luck.

“What happened?” you asked Dana at her desk.

“Shooting at the park, we’re expecting 67 patients in the ambulances, maybe more depending on transport. You okay honey?” she questioned, seeing the tiredness in your eyes. 

“Yeah, some jerks but at least bean is moving” you lowered your voice. Normally, you wouldn’t feel your baby moving until a few more weeks, with your hyper vigilance and rotations to OB during residency, you knew the movement, the little soft jerks. You also knew you couldn’t wait for your womb to move away from your bladder and for the light aches of your hips to stop. “No sign of Greene? He never misses a year”.

Dana shrugged as she called her family, everyone around you called their loved ones as you just shrugged yours off. When Jack came in, it was your instinct to lean into his close proximity, your own way of telling him “I love you” while on the clock. His breath against the skin of your neck and the squeeze he gave your hand, it was going to be a long night. 

“Okay, this is not the first MCE you all have gone through, I hope we all are familiar with the protocol for tonight. Doctor Abbot, Shen, Collins, and myself are going to stay down here at all times. Your number one determinant for surgical cases will go to Doctor L/n, can’t find her? Go to Walsh, we have three fellows courtesy of Doctor L/n on standby in the ORs, send your patients up immediately, they know you’re coming” Robby announced, “SWAT and the police haven’t identified a shooter therefore they will be collecting any and all fragments of evidence taken from patients, upon extraction give it to an attending. Unfortunately, we are the only trauma center nearby, we are putting ourselves at risk for the shooter to arrive here”. 

Jack felt your body tense from behind him, his knuckles finding their way to rolling against your spine to ease tension. You waited a few seconds before speaking up. 

“Any and all cardio, neuro, pediatric, and advanced traumas go to me. Lower grade trauma, general, ophthalmic, and ortho will be split between Garcia and Walsh. Nipples to navel is no-man’s land if you for any reason believe your patient cannot get the most adequate standard of care for the situation, send them to surgery immediately” you told all of them, “If I am not available or are already in an OR, I can work on up to three patients per OR, I’ve done it before, I can do it again”. 

“You’re authorized for neuro?” Whitaker and Santos both questioned you, slowly being tempted to swap to surgery. 

“Neurosurgeons are hard to come by, no one ever wants to hire more because of pay grade. Therefore everyone else has to pick up the slack” you answered, “Doctor Rios is our attending Neurosurgeon, he taught me everything I need to know”. 

“Doctor Mohan and McKay, you’ll be with me and Walsh” you told both of them, “It’s going to be a long night”.

After dismissal you heard the distant sirens from the ambulances, giving Jack enough time to check up on you. 

“He’ll come by, he never misses a Fourth” Jack reassured you as you rapidly typed on your phone to Greene’s wife.

“His daughter’s family was over there, pretty sure they all went” you told him, shaking your head slightly before putting your phone away, “You sure you’re ready for this?”.

“Nothing we haven’t seen”. 

You looked at him once more, you saw the apprehension. Last Fourth of July he worked, a firework went off in the halls and sent him into a frenzy the rest of the night. You were a senior resident, just before you and Jack decided to finally take things seriously. 

“Doctor Abbot we ran out of chest tubes Princess told me-“ you walked into a room filled with blood all over the floor and no one else but Jack who was sunk down to the floor, prosthetic to the side of him. “Jack?”.

He remained quiet as he picked at his cuticles, blood trickling from his hand, there was a deep gash in the palm of his hand, blood flowing more as he flexed his hand. 

“Jack” you took a step closer just before he fixed his eyes on you, bloodshot and pupils blown. His hair was caked in blood, “Baby let me stitch-“.

“No” he spoke up, eyes never leaving yours. Luckily, it was cooled down outside, nothing too serious to begin with minus the car collisions that sent three families here. Jack had worked on one of the moms, the mom whose blood now coated the floor and him. “I couldn’t save him,” he muttered.

Your eyebrows furrowed, taking a look at the leftover chart to see if the mom was accidentally misplaced. Only to realize Jack wasn’t thinking coherently, “Baby, the Jamison’s mom is with Greene. She’s okay, he does thank you for stabilizing her”. 

“I couldn’t save him” a sob wrecked through his throat. You took your chances and got down on your knees, the blood on the floor staining your scrubs, making yourself be at eye level to him. 

You cautiously snapped your sterile gloves off to cup his face with your hands, only after you placed his spare hand on your chest where your heart was beating- erratically from the subsiding adrenaline. The blood from his hand coated your scrubs.

“Breathe with and repeat after me” you instructed, “Your name is Jack Abbot, you are currently in Pittsburgh as an attending emergency physician, in a trauma room with Y/n”.

He lightly breathed, his breath shuddered as he opened his mouth, “My name is Jack Abbot. I am currently in Pittsburgh and an attending emergency physician, in trauma room 3 with Y/n L/n”. 

“I am not overseas in war”. 

“I am not overseas in war”.

He calmed down as you tested it another three times. Upon the third he got up and let you clean and dress his gash. “What are you thinking?” you asked, silently giving him stitches. 

“I’m lucky to be with you”.

You smiled lightly, “You’re lucky it wasn’t Langdon who came in” chortling quietly, “three more stitches and you should be good cowboy”. 

“70 year old male, multiple GSWs to the chest, wife helped stabilize him on the field”.

“Mrs. Greene?” you called out as you walked away from Jack. 

Doctor Peter Greene was the 70 year old male with the 7 gunshot wounds to his chest. His wife, Lisa, was an anesthesiologist up until last year, she was barely 65.

“Oh my god Y/n” she sobbed before engulfing you into a hug, “Please help him” you nodded as you pulled away running off to the trauma bay they held him.

“Send him to the OR now, Samira you’re scrubbing in with me” you directed, “Cassie, Lisa Greene is out there, she’s bleeding from her legs I think she was shot can you check up on her?” both the girls nodded as you wheeled Greene to the elevator.

“Are you sure you want me to scrub in?” Samira asked as you reached the elevator, it was just you two- well three. 

“Samira, I’m pregnant” you confessed as the elevator doors closed on the two of you, “I’ve already miscarried once, I don’t plan on that again, I’m hoping his stubborn ass pulls through so my baby isn’t distressed from me being stressed, you being there is more than enough”. 

She looked stunned from the confession, smiling in the light of the situation, “Do you want me to get an OB down after just to see where things are?”.

“I may need you to sub in so I can sit down once or twice, I’ll be with you the entire time” you told her, just as you reached the third floor. The surgical wing was scattered as you made it to OR 4, your body stiffened up with worry as you realized it was the same OR. 

4 hours, it took you and Samira 4 hours to get every bullet, repair any tissue. You stood standing the entire time, your heels ached, knees slightly wobbly. Luckily, Greene was stable and okay, the ED only lost 2 patients that day, most non-surgical minus laparotomies split between your fellows and Walsh. You gave your graces to Samira as she beamed with joy, her job was her life, but luckily, you convinced her to finally go on a date every once and awhile.

The most important part, you still felt the light jerks. Peeing finally felt like liberation, what you really wanted was a bath and maybe a soda to substitute the craving for wine. You wanted to talk.

“Abbot?” you asked Bridget as her and Dana contacted the hospital officials to open the emergency department again. Bridget pointed up and you gave her a thumbs up. 

There on the roof, Jack was admiring the skyline with Robby. As the elevator dinged, Robby took his leave, giving you a smile and a nod.

“How’s Greene?”.

“Good, he almost woke up from the anesthesia, but other than that, stubborn bastard is asleep in post-op. His daughter came to drop off some clothes and food” you filled him in, the silence found the both of you in an unwelcoming way, “You doubted me today”.

“I did”.

“I became a surgeon at 22, by 27 I was already an attending” you started, “I’ve also was lucky enough to have Greene and Adamson as mentors, you and Robby as colleagues” you boasted, feeling the wind blow through your hair, “But, you walk into a room and patients don’t doubt you for a singular second. I walk in and it’s always a question of if I belong here- it’s not an age thing, that I learned a long time ago” you licked your lips before continuing, “I can feel our baby moving, at 13 weeks, I can feel it, I didn’t before. I think it’s because I’m a doctor, I am aware of the feeling. Let me put the limit on what I can and can’t do”.

Jack finally looked over at you, “I’m sorry” he started, sighing gently, “I feel you walk away and it scares the living shit out of me” raking his hand through his curls, “I feel selfish a bit, knowing you’re out of reach, that you’re upstairs operating and I don’t know what’s happening”.

You smiled at the sentiment of care, “I’m working” you told him, “I’m doing the job I fell in love with when I was a kid. Now my knees and back hurt both from age and the fact that there is a little Abbot in me” you took a second for him to smile, “This job gave me you, gave me some of the best memories I could imagine, I’d bargain the recklessness every single day if it meant I’m ending up with you”. 

He chuckled, moving away from his spot and climbing over the bars to hold you in his arms. He goes on the roof to admire the city, rather than the want to leave it. 

“Sometimes I feel like I’m back out there, fighting”.

“I know. You talk in your sleep a lot” you told him. 

You saved him as much as he saved you.

dividers by @cafekitsune

[ak319]

Yan Socialite brother x reader

(Warnings: Strictly platonic , not incest)

Ezra Alvarez , your younger brother, has always been your number one supporter. From a young age, he was taught that tradition dictated the older sibling would inherit the business and the farms—essentially, everything. This meant all the power would eventually be in your hands. But Ezra wasn’t a moneygrubber seeking favor, he genuinely admired your intelligence, strength, and the way you cared for the family, especially him. From the moment he gained consciousness, he aimed to be your best friend and sole confidant. He longed to be the person you turned to for counsel, and slowly but surely, things were unfolding just as he wanted.

Let's start from the beginning. Ezra and you were quite different in many ways, largely due to the contrasting upbringings you had. For example, while you cherished solitude and indulged in expensive hobbies like horseback riding, archery, and swordsmanship within the privacy of your estate, not to mention almost always busy learning and handling the business with your father. On the other hand, Ezra thrived in social settings. As a fashion designer, it was his job to attend lavish parties and stay connected with the latest trends. However, his socializing had a deeper purpose, to monitor the people in high circles and gauge their intentions toward his family, especially you.

Ezra was always vigilant, keeping tabs on potential rivals and meticulously recording this information. He made sure you were aware of everything you needed to know, and thanks to his discreet tactics, you were advancing. The way he giggled looking up at you when you patted his head in praise was endearing, if he were a puppy, his tail would surely have been wagging.

Ezra would do anything for his older sister because you're the best sister in the world! Despite being used to receiving expensive trinkets, he always gets teary-eyed when you gift him something special. Given your usually stoic and aloof demeanor, he can't help but cry tears of joy when you show him affection and smile at him. He ceaselessly rambles on about his latest projects and clothing line while you sit there, reading a book and nodding along, often clueless about what he’s saying. Yet, he still cherishes these moments because it’s only HIS sister who takes time out of her busy schedule for HIM. How could he not be grateful? That would be a crime. No other sister would ever do this for their brother! Anyway, back to designing some jockey apparels for you. You really need new ones.

As much as he dislikes your boisterous hobbies, he uses them as an excuse to spend time with you. He eagerly asks you to teach him, no matter how dirty his nails or clothes get, or how much he might risk getting sunburned. Every bit of it is worth it when someone like you is his mentor.

Your parents reprimended you for spoiling your baby brother but you always shrugged it off saying "How can I not spoil my only baby brother?." That's right sister, I am and will be always your only brother. He always makes sure to pass a victorious smirk to his parents who could only sigh in defeat at both of you.

Whenever it rains, he remembers how you love the rain while he hates it because it's all muddy but on the other hand memories of him as a kid getting scared of the thunder and you holding him in your bed in your protective embrace always warms his heart. Maybe this is where the habit of cuddling you has developed. Even now when something in his life goes wrong or he is having a tantrum , only your the one who can calm him or otherwise he is crying screaming and complaining for days and yes this is a true incident , the whole estate was close to becoming deaf if you hadn't come back from your academy bringing some new jewels and his favourite pastries for him.

Speaking of the academy, Ezra had to swallow the urge to throw another tantrum or cling to your feet when the time came for you to leave for further studies. He knew you had to do this for your own sake and the future of your family business. So, instead, he became like a second mother to you, sending letters to make sure you weren’t skipping classes—even though he knew you weren’t that kind of a person. He frequently asked about your meals and sports activities, but the part he hated most was even thinking about you having a potential lover. God, he couldn’t help but crumple up the third letter when he wrote about it, but he had to know. The thought of being secondary in your life, in everything, terrified him. What if you brought home a gold digger?! That’s how he saw anyone who came close to you. They didn’t care about your personality or charm, they were after that KA-CHING! And him being one of your top prized assets, he wasn’t about to let that happen.

His heart however calmed down when you replied with a simple 'No' about the question. Yay! Whenever you came back from academy , he was even more excited than your parents, who always found his enthusiasm adorable. How he ran back and forth scolding the servants for not cleaning your room properly , not having your favourite dish up to notch like DO YOUR FUCKING JOBS PROPERLY! He wouldn't stop yapping when you sat for tea after dinner but no matter how much you were exhausted from your journey , you still listened to him.

As cunning, witty, and sophisticated he was, Ezra made mistakes too, and in his mind, the worst mistake was failing at a task you assigned him. He would cower under your anger, fully aware that he had messed up. He was still learning the ins and outs of the tedious household budget—something he would have to manage for you one day—but it was boring, okay? Numbers just weren’t his thing. Even if you scolded him, he always waited for your apology, which you offered in your own way—like taking him out to his favorite café or silently sharing a cup of tea in his room. Moments later, he’d be hugging you, petulantly whining about you getting angry at him. He hated how you chuckled at his childish attitude, but deep down, he loved it too.

Life was going well until, one day he received a letter that you were unable to attend father's funeral due to work back in the academy. He knew it was a lie , you WOULD NEVER abandon your family like this , even your mother was skeptical. But since there was no sign of you coming back, he handled his grieving mother and the arrangements himself as much as he was dying inside due to your absence. Where were you? They needed you. You were their head now. He was worried sick.

After the guests left , it was only his uncles and aunts who sat in the living room while he came down after putting his mother to sleep.

"Ezra, dear boy. You must be tired, but there is something we need to discuss with you." The words made his blood boil, and he fought the urge to slap the indifferent looks off his father’s brothers and sisters. He knew exactly why they were still here—they were nothing but vile, disgusting pieces of filth, circling like vultures after the family’s money. He had always seen the malicious intent in their eyes when they interacted with you, and it broke his heart how you treated them as family while they plotted to push you out of the way. But he kept up the façade of a nice, obedient nephew, knowing that it would be handy for a moment like this. Where were they when he was struggling to handle everything? They only arrived at the last minute for their sibling's funeral. His poor father had died surrounded by snakes. But he swore he would never let the same happen to you. He would never betray you, his blood, like these filthy excuses for humans.

He wanted to throw up as they offered their insincere condolences, but he remained firm. They inquired about your absence, talking shit about your cold behavior for not being there, and this was his cue to play his cards right. Slipping into his favorite role as the bimbo younger brother, he wept, agreeing with their criticisms, and even cursed you, despite how much it made his heart ache. Eventually, they began to open up, believing in the hate and jealousy he pretended to harbor for you. While they didn’t reveal your whereabouts, they made it clear they deemed you as an unworthy heiress. He fake-laughed through his tears, gaining their trust the best that he could. They even had the audacity to suggest dividing the property among themselves, without even considering his mother as the rightful owner of anything. Oh, they were going to be obliterated.

He then promised to hand them the papers during a party he was going to arrange that too in a ferry. Acting on the information you once gave him, he contacted some gunmen for emergencies, making the necessary arrangements. Oh what a sight it was to see the ferry filled with the corpses of his treacherous relatives. One of the assassin came and informed that they had you abducted and thrown into a mental asylum on your way back to the estate for the funeral. His mouth hung agape at the revelation, his whole body seething with fury, and without wasting a moment, he set out to bring you back. But not before ordering the ferry to be blown up in the middle of the sea. He cackled maniacally from the dock as he watched the explosion, then leaped onto the back of one of the hitmen like a kid, gleeful at the destruction of those who had wronged you.

Once you were back and grieved a bit which only lasted for a few moments before you had to take care of covering up the bloodshed your baby brother did. But at the end you did it and currently Ezra was beside you on the arm of the chair while you worked on your late father's study table , now yours. "You are not mad at me, are you?" He asked softly, voice almost breaking at the end.

"You did what had to be done. I would have done the same to anyone who came after my family like this," you said, hearing him sniffle beside you. You gently caressed his arm, your gaze still fixed on the parchment. "Don’t cry, you know how much I hate seeing you cry, Ezzy." You felt him lay his head on your shoulder, his soft brunette locks brushing against your ear.

"Thank you… I couldn’t fucking stand them anymore, doing such… such a horrendous thing to you."

He suddenly burst into giggles, his feet dangling. "But it was fun! You know, before his death, Uncle Auden wore that hideous yellow sack coat. I saw it through the binoculars—God, he looked like a penguin getting on the ferr-!"

"Ezra." Your warning tone almost made him flinch. "What did I tell you about speaking ill of the dead?"

"I think they deserve a pass." His pout was defiant yet playful, and you couldn’t help but smile. His laughter was light, a contrast to the heaviness of this week.

He couldn't be more blissful than this. You looked as if you were made to sit in that chair, and he felt immensely proud to have cleared the path for you. He always would. As his heart pondered the future, a frown creased his brow. The thought of a day when you might stray, bringing a partner into the estate, unsettled him. Though that day seemed far off, he was already prepared to make their life hell. After all, the chances of you siding with a partner over him were slim. He has got his older sister wrapped around his manicured pinky.

➺Ezra x reader x hubby